Gift From The Bad Boy

“No, not in a long time. I should go by there. See how she’s doing.”

“Yeah.” Jay checked the time. “Gotta go,” he said. “Duncan and Spark are getting back from the long haul mission. I’m gonna check in and make sure they had a miserable time.”

I chuckled. “We’ll knock some sense into those kids yet.”

“Or die trying.”

“They ain’t worth that, Jay. Don’t you dare die on me. You’re irreplaceable.”

He looked at me somberly. “Get some rest, Ben. You look tired.”

I didn’t say a word. Instead, I stood and watched as he mounted his motorcycle and pulled away down the road, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Leaning back on the brick wall behind me, I closed my eyes. It felt good to soak up the summer heat and feel my muscles unclench one by one. I was so on edge without even realizing it. My breaths were short and shallow; my fingertips were always drumming on my leg or the desktop. Sleep was damn near impossible. Something in the air just didn’t feel right to me, and I couldn’t find a way to let go of it. For now, though, I had a few moments to sit in the sun and rest.

Those eyes. Grey. Bright. Staring at me. Blonde hair falling over them. Dark lips, open in a moaning O…

I shot them open again, feeling more restless than before. Growling, I turned and walked down the street to where my bike was parked. Dina lived just a few blocks away. I figured I’d go pay her a visit.

Chapter Nine

Carmen

I slammed the textbook shut and threw it across the room. It hit the wall with a thump and slid down to the floor, pages fluttering, as I buried my head in my hands and let out a silent scream. How was I ever supposed to learn this stuff? The information just refused to stick in my head. I’d spent God knew how many hours with my head stuffed in the freaking book and yet what did I have to show for it? Nothing except a grade hovering right on the edge between passing and failing. If I bombed this class again, there would be hell to pay.

Of course, it was my own fault. I should have just passed it the first time around. But that was what happened when you stayed up all night with a handsome biker instead of studying for your exam. Ten out of ten academic counselors advised against doing something that stupid. I should have listened to the voice in my head, the one that had screamed at me to stay home instead of going to that party.

But I hadn’t. I’d listened to Lori instead, and ended up in a world of hurt. I still remembered Daddy’s voice, booming and slicing into my eardrums even though he barely raised his volume above a whisper.

You’re in a lot trouble, Carmen.

That hadn’t even begun to describe it. The wrath he’d unleashed upon me that night and the days and weeks following was like something out of the Bible. He alternated between a cold fury and the most insane bellowing I’d ever seen or heard. There were a few moments where I was legitimately scared for my life. And when he’d slapped me…

I shivered. The phantom pain of his hand across my cheek still lingered. He kept his ring on when he did it. I wondered often whether that was on purpose or not. Either way, I had a little scar on my jaw to show for it. A little memento from Daddy, a bright warning to the next guy to stay far, far away from me. I was damaged goods, but I was his and no one else’s.

I’d felt horrible in the aftermath of the party. Nauseous, trembling, wildly emotional. It was like my nerves were permanently frayed and the whole system was going haywire. I didn’t know who to blame—Ben or my father.

Even now, almost four months after the fact, I was ashen-faced and sweating, even though the bedroom was well below seventy degrees. I closed my eyes and tried to draw in breaths steadily, in through my nose and out through my mouth, to calm my fluctuating heartbeat. Breathe, girl, I instructed myself. It’ll be okay. You’ve just gotta let things go.

I supposed the easiest thing to do would be to just accept that this was my life now. I’d thought I was kept under lock and key before, but that was a hilarious understatement compared to what things had become. Daddy had installed tracking software on my phone that gave him updates every fifteen minutes on my location via GPS and logged every single text message I sent. I had a strict curfew of eight p.m. every single night of the week, without exception. If he weren’t going to be home himself to make sure I complied, he sent one of his men to check on me and lock the doors behind me. I’d have said that it was like being a prisoner, but at least people in jail had a realistic chance of escape. I had none.