OGs: Deep Down (17 page)

“I did. I didn’t want you to wake up too early when the sun rose. I didn’t think this was a big deal. What the fuck just happened?”

Now that her breathing was leveling and her heart rate was going back to normal, she felt embarrassed, so she tried playing it down. “Nothing. I don’t like darkness.”

Grabbing her by her arm, he swirled her around to face him. “Bullshit. What’s wrong?”

“It’s really noth—”

“What. Is. Wrong,” he enunciated, hard and clear.

Yeah, this Mike was much harder than the old Mike. “I have claustrophobia. Can’t manage too well in closed spaces. When darkness is involved, the whole thing worsens exponentially.”

Mike narrowed his eyes on her. His expression was so strained he was all but baring his teeth. “Since fucking when?”

She wasn’t going to answer. She lowered her gaze, but he lifted her chin and forced her to look up. “Since when? Answer me.”

“Since the ship, all right?” she confessed, wrenching away from him. “We had very small quarters, always on the lowest floors. No windows. Ten months on the open sea and I developed claustrophobia.”

She was not going to admit to it, but it hadn’t been just the physical conditions that caused her claustrophobia. It’d started soon after shipping out, and it had intensified after she’d gotten pregnant. This feeling of being trapped without an exit in sight, of being in a place she didn’t want to be, unable to breathe, with someone she wasn’t sure about, while the one she truly wanted had made it clear she was nothing to him.

She attempted a smile, but it came out weak, and Mike’s face tensed further.

“How the hell did you get any sleep in that ship?”

She shrugged. “The doctor on board said it all was in my mind, that I should relax, so I hung a huge poster of an empty beach on the wall in front of the bed and tried to keep a light on.” Which had pissed off Drake to no end. Not the poster as much as the light. He needed his beauty sleep, important chief of security that he was, and the fact that she was choking in that shoe box, in the darkness, was irrelevant. After she’d starting showing, she’d suggested she’d sleep in different quarters so as not to disturb him, and he’d agreed. So for the last months she’d spent her nights alone, choking on her own in a lit shoe box in the middle of the ocean.

“Did it work?”

She hung her head. “Not really.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Mike chanted. “And you went through that for ten months?”

“I’m fine now,” Kyra assured him, not about to answer his question. It hadn’t been ten months without being able to breathe; it had been longer. Much longer.

Panic attack averted, she closed the window. “I just need to have the curtains open when I sleep. No big deal.”

He didn’t believe her. “You are definitely not fine, and this is a fucking big deal.”

“What? Does the moonlight streaming in piss you off too? Because if so, you can get your ass to your own place. I didn’t ask you to stay. I told you to leave.”

His gaze hardened. “No, the moonlight doesn’t piss me off. What pisses me off is waking up with you shaking and gasping, clawing like crazy to get away from me. You went ballistic when you realized someone was holding you. Did he do something to you?”

Mike didn’t need to mention the name; they both knew who he meant.

Drake wasn’t responsible for her claustrophobia. He hadn’t helped, sure, but she’d developed the damn condition on her own.

She shook her head. “It’s not what you’re thinking.” She’d been sleeping alone for a long time. Even when Drake had been in her bed, there had been a world of space between them. Basically, there had been too many people in that bed.

Mike looked angry. He wasn’t going to let it go. “What about your shoulder, then, huh? What the fuck happened to it? And don’t give me that bullshit line that it’s nothing. I’ve seen how you wince if you lift your arm too fast, too high. How you favor it whenever possible. Did he hurt you? Did he touch you in some way?”

Kyra sighed and put both hands on his chest, trying to calm him down. “Drake did plenty to me, but not what you are implying. He didn’t need to beat me, Mike. He just made it clear, with words, how inadequate I was.” Besides, you couldn’t hit a dancer without people noticing. And she’d been his meal ticket. And his cover later on.

Drake probably had felt trapped too. Maybe not at the beginning; he had seemed genuinely infatuated with her and wanted to marry her. However, as soon as the reality of having a wife and a daughter sank in, and he realized he couldn’t keep living in the manner he did on the ship, he felt cornered. In the ship, running security, he was someone. And they were living in a bubble, no need to clean, to go grocery shopping, to cook, to worry about paying bills. Life aboard the
Summit
was like a long adrenaline rush, late nights and zero family responsibilities. Once Drake came to the real world after Sam was born, he couldn’t cope with it, so he bailed. And got mean. Mean and insulting, not to mention impotent. With her, that was. He had no problem getting hard for any other who would look his way, but with Kyra? He couldn’t maintain a hard-on long enough to save his life, and he made sure she paid for it and heard how undesirable she was.

Soon he went back to the ship, and they saw each other sixty days every ten months, which, as far as Kyra was concerned, was enough, until a bit under a year ago, when Drake asked, and stupidly she’d helped him get a job as security for Amantis.

“Our marriage was a joke. He spent most of his time at sea, and by the second year we were strangers. I thought that, for Sam’s sake, I would try to patch things up. It was a mistake. A huge mistake that I paid dearly for.” Although what had happened had given her enough courage to file for divorce, so maybe it hadn’t been a bad thing.

Mike rubbed his face and sat on the bed. “Explain one thing. I know dancers of your status get paid handsomely. Why on earth are you living in these conditions?” he asked, gesturing around. “You don’t have a fucking penny. Why?”

“Gave everything to Drake in exchange for custody of Sam.”

Mike’s jaw fell open. “Why? You’ve taken care of Sam since she was born. You could have fought for custody in court. Any judge would have ruled in your favor. You didn’t have to pay Drake off.”

“Shared custody wouldn’t do, and I couldn’t risk losing her. I’m not sure the judge would have ruled in my favor.”

“Of course he would have—”

“Mike, my shoulder injury? I got it in jail.”

Chapter Eight

“What?” he asked after a long pause, looking shocked as hell. “What do you mean you got it in jail? When the fuck were you in jail?”

Kyra strode to him and went on her knees in front of him. Time to come clean. “Before I came back to Alden. It’s a long story. You may not—” Mike gave her a forbidding stare, one that said,
Dare to omit a word.

She sighed. “Drake contacted me last winter, asking for help to get a job with Amantis. He wasn’t walking away from his position aboard the
Summit
, but he wanted to reduce his contract to eight months a year and spend some time with Sam. “It still amazes me that I fell for it, but I did. Anyhow, the point is, he convinced me, I put a word in with Amantis, and he started working as security for them during tours. I knew our marriage was dead, but he claimed he wanted to be a better father, and I gave in. I thought it would be good for Sam.”

“Sam toured with you?”

Kyra nodded. Amantis only toured three months a year, normally in the summer. Alexa, the singer, always had her five-year-old son with her, so she was very flexible with Kyra taking Sam along, which Kyra did for the last two years she’d been dancing for the pop star.

Sam loved touring; it was like an exciting vacation for her. The kids were very well looked after; Alexa had nannies for when they were rehearsing or performing. Still, those three months were draining, and Kyra thought having Drake along would help, that he and Sam could build a relationship.

She should have known better.

“Drake got tight with certain roadies I wasn’t too fond of, but I’d been too busy dancing and taking care of Sam to realize what had been going on. A couple of months ago, two weeks before the end of the tour, we were in Montana when the police came with a search warrant. You wouldn’t believe my surprise when they uncovered a kilo of heroin in the bag where I kept Sam’s stuff.”

“Fuck,” Mike cursed. “That’s what that asshole had been occupying himself with? Dealing?”

Kyra shrugged. “Dealing, transporting, selling. I’m not sure what he did, but when shit hit the fan, I was left alone. He claimed he had nothing to do with it, and I was charged with possession with intent of distribution and murder, and I was arrested.”

“Murder?” he whispered.

She nodded. “There had been several ODs where we had performed, some girls not even legal, and it was all tied up with the dope. The arrest was leaked to the press, but Amantis’s manager kept it under wraps, and my name was never released.” Everyone who’d worked with her for years knew, though. In
Shake Your Booty
too.

Kyra had thought Drake was after the carefree lifestyle aboard the
Summit
. She’d been wrong; as chief of security, he didn’t have to give any explanation to anyone about the goods that boarded the ship in some South American countries. Not to mention he could take care of the security controls himself. It looked like he’d decided to branch out to inland distribution.

“The whole thing was a nightmare; I barely remember how it all went. I was in shock, and by the time reality had sunk in, I was in jail.”

“How long were you—”

“Not long, a couple of weeks, but it was long enough for me to gain the animosity of some crazy women. I don’t know exactly what I did to them, but I rubbed them the wrong way. The fucked-up shoulder I got in a fight when the leader of the bunch decided to teach me a lesson. She didn’t like my hair; can you imagine? She ambushed me and tried to shave it off.”

“Oh God.” Mike reached for her and hauled her onto his lap. He looked literally sick. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Kyra went for a smile and tried to make light of it. “I would have understood if she wanted something of mine. I don’t know, my shoes, commissary stuff, but my hair? What the hell did my hair do to her, huh?”

“Fuck, baby. Fuck. Fuck.”

Kyra forged ahead. She hated talking about this and wanted to finish as soon as possible. The longer it took to get all out, the more chances of her breaking down. And she didn’t want to fall apart in front of Mike. “Alexa mobilized her team and hired a great lawyer who got me out on a technicality. The charges were dismissed, true, but I was not absolved or vindicated. I got out because of a loophole the lawyer found. Something about the way they’d searched my possessions and how other people could have had access to them. I love Alexa and her people, and it hurt me to hurt them. They’ve always run a very tight ship in regard to drugs. Those were not allowed, period. They were caught in a media shit storm because of me.”

“Because of Drake, you mean.”

Shame burned in her face. “It was me who got him the job. Alexa told me a million times she didn’t blame me, but I resigned and left. Couldn’t face the group or the other dancers.” Or the rest of the dancing community for that matter.

“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice rough. She didn’t want to, but he placed his finger under her chin and forced her to lift her head. “Not your fault. Nothing to be ashamed of, you hear?”

She shrugged, blinking fast to keep her tears at bay. “That’s why I couldn’t risk taking Drake to court for custody. All he had to do was tell his lawyer about me being in jail and why, and that was it. I could have lost Sam.”

Drake wouldn’t have wanted to put up with Sam 24-7, but he would have shipped her to his mom just to spite Kyra. Not that she didn’t like her mother-in-law—she was a decent lady—but Sam belonged with her mother, and that was nonnegotiable.

“I didn’t know,” Mike stated roughly. “My grandmother didn’t tell me.”

“She doesn’t know. Angie knows, but only bits and pieces. When I went to jail, Alexa took care of Sam. I didn’t want her with Drake, but I couldn’t stop him either. Amantis came through for me; they kept Drake on the payroll so that he wouldn’t take Sam with him and leave. As soon as I got out of jail, I took Sam and ran.”

Now that the whole story was out, Kyra felt depleted. She looked at Mike and realized he was stiff, the vein in his temple pulsing, his jaw clenched. She hugged him, caressing the rock-hard muscles in his shoulders, feeling the tension rolling off him in waves. “Motherfucking piece of shit.”

She laughed softly. “That he is.” He was a shitty father and a worse husband, had endangered their daughter by keeping her around illegal substances. To add insult to injury, he’d managed to place all the blame on her, ruin her reputation, and leave her penniless. It had to be recognized; the bastard was good.

“Don’t sweat it,” she whispered to Mike. “This is all in the past. I got through it.”

“I hate that you went through that by yourself. A man takes care of his woman and his children, always. Provides for them. Goes to jail to protect them if need be.”

“Well, you’ve obviously never met Drake,” she said, petting his hair. “You know what’s funny?”

“Nothing,” he retorted, gritting his teeth. “There isn’t a single thing funny about all this. Not a damn one.”

“I got less claustrophobic in jail than on the ship.”

Mike lowered his head. Closed his eyes. “After I realized you were not going to answer my calls, I almost got on that ship, Kyra. A thousand times I considered it. Always thought I’d give it a day more. I should have gone. Damn it, I should have gone.”

“I was a big girl. You weren’t responsible for me or my actions.”

“Bullshit, Kyra. You were my woman.”

She didn’t know what else to say to convince him, so she remained silent. She tightened her embrace, pressing her mouth against the top of his head, breathing him in, happy he wasn’t pulling away from her caresses.

After a while, he seemed to loosen up a bit.

“Mike, I won’t be able to sleep now. You should go.”