Dark and Deadly: Eight Bad Boys of Paranormal Romance (67 page)

After his brother died, he must have been crazy with guilt. Grieving, too. He still carried the nightmare with him wherever he went.

Jordan had almost given in to tears earlier when he’d told her what happened. Almost, but hadn’t. He hadn’t wanted her tears. But she was going to bawl for him at some point when she was alone and had a couple of hours for the swelling in her eyes to go down. She’d suck the threatening tears back into her skull until that time, but yeah, she’d bawl. She might even let Maze join her.

She could piece together Malcolm Rook’s story. The accident with his brother. Running away. The cold, hard life thereafter with drugs and Rêve. Then at some point, Mr. Conner—or Coll—had found him.

For that, Coll would get one break from her, one benefit of the doubt. Because of him, Malcolm Rook had turned out okay. Well, mostly. With any luck, maybe Mr. Coll could do the same for wild Maisie.

“I grew up early myself,” Jordan said. “My second year at art school, my mom fell asleep at the wheel, crashed, and died before she reached the hospital. Maze was sixteen, but the courts let me take care of her through high school.”

“You’re a good sister.”

Well… “Honestly, I’m scared to be alone. If I don’t take good care of her, I will be.” She would never take her family for granted again. Not for a second. “She’s okay, so everything else will be too.”

“Maisie Lane is more resourceful than you think,” Rook said. “Coll has a file.”

Did he now? “I don’t think I ever want to see it,” Jordan mused aloud.

Rook chuckled. “That’s probably for the best.”

They were a couple of blocks from her place, near the park, when Rook slowed.

Suddenly he tucked into a parking spot along the street, just down from her favorite Chinese place, and leaned his arms on the top of the steering wheel. “Do you think you could dunk someone else? Dunk, not drown? I’d do it myself, but he’s a bit out of my range. I have a feeling he’s not out of yours.”

“What’s going on?”

One of those steep roller-coaster drops was coming, Jordan knew it. She looked around to find the source of Rook’s concern, but only saw a guy with his dog, some action at the cleaners, a couple of teens skipping school. Normal traffic for midmorning.

“Word is officially out on you. Had to be your stunt with Blackman.” Rook jerked his chin toward the park. “There’s a Reveler up ahead, one I know. He usually hangs out in the Rêves in Vegas. I can think of only one reason why he’d be here, and that’s if Vince Blackman failed.”

“I don’t think—”

“They’re another of your options, actually. Lots of money. Of course, these guys are a little more ruthless in their approach. Dumped the body of one of my friends in the Scrape. Person never opened their eyes in the waking world again.”

The whoosh of the roller coaster’s drop had a voice screaming in her head. She, however, was surprisingly calm. “I like Chimera, thanks.”

“We can’t go forward without his spotting us. He’s obviously posted as a lookout, which means that there are probably others waiting at your apartment. I think he’ll recognize me if I get any closer. One way street—we can’t go back, unless it’s on foot.”

“Who do I dunk, again?”
Any idea how?

Rook leaned toward her, put an arm around her shoulders. “Relax your sight. Let your vision blur a little. Don’tconcentrate.”

Of course she was concentrating. No part of her was going to relax, especially with Rook leaning in like that, his breath on her neck, his scent—dark and sweet—swimming in her head. The temperature had hiked ten degrees with his nearness. He was totally distracting and at a very inconvenient time.

Nevertheless, up ahead, through passing cars and the corner of an obscuring building, she got the sense of a blurry person. It was as if he’d been drawn in charcoal and pastels, but the heel of the artist’s hand had accidentally smudged him.

Had to be that guy. “So I just dunk him?”

Beside her, Rook exhaled. “Lightly.”

Heart hammering, she mentally reached out—the smudged person came alert, stood—but before he could do anything, she pushed.

He collapsed backward, sucked out of sight. Fell out of the waking world.

Rook was already pulling into traffic, but once down the one-way street, he turned up the next block, doubling back to head away from her apartment building.

“Good job, sweetheart.”

She’d been trying to take today’s rapid shifts in stride. It was getting more difficult.

“Sorry we won’t be able to pick up your things,” Rook said. “But don’t worry. I’ve got you covered.”

Oh, so he was going to take her shopping?

“You have your pick of my T-shirts to sleep in.”

No such luck.

***

“Not even Coll knows where I live,” Rook told her as he unlocked the door with its peeling paint in the old factory. Worn, narrow stairs led up to the second floor.

Following him, she moved more slowly, pale, eyes wide, taking in where he lived. He knew he had beer in the fridge, but she looked like she could use a glass of orange juice or something. Low blood sugar.

“It’s not much.” He unlocked the door at the top of the stairs. “But it’s safe. No one will come here.”

His place made up the entire second floor. It was utilitarian at best, with airy, high ceilings, but zero renovation to make it cool or comfortable. He had basic furniture in scarred black leather. A good bed, though he fell asleep just as often in his desk chair.

It was only now, though, that he noticed the dust bunnies cartwheeling across the floor from the draft from the door. “I’m planning to fix it up.”

She was gingerly stepping over his free weights. “You work out a lot?”

“Things like strength, fitness, and general health transfer into Rêve if they’re true in real life. Most Chimera stay in decent shape so that they aren’t tempted to spend energy and concentration trying to look strong.”

“All the Rêve ads say you can be anything you want.” She was looking around, taking in the stained walls, the exposed pipes where the kitchen sink was, and the cheap-ass folding table that served as his counter.

He didn’t know how to live differently. He’d saved all his money, invested it, but he still hadn’t figured out what to spend it on. He didn’t know how to do to his place what she’d done to hers.

“A weak person will still flinch,” he said. “A scared person will lose the fight. You can’t face a serial killer while worrying if you’re tough enough.”

She threw him a weak smile. “Does that mean I have to start working out?”

“I could help you,” he said. “If you wanted.”

“Not scared I’d drown you?”

“Jordan, I know my way around Darkside. I’ve been deeper than most. You don’t scare me.”

“I scare me. What am I going to do now? Where do I go?”

He almost offered to let her crash here, but it was too raw for someone pretty like her. It reminded him of how different they were. “Coll will have loads of options. You can live a normal life, just carefully. You’ll need a good security system.”

She cast her gaze around again. “FYI, this isn’t a normal life.”

“Don’t use me as an example.” His place was a decade short of the kind of warehouses he’d crashed in on the streets. In fact, this was
exactly
the kind of building he’d lived in after running away from home. Eleven years, and he was in the same spot: alone, living cold, using Rêve to get away from his life.

“Chimera will give you whatever you want to set yourself up.”

“So I’m starting over?”

“It won’t be like this, I promise. This is just me and my shit. You will have a good life. Good pay. Hours can be weird, but you get used to that.”

“I was in art school, you know, before I had to earn a real paycheck to provide for Maisie. Got a job as a receptionist, took business classes at night, worked my way up into marketing.”

See, there. “You could paint again.”

“I can’t go back to my apartment, right?”

“Not for a while.” He’d see what he could do to get her stuff.

She dropped her purse on his messy desk. “I think I’ll take over yours.”

“Huh?”

“Your apartment. I want it,” she said. “The light is perfect.”

He looked around at his empty shithole.

“You can stay, if you want. Or move,” she said, shrugging. “But if this is okay for a Chimera, then I’ll take it.”

“You want my place?”

She smiled that too-bright, excited smile, the one only Maisie got out of her. “Yeah. I love it. And you obviously don’t care about it.”

“You love my place?”

“
My
place.” She seemed to get a bright idea, because she dived into her purse and pulled out the kitty statue and one of her picture frames. Removed an old pizza box from his desk, put her things in its spot. “
Voila
.”

He scratched his head. “Uh. This loft is already
occupado
.”

Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. The light was kind of…glowy.

“It’s occupied by me now. Betcha ten bucks Mr. Coll will agree with me. It’s the condition of my joining. I get to paint! And work in my sleep. Who’d complain about that?”

“The neighborhood’s not so good.”

“Yeah, but I can drown whoever messes with me. You’ll have to move the bed, though. That’s where my easel is going.”

“That’s the best spot.”

“Exactly.”

“You think you can just take over?” Pushy much?

“Not take over.
Start
over. Shit happens. Happened today for me. What you have to do is start over. No use complaining or crying or huddling in a ball waiting for someone to save the day.” He heard a note of old pain in her voice. “I started over once before, six years ago when my mom died. Maze and I had to live in a tiny studio with a roach problem for two years.
This
is straight out of a magazine! The
before
picture of course, but God, wait for the
after!
”

Still looked like a shithole to him.

“Do you own it? I’ll rent it from you.”

He owned the building, had considered opening a bike shop downstairs. But, come on, he’d met her a couple of days ago. They weren’t moving in together. He wasn’t that kind of man. He lived alone. He’d always lived alone. Clearly, she was the move-in kind of woman.

“I don’t know if we can both live here,” he said. The promise of frequent sex was tempting, but all the other stuff that women did…or were rumored to do, since he had no experience living with them personally? No. “I like you and all…”

“No problem. And no hard feelings. Since you were instrumental in breaking up my old life,
you
can stay at my old place until you find another.”

That wasn’t what he meant.

She’d moved to one of the long, wide windows and was fiddling with the latch. “Maze will help me clean and paint. Oh! She can live here, too.”

“No, she can’t.”

Jordan smiled over her shoulder. “Mr. Coll will arbitrate.”

Coll would do nothing. “It’s my place, woman!”

Her smile grew.

The sick feeling he’d had upon entering had been replaced with bewildered outrage. The sudden return of the cold desperation that had clutched at him during those years he was on his own had dissipated; he was warmer now.

He almost felt good.

Standing in his own goddamn place, he looked around again, disoriented. Didn’t see any of the ratholes he used to live in anymore. It was full of light.

But a little paint wouldn’t hurt. On top of some minor construction.

And she wasn’t likely to bother him if she was doing art. Not to mention the other obvious perks of having her beautiful body within reach. The girl had nowhere else to go, unless Coll got her a room somewhere, and that would just mean that Rook would have to go there to watch over her until she was truly settled.

He approached and put his hands at the flare of her hips. “How about you stay here, and we just see how it goes?”

“I stay here,” she repeated. “Isn’t that what I’ve been saying?”

No. He didn’t think it was, but because she felt so right in his grip, he wasn’t about to argue.

She seemed to catch his train of thought. “I can’t sleep with you until we’ve shared a meal.” She turned in his hands to face him and made a worried, sorry expression, upper teeth scoring her bottom lip. “It’s a Rule thing I have so I don’t get myself in trouble.”

Damn if he didn’t break a sweat.

Rule thing. Okay. His fridge was empty, he knew that much. There was a drugstore on the corner, but there was nothing there he could reasonably call a meal.

Warm laughter bubbled up from inside her. “The look on your face.”

“I’ve got to touch you,” he confessed.
Touch
was just the beginning, the most polite word he had for what he wanted to do to her.

“I said I couldn’t sleep with you, not have sex.” That bright smile. “We can have sex whenever.”

Smartass.

“Food later. Promise.” They were going to need their sleep when they were done.

His vision blurred a little as his hands slid up under her shirt to find warm, soft skin. Again, that strange ache overcame him, a need born of long deprivation—and it wasn’t necessarily for sex.

Something about her… What was it about her...?

He didn’t know and couldn’t care with the rush and pound of heat burning out all coherent thought. It was her doing, her hands under his shirt, light fingertips fluttering up his stomach, thumb brushing the ridge between his pecs. She arched in the grip of his palms, and trembled too, breath short and fast under his ear.

“Nervous?” he murmured against her temple, to tease her.

“Just ignore the shakes. I’m good. This happens to me all the time.”

“All the time?” He dipped his head to kiss, brushed his mouth against her lips.

“Oh yeah. Sex with strange men in the middle of the workday. People after me. You bet.”

He dipped again, this time to pick her up. One of her shoes clattered to the floor. She toed off the other one.

“Good,” he said. “We’ll put that experience to use. You can be on top.”

Jordan’s shakes only got stronger.