Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
M y already brisk pace down the spiral staircase of my loft increases when three quick taps hit the front door of my apartment. I finish buttoning my jeans before swinging open the door. Diesel greets me with a broad grin and the key for my bike dangling from his index finger. “Thought you might need these,” he says before attempting to enter my apartment.
I step into his path, blocking his entrance. “Clara is still sleeping,” I advise him, my voice rough from just waking up. “She’s not appropriately dressed for guests.”
Diesel’s bawdy grin turns huge. “So a shit night transformed into a good one?” He waggles his brows before curling his arm around my neck to noogie the top of my head.
I punch him in the ribs, winding him. “Not exactly, asshole. She didn’t have any other place to go.”
He takes a step back and peers into my eyes. “You still playing with that overstacked deck? ”
I scoff. “Only as long as it takes for her shock to wear off.” My tone has a smear of annoyance attached to it. “Wouldn’t be much of a man if I took advantage of her while she was in shock.”
Diesel’s lips purse before he curtly nods. “True. Didn’t think about that.”
“You don’t really think about anything,” I quip.
His smile enlarges. “True.” He props his shoulder onto the doorjamb of my entryway. “We found two of the guys who jumped Clara last night.”
My eyes drop to his knuckles. I’m not at all surprised to see they’re busted. “Did you call Ryan?”
Diesel bites his lip. “Yeah… after I had a quiet word with them.”
“Were they locals?”
He shakes his head. I’m not shocked by this revelation either. Inked has had a not-to-be-messed-with stigma attached to it from the day Ryder opened the doors. There’s also the fact most of the crew who work there are born and bred Ravenshoe residents.
Ravenshoe locals protect their own.
“Did they have any of Clara’s jewelry on them?”
My heart stops beating as I wait for Diesel to reply. It feels like I’m sucker-punched when he briefly shakes his head. “I checked. They had nothing on them. For how well they kept their mouth shut, I think they’re nothing but bottom feeders. When we snag the main guy, we might have a better chance of getting her stuff back.” He pushes off the doorjamb. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to it. Just wanted to let you know Johnny and I are handling everything.” He flicks his eyes up to my loft bedroom. “You look after her.”
Nodding, I shadow him down the corridor.
“I parked your bike half a block down because I didn’t know the code for the underground garage,” he advises when he reaches the peak of the staircase.
I run my hand across my tired eyes. “Thanks. I’ll move it into the garage later.”
Diesel’s brows shoot up into his hairline when I hold out my hand for him to shake. “Since when have you been a shaking-hands type of man?” he jests before wrapping his arms around my shoulders and drawing me in for a man hug. A chuckle escapes from my lips when he adds to Charity’s request last night. “Take care of Clara for me. If not, step aside and let a real man show you how it’s done.”
He stumbles down the first three steps when I jab my fist into his right rib. After regaining his footing, he salutes me with two middle fingers before galloping down the stairs. His hearty chuckle is still bellowing up the stairwell when I amble back to my apartment.
M y eyes lift from the tiled floor in my kitchen when a creak sounds through my ears. I adjust my grip on the mug of coffee I’ve been nursing for the past thirty minutes when Clara saunters down the staircase and floats across the room wearing nothing but my navy-blue shirt she left crumpled on my floor last night. Her face is creased from where it was pressed against my chest, her hair is a mess, and her face is void of any of the makeup she typically wears, but she still looks one hundred percent appetizing.
“This is even more embarrassing than the walk of shame.” She tugs down the hem of my shirt. “Where are my clothes?”
I crack a smile. “They’re in the wash.” I nudge my head to the laundry room attached to my kitchen. “They should be ready in around forty minutes.” Or eighty, since I’m close to extending the wash cycle. Seeing her in nothing but my shirt is a cock-twitching visual I want to retain as long as possible.
Clara’s eyes drop to the coffee mug in my hand as she slips onto a barstool.
“Coffee?”
She smiles. “Yes, please.”
After filling a second mug with coffee, I place it in front of her before moving to the refrigerator to grab a carton of milk. Unlike me, Clara has her coffee with cream.
I tilt my torso out of the refrigerator when she quietly mutters, “I’m sorry about last night.”
Grabbing the carton of milk, I stand in front of her. “It’s all good.” I set the milk down in front of her. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes lift from the speckled black counter to me before she nods.
“Then we are all good.”
Taking a step backward, I brace my back on the kitchen counter. The next few minutes are filled with quiet as we stand across from each other enjoying the pick-me-up only a healthy dose of caffeine can give. Although Clara doesn’t look as tired as she did last night, she still appears restless. That probably has something to do with the little whimpers that escaped her lips while she slept.
Once her mug is empty, Clara sets it on the countertop and lifts her eyes to me. “How come you didn’t take advantage of the situation last night?” she queries with her brows scrunched tightly.
After placing my mug in the sink, I cross my arms in front of my bare chest. “Because under this beastly exterior is a man whose grandma raised him right. ”
Clara smiles softly. “You were raised by your grandma?”
I nod. “Yeah. My momma died when I was little. I have no clue about my dad.”
A flash of remorse passes Clara’s eyes, but she remains quiet.
“You?” I query, hoping since I’ve shared personal information, she may as well.
Her face cringes. “I was raised by a handful of nannies.” She straightens her spine and sits higher in her chair. “My mom had been unwell for a long time, and my dad was always busy.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Clara shrugs. “I guess it’s all part and parcel of being born with a silver spoon in your mouth. Not something you would have ever had to worry about.”
She balks as her pupils widen. Even though I can see she wishes she could ram her words back down her throat, it doesn’t stop my anger from rising.
“No, it’s not something I could ever say concerned me.” I try to keep the sneer out of my tone, but I fail miserably. “Can I ask you a question?” Even though I’m asking a question, I continue speaking, not giving her a chance to reply, “Where was that silver spoon when your car got towed and you were served an eviction notice? Where was it when you moved into a rat-infested dump? And where the fuck was it when you got jumped in the alley while working on the side of town you should have never stepped foot in?”
Clara locks her soul-burning gaze with mine. “You, of all people , are going to judge me?”
“Yeah, I fuckin’ am,” I reply, ignoring the way her little snipe dented my ego. “Because if you didn’t have the crew of Inked and me stepping up to the plate, you’d be out there swinging the bat on your fucking own.”
My words are callous, but now that they’re unleashed, I have no chance of reeling it in. My mind is spiraling, incapable of grasping how Clara can sit before me declaring she has a glamorous life when all I’ve witnessed the past several months is her taking blow after blow after fucking blow.
Ignoring the anger blemishing her skin with a pink hue, I ask the question I’ve wanted to know for weeks, “Where’s this Isaac guy you wanted to mark your skin with? You cared enough about him that you were going to permanently bear his name on your hip, but he’s nowhere to be found the instant your life starts circling the toilet bowl.”
Clara pushes back from the kitchen counter, sending the barstool toppling over. She glares at me with nothing but disdain tainting her arctic eyes. Her lips twitch, dying to fight back, but not a single word spills from her mouth.
“He was your daddy replacement, wasn’t he? A strong, dominant man you wanted to swoop in and look after you the way your father should have.”
Her nostrils flare as anger envelops her entire body. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her words fly from her mouth like daggers.
“Fucking bullshit, Princess.” My voice is as vicious as my words. “You’re the classic story of a poor, unloved little rich girl. When you failed to secure the love of your daddy, you went hunting for the next best thing… a man just like him.”
With her fists clenched at her side, Clara charges into the laundry room. The washing machine beeps, announcing it has been opened, when she yanks the door so hard, it indents the drywall.
Ignoring the fact her dress is still wet, she throws my shirt over the top of her head before dragging her dripping wet dress up her quivering thighs. You’d think her absurd overreaction would surprise me. It doesn’t. The only thing I’m shocked about is that she doesn’t attempt to refute my claim.
No bitchy reply.
No snarky remark.
Nothing.
“Come on, Princess. Where’s your fighting spirit? What happened to the feisty little temptress who has told me time and time again how she can look after herself? Where the fuck has that Clara gone?”
“I can take care of myself,” she hisses, her angry words unable to hide the sob sitting at the back of her throat, dying to break free.
“Yeah, you can. So fight me. Prove what I’m saying is wrong.”
She angrily shakes her head while striding across the room. My eyes track her as she makes her way through my residence searching for her belongings, the water dripping off her dress leaving puddles in her wake.
When she snatches her purse off the coffee table in my living room, I push off my feet and race to the door. I only just make it to the entryway before her.
When she lifts her eyes from the floor, the heaviness weighing down my chest since last night grows. Fresh tears leak from her overfilled eyes as the same broken look she was wearing last night returns full force.
She won’t fight as she believes every word I’m speaking is true.
“Look around, Princess.” I wave my hand in the air. “There’s no white horse, and I sure as hell can’t see Prince-Fucking-Charming, but you’re still breathing, you’ve got clothes on your back, food in your belly, and a roof over your head. Who gave you that, Clara?” Her face crunches as she battles to settle the heavy flow of tears streaming down her face. “You did. Not your daddy. Not Isaac. You did it. You’re not a damsel who needs saving. You and only you crawled yourself out of the pit that was trying to swallow your life whole four months ago.”
“If I don’t need saving, then why am I here? Why are you helping me?” she stutters through a barrage of hiccups.
“Because it is what a man does for the woman he’s falling in love with,” I reply before my brain has the chance to object. “Last night scared the shit out of me. The thought of losing you… Fuck! I couldn’t handle that. I can’t handle that.” I lock my eyes with her. “Don’t ever make me handle that.”
More tears spill from her eyes. “If you knew the things I’ve done, the people I’ve hurt, you wouldn’t be saying that, Brax. You would leave me to fend for myself like every other member of my family and friends have. I’m not a nice person. I am not who you think I am.”
“I don’t care about your past, Princess. None of it matters to me?—”
“It should,” she interrupts as her glistening eyes bounce between mine. “No one should get away with what I did.”
“You don’t think you’ve already been punished? You got mugged at gunpoint in an alleyway, for fuck’s sake. I think your dues have been paid.”
“That’s nothing compared to the hurt I’ve caused people,” she replies, her voice switching from a medium volume to a faint whisper. “Not even close.”
“Then tell me what you did. Let me make my own decision.”
She balks before shaking her head.
“Then I guess I’ll keep running with my own opinion.” I move to stand in front of her. The closer I get to her, the more she retreats. Her fleeing steps only stop when her back is plastered against a wall in my apartment, and my body is splayed to her front.
“And my opinion is one hundred percent certain that I need to taste your lips again.” I lift my eyes from her thrusting chest to her face. “So unless you tell me something shocking within the next five seconds, I’m going to kiss you. And since I’m planning on kissing you until you can’t speak, you better speak now while you have the chance.”
Lifting my hands, I cup her jaw. “Five.”
I run my thumbs over her cheeks to gather her tears. “Four.”
I drop my thumb to brush the mouth I’m dying to taste again. “Three.”
I adjust the angle of my head to align our lips better. “Two.”
I tilt my head closer to hers. “One?—”
“I snuck into a taken man’s bed while he was heavily intoxicated so I could pretend we slept together,” she blubbers out, her hot breath fanning my hungry lips.
Although shocked a woman of Clara’s standards would need to stoop to those levels, it isn’t the first time I’ve heard of women running those types of tricks.
It also isn’t enough to stop me from tasting the lips I’ve been dying to become reacquainted with for the past three weeks.
“I was also the reason my brother lost the love of his life.”
I pull back and peer into her eyes. They’re shimmering with silent regret, undoubtedly proving what she’s saying is true.
“Have you tried to fix the mistakes you made?”
A big, fat tear rolls down her cheek when she shakes her head.
“Why not?”
She scoffs. “Because I’m not who you think I am.” After flinging a tear off her cheek, she locks her remorseful eyes with mine. “That vindictive two-faced bitch you met at Inked months ago, that’s the real Clara McGregor. I’m a spiteful cow who doesn’t think twice about steamrolling anyone standing between me and the ultimate prize. I’m not the Clara you see, Brax. Not in the slightest. ”
With that, she slips under my arm and throws open my front door. A waft of warm air hits me in the face when I slam the door shut before she has the chance to exit.
“I’m not even half done with you, Princess,” I growl into her ear.