The Bad Boy's Dance (23 page)

              I had never been so grateful to see a white box before. Asher was still lying prone when I returned. Where did I start? There were so many cuts and gashes! If only Mom was here, she’d fix this without breaking a sweat.

              Hesitantly, I moved my fingers in his hair, tracing his scalp for any head wounds. Nothing, thank God.

              His hair was really soft though.

              This next part would be more difficult. “Asher?” I spoke, patting his cheek lightly. His eyelids flickered. “Can you sit up?”

              When he didn’t respond, I sat back on my heels. Okay, I can be mature about this. I was eighteen years old, for heaven’s sake, and Asher was nineteen. We were adults.

              Pushing my inner ten year old aside, I gripped the sides of Asher’s shirt. It was short-sleeved and black. How he hadn’t frozen to death was beyond me. I wiggled the shirt up a few inches, and fell to the floor on a choked yell when a pale hand flashed forward to grasp mine.

              “You scared me!” I said accusingly. Asher looked fully awake now, and that familiar smirk was plastered on his face.

              “If you wanted to undress me, you only had to ask.”

              He’s injured. It would not be a good idea to throw a boot at him.

              “Shut up and lift your arms, imbecile,” I griped, standing so I was between his legs as he sat up and raised his arms.

              Lifting the shirt, I ignored the pricks of electricity every time my fingers brushed Asher’s flesh. Stupid hormones.

              When I got an eyeful of Asher’s chest, I nearly gave the carpet another hug in my rush to open the first aid kit. Three long scars ran adjacent to each other on his stomach, and blood had clotted over the skin.

              My first action was to wet a towel and wipe away the blood so I could see the wounds clearly. Asher inhaled sharply when I went to wipe the slashes, the only indication of his pain. “What did you do to yourself?” I muttered, more to myself than to him.

              It took me ten minutes to bandage the slashes-which looked suspiciously like knife wounds- to my satisfaction. “Does it hurt anywhere else?” I checked.

              A roguish grin made his cobalt eyes twinkle. “Will you tend to my every ache, Nurse Ivy?”

              Oh gross! “No, you pervert! This isn’t your own sick fantasy. Where does it flipping hurt?”

              He frowned petulantly at me, like a mulish child. Obviously the pain killer I’d given him had worked, if he could be this annoying.

              “I’ll live,” he brushed it off.

              “Tell me or I’m taking you to the hospital,” I threatened.

              “You think you can drive in this weather? Should we revisit that discussion about your less than adequate driving skills?”

              Was he still- he jumped in front of my car! It was a testament of my fantastic driving skills that he didn’t end up a pile of body parts.

              “Fine, I’ll call 911,” I snapped.

              The alarm spreading across his expression quickly nullified the idea. “No! No cops, no hospital. I can’t be seen in public right now.”

              His worry slammed my own curiosity into place once more. Unable to help myself, I sat beside him on the couch, far enough that I wouldn’t jostle his injuries or cause more if he kept up being irritating.

              “Who did this to you?” I asked quietly. Asher’s hands tightened around the cushions, and it didn’t appear as if he would answer. Did this stop me, the Ivy freight train or curiosity?

              “Was it Trevor?” I wondered. The creepy bald gangster pointed a gun at me the last time we met.

              Asher gave a short laugh. “As if Trevor Garibaldi had the balls to do anything besides making empty threats. No, this was someone else.”

              Wait a minute…I remembered something Asher’s mother said to him before I fell into the kitchen.

              “
Trevor is the tamest of the lot. If Derevko decides he wants his money, we’re in for a world of trouble.”

              “Derevko.” I said with certainty. Asher’s eyes flashed down to mine, wide with surprise and suspicion.

              “How did you know?” he demanded.

              “You mentioned him at the lake, remember? So did your mom.”

              He relaxed slightly, but he was troubled. “Right. I forgot how you bullied a confession out of me.”

              I snorted. Yeah, as if it was possible to bully anything out of him.

              But…wasn’t that exactly what Derevko was doing?

              “What happened, Asher?” I repeated, sitting cross-legged to face him. The windows shook with a particularly strong gust of wind, and I bit my lip. I needed to remember to secure everything in case this snow storm got worse.

              He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply. My fingers tingled, and I restrained myself from running my hands through those soft locks of dark hair.

              Then, so fast I didn’t realize he had moved, Asher cupped my cheeks with his hands, deep-sea blue eyes boring into mine. My heart rate ratcheted up to, say, a gazillion, and my mouth went dry. My arms hung like noodles at my sides, even though my head was telling me to push him away. Unfortunately, what with the wounds and whatnot, pushing him wouldn’t be a great idea.

              And he wasn’t even wearing a shirt.

              “Listen to me. You can’t tell
anyone
what you know, or what I tell you. It’s a matter of life or death,” he said urgently.

              It took me a few seconds to clamp down my bursting heart rate and choke out a reply. “B-but if it’s that bad, why would you tell me?”

              One of the fingers around my cheek strayed to my forehead, where he tucked an escaped curl behind my ear. “Because, for some damn reason I can’t figure out, I trust you. And I don’t trust very many people, angel.”

              He was only a breath away from me. Our noses were nearly touching, and he was closing the distance…

             
SLAM! BANG!

              We leapt away from each other. At least, I leapt. Asher mostly jumped as far as his injuries would allow, then groaned. The kitchen window was wide open, and snow was drifting inside to coat the kitchen floor.

              Mentally kicking myself, I hurried to latch it shut and do the same to every window. It gave me a few minutes to mull over what had just happened.

             
Have you lost your mind?

             
This was Asher we were talking about here. The same guy who went through girls like tissue paper. He was a ‘hit it and quit it’ type of guy, and I had no intention of being another mark on his bedpost. Not to mention spending time around him meant you were in danger of getting shot, maimed, or lost in the woods.

              And why did none of that matter to me?

              Ugh! I needed to reschedule a therapy appointment, because obviously I was screwed in the head in a whole different way.

              I returned to the living room, gathering a bunch of things to say to dispel the awkwardness, but apparently it wasn’t needed. Asher had retrieved our family albums and was laughing hysterically at something.

              Uh-oh.

              “Asher!” I shouted, stomping over to him. His injuries and the shadow of pain creasing his forehead prevented me from diving at his throat. He glanced up at me, mirth dancing in his eyes, and I had to catch my breath. Sitting there, cobalt blue eyes twinkling, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead, and his shirtless state revealing the intricate design of his tribal tattoo, I realized how completely, devastatingly gorgeous Asher Grayson really was. Despite his many flaws, he never gave up. He always found a reason to smile. He still hadn’t explained to me what caused Derevko to beat him like this, or how he’d managed to do it. But that conversation could wait until tomorrow.

              And right then, I was so glad Mrs. Knut had partnered us that I could’ve hugged the crazy woman.

              “You gonna stare at me all night or you going to explain why you’re dancing naked in the rain?” Asher inquired, pointing at a baby photo of me. I was in my birthday suit, only three years old, and I was frolicking in the icy drops of rain.

              “Argh!” Mortified, I flipped the page over, slumping into the seat beside him. He wouldn’t let me.

              “Explain, and I’ll flip the page,” he offered with a sly grin.

              “You suck,” I groaned. “Fine! I was only three years old, first of all. I’ve always loved dancing, and dancing in the rain was my favorite thing to do. There was just something so…I don’t know,
refreshing
about letting the rain cleanse you. I never had a shortage of colds, unfortunately.”

              Asher studied me thoughtfully for a minute. Reaching past him, I flipped the page over and instantly regretted it.

              Asher laughed for six straight minutes. Yes, I counted. He gestured to the picture of a ten year old me hitting my Barbie dolls with a banana.

              “You’re going to have a lot of explaining to do tonight, angel.”

             
Jared’s POV

“Are you ready to go, Mr. Kale?” Arthur asked.

              I stared at my lawyer blankly and forced a smile. “Of course. I’ve
been
ready.”

              Arthur packed my few bags into the car while my parents stood to the side. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to return to your old apartment?” Mother drawled. Father checked his watch and eyeballed me. He wasn’t comfortable being seen outside the famous ‘Rehabilitation Center’, the fancy way of saying ‘Mental Hospital’.

              “Let me put your worries at ease, Mother,” I said coldly. Something in my eyes made her glance down. Was that fear on her face? “I’m of sound mental health. And I’m twenty years old. I don’t need you hovering over my shoulder.”

              “Don’t you speak to your Mother that way,” Father interjected roughly, but his voice lacked its usual bite. I smirked at the pathetic man, turning away from him with disdain.

              “Do you have everything you need, Mr. Kale?” Arthur queried.

              I thought of
her.
I hadn’t thought of anything but
her
in the year I’d been in that hellhole, where she had put me. I was angry. So very angry. I’d found myself waking from sleep, my thoughts filled with how I’d punish her when I found her. She knew I loved her. I would never stop loving her.

              It would hurt me just as much as her when I punished her. But she had to pay for her stunt at court. I’d teach her a lesson so she would never dare do it again, and then I’d embrace her with open arms. She was eighteen now; she was
mine.

              Ivy Robello was
mine,
and I was taking her back.

              “Almost, Arthur,” I replied, climbing into the car.

              “But very soon, I will.”

    Chapter Twenty-One

Of Course You Can Eat Us Out Of House and Home

I was jolted awake when a truck landed atop me.

              “Argh,” I garbled, flailing beneath the weight. Being the reincarnated Mother Teresa I was, I’d allowed Asher to sleep on the couch while I slummed on the floor, since he couldn’t make it up to my room and I didn’t want to leave him alone.

              And he’d just rolled off the couch and onto me.

              “Get off me, you oaf!” I wiggled until his eyes fluttered open. Cobalt eyes assessed the situation before landing on me. A smirk spread across the jerk’s face immediately.

              “Good morning, angel,” Asher said coolly.

              “Move!”

              “But I’m actually comfortable,” he replied smugly, but he shifted some of his weight so I didn’t feel like I was going to become an Ivy pancake on the floor. “Actually, I lied. I’m in intense pain,” he grunted. “But this is worth it.”

              “You are the most irritating creature on this planet,” I growled. Bucking underneath him, I didn’t realize what a bad idea this was until Asher’s eyes darkened.

             
Ermagerd, no wonder that look gets girls to throw themselves into his bed.

             
My action did achieve the desired effect, because Asher rolled off of me, instantly wincing and placing a hand on his stab wounds. Ignoring my burning cheeks-
I’d bucked underneath him, what was wrong with me?-
I sat cross-legged in front of him. “You know, you never told me why or how Derevko gave you those,” I gestured toward his stomach.