Chapter 20 #2
I don’t fully understand what’s going on here. Shane wants my father’s money, and I don’t think he deserves it. But why disappear? And why is Jones protecting him? And so interested in my inheritance?
I should feel bad that Wes is hurting someone for me. I should be terrified. But I’m not, which is an unsettling feeling to sit with.
“Wes,” Noah says, his voice laced with urgency.
Wes must understand the undertones in his brother’s voice, because he glares down at Jones one more time, grabs my hand, and leads me through the bathroom door after Noah.
Another fight is about to start, and a man I vaguely recognize from my father’s circle is walking around collecting money for bets.
From what Jake and Shane have told me, these places make a shit ton of money and cost very little to run.
You just risk getting caught by the authorities, especially since they count on enough people showing up who want to place high wagers to see men fight.
They pay off a lot of cops to keep things running.
Wes doesn’t stop, just pulls me through the crowd to the door leading to the long hallway. His hand is tightly wrapped around mine, and he’s keeping me close.
I glance around for my brother and spot him across the room. Jake takes a step toward me, but I lift a hand to him and let Wes lead me out the doors.
A minute later, we’ve passed the beefy bouncer and are out in the biting winter air. I have to jog to keep up with Wes and Noah as we put space between us and the fight club.
“Sorry, Calliope, we’re almost there. Can I carry you?” Wes looks genuinely apologetic.
“No,” I laugh. But my heels are killing my feet, except for my toes, which are going numb. Life choices with these stupid shoes, I guess.
We climb onto the bus a few blocks away, and everyone breathes a sigh of relief as the vehicle drives out of the neighborhood. I will my heart rate to slow now that we’re safe now.
“Are you okay?” Wes wraps an arm around my shoulders and slides his other hand onto my thigh in a move that is more protective than seductive.
“Yeah.” And I am, but my mind races, processing everything that happened.
Seeing Jake, Jones, kissing Wes. I don’t know what it all means, but as long as I’m with Wes, I know I’ll be okay.
At least tonight. We eventually get off the bus and head back toward the busier part of town. It’s almost midnight.
“We have a small apartment close by. We’re going to stay there tonight since it’s so late.” Wes holds my hand, and we walk at a much slower pace than before.
“What if I want to go home?” I ask, but I think we both know I’m in no condition to drive back to Portland.
“Then I’d take you home.” But he looks exhausted, and so am I, so I nod.
Fifteen minutes later, we walk into a building and up to the third floor.
Noah unlocks the apartment door and flicks on a light.
It’s clean, sparsely furnished, and overall pretty stark.
There’s no clutter or mess. No personal items. I hang my coat on a hook by the door and kick off my heels, which feels delightful.
“I’m crashing,” Noah says, staring down at his phone in the middle of the kitchen. Then he opens the mostly empty fridge and pulls out three bottles of water, depositing two on the counter before disappearing down the hallway.
My heart flutters. I’m deeply tired, but now I’m alone with Wes, and I don’t know what to expect. There’s finally space and quiet to think about the way Wes lifted me in his arms, pressed me against that wall, and kissed me like we were the last two people on earth.
Wes leans against the kitchen counter and unscrews a water bottle, handing it to me before opening the other one and chugging down half. I wish I knew what he was thinking.
“Thank you,” I finally say.
Wes’s forehead creases. “For what?”
“For what you did for me at the fight club. For coming for me. For kicking the shit out of Jones.”
“Hmm.” He drains the rest of his water and sets the empty bottle on the counter. “I thought that would’ve freaked you out.”
“You saving my ass?” I shake my head. Not only did it not freak me out, but I wish I could relive the bathroom scene.
I want to experience him lifting me against the wall, wrapping my legs around his waist, and feeling him press against my center again.
Heat rushes up my neck as we stare at each other across the kitchen.
Finally, Wes stalks toward me, and my heart pounds louder with each step. He stops inches from me and touches his pointer finger under my chin, tilting my face to his. Time slows down, or speeds up, I’m not sure.
“I won’t let anyone hurt you, Calliope.” His voice is low and gravelly, and I wish—need—him to kiss me.
I grip his shirt and tug him forward, then slide my hands up his hard chest and around his neck. He reaches down and grabs my ass, lifting me easily so I’m sitting on the counter, and he can step between my legs.
My breath is fast as he leans his forehead against mine. I can feel the heat of him. His mouth, his hands still on my ass, his hips pressing against me.
I want this. I want him. This man has come into my life when it feels like I exist inside a hurricane, but he’s taken me to safety. Sure, it might be the eye of the storm, but from the moment I met him, he’s been there for me in a way no one else has.
And I fucking like it.
I know he’s not right for me. He’s the exact opposite kind of person I should be associating with as I attempt to start my life over. But maybe it’s okay if he’s what I need right now. Tonight, even. Maybe I don’t need to think so hard about where I’ll be in a few weeks or a month or a year.
I’m not going to change my short-term goal to find Shane, or my long-term goal to start a new life somewhere all by myself, but why deny myself someone like this while I sort it all out?
Wes buries his head in the crook of my neck and places a line of kisses down and over my bare shoulder, then moves to the hollow of my neck. I arch my head back and lean into him, the heat of his lips on my sensitive skin almost too much to handle.
“Fuck,” I whisper when his mouth moves to the top of my breast, his teeth biting down on the curve of my shirt and dragging it down, exposing a nipple. I gasp at his hot breath on my skin.
He stops and stares at my breast, then looks up at me, rabid hunger in his eyes.
“Calliope,” he says.