The sooner this is done, the better. I start to shrug off my jacket and stop for a moment, burning pain ripping through my lower back.
Fuck, ow.
Starting again, I carefully slip the sleeves down my arms, feeling blood running, hot, down my hip, soaking into my pants.
"Wait!" Suddenly Gigi is there, behind me, tugging the sleeves off all the way. "You're making it worse. Let me help."
Making it worse is my talent, I think but keep the quip between my gritted teeth. No, I won't talk to her. Won't tell her what my nightmares are about. What I remember, what I forgot, what I lost.
Or that losing her cost me most of all.
"Your jacket is ruined," she says. "Your sweater and T-shirt, too, and … " Her voice goes all hushed. "Crap."
"What?" I twist, trying to see. Am I bleeding to death? Can she see my goddamn liver? "What is it?"
"It's pretty deep. But I think some butterfly bandages, and it should be fine. Do you have any?"
I sag in relief, my head spinning. "I dunno. Maybe. I'll check the first-aid kit in the bathroom."
At least I keep it well stocked. Old habits, plus a life in the gang and living with Seb means injuries are par for the course. You need to keep that shit handy.
"Know what, I'll go look for it," she says, her hand warm on my lower back. "You sit down. You're shaking. And take off your T-shirt."
Am I? I'm cold, I know that much, even colder when I pull off my ruined T-shirt and let it drop to the floor.
Then again the apartment is like a meat locker. I'm freezing my balls off. I should turn the heat on. I should check the fridge for food. I should check that Seb hasn't broken everything.
Should, should, should. I should show Gigi the door. I should walk away next time I see her or her friend.
But I don't.
I sit on the chair, my chest to the back, and listen to her rummaging in my dingy little bathroom, trying not to think how comforting the sound is-someone who isn't crazy high on drugs moving nearby, doing something nice for me-trying not to think at all.
My eyes are closing, and I snap them wide open again. I shouldn't feel so … so safe with her around. There's nothing safe about her. She's my drug, and I'm dying to have her again.
Still. She won't attack me with a knife, won't steal my shit. Her hands are soft and gentle, and her smile is real.
I fold my arms over the back of the chair and drop my forehead on them. Sleep is rolling over me in a slow, heavy wave, no matter how I fight it. I'm just so fucking tired.
Of everything. Of fighting, time after time. Of doing all I can, only to find it wasn't good enough. That good things end, every single time, just as I start to relax, thinking life has stopped toying with me, stopped fucking me over just for shits and giggles.
I snort softly against my forearms. As if. Guess fate singled me out for special treatment. Special kick-Jarett-while-he's-down offer, buy one, get two.
Kick the bad, selfish guy in the nuts, until he learns his lesson. Only what that lesson is, I honestly have no fucking idea.
"Found it," she says from behind me, jolting me, and ow, my back. "You've got everything imaginable in it. It's kinda crazy. Our first-aid kit at home is practically empty."
"You should stock up," I mutter, lifting my head.
I'm not sleepy anymore. My skin buzzes, my pulse leaps under my skin, and the blood rushes in my ears. My blood heats, and my muscles tense.
She only has to come near me, and my whole body tenses with arousal. It's beyond my control, and it's fucked up.
It has to stop.
Her fingertips brush over my back, slide down my spine, and I bite back a curse-not pain, it's not pain but pleasure, and it's turning me inside out.
Then she sprays antiseptic over the wound, and goddammit, that burns like hell.
"Fuck," I hiss, and then clench my jaw to keep from doing anything embarrassing like moan in pain.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, and I don't get why.
"Not your fault," I manage, breathing carefully, waiting for the fire to go out.
"I don't know about that." Light touches as she applies the butterfly bandages, closing the cut. Her fingers tremble a little, and every brush against my skin shoots straight to my dick. "When I asked you to look after her, I didn't mean this. Didn't mean for you to get hurt."
"Then what did you mean?" I ask, my voice sharper than I'd intended, exhaustion and frustration making me impatient and grumpy.
"What do you think I meant?" Her fingers withdraw, and I wanna hit something so fucking bad. "I asked you to do this." A scratching noise as she crumples the packaging of the bandages.
"You did."
"Right." A tremor in her voice. "And I assume you want your payment now."
With a grunt, I push to my feet, pissed at life, and at myself. "If you didn't want this, you shouldn't have made the deal. I'm your hired muscle now, right? Your friend's bodyguard."
Her eyes are wide as I turn around to face her. "Jarett … "
"What?" I make my voice hard to cover up the cracks. "I told you I didn't want this, but you insisted. Everything you do has a price, doll. Time you learned this."
Just like I have.
"You changed so much," she whispers.
Maybe I have.
Or maybe this is who I've always been.
And I'm dragging her down into the darkness with me.
Chapter Thirteen
Gigi
He's looking down at me, arms folded over his bare chest, and I just don't know what to say. How many times does he have to be a jerk for me to understand he's not who I thought he was?
In my defense, it's hard to think rationally when he's around. Especially now, I mean … Jarett in clothes is already too hot to handle. Jarett shirtless?
Devastating.
Big muscles, dark ink, tight abs, bulging biceps and corded forearms. He has those sexy V-lines, and though his chest is smooth, he has a fine treasure trail going from his bellybutton into his jeans.
"See something you like?" he drawls, and I glance up, flustered, only to get lost in his green eyes.
God. "Don't be an ass."
"It's okay to admit it, Gigi." He steps closer, and I shift, an ache between my legs.
"No."
I swear I can feel my pussy clench, my clit throb. Is that normal, just from looking at a guy? It sure never happened to me before, not even three years ago when I used to hang around Jarett.
Then again, he was a pretty, sullen boy then. He's a frigging sex god now.
So not fair.
"Just tell me what you want me to do," I manage.
I can do this. It's not that difficult.
"What do you think I want?" He lets his arms drop to his sides, cocks his head to the side, and I swear to God, my mouth waters. "Tell me."
This can't be normal, right? That he's so handsome.
That I'm so captivated, and aroused. That I can't stop looking, my gaze following the strong lines of his body and coming to a stop between his legs, at his package.
He's hard, it's obvious. Very obvious, and more heat spills down my neck, over my face.
"I, uh." I clench my hands into fists, because I long to touch him. Run my hands over his chest like last time, unbutton his jeans, see, feel more of him.
Another thing that's obvious is that I need more self-control. An extra layer of mental shields.
"Come here."
I take a step closer, and another, until I'm right in front of him. What will he ask of me this time? Last time he kissed me and put my hand on his cock. Will he ask me to go down on him this time?
"Closer," he says, his voice low and deep, and my clit throbs again, an answering pulse coming from deep inside me. My nipples are hard and aching, rubbing against the scratchy lace of my bra.
I take one last step, until my breasts are mashed to his chest and all I can see is the ink on his abs and his big shoulders.
"I said closer." He grabs my wrists and jerks me against him, his hard-on pressing into my stomach, taking away my breath. "Gigi."
I shouldn't like my name on his lips so much. There's so much I shouldn't like about him.
He smirks. "You want me."
"Screw you."
"Look, I didn't ask to be born sexy. Not my fault."
"Yeah, nothing is ever your fault, is it?"
His eyes narrow, anger sparking at their cores. "And that means what, exactly?"
"You never gave any excuses. Ever. Not back when you barely spoke a word to me, not now that you treat me like … "
His nostrils flare. "Like what?"
Like I belong to him.
"Get down on your knees," he says. "You know what to do."
I could slap his arrogant face, walk out the door. I should. He can't force me to do this, to follow through with this ridiculous deal.
But I want it.
I should hate him for it.
But I can't. I followed him here. He didn't kidnap me or anything. Deep inside … yeah, deep inside I'd been hoping he'd demand payment.
How twisted is that?
It's to help Sydney, I tell myself as I reach for the buttons of his jeans. He protects her. He's the only person I know who can.