Don’t you dare feel for that man. That’s sick. It’s wrong. Look what he did to Joel.

But he’d said he had a goddamn reputation to keep. And that meant what exactly? That it was all for show?

Plus he said Joel was all kinds of fucked up. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise?

Now I was just grasping for an excuse.

I’d tried calling Joel, but I had no luck getting through. It was only on my way home after abandoning my half full plate of food (because I was admittedly hungry as hell and couldn’t help myself) that I got a text from him asking me to stop calling him. When asked if he was alright, he never responded. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but at his curt behaviour I was almost angry enough to demand for a “thank you” at the least for what I did. I knew his injuries would have been so much worse if I hadn’t stopped Borden from giving him another punch, and that was a weird thought to be had. I stopped Borden. Me. How?

He said I was different. What made me different exactly? My stomach twisted in shame when I felt the spike of pleasure run down my spine. Truth was I liked being told I was different, and I hated myself for that too.

Cocky.

Arrogant.

Violent.

Angry.

These were the qualities of Borden I had to focus on. Not the way he treated me with… gentleness. Or the way he looked at me… lustfully. Or the fact that he had listened to me, which told me he was indeed penetrable during his rage fits.

Plus he demanded I work for him. Nobody bloody told me what to do, dammit!

I stepped into the shower stall and made sure the water was scolding hot. I roughly washed my body raw, trying to erase the night off of me – and more importantly, the sick fascination I was developing for Borden. Which was stupid. Washing my outer body was not going to change the way I felt inside.

When my face tingled at the reminder of what he did, I angrily scrubbed my mouth again in a vain effort to rid the feel of his touch on my lips.

Fourteen

Borden

Sitting at his desk, Borden flipped through the latest file Hawke had supplied him that morning.

Full name: Emma Lynne Warne
Age: Twenty three
Education: Diploma in book keeping.
Went to South Central High School. Honour roll student, albeit long history of truancy.
Family: No siblings. Grandmother gained custody after –

Borden’s eyes widened.

Mother: Marianne Warne, death by suicide in the women’s penitentiary ten years ago.
Father: Gunned down by Marianne Warne sixteen years ago.

Well, shit, not at all your typical New Raven sob story. Yet the girl didn’t seem damaged in the slightest. She’s a tough cookie. Borden thought.

He flipped through more pages, content when he discovered her list of boyfriends was embarrassingly short: three known partners, no long term relationship, last relationship ended over a year ago and lasted four months.

No criminal history.

No sexually transmitted diseases.

On birth control since eight years ago. Had the occasional prescription for sleeping pills. Long history of anxiety.

And best of all, no dramas with anybody in her life.

Well, Emma was squeaky clean. Not a single footprint on a map. A fucking brilliant empty slate. Borden liked that.

A knock sounded out, and then the door to his office opened without his permission, which meant it was Hawke, the only man Borden trusted with his life. He looked up as Hawke took a seat in front of him.

“He’ll be gone by tomorrow,” he informed him.

Borden nodded. “Good. Was he difficult?”

“Not when I informed him of the consequences.”

“Good.”

Now that the doctor was out of the picture, he didn’t have to worry about a fourth boyfriend, although he knew the likelihood of that would have been very low anyway. Truth was, that guy was just plain old fucked up. Really seedy scary bastard. His interests were of a very disturbing variety and removing him from the picture of any New Raven woman was a good deed done by Borden.

“We have to discuss some things,” Hawke then said, capturing his attention. “The bikers aren’t going away anytime soon. Hector wants to see you as soon as possible.”

Borden sighed and tossed the file back on his table. He leaned back in his chair, images of Emma swarming his mind while he tried to focus on the issue at hand.

What the fuck was it about her exactly? Her defiance? Her curt behaviour that overshadowed her fear? He couldn’t place it exactly, but she was overwhelming every spare minute of his time.

“Borden,” Hawke pressed, impatiently.

“We’ll tell them no, like last time,” Borden muttered on a shrug.

Hawke frowned. “What if that doesn’t work?”

“Then shit will get ugly.”

“We have law breathing down our necks, Borden. If shit gets ugly, they’ll get the wrong idea, and then we’re fucked for something we haven’t even done. Now I’ve been thinking about it, and I really believe that if we promise them the port sometime down the road, when the heat eventually cools, then they may back off –”

“They’re not using my port to smuggle in their drugs. As a former drug addict, I don’t deal with drugs.”

“But you’re not technically dealing with the drugs, Borden. They are.”

“Regardless, the second you let them in once, they’re going to come around non-fucking-stop, demanding more shipments into my port, and that’s when we’ll truly get fucked over, because it’s only a matter of time before the police get on to it. You need to think about the future instead of the now, Hawke.”

“I am thinking about the future,” Hawke retorted angrily. “It’s you that’s been distracted lately!”

“I’m not,” Borden denied.

“You are, and I’m not trying to be a cock block here, but a piece of pussy at a time like this is the last thing we fucking need right now. Now I won’t try and tell you what to do, but I’ll give you some advice. Get yourself an escort, fuck her brains out, and rid your mind of that waitress. Rid yourself of her before she’s taken over your brain.”

Borden levelled Hawke with a grim stare, and it was then Hawke realized the truth.

It was too fucking late.

Hawke shook his head and stood up. “Fine, Borden, but watch yourself. Alright? Watch yourself, and be very careful of who you’re dragging into our circle. The last thing we need is a shit-storm. And think of that, will you? If you’re in danger, so is whoever is close to you. These bikers are going to get aggressive if you don’t even give them the time of day to hear them out, and former addict or not, you’re a businessman. Leave your personal shit at the door.”