Fighting to Forget

Fighting - 3

J.B. Salsbury

To every child who waited for a savior that never came.

“Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.”

--The Holy Bible, Romans 12:19

Prologue

Nothing, AZ

1999

I’m waiting, watching the glowing numbers on my Little Mermaid alarm clock. It’s been quiet in the house since twelve oh eight. I close my eyes and listen hard for their voices, but I can only hear the sawing of my dad’s snore through the wall. As much as I want to race downstairs, I have to wait until they’re asleep. I can’t risk getting caught. Fresh marks on the backs of my legs still sting from the last time they found me outside of my room after bedtime. I’ll wait two more minutes just to be sure.

My tummy hums as if one hundred June bugs are buzzing inside. I’ve chewed off all my fingernails, so all that’s left is the area around them. I nibble and pull at tiny strips of skin. The salty blood hits my tongue and I move on to the next. My bare foot taps silently on the wood floor.

Blinking through the darkness, I watch another number flip. Time is moving too slowly. I have to hurry. I know he’s waiting for me. He needs me on these nights—the nights after he has a visitor.

My parents say that foster kids are trouble and that’s why he has to live in the basement. We’re homeschooled and my mom never lets him out; she only brings a few books for him to read. I’ve snuck things to him, sliding them through the space underneath the basement door that’s only big enough to fit my hand. I want to know him, but Mom and Dad say he’s not safe.

Another number flips.

I hop from my bed and creep across the bedroom and into the hallway. Wait. I should bring him something. I turn back to my room and grab a stuffed animal, a light brown bear wearing a blue T-shirt that says Las Vegas, NV. My dad brought it back from a work trip he went on. It’s soft and should be small enough to slide through the gap under the basement door.

Sneaking back into the hall on my tiptoes, I stop at Mom and Dad’s bedroom and press my ear to the cold wooden door. They’re asleep.

One by one, I take the steps as softly as I can. The wood creaks beneath my foot. I freeze and listen. Nothing but quiet. It’s safe to move again. I skip every other step until I’m finally at the bottom. I run to the kitchen.

I can already hear him.

I’m not even to the basement door, and I can already hear him.

My chest pulls tight. What do his visitors do to him that makes him so sad?

I run and drop to my knees at the door; my flannel pajama pants make me slide on the tile. I lay my cheek on the ground and search through the space beneath the door, but it’s too dark. His cries echo off the concrete walls.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here.” My whispers disappear in the black and get lost in the sound of his pain. “Please, stop crying.”

Don’t wake them up.

His gagging sounds make my stomach hurt bad. I reach up and wiggle the door handle, the way I always do when I come to see him, and like all the other times, it’s locked.

He must’ve heard me, because he stops crying. I drop my cheek again, and a small light, maybe a flashlight, moves around in the dark.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s only me.” I wait, watching as the light gets closer until finally I see him.

His cheek drops to the floor just like mine, and then one bright blue eye appears. The white part of his eye is red, and the skin around it is puffy, but it’s still the prettiest color blue I’ve ever seen, like the sky after a monsoon, when all the clouds clear and the sun is almost blinding against it. Dark black eyelashes are clumped together from his tears, and thick black hair is stuck to the part of his forehead I can see. His nose is red and his lips are swollen.

“You came.” His words are croaked, and he hiccups on the leftovers of his crying.

“Yeah, I’m here.” I reach my hand through the crack and he quickly snatches it in his. “Are you okay?”

His grip on my hand tightens, and he wraps his other hand around my fingers too. “Better now.”

“I brought you something.” With my free hand, I shove the bear under the door.

His eye darts down, and he releases one hand to snatch the bear. “For me?”

“Yeah, he’s really soft. I thought it might help you sleep.”

He’s quiet, staring at the bear. “Sleep.” He clutches it between his hands and mine. “Thanks, Gia.”

The visitors who make him cry have been showing up more and more. At first it was the same men, but now there are new faces. I get locked in my room while they’re here, but I see them leave the house from my window. My mom tells me it’s none of my business when I ask why he gets visitors and I don’t. I guess they’re the foster care people coming to check on him. Maybe they tell him he’s a bad kid. That would make me sad.

“Was that man mean to you?”

His eye goes wide, he breathes in a deep breath, and his lip shakes.

Watching him cry feels funny. I don’t know much about boys, but I’m pretty sure ten-year-old ones don’t get this sad.

“Shh, it’s okay.” I try to hold his hand tighter, to let him know I’m here and not going to leave him, but his grip is so strong my fingers don’t move. “You’re not a bad kid, shhh.”

His crying gets louder. My heart races.

“Please, it’s okay.” I turn to look behind me out of fear that one of my parents will catch us. I don’t want to go back into the dark. “They’ll wake up if we’re not quiet.”

Some nights are bad like this, where he can’t calm down enough to breathe. On these nights, there’s only one thing that works to make him stop. The first time I tried it I was desperate for anything that would work. It did.

I start off in whispers and sing one of the only songs I know by heart, “Silent Night.” He quiets and his breath comes in hitches, until finally he stops crying. The song is so easy, I keep singing to avoid him breaking down again. Finally, my voice croaking and throat dry, I stop.

“I’m gonna die in here.” His voice so soft I wonder if I imagined it.

“Don’t say that. If I can figure out where they hide the key, I could—”

“No.” He sounds mad. “Stay out of it.”

A burning grows in my stomach and moves to my cheeks. “I won’t . . . I can’t stay out of it. You think I’m just a little girl and I can’t help you. You’re wrong—”

“That’s not it. It’s . . . if you get caught . . .” His grip grows tighter around my hands. “I don’t want them near you. I won’t let them near you!”

“Shh.” The heat in my cheeks warms and moves into my chest. “We’ll figure it out. But it’s late.”

We sit like this for a long time—not talking, only touching beneath the door—each of us with one eye on the other. My shoulder hurts, my arm is pins and needles, and my hand is numb.

I yawn and my eyes flutter closed. “You should go to sleep.”

“Sing to me?”

“Hmm . . . What do you want me to sing?”

“Anything. Your voice is enough.”

I sing a few lines of “Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer” and try to force my eyes to stay open. Finally, his blue eye disappears beneath the splotchy pink lid. His hold on my hand loosens. He’s fallen asleep.

I’m so tired from all the worry and fear that my body melts into the tile floor. “I don’t know what’s happening to you down here, but I promise I’ll be here for you always. I’ll get you out of here. You don’t think I can because I’m only eight, but I can. I will.” I slide my hand back from under the door and watch to make sure he doesn’t wake up.

Pushing up, I stretch and wiggle my fingers. Placing my hand flat on the only thing that separates us, that stupid door, I make a silent promise to save my foster brother from whatever’s hurting him. No matter what it takes.

I kiss the wood. “I love you, Rex.”

One

Because inside my shell I’m that boy

Who was never given a say

The real me I’ll cover and destroy

To keep the worst of the pain away.

--Ataxia

Fourteen years later . . .

Rex

“Rex, dude, heads up.”

I look just in time to see a bottle sailing through the air, and I snag it before it hits the dirt. “Thanks, man.”

Talon drops down into the folding chair next to me. I pop the cap on my beer and take a long drag. The bonfire flickers, illuminating at least two dozen faces standing around it. Some friends, others strangers, most shitfaced.

I keep my eyes to the fire but, with my peripheral vision, tune in to a few new faces that look as if they’re out to shake shit up.

“How many crates did Lane throw in that bitch?” He scoots his chair back a foot, distancing himself from the fire. “That shit’s hot. How can you sit that close?”

Talon’s been Ataxia’s drummer since the band started. He should know me better than to ask that.

It burns, yeah. But I like the pain.

“Don’t be a pussy. It’s not that hot.” Yeah, it is.

“Not that hot, my ass. That thing’s like, what, at least five feet of pure flame.” He cringes away from the fire. “Good thing we’re out in the boonies or the cops would be all over our shit.”

It’s become a tradition, coming out here in the middle of nowhere with nothing but our dirt bikes and enough beer to intoxicate a small country. Our band has been playing so many local clubs lately it’s a nice change from the everyday Vegas nightlife.

The sound of a girl squealing gets my attention. She’s wrapped up in the arms of some dude, and he has her lifted off the ground. She kicks her legs and he puts her down. I go back to watching the fire.

Tonight started off relaxing, but as the pile of empty beer bottles grows, so does the tension in the air. A group of guys who don’t usually hang out with us followed some girls out here. There are only a handful of them, but they’re drunk, loud, and throwing vibes.

“Speaking of being all over our shit, who invited the assholes?” I flick my gaze over to a group of girls who’re laughing loud and trying harder than usual. They’re huddled around the guys they brought out here. Chicks and their bad-boy fantasies. No doubt they could smell the trouble and flocked like pigeons on popcorn.

He laughs and chucks his bottle cap into the fire. “Pretty sure they came with Trix.”

I shake my head. Should’ve known. She’s a local stripper who hangs around some of the bigger gigs we play. The ballsy blonde is popular with the guys and rightly so. She’s gorgeous. Everyone in the band has had a taste, except me.

Groupies are notorious for blabbing about their sexual conquests. I prefer to keep my encounters private, but not for the reasons most would think. It’s not the media I care about or the fear of getting a playboy rep; it’s that I hate doing it. Nothing turns my stomach more than my body’s primal needs. I fight off the urges for as long as I can until there’s no other choice but to find a willing female and pray that it’s over quickly.

A mix of shame and nausea well up in my throat. I swallow it back with the last swig of my beer.

My face is so hot it feels like the skin’s about to peel off. I toss my bottle into the flames. “I’m bored. Wanna ride?”

Talon stands and downs the rest of his beer in a few short gulps, tossing the bottle into the fire. “Fuck yeah.”

Night riding is a rush. Even with a light, it’s impossible to see anything beyond two feet of my front tire. All the shit I got going on in my head dissolves with an adrenaline ass-kicking. And right now, I’m looking for a beat-down.

“Hold on. I have an idea.” I move to what’s left of our woodpile and fish out a few long planks, laying them down to make a ramp toward the bonfire.

“You’re fucking crazy,” Talon says louder than I would’ve liked.

The small group of partiers stops talking and moves closer to my makeshift ramp. I throw a few two-by-fours that I don’t use into the flames, stoking it higher.

“Rex, dude, you can’t jump the fire. It’s too tall.” Lane, our guitar player, pushes through the crowd. “That ramp’s only high enough to get you about two feet of air.”

I ignore him and continue to make the ramp, checking the angle before standing on it to check its stability. Good enough.

Ty kneels down to check it. “He’s right, dude. You won’t clear the flames.”

No shit. I walk over to my bike and grab my helmet, which is hanging off the handle bars. Everyone erupts in different versions of what-the-fuck. I straddle and kick-start my CRF-450.

Talon rushes to my front wheel, blocking me. “You’re going to get yourself killed. That fire’s five feet deep, eight feet tall, and we’re miles away from a hospital. This is fucking lame.”

“I got it. Now move.”

“You heard the guys. You won’t clear the fire, bro.”

I shake my head. “Not trying to clear it.”

His eyebrows drop low, and confusion pinches his expression. “You’re not gonna jump through . . . ?”

I rev the engine and wait for him to move.

He yells something, but I continue to lie hard on the gas, drowning his words in the growl of my bike.

He throws his hands in the air and moves to join everyone else at the ramp.

I hit the gas and turn. Rocks and dirt spit from my back tire. My mind spins with the hundred different things that could go wrong. If I hit the ramp off center, I’ll go face first into the fire. I take a second to consider what it might feel like to be burned alive—engulfed by flames, deprived of oxygen, the agonizing burn. My heartbeat speeds with excitement and I settle into the familiar feeling. Danger, possible death, pain . . . there’s nothing that compares. Not drugs, sex, or money.

A good twenty yards away, I turn and face the fire in the distance. The small crowd of people fades into the background until it’s just the flames and me.

“Do your worst, fucker.” I hit the gas hard but keep the brake engaged.

With one full throttle, my bike takes off so fast the front wheel comes off the ground. I lean forward, tucking in for speed. My flesh itches to feel the flash of heat. I spot the ramp, tiny in comparison to the inferno raging behind it.

Closer, closer . . .

My front tire hits wood. I’m airborne. I hold my breath. Heat singes my bare legs and arms. I feel a flash of euphoria.

Then it’s over. Unable to predict my landing, my tires hit dirt. Skidding out, I land hard on my hip and shoulder, sliding in a cloud of dust and rocks.

Pain splinters through my shoulder and feels so damn good.

“You’re fucking insane!” Talon kneels down by my face. “Asshole! You broke something, didn’t you?”

I groan and roll to my back. Nah, I know pain. This isn’t a break. Sprain? Maybe.

There’s a tiny part of me that recognizes I should feel bad. People count on me: the band, the UFL. But I can’t dig up enough concern to give a fuck.

The pain is all I have. It’s the only thing that reminds me I can still feel. It may be sick and insane, but it’s real.

I push up, stand, and pull off my helmet. “I’m going to try again.” There’s a small stack of pallets that still need to be burned. “More fire this time.”

Talon shoves my shoulder, sending a shock of pain up my neck. “No way, dick. We’ve got a show tomorrow night. You’re fuckin’ stupid if you think—”

“What’re you? His mommy?” One of the drunk-ass guys who’s been picking fights all night comes stumbling toward us. “Let the pussy do it.”

Great, just when I was starting to have fun.

Talon steps up to face off with the guy. “Who’re you callin’ pussy, bitch?”

“Whoa.” The guy stumbles and laughs. “I get it. You’re not his mommy; you’re his boyfriend, that it?”

My muscles tense. “What the fuck’s your problem?” Heat ignites my blood.

The guy grins through his mustache and goatee. “Yep, you two are definitely fuckin’.”

Talon and I advance on him just as a few other guys get this mouthy fuck’s back.

He stands taller now that he’s got back up. “Cocksuckers.”

My body floods with rage. I cross the few steps between me and the tubby shit. With a shove, I send his ass to the ground and straddle his torso.

There are things I can’t stand, won’t tolerate. And this dipstick just walked right into one of my no-nos.

“You call me a cocksucker?” I pull back and slam my forearm into his jaw. He tries to fight back with an uncoordinated swing that I easily block.

The sound of an argument rages behind me, but I ignore it, seeing this guy through a haze fury, and I rain down shots to his face. A slight sting against my shoulder and jaw proves he’s getting his licks in, but it doesn’t stop me.

Firm hands grip my biceps from behind. “I dare you to call me that again.” I let myself be pulled away. “Go on! Say it. Call me a cocksucker!”

His friends help him to his feet and he brushes himself off, smiling. “That all you got, momma’s boy?”

“Piece of shit!” I throw my body forward only to get blocked by Talon.

“Rex, man, chill the fuck out.” Lane pulls me back.

My muscles burn for a fight, but they’re right. This drunken loser isn’t worth it, and judging by the blood dripping from his lip to his leather vest, I’d say I proved my point. I stop struggling and shrug them off.

They let me go but stand barrier between me and the bloodied biker.

My blood is still cranked from the adrenaline and the ache of my fall. A slow smile pulls at my lips, and I can feel the wild in my eyes as I glance at Talon. “That was fun.”

He stares at me with a look I’m familiar with. It’s in the pinched brows, squinted eyes, and the slight lift of his lip.

He thinks I’m insane.

He’s right.

~*~

Mac

“Fucking fantastic.” My mumbled words are lost in the tepid desert air. It’s early May, and already the weather is warming with the promise of punishing summer temps.

I spit a few windblown strands of hair from my mouth and turn my motorcycle into my driveway. I hit the garage door opener and glare at the Harley beast parked just a few feet away.

Hatchet’s here.

After the night I’ve had, I’m in no mood to deal with his shit. I groan and pull my motorcycle into the garage.

It’s late–or early. Working the closing shift in a Vegas nightclub is a bitch. Besides having my ass grabbed, a drunk chick slosh her drink on my shirt, and getting stiffed by a group of frat boy assholes, now I’ve got to deal with this biker piece of crap. My only hope is that they’re asleep.

I shove into the house from the garage, and I’m met with complete darkness. Caught off guard, I stumble and my chest gets tight.

“Dammit.” I hate the dark. I flip on the closest switch, which illuminates a single bulb by the pantry.

Trix knows to leave a light on when I have to work late. Now I know they’re asleep—or to be more accurate, passed out.

For a second, I almost envy my roommate and her biker hookup. They’re probably so deep in the land of the intoxicated that nothing short of being stabbed could wake them up. I allow myself the fantasy of driving a knife into Hatch’s leg after one of his wise-ass taunts and smile. A girl can dream.

My grin fades and I blow out a long breath. Dream, what a joke. More like nightmare. I lie in bed half the night, fighting sleep for fear the dreams will come: memories of the life I lived before I got free, locked up and alone with revenge as my only company.

I shake the thoughts from my mind and stay focused on the present, my immediate needs, and now I’m hungry.

I work my way through the cabinets and fridge, looking for something to eat. A quick shake of the Cocoa Puffs box. Empty. Fruit Roll-Ups? Gone. I reach for a strawberry Pop-Tart and grab a Capri Sun from the fridge. Score!

The nauseous smell of Midori wafts from my sticky shirt and up my nose. How do girls drink that crap? It’s like cough syrup and Jolly Rancher mixed. I need a hot shower, pronto.

Leaving the light on, I make my way to my bedroom while ripping open the Pop-Tart package with my teeth.

“Mornin’, Big Mac.” My roommate’s voice, scratchy with sleep, comes from the living room. “You’re just getting home?” She’s lounging on the couch, her long blond hair in a tangled mess and Hatch’s wide muscular body passed out between her legs, his face in her belly.

I cover my eyes, wishing that I’d turned the kitchen light off. I can’t un-see that shit. “Hatch, you mind getting your naked ass off my couch?”

He mumbles something and grunts. With the sound of movement and the desire to avoid seeing his business, I give them my back.

“You should come back to work at Zeus’s.” Trix moans as if she’s stretching in naked contentment on my damn couch. “Better hours.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. Bartending in fishnets and a G-string isn’t my thing. And those Brazilian waxes are a bitch.” All right, I still get those, but not for the reason I used to. Natural red hair isn’t an easy thing to hide.

When I first moved to Vegas, working at Zeus’s was where I wanted to be. I thought it’d be hard to get hired with no ID. I was wrong.

My name is Mac Ellenshire. I’m new in town and got my purse stolen. I need money to get a new ID. Will you hire me? Push out my boobs, wink, and wiggle my ass. Hired.

I worked there long enough to meet Trix, who helped me with a place to live, and Hatchet, who got me a fake ID and social security number. My plans were all panning out until the only reason I worked there in the first place ended up with a bullet in his head. Eh, details.

I sink my teeth into the sweet crumbly pastry and motion toward my roommate. “There a reason you two decided to soil the couch?”

“Sorry, roomie. Party out in the middle of nowhere last night. By the time we finally got home, I was sick of traveling.”

She’s got to be kidding me. “Ten more steps to your bedroom, Trix.”

“Yeah,” she says through a long drawn-out yawn. “That seemed really far away at three a.m.”

“I’m starving.” Hatch shuffles his bare feet to me, zipping up his jeans. Even in the limited light, his scruffy longish brown hair, huge shoulders, and tan skin make him look one hundred percent biker even without his leather cut.

He glares at my hands. “What is it with you and kid food?”

Truth is where I grew up we never got kid food. I’m making up for lost time. But the worst thing a person can do in front of a guy like Hatch is expose a weakness. He already knows I use a fake name, and it’s through his connections that I got a new social and ID. That alone is too much.

I hold up my head and keep my expression blank. “What is it with you and your obvious disdain for bathing?”

Clearly not used anyone talking back to him, especially a female, he steps up close, trying to intimidate with me with his size or his stink. But he knows nothing about me and the life I lived. His worst sins are nothing compared to the things I’ve seen.

A slow grin pulls at my lips.

“What’re you laughing at, bitch?”

“Watch the name calling, Easy Rider.”

“Ugh.” Trix stumbles to us, wrapped in a throw blanket. “Can you two go one fuckin’ night without fighting?”

He turns to her. “Hey, Snow White here was just saying she’s gonna make me some damn breakfast.”

“Go make your own damn breakfast, preferably in your own damn house.”

Trix turns on the light in the foyer, and I cringe at what I see on Hatchet’s face. His eye is discolored and puffy, his lip split, and his cheek an eerie mix of purple and blue.

’Bout time that guy talked shit to the wrong person. “What happened to your face?”

“Fucking pussy got lippie.” He shrugs and crosses his arms at his chest. “Had to put him in his place.”

I shove another bite of Pop-Tart in my mouth, smiling. “You put him in his place?” I motion to his eye and cheek. “’Cause uh . . . from where I’m standing, it looks like you got your ass handed to you.” A snort of laughter rips from my throat.

Trix stands, facing him, her hand on her cocked hip. “He didn’t get lippie. You picked a fight with him.”

He glares at her. “Bullshit. He started it.”

“You’re an idiot.” Trix shakes her head. “You know that guy fights for a living, right? You’re lucky he left you breathing.” She moves into the kitchen and Hatch follows.

A fighter? Vegas is full of professional fighters—both boxers and UFL—but there are only a few I know that would hang out with the kind of crowd that invites bikers to their parties. And one of those guys I have a vested interest in.

I pop my head into the kitchen. “Who fights for a living?”

Trix awkwardly pulls a box of cold pizza from the fridge while trying to keep her body covered with the blanket. “UFL guy. He’s huge, rides a dirt bike . . .”

My heart speeds and my head gets light.

“Covered in tattoos.” She snaps her fingers. “Oh, his band plays at your bar.”

“Rex?”

They both turn toward me at the same time.

“You know the fruit-tart?” Hatch crosses the room with a look in his eye that I see frequently when I look in the mirror. He wants vengeance.

I square off with him. “Fruit-tart? He beat your ass.”

“You know where I can find him?”

“If I did, I’d never tell you. Wouldn’t want to be an accessory to your murder.”

He smiles, or at least it looks as if it’s supposed to be a smile, but the way his upper lip curls back from his teeth looks more like a snarl. “Don’t worry, Snow White. I won’t hurt your boy. I’ll leave him breathing.”

“He’s not my boy.” He’s my brother! “And don’t call me that.”

We stare off for a few seconds before Trix tugs on his arm. “Come on, Grumpy. Time for you to get home. I’m sure Sneezy and Doc are worried sick about you.”

He yanks his arm out of her hold. “I’ll find him. We’ve got some unfinished business. Had a few too many beers last night, so he got the jump.” Trix drags him down the hallway toward her room. He points at me over her head. “That shit won’t happen again.”

I almost want to laugh at how ridiculous he sounds. Rex is six feet of pure muscle. He’d render Hatch unconscious before he even realized what happened. He’d have to be an idiot to go after Rex.

Knowing all that, my stomach still churns with anxiety. I hate the idea that someone is out for him. If they only knew what he’s been through . . .?

From what I can tell he’s managed to keep his past a secret. I don’t blame him. But Rex doesn’t know everything, not the most important thing. If I can just get close enough to him to form a friendship, then I can fill him in on the part of his past he doesn’t know. The one thing that could change everything.

It’d give him someone to blame for what he’s been through—everything he endured at the hands of monsters—what his tiny body was put through and the unimaginable horrors he lived. I break out in a sweat. The walls start to close in and my skin feels too tight.

Locked away. Helpless.

I race to my room and lock the door behind me. Claustrophobia knocks against my nerves. My eyes scan the windows. Open. Always open.

I take a deep breath of the fresh air and remind myself he’s free. I’m free. I drop to all fours near my bed and swipe my hand beneath it, reaching for the box.

The rusted metal scrapes against my palms. I climb up on my bed, cross-legged, and flip back the lid.

Inside are scraps of yellowed paper covered in the frantic handwriting of a boy—a boy who endured things that horror stories are made from—evidence of an existence far worse than anything hell could threaten.

I had the power to stop it.

But I didn’t.

My eyes move over each word for what feels like the thousandth time. I memorize his handwriting, relive his story, and reignite my purpose.

I can give him what he never had.

Answers.

I stare unseeing as flashes of my nightmares play out behind my eyes: the blood, so much blood; the bright blue of his eyes imploring mine; the grunted words that I’ll never forget.

The box. Our secret.

My hands, tiny and insignificant, shook for hours after they loaded him into the ambulance and sped off. The sirens blared in my head long after they took him away. I still see it all, hear it in my nightmares.

Bile crawls up my throat and my body revolts against the images. I slam closed the box and shove it under my bed. The shadows creep in, reminding me that I’m walking the edge of my sanity.

I snag my iPod off my bedside table and pop on my ear buds. With tremors wracking my fingers, I scroll through a list of songs and hit play. It’s a bootleg recording, crackly and distorted, but it doesn’t matter. The music soothes and his voice chases away the dark.

Maybe after a few hours of sleep, I’ll go see him. He never knows I’m there, but it’s enough to set my eyes on him, remind myself that he’s alive.

Seeing him never fails to do the job, clear away the cobwebs from the life I’m forced to live, and remind me of the one I promised to redeem.

Two

Black like my soul and my memories

A void beyond consciousness

Red like the way that they treated me

Now a man left to clean up the mess

--Ataxia

Rex

It’s ten a.m. by the time I wake up enough to get my shit together. After the late night and the drama in the desert, I couldn’t sleep. That biker dick calling me a cocksucker was bad enough, but not getting the satisfaction of beating him unconscious itches like a rash.

Restless and eager for a fight, I finally had to succumb and take the pills my shrink gave me to calm my ass down enough to sleep. I went down hard and slept through my alarm.

I’m groggy as hell, moving through my condo like a zombie. Fuck, I hate those pills. The few times I’ve taken them I wake up with a hangover so intense I swear I’ll never touch another one again. But here I am.

As I’m forcing down my morning protein shake, the doorbell rings. I don’t get visitors often because I refuse to have people over. Other than a door-to-door salesman, there’s only one other person it could be.

“Hold up.” I head to the door and swing it open.

It’s my neighbor, Emma.

“Hey there.” She’s smiling and shifts a large duffel bag from her shoulder to the ground.

I reach up to the door frame, stretching out my sore shoulder. “You’re heading out this early?”

“Early?” She giggles and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s ten in the morning.” Her big green eyes travel from my face to my neck and down. “Um . . . thanks, ah, again for helping me out.”

She stares at the ink on my chest and tilts her head to read the writing tattooed on my ribcage. I fight the urge to shift uncomfortably at her blatant ogling.

“Em . . .”

Her eyes move up toward my face but snag on one silver barbell through my right nipple then glide across to the one in my left.

“Emma.”

Her eyes are wide and dart to mine. “Oh, yeah, yes. I’m leaving now.” Pink colors her cheeks.

“Let me grab a shirt and I’ll walk you down.”

“No need. I got it.” She reaches in her pocket and pulls out her keys. “Here ya go. Twice a day would be great, but if you can only get over there once, that should be okay too.”

I tuck the keys into the pocket of my track pants. “Shitty’s food in the same place?”

Her jaw drops open with a big smile. “Oh my gosh, don’t call her that. And yeah, Miss Kitty’s food is under the sink.” Reaching down, she hefts the duffle onto her shoulder. She pulls long strands of her chestnut hair out from under the strap with a wince.

“Let me get that.” I don’t give her a chance to argue and take the bag, cringing slightly as pain twists behind my collarbone. I set the bag down. “Give me a sec.”

I leave the door open, knowing that Emma won’t come in. She knows how things work with me and respects my boundaries.

The first day she moved in she came by to introduce herself. I knew by her jeans, flannel shirt, and hiking boots that she wasn’t from around here. That and transplants are always friendlier than natives.

And that’s Emma. Friendly, beautiful, and naïve to a fault. Small town girl in the City of Sin. When she goes home to visit her family, I take care of her cat, Miss Kitty.

Leaving her at the door, I go to my closet to grab a T-shirt and a pair of shoes. I pull the shirt over my head, but carry the shoes to the door, popping them on while standing on the doormat, then grab her duffel with my uninjured arm.

“Thanks again, Rex. I owe you.”

“Yeah?” I close the door behind me. “Bring back some of those cookies your mom makes.”

She giggles and the sound of it makes me smile. I’ve never met a more open, bubbly, and all around happy person in all my life. She’s light, comfortable to hang out with, a good girl.

She puts on her sunglasses as we make our way through the courtyard and into the bright late morning sun. “You playing a show tonight?”

“Yep. Usual Sunday night gig.”

Emma has never been to one of my shows. She asks about them and I’ve invited her, but she stays separate from that part of my life, the band and the fighting. I like that. With her, I get to just be me, not T-Rex or the lead singer of Ataxia. Just Rex. Simple.

Once at her Jeep Cherokee, she opens the back and I put in the bag, stepping aside for her to drop the hatch. “Drive safely. I’ll take good care of Miss Shitty.”

“Stop calling her that.” She smacks my chest.

I laugh and feign injury. “What? That’s her name.”

“Miss Kitty. Not Shitty.”

“That’s what I said.” I chuckle.

She shakes her head then looks up at me and uses her hand to shield her face from the overhead sun. “I should be back Tuesday, but if not, I’ll give you a call.”

I hook her around the back of her neck and pull her in for a hug. Her arms go around my waist in a quick, chaste embrace.

“Break a leg tonight.” She hoists her tiny frame into the driver’s seat and fires up the engine.

I nod and stand back as she pulls out of her parking spot and leaves the lot. Yeah, she’s a good girl. She doesn’t belong here in Vegas. I thought for sure that the city would corrupt her, but after two years she’s still the same. She goes to school, studies hard, works harder, and always keeps that smile on her face.

There’s a voice deep down that whispers I should date her, ask her out and see where things go. She’s pretty in a way that screams purity. White. Clean. Something that needs to be protected, not dirtied.

And I’m nothing if not dirty.

After her car is long gone, I turn to head back when I get the feeling someone’s watching me. It’s been happening a lot these last few months. One minute nothing, and then it’s as if the air pressure changes. A weight, thick and dense settles in around me.

I crank my neck to the left and right, but keep walking, knowing that eventually the feeling goes away. It seems stupid to care about being looked at. I’ve been in the public eye for years, but this is different somehow.

“Fuck, I’m losing my damn mind.” I’d tell my shrink at our next meeting, but the last thing I want added to my list of syndromes and afflictions is motherfucking paranoia. “At this rate they’ll throw my ass in a straightjacket.”

Since I started seeing my therapist at seventeen, he’s been trying to figure out where my compulsions stem from. I’ve heard phrases like repressed memories, abandonment issues, and post-traumatic stress disorder ever since I was hospitalized as a kid.

That’s my earliest vivid memory: waking up in a hospital bed. It’s funny. I don’t remember wanting to die. I don’t even remember why I did it other than the satisfaction of marking my skin and watching my blood pool. The visions I have of that day only come in flashes and specific colors: bright red blood against my pale skin. Surprisingly, the thoughts don’t evoke much feeling.

But then there are the others, two very specific flashes: fire-orange hair and light gray eyes. And with those visions comes the warmth, the peace.

There are sounds that accompany the soft orange waves and the misty gray eyes—humming—soothing, rhythmic melodies that calm my inner turmoil.

Those two things are the memories I hold on to. They’re the ones that keep me sane at night when the insomnia won’t let up.

That sounds so fucking insane. The best explanation my therapist can come up with is some shit about coping mechanisms and self-soothing. But what is there to cope with, to soothe, if I don’t remember?

Not at all in the mood to take this ride down no-memory lane, I grab my cell from my pocket just as I hit my front door. Scrolling through my contacts, I find the one I’m looking for and hit send. I kick off my shoes and carry them to my closet.

“Rex,” Blake answers the phone sounding as if he just rolled out of bed. “What’s up?”

“You training today?” I know he is. The guy is a fucking machine when it comes to his fights, and this one coming up is a career changer for him. It’s also instrumental in earning back what reputation he lost a few months ago.

“Does a monkey shit in the woods?”

“You mean bear.”

“Bear who?”

“It’s ‘Does a bear shit in the woods?’”

“You seriously fucking calling me on a Sunday to talk about this shit?”

“No, dick, I’m calling to find out what time I should be at the training center so I can show you what a pussy you are.”

“I’m leaving in thirty.”

“See you there.”

I hang up, smiling and suddenly excited to get in a good sparring session before my show tonight. What I started with that guy at the bonfire, I can finish with Blake.

~*~

I pull into the parking lot and see that Jonah, Caleb, and Blake’s trucks are the only ones there. Using a passcode and key card to get inside, I move through the darkened lobby and into the main training center. It’s empty, but I can hear music coming from behind the door of the weight room.

Caleb spots me as I head toward the locker room. “What are you doing here? Thought you weren’t training today.”

I tug at my lip ring. “Slept like shit last night. Thought this would help.”

“Glad you’re here. Blake needs a good ass-kicking. Drop your shit in the locker room and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Sounds good. Let me grab a quick shower.”

He drops his eyebrows and shakes his head. The guys stopped fucking with me years ago about how often I shower. I can’t help it, but I feel like I’m covered in shit all the time.

“Right. I’ll meet you over there.” He claps me on the shoulder.

I wince at the painful yet gratifying shock of pain.

He frowns. “You injured?”

“Nah, just took a dive off my bike last night. No big deal.”

“No big deal.” He pins me with a glare. “Right. Just like the time your finger was bending ninety degrees the wrong way. Are we talking that kind of no big deal?”

“I’m fine. Really.”

He gives up with a shrug. “Whatever, dude. I’ll meet you in the weight room.”

A quick scalding shower later, I’m moving through the training center toward the weight room. I shove through the double doors, Slipnot’s “Dead Memories” blaring through the speakers.

“’Bout time.” Blake drops his leg-press weights hard for emphasis.

“You ready for some real competition?” I grin as the guys chuckle at my ribbing. “I’m here. Let’s spar.”

“Rex, dude. Easy with that shoulder.” Caleb pipes up like a tattle-tailing little brother. The guy is my best bro, but sometimes he feels more like a nagging chick.

Jonah drops his weights back onto the rack. “What’s up with your shoulder?”

I glare at Caleb but answer Jonah. “Nothing.”

Blake laughs and steps to me, his arms crossed over his chest. “Nothing? You sure?”

“I endo’ed my dirt bike last night. Probably just a strain.”

“Yeah?” He shoves my shoulder.

Ow! Fuck. I swallow my answering growl and instead step up closer to him. “See. I’m fine. But if you’re scared, maybe you should see if Killer can spar with you. He’s a little more your speed.”

Blake’s eyes get tight, and I feel the slow grin pull at my lips.

“Fuck you. Octagon in five.” Blake stomps from the room.

Jonah and Caleb stare at me.

I throw my good arm out to my side. “What? He started it.”

“Don’t fuck around, T-Rex.” Jonah grabs his towel and wipes his face. “If you’re hurt, you shouldn’t be training.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“You’re not acting like you’re fine,” Caleb says.

“He’s right. You’re babying that arm—”

“Who the fuck died and made you guys my parents?” With my words comes a new pain, a different kind of pain, the numbing kind that makes me desperate to feel.

Caleb holds up his hands. “Chill out, bro.”

“I’m not your bro, your bitch, or your kid!” A rage rolls around in my gut, and I know if I don’t harness this feeling I’ll flip out.

It happens sometimes and I can’t figure out why, triggered by a remark or a feeling. Last night it was when that guy called me a cocksucker. It’s happened with the mention of family and, now, being treated as if I don’t have say in what my body feels or doesn’t feel. I rub my eyes and welcome the headache.

“You okay?” Jonah’s in my face.

“Fine.” I groan and try to breathe deep. “I’m a little on edge, Got in a fight at a party last night, didn’t sleep well.” Feel like I’m being watched and can’t remember anything from my childhood—normal shit.

“Fight at a party, huh?” Jonah smiles. “You kick his ass?”

“Not like I wanted to.”

“No blood and broken bones, huh?”

“There was blood. Just not enough.”

“Shame.” He moves past me. “Better get your ass to the octagon before Blake starts crying.”

He’s right. I’ll throw all this extra emotional shit into fighting.

“You ready, asshat?” Blake says, yelling from the octagon, pulling me from my own mental hell.

I smile. “Yep.”

~*~

Mac

“Piece of shit.” I kick the front tire of my ’98 Honda motorcycle. “Ouch! Dammit.” I spin away and limp to the backdoor of The Blackout, knowing that to top off my crappy start to the night I’m going to get an earful from my manager about being late for my shift.

I took the long way to work, opting to take a few laps around a new housing development that’s vacant and still under construction. And I felt better too, until I got close to work and realized my tire was flat. Walking my motorcycle that last mile did nothing but piss me off more than I already was.

But I continue to tell myself that I didn’t see what I saw. Rex didn’t walk a woman from his apartment carrying her overnight bag. He didn’t put it in her car and hug her goodbye. And he didn’t watch her drive away with a longing in his eyes that made my heart cramp and stomach turn.

I jog by his house almost every day, and I’ve never seen him with a girl like that. Not once.

Throwing open the door, I smile at the satisfying crack of the metal handle as it hits the brick wall. After grabbing my apron, I stash my messenger bag into a locker.

“You’re late,” Mario, my manager, says from down the hall.

I face him and shrug. “Flat tire.”

“Sure. You’re on the floor tonight with Alexis. Get your side work done. It should be busy tonight. Ataxia goes on at eight.” He turns and walks down the corridor toward the bar.

“Great.” It’s not that I mind cocktail serving, but there’s something about being on the floor all night while Rex is on stage that makes me feel exposed. At least when I’m behind the bar there’s three feet of waist-high solid wood to play barrier.

The Blackout is a typical local music venue. It’s dark, with black walls and a concrete floor. The room is shaped like a rectangle with a stage on one side, tables throughout, and a long bar running along the wall. It’s nothing fancy or complicated, but the acoustics make it one of the most popular venues for local music here in Vegas.

When I hit the server’s station, Alexis is already there picking at her hot pink nails. “Hey, Mac. I hope it’s okay, but I’ve got dibs on the back section tonight.” She points to her lower belly. “Red devil. I need an easy night.”

Fuck. That puts me in the front of the house, closest to the stage. “Sure thing, but don’t think you can use your period as an excuse to slack off all night. I’m not picking up extra tables.”

Her eyes narrow. “What’s up your ass?”

I exhale hard and shake my head. “I had to walk my bike for almost a mile. Made me crabby as hell.”

“Well, shit. This should be a fun shift. Between the two of us, we could probably clear this place out with our bitch-a-tude.”

I laugh and wrap a short black server’s apron around my waist. A sharp whistle from the bar turns my head.

Lucas, the bartender, points to a tray of battery-operated candles sitting on the bar. “Set up your section, Mac. I think we’re going to get slammed early.”

Groaning, I remind myself that I need the money and move my sour ass. I dress every table with a candle, stock my station with plenty of cocktail napkins, and make sure I’ve got fifty dollars in small bills for change.

Two hours later, the place is packed. I’ve been so busy with my tables I don’t notice whether or not the band has gotten in. That’s the other thing I hate about being a cocktail server—waiting on the band.

Every time I get close to Rex my tongue swells and I stumble over myself like a drunken teenager. He never looks directly at me, not that I blame him. And even though I look nothing like the girl from his past, there’s a part of me that dies every time he treats me like a stranger.

I place the last of five pints on my tray and negotiate the crowded room to a table up front. Movement from the stage catches my eye. I peek over and see Ataxia is there setting up.

My eyes find Rex out of habit, and no matter how hard I try to look away, I can’t. He’s dressed in charcoal gray Dickies and black Chucks. His faded As-I-Lay-Dying tee looks a half size too small, hugging his heavily tattooed biceps and stretching across his chest and shoulders. If he were to lift his arms, even a little, I’d get a glimpse of his rippled abdomen. He’s wearing a black baseball hat cocked just off center enough to showcase the two small silver barbells in his eyebrow.

I’m staring. I know I should turn away before I get caught, but tucked into the safety of the crowd, I think I’m safe. He’s setting up the mic, concentrating, and rolls his full bottom lip between his teeth. With a step back, he checks out the height of the stand, pulling at his lip ring.

He’s so different from the boy I knew, but no less handsome. Even behind all the metal in his face, I can see those same blue eyes. But there’s a hardness to them now, a steel that matches his expression, as if life has lost its luster and he’s adjusted to the disappointment.

“Yo, sweet tits, you gonna deliver us those beers or am I going to have to come and get ’em from you.” One of the guys at my table thinks he’s a comedian and laughs at his own crappy joke.

I drag my eyes away from Rex and deliver the beers. Get with it, Mac. Tonight could be the night I finally break through and have the courage to introduce myself. Yeah right. I say that every Sunday night Ataxia plays and haven’t gotten any further than offering him a drink.

To think I’ve been waiting most of my life to see him again, planned my speech to perfection over years and years of solitude, but don’t have the courage to follow through. Pathetic.

“You may as well grab me another one of these.” The jerk gulps down half the beer I just gave him and burps.

How long have I been standing here?

“Sure thing.” I turn and head to check on another table.

“Don’t know what I like better. Watching her go or watching her come.” The table of douche morons laughs, and I could’ve sworn I heard the palm slap of a high-five.

Usually I’d have some smart-ass remark that would shut that asshole up, but I’m in no mood to fight. I can’t get the visual of Rex and that girl out of my head: his huge frame towering over hers, long powerful arms swallowing her whole.

I shouldn’t care. His happiness is the most important thing. It’s the only thing I’ve ever cared about since I reappeared in his life. But why does it feel as though I’ve lost something?

Groupies hang on him all the time, but he’s never given them more than his polite attention. I’ve never seen him leave with a girl, and I’d know. I watch.

“Mac!” A familiar voice pulls my attention.

I search the direction and see Layla, a girl I met back in February, who is now living with Rex’s friend and fellow UFL fighter, Blake Daniels.

She’s wearing her usual kick-ass jeans with a heavy metal concert tee and biker boots.

“Hey.” My eyes swing to Blake, who seems to be giving a few guys at the bar dirty looks. “Blake.”

He grumbles his hello and Layla rolls her eyes. “Don’t mind him. Those guys made the mistake of looking at me. Guess they forgot that when I’m around they need to avert their eyes to the floor.” The sarcasm in her voice is thick.

“Damn right, those fuckers need to keep their eyes to the floor.” He slowly removes his glare from the poor guys who I’m sure are halfway to running the hell out of here to avoid Blake’s wrath. “You won’t wear my ring or take my name. Until that baby bump starts showing, Mouse, dudes need to know you’re taken.”

“Baby bump? Layla, are you pregnant?” My cheeks ache as I smile in response to her face-splitting grin.

She covers her mouth and nods.

“Oh my gosh, that’s amazing!” I wrap my arms around her in a hug. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks, we just found out a couple weeks ago, so it’s not public news yet.”

“Wow, ‘The Snake’ is going to be a dad.” I shake my head and grin.

“Damn right.” Blake slips his arm around her shoulders.

“I better get back to work, but we should hang out soon.”

“I’d love that.” She pulls a pen out from her purse and scribbles something on a napkin. “Here’s my number. Let’s grab coffee or a drink—”

“No drinks, Mouse. Coffee’s out too.” Blake’s eyes move around the bar as if he’s searching for his next victim. Protective much? Jeez.

“Right, well, dinner and water it is.” She twirls a lock of long hair around her finger.

I shove the napkin in my pocket. “Dinner would be fun. I’ll—”

A chord from an electric guitar blares through the speakers. I swing around to face the stage.

Rex’s deep laugh comes through the mic to my ears in a sensual caress. His laugh is something I’ve only heard since I started working here. I’ll never forget the first time.

To this day I don’t know what he was laughing at, but it was the most incredible thing I’d ever heard. I was bartending, and he was standing at the end of the bar with some friends. I stared at him. His head was thrown back, and he had that beautiful smile. I was completely memorized at how carefree he could be.

Jealousy rolls through me when I think of all the people who’ve been in the company of an untroubled Rex. That’s a side of him I’m only starting to know and only from a distance.

“Thanks for coming out tonight.” He’s still chuckling through his words, looking at the guitar player who’s also grinning.

Their good humor is contagious and I smile too.

“We’re going to change things up a bit and start with a new song we’ve been working on. So um . . .”—he plays the beginning of a song I’ve never heard, and the drums and bass join in—“don’t throw shit if I fuck it up.”

The song is fast and loud, getting the crowd riled up. I mouth to Layla and Blake that we can talk later and move to sit in the shadows at the side of the bar.

Rex presses his lips against the mic and starts singing the new song. The sound is dark, haunting, and soul penetrating. He sings about being confined and helpless. The lyrics go on to talk about being kept from the world and unable to get free. The basement. My stomach cramps violently. But it’s the chorus that has me gripping my neck and forcing myself to keep breathing.

There’s so much to say, every time we’re together.

But the fear and the pain seem to go on forever.

Every night that you come, whispered words spoken

You calm my soul, and in the moment, I’m not broken.

Is he singing about me?

Three

Blue is the sky that I now see

A freedom the dark cannot touch.

But the gray is the one that consumes me

And the comfort I miss so much.

--Ataxia

Rex

“We’re gonna take off, man.” Blake is standing at the side of the stage. His arm’s slung over Layla so that she’s tucked in close. “Great show.”

We just played our last set and are breaking down our equipment. Some nights we hang out until last call, but not tonight. It’s close to midnight and I’m dead tired.

“Yeah, thanks for coming.” I put down the cords I was wrapping and walk over to them, squatting down to their eye level. “Late night, huh, Layla? Aren’t pregnant chicks supposed to go to bed early?”

“We’re having a date night. Figure we should get some alone time before the baby comes.” She tilts her head back and smiles up at Blake.

“I don’t think Blake’s ever been on a date until you.” I can guarantee he hasn’t, unless sex in a public bathroom counts.

His eyes get tight. “You should try it. Plenty of girls around, get that dick in gear—Ow!” He looks at Layla. “Why’d you pinch me?”

“Just because you’ve retired your boy-slut status doesn’t mean you need to corrupt Rex.” She swings her dark eyes to me. “I loved your new song by the way. How do you come up with those lyrics?”

My pulse jumps. I can’t tell her the truth—that I write from my dreams. The shit that haunts my sleep gets turned into lyrical form. “No clue, but thanks. Glad you liked it.”

She yawns.

“Right. I need to get my woman home and naked before she falls asleep on my ass.” Blake kisses the top of her head.

What a difference a woman makes. One minute the guy’s fuckin’ chicks and keeping secrets; now he’s playing Bon Jovi and having a kid. It’s as if he went from twenty-five to forty overnight.

I fist-bump Blake and give Layla a hug before they turn and disappear into the dwindling crowd. Ready to follow their lead and get home for some shut-eye, I finish breaking down all our stuff. Lane helps me out, but Talon and Ty have wandered off with a group of girls. Something tells me we won’t be seeing much of them for the rest of the night.

I’ve loaded up our van, settled up with the manager, and satisfied a few fans with pictures and autographs when I’m finally headed to my truck. I check my phone. Fuck. It’s two a.m.

So much for an early night.

“Mothereff!” The angry female voice comes from the other side of the alley.

I lean to see around a dumpster and find a tall dark-haired girl limping in a circle and dropping every cuss word known to man. From what I can tell, she’s pissed at the motorcycle parked just a few feet away.

Guess my early night went from late to later.

I stroll up to her, but she’s too lost in her fit to notice. “You need some help?”

She jumps and spins on me, fists raised.

I hold up my hands and try like hell not to crack up at how funny this girl looks with her feminine little hands balled up and ready to throw a punch. “Whoa . . . watch the guns there, slugger.”

She drops her hands to her sides and stares at me. “Rex”—her eyebrows drop low—“are you . . . you’re talking to me?”

Okay, maybe she’s angry and drunk.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you, unless there’s someone else in the alley who’s jumping around and yelling at a motorcycle. Wait, how do you know my name?”

Her dark pink lips part and she locks eyes with mine. There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t nail it down. Her long black hair is pulled back, but pieces have come loose and fall in waves around her heart-shaped face. The contrast of her hair against her pale skin with those dark lips . . . she looks like a doll.

I snap my fingers and point. “I know you!”

Her eyes go wide and she sucks in an audible breath. “Yes. It’s me—”

“Sorry, I know you work here, and I feel like a total dickhead for not remembering your name.”

She jerks as if my words delivered a physical blow. “Oh, uh . . . yeah. M-mac.”

“Mac. Right. Sorry, I meet so many people . . .” It’s a crappy excuse, but it’s true. I only know a few of the waitresses by name. I still feel like a dick.

She nods a few times, still staring. Silence expands between us, and her eyes don’t move from my face.

I clear my throat. “So . . . is this your man’s bike?”

Her eyes flutter and she shakes her head. “No, um . . .” She turns to the motorcycle. “It’s mine.”

“Yours?”

Her gaze swings to me, eyes narrowing.

“Sorry, it’s just girls don’t usually—”

“Ride motorcycles. I get it.” She kneels down to look at something around the front tire.

I follow her gaze to see what she’s studying. It’s then I notice the front tire is flat. Really flat. “Ah, flat tire, huh?”

She doesn’t answer me, probably because it’s a stupid-ass question.

“You need air.” I almost slap my forehead at what a jackass I must sound like.

She forks her fingers into her hair. “No shit.” Her mumbled words are barely audible and make me smile.

“What I mean is why don’t I give you and your motorcycle a lift to the gas station so we can get you back on the road?” I don’t know why I’m offering. She could take a cab home and get her boyfriend to help her in the morning, assuming she has a man. From the looks of this chick, all legs and the kind of hair that makes a man want to bury himself inside it, she’s gotta be taken.

But why would she be here alone in a dark alley with a flat and no one here to help her if she did? Fuck! If I had a girl, I’d spank the hell out of her if she put herself in this situation.

Her eyes search mine as if she’s trying to decipher the seriousness of my offer. “You want to help me?”

“Unless your man is on the way to pick you up, I don’t see you’ve got any other options.” I motion to the sign in the alley that clearly reads “No Overnight Parking.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Have one what?”

“A man, coming for me.”

“Well then”—I hold out my arms and bow—“looks like I’m your guy.”

Her eyes go wide and she steps back, bumping into her bike.

What’s up with this chick?

~*~

Mac

Calm down. Don’t freak out. Yes, the object of a fourteen-year obsession is standing less than two feet away. And he’s talking to me. Talking. To me!

At first I thought he’d recognized me until I remembered I’m no longer the frizzy redheaded girl from his past. No matter how many times I see my reflection in the mirror, I still feel like Gia when Rex is around, scared and insecure.

“Really, you don’t have to do this. I can call my roommate. She can—” I groan when I remember that she’s working at Zeus’s until six am. “Fuck.”

He chuckles and rolls his lip ring around a couple times. “Listen, it’s not a big deal. I have a ramp in the back of my truck and straps to tie it down.”

I stare at him. How is it that a boy who’s been through all he has can grow up to be such a genuine man? He doesn’t walk around with attitude, goes out of his way to take pictures with fans, and helps strangers he meets in the alley. Amazing.

He shifts on his feet. “Look, I’m not some psycho. I promise. Besides, we basically work together. Go tell Mario I’m giving you a ride so that if you come up missing they’ll know it was me.”

He sounds so serious I can’t help but choke on a laugh as it bubbles up my throat.

He cocks one eyebrow. “That a yes?”

“Okay, as long as you promise not to leave me in a ditch somewhere.”

A slow curl of his lips has me sucking in a breath. My heart races. Damn, he’s gorgeous when he smiles.

“Deal?”

“Deal.”

We stare at each other, me taking him in and him probably trying to figure out why I can’t drag my eyes away.

He clears his throat. “Right, well, I’ll pull up the truck. Why don’t you run in and let Mario know who you’re leaving with.”

I nod and he walks toward his truck. I do as I’m told, and think there isn’t much I wouldn’t do if he asked.

After a quick conversation with Mario, I’m back in the alley. Rex has my bike loaded into the bed of his midnight-blue Cadillac pick-up. He’s standing on the huge truck tire, pulling one of the ratchet straps tight so that the bike stays upright. Transfixed, I admire the bulging of his triceps and the lithe way he commands his body as if he knows every single inch and all it’s capable of. He reaches over the bike, and his shirt lifts a few inches, giving me an unobstructed view of his side and abdomen. Holy shit.

I break out in a sweat. My mouth goes dry and my belly tumbles.

“Hey.”

The sound of his voice pulls my attention.

“You ready?” He hops down from the truck tire and opens the passenger side door. With a sweep of his hand, he bows. “Your chariot awaits.”

I laugh and close the space between us. Stopping just before I hop up into the truck, my eyes find his. “Thanks.” For finally noticing me.

“No problem.” He motions for me to get in. “Load up, princess.”

He called me princess. My heart stumbles, tripping over itself, and I jump in. Once inside the truck, I watch from the rearview as he checks the straps one last time. I take a deep breath and laze in the scent of fresh cut wood and citrus that permeates the cab.

This is happening. I’m in Rex’s truck and we’re talking. My heart pounds so hard I hear it in my ears.

Do I tell him who I am? Right now?

Oh, hey, thanks for the ride and by the way I’m your foster sister, you know, the one who promised to protect you and failed. Ugh. I rub my temples. No, I can’t just blurt it out. I don’t know how he feels about me. Maybe he thinks I knew what was going on in that basement and didn’t do anything about it. He could hate my guts. He’d have every right to. Oh God. My stomach churns. What if that’s what he thinks?

The truck shifts as he jumps off the back and walks around to the driver’s side.

He swings open the door and slides in. “CB900. Nice ride. What year?”

Be calm. Don’t blow this. “1980.”

He turns the ignition. “Classic.”

“Hardly.” I pick my nails and look out the window. “More like a classic piece of shit.”

Backing out of the alley, he turns onto the main road. “It’s a flat tire, Mac.” He chuckles and the sound sends warmth through my chest all the way to my fingertips. “I found two nails in the front tire. The bike’s good; it’s where you’re riding that’s fuckin’ it up.”

My cheeks flame. The construction development. That must be where I picked up the nails. Shit. I was so consumed with Rex and his sleepover guest I wasn’t paying attention to what I was riding over. “Point taken.”

“Airing up the tire will do no good. You’ve got holes to patch.”

“What? So . . . um, no gas station?”

He stops at a red light and shifts his body slightly to face me. “No. But I promise to bypass the ditch and drop you at home. Where do you live?”

Oh crap! He’s going to see where I live. Not so much where I live, but how close I live to him. “Um . . . I’m off of 67th and Kelmore.”

He narrows his eyes. “No shit? That’s by me.”

“Huh.” I laugh and it sounds completely unnatural. “Crazy.”

Stalker. Psycho. Yes, yes, and yes.

Turning right at the light, he heads toward my house. “How long have you been working at The Blackout?”

“Not too long.” I swing my gaze out the side window.

“Nice.”

My knee is bouncing and I can’t think straight. He’s trying to make small talk, and the polite thing to do would be to ask him something surface, but I know everything about him already. Except . . .

“Is your girlfriend cool with you taking home strange women you pick up in dark alleys?” I don’t turn my head to see his expression, afraid of the softness I’ll see in his eyes at the mention of his girlfriend.

“Not sure. I don’t—” His cellphone rings.

I turn just as he nabs it from the center console. What was he about to say?

“Bitch. Thanks for helping us break down and load up.” He sounds half angry, half annoyed. “Yeah, well I hope the pussy was worth it.” He cringes and looks at me apologetically.

I smile. I’ve lived around instability my entire life, been around my fair share of guy talk. Nothing shocks me anymore.

“Right, I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Later.” He ends the call. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t sweat it. I work in a bar, remember?” I notice where we are. “Oh, take a left here. It’s the ninth house on the right.”

The truck inches down the street. “Nice hood.”

“Thanks. It’s all right, except all the houses look the same. For the first month I lived here I kept pulling into the wrong driveway.”

“I can see that.”

We round to my house, and before the truck comes to a stop, my blood turns ice cold and my muscles tense. Shit, fuck, shit!

Hatch’s Harley is parked in my driveway.

Four

Fear of the things that I can’t see

Rage at the loss of control

None of them come to save me

And the damage at last takes its toll.

--Ataxia

Rex

I pull up to Mac’s house and turn into the driveway. “Sick. Is that a Fatboy?”

She doesn’t answer, and she’s sitting up so straight her back is off the seat. Her eyes are huge and staring at the Harley illuminated by my headlights. I throw the truck in park when the reality of what’s probably going on hits me.

Doesn’t have a man, my ass.

Even if they’re broken up, she’s obviously more than a little unnerved that I’m bringing her home with that dude here.

I turn toward her still-frozen frame. “It’s cool, Mac. I’m not a threat. Let me unload your bike and I’ll be out of here.”

Her head jerks and she swings her gaze to mine. “What?”

I nod to the Fatboy. “Your man, right? I don’t want to cause you any problems.”

“Ew.” Her face twists as if I offered her dog shit. “No, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s kinda my roommate’s.”

The way she stiffened when she saw that bike, there’s no way her and Harley guy don’t have history. I tilt my head and study her, trying to decide whether or not to believe her. No, she’s lying. Unless . . .

Adrenaline races through my veins and I squeeze the steering wheel to keep from making fists. “This dude dangerous? To you and your roommate?”

“Oh, no. I mean he’s got horrible manners and he’s kind of a dick, but that’s it.”

I relax my grip and my shoulders drop. Shit. What am I doing? I’ve wasted enough time as it is. I need to drop this bike off along with the girl who rides it and get to sleep. “Sweet. I’ll get your bike.”

I hop down from the truck and go around the bed, releasing ratchet straps. The low grumble of the garage door gets my attention. I look up briefly only to get stuck staring.

Mac’s ditched the messenger bag that she was wearing like a shield earlier. Her small waist and round hips swing in an unconsciously feminine way as she heads toward me. “I’ll help you walk it down the ramp.”

With what looks like little effort, she hops up on the truck’s back tire and swings her leg into the bed, one after the other. I try not to notice how good her legs look in the skin tight black pants she’s wearing, or how hot it is that she’s sporting a bad-ass pair of black leather biker boots complete with straps and buckles.

She grabs her side of the handlebars and places her other hand on the seat.

I do the same on my side. “Go slow. We’re at an angle.”

Little by little we inch the bike down the ramp to the driveway. She lets it go and I walk it into the garage.

I lean the bike onto its kickstand and motion around the space. “You know what this place needs?”

Her eyebrows pinch together in the cutest way. “What?”

“A car.”

She laughs, but the sound is, I don’t know, strained somehow. “Thanks again for the ride.”

Ah, so she’s getting rid of me. Hint taken.

“Sure thing.” I nod and move back to my truck.

She stands by while I put away my straps and push the bike ramp back into the bed. Every few seconds I take a peek at her and see her gaze shifting from me to her front door. Yep, this guy is definitely her boyfriend, or at least an ex.

Rounding the back of my truck to the front, I give her a final wave. “See ya.”

“Rex, wait.” Fuck, that’s the second time I’ve heard her say my name and the sound pulls me in like a beacon.

She moves across the few yards that separate us. Stepping in close so that there are only inches between us, she tilts her head back to look up at me. The security light above her garage gives me a better look at her face. Her dark eyebrows drop low over eyes so light brown they’re like the color of sand. I breathe in deep and the scent I caught of her in the truck cab is intensified at this proximity: mild coconut and something sweet, like suntan oil and some exotic fruit. She smells like vacation.

Pushing a strand of hair off her cheek, she tucks it behind her ear. “Before you go . . .” Her teeth run along the full cherry-pink flesh of her lower lip, and the sudden urge to taste it flares raw and ugly in my gut. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.” She throws a quick look, almost unconsciously, over her shoulder toward her house. “Now’s not the time or place, but I’m afraid if I don’t commit to telling you then you’ll never talk to me again and then I’ll never get that chance back.”

I knew it. This is where she’ll drop the crazy bomb that explains why she’s acting so weird. She doesn’t owe me a damn thing. I offered to help her out; she took me up on the favor. That should be the end of it. But why do I feel the slight sting of rejection at her kicking me out? “Hit me with what you got to say or don’t. I was just helping you out of a tight spot.”

Her long eyelashes flutter a few times as she leans in close. “Can we get together for coffee sometime or maybe—?”

The loud crack of a slammed door spins us both toward the garage. Stepping out from the dark is a guy I recognize immediately.

Motherfucker. What the hell are the chances?

“Oh shit.” Mac takes a few small steps, positioning her back to my front and putting herself between me and the dick from last night.

“What do we have here?” He saunters toward us, his shirt off to freely display his biker affiliations. “Snow White, I didn’t know you were cozy with this butt-lovin’ friend of Dorothy.”

A fire ignites in my gut. I step toward him, but Mac leans back against my hips and stomach.

My lips curl over my teeth. “I’m actually happy to see you again, Tubby. Feels like we didn’t get to finish what we started last night.” I take another step forward. The smell of a Caribbean cocktail wafts just below my nose. I don’t take my eyes off the asshole, inching closer, as Mac digs in her heels to halt my advance.

“Yeah, I bet you want to finish me off.” Hatchet glares. “But I got news for you, pretty boy. I don’t do dudes.”

I lunge into Mac’s back. “You motherfu—”

“Back off, Hatchet,” Mac says, her voice firm and undeniably serious. “Go back inside. Now.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “And if I don’t? What’re you gonna do about it, bitch?”

A strange feeling swells from my stomach to my chest. “Don’t you fucking talk to her, asshole. Your problem’s with me.”

He looks from me to her.

“Don’t fucking look at her either, unless you’re doing it to apologize.” I keep my voice low, hoping to avoid the neighbor’s involvement. The slight tick of his lips says I was loud enough for him to hear.

“Well, well, well, looks like our man’s man got a taste of some pussy and switched teams.”

“Shut the fuck up, Hatchet!” Mac says.

That’s it. I’m already about to jump this fuck for disrespecting a woman in her own driveway, and his verbal taunts are burning like acid.

My hands grip Mac’s shoulders and move her aside. She scrambles against me, but I step past her with ease.

“Rex, no!” She tries to hold me off, but I move quickly right into Hatchet’s face.

“I’ll give you first shot, fucker.” I smile, readying for the lightning pain that’s coming and excited about it. “Look.” I interlace my fingers behind my back. “Won’t even put my hands up.”

Hatchet’s eyes flare. “You’re bluffin’.”

“Try me, dickhead.”

He cocks his elbow.

“No!” Mac’s voice rings out. She throws herself between us seconds before his fist slams into her jaw.

She drops.

His eyes go wide.

“Motherfucker!” I attack with a right hook that sends him stumbling back.

He swings and hits my chest. My arm. One to my jaw. I feel nothing but the stimulating fury that powers my muscles.

Then, one after another, I let my fists fly. In a brutal wave, the anger and drive to defend boil over into punishing hits. We drop to the ground, putting him at the disadvantage. I lock him up with my legs. Arms swinging.

It doesn’t take long before he tires, and he no longer fights back. He could be knocked out, but my guess is he ran out of steam. Even still, I don’t let up, raining my fists into every exposed part of his torso. Something pulls me from behind.

“Stop!” Mac’s voice sounds far away.

I hit him again. And again.

The pull on my shirt intensifies. “Rex! Stop!” There’s a fear in her voice that settles deep in my gut, trading out my aggression for concern.

I push off the asshole biker and stand to feel Mac clinging to the back of my tee. The fog of rage dissipates. Shit, Mac.

I whirl around, breathing heavy. “Shit . . . are you . . . okay?”

She’s holding her cheek and there’s blood on her hand. My pulse rockets and propels me toward the tubby fuck.

Her grip on my shirt pulls tight. “Rex, no. Please. No more.”

She must be scared shitless, but it’s impossible to tell by looking at her. Nothing gives away what she’s thinking except for her hand still fisted tight into my shirt.

How can she be so calm after what that jackass did to her face? He started a fight in her driveway and threw a punch without even paying attention to where the fuck it landed.

My gut whirls with unease. This is just as much my fault as it is his. If I’d turned around and driven off like a pussy, none of this would’ve happened. Although, what would she have walked into tonight if I weren’t here? How often does she have to deal with this dipshit and his drunk ass?

I scrub my hand through my hair. This girl isn’t my business. But business or not, I need to make this right.

I peel her hand from my tee and take her to the passenger door of my truck. “Get in. Now.”

Her eyes grow wide over her hand that’s still holding her bleeding face. “I can’t. I . . . where are we going?”

“No clue. But I’m not leaving you here with this psycho.”

I look over to see Hatch now rolling around and moaning. Satisfaction swells in my chest.

“I’ll be okay.” She pulls her hand from mine.

“Get in the truck, Mac.”

“I—”

“Get in the motherfucking truck or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and put you in it!”

She jumps and scurries up into the passenger seat.

“Atta girl.” After she’s safely in the cab, I walk past a bloodied Hatchet and into her garage, hitting the button and running back to the truck. “Have a good night, fuckface.”

He flips me off.

I drive quickly out of the neighborhood and then pull over. “You’re bleeding pretty bad.” Grabbing the hem of my T-shirt, I pull it over my head and hand it to her. “Use this.”

She doesn’t take it from me. I swing my gaze to her and see her staring openly at my bare chest. Usually being studied like this makes me want to turn away, but there’s a longing in her eyes that draws me in. She absorbs me until I force myself back to the present. I blink hard. What the hell was that?

I shake the shirt at her and swallow past the whisper of arousal that dances through my blood. “Take it.”

Snatching it from my hand, she presses it against her face. “Thank you.” She drags her eyes up to my neck and settles at my face. I snag one end of the shirt and dab at a smudge of blood on her chin. She winces.

“I know it hurts.” The urge to continue cleaning her face is too strong. I drop my hand to my lap. “We should probably get you to the hospital—”

“No, please!” Terror flashes behind her light eyes. “No hospitals.”

“Shit, Mac.” She probably needs stitches. “There’s a lot of blood.”

Her free hand moves to the door handle. “I won’t go. I’ll run. I swear to God, if you take me to a hospital, I’ll—”

“Okay, okay, fine.” What the fuck is that all about? “I won’t take you.”

A long, deep breath and she relaxes. “Thanks, I um . . . sorry.”

It’s none of my business, but there’s something about this chick that makes me curious. I mean what kind of girl throws her body in front of a biker to protect a dude she hardly knows, but wants to cut and run at the mention of a hospital?

“You feel like telling me what that was all about?”

“I’m . . . afraid.” Her voice is so soft I can barely hear her.

Afraid. This girl?

Nothing I’ve seen from her yet points to her being anything but fearless. An irritating tick in the back of my mind reminds me of who I am. Live for a fight, the burn of a tattoo or pinch of a needle, yet I avoid the one thing in life most men can’t live without.

Yeah, I’m familiar with unreasonable fears. If she’s really afraid, then I don’t want to put her though more than she’s been through already. That only leaves one other option.

Anxiety pricks against my nerves. My chest gets tight, breathing shallow. “Okay, I’ll take you to my place. I have a first-aid kit.”

Fuckin’ shit! I throw the truck in drive.

This could possibly be a disaster.

~*~

Mac

Searing pain radiates through my cheek. Holding Rex’s T-shirt to my face, I inhale deeply, enjoying the smell of soap mixed with the salt of his clean sweat. The scent calms me enough so that I can replay in my head exactly what happened.

All I wanted to do was keep Rex from getting hit. Shielding him with my body was instinctual. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

I’d take a punch every day of my life if it means saving him from pain. I’ll never let anyone hurt Rex again, not if it’s within my power to protect him.

Watching him get hit would’ve been worse than the stabbing burn I’m feeling now. Hell, as long as he’s been fighting professionally, I’ve yet to watch him fight. There’s no way I could handle seeing him take punches all in the name of a paycheck.

We pull into the lot of his complex. The thought of being taken into Rex’s home does weird things to my insides. Excited flutters mix with anxiety and apprehension.

The truck jerks as he throws it in park, sending another bolt of fire through my cheek. Shit. What if I broke something?

“We’re here.” He hops out and runs to the passenger-side door.

I push it open, and he slides his hand around my upper arm to help me climb down.

“Easy, one rough step will hurt like a bitch.”

“I’m good.” I mumble through the fabric and press it closer to my nose.

The security lights in the lot give me a good look at his tattoos. One in particular on his left pec catches my eye. Mom. The simple word inked against a scroll over his heart. I drag my eyes away as tears prick the backs of my eyes.

He clicks the alarm on his truck, and with his hand still in the crook of my arm, he guides me through his complex.

I know exactly where he lives, but I drag my feet a little to pretend that I don’t. It’s when he pulls me up short, just shy of his front door, that my feet betray my plan. Having taken a few more steps past the door he’s currently sliding a key into, I stumble back to him.

“Whoa, you all right?” He holds my hand tighter to steady me.

This isn’t his place. Where are we? “Oh, yeah. Just got a little dizzy for a sec, but I’m good.”

He doesn’t look convinced but opens the door and pulls me into a dark apartment. Panic licks up my spine until he flips on a light.

I exhale hard and watch as he moves through the small apartment to the kitchen. “Have a seat on the couch. I’ll grab you some ice.”

I want to ask him where we are, but then he’d know that I know this isn’t his place. I swing my eyes around the living room. Everything in this place is mixed-matched. The dining room table is surrounded by four completely different chairs. A green plaid, loveseat-style couch is the room’s centerpiece complete with a UNLV blanket thrown over the back. A few candles on the coffee table and a bowl of potpourri clearly communicate a feminine touch. This is a girl’s apartment. I move to study a few framed pictures on a nearby bookshelf.

“Sit.”

I jump at Rex’s command and hope he didn’t catch me snooping. I drop to the couch and he squeezes in next to me. He leans in to inspect my cheek, and I keep my stare to his lips. His bare torso tempts me to study his tattoos. They’re everywhere: his chest, stomach, shoulders, even his neck. I know if I let my eyes drift lower I’ll get lost in the beauty of his body. No, stay on his lips.

He leans in and the slight pressure and heat of his knee as it touches mine sends tingles through my belly. My breath hitches in my throat.

He grimaces. “Damn, hurts that bad, huh?”

I manage a nod, grateful that he saw my gasp as pain rather than the pure zip of pleasure that his touch provokes.

His long fingers wrap around my wrist, and he pulls my hand away, taking the soothing-scented shirt with it. His eyes narrow and flash with something deadly before he wipes some blood away. “Yeah, he nailed you pretty good.” His words come from deep in his chest, vibrating the air between us.

Heat builds beneath the skin at my thigh and crawls upward at a teasing pace. I clear my throat, afraid my voice will crack with the pressure of his proximity. “Is um . . . my cheek broken?”

He lifts his hand to my face and tilts his head, studying my cheek. The moment his fingertips brush against my sensitive skin I fight the urge to close my eyes and lean into him. Instead, I stay glued on his perfect blue eyes. This is how close we would’ve been as kids. Eye to eye, no more than six inches of separation, holding on to the weight in his stare, just as I am now.

My heartbeat throbs so loud I can feel it in my wounded cheek and hear it in my ears. He presses lightly, but I refuse to flinch at the resulting pain out of fear that he’ll pull away.

His thick, black eyelashes close in tight over his blue eyes. “Fuck.” He rolls his lip ring into his mouth and drops his hand from my face. I miss his touch instantly and fight the urge to drop to my knees and beg for it back. He opens his eyes again, and the softness I see there turns my insides to liquid.

He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen: eyes so blue they’re like glacial ice, black hair that’s spiky and mussed up as if he’s been running his hands through it, his jaw line strong and masculine leading to the most succulent pair of lips, full and begging to be bitten.

“I don’t think it’s broken.”

“Huh?” His words break through my thoughts.

He brings his hand back, but this time it’s holding a bag of ice wrapped in a dishtowel. “Here. Hold this there. Should get the swelling down.”

“Thanks.” I groan and hold the cold to my cheek, wishing it was his hand instead.

Snap out of it! Having dirty thoughts of Rex does me no good. Remember who he is and why I’m here. A wave of nausea rolls through me. I’m not ready for this. I drop my head back to rest on the couch.

“You’re one tough broad, Mac.” He stands and moves into the small kitchen. “You took that hit like a man.”

“Ha. Yeah . . .” Taking a hit for Rex feels good. I mean my cheek hurts like hell, but the pain is relative. Knowing that I saved Rex from even one hit makes it easy to take.

I hear him moving around in the kitchen, and it sounds as if it’s a space he’s comfortable in, one he’s been in before. But who lives here?

“You want something to drink? Water, there’s some red juice and um . . .” I hear him moving stuff around in the fridge. “Starbucks coffee crap.”

“Water would be great.”

He drops back onto the couch next to me with a bottle of water. Cracking open the lid, he hands it to me. “Here.”

I sit back up and take a shallow gulp to avoid hurting my face. “Ahh, that’s perfect. Thanks.”

Silence settles between us, so I take my chance to ask. “Nice place. How long have you lived here?”

“This isn’t my place.” He fidgets a little but catches himself before it’s too obvious. “I live a few doors down.”

We’re in an apartment, in his complex, that he has a key to. What the hell? “Whose place is this?”

He avoids my eyes. “A friend, um . . . my neighbor. She’s out of town for a few days.”

My stomach drops. She. She! The girl from this morning. That’s why he was helping her with her bags. Holy fuck! He’s seeing his neighbor. He probably spends the night over here most nights, wrapped up in her arms, curled together on this couch. Ugh . . . I feel sick.

My jaw locks so tight my teeth ache and pain rockets through my cheek. The room starts to spin. I pinch my eyes closed. “Oh no. I think . . .” Yeah, I’m going to barf all over Little Miss Perfect’s pea-green plaid couch.

“Whoa, you don’t look so good.” I feel his hands on my shoulders, laying me back. “You probably have a concussion. They’ll make you sick, puke . . . it’s not pretty.”

I don’t have a fucking concussion! I’m sitting on your girlfriend’s couch. Probably where you two, oh no. Don’t throw up, do not throw up.

“You sure I can’t take you to a hospital?” There’s a new tone in his voice that I haven’t heard before. Is it . . . worry?

“I’m fine. I just want to go home and sleep—”

“Fuck no.”

My eyes pop open and snap to his. His eyes flame with anger.

“Rex, I can’t sleep here at your—”

“No, you should be at a hospital. But if you refuse to go, you’ll sleep here.”

“Here. At your girl—”

“Yeah. Why not?” He motions to the short hallway that leads to a bedroom I can see from where I am. “There’s a bed, probably plenty of girlie shit in the bathroom, and something to change into. Emma won’t mind.”

Emma. So that’s the bitch’s name. “I’m sure she’ll mind.”

“I’ll crash out here on the couch so I can check on you every few hours, wake you up and ask you shit.”

“No. You don’t need to do that.”

He lifts his pierced eyebrow, and I’m suddenly curious about what it would taste like if I kissed him there. Ugh, stop it.

He shrugs. “You goin’ to the hospital?”

“No, I told you—”

“Right. So you’re here and I’m waking you up every couple hours.” He holds my stare. Seconds pass.

A small smile curls my lips. “If those are my only choices—”

“They are.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“I’ve been called worse.” A very relaxed and equally gorgeous smile plays against his lips.

“Fine. I’ll stay.”

He nods and leans back, putting his feet up on the coffee table and crossing his arms at his chest. “Settled.” He pivots toward me. “And you call me stubborn. That’s three times tonight I’ve had to beg you to let me help you.”

I study my lap to avoid his probing glare. “I’m not used to people wanting to help me.” Especially the one person whom I promised to help. I could’ve saved him from the abuse if only I’d been smarter, older, more aware. If only I’d asked him, forced him to tell me what he was going through. God, all those men. He was a child, a defenseless boy!

“Mac?”

I peek up at him to see his concerned eyes on me. “Yeah?”

“You’re going green again. I think you need to lie down.”

He’s right. I fantasized about all the things I’d say to him if I finally got him to speak to me, all the things I’d ask if we ever ended up somewhere alone and private. Here I am, and I can’t put together a coherent thought.

I stand and hand him my ice pack. “Here. I think I’m good. You should ice your knuckles.”

He flexes his hand a few times but doesn’t show even a hint of discomfort. “Nah, feels good.”

Feels good? I mark that down on my mental list of things to obsess about, but not tonight. Way too much has happened and I need a moment to process.

“Right, well, it was nice to finally hang out with you. Thanks for saving me . . . three times.”

His face grows serious. Thoughtful. “Hey”—he shrugs—“you saved me too.”

I didn’t. Not when it mattered most. But I’m here to make up for that.

Five

The evil comes after my body

With strokes and whispered words.

I yell for death to take me

But my cries all go unheard.

--Ataxia

Rex

This night is dragging. Other than a quick run to my place for a shirt, I’ve been crammed on the tiny couch, watching reruns of Tattoo Nightmares, and I’m restless as hell. This place is small. Too many walls. I absently toy with the rubber band on my wrist.

Mac hasn’t made a sound since she went back to Emma’s room to crash. Must be nice to fall asleep wherever you fall.

Me? I don’t do sleepovers or all-nighters, and I hate traveling. The only place I can fully relax in is mine, open space to breathe and visitor-free. A yawn peels from my throat. I’m exhausted, but catching z’s tonight is completely out of the question. The combo of last night’s royal-REM debacle has my head heavy and my thoughts tripping.

As much as I’m itching for the comfort of my place—a hot shower, clean sheets, and my bed—I know this was the right thing to do. Because of me, Mac probably has a concussion. The least I can do is sacrifice a night to make sure she gets through it without slipping into a coma.

I don’t know a thing about this girl, but something about her feels familiar. Maybe it’s her easy-going attitude. She acts more like a guy than a chick. Not what I’m used to at all. Most of the girls that I’ve hung out with whine when the waitress forgets the lime in their cocktail. Even Emma bangs my door down, squealing like kid when she finds a spider in her place. But with Mac there are no high maintenance demands or overreactions that most women are known for. I mean, fuck, she took a hit from a dude and didn’t even cry.

Tough chick.

I bet Mac kills her own spiders, probably with her bare hands.

Funny I haven’t noticed her before. I mean it’s not as if she blends in. Shit. My guess is she’s hovering around five-foot-ten, and her skin is pale, not creepy pale, but the kind of pale you don’t see on females here in Vegas. The combo of her height, light skin, and black hair is eye-catching. She’s a damn knockout.

And those lips. Fuck me. I’ve never seen lips so naturally dark before. Full and the color of a cherry. And that smile. The few times her mouth ticked up from something I said I felt it in my gut. The slight lift of her bow-shaped mouth and her arched eyebrows over those big eyes were sexy and daring like nothing I’ve ever seen. My chest gets tight and I blow out a long breath. And just like seeing it, thinking about it now stirs an energy that makes me feel equal parts curious and disgusted.

Fuck. I scrub my face. My body reacts to a beautiful woman, and I’m disgusted? This shit cannot be normal. My therapist has a hundred different theories, none of which I can stomach. I don’t remember much from my past, so I choose not to spend the time and energy figuring it out. Forward is the only direction I’m headed. And for whatever the fuck reason, getting turned-on also makes me sick. I’m a twenty-five-year-old man. Sex should be on the top of my priority list, right under air and above food.

But no. I squash my needs for as long as I possibly can, throwing all the excess energy into my fighting and my music until I can’t take another second. When I finally succumb to my sick-fuck urges, I get it over with fast with a stranger, usually paid for to avoid the personal connection. Once I’m relieved, I walk away quickly to avoid embarrassing myself, because shortly after I come, I always puke. Every. Single. Time.

God, I’m a mess.

With a sudden urge for a shot of tequila, I get up to ransack Emma’s kitchen, as quietly as I can, in search of anything that comes close. No beer in the fridge. No vodka in the freezer. No bourbon in the cupboard. Nothing.

I brace my weight against the counter. My skin is clammy with sweat. Sleep deprivation and being stuck in this apartment are making me antsy. I catch sight of the knife block that’s not far from my right hand. The knives call to me, beg to mark my flesh. I imagine the feeling of dragging the sharp blades against my skin and watching the blood seep. I groan, and my head drops heavy between my shoulders. The scars on my forearms and inner thighs flare their request. I hook the rubber band around my wrist and snap it a few times. It takes off the edge, but isn’t close to enough.

“This is bullshit.” I push back from the counter and cross the small apartment to Emma’s room. Peeking inside, I see Mac asleep on her side, her hands folded and wedged beneath the tiny throw pillow that cradles her head. She’s on top of the comforter and fully clothed. She looks so peaceful. I’ll wait until I get back before I wake her up for her anti-coma quiz.

I back out of the doorway and close it softly behind me. A quick break in my place should help me get my head back online and where it needs to be. And I have tequila.

I make the short trip from Emma’s apartment door to my own. I push inside, slip off my shoes on the mat, and go straight to my liquor cabinet. Pulling out the Patrón, I pop the cork and down a throat-scorching gulp. I breathe through the burn before taking one more hit and then another.

I’ve never been this close to a beautiful sleeping woman before, and it’s doing fucked-up things to my body. Things I’m not comfortable dealing with. Things that most guys would welcome. But not me.

Snapping the rubber band in a rhythmic beat, the liquor radiates heat through my body. I suck back another shot until it eventually numbs my head. Perfect. I brush my teeth and grab a clean shirt before heading back to Emma’s. After checking on Mac, I should be able to catch a few hours’ sleep with the help of Señor Patrón’s Sleep Aid.

Feeling much more like myself, I lock up and settle back into Emma’s couch. I flip through channels, not paying attention to what’s on, and my eyes droop with sleep. I wedge a frilly pillow behind my neck and—what the hell was that?

I turn and look over the back of the couch toward Emma’s bedroom. Is Mac talking to someone? Probably her roommate called to ask about the bloody biker curled up on her driveway. Her voice filters from the room again, this time laced with pain. Not crying, but a pleading desperation that sounds like audible agony.

“What the fuck?” I hop off the couch and cross the apartment in a few long strides.

My hand grips the doorknob just as her scream spears my ears.

I fling the door open and find her in a similar position to the one I left her in earlier, but now she’s balled up tight. With a knee on the bed, I lean over. She’s not on the phone.

“Mac, wake up.”

Nothing. Her body heaves. She whimpers, but doesn’t respond.

I reach out and grab her shoulder, probably a little tighter than I should, and she jerks from my grip but stays in a tight ball. She’s mumbling in that same voice I heard earlier. Nightmare.

“Mac, it’s okay. Wake up. You’re okay.” I risk another touch, and she flinches, but doesn’t pull away completely. “It’s me, Rex. You’re safe. Wake up; it’s okay.”

She mumbles something again, the last word sounding like my name. Her body rocks back and forth. Still asleep. Her chin’s tucked in tight to her knees so I can’t see her face. She groans.

“What? I . . . I can’t hear you.”

A sob rips from her chest. “I thought I lost you.”

Huh? Okay, so definitely dreaming. I rub her back, coaxing her to wake up. Even through her shirt, the heat of her skin on my palm makes my gut twist. “Wake up, Mac. You’re dreaming.”

Her breathing slows and the muscles in her back relax a little. “I couldn’t help you. I’m so sorry.”

“Shhh, it’s okay.” This entire situation feels so fucking familiar, and yet, all wrong. It’s like déjà vu, but . . . not. I might have had one too many shots on an empty stomach.

She rolls to her back and I find her eyes in the dark. They’re wide and searching.

“Mac, you—ooh!”

“You’re here.” Her arms wrap tight around my waist, and she buries her face in my chest. “This is real.”

I hold my hands up and away, making sure not to touch her even though she clearly doesn’t have the same issues with personal space. “Yeah, um . . . you were dreaming and—”

She releases me in an instant and crab walks backwards until she hits the headboard. “Oh, Rex, I’m so sorry. I . . .” Trembling fingers press against her lips and she shakes her head.

“Nah . . . it’s cool. You were having a nightmare. I tried to wake you up in the thick of it.” Yeah, she probably thought I was whomever she was dreaming about. It’s my own selfish fucked-up ego that made whatever she said sound like Rex in my ears. There are a lot of names that sound like Rex. Such as, Tex . . . and uh . . . huh. Did she say my name?

~*~

Mac

“How’d you know I was having a nightmare?”

He rakes one hand through his messy black hair and shrugs. “I, ah . . . heard you.”

Heard me? Panic floods my chest. I’m thankful that we’re mostly in the dark so he can’t see the blush from the heat rising in my cheeks. “What did I say?”

His eyes fix on mine for a second before he looks at his boots. “Not sure. A lot of mumbling. Something about being sorry.”

He heard me dreaming about him.

Oh no, oh no, oh no!

“That it?” I try to clear the panic from my voice. “I mean, was I yelling?” I’ve shot out of bed before at the sound of my own screams. Something must’ve brought him in here. I pray it wasn’t that.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, you were.”

I drop my chin and groan. “How embarrassing.”

“Don’t be embarrassed.” His voice is soft, but I can’t bring myself to look up at him. “The brain-shake you got from taking that hit tonight is enough to fuck with your dreams. Probably having nightmares ’bout being chased by a chubby pink bear with a goatee.”

I giggle despite the heavy weight that settles in my chest. If he only knew my nightmares were about him, that my guilt plagues me even in my sleep.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been planning for this moment—to get close enough to Rex again so that I can unload my burdens. But now that I’m here, I don’t know if I can. My intention has always been revenge first, absolution second. Here I am, sitting a foot away, holding information that I thought would bring Rex the peace he deserves, but watching him over these last few months, it seems he’s doing much better than I am. This is a mistake.

“I feel better. I should probably go home now. I don’t think I’m a coma risk.” I shift to swing my legs off the bed when his hand lands firmly on my thigh. My gaze swings to his, and even in the dark, I can see the flash of panic in his expression.

“Don’t go.” His fingers flex slightly as if to confirm his words. “Just, um . . . you’re tired, it’s late, that fucker’s probably crashed at your place, and you don’t know what you’ll be walking in on.”

All my thoughts focus on his big hand resting on my thigh, and my words clog in my throat.

He tugs at his silver lip ring with his teeth, rolling it a few times before releasing it. “I know what it’s like to have bad dreams.” His whispered words carry the scent of liquor and mint.

I lean in a fraction of an inch and inhale.

“When they’re bad, you wake up; it’s no fun being alone.”

My head bobs in agreement.

“Stay.”

I study the angular lines of his jaw, his full lips, and the brightly colored dragon tattoo that skates up the side of his neck: claws, teeth, spikes, and a fierce looking snarl on its face. “What do you dream about?”

He moves his hand and I instantly regret asking. It just slipped out, but the last thing I want to do now that I have him here, talking to me, touching me, is push him too hard and lose him again.

A quick snapping sound draws my attention to the elastic band around his wrist. “Dreams are nothin’ but crap. Leftover shit from the day that festers in our heads.” The snapping gets louder. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

“I agree.” I don’t, but the tension radiating off his body forces me to lie. It seems to work and the snapping stops.

“What do you dream about?” His voice is soft, desperate.

“Memories from the past. Things I wish I could forget but can’t.” You. Always you.

“Forget.” A humorless laugh, dry with sarcasm, tumbles from his lips. “You think your nightmares would end if you couldn’t remember the bad?”

“I don’t know. I hope they would.”

He exhales hard and his shoulders drop. “They don’t.”

God, what is he saying? He doesn’t remember the bad, but he dreams it? I’m pushing it, I know I am, but he’s opening up, and I can’t pass up the opportunity to find out if he’s okay, if he’s really okay. “You dream the bad, but you can’t remember it?”

“Something like that.”

That’s not possible. “Then how do you know it’s real?”

He drops his head into his hands, gripping fistfuls of his hair. “I don’t.”

And suddenly he’s that boy, the one I met night after night and clasped his hand beneath a door, offering every comfort my eight-year-old self could offer. Singing, fighting tears in order to be strong. For him. All for him.

I scoot forward and place my hand on his back. He goes ramrod straight, eyes forward. My hand freezes as fear pulls me in two directions: afraid to leave it there, but equally nervous to pull it away. Seconds tick by and tension fills the room.

He’s not that boy anymore. He’s hardened by his circumstances, forced to live through a nightmare that still haunts his sleep, unable to escape the devastation of what was left behind. A man broken.

“I’m sorry.” Reluctantly, I drop my hand. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Do you like tequila, Mac?” He’s still looking ahead at nothing.

I shake my head. “Sure.”

“I’ll be right back.” And he’s up. He walks out of the room, and I lean to watch him walk through the small living room and out the front door.

His absence clears the muddy thoughts of the past and brings me to the present.

I hop off the bed and race to the bathroom. As soon as I flick on the light my reflection jumps out at me. “Oh wow.”

My cheek is scabbed over and swollen. Blue and purple swirl together below my eye. And my hair. Ugh. I wet my hands in the sink and try to smooth out the frizz that’s pushing its way through the silken strands of my ponytail. Pulling the long ends over my shoulder, I comb my fingers through when I hear the front door shut.

“Crap.” Redoing my hair as fast as I can, I check my reflection. “Good as it’s gonna get.”

I head out of the bathroom and find Rex leaning against the wall just outside the door.

His tall frame takes up most of the space. Here in the light of the hallway, his blue eyes look glossier than they did before I went to bed. I watch in awe as they travel from my lips to my eyes and down to my cheek. They flare for a moment and then squint before they move to my hair and soften. He tilts his head and dangles a clear bottle filled with light amber liquid from his fingers. He flashes a small smile and lifts his eyebrow that’s home to two small barbells. Heat warms my belly.

“You game?” he says.

“Of course.”

Liquor works like a truth serum. I only hope we’re strong enough to handle what the truth brings to light. I turn toward the living room, but he heads in the opposite direction, back to the bedroom.

He climbs onto the bed, leaning his back against the headboard and crossing his ankles.

My feet are locked to the floor in the doorway, weighted by everything the intimate setting implies.

He turns toward me, but in the dim light I can’t make out his expression. “Change your mind?”

“You want to drink tequila in bed?”

“Is there any better place?” He throws back a healthy gulp and sucks air through his teeth when he’s done. “Come on.” He holds out the bottle. “That couch is for midgets. I just thought it’d be more comfortable in here.”

I’m still stuck in place, the thought of getting drunk in bed with Rex bringing too many images to mind that are as confusing as they are tempting.

I love Rex. I’ve always loved him. Those feelings combined with his rugged good looks, piercings, and tattoos do things to my body that I’m not totally comfortable with and yet are all-consuming.

“Don’t worry, Mac. I won’t touch you.” He chuckles low in his chest; the sound washes over me like warm oil. “Trust me.”

“Flattering. Thanks.” I move around the foot of the bed to slide in next to him. “Nice to know I’m safe from your advances.” I try to keep the sarcasm light, but it’s hard to hide the hurt in my voice. He doesn’t find me attractive. He probably likes the little blond girls, someone like Layla or the dozens of bleached blond groupies that hang off of him like a wet towel. Whatever.

He hands me the tequila. “Yep, you are definitely safe.”

I rip the bottle from his hand and press it to my lips. The liquid burns the whole way down and I force myself to swallow another mouthful.

“Damn, Mac, pace yourself.” He pries the bottle from my mouth. “You know how fun puking with a split cheek is? None at all.” He stabs his thumb into his chest, drawing my attention to how the cotton fabric is stretched taut over his pecs. “I should know. I’ve done it.”

“Ugh.” I hand him back the bottle. “I hate puking.”

“Me too. And if you toss, I’ll toss.” He caps the bottle and sets it in the space between us. “So let’s slow that shit down.” Arms folded behind his head, he slides down a few inches to rest against the pillows.

I flip to my side and face him, my head resting in my hand. “This Emma, your girlfriend—”

“Not my girlfriend.”

“Just your neighbor-friend?”

“Mm-hm.”

“You said she’s out of town. Do you ever go with her?”

He’s still gazing up at the ceiling, but his eyebrows are pinched together. “What? No. Why would I go with her?”

“Do you like her as . . . more than a friend?”

“Mac, are you asking me if I hook up with my neighbor?” He rolls his head to look at me. “No. I’d never do that to Emma.”

Why does the tender way he speaks about her make me want to break every piece of furniture in this place? “She’s pretty. So why not?”

He props himself up on his elbows to look at me, his dark eyebrows pinched. “How do you know what she looks like?”

Oh shit!

I drop to my back and stare up, avoiding his glare. “I thought I saw a picture of her in the living room.” That’s a lie, but I’m hoping like hell that the pictures in the living room have her in them.

“Oh.” He drops to his back too. Something about lying here next to him, the silence in the air between us, feels so natural.

“She’s a good girl. Good girls aren’t my type. What about you?”

“Yeah, good girls aren’t my type either.”

He laughs low again, sending waves of butterflies through my chest.

“You and Hatch ever date?”

“No. I told you he’s my roommate’s hookup.”

“Is your roommate stupid? That guy’s a dick.”

I giggle and shake my head. Yeah, she does find herself in some stupid situations. “Trix has interesting taste.”

He sits straight up and turns his body toward me. “Trix is your roommate?”

“Yeah. You know her?”

“Fuck yeah, I know her. All the guys in the band know her.” He chuckles. “Well.”

I sit up and stare at him. We’re so close on the full-size bed, nothing separating us but that bottle of tequila. My eyes go tight and my chest seizes with jealousy. “You and Trix?”

All those mornings she’d go on and on about the one-night stand she’d had the night before. Telling me all the filthy details while I cringed and laughed. And one of those was Rex? Oh, fuck that!

“Me and . . . No.” He shakes his head. “I know Trix because she hangs out at some of our shows. I’ve never hooked up with her.”

Relief washes through my tense muscles and I lean in closer. “Never?”

His eyes dance around my face. “Never.”

Without thinking, I close the tiny space between us. My lips brush against his once, the metal from his lip ring is warmer than I imagined it’d be. I drag my lower lip against it—

“No.” He shoves me back by my shoulders. “Don’t fucking do that.” He’s off the bed, his hands fisting his shirt at his stomach.

I cover my mouth. Oh shit. I kissed him!

“You’re welcome to stay the night.” I can’t read his expression in the dark, but his body looks . . . pained.

“I’m sorry.” I can’t say it enough, loud enough, with enough meaning for him to understand. “Please, I don’t know what came over me. I just—”

“Lock the door on your way out.”

The last thing I see is Rex’s retreating back before I hear the front door slam.

Tears sting the backs of my eyes. What did I do? The relief I felt that he hadn’t hooked up with Trix, his blue eyes locked on mine, the clean scent of his skin mixed with tequila on his breath, and the way we were so close—I kissed him. Oh no, this is bad. I finally get him alone and opening up to me. I fucked it all up.

He’ll never speak to me again.

Six

Pain is seductive

Pleasure as well

I’m the sickness between them

In my own personal hell.

--Ataxia

Rex

Fuck! What the fuck was that? I didn’t see it coming. I can’t believe she tried to kiss me. Try? Shit, she did kiss me!

It was seconds, not even seconds, and my dick roared to life. The slight touch of those full cherry lips, the smell of the sun and sweetness coming from her skin, and I was gone. All the blood in my body pooled instantly in two places, one painfully obvious behind my zipper, and the other in my stomach. I hit the door, practically choking on the rising tequila.

I take a deep breath and turn up the volume on my car stereo. Avenged Sevenfold’s “Lost it All” blares through the speakers, intent on beating the memory out of my head. I keep seeing the pain of rejection in her eyes and the look of sheer panic on her face when I left. But no amount of music can erase the lingering smell of her in my truck or the buzz on my lips left from her soft kiss.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Mac?” I ask and get no answer.

I’m good at seeing the signs of a woman who wants to hook up. I’ve even enjoyed a little harmless flirting. I have to in order to protect myself. What kind of assumptions would people make if I didn’t have a girl under my arm from time to time? How many rumors would start if I was never seen out with a woman? So I’ve made exceptions for the sake of appearance. And I always know when a girl is looking for more, when the flirting isn’t enough and she’s ready to take payment on the promises.

Mac didn’t put out any of the vibes: no come-fuck-me eyes, flirty giggles, shit chicks do with their bodies turning from human to feline, none of that.

I scrub my hand through my hair and keep my focus on the road ahead of me. What little buzz I had evaporated by the adrenaline rush of one kiss. The kiss came out of nowhere, but could’ve definitely led somewhere. Fast.

My pants are still uncomfortably tight between my legs. I need some relief soon, or I’ll turn my truck around and get Mac on her knees and fuck up everything more than I already have. I groan at the visual of her looking up at me, her lips wet and pliable.

Holy hell.

It’s almost five in the morning. Tattoo and piercing shops are closed, but the training center is open. I take the freeway exit and head back in the opposite direction. Hopefully no one will be there yet and I can get a few undisturbed hours with the heavy bag and leave whatever’s left beating feet on the treadmill.

If I can’t fight these urges out of my sick body, then I’ll exhaust myself so that I can sleep through them.

My head’s so fucked I’m not paying attention, not that it matters. I could drive to the training center with my eyes closed. Throwing my truck into a spot, I stalk to the door, head down, trying like hell to concentrate on anything other than Mac.

That damn kiss is still infecting every part of my body and mind. Fuck! Why did she do that? Those lips felt like hot velvet against mine—Bam! I slam through the locker room door so hard it bounces off the wall.

“Whoa! What the fuck?”

The startled response gets my attention.

Cameron Kyle, the UFL’s new CEO is standing there with a file folder in hand.

He glares at me. “Carter? You look like you’re ready to rip someone’s head off, kid.”

I’m not a kid, fuckface. I need to calm down. Cam may dress as if he’s spent the better part of his life warming a desk chair, but the retired UFL Heavyweight Champion dominated the octagon in his day. Other than the fact that he no longer sports his signature shaved head, he looks as though he could pick up his career right where it was ripped from him and annihilate his competitor.

“Rough night.” The two words come out on a growl and I head to my locker to grab my towel and hit the shower.

“I’m actually glad you’re here.” His voice follows behind me. “Need to run something by you.”

I grunt in acknowledgment, but the visions of a certain black-haired, tawny-eyed girl have me preoccupied.

“Big fight’s coming up. Two weeks.” The creaking of wood tells me he’s made himself comfortable on the bench behind me. “I’m in need of a welterweight fighter.”

A welterweight? I turn and lean against the lockers, arms crossed at my chest. “What happened to Reece and Kobe?” They’ve been on the ticket for months.

He exhales a heavy breath and tosses the file folder to the ground, spilling its pages. “Kobe.” He shakes his head then sets his eyes on me. “That fucking jackass got arrested last night.”

My jaw goes slack. “No shit?”

“No shit.”

“For what?” He was looking forward to this fight with Reece. It’s a rematch after Reece, a fighter from the UK, KO’ed him on home soil.

“Selling cocaine.”

My jaw completely drops. Fucking idiot.

“Now I’ve got a fight two weeks away and no one lined up to go up against Reece.” He nods toward the grounded file folder. “I’m checking out fighters that can be ready in two weeks and the list is short. After Gibbs went and butt-fucked the UFL, fighters have been laxing.”

That’s true. A lot of the UFL’s fighters weren’t sure if they’d have an organization to work for anymore after the scandal with Gibbs. “Shit, man. So what’re you going to do?”

He tilts his head and looks at me. “I’m offering you the fight.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been training with Daniels for the last three months. I think you can pull your shit together in two weeks and take Reece.”

“Can’t.” I shrug. “Wrong weight class. Reece is a welterweight. I’m running on the high end of middleweight.”

“Fifteen pounds, Carter. You can cut that in two weeks no problem.”

Yeah, I probably could. Enough exercise, good diet, plenty of cardio. Not to mention my career could use a bump. I’ve been everyone else’s training partner for a while. It’d be nice to get my own fight. I’d prefer to fight in my weight class, but fuck it. What do I have to lose? If nothing else, it’ll keep me busy and keep my mind off all my shit.

“I’ll do it.” I offer him my hand.

He grins, stands, and shakes it. “Right on. Now get out there and start working off some of that weight.”

Grabbing his papers off the floor, he leaves me to my shower and my thoughts.

This is good. It’s been over a year since my last televised fight. There’s only one feeling in the world that beats fighting in the octagon, and that’s fighting in front of fifteen thousand screaming fans and a live TV audience of millions. The rush of a crowd that size is heady.

Feeling better already, I plan to spend most of my days training and very little at The Blackout.

~*~

Mac

The sun is just coming up when I finally make it home. A cab ride would’ve been cheap with us living so close, but I needed the fresh air, so I chose to walk home. I replayed what happened with Rex over and over in my head and came to the conclusion that I was wrong. I owe him an apology.

I can’t expect him to understand where my head is at. Shit, I don’t understand where my head is at. All this time watching him, worrying about him, and loving him from a distance, my body took over what my mind has never allowed. And I went there. It was a mistake, and even now I feel stupid for letting myself go the way I did.

I’ve worked at The Blackout for almost six months and managed to maintain my cool. But being so close, smelling the dark spice of his skin, watching his tongue toy with the ring in his lip . . . it was all too much. Sensory overload.

I twist my key in the front door and push it open to a dark and quiet house. Hatch’s bike wasn’t in the driveway, thank goodness. Not that I’m afraid of him. What happened last night was a simple case of putting my face in the wrong place at the worst time.

Heading straight for a hot shower, I pass Trix’s room. The door is open and she’s up.

I lean into the doorway. “Hey. Why are you up so early?”

She turns from the pile of laundry she’s folding and her eyes go wide on my face. “That motherfucker! He did that to you?”

My fingers lift to the scab and swelling on my cheek. “Yes and no. I kinda did it to myself.”

Moving toward me, she squints to study the damage. “Damn. Does it hurt?”

“Not so much now. Just sore.” Like my stupid heart. Ugh.

“He told me what happened. I got out of the shower and found him in the kitchen all beat to shit with a box of your popsicles pressed to his face. He said you jumped between him and Rex and took a punch.” Her squint gets tighter. “Why would you do that?”

To protect Rex. “I was trying to break it up.”

“Hatch has mad respect for you now.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s an idiot.”

She moves back to her pile of laundry, and I follow her in. Exhaustion weighs heavy and I flop down on her bed. “Why are you up?”

“My schedule at Zeus’s is all over the place. I slept all day yesterday. Couldn’t sleep worth shit last night.” She folds socks together. “I figure I’m up, so I might as well do laundry.”

I yawn and pull a pillow under my head.

“So you and Rex, huh?” A sly grin pulls at her lips.

“No.”

“But you banged him last night, right?”

“Ew, Trix. No I didn’t bang him last night.”

“Blow job?”

“No!”

“Handjob?”

“What? No!”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really. He was worried I had a concussion and didn’t want me to be alone. He was a perfect gentleman, even slept on the couch.”

She tosses two handfuls of skimpy panties and lace bras into her drawer. “Well, damn. I was hoping to get the deets on that fine man. He’s never hooked up with any of the girls from the club.” Spinning on her feet, the sly smile is back. “I saw his band play at Cochella. He took his shirt off, so I know his nipples are pierced, but I want to know if he’s pierced”—she bounces her eyebrows—“everywhere.”

Everywhere? Like . . . down there? No, he’d never do that. Would he? The thought has my body suddenly heated.

“Thing is, the guy never hangs out at Zeus’s like the rest of his band and a few of the UFL dudes.” She hangs a skin-tight mini-dress that looks as if it’s made of rubber. “Too bad really. He’s hot as hell.”

“Keep your claws to yourself, Trix. Rex isn’t like those other guys.” I learned that the hard way tonight. How many guys would turn down a kiss from a woman? Especially a kiss that might lead somewhere else? Would I have allowed that kiss to go further? The fluttering excitement in my stomach confirms my head’s resounding hell yes.

How did I go from loving Rex as a brother to wanting him in this way? If I’m honest with myself, I’d have to acknowledge this has been building over the last few months. I’ve been steering women away from him at The Blackout, telling them that he’s got a girlfriend when they ask. I did it under the guise that I was protecting him from being taken advantage of, from being turned into nothing more than a piece of meat that would satisfy the carnivorous cravings of the female Las Vegas drones.

A woman would have to be dead not to fall in love with Rex. He’s gorgeous, polite, and tender in a way that isn’t found in most men. His skin might be covered in tattoos, but even those can’t hide his beauty. And he’s . . . pretty. He always has been, and no amount of ink or metal can cover that up.

That’s why they paid for him.

The words hit my consciousness like a wrecking ball, shattering progress and bringing me back to my purpose: to make things right between Rex and me—make good on my promise to help him, even if I’m fourteen years too late.

“I need a shower. I’ll catch you later,” I say and leave the room before she can see the tears building in my eyes.

“Later.” Trix waves me off and digs her hands back into her laundry basket.

How could I be so fucking selfish? This isn’t about my feelings. This is about Rex. After the talk we had about our nightmares, his mixed messages about forgetting the bad but remembering the dreams, I think he’s worse off than he seems. On the outside, he looks like a successful athlete and musician, but is it possible that’s all a cover up for what’s going on inside?

He needs me, just as he did back then. But rather than pull him from the circumstances of his present, he needs answers to the past. Answers that I can give him.

Once in my room, I strip off my clothes and step into the shower. The cold tile against my feet sends shocks up my legs. I blast the shower on hot and shiver while I wait for it to warm.

“Stick with the plan, Gia.” I’ve come too far to give up now. My selfish desires come second to him. After I give him everything I can, share with him what I know, then I can concentrate on making a life for myself, one that doesn’t revolve around feelings of guilt and anger. I just need to get close enough to him again to tell him who I am. That’s when I’ll apologize for not saving him when I could and tell him what he doesn’t know. I only hope my secrets will buy his forgiveness.

He walked out on me this morning, but I’m not giving up. Progress was made. I’ll get him alone again, and this time, I’ll tell him everything.

Seven

Fantasy, reality

Dreaming or awake

The division lines are blurred

The visions I can’t shake.

--Ataxia

Mac

It’s Sunday night at The Blackout, a week since my night with Rex. I’ve stayed busy every night, picking up extra shifts since I knew Ataxia wouldn’t be playing and I could avoid seeing Rex, but that didn’t stop me from jogging by his house. His truck was gone early most days, and on Thursday I noticed that his neighbor was back from her trip. I wonder if she could tell that another woman had been in her bed.

I wipe my palms on my apron and take a quick glance at the stage. He’s not here yet. I take a deep breath. My dodging Rex comes to an end tonight, and no matter how many times I pep-talk myself, my heart still leaps in my chest at the thought of facing him after our kiss. My kiss.

It’s getting close to opening, and I still haven’t stocked the backup for my well liquor. Grabbing the key, I head to the stock room to grab the bottles when the back door swings open. My feet are stuck in place, pulse racing, as my eyes adjust to the familiar face. Talon, Ataxia’s drummer, smiles as he walks past me to the stage.

Holy shit. I put my hand to my chest. Calm down. I drop my gaze to the floor and scurry to the back room. Rex could walk in at any minute, and the last place I want to be is welded to the floor in the hallway. My hand shakes as I slide the key in. A few male voices murmur behind me and get louder as if they’re headed my way. My heart kicks behind my ribs.

Thankfully the door opens just before they round the corner, and I rush in the tiny room, shutting the door behind me. I flick on the light and lean my back against the brick wall.

“Pull it together. You’re going to have to face him sooner or later.” I take a few deep breaths and move through the tiny room, loading bottles and supplies on the small cart that’s there.

What if he hates me? I could take his indifference, but his dislike I couldn’t bear. The morning after we were together I’d have sworn there was nothing that could stop me from confronting him. But tonight, at the club together in front of prying eyes, insecurity has dissolved my courage.

“Okay. Breathe. Focus. I can do this.” I grip my hands on the cool metal bar of the cart, preparing to leave the shelter of the supply room. What if I run into him on my way back to the bar? “Hey, Rex, sorry about that kiss. You made it clear you find me repulsive and I pushed myself on you anyway. Ugh . . . this is humiliating.”

Pressing my ear against the door, I hear only the faint sound of a few of the cocktail servers talking. No deep male voices. Perfect. If I can just avoid him until I get behind the bar, I should be good for the night. That’ll give me plenty of time to go over the speech I’d planned all week in my head. Yeah, then I can pull him aside after his show and apologize. Head down, beeline to the bar. I’ve got an entire shift to work out the rest.

I twist the handle and push the door, but it doesn’t move. What? I wiggle it and push again. It doesn’t budge.

“Stuck.” A flicker of panic ticks in my chest. I try a few different combinations of pushing and wiggling, but to no avail.

Dammit. A weight settles in my chest and chills race over my body. The walls seem to twist and shrink all around me. Breathe and relax. This isn’t the same. This is not the same.

I blow out a long breath and shove back my anxiety to pull up my rational thinking.

There’s no lock on the inside, so somehow it’s locked me in from the outside. Right, just like when I was a kid. Locked in the closet for days. No light. Cramped space. Little air. Fuck!

The panic ignites and floods my system. My stomach rolls, and dizziness has me bracing my weight against the door.

“Oh God, please. Not here. I can’t freak out here.” The familiar feeling of my racing heart and sweat-dampened skin mainlines adrenaline through my veins.

Let me out. I’ve got to get out!

My fist slams against the wooden door. Once, twice, and a third.

“Hello!” My one spoken word cracks with emotion. “Anyone out there?”

I press my ear to the door again. Silence. Shit!

A small whimper escapes my lips. The memories wash over me in waves. Stuck. Alone. Scared. Knowing that no one was coming to rescue me.

I knock again, this time with the driving force of my desperation.

“Help! I’m stuck. Anyone there?”

No one’s there. They never were.

“Help!” I bang some more, louder, harder. “Someone help me!” My forehead beads with sweat.

I’m breathing too hard. Can’t get enough air. Darkness threatens my vision. “Don’t pass out. Breathe.” I count each breath, trying to make them slow. One-two-three-in. One-two-three-out. It’s not working. My muscles spasm.

“Please help me!” I slap with the heel of my palm. Nothing.

Helpless. Useless. God, I couldn’t save him. Protect him.

I bang again, but I’m emotionally drained and my hand slides down the wood to my side. “God, please—”

“Hey.” The voice comes from the other side of the door. “You okay in there?”

“Hello? Yes, please! I’m okay, but . . . I’m locked in.” I try to school my voice, but the terror is unmistakable even to my own ears.

“Shhh, it’s okay. You’ll be okay. I’ll get you out.”

My body turns to stone. Rex.

The handle wiggles but doesn’t budge. “Um, shit. Let me grab Mario.”

“No!” I press my palms to the door and lean my forehead against it. The thought of being left alone in here for another second . . . I can’t. “Don’t go.”

Silence . . . Shit. Did he leave? My scalp tingles and my palms sweat.

“Mac?” His voice is soft and close, as if he’s pressed up to the other side of the door as I am.

Just the sound of his voice calms me. I take a deep breath. “Yeah.”

More silence.

“It’s okay. I won’t leave you.” His voice is firm and soothing.

My heart seizes at his words. How familiar this is, being separated by a door and whispering words to console the fears. Does he remember? Is he riding the same déjà vu?

“Mac, do you have a key in there with you?” His voice is still soft, but now determined.

“Yes.”

“Can you slide it to me under the door?”

I don’t answer him with words but instead glide down the door to the crack at the bottom. And just like when we were kids, I press my cheek to the floor, looking through the crack. I see the white toes of his Chuck Taylors, and I feel the loss at not seeing his eyes. I push the key through the crack of the door, and his feet step back.

Time slows to a crawl as he reaches for the keys.

Our fingers meet.

Then still.

Skin touches skin beneath the door and something happens.

Neither of us move.

I can’t see him, but an urgency to connect with him pushes one word to my throat.

“Rex . . .”

~*~

Rex

Exactly like my dream.

I’m separated from someone important, wanting so badly to remove the barrier between us, but knowing it’s impossible. Hands braced together through a space that’s so small and yet feels like something bigger than my heart can take.

“Rex . . .”

My breath hitches. The way she says my name, sadness dripping off the word, makes her sound so young and helpless. So familiar and yet . . . not.

I stare at the space where our fingers are connected. Dark purple painted nails accentuate her pale skin.

“It’s okay.” Those two simple words reverberate in my head like a gong. It’s okay. The urge to lay my cheek against the cold floor and try to see her is overwhelming. “I’m going to get you out of here.” Again, the words feel as if they’ve been spoken before, but when?

Reluctantly, I let go of her fingers and stand. With a turn of the key, the door swings open. Mac is sitting on the floor, her knees tucked in and arms wrapped tight around them. She tilts her head back to look at me. Pain and confusion work behind her eyes.

“You okay?”

“Better now,” she whispers.

Bright light flares behind my eyes, and I see her: the flaming-orange hair, gray eyes, and pale skin. Before I can grab the vision and store it in my memory, it’s gone. I close my eyes, searching for it, begging to get it back, but it’s like trying to hold onto vapor.

“Holy shit.” I lean back against the doorframe and rub my eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Mac’s voice is close. “All the color drained from your face. Here”—her small hands grip my arm—“you need to sit down.”

“No, really. I’m good.” I wave her off and breathe through the feeling that I’m going to pass out. “I just need a second. Think I stood up too fast or something.”

Or something.

“Oh, right.” She backs away. “Take your time.”

That was the most intense déjà vu I’ve ever experienced. Not only were the visuals so real but the intensity of the feelings. Just like my dreams, but I’m awake. Is that possible?

The flash of the little girl seemed almost like a memory. She couldn’t be a relative. If I had family, I wouldn’t have had to go into group homes and foster care after she died. But I must know the redheaded girl from somewhere. I get the feeling that she was important to me. Another orphan maybe? Why would I only see portions of her face? Even in my dreams, it’s only her eyes, lips, and hair, but only in sections.

“Dude, where the fuck have you been? We’re not your roadies, Justin Bieber. Get your ass out here and help us set up.” Lane shoves me and pops a cigarette in his mouth. He swings his gaze to Mac, who’s now behind her cart of bottles. “Mac, what’s up, girl? Mind grabbing me a beer, sweetheart?”

A possessive growl threatens to escape my throat, before I swallow it back. As much as I don’t appreciate Lane calling her sweetheart, she isn’t mine. I brush it off to me having respect for the girl. I mean she’s not a fucking groupie. Shit.

“Sure, Lane.” She pushes her cart past us, peeking up at me with a tiny smile. “See ya ’round, Rex.”

“Yeah, see ya.” I watch her until she disappears into the bar area then turn to Lane. His eyes are fixed at ass level where Mac just turned the corner. Fucking asshole. I punch him in the shoulder hard enough to knock the cigarette from his lips. “Call me Justin Bieber again, bitch, and I’ll break your legs.”

He rubs his arm, his jaw slack. “That’s my fret arm, dick!”

I shove past him with a frustration that is as misplaced as it is annoying. Reacting to a woman on any level is uncomfortable, but something about the black-haired motorcycle-riding barmaid is rocking my damn psyche.

~*~

It’s after two a.m., and I’m loading up the last of our equipment. Like most nights, the other band members have disappeared either to head home or hook up. Or both.

Usually I’d give them all a ton of shit for taking off, but the club was packed tonight, and we ended up playing an extra set. We all walked off stage to a crowd of chanting fans. The guys were on such a high that they needed to go blow off steam with the activity of their choice.

“Rex?”

I turn from where I’m strapping down our amps to find Mac standing by the tailgate of my truck. She’s fidgeting nervously.

“Hey.” I squat down to sit on the open tailgate. Her eyes dart around the dark alley behind the club, avoiding my eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah.” She tucks a few loose strands of her long hair behind her ear. “Listen, I didn’t get a chance to thank you for helping me out back there. Another minute and I may’ve passed out from a panic attack.” She laughs, but the sound is unnatural, as if she’s trying too hard.

I nod. “No problem.” My arms ache to wrap her in a hug. What the fuck is that all about?

“I also wanted to apologize for the, um . . .” Even in the limited light of the alley, I see her light-skinned cheeks turn scarlet.

It’s so pretty on her, and again I have to wonder why I hadn’t paid more attention to her in the past.

Her hands knot together. “Last week, when I, uh . . . it was out of line.”

“By it you mean the kiss?” Saying the word in her presence, I watch her neck take on the same color as her cheeks. The innocent blush stirs up a nauseating wave of arousal in my gut. I swallow it back and tug at my lip ring to avoid smiling at her reaction.

“Yeah, that.” Her eyes fix on mine, her expression serious. “I had no right taking advantage of you like that. You helped me and I repaid you by making you uncomfortable.”

I don’t know what to say. As much as I know I should say thank you and reassure her it’ll never happen again, my body is begging to relive it, so much so that it’s overriding the rising bile in my throat. Maybe I’m still riding the high of the kick-ass show we just played. Or it could be all the extra testosterone that’s pumping through my veins because of the eight-hour training sessions I’ve been having all week. Either way, I’m enjoying the feeling. Again, what the fuck?

“I acted like a dick, got you alone on a bed with a bottle of booze.” I shrug. “What’s a girl to think? I set you up and then treated you like shit for taking the bait. I’m sorry too.”

A tiny smile lights her pretty face. “Thank you for being so cool about it. And for the record, I don’t go around, you know, kissing any guy who helps me out of a jam.”

Damn if this little shy-girl routine isn’t fucking adorable.

“Mac?” I draw out her name. “What is it with you?”

Her head jerks a little and she lifts her chin. “Me?”

“Yeah. You ride a motorcycle, take punches meant for a man and don’t even cry. And now, you’re confronting the guy who treated you like shit.” I fight to keep my shoulders up through the weight of my guilt. “Even though I’m the one who owes you an apology. And yet”—a slow smile curves my lips—“you blush talking about a kiss.”

She props her hands on her narrow hips, glares at me, and smiles. “I am not blushing.”

I nod and fold my arms over my chest. “No?”

“No.”

“All right, fine. Let’s put it to the test.” And satisfy my insane fucking urge to recreate it. “Tell me what happened between us a week ago tonight.” The fact that I know it’s been a week probably gives away that I’ve been thinking about our kiss, but there’s no taking it back now.

She lifts one eyebrow and bites her lip. “Hmm, let’s see if I can remember.” Her gaze slides to just over my shoulder and her lips purse in thought. “You gave me a ride to my place, I took a punch to the cheek, we went back to your neighbor’s place, and you tried to get me drunk.”

“Not the most accurate retelling of events, but I’ll accept it. You’re still missing the most important part.” The part that makes my blood feel as if it’s itching to relive it.

She takes a step closer and tilts her chin back to look up at me. “I was grateful for all your help, so I . . .”

I quirk an eyebrow, waiting and watching for the light of her cheeks to flood pink. “Go on; you’ve come this far,” I whisper. “Say it.”

Her eyes roam my face from my eyes to my neck and back up to my lips. Her smile falls. “I kissed you.” She blushes.

My dick swells and queasiness rips through my stomach. Her words affect me in such polar opposite ways it’s intoxicating. And even now, after she’s apologized and I’ve promised myself to avoid her at all costs, I’m gonna do it again.

I drop down from the tailgate and take a step toward her, dissolving the little space left between us. With the tips of my fingers, I hook her beneath the chin and tilt her face up to mine. Her eyes flutter, as if she’s trying to keep them open, and her lips relax. The bursts of air from her mouth prove that I’m having the same effect on her as she is on me.

“This looks better.” I run my thumb along the healing split on her cheek. It’s no longer scabbed and only an angry red mark remains. With a gentle pressure, I run my finger against her skin. “So soft.”

Her breath hitches, and my stomach threatens to unload. I’m wound up tight and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

“You kissed me because you were grateful that I helped you.” I move my hand from her face to the nape of her neck. “Don’t know if you remember, baby, but I did it again tonight.” I don’t want to say it. I don’t want to want it. But fuck, I need it. “I’m thinkin’ you owe me another kiss.” My lips burn to feel hers again. I tug on my lip ring with my teeth.

Her neck stiffens and her eyes narrow. “But . . .?”

“Told you I was a dick.” I flex my fingers into her tight muscles. “You caught me off guard. Won’t happen again.”

She gives a tight nod and lifts up on her tiptoes.

I groan at her willingness to give me what I want. What else would she do if I asked? I swallow back the saliva that floods my throat and pull her up to meet my lips.

Just like the first time, we meet with a tentative brush. The warm, pliable flesh of her mouth runs along mine and lingers at my lip ring. She curls her lips around it and pulls away with a tug that makes my dick throb.

“There.” She backs away and smiles. “Goodnight.” Turning on her heel, she pulls open the back door and disappears into the club.

My heart pounds in my chest, half of me screaming to go to her and fuck her senseless and the other half looking for a safe place to puke.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’d gladly take the vomitous reaction if it means even ten seconds between Mac’s thighs.

I scrub my face and fist my hair. What the hell is this woman doing to me? My appointment with my therapist is tomorrow. Maybe it’s time we work harder to get to the bottom of all my shit, if for no other reason than to be able to hang out more with Mac without having to run off every time things breach the make-out level of an eighth-grader.

The memory of her soft skin beneath my hand, her rushed breath, and the honeyed taste of her lips. . . Huh. Thinking about it now is only mildly repulsive. Progress.

Eight

Vivid dreams, different faces

Waves of hate and lust in traces

Festering sickness, my insides rot

There’s no pill for what I’ve got.

--Ataxia

Rex

“Hey, Rex.” My shrink pops his head out of his office and waves me in. “Come on in.”

I stand from the leather couch in the waiting room, happy to get away from the damn flute music that’s dancing through the stereo speakers. Honestly, does that shit really make people relax? It gives me the urge to flute-whip a hippy.

“Have a seat.” He motions to one of the two overstuffed chairs in his office then swivels around to grab his yellow legal pad and pen.

I drop down into the chair I always pick, the one I’ve been sitting in one day a week for all these years. Not sure why I always pick this one, but something tells me Darren Gale—with a ton of letters after his name—would say it’s OCD tendencies or some psychobabble shit like that.

“So?” He leans back in his chair, legs crossed. “How’ve you been?”

When I first started coming here, I was barely speaking and he had a hell of a lot more hair. He never pushed me to talk about things until I volunteered, and he’d be happy to just sit and not talk at all if that’s what I needed. Often times it was. But now, he’s the closest thing I have to family.

“I’ve been all right.” I flick a ball of lint off the chair’s arm.

He hums in acknowledgment. “You sleeping okay?”

I shrug. “Had to take some Trazodone last week, but it’s been better since.”

“Dreams?” He scribbles something down.

“Yeah. Same ole same.”

He drops his gaze and busies his pen on his legal pad. “The little girl or the men?”

My stomach tightens at the mention of those dreams. “The little girl and the one where I’m stuck in the dark.” And sometimes the others.

“Are you writing in your journal as I suggested?”

I shake my head and study the floor. Filling pages with feelings doesn’t appeal to me. “Kinda. I write lyrics from them.”

“That’s helping?”

“Yes.” Not really.

He puts his pad and pen on his desk and leans back in his chair. “This is good. You’re processing the nightmares in a way that works. The sexual dreams with the men, that—”

“Stop. I know what you mean.”

“Rex.” He gives me the look. The one that says skating around my issues won’t lead to progress.

“I just . . . it’s hard enough to dream it. I don’t want to hear you talk about it.” I grip my stomach and nausea builds in my throat.

The dreams. Flashes of different faces. Older men with hungry eyes, licking their lips, reaching out to touch, and all the feelings that come with it. The terror, pain, and helplessness. For years I thought those dreams were telling me I’m gay—even though I’m not the least bit attracted to men—but why the hell would a teenage kid dream about them in this way?

“I understand. I do, but if these are actual memories, then we can work on molestation victimization rather tha—”

“I’m not a victim. They aren’t memories. They’re . . . they can’t be.” I tug on my lip ring to keep my fingers off the rubber band at my wrist.

“Just because there’s no proof doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“Exactly. I would’ve told someone at the hospital or my case worker from the home.” Hope drips slowly, freeing my lungs enough to take a full breath.

There’s no record of me being abused, only that I tried to kill myself when I was ten and was taken out of foster care and put into a group home for troubled kids.

His eyes go soft with sympathy that just pisses me the fuck off.

“There are people out there that go through lifetimes of abuse and never talk. You tried to kill yourself, Rex. It’s important to ask yourself what would drive a ten-year-old boy to do that.”

I wasn’t trying to kill myself. At least, I don’t think I was. I have a vague memory of pressing the sharp piece of metal into my skin and dragging it down my arm. It was exciting. It made me feel hopeful. I just can’t remember why.

“In your professional opinion, I was being molested and I tried to kill myself. Those seem like two pretty fucking significant things. Why don’t I remember any of it?”

“We’ve talked about this, how children handle trauma differently than adults. They unconsciously lock away the traumatic memories as a form of protection. It’s not that you don’t remember; it’s that your mind won’t allow you to unlock the place where they’re stored.”

I groan and pinch my eyes closed. Accepting that I was sexually molested by men, many different men, is more than I can stomach. And the dreams, they’re so vivid: the conflicting feelings of hating what’s happening to me, but not being able to control my body’s reaction to the touch. I break out in a sweat and wipe my palms on my pants.

Why would any living breathing human being allow that to happen to a kid in his care? God! What kind of a sick fucking world is this? And if the memories are locked in there and somehow they get unlocked, what then?

My skin feels alive, and I’m overcome with the urge to race out of here. “I’m sick.” The words are meant for only me and come out strangled.

“You’re not sick. You were an innocent child who trusted those who were trusted to take care of you.” His words are clipped with anger. “If there was a way I could get more information about the different families, investigate and find out what happened to you, I would.”

“There’s nothing to suggest those things happened. They’re just dreams.” Dreams of a sexually demented and mentally unstable psycho.

“Nothing is just a dream, Rex. Everything has meaning: your fear of letting people in, compulsion to be clean and stay organized. You don’t allow anyone in to mess up the delicate balance that’s keeping you on the right side of sane? All of that means something.”

I dig my fists into my eyes and rub. God, why won’t he stop talking?

“You crave structure, order, because it’s something you can control. Not allowing people into your condo keeps your space safe.”

Stop. Fucking. Talking!

“And your sexual habits . . . Prostitutes and easy women who allow you to get what you need and move on. That too—”

“Stop it! None of this bullshit you’re talking about is real.” I lean toward him and stab my finger into my chest. “I’m a sick fuck! There’s no reason for why I’m sick; I just am. Have you ever thought of that?”

His eyes narrow. “It’s possible, but doubtful.”

“Doubtful? My mom was bi-polar, depressed, and who knows what else.” I shake my head, suddenly irritated that I don’t have a single fucking memory of her that didn’t come from her autopsy report. “My dreams, my OCD, the shit I do to my body, maybe that’s just me and there is no excuse.”

He’s quiet, his expression blank and probably not at all surprised by my outburst. He’s heard it all before. Without concrete memories, therapy has been me chasing my tail around a big fat void.

The small office grows tight with my heavy breathing. Silence fills the space between us. People don’t understand what it’s like to not have a past, to have no roots, nothing that grounds me. At least if I had a history I could remember it would explain why I am the way I am. It’d be like discovering the germ that causes the sickness in order to formulate a cure.

A cure. I want that. “How is it possible to work through shit I can’t fucking remember?”

“Subconsciously, you do remember. Your dreams are the mind’s way of processing it.”

“No! I can’t . . . deal with that. It’s too much.” My chest is rising and falling faster, and I roll my lip ring a few times to keep my fingers off the rubber band on my wrist.

“I understand. You’re going to get there, but only when you’re ready. These things don’t happen over days or weeks. It takes years, lifetimes of talking this stuff out, and we may never get to the why of it all. But our goal is to help you deal with the now. In order to do that, you must accept the possibility that you were sexually molested.”

I cringe and avoid his eyes, more than done with this conversation.

He exhales heavily. “How about things at home? Have you had anyone over? Friends? Women?”

I lean forward, elbows to my knees, head in my hands. It’s questions like these that make me realize how far from normal I am, how fucked my head is, but more importantly, how little progress I’ve made.

“Not yet, but I did, um . . . There’s a girl who I’d like to have over. Maybe.” The thought of having Mac inside my home pulls me in opposite directions. Having her in my place might be nice. Right? I take a deep breath and try to slow my heart rate.

“A girl?” His voice is high, perked up with interest. “Tell me about her.”

With another deep breath, feeling a little calmer now that we’re on a different subject, I sit back. “She works at one of the clubs I play at. We’ve been talking and I don’t know, it’s like she’s known me for years or something. I can’t explain it.”

“That’s comforting to be around someone who’s at ease with you. You’re an intimidating guy, so I’m sure that doesn’t happen often.”

Is that all it is? I don’t freak her out, so I like her? Wait, I like her? “I guess.”

“Maybe you should ask her to come over. Not to stay long, but just stop by for a drink before you go out?”

“I don’t know.” Asking her over and out on a date? Two things I’ve been avoiding for, well, forever.

“Rex, I know you’re uncomfortable, but you’re capable of a lot more than you think.” He exhales heavily and grabs his pad and pen off his desk. “You ready for your fight?”

“Yeah. I’m down eight pounds; the rest should be easy.”

“That’s great. I’ve no doubt you’ll win. This Reece guy probably shit himself when he found out he’d be fighting T-Rex.”

I chuckle and a warm feeling expands in my chest. Not having parents, Darren’s words are the closest thing I’ve got to parental pride. It’s not much, but I’ll take it.

We talk a little longer about my fight, and before I know it, we’re both laughing and arguing over UFL stats and predictions. I appreciate the lighter conversation and the fact that he doesn’t redirect us back to the heavy stuff.

“I’m proud of you, son.” He walks me out and claps me on the shoulder. “I know it feels as though you’ve got a long way to go, but I assure you, you’ve come a long way since your first visit.”

“Thanks, Darren.” I give him a chin lift. “See ya next week.”

I’m walking across the parking lot to my car when I hear him call my name.

“Consider what I said.” There’s a smile in his voice.

He’s talking about going out with Mac. I’m reminded of our kiss last night and the desire to work harder to overcome all my shit if it means being able to spend more time around her. And even though having Mac inside my house makes me dizzy, it might be a first step to getting better.

I’m a fighter. I’ve never backed down from anything in my life. Why should this be any different?

Simple. It shouldn’t.

~*~

Mac

It’s seven p.m. when I finally venture out of my room. After I got home from work last night, I couldn’t stop replaying my night. Stuck in the storage room only to have Rex come and save me. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought he was struck with the same déjà vu as I was: the way his fingers froze on mine and his face paled when I repeated the very words he said to me fourteen years ago.

As if our moment of connection wasn’t enough, when I finally got the courage to apologize for last week, he flirted with me. He touched my injured cheek and playfully asked me to kiss him again.

I grin and bite my lip, remembering the arousing scrape of his piercing against my mouth. The desire to run the tip of my tongue along it and taste him was overwhelming. The only thing I could do to keep from jumping him was walk away. I’d hoped he’d chase after me, turn me around, and throw me up against the wall in a passionate kiss. He didn’t.

Rex. Always keeping me guessing.

Halfway to the kitchen I hear classic rock coming from the backyard. Leave it to Trix to have a fucking party on a Monday. I shake my head and move through the living room to the sliding glass door.

“Holy crap.”

Hatch and four of his biker buddies are draped over our patio furniture, each one with a girl on his lap. The table is littered with beer bottles, empty liquor bottles, and a variety of different smoking paraphernalia, both legal and illegal.

Trix and her stripper friends hang on the bikers, the manifestation of drunk and desperate.

“Awesome.” I slide open the back door and immediately get their attention.

Hatchet’s eyes narrow. “Snow White. You come out here to get your revenge?” The tick of his lips tells me he’s kidding, but he’s obviously too drunk to pull off the inappropriate joke.

“Maybe. Depends on how well you mind your manners.” I set my eyes on Trix. “How long have you guys been drinking?”

She throws her hands to the side, accidentally whopping Hatch in the head. She cradles her hand to her stomach. “Ow, Hatch. Your head is rock hard.”

“You should know, babe. You’re sitting on my lap.” He rubs his head in a delayed reaction to her accidental hit. “You getting me back for poppin’ Snow White?”

Her gaze is slow and lazy as it moves between him and me. “Oh yeah.” She smacks him upside the head. “There. Now I am.”

I curl my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing. The truth is I’m not mad at Hatch. He didn’t hit me on purpose. That was my fault. Thinking back, Rex didn’t even lift his fists when he saw that he was going to get punched. He was going to take it. How can I be pissed when taking that punch meant Rex didn’t have to? Besides, Rex delivered the punishing payback well enough that Hatch is still sporting two black eyes.

“Pull up a beer and a chair.” One of Hatch’s motorcycle buddies pulls an empty chair to his side, his eyes moving from my neck to my hips and back.

Gross. “No.” I look back to Trix. “You guys going out?”

“Yeah, there’s a party we’re going to later. You want to come with?” Her eyes are glazed over, and I hope it’s only from the alcohol and not whatever else these fuckfaces are using.

“I’d rather get a pap smear from Freddie Krueger.” I step back into the house, and the sound of their snorted laughter and curses goes silent when I shut the door behind me. I head to the kitchen in search of anything that could be considered dinner.

My mind wanders back to Rex, and I picture him at his place doing the same thing, making himself dinner alone in his apartment. I crack open a can of Spaghetti O’s, dump it into a bowl, and pop it into the microwave. I’m antsy with the need to see him, if not him, then at least his car or his apartment. Just to set eyes on something of his soothes my anxiety and placates the obsessive beast within.

The beeping grabs my attention. The bowl burns my fingers as I race to the table to sit. I’m on my second bite of O’s when I hear the sliding glass door open.

“Great,” I mumble into my bowl and hope that it’s not the drunk long-haired biker who stripped me with his eyes. Ick.

“You get the job done?” One of the bikers says in a whisper that would probably be a lot softer if he weren’t shitfaced.

“Yeah, man. I did it. Where’s my fucking money?” The other male voice is angry and making no attempt to be quiet.

“He needs proof before you get paid. You know that’s how it’s done.”

A deep chuckle that sounds more sinister than humorous filters through the room. “Proof’s in the obituary.”

Obituary. He killed someone? With this crew, I’m not surprised.

“Shh, shut up. If Hatchet hears us talking MC business here, he’ll have our cuts.”

“I don’t give a fuck about Hatch. I want my motherfucking money.”

The sliding glass door opens again. “What the fuck are you dipsticks doing?”

“I’m going to take a piss.” The sound of boots on carpet disappears into the hallway.

“I want my fucking money, Hatch.”

“Shut your damn mouth.” Hatch’s growled words are followed by the gurgling sound of a grown man being choked. “You don’t bring that shit up in mixed company, Tread. You fucking hear me?”

Gasping. “That bitch . . . and her man . . . are dead. I want to get paid—”

I hear the loud crack of fist meeting flesh and then the thump of a body hitting the floor. My stomach turns.

“Shit, Hatch. You broke my damn nose.” The nasally voice is followed by the sound of stomping boots trailing off in opposite directions. There’s a murderer with a broken nose in my house. The thought doesn’t evoke the warm and fuzzies.

Hatch staggers into the kitchen, clearly missing the fact that I’m sitting less than six feet away. He pulls open the fridge door, grabs a bottle, and pops the cap. Turning, he leans against the fridge and tilts his head back for a long pull off his beer. He downs half and then his eyes go wide on me. “Snow White”—he glares—“how long you been sitting there?”

I suck down a spoonful of noodles. “Not long.”

He takes a step closer to the table. I don’t have to look up from my food to know he’s staring at me. I can feel it.

He clears his throat. “It would be wise if you pretend you didn’t hear that.”

Sitting back, I study him for a moment. Shaggy brown hair, black tee, and that damn leather vest with his MC’s logo embroidered on the breast. He radiates bad-ass biker. I shrug. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Good girl.” He leans a hip against the counter. “I trust you’ll keep that sexy mouth shut?”

Man, this guy gets on my nerves. In my house, threatening me? I drop my spoon into my bowl and lean back, eyes on his. “And if I don’t?”

He smiles as if I’ve just challenged him to a dare. “I’ll shut it for you.”

“Hmm . . .” I purse my lips and cross my arms at my chest. “You threatening me?”

He continues to stare and stands in a way that would be considered stoic if not for his lurching in a booze-induced dance. “Don’t forget what I know about you, Mac Ellenshire.”

Dammit. He’ll always have that as leverage. I’d never talk anyway, but the extra threat to expose my secret is enough to make me swear in blood to keep my mouth shut. “Whatever. I won’t talk.” I continue to eat, hoping he leaves me to my canned dinner.

“Smart girl.” He grunts and turns to head back outside.

That guy and his band of pussy bikers don’t scare me. I know fear and pain, and neither Hatch nor his gang has that power over me. There’s only one person who does, and I’m thinking it’s time I pay him a visit.

Nine

Eyes like silver

Hair like fire

Singing away my sorrow

There’s nothing I’d deny her.

--Ataxia

Mac

I’m straddling my motorcycle, head tilted back, staring. Wow. This place is huge. The garage alone is twice the size of my house, and with the tropical landscaping, it’s like a desert oasis. I’d expect a professional UFL fighter to have bank, but I didn’t think they’d spend it on a house the size of a resort.

Did I read the address wrong? I fish my phone from my messenger bag and check the text from Layla.

“I’ll be damned.” The number and street name match. “Spare no expense Slade.”

There was no way I was going to say no when Layla invited me over to the Slade’s for some girl time. I guess the guys get together to watch baseball and the girls just sit around and do what girls do.

What do girls do?

I was secluded most of my life, not having any interaction outside of doctors and therapists. We had social hours where I’d visit with others, but the people I was locked up with weren’t much for conversation, at least not the kind you could understand.

I take a few steps to the front door and notice cars parked off toward the garage. Cadillac Escalade. My breath catches in my throat. Rex.

A butterfly mutiny explodes in my belly. I was hoping he’d be here.

I ring the doorbell; it sounds as if it’s announcing the Queen of England rather than Mac the nobody. Overkill much?

The door swings open and Jonah’s wife Raven answers. Just like when I’ve seen her at The Blackout, her eyes take me aback.

“Hi, Mac, right?” She gives me a genuine smile.

I nod and she motions for me to come in. “Yeah, Raven?”

“Yes. Layla told me you were coming. It’s nice to have another girl here to help dilute the testosterone.”

Her laid-back attitude makes me laugh. She looks so comfortable in her own skin. And I really dig her style; she’s wearing a cute pair of camo leggings and a long gray shirt that hangs off one shoulder and hugs a tiny pregnant belly. I follow her through the enormous arched foyer into a state-of-the-art kitchen.

Male voices filter in from another room, but I can’t make out Rex’s. I wonder how he’ll react to seeing me here. Maybe he’ll be mad, think I’m busting into his inner circle, but I’m hoping he’ll be happy to see me.

“Mac, you made it.” Layla jumps off a stool with a handful of popcorn and throws her arms around me.

“Of course. You know I’d never miss a party.”

She drags me over to the granite-topped breakfast bar that’s covered in a variety of different food. “Party. Right. With our pregnant asses, it’s more like a crabby cry fest”—her hand sweeps across the air over the food—“with a buffet!”

Raven laughs. It’s hard to look at her this close. The distinct color of her eyes is eerily familiar. I rub the back of my neck, hoping to loosen the muscles that have tightened there.

“Here, we made mocktails.” Layla sets a martini glass filled with some chilled pink liquid down in front of me.

“Mac, what’re you riding out there?” Raven sips on her drink. “Honda?”

“CB900.”

“Is it easy to ride?”

“I think so.” I try my pink drink. Mmm, not bad. “Why? You thinking of getting one?”

“I’d like to. Jonah has a Harley and I want to learn to ride, but that thing’s huge.”

“That’s what she said.” Layla pops a ranch-dipped baby carrot into her mouth and shakes her head. “Sorry. Blake’s rubbing off on me.”

Raven and I burst out laughing, and it’s the first time I’ve really felt connected to any girls other than Trix. My chest warms. It’s like having friends. Real friends.

~*~

Rex

“Fucking strike three, bitches.” Blake jumps from the couch and high-fives Owen. They’re backing the New York Mets while everyone else is a Cubs fan. “You boys wouldn’t know good baseball if it slapped you in the dick.”

“Eww, Blake.” Axelle’s repulsed reaction comes from across the room where she’s sitting with her phone under her nose, texting.

“Shit.” Blake grimaces. “Sorry, kiddo. Forgot you were here.”

A laugh rumbles in my chest.

Blake glares at me. “What?”

“Never heard you apologize for cussin’ before.” I pull my lip ring between my teeth to avoid laughing harder. “Seriously, dude, who are you?”

“Shut up, fu—er . . . just, shut up.” Blake turns his attention back to the game.

I eye the spread of food on the coffee table: chips, dips, and those little hot dogs wrapped in dough. I double-fist my sixty-four ounce water, reminding myself that the fight means more to me than indulging. Dieting sucks.

“Heard Reece and his camp show up tomorrow,” Jonah says, popping a chip into his mouth. He chews and swings his gaze to Blake. “Wade too. You boys are fired up. Need to hold your shit together if you see ’em.”

“Please.” Blake glares at his best friend. “You think I’m scared of that dipshit? He can skip his little fairy ass all over the training center if he wants. Fact remains on fight day he’s toast.”

“Yeah, I’m with B. Reece won’t be a problem for me.” Feeling the pressure in my bladder from all the water I’ve been drinking to drop weight, I stand to hit the bathroom. “It’ll be me who’s his problem once we step into that octagon.”

The guys all grunt in agreement, and I step around the oversized sectional headed to the bathroom.

The room erupts in cheers, and I turn to see the Cubs hit a homerun. Nice.

“Hey, guys?” Layla says from behind us.

Blake turns around, but everyone else keeps their eyes to the TV, watching the action.

“I want to introduce you to someone,” she says, getting the attention of the room.

I turn around and my jaw goes slack; my lips curl into a smile.

Mac.

She’s wearing a tight white tank top, and I can see the hint of her black lace bra through the thin fabric. Her faded skin-tight jeans are the picture of sexy-as-shit casual, even shredded a little around the hem that circles her black biker boots. Her hair is long, loose, and wild as it falls over her kick-ass black leather jacket. Pale skin, deep cherry lips, and cheeks pink from the sun or the wind, I don’t know, but either way she looks amazing.

“Guys, this is Mac. I’m sure most of you know her from the club. Mac”—she waves her arm across the room in an all-encompassing sweep—“these are the guys.”

Mac’s eyes hit everyone in the room then land on me. She does a good job keeping a straight face, but I don’t miss the way her eyes widen a fraction. “Hi, guys.”

“Okay, get back to baseball.” Layla takes Mac’s arm and turns her away, but her eyes stay on me until she’s forced to follow.

Caleb and Killer stay turned toward the spot she disappeared from. I’m not surprised. She’s gorgeous and not in a subtle way. Her long legs and striking appearance make her stand out even in jeans and a leather jacket.

“Good-looking woman,” Caleb says before turning his attention back to the game.

A violent surge of possessive energy pulses through my body. She’s not mine. She’s not mine. I repeat those three words, hoping that it’ll squash my urge to land a haymaker on my friend.

“She got a man?” Caleb directs his question toward Blake.

“How the fuck should I know?”

“Have Layla set me up.”

“What? You can’t ask a chick out on your own?”

“I can, but have Layla feel it out for me first.”

The urge to piss disappears, and I take my seat back on the couch. “She’s got a man.” I’m usually a horrible liar, but those four little words flow effortlessly from my lips.

Caleb looks at me. “She does? You sure?”

I shrug and pretend to watch the game. “Her bike got a flat after work, and her man came and took care of it.”

Aw, shit. My chest swells with blooming warmth at the truth in my lie. I’ve considered what it would be like to be the man that Mac calls hers. The voice in my head tells me she deserves better. The shame trailing my issues screams that I’m not worthy of her. I drop my head and study the carpet, heavy with the physical weight of all the reasons why she shouldn’t want me.

But the thought of her being with anyone else is something I can’t bear. Now that I’ve felt her lips on mine, I’m craving more. My body reacts as it always does and nausea piggybacks my arousal.

I excuse myself and hope a quick splash of cold water will do the job of a cold shower. Walking down the long hallway to the bathroom, I hear female voices coming from Jonah’s bedroom. I stop and peek inside the open door to find Raven, Layla, and Mac all sitting on the bed. Raven’s sitting cross-legged with one hand on her small pregnant belly. Layla is lying on her side, her head propped in her hand. But my eyes are drawn like magnets to Mac. She’s sitting on the bed, one leg cocked up and her other foot still on the floor. Her head is thrown back in laughter, and the smile that accompanies it sucks the air from my lungs.

I duck back into the hallway and listen.

“What about you, Mac? Where are you from?” Raven’s the one who asked.

“Oh, um . . . I’m from a crappy little dirt town. You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s about two hours from Vegas and in the middle of nowhere.” Mac’s voice gets soft, and I can picture the pink that probably colors her cheeks.

“That’s nice.” Layla’s voice is cheery, as if she’s trying to ease Mac’s discomfort. I knew she sounded embarrassed. “So you have family nearby.”

Seconds tick in silence and I resist the urge to peek around the doorframe to see what’s going on.

Throat clearing. “I don’t have any family. My parents are dead.”

A small gasp. “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“I’m not. I was really young, and the memories I have of them weren’t all that good.”

Mac lost her parents? Makes sense. Her strength and independence comes from somewhere, but I’d never guess she didn’t have a family. We have more in common than I thought.

“I know what that’s like,” Raven says. “My mom and I only started to have a relationship these last six months. And my dad, well, I . . .”

I’m stuck in place, hanging on to every word.

“Yeah, I heard,” Mac says. “Sounds like you did what you had to.” She sounds angry?

That can’t be right.

“I did,” Raven says with soft determination.

We’re like a threesome of misfits. No parents, lost to the world, and searching. But Raven found her future with Jonah. She’s pieced together her history and reconciled it with her present.

Unlike Mac.

She has no family, she’s living with a stripper who has horrible judgment when it comes to men, and from what I can tell she doesn’t seem to be surrounded by friends. She didn’t even have anyone to call the night I met her in the alley with a flat tire.

I may be like her in a lot of ways, but I could name ten people off the top of my head who would drop everything if I needed them. Sadness wells up in my gut, remembering a time when I had no one, after I was released from the hospital and before I started kickboxing. Dammit. The memory is so close to the surface, but not close enough to touch. Only the loneliness is vivid.

“Rex?” I jerk my head up to find the three girls in the hallway, staring at me. Layla steps closer. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I just wanted to see if I could steal Mac for a second.”

One eyebrow lifts along with the corner of her mouth. “Sure.” Layla turns to Mac. “We’ll be pigging out if you need us.” She takes Raven’s arm and leads her down the hallway toward the kitchen.

Only then do I have the courage to meet Mac’s stare. Her eyebrows are pinched and head cocked to the side like she’s trying to figure me out.

“Mac, I um. . .” I scrub my hand through my hair. Why is this so hard? “If you want, would you like to go, with me, on a—”

“Yes.” There’s a hint of a smile in her voice.

“Yes? But you don’t know what I was asking.”

She shrugs and steps in close. “I had a feeling. And honestly, there isn’t much you could ask that I’d say no to.”

A grin pulls at my lips. “Yeah?”

She nods.

“So . . .” I run a lock of her hair through my fingers, making sure to brush my fingertips against her cheek. So fucking soft. “What if I’d asked you to rob a bank? Your answer would be . . .?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm.” My fingers trail a path down her arm, now exposed without her leather jacket, and goose bumps chase after my touch.

“And if I asked for your bike?”

“Yes.” She’s breathless.

“Really? Huh.” I step in close, and I’m overcome by her sweet, tropical smell. “And um . . .” Hooking my fingers beneath her chin, I tilt her head back. “What if I asked . . .?”

The heat of her soft curves presses against my ribs and I’m suddenly hyperaware of my own heartbeat. Her breath is quick against my lips, unleashing a fierce euphoria that makes me dizzy.

“Yes.” She pushes up on her toes and presses her lips to mine. But unlike the two times before, she glides the tip of her tongue along my bottom lip.

The wet heat ignites a desperate need that has me driving my fingers into her hair. She smiles against my lips before tilting her head and opening to me. I groan into the warm heat of her mouth. Our tongues slide together, the first contact so intense that my eyes slam shut and I push her back against the wall. I pinch my eyes closed, thrashing in the waves of both abhorrence and my fierce appetite for more.

She moans and arches against the drywall, shoving her fingers into my hair, fisting until my scalp burns. The sting feels so damn good.

“Fuck yeah,” I say against her lips.

Her teeth rake against my tongue and then latch on to my piercing. She pulls against it with possession, an animalistic bite that forces me to pull her back by her hair. She lets go only to tilt her head and devour me deeper. The violence behind the kiss is mind-numbing.

It’s been so long since I’ve kissed a woman like this. Hell, I’ve never kissed a woman like this.

The sound of voices reminds me we’re in Jonah’s hallway and not in the privacy of our own lust-laden room.

I break the kiss but keep my hold on her hair. “Shit, that was hot.” There’s no rush of nausea in my stomach, only the slight quiver of excitement.

“When’s the game over?” she says breathlessly. Her hands slide down from my hair to my chest.

“An hour or so.”

“Can we go out after?”

Her eagerness to pick up where we’ve left off reminds me that I was asking her out on a date before I kissed her into a wall.

I step back and admire how sexy she looks, pinned against the wall, her lips swollen and a brighter shade of red than usual. Her shirt must’ve lifted a little during our rough encounter because a wedge of the porcelain skin of her stomach draws my eyes. I take a moment to let myself imagine what it would be like to run my hands all over that skin. I’d trace the tender flesh of her belly button before shoving my hand down the front of her jeans and—ugh! Revulsion stabs me through the gut. I clench my shirt and swallow back the sour taste in my throat.

“Rex? What’s wrong?” Mac’s voice is heavy either with leftover arousal or concern. Her hand comes down to rest on my arm.

I jerk away from her and step back. Her eyes go wide and she lifts her hands in the universal sign of “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’m okay, just a muscle cramp from training today.” I shouldn’t lie, but the truth isn’t happening.

She glares at me, not angry-looking, but more as if she’s studying me.

I release the death grip on my shirt and force a smile. “There. It’s gone.”

Her stare sears through me. “You’re sure?”

“Dude, you missed it.” Caleb is down the hallway headed toward us. “Blake just lost three hundred bucks to Killian.” His eyes move between Mac and me. “What’s going on?” The fuck-you glare he’s aimed at me says he knows exactly what’s going on here.

It doesn’t take a genius to scent the afterburn of the no-holds kiss she and I just shared.

Shit. Caleb was interested in Mac, and now it looks like I just jumped her in the damn hallway. Fuck, I did jump her in the damn hallway.

I try to play it cool, relaxing my shoulders and keeping my expression indifferent. “Nothing. Ran into Mac on my way to hit the john. Started talking about bikes.”

His eyebrows un-pinch and his scowl is wiped clean. He turns toward a now practically hissing Mac. “I don’t know if you remember me, but we’ve talked a few times at The Blackout.” He holds out his hand. “Caleb.”

She turns her glare from me to him, and her face softens. “Mac. And yes, I do remember. Usually a pint of Blue Moon, but on rare occasions a Jack and Coke.”

He laughs, that all-fucking-American boy charm, making Mac smile back.

Fuck.

“Yeah, you remember,” he says. “You and I should go out sometime.”

What. The. Fuck.

Mac’s eyes swing to mine and back to Caleb’s.

A slow smile spreads across his face. “No pressure, babe.”

Babe?

“Just figured it’s only fair, darlin’. I mean you know so much ’bout me; I’d like to return the favor.”

Is it just me, or did his hint of a Southern accent just turn into some full-fledged good-ole-boy shit?

He’s fucking flirting with her. Pain throbs in my jaw and my stomach muscles contract. I was making out with her ten seconds ago, and already I feel some kind of proprietary claim on her. Caleb’s my best friend, but I don’t want his fucking country ass anywhere near Mac. Or his hands and lips. Shit, I’m halfway thinkin’ I’d gouge his eyes out just for looking at her.

Visions of my worst dreams flash behind my eyes. Shame weighs me down like a mudslide over my thoughts and reminds me of what I am.

Perverted. Dirty. Sick—a total contrast to Caleb’s perfect family, ideal upbringing, and southern charm. He’d be able to touch her without getting sick, invite her into his home, his bed. Fuck!

“Dude, you okay?” Caleb’s voice went from sweet to parental, pulling me from my thoughts.

I lift my head not even realizing how far I’d dropped my chin to my chest. “Fine, man.”

He tilts his head, studying me. “You sure? I know you’re dropping weight, but you’re making sure to eat, right?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, I’m surprised he doesn’t sprout damn wings and a halo.

I feel Mac’s eyes on me, but I keep mine on Caleb. “Yeah, I’m good.” I make sure to hold my head high, despite the urge to bow out and leave him and Mac to plan their future together.

He nods, seeming to buy my bullshit, and pulls out his phone. “Mac, go ahead and put in your phone number.” He hands her his phone. “We’ll hook up sometime. I’ll take you out so someone else can bring us beers.”

“Oh, um . . .” I watch in horror as she grabs his cell and hits a few numbers.

It was bad enough when I thought he would be better for her, but she actually likes him? And to hand out her number to my best fucking friend after she had her tongue in my mouth?

With all the women I’ve hooked up with, chicks that would get on their knees to suck me off then move on to the next guy in a matter of minutes, that shit never bothered me before. Why the fuck is it making me damn near violent now?

I don’t deserve her, but I’m selfish. I want her.

“Here ya go.” She hands him back his phone.

Without taking his eyes off her, he shoves his cell into his pocket. “I’ll call you later this week.” He winks—fucking winks—at her and walks away, slapping my shoulder.

I stare down at Mac, who’s staring right back at me. “What the fuck was that?” The words come from behind my still-clenched teeth.

“No clue. Why don’t you tell me?” Her jaw ticks and she’s breathing through her nose. She’s mad at me? Hell no.

“Please.” I motion down the hallway in the direction Caleb left. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“You told him we were talking about bikes.”

“What was I supposed to say? Hey, Caleb, just dry fucking Mac here against a wall. How’s the game?” I don’t want to tell her that Caleb’s interested in her, not that she doesn’t already know that now, but confirming it feels like tapping out before the competition even begins. “Nice to see that the cowboy thing works for you. Next time we hang out, I’ll be sure to wear my chaps.”

Her narrow eyes soften and a slow smile spreads across her face. The look she’s giving is sexy as hell and has me itching to touch her. She leans back against the wall, finding the exact spot I had her pinned earlier almost as if on purpose. “You’re jealous.”

I take a couple steps toward her, close enough that my height and width keep her to the wall, but without touching. “You just gave my best friend your phone number. Not jealous, darlin’. Pissed.”

I thought my jab at her Caleb-issued pet name would ignite a fire behind her eyes and maybe send her away. It’s what I deserve. But instead, she bites her damn lip while staring at mine. My body responds immediately, and it’s all I can do to keep from rubbing up against her.

“Jealous.”

I step closer. “You want me jealous.” It’s not a question; my reaction to her with Caleb is getting her off.

Her eyes flare with the heat of hunger. “I do.”

“Why?”

“Because now you know how it feels.”

“You’re jealous?”

Her confidence slips a fraction, and she flashes a smile that borders on embarrassed. “I have to watch girls throw themselves at you all the time.”

“But . . . you’ve been watching me?”

The whites of her eyes show around their sandy irises and her lips part. She nods, two quick bounces of her head.

“How long?”

“A while.”

Fuck if this little piece of crazy should send me running, but instead it pulls me closer to her like a magnet of instability that anchors us together.

I reach out and slide another long strand of her hair through my fingers, watching the natural waves straighten against my draw and bounce back. “You ready for our date?”

“Yes.” The sound is all breath, and I have to wonder if she’s feeling the same thing I am.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” I grab her hand and drag her down the hallway, the sound of her laughter speeding my steps.

The more I get to know about this girl, the more I feel connected to her in some way. Our nightmares, panic in small spaces, no family, and now the crazy.

She’s not all that different from me. Maybe I don’t have to hide who I am when we’re together.

It makes me wonder what else I’ll learn if I dig a little deeper.

Ten

Let myself fall

There’s so much to gain.

Let myself fall

Past the fear and the pain.

Let myself fall

It’s out of my hands.

Beyond my control

I don’t care if I land.

--Ataxia

Mac

Rex is dragging me through the expanse of Jonah and Raven Slade’s enormous house, and I’m giggling like a damn teenager. Having him touch me, show interest in me at all, is something I never dreamed would happen. I don’t remember the last time I felt this kind of happiness. No, not happiness—joy.

We move through to the kitchen where Raven is perched on the counter and Layla’s on a barstool and they’re diving into a plate full of nachos.

“Ladies, thanks for the hospitality, but I’m taking Mac out.” He’s smiling one of those smiles that I’ve seen him aim at his friends.

Layla coughs as if she choked on the cheekful of whatever she was eating. Once she catches her breath, her eyes find mine. “No problem. She’d probably have more fun with you anyway. We aren’t getting much done here beyond stuffing ourselves into a food coma.” In the brief moment that Rex turns his head, she winks at me.

When I first met Layla, she’d assumed I had feelings for Rex. At the time, I wasn’t sure if she was interested in him or not, so I did what I do to every girl in the bar who asks me about him. I told her he was taken. It wasn’t completely a lie. I mean he’s not exactly free with all the shit he has to deal with on a daily basis. At least, that’s how I justify it.

“Where are you guys going?” Raven’s gaze moves back and forth between us with concern. She cares about Rex.

This is the closest thing to family he has. I understand their desire to protect him. More than anyone, I understand.

What started as a need to alleviate the guilt turned into an obsession to be near him and, now, an undeniable, unconditional, all-consuming love for him.

My heart leaps in my chest. I’ve always loved Rex. But ever since the night he woke me up from a nightmare, I felt a shift. Like sliding a lock into place, we bonded in that moment. Forever.

“Mac?” Rex’s voice is close to my ear. “Did you hear Layla?”

I look at Layla, whose smile falls when I face her head on. “What?”

She narrows her eyes. “Nothing important. Just . . . call me tomorrow.”

Rex turns to say goodbye to Jonah as he walks into the room, and Layla mouths, “Are you okay?”

A quivering excitement builds in my stomach. I nod and smile so big my teeth get cold.

She points at me hard and mouths, “I knew it.”

We stifle our giggles, and I look over to see Raven smiling, having probably caught on to our semi-silent conversation.

I grab my jacket while Rex makes a quick stop off at the bathroom. After a few more good-byes and a very put-off look from Caleb, we head out to Rex’s truck. He opens the door for me just as he did the first night. He prowls around the front of the truck to the driver’s side, and I keep my eyes on him as he climbs in.

“Where to?” He fires up the truck and looks at me.

His bright blue eyes stand out in contrast to his dark hair, and his skin is the perfect color as if he’s just spent a few days at the beach. Pretty. And just like that the memory of what Rex being so pretty meant for him as a child comes rushing back.

“Mac, baby, you okay?”

“Huh?” He’s called me baby before, and just like the first time, I’m struck stupid.

A soft but worried smile plays across his lips. “You keep zoning out.”

He doesn’t know of our history; if he did, I’m sure he’d find his mind wandering off to the past. Will I ever be able to spend time with him without going there? Maybe if I just tell him, get it all out so that we can move past it, maybe then things will get easier.

“Shit.” Rex rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “You’re into Caleb.”

“What! No!” On instinct, my hand moves to rest on his thigh. “Rex. No. I don’t want Caleb.”

His blue eyes search mine.

“I’m . . . I’ve got a few things on my mind, but they have nothing to do with me not wanting to be here with you.” I squeeze his leg and a tight hiss leaks from his lips. Afraid that I’d hurt him, I pull my hand back. His eyes stay fixed on the place where my grip held his leg. “Rex, I’m sorry. I—”

His hand darts out to grab mine and he pulls hard, tugging my upper body over the center console. Our lips meet in a hungry kiss. The metal ring on his mouth bites into my flesh. His tongue lashes against mine, stirring my blood in a violent rush. I shove my weight up and over, needing to feel more of him. The warmth of his chest brushes against my nipples, sending shockwaves of need down my torso.

On a quest to consume him, I rasp my teeth against his lower lip and bite. He groans and tangles his hands into my hair. My scalp stings as he pulls me back. He wants me to slow down, or ease off, but I’m not in control anymore. The culmination of everything I’ve ever felt for Rex is crashing together, whirling around in a chaotic tornado of need. I delve in deeper, pressing myself against him until my breasts ache. My hand roams his body. The soft cotton of his shirt feels like sandpaper to my over sensitized palm. I push the fabric up to slide my hand beneath it. I’m met with the warm solid muscles of his abdomen. So hard and smooth like—

“Fuck!” He pushes me back so hard that I drop down into my seat and my shoulder knocks against the door. “I can’t.” Burying his head in his hands, he scrubs them through his hair.

I’m breathing heavy, trying like hell to understand what just happened. “I’m sorry. Did I . . . What did I do?”

He sits back and fists the steering wheel so tight it squeaks under the pressure. “I don’t—Fuck.”

I reach out and rest my hand on his back, hoping to comfort him, but he jerks away. I tuck my hand in my lap and curl around it as a bitter wave of rejection washes over me.

“I really like kissing you.” His voice is so quiet that if I weren’t paying close enough attention I would’ve missed it.

“Is that bad?” All I want to do is fix it, make whatever he’s going through better. Take his pain away.

“It is for me.”

Finally he turns toward me, and I fight the urge to recoil at the war raging behind his eyes. Every instinct tells me to pull him into my arms and hold him, but he threw off my touch earlier, and I don’t want to make things worse.

“That kiss was different from the others.” He turns away from me, looking out the window.

Different how? I guess I was a little more aggressive than I was the other times we kissed. Up until the hallway, our kisses have been nothing more than soft pecks. My mind goes back to the kiss at Jonah’s. He pushed me back against the wall, pinning me there with his hips. What was so different about then and now? Other than . . . I was the aggressor. He felt attacked, and considering what he’s been through . . .

I gasp then quickly cover my mouth. The sound and movement draws his eyes back to me.

“Rex, I’m sorry. Everything happened so fast and I wasn’t thinking. My feelings just took over and I lost control.” My words are rushed as they pour from my lips with the hope that they’ll make him stay. “I need to be more careful with you. I understand that now. It won’t—”

“Careful?” The blues of his eyes almost disappear between the tight slits of his lids. “Why do you say that?”

Dammit, I’m fucking it all up!

My head is a jumble of shit, half scrambled from the kiss and half desperate for the right words. “Things are moving too fast.” I force myself to sound casual even though I’m feeling anything but. “You’ve saved me from a dark alley, kept me from slipping into a coma after I got cold-cocked by a biker, and rescued me from a supply room.”

Recognition clears some of the pain from his eyes at the mention of the supply room.

A small smile pulls at my lips. “All that and we haven’t even been on a date.”

The sides of his lips tick up, and he blinks away the last of the hurricane of emotion he wore on his face.

I tap my lips with my forefinger. “You know I’m pretty sure every good superhero takes the girl out after he rescues her.”

“That’s not true. You’re watching the wrong cartoons.”

“Yeah, you may be right, but in my fairytale he does. That would mean you’d owe me . . .” I make a show of counting on my fingers. “Does you saving me from Caleb count?”

He blinks and shakes his head. “I didn’t save you from Caleb.”

“Ah, but you will.” I lean forward to whisper, grateful to see that he leans in to listen rather than away. “I gave him your phone number instead of mine.”

He turns to me, and this time there’s no hint of a smile or shadow of humor. This time he’s grinning so big that I can see all his teeth and the cute way his eyes crinkle at the sides. “No shit?”

He falls back into his seat, his chin tilted high as the deep bass of his rolling laughter bounces around the truck cab. My eyes fall shut, and I allow myself a few seconds to bathe in the beauty of the sound. When I open them again, he’s still chuckling and looking straight ahead.

“Caleb’s going to be shocked when he calls to hear your sweet voice and gets mine.” With the truck still idling, he knocks it into drive.

Did he just call my voice sweet? My stomach flips and there’s a warm swell in my chest.

“Wait a minute.” He turns toward me. “How do you know my phone number?”

Uh-oh.

I clear my throat, thinking fast. “I uh . . . got it from Mario after the whole flat-tire thing. I was going to call you to apologize for . . . you know, but decided it needed to be done in person.”

“Really?”

No, I stole it from Mario six months ago and sometimes call just to hear your voicemail. “Yeah.” I give my most convincing smile.

He shrugs and doesn’t look too concerned about the fact that I not only have his phone number but that I also have it memorized.

“About that date.” He pulls out of Jonah’s long driveway and into the neighborhood. “Do you like rollercoasters?”

And with that simple question all the tension is gone. “Hell yeah, I do.”

~*~

Rex

That was close. I almost broke down and told Mac everything. Confessed that I have issues with sex and that I only hook up with sluts that’ll take what I give and then walk away and that I never hook up with a woman without alcohol as a barrier between what my body has to accomplish and how my thoughts respond. At least, until Mac.

Thank God she didn’t push the issue. I’m not sure why she didn’t. Instead, she diffused the whole conversation by redirecting it to our date.

She says I’m the one doing all the rescuing, but she took a hit for me once, and then another by changing the subject of our conversation.

“Are we going to the strip?” She looks out her side window to the Las Vegas landmark just off the freeway.

It’s not dark out, but even under the sun, the strip stands out against the bland desert backdrop.

“Yeah, I’ve ah . . . There’s a place I go to, and I thought you might like it.” My face heats at how awkward it feels to share this part of me with another person. I have two sides, the public side that acts for a crowd of screaming fans whether that’s from a stage or a cage and the darker side that I keep to myself. Most of the guys I’m close to have seen glimpses of my fucked-up psyche, and the few hookers I’ve paid for relief have witnessed the aftermath of it, but to willingly bring a person in on it? Yeah, this is new.

“Sounds intriguing.”

“I figure if you ride a motorcycle then you’re a bit of a thrill seeker. We’ll see how brave you are on Insanity.” I’m off the freeway and headed to the Stratosphere, which advertises the three most terrifying thrill rides in the world.

“Insanity? What is it?” She’s pressing her cheek up against the passenger-side window, trying to look up to the top of the casinos that are coming into view.

“It’s a ride that hangs you 1,000-feet high facing the street and spins you ’til you puke or pass out.” I bite down on my molars, waiting for the screaming girl freak out.

She turns to me, her eyes wide. Yep, here comes the freak out.

“Fuck yeah!” She bounces in her seat like a damn kid. “Let’s do it!”

What the hell? “Really? You’re down?”

“Are you kidding me?” Leaning forward, she looks up through the windshield. “Are we close?”

I point out my side window to the Stratosphere in the distance. “Over there.”

She crosses the center console with her torso in order to look out my window. The intoxicating tropical smell of her hair is so close I hold back the urge to grab a fistful and bury my nose in it.

Before I get the chance, she sits back in her seat. Her hand flies to her belly and she smiles. “I have butterflies.”

I’ve seen the tough side of Mac, the tomboy who jumps in front of bikers, the scared shitless side at being locked in a room alone, and even the softer side after a bad dream, but this side, the cute childlike excitement, is my favorite so far. There’s an innocence to her now that I envy—a carefree joy that I’ve only seen in others but can never remember feeling.

We pull up to the lobby of the Stratosphere. By the time I’m finished dealing with the valet, Mac’s already out and waiting for me by the doors. She’s grinning and bouncing on her toes.

“Let’s go.” I smile and grab her hand to lead her through the hotel casino, bypassing the ticket counter.

She pulls back against my hold, resisting. “Tickets.” She points to the sign that clearly states we need tickets to the tower and rides. “Don’t we need to buy them here first?”

“Nope.” I tug her hand and move toward the bank of elevators. “They know me here. I come a lot, so I pay monthly and they let me do whatever I want.”

She stops us again. “Oh, well here.” Reaching into the small purse she has hung diagonally from one shoulder to her hip, she pulls out some cash.

I shake my head. “Not takin’ your money, Mac. Put that shit away.”

“No, it’s okay.” She shakes the wad of green at me. “Take it. You don’t have to pay—”

I cup her jaw, pressing my thumb against her lips. Fuck, just the feel of them on my finger makes me want to taste them again, but I need to keep this friendly, more for her sake than mine. “Shhhh. Please, no more talk of you paying.”

She nods and puts her money away.

“Atta girl.” It takes all my effort to pull my hand from her face to avoid getting lost in her wide eyes, which are begging for more. Fuck, I need to reel in my shit. A few moments of silence pass between us.

We move again toward the elevator, but a few yards away, she stops again. What now?

“Mac.” I turn toward her to see her cheeks flushed and her eyes wide and fixed on the elevator doors.

“What is that?” Her hand in mine is clammy.

“Elevators to the top. That’s where the rides are.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” She shifts on her feet. “Can we take the stairs?” There’s a shakiness in her voice.

Stairs?

“Hey.” I tighten my hold and search her eyes. “You change your mind? We can do something else if you want.”

Her gaze darts to the elevator doors. “No, I want to go but, um . . .” She locks eyes with mine. “I hate elevators.” A weak smile pulls at her lips.

First hospitals and now elevators. What that’s all about?

“It’s a quick ride to the top. I’ll be right there with you.”

My reassurance seems to relax her a little. I lead her up the last few steps to the doors and press the arrow-up button.

She clears her throat. “How many levels to the top?”

“Over one hundred.”

Her head whips around, eyes on mine, and the pale brown sparks with panic. “One hundred?”

I turn to face her head on. “Walk through your fears. You’ll realize it’s not as bad as you think.” It’s good advice, but very seldom works for me. “You’ll be fine. Promise.”

Her expression softens. She takes in a deep breath and nods.

A ding sounds from the elevator and the doors slide open, letting out a group of giggling, flushed-faced teenagers. Her grip on my hand tightens, but only slightly.

“Tom, what’s up, man?” I give the elevator attendant a chin lift that I’m sure he misses as his eyes are glued to the strikingly gorgeous and visibly nervous girl at my side. The way he’s eyeing her would probably piss me off if the dude didn’t look like someone’s grandpa.

I tuck her to my side and move into the elevator. She tenses, dragging her feet, but manages to get inside.

“Rex.” He gives her a polite nod of his head. “I see you’re doing well.” The corners of his lips curl.

“Been good.” I’ve never brought a chick with me. I’m sure I’ll be hearing about this next time I come back alone. “Take us to the top.”

“Sure thing.” Tom hits the right buttons, and we begin our ascent to the top of the Stratosphere.

Mac curls a little deeper into my side.

“The elevator is traveling at twenty miles per hour.” Tom swings his gaze to Mac. “Don’t be surprised if you feel it in your ears.”

I almost grin when right on cue Mac yawns and pushes on her ears.

“Observation deck,” Tom says just before the elevator dings and the doors slide open. “See you on the way down.”

We step out and she whirls toward me, a grin lighting her face. “That wasn’t bad at all.”

I shrug. “Told you.”

“It was fast.” Her voice is laced with excitement.

My teeth pull at my lip ring to keep from grinning at the pride of her accomplishment.

I follow her to the observation deck with floor-to-ceiling glass, and she oohs and ahs over the view. This time she pulls me toward the elevator that will take us the last few levels to the rides on top.

Within minutes, we’re sitting side by side on Insanity, waiting for the rest of the ride to get loaded with people.

This is the kind of shit I live for—the rush that reminds me I’m alive. And having this experience with Mac is as nerve-wracking as it is thrilling. I’ve never shared this part of myself with anyone, and doing it feels better than I thought it would.

The ride kicks in, and she kicks her legs, releasing the most feminine squeal I’ve ever heard. “This is awesome!”

I’m entranced, watching the pure joy and excitement radiating from her expression: intoxicating, inspiring, and so fuckin’ beautiful it makes my chest hurt.

What the hell is this girl doing to me? Something shifts inside me, a slight movement that should be so obvious and yet I have no clue what the fuck. All I know is that being around Mac is like a drug. One hit was just enough to get me jonesing for more.

A lot more.

~*~

Mac

“That was amazing!” I’m jumping up and down, shaking out my hands from the adrenaline rush of hanging off the top of the Stratosphere next to Rex.

“You liked that, huh?” He’s so relaxed, as if he just rolled off a massage table rather than a high-speed extreme ride.

“Like it? I loved it!” I grab his forearm. “Let’s do it again.”

He tilts his head, flashing a crooked smile. He’s not jerking away from my touch, and if I thought he’d let me, I’d lean in and suck his bottom lip into my mouth. This is the most relaxed I’ve seen him since our encounter in Jonah’s hallway, and I don’t want him retreating on me again, so I keep my advances to myself.

“That was only a warm up.” He jerks his head toward the direction of a platform surrounded by bars and cables. “You game for bigger and better?”

I don’t know what he’s talking about, but there’s nothing I’d say no to when it comes to Rex. “I’m always game when it comes to you.”

He blinks and his grin falls a fraction, but not as if he didn’t like what I said, more like he didn’t understand it. I stay quiet, allowing him a moment to process my words.

The urge to unload my secret wiggles its way to my forebrain. He needs to know who I am, and there’s a part of me that wants to tell him, hoping it’ll help me to move on from the guilt and shame I’ve been lugging around my entire life. All those years I thought he was dead, knowing that it was my fault for being so stupid. I was so damn young and naive. If I’d just done what I’d promised and gotten him out of there, then there’d be no secrets to hide, no shame to drag along. Being with him like this makes me want to unload all that heavy weight, throw it out there and revel in the freedom of unburdening. Fear, straight-up belly cramping, sweat-inducing fear has me biting down against the truth.

I told myself that I’d confess and beg for his forgiveness if I ever got the chance. And this is my chance. But what would my confession do to this? To us?

“Right, well . . .” His voice’s low and gravelly, like it is when he’s on stage. He dips his face close to mine. “Let’s see you back up that sweet mouth with a little action.”

Sweet mouth. My stomach quivers, and I press my knees together at the effect his words have over my body. He snags my hand and leads me back inside. After a short exchange with some of the staff who clearly know Rex well, we’re putting on jumpsuits and getting strapped into harnesses.

“I’m not bungee jumping off the top of the Stratosphere, am I?” Being on a thrill ride is one thing, but strapped to a cord and jumping from a building might be pushing my limits a little too far.

He’s in his gray jumpsuit and harness but still looks smokin’ hot and manly as hell. “Nope, no bungee.” He tugs on a few of my straps, making sure I’m secure, and the simple act warms my chest. “Just jumping.”

“Jumping.”

He nods.

“Off of the Stratosphere.”

He nods again.

“Landing?”

His deep blue eyes meet mine. “On the ground.”

“Oh God.” I tug at the straps that now feel suffocating. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.”

He hooks his fingers beneath my chin and pulls my eyes to his. “You’re gonna love it. Didn’t you ever dream about flying when you were a kid?”

My breath catches in my throat. As a kid, the only thing I ever dreamed of was Rex. “I guess.”

His eyes dance around my face, and I can’t help but feel as if he’s reading my thoughts. “The rush you’re about to experience—falling at forty miles per hour—it feels like flying.” The last word is spoken with such fascination I have to wonder if he dreamed of flying when he was a kid, escaping into the great expanse of the sky where no one can touch him, hold him against his will, keep him locked away.

“Whoa, hey, if you’re not ready for this, we don’t have to do it.” The tenderness in his voice combined with the way his eyebrows are dropped low tells me he’s actually reading my expression and confusing my thoughts for fear.

I sniff back my emotion and smile. “No, I’m good. Promise.”

He studies my face, not looking convinced. I smile bigger to alleviate his worry.

It must do the job because his expression relaxes and he smiles back. “I’ll go first, and when you jump, I’ll be there waiting. Don’t worry; I’ll catch you.” The way he whispered those last words as if he were sharing a deep secret to the meaning of life, settles my nerves. “You ready?”

I nod for fear that speaking may give away the emotion I’m feeling.

We walk out together, hand in hand, to the jump platform. He doesn’t look at me, only releases my hand and follows instructions. They hook a large cable on to the back of Rex’s harness and motion for him to the edge. He turns to look at me from over his shoulder and mouths, “See you at the bottom.” Then he’s gone.

On instinct, I rush forward, hands outstretched to snatch him back to solid ground.

The attendant pulls me back by my harness. “Whoa! Not yet. Wait ’til he’s on the ground.”

Seconds pass before I hear the static voice over the attendant’s walkie-talkie, saying that Rex is safely on the ground.

“All right, you’re up.”

I walk to the edge so that the toes of my boots are hanging off of a 1,000-foot drop. Every ounce of fear dissolves. Not a single wave of nerves or flutter of a butterfly. My mind is zeroed in one thing, getting to Rex.

And knowing he’ll catch me.

With the final okay from the attendant, I close my eyes. I open my arms wide and tilt my face toward the warm desert sun. With a deep breath, I bend my knees and push off. Swan diving forward, I free fall into nothing. My stomach rockets into my chest, igniting a furious rush of adrenaline. Madness unfurls within my body, but outside is quiet save for the rushing wind as it whips through my hair. Dropping, dropping, dropping in a peaceful descent.

He was right. It’s like flying.

I’m tugged down to the earth by gravity and the pull on my heart toward the one person who’s ever owned it. The tension on the cord slows my descent, but before I can open my eyes to see how close I am to the ground, I hit solid muscle, and two arms wrap tightly around my body.

I absorb the shock of his strength, and my arms lock around his shoulders as tight as they can. My hold on him is equal to his on me, and I vow right then that I’ll never let him be taken away from me again.

“You caught me,” I say, out of breath from the rush and the feelings that are strangling me.

“I told you I would.” His lips are so close I feel his lip ring against the shell of my ear.

The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them back along with a rush of emotion that’s threatening to burst the floodgates.

I love you, Rex.

Eleven

It’s like grasping at the unattainable.

Harnessing the wind.

Wanting you is impossible.

Your love, my greatest sin.

--Ataxia

Mac

It’s a quiet ride back to Jonah’s house after our date at the Stratosphere, but the silence between us isn’t awkward. I can’t speak for what’s got his lips on lockdown, but for me it’s my all-consuming thoughts of having his arms around me and his breath at my ear, reminding me that he kept to his word and caught me, that with him, I’m safe.

We walked into that casino divided and walked out joined, brought together by a shared experience and so much more. At least, that’s how it feels on my end. And his lack of chit-chat leads me to believe it may be the same on his.

I gaze into the side mirror and watch the Stratosphere slowly fade into the distance. The sun setting behind the mountains bathes everything in purple and orange, the color of contentment.

He let me in. It may not seem like much, but his taking me there was important. I knew from the way those who knew him looked surprised to see me that he opened part of himself to me. And that, for a guy like Rex, is not insignificant.

His truck turns down the long expanse of the Slade’s driveway and stops at my bike, which is parked where I left it. He parks but leaves the engine running. It’s over. Time to go home.

With a deep breath, I turn toward him and almost gasp.

He’s gripping the steering wheel, eyes fixed on me with predatory intensity. But, he’s smiling. “I’m not ready to go home.”

I shrug a shoulder and fight the urge to smile. “Then don’t.”

“Where should I go?”

“Come over to my place.” Rex in my house? Dammit, did I leave my dirty clothes on the floor? That’s all I need is to invite him into my room only to see my dirty panties.

His eyebrows drop low. “Tubby there?”

“Shouldn’t be. Last I heard he was gone on MC business.” Probably killing people. “We could hang out by the pool.”

“You have a pool?”

The boyish excitement in his question has me grinning. “Yeah.”

“I’ll follow you.” He throws the truck into drive, and I catch myself from leaning across to give him a kiss on the cheek.

Instead, I scurry out of the truck to my bike. I zip up my leather jacket and push the key into the ignition.

“Mac, what the fuck?” Rex says from his open window.

I swing my gaze to him and—why does he look mad?

“What?”

“You fuckin’ kidding me?”

“Um . . . no? Er, I don’t know. What?”

He shuts off his truck, and with the absence of the growl of the engine, I hear him mumble, “She’s not fucking kidding.”

He hops out of the truck, opens the back door on his side, and pulls something out. Rounding the bed of the truck, he prowls toward me, and I’m instantly aware of his problem.

“Oh.”

He shoves a black helmet toward me. “Put it on.”

“Rex, it’s not that far.”

Without a word, he glares at me, the glacial ice of his stare burning me from brain to boots.

“I like the wind in my hair,” I say in an embarrassed whisper.

“Wind? What the . . .?” He blinks and shakes his head. “First, it’s illegal. Second, your hair will look like shit when it’s splattered with your skull and brains all over the damn blacktop.”

I cringe and take the helmet. “Good point.”

“You do this often? Ride without a helmet?”

I shake my head no before sliding it over my head. Truth is I do sometimes. Tight spaces freak me out, and anything over my face feels suffocating, but the clean, spicy smell of Rex’s helmet makes it tolerable.

“Right.” He fastens the strap beneath my chin, making sure to tighten it before flipping up the face guard. “I’ll follow you.”

I nod and make a mental note to never ride without a helmet when Rex is around. Or maybe just ever.

Revving the engine, I kick back the stand and take off down the driveway. He cares about my safety. A warm feeling settles in my chest, and I smile behind the massive bulk of Rex’s helmet.

We race back to my house, and I’m actually looking forward to the lecture I’m sure I’ll get about speed limits and lane-sharing precautions. It’s possible I rode on the wrong side of safety just so I could get a lecture.

Yeah, I’m seriously digging Rex’s protective side.

I round the corner to my street and want to scream and stomp my feet like a pissed off toddler. Fuckin’ shit. Hatch’s motherfucking bike is parked in the driveway.

With a deep sign and herculean effort to hold my shit together, I park my bike. Rex pulls up behind me, his neck cranked in the direction of the Harley. I throw my leg off the bike and pull off his helmet. He gets out of his truck and meets me in the street.

“I didn’t think he’d be here,” I say, trying to keep the disappointment and pissedoffedness out of my voice.

He glares at the Harley and then turns back to me. There’s something working behind his eyes, indecision maybe? I hope he’s not thinking about going in there.

“Look, we can go grab some food, or I don’t know, um . . .” Gosh, think of something, Gia. Anything.

“Whatever we do we better get gone before Tubby issues another girl-beating smackdown.” His words are growled, and his lips curl back from his teeth in a snarl.

“Yes, yeah, let’s do that. Um, where should we go?” I slide on the helmet, showing him I’m ready to take off at his word of where we’re headed.

His expression pinches for a moment before he wipes it to indifferent. “My place.”

Say what?

“Your place?”

He doesn’t answer, but turns to head back to his truck. “Let’s go. Leave your bike.”

I pull the helmet off and practically skip to the passenger side of the truck. Inside Rex’s place, surrounded by his personal things, I’ll learn so much about him. I wonder if he’s having the same concern that I had about dirty clothes? Probably not. Guys are notorious slobs and never seem apologetic about it.

My stomach flips, and the buzz of excitement torpedoes through me. This is twice he’s let me in today. My tumbling belly lands hard with understanding.

If only I could find the strength to do the same.

~*~

Rex

I’m capable of a lot more than I think.

Darren’s encouragement is playing on repeat in my head. I want to try to get better, and I’d planned on taking his advice and asking her over. I just didn’t think it’d be so soon.

I’m strong under pressure, and walking up the path to my condo with Mac trailing behind me is straight up compacting. I focus on my breathing and remind myself that exposure therapy has an eighty percent success rate. That’s close to 100 percent. Almost perfect. Fuck, not close enough.

My hand shakes when I slide my key into the door. I pull it away to avoid it rattling the keys and turn to Mac. “Hey, um . . . this may sound stupid, but”—I run my hand through my hair and drop my chin—“would you mind taking your shoes off?” I risk a glance and hope she’s not horrified by my question.

She tilts her head and smiles, as if she’s waiting for me to tell the punch line.

“I’m kinda germaphobic and uh . . .” Fuck, just tell her the truth. It can’t be worse than making her think you’re some kind of pansy-ass dude who’s afraid of a microbial. I sigh in defeat and tug at my lip ring.

“Rex?”

“Look, Mac, the thing is I—dammit.” I’m capable of more than I think. “I don’t have people over.”

Her eyes widen, and her lips part slightly before she slams them closed.

“That’s why I took you to Emma’s the other night, but she’s home now so . . . I wanted to invite you over to see how it feels to have someone in my place. I figured with tonight’s situation . . . seemed like the perfect opportunity.”

She’s still staring at me with what looks like even bigger eyes, if that’s possible.

“My life is chaotic, and having my place all to myself makes me feel grounded. It’s not healthy, and I’m working on that, but until—”

“No problem.” She reaches down and removes one boot before moving to the other. Holding her boots in one hand, she shifts her chin up and gives me a soft smile. “Anything else?”

That’s it? No problem? She doesn’t seem fazed by my confession, outside of her initial shock.

“No.” I lick my lips to avoid the grin that’s pushing its way to the surface. “That’s it.”

I turn back to open the door and slide my shoes off before stepping inside. I feel the heat of her body at my back, and it sets off my internal alarm. I’m not alone in my house. I breathe past the panic and move to the light switch. With a click, the entire living space lights up.

My head jerks toward the sound of Mac’s gasp. She’s standing inside the doorway, her head swiveling from one side of the room to the other, mouth agape, eyes wide.

So much for her not seeming fazed.

~*~

Mac

No walls. The interior of Rex’s condo is completely open. From his kitchen to his bedroom, all of it exposed. Nothing like his neighbor’s tiny place filled with personal items and photos, this feels more like a museum without the artifacts.

“Just drop your shoes at the door and come in.” His voice sounds strangled, as if he had to force out each word against his will.

My heart cramps violently at what he must be feeling. Those who don’t know his history might think he’s simply a germaphobe with impeccable cleaning skills, but not me. No, I know this is part of him. I’m standing at the threshold of a bi-product of his abuse.

I set my boots down neatly next to his black Chucks and step further into the room. My peripheral vision clocks him standing off to the side, watching me, so I force myself to smile past the wave of unease that comes with knowing why he never allows anyone in this space. He’s protecting himself.

“Rex, this is amazing.” I allow my eyes to settle on his for a split second, non-threatening and brief, and catch the glint of relief. I go back to studying the room and can’t help but feel something familiar in it.

What is it? The furniture is sleek and modern, streamlined leather couches and tables without anything on them. Not a knickknack or personal touch in the entire place.

To the right is a modern kitchen, all stainless steel from the appliances to the countertops. Even his bedroom is nothing more than a low bed and two end tables with nothing but a single and very simple lamp.

It’s industrial. All the walls are painted in the same pale shade of gray, and the treated concrete floor is also gray but a shade darker. My eyes are drawn to the one bold splash of color in the whole room.

Hanging above the block fireplace is a painting. It’s big, over two feet wide, probably four feet tall, and like everything else it’s simple. Orange, like the color of the fire that would burn in the space beneath it. The broad strokes cover the canvas in a diagonal pattern, not so much like the sharp flickers of a flame, but more like the soothing flow of waves. The color pops against the steely expanse of the room. I step closer, feeling drawn to its familiarity.

“I love this painting.”

He clears his throat. “Thanks, I did that when I first moved in.” His voice is still distant, detached, but not as nervous as it was before.

He did it?

My head whips in his direction. “You did it?”

He shrugs and a slight pink colors his cheeks. “Yeah. Thought the place needed a little something.”

A slow smile pulls at my lips at the thought of him painting. It makes sense. A guy who writes music would be creative in other areas. How did I not know this about him? “Do you have others?”

He takes a few steps toward me, looking up at his work. “Nah. Just the one.”

I follow his gaze and study the piece, and the more I look at it, the more I can see that the large orange waves are multi-faceted, comprised of many tiny strokes and over a dozen variations of orange. Remarkable. It almost looks like . . . hair.

Orange hair, gray . . .

Recognition slams my chest, robbing my breath. My stomach lurches into my throat and my legs go numb. Eyes fixed on the painting; it grows fuzzy as my vision blurs. Heat flushes my cheeks, and I’m overcome with the burning desire to run out of here, something I’d do if I could feel my damn legs.

It couldn’t be . . .

The room comes into focus in a flash, and I almost drop to my knees. Holy shit. Gray and orange.

I’ve heard him sing of the colors and wondered if he was referring to me. There’s no way he wouldn’t remember the fiery locks I had as a child. So bright, the color of carrot, I stood out wherever I went. God, could his color choice in his home have something to do with me?

Suddenly dizzy, I move to a black club chair and drop onto its firm cushions.

“Mac?” He’s suddenly in front of me, kneeling down and looking at me with concern.

“Oh, God.” I rub my temples and try to clear the maelstrom of shit whirling through my thoughts. “Rex, I need to tell you something.”

“Okay.” He sits on the matching ottoman by my knees. “Go ahead.”

Bile bubbles in my throat. What will he say when he finds out who I am? In all my fantasies I pictured him wrapping me in his arms, welcoming me back into his life like a cherished friend. But now, I can’t help but wonder if my presence will only remind him of the life he despised. I finally have him here, opening up to me, sharing himself with me. Revealing who I am could rip him from my loose grip.

But he deserves the truth. And I deserve the consequences, no matter what they are.

I groan and lift my gaze to his. He’s watching me, waiting and . . . he looks terrified. “Rex, I . . .” Just say it, Gia. Spit it out.

He drops his chin and runs a hand through his hair. “You’re freaking out. I understand.”

Freaking out? “No. I mean, yes but—”

A humorless laugh rumbles in his chest. “Bet a guy never asked you to take your shoes off before you walked into his place, huh?” He stands up so quickly and with such force that it knocks the small ottoman a few feet back. “Shit. I knew this was a bad idea.” He moves to the kitchen like a caged animal, all coiled muscles and radiating tension.

“No, please.” I jump up and follow him. “That’s not what I meant.”

I’m no more than a couple feet behind him when he whirls on me and steps into my space. “You think I’m fucking stupid? You think I don’t know how crazy I must look to you right now?” He takes another step toward me and I back up at the war that’s raging behind his eyes. My back hits the kitchen counter, but he keeps advancing. Tendons flare in his neck, making the dragon tattooed there look poised and ready to attack. “Say it, Mac. I want to hear you say it. You think I’m crazy.”

I blink and shake my head. “No. I don’t.”

“Say it. I know you’re thinkin’ it, so out with it.” The heat of his body presses against mine; his arms confine me to one spot. His eyes move from my hair to my lips. “Fuck.”

I throw back an elbow to hold myself up as my upper body is bent back over the counter.

“Look at you. You’re scared of me.”

“No, not scared,” I whisper.

He rolls his lower lip into his mouth, biting down on it. I can’t help my hips reaction and grind into his thigh.

He releases his lip with a hiss of pleasure or pain, I can’t tell. Eyebrows dropped low, he studies my face. “You like crazy.”

“Mm-hm. I like you however you come.”

He’s slipping away. I can feel it. I won’t lose him again. I grasp for anything, a lucid thought, a plan, something that I can say that will get him back. “Paint me something?”

The tension in his arms relaxes, but he stays, locking me to the counter. “Not a painter.”

I tilt my head, motioning to the orange painting. “I think it’s pretty obvious that you are.”

His eyebrows pinch together, and his gaze doesn’t waver from my face. It feels as though he’s trying to read my expression, looking for the fear he thinks he sees or the panic he expects. But he’ll find neither. Locked together from thigh to chest, no better or happier place exists.

As much as I’d like to unload everything, I’m glad I didn’t. Letting me in has taken its toll on his nerves, and bringing up the past is bound to be upsetting. It’ll have to wait one more day.

Decision made, I smile and hope to see him return it. He doesn’t, but instead leans his forehead against mine and practically slumps against me with a deep sigh. Remembering how my aggression affected him in the truck earlier, I force back the desire to throw my arms around his shoulders and bury my face in his neck, opting instead to place my hands on his hips. He doesn’t pull away.

Good. It’s a step.

I close my eyes, our foreheads still touching. “What’s it called?”

“Hm?” His hands slide from the counter to my waist. The heat of his palms separated by the thin fabric of my tank top sends goose bumps up my arms.

“The painting. Does it have a name?”

He shrugs then pushes back, only enough to look over my shoulder at the artwork. “I call it Gia.”

A feeling, like wind filling a billowing sail, fills my chest. I was right. He remembers. On some level, he remembers me. I drop forward so that my forehead rests on his chest.

“It’s beautiful.” Tears gather in my eyes. Hope that there’s a future for us after he learns the truth and relief that the connection we shared as kids wasn’t one-sided. He felt it too. Oh God, this is really happening.

“Look, I’m sorry about that, going off like I did.”

“I understand.” I sniff back my tears. “It’s okay.”

He tugs my chin up. “Hey, you’re crying?”

“No, I’m not crying.” I wipe the tiny bit of moisture that threatens to spill from my lower lid.

His hand moves to my back and strokes up and down in comforting strokes. “I’ll be damned. Didn’t think the girl was capable of tears.”

I snuggle deeper into his hold, and his other hand wraps around me to hold me closer. “The girl is not crying.”

“All right, baby. You just take a minute to suck that shit back, and when you’re ready, I’ll figure out something for us to eat.” His body shakes with what I think is silent laughter.

I tilt my head back to see his face. No more scowl, soft eyes, and yes, he’s laughing. “Stop laughing!”

He coughs up a weak attempt to hide another rumble of laughter.

The easy smile is contagious, and I can’t help but giggle right along with him. Crisis over, tension diverted, deep breaths in and out. We’re back to where we started when we got here, or maybe better?

I gaze up at his beautiful smile. Yeah, definitely better.

Twelve

Can’t help what I feel

Can’t tell if it’s real

There’s no way to know

If this pain will heal

--Ataxia

Rex

Self-fulfilling prophecy. I’d heard of it but never experienced it until tonight. I was so afraid that Mac would take one step into my condo and make a million different judgments about me that I ended up acting like the fool I didn’t want her to think I was. Things weren’t awkward until I made them awkward.

Way to screw it up, asshole.

Since my bug-out in the kitchen, things have gotten better. Mac’s sitting comfortably on the couch, her legs tucked up and to the side, fingers absently running through her dark hair. She’s engaged in whatever sports stats John Anderson is announcing on Sportscenter. Warmth blooms in my chest.

Her eyes are fixed to the television, and I wonder if she even likes sports. I didn’t even think to ask her what she wanted to watch, just turned it on and walked away. If my inexperience with houseguests wasn’t glaringly obvious before, it sure as fuck is now.

“Would you rather watch something else?” I say to her from my spot in the kitchen.

Her eyes snap to mine, and she blinks almost as if I woke her. “No, this is great.”

A hint of unease pricks against my skin, but I can’t place the trigger. I drop the oven door and slide out the pizza stone with the frozen meat lover’s pie I threw in thirty minutes ago. The bubbling cheese and pooling grease from the sausage and pepperoni tempt my taste buds. I’m so sick of this damn diet. As soon as the fight this weekend is over, I’m eating my weight in carne asada burritos.

“You hungry?”

Her eyes jerk from the TV screen to me in the kitchen. “I wasn’t until I smelled that.” Pushing up from the couch, she moves toward the island barstools.

“Hope you’re not a vegetarian.” I run the pizza cutter through the doughy cheesy concoction then plop a slice onto a plate.

“Nuh-uh, I eat meat.” Her gaze snaps to mine. “I mean not like that.” A heavy blush floods her cheeks. “That sounded bad.”

I laugh and put the plate in front of her along with a bottle of water. “Sounds like you’ve been hanging out with your roommate for too long.” Grabbing a protein shake I made earlier, I take the seat next to Mac at the island.

“Surprisingly, no, it’s been less than a year.” She bites into the pizza, and a soft moan slides from her lips.

I ignore the stirring in my gut at hearing the pleasure-laden sound. “How long have you been in Vegas?”

She freezes mid chew but starts up again and swallows. “Nine months. Give or take.”

“How did you end up with a girl like Trix for a roomie?” It seems like an odd pairing. Trix has been around, trolling the bars Ataxia plays at for as long as we’ve been playing. Trolling doesn’t seem like Mac’s style.

“When I moved here, I got a job as a bartender at Zeus’s.” She picks a string of cheese from her pizza and pops it in her mouth, and my eyes get stuck on how her full lips wrap around her fingertips.

I suppress a groan and give a non-committal “Mm-hm” for her to go on.

“I came to Vegas looking for something. Thought I’d find it at Zeus’s, but I was too late.” She shrugs and takes a bite, casual for someone who just dropped the kind of verbal mindbender she did.

“What were you looking for?” I have to know. I mean this girl doesn’t seem like the type with exotic-dancing wishes and showgirl dreams.

Swiveling in her barstool, she faces me head on. “You.”

My stomach hums with a flash of adrenaline. “Excuse me?”

Her body crumbles in on itself, and the light ringing sound of her laughter fills the air. What the hell? She puts her hand on her chest and blows a long breath from her lips, her eyes still dancing with humor. “I’m sorry. You should’ve seen your face.” Shaking her head, she turns back to her pizza.

“Comedian. Hilarious.” I grin through my sarcasm. The girl’s a little strange, funny, but definitely off.

“No, I came to Vegas to find peace.”

“In Vegas? This place is the definition of uncontrolled chaos.”

She opens her water and leans back in her chair, eyes forward, quiet. “Yeah, makes my search harder.”

“I take it you haven’t found it?”

It’s then her eyes find mine; a small smile tilts her lips. “Not yet.”

If it were only that easy to find peace, you could take up stakes and move somewhere new, leaving behind the shit you don’t feel like carrying. Too bad all baggage isn’t carry on. Some of it latches on whether you want to bring it or not. I’m living proof of that, but I keep my mouth shut, leaving Mac to discover that on her own. Although, if her nightmares are any indication, my guess is she’s already learned it.

“Where’d you move from?” I take a swig of my shake.

She puts down her pizza and looks at me. “You’re not having any?”

“Nope. Dropping weight. Fight this weekend.”

Her face pales. “Fight?”

“Yeah. UFL ninety-four. I’m on the ticket with Blake.”

Her hand moves to cup her neck. She swallows hard. “Do you um . . . do you have to?”

Is she kidding? “Yeah, Mac, I have to. It’s my job, not to mention a great opportunity and smart career move.” I laugh, shaking my head. Why does she look so nervous? “You should come.”

Eyes wide, she gapes at me. “Yes, er . . . no?”

Leaning in, I rest my elbow on the counter. “Yes and no?”

Nervous laughter bubbles from her throat. “No, I don’t want you to fight, but yes, I’ll go.”

“Don’t want me to fight?”

“I, uh”—she studies her knees—“hate watching you get hurt.”

She must’ve seen my fights in the past, but the last fight I had on live TV was over a year ago before she moved to Vegas. Which reminds me, she never answered my question.

“Where did you live before Vegas, Mac?” I can’t place the feeling, but something feels off. My therapist would probably tell me that having a person in my home for a prolonged period of time is bound to make me a little paranoid.

Paranoia is something I’m used to, the feeling that eyes are on me even in my own place. Mac said she’s been watching me, but damn, for how long?

“Nothing,” she whispers.

“Huh?”

She turns to face me completely. “Before here, I lived in Nothing, Arizona.”

No fucking way? That’s the last place I lived before Vegas. It’s nothing more than a town you drive through between Kingman and Vegas. What are the chances that Mac lived there too?

I shrug, acting casual, and finish off my shake. “That town as boring as its name?” I can’t tell her that I lived there too. She’ll ask questions, and the only answers I have are not anything I want to share with anyone. Ever.

“You’ve never been there?” It’s a question, but something about the way she asks makes it seem like something else.

“Why would I ever need to visit a place called Nothing, Arizona?”

“Yeah, um.” She shakes her head, picks up her pizza and brings it to her lips. “I guess you wouldn’t.”

After Mac finishes another piece of pizza, I clean up the kitchen. She offers to help, but I need to do it on my own to alleviate the anxiety that hums below the surface.

She sits at the island. We talk about The Blackout and exchange crazy stories about Trix. I make sure to stick to subjects of the present and don’t probe too far in the past. By the time I’m drying my hands, Mac’s doubled over laughing and I’m leaning back enjoying the view.

“She walked out buck naked and asked for a smoke?” The wide mouth grin she’s wearing is contagious.

“Yep, didn’t even seem fazed.” God, I can’t take my eyes off her.

“Wow, that’s upsetting, but strangely not at all surprising.” She must sense me staring as her laughter dies and our eyes meet.

“I had fun with you today.” It’s not a lie. I did. It’s been so long since I had a day that wasn’t focused on the band, fighting, or all the other shit that rolls around in my head. Not to mention the victory I’m feeling at going out with Mac and having her over in the same day. Guess Darren was right. I am capable of more than I think.

“Me too.”

She’s so beautiful and even more so now that I’ve gotten to know her better. In the few moments that we’ve flirted and I’ve purposely on accident put my hands on her, I’ve felt good. Even now, I want to do it again. The impulse to drag my knuckles down the side of her face, sift my fingers into her hair, and take her lips is overwhelming, not disgusting.

“It’s getting late.” She pushes back from the island and stands from her barstool. “I better go.”

No! “Yeah.” I check the clock. Ten p.m. Damn. “I’ve got to be at the training center early.”

She moves from the kitchen toward the living space, and I grab my keys. I tell myself that letting her go tonight is okay because I’ll get to see her in a couple days. She not only agreed to go to my fight but she even said she’d be fine in the UFL wife-seating area. They’re close to my corner, and as nervous as she seems, it’ll be good to have her sandwiched between Raven and Layla.

Clicking off the TV, I watch her move toward the front door. The visual of her in my condo reminds me of everything I’ve overcome in the short span since watching baseball at Jonah’s. The usual weight that lives in my chest is still there, but only a fraction of what it was before. I take a deep breath and relax into the new freedom.

Damn it feels good. I’m greedy for more.

She’s at the door, bending forward to get her shoes, and I’m ready to push myself one step further.

My body responds before my brain registers it. In three quick strides, I’m at her back. She straightens, not knowing I’m right behind her, and the sweet island smell of her hair wafts beneath my nose.

I do the only thing I can.

I lunge.

~*~

Mac

“Oh my . . . shit!” I’m pressed face forward against the closed door of Rex’s condo. The cool wood seeps through my thin cotton tank while the heat of his body is at my back. A small prickle of fear crawls over my skin before I feel his lips at my neck.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He growls his apology against the tender flesh below my ear. “I had to touch you.”

I hold off a moan and concentrate on not falling limp in his arms. His hands find mine splayed against the door. He interweaves our fingers, fisting my smaller ones in his, and pushes them up above my head. I’m helpless. Incapacitated by his strength and the position he’s put me in.

“Rex . . .”

He flexes his hips against my ass as a reprimand of some kind, but it feels like a reward. A groan of pleasure falls from my lips, and my head drops back against his shoulder.

“You okay?” He runs his lips up and down the side of my neck, dragging that damn piece of metal along in strokes of pure torture.

“Yeah, just . . . more.”

The low grumble of his laugh rolls against my back, sending shivers of ecstasy and anticipation down my spine. I arch my back, requesting his touch.

“Aw, fuuuck.” He slams his hips into me, and the feeling of pure steel at my lower back robs me of breath.

He hasn’t even touched me, and we’re fully clothed, but a few more of those and I’ll fall apart in a blistering orgasm that’ll knock my legs out from under me.

“Here’s the way it’s gonna be, baby.” He drops a lingering kiss at my neck. “I need to be in control.” Another slow kiss at my jawline. “Nod if you understand.”

I nod quickly. Anything, whatever, just please don’t stop.

His hands holding mine flex. “These stay here at all times.” He nuzzles the nape of my neck. “You smell fucking amazing.”

“Rex—”

“No talking.” He growls against my skin, but this time there’s more than hunger laced in his response. It sounds like pain.

I nod again and roll both my lips between my teeth, biting down to keep from talking. This needs to be perfect for him. Whatever is about to happen, I owe it to him to put my own desires aside to make this easy on him.

“It’s not about taking pleasure from your body; I’m not alone in this.” He runs his nose from my temple to my ear. “You let me know if I’m doing something you don’t want. Then you speak.”

I’m lost in the feeling of his strong body pinning mine. Assaulted by mental images of what’s to come, anticipation floods my body. The sharp pinch of his teeth at my ear clears my thoughts.

“Nod if you hear me, baby.”

I nod again and he rewards me with a long firm thrust of his hips. “Atta girl.”

My head falls back and to the side, opening up my neck in submission to him. He takes my offer and dives in, licking and sucking until I’m writhing with need. Goose bumps race up my arms, and I imagine all the places I wish he’d move his attention to.

“Fuck, you taste so damn good.” He pulls my skin between his lips with a fierce suction that I feel in my nipples. “Bet you taste even better down here.” He bends his knees and thrusts between my legs.

“Yes!” I slam my mouth shut, biting back my reaction as it dissolves into a moan.

His hands flex against mine. “I was hoping you’d test me.”

He nudges my ankles farther apart and I gladly step them wide. His knee slides in tight between my legs with a firm pressure. So close to where I need him, but not quite there. The tease is maddening.

“Fuck, you’re burning up down here.” He presses in, slides his leg back then forward, creating delicious friction. “So damn sexy.”

Moving his hands together above my head, he grips both my wrists with one hand, freeing up one of his own. Please, touch me.

I rub my breasts against the solid door, hoping to relieve some frustration, but it only cranks me higher.

“I’ve got you.” His free hand slides at my belly between me and the door. He tucks his hand beneath my shirt and glides it up to my bra. “I knew your skin would feel like this. Soft.”

I want to scream at the top of my lungs for him to touch me, pinch me, hurt me. I don’t care. Just put me out of this misery. Instead I wait, panting to the point of hyperventilation as I give him control.

He glides his fingers along the wire cup of my bra, and just like with his knee, he’s so close.

A tiny growl of frustration escapes my throat, and he chuckles against my back.

“You trust me?”

I nod, over and over, big and exaggerated. Hell yes, I trust you! Put your damn hands on me!

He curves his fingers beneath the cup of my bra and pulls it up to completely expose one breast. I bite my lip to avoid crying out in pleasure.

He cups my breast with his hand, molding it and making it his. “Perfect.”

His powerful thigh is pressed in firmly between my legs, his big hand wrapped around my breast, held captive by him, and I’m overcome with sensation. I turn away from him at my shoulder and press my forehead against the door. He rewards me by scissoring my nipple between his fingers, back and forth, back and—Oh yeah, it’s coming.

I push back, rolling my hips against his thigh, searching for the right combination of pressure. He steps in tighter, probably trying to keep me still, but it’s too late. He’s brought me to the brink with his orgasm-inducing domination combined with his barely there touch. The contrast is intoxicating. Beautiful.

“Mac . . .” It sounds like a warning, but I’m too close to slow now.

His fingers grow tight around my nipple, and the shock of pain sends a blinding wave of pleasure between my legs. I arch my back, pressing into his hand for more while simultaneously shifting my hips so I can get his thigh where I need it.

Just . . . a little . . . closer.

I whimper in frustration, and in an instant, I lose his hand. “No—”

My protest is cut off by a gasp when he cups me between my legs. “You come when I tell you to.” It doesn’t sound like a demand, but a request. “I need it like this.” His long fingers dig in. So good, so, so good. “Nod if you understand?”

Was that a question? I’m desperate. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him, especially now.

I nod and immediately feel the pinch of his teeth at my shoulder. He groans against me as his fingers press against my jeans.

“More . . .” Dammit, I know he doesn’t want me to talk, but I’m so close.

His tongue glides up my neck to my jaw and his breath heaves. The thunder of his heart pounds against my back, and for the first time, I realize he’s just as worked up as I am.

My hands tug against his hold, but he doesn’t let them go. I grind my hips down onto his hand, rolling in waves. More. Just a little bit more.

He moans, low and primal and so damn hot. “Fuck it.” He pops the button of my jeans and slides his hand down first inside the denim and then beneath the lace of my panties.

My breath catches in my throat and my eyes slam shut.

“Aw, hell.” He grinds his hard-on against my ass in perfect time with the thrust of his fingers.

I fantasize that he’s braced above me, his tattoos dancing over muscles that coil and flex with every plunge of his hips. I imagine him dipping down to take my mouth, our tongues sliding together as we drink every last drop from one another. The powerful command he’d have over his body as he slams into me again, and again, and even harder before—My belly tightens and my toes curl.

“Oh my . . .” I throw my head back as the orgasm rips through my body. Blinding light flashes behind my eyelids as the intensity of it wracks me with jolts of pleasure. Heat washes over me in wave after wave of euphoria.

Slowly coming back into my body, I’m aware of Rex’s hand, no longer between my legs, but splayed against my belly. His thigh is back, pushed in tight and supporting my weight. He’s holding me up.

Every muscle feels like Jell-o, so I allow his assistance and fall back into his support. He releases my hands and the tingling of blood rushing back to my extremities is oddly heady.

I’m falling softly back to earth, awareness coming back to my body and mind.

All I had to do was keep my mouth shut and give him complete control. Instead I forced him—not so forcefully—to get me off. My cheeks flame. How could I be so selfish?

“Rex, I’m . . . I messed up, didn’t I?”

He buries his face into my hair and breathes in deep, but doesn’t answer.

“Rex?” I can feel the pound of his heart, erection still rock hard, and his heavy breathing against my back. “Babe, talk to me.”

Nothing.

Thirteen

Mind over matter is what they say

Make the hurt go away

Time heals

I make appeals

And still I suffer anyway.

--Ataxia

Rex

What have I done? So consumed by the lure of Mac’s body and the gentle sounds falling from her lips, I was out of my mind with need. Even now, my arms wrapped tight around her and my thigh firmly snuggled between her legs, her body calls to mine.

Nausea savagely slices through my gut. I swallow to push down the sour burn in the back of my throat. I lost control. The evidence of that is standing proudly and pressed against her lower back. It throbs with awareness. We’re alone. My bed is just yards away from where we’re standing. I bite my lip to keep from rocking my hips and giving in to be consumed by the aftermath of my sickness.

The stabbing pain in my gut twists. No. I can’t do that to her. The best thing I can do is get her away from me before I do something stupid.

“You’re scaring me.” Her soft-spoken words spear through me, adding to the shame.

God, she must think I’m a freak. Slamming her against the wall face first, holding her body captive. I fucked this up. My one chance, the opportunity to feel normal with a girl who doesn’t shy away from my quirks, and I messed it up, dirtied what we had by losing my shit.

“I’m sorry.” I can’t pull back from the heat of her body, afraid of the fear and disappointment I’ll see in her eyes.

She lightly runs her hand against my forearm. Cautious. “Nothing to be sorry about.” Her other hand reaches back, curling around the back of my head. “It’s okay. I’m here. We’re okay.”

Her words wash over me, and I exhale a shaky breath. She continues to comfort me in firm and stable strokes of her hands. My muscles respond, relaxing a fraction with every pass of her tiny hands.

“I want to hold you. Can I turn around?”

Tension returns to my shoulders. Hold me?

“Let me help you.”

Help me what?

Knowing I can’t keep her pressed against the door all night, I drop my hands from her belly and step back. I can’t bear to look at her, so I study my socked feet. I feel a tiny shift in the air and know she’s turned around and looking at me. I’ve never felt a stronger urge to crumble beneath the weight of a person’s eyes.

“Rex, you didn’t do anything wrong, you hear me?” The anger that laces her words seems misplaced.

Confusion, I’d understand. Disappointment, maybe. But anger?

“I . . .” Fuck! What can I say? I don’t want her to be mad.

“Look at me,” she says, the thickness in her demand is unmistakable.

As much as her body responded to my touch and she begged for more, she couldn’t possibly want me, not like that. I hook my finger into the elastic band at my wrist and snap it hard. I pull my chin up and give her my eyes. It’s what she deserves after what I did. Her narrowed eyes study my wrist. I snap the elastic again and she jerks.

“What are you . . .?” She gives me her eyes, and I force myself to hold her stare. She looks scared, but not of me, more like for me. “Please tell me you don’t regret what happened between us.”

Regret? No. I’d suffer the internal war that wages every time I touch Mac just so I could feel her, but the battlefield is a bloody mess in the wake of all that happened. The shame and guilt that rises up from nowhere reminds me how sick I am. It screams that I’m not good enough for anyone, especially her.

“I’d never regret you.”

The flush of her cheeks darkens. “Thank you.”

I shake my head. “For what?”

“For trusting me enough to show me where you get your adrenaline fix.” She dips her chin, peering up at me with a shy smile. “Never thought jumping off a building would be fun.”

I nod and shrug. The change of subject seems to help me relax.

“Then you brought me here, let me into your home. You fed me.” She steps forward. “But the best part was that you trusted me enough to show me what you need.” Her eyes are soft. Accepting. Proud? “I want you to know that . . .” A slow and sexy-as-fuck smile pulls at her lips. She lifts one eyebrow.

My breath catches in my throat.

“I liked seeing that side of you.” She cups my jaw and runs her thumb along my lower lip, lingering at my lip ring. Her eyes follow the path of her thumb and flare. “A lot.”

Fuckin’ A. She liked it. I mean her body seemed to like it, but the body is twisted as shit. It has desires that the brain won’t get on board with. I should know.

“You don’t think I’m a freak?”

She lifts her other hand to my face and holds me there. “Never say that around me again.”

“I’m only—”

“No.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want to hear it. Whatever it is you think about yourself is not how I think about you.”

“Mac, you don’t know—”

“I do know!” She cringes and drops her chin. “What I mean is I don’t claim to have all the answers. What I know is . . .” Her head tilts back and she looks at me. “I like you and everything we do together. I like you exactly how you are, and nothing you do or say can change that.”

I give her words a second to sink in and only then realize that the shit I felt earlier, the feeling of inadequacy and loathing, is gone. How does she do that? Make me go from semi-suicidal to downright . . . happy?

“Nod if you understand,” she says, using my own words from earlier to playfully remind me she’s thinking about our hookup.

I exhale and the ghost of a grin ticks my lips. “Yeah, I understand.” Taking her hand from my face, I kiss her knuckles and repeat it with the other.

“Guess you have to take me home now, huh?”

As much as I’d love to say no and drag her into my bed, my nerves are shot to shit. I’ve overcome more in one day than I have in years.

My mind cranks back to my session with Darren. Decoding the past so that I can make a better future. Maybe I don’t need the missing memories of a lost childhood to find a cure. Maybe all I need is someone who understands and likes me for who I am, and that includes the ugly and the depraved.

Could it be that my cure lies not in my past but in Mac?

~*~

It’s late by the time I get home after dropping Mac off. I walked her to the door and thought a good night kiss would be harmless enough.

I was wrong.

She seems so damn hungry every time we kiss, as if everything I have to offer would never fill her up. I groan and roll my sore lips between my teeth. She sucks at them so fucking hard I have to wonder what that suction would feel like in other places.

The roll in my gut combined with the painful pulse in my shorts injects me with a dose of adrenaline. I head into my condo and slide my shoes off at the door. The lingering scent of tropical fruit and suntan lotion hits me with a burst of arousal. Fuck.

A cold shower should work to clear my head. I need to get my schedule and go over my interviews for the week, but at this rate, I’ll be reliving the curves of Mac’s body all night.

Back in my room, I move to the bathroom, pulling off my shirt as I go and tossing it in the hamper. My mind is a cyclone of all things Mac. Holding her hand, wrapping my arms around her after the Skyjump, the simplest things have my chest warming.

I strip down and turn on the water. Looking down between my legs, I groan at the disgusting display that taunts me.

“Fuck.” I step in and cold water hits my heated skin. All day my dick has been a constant presence, half swollen and painfully aware of the gorgeous woman at my side. As much as I tried to ignore it, I couldn’t help but notice the way it rubbed against every fiber of my boxer briefs as if they were made of the softest silk. And then at the door, pressing it against her, giving in to what it begged for all day.

I drop my head beneath the stream. My eyes slide closed and she’s there, her full cherry lips that beg to be kissed, the memory of how they felt against my fingers today, silken pliable flesh, so damn soft. I pull my lip ring into my mouth, sucking the metal and moaning against the sting. Her tits, weighed heavy in my hand as I toyed with the nipples, and I imagine what they look like naked. I bet her nipples are the same dark cherry of her lips.

“Dammit, fuck.” My hand slides down the wet slope of my abdomen and I grip my dick. Humiliation and disgust do nothing to hold me back.

She doesn’t deserve this, to be the fantasy of a sick fucker who’s whacking off to her image. My mind takes off without permission to imagine all the things I’d do to her, increasing my shame. I pound myself hard, punishing my depravity with pain.

Dirty. Wrong. Bad.

The words run through my head on repeat, but it doesn’t stop me. I’m too far gone, wound too tight, lost in the sickness. The pain combines with the humiliation, and my thoughts of Mac turn into violent flashes of sexual domination.

I rock into the tile wall, my forehead pressed against it so hard it hurts. “Sick.” My fist tightens and the helplessness washes over me. My toes curl on the slick tile floor as my body readies. I don’t want it and try to force back the inevitable. “No.” Stop!

Two voices rage in my head. Body over mind. I’m helpless. Helpless.

A guttural whimper, which I recognize as my own, echoes around the shower stall. I bite down on my lip as my release reminds me I have no control. That’s what it is: a filthy cancer that eats away at my head, turning me into a monster of sexual depravity.

And this is all I have to offer a girl like Mac.

That’s where I was going today. Today, I was thinking about having another date with her. I considered what it would be like to have her on the back of my bike or, hell, have her riding her bike next to me. My head allowed me to have even the scariest of thoughts and considered something exclusive. A relationship. And it didn’t scare the piss out of me.

I grab the soap and go to work on my arms first, digging the bar into my skin and scrubbing until it burns. “Filthy fuck.” I drag my nails along my arm. Not good enough.

Reaching over for the scrub brush I keep in the shower for this purpose, I bury the stiff bristles into the tender underside of my arm. “Fuck yeah.” Harder, faster, deeper. I scrub every inch of my body until it’s bright red and aching.

Sick of looking at my own naked body and tired of the losing battle to get it clean, I shut the water off and grab a towel. Even the soft cotton feels like sandpaper as I dry off, but fuck if the pain isn’t what I deserve.

I move into my room and pull on a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. I drop to the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, and hold my head into my hands. When will this stop? What the fuck is wrong with me that I can’t even jack-off to the thoughts of a pretty girl like every other red-blooded male alive?

My head’s a mess of bullshit I can’t control. I grab my iPad and pull up my schedule for the week, sent over by my publicist. I concentrate on that and hope the monotony of it all will kill my self-hatred, even if only for the night.

Fourteen

Love’s an illusion.

We long for the truth.

I won’t believe it’s real

Until I see proof.

--Ataxia

Rex

Pouring a protein shake from the blender into a to-go cup, I check the clock for the tenth time this morning. It’s almost eight a.m. I swing my gaze to the window. The sun is turning the sky into a brilliant blue, and it looks as if it’s going to be one of those perfect Vegas days.

Not as perfect as yesterday.

I bury a small smile into my cup and take a gulp of the thick sludge. I’ve been itching to call my therapist since I woke up. Now that I’ve overcome the first few hurdles with Mac, I’m ready to push myself to accomplish more. My heart jumps at the thought of more with Mac.

She’s nothing like any of the girls I’ve met before. Her ability to throw herself into a dangerous situation, whether it be breaking up a fight or riding without a helmet, reminds me of myself. The way she embraced the rides at the Stratosphere, so carefree and open for anything, was refreshing She’s not one to shy away from pain or danger because she knows the payoff is worth it. Amazing.

I hit the door, lock up, and pull out my phone while walking to my car. Scrolling through my contacts, I find Darren and hit—

“Mornin’, Rex.”

I’m a few feet from Emma’s door when she walks out, backpack on and a coffee mug in hand.

“Hey, Em. Off to class?” I wait for her to lock up.

“Yeah, biology test today.” She holds up her coffee and smiles. “Extra caffeine.” Her eyes roam from my baseball hat to my toes. “You headed to work?”

“Yep. Day before fight night.” I hold up my protein shake and smile. “Power breakfast.”

She laughs and we move toward the parking. I can’t help but notice how different she is from Mac. Both girls are beautiful and easy to talk to yet completely different.

I wonder if Emma had been in Mac’s shoes yesterday how would she have responded to my asking her to take off her shoes. Would she be open to diving off the Stratosphere? My guess is she wouldn’t have enjoyed my pinning her face first to the door and feeling her up.

No, Emma’s a good girl.

Mac is not. She’s my own personal brand of crazy, and fuck me, but I dig it. A lot.

We say goodbye at the lot, and I hop into the truck to head to the training center. I call Darren on the way to get his advice before I fuck everything up with Mac.

He doesn’t have much to say beyond telling me he’s proud of me and that I need to listen to my gut—whatever that means.

By the time I stroll up to the training center doors, my mind is already overthinking things. She seemed to enjoy what we did yesterday, especially what I did to her before she left, but could I have read things wrong? What-ifs eat away at me, and the whisper of insecurity infiltrates my confidence.

I’m just through the lobby and at the mouth of the training center when I see a group of guys who don’t usually train here. They must be our competitors. Great.

Moving past them, I keep my eyes to the floor to avoid the uncomfortable welcome-to-town-I’ll-be-the-dude-beating-the-snot-out-of-you-tomorrow conversation.

“Woof, woof.”

They burst into hysterical laughter at their unoriginal taunt.

I stop and swing my gaze to them, lifting my chin in greeting. My opponent is surrounded by a few guys who must be from his camp, all shit-stares and sneers. “Reece.”

“Hope you’re ready for tomorrow night, puppy dog.” He takes a few steps toward me. “I don’t plan on leaving you conscious.”

What a douche. There’s no way I’m falling for his lame attempt at shit talk. “Yeah, well, I hope you do try to knock me out. That’s what we train for.” I move past them, and two steps beyond his little crew, I get shoved in the back.

There are a lot of things a man can take. Shit talk is one of them. But when a dude puts his hands on me with aggression? It’s fucking on.

I whirl around and glare. His lips curl to expose one gold tooth right up front, and I almost lose the battle against my laughter. Jackass.

“I’m ready to beat the fuck out of you tomorrow night, but if you insist on starting this now”—I hold out my arms—“take a shot.”

“You know I can’t touch you before we hit the octagon.” He jerks his head, motioning to a stocky guy with a buzzed head. “But he can.”

I turn to the bald guy, who’s bouncing on his toes looking amped for a fight. “You shove me?”

“Yeah, bitch.” He gets in my face, nose to nose. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

Fuck, I’d give anything to knock this dipshit out, but I know that’s exactly what he wants. “Not a thing.”

Reece laughs. “What a pussy.”

I turn to him, taking my eyes off the twitchy fucker in my face. Probably not smart, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let this guy think his threats intimidate me. “What’s your fucking problem? You should be kissing my ass for saving this fight for you.”

“My problem, dog, is that you’re sandbagging. You probably begged for this fight to save your non-existent fighting record.”

My fighting is the only thing I take seriously, and implying that I’d drop weight to fight in a lower weight class for an easy win is beyond insulting.

“I’m loyal to the UFL.” I step into his space and feel the snarl that pulls back my lips. “And I’d never turn down the opportunity to fuck you up.”

He shoves me. “What’re you waiting for?”

I move to throw my weight behind my fist.

“Stop!” Layla’s voice pulls me from my internal struggle not to hit Reece. She stomps our way, shaking her head. “Tell me you guys aren’t doing what it looks like you’re doing.” Her eyes go back and forth between me and Team Dumbass.

I step back from Reece, but move toward Layla. Call me paranoid, but I’m a little nervous at the idea of her getting between us. And knowing that she’s carrying Blake’s baby ups my unease.

“It’s cool, Layla.” I don’t take my eyes off the little shit who looks as if he’s about to pop the first person who gets close enough. Damn, what is that dude on? “Why don’t you go find—”

“Now hang on there, puppy dog.” Reece puffs out his chest. “Layla, huh?” He runs his dirty eyes up and down her body, and I pray like hell Blake’s not within one hundred yards.

“Go on, Layla.” I move in front of her, facing Reece.

She moves around me and glares at him. “No. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You heard her; she wants to stay. Stop cock-blockin’.” His pack of idiots laughs.

My muscles tense, readying to defend Layla from his advances. “I’d watch your fuckin’ mouth if I were you, Reece.”

“Back off, dog.” He licks his lips. “Damn, you’re hot.” He moves to grab her hand. I pull her behind me.

“Please, for the love of fuck, tell me you are not hitting on my woman.” Blake’s voice comes booming from behind me. Before I have a chance to turn around, he’s in front of me and nose to nose with Reece. “You’re over here nutting up on my boy and disrespecting my woman? Back the hell off, asshole.”

Blake’s always been protective of Layla, but ever since they found out she was pregnant, he’s gone nuclear possessive. Come to think of it, I rarely see her anywhere in the training center without him.

“Ha! Your woman?” Reece laughs and his team of dumb asses follows along. “You tappin’ her ass doesn’t make her yours. If that were the case, half the women in Vegas would belong to you.” The group of them burst into laughter.

The fighters in my camp are the closest thing I have to family. We get each other’s backs in every situation and nothing—career fight or risk of being fired—means more than that. Blake’s shoulders are flexed to his ears. Shit’s about to go down. My muscles tense and I flex my fists.

“Layla,” I say over my shoulder. “Go. Now.”

She grips the back of my tee. “No, Rex. I’m not leaving and—”

“Mouse, baby, listen to Rex.” Blake’s low grumble gets Layla moving, and I take my first full breath, knowing that she’s safely out of the way.

I move close to get Blake’s back when I see a few guys who just walked in stop and watch. Wade, Blake’s opponent, stalks in our direction, stopping just shy of the Reece-Blake faceoff. The tension is palpable.

“I’m giving you the opportunity to walk away, Reece,” Blake says, a heavy growl rumbling his words.

“Yeah?” Reece tilts his head and sneers. “Well I don’t appreciate you standing between me and a little pre-fight head.”

Oh shit.

Blake knocks Reece back into his buddies. They advance. The short shit, finally getting the fight he wanted, throws a punch. I grab his fist and twist. He drops to the ground. Blake moves on Reece again.

Wade wraps two arms around Blake’s shoulders. “Not worth it, man.”

“Get the fuck off me.” Blake jerks out of his hold.

“Daniels,” Wade says, jumping in front of Blake and pushing him back. “Don’t do this. You’re giving him what he wants.”

Blake lunges toward Reece, barely held back by Wade. “He disrespected my—”

“What the motherfuck is going on here?”

All eyes dart toward the furious voice of Cameron, who’s barreling toward us. His fists are clenched, eyebrows dropped low, and his body looks as if it’s about go all kinds of Hulk on his corporate business get-up.

He shoves Reece and steps into his space. “You pull this shit in my house?” Another shove. He points to the training center floor. “You’re a guest in my motherfucking house, and this is the respect you show? You little fuck. I could fire you right now. You want that? No more fat paychecks to buy all those trampy bitches you pay for.”

“Cam, man.” Reece shakes his head and throws his hands up. “I didn’t do shit! Daniels attacked me.”

What a pussy. I’m really going to enjoy knocking his ass out.

“Didn’t do shit? You disrespect my assistant in front of her man and you think that’s nothing?” He jabs a meaty finger toward Blake. “He had every right to crack your skull.” He turns to make eye contact with every one of us. His furious glare would make lesser men tuck tail and run. “Those of you who collect your paychecks from this organization will obey its principles. Loyalty. Honor. Respect. Self-control. If this is a problem for you, pack your bags and get the fuck out.”

“Yeah, bitch.” Blake’s tacked on words are aimed directly at Reece.

“Blake.” Cameron gives Blake one look that he shrugs off immediately. “If this is not your home training center”—he glares at the visitors from both Reece and Wade’s camps—“when you’re in my house I fucking own you.”

The group nods and keeps their mouths shut.

“I was fighting for the UFL before you all tried on your first jockstrap. It’s an organization that demands respect, or it was once. I will bring it back to where it was before Taylor Gibbs destroyed it, and that means crushing any piss-dicks that get in my way.” The room is silent. This guy is tough as shit. He must’ve been an animal in the octagon. I make a mental note to Google some of his old fight footage. “We have a multi-million dollar fight to showcase tomorrow night. Do not fuck this up.”

With that he turns and heads back to his office. Blake and I wait the few seconds it takes for everyone to break up and go their respective ways.

He steps up to me. “I owe you, man. Thanks for looking out for Layla.” He offers his fist and I raise mine for a bump.

“No problem, man. You’d do the same for me.”

“Yeah, I would.” He crosses his arms at his chest and smiles. “What’s up with you and Mac? Layla said you two are hookin’ up.”

I shake my head, trying to understand what’s up with Mac and me enough to put it into words.

“Oh shit.” He punches my chest. “You too, huh?” He laughs so loud he gets the attention of the room. “And another one bites the dust.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I’m grinning and pretty sure I know exactly what it means.

“Nothing, man.” He moves past me, chuckling and shaking his head. “I’m off to find my woman. She’s gonna love this.”

Yeah, she’s not the only one. I hide my grin and move to the locker room.

As if thoughts of Mac weren’t enough to have me flyin’ high, Cameron’s speech, along with my recent vendetta to take down Reece for fucking with my family, has me fired up.

Things couldn’t possibly get better, except taking the next step with Mac. Feeling stronger and braver than I’ve ever felt, I consider what sex with her would be like. I grin and welcome the tiny nauseating twist in my gut.

She could be it.

My cure.

Fifteen

I walk through the flames

Pulse throbbing, head light

Naked, exposed, and ashamed.

Only for you will I fight this fight.

--Ataxia

Mac

It’s funny how looking through the box feels different now. Rex’s no longer the boy who clung to me for survival, or the memory that I kept alive for my own. The relationship we had built on fear and revenge now seems insignificant. Today, we have so much more. Shared experiences and opening up vulnerabilities have replaced old feelings with new ones. Better ones.

Some much better ones.

I shift from sitting crossed-legged on my bed to lying down. Spending time with him, being invited into his home, and the picture . . . My heart flutters. To think this whole time he’s held me close, just as I have him. Our dedication to one another and our love for each other transcend memory. He doesn’t remember Mac, but he loves Gia. Reconciling the two will mean keeping him forever: the child he loves and the woman he wanted to touch.

My skin tingles where his hands roamed. Goose bumps race down my arms as I remember his growling voice at my ear. His tall frame had pinned me to the door, supporting my weight with a tender strength more intimate than any sexual experience I’ve ever had, not that I’ve had many. But the one thing I needed after being locked up was to experience all that I’d missed: movies, junk food, and sex. I never understood what the big deal was, why people talked about it as if they couldn’t live without it. Now I understand. The things Rex did to my body with a simple touch or a few perfectly timed words were amazing. A shiver races up my spine. I want more.

Rex is my addiction.

On some level he always has been.

But not like this.

I’d beg, get on my knees and plead for him to take me, control me, and have me for no other reason than his pleasure. I scrub my hands over my face. That sounds insane.

But it’s true.

I love Rex in a way that can’t be defined in words or songs or poems. Unconditional, completely, and irrationally obsessed. A kind of love born from suffering, solely created to bind and heal the broken.

I pick up the teddy-bear and trace the letters on its shirt. “How did you know we’d end up here?”

The stuffed toy doesn’t answer. I hug it to my body and close my eyes. Will there ever be a day when I can hold Rex like this? Or better yet, wrapped up in my arms, legs tangled together with nothing to distract us but the rhythm of our breathing.

The pinging sound of our doorbell steals me from my moment. Trix is at work and there’s only one person I’d be interested in seeing, but he’s busy prepping for his fight.

The bell rings again. What are the chances that they’ll go away if I ignore it?

It rings again, this time in obnoxious repeat. What the fuck?

Tossing the bear on my pillows, I jump up prepared to give the damn bell ringer a lesson in etiquette.

My feet slap against the tiled foyer. I grab the door handle. “What the fu—” I gasp and stare. “Rex.”

Wearing a pair of black track pants that hang low on his hips and a TapOut tee, I’m assuming he came directly from the training center. Ravenous, I devour every inch of his inked arms.

He shuffles his feet and runs a hand through his hair. “I was on my way home.” Exhaling a long breath, he meets my eyes. “I had to see you.”

A slow grin pulls at my lips. “I’m happy you did.” He had to see me. See me—shit! My contacts. I drop my eyes to the ground and turn back into the house. “Um . . . yeah, come on in.” Crap! I have to get my contacts in before he notices my eyes.

The door closes, and I’m guessing he walked in behind me. “Just have a seat and let me go, um, grab . . . I’ll be right back.” I take one step toward the hallway before the heat of his grip wraps around my upper arm.

“Wait.” He spins me toward him and crashes his mouth against mine.

The spice of his clean skin hits me instantly, and my knees buckle under his exuberant assault. His tongue invades my mouth, and towering over me, he bends me back. My hands dart out to grasp his biceps.

He nips and sucks at my lips, drinking from my mouth with greedy grumbles of satisfaction. I pull at him to get closer. I feel the overwhelming urge to have him on me, in me, around me, to be consumed completely—mind, body, soul—by Rex.

I use my teeth and tug on his lip ring. He growls so deeply I feel it in my chest, between my legs, in my blood. “Please, don’t stop.” I keep my eyes closed but find his jaw and trail kisses down his neck. “Never stop.”

He cups my ass with both hands and squeezes. “I want this.”

I moan and press back, giving him what he wants. Always, anything for him. “It’s yours.” I’m yours.

“No one else.” He drops his head to the side, and I suck at his neck, knowing that with his tattoos even the darkest hickey won’t show. “Harder.” Gliding his hand up my spine, he cups the back of my neck, holding me to him. “Mark me.”

Pleasure torpedoes through my body. I hum low in my throat, my teeth and tongue taking his sweet skin into my mouth.

He flexes his hips, and the iron ridge of his hard-on against my stomach robs me of breath. I break off to gasp for air, only to have his mouth cover mine again. Long, deep glides of his tongue suck the salt of his own skin from my mouth. My hunger increases, roaring its gluttonous request. He cups my breast, squeezes, and tugs my nipple. He claws at my body as I rob from his mouth.

I lurch back to break the kiss, keeping my chin tucked, eyes to his shirt. “I’m going to jump out of my skin.”

His hand leaves my breast and wraps around my back to pull me to his chest. I’m grateful for the closeness so he can’t see my eyes.

“Me too.” He’s breathing heavy. “Haven’t felt anything like it.”

“I haven’t either.” I’m aching for him so badly that I run my hand between us and grip his hard-on.

He sucks air through his teeth but doesn’t push me away.

“Can we?” I roll my forehead against him with impatience, hoping he doesn’t say no.

He kisses the top of my head. “We can, but like last night, I have to do it my way.” He sounds embarrassed.

My stomach twists. “I don’t care.” I squeeze him tight. “Whatever you need.”

“There’s something I need to talk to you about first. If we’re going to try this, I need to be honest with you.”

I nod, and the ache of arousal turns to the pinch of tense muscles. Honest with me. The opposite of what I’ve been with him. “Um, sure, that’s fine. Give me a sec?”

He presses his nose to the top of my head and inhales before pressing his lips there. “Sure, baby.”

With a final squeeze, I turn and head to my bathroom, maintaining eye contact with the floor the entire time. Once inside, I close the door and grab my colored contacts. Before putting them, in I stare at my reflection.

Whatever he has to talk to me about obviously has something to do with sex. He’s made it clear he doesn’t remember his childhood, so it can’t be about his abuse. Usually the idea of a heart-to-heart with Rex would make me excited, but now I’m afraid it’ll bring up things that muddy the electricity firing between us.

I lean in and place one light brown lens in at a time. A thought, poignant and unwelcome, crashes in. I’m covering up and he’s stripping down.

The heavy weight of my guilt presses against my shoulders. My mind works to justify my cowardliness. Telling him everything will only ruin what little progress we’ve made. Or maybe you’re just afraid he’ll hate you.

Every day that passes in silence is another twenty-four hours of betrayal. I’m going to tell him, and when he hears me explain, he’ll understand why I waited so long. He has to. Right?

“Don’t go there, Mac. Not tonight.” With a steadying grip on the countertop, I take slow breaths. Mac doesn’t have secrets. That’s who Rex wants to be with. Don’t fuck this up.

I smooth my hands over my hair and make my way back to Rex. I pass through the living room. No Rex. Kitchen? Empty. Huh.

I go to the sliding glass door and look out to see him silhouetted by the pool. He’s in a squat, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands.

With a hard gulp to push down my nerves, I slide open the door. The sound gets his attention and he stands, but doesn’t move toward me.

Covering the distance between us, I stop a couple feet away, making sure not to crowd him. He’s looking thoughtfully at the pool water that looks black without the light.

“Everything okay?”

He motions to the table and chairs by the door. “Can we sit?”

I grab a chair and drop in it. He pulls out the one next to me, turns it to face mine, and has a seat. “There are . . . things, um, about me that are probably not like most guys you’ve been with.”

I know. “Rex, you don’t—”

He holds up his hand. “Let me explain.”

I nod for him to go on.

He digs his fists into his eyes then drops to rest his elbows on his knees as he was by the pool. The look is pure defeat, and seeing a strong fighter like Rex curled in on himself twists my gut.

He tilts his head up to meet my eyes. And like the pool water, the usual blue looks like black in the dark. “You already know about the, uh . . . my home and the control thing—”

“I know, but, Rex, this conversation obviously makes you uncomfortable. I don’t want you to share with me anything that you don’t want to.” Because it reminds me of all the ways that you’re strong and I’m weak.

“The way I see it, the direction this”—he motions between us with a few flicks of his hand—“is going? I’ll sacrifice a little comfort now to avoid the situation that may or may not happen later.”

“Situation?”

He exhales and drops his head into his hands, plowing his fingers through his hair. I want to comfort him, kneel down at his feet, wrap my arms around his body, and take it all away. If only the sheer power of my love and need for him could erase a multitude of ugly, I swear, if he’d let me, I think it could.

But this isn’t the time for hugs and confessions of love. This is my chance to shut up and listen. I lean toward him and cover my mouth to make sure I don’t interrupt him again.

I study the colors on his arms, a million different tiny pictures I’m sure I could study every day for a year and find something new each time. Unique. Beautiful. Just like him.

“I’ve been seeing a therapist since I was a kid.” He keeps his face toward the pool deck.

I’m comforted to know he has someone to talk to, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little jealous. I wish I could’ve been there for him, his shoulder to cry on, his sounding board. His everything.

“Remember that night we spoke about the nightmares?” He peeks up at me from beneath a few longer pieces of his hair that have fallen over his forehead. “Mac, I can’t—shit, this is impossible.” He leans back in his seat, throwing a forearm over his eyes.

I roll my lips between my teeth. He’s in pain, hurting, and it’s killing me to watch. I just want this over with so we can get back to us. The present day us.

With a deep groan, he’s back, eyes on mine. They’re conflicted, and damn it’s hard to hold his stare. “I don’t remember much from my past.”

He’s going there.

“When I was ten I was taken out of a foster home.” He talks fast, as if he can’t wait to be free of the words. “My time there was a . . . before and when I was there is all kind of a blur.”

I force an emotionless mask as my heart thunders against my ribs.

“I get flashes—recurring dreams.” He shrugs and uses his fingers to spin his lip ring. “They’re pretty violent. Evil. All except one.”

My nose and eyes burn with emotion as it threatens to unleash. I need to give him this, allow him this moment. His strength is astounding and I can’t help but envy him.

“My shrink says that some trauma from my past is locked up in my head somewhere, torturing me.”

As if what he had to endure as a child wasn’t enough, he’s still suffering. I guess I expected that, but the hopeful side thought maybe it’s possible to move on from the ugly. The successful career, popular band, all his friends, he looks like he’s doing great. But what’s going on inside his head is the proof behind his past.

A past he can’t remember.

A past he doesn’t know exists.

A past that I can give back to him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I cough to clear the sob that’s pushing to the surface.

“No.” He leans forward, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “That’s just it. I made more progress yesterday than I have in years”—he smiles, small but unmistakable—“because of you.”

Game. Over.

I cover my face with my hands, no longer able to hold back the rush of emotion. I thought I knew pain, internal anguish, heartache that stung so badly you pray for death. I was wrong.

This is worse.

“Whoa, Mac.” He pulls me from my chair and into his lap.

I curl up there, while sobs rip from my chest. He holds me tighter, rubbing my back and saying soothing things that I can’t even hear over the sound of my breakdown.

As if I could feel any worse? Guilt for not saving him when I had the chance and now the shame that I’m still not strong enough to tell him everything, consume me. He’s exposed his weaknesses, let me in and never looked back, but me . . . I can’t bear to tell him the truth.

It was stupid to think my coming to Vegas would be good for anyone. He says my presence in his life has helped, but he’s not talking about me, Gia. He’s talking about Mac.

And Mac is an illusion.

She doesn’t exist.

What the fuck am I doing? I want to scream, break, and destroy. Sanity wanders off as my thoughts turn desperate. I dig fists into my eyes, pushing back my frantic desire. Think. I’ve come this far. I can’t give up yet, not when I’m so close.

Mac isn’t real—her social security number, ID, eye color. But that’s who he wants—the fake—not me.

Unless . . .

I could become Mac permanently, change my name legally, and keep dying my hair. The contacts will be harder to keep up with, but not impossible. It would be worth it to be with Rex, to keep him in the dark about his past, our history.

My crying quiets as a new plan forms.

“Why are you crying?” He’s still rubbing circles on my back. “What did I say?”

I wipe the moisture from my cheeks “I hate that for you. All of it.”

“Yeah, baby, me too.” He gives me a squeeze. “But things are lookin’ up. I’m here with you, got you in my arms, biggest fight of my career tomorrow night, and you in my corner. That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Mac. I’m thinkin’ with you by my side, there’s not much I can’t do.”

I pull back enough to see his face, and it doesn’t look like he’s joking. “I think you’re amazing.” And so much more.

His hand moves to cup my cheek. He runs his thumb along my lower lip. “I want to kiss you, but there’s one more thing you need to know before we go there.”

I take a deep breath and nod.

“In the past, after I, uh . . . sex, or actually after sex, I sometimes get sick.”

What? What!

“It’s embarrassing, and it’s not something I’ve ever shared with anyone else, but I think if we plan on hanging out in the future I want you to know if that ever happens it has zero to do with you.”

“You get sick? As in . . .”

He shrugs and drops his gaze. “I get nauseated, puke, gag . . .”

That first night I kissed him on the bed, when he jumped up, he was holding his stomach. The memory of his random muscle cramp at Jonah’s floods my mind. He was gripping his shirt at his stomach then too.

And last night, when we were both catching our breath, he buried his face in my hair, but wouldn’t speak. Was he fighting to hold it down?

Hooking my fingers under his chin, I force him to look me in the eye. “I don’t care. We can take this wherever you want it to go whenever you want to go there. The only thing I want from you is a chance.”

He stares at me for a few long seconds, eyebrows pinched, and then turns his face to kiss my palm. “You’ve got it.”

I’ve got it. A chance. A future. Hope for something more than the dismal life I’ve led up to this point.

The past can be forgotten. Like Rex, I can evolve into a new me who doesn’t know about the horrific history of the man she loves.

I close my eyes and nuzzle my nose into his neck. With renewed strength, and my eyes focused forward instead of back, I say good bye to Gia, the little girl who’s seen more evil than most people see in a lifetime.

Sucking in a deep breath, I allow the scent of Rex’s skin to wash away the old me and bury her for good with peace in her heart. Her job is done.

I open my eyes to a new life, the one I’m choosing.

My life with Rex.

My life as Mac.

Sixteen

Battles rage in the war for my soul

What if I stop fighting?

If I finally let go?

--Ataxia

Rex

Nothing in my life, at least the parts I can remember, has ever felt as good as holding Mac. She took every piece of shit I slung at her and didn’t seem affected at all. I started to wonder if she’d even heard me, but when she broke down, I knew she did.

She cried.

For me.

Not because she was disgusted by a man who’d vomit after sex. Not because she couldn’t figure out a way to kick me out fast enough. She curled up in my lap, sobbing as if it was the best and only place she’d ever want to be.

I’ve never been needed like that. Never been someone’s comfort.

I like it. Shit, I like being that for her.

Blake’s flip out at the gym today, Jonah’s willingness to walk away from everything he’s worked for . . .

Fuck me, but I totally get it now.

The urgent need to protect her, keep her safe from any and every thing is there, but there’s something else too: an egotistical drive to possess and claim her, willing to fuck-up anyone who tries to take her away.

Her balled-up body shivers against mine.

“You cold?”

“No.” She sniffs, and traces the pattern of tattoos on my forearm. “I don’t think I’ve cried that hard since I was ten-years-old.”

“What was that like?”

“About the same.”

“No, I meant what was being ten like?”

She tilts her head back and glares. “That’s not funny.”

She’s right. It’s a shitty joke, but I’m trying to lighten the mood.

I kiss her head, smiling. “Yeah it was.”

“Wasn’t.” She shakes her head and curls deeper into me. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, but should we move to the couch or something?”

“Eww.” She cringes. “Not the couch.”

“Why? What’s wrong with the couch?”

Finally her body shakes with laughter; the sound relieves the tension in my muscles. “You don’t want to know.”

“So it’s straight to your room.” A ghost of nausea rolls through my gut, the familiar feeling of wanting something that makes me sick.

A long sigh falls from her lips and her body relaxes. “Yeah.”

I should be home trying to get some shut-eye, but I know I’ll only lie there and think about her. Holding her in my arms will probably buy me more sleep than I’ve had in weeks.

“Have you eaten?” I say against the top of her head.

“Soup.”

“You ready for bed?”

She tilts her head back to look at me, her eyebrows pinched together. “Are you spending the night? I mean, can you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it before, but like all my other firsts, I’d like to try it with you.” I’m trying like hell to be honest, but fuck I feel like a pussy. She deserves the truth, no matter how uncomfortable it is to give it to her.

“I’d like that too.” She moves off my lap, and it’s nearly impossible to let her go. I grab her hand, and she leads me into her house and through the living room.

“Let me grab some shit from my truck.” I curl down and place a soft kiss against her lips, stepping away before things get out of control like they did when I showed up. “I’ll be right back.”

Releasing her hand, I’m stuck staring at the gentle sway of her hips as she walks into the kitchen. In baggy sweats and a tank top, she’s more attractive than any woman I’ve ever seen.

My body responds, and I’m thankful for the extra give that my track pants provide. I head out to the truck and take deep breaths of the cool night air. But as hard as I try to calm my nerves, I can’t clear my head of her. Warmth flares at my forearm where she touched me, and my chest is still wet from her tears.

Tonight I’ll be in a bed with her, kissing and touching, and shockingly nothing about that makes me sick.

If anything, I may be on the road to a cure.

After getting my gym bag from the truck, I head back toward Mac’s house and find her waiting for me at the door. Her arms are crossed over her chest, accentuating her full breasts and giving me a perfect view of milky white cleavage above the V-neck of her top. Her shoulders are hunched. Not good. I stop in front of her and watch as she tugs her lower lip. Yeah, she definitely seems uncomfortable.

“Too fast?” I’m pushing her too hard. From years of getting nowhere in my therapy to days of going somewhere, I don’t want to put on the brakes. But I won’t force anything she’s not okay with. It’ll suck if she wants me to leave, but I’ll respect it.

Her eyes go wide and find mine. “No. Not too fast.” She blinks and narrows her eyes. “If anything . . . too slow.”

Okay, read that wrong.

Pulling her into my arms, I hug her tight, easing up a bit to avoid crushing her with the strength of all I’m feeling. How does she do it? She always manages to say the right thing when I’m starting to doubt myself. Doubt us.

I have no idea how relationships work outside of the ones I’ve made in the octagon, and we beat the shit out of each other on a regular basis.

Her arms go around my waist, and I feel her relax into the embrace. She exhales heavily and squeezes me tighter. “Feels as if I’ve waited forever for you.”

There she goes again. Shit, this woman is perfect.

“Think how I feel. You’ve been right under my nose, and I’m only getting around to knowing you.” I run my hand up her back to the warm spot at her nape and hold her to me. “All that time wasted.”

“I say we stop talking about what we missed.” She puts her chin on my chest to look up at me. Her eyes—damn, those eyes—light caramel like nothing I’ve ever seen. “Move on to what we have.”

I drop a light kiss on her forehead, and when I pull back, her eyes are closed as if she’s savoring the touch.

My touch.

Her sweet island scent swirls up from her head in the light breeze. I breathe it in, sucking it up like a greedy kid who doesn’t like to share. The pounding of my heart reacts to her body being pressed to mine.

“Got a big day tomorrow, baby.” I grip a handful of her ass and pull her up to touch my lips to hers. She startles. I drag my lip ring along the seam of her mouth, and she turns to dead weight with a moan. “Yeah. Bed time.”

Her forehead pressed against mine, she nods. I grab her hand and lead her into the house. I stop at the mouth of the hallway, and she takes over, leading me down the darkened passage. We pass a couple closed doors—my guess is one belongs to Trix and the other a bathroom—until we stop at the last door.

I’m already feeling confined. The oppressive narrow hallway and lack of windows does nothing for my fear of closed-off spaces. I breathe and pray like hell when Mac opens the door it won’t be to some airless tiny-ass room. I wipe a light sheen of sweat from my forehead, and she opens the door a couple inches before slamming it shut.

What the hell?

“Oh shit.” She whirls around, faces me, eyes wide. “Can you just, uh . . . give me a second?”

I play with my lip ring to keep from smiling. “Dirty room?”

“Ha.” She dips her chin. “Yeah. I’d feel better about this if I had a second to tidy up.”

“Sure.” I step back and she moves fast, disappearing behind the door.

Makes sense. She probably thinks after seeing my place that I can’t handle a little mess. I want tonight to run as smoothly as possible, and if tidying her room helps make that happen, I’ll wait in this rat cage of a hallway.

I lean against the wall across from her door; only a few seconds later she’s done.

“Okay, we’re good.” She steps aside and swings the door wide.

Not at all what I expected, Mac’s room is immaculate and plain. No decorations except for a set of sea foam green table lamps and an old chair that looks as if it’s made from a quilt. There are no pictures on the walls or bookshelves, only a dresser. Her bed is big, perfectly made and covered in a multi-colored comforter with lots of bright pillows. My gaze moves around the room and there’s no clutter.

Something else we have in common.

I set my bag on the chair. “Your room isn’t what I expected.”

“Expected? You thought about what my room looked like?” She tilts her head, waiting for my answer.

I move toward her, hooking her hair between my fingers. Soft as silk. “Baby, I’ve been thinking about what a lot of things look like.” I run my hands down the length of her hair, allowing my knuckles to drag along her nipple.

A shiver wracks her body, and standing so close, I’d swear the damn thing’s contagious. “What did you expect?

“Black lights, posters of metal bands and motorcycles.” I hold her tightly by the waist, letting her know I’m in control and want her to stay where she is. “You like bright colors. Who knew?”

A soft pink kisses her cheeks. “Oh, yeah, where I lived, um, before here, it had no color. Everything was white or some variation of white.”

I slide my hand from her hip to her ass and up her back. “It suits you.”

Our eyes lock for seconds, minutes; we stare at each other as silent intentions pass between us. Heat flares in my gut and my heart pounds. She’s breathing harder and her hands fist into my shirt.

She steps back, and I allow her to put distance between us. Never breaking eye contact, with no alluring smile, not a hint of a tease, she hooks the hem of her shirt. With little effort, she pulls it over her head and drops it to the carpet at her feet.

I blink and stare at her made-in-heaven perfect breasts. My stomach clenches, but it’s manageable. Her arms lie at her sides, and she makes no move to touch me, giving me time to take in her nakedness. I swallow hard and breathe heavily through the wave of contradicting feelings that threaten to wash me away.

I’m capable of more than I think.

I was last night; tonight is no different.

My fingertips burn to run over her creamy skin, to feel the velvety flesh against my hand as I take the time to memorize every inch, touching, exploring, and learning every curve and valley.

“Come here, Rex.” She holds out her hand, and I take it, swearing that I’d follow her wherever she leads if it means just a few more minutes breathing her air.

She leads me to the bed and sirens fire between my ears. Danger. Loss of control. The urge to punish her, make her weak and helpless, desperate and begging for a relief that only I can give overwhelms me. I cringe at hideous visions of domination that flash before my eyes and the resulting arousal they bring. Shame curls around my ribs, squeezing, suffocating.

I tug back from her hold, but not hard enough to break free.

She jerks her head toward me, worry playing across her gorgeous face. “Trust me.”

My eyes find hers, and I see nothing but tenderness there, but it’s me I don’t trust. I’ve laid it all out, bared my secrets, and exposed insecurities. And yet she’s looking at me as if I’m valuable. Valued.

It doesn’t make sense.

How could anyone care about, much less want to be with, a guy like me? Unwilling to dwell on the whys, especially with my girlfriend—girlfriend?—a slow trickle of warmth expands behind my ribs, making me stand taller just to accommodate it.

Girlfriend.

Yeah.

I bring my eyes to hers and cup her jaw. “I trust you.”

With a slow nod, she presses her cheek into my hold. Her eyes slide closed. I stare in awe of her beauty, the dark silken strands of her hair that play against her skin, framing the face of an angel.

She trails her fingers from my hand that’s at her cheek to my wrist and continues to my forearm in a slow drag. My heart speeds, and the whisper of panic pricks at the back of my neck. Before I can pull away from her touch, she drops her hand and opens her eyes, almost as if she sensed the threatening anxiety. As much as I need her to submit to my control, I miss her hand.

I force myself to hold her eyes even. She flashes a quick, reassuring smile, then steps back, putting distance between us. I bolt my feet to the floor to keep from chasing her down.

She turns, puts a knee on the bed, and crawls toward the middle. Once there, she drops to her back and takes a shaky breath. She doesn’t speak, but lies quietly, peaceful and beyond any beauty I’ve ever seen. I’m mesmerized by the rise and fall of her breasts as she breathes, lulling me into hypnosis. I drag my gaze along the downy skin of her feminine belly. The gentle thump of her pulse calls for me to savor, touch, and feast on the delicate skin.

Watching her there, eyes closed, breath steady, completely submitting to me, I have to put my hands on her for no other reason than to convince myself she’s real.

I sit at the edge of the bed, my gaze tethered to her. My weight shifts the mattress enough to alert her to my presence, but she doesn’t move. Fucking beautiful. I never knew how badly I needed this, needed her, until right now.

I flex my fists, wanting so badly to ravage her, force myself on her, tie her up, and make her scream. My urge to protect her wars against the images, pushing them back and locking them away.

She deserves a better man, one who can stare at her lying topless without fighting off a million different visions of debasement. What would I do to be that man? Tackle my issues, work on freeing myself of them? I can do that. I think.

With a deep breath, I refocus on her. A gothic halo of black hair is splayed around her face, and cherry-red lips part with the strength of her breathing. A pale pink flush colors her neck. Her legs shift, rubbing together like she’s putting out a fire between them.

Fuck, I haven’t even touched her, and she’s turned on. Submitting to me, lying in offering like this, she likes it.

Infused with a new kind of power, I brave a touch and reach out to trace the circle of her belly button. A whispered gasp of pleasure falls from her lips. I run my fingertip around and around in teasing circles; her skin so soft it feels as if I’m caressing air.

Her hips lift from the bed, searching for more contact.

I pull back my hand. “No.”

A defeated sigh pours from her lips, and she relaxes back to the bed.

“That’s good.” I return my fingers to her skin, this time at the underside of her breasts to reward her obedience. “You like me touching you.”

“Yes.” Her one word shakes with impatience and tension, cranking up my arousal.

Taking a deep breath and trying to stay in the moment, I move my finger, eating up her sweet flesh inch by inch until I’m between her breasts. Entranced, I trace around them in circles, one before the other. She responds to even the most innocent touch, and her chest rises and falls faster. I bite back a smug grin. The power is intoxicating.

Freeing.

Addicting.

Moving from the side of her breast, I drag my finger to her nipple and circle there, just as I did with her belly button. Her back arches off the bed, and she groans with such need and so wantonly that my dick presses painfully against my zipper.

A few more passes and she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and groans. I inch closer, leaning over her so that my mouth is just a breath away from hers.

“Give it to me.” I drag my piercing along the seam of her mouth and a tiny gasp releases her lip. So fucking hot. “It’s mine.” I nip at her lip that’s now a deeper shade of red from her biting it. “Let me explore you.”

Her body convulses in a shiver that throws off more sexual energy than anything I’ve ever experienced. “Please.”

I drop my lips to hers and groan into her welcoming mouth. Fuck, I love when she begs. The voice in my head says I’m sick for enjoying her weakness, but I ignore it. With the heavy weight of her breast in my hand, I slide my tongue into her mouth. The honeyed taste of her pushes me deeper, searching for more. I suck her tongue, nip at her lips, and take everything I can. Her head tilts to accommodate my pillage, and I take everything she offers with gluttonous satisfaction.

The thunderous crack of my heart behind my ribs rockets adrenaline through my veins. Everything about this is new, and my mind races to keep up. I pull my torso over hers at an angle, resting my weight on my elbow while my free hand memorizes the feel of her curves. I push my hand lower, from the dip of her belly to the flare of her hips.

A whimper rolls from her throat. I pull back and notice she’s white-knuckling the comforter.

“Open your eyes.”

She does and I have to hold back my reaction at seeing the war waging behind them. What’s she thinking?

“Talk to me.”

“I want to touch you.”

I check her hands again, still gripped tight to the bed cover. “Yeah? Does it hurt?”

“Yes.” Her voice cracks.

I’m rock hard with power. Knowing that I’m torturing her in some way feels so good it makes me light-headed. Her wanting to touch me so badly that it’s causing her discomfort is turning me on and making me forget. But her hurting with a need so deep that she’d deny herself the relief in order to please me? She’s giving me ultimate supremacy, and fuck if that doesn’t make me want to give her everything.

My head spins with the weight of it all. I beat back the confusion and give myself permission to feel, to live in the moment and suck all the good I can from it before I lose it.

Pushing myself up, I throw a leg over her tiny body, straddling her at the hips. Her eyes flare. Towering over her, she looks so small, helpless, and absolutely stunning.

I reach back and tug my shirt over my head, tossing it to the ground beside the bed. Her arms jerk, but she doesn’t release her hands.

“Good girl.” I take a moment, noticing that the pale skin of her chest is now pink; her breasts jump with every hiccupped breath. But even through all this, she obeys and stays still. “Thank you for giving me this.”

She nods with a few quick bounces of her head, but her eyes don’t meet mine. They’re on my chest, moving between my piercings before dropping down to my abs. I watch her eyes as they devour my body, and a frantic desire blazes beneath my skin.

I need to feel her on me. All over me.

“Give me your hand.” I hold my hand just inches from her fist, giving her the choice to obey.

She places it in mine, and the moisture on her palm is the evidence of her suffering. I smile and bring it to my lips, placing a kiss against her clammy skin. Unable to deny myself her taste for a second longer, I drag my tongue from the heel of her palm to her middle finger and up the pads before slipping the tip into my mouth. My eyes fight to stay open against the salty taste that floods my senses. She groans and circles her hips, grinding into my ass. Fuck, but her writhing body below me, held down by my weight, is so damn hot.

Kissing the pad of her finger, I pull her hand down, controlling the slow pace of her touch against my neck, my clavicle, and finally my chest over the crashing throb of my heart. I release her hand to give her back control.

She studies my expression, asking for permission. I nod, suck in a deep breath, and hold it. Waiting.

Finally, after what seems like forever, she moves. Her touch glides along my pecs, alternating between tracing the pattern of my tattoos and marking her own path. Some passes are gentle and others she allows her nails to drag, raising goose bumps on my arms. Her fingers close around the barbell of my nipple and tug. I groan and drop my head. She tugs again.

Harder. Make it hurt.

The words are on the tip of my tongue, but in an effort to keep things a few steps shy of perverted, I lock them down. We’ve come so far, and telling her that I want her to hurt me will destroy the progress we’ve made.

Once she’s thoroughly explored my chest, she lays her hand back down on the bed as if she’s waiting for the next command.

Hope flares in my chest. She’s making this so easy. For the first time I feel . . . normal. I could get used to this.

I push up on my knees and shimmy down her body. “Don’t forget to speak up.” She nods, understanding from last time that if I’m going beyond her comfort zone she needs to let me know.

I hook the elastic waistband of her pants and pull them down. She lifts her ass and holds up one leg at a time until she’s lying in nothing but a pair of lace panties.

“Black. My favorite color.” I run my knuckles up the inside of her thigh and allow my fingers to rest between her legs. “As pretty as these are, baby.”—I pass my knuckles up, down, and up again—“I’m thinking what’s underneath is much prettier.”

She bites her lip and presses against my hand.

“Good girl.” I tug her panties down her thighs and get my first full visual of her completely naked. The air rushes out of my lungs, and I blink against the assaulting wave of arousal that hits me hard. “Fuckin’ look at you.”

Her bare pale skin beckons my touch. I run my hands from her ankles to her thighs, reading her resulting goose bumps like Braille. I record to memory the places I touch that make her tense and the others that make her melt into the bed.

My mouth waters, a familiar feeling when I hook up with a chick, but this time it’s not the nausea-accompanied saliva that rushes to my mouth. This is hunger, pure, simple, animalistic starvation.

I pull her leg up and rest it against my shoulder, exposing her completely. She moans drops her head to the side. A low rolling growl rumbles in my chest, and I lick my lips. Everything about her from the tips of her hair to her toes is so damn gorgeous. “I was right. Beautiful.”

Her breath catches in her throat. “Thank you,” she says in a reverent and sincere whisper.

I kiss the inside of her calf once, twice, and then move to her inner thigh. She squirms and arches her back off the bed.

“Easy, baby.” My fingers dig in to the flesh of her hip holding her down.

She groans, seeming frustrated, but nods, again, suffering for my pleasure. It makes me wonder what else she’d do for me, what lengths she’d go to if she knew it’d make me happy.

My mind whirls with visions, our bodies slamming together, violent crashes of skin on skin. I pinch my eyes closed, pushing back the thoughts and pulling in the peace. I won’t do that to her. I’m in control. I’m in total control.

I open my eyes to find her staring up at me, waiting.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” I continue to caress her skin and move further down until my shoulders lie between her thighs. “More than good.”

Hooking her other leg over my shoulder, I dip down and run my mouth back and forth against her. Her heels dig into my back and she lifts herself to me in offering.

I push her hips back down onto the bed. “Still.”

She relaxes and her legs fall open. I dip forward, take the first taste and groan in satisfaction.

Her legs clamp tight around my shoulders. “Oh my . . .”

“Shhhh . . .” My breath against her smooth, wet flesh makes her shiver. I smile and use the flat part of my tongue to put pressure where she needs it most.

I devour her, making sure to feel her against my lips, raking my piercing against her sensitive skin, and enjoying the soft sounds that fall from her lips. More, deeper, I lift her hips to angle her body just right.

A surge of desire rockets through my veins. My eyes drop closed, and I imagine the warm silk on my tongue wrapped around my dick as I plunge into her body. I use my lip ring again, over and over against her until she’s writhing.

She moans and her stomach muscles contract. I’m in control, and yet it’s me who’s being tortured. So close, but not nearly close enough.

Her body reacts to every flick of my tongue and her chest jumps with rushed breath, every response driving away my demons. One more kiss to her aroused flesh and I pull back. She whimpers her protest. I pull a condom from my back pocket and pop the button on my pants.

She moans and throws her forearm over her eyes.

“Mac, baby, look at me.”

She drops her arm and meets my stare.

“I want you to watch.” It’s sick, controlling, and pushy, but I need to feel her eyes on me and stay locked in the hunger. I drown in her anticipation, the longing, desire; it keeps me focused on us and not on the shit that I’m fighting to keep in the dark.

I unzip my pants and push them down low enough to expose what she does to me. Keeping my eyes on her, I rip open the condom wrapper with my teeth and slowly sheath myself. Inch by inch I watch in fascination at Mac’s eyes on me. Want turns to need, and need turns to desperation.

With my dick in my hand, I stroke and she licks her lips. “Turn over.”

Her eyes dart from my hips to my face and her eyebrows pinch together. “But I want to see you.”

I’ve never done it face to face. I’m sure I could, eventually, but things are going so well I’m nervous to try something new. “Mac . . .”

“Please. I . . . it’s important to me.” She slides back and pushes up to her knees so that her position matches mine only a foot away. “I’ll keep my hands to myself or not talk, whatever you want, just . . . give me this?”

I’d give you anything.

“I’ll try.” My voice lacks the confidence it had earlier and she has to hear it. I run my hand down the side of her face, forking my fingers into her hair. “Come here.”

She sits up, pushes to her knees, and walks them closer until my dick presses against the softness of her belly. The heat, although muted through the condom, gives me a taste of what’s to come. I groan and flex my hips, eager to be inside her sweet body.

Tugging her to me, I tilt my head and cover her lips with mine. The combination of her taste still on my tongue and the wet of her mouth makes my stomach flip with the urge to fuck her raw, to pound into her until she cries out and begs me to stop.

No. Fuck!

I break the kiss and run my hand down to her breast to cup it before lowering my lips to it. She drops her head back and sighs, the sound so sweet I’m voracious for more. I’d steal for it, fight for it, and kill for it. I suck her nipple deep into my mouth and she gasps loudly. I squeeze my eyes closed.

I don’t want to hurt her. I don’t.

I won’t.

Back and forth between her breasts, I use my tongue, teeth, lip ring, and everything my mouth has to offer, against the tight pink tips. She leans back, her hands flying to my shoulders to stay upright. Her fingers bite into my flesh, holding on.

Holding me still.

Holding . . .

The back of my throat aches and my stomach lurches. I flinch, but mange to keep myself from shoving her away.

The evil pushes at the threshold of my mind, wanting to take this from me, destroy the good, and steal any chance I have at happiness.

I’m capable of more than I think.

I have to be, because the alternative isn’t good enough anymore.

Dragging my mouth from her breast, I hook the back of her neck and pull her up to support her own weight. Her eyes are hooded and her lips parted, midnight hair falls over her shoulders, veiling her milky white skin.

“Are you okay?” The concern in her whispered words brings the warmth of familiarity.

It makes no sense but feels so right. I smile and nod. “Nothing’s going to be the same after this.”

“God, Rex . . .” Her hand glides from my shoulder to my jaw and the fog of arousal clears from her eyes. She runs her thumb along my cheek with a look I’ve never gotten from another human being. “I hope you’re right.”

What is that look? I’ve seen it, the one Jonah gives Raven when she’s not looking and has her hand resting on the bump of their unborn baby. I’ve seen it on Layla when Blake’s dealing with Axelle, giving her advice or just shooting the shit. It’s not love; it’s more concrete. Tangible. Protected. Nothing in the world can touch it.

And having that communicated through the woman before me, naked, needy, willing to do whatever I want, I’m not only capable, I’m ready.

I slide my hand around her neck. The possessive hold makes her pulse race against my palm and my dick throb between my legs. Her hand drops from my face and she takes a deep breath.

I pull her to me and place a soft kiss on her lips. “Walk your knees apart.” I keep her collared but run my thumb along her neck in a soothing stroke. “I wish you could see how amazing you look.” I run my free hand down her arm to her hip and trace my fingertips inward to the spot I can still taste on my lips. “I like that there’s nothing here to hide you from my eyes.”

A heavy moan rumbles in her chest and she thrusts her hips.

I chuckle at her eagerness and have no intention of making her wait. “Yeah. I want it too.” Sliding two fingers between her legs I bite my lip at the feel of her readiness. “Fuck, you’re so wet.” I thrust my fingers inside and stop at the gripping pressure.

I slide my thumb up the side of her throat and back down, urging her to relax. When I sense that she’s okay I move my fingers in and out at a leisurely pace, giving her a chance to get used to the intrusion.

Her hips pull back and thrust in opposition to mine. She’s ready for more, and I’m in no position to deny her.

She whines when I pull my hand from the warmth of her body. I grip between my legs and swallow the sour taste pushing up my throat before pulling her in for a kiss. She sucks my bottom lip and bites my lip ring before releasing it. I’m wound up and so damn excited to have gotten this far. The rest is easy.

“Hold on tight, baby,” I say against her lips and then release my hold on her neck and grip her ass. Pressing my knees together, I slide them between hers so that she’s straddled over my thighs.

She barely gets her hands on my shoulders when I slam inside, burying myself in her heat. Her sharp cry echoes off the walls.

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” I didn’t mean to hurt her. I wanted to go slow, but once I felt her taking me I lost it. “Talk to me.”

“I’m okay.” She nods. “Really, I’m fine.”

I give her a second she clearly doesn’t need as her eyes lock on mine and she starts to move. My hands grip her hips, holding her still. She groans in frustration.

“Shh, baby.” I lean in and take her nipple into my mouth. She relaxes and drops her weight onto me. I thrust up; her fingers dive into my hair, holding me to her breast.

One hand on the bed behind me to brace my weight, I use the other to fist a handful of her ass and squeeze hard. I growl against her bare breast, and she arches her hips into mine.

“Yes.” She pulls my hair.

The sting is so sweet, so disgustingly familiar. I fight the shame of enjoying the pain and thrust into her faster. Harder. Every powerful lift of my hips is an attempt to destroy the ugly that won’t back off.

My vision clouds; darkness falls over my eyes. Flashes, visions. Hands touching, violating. The hollow shame of helplessness.

“Fuck!” My hips piston, hands ripping against her flesh. Holding on, pushing away, gripping, hurting.

Dammit!

The ghost of whispered words. Dirty. Bad. Ugly.

“Leave me alone.” I cringe against the weakness I hear in my voice.

Her muscles tense. “Rex?”

No. They don’t get this moment. This is mine.

With a guttural roar, I shove up and throw her back to the bed. I slam into her, smothering her tiny body with mine. “I’m sorry.”

Her legs lock around the back of my knees. “Don’t be. I’m with you. Take it out on me.”

I bury my face into her neck and she holds me there. Her arms wrap around my shoulders, holding me to her while I war with the hideous visions that won’t let up.

My lungs contract. No air. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’d take the pain for you.” Her fingers sift into my hair. “Take what you need from me. I want you to.”

I push up and find fire and determination in her eyes.

“I’m serious, Rex.” She holds my face to hers, gazes locked. “Take it.”

Resolution ignites a need so deep I push up on my hands and stare down at her. She takes a long breath, drops her hands to the bed, and nods.

I roll my lip between my teeth and grind into her. She moans, taunting my inner demons.

My hips drive forward. Once. Twice. Harder. Faster.

She arches her back, shifting her position. The friction sends her head back, digging into the pillow. Her legs fall open wider, allowing me more freedom to move.

I’m overcome. The combination of her willing body submitting to me and the feel of her gripping heat drives me on.

Perfect, amazing.

Her hooded eyes fix on mine. “Rex, I’m . . .”

I drop my forehead and throw my weight behind my hips. My shoulders burn and muscles ache with the intensity of it.

She locks her legs around my hips and cries out my name. Her fingernails dig into my biceps, and she convulses beneath me, around me, so much so I feel it in my damn blood.

Need takes over and I barrel into her. My guts get tight. Nausea rolls through my stomach. I swallow it back and fight the urge to stay in the moment.

Her body falls limp beneath mine. My orgasm threatens and I’m helpless to stop it. My eyes pinch shut and I bite my lip. White flashes behind my eyes. My release explodes from my body. Fuck!

I’m dizzy; a wave of euphoria robs my muscles of the strength to hold up my weight. I drop to her body, heaving against her bare breast. I wait for the surge of vomit, for the urgent rush to purge my body of the ugly. Seconds pass, and nothing.

She holds me tight; her fingers dance a path up and down my spine. “Rex, I . . . Are you good?”

Am I good? I blow out a long breath and do a quick mental check. All systems are go. No vomit on the horizon. “I think I am. You?”

I look up and a slow sated smile curls her lips. “I definitely am.”

“You’re amazing.” I brush her sexy-as-hell sexed-up hair from her face.

She grins wide and covers her face. A giggle bubbles up from behind her hand.

I smile at her lighthearted laugh, still amazed that I’m not getting sick. “’Lotta bad things have happened to me after sex, baby, but being laughed at ain’t one of them.” I bury my face into her neck and absorb the vibration against my lips.

“I’m sorry; it’s not funny. I just”—she sucks in a breath—“I don’t remember the last time I was this happy.”

“Mmm.” I run my lips up and down the side of her neck, taking in her scent.

Still connected, she wraps her legs around my waist and locks her ankles. The move restricts me, clamping me to her, holding me in place. A ghost of panic slides up my spine but fails to take shape. I’m safe. She won’t hurt me. My shoulders relax with the freedom of accomplishment. Battle after battle won in the war for my future. All when I’m with her.

All because of her.

“Rex?” No more laughter in her voice, the breathy way she says my name fires my blood. She rolls her hips, grinding against me.

My body jolts to life, standing at attention and ready to fight another battle. Confident, stronger and more capable than ever before.

I nip her earlobe. “You’re not finished with me.”

“Never.”

Seventeen

New beginnings

Past is gone.

Future possibilities

We can’t go wrong.

--Ataxia

Rex

It’s dark in Mac’s room. Our naked bodies are tangled together on top of her comforter. The room is quiet except for the sound of soft breathing at my ear.

Did she fall asleep? I don’t know how long we’ve been like this. My head’s been all over the place with what happened tonight. I took the time to learn her body so intimately that when we finally got to having sex it wasn’t the violent crash of meaningless fucking that I’m used to. It was something else completely.

It was Earth-shifting shit, the kind that leaves me a different man than I was when I walked in this room.

I never thought I’d have the things I have with her. And even though the visions and the shame ride me hard when we’re like this, her presence dulls their effect. Most of my life sex made me sick, so I avoided it or shared it with someone who didn’t mean anything. But being with someone who means something makes it better.

Thinking about it now, it seems so logical. I mean look at Blake and Jonah. Those guys went from a lifetime of playboy-hood to freakin’ marriage proposals, all because they hooked up with a good woman.

If the girls were their cure, is it possible Mac could be mine?

Could I be with her on a regular basis? Dinner dates, movie nights?

A slow smile pulls at my lips. Hell yeah, I could.

“Mac, baby?” I kiss her head, and she peeks up at me in the dark. “You sleeping?”

“Nah, just thinking.” She kisses my chest.

“About kicking my ass out of your bed?” I don’t think I could leave her now if she asked me to.

“No, the opposite, actually.”

Just when my chest can’t get any warmer, feel any fuller, it does. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I tell you what. Let me hit the head real quick. We’ll crawl under this kick-ass comforter and you can tell me all about the opposite while I hold your naked ass in my hand.” Yep, no onset of the pukes. Amazing.

A deep laugh rumbles in her chest and dammit to hell that shit is sexy. “Sounds perfect.”

She moves to free herself from my hold, but my arms convulse around her. “Wait up.”

Her body falls back into place with mine. She’s quiet.

“About tonight, I know that wasn’t the sweetest experience for you. I uh . . .” I exhale and try to say what I need to say while sparing my dignity. “It’ll get better. With time, I think I’ll get better.” The sex was amazing; it’s the me-getting-better part I hope she gets.

She shakes her head. “Not possible. Can’t get more perfect than perfect.”

Perfect? My hand around her throat, my teeth biting into her skin, holding her so tight it left marks. She thought that was perfect? Heat rushes to my face and I turn my head to avoid her assessing eyes.

“You may think I’m crazy, but I really like the way you are in bed. I like the way we are together.” She runs a finger from my temple to my jaw. “I wasn’t tolerating you, Rex. I was enjoying you.”

How is that possible? I don’t allow myself to go down that road and instead choose to concentrate on the meaning behind her words.

I’m wounded, not old wounds that have healed and left scars, but gaping gashes of blood and tissue. And she doesn’t care. Not only does she not care but she gets me.

Her yawn drags me from my thoughts. “Shit, we need to hit the sack.” I roll over her and bury my face in her neck. “For the record, I enjoyed you too. A lot.”

She runs her hand over my bare hip and up my back. “I noticed.”

I grin and drop a trail of kisses from her neck to her clavicle. “It’s impossible to walk away from you.”

“The bathroom’s only a few yards away. The faster you get gone, the quicker you’ll be back.” She hugs me tight, negating her words.

My mouth forges a path to her lips. “Less than five minutes.” I push up from the bed with the intention of taking the quickest piss known to man and then pulling Mac back into my arms.

She huffs and I feel her body shift behind me. With a soft click, the room is bathed in light before she drops back to the bed with a grunt.

I throw my legs over the bed and allow a second to get my bearings. Dropping my head into my hands, I rub my eyes. Fuck, this has been a long few weeks, training for the fight, dealing with my shit. I’m dead tired. After tomorrow night, I’m sleeping for a week.

My toes flex into the carpet. Damn, even my toes are sore.

Bracing my weight to stand, I catch something sticking out from under the bed. I blink then squint at the brown fur and tiny blue shirt. Partially hidden it’s hard to tell what—Is that a teddy bear? My arms go numb. I break out in a sweat. What the fuck?

I lean forward and pick it up. It’s a stuffed animal that’s seen better days; its fur is clumped together with dirt and age. The tiny blue shirt has been stitched in places, and the words Las Vegas in red are faded and cracked. My chest is too small to accommodate my hammering heart.

My hand shakes. I know this bear. I grip the toy so tight my knuckles burn. Visions. From dreams. This bear.

Oh no . . . Heat flashes through my body. I drop my forehead into my hand. Breathe, in . . . out . . .in . . . out.

“For me?”

“Yeah, he’s really soft . . .”

My breath hitches. The little girl. I close my eyes, reaching. Orange hair, gray eyes. Yes. There she is. I see her. We’re talking and . . . trying to hold hands. It’s tight. My body aches. Heart racing.

“I thought it might help you sleep.”

“Thanks, Gia.”

That’s her name. Gia, the little girl from my dreams, she gave me a bear like this. Or this bear. But how’s that possible? Nausea swells into my throat. I swallow the flooding saliva. What the fuck is happening? I can’t let Mac see me like this.

I push up off the bed and find my pants. I gotta get out of here. Dizziness knocks me off balance. The bear drops to the ground. I brace my weight on the bed.

“Rex?” Mac’s voice, mellow with sleep, the complete opposite of what’s going the fuck on in my head. “Are you leaving?”

I have my track pants on and I’m halfway to her bedroom door when a sharp peal blares in my head. “Fuck!” I cover my ears, but the sound doesn’t stop.

Static plays behind my eyes. I drop to my knees. My heart explodes in my chest, kicking hard enough to break my ribs. I’m dying.

Bright light spears the dark. A man dressed nice, walking down the stairs into a basement. Toward me. I’m scared. My palms sweat. I want him to like me. He tells me I’m pretty. Pretty . . . That’s not right.

“Rex!” I hear her. She’s so far away.

I rock on my knees. Make it go away. Don’t stop moving. Never stop moving. Stillness is death. God, I’m gonna die down here.

“I’ll get you out of here.”

It’s her. My Gia, she wanted to help me.

I remember.

I remember her.

Eyes like storm clouds, hair like fire.

Small hands. Reaching. Comforting. The visions burst in full color. Not dreams.

Memories.

Left alone in the basement, broken. Nothing to comfort me but the sound of my sobs. I’d write. God, I remember. I’d write everything down, hoping that pouring the shit from my head would keep it from poisoning me to death. So scared. Hurting. Then I’d hear her.

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here.”

Her voice is so clear. She was just a kid.

“Rex, talk to me, fucking talk to me!” There she is.

She told me she’d help me, but help never came.

Her parents.

They called them visitors. One was on his way. I had to wash up, get ready. But I was finished waiting to be saved.

It wasn’t a suicide attempt. I didn’t want to die.

I wanted to be ugly.

The rusty metal. It called to me, made promises. I didn’t want to be pretty. Once I started marking my skin, I couldn’t stop. The blood was addicting. The pain . . . a low groan rumbles in my chest. I loved the pain. Digging in deep, it was my answer. My rescue. Hands wet with my life-blood, shirt soaked, hair caked. I covered myself. Hiding. Protecting. Not pretty. Never again.

Then the world went black.

I left the bear behind.

A sob rips from my throat, but it sounds far away in my ears.

“Sing to me.”

“What do you want me to sing?”

I bury my head in my knees and wrap my hands around my head. “Anything, your voice is enough.” Tears pour from my eyes. My body quakes with memories. All of them.

“I’ll get you out of here.”

Her voice was my refuge.

“Oh my God, Rex!” Arms wrap around me. Soul-wracking sobs in my ear. “I wanted to tell you.”

There’s her voice again, but now . . . woman.

I hold my breath.

From Nothing, Arizona.

Looking for peace.

Watching me.

It can’t be. She looks nothing like the girl I remember from under the door. Her eyes, her hair.

But the bear.

I push up from my crumpled position on the floor, and I focus through the blur of tears. Her eyes. Light brown. She’s wearing my tee, her black hair flowing over her shoulders. It’s not possible. They can’t be the same person.

“Gia?”

Her hands fly to her mouth. Eyes wide. A whimper escapes from behind her fingers.

Time stops.

Pale skin, those lips.

The storage room at The Blackout. Her dreams.

My cure.

My refuge.

My Gia.

~*~

Mac

The pain. I can’t feel anything but the pain. Ripping, excruciating. His eyes, void, empty. They stare me down from a few feet away.

“Talk to me.” I inch toward him on my knees.

He flinches, recoils, and scoots away. “No. Don’t.”

I’ve lost him. “Let me explain . . .”

“Your eyes. Hair.” He shakes his head. “You’re not her.”

Agony slices through my chest. He loved her. Not me. And even though we’re the same, he doesn’t see it that way.

I hold up my hands. “Give me a second to explain.”

He doesn’t answer, but continues to stare through me with dead eyes. His body is tense, up on his knees, arms flexed, ready to bolt.

I dip my head to remove my colored contacts. He shifts against the carpet. Please, God, let this work. Let him see me.

With a deep breath, I close my eyes. I can do this. I have to do this. It’s my only chance to get him to understand.

“I wanted to tell you.” I peek up from beneath the heavy veil of my hair.

His eyes narrow on mine. All the blood drains from his face, even his torso looks pale beneath the myriad of ink. He shakes his head. “No.”

I scoot closer; this time he doesn’t try to get away. He leans in.

Making sure to keep my eyes on his, I stop about a foot away.

A lone tear falls from his eye, racing down his cheek. “Gia.”

“Yes, it’s me.” I hiccup on the relief, the need to talk but reluctance to do so. “I’m so sorry”—my heart cramps—“for everything. I was so young.”

The tears come faster; his lip quivers.

“You have to believe me.” I swallow and stare as conflict replaces the emptiness of his eyes. “I didn’t know.”

His shoulders curl forward and he slumps in on himself. “But you know now.”

“I do.”

His eyes narrow and he tilts his head. “How?”

I reach under my bed to the box I shoved there before Rex came into my room before we made love. This isn’t supposed to happen like this. Not after what we shared. What’s going to happen to us now?

Pushing the old metal container that used to represent a connection between us, it now feels like the blade that’ll separate us forever. I move back to give him some space. “The box. Our secret.”

He blinks up at me, recognition in his eyes, but makes no move toward the box. I brace myself, terrified of what he’ll do, confronting this part of his past. He stares down at it.

“After they took you away, I thought you were dead.” The memory soaks my cheeks. Being so little, feeling responsible for his death, fourteen years later the devastation is so fresh.

His eyes dart to mine, wide and terrified. He remembers. With a tentative reach, he pulls the box to him and flips it open. Taking out each piece of scrap paper, he runs his eyes over them just long enough to see but not read.

One after the other he pulls out the yellowing pages and sets them aside. He tucks his arms under his biceps and glares at the box. “You’ve been watching me for how long?”

“Ten months, two weeks, four days.”

When he finally pulls his attention from the box to look at me, I find it hard to look back at him.

His eyes are cold, chin high, and jaw ticking. “You moved here to find peace.”

“I moved here to find you.”

“You moved here to fuck with me.”

“No. I thought you were dead. When I found out you were alive, I needed to see you for myself, to know you were okay and say I’m sorry for—”

“To know I’m okay? Do I fucking look okay to you?” He shoves his visibly shaking hands into his hair.

All my reasons for chasing after him seem so selfish now. Talking about all this, rehashing the past, none of it is bringing peace. It’s breeding destruction.

“I need to get out of here.” He jumps to his feet and grabs his keys from his bag, leaving the rest behind. Throwing open the door, he stalks down the hall.

“Please, don’t leave like this. Give me a chance to explain. I know who’s responsible for what—”

He spins on me. “Responsible! Yeah, genius, so do I.” Towering over me, he leans into my space. His nostrils flare and his face is red. “Your sick piece-of-shit family!”

I close my eyes, hoping to block out the hate in his words. It wasn’t me. I’d never hurt him. The air shifts and when I open my eyes he’s gone. No, I can’t lose him again.

My feet hit the cold tile of the foyer, and I dart out the door. He’s halfway to his truck and gaining speed.

“Don’t leave.” I race to him and make it just as he’s climbing in. “If you’d hear what I have to say.”

“I’ve heard enough, Mac or Gia, whatever the fuck your name is. Leave me alone, you hear me? Fucking psycho bitch.”

My breath slams into my throat, and I stumble back at the blow of his words. “Why . . .?”

He hops out of his truck and comes around to get in my face. I’ve seen Rex do a lot of things, but I’ve never seen him look this terrifying.

“You don’t get to waltz into my life and start ripping everything to shit just to relieve your fucking conscience. From day one you knew exactly who I was; you followed me, manipulated me.” His arm darts out and points to my house. “Fucked me! All for what? So you could write me off as a success and move on?”

“No, I missed you and the rest was just an accident.” I cringe. Dammit, fuck, why can’t I say what I mean?

His lips curl back over his teeth. “Not an accident. Exploitation. You used me and you fucking know it.” He steps toward his truck then turns and points in my face. “You come near me, I’ll call the cops and tell them everything I know. Put your whole damn family behind bars. You’re sick. All of you.”

I drop my head. “Not me. I would never hurt you. I . . .” I meet his eyes, wanting to see the blue even if what’s working behind it reminds me nothing of the boy I used to know. “I love you.”

Stumbling back, he recovers and glares. “I trusted you.”

It hits like a sucker punch to the stomach. I double over, gritting my teeth through the raw pain of the truth.

“I opened myself to you, and the entire time . . . You listened while I poured my guts out and—no. No!” He gets close and shoves a finger at me. “You, stay the fuck away from me.” He turns, hops into his truck, and screeches out of my neighborhood, taking my heart with him.

I stand in my driveway, wearing only Rex’s T-shirt.

That’s it. He’s gone.

Now he knows I’m a liar, that I exploited his memory loss and kept his past from him in order to suit my own desire to be with him.

Silent tears stream down my face. My purpose for living has been ripped from my hands. It’s over.

Eighteen

They can lock me up, but they can’t keep me in here forever.

I’ll find my way back to him.

Always.

--Georgia McIntyre, age 10

Rex

“Pick up, Darren. Pick up!” My phone pressed to my ear, I throw my truck into a spot and put it in park.

“Hey, you’ve reached Darren Gale—”

“Fuck!” I throw my phone into the passenger seat. My head throbs, heart aches, lungs burn.

I can’t breathe. I push open my door and stumble through the parking lot. The concrete twists and rolls beneath my feet. I grip my head and walk faster. My stomach lurches. If I can just make it to my place.

I push through the door and race to my bathroom, tossing my keys somewhere along the way. Dropping in front of the toilet, I gag and cough.

Hands, strong and unforgiving, grope me from inside. A surge of bile pushes to unload. I gasp over the bowl. The memories flood from the caverns of my mind.

Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.

I retch into the toilet. My muscles form a vise from back to stomach that squeeze my insides. I hurl again. Moisture runs from my eyes. God, I wanted that so badly. I wanted to be taken care of.

Promise you won’t hurt me?

So young, fuck, I was so fucking young! Vomit lurches into my throat. Sour spit strings hang from my lips.

I want to make you feel good.

They all promised the same things. I had no one. Mom was dead. I was shuttled through different families that treated me like an animal. I was just a kid. I would’ve done anything to get them to love me.

Anything.

“Oh God. I wanted it.” My fingers grip the sides of the bowl; back arching, I cough up what’s left in my stomach. The acid bites into my tongue.

You’re a good boy, Rex.

They knew what to say, what I needed to hear. I was so sick when they were done with me, raw and broken from the inside out, but those words . . . I was starving for them.

I’d have done anything for them, whatever they asked.

Until . . . He was doing up his belt buckle.

You’re worth every dollar, kid.

Cramps seize my body in an unrelenting hold. They paid for me. Not love.

They lied. I wasn’t a good boy. I was the worst kind of boy. Dirty. Sick.

Unworthy of love.

I push up from the toilet and rinse my mouth out in the sink. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I study my bare torso. Covered in ink, different sayings, random thoughts matched with whatever art I thought was cool at the time. A mishmash of shit that means nothing except to prove just how fucked I really am.

All except one. Mom. What’s her story? What about life was so horrible that she couldn’t hang on for me? Where was my dad?

So many questions and not enough answers. I scrub my hand through my hair and squint to focus my eyes. My skin crawls with the feeling of hands all over me.

I reach down and hook my finger around the rubber band at my wrist.

Snap!

There’s no sting.

I pull it tighter.

Snap!

Nothing.

I drag my fingernails up the belly of my forearm.

It burns.

Yeah, fuck, yeah.

I bite my lip, snagging my lip ring and pulling hard with my teeth. A low moan rolls from my chest. More.

My nails dig deeper, and I pull them up my arm again. The skin breaks; blood tracks the path.

“Mmm.” It stings.

The pressure in my chest lets up.

Everything around me dissolves. I need more, so much more.

Stripping off my pants, I turn the shower on hot. I climb in and let the scalding water hit the most sensitive part of my body. The dirtiest part.

The pain is so much, but I force myself to take the punishing torment. It’s what I deserve. It’s what I crave.

Starting at my head, I bury my hands in my hair and pull, ripping against my scalp.

I’m filthy, forever stained by the memories of my past. I scratch down my face to my neck; the raw sting is the only thing that keeps me grounded. My chest, arms, stomach—every inch of my body has been defiled by perversion.

I scrub harder, faster.

Hands grab and stroke. Lips against my neck. Hot breath at my ear. I’m covered in them. Every man who used me, manipulated my feelings, robbed me of my innocence, all of them left their mark.

I want them gone.

Skin gathers behind my fingernails and blood colors the water at my feet.

More. Get them off!

Pain. Blood.

Will I ever be rid of them?

~*~

Mac

It took seconds. Seconds of standing in my driveway and watching everything I’ve built my life around drive away for me to realize there’s no way I’m giving him up.

The worst thing he can threaten is calling the cops? Fine. A ticket, a few months in jail, restraining order, bring it.

I failed him once. I will not fail him again.

Pulling on a pair of leggings, I slide into my boots and race to the garage. I throw my leg over my bike and fire up the engine.

“Come on, come on.” I hit the opener and pull back on the throttle, ready to shoot out of the garage when the damn door lifts. As soon as it’s high enough to accommodate me, I lie hard on the gas and peel out of the drive. I don’t worry about closing it. Trix should be home soon, if not, fuck it. Nothing matters at this point, nothing but getting to Rex.

The wind whips through my hair and slaps my face in stinging bites. Pushing his face into the forefront of my mind, I fly through a stop sign, racing until I’m in the parking lot of his condo.

I spot his truck, parked sideways. A knot drops dead weight in my belly, knowing that I did that to him. I stand and pop the front tire to hop up on the curb. Riding on the sidewalk into the bowels of his complex, I aim my bike at his front door. He doesn’t get to walk away from me, not like this, not without a chance to explain. And if I have to drive my bike through his front door to get to him, I fucking will.

Once at his place, I swing off my bike and ready my fist to bang the shit out of his door. He gets one warning and then I’m ramming the shit down.

I pull back and thrust my fist into the door, and it swings wide open. “What the . . .?” Not only unlocked, but left open?

The interior is dark as if no one’s home, but his keys are lying near the front mat in the foyer. His shoes aren’t there either. I swallow and step inside, closing the door behind me. The light from outside is shining in through the windows, and I don’t see him anywhere.

Standing in the great expanse of the dark, cold room, I strain to listen. What is that sound? The pipes? He’s in the shower.

I tiptoe toward the direction of the bathroom when a sound freezes me in my tracks. “Oh no, Rex . . .”

Loud, uncontrollable sobs transpire between the sounds of his retching. The audible heartbreak spears through my body and I double over. Hands on my knees, I breathe through the crippling pain of hearing his.

And just like back then, the need to comfort him overwhelms me. I take a deep breath and move to the door. He’s talking, mumbling to himself. I press my ear to the wood and close my eyes, willing him to feel my comfort.

“I can’t get clean.” His voice cracks.

“Shhh . . . I’m here.” I’m whispering too softly for him to hear me, but hope somewhere in his heart he feels me here. “I love you. I’ll always love you.”

“Fuck.” The single curse is laced with pain and shock.

My eyes shoot open and my heart picks up its pace. Is he hurt?

Flashbacks from the day he was taken away by the paramedics covered in his own blood blind me with panic. Would he do that again with no one around to save him? No, I can’t let that happen. He can’t die.

My hand twists the door handle, and I push into the bathroom without the conscious thought to do so. The room is big and filled with steam, so I can’t make out where he is other than following the sound of his soft whimpering. He must not have heard me come in over the rush of the shower.

The steam starts to clear, and I see the outline of a large stall with a glass door. A darkened area toward the bottom of the shower I identify immediately.

“Rex.”

He’s curled up, his arms wrapped around his shins, rocking. He doesn’t seem to notice me, so I move in closer.

And then I see it.

Blood.

Lots of it.

I drop to the tile floor and scurry to the glass, my hands splayed against the see-through barrier. Oh no!

“Oh, God, Rex, what did you do?”

He stops rocking but doesn’t look up.

“Rex. Talk to me.”

“I had to get them off.” Squeezing his legs in tight to his body, the blood from his arms creates red serpents that slither down his tattooed shins finally to be washed away. “They won’t stop touching me.”

Tears sting my cheeks. “They can’t hurt you anymore.”

“But they do.”

I’ve had to watch Rex suffer from a distance for too long, locked behind a door or shackled by our past. But those things can’t keep me from him anymore.

I pull open the shower door and climb inside with him. The water hits my back in a burning onslaught. I can see most of the damage is to his arms and neck, but I don’t know what he’s hiding in the parts I can’t see. I check for a knife, something sharp, but in my quick once over find nothing. I squint through the foggy air to his marked skin. Scratches. It looks as though he did this with his own hands.

With one objective, I move across the shower to him and wrap my arms around his body. He leans into my hold, but doesn’t let up on the grip he has on his shins, keeping himself in the safety of his little ball.

This is what I always wanted to do when we were kids: comfort him like this and let him cry into me, hoping that I could somehow carry some of his burden.

I don’t speak just hold him while the water pounds and the steam billows around us. He feels so tiny in my arms, fragile and precious, a life worth protecting. He shakes with every breath. Tiny whimpers fall from his lips. My mind searches for something that will help while my body gives in to the grief and slumps against his.

“Sing to me?” His voice is so soft I wouldn’t have heard it if I hadn’t been so close.

“Always.”

I hum “Silent Night” and his breathing calms.

Yes, it’s working. I continue but start to sing the words and he stops shaking. Over and over I sing the song until the water in the shower is cold and the steam is gone.

My clothes are wet and I’m shivering. But more importantly, I need to get him out of here so I can check his wounds. “I should check your arms.”

His body goes solid in an instant. He pulls back and shrugs off my arms. Slowly, he lifts his face and turns it toward me. It’s the first time I’ve seen his face since he took off from my house and one thing’s for sure.

This isn’t Rex.

His eyes are cold, dead like the glimpses I’ve seen before, but this is different. He’s looking at me like I’m a stranger, an unwelcome visitor who’s here to steal everything he cares about.

Isn’t that exactly what I am?

A small voice in my head says I’m worse. I’m the enemy. I broke into Rex’s life, and like a thief, I robbed his peace to covet as my own. My palms sweat and I break out in teeth-chattering chills.

He’s right. I’m no worse than my parents.

“Get out.” His voice is low and menacing.

I scoot backwards until my back hits the glass. “I’m not leaving you like this.”

“I said get out!” His shout echoes off the tiled walls.

He jumps up, and I take the few seconds to check his naked body for other wounds. His chest is scratched up along with his inner thighs, but it seems as if his arms and neck got the worst. He snags a towel off the rack and wraps it around his body. The white immediately turns pink in places from his blood, but he doesn’t seem concerned.

He stares me down and I scramble on the wet floor to stand. “I promise I’ll leave if you give me five minutes to explain.”

He stalks toward me, arms flexed, fists balled tight. “I don’t want to hear a thing you have to say. Ever.”

He leaves the bathroom, and I follow him into the part of his condo with a bed. He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a pair of pajama pants, sliding them on.

Ignoring me, he manages to completely avoid my existence.

I swallow and stand tall, a little cold and very confused. What happened in the shower? He let me hold him and sing to him, but now he wants me to leave?

I can’t. I’m too weak to live without him, not strong enough to let him go.

And even though he says he doesn’t care what I have to say, he’s going to fucking hear it before I get my ass dragged out of here in handcuffs.

“Five minutes. Can you give me that?”

His eyes work back and forth between mine, but he doesn’t say anything.

“My parents were hideous people. You think I’m just as bad as them, but I didn’t know what they were doing until after you left.” I take a step closer and he spears me with a glare. “The box. Our secret. Do you remember?”

Recognition flashes through his turbulent aqua stare.

“I found the box. Once I realized the”—I shake my head, even now unable to speak the words—“abuse, I confronted my parents, Rex. I buried the box in my backyard so they couldn’t destroy it, and then I threatened to go to the cops with what I knew.” A shiver of terror races up my spine, remembering my parents’ idea of punishment. To this day I have no idea how long I was locked in that closet with nothing but a bucket and a box of cereal. “They spooked, locked me up in a closet and ran. Mexico or Canada, I have no idea. They just . . . left.”

His eyebrows drop low, and I can’t tell if it’s concern or distrust he’s feeling.

Either way, he’s quiet and listening. “It was dark and silent for so long, and then one day I heard noises like my house was being ransacked. Men, a few of them, were yelling back and forth, tossing furniture, looking for something. And then they found it. They found me.”

“Who?” His voice shakes with apprehension or emotion; it’s impossible to read.

“The man responsible for your abuse. The man my parents worked for.” I swallow hard, so scared to finally offload the secret I’ve been lugging around since that summer day that changed my life. My eyes burn and fill with tears, and my chest cramps to hold back the punishing blow. But we’ve come this far, and I have nothing else to lose.

“Rex, it was your father.”

Nineteen

No one believes me.

They feed me pills to numb my head,

But they can’t erase the truth.

I won’t be locked up forever.

And when I get out, I’ll make sure he pays for what he did.

--Georgia Maxwell, Age 15

Rex

Impossible. She’s lying. She has to be. Everything about her is a lie: her black hair, fake eyes, and made-up stories about finding peace.

She’s not my Gia.

She’s a con artist.

I want her the hell out of my life. “Fuck you.”

She winces. “Rex, listen to what I’m saying.” Her eyes are wide, perfecting her dramatic performance. “Your biological father—”

“Get out of my house.” My teeth grind until they ache, eyes burn with barely concealed rage.

She shakes her head and drops her chin. “You don’t believe me.”

“Why would I? You’ve lied about everything since the day we met.” I move toward her, ready to shake her or throw her ass out.

She jumps but doesn’t waver from her firm stance before me. “I know things have been hard for—”

“You think you know what I’ve been through? Because you read a few fucking scraps of paper?”

“No, if you’d let me—”

“You’ve done enough.” The fingers of the past slide up my back and circle my neck. My lungs constrict, stomach lurches. I rip my hands through my hair. “I can feel them.” Hands everywhere. Groping. “I can smell them . . . on my skin . . . in the air. I’ll never be free of this.” I can’t breathe. Get them off. Leave me alone.

I throw my fist. Glass shatters. The burn of torn flesh bites into my knuckles. I’m panting, fighting for breath past the flooding memories. The mirror above my dresser lies in a shimmering pile.

I brace my weight against my dresser and drop my head. Dried blood on my arms, fresh blood on my fists. I’m not that boy anymore. I’m not.

“Rex.” She sniffles through her whispered call.

I ball my fists to keep my hands off her. I can’t hit a woman. I won’t.

My head tilts and I spear her with a glare. “Get. Out!”

She crosses her arms at her chest, curls into herself, and shivers as tears stream down her face. The T-shirt I wore to her house is draped over her body, wet and clinging. Dark hair is plastered to her neck and shoulders.

She’s so different from the little girl of my memories. I’ll never see her as anything else but the hand that brought me through hell, the hand that kept me company but never pulled me from the flames.

Sadness whips through me. “I want you to turn around and walk the hell out of my life. I never want to see your face again.”

Her tears fall faster, but she faces off with a stubborn lift of her chin. “We meant something to each other once.”

“No. Gia meant something to me, but she’s dead, replaced by this”—I roam my eyes from her face to her feet and back in disgust—“lying, selfish bitch.”

She folds from the verbal blow, grips her stomach, and a sob rips from her throat.

“Forget you knew me.” I push off from the dresser and head back to the bathroom. “I’ll sure as shit forget I knew you.”

When my bare feet hit the tiled bathroom floor, I hear her whisper, “I don’t want to forget.” I slam the door behind me, hoping like hell she gets the fuck out so I never have to see her again.

~*~

Mac

I’m overcome with the urge to run. I struggle to take a full breath as the enormity of what’s happened sinks in.

He’s leaving me again.

My heart cramps so badly I grip at my chest. I can’t breathe, think, move, but everything in me begs for escape from the devastation. I need to put distance between me and the only person who’s ever been able to hurt me, the only person who’s owned my heart so completely I’m not sure it’ll survive without him.

Rex is right. Gia is dead. She died the day vengeance took over. Mac was born from necessity and kept alive by hope. I scrub my hands through my hair. God, what did I think would happen when he found out? I was in too far, expected too much.

All I wanted to do was make up for letting him down by telling him everything I know, gift him the answers to his questions, fill in the blanks of his past.

But instead, I did it again. Being a part of his life is what turned him into this: bloody, crying, broken.

I move through his condo like a ghost, not feeling my feet or aware of my body at all. The ride home is a blur of headlights and street signs as my thoughts are left behind with Rex. By the time I pull into my garage, I know what I have to do. I move through my house on autopilot, and within a few hours, I’m showered and dressed in warm, comfortable clothes.

Peace washes over me as I pull up my bed covers and place the pillows in a tidy row at the top. Rex ripped open old wounds, exposed his fears, and gave me everything he had to give. I relive the tender moments, our bodies bared and pressed together, giving, taking, loving. Tears burn my eyes as I force myself to leave the memories here. There’s no place for them where I’m going.

I pack the metal box full of his writings and the bear. His bag still sits in my chair across the room. With no use for it, I slide the rusted metal container in with his belongings and zip it up. I gave him back as much of his past as he’d allow, and what he chooses to do with it is up to him.

Adrenaline should be racing through my veins with what I’m about to do, the unknown as scary as it is liberating. And yet, I feel nothing. I shove as much as I can fit into a backpack and scratch out a quick note to Trix with a check for next month’s rent.

My entire life has been about seeking redemption, giving Rex everything I had, all the information about his past so that he could put to rest his questions. I failed.

It’s time to move on.

Maybe he’ll forget; time will heal the damage I’ve caused. His happiness means more to me than my own, and if he can find that without me in his life, I can die at peace with my demons, finally released from a lifetime of guilt.

I throw my leg over my bike and fire up the engine.

Without looking back, I take to the open road with nothing to keep my company but my thoughts and the growl of the engine. Leaving my past behind me, I say goodbye to Las Vegas forever.

Twenty

Padded rooms.

Lockdown.

Solitary.

Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

--Georgia McIntyre, age 17

Rex

“I don’t know, Rex. Are you sure it’s a good idea to fight tonight?” Darren studies me, looking for something he doesn’t seem to find.

After Mac left, or after I kicked her out, I called Darren, leaving message after message. Finally at five a.m. he called me back. I’ve been sitting on his living room couch for two hours, going over all the memories that are still flooding in. He’s listened, comforted, and sat silently with me.

For years, we’ve dissected my dreams, lack of memory, and compulsions. This is the kind of breakthrough he always hoped for. Too bad the triumph in psychology feels like being eaten alive from the inside out.

I’m drained, but I can’t sleep. I’m not hungry. I feel nothing. Numb all over and distant. Like an out of body experience I’m watching from someone else’s perspective.

“I have to fight. Can’t let down the UFL.” My words sound robotic. “They’re all I’ve got.”

He nods. “You’ve had an unimaginable few days, making breakthroughs only to . . .” He shakes his head then rubs his eyes. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” Clearing the emotion from his throat, he sniffs and meets my eyes. “You’ve got me too.”

Yeah, and as much as I know those words are heartfelt, they’re white noise in my ears. I can’t pull up a reaction to them.

“I better go.” I push up from the couch and move to the door like a vapor, there in one aspect, completely gone in another, a body with no life.

He tells me to call if I need anything and that I should meet him at the office tomorrow. I don’t know why. He’s heard all that I know. The past is back; my memories are released from the mental vault I’d had them stored.

Now what?

Can healing ever be found for a boy who was abandoned by his mother and given as a sex toy to adult men only to end up in a group home with not a single person to call family?

Not even close to being ready to answer that question, I move through the day as I should. Back at my condo, I clean up the broken glass and straighten my room. Order is dependable. Cleanliness on the outside covers the dirt that infiltrates my insides.

A hot shower later and I’m staring at a full cup of protein shake. I have to put something in my stomach, or I’ll get destroyed in the fight. My camp needs this win. They depend on me. I pinch my eyes closed and open my throat, throwing back a healthy gulp. My stomach revolts against the intrusion and I gag. I force myself to finish it and pray that it stays down.

On the drive to the training center, my muscles begin to unwind. The guys I fight with don’t know about my past. They won’t look at me with pity or empathy as Mac and Darren do. The weight in my chest lifts enough for me to take a full breath.

To them, I’m just Rex the man, not Rex the boy.

Pushing through the lobby doors, the sweat and plastic covered foam smell of the training center inundates my senses, and its familiarity works as a salve to my nerves. My breath comes easier with every step that brings me closer to the locker room.

“There’s our welterweight.” Cameron’s standing with a couple fighters from Reece’s camp, clipboard in hand. “You’re late. Let’s get you weighed in.” He turns toward the locker room and motions for me to follow.

This is good. The normalcy of fighting is exactly what I need.

“You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to you kicking that cocky shit’s ass,” Cam says over his shoulder. “Punk’s been up my ass all morning.”

The soft pull of a smile tugs my lips. “I got him.”

He pushes through the door and swings his gaze to mine. “I know you—what the fuck happened to you?”

Tension surges back into my muscles. “Too amped to sleep, that’s all.”

“Yeah?” He glares at my neck and my arms. “Looks like you went one-on-one with a mountain lion. The fuck happened to your arms?”

“Yard work. Got scratched up.” I’m the master of lying about where all my scratches come from. I’ve been doing it for years.

His eyes form tight slits. “Yard work.” The way he says it, as if he’s letting me know my lie is believable but he sure as shit isn’t falling for it, settles in my gut.

“I’ve got a fight to win. Mind if we cut the bullshit and get to it?”

“Sure, man.” He’s still fucking standing here, looking at me as if determination will get me to spill.

I cross my arms at my chest and wait. Seconds pass before he gives up on his mission and moves deeper into the locker room. I follow behind him, and for the first time since I found that fucking bear in Mac’s room, a sliver of contentment breaks through my deadened state.

Life lies within the chain link of the octagon: the sweat, blood . . . the pain. It’s the only thing that reminds me I’m alive.

When most of the time I wish I were dead.

~*~

Mac

I can’t help but feel like I’m right back where I started, sitting in a bar full of belligerent drunks, one hand wrapped around a cold beer and the other clutching the bag that holds what’s left of my possessions.

Even though smoking in bars is illegal in the state of Colorado, the room swirls with the stench of burning tobacco and God knows what else. Clearly the rules don’t apply to those whose motto is “Live wild or die.” The clanking of glasses and ruckus of deep manly laughter mix to make this dive exactly what I expected. Everything, from the women who’re walking around half naked and one hundred percent tanked, to the air in the room, screams one thing.

Wild Outlaw MC property.

This is stupid. I shouldn’t have come here. Speeding away from Vegas, I chose highways at random and drove all the way through Utah until I saw the sign: Denver 465 miles. I remembered Hatch talking about a bar between Denver and Leadville that had a motel attached. I decided that’s where I’d go. At least, until I could figure out what the hell I’m going to do.

I blink to focus on the line of bottles against the wall behind the bar, various brands of tequila and bourbon, not a single bottle of vodka. The bartender looks just like the rest of the guys in this hole: too much hair, too much gut, and too much leather to hold it all together.

“Leather and together. That rhymed.” I muffle a giggle and bring my room-temperature beer bottle to my lips. Tilting back the last of the lukewarm liquid, I try to count how many I’ve had. I’m almost positive this is number five, but the way my head is swimming I’ve probably had more.

Not that it matters. Nothing matters.

My heart beats its fluttered objection.

“Nope. Not listening to you ever again.” Stupid heart and its stupid plans.

“Yo, Ann Wilson.” The bartender’s voice sounds as if he’s been smoking since birth. “’Nother beer?”

I face the grungy biker. “Sure, why the hell not?” I’ve got nowhere to go and no one looking for me. I nudge my empty bottle toward him. “What did you call me?”

He coughs or laughs, most likely a combination of both. “Don’t tell me you don’t know who Ann Wilson is.”

I scrunch up my face in thought. “No clue.”

Propping his forearms on the bar, he leans in. “How old’re you, kid?”

“It’s rude to ask a woman how old she is.” And telling a guy who looks as if he’s seen his fair share of death and mutilation anything about me is fucking freaking me out.

“I’m assuming you’re old enough to drink. If not, I don’t really give a shit as long as you don’t get in any trouble.”

I don’t say anything to confirm or deny. I’m old enough to drink, but just barely, not that he needs to know that.

“Ann Wilson’s the lead singer of one of the greatest bands of the late 1970s.”

“Huh.” My head spins. I squint one eye. “Which one?”

“Which one? You’ve got to be kidding me. Your parents did you a huge disservice by not sharing this shit with you.”

Ha. My parents did a lot worse than a simple fucking disservice. “My parents are dead.” Most likely murdered, but whatevs.

“Tough break, kid.”

I shrug. “Not really. They were assholes.”

His lips tick beneath his thick beard and ’stash. He goes back to standing and tucks the corner of his bar towel into his belt. “Yo, Trek, name the greatest chick rock group of 1978!”

“Heart!” The voice of what I’m assuming to be Trek calls back from the other end of the bar.

His eyes swing back toward mine. “Heart. Ann Wilson. You’ve got her hair.”

Okaaay. “Um . . . cool.” I guess.

A couple of guys dressed in matching leather cuts drop down in stools close to mine. “What is this shit?” One of them flashes a few fingers to the bartender, his eyes on the flat-screen TV hung high behind the bar. “Fight’s been on for over an hour. I got some serious dime riding on the main event.”

Bartender guy gets busy pouring him a generous amount of bourbon. “Gimme a sec.” He drops the drink in front of the guy, a fresh beer for me, and messes with the remote.

I nod a thank you and take a long pull from the bottle. I try to keep my thoughts focused on the future and not dwell on the last forty-eight hours, but the memories lure me in. His body, so strong wrapped around mine, holding me close while I caught my breath. Hands capable of knockout punches, or creating beautiful music, stroking up and down my sensitive skin. Hearts pounding against each other as if being separated by bone, muscle, and skin couldn’t keep them from becoming one. Stop it! He’s gone and memories won’t bring him back.

It’s over.

I’ll never feel that again.

I toss back a good half of my beer, tasteless against my tongue, but it’s doing the job.

The room erupts in cheering. My eyes dart to the TV. It takes a second for me to realize what they’re getting worked up over, until . . .

“Oh shit.” I blink to make sure I’m not hallucinating.

Rex’s fight.

~*~

Rex

“Don’t let him go!”

“Keep ’em down, T-Rex!”

“Lion killer! Get ’em in a lion killer!”

The hollered instructions of my team would usually push me, but tonight they’re just words. The smell of blood and sweat, the rush of adrenaline from the fight, the pain of every hit—the things that would get me fired up before now have zero effect.

I squeeze my legs together, locking Reece in a heel hook. “Tap.”

Reece thrashes in my hold. “Fuck . . . you.” He kicks at my thigh with his free leg.

“You got ’em, T!”

His garbled curses filter though the shouted encouragement from my corner.

I’m weak. Tired. My muscles shake and scream with fatigue. But I won’t lose.

The ref yells. End of a round.

I release him, jump up, and head to my corner. The crowd roars, but it’s static in my ears. My head throbs. I drop onto the stool, trying to hide my exhaustion. As fucked as my head is, I won’t let my team down. I’d rather die out there than lose this fight.

“Look at me.” My cutman is crouched in front of me, wiping down my face. “Small cut.” He presses an eye iron to my cheek while swabbing a cut above my eye.

For the first time ever, I don’t feel the pain. I’m detached, empty, immune to its seduction.

“He’s getting some good shots in.” Owen’s at my side, yelling close to my ear to be heard over the crowd.

I try to focus on his words.

“His left leg is weak.

Jonah’s there, squatting in front of me, listening to Owen. He nods, his lips move, but I’m deaf to his words.

My cutman tilts my head back. I squint against the bright lights above the octagon. My vision goes spotty. I pull from his hold on my chin and blink. My head spins. The faces around me go blurry, twisting and stretching. I rub my eyes. How hard did I get hit?

I look into the eyes of my cutman. He’s talking, asking if I’m okay. His expression morphs into visions, faces of men, different ages and ethnicities. I slam my eyes shut as the pictures flash behind my eyes. My teeth crash together, and I force back the images. God, there were so many of them. I shake my head.

I need to stay in the fight.

“Rex, man. Talk to us.” Jonah’s hand is on my shoulder. “You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m good.” My voice is robotic, but they respond and seem convinced.

I try like hell to focus on Owen’s voice. Concentrate.

“. . . that side-angle kick. Take him down for a submission.”

Right. I can do that. I nod. Submission.

That’s all those sick-fucks wanted from me. My submission. I was a child, a desperate kid with no one to protect him. They knew that and used it to get what they wanted. I clench my hands; my pulse pounds in my ears.

“. . . you’re death walkin’ out there.” Jonah’s voice is at my ear. “We see it; his camp sure as shit sees it.”

Someone needs to pay, take the beating for the years I was raped, molested, manipulated. I mentally bind all the faces in my head and wrap them up with threads of fear, hopelessness, and shame. I ball up my anger and cram in the feelings of betrayal over Mac’s confession: the men, her family . . . her. Demons that do the devil’s work. All of them.

I stare at Reece across the octagon, projecting what’s in my head, coiling in my chest, eating away at my insides. I put all of it on him.

He’ll pay. Tonight. This fight. I’ll deliver him the beating as the punishment for my past.

The sound of the bell, and the ref motions for us to meet in the middle.

Owen’s hand firmly grips my shoulder. “Make it happen. You got this.”

The cutman swipes Vaseline over my eyebrow and jumps out of the way. The arena erupts, igniting the air that surrounds me with the electricity of their enthusiasm.

But my eyes are locked on my opponent. All of the reasons why I started fighting become insignificant. Everything I’ve been through comes to one moment, this moment.

This is my chance to unleash what I’ve been holding back, release the feelings I locked up as a kid and kept hidden so well that I couldn’t even fucking remember.

It’s time to unload the burden, and what better place to do it than in the octagon?

“Fight!”

~*~

Mac

He’s circling the octagon, his hands raised and a small cut above his eye. My breath hitches, and I cover my mouth as a whimper falls from my lips.

He’s never looked so beautiful. I hadn’t realized how much I missed just seeing him until this moment. His opponent throws a punch. Rex avoids it and follows up with a kick, which sends the guy to the ground. I’m mesmerized, watching this deadly dance between two men that I pray doesn’t end in him getting hurt.

And I’ve hurt him worse than any physical pain ever could.

I shake off the guilt and watch in awe as Rex takes down his opponent in a tangle of arms and legs. People cheer and yell. He punches and tightens his hold. It looks like he’s winning. I drive my fingers into my hair. How long until it’s over? The ref slices his hand through the air. The bar explodes in applause. Rex jumps to his feet and shoves both fists into the air. I exhale and my shoulders relax.

He won.

Pride and loss swirl in my chest, and I fight to take a full breath.

I should be there, sitting behind Rex and his camp, between Layla and Raven, enveloped in Rex’s family, accepted as one of them, there for the sole purpose of support. But instead I’m here, kicked out, forced to move on from everything I’ve ever cared about. My life, my future, ripped from my hands.

Jonah, Caleb, and some good-looking surfer guy smother Rex. They hug him and pound his back with congratulations. An announcer says something into a microphone and then shoves it in Rex’s face.

“Turn it up.” I want so badly to hear his voice, even if only for a second. The bar is too loud. I can’t hear him. “Hey, turn it up!” No one pays attention. I stand from my stool and lean over the bar. Dammit. His mouth moves and his chest thumps with heavy breathing. He’s not smiling, but he looks fine.

I drop back onto my stool. Better than fine, he looks happy.

It’s not as if I expected him to be destroyed after I left. After all, he demanded I get out of his life. But seeing him so strong, as if our time together meant nothing, sends agony slicing through my chest.

Tears burn the backs of my eyes. How can he be so unaffected? I drop my head into my hands and rub my temples. I can’t do this. I need to get out of here.

I fish a few dollars from my bag and drop them on the bar. A hand clamps down on my shoulder.

“Snow White.”

My back goes stiff, but at the same time warmth blooms in my chest at the familiar voice.

“What the fuck’re you doing here?”

I turn into the enormous frame, all wide shoulders and crossed arms, of Hatch standing just over my shoulder. “I was just leaving.”

He studies me, eyes tight while he rakes his teeth across the flavor saver below his bottom lip. “What happened to you?”

“Nothin’.” My head feels like it weighs a ton, and I fight the urge to rest it against the bar.

“Don’t look like nothin’.” He rounds my back and pulls the stool next to me up close so that he’s practically straddling mine. Pushing my hair over my shoulder, he studies me. “You runnin’ again?”

How did he know? I roll my eyes. “Hatch—”

“No, you show up here all the way from Vegas, you tell me what the fuck.”

I groan and give into the weight of my head, resting it on my forearm against the bar. My eyes close as fatigue and booze kick in tandem. “Had to leave. Didn’t know where to go.”

His hot breath is at my ear and the overpowering smell of liquor and smoke. “Can’t get this drunk in a place like this, Snow.”

I huff out a breath. If I could just sleep for a few minutes. “Been riding for ten hours.” I yawn so hard it makes my eyes water. “My ass is numb. Need sleep.”

“I get that, but you can’t do that shit in a place like this.”

Whatever. I mean what’s the worst that can happen? I get killed and left on the side of the road? At least then I can end the suffering and finally get some rest. Ahh, rest. I take a deep breath, gently pulled into sleep—

“That’s it.” Firm hands grip my shoulders. “You’re coming with me.”

I shove him off, trying to focus on him with one open eye. “Five minutes, Hatch.” It closes and I go back to resting my head.

“Ha, take a look around. Check out the way you’re being sized up. You’ll be begging me to get you out of here.”

“Hatch, man, you cool?” The bartender’s voice is laced with concern.

I tilt my head back to see him scowling at Hatch.

“Yeah, Zip. Mac here’s roommates with my chick in Vegas. I’m taking her to the compound before these idiots catch the scent of her pass out.”

Zip’s eyes move across the room. I follow the path of his glare. A few bikers off to the side of the bar are watching me, whispering. My skin crawls and my hand darts out to Hatch’s cut.

“Now she gets it.” Hatch chuckles. He holds out his hand. “Bike keys.”

I fish them from my pocket. Hatch snags them and tosses them to Zip. “Honda out front. Mind pulling it into the back for the night?”

Zip nods. “Sure thing. Get Annie the fuck out of here.”

A burst of energy sends me to my feet. A wave of liquor-haze makes me dizzy and I stumble.

Hatch holds me upright. “Easy there. Let’s get you on the back of my bike.”

I flash Zip a small smile, and he pops up his chin in acknowledgment. Hatch moves me through the crowded bar. The room tilts and he holds me closer, keeping me steady. We emerge from the bar and into the cold mountain air. I breathe in a deep, sobering breath.

He lets me go and moves to his Harley. “Hop on.”

“Why are you doing this?” I sway on my feet. “You don’t even like me and I’m pretty sure I hate you.” Although at this point I’m in no position to rule out anyone as a friend.

“You took a punch. Didn’t even cry.” He looks around; then his eyes are back on mine. “I don’t like you, but I respect you.” There’s a flash of something behind his eyes, but it’s gone to quickly for my drunken thoughts to process. “Now get your tiny ass on the bike before I send you home with a dude who doesn’t.”

Better to be cared for by someone I can’t stand than to be rejected and tossed aside by the love of my life.

I take a few dragging steps toward him, throw on my backpack, and saddle up behind him. “Should I grab my helmet?”

He fires up the bike; the ominous growl of the engine vibrates around me. “No helmet law in Colorado.”

Sadness slumps my shoulders. I wrap my arms around Hatch’s middle and lean my cheek against his cold leather-coated back. “Perfect. Take us home.”

Twenty-one

Georgia McIntyre.

Gia McIntyre.

Mac In Tire.

Mac Entire.

Mac Ellenshire.

RIP Georgia McIntyre

--Mac Ellenshire, Age 17

Rex

The sound of my phone blowing up on my bedside table pulls me from a dreamless sleep. The double dose of Trazedone I took last night knocked me out cold. After celebrating Blake’s win and mine for all of ten minutes, my body gave in to fatigue.

I blink open heavy lids. My phone stops vibrating, and I let them fall closed. Muscles like concrete and blood like molasses, I sink back to sleep. Jackhammering sounds against my bedside table, and I force my eyes open.

Who the hell is trying to get a hold of me so bad?

A voice in the back of my head whispers that it could be Mac. Gia. The thought pushes my hand from beneath the warm covers. My sore muscles protest the movement. I face the lit up screen toward me.

Not her.

Fuck, it’s almost noon.

I slide my finger across the screen and press it to my ear. “What.”

“Dude, where the hell were you last night?” Talon sounds as if he woke up a few minutes before I did, but had a much rougher night. “Mario threw a huge deal for you at The Blackout.”

I had a feeling he might, but there was no way I could show my face there after what happened with Mac. When I told her I never wanted to see her again, I wasn’t kidding.

Rolling to my back, I rub my eyes. “Yeah, dropping weight did a number on me.” Lie. “I was exhausted.”

“Ha! Too tired to celebrate your win?” He chuckles. “Pussy.”

His lighthearted insult does nothing to my anesthetized state. “I’ve been thinkin’. We’ve been playing The Blackout for years. Might be time we find a new regular gig.”

“What? You’re kidding, right? That place has supported our band since we were wearing eyeliner and painting our nails black.”

He’s right. There’s no logical reason to stop playing at the venue that has always been our biggest supporter. But I can never go there again. “Just an idea I was kickin’ around.”

“Yeah? Well kick it right the fuck out of your numb-nut skull. I agree we need something new, but that’s why I’m callin’.”

New. New is good. I’ll have to figure out how to avoid The Blackout later. Maybe fake a stomach bug? Flu?

“Last night I met Carl Simpson. Carl fucking Simpson, man!”

A tiny rush of adrenaline fights its way to my brain. We’ve been trying to make contact with the booking agent for The House of Blues for over a year.

“And?”

“He said he’s been hearing about the band. Good things. He wants to see if we’d be willing to open for Smythe at the end of the year.”

Excitement pushes through my drug-sludged blood. I sit up. “You fuckin’ serious? Smythe?” They’re on fire right now. “Aren’t they finishing up a tour with Five Finger Death Punch?”

“Yeah. They finish in November and agreed to play a few smaller shows to round out the year. Fucking kick-ass, right?” His enthusiasm is catching.

“I can’t believe it.” A spasm ticks my lips. A smile? Never thought I’d do that again. “You hooked it up. Ataxia opening for Smythe.” I shake my head. “Never thought I’d say that.”

“So no pussin’ out on any gigs. We need to do whatever we can to up our fan base.”

I hear what he’s saying. We can’t ditch The Blackout. Fuck. My fifteen-second high plummets.

How the hell am I going to face her?

“We still rehearsing tonight?” Maybe when I’m there I can talk to the guys about taking a few weeks off to work on new music. It’s my only hope of gaining some distance.

“Yup.”

“Cool. Later.”

“Late.”

I drop back to the bed and scrub my face. Darren told me things would be overwhelming for a while and that I need to stay in the moment. Focus on this day, hour, minute, whatever it takes to keep from flippin’ out.

With a few deep breaths, I listen to the cues my body gives me. The pinch in my shoulder is screaming for ice. Even though I won the fight, Reece got in a few good hits. The angry jagged scab on my cheek is proof of that.

My stomach growls. No more need to diet and after last night’s fight on an almost empty stomach I’m ready to make good on my burrito promises.

With a plan for the next couple hours, I push out of bed and drag myself to the shower. I try to avoid thinking about the last forty-eight hours. I avoid all thoughts of what it felt like to be comforted by her again: her arms wrapped around me, replacing the memories of the hands that took and took until they got their fill.

I crank the shower to high and step under the spray, not at all missing the only person who I’ve ever let in.

The only woman who’s accepted me for me.

No regrets.

Not one.

It’s time to move on.

But how?

~*~

Mac

I’m lying in the dark in Hatch’s bed. The smell of stale booze and dirty ashtrays fills my nose. The low grumble of his snore pounds in my head, intensifying my hangover. As far as I can remember, I only had the beers at the bar. Once we got here to the motorcycle clubhouse, I flopped on Hatch’s bed and everything went black.

The second I woke up I checked to make sure I was still clothed. Thankfully my bra, jeans, and tee were still in place. I dig my fists into my eyes. Dirt from riding on the bike mixes with day old mascara. My brain feels like it’s going to explode and my stomach twists.

Why did I drink so much? The memory of Rex’s face haunts me: crystal blue eyes and black hair, a million different kinds of beautiful, him pulling that lip ring between his teeth to keep from smiling. Rex smiling. To think of all I’ve stolen from him: his happiness, a future. My eyes flood with tears, and I push back the weakness to avoid the full meltdown that threatens.

Crap. I can’t do this. Not here. I shrug off my self-pity and try to focus through my post-drunken blur.

I’m an idiot.

My original plan to ride through the country, stopping at random places and drinking myself into oblivion was not well thought out. Where would I be if Hatch hadn’t found me?

I lick my lips. So thirsty. My gut rumbles and spins. I need to eat, get my bike, and find a decent motel to recover in. Then I’ll come up with a better plan.

“Hatch.” I smack his shoulder with the back of my hand. “Wake up.”

He groans and rolls away, giving me his bare, tattooed back.

“Seriously.” I shake him. “I need you to take me to my bike.”

His answering snore tells me he’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

“Shit.” Maybe there’s someone else who’s headed out who can take me. I push up from the bed and pain stabs through my temples. My hands grip at my head. “Ouch.”

I stumble across the room, tripping over biker boots and who knows what else. It’s too dark. I pull back the thick curtains and the bright sun makes me think it’s later than I thought.

Where did I put my backpack?

My eyes scan the area. It’s not here. I move across the room, flipping up dirty clothes and tossing food wrappers.

“Hatch! Where’s my backpack?” I have no memory of bringing it in here, but then again most of my memories from last night are fuzzy. “Shit, shit, shit!”

I race out of the room and down the hallway to the main living space. There’s a naked couple asleep on the couch, and one woman passed out on a recliner.

But no backpack.

Everything I own is in there: cash, cards to my bank account, clothes. If it’s gone . . . My heart pounds and I break out in a sweat. Bile rushes to my throat. I race to the kitchen, double over the sink just in time to cough up the sour taste.

I have nothing, no one I can call. The only person who would consider helping me would be Trix, but how do I explain being in Colorado with her semi-boyfriend. I’m screwed. Totally fucked.

“Yo, Snow.” Hatch’s voice calls from behind me. “You okay?”

I spit bile and shake my head.

He laughs. Asshole.

“Where’s my backpack?” I just want to get the hell out of here. Physically, emotionally, these last two days have brought me to the threshold of my tolerance. I can’t handle anything more.

“No clue. Did you leave it at the bar?” He hands me a paper napkin.

I take it, straighten from the sink, and wipe my mouth. “Of course I didn’t.”

“You look like shit.”

“You’re an asshole.”

A slow smile spreads across his goatee’d face. “Come on. I got something that’ll perk you up so we can find your backpack.”

“Perk me up?” I look around the dirty kitchen, open bottles of liquor, half-eaten food. “I don’t think I want whatever biker hangover cure you’ve got in mind.”

I just want my shit so I can leave.

“Hey, you want to find your shit and get on the road?”

God, yes. So badly. I nod.

He motions for me to follow him. “Then come on.”

My stomach still in knots, I follow him back to his room, scanning the entire way looking for my backpack. There are a lot of closed doors in this place. Maybe one of the guys pulled it into his room?

Even back inside Hatch’s room, I pull open the drapes and click on the bathroom light, searching. It’s nowhere. Dammit!

“Here.” He holds a small square mirror up to my face.

“What is that?” I’m pretty sure I know, but he can’t possibly think offering me drugs is going to help my situation.

“Coke. It’ll kick that hangover. Help you think straight.” He pushes it closer.

“No thanks.” I scoot around him and continue my search.

“You’ve got a better option?” The sound of him sucking the powder into his nose fills the room.

Do I? The only way I’d ever touch that shit would be to put myself out of my misery, which I may need to do if I can’t find my backpack.

Terror pricks along my nerves. If it’s gone, stolen, I’m at the mercy of Hatch until . . . until when?

I watch him pour out another line and suck it back, the biker dick who hates Rex and hit me.

But saved me last night.

And he’s my only hope.

Twenty-two

Institutionalized for most of my life.

Not anymore.

They’re letting me out.

And after I make the person who threw me in here pay,

I’m going to find my brother.

--Mac, Age 20

Six months later . . .

Rex

“Are you sure you’re cool with this?” I look over to find Emma squirming in the passenger seat, her hands knotted together.

Her bright eyes fix on me. “Yes. It’s fine. I’m just nervous. It’s a lot of pressure to meet all your fighting friends on our first date, ya know?”

Date. Right.

The last date I went on was with Gia back before my entire world was destroyed with the discovery of a damn stuffed animal. Coming back from that has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. It’s taken months of intensive therapy three times a week to get to this point, and I still have so far to go. Fuck, it’s only been in the last few weeks that I’ve been able to stop referring to Gia as Mac.

I’m grateful for Emma. She’s been a good friend. I’ve had her inside my condo, even curled up with her on the couch to watch movies. She’s mellow, never demands more than I can give. I figured it was time I took her out on a real date. Thought it might help me move on. Forward.

So here I am. But I can’t help but feel blah.

I like Emma. She’s beautiful, sweet, and funny in her own way. I’m sure if I give it time I’ll grow to have the intense feelings I felt with Gia, before I found out she was Gia.

I blow out a long breath and try to relax.

“Are you sure you’re cool with this?” Emma lifts one eyebrow.

“Yeah.” I shrug. “Jonah’s been staying home a lot, and I haven’t seen Raven and the baby since I visited them in the hospital.” After everything they went through when the baby was born, Jonah didn’t let anyone come near Raven or the baby for a long time. He was so close to losing them both; he’s added a new level of overprotection to his already nuclear-level possessiveness. “We don’t have to stay long. We’ll drop in, say hi, and then grab dinner.”

She nods and stares out the window, and I can’t help but think of Gia. Darren says I need to stop comparing the two girls and just appreciate Emma for the girl she is rather than who I wish she was.

I’m trying. But the truth is I miss Mac.

It didn’t happen overnight, but I realize now that her heart was in the right place. God, the things I accused her of: lying, stalking, and manipulating me to feel something for her so that she could destroy me.

Every night when I lie in bed, waiting for sleep to take me, I remember the feel of her soft body, the tropical smell of her skin that drove me fucking insane with lust, her hands tearing into my hair when we kissed, pulling against my lip ring with so much passion she could hardly control it. But she did. Her white-knuckled grip held her back to keep from touching me, biting down on those full lips to keep from talking—all because I asked her to—ignoring her own desires to accommodate mine.

I rub my cramping chest.

Where is she now?

I went to get my stuff from her place a few weeks after she left my condo. I knew she never showed up at The Blackout, but I’d hoped maybe she was still in town. Trix explained that she took off that night and left her phone behind with most of her things. There was a note for Trix saying she was sorry.

My bag was there, packed and waiting. It wasn’t until I got it home that I realized she left me and my memories behind too. The bear and my writings. I must’ve dug through every pocket in that bag a dozen times looking for a note. Parting words, something, anything. I found nothing.

Not that I blame her.

I kick back the thoughts and the direction they’re taking me when we pull into Jonah’s driveway. It’s lined with cars and Emma visibly tenses.

Gia would never get this nervous around people whether she knew them or not.

Fuck. Stop it!

I throw the car in park and walk around to open her door.

She hops out, her army-green Toms practically silent as her feet hit the concrete. Her chin tilts back and she looks up at me. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t.” I grab her hand and we walk to the door, but before we get there it swings open.

“Hey, guys. I saw you pull up.” Layla wobbles a few steps, arms outstretched and belly that looks freakishly huge against her tiny frame.

“Hey, Momma.” I lean down and do my best to hug her with the basketball bulge between us. “How’re you feelin’?”

She pulls back and rests a forearm on her stomach. “Hmm . . . like an overstuffed penguin with a grapefruit shoved up its a—”

“Mouse, baby.” Blake comes from behind her, wraps his arms around her and rubs her stomach with both hands. He kisses her neck. “Don’t act like you don’t love carrying my kid.”

She tilts her head and smiles up at him. “Yeah, I do love carrying our kid.”

Blake drops a soft kiss on her lips and my mind cranks back to Gia. It’s amazing how the slight brush of lips can communicate just as much as a passion-filled tongue intrusion. My lips tingle to feel it again. I roll my lip ring between my teeth to squelch the ache.

“Who do we have here?” Blake straightens from Layla, pulling her to his side with an arm thrown over her shoulders.

“Oh, right.” Fuck, I’m horrible at shit like this. “Emma, this is Blake and Layla.”

She inches closer to me and smiles.

Layla’s gaze slides to mine, a sadness in her eyes that makes me drop my gaze. She clears her throat. “Emma, nice to meet you.”

Layla blames me for Gia’s cut-and-run. She didn’t understand what happened and was upset thinking I’d exiled her. Blake, not liking to see his pregnant girlfriend sad, came after me and insisted I explain everything.

I did. Mostly.

A girl from my past pretended to be someone else to get close to me. They understand why things ended between us—betrayal and lies are hard to overcome—but I know Layla misses her friend. My chest goes tight and I grip my shirt there. God, so do I.

“Nice to meet you.” Emma mumbles, avoiding Blake and Layla’s eyes.

“Well, come on in. You’ve got to see how big baby Slade’s getting.” Layla turns into the house and we follow inside.

Before we’re in the living room, I can hear the cooing of female voices. I walk around the corner and almost burst out laughing.

Emma’s hand slides into the crook of my elbow. “Aww, that’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

I look down at her and then back to the hysterical situation in front of me.

Jonah, all six-foot-five inches and as wide as a damn car, is wearing some bright pink thing draped from his shoulder to his ribs. It reminds me of the way Gia would wear her messenger bag, slicing across her chest and accentuating her full breasts. But whereas Gia’s bag made her look hot, Jonah’s pink wrapper makes him look like an idiot.

He’s smiling down at the tiny bulge behind the fuchsia nightmare at his chest. When he looks up, he spots us right away, but he’s still grinning like a jackass. “Rex, man, you gotta see this.”

I step up and clap him on the shoulder. “Nice shawl, brother.”

Jonah’s smile falls slightly and his eyes narrow. “It’s called a sling, ass face.”

I stifle a laugh. “Don’t give a rip what it’s called; you look like a dumb ass wearing it.”

Blake coughs and clears his throat, his hand covering his mouth.

Jonah’s glare moves back and forth between us. “For your information, this sling holds my daughter against my chest at all times.” His big hand cups the tiny bump behind the fabric.

Raven comes up and gives me a hug. She’s all smiles and soft looks, and the extra baby weight she’s carrying has only added exotic curves to her already hot-as-hell self. “She went from nine months of hearing my heartbeat in the dark, feeling safe and warm. We just want her to keep feeling that for as long as we can.”

Jonah glares. “It’s called attachment parenting, fuckers.”

“Joey!” Katherine, Jonah’s mom, reprimands him from the couch.

“And for your information, I have one coming that’s black with skulls and blood splatter.” His face goes soft and he gazes down at the bump. “You’re going to love that, aren’t you, my princess?”

I point to the bright girlie wrap. “That tiny bump in there is the baby?”

He grins wide. “Yeah, come here. You gotta see this.” He pulls out the edge of the fabric and nods for me to peek inside.

There, curled up in the tiniest ball imaginable, is baby Sadie Slade. Jonah named her Sadie because it means princess, and he swore he’d protect her like one. Thick black hair and the smallest face relaxed with sleep, she looks just like Raven. “Wow, she’s so small. What am I looking for exactly?”

“Just keep watching.” He angles his body so that I have a better view.

Little sounds, baby grunts and then . . . a smile and two of the deepest baby dimples punch through her chubby cheeks only to fade when her smile does.

“There, did you see them?” Jonah’s voice is laced with pride and a love I’ve never heard from my old friend.

“Yeah, she’s got a lot of her old man in her, huh?” I step back and watch him watch his daughter.

“She got her mom’s good looks.” His body sways back and forth slowly, almost as if unconsciously. “But she couldn’t escape the Slade dimples.”

I look around the room; familiar faces are all looking adoringly at Jonah and the baby. Raven’s on the couch with her mom and mother-in-law, surrounded by her friends, and it hits me that this little girl will never have to worry about being alone. God forbid anything happens to her parents, but she’d have a line of people who love her, waiting to take her in and care for her the way she deserves to be cared for.

Unlike me. And Gia.

Guilt socks me in the gut, and I suck back the urge to double over. I was so mad the night she left. She wouldn’t stop trying to explain, as if words could make right all that she’d done wrong. She’d said that they locked her in a closet until someone found her. She was only a kid. What happened to her during those years after I left? She must’ve been moved in with a family member? Living relative? Did I ever even stop to consider what she’s been through? I was so busy focusing on myself that I never thought to ask her.

Anything I learned about her was by accident: her fear of hospitals and small spaces, lack of friends or long-term connections. My head spins and I brace my weight against the back of the couch.

She wanted to tell me. I told her I never wanted to see her again, and she begged me to listen. Fuck. Why didn’t I give her a chance? I scrub my hands over my face. She deserved a chance to explain. If she had, would that have changed anything?

Fuck.

It could change everything.

~*~

Mac

I’m cold. My body curls into itself in an effort to get warm, but the movement makes me ache. The familiar throbbing in my head alerts me to the time.

Morning.

I fucking hate the morning.

It’s the one time of day that my mind comes back to life enough to fight me. It torments me until I cry: flashes, memories of the past, Rex as a boy and again as a man, the life I ruined . . . twice. Morning reminds me of new beginnings, sunshine bringing in hope for a different life. But that takes work, emotional strength that I lost a long time ago. I’m fucking sick of hope.

Everything hurts. My muscles feel as if they’ve been put out to stretch and dry. I lick my dry lips and crack open an eyelid. It’s dark, but that doesn’t mean it’s not morning. The thick curtains at the MC Compound are there to keep out the light of day.

“Thank God.” I reach up and finger through my shorter hair.

It took less than a day before I got fed up with Hatch calling me Snow White. I told him I’m a natural redhead, but with my lack of distinguishable hair it was hard to prove. Every time I looked in the mirror and saw all that black fucking hair, my mind would fall back to my memories. Thoughts of Mac led to better thoughts of Rex, but would ultimately end in tears.

With the help of a fifth of vodka, I put Mac to rest and colored my hair back to red. New hair color is one thing, but one thing I learned is you can’t resurrect the dead. Gia’s been gone for a long time, and a simple box of hair dye won’t raise her. The devastated little girl wouldn’t fit into Hatch’s world anyway.

So who am I?

Changing my hair was the last decision I made on my own. Now decisions are made for me. I belong to Hatch, property, and I can’t muster up enough sense to care.

He keeps me safe, fed, and fucked up. Living around bikers, the first is important, the second is a need, but the third is my key to survival.

After only weeks of being stuck here with Hatch, with no money or means to leave, I finally gave into my desperation. The liquor did the job until one day it didn’t. I drank until I blacked out, and still I was tormented by thoughts of Rex. I needed more, like the pills they forced down my throat when I was locked away from the world. The coke was the same, bitter going down, but sweet relief when it kicked in. It’s the numbness I crave; the memories get blurry and dull all feeling. I’ve tried to quit, go a day without using, but it’s become my closest friend, protecting me from the memory of losing him. Now, the drug is the only thing that tethers me to my sanity.

The thought wakens my inner cravings. My addiction roars its demand. I need to find Hatch.

I roll out of bed and look for my panties on the floor. I squint to distinguish one piece of clothing from the other out of the mass that covers the floor. I settle on one of Hatch’s dirty shirts and slide it over my head. A wave of dizziness washes over me and I fight to stay upright.

“Fuck.” I rub my temples. It must be later than I thought. Usually I don’t get like this until the afternoon.

Stumbling over empty beer cans and biker boots, I finally make it to the door. The blare of country music and deep voices filter through from the other side. Yep, definitely the afternoon.

I stagger out of the room and down the long hallway into the living room. My eyes scour the smoky air, looking for Hatch. I spot him on the couch with an MC slut straddling his lap. Typical.

In a few achy steps I’m at his side. I cross my arms at my stomach to keep from giving away the tremors that are wracking my body. “Hatch, can I talk to you for a sec?”

He looks up at me and glares. “I’m busy.”

I look to the girl whose eyes are closed, her head dropped to the side as if she’s having a hard time holding it up. “Um . . . yeah, I know. I’m sorry, but I need a hit.”

His expression softens. “Yeah? You hurtin’?”

I nod and tighten my arms around my torso.

He smacks the girl on her bare thigh and she jumps. “Up.”

She struggles, but Hatch doesn’t wait and shoves her aside where she falls like dead weight on the couch. He tucks me into his side. “Come on, Annie. Let’s get you taken care of.”

Annie. All the bikers caught on to the nickname given to me by Zip when I stumbled into this life. The red hair fought for their cause, and Annie stuck.

I snuggle into him, grateful that for the first time in as far as I can remember someone cared about me. I know, logically, that his feeding me drugs and taking my body whenever he wants isn’t ideal, but it’s more than I’ve ever had. And for now, it’s good enough.

When I’m high, the dreams stay away. My drug-induced haze placates the demons so that they can’t remind me of all I’ve lost.

We head back to his room where he leaves me on the bed and goes to his safe. The tremors are getting bad, and I can’t keep the muscles in my legs from jumping. I rock back and forth. Keep moving, always keep moving.

“Here ya go, baby.”

I look up and he’s pouring out a small white line of powder along the edge of his thumb. “Thank you, Hatch.”

He holds his hand out and nods. Like a starving child being offered a meal, I grip his wrist and pull it to my nose. I push against one side of my nose and suck back the white powder. The back of my nose and throat burn for an instant before they numb. My head zaps back to clarity and my muscles release their grip on my body.

“More, please.”

He grips my chin and presses his lips against mine hard. The smell of stale cigarettes and booze floods my senses.

“You’re hot when you beg.” He pours out another line and I jump on it, starving for the sweet relief I know it brings.

He tosses the small bag onto the bed at my side. “Make it last.”

I scamper to it, grabbing the bag and curling it into the protection of both hands. “Okay, I will.”

He tilts his head and looks down at me. I can tell by the way his eyes darken, he’s expecting payment. I take a deep breath and remind myself that this is what I’ve agreed to. I don’t hate Hatch. He’s given me more than I deserve. I’m afraid to lose him.

He fumbles with his belt and unzips his jeans. His hand glides over my tangled hair. “I like this color, Annie. Suits you.” His fist tightens against my scalp, but I’m too numb to register pain. “Hurry up. I’ve got shit to do.”

Twenty-three

She fills the empty space

Substitution, close to real.

I put on a happy face

But she’ll never be the girl.

--Ataxia

Rex

“Em, I gotta go.” I trail a few soft kisses up her neck to her jaw. “We’ll grab breakfast in the morning.”

“Mmm . . .” She nods and tilts her head to allow my lips more room to explore.

I smile against her neck. Being with Emma like this has been great for my therapy. She has no problem taking things slow, and I’ve been able to ease back into being physical with a woman.

After my fallout with Gia, the realization of what had happened to me, the guilt, shame, made me want to axe off my own dick. I needed a constant reminder of how dirty I am—a physical representation of my disease.

The piercing itself took seconds, but the feeling of a heavy barbell between my legs reminds me of what I’ll never do again. Where I’ll never go again.

She groans when I pull back from her neck.

“Will you ever stay over?” Her cheeks are flushed, her words breathless.

No. “Maybe.” I can’t tell her the truth. My body doesn’t respond to her the way it should. That’s why I like being with her. I don’t have to worry about getting hard just because she looks at me a certain way. There’s no fear of being overcome and throwing her facedown onto my bed to have my way with her.

With her, I’m safe.

She’s safe.

Content.

Happy?

“But I don’t understand.” She thrusts her fists down, punching the stiff cushions of the couch. “Your bed is, like, ten yards from mine. What’s the big deal?”

Her bed. Those two words hang heavy in the air and bring a wave of memories with them: sitting in this very spot, feeling as if I were going to claw my way out of my skin, Mac, like some gothic princess sound asleep, the sound of her nightmares and how she threw herself in my arms when she woke up.

My stomach tosses with guilt. Me. She was dreaming of me.

We were so close and I had no idea she was the little girl from my past.

Gia, my savior in the dark.

I wanted to remember so badly. I felt lost without the knowledge of my past. And now that I have it all back, I’d give it away tomorrow for the chance of one more night with Gia.

“Rex!” Emma grips my thigh and I jerk it from her hold. “What’s going on?”

I shake my head. “Nothing, I’m sorry.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but sometimes I get the feeling you’re, I don’t know, seeing someone else?”

“Em, no. I’m not seeing anyone else.” At least not physically. My heart is owned by another, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be happy with Emma.

She chews her bottom lip then looks up at me. “I thought guys were all about sex, you know? I mean we’ve been together now for a while and all we ever do is kiss.”

Fuck. When she puts it that way . . .

“I promise you I’d never hook up with anyone behind your back.” Frustration pricks at my nerves. I suppose I should’ve expected this sooner or later, but I’m not comfortable telling Emma about my past, not now, not fucking ever.

“What are . . .?” She narrows her eyes. “Wait, Rex, are you gay?”

Wrong. Question.

“Fuck you!” I shove off from the couch, my pulse rocketing in my ears.

“Oh, no, wait, I didn’t mean that.” Her eyes fill up with tears. “I’m sorry. It’s just—”

“I get it. You think because I’m not fuckin’ your brains out every day I must be gay.”

She jerks from my words. “No.”

“You’re right, Em. When I leave here, I have a string of women waiting who suck me off before bed.”

A sob rips from her throat.

“Why are you crying? It’s what you want to hear, right?”

“No.”

“But those are the categories a guy like me gets to choose from. I’m either a two-timing dick who fucks anything with a pulse, or I’m gay.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to understand.”

“Understand what? I thought things were easy between us.”

“They are, but I want more.”

More. Fuck.

I sigh and study the coffee table. I can’t do more, not with her, maybe not with anyone. A voice in my head whispers that there’s one girl I’d give more to, but I chased her off.

“I’m sorry.” I look up at her and see the beautiful chestnut hair, the sweet face and innocent eyes. Clean. Good. Not a hint of crazy. She deserves better. God, what was I thinking? “Em, I can’t do more.”

She takes in a shaky breath. “Is it me? You’re not attracted to me or—”

“No. It’s me.” I have to give her something. She deserves something. But what? “Friends?” It’s shitty, but I mean it. I don’t want to lose her.

Her tear-filled eyes peer up at me, and a soft smile tilts her lips. “Sure. We’ll always be friends.”

My chest twists at the sincerity of her words. Damn, she’s a good woman, the total opposite of what I need.

I lean over, place a quick kiss on her forehead, then turn and walk away.

Once outside, the cool air slaps me in the face. I dig my hands into my hair and take a few deep breaths. It was the right thing to do. She may hurt now, but it’s better to cut things off before things get more complicated.

I thought having a relationship with Gia would be impossible. I mean how could I have a relationship with a girl who knows every intimate and shameful detail of my life? It would make things awkward at best. But maybe I was wrong.

Gia didn’t try to fight my demons, make them bow or wrestle them into submission. She embraced them, accepted them as part of me, loved me despite them, and arguably even loved them.

And it’s that love and acceptance that quieted them, soothed them, and kept them compliant.

After all, what is evil if it has nothing to fight?

~*~

“Thanks for coming out tonight.” I wipe the sweat off my forehead with a bandanna and shove it into my back pocket. “For those of you who’ve been listening to us play but don’t have a fucking clue who we are . . .” The crowd of over a thousand people erupts in cheers, chanting for one more song. “We’re Ataxia.”

The lights drop to dark, our cue to get off so that Five Finger Death Punch can take the stage.

The show was amazing. Playing The House of Blues has been a dream of ours and we’ve finally done it. We left everything we had up on that stage, and the place is begging for more.

I step down the steps and head backstage. Talon, Lane, and Ty follow me into our dressing room. I’m on such a high from the show I don’t notice the small group of girls standing off in the corner until their giggles give them away.

Groupies. Awesome.

Oh well, at least the guys will have fun. A few beers to come off the adrenaline rush and then home for a hot shower are the only things on my agenda for tonight. I pull a cold beer out of a trough-style bucket the bar set up for us.

“How’re you doing?” The feminine voice from over my shoulder sounds familiar.

I grin and turn around. “Trix, what’s up, girl?” I give her a quick hug. “I’m good. You?”

Neither of us says what we really mean. How are you without Mac?

She clicks her tongue and nods. “I’m good. Got a new roommate.” Her head jerks to the side, motioning to a girl who’s basically wearing underwear and high heels, talking to Talon.

“That’s good.” I take a long pull off my beer.

Her fingers sift through blond hair that is now adorned with a bright purple streak. “You?” She lifts one eyebrow.

“Nope. No new roommate.”

Her eyes grow tight. “You know what I mean.”

I shrug. “I’m good.” No, I’m not. I miss her. “You want a beer?”

“Sure.” She takes the fresh beer I offer and picks at the label. “Hatch was in town for a few days.”

“That’s too bad.” A grin tugs at my lips.

She chuckles and drops her gaze, pink coloring her cheeks. What the fuck? Trix embarrassed? “Yeah, uh, he mentioned . . .” She shakes her head and her shoulders slump. “Shit.”

A slow sickness spreads through my gut. “What?”

She doesn’t look at me. “I don’t know. I probably shouldn’t say anything, but—”

Lane steps up beside her and pulls her to his side. “Trix are definitely not for kids.”

He leans down to whisper something in her ear, and she fakes a smile, but worry paints her expression. She’s usually all bubbles and laughter, and watching her this uneasy makes me anxious. Something’s up.

“Lane, man, give us a minute?” I keep my eyes on Trix.

Her eyes go wide.

“Fine, you can start the night with him.” He smacks her ass. “But you’re ending it with me.”

If I wasn’t so worried about what was going on with her, I’d roll my eyes at the idiot.

After he walks away, I step in closer to Trix. “What were you saying about Hatch?”

She’s all over the place, shifting on her feet, eyes darting. “He was here for a few—”

“Cut the bullshit, Trix. You already told me that.” My muscles are tense and I could put my fist through a wall.

“He screwed up.”

“What does that mean?” I spit the question through clenched teeth.

She bites her lip and moisture glosses her eyes. “It’s Mac.”

My head gets light and my body sways. Hatch screwed up. It’s Mac. That could mean anything and everything and all of it bad.

“What. About. Mac.” The corners of my jaw pulse, and I imagine every kind of horror a man like Hatch is capable of.

“I didn’t know who else to go to.” The desperation in her voice cranks my pulse higher. “Hatch is on the run for some serious shit. He wouldn’t tell me what but said he had to disappear for a while.”

“Trix, I swear to God if you don’t start telling me what the fuck this has to do with Gia, I’m going rip this room apart.”

“Who’s Gia?”

I rear back and chuck my beer across the room. Glass shatters and the amber liquid drips down the wall. One of the guys yells “Rock-n-roll” and the girls whoop and holler.

Her eyes grow wide and she holds up her hands. “Okay, just hear me out before—”

“Talk right fucking now!”

“Hatch has been filling me in on how she’s doing.” The words pour from her mouth in a rush.

“And how the fuck would that asshole know how she’s doing?”

She rubs the back of her neck and cringes. “I think you know the answer to that.”

What? No. Gia’s with Hatch? The guy who fucking cold-cocked her in her own damn driveway? The biker piece of shit she can’t stand?

I groan and drop down into a nearby chair, counting the months since I last saw her. She’s been with him that entire time? Wait, he has to disappear? For what?

“Keep talking.” A growl rumbles behind my words. I need to hear more, but fuck, I don’t know if I can handle what she’s going to say.

“Mac’s been living at the MC Compound with Hatch. He had to take off, and he can’t let anyone know he’s disappearing or where he’s going. He stopped for an overnight in Vegas to pick up a little traveling money. That’s when he told me.”

Mac, my Gia . . . with him?

“The only reason he told me all this was because he’s worried about her. Guess she’s in pretty bad shape and he takes care of her.”

“I bet he fucking does.” Fucking piece of shit asshole. I hope he disappears in a dark dirt hole in the middle of nowhere.

Her hand rests on my knee, and I see she’s squatted down to my level. “I don’t know what Hatch did that has him running, but it’s bad.”

How could Gia trust a guy like him? Was she that desperate that she’d give any part of her life to a raging ass like Hatch?

I shoot up from my chair. “Where is she?”

She shakes her head and rises from her squat. “That’s the thing. I have no idea where the compound is. It’s like some fucking biker secret.”

My mind spins with ways to track it down and comes up blank.

“He never mentioned where he lived? Dropped hints?”

“Yes and no.” Her voice is serious, calling me from my shock. “You know who Hatch used to work for, right?”

“Don’t give a fuck.”

She huffs out a breath. “Well, you should.”

“He’s a drug dealer. That’s all I need to know to conclude the dude is bad news.”

She shakes her head and studies the floor. “I think he’s worse than that.”

“Who did he work for?”

“He worked directly under Dominick Morretti.”

My gaze darts to hers. “You sure?”

“Yes. He used to brag about it all the time. When Dominick was killed, Hatch bitched that he’d lose the compound.”

“You’re saying Morretti owns the MC’s hideout?”

“Owned it. But when he died—”

“Raven inherited it all.” I rub my eyes, thinking back to Jonah and Raven’s wedding reception. He hid his illegal activity in billions of dollars in real estate, most residential high-rises meant for the insanely rich. She got all his assets when he died, but sold them to fund Raven’s Nest. Shit!

“Trix, I need any information you can give me. Did he ever mention where he spends most of his time? Even a guess is better than starting with nothing.”

“My best guess? Colorado. He and the guys always talked about The Devil’s Hog. It’s a bar or hangout of some kind.”

“Colorado. Anywhere else he may’ve mentioned?”

She shakes her head. “No, but I’ll let you know if I hear anything.” A tear threatens to spill from her heavily made up eye. “One more thing. I don’t know if it’s important, but when he was here, he mentioned something that sounded off to me. He specifically said that she ‘depends on him’ and he was worried about leaving her.”

A woman like Mac would depend on no one. That’s a lie. It has to be.

“I don’t know what that means, Rex, but I’m afraid we don’t have a lot of time.”

Fuck!

I grab my keys and phone from my guitar box and pull on my black baseball hat. I’m halfway down the hallway when Trix’s high heels clack-clack behind me.

“Where are you going?”

I don’t know yet, but I’ll scour the country to find Gia if that’s what it takes. Urgency pushes me to a jog.

“Rex?”

“I’m bringing her home.”

~*~

I called Jonah on my way, so I’m not surprised to find him standing on his front step when I show up. It’s close to midnight. My chest warms for a flash at his show of friendship and loyalty, but quickly dies when I remember why I’m here.

I park and jog up to him. “Jonah, thanks for—”

“Anytime, man, you know that.”

“Raven up?”

“Sadie’s having a growth spurt, so she’s nursing every hour. Yeah, she’s up.” He motions for me to follow him inside. “Come on; she’s in the office.”

My feet are almost burning to run back and start yelling instructions, but getting my ass kicked by Jonah will only hold off my search.

“Baby, Rex is here.” Jonah announces our arrival into the home office and once inside I can see why.

Raven has her face inches from the computer, her hand clicking on the mouse. She looks up for a split second but goes right back to the screen. “Hey, I’m trying to find some real estate files I remember seeing on this disc. If that Hatchet guy worked for Dominick, there’s a good chance he funded the purchase of their compound or co-signed. He owned a ton of property and kept very detailed files.”

Her blue-green eyes bounce around the computer screen to the beat of every mouse click. Guilt turns my stomach. They’re willing to help me out, and they don’t have all the information. Yet.

I move into the room and pull up a chair next to her. “Before we do this, I need to tell you guys something.”

Jonah leans his hip against the desk on the other side of Raven, arms crossed over his chest. “What’s up?”

“Mac isn’t who you think she is.”

Raven and Jonah set eyes on me, waiting.

“She’s my foster sister from a long time ago, but she’s changed her appearance and her name, so I didn’t recognize her.”

Raven covers her mouth and looks up at her husband before swinging her gaze back to mine.

“About six months ago, when I found out she’d been lying to me, I”—I shrug—“I chased her off. Whatever trouble she’s in, it’s my fault.” I breathe through the stifling pain of the truth. “Fuck. She didn’t look the same. Mac looked nothing like the little redheaded girl I remember. Her real name is Georgia McIntyre. I don’t know—”

“What did you say?” Raven’s voice is cold. Her face drained of color.

Jonah reaches out holds her hand. “Baby?”

“I said I don’t know much about her except—”

“Her name.” Raven leans toward me, eyes intent. “What did you say her name was?”

I look at Jonah and he nods. “Georgia McIntyre.”

“Oh my gosh.” She cups her mouth and swivels her chair to a box behind her. Doubled over, she digs through file after file before pulling out a thick manila envelope. With shaky hands, she rips through its contents, pulling out stacks of papers.

She hands me a file folder. “Open it.” Standing, she curls into her husband.

What the hell is in this file that has her so freaked out?

I flip to the first page. My breath catches in my throat when I’m met with the familiar face of my past. Goose bumps race across the back of my neck. My heart bangs in my chest.

My Gia, the little girl with flaming orange hair and big gray eyes. Her full lips are a miniature size of what they’ve become, and her pale cheeks are flushed pink in her youth.

“How do you . . .?” I look up to Raven who is now folded into Jonah’s arms, her face pressed against his chest. “I don’t understand.”

“After he died, I got all his stuff. There were so many names: women and a few children. I assumed he kept tabs on the women who worked for him. I kept it for Raven’s Nest, just in case someone needed information. I don’t know. It sounds stupid, but all those names were attached to a life. It felt wrong throwing it out. You said red hair.” She shakes her head. “I recognized the name.”

“Ridley Mental Institution.” I flip through the pages and see a few hand-scribbled notes. “Delusional. Hallucinations. Psychotic?”

My chin drops to my chest as a wave of shame crashes over me. I called her all those things the night I realized who she was. I was so wrong. She’s no different from me, traumatized by a life she didn’t get to choose, the product of someone’s fucked-up idea of parenting.

But a mental institution? I struggle to connect the dots. In the picture, she doesn’t look much older than she did when I knew her. She had to have been committed by a guardian. But why? There are so many other ways to abandon a kid. Why lock them up?

At the back of the file, I find her information page. Georgia McIntyre. Age eight. Parents deceased. I rake my eyes down to the bottom of the page.

Committed by legal guardian.

Signature.

Dominick Morretti.

“What the fuck!” I drop the file and jump up from my seat. My hand darts out, pointing at the offending pages. “How . . .?” I shake my head.

Jonah grabs the file off the floor, and I watch in horror as his eyes follow the path mine just did. His face falls slack. Eyes wide. “Holy motherfucking shit.”

“Jonah?” Raven pulls the file from his hand, reads it, and within seconds, she’s folded deep into her husband’s arms. “How is that possible?”

“Don’t know, baby.” His eyes find mine and hatred for is wife’s birth father flames behind his eyes.

I’m stunned. Fucking floored. Dominick and Mac connected? And how in the hell did a scumbag dick like him become her legal guardian? From her evil-as-shit parents, into the disgusting world of an egomaniac pimp, off to a mental institution, and then into my arms? And Hatch? Damn. Here I thought I had it bad. I can’t even begin to imagine the things Gia has seen, how she’s suffered.

Probably suffers still.

“We need to find her.” If it’s not too late. Why didn’t I let her explain? She begged me to listen. I swallow the boulder of emotion that clogs my throat. “I have to bring her home.”

Raven pulls free of Jonah’s arms and resumes her place at the computer. She swipes at the rogue tears that slide down her cheeks. “Do you have any idea where we should be looking? Did Hatch ever mention a town, restaurant, highway number?”

I pull up the closest chair to look over her shoulder. “Trix mentioned Colorado, but she wasn’t sure. She also said she heard the guys mention a place called The Devils Hog.”

She clicks on something, rips out a disc, and pops in a new one. “Good enough, at least it’s a start.”

My shoulders ache with tension. What would I do had Trix not confided in me? If Raven and Jonah weren’t willing to help? I’d never find her. “Thanks for this, Rave, I—”

“I kept all this stuff, hoping that I might be able to use it to fix some of the damage that Dominick caused.” She shoots me a quick look from over her shoulder, the usual light of her unique blue-green eyes now cold and determined. “We’re going to find her, and then we’re going to turn in everyone responsible so they can’t hurt anyone else.”

Hurt? Is she hurt?

My knee bounces with the urgency to get to her.

I don’t know what Gia’s gotten herself into or why she’d end up hanging around a guy who split her cheek. The same biker dick and former henchman for the man who locked her up in a mental institution. My head spins with information. Too many questions, but all that I’ll make sure to get answers for when I find her.

After I hold her.

And kiss her.

And tell her I love her.

Twenty-four

Counting down the days until I get my revenge.

I’m not a murderer, but the man has to pay

Pay for what he did to Rex

Pay for what he did to me.

Freedom lies in the death of Dominick Morretti.

--Mac, Age 20

Mac

Friday night and still no Hatch. He took off on MC business a week ago and never came back. He said it would be an overnight.

The other guys that come in and out of the compound have been whispering. Something about a job going wrong. Was Hatch involved? Is he dead?

My muscles twitch; every jump sends pain through my bones. Cross-legged on the bed, I rock back and forth. I grab the corners of the blanket and pull it tight around my shoulders. If he never comes back, what will happen to me? I’m tired, but can’t sleep without the nightmares. Worse than ever, they crash over me and I wake up in a pool of sweat.

Can’t. Stop. Shaking.

I need to move. Walk. Run. Sleep. Fuck, I don’t know what to do.

I’ve never gone this long without a hit. Nausea roils my belly, and I swallow back the vomit that threatens. The sweat-soaked sheets rub against my naked skin like razor blades. Everything hurts. How long can I go on like this? My teeth chatter with cold. I hear the raucous voices of some guys filter through the door. Maybe they’ll have something. Anything.

I have no money, but that hasn’t stopped me from getting what I need in other ways. My spine feels like knifed jackhammers are dancing up and down it. I’m in hell.

My eyelids drop closed. I imagine that I’m in Rex’s arms, that he’s kissing my head and telling me everything’s going to be okay. I pretend he loves me. My muscles relax a tiny bit, and I absorb the comfort of my imagined Rex.

A stream of moisture falls from the corner of my eye, followed by another. I pinch my eyes closed tighter, trying to block out the sadness.

“I miss you so much.” My dry lips form the words, but my voice sounds as dead as I feel.

All I wanted to do was love him. Even loving him from a distance is better than being without him at all. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve seen him. Drugs have fogged my sense of time and my will to care.

It’s pointless to continue to deny what’s happening to me.

What I’m doing to myself.

Ever since I left Rex’s condo, I’ve been on the slow path to suicide. Just because I don’t pull out a gun and end it doesn’t make it any less of what it is, the slow death of a weak woman.

Admitting it releases a long, relieving breath. Yeah, I’ve known it all along. Hooking up with Hatch, pretending it was because he cared, took care of me . . . what a joke. I knew on some level this lifestyle would end up killing me.

With a sudden clarity, my eyes pop open. This is it, the end of my pain, my longing for a person who hates me, my lifelong quest for redemption that ended in the ultimate persecution. A death sentence.

And I don’t want to go on another day without him.

I hurt from the core of my being, and my soul claws against my flesh. My stomach lurches, and I hang my head off the side of the bed. A dirty pair of Hatch’s jeans is bunched at the base of the rickety side table. I focus on the pocket where a small vial pokes out just above the seam.

I push with my toes and stretch my arm over to fish it out. I grip the cold glass in my fevered, quaking hand and curl into a ball around. A war rages in my body, part hunger and need destroying what’s left of my fight to survive. But the battle is short-lived as the chemical dependency roars its unwavering demand.

Grabbing the mirrored plate from the side table, I roll to my stomach and pour out a short line. It looks a little different, darker, but I’m too desperate to care. I lick my lips and bring the powder to my nose. It takes all the strength I have left to steady my hand.

The addiction takes over and I’m helpless. Like watching myself from across the room, I stare in horror as the drug is sucked into my body. My head arches back, a moan of ecstasy pours from my lips. Relief, instant and aggressive. This is different and so much better, not the usual high, but rather a soothing low that makes me drop my forehead to the bed.

More.

Another line, then one more. Peace blankets me in warmth. This is all I’ve ever wanted. Serenity.

I lose the ability to hold up my head. Thoughts fizzle away until it’s just me and the high. I lie down, wondering what I was so upset about before. Suddenly nothing matters except the tiny vial that I have clasped between my hands.

Making amends with my past, my eyes drift closed. I pull up his face.

He’s smiling down at me with acceptance, forgiveness. “It’s okay, Gia. I forgive you.”

My heart swells and slows, unable to take the full weight of his mercy.

“I love you, Rex.” Hot tears trail from my eyes to the bed. “I never stopped loving you.”

“You can let go now, baby.”

Breathing shallow . . . pulse slower . . . the world goes black.

Peace.

~*~

Rex

“Continue on Interstate 285 toward Leadville.” The computer-generated voice from the GPS is the only person talking in the rented SUV.

Jonah, Blake, and Caleb have been silent for most of the trip. The plane ride from Vegas to Denver seems as if it were ages ago as we trek through the Colorado mountains. Adrenaline drums through my veins, ratcheting up along with our altitude. Every motorcycle that passes ignites a fire in my gut. She better be okay. Fuck! She better be better than okay. If not, I don’t know what I’ll do.

“Rex, man, you’re going almost one hundred miles an hour.” Caleb’s voice comes from the backseat, reminding me that there are more lives at stake than the one I’m racing toward.

The second Raven found the old farmhouse in Colorado among Dominick’s list of properties, I was on the phone, booking my flight. Jonah insisted on coming and calling reinforcements. I didn’t want to take him away from his family to clean up the shit-mess I made, but he grinned, grabbed my phone and booked four tickets. We took the first flight out the next morning.

I let up on the gas and try to relax. No point walking in on a motorcycle gang’s compound half lit and ready to kill. “We get there, you guys wait in the car and I’ll—”

“No fuckin’ way. We go in together,” Blake says in his no-negotiating way.

Jonah’s in the passenger seat, texting. “Agreed.”

“If we go in together, they might see us as a threat. Let me go first, see if she’s even there, if we have the right place.”

“See us as a threat?” Blake shoves the back of my seat. “Motherfucker, we are a threat.”

“Agree with that too.” Jonah tosses his phone into the center console. “Dominick’s shit is wet. It trickles all over the damn place even after the dick face is buried in the dirt. My girl’s on a mission to erase the lasting effects of that ass. I take this as an opportunity to assist in that.” He turns toward me. “Translation? Threat.”

Can’t argue with that.

“Layla’s been crying over Mac for so long I’m happy to fuck anyone up if it means drying my woman’s tears,” Blake says. “Plus, Mac’s a good girl. She deserves better than this.”

She deserves better. Could I be the better she deserves? My hands grip the steering wheel and I lie heavy on the gas. I don’t know if I can be, but fuck I want to be.

“Threat it is.” It’s not as if I have anything to lose. If I don’t get Gia back, make up for the way I treated her, then I’ll be stuck, half-way to a cure, part sick, never healed.

“Don’t worry, bro. We’ll let you walk in first if that makes you feel better,” Caleb says with a smile in his voice.

Pine trees fly by in a blur as we leave the heavier populated mountain towns and enter the barren areas. According to the GPS, we’re less than ten miles from the farmhouse.

“Check it out, dude.” Jonah points to a sign in the distance.

It’s a pig’s face with devil horns that reads The Devil’s Hog. My stomach tightens. This has got to be it. We’re in the right place.

“I seriously love your wife, dude.” If it weren’t for her, I’d still be home feeling like shit and Gia would be on her own. Suffering.

“Take the next right at north Glengrove.” The GPS blares in the silence of the car.

I follow the directions until a rustic old ranch-style house comes into view. A row of motorcycles is parked out front. I grip the steering wheel and welcome the burn in my knuckles. Hatch may be on the run, but I’m looking forward to introducing a few of the bikers inside to my fist. “It’s go-time, boys.”

A series of fuck-yeahs and lets-do-this and we’re out of the car. The cold mountain temps do nothing to slow my feet from eating up the dirt drive until I’m at the door. I don’t see the guys, but I can feel their tension at my back.

I bring my fist to the door and pound out three knocks.

“You think they’re even up yet? It’s only eight a.m.,” Caleb says.

“Well let’s wake ’em up.” Blake pushes past me and kicks the door hard, once and then twice. “Wake up, biker bitches!” He steps back enough to slam the flat of his boot into the door.

It finally swings open. “What the fuck, asshole?” The long barrel of a shotgun is pointed at Blake’s forehead.

I shove him aside and stand in his place. “You’ve got something of ours. We’re here to pick her up.”

The biker narrows his sleep-puffed eyes. “You banging my shit down for a bitch?”

A growl erupts from my throat. “Call her that again and I’ll shove that shotgun up your ass.”

Jonah steps up, and the biker’s chin tilts up, eyes wide. A grin of satisfaction slides across my face in a snarl.

“You pigs?” He says, his gaze bouncing between us.

“Do I look like a fucking pig to you?” My muscles are coiled. I’m ready to bulldoze this guy, knowing that Gia’s back there somewhere. She has to be.

He studies my face from my lip ring to my eyebrow piercing. “So what? You’re after your ex old lady and you think she’s here?” He scratches his bearded cheek. “’Lotta chicks come and go; no guarantee the one you’re looking for is here. And if she is, no guarantee you’re gonna like what you see when you find her.”

“We’ll take our chances,” Blake says. “Step aside.”

“You’re fucking crazy if you think I’m gonna let you guys in here.” He moves a few paces toward us, stepping outside. “Who’re you looking for? I’ll see if I can drag her out. One thing we don’t need is bitch complications.”

My arm jerks to sucker punch this fuck, but Caleb holds me back.

“Her name’s Mac. Black hair, light skin.” Jonah crosses his arms at his chest as if he’s struggling to keep his hands off this guy’s neck too. “She hangs with Hatch.”

“Hatch ain’t here. He’s got an old lady, but it’s not the same girl. His bitch has red hair.”

A wave of fury slams through my veins. I push past the biker and into the farmhouse. An arm wraps around my throat. I twist free and shove. Biker down. I ignore the sound of the short-lived scuffle that goes on behind me, confident that the guys can hold back one biker.

I storm through what looks like the main living space to a hallway. Bedrooms. On fire to find her, I start at the first door. It’s locked. I rock back, slamming my heel into the door. The cheap wood splinters and pops open.

A big guy jumps out of bed. “What the fuck?” I scan the room and find two chicks huddled at the headboard. No red hair. He barely gets his pants up and charges me.

“Easy, fuckwad.” Blake’s there. He shoves the guy hard, sending him to the floor. He turns toward me. “I got this. Go get your girl.”

I move to the next door. Locked again. I kick, the door flies open. The guy sleeping in there doesn’t budge. I stalk up to his bed. He’s alone.

Next door. I jiggle the handle. “Gia! You in there?” I rock back and throw my weight behind a heel-slam that sends the door swinging. This room is darker than the others. The windows are covered. I blink and try to focus.

On the bed, covered from the waist down in a thin sheet, lies a woman with ghostly pale skin and fiery red hair.

“Gia!” I race to her; she’s not moving. Fuck, she looks dead.

My hands move to touch her but stop just shy of her perfect skin. Dried-up vomit is crusted to her mouth and the pillow. “Shit, Gia!”

I run my hand up her arm and rest it against her cheek. Her skin is clammy, but warm. Alive, but just barely. There’s nothing left. Her bones protrude from her joints, her cheeks sunken.

A small glass vial lies near her open hand. I snag it. Empty. She’s OD’ing.

“Call 911!”

God, please. Don’t let me be too late.

My throat swells with all I need to say, all I have to apologize for. “Baby, wake up.”

I scoop my hand beneath her neck and shoulders, pulling her into my lap. Her frail body, naked and vulnerable, lies limp in my arms. I hold her to my chest, burying my nose into her hair. The hint of tropical fruit and coconut fills my nose. “I did this. I’m so sorry, Gia.”

I rock her back and forth, whispering, praying, and pleading. “Don’t leave me. Please, baby, I can’t live without you.” Tears burn the backs of my eyes. “Don’t make me live another day without you.”

Caleb races into the room. “Dude, we gotta—whoa!” He turns his back and holds up a hand. “Sorry, bro. I didn’t know she’d be—”

“I’m not leaving.” I clear my throat. “She needs an ambulance.”

Jonah steps in to the room, his eyes darting back to the hallway. “Can’t stay here. We’ve woken the beast.”

He walks toward me, and I hug her to my body close. Like a feral animal, I’ll kill anyone who tries to take her from me.

“It’s all right, man. I won’t touch her.” He pulls up the sheet to cover her naked body. “We gotta bolt. Now.”

I do my best to secure the sheet around her and pick her up. She’s light. Too light. Guilt squeezes my chest.

I follow Jonah and Caleb away from the bedrooms and toward the sound of a fight. Blake’s in a face-to-face with a group of half-dressed, newly-woken bikers. They’re blocking the door. I’ve gotten her this far; it’ll take a damn army to keep me from leaving without her.

“We’ll take these guys.” Jonah motions toward the front door. “When you see your out, take it. Do not hesitate. We’ll meet you at the truck.”

I nod and kiss Gia’s head, hoping she knows she’s safe. I hate that she’s been living with these guys—the smell of liquor, BO, and cigarettes in every room—knowing I drove her to this.

I inch my way toward the door, and Jonah and the guys do their best to herd the half-dozen angry bikers to the other side of the room. I watch and wait, aware that the clock is ticking.

How long has she been like this? Even with medical attention, will she ever come out of it?

I nuzzle my nose into her hair. “Gia, if you can hear me, I’m never letting you go. Fight for me, baby. You hang on and you fight.”

A moan rumbles in her chest, so faint I feel it more than hear it.

“There it is, Gia. That’s right. Keep fighting, never stop swinging.”

The room detonates in a flurry of fists and grunts. A handful of bikers go fist to face with Blake, Jonah, and Caleb.

The door—a few long strides and I’m there. I look back. Two bikers hit the ground, and Jonah hits one more who drops hard.

They don’t need me. We’re out the door and to the SUV. I open the back and climb in with Gia.

In the light of day she’s worse off than I thought. Her lips are cracked and blue, the soft skin around her eyes now dark.

“Come on, come on, come on.” They need to speed this shit up. “Any minute now, hang in there, baby.”

The front door flies open, and the guys slow-jog to the car. We did it. We got her.

And now the hard part begins.

Twenty-five

Love is worth killing for.

Love is worth dying for.

And they think I’m crazy.

--Mac, Age 21

Rex

GPS on the rental guides us to the closest hospital. I’m grateful we don’t have to make the two-hour trek down to Denver. She’d probably die in my arms before we got there. I hug Gia’s frail body closer.

“St. Vincent Hospital.” Jonah pulls the SUV right up to the double doors marked “Emergency” in neon.

The tires screech to a halt, and Caleb pops open the door and hops out.

I arrange her sheet as best I can and carry her through the doors. “We need a doctor. Now.”

The middle-aged nurse at the desk pushes an intercom button. “Triage nurse to emergency, stat.” She rushes around the desk to a wheelchair. “Set her here. I’ll bring her back.

My hold on her tightens. “No. I go where she goes.” They’ll have to rip her from my arms if they think I’m ever letting her go.

“Sir.” The woman’s voice is stern. “We can’t help her unless you let her go.”

“I’ll take her back myself.”

“I’d advise you—”

“Advise all you want; he ain’t letting her go,” Caleb says from behind me.

She huffs and turns down the corridor. “Come on.”

I follow her to a single hospital bed that’s surrounded by sliding draped separators. There are other beds that from what I can tell at quick glance are empty. Good. More attention for her.

“Go ahead and lay her there.” She moves around the tiny space, grabbing medical shit.

I lay her on the bed, and my mind goes back to what Jonah said about Sadie. He wears her so even when she’s sleeping she can hear a heartbeat, feel the heat of her parents, and know that she’s safe. I sit on the bed and lie back, making sure to keep her cheek pressed against my chest. My heart is racing, thumping so hard that even blacked-out I know she can hear it. Feel it.

Two nurses rush in with a rolling table. They ignore me and go to work on Gia’s vitals.

“What happened tonight?” the nurse from the front desk asks.

“Drug overdose, I think, but I’m not sure. I found her like this about an hour ago.”

“Her name?”

I swallow hard. “Georgia McIntyre.”

“Date of birth?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“Age?”

“Twenty-two, maybe twenty-three.” She could’ve had a birthday while she was living with Hatch in that shithole. I kiss her head. Will she ever forgive me?

“BP’s low.” The nurse inspects her hand. “Cyanosis. We need to intubate.” She rips open a sterile pack. “Sir, you can stay close, but if we don’t start breathing for her she could die.”

I kiss her head and roll her from my arms. She flops to her back, her bare breasts exposed. My chest cramps at how pale she looks. I cover her nakedness, and tears blur my vision.

They feed the tube down her throat. “We need blood work, stat.” The other nurse pulls out a vial and needles, and I shift so that they can get better access to her arm.

“Will she be okay?” Please, say she’ll be okay.

“She’s not getting enough oxygen. We don’t know how long she’s been like this, so only time will tell.” Her sympathetic eyes meet mine. “She’s in a coma.”

“A coma? When will she come out?” My voice cracks at the thought of my life without Gia in it.

“That’s up to her. We’ll help her breathe, give her medication to neutralize the drug, but that’s all we can do. After that, she’s got to fight.” The nurse pulls a tube of blood and starts to fill another. “She’s lucky you brought her in when you did. A few more hours like this . . .” She shakes her head.

I bring her tiny hand to my mouth and kiss her knuckles. I’m so sorry, Gia. This is all my fault.

~*~

“You know we don’t want to leave you here, man.” Jonah’s leaning against the wall of the small hospital room, looking as if he needs a good night’s sleep.

“Yeah, I know.” It’s bad enough riding the guilt of finding Gia in a heroin-induced coma. I won’t be responsible for taking Blake from his pregnant girl or Jonah from his wife and baby. “It’s fine, really. You guys should go.”

“How long you staying?”

“They said they’re going to evac her to Denver.”

She’s asleep, her face the picture of peace except for the hollowed-out features. And even still, she looks beautiful.

“I assume you’re stickin’ around until she wakes up?”

“I have to be here when she wakes up.” I pull her tiny hand into mine. “She’s afraid of hospitals.”

A soft knock comes from behind me. I turn to see Blake standing a respectful distance away. “Cool if I come in?”

I nod and turn back to Gia.

“I talked to Hodgeson.” Blake walks around to the side of the bed to face me.

Lieutenant Dave Hodgeson helped Blake nail the guys who doped him earlier this year. He said he’d call and try to get some inside information on where the fuck Hatch is and what he’s running from.

I’m hoping he’s got some good information. Soon as Gia wakes up and gets settled, I’m going after the tubby piece of shit for what he did to her. The sooner we find him, the sooner I can kill him.

I swing my gaze to Blake. “And?”

“Dude’s on the run for homicide. Murder-for-hire type shit.”

Son of a bitch. My jaw locks down; anger and fear swirl in my gut. She’s been shacked up with a murderer. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to stay calm, and force my mind to what’s important: her health. I need her to wake up, and yelling in her face for trusting a guy like Hatch won’t help. But what was she thinking?

“Who’d he kill?” Jonah’s question is laced with frustration.

“Dave couldn’t give me too many details. All I know is that it was a hit, apparently on a rival MC member.” He scratches his jaw and shrugs. “Guess those boys deliver their own brand of retribution. Cops would be doing Hatch a favor if they took him to prison. He’d be someone’s bitch, but I think that’d be a better alternative than having your eyeballs cut from your skull with a butter knife.”

My stomach twists with worry. These are the kinds of people she lived with, shared her life with? My God, anything could’ve happened.

“Dave mention where Hatch might be?” I’m thinking that tipping off the rival MC might do me a favor. It’d take care of Hatch and my hands stay clean.

Fuck! What the hell is my problem? That makes me no better than him.

“They heard he was in Vegas. Obvious choice would be Mexico.” He sets his eyes on me. “They’ll find him.”

I take a deep breath and hold Gia’s hand tighter between mine. I’m never leaving her side again, and I’d never allow her to be anywhere near Tubby. The cops and a notorious biker gang are after him; it’s best I let whoever gets to him first take him out.

“Thanks, B. Appreciate you making the call.”

He gives me a chin lift. “Of course. I’ll keep you updated if I hear anything.” He dips his head, motioning toward Gia. “Need to keep this girl safe. Fucker better not come back for her.”

“Ha!” Jonah coughs up a laugh. “I don’t know, bro. I wish he would. I’d love to give that dude a welcome-home beating.”

Blake chuckles. “No shit. I’m down if you are.”

“Me first.” My two words hang heavy for a few silent seconds while I contemplate what it would feel like to punish Hatch for my mistake. Fuck.

Caleb walks into the small room, his phone to his ear. “Right. Thank you.” He pushes end and puts the phone in his pocket. “Flight’s in two hours. We better go.”

They all throw out their own versions of well-wishes. Caleb steps up to the bed and puts his hand on Gia’s shoulder for a second before turning to leave. Blake follows behind him.

“All right, bro.” Jonah claps me on the shoulder. “I’ll overnight you some clothes and shit. Call me if there’s anything else you need.”

I nod but don’t take my eyes off Gia.

“She’ll pull through. She’s a fighter.”

“Thanks, man.” I hope he’s right. If ever there’s a time to fight, it’s now.

The sound of Jonah’s retreating footsteps echoes and disappears down the hall. My thoughts turn to Hatch. There’s a good chance I’ll never see him again. He’ll end up dead in some Mexican motel room or gunned down in the streets, but I can’t help the surging need for revenge. I shake my head to free the thoughts and try to stay positive.

Focus on Gia.

“Just us, baby.” I squeeze her hand. “You feel like opening those pretty gray eyes? I’d love to see ’em.” I kiss the inside of her wrist and rest my forehead against it. “I miss you.”

The beeping of monitors and the soft sound of machines breathing for her are all I get. I close my eyes. “Come on, Gia. I need you to fight.”

My mind flashes back to the clear memories of my past. “When I was in the basement, after I had a visitor finish with me, get his fill, I’d be left alone in the dark.”

I lift my head but pull her hand to my lips to tell my story against her soft skin.

“I’d just sit there, disoriented, confused, aching on the inside more than my broken body hurt on the outside. I remember . . . I remember wishing that the black would just swallow me up. I would beg to be absorbed into it and disappear. It sounds so stupid now.” The wispy tendrils of the past crawl across my skin as I recall the feeling. “I wasn’t afraid of the black. I wanted to run into it, hide in it, live in it. And then I’d hear a voice so sweet I remember thinking if heaven had a sound it would be that voice.”

It’s amazing how long I went without remembering that, and now it’s so vivid. I can almost hear an eight-year-old Gia singing Christmas songs in my head. The warmth that would accompany her singing surges in my chest. She was everything to me back then, the only light I had in the dark.

“Your voice alone pulled me from the void. Hearing it made me want more of it, made me want to fight for the peace it would bring. If it weren’t for you, baby, I’d never have gotten free. I would’ve let the black take me, surrendered to it.”

I want to be that for her. Show her that there’s hope beyond the black. Reach in and drag her back from wherever she is.

I crawl onto the bed. Maneuvering around all the IV tubes and monitor cords, I pull her limp body into my arms.

“I know you’re in the dark now. You’re hurting and letting that black soothe you. I get it, baby.” I curl into her so that my lips are at her ear. “But I’m here to drag you out. You hear me? Listen to my voice, Gia. Remember. Don’t let the dark pull you in. Remember me. Kick and thrash and fight for the light. I’ll be here. No matter how long it takes, I’ll be here.” I place a slow kiss against her temple and rest her head on my chest.

She has to come back. She just has to.

~*~

Ten days in a coma.

I’ve gone through every emotion available, from being scared as shit that I’ll never see those gray eyes again, to being over-fucking-joyed that at least she’s still breathing.

Now? Now, I’m angry.

I want to blame someone and everyone for what she’s going through. Blaming myself is the easy part. Hatch is next on my shit list, and many nights when I’m crunched in the hospital bed with her I put myself to sleep with thoughts of torturing the tubby fuck the next time I see him. I blame her parents for fucking her up however they did. But the hardest person to blame is her.

I can’t believe that the Mac I came to know, the Gia I knew as a kid, would intentionally do this to herself. She’s mentally the strongest person I know, and only mental weaklings get hooked on drugs.

I walk to the single window in her hospital room and look out at the setting sun over Denver. It looks as if it had been a nice day. I haven’t been outside since the helicopter dropped us here a week ago. A week.

The doctor says every day that passes lessens her chances of pulling out. Fuck.

A knock on the door gets my attention. “Yeah? Come in.”

One of the nurses who have been regulars for this last week pushes into the room with a cart. “Hey, Rex, how’s our girl doing today?” She walks over and begins her routine of checking monitors and vitals.

“Hey, Bridgette.” I move to the edge of the bed and stand close by as I do every time anyone—doctor or nurse—comes in to see her. “Same. Sometimes when I’m holding her hand I feel it twitch.”

“That’s great.” She puts a stethoscope against Gia’s chest. “You getting frisky with your man there, Gia? Maybe next time you could try opening your eyes for him?”

I smile at the easy girl-talk way she’s relating to her like she’s still a person. A lump forms in my throat.

“Everything looks stable.” She tucks Gia’s hand back under the blanket and arranges her hospital gown at her chest. “Maybe tomorrow we can wash your hair.” She smooths and tucks a strand behind Gia’s ear. “That sound good?”

My chest cramps at the thought of this being Gia’s reality. People talking to her deadened face, a tube coming out of her mouth so she can breathe.

Wake up, baby. Please.

~*~

Mac

I’m in the basement. The one from my childhood home, or at least I think it is. It’s hard to tell because it’s so dark. I’ve been stumbling around, feeling my way against the cold concrete walls. There’s nothing. No windows, doors, stairs. Empty.

I’m forgetting something important, but when I reach with my mind to figure it out, I get nothing. Anxiety makes me fidget. I’m nervous. But why?

Being stuck in this small dark space sends a flash of panic through my veins. My skin prickles with sweat. But just like turning around in a dark hall, when I try to pick apart the reasons for my unease, I come up with nothing: no memory of a past, no anticipation of the future.

I curl up in the corner, holding myself together. The only thing I have in here, the one thing that I associate with any feeling at all is the voice.

I wait, stretching my hearing to listen for the voice that calms my restlessness. These are the moments I live for, to hear his stories and whispered words of how much he misses me. Needs me.

He feels so much. I can hear it in the way he talks. If only I could figure out how to get to him. I’ve tried to talk, even yelled, but the walls in here are too thick. He can’t hear me.

A low rumble echoes from somewhere far away. I quiet my mind and concentrate. Please be him. I hear the faint sound of his voice.

No, wait. Voices.

His and another. He’s not talking to me, but to someone else. At least he’s close. That’s enough for now.

“Thanks for coming, Rave.”

Who’s he talking to?

“She looks so peaceful.”

My breath hitches at the familiarity of that voice.

“God, I’m so sorry.”

It’s a woman. She sounds so sad.

“It’s not your fault, Rave.”

Rave? I know her. But how?

“No, it’s not. It’s Dominick’s fault. All of this.”

Anger and the fire of revenge ignite my blood.

“I killed him, but he’ll never die.”

Her voice is mad and matches the feeling that surges in my chest.

“I just want her back.”

It’s him, my angel in this hell.

“I know, Rex. Me too.”

My head tingles and my hands feel numb.

Rex. Rex?

Visions explode behind my eyes: blue eyes, hands clasped beneath a door, tattoo-covered arms and chest, and his smile.

Oh my God. Rex!

I rush to the walls of the basement. I’m here. He needs to know. I smack my palms against the unforgiving wall. Rex, help me! I scurry down the wall and hit a corner. My hands search for a fissure, an imperfection that might lead to freedom, something I’ve done before, and still, no escape.

I drop to my knees. Memories wash over me in debilitating waves: the bear, this basement, Dominick, and Hatch. Oh, no. I was dead. I died, and yet Rex is here.

I don’t want to say goodbye. I’m not ready to let go. He’s been telling me this entire time to fight, to break free from the dark, but his words were like gibberish. I get it now. He wants me to come back to him.

Fight for him. Fight for us.

Pushing up with renewed strength, I throw my weight against the walls. My fists pound harder to no avail. I scream and kick the solid mass. A growl of frustration explodes from my throat.

“Gia, baby, I’m here.”

Rex! I fight harder, throwing my body against the darkness that separates us. I kick the solid wall. Once, twice. I punch it, shove against it, cry, scream, and thrash for release.

“Yes, that’s it. Fight for it. Don’t you give up, baby.”

A fierce war cry bursts from my lips. I run from one end to the other, hurling my body against the walls.

“You’re there; now push through. Follow my voice, Gia.”

I listen, close my eyes, and focus on his voice.

“Remember me. Remember.”

I remember.

“Now fight!”

My muscles tense. A tremor starts in my gut and coils with power. I crouch.

I remember you, Rex.

A final thrust from deep within and a guttural roar, and I burst free into bright light. My throat burns. Arms close in tight around me.

“Yes, baby. Fuck yeah, you did it.” His face is buried in my neck; all I can see is his dark hair and feel his breath against my ear. “God, yes! You did it.”

I’m weak and can’t move. I try to talk, but something blocks my words. I try to rip it out. Women dressed in blue scrubs rush into the room. Rex pulls back, tears spilling from his tired eyes. They take something from my mouth. I cringe at the release and gasp for air.

Exhausted, I push two words from my throat. The only two words that matter.

“I remember.”

Twenty-six

Lived locked in a void,

a death with no tomb.

But your light guided me

And brought me home to you.

--Ataxia

Mac

A few nurses busy themselves in a flurry around my hospital bed. Anxiety picks at my nerves. I tuck my feet in close and curl around my clasped hands. I’m burrowed into Rex’s side; the only thing keeping me together is the strength of his arms wrapped tightly around me.

Why am I here? Disoriented, I want to close my eyes and pray this away, wake up in Rex’s bed, wrapped in his embrace.

A nurse reaches for my arm.

I jerk away. “Don’t let them tie me down.” My throat is raw, and I can barely hear myself over the commotion in the room.

But Rex hears me. His arms convulse around my shoulders, and he tucks me tighter into his side.

“Listen to me closely.” He speaks into my temple, allowing me to feel his words against my skin. “I won’t let anyone do a damn thing you’re not one-hundred-percent comfortable with.” He nuzzles my hair. “Nod if you understand me.”

I nod and squeeze in tight to bury my face in his chest.

He’s right. I can tell by the layout of the room I’m at a hospital meant to care for people, not the kind that locks people up, binds them with restraints, and drugs them all in the name of their best interests.

“They need to take out your IV.” He pulls my arm away from my body for the nurse but keeps his grasp firmly around my bicep, reminding me that he’s here and in control.

I’m shaking so badly that even my insides feel as if they’re quivering. My gaze darts around the room, leery of every uniform. Getting the hell out of the dark was all I wanted, but waking up in a hospital makes me long for the safety of my concrete prison.

Rex leans in and presses his lips to my head. “Talk to me, baby.”

A young nurse fumbles at my arm. Her eyes slide to mine, and she smiles like she knows me. I blink and bury my face back into Rex’s chest as she removes tape and slides the tube from my vein.

The sterile smell of antiseptic and the muted green walls make my body ache with the urge to run. If they pull out a syringe or a tie down . . . I can’t. I have to get out of here.

The nurse replaces the IV with a cotton ball and a strip of tape. “Georgia can—”

“That’s not my name.” My cheeks heat at my reflexive reaction. But it’s true.

Georgia’s dead. I’m Mac.

A tendril of red hair falls into my eyes. Slowly, I pull at the bright locks and loop them around my finger. Visions of my fight with Rex flash before my eyes. I suck in a breath and a whimper pushes up my throat.

I left Vegas. Mac’s dead.

The bar, Hatchet, the Motorcycle Club. Oh my God, the drugs. My breath picks up its pace to match my racing heart. Hatch left. I was so sick and . . .

I died. Annie died on Hatch’s bed.

The nurse swings her gaze to Rex, questioning, then looks back at me. “Honey, do you remember your name? Can you tell us who you are?”

“I’m not that girl.” Georgia, Mac, Annie, none of them. “I’m not.” I shake my head, earning another sympathetic look from the nurse.

If I’m not them, who am I?

Rex clears his throat. “Would it be all right if we have a minute alone?”

The nurse’s eyes snap to Rex, wide with surprise.

“All the people in here are making her uncomfortable. She’s been through a lot, and I need to make sure she’s okay.”

They stare at him, hands frozen mid-task. One of them, a tall brunette with kind eyes, steps up to the monitor at my bedside. “Her vitals look good. We can come back later and run some tests.” She nods to the others, and they all file out of the room.

At the sound of the door shutting behind them, my lungs release their death grip and I take a full breath. “I want to go ho—um . . .” I don’t have a home.

His hand, warm and comforting, cups my jaw. I gaze up into his soft blue eyes, so clear I notice right away the old shadows that used to be there are gone.

“Fuck, baby. I’ve missed your eyes.” He kisses the tip of my nose, further relaxing my tense muscles. “I’m going to take you home. As soon as they give you the okay, we’re out of here.”

Home. Back to Vegas.

I shake my head. “But you kicked me out. I remember, Rex. You said you’d forget me. You called me . . .” Liar. Manipulator. Selfish. The pain of his words thunder in my ears. “Why are you here?”

He looks me in the eyes. “Simple. I was wrong.”

“But—”

“You tried to explain, but I was so wrapped up in the memories.” He sighs long and heavy. “I didn’t handle it the way I should have and I’m so, so sorry.”

“How did you know I was here? Did you talk to Hatch?” A sick swell of hope rises in my chest at the prospect that Hatch is okay, that he sought out Rex for me.

His jaw locks down, eyebrows dropping low over tight glaring eyes. “No. Hatch is gone, but thankfully the tubby fuck had enough sense to spill his guts to Trix before he disappeared.”

My head spins with information, piecing together everything he’s telling me. The only thing that I can grab on to is that Rex wants to take me home to Vegas. The details about the rest can be figured out later.

I pull the hospital blanket up to my chin with shaking hands. “I just . . . I want to get out of here.”

“I want to get you out of here.” He cups my cheek and tilts my face up. “I know why you’re afraid of hospitals.”

“You do?”

His thumb glides along my lower lip, the touch so gentle and full of meaning it drops my eyelids. “Yeah, apparently Dominick kept impeccable records of the lives he ruined. Raven inherited all his shit. She’s hell bent on righting his wrongs and remembered your name.”

“How?”

“In a file from Ridley Mental Institution, there was a picture in there from the day you were checked in.” He squeezes my hand. “That picture . . . I knew right away it was you.”

My pulse races; fear that he thinks I’m a certifiable lunatic claws at me. “I’m not crazy.”

Sympathetic eyes find mine. “Yeah, I know. I want to know how you ended up there, but those details can wait. First, we need to focus on getting you cleared for discharge. Problem is, baby, they’re not going to let you leave if you can’t tell them your name.”

“Right.” I messed up. I should’ve just answered to Georgia.

“Talk to me. I can’t help if I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

I shake my head. “I can’t tell them. Doctors don’t understand.” I lean in to whisper. “They call me crazy, but they don’t know what it’s like.”

“Explain it to me.”

“I was born Georgia McIntyre, but then”—I tilt my head and stare into his eyes—“you died. She died with you.”

He turns away and the muscle in his jaw ticks.

“In the institution, they called me by my last name. I was McIntyre. I escaped into the simplicity of Mac. She was focused on revenge and she gave me a purpose.”

“Revenge against Morretti.”

“Yes. My parents worked for him and when they ran—”

“Ran from the cops? Why’d they call them in the first place?”

“They didn’t.” My mind races back to that night, the fear of my punishment was nothing compared to the agony of watching him die. “I called 911.”

He sucks back a quick breath. “You called?”

I shrug, not ready to hear the gratitude in his voice. “After the ambulance took you away, my parents panicked. They thought you’d talk, and it wasn’t jail they were afraid of. It was Dominick. They ran.”

“What about you? Who took care of you?”

I pick at the hem of my hospital gown. This was the story I’d begged him to give me a chance to tell before he gave up on me. Will he understand if I tell him now?

“They locked me in the closet. I don’t know how long I’d been in there before Dominick got me out.” I thought he was there to save me. Wrong. “He said my parents were dead and he was my legal guardian. I screamed that he needed to help me, told him what they’d done to you, but he said I was crazy. He’s the one who locked me up in the institution.” The helplessness comes rushing back, screaming the truth until I’d lose my voice or they’d strap me down and shove a needle in my arm.

“Son of a bitch!” His body tenses against mine. “How did you get out?”

“I turned eighteen, realized that I’d never be free unless I played their game. I told them I was lying, that I was an angry kid because my parents abandoned me. In time, I convinced them I was sane enough for release. I went looking for Dominick. Found out he owned a strip club in Vegas. By the time I got close enough, I was too late.”

“He was dead.”

“That’s right.”

“And that was the peace you were looking for. Revenge.”

“No.” I hold his stare. “That was you I was looking for. You’re my peace.”

“And you’re mine.” His eyes glisten as if he’s fighting tears. “I just . . . I didn’t realize it until after I lost you.”

“Are you saying . . .?” Can I even bring my lips to speak the words? “You want me?”

He can’t be. It’s too good, and good is something I’m not entitled to.

He cups my cheeks between his big hands and runs his lips along mine. “What I’m saying is”—his forehead rests against mine—“I love you.”

I suck in a breath, trying to hold it along with this moment. Hot tears mark trails down my cheeks. Please be real.

“Breathe, baby.” He wipes away my tears with his thumbs and kisses the corners of my mouth. He runs his hand through his hair, leaving it to rest on the back of his neck. “I know I’ve got some making up to do.” He turns on the bed to face me head on and takes both of my hands in his. “All I want to know is that there’s a chance.”

My lips twitch at the way he uses my own words, from the night we made love, against me. “You have more than a chance, Rex. You have me. You always have and nothing will ever change that.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“It’s not about deserving. It’s about fate. I was put on this earth to love you. Deep down to the core of my soul I’ve always known it. There may be someone else for you, but you’ve always been it for me.”

He plants his head in my lap, his arms moving around my waist. I sift my fingers through his hair while he holds on to me like a life raft. Minutes pass in silence as we cling to each other.

On instinct, I hum the familiar melody of “Silent Night.” His arms convulse around me. With every repeated verse, a tiny bit of life returns to a part of me I’d long forgotten.

The girl who set eyes on a young boy and knew he’d own her heart forever sings from the dark part of my soul, reminding me that there’s hope. And maybe with time our love could raise her from the dead.

Twenty-seven

The dark is no place to plant a seed.

Yet with our hands in the ground, we give in to our need.

Digging through the shit we can’t stand to face.

Learned the hard way that our past can’t be erased.

--Ataxia

Rex

Living with Hatch.

Property of Hatch.

All so she could feel taken care of or self-destruct.

All because of me.

Shit. I thought my problems ended at dealing with my past. I was wrong. She explained on the plane ride back to Vegas that she had nowhere else to go and that all she wanted was to feel safe. I can’t help but think that I made her feel as desperate as I felt living in that basement. She was alone, willing to give whatever she had to offer to feel accepted, taken care of. The thought makes me sick.

She gave herself over to a scumbag like Hatchet, hoping to heal the wounds I’d inflicted. And he let her. He had to know how upset and desperate she was. He took advantage of her; he was no better than those sick bastards who visited me as a kid.

She said more, but I don’t remember because I was too busy planning the thousand different ways I was going to torture Hatch the next time I see the tubby fuck. Her insistence that he saved her, protected her from dudes who’d have taken advantage of her, only pisses me off more. Brainwashing motherfucker.

We took a cab from the airport. Other than Raven and Jonah, who were there the day she woke up, she didn’t want anyone to know she was back. A lot has happened and she needs a few days to recoup before all the women descend.

“Rex, I don’t think this is a good idea.” She’s standing in the doorway to my condo, her arms crossed at her chest. “I’m sure I can stay with Trix.”

Wearing gray sweatpants the same color of her eyes and a tight black thermal shirt that offsets the bright red locks of her shoulder-length hair, she’s a damn knockout. We haven’t been alone for more than an hour since she came out of a coma. I told myself that I’d keep my hands off her until she’s ready, but it’s taken every bit of strength I have not to strip her naked and worship every inch of her body.

I drop the small bag of our stuff just inside and turn to pull her into my arms. “We’ve been over this. Trix has a roommate now and you need rest.” I kiss the top of her head. “And if I haven’t already made it clear, here’s clear-er.” I pull back and cup her face, tilting it to look at me. “I’m never losing you again. I want to feel you breathing against me when I sleep as a constant reminder that you’re here, alive, and mine. Dating isn’t enough, baby. I want more, and unless you have a really, really fucking good reason why you don’t want that, it’s not up for discussion.”

Her body relaxes in my hold. “I know this has to be so hard for you. I don’t want to cause you any stress.”

She’s always thinking of me before herself. I pull back and meet her eyes. “You’d be surprised how far I’ve come since you left.” With her hand in mine, I move inside the condo and shut the door.

She stops in the foyer, and I turn to find her slipping off her shoes.

“Leave them on. I’m okay.”

Her eyes go wide. “Really?”

It’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but after my memories came flooding back, I’ve been working to overcome my compulsions. Daily breakthroughs and praises from Darren are all things I can’t wait to tell her, but now isn’t the time. She’s spooked and I can’t lose her, so I’ll slam the door on that convo and concentrate on making her at home.

I ignore her question and bring her to my bed at the far end of the room. “Lie down. I’ll order some food.”

“Rex, you don’t have to take care of me. I’m fine.”

I sift my fingers through her hair and notice how it glistens a dozen different shades of orange, so different from Mac’s hair. Even now, it’s hard to join the two women. Both are strong in their own ways, but Mac had a carefree attitude about life that I don’t see in the gray eyes I’m lost in now. Will she ever be that way again?

“Gia . . .”

She cringes and drops her chin.

I kiss her forehead and catch her eyes. “What do you want me to call you?”

“I like it when you call me baby.”

“Yeah.” I run my lips along hers and the gentle hitch of her breath sends a wave of arousal through my body. “I like callin’ you baby, but everyone else knows you as Mac.” I slide my hands around her body and dip them down to rest on her ass. “Who do you wanna be?” I kiss a path down her neck, and she drops her head to the side on a moan.

“I want to be yours.” Goose bumps race across the tender skin of her neck.

“Mmm you got that, baby.” I squeeze two fists-full of her backside and hold back the urge to push her back onto the bed and climb between her legs.

I haven’t felt like this since the last time we were together before she left: consumed by her to the point that everything else fades and all that’s left is us.

She pushes her palms up the front of my sweatshirt, fingers raking along my abs. I tense and roll my hips, grinding my hard-on into the softness of her body.

“I want you.” Her words reverberate in my skull, awakening all the parts of me I thought I’d never feel again.

I cover her mouth with mine and pull at her lower lip. She understands and immediately tilts her head, opening her mouth just enough for me to delve inside. My senses explode at the sweet taste of her mouth. The slick heat of her tongue slides against mine, firing my need to make her mine in every way.

Holding her tight, I walk her toward the bed until the backs of her legs hit and she drops, breaking the kiss. She looks up with lust-fogged eyes and a need I’ve never seen on her before. She’s so fucking sexy it has me fighting the urge to take my dick in my hand.

Unable to keep my hands off her, I trace the line of her jaw to her full lips. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” Her one word answer spoken against my fingertips jacks my hips forward.

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m pushing, but I’m not sure I can go another second without being inside you, baby.” I swallow hard, repulsed by my inability to control my desires. She’s been traumatized, and the last thing she needs is me throwing myself all over her.

With her eyes fixed at my waist, she reaches up and unbuckles my belt. I’m helpless and can only watch as she slips the strap from the buckle and pops the button on my pants. Her soft gray eyes peer up at me, and I pull my lip ring between my teeth at the question I see in her eyes. She drops the zipper and dips her hand beneath the elastic of my boxer briefs to free me. Her eyebrows drop low as her fingers tease my newest piercing. She dips her chin to study it closer.

Her breath catches in her throat. “Oh my.” She gazes back up and me. “Why?”

I shrug. “After you left, I wanted a reminder of my vow to never go there again with another woman.”

The pad of her thumb brushes from one end of the barbell to the other sending waves of euphoria shooting up my spine. “So while I was gone, you never . . .?”

“No.”

Her cheeks flush pink and her shoulders slump. “Oh.”

I haven’t asked, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that if she’d been sleeping in Hatch’s bed for six months chances are they were doing a lot more than sleeping. But I know what it feels like to be desperate. I remember needing to feel loved so badly that I’d degrade myself to feel anything remotely close to it. I understand why she did what she did, and in a lot of ways I’m responsible for it. I pushed her to it just like the circumstances of my life pushed me.

“Look at me.”

She blinks up at me, tears shining in her eyes.

“We both have things we’re not proud of, but that doesn’t touch what happens between us.”

“If I could take it back . . .”

“No take backs, baby. I love you. That’s where we stay.”

She inhales a shaky breath, and a ghost of a smile passes her lips. “I love you, too.”

Warmth flutters through my chest and turns to heat at the fire I see in her eyes. She wraps one hand around me in a firm grip and leans in. Softly, she brushes her lips first before swirling her tongue around my piercing. My stomach tumbles, and my pulse rockets through my veins. I fist my hands in her silky red hair, holding her to me. She parts her lips, and my dick disappears inch by inch into her mouth until she can’t take anymore.

“Fucking beautiful. You look so gorgeous takin’ me in.”

A moan of approval vibrates her throat and sends my hips thrusting forward. She braces her hands on my thighs, keeping me still while she sucks me deep.

Less than a year ago these were the things that would drive me to be sick, but with her it’s different. We’re not taking or using but rather sharing in the pleasure together.

Her dark eyelashes lie in contrast to her fair skin. Full dark lips shine with moisture. The visual becomes too much. Afraid if I don’t stop her this will be over way before either of us is ready, I pull away.

Her eyes dart to mine. “Are you okay? Did I—”

“I’m fine.” I try to give her a reassuring smile, but intoxicated with lust it’s hard to pull off. I take a step back. “Stand up.”

She jumps to her feet, and I grin at her eager need to please. Such a good girl.

I grab the hem of her shirt and wait for her to nod the go-ahead. Once I get it, I drag the fabric slowly over her skin, allowing her to feel every fiber. Little by little her skin, smooth against my knuckles, is revealed. Perfect. I tug the shirt off over her head, and her hair falls to hit the tops of her shoulders. She’s still so thin, and there’s a slight indentation at her ribs that wasn’t there before. I vow in this moment to feed her any and everything she wants for the rest of her life.

My gaze crawls up her torso from belly button to chest and lingers at her white lace bra. She’s breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling, teasing me with the visual of their pink tips through the fabric. My palms tingle to get at them.

“Turn around.”

She does, and I step in close behind her so my hard-on presses against her. I smile, enjoying the moan of pleasure that falls from her lips. Reaching for her bra, I slide down one strap at a time, kissing the path that it takes down her arms. The delicate coconut scent of her skin shoots through my senses and stokes my need. Releasing the hook of her bra, I drop it to the floor at her feet. I skate my hands up her belly to cup her breasts, rolling the tips between my fingers. She arches her back, pressing into my hold.

“I want to look at you.” Using my lip ring the way she likes it, I run the metal against her shoulder and nip at her skin.

She turns around and holds my stare. Her gray eyes are darker than usual, and I’m inflamed with the need to lose myself in them when I bury myself inside her.

I drop to my knees and slide off her shoes and socks. Moving to her waist, I untie the drawstring of her pants and pull them down her legs, taking her panties with them until she’s gloriously naked before me.

I make quick work of my sweatshirt and pants, and our gazes lock. She stares at me with appreciation and an acceptance that has me wanting to fall down at her feet and beg her to never leave. And just like when we were kids, I’m vulnerable, needy, willing to do anything for her love.

A glint of disgust flickers in my gut, telling me that I need to be in control, warning me against falling victim to my need for love.

I take a deep breath. She’s not them. From the beginning, she’s loved me regardless of my past. I don’t have to earn it from her. I own her heart.

With a growl of victory, I close the space between us and hook her around the neck, crashing her lips to mine. She falls into me but fights against my dominance. Every thrust of my tongue she meets with a push of her own. Her hands rip through my hair, pulling me closer, pushing me back. Her leg hooks around my hip, and the heat of her exposed body rubs against mine. The simple act pistons my hips forward, knocking her back onto the bed where I tumble on top of her.

She opens her legs wide and lifts her hips. “Please. I need you.”

Sucking the tender skin of her neck between my lips, I slam my eyes shut and hold back from burying myself inside her wet heat.

With loosely held control, I drag myself away to pull a condom from my bedside table. Faster than my aroused mind can follow, I rip, roll, and drop back between her legs.

She digs a heel into the bed, and I allow her to push me to my back. Straddling my hips, she guides me into her body so damn slowly I grind my teeth to avoid slamming into her.

Her head drops back. “Yes, that’s it.”

I grab her hips firmly and growl. “I’m it.”

“You’ve always been it.” She lifts and drops with long intentional strokes that drive me to the brink of blissful insanity.

“Gia, baby, don’t stop.”

Her eyes find mine through the fog of arousal. “Say it again.” Another slide in . . . out. “My name.”

“Gia.” I cup her breasts and seize her nipples between my fingers. “My Gia.”

“Yes. Always.” She rolls her hips in waves as the frenzy takes over.

I drive my hips up, meeting her push for pull, and tilting my pelvis to add more friction. She drops forward, the full length of her torso pressing against mine. Her hair falls around my face. Skin to skin, breath on breath, climbing, pounding, reaching.

“Harder, baby.”

Her pace quickens, and she snags my lip between her teeth.

“Fuck, yeah.” I throw my weight behind my hips, driving into her.

My muscles go tight, eyes fixed on her red hair and gray eyes. The feelings of comfort drown me in my love for her. She’s harbored her loyalty and affection for me, dedicated her thoughts to delivering revenge for me.

I spent my childhood bartering my body for the love of another when this whole time she’s had unconditional love for me. She held it, guarded it, and offered it when she finally could. And for that I owe her everything I have to give.

“Gia, baby”—I release her hips, feeling her soft skin as I move up the curves of her body—“give me all of you.” I pull her in for a long, deep kiss. My head lifts off the bed, pushing toward her while tugging her closer. Our hips surge together in a frantic chase.

Her neck arches back and she rips her lips from mine. My name falls from her lips seconds before the orgasm slides through her body. I pull my lip between my teeth. My head is light with euphoria as my body and soul climax together.

A torrent of memories hit me at once: the first time I felt her skin and the tender brush of her lips, her easy smile that would make my chest ache, and her body, lying broken and alone.

I almost lost her.

I could’ve lost this.

I roll on top of her, and she welcomes my weight with a sigh. Seconds after my orgasm, I’m not only still hard but hungry for more.

And only then do I notice I’m not sick, not even a little. My gut that’s usually cramping is warm and tingles with satisfaction.

At peace.

Cured.

I bury my face into her neck and fight back the urge to thank her, worship her, and devote the rest of my life and everything I have to making her happy.

Twenty-eight

Inhospitable, my soul.

No life or love can thrive.

But your belief in me

Is what keeps me alive.

--Ataxia

Gia

I didn’t know until now, wasn’t sure who I was or who I’d end up being in a year’s time. But now I know.

I’m Gia.

Rex’s Gia, new and improved.

My body and mind are soothed by our lovemaking; a slow grin spreads across my face. His weight is heavy between my legs, crushing against my chest, and I’m lighter than I’ve ever felt. What we did had nothing to do with the past, but paved the way to our future.

I only hope he feels the same. “Everything okay?”

He kisses my throat, my jaw, and then my lips. “Perfect.” Pushing up, he moves to separate our bodies.

My legs lock around his hips. “Not yet.”

His pierced eyebrow lifts and he smirks. That, combined with his mussed-up hair and piercing blue eyes, stirs a delicious ache in my belly. “Don’t you worry, baby. I’m far from through with you.”

I roll my lips between my teeth to avoid an all-out grin. Never thought I’d hear those words from his mouth, and even more fascinating is that I believe him.

“Let me ditch this condom and order some takeout.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “You haven’t eaten anything since we left Denver. You need to get something down every two hours if you can.”

He kisses down my throat to my chest, severing our connection as he trails his lips all the way to my belly button. A few passes of his mouth and he breathes in deep against my skin before pushing up off the bed.

I watch in awe as his powerful frame, covered in vibrant tattoos, moves across the space to the bathroom. It’s not lost on me how far he’s come since I left, and I wonder how he got here. Is it possible that his past coming back to him may have helped in his recovery?

“I wanted to ask you,” he says from the bathroom before walking back out completely naked and unashamed.

My eyes rake over him, taking in all his piercings including the new one. I lick my lips, remembering the feel of the metal in the back of my throat, the combination of his taste and the metallic taste of his barbell.

“Eyes up here, baby.” He’s standing by the bed, and there’s humor in his voice rather than the usual strain that would accompany anything sexual. It’s so different from before.

My eyes slide up his rippled abs to his chest and sober when I study the three letters tattooed on his pec: Mom.

“So, as I was saying, I was thinking you might want to hit the gym with me a few times a week, put some muscles back on that fine ass body of yours.”

My gaze darts from his chest to his eyes. They’re shining with happiness and love, all the things I hoped I could bring to his life and finally have.

But there’s still one thing he doesn’t know.

“Well?” He snags his pants off the floor and pulls his phone from the pocket. With one knee on the bed, he climbs in next to me. “What do you think?”

I curl into his side and rest my cheek against his chest. “Oh, yeah, I think that’s smart.”

He chuckles, scrolling through his phone contact list. “Smart?”

“A good idea. I meant a good idea.”

He hits the button to call for Chinese food, and his fingers sift through my hair. “You sure you’re all right? You seem, I don’t know, preoccupied.”

Preoccupied? Or absolutely terrified?

The last time Rex and I had sex he found out the truth of his past and wanted nothing to do with me. And here I have to tell him the one thing I’ve been keeping from him that has the potential to ruin everything we’ve built over these last couple days.

While he orders enough Chinese take-out to feed thirty guys his size, I contemplate my options.

What if I tell him and he kicks me out again? I can’t bear to lose him, but keeping secrets got me in trouble before. He called me a liar and accused me of manipulating him. He compared me to my parents. My stomach lurches and I breathe through the urge to barf.

I have to tell him regardless of the fallout.

Rex has taught me that hiding from the truth, no matter how ugly, only prolongs the inevitable. Facing the fire head on, knowing it has the potential to burn and destroy, is always the best thing to do. The right thing to do.

And now that I have him back, I’ve vowed to always do right by him.

“Shit, Gia. You’re crying?” He shifts up on the bed, trying to look at my face.

I am? I wipe away the hot tears that wet his chest. “Ha.” I force out a laugh. “Guess so.”

“That’s it.” He pushes back so that he’s resting against the headboard. “What’s going on?”

I wrap up in the sheet and face him cross-legged. “If there’s anything I’ve learned from all this, it’s that I want to always be honest with you.”

His eyes narrow and the sting of possible rejection has me second guessing my vow.

“Honest about what?”

This is the right thing to do. I take a deep breath. He needs to know, and after this, I’ll never keep a secret from him again. If he’ll still have me.

“Rex, I’ve been trying to tell you something important, but every time I get the chance, it just doesn’t come out.”

His mouth forms a tight line, mimicking his eyes. He nods once. Firm and demanding.

“It’s about your biological father.” I study his expression and only see a slight response in the flare of his eyes. “I know who he is.”

He shakes his head. “Impossible. No one knows who he is. My mom didn’t even know. There was no name on my birth certificate.”

This is going to be harder than I thought. It’s as if he’s refusing to even entertain the idea of having a biological father to avoid the pain it might bring. Makes sense, but it doesn’t change the fact that he needs to know.

“When they took you from my house, I thought you were dead.” I shake my head, trying to rid my mind of the memory. “God, Rex. There was so much blood.”

He blinks rapidly, either pushing back the memory as well, or fighting off the emotion that comes with it.

“I was miserable, thinking I’d signed your death warrant. My parents thought you’d talk, but then . . . you didn’t. You were gone. No one believed me when I cried and screamed at the top of my lungs that you’d been abused. It was like it never happened.”

He rubs the back of his neck, obviously uncomfortable, but then he looks at me. “Go on.”

“Then he showed up and pulled me from the dark closet I’d been locked up in.” Relief billows in my chest even now remembering his face, bright blond hair slicked back to reveal the blue-green eyes that were so clear they were ethereal. I thought he was an angel. “He took me in, fed me, and spoke so sweetly that I was convinced with him all the world would be made right.”

“I don’t understand.”

I chuckle at the irony. “I didn’t either. The day I was locked up in the institution, a raving little girl going on about bad men and my dead brother, he walked away from me and I realized then he was the incarnation of evil.” My body breaks out in a rush of goose bumps as I remember his evil grin as he stared down at me with the pride of an executioner. “Before he said goodbye, he leaned in and whispered the words I’ll never forget.”

The more you talk and scream, the crazier you sound.

“Wait, are you talking about . . .?” His biceps flex and a muscle in his jaw jumps. “What did he say?”

Keep it up, Georgia. You’ll never get out of here.

He used my love for Rex and my fight for justice against me. According to the police, Rex was a troubled foster child who tried to kill himself. He didn’t speak of what happened to him in the basement. Nothing I said was taken seriously.

Accused of being crazy eventually made me just that.

“Rex is alive.” I swallow the next words and say a quick prayer that when they come up again they don’t slaughter him. A single tear rolls slowly down my face. “And he’s my son.”

Twenty-nine

Love isn’t a two-way street.

It’s a one-way gate.

--Gia

Rex

I’m in my bed, in the safety of my home, sitting naked with the only person in the world who knows everything about me and loves me anyway. And yet, I’m totally alone, secluded in the dark, tumbling down, and grasping for a sliver of sanity.

“That can’t be right.” It can’t be, right? I drop my head into my hands and scrub my eyes. “He lied. It’s not true.”

“Think about it, Rex. My parents worked for him. How do you think you ended up in our house?”

“But why? If I was his kid, why would he do that to me?” Thoughts of Raven penetrate my mind. She was his daughter and look what he did to her.

Dizziness socks me hard and I drop back to the bed. “Holy shit.”

“Your eyes. They’re blue, but they’re like no blue I’ve ever seen. And have you ever really looked at Raven? Noticed the similarities in your faces?”

“Holy shit.” No, I never had, but now that she mentions it . . . “Holy shit.”

What does all this mean? That I have a half-sister? One of my best friends is my brother-in-law? Heat pricks the backs of my eyes. I’m an uncle.

I never had a family. Growing up in foster care and then a group home, I didn’t have anyone I could really rely on until I started fighting for the UFL. The organization, my fighting camp, they’ve been the only family I’ve ever had.

And now she’s telling me I have a family.

I gaze up at Gia and study her, curled in on herself, eyes bloodshot, still so fragile and now scared.

It had to be hard to tell me that, after everything we’ve been through and how I treated her the last time she exposed my past. But she braved through it regardless of the consequences, and it looks as if she’s expecting me to lash out and attack.

“You’re scared.”

Her eyes lift to mine. “More than I’ve ever been in my entire life.”

My chest cramps. She was locked up as a child, made to feel as if she were losing her mind, all because she fell in love with me. She’s the bravest woman I’ve ever met, but the thought of me pushing her away has her terrified. Fuck. I’m a stupid prick.

“I’m the son of Dominick Morretti.” The words are like gravel in my mouth.

“I believe you are.”

As horrible as that should be, and as many questions as the idea implies, it somehow feels like good news. What Gia gave me with her confession outweighs the ugly blood that runs through my veins.

She gave me her loyalty.

Her faith.

And I got a family.

But above all of those things, she gave me the ultimate sacrifice, risking our love for the sake of the truth.

“I love you, Georgia McIntyre.”

She squints through her tears and tilts her head. “You do?”

I grin. I can’t help it; she looks so damn worried and cute as hell. “I really do.”

She launches herself into my arms, and I wrap her up as tightly as I can. I bury my nose into her hair and breathe in deep, immersed in her soothing tropical scent.

Her body quakes with emotion. “I thought you’d hate me.”

“I could never hate you. Pushing you away was the worst thing I’ve ever done. I’m not the smartest man, but I learn from my mistakes. I’ll never let you walk away again.”

“Please, I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

I kiss her head and rub her back. “Everything I put you through . . . God, Gia, I had no idea. I have so much to apologize for, so much to make up for.”

“No, you don’t.” She pulls back and wipes her cheeks. “Just promise to love me.”

“That’s easy, baby.” I tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I promise.”

With whatever I have left, the scraps of a man that she’s brought back together, resurrected with her dedication, I promise to love Gia McIntyre.

I hold her until her sobs quiet to tears. Curiosity stirs thoughts about my mom and the story behind how I ended up with the McIntyre’s. I make a mental note to talk to Raven. Blood work should prove whether or not what Dominick told Gia was true or if he was just trying to make her crazy. I’m buying Raven whatever the hell she wants as a thank you for ending the pathetic life of that motherfucker Dominick.

Her cheek rests against my heart, my arm draped over her torso as it expands with every breath. She’s alive and I absorb every one of her breaths, thankful that she survived her parents, Dominick, and my pushing her away.

For the last six months, I’ve played the victim, the one to suffer a hideous crime. But I lived nightmares in the place of memories, while she had vivid memories that gave her nightmares. Her entire life she felt responsible, fought for justice, and brought herself to the brink of murder in my name for the sake of revenge.

What kind of life is that?

The doorbell rings and Gia jerks in my arms.

I kiss her head. “Shh, it’s okay. Food’s here.” Unwinding our bodies, I leave her in bed and pull on a pair of track pants. She’s watches me, and I glance at her naked beneath my dark gray sheets, the color playing off her perfect skin. I reach down and grab the comforter from the foot of the bed and pull it up to her neck. She snuggles into the warmth but looks at me with questioning eyes.

“No walls. Not givin’ Mr. Delivery Boy an eye-full of my girl.”

She giggles and the sound knocks the breath from my lungs. It’s the first glimpse I’ve gotten of Mac since before she left. Butterflies explode in my chest.

The doorbell rings again.

“Stay put.”

She nods. “I will.”

I move to the door, pulling money from my wallet, and picture Mac sitting on a barstool eating Chinese food wearing nothing but my bed sheet. Blood rushes down my body to between my legs.

Yeah, it’s definitely time to send this delivery guy home. I swing open the door, but rather than being greeted by a dude with a bag of takeout, I’m faced with the accusing blue eyes of Emma.

“Oh! Hey, Em.”

Not good.

~*~

Gia

Rex has been at the front door for longer than I would think it takes to pay for some takeout. I peek over the thick down comforter he threw over me and see him standing in the open doorway. He’s shirtless, and by the sound of the voice of the person on the other side, I’m sure the delivery girl is stalling to gaze at his impressive build.

I grind my teeth and jealousy burns my stomach.

“Em, please, calm down.”

Em? As in Emma?

“Why won’t you let me in?”

Let her in? If she’s asking, that means she’s surprised that he didn’t ask her inside. My stomach drops and I swallow hard. She’s been inside his condo before, and by the sound of it, I’d guess often.

Rex’s muscular arms are crossed at his chest, legs firmly planted wide enough that he looks like a big X.

“So now that we’ve broken up I’m not allowed in your house?” Emma practically screeches, the sound bouncing off the walls.

Broken up, as in . . . they were a couple. My fists ball tight into the bed cover.

“You’re the one who said you wanted to be friends,” she says.

Without thinking, I slide off the bed and, keeping the sheet wrapped around me, move to the door.

“Emma, now’s not a good time. It has nothing to do with—”

I step up to Rex.

“Oh shit.” He moves to step in front of me, and I halt just as my shoulder hits his.

It’s Emma, his beautiful neighbor, and right now she looks furious.

Her eyes rake up and down my body, and then she glares at Rex. “Is this where you’ve been for the last two weeks? Shacking up with her?”

He exhales hard. “It’s not what you think.”

“Well, then what is it? You wouldn’t let me sleep over, but you’ll have sex with her.” She thrusts her hand at me.

“This conversation’s over.” He shuts the door halfway.

“I was right; you are a man whore!”

Memories of him crying on the other side of the door, reassuring him that he’s a good boy, come flooding in. My body tenses.

“Hey!” I grab the door and pull it open. “Don’t call him that. You know nothing about us.”

Rex cages me to his chest from behind.

“Ha!” Her eyes go from his hold on me to my face. “It doesn’t take much to see what’s going on here. Did he tell you that less than two weeks ago he was with me?”

“Emma.” Rex’s growls her name, his patience clearly waning.

“No, he didn’t tell me that, and to be honest that’s not something I’m excited to hear, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not a bad boy, er . . . man. He’s a great man.”

“Gia—”

“No, Rex.” I shrug out from under his hold. “I know what you’re thinking, and I’d be thinking the same thing if I were in your shoes. But I’ve known Rex since I was eight years old and loved him every day since. He’s a million different things, but the one thing he absolutely is not is a man whore.” My hands shake with the need to defend him. “Now, I realize you two have history, and again, it’s not something I’m interested in hearing, but I won’t just stand here and listen to you call him names.”

She studies me for second, and the anger in her eyes is replaced by a softness that leads me to believe she not only heard what I said but that she agrees.

“Well, as fun as this is for me, ladies, I’m going to have to say”—he looks at his neighbor—“Emma, goodnight. We’ll have to talk later, as you can see now’s not a good time.” He throws his arm over my shoulders and pulls me to his side.

“Right.” She shakes her head. “Forget it. It’s not worth it.” With wave off, she turns and walks away.

He shuts the door and folds me to the front of his body, wrapping me in his arms. “Damn, that was sexy as hell you going all alpha female defending my honor.” There’s humor in his voice.

I take a shaky breath. “I don’t know what happened. It was like I was eight-years-old again.”

“Mountains to overcome.” He mumbles the words, and I wonder if he meant for me to hear them.

I tilt my head back to look up at him. “What?”

His hands run up and down my back. “Us. We have a lot to get through, but, baby, we can do this. We can.” He’s trying to convince me?

“I know.” Hell with Rex is better than heaven without him. “You should know, when we overcome those mountains, I’ll still never be okay with anyone talking bad about you.”

“Shit, so bringing you around the guys is out of the question.” He kisses my forehead, chuckling against my skin. “That’s all I need is to be breaking up fights between you and the boys.”

I shake my head and breathe easy, knowing that the guys he fights may tease him, but he’d told me they all had his back when he came looking for me, so I know they love him. “Now that there’s a good chance that you’re related to one of them, I think they’ll take it easy on you.”

He huffs out a long breath. “Yeah . . . that.”

I squeeze him tighter and pray that he knows no matter what the future brings I’ll be there to support him. “Guess you’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, huh? Make peace with your neighbor, meet Raven at the clinic for a blood test, and break the news to Jonah that you’re Sadie’s uncle.”

“All in a day’s work, baby.” He sounds so relaxed, but the way his body tensed in my arms at the mention of blood work makes me think his easy humor is more for my benefit.

Thinking about it now, ever since he found out that Dominick claimed him as his son, he’s seemed . . . fine—a little distant, thoughtful, but all around okay. I was expecting furious, irritated, even crabby would’ve been more appropriate, but fine? I can’t help but wonder what’s going on in his head.

“So . . . you and Emma.”

He kisses my forehead. “Yeah.”

My stomach plummets, hearing the affirmation from his lips. “How long?”

“A few months.”

I have no right to be jealous. After all, I wasn’t exactly in a platonic relationship with Hatchet. And if what Emma said about him refusing to have sex with her is true, then what I was doing with Hatch was the furthest thing from platonic.

The doorbell rings and we both stare at it, wide-eyed.

“You gonna get it?” I ask.

“I’m afraid of what’s waiting for me on the other side.”

“I’m starving. Maybe for Chinese food we take our chances?”

He smiles down at me. “For you, I’ll take my chances.”

And that’s what we did. We took a chance on each other, knowing that things will be hard, that our future is unclear, and that we have a lot of work to do. But nothing good comes from running away from the difficult times. Turning your back on the pain doesn’t make it go away; it just saddles up on your shoulders and slowly drives you into the ground.

We still have so much to learn, obstacles to overcome, but blessings don’t come cheap and I refuse to allow a demon from our past or hurdle in our present to rob me of a single second of our future.

Thirty

Beware of what you pray for because you just might get it.

And once the truth is revealed, it can never be forgotten.

--Gia

Rex

It’s ten a.m., and I’m sitting in Jonah’s living room. Gia’s at my side, her body curled into mine with one hand on my thigh, grounding me.

I hold her there, communicating how badly I need her, especially now.

Raven’s tucked into Jonah’s side while she explains to her mom, Milena, why we’re all here today. The woman who doesn’t look much older than Raven with long black hair and big brown eyes wide with shock, stares at me. She’s sitting upright, and her hand grips her neck as we wait for a reaction.

Wait for answers.

And hopefully hear the truth.

“. . . and because of all that, Gia believes that Rex is Dominick’s son.” Raven finishes off the story that Gia told me last night and we shared with the Slade’s this morning.

Milena’s eyes, dark and comforting, find mine. They narrow as she studies my face for so long I fight the urge to look away. “I can see the resemblance. As awful as Dominick was, he was very handsome. Your eyes, mouth”—she tilts her head—“jawline, you could very well be his.”

Jonah clears his throat, his face still registering disbelief from when I told him this morning. “Milena, Rex is three years older than Raven. Do you remember anything about Dominick having other children?”

She knots her fingers in her lap and then looks up at Jonah. “Dominick was the most egotistical man I’d ever known. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had several illegitimate children.” Her eyes find mine. “What was your mother’s name?”

Emotion burns my throat. Her name and her medical records are all that I have. Even when my memories came back, not a single one of my mom resurfaced. “Sofia Marie Carter.” My voice cracks at the last word as all that I’ve lost crashes over me. Gia squeezes my leg.

Milena squints, her gaze moving from me to just over my shoulder. “Sofia . . .” Silence hangs in the air while we wait.

Is it possible that Milena might have known her? Nothing in the paperwork said anything about her being a prostitute. As far as I know, she was employed as a cleaning lady. Not the most glamorous job, but it was honest. Legit. None of the bullshit a man like Dominick was messed up in.

“Is there anything else you can tell me about her?” Milena says.

I shake my head, and the hope of learning something new about my mom slips through my fingers.

Gia shifts at my side and leans forward. “Sofia committed suicide when Rex was five. She was found in her car, not far from her apartment, with a self-inflicted gunshot wound.”

Milena’s face pales, and she slowly covers her mouth with a shaky hand. “Oh God.” Her eyes go distant again. “Mary.”

Gia and I look at each other quickly, and Raven rushes to her mother’s side.

“Mom, who’s Mary?”

Milena’s eyes clear, and she studies me as if she’s seeing me for the first time. “Mary was one of Dominick’s housemaids.”

My heart explodes, hammering away and rejuvenating my hope. “Yeah, she was a cleaning lady.” I nod for her to go on.

“I didn’t know her well, but I remember her. She was so beautiful. Dark hair. Dominick loved being surrounded by women with dark hair. When I was pregnant and in Dominick’s home, she was there. She always looked sad, and I would catch her absently wiping things down while she was transfixed on Dominick.”

“Why transfixed?”

“My guess? Unrequited love.” Milena shakes her head. “Dominick had a way of making a girl feel as if the earth began and ended at her feet. He poured it on so heavy you couldn’t see through it if you’d tried.” Her expression sobers. “But when he took it away, decided you weren’t worth it, the rejection was crippling. You’d go from queen of his world to less than the scum beneath his foot.”

That would make sense. All the hospital reports said that they found medication for depression all over my mom’s apartment. She was alone, raising a child that she probably thought was conceived in love and then abandoned—rejected and cast aside like garbage.

Something clicks deep in my soul, and in this moment, I know this is the answer I was looking for.

“One afternoon Dominick stopped by the house where I was living with Raven. He was in a bad mood. I could tell by the way he stomped up to my front door. I didn’t ask, but he’d taken a call. I’ll never forget it. He told whoever he was talking to that Mary died. Her son needed to be taken care of until he could figure out what to do with him.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t know Mary had a son, but looking at you now, Rex, you’re the spitting image of her.”

I drop my chin to my chest and breathe, trying to keep breathing and not give in to the lung-constricting truth.

My mom was in love with the devil.

They made a baby.

Me.

Half evil, half beauty.

“Rex,” Raven says and I nod, but don’t look up. “We’ve got an appointment to get the blood test today. Don’t get upset until you know for sure.”

I shake my head. “I’m not upset. I’m processing.”

Gia squeezes my thigh, but I keep my eyes to my lap and think about my mom. Dominick thieved her love and abused her devotion. And because of that she’s dead. The information settles like a brick in my gut.

“What time is the sibling test?” I’m ready to get this over with, get my answers, and move on.

“Two, but the lab we’re using is the same that the UFL uses, so I was able to pull some strings to get us in and give us results while we’re there. Nothing says that if we show up they won’t take us early,” Jonah says.

I nod. “Let’s go. I want answers. I think I’ve waited long enough.”

~*~

“The purpose of the sibling test is to see if Raven and Rex have shared genetic markers. If they do, that will result in a positive, meaning they share a parent.” The guy wearing the white lab coat explains the science behind the test as if I care. I don’t. I’m just ready to find out so I can move on.

“The test is completely painless.” He holds up a long Q-Tip. “The swab will collect a DNA sample from the inside of your cheek.”

He goes on and on talking, but I tune him out and concentrate on the woman at my side. Gia hasn’t let go of my hand all day except to hop into my truck, but as soon as I climbed into the driver’s seat she snatched it back into hers. I pull her hand into my lap, and she turns to me with a small but reassuring smile.

“Rex, open up.” The lab guy gets the sample first from me and then Raven.

It’s silent as he ushers us into a large waiting room furnished with comfortable chairs to wait for the results.

Raven and Jonah sit across the room with Sadie asleep in the stroller.

Gia and I sit down next to Milena, who insisted on coming with us. She hasn’t spoken at all since she told me everything she knows about my mom.

“Milena, thanks for giving me back a little piece of her,” I say.

She looks up and nods.

“As of about six months ago, I didn’t remember my childhood. When I remembered, none of the memories of her came back. If you remember something about her, anything at all, will you call me?”

“I’ll try, but don’t get your hopes up. I remember very little from my childhood as well.”

Laughter bursts from my lips as I consider the group of misfits in this room. Parentless, raised by strangers, or conceived under horrible situations, we all found each other.

My entire life I’ve felt like the outsider hiding the shameful feelings that I couldn’t explain, but not anymore. In this room, with this group of individuals, we’re equals, sharing in the struggle life set before us and similar in our circumstances. It’s as if God brought us together to normalize our feelings and give us each other to lean on, confide in, and support in return.

She shrugs one shoulder. “You know, looking back on it, Dominick had a type.” Her gaze meets mine. “Mary was a very beautiful woman. And Dominick loved to break the beauty in all things.”

“My mom, from what I’ve read, was very broken.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, but as a mother speaking for another mother, I can say she would’ve been very proud of you, Rex.”

I swallow the knot that forms in my throat at hearing those words. “Thank you.”

Sadie’s soft cries come from the stroller. “I’ll get her.” Milena takes the baby and Raven pulls out a blanket and a bottle.

The door swings open. “Mrs. Slade and Mr. Carter, we have the results.”

Gia looks at me, her warm gray eyes offering a mix of anticipation and comfort.

“Rex?” Raven’s standing beside me. “Would it be all right if just you and I go back?”

Jonah’s eyebrows drop low. “Baby . . .?”

She looks at him. “Please, Jonah. If the results turn out the way we think they might, let us hear it together, alone”—her gaze swings to Gia—“if that’s okay with you.”

Gia wraps her arm around my waist and pushes up on her tiptoes, pressing a slow warm kiss to my jaw. “Of course.”

Jonah pushes back Raven’s long hair and dips down to place a kiss at the side of her neck. “We’ll be waiting. I love you.”

Raven nods and reaches out for my hand. I take it and we move from the room and follow the lab tech to a private one.

Once inside, he asks us to take a seat. Raven drops into a chair but doesn’t let go of my hand. Too antsy, I stay standing.

“After taking a look at both of your DNA profiles, it would seem that you two share a significant amount of genetic markers that would lead us to conclude you share one parent.”

My heart races and Raven’s grip on my hand tightens.

“So you’re saying . . .” I need to hear him say it, plain and simple.

“You’re half brother and sister.” His eyes go back and forth between us. “Although, it’s pretty obvious just from looking at you two that you share some dominant genes.” He smiles and hands us each a piece of paper. “Here’s a copy of the results. It’s 98.9%, which is admissible in court.”

Raven doesn’t look at the paper but lifts her chin to look up at me. She drops my hand and stands; her eyes glisten with tears. “Brother.”

“Guess so.” I smile and hook her around the back of the neck, pulling her in for a hug. “Sister.”

She giggles through her tears. “I thought Jonah already gave me everything, but here I am getting more.”

My chest swells with the warmth of her words, her love for her husband, a man who’s been there for me from the day I met him. And now we’re officially related. “Who would’ve thought the two of us coming from nothing would end up with more than our fair share?”

“Speaking of fair share”—she grins—“I’m signing over 50% of all Dominick’s assets to you.”

What the fuck? “Raven, no. I don’t want that—”

“Too bad.” She shakes her head. “You share his blood; you share his burden.”

“Keep it for Raven’s Nest.”

“We have enough to keep Raven’s Nest funded for the next thousand years. Now it’s your turn. Do your part to break his legacy and use his money to do it.”

Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. There’re group homes that are overflowing with kids who’re too old to be adopted, children who’ve been abused who need counseling, so much need and not enough people trying to eradicate it. I could use that money to help, do what I can to ensure that a child doesn’t suffer the way I did.

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

She smiles. “Great. Now let’s go tell that brother-in-law of yours that he’s finally getting the little brother he’s always wanted.”

We thank the lab tech and move back to the waiting room. Before opening the door, we take a collective breath.

Jonah, Milena, and Gia are all standing up, anxious for the results.

“Well?” Jonah’s eyes move back and forth between us.

My eyes move to Gia, the girl who dropped into my life, ripped me to shreds, and then put me back together to be better, stronger. “You were right.”

Jonah claps his hands. “Fuck yeah!” He rushes me and Raven, pulls her into a hug and gives me a fist bump. “Welcome to the family, brother!”

Gia, gray eyes shining, her red hair falling in soft wisps around her face, watches me cross to her. I sift my fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ear, and run my lips across hers. “You fought for me from the beginning; even when they all said you were crazy, you fought.”

“And you fought for me.” Tears pool in her eyes, spilling over her lower lids. “I’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

Unable to stand the space between us for another second, I pull her into my arms, and she does the same, wrapping me up so tight it’s hard to breathe.

“This is good news, Rex. It means answers and family.” She tilts her head back to look at me. “It’s a start to healing.”

I grin and kiss her head, soaking in her words of encouragement, forever grateful for the woman in my arms. “I love you, Gia.”

“I love you too, Rex.”

Thirty-one

Who knows what life will bring.

Circumstances aren’t what they seem.

We’ll grasp and hoard the good we get.

As for me, I remember you, but the rest I’ll fight to forget.

--Ataxia

Gia

It’s my first Monday back in Vegas. I have a full week ahead of me and too many things on my to-do list, which includes stopping by The Blackout to beg for my job back.

Rex thinks I should take more time off to recover and says he’s happy to cover me financially, but since I was released from Ridley I’ve been on my own and I like it that way. In the past, trusting someone to take care of me has been a big fat fail. As much as I love Rex, I need to know that I can pay my own way.

This discussion is what brought us to my number-one thing on my to-do list: therapy.

Rex rubs my leg to get it to stop jumping. “Don’t be nervous. Darren’s a good guy.”

“Mm-hm.” I’m sure he is. “Forgive me, but psycho-therapists and I don’t have the best history.” I glare at the speaker on the bookshelf across the room. “What is that music? It’s creepy. You think if I shatter that speaker there Darren will have me recommitted?” I smile at my little joke and turn to Rex.

His jaw is hard, muscle jumping in his cheek. “If anyone, and I mean anyone, tries to take you away, they’ll have to kill me first.”

My smile grows. I’ll never get used to how protective he is. Ever since I woke up in a Denver hospital, he’s barely let me do anything by myself. That’s another reason why I have to work. I like that he wants to take care of me, but I’m not crippled, at least, not physically.

Mentally, I’m not the same as I was before I left Vegas. Rex doesn’t talk about it, but I see it in the way he looks at me, as if he’s waiting for something more. He’s not the only one who misses the old me. I also miss the girl I used to be, and I do feel her coming back slowly. Too slowly. Resurrection is work for the divine, not the broken.

I gaze into the eyes of the man who’s as much a part of me as Gia, Mac, and Annie. He’s the commonality that brings them all together, the missing piece that binds them. The missing peace. I found it, and for the first time in as far as I can remember, my life isn’t only about revenge.

It’s about me.

And Rex.

Us.

The door to a small office opens and a woman and her son walk out hand in hand. My eyes follow the little boy clinging to his mother. That’s about how old Rex was when we met. It took us fourteen years to get where we are, and there’s still so much work to do, but doing it together is all that matters.

“We’ll see you next week.” The man saying goodbye must be Darren.

He’s younger than I thought he’d be. His gaze swings to us, and his face lights with a stunning smile. “Wow.” He shakes his head, his hand covering his mouth.

Rex takes my hand and stands. I follow and he leads me to Darren. His blond hair is longer than I expected with a few gray streaks that are barely noticeable against his light hair. He looks at me through his glasses, and there’s so much kindness in his hazel eyes, so different from what I’m used to.

“Darren.” Rex pulls me in front of him, but places his hands on my shoulders. The heat of his front warms my back and I feel safe. “This is my Gia.”

My Gia. Warmth fills my chest, chasing away my unease.

“Just . . . wow.” Darren holds out his hand. “It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

I reach out and grab his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you as well.”

Rex squeezes my shoulders, and I can’t hide my smile at his show of approval.

Darren motions for us to follow him into his office. We go to a small love seat and squeeze in together. Rex takes my hand, always keeping constant contact. Could I love him anymore than I do? I’d have thought no, and yet my affection for him grows every day.

“Darren?”

His eyes set on mine. “Yes?”

“I don’t know how much Rex’s told you about my past, but—”

“He’s told me all he knows, Gia. And I know you don’t believe this now, but you’re safe here. Rex has agreed to stay with you through therapy for as long as you need him, as long as it takes for you to trust me.”

I exhale and force my shoulders to relax. “Thank you.”

He nods and smiles so sweetly that I can see how Rex came to care so deeply for the man.

His eyes move between us. “You know this isn’t very professional of me to say, but I’ve known Rex for a very long time, so I’m going to say it.” He leans in, elbows on his thighs. “With your history, both the shared experiences and the traumatic events that followed, statistically you guys don’t have a chance at a healthy relationship.”

My stomach lurches and my muscles get tight, but I notice Rex is still relaxed.

“But looking at you now, the obstacles you’ve overcome to get where you are today? Your love makes a believer out of the worst cynic.”

Rex’s hand convulses around mine. “I couldn’t agree more. Now will you tell my girl she shouldn’t go back to work yet?”

My mouth hangs open, and Darren tries unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh.

“I’m thinking I trust Darren now.” I playfully shove Rex. “You can leave.”

The three of us laugh, lightening the air in the room.

Rex pulls my face to his and places a soft kiss on my lips with a drag of his lip ring. His arctic blue eyes bore into mine and he’s not smiling. “I can, but I’m never leaving you, baby. You’ve been a part of me for as long as I can remember, and I’m never letting you go.”

Just like that, work, money, history . . . none of it matters.

Something shifts within my soul and another sliver of the old me is brought back to life.

~*~

Rex

“You’re fucking lying.” Talon points at me, a smile on his face and a beer in his hand. “No way you’ve been seeing Mac since last summer. It’s damn near Christmas. I would’ve known.”

I play with the tuning on my guitar from the couch in our backstage dressing room. “Why the hell would I lie about that? She’s fucking living with me.”

Gia and I haven’t been seen together by anyone outside of the UFL guys, and we weren’t together for very long before she took off. I’m not surprised Talon thinks I’m bullshitting.

“So she left for six months to visit family, and now she’s back and living with you?” Talon shakes his head.

“Yeah, why is that so hard to believe?”

“Um, I don’t know, maybe because this is the first time I’ve heard you even talk about her.”

“I don’t give a fuck if you believe me—”

The door to the dressing room swings open and Lane and Ty come in.

“Fucking mad house out there.” Lane digs in his pocket and pulls out a smoke.

“Ever since we played House of Blues we’ve been packin’ ’em in.” Talon rubs his shaved head and drops down on the opposite side of the couch.

Ty picks up a small ice bucket that was full of beers. “I need a drink.”

Lane takes a long drag off his smoke. “You check out the new waitress?”

I go back to tuning my guitar and fight a grin.

Talon shakes his head. “No. She hot?”

“Ha! Hot’s an understatement. She’s fucking phenomenal.” Ty brings his hands to his chest. “Big tits, tiny waist, and a tight little ass.”

A growl rolls from my throat. “Easy, Ty.”

All three of them glare at me.

Ty doesn’t seem to get my warning or care, because he shakes me off and keeps talking. “Dude, the best part is she’s a redhead. You know what they say about redheads, right?”

I don’t know what they say about redheads, but I know I’m not gonna like it.

He points to his head—“Fire hair”—then to his crotch—“Fire there.” He flexes his hips forward. “Fire fucking everywhere.”

All three of the guys laugh hard while I prepare how best to rip out Ty’s Adam’s apple with my bare hands. “You stupid fu—”

There’s a knock on the door and it swings open. My blood immediately goes from hot to warm when my eyes land on Gia.

She got her job back but has agreed to work part-time until she’s gotten her strength back. After our counseling session with Darren at the beginning of the week, she seems to be getting better and better every day. She’s eating well and started running with me in the mornings to build back all the muscle she lost.

I asked her the other night if she ever misses the drugs, and she swears she doesn’t. She said the only reason she felt she needed them was to try to forget me and now that she has me all she wants to do is remember.

“Hey, guys.” Her gray eyes land on me, and just like every time they do, I’m caught up in them. Her bright red hair is smoothed out, giving her a sophisticated look as it pops against her all black uniform. Only I know how soft it is when it runs through my fingers or trails down my torso to between my legs. A tiny grin ticks her lips and a small blush colors her cheeks. “Mario said you guys have about thirty minutes. Can I get you anything to drink?”

I lick my lips, and going by the way her blush intensifies, I think she knows the only thing I want to put in my mouth is her. After our first night home, I haven’t been able to get enough of her sweet body, the soft sounds she makes when I touch her or the frustrated whimpers when I tease. And although some things about our lovemaking still make me nervous, I’ve yet to get sick or even nauseated afterwards.

“Well fuck, Ty.” Talon moves toward her and stops way too close. “You weren’t kidding. The new girl is fine.”

Yeah, well this shit ain’t happenin’. I set down my guitar and stand.

“You got a name, Red?”

Red? How original.

I take a step toward her, but she locks eyes with mine and shakes her head no. I stop and watch, ready to intervene if I need to break a fucker.

A smile curls her lips. “My name’s Gia. What’s yours?”

He reaches out and puts his motherfucking fingers through the ends of her hair. I roll my shoulders and glare at my girl. Whatever joke she’s trying to play she better get the fuck to it before I rip my drummer’s hands off.

“Talon.” He narrows his eyes. “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

She shrugs and flutters her eyelashes. Five more seconds of this shit and I’m done. I roll my hand for her to get on with it.

“I don’t think so. You’d have remembered me.” Her gaze slides to mine, a tiny smile tugs her lips. “I’m hard to forget.”

Ah hell, I want to kiss her so badly my lips burn. I take a step toward her and she looks back at Talon.

“I bet you are, sweetheart. Why don’t you give me your number? We’ll hook up after the show.”

Her smile goes from wolfish to straight up wicked. “Sure. Give me your phone.”

I grin wide but duck my chin.

He hands over his phone, and she types in a few numbers before giving it back. “There ya go.”

Unlike Caleb, Talon looks at the number. Gia bites her full lips between her teeth. I close the space between us just as Talon’s head jerks up.

“What the hell? This is Rex’s number.”

I slide my arm over her shoulder and pull her to my side. “No shit, jackass. That’s because she lives with me.”

Talon’s eyes go back and forth between us but linger longer on Gia. It’s obvious when it finally sinks in and his eyes go wide. “No shit!”

She buries her face into my pec and laughs.

“Dude, you’re Mac!” he says.

Ty and Lane come closer, squinting.

“Yes,” she says. “And no.”

“Guys, this is Gia or Mac. She’s cool with whatever, but I think it’s only fair that I let you know you’re all getting jumped after the show for having inappropriate thoughts.” I point at Ty. “Especially you, dipshit. As soon as that last song is played, you either run like hell or take your beating like a man.”

Ty’s staring at Gia. “No way. You look hot as a redhead.”

I shove him hard. “Did you not hear what I just said?”

“He’s kidding, Ty.” She curls into my side. “He’s not going to hurt you, are you, babe.”

I glare down at her. “The fuck I’m not.”

She’s insane if she thinks these fucks aren’t getting a beat-down for disrespecting her in front of me.

“You’re a lucky shit, you know that?” Lane’s shaking his head, a half smile directed at me.

Dropping a kiss to the top of her head, I breathe her in, amazed that one person could change my life the way she has. “I do.”

“You guys need me to bring you anything before you take the stage?” She’s back to waitressing mode but stays close to my side.

Looking back, it’s where she’s always been. Although I’d repressed most of my memories, there’s a part of me that held onto her. And she’d always held onto me.

I’ve never known that kind of love. Until now.

~*~

The crowd cheers, chanting the words “one more song” over and over. I look over my shoulder to my band, their expressions reflecting the energy from the crowd.

I turn back toward the audience, shielding my eyes past the lights. There, standing at the end of a long table that seats my friends, is my Gia. She’s grinning big and clapping. I run my gaze down the long table. Blake is sitting with Layla pulled into his arms and Raven, my sister, sits wrapped in Jonah’s arms. Mason, Caleb, Owen and his wife Nikki, Eve, all of them are here to show their support.

They’ve welcomed Gia into the fold as if she’d been there the whole time. She waves at me. I wink and she blows me a kiss. Damn, my head’s fuzzy with the euphoria of it all.

I strum the beginning of a new song we’ve been working on. Talon joins in with the snare and double bass hits. “One more song, huh?”

The crowd erupts in cheers, and Lane and Ty fade in with rhythm guitar and bass.

“You got it.” I step back from the mic stand and concentrate on the intricate picking of the lead-guitar part.

I’m pumped and feel alive for the first time in my life. The music curls around me like an embrace, and looking out into the faces of adoring fans and my family is something I never thought I’d do.

The words flow from my lips as an extension of my soul. Pouring out my heart in lyrical form, I belt out the words and hope that she knows there for her. I pray that they penetrate to erase the memories of the past again so that we can replace them with possibilities for our future.

You came into my life, like a gentle breeze.

Bringing me fresh air that enabled me to breathe.

And with all that you are, your kindness filled me up.

The first taste of your lips I knew would never be enough.

Your body’s my sanctuary; I worship at its gate.

Unworthy of its treasure, you let me in anyway.

I found my cure within your heaven and the miracle of you.

I devote my life to proving I’m worthy of everything you do.

Because . . .

You I will remember.

Your love’s my safety net.

Keeps me from memories that destroy.

Gives me strength when I’m fighting to forget.

The road ahead is paved with pain and shards of a broken past.

Life offers no guarantees, and no good is good that lasts.

But when the darkness closes in, we’ll do what gets us through.

We’ll clasp hands through the storm; I’ll find my refuge in you.

Because . . .

You I will remember.

Your love’s my safety net.

Keeps me from memories that destroy.

Gives me strength when I’m fighting to forget.

And I’ll fight to forget.

Together we’ll fight . . .

Keep fighting to forget.

With my eyes closed, I sing the vow I wrote to Gia, while sitting in the hospital waiting for her to come back to me, my promise to devote my life to her and do everything I can to bring light into the darkness of our souls—to give our love a chance despite all the shit we have to work through.

The last chord rings out, and the room erupts in hollers and whistles. I squint into the crowd, searching for the bright hair and gray eyes of the other part of me. Finally, I find her. She’s standing close to the stage, eyes brimming with tears, her full lips pulled into a shaky smile.

So gorgeous and all mine. Forever.

I put my lips to the mic. “The girl does cry.”

She smiles through her tears and it hits me hard. That’s what she’s always done, faced the worst possible circumstances with a grin and her fists raised.

Fuck, but I love this woman. Her passion, fight, determination to take on the worst of evils and come out on top.

My girl.

My Gia.

Epilogue

Gia

“Are you sure we’re doing this right?” I stand back and study the six-foot Christmas tree that’s sitting crooked in its stand, lights hanging off in places, and ornaments shoved between branches.

Rex scratches his head and shrugs. “No clue. I’ve never done this before, but shit, how hard can it be?”

I chew my lower lip. It shouldn’t be that hard, but neither of us has celebrated Christmas before and I had no idea how hard decorating a tree would be.

“They never had a tree for the kids in the group home?” I shove my fingers through some branches, pushing back a red glass ball until it disappears behind the needles. Huh, that doesn’t look right either.

“Nope.” He shoves the tree upright only to watch it lean back when he steps away. “The institution never put up a tree?”

I string the multicolored lights up higher on the tree. “Nah. It would’ve been considered a hazard. You know, electricity, sharp things.” I study the tree again. “You sure these are the right lights? They seem too big.”

“Honestly, baby, I have no fucking clue. The box said lights.”

“Huh.” I check the digital clock on the oven. “Everyone’s going to be here in an hour.”

We stare at the tree for a few seconds and then burst into laughter.

Rex decided he was ready to have people over, and we thought a Christmas Eve get-together would be the perfect excuse. But everything that comes easy to most is hard for us. We didn’t have conventional childhoods and lack the traditions that make things like decorating a holiday tree easy.

“Fuck it.” Rex picks up an empty ornament box and throws it in a big trash bag he pulled out earlier. “I think it’s perfect.”

“It kinda is, isn’t it?” I look at our pathetic tree again. “It’s our kind of perfect.”

He kisses my forehead. “That it is, baby.”

The last couple weeks have been hard. We’re both in intensive therapy twice a week, once together and once separately. We’ve had to rehash things that we’d both wish to forget, and Rex’s memories are still filtering back little by little.

The other night he woke up shaking. He’d had a dream about his mom. She was crying, and he felt so desperate in his dream to get her to stop. He said he’d actually felt her arms around him, telling her that he was the only man in her life who truly loved her. She called him “her little man.” He curled into my arms, and I sang to him until he fell back to sleep.

As wonderful as it is for Rex to have that part of his mom back, it doesn’t come without consequences and pain. At twenty-five-years old he’s losing his mom all over again.

But we find joy in the little things, making macaroni and cheese out of a box and s’mores over the gas burner in the kitchen. He bought me a dirt bike for my birthday, which isn’t until February. When things get too intense, we take to the hills and ride together or make a trip to the Stratosphere, little things that remind us that we’re alive and together.

Remind us to look forward.

Keep moving.

And never stop fighting for our chance at happiness.

~*~

I’m looking over the dessert table that’s spread with every kind of Christmas food we could think of from eggnog to decorated sugar cookies and peppermint bark, mini assorted chocolates and a big thermos of hot chocolate.

The bathroom door opens and Rex walks out. My eyes freeze on him and two steps toward me, his legs do the same.

He’s wearing black jeans and a bright red button-up dress shirt that offsets his black hair and blue eyes. But in typical rocker style, his shirt is untucked, sleeves rolled up to expose his gloriously tattooed forearms, and the top button hangs open, giving a tease of his inked-up neck and impressive build. My mouth waters, and the dessert table suddenly loses its appeal to my intense hunger for him.

He blinks a few times then continues toward me but stops about a foot away. His eyes move from my face to my feet and back. “Holy shit, baby. I’ve never seen you in a dress and I gotta say . . .” He whistles through his teeth. His eyes fix on mine, and the blue flares with desire. His tongue slides against his lower lip. “You look good enough to eat.”

A tremor of arousal shoots through my body and pools between my legs. “That sounds good. How much time do we have?”

He hooks me around my waist and pulls my body flush with his. His lips find my ear and he nips gently. His warm breath dances against my flesh, raising goose bumps down my arms. “Not nearly enough time for all I want to do. I have a feeling once I get down there I’ll never want to stop.”

I gasp and drop my head to the side while he covers my neck with kisses and runs his nose along my exposed shoulders and clavicle, breathing me in. My head swims with the spice of his cologne and the clean smell of his skin.

His fingertips trace the bust line of my strapless dress. “Have I ever told you how good you look in black?” His tongue skates up the side of my neck.

Incapable of words, my eyes drift close. “Mm-hm.”

He chuckles in my ear, so deep and full of promise that my legs tremble.

“You like that?” He tucks my hair behind my shoulder and repeats it on the other side.

I grip his biceps to stay upright.

His hot peppermint breath is at my ear. “Answer me.”

“Yes.”

“Atta girl.” His hands move over the curves of my body now filled out thanks to his insistence that I eat and go with him to train at the gym a few days a week. He grabs both hands full of my ass and squeezes. “I’m happy to have everyone over, but I’m looking forward to sending them home.”

His words clear the fog. I blink. Yes, people are coming over. “We better stop or we may never answer the door.”

He pulls back, and holding my hand, he steps away and gives me another long appreciative glance. “Shit, Gia. Where the hell did you get this dress?” He lingers at my platform pumps. “And those shoes?” His free hand adjusts his jeans. “They’re doing fucked-up things to my body.”

“Good fucked-up?” I spin slowly, ducking under his arm to keep my hand in his. “Or bad fucked-up?”

He lifts his pierced eyebrow and flashes a crooked grin. “All kinds of good.”

I barely have to lift up on my toes to brush a tentative kiss against his perfect lips. “Good.”

His hand darts into my hair and fists seconds before he covers my mouth with his. Passion hits as it always does, and we’re clawing at each other, nipping, drinking, and in a frenzy to get closer.

The doorbell rings and he rips his lips from mine. Our eyes lock, chests heaving, hearts racing against the other.

“I’ll get it.” He kisses the tip of my nose and gives me a second to steady myself on my shoes. “You good?”

“Yeah.” I smooth my hands over my dress.

He winks and turns to answer the door.

“Merry Christmas!” Raven’s voice comes from behind Rex along with the sound of back-pounding guy hugs. “Oh my gosh! Your tree is awesome.”

Rex smiles at me.

I move across the room to meet them, and Raven swallows me in a hug. Jonah’s next, but he limits his hug to the one arm variety since his other enormous arm is cradling Sadie.

“Aww, look at her.” I tweak the tiny red bow that’s wrapped around a sprout of shiny black hair. “She looks like a little Christmas angel.”

“Yeah, well, she’s all yours. I’ve been holding her so much I miss holding my wife.” He gently places Sadie into my open arms and kisses her tiny hand. “You be good for your Aunt Gia, princess. Daddy here needs some momma time.” He gives me a chin lift and moves to his wife.

I hold the tiny baby to my chest. “Hey, pretty girl. You’re getting so big.” Not comfortable negotiating the slick concrete floors in my heels, I move to the couch. “There we go. We’ll be safer here. Auntie Gia’s a mess in heels.” I slide my finger into her hand and she grips my finger tight. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” She coos and I kiss the tiny dimple on her cheek. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

The feeling of eyes on me lifts my head to find Rex staring. He’s not far from the couch, totally ignoring Jonah and Raven, his gaze boring into mine.

“You okay?” I mouth the words meant only for him.

He blinks and nods then comes to me, dropping into the space next to me on the couch. He leans in. “Watching you over here, it makes me think you’re going to be an amazing mother.”

My breath catches in my throat. I pull back to see his face, and there’s nothing but love and pride reflecting from his eyes. “I’m not mother material. I’d just screw a kid up.”

Before I finish talking, he’s shaking his head. “You’re going to make a fantastic mother when the time comes.” He runs his fingers over Sadie’s tiny baby head. “I hope our kids have your red hair.”

“Rex”—my pulse rockets in my ears—“I’m not ready.” Just a month ago I was in a coma from a drug overdose after I shacked up in a house full of bikers. If anything screams do not reproduce, it’s that.

“I’m not either. Fuck knows I’ve got a lot of shit to work through before I could even consider fatherhood.” He hooks his fingers beneath my chin. “But make no mistake, Gia McIntyre, I’m going to make you my wife.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “Or am I going to make you my husband?”

“Either way, I’m happy.”

“Merry Christmas, mo’fos!” We look up to see Blake, Layla, Axelle, and Killian strolling through the door.

Layla’s eyes find me and she shuffles over to us. “Hey, Rex.”

He kisses my head and stands to give Layla a hug. “No baby yet, huh?”

She rolls her eyes and waves him off. “Ugh . . . No.”

Blake fist bumps Rex. “I keep tellin’ her the more we”—he looks over his shoulder at Axelle and Killian, who’ve made their way to the desserts with Raven and Jonah—“have sex, the better chance she has of going into labor, but she says four times a day is enough.”

Layla slaps Blake’s stomach. “Oh my gosh, Blake, TMI.”

“Mouse, baby, everyone knows sex induces labor. It’s in every pregnancy book I’ve read.”

“I realize that, Snake, but we’re already doing plenty of that and it’s not helping.”

Blake snags her and pulls her to him, his hands going to her belly and his lips to hers. “You call me Snake again, I’ll throw you down right here and induce something else altogether.”

Sadie squeals and gets the attention of the room.

“Ha! You hear that, Slade?” Blake’s grinning wide. “Your wife and your daughter find me fucking hilarious.”

“Blake! Language.” When will Layla learn a guy like Blake might change his colors, but they’ll never fade?

He throws his arms out to his sides. “What’d I do?”

I laugh and look at Rex to find his eyes on me.

A slow smile curls his lips.

People come and go throughout the night. Even Emma stopped by to say Merry Christmas, stating that she’d planned on staying for a short time, but when Rex introduced her to Caleb, they hit it off and spent most the night talking.

Looking around the room, I swallow back the lump that forms in my throat. We came from nothing and here we are with more than anyone deserves. So much that a lifetime would never be enough time to enjoy it.

Family, friends, babies.

A future.

Pure, abundant peace.

~*~

Rex showed out the last of our guests, and I’m leaning against the kitchen counter, sliding off my shoes. My feet went from achy to painfully numb, and I long for the comfort of my boots. I yawn and take in the mess in the kitchen. Better get a start on the clean up before I curl up in a ball and fall asleep on the floor.

I flex my toes into the cold floor and start stacking up small plates from the dessert table when Rex comes up behind me. He slides his arms around my waist.

“Leave this.” He reaches around and pulls the plates from my hand. “I can’t be apart from you for another second.” The zipper at the back of my dress slides open. “Watching you tonight, how easily you fit into my life, your smile, the way you helped out with Sadie . . .” He pushes down the top of my dress to expose my breasts. His hands glide over the lace of my strapless bra. “If I had rooms, I’d have thrown you in one and tasted you until you begged for me to fill you.”

My back arches and a full-body shiver races up my spine. “Mmm. Yes, please.”

His fingers tug on my nipples, and he rakes his lip ring against my neck. I press my ass into his groin and feel his hardness against my lower back.

“Hmm.” He hums against my neck. “That you beggin’ now, baby?”

A soft purr slides from my throat.

He hooks his fingers into the front of my dress and shoves it down to pool around my ankles. “Much as I love that dress . . .” The heat of his body at my back disappears, and I can feel his gaze raking over me from behind. He traces the thin fabric that runs over my hip and disappears at my backside. “It’s been teasing me all night.”

His words, the rumble of his voice behind me . . . I can’t even see him and I’m throbbing for him to take me. I feel the light touch of his hands at mid back, and my bra snaps open and joins my dress on the floor. He palms my bare breasts, molding, squeezing, and pulling against the sensitive flesh.

“Rex, I don’t want you to wait any longer.” I drop my head back to rest against his chest and reach behind me and rub him through his jeans. “I can’t wait any longer.”

He flexes into my touch. “Hands flat on the table.”

I moan and release my hold on him. He moves across the room and hits the lights, plunging us into darkness except for the colorful twinkle lights illuminating the tree. He prowls forward, unbuttoning his shirt before sliding it down his arms. I stare shamelessly at his body, beautifully adorned in ink and metal. Chest, ribs, and neck are decorated in vibrant colors that call to be touched.

He lifts an eyebrow, questioning the defiance I’m showing by not having my palms pressed to the table. Butterflies rip through my stomach. I linger on his impressive build for a few seconds longer before turning back to face the table. With a quick smile, I lean forward, hands down, ass out.

He walks around, sizing me up. “That’s hot, baby. But I think I need you need to be a little bit taller.” He scoops my platform heels off the floor and kneels at my feet. Picking up my left foot, he rubs the arch of my foot for a few seconds before he slides on the shoe, then repeats with the other. He nips against my bottom, and I jump in surprise at the delicious sting.

“Walk out your legs, Gia.”

I bite my lip against a groan of pleasure. His bossy commands when we’re like this combined with the way he says my name push me to brink of orgasm. I do as he asks.

The heat of his hands falls to my outer thighs. “Just like that. Perfect, baby.”

My knees wobble, my body aching for his intrusion. “Please.” I arch my back, offering myself to him.

He hisses through is teeth. “Fuck, that’s beautiful.” He runs his knuckles between my legs. “So damn gorgeous and all fucking mine.”

My breath comes in short gasps, writhing for him to touch me. “Show me.” I press back. “Prove to me I’m all yours.”

I’m baiting him to play rough, challenging him. It’s something I’ve done before, getting him to let go, be himself, and do things to my body he has no reason to be ashamed of because it’s exactly what I want.

Unrestrained and wild with passion.

He pulls the crotch of my panties hard and releases them so they snap back against my sensitive flesh. “You’re pushing me, baby.”

“Apparently not hard enough.” I turn my head into my arm to hide my smile.

The air shifts behind me, and his breath is at my ear, his jean-clad hard-on pressed between my open legs. “I’ll give you hard.” His teeth scrape against my shoulder, igniting a furious swarm of butterflies in my belly and raising goose bumps on my skin.

Another tug on my panties and the elastic snaps apart. The silky fabric falls down one leg and hangs around my ankle.

The metallic sound of his zipper and the tear of a condom are my only warnings before the heat of him and the distinctive metal ball of his piercing presses against me. “Yes, finally . . .” It’s all I can say and everything I wanted: Rex against me, inside me, all around me, consuming me to the point that I could get lost in him forever.

“Fast and hard?” There’s the tension of restraint in his voice, as if it’s all he can do to hold himself from slamming deep in one thrust.

That won’t do.

“If you think you can handle it.” I open my legs to step wider and grind against him.

The deep rumble of his laughter has my stomach clenching.

“From the feel of you”—he runs the tip along the seam between my legs—“I’d say you like eggin’ me on.”

“Rex, please, just . . . I can’t take anymore. Stop teasing and take me.”

His hand slides up my spine to my hair where he grabs a fist full. “Anything for you.” He braces his free hand against my hip and slams inside me.

Overwhelmed with fullness and the power behind his domination, my arms shake to hold my weight.

I’ve always been aware of Rex’s power over me. My entire life he’s owned everything from my thoughts to my will to survive. I lived through abusive parents and a mental institution all so I could see him again. But when he exercises his control over me, I finally feel safe, taken care of because I’m finally within the power of the one person who owns my heart.

“You feel beautiful. So damn soft.” He pulls back and thrusts into me again. “Talk to me.”

“More.”

“Damn, Gia.” He leans forward and kisses my back. “You were fucking made for me, you know that?”

“Yes.” I press back against him and his hand comes down in a quick slap against my ass. Stinging pleasure shoots straight between my legs. “Rex, I’m close.”

He powers into me again. “I’m right there with you, Gia.”

Yeah, he is. He always has been.

We meet each other thrust for thrust. His hands alternate from gripping shows of domination to the stinging slaps that shoot straight to my core. My head swirls and my vision swims as ecstasy powers through me.

Bright light flashes behind my eyes and bolts of pleasure fire through me. I whimper through the powerful release that consumes me. His fingers dig into my skin and he growls, falling into his orgasm right behind mine. Slowly coming back, my legs give out, but his arm wraps around my waist to hold me up.

We’re breathing heavy, still connected, and he lifts my upper body where I sag back into his arms.

“I fucking love you, Gia.”

I smile through my exhaustion. Our lovemaking, as unconventional as it is, always sucks me dry and leaves me exhausted and sated. “I fucking love you too, Rex.”

He pulls out and scoops me up in his arms. Kicking his jeans from his ankles so he can walk, he takes me to the bed and lays me down. He moves to my feet and slips off my shoes, rubbing each one until I’m nearly asleep.

“It’s midnight.”

I blink and force my eyes open. “Hmm?”

His warm gaze meets mine, and a carefree smile lights his face. “It’s Christmas.”

A spark of excitement wakes me and I sit up. “It’s Christmas.”

He nods and jumps up to snag some clothes from his dresser, tossing me a shirt and pulling on a pair of flannel sleeping pants.

I pull the shirt over my head. “Presents!”

He grabs my hand and we race to the tree. I go for the gift I hid there earlier today, and he reaches for the one he shoved between branches. I sit on the ground, tucking my legs to the side, and he places a square box wrapped in gold paper and a red ribbon in my lap.

Emotion crawls up my throat. “Did you wrap this?”

He sits down beside me and runs a hand through his messy black hair. “Um, would it make it less meaningful if the answer’s no?”

I shake my head, afraid to speak and give away how close I am to crying.

“I mean you’ve seen my tree decorating skills. Present wrapping might have to wait ’til next year.”

I start by sliding off the velvet ribbon, but excitement takes over halfway through, and I can’t get to the present fast enough. I rip through the paper, and even though Rex laughs at my impatience, I don’t care. I’ve gotta see what it is!

Once I get down to the box, I rip off the lid and send it flying. My hand goes to my mouth as I stare at the gift.

A single square diamond hangs from a silver chain. I move to touch it but recoil, afraid of tarnishing its beauty.

He laughs. “It’s okay, Gia. You can touch it.” He takes the box from my hands and slips the necklace from it. “I didn’t know how big of a diamond I should get. I had to ask Raven. I hope that’s okay.” He moves behind me and I gather my hair to the side while he secures it around my neck. “I figure that’s what sisters are for, right?”

Once it’s on, I hold the pendant to my chest, and tears flood my eyes and spill down my cheeks.

He wipes them away. “Ah shit, baby. Don’t cry.” He leans in and kisses me soft and sweet.

I sniff back my tears. “I love it. So much, Rex, I love it. And I love you.”

“It’s unconventional, but um, usually when a man gives the woman he loves a diamond, it represents his intention to marry her.” He tilts his head and rubs the back of his neck then brings his eyes to mine. “That’s what this is, Gia. It’s my promise to you. When you’re ready, we’ll take that necklace to have it made into a ring, but until then, every time you feel that against your chest, you’ll know I’m yours and your mine. You have that as my vow.” He clasps my face between his hands. “I want to marry you and spend the rest of my life exploring you and loving you.”

That’s all I’ve ever wanted, to be his. “Yes, Rex. I say yes. I’ll marry you.”

He drops his head and blows out a long breath. “Thank you, God.”

I throw myself into his arms and he holds me to him.

How can I top this? “You should know you totally out-gifted me. My present to you is really lame compared to this.”

He laughs and his arms convulse around me. “Impossible, baby.”

I reach over and grab the box that’s wrapped in blue paper with white snowflakes printed on it. “Here. I actually wrapped it myself, so no laughing.” I sit up a little but stay in his lap as he rips through the paper.

Pulling out the present by the single ribbon it’s attached to, he dangles the silver ornament before his eyes, reading the inscription.

“Rex and Gia. First Christmas. Let this be our beginning.” He hugs me and kisses the top of my head. “It’s perfect.” He eyes our crooked tree. “Where should we hang it?”

We stand, walk around our tree to scope out the perfect spot, and decide on front and center.

He throws his arm over my shoulder. “Our beginning. I like that.”

He pulls something out of his pocket and points it at his stereo system. A remote clicks the music on and Nat King Cole’s voice fills the room singing “The Christmas Song.”

He drops the remote on the couch and turns to me, holding out a hand. “May I have this dance?”

A trickle of anxiety warms my stomach. “I um . . . I don’t know how to dance.”

He smiles but pulls me to him. “Me neither.”

I giggle and bury my face into his bare chest. The spicy smell of his skin soothes my nerves.

“I figure we just hold on to each other and sway.”

“Seems like everything always starts with that.” I peer up at him and he dips his chin. “Us, holding on to each other.”

“That’s the way we started; in the dark, you were humming Christmas music while we held on tight.”

“And here’s our new beginning.”

“But this time, we’re never letting go.”

~The End~

Content

Fighting to Forget
Fighting - 3
J.B. Salsbury

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

Twenty-eight

Twenty-nine

Thirty

Thirty-one

Epilogue