The Good Girl In My Bed (Dangerous Desire Book 2) (7 page)

What was she doing? How pissed at me was she? Did she hate me yet?

Had Fluffy needed to tie her up to keep her at our home? Was Francis scaring her? He was a big fucking dog, after all.

Fuck, I missed her. Ached for her.

I craved the sound of her voice, her laughter. Hungered for her smell, her touch.

“And I think we’re done,” Lila said, straightening from the bed and crossing to the room’s small bar fridge. She withdrew two Millers and tossed one to me.

I caught it, twisted it open, and downed it in three mouthfuls.

Maybe alcohol would dull the pain? Numb me against the emptiness in my chest?

Lila studied me, her expression impossible to read. “You need some sleep. Get some. Now. Doctor’s orders.”

I laughed. “Do you want me to bleat now? Or wag my tail?”

She studied me, game face firmly in place. “Don’t make me drug you, Pratt. You know I will. You’ve got two hours. I’ll see you at the assigned place. Don’t forget to call Rufie before you go to sleep. This won’t be anywhere near as fun if he’s not there.”

Before I could tell her to blow me—again—she left, pulling the door closed behind her.

I dropped onto the edge of the bed, empty bottle in my hand, my stare locked on the opposite wall.

Sleep.

I needed it but didn’t dare take it.

I had no doubt if I slept, I’d dream of Ronnie.

Would they be horny dreams? Dreams of fucking her, making love to her? Dreams that would get me hard and aching for her even more than what I felt now?

Dreams where I lost myself in the curves and dips of her body, the sweet musk of her pussy, the caress of her breath on my flesh?

Or would they be nightmares? If I closed my eyes and slept, would I see her hating me? Would I see her walking away from me, my heart in her hand?

Would she look at me with icy contempt?

Or worse still, would I dream of her in Rufie’s hands? Would I be forced to endure seeing what the new head of Trinity would do to her, over and over in my dreams?

I couldn’t risk it.

I couldn’t.

So I didn’t.

Instead of stretching out on the bed, I changed into a pair of running shorts and joggers, shoved my Glock into my waistband, and left the room.

I pounded the pavement, the night air cold on my sweat-slicked skin. I ran dark streets. I ran past houses whose windows glowed with warm light. I heard laughter from some of them. I saw family members coming and going at some.

And every time I did, the ache in my soul for the life I wanted to share with Ronnie turned into a gnawing agony.

It wasn’t until I found myself staring at one well-lit house, my gut churning with hate for everything that had put me here on this dark street away from the girl I loved, that I realized I was gripping the gun.

Ah fuck, I was unraveling.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I needed to hit something. Hurt something. I needed to feel something break beneath my knuckles. I needed to feel hot blood on my fists, my shins.

I needed…

I needed…

Ronnie. I needed Ronnie.

With a growl, I sprinted back to the safe house.

It sat dark and empty, no sign of life in or around it. I hurried inside, straight for the hidden room.

Locking myself in it, I dug my phone from my jeans pocket and woke it up.

Twenty missed calls from Ronnie. Twenty voice messages. Too many texts to count.

A hot lump filled my throat. A heavy weight, like a chunk of concrete, pressed at my chest.

I read the last text, eyes burning.

“You’re a fucking bastard, Lucas Pratt.”

An icy blade twisted in my heart. I closed my eyes, everything I was tearing apart.

“Ronnie…” I murmured. “Ronnie, I…”

I what?

“
Fuck
.” I pitched my cell across the small room.

It struck the wall beside the bed and fell to the mattress with a dull thud.

I stood motionless, fists balled, breath ragged. My head roared.

Fuck. Fuck, how was I to live without her? How was I—

My phone vibrated to life, its screen lighting up with an incoming message.

I threw myself at the bed, my heart racing, and snatched up my cell. The screen was shattered, a spider web of cracks almost making it impossible for me to read the message from Ronnie.

Almost
impossible.

“If I didn’t love you so fucking much, I’d hate you.”

A ragged sigh tore from my throat and I slumped onto the bed.

Pulse pounding in my ears, my whole body tingling with energy I couldn’t fathom or describe, I stared at those ten words and then let out a raw groan as another message popped up onto my screen.

“I’ll see you soon, Lucas. No matter what you think you’re doing, I’ll see you soon. ’Cause I love you, and you love me, and we’re meant to be together. Got it?”

I stared at the message. I didn’t blink. I didn’t move. I just stared at the message. Read it over and over.

And over and over again.

When my lungs and eyes began to burn, I sucked in a deep breath and blinked rapidly, and then read the message again.

My thumb moved to the cracked screen.

Fuck, I shouldn’t be doing this, but I was.

I should put my phone away. Shove it somewhere I couldn’t see it. Hear it.

Instead, I watched my thumb swipe across the screen. Watched it tap on the glass.

Watched my fingers form a reply.
“Got it.”

I hit send, incapable of doing anything else.

A second after the message was delivered, my phone began ringing, Ronnie’s face appearing on the cracked screen.

I almost answered it. I really did. But at the sight of her beautiful smiling face splintered and disfigured by all the cracks in the screen, I didn’t.

Those cracks…the damage…

Swallowing at the lump in my throat, I hit decline.

The phone fell silent.

The only sound I could hear was my hammering heart.

Closing my eyes, I slumped back on the bed, bunching my fists over and over. I felt sick. Cold and numb and sick and angry.

But more than anything, I missed her. I missed who I was when I was with her. I missed the certainty she brought into my every minute, the belief that the world was a good place. The knowledge I had a reason to keep breathing every day.

I missed her.

I drew an image of her in my mind. It was sheer torture to do so, to do this to myself, but I could help it.

I saw her.

She smiled at me, held out her arms to me.

I dragged in a slow breath, wishing I could feel those arms around me now.

In my head, she moved her fingers to the buttons on her shirt. Released them. One after the other.

My body stirred. My cock did the same.

How fucked up was I that I was imagining my girl, getting hard to the thought of her right now? With what I was about to do, how could I possibly be turned on?

But it had always been this way with Ronnie. Since the day I first met her… How many times had I thought of her and gotten a boner at the most inappropriate time? Why should today be any different?

I lay stretched on the bed and saw her in my head, watched her undress, watched her play with her breasts, her nipples, her pussy, her gaze on me, my name on her lips…

Fuck, what was I doing here? Why wasn’t I with her?

We could move to fucking Brazil, Australia. Christ, we could move anywhere. I didn’t have to be here. I didn’t have to be away from her. We could move and leave my shit past life behind.

Why was I here? Why had I left her?

Because Rufie had declared war on me. And if he couldn’t get to me, if he couldn’t get to Ronnie, he’d go after my mom, Ronnie’s parents…

He’d go after anyone in my life that meant anything to me.

And I didn’t run away. I wouldn’t run away.

I would end it.

That’s what I had to do.

End it.

Heart racing, I destroyed the image of Ronnie in my head. It served me no purpose being there now.

Now, I had to think about the plan. Now, I had to—

My phone vibrated in my hand again.

I groaned. I couldn’t look at it. If it was Ronnie, I was fucked.

Like before though, I was incapable of stopping myself from reading the incoming message.

Opening my eyes, I stared at the shattered screen.

And sucked in a sharp breath.

“Miss me, Trip? I hear you’re back in town. Think we should hook up. R.”

Did Lila know I’d failed to get in contact with Rufie? Did she expect me to be so fucked up by missing Ronnie I’d forget to do it? Was that why
he
was texting
me
?

Another incoming message flashed on my screen.
“Hope you brought your girl with you. I can’t wait to meet her.”

A prickling heat crept over me. A slow smile stretched my lips. Rufie had just signed his death warrant. He might not know it. He might think he had the upper hand, but at the mention of Ronnie, he’d struck the final nail in his coffin.

Smile turning to a grin, I tapped in a reply and hit send.

“Coffee? Our usual place in an hour? You game?”

It took him five minutes to reply. He would know exactly what I’d said. That I was going to fucking kill him at the Trinity warehouse in an hour.

“See you then, Trip. Alone. I’m not in the mood to share you.”

“Done,”
I answered.

Grin growing wider, I got to my feet and stripped the sweat-drenched running gear from my body.

Party time was about to begin.

I needed to get ready.

Goodbye, Lucas Pratt. Hello, Tripwire.

I
arrived at the coffee shop—a derelict warehouse Trinity used as neutral territory before expected violence—fifteen minutes early. Climbing off my hog, I studied the dark, broken windows and boarded-up doors.

The last coffee I’d drunk had been the coffee Ronnie had made me two mornings ago. I could almost fool myself into believing I could still smell the delicious aroma of the beans roasting.

The smell of coffee wouldn’t be waiting for me inside.

Rufie and his unwashed stink would be in there, along with who-the-fuck knows how many of my once-fellow Trinity members.

I was walking into a death trap. I knew it. Rufie knew it. Everyone in there knew it.

I was armed with my Glock, Berretta, brass knuckles, two hunting knives, and my switchblade. All would be taken from me the moment I walked into the place.

That was the way I wanted it. I wouldn’t be the one disarmed when my weapons were taken from me. Years on the MMA circuit had taught me the person with the most powerful punch in the ring wasn’t always the best fighter.

I fixed my stare on the warehouse, pictured Rufie inside.

Rufie was a fucking narcissistic sadist. What he’d have planned for me…

I should be worried about how much I was looking forward to what was about to happen. Instead, I was smiling.

Eager.

Ready.

My smile stretched wider. “So fucking ready.”

I withdrew my Glock from behind my back, started walking, and stopped when my phone vibrated in my pocket.

I didn’t need to look at the screen to know who it was. Every fiber in my body knew who it was, and despite the fact I was a fucking idiot to answer, I did.

“Babe.” I stared at the warehouse, seeing Ronnie in my head.

“When I get my fucking hands on you, Lucas fucking Pratt,” Ronnie growled in my ear, “I’m going to—”

“Kiss me,” I said. Jesus, my chest felt like someone was punching into it over and over. “You will kiss me, strip me naked, and fuck me senseless.”

Slight movement in the uppermost window of the rundown building before me caught my attention. I was being watched.

“I’m going to do all those things,” Ronnie agreed. “I’m also going to go down on you, suck your balls completely into my mouth, and press my finger into your—”

“Okay, okay,” I burst out, heart racing, balls throbbing. “I’ll come back home ASAP. I promise.”

Fuck, she’d made me hard. I was about to walk into a fucking bloodbath and Ronnie had turned my dick into a fucking pole.

“Hell yeah, you’re coming home to me,” she agreed. I’d never heard her more insistent, angry, and demanding.

I chuckled. Yeah, I loved her.

“I’ll see you soon, Lucas,” she said, tone softening. The promise in her voice twisted my gut into a knot.

My chest tightened. Fuck, if only she
would
see me soon.

“Love you, babe,” I said. “For the rest of my life.”

I ended the call before she could say something to make me turn around and hurry back to her.

Jaw clenched, teeth gritted, I walked toward the warehouse.

That same movement in the upper window caught my eye a few seconds before I stepped through the open roller door into the main area of the building.

Rufie stood in the middle of the floor, smirking at me, flanked by his goons. As always with the fuck-knuckle prick, he carried a steel pipe—his preferred M.O. for fucking someone up.

Two steps in, I was grabbed from behind.

It took me exactly eight seconds to render the idiots unconscious. I counted. Elbow to the solar plexus of the fucker on my right, fist to his nose as he crumpled over in pain. Heel to the foot of the douche on my left, followed by a palm-heel to his Adam’s apple.

Both crumpled to the ground, eyes rolled back into their heads.

The sound of clapping—and guns cocking—drew my focus back to Rufie.

He continued to clap for a few moments, stare locked on me. Around him, the Trinity members he’d brought with him kept their guns trained on my chest.

Idiots.

Rufie stopped clapping, removed the steel pipe from where he’d tucked it under his armpit, and grinned. “Still not keen on physical contact, ’eh, Trip?”

I shrugged. “I’m not into rough foreplay.”

He brayed with laughter, an ass laughing like one. I was going to enjoy scraping his face over the ground. One concrete facial coming right up.

Flicking his goons a quick look, he grinned wider. Had he always looked like a gibbon when smiling? Huh. “Look at Tripwire here. Tough as shit and clueless as cum.”