Up to Me (The Bad Boys 2)

“You ever gonna tell me what all this is about?” She sounds contented, satisfied. I can hear it in her voice.  She might as well be purring.

“If you look closely enough, you can see all the separate elements of the story.”  I take my finger and trace each part as I explain to her what it all means.  “These are the flames that burned up that boat.  And my life.  These are the wings that flew away with the family I once knew.  This is sort of my version of the yin and yang symbol, for me and my lost twin.  And this rose is for my mother.  May she always rest in peace.”

“What’s this?” she asks, running her finger over the lettering that winds around my bicep, just below where the flames start.  It’s unintelligible now.  The bullet grazed part of it.

“It used to say ‘never forgotten’.”

“And this wound messed it all up.”

I put one arm behind my head and look down at her.  She drags her liquid eyes up to mine.  “It’s fine.  And it was worth it.”

She closes her eyes, like she’s shutting out something painful.  “You could’ve been killed,” she says quietly.

“Hey,” I say, waiting until she opens her eyes to look at me.  “Now you know that I mean it when I say I’d take a bullet for you.  Olivia, I love you.  I’d gladly take a bullet or a knife or an ass-kicking or…whatever to keep you safe.”  Her emerald eyes glisten with unshed tears.  “That’s not supposed to make you sad or upset.”

“It doesn’t,” she says on a trembling voice. “It just makes me happy, hearing you say those words.”

“It does?” I grin.

She grins in return.  “Yeah.  Maybe a little.”

I run my fingers up her side to tickle her and I find that she’s sticky.  “As much as I’d love to stay here with you for a few more days, I suppose we’d better get downstairs and let you clean up.  You’re a sticky mess.”

“I wonder why?”

“I’m not exactly sure, but if you really need to know, we could try to recreate several scenarios until we discover the one that caused you to get so…sticky.”

“Promise?”

“Hell yeah, I promise!”

I peck her on the lips and smack her on the ass before I help peel her chest off mine. I do my best to ignore the way her nipples tighten with the stimulation.  I feel that telltale twitch between my legs that says some parts of me can’t ignore it.  Her next comment, however, effectively crushes any sign of a boner.

“So what’s the deal with Nash and Marissa?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“Really?  You don’t care about what happens with Nash?”

I shrug. “It’s not like I wish the guy dead or anything, but he’s not much like the brother I remember.”

“Maybe you two just need some time to get reacquainted with each other, with the men you’ve become.”

I shrug again.  “Maybe.”

But I’m not making any promises!

We get dressed, head back downstairs and make our way back to my apartment.  When I open the office door, I’m a little surprised to see Marissa sitting on the sofa.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting on...Nash.”  She stumbles over his name, which lets me know without asking that she realizes what’s going on. Well, at least that part of it, not all the other details.

“He’s not back yet? He was supposed to be right behind me.”

“I haven’t seen him.  Neither has Gavin.”

Prickles of suspicion raise the hairs at the back of my neck.  “I’ll call him and find out where he’s at,” I tell Marissa, pulling out my cell phone.  And find out what the hell’s going on.

I select his number from the recently dialed list and I wait for it to ring on the other end.  When it does, I hear a muffled ring coming from the next room.  I think for a second it must be one of the burner cells Olivia and I have been using.

Probably that damn Ginger.

But then I hear the ring of the line against my ear again followed directly by another muffled ring in the next room.  Taking the phone with me, I walk back into my apartment.  I hear the ring again and it sounds like it’s coming from the bedroom.  I head that direction.

When I round the corner, I hear the ring tone again.  It sounds much clearer.  The interior of my bedroom is pitch black since there are no windows to let in even street or moon light.  I flick the switch to cut on the overhead light and there, lying unconscious on my bed, is a bloody Nash.

I hear someone gasp behind me. If I had to guess, I’d say it was Marissa. She seems to be in some sort of altered state, probably shock related.

But wouldn’t it be a freakin’ miracle if this whole ordeal unbitchified her?

I turn to see her peeking around me, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide and terrified.

“Ohmigod!  What have they done to him?”

Much to my surprise, she squeezes past me and rushes to his side.  She stands there looking down at him, her head going back and forth as she appraises him from head to toe and back again.  But she doesn’t move otherwise. I’m sure, with her upbringing, Marissa has no clue what to do at this very moment.  I’m just impressed that she’d even try to be concerned.

I walk to the head of the bed and look my brother over.  His face is busted up pretty bad.  He’ll look like a damn rainbow in the morning.  A puffy rainbow, that is.

His knuckles are in bad shape, too.  I can’t help but smile that he probably gave somebody one hell of a fight.  It’s when I get to his abdomen that I get concerned.  His black leather jacket has fallen away from his side and I can see the wetness staining his black t-shirt.  I can also see the jagged slash in the material, revealing bloody skin and a slit in his side beneath it.

“Olivia, take Marissa and go get Gavin.  He’s working the bar in your place.”

From the corner of my eye, I see Olivia spring into action.  Marissa, however, is still standing beside me, looking like a deer caught in someone’s headlights.

“Marissa!” I shout sternly.  She jumps like I startled her.  She turns her confused eyes on me.  “Go with Olivia.”

She nods almost robotically and turns to let Olivia lead her from the room. I notice as she walks away, she keeps looking back at the bed.

This will push her over the edge for sure. If she’s not already batshit crazy, this ought to take care of it.

I turn my attention back to Nash.  I check his pulse, which is strong.  I feel a rush of relief.  I didn’t want to alarm the females, but when I first looked at him, I wondered if he was dead.  I might not have much fondness for this new Nash, but it would still hurt like a bitch to lose him a second time.

As easily as I can, I mash on the bones around his eyes and jaw. Nothing feels broken.  It’s a good thing Davenports have strong bones.

I feel around in his hair to see if I can feel any major head wound, thinking that might be why he’s unconscious.  I feel a goose-egg sized bump on the back of his head.  From what I know of head wounds, though, swelling out is always better than swelling in.