Right Kind of Wrong

  “I don’t think I want to know.” Her shoulders rise and fall with small, calculated breaths.

  I could let it end here, where Jenna stays in the dark, and nothing unravels. We might even be able to stay friends and pretend like Arizona Jack is the only Jack there is. That’s what she wants, after all—to forget about the knife wound in my back and slowly drift away from me.

  If I cared only about her, I would probably let her have her way. But I care about us. And we don’t have a shot in hell unless one of us gives.

  “What if I want you to know?” I say.

  She looks up with cautious eyes then goes back to bandaging my hands. “Then I guess I’d listen.”

  I silently sigh in relief and choose my words carefully. “I went to see a guy named Hedrick who owns a bar downtown and also used to work for the people who called Samson tonight.”

  “The Royals,” she says stoically. “The people who put a price on Drew’s head.”

  I slowly nod. “I wanted to talk to Hedrick and find out what Drew was messed up in. If nothing else, I thought Hedrick could shed some light on why Drew was running so I could narrow down places he’d be running away from, if that makes any sense.” Dropping my gaze to the bloody sink, I shake my head. “Hedrick was acting strange, like he was afraid, and claimed he knew nothing about Drew or the Royals. I knew he was lying, but I also knew there was no way he was going to tell me whatever he did know because he was too freaked. So I left. But I noticed that one of the cars in the parking lot belonged to a Royal—and Royals don’t interact with Hedrick anymore. At least they’re not supposed to. I knew something was up so I drove around the block like I was leaving then returned to Hedrick’s bar, parked out of view, and crept to the back window. That’s where I saw Hedrick getting the shit beat out of him by two Royals.” I inhale. “So I barged in and pulled the guys off. Then we got into it and this happened.” I turn my bandaged hands over in Jenna’s palms.

  She stares at my wounds wordlessly.

  Tonight’s rumble was severely unmatched, physically at least. Even with two against one, I easily overcame my uncoordinated and sloppy opponents. They weren’t skilled fighters, just muscle with a message to send, which made them easy to take down. Had I known there was a knife involved, I could have avoided injury altogether. But the blade blindsided me, and one of the Royals managed to nick me before I had them under my fists. Both men were unconscious in a matter of minutes, but not before putting the hurt on Hedrick.

  I shake my head. “Those guys were there to make sure Hedrick didn’t talk and when I showed up they must have assumed he did.” I curse under my breath. “I’m the reason they messed him up.”

  Jenna dabs at the last cut with a cotton swab. “Is he okay?”

  I frown. “Yeah. His nose is busted and the one guy took a slice out of his leg, but he’ll be all right. I took him home and now his girlfriend, Sasha, is taking care of him.”

  My eyes trail over her dark hair, hanging long and loose over her shoulder, and only then do I realize that she’s wearing my shirt. And my shorts. She’s dressed entirely in my clothes and something desperate takes root inside me. I don’t want to lose her. I can’t.

  She wraps the final bandage around my knuckle and gently runs her finger along the tape to keep it in place. “And the other guys?” She says quietly, not looking at me. “How did they turn out?”

  It takes me a long time to answer as I war with myself over who I am and what she wants. “Not as good as us.”

  She nods at my hands. “Did you end up finding anything out about Drew?”

  “I did.” I nod, my jaw tightening.

  Anger sparks within me, but beneath the aggression is fear. Thick, black fear. I found out tonight that Drew’s mixed up in the exact thing I worked so hard to get my family away from. Just thinking about it boils my blood. Twists my gut. Hurts my soul. God, it hurts. If anything happens to Drew… I immediately force my thoughts elsewhere.

  I continue, “I found out who’s involved in this mess Drew is in, so now I think I know how to find him.”

  Running her fingers over my hands, she lightly takes them in her own and looks up at me. “Then I guess it was worth it.”

  There’s no judgment or fear in her golden eyes, but as she scans my face a flash of caginess passes over them and my anger and fear about Drew takes a backseat to the wary look in Jenna’s eyes.

  “You’re freaked-out, aren’t you?” I say.

  She shakes her head with a frown. “Not freaked-out. Just confused. I feel like I don’t even know who you are.” Her eyes travel down my chest to my wrapped hands then to the bloody washcloth in the sink. “Like at all.”

  I nod. “Does that scare you?”

  Pulling her eyes back to mine, she sounds both sincere and astonished when she answers, “No.” She steps back and scoffs. “But the fact that you showing up with a stab wound doesn’t freak me the hell out? That scares me.”

  I gesture to the bloody mess I’ve made in the bathroom and eye her suspiciously. “But all this—the blood, the fighting—this doesn’t scare you?”

  “Nope.” She shrugs like she’s mad at herself. “You come home all bloody after a knife fight with some ‘Royal’ bad guys and all I can think about is, oh my God, is Jack okay? Is he in danger? Is he in pain?” she snaps, angrily. “The only thing that scared me tonight was the thought of you being hurt. Or worse.” Voice cracking on that last word, she looks away and starts cleaning up the first-aid supplies, angrily thrusting discarded bandages into the trash and shoving unused cotton swabs back into their assigned container.

  Stilling her hands with my own, I turn her toward me and run my fingers up her arms until her frustrated, beautiful face is cradled in my palms. She glares at me, but the tear track staining her cheek renders her scowl powerless.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quietly.

  Her eyes fill with conflict as she gazes up at me then scans my face. “You have blood…” she says softly, bringing her finger to a stop just before my lower lip.

  I don’t remember taking a hit to the face, but as I release her cheeks and press a hand to my mouth, a dull ache swells behind my lip where a small cut has broken the skin. I try to wipe away the blood.

  “Stop,” Jenna whispers. “You’re just smearing it.” She carefully cleans the cut with a clean swab before leaning back. She rests a hand on my chest as she searches my face for more injuries, her eyes darting from side to side on a mission to heal me. Her gaze slides over my mouth then back again, lingering on my lips, and the atmosphere changes.

  The thick frustration that filled the bathroom just moments ago thins into a sweet trepidation, curling around us with a daring charge.

  Her eyes flick up to mine. “I’m mad at you,” she says like she’s trying to convince herself.

  I nod. “For scaring you?”

  “For stealing my car,” she says with even less resolve. Then, eyes traveling along my throat and jaw and mouth as I step right up to her, her voice falls to a whisper. “You shouldn’t have stolen my car.”

  I bring my mouth down to hers and hold it at her lips. “You’re right. That was a bad thing to do. You should probably stay far away from me.” I wait, lips brushing hers.

  She whispers, “I really should.”

  She catches my bottom lip between hers and pulls it into her hot mouth, sucking so hard against the small cut that she’s surely tasting my blood. This is the problem with Jenna. She wants me more than she’ll admit. And when she wants me, her desire is a feral thing. Wild and strong, and instantly addictive—for both of us. Moments like this prove just how much she’s let me get under her skin.

  Grabbing her waist, I yank her against me and take control of the kiss. I sink my fingers into her hips and tug at her lips, parting them so my tongue can slip into her mouth.

  She moans as I slide my tongue along the tender flesh of her mouth, licking at her teeth then biting at her lip.

  Her hands fly into my hair
, tugging at it hard as she arches her back, and I squeeze her ass with both hands. She tries to move us away from the bloody sink, but I clutch her to me and lift her onto the bathroom counter. Shoving her legs apart, I press myself between them and right against her hot center as I kiss her jaw and then her ear. I want her like this, against me, always.

  She rolls her hips, meeting my erection with her wanting body as she digs her nails into my bare back, and I run my hand up her back and into her hair. Wrapping a handful into my palm, I slowly tug her hair until her head falls back, exposing her long throat to my mouth. I kiss up her windpipe as her panting fills the small room and I suck the edge of her collarbone as my other hand moves under her shirt—my shirt.

  The material hangs around her small body like a bedsheet, in lost folds and twisted seams, as I run my fingers over the bare skin of her belly. She sucks in a breath and her belly dips, making me smile against her collarbone as I move my hand higher.

  Releasing her hair, I bring my mouth back to hers as I trail my fingertips over the swells of her breasts and the hard tips of her nipples. She kisses me back hungrily, and slides her hands down to grip my erection through my jeans. I groan into her mouth, wanting her so badly, hating that I’ve had to restrain myself these past few months when all I’ve wanted was this perfect, wild body in my arms.

  I kiss her again before leaning back and pulling the shirt off of her completely. It falls to the floor as my eyes take in her beautiful naked breasts. Tattoos curl around them, flowing up to her shoulders and down to her stomach, as I lean down and pull one tight nipple into my mouth, rolling my tongue over its textured surface.

  Jenna grabs the back of my head and whimpers as she holds me to her chest. Pulling back and tugging the other nipple into my mouth, I trace my fingers down her belly to cup the center of her open legs with my hand. She writhes against me as I lightly rub at her core. Kissing a trail down her chest and stomach to the sensitive skin just below her belly button, my eyes fall on the colorful phoenix tattoo that spans her hipbone and lower rib cage. Wings spread and feathers on fire, the mythical bird seems to be mid-flight on Jenna’s torso. Enticing and fierce, like Jenna herself.

  I start to pull her shorts down, but her hand slaps over mine, holding the shorts in place, and she snaps her head up to look at me. We stare at each other, both out of breath and flushed, for a long moment.

  “We can’t. I can’t.” Jenna shakes her head.

  I slip my hands around her body so I’m holding her in my arms. We’re still pressed against one another with my hard body screaming at me for relief and her soft body so wet I can feel it through the shorts, but she closes her eyes, refusing to look at me, and the passion sweeping around us starts to fall.

  She’s so afraid of feeling something that she tortures herself—and me—and tries to deny that this is something she wants, and maybe even needs.

  I gently stroke my thumb over her cheek. “Please look at me.”

  She shakes her head.

  “Jenna,” I say.

  “Don’t. Please don’t,” she whispers.

  Her face curls up like she’s going to cry and my focus instantly shifts. “What’s wrong?” I kiss her forehead. “Please look at me.”

  She scoffs, her eyes still closed. “What’s wrong is that you say my name and kiss my forehead and hold me like you care.”

  I pull back. “I do care.”

  “I know,” she snaps, finally opening her eyes. “And that’s the problem. Can we just—I’m sorry.” She shakes her head again. “I can’t do this. Not with you. Not right now.”

  I clench my jaw, feeling slightly offended and a whole hell of a lot of frustration. “Not with me. Not right now. But with someone else maybe?”

  She sighs. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I think it is what you meant,” I say, letting my arms slide away from her as I step back. “I think if I was some douche bag who didn’t give a damn about you, you’d probably be on top of me right now.”

  Her eyes sharpen. “That’s not fair.”

  “You’re right,” I say, my chest pounding with the weight of her rejection. “It’s not fair.”

  She sits up straight and doesn’t move to cover her bare chest. “I’m trying to save what we have, Jack. Sex nearly destroyed us before and I don’t want to risk it again. I can’t lose you.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Her mouth falls open. “Bullshit?”

  “Yes. Bull. Shit,” I say, overpronouncing each syllable. “Having sex didn’t destroy anything. You just can’t handle the fact that you felt something with me—that you connected with me.” I smack a hand against my chest. “It scared the hell out of you because you couldn’t control it. And now you’re freaking out because, once again, you’re losing control.”

  She slides off the counter so I’m no longer between her legs and stands in front of me with amber fury in her eyes. “This”—she waves a hand between our naked chests—“isn’t about control.”

  “Yes, Jenna, it is.” I nod. “That’s why you stopped us just now. You’re trying to control what you feel by controlling what you do—or don’t do.”

  “No, I stopped because I don’t want to lose y—”

  “You won’t lose me!” I growl. “And you know it.” Looking down at her pretty face, struggling to keep me close without wanting me closer, my chest aches as I soften my voice. “You’re not scared of losing me, Jenna. You’re scared of having me.”

  She blinks a few times, her eyes drifting around my face like lost puppies searching for a place to hide. But she says nothing and I know there won’t be any resolution for us tonight. We could argue until dawn, but it wouldn’t matter because Jenna still believes she can outwit her heart. And until she thinks otherwise, I’m just a bloody guy in a bathroom waiting for the girl of my dreams to realize that she’s in love with me.

  15

  Jenna

  I wake up to a pillow being thrown in my face and a male voice yelling, “What the fuck happened in the bathroom? It looks like someone performed surgery in there.”

  I sleepily sit up and squint at the doorway. “Wha…?”

  “Shit. Sorry,” Samson says, making a face. “I thought you were Jack.”

  I rub my eyes. “Not Jack.”

  “Right.” He nods once. “You’re… Jenna? Is that right?”

  I nod with a yawn.

  “Sorry about last night,” he says. “I swear I’m not usually a lush.”

  “No worries.”

  “You don’t happen to know where Jack is, do you?”

  After our interlude in the bathroom last night, Jack and I parted ways; him sleeping on the couch while I slept in his bed. I haven’t seen or heard from him since.

  “No.” I rub my eyes. “Is he not on the couch?”

  Samson sighs. “Nope.”

  “Samson!” Jack calls from somewhere down the hallway. “What are you doing? Let Jenna sleep.”

  Samson turns his head. “Where’ve you been, man?”

  “I got breakfast. Leave her alone.”

  Samson looks back at me with an apologetic smile. “Sorry I woke you up. Later.” He pulls the door closed and I stare at it for several long seconds.

  Last night spins around my mind like a carousel horse, up and down, around and around, replaying every critical moment. Scary bar mobsters held us at gunpoint before Jack stole my car and got into a brawl with some gangsters then came home all bloody and I patched up his knife wound before we started kissing and almost got down and dirty. Such a bizarre chain of events.

  But more than the bloody gangster madness, my mind turns with the things Jack said about me wanting to be in control and being afraid of having him. He made it sound like I’m some sort of crazy person who has feelings for him, but thinks that if I keep my hands off him then those feelings will just disappear. But that’s not the case.

  Or is it?

  The reason I stopped our kissing session was because he was about
to pull my shorts off and see all the tattoos on my lower pelvis, which wouldn’t be a big deal except there’s a new tattoo that wasn’t there the last time he saw me naked. And I didn’t feel like explaining it to him so I panicked.

  Then I realized that having sex with Jack on the bloody bathroom countertop was probably a bad idea anyway, especially since we’re stuck with each other later this week when we drive back to Arizona together. So yeah. I cut off our little make-out frenzy.

  I expected Jack to argue with me, but then he put his arms around me and held me. He held me. Like a goddamn doll. Then he kissed my forehead and said my name, and it was all I could do not to sob in his arms.

  When Jack said my name, my whole world came undone. My insides turned to goo and my strength to mush. Just that single word “Jenna” on his lips made me wish for things I have no business wanting. Things like love and romance and babies and forever. Things that have no place in my future.

  Stopping was the right thing to do.

  Hanging over the side of the bed, I reach for my purse and do what all girls do when they start to question their life choices. I call my best friend.

  Pixie answers on the second ring. “Jenna!” she squeals happily. “How are you doing? How’s the road trip going? Are you there yet? How are things with Jack?”

  Righting myself back into a sitting position, I smile at the bedspread. “Good. Fine. No. Weird.”

  She clucks her tongue. “I knew it. I knew things were going to go down if you and Jack spent an excessive amount of time together—hey, what are you—” She giggles through the phone. “Levi, come on… baby…” More giggling. “Stop, Leaves… I’m trying to talk… to Jenna…”

  It’s funny to think that just a few weeks ago, Pixie was just a shadow of her real self and now, after finding Levi, it’s like she’s come back to life. Smiling, laughing, loving. I will forever love Levi for giving my best friend her soul back—even if he’s stealing all her attention away right now on the phone.

  I clear my throat. “Should I call back?”

  “Hmm? What… oh! No. I’m fine,” she says, stifling a laugh. “Let me just get out of bed.” I hear Levi protest in the background along with some shuffling, then Pixie exhales triumphantly. “Okay! We’re good now. Sorry about that. I’m listening. So what’s going on with Jack?”