Page 13 of Ripple Effect, Vol. 4

Arms tight around me, he pulls me into his body, wrapping me in his heat. In a killer’s embrace, I feel something I’ve not experienced my whole life—I feel safe.

As much as I enjoyed it, tonight had little to do with sex or lust. If there’s one thing I’ve come to know about the man, it’s this—he is always in control. Tonight, though, he put that control in my hands and gave me what I so desperately needed, the very thing Rook and Randy had ripped away from me earlier—he gave me power.

For the next hour, we lay beside each other in silence, just breathing, fingers tracing each other’s skin. I tip my head back, taking in the perfect angle of his jaw that begs me to bite into it.

He grips the back of my head, fingers tangled in my hair, and kisses me.

My whole body softens into relaxation, completely gooey and useless.

“Shower with me,” he says, pulling away from me, but I grip his arm, one question burning in my mind for the last hour.

“Rip, why do you need the pain?”

He rolls his shoulder and shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Not tonight.”

“Please? I’m not gonna try to change you or whatever, I just want to know.”

He pushes once more to slide out of the bed, and I squeeze tighter, keeping him beside me.

“I saw the medical report from that Coventry hospital.”

“Coventry is no hospital.” He huffs and glances back at me. “It’s a training facility.”

“Where you trained to kill.” At his nod, I continue, “I read the psychiatric notes.” I don’t know why I want to know more. Something inside of me yearns for this part of him. It’s the last dark corner of the puzzle—the part that makes him more complete in my mind. “Your father …”

“Is dead. And the scars you see are nothing but a reminder.” He glides a finger across his throat, along the path of the blade that once cut him there. “Always strike first.”

“And what if you hit the wrong person?”

His big body rolls toward me, and he grips my face, eyes trained on my lips. “I’m precise, Dylan.” He kisses me, tongue sweeping just inside my mouth, creating a need to close my lips over his and lose my breath. “I never miss. But regardless, if we’re talking about you? Wouldn’t happen.”

“Why is that?”

He pulls away just enough to look me in the eye. “Because I’d kill a motherfucker for ever hurting you, and that includes myself.”

I trace the tattoo on his chest. “Thank you for coming after me. For saving me.” Of course, I’m talking about the trap house, but it’s not only that. Something has awakened inside of me since being with Rip. I no longer need the drugs to create the fantasy of escape that I’ve found in him.

What scares me is knowing that this high is temporary. That I’ll soon come down and have to face the sickening reality of my life when our arrangement is over.

Without answering, he pushes to his feet and I take a moment to stare at him—the broad shoulders, the V between his hips, all of his scars and ink, the masculine perfection that begs me to reach out and touch him. He flicks his hand for me to come to him, and I do, because even if he’s a killer, the man has taken better care of me than any before him—including my own father.

He may not be a hero in the traditional sense, but in my world, where violence is life and suffering is survival, Ripley is a brutal contender against the iniquity I’ve come to know. And that makes him a good man, in my eyes.

He pulls me up from the bed and leads me into the bathroom, never once looking back at me. Flipping on the water, he stands outside the stall, waiting for it to heat up. Steam rolls over the top of the shower, and he tugs me inside after him, backing into the corner to keep the spray off the spot where bandages mark his wound. Arms wrapped around me, he pulls me into him. Trapped between Rip and the warm torrent of the side spigots, I fall into melty relaxation.

He cups either side of my jaw and bends forward to kiss me, avoiding my cuts. The water dribbling between our lips creates a wet slide of skin on skin while his tongue explores my mouth.

“You taste good, Dylan. Sweet, but I know better,” he says against my lips. “That taste will fuck a man up.” Another breath-stealing kiss leaves me gripping his biceps, falling back onto my heels. “I won’t lose you. To anyone. So I didn’t save you last night. I saved myself.”

8

Dylan

I stand in the middle of Rip’s foyer, gawping at Mount Everest across from me, trying to remember what the hell those bloodthirsty Norse men who raided villages were called. My face must reflect the contemplation going on inside my head, because the ginormous blond eyes me warily, his face as stoic as I’d expect from a mountain.

“Dylan, this Jörgen,” Rip says beside me. “He’s going to keep an eye on you while I take care of some things.”

My brow lifts with relief when it finally hits me. “Vikings!”