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What have I done?
I never should have dragged Liam into my fucked up life. Hell, I never should have dragged myself into it.
Everything was fine. I had a nice, quiet life, far away from here. If it hadn’t been for my asshole of an ex, I’d still be living that life. But no. He had to take every good thing we had and gamble it away. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it had only been his money. His name. But that bastard took the money while I was with him and to the mob, that’s as good as signing my own name on the dotted line. So I’m now responsible for a debt I never would have taken on since he went and got himself killed in a fucking bar fight.
Now I’m stuck with his debt, doing a job I never wanted, making money I can’t keep while having to live in a shithole no one should have to call home.
Liam’s grip on my hand turns into an arm around my waist when we turn the corner into my neighborhood. The further down the street we walk, the tighter he holds me to his side.
“No way,” Liam says when we come to my apartment building. “You can’t live here.”
“It’s all I can afford.”
“A guy got shot on this street last week.”
“I stay inside. And no one bothers me. They know they’d have the Kings to answer to if they did. It’s fine.” It was either this or live at the clubhouse. No fucking way that was happening. My blood is still too far removed to be seen as anything but a warm body. Agreeing to live at the clubhouse is consent in their eyes. I will not be a clubwhore. I’d sooner die.
“No the fuck it’s not. Come on,” he says pulling me tight to his side again and walking me back the way we came.
“Liam…”
He grumbles wordlessly, his head on a swivel, until we turn back onto the brightly lit street a few blocks from where the bus dropped us off.
When the cries of lonely children and couples fighting fade behind us, Liam finally speaks, “You trusted me to keep creeps away from you. To lie to a fucking King—.”
“Prez,” I interject.
“What?”
“He’s not just any King. He’s club president.”
“Shit.” Liam thrusts his hand into his short, salt and pepper hair.
I thought for sure that would have him turning on his heel to take me back. After a minute, and when his breathing calms, he says, “Trust me on this, Candace. You’re safer staying with me than you are there.”
“All my stuff. My clothes…”
“We’ll go in the morning. I have an extra toothbrush,” he chuckles as we pass the bus stop.
I should probably think harder about this, not knowing anything about Liam. Not even his last name. But I can’t help but look forward to a night without worrying if I’ll be caught by a stray bullet through the paper-thin walls of my one-room apartment while I sleep.
“Thank you, Liam,” I say and he stops us and turns dark, soulful eyes on me.
Besides, it’s clear he’s not going to give in. If knowing that he has the eye of the Tarnished Kings' president doesn’t scare him off, I’m not sure anything will.
When I first saw Liam on the bus, I thought he was handsome. I liked that he wasn’t like the men I’d come to surround myself with. I liked his short-cropped hair. His clothes, free of holes and grease stains. Even though he rode the bus, he seemed to really have his shit together. I’m not ashamed to admit, that drew me to him even more. I miss having stability in my life. Something or someone I can count on. Someone I can trust to have my best interests at heart. Liam projected all of that, just sitting there staring out the bus window with his earbuds in.
Liam squeezes me around my shoulders placing a firm kiss on the top of my head. Somehow, that small gesture feels far more intimate than the deeply heated and desperate kisses we shared on the bus. Suddenly, I, the girl who gets naked in front of strangers for cash, blushes. The heat in my cheeks spreads through my veins and settles in my core. I’ve never wanted anyone’s lips all over me as much as I want his.
Not wanting to take advantage of his kindness, I keep my body in check and my mouth shut as we walk the next few blocks.
“Here we are,” Liam says walking us up a cracked concrete path to a cute little house that is little more than a box with windows.
“It’s nice,” I say when he invites me inside. “Quaint.” And I mean it in the most complimentary way. Walking into his house feels like coming home.
“It’s not much, I know.”
“Better than mine.” And even from what little I know, it’s so perfectly him. It’s sparsely but purposely furnished. Impeccably clean but still warm and inviting. Topped off with the dark spice of his cologne in the air.
