Текст книги "Crush "

Автор книги: Kim Karr

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

Something twisted in my gut and I jumped to my feet. “What worthless deal?”

That fucking smile was back. “To end his legacy. His shadow was too large for Patrick to live under, especially from inside here. So Patrick had to get rid of him. Killian gave his life for the return of your old man’s.”

Oh God, I thought I might be sick. My old man was indentured to Patrick’s service because of my fuck-up, because when I was fifteen, I may or may not have gotten his daughter pregnant, and then instead of telling her father, she killed herself at my grandfather’s house, in his bathroom. And instead of me giving my life, which is the way it should have gone down, my father took responsibility for her death and gave his unlimited legal service and whatever else the Blue Hill Gang, or Patrick himself, needed.

A life for a life.

Dead or alive.

Tommy glanced at the clock on the wall. “Your old man should be free right . . . about . . . now.” He clicked his tongue in the most chilling way. “Tick tock.”

Anger boiled in my blood and before I knew what I was doing, I soared across the table and slammed his head down on the metal, over and over. “What do you mean? What are you talking about?”

Words were sputtering out but I couldn’t understand what he was saying.

That’s when I stopped the pounding. Switching gears, I wrapped my hands around his neck and brought his face right up to mine. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I screamed in his face.

His eyes were like flames of hatred. “Now you’ll know how it feels to lose someone you love,” he laughed as blood gushed out his nose.

“No, no, no!” I kept squeezing.

He was sputtering, choking, gasping for air, but all of my control was gone.

The doors burst open and I found myself being peeled off Tommy. “I’m going to fucking kill you!” I screamed.

“Hey, you need to calm down,” the corrections officer said to me as he shoved me out of the room.

Even in the hall, I lunged for the door. My plan had gone to shit. There would be no visit from the Attorney General’s office now. But really, that plan had gone to shit the minute he started talking. We weren’t buddies. I wasn’t going to help him. This was never going to end well.

The officer shoved me against the wall. “You need to leave, now.”

Leave.

Yeah, I needed to get the hell out of there.

Hyped up, I moved quickly. My shoes slapped the pavement until they reached the parking lot. Hopping in my truck, I gunned it. Slamming on the gas. Go. Go. Go. I opened the window so I could breathe. Go. Go. Go. A sharp breeze whipped around me and jolted me out of the crazed reality I was swimming in. My hands gripped the wheel and my foot slammed on the brake as I skidded to a stop at the traffic light. Change. Change. Change. That burning red circle felt like a hot poker searing my skin.

Change. Change. Change. My eyes were shifting. Looking for signs of the oncoming traffic slowing. That’s when I caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. My shirt and face were splattered with blood. With one hand on the wheel, I yanked off my tie and wiped my face.

That’s when it hit me.

Killian can’t be dead.

Killian isn’t dead.

Killian will not be dead.

But even as I said it, I had a sickening feeling in my gut.

No. Tommy was fucking with me. This was a game to him. This whole thing was a fucking game. My frustration was escalating. My desperation to get to my grandfather felt so crippling that my hands were shaking.

The light changed and I didn’t hesitate to pound the gas. Back on the road, I pulled out my phone and hit speed dial.

“Brighton House. How can I help you?”

My voice was shaky. “Can you connect me to Killian McPherson’s room?”

“One moment please.”

It started to ring. One, two, three times.

Come on, answer the fucking phone.

Four, five, six.

Answer the fucking phone.

Seven, eight, nine.

No answer. I threw my phone at the windshield.

Weaving in and out of the lanes of traffic, speeding as fast as I could, I finally arrived at Brighton House.

My head was swimming as I bolted out of the car and ran into the building.

“Judy, have you seen him?” I asked, trying not to sound as panicked as I was.

She smiled. “Yes, he had a breakfast date with a nice younger gentleman.” She looked at her watch. He arrived over an hour ago.”

There was no time for niceties. I took off like a bat out of hell toward his room. Fuck, I left my gun in the truck. No time to turn around. My breath was coming in short, ragged bursts and my eyes were stinging by the time I reached his door.

I froze with my hand on the knob.

Somewhere deep inside me, the spark of hope I’d held onto the entire drive over here died.

What replaced it was a really bad feeling that Tommy wasn’t lying about anything and my blood felt like ice in my veins.

Images flickered through my mind.

A little boy in a Red Sox cap walking down the street and holding the giant palm of a man he wanted to be just like. “Understanding what it’s like down here will help you make better decisions from up there,” he said, pointing to a high-rise office building.

A child sitting next to a much-respected older man learning what a flush was, what it meant to fold, and what it meant to bluff. “The bluff is key,” he told me.

A young teen at the top of a mountain named Wildcat who had decided to walk down the mountain instead of ski down. “You have to conquer your fear, Logan—it’s the only way to survive in this world.”

I drew in a deep breath and pushed the door open.

My stomach heaved.

My body swayed.

My vision blurred.

Lying on his bed with his bloodshot eyes wide open was the lifeless body of my grandfather. On the floor was a pillow. Someone had smothered him to death.

I wanted to scream louder than I ever had in my life, but I knew I couldn’t. It had to look like he’d died of natural causes. The last thing he would want was a police investigation into his death—he’d had enough of those during his life.

It was my turn to take care of him.

Thoughts hummed in my head. My heart slammed against my chest. A sound leapt from my throat. I picked up the pillow. Made sure everything was in place. And then I threw myself beside him, pulled him onto me, and closed his eyes.

No. No. No.

No. No. No.

No. No. No.

ELLE

I know what they say about secrets.

That nothing good can come from keeping them. That they’ll eat you alive. That they destroy even the strongest of relationships.

All of which worried me because I was keeping one from both of the men in my life and the time had arrived to come clean.

The secret I had yet to share with Logan would reveal just how broken I am, and then, as with my first boyfriend, it might just tear us apart. I could only hope it wouldn’t. To be fair, I should have told Logan before I ever let those three little words slip from my mouth. I should have learned from my mistakes. But everything that happened between us happened so fast and it never felt like the right time.

And then there’s my brother-in-law. Michael held all the cards when it came to my niece. If he decided I shouldn’t see Clementine again, there was nothing I could do about it. So pissing him off wasn’t something I wanted to do. But after yesterday, I thought it was time he knew I was involved with someone. No, not just someone—Logan McPherson. I wasn’t sure how he would react, but I hoped he knew me well enough by now to know that my relationship with Logan wouldn’t impact my relationship with Clementine in any way.

My mind was a web of worry, sorrow, and confusion. And I took the quiet of the morning to contemplate everything in my life. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

It was well after eleven before I drifted into the bath to let the steam and heat take away some of my hesitation about the confessions I planned to make today. After a long while, I submerged myself and allowed the scented water to wash me clean. I took my time shaving my legs and rinsing the soap from by body.

When I finally emerged from the tub, I felt much better about what I had to do. My secrets were eating at me and I had to get them out. Telling Logan about Michael’s advances didn’t rank high on my priorities, and I figured once I told Michael about Logan and me, that issue should naturally put itself to rest.

That was if there was something to tell him—if Logan stayed with me.

My skin was a warm shade of pink and the steam in the room was still thick. I wrapped a towel around myself, patted my wet skin until it was dry, and then I ran a comb through my still damp hair.

The door creaked loudly when I opened it and stepped into my darkened bedroom. I had yet to open the blinds and let the sunshine in.

The dark figure in the room caused my heart to stop and I screamed at the top of my lungs. Its beat didn’t even jump-start during that one moment it took me to realize it was Logan sitting on the end of the bed, cradling his head in his hands.

At the sound of my scream, his head jerked up.

“It’s just me.” His words were barely audible.

Even in the darkness, I could see right away that something was wrong. A flip of the light switch confirmed it. I’d never seen him like this before. His face was drawn, his eyes red-rimmed, and his body looked utterly defeated.

With my heart in my throat I ran over to him and fell to my knees, taking his hands in mine. At first I recoiled. Blood stained his shirt, his neck, and his fingers. But I pushed my dread aside and focused on him. “What happened?”

“He’s dead.” His voice was scratchy, not his own. He cleared his throat like he, too, knew it sounded weird.

My heart was now thumping hard. “Who’s dead, Logan? What are you talking about?”

“A life for a life,” he mumbled.

Frightened beyond belief, I took his face in my hands. “What are you talking about?”

“Patrick had my grandfather killed.”

A chill ran through me and my entire body began to tremble. The shaking in my arms caused my hands to fall to my lap. “Why? I don’t understand. He wasn’t a threat.”

Logan’s head was moving back and forth. “Patrick saw him as one. He offered my grandfather a choice: his life for my father’s eternal freedom. And he took it. The stupid old son of a bitch took the offer to free his son.”

“But Patrick’s in jail.”

Logan dropped his head and his voice was low. “Elle, I’ve told you, the Blue Hill Gang still functions no matter where the mob boss is, or who he is for that matter. My father’s servitude was for life, indentured to the Blue Hill Gang. My grandfather freed his son by trading his own life.”

I had to swallow, hard, before I could force myself to speak without my voice crumbling. And even then, “I’m so sorry, Logan. I’m so sorry,” was all I could manage.

“I knew something wasn’t right when I went there yesterday. I should have pushed him more. I should have seen this coming.”

I shifted to sit beside him and I drew him to me. “It wasn’t your fault.” I stroked his hair the same way he stroked mine when I was upset.

“Yeah, it was,” he said, his voice flat and sounding very far away.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“I told you how it—” he started to say but before he could finish, he bolted off the bed and ran toward the bathroom, slamming the door in his wake.

In a rush, I hurried after him. When I turned the knob, it was locked. The sound of solid splashing against liquid could be heard through the door. A flush. More splashing. Another flush. Dry heaving.

I knocked lightly. “Logan, let me in. I want to help you.”

Silence.

“Logan, please, let me in.”

The sound of water running.

I flattened my palm to the door and pressed my forehead against it. “Logan, please,” I said softly.

“I need some time, Elle.”

I closed my eyes. “Oh, Logan.”

A soft shuffle on the other side of the door made me think he was standing directly opposite me.

“Open the door, let me help you,” I whispered again.

Time passed, seconds, minutes, I wasn’t sure.

I spoke again. “Let me help you, Logan, please,” I pleaded.

Finally, slowly, the door creaked open. So many emotions cascaded over his expression as he looked at me. “He’s dead because of what I did.”

I flung myself at him and threw my arms around his neck. “No, Logan. That’s simply not true.”

When I pulled back to look at him, I could tell my words weren’t even registering. His mind was somewhere far off in the distance.

I smoothed his hair back. “Does your father know?” I asked, wondering if I should take charge.

He blinked as if he just remembered something. “Yeah, he met me over at Brighton House earlier. I should go. He’ll be alone at the house until my uncle arrives.”

“We’ll go together, but first you have to take a shower.” I attempted to take his arm to lead him through my bedroom to the hall bathroom where the shower was.

“I’ll do it.” He flared his palms out.

“I want to help you.”

His eyes gained focus as he looked down at me. “I don’t want Tommy’s blood on you.”

“What?” I asked, my throat going tight over my own surge of nausea. For some reason I just assumed it was Killian’s blood on him. My eyes roamed over his shirt again as if the spackling that coated him might have been altered in some way. “Why is Tommy’s blood on you?”

He was watching me and I knew he noticed my reaction. “Because he’s the one who told me what my grandfather had agreed to.”

There was no need for him to explain any further. I nodded in understanding, my voice stolen by emotion I wasn’t sure I was ready to face, and questions I wasn’t ready to ask. Like, what else did he tell you?

Death seemed to be all around us. I felt like we’d just gone through this, and we had. I didn’t want to know anything else right now. Besides, I had pushed Logan away from me by not allowing him to accompany me to my sister’s funeral. I wasn’t going to let him do that to me. I wasn’t going to let anything like that happen again between us. I was his, and he was mine, and that meant we took care of each other. It had taken me some time to realize that, but I did now.

I reached out my hand, “Come on.”

His eyes questioned me.

I didn’t hesitate as I grabbed his hand.

My towel was still around me as I took the lead and walked us to the hall bathroom.

Twisting to turn the water on, I took a deep breath and blinked away the tears that had formed in my eyes. Once the blur cleared, I focused on the buttons of his white shirt and avoided looking at the red stains.

One. Two. Three. Four.

He stood stoic as I opened the flaps and pulled each sleeve down. Balling the shirt up, I tossed it into the corner. I’d get a garbage bag and throw the clothes away later.

Next, I undid his belt and then the zipper of his slacks. I got on my knees to slide them down, urging him to lift his feet so I could remove his shoes and socks at the same time.

Logan watched me the entire time, every move, every breath. He was stiff, uncertain, but still he let me. And when he was naked, he stepped into the already steaming shower and hung his head.

The defeat I’d witnessed in his body when I first saw him on my bed and that I saw right now frightened me. He was the strong one. The one who always had a plan. The dauntless warrior I could only hope to be.

When he pressed his palms to the wall, it occurred to me that it was my turn to be the strong one in our relationship. He’d taken control and protected me from the very beginning. This would not crush him; I’d make certain of that.

Sensing how much he needed me right now, I took my towel off and stepped into the shower with him. At first I only wrapped my arms around him and settled my cheek against his back. It struck me that the biggest difference between Logan’s loss and mine was that Logan had an incredible bond with his grandfather. In fact, if I had to guess, I think Logan was closer to Killian than he was to his own father. I found myself whispering to him. “He loved you, Logan, remember that.”

More whispers.

More water sluicing down on the two of us.

Time passed

I kept whispering.

Something got through to him because finally he turned around and grabbed me, pulling my body as tight as he could to his, and when there was no more space between us, he buried his face in my neck.

We stayed like that, under the spray of the shower in each other’s arms until the water started to cool. And when it did, I took the soap and washed him. Sexual stirrings weren’t what I had planned, but with each one of my gentle touches, his cock grew thicker and harder.

Just as I set the soap down, he pushed me against the shower wall and once again buried his face in my neck. “I need you,” he whispered.

“I’m here, Logan. Right here.”

His body radiated heat as his erection pressed against my thigh and I knew what he meant. “Turn around.”

I did.

His hands gripped my hips.

Tight.

Mine flattened against the tile wall and I bent forward, offering myself to him.

His groan was muffled but his actions spoke clearly. He slid a finger inside me, plunging upward, then another. Wet. Wild. When he removed his fingers he plunged his cock inside me. He slid in easily. A cry leaked from my throat when he was all the way in. He moved, thrusting faster and faster. I could feel my clit swell as it accepted all he had to give. He moved faster still, bucking wildly. I pushed back against him, and the wet slap of my skin against his belly made me moan.

Logan clutched my hips harder. His fingertips pushed against my bones and his thumbs pressed into my skin, all the while his cock was filling me.

Although this fuck wasn’t meant to be about pleasure, it still felt delicious.

Solace took over.

Water made us slippery.

Still, we fucked.

Wanting to connect with him even more, I reached back to wrap an arm around his neck and I held him as tight as I could. He kissed my neck and moved at his own pace. I shifted my hips to meet each and every one of his thrusts. Before I knew it, my stomach was practically flat against the wall and both my arms were wrapped around his neck. One of his hands was bracing the wall while the other began to rub my clit without mercy.

As I embraced him with everything I had to give, he anchored me, giving me his strength. Together we formed a perfectly aligned union in the face of despair.

His breath quickly became ragged and he ground his hips into me as he took up the pace. Harder. Faster. Wilder. He wasn’t rough, though. He moved at a tempo that helped ease his pain and I gave in to that. When I felt my body approaching the edge, I deliberately held myself back, wanting this to be for him.

“Let yourself go,” he demanded, his thumb rubbing circles around my clit.

“No,” I whispered.

“I need this,” he insisted.

So I did. I gave it up for him. My clit was pulsing out of control under his touch and his words were all I needed. I went tumbling into a climax fierce enough I thought I could see the heavens. My screams were loud. Filled with sorrow for everything we’d both lost.

Behind me, Logan let out a series of low groans filled with the same I was certain.

And very unexpectedly we came together. In the shower. In his time of need.

A heartbeat later he turned me around.

Needing stability, my hands went for his biceps, where the muscles bunched and tightened. Fingers gripping the powerful force that he was, I realized something. Beyond being long and lean and physically strong, Logan also had a strong mind and soul. It felt good to remind myself of that—that his strength wasn’t only physical in nature.

He’d get through this.

We’d get through this—together.

Whatever it took.

When he was ready, he eased himself back and turned the water off. This time he took my hand and led me out of the shower. We dried ourselves in silence and when I went to tuck my towel inside itself to hold against my body, he finished the job for me.

His eyes fluttered closed, then opened to meet mine. “Thank you for being here for me, but if all this craziness is too much for you I understand. I wouldn’t blame you if you walked away right now, because fuck knows you should be running.”

There was no hesitation in my reply. I took his face in my hands. “I’m not going anywhere that isn’t next to you.”

His eyes remained on mine, as if he were waiting for me to change my mind.

I wouldn’t.

Or maybe he was waiting for me to include a “but.”

There wouldn’t be one.

Ever.