Hard Case (Hard as Nails #2) (17 page)

“I need you to tell me about your mother and father.”

* * *

Slate

Part of me knew what she was going to ask before she did it, and even though my mind instantly rebels at having to relive my childhood, and even worse, reveal that childhood to Rose, I’m just grateful she’s giving me another chance. If she needs me to open up to her in order to feel safe with me, then that’s what I’m going to do.

I climb off my bike, then sit down on the curb with my knees up and my arms resting across them. She sits down next to me.

And I tell her everything.

“I grew up in a very nice upper middle class neighborhood. Every lawn was perfectly manicured. The dads washed their cars every Saturday. On Sundays, they took the riding mowers out for a spin. There were barbecues and smiling neighbors, laughing children, that whole fairy tale world. It existed for me. Most of the time, my father was a kind, loving, generous man. He treated my mother like a princess.”

I shut my eyes for a moment, remembering the families who lived on our street – the Bells, the Humphreys, the Fryes, and the Crawfords who moved away when I was ten. I remember the long, lazy Sunday afternoons, when time seemed to stand still. Boredom lived on Sundays, and it seemed to find all of us. Sunday afternoons were for naps, major homework assignments, old Westerns on TV, or just for hanging out in the pool. It seemed like everyone had a pool on our street. It made what happened all the more devastating.

Life had been ideal. Until it wasn’t anymore.

I open my eyes again, and am abruptly back in the city, the concrete under my ass as opposed to the soft green grass between my toes.

Rose is silent, but I suddenly realize she’s taken my hand in hers, and is rubbing her thumb against the back of my hand.

I manage to keep my tone steady as I continue. “There was no one event that really changed our lives. My father was a kind and gentle man, but he was also a jealous man. And when he got jealous, he changed. It was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. My father would get angry, and he would lose control of himself. He’d beat her.”

The memories come flooding back now, and I try not to let them overtake me. I clear my throat, fighting back the emotions that accompany them. I focus on the details that make me angry. I don’t want to crumble on the sidewalk.

“I remember the sound of his fists landing on her, finding their mark and punishing her for whatever slight, whether real or imagined. Knuckles thudding against bone, the hard sound that carried the impact of each punch with it. I remember listening to my mother begging him to stop, crying and screaming. Cowering in the corner while the red-faced monster my father became towered over her.”

I watch as the horror registers on Rose’s face. Feel the bite of her nails as her grip tightens on mine, probably without her even realizing it.

“I couldn’t shut it out,” I continue. “No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shut it out. I closed my eyes. I covered my ears, and yet, every sound, every image still made it through.”

“Why didn’t you hide in your room or something?” she asks.

“I couldn’t go anywhere. I had to sit there. I tried once to get up, but my father grabbed me and told me to sit and watch. This amazing man who I loved most days forced me to sit or stand and watch him beat my mother, usually until she was bruised and bloodied.”

She cries out and suddenly is pulling me into her arms. “Stop! I take it back. I don’t want you to tell me this. I don’t want you to ever think about it again.”

I swallow hard, comforted by her embrace more than I can say, and I rest my forehead against her shoulder. I breathe in her sweet scent. But I don’t stop talking. “My sweet, loving mother would forgive him and make up all these excuses as to why she
deserved
it, or at least why it was understandable that he was upset. Rough day at work. Didn’t trust this one, didn’t trust that one. She was in the wrong, and he was just setting her right the only way he knew how.” I can still hear her making excuses for him in my head, and I still can’t believe she put up with so much. Put up with it until he killed her.

“Did you—did you see it happen? Did you see him…kill her?”

I nod and the next thing I know, she’s curled over my body, sobbing. And I feel tears filling my eyes at the sheer grief she’s exhibiting for me. For the twelve year old boy I’d been.
I don’t let the tears fall. I can’t. I’ve never been able to. But I wrap my arms around her and I hold her tight. I rock her and she smooths her hands in my hair and then she’s kissing me, my mouth, my face, my hands, telling me she’s sorry, and that I never have to talk about it again.

“It’s okay, Rose. I needed to share it with you. And I hope by doing it, you feel I’ve given you something. Not enough to make up for what I did, but…something.”

“We’re going to start over,” she vows. “A fresh start.”

I laugh humorously. “Yeah, I’ve been wanting one of those for a long time.” I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss it. “I hope I finally get it with you.”

“You will. Starting right now.”

I feel her lean back. She grabs my face and lifts it so that I’m staring into her eyes. We kiss. It’s a slow, lingering kiss between our lips, at first. Her mouth opens slowly to accept my tongue, and I’m pulling her to me, on the curb. Our mouths separate, and I can feel her lips curl up in a smile as we tilt our heads down, resting our foreheads together.

“Let’s go home, Slate. Take me home,” she says, and I know she means my home,
our
home.

Chapter Nineteen

Rose

I throw my bag over my shoulder and climb onto the bike behind him. I wrap my arms around his waist confidently this time and lean into him as the engine roars to life like a jaguar in the wild. I trust him completely.

He walks us out of the parking space along the curb, and then, suddenly, we’re off, like a predator lunging at its prey. The machine beneath us is a work of art, and I can feel the power beneath me and the freedom ahead of me.

Unlike before, when his driving worried me, when the speed and raw power of the bike seemed scary, I’m fine now. I can trust it, because it is an extension of Slate. I can feel it in his body as I lean against him. He knows his motorcycle, and he knows the road.

I’m still learning. I can tell what’s going on by the sound of the engine. I can feel the surge as we pick up speed, and I can feel it when it comes down. I’m not about to hop on and try to drive it myself, but I’m not eager to hop off, either.

Part of me is disappointed at how quickly we make it back to the house. I love riding pressed against Slate. My body craves the rush of the speed and the open road, the roaring power between my legs carrying me off into the distance.

As we walk into the house, Slate reaches over and grabs my overnight bag from my shoulder. Then he tosses it away. He grabs me and pulls me to him. He kisses me, guiding us both around until somehow we’re in the living room and my legs meet the couch. I hold him against me, feeling his desire growing harder in his jeans.

I reach down and grip the front of his jeans, rubbing my hand along his growing erection. “I want you,” I say breathlessly against his lips.

He grabs my hips and pushes himself against me.

“Take me,” I pant. “Take me right here, Slate.”

We kiss for a several minutes before Slate pulls away but it’s only so he can take off our clothes. When we’re both naked, he sweeps me into his arms and lowers me onto the couch, then climbs on top of me and starts kissing me again.

Our hands are all over each other, groping, squeezing, caressing and cherishing. I don’t care about mobsters or other criminal connections. All I care about is how I feel about Slate.

I pull back. “I want—I want to ride you. Can I?”

His eyes go even darker at my words. “Fuck yeah,” he breathes, then quickly maneuvers us until he’s below me and I’m straddling him. I actually laugh at how quickly yet gracefully he switched our positions, but my laughter dies as his cock brushes against me. I wrap my fingers around him and stroke him slowly, and he grunts and arches his hips. Unable to hold back any longer, I guide him into me. I slide myself down onto his shaft, impaling myself on him. I arch my back and rock my hips on him.

He reaches up and cups my breasts. He rolls my nipples between his fingers, sending jolts of pleasure throughout my body and intensifying the sensation of his length penetrating deep into me.

I slide my wet center up and down him, and I feel every inch of his cock sliding into me, then back out of me.

He pushes his hips up to meet mine as I thrust myself down onto him.

“Yes,” I pant. “Yes, Slate.”

He runs his hands down my sides and grabs my hips, yanking me down onto him. A gasp escapes me as he stabs me with his thick, long shaft.

“Come on,” he growls. “Give it to me, Rose. Give it all to me.”

“I am,” I say in between gasps as he slides across my G-spot. He holds my hips down on him while he rocks himself against me, rubbing my clit with his pelvis.

“Fuck,” I gasp.

“There’s the filthy mouth I love so much,” he says.

One of his hands takes me by my hair and holds my face to his, forcing our lips to meet. We kiss passionately, frantically, while he thrusts himself into me, driving deeper and harder into my wet, juicy core while driving me closer to orgasm.

I put my hands on his chest for leverage while I grind my hips into him, driving him all the way into me and holding him there while I rock back and forth, rubbing my clit against him and forcing his shaft to rock against my g-spot.

I cry out as the anticipation inside my body builds to an unbearable point, and I’m ready to explode. I start rocking faster, harder, holding my breath as the pleasure builds deep in my center.

He pulls down on my hips at just the right time, shifting himself even deeper into me, and I explode inside. The orgasm rocks my body like an earthquake, and as my body starts to shake on top of him, he starts thrusting into me again, ramming me, shaking me with each thrust, the pleasure of his size inside of me turning into pain as he stretches me.

I feel him hardening and straining inside of me as his orgasm builds inside of him.

“Rose, I’m not wearing condom,” he gasps.

“Give it to me,” I beg him. “I want to be yours, Slate. Let me have it all.”

He pulls me down and holds me in place while he rocks himself inside of me, driving himself closer. With a shout, he comes, releasing inside me. The look of pained pleasure on his face and the feel of warmth as he shoots inside me sends me over the edge, and I come hard.

Epilogue

Rose

“Take a deep breath,” Slate tells me before we enter the courtroom.

I do as he says, taking a deep breath and slowly exhale.

“Look at me,” he says.

I look into his steady, strong eyes.

“You will be fine, Rose. I promise,” he says slowly. “You’ve dealt with worse than this already.”

I nod and we enter. We sit down behind the small wooden desk on the defense side. I breathe deeply and slowly while we wait for the judge. I try to remember everything Slate has told me in preparation for today, but the only piece of advice I can remember is to keep my answers concise and short.

I have felt safe and secure under his watch until this moment. Now, in front of everyone else in the courtroom, I realize there are so many other people I have to worry about other than Slate and King.

The judge comes in, and everyone stands.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone pass a small sheet of paper to Slate.

He immediately stands. “Your Honor,” he says, “permission to approach?”

“Of course, Mr. Rawlings,” she says.

As close as I am, I can’t hear what he says to her, but she gestures for the prosecution to come up. The three heads converse and nod.

Slate and the prosecutor leave the judge and walk back to the two tables at the front of the room. They don’t sit down.

“After reviewing the case with the defense and the prosecution, the court will dismiss the case of People vs. Rose Carter.” She slams the gavel down.

I look at Slate. “What the hell was that?” I ask him.

“Magic,” he says. “Don’t forget who you’re dealing with here. I can make just about anything happen in a courtroom,” he tells me with a wink. “Now, let’s get out of here.”

I’m still in shock that things ended so abruptly, and he puts a hand on the small of my back and guides me out of the courtroom.

The prosecutor is waiting for him in the hallway. “Congratulations, Rawlings. That’s the fastest I’ve seen a case dropped. Probably ever.” The two shake hands, and I see the paper slide into the prosecutor’s hand.

I know Slate will never admit to me what’s on that slip of paper, but I’m sure it has something to do with the men hunting us down.

Once the prosecutor turns and walks away, Slate puts a hand on my shoulder. “Congratulations on getting your case dismissed, but let’s get out of here.”