Page 57 of Ballistic

Shaking my head, I ran my tongue along my back teeth, treading carefully with my words, so as not to piss him off. “The deal was, you tell me.”

“How about you start telling me some things, huh? How ‘bout you fill in the blanks a little, so I’m not walking around with my head up my ass.”

Fuck. I knew he’d have questions after. Had anticipated he’d be troubled after what Lucy had told me about him and his thing with abused women. I just didn’t anticipate he’d use it against me.

“What do you want to know, Dax?”

“I want to know about this girl. How’d she get caught up in this shit?”

22

Dax

In the underbelly, I’d seen some shit I wished I could’ve erased from my brain, like the visual of Jasper holding that lug wrench, playing on loop inside my head. If I’d needed a reason to kill him, all I’d had to do was imagine what would’ve gone down in that motel room if I hadn’t barged in on him. Instead, I’d left him chained up in a small building along the river, where he could scream all damn night and no one would hear him. But walking away from him with that visual stuck on repeat had to have been one of the most trying moments of my life—right up there with the first time I’d set out that bottle of fentanyl on the shelf.

The urge to go back and cut him open, belly to chest, tugged hard, as I sat on the bed across the room from Nicoleta.

“You said they’re slaves. You’re right. Eden didn’t want to be caught up in all that shit. She was just … a normal girl.” Legs tucked into her chest, she caught a drag of her cigarette between words. “We didn’t ask to grow up where we did. How we did. But life is different where I come from. Every day is survival.”

“It’s no different where I come from.”

“Then, you know it doesn’t take much to become fed up with that life. To want out … no matter what you have to do to get out.”

I did. I’d gotten mixed up in drugs, theft, burglary, even roughing people up for a known criminal, just to escape the place I’d come from. Only took a small bit of persuasion, and a heaping dose of hunger and desperation, not unlike the young girl I’d rescued earlier in the night.

Nic ashed into the white foam cup beside her and stole another drag. “One night, Eden got into an argument with her mother. Something stupid, but teenagers are stupid. So she ran away. That’s when they found her. Alone. Scared. Vulnerable.” The tremble in her hands caught my attention, when she flicked her ashes into the cup again. She shrugged, her lip curled in disgust. “Men are pigs. Rapists.” Jaw shifting, she set the cigarette to her lips and drew in a long inhale, a light sheen of tears misting her eyes.

“Not all men.”

She wiped at her eyes and stood up from the chair, crossing the room toward the table where the bottle of whiskey sat. “Maybe you’re right, Dax. A drink?”

The back of her head tipped with the inversion of the bottle, and when she swung around, arm outstretched, I nabbed the proffered drink.

If she was telling the truth about Jasper, I wouldn’t let her carry the blood of a raping bastard on her shoulders. I’d killed before. Far more times than she had. If I had to, I’d do it again. Surprising that I hadn’t finished him off the moment I’d seen him with the young girl, except I knew the importance of looking into the eyes of the one who hurt you. I knew Nicoleta needed that kind of closure. “We’ll figure out what to do in the morning. I need some sleep.”

Tipping back the bottle, I let the warm liquor heat my throat as I swallowed one long swig. The burn bulleted straight to my stomach, churning up a lightness that shot up my spine in a burst of tingles. The tension slid from my muscles, turning them soft, weak. Exhaustion weighed down on me, while the burdening thoughts I’d come home with seemed to grow lighter. Almost distant.

Damn, the shit hit hard for some reason. Or maybe my head was just fucked up from the events earlier.

“Why does it trouble you?” Following the sound of Nicoleta’s voice took my attention to the floor, where she sat at my feet, staring up at me with those hypnotizing eyes of hers. “You don’t like hearing about women being hurt. Why?”

I sniffed and sank lower in the chair, as the ache in my muscles fizzled with every sip. “My father. He used to beat the fuck outta my mom. He’d get drunk and just … wail on her, over and over until she’d pass out.” Tipping back the bottle again, I took another long swill, and dragged my hand across my mouth to wipe away the dribbling whiskey there. “First time I ever punched someone in the face … was my ole’ man.”

Lowering my gaze brought two Nicoletas to view, and with the heel of my hand, I rubbed my eye then shook my head. “’The fuck? Think I need … to lie down, or some shit.”

Warning sounds blared inside my head, like white noise over the amplified swoosh of blood pounding in my ears. I pushed up from the chair, skirting around where she still sat on the floor, and stumbled my way to the bed.

Tripping over my own damn feet, I caught myself on the mattress and sat on the edge, rubbing my temples. “’The hell did I drink?”

In the next blink, Nicoleta was on her knees in front of me, like I was watching through a ViewMaster, flicking from one slide to the next. “You’re a good man, Dax. Good men deserve to be treated good.”

My shirt was gone, my belt undone. When the fuck did I undo my belt?

Everything moved fluidly before me, as if underwater, blurred to a wide lens that softened the edges. I turned to the clock, mentally noting an hour had passed in what felt like a minute.

“Whaass happ’nin’?” The room spun in my periphery, and smack in the middle, Nicoleta stared back at me, breasts bared, begging to be touched, as she sat on my lap. In my weak attempt to push her away, my head tipped back, giving sharp awareness that I’d gotten fucked up in what felt like seconds.

“You said you wanted this.” Her lips slanted over mine, stealing my next breath. “You said you wanted me.”