Bad Boy’s Bridesmaid(107)
“Something came up.”
“Now?”
My head pounded, and my gut churned. I didn’t let myself have panic attacks, but the weight on my chest felt goddamned uncomfortable. The run across town wouldn’t feel good either. But I did it. I left Chelsea in the hotel and kept to the side streets as I lurked through Saint Christie like every nightmarish figure the town saw in me.
Too bad tonight I wasn’t causing chaos. I was trying to prevent another crime—or to prevent the same one from occurring again.
I slammed my fist against Josie’s door. Three hard knocks—just enough to scare the piss out of the girl I tried to protect.
The shuffling silenced inside her apartment. The living room light flicked on. She didn’t approach the door. I thudded again, hard, rattling the entire frame.
My phone buzzed.
I swore, reading her name on the screen.
I knew what would happen. She wouldn’t let me in. She’d tell me to go home. She’d think I was acting crazy, that her friends and family and the entirety of the fucking town was right about how dangerous it was around me.
I answered with a dragging sigh. “Sweets, hear me out—”
“Maddox, someone’s outside my apartment.”
My heart thudded, pulsed, and shredded against my lungs.
Josie sounded terrified—not like the pounding scared her, but that she feared who might be lurking on her porch.
Why?
Who the fuck did she have to fear?
Like I didn’t know the answer to that question.
“Sweets, I’m outside. Let me in.”
She edged the door open an inch. The call ended as she fought the chain, threw the door open, and dropped the rolling pin to the floor.
She leapt into my arms.
“You planning on shoving an intruder in your oven?” I held her close, even as she laughed over her weapon of choice. “Next you’re gonna attack someone with a container of Pam.”
“Death by chocolate?”
I touched her cheek, savoring the softness of her skin. “Only way to go.”
Josie’s smile humbled me. She let me edge inside but didn’t say a word. She locked the door behind her—chain and all.
Not something people in Saint Christie did before bed. Then again, most of the residents weren’t armed when they answered the door. Even less wielded baking implements. She didn’t even think to grab a knife.
Christ, why was she worrying about such bullshit?
“What happened? Why are you protecting yourself with a whisk?” I asked.
Josie pointed the rolling pin at me. “Whisks aren’t good weapons. I’d probably need a heavy spatula at least.”
“Sweets.”
“Or maybe a crème brûlée torch.”
“Josie.”
“Think I could get someone to stick their hand in a blender?”
“I’m serious. What’s got you spooked?”
Josie crossed her arms, hiding behind a white tank top and pink pajama bottoms, complete with embroidered cupcakes. Cute. Sweet. Just like her.
“Random people, banging on my door in the middle of the night?”
“It’s ten o’clock.”
“You remember Saint Christie, don’t you? Eight o’clock was for mischief. Nine o’clock is the witching hour. Bad news comes after dark.”
That wasn’t the reason she was scared. She knew it. I knew it.
That was why she changed the subject.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. My expression hadn’t shifted since Chelsea’s arrival, and I couldn’t soften my words. “Is everything okay?”
“No.” No sense lying. She’d find out soon enough. “I need you to tell me everything you remember about the night your shop burned down.”
That wasn’t a favorite topic, especially since she didn’t remember enough of it to piece together what’d happened. She refused, getting as tough as she could with me.
Wasn’t very tough.
But she never had to be with me.
“Maddox, no.” She shook her head. “You left here last night threatening to murder a man. I’m not telling you a damn thing that might endanger someone else or yourself. Even if it is Nolan’s life at risk.”
I couldn’t believe I was saying it. “Screw Nolan. Tell me what you remember.”
“Why?”
She deserved an answer, but I wasn’t giving it. Not yet. First, I had to know if I was right, and she was the only way I could prove my instincts wrong.
They had to be wrong.
Or we were both fucked.
“I pulled you from the shop,” I started for her. “I carried you outside. You’d fainted. I got burned. Who was the first person on the scene? Who else was there?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Are you sure?”
Josie bit her lip. “Everything is a blur. I just remember flashing lights. An ambulance. Waking up in the hospital.”
“The ambulance came later. After I got you out. Think, Sweets. Who was the first one on scene?”
Josie’s hands trembled. She blinked, struggling to talk through a painful memory. “Chief Craig was there. I think he was the one…”
“Yeah. He cuffed me, before the police or fire department arrived. What else?”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t remember, Maddox. Honestly.”
“Try. Who else was there? I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important, Sweets.”
I encroached on her. Hated to do it, but I loved the results. Josie was weak for me, and I could push her. If I could force a memory and make her face the fire, we’d have our answers.
Her chest rose in fierce breaths. So did mine.
“Bob Ragen,” she said. “He…he was there. He called the police, I think.”
Son of a bitch. “He was in a property dispute with you, wasn’t he? What the hell was that drunk doing in his store and not in the bar so late at night?
Josie gave up. She headed for the arm of the couch and sat, staring at me with a furrowed brow and pouting lips.
“What are you getting at, Maddox?”
“Nolan wanted to buy the store. You refused him.”
“Yes.”
“And Chief Craig was the first man to respond on the scene, before the other police officers.”
“Yes?”
“Because Bob Ragen called 911 first.”
“You’re scaring me. Why are you…what are you thinking?”
I hated what I was about to say. I needed a drink and a good fuck, neither of which I’d find in Josie’s apartment, but that was fine. At least I was inside.
At least I could keep her safe.
“I think we have to be very careful, Sweets.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not sure we’re right about Nolan.”
Josie frowned, her breath lost in a sharp exhale. “What are you talking about? Nolan burned down my shop.”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
I took off my jacket, tossing it over her couch. She stood, but I pointed her to the bedroom. “I’ll sleep here tonight. You take the bed.”
“Maddox—”
“Don’t argue. You aren’t safe anymore. Neither am I.”
“Why?”
“Because someone in the town burned down your store with you inside, and they framed me for the crime.” The words embittered in my mouth. “And now I don’t know which son of a bitch is guilty.”
Chapter Nine – Josie
“You think Chief Craig burned down my store because he wanted to frame you for arson?”
It didn’t sound any less crazy in the morning, and even less likely after a full night’s sleep.
“I said I didn’t know.” Maddox brushed the towel over his head. He wore his jeans after his shower but nothing else. Droplets of water rolled over his thick muscles. “Something isn’t right, Josie. I’m not going to let you get caught in the middle.”
“If I was any more in the middle, I’d be squished.”
“Can’t have that.”
“You know it was Nolan.”
“Maybe.” He pitched the towel onto the floor. He never did remember to hang them up after he was done. “Maybe not.”
“You want to investigate the entire town?” I asked.
“If that’s what it takes to keep you safe.”
“Is it for my safety?” I took a breath. “Or is this about revenge?”
“Maybe it’s both.”
I bit my lip. Maddox’s chest raged with muscle, tattoos, and now…scars. Burn scars and flicks of cuts and scrapes that I didn’t remember. Injuries from prison.
Maddox acted like the world was out to get him. I hated that he was right. His family abused him. His gang used his strength for their crimes. The town feared him. And then…the prison sentence.
He should have been angrier. Harder. He should have hated me.
I couldn’t keep the secret forever. I only hoped that maybe he’d understand.
But even I wasn’t that naïve.
I avoided his gaze, but that meant staring at his ink. The raging stripes of color interspersed between the black, tribal curls over his biceps and abs. They were as amazing as they were frightening. I used to love tracing the markings. I loved the name tattooed over his heart more.
Josie.
Just being near him distracted me. I’d longed for him in the shower and cut my ankle shaving. I’d burnt the toast—twice—because he sat once again at my breakfast table and waited for whatever I served. And now, I babbled like an idiot because his chest twitched when he crossed his arms. That hard-packed muscle was the only thing missing from my bed to make my temporary apartment feel like home.