Tell Me When (16 page)

Chapter Thirty

Amber

I know I’m being ridiculous. Paul had nothing to do with the rose. But I was already hovering near the edge after my run-in with Mom. The rose just pushed me a little closer.

Luckily, Jordan is as eager as the rest of us to go back to the guys’ apartment. Once there, she and I make ourselves comfortable on the worn navy couch.

“What’s your poison, ladies?” Chase asks.

“Do you have tequila?” Jordan says. “I’ve always wanted to try body shots.”

I laugh. “You do realize what a body shot is, right?”

She starts to nod, then shakes her head.

The guys laugh.

Jordan’s gaze jumps to each of us as she tries to figure out why we’re laughing.

“Wanna demonstrate, Kitten?” Marcus’s lips move into a seductive half smile as his gaze locks on my mouth. I can almost imagine his X-rated thoughts, and they’re destroying my self-control, which has pretty much melted away.

“Okay.” The word comes out more like a breath than a real word. I’ve never done a body shot, but Emma used to do them at parties. I know what to expect, which is more than I can say for Jordan.

Chase walks to the tiny kitchen and returns with his hands full, carrying the salt, lime wedges, a couple of shooter glasses and a bottle of tequila. He places them on the kitchen table, which separates the kitchen from the living room.

Marcus turns on the stereo to a rock station. The music’s loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to annoy the neighbors.

Emma used to do body shots at parties while lying on a kitchen table, but Marcus suggests standing instead, since the table is too small for any of us to lie on.

He takes my hand and runs his tongue slowly along the side of it, teasing me. I almost moan at the erotic sensation of his tongue against my skin. He sprinkles salt on the spot he licked and places the lime in my mouth, fruit side facing him.

Chase hands him the shooter glass filled with tequila.

Marcus lifts my hand to his mouth and traces his tongue across the salt. This time I do moan at the feel of his warm tongue against my now ultrasensitive skin.

He curls his lips around the glass and shoots back the liquid. Eyes blazing, he removes the glass and lowers his mouth to mine, encircling the lime with his lips. He presses them against mine.

My legs melt under me, barely keeping me upright. Marcus slides his arms around my waist and pulls me close, as if sensing I’m about to become a puddle of hot liquid. He moves his head away from mine, taking the lime with him.

Jordan stands there, mouth open, face flushed, looking like she’s ready to fan herself at the steaminess between Marcus and me. Chase is grinning. I have no idea where his thoughts are, but he’s obviously amused at either Marcus and me, or Jordan’s reaction.

“That’s the PG version,” I tell her.

“Though the R-rated one’s fun too,” Chase points out.

Marcus’s lime-and-tequila breath, mingling with his usual intoxicating scent, caresses my cheek. “You’re next,” he murmurs in my ear. I swallow back the moan begging to break free, again. Maybe tonight’s exactly what I need.

I run my tongue over his hand, my attention focused on him. I’m vaguely aware of Jordan and Chase shooting back tequila, but without the partner dance Marcus and I are wrapped up in.

I shower a small amount of salt on his hand, take the glass from Chase, then lick, shoot, and kiss my way to happiness. The tequila burns on its way down but it’s worth it. Smiling, I remove the lime wedge from my mouth.

“We should do a toast,” Jordan says, getting ready for the next round. She raises her glass. “To fun.”

“To not having to get up early tomorrow,” Chase says.

“To winning,” Marcus adds.

To forgetting
, I want to say but go with “To friends” instead.

We tap our glasses together before shooting back the fiery liquid. A slow smile spreads on Jordan’s face.

Marcus watches me closely, and for some reason this makes me think of my mom. Although I can’t imagine her having tequila shots with friends, did her drinking start the same way, with her struggling to find a way to dull the pain?

That thought lasts only until the next round, then the only thing occupying my brain is a welcome buzz. At Chase’s insistence, we have two more rounds and Jordan starts laughing. A lot.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Marcus says. “We don’t wanna get you two drunk.”

Jordan bursts out laughing. “Too late.” She grabs my hand. “Time to go home.”

Marcus locks his arms round my waist. “Sorry. She’s staying with me tonight.”

I am?

He drags me back so I’m leaning against his chest. “I’m keeping an eye on you,” he says with more meaning than Jordan and Chase could possibly understand.

Jordan pouts. “So, I’m going home on my own?”

“You can stay in my bed.” One corner of Chase’s mouth slides up, making him look even more adorable than usual. He raises two fingers. “Scout’s honor. I won’t try anything.”

“Was he a scout?” I whisper to Marcus.

He laughs. “No. But if he says he won’t try anything, he won’t. She’s perfectly safe with him.” He leans down and says in a low voice so only I hear him, “And you’re perfectly safe with me.” At his words, I sink further into him.

We say goodnight to Jordan and Chase, and head to Marcus’s room.

Once we’re on his bed, still fully clothed, Marcus leans over and rains soft kisses on my lips, jaw, neck. I run my fingertips under the edge of his T-shirt and marvel at the contrast of hard ab muscles and soft skin. Hard and soft. A true reflection of the real Marcus, not the jerk he first came off as.

Craving to feel all of him, I flatten my hands against his stomach, absorbing the heat, and feeling each ridge of his muscles with my fingertips. With my hands still on his skin, I slowly slide them up, taking his T-shirt with me.

Marcus sits up and rips the distracting piece of clothing off over his head, leaving me with a smile on my lips as I take in his gorgeousness, inside and out.

Chapter Thirty-One

Marcus

Amber’s drunk. Hell, I’m drunk, too. Drunk and screwed. I want to rock her world, but I don’t want this to be our first time together. Not after everything she’s been through. Not after she’s been raped. Not after I’ve used sex as a way to dull the pain.

I want our first time together to be special for both of us. For it to mean something more than a drunken roll between the covers.

At least that was my plan until Amber placed her hands on my stomach. My head says go slow. My junk says to hell with that.

I sit up, yank off my T-shirt, and toss it on the floor. I glance down at Kitten and my breath steals away. She looks goddamn irresistible. Too irresistible.

She bites her lip in that adorable way of hers, which she does whenever she’s unsure, oblivious to the effect it has on me. It leaves me craving her soft, passion-filled lips against mine.

I position my hands on either side of her and slowly lower myself. Her hands move to my chest and she pushes me back up, before shifting her body so that she’s sitting. Her gaze remains locked on mine.

For several rapid heartbeats, we stay frozen this way. Then she hooks her hands under the hem of her top and inches the fabric up, revealing her firm stomach and a pink bra that looks as innocent as she does.

I run the tip of my tongue along my lip in nervous anticipation. In the moonlight shining through my window, she’s perfect. She’s more than I ever deserved.

And still don’t deserve.

“You’re beautiful,” I breathe. Everything about her is beautiful. Her face. Her passion. Her inner strength. I tremble at the thought of how I could lose all of this, once she learns my secrets.

Her gaze averted, Amber chews her lip again. This time I get the feeling she’s not just uncertain about us and about what we’re on the verge of doing. Before she looked away, there was no missing the pain in her eyes.

I touch her cheek, wanting to destroy whatever’s hurting her, hoping it has nothing to do with me.

I run my thumb against her lip, releasing her teeth’s hold on it, and kiss her mouth. I linger there for a moment, enjoying her sweet taste, enjoying the sweet smell of strawberries. Her lips part and I hungrily plunge my tongue in her mouth.

My hand tangles in her hair then slides down her back and skims over a thick raised scar. And then a second one and a third. My hand freezes; my heart careens into my stomach. I jerk away from her lips. “What the hell?”

Amber’s pained expression is back. Tears leak from her eyes. She pushes herself off the bed and moves away. Before she can get too far, I grab her arm.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, wishing more than anything I could go back in time and react differently. “I didn’t mean to be an ass. I-I wasn’t expecting it.” I swallow. “Show me.”

She doesn’t and I silently curse my stupidity.

“Please, Kitten.”

She stares at her jeans for what feels like several minutes. Eventually she nods and turns her back to me. Large thick scars crisscross over her skin. It looks like the sick fuck whipped her several dozen times. God, how is she even alive?

Tears prick my eyes. It takes every ounce of will not to snatch up my textbooks and hurl them against the wall, one by one. I blink away the tears and tenderly kiss her back, my lips brushing against a scar that will always be part of her. Like my scars will always be part of me.

I wrap my arms around her, the drunk feeling suddenly washed away. I’ve never felt so sober until this moment.

Amber leans back against me and I lower us onto the bed. Not wanting her to get cold, and wanting to form a protective cocoon around us, I pull the bedding over us and snuggle her closer. She shivers in my arms, and I know without a doubt she’ll have nightmares tonight. I’m just glad she won’t have to deal with them alone.

“I have no idea how you survived that,” I say. “I’m not even sure I could have survived it.” And it’s true.

She’s silent for a moment but I can tell she’s not asleep. Her breathing’s uneven and slightly fast. “I almost didn’t. He started whipping me because I refused to eat or talk to him. Then he wouldn’t stop because I kept crying out in pain. Eventually I stopped screaming ’cause there was nothing left in me. Even when he left me bleeding on the bed, I couldn’t cry. Not out loud. I could only curl up with Smoky and focus on him, and not let myself completely die, even though a large part of me already had. Smoky helped me through the toughest pain by giving me someone to love and hold on to.”

I owe that damn cat a... Well, I owe Smoky whatever makes cats happy.

Something inside me stirs. Hope, maybe. Amber loves her cat, who is no less broken than she and I are. Would it be possible for her to love me, too, as broken as I am?

I kiss her shoulder. A few minutes later her breathing has evened out, the effects of the tequila having lulled her to sleep.

I close my eyes and let the world fade away.

* * *

I
hear Kitten calling me but I can’t see her.
I’m in the living room of a house I’ve never been to before
,
with oversized pictures on the wall.
Each one is of Amber.
It’s obvious the owner of the photos has been stalking her.
None of the pictures are of her posing for the camera.
They all show her frozen in action.
There’s even one of a guy with short
,
spiky blond hair and a navy varsity jacket.
I
can’t see his face because they’re making out
,
but I recognize the hair and jacket from the picture Emma has in her room.
It’s Trent.
Jealousy knots inside my stomach even though it shouldn’t.
He’s dead.

I’m not the only one who’s jealous.
A
red cross has been painted over Trent’s face
,
and he has splashes of paint on his varsity jacket.
A
few drops are on Amber
,
too.
By accident or by design
,
I
don’t know.

“
Marcus.
Help me!
”
Amber screams.

It feels like someone has injected ice water in my veins.
I
struggle to catch my breath.
When I finally do
,
the acrid taste of smoke fills me with dread.

Amber screams again
,
but I can’t tell where the sound came from.
I
turn around
,
hunting for any indication of which way to go.
But it’s useless.
Five hallways lead away from the room
,
all identical.
What kind of crazy place is this?

“
Marcus.
Help me!
”

This time I know where to go.
I
sprint down a hallway.
The sound of her voice grows louder
,
the smell of smoke stronger.
Where the hell’s it coming from?

The hallway is long and never ending.
I
keep running
,
ignoring the burning pain in my legs from pushing myself hard.

Then I see it.
A
door at the end of the tunnel with smoke curling from under it.

“
Marcus.
Help me!
”

“
Marcus
,
you’ve gotta get us the fuck out of here
,”
Ryan says from the other side of the door.
“
We don’t have much time.
”

Ignoring everything they taught us in school about fire safety
,
I
grab the door handle and turn it.
It doesn’t budge.
What the hell was I thinking?
If it was that easy for them to get out
,
wouldn’t Amber and Ryan have already tried?

I
scan the area for a key or a heavy object so I can break down the door
,
but come up empty.
Smoke continues pouring from under the door.
Uncontrollable coughing from the other side tears at me
,
and I run my fingers around the door frame.
Fuck
,
where’s the goddamn key?

All I feel is the cold empty wall.

Someone hammers their fist on the door.
“
Please help us!
”
Amber barely gets the words out.
She’s coughing hard.

“
Fuck.
”
Ryan.

Amber screams.
A
loud crash from their side of the door drowns out her voice.

* * *

I jerk awake. My body’s covered in sweat and my heart slams against my ribs, again and again and again. It takes me a minute to reorient myself. I’m in my bed and Amber’s asleep, snuggled against me. That’s all I need to know.

I cuddle her closer, trying to push away the gnawing fear but I can’t. In the end I’m going to fail her like I failed Ryan.