Chapter 3
Three
Luna
I would've never thought tonight would end up with me on the back of Brick's motorcycle.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't enjoying it. The intense wind blowing against my face as he speeds through the streets toward where he calls home is enough for me to forget for just a second the mess my sister is in. Why couldn't she have chosen something like riding bikes as her way of getting her rush? Of course, my sister has only been interested in one thing for as long as I can remember: getting high.
A heavy hand brushes over my knee, and when I look up, I see Brick looking over his shoulder at me.
"You good?"
"Yeah, relaxed," I answer honestly.
He smirks and turns forward. I wait for him to try to fill the silence between us, but he doesn't. I like a man who knows when to shut the fuck up.
Now that I'm out of my state of zen, I look around and realize that we're no longer in the city.
"Where the hell are you taking me?" The red flags in my head are waving back and forth furiously.
"I already told you. We're going to my home."
"And where exactly is that? What part of the city?"
"We'll be there soon. Hang tight." He pats my knee, and the bike revs under me. It's exhilarating the faster he goes. When he leans far to the right to make a turn, I can't help but giggle at the thrill of it. We're so close to the ground that if I reach my hand out, I can feel the asphalt.
Grabbing hold of Brick tighter, I feel his muscles bunching and releasing with every move of the bike. It's almost as if he's using his whole body to tame the beast between his legs. It's impressive. Soon we get to an even worse part of town, and I'm no longer thinking about the thrill of riding behind him. Now I'm trying to remember all the true crime documentaries I've seen that ended just like this—a silly girl on the back of a stranger's motorcycle that ends up buried in the backyard somewhere.
I'm not going to be a statistic.
"Where the hell are you taking me?" I ask him again, and this time I punctuate it with a hit to his side.
"I said relax," he shouts over his shoulder.
There's no way I can get off the bike without him stopping. I'm just going to have to deal with whatever he has planned for me when he stops.
I'm tense. By the time he pulls the bike to a stop, my body is nearly shaking with pent-up rage.
He's pulled his bike into what looks like a strip mall. The building in front of us has the shutters down. It doesn't look like someone's house. In fact, it looks like an office of some sort. There are stacks of concrete blocks and wood beams.
Thinking back on the first time I met him, it was inside his warehouse. He was a contractor of some sort. I guess this was what he called his home base.
"You live here?" I ask as I walk behind him in the direction of the large building.
"Is that a problem?" His voice is a deep snarl.
Of course he'd think that I was judging him. To be honest, I am a little. I may not have the best setup, but at least my small apartment kept me warm and away from the elements.
"No, not a problem. I was just curious." I shrug and continue walking behind him warily.
"I've got a first aid kit in here." He pulls out a set of keys and opens the door.
"Are you sure you're supposed to be here at night? I mean, isn't your boss going to be pissed?"
He chuckles and shakes his head before he takes a step inside. I hesitate before I follow him inside.
"So you just automatically assume that I'm breaking in. It never crossed your mind that this place belongs to me?"
I look around the jam-packed office. I don't see any photos of him, but I don't see any photos of anyone else either.
"Is it yours?"
"Bought and paid for." He tilts his head to the side once before he turns and walks further into the back.
This time I'm less scared to follow behind him. If he wanted to do something to me, he would've done it already.
"Come on, sit here." He gestures to a seat. Behind it, against the wall, are what looks like examples of some of his work. I find myself walking over to where there are a few blueprints on the table.
"You did this?" I ask, my voice barely more than a whisper.
"Let me guess, you don’t think someone like me would be able to do something like that?" Brick rolls his eyes and looks away.
Already I can tell that I’m not going to like spending any time with him.
"I don’t know what kind of chip you have on your shoulder, but knock that shit off." I push away from the table and wince when I see the handprint of blood on the wood.
Brick’s mouth opens and closes a few times as he thinks about what I’ve just said.
"It’s not a chip; it’s a fucking crater," he finally replies.
With a chuckle, I move closer to him. "Yeah, I noticed."
That silence that surrounded us on the bike falls over us once again. I can feel the tension thickening.
"Honestly, I don’t think I need to be here. I have to get back out to try and find Wendy." I take a step toward the door, but he stops me.
"You’re not going back out there. Not tonight." His voice grazes over my skin like the serrated edge of a blade.
"Who are you to tell me what I’m going to do?"
"I’m probably the only man walking around at this time of night who isn’t going to try and make you a victim." He sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets. "Look, Luna, I know you want to go find Wendy, but you’re not going to find her tonight, no matter how bad you want to. Let’s get you taken care of, and then you can go about your business."
"The sooner, the better," I mutter and plop down with as much attitude as I can muster into a chair.
Brick walks to the side of the room, and once again my eyes fall on the demo on the other side of the room.
"How long have you been in construction?" I ask as he pulls out a tweezer, ready to start taking out the splinters in the cut on my arm.
"Don’t do that," he grumbles and focuses on my arm.
"Don’t do what?"
"Act like you give a shit about my life."
I pull back, and his eyes pop up to mine. "You don’t know anything about what I care about."
He smirks, and I see the mischievous fire flare to life in his gaze. "Are you saying you care about me? You don’t even know me, Luna."
"I don’t, and I’m almost certain no one does. That doesn’t make you any less. I’ve spent my entire life surrounded by people most would have considered less than. I’ve never been one of those people." It comes out softer than I intended.
Brick stares at me for a second before he huffs out a breath and goes back to taking care of my arm.
I can feel the calluses on his hands. The skin there is rough, but his movements are gentle, almost as if he didn’t want to hurt me.
I’m not sure why it resonates so deeply within me, but just the thought of someone being gentle with me is enough for me to relax. I’ve had to be hard for so long I almost forgot what it was like to be soft.
"Any luck figuring out where Wendy might have gone?"
The question catches me off guard. "You didn’t seem to care too much about her well-being before. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’s not in one of your warehouses."
"Now who’s the one thinking they are less than? Just because I don’t know her doesn’t mean I want anything to happen to her. I know getting life to work out is hard. I wanted her to stay on the straight and narrow even though I had only just met her."
Would he believe me? There was a chance. I hiss in pain as he plucks out a deep splinter, and he blows cool air on the wound to soothe me before he looks up into my face to make sure that I’m ready to move on. When I nod, he goes back to what he was doing.
"She was. I mean, she had finally given up the stuff. She was clean."
Brick doesn’t look back at me; instead, he just stays focused on my arm. "People relapse all the time. It happens. It doesn’t mean that she can’t get clean again."
"No, she didn’t relapse. She’s still clean."
Finally, Brick looks at me again, and I can see the doubt written all over his face. I guess I shouldn’t have thought he’d be any different.
"Whatever, just hurry up so I can leave." I roll my eyes and look away. So much for thinking at least one person would believe me.
"Stop acting like that." He growls at me, keeping hold of my injured hand.
"Stop acting like what?"
Without missing a beat, he answers, "A grade A bitch."
The anger wells up in me so fast, and I don’t have anything to do with it besides let it out.
I raise my other hand and smack him hard across his face. It’s so hard, in fact, my fingertips tingle from the force of it.
His face barely moves to the side. His eyes stay down for a moment, and in that very same moment, I think I’ve gotten him to think better of what he said.
Boy, am I wrong.
He slowly raises his eyes back up to mine, and I see a scary brutality simmering in those dark orbs.
I’m not going to show him my fear.
"Do that again, and you’re going to regret it."
Is that a fucking threat? Does the man know nothing about me? I’m the same person who will jump off a bridge simply because someone told me not to. I will never be commanded to do anything, especially by a man.
It feels like a challenge, and it’s one I have no problem stepping up to.
I pull my free hand back again and slam my palm against his face.
Brick snarls, and before I can react to what is going on, his lips are pressed against mine.
Here I am thinking he could possibly hit me back. Seems like that’s not what he had in mind at all.
He’s possessing me, siphoning every ounce of strength and willpower I have out of my body. His lips are rough, just like the rest of his body, but there’s a bit of gentleness there. It’s an intoxicating contradiction, and I can feel my resolve melting away like ice under the sun.
It takes me more than just a few seconds to figure out what’s going on, but when I do, I fight back.
This isn’t what I’m here for. I don’t care that it’s been more than a few years since anyone has kissed me or that no one has ever made my toes curl the way he is right now.
I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let up, so instead, I pull on one of his lips and bite down hard.
"Fuck!" He curses before he threads his fingers into my hair and yanks hard. The pain is so intense my mouth pops open, and he snakes his tongue inside.
I mean to scream or push him away again, but instead, I moan as I let him take me. The ferocity of the kiss is so intense it takes my breath away, and as he is so expertly proving that I lost this round, I’m nearly swooning in his arms.
This is so wrong. I don’t want anything to do with him or his kind. I’ve spent my entire life trying to stay away from people like him, but as he kisses me, all I can think about is how good it feels. Finally, to have someone else take control.
The heat of his body against mine ignites a fire deep within me, a longing I didn’t know I had. It’s as if every kiss is a challenge, a dance of dominance and submission that leaves me dizzy and craving more.
I’m stuck in a whirlwind that is Brick when he suddenly pulls away, leaving me unsteady and breathless. I want more. Like a decadent piece of chocolate, there’s no way I can stay away.
I feel my body leaning back in, but he tightens his grip on my hair.
"This is how you will be punished, sweetness. Keep testing me; I want you to." He leans forward but doesn’t let his lips meet mine. Instead, he rubs his whiskered face against mine, causing my entire body to tremble.
I feel like a reprimanded child. I want to throw a temper tantrum and demand that he go back to kissing me, but that would mean I’d have to admit that he’s beating me. It’ll never happen.
I fight to get my breathing back under control as he slowly lets go of my hair and backs away.
"You going to keep your hands to yourself now?" he questions, and I narrow my eyes at him. After I give a small nod, he goes back to taking care of my injured arm as if nothing had happened between us.
My focus should be on finding Wendy, so why is it all I can think about another way to piss Brick off? If my punishment is more of those kisses, I don’t think I’m going to mind being his enemy.