Fire & Dark (The Night Horde SoCal Book 3) (27 page)

Connor knew why it was happening, and he let him do it. He didn’t fight back at all. After a while, winded and flagging, Moore sat back. “Fight me, you bastard. Fight back. I want to fucking kill you.”

“No.” Connor had to force the word through an already-swelling mouth. “I earned it.”

“Yeah, you did. Get the fuck out of here.”

“Moore, stop. Get up.” Pilar’s voice was rough, like she had a cold. But Connor knew she didn’t.

“Cordero, no way.” Moore looked over his shoulder. From his position on the ground, Connor couldn’t see, but he’d heard her voice and imagined her standing in the doorway.

“Yes. Get up.”

Moore glared down at him and then stood up.

Connor rolled to his knees and spat out a mouthful of blood. No teeth, thankfully. They felt surprisingly secure in his gums. He stood and turned.

Pilar was standing right where he’d imagined, wearing her favorite pair of sweatpants and an old, loose t-shirt with a stretched-out collar.

Her throat was mottled about every color of the rainbow. To get that kind of bruising—fuck, he’d almost killed her.

“Jesus, baby. I’m so sorry.”

Standing between them, Moore scoffed dramatically.

Pilar moved her attention to her friend. “You should go, Moore. I’m fine.”

“Oh, that is so much bullshit. I am not leaving you alone with him. Absolutely not.”

“You are, because I’m telling you to go.”

“Pilar—”

“Kyle. Go.”

Moore turned to Connor. “You hurt her again, and I will hunt your ass down. I don’t care how many biker assholes you hide behind. I will put my fist down your throat and pull your heart out.”

Connor laughed a little at that—with respect, not derision. It was a good threat, all the more powerful because it was sincere. “Understood. I’m not gonna hurt her.”

Then Moore turned to Pilar. “I’m calling every half hour. You pick up, or I am bringing the cavalry back here.”

“Okay. Just go.”

“I can’t fucking believe this,” he muttered, stomping past Connor on the way to his truck.

Connor stood where he was, and so did Pilar, until Moore had pulled out of the driveway and driven off.

And they were alone, staring at each other. His eyes fell from hers and focused on her throat. What had he done?

When he started toward her, she took a wary step backward and pulled the door close, so that it was only open the width of her body. He stopped. “I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”

She put her hand to her throat. “What do you want?”

“To make us right. I love you. I need you.”

“You say that, but I don’t know what that means to you.”

“Will you let me in so we can talk about it?”

“The last time I let you in, this happened.” Her fingers moved down her bruised throat.

She had fought him, asked him to hurt her, demanded that they ‘fuck it out.’ He’d been trying to leave. That thought, however, amounted to a rejoinder of ‘you started it,’ and even to himself, it sounded childish and wrongheaded. Yet the thought wanted to be expressed. “You…you said…”

She shook her head before he could get it out. “You know this wasn’t what I meant.”

Yes, he did. He knew what she meant when she wanted to be hurt, and strangled to death was not it. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“So we talk. Only that.”

“Only that. Mutual agreement.”

She stared at him until the weight of the silence was oppressive. And then she stepped back and pushed the door all the way open.

“Okay.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

“Sit. I’ll get you some ice.”

Connor sat on her sofa, as he had the last time she’d invited him in. He didn’t bother to take his kutte off. Usually, it was the first thing he did, so Pilar had the sense that he was staying ready to leave as quickly as possible. For the best, probably.

“I don’t need ice.”

She laughed. “Yeah, you do. Just hold on.”

In the kitchen, she collected her first aid kit and a clean towel and then got a bag of frozen corn out of the freezer.

Back in the living room, she sat on the table in front of him and opened the kit at her side. As she tore open an antiseptic wipe and began to clean up his mangled face, she said, “So talk.”

He reached out, his fingers stretched toward her throat, and she flinched back; she didn’t want him to touch her, not yet, and certainly not there. His hand froze, and their eyes met.

“I’m so sorry.”

“So you’ve said.” She believed him; even if she were inclined not to, the remorse in his eyes was deep and sincere. But he had hurt her—and terrified her. She’d thought she was dying. But it wasn’t the worst thing he’d done that day.

She didn’t say it, not yet. But the worst thing he’d done that day was leave. He’d walked away before she’d even known if she could get off the floor on her own.

He let his hand fall to his lap, and for a minute he quietly let her clean his bleeding face. As she dabbed antibiotic ointment onto a swab, he said, “I want to fix us. Is there a chance?”

Holding the swab, she looked hard at him. Moore had done a number on him—his lip was split, his cheek and nose were bleeding, and his left eye was swelling shut. “Why do you want to—and don’t say because you need me. Or even because you love me. Why do you want me in your life?”

He didn’t answer right away, and she dabbed ointment onto the gash in his cheek. If he didn’t have an answer, then she wasn’t sure what the fucking point of all this was. She could have answered; she’d thought a lot about the question. She’d argued with Moore about it. Fuck, she’d asked it of herself as she was stepping back and letting Connor in a few minutes before.

She loved him, wanted him, because when she was with him, she felt bright and alive. He was funny and bold, kind and smart. He challenged her, competed with her. He knew how to have a good time, but there was real depth to him, too—a depth he protected from most people. But he’d let her in.

The fact that he was about the most gorgeous man she’d ever known and they had blistering hot sex barely mattered in comparison to all of that.

“Do you know how amazing you are?”

At Connor’s question, Pilar pulled away a little and focused on his eyes. “That’s not an answer.”

“Jesus, Pilar. I don’t know how to say it. When I’m away from you, I want to be with you. When I’m with you, I don’t want to leave. When something happens, good or bad, I want to tell you. I’m…fuck, I’m so fucking
proud
when I think about you or talk about you. Ow.” He winced as she pressed on his cheek, closing the wound with a butterfly bandage. “Proud that you’re mine. When I think about what’s next, the future, I want you in it. I see you in my life. You are amazing. You’re so much better than I am.”

“What?”

“You’re a hero. Your job is literally to be a hero—you even told me that, so I know you see it that way, too. Me—I’m an outlaw. You spend your life fixing the shit people like me fuck up. You and Moore, that’s what you do.”

“Oh fuck me, Connor. Not this again.” She shoved back, but he grabbed her—not hard, but enough to make her tense.

“No. I’m trying to explain my trouble with him. I don’t think you’re fucking him. And if we’re not over, then I will get right with him in your life. But there’s so much in your life that’s…fuck, that’s
admirable
. I’m jealous of all of it. I’m like a black smudge in your life.”

“Connor, that’s nuts.”

“Maybe. I never thought of myself like that before. I’ve been happy with myself. Loved my life. But compared to you…”

Her phone rang. Moore. She answered, “Dude, it hasn’t been half an hour. And I’m fine. Everything is fine. Do not call again, because I’m not gonna answer. I will call if I need you. Okay?”

After a beat of silence on the line, she repeated, “Okay?”

Finally, Moore’s voice filled her ear. “You better fucking call.”

“If I need you, I will. Otherwise, I’ll see you at the barn in the morning. Go kill zombies now.”

“Shit, Cordero. You better know what you’re doing.”

“I do. Good night. And thank you.”

After she ended the call, she picked up the thread of conversation. She’d been thinking about what Connor had said the whole time she was talking to Moore. “What you’re saying is I make you feel worse about yourself? Then what the fuck are we doing? That’s no way to be together.”

He’d sat quietly through the phone call, and it seemed he’d been thinking, too. “No. I’m saying you make me want to be better. You make me think deeper about shit I’ve been trying hard not to think about. I’m not saying I don’t want to be an outlaw. My life is my life, my family is that life, and I don’t want it to change. But being with you…I don’t know. I want to be…better.” He picked up the bag of corn and held it to his eye, then rested against the back of the sofa. “You wanted to know why I love you. All of that. So the question is, do you want me? Still love me?”

“That’s not the question, Connor. Not yet. You say you want to be better, but you’ve been awful to me for the past few weeks. You blame me for what happened to your parents.”

“I don’t.”

“Bulls—”

“I don’t.” He sat up. “I blame me. I blame the way I feel about you. But really, I just blame me. I wanted to be your hero. But I don’t think it’s even that. You were right to ask for help for your brother. I would’ve done the same thing. You go to the strongest source for help. And I was right to want to help you. Fuck, we would’ve helped even if I hadn’t been wanting back in your pants. It’s what we do. My dad has always run his charter with this idea that we should be good citizens. That we should do more good than bad. And we do. So we would have helped you if I’d never met you. What happened is not your fault.”

He’d dropped the bag of corn to his lap, and Pilar heard a faint sound that made her look down at it. He was squeezing the bag so tightly she thought it was about to burst. “I’ve just been so fucking angry. Seeing my dad and mom both brought low by all this. Baby, my dad is probably dying. He definitely won’t be the way he was. And I don’t have anything I can do to make it right.” The bag did burst then; little yellow kernels of half-frozen corn spilled out and rained down onto the sofa and rug. They both just sat and watched it happen.

Pilar recalled the feeling of his fingers doing that to her throat, and her own fingers went up to stroke the healing bruises he’d left behind.

His attention locked there, and again she saw remorse in his grey eyes. “I’m so sorry I hurt you. Not just that, but everything. Being an asshole. Not being what you needed. All of it. I don’t have an excuse. But I am sorry.”

“You left me laying there. You walked out.”

His eyes went wide. “What? You said I should go. Why would you have wanted me to stay?”

“Connor…” Pilar stopped, not knowing how to explain how she’d felt, how she’d needed him to hold her and calm her, to help her, to take care of her, and how, at the same time, she’d needed him as far away as he could get.

It didn’t matter.

She believed him, and she forgave him. What she wanted most to do right now was crawl onto his lap, to comfort him and be comforted. To erase the weeks before. But she needed to understand some things before she could move forward and trust him—or herself. “Connor, what do you want?”

He lifted his eyes back to hers. “I want you. With me. In my life.”

“But what do you want your life to be? Or our life? What does that look like?”

“I want what my folks have. A partner, a house, kids.” His expression became guarded. “I want kids with you. Is that even possible?”

Despite the heady blend of emotions she was feeling, which his latest words had kicked up into a froth, Pilar smiled. “I am capable of bearing children, yeah. As far as I know.”

“You know what I’m asking.”

“I do. I think it’s weird to be talking about whether we’ll have kids when this conversation started with me wondering whether I’d ever speak to you again.”

“It’s not. I was honest when I told you I thought you were my soulmate. That’s where I feel you—that deep. So if I didn’t fuck it all up, if we’re still together, then I want it to be more. I want to be seeing the same things up ahead.” He sighed. “I want the rest of my life to start.”

“It’s too fast, Connor. This month has been so fucked in so many ways. We have been so fucked up. I can’t move from what happened four days ago to planning our family just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “It’s just too fast.”

“Okay. Fair enough. Tell me this. Do you want there to be a future? Do you want kids at all? With your job, can you?” He looked down at his lap. He was still holding the now-deflated bag of corn. “Do you love me?”

One word could answer each of those questions, and Pilar almost answered with that single syllable. She was tired—of being sad, of being lonely, of feeling insecure, of feeling unfulfilled. Of being alone. Setting aside the first aid supplies, then leaning forward and taking the bag of corn from him, she brushed the stray kernels off his lap and climbed onto him, straddling him.

She’d shocked him. With his hands held out, in a gesture that looked like surrender, he said, “Pilar, what…”

“Yes, I love you. You
are
my hero, idiot. You helped me when I asked. You said you’d do it even knowing how it played out. It doesn’t matter what side of the law you’re on. You help. You try to do more good than bad. That makes you better than about ninety-five percent of the world. Yes, I want there to be a future for us. Yes, I want kids. Yes, I can be a firefighter and a mom. I’d go on admin or training duty while I was pregnant. But I’m not ready for that yet. In a couple of years, but not now. So let’s go slow. But yes. That’s what I want.”

He grinned, then winced when his broken lip pulled and started to bleed again. Pilar put her hands around his face and leaned down to kiss him, licking the blood from his lip. “Fuck me slow. Right here,” she whispered.

He grinned again, more carefully this time, and his hands held her head, mirroring her touch. “Just here to talk, remember? Mutual agreement.”

“So we’ll mutually change the agreement. I want to feel you love me. Not…whatever that was the other day.”

His expression clouded over. “I’m so damn—”

She moved her hand to cover his mouth. “Stop. I know. So let’s fix it. You be my hero, and I’ll be yours.” She brushed her fingers over his beaten face. “If you think you can.”

“Oh, I can. Your buddy’s not that tough. Nothing’s broken.” As if to prove his point, he kissed her, and the first, light touch of his lips to hers quickly became fiercely passionate. Pilar didn’t even know which one of them had turned the volume up.

After a moment, he broke away. They were both breathless. He brushed her hair back, and she closed her eyes at the pleasure in that soft touch. Then he leaned in and kissed her throat. “I don’t want to go hard,” he murmured.

“I don’t want you to. Just love me. I just want to be close.”

“Then let’s go to bed. I want to love all of you.”

She smiled and got up from his lap.

~oOo~