Rectify (Return to Us Trilogy #2) (3 page)

Ivy

I haul the soft knitted blanket up to my chin and burrow into the plush cloth. The ghost of my Jacade sex dream lingers between my legs. He laid me down on this couch and made love to me. He wasn't fucking me. Well, maybe at the end he was fucking me, but I knew he loved me with absolute devotion. He traced the arches of my physique and kissed me as if he was suckling fine Bordeaux wine from my pores.

My hands brush against lace on my arms. My weary eyes spring open, and I sit up straight as a board. My club dress from last night is bunched up around my waist.

Bryn. Jacade. What the heck happened? Shane carried me out. Viktor had Bryn. Did Shane put me on my couch?

I shoot up and tug my dress down over my hips. I have to get to Bryn. On the way to the door, I trip over my shoe and tumble to the floor.

"Dammit!" One stiletto catches in the lace of my dress. I attempt to untangle it, but I don't have time. How long was I out?

I scramble up from the floor and sprint to my front door, my stiletto banging into my thigh as I run.

Bryn.

I fumble with the knob, but the door swings open before I make any progress. A giant form perched on my doorstep obstructs the morning sunlight.

It's him. The man who makes my knees buckle and liquefy into molten lava. The man who makes all four chambers of my heart skip beats simultaneously, paralyzing me somewhere between the living and the dead. He looks tired but unhurt.

With his hands resting on the top of the doorframe, he gazes down at me with a wicked lopsided grin. Like the schoolboy who did something ruthless in his kindergarten classroom but doesn't regret a thing. Maybe he yanked a classmate's pigtail or peeked up her skirt. Knowing Jacade, he probably would opt for the skirt-viewing party even as a child.

Jesus Christ. He always looks like he's wearing an Armani catalog with accents of HUGO at fashion week. His black leather jacket with a notch lapel and side snap pockets hangs open, the supple leather collar up to keep his neck nice and warm.

Under his jacket, he wears a red V-neck sweater with solid black trim. His dark, straight-leg button fly jeans hug his thighs and crotch in an unchaste manner. He's forgone his usual Italian leather shoes for black, low-top sneakers.

His dimple emerges and his cavalier tone breaks the silence. "Going somewhere?" His gruff voice rolls from the back of his throat and off his gifted tongue. The tongue I want propelled down my throat even though he banished me from the club last night.

Where was I going again? I hate when he does this to me.

"I was umm..." I stutter trying to recall my previous plans. He charges through my door and stops to nuzzle my neck. His heated breath tickles my earlobe triggering shivers down to my hair follicles.

His fingers immobilize me as they tease up my thigh. He tugs on the hem of my dress.

In my ear he laughs and mutters, "Hey baby, these"—he holds up the Jimmy Choo he untangled from my dress—"go on your feet." He tosses the shoe, and it skids across the tile floor of the entryway.

I was focused on getting to Bryn. Not unraveling my shoes from my dress.

Oh, Bryn! I was going to find Bryn.

He lays his jacket on my armchair and rolls the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows. That's it? That's all he's going to say?

With a deep breath, I plant my feet and cross my arms over my chest. "Are we going to talk about what happened last night?"

He turns and places his hands on his hips. "What else is there to say?"

He's joking, right?

***

Jacade

Ivy glares at me from a few feet away, her body tense.

"You're joking, right?" she asks with a huff.

My fingers dig into my hips like claws. I have little patience and even less sleep. What is there to talk about? Everyone's fine. Let's move on. End of story.

"Jacade. I'm so done with your stupid secrets. People are getting hurt. Is Bryn okay? Tell me!" She balls her fists at her sides, her forehead wrinkling. Why is she asking me this again? This isn't a fucking antic, Ivy.

The napping panther inside me slowly opens his viridian eyes. He spots his prey and his tongue swipes along his jagged, sharp teeth.

"Relax." She needs to wrangle in her rancor. It's not wise to antagonize the beast. He feeds on hostility. It's how he survives.

"Don't you dare tell me to relax. You weren't the one who saw her ex-fiancé holding a gun to your best friend's head. You must be insane to think I would be calm after that. Maybe you are crazy—just like Viktor!"

I blink and gape at her. He's hunting her in the early morning light. His humid breath fogging out in front of him. She's about to be his breakfast, and I can't do a damn thing. She's dancing in front of him in a dress made of raw meat.

She shifts her weight to her left foot. "Not to mention being thrown over Shane's shoulder and carried out of the club against your will because," she points at me, "you said so!" She knocks her forehead with her hand. "Oh, I'm such a silly little woman. I forgot what you say goes."

"Watch it, Ivy." I raise my left brow as a warning. One more chance. After that, I can't help you. He gets what he wants. My fingernail buckles under the force on the rough denim.

"Watch what? My mouth? Does the truth hurt, Jacade?" Her neck moves with her attitude.

"Calm. Down." I rasp out the only words I can manage.

"Tell me the truth right now or the door is that way." She flings her hand out and points to the door. "Don't let it hit you in the ass."

He parts the curtain of jungle leaves in his path and charges her.

"You think it was easy? Trying to keep you safe and protect an innocent woman from a nutcase holding her at gunpoint? It wasn't, by the way." I run my fingers through my hair and pace three steps left, spin on my heels, and lean toward her. "I told you last night she was safe. Is my word not good enough for you anymore?"

"Last night?" If her face could morph into the shape of a question mark, it would. She has a knack for not remembering critical information when it comes to me.

Too late to stop him. He pounces and knocks her to the ground in one swift movement. He tears into her left bicep, dragging her in the dirt. She wails in agony.

A frenzied cackle escapes my throat. "Yes, last night when I fucked the shit out of you on that couch." I wave my hand in the direction of the couch.

He rips into her thigh muscle. Blood shoots from her femoral artery.

I narrow my gaze on her. "I could've fucked you any way I wanted, and you would've begged me for more."

"I thought you were a dream." She drops her head and stares at the floor.

The panther looks back at me with his sooty face covered in her crimson, shreds of muscle and tissue hanging from his jaw.

I march over to her. She raises her head and backs up until she hits the chair. She stumbles and sits on the arm. I'm centimeters from her face. Her frightened eyes search mine for answers, but this isn't Jeopardy.

"Am I real enough for you now, sweetheart?"

Smack
!

I grin and crack my jaw. I've had weaker women smack me much harder than that, honey. I knew my question would push her over the edge. I wanted it. Needed it. It was the only way to fend him off.

Her bright, wide eyes look at me like I skinned her pet rabbit for stew. I can't tell if she's surprised by my aggression or because she smacked me. Probably a little of both.

She wiggles out from under me and sprints to her bathroom. The door slams shut like the worn steel gates of a prison cell. My own personal hell.

The slap stirred the panther from his morning meal, and he returns to my side. Together we hike back into the jungle. I loop the frayed rope he's accustomed to around his neck and re-tether it to a tree, but I know it won't hold him. It never does.

***

Ivy

Darn right, I smacked him. He deserved it. No man talks to me like that. He spit those cruel words at me with intention to wound me. He knew where to aim his knives to pierce my heart.

My thighs stick to the lid of the toilet seat as I slide to the edge. The strands of my shag rug tickle the sensitive skin between my toes.

I bury my face in my hands and can't hold back the few tears that escape. The image of his features morphing into wrath will always be ingrained in my memory. The taunting sneer of his mouth reveled in hurting me. I take a deep breath and force myself to stop crying.

Why did he get so furious at me? I have a right to know what happened. He can't expect me not to ask.

Carmine dots emerge on my forearms and thighs. Please don't tell me the way his pulse throbbed in his neck and his eyes ripped through my body excited me. What is wrong with me? Oh, I'm not opening that assortment of problems.

Jacade opens the bathroom door and stands with one arm clutching the frame above his head. Crud, I forgot to lock it. He shoves his other hand deep in the front pocket of his jeans.

"Can I help you with something, or are you here to yell at me again? Because if you are, I'm fresh out of give a damns."

"Okay, I deserved that." He steps in and squats down in front of me. His jeans pull tight across his massive thighs. He links his fingers and focuses on my face. "A good man knows when he's wrong and when to apologize. I'm sorry. I lost my temper."

Say what, now? Did he admit to being at fault? Call the newspapers! Extra, extra, read all about it! A man admitted to being wrong!

His hand stretches for mine, but I yank it away and knock my elbow on the back of the toilet. I rub my elbow, but the stinging moves up my arm.

"Are you afraid of me? You don't have to be. At first, I thought you were messing with me, but then I realized you truly didn't remember. We connected on a different level last night, and I was upset that you were making light of it."

"I understand. But, Jacade, I have triggers. And you just pressed and held all of them at the same time out there."

"Triggers?"

I nod my head. "I've had a series of men in my life I thought I could trust only to find I couldn't. In foster care, they made me their cook, babysitter, drug dealer, all while putting me down and shooting venomous words like you did. If I didn't do their bidding exactly as ordered, they'd threaten to beat me."

His nostrils flare and his face contorts into repugnance.

"Did any of them ever..."

"Rape me? No. They didn't want to risk their government check if they found out I was being sexually abused. It's not only foster care, Jacade. All my life, I seem to end up with men who degrade me. Anything they could find—my weight, my choices, my clothes."

He raises his hand. "Hold on, your weight?"

"Yes. Part of the reason I lost sixty pounds."

"You didn't need to. You're beautiful as you are," he grins, "and I'm a plastic surgeon so you know I can usually find a flaw to fix on everyone."

"Well, thank you, but I did it for myself too. You have to understand. I'm never going back there. I've fought hard to climb out of that hole."

"I apologize, baby. I'll rein it in. I promise."

"I'm sorry too. I thought you were a dream, which is a compliment if you think about it." He smiles at my words. "What I do remember was pretty mind-blowing."

"I thought so as well." I catch a twinkle in his eye.

I sigh and square my shoulders. Time to say what needs to be said.

"Listen, I know what Viktor's involved with. Tell me the truth, Jacade. Are you tied to him?" He holds my stare and his jaw clenches. "You aren't going to tell me anything?" I exhale. "Is Viktor dead? Is he in jail?"

"No and no." His tone is reluctant.

I sigh. "Please tell me if Bryn's all right? I want to see her."

"Bryn's fine. I gave her a sleeping pill. She won't be awake for a while."

He took care of Bryn? He must have been up all night. I stroke his cheek with my hand.

"Shane is guarding her place. She's safe."

He rises and grabs me under my arms, hoisting me on my bathroom counter next to the sink. He parts my legs, forcing my body forward, and steps between them.

He rips off some toilet paper, runs it under the water for a second, and rubs it down my left cheek. He does the same to the other side. A smudged cloud of mascara covers the length of the paper.

***

Jacade

Shit. I've been a total ass to her. My short fuse riles him, and I can't regulate his actions. My urges are difficult to manage in regular circumstances, but with her, restraint is a Herculean effort.

She's my ride or die. I can't ruin this. I have no other alternatives for my life. She either falls in love with me or I perish.

Fuck, I can't stand the thought of her weeping. I had to clean off her damp cheeks immediately. Each black path down her face gutted me from the inside. I'd do anything to erase those tears of pain.