“You’re worth it.”

Mind games. A mindfuck and a half. Why is he here? I’m too tired to deal with him, always running hot and then cold with me. Fucking exhausted. What happened at the Club last time…

Nah, not going there. My mind shies away from the memory, and a full-body shudder rocks me.

“Hold on,” Raine says, “almost there.”

His arm is around me, a distant sensation through my jacket, pressed to my numb back. His voice, though… Warm and deep, an echo from pleasant dreams, it winds around me tightly.

He’s here. I’m leaning into his side, stumbling along as he guides me down the sidewalk. He smells damn good, clean and musky, of soap and man.

I probably stink to hell and back, and I’m filthy—but the thought is distant and foggy in my mind. Caught between his scent, his warmth beside me, and putting one foot in front of the other—surprisingly difficult, cuz they keep tangling together—we make our slow way toward his truck.

It finally hits me, what’s happening.

Shitshitshit. Bad idea. I dig in my heels, and we stop.

“What is it?” he asks, and grips my chin, turns my head until he’s looking into my eyes. He cups my face, and his fingers are shockingly gentle on my bruised jaw. “It’s not far now. Are you okay?”

Okay? If I’m okay? Holy shit. Laughter starts deep in my chest, and I think I’m gonna puke. The memories strapped in the pit of my mind break free and slam into me like meteorites on a collision course with earth.

Pain. Blood. Despair. Darkness. Dread. I’m at the bottom of the pit, sinking, drowning. Lost.

“It’s okay,” a voice is saying, that same warm, deep voice from before, “it’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Jase. Breathe.”

I breathe. Actually, I gasp and wheeze and start coughing, like I’ve really been underwater. Looks like I hadn’t been drawing any air after all, not until he told me to.

Raine.

I can’t see his face. Can’t see much of him, in fact, except for the blue fabric covering his shoulder where I’ve been doing my impersonation of a drowned rat, and the pale expanse of his strong neck, soft dark hair curling a little over his ear.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Cold, fresh air, and Raine, that scent of warm skin, apples and man.

I’m not in the pit, not in the goddamn Club. I’m in Raine’s arms, and my body hurts so much I know for a fact this ain’t no dream. Holy fuck, this is real.

The world flickers.

I’m inside Raine’s truck, rumbling through the quiet streets, the heater blasting hot air in my face. I’m drowsy. Sleep keeps catching me off guard, sneaking up on me.

Then I’m awake, and the truck is parked. Raine is sitting behind the wheel, looking at me like I’m the answer to a puzzle he’s been trying to solve.

Which is fitting, I guess. I feel like a puzzle. Broken into pieces. Never whole. I bet some parts of me are lost forever.

Boohoo. The urge to laugh hysterically is back, and I shove it firmly back down. One breakdown per night is more than enough.

Especially in front of Raine, dammit. Of all guys, I wish… I wish I could look strong in front of him. Stronger than I am. Whole.

“I was about to wake you up,” he says, and at the sound of his voice I take a deep breath.

I remember him asking me to breathe, and heat spreads across my face. Made an ass of myself again. Those blue eyes study me and I fight the urge to squirm.

“How you feeling?” he asks now.

Overheated. Which is weird, after having been almost frozen solid on the sidewalk. I feel his gaze like a fucking flame, licking my skin wherever it touches.

“Come on, let’s get you upstairs.” He opens the door and climbs out.

And comes around to get me before I even make a move to open my door. A blast of icy wind hits me and then he’s standing again in front of me, waiting.

As if I’d fight him. I want to go with him. I’m fucking dying to go with him, even if it’s a bad idea.

All week, I’d thought of the things he said, his accusations, and felt the pain slice through me again and again. So different to the aches left behind by Simon’s men.

So much worse.

And yet when he offers his hand, I take it and climb out of the truck, carefully, like an arthritic old man. Dizziness hits me, and I make a grab for the truck door.

“Lean on me,” he says, and it sounds like something else, like so much more, and I can’t fucking fight it. When he reaches for me, I let him haul me against his side and wrap his arm around me.

Screw my pride. Screw rational thought. I’m done fighting. No more energy left.

Just once, just for tonight, I’ll lean on his strength, take what he seems to be offering, even if I pay the price later. I’ll pretend I can have what I wish for, deep where I keep my few good memories, my few real desires.

And I don’t fucking care what will happen when reality comes crashing back down, or how I’ll survive it. After all, survival was never in the plan, not for me.

“Here, let me take your jacket.” He draws away to do just that, pulling one sleeve off, then the other, and props me against the wall as he hangs up my filthy jacket—or burns it for all I care. Burning it would probably be best. “Shower?”

I nod mutely. Sounds great. I just hope I make it to the bathroom. I’m still damn unsteady, my knees weak. With the jacket off, I’m cold again, and in the clean air of the apartment, I finally smell myself and gag. I stink to hell and back.

Fuck, how did Raine make it without puking? He was practically glued to me all the way up. Jesus.

Raine is shrugging off his raincoat, and a black sweater he has underneath. He’s left wearing a gray T-shirt with a faded band logo, and black jeans. He loves his jeans, I note randomly.

And damn, he looks good in them, too.

“Jason.” He steps close and strokes a hand dawn my bruised jaw. I manage not to flinch, just barely, as much from the pain as from the shock of that soft touch. “You falling asleep on your feet, huh?”

Maybe that’s the explanation.

But dammit, no. “I’m awake,” I whisper.

“And your arm?”

I’d forgotten about the cut I got last week from one of the thugs’ knives. He takes my hand and lifts my arm, checking it.

Adam gave me a bandage after I emerged from the Club like a sleepwalker, barely able to stand. Two days ago I got rid of it. It was too stained and loose to do anything anyway, and the wound wasn’t bleeding anymore, so...

My breath leaves in a rush as Raine’s fingertips run over the scabs carefully, the feather-light sensation raising goosebumps over my skin. “You should have gotten stitches. I bet it will scar.”

I shrug. What’s one more scar? Unless he hates scars, but then I’m screwed, as I’m covered in them, and… I want him to touch me again.

Or stop, before I do something stupid.

I don’t fucking know what I want.

His eyes bore into mine, blue, so blue they should be cold, but instead they’re hot, the hottest blue.

And I’m falling.

“Whoa.” His hand moves up to my shoulder, and he pushes me back to the wall, the heat turning to concern. Or so I tell myself. “Maybe I should give you a sponge bath.”

Um, what? My head is spinning. “I’m fine. Shower will be good.”

God, yeah, it will be damn good, to wash the filth of days off me. But he’s still pressed so close to me, the warmth of his body seeping into my chilled flesh, that I don’t wanna move.

Wash, or press my stinky self to the handsome guy who’ll probably lose his lunch if he has to smell my stench for a second longer?

Regretfully, I put a hand on his chest, pushing him away. Or trying to. He’s like this wall of muscle, and my arm is trembling. “About that shower…”

He blinks. “Right. Come on.”

Not missing a beat, he tugs me to his side and steers me toward the bathroom. There he proceeds to undress me, and I open my mouth to say that’s my job, that I can do it myself, but nothing comes out.

I’m struck speechless. How fucking awesome.

Strangely, I feel like a child. And it is strange because I don’t really remember my childhood, so how would I know, right?

But I somehow do. There’s something innocent about the gentle touches, the warmth, the strong hands supporting me, guiding me. Taking care of me. This elusive sense of safety I feel when I’m with him, that I honestly don’t remember ever feeling before, though I must have, once.

Probably.

Or maybe I’m just too exhausted. It’s as if I’m stoned out of my mind, listing there, hallucinating things.

He removes my boots and socks, then pulls off my tank top, and I lift my arms to aid him, hissing at the pull on my bruised ribs. He unzips and tugs down my pants and underwear, and I step out of them, all my attention on his face, his tousled dark hair, his hands on my legs.

He’s so focused on me. Can’t remember anyone touching me like this. And as his gaze slides up my naked body, despite the layer upon layer of pain and tiredness, despite the persistent sick feeling in my stomach, I feel heat rushing to my balls, pressure building at the base of my dick, and my chest gets tight.

His lips part, and red rises to his cheeks. God, he’s beautiful, kneeling at my feet, with those bright eyes, scruffy jaw and broad shoulders.

Then he gets up, starts stripping, and oh boy, forget about feeling like a child.

Innocent? Ha. I have to lean back against the Plexiglas of the shower for support, my knees weak for an entirely different reason this time, as he reaches behind his head and hauls off his T-shirt, baring those delicious pecs and abs, and then unzips his jeans.

My face is too hot, my head too light. I lean more heavily against the Plexiglas, hoping it will hold, because watching Raine taking off his clothes should be illegal. It’s a damn hazard to my health.

He pushes his pants and briefs down, and fuck, he’s hard, his cock rising up to hover before his muscled stomach.

I lick my lips. I wanna taste him. Kiss his dick. Lick it, suck it.

How can he make me want such things after the week I’ve had? The goddamn life I’ve had. Damn him.

He steps up to me, runs his hands over my arms. By instinct, I start going down to my knees, but he grabs my elbows, keeps me standing.

“Not today,” he whispers, “not this.”

I don’t understand. “You’re hard.”

“I’ll live. Let me do this.”

Do what?

He takes my hand again, tugging me under the shower. Turning on the spray, he keeps it away from me until it warms up, then he does that thing again where he’s washing me, touching me.

It’s distracting me from the sight and feel of his strong body, his thighs brushing mine, his big hands moving over my chest, my neck, fingers running through my hair, washing the grime away.

Washing away the fear and pain and bitterness, and I sigh under the warm spray, drowning in the sensations. He’s thorough, I’ll give him that, washing the shampoo out of my hair, cleaning up my face, smoothing liquid soap over my chest, careful with the black and blue bruises. His fingers linger over my pierced nipple, and a spark of lust shoots straight to my dick when he tugs on it.

That sweet ache in my balls returns, and it reminds me that I have to pay for this. Rather sooner than later, too. Debts get you into trouble.

I don’t try to kneel again, not least of all because of the lingering dizziness. I bring my hand to his face, slide it to the back of his head, and pull him in for a kiss.

He resists for all of two seconds, brows going up, then slams his mouth over mine and shoves me into the wall, pressing his muscular body against mine.

My ribs burn, my jaw aches. It hurts, but it also feels good. The way his tongue licks inside my mouth, finding every sensitive spot, it’s driving me crazy. Never knew there was a direct hotline from my mouth to my dick.

Dimly I remember that this is about paying him back, that it’s about his pleasure, but it’s difficult to think when he’s fucking my mouth with his tongue, his hard-on is sliding against my stomach, and small shocks of need dance down my spine, gathering at the base of my cock, making it hang heavy between my legs. This is getting me hard, it’s—

He unfastens his mouth from mine and draws back, panting. “No, dammit. Not like this.”

“Like what?”

God, I want… I need something. Not sure what it is, but it involves Raine and his body, his mouth and his hands and his dick...

He turns off the water and steps out of the shower to grab a towel. “Like we have to have sex. Tonight isn’t about that.”

Then what is it about? I draw a blank as he drapes the towel over me and starts drying me off.

“Look,” I try and cut off as he wipes the towel over my face. Start again. “Thank you. For… all this.” I glance around at the bright, clean bathroom, the fluffy towel in his hands. “For taking me in from the cold, for letting me use your shower. It’s really fucking kind of—”

“Jase.” Just that, this nickname he insists on giving me, and it shuts me up. He leans in until our noses almost touch, and I go cross-eyed, trying to focus on him. Goddammit, such gorgeous eyes. “What I meant was… this isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

I blink. Wait for his words to make sense.

What is he talking about?

“About you,” he says again. “Tonight you have the evening off. We’ll eat, and watch TV, and talk.”

I swallow hard. Cuz it all sounds good, too good, a repeat of that night when I fell asleep on him on the sofa, a night I often find myself daydreaming about—but the talking part?

Yeah, that. Why do I think he’s about to ask from me so much more than I’m able to give?