KATE
It was damn well unnerving how the no-good piece of shit laying in her sister’s spare bed was looking at her. His eyes, dark, though the pupils were ringed with red and the white were frighteningly bloodshot, stared at her like he could see right through her. He had the nerve to laugh at her! Laugh! Like she was a goddamn joke.
“Don’t. Don’t do that,” she hissed. “I’m serious.”
“I- know you’re serious.” The guy’s voice seemed to be getting stronger. His words picked up steam with every passing moment. He still looked frail enough, and she hoped like hell that didn’t change until Jack got home. After that, the damn convict or whatever he was, could get better real fast and hurry up and get the hell out of the house and stop putting all their lives at risk.
“I know you’re trouble.” She didn’t bother keeping the bitterness or anger out of her voice. “Jack knows it. He says you’re going to have a whole army out looking for you. Likely. Unless you killed them all. And if you did, then you’re even worse.”
“Creed,” he sputtered. “I have a name.”
“Yeah, Jack told us that’s what you used to call yourself. A stupid, club name that wasn’t his real name at all.” She waited for a response, but none was forthcoming.
Creed blinked hard at her, as though he was trying to focus. “Four days?” he eventually croaked. His eyes locked on her face in an unnerving sort of way.
Now that some of the swelling was gone, Kate realized that the guy was handsome. If the whole danger factor was thrown out the window. Or maybe, she was ashamed to admit, maybe half his attraction came because of it. The other half was real. He had beautiful eyes and what was probably beautiful skin. A gorgeous face that a guy who did bad shit for a living didn’t deserve. As the bruises faded and the swelling went down, a strong bone structure was revealed. He had model like good looks combined with the type of underlying hardness that most women were mental about. Kate summed it up as the classic bad boy look.
Or classic bad guy looks. Strong brow, deep set eyes, straight nose, though that had been busted to shit and now had a permanent bump near the base, right between his eyes, full lips that weren’t just full because they were swollen, a hard jawline with a fresh growth of black stubble, killer cheekbones… he basically had it all. Totally. Fucking. Wasted. Because he was bad. And not in a good way.
“Yeah, four days.” She swallowed hard when she recalled that he’d asked her a question.
“I- I’ve… been out- that… long?”
“Yeah. Lots of time for whoever is coming after you to find where you are and kill us all!” She yelled the last few words, annoyed with him for showing up. For being so handsome. For putting them all in the situation there were in. She barely resisted the urge to lean forward and drill her thumb in to the horrible line of stitches she’d put in him herself, just to drill home her point.
“I’m…”
“No. No, don’t say you’re sorry. That means shit all to me and my sister. Probably to Jack too. I don’t know why he didn’t just call an ambulance the minute we heard that thump outside. Did you know that you interrupted a nice dinner? One my sister and I spent all day preparing?”
“I’m-” he choked out again, but she cut him off.
Her eyes strayed, embarrassingly enough, to his chest, where the sheets were folded away down nearly to his waist. Kate was woman enough to admit she’d been around the block a few times. She’d had more than her fair share of experience with men. Not bad. Just… well- she liked guys. She always had. Lately though…
She finally felt like she just- grew up. It got old. The whole dating thing. The dinners and the movies and the walks and the drives. All of it. It was all just so stupid and pretentious and fake. God, even the whole sex thing wasn’t very good. She knew when she reached that point, that she either was batting for the wrong team or she needed to take a break.
She’d opted for a break since she’d never once in her life found ladies attractive. Pretty, yes. Beautiful certainly. Sexually attractive, no. Not that it wasn’t okay with her, because she didn’t care at all what people chose for themselves. It just wasn’t for her. She knew she was worn out. Exhausted. Sick and tired of it all.
She’d just hit thirty-one and she was already as jaded as a mean old lady. One who lured children in and put them in her oven. Oh wait, that was more like a witch. She didn’t think she’d reached hag status. Yet.
She gave herself a shake. Her whole angry tirade started when she’d noticed the damn guy, who looked like he was still minutes away from latching on to the grim reaper’s hand, popped a damn hard on under those sheets. She’d seen it. She’d have to be blind not to notice.
And her entire body noticed.
As in, she had to clamp her thighs together to keep the heat from swelling higher. It escaped her tight pressure and ached there anyway. As in, her nipples chaffed against the lace of her bra. As in, her heart missed a meat. Or two. Or several. As in, her blood fired up in the most womanly, feminine way possible. She was very familiar with the feeling of being turned on.
But not like she was at the moment. Worse, the feeling didn’t fade. It got worse. She literally could feel that her panties were moist and slick.
It was the most inappropriate response on the planet. So she did what she did best when she felt threatened or when she was annoyed with herself. She got mad. She let him have it. And he laughed at her.
“I’m…”
“Oh for god sakes,” she exclaimed, exasperated. “Just spit it the fuck out.”
“I’m sorry-”
“Oh, I know you’re sorry. I know you’re reeeaaal fucking sorry about all of this.”
The guy tried to shake his head and winced, since it must have hurt. A shiver crawled up her spine at the thought of reaching out and sweeping her fingers over his warm brow again. She was checking to see if he was still fevered. If maybe that shoulder injury would carry him off and dispose of him for them. No such luck. His fever broke the day before and hadn’t come back.
“No.” He squeezed the word out like it hurt. “I’m- sorry- but I- need to- piss.”
Oh my god. Oh my god, no. Not much could render Kate Reid speechless. No guy had been capable of that since she was fifteen and learned that boobs and a butt and a pair of pouty lips were all she needed to get her way just about every single time. She’d run circles around boys, then men, for half her life.
That’s what it is. She realized the real reason she was so pissed off at the moment. Because her easy charm and her good looks weren’t working. The guy, other than popping a hard on, showed no reaction. He said she was pretty like he said it all the time. He popped a hard on like he’d be good at fucking, but no one would ever be capable of breaking his heart. His black heart. Because this guy wasn’t a normal guy. He wasn’t a good guy. He probably wasn’t even sane.
“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath. “That’s just great, isn’t it?” She looked him over, let her gaze sweep shamelessly up his naked, heavily muscled chest. He had a nice lean waist and crazy broad shoulders. He was solid, hard, striated muscle under velvet skin. Even if the fading bruises marred the landscape, it was still a damn beautiful landscape.
Fuck me! Why am I even noticing? Oh right. Because I can’t not notice. He’s insanely gorgeous. Any woman would think he’s sexy. I’m not a traitor because I noticed. I’m not a traitor for feeling. It. I’m not. I’m not…
“Uhhh… a little- help- over here.”
She stood, planting her hands on her hips. “You know, we’ve all sat up, guarding you. Taking turns watching you. Making sure you didn’t expire. You’ve been a lot of trouble. I should let you piss all over yourself. It would serve you right for coming here and trying to ruin Jack and Tia’s lives.”
“I didn’t try- to- ruin- anyone’s- lives. Just had… nowhere- else to go.”
“You should have gone to a fucking ditch and stayed there!” As soon as the words popped out of her mouth, she realized how horrible they sounded. She and Jack and Tia all assumed that something shitty went down and a whole of shitty stuff before that. They’d all assumed that Creed was the bad guy.
Creed stared at her through his horribly bloodshot eyes. They remained devoid of emotion, and then, suddenly, his lips turned up at the edges. The motion looked like it hurt, and the shadow of a smile faded as quickly as it appeared.
“I’m sorry,” Kate whispered. “That was- really horrible. I- I’m normally not mean at all. It’s just we’ve all been on edge and we’re all sleep deprived and honestly, it’s been terrifying having you here not knowing if you’re going to live or die, not knowing what or who is coming.”
He gave a brief nod, probably all the movement he could make. “I- it’s- okay, but- I… still need to piss.”
“Okay, okay.” She threw up her hands. “Right. Well, you’re not getting up. You can barely get your eyes open or force out words. No way you’re getting out of that bed. Which leaves one option. Me. And- uh- me getting you something to piss in.” She groaned. “This was really a whole lot easier when you were unconscious.”
He had the nerve to smile at her, a smile that wrinkled up his eyes, before he let out a groan of his own.
“Right. I won’t make you laugh anymore. I got the memo. Not that I was trying to. You took a real beating. Your ribs are bruised. Jack thinks so. Aside from being shot, it probably feels like you’ve been put through a meat grinder.”
“I’ve had… worse.”
“Don’t tell me about it. I seriously don’t want to know. Jack’s orders, not mine. The less me and Ti know about you, the better. So I’m going to get a damn cup or bag or something and you’re going to piss in it and just lay there, quietly, and heal up and stay conscious and when Jack gets home, he can figure out what to do.”
Creed slowly nodded again. He kept his eyes trained on her as she moved, gathering up the gun that really was loaded and really was left on the nightstand beside her. No way was she leaving that behind for him. He was probably playing her. He was probably totally capable of making a lunge for it. She wasn’t going to take that chance.
Kate had never held a loaded weapon before the shooting range. Now, oddly enough, it felt almost comfortable in her hands. She just hoped to hell she wouldn’t have to use it. On Creed or anyone else who might be coming after him. Lord, the thought was terrifying. It sent a chill skating up her spine and her stomach rolled. Something bitter and acrid clawed at her throat, but she swallowed hard and pushed her fear away. She had a bigger problem at present and there was no way she was going to let Creed piss her sister’s bed. Not on her watch.
She finally found a clear sandwich bag and headed back to the room. She half expected for him to be out of bed, lying in wait for her, booby trap already prepared, but he was where she left him, just as pale, just as exhausted. His eyes looked tired, and not the kind of tired that comes from being near the grave. The kind of tired that a person learns from hard living.
“Okay. I have this.” She held up the bag and learned what true mortification was. She knew she was probably the ripest shade of red. Tomato red. A tomato left on the vine for six months too long fucking red.
He stared at her. Stared at her hard. And nodded once. She wondered what the hell that was supposed to mean. As in, go ahead, touch my cock, put it in the bag, let me piss, permission?
Kate took a steadying breath. I can do this. I’ve touched a cock before. It’s just a dick. Just like anyone else’s. Don’t look. Don’t worry. It will be over fast. Just… do it. Get it done. Count to ten. Take a deep breath.
She edged closer and just as she was about to lift the sheet, she wondered if she’d have to, like, shake it off or something. She didn’t know whether to cry or howl with laughter. It was kind of funny. In a really gross, embarrassing, horrible sort of way.
Kate peeled back the sheet slowly. “There’s a reason I’m not a nurse,” she grumbled. “This makes me wish I had a job to go to.”
Creed grunted, like that was supposed to mean something. She steeled herself, reached out, and grabbed his cock. She nearly shuddered at the feel of him. He wasn’t hard, but he kind of- got that way- at her touch. She wanted to reach up and slap him on the damn face, but she figured he didn’t have a whole lot of control over his body at the moment. She herself had felt straight shots of wild lust when she’d noticed his earlier hard on and that certainly was against her will.
“Alright.” She brought the bag closer. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Go ahead… I guess.”
She waited. Nothing happened. She waited a few more seconds. Still nothing. Finally, after a long while, she looked directly as his cock, which even half hard, was still probably about eight fucking inches long and so wide that it made all the wrong parts of her ache.
“Are you going to piss or not?” She nearly screamed.
“You- uh- know… I think- I don’t have to- after all.”
She let out a cry of rage, ripped the bag away and threw back the sheet. She was lucky she forgot the gun in the damn kitchen. Because, she swore to god if she hadn’t, Creed or whatever the fuck his name was, would be minus his cock.
And it would be a shame since his cock, she damn well hated to admit, was a real nice one.