Chapter Ten
Catherine
I loved sleeping with a man.
The dance of limbs and warm breath. The hair on his legs brushing against my smooth skin. The trust I toyed with letting my guard down enough to sleep. When I first started sleeping with men again after my attack, it always felt like I was playing with fire. Would this man be the next one to hurt me? As it was, they only hurt me emotionally. And I soon learned it wasn’t good for me to live in fear constantly. It turned my anxiety over on itself, it changed the way I saw things, and when I couldn’t see things the correct way, my attacker won a little more.
I refused to let that fucker win. I forged through. Trusted someone a little more. Gave men the power to hurt me, because there was power in trust.
There was power in me.
But waking up with Brando felt different. Like I’d fallen into a trap and didn’t know it yet, comfortable in my cage. To shake off the feeling—or to defy it—I nestled deeper against his body. It was Thursday. I knew I needed to get back to work. My bank account was dripping sweat at the depletion of funds, but Brando needed me.
I lay on his chest on his right side, tracing the indents and grooves in his abdomen through his shirt.
As I lay there, I wondered if being powerful was the same as healing. I craved power in all facets of my life. Mostly because it had been stripped of me in the worst way. I needed power over men, over my career, but mostly, over myself. Brando was pointing out faults in my armor. He pointed out that power didn’t mean I was healed.
Madison may war with herself, but she’d spent the last two years putting her pieces back together. I’d spent the last nine trying to forget mine.
Feeling uncomfortable in my own skin—I hated the feeling—I sat up, disrupting Trixie who was burrowed between Brando and my tangled feet. I wanted this. This simple morning. Of tangled feet and his soft snoring.
He looked so luscious sleeping. His stubble had become a small beard again, a deep onyx five o’clock shadow. His closed eyes and messy black hair only added to my ogling. In sleep, his depression rested. I had a feeling his negative mood had a lot to do with his current situation, but also to do with his past. My demons knew a tortured soul when they saw one.
I left him, rising carefully out of bed, and bent to pick up Trixie. I closed the door quietly and padded barefoot into the halls. Klay was at the kitchen bar on his laptop, brows furrowed. I could hear the shower faintly and guessed Madi was in there.
“Morning, small stick.” I put my shoes on near the door and bent to put Trixie’s leash on.
“Hmm,” he grunted, still pissed off I’d invited Brando to live with us.
“Get over it, Klay.”
“Get over it?” He turned around and shot me a glare. “Get over the fact that you invited a man to live in our apartment, where my girlfriend is, someone who can’t stand men around her?”
I sighed. “Klay, Madison loves Brando. He’s not a bad guy.”
I knew the real reason he was pissed. This time it was Brando, next time it may not be a man nearly as good. But the thing was, there would be no one after Brando. The confession slammed into my heart. There was only him. If for some reason my demons won, I’d let them ravage me.
Let them have the tiny bit of magic I still had.
I must’ve looked as defeated as I felt because Klay sighed too, running his hand through his dark brown hair. “I’ll work on it. And if it’s any consolation, Mad slept like a baby last night. Said she likes having two good men in the house. So.” He turned back.
I used the opportunity to smile knowingly. “Gonna take Trixie for a drive-by pee and poop. Wanna come?”
“In that?” He turned back around to study my sheer sleeping shorts and tank top. “I can see your pussy through the material.”
“Pretty, huh?” I cupped it, showing him my landing strip.
He chuckled and shook his head. “She’s got a certain pizzazz.”
“Pizzazz?” I laughed hard, clutching my side and heading for the door. “She sure does.”
Madison was in the living room drinking coffee when Trixie and I returned. Her dark honey hair hung down her back and around her shoulders. She looked up when I came in and beamed. Damn, her happiness was beautiful.
“Morning, Cardigan,” I greeted, knowing she hated it when Klay and I teased her for her “conservative” wardrobe. Ribbing her was the best.
Her smile fell. “Morning, Kat Von D.”
Behind us, Klay laughed. “Good one, Mad.”
“When you take your cardigans to the dry cleaners, what do you wear when you’re waiting for them? Pearls and cashmere?”
She snorted, ignoring Klay’s chuckle. “They have a sale at Forever Goth?”
Klay doubled over at the bar.
I let Trixie’s leash go. I also let Madison have that one. She was teasing, she was smiling—losing this round was worth it. “Whatever. You guys want breakfast? I can open a mean frozen breakfast burrito.” I opened the freezer, peeking under my arm to gauge their reactions.
Klay nodded at his laptop and Madison looked over her shoulder at me, pensive all of a sudden. “How is he, Cat? Really.” She put her chin in her hand on the back of the sofa and met my gaze.
I turned back to the freezer. Madison and Brando obviously had a connection. Victim to detective. I understood that, but it wasn’t my connection, and Brando seemed protective of his pain. He went above and beyond to keep every single ounce of it hidden.
“He’s about as good as anyone can be, what with eight bullets in his back and I think a million bullet holes I can’t see.” I unwrapped the frozen burritos and put them in the microwave and powered it on.
“He seems so different now. I don’t know if it was the bad place I was in when I met him, but he doesn’t look nearly as large or older. He looks like Klay. But with black hair.”
That said a lot. She wasn’t wrong. When Madi met Klay, he was an empty, lost man. “Maybe that’s why I like him.” I glanced at Klay to find him frowning at the monitor. “What are you thinking so hard about, Klay?”
“We’re down five thousand this month. Last one too. We’re still making way more than we did in Denver, but cost of living is more too.” Then his eyes met mine.
I got the hint. “All my fault, huh?”
“You’re my best artist. You’ve been gone a long time.”
“I didn’t have a choice.” Or I’d made the only choice I wanted.
“I’m not blaming you,” he assured me, and I believed him. He knew Brando was the master to my frenzied, manic puppets, even if he never said it out loud. “Isaiah cut back on clients with finals coming up. He needs to study. Miriam has kids. I need you back on the floor and one more body to pick up the slack.”
My heart lifted; I kept my face neutral. “Do me a favor, Klay?”
“Hmm?”
“Go into my bedroom and look at Brando’s arms.”
“Yeah, do it,” Madi chimed in.
And because Klay would do anything for the woman he loved, he shrugged and got up. He returned a minute later, brows furrowed and eyes churning.
“Since when is he covered in ink?”
“Since always. He wears a lot of suits. Or he wore suits.”
Madi snapped. “That’s why he seems different. He’s not a covered-up cop now. He’s a man covered in tattoos and pain.” Her tone saddened.
I jumped on Klay while I had the chance. With the soft, concerned look he gave Madi, I had him. “He drew every single tattoo he has on his body.”
“He drew those?” He rubbed his freshly shaved chin. “Pretty sick ink.”
“He can pick up the slack.” It felt like a puzzle piece slid into place. A warped, ripped up, unrecognizable piece, but it fit nonetheless. “I’ll help him get certified.”
Klay nodded slowly, rolling the idea around in his head. “It’s not like I have another option.”
I beamed.
“But,” he continued, trying and failing to knock the wind out of my sails. “If he’s going to become a Guns & Ink employee, he’s got to try working on someone.” He shot me a heavy look.
I gulped. “You want him to practice on me?” My knees wobbled. Brando branding me? Putting forever magic onto my skin? I felt faint with desire. “Yeah, of course.” Hell yeah. Yes, please.
My panties were soaking wet.
Klay smiled knowingly and sank down on the couch beside Madi. She immediately curled up on his lap and he kissed her temple. “Where’s my burrito?” he called over his shoulder.
After they left for the shop for the day, I made Brando his own burrito and a cup of coffee, lugging in his pill bottle in my fist. He was twisted in my black and yellow sheets, his sleeping face cruel. I imagined his nightmares and decided I didn’t want to know why. I set his food down and then curled up beside him, stroking his stubble-covered jaw insistently.
“Wake up. I come with coffee and breakfast burritos.”
His lips twitched, and he turned into my hold, rolling on his side and pulling me in his arms. It was such an impulsive response. One he hadn’t hesitated doing; he’d simply felt like holding me. My heart lurched. I melted against his warm body. His heat was engulfing, seeping into my bones. My demons shuddered from the fire on their frost. I fought my ice with his fire and couldn’t wait to burn.
Our heat-filled bubble lasted five more seconds before he fell onto his back and his teeth gritted. He hadn’t even lain that way before. He was getting better. Even wanting to lie on his side had to be a good sign he was getting better.
“Here.” I shook out some pills, made a note to have them refilled, and then handed him his coffee.
He struggled onto his elbow, our faces so close I got lost in the forest of his eyes.
“Ah,” he grunted, taking a long drink of his coffee. He sounded like a zombie. “I think I slept too long. My body feels stiff. Tin man. No oil.”
I kissed him. On his soft, sleepy lips. I tasted the richness of coffee on his breath and the deep moan of hunger that hummed in his throat. I wanted more—needed more—but I couldn’t have that. He was still in so much pain. Anything more than what I did to him in the shower would only hurt him.
I didn’t want that.
“Eat, and then we’ll go take a walk around the apartment.”
His face was drawn down. I could sense his negativity in the air. He was in a lot of pain and in a bad place mentally. I wanted to make it better, but I didn’t know how. I bit my lip and decided to give him a little space.
“I’ll be in the living room when you’re ready?”
“No,” he blurted. His hand shot out to grab my wrist. “Stay. You’re the only fucking thing keeping me even remotely sane.”
Insanity never sounded so sexy before. “I’ll stay.” I curled up against him, wrapping his left arm against my chest. “Close.”
At noon, I dragged him out of bed and away from the news and threatened to put him in a headlock when he started pissing out excuses. I wanted Brando better. Maybe if he could think around the pain, he could form thoughts that didn’t hurt so much. The sky was churning, a huge dome of storm, when we stepped out of the apartment for the first time since we’d gotten to Portland.
Trixie’s leash was in my right hand and I stuck close to his right side just in case. He looked pale and empty. It made my heart ache for him. He was a walking, talking ghost with only minor sparks of life.
I needed magic and Brando needed life.
And who’s to say we held the power to dole out such necessities?
I didn’t bring up the open position at Guns & Ink until I had to. We’d been in Portland for over a week at that point. Brando had gotten better physically, but inside I could see the shimmer in his eyes fade a little more every day. Madi and Klay had left for the shop and we were at the kitchen table eating breakfast. He pushed his eggs around and stared at nothing.
Brando was empty long before he got here. He’d be empty anywhere. That’s what scared me the most.
“So, I was thinking,” I began, catching his gaze when he looked up quizzically. “There’s an open spot for an artist at Guns & Ink. And with your artwork, I think you’d be an amazing addition to the team.”
He worked his jaw and shook his head. “I’ve never inked on a person before.”
“Neither did I when I started. I only sketched. It isn’t all that different when you take away the doubt. Think about it, please? Klay could use the help.”
He ran a hand through his inky mop and then shrugged. “What do I have to do?”
“You’ll need to get licensed. Pass a test. You need over three hundred hours, and at least fifty tattoos. Luckily for you, you can intern no problem at Guns & Ink, and Klay will pay you regularly. After you get your license, you’ll be safe.”
He didn’t look excited, but I thought that was his face.
“Sounds good.” He pushed his plate away and then braced himself. He squared his shoulders and stiffened his jaw. “I’ve been looking for places to rent online.”
My heart withered. But I kept my face calm. Kept the ugly need for this man quiet. All I could think was, so soon? And what could I say? Please don’t go? I don’t know why, but everything feels … right … when you’re around? We agreed to keep our feelings safe. Me wanting him there wasn’t safe, I guessed. But I wanted him. Probably more than I’d ever wanted anything.
“Find any?” I took a long drink of my coffee, welcoming the burn.
“A few,” he admitted. “I’m in everyone’s way here, Cat. It’s probably best for all of us if I had my own space.”
Rage began to burn its way through me. I wasn’t mad at him. I was mad at myself. All those warnings, all those feelings, and I’d ignored them still, knowingly making the wrong choice because it had felt good. Brando felt good. But all he wanted was new scenery. He hadn’t come here for me. He’d come here to get away.
I swallowed the burn in my throat and forced my face to appear serene. When he blinked at me, I figured I wasn’t forcing myself that hard. “You’re not in the way, Brando. You just want to be.” I got up to leave, and then rethought doing so, whirling around on him. “What are you going to do by yourself? Who’s going to clean your wounds? Who’s going to help you?”
“Cat, you should be happy. You can go back to work. Back to your life. I’m trying to make this easier on you.” His wide eyes and desperate air made me think he believed that. He really believed he was disrupting my life.
But he wasn’t. At the same time, I didn’t know what exactly he was doing to me, other than driving me crazy. I was the one holding on, had been since I boarded the plane to Denver. That entire time, I had defied my own personal preservation and fell head first into a pit of confusion and want. I wanted this, whatever it was, but Brando didn’t.
Not wanting to sound desperate—desperate was one thing I was not—I shrugged. “When are you moving out?” My harsh tone hurt my heart. I didn’t want to hurt him, but in a war between our hearts, I had no choice but to protect my own.
He obviously wasn’t going to.
He looked down at his plate. “I’ll leave as soon as possible.”
I absorbed my emotions and then locked them away. With a double lock. “Good. Since you’re obviously well enough to take care of yourself, I think I’m going in to work today. Come in tomorrow at nine to start.”
When I got home from work that night, Brando was gone.
And so was his safe.