The Salvation of Vengeance (Wanted Men #2) (18 page)

“You said you used to do this for Caleb?” Anything to focus on other than the woman next to him.

“Mmm.” She cleared the blood away and went to work with the needle.

After the first couple of white-hot pricks—the thread sliding through his flesh felt as if a lumberjack’s wide-tooth saw were passing over his skin—he said through a tight jaw, “Talk to me while you work, Red.”

He looked down and saw her bite the inside of her cheek, as if holding back a smile at his needing the distraction. But she got chatty.

“I’d hear a tap on my bedroom window in the middle of the night and know Caleb had gotten hurt. I remember being so relieved he’d made it home at all that I wouldn’t even care about being woken up. The least I could do was take care of him, right? Anyway, I’d slide the pane up, silently, because he kept it well lubricated for just such occasions, and he’d drag himself inside. A few times he even brought a couple of his boys with him so they wouldn’t have to answer any questions at the hospital.”

Vincente’s muscles, which had slowly begun to relax while concentrating on her voice, tensed up again. Just what he needed—to know her fuckwad brother used to bring his buddies into her bedroom in the middle of the night. Had her creamy, warm thighs been flush like this with some other asshole’s hip? Had her long, graceful fingers touched parts of their bodies as she sewed them up like she was doing to him?

Caleb was a fuckin’ idiot. Should have let him take that bullet tonight. Nika deserved better than all of them. “How old were you?” he ground out.

“First time I noticed his own handiwork, I almost died laughing,” she chuckled, and Vincente couldn’t help hoping the boys wouldn’t die of laughter tomorrow when they saw his arm. “So I went online and learned a suture technique. It said to practice on oranges. So I did. I was fourteen. I often wondered if our dad knew what was going on. He never said anything, so maybe he didn’t. But he was so easy on Caleb—they had a great relationship—that I doubt he’d have given him much hell even if he’d known.”

Lucky Caleb. “Your brother was an asshat for dragging you into shit like this when you were just a kid.”

She reached the end of the slash. “I guess. Saved me from having to pay the odd medical bill over the past year, though.”

Her fingers stilled, almost as if she was waiting for a reaction from him. He barely drew breath, but after a few strained heartbeats, he thought,
Fuck it
. He turned his head so he could see her. She was staring at his arm.

“Red?”

Her gorgeous emerald gaze shifted up to nail him in the gut. He nearly drooled right in front of her when he saw the smile that transformed her features from beautiful to downright ravishing.

“Thought you were gonna freak out for a second there. Impressive control,” she praised him with a pat to his ribs. And . . . did she just caress him? She looked down at his arm and her smile turned private, but Vincente couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
Privacy shmivacy.

“You’re probably wondering how I can talk about it like it’s nothing, huh?” she said.

“I’d like to annihilate the entire city when I think about what he did to you.”

He snapped his teeth together. Fan Boy clapped his hands with excited approval. The sliver of moral fiber stood there with his arms crossed, snapping,
Way to go, asshole. Really, nothing says “keep your distance” like telling her you’d destroy millions of innocent people in your efforts to find that fucker so you can avenge her.

Problem was, Vincente would do it.

He would have said that to any woman in your situation
, Nika told herself as she got up, snagged a dry cloth from the pile, and went over to the sink to wet it—even though the bowl next to Vincente’s elbow was full of warm, clean water.

Whatever.

Taking a deep breath that thankfully didn’t smell like leather and sandalwood, she straightened her spine and marched back over. Plunking down she wiped gently over his new stitches and said, “If you annihilate the entire city, then we’d be robbed of the pleasure of seeing Kevin take his last vile breath. So hold off on going Hiroshima, ’kay?”

Cruel as it sounded, she meant every word. She
needed
to see Kevin die. Or at least see him dead if she couldn’t actually witness the event. And how much of a monster did that make her? But how else would she know she was truly free of him? She still thought he was gone, but what if Caleb was right and he wasn’t? And going to the authorities and having him spend a short vacation in jail just wouldn’t cut it. He’d be out doing the same thing to another girl in no time. Sentences for domestic violence were paltry, which was infuriating.

“Don’t let Maks hear you talk like that. Bloodthirsty turns him on. He’d be down on one knee in seconds.”

For the life of her, Nika couldn’t make out the odd note in Vincente’s voice. So, because she was uptight, she babbled about why she was trying to be so easily accepting of all of this.

“My father and brother raised me to not give up when things get rough,” she explained. “If I’d rolled over and played zombie because of what Kevin was doing to me, I’d have been—would be—an utter disappointment to Dad and Caleb. Couldn’t do that to them. Or myself. Don’t get me wrong,” she added as she pushed the chair back again and stood, tearing open a package of gauze. She breathed a sigh of relief that she could once again get away from the heat coming off him; the insides of her thighs felt as though they’d been sunburned. “There were days when I wanted to throw in the towel, just swallow a handful of pills and be done with it. Clearly I didn’t. Mainly because I wouldn’t let him win. But also because I would never do that to my brother. He already lost our mom and dad. I didn’t want to add myself to that list.” After ripping off two pieces of white tape, she was just about to cover the wound when Vincente’s strong fingers encircled her forearm.

“Hang on.”

She paused and made the mistake of looking at him, something she’d been trying hard not to do. She hadn’t seen him in a week. Had really only seen him for a few minutes, during her departure from Eva’s, in the past two weeks, but the time apart had done nothing to diminish the pull she felt toward him. He drew her in with no effort on his part at all. Had since the moment she’d first met him. Even now, she wanted nothing more than to run her fingers through all that thick hair. She wanted to press her tingling lips to his. Wanted to know if his goatee would scratch or tickle. Her thighs were quivering, for God’s sake, for the first time ever. She didn’t know they could do that, but hers had been from the second he’d walked into the bedroom—or they had started after she’d gotten over the urge to shoot him. So badly did she want to study and then trace all the beautiful artwork inked over his torso, chest, and arms.

She loved tattoos on a man. Naturally, this one would be covered in them.

Not that that explained her undeniable attraction to him—she’d grown up around tattooed men her whole life, so seeing an inked body wasn’t anything new. Yet . . . here she was. Coveting this one.

After everything she’d been through with Kevin, she thought this feeling, the
need
, would be dead. Beaten out of her. Instead, Vincente made her feel alive.

Like a normal woman, with normal desires. It was refreshing. And foreign.

She wasn’t even sure how to do this . . . this . . . whole
desire
thing; it had been so long.

Vincente broke through her thoughts. “Your inner strength is incredible, Nika.”

A soft buzz traveled through her.
Holy crap.
He’d used her name. It was usually
Red
or
babe
, both of which she had to admit she liked, but he’d never used
Nika
before.

Knowing her surprise must appear idiotic, she smiled tremulously. “Uh, thanks to my dad and Caleb. They taught me well. You might want to take a look at it in the bathroom before I bandage it,” she added, putting the gauze down on the table. But he just stood there, and because she was so off balance, she just kept yammering in an effort to fill the silence.

“Uh, Eva and I were talking before I fell asleep about what I would do now that I’ll be staying in New York. Gabriel—your friend is awesome, by the way—said he’d have no qualms about placing me at TarMor. In the finance department or something. I have a degree in accounting from Seattle Pacific and used to work at a large firm in Seattle. Until I quit after Christmas because I was missing too much work and wanted to leave before I got fired. At least I can use them as a reference now.”

She should stop talking, but she couldn’t. Not when Vincente’s nearly black eyes were watching her mouth so intently.

“I used to take care of reconciliations and monthly financial analysis for different departments, help prepare year-end audit files . . .”

She trailed off. She wanted him.

And she wanted him to want her, too.

That freaked her out as much as it excited her. Would it be terrible to repeat the kiss they’d shared in Seattle?

Yes. Terrible for her. Because she wouldn’t be able to pass it off as just one of those things. She was afraid it would mean something, and she didn’t want that.

Besides, what if she kissed Vincente and didn’t want to stop at just a kiss?
Could
she do more? Even with him? After what Kevin had done to her, would she respond?

Of course she would respond. She had already, and he hadn’t even touched her. Her body responded to his very presence in an instinctively sexual way.

But then what? They’d have sex, he’d assume she was his, slap on the chains, take her choices away, get in the way of her new goals—which were now two: concentrate on her career and casual encounters only, if ever she felt the need.

She was feeling the need. But wasn’t her life already complicated enough? And getting involved with someone from her best friend’s husband’s inner circle could blow up in her face. Even if it was only casual.

A realization that should have brought her thoughts about Vincente to a screeching halt. But didn’t.

Did he have a temper? Was he a throw-shit-around-the-room kind of guy when he was upset? And if he was, did that ever spill over into violence aimed at those around him?

She doubted it, but what did she know?

Nothing.

Nothing, except that she wanted to climb him like a tree and devour his mouth. She wanted to touch him, be touched by him.

To feel
alive
again, the way she had back in Seattle when he’d kissed her.

Blinking in order to focus, she licked her dry lips and watched the way his gaze followed the movement. “Uh, you better go look now,” she said hoarsely as she stepped back.

His grip on her wrist hindered her from getting far. How could he not feel her pulse thundering under his fingers?

“Believe me when I tell you this, Red.” His low voice had her body liquefying, moisture gathering between her legs that she could actually feel. And he was back to calling her
Red
again. “Your strength of character comes from your heart. Your family may have given it a boost, but that spirit inside you? That’s all you.”

Nika forced her burning tear ducts to remain dry. How could he have known she needed to hear that? “Thank you, Vincente.”

“After going through what you did, I think we’d all understand if you fell apart for a while. But you haven’t. Two weeks in and you’re already attempting to move on, start a life. I admire you for that, more than you know. But if you feel yourself falling, one of us will be there for you. Just know that.” He made a funny sound. “I had a sister who died when I was twenty—she was sixteen. I wish I’d had your gumption during that time. I crumbled. Drank to dull the pain. Her nightmare lasted almost a year, too. Prostitute ring. They got her hooked on meth.” His jaw worked and he shook his head, as though to dislodge his memories. “I let what happen to her eat at me for years. Still do. And I wasn’t even the one who’d gone through anything. I was just the one left behind.”

She had to swallow several times before she could talk. “Sometimes that’s worse,” she offered, her heart aching with compassion for what he must have suffered. And still did. “I mean, the victim is at peace, whereas you’re left with the what-ifs and the regrets, the thoughts of what you could have done differently. Those are hard to live with. I’m so sorry you’ve had to, Vincente.”

He looked at her for a long moment, seeming surprised that she understood. Even victims lived with those unanswerable questions. She knew that firsthand.

“In my case, I
have
to win this,” she explained. “That doesn’t mean I’m not affected by what happened.” A derisive laugh slipped out. “Maybe it will hit me later, like it did after my dad died.” She shrugged and looked everywhere but at him. “Today, I nearly dove under the bananas when some guy’s cart hit mine in the market. He smiled and apologized and then took his child’s hand and off they went. Normal, everyday thing, right? No. Because as he walked away, I was convinced he’d done it on purpose, wondered if he was a good father, if he ever lost his temper and hurt his little guy, his wife. That’s something I’m left with—suspicion and trust issues, among other things. But who am I to complain? At least I’m here. Right?”