Author: Cheryl McIntyre

He stands up, putting significant space between us. “Why? Why me?”

“I don’t know,” I say honestly.

“You can’t do that again. I don’t…” He scrapes his fingers over his head. “I got the scars on my back when my girlfriend was…assaulted.”

The way he says the word “assaulted” leads me to believe she was “assaulted” in the same way I was.

“She was everything to me. I haven’t kissed anyone since her.”

“You kissed me,” I say, mimicking his words, the question apparent.

“You’re the first,” he states without missing a beat.

“Why me?”

He shrugs his broad shoulders, smiling sadly. “I don’t know. Don’t care to analyze it.”

“We’re pathetic.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I agree.”

I swivel myself back and forth in the chair, unsure what to say next. I’m confused by this entire conversation. Link runs hot and cold, changing on the drop of a dime. It’s dizzying, frustrating, and fascinating all at the same time.

He perches on the edge of the desk and places his hand on the arm of the chair, stilling my movement. My eyes skim over his hand, up his arm, his neck, and come to rest on his face.

His gaze locks on mine, his façade slipping. His expression is suddenly vulnerable, open. “What’s his name? The guy that hurt you?”

It’s not like I haven’t said his name dozens of times. It was a vital part of counseling. Acceptance. But for some reason, I struggle to say it to Link. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I swallow loudly. My gaze falls away. I stare at the desk until I finally close my eyes, blocking everything from sight.

“Garrett Marshall,” I whisper.

“Do you want to kill Garrett Marshall?” Link asks. My eyes blink open.

“I already told you I think about it all the time.”

The air between us thickens. Link leans toward me again, this time without hostility. “No, Rocky. I don’t want to know if you think about it. I want to know if you want it. Really, truly want him dead.”

There’s so much passion in his words. Excitement in his eyes. It should bother me. Scare me. But I can’t look away, enthralled with his blatant hunger, as I consider his question.

Do I really want Garrett to die?

The day he took everything away from me—the day he violated me in my school, in a place I felt safe—flashes through my mind’s eye. I feel his hands on me. I smell his cologne. I hear his panting breaths as he raped me.

And I know.

“Yes,” I breathe. “I want him dead.”

Eleven

Link

“I can help you,” I say. It sounds far away, as if someone else is speaking. My voice is animated and I know how wrong this is. To feel so alive when I talk of ending a man’s life. It’s sick.

I’m sick.

Rocky stares at me, and for the first time, I see something in her eyes. A burst of hope. It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful, and it’s overwhelming that we share this twisted need. I find myself wanting to tip my head and taste her lips again. To open her mouth with the pressure of my lips, and drag my tongue against hers. My cock twitches with the thought. I squelch the desire and wait for her response.

“What do you mean? How can you help me?” She bites down on her lip, making it that much harder to keep my distance. I haven’t craved a woman’s mouth like this since Olivia.

This is wrong.

It’s so wrong.

I clear my throat roughly and sit back. “I can help you kill him.”

Her dark eyes flick around the room. I don’t know what she’s looking for. The right answer? A way out? Her hands tighten into small fists. Her foot taps the tiled floor nervously. Finally her gaze lands on me, blazing with an emotion I can’t read.

“Why would you do that?” she asks. It’s a legitimate question, but not the one I thought she’d ask.

“Because he shouldn’t be allowed to live to do it again.” It’s the simple truth. Monsters like that should never be left to prey on another victim.

She stands sharply, the chair slamming into the wall with her sudden movement. “This is crazy. You’re insane. We’re not talking about this. We’re not discussing murdering a man. No matter how much I think he deserves to die. It’s not our right.” She tries to move past me. I reach out, placing my hand on her arm. She flinches, her eyes widening.

I drop my hand immediately. “Sorry,” I say gruffly. “I know what it’s like. To pretend to live when you feel dead inside. When the person responsible walks free. I understand the yearning to feel safe. And I know the only way to wholly gain control is to take it. If you ever decide…just know my offer stands.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me not to tell anyone?” she utters.

I shake my head. “No. I’m not going to tell you to do anything.”

“I don’t understand you.”

I shrug indifferently. I sure as hell don’t understand me. I don’t see how she ever could. “You don’t need to.”

“Yes I do.”

I close my eyes. Three tiny words affect me more than should be possible. “You shouldn’t,” I murmur.

I feel her come closer, though she isn’t touching me. It’s just a sense. I swear I can feel the heat of her body. The smell of her shampoo hits me and I open my eyes. She’s close enough to kiss. All I’d have to do is lower my chin.

“I want to, Link. I want to understand you. I want to know you.”

My heart races, pounding in my chest. I want this girl so badly, but we both have our limits. She can’t fuck me. I can’t kiss her. And opening myself up like she wants? I’m completely incapable.

“I can’t.”

She pushes my legs apart, making room to accommodate her as she steps in between, but her body doesn’t touch mine in any other way. We’re practically nose-to-nose. I can feel every one of her exhales dance across my lips. I lick at them, desperate for just a hint of her flavor.

“What can you do?” she inquires softly.

There’s no easy response. It’s a completely loaded question. And most importantly, I don’t know the answer. If this was a week ago, I would have told her there was absolutely nothing I could offer. But I want to give her more than that. I want to make her feel safe. I want to protect her in all the ways I failed to protect Olivia.

I close the distance between us. My cheek presses against hers, my arms pull her toward me, and I envelope her in a hug. Her body goes rigid, her arms stiff at her sides. She doesn’t push me away. She doesn’t step back. She doesn’t ask me to stop.

And then, very slowly, Rocky slides her hands around my waist, returning the gesture.

I feel like I can’t breathe, though my lungs expand and relax easily. Her small body trembles against mine. She turns her head, nuzzling into the crook of my neck. Her arms tighten. I squeeze her in response. My eyes burn.

The kiss felt like betrayal. Like I was being disloyal to Livie.

But this—this hug—hurts worse. This feeling of unification—of oneness—it’s almost too much to bear. It’s treachery.

Olivia was my counterpart since I was fifteen years old. She was the other half of me.

Rocky is my parallel. A reflection of what I am now. My mirror image of pain.

I haven’t ached this badly or felt this good in a long while.

I can’t.

I can’t.

I pull away. My hands long to cling to her. Which is exactly the reason I let go.

The door opens and I tip my head to the side expecting Augie. I mentally prepare myself for the shit he’ll give me over Rocky. But it’s Joe, standing dumbfounded in the doorway.

Rocky drops her hands, backing away from my open legs. Joe watches her, his brows raised, confusion clearly written across his face. “Am I interrupting?” he looks from his sister to me, and then back again.

“No,” I answer. I slide off the desk, grab the folder I originally came in for, and move past his focused scrutiny. “Thanks for this, Rocky,” I add, holding up the file as I duck out the door.

Twelve

Rocky

I was able to sidestep an interrogation from Joe for the rest of the workday. I snuck out early while he was busy flirting with one of the regular girls who comes into the gym for the sole purpose of ogling the boxers and trainers. Not that I blame her—it’s the best part of this job.

As the girl twirled her hair, and Joe gawked openly at her ample chest, on display in her low-cut tank top, I grabbed my purse and used the back exit.

Though I’m a grown adult, and have been one for several years, my brother treats me like a fragile child. I’m sure he has fifty different questions and concerns about Link and me. I don’t owe him any explanations. And I couldn’t explain it even if I wanted to.

I stop in the shitty little bar across the street, but I only plan on staying long enough to buy a six-pack of piss-warm beer to take home. I hand the bartender my money, rejecting the change, and start for the door. A familiar smile catches my attention, causing me to pause next to the last stool.

The cowboy from last week peers at me over the rim of his mug. He licks the beer foam from his lips slowly. “Well, if it ain’t my sweet-tasting cowgirl,” he drawls, his voice full of amusement.

I nod at him once. “Cowboy.” Damn, he looks good. I recall exactly how that five o’clock shadow felt rubbing against my thighs.

His gaze rakes over me appreciatively. “You lookin’ to take another ride, sweetheart?” He grins and my panties dampen at the sight. “I’m always game.”

The memory of his tongue getting me off has me squeezing my thighs together. God, he was good. Really fucking good.

Link is better.

But Link’s not here.

I hesitate, my hormones warring against my commonsense. Cowboy sets his mug on the bar. He slips off the stool and lowers his head so his mouth brushes my ear. “Step into my office with me,” he breathes. I follow his hand as he gestures toward the bathrooms.

It’s tempting.

I look sideways at him. He winks, that wicked grin spreading wider across his face. I had such a good time fucking that smile.

So tempting.

His hand slides onto the dip of my back, just above my ass, and nudges me forward. I plant my feet and shake my head. “Sorry, Cowboy, but I don’t feel like saving any horses tonight.” I step away, tucking my six-pack under my arm. “Rain check?”

He doesn’t reply, but the smile slips away as he watches me. I ignore him and keep walking. As soon as the cool night air hits my skin, a nervous prickle skates down my spine. I quicken my pace, heading across the street instead of up the road toward my apartment.

I hear footsteps approaching quickly and I glance over my shoulder. Cowboy is just a few feet behind me and everything inside of me screams: RUN, as my fight or flight reflex naturally kicks in.

I do something I usually don’t bother to do.

I listen to my body’s reaction.

I drop the beer and break into a run, sprinting toward the gym as fast as I can. I hear the scrape of his boots against the gravel as he pursues me, giving chase.

Adrenaline pumps through my veins making my limbs feel heavy. Anything I may have learned from the one self-defense class is lost in my panic. All I can think about is getting to those doors. To my brother. To safety.

Joe’s car is still parked in the lot. There are two other cars I don’t recognize, but I hope one belongs to Augie.

Cowboy is gaining on me, his footfalls are moving quicker, coming closer. I inhale deeply and scream Joe’s name. I have no idea if he’ll be able to hear me, but I know I’m not going to make it to the doors. I have to try to do something.