Convict: A Bad Boy Romance (30 page)

“You did that
again?
” Cedar asks.

I smack him on the arm, because he’s getting off track.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Raine says, shrugging. “Looks like hell, though.”

Relief washes over me like a cold wave, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding in.

Raine pauses.

“Is that the guy we...
talked
... about?” he asks, as unsubtly as humanly possible.

I close my eyes and pretend he didn’t ask that.

“Any details?” I say. “Did they say when he can have visitors? Is he getting questioned? Did Mohr and Larson collect the evidence yet? Is he competent for that right now?”

I don’t get to investigate this particular case, given that I’m
way
too involved.

“Slow down, Loony,” Raine says. “They’re in there now, and he’s talking to them. Seems a little loopy, but he’s concussed pretty badly, and there might have been damage to his optic nerve, because apparently someone pistol-whipped him right in the temple?”

My eyes fill with tears, and Raine looks alarmed.

“It’s probably fine, though,” he says. “They just want to keep him for a few days. And also his shoulder’s dislocated, and his rib might be fractured.”

“That’s ‘fine’?” Cedar says.

“Well, he’ll
be
fine,” Raine says. “All that stuff will heal, probably.”

I sit back down and put my face in my hands, taking deep breaths.

All that stuff will heal
, I think, over and over again.
He’s answering questions now, he’s not a vegetable.

“Oh, and he’s got an eye patch so he totally looks like a pirate,” Raine adds, saying it like it’s a bonus.

The doors to the waiting room open again, and my third brother Skye walks through. He stops in front of the five of us, his hands in his pockets, and looks around.

“Luna shot a bunch of mafia guys and her boyfriend’s in the hospital?” he asks.

I sigh and start telling the whole story all over again.

I
lean
my head back against the hospital pillows and fight the fog in my brain. I feel like I’m thinking at half-speed, and even though I’m trying to answer questions, I feel like my mouth is on a five-second delay from my brain.

“I don’t remember,” I finally say, even though I feel like I’m speaking under water. “I don’t think he mentioned who he was working for. But I had to make a video.”

The man asking me questions just nods, his partner jotting down notes in a notebook. I wonder why he isn’t Luna, why
she’s
not the one investigating this. She’s better at detecting, and she was
there
for a lot of it, she
knows
what happened.

“Did they say anything else that stuck out to you?” he asks.

I open my good eye again. They put an eye patch over the other one, because they’re afraid that it’s damaged and light-sensitive, though it’s pretty much swollen shut anyway.

I wait for the time delay to pass before I speak.

“Hammer called one of the guys Red,” I say, slowly. “Red was a
dick
.”

They ask something else, but I’ve stopped listening. I just want Luna, because I want to see her, I want to make sure she’s okay. After we got to the bunker with the camcorder my memory gets fuzzy, and I can only remember flashes and shards of what happened.

I know the roof caved in. I know Tony was there. I remember throwing a chair at someone, I think, and I remember Luna’s face in front of mine.

But I think she carried me down a mountain? I think she told me a long story from her childhood about the time a flock of chickens escaped their pens and took her on a magical adventure?

That last part might not be real. It’s California, though. Chickens might take children here on magic adventures. I don’t know.

They’re looking at me like they’re expecting an answer. Shit. I wasn’t listening.

Say ‘what,’
I think.

I wait for my mouth to work.

“What?” I say.

They glance at each other. A nurse comes in and gives them a
look
.

“We can pick this up again later,” one of the detectives says. “Thanks, Mr. Williams. Get well.”

I wait.

“Thanks,” my mouth finally says.

They leave, but the nurse stays, bustling around, fixing something down by my feet.

“Can I see people?” I finally manage to ask her. “Am I done with the police stuff?”

It’s been hours. First they took me off the board and gave me x-rays, and while I’m obviously not in great shape, nothing is broken. Then they examined me. Then they took a ton of pictures for evidence.
Then
I answered questions for ages, though they’re waiting until I’m a little more lucid until I give a formal statement.

I keep asking for Luna, and they keep saying
soon
, but she hasn’t materialized yet. I’m starting to worry that she’s not here, that she finally decided I was too much trouble.

She’d be justified. I’ve been nothing but trouble for her almost since we met, but this is a weird time to decide it.
After
everything goes down.

“Mr. Williams,” the nurse says.

Shit, I forgot to pay attention again.

“You can have visitors briefly, but you need to rest,” she says. “You’ve got a pretty serious concussion.”

I swallow. It hurts.

“Luna?” I ask.

“I’ll go see if she’s here,” the nurse says, and leaves.

I glance down at myself. My wrists are red, purple, and blue, and I’m missing a lot of arm hair. Not that you can tell much because of the tattoos.

See,
I think.
They’re useful.

“Hey,” says Luna’s voice from the doorway.

I smile, even though it hurts.

“Hey,” I say. I pat the bed next to me with the arm that’s not in a sling. “C’mere.”

Luna walks over, and even though she’s blurry and has sparkles rushing around her face, I feel like everything hurts less when she’s here.

She brushes her lips across my forehead gently, and I can hear her take a deep breath before she sits next to me on the bed. My brain still feels like a bucket with holes in it, like all my thoughts are rushing out before I can corral them properly, but right now it also feels warm and mushy as Luna carefully takes my hand.

“I’m okay,” I say, trying to reassure her.

Luna raises her eyebrows and tries not to look amused.

“No, you’re not,” she says. “Stone, you look like a fucked up pirate grape right now.”

I smile again. It hurts. I smile anyway and try not to laugh.

“A sexy fucked up pirate grape?” I ask, raising one eyebrow.

That also hurts.

“I’m not really a grapeosexual,” she says.

“Do those exist?”

“I’m sure they do,” Luna says. “The world’s a big place. There’s someone into
everything
.”

I squeeze her hand. She squeezes back.

“Are you okay?” I ask softly.

Luna just nods.

“I’m fine,” she says.

“Good,” I say.

Someone pops their head into the room, and Luna turns.

“He should get some rest,” the nurse says.

“Sure, one more minute,” Luna says, and the nurse leaves. Luna looks back at me.

“We’re gonna string those fuckers up,” she says, her voice soft but serious.

“Hammer?” I ask.

“Hammer, and his fucking goons, and the people who sent Hammer here,” she goes on.

My vision’s still blurry, but I can see her golden brown eyes flash.

“You gonna avenge me?” I murmur.

I expect her to laugh, but she doesn’t. She just looks at me, and even though I can’t see her clearly, something about the expression on her face cuts me to the bone.

“I
hate
them for this,” she says, her voice nearly a whisper. “I’d shoot every one of them myself for doing this to you, Stone. They can’t come here, to
my
town, terrorize
my
people, threaten to kill me and then kidnap
my
—”

She stops suddenly and looks at me. Then she swallows.

“Person you’re having a thing with?” I say, half-teasing.

“We don’t have to talk about this now,” she says.

“You can say boyfriend if you want,” I say.

Suddenly my stomach’s in a warm, fuzzy knot, and I’m a completely different kind of nervous than I’ve been for the past night.

“Are you gonna remember this later?” she asks. “You have a pretty bad concussion.”

“I think I’ve got two,” I say. “And yeah, I’ll remember this. If I don’t, you can remind me and I’ll say I want to be your boyfriend then.”

“This is a terrible time for a relationship talk,” she says. “You’re gonna forget it and I’ve been awake for twenty-four hours straight.”

“Detective,” I say, squeezing her hand. “Shut up and be my girlfriend. You shoved your phone into my underwear and then saved my ass. Go steady with me already.”

Luna laughs.

“Go steady?” she teases, then leans over and kisses my forehead again.

“I’m old fashioned,” I say.

“Is that why we had sex
twice
before we went on a date?”

“That was just because I couldn’t fight you off,” I say, and try to smile at her.

It hurts. She rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing, and I tug on her hand lightly.

“Luna,” I say.

“Stone,” she mimics me.

“Say yes,” I tell her. “Come on. Just say yes.”

She kisses my hand.

“Yes,” she says.

“I knew it,” I say.

“Knew what?”

“I knew that wasn’t a fuckbuddy rescue,” I tease. “That was a boyfriend rescue.”

“I’d have rescued you no matter what,” she says, a little defensively.

“You’re my knight in shining armor,” I say.

Behind her, the nurse pops her head in again. Luna nods at her.

“You need to get some rest,” she says, standing.

“You know what helps me sleep?” I say.

I don’t let go of her hand, but Luna just kisses my forehead again.

“Get better,” she whispers. “I don’t fuck grape-human hybrids.”

“That’s no way to talk to your boyfriend,” I whisper back.

“I’ll be back later,” she says, squeezing my hand one more time.

Then she walks out of the room, and even though it’s blurry, I watch her ass.

Concussion or no, it’s still a really nice ass.

I
go
straight from Stone’s room to the women’s bathroom. I don’t have to pee, but I sit on the toilet fully clothed — still in the clothes Miranda lent me yesterday — put my face in my hands, and cry.

I’m almost floppy with relief that Stone’s gonna be okay, even if he looks like hell right now. He can see and he can have conversations and he still recognizes me, and he’s still
him
. Even if he’s a little loopy, and even if I don’t think his memory’s great right now, he’s still there.

I take a deep breath, grab a handful of toilet paper, and lean against the plastic stall divider for a moment, trying to stop crying. I know that the
real
issue here is that I’m over caffeinated and haven’t eaten since last night, that I haven’t slept, and that a huge, scary thing just happened and I haven’t processed it yet.

But all I can think is
he’s okay, he’s okay, he’s okay
.

* * *

T
here’s
a
shit ton
of work to do. I don’t interview any of the kidnappers, since I’m kind of biased, and I refuse to watch the tape they made, but over the next few days, when I’m not sleeping or at the hospital with Stone, I’m piecing together the clues of this case.

Linking the kidnappers to the arson case is almost too easy. As soon as we have someone to match fingerprints and hair to, we can put two of the guys at the arson scene. We broaden our search for gas station videos, and in another day, we’ve caught them putting gas into plastic gas cans.

One of them is dating a girl who went to the Community College of the Sierras. Even if that keychain isn’t how we found our suspects, I still do a little fist-pump at my desk when we find that out. It’s proof we were on the right track all along.

We get search warrants. We find gas cans. One of the thugs hadn’t even gotten around to throwing away his gasoline-soaked shoes, and we match a footprint we found at the scene.

As soon as we present him with that piece of information, he starts talking. We tell the others that one is talking, and soon, they’re all talking.

The tough one is Hammer. He’s going away — again — for a long time no matter what, but Patricia spends hours with him anyway, trying to get him to roll over and turn in the other high-level people in the Syndicate.

I visit Stone a couple times a day, as much as I can. Every time I do there are more flowers, cards, and balloons in his room, and half the time there’s already someone in there, visiting him. I see Eddie that way a couple times, along with Tony, Cedar, and my own parents once.

Stone doesn’t quite seem to know what to do with the attention, like he’s slightly confused that people want to visit
him
. I don’t say anything, but I want to tell him: this is how life can be if you give it a good enough chance.

After three days, the doctors are satisfied that Stone’s not bleeding in his brain and they let him go home. Tortuga PD puts an officer outside his house, but if the number of people we’ve arrested is any indication, there’s no one
left
in Central California to come after him.

I drive him home from the hospital. He’s still got an eye patch, but his arm’s out of the sling, because apparently his shoulder wasn’t
that
dislocated.

I pull into his driveway, cut my engine, and then we both sit there, looking at the graffiti that’s still on his garage.

“It did work,” he says after a long moment.

I look over at him and run my fingers lightly through his hair, smiling.

“I was gonna text you back, you know,” I say. “I just hadn’t gotten a chance yet because I was busy
solving crimes
.”

Stone chuckles.

“Sometimes it’s hard to be rational where you’re concerned, Detective,” he says, and raises his one good eyebrow. “Admit it, though. It was clever.”

“It was dumb and reckless and could have gotten you in trouble,” I say, my fingers still in his hair.

“Trouble’s what I’m used to,” he says. “It’s
not
being in trouble that worries me.”

I lean over and kiss him. He’s still got a split lip, so I kiss him softly, trying not to hurt him, but he reaches his hand around my head and pulls me against him harder.

“I was being careful,” I murmur when we separate.

“I’m not too fragile to kiss you right,” he says.

We kiss again, and Stone’s hand trails down my neck and slides under my shirt. I have to force myself not to crawl out of my seat and onto him, because it’s still light out and the officer — my colleague — stationed outside Stone’s house can
probably
see us.

“C’mon,” I say when that kiss ends. “Let’s go inside.”

“Are we gonna make it?” he murmurs, cupping my breast in one hand, the callouses of his palm rough against my nipple.

“
Really
try,” I murmur back, teasing.

“You’re not the one who had an awkward hard-on in a hospital gown for three days,” Stone says. “
You
got to go home to a door that closed and jerk off.
I
had to re-do a CT scan because I kept thinking about you, getting an erection, and ruining it.”

I put one hand on his leg. I’m halfway across the center console of my car, and it’s all I can do not to hop onto Stone right now.

“
Especially
since you wouldn’t even give me a hospital hand job,” he says into my ear, and I laugh.

“There was someone new in your room every two minutes, even if I closed the door,” I say.

“I bet they’d have left us alone,” he growls.

“We’re alone now,” I say.

We kiss again, harder and slower, his tongue in my mouth. I run my hand up his leg and over the rock-hard lump in his pants and he groans.

“We should go inside,” I say.

“You mean come inside?” he whispers back.

I laugh, pull back, and get out of the car. Stone insists on carrying the overnight bag I brought with me, and insists on holding his front door open for me.

His living room is still full of boxes, and the futon is still crooked from the
last
time I was here, but he tosses my bag on it and pushes me toward the bedroom with a hand on my lower back.

He shuts the bedroom door behind us and pushes me against it, kissing me again, his hands under my shirt as I hook my fingers under the waist of his jeans and pull him closer.

“You never told me how long ago you moved in here,” I say.

“No, I didn’t,” he says.

“So it’s long enough that you should have unpacked,” I say.

He presses his lips to the spot where my jaw meets my neck, right under my ear, and my eyelids slide close.

“I didn’t have a good reason,” he says, sending a shiver down my spine. “It’s not like I’m used to a high standard of living.”

He moves his mouth along my neck slowly, taking his time, and I bite my lip and slide my arms around his waist, one hand on the hard muscles of his back.

When he reaches the hollow of my throat, he undoes the clasp of my bra and pushes it up over my breasts, running his thumbs over my nipples, and I gasp.

He laughs into my neck, his voice buzzing against my skin.

“God, I like that noise,” he says, and does it again.

This time I moan out loud, a white-hot shiver making its way down my back, a throbbing, pulsing ache between my legs. Stone growls in response, pulls my shirt and bra over my head, and grabs my breasts in both hands, nipples between his rough fingers.

We kiss again, hard, and even though I’m trying not to hurt him I can’t help but lose myself to it, pushing back against him as he drives me wild.

Stone unbuckles my pants and pushes one hand inside, his fingers stroking me. His touch feels electric, and heat surges down through me.

“Say this is for me,” he whispers into my ear, two fingers sliding between my lips.

I lean my head against the door, letting his fingers explore me, and swallow.

“You make me wet as hell,” I say.

My hand is on the skin of his back, under his shirt, and I tighten my fingers against him as his slippery fingers circle my clit.

“You think you’re the only one who got frustrated the last couple days?” I ask.

Stone grins.

“I came this close to wearing a skirt so we could have a hospital bed quickie,” I say.

“Why didn’t you?” he growls.

“I couldn’t find a skirt in time,” I say. “But I went home every night and got myself off thinking about riding your cock on that bed.”

“Fast or slow?”

“Both,” I say.

I slide my other hand over his erection, through his pants, and he groans through his teeth.

“Fast until I’m
just
about to come, and then I’d slow down so I could really feel you,” I say.

“Jesus, Luna, you’re gonna make me come before we even fuck,” he growls. “I’ve never felt the way I do with you.”

I swallow and stop stroking for a moment.

“Horny?” I ask.

He kisses me again and slides his fingers inside me, the heel of his hand against my clit, and I moan.

“Like I’d do
anything
just to feel how wet you are,” he says. “Like the best place in the world is inside you and I can barely think about anything else.”

He kisses me and then I pull his shirt over his head, running my fingers along the tattoos that cover his torso and arms as he moves his fingers inside me.

I undo his jeans and grab his cock. He bites my neck as I stroke it, pushing my pants over my hips and before I know it he’s walking me back toward the bed and pushing me down.

I wrap my legs around his hips, my hands on his shoulders, and squeeze, trying to pull Stone down, but he resists, holding himself up on his good arm. He reaches into his bedside table and comes back with a foil square.

Duh
. Right. Jesus, I want him so bad I almost forgot.

“Consequences, Detective,” he teases.

He rolls the condom on then leans over and kisses me deep again, the tip of his cock just barely grazing my slit, like he’s teasing me.

“What was it you wanted?” he murmurs. “Fast until you’re about to come, and then slow?”

I tighten my legs around his hips, pressing the head of his cock against me even as he resists a little.

“Come on,” I whisper, running my hands down his back. “Don’t make me wait.”

He moves and the head of his cock slides inside me slowly, almost excruciatingly slowly. I gasp and grab his back hard, trying to push him in, but he’s way stronger than me, even now.

“I didn’t say I’d give you everything you want,” he whispers. “You feel fucking perfect, and you moan if I fuck you slow at first.”

I swallow a moan, biting my lip, and Stone rests his head against my shoulder. I swear I can feel every millimeter as he enters me slow, and it’s pure, exquisite, incredible
torture
until he’s buried inside me and kisses my neck.

Finally
, he starts fucking me, and I exhale with sheer relief. My legs are still wrapped around him and I can’t help but arch as he moves faster and faster, harder and harder, his face above mine as his cock hits every pleasure point again and again, the heat building.

“Stone, this is so good,” I gasp.

“I know,” he says. “Jesus, Luna, I know.”

Suddenly he slows for a moment, driving hard and deep as he pushes himself up to kneel, my legs over his shoulders. He thrusts once and then makes a pained face.

I remember he’s still got bruised ribs, so I take my legs off him and roll over, grabbing the headboard.

“Sorry,” he gasps. He brushes my hair off the back of my neck and kisses me there, then moves up my neck to my mouth. I grab his cock and he slides into me as we kiss, me on my knees, my torso half-twisted, my hand in his hair.

“Don’t be sorry,” I murmur. “Just fuck me like you mean it.”

He takes a handful of my hair in his other hand and pulls
just
hard enough.

“When do I not mean it, Luna?” Stone growls.

He grabs my hip with his other hand and thrusts
hard,
so hard I grunt. He does it again and again, hard and fast, and I can hear myself moan but barely know I’m doing it.

“I
always
mean it when we fuck,” he says. “I mean to fuck you deep and thorough and I mean to make you come so hard your eyes roll back in your head, because watching you lose control is sexy as hell.”

“Don’t stop,” I whisper, white heat pulsing inside me, threatening to explode. “
Please
.”

I think the part of my brain that makes sentences has stopped working.

“And seeing you lose control because I’m balls-deep inside you is the best thing I’ve ever done,” Stone goes on.

I make a noise that’s half whimper, half moan, and he tugs on my hair the tiniest bit harder. Somehow, he thrusts even faster and harder, and I brace myself against the wall with one elbow. I feel like I might fly apart if I don’t grab onto
something
.

“Stone, this feels so fucking good,” I whisper.

“You gonna come?” he murmurs.

Then he thrusts deep, pulls my hips back against him, and stops.

“Don’t stop,” I gasp.

I try to move, but he’s holding me too tight.