Lady Killer (Tangled Desires Book 2) (6 page)

“You want me, pretty girl. Almost as much as I want to find out what you’d feel like on my cock.” Then he pushes his finger into me, stroking the parts of me desperate for more, building pressure inside me until I could burst from the pleasure.

“Admit it.” He pulls his hand back, and I’m humping air. So close to release, and he pulls away?

I want to slap him right in his smug face. I want to put my own hand down my pants and finish the job in front of him, just to give him a taste of his own medicine, but he’d probably enjoy it too much. Especially when he grasps my leg, hitches it over his hip, and grinds into me a little. Enough for me to get a real good idea of what he’s packing below. Desire ricochets through me.

“All you have to say is please, and I’m all yours, princess.”

I swear I am about to do just that when a loud bang comes from the street. Gunfire? Oh God, they’ve found me. My heart skitters, my reflexes kicking in as I struggle against him, in a blind panic. I’m probably going to die and I never got to find out if he’s got a dick piercing.

“Hold on. I’ve got you.” He croons in my ear as the panic ebbs away. “You’re safe. It was a car backfiring. That’s all.”

He’s literally picked me up, pressed me closer to the wall and covered me with his body to protect me from… nothing. A car with a shitty exhaust. This is why I shouldn’t be here with him. I already cost him his career. What if that had been my enemy? Would he have died trying to protect me? “Put me down.”

He slides me to my feet, and I can still feel how hard he is. “What’s going on, Gem?”

“It took me by surprise. That’s all.” I smooth my sweaty palms down my shorts, but he snatches them up and pulls me into him.

“You’re shaking. You’re bloody terrified.”

The words are on the tip of my tongue. That I have something in my possession that could get me killed. That it’s the reason his career ended. That it’s my fault he didn’t go all the way to the top. “I don’t want to get you involved. They’re dangerous.”

“So am I,” he says. “I’ll protect you.”

I thought he could once, and then he almost died. Because of me. Because of what I stumbled into. I surge up and kiss him. “You can’t.”

“Trust me, Gem.” He doesn’t let me go. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

He can’t protect me, and I can’t let him get caught in my mess again. The first time was bad enough. If he got hurt the guilt would eat me alive, so I tear out of his arms. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll forget you ever saw me.”

Then I race away. I don’t even go back to get my bag. Mainly because I forgot about it until I get back to my car. Bending down, I run my hand along the bottom of the chassis until I find the spare key I keep stuck there. Then I drive back to the lake, sit out on the bank, and throw stones.

I should be leaving Reverence, not sitting on my ass throwing pebbles and watching them create ripples when they skip across the lake’s surface. It’s only because I need my bag. Everything important to me is in it, including the thumb drive that’s worth my life.

But I’m not sure that’s the only reason I’m avoiding moving on.

Tom

Leaving the gym, I head toward home. Now that autumn is settling in, the heat is no longer oppressive and the short distance will help clear my head. A cool breeze whips up a flurry of dust and then dies down again, but it doesn’t bring clarity.

I should be used to the way Gem bolted by now. Hell, she didn’t even remember her bag this time. It’s that flight or fight instinct she’s perfected thanks to whoever is chasing her. I don’t understand why she won’t stand up and fight, though, when she has the power to take down a man so easily. Not to mention my offer to protect her. Even if I didn’t find her fascinating, even if she didn’t have this way of putting me in my place, I’d still want to help her.

Like it does periodically, my mind wanders back to the night it all ended for me. I remember how the car came out of nowhere. Or maybe I’d been too distracted by the girl in front of me to notice it. At the beginning, when I’d been frustrated during physical therapy sessions, I’d given her more than her fair share of the blame for what happened to me, but the truth was, it hadn’t been her fault I’d been too focused on her. She’d stood in front of me and asked for help, completely unafraid of me, despite the fact that she’d been utterly terrified of
someone
. That much had been painfully obvious. Another boxer? Most likely.

She’d come out of the club, so she must have been there with someone from my world. Not my crew, though. I would have recognized her. But a boxer who forgot to leave his violence in the ring, or the gym? There were a few of them like that. The guy I fought that night–Santiago. He’d definitely been a raging asshole inside the ring, and from a few snippets I’d heard from other boxers, outside it, too.

But she knew me. She’d wanted my help. I wish I’d asked her name. I could get Mace or Razer to check on her and make sure she was safe, if I had. Instead, all I can do is push her to the back of my mind, and think about Gem. She reminds me a lot of that girl; clearly terrified. I hate that someone could make her feel like that. It makes me want to do anything I can to help her.

I shouldn’t even be thinking about Gem. Shouldn’t be interested in her. Sure as hell shouldn’t have kissed her. I’ve got too many of my own problems to deal with to take on somebody else’s.

As I pass the drug store, I spot Chelsea and change direction. Sliding up beside her, I dig her in the ribs with my elbow. “What’s going on?”

“Oh. I ate something, and it didn’t like me. I’m feeling a bit acidy.” She covers her mouth with her fist, and burps. “Yuck.”

“Such a lady.” I smirk.

She chuckles and rubs at her breast bone while picking up a packet of Tums. “I hang around with you too much to be a lady.”

“Whatever.” We walk toward the register. “So you want to come over and hang out?”

“Is Mace home?” She hands the packet to the girl behind the register who quickly rings it up. “I don’t know if I’m up to putting up with his bullshit tonight.”

“I don’t understand you two. One minute you’re friends, the next you want to kill each other. You’re both weird.” I hand over cash before she can and offer her a grin. “You’ve been helping me out so much, the least I can do is pay for your antacids.”

“Fine.” She packs them away in her handbag. “So is
he
home or not?”

“Nah, he’s working.”

“Okay then.” She jingles her keys. “My car’s across the road.”

We get Chinese on the way home. Enough that Claire and Razer join us for dinner. Not that Chelsea eats much, complaining still about heartburn. After dinner, she and I chill out on the bed to watch a movie.

Chelsea falls asleep on me before the end, and I toss a blanket over her before settling on top. We weren’t always this close, but after my eldest brother, Rush, took off, she was miserable. He broke her heart, and I don’t think she ever truly got over it. Sometimes I catch myself thinking he’s an asshole. Where Razer’s all talk, and Mace is gruff, Rush was too thoroughly focused on himself. I guess it came from his passion for show business and oldest child syndrome. He’s still the same, still touring, still sucking up the love of his fans. Sometimes when he calls, I think I hear weariness in his voice, like he might finally be getting tired of it all.

Like I am.

“Great fight tonight, Harbinger.” The big guy on the door claps me on the back and speaks loudly to be heard over the laughter and music coming from inside, as we step out of the club into the chilly night. “You’re always great to watch.”

“Thanks, man.” I knock knuckles with him, and then clutch the woman beside me a little tighter, rubbing my thumb up the curve of her boob through the lace cutout that runs down the side of her little black dress. She smiles, her lips parting, and there’s lust in her gaze. I don’t particularly care. Sounds crass, I know, but this is just the way it goes. These women, they find me, and they know what to expect. A roll around in my bed. Sometimes I let them stay, even cook them breakfast, but after that she’ll catch a taxi, and I won’t see her again. Unless she’s a bunny boiler. I’ve learned to watch out for the crazy eyes. It’s the only reason I bother to pay attention to their faces. They don’t really want me to anyway. They want me between their legs, and that’s fine with me. I slide my hand up a little higher, tickle my fingers across one peaked nipple. “I can get you a taxi if you want.”

“No, I want to go home with you.” She runs her hand down my back, gropes my ass through the back pocket of my pants, making her intentions clear. It always goes like this. I give them an out, a chance to walk away, but they never take it. I guess saying they slept with Harbinger is some kind of badge of honor. They never scream out my name, not my real name, in bed. It’s always my ring name. That’s who these girls are after, and it’s who I give them.

We step out onto the road. The blacktop sparkles under the streetlights from the earlier rain. Moisture clings in the air, sweetening it. It still smells like the city, like exhaust fumes mixed with steel. I can’t even pick up a hint of wet leaves, or that fresh woodsy scent that accompanies rain back home. A few cars rumble by a couple blocks up on a main road, but other than the noise still filtering out of the warehouse the club’s situated in, it’s pretty quiet tonight. The rest of the crew will drink for hours yet, but not me. Drinking too much will fog my head, and I can’t allow that. Besides, my body is my temple. It’s what makes me as great as I am, and the season isn’t over.

We’re not too far from my apartment, an overpriced studio on the upper side of the river, so I decide we’ll walk. If the woman, I can’t even remember her name, keeps up with me in her ridiculous heels I might even be nice and carry her up the three flights of stairs. I don’t do elevators. They give me the willies. They’re metal death traps waiting to claim innocent victims. I’ve seen
Speed
, and heard of people being stuck in elevators. I’m not claustrophobic, but shit, I prefer to take the stairs. There’s so much adrenaline pumping through my body anyway still from the fight. That’s why I won’t turn her away. Why I never turn them away.

“Tom Hadley.” A woman’s voice calls out, and I stop short. No one calls me Tom around here, except for my manager, coach, and the guy who cleans the gym I train at when everyone leaves at the end of the day. Certainly no women. So I turn around.

She stands on the pavement, staring at me. I can’t see her eyes properly, but there’s something about her. I give her a slow perusal, take in the red, strappy, heeled sandals on her feet, the silky looking, red shift dress that starts above her knees and would tie rather simply at the front if she weren’t busy tangling the length of silk into multiple knots.

I notice the ragged edge of the seam at her shoulder that’s torn halfway down to her breast. When I get to her neck, I stop, scrunching up my brow as I squint. There’s red marks on both sides of her throat, long thick lines on her skin. I take a step toward her, and then another. They look like fingers, or rather the imprint of fingers on her all too pale skin. I don’t realize I’m right in front of her until I stop. Reaching out, I go to trace the outline of one of the marks that ends in a half moon dent where the skin’s torn, but she flinches away.

I take a step back, just one. Someone’s hurt her. “Are you okay?” I ask, staring at her face. There’s black shit all under her eyes. She looks like a fucking panda, but it’s worse. Her left pupil’s dilated more than the right, and the white of her eyeball is this bright reddish pink like she’s popped a blood vessel. I know the feeling. It’s happened to me on more than one occasion.

She shakes her head, and I know whoever hurt her is going to pay for it. I have a sister. One of my best friends is a girl. I’d kill if this was one of them. This girl matters too, because she’s someone’s friend, someone’s sister. And she called out for me. Not for my alter-ego, but for me. No one calls out for me. They call out for Harbinger. Only ever for him. Whether I know her or not is irrelevant. She sees me as a person, and she needs my assistance. So I’m going to help her. How can I not?

I shove my hands in my pockets to show her I’m not going to try to touch her again as I move closer. “What happened? Tell me who did this.”

The echo of the girl tapping her foot behind me fills the street. She has to realize her chance of getting lucky with me tonight is gone. Dead. Buried. I don’t bother to turn around and shoo her away. She’s inconsequential in the scheme of things, the same way I am to her. A random hook up, when my hand will service just as well.

“Tommy,” the blonde girl in front of me says. Her voice is hoarse and cracks in the middle of the syllables, and she finally lets go of the length of silk and wraps her arms tightly around herself. No one calls me Tommy. No one except my sister Claire, and occasionally my brothers. When my brothers say it, they’re teasing, but when Claire says it, it’s important. I get the feeling that whatever is happening between me and this girl standing on the side of the road is important, too. I don’t say anything. I should. I know I should, but for one second I’m selfish enough to want to hear her say it again. Then I shake my head.

She looks like she’s about to cry. She sucks her bottom lip in, but she can’t keep it from quivering.

“You need to tell me what happened,” I say. “So I can help you.”’

She opens her mouth, but words don’t come out.

Instead there’s a heavy roar. Then, nothing.

Opening my eyes, I swipe a hand over my brow. Even though I’ve tossed the covers, and I’m lying in my shorts under the air-conditioning, I’m sweating like we’re in the tropics. I grit my teeth to try and deal with the pain as I scoot to the edge of the bed, and then I have to use both hands to get first one leg and then the other off the bed. There’s nothing really wrong with them. The pain is in my mind, but it hurts as bad as it did that first night when the car clipped me. Even though it can’t. My hip joint’s titanium now. Made of metal. Metal doesn’t feel pain, but that knowledge doesn’t help. The regret of having my life altered at the hands of someone else is sharp on nights like these, pricking under my skin. I limp out to the kitchen to get a couple painkillers. I don’t usually take them, but tonight I need them.

Mace sits on a stool at the counter, reading something on his tablet. He looks up as I snag a glass from the cupboard and fill it with water from the tap. Popping two pills, I grimace and swallow them down, draining the glass. I’m not going to be able to go back to sleep now. Lounging against the cabinets, I stare at my older brother. He’s been having trouble sleeping for a long while. None of us know what his problem is. He won’t talk about it, but it’s clear after the way he beat on Razer after he stumbled across the pregnancy test I’d thought I’d hidden, that things aren’t good. It wasn’t the type of beat down you give a brother, or even the best friend who’s shacking up with your sister. There was something more to his rage that I think we all glimpsed while we tried to pull him away. “Can’t sleep?”

He raises an eyebrow. “What do you think, dickhead?”

Ask a redundant question, get a stupid answer. He slides the tablet in front of me, and I take a moment to check out the article he’s reading. It’s something about that asshole my sister was dating before she fell in love with Razer. He finally got caught banging some porn star, apparently. The public is calling for his blood. Looks like the asshole’s going to be forced to retire. “Not bloody surprising.”

“You should see the twitter feed.” He shrugs, pulling the tablet back in front of him and starts to scroll. “Put the coffeepot on, will you? I could use a brew.”

He’s not really paying attention to the news, though. Mace’s subtle about the way he assesses why I’m not sleeping, but we don’t talk about it. He knows why I’m up, but he won’t ask.

Most people know why I stopped boxing competitively. They read about the tragic accident that ruined Harbinger’s career before he’d hit his peak. That night was a turning point in my life. Not for better or worse. Just different. And I prefer to move on, not look back, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder what my life would have been like if I’d been able to continue fighting at the top level. And I can’t help but wonder about that girl.

I never saw her again. When I woke up I was in the hospital, and she was gone. They never caught the driver, and I still wonder if that car was meant to hit her or me. It could have been either. I certainly had enemies before I got off the circuit. Probably still do. But I can’t forget the marks around her neck. Someone hurt her bad, and that car could as easily have been for her as it was for me. I’ll probably never know, and my only regret is that I didn’t get the chance to help her.