Storm (Sex and Bullets 1)

Of course, the car crash four months ago didn’t help. But what the fuck. I’m alive. Unlike others, and…

I lean back against the headboard and hang my head, drawing a shaky breath. Yeah, the guys are right. No reason why I should break down now. I had my chance when they were there, but I was too numb.

Not anymore. Now I feel too much. Every scar hurts. Every memory aches. And now this girl has turned my world upside down, and I have no clue what’s going on with her. Only that I need to find out, and fix it. Make it right.

Maybe that way I can heal myself, too.

Chapter Six

RAYLIN

Ice cubes. That’s all I find in the freezer of the huge fridge in the kitchen, apart from some frozen baguettes and fish fillets. I wrap the ice up in a towel and stare down at it, my hand going numb from the cold.

Am I leaving or staying? What the heck am I supposed to do?

Yeah, great, Storm is in pain, and I’m here, standing around like an idiot, his compress in my frozen hand.

I cross the hall and start up the stairs. What if I stayed a few more days? What’s the harm in that? Make sure he’s okay, that his leg won’t be giving him trouble. Map the scars on his body, get to know him better.

But then I’d have to explain myself. Tell him everything. At least, the things that really matter, that could put his life in danger if my father’s shady associates somehow find me.

Would they kill me if they found me? The million dollar question. Maybe not immediately. Which is even worse.

But they haven’t found me yet, have they? Maybe they really lost my tracks.

Feeling lighter, a spring in my step that wasn’t there before, I reach the stop of the stairs and hurry into the bedroom. He’s propped against the headboard, his bad leg stretched out on top of the bed.

Stark naked. Perfect. Beautiful, long limbed and strong, cast in bronze and silver, his hair shiny jet. He says nothing as I approach, a wariness in his gaze that wasn’t there before.

I sit on the edge of the bed and place the compress on his thigh. He flinches, then moves it down until it’s almost over his knee. I keep quiet, too, not sure how to start. Seconds trickle by, turning into minutes. Slowly the pain etched on his face fades, and he lets his head fall back with a sigh.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice a little garbled, as if he’s falling asleep. “Feels good.”

Everything about you feels good, I want to say, but I don’t. I fight the urge to caress his face, stroke away every line of pain.

Instead I say something I never planned to say. “I used to have a cat.”

“A cat.” He blinks at me, his eyes gleaming underneath his thick lashes.

“A kitten, really. Horatio.”

“Hor… are you serious?” His chuckle is deep and delicious.

I nod. “My mom used to love the name.”

He straightens slightly, his laughter fading. “Used to?”

“She died years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

Me too. “So as I was saying, I had a kitten. Gathered him up in a back alley and took him home. My roommate loved him. Megan. Nice girl. Heart of gold. She’d feed Horatio when I was out, pet him, hold him. She’d make me breakfast and look for me. I was starting to settle down, let down my guard, relax. Be happy. Feel safe. And that was a mistake.”

“Why, Ray?” He shifts on the bed, runs a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face.

“Because my dad’s associates found me again, and I had to run. Had to leave Horatio and Megan behind. Told you, lives are not worth risking.”

“Christ. Who the hell is your dad?”