Grit (Dirty #6) (3 page)

Two

Link

Rocky’s dark eyelashes brush my skin as she nuzzles into my chest. We’re both sweaty and sated after a morning tangled in the sheets. My heart is hammering against my ribcage, breath ragged, as the adrenaline fades.

I skate my fingertips over the curve of her spine, savoring the silky smoothness of her skin. Sundays have quickly become routine. Neither one of us do much of anything—except for each other. The day is ritually spent in bed. It’s the only day of the week I’m not consumed with the sensation of lingering doubt.

I’ve made a lot of terrible decisions over the past four years. I’ve done things that haunt me every second of the day. Sunken to depths only monsters are familiar with. At every turn, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. For this foreign life of happiness—that is quickly becoming not so odd a thing—to blow up in my face. For Rocky to realize she deserves more than a man—
a murderer
—who can’t let go of his dead girlfriend. I wait for Carter Bates to walk on a technicality, or Detective Byers to knock on my door with proof of what I did, or another attack from an unknown assailant. The shadow of fear hovers over me.

I clawed my way out of the nightmares. Trained my body to the point of exhaustion. Replayed the past on repeat. Reminded myself of the mistakes I made. Promised myself I would never make them again. But somehow I managed to drop my walls, lower my guard, and allow myself to become content. Because no matter how much I try to protect myself against the outside world, I never prepared myself for Rocky. For what caring about her could do to me.

I’m not even sure when it happened exactly. I can’t pinpoint the second it occurred.

There’s this saying: When a woman cares for a man, he becomes her strength. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I see Rocky growing stronger. The knife under her pillow has been returned to the kitchen drawer. The hourly security checks from window to window have gradually been reduced to just once before bed. She sleeps at night and reserves the day for the living. She’s drinking less and smiling more.

She’s painting.

I have no idea if it has anything to do with me. I’d like to think so. I
hope
so. I’d like to think I’m helping her, making her feel safe and secure as opposed to weighing her down.

The other part of that saying is: When a man cares for a woman, she becomes his weakness. This is undoubtedly true. I loved Olivia more than anyone in the world. When she died—when she was brutally raped and murdered in front of me—it didn’t just destroy me. It killed every part of the man I was. I never wanted to care about another woman. Never wanted to feel that loss again.

But Rocky snuck up on me. I began caring about her before I understood what was happening. Everything has shifted. I used to see Livie’s face when I closed my eyes. It was her face that occupied my dreams—and my nightmares.

Now, most nights all I see is Rocky.

She is my weakness.

If I’m weak, how do I protect myself? How do I protect her?

Right now, lying here with Rocky formed to my body, it feels far away. I can almost believe everything is going to be all right.

“Did you remember to take your pill?” she mutters against my stomach, referring to the second set of antibiotics the doctor put me on after Bates gave me another scar to remember him by. I suck at taking my medication and the wound ended up getting infected. She doesn’t allow me to make that error twice. If it weren’t for her constant reminders, I’d surely have lost the damn arm by now.

“Did you take yours?” I ask instead of admitting I forgot. Again.

She lifts her head so I can see the rolling of her eyes. “My meds are long gone. Unless you’re talking about my birth control, which I never forget.” She smacks a kiss on my lips before pushing herself up. “I’ll go get them. Water or orange juice?”

“Water,” I say, holding her in place and stealing one more kiss. “Thank you.” I openly watch her ass as she leaves the room, sliding her tank top into place as she goes. She’s sexy as hell and I’m a lucky son of a bitch.

That makes me smile. I haven’t felt lucky in a long, long time.

I roll to her side of the bed and tug the nightstand drawer open. I figure if she’s going to get my pills for me, I should grab hers for her. My fingers connect with cold steel and I jerk my hand back.

I’m not sure how long I stare at it. Long enough for my vision to blur. Long enough for my pulse to beat in double time. Long enough to feel like I’ve been sucker punched in the jaw.

If I can offer you a piece of advice—one single slice of wisdom for you to carry—it’s this: Never fool yourself into believing everything is
good
. The moment you become complacent in life is the exact moment it is guaranteed to all go wrong.

The first time I made that mistake, I lost Olivia, my sanity,
myself
. I’m pretty damn sure I will always struggle with that.

I
thought
I was good—at least better than I had been. I
thought
she was good—at least better than she had been. I thought… I don’t know what I thought.

To a lot of people, a gun in the nightstand drawer wouldn’t mean much. But this is Rocky.

She and I have made progress…

I thought she felt assured in the unnamed, offbeat life we were making together. I
thought
I made her feel safe and protected. I thought
I
was her strength when really the changes I’ve seen in her came from the reassurance of a gun.

“What is this?” I demand the moment she steps back into the room. I hold the slim black and silver handgun out. It’s so small it fits perfectly in my palm. Easy to carry.
Easy to hide
.

Rocky’s gaze slides from my face to the pistol in my hand. “A gun,” she states matter-of-factly. Indifferently. As if it doesn’t belong to her. As if it’s commonplace to find strange weapons in her home these days.

“Why do you have it?”

Her brown eyes flit to the wall. “Why are you going through my things?” she retorts, deflecting my question.

The muscles in my jaw twitch rapidly as I clench my teeth. “I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy. I was getting your pills.” The gun clinks as I set it on the stand and push it toward her. “Why do you have this?”

Rocky’s eyes meet mine and hold. “It’s just a precaution.”

“For what?”

“Link, please,” she murmurs. The last time she said those words she was begging me to make her come. It was just moments ago, but it feels like a lifetime.

“I don’t want to do this.”

“It’s loaded,” I say, ignoring her plea. “What are you taking precautions for?”

Her lashes kiss her cheeks as she closes her eyes, releasing a long breath. “When Garrett raped me, it killed something inside of me. A whole piece of me was just changed—
gone
forever.”

She swallows forcefully and my gut churns. I know. I understand exactly what she means.

Rocky knows about my past. What happened to Olivia and me. How we were attacked. Both of us stabbed. And what I did in the name of revenge. How I murdered one man and persuaded another to take his own life. She knows the worst of me. But I don’t know the details of what happened to her. Selfishly, I don’t
want
to know.

But that feeling she’s referring to—that long-gone piece that made her who she is…
that
I know well.

“I didn’t think I could live through that, but I did,” she continues. “Then that night, when Bates showed up… It was dark.” She shakes her head as if she doesn’t want the memory there. “
I thought he was you
. I walked right into his arms.”

My stomach twists again, a fist violently squeezing my insides. The need to kill Bates flares ferociously. I was able to stop myself that night, for Rocky, but with one sentence, it all comes rushing back.

“When he grabbed me—when I realized who he was and what he was going to do—I knew for a fact I would never survive a second time. If my body could handle it, my mind definitely wouldn’t. Not again. I
need
to protect myself.”

And there it is. Another sucker punch.

It takes me several seconds before I can even find the right words. “That’s what the self-defense classes are for.
That’s what I’m for
.”

Her lips turn up in a sad smile. “You can’t be with me twenty-four hours a day. Bates hasn’t been sentenced yet. And Garrett is still out there, walking around free. I need this. It makes me feel safer. Please understand. I can
never
allow it to happen again.”

Three

Rocky

Link is distant. He’s present, but he’s not really here with me. His mind is whirling. I can see it in the blank expression he wears. In the detached look in his eyes.

The gun bothers him more than I could have ever expected. Because I never once anticipated him minding at all. If anything, I’d think he’d feel better that I have it. I can’t say I really understand it either. He’s the first one to preach planning and self-defense—understandably with his past.

That’s all I’m doing. Protecting myself. Preparing for the unknown.

My big brother, Joe, is a marine. He’s trained well when it comes to weapons and firearm safety. He gave me the whole spiel. Keep it in the house, in the same place, close to my bed. Safety always on. Never pull it out unless I’m ready to use it. He taught me about the kickback. How to load and unload. Even how to clean it. Really, the only thing I haven’t done is fire it. Yet. He set up time at the range later this week for a lesson. Something he wants to do weekly. Brother/sister bonding time—Cutrone style. He’ll be training me in the same way Link trains my body for combat.

It’s just one more step in being ready for…
anything
. One more way to keep us safe. This is what Link does. What he lives for. His coldness makes no sense to me. I want to question him. Ask him to explain, but his demeanor keeps me from bringing it back up. And to be honest, as important as his opinion is to me, I need this. I need him to be supportive. If he can’t do that, then I don’t think I want to hear his thoughts on the subject.

I roll onto my side and stare at the TV. I’m not sure what Link is pretending to watch. I haven’t paid attention to it either.

“How long have you had it?” he asks, breaking his silence and proving I was right. His thoughts have firmly been focused on the handgun.

“For about a week,” I murmur.

His fingers move over the last traces of bruising lining my arm. “They’re almost gone.” His voice is low and rough as he continues to caress the tokens Bates left behind.

“I’m sorry,” Link croaks.

I turn, quickly moving onto my back so I can see his face. It’s unreadable. Emotionless. The only clue he feels anything is the pulse throbbing in his neck. I know if I reach out and touch his chest, I’ll feel his heart thumping unsteadily.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you from Bates. I’m sorry he hurt you. I’m sorry—” His voice gives out and the desire to cry crushes me. Link is strong. His body is a rock. But inside, he is just as damaged as I am. Without making the conscious decision, I slide over him, coiling myself around his torso. I hold his head to my chest, hugging him.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” I tell him. “You got there. You
saved
me.”

He shakes his head against me, his arms folding around my back. “I wasn’t there in time to keep him from hurting you. I shouldn’t have left you. You could have… He could have…” He stumbles over his words, but I understand. I could have died. Bates could have killed me. Or worse.

“But I didn’t—he didn’t. Because of you.”

He lifts his head, his eyes glazed when they meet mine. “I should have killed him.”

And then I comprehend exactly why the gun bothers him so much. It’s not the gun itself. It’s that I need it. It’s a long, irrational list of reasons in his head why it all falls back on him. As if he isn’t enough. As if I don’t trust him to defend me.

I lock my hands on each side of his face, making sure I have his full attention. I grip him so hard, I’m sure it hurts, but he doesn’t object. “I wasn’t strong enough to fight him off. I tried. But he dropped me with one well-placed blow.  If it hadn’t been for you showing up when you did, that cowboy prick would have killed me. You. Saved. Me.
You
. But it is physically impossible for you to be with me twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. There are going to be times when I’m alone. When I
want
to be alone. And for those moments, I need the gun. I have no intentions of using it. It’s just nice to know it’s there when you can’t be.”

He opens his mouth to reply, and I can tell he’s going to argue with me—deny what I just said—so I shut him up the best way I know how. I place my mouth over his and show him how much I appreciate him, how much I trust him, and how much I care about him with a kiss.