Zara flipped his visor down and a set fell into his lap. “You remember how to drive?”
Scowling, he gripped the steering wheel and shoved the key into the ignition. “I was seventeen. Not an infant. So where is Rand’s?”
Zara sat back in the seat and closed her eyes. “He’s a friend of my brother’s who owns a garage and an off-road racing track. Asher stays there sometimes. We were instructed to go there if we got split up and couldn’t get home.”
He started the car and drove slowly down the gravel road, taking care not to kick up any dust. “What kind of lame-ass plan is that? And just who is this goddamn brother of yours anyway? The guy was a freaking idiot to put you up to this.”
She jerked in her seat as if she’d been slapped. “What are you talking about?”
“He sent you in by yourself and now you’re supposed to just find your own way out? Does your brother have any clue what kind of people you’re up against?” His jaw clenched tight as he stared at the road ahead. “These are not grade school bullies who want to take your lunch money. They’re remorseless monsters who want your life.”
“He did not—”
He held up his hand. “I’m not going to argue with you, Zara. But you can sure as hell bet I’m not dropping it.”
CHAPTER 5
They pulled into the parking lot of Reckless Motor Sports a little after midnight, and Zara breathed a sigh of relief. A man was waiting for them next to a roll-up door and directed them to park inside.
When they got out, the guy introduced himself as Rand, Asher’s friend. “Can’t be too careful when it comes to dicking with the army,” he said with a grin. He was tall, with bulging muscles like a body builder, and wore a black T-shirt with a Reckless Motor Sports logo.
“Thanks for helping us,” Zara said. “My brother speaks very highly of you.”
“My pleasure.” He shook Vince’s hand and gave him the once over. “Sounds like you’ve been through a hell of a lot, bro.”
Vince nodded, but said nothing. He kept looking over his shoulder as if he expected the army to come rolling into the parking lot. Maybe he’d open up and relax as soon as he felt he was safe.
“Although I haven’t known your sister for nearly as long as I’ve known Asher,” Rand was saying, “she came through for me when I really needed some help. She saved me from being the worst father in the world. I’m not sure what I would’ve done without her.”
A knot formed in Zara’s throat. It was sobering to think about all the things—big and small—that Vince had missed. Birthdays, holidays, special occasions. Darius’s birth.
Rand led the way to a small studio apartment located above the end of the garage. There was a bed and an upholstered chair against one wall, and a door that led to a bathroom. No kitchenette, however. She’d need to figure out what to do about food. Vince had to be starving.
“Asher stays here when he’s on this side of the portal,” Rand explained, “so make yourself at home. Shower’s in there. I’ll be back in a minute with some clean towels.”
“I’ll come with you,” Zara offered, thinking that Vince might want a little privacy. “Do you have any decent take-out places that deliver this late?”
Rand rubbed a hand over his jaw. “A few, yeah.”
She turned to Vince. “What do you feel like eating?”
“Eat?” He blinked.
“Pizza, Chinese, teriyaki? Does any of that sound good?”
He frowned as if he were working out a complex math equation in his head. “I…um…don’t know.”
After being in prison, it had to be quite a shock to have choices all of a sudden. “Why don’t you hop into the shower? I’ll order a few different things and be back with the towels.”
When she returned to the apartment a few minutes later, the shower was still running. She quickly changed the sheets on the bed and fluffed up the pillows. Grabbing the folded towels, she knocked lightly on the bathroom door. “Vince? It’s me. I’m back.”
He didn’t answer. She took a chance and quietly stepped inside so as not to disturb him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his silhouette through the glass doors. That shower had to feel amazing to him. Who knew what kind of conditions he’d become accustomed to? She placed the towels near the sink and found a stash of unopened toiletries in a drawer. She set all of them out on the counter, not knowing what he wanted to use when he was done.
When she turned to leave, she noticed that he still hadn’t moved from his original position. “Vince? Are you okay?”
No answer.
Zara debated whether or not she should walk out and leave him alone, but she was worried something was wrong. He’d hardly said two words since they’d arrived. She decided it was better to overstep her bounds and have him tell her to back off than for him to think she didn’t care. She opened the shower door a crack and peered inside.
His hands were braced on the tile wall, head sunk between his bulky arms that were covered in tattoos. Intricate, geometric designs, all black with no color. Prison ink, she guessed, as he didn’t have them back when they were together. Long, wet strands of hair curtained the side of his face, hiding it from view. Tight, sinewy ropes of muscle flanked his lean torso. The man didn’t have an ounce of fat on him. He was pure muscle.
He didn’t look over at her, just continued to let the water sluice over him. A few droplets splashed on her. Damn. It was frigid!
Had the hot water run out already? Only when she reached for the faucet did she realize it had been dialed to Cold.
What in the world, Vince?
Without thinking, she quickly adjusted the temperature, stripped off her clothes and climbed in with him.
“What are you doing?” he asked, as if noticing her presence for the first time.
“Helping you.” She squeezed some shampoo into her hand, reached up and worked the lather into his hair. He said nothing as she massaged his scalp. He must be enjoying it, she thought, because his eyes were closed and he was leaning ever so slightly into her.
She’d expected to see some dirt and grime, but the suds were clean. “Did you already wash your hair?”
“Several times.”
“Then why—?”
“Didn’t feel clean.”
Oh Vince.
She put her hands on his shoulders and guided him back under the showerhead. Rivulets of shampoo ran into his beard and then over his chiseled chest and abs. When the water ran clear, she grabbed a washcloth and squirted it with body wash.
As she washed the front of him, she tried not to look at his nakedness, but she couldn’t help herself. It was as if her eyeballs were iron and the impressive length hanging between his legs was a magnet.
Crap. She needed to stop this. Think like a nurse, or something. It was just a body part.
His tattoos. She’d focus on them instead.
An intricate tribal design covered his left pectoral muscle and stretched over the curve of his shoulder. Upon closer inspection, she saw that it was actually the profile of the grim reaper with a flowing black cape.
Her gaze followed a soap bubble downward, and yep, she found herself staring at him again. His cock was semi-hard now, jutting out magnificently, pointing straight at her. The juncture between her thighs tingled in response and her nipples stiffened.
It had been a lifetime since they’d last made love. They’d found a meadow in Cascadia filled with tiny white daisies, and when they fell onto the blanket, the stems were taller than they were. She’d brought goat cheese and fresh bread she’d made and watched with delight as he devoured it. He was always famished after he came through the portal, so along with some clothes, she always brought a lot of food for him to eat.
Most people crossing back and forth through the portals got iron sick. Even Iron Guild warriors wouldn’t cross more frequently than a few weeks apart. But Vince never seemed to get sick. Sometimes she’d see him several times in one week.
The first time they had sex ha
d been awkward. Neither of them were sure where knees and elbows were supposed to go, but they soon figured it out. Because the people of Cascadia were more open about sex than the Pacificans, she had been more knowledgeable than he was—even though they’d both been virgins. He hadn’t believed her when she told him couples often engaged in sexual activity in a quiet corner of a castle courtyard or open-air market. She’d planned to sneak him in so he could see for himself, but they never got the chance.
Glancing up, she was shocked to see that he was watching her through dark, hooded eyes. A thrill raced through her body like wildfire. Her hand with the washcloth stopped moving on his upper abs.
It would be an easy matter to drop to her knees right now and take him into her mouth. He wouldn’t need to think. Wouldn’t need to do a thing except enjoy himself. Every fiber in her being wanted to give him pleasure, to dilute the pain of the past ten years, if only for a few moments. Maybe in some small way it would help him to start feeling normal again.
“No, Zara,” he growled.
He’d guessed what she’d been thinking…and he wasn’t interested.
She felt a twinge of disappointment. However this was about him, not her, and she would follow his lead. When he was ready…if he was ready, she’d be here for him. And that was all that mattered.
She moved to the other side of him in order to wash his back and gasped. Not only was there an open wound on his upper arm, but there were dozens of raised white scars crisscrossing his back.
How had she not seen this until now?
Because she’d been staring at his cock, she thought.
“What happened?” she asked, trying not to sound too freaked out.
He glanced at his upper arm. “A fellow inmate cut out my tracking chip.”
Ah. The item he’d thrown into the woods when she was cutting off his shackles.
“What did he use? A freaking butter knife? That needs stitches.”
“It’s fine,” he said brusquely.
“And the scars on your—”
“They’re nothing.”
Her breath quavered as she blinked back tears. “What did those monsters do to you, Vince?” she asked quietly.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” Then he glanced at her with hard eyes. “Listen. I don’t want your pity, Zara.”
His harsh tone stung, but she did her best to ignore it. “I don’t pity you, Vince. I’m angry as hell at what you were forced to endure, and I’m…I’m amazed at your strength.” She tentatively placed a hand on his back, and when he didn’t move away from her, she traced her fingers gently over the marks. The pain. It must have been horrendous. “Why did they do such terrible things to you?”
“It wasn’t nearly as terrible as what would’ve happened had I done what they wanted.”
Her fingers hesitated on a particularly thick scar between his shoulder blades. “What did they want you to do?”
He was quiet for so long that she assumed he wasn’t going to answer. It must be too agonizing for him to recount any of the horror. Not wanting to pressure him, she turned off the water and handed him a towel.
He wrapped it loosely around his waist and climbed out. Leaning over the counter, he rubbed off a circle of steam from the mirror and stared at his reflection. “They say I’m a Portal-Talent, someone who can find portals. But the only one I knew about was the one that led me to you. They wanted me to divulge its location.”
“And you refused.”
It was a statement, but he responded explosively, as if she’d asked a question. “Of course I refused,” he spat out, gripping the edge of the counter with both hands and making his triceps bulge. “There was no way in hell I’d let them near you or…or our baby.”
She clutched the towel tighter around her body. “You suffered in order to protect us?”
“A small price to pay.”
He’d endured years of unimaginable torture behind bars in order to keep them safe. Yet during that same period of time, she had resented him, thinking that he had abandoned her.
She dug her nails into the soft flesh of her upper arms, relishing the pain.
After she and Darius came to Pacifica, why hadn’t she tried to find him? All she had to do was locate his family and she’d have learned the truth about what had happened. Maybe she could’ve broken him out of prison and saved him years of torment.
She covered her face in her hands. Vince had suffered because of her foolish pride.
“Don’t cry,” he said gruffly, touching her shoulder and then backing away.
“I can’t help it.”
She could feel him looking at her, then without saying another word, he left the room. How would she ever be able to tell him the truth?
She wasn’t sure how long she sat on the edge of the tub before she got dressed, splashed cold water on her face, and vowed never to let pride get in her way again. When she exited the bathroom, she smelled the teriyaki and saw the sacks of take-out on the dresser near the door. Rand must have brought up the food. But none of it seemed to have been opened yet.
Vince didn’t have to wait. He could’ve started without her. He had to be famished.
She glanced around the room, expecting to see him sitting on the bed or in the chair, but instead, he was curled up on the floor in the corner with just a fleece blanket covering him.
Oh my God. What was wrong? She flew to his side and knelt next to him, putting her hand lightly on his back. “Vince? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said, pulling away from her.
Her hand hung in the air above him for a moment before she withdrew it and laid it in her lap. “What are you doing on the floor then?”
“This is where I’m sleeping.”
“But there’s a bed.” Maybe he didn’t want to share it with her. She tried to ignore the hurt growing inside. “I can sleep on the couch, if that’s the problem.”
“No,” he said gruffly. “This…it’s what I’m used to.”
She didn’t understand. She thought he’d have welcomed a comfortable bed. “But…you’re not in prison anymore.”
He didn’t reply. Just lay there, breathing quietly. She sat there, staring helplessly at his broad back that looked more like a wall, not knowing what to say or do to reach him. But seeing him here like this…it just wasn’t right. Although he was inches away from her, there was a chasm between them.
Oh Vince. What can I do to help you?
“You should eat something,” she said softly.
“I’m not hungry.”
That couldn’t possibly be true. She started to protest, but he cut her off. “Leave me alone. I’m tired. I need to sleep.”
On the floor like a dog? She wanted to fling her arms around him and tell him she was sorry for not believing in him, for not coming for him sooner, but given what he’d gone through, she honestly didn’t know if she deserved his forgiveness.
She grabbed a blanket and pillow from the bed and curled up next to him.
“What are you doing?” he growled, pushing up on one elbow. Damp hair hung over his face, covering one eye, making him look almost feral.
“If you’re not sleeping in the bed, then neither am I.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Zara. You need—”
“What’s ridiculous is you sleeping on this cold, hard floor. But if you won’t climb into the bed, then I’m going to sleep here with you.”
He swore under his breath. “I don’t remember you being this stubborn.”
“Likewise.”
She fidgeted around, adjusting her body an inch this way, an inch that way, trying to get comfortable. When she finally had it as good as it was going to get, she put her head on the pillow and closed her eyes.
She didn’t care how long it took or what she had to do, she would stick by his side no matter what.
Warmth radiated off his body, which was good, because the floor was a freaking ice cube. She listened to his breathing, measured and steady, and wished she k
new what to say. Anticipation hung in the air. He was probably waiting to see if she was really going to stay and sleep on the floor with him.
You bet I am. And I’m not moving unless you do.
Finally, he cursed again and stood up with a grunt. “Come on.” He held out his hand, his biceps and chest flexing as he pulled her to her feet.
She followed him to the bed, but as soon as they climbed in, he turned his back to her, making it clear that he wasn’t interested in talking…or doing anything else. But at least he wasn’t on the floor.
That had to be enough for now.
***
Vince stood in front of the mirror and ran a hand over his buzz cut and freshly shaved face. He had hoped the new look would make him feel different. Change him into a better version of his former self, someone who could be worthy of Zara.
But he still felt the same.
Dirty. Ruined. Damaged.
Who was he trying to fool anyway? He couldn’t cover that shit with something as simple as a goddamn haircut. He was an idiot to think otherwise.
He slipped out of the bathroom, relieved to see that Zara was still sleeping. If she were awake, he knew he would have to ask about their child. Hell, a decent man would’ve already asked.
His stomach knotted as he thought back to the time when she told him she was pregnant. He’d just come through the portal and wasn’t even fully dressed in the clothing she’d brought for him when she started talking. She was nervous and scared as she blurted it all out, but he’d pulled her into his arms and told her how much he loved her. Promised that they’d be together forever. Become parents together. Grow old together.
What a hollow promise that turned out to be.
He dressed quickly and headed downstairs. He needed to clear his head, go for a run. Try to make some sense of it all. At least that deadbeat brother of hers wore roughly the same size clothes he did, so Vince had something else to put on.
Despite the early hour, the garage was bustling. A classic Skynyrd song blared through the speakers, almost drowning out the sound of an air compressor. Several cars were up on blocks. A guy in a jumpsuit was consulting papers on a clipboard. Two other similarly dressed technicians—one male, one female—were looking under a hood and arguing. No one paid any attention to Vince when he passed, which he found oddly comforting. They didn’t give a shit who he was or where he was going.