Take Me Deeper (19 page)

“I know that. But…are you sure they'll want to make a deal?”

“Well, they're certainly not going to waste an opportunity to grab you while they can. In fact, if they think I actually have gone rogue, they'll probably be expecting to only have to deal with me. Unfortunately for them, that won't be the case.”

“You can't be certain about that.”

“I am certain about that. What I'm not certain about is your point.” He frowned. “Are you nervous? Because you don't need to be. We'll have more firepower than they will, I guarantee it.”

She tried to swallow down the uncertainty that had nothing to do with the cartel and everything to do with the man standing in front of her. “Yes…No. I don't know.”

Zane lifted his hands and cupped her face in his palms, as if he was trying to soothe away her fear with his touch. “You trust me, don't you?”

“Yes.” And it was the truth. She did. “But that's not the real problem.”

His frown deepened, his gaze searching her face. “And what's the real problem?”

She stared right back. “You don't trust me.”

“What?” A fleeting shock crossed his face before it was quickly masked. “Don't be ridiculous.” He let go of her abruptly, stepping back. “Of course I trust you. Not that it—” He broke off.

“Not that it what?” The hurt she'd felt earlier twisted a little tighter because she knew exactly what he'd been going to say. “Not that it matters? Is that what you meant?”

His frown became a scowl. “Do we really have to have this conversation? I seem to recall something about you owing me a favor…”

Oh, so it was okay for him to press her to tell him everything, but not for her to do the same thing? No.
Hell
no. “You're right. I do owe you a favor.” This time it was her turn to close the distance, taking a step toward him, swaying her hips deliberately, watching as his gaze followed the movement of her body. “And I'd be glad to pay up.” She stopped right in front of him. “On one condition.”

His eyes lifted to hers. “Favors aren't conditional.”

“Mine are.”

“On what?” There was an arrogance in the question, as if he'd never had anyone deny him anything before.

Well, there was a first time for everything.

She lifted her hands from her pockets and folded her arms, lifting her chin. “That you trust me.”

Zane's scowl became ferocious. Which was pretty much as she'd expected. “Why the hell should I do that?”

“Because if you want me, that's the only way you're going to have me. I showed you mine, Zane Redmond, and now it's time for you to show me yours.”

“There's nothing for me to show you.”

“Oh really? So why won't you tell me who Charlie is?”

Zane stared at the small, slender woman standing in front him, her chin lifted in that stubborn way she had, her arms crossed over her chest.

Jesus Christ, he didn't owe her anything, so why the hell should he answer her questions?

Maybe because she answered yours, asshole.

Yeah, but that hadn't been voluntary, had it? She hadn't offered them up to him because she'd wanted to. He'd had to make her. Because he couldn't protect her if she didn't trust him.

And besides, turnabout didn't work in this instance, because she wasn't protecting him. He didn't actually need to trust her for anything.

Okay, now you're just being an avoidant tool and making this into far more of a big deal than it needs to be.

His jaw tightened. Maybe he was making too much out of the failures in his past. He'd moved on from them after all. He was a soldier, he protected people and he did a good job of it. He had nothing to be ashamed of.

Anyway, if she wanted a game of secrets for sex, he'd play. His self-control was unmatched, he was a competitive bastard, and he liked to win. She'd get nothing out of him he didn't want to give.

“Charlie was a girlfriend of mine back when I was a teenager,” he said flatly. “And she died.”

A crease appeared between her brows, an expression he didn't much like flickering in her eyes. “How? I mean…what happened?”

“Her brother and her father were skips, and we were trying to pick them up. They had guns and they resisted arrest. Charlie got caught in the crossfire and she died.” The most basic of facts. Not the whole story.

“Oh,” Iris said, sounding shocked. “I'm sorry.”

“That's how I met her,” he went on, because now that he'd started, he had to tell her the rest. “Dad had to pick her brother up and it was my first time coming on a job. I…comforted her while Dad and Quinn picked the guy up and we started seeing each other after that. She was my first real girlfriend…” He stopped again, because although it had been years, he still remembered the feelings of being in love. And how much it hurt when that love died, quite literally. “Anyway, she called me that morning to ask how to treat a gunshot wound and I asked her why. She wouldn't tell me, but I guessed anyway, that her father and brother had skipped bail and were hiding out at home.” Funny how he couldn't stop the thread of anger from bleeding through. As if he wasn't over this after all. “Charlie begged me not to tell Dad that they were there, but I did. I was afraid for her. Both her father and her brother were assholes and didn't give a damn about her.”

Iris was silent, watching him. Waiting.

“I wanted to protect her. Dad was fucking drunk as usual, so I made him take me along with Rush and Quinn. I tried to get her to come out of the house, but her father wouldn't let her. He and her damn brother had holed up inside and were using her as a hostage.”

“God. Zane…” Iris took a step toward him, then stopped. There was sympathy in her eyes now, a terrible sympathy he didn't want to see. But he looked anyway, because he wasn't a goddamned coward.

“We tried to negotiate, but like I said, my dad was full of bourbon and wanted to go in, guns blazing. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't listen.” He shook his head, the memories as clear as if it had only just happened, as if nearly fourteen years hadn't passed. “He got Rush to be a distraction out front while he and Quinn went in from the back.” Zane lifted a shoulder. “There was a firefight. Charlie got shot.” Curious how a few words could reduce something so major. How a catastrophic mistake that had led to the death of a woman he'd cared about could be reduced to a couple of bloodless sentences that, when said aloud, didn't mean much of anything at all.

Jesus. If only he'd known it would be that simple, he'd have started telling this story years ago.

Iris had put her hands into the back pockets of her jeans again as if she didn't know what to do with them, but that look in her eyes was so sharp. “Your dad went in drunk? Why?”

A scar he thought long healed tugged suddenly, painfully. He ignored it. “Because he was always fucking drunk. My mother died when I was young and he basically fell into a bottle of bourbon and never pulled himself out of it.” Bitterness stained the words, a bitterness he couldn't quite prevent.

And maybe she heard it too, because her dark gaze roamed over him in a way he found uncomfortable. “I'm sorry. That sounds very hard.”

An unexpected anger swept through him, an anger he'd thought he'd handled years ago. “Yeah, of course it was fucking hard. I had to stand and watch my entire family fall apart because that selfish old prick was too busy drinking his grief away to realize that we needed him. Then I had to watch the woman I loved die because after I went through and emptied all his fucking bottles, he beat me to a pulp, then went down to the liquor store and—” He stopped suddenly, realizing his fingers were curled into fists and that his voice had gotten louder and more emphatic, rage thickening it.

Christ, what was wrong with him? Where had all this rage come from? He'd put this bullshit behind him years ago, hadn't he? The day he'd joined the army, swearing he was done with his father. Done with his goddamned family.

The only loyalty he wanted was to his country. To his unit. Because his country didn't drink and beat him half to death when he tried to help. And his unit wasn't full of empty promises. His buddies were always there. He could always count on them.

Unlike the Redmonds. Family forever. What a fucking joke.

“You emptied his bottles?” Iris asked quietly. “And then he beat you?”

He didn't want to talk about it anymore, he really didn't. “No. I told you what happened. That's all you're going to get.”

But she didn't look away, didn't flinch from the fury in his voice. “I get it, Zane. You were trying to save Charlie
and
him but he didn't want to be saved. So is that why you're trying to save me now? Why you're trying to protect me?”

“What is this? Amateur psychology hour?” He didn't bother to keep the sarcasm from his voice. “I told you why I'm protecting you. Neither Charlie or my father have got anything to do with it.”

Her chin came up at that, something flashing in her eyes. “Oh, bullshit they don't. If they've got nothing to do with this, then why are you so goddamn angry?”

He wanted to deny it, wanted to tell her she was wrong. That once he'd been furious but he'd put it behind him the day he'd walked out of the Lone Star hotel and gone straight to the local army office to enlist.

But she wasn't wrong. And he hadn't put it behind him.

It was still there, still burning and, like a fire in a coal seam, it was never going to go out. Because his old man was gone and so was Charlie, any chance he had to put this shit to rest had gone with them.

He stared at the woman in front of him, his anger suddenly finding a target. “Why should it matter to you why I'm doing this? Why the fuck do you care?”

Emotion flashed again in her eyes and this time he knew what it was: anger. “Remember how I told you that no one did anything for me? That no one had ever cared enough? Well, I thought that maybe this once, I was wrong. That someone did. I thought that maybe
you
did.” Color had risen in her cheeks. “I thought you might be doing this for me because you cared. But you don't, do you? I'm just a stand-in. I'm just your second chance to prove yourself. Because you couldn't save your dad and you couldn't save Charlie, but shit, that's okay, because at least you can save the dumb-ass trailer-park girl.”

There was a stunning silence, her words echoing around the room like bullets bouncing off bulletproof walls.

She's right. You know she's right.

He didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to tell her that yes, of course she was right. That his stupid damn-white-knight complex was still going strong, still trying to make up for what he hadn't done in the past. Still trying to hold on to all the people he hadn't managed to save. His mother. His father. His brothers. Charlie…

And then he saw it. Behind the anger in Iris's dark eyes was pain. And along with it, a dull kind of acceptance. As if he was just another in a long line of people who'd hurt her, betrayed her.

He suddenly couldn't stand the thought of it. “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “You're right. Initially that's exactly why I wanted to save you. You were vulnerable, just like Charlie was, and it was like I couldn't stop myself.” He took a step toward her. “But that's not the reason now. Or at least, it's not the
only
reason now.”

She hadn't moved, standing not far away, her hands behind her back, her eyes meeting his, a complicated emotion he couldn't read glittering in them. “Oh really? So what other reason could there be? Or are you going to spin me another line about how much you actually care?”

He couldn't blame her for the sarcasm. She'd been badly hurt and he'd only added to it. But unlike all the rest of those bastards who'd caused her pain, he actually
did
care. And he didn't want to keep hurting her, not any more than she already had been.

“Iris,” he said, keeping his voice quiet and his gaze on hers. “If I didn't care, I wouldn't have been in your bed last night. And I wouldn't be here right now, telling you stuff I never thought, not in a million years, I'd ever tell anyone.”

The color in her cheeks heightened and she glanced away from him abruptly, her mouth tight. Then she took a little breath. “I'm sorry about your dad and about Charlie. I really am. And I know I sound selfish and not very sympathetic, but I…don't know how to do sympathy very well. I shouldn't have made you say all those things, not when they're painful. I shouldn't have asked. I don't know why I did…” She halted, her gaze sliding to the floor at her feet. “I was just…hoping that you would trust me. And that you wanted to protect me for me. Because you liked me.”

The confession was so awkward and honest that for a second he could only stare at her. She stood there gazing at the floor, her black hair spilling all over her shoulders, all glossy and slippery, and somehow, even last night, handcuffed to the bed with tears on her cheeks, she hadn't looked as vulnerable as she did now.

All his anger fell away. He knew he shouldn't go to her, that giving in to this urge to comfort her was a giant mistake, because caring about anything always led to hurt. But it was too late. He cared. Somehow, in the space of the last two days, she'd begun to matter to him.

Zane moved, closing the distance between them, sliding one arm around Iris's waist while he tipped her chin back with the other. She was blushing furiously, but her midnight eyes met his without flinching, half defiant, half full of hope.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I've never told anyone what I just told you about Dad. About Charlie. Not even my brothers.”

The pale, fragile skin of her throat moved as she swallowed. “I-it's okay. You don't have to say—”