Never Doubt Me (14 page)

The guy drops to the ground.

He covers the side of his rapidly bruising face and cries out, “Why’d you go and do something like that?”

I pull him up to his feet. I can’t lie, I long to hit him again. Truth be told, it feels good to break a man.

But I refuse to lose myself completely tonight.

So instead of swinging, I take a step back and ask the guy, “You got a place where you can get some money?” I nod at the building he’s slumped up against. “You live here, right?”

“Doesn’t matter, man,” he mutters. “I ain’t got nothing to give you.” The man then starts to sob. “You may as well just finish the job.”

He stands there, waiting for me to strike him again, waiting for me to pummel his ass. His easy acceptance that he has no chance against me makes me feel really fucking bad. I think of Kay and how disappointed she’d be in me. I think of how far I’ve come from the bloodlust I used to carry around in me. And though I’ve faltered and succumbed to doling out some violence tonight, I am nowhere near where I used to be. And I don’t want to back fall into that state of mind. But if I lay this dude out, I
will
fall. Right along with him, though in a different way.

I let him go.

“Just get out of here,” I say, moving farther away so he can get away from me.

He doesn’t hesitate. He runs off.

Meanwhile, I lean my forehead up against the side of the building. “Fuck,” I hiss.

Kyle will be fucking fuming when he finds out I let the junkie go without getting any money from him
and
without a thorough beating. That love tap I gave the guy, he’ll probably forget by morning. He’s high, and I’m sure he’ll remain fucked up throughout the night. Once he finally notices his bruised face, if he even does, he’ll think he fell or something.

Whatever.

My problem now is that the deal with my ex-dealer is off. Kyle will have no reason not to sell to my brother once he finds out. And I can’t be around every second of every day to make sure Will doesn’t go to Kyle’s house or contact him some other way.

“Fuck!” I clench and unclench my fists.

My frustration and anger build and build. This feels like just another way I’m failing Will.

I need to lash out. If I don’t, I will likely do something worse. Like turn to drugs or go find the junkie who I’ve just let go and finish the job.

Absolutely not.

Neither is an option. But slamming my fucking fist against the brick wall in front of me is.

So that is what I do. I hit and hit, even though it hurts like hell. My knuckles crack open and bleed. I feel my skin bruising. But I continue.

Because relief comes when, as the entire time I am hitting the unforgiving bricks, I imagine Kyle Tanner’s smug fucking face on the receiving end.

Chapter Ten

Kay

W
hen Chase returns to the house, his right hand is a bloody mess.

“Oh my God,” I gasp when he steps through the front door. “What happened to your hand?”

“It’s nothing,” he mutters as he tries to move past me.

I step in front of him, blocking the base of the stairs. “Chase,” I implore, “please don’t do this. Don’t shut me out. Where were you tonight? How’d your hand get messed up?”

“Kay…” He sighs, leans back against the wall.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” I whisper.

He shakes his head. When he sees my surprise—we don’t keep secrets—his eyes fill with guilt. Leaning forward, he lowers his head to rest against his injured hand that he’s placed on the banister.

I see him wincing, and say softly, “Will you at least let me take care of your hand?”

He clears his throat and states dismissively, “It’s not broken.”

I step closer to him. “Still, Chase, we need to clean up those cuts and get some ice on it.” I gesture to the kitchen. “There’s still an icepack in the freezer, right?”

The icepack I’m referring to is the same one Chase held to my cheek the night I was attacked at my old apartment.

He nods once quickly, his eyes distant, like he might be recollecting the same thing. And that’s when he agrees to let me help him.

Just like when I was hurt, but with the roles reversed, he says, “We should go up to the bathroom to take care of this.”

“Okay, I’ll grab the ice. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Chase jerks his chin toward the top of the stairs before he starts up. “Where’s Will? Sleeping?”

“Yeah,” I reply, “he stayed up there most of the night, listening to music in his room. It’s been quiet for a while now, though, so I guess he fell asleep.”

“Good. He doesn’t need to see this shit.” Chase holds up his bloody hand, and this time, I’m the one wincing.

“That looks terrible.” I shake my head. “Go on up. I’ll be there in a sec.”

Chase heads up the stairs, and I grab the icepack from the freezer.

A few minutes later, when I step into the bathroom, Chase is seated on the edge of the tub, head in his hands. With one good hand and one bad hand, he reminds me that there are two sides to this man I love. The side he is most of the time—good. And the side he fights—bad.

Sighing, I decide not to press for details on what happened tonight. He’ll tell me when he’s ready—I hope.

I set the icepack next to him, grab a bottle of rubbing alcohol from the medicine chest, and run a washcloth under warm water. When I kneel down in front of the tub, I say, “Chase,” to get his attention.

He raises his head, and I take his right hand in mine.

“Thank you,” he murmurs as I begin to clean out the worst of his cuts with the washcloth.

When the time comes to apply the antiseptic to his wounds, I pause to warn him, “This may hurt.” I hold up the bottle of rubbing alcohol and raise an eyebrow.

Chase sort of nods, like he’s ready, but he turns his head away quickly. His tawny hair is messy as hell, and I long to run my fingers through the strands, to comfort him—and me—in our way. But, instead, I just start dabbing an alcohol-soaked cotton ball to his marred skin.

Chase suddenly becomes impatient with my slow process of dabbing. “Kay…”

He shifts, and I stop what I’m doing to look at him. “What?”

“Here”—Chase grabs the bottle of rubbing alcohol from the edge of the tub—“I’ll take care of this.”

He proceeds to dump half the bottle right on his hand. And then promptly grinds out from between clenched teeth, “Jesus-fucking-shit-fuck, that shit stings like a motherfucker.”

I hand him the icepack. “That’s why I was trying to be careful,” I say under my breath.

He sits the ice next to him, and when I look up, his blues are on me.

“What?” I ask.

He looks away. “Nothing.”

Chase rakes his fingers through his hair, picks up the ice, and then says, “No, there is something. Truth is, I’m worried about Will, babe.”

I already sense that whatever happened tonight, it had something to do with Will. But since I know Chase is not going to give me any specifics right now, I focus instead on a bit of positive news we found out before dinner today—there’s now a restraining order out on Paul.

“Chase, I think your brother will be fine now that Cassie’s mother took out that restraining order.”

Thankfully, Cassie took my advice and told her mom about Paul following her from the restaurant. When Mrs. Sutter heard that story, she took action immediately, hence the restraining order. And, so far, Paul has abided by it.

“I think he’ll leave Cassie alone,” I continue. “He doesn’t want to violate that order and end up in huge trouble.”

“And what happens if he violates the order and the police can’t find him to pick him up?” Chase throws out, cocking an eyebrow my way. “That happens in a lot of these cases, Kay.”

I blow out a breath. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t happen in
this
case. But if it does, I guess we better pray Cassie doesn’t tell Will.”

Our eyes meet, and it doesn’t need to be spoken that we’re both worried about what Chase’s brother might do if Cassie finds herself in any real trouble with Paul. Something extreme, no doubt.

Chase puts his face in his hands. “This is so fucked up.”

“I know.” I wrap my arms around his wide shoulders. “But we’re doing the best we can.”

I place my hands on his and lower them from his face. I kiss his forehead, his cheeks, his beautiful aquiline nose.

“Baby…” He sighs.

He pulls me close to him, and things heat up immediately. We express our love through sex, but sex sometimes becomes our escape from reality as well. With the urgent, needy way Chase is kissing me, there’s little doubt in my mind that tonight will be about escape.

His hands skim and ply my bare legs, then move to my ass, and finally settle on my breasts.

After a few minutes of Chase groping me roughly, I pant, “God, Chase, don’t stop.”

I stand and lift my dress, tug down my panties. My plan is to straddle Chase right on the side of the tub, let him sheath himself in me.

But he halts my progress by grasping one of my hands. “Not here,” he says, squeezing lightly.

“Why not?”

Chase chuckles and releases my hand. His hand moves to the back of my thigh. He skims his fingers along the sensitive skin. My panties are still partway down, and he nudges them down a little farther. He trails his fingers back up my thigh and then cups my ass…firmly. I slump against him, and he pinches one cheek lightly. When he pinches a little harder, I yelp.

“That’s why I don’t want to fuck you here,” he rasps, his fingers moving dangerously close to my core. “I want you to get loud if you want. In fact, I want to
make
you get loud, Kay. And I don’t want to worry about my brother hearing us. Not tonight.”

He slips two fingers into me, not gently, and I gasp.

“Are you going to get rough with me?” He twists his fingers inside of me, and I add, “Rougher than that?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you want me to?”

I nod slowly.

No one knows how to give it rough like Chase Gartner. It’s never too much, but it’s more than enough, enough to definitely remind me of who’s in charge in the bedroom.

Oh, do I love that,
I think as my mouth finds his, our lips bruising as we kiss heatedly. .

“Let’s go over to your apartment,” Chase whispers when we finally slow down enough to take a breath.

It doesn’t take us long to get next door. And in my bedroom, things pick right back up where we left off in Chase’s bathroom. Our kisses remain raw and hungry, and my hands roam and grasp as much as his. But after a few minutes of frenzied and rushed foreplay, Chase slows things down.

“Gentle first, baby girl,” he whispers in my ear, a sexy promise. “Gentle, then rough.”

His breath, warm and silky, seduces, as do his words.

Chase moves his lips to my mouth and kisses me slowly and deeply. Without breaking his sensual kisses, he sits down on the bottom end of my bed and pulls me onto his lap.

After a minute, he leans back slightly, and tells me, “I’m going to make you very wet for me tonight, Kay. Wetter than you’ve ever been before.”

“I think I’m almost there,” I whisper.

“Let me see, then,” he rasps in return.

Chase positions me on his lap until my back is pressed to his chest. We’re both facing forward, in front of us is a full-length mirror that hangs on the back of the closet door.

“Watch me, baby, “Chase says. “Watch everything I do to you.”

His uninjured hand disappears up under the hem of my dress.

My breath catches. I slump against his chest. Seeing what’s he’s doing to me in the reflection of the mirror, while I feel every sensation, makes me squirm in his lap, seeking friction, seeking release.

But Chase stills my body when I move too much. His eyes meet mine in the mirror, burning hot. “Slow,” he commands..

Watching my reaction intently, he starts to peel my panties down my legs. When the tiny swath of fabric falls to the floor, my eyes flutter, threatening to close.

“No, no, sweet girl,” Chase says firmly.

He lifts my dress higher and higher, until my sex is fully exposed.

“No closing your eyes,” he chastises when I throw back my head.

I like this game, so my eyes return to the mirror. And I watch as Chase’s fingers dip into my glistening folds. When a moan escapes me, lazy and low, he bounces his knee once to make sure I’m not closing my eyes.

“Tell me you’re not missing any of this,” he says.

“I’m not missing any of this,” I assure him, my breaths ragged.

And, hell, I am not missing a thing. This might be one of the hottest things Chase has ever done to me.

“Spread your legs for me—wide—so I can see all of you.”

I slide down a few more inches and arch my hips. I spread my legs as far as I can.

“There you go,” Chase says huskily, his breaths as ragged as mine. “Like that.”

All of me is on display, and with anyone else, I’d feel embarrassed. But Chase makes me feel beautiful, sexy.

He groans, emboldening me to lift my hips another inch so he can see even more.

Chase likes what he sees, I assume, since he groans huskily. I know for sure that he likes what he sees when he shifts me in his lap. I feel how incredibly rock-hard he is. The rigid outline of his cock presses into my ass, and I silently curse that he’s still wearing his jeans.

“You like this, don’t you?” Chase asks.

My eyes meet his in the mirror. “I do.”

I make a move to touch myself, but Chase grabs my wrist. Kissing down my neck, he whispers against my skin, “No, not yet.”

With my sex fully on display—and aching to be touched—Chase slowly pops open all the little buttons trailing down the front of my dress. He rests his chin on my shoulder as he works, and I lean my head back against him and watch.

When my dress gapes open, exposing my simple white bra, I quickly say, “Oh, sorry, I should have worn something sexier.”

His fingers brush over the swell of my breasts. “You don’t need shit like that.” He unclasps the front closure of my bra. “I prefer you with nothing on, anyway.”

He tugs at the bra until it falls away and my breasts are exposed. He cups one breast and begins to massage the sensitive flesh, all while his other hand moves down to where I am desperate to be touched.

But he does more than touch. He ravages my pussy with his fingers.

Watching while he slams his fingers in and out of me, hard, I plead, “Oh, God, make me come.”

His pace increases and my body responds almost immediately. I come apart for Chase, again and again.

Unable to speak, I collapse against him. He wraps his arms around me, shifts his body to the side, and lays me down on the bed. Slowly, he slides the material of the dress, which now barely covers me, off completely. Chase then stands and undresses. When he settles his body on top of mine, his cock teasing at my entrance, I expect him to take me. But he doesn’t, not yet.

“Remember why I wanted to come over here?” he asks.

I glance up from beneath him, his body dwarfing mine. His face is dark, his blues intense.

“So I can get loud?” I venture.

“And,” he prompts, “what else?”

“So you can be rough with me”

“You want more of that, baby girl? More than what I gave you just before?”

I nod, and without warning, Chase slams into me, so hard and rough that I cry out. His cock is so much more than his fingers, and it hurts for a second. But then, like always, it feels amazing.

Chase’s fingers thread through my hair, and he tightens his grasp. He tugs hard, harder, while pounding into me fast, faster.

“Is this too much?” he asks when I become breathless.

Is he kidding?
I shake my head.

“Good”—he chuckles—“’cause I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

And he doesn’t stop, not that I want him to. The things he does to me don’t allow me time to think. And I like not thinking, because, when I think, I’m forced to remember that there are now
two
secrets Chase is keeping from me: where he was the other day when I couldn’t get a hold of him and how he ended up with a bloody hand tonight.