The Bad Boy Next Door (11 page)

“Then come on up and fuck me,” he finished. “If you can.”

Officer Dewey grew motionless behind me. His grip on my wrist turned to a cruel pincer.

“You shouldn’t have spoken to the cops about me, Lucas,” Dewey admonished.

A twitching pressure nudged my butt, and I realized he was getting an erection. Oh God. At the sight of Lucas, he was getting an erection. This was…this was…

“But thank God for me you chose Kitchner,” he finished.

Lucas’s cold stare didn’t sway from Dewey’s face. “Kitchner is dead.”

The grip on my wrist squeezed tighter. The gun tip pressed harder to my head. I could feel tension leech off Dewey like poisoned sludge. “Bullshit.”

That slow smile stretched Lucas’s lips again. Once again, it didn’t make it to his eyes. “Do you want to see the pics on my cell?”

“When?” Dewey snarled

Lucas laughed. A chill rippled over me at how icy and humorless it was. “Shouldn’t the question you ask be how am I alive? Given you and Kitchner arranged for me to be taken care of two nights ago?”

Dewey grew still. “You killed him then? Along with the Trinity fuckers?”

Lucas arched a non-committal eyebrow.

“Bullshit,” Dewey repeated. “I got a text from him the morning
after
you were grabbed off the street.”

“Ahh, the text that said I was almost dead, drugged and promising I would do anything—
anything
—if he, his fellow corrupt cops and those Trinity fuckers stopped hurting me? You mean
that
text?”

“You fucking prick,” Dewey snarled.

“The text that you responded to with, tell Pratt I’m coming over to fill his ass with my cock until he’s a dead fucking corpse, right?”

Dewey yanked on my wrist. My stomach lurched with pain and sickened disgust. “I’m going to kill—”

“I particularly liked the follow-up text,” Lucas cut him off, reaching into the back pocket of his jeans to withdraw a smartphone and held it up for Dewey to see. From where I stood on the stairs, I could see the familiar text bubbles of a text conversation but couldn’t read the words in them.

Lucas helped out by reading them aloud.

“Make sure he’s still tied up when I get there. Preferably naked and ass up ready for me.” He grinned down at Dewey. If the Devil had been there right at that point in time, he would have envied that grin. “Obviously I
wasn’t
still tied up.”

“You killed Kitchner?”

Lucas returned what I assumed was Kitchner’s cell to his back pocket. “No. Loco did.”

I had no idea who Loco was, but by the way Dewey hissed in a breath behind me,
he
did. By the way he yanked my wrist up higher between my shoulder blades and drove the gun harder to my temple, he wasn’t happy with the news either.

I tried not to react to the fresh pain ripping through my shoulder and head, but a choked whimper escaped me before I could bite it back.

Lucas flicked a glance at me. It was the first time he’d acknowledged I was there since his unexpected arrival. What I saw in his eyes when they met mine made the pit of my stomach clench and my pulse quicken—icy-cold murderous rage.

“You see,” he said, his focus returning to Dewey, “while you and Kitchner banked on the Trinity wanting me dead after you revealed I was your C.I., they also wanted
you
and Kitchner dead more. Plus the Trinity members who’d betrayed them. The one thing the Trinity value more than loyalty is their privacy, and when
you
invaded that, it made you
a dead fucking corpse
.”

Dewey dug his fingers into my wrist. The gun did the same to my temple. “So Trinity is going to kill me now?”

Lucas laughed. “Oh, no, I’m going to kill you.”

Dewey gripped my wrist tighter. I’d completely lost all feeling in my hand by now, and my shoulder was a ball of fire. “For exposing you?”

A calmness fell over Lucas. “For hurting Ronnie. I’m going to break every bone in your body with my bare hands for that.”

“I’ve got a better idea.” Dewey released my wrist, encircled my body with his arm and crushed my back to his chest, squeezing my boob as he did so. “How about I fuck her face and you watch me, before you bend over and I fuck you in the ass?”

I’d had enough. This guy was a dick. And he was making Lucas angry. Very angry. I’d never seen him so detached and calm. And scary.

If I didn’t do something soon, who knew how this was going to end? Above all else, I wanted all three of us to be alive when it was done. I didn’t want Officer Dewey standing—hell, I didn’t want him conscious, but I didn’t want him dead. Dead by Lucas’s hands would bring a whole load of shit down on him, and this pathetic cop wasn’t worth that.

“Hey, Dewey,” I said over my shoulder, keeping my stare on Lucas’s face. “You know you actually need a
have
dick to get a blowjob, right?”

His hand on my boob grew cruel. “Why, you little—”

I let my knees crumple beneath me. Gravity did the rest.

With abrupt speed, I slid downward, completely out of Dewey’s arms before he could react to my unexpected move.

Hey, if you’re a woman in your twenties living alone in this country and you
haven’t
attended at least five self-defense classes, you need to get your act together.

The last thing Dewey had expected me to do was suddenly drop to my knees. My instructor—a woman who, according to her brochure, had trained as a Marine before surviving a rape attempt—had spent many a session telling those in my class to use our attacker’s energy against them. When being held, your attacker is going to expect you to fight against them, not turn to a sudden boneless limp noodle.

“Bitch,” Dewey yelp as my shins collided with the stair and the back of my head slid down his gut. His hand—the one that had been pawing my boob—tangled in my hair as I slammed my head backward, hoping against hope I was going to hit his groin.

I heard what Hollywood told me was the distinct click of a gun just above my head, and then Lucas was roaring, “Ronnie, stay down!”

I turned myself to a puddle, just as Lucas charged Dewey.

Slammed into him.

Drove him backward into empty air.

And then they were both crashing down the stairs in an insane tumble of growling, shouting, punching.

“
Lucas
,” I screamed, scrambling up to the top of the stairs even as every molecule in my body wanted me to run down them.

Lucas. I had to help—

They hit the bottom of the stairs in a sickening crunch, Dewey on top of Lucas.

My stomach sank. I screamed Lucas’s name again.

The police officer smashed his fist into Lucas’s jaw. Swung again.

But before his knuckles could hit their target, Lucas snapped his body into some kind of wicked V, locked his calves around Dewey’s neck and then, with so much speed it was dizzying to watch, yanked his legs back to the ground, taking Dewey with them.

The cop’s head collided with the floor a heartbeat before Lucas flipped into this awesome body-bending jump and was on his feet.

And then he was only on
one
foot, as his other swung in a fluid arc and slammed into Dewey’s ribcage.

It was both beautiful and horrific to see, a kick of extreme power and damage and grace. Oh God, was this what Lucas was like when fighting all the time?

Dewey let out a strangled
oof
I heard all the way at the top of the stairs.

Hot relief and hotter elation rushed through me at the pained sound. Lucas swung his other foot before his first even landed on the ground, this time his shin smashing against the side of Dewey’s head. The cop spun into a lurching tumble that finished face first against the floor.

“Ronnie?” Lucas looked up at me from the bottom of the stairs, his chest heaving, his stare locking on mine. “Are you hurt? Did he—”

“Look out!” I screamed as Dewey damn near threw himself at Lucas from the floor.

The kick was a blur of movement. One second, Lucas was gazing up at me, the next he was spinning in a 360-degree turn, his feet completely off the floor.

I heard his booted heel smash into Dewey’s jaw before I saw the cop’s furious movement become a wild fall to the side, his head leading the way.

By the time both of Lucas’s feet were on the floor, Dewey was a motionless lump sprawled facedown on the floor.

“Is he dead?” I called.

Lucas dropped into a limber crouch and pressed his fingers to the cop’s neck. He shook his head and flicked me a quick look. “No.”

“Good,” I burst out. “Don’t let him move.”

I didn’t wait to see Lucas’s reaction to my command. I scurried as fast as I could until I found what I was looking for.

The butcher’s knife.

I paused long enough to pick it up from where Dewey had forced it from my hand and then ran back to the stairs leading to the basement.

My heart stopped when I found no sign of Lucas or Dewey.

What the fuck?

“Lucas?” I yelled, gripping the knife like it was a lifeline.

An image of Dewey straddling a motionless Lucas filled my head, and for a moment I could barely breathe.

“Down here,” Lucas’s shout floated up from below.

“Oh, fuck.” Relief flooded through me like a tsunami as I began to run down the stairs. “Don’t do that to me, Pratt.”

I stumbled to a halt when I reached the bottom. The site of Dewey cable-tied to one of Lucas’s exercise weight machines made me blink.

“He’s not going to touch you again, Ronnie,” Lucas said, looking up from Dewey’s right ankle as he yanked the thick red cable-tie binding it to the machine tight.

I drew in a deep breath. And another as Lucas straightened to his feet and slowly crossed to where I stood frozen.

I was numb. And angry. And hot. And worried.

But above all, I was so glad to see him I had no hope of
not
throwing myself into his arms when he was close enough to do so.

“Lucas fucking Pratt,” I burst out, face pressed to his chest, nails hooking into his shoulder. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

A low vibration rumbled through his chest as a relaxed chuckle bubbled up from him. “Do what? Fight a corrupt cop to keep you safe?”

I shook my head violently without lifting my forehead from his chest. “No. Don’t you ever fucking not be where I expect you to be.”

I burst into tears. I felt stupid and ridiculous even as they were streaming down my cheeks, but I couldn’t stop them.

Lucas shifted in my arms, pressed a strong finger beneath my chin and raised my head until I was looking up at him.

He was a smudgy blur, of course. A tear-soaked blur. “You’re a bastard,” I complained, trying to turn my head away.

He chuckled again. “Because?”

“Because you are,” I grumbled back, frowning when he refused to let me look away.

“Okay, if you say so.” He gently stroked his thumbs over my cheeks, wiping at the fat tears trickling down them. “I’m a bastard. Are you opposed to kissing a bastard?”

I glowered at him, even as my tummy fluttered. “Yes.”

He laughed. I shoved at his chest.

He snagged my wrist with a loose grip as he took a step backward and pulled me to him.

“Too bad,” he murmured, threading his fingers through mine to snake my arm around his back as he cupped my jaw with his other hand. “Told you you weren’t a lesbian.”

I glowered at him again even as I accepted he was correct. He was an exquisite example of the male species, and I wanted him so freaking much. “Shut the fuck up, Pratt.”

He chuckled and took possession of my lips with his.

With a raw groan of surrender and want, I kissed him back. There truly was no other option. I wanted it too much.

His tongue slanted and stroked mine, the hard ridge of his cock pressed to the lower plane of my stomach telling me as clearly as the hungry ferocity of his kiss how much he wanted it as well.

I rolled my hips, aching for more.

He gave it to me, raking the hand on my jaw down the column of my throat, over my collarbone to the swell of my breast. My nipple beaded instantly against his palm, the reaction eliciting a deep moan of appreciation from him.

My head had just begun to swim with pleasure when he pulled away.

I whimpered in protest, chasing his lips with him.

“Ronnie,” he murmured, returning his palm to my jaw. “I could make love to you right now, on this very spot, but I’m not much of a fan of the idea of Dewey coming to and watching us.”

I startled, heat flooding my cheeks. God, how could I have forgotten about the corrupt cop so quickly?

Jerking back a step, I shot Officer Dewey a worried look.

He was still slumped on the weight machine, eyes closed, blood trickling from the wide, deep gash just below his right eye. Was that the spot where Lucas’s boot had struck his face?

“How did he find you?” I asked, rubbing my hands up and down my upper arms.

Lucas’s sigh was ragged.

I frowned, turning back to him.

“You led him here,” he said.

I blinked at his statement. “I what?”

“Come on,” he answered, which was no answer at all. He took my hand and began to ascend the stairs, tugging me along.

I followed, confused and uncertain. I led him here? Like hell I did.

“What do you mean, I led him here?” I asked when we’d reached the top of the stairs.

Lucas didn’t respond. Instead, he walked to the same sofa he’d been lying on when Doctor Winchester had performed minor surgery on him and lowered himself onto it.

I didn’t follow suit. Instead, I stood before him and frowned.

He sighed again, slumping against the backrest to drag a hand through his hair. It dawned on me he’d never looked better. No fresh bloody wounds, no grungy T-shirt. Just a pair of faded blue Levis, a simple black T-shirt, his messy hair and killer eyes.

“When I learned Dewey hadn’t turned up for work at the station a day ago,” he said, holding my gaze, “I suspected why. By then, I was over an hour away.”

“You were heading back there?” I crossed my arms over my chest. For some reason, I was suddenly very angry with him. “Without telling me. Without letting me know what was going on? What were you going to do? Beat up the entire station?”