Dirty Past (18 page)

“Oh shit!”

“Didn’t you tell him?” I shriek quietly. Kind of.

“Tell me what?”

“Nothin’, hon. Nothin’.” Sofie shoves her wrist under the table.

“Are you kidding? He’s going to find out. Man up, chicken!” I point my—much-loved—wineglass at her.

“I, er, I got a tattoo.”

“You did what?” Conner asks slowly, staring at her with disbelief radiating from his eyes.

“I got a tattoo.” She holds her wrist up and smiles weakly.

Conner rubs his hand across his forehead. “Okay. You, Sofie Callahan, who whimpers when she gets prodded by her two-year-old’s finger, got a tattoo? The same Sofie Callahan who cried for an hour when she broke her arm?”

“I was nine!” she snaps indignantly. “And I fractured it in four places, no thanks to you.”

“Tate pushed you out of the tree, not me.”

“Tate pushed you out of a tree?” My mouth drops open.

A deep chuckle sounds behind me. “Man, that was fuckin’ hilarious until her brother gave me a black eye.”

“No, that’s when it got real funny,” Sofie retorts.

“Can I see it?” Conner asks.

“Huh?”

“Your tattoo?” His tone clearly asks if she’s drunk or not.

“Oh!”

“You got a tattoo?” Tate laughs. “Oh shit.”

Sofie narrows her eyes and pulls back the dressing to reveal the simple script spelling Mila’s name with a tiny heart below the “a.”

“Cute,” Tate says. “Not for me, but cute.”

Sofie pokes out her tongue and turns to Conner at the same time Tate turns to me. “Does that mean you got one, too?”

“I was forced into getting one,” I correct him.

He stops. “You got a tattoo?”

“I’ve heard that question way too many times in the last two minutes.” I sip my wine.

“Seriously? Did you?”

I glance at him sideways and notice the upturn of his lips. “Yes.”

“Can I see?”

“I guess.” I ease the shoulder of my shirt down and hold it while he slowly peels back the dressing.

“Oh, Els,” he breathes softly.

I glance at my shoulder blade, but the black letters are a blur to me. It doesn’t matter, though, because I know the words perfectly.

Fear nothing.

“So I can remember when I get scared,” I whisper.

Tate stares at the ink for a long moment before gently covering it back up. Then he takes my shirt from my grip, eases it over my shoulder, and turns me into him.

“Good thinkin’, darlin’,” he says softly, cupping the side of my face and bringing me into him.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it. It’s also sexy as fuck.”

I look up at him through my lashes. Of course, to Tate, it is.

I
rifle through my purse to make sure I have everything before I get in the car and go to the arena with the guys. Since New Orleans is a midweek concert, something they don’t do very often, every rehearsal is at the stadium instead of at the hotel. Really, they should all be at the arenas, but as they’ll tell you, they’re garage-boy dreamers at heart still. So no one argues.

“Pen, paper, phone, wallet, water, gum . . .”

“Shit, Ella. You got the kitchen sink in there?” Aidan peers over my shoulder.

“Maybe the bathroom one,” I reply, rifling through it. “Shit. I forgot my tablet with your schedules and stuff on it. Here.” I thrust my open purse into Kye’s arms and step back. “I’m just gonna run upstairs and get it.”

“Ella . . .”

I stare at Ajax. “Literally two minutes, okay? It’s on the coffee table. I forgot to grab it. Straight in, straight out.”

“I forgot Mila’s binky,” Sofie cuts in. “I’ll go up with her.”

“Oh, yes, Ms. Tough Girl,” Aidan snorts.

“Your balls, my hands, a blender,” she shoots over her shoulder, jabbing the elevator button.

“All right,” Ajax sighs. “But I’m standin’ here and timing your asses, so move.”

I give him a sassy salute just before the elevator doors shut. Sofie giggles and digs around in her shorts for her room key and I spin mine between my fingers.

“Here. One minute.” She grins, swiping the card.

“Deal.” I swipe mine and push the door open. Tucking the card into my back pocket, I walk toward the coffee table, where I can see the tablet sitting.

The door swings shut.

The harsh scent of cologne wafts toward me, and the air inside me shifts from free breath to a constricted gasp.

I freeze.

“Ella.”

No. No. No. This is impossible.

“Aren’t you gonna turn around and say ‘hi, babe’? Or have you forgotten me already?”

“Like I could,” I whisper, standing up straight and slowly turning. “How did you get in here?”

Matthew leans against the doorframe casually, as if he hasn’t broken into Tate’s room. My room. “Tried to get into the hotel in Atlanta but they refused me instantly, and I knew your new buddy had his security all over it. So I drove here. Didn’t shave for a few days, did my hair a little different, put on some glasses, and checked in before you did. Wasn’t that hard if you’re not an idiot.”

My mouth is dry, and my heart, oh god, my heart. It’s pounding frantically, threatening to spill from my chest.

“Didn’t expect to find you
fucking
that bastard though, did I, Ella? I didn’t expect to find your fucking bag in his bedroom and your fucking toothbrush next to his by the sink.”

I step back, my arms going around my waist. His jaw is tight, and the vein on the side of his neck is bulging, and oh, I know this look, and it doesn’t end well.

“I didn’t expect to come here to get
my
motherfucking fiancée back home and find her whoring herself to some fucked-up white-trash asshole.” He advances toward me, his fists clenched at his sides, anger radiating off of him and bouncing from surface to surface until it’s suffocating me. “I didn’t think
my
fucking girl would stoop so low as to shack up with a lowlife piece of shit!”

“I’m not yours!” I snarl, backing away from him. “Not anymore. I’m not your girl, I’m not your fiancée, and I’m sure as hell never going to be your fucking wife!”

His fist flies at me faster than I can blink, and I fall into the wall.

Several beats pass, and then, “You wanna fucking rephrase that, Ella?” Matthew pins me to the wall by my upper arms. “You wanna reiterate who you belong to?”

My eyes travel from the door to his steely, light brown gaze. “Never in a million years.”

He slams me against the wall, and I cry out at the sharp jolt of pain that radiates from my shoulders to the top of my backside.

“You sure, babe? Because I don’t give a shit how many times he’s had his dick in you, you’re still fucking mine.”

“I never slept with him!”

“Liar!” He hits me again, and this time, I taste a drop of blood from inside my cheek. “Your fucking
panties
are on the floor!”

“He stays on the sofa. I changed and forgot to pick them up,” I lie again, keeping my eyes on the floor.

I’m trembling, everywhere, because I’m falling back, back into the past, back into fear. Back into submission and subordination, into what he wants to hear, because he scares me. He fucking terrifies me.

He shoves me against the wall again, but my head slams into the hard surface, and I scream as the pain radiates across my scalp.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” He grabs my jaw and holds my face still, keeping my hands clasped in his tight grip. “Did you really fucking think you could run out on me four days before our wedding and I’d let you go? That I’d let some fucking dickhead touch my girl? Fuck her? Make her his?”

I stare at him, shaking, because my jaw is hurting so much I can’t speak.

“Did you?!” he roars, sliding his hand to my neck.

I shake my head the tiniest amount.

“Good. Because now you’re gonna call that bitch who came upstairs with you and tell her you’re feeling sick and you’re gonna have a nap before you meet them. Then you’re gonna pack your worthless shit, and you’re gonna get your worthless slut ass the fuck downstairs and into my car so I can take you home, where you belong.” He leans in close. “The world will think that trash you shacked up with beat you and I saved the fuckin’ day, then you’re gonna marry me and we’ll live happily ever fuckin’ after, but not until you’ve got a bruise for every time you let his cock inside you.” His breath heats my cheek, and I cringe, turning away. “So tell me, how many do I owe you, babe? One? Two? Five?”

“Didn’t you hear me earlier?” I whisper, ignoring the sting in my jaw and looking into his eyes defiantly. “I’m not marrying you. Ever.”

He releases my hands and his fist connects with the side of my head. I wince at the searing pain running through my forehead, and before I even realize it, my hands.

I lash out at him with everything I have, ignoring every ache and sting and slice of pain. Ignoring the burn spreading through my body and the tinge of blood in my mouth. I fight. I shove at his chest and scratch at his face and struggle in his hold.

With everything I’ve got, I fight.

“You’re mine and you are fucking marrying me, you dirty whore,” Matthew growls, his hand once again at my neck, but this time, it’s tighter.

And I can’t breathe.

“Not in my fuckin’ lifetime, she ain’t!” Tate bursts through the door, and in half a second, Matthew is dragged off of me. “Get your fuckin’ hands off Els, asshole!”

Tate

Red. I see red. I see motherfucking red.

My fist flies into his face and the crunch of his nose is satisfying. But it ain’t enough—his jaw, arms, legs, every bit of this bastard needs fucking fracturing so he knows.

“She’s fucking mine.” He launches himself at me.

My response is another punch, this time to his chest, and it knocks him back. The slimy fuck looks up at me and smirks.

I’m gonna wipe it right off his fuckin’ face.

Three pairs of hands grab my arms and hold me back at the same time Ajax grabs the shit who just had his hands on my Els.

“Get the fuck off me,” I growl, struggling against their hold on me.

“Calm the fuck down!” Aidan says.

“Then get him out of my sight before I fuckin’ kill him!”

“Ajax,” Kye says.

He nods once and drags the piece of shit out of the room.

“Now,” Conner says, watching Carlos shut the door after Ajax and five of his boys. “You gonna sit the fuck down and behave or have I gotta punch you, too?”

I shove my brothers off me and turn around. Ella. I need to see Ella. I need to make sure . . .

Fuck!

Her eye is swollen, blood is dripping from the corner of her mouth¸ and she can hardly move. Sofie is holding her up, and she’s leaning into her, but she’s looking at me.

And she’s scared.

Of him, yeah.

But of me, too.

It’s in her fucking eyes.

“Els,” I whisper.

“Tate,” Sofie says softly. I look at her, and she shakes her head. “Kye, help me take Ella into my room and clean her up.”

“No!” The protest bursts from me. No. I fucking look after her. I protect her. I clean her up when shit gets bad, because nothing else feels right. Nothing else but a bad day ending with her in my arms makes sense to me. Nothing else but her soft voice whispering “fear nothing” to herself, thinking I don’t hear, will ever be right to me.

“Yes.” The word is barely audible, but it’s there, and it’s from Ella. “Kye, please.”

“C’mere.” Kye lifts her, and she cries out in pain. I step forward, but Conner darts in front of me.

“Let her go, bro,” he says quietly. “Sof’s got her.”

I stare as my brother disappears through the doorway, carrying my fucking girl, my fucking broken girl.

The anger boils over, and I swipe my hand at the lamp on the side table. It falls to the floor, shattering, and I slam my fist into the wall.

“Fuck! How the fuck did he get in here?” I shout at the security guys. “Lucas! You’re supposed to be on her fuckin’ ass! Always! How the fuck did he get into my fuckin’ room and why was he fuckin’ alone with her?”

“Sit the hell down!” Aidan grabs me and slams me onto the sofa. “Get up and I’m gonna punch you. I don’t give a shit. The only thing savin’ you right now is that you’re bleeding from four places on your goddamn face.”

“How the fuck did he get in here?”

“Pipe the fuck down so we can find out.” Conner sits on the coffee table in front of me. “Lucas. Talk.”

“It’s on me.” Ajax walks through the door. “Girls needed to come grab somethin’. This place was meant to be safe. They shoulda been able to come up here to grab shit and get back down without any trouble.”

“You’re the head of the goddam security and you let this happen?” I try to stand up, but Aidan shoves me straight back onto the sofa.

Lucas hands me a shot of whiskey he hastily poured from the minibar, and I throw it to the back of my throat. The searing burn of it going down is better than the throb of my lower lip and the full-body ache from knowing that Ella is next door, hurting, and I can’t do a damn thing about it.

That I didn’t do a damn thing to protect her.

“My mistake. I fucked up. But like everyone else, I thought this place was safe.”

“So how did he get into the hotel?” Conner beats me to it. “Because if Tate doesn’t find out soon, shit’s gonna get crazy.”

“I’m bettin’ only one person knows that, and she’s next door.”

Aidan pulls out his phone and taps the screen several times. He pauses for a minute, the heavy silence and distinct scent of blood lingering in the air. “Kye said he got turned away in Atlanta and came here. Checked in under a fake name and changed his appearance slightly before we even turned up.”

“He’s been here the whole fuckin’ time?” He’s been in this hotel. Watching her. Watching us. Waiting for the moment he could get near her.

He’s been so fuckin’ close to her, right after she said she needed space.

My girl’s need for freedom trapped her worse than before.

And because of him and my hot-shit temper, she fears me.

I bury my face in my hands. “Fuck.”

“Let’s clean you up,” Conner says, getting up.

“Fuck off,” I reply. “I wanna . . . I wanna be alone.”

“Tate,” Ajax says from the doorway. I look across the room into his warm eyes. “I’m sorry. Truly. I fucked up.”

“We all did,” Lucas adds. “You made the call, but I was standin’ right next to you, boss. I coulda fought you, and I didn’t.”

“Where is he?”

“In his car. My boys are at every entrance and exit and they’re inside and outside Sofie’s room. Will be outside here, too. He ain’t getting near her again, and if he does, I’ll break his legs my-fuckin’-self,” Ajax answers.

“Good. Now get the fuck out and make sure all y’all don’t fuck shit up again.”

“Noted. You want me to call the cops?”

“Not my call. It’s hers. I’ll go along with whatever she decides to do.”

The door shuts, and I rip my shirt off. Silence envelops me, but not in a good way. In a heavy, oppressing way. The kind of way that suffocates the shit out of you because everything is so strong you can’t breathe through it.

It feels an awful lot like a broken heart and broken promises.

I promised her. I promised her so many fucking times that he’d never hurt her again. I promised her she was safe with me. I promised her I’d never let him get anywhere near her.

But he did. She wasn’t. I did.

He had his fists in her face, maybe all over her body. He had his hand around her fucking neck and his fingers in her hair, pulling, trying to break her. Trying to shatter her into doing whatever the hell he wanted her to do.

Thank fuck Sofie is smarter than she gets credit for and knew something was up.

Thank fuck for that sharp-tongued, crazy-ass blonde.

But I can still see her. Ella. When she looked at me. The fear. I’ve never seen anyone look so scared of anything in my life. She wasn’t just scared—she was petrified. If she wasn’t so obviously in pain I’d bet anything she was immobilized by her fear.

And that . . . seeing her look at me, fearing me . . . It means I broke every single damn promise I made her.

That’s the biggest punch to the motherfucking gut I’ll ever get.

“B
aby,” she whispers raggedly, wiping a warm, wet cloth over my temple. “What did he do to you?”

I open my eyes and stare into two very sad, very heartbroken, dark brown eyes. Through my sleepy haze, I see that one is ringed with purple. It slices through me, because she’s hurt, yet she’s here, worrying about me. “Worry about you, Els. I can take care of myself.”

“Obviously not,” she replies, dipping the cloth into something then wringing it out. “You’re covered in hours-old blood, Tate.” She brings the cloth to my mouth. “This might sting.”

I hiss as she tenderly wipes all the dried blood from my lips and chin. It takes a few minutes because she’s being so fucking gentle, afraid to hurt me more.

“Els . . .”

She sits back on her heels and looks down. “I have a fat lip, sore shoulders, a killer headache, and what looks like the black eye to end all black eyes. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before, except this time you can see some of it.”

“You say that like it makes it fuckin’ okay.”

“I’m hopped-up on pain meds that I’m pretty sure have to be prescribed, so you probably shouldn’t take what I just said as fact.” She shrugs and climbs onto the sofa next to me. “Hold still, will you?”

I stare at her as she continues to clean my face. She’s right—her right eye is so swollen she can only open it halfway, and the purple color around it doesn’t do much to prove it’s just a knock. Her top lip is cut open a little at the side, and it’s slightly fat, but it’s not so swollen that it’ll be there in a week or so like mine feels it will.

“I think you broke his nose,” she mutters hopefully.

“Shoulda been his fuckin’ neck.”

She holds the bloody cloth in her hands and nods. “Yes.”

“Ella.”

“Don’t call me Ella.” She finally brings her eyes to mine. “Everyone else can, but not you. I’m not Ella to you. I never have been. It’s always Els.”

“Els,” I correct softly, a small smile at my mouth. I reach up and cup the side of her face that isn’t swollen.

She turns her cheek into me and squeezes her eyes shut. She takes one long, slow, deep breath, then shudders, and a tear drips from the corner of her eye.

“Oh, darlin’.” I sit up and pull her onto my lap and lean back against the sofa. She curls herself into me, gripping me tightly, and cries silently. The only evidence the tears are still flowing is the small hiccup she makes every minute or so and the shudders that rack her body in between them.

“I was so scared,” she breathes, resting her non-bruised cheek against my bare chest. “I was so scared that he would go too far. When his hand was at my neck, Tate, I was . . .” She shudders again. “I was scared he would kill me.”

I shake my head and hold her tightly, careful not to hurt her. “Never. He never would have, baby. I would have killed him first.”

“I believe you.”

“You were scared of me.”

She sits up and pins me with her gaze. Her gorgeous, dark, tear-rimmed gaze. “That’s what you thought?” Horror laces her whisper.

“I saw it, Els. In your eyes. You wouldn’t let me help you, darlin’. I . . .” I swallow when the words catch.

“No! No no no!” She presses her unbruised cheek against mine, then pulls back, gripping my hair. “No. I was scared
for
you, you big dumbass. You were covered in blood, everywhere, and I didn’t know what he’d done to you. I just . . . I looked at you, and you weren’t you. You were bleeding because of me. You were bleeding for me, Tate. I was so scared for you, and . . .” She pauses. “I looked at you again, and it was wrong, and it shouldn’t have happened, but staring at you like that, willing to get hurt for me, I . . . I have the worst timing ever, because then I realized you meant everything you’ve said, and I maybe fell a little bit in love with you.”

Her final whispered words cut right through me. “Shit. Els.” I guide my fingers into the back of her hair and pull her in to me. Fuck. “Blind rage, darlin’. That’s what I felt when I saw that motherfucker near you. I didn’t go for him to get him off you. I went to kill him. For touchin’ you like that . . . Fuck no, Els. Fucking hell no. No one touches my girl like that. No one.” I ghost my lips across her bruised temple. “And, hell, darlin’, maybe I’m a little bit in love with you, too, but I don’t have a fuckin’ clue what it feels like. All I know is that I’ll kill every motherfucker who tries to hurt you, and that you really are never leavin’ my goddamn side ever again. And if that’s what you call a little bit in love, then I guess I’m a little bit in love with you.”

She holds me tightly, winces, then pulls back. “Ouch.”

“You okay?”

“My back hurts. There goes that nice moment.”

I smile and touch my lips to her forehead. “You want some painkillers?”

“I don’t know what Ajax gave me earlier,” she replies. “But vodka would probably have the same effect.”

She smiles weakly, but it still has her Ella-spark in it. The one that’s infectious and makes me grin like a fucking lunatic every time I see it. I’d be grinning now if . . .

“Dammit, Tate. You split your lip open.” She grabs the cloth and presses it to my mouth. “Stop smiling.”

“Can’t help it,” I mumble against the wet material. “Stop bein’ so fuckin’ cute.”

“Stop talking.” She smiles softly and dabs at my lip. “Here. Dab with the tissue paper to dry it up.”

I nod my head and do as I’m told.

“You want some water?” I shake my head. “A beer?” Head shake. “Vodka?” Head shake. “What?”

I stare at her.

“Tate.”

“You told me not to talk, darlin’.” I smirk with the good side of my mouth. “And whiskey. I need it after that.”

“Whiskey for you, vodka for me,” she mutters, opening the minibar and pulling out two bottles.

“You had painkillers. You ain’t havin’ vodka.”

Defiantly, Ella unscrews the cap on the bottle and tips it back. “Bite me.”

“I will. Just as soon as it won’t split my lip.”

She laughs into her hand. “Promise?”

“Yeah, darlin’. And I’m gonna keep this one.”

“You better.”