Chapter Twelve
Margo
His body heat was almost too much.
Everything about him being here, him kicking down my door, talking softly to me, making promises we both knew he shouldn’t make, was too fucking much.
“I don’t know what to do,” I breathed, bracing my hands on the countertop, staring up at him. “Why are you here?” I paused and shook my head. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Damn him for looking like a knight in shining armor.
Damn him for being gentle with me.
Damn him for kicking down my door to get to me.
Damn for being everything I needed him to be but everything I couldn’t fucking have.
And damn myself for not being enough for him.
The rough pad of his thumb swiped across my good cheek for the fifth time—yes, I’d been counting.
“You’re going to tell me where the first aid kit is, and I’m going to clean this cut, then I’m going to fix your door and make you some food.
After that, we’re going to talk about who did this to you,” he said softly, an underlying fury in his voice.
His eyes flashed with malice, his perfect jaw jumping, violence simmering under his perfection.
He was trying very hard to keep his cool—for me.
He didn’t want to scare me.
“You have a bruise on your jaw,” I told him, eyeing it. He’d been on a mission and came back with a bruise. My heart was ready to spiral. I hated seeing bruises on him.
“I’m not worried about my bruise,” he whispered.
My eyes scanned his face, and I opened my mouth to tell him to leave, that I could handle this. “Top Gun—”
He cut me off, shaking his head once, seeing right through me. “Temper, the temps are dropping outside. I need to get your door fixed soon so I can keep you warm. Tell me where the first aid kit is, please.”
“Bathroom cabinet, bottom shelf,” I muttered.
“Be right back,” he quietly promised, his hand falling away from me. I watched in stunned silence as he walked away, disappearing down the hallway. My skin burned from his touch, craving more.
“What the fuck is happening?” I asked myself, looking down at my pajama pants.
After my driver literally yanked me off the ground last night, we ran to the car, leaving my brother in his yard, screaming about how I was just a “stupid, no-good bitch.”
Once we were on the road, she turned and asked if I wanted to go to the hospital to get my head checked out…
“I can take you to Portland General,” she pushed, her hands tight around her steering wheel.
“No!” I blurted, ignoring the sting that was rapidly morphing into a throb that was sure to last for the next two days. “Please, don’t. I just need to go home.”
Her kind brown eyes looked at me in the mirror. “Are you sure?”
I nodded, forcing a smile. It wasn’t the first time I’d been struck like this, but I was older now. Maybe that was the reason it hurt so damn bad.
“Right. Well, I’m not just going to let this go,” she declared. “I’m going to drop by soon and check on you. That cool?”
My heart squeezed. “You don’t need to do that. I promise I’m fine.”
She was around the same age as me, maybe a bit younger. “No, what I just witnessed was not fine, and according to company policy, I’m supposed to call the police.”
Panic slithered up my spin. “Please don’t do that. There’s no need. I promise you, everything--this—I’m okay.” I tripped over my words.
“Who was that guy? Your ex?” she investigated, merging onto the interstate.
When I was back home and had the stomach to reflect on the last twenty-four hours of my life, I would definitely not understand why I let this one small truth slip from my lips, why I gave a stranger this snippet of information that I wouldn’t give to anyone else in my life, even my best friend. “My brother.”
She was quiet for some time, the low purr of her car filling the silence, the streetlights passing us by. “My name is Erin,” she finally said, her voice kind.
Even though she already knew mine, I still said, “I’m Margo.”
“That’s a cool name.”
I knew what she was trying to do, and for that, I was even more grateful the universe had sent me this driver.
Anyone else would’ve left me in the pile of trash, and there was no telling what Marcus would’ve done to me.
I’d never seen him so angry, and the hatred dripping from his tongue was one of the cruelest things I’d ever experienced.
I dropped my head, looking at my chipped nail polish as I muttered, “Thanks.”
The rest of the ride home was quiet, but Erin put on a soft, calming play list. It wasn’t until the Welcome to Astoria sign came into view that tears came.
My body rocked with quiet sobs all the way through town, my face buried in my hands as Erin drove down Main.
I gave her a thankful and tearful goodbye, went upstairs, took a scalding hot shower, and passed out.
“Temper.”
I blinked, my head snapping up to find Hayes standing in front of me, medical supplies in hand. “Yes, hi. Sorry,” I rushed out, clearing my throat. “I was just lost in thought.”
He stared at me for a moment longer before stepping up to me, saying nothing.
For some strange reason, I didn’t like his silence, and he was a silent guy.
During his check-ins, he wouldn’t say much other than his usual greeting and questions before taking a seat at the end of the espresso bar and slowly sipping his coffee, watching the girls and me.
The more time went on, the less he watched them, and even after he left, I could still feel his eyes on me.
Hayes had weaved his way into every aspect of my life at Rossy’s, and when he came into the Buoy, I’d never felt a hope so powerful, so alluring, so… addicting.
He’d given me a taste, a small piece of the everlasting happiness I’d been chasing for years, and when I woke, it was ripped away from me. Now, I was too scared to even fight for it.
“Margo,” he prompted, an inch from my knees.
Automatically, my legs opened for him again, my body needing his heat—his comfort.
He dumped the kit beside my hip, popping it open and grabbing what he needed.
I stared at his profile, my chest heaving, my breath coming out in choppy pants.
Part of me still couldn’t believe he was here.
The other part of me was ready to beg him to stay forever.
“Why did you come here?” I asked. My mind had been plagued, devastated by the last day and a half, and yet? The only thing I could focus on was him coming back to me.
“When I get back, you and I are going to have a conversation. Understood?”
“We have nothing to talk about,” I shot back, hating his perfection, his beauty, his green eyes and how they made me feel like I was the only person in the entire world—the center of his universe.
“I beg to differ, Temper.”
His eyes cut to mine, deep, dark, and filled with agony.
“When I got back to the office, I found out Ash was bringing your car back from campus,” he answered, ripping open the alcohol packaging.
The strong scent invaded my nose as he brought it up to my face.
I jerked back, not ready for anyone to touch it, knowing it was going to hurt like a bitch.
“Shh, baby,” he cooed as his other hand cupped the back of my head, holding me steady.
My hands snapped out, gripping the sides of his T-shirt as his soft “baby” hit me directly in the center of my chest.
Baby.
A gentle word he’d growled in my ear as my body surrendered to him and the pleasure he covered me in, his scent clinging to my sheets.
He moved his hand closer, the open cut already stinging from the fumes of the alcohol.
“Be gentle,” I begged, squeezing my eyes shut, my thighs pressing into his sides. Despite all twenty of my tattoos, I didn’t do well with cleaning wounds. I had never gotten used to that particular kind of sting, no matter how many times I’d had to do it as a kid.
His voice was gruff but full of promise. “Always.”
I winced at the first swipe, but his hand at the back of my head shifted, his fingers weaving into my hair so his thumb could stroke the back of my head. “I hate this shit,” I hissed through my teeth.
“You’re doing so well,” he murmured roughly. “Hold on to me.”
Desire suddenly curled low in my belly, my breasts feeling heavy, needing his lips on them, his hand between my legs.
Just like the last time he had me in this position, my apron carelessly tossed onto the floor, my jeans around my ankles.
My eyelids fluttered open. He wasn’t looking at my cheek.
The air between us was electric, sending zaps through my body as my breath hitched.
“Hayes,” I rasped.
A muscle jumped in his cheek as he held me captive in his gaze, pulling the pad away and bringing up a bandage. The sound of the paper ripping open filled the small space between us, and he expertly put the Band-Aid on my cheek.
When he was done, he dropped that hand to the front of my neck, his thumb tipping my jaw up so my head fell back.
He stepped even closer, my chest against his now as his eyes flashed with anger.
“When you tell me who did this tonight—not now because I have to take care of you first—I need you to know something about me,” he began gruffly, pausing for a moment.
There were shards of glass in my throat now.
I knew what he was about to say. Having spent the last year being friends with Cardinal, I knew what the Red Snake men were about.
I’d seen and experienced too much violence in my life.
I didn’t know if I was strong enough to handle any more.
“I can’t,” I croaked, bringing my hands up to his chest, savoring the strength brimming just beneath its surface. “Please don’t tell me.”
The line between his brows deepened with conviction. “You have to if this is going to work, beautiful,” he murmured, his thumbs swiping over the wings of my butterfly now.
I flinched. “This?”
He put his forehead against mine, sighing through his nose. “Margo—”
“Margo!” a deep voice roared from outside.