Playing Dirty Read online

  to me flares behind my eyelids. Her reaction to me was so much different—so much stronger—than how she reacted to that kid the other night. She wanted me. And I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to take her right there in that bathroom. I wish I were inside of her right now. I wish it was her pussy wrapped around my dick, helping me escape.

  I throw my head back as I come inside Lea.

  I don’t even know if I got her off. I keep going until she cries out my name and slumps to the bed. I fall beside her, winded.

  Lea rolls her head to look at me. “I don’t know what kind of demons are chasing you tonight, but if that didn’t help you outrun them, I don’t know what will.”

  “I’m trying to escape myself this time.”

  ***

  “Hey man, you look like shit,” Augie says as soon as I step into the gym. I didn’t go home last night and ended up sleeping for only a couple of hours. I’m still in the same clothes from the night before. I feel like shit, so I’m sure he’s right.

  I flip him off, too tired to make a smartass retort. I’m a few feet from my office when I remember Rocky will be in there working.

  I pause, not sure I’m ready to see her yet. Whatever the hell is happening between us, it can’t go anywhere. It can’t last.

  While I laid next to Lea wide-awake last night, I thought about talking to her. To Rocky. Seeing if she’d be interested in an understanding like I have with Lea. I could help her forget and she could stop picking up strangers in bars. She’d be safe and still get what she’s been looking for with those guys.

  The only thing stopping me is that kiss. It’s got me fucked up and pissed off with myself.

  But I could tell her. Explain. Take kissing off the table.

  I sigh. What the fuck am I doing?

  I’ve been contemplating murdering four men. I have one of those men locked in my basement.

  The last thing I need is to drag another person into this shit storm.

  Ten

  Rocky

  Link walks into the office, his gaze avoiding mine with determination. I don’t understand this man. He can go down on me, but he can’t look at me? Talk to me?

  I watch him rifle through papers on the edge of the desk. I have everything in organized piles. I’m sure I could easily help him, but if he isn’t talking then neither am I.

  He sighs. “Do you have the list of who owes?”

  I find the manila folder that has each new bill I drew up, along with the full list of names and totals. I hold it out. He takes the opposite corner, refusing to look at me. I don’t release the folder when he pulls on it.

  “How did you get the scars on your back?”

  His eyes finally meet mine. We’re both still holding the file. The seconds tick by.

  “I was stabbed eighteen times with a flaying knife.” He pauses and I release the folder, surprised with his abrupt honesty.

  “How? Why?”

  Link backs up until his back is leaning into the wall. He stares at me, his fingers gliding up and down smoothly along the seam of the folder. “Do you fish? Hunt?”

  I feel my brows draw together in confusion. I shake my head. My dad eats, breathes, and sleeps boxing. Always has. He was never into hunting. We may have fished a few times when I was younger, but it wasn’t a hobby.

  “Hunters and fishermen use flaying knives to remove the skin from their kills. It was also a form of torture, popular in medieval times. I’ve always wondered if the man that stabbed me was a hunter, a fisherman, or just got off on torture.”

  “Why does he have to be only one of the above?” I ask.

  Garrett was a teenaged student, a football player, and a rapist. People are not one sided. We’re more complex than that. I’ve never known someone that was simply one thing. I’m an alcoholic, a victim, a survivor.

  Link nods slowly, as if he agrees, but then he says, “I think he was a coward.”

  “Anybody who can’t look the person they’re hurting in the face is definitely a coward.”

  He nods again. “You say that like someone who knows firsthand.”

  “That’s because I do. But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  Those little muscles in his jaw twitch as he peers at me. He taps the file against his leg. “I only know you were assaulted and the guy walked away.”

  “Assaulted,” I repeat, rolling the word around on my tongue. It tastes bitter. It’s not a big enough word, but it stings less than the R word. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

  “I don’t need to hear your story,” he replies, his voice emotionless.

  “Maybe I need to hear yours,” I counter. “Maybe I just need to talk about mine.”

  “You want to swap war stories?” He chuckles without humor. “Then what? We bond? Become friends because we both survived a violent attack?” He steps forward, resting his palm on top of the desk. His face is just inches from mine. “Or we could fuck. Is that what you want? For me to take you here on the desk because we both have shitty pasts the other can relate to?”

  I want to back away from his close proximity. But I don’t. I hold his gaze steadily. “I don’t fuck. I haven’t fucked anyone since the day I was raped.”

  Link’s eyes flick over my face, searching. “You take men into bar bathrooms—”

  “I take men into bar bathrooms and use them for oral sex. That’s it. I don’t fuck them. I don’t know their names. I don’t call them.” I take a shaky breath. “I don’t kiss them.”

  I watch as Link’s pupils dilate. His eyes flare with heat. “You kissed me.”

  It’s a simple statement, but I hear the critical question hidden within. “You’re the first.”

  He stands up, putting significant space between us. “Why? Why me?”

  “I don’t know,” I say honestly.

  “You can’t do that again. I don’t…” He scrapes his fingers over his head. “I got the scars on my back when my girlfriend was…assaulted.”

  The way he says the word “assaulted” leads me to believe she was “assaulted” in the same way I was.

  “She was everything to me. I haven’t kissed anyone since her.”

  “You kissed me,” I say, mimicking his words, the question apparent.

  “You’re the first,” he states without missing a beat.

  “Why me?”

  He shrugs his broad shoulders, smiling sadly. “I don’t know. Don’t care to analyze it.”

  “We’re pathetic.”

  He huffs out a laugh. “I agree.”

  I swivel myself back and forth in the chair, unsure what to say next. I’m confused by this entire conversation. Link runs hot and cold, changing on the drop of a dime. It’s dizzying, frustrating, and fascinating all at the same time.

  He perches on the edge of the desk and places his hand on the arm of the chair, stilling my movement. My eyes skim over his hand, up his arm, his neck, and come to rest on his face.

  His gaze locks on mine, his façade slipping. His expression is suddenly vulnerable, open. “What’s his name? The guy that hurt you?”

  It’s not like I haven’t said his name dozens of times. It was a vital part of counseling. Acceptance. But for some reason, I struggle to say it to Link. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I swallow loudly. My gaze falls away. I stare at the desk until I finally close my eyes, blocking everything from sight.

  “Garrett Marshall,” I whisper.

  “Do you want to kill Garrett Marshall?” Link asks. My eyes blink open.

  “I already told you I think about it all the time.”

  The air between us thickens. Link leans toward me again, this time without hostility. “No, Rocky. I don’t want to know if you think about it. I want to know if you want it. Really, truly want him dead.”

  There’s so much passion in his words. Excitement in his eyes. It should bother me. Scare me. But I can’t look away, enthralled with his blatant hunger, as I consider his question.

  Do I really wan
t Garrett to die?

  The day he took everything away from me—the day he violated me in my school, in a place I felt safe—flashes through my mind’s eye. I feel his hands on me. I smell his cologne. I hear his panting breaths as he raped me.

  And I know.

  “Yes,” I breathe. “I want him dead.”

  Eleven

  Link

  “I can help you,” I say. It sounds far away, as if someone else is speaking. My voice is animated and I know how wrong this is. To feel so alive when I talk of ending a man’s life. It’s sick.

  I’m sick.

  Rocky stares at me, and for the first time, I see something in her eyes. A burst of hope. It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful, and it’s overwhelming that we share this twisted need. I find myself wanting to tip my head and taste her lips again. To open her mouth with the pressure of my lips, and drag my tongue against hers. My cock twitches with the thought. I squelch the desire and wait for her response.

  “What do you mean? How can you help me?” She bites down on her lip, making it that much harder to keep my distance. I haven’t craved a woman’s mouth like this since Olivia.

  This is wrong.

  It’s so wrong.

  I clear my throat roughly and sit back. “I can help you kill him.”

  Her dark eyes flick around the room. I don’t know what she’s looking for. The right answer? A way out? Her hands tighten into small fists. Her foot taps the tiled floor nervously. Finally her gaze lands on me, blazing with an emotion I can’t read.

  “Why would you do that?” she asks. It’s a legitimate question, but not the one I thought she’d ask.

  “Because he shouldn’t be allowed to live to do it again.” It’s the simple truth. Monsters like that should never be left to prey on another victim.

  She stands sharply, the chair slamming into the wall with her sudden movement. “This is crazy. You’re insane. We’re not talking about this. We’re not discussing murdering a man. No matter how much I think he deserves to die. It’s not our right.” She tries to move past me. I reach out, placing my hand on her arm. She flinches, her eyes widening.

  I drop my hand immediately. “Sorry,” I say gruffly. “I know what it’s like. To pretend to live when you feel dead inside. When the person responsible walks free. I understand the yearning to feel safe. And I know the only way to wholly gain control is to take it. If you ever decide…just know my offer stands.”

  “Aren’t you going to tell me not to tell anyone?” she utters.

  I shake my head. “No. I’m not going to tell you to do anything.”

  “I don’t understand you.”

  I shrug indifferently. I sure as hell don’t understand me. I don’t see how she ever could. “You don’t need to.”

  “Yes I do.”

  I close my eyes. Three tiny words affect me more than should be possible. “You shouldn’t,” I murmur.

  I feel her come closer, though she isn’t touching me. It’s just a sense. I swear I can feel the heat of her body. The smell of her shampoo hits me and I open my eyes. She’s close enough to kiss. All I’d have to do is lower my chin.

  “I want to, Link. I want to understand you. I want to know you.”

  My heart races, pounding in my chest. I want this girl so badly, but we both have our limits. She can’t fuck me. I can’t kiss her. And opening myself up like she wants? I’m completely incapable.

  “I can’t.”

  She pushes my legs apart, making room to accommodate her as she steps in between, but her body doesn’t touch mine in any other way. We’re practically nose-to-nose. I can feel every one of her exhales dance across my lips. I lick at them, desperate for just a hint of her flavor.

  “What can you do?” she inquires softly.

  There’s no easy response. It’s a completely loaded question. And most importantly, I don’t know the answer. If this was a week ago, I would have told her there was absolutely nothing I could offer. But I want to give her more than that. I want to make her feel safe. I want to protect her in all the ways I failed to protect Olivia.

  I close the distance between us. My cheek presses against hers, my arms pull her toward me, and I envelope her in a hug. Her body goes rigid, her arms stiff at her sides. She doesn’t push me away. She doesn’t step back. She doesn’t ask me to stop.

  And then, very slowly, Rocky slides her hands around my waist, returning the gesture.

  I feel like I can’t breathe, though my lungs expand and relax easily. Her small body trembles against mine. She turns her head, nuzzling into the crook of my neck. Her arms tighten. I squeeze her in response. My eyes burn.

  The kiss felt like betrayal. Like I was being disloyal to Livie.

  But this—this hug—hurts worse. This feeling of unification—of oneness—it’s almost too much to bear. It’s treachery.

  Olivia was my counterpart since I was fifteen years old. She was the other half of me.

  Rocky is my parallel. A reflection of what I am now. My mirror image of pain.

  I haven’t ached this badly or felt this good in a long while.

  I can’t.

  I can’t.

  I pull away. My hands long to cling to her. Which is exactly the reason I let go.

  The door opens and I tip my head to the side expecting Augie. I mentally prepare myself for the shit he’ll give me over Rocky. But it’s Joe, standing dumbfounded in the doorway.

  Rocky drops her hands, backing away from my open legs. Joe watches her, his brows raised, confusion clearly written across his face. “Am I interrupting?” he looks from his sister to me, and then back again.

  “No,” I answer. I slide off the desk, grab the folder I originally came in for, and move past his focused scrutiny. “Thanks for this, Rocky,” I add, holding up the file as I duck out the door.

  Twelve

  Rocky

  I was able to sidestep an interrogation from Joe for the rest of the workday. I snuck out early while he was busy flirting with one of the regular girls who comes into the gym for the sole purpose of ogling the boxers and trainers. Not that I blame her—it’s the best part of this job.

  As the girl twirled her hair, and Joe gawked openly at her ample chest, on display in her low-cut tank top, I grabbed my purse and used the back exit.

  Though I’m a grown adult, and have been one for several years, my brother treats me like a fragile child. I’m sure he has fifty different questions and concerns about Link and me. I don’t owe him any explanations. And I couldn’t explain it even if I wanted to.

  I stop in the shitty little bar across the street, but I only plan on staying long enough to buy a six-pack of piss-warm beer to take home. I hand the bartender my money, rejecting the change, and start for the door. A familiar smile catches my attention, causing me to pause next to the last stool.

  The cowboy from last week peers at me over the rim of his mug. He licks the beer foam from his lips slowly. “Well, if it ain’t my sweet-tasting cowgirl,” he drawls, his voice full of amusement.

  I nod at him once. “Cowboy.” Damn, he looks good. I recall exactly how that five o’clock shadow felt rubbing against my thighs.

  His gaze rakes over me appreciatively. “You lookin’ to take another ride, sweetheart?” He grins and my panties dampen at the sight. “I’m always game.”

  The memory of his tongue getting me off has me squeezing my thighs together. God, he was good. Really fucking good.

  Link is better.

  But Link’s not here.

  I hesitate, my hormones warring against my commonsense. Cowboy sets his mug on the bar. He slips off the stool and lowers his head so his mouth brushes my ear. “Step into my office with me,” he breathes. I follow his hand as he gestures toward the bathrooms.

  It’s tempting.

  I look sideways at him. He winks, that wicked grin spreading wider across his face. I had such a good time fucking that smile.

  So tempting.

  His hand slides onto the dip of my
back, just above my ass, and nudges me forward. I plant my feet and shake my head. “Sorry, Cowboy, but I don’t feel like saving any horses tonight.” I step away, tucking my six-pack under my arm. “Rain check?”

  He doesn’t reply, but the smile slips away as he watches me. I ignore him and keep walking. As soon as the cool night air hits my skin, a nervous prickle skates down my spine. I quicken my pace, heading across the street instead of up the road toward my apartment.

  I hear footsteps approaching quickly and I glance over my shoulder. Cowboy is just a few feet behind me and everything inside of me screams: RUN, as my fight or flight reflex naturally kicks in.

  I do something I usually don’t bother to do.

  I listen to my body’s reaction.

  I drop the beer and break into a run, sprinting toward the gym as fast as I can. I hear the scrape of his boots against the gravel as he pursues me, giving chase.

  Adrenaline pumps through my veins making my limbs feel heavy. Anything I may have learned from the one self-defense class is lost in my panic. All I can think about is getting to those doors. To my brother. To safety.

  Joe’s car is still parked in the lot. There are two other cars I don’t recognize, but I hope one belongs to Augie.

  Cowboy is gaining on me, his footfalls are moving quicker, coming closer. I inhale deeply and scream Joe’s name. I have no idea if he’ll be able to hear me, but I know I’m not going to make it to the doors. I have to try to do something.

  His arm sweeps around my waist and he lifts me. I have the vilest case of déjà vu. Not again.

  Not. Again.

  I walked out of Link’s class when he covered this, but not before he discussed several simple moves. I try to remember just one of them, but my thoughts are so scattered—half in my past, reliving Garrett’s attack—half just desperate to get away.

  I part my lips, ready to scream again. Cowboy’s hand clamps down on my mouth. I bite at his fingers, nipping one enough to make him snatch his hand away.

  “You’re fucking feisty, little cowgirl.”