24. Levi
LEVI
H ow did you save Hector’s life?” Ava asks from her spot on the bed beside me. I look over at her, my eyes roaming over the curves hiding under the blanket.
Fucking perfection.
I just fucked her for two hours, and yet, I could go again.
It’s fucking madness. This . . . hold she has over me. It’s like she was made for me to fuck her, make her moan my name. Listen to her breathless little whimpers and lose myself buried inside her.
I hate it.
I also can’t stop.
I’m addicted, for now, anyway. Sooner or later, I’ll tire of her, but at the moment, all I can think about is the next time I can get her underneath me.
Or on top of me.
Or bent over the side of the bed, that glorious ass on display.
How the fuck am I supposed to kick her out of my bed when she looks like that? All soft and warm and fucking mine .
I wasn’t lying when I called her that at the Tomb. She is mine. At least until I’m done with her. Until then, I’ll rip the hands off any man who even thinks about touching her.
“I didn’t save Cheddar’s life.”
“Okay . . .” she says, picking up on my attitude. “So, why is he indebted to you?”
“He’s not.”
She shoots me a look.
“You’re being cryptic.”
Because I really don’t want to think about fucking Cheddar when I’ve got the object of every one of my dirty fantasies in my bed.
“Cheddar is as loyal as they come. Help him, and he’ll return the favor tenfold.”
“So, you helped him?”
“I guess.” When she waits for an explanation, I let out a sigh, scrubbing a hand down my face.
“Cheddar was working at a place I took down when I was an agent. He was just a butcher. Didn’t realize they were selling drugs out the back door.
I went in, realized they were using him as muscle, and he didn’t even know it.
When I took the ring down, I made sure Cheddar wasn’t involved. ”
She has the audacity to look sad.
“So, they were using him, and you put a stop to it?”
“I suppose so, though, I came to like the big bastard the more times I spoke to him. I trust him more than anyone besides Christian.”
“Is he why you go there?”
I shrug. “I go there because I like to fight, Ava.”
Something flashes across her eyes before it’s quickly replaced with a look of indifference.
“Cherry seemed nice,” she says, all of a sudden, and I can’t help but chuckle under my breath. “Tell me, does she boil the children first, or is she on one of those raw diets?”
I can’t help but smirk down at her.
“Jealousy looks good on you, baby girl.”
“I am not jealous,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “That would imply I like you.”
“Don’t like me, huh?” I taunt, I place my finger under her chin, lifting her head. “You seemed to like me plenty when you jumped me in the hall.”
Her cheeks heat under my stare, and I fucking love how responsive she is to me. I just know she’s getting wet again, remembering what we did, and if I weren’t so fucking tired, I’d do it all over again.
“You’re much more likable when your mouth is occupied,” she says, and I grin wickedly.
“Be careful, sweetheart. I’ve got enough in me to show you what it feels like to have something in your mouth.”
“Fiend.”
“Brat.”
She falls silent, and my thumb strokes across her pouty lips. They’re still swollen from my kissing her, something I’ve never fucking done during sex.
Not until her.
“That place . . .” she says after a long moment. “The Tomb?”
“What about it?”
“Why do you really go there?”
“Because I like it there.”
She looks appalled by my answer.
“So, you fight?”
“Do you care?”
She ignores my question. “That’s why you’re always covered in cuts and bruises, isn’t it? The fighting?”
I grit my teeth, my hand tightening to a fist underneath my head. I drop my other hand to the bed, disappointment crashing through me.
This is the problem with sleepovers. Someone always wants to start discussing the hard shit. Shit, I’d rather bury and lock away.
“Ava, we aren’t having this discussion.”
“It’s just a simple question,” she argues quietly. “You could get seriously hurt there. I saw some of those people. Hector was missing teeth.”
“Those people are none of your business,” I grit, a little too forcefully.
“So, why take me there, then?”
“Because word needs to get out that right now, you’re my whore, and anyone touching you will not be tolerated.
She grimaces, and I almost hate myself for saying the word. Almost.
She knew what this was when she signed her name on the dotted line.
I made it clear. No sleepovers. No dates. No romance.
If there’s one thing this is, it’s business. I’m doing what I have to.
“Do I need to remind you of the terms of our contract?”
It’s not my fault if she let herself get her hopes up.
At least . . . that’s what I tell myself when I watch her face drop.
“You’re right,” she says, an air of indifference in her tone that I fucking hate. “It’s getting a bit stuffy in here anyway.”
Little brat.
I watch as she climbs from the bed, bending over with that ass on display right in front of me, to shimmy back into her clothes.
My cock, which is protesting that we’re letting her out of our bed right now, jumps enthusiastically. I ignore the fucker.
“By the way,” she says, holding her head high when she steps over to the door. “His name is Hector . If he’s so loyal and you care about him so much, you should learn he prefers to be called that over a stupid nickname.”
I wait until she thinks the coast is clear before I get out of my car and start following her.
For such a tiny thing, she’s quick, darting in between people, and I have to work to keep up with her.
The sights and sounds of the city are all around us, but my eyes stay trained on the little brunette ahead of me as she walks, crossing over two blocks before she ducks inside a nursing home off the street.
I give it a few minutes before I follow her through the front door.
She doesn’t know I followed her today, but we’ve already established my girl is oblivious. How she’s made it this long on her own is fucking beyond me.
Knowing she was approached outside the nursing home, I decided to follow her. Do I believe she’s told me everything she knows? Sure. Do I want proof? Abso-fucking-lutely.
The inside of Pleasant Oaks is exactly what you’d expect. The scent of Vicks VapoRub and that slightly off-putting aroma of urine that seems to hang around in places like this. I look around the lobby, but Ava’s not there amongst the dozen pairs of eyes that stare back at me.
A few older women grin at me and giggle. One even winks, waving in my direction. I give her a curt nod and turn my back on them at the front desk, earning me a string of grandmotherly giggles.
“Excuse me?” I greet the clerk, who can’t be bothered to look up from her phone. “My wife just came in while I was parking the car. Can you tell me which way she went?”
She glances up at me for only a second before turning her attention back to her phone.
“Who?”
“Brunette. About this tall. Drop-dead gorgeous.”
She rolls her eyes and points down the hall. “Room 402.”
“Thanks.”
She doesn’t respond, and I don’t wait around to be catcalled by the elderly, stalking off through the halls.
I’ve always hated nursing homes. I have vivid memories of visiting my great-grandmother’s house when I was a kid, and it always felt more like a tomb than a place for people to live. Oddly enough, that’s truer now than it was back then.
The halls are barren. With each room I pass, the sounds of televisions filter through the open doors, mixing with the whir of the machines used to keep people alive. There are hardly any visitors, and the scent of shitty food hangs in the air.
Coming to a door at the end of the hall, I pause, listening to the soft sound of Ava’s voice from within.
“It’s potato soup today,” she says, and though she sounds cheerful, I can hear the sadness hidden in her voice. “Yours was better, though.”
I peek my head around the corner, seeing her back to me where she sits in a chair beside an elderly woman in the bed.
Her grandmother.
And now . . . everything’s starting to make sense.
“I’m not hungry,” the woman says, though her voice sounds strained.
She’s tiny, her frail body barely filling an eighth of the large bed. If I didn’t hear her speak, I would be sure she was already dead.
“You have to eat something,” Ava says softly, and I can’t take my eyes off her. There’s something so vulnerable about seeing her like this that I can’t deny there’s a part of me—a fucking big part—that wants to wrap her in my arms so nothing can reach her. Protect her from the inevitable.
“Ava . . .” the woman sighs, like she’s utterly exhausted. “I had my treatment yesterday. You know it ruins my appetite.”
Ava’s shoulders sag, and she looks down at the useless bowl of soup in her hand as if it might hold the answer as to what she should do.
“I know,” she says, and lead fills my chest where I hide in the shadows. “I just . . . never mind.”
I fucking hate this. I hate the guilt I already know she’s feeling. I hate the guilt I’m feeling for lying to her.
No—fuck that. I didn’t do this. I’m merely trying to fix a problem that had nothing to do with me.
Still . . . when I see Ava hastily wipe the unshed tears from her eyes while she turns away to put the bowl down, something unpleasant and tight fills my chest, and I grit my teeth against the sensation.
“How are the treatments going?”
“Ava, we need to talk.”
“Nana, I don’t—”
“I’m dying, Ava.”
I tense, leaning back against the wall beside the door. Just out of sight, the silence in the room couldn’t be louder.
“Please don’t speak like that,” Ava says softly, and I can’t lie, there’s a heaviness in my chest that I don’t care for at the sound of tears in her voice.
“It’s the truth, sweetheart. We have to talk about it. I’m not going to be here much longer, and I need to know you’re going to be okay after I’m gone.”
“I don’t want to talk about that,” Ava whispers.
“You’re a strong girl, Ava. You’ll get through it. I know you will.”
There’s more heavy silence until eventually, a shuffling follows it. I listen to the movement, and I don’t have to look into the room to know Ava’s lying with her grandmother.
“I’m sorry . . .” she murmurs through tears that I can tell she’s barely keeping under control. “I just . . . I don’t know how to do it without you. I don’t want to.”
Her grandmother is quiet for a long moment before her voice fills my chest with lead.
“You’ll always be my girl,” she murmurs. “Even if I’m not here.”
Fuck this.
Guilt washes through me, and even though I fucking hate the sensation, I’m powerless to stop it. Have I really been that blind to what she was dealing with outside of my house?
Things are so much more complicated than I thought, and now, Ava’s caught in the crosshairs.
While I normally wouldn’t care, I’m finding it harder and harder to ignore this innate desire I have to shield her from what’s to come.
Because we share the same demons. The same past.
The same wishes.
And now I’m realizing, as much as I know I should, I don’t want to give her up.