Olivia.
I see Olivia’s face. The terror. The agony. And that moment when she gave up. Gave in. When she stopped crying, stopped fighting.
“Please, don’t do this to me again,” I plead. I don’t know if I’m talking to Livie or God. I just repeat it over and over like a mantra, hoping someone hears my prayers.
Rocky’s a fighter. Named after the only undefeated boxing champion. She won’t give up like Livie did. She’s stronger. I’ve trained her, shaped her, showed her how to protect herself.
But what if it wasn’t enough? What if she isn’t ready?
“Don’t take her away from me,” I beg. “I can’t lose another woman I care about.”
I pull into my driveway, slamming the gear into park before the car’s even stopped. As I run toward my front door, my vision tunnels. My mind goes blank. I’m numb, preparing myself for whatever scene I’m about to walk in on.
My stomach churns violently as I kick the door open. My eyes land on Rocky, lying naked on my living room floor. Her eyes are closed, her arms limp on each side of her head. She looks as if she was being pinned down. And by the multiple bruises lining her face, she fought hard.
And then she’s no longer there. I’m in the alley four years ago, looking into Olivia’s face.
I fall to my knees beside her, incapable of words. Powerless to conceal my torment.
Rocky comes back into view, her skin pale, blotched in purple contusions.
God, what did he do to her?
I place my fingers to her neck gently, afraid to touch her. My head drops with relief as I feel the unhurried throbbing of her pulse.
I press my lips together, trying to hold back a sob of gratitude.
My little fighter.
As the terror gradually leaves me and my heart begins to beat again, my mind focuses. And every mistake I’ve made since walking through the door catches up with me.
A shadow moves over the light from the open door, shining on Rocky’s legs. I have just enough time to brace myself for the hit before I feel something hard and solid strike my head.
Twelve
Rocky
He’s on top of me.
The pressure of his body holds me to the floor, restricting my breathing. It’s like a led weight lying on my chest. I will my eyes to open, but they aren’t quick to obey. Maybe it’s my subconscious, refusing to witness another rape.
I hear a groan and the weight shifts before leaving me.
My eyes flutter, but are unwilling to remain open. I keep trying.
Link comes into view before disappearing as my eyelids drop once again. My heart pounds inside my chest with sweet relief.
He’s here.
Please don’t let me be dreaming or hallucinating. Please let him really be here with me.
I force my eyes open yet again, and roll my head to the side, following the telltale sounds of aggressive struggling.
As my gaze lands on Link, I notice blood trailing down the back of his head. My eyes fall closed. Panic helps me blink them quickly.
Link’s feet are shoulder width apart, one in front of the other, slightly turned out. His knees are bent, shoulders relaxed. His elbows are close to his torso, hands up, protecting his face. A perfect boxer’s stance.
In front of him, Bates holds a large knife. I know immediately it’s the one Lea described. The one he used to kill Olivia. The one responsible for the scars on Link’s back.
Bates slashes at Link, and I cry out, knowing he’s defenseless against a weapon like that.
Link turns his attention to me, giving Bates an extra advantage. The blade pierces Link’s skin, sliding down the length of his bicep. A line of crimson splits his flesh. He stumbles back into the wall, gripping his arm and dropping his defense.
I roll to my side, and then onto my stomach. My hands slide along the floor as I try to push myself upward. My arms give out and I slip back to my stomach.
“Rocky,” I hear Link say. I glance over my shoulder, trying to find him. My eyes are drawn to the large smudge of red on the wall.
“Get out of here,” he continues, his voice strained.
My face must be a mess because as fresh tears make their way down my cheeks, the salty moisture burns my skin. I need to get up. Not because Link wants me to get away—I’m not leaving him—but because I need to help him. Between the two of us, I know we can overpower Bates.
When you’re fighting for someone else, you can’t give up. You have to push past the pain, the insecurity, the fear. You have to keep going because you know if you don’t, you’ll never forgive yourself.
I keep fighting, just as Link is doing for me.
Locking the muscles in my arms, I heave myself onto my knees. I can hear scuffling of feet, the harsh, panted breaths, the thwack of fists meeting skin, and it makes the urgency that much more potent.
I push to my feet, knees weak, and balance off, causing me to sway. Somehow I catch myself on the counter. My stomach aches where that asshole punched me. It feels like a rock lodged inside my belly. I ignore the pain and take a step toward Link, struggling with Bates.
I slide my foot, taking another shaky step. I have no idea what I’m going to do—what I’m capable of doing in my state. I must have hit my head because everything is spinning. Blurry. It’s making me lightheaded and dizzy.
Bates kicks out, connecting hard with Link’s leg. As Link falls to his knees, Bates smiles. That smile I once found so attractive, now a cruel, gratified smirk.
I try to move fast enough. I try to lunge at Bates. Throw myself between the men. But my legs are inept, my effort futile. It happens so fast, I can’t make sense of what’s occurring.
My knees hit the floor, just as Link’s did just a second ago. And then the room is filled with a flash of light as a loud popping sound echoes off the walls, making my ears ring.
Smoke drifts off of the shoulder of Bates’ shirt, a circle of red growing larger and larger, spreading along his arm. He looks down, his mouth falling open as if in shock. The knife tumbles out of his hand as if he can no longer hold onto it.
There’s shouting. Beams of light bouncing around the room. But I keep my attention locked on Bates. His gaze moves from his shoulder to Link, his eyes growing large.
Someone touches me, places a coat over my shoulders. I only look away for a moment, glancing back at the officer trying to guide me outside. Away from Link. I try to pull away, turning back to the two men.
Link is still on his knees, his arms bleeding profusely. He raises his opposite hand, light reflecting off the long blade of Bates’ knife. I scream. I must. Because Link stops, his hand pausing in midair, even with Bates’ belly.
It feels like time stops as Link battles against his need to complete the mission he’s been on for much too long now. I understand it. I do. I want Bates dead too. But if Link kills him now in front of these police officers, he’ll go to prison, or worse, they’ll shoot him.
He looks back at me as the officers continue to shout. I shake my head, silently pleading with him. I feel my lips move, but I can’t hear myself over all of the yelling.
But Link understands.
He drops his hand, letting the knife slip from his fingers. The cops move in, one pushing Link to the floor. Others take hold of Bates. There’s so much chaos. Too much happening too quickly. I’m shuffled out the door and into the back of an ambulance.
Thirteen
Link
Byers hands me a cup of coffee as the doctor finishes dressing my arm. I nod a thank you as I take it. The hot liquid feels good traveling down my parched throat.
“There will be a guard on him at all times until we’re able to transport him,” he says casually. I don’t know if Byers is trying to reassure me or warn me—I’ll be caught if I go after him.
It’s not an issue. As much as I want that man dead—erased from existence—I’m going to allow the legal system to take care of him. It’s not easy to do, but I made the decision the moment I heard
Rocky tell me she needed me.
I haven’t been needed in a long time.
“When can I see Rocky?”
Byers sips his own coffee, peering at me over the rim. “As soon as we’re done here. She’s been examined. Superficial wounds. No concussion. She can go home today.”
I sigh. That’s good. That’s very good. I’m sure she misses her place.
I don’t have a home to go home to. My house is currently a crime scene.
“Greg Anthony gave us a full confession. We’ve identified all four suspects involved in Olivia’s murder.”
I nod absent-mindedly, rotating my shoulder when the doctor finishes taping the bandage in place and ducks out of the room. Another stab wound. Another set of stitches. Small price to pay to keep Rocky safe.
“We’re having trouble locating one—Aaron Woods,” Byers continues. He scratches his jaw, his eyes fixed on me. Just the sound of Aaron’s name causes my pulse to spike. I rip off the blood pressure cuff, still attached to my arm, and drop it on the bed beside me.
“He’s the guy I asked you to ID a few weeks back.”
“That so?” I take another gulp of coffee, cringing at the bitter taste but enjoying the heat.
“My guess,” he goes on as if I didn’t reply, “is he saw the same article in the paper as the other guys and took off. Or maybe Carter Bates got to him too. He’s not saying much right now.”
I choose to keep my mouth shut. This cup of coffee definitely has its use.
Byers pats my good arm, letting his hand rest there a beat longer than necessary. I look up at him and he gives me a small nod. “I’ll keep you updated.” He tips his head at the door. “Go see your girl. Four doors down.”
I don’t hesitate. I drop my empty cup into the trash and dart out the door. The only thing I can think about is seeing her. Making sure she’s okay. Touching her, just so I know she’s really here. And kissing her.
“Hey,” Rocky says softly. She gives me a pained smile and I wince. Now that the bruises have had some time to really set in, they’re darker, standing out more prominently, especially under the bright hospital lights.
I skim the backs of my fingers over her jawline, careful not to cause her anymore pain. She immediately does the same to me, I think needing that direct skin-to-skin contact in the same way I do.
“You look like shit,” she states.
“You look beautiful,” I say, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. I inhale the scent of her hair, closing my eyes as it fills my lungs.
“You’re a liar.”
I grin, my lips still against her. “You ready to get out of here?”
“Absolutely. But Joe and my parents are on their way. You have time to escape, but not much, so make it quick.”
“What if I want to stay?”
Her dark eyes meet mine, searching. She clears her throat, taking several seconds to respond. “Then stay.”
***
I start the shower, adjusting the water until it’s the perfect temperature. Rocky takes my hand as she steps in, and I follow. I watch her, captivated, as she tilts her head back, wetting her hair.
My hands go to work, massaging shampoo into her long locks. She sighs happily. I’m growing fond of that sound. I lean in and brush my lips over hers, trying to elicit another one.
Rocky doesn’t disappoint, humming contently when I finally draw back.
“What’s going to happen now?” she asks, her eyes closed, her hands resting against my stomach.
“Hopefully both guys plead guilty, we bypass a trial, and the judge puts them away for the rest of their lives.”
Rocky opens her eyes, blinking water from her lashes. “What about you and me? What happens to us?”
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But I want to explore it. And,” I add, “I really want to explore your body as well.”
She laughs, her fingers sliding down my stomach to wrap around my cock. I’m already hard for her.
“I’m good with that.”
She begins to stroke me and I release a soft hiss through my teeth. After everything we’ve been through lately, you’d think this would be the last thing on either of our minds. But this is my serenity. These little moments with her. Her touch. Her laugh. Her.
I make good on word and begin exploring. My fingers glide down her body, leaving a soapy trail behind. I watch as the shower spray slowly rinses it away. I’m reminded of our first time together, when we painted one another. I washed her just like this. But that night was tainted by my need for revenge.
It doesn’t have to be that way anymore.
“I’m pretty sure you’ve discovered these areas already,” Rocky says, stirring me from my thoughts.
Cocking a brow, I grips her ass, grinning as I pull her closer. Her mouth meets mine and I kiss her deeply, completely consumed. This woman. God, this woman. My little fighter. She makes me want to make some changes—reevaluate my life goals.
Three is still my number.
One: To strengthen my body. Make it strong. Make it a machine. Make it so that what happened before can never, ever, happen again.
Two: To help others find their own strength so that what happened to me, what happened to Liv—what happened to Rocky—doesn’t happen to them.
And three: My new favorite—to find the ability to let go of the past and allow myself to love again.
Acknowledgements
This has been one hell of a ride. I don’t know if it’s normal for an author to thank a character in their own book, but I need to give a shout out to Linken Elliot. If it weren’t for him, the Dirty series never would have existed. I put his story on hold, afraid to let him lead me into his dark world, but Link wouldn’t allow me to forget him. And for that, I am incredibly grateful. This has been one of the hardest series to write, and also one of the most difficult to finish. Thanks Link. I hope we meet again.
As always, thank you to my awesome family. You guys are the best! If it weren’t for your unconditional love and constant support, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I love you guys so much.
Thank you to my sister and editor, Dawn. And my sister, Tammy, for all your help with my website. I love you both bunches. I have the best sisters in the world!
My author besties, thank you for your friendship. I love our talks, and appreciate the laughs and ongoing words of wisdom. Love you guys!
Bloggers! I LOVE YOU! I can’t imagine writing without you. Your support over this series has blown me away. I don’t know how I can ever thank you all enough.
And readers, thank you for reading my books—even the short novellas with cliffhangers! You guys rock!
XOXO
Other books by Cheryl McIntyre:
Sometimes Never
Blackbird (a Sometimes Never novella)
Before Now (Sometimes Never 2)
Long After (Sometimes Never 3)
Dark Calling
Getting Dirty (Dirty 1)
Playing Dirty (Dirty 2)
Talking Dirty (Dirty 3)
Fighting Dirty (Dirty 4)
Infinitely
About the author
Cheryl McIntyre is a mother, author, and insomniac, as well as a reader, movie critic, and incredibly bad singer. She’s lived in the same area of Ohio her whole life, though she secretly has dreams of moving somewhere a little warmer—preferably near a beach.
Her life revolves around four things: family, music, books, and really bad scary movies. If she doesn’t have a kid on her hip, an iPod in her hand or a laptop in front of her face, it’s one of those rare moments when she’s actually sleeping.
You can follow her author page on Facebook where she lives part time. On Goodreads—which is like crack for avid readers. Or on Twitter, though it’s rumored she has yet to master the art of tweeting. Sadly, this is still very true.
Find Cheryl at:
http://cherylmcintyrebooks.com/
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/CherylMcIntyreauth
or?ref=hl
Twitter:
https://twitter.com/CherylHMcIntyre
Goodreads
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6431156.Cheryl_McIntyre
Table of Contents
One Link
Two Rocky
Three Link
Four Rocky
Five Link
Six Rocky
Seven Link
Eight Rocky
Nine Link
Ten Rocky
Eleven Link
Twelve Rocky
Thirteen Link
Acknowledgements
Other books by Cheryl McIntyre
Cheryl McIntyre, Staying Dirty
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