Damage Me (Crystal Gulf Book 2) (41 page)

“Damage me, Dylan,” I begged, and pressed my lips to his.

It took one second.

One life-altering second to fall for this man. When our fears collided so did our souls. They were intertwined, like the barbed wire atop the prison chain fences. Sharp and painful and perfectly protecting. A wall between the hurt we’ve suffered. A safe place to take a breath and not fear the monsters. His lips created a fog I missed so much. Within this fog, I was a woman who was coveted for all the right reasons. How I felt was my choice. And I felt safe.

With Dylan, I would always be safe.

I kept him upright, and he kissed my hair before I was searched, poked, and prodded. After we were administered the rules, we were seated amongst the other visitors in a cold, sterile room. The entire prison reminded me of a tin, metal can. Hollow, empty, and entrapping. Dylan grabbed my hand and held on when I kept cracking my knuckles. I shrunk away from the man sitting across from us, staring at me intently. There were so many men around me. I’d been avoiding people in general, and now I was in the monster’s den. A breeding ground for darkness. I slid closer to Dylan and grabbed his arm, holding on as tight as I could.

He looked down at me, and I peeked at him. “No one will hurt you.”

“They might.”

“Not with me around. I may not be able to do the tango, but I can still kick some ass.”

For the first time in weeks, I giggled. “You tango?”

He shrugged, fighting his own smile. “I get jiggy with it, if that’s what you mean.”

My mouth made a sound that I’d missed so much it almost brought tears to my eyes. My laughter pinged off the cold walls, catching a few disgruntled stares. To muffle it, I pressed my lips to his shoulder. “And I’m the nerd?”

His lips lifted, and he winked. “You have nerd qualities. Have you ever gotten anything lower than a C?”

I scuffed. “Mom would have killed me if I got anything less than a B+.” At the mention of my mother my smile fell. She wasn’t taking my plans well. If I told her about seeing my father, she would’ve locked me in my room forever and sealed the windows until I was too old to ever leave her again.

“C’s were my A’s,” he continued. “So technically I was an A+ student. Bach was the smart one, although he’d just fart into his beer bottle whenever I pointed it out.”

I gaped at him. “I wasn’t aware farting into beer bottles was an academic achievement.”

With a soft smile, he leaned forward and kissed the space between my eyes. “That’s because you’re too cute to fart.”

My skin heated. “Dylan.”

“I bet they sound like a bell toll and sprinkles shoot out of that full round ass like we’re at a birthday party.”

“No such thing happens.”

He was on the edge of laughing. It was odd to be able to find something amusing while my world fell apart. That’s what this man did. He lifted my lips when I couldn’t remember what smiling felt like.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he allowed. “But you’re not upset anymore, so I’ll take it. Are you nervous?”

I nodded, resting on him. “If I think too hard about it I’ll run. I can’t run away. I have to meet him at least once. After that, he can be what he’s always been. A painful myth.”

“When we get home I’m going to do my best to make you forget.”

“How?” I wondered, because I already wanted to.

“First, I’m going to take your clothes off. I’ve been dreaming about your body for weeks. I’ll leave your panties on because they’re probably boy shorts, aren’t they?”

“Mhm.”

“What color?”

“Pink.”

“Of course they are. I’d leave them on and lay you down. I’d want them wet first. Soaking wet before I took them off. I’d tease you until I could smell your want, until I couldn’t help myself, and then I’d make you watch as I took them off. You want me to take them off?”

“All the way off.”

“After they were I’d open your legs wide so I can see your golden pussy.” His words were this quiet deep whisper in my brain.

“Do you like my hair?” I’d never thought of shaving.

“Don’t interrupt me.” His lips kissed my forehead. “And yes. I love it. I’d put your legs on my shoulders before I tasted you. You’d be creamy for me, wouldn’t you?”

I scrunched up my nose. “Creamy? Dylan—”

“Yes or no?”

“Of course I would. I am right now.” I squirmed to relieve the desire tingling between my thighs. My panties were probably damp.

“You’re always such a good girl. Always be my good girl. Always,” he pleaded, whispering his demand straight to my brain. “May I continue?”

“Hurry.”

“Your pussy would be creamy, dripping, soaking wet because of me. I’d clean that up first before I tasted where it came from. Tease that tight pussy before I tasted your—”

“Hillary Hayes and Dylan Meyer!”

Both our heads snapped up from our sexy, intoxicating bubble. I was thrust back to reality. I wasn’t sure I liked it there.

With a fiery blush, I helped Dylan to his feet.

“Come with me,” the guard said, expression empty, uniform starched, gun on his hip. “Do not touch the inmate. If you do your hour will be cut short, and I will escort you out. Have a seat.” He waved a hand in the visiting room. “They’ll be out shortly.”

This was really happening.

Nineteen years spent wanting this man.

Wanting a man who gave me nothing.

Hurt my brother.

Used my mother.

What was I doing here?

I lost my cool just as a man came into the room. He was tall, like Bach. He had dark brown hair, like Bach. He was devastatingly handsome, like Bach. With a strong jaw peppered with stubble and eyes so sea green they looked fluorescent, like Bach. Standing before me was the most stunning monster I’d ever met. It made me think that he was a predator. A stunning trap to lure good people in.

And he looked just like me minus our hair.

When he saw me, he blinked, the way I would at a complete and utter stranger. He looked around the room and then kept going, searching for his daughter.

“Over here, dipshit.” Dylan glared so profusely at my father it chilled my blood. “The beautiful blond.”

My dad chuckled, this deep gravely sound.

I was hearing my dad’s voice. Instead of warming me it chilled me.

“Mitch know you talk like that, boy?”

I leaned over and puked. All over the prison visiting room floor. His accent was thick dark and country. A ghost story whispered around a campfire at night.

“Happy to see you too, baby doll.”

I retched as he sat down across from me.

“What’s up, Tyler?” There was no warmth in Dylan’s greeting.

“Oh, you know. Inmate in this fine prison. Keep up the good work boys.” I raised my head in time to watch him give the guard a thumbs’ up.

Our eyes locked. I saw no love in them. No joy. Nothing except a small glimmer of curiosity and gross disinterest.

He raised his eyebrow after a few seconds. “You ever hear you got one hell of a pair of eyes.”

I sat there immobile, trapped.

“Let me help you out, Tyler. ‘
Hello, Hillary’
would work.”

Tyler—because he wasn’t my father—grinned. “You know where Pat got that name?”

I shook my head, caught.

Don’t say it
.

“I picked it out.”

I stared, breaking.

“Because it’s my mom’s name. Want to know why I picked her?”

No
.

He leaned forward and whispered. “I didn’t love her either. Is that why you’re here? Because you think I care? You ever wonder why I haven’t contacted you?”

“Whelp, that lasted longer than I thought it would. Let’s go, Hill.” Dylan started to rise.

“No. It’s all right.” I looked my father in the eye. “I’ve waited nineteen years for this. Shut your mouth while I talk.”

Tyler raised one eyebrow but heeded my warning.

“My name is Hillary because it’s my name. It’s a beautiful name because of me, not you. Second of all, I don’t love you either. I could never love a monstrous, drug addict, abuser who hurt my brother and my mother and who knows who else. Third, don’t call my mother Pat. You don’t know her. Don’t pretend you do. Fourth, thank you. Thank you for being the piece of shit you are because my mother did her best to make me better. She succeeded. I. Am. Amazing. And it isn’t thanks to you. And last, I forgive myself for ever wanting you.”

Tyler Bachmen yawned and sat back, glancing at the vending machine. “You bring any money?”

“My turn,” Dylan spoke up. “Bach—” His head snapped up. “Yeah, you remember your son? The one you beat? The one who you tried to kill? The same Bach who survived? My best damn friend? He won. He beat you worse than you ever beat him. He is a better man than you will ever be. He got out, he’ll get married, he’ll have kids, he’ll be the best damn father, because you weren’t. While you rot like the disgusting worthless demon you are, he’ll live.”

Tyler’s eyes filled with a spark of emotion.

It wasn’t guilt or sadness. It was pure, unadulterated rage. It was watching a demon shed his skin and show the world his darkness.

“Where is that pathetic little shit?”

“Bach is not pathetic. You are. You are the only shit in this room.”

Tyler sat back and scratched his jaw, looking so much like my brother and I it made me sad. But looks were looks. A physical attribute did not make you better or less; this proved it. I clung to my features, wanting so much to look like this man. It wasn’t a choice to look the way we looked, but it was our choice to be the way we were. I would take my face, but that’s it. That’s all I’d take from this man. Everything else I had was from my mother, and that was far more beautiful.

“I spent all my life wanting you,” I informed him. “But I won’t spend the rest of it doing the same thing. Let’s go, Dylan.”

“Tell Bach my only mistake was not watching to make sure he burned!” he called, cackling like the lifeless spawn he was.

We gave no reply.

Together Dylan and I walked out of that prison together. He held my hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it. “You okay?”

I nodded, eyes on the horizon. “I will be.”

“I know,” he said. “You want to know why?”

“Why?”

“Because everything you said was true. You’re amazing, Hillary. You’re good when people are bad. You’re sweet when no one else was. You’re the strongest woman I know, even if you don’t think you are. You are one of the most stunning people I’ve ever met, and I’m so thankful you chose my lap to fall on.”

My heart expunged my father from my soul, and in its place was a chance to love someone who might actually love me back.

It took a while for us to make it. We paused to take breaks and held each other, but we left Tyler and the prison behind together.

And when we crawled into Bach’s truck, I met his eyes and nodded once, showing him that our father was gone for good.

We were better because of that.

We would win because Tyler had tried to beat us.

We would survive.

Chapter Eleven

Dylan

When Bach drove away from that prison, I felt something shift.

It was in the air. It rushed over me and left me breathless. It was silent in the truck, but that silence fed on the shift. I felt the boys Bach and I had been leaving us for good. The boys who had fought to find a place in this world were finally at peace because the men we were now made it that way. We won. Our parents gave us no chance, yet we made it, still. The absence of myself was gratifyingly painful. I wanted to reach around and bring him back—that boy got me this far—but if I did he would also prevent me from being the man I think I wanted to be.

A man who didn’t hurt so much, who learned how to handle that hurt without hurting others, and who earned his daughter’s smiles instead of her tears.

I wanted to be the man who deserved the woman in the backseat.

“I love you.”

Impossible words from an impossible woman. There’s no way she loved me. But I had to admit to myself that her admission might have had something to do with the shift. My insides felt less weighed down, as if having her love was far less frightening than I feared it would be.
If
her love was real. How could it be? All my life love was this thing in movies and books. It was a fun fantasy people lived inside of to comfort their selves. When I had my daughter, I knew I’d been wrong. Love was a healing force. It moved inside of your soul and scabbed over the wounds. In a way, Aubrey, Harley, Hillary, and Bach, helped me find love again.

These people were my family, my new family, and I’d do anything to keep them. Without them, I was lost.

“Houston or Crystal Gulf?” Bach asked.

He wasn’t asking me. I held my breath, waiting for my good girl to make one more deal.

“Houston,” her soft voice answered, giving me one more chance.

I closed my eyes and let the feeling wash over me. I was going to do this again. Another woman who could leave me empty. Another relationship, more trust, and one more chance to do this right. This was my chance.

“Let me tell Harley.” Bach pulled into the apartment complex and sighed.

I smirked. “You sound afraid.”

“She’s got a mean right hook.”

Hillary exited the truck soundlessly, waiting beside me as I did the same. She looked on the edge, this quiet, broken thing that needed to be held. Together we traveled the path to the apartment. Feeling her beside me made it easier to walk. It was taking a step knowing she would be there if I fell. When we stepped inside, she stopped and stared, open-mouthed at the apartment.

I couldn’t help it. I leaned over and snagged her bottom lip between my teeth, tugging on in it gently. She exhaled into my mouth, sending a wave of sweetness against my tongue. “Can I show you your room?”

She frowned, pulling back to touch her lip. “
My
room?”

She chose Houston. I could choose this. “Our room?”

Her soft smile made my cock hard. “Who knew you could be a good boy too.”