Breaking Her (Love is War #2) (20 page)

Just when I thought I couldn't love him more.
 

Detective Harris came to the house twice to talk to me, but he had no new information about the case, and as soon as he realized that Gram was as good as glued to my side, he quickly found a reason to leave.
 

"I do not like that man," Gram said, after the second visit.
 
She was studying my face.
 
"Darling, do me a favor, always insist that I be there when he needs to speak to you.
 
Always."
 

I agreed happily, but Harris never came back to her house after that.
 
Instead, he started pulling me out of my classes at school when he wanted to have a word.
 
So much so, rumors started to go around that I was having an affair with 'the hot cop,' as he'd been fondly nicknamed by the girls at school.
 

It infuriated me, especially so since he never seemed to be doing anything to find the man that had attacked me.
 
Instead, he wanted to have short, intense,
meaningless
conversations with me, always pretending it was 'official business.'
 

The third time he pulled me out of class, I was outright hostile toward him.
 
"Any updates on finding the man that attacked me, or are you just here to ask about my
health
again?"
 

We were standing near my locker—he'd asked me to show him where it was—and he was looking around, barely paying me any mind at all.
 

I clenched my jaw.
 
"And if you want to talk to me, I'm going to need to call Vivian Durant.
 
She's insisted that I not be alone with you."

That got his attention, his head snapping toward me, eyes narrowing on my face.
 
"What did you tell her?
 
You remember what I said, don't you?
 
Everything about this case is confidential.
 
If you share any information, with
anyone
, you could get yourself into big trouble,
and
we will
never
catch this guy."

I bit my lip, it wanted so badly to tremble.
 
What did this man want from me?
 
I honestly didn't know.
 
It seemed to me he enjoyed terrifying me, but I also knew I had some serious baggage where law enforcement was concerned.
 
"W-w-why did you pull me out of class?"
 

"I told you, I want to see your locker.
 
Go ahead and open it up for me."
 

I did, stepping back so he could look inside.
 
"What are you looking for?" I asked him.
 

"How are you feeling?" he countered.
 

"Fine," I bit out.
 

"Breasts still tender?
 
I see you can wear a bra again."
 

My shaking hands were in fists.
 
"They're fine.
 
What are you looking for?"
 

He was standing right in front of my open locker, not touching anything, just looking.
 
"Clues.
 
I'm a detective, you know."
 

"You sure don't act like one," just sort of slipped out.
 

I was immediately sorry.
 
He didn't touch me, didn't lay one finger on me, but I felt physically intimidated nonetheless as he stepped into my personal space.
 

"Just because I'm police," he said very, very quietly, right into my face.
 
"Doesn't mean I'm not a
man
.
 
Doesn't mean I can't be
riled
, so I would show a little more respect, if I were you, Scarlett.
 
Not only am I the only one who is willing to help you, no one else on the force would lift a
finger
if something were to happen to you.
 
Do you understand?
 
You've burned every bridge but this one."
 

I tried to take a step back, and that's when it happened.
 

Harris grabbed my arms to stop me, to keep me from moving away, and I swear I felt his presence before I saw or heard him, like electricity in the air.
 
Rage on the wind.
 

"Get your fucking hands off her!"
 

My eyes shut tight.
 
In relief.
 
And horror.
 
Because I was saved, and Dante was about to get himself arrested.
 

"This is none of your concern," Harris told Dante.
 
"Go back to class, son."
 

Dante, my hero, my everything, was not intimidated by
anyone
, not even a cop, and he was
furious
.
 
He was in the older man's face without hesitation, moving between us, shielding me at the same time he put himself into harm's way.
 

I was shuddering in relief.
 

And I thought I couldn't love him more.

Whatever happened, if Dante was here, he wouldn't let me be harmed.
 
I knew it.
 
Absolutely.
   

"What the fuck are you doing, putting your hands on her?" Dante raged, backing Harris into the locker.
 
"Don't you dare ever fucking touch her again, you hear me?"
   

The other man was so surprised, I think, that for a moment he let the younger, unarmed high school kid back him into the lockers and then shove him hard in the chest.

"Dante, no," I cried right at the same time that Harris reached for his gun.
 

I couldn't keep it in, I screamed.
 

Dante almost, almost kept going for it, his hand covering the other man's, a ghost of movement but it was there.
 
He was going for the cop's gun.
 

But there was some sanity left in him yet, because at the last second, he took a step back, hands going up.

"On the ground," Harris snarled, pointing his gun right into Dante's face.
   

I was sobbing as I took a step forward, and then another.
 

Harris caught the movement and pointed at me with his free hand.
 
"Don't move another inch.
 
Your boyfriend's in big trouble, and if you don't stay out of it, it could be the difference between handcuffs or a bullet, you understand?"

I backed off immediately.

People were starting to spill out into the halls by then—kids, teachers—all looking on in stunned disbelief, no one even talking.
   

"Get on the ground, now!" he screamed into Dante's face.
 

Dante glared at the other man, his expression utterly dauntless, but he complied.

I felt helpless as he cuffed Dante's hands behind his back and then dragged him to his feet.
 
I found myself trailing after them as Harris began to lead him out.
 

"Stay here," Harris said curtly.
 
"Go back to class."
 

"I'm fine," Dante told me, and though I couldn't see his face, he sounded composed, all things considered.
 

I watched them leave with a pounding heart, following behind, far enough back that Harris didn't take exception, but close enough to see them get into his car.

My mind was racing.
 
I had no idea what I should do, so I did the only thing I could.
 
I called Gram.
 

*****

We were all surprised when Harris didn't arrest Dante.
 
I was frantic in the interim as I coordinated with Gram to find out what had happened to Dante.
 

I was so convinced that they'd be at the police station that I left school, taking Dante's car to pick up Gram.
 
We were literally pulling out of the driveway when Harris drove up in his brown sedan, Dante in the backseat.
 

Dante got out, and Harris drove away.
 

I stopped the car, put it in park, and got out.
 
I ran and threw myself at Dante with such force that it made him sway precariously for a beat before he settled back solidly on his feet and wrapped his big arms around me.
 

"I'm fine, shh, I'm all right," he said into my hair, voice pitched loud enough to be heard over my sobs.
 

"D-d-did he hurt you?" I gasped him.
 

"No, he didn't lay a finger on me.
 
Calm down, angel.
 
Shh.
 
You're okay. Calm down."
 
He was stroking a hand over my hair, over and over, to soothe me.
 

Slowly but surely, it was working.
 

"What happened?" Gram asked him.
 
She was, as always, the epitome of calm.

He gave her the short version of what had happened at school.
 

"But he didn't arrest you?" she asked when he finished.
 

"No.
 
He just took me for a drive and then brought me here.
 
And you know what?
 
I don't think they're doing a damned thing to find the guy that attacked Scarlett.
 
He straight up told me that they're not even close to making an arrest.
 
And you know what else he said?
 
They haven't even gone to look where we told them the guy hangs out.
 
At this point the only way they'll even find him is if he goes to the station and turns
himself
in."
 

The more he revealed, the more agitated he became, until at the end he was raising his voice.
 

Gram held up a hand, and he quieted.
 
"I'll start asking around about all of this—Harris, the case.
 
I will get some answers, but I need you to stop getting into trouble.
 
You're only making it worse, Dante."
 

"Harris was bothering me at school today," I defended him.
 
"Dante only got into trouble helping me."
 

She studied us both, looking more ruffled than I'd ever seen her.
 
"
Jesus
.
 
What the
hell
is going on?"

That scared me more than anything.
 
If Gram didn't know what to do, the cause seemed completely lost.
 

She took a few deep breaths and seemed to regain her composure.
 
"Like I said, I'm going to get some answers."
 

I believed her and was comforted.
           

And I believe she would have, if she'd had more time, but everything came to a head just two days later.
 

I don't know just what Harris said to Dante, what seed he planted that troubled him so, but it took root quickly and flowered into this:
 
Dante believed that the only way my attacker would be arrested was if he went to find him personally.
 

He left in the middle of third period, but I only found that out later.
 
I didn't even know he had gone at the time.
 

When the news came, it was like a ripple moved through the school, information spreading like a furious gust of wind.
 
I was not the most social, as usual, and so I wasn't the first to hear.
 
I was blissfully ignorant for a few more minutes than the majority of the school, but when I heard the news, I was as shocked as everyone else was.
 

Dante had been arrested for killing my attacker.
       

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"Never go to bed mad.
 
Stay up and fight."

~Phyllis Diller

PRESENT

DANTE

I woke up still on her sofa with a pounding headache and my cheek pillowed against a silky thigh.
 
It was almost enough to make my hard-on win out over my hangover.
 
Almost.
 

And fingers, gentle, familiar fingers, stroking through my hair, lightly rubbing my temples.
 

Was this real?
 
Was I dreaming she was tending to my hangover as if she didn't hate me?
 

Was even my dream mind longing for her scraps?
 
What could be more pathetic than that?
 

"Am I dreaming?" I mumbled into her skin.

"Do you usually dream about feeling like shit?
 
Because you look like shit."
 

Almost was caving quickly to yes, please.
 
"Hangover," I murmured into her skin, turning my head to nuzzle, one curious hand sliding up her bare leg, trying without any conscious help from my brain, to figure out what she was or wasn't wearing.
 

Pants, no.
 
Panties, yes, though they weren't much of a deterrent, and she wasn't resisting me, thank God.
 
I fingered her, and she shifted under my cheek, her thighs parting just the slightest bit.
 

It was enough.
   

I slid to the floor, going to my knees in front of her.

I made my way up her legs with my mouth, placing open-mouthed kisses against her thighs, spreading her legs wider as I moved higher, wedging my shoulders between.
 
I licked the tender flesh of her groin with quick, wet flicks of my tongue, rolling my eyes up to watch her reaction.
 

She made a little noise, higher pitched than a groan, but more stifled than a mewl.