Brutal (30 page)

“No, why?” she asks, twisting her hair into this messy thing on top of her head.

“Tell you when we get there. If you’re ready, let’s go.”

Wasting no time, we get to Russell Industrial in minutes, the room set up in several more, and my girl kicking my ass directly after that. One of the scenarios she needs to prep for is what to do if someone ever gets the drop on her. I expected her to shoot me down, but she didn’t. She let me walk her through it, then we tried it out. Wasn’t easy really getting a hold of her. The fear of hurting her was riding me hard.

When she deflected the blow from my right hand, I followed up with my left, stopping just before I would have connected with her beautiful face. She never panicked, didn’t even blink. She looked at my fist, then my stance, then up at me. She humbles me, especially when she says

“That would have fucking hurt, yeah?”

“Yeah, Angel,” I whisper. “You wouldn’t be getting back up.”

“Make sure never to get one in the face, got it,” she says, kissing my knuckles. “Do it again, no holding back.”

This is her life were dealing with, her safety. Without taking another breath, I step back, nodding, letting her know we’ll try again. When she turns away to get in position, I attack. It happened so fast, I had her on the ground before I exhaled.

Legs spread, arms pinned, with her breathing heavy, she looks right at me and smiles. “Should have knocked me out, Mr. Bad Guy, taking me to the ground was a no-no.”

Before I can register what the fuck she was talking about, she uses my legs against me by bringing hers up to her chest, repositioning them, and kicking me up and off her in seconds. Rolling to my side in an effort to get up, she’s already behind me, with one arm around my throat, cutting off my air. She takes her finger, sticks it in the right side of my neck where a needle would go, says “night night”, kisses me on the cheek, walks back over to the mat, and sits.

Had I been a perp, I’d be passed out, trussed up, and looking at jail time. Had I been on her list, I’d be fucking dead. I’m so fucking glad I ain’t on her list.

After that showdown, we work on sparring with some light cardio. Once we've had enough, we pack up to head to my place. On the way there, she hums while I drive. It’s a matter of blocks, so we didn’t talk. Not much to say. She learned something today, I learned something today.

Opening her door, she jumps out, kisses me and follows me in. Turning on lights, tossing the mail in the kitchen, we meet up on the couch.

“Wait here a minute,” I say, kissing her hard. She nods, sitting back to wait for me. Turning on the cable, I switch it to audio, synching my phone to it. Taking my phone with me, approaching the couch, I put my hand out, she looks up at me, cocking her head.

“Dance with me.”

W
hen he asked me to dance with him, my heart stopped beating. Excitement, joy, and a bit of apprehension took hold of me. I’ve never danced with anyone before, except for maybe my dad, but I was like four, so that doesn’t count. But dancing with him right here on this rug was going to happen, even if I had to stand on his size fifteens to do it.

Taking his hand, I stand. As he's pulling me to him, I follow instinct and wrap my arms around his waist. Putting his arms around my neck, he brings one hand into my hair, using the other to work his phone.

The first thing I hear are the soft tinkling of bells, followed by a voice that’s familiar to me, but I can’t place it. Suddenly, we’re moving to the music, but even though we’re moving slow, this isn’t a slow song. Listening closely, I let her lyrics wash over me. I raise my head to look up at him, but he guides it back to his chest. Focusing on the words right away, I knew this song was powerful, and it speaks volumes. Her voice is beautiful, melodic; these words were written for me to hear.

Humming into my ear, he guides me in small circles, and when she raises her voice, his hand tightens in my hair. Dropping the phone into his pocket, he takes his left hand, raising my chin, but I don’t want him to think my tears are from sadness, because they aren’t. Not even close.

He starts singing to me, looking me in the eyes, still guiding my body. He sings a song that means something to him, and he sings for me. With tears running down my face, I can’t miss this, I can’t look away.

No matter what my future holds, this is that moment I’ll never forget. He listens to this song, because it’s me, you can’t miss it. Every word, what it means, this is me. My greatest fear was that I wasn’t loveable or worthy of him, and this is his way of telling me, showing me that I am those things and more. If I’m right, his biggest fear is that I’ll run if I show myself to him, but this is his way of telling me he understands. That we’re not perfect, but that we’re worth it. He accepts me, dark side and all.

“Rogan,” I struggle to say, so choked up that words are nearly impossible.

“Shut up and listen.” Doing as he says, the lyrics, his eyes, they tear me down and build me back up again.

Recognizing the voice brings a smile to my face. He’s a lot of things, yeah? A closet romantic is one of those things. I don’t know what other women want in a mate, but I wouldn’t trade what I’ve found with him for anything, not a fucking thing. Our bodies slowing, the song comes to a dramatic end, and we’re standing there holding each other in total silence.

“That’s you,” he says, leaning down to put his face in my hair.

“It is,” I say, hugging him tight. “Thanks for seeing who I really am.”

“Don’t cry, Angel,” he whispers. “Love you, love your dark side.”

“Love you, Rogan,” I whisper back. “Love everything about you.”

“Never made a promise before. I want to make one to you now.”

“Okay,” I hiccup, getting overwhelmed.

“No matter what, I’ll always be your pumpkin and your tree.”

“Oh, god,” I cry, and the more I try to control it, the harder I cry. I hate crying because I’m an ugly crier. Like fucking puffy eyes, runny nose, blotchy face kind of crier.

Clearly, he doesn’t like seeing me like this. He picks me up, carrying me to the couch, sets me down, and cuddles my front to his back.

“Better?”

“I’m good,” I say, trying not to start the waterworks again.

“You’re worth everything to me,” he says. “Needed you to know that.”

“I know it now,” I say, staring at his hand resting on my breast. “She has a beautiful voice. Kelly Clarkson, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he grumbles. “It ain’t your voice, but it’s good.”

“Yeah, but you listen to Kelly Clarkson?”

“American Idol is good shit,” he says, defending himself. “Least it was when she was on it.”

“You surprise me, Detective,” I say, smiling. “You got a thing for singers?”

“Venessa?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“It’s okay if you do,” I say, not shutting up. “She has a killer voice, I wouldn’t blame you if you thought she—“

“Jesus,” he says, squeezing me. “I like her music, just her music. You tell me all your shit. I wanted to show you I got it. Heard that song, thought of you, and needed you to know it.”

“Rogan?”

“Yeah?”

“Relax, I was fucking with you.”

“Good thing I love your smart ass,” he says. “Love everything about you too, Angel.”

A moment of seriousness comes over me, things I need to say, need him to understand. I’m feeling vulnerable and open, so if there’s ever a time to put it out there, it’s now. Turning so we’re face to face, placing my hands in his beard, looking him in the eyes, I give it to him as best as I’m able.

“You have given me all the things I never even knew I wanted,” I begin. “I’m free when I’m with you. The demons are quiet, the rage is controlled, and I only feel happiness. That song was right, those are my fears, but I promise to try my hardest every fucking day for you, for us.”

“We all got dark in us, Angel,” he says tracing my mouth with his fingers. “You got more than most, but I ain’t afraid of the dark.”

“That’s the problem, though, neither am I,” I say. “I’m afraid one day it will consume me, and I won’t be able to find my way back to you.”

“Never happen,” he promises. “I said I’d always bring you back, and I will. If you trust anything, trust that. Never made a promise until you, and I won’t break it.”

“Okay, yeah I can trust that,” I say. “I trust you.”

“Long as each day starts and ends with you, the rest is cake,” he says. “Needing you now, Angel, so open that mouth.”

Never one to deny him anything, I opened my mouth, giving him everything. True to his word, he gave everything right back to me.

I
woke up to running water, and a note stuck to my phone that let me know she stored our numbers for us.  I open my phone to see my first contact is ‘Angel’, with a photo she took of herself topless. Then I grab her phone to see what my name was in her phone, and when I go to favorites, I see ‘My Bitch’ with a middle finger as the picture, I frown.

“Open it,” she says, standing there in my bedroom with only a towel.

I hit ‘My Bitch’, and notice it’s empty.

“Scroll down, stud.”

I scroll down to ‘Rogue’, and there’s my number with a picture she took of me smiling.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah,” I say. “You ain’t gonna let it go, are you?”

“No fucking chance,” she says, coming over to the bed to straddle me.

“I should spank you.”

“Why do you think I did it?”

“You know I’m a man of my word,” I say, flipping her over.

“I think I deserve two,” she teases. “You know, because I’m forgetful.”

“Before I punish you,” I say, handing her the phone, “get over here and work your magic. Take one of us together.”

“Should we be naked?” she asks, opening the towel.

“You’re already naked,” I say. “Take the fucking picture.”

She laughs and does this thing with her right arm, taking a picture of us in bed, together. I lean in to kiss her good morning, she takes another. I grab her breasts, she looks at me, and takes another. She takes her left hand, grabs my cock, takes another. I spank her ass, she takes another.  She pulls me on top of her, moves her arm, and takes another. I lost track of how many she took, but once she was screaming and I was wrung dry, I really didn’t care.

“Get up, Rogue.”

“Happy here.”

“We have shit to do,” she says. “We need to hit the range before I take inventory, so get that hairy ass outta bed.”

“My ass is hairy?”

“I like hairy.”

“I’m serious,” I say. “My ass is hairy?”

“You have hair on it, yes,” she says. “But I like it. Asses are supposed to have hair on them.”

“That’s fucked up,” I say. “Scale from one to Sasquatch.”

“Hmm,” she says, rolling me to my side to look. “I give it a shag carpet. And don’t ask me to shave it, because I won’t.”

“You’d let me walk around, knowing my ass resembles shag carpet?” I ask “That’s fucking cruel.”

“I love this ass,” she says, rubbing my ass. And, yeah, that feels good. “You have a manly ass.”

“Damn straight.”

“Let’s go, big guy,” she says, pulling me up. “I want you to meet some people I know.”

“Fine,” I say. “Where are we meeting these friends of yours?”

“They aren’t friends,” she corrects. “Just people I know. C’mon.”

We grab a cup to go, grab our gear, and head to the range. It’s about twenty minutes outside the city. She asked me to stop at the humane society nearby, and when I went to get out, she asks me to wait, saying that she'll be out in five. True to her word, she is. She comes out smiling, and when I ask her why we stopped, she just says ‘I stop here when I’m passing through’. I ask her if she wants a pet, and she says ‘no, I just appreciate what they do here, is all’, and then she pretty much dropped it. Another peek into my angel’s life, and I love what I see. I’ll store that in my mind for another time.

We get to the gun range and, since I usually practice at the precinct, I was really impressed with their set up. She introduces me to several people who’s names I’ll never remember, but I will remember how happy they were to see her. She asks for a 1911 in the case, and then I choose a 357 for fun. I ask her why she doesn't bring her own guns and she says, “I already know how to shoot those. I like testing out new ones when I come in. It’s fun.”