Manipulate (Deliver 6)

“Don’t worry, Tula.” His direct eye contact made her swallow. “You’re definitely my type.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Just making conversation.” She gathered more gauze.

“Asking a man his sexual orientation is one way to make conversation.” He rubbed his jaw. “Tells me where your mind’s at.”

Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again. “You brought it up.”

“No, you did when you asked if we were lovers.”

With an annoyed inhale, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Then she turned back to Martin. “Your friend’s a pain in the ass.”

Martin bit back a smile, likely anticipating Ricky’s response.

“Darling,” Ricky said in a low voice, “if I was in your ass, pain would be the last thing you’d feel.”

The bottle of antiseptic fell from her hand.

“Shit.” As she leaned down to recover it, her gaze found Martin’s. “I can’t tell if he’s a smartass, a badass, or just an ass.”

Martin grabbed the bottle before she reached it. “Most people don’t know how to take him.”

“It’s kind of a gift.” Ricky devoured the view of her backside as she bent to examine Martin’s chest for wounds.

“How long have you known each other?” she asked.

“Seven years.” Martin handed her the antiseptic. “I needed a place to live. Ricky and the others had a spare bed.”

“The others?” She wiped away a smear of blood on his chest.

“We have a few roommates.”

“Is that the long story you mentioned?”

“Everybody has one.” He squinted at her. “What’s yours?”

“Wrong place. Wrong time.” She edged closer, her eyes fixed on his lap as she reached for a splotch of blood on his waistband. “Looks like you got hit—”

Martin sprung from the bed in a blink. His hand seized her throat and slammed her back against the wall before Ricky could process what was happening.“Martin!” Ricky’s heart rate doubled as he jumped to his feet. “What the fuck?”

Tula jerked against Martin’s hand at her throat and went for the gun in her waistband. Ricky beat her to it and tossed it out of reach on the bed.

“Hey, man.” He put his face into Martin’s line of sight without touching him. “Snap out of it.”

Martin bared his teeth through a feral grimace. His green eyes glazed over with a faraway look, one he wore whenever he fell into the mysterious black hole of his past.

It could’ve been his time in Van’s attic or something from his childhood. Whatever haunted him had been set off when Tula touched his waist.

“Let go!” She thrashed beneath his grip and shoved uselessly at his chest. Her wide eyes darted to Ricky, the brown depths pooling with fear. “Get him off me!”

“Martin, look at me.” He hardened his tone. “Right now.”

Slowly, Martin turned his head. His lashes lowered and lifted through a long blink, and he dropped his hand.

She clutched her splotchy neck and gulped for air. Her cheeks went from pale to an angry shade of red, and her eyes zeroed in on the gun.

In the next breath, she launched for it, but Ricky caught her around the waist.

“Hold up.” He didn’t have to restrain her or use much force to guide her slight weight in the opposite direction. “Martin, how are you doing?”

“Fine.” Martin paced away, dragging his hands down his face.

Muscles rippled along either side of his spine, and he rolled his shoulders as if trying to shake off his demons.

The impulse to erase the distance and comfort Martin gripped him hard, but it would only end in rejection.

Breathing heavily, Tula backed away, her eyebrows squished in confusion.

Ricky turned to the mess that had been made during the scuffle and used Martin’s ruined shirt to wipe up the spilled antiseptic solution. Thankfully, the bottle of tequila still sat upright on the floor.

“What did I do wrong?” She picked up the scattered gauze and approached Martin cautiously. “Tell me so I don’t repeat it.”

“Nothing.” Martin shifted to the sink and rested his backside on the edge. His hand went to his brow, rubbing restlessly as he blew out a breath. “You did nothing wrong.”

“Liar.” She stepped right up to him and gazed into his eyes. “I touched your waist. Or was it your hip? Is there a no-touch zone?”

“What?” Irritation vibrated through his tone.

“What?” she snapped back.

They seemed to be feeding off the tension in the air between them, but there was something else going on.

They scrutinized each other, not in a confrontational standoff, but in some kind of intense, wordless conversation.

Whatever Martin read in her eyes started to calm the storm in his. Her expression softened, growing solemn. After a suspended moment of eye contact, she spoke.

“When I was arrested two years ago, the Mexican military tortured me with…” Her chest hitched. “I don’t know what it was. They electrocuted me with a rod, vaginally and anally, for eight hours straight.”

Ricky’s insides turned to cement.