Page 51 of Hooked on Trouble

“I took my mother’s brooch,” she says quietly. “It was the day before I turned nine, and I snuck into her room and took it.”

The day before she turned nine. The day before Rose left. It’s the story she wasn’t ready to share. Until now. I kiss the top of her head. It’s warm under the blanket, the two of us wrapped up together, but she shivers.

She keeps tracing my hand. “It was really beautiful. A dragonfly brooch with red eyes and delicate wings, and I’d always wanted to wear it. We didn’t have parties or celebrations growing up, but I’d found a neat top at the Salvation Army. This black leather thing, that in hindsight was hideous, but I’d been mowing lawns and had some cash, so I bought it. Wanted to wear it to school for my birthday. Thought my mother’s brooch would look sick. I didn’t know my father planned to pawn it that day.”

“Shit.” I picture the dragonfly tattoo on her ribs, its wings burning. Her world burning.

Her answering laugh holds no humor. “Yeah. He assumed Rose took it. Demanded she return it. Started that conversation with a backhand across her face. I was there for the whole thing. Watched him hit her harder and harder. Smash her head into the wall. Her mouth was full of blood. Her shoulder was hanging all wrong. She kept telling him she didn’t have the fucking brooch. Screaming. Crying. He kept calling her a liar, beating her. I kept my mouth shut and pissed myself. Just lost my bladder. Rose left the next day.” She doesn’t break down. Doesn’t get mad. Her shoulders shudder slightly, the only indication she’s upset. Always trying hard to be strong.

But Goddamn. I can’t listen to stories about a young Raven so terrified she wet herself and not want to destroy the man who shattered her world. Fucking fathers. People need a license to fish. A permit to drive a car or breed dogs or sell houses. But any asshole can be a father.

I twist her around until her legs are straddling my waist and I have her locked tight. “You were nine. It’s not your fault. She can’t blame you.”

Biting her lip, she places her palms on my chest. They rise and fall with my breaths. “It’s completely my fault. If I’d confessed, he wouldn’t have beaten her so badly. She wouldn’t have left. I let her take the fall, and I’ll never forget the look on her face. Like she was dead. Defeated. I’d never seen my sister anything but defiant, and he broke her. Broke us.”

A tear finally slips out, and I brush it away with my thumb. “He would have hurt you instead. How would that have been better?” When she doesn’t answer, I lower my voice. “Did he abuse you, growing up? Hit you?”

Or worse? My pulse revs, the edges of my vision turning as black as the night sky.

She digs her knees into my ribs. “He’d lash out occasionally. There were some bad days. A bloody lip or two. Nothing I couldn’t handle. Nothing like that day with Rose. I think what he did actually freaked him out. He never touched me after that. Barely looked at me.”

Lack of affection is abuse, too. “I’m sorry, Raven.”

“Me, too.” But her whispered words aren’t meant for me. They’re meant for Rose.

This search for her sister holds more water than I’d realized. If Raven doesn’t find her, if forgiveness doesn’t come or Rose is in a bad way, Raven will blame herself. I understand the guilt that comes with failing those you love. It could end badly for her. For us, if she can’t move on.

“Whatever happens with Rose, please take your time with her. It’s been years. She might not be the girl you remember.”

She doesn’t reply. She leans forward and rubs her cheek against mine. Soft against rough. Delicate against hard. Her lips follow next, coasting over my jaw and neck and up again. She wants contact. She wants to forget. I’d like to forget, too. Pretend my brother can go to school, and I don’t have to worry about Nikki at a bar. That I never said yes to Alessi, even for a minute. Live in a world where good things happen to good people, and the bad get their just desserts.

Just plain forget.

Twenty minutes later, we’re in her apartment, grunting in short, sharp bursts. We don’t make it past her hallway, barely manage to close the front door. I pin her to the wall while she fumbles with my belt buckle, and I somehow dragged her thong down over her fuck-me boots. We wind up on the laminate floor—her skirt at her waist, her knee-high boots scratching my hips as I pump into her. My girl, my future, meeting my steady thrusts.

She releases a long, low moan. “How can you feel this good?”

Her pussy clamps down on me, sending points of light behind my eyes. “Fucking heaven.” I bury myself balls deep and pause. Wait. Feel her contracting around me, writhing under me, getting a little angry with my pace.

Love that gleam in her charcoal eyes.

“You better move, Nico.” She tries to roll her hips, but I’m too deep, pressing too close. I mimic her movements, but don’t pull out. Just roll into her and grind my pelvis where she needs me, leaning down to suck her nipple between my teeth. Still not sliding in and out. Driving her crazy. Driving myself insane. Wanting it to last forever.

Fuck. It’s just too damn good, and I want her to feel nothing but me.

No sadness. No pain.

Just me.

When I finally ease my hips back then sink into her, we both curse. Our lips collide in a frenzied kiss. Messy. Desperate. I’m careful not to unleash all my angst from the past months. She’s too raw emotionally. I’m too worked up. I keep my movements contained, just on the edge of savage. We lock eyes, and she lets me into her depths, no secrets between us. I see her fear, though. For what’s to come with her sister, her uncertainty in opening her heart. It hurts a bit, the worry shining up at me. Makes me hold her tighter. I cup the back of her head and press wet kisses over her heart, hoping I can shield it from the world.

My orgasm builds from my feet, barreling up my thighs, and we come together as the rush and heat of my release threatens to knock me out.

This woman has flattened me.

She’s also stolen my heart. I’m in love with Raven Hunt. As sure of it as the day is long. If the guys could read my mind, they’d be on my ass, telling me this is what I do. That I use those three words too freely. I may have, in the past. Always looking to fit in, to belong, to be loved, I may have jumped too soon, only to land awkwardly. But I’ve never been so attuned to a woman. Never felt so completely myself.

I’ll hold back the words this time. Enjoy the feel of them on my tongue and knocking around in my chest. I won’t say them until this uncertainty melts from Raven’s dark eyes. Until this gut rot from my conversation with Alessi lessens and things with Josh aren’t weighing as heavily on me. This time, I’ll wait, and hope the unknowns in our futures don’t derail us before we get there.