I’m in a fucking daze. I wake up time and again to find myself in Raine’s bed, in his arms, and his words echoing in my ears.

Trust me.

I love you.

I promise it’s possible.

I eventually fall in deeper sleep, drifting through dark rivers and seas with blades and blood and dead faces flashing, hush little baby, hush…

…and come awake with a start to find deep blue eyes an inch from mine.

“Holy fuck.” I jerk back, but don’t get far because his hand is on my shoulder. “Whoa.”

“Relax. You were dreaming.”

No shit. My scars still ache, like they often do when I wake up, and I can never tell if it’s the cold or the memories.

“Want to talk about it?” he asks.

“No.”

“Are you all right?” He trails his hand down my bare arm, rubbing over the scars, and I hiss. “What is it? What did you dream of?”

“My family.” His touch burns through my skin. It hurts, but then it soothes. My eyes close as I sink into the sensation. “I think my family did things…” I suck in a sharp breath. “I’d never allow anyone to go through the same. When Simon hurt Jesse Lee, I knew I had to stop it.”

“What did your family do to you, Jase?”

My eyes snap open. Dammit, he always distracts me, and I say things I shouldn’t. “Nothing. It was just a dream.”

“Like hell it was.”

But I can’t talk about it. That particular can of worms is too terrifying to touch right now. “I need a shower.” I hesitate, but I’m still in my pants and socks, and I stink of sweat and fear. “If that’s okay. You—”

“This is your home now, too. No need to ask.”

I open my mouth to argue, but decide against it. Instead I give a quick nod and get off the bed. “Thanks.”

Hurrying into the bathroom, I undress and turn the water on, leaving it to warm up. The steam rising turns the Plexiglas opaque, and I pass my fingers under the water, aware of how easy it is to get used to comfort. Warm water, towels, central heating.

Safety and quiet.

“You know you can use my shampoo and soap,” Raine says from the bathroom door, and there he is, dressed in his gray sweats and nothing else, all hard angles and beautiful smooth skin, one muscular arm braced on the doorframe, the overhead lights catching honey streaks in his hair.

He’s watching me, and it makes me feel hot all over. I guess he’s expecting me to say something, but my mouth is dry and my dick feels heavy between my legs.

Then he steps inside and places a folded towel on the rack. He gives me a crooked smile, his gaze raking over my body, lingering on my half-hard dick. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Stay.” I grab his hips, pull him to me and start pushing down his sweats. “Take what you want. We can try it in the shower—”

“Jase, stop.” He grabs my hands, those clear blue eyes darkening. “We don’t have to have sex.”

I step back. “You don’t fucking understand.”

I can’t pay him back for this in any other way. This has always been the one thing I really own, even when everything else was taken away from me. My body is my currency.

“I understand,” he says quietly. “But you don’t get to pay for being at home. And you don’t get to pay for what I feel for you. This isn’t business.” He takes that one step that brings us back chest to chest. “You can stay, or you can go, and it’s all up to you, I swear. No strings attached. No payment due. I just hope you decide to stay.”

Some time later, smelling of apples and milk soap, the towel wrapped around my hips, I step out of the bathroom.

Still confused. Still unsure.

“Your home.” He’s said it so many times. As well as that… other thing that I don’t dare believe.

He’s asking me to trust him. Hell, I’m trying. I keep thinking I’ll need to pay back for everything. That nothing’s for free, and last night’s blowjob can only cover that much.

Yeah, and I just don’t wanna admit to myself how much I wanted to taste him until I had him in my mouth. And how grateful I was to crawl back in here after the day from hell that I had, after all the terror and pain, where it’s warm and safe and he’s with me.

Damn.

Will Raine’s buddies really take care of Simon’s threat? Adam left three days ago. I’m the last one. He can’t hurt my friends anymore. Is it possible that it’s all over?

Raine’s in the kitchen, dressed in blue jeans and a black T-shirt, flipping perfect golden omelets. He says he doesn’t know how to cook, but he’s obviously not telling the whole truth. The aroma makes my mouth water.

He shoots me a grin and pushes a plate toward me, piled high with omelet and bacon. “Breakfast.”

Will I ever not be suspicious of everything he offers me? Will I ever be enough for him with so little to offer? Sex. Blowjobs. Back-alley ninja skills. An interest in food shows.

Everything a man looks for in a partner.

Crazier still the fact I’m asking myself the question. As if there’s a chance this might work out.

He takes his own plate and a wooden board with sliced bread and sets them on the table. “Coffee?”

I nod, then turn to look for the coffee maker, only to find the coffee already brewed. Fuck, I don’t know how to make myself useful. Plus, I feel oddly naked without my clothes and makeup on.

I go to grab two mugs, telling myself that tomorrow morning I’ll come in here first to get breakfast ready—and then freeze with the mugs in my hands when I realize the implications of that.

I’m planning on being here tomorrow. And the day after that.

Holy shit.

I return to the table as if sleepwalking, set the mugs down and sink into my chair. Then I catch Raine’s gaze on my pierced nipple, and I feel the odds even out a little. At least there’s no doubt he wants me. I’m on solid ground there. I feel like I’m on a raft in the sea, and I cling to this tiny bit of certainty as everything else I’ve ever known tumbles past, vanishing in the waves.

“Not hungry?” He’s adding milk to his coffee, and I stare down into the murky depths of mine.

I put the mug down and dig into my breakfast. It’s damn good, and I wonder why I’m not wolfing it down like always, until I remember the injection yesterday. Normally after I come down from a high, I’m not hungry.

My mind keeps churning. Faint images from the dream, memories, the hellish hours at the Club yesterday haunt my mind. The cuts on my leg and my side itch. My bruises ache. I’m bone tired, and yet restless.

He puts his fork down, tucks a strand of shiny dark hair behind his ear. I want to do that for him, brush his hair off his forehead, feel it slide between my fingers. Is it normal to want this? Would it be something a boyfriend would do?

“I have to go to Collateral today,” he says. “We have this two-day event with Soul Stain, a tattoo shop from Chicago. Come with me?”

I shake my head. “Nah. Your brother and Jesse Lee think I use their money for drugs and booze. I doubt they want to see me there.”

“Jase.” His hand sneaks over the table and grabs mine. “No. They never thought that. Those doubts… they were mine.”

What the hell… “I thought…” All this time I thought they didn’t trust me. I try to pull my hand away, but he won’t let me. “Shit.”

“Don’t.” His hand is crushing mine, but I barely feel it. “This is my fault. I should have made sure it was clear they never said anything like that. I was going to, then with everything going on I forgot. I screwed up, Jase, and what I said back then? I did lots of things I’m not proud of, and I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

His eyes are wide, honest. Tinged with remorse.

He did hurt me. Weird how I can feel the pain now. Anger made me numb before, but now that anger is fading away and I feel it. I feel everything.

“Jase.” He gets up and drags me to my feet. He puts his arms around me. “Say something.”

I’m still in his hold as thoughts crash through my head, one on top of the other, and I realize something very important.

He’s not perfect. He’s not some flawless guy who knows everything, who knows what he’s doing. He’s fumbling, just like me. Hell, he’s younger than me. I keep forgetting that. Younger both in age and experience with the world.

And as for his anger… it’s not his privilege, this rage against the unfair world. We share it. We’re much more alike than I ever thought. I like his anger, since it’s my anger, too. And if I caught the brunt of it before, I saw it turn to affection, and so I know it’s possible.

It’s possible to turn the anger into something else. Something better.

“It’s okay,” I whisper and realize I really mean it. I summon my last shreds of irritation, struggle with them. “But please don’t ever fucking do it again.”

There.

Or not? I’ve no fucking clue what to say anymore, who to be. If I let him help me, if I don’t go back to working the streets, then…

Then what will I do?

He pulls back and kisses me. “I promise. No more anger and misunderstandings.” He kisses me again, and I melt against him, losing the thread of the conversation. “You sure you don’t want to come to the event with me?”

I nod.

“Okay. You’ll be all right here. Stay inside, don’t go out. We need to talk when I’m back, make a plan.”

A plan.

I don’t want to go to that event, even if it was all a misunderstanding. But he can’t leave yet. I’m still not sure where I’m standing, what I’m doing. What we are. So I do the only thing I know:

I grab his shoulders and crush our mouths together, desperate to taste and touch him. Even if it’s not in payment… this is the only way I know to get close to someone. This intimacy he’s been teaching me, skin to skin. Heart to heart.

I push him back onto the armchair where he first fucked me, what feels like ages ago. I tug down his sweats, cursing at the delay, then spread his legs and go down on my knees.

“Jase. Hold up.”

But I can’t. This is urgent. I need… him. Close. Closer.

I don’t know what the fuck I need.

His hand grips the back of my head, stroking, and I shudder. He tugs until I lay my cheek on his thigh, and he keeps stroking. Petting me.

Maybe this. This feels good. Sends tingles down my back, makes my skin shiver pleasantly. His other hand caresses my shoulder, my arm, and I sag against him, all the urgency seeping out of me.

Then he says, “The scars. How did you get them?”

Oh fuck.

I jerk back but his grip only tightens. It makes my breath rattle in my chest, and my heart hammer against my ribs.

“It’s, uh.” Shit. Just say something and be done with it. “I think it was an accident I was in. As a kid.”

And for some reason my stomach twists, as if it’s true. But it’s not.

Not that I’d know. Or that I’d wanna know. Can’t remember anyway.

Christ, I forgot about the scars for a moment there. Maybe because I got comfortable here, and I’ve lived with the scars for so long. Since I was a kid, and…

My stomach twists again, and I swallow bile. The world starts to darken at the edges, like it sometimes does when I try to remember about my childhood. I look up at Raine, look into that deep blue gaze, and he frowns.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and grabs me under the armpits, dragging me toward him. I hadn’t realized I’d been listing sideways. He lifts me up on the armchair with disturbing ease, as if I weigh nothing, and settles me down in his lap, wrapping his arms around me. “I’m an idiot. I push too much.”

“Don’t,” I whisper.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t stop pushing. Don’t let go.”

He’s silent for a beat. Then he presses a kiss to my hair. “Never,” he says. “For as long as you want me to, I’ll be by your side.”