Grit (Dirty #6) (10 page)

Eighteen

Rocky

“Hey,” I murmur as Link slides into the bed behind me. His body is cool, a sure sign he’s been out. I don’t like the idea that I slept through him leaving. He should have told me. He always does—ever since I woke up to Bates inside his house. “Where were you?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I needed to get some air.”

From nightmares to insomnia. He’s stressed, and it’s taking a toll on him. It makes my stomach churn. My heart aches for him. I wish I could take his worry away, but I know I’m the one causing half of it.

I roll over, swinging my leg over his hip. “Just tell me next time, okay? I like knowing when you leave… Just in case.”

He nods stiffly. “
Fuck
. I’m sorry. I should have. I didn’t think. I just didn’t want to disturb you. You’ve been so tired lately.” His hand slips onto my stomach, fingers splayed over my hipbone. “That’s this little one’s fault.”

“More research?”

He shrugs. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Yeah, I know
.

I pull his head down until his lips meet mine. We both need tender care right now. Link kisses me, his tongue brushing over mine slowly, sensually. I move in closer, forming myself to him. In this position, with my leg over his waist, I can feel his cock grow hard, pressing into me.

“You taste like mint chocolate chip,” I murmur, going in for another kiss, savoring him.

“Grasshopper pie. I got hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.”

“Right now, all I want to eat is you.”

“You’re always horny, too,” I add as if I’m not hot for him all the time.

He chuckles, teeth nipping at my chin. “Guilty.”

He begins a leisurely stroll, nibbling and licking his way down my neck, over my chest, across my stomach, coming to a stop at my sleep shorts. His fingers caress back and forth under the length of the hem. He drags them down, sweeping them off my legs and onto the floor. And then he does the same slow show of devouring me as he moves back up.

He spreads my legs, positioning one on each side of his shoulders, and glides his tongue along my inner thigh. I moan, knowing what’s coming next.

Me. I’m going to be coming next.

Strong, long fingers hook around my hips, holding me to the bed as he lowers his mouth to my pussy. He starts with deliberately relaxed strokes over my clit to get me going. He knows how my body runs. Each spot that makes me groan. Each touch that can make me scream.

My pulse hammers in my throat, chest rising and falling with my quickened breath. I love this torture. I will never get enough of it. I’ll never get enough of this man. This gorgeous, damaged, protective man. Everything I have gone through in my life—all the good and the horrible—it was worth it to bring me right here to him.

He moves lower, sure to sample every inch. His tongue pushes inside of me and I jerk violently, locking onto his hair. He knows I need more, but he draws it out, giving me the maximum amount of pleasure.

His fingers replace his tongue and he sucks on my clit gently, adding more and more friction until elation trembles through my entire body.

His mouth drags upward, sliding over my torso as I come down from my euphoric high. I reach into his boxers, freeing his hard cock. He’s hot and heavy and silky smooth in my hand, and I know how good he’s going to feel inside my body. I guide him in, sighing in gratification as he fills me.

Link’s head falls to the space between my neck and shoulder, his warm breath sliding over my skin. “You feel so good. Always. It’s always so fucking good with you.”

I know what he means. It’s always been amazing—from the very first time. I think it’s because this isn’t just sex for either of us. It never was, though that’s what we both thought we were looking for.

Fresh desire courses through me. That longing for the connection I only know with Linken Elliot. I cup his perfect ass in my palms, encouraging him to go faster, push
harder
. He complies, giving me exactly what I want, and I cry out his name as he sends me into ecstasy for the second time tonight.

~*~

Another delivery arrives for me Monday afternoon just as I’m hanging up with the doctor’s office after scheduling an appointment. Two roses, one light and one dark pink. The vase is a slim clear-pebbled glass with pearl marbles lining the bottom. I’m unsure of the significance of pink roses, so I look it up on Link’s ancient office computer.

Dark pink roses are an indication of gratitude. He’s thanking me, for what, I don’t know.

Light pink roses symbolize admiration and poetic romance. I have even less of an idea what he could be admiring me for.

Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Maybe they don’t mean a thing. Maybe they’re just flowers.

I exit out of the tab and decide to clear my search. It’d be my luck that Link would see it and think I assumed more than he was trying to say. As I pull down the recent history, bile rises in my throat. Garrett’s name is there, black and bold.

All three guys are busy with clients, so I click on it, pulling up the info on my rapist. It’s the dating profile we had already looked over a couple of months back. I don’t understand why Link would read this again. And then I notice the profile has been deactivated—as of yesterday.

My cell rings, startling me. I click off the Internet before picking up my phone. The number on the screen is unfamiliar. Probably a telemarketer.

“Hello?”

“Rocky Cutrone?”

“Speaking,” I say as I sway the office chair back and forth with the tip of my shoe.

“Hello, Miss Cutrone, this is Jennifer Mosley. I’m the attorney representing Carter Bates.”

My voice gives out when I try to reply. Why? That’s what I want to ask. Why is she calling me? What does she want?

“I’m sorry to disturb you—I’ll be brief. My client has asked me to get in touch with you and inform you of a proposal he’d like to make.”

My fingers curl around the arm of the chair. My head is light, filled with angry pressure. I clear my throat twice before I can get a response out. “A proposal?”

“Yes,” she continues. If she hears the edge in my voice, she ignores it. “Though I have advised him against it, he is willing to change his plea to guilty and forgo a trial. However, it’s on the condition that you allow him to add you to his approved visitor list, and that you come in to speak with him.”

I can’t form a coherent thought for several seconds, then they all come crashing in at once. He’ll plead guilty. No trial. I won’t have to testify. Link won’t have to testify.

“He’ll plead guilty to all charges?”

“The prosecutor has agreed to drop the breaking and entering charge, but he’ll plead guilty to the others.
If
you come in to speak with him.”

“How can I trust that he’ll actually do it?”

“I have the paperwork filled out. All I have to do is submit it. We can arrange a date and time. I’ll stay long enough to verify you showed, then I will leave, immediately submitting the plea change.” She pauses and I try to think this through.

“There’s a deadline. Forty-eight hours.”

This is just one more way for Bates to have the upper hand and control me. There has to be something in this for him. There’s no way he’s doing it out of the kindness of his heart. It’s not possible—he doesn’t have one.

“What’s in this for him?” I ask.

“He says closure. I’ll be honest with you, Miss Cutrone, this is not something I have ever come across in my fourteen years practicing law. The accused requesting to meet with the victim, yes, but not bargaining a plea to get it. You can say no, and honestly, I think you should.”

“But then he continues with the not guilty bullshit and we go to trial.”

“Yes.”

I inhale deeply, filling my lungs. I hold it in, rubbing at my forehead. I should say no.
I know I should say no
. But there’s nothing more Bates can do to me. He’s in jail. There will be guards, and the payoff is definitely worth a few minutes of discomfort.

Link will never have to know.

“I’ll give him five minutes,” I utter. “Tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock.”

Part Three

Life is a Story

(Mine is still being written.)

Nineteen

Link

“Arms in,” I remind Larson. “Protect your middle.” The kid’s a good boxer, but he’s young and his inexperience shows in the little mistakes. The little mistakes are what cost you. One small slip can fuck you all up. That’s why his dad pays me a pretty penny to work with him.

I cross my arms over my chest, watching him spar with Joe. He’s quick, his footwork is impressive, and he has a mean right hook. In a year or two, this kid could potentially go pro. He’d be the first of my clients. It adds to my determination.

I’ve been thinking about the future a lot lately. If Larson can go pro, it could bring a lot more business to the gym. More business means more money. More money, more stability. I want to offer Rocky and the baby a safe and stable life.

Joe doesn’t take it easy on Larson for a second. He purposely goes after all his weaknesses.

“Watch your left,” I instruct. “Once your opponent finds a weak spot, he’ll keep coming at it. Over and over. Don’t ever show it. If he finds it—anticipate that he’ll take advantage. Surprise him. Never let him get you twice.”

“LINK,” Augie shouts from across the gym. His head swings to look at one of the TVs in front of the ellipticals. “You’re on the news.”

My eyes flick over to the screen. A picture of Olivia and me is displayed in the upper corner, a news anchor filling the rest of the area. I move toward it slowly, almost afraid to know what’s being said.

The image flips, Aaron Woods’ photo now the only focus. My stomach knots, an invisible fist pounding at my insides.

No.

No.

No.

The image shifts again, another anchor standing near a group of trees, microphone in hand, and the river flowing behind her. I grab the back of my neck.

Fuck.

No.

NO.

“The body that washed up here in a trunk two days ago has positively been identified as Aaron Woods.

“Woods was wanted for questioning in the 2010 rape and murder of Olivia Haydon and stabbing assault of Linken Elliot.

“Steven Morrison, one of the four suspects, committed suicide earlier this year, breaking this case wide open.

“Gregory Anthony gave a full confession, implicating himself along with Woods, Morrison, and Carter Bates in the crimes against Haydon and Elliot. He pled guilty and was sentenced to life in prison last month. Bates, who was arrested for a second assault on Mr. Elliot, still awaits trial after entering a not-guilty plea. There is speculation as to his involvement into Woods’ death, but police have not confirmed nor denied that rumor.

“The cause of death has yet to be determined, however, it
has
been ruled a homicide. We will keep you up to date as we learn more about this disturbing case.”

It flips over to the weatherman and I let my eyes fall closed. Detective Byers told me he suspected Bates had something to do with Woods’ disappearance. That’s most likely where they’ll turn first. But if there is any evidence pointing back to me… I didn’t anticipate his body ever being found.

At the time, when I took Woods’ life, I didn’t care what happened to me. I didn’t care if I got caught as long as I could get my revenge. I didn’t give a shit about going to prison once it was over. All I wanted was to kill the four men who ended Liv’s life in the worst way imaginable.

I didn’t look ahead. I didn’t know Rocky would mean so much to me. I didn’t think…

I just didn’t
know.

At the time, it was worth the cost.

Now though…

My time with Aaron Woods flashes through my mind. What he did to Livie. What I did to him in return. He was the first of the four men I found, and he suffered the brunt of my anger for it.

I beat him, kidnapped him, locked him in my basement, starved him, broke his fingers, and ultimately, I poisoned him. I laced his whiskey with enough sleeping pills to put a horse down, and I encouraged him to drink it until the life seeped out of his body.

Then I took his battered, lifeless shell, shoved it into a trunk, and tossed it into the river.

What I did was horrible.

What I did was justified. Because of what he did to Livie. I still think it is.

But it haunts me, because I’m not like he was. Taking a life meant something to me, justified or not. And it always will.

“That’s a fret,” Augie breathes, his Irish accent thick with his shock. “That’s all the manky bastards now, yeah?”

I nod. That’s all of them. But I already knew that.

“That’s a relief, my friend,” he says, gripping my shoulder. He gives me a hard shake. “Smile. You can rest assured now. They’ve all paid their price.”

“Not Bates,” I correct.

“It will happen. It’s taking donkey’s years, but it
will
happen.”

I’ve known Augie since freshman year of college and he’s been my friend for just as long. I’m used to his occasional inherent statements—typically they come out when he’s angry, drunk, or surprised—and have picked up the meaning of most. But I’ve never really understood that one.

“How long is donkey’s years, exactly?”

He shrugs. “A very long time.”

Yes. It’s taking a very long time.
Too long
.

I scratch my head, irritated. And now that Woods’ body has been discovered, who knows what’s going to happen?

I could be joining Bates in jail.