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“Too bad. I’m not leaving you like this, and that’s not up for fucking discussion. You think I’m bad? Look at where you are.” All trace of the remorse he’d felt was gone as he basically demanded I let him clean up his mess.
Unfortunately, he was right.
As ruthless as Rowdy was, there were far worse creatures skulking around Hooker’s Cove.
Fancy Mack, the gold-tooth, silk-wearing pimp who loved pastels and lorded over the treacherous territory, was the worst of them all. A couple of his girls had even tried to recruit me up until a few days ago, and now they avoided me at all costs, but I wasn’t stupid enough to think that made me safe.
Hiding my sniffle, I nodded once before turning and granting him access to my hands bound tight against my spine. I stiffened at the cold press of metal against my skin, but with a flick of his hand, it was gone, and so was the rope. I rubbed at my sore wrists before silently turning to face him.
Rowdy tossed the rope and the knife in his trunk before handing me my purse, which still lay inside, and meeting my gaze. “I’m not good at this, Atlas. I can count on one hand how many times in my life I’ve apologized, but I can’t let you walk away without knowing that I would never hurt you.”
I visibly softened at his words and allowed him only a glimpse of my uncertainty before lowering my gaze to the ground. “You really mean it?” My voice was unguarded now. Hopeful. An open invitation.
It only took the span of a single breath before I saw his work boots—black Tims with blue laces—appear within my line of sight. His hands settled on my waist, drawing me in until there was no space left between our bodies. I could feel his heart beating wildly beneath my palms. It was the only thing that gave him away. That and, “Yes, pretty baby. I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
Somehow, I believed him, even after all the reasons he’d given me tonight not to.
“Good.” I smiled softly at him, and his green eyes practically glowed with pleasure at the sight as my hands shifted from his strong pecs to his shoulders. “I really mean this too.”
Rowdy was somewhat of a freak—a sexy, mouthwatering freak—but a freak nonetheless. His height was basically a physical anomaly, so it really took some power and determination to bring my knee up high enough to connect with his balls. My efforts were rewarded with a painedwhooshfrom Rowdy as he let me go and bent over slightly.
I was a little disappointed. I thought it would be like in the movies, and he’d fall to his knees, screaming in pain or maybe even pass out. In reality, it was all so anticlimactic.
Or maybe Rowdy truly did have the heart of a lion.
“Aaah!” My irritation quickly morphed into panic when Rowdy limped forward and tried to grab me. I retreated, but he only kept coming, albeit slowly. He was obviously in pain yet determined to get to me anyway. I could run, but I still wouldn’t be quick enough.
And this time, itwouldend like the movies.
I’d run for safety just to be delayed by a locked door, and then I’d fumble to find my keys before the killer reached me, only to die on my doorstep anyway.
No.
That wouldn’t be me.
Reaching inside my purse, I pulled out the welcome gift I’d gotten tonight from the Kings during the party and aimed it right between Rowdy’s vengeful eyes.
His gaze slowly drifted to my weapon before dismissing it altogether and staring me down. “Come here, Atlas.”
“No.” I really shouldn’t have been surprised that my show of force did nothing to deter him since he’d hadmultipleguns pointed at him only hours ago, and it hadn’t fazed him.
“Atlas, bring your ass here!” he roared. He was standing up straight now, the pained dip in his brow now coupled with fury.
“Fuck you!” I shouted back.
Losing his patience, Rowdy grabbed for me, and I panicked, pressing down on the trigger with a squeal.
“Fuck!”
This time, he did go down, his hands instantly flying to his eyes to assuage the sting of the high-grade pepper spray. I waited for the sense of satisfaction to come at finally having bruised him as he’d bruised me.
I waited, but it was notably absent.
Rowdy released another pained groan, and guilt guided me forward to help him, but then I stopped, suddenly hearing a voice I never thought I’d hear again. As if the blood-pumping root of me could read my thoughts, it pulsed in answer to the question in my head.
“My father wasn’t a religious man, but there was a scripture he’d heard once that stuck with him.Above all else, guard your heart,” I recited to Rowdy’s bent head. I could have sworn he stiffened as if he knew what I’d say next. “For everything you do flows from it.”
I’d heard my dad say it to my mom all the time. The interpretation varied for each person, but for my dad, it was a reminder that every decision he made, everything he did, affected her. My mom was the center of his world, and he never did anything without putting her feelings and well-being first. I guess it stuck with me, too, but in a different way.
