Be My Hero

  Oh my God. This was awful. No one had ever guessed this before. And outside of my parents, no one knew. How could he . . . after less than five minutes of talking to me . . . ? No. There was no way possible he could pluck that out of my brain just like that.

  But, holy shit. He had. And he knew it.

  "Tink?" His fingers skated across the bar, headed in my direction. I tried to jerk my hand away, but he caught my wrist. "No. Don't."

  His voice was so soft and understanding, trying to coddle me as my eyes filled with tears. Dear God, I was going to turn into a blubbering mess if this kept up. "Let go," I pleaded, desperate to stop this.

  "But—" He cut himself off even as he refused to let go of my hand. His face blanched of color as he met my gaze. Finally, he squeezed his eyes shut before opening them and saying, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to crack open that little egg of information."

  He looked about as torn up as I felt. I swear, if I had burst out really crying in that second, he would've joined me.

  The force of his empathy was sweet, but it was a little too much for me.

  "It's okay," I reassured him as I tugged at my hand, hoping to break free from his warm grip. "But you need to let me go."

  He gave a watery laugh and shifted his gaze toward the ceiling. "Let you go," he repeated as if the suggestion were ludicrous. When he met my gaze, he seemed completely rattled. "Easier said than done, Tink."

  Yeah, so that confused the hell out of me. I opened my mouth to ask what he meant when Reese exited the hallway.

  "I don't know about anyone else, but I'd like to get the H-E-double-hockey-sticks out of here now."

  Mason surged off his stool. "Amen."

  "Right behind you," I said. As soon as I broke free of Pick Ryan.

  I looked up at him expectantly. He didn't let go, but he eased his grip enough for me to tug myself free, and still he made sure his fingers slid against mine the entire way.

  I expected some kind of farewell from him, but he didn't even say goodbye. The sad longing in his brown eyes told me he couldn't say the words; they hurt him too much.

  Out of my depth with this man, I ducked my face and turned away, trailing after Reese and Mason. When we reached the doorway, I glanced back, and I was as unsettled as I was thrilled to find his gaze still on me.

  It was a quiet, tense ride to the apartment. Trying to make myself as small as possible in the Jeep's back seat because I knew this had to be the worst time ever for Reese and Mason to have a third wheel hanging around, I tried not to think about Mason's tattooed coworker.

  But I did. Why had he been so intrigued by me? Why had I been so intrigued back? How had he so easily figured me out? Why . . . ?

  Hell, it didn't matter.

  Things had changed too much in the last few months. Back in September, I wouldn't have thought a thing about some guy staring at me as if he thought I was amazing. I would've expected it and flashed him a little more skin just to be mean and stir him up. But getting pregnant and finally growing up a little had killed all that. Knowing my face was swollen, my stomach was forty-five inches around, and my waddle was anything but seductive, I had no idea what could be so amazing about me.

  But, like I said, it didn't matter.

  Once we reached the apartment, I hung back as Mason and Reese went inside together. I was glad they'd already gone to their bedroom by the time I made it through the front door. I wasn't sure if I had the strength to watch the struggle those two had to go through to get over this bump in their lives.

  After a quick bathroom break, I holed up in my room and crawled into bed. But even though Baby Girl was settled and not shifting anymore, I still couldn't fall to sleep.

  Pick Ryan knew about me. I didn't like that.

  Chapter 5

  PICK

  I found myself following in Lowe's footsteps and emptying my stomach in the nightclub's bathroom, which totally sucked ass. The room reeked of piss, and shit, and an accumulation of other guys' puke. Awesome.

  After I was done, I stumbled into the kitchen to wash my hands. The cook had been gone for hours since they closed the kitchen at midnight. The quiet gave me a moment to breathe in some fresh air and digest everything that had just happened and everything I'd learned.

  But shit. She was real. She was real. She was really fucking real.

  And pregnant. And Christ, had she really gone through something similar to what Tristy had gone through? The way she'd turned sheet white told me yes, but I was still in complete denial over that part, so I chose to ignore it for the time being.

  I had plenty else to freak out about, anyway. Namely the fact that the woman Madam LeFrey had told me was my soul mate was really fucking real.

  I was dizzy with the knowledge of it. My Tinker Bell was real. And damn, now I knew why I'd even given her that pet name to begin with. She'd been adorable in her huge T-shirt with a picture of Tinker Bell stretched over her bulging belly.

  But double shit. Pregnant? I had not expected that.

  My Tinker Bell was pregnant. But not with my baby. Not my Julian. Not my Skylar. Not my—

  Fuck, I probably shouldn't feel jealous as hell right now, should I? I probably shouldn't wonder about that baby's father or want to cut his dick off with a dull spoon. And . . . man, I hoped her pregnancy wasn't the result of her rape.

  My stomach revolted again. I dashed to the nearest trashcan, but I'd already emptied all the contents in the bathroom, so nothing but dry heaves came up.

  Suddenly plagued by memories of all the times I'd been forced to watch Tristy be brutalized, I gagged some more. I didn't even want to consider the possibility that Tinker Bell had gone through anything remotely similar. No. Just . . . no.

  But I kept remembering all those times I'd been there to clean Tristy up afterward. Who'd been there for Tink? Who'd taken care of her and—

  Dammit. It hurt too much to even ponder.

  A cold sweat plastered itself to my brow and my hands wouldn't stop shaking. I absolutely could not believe—

  "Yo, Pick!" Ten popped his head through the kitchen entry. "The virgin and I are taking off. You good with closing?"

  No. I wasn't good with shit right now. But I waved him away, and forced myself into action, shutting down all the lights and locking up the place. It was a routine that helped keep me focused on the here and now, because thinking about—

  I couldn't believe she was real. She was pregnant. She'd been violated.

  I was still rattled by the time I let myself into my apartment twenty minutes later.

  Fighter was awake and crying in the swing where I'd left him. Cursing, I hurried to him and pulled him into my arms. When shit and piss splattered my arms as the diaper that could contain no more disintegrated and plopped to the floor, I almost puked from the rank smell. Thank God I only had dry heaves left in me.

  "Damn it." Dodging the mess, I hurried him to the bathroom to clean him off. After a quick wipe down of both of us and a good scrub to the floor, I carried him back to my bedroom where his crib and his baby stuff were kept because I'd promised Tristy I would get up with him every night. "Damn it, damn it, damn it."

  My rage helped keep me centered on Julian and getting him taken care of.

  Had Tris not even heard him crying? I wanted to shout at her, strangle her, and hell, I don't know. But this was no way to treat a child. I knew she was dealing with a lot of baggage, but three months ago, Julian had become a higher priority to me than she was, and I was so close to the end of my rope with her, my anger scared me. I was shaking from it.

  I had never thought that would be possible. After watching her get shit deal after shit deal in life, I figured I'd always want to protect her and take care of her. I would always be patient and understanding. Except now, I just wanted to rip her fucking ass for the way she handled her own son.

  Julian still fussed as I got him a new diaper. I knew he had to be starving, so I started for the kitchen to get him some food. But first, I paused at Tristy's
door and tried the doorknob to see if she was even home, because fuck, he'd been crying pretty loudly. How could she not have heard him?

  She'd locked herself inside, so I hoped that meant she was still here, but I didn't break the door down to make sure. I still had Julian to take care of. I'd deal with her later.

  The kitchen was a disaster. My new wife must've gotten the major munchies after I'd left for Forbidden. Bags of potato chips and empty cookie packages had been pulled down from still-open cabinets where they littered the countertop. Cans of soda were lying on their sides with sticky puddles splattered under them. And the dishes were probably at least two weeks old. But I had no time for fucking dishes.

  Still seething as Julian and I fell into the rocking chair in the living room with a full bottle, I plugged his mouth with a plastic nipple and closed my eyes with relief when he finally stopped wailing.

  "I hear you," I told him, exhaustion draining from my tense shoulders as I kept my lashes shut. "I'd like nothing more than a nipple in my mouth right about now too, kiddo."

  But nipples in my mouth made me think of sex, and sex made me think of . . . yep. Just like that, there came Tinker Bell, flooding my head. Except I saw her as she'd been tonight. Not as she was from my glimpses.

  Pregnant and defensive, nowhere near as happy as she'd been in any of my visions.

  I could not believe she was real. Or maybe she wasn't.

  Yeah, I liked that idea. The girl I'd met tonight couldn't be Tinker Bell. Not my Tinker Bell. She was just some doppelganger for the woman Madam LeFrey had shoved into my head. Lots of people had exact lookalikes in the world. No way could Eva Mercer be my soul mate. Except, shit, she'd been wearing Tinker Bell on her shirt. And she'd smelled like fucking lilacs. How could that be a coincidence?

  In no way did I want to believe all that voodoo shit, like glimpses and predestined soul mates. If only that old bat had just been full of it ten years ago, wanting to scare a teenage boy into cleaning up his act, I could get past this. But everything inside me had seamlessly aligned into the proper place when she'd looked up into my eyes for the first time. It felt as if we belonged together, and not just because I'd spent the last ten years looking for her in every woman I saw. Eva Mercer and I had serious chemistry.

  Damn, it was weird thinking of Tinker Bell as anything other than Tinker Bell. But her face finally had a name. A true, legitimate name.

  Stunned I had not just one but several names to work with, I blew out a breath. Eva Mercer, Alec Worthington, Madeline and Shaw Mercer, Reese and Mason Lowe. I had filed each one into my head when I'd heard them tonight. I certainly hadn't meant to, but I'd turned into a sponge the moment I'd seen her, needing to soak up every detail.

  When I spotted Tristy's closed laptop sitting on the arm of the sofa within reaching distance, I snagged it and situated it onto my lap.

  Finished eating, Julian twisted his attention to see what I was doing, so I turned him around and sat him upright, propping his back to my chest so he could watch the screen with me.

  "Better?" I asked.

  He didn't answer except to reach his chubby fingers toward the keyboard when I flipped up the lid.

  I chuckled. "Oh, yeah. You must be thinking exactly what I'm thinking. Let the typing begin."

  I wiggled my fingers for a moment, acclimating myself to Tristy's home screen before clicking onto an internet search. The first hit for Eva Mercer was a Facebook page. I clicked into it and realized Tristy had never logged off, so I came in on her account. But it wasn't the Eva Mercer I was looking for.

  Damn, I hated the disappointment that sucked the joy right out of me.

  Using the Facebook search engine, I typed in her name again and scrolled through a page full of Eva Mercers before I spotted Tinker Bell about fifteen profiles down. My fingers shook as I hovered the pointer over her picture. God, did I want to do this?

  Torturing myself by finding out more about her was stupid.

  Nothing could ever happen between us. Being as pregnant as she was, she obviously already had someone in her life—Alec, the Prick, Worthington—and I was fucking married.

  A derisive laugh choked from my throat when I remembered it'd only been earlier today that Tris and I had gone to the courthouse. Fate hated me. It figured I'd finally meet my soul mate on my wedding day.

  "Fuck it," I muttered under my breath and clicked into her page. I'd dreamed about this girl for the past one hundred and twenty-five months, and I didn't know a single thing about her. I deserved some dirt. Anything.

  Her profile picture was a selfie of her wearing shades and an electric blue string bikini on a beach, or at least somewhere sunny and outside. She had taken the snapshot from above and was looking up so the camera aimed straight into her generous cleavage. And my, what fine cleavage she had. Damn. Not a single tan line marred her perfect golden skin while the wind blew a few tendrils of sunbaked blonde hair into her face. She was so flawlessly gorgeous she took my breath away.

  The cover banner showed a line of hot, plastic-looking girls with their arms draped over each other's shoulders as they all tipped their heads back to take what looked like JELL-O shots. Tinker Bell—er, Eva—was right in the middle of them. Her face was flushed as if she were already drunk off her ass.

  Defeat ran like acid through my veins. This wasn't the kind of girl I'd imagined she'd be. My Tink had always been sweet, loving, family-oriented, untouched by rape.

  Fighter must've found my fingers around his chest holding him upright interesting because he began to play with them. I let him wrap his hand around one and draw it into his mouth. As slobbery gums clamped onto my knuckle, I pointed to the picture of her.

  "See that woman right there, kiddo? That was supposed to be your mom."

  Pain shot through my gut as soon as I said the words. This wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair at all. Unable to keep looking at her picture, but unable to leave her page, I scrolled down, learning as much as I could about her. But all I saw was this self-absorbed, rich party girl. She was either drinking it up at some immaculately lavish home with a bunch of carbon copies just like her or she was snapping pictures of new purchases she'd made at the mall. All her status updates were bashing someone she didn't like, talking about her latest shopping spree, or figuring out where she wanted to get drunk next.

  Though her page hadn't been updated in five months, probably around the time she'd learned she was going to have a baby, there were no pictures of any family members, no talk of anything good she'd done, and—shit.

  When I came across a seven-month old picture of her hanging all over some clean-cut, dark-haired prick in Dockers and a collared Polo shirt, I stopped and stared, unable to shed the jealousy that gnawed at my gut.

  Was this him, then? When I shifted my finger to run the cursor over the frame, the name Alec Worthington appeared. My jaw popped. I wondered if the cougar had just been talking out her ass when she'd said Eva had tried to trap him into marriage by getting herself pregnant, or if it was true. But I seriously doubted he'd been the one to rape her. She wouldn't have let a picture of him stay on her page if he had been. Would she?

  Either way, I still hated him. I hated everything he represented. But most of all, I hated what he meant to her. He was obviously the type she preferred: rich, pampered, entitled. He was everything I wasn't.

  White-hot envy burned deep in my gut. I just couldn't believe she was already taken or that she was the kind of person I usually resented.

  None of this made sense. If fate had really labeled Eva Mercer as my soul mate, then why did we come from worlds so far apart it was frankly a miracle we'd ever crossed paths? Which made me wonder how a girl from the yacht club kind of life had ended up at the Forbidden Nightclub at two in the morning on a Thursday night, six or seven months pregnant. Mason's girl was obviously her cousin but . . . fuck, it didn't matter. I'd never see her again.

  I didn't want to think about this anymore. It didn't matter how long I wondered about anything; I
wouldn't get any answers. Why was I torturing myself like this?

  Reaching out to shut the lid to Tristy's laptop, I paused when a little message box popped up in the bottom right-hand corner of her page.

  When I saw it was from Quick Shot, everything inside me went cold. Quick Shot had been one of Tristy's drug buddies back in the day. I'd suspected he might've been her supplier too, but I'd never been sure. Until now.

  The message read: hey babe u stil lookin for a hit?

  My hands balled into fists and my muscles went so taut Julian shifted restlessly, letting me know he'd fallen asleep.

  Counting to ten, I forced myself to breathe deeply and not lose it. Then I set my fingers to the keyboard and mechanically typed: No.

  The fucker replied instantly. wi not? ur ol man kach u?

  I assumed kach was idiot-speak for catch, so I answered: Something like that.

  Mabe latr then.

  Jesus, learn how to spell, you dip shit.

  I slammed the laptop shut, startling Julian. Drool ran down the back of my hand as his mouth lost contact with my knuckle.

  Blowing out a breath to calm myself, I tossed the laptop onto the couch and eased from the chair. After carrying the baby to my room and settling him gently in his crib, I covered him up and then stood there a moment, watching him sleep before I felt composed enough to confront Tristy.

  I shut the door behind me as I stepped into the hallway. After I reached the barred entrance to her room, I waited another moment, trying to keep my shit together.

  And then I began to pound on her door.

  "Get up, Tristy. We need to talk." I'm sure I was loud enough to wake her, but when she didn't open the door within a minute, I completely lost my temper.

  "God dammit," I bellowed, pounding hard enough to rattle the entire doorframe. "I swear I will break this fucking door down if you don't open it within ten seconds."

  Five seconds later, I began to shout, "Ten. Nine. Eight."