Surrender (16 page)

My mouth drops open. “You know Darren?”

“I call him Uncle Darren.”

I stomp my foot. “You lied to me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Withholding a piece of information like that is equivalent to lying.”

“No, it’s not. If you’re going to be with me,” he looks me in the eyes, “some things are going to change. Lord knows, Robyn, I want you. Bad.” His gaze slides up my body. “Real bad.” He exhales, then kneels between my knees. We hold hands. “I know what you’re capable of, darlin’,” he says gently. “You’re so brilliant and independent—this kind of shit is beneath you.”

After careful consideration I understand his anger, really. Any man with an ounce of compassion or love couldn’t possibly enjoy watching his girlfriend do what I just did. Like he said, stage and table dances are one thing . . . But that doesn’t mean he can change everything. “I’ll take a shower.”

He nods. “Discuss it after work?”

I’m still reeling from his outburst. I want to be alone tonight. “I need some space.”

After she’s out of earshot, I smash my clipboard against the wall.
Shit.
This is exactly what Gretchen warned me about. Am I unreasonable? Just a jealous asshole? I go to the bar. “Crown and Coke.”

Meredith, the bartender, hands me a tall one. “Did you rip her a new one?”

I smirk. “No—she ripped
me
a new one.” She laughs and I head to the poolroom.

Word spreads fast in this homogenous environment. My girl is one of the crown jewels at the Den. She’s erotic, sensuous, and hot as hell. I should have listened to my buddies in college. Fuck the pretty ones, date the ugly ones. There are only a handful of customers in the back. It’s half an hour to closing time. I pick up a few empty beer bottles and toss them in the trash can. Then I grab a pool cue off the wall rack and take a shot at some balls left on the table. I make one shot. I take another.

“You lost your cool tonight.”

I follow through on my next shot, then look up. “We all know what you’d do, Craig.”

“Beat the customers, not the girls.”

“I didn’t
beat
Robyn.”

“You humiliated her. Same difference.”

“How do
you
know what happened?” I ask acerbically.

“I escorted her outside ten minutes ago. She’s gone.”

I haven’t been alone in days. The minute I get through my front door, a sharp pain rises in my chest. Nerves. I turn the kitchen faucet on and splash cold water on my face. I grab the dish towel off the hook by the sink and pat my face dry. I throw the towel in the sink. Then I drag myself to the living room and turn on the lamp next to the sofa. There are a few books on the coffee table and a plate on the dining room table. I’ll clean up later. I sag onto the sofa, grateful I spent money on such a comfortable piece of furniture, cream-colored leather with recliners on both ends. I prop my feet up and close my eyes.

How can I convince Garrick to back off a little? I get the alpha male thing. He’s allowed to protect me, he’s even allowed to bark orders when necessary, but he’s
not
allowed to interfere with my livelihood. Three years of hard labor to establish myself in a club that cycles through women like an English monarch isn’t going to be undone by my overzealous boyfriend. I can’t let him do it. I have $60,000 in student loans to pay off. Rent. Utilities. Everyday costs. I sigh. Jealousy is weakness in my mind. And every guy suffers from it.

Someone knocks on my door.

I don’t move. What if it’s Garrick? I don’t want to see him right now. I don’t want to see anyone. Now the knocking has become pounding. I hoist myself up and pad to the front door. I can’t see anything through the peephole. “Who is it?”

“Craig.”

My shoulders drop.
Really?
Because I confided in him for thirty seconds in the parking lot he thinks he has an open invitation to my house? I open the door slowly.

He struts by me, carrying a six-pack of Sam Adams. I close the door.

“I don’t think you should be here.”

“Why,
little bird
?”

Uncalled for. “That’s not funny, Craig.”

“Yeah.” He puts the beer on the dining room table, then grabs one. “Here—you need this more than I do.” He pops the top with a lighter.

I can’t win. I can’t free myself of this constant intrusion no matter what I do. I give up and take the beer. “Why do I need to drink?”

“Because your boyfriend is a bigger asshole than I am.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s not an asshole.” I’m quick to defend Garrick. “He’s jealous.”

“And pissed.”

“What did you do, Craig?”

He shrugs. “We exchanged a few words.”

“Quit baiting him.”

“Break up with him.”

“No.”

He chugs his beer, slams down the empty bottle, and grabs another. “I can’t believe you gave up your cherry to that—”

“Stop it!” I yell. “The only reason you know I was a virgin is because you wouldn’t stop pressuring me to go to bed with you. You’re a man-whore.”

He smiles. “I’d change it all for you, baby.”

“Yeah.” I take a long drink. “That’s why you were sucking face with that chick at Macey’s party.”

“You noticed?”

“Everyone did,” I inform him. “Where’d you pick her up? Leopard Street?”

“Nope, Ayers.”

Ayers Street is hardly a step above Leopard for prostitutes. I gape at him. He has a snide remark for everything. Quick-witted or just really stupid? I can’t decide. I also don’t know why he’s standing in the middle of my apartment at three in the morning. “You should go.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m committed to Garrick. He doesn’t like you, and I’m beginning to question why I still talk to you.”

“That hurts.” He holds his hand over his heart. “I love you, Robyn. I have for months. Don’t you know that?”

“You’re in love with a concept. You feel entitled to the best. Remember that speech? The best car, address, women . . .”

“I was drunk.”

“I’ve
never
seen you sloppy drunk. You’re an egomaniac, Craig. Egomaniacs don’t give up control. Not even to get wasted.”

“You’re pretty smart,
little bird
.”

I grit my teeth. That’s a term of endearment reserved for Garrick’s lips only. “Come on.” I pick up what’s left of the six-pack and put my hand on my hip.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The front door opens. I forgot to lock it. It’s Garrick. He takes one look at Craig and me, then growls.

“Craig was just leaving,” I announce. I hold up the six-pack.

Garrick and Craig stare at each other. “Don’t come back here
ever
again,” Garrick rumbles.

Craig throws me a baleful look, grabs his beer, and leaves.

Garrick walks closer. His eyes are bloodshot and his hair is a mess.

“Did you change your mind and get a stage dance?” I ask sarcastically.

There’s no gentleness in his eyes. No smile on his face. I’ve pushed him too far tonight. The bachelor party, my attitude, and now Craig . . . A chill spreads through my veins as he stares at me. “I wanna fuck you.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Go ahead—at least something constructive will come out of this night.” I see through his tough-guy act.

“What was he doing here?”

“The same thing he always does—making a play for me.” I hold my hand over my mouth. I must learn to control what I say.

I’m unprepared for Garrick’s desperate reaction. He rushes me, wraps his arms around my waist, and lifts. I’m little more than a sack of potatoes in his grasp. He flings me on the couch, then straddles me. I’m breathless, excited. I’ve never had makeup sex. I’ve never had
angry
sex.

He pins my arms at my sides, hovering inches above my face. “No more bachelor parties, no more Craig, no more fucking games, Robyn. I care too damn much.” His mouth savages mine. His tongue rams between my lips—he’s like an uncaged beast. He jams his crotch into mine. “You’re mine. Understand?”

I nod violently, and my legs fall open. God—it can’t be just hormones. This is serious. Feelings whip inside me like a violent wind.

He hikes my short skirt up and shoves my panties aside in one angry swipe. He unzips his fly with one hand. I stare at his engorged shaft. I think of
Jaws,
harpoons and spears . . . I’m his prey . . . He pierces me. I scream.

“Tell me you want me, Robyn.” He plunges deeper, his hips thrusting angrily.

“I want you . . .” I whisper against his lips.

“Who do you belong to?”

It feels too good to speak.

“Who?” Another furious stab—I moan.

“I . . . belong . . . to . . . you.”
Only because I want to,
that’s what I keep telling myself. My possession of him is just as consuming. I want him this way—I need it.

He brings my hands over my head and clamps my wrists together with one hand. “Mine.” Within a dozen violent strokes, we both orgasm.

Chapter Fifteen

Breakfast in bed. A foot massage. “I’m sorry, baby.”

I pop a grape in my mouth. “For what?” I’m clueless. Infatuated. In love?

“Being a madman last night.”

“I rather enjoyed it.” I eat another red grape. Why should he apologize for making me feel scandalous, like Madame Bovary? My toes curl.

The amusement in his eyes makes my stomach flutter. What a difference hot sex makes! “Can you turn on the TV?”

Garrick grabs the remote from my dresser and clicks. It’s noon; the local news is on. He joins me on the bed. A picture of Pepper Winters flashes on the screen. “Turn it up!”

He does. “The body of twenty-five-year-old old Pepper Winters was discovered in a south parking lot at Del Mar College late last night . . .” the anchorwoman says.

“Oh my God!” I cover my mouth.

Garrick looks at me. “I knew it.” He slides off the bed. “That day at the party,” he says, pinning me with his gaze. “Did you see or hear Pepper after Carlos attacked you?”

I shake my head.

“Think hard, Robyn. Minute details are important.”

“No. I’m sorry. All I could think about was getting away. Pepper never came inside.”

“All right, darlin’.” He grabs his cellphone off the dresser. “We need to call Macey, go see her.”

“Why?”

“She needs to go to the police right away. I have a buddy on the force, a detective. He’ll be gentle with her. I promise.”

I nod, then jump off the bed. I can’t believe Pepper is dead. I never liked her, but no one deserves to be murdered. I’m sure Carlos had something to do with it. I’m in the bathroom.

My stomach rebels when I turn the shower on. A wave of nausea knocks me against the wall. My chest tightens.
Breathe.
I take short, rapid breaths.
Not another panic attack.
I crank the shower as hot as it will go, letting steam fill the room. I sprawl in the tub. Sometimes steam helps me breathe better. Maybe it’s psychological, but it works.

I’m ready to go in twenty minutes. Garrick already has his truck running, AC blasting. We drive to Macey’s in relative silence, the gloom and weight of the occasion striking us both. I call Macey’s cell from the truck as we pull into her driveway. She answers.

“Hello,” she sobs.

“Macey . . . Garrick and I are outside. Can we come in?”

There’s a short pause. “Yeah, I’ll unlock the door.” We’re disconnected.

We go inside. Macey’s tear-streaked face is the only evidence I need to know what’s been going on in this house all day. “Come on,” I gently urge. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

She’s reluctant, and unwilling to budge from the couch. The television is on full volume—she’s surfing news channels, looking for the latest updates on Pepper. “Why’d you come, Robyn?”

I kneel in front of her, resting my head on her lap. “Where else would I be?” I hold her hand. “Garrick and I want to help you.”

She squeezes my hand appreciatively, then looks up at Garrick. “That behemoth is only good for one thing, and it’s not talking.”

“Macey.”
I laugh sadly. “That’s not true. Get showered and come with us. You shouldn’t be here alone.”

Macey grumbles all the way down the hall, but at least she’s up and moving. Garrick makes a phone call. He sets up a meeting with his friend, Detective Charles Nichols, for this afternoon. When he gets off the phone, I give him a worried look.

“Not sure how Macey is going to feel about you making arrangements without asking her first.”

“Someone needs to be the voice of reason in this situation.”

“At what cost?” I ask. “She already feels uncomfortable around you.”

“Why?”

“Maybe she thinks you’re too aggressive or trying to browbeat me into things I don’t want to do.”

“The girl’s night out?”

“For starters,” I answer. “She parties—a lot. This house holds a lot of dirty secrets. She’ll come around. Take it easy on her, though. If she doesn’t want to see this guy, I’ll talk to him.”

Garrick contemplates it. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to get involved.”

Did I miss something? “I don’t recall that conversation.”

He grunts. “All right. I think it’s a bad idea to mention anything about the attack.”

“Why?”

“Think about your family. If the media gets a whiff, your face will be splashed all over the television and newspapers. Stripper—cartel guy—rape—murder. See where I’m going with this?”

“But Macey should have to expose herself?”

“She’s not a material witness, Robyn. You are—if the police find out. You were the last person in this house to see Pepper alive. And with Carlos, no less.”

I stare down the empty hallway, trying to put myself in Macey’s place. My best friend is fiercely loyal. I never want her to feel betrayed. This whole idea, meeting Detective Nichols, feels wrong. However, Garrick has a defensible opinion, too. Attempted rape is one thing; murder is another. I also think my boyfriend has his own sense of justice. Especially when it comes to dealing with sexual assault. He’d rather meet Carlos in a dark alley than in court. I shiver. How he responded to the bachelor party is fresh in my mind. Most men look like toothpicks next to Garrick. I imagine him snapping Carlos in half. Drug dealers are a dime a dozen in south Texas. But something tells me Carlos is different.