Callum shifts under the covers, sitting up the same way I am, except the sheet isn’t covering him and I can’t help running my eyes over his body, the muscles, tattoos, the light layer of hair on his sculpted chest and the prize resting on his thigh. Makes my mouth water.
“As much as I would happily love to put you on your knees, I don’t think that is what needs to happen right now.”
I bite my lip and he groans again but pulls the sheet over his lap. My brow arches at him hiding away from me but he is right. I just spilled a lot of traumas. Fucking to take that pain away cheapens what we have.
“For what it’s worth,” he reaches over and brushes some hair over my shoulder. “I’m glad you showed up here too. And I want you to stay.”
I want to ask if he means in Baltimore, or with him but I bite my tongue. My body is drained from telling my story, from rememberingall the shit I was put through for years. And memories of Helen on the hood of my car.
“I’m gonna go make us something to eat before your shift.” He sits forward and kisses my forehead. “I’ll drive you in.”
“How will I get back?”
“I’ll pick you up,” he says and hops off the bed.
“You don’t need to baby me.”
“What I want to do with you has fuck all to do with babying, Charley.”
I watch his taut ass muscles as he steps into some sweatpants, turns to wink at me, then walk out of the bedroom. For a long time, I sit in the center of the bed, the sheet tucked under my arms as I try to imagine my life here, if I choose to stay.
Who am I kidding? The thought of leaving makes me want to tear out my own hair. It is time to stop running, and I can’t think of a better place to end up in.
Chapter Twenty Two
Nashville
Blaze pulls up the news reports about Helen Barton’s death. It was ruled an accident like Charley said. There are pictures of the family in the papers, Charley is standing off to the side in most of them. I glare at the image of her father and wish I could go over there and beat the shit out of him.
He let her down. Charley didn’t mention him much, she didn’t need to. His lack of action is what caused his daughter to be in that situation.
They were your typical well-to-do, rich family who cared more about reputation than being decent fucking human beings.
Her step-siblings have all gone on to college, the bastards. I take some great pleasure in seeing pictures of Stephen before and after the accident. He has burns all down one side of his neck and arm, his hand doesn’t work the way it used to, putting an end to his lacrosse career.
“Lacrosse,” I mutter. “Isn’t that a girl’s game?”
“It’s a competitive sport,” Blaze says, sees my face and smirks. “But yeah, most self-respecting guys wouldn’t be caught dead playing that shit.”
He nods. Blaze didn’t ask any questions when I showed up at his place wanting him to look these people up for me. Now that I’m sitting here staring at their picture, I raise my eyes to him. He stares back.
“When did he ask you?”
“When she started working at Elegance. We do it for all employees.”
“The deep dive.”
“Rebel asked me.”
Rebel? I thought it would have been Nero.
“He said you got one of the dancers out of the Pembroke House, you seemed pissed off enough that he wanted to know everything he could about her.”
“Nosey fucker.”
Blaze doesn’t bother answering that. It’s the way the club works. Even more so now. We can’t risk any strangers getting close and turning out to be on Storm’s payroll. Chains was bad enough.
“No one ever thought she was into anything she shouldn’t be,” he assures me.
