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“Tell me something, honey,” I said, lowering my eyes at him, feeling embarrassment lead me steadily toward anger which was a much more comfortable emotion to be feeling around him. “Do you always molest half-asleep women who are taking refuge in your bed after getting the shit kicked out of them?”
Cash slowly got to his feet, not taking a single step backward and therefore was privy to the sensation of my hardened nipples (fucking traitors) brush his chest. “Nope. You're the first,” he said with a casual shrug. The bastard was supposed to feel guilty even though I knew damn well I had consented. “So why don't you want to go to Hailstorm?”
I could tell from the lack of light in his eyes that he wasn't going to give in. He wasn't going to stop until he got an answer. I shook my head, looking off over his shoulder into the sprawling backyard that endless houses seemed to share. “Look... I didn't always have Hailstorm. And before them, I still had to survive in this life. I got into some shit. I got out of some shit. I don't want any of the dirt from my past thrown at them. Yeah, they'd be all too happy to wipe it off and help me handle it, but I don't want them involved.”
I looked back to see him biting on the inside of his cheek, a habit I found myself wondering about. Was it a nervous tick? Was it anger? Was it something he did when he was mulling things over?
“Fair enough,” he finally said, surprising me enough to jerk back. “Look... when shit went down with Summer, Reign didn't want to bring the club in on it. That wasn't their mess to clean up. I get it. So no Hailstorm. But you need to get some of your shit.”
I felt myself nodding, moving a step back and hating that it always seemed to be me that was retreating. “I have a bag in a storage locker in town.”
“Got a key or combination? I'll drop by and pick it up. I got some shit to handle today.”
“I can get it.”
“Nah. I think you're best staying put right now.”
“You're not my father, Cash. You can't fucking ground me.”
“No. But I can cuff you to a beam in the basement,” he said, looking like he would enjoying doing just that a little bit too much. “You know... for your own safety,” he grinned. “Not for any other more... sinister reasons. Totally wouldn't molest your very consenting pussy any more than I already have. Nope. Not me. I'd be a perfect gentleman about the whole thing.”
“You can't be serious.” No fucking way.
“Babydoll,” he said, making me curl my lip slightly, “no one would ever accuse me of being serious. But let me tell you, about this... I am dead fucking serious. You are staying in this house and you are laying low until we figure this shit out.” He paused, his cocky grin coming back. “Or at least until people out there,” he waved toward the front door, “can look at you without wincing.”
“Listen you cocky, condescending, c....”
“Like the alliteration thing you got going on, but I got shit to do so give me the combination or key and let me get on my way. Or keep wearing nothing but my tees. It's nice having the easy access,” he said, moving forward at me and reaching behind me, slipping his hand up the back of my shirt then under my panties to squeeze my ass.
Pants.
I needed some fucking pants.
With suspenders.
Or a chastity belt.
“Center Street Storage, number seventy-eight. The combination is forty-two, thirteen, twenty-seven.”
His hand did another small squeeze before it pulled completely away. “I find you stepped one foot out of my front door and make no mistake, you'll become intimately acquainted with the basement floor.”
I felt my eyes rolling. “What? How are you even going to know? You have nanny cams around here?” I asked his back as he moved toward the front door, grabbing his jacket off a hook behind the door as he went.
“Nah. I live in the fucking suburbs. I got neighbors,” he said with a smirk as he went out the front door.
I grimaced at the closed door, knowing all-too-well how nosy neighbors could be. Hell, that was half of the reason I built Hailstorm up on a hill in the middle of nowhere. No one could get all up in my business.
I sighed, looking around his apartment. I was going to go stir crazy stuck in his place for god-knew how long. I went toward the living room, finding my cell on the coffee table and sitting down to call Janie. Again.
Six times later... still no answer.
I put my coffee down and shot her a text.I know it was you, honey. I don't care. I just want to know you're okay. We can sort this out together. Call me. Anytime. I love you.Then I made a call that had my stomach swirling so hard that I felt my coffee threatening to make another appearance as I forced myself to swallow hard.
“Morgue.”
“It's Lo. Put Doc Fenton on.”
There was a pause before another, deeper, sexier voice picked up. “Looking for a body again, Lo?”
God, I hoped to Christ not.
“Mid twenties female, thin, covered in ink, long dark hair, blue eyes.”
“Not the usual big bad then?” he asked and I heard papers flipping. “Nah, Lo. Out of luck this time.”
“In luck,” I clarified and I heard the sadness in my own voice.
“Oh,” Fenton said, sounding almost concerned. “I'll keep an eye out for you, okay?”
“Yeah. I appreciate that.”
“Be careful, Lo.”
“Always,” I agreed, hanging up.
She wasn't dead. Well, that wasn't exactly accurate. She wasn't at the morgue. But that was something at least. I'd known Janie for years. I knew her better than anyone else in the world. But, then again, I only knew her as well as she would allow me to know her. It was something she and I had in common. As much as she did know, there was a lot about me that she had no idea of- that no one did. One of those things was somewhere lying in wait for me to fuck up again so he could finish what he started in the safe house.
