Zane (Inked Brotherhood Book 3) (7 page)

I follow him out. He’s leaning on the rail, smoking, and I have a great view of his long legs and broad back, all lean muscle and sinew. There’s an ashtray on the floor, full of cigarette stubs.

“Do you smoke?” he asks.

“No.” I step up to the rail and lean back against it to look at him. It’s then I notice his hand holding the cigarette is trembling.

What’s wrong with him? Worry turns my stomach into a stone. Is it what happened at the park? I don’t dare ask him about it. I’ve been nosy enough for one evening.

“My dad smokes sometimes,” I say. “Cuban cigars. He says he likes the smell.”

“It’s a bad habit.” Zane chuckles softly, and it sounds bitter. “Got plenty of those.”

“Like?”

“Like…” He stares out into the night, the embers burning red. “Drinking.”

“Drinking, but not getting wasted?”

He laughs. It’s a beautiful, deep sound. “I told you that?”

“I thought part of the drunk definition is that you remember what you did? In contrast, you know, to being wasted?”

He laughs harder. “Fuck me. I guess I really was wasted when I told you that.”

“I guess.” I grin and turn around to prop my elbows on the rail. “Any other bad habits I should know about?”

“You’re better off not knowing,” he mutters and crouches down to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray.

I press my lips together and try not to think of all possibilities. Hard not to. “So, about me moving in…”

He straightens and shoots me an incredulous look. “What?”

I bite my lip not to snicker. “I hope you don’t smoke inside the apartment in winter. And I need to know that you will clean and not leave me all the housework, because I suck at that. Also, we need to have popsicles in the fridge at all times.”

One corner of his mouth lifts in a crooked smile. “Popsicles, huh?”

“Yeah. And orange juice. And Fruit Loops. It’s a condition I must insist on.”

“I see.” He raises his brows. “Well, I don’t just take anyone in who asks, girl. You have to prove yourself first.”

A snort escapes me, but I stop myself from laughing out loud. He may sound like he’s joking, but what if he means it? What if the only way to unlock his mystery and get close to him is to prove myself? Show him he can trust me?

I was there when he took care of Asher and Tyler—I saw how he did all in his power to help. What makes him so strong? What makes him who he is? I don’t think he lets many get close to him.

I want that. I want him to lean on me, desire to be with me. I want him to trust me enough to look at me as he touches me and kisses me.

And I have a feeling he’d be worth it.

***

“What’s that? A new drawing by you-know-who?” Bella peers at my back as I step out of the shower wrapped in my favorite yellow towel.

Damn, I forgot about that. After I left Zane and went back home, I just dropped to sleep, thinking about everything he said and the way he touched me.

I twist to look, but I can’t see anything, so I march into my room and check my back in the full-length mirror there. “Another bird.” He didn’t sign it this time. Then again, we got distracted toward the end…

“A humming bird,” Bella says, following my inside. “Why is he drawing on you with a pen? Can’t you afford a tattoo?”

“He won’t ink me.”

“Seriously?” Bella’s brows arch. “Why? Because he’s your boyfriend?”

I look up, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “What do you mean? He’s not my boyfriend.”

“So it wasn’t him who gave you that hickey?”

Oh crap.
Forgot about that, too. I turn my head and, holy shit, it’s red and purple. I clap my hand over it. How didn’t it hurt when he did that? I only remember pleasure. Incredible, pure pleasure, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

And I shouldn’t be thinking about that, not when he closed off afterward, and we parted ways without touching again. Not when I want to gain his trust as a friend.

Why did he touch me, if he didn’t want me touching him? He was so aroused... I don’t understand…

“Oh my God, you’re all packed!” Bella goes to stand by my bed where my suitcase is lying. “You didn’t tell me you found a place.”

“It’s temporary. I talked to Audrey this morning, and she told me Tessa could put me up for a few days.” I don’t know Tessa very well, but she seems nice.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

I have to be. Bella’s boyfriend is arriving tomorrow. I’ve cut it real close. Then again, Audrey said Tessa may know someone who’s looking for a roomie.

The doorbell rings, and Bella goes to open as I pull on some cut-off jeans and a T-shirt and check my hickey one more time, caught between horror and pleasure at seeing Zane’s mark of desire on me.

If he desired me, why didn’t he touch me again afterward? Why did he move away as if my skin burned? This is driving me crazy.

“Good morning,” Tessa says from my bedroom door, flashing me a smile. She’s picture-perfect as always, conservative to an iota, in an expensive-looking gray dress and high heels, her blond hair pulled up in a chignon. “Ready?”

“Almost. Give me a minute.” I pull on my sandals and check my room one more time to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything. The furniture belongs to Bella—the apartment is rented by her family—so I’m only taking my clothes. Good for me.

Tessa sits on my bed and looks around, interest flashing in her gaze. Then she zeroes in to the hickey. “So who’s the lucky guy?”

Crap.
“No one.”

“A no one who sucks on your neck like a vampire.” She winks and cranes her neck. “Is he also the no one who drew something on your back? Is he…” Her eyes widen. “It’s Zane, isn’t it? That’s his drawing style. Oh hell.”

‘
Oh hell?’
That doesn’t bode well. “So what if it’s Zane?”

“Girl…” Tessa shakes her perfectly coiffed head, small golden earrings glinting on her earlobes. “Zane has a reputation, and I say this as his friend. Everyone knows. It’s not a secret.”

Everyone but me, apparently. “Bad habits, huh?”

“You can say that.” She tsks. “He’s a serial one-night-stander.”

I wince, although I sort of expected this. “A manwhore.”

Tessa frowns. “Yeah. It’s like he uses sex the same way he uses alcohol. He’s never had a girlfriend that I know of. He picks up women in bars and does it with them right there. Never gives his number. Never kisses them. Never takes them home.”

Ow.
“The same way he uses alcohol? What do you mean?”

Tessa stands up from the bed and sighs. “To get numb.”

“Numb? Why?”

But she’s already striding across the room, heading out. “Come on. Let’s go. We can talk more later.”

***

Funny how saying goodbye to Bella is hard, even though we’ll still live in the same town, and I’ll be seeing her. I’ll even go back to get more of my things, boxes and bags.

Living with someone is different, though. We know each other’s quirks—what we like for breakfast, and how we like to be woken up, what TV programs we like and which we hate, and nobody can whip up a good evening of gossip and fun like a roommate who knows you.

Tessa drives a white Jeep Cherokee with pristine leather seats and a stereo that makes me feel as if I’m at a concert. I hate to say it, because she’s really nice and hey, luxury isn’t something I dislike, but I feel a bit uneasy. As if I shouldn’t be stepping on the car mats not to dirty them, or something.

“So… Thanks for putting me up.” I get more nervous as we park outside a modern building with large bay windows and a chrome-and-glass entrance. My voice squeaks a little as I continue, “It’s just for a few days.”

“It’s no hassle,” Tessa says and opens her door. “Let’s get your things up, then I’ll park properly.”

“Do you always dress up like that on Saturday mornings?” I ask as we take the elevator to her apartment. “I mean,” I wince, “it’s pretty.”

Tessa laughs. “It’s horrible, isn’t it? I’m dressed like my mother.” We step out of the elevator, and she unlocks her door. “My parents are in town, and I’m forced to have breakfast with them.”

“Forced?” I wonder if I misheard as I haul my huge suitcase into a spotless living room that’s bigger than Bella’s apartment. The view of the lake from the bay window is breathtaking. I didn’t realize we’re so close to the water.

I shiver.

“At gun point,” Tessa mutters. “Well, almost. Extortion, know what I mean?”

Not really.

“If I don’t dress up all clean and proper, they have a hissy fit. And our relationship is bad enough as it is.” She takes off her high heels and sinks onto her enormous sofa.

A huge flat screen TV is set in the opposite wall, framed by enormous speakers. The carpet looks Persian. I doubt it’s an imitation.

Holy shit.
How much money does she have?

“Your room is that one, on your right.” She points, and I can’t help noticing her nails are French manicured. God, isn’t there a single drop of rebellion in this girl’s veins?

“Thanks, Tessa.” I haul my luggage across the room to a gray door. I push it open cautiously and find myself in a small but immaculate bedroom with a large window. “Wow.”

“My parents don’t like anyone staying here,” Tessa says, coming to stand at the door, barefoot, and still looking like a cover model. “But we won’t tell them.”

“The apartment belongs to your parents?” I set my suitcase on the bed and open it. Clothes, shoes and notebooks spill out. My tablet and MP3 player are safely tucked in my handbag. Thank God for ebooks, or my luggage would weigh a ton.

“Yeah. The apartment and everything in it. Including me.” She wanders inside the room. “Well, technically, they rent it, but you know… Same principle.”

Right…
Her parents sure sound like a bunch of laughs. I can’t imagine their reaction if they find out a punk rock chick is staying at their daughter’s perfect apartment. They’ll probably call a cleaning and disinfection service.

I wince and sit on the bed. “Tell me about Zane. You’ve known him a long time, right?”

“Went to school with him.” She sits next to me, then flops on her back, and I like the fact she doesn’t seem to care about spoiling her perfect hairdo. “We were never very close, but yeah, I know him quite well. He and Asher are besties, and Asher used to be besties with Audrey, who is my bestie.”

I try to work this out. “Asher stopped being besties with Audrey?”

“Yeah, because he was in love with her. So he stopped talking to her.”

“This makes no sense.”

“Boys make no sense, girl.” Tessa sighs and closes her eyes. “Attraction makes no sense. Don’t you know that?”

No, but I can imagine. I mean, my limited experience with boys almost got me killed.

“So Zane doesn’t give his phone number. And he doesn’t kiss.” I picture his mouth, his full upper lip and the way he grins, and my body tightens. “Like, ever?”

“That’s what I’ve heard. I’m not interested in Zane that way, so I never paid much attention.”

“Who are you interested in?” I try to recall our meetings with the guys. “It’s Dylan, isn’t it? That guy with the big shoulders.”

She doesn’t speak, and I wonder if she’s fallen asleep. Then, without opening her eyes, she says, “He used to be a quarterback at school.”

Makes sense. With that body… “Does he still play?”

“No.” She sits up suddenly. “He stopped.”

I sense a sad story there, but Tessa stands up, making it clear that this conversation is over.

“Make yourself at home. I’ll make a few phone calls, see if I can find you a more permanent roommate.”

But I want Zane. God, what’s wrong with me? Haven’t I made up my mind that’s a bad and in any case impossible idea?

“Hey, Tessa.” I wait until she turns. “If I asked you for Zane’s phone number, would you give it to me?”

The curiosity in her gaze turns into pity. “You have a crush on him, don’t you?”

I can’t deny it. Hi, my name is Dakota, and I have a crush on Zane Madden, the Manwhore. Someone please shoot me.

“He’s a great guy,” she says. “But be careful with your heart.”

“Never mind,” I say, bowing my head, and listen to her leave.

Zane

Some memories are hazy.

And some are too damn clear. I do my best to bury them deep, where they won’t intrude on my everyday life. Just looking at me, you probably can’t tell how close to the surface the nightmares live. But throw in a random trigger, and I’m drowning in the past. It’s like flicking a switch, opening the gate and letting the horror in.

Icy water. Hands like vises digging into my arms and legs. No air. Suffocation. Panic. The certainty I’m gonna die. That no matter how hard I struggle, I won’t make it.

Yet I still try. I always try to escape.

And I always fail.

Zane

Driving to my sister’s has never felt like a trip to hell before. She’s been sick for a while, but I held out hope—until now.

Now… I don’t know what to do. Visiting her at home or the hospital, babysitting the kids, doing her shopping or even cooking for her won’t cut it. She needs a miracle, and neither she nor I believe in those.

The landscape streaks by. I have a headache I can’t shake, and my body feels leaden. I don’t want to see her, face the inevitable, give up my last thread of hope. I don’t want to hear the verdict. I’m good at avoiding what I hate, but now, it seems, I don’t have a fucking choice.

Emma and her husband and kids live in Bolinbrook, but right now she’s at the Midwestern Cancer Treatment Center, in Zion. Driving time is around two hours, and I make it in one and a half. If I can’t hide, then I’ll face reality head-on, like a frontal crash you don’t see coming.

Christ, aren’t I a ray of sunshine? I’d better put my poker face on before Emma and her family see me. They don’t need my dark mood.

The hospital parking lot is packed. When I finally find an empty spot, I park, turn off the engine and sit in the quiet for a few minutes, trying to clear my head and steel my resolve. My shoulders ache, and I roll them, doing my best to calm myself.

Unable to put off the inevitable any longer, I get out and slam the door. I still don’t feel ready. I guess I never will.