NINE
Enzo
He should have been going back to his own apartment. You know, to make sure he hadn't gotten robbed or some shit like that. It wasn't a good area to leave your place empty for a long weekend. But, then again, he didn't really have much worth stealing, and he kept his stash of cash from Third Street in a storage unit to keep it safe.
So, needing sleep aside, he had no pressing reason to have to go back to his place.
True, he should have been dragging his ass into work, and trying to catch up on developments in the case.
The last place his ass should have been was standing outside her door like some twisted goddamn stalker.
He had knocked an hour earlier, but figured she must have been out, so decided to wait.
You know, ten or twenty minutes.
But there he was over an hour later like some lovesick sap who got dumped and wanted a second chance.
Fact of the matter was, things hadn't been as fucked up as he thought when he left. And 'fucked up' was the only acceptable excuse for the abrupt end to what had been happening between them that morning he had left.
He intended to remedy that situation as soon as possible.
Hence the stalker type behavior.
He told himself every five minutes that he was about to leave, knowing each time it was a lie, that he wasn't heading out until they were both happily fucked.
After that, well, that was up for debate.
Who knew what was going to happen.
Maybe they were just two horny adults who needed a fuck to clear up the sexual tension.
Maybe it would need to be more than that.
The thing was, they just wouldn't know until they tried.
So he was willing to wait for her to drag her workaholic ass in so they could do just that.
Try.
If he got his way, several times.
You know, just to make sure.
So when the elevator doors finally chimed and slid open, he had a smile pulling at his lips, ready to lay on the charm, knowing it would fail, but happy to try it anyway. Espen wasn't a girl for empty charisma; she seemed to prefer the real shit.
He could give her the real shit.
After he tried to schmooze her a bit.
What could he say, that was just the kind of guy he was.
But that smile faltered and fell.
He didn't see it right at first.
He saw her ducked head, her drenched body, the way she was shivering so hard it looked almost like she was in the middle of a seizure. But that wasn't exactly surprising given the weather they had been having, weather that made his ride take an hour and a half longer than it needed to since no one remembered how the accelerator worked in a little rain.
Then there was just something about her walk that caught his attention. Espen had a distinct walk. It wasn't all sway like many women who seemed to lead with their hips. She was always... purposeful. She walked like she had places to be five minutes ago, but knew whoever she was holding up would wait. It was the walk of a CEO, of a business owner, of someone who confidently commanded attention without having to be overly sexual.
It shouldn't have been, but totally was, incredibly sexy.
But she wasn't walking that walk.
True, it was closer to morning than night, and she had to have been dead tired, but it was more than that.
She was walking favoring her side like something hurt.
It took all of a third of a second for his attention to go to her face after that.
And he felt a gut-punch sensation that could have doubled him over in its intensity.
See, Enzo had seen a lot of brutality in his day. Hell, Enzo had inflicted a fair amount of it himself in the name of his gang, his reputation, his financial stability.
But never, never fucking ever, would he raise a hand to a woman in violence. And that had been a strictly upheld rule for all of his men as well.
What could he say, he was raised fucking right.
That would never sit right with him.
And while he had seen women roughed up before, unfortunately, it had all paled in comparison to Espen's face when she looked up at him.
One of her eyes was swollen mostly shut. The bruises around it were still forming, but would be a vivid blue and red by morning, he knew. There was a nasty cut that was still bleeding half-heartedly down her face. Her throat had long finger-shaped bands across it, bluish, but like her eye, would only get worse with some time to settle in. Then, judging by the way she was walking, there were her ribs to consider as well - bruised or busted.
His stomach steeled as his jaw tightened hard enough to send a shooting pain up into his temples.
Someone took their fucking fists to her perfect face? Someone closed their hand around her delicate goddamn neck hard and long enough to leave marks? Someone hit, kicked, or struck her in the side enough to possibly break a bone?
Fuck.
That was simply not going to fucking stand.
That shit was getting handled.
But first, he had to rein it in, and try to help Espen nurse her wounds. He had a feeling she would be as receptive to it as a feral cat getting a tick and flea bath.
That thought almost helped lift his dark mood.
Almost.
"Honey, what the fuck?" he asked, his voice a little tortured even to his own ears.
She froze where she was several feet away, her face a mask of surprise, pain, and if he wasn't mistaken, just the slightest hint of pride.
Espen, even in what had to have been a lot of pain, was still Espen.
He found he really appreciated that fact.
"Bar fight," she said, attempting a shrug that made her wince and hiss as she pulled out her keys. "You should see the other guy," she continued to work on the lie.
"Espen," he said, reaching to take the key from her hands - she didn't even fight, another sign telling him how crappy she was feeling - after she fumbled to get it up into the high deadbolt twice.
"What?" she asked when he didn't go on, just unlocked her door, reached in, and flicked on the light.
"Let's drop the bullshit so I can look at those ribs," he suggested, holding an arm out so she could step inside. And seeing as she lived in a decent area and it was a decidedly indecent time to have a conversation in the hallway, she did just that. He followed her in, closing, and locking the door behind him, then leaning against it, giving her a bit of space.
It was the first time he was actually aware of her apartment. The last time he was inside, he was a bit too distracted by Espen to pay it much mind.
Espen, well, she was... not neat.
Her place wasn't dirty per se, but it wasn't his preferred method of meticulous order either.
There was a pile of clean dishes in a drying rack next to her sink. The vacuum was out, the cord unraveled across the floor, and still plugged into the wall. And, mystery of all mysteries, there was a laundry basket sitting on her dining room table.
Why?
Who knew.
Weird.
Otherwise, though, the place was nice. She had her walls painted a neutral gray. Her dining table and chairs were black, as was her coffee table, and end tables, the TV cabinet, and the mini sectional couch.
The walls had more decor than he would have expected, mostly things of Native American origins - a black and white photo of a rain dance, a giant metal eagle with hints of turquoise, crossed arrows that looked antique - making him wonder if they had been passed down - and another piece of black and white art that depicted a young, beautiful Native woman with a full headdress on.
She moved past him, going into a cabinet to bring down a bottle of whiskey that she poured into a glass, the amber disappearing in a second after she brought it to her lips, mumbling something about how she should have gone to the hospital.
"Waste of several hours if they're just bruised," he shrugged as she capped the bottle, but left it on the counter.
"And you're a broken rib expert," she shot back, but the usual fire was out of her voice. If anything, she almost sounded as broken as she looked. Which, well, was un-fucking-acceptable.
"Seen my fair share. Hell, had my fair share. So I can at least tell you if there's a reason to hit the hospital. Why don't we get that out of the way so you can get into dry clothes, and warm up?"
He was trying really hard not to baby her, not to say something about taking care of her, not to rock her very unsteady boat. Even though every instinct he had was telling him to get her looked over, into a hot bath, while he made her something hot to drink and found some pain meds to give her, then maybe stroke her hair as she fell asleep.
What could he say, he was someone who liked to take care of people. Especially his women.
But Espen was not the kind of woman who seemed overly receptive to that.
So he had to go at her pace.
"Alright," she grumbled, reaching down for the hem of her shirt without any fanfare, but only managing to get it up a couple inches before she was hissing and dropping it again.
"Okay," he said, voice soft as he pushed off the door and moved toward her. "Come on, bathroom," he demanded, gesturing toward the hall where he could see the edge of a bed, figuring there must have been a bath in that direction somewhere.
She sighed, but kept her words to herself as she carefully turned and led him in through her bedroom.
The room itself was a bit more feminine than he would have thought she would like. Her bed had a beige tufted headboard and a beige and pink comforter. All the furniture was white, and the walls were a soft cream color. A giant dreamcatcher with brown and white feathers hung above her bed, but served as the only decoration in the whole space. Like her living space, the place was clean, just cluttered. A pile of clothes was on her bed. Shoes were kicked off in a corner. A cup of, he assumed, coffee, was sitting on the nightstand.
He tried really, really fucking hard not to think about staring up at that dreamcatcher while he fucked her from behind.
Maybe he failed at not thinking about that, but at least he only thought about it for a minute before they were inside her all-white bathroom.
The harsh light inside it made the bruises stand out even more. Her skin, usually a perfect copper shade that contrasted her dark hair, was paler, almost white. Her lips were trembling and blue.
She was just barely holding it together.
He wondered if that was because he was there, or if she was just too damn stubborn no matter what to let herself fall apart.
"Alright, can I?" he asked, touching the ends of her dripping sweatshirt with two fingers.
"Yeah, get it over with," she said, brushing it off.
But as his hands gripped the material and started working it slowly upward, exposing her flat belly with a hint of abs he had never usually liked in women before, but found fascinating on her, he could have sworn her breath sucked inward; her breathing went a little uneven.
Hell, he was having a hard time remembering that he was there to doctor her, not play doctor.
But as the shirt lifted up high enough to show the simple black underline of her bra, all sexual thoughts slid away at the smattering of bruises up her side.
"Fuck," he hissed, reaching to pull the sopping material all the way off. "Sorry, honey," he said when she let out a whine at having to raise her arms all the way up for him to do so.
He averted his eyes from her breasts, having a strange desire to see those for the first time under better circumstances.
"It's not red," she observed, and he looked over to find her looking at her reflection in the mirror.
Red wasn't good.
Red usually meant blood accumulated which meant a busted rib that punctured something else.
But she was all blue and purple.
By morning, there would be some yellow and maybe even a hint of green mixed in.
"It looks alright, but I want to make sure," he said, showing her his hand before he pressed it into her frigid skin, making her entire body do a hard tremble. His eyes shot up to catch hers, finding a mix of pain and, if he wasn't mistaken - and he wasn't - desire there. "You okay?" he asked, pissed that the first chance he got to put his hands on her was marred by pains put there by some pussy ass bastard. At her short nod, seemingly unable to untwist her tongue to give him a verbal answer, he nodded back. "Take a deep breath," he demanded, wanting to make sure her lungs were okay. "Yeah, just bruised. They're gonna hurt like a bitch for a while."
"Should we wrap them?" she asked, sounding tense at the prospect.
"Nah. Only if they're busted. If you wrap them now, it will only make it harder to take normal breaths. Then you get a chest infection, and those get ugly fast. You're just going to have to suffer for a while, unfortunately. And hug your chest or, if you have one nearby, hug a pillow to your chest if you need to cough. Take Advil religiously every four hours."
"You really do know a lot about this," she said, brows furrowed slightly.
There was a time and a place for teaching her about his past. When she was freezing and hurting was simply not the time.
"Yep," he agreed, moving his hand from her side to snag her chin and lift it up. "Throat feeling like you swallow glass yet?"
"I think I'm still half-numb from the cold," she admitted, though her voice was a bit scratchier.
"Nothing to do about that either, babe," he said, sounding apologetic. He never thought twice about telling his guys to tough it out, but he felt like shit not to be able to ease her pain a little. "Alright, now this," he said, touching her temple, making her body jolt slightly. "Sorry. But this I can do something about. Got a first aid kit somewhere?"
"In the closet," she said, gesturing toward the small linen closet behind him.
"Alright. How about you get out of those wet clothes, warm up in a hot shower, and I'll fix that gorgeous face after?" he suggested, moving to dig through the cabinet, so he missed the way her mouth fell open at the compliment. "Espen?" he asked when she just stared at him for a long moment.
"Oh, right," she said, seeming to remember her near nudity suddenly, bringing her hands up to cross over her chest. "Yeah, that works."
"Try to let some water run on that," he added, gesturing toward her face. "It looks nasty."
With that, he forced himself out of the bathroom, closing the door.
He didn't seem to have the strength to walk away just yet, though. He stayed there, leaning against the wall beside the door, listening to the water turning on, hearing the slap of her wet clothing hit the tile before she stepped under the spray.
Another time, he reminded himself with a deep breath, moving away from the wall and into the kitchen. He put the first aid kit down, and started working his way through her cabinets. Looking for, well, anything edible.
Espen, aside from a somewhat haphazard housekeeper, was apparently not exactly a cook. Of any sort. Not even a ramen soup cook.
This likely explained the enormous pile of takeaway food menus that must have taken half a forest to accumulate. With a shrug, he picked up the Chinese menu, and ordered the ones she had little marks next to. All of them. If there was one thing he knew about women, it was that they never seemed to know what they wanted to eat. Variety was key.
Thank God for New York City takeaway that delivered after midnight.
He poured her another shot of whiskey, and placed a couple Advil beside it, then set to making a pot of coffee. It was the only hot thing around until the food arrived.
It was right about then that the bathroom door creaked open, and he could hear her rummaging through her dresser. Which meant she was likely only in a towel - a fact he tried to ignore.
Tried.
Failed.
But he powered through with only half a hard-on which he was convinced was truly saintly given the circumstances.
"Did you order food to my apartment?" she asked as he closed the door, the smell of soy sauce making his stomach grumble, making him realize it had been almost the full day since he had eaten anything. He had eaten brioche pancakes with Gina and the girls before he headed over to have a chat with Kenzi's new man, Tig.
"I was going to cook for you, but you could starve cockroaches with these empty cabinets," he told her as he piled the food on the counter, and started emptying the contents.
"You cook?" she asked, the tone almost accusatory, like she didn't like that it didn't fit the image she had in her mind about him.
"Not every night, but yeah, I know how to cook."
"You wanted to cook for me?" she pressed, the tone a little heavy with something he wasn't exactly sure how to interpret.
"Honey, you had what I assumed was a pretty fucking shitty day. I wanted to try to make it marginally better by fixing you something to eat. It's not a big deal. Now come over here so I can take care of that cut, then you can eat. And tell me what happened."
It hasn't escaped him that he hadn't asked yet. His main concern wasn't getting facts, but making sure she was okay. There would be time for questions later. Espen wasn't like some harebrained, hysterical average civilian who needed to get it all out when it was still fresh, or else the memory would start to blur around the edges, the details get lost.
She was trained, rational, and able to compartmentalize things to keep a clear head.
There was time.
"I can do it," she insisted as soon as he cracked open the first aid kit and grabbed the triple antibiotic.
"I'm sure you can," he agreed as he slathered some of the cream on a Q-tip and raised his hand toward her face. "But this time, I am doing it."
Then he did, trying to make sure he kept his giant hands gentle, knowing that sometimes it was easy to forget how rough his hands could be.
"I'm not made of China," she said, her lips tipping up slightly as she looked up at him with the one open eye. "You don't have to be so gentle."
He clasped two butterfly bandages to the deepest part of the cut, wondering if she would scar. He doubted she was vain enough to care, but he didn't like the idea of the memory of whatever happened to her this night being reflected at her anytime she looked at herself.
"Maybe I like being soft with you, sweetheart," he said, trailing his finger down the top of her nose to the tip, feeling like it was the only truly safe spot on her face.
"Maybe I don't mind soft," she admitted, her voice a few octaves lower than it usually was.
His chest tightened, knowing that tone, knowing the heavy look to her one good eye. It was her softening toward him, something he had been waiting for, the in he needed to show her that they weren't a terrible idea after all.
But the timing sucked.
He couldn't go there.
He had to be the good guy.
Fucking goddamn it all.
"Alright," he said, forcing himself to take a step back. "That should do. Here," he said, reaching behind her to snag the whiskey and the Advil. "Take these with this. You should be feeling somewhat better in a couple of minutes." He watched as she dropped the pills in her mouth and chased them with the drink. "Go pick a show or something. I'll bring the food over."
"You're used to, ah, making yourself at home, huh?"
He knew she was trying to backpedal, to put some space in between them, to use some snark to cover the fact that she admitted she wanted him to be sweet with her, something that went against the image she tried so hard to project.
He didn't comment on that, figuring it was a surefire way to get in a snit, and wanting to avoid that.
So he piled food on plates, grabbed what she did have in her fridge - two beers - and made his way over to the sectional where she was situated, flicking through channels without seeming to pay much attention. Eventually, she settled on some tattoo contest show that, as someone who had an incredible tattoo artist as a brother, and as someone who had a fair amount of ink himself, made him incredibly hard to please.
"Alright," he said halfway through her food. "Tell me," he demanded, watching her profile, noticing she had chosen to sit with her good side to him, but even at the angle, he could see the hands around her throat.
She tried to take a deep breath, ending up having a minor coughing fit, hugging her side that must have been sending off sparks of pain.
"I was at the site," she started as soon as she could find her voice again. "I got this angry call from the owner earlier about some threats he was getting in the mail, so I had to be there."
He felt a pang of guilt, realizing that while he was just bullshitting with family and hitting the road, she was getting her ass kicked because he wasn't there to back her up. He bit his tongue to keep from asking why she had gone alone, knowing that it wasn't a question he would have asked Xander, Ra, or Kane, so he couldn't ask her.
"I was about ready to pack it in. I was soaked and miserable enough for one night. But then I saw someone. I followed, not realizing he wasn't alone, and the second guy got me."
He took a breath, nodding, trying to choke down his anger. "Did you get a shot in?" he asked, knowing it was the same thing he would ask one of the others, even if they looked as busted as she did right then.
"I think I busted a rib, but then he had my throat. He," she swallowed hard, wincing as she did, and he figured the numbness was wearing off, "had me off my feet by my throat," she admitted, making him realize how lucky she was to not have a crushed larynx, especially with how small she was. "He would have killed me," she went on, a calm certainty in her voice about it. "Even with my training, I wouldn't have been able to stop it. But then the first guy I followed in showed up, and told him it was time to go. He dropped me, and they ran off. That's it."
Oh, that wasn't fucking it.
That was far from fucking it.
He was going to make sure this wasn't it, that the bastard responsible for hurting her paid, but she didn't need to know that. At least not until he made it happen. Because if she knew beforehand, she would want in. And in her current condition, that was not an option.
"Did you catch enough for a sketch, or was it too dark?"
"I definitely have enough for the big guy. The one who did this," she said, waving at her face. "The smaller one, I dunno. He was mostly in profile to me."
"Well, when we get into work in the morning, we'll have Xander bring in his sketch guy. Maybe you can look through some mugshots of guys who match the description."
"Busy work," she grumbled, handing Enzo her half-eaten plate to put on the table.
"Important work, if we want to find them. And you need to keep planted on your ass for at least a day or two if you want those ribs to feel better sooner rather than later."
"I can still get around," she objected, though there wasn't much conviction in her tone.
"And that's good to get up and move to keep the lungs working right, but I am going to sic Kane on your ass to make sure you don't overdo it. You won't be earning any brownie points by trying to come out swinging, and dropping your stubborn ass in the hospital, Espen."
Knowing she really didn't have a leg to stand on there, she took a swig of beer, repositioning a little lower on the cushions to ease the ache in her side.
It was barely twenty minutes later when he felt her head press into his arm. He didn't have to look to know she was asleep. There was no way she would do something that unguarded if she were awake.
He reached out, arm going around her slightly, fingers sifting through her hair for the better part of half an hour before he snapped out of his daze, and carefully shifted away, reaching for his phone in his pocket, and shooting out a text.
Before he left, he cleaned up and put away the Chinese, washed the dishes, and, well, he totally fucking folded the clothes on the dining room table when he found drier sheets in the mix, indicating they were for sure clean. What could he say, he couldn't seem to help himself. Then he left her a note claiming he had to check to make sure his place hadn't been ransacked. Technically, that was true. He did need to check it, but he was leaving out the fact that he wasn't doing that.
No.
He was meeting up with the guys.
And they were going to figure out how to handle shit.