Mallicks: Back to the Beginning (Mallick Brothers Book 5) Read online

  "Right," I agreed, using the toe of one to wedge off the heel of the other. Leaning down, I reached for one, my other foot not quite ready to balance me, sending me surging forward.

  "Whoops," Charlie said, a smile in his voice as his big hand closed around my forearm, the contact sending a shiver across my skin, making my head shoot up to find his eyes on me, gaze intense, making me wonder if he felt the shiver as well, or if I was alone in the moment.

  "Helen, you need a walk to your car?" my boss called, his dad-voice on loud and clear.

  I yanked my arm away self-consciously, turning, giving him a small smile. "We're heading to the concert."

  "I can hear it already. You're late."

  With that little reminder, I got out of my shoes, holding them in my hand as we moved down the path that led to the beach.

  The oppressively hot afternoon had given way to a chilly night, the wind whipping off the shore, making the air wet and cool as we walked toward the sounds of guitars and drums set up on a stage that was taken down every weekend to make room for more tourists to lay down towels or chairs during the week.

  Normally, I would be thinking about the way the sand slipped between my toes, the way the moon was reflecting off the waves.

  But all I could think as we walked was of the warmth of Charlie's body heat, the way his arm brushed into mine here and there, but enough to make me wonder if he was maybe doing it deliberately since there was no reason to walk so close to me with an empty beach surrounding us.

  The thrum of the bass moved through me as we finally closed in on the crowd surrounding the small wooden stage with two poles holding a banner that said Shore Music.

  "You want to be right up in it all, or hang back?" he asked, sounding like either option would suit him just fine.

  I lived life so carefully, so dully if I were being completely honest, doing what was expected of me, working various jobs, helping Helga.

  Given the choice, well, I wanted to let loose; I wanted to experience something normal and fun that didn't have threats of possible violence or forced marriages or sick friends or anything even remotely responsible attached to it.

  I didn't think.

  I reached down with my free hand, wrapped it around his, and yanked him with me through the crowd until they engulfed us, until we had no choice but to press close as the band covered an array of songs from Queen, Billy Joel, Cheap Trick, and Van Halen. Lost in the moment, the energy, the collective enthusiasm of the crowd, my body started moving to the music. And to my utter shock, Charlie joined right in, smiling when I started belting out the lyrics, drowned out by the speakers but seemingly hellbent on overpowering them anyway.

  But then the music slowed, the female background singer moving forward to take the mic from the lead as the band transitioned into a bluesy cover of "Slow Hand."

  I stopped moving, feeling awkward as the couples around us moved into a close embrace as the erotic lyrics filled the air, charged it, made the sexual undertones impossible to ignore.

  A jolt moved through my body when I felt Charlie's hand close into my hip, turning, and pulling me closer until my body pressed to his from chest to thigh, my soft lines brushing against his much harder ones.

  "Relax," he demanded, making me suddenly aware of the tension in each of my muscles, the way my spine was set to steel. "It's just a dance," he added as his free hand snaked up my arm - leaving shivers in its wake - to snag my elbow, pulling it, guiding my arm to his shoulder where prudence told me just to sink in my hand, but desire made me curl around the back of his neck, pressing my body closer to his as we started to sway.

  My other hand moved up to cup his upper arm, feeling the tension in his bicep, the strength there something that might normally make a small ripple of fear move through me, but I found nothing but comfort in its presence.

  "Helen," his voice called, low and raspy, almost a little pleading, making me realize my head had been ducked since his hand touched me. My gaze lifted, finding his startling eyes focused on me, the lids seeming a little heavier than usual, sending a warm, delicious wobbly feeling through my belly. "There you are," he declared, soft smile pulling at his lips. "You owe me," he added a second later.

  "I thought this was me paying you back."

  "For the bet. But you owe me for that cotton candy shit. I'm still queasy just thinking about it."

  I bet he was.

  "What did you have in mind?"

  "Dinner," he declared, making a little disappointment move through me. "What?" he asked, picking up on something in my face.

  "I work most dinner shifts."

  "Lunch. Breakfast. Brunch. Fucking mid-day snack," he suggested, making my lips curve up. "Come on, you know you want to."

  "Think that highly of yourself, huh?" I asked, unwilling to admit the pull I felt to him. Because it was irrational. It made no sense. I barely knew the man.

  "Think that highly of you. And am willing to say whatever it takes to make you spend some time with me."

  I pretended to ignore the gooey feeling in my heart at his words. "You shouldn't."

  "Because of your father."

  "Your boss," I agreed.

  "He wouldn't approve," Charlie guessed.

  "He... has plans for me."

  "Plans?" he asked, hand sinking into my lower back, pulling me even closer, until there wasn't so much as a breath of air between us.

  There was no denying it then.

  The attraction.

  The way my body responded to his, to its nearness.

  My breasts swelled heavy, my nipples hardening as they pressed into the firm muscles of his chest. A heavy pressure met my lower stomach, as undeniable as the tightening of my sex, the frantic way my pulse started pounding.

  "I don't want to talk about him now," I heard my voice say, barely more than a whisper, a mix of desperation and pleading in my tone as I pressed my forehead into his chest as the song came to an end, making my heart sink at the idea of moving away from these sensations, denying my body what it so desperately wanted.

  But even as the music thrummed back up, loud, undeniable, as the crowd cheered, Charlie's hands didn't release me; he didn't move away. If anything, he pulled me closer, his hand starting to slide up and down my spine. It was meant to be reassuring or comforting, but all it did was further stoke the fire building inside until I was sure it was going to burn me up from the inside out. My own fingers curled into the back of his neck as my other arm wound around his back as well.

  A low, rolling rumble moved through Charlie's chest and into my own, making a shiver course through me as my head tipped up, eyes questioning.

  And all I saw in his gaze was a mirror of what must have been in mine - the desire, the need to satisfy it.

  His hand slid up my side, over my shoulder, then up my neck, framing my jaw, tilting up my head ever so slightly more before he lowered toward me.

  My stomach flip-flopped as my lips parted, inviting what we both wanted more than anything else in the moment.

  His eyes watched my face for a second, looking for any kind of hesitation. Finding none, his lips claimed mine.

  I expected the soft thrumming sensation kissing had always given me in the past.

  But this, this was not that.

  This was akin to fireworks.

  No.

  Bigger, more powerful.

  This was an atomic bomb to my system, obliterating everything except the sensation as Charlie let out another of those rolling growls, hand slipping behind my neck to hold on tighter as his lips pressed harder, demanded more, demanded everything.

  And what's more, I gave it to him.

  In that moment, that one still, perfect moment when nothing in the world existed but the two of us and what was happening between us, I was sure I would give him anything, anything at all that he wanted.

  My lips parted, and his tongue moved inside to claim mine, making my legs forget how to hold me, sending my weight swaying fully into him, his arm aro
und my back just curling tighter, holding me up as he continued to throw more kindling into the wildfire ravaging through my system.

  A low, whimpering sound filled my ears, making Charlie's lips rip unexpectedly from mine with a savage curse as he let out a shuddering breath.

  He released me suddenly, a jolt moving through me as my legs were forced once again to hold my weight. I barely had a moment to register that sensation when I felt his hand close around mine, fingers lacing between mine, and yanking hard as he plowed through the crowd, dragging me along with him - willing or not.

  But being that I was nothing but a mass of overworked nerve endings and unfulfilled desire, I was nothing but willing, forcing my legs to keep up with his unrelenting pace as he just kept dragging me down the beach, shoulders tense, stony face focused forward.

  "Charlie," my voice whispered when the concert was nothing but a bright light in the distance behind us, nothing but the waves and moon there to witness whatever was to follow.

  He pulled to a stop, my body unprepared for it, slamming into his shoulder with an unrefined oomph.

  "What kind of plans does he have for you?" he asked, voice as fierce as the look in his eyes.

  "Charlie, I don't..."

  "Want to talk about that asshole," he finished for me. "I get it. But we're talking about it. What plans?"

  I felt my shoulders drop, my gaze moving over his shoulder to look at the whitecaps on the water, the tide picking up seeming just for this moment, this conversation, like the universe was picking up on the riptide beneath us, determined to pull us under before we could even get used to the temperature of the water.

  "I don't know anything for sure. He doesn't exactly talk business with me."

  "But..."

  "But our housekeeper - who has been like a mother to me - thinks the only reason he has kept me around when he clearly doesn't care about me is because he plans to use me."

  "Use you how?" Charlie demanded, words still firm, unyielding, and cold. Like maybe he knew. Like maybe he just needed the confirmation.

  "It's crazy, really, but she thinks that he has plans to use me to secure better connections with suppliers in Colombia."

  "How?" he demanded again, hand reaching out to snag my chin, forcing me to face him as I admitted the ugliest part of it all.

  "By... giving me to them," I admitted, choosing the words carefully, not wanting to voice the meaning behind them. Forced marriage. Rape. A life of unending misery.

  "Fuck," Charlie hissed, dropping my chin, looking off over my shoulder for a long moment as the words landed, sank in, took root. "He's that evil?" he asked after a long moment, knowing the answer, but needing the confirmation.

  "When I was five, screaming woke me up. I came downstairs to find him dragging my mother through the house by her hair," I admitted. For the first time. All the people involved knew. And no one had ever wanted to know more about the monsters surrounding me before enough to ask. "He pulled her outside. And there was a bang," I said, voice getting a little thick. "I didn't understand at the time. But he had shot her. Because she had gotten up the nerve to tell him she was going to leave him."

  Charlie's gaze was back on my face, eyes sad. For me. For the life I had been raised in. For the losses forced upon me at a young age.

  No one - save for Helga - had ever known, had ever cared. And, somehow, seeing that care reflected in his eyes made mine water.

  I blinked them away hard.

  "So, yes, he's that evil."

  "Why are you still here, baby?" he asked, the endearment reminding my body of the sensations it felt toward him, making my sex tighten almost painfully.

  "I've been trying to convince Helga to come with me. She's sick. But she's scared. She's... she knows whose blood is on his hands," I said carefully. "She says he will never let her go."

  "I hate being this guy, Helen, but he won't. Let her go. He won't want to let you go either. But you can't incriminate him. She can. He'd look for you, but would give up. He'd search to the ends of the world to silence her."

  A sharp, piercing feeling stabbed into my chest, so strong and sudden that my hand went there, pressing, sure my fingers would meet a bullet hole, a knife wound, something to explain the pain that was spreading, leaking through my entire system.

  "I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head, reaching out to grab my hand, pulling it from my chest, giving it a squeeze. "I see you love her. But... I think you need to start seeing this through a different lens, babe. You're the daughter of a vicious drug dealer who will do whatever it takes to keep his own ass out of prison. If that means shooting some old lady - or his own daughter - he will do it. If he won't, your brother will. There is no room for soft in this hard kind of life."

  He wasn't wrong.

  That was maybe the worst part.

  I had been too soft, too accommodating, too passive, simply modeling my life in such a way as to avoid a beating, not in a way that I wanted, that made me happy. Sure, I had my little rebellions, but they were quiet ones, ones that my father either didn't know about, or didn't think were worthy of the exertion that would come his way from beating me for them. Which made them all useless if you really thought about it.

  I had to harden up.

  I had to find my spine and reinforce it.

  I had to live my life on my own terms.

  Maybe there would be pain.

  Maybe there would be fear.

  Maybe I would become someone new after all was said and done.

  But those were chances I had to face, challenges I had to endure, if I wanted my freedom, if I wanted to be able to have the things I was too beaten-down, too disenchanted to even think were possible for me.

  A home where I was safe.

  Friends.

  And maybe, just maybe, I thought as I looked at Charlie, love, a family of my own, the chance to break the cycle, to create something beautiful out of all of this ugliness.

  "I've been saving money," I admitted. "To go. I was going to go when I was eighteen, before Helga got sick. I think we both thought she might get better, that she would maybe be able to go with me. But she didn't get better. And I guess all that time in bed gave her time to think..." my voice trailed off. "I don't want to lose another mother," I admitted, the words wrenched from somewhere deep in my soul, the pain like a wound ripped back open, and I was bleeding inwardly.

  "Look at me," he demanded, voice soft and firm at the same time - metal wrapped in velvet. "Helga isn't a young woman anymore, Helen. She's lived her life, for better or worse. You, however, have barely had a chance. You would have decades of torment if your father went through with his plan. Getting raped once is horrific enough an idea, but every day for the next twenty years? Bearing children, heaven forbid daughters who might, like you, end up pawns in this much larger game, to suffer a similar fate, can you imagine that life, Helen? Because it could very well be yours if you don't listen to her when she tells you to leave her. She would never forgive herself if that ended up happening to you. Only to have the eventual fate you know she is destined to after you are shipped away to South fucking America. I'm not trying to be an asshole here," he added when I flinched back from the truth in his words. "I just want you to understand where Helga is coming from, why she wants you to go without her."

  "It's scarier to go alone," I admitted, it being a fear I typically played close to the vest, knowing how weak it made me sound. There were simply so many things in life I didn't know how to do. Basic life skills I had never learned because no one had ever shown me, things that I hoped Helga could walk me through. All those stupid, useless classes in high school when what we all really needed was How To Be An Adult 101.

  "Maybe you won't have to be alone," Charlie said, something guarded in his tone. "At least not forever," he rushed to add. "You'll meet people, make connections. Good ones this time. With people who won't try to sell you to Colombian drug lords."

  There was nothing funny about that, but I felt a bubble of hyste
ria rise up in me, making a laugh escape my lips. "I'm sorry," I said, fighting for composure. "I know this isn't funny. It's just... it's so ridiculous that this is my life. Who else has moonlight beach conversations about running away from home to avoid becoming chattel to some South American drug dealer?"

  "Yeah," he agreed, body and eyes and smile softening as he watched me. "There are far better things to do on a moonlit beach," he went on, something in his words making my belly wobble again. Seeming to sense it as well, though, he took a step back, put more distance between us, both physically and emotionally - or so it felt.

  "I owe you some sort of meal," I reminded him, wanting to go back. Back before this conversation upset a perfectly good evening.

  "You're a busy woman," he reminded me.

  "The diner gives me breaks," I informed him.

  "And they do have food there," he agreed. "What time are you working tomorrow?"

  "Six to midnight."

  "Ten-ish for a break?"

  "I can make that work," I agreed, giving him a small smile.

  "Alright, let's get you back to your car," he said, holding out an arm, but not putting it behind my back or reaching for my hand like I was hoping.

  In fact, the whole way back, he kept a full arms-length away from me at all times, like being close was suddenly a repugnant idea.

  And I couldn't help but wonder as I climbed into my car, if maybe the only reason he had agreed to coming to the diner was because I had suggested it, because he was a nice guy who didn't want to go back on his word.

  "Lock it," he said after tapping on the glass to get my attention, making me jolt.

  My hand moved to press the lock down, reaching for the handle to roll down the window a few inches to let out the stagnant heat trapped inside.

  "Goodnight, Charlie," I said, keeping the strange sadness overpowering me tucked away to be dealt with when I was alone.

  "See you tomorrow night," he agreed, giving me a smile, but it was tense.

  I turned over the car, and sped away before I could tell him to forget it, not to take pity on me, that I didn't need it.

  Because, well, I guess I did.

  I wanted his attention.