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She seemed to think so, but he wasn’t sure heknewwhat she needed. What could he offer someone like her? She was perfect just as she was. Smart and accomplished. Sweet and kind. Patient. Grounded. She had a good family, a good life. If she had trauma, it didn’t show. Ever.
Was that true, though? He’d killed a man who was trying to hurt her—whohadhurt her. An abusive ex. What kind of abuse, he didn’t know, but to tolerate bad treatment long enough for it to beabuserather than an isolated attack, she had to have a weak spot somewhere.
Especially a guy like that. After Dex had killed him and they’d buried him in the field, Apollo had done what he always did when they made a body out of someone who wasn’t a player in their world: dug deep into the guy’s life, figured out who might care he was missing, and built a narrative for where he’d gone that would satisfy—or, failing that, confound—any curiosity.
In his search of Kelsey’s ex, Apollo had discovered that the guy had a very busy and specific online life. He’d been active on Reddit and Facebook, and also several fringey, nutso social media sites, especially in ‘men’s rights activists’ and ‘pick-up artists’ groups and threads. He’d also had several accounts Apollo called ‘sock puppets,’ where he trolled women and gay people with some really foul shit.
Dex didn’t spend much time at all on social media. For one thing, there was nobody in the world he needed or wanted to communicate with that way. For another, Apollo was like a nagging mother about reminding everybody not to post about club goings-on, or any photos of the compound or of any Bull in a kutte, without approval first.
He had Twitter, which he used for news, but he had virtually no followers and never even retweeted anything. But he knew enough to know what kind of human grubs made up the MRA and PUA circles. Those were the dudes who thought they were entitled to the women they wanted and that being superficially ‘polite,’ according to their own definition, was all they needed to claim what they wanted. They were precisely the assholes who were alone and unloved because they deserved to be—and they had no fucking idea what it really was to be a man, or todeservethe respect you demanded.
That piece of shit who’d hurt Kelsey had looked like a typical law-abiding citizen, a buttoned-up regular guy, who wore khakis and pressed shirts and drove a reliable, responsible car. In this case, it had been a Camry. He’d been in pharma sales, which in Dex’s mind was a fucking predatory business—doctors should not be prescribing medicines based on who had the best sales pitch—but probably was considered an excellent career choice.
Kelsey had seen only the pressed, responsible adult with the good job and not the online troll sending rape threats to women online. Dex didn’t think she knew even now the black depths of that asshole’s soul. Maverick had insisted that she not be told.
It absolutely fucking sickened Dex to think that a guy like that had gotten close to a woman like Kelsey. Fuck, he’d probably been inthis bedwith her.
Another big burst of fireworks went off just as that thought took root in Dex’s head, and he flinched hard enough to shake the bed. Mr. D lifted a sleepy head and stared at him. Kelsey sighed in her sleep.
“Sorry, dude,” he told the dog.
He didn’t want to think about Kelsey’s ex anymore. He’d hurt her, she’d dumped him, he’d tried to hurt her more, Dex had killed him. End of story.
But maybethatwas what Dex gave her. Maybe that was what Kelsey needed: a guy like him. He was the anti-Greg. Violent on the outside and vulnerable on the inside.
Already she knew far more about his various weaknesses than anyone in his life who didn’t work at the VA. She carried some of his deepest secrets now.
How did he feel about that?
Pretty okay, actually. He could be strong for her. He could protect her.
And she could protect him.
He rolled to his side and tucked in behind her, embracing her beautiful, sleek body and drawing it tight to his. In her sleep, she squirmed gently, nestling more deeply, and sighed. Her hand came up and hooked over his arm.
Dex rested his head on her pillow, breathed in the botanical scent of her shampoo, and drifted back to sleep.
~oOo~
When he next woke, the sun was well up, and he was alone in the bed. Aromas of freshly brewed coffee and … fresh-baked bread? wafted through the air.
He rolled to his back and stretched. He felt good. Reaching for his phone, he checked the time and was surprised to see it was past nine. A lifelong earlier riser, the only time he was ever in bed at nine in the morning was when he’d gotten into it after dawn.
Tossing the covers back, he stood and grabbed his jeans off the floor. Once he had them on, he went out to the main part of Kelsey’s apartment.
She was in the kitchen, making something on the stovetop. No longer wearing her cute jammies, she had a silky, light blue robe on. Her hair was clipped up on the top of her head.
The smell of baking bread—buttermilk biscuits, he thought—was much stronger out here, and his stomach rumbled in anticipation. Mr. D noticed him first and trotted over for a morning greeting.
“Hi!” Kelsey chirped as he gave her corgi some love. “How’d you sleep?”
“Pretty good. How’re you?”
“I am excellent. I’ve got homemade biscuits coming out of the oven in about three minutes, and a ham and cheese omelet that should be ready then, too. And there’s coffee.”
He had to get back to the dogs. They were good on their own for about twelve hours or so, but he was working on about fourteen since he’d left them, and he hadn’t made any arrangements with Mr. Clement to let them out. Charlie would probably let his organs explode before he let loose inside the house, but no doubt Lizzie had already made her displeasure at being abandoned known somewhere in the house.
He needed to go. But he wanted to stay. She was so cute and cheerful, so beautiful, and she was making him what smelled like a delicious breakfast.
