Mallicks: Back to the Beginning (Mallick Brothers Book 5) Page 7

  "You barely know me," I objected, shaking my head, trying to deny the impact his words were having, words of kindness, things I was so unused to that my knee-jerk reaction was to find fault in them.

  "I know more than you think. I know enough to say there is something special about you. Maybe not everyone sees it. But Collings sees it. I see it. Someday, another man will see it too."

  That last part sounded pained.

  But, no.

  That made no sense.

  Purely wishful thinking, I was sure.

  I heard what I wanted to hear.

  Needy.

  When the hell did I become so needy?

  "Hon," Vicky's voice broke in. "I am going to pour his food on his lap if he makes me take it back to get it fixed one more time," she declared, dropping it down on our table before moving off. Likely to go chain-smoke out back like she was prone to do when she was stressed.

  She wasn't meant for the service industry.

  I half-expected her to quit between the dinner rush and closing most days of the week.

  "I have to get back," I told Charlie, maybe hearing a hint of disappointment in my voice.

  "Get me a coffee to go to hold me over until you get off tonight," he told me. "Then I will square up."

  I nodded, taking the plates, dumping them into a washing tub, then giving orders to Ed to redo the steak for table four because it wasn't well done enough. Ed had a moral objection to cooking a steak over medium, but after having had to redo it twice, he grumbled and set to charring it.

  I got Charlie his coffee, black like I knew he drank it, and brought over his bill.

  "You forgot to add yours," he told me, pushing the check presenter back to me.

  "No. I am pay..."

  "No, you're not. Put it on my bill," he demanded, voice steel.

  "No," I countered, lifting my chin defiantly.

  "I'm not your father or brother," he surprised me by saying, easily picking up on my attitude. "I'm not bossing you around. But I was raised a certain way, and that means that when I share a meal with a woman, I pay for it. So let me pay for it," he tried again, voice a little softer.

  "Okay," I agreed, maybe liking the old-fashioned manners more than I was willing to let on.

  "Now, I will see you here when you are done," he told me, giving me a panty-melting smile before swaggering off.

  "Girl," Vicky said, coming back smelling like the perfume she kept in her apron to cover up the smoke smell. It didn't work, not really, but she tried. "You are in so much trouble."

  And as I watched him climb in his car, tipping up his coffee at me before backing out of his spot, yeah, I was pretty sure she was right.

  I was in so much trouble.

  FIVE

  Charlie

  I tried to talk myself out of going.

  To the diner.

  To see her again.

  To inevitably start something that I had no business starting.

  Because it put my job in jeopardy.

  Because it put her in more danger.

  Because she was leaving.

  Normally, the fleetingness of it would be the most attractive part of the whole situation.

  We could both get to know each other just enough, get sweaty, get what we needed from each other, then move on.

  But, somehow, for maybe the first time, the idea of that sounded lacking, sounded empty.

  Which was asinine.

  I barely knew the woman, objectively.

  But there was simply something there.

  She was beautiful, sure, but it was more than that. Pretty was something I would just need to get the taste of, the feel of, and move on.

  This went deeper.

  There was something about her.

  About this woman raised by wolves who somehow managed to maintain her softness, her sweetness, who had yet to realize that being born of them meant she was one of them, that she had claws and fangs as well, that she could use them if she wanted to.

  I'd barely been able to look Christopher in the eye when he met me at a coffee place to discuss some upcoming jobs. Not since I knew what he had planned for his own flesh and blood.

  It was easy, at times, to compartmentalize my work. I worked, almost exclusively, for scumbags. Which, in a way, made me one by association. We all did shit that decent men wouldn't even think about. We scared, intimidated, and beat our way to the top.

  I was no better than the men I worked for.

  Except for, maybe, Christopher Eames.

  Because while I was generally of the mind that no one knew what they were capable of, that no one could ever say 'never' with any kind of certainty, I knew that this was the one situation where I could say it. Never. Never could I sell my own goddamn daughter to a contact to end up raped and trapped for the rest of her life.

  Fucking never.

  But Christopher Eames could.

  He could do that.

  So it told me one thing.

  I was better than him.

  It was maybe the first time in my life I really felt that way.

  And it made it difficult even to be in his presence as he talked about debts owed and second warnings needing to be more fierce than first ones.

  I could do fierce.

  But in that moment, it wasn't his welshing client that I wanted to haul off and beat down; it was him.

  But I couldn't.

  For my safety.

  Even for hers.

  Hers.

  That's what was on my mind as I sat in my room later, trying to convince myself to stay, to open up the bottle of whiskey on my nightstand, and guzzle it down, to do something only the laziest of jackasses did - stand her up.

  Because I knew it would be bad for both of us if we got caught.

  For me, I'd get my ass handed to me. If he was gracious enough to let me keep my life.

  But for Helen?

  Yeah, he'd probably put a rush on his plans to ship her off, so she couldn't get too involved with anyone else. So she wouldn't run off, and fuck up his plans.

  And because, well, if she got attached to me, she would keep putting off her plans to get her freedom, to get shot of this bastard once and for all.

  I couldn't be in her way.

  But I couldn't seem to make myself stay away either.

  Because almost forty minutes after I was meant to meet her, I was opening the doors to find her chatting up Collings.

  He was a decent enough guy, destined to be a beat cop, then a detective. Just like his old man. A man who was going to live out his life putting men like me behind bars for torturously long spells.

  Not that we didn't deserve it, but in my mind, there were criminals, and there were thugs. Criminals provided a service that people needed - whether it was legal or not - gambling, sports drugs, guns, the list went on and on. But we had codes. We only hurt those who fucked with our livelihoods, or were stepping on our turf.

  Thugs, yeah, thugs didn't have a code. They were the guys out grabbing women off the streets and into back alleys. They were the ones beating the shit out of people they came across just for shits and giggles. They provided nothing, and took everything.

  Thugs who hurt innocents, those bastards belonged in cages, rotting away far from anyone they could hurt.

  Criminals, eh, I thought there should have been a lesser focus on them, only stepping in when shit got out of hand.

  But cops and detectives, yeah, they didn't see those gray areas. Life was all black and white to them. And in their minds, we all belonged in prison.

  Which meant I couldn't exactly be a fan of the guy who thought that when he looked at me.

  But he was a good man, with a moral compass. That had to be respected. And, well, he had a thing for Helen. It was as obvious as the lovesick puppy dog look in his eyes, the way he watched Helen like she was the last woman on earth, like his entire future depended on her just simply glancing his way, giving him a smile, or a few sweet words.

  He wasn
't happy to see me, either.

  It didn't take a genius to see that if we'd gone to a concert the night before, and I was showing up at her work to have her break with her, that something was brewing.

  And everything I thought he was thinking was confirmed when I showed back up at the diner after closing to meet up with Helen, and found Collings' car parked in the side lot.

  He was there for me.

  I didn't even have to wait for him to climb out of his car and advance me as I climbed out of mine to know.

  I knew it the second his eyes met mine through both of our dashboards.

  But he stalked over toward me, all determination and anger. And likely more than a pinch of jealousy.

  "She deserves better than you," he declared, cutting all the crap, getting right to the point.

  "Yep," I agreed, leaning back on my car, willing to go with this, to hear him out. Because I knew he was only doing it out of his feelings for Helen, out of his belief that he was protecting her. And I couldn't begrudge him that.

  "She's had enough of criminals in her life."

  "Probably," I agreed, nodding.

  "And you work for her father," he added. "Who would have none of this."

  "Realize that too."

  "And yet you're still going to go for it."

  Exhaling my breath, my shoulder shrugged. "If she was willing to give you her attention, would you walk away?" I asked.

  "If I knew it was better for her, yes," he said, voice dripping with sincerity. He meant that. And that just meant one thing.

  "You're a far fucking better man than I am Collings," I declared, nodding my head at him. "In a fairer world, you'd be the one getting to spend some time with her tonight," I said, jerking my chin toward the window where Helen, a mop handle in her delicate hand, was throwing back her head to laugh at something the surly cook said as he passed her by.

  "But it's not a fair world," he declared, watching her with an intensity that spoke of his feelings, the depth of them, the likely length of them.

  That unrequited love shit, that could do a man in every time.

  I hoped that wasn't Collings' fate.

  Maybe he'd find a woman who wasn't the daughter of the area's biggest cocaine dealer, who he could court and fall in love with in a more normal way, not from afar because he knew Christopher Eames would have someone like me - or even me - kill him in a second if he knew a soon-to-be cop was sniffing around Helen. Maybe he wasn't doomed - as most detectives were - to failed marriages and bitter divorces and crippling alimony.

  "She needs to leave," I said, making his head shoot back to me. "To get shot of her shithead father and brother. She needs to go. And I should leave her alone to do that. But I am, apparently, a selfish man. I am going to take whatever she will give me for as long as she will give it."

  "Even though you know she's going to leave."

  "Might not be as noble as you are, Collings, but I would never try to make her stay when I know what fate would await her if she did."

  "I got to leave soon," he declared as Helen finished mopping, and set to wiping off the laminated menus. "To the academy," he added. "I won't be here to keep an eye on her."

  "I'll keep an eye," I assured him. "Keep her safe. Maybe convince her to go."

  I could see the hurt there, plain, unguarded, at the idea of her taking off without him getting a chance to say goodbye. But he would handle that. If it meant she was safe.

  Again, he deserved her.

  Way fucking more than I did.

  "You do that," he agreed, giving Helen one last look, his jaw tensing. "And if she isn't gone by the time I get back, I'm holding you responsible," he told me, the threat plain in his voice.

  Sure, he would be a cop by then.

  He wasn't one of my people, someone who made good on threats with bloodshed and violence.

  But he could make me suffer.

  Throw me in a cage for one of my many crimes.

  Which, in my humble opinion, was far worse.

  Give me an ass-kicking over a cage any damn day.

  "Got it," I agreed, nodding.

  "Take care of her," he added as he walked away, not waiting for my response.

  Something deep within me did, though.

  Answer.

  Something inside screamed that I would do it.

  Take care of her.

  No matter what it took.

  But as I watched her head turn, spotting me leaning against my car, and giving me one of those uncertain, but hopeful smiles of hers, yeah, I was starting to wonder if it was going to be as easy to let go as I had originally thought.

  But as she locked up with her friend, and moved outside, I decided that that was something to worry about some other time.

  "Hi," she said, hauling her purse up on her shoulder.

  "Hey. You ready?"

  "That's the thing," she said, tone hesitant.

  "What thing?"

  "Nothing is open. Where are we going?"

  "Figure we could go to the beach for a bit."

  She shifted from foot to foot, glancing over her shoulder at her car.

  "Want to take yours?" I asked, figuring she was a bit hesitant to be alone on the beach with a guy she didn't know that well. "That way you can head straight home after," I added.

  "I think that is the best plan," she agreed. "I'll follow you."

  And she did.

  Down the highway, into a lot with no other cars, and down the long path toward the water, kicking out of her shoes and socks, and kicking up the water as we walked.

  "What are you doing?" she asked, turning back when I paused, reaching to lift my shirt.

  "Going in."

  "It's freezing."

  "Didn't say you'd have to join me," I told her, smiling at the way her eyes raked over my chest and stomach as I tossed the shirt, at the way her cheeks went pink when my hands went for my belt, then lowered my jeans to the sand as well, leaving me just in my boxers as I turned to jump in. "But what fun is it just to stand there?" I added as a challenge, flicking water toward her.

  She paused for a long moment, long enough that I figured I was just going to effectively handle my case of blue balls in the frigid water alone for a moment before her hand dropped her purse, then went to pull her shirt out of her skirt, working the buttons with the smallest of trembles.

  I couldn't get a handle on the shyness, the insecurity. If it was from growing up the way she had, or an inexperience with men, but found it charming nonetheless as she pulled the shirt open to reveal the smooth line of her stomach and a plain nude-colored bra, making it impossible, even in the cold water, to keep my cock from getting hard.

  "Fuck," I hissed under my breath as her hands went to the skirt, lowering it down over her hips to reveal a simple pair of panties that matched her bra, and long, fucking perfect legs.

  Gorgeous.

  Every goddamn inch of her, flawless.

  She took a deep breath, making her breasts tease over the tops of the cups for a second before, in a move that was so fast that she blurred, flew forward, and dove under the water.

  She came up a foot from me, eyes huge, mouth opened in a giant O. "Fuck!" she hissed, reaching out, and slamming her wet hand into my shoulder. "You didn't even wince!" she added like an accusation.

  "Gotta toughen up," I told her, reaching upward, watching as her body stiffened while my hands went behind her. Her brows knitted as my hands went behind her head, snagging her ponytail with one hand to hold it still, then carefully undoing it with the other until the wet strands fell to cover her shoulders, toy with the tops of her breasts.

  "Like it down," I informed her absentmindedly slipping the tie onto my wrist for safekeeping.

  "You only get to see me in my hideous work uniforms," she said with a grimace.

  "Beautiful even in pink and green stripes," I informed her, watching as her eyes went soft.

  "Liar," she accused, eyes small.

  "Don't believe me?"


  "No one looks good in pink and green stripes or mustard yellow," she informed me, brow lifted, daring me to challenge her.

  I did.

  But not in the way she expected.

  My hand moved behind her, snagging her around the lower back, and dragging her to my chest, breasts flattening to the firm lines of my muscles, lower belly meeting the proof of my desire.

  Her breath sucked in, lips falling open like a goddamned invitation that I wanted so badly to accept.

  "Still doubt me?" I asked, hearing the husky edge to my words when her body melted closer.

  Her head shook softly, eyelids heavy, lips still begging to be kissed.

  Anchoring her to me, my lips crashed down on hers, hearing the low whimpering sound that was like a stab of liquid desire to my cock.

  She wasn't so soft this time.

  So pliant in her desire.

  No.

  Beneath mine, her lips were hungry, demanding, slanting to deepen it, parting to elevate it, barely waiting for my lips to open before her tongue was moving inside to claim mine.

  Her whole body shuddered hard, drawing a low, guttural growl from somewhere deep in my chest as my hands sank into her soft ass, pulling upward, re-situating her onto her tiptoes so my cock could meet the juncture of her thighs, sliding between.

  Her lips ripped from mine, her forehead slamming down into my shoulder as an almost pained cry escaped her.

  "Too fast?" I asked, body tense, praying she didn't say yes.

  She didn't find words, but her answer was clear as her hands curled into my arms, nails digging in, and her hips shifting out then back in, sliding along the length of my cock, her body shaking with the motion.

  With nothing but the thin material of our underwear, I could feel the heat of her pussy. I'd bet my fucking life it was drenched with need too.

  My hand moved up, then slipped under her panties, sliding over the soft skin of her ass while she kept riding along my cock, stoking her desire, driving me half fucking insane.

  When I thought I couldn't take it anymore, I shifted my hips back, taking my cock away, feeling my lips curve up at the whimper that escaped her at the loss.

  "Shh, baby," I told her, my hand slipping down, sliding between her thighs, teasing up the slick cleft of her pussy, seeking her clit, and working it softly, gently, loving the way her moans were desperate whimpers, her hands like death grips on my arms, her hips shifting restlessly, begging for her release.