The Distraction (14 page)

“Too bad,” he said absently. “I think I'd be doing pretty damn awesome if I just walked out of that room.”

I chuckled. “The class was great.”

But now all I could think of was finding Alec and laying on the torture until he begged me to finish him. Which I wouldn't. Not until we set a few things straight.

We'd walked down the stairs in silence, but as he opened the front door to lead us outside, I paused. The street was still fairly busy, and the parking lot had good visibility from the street. If I felt uncomfortable, I could always convince Trevor to walk me all the way to my car.

“So how is
Alec
?” Trevor said his name slowly.

“Fine,” I said quickly.

“Are you guys going out tonight?”

I glanced around. No Reznik. Not that he would have been following me anyway. Alec had made me paranoid.

“He's working,” I said.

“The guy works a hell of a lot.” Trevor was scowling, and for some reason this annoyed me. Yes, Alec worked a lot. He had to because he needed the money and refused to rely on his devoted girlfriend for help.

“I'm aware,” I snapped.

Trevor stopped, and after a couple steps, I stopped, too. With a sigh, I turned around to face him. We were standing between two rows of cars, the sky purple from the cloud cover and the setting sun.

“Are you sure things are all right with you two?” Trevor asked.

“They're fine.” I sighed. “I don't know.”

“Hey.” Trevor came closer and put his hands on my shoulders. His palms were warm, and as he started to gently rub, I felt some of the tension fall away. Soon his hands were trailing down my arms.

“Are you staying at his apartment still?” Trevor asked. He knew I often walked there after my class at the gym.

I laughed dryly.

“Well that's a really funny story,” I said, eyes burning with angry tears. “We actually stayed somewhere else last night, and I got to meet one of his skinny, perfect little ex-bed bunnies. It was basically the best night of my life.”

“Where'd you stay?”

I looked up at him. That was an odd question, considering what I'd just said. There was a strange look in his eyes. Almost like anger, but more tempered.

“At a hotel,” I said. “Why?”

Trevor's grasp on my shoulders got a little harder. Almost painful.

“Which hotel?”

“Again,” I said warily, “why?”

“Maybe I should pay him a little visit.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “I don't think that would be a good idea.”

His nostrils flared as he took another breath. “Just tell me where I can find him.”

“Trevor, stop.” I wiggled out of his grasp, but his hands just slid down my arms to my wrists. He pulled me closer.

“I appreciate it,” I said. “But it's something Alec and I need to work out.”

“I know he was in jail.”

I took a step back. He let go of my arms.

Trevor glanced up, then met my gaze again. “I know he wasn't working in Seattle. I knew the whole time.”

“How did . . .”

“You're Anna Rossi,” he said, a red tinge blossoming on his cheeks. “The woman who was taken by Robert Calloway. The news said you were involved with Maxim Stein's bodyman. It didn't take a genius to put it together.”

The betrayal scored my insides, and my shoulders drew back in defiance.

“Why didn't you tell me you knew?”

“Because I didn't want to embarrass you. Because . . .”

“Why?” I demanded.

He took two steps forward, and before I could figure out what he was doing, my face was in his hands, and he was kissing me.

There was passion in him. I felt it flowing through his palms, through his chest as it bumped against mine. My body responded in slow motion, trying to process what was happening. My eyes remained open, my hands down at my sides. But my mouth stayed pressed against his.

His lips were different than Alec's. Not as soft. Not as warm. Wrong.

This was wrong.

I shoved him back.

“Get your fucking hands off of her.”

The voice came from behind me. I turned, just in time to see Alec reach between us and grab Trevor's sweat-drenched collar in one fist. With the other hand he wheeled back and punched him square in the jaw.

T
revor stumbled backward into the hood of a parked car. He grasped the metal with both hands, his knuckles turning white. Propping himself up on the bumper, he shook his head and blinked rapidly.

“Get up,” Alec said, voice as dark as I had ever heard it.

“What are you doing?” Glancing only briefly at Alec, I raced to Trevor's side. I tried to help him stand, but he shook me off.

“Get the fuck up,” Alec told him.

“Alec,”
I hissed. My brain was firing at triple speed where it had been so slow just moments before when Trevor had kissed me. Alec was on parole. Fighting was a violation of parole. If Trevor pressed charges, Alec was going to jail.

He looked past me, fists clenched and ready, eyes nearly black.

Trevor spat blood on the ground, then stood.

“That all you got?” he asked.

“Trevor, no.” I got between them, arms raised. “Both of you, stop. This was a misunderstanding. Trevor didn't mean anything.”

“Oh, I meant it,” said Trevor. Alec lunged, but fell back when I turned and blocked him with my shoulder.

“She's not for you,” Alec said.

A few people were gathering at the edge of the parking lot. One of them had on a baby blue gym uniform shirt. Someone was going to call the cops if we didn't clear out soon.

“Alec, you need to go.
Go!
” I shouted. Finally he looked at me, and the broken look in his eyes nearly brought me to my knees. “Please, go,” I whispered.

He backed away. One step, then two, holding my gaze, until with a muttered swear, he turned, and stalked away.

I spun back to Trevor.

“Please,” I said. “
Please
don't say it was Alec. He'll go back to jail.”

“It's where he belongs,” said Trevor, clearly disgusted. “He's out of control. You saw him.”

“Trevor, please,” I begged. My pulse was flying. Behind me, an engine revved, and I looked back just in time to see Alec's Jeep tearing out of the parking lot. Where was he going? Back to the shipping yard? I didn't even know where it was.

“You're kidding, right?” Trevor nursed his jaw, now bright red.

I shook my head, the adrenaline making me tremble.

“Fine,” he said finally.

“Thank you.”

The manager of the gym was heading out to the parking lot as I dodged around the cars to mine. With shaking hands, I pulled my keys from my purse, cursing as I struggled to find the right one.

“Goddammit!” My voice hitched.

Finally, I found what I needed. I opened the car door and turned on the ignition, but forced myself to take a deep breath before I threw it in reverse. Driving in my current state was a bad idea. I picked up my phone and hit the first number on the speed dial.

One ring, and then it cut straight to Alec's voice mail.

I called again, but this time, it didn't ring at all. He'd turned off his phone.

He thought I was cheating on him. Trevor—stupid,
stupid
Trevor—had just validated the fears he'd voiced last night. Even if Trevor had harbored some ridiculous crush on me, it seemed insane how different he was around Alec. One minute he was a pal, listening, joking, being all around
normal
, but at the first mention of my relationship he turned into a possessive, controlling jerk.

And now Alec wasn't even going to let me explain that this had all been some horrendous mistake.

“Mike,” I muttered, when my head was clearer. Maybe he knew where Alec worked.

I took the short drive a few blocks south, and pulled up to the curb in front of the apartment building. Flipping on my hazard lights, I jumped out of the car and ran into the building. Mike was at the front desk, signing in a guest.

“Anna?” He finished quickly, and pulled me off to the side. “You okay? What happened?”

I realized then I probably looked like a wreck. Still in my yoga shorts and an off the shoulder cover-up T-shirt, I was a sweaty, frantic mess. My hair probably looked like I'd just gotten off a roller coaster.

“Do you know where he works?” Embarrassment slashed through me. Alec and I were living together—or at least attempting to—and I had to ask someone else where he worked.

“Who? Alec?”

“Yes!”

Mike frowned. “Is he . . .”

“Where does he work?” I demanded.

“Okay, okay,” Mike said. “He mentioned the shipping yards off Causeway. I'm not sure which dock . . .”

“Thanks.” I turned to leave, but Mike grabbed my arm.

“Alec and I go way back,” he said, siphoning a breath through his teeth. “High school, even a little before. He's seen me through some ugly things.”

“Okay,” I said, the urgency racing through me.

“But I've seen him through worse,” Mike said. “And what he's up against now is nastier than all that. He's a survivor, but how he does it won't be pretty.”

“I get it,” I said. “I'm a survivor, too.”

Mike studied me a moment with his gleaming amber eyes, and then nodded once. I grabbed his hand, and squeezed, then ran back outside.

*   *   *

The docks weren't far, only a few miles, but with the traffic they might as well have been in the next state. The sun had set completely by the time I'd arrived, and it was nearly dark when I finally found his car in one of the employee lots. Its presence confirmed that I was in the right place, but there were at least ten docks that ran up this side of the Bay, all hidden by a maze of metal shipping containers, warehouses, and moving trucks.

There was no way I was going to find him.

Bullshit. I
had
to find him.

I carried my Mace on my key ring, keeping an eye out for any strange people that might be following. Despite the late hour, the docks were fully manned—workers in stained shirts, overalls, and canvas jackets moved boxes and crates by forklift, or carried them by hand.

Everyone I passed looked at me. Some of them whistled. Some of them elbowed their friends and muttered comments I couldn't hear.

Some of them were not so subtle.

I wrapped my cover-up tighter around my shoulders, both to avoid their stares and because of the falling temperature, and walked faster. My legs were bare up to the tops of my thighs. What I would have done for a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.

“If you're here for an interview, you got the job,” called a Hispanic man in his thirties with a goatee. He was wearing a flannel shirt, and removed a pair of gloves as he approached from one of the forklifts.

“I'm looking for someone,” I said, cheeks staining.

“I figured that.” He frowned. “You better find him and move on. The wolves have already caught the scent.” He motioned to a group of men who were ogling from beside one of the shipping containers. One of them grabbed himself, and the others laughed.

“Get back to work!” yelled the man.

I squeezed my Mace tighter.

“Alec Flynn,” I said quickly. “He just started this week. Do you know him?”

He shook his head. “Nah. But Dock Four picked up a bunch of new guys a few days ago. Might want to check there.”

“Thanks.”

“Be careful, chica,” he called as I hurried away.

The dock numbers were painted in white across the main walkway, and I jogged past two and three, coming to a stop at four. Bright overhead lights shined down from the roof of the warehouse, but the alleys between the multicolored shipping containers were shadowed, and eerily dark. I looked down each one I passed, finding them all empty.

This was a bad idea. It was stupid to come here. I should have waited for him at the hotel. Or even at his car.

At a turn in the main road, I came to a group of workers, moving large cardboard boxes into the back of a semitruck. My feet slowed, along with my pulse, because my body could sense him even before my eyes did.

Alec was here.

His gray thermal was now ringed with sweat around the collar. The sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, and black stains striped his pants. It took a moment to realize he'd looked this way earlier, in the parking lot at the gym. He must have come on a break.

He worked efficiently, faster than the other men. He didn't chat with them between hauls, but kept his head down and his hands busy. As he turned, I noted the line of sweat down his back that made his shirt dark, and felt a sharp throb in my belly. It was so strong it made my breath catch.

It was at that point that one of them noticed me.

“Hey mama,” called a man wearing a black back brace outside his drenched shirt. “Come on over into the light.”

He began to walk toward me, another man just behind him.

Nerves trembled through me. Alec looked up at the commotion, and threw his box onto the tailgate of the truck.

“Hold up,” he called.

The men stopped. Alec strode over to them, and after a short exchange, they turned back. Alec closed the distance between us, the anger so evident in his movements that I wrapped my arms even tighter across my chest.

“What are you doing here?” he said in a low voice.

“Looking for you.”

“You shouldn't have come here. Especially wearing that.” He didn't slow, and I hurried to catch up to him.

“We need to talk,” I said.

“I'm taking you to your car and you're going straight back to the hotel.”

“I'm not going back there.”

“Then go to Amy's. And lock the doors. Call the police if anything seems off.”

“Alec,
stop
.”

I grabbed his forearm, and he finally slowed. But he wouldn't look at me. He looked anywhere
but
at me as I finally pulled him off the main drag into one of the shipping crate alleys. They were stacked fifty feet into the air, a sight which brought on a wave of claustrophobia as he led me deeper into the folds, to a place where wooden crates were pushed up against the walls.

“Trevor's not going to press charges,” I said, as he yanked off his gloves and tossed them on one of the boxes.

“Lucky me.”

“It
is
lucky.” I grit my teeth together. “You could go back to jail for fighting. Is that what you want?”

“Is that what
you
want?”

I stared at him, feeling the dread that had solidified weigh me down. We were unraveling. If we continued this way there would be nothing left.

I turned to leave. I wasn't going to stand here and let him punish me for Trevor when he'd thrown Mandy in my face. This had been a bad idea after all.

“I shouldn't have brought you to that hotel.” Alec's voice slapped off the metal.

Taken off guard, I stopped, unwilling to face him for fear of giving in.

“All I could think was that I couldn't let it happen again—no one could hurt you again,” he rolled on. “Max spent so much at that place that they comped him a few suites, and before you, yes. I took advantage of it. I knew you'd hate me when you found out and I didn't care, but if you'd done the same to me . . . Christ, the thought of someone else putting their hands on you . . .”

I turned slowly, my eyes drawn to his hands first as they flexed into tight fists. His shoulders were bunched, and I could feel his expectations, like a cold, wet mist on my skin.

“There's nothing going on with Trevor. He's never done that before, and he'll never do it again,” I said. “That's the truth. I swear.”

He stayed silent, watching. Waiting.

“What do you want from me?” I asked, hating his silence. Hating that I couldn't read his mind right now.

He moved closer, in and out of the shadows, carrying with him an unseen burden he refused to share.

And then he was kissing me. My face was in his hands, and then his hands were in my hair, and his hot, hard body was pressing me against the cold, metal siding of a shipping crate. His kiss hit me with the force of a hurricane, pounding me with his fury, and his fear, and with a need so acute it stole the air from my lungs.

“Did you like that? His mouth on you? His hands on you?”

“No,” I gasped, flooded with shame. He didn't give me a chance to explain; he bit my lower lip hard enough to make me yelp in surprise.

“Did you want to fuck him, Anna?”

“No.”
I tried to shove him back but he was relentless, and soon I matched his rough, unrestrained touches with my own. How could he think I wanted anyone else? Hadn't I shown him he was everything to me?

“He wanted to fuck you. I could see it all over him. He was dying to get inside of you.”

He was being cruel, but a dark part of me wanted it. I wanted him to be furious another man had touched me. I needed his possessiveness.

“He can't have you,” he said urgently against my mouth. My nails scraped over his scalp. “I won't share you.”

This time I succeeded in shoving him back. “I won't share
you
.”

He knew I was referring to Mandy, and whoever else showed up from his past. His gaze narrowed, and he lunged at me again.

His hands were everywhere—over my shoulders, fisting my hair, sliding over my breasts and then squeezing with enough pressure to trigger a craving so dark and demanding, it frightened me.

This was wrong. We were in public, out in the open.

But he was like me. Sometimes he spoke with words, and other times, like this, he needed more.

The thin material of my shorts felt like a thick blanket between us, and as his hands lowered down my back, under the fabric to my ass, I gasped, rocking forward onto his thigh.

His mouth burned a line down my neck, making me moan.

“Mine,” he growled, biting me on the shoulder.

His claim made me shudder. Heat poured into my groin, made my breasts swell inside my constricting sports bra.

I clawed back at him, scratching the heated skin beneath his shirt. I pulled him tighter against me, licking the underside of his jaw, tasting the salty sweat.