Grit (Dirty #6) (2 page)

Rocky

He’s on top of me.

The pressure of his body holds me to the floor, restricting my breathing. It’s like a lead weight lying on my chest. I will my eyes to open, but they aren’t quick to obey. Maybe it’s my subconscious, refusing to witness another rape.

I hear a groan and the weight shifts before leaving me.

My eyes flutter, but are unwilling to remain open. I keep trying.

Link comes into view before disappearing as my eyelids drop once again. My heart pounds inside my chest with sweet relief.

He’s here
.

Please don’t let me be dreaming or hallucinating. Please let him really be here with me.

I force my eyes open yet again, and roll my head to the side, following the telltale sounds of aggressive struggling.

As my gaze lands on Link, I notice blood trailing down the back of his head. My eyes fall closed. Panic helps me blink them quickly.

Link’s feet are shoulder width apart, one in front of the other, slightly turned out. His knees are bent, shoulders relaxed. His elbows are close to his torso, hands up, protecting his face. A perfect boxer’s stance.

In front of him, Bates holds a large knife. I know immediately it’s the one Lea described. The one he used to kill Olivia. The one responsible for the scars on Link’s back.

Bates slashes at Link, and I cry out, knowing he’s defenseless against a weapon like that.

Link turns his attention to me, giving Bates an extra advantage. The blade pierces Link’s skin, sliding down the length of his bicep. A line of crimson splits his flesh. He stumbles back into the wall, gripping his arm and dropping his defense.

I roll to my side, and then onto my stomach. My hands slide along the floor as I try to push myself upward. My arms give out and I slip back to my stomach.

“Rocky,” I hear Link say. I glance over my shoulder, trying to find him. My eyes are drawn to the large smudge of red on the wall.

“Get out of here,” he continues, his voice strained.

My face must be a mess because as fresh tears make their way down my cheeks, the salty moisture burns my skin. I need to get up. Not because Link wants me to get away—I’m not leaving him—but because I need to help him. Between the two of us, I know we can overpower Bates.

When you’re fighting for someone else, you can’t give up. You have to push past the pain, the insecurity, the fear. You have to keep going because you know if you don’t, you’ll never forgive yourself.

I keep fighting, just as Link is doing for me.

Locking the muscles in my arms, I heave myself onto my knees. I can hear scuffling of feet, the harsh, panted breaths, the thwack of fists meeting skin, and it makes the urgency that much more potent.

I push to my feet, knees weak, and balance off, causing me to sway. Somehow I catch myself on the counter. My stomach aches where that asshole punched me. It feels like a rock lodged inside my belly. I ignore the pain and take a step toward Link, struggling with Bates.

I slide my foot, taking another shaky step. I have no idea what I’m going to do—what I’m capable of doing in my state. I must have hit my head because everything is spinning. Blurry. It’s making me lightheaded and dizzy.

Bates kicks out, connecting hard with Link’s leg. As Link falls to his knees, Bates smiles. That smile I once found so attractive, now a cruel, gratified smirk.

I try to move fast enough. I try to lunge at Bates. Throw myself between the men. But my legs are inept, my effort futile. It happens so fast, I can’t make sense of what’s occurring.

My knees hit the floor, just as Link’s did just a second ago. And then the room is filled with a flash of light as a loud popping sound echoes off the walls, making my ears ring.

Smoke drifts off of the shoulder of Bates’ shirt, a circle of red growing larger and larger, spreading along his arm. He looks down, his mouth falling open as if in shock. The knife tumbles out of his hand as if he can no longer hold onto it.

There’s shouting. Beams of light bouncing around the room. But I keep my attention locked on Bates. His gaze moves from his shoulder to Link, his eyes growing large.

Someone touches me, places a coat over my shoulders. I only look away for a moment, glancing back at the officer trying to guide me outside. Away from Link. I try to pull away, turning back to the two men.

Link is still on his knees, his arms bleeding profusely. He raises his opposite hand, light reflecting off the long blade of Bates’ knife. I scream. I must. Because Link stops, his hand pausing in midair, even with Bates’ belly.

It feels like time stops as Link battles against his need to complete the mission he’s been on for much too long now. I understand it. I do. I want Bates dead too. But if Link kills him now in front of these police officers, he’ll go to prison, or worse, they’ll shoot him.

He looks back at me as the officers continue to shout. I shake my head, silently pleading with him. I feel my lips move, but I can’t hear myself over all of the yelling.

But Link understands.

He drops his hand, letting the knife slip from his fingers. The cops move in, one pushing Link to the floor. Others take hold of Bates. There’s so much chaos. Too much happening too quickly. I’m shuffled out the door and into the back of an ambulance.

Link

Byers hands me a cup of coffee as the doctor finishes dressing my arm. I nod a thank you as I take it. The hot liquid feels good traveling down my parched throat.

“There will be a guard on him at all times until we’re able to transport him,” he says casually. I don’t know if Byers is trying to reassure me or warn me—I’ll be caught if I go after him.

It’s not an issue. As much as I want that man dead—erased from existence—I’m going to allow the legal system to take care of him. It’s not easy to do, but I made the decision the moment I heard Rocky tell me she needed me.

I haven’t been needed in a long time.

“When can I see Rocky?”

Byers sips his own coffee, peering at me over the rim. “As soon as we’re done here. She’s been examined. Superficial wounds. No concussion. She can go home today.”

I sigh. That’s good. That’s very good. I’m sure she misses her place.

I don’t have a home to go home to. My house is currently a crime scene.

“Greg Anthony gave us a full confession. We’ve identified all four suspects involved in Olivia’s murder.”

I nod, rotating my shoulder when the doctor finishes taping the bandage in place and ducks out of the room. Another stab wound. Another set of stitches. Small price to pay to keep Rocky safe.

“We’re having trouble locating one—Aaron Woods,” Byers continues. He scratches his jaw, his eyes fixed on me. Just the sound of Aaron’s name causes my pulse to spike. I rip off the blood pressure cuff, still attached to my arm, and drop it on the bed beside me.

“He’s the guy I asked you to ID a few weeks back.”

“That so?” I take another gulp of coffee, cringing at the bitter taste but enjoying the heat.

“My guess,” he goes on as if I didn’t reply, “is he saw the same article in the paper as the other guys and took off. Or maybe Carter Bates got to him too. He’s not saying much right now.”

I choose to keep my mouth shut. This cup of coffee definitely has its use.

Byers pats my good arm, letting his hand rest there a beat longer than necessary. I look up at him and he gives me a small nod. “I’ll keep you updated.” He tips his head at the door. “Go see your girl. Four doors down.”

I don’t hesitate. I drop my empty cup into the trash and dart out the door. The only thing I can think about is seeing her. Making sure she’s okay. Touching her, just so I know she’s really here. And kissing her.

“Hey,” Rocky says softly. She gives me a pained smile and I wince. Now that the bruises have had some time to really set in, they’re darker, standing out more prominently, especially under the bright hospital lights.

I skim the backs of my fingers over her jawline, careful not to cause her anymore pain. She immediately does the same to me, I think needing that direct skin-to-skin contact in the same way I do.

“You look like shit,” she states.

“You look beautiful,” I say, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. I inhale the scent of her hair, closing my eyes as it fills my lungs.

“You’re a liar.”

I grin, my lips still against her. “You ready to get out of here?”

“Absolutely. But Joe and my parents are on their way. You have time to escape, but not much, so make it quick.”

“What if I want to stay?”

Her dark eyes meet mine, searching. She clears her throat, taking several seconds to respond. “Then stay.”

***

I start the shower, adjusting the water until it’s the perfect temperature. Rocky takes my hand as she steps in, and I follow. I watch her, captivated, as she tilts her head back, wetting her hair.

My hands go to work, massaging shampoo into her long locks. She sighs happily. I’m growing fond of that sound. I lean in and brush my lips over hers, trying to elicit another one.

Rocky doesn’t disappoint, humming contently when I finally draw back.

“What’s going to happen now?” she asks, her eyes closed, her hands resting against my stomach.

“Hopefully both guys plead guilty, we bypass a trial, and the judge puts them away for the rest of their lives.”

Rocky opens her eyes, blinking water from her lashes. “What about you and me? What happens to us?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “But I want to explore it. And,” I add, “I really want to explore your body as well.”

She laughs, her fingers sliding down my stomach to wrap around my cock. I’m already hard for her.

“I’m good with that.”

She begins to stroke me and I release a soft hiss through my teeth. After everything we’ve been through lately, you’d think this would be the last thing on either of our minds. But this is my serenity. These little moments with her. Her touch. Her laugh.
Her
.

I make good on my word and begin exploring. My fingers glide down her body, leaving a soapy trail behind. I watch as the shower spray slowly rinses it away. I’m reminded of our first time together, when we painted one another. I washed her just like this. But that night was tainted by my need for revenge.

It doesn’t have to be that way anymore.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve discovered these areas already,” Rocky says, stirring me from my thoughts.

Cocking a brow, I grip her ass, grinning as I pull her closer. Her mouth meets mine and I kiss her deeply, completely consumed. This woman.
God
, this woman. My little fighter. She makes me want to make some changes—reevaluate my life goals.

Three is still my number.

One: To strengthen my body. Make it strong. Make it a machine. Make it so that what happened before can never,
ever
, happen again.

Two: To help others find their own strength so that what happened to me, what happened to Liv—what happened to Rocky—doesn’t happen to them.

And three: My new favorite—to find the ability to let go of the past and allow myself to love again.

Grit

Grit:
courage and resolve; strength of character

“They’ve promised that dreams can come true, but forgot to mention that nightmares are dreams, too.”

–Oscar Wilde

Prologue

Link

There are only two unequivocal truths to every life.

One: You are born.

Two: You will die.

Whatever happens in-between is entirely left up to you and fate and the big man upstairs.

My past has taught me fate is neither friend nor foe. Fate does what fate wants, no matter the consequences. And God? He and I have a love/hate relationship. I loved Him, but for some reason, He has always forsaken me…

Part 1

Life is a Puzzle

(We’re all just piecing it together as we go.)

One

Rocky

Link’s quest for revenge ended in my redemption.

Or so I thought.

The part I didn’t fully understand is that recovery is a process. It takes
time
. I didn’t expect it to happen all at once, but somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I hoped for it. I wanted to wake up with his arms around me and be the girl I was before Garrett Marshall took my life away. Before Carter Bates taught me evil can come in the form of a handsome face with a charming smile.

That didn’t happen.

It will never happen
.

There’s no going back. I know too much. Seen too much.
Felt
too much. I can never be that girl again. No matter how much Link has done for me, no matter how much he’s taught me and given me, I can never, ever go back. All I can do is learn to be okay with who I am now. And he makes that easier. He may not have fixed what’s broken inside of me—because nobody can do that—but he helps me be okay with being damaged.

I can’t count on him alone. I need to help myself too. After years of failed therapy and abusing the numbing effects of alcohol, I’ve turned to a natural remedy to help alleviate my anxiety. I’ve found a healthy way to help control my depression. It’s a start.

The bed dips with Link’s weight and his warmth envelops me as he presses into my back. Rough fingertips brush the hair away from my shoulder, eliciting an eruption of goose bumps. His lips, soft and wet, slide up the length of my neck. It’s been two weeks since he unofficially took up residency in my apartment, and I still can’t get enough of these morning wake-up calls.

His tongue sears my skin as he unapologetically laps the space at the base of my shoulder—the spot he knows has a direct effect on my girly parts. Sharp teeth sink into the muscle there, provoking a whimpered moan to tremble from my lips.

This is the only way a woman should ever wake up.

I feel his lips lift into that devilish grin I adore so much, but he doesn’t say anything. Sometimes, it’s just not necessary. Sometimes, a mouth can do all the talking without uttering a single word.

His large frame straddles my thighs. I can feel the hard length of his cock slide against me as his hands sweep my tank top upward, leaving it high on my back. A trail of slow, breathy kisses lead a path back down and I shiver with desire. He’s driving me crazy with need, but I remain motionless. It’s few and far between when Link takes control.

I sigh as his nails drag along the hem of my sleep shorts. He rakes them down, exposing my ass. There’s a moment’s pause and I know he’s enjoying the view. His grip is firm as he cups each cheek, squeezing. His thumbs slide between my legs, stroking ever so lightly, up and down, teasing me. And then his mouth is on me again, licking and nibbling, moving closer and closer to his fingers.

My hips flex, silently begging him to get there quicker, but Link likes to take his time. He likes to heat me up slowly, bringing me to a simmer before he lets me boil over.

I groan in protest as he pulls away. His hands circle my hips, rolling me to my back. He adjusts my top, fully revealing my breasts. Steel-gray eyes burn over every inch of me, taking me all in appreciatively. He’s the only man who can look at me this way. Because when Link gazes at my body, I know he sees more than naked flesh.

He sees me. All the good, and all the bad, and he desires me—not in spite of it, but because of it.

My fingers curl around his forearms. I tug gently, needing him on top of me, skin to skin. Heat and pressure and hard male weight. He complies, dropping his chest to mine without hesitation. He places a kiss to my mouth; tender in a way I’m still getting used to. It’s unhurried, deliberately measured. His tongue slides along my top lip, then over the bottom. He bites softly before sucking it into his mouth.

I can’t take it anymore. I shove my shorts farther down, kicking them off and lock my legs around his waist, pulling him snugly against me. My hips shift, grinding into him. It’s a heavy contrast from the agonizingly slow-moving way his tongue caresses mine.

Link releases an approving growl. I can feel the vibration travel from his body to mine and I echo the sound.

He drags his lips over my chin and down my neck, sucking on my hammering pulse point.

“Rocky,” he rasps my name, causing my stomach to clench. I’ve tried to never let it bother me that the man I love has another woman’s name tattooed over his heart, but it’s difficult. To hear him call my name with barely controlled restraint, to be fully in this moment with me and only me, it gives me hope for this unnamed relationship I’m wholly invested in.

He slides down, scraping his body along mine. Strong fingers caress my mound. His eyes flick from my face to my pussy as if he can’t decide which he wants to look at more.

I grasp his hair, relishing in the fact he has plenty to grab onto now, as he dips his head. The sweep of his tongue is a repeat of the way he kissed me. Long, leisurely strokes. Nibbling and sucking, intentionally working me up steadily.

He holds me to the bed as I begin to thrust, searching for more pressure, begging for more friction.

“Fuck…” I pant the one word, unable to form complete sentences. “Link… Please.” I’m so close. Ecstasy is just out of reach. But he knows that. That’s the point. I could take control back. He’d let me. But that would end this sweet torture. And neither one of us want that.

He presses a finger inside of me, and then another, circling and pumping. I feel myself clamp around him as I break apart, finally finding the bliss I seek.

Before Link, this is where I’d be done. I’d pull up my panties and hightail it as quickly as I could. That isn’t the case now. There is nothing I want more than Linken Elliot’s rock-hard body all over mine. I want him inside of me, filling me. I want to be as close as two people can be.