Chapter 10
TEN
“It looks like a Tasmanian devil had a party in here,” Locust said, his voice muffled from inside the walk-in. “Do you know what they could have been looking for?”
She had no freaking idea! “No. I only kept clothes and shoes in there. I have nothing to hide—seriously, nothing! I gave the only things that weren’t mine to Frost. It isn’t like I make a habit of keeping things I don’t need, you know that.” He grunted, because he did; he’d been a victim of her frustrated stare whenever he’d toss a bread tie or coupon from the pizza box into one of her kitchen drawers. If she was never going to use it, she didn’t keep it, period. She’d been stuck living in a home with a mother who hoarded things she “might need someday” and a stepfather who indulged her because he didn’t have the energy after working a twelve-hour shift to deal with it. So, while living in a house no bigger than a matchbox wasn’t ideal at the best of times, no one should have to live in a tiny, three-bedroom house with five overflowing junk drawers, closets bursting with plastic shopping bags, old coats, and bent umbrellas, and a coffee table covered in stacks of Marie Claire and Cosmo from the early 2000s. The worst was that, after they’d died, she’d had to go through all of it, by herself, because Elijah was too busy gambling and getting high to come home and help her.
After that, she swore that, upon her death, no one she loved would have to dig through the remains of her life before they could move on.
Vicki is the only one in your life…. God, that sounded sad and pathetic. You once had James….
Thankfully, he interrupted her thoughts.
“Do you know if anything was taken? Shit—could you even tell?” he grumbled.
“Like I said, unless they wanted to upgrade their wardrobe to Target business essentials, they came away empty-handed.”
He grunted, his head and shoulders popped out of the closet, and he gazed at her, his eyes softening.
Ugh, why did he have to look at her like that? Where was the selfish, arrogant biker who tore her heart out? Him she could have stayed pissed at. This guy, though, he’d ridden to her rescue, kissed the hell out of her, then actually had the gall to be worried about her. She rolled her eyes at herself.
“Can you come take a look?” She jolted at his words, the idea of setting foot in the wreckage of her wardrobe making her heart race and her palms sweaty—the fucker, whoever it was, had violated her personal space, her sense of safety and security, and it made her queasy just thinking about it. “I know this is hard for you, baby,” Locust cajoled, his deep voice smooth and warm like aged bourbon, “but I think if you can see whether they took something, it’ll be easier to figure out who could have done it.”
Dammit, that made sense. Which meant she was going in there—not like she could just not go into her own closet for the rest of her life. Sure, she could buy a whole new wardrobe, but some of those clothes were worn in and washed to comfy perfection, she’d hate to have to wear in new of everything. On top of that, some of those jeans fit her plus sized frame perfectly; not too tight around the ass and hips, and they didn’t sag in the back or gape at the waist. They hugged her curvy body like they’d been made for her. Nope. Definitely couldn’t just throw those out. It was a nightmare to find jeans to fit the bigger girl, so she wasn’t trying to do that.
Closing her eyes, she sucked in a deep breath, her lungs shuddering, then let it out slowly.
Opening her eyes once more, she met his concerned gaze.
“Fine,” she muttered, stomping to the closet and then inside it as he pressed his massive body up against the doorframe. As she scooched by, she could swear he groaned as her breasts brushed against his chest.
Damn, her nipples hardened, fine-tuned to his noises, his scent, his heat, his very presence.
No, boobs, bad girls! You will not get a fondling today—or any day. His hands are off-limits because he is a lying piece of shit!
Right…like the rest of her hadn’t sat up and took notice of him when she saw him on the other side of the bathroom door.
God, why couldn’t the jerk be ugly? Why did he half to look like the very definition of the biker book boyfriend?
Internally slapping herself to get her mind right, she told her senses to ignore him and get on with it. Inside the closet, silently, she scanned the mess, taking in the clothes ripped from the hangers and thrown on the floor, the shoe boxes opened, the shoes tossed on the floor, the empty boxes scattered everywhere. The top shelves where she kept her blankets and thick sweaters had been cleared, the contents on the floor as well. It was a freaking mess!
“Why would someone do this?” she murmured, hating that she had to ask that question in the first place. “I have nothing they’d want to steal in here—and why didn’t they take the TV or my laptop?” Her laptop was sitting on the coffee table where it usually ended up after she checked emails, chatted with her Facebook friends, and fell into the internet trap of Wikipedia and Homestar Runner.
Taking in the sight of her belongings at her feet, tears burned the backs of her eyes. She refused to cry, though, especially in front of Locust. He didn’t deserve anything from her but castration by chainsaw.
But he came when he knew you needed him…if he didn’t care about you, he wouldn’t have bothered.
Ugh. Was it possible to muzzle inner voices without the aid of bourbon?
Kicking at a pile of clothes, the bottom of her bare foot scraped against something. She hissed in surprise, jerking her foot back.
“What?” Locust barked, grabbing her arm to pull her into his chest. She looked up, her breath catching on the look of concern on his face. “What happened?”
Whoa, this was definitely a different Locust; she’d never seen him so…emotional before, not in all those months they were dating.
Yeah, because he was faking it the whole time, so of course you didn’t see his real emotions.
Right? Dammit! Her own emotions were so confused and frustrating, she didn’t know what the hell she should be doing.
Shaking her head, she offered him a self-deprecating smile. “I just hit my foot on something.” Moving out of his arms, she immediately felt the loss of his heat, but she ignored it, bending down to shift the pile so she could see what she kicked.
Oh God.
Hell…that couldn’t be what she thought it was.
But it was; she recognized the faded American flag design on the side. It once belonged to her step-father.
“Goddamn asshole,” she snarled, snatching the dented Zippo lighter from the floor.
“A lighter?” Locust narrowed his eyes at her, his gaze taking in her expression. “I’m guessin’ you know who that belongs to.” Did he voice get deadly all of a sudden?
She bit her lip, torn; if she told him it was Elijah’s lighter, would he think it was some kind of setup, and she was playing some long con against the Unchained, or would he see it for what it was, her step-brother violating her privacy?
He must have seen something on her face, felt her hesitation, because he tensed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.
“You know who it is,” he said, his gaze dropping to the Zippo clutched in her hand. “Ratchet.” He spat that name like it was made of rotten meat. “Ratchet did this.”
Nadia stood there, the Zippo pressing painfully into her palm from the force of her fingers squeezing it. She was unbalanced, off-kilter, overwhelmed—she didn’t know what to say to him. She was terrified that his next words, his next actions, would tear down the last, crumbling pieces of the wall she’d only just begun to rebuild.
Working to keep her voice even, she answered, “Yes.”
Locust swore, pounding his fist into his own thigh. She jumped, shocked at the violence but, strangely, not scared of him. He might have torn out her heart, but he’d never physically hurt her…she…well, she knew that much. She didn’t know why, but she felt that she was physically safe with him.
“Shit,” Locust sighed, reaching out and wrapping his arms around her. Against his chest, she stopped breathing; he was much too close, his scent was right there, tantalizing her nose. If she breathed too deeply, she’d be lost in him. Without warning, Locust pressed a lingering kiss against the top of her head. “I didn’t mean to scare you, baby. I’m just fucking pissed.” He growled low, the rumble vibrating through her, which raised goosebumps along her arms, her neck, and proceeded to make her nipples hard. “What do you think he was looking for?”
She sucked her lip into her mouth and pondered that, ignoring Locust’s grunt. Lifting her gaze, she saw where his gaze was pointing—her mouth, his eyes heated, hooded.
That’s fake, right? If it is, that man wins all the Oscars!
“Um….” She cleared her throat, then tried again. “Maybe…maybe he’s looking for that box of stuff his old landlord sent me. I don’t have that anymore, though. You know I hate junk; I went through it, and tossed almost everything in it. I only kept the cellphone….”
Locust tensed, his body going stiff as a board.
“Shit,” he muttered. “That’s the phone you gave Frost.”
She nodded. “It was the only thing I had of his that he could have been looking for.” But what could he want with an old, dead burner phone?
If he’d been in his right mind when he’d arrived and found her in the bathroom, Locust would have thought to pull up the camera footage from yesterday while she was at work, and find the asshole thief himself. But he hadn’t been in his right mind; the woman he loved had called, angry, and then things got tense. When he’d heard someone had trashed her closet, his heart flew into his throat, and his body lit up with an unholy, vengeful fire so hot, it was still smoldering.
She’s alright, she’s safe…. Yeah, but for how long? Obviously her asshole brother was up to something, and with who was on his ass, he was liable to be dangerous, too. A junkie with nothing to lose was as bad a cornered, wounded dog—striking out at whoever got too close. In this case, the dog let himself into Nadia’s house, looking through her shit for something he thought he needed.
“How did he get in?” Nadia muttered, rubbing at her temples, her cute as a button nose, lightly dotted with golden freckles, scrunched up in annoyance. Fuck, she was adorable. He fought the urge to kiss her nose, then drop a kiss to that mouth, biting her bottom lip himself. Then he’d take her mouth like he’d wanted to for weeks since she’d tried ending them. Yes, tried , because there was no fucking way they were over.
“The same way I’d get in—” and had “—through that back door you never fucking lock.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I have a feeling that, even if the door was locked, he’d still find a way in. He wanted that phone, right? So even if I’d locked the place down like Fort Knox, he’d find his way in. That’s Elijah, only showing initiative when he wants something.” She growled, stomped from the closet, and threw the lighter on her dresser.
He’d grab that later and send it to one of their contacts in the Wilkes-Barre PD. Their contact would get particulates, or some shit, off it, and send Red any information he could about anywhere it would have been—anywhere that fucker Ratchet had been. Maybe there were clues on it the Unchained could use to find the motherfucker. At this point, they were desperate for any clues to finding the asshole.
Shoving her fingers through her loose, silky hair, Nadia sighed. “I don’t understand why he didn’t just call me and ask for it. It isn’t like he and I weren’t at least speaking to one another.” A sad, wistful look came over her face, and his heart ached at her expression. She sat on the end of her bed, her gaze miles away. Needing to be near her, she sat down beside her, placing his hand on the mattress on her other side, so she was effectively tucked in to his side. He couldn’t wrap her in his arms like he wanted to, so this would just have to do. For now.
“I remember when my mom first brought Jack Tate home. He had a big smile, a big heart, and he was so excited about introducing me to his son. Elijah was older than me, so he was often out doing his own thing, but when he was around…he was nice to me…at first. I guess he kind of liked the idea of a little sister—the reality, not so much. I guess I annoyed him by just breathing, and he started resenting the fact that Jack didn’t always have extra cash for him to bum off him because any extra cash went to beer, lotto scratchers, and caring for his new wife and step-daughter. It didn’t take long for Elijah to start coming around…taking things. Like it was yesterday, I remember coming into my room after school one day to find him shoving my change jar into his coat pocket. I’d been saving up the change I found in the street on the way home from school or from around town…I wanted to buy my step-dad a tie for Christmas.” She chuckled sadly, like the sound itself was grieving. “The man had never worn a tie in his life, but I thought that’s what daughters did, ya know, buy their dad’s ties to wear to work.”
Fuck not touching her. He turned his body and enveloped her into his arms, pressing her face into his chest. Against his heart. A heart that only beat for her.
She came into his arms willingly, her body melting into his, as if remembering that it belonged to him. And his belonged to her. She sighed against his chest, and he tightened his arms around her, kissing her head, inhaling her vanilla and lemon scent from her silken hair. God…he fucking missed this; lying in bed with her, holding her, letting all the bullshit of the world spin out around them while they just…were. Together. Made for one another.
And he’d fucked it up.
He pressed another kiss to her head, and asked, “What did you do about the jar?”
She huffed, her breasts rubbing against his chest, driving his blood right down to his cock. Now wasn't the time for getting inside her. She needed him to be a good man for her in that moment, and good men didn’t fuck sad women.
Right?
It didn’t help that she was wearing ass hugging jeans and a t-shirt that was so worn from wash and wear, he could see her purple bra right through the fabric. She called it one of her lazy tees, because she only ever wore them at home when she wanted to be comfortable.
“I asked him what he was doing, and he told me there was a little sister tax, and he was collecting it. I was thirteen not five, so I knew he was talking bullshit…but I was so shocked, so heartbroken that I let it go. I didn’t tell Jack or my mom about it; I bought him a New York Giants bottle opener for Christmas—he used it every day, unlike a tie.”
Locust chuckled, and she laughed a little, too.
After a few moments, their laughter faded, and she sighed heavily, still wrapped in his arms where she belonged. She didn’t tense up, didn’t pull back, but he could tell she was thinking. Hard. It was in the way her nose scrunched up once more, and how her brow got that wrinkle right between her eyes. He wanted to kiss that wrinkle away, and then fuck her until she couldn’t think anymore. At least until tomorrow.
Breaking the spell, Nadia finally put her hand against his chest and pushed. He sighed this time and gave her some space, leaning back. He didn’t drop his arms, though. He needed to hold her, just a little longer.
“I just wish he’d talk to me. I don’t hate him, I don’t wish any ill upon him, I just don’t want to be wrapped up in his drama—I just want to be his sister.”
Locust grunted, shaking his head at her like she was speaking foolishness. The woman was all heart, even to people who’d fucked her over, which made him a bigger asshole than her brother, because he planned to use that forgiving heart of hers to get her back.
“Your brother is in deep with dangerous people, baby. He got himself into a lot of trouble. The last thing he’s doing his thinking rationally. He probably figured that he’s just pop in here, grab the burner cell, and leave you out of it—the path of least resistance for a man who knew you’d ask questions.”
Rolling her eyes, she admitted, “And I would have. I haven’t seen him in three years or heard from him since he texted asking for money. I didn’t know what the money was for, but because he sounded so desperate….”
Locust cupped her face gently, his gaze on hers, his eyes taking in the face he loved on the woman he’d give anything to see every morning. The need to lean down and press a kiss to her nose, her eyelids, her forehead, and then her mouth was like a surge of hunger after weeks of starvation. He held back, but just. “You’re too good for him, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick from things unspoken. He swallowed. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss against her forehead. “You’re too good for me, too….”
He could hear it…the sincerity in his own voice was hedged by aching regret…and he didn’t know what to do about it.