“The washed-up hack who got too close to his stories . . .” Dave taunted. “Attacked by the victims he hounded.”
Richard fumbled, managed to unlock the door and then grab the handle. He nearly fell out of the car.
Dave’s taunting laughter followed him. No, Dave followed him. The guy had come out of the car and was still snapping pics.
“You make me so fucking sick,” Dave said. “I’m a real journalist. You’re a tabloid paparazzi wannabe. You think you’ve got some scoop? Bullshit. I should have known better than to buy your lie.”
“Stop it,” Richard rasped.
“Got another story to tell me? More news to make that hospital pickup worth my time?”
“Yeah, yeah, I do . . .” Richard told him. He shoved his hand down into the borrowed hospital coat that he wore. A coat he’d stolen on his way out of that place. I didn’t just take the coat . . .
Dave paused, the camera raised near his eye. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”
Richard lurched toward him. The parking lot was empty and the rage beat in his head. “I know who killed Hannah Finch.”
“Yeah, we all know. Some Death Angel wannabe fool. Some dickless jerk who thought he’d grab attention by copying—”
Richard yanked out the scalpel that had been in his coat pocket. It sliced right across Dave’s throat, sending a spray of red into the air. “I killed her.”
Dave was choking, sputtering, and falling to the ground.
“Shit,” Richard snapped. The guy was loud. No wonder the Death Angel had preferred that cabin. People needed to die in isolation. Then no one else would hear them. He bent down and clamped his hand over Dave’s mouth, hoping no one in that motel had heard the guy.
Dave bucked beneath him. His blood was everywhere.
Nausea rose in Richard, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been before, with Hannah. And when Dave stopped bucking, that sweet blast of power poured right through Richard’s veins.
Hell the fuck yes.
He lifted his hand, and then he saw the camera, just lying there, covered in blood. “I hope you didn’t break it, you jackass,” he said, grabbing for it. His fingers swiped at the blood and he checked the lens.
Perfect.
He focused on Dave. Snapped a shot. “I know just what this image needs . . .” He rose and went back to the car. Dave’s bag was still in the backseat. He rifled through it, found a pen, clicked the top . . .
And knew he’d be getting some seriously perfect pictures.
Chapter Fifteen
“I will fucking . . . kill you.”
The words yanked Bailey from sleep. Her eyes flew open and she realized—
I’m on top of Asher again.
Because they’d slept together. Just slept. They’d collapsed in her bed after the night from hell, and during those restless hours of sleep, she’d curled on top of him again.
Now his hands were tight around her waist, his fingers biting into her skin. And his voice—
“You will hurt. You will scream. Fucking . . . kill you.”
Her heart slammed into her chest. “Asher, wake up.”
“You won’t hurt her again. Never. Fucking . . . kill you.”
“Asher.” He was scaring her. Not because of his words but because of the pain she heard in them. He wasn’t talking to her, she knew that. He was in a dream, a nightmare. But Bailey had lived through too many of her own tortured dreams, and she didn’t want him lost in that pain.
He’s back in time, back in that terrible memory of when he was taken. “Asher, wake up!” Now she was nearly shouting. Or as close to shouting as it was possible for her damaged voice to get.
His eyes flew open. For an instant, he stared almost blindly at her, as if he didn’t know her, as if he’d never seen her before.
And his hold didn’t ease.
“Asher, you’re safe.” She leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “You’re with me. Your sister is safe. You both got out okay.”
A shudder worked along his frame. And he groaned. “Bailey . . .”
She kissed him again, so carefully, wanting to comfort and soothe.
His hands weren’t so tight on her anymore. His fingers caressed her skin, as if trying to take away any pain he’d given her.
“So sorry,” he rasped against her mouth. “This is why . . . shit, why I don’t usually stay with a lover . . .”
She pushed up on her elbows. “Because you have flashbacks?”
“Because I don’t want to hurt anyone.” So rough and angry. “Sweetheart, did I hurt you?”
“No, no, of course you didn’t.”
But he shook his head. “There is no of course about it.” Then, still being so careful, he slowly lifted her up and put her down on the other side of the bed.
She didn’t like that. Didn’t like him moving her away. Bailey grabbed the sheet and pulled it up to her neck. “Asher?”
He rolled from the bed. He was wearing his sweats again, and she saw the hard, taut muscles of his back as he paced toward her window. “Bailey . . . I hurt someone before.”
That stark confession hung between them.
She shook her head, denying what he’d said. “The men who took you deserved—”
“She didn’t deserve it.”
The breath she sucked in seemed to chill her lungs.
“I got stuck in a stupid nightmare, flashback, or whatever the hell you want to call it. She reached for me in the night, and I . . . pushed her back.”
“You pushed her?” Who? Who was he talking about?
His eyes squeezed shut. “I pushed her too damn hard. I didn’t even know it was her. I was caught up—I was back there. She was trying to shake me awake, and I reacted—I shoved her back, and when she came at me again, I grabbed her, pulled up my hand, and I was inches away from hitting her when I realized what the fuck I was doing.”
Oh my God.
“She ran the hell out of there and didn’t look back.”
He wasn’t looking at her right then, and Bailey needed Asher to see her. “How old were you?”
“Eighteen. Two weeks later, I enlisted. I had to do something with all the rage inside. It was spilling out, onto everyone near me.”
“Asher.”
His shoulders stiffened.
“Asher, look at me.”
Slowly, he turned to face her.
“And you never spent the night with another lover again? You’re telling me this happened when you were eighteen, back with a lover that long ago?”
“I never stayed the full night. Not until you.”
Oh, wow.
“It was easy enough to leave when I was on deployments. Didn’t exactly have stable relationships then.”
She inched toward the edge of the bed, and Bailey kept her sheet up.
“In the military, I learned not to sleep too deeply. You always needed one eye open, and the shit I was doing then—it kept my mind busy. The flashbacks stopped. I even started to think . . . after all this time . . . maybe I’m better. That’s why I risked it with you . . . but I shouldn’t ever put you at risk.”
“It was one nightmare, Asher. Just one.”
“All it takes is one time to hurt someone.” His gaze was tormented. “I’d never want to hurt you.”
“You didn’t. All that’s happening in this town now—it’s stirring up your past, that’s all. So you remembered. You didn’t hit me. You didn’t hurt me. I’m fine.”
His jaw tightened, and Asher marched toward her. He reached for the sheet and pulled it from her in a quick move.
“Asher!”
“You have red marks on your hips.” Pain whispered in his voice. “I did that.”
“I’m sure I’ve left far worse marks on you during sex.”
“This wasn’t during sex! And I never want to hurt you!” He dropped the sheet on the floor. “I’m such a fucking fool. Wanting what I can’t have. What I shouldn’t have. Because no matter what I pretend, I
’m not good enough. I’m dangerous. Being a SEAL didn’t make me better . . . it just taught me how to kill easier. How to be a stronger weapon.” His hands had fisted. “I am no good for you.”
He spun and headed for the door.
She sat on that bed, wearing an old oversized college T-shirt. Her eyes narrowed on his muscled back. “Liar.”
He stopped.
“You think I don’t understand you? You think I don’t see what’s really happening here?”
His hands rose and gripped the door frame.
“You’re scared.” That gave her hope. “Because for the first time in forever . . . you want to stay the night with someone. With me.”
“Bailey . . .”
“And you are afraid you’ll hurt me. I do get that. And guess what? I’m afraid I’ll hurt you, too.”
He whipped back toward her.
“I have nightmares. Flashbacks. Sometimes I even get up and walk around the house in my sleep.”
He swallowed. “Not the same—”
“Isn’t it? When I was in the hospital, a nurse came at me when I was waking up. She was just checking my vitals but I—I didn’t know that. I saw a stranger and I freaked.” Her laugh held a slightly wild edge. That was okay, she felt wild. Wild and raw and as if she were fighting for something very, very precious. Something that she couldn’t let slip away.
I’m fighting for him. I’m fighting for us.
“I broke her wrist.”
He took a step toward her.
“I felt like shit after I did it. She was screaming. I was screaming, and I knew I’d done something terrible.”
“You didn’t mean it!” Another fast step toward her. “You were traumatized! You were—”
She climbed from the bed. Her toes curled into the hardwood. “So were you, Asher. You were a victim, too, and sometimes, victims strike out.”
Every muscle in his body seemed to have gone tight. “I don’t want to strike at you.”
“You didn’t today. You were calling out in your sleep. I tried to wake you up. Next time, I’ll do it a different way.”
“There can’t be a next time. I can’t hurt you.”
“Shutting me out will hurt me.” Her chin was up. “I’m not some woman who likes pain or abuse, so get that shit straight. That isn’t who you are. You’re a protector. I knew it from the first. So you made a mistake when you were eighteen. I am so sorry that happened. I’m sorry that you ever hurt.” Didn’t he get that? She wanted to take his pain away, too.
“I am not that girl,” Bailey continued, fighting to keep her emotions under check. “And you are not the same person you were then.” She had to go to him. Bailey rushed across the floor and wrapped her hands around his arms. She felt the steely power of his muscles beneath her touch. “I feel safe with you. I am safe with you. And we can work through anything together.”
“Bailey—”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” Ragged.
“Good. Then trust me to know my own mind. I wouldn’t stay with a monster. With some man who hurt me. You aren’t that kind of man. You’re good. You are good,” she said again when he shook his head, her voice angry. “And we can work through anything, if we’re together.”
“I want you.”
She smiled at him, feeling those words pierce right through her. “I want you, too.” Not for a moment, not for an hour. Longer, so much longer than just a night.
“What if . . .” His head lowered toward her. “Bailey, what the fuck will we do if I love you?”
He said the words almost as if they were an accusation. As if she’d committed some terrible crime by making him even think of love. Her poor, lost Asher. He’d killed before for family that he loved. And . . .
“I would do anything for you,” Asher said. “This isn’t about you being a client. This isn’t about any case. It is about you. About me needing to make sure you are protected.”
“Do you think I would do any less for you?” He had to stop seeing what he’d done as some kind of twisted crime. He’d taken a life . . . to save a life. “You think I wouldn’t kill to protect you? In an instant, I would do it.”
And she pushed onto her toes and kissed him. She needed Asher to see—she wasn’t afraid. He had to get past that bullshit fear he had. The two of them together—they had a chance for something special. She wasn’t going to let that chance escape.
She’d fight for him. He’d better fight for her.
His hands curled around her body and he brought her in closer. Held her against his bare chest and his mouth opened on hers. Bailey’s tongue swept past his lips. When he gave a ragged groan, that sound just turned her on.
Want me. Need me. Don’t give a fuck about anything else.
The world was full of enough fear. She’d rather have something else.
She’d rather have him.
She could feel his arousal growing. His sweats didn’t exactly provide him with a lot of coverage, and the hard heat of his length pushed against her.
“Bailey . . .” he whispered against her mouth. “What am I supposed to do with you?”
She had a few ideas.
She kissed his chest. Licked his nipple. He’d taken such care with her during their lovemaking, making her go wild. She figured this was her turn to show him that he could let go completely. She wanted him to know she could handle everything he had to give her.
So she bit his nipple. A light nip. Her hands slid down his abs. Freaking insane abs. She licked, she kissed, she gave him another quick bite.
“Aw, baby,” he said, voice deeper than before. “You don’t have to—”
“I don’t have to do anything,” Bailey stressed as she let her nails slide over his belly button, then down, down . . . “But there are some things I want to do.” A lot of things. With him. Only him. She looked up and gave him a smile that felt wicked. “Maybe I’ve been saving up.”
His jaw was rock hard. “I need you . . . so much, Bailey Jones.”
“Let’s see if we can make you need me even more.”
And she pushed down his sweats. The long, heavy length of his shaft thrust toward her. Her fingers curled around him, pumping that cock, feeling the heat in her hand. She loved the way he thickened even more beneath her touch. Her thumb stroked the broad head, and when a light bead of moisture wet her skin, Bailey sank to her knees before him.
She took his cock into her mouth.
“Bailey!”
Her tongue stroked over him. She sucked on him, enjoying the surge of power she felt as she pleasured him. I’ll make that need go even higher. You won’t fear anything but not having me.
His hands curled around her shoulders.
“Sweetheart . . .” The one word was guttural.
Her hand was around the base of his shaft, controlling the thrusts of his erection. She eased back, just licking the head, and Asher shuddered. “No, Bailey, too much—”
Was there such a thing with them?
But then he moved fast, lifting her up and carrying her to the bed. He put her down quickly and she gave a little bounce on the mattress. Bailey almost laughed but her lashes lifted and she saw the fierce intensity in Asher’s gaze.
Her laughter froze in her chest. She lifted her arms toward him, and he sank onto the bed with her, wrapping her up tight, holding her close.
He yanked down her panties a few moments later. She was wet and more than ready, and when Asher thrust into her, they both gasped with pleasure.
This. This is what I want. What I crave.
They rolled on the bed. She was on top of him now, her knees digging into the mattress as she rose and fell above him. The slow glide of his cock into her was pure heaven.
Their hands threaded together. They just seemed to fit.
Her heartbeat raced, her breath heaved out, and her hips moved, faster and faster as her release bore down on her.
When she came, Bailey leaned forward and kissed him. The orgasm ripped throu
gh her, surging so hard that she thought she might just collapse on top of him.
But Asher pulled her close. Held her. His hips surged into her once more and he shouted her name.
She was smiling as her eyes opened. Smiling when she saw the pleasure on his face. The same raw, wild pleasure that she felt.
It had never been this way with another lover.
And Bailey knew . . . it never would be again.
A fucking walk of shame. That was what he was doing right then.
Royce Donnelley pulled the motel room door shut behind him. It was early, barely six a.m., and hopefully no one would witness him leaving that shit hole.
He’d drunk far too much last night. Mostly because he’d been pissed at Bailey. Bailey . . . who’d moved the hell on from him. That stupid news story—talking all about Asher Young as if the guy were some kind of hero.
Asher the Asshole was getting a ton of glory and fame.
That should be me. He was the one who deserved the attention, not Asher. And Asher had no damn business being with Bailey.
She’s still beautiful. I bet the scars have faded so much more now.
Bailey had always been different from the other girls.
Royce looked back at the closed motel room door. He’d spent the night with some blonde—hell if he could remember her name. He’d thought she was fucking gorgeous during the night but when the rising sun had fallen through those broken blinds, his beer goggles had come off fast.
Now I need to get out of here. Before someone I know sees my ass.
He hunched his shoulders and hurried toward the parking lot. His car was there, sticking out like a sore thumb. The fancy BMW gleamed in the morning light.
I have got to get out of here.
His steps quickened even more . . .
And then the smell hit him. Rotten, horrible, strong enough to make him gag. Shit, shit, shit but he was not going to come to another one of these motels again. He hated bringing the women back to his place because then it was harder to kick their asses out.
And once they know where I live, they always show up again.