Angel of Redemption (5 page)

She
looks at me coyly and bites her lip.

I
can
’
t
hold back.
“
Kayla, please, something.
”

She
lifts her lips to my ear and whispers,
“
Wake
up.
”

“
Oh, shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck.
”
I
’
m gasping for air as I come all over the inside of my
jeans. I
’
m
on my stomach, in my bed. Alone.

I fucking hate my life sometimes.

* * *

“
Dude,
Dean. Why are you so pissy this morning? I swear you need to get laid,
”
Jax, one of our boys, says as I toss my plate down onto the
table in a huff.

He
’
s right. I
’
m being a total bitch, but I can
’
t help myself, not after the most
erotic experience in my existence turned out to be a fucking dream. And he
’
s unknowingly emphasized that point. I
spent an hour trying to pound my frustration out on the heavy punching bag in
the basement before breakfast, but it didn
’
t work.

“
Jax,
”
I warn.

“
Aww, come on. Seriously, man, how long
’
s it been?
”

All
the boys perk up as if I
’
m really going to give them that piece of information.
Truthfully, it
’
s
been too fucking long. I can
’
t very well bring a woman to Wyatt House. I have my
apartment, but there
’
s no way I
’
m about to show a chick wh
o’ll
fuck me twenty minutes after meeting
me where I really live. I don
’
t go home with girls, either. They
expect too much. I don
’
t do all that cuddly bullshit. I
’
m in and out, literally, as quickly as
possible. I
’
ve
gotten a few blow jobs here and there, but, for the most part, I
’
m very good friends with my right
hand. The last time I actually dipped my wick in an honest-to-goodness
warm-blooded pussy was over six months ago.

“
Dude
,
”
I mimic him.
“
I am not your buddy. Shut up and eat your breakfast.
”
The room fills with snickers as I smirk at Jax and shake my
head.

“
That long, huh?
”
he mumbles under his breath. I take the opportunity to
launch a breakfast sausage at his head, hitting him in the temple.

“
Boys!
”
Tracey shouts.
“
Stop
throwing food at each other. I worked hard on it, and I
’
m not making any more.
”
She flicks me on the nape of the neck, and I duck away with
a laugh. I look up just in time to see two new faces entering the room. I
recognize them, but only because of the pictures in their files. The Davidson
boys.

“
Come on in, guys.
”
I lift my hand and curl my fingers quickly. They do as I
say and sit down at the table. Normally, the rest of my boys would be making
snide comments, but the older of the two newcomers, Logan, is one big dude. I
don
’
t
think they want to see how riled up he can get. Not yet, anyway.

“
Logan,
”
I say, thrusting out my hand. He slaps it with his own and
lifts his chin in greeting.

“
What
’
s up, man?
”

“
Matty.
”
I do the same thing and the younger boy shakes my hand timidly.
“
I
’
m Dean Wyatt. That
’
s Brayden, Jax, Edgar, Eric, and Curtis.
”
I point to each of the boys, and they lift their hands as I
call their names.
“
Boys, this is Logan, and this is
Matty. I expect you all to make them feel welcome. This is Mrs. Tracey
Halloway,
”
I continue.
“
She and her husband, Bill, cook and do a lot of the
maintenance work around the house.
”

“
Hello, boys,
”
Tracey coos, setting full plates down in front of our new
arrivals.

“
Don
’
t get used to that,
”
I laugh as Logan raises his eyes at his brother.
“
Today will be the one and only day she will serve you. Isn
’
t that right, T?
”

“
Unless you have two broken legs or
arms, you
’
ll
get it yourself.
”

“
We
’
ll go over the house rules when you
get back from school this afternoon. My brother, Aiden, will also be here, so
you
’
ll
meet him, too.
”

“
Whatever,
”
Logan says with a shrug as he and Matty start digging into
their breakfast. I shove one last bite in my mouth and pick up my coffee,
taking a huge swig before standing up. I can hear the boys asking the new kids
questions. Only Logan is answering.

“
Wha
d
dya make of him?
”
I lean back against the counter and whisper to Tracey. She
turns to look at Matty.

“
He
’
s used to taking the backseat to his
big brother. I
’
d
venture a guess that he feels like they
’
re
in foster care because he did something wrong to begin with, and that he has no
control over anything.
”

I
nod. I love having Tracey around. She has an insight into people that
’
s different from mine. She
’
s forty-five with blond hair and long legs. She
’
s a little on the heavier side, but it
suits her. Her tits are huge, which is always fun when we get new kids in the
house. It doesn
’
t
matter what she wears; the boys always stare. She
’
s
patient and nonjudgmental, but she doesn
’
t
take any shit, either. I wouldn
’
t be able to survive without her. None of us would.

Tracey
and Bill started working for my father about ten years ago. She does a lot of
the cooking and cleaning for the house, but she makes it a learning experience
for the boys. She
’
s
always teaching them how to take care of themselves. Most of the boys can do
their own laundry now, and they take turns cooking on the nights that Tracey
has off. Bill does all our maintenance
—
plumbing,
electrical, and minor construction. He
’
s really good at showing the boys those things as well. Our
goal is to ensure that when they age out, they
’
ll be fairly well-rounded men. And
they
will
age out. Not many people
are willing to take in boys like these. Wyatt House is usually a last resort
before juvie or prison.

“
You
’
re going to have to break him out of
his shell, Dean,
”
Tracey says softly.

I
take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“
I
know.
”

Dean

By the end of breakfast, Logan is one of the crew. After
putting their dishes in the dishwasher, the boys disappear upstairs to finish
getting ready for school, laughing and joking. Logan, at least, seems to fit in
perfectly. Hopefully it will be enough to make him want to stick around. I
scratch my arm and ignore the little voice inside my head that tells me there
’
s an additional reason I want the
Davidson boys to stay. A beautiful, roughly five-foot-four-inch brunette
reason. I get hard just trying not to think about her.

The doorbell rings and I hear the thumping of
feet.

“
I
’
ll get it,
”
Edgar
’
s voice booms.

“
Fuck you, I
’
ll get it,
”
Eric yells.

I
can hear them bickering, scuffling, and then
…
silence.
I glance at Tracey. She shrugs before going back to cleaning up the kitchen. I
turn the corner to see both boys standing in front of the open door. Their
faces are almost comical. I would laugh if the object of last night
’
s wet dream weren
’
t standing there.

I
scan her up and down. She
’
s dressed nicely
—
professionally
—
though a long coat covers most of her. My mouth goes dry as
I focus on her feet. She
’
s got on a pair of red-leather high
heels. They look just like the red fuck-me pumps that I dreamt were digging
into my ass as I
…
Shit, I need to stop thinking about
that. I know they
’
re
not the same, but they look the same. It
’
s freaky, and I
’
m wondering how in the hell shoes I
’
ve never seen before worked their way into my dreams. I
would have noticed them yesterday if she
’d
been wearing them. She wasn
’
t.

When
I finally stop ogling her long enough to look at her face, she greets me with a
very irritated expression.

“
Guys,
”
I yell.
“
Let her in.
”

“
Hi,
”
Edgar says, attempting to switch into his pimp mode.

“
Hi,
”
Kayla answers, obviously not impressed. I approach the
door and shoo them out of the way.

“
Go get ready for school.
”

“
Dude, I
’
m trying to get my mack on,
”
Edgar protests.

“
She
’
s way too old. Now go,
”
I say, watching as they both run up the stairs to finish
getting their shit together. I turn back around and motion with my hand for her
to come in.
“
Hello,
Kayla,
”
I say. I realize too late that I sound
as smooth as Edgar.

“
Mr. Wyatt,
”
she says curtly. She
’
s nothing like the woman from my
dream, and yet she
’
s everything like that woman. I really must have been more
of a dick than I thought last night to get this kind of reaction.
“
Now, tell me, Mr. Wyatt
—
”

“
Dean,
”
I insist.

She
tilts her head, narrowing her eyes.
“
Just how old do you think I am?
”

“
I don
’
t know.
”
I shrug.
“
Twenty-four?
”
She looks young, but I can also tell she
’
s not new to her job, so my guess can
’
t be far off. She opens her mouth and points her finger at
me briefly before pulling it back into a fist and scowling. She
’
s mad at me. I kinda like it. I should
be more professional than this, but being pissed off makes her lower lip stick
out a little and her nose wrinkle in a really fucking cute way.

“
I
’
m twenty-seven,
”
she answers.
“
How
old are you?
”

“
Twenty-nine.
”

“
Wow. You
’
re ancient,
”
she deadpans.

We
stand there kind of staring at each other until I hear a throat clear. I turn
to see Tracey looking highly entertained.

“
Hello.
”
She grins before reaching her hand out to Kayla.
“
I
’
m Tracey. I guess you can call me the house mom. Or one of
them, anyway.
”

“
Kayla Brooks. Logan and Matty
’
s social worker,
”
Kayla says, reaching out to shake Tracey
’
s hand.

“
Ah, yes. We
’
ll be seeing a lot of you, then?
”

“
Hopefully once they get settled, no.
The more you see of me, the more that means there
’
s trouble, and I don
’
t want any trouble.
”
Kayla
’
s eyes flash to mine and I feel my dick twitch. I could
certainly give her some trouble. I could give her a lot of fucking trouble. I
shake my head and hear Tracey chuckle as she excuses herself. Twenty seconds of
silence later, Logan bounds loudly down the stairs, followed by Matty.

“
Let
’
s get this fucking show on the road,
”
Logan bellows.
“
There
’
s all sorts of new pussy waiting to be
discovered.
”

“
Logan,
”
Kayla sighs.

“
I know, I know.
”
He grins.
“
I won
’
t make you a grandma before you
’
re thirty. I always wrap it up. Double
on Sundays.
”

“
Are you ready to go?
”
she asks, ignoring his comment. The way the two of them
interact fascinates me. It reminds me of the way the way I deal with a lot of
the kids, particularly Brayden. You can
’
t change them, so you don
’
t even try. You meet them on their
level.

I
know eyebrows rose when I joined my brother at Wyatt House. A lot of people
thought I wouldn
’
t be a good role model for the types
of boys who find their way here, but I
’
m exactly what they need to see. I
’
m a fuckup, pure and simple. I caused
trouble, I made mistakes, and I did my time. I
’
m still doing time, even if I
’
m not behind bars anymore. People look
at me, and they see my past.

There
’
s a loud ruckus, and both Kayla and I
look up to see a slew of teenage boys pushing and shoving their way down the
stairs. They stop dead in their tracks when they see the beautiful woman
standing in the foyer. Did I mention the red fuck-me heels?

“
Whoa,
”
Brayden says loudly.

“
Come on, guys, we need to go.
”
Kayla puts her hand on Matty
’
s shoulder to usher him through the
door.
“
Mr. Wyatt, I
’
ll need a full list of everyone
employed by Wyatt House on a temporary, permanent, or contractual basis. I
would also like to meet your brother and anyone else who will be spending a
significant amount of time here.
”

“
I
’
ll email the list over this afternoon.
”
I say, smirking. I can tell she
’
s irritated. It turns me on, but I
’
m also acutely aware that there are
teenage boys practically drooling behind me.

Kayla
shoots me one more glare before turning around and walking out the door. I
watch as Logan holds his hand up to the small of her back. I can see that he
’
s not really touching her. In fact, he
’
s several inches away from her so as
not to rouse her suspicions, but I
’
m pretty sure he wants it to look more intimate than it is.
He turns around and grins at the boys, whose mouths are all agape. When his
eyes meet mine, I frown. His ears turn bright red.

“
Shit! Who the hell is that?
”
Brayden gapes as the door shuts.

“
That was Ms. Brooks, Logan and Matty
’
s worker,
”
I explain.
“
Watch your language.
”

“
Aw, man. How
’
d they get so fucking lucky? Why can
’
t I get a worker with an ass like
that?
”

I
swat Brayden on the back of the head.
“
I
said, watch your mouth,
”
I growl, more irritated that he was
looking at her ass than by what he said. It
’
s not like he could see through her
coat, but I don
’
t
even want him looking.

“
Ouch! What
’
d ya do that for?
”
he laughs.
“
You know, if they find out you
’
re beating us
…”

“
I
’
ll show you beating.
”
I pretend to lunge at him, and he jumps back, laughing. I
throw my arm around his shoulders. I love Brayden. He
’
s eighteen and has been living at
Wyatt House for almost seven years. He could leave anytime now that he
’
s legally an adult, but he promised me he
’
d wait until after he graduated.

I
was twenty-three when I met him and not even a year out of prison. I was trying
to salvage what was left of my life. My dad asked me to take him under my wing,
as if that was a safe place to be at the time. But Brayden hadn
’
t responded to anyone else.

Like
a lot of kids in the system, Bray
’
s mom was a junkie. He was born with drugs in his system
and CPS got him straight from the hospital. His mom did what she had to do to
get him back, but within weeks, the social worker following up on the case
found him in their apartment, severely dehydrated and sitting in a shitty
diaper. His mom was found on her bedroom floor with a needle in her arm. It was
too late to save her.

Brayden
bounced from home to home after that. His explosive anger, propensity for
stealing, and pyromania made him a liability. He
’
s come a long way, though. He no
longer tries to set things on fire when he
’
s upset, his fingers are slightly less sticky, and he
’
s a solid
B
student. He
’
s even considering community college in the fall. The state
has offered him a full scholarship if he can keep his GPA above 2.5. I still
worry that once he
’
s away from here, he
’
ll fall in with the wrong crowd. It
’
s so easy to do when you feel alone.

“
Bus is here,
”
I announce as the boys scramble to get their coats and
shoes on. They pile out the door clumsily.
“
Eric,
if I get another call from the principal today, you
’
re on restriction the rest of the week.
”
I don
’
t need to see his face to know he
’
s rolling his eyes at me. I hope he
listens, though. Fourteen-year-old Eric is a freshman, and he
’
s already been suspended twice this
year. I
’
m
a bastard when it comes to restriction. The kids can literally do nothing but
sit in their rooms or in the study room and either do homework or listen to
music. And I get to pick the music.