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“No,” he growled, and I released my tank top and flexed my hands, but he didn’t let go.
For a moment, we stared at one another. I didn’t challenge him. The fight had been taken out of me, but I still wanted him to hold me. To kiss me. I wanted him to give in to what I knew he wanted. Wasn’t I what he wanted?
His phone dinged, and Cook released my hands and turned his back. Apparently, he didn’t want me.
Chapter 13
Cook
Several days passed in myold house with only the two of us awkwardly circling around one another, me fighting the draw toward Maddie every waking moment. Maddie cleaned and organized until the inside of the house sparkled. I found relief—or maybe reprieve—in outdoor chores: scrubbing the grill, replacing boards on the porch railing, and trimming back weeds that’d overgrown the drive.
Anything to keep my hands busy and my dick in my pants.
Maddie and I revolved around each other like magnets—at times drawing near and at others pushing away. At least she’d stopped trying so hard to get me to have sex with her. The sad look in her eyes when she backed off, though, fucking broke me.
I couldn’t hold her penchant for sex against her; it was all she had known for the latter half of her childhood. She wasn’t really attracted to me—no way she could be pining over someone a decade her senior.
ButDaddy.
No!I told myself every time the thought entered my sick brain. Sex was her only way to cope. It’s what she thought would make me happy. There wasn’t any fucking way I would use her like Signora Gambino’s clients.
The decrepit house was starting to look like a home though, and that did unexpected things to me. I didn’t know whether the new andinviting space warmed me or chilled me. It definitely tore me down and started putting the pieces together in a different order.
Maddie took a quick liking to monochrome photography. Her black and white photos were already tacked onto the walls. After developing a roll and she found one that met her standards, she found a perfect home for it.
Today, I cooked sausage, bacon, and eggs on the grill, and we were cleaning up after breakfast when my phone chirped.
Celt: In town, asshole. What’s doin’?
Scratching my beard, I considered how to reply. Except for church, I hadn’t talked to Celt since taking Maddie away from the recovery house. I wasn’t keen on giving him the blow-by-blow, and Maddie would surely be his prime question.
Instead of answering directly, I typed, “Roni?” and hit send.
Celt: Yup, she’s here too. Church later today. You there?
Cook: Sure thing.
I glanced over at Maddie, who was drying the plates and putting them away. My phone pinged again.
Celt: I’m at the cop shop if you wanna shoot shit.
Cook: I’ll stop by. We can ride over to Bou’s shop for the big pow wow.
Celt: Good deal. See ya soon.
An hour later, I kicked the stand down on my motorcycle outside Mel’s Market, the only store in town. I raked my gaze over the only crossroads in Park Ridge. Store, gas station, diner, a trailer park behind the diner and the neighborhood of built houses trailing toward the hills behind Mel’s. The school stood on the north end and to the south, the recovery house—the monstrosity Rex had been building before Celt capped him in Vegas.
Walking into Mel’s Market, I met the owner at the door, clapping his hand and bringing him into a hug.
Mel whispered, “They’re in the back.”
I clapped him on the back and headed down the canned goods aisle, through the hallway with the single-cell jail, and into the Park Ridge police office. The room was a good size, but stark and industrial—little more than a warehouse with a concrete floor and open ceiling.
Celt had converted one end of it into a tiny gym. A rubber floor, Smith machine, set of free weights, and a treadmill. At the other end, where Celt’s old metal desk had been for ages, there were now two. Plus a few eclectic and uncomfortable chairs.
The place wasn’t fit for SVU or NCIS, but it’s where Ridge law ran... kinda.
Celt, being the law.
