Authors: Stina Lindenblatt
I turn away from my memories and search through my closet for clothes I haven’t worn in a while. The clothes I turned my back on after my life changed, and I decided hiding in jeans and oversized hoodies was a better idea. If I want to be normal again, it only makes sense that I wear the clothes I used to love. At least the ones I still feel comfortable wearing.
I remove my favorite sweater dresses and skirts, long-sleeved tops, tights, boots and shoes. A small part of me wants to include my sexier tops, too. The rest of me squelches the idea. That part of me’s dead. I don’t want people to see my scars. Even Marcus hasn’t seen them all.
“What’s this?”
I glance over my shoulder to see what he’s talking about. In his hands are scraps of light pink satin. “My prom gown,” I whisper.
Deep lines form in Marcus’s forehead. “What happened to it?”
“I cut it up prom night. I was supposed to go with Trent. Then he died. I couldn’t go. I couldn’t face my classmates and pretend everything was all right and that nothing had changed.”
Marcus rests his hand on my shoulder and turns me around to face him. I tilt my chin up, hinting what I need. Remembering the past makes me feel numb. I don’t want to feel numb. I want to feel alive.
He lowers his mouth to mine and I let him in, knowing I need his touch more than anything. Knowing this moment, like every moment before it, and every moment after, will help me heal, bit by slow bit.
Our tongues play together, tasting, teasing, chasing away my pain as Marcus walks me backward until the bed presses against the backs of my thighs.
I sit on the edge of the bed, Marcus’s lips still attached to mine. Vertebrae by vertebrae I lie back, until Marcus’s body partly covers me. Not once do our mouths break contact, the kisses becoming more intense, more hungry.
My hands thread into his soft hair. I’ve been kissed many times before, but never has it been this hot or made me feel this alive. Trent’s kisses were great. But Marcus’s kisses go beyond great, to body melting amazing.
One of Marcus’s hands traces down my thigh to behind my knee. He slides my leg up so it wraps around his hips. His erection presses against the seam of my jeans, taunting the throbbing ache that’s rapidly building. A moan slips from my lips, pleading for so much more.
Marcus’s mouth moves from mine. “Tell me when to stop. Okay, Kitten?”
I nod. Right now I don’t want him to stop. I just want to focus on him, on us. This is normal. This is what I want.
Marcus’s fingers edge along the bottom of my T-shirt and across my exposed skin. They inch their way up my stomach, my ribs, to my breast. I tense at his touch.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, voice husky, yet there’s a tenderness in his words that I hold on tight to as his spicy scent wraps around me, reminding me I’m safe. Marcus is my safe.
All remaining tension evaporates as molten lava fills every cell, and I melt into the bed, not wanting this feeling to end. “I’m fine,” I murmur.
His hand cups my breast, still covered by my bra, and his thumb strokes across the nipple. His intense gaze never leaves mine. I swear I’m going to combust just from the way he’s looking at me.
His body rocks against my jeans. The throbbing ache between my legs grows more intense, sending me higher and higher. I’m almost going insane with wanting him. Wanting him more than I ever thought would be possible.
The shattering of glass from downstairs jerks me out of the moment, and sends me careening back to earth.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Marcus
My entire body tenses. “Your mom?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
“I don’t know,” Amber whispers and scrambles off the bed. “It could be the housekeeper.”
Shit. Did someone break in while I was seeing how far Amber trusts me? While I was determining where the invisible boundary had been placed after she was raped? I clench my teeth. Anyone could have walked in on us. Including Amber’s mom.
“Did you reset the alarm?” I ask.
“I don’t remember.” Her lips are swollen from my kisses, and it takes everything I have not to press her against the wall and kiss her again. She doesn’t realize how tempting she is.
“It’s probably just my mom.” She drops her arms to her side, as if each weighs a thousand pounds, and a sudden sadness seeps from her pores. “I’ll be right back.” She starts walking toward the door.
I grab her arm. “You’re not going by yourself. What if it isn’t your mom?”
“I have to get Michael’s suitcase. I’m just going to his room. It’s next to mine.” I let her go and watch her slip into the next room. If anyone comes up the stairs, they’ll have to get past me to get to Amber.
I lean against the doorway, arms crossed, keeping an eye on the stairs. She returns a few minutes later with a large suitcase, which she fills with her clothes and shoes. I take it from her and we walk down the stairs, cautious not to make a sound.
A woman’s voice floats up from somewhere at the back of the house.
“It’s my mom,” Amber says, still whispering. At the bottom of the staircase, she indicates for me to stay put and walks in the direction the voice came from.
I stay in place for a few seconds, so she thinks I’m going to listen to her, then stride after her.
Even though I move quietly, she must have either heard me or realized I wasn’t planning to stay where she left me. She looks over her shoulder and rolls her eyes, then pushes the door open and steps inside the room.
I follow her inside the kitchen. The room is bigger than the house I grew up in, and is filled with stainless steel appliances, all shiny and new. At the kitchen island, a woman with the same dark blond hair as Amber pours whiskey into a glass. From the way her hand’s shaking, it’s obvious this isn’t her first or second drink of the morning. I recognize the look all too well from Frank.
“When did you start drinking again?” Amber doesn’t sound upset, just defeated.
“I don’t have a problem, if that’s what you’re insinuating,” the woman says.
“You’re upset about what happened to Michael. I get it. But drinking isn’t going to bring him back.”
“You think I don’t know that?” the woman snaps. She takes a step toward Amber, narrowly missing a shard of glass with her stiletto shoe. Whereas I would have held my ground if it were my mom, unless she had a gun aimed at me, Amber steps back. “I have to get to work.” With the glass still in her hand, her mom walks unsteadily past, knocking into Amber on her way out.
“Mom....” Amber slumps against the kitchen counter.
Unable to bear seeing her in such pain, I pull her to me and hold her securely in my arms.
She rests her head on my shoulder. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help her.” Sighing, she bends down and picks up the shards of glass.
Remembering doing the same on more than one occasion with Ryan, I help clean up the mess. She doesn’t speak the entire time. She doesn’t need this. I can tell she blames herself for what happened, like she does for everything else.
“It’s not your fault, Amber. She’s an adult. If she’s drinking, it’s her choice. You had nothing to do with that.”
Amber doesn’t look too convinced.
Once we’re finished, we drive to her grandmother’s house. The place is much smaller than Amber’s home. A lot friendlier, too. It doesn’t look like it stepped out of an issue of some fancy-ass house-decorating magazine. Unless high class now includes a village of gnomes sitting on the lawn and in the flower beds.
Amber parks her car in the driveway and smiles. It doesn’t take much to realize she has happy memories here. She’s lucky. I’ve never met my grandparents. I’m not even sure they’re alive.
Once we’re out of the car, she takes my hand and we walk along the cobblestone path to the house. The garden isn’t meticulous like at her home, but I can tell it’s cared for by someone who isn’t paid to do it.
“My grandma loves to garden,” Amber says, and for a second I wonder if I said my thoughts out loud. Pride beams on her face.
She opens the front door. My palms grow clammy but she doesn’t seem to notice or care. She just keeps smiling like she’s finally home.
“Smoky. Grandma. I’m here.” She steps into the house and I follow.
The place isn’t much bigger than my mom’s home, but instead of cheap-looking furniture from garage sales, the furniture is made of real wood, painted in white, yellows, and blues. Everything about the place makes me think of sunshine and spring. I just hope her grandmother is as welcoming as her furniture.
A chubby gray cat limps around the corner and rubs against Kitten’s legs, purring.
“There’s my baby.” Grinning, Amber scoops up the cat. She cuddles it in her arms and nestles her face against its fur. A streak of jealousy shoots through me. Right now, I’d do anything to be that goddamn cat.
I’ve always thought cats were aloof, believing they’re better than humans. But this cat is nothing like that. You’d think it worships Amber the way it responds to her.
“He misses you.” A woman, who I can only guess to be Amber’s grandmother, joins us, warmth radiating from her face. Until she see the stitches above Amber’s eyebrow. Amber has bangs that sweep to one side, but she didn’t bother to sweep them to the side with the cut.
The woman’s eyes widen. “What on earth happened?” Her cutting gaze jumps from Amber to me, lingers on me before jumping back to Amber.
“It’s nothing. I had a flashback and hit my head.”
The woman frowns. “You’re still having flashbacks?”
“It’s the first one I’ve had in a while. It was no big deal,” Amber hastily adds.
“What about the nightmares?”
“Not anymore.”
Her grandmother’s eyebrow rises. “Is that so? And you’re still going to therapy?”
Amber nods. I bet even the cat can tell she’s lying.
Her grandmother, who looks nothing like I expected in jeans, a Rolling Stones T-shirt, and white chin-length hair, returns her attention to me. “Hi, I’m Kathryn. You must be Marcus.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The earlier warmth returns to her face and she smiles. “Why don’t we all go into the living room? I have a feeling Amber and Smoky want to catch up. Would you two like some lemonade?”
We both say yes, and I follow Amber while Smoky butts his head against her chin.
“He sure likes you,” I say.
“He’s the only reason I survived Paul.” At what is no doubt a confused expression on my face, she continues, “With Trent dead and after I watched Michael shot to death”—she squeezes Smoky but the cat doesn’t seem to mind—“I lost all will to live when Paul kidnapped me. He punished me, but it didn’t change anything. I wanted to die.” Her voice cracks at the last word and she sits on the couch.
I sit next to her, wishing more than anything I could hold her close and take away her pain. The only thing stopping me is the cat. It’s eyeing me as though it’d be willing to scratch my eyes out to protect Amber. And I can’t say I blame it. I’d do the same.
“Because I worked with Paul at the animal shelter, he knew my kryptonite. He brought me Smoky, who was just a defenseless kitten, and punished him in front of me. I was already dying inside, but seeing him abuse Smoky was the worst form of punishment he’d come up with yet.” The tortured expression on her face warns me I only know a fraction of what she endured. I want to ask her, but not now, not with her grandmother in the recliner, watching us.
“I did what Paul wanted without complaint after that, and did everything I could to keep both me and Smoky alive. I knew once I died, Paul would kill him.”
My opinion of the cat skyrockets. I reach out and scratch it behind the ears. It leans into my hand and for now we have a truce, a shared understanding that Amber means everything to both of us. Neither of us is willing to hurt her. Only, Smoky has an advantage over me. It saved her.
“The D.A. called yesterday,” Kathryn says. “They had the competency hearing last week and Paul Carson was found fit to stand trial. The court case will be in the New Year.”
Amber’s gaze drops to Smoky. Biting her lip, she gives a small nod. She looks even more fragile than usual. I put my hand on her leg.
“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” Kathryn says. “You’re strong. Like a lotus flower. What happened to you made you stronger.”
“But everyone’s going to hear everything that happened to me.” Amber’s voice is frantic. She avoids looking at me or her grandmother, further confirming what I suspect: she’s been holding things back from me, and maybe even her grandmother. “I know how defense lawyers work. They’ll try to destroy me.”
“Your mother will help you prepare.”
Amber’s eyes glisten. “Every time Mom looks at me, she just gets worse. When she looks at me, she remembers Michael is gone and that it’s my fault.”
Kathryn closes her eyes, but not before I see the pain in them. It’s gone when she reopens them a second later. “That’s not true,” she says, not sounding too convinced herself.
“Did you know she’s drinking again?”
Kathryn nods.
“And that she’s dealing with depression again?”
Her grandmother’s head drops forward and she nods again. “I’ve tried to get her to see someone, but you know how she is.”
Amber scoots off the couch with Smoky still in her arms. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
I have a feeling she doesn’t. She wants to be alone. I stare at her retreating back as she walks away, trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do.
When I look back at Kathryn, she’s eyeing me in the same way Smoky had before our truce.
“Amber’s been through a lot, and the last thing she needs is another guy hurting her. If you’re going to be that guy, Marcus, it’s best you end things now with her.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Amber
In the bathroom, I slide to the floor, my hands full of Smoky and my cell phone.
“Oh, God,” I say to Smoky. “What am I going to do? Mom and Emma will be there. In the courtroom.” Listening to things I want neither of them to hear.
Maybe Mom has the right idea about drinking. Right now, I need something stronger than the lemonade Grandma gave Marcus and me.
I text Jordan:
R
we
still
on
for
Nightshade
tonight
?
She replies less than a minute later:
Yes
!
Will
you
be
back
in
time
?
Yes
.
Leaving
soon
.
I don’t move right away. I continue stroking Smoky. If only I could bring him with me. We’re both broken. We need each other.
After a few minutes someone knocks at the door. “Kitten, you okay?”
The concern in Marcus’s voice tears me apart, and leaves me dying deep in the ground. How will he feel about me once he knows the truth?
“I’m coming. Give me a second.” I put Smoky down. He meows and paws my lap like he used to when we were scared. “It’s gonna be okay,” I tell him. “We’re safe now. Paul can’t hurt us anymore.”
I stand and dry the tears from my face with a tissue. My T-shirt’s covered in gray fur but I don’t care. I scoop him up again and unlock the door.
“We should go now,” I tell Marcus. “Jordan and I still plan to go to Nightshade tonight.”
“All right.”
There’s something off about him. I recognize that look and inwardly groan. “Whatever Grandma said, just ignore it. Okay? She’s overly protective. She used to interrogate Trent all the time.” Though he turned it into a game. They both did.
Marcus scratches Smoky behind the ear. The furball purrs a little louder.
“Smoky likes you and he’s not easy to please,” I say. Maybe he senses Marcus is damaged, too.
After saying bye to Smoky, I tell Grandma that Marcus and I have to leave.
“Has your mom seen your tattoo yet?” she asks.
I shake my head. During my run-in with Mom, I’d been careful to hide it behind my back. The situation had been bad enough as it was, what with her drinking again. I didn’t want to make things worse.
Grandma takes hold of my forearm and examines the design. “Well, for the record, I like it.” She gives me a hug, and then she hugs Marcus and whispers something in his ear. He pales.
“I’ll meet you at the car,” I tell him, and wait for him to walk down the path before I shut the door. I turn to Grandma. “Leave him alone. I like him.”
“I don’t want to see you hurt, sweetie. You’ve been through enough.”
“I know, but he’s safe. Neither of us is looking for love.”
She frowns. “What’s wrong with love?”
“It’s hard to lose someone you love if you don’t love anyone.”
She turns as pale as Marcus did a few minutes ago, eyes glistening. She throws her arms around me and hugs me hard. “Oh, Amber. Don’t let what that sick bastard did to you change who you are. You do that, and he wins. There’s nothing wrong with loving someone. Just make sure the person’s worthy of your heart when you’re ready to give it to him.”
“Okay,” I say, even though I don’t mean it, and pull away. “Just give Marcus a chance. Smoky likes him and you know how he is about most people.”
Grandma chuckles. “I’ll give you that.”
I hug her once more and join Marcus outside. At the sight of him still looking a little shaken, I wrap my arms around his neck. “Ignore her. I like you and that’s all that’s important.” To prove it, I slide my hand up the back of his head and guide it down to mine. I don’t care who sees us or what they think. I just care about erasing what she said from his memory.
I kiss him long and hard, my tongue exploring his mouth, my entire body coming alive. The ache between my legs from earlier returns, pleading for Marcus to take me to the heights we reached in my room. I pull away, knowing I’ll have to tell him the truth, but not now. Not here.
I give him a quick kiss on the lips. “We should go now.” I walk around the car, checking the tires and the backseat. Once I’m satisfied, I unlock the doors and climb in. If Marcus thinks my behavior’s a little odd, he doesn’t say anything.
“How come Smoky lives with your grandmother?” Marcus asks after we drive for a few minutes in silence.
“My mom didn’t want him anywhere near her. I think she blamed him for what happened even though he had nothing to do with it. He was as much a victim as I was. But because Paul bought him, Mom believes Smoky is just as evil.” I shake my head at that. She has no problem defending criminals, yet she can’t accept my furry best friend. “When I was rescued, I was clutching him and refused to let him go. I was afraid they would put him down because he was badly injured. They had to sedate me before they could get him away from me. My grandma offered to take him in.” At the therapist’s suggestion.
“How come you stopped going to therapy?” Marcus asks.
And why did you lie to your grandmother?
is the unspoken question I sense he wants to add.
“I just did, that’s all. I didn’t find it all that helpful.”
Only the weak ask for help
,
Amber.
I can tell Marcus wants to press the issue, but I can also tell he’s reluctant to do so, knowing I can turn the table on him. I wasn’t the one who used sex as a way to dull the pain. That was all him.
I drop Marcus off at his place and return to my dorm, contemplating what to wear tonight. What I want to wear is a skirt and tank top, since it’ll be hot at Nightshade, but that isn’t possible. Instead, I change into a black fitted top that scoops down in front without showing any cleavage. With my low-rise jeans on, a thin strip of belly peeks out, but not in a way that screams ‘Hey, look at me!’
Nightshade is packed by the time Jordan and I arrive with the guys. Once we’re in, we make our way to the bar through the press of sweaty bodies.
“What do you want?” Marcus asks.
I want something stronger than Diet Coke, but none of us are old enough to order it, and it doesn’t look like the bartender who was crushing on Marcus last time is working tonight. I don’t want to get drunk, not like Mom can get, but I need to dull the edginess that’s been growing since Grandma mentioned the court case.
“I wanna dance.” I grab Marcus’s hand and lead him onto the crowded floor. I manage to find some space. Not that I need much when all I want is to press my body against Marcus and forget about everything else.
I wrap my arms around his neck and sway my body in time to the fast-paced beat. Marcus’s hands rest on my hips. We focus on each other. As far as everyone else is concerned, they don’t exist.
I’m half-aware of Jordan dancing with Chase. They’re close together, but not as close as Chase looks like he wants to be. The way she’s moving, her back to him, his hands on her waist, it’s all very sensual.
Wanting the same and more, I pivot and press my back to Marcus’s chest and grind my body against him as I move to the music.
“You’re killing me, Kitten,” Marcus growls in my ear. His voice is so sexy, so full of want, an electrifying warmth spreads through my body. I want him. God, how I want him.
A slow song comes on. I turn around and loop my arms round his neck again. Focused on his smoldering hazel eyes, I sway my hips in a seductive dance. The edginess fades, though I don’t know if it’ll ever truly go away.
I press my lips to his and he immediately welcomes me in.
We kiss for the entire song, and even for part of the next one, until someone bumps against me, almost knocking me over. That’s when we realized the music is no longer a slow song, and head for the bar.
I have no idea how we’ve lasted this long without a drink. We must have been dancing nonstop for hours. Or at least it feels that way. As we wait to order our drinks, Jordan and Chase join us.
“I don’t know about you,” Chase says. “But I’m ready to go home and have a real drink.”
Considering Marcus and Chase are from a tough neighborhood, I’m surprised they don’t have fake IDs. Before I can point that out, a girl carrying a black plastic bucket filled with an assortment of roses approaches.
I turned away to let her know I’m not interested, but she moves in front of me and pulls out a red rose. “A guy wanted me to give this to you. He said you’d know who it’s from.”
In a daze, I take it from her and stare at her, all words stuck in my throat.
Marcus places his hand on my lower back, steadying me. “What guy?” he snaps.
The girl takes a nervous step back. “I-I don’t know.”
The harshness in Marcus’s voice softens. “Sorry. What did he look like?”
She shrugs. “I don’t remember. Do you know how many guys I’ve talked to tonight?” Given that she’s wearing a little black dress that reveals more than it covers, my guess is quite a few.
I scan the area but see no one who looks familiar, or anyone watching for my reaction. It’s possible she confused me with someone else, and another girl was supposed to get the rose.
Marcus takes it from my hand and drops it back in the bucket. “She’s with me.”
A smile spreads on her face. “Then maybe you’d like to buy her one.”
“She’s allergic to them,” he deadpans.
I wipe my hands against my jeans. It’s not like the rose was from Paul, but I still feel like I have to wipe my hands clean of it. Clean of him. “I need a drink. A strong one.”