Avenged Page 5

  It was something simple, something I should have asked her if she needed help with well before now, especially after she guzzled down all that water. I wanted to kick myself for not being better at this whole knight in shining armor thing. I’d spent too long as the dragon, scaring the villagers, and doing the evil king’s bidding. Rewiring my brain to work the way any normal man’s did was going to take much longer than a day or two, apparently.

  “Sure, I’ll help you. Just let me know if anything hurts and don’t expect five star accommodations. The bathroom is even more barebones than the rest of the cabin.” I guess the feds figured anything was a step up from a prison cell, so all I got was the bare minimum.

  She pushed the covers off of her long, pale legs and moved to swing them over the side of the bed. All she had on was one of my flannel shirts and a pair of my wool socks. All her clothes were torn, shredded, and covered in blood and mud from the accident. I knew she was naked underneath that thick material and the vision of her shapely, well-toned legs did nothing to help the sudden tightness behind my zipper. She had the prettiest, most milky white skin I had ever seen and right now there was far too much of it on display for my comfort. My fingers tingled with the realization that they were going to be touching it very soon.

  She held up her good hand and curled her injured arm protectively across her chest. “Try not to jostle my left side. The shoulder feels better now that it’s back in the socket, but it still hurts like a mother when I move it even a little bit.”

  She curled her fingers around the back of my neck when I lowered myself so I could slide an arm under her bent knees and one around her back. I tried to pick her up as gently and as carefully as possible, but the movement still made her jolt and whimper in pain. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her forehead against my throat. I’d never had anyone to take care of before, never had to stop and put anyone else before myself. I had to say, the way satisfaction filled me up and burned through my blood felt almost as heady and potent as the rush I got from my white-knuckled and bloody climb to power in the Point. Normally a naked woman inspired lust and longing; this one had protective and possessive instincts rising up that I’d never felt before.

  Almost as if she could read my mind, she asked against my skin, “What did you do before you became an executive lumberjack? How exactly did you make the shithole you call home a bad and dangerous place?”

  She needed the words to distract from the obvious pain she was in. I juggled my hold on her soft skin as I opened the squeaking door to the bathroom. Calling it that was a bit of an exaggeration. The thing looked more like what you would find in a campground out in the woods. There was a teeny-tiny shower stall with a rusted showerhead and old camo shower curtain. The showerhead was about two inches lower than where I needed it to be in order to stand up straight while I was in there, so I was getting used to a back ache if I wanted clean hair. The sink was metal and set in an off-balance cabinet that leaned dramatically to the left. I stopped resting my toothbrush on the edge of it after the third time I found it on the floor. The toilet was standard, and probably the only part of the setup that wouldn’t make her cringe.

  It took some work to get her down and steady on her feet. She was still clutching my shoulders for balance when I answered her question as honestly as I could. “I was a handyman of sorts. I fixed things for the man in charge, no matter what it took, no matter the cost. If he had a problem, fixing that problem started and stopped with me.”

  She lifted her eyes to mine, white lines of agony stark around the corners. “You were a lackey?” I snorted out a startled laugh and grasped her arm as she worked out how to lower herself down onto the porcelain throne. Once she was situated, she waved me off. “I’ve got it from here, tough guy.”

  I gave her a nod and slipped out the door, leaving it slightly cracked so that I could get to her quickly if she passed back out or needed anything.

  “I was a lackey. The top lackey, and at the time, I thought it was the shit and that I was the shit. It’s funny how quickly your perception changes when your surroundings do. The guy I worked for was bad news, the worst kind of criminal. He had zero morals, zero boundaries, and no scruples. Men, women, children…they were all game to terrorize and manipulate. He had those of us that worked for him brainwashed. He handed us all the money, women, power we could ask for and told us his way was the only way to build the city up. It wasn’t until he was gone and we were left with the mess he made that any of us realized we were the ones responsible for tearing the city apart. We were what was wrong with the place.”

  She let out a little gasp but it didn’t sound like one caused by pain, so I stood still outside the door as she asked, “What happened to him? The guy you worked for, is he the one that tried to kill you when your perspective changed?”

  I let out a sharp laugh and shook my head. “No, he’s dead. He tried to set his own kid up, tried to blackmail him into working for him. When his plan didn’t work, he snatched the kid’s girlfriend and tried to use her for leverage. As it turned out, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree and his kid had no qualms about taking him out. His son is not someone you fuck with and my old boss should have known that.” I’d known Bax was bad news and told Novak over and over again he was playing with fire. Shane Baxter was a problem that refused to be solved and Novak paid the ultimate price for not paying attention when I told him that.

  I was actually the one that took Bax’s girl. I was also the one that smashed her brother’s kneecaps in with a tire iron while trying to find her; like I said, anything to try and fix the problem. I reached up to touch the scar at my neck and again wondered if it was one of the soldiers from the cartel I turned on, or one of the henchmen from the human trafficking ring I sold out, or one of the minions that worked for the arms dealer that I burned that had ordered the hit on me while I was locked up. Realistically, I knew it was just as likely that Bax had called in a favor from the days he was locked up for boosting cars. Even though I’d never had one of my own, I knew all the way down to my bones you did not mess with a dangerous man’s woman. Not without serious consequences.

  I heard water running as she flushed and then washed her hands. The door swung open and I caught her around the waist as she swayed on her feet, much like she had the night she pulled herself out of the wreckage of her car. Her forehead hit my throat again and her working arm wound around my neck as the injured one pressed into my chest. She heaved a deep sigh and her words were warm across my skin when she spoke.

  “I’m glad you turned over a new leaf, Ben. The old one sounds pretty terrible.”

  I ran my hand up and down her back, feeling tension and exhaustion along every lean line of her body. She was about to drop. Without asking, I scooped her up into my arms and started back to the bed.

  “The leaf had its moments when it kept the rain out but it definitely isn’t a leaf made for everyone.” I laid her back down as lightly as I could and bit back a groan of pure male appreciation as my palm skimmed her calves when I helped her get her legs back under the covers. Her skin was as soft as butter and all I wanted to do was keep working my hands up higher and higher until they were under the hem of the too-big shirt that was keeping her covered. “I need to run outside and grab the cot so I can crash. You couldn’t pay me enough to sleep on these floors.” I hadn’t cleaned them in the months I’d been living there and who knew when they’d been mopped before my arrival.

  I was getting ready to push off the bed when her fingers curled into the collar of my shirt, balling the cotton up in her fist.

  “I don’t want to kick you out of your bed, Ben. You’ve already gone above and beyond the call of duty where this particular damsel in distress is concerned.”

  I peeled her fingers loose and stood upright. “You aren’t kicking me out of my bed, Pop-Tart. I’m willingly giving it to you while you’re stuck up here with me.” Color me surprised that I actually could be a gentleman on occasion. No one back home woul
d believe it.

  She glanced down at the bed then back up at me. Her eyes were so blue it was like drowning in the deepest part of the ocean each time she blinked.

  “You don’t have to give it up. That’s ridiculous. I’ve been unconscious and at your mercy for who knows how long. If you were going to try anything funny, you would have done it when I couldn’t fight back. The bed is big enough to share.” She gave me a lopsided smirk and worked herself over to the far side, the side her bad arm was on. “Besides, I normally find myself in bed with the absolutely wrong kind of man. This won’t be anything new for me.”

  Well, wasn’t that a kick in the teeth?

  I wanted to be the only wrong man she found herself in bed with, but that didn’t stop me from pulling back the covers and sliding in next to her. I told myself I would keep my hands to myself and remain on my best behavior.

  But like I mentioned…I was a damn good liar.

  Chapter 5

  Echo

  I couldn’t get comfortable. I was so tired my entire body felt like it was made of lead, my limbs were too heavy to lift, and my eyes were too tired to stay open. The dull throb in my shoulder, the ache that wouldn’t stop, kept me wide awake and shifting restlessly all night long as sleep eluded me. I tried to be as still as I could so that I didn’t disturb or accidentally bump into my distractingly attractive bedmate, but it only took a half hour before my restlessness had him rolling out of bed and padding quietly across the small space.

  I opened my mouth to apologize for forcing him out of his bed when he was as obviously exhausted as I was, but the words were drowned out by the sound of running water and the clinking of metal on metal as he put a cast-iron pan on top of the stove. He bent to throw a couple more logs into the dwindling fire, making my mouth go dry when he stripped his shirt off as a burst of heat filled the room. I knew he was strong and packing some serious definition under that winter-appropriate clothing. However, there was no being prepared for the pure masculine beauty that was put on display when they were removed. His skin was touched with gold and orange light from the open door of the stove, highlighting thick slabs of muscle and a stomach that looked like it had been chiseled from stone. Every part of him was cut, defined, and sharp. There wasn’t an extra ounce of fat on him anywhere, and he had a little dusting of dark chest hair that spread out and arrowed down across that impressive stomach toward the happiest trail I had ever seen.

  I wanted to run my fingers over it. I wanted to touch it and stroke it to see if it was as soft as his beard was. The man didn’t mess around when it came to product and personal hygiene. His beard was silky and springy and when I was close enough to him to smell it, all I got was hints of coconut and honey. Not to mention, he hadn’t showered or been to bed since rescuing me from the crash site and his thick, dark hair was stuck firmly in its trendy style.

  “The only thing I can think of to help you get comfortable so we can both sleep is putting some heat on that shoulder. All we have to work with is an old-fashioned heating bag that needs to be filled with hot water. Once this boils, you should be good to go.” He bent back down to add more wood to the fire and I had to literally bite my lips to hold in a moan when all the muscles and lines of his back flexed and bunched enticingly. There was something about how unquestionably strong he was, both in mind and body, that called to the broken parts of my heart. He was a man that might bend when he had to, but he would never break. There was something so appealing about that after everything I’d lost recently.

  He was also the only person that had gone out of their way to take care of me in as long as I could remember. My entire life had been about taking care of my sister, and taking care of myself. There was never anyone to lean on or rely on…until this confusing and difficult stranger. I wanted to hate him for the way he wielded the truth like a blade, but I couldn’t because his care and concern made hating him impossible. The feelings he had churning under my skin were as out of place as he was in this cabin in the woods.

  I heaved a sigh and lifted my hand to rub my gritty eyes. “I’m so sorry that I’m being a burden. I’m usually really good at taking care of myself.” At least I was, now that I was purposely avoiding the things I used to use to hurt myself.

  There was a rustling sound then a volley of swear words that I assumed meant he’d splashed some of the hot water on himself as he was filling the rubbery hot water bottle. Moments later, the soothing heat was resting on my shoulder and some of the pulsing pain ebbed away. I blinked up at him as his fingertips touched my forehead. I held my breath as he moved a curl away from my face with the singularly gentlest touch I’d ever experienced in my life.

  Those hands had committed crimes.

  Those hands had blood on them.

  Those hands had been used to hurt others.

  Those hands were dirty in a way that would never wash clean.

  I shouldn’t want them all over the rest of my body, but I did.

  “The morning of your crash, I was looking at myself in the mirror. I was wondering for the umpteenth time why I didn’t die when by all accounts I should have. If the kid that sliced my throat had managed to get the blade a little more to the left, just a millimeter or two, I wouldn’t be here. He was so close to my jugular that everyone called it a miracle I made it.” He brushed his thumb over the arch in my eyebrow and the corners of his mouth lifted up in a grin. “It wasn’t a miracle; it was fate. The only reason I survived was so that I could be here to make sure you made it. I was never the one that earned the second chance. You were.” He moved away from where he was leaning over me, leaving me breathless and tingling from top to toe. “You lost a lot, Pop-Tart. The only reason I pulled through was to make sure you didn’t lose yourself as well.” His hands moved to the buckle on his leather belt and he lifted a raven-colored brow at me questioningly. “It’s hot as hell in here now with all the added fuel on the fire. I’m stripping down, so if you want to change your mind about sharing the bed, now is the time to speak up.”

  No way was I going to complain about seeing the rest of him stripped down and touched by the light glow coming from the slats on the stove where the fire was indeed raging and popping furiously.

  “It’s fine.” The words came out higher and breathier than I intended. “I’m exhausted and now that my shoulder isn’t hurting as bad, I’ll be asleep as soon as I close my eyes.”

  He grunted in response and the next thing I knew, his jeans hit the floor and he was climbing in the bed next to me, wearing nothing more than a pair of sinfully tight boxer briefs. The rest of him was just as nice as his front and back. He was all long, lean lines and coiled strength that looked even better when it wasn’t covered up in clothing. He also had a nasty-looking scar that ran up the length of one of his legs, like he’d had to have reparative surgery at some point in the past…like someone had shattered his kneecap. His body was like a topographical map of violence and brutality. Raised marks and bumps indicating broken bones and long-healed injuries. Even his nose was slightly off center, the only real imperfection on his otherwise remarkable face. I didn’t understand how anyone forged out of so much ugliness could be so considerate and kind. Everything about him was out of place and so confusing.

  “You said it was a kid that gave you that scar across your throat. It happened recently, didn’t it?” I should have been silent, chasing after sleep, but I couldn’t stop the curiosity about him and where he had come from. I wanted to know all there was to know about him. It was a very different feeling than I usually had when I found myself in bed with a stranger. In the past, all I wanted to do was forget. With Ben, I wanted to know everything because memories of him were all I was going to have once I got off this mountain and back home.

  He was silent for a long moment, clearly deciding how much he could, or would, say. The bed shifted as he bent an arm up behind his head and used the other to stroke his beard. I wanted to knock his fingers away and sink my own into the dark fur. I liked guys with facial
hair. I was a Colorado native, that meant finding a nice beard attractive was practically a requirement for any single, straight woman from my state.

  I wasn’t lying when I told myself that I liked Ben’s beard more than most.

  “It happened around four months ago. I was locked up. When my old boss went down, the feds scooped up his entire crew on RICO charges. They tried to flip most of us, but didn’t get the chance. The old boss did business with the worst kind of people and they weren’t going to give any of his lackeys a chance to throw a wrench in their operations. Most of the crew got whacked while they were waiting for their trials or working on making deals. They never got the chance to rat the boss’s suppliers out.” His fingers moved to the scar on his neck and I couldn’t resist the urge to touch anymore. I stretched my hand out and brushed my fingertips along the raised, smooth line along his neck. It felt hot to the touch. I wasn’t surprised at all when he dropped the bomb that he was an ex-con. I knew he was dangerous and he’d been disarmingly honest about the man he was before he was an executive lumberjack.

  “I was never going to turn on anyone. I knew it was going to mean life in prison, or as long as I lasted, but I’m not a rat.” He chuckled into the darkness and wrapped his fingers around my wrist, where my pulse was thundering as I traced that wicked scar over and over again. “I thought I was doing an alright job watching my back. I was in for a couple months, had an in with one of the gangs we did business with on the outside. This kid—and I mean he literally was a child, no more than eighteen—I didn’t see him coming. He got me when the guards were doing cell checks and distracted looking for contraband. Filleted me open like I was a fish, with nothing more than a razor blade from a plastic razor. He could have been working for one of the crews that was worried I would turn. He could have been trying to earn his prison cred by taking out a big fish. He might have owed one of the guys I pissed off on the streets a favor. Who knows why he did it, because one way or the other it was coming. The prison doc did his best to save my life but it was the feds who came in and really made sure I didn’t kick it. They got me to a hospital and put the best otolaryngologist they could on my case. When I pulled through, they told me I owed them and I couldn’t argue. I sang louder and prettier than a choir on Sunday.”