Author: Roni Loren
Her feet ached by the time she reached the top floor. Strappy black pumps were not meant for hiking up three flights of stairs. The 3B label on her sister’s door was peeling off around the corners. She smoothed her fingers over it, but the ends curled back up again. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever state her sister was in, and knocked on the door.
No answer.
She knocked again, but got the same response. With a huff, she pulled out her cell phone and called her. It went straight to voice mail. Terrific. Kelsey had probably gotten over whatever crisis she had called her about and now had gone out.
Or.
Anxiety crawled up her spine. She’d had nightmares of getting that call in the middle of the night—the one that would say something had happened to her sister. She’d received a call like that about her mother three years ago, and she’d sworn to herself at the time that she would do all she could to make sure she never got that kind of call about Kelsey. Unfortunately, Kels hadn’t always been so cooperative in helping Brynn keep that promise.
Brynn sorted through the keys on her key chain and found the one for her sister’s apartment. If nothing was wrong, Kelsey would be pissed that she’d gone in without asking, but Brynn wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if she didn’t make sure everything was okay. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer she wasn’t walking into a real-life version of one of her nightmares. But when she swung open the door, the only thing that greeted her was an empty apartment.
She hadn’t been to her sister’s place in over a month, but her mouth dropped open over the change. The last time, everything had been in disarray—empty cans and take-out boxes littering the counters in the tiny kitchen, dirty clothes piled on one side of the couch, and a layer of dust coating the few remaining surfaces. Now the only things that seemed out of place were a few cardboard boxes on the kitchen table. Everything else looked neat and freshly cleaned. Her sister had even draped bright afghan blankets over the shoddy brown couches, giving the room an almost cheery vibe.
“Kels,” she called out. “You here?”
Brynn stepped inside and closed the door behind her. When she received no answer, she made her way across the small living room and tapped on the slightly ajar bedroom door. “Kelsey?”
She opened the door a bit and peeked inside. The bed was unmade, and a shirt and pair of jeans were strewn across the flower-print comforter, as if her sister had stripped them off in a hurry. Her mirrored closet door was open, revealing more empty hangers inside than clothes. Hell, had Kelsey been serious about leaving town? She barely had enough money to make rent each month, how was she going to afford a road trip?
Uneasiness settled over her. After another failed phone call to her sister, she headed back to the front door. Maybe Kelsey had gone by the club where she worked. Or, at the very least, maybe someone there would know where she was. Brynn locked up behind her and made her way down the stairs, her brain swirling.
The stench of stale alcohol hit her too late. A sweaty hand clamped over her forearm as she stepped off the last stair. “Hey, sweetheart, where ya going so fast?”
Brynn sucked in a breath, her heart stuttering in her chest. “Let go of me.”
She tried to yank away from the man’s grip, but he dug his fingers in tighter. A smile edged his thin lips. He couldn’t have been older than his mid-twenties, but his face had the hardened look of a longtime drug user. “It’s okay, I wouldn’t hurt a pretty thing like you.”
Yeah right, and she was the queen of England. She jammed the pointy heel of her shoe into the top of his foot, putting every ounce of her strength behind it. “I said, let go, asshole.”
A slew of curses flew from his cracked lips, and his green eyes turned feral. Instead of releasing his grip like she’d hoped, he shoved her back into the darkened stairwell and slammed her against the wall, knocking the wind out of her. He leaned in close, his sour breath making her gag. “Well, I was just going to ask if you could spare a little cash, but now you’ve gone and pissed me off.”
She swallowed hard, trying to ward off the oncoming panic attack, but it was too late. She gasped for breath, her lungs’ capacity seeming to shrink in her chest. Sweat dampened her skin, and her head spun. She squeezed her eyes shut. Breathe, Brynn. Think.
The man’s hand grasped the strap of her dress and yanked, tearing the thin piece of material.
Her knees went weak beneath her. She tried to think of the self-defense moves she’d learned, but she couldn’t focus on anything except the fact that she was trapped. That this was happening again. She wouldn’t survive a second rape. Her mind had barely survived the first. Her words tumbled out at a frantic pace. “You can have my purse, I have cash in my wallet. Please don’t do this.”
“Should’ve thought of that before you broke my fucking toe,” he growled. His hand pulled harder on the torn strap, exposing her bra. She opened her mouth to scream, but he smacked her hard across the face, her ears ringing from the blow.
“Don’t even think about it, or I’ll make this much worse.”
The image of his face blurred as tears pricked her eyes. Then, it disappeared from view.
“What the—” the man started, but was interrupted by a sharp crunching sound.
Brynn swiped at her eyes to find the guy on the ground, holding his bloodied nose, six feet of suit-clad lawyer standing over him with rage on his face. The man jumped up and started swinging at Reid, landing a fist to his chin. He was much smaller than Reid, but Brynn knew drugs could make a person pretty powerful.
“Shit.” She pulled herself out of her shocked state and plunged her hand into her purse. Her fingers curled around the can of mace, and she ran toward the fray. The two men were punching and swinging at each other in a violent dance. She didn’t know how to help. The wild-eyed man noticed her standing there and lunged at her. She reacted without thought, emptying the can of mace in his general direction.
“Motherfucker,” he cried, grabbing at his eyes.
She almost smiled, but then heard a deep groan from Reid. “Son of a bitch!”
Brynn glanced at Reid and cringed when she saw he was also reaching for his eyes. The would-be rapist stumbled past her, out of the stairwell, and onto the street, apparently admitting defeat. She hurried to Reid’s side, her throat itching and eyes watering from the residual spray. “Oh, God, are you okay?”
His face was red and tears streamed out the corners of his closed lids. He opened his mouth to respond, but went into a coughing fit instead.
She wiped at his face and patted his back, not sure what to do. “I’m so sorry. I panicked. I didn’t mean to get you.”
“Where’d he go?” he asked between coughs.
She looked back to the street. “He ran—he’s gone. What can I do to help you?”
He moaned. “Water? Fire hose? Something to flush it out.”
“Right, okay.” She grasped his elbow. “Come on, I have a key to my sister’s apartment. Let me get you up there.”
Reid leaned his head sideways over the kitchen sink as Brynn poured another cup of cool water over his eyes. They still burned like the fires of hell, but at least his vision had returned and he could speak again. She brushed her hand over his forehead, pushing his hair out of the way. “Any better?”
“I think I’ll live,” he said, straightening. She handed him a clean dish towel, and he patted his face with it. “Next time aim for the bad guy, okay?”
“Which one was that, again?”
He shot her a withering look.
She gave a sheepish smile. “Kidding. I got him, too.”
“Good, I hope he stumbled into the street and got hit by a goddamned truck,” he said, his anger firing up again in his belly. Fucking bastard. The guy was lucky Brynn had sprayed her mace. Otherwise, Reid might not have been able to stop himself from beating the man into an early grave. The way Brynn had been shaking. Jesus. From wildcat to kitten with the flip of a switch. “We need to call the police. Report him.”
She rubbed her bare arms and nodded. “Yeah, although I’m sure he’s long gone by now.”
“He may have to go to the hospital for the nose. They could check for him there.”
She sank into one of the dining chairs, her cheek still scarlet from where the jerk had struck her. “What were you doing there anyway?”
He smirked and propped a hip against the kitchen counter. “Because a hotshot lawyer can take care of the bad guys in a pinch, so I followed you. I wasn’t going to let you come out here alone at night… looking like that.”
She glanced down at her dress. “Like what?”
His gaze traced the delicate line of her neck, the deep V-cut of her dress, and the swell of her breasts. His mouth watered at the memories of how that ivory skin tasted—like sugared strawberries. He cleared his throat and looked down at the now bloodied dishtowel clenched in his fist. “Never mind. It’s just not a place you should come to by yourself.”
“Hell,” she said, getting to her feet again, “I didn’t even notice your hand. You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine.”
She grabbed his biceps and guided him back to the sink. “Rinse it with soap and water. I’ll go and see if Kelsey keeps any first aid stuff around.”
She disappeared into the bathroom, and he turned on the faucet. The soap stung, but the cuts seemed minor, although his knuckles were already starting to swell. He shook his head. That’d be great for first impressions with clients on Monday. Yes, let me help you with your domestic violence case. Oh, yeah, don’t mind the black-and-blue knuckles. I’m really a good, responsible professional.
Brynn emerged from the bathroom with a handful of Band-Aids and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. She pointed to the dining room table. “Sit.”
He dried his hands with a paper towel and fought a smile. She always had been a bossy little thing. But he knew the truth. Underneath all that tight control was a woman who, at least when he’d known her, loved handing over the reins. He swallowed hard, tamping down memories he didn’t need to rehash at the moment.
He dropped into one of the chairs, and Brynn sat across from him, her knees bumping against his. He widened his legs, and after the briefest of hesitations, she scooted forward, allowing his thighs to frame the outsides of hers as she reached for his injured hand. She circled her fingers around his right wrist, his pulse jumping at her touch, and brought his hand up to her face to examine it. His fingers itched to reach out and trace the bow of her lips.
Dammit. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his desire to touch her in check, but the citrus scent of her shampoo drifted to his nose and sent a bolt of carnal need straight to his groin.
He stared down at her. One quick grasp of her waist and he could lift her to straddle his lap, bunch up that dress, and slide his cock right into her sweet heat—kiss away all the tension furrowing her brow, drive her to that place of wild abandon he knew she could reach.
Without thinking, he lifted his other hand and twined her broken dress strap between his fingers, brushing the backs of his sore knuckles across her collarbone in the process. The small catch of breath in the back of her throat made his balls tighten. Such a feminine sound, so close to the noise she would make as he entered her.
But she didn’t raise her eyes to him and beg him to take her like he secretly hoped she would. She simply took the slip of material from him and tucked it under her bra strap to hold it in place, sending her message loud and clear. Not yours.
Not anymore.
“This may hurt a little,” she said, her voice tighter than it had been. She laid his hand on the table, moved her chair back a notch, and dampened a cotton ball with disinfectant.
He winced when the cotton touched his open skin, the sting helping to drag his mind back from the depths. He shifted in his seat. “So where is your sister anyway? Isn’t she the whole reason you rushed out here?”
