Grit (Dirty #6)

Off of the kitchen are two hallways. One leads to the laundry room, half bath, attached garage, and basement. All of which are nice perks. The other splits off into yet another hallway, the first taking us to two average-sized bedrooms and a full bathroom. I guess it could use an update, but I have seen much worse.

  It’s perfect. It’s so goddamn perfect for us.

  The second hall ends at the master bedroom. Joel stands back, letting us go on by ourselves. He’s said very little, just allowing us to look around, which I appreciate. It gives me time to think.

  My eyes automatically fall on the double doors leading out onto a patio. More outer doors. More ways to get inside. More security complications.

  The master bedroom is spacious, yet cozy. We wouldn’t be tripping over each other like it feels we do in my tiny apartment.

  I have this jittery feeling swimming through my veins. This house is not considered HUGE by any means. Two of this place could easily fit inside the home I grew up in, but it’s so much larger than what I’ve grown accustomed.

  As I move into the master bath, I think about how long it would take me to do a nightly check of this house, making sure all the windows—and there are a lot—are locked.

  There’s a claw foot tub. I’ve always wanted one of those.

  God. I don’t know.

  I don’t know if I can do this.

  Link did so good choosing this house. It’s damn near flawless. It really is. It’s everything we need.

  “What do you think?” Link asks, that same blank expression in place. “Should we make an offer?”

  Twenty-Five

  Link

  “I don’t know,” she whispers. Her fingers slide over her stomach, not like she’s thinking about the baby, but more like she’s in pain.

  “You all right?” She’s had a long day. I put a lot on her all at once. I didn’t realize how long the doctor was going to take, and she hasn’t eaten since breakfast. I had expected to stop for lunch between appointments, but we ran out of time. Her skin is pale, a strong indication she isn’t feeling well.

  She shakes her head, jerking it from left to right stiffly. “No. Can we go? I want to go home.” She puts inflection on the word home.

  I apologize to Joel and let him know we’ll be in touch. Once she’s buckled into the passenger seat, she leans her head against the window, closing her eyes. She’s quiet, so I let her be, refraining from asking her opinion on the house again.

  ***

  Rocky’s hand glides over my chest, resting on my heart for several beats. She continues down, over my stomach, and comes to a rest on my boxers beneath the sheets. My body reacts immediately to her touch, my dick thickening under her palm. My mind has been racing since we got home, but just like that, with one sweep of her hand, everything stills.

  After dinner, she came straight to bed. I let her nap, but as the hours ticked by, it was clear she had no intention of getting back up and talking to me. Not about the house. Not about the baby. Not about anything.

  We both need a break from talking. From thinking.

  We both need a release.

  We don’t need to talk to fuck. We don’t need to think.

  We just need to feel.

  I slide my arm under the blankets, pushing her knees apart. My fingers brush between her legs. She’s warm. Inviting. It’s dark, but the alarm clock on the nightstand illuminates her face in a pale blue glow. I watch her eyelashes flutter and her teeth sink into her bottom lip. I love the way she looks lost in desire. I repeat the movement, a little harder this time. Her lips part and she releases a panted breath.

  Her strokes become quicker, stronger. She slips inside my boxers, cupping my balls. She flexes her fingers around them, her grasp firm, and I growl roughly.

  In one solid motion, I tear the blankets off us and cover her with my body. She’s been distant today, and I need her close. I press my hard length against her and she rocks her hips. She’s only in panties and a t-shirt, but she’s way overdressed.

  As if coming to the same conclusion, she tugs her shirt over her head, her breasts spilling free. Her nipples are tight peaks. I draw one into my mouth, sucking until she cries out. Her nails scrape the back of my neck, holding onto me. I move to the other one and latch on as I tow her panties down her legs. They’re already damp.

  She grinds herself against me, her fingers dragging down my back. It feels like we’re having an entire conversation without uttering a single word.

  I release her nipple, trailing my tongue between her breasts, along her collarbone, and up her neck. Her pulse pounds beneath my lips. I nip at it, eliciting a groan of pleasure.

  The sounds she makes, from her quickened breaths to her slow, low moans, have direct effects on my body. It’s all so good. Such damn perfection. I’m wild with hunger as if it’s been months instead of hours since I had her last.

  It’s never been this way with anybody else.

  Not even Olivia.

  I can’t deny it.

  Rocky is gradually taking over. My thoughts, my cravings, my needs. At any other time, the guilt would seep in, choking me.

  But I feel crazed. The need to be intimate—sheathed inside Rocky—is greater than the shame my conscious tries to afflict me with.

  I shove my underwear down to my knees and grip my cock, guiding it into her pussy. My head falls to her shoulder. She’s wet and hot and exactly what I craved.

  She curls her legs around me, heels digging into my ass. There’s a part of me that wants to let go. That wants to plunge deep inside her. Slam into her as hard as I can, propelling us both to the precipice between pleasure and pain, but I hold that part of me back. I begin a slow, steady pace. In and out, in long, unhurried strokes. It’s agonizing—sweet, mind-blowing torture.

  I support myself on my forearms, watching her face as she comes apart beneath me. One of her hands clings to my back; the other cinches a fistful of my hair. Her back arches, pressing her chest tightly to mine.

  I keep watching her, feeling her body react under me. Rocky is a gorgeous woman. She often tries to downplay her beauty by neglecting to do anything that could enhance it, but that’s what I find so captivating about her. Lying here, free of makeup and clothing, her hair a tangled mess around her head… She’s stealing my breath.

  Her eyes shine as she looks up at me, nails cutting into my shoulder blade.

  The moment she clenches around my cock, I lower my mouth to hers, capturing her sigh of ecstasy as I taste the saltiness of tears on her lips.

  Twenty-Six

  Rocky

  “Hello?” Link rasps into his cell phone.

  I roll over, trying to see his face, but he sits up, swinging his feet over the side of the bed, his back to me.

  “Yes. This is he.” His tone is careful, uneasy. It sends a rush of adrenaline through my veins, fully waking me. I grab my phone and note the early hour. We’re used to waking around eight to get to the gym by nine. It’s a few minutes ’til eight now. This must be important.

  I don’t know what to do with myself as I wait for everything to fall apart.

  “What?” The sharp bite in Link’s voice startles me. “Why? Why would he do that?”

  He stands, pacing the room in nothing but his boxer shorts. Olivia’s name on his chest. Bates’ scars on his back. Back and forth, back and forth.

  He stops cold, his eyes meeting mine for a beat, a mix of fury and apprehension. “Why would you make him a deal like that? I didn’t agree to it. Doesn’t the victim have a say?” I shrink back, finally understanding who is on the other end of the call.

  His chest shakes and all the anger dissipates. The only thing left is concern. “I see. Thank you for letting me know.”

  I watch him sink onto the bed, his back bowed as he rests his head in his hands. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. All I can do is continue to wait.

  “That was the prosecutor’s office,” he says, voice gritty.

  “What did they want?” I already know—I
’m sure I do, but I need to hear him confirm it.

  He turns, pulling me onto his lap. He buries his nose in my hair, inhaling deeply. He’s still, quiet, as he holds onto me, securing me against his chest. “They wanted to let me know they offered Bates’ a deal. And… He took it.”

  My heart skips a beat, and I shiver. Link’s hands tighten, fingers pulsing. He pulls back, eyes sliding over my face.

  “They dropped the breaking and entering charge and took the death penalty off the table as long as he pled guilty to the rest. He agreed.”

  Nobody told me the death penalty was part of the proposition. Bates didn’t say anything about it. Of course he wouldn’t. He played me. He made me think if I didn’t go see him he wouldn’t change the plea. His attorney should have informed me, though.

  But I didn’t ask. And I guess, now, looking back, she did in a way. She told me I should say no. I just didn’t listen to her. I didn’t want to know anything. I wanted to be done with him so badly that I blindly went along with everything he wanted. Everything but passing his question onto Link.

  Even with the one charge dropped—Jennifer did mention that part—there are still the three assault charges, the rape charge, and the murder charge. He must still face a life sentence. Maybe even multiple life sentences.

  “He’ll still go away, right? The other charges will be enough to put him away forever, won’t they?”

  Link nods slowly. “Yes. He’ll spend the rest of his life in prison, I’m sure, getting served three meals a day. He’ll have access to a facility gym. Library. Hell, he can even advance his education. He’ll be given health care. Dental care. Bates will be living better than a lot of other people in the world. He’ll be fucking living.”

  “I’m sorry,” I murmur.

  He shifts his head, gaze meeting mine again. He doesn’t hide the pain and empathy he’s feeling, and I realize Link is upset for me just as much as for himself. “You have nothing to be sorry for. This is happening to you, too.” He brushes his lips over mine, and I nearly burst into tears.

  Twenty-Seven

  Link

  “Hi Link,” he says. “How are you?”

  How am I? That’s almost funny. I’m barely functioning—for Rocky. She’s the only reason I try to hold the pieces of my sanity together. I can’t tell him the truth—that I’m a ticking time bomb, seconds away from exploding. Instead, I shrug, letting him make what he wants from the gesture, and try to get a read on him. The old man is good at his job. He gives nothing away.

  “Is there a place we can talk? I have some news.”

  I cringe. I can’t even stop myself. There’s that word again. You can always tell when it’s going to be bad. When it’s good, people will automatically say it—I have good news. When they’re getting ready to deliver shitty information, it’s just “some news.”

  And I don’t want it. I can’t handle it.

  But I nod, glancing at the office. The door is closed and I know Rocky’s in there working. “Outside all right?”

  “Sure.” He lets me lead the way, following me toward the door. I gesture to Joe, letting him know I need to step out for a few minutes. At least I’m hoping it’s just a few. If Byers were here to arrest me, I think he’d have done it by now, but I can’t count on anything anymore. The phone call from the prosecutor proved that.

  The only way to ensure anything in life is to do it yourself. That’s where I made a mistake with Bates. I stopped handling him myself.

  The air is warmer than it’s been in a while. I inhale deeply, letting it fill my lungs before I turn to face the man who has become more than the detective working my case. He’s become a sort of comrade. A father figure after I alienated myself from my real parents. Not that I think that will stop him from slapping cuffs on me for murder. He’s a good cop. A good man.

  “Have you seen the news lately?”

  “Yes,” I say, ignoring how that word claws at my brain. There’s no reason to lie. It’d be more suspicious if I tried to pretend I didn’t know he’s referring to the story that’s made headlines on every paper and station.

  “And you know Aaron Woods was a suspect in the attack on you and Olivia.”

  It’s not a question, because he knows I know that. He told me himself after he arrested Bates the night he went after Rocky. He knew Woods was involved when he called me in to identify him. Which means he also knows I should have called him the second I saw he was dead. This isn’t just a small slip on my part. It’s telling. We talked weekly for years. It’s waned since Bates and Anthony’s arrests, but Woods turning up murdered should have warranted a call from me for sure. I might as well have told him I already knew he was dead. I cannot believe I made such a reckless mistake. I mask my disquiet before he can see. “Yes,” I repeat.

  “Just making sure you’re up to date and we’re on the same page—as a courtesy.”

  “Are you still looking at Bates?” That’s the other part he told me that night. That he suspected Bates went after Woods, just as he went after Anthony, and Rocky, and me. It doesn’t mean he still believes that. I need to know what he knows.

  He scratches his lip with his thumbnail. “I am. More than ever now.”

  My brows furrow, caught off guard by that last statement. “Why now?”

  “I heard about the plea bargain. Shit deal.”

  He has no idea. Just standing here, choosing to be at the gym, working today… I’d rather be at the jail, figuring out how to wrap my fingers around Bates’ neck.

  I never should have let him live.

  I release a dry laugh. “My sentiments exactly.”

  “Odd timing, taking the deal before he sees if we charge him with Woods’ murder, though.”

  I stare at him, attempting to get a clue as to what is going on inside his head. But once again, he gives me nothing. “What do you mean?”

  He squints against the sun as the clouds shift out of the way, bathing the parking lot in a warm yellow glow. I feel frozen to the core.

  “I don’t know. It just feels off. I’ve been doing this job for a long time, Link. My gut is telling me there’s more there. Something I’m missing.” He shakes his head in puzzlement. “He should have held out, but he jumped on the deal.”

  “Maybe he was worried they’d take it off the table after Woods’ body was found.”

  He makes a noncommittal noise in his throat. “Maybe. But guys like Bates manipulate the system. The DA would have worked with him to get another conviction without the mess of a trial. He could have used his knowledge as a bargaining chip at the very least. It just strikes me as odd.”

  I can’t think of any reason other than he just didn’t want to die. What else could there be?

  And then it occurs to me. Bates can’t barter information he doesn’t have. He doesn’t have it because he didn’t do it. If I’ve come to that conclusion, it’s likely Byers has too.

  ***

  I finish preparing dinner while Rocky showers. Everything was thrown off this morning after the bombshell the DA dropped on us, causing us to run behind. We showered at the gym, which meant she had to use the shampoo and body wash I leave there for that purpose. She insisted it dried out her skin, so the moment we got home, she stripped her way into the bathroom to use her girly shit.

  She might not have liked using my soap, but I enjoyed her smelling like me all day. It was the little piece of good during this bad period.

  “This looks yummy,” Rocky says, joining me in the kitchen. She stands beside me at the stove as I plate up our meals, stealing a pepper from the stir-fry. Her hair is wet, the long strands sticking to my arm as she leans into me. “Have I told you how much I appreciate you cooking for me all the time?”

  I cock a brow, peering down at her. “No,” I answer. “I don’t think you have. But you’re pretty good at showing me your gratitude.”

  She smiles and it feels like it’s been a while since I’ve seen her do that. It’s probably for my benefit, and the fact that she
can do that for me, when I know she must be torn up over Bates’ deal, stirs something in my chest.

  “That’s what I should name my vagina—Gratitude. Then you’d see my Gratitude all the time. And feel it. And—”

  I kiss her.

  My fingers slip into her cool, damp hair, and I angle her head to taste her more deeply. There has been a lot of change for us lately. It’s been difficult and stressful. At times overwhelming. So fucking consuming. But the one thing that never alters is the way I crave her.

  Her presence, her friendship, her companionship. Just her. All of her.

  My phone rings, initiating a groan of protest from Rocky. I consider ignoring it, but with all of the developments as of late, I realize it’s not a good idea. I pull away sluggishly, working my cell out of my jeans pocket.

  Byers’ name flashes on the screen. That’s twice in one day. My jaw tenses and I turn my back to Rocky.

  “Hello?”

  He skips the typical formalities, knowing I have him programmed into my phone, and cuts right to the chase. “How well do you know Miss Cutrone?”

  His question catches me by surprise and it takes me a few seconds to answer. I glance at her over my shoulder, watching her place our plates on the table.

  “Very,” I state. “Why do you ask?”

  “I did some checking around in regards to what we spoke about this afternoon.”

  “And?” I can feel every muscle in my body coil in anticipation of what he’ll say next.

  “Can you think of any reason Miss Cutrone would want to visit Carter Bates in jail?”

  Again, his line of questioning stuns me. “No. Not one.”

  He’s quiet for a moment. My gut twists. What the fuck is going on? Why would he ask that?

  “She hasn’t said anything? Mentioned it in any way?”

  “No.” My tone is clipped. I’ve already answered him. She wouldn’t do that. There’s no reason for her to see him—to want to see him.