Page 11 of Jett

“No, he ... he forced me to ...” I swallow hard and lower my gaze. I can’t look at him when I say this. “He said if I didn’t suck him, I’d lose my job.”

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” He prowls across the room and sits heavily on the couch beside me.

“I can’t be without work, Grim. I have ... things I need to pay for, to take care of.”

“He touch you in any other way?”

I shrug and pull at a loose thread on the hem of my shirt. “He grabbed my breasts, tried to slip his hands in my panties, but I gagged and threw up right there in the kitchen. That’s when he hit me across the face and fired me.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell Jett all this?”

“Because I was ashamed, embarrassed. Because I was afraid he’d look at me differently.”

“But not me?”

“I think the shock is making me say things I normally wouldn’t.”

“No one would look at you as any less. That’s what makes men like Tung Lin scumbags—not you. No, you’re perfect.”

I give a humourless laugh. “I’m far from perfect.”

He reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, rubbing the length between his fingers. For a beat, I stare up at him and wonder what my life would be like if I’d married a biker. I close my eyes and his arms wrap around me. He pulls me in tight, but it’s not sexual. He holds me, and I fall apart.

RAINE

IWAKE AND SIT UPRIGHT. Grim is snoring beside me, fully dressed in his jeans and T-shirt and on top of the covers, Lolita curled up in the crook of his arm.

I don’t remember coming into the room last night, which means he must have carried me after I fell asleep to him reading fromMoby Dick. I feel terrible that I didn’t insist on taking the couch, but at least I didn’t leave him without a place to sleep entirely. I gaze at the scars on his bicep, my eyes trailing upward. There’s a childlike quality to his face when he’s relaxed—even with the angry, ruined skin. Before the scars, he would have been devilishly handsome, untouchable. Now he’s flawed, but I can’t imagine Grim being any other way. I like the imperfections—they add character, and it means he’s different from everyone else. But I know he doesn’t see them as a blessing.

He opens his eyes and the softness there forces my breath to catch in the back of my throat, and then the gentleness is gone. His gaze turns sharp and his brow furrows. “What the fuck are you staring at?”

“Grim—”

“Didn’t your folks ever teach you not to fuckin’ stare?” He unseats Lola, causing her to yelp as he throws his legs off the side of the bed and stands.

“Grim, I wasn’t—”