Rock Bottom (Tristan & Danika #2) (10 page)

“Not my fault he only knows how to beat up women.
 
Probably the first time he’s fought someone his own size.”
 

“You are no-fucking-body’s size, man.”

He had a point.
 

“You want to tell me what was going on back there?
 
Why were you trying to kill that guy?”
 

He’d gone into cop mode, and the word kill had me nervous as hell.
 

“Ask my lawyer,” I told him, knowing that Jerry was following us closely behind.
 

“Fucking maniac has a lawyer,” he told his partner.
 

They laughed.
 
They didn’t believe me, but they would soon enough.
 
Jerry was good, always looking for an angle.
 
He hated being a lawyer, but that didn’t mean he was bad at it.
 

In the end, I spent way less time in a cell than anyone could have guessed.
 
The guy had worked Danika’s mom over before I’d arrived and that complicated things.

I’d only caught the barest glimpse of the woman before I’d gone after the man.
 
She’d appeared to me to be just a mess of dark hair on a tiny body, but she’d looked badly hurt.
       

Jerry turned out to be the best witness, and so he called Bev in to be my lawyer, keeping things as much on the up and up as we could.
 
The cleaner the case the better, he said.
   

In the end, Bev got me out of there in mere hours, no charges pressed.
 
My actions were justified, she argued, since I’d stopped a potentially fatal attack on Marta, Danika’s mother.
 
The woman’s injuries supported our case, since she’d been hospitalized along with the man.
   

The man, who I found out along the way was named Bert McLeary, was going to live.
 
He hadn’t struck me as a Bert, was my first thought.
 
My second was that I’d dodged a bullet.
 

Theoretically, Bev explained to me, her argument was sound whether I’d killed him or not, but having a corpse in the mix always complicated things.
 

She sounded so cold-blooded when she said it, as though she wouldn’t have been too upset if he
had
died, that it gave me pause.

She took in my wide-eyed sizing up with a grim smile.
 
“I made her show me the bruises.
 
You can’t imagine you’re the only one who’d kill for her.
 
That man is just lucky that you got to him before
I
did.”
 

She looked so serious, her tone so glacial, that I believed her.
 

I made a note never to get on Bev’s bad side.
     

The only time I felt even a second’s worth of remorse about the whole thing was when we got back to Bev’s house, and Danika rushed outside to meet us.
 
She took one look at me and buried her face in her hands, bursting into tears.
 

That made me feel like a real bastard.
 

I gathered her into my arms, making soothing noises as I stroked her hair.
 
I’d acquired a T-shirt somewhere along the way, and she buried her face in the white cotton, sobbing hard enough to make my gut clench.
 

Finally, she calmed down enough to talk into my shirt.
 
“Were you hurt?”

My jaw clenched, my hand fisting in her hair.
 
I made myself relax the muscles of my fingers and stroke over her hair softly.
 
“Not at all.
 
Bastard barely got a punch in.”
 

“He was so big.
 
I thought he might hurt you.”
 

My pulse started throbbing again with that reminder of her contact with the man.
 
I tried to moderate my breathing, calming myself.
 
I toyed briefly with the idea of finding Bert at the hospital and finishing him off.
 

“He was big, but he was slow.
 
Not a great fighter, from what I could tell.”
 

She pulled back to look at me, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.
 
“You never lose.
 
Where did you learn to fight like that?”
 

My mouth twisted ruefully.
 
“When you’re the biggest boy in your class, everyone thinks it’s a great accomplishment to kick your ass.
 
You can’t be my size and not know how to defend yourself.
 
Having a bad temper never hurt either.”

“I take it Bev posted your bail?”
 

“That’s the thing.
 
No charges were pressed.”
 
I had to consider how to word the next part, sensitive to her feelings.
 
“He was…beating on your mom when we arrived.
 
She’ll be okay, I think, but I wasn’t charged because I stopped the beating.”
 

She showed very little reaction to that news, just the tiniest stiffening of her expression.
 

“We could go visit her in the hospital,” I offered.

She shook her head instantly and decisively.
 
“No, that’s all right.
 
Our relationship is…complicated.
 
We aren’t healthy together.
 
I can’t stand the woman, but I know that if she catches me in a moment of sympathy, she’ll prey on that weakness, and I’ll end up doing something I’ll regret.”
 

I knew just what she meant.
 
My mother had pulled the same sort of thing on me, countless times.
 
I kissed her forehead tenderly, thinking that there wasn’t a way I could love her more.
 

“Do you think I’m awful?
 
I sound like a cold bitch, don’t I?”

I shook my head, bending forward slightly to kiss her temple.
 
“No.
 
You’ve met my mother.
 
I can well understand what you’ve gone through with yours.”
 

“She thinks I’m like her because of what I let that old man do to me.”
 
The words burst out of her as though it were an embarrassing confession.
 
“I’m not, though.
 
I was just a kid, and I didn’t think I had a choice.”
 

A bullet to the chest couldn’t have hurt my heart more than the weak thread to her voice as she whispered those words.
 
My eyes stung as I clutched her to me, whispering into her ear.
 
“Of course not.
 
You don’t ever have to defend yourself to me, sweetheart.”
 

“I know.
 
I know.
 
And I know what the truth is.
 
It’s just so hard to feel it.
 
Some dirt you just can’t wash off.”
 

I picked her up, cradling her to me.
 
“There’s not an ounce of dirt on you, sweetheart.
 
You have the purest heart I’ve ever known.”
 

That seemed to appease her, and she calmed and quieted for a long time before she spoke again.
 
“We’ve made a spectacle of ourselves on the front lawn.”
 

“Ask me if I give a damn.”

I was gifted with a tiny smile and flashing silver eyes.
 

God, she was beautiful.
 
Perfect.
 

“Promise me you won’t ever do that again.
 
It scares me when you get like that.
 
You can’t kill a man because I have a few bruises, Tristan.”
 

I kissed her, a blatant distraction from her train of thought.
 
There was no way I could make that promise when her bruises hadn’t even faded.
 

“You should never be scared of me, Danika.”
 

We laid on the grass, side by side, hands clasped, in Bev’s front yard as I told her haltingly about the boy I’d been, always too big, too strong for my own good.

Too good at fighting, too ready to fight, with too much to fight for, albeit futilely, with a mother I could never protect, because she didn’t want protecting from the men that hurt her.
 

I shared that piece of myself, the huge piece that needed, above all things, to
protect
, because I hadn’t been there protect her when she’d needed me the most, though of course I hadn’t known her then.
 
It wasn’t logical.
 
It was a feeling, an undeniable sense of failure, because I’d
always
failed the biggest tests when it came to sheltering the ones I loved.

There were things I needed to explain to her, about the girl she’d been, the girl who’d needed a protector, and hadn’t had one, and how she’d never be that girl again, because she had me, and I took my duty seriously.
 

It was why I went crazy when any man so much as looked at her shifty, I explained carefully.
 
I
couldn’t
regulate that part of myself.
 
No anger management class in the world could convince me that there was a way I could keep her
too
safe.

That seemed to bring her peace, and her eyes closed, the gentlest smile transforming her lovely face, her hand laying quiet on my racing heart.
 

And that brought me peace, because she was my perfect girl, and as much as I needed to safeguard her, she needed what I had to give her just as desperately.
   

We lay on the front yard like silly teenagers, for minutes, for hours.
 

It was one of those slowed moments in time, where things became clear, and parts of the past were brought to rest.
 
I’d learned long ago that moments like these were few and far between, and I tried to remember everything.
 
The rustling leaves in the tree overhead, the nearly cloudless sky, the mild autumn weather.
 

The perfect, intensely trusting tranquility written on her face as she lay with her head on my shoulder.

And later, when we finally rose from the grass, I remembered the slip of paper in my back pocket.
 

I handed it to her gingerly.
 
It contained no words, just a phone number.
 

Her brow furrowed in question, her teeth catching her lip.
 

“Dahlia’s phone number.
 
Your mother gave it to me.”

She hugged me so hard that I could feel it down to my soul.
   

CHAPTER EIGHT

TRISTAN

I was shrugging into a dark blue T-shirt when I froze mid-motion, not quite believing my eyes.
 

“There is no fucking way you are wearing that,” I told her, sitting down on the edge of my bed to watch her, equal parts pissed off and turned on at the sight of her.
 

She was wearing tiny black cheer shorts that didn’t belong outside of a bedroom, and a black half-shirt that read ‘
Fuck No
.’
 
It left all of the skin bare from two inches below her naval to the top of her ribs, just covering her breasts.
 
She wasn’t even wearing a bra.
 

My jaw went slack, my eyes glued to the sight.
 

She didn’t have huge breasts, but they were a handful, and they were fucking perfect, soft and pliant in my hands, and when real tits went braless, there was no mistaking it.
 

“Fucking no way in hell.”
 

“I can’t wear a bra after the tattoo, and the half-shirt makes it so I won’t have to take off my top for the cameras.
 
Frankie told me exactly what to wear, and I’m wearing it, so wipe that Neanderthal look off your face.”
 
As she spoke, she twisted her hair into a bun on top of her head, the shirt riding up, bearing the undersides of her breasts.

“Are you fucking serious?”

She rolled her eyes, completely blowing me off as she slipped into flip-flops.
 

“It’s important for me to be comfortable and properly prepared, Frankie says.
 
If you can’t behave yourself, you are staying home.”
 

“Are you fucking serious?” I repeated.
 
“I took a week off just for this, and you’ve had to postpone it for weeks, just so I could go with you.”
 

“So behave yourself if you actually want to come.”
 

I clenched my jaw to keep from arguing, counting to ten, my eyes glued to the front of her shirt.
 

“Fuck No?” I asked her.

“Frankie says it’s a great way to let the censors keep you modest.
 
If my nipples are hard, they won’t pick it up, because they’ll already be blurring the word fuck.
 
She loaned me the shirt.”
 

No shit, I thought.
 
It was clearly a Frankie creation.
 

She moved to stand in front of me, hands on her sexy little hips.
 
I reached up, palming her breasts with both hands.
 
I closed my eyes, not quite managing to stifle a groan.
 

“We’re already late, Tristan, and the camera crew is on a tight schedule.”

My eyes snapped open to glare at her.
 
I lifted her shirt that minuscule degree it took to bare her tits, cursing loudly and fluently as I leaned forward, framing her breasts in my hands and sucking one hard nipple into my mouth.
   

“I’m going to pin you to that table when she’s done with you and fuck your brains out.”

She gasped, and one of my hands snaked down, sliding into the waistband of her shorts to finger her.
 
I yanked it out with a curse, using the leg of her shorts instead to ram my finger into her hard.