Fuck this.
With a roar, he charged Bulldog, swinging his fists like madman. The rush of adrenaline helped him get in a few good punches, but the asshole's biceps were like bricks. Soon he had him under the arms and lifted him like a lightweight, tossing him across the room like a fly caught by a swatter. He crashed to the floor and twisted his ankle. Red-hot fire ripped up his leg, but he tried to scramble toward his screaming mother, desperate to gain some space.
Too late.
Bulldog flipped the mattress. The gaping hole mocked them both, and sick dread coursed through his body, shaking his limbs. No. No no no no.
"Whatta we got here?" Bulldog stuck his fingers through the rip and pulled out a stack of cash. "Your precious boy is a fucking liar, whore. Keeping it for himself and letting you go sick without your hit. Is this gratitude for giving him a roof over his head?"
His mother's eyes lit up at the money. Her tongue shot out to wet her lips, and suddenly Vincent knew it was truly over. He would never win over the coke or meth.
Never.
The man loomed over him. Vincent tried to pull himself to his feet, but a rough kick in the gut tossed him back down. He reached for the knife, tried to palm it and make a quick jab, but Bulldog caught the movement and twisted his hand hard until the knife dropped uselessly to the floor. Vincent stared at it. Bulldog laughed, cracked his knuckles, and leaned over.
"I'm gonna teach you a lesson, boy. And it's gonna hurt."
It was a long, long time before consciousness blessedly left him.
He was thirteen years old.
seventeen
LET'S GO FOR ice cream."
Wolfe groaned from his prone position on the couch. "I'm exhausted. We had a theft in our office, I lost a potential client, and the vending machines ran out of Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. I had to settle for crappy Skittles."
"Oooh, I love Skittles. Hey, don't you have gourmet five-star chefs you stole from the Food Network? Why are you hitting vending machines?"
He snorted. "I like them. Besides, snobby chefs don't do Peanut Butter Cups. I asked. Michael said he'd reexamine the offerings at La Dolce Maggie, but I think he's humoring me."
"We'll get ice cream and cappuccino. Come on, don't be a grump. It's a beautiful summer night. You need fresh air."
"I need sleep."
She walked over and shook his shoulders. He was so rock solid he didn't budge but managed to let out a grumble. "Why are you so frisky tonight? Hard day matching up happy couples?"
"Brat. No, I had a great day. There's a new recruit that Kate thinks will be perfect for me, so we're setting up a date. I'm just feeling a little restless."
Gen refused to tell him the real truth. She was going a bit stir-crazy. She loved working at Kinnections, and adored seeing her friends behind the scenes. They were a trio of powerhouse females who blew her away. But she still felt lost. Her fingers itched for a scalpel, for her scrubs, and for the junkie rush that shot through her system when she had a new patient. When Kate got a paper cut today, Gen actually got excited and tried to double wrap it.
A sad state of affairs.
Guilt twanged her. "You win. I know you're tired. I'll go myself. Want me to bring you back something?"
Those laser-blue eyes lifted and probed deep. He rolled to his feet in one graceful motion. "I'll go. Sugar and caffeine sound pretty damn good, and you never get my order right."
He was lying. He wanted to veg out on the couch, but he sensed she needed company, and once again donned his knight-in-shining-armor outfit. The thing would be completely tarnished after he was done with her.
"You don't have to."
"Nah, I need to get out more. When golf dates with Nate become the hottest thing on my schedule, there's a problem."
They walked outside. The muggy air slammed into them, wrapped around, and stayed. The sun burned through the trees lining the sidewalk. Verily exploded with activity, from children on bikes to dog walkers and couples linking hands. The shops stayed open late through the fall, and Main Street screamed for customers to spend money in the quaint river town. Local artists sat outside painting canvases, carts filled with bright, fun knickknacks tempted passersby, and both humans and canines lined up outside the Barking Dog Bakery for goodies. Gen relaxed under the heat and familiar hum of chatter and laughter of her home.
"How come you stopped dating?" she asked. "I mean, Nate's good looking and all, but a millionaire underwear model turned hotel magnate should rate someone a bit more feminine."
Wolfe shrugged. He'd changed from his work clothes to a simple pair of frayed denim shorts, flip-flops, and a black T-shirt with the Purity logo on it. So why did he look like he'd just stepped out of Esquire? He wore clothes with a casual neglect most men couldn't pull off. Fabric bent to his will, hugged lean muscles, and surrendered. It made total sense why he'd become such a hot rage in the fashion world. He gave away nothing in his face, in his eyes. Just a big fuck you, which drove women mad with the urge to tame him.
Crap, even his feet were sexy, and she was so not a foot person.
Gen glanced over, appreciating the tanned muscles and flex of his calves, the bunched biceps and gorgeous scrawling tattoo. In a way, he was a work of art, but better appreciated from afar. She wondered if there was a woman out there who could claim him.
"I'm lining up a date for Friday night."
She flinched, then quickly covered it up. "Oh, that's great! Umm, we didn't talk about our arrangements. I'm not too good with socks on the door, but if you text me I can head over to Kate's for the evening. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."
"Why the hell would I need you to leave?"
She let out a desperate laugh. Damn. This was lame. And embarrassing. Did he have sex at his apartment? In his car? The image burst through her brain and almost gave her a concussion.
Leather squeaking under his naked ass. Slamming her against the steering wheel as he moved her up and down over his cock. Pulling her hair and watching her come hard and scream his name.
"Agghhgh." She let out a little shriek and drove the image back with a mental cattle prod.
"What happened?" He grabbed her arm and fiery shocks burst over her flesh. This was getting worse.
She yanked herself away. "Nothing! Ugh, I got a bug bite. Mosquito. Sorry."
Two kids on scooters whizzed between them. The newly gained distance helped her calm down.
"Make sure you put that pink stuff on it when we get home."
"Yes, Dad."
"Let's get back to our chat. You wanna talk about sex, right?"
Sweat trickled down her back. She pulled her tank away from her chest and pulled in a breath. "Yes. Sex. I certainly don't want to keep you from your normal activities just because you're doing me a favor. Unless you intend on staying at your apartment afterward."
"Seems fair. If the date does go well, I'll text you so you don't worry. Deal?"
She nodded her head enthusiastically. "Great. Sounds perfect. And I'll do the same for you."
He stopped walking. Scowled. Damn, he was sexy. Dark stubble highlighted the full arc of his bottom lip. His nostrils flared. Kind of like a pissed-off stallion whose mare had been stolen. "You? You're not ready for sex." He resumed his pace with longer strides.
Gen trotted faster to keep up. "Hey, aren't you being a little chauvinistic? Just because I had a breakup doesn't mean I want to be celibate. I think sex will be good for me. Especially great sex."
"You're not the type of woman for a one-night stand," he said firmly. "You'd only be happy having sex in a committed relationship."
Gen rolled her eyes. "Did that. Failed. Maybe doing something different will be good. Step out of my comfort zone. Have crazy orgasms. The walk of shame. Like you."
His scowl deepened. "I'm different. I don't do relationships."
"Maybe we should switch. I'll have sex with a hot guy with no strings. You try having a real relationship without the sex. Sound good?"
"No."
>
They reached Xpressions, a small cafe with gourmet ice cream and various coffees, organic teas, and chocolates. The scent hit immediately, giving her a sugar and cocoa high on contact. Perfect.
They stood at the back of the line. "Why not?" she demanded.
Wolfe let out a disgusted breath. "Because I'm not ready for long-term."
"You never tried it," she pointed out.
"And it's been working great for me."
"Where did you meet this upcoming date of yours?" she asked, trying to be cool.
"She's the sister of one of my clients. We had lunch before, but now we're ready to step up to dinner."
"Does dinner equate with sex? I need to learn this stuff."
The guy ahead of them turned his head and looked a bit interested. "Straight ahead, buddy," Wolfe warned. The guy flushed and swiveled back.
Gen laughed. "You're so uptight. I'll ask Kennedy."
"Why do you make me have these conversations? Any guy who expects to have sex with you because he bought dinner is scum. Walk on."
"What if I want to have sex with him?"
The guy in front choked on a sip of water. Wolfe glowered. "If a woman wants to have sex, most men will take you up on the offer. But most women do not sleep around on the first date. I think. It's about the third or fourth when they make their decision. And it's best to mix up the first few dates to test out all social arenas. Lunch, dinner, a movie, a cocktail, et cetera. You need to see the other person in different backgrounds to make sure you're compatible."
"Got it." The stranger nodded as if he agreed with Wolfe. Gen smothered a laugh. "Is that what you do?"
"Sometimes."
His obvious discomfort told the truth. "You just sleep with them, don't you?"
He pushed her gently forward as if ending their conversation. "Order your ice cream, Gen."
She spent a long time considering all options and ordered her usual--mint chocolate chip. It used to drive David batty when she took so much time and always picked the same thing, but Wolfe didn't seem to care. Wolfe chose cake batter, which should be illegal for anyone over the age of twelve, but still looked ridiculously good. When they walked out, the sun was caught in mid-descent. The sky shimmered with gorgeous pinks, and the faint strains of music drifted in the air.
"It's music in the park!" she screeched. "Let's go."
He seemed more interested in his cone. "I'm not into polka."
Gen grabbed his hand and led him past the gated dog park and onto the main lawn where community events were held. The Hudson River was the perfect backdrop for the makeshift stage to the right of the white gazebo. Tables lined the area from local shops selling their products. Families squeezed onto blankets, sipping soda and snacking. "You're such a snob. Local bands play once a week but I haven't had any time to indulge. Most of them are pretty good, too. Oh, there's the Barking Dog Bakery table. Let's go buy Robert a treat."
Fingers entwined, they melted into the crowd. She stopped to chat with various neighbors, who all stared curiously at Wolfe, studying his tats and piercings with evident curiosity. No one mentioned her broken engagement or runaway-bride scenario. Gen didn't know if it was better or worse. Lately, every person who approached her acted as if she was breakable, afraid to raise their voices or mention anything in the way of romance.
She bought a few gluten-free peanut butter biscuits for Robert, then tried on a few handmade beaded bracelets with power words on them such as hope and love and heal. The band was called Safe Word, reminding her of some BDSM novel, but they looked pretty cool and the lead singer had pink streaks in her hair.
"Genevieve MacKenzie."
She turned at the sound of her name, looked way down, and froze. Oh no. Not tonight when she was finally having fun.
The elderly woman before her was small, petite, and meaner than Cruella De Vil. She held a walker in her iron grip, and wore a faded red paisley housedress with white orthopedic shoes. Her stockings bagged around her calves. She squinted her eyes behind thick lenses, and her face was a map of wrinkles.
Gen knew those wrinkles weren't from laughter. She doubted Mrs. Blackfire ever cracked a grin. Ever. She was the scourge of Verily, known to be bad tempered in every shop she patronized. She hated animals, and had once called the local shelter to pick up one of Arilyn's dogs, claiming the beagle had peed in her rose bed. Her acid words, inability to experience humor, and general misery were well-known. Everyone avoided her.
"Hi, Mrs. Blackfire." Gen tried not to tremble. "How are you?"
The woman curled her upper lip. "Terrible. Your house is ruining my ability to sell. It needs a paint job, and your front step has bricks missing."
Hope bloomed. "Are you moving?"
Steely eyes that matched her gray hair glared. "No. But that doesn't matter. Between that awful dog of Kate's ruining my rosebushes and your tree ready to destroy my house, I'll never sell at full value when I do. Who's this?"
Gen swallowed. "This is my friend Wolfe."
"Nice to meet you," he said politely, wiping his sticky hands on the napkin.
"That's a ridiculous name. You're a human being, not an animal. Whatever happened to James or William? Something normal. Not good enough for you?"
Gen held her breath, but Wolfe actually had a twinkle of laughter in his eyes. "At least my name isn't Jackass."
Mrs. Blackfire leaned forward with pure suspicion. "You making fun of me, boy?"
"No, ma'am."
"Hope not." She studied his various piercings and tattoo. "Are you in a gang? You look like a Jet. We don't tolerate shenanigans in Verily."
"I don't plan to bring any, ma'am. If there's anything you need help with around your property, let me know. I'll be glad to help."
"I take care of my own business. Are you living with her at the cottage now?"
"For a little while."
Mrs. Blackfire snorted. "This is a quiet neighborhood. I don't want to hear disgusting sex noises keeping me up at night."
Holy crap. She almost threw up in her mouth. "Umm, the band is starting, we should go."
Her neighbor turned her attention back to Gen. "While you were gone, I had a tree service analyze that pine and they agreed it was rotten. I'll be sending you the report."
She tamped down on her impatience. "The tree is healthy, and on my property. I'm sorry, but I won't be cutting it down."
Mrs. Blackfire pointed one bony finger toward her and shook with mad glee. "You've brought scandal on our town, you know. Reporters crawling around, asking a bunch of questions. You running out on that nice doctor. Heard you quit the hospital, too, and are working at that ridiculous matchmaking agency. In my day, we did what needed to be done. Lived with our choices. You're weak, girl. You quit on everything that mattered."
The words sliced and shredded tender flesh. Deep down, wasn't that what she was afraid of? She'd tried so hard to do everything right, but instead made a mess of things. She destroyed everything she touched and turned her back on her careful choices. "Maybe you're right," she whispered.
"I disagree."
The woman's head whipped around at Wolfe's voice. "What did you say?"
Wolfe stepped between them. "I said I disagree. People who don't make a change in their life, who are too afraid of the unknown, are cowards. They watch life pass them by, getting meaner by the day because everyone seems to be happier than they are. You think it's easy to walk away on your wedding day when you know you're making a huge mistake? How about going to medical school for years and having the balls to take a break in order to be sure it's what you want?"
Mrs. Blackfire's mouth gaped.
Wolfe leaned in real close.
"I bet you would've stayed and been miserable. Does that make you strong? Smart? Or just unhappy?"
The elderly woman made a low squeak of rage. Her cheeks were mottled a dull red. "How dare you? You're a guttersnipe. I'll be watching every move you make, young man."
Wolfe grinned and stepped back. "I'll be
looking forward to it. Have a pleasant evening, Mrs. Blackfire."
He turned and led Gen across the lawn. Shadows fell, and the lead singer stepped up to the microphone to introduce their first song. Wolfe kept walking until he was at the back of the field near the fence, away from the crowd. Leaning against a gnarled pine tree, he crossed his ankles and snagged her fingers within his. She propped her back against the rough bark next to him, enjoying the warm strength of his grip.
"You didn't have to say those things," she finally said. Man, he smelled good. Like freshly washed laundry and sunshine. "She's just a cranky, mean old lady."
"I kinda liked her."
"What? No one likes her! She's evil. Wicked-witch evil. She'd probably steal Toto and take him to be destroyed. Probably right about me though."
"She's been hurt badly and never recovered."
"How do you know?"
He shrugged. "I can tell. But she's wrong about you. And I meant every word I said." He turned his head and snagged her gaze. "Every. Damn. Word. You are the bravest woman I know. It's the people who think they know the answers you need to be wary of."
His eyes were so wickedly blue and deep she could lose herself. "You mean like I used to be?" Gen joked. "I used to be so sure of myself."
"So did I."
Something fierce and primal shook through her. Electricity pulsed between them, and suddenly Gen wanted his mouth over hers, all lips and tongue and teeth, until he possessed and claimed every part of her. She ached to open her thighs and take him deep. Dig her nails into his skin. Mark him. Surrender. Fuck. What was happening to her? Her heart hammered. "Wolfe."
His name broke from her lips just as the drummer onstage went into a loud solo. People cheered him on and whistled, and the spell was broken. The tension eased, and she let out a shaky breath. Their relationship was changing, and she didn't know what to do. A strange sexual chemistry buzzed and grew stronger. Maybe sharing intimate space was messing up her head. After all, seeing someone every day for meals, for TV, and in their sleepwear forced a certain closeness. Add a life crisis and general sexual frustration and--boom!--a cocktail of a mess.
Gen swore she'd keep it together. No way was she going to ruin her friendship because her body was weak.
No. Way.
Her upcoming date couldn't come fast enough.