Save Yourself (10 page)

Chapter Eighteen

** Kester **

There was someone pinning me down, holding me still as I thrashed, strong fingers pressing into my flesh. I kicked and screamed, “No! No, don’t touch me! Don’t fucking touch me!” Tears ran down my face, blurring the shadowed face above me. One rough hand cupped my face, and I wanted to spit at him, but instead I choked on a sob. No, no, no. this wasn’t happening, it couldn’t happen to me!

“Kester! Kez, it’s okay, it’s me! It’s only me!”

I recognised that voice, and went instantly limp, breathing hard with fear as my heart pounded. I blinked through my tears and saw bright violet eyes staring down at me with worry. “Brogan?” I whispered, my voice shaky and hoarse.

He nodded. “Yes, it’s me, Kez. You’re okay. You were having a nightmare,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing in the darkness.

I could barely make out the shape of his body, but his eyes were like radiant lamps. He hovered over me on the bed, and I could feel one of his hands around my wrist, the other on my face, his thumb absently stroking my tears away. He was being so gentle, and I was shaking so badly from my nightmare, all of a sudden I needed to be in his arms.

With a sob, I sat up and threw myself at him, and he caught me and held me close, his arms thick bands around me, protecting me. I cried into his shoulder, clutching his t-shirt, trembling hard. Brogan whispered soothing noises at me and stroked my hair, resting his chin on the top of my head.

There was a knock at the door, and Jet’s voice came through the wood. “Hey, everything okay? I heard screaming…and not the usual kind.”

I was too upset to be embarrassed, and I was grateful when Brogan called back, “It’s fine, mate. I’ve got it. Go back to bed.”

He resumed his soothing noises, and my sobs quieted until I was silently weeping on his chest. Eventually, I stopped crying, but I didn’t want to move from Brogan’s arms. He was warm and solid and
safe
. So I stayed where I was, and if it bothered him, he didn’t say so. He just held me, still stroking my hair, until I became drowsy.

He murmured, “You okay now?”

I nodded somewhat reluctantly, and he let me go. I felt a pang of disappointment, and I suddenly felt cold without his body heat. He cleared his throat and stood up, the mattress creaking as he relieved it of his weight. I could see his eyes shining in the dimness, though they were no longer glowing as brightly.

“Will you be alright on your own?”

It was a loaded question, and my pride piped up with an automatic protest. But the greater part of me felt bruised and tender, and still a little scared, so instead I whispered, “Could you stay? Please?”

His breath-taking smile flashed in the dark. “Of course,” he sighed, sounding as relieved as I felt.

If I hadn’t been so exhausted, I might have wondered what that meant, but as it was, I was just happy when he pulled off his t-shirt and crawled into the bed beside me. I rolled over to give him space, but he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me toward him so my back was pressed against his hard chest, my body cradled in the nook of his. An instinctive bolt of excitement rushed through me, and I shuddered, curling myself further into his body. He pressed his lips against the back of my neck, and I could feel him smiling.

“Sleep now, Kester. I promise I’ll look after you.”

Against all reason, I believed him. So I closed my eyes and let myself drift off in the arms of a man who’d fucked me, teased me, toyed with me, and had saved me.

I woke up shivering and rolled over, seeking the warmth of another body, but the bed beside me was empty. Blinking my eyes open, I squinted at the cold side of the bed, the duvet tossed back and tangled around my feet. No wonder I was shivering. I sat up, frowning, and heard the sound of the shower running. The smell of coffee drifted under the door from the kitchen. My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten anything but toast and Cornflakes since lunchtime the day before, and most of that I’d puked up after the attack.

Sliding out of bed, I stood on my feet and stretched lazily like a cat, groaning. My mouth felt dry, and I had either the beginnings or the remainder of a headache crawling around in the back of my skull. I remembered my head cracking off the wall when that guy in the alley had slapped me, and I reached up to probe the area, wincing when I felt a small knot. It hurt, but I knew it could have been a lot worse if it weren’t for Brogan.

As if he’d heard me think his name, the devil himself strode into the room, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, his wild black hair dripping, and his toned muscles shimmering with water. I felt my stomach dip, clench, and warm all at the same time. I bit my lip, thinking about how much I’d like to lick the droplets of water off his body, working my way down to what was underneath that towel.

My toes curled, imagining it, and I almost moaned at the growing ache between my legs. I wanted to blame my reaction on his “Pull” or whatever he’d called it, but somehow I thought I’d have the same reaction whether he was an Incubus or not. Damn the fact that I could think that with a straight face was not a good sign.

Cutting me a glance as he strode to his dresser, Brogan smiled that rakish smile that made my knees go weak, and said in a low voice, “Looks like you’re well awake.” He tilted his chin up as if he was sniffing the air.

I remembered he’d said he could smell my Lust, which was supremely creepy, and a little bit hot. His smile widened at whatever scent he caught, and his eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Mm, you’re hungry this morning. If you like, we could always go for a morning quickie?”

I scowled at him, painfully aware I was wearing his clothes. Without a bra, the thin t-shirt did nothing to hide the tightness of my nipples, aching for his touch. I folded my arms to hide them, and he laughed, abandoning the dresser and prowling toward me.

I was mesmerised by the smooth motion of his muscles, the ripple of his abs and the clench and release of his thigh muscles as he walked. His eyes had taken on that dark, hungry shine that made me feel like I was burning inside.

He stopped only inches away from me. So close, I could smell that delicious musky scent of him and the tangy smell of his shower gel. So close, I could see the flecks of silver and black in his eyes and feel the heat pouring off his mostly-naked body. His stubble was thicker, and I itched to run my fingers over his rough jaw, over his lips.

“Or maybe,” he purred, “not so quick. We could make it slow, so slow, take our time, draw it out…”

I was breathless with his nearness, every cell in my body straining toward him, but I resisted the Pull, staring up at him evenly. Brogan boldly held my stare, a silent challenge, and when I didn’t move, his resulting smirk killed me. His gaze grazed over my body in the inches between us, and my sex organs stood at attention, craving him inside me. I knew he could smell or taste how much I wanted him, but I’d be damned if I was going to give him the satisfaction of asking for it.

Finally, he lowered his lashes and nodded, acknowledging defeat. “Okay then, I’ll take as a no. For now, anyway.”

He backed away, and I let out a long, trembling breath, my insides quivering, and my hormones screaming at me,
What the hell is wrong with you!
However, I smiled, feeling like I’d won a small victory, despite my body’s protests. Brogan turned away and opened the top drawer of his dresser. Then, without warning, he dropped his towel to the floor, so I had a perfect view of his taut backside.

I gasped quietly and realised I hadn’t won a victory at all. He was just playing dirty. I had sudden images of grabbing that backside as he thrust into me, digging my nails into his firm flesh as his hips rocked against me. My body lit up like a frickin’ Christmas tree at the memory, and I gritted my teeth, seething.
Damn him
.
Two can play that game
. As he stepped into a pair of black apple-catchers, I pulled off my—his—big t-shirt and turned around, glancing at him over my shoulder.

“Hey, can you do me favour?” I asked casually, and he glanced up, and then did a double-take. I tried not to smile. “Can you check my back for bruises? That asshole yesterday shoved me into the wall pretty hard.”

Brogan’s eyes narrowed, as if he knew the game I was playing, but he came over to me anyway. He hesitated, and I flashed him an innocent grin.

“Thanks.”

He sighed and swept my hair over one shoulder, out of the way, exposing the top of my back. His fingertips trailed lightly over my shoulder blades, down my spine, dipping into the small of my back. I stood still, determined not to let his touch affect me.

He slid his hands back up to my shoulder blades and bent his head to whisper, “You’ve got a small bruise right…here.”

He kissed the spot on my shoulder gently, making my heart skip a beat. I spun around, giving him the frontal view for a moment before snatching up the t-shirt and pulling it back on.

In a nonchalant voice, I asked, “Don’t suppose you’ve got anything I could wear, you know, in public?” I pretended not to notice his obvious erection, or the tantalising hardness of his body as I flippantly dropped onto the bed and crossing my legs.

Turning away abruptly, he went to his wardrobe and tossed a plain, black button-up shirt and a thick belt at me. Without waiting for him to turn around, I pulled off the t-shirt again and slipped into the button-up. I did the buttons slowly from the bottom, so he had plenty of time to ogle my naked chest. The shirt was huge, coming down almost to my knees, the sleeves hanging way past my fingers. Once I rolled the sleeves up a bit and secured the belt around my waist, it looked almost like a shabby dress. Plus, with my boots, it would look fairly badass.

Ignoring the starving look on Brogan’s face, I crossed the hall to the bathroom to wash my face. The instant I looked in the mirror, I regretted it. There was an ugly purple bruise across my right cheek from where that bastard had backhanded me, and my right eye was slightly swollen. In addition to that, my eyeliner was so smudged, I looked like a panda, and my hair was limp and flat. How on Earth did Brogan still want to have sex with me? I was a complete wreck, but he’d still looked at me as if he wanted to eat me—maybe literally.

My hand shook slightly as I raised it to probe my swollen cheek, wincing at the ache, and tears filled my eyes—not with fear, but with anger. I wanted to hunt that fucker down and rip him to shreds for doing that to me. I wondered if Brogan had been joking about the bruise on my back, so I turned and unbuttoned the top buttons of the shirt, sliding it down my arms until I could see the faint, dark smudge on my shoulder blade, right where he’d kissed it.

Practically shaking with anger, I did up the buttons again and sat down on the closed lid of the toilet, lifting my leg. I pushed up the reindeer boxer shorts I was wearing, and gasped. My thighs, where that fucker had groped me, were covered with hand-shaped lilac bruises. I covered my mouth with my hand, feeling as if I might throw up.

There was a knock on the bathroom door, and Brogan’s voice floated in. “Hey, Kez, are you okay?”

I opened my mouth to tell him to go away, but instead the sound that came out of my mouth was half-sob and half-whimper. Instantly, the bathroom door swung open—I hadn’t bothered locking it. Brogan’s eyes fell immediately on my bruised legs. His expression turned dark and hard as obsidian, his eyes glowing a purple so dark, it was almost black.

So quietly, I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear it, he whispered, “I’m going to kill that fucker.”

I swallowed, slightly afraid of the deadly look on his face. As if sensing my fear, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nose that flared his nostrils, and let it out slowly. When he opened his eyes again, they were a more normal grey-purple again. He closed the bathroom door behind him and came to kneel in front of me. He looked up at me with soft eyes.

“May I?”

I nodded, and he gently ran his fingers over the bruises on my thighs, his brow furrowed. I tingled at his touch, and he glanced at me.

“Does that hurt?” he asked quietly.

“Only a little bit,” I whispered, my throat tight.

He still looked unhappy, though. He pulled down the boxers over the bruises again and pressed my knees together, hiding the evidence of my attack as if he couldn’t stand to see it anymore. Then he said in a low voice, “I’ll get you some painkillers. Then we’ll go and check out your place, so you can get some more clothes.”

That got my attention and snapped me out of my pity party. “More clothes? You mean—”

“I mean, you’re not going home until I take care of Red. It’s my fault you’re a target, and the only way I can protect is if you stay here. The flat has protective Wards on it. Like magical barriers, thanks to Jet. It’s safe. I’ll still change your locks, so Evie can go home, but you are staying with me until this is sorted. No arguments.” Without waiting for me to protest, he stalked out and slammed the bathroom door so hard, the toothbrushes in the cup on the sink rattled.

Chapter Nineteen

** Kester **

Brogan didn’t want to take any chances on the way to mine and Evie’s house, but seeing as he said he couldn’t Flash-Travel with another person—not that I was
ever
going to try that—we took his motorbike instead. Driving insanely fast and recklessly chipping corners, we circled the block three times to make sure we hadn’t been followed. If there was anything more thrilling than being pressed against Brogan’s back while flying along the road at eighty miles an hour on a giant piece of scrap-metal, it could only be having sex with him.

By the time he parked the bike outside the house and cut the growling engine, I was breathless, windblown and full of wild adrenaline. My bare legs were stubbled with goosebumps, and several times during the ride, I’d had to tuck the shirt down to keep from flashing my boxer-clad ass to the traffic behind us. Yet, it had been so much fun, I wanted to do it again.

I stepped off the bike, a little wobbly, and grinned at Brogan. “That was awesome!”

He laughed, his rare dimples coming out to play. “Your hair is crazy right now.”

I self-consciously smoothed it down, my fingers catching in the tugs, but I couldn’t stop grinning. At least not until Brogan swung off the bike and grabbed me around the waist, pulling me close, so he could bury his nose in my unruly hair. I stiffened in surprise, and then melted against him, feeling his nose run down the side of my face and along my jaw. Then he abruptly let me go, and jerked his chin toward the house.

“Come on. We can’t stand out here all day.”

Startled by his lightning hot-and-cold act, I just nodded and led the way up the path, overgrown with weeds, to the front door. When I got there, I saw the door was open a crack, but there was no sign of forced entry. Evie never would have left it open, and I remembered the bastard the night before had probably taken my keys. A breath of panic caught in my throat, and I turned wide eyes on Brogan.

He nodded sombrely, indicating he’d seen it too and had come to the same conclusion. He reached out and took my arm, gently dragging me behind him as he slid his other hand to the small of his back and pulled out a small, black gun.

I gasped. I’d never seen a gun in real life before—they weren’t really a common sight in Britain. “Whoa,” I breathed, and he glanced at me. “Do you always carry a gun around?”

He shook his head. “Normally I don’t need to. But I picked this baby up after Brent was killed, and I knew Red was on my ass. That guy that attacked you last night was lucky I didn’t have it on me, or I’d have shot him in the fucking kneecaps.”

It really wasn’t the time or place, but I felt a bubble of totally inappropriate giggles burst in my mouth, and my lips curled. There was just something adorable about how protective he was of me. I knew it was just because he felt responsible for getting me into the shit, but I could almost allow myself to believe it was more than that. Just for a second.

He caught my grin, and looked at me as if I was nuts.

I shook my head and said, “Are we going in then?”

He jerked his head, and pushed the front door open, revealing the hallway. It looked fine, but there was a deep churning in my stomach, a primitive creeping feeling that someone else had been in my house. They had invaded my territory. The thought pissed me off and creeped me out all at once, but I followed Brogan as he moved cautiously into the house, his gun held slyly at his side.

As soon as we entered the living room, I could see the house had been tossed. The sofa cushions were shredded, spilling their stuffing onto the floor, the TV was gone, and the coffee table was smashed. Through the open doorway, I could see into the kitchen, and there were shards of glass and porcelain plates scattered on the floor. The microwave was gone, too.

Rage boiled up inside me, so hot that I saw red around the edges of my vision, and I had the desperate urge to see my room. I
had
to see it. I had to know if they’d invaded, if they’d wrecked it. I had the terrible suspicion that they had.

I whipped around and pelted up the stairs, Brogan shouting after me. I heard him curse, and then his heavy footsteps trailing me. I made it to the top of the stairs, and again the hallway looked untouched, but when I pushed open Evie’s bedroom door, I saw her clothes were scattered everywhere, her pillows were spewing feathers, and the mattress had been tossed off the bed frame. Evie wasn’t usually particularly tidy, but that was beyond the level of mess even she could cook up.

Brogan caught up with me while I was standing there, gaping into Evie’s room. He took one glance at it, and sighed. “Glad you got Evie out of the house last night, huh?”

I nodded numbly and turned to walk down the hall to my room, dreading what was inside. Brogan stuck close behind me, and took my hand when we reached my door. I squeezed his fingers gratefully and took a deep breath, reaching out to turn the handle. The door swung inward easily, exposing darkness—the curtains and blinds were shut. I found the light switch on the wall and flipped it, steeling myself to see what they’d done to my private space.

I let out a cry of utter horror and disgust.

The room was almost untouched, except for the bed. Right in the middle of my mattress, there was a severed hand seeping blood onto my duvet cover, and a bloody knife next to it. Under the knife, there was a piece of clean, white paper.

Beside me, Brogan swore. Pulling me back, he strode into the room with long, angry strides and snatched up the note from the bed. He ran his eyes over it, and his jaw clenched hard as stone, his eyes turning stormy and dark. He swore again, more viciously, and I forced myself to step into my defiled bedroom.

“What does it say?” I croaked.

Shaking his head, as if his disgust was too much to verbalise, he handed me the note. I took it in trembling hands and looked down at the single line scribbled on the slip of paper.

RED SAYS HELLO.

Just three little words, but they sent ice-cold shivers down my spine and settled ice-cubes in my gut. The guy was seriously sick. I lifted my eyes to Brogan, who was glaring at the pale hand on the bed, his face almost the same colour as the dead flesh.

I swallowed the bile burning my throat and asked, “Whose hand do you think that is?”

“I don’t think. I know,” he rasped, his voice quiet and thick. “It’s my uncle’s hand. I recognise the smell of his blood. Those goons I battered in his hotel room must have cut it off and run before the cops arrived at the hotel.”

My stomach turned over, and my chest ached at the sight of the pain on his face. He made a low growling sound in his throat, then with blinding speed snatched up the knife and whirled, throwing it hard in my direction.

“Fuckers!” he snarled.

My lungs locked on a scream, my heart froze for an instant, and I heard the
thunk
of the knife hitting the wall several inches away from me. Shaken by his abrupt fit of violence, I turned my head and saw the knife buried point-down in the wall, half-way to the handle.

“Christ!” I breathed, feeling like my heart was going to escape from my chest. “A little warning next time! You gave me a fucking heart attack!”

He just glared at me. “Pack some clothes and let’s get out of here. Call your buddy Leighton and tell him someone broke into your house. At the very least, the cops will get the hand taken away.” He stormed to the door and pulled the knife out of the wall next to it. Then he snatched the note from my hand and crumpled it in his fist, and walked out the door like a thundercloud.

I looked at the hand lying limp on the bed, and I shuddered. Brogan was right. We needed to leave. I didn’t want to stay there any longer than I needed to. So I grabbed the first large bag I found—which happened to be one of Evie’s enormous handbags that I’d borrowed once for god-knows-what reason—and started shoving clothes into it. Since most of my clothes were black, I didn’t have to worry about colour coordination, so I just snatched random things and stuffed them in, along with underwear, my hairbrush, and my favourite black eyeliner. There was no way I was leaving without it.

After a second of thought, I also added the bottle of foundation and palette of concealer powder that I rarely had to use. I’d need something to cover the horrible bruise on my face. Then I tossed in my box of pills. I didn’t know if I’d need it, but I was sort of hoping, grabbed my toothbrush from the bathroom, and clomped down the stairs to see where Brogan had gotten to.

I found him standing by the front door with a black plastic bag knotted around his fist. I didn’t ask what was in it. I was guessing it was the knife and the crumpled note. He was smart to take them, since they had his fingerprints on them, and if the cops had found them, he’d have been in deep shit. Stopping on the stairs, I pulled out my mobile and called Leighton on his direct number, which he’d given me for times I really needed help from a friend with a badge. I made the call quick and blunt, and Leighton assured me he’d have some guys swing by to check things out.

Then I called Evie and told her about the break-in. I left out the part about the hand and the note and assured her I was fine, but she would have to stay at Zack’s for a few more days. Zack stole the phone and started firing worried questions at me, so I told him I was safe, I was with Brogan and he was taking care of me.

Finally, I hung up on my friends before they could ask any more questions, and shoved my phone back into my pocket. I met Brogan at the door.

He flicked me a curious glance. “So…I’m taking care of you, huh?”

I caught a hint of a smile, the first I’d seen since we went inside. I gave him a wry look in return. “You’re doing okay.”

He looked pleased by that, though he tried to hide it, and his mood seemed to lift as we got back on his bike. After tying the black bag securely to the handlebar, he reached back to take my hands and bring them around his waist, locking me to him.

“Hold on tight,” he murmured.

I felt his abs flex as he leaned forward, kicked the bike off its stand, and revved the engine. Then we were flying through the streets again, my hair whipping back, my eyes watering, my heart pounding. I clutched onto his belt, pressing the side of my face into his back, and held on for the ride as best I could.