Page 4

“K’s going to be pissed,” Mag says, interrupting me.
I grit my jaw. “Maybe he shouldn’t have left him in the fucking box then.”
Magnum reaches out for me, and I step into his embrace. He presses a kiss to my forehead, lips moving over my skin when he says, “Just get cleaned up. We’ll meet back here.”
“Do you want company?” I ask, biting my lip in apprehension. I’m not sure he should be alone right now, even though he’s not giving off any needy vibes. In fact, it’s the exact opposite. I have a feeling he just wanted to get that off his chest, but what he really wants is to be alone.
He shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”
He gives my forehead one last kiss and then spins, taking off through the kitchen to the lone bedroom on the first floor. When I was here alone, I did some snooping, so I know for a fact there’s a small bedroom just past the kitchen pantry. He disappears, and I stand there for a minute, still watching the empty space where he was.
Eventually though, I turn and head up the stairs. As directed, Oscar and Brawler left me the master bedroom with the kickass shower. I peel my fight sports bra and shorts off. The areas my clothes covered look ghostly white in comparison to the ash and soot discarded all over my body.
I take the braid out of my hair, running my fingers through the mess as I watch myself in the mirror. I should be freaking out more than I am. Putting my mind to something has always worked wonders for me though. When I have a goal, I can work toward it. It’s when my life is in upheaval that I can’t ever seem to find my footing.
Yes, Johnny is gone, but we’re going to find him. We’re going to bring him back to us where he belongs, and then hopefully, we can get the fuck out of the Heights for good.
I’m seriously getting sick of this place. At this point, if my guys weren’t tethered here, I’d think about giving up the whole revenge on Big Daddy K thing and just leave.
I laugh to myself. No, I wouldn’t. I’m too fucking stubborn for that.
Once my hair is untangled as good as it’s going to get, I turn on the shower, holding my fingers under the rain fall showerhead to gauge the temperature. Once it’s this side of scalding, I step in. Immediately, the water turns a murky gray at my feet. Standing under the spray, I can almost wash off everything that happened today. The fire. The bombs. The evidence disappearing right this very second. The only thing that can never get washed away is the internal scarring. The cut when I realized Johnny had been shot. The incision when Brawler and Johnny disappeared behind a wall of fire when the floor cracked between us. The gash when Brawler told me Johnny was gone. That he’d been taken. And the complete loss when I realized we didn’t know where Oscar was.
I use the shampoo and conditioner that are already in the shower. The smell reminds me of Johnny, and I breathe in deep, allowing his essence to fill me. Johnny might be the strongest person I know. To have grown up in such a hideous excuse for a childhood, but to come out with integrity and principles. Sure, he’s not perfect. He wouldn’t admit to being an angel either, but against all odds, he is decent. He’s caring. And he’s learned how to love when I’m not sure his father even knows what the word means.
K uses his love as manipulation. As fear. As an iron fist to follow orders.
Johnny’s better than that.
I let the water cascade down the crown of my head for a few minutes, clearing my head to make sure I’m ready for the brainstorming session that’s about to go down. Then, I shut the water off, grab a towel from under the sink, and walk out into the bedroom.
Brawler’s sitting on the edge of the bed. His dirty fight shorts are gone, and in its place, a pair of dark gray joggers hug his hips with no shirt. His muscles bunch as he looks up at me. As soon as he sees my face, he pales.
My mouth parts. “What?”
He swallows. “Your face.”
I bring my fingertips to my cheek. “What is it?”
He shakes his head and looks away. “I hurt you.”
I close my eyes and breathe out, understanding filtering through me. I fought Brawler just hours ago. Barely any time at all, even though it seems as if a week has gone by since then. My face must be bruised and swollen. I knew he’d have this reaction. I walk toward him, putting my fingers underneath his chin and making him look me in the eyes.
He grimaces.
“Hey,” I say, waiting until I have his full attention. “It had to be this way. Besides, if it makes you feel any better, I can’t even feel it.”
He rolls his eyes. “It doesn’t make me feel any better. You know I never wanted to hurt you, Kyla. I would never—”
“—under normal circumstances? Of course, I know that.” I lean over to press what’s supposed to be just a soft kiss to his lips, but Brawler’s hunger takes over. His fingers sink into my heated flesh as he pries my mouth open with his tongue, forcing his way through like he expected a barrier.
He groans and moves to his feet, wrapping his arms around me and holding me so tightly as if he’s scared I might run away. “I need to make this better.”
In his words are the undercurrent of the real problem. He needs to feel close again. He needs reassurance.
He takes my hands, stretches them above my head and then backs me up to the bedroom wall. Somewhere along the way, my towel drops. He presses into my bare skin, and the length of his cock brushes my hip. “I don’t know what I can do to show you. That wasn’t me. I don’t do things like that.” He looks at me, his turquoise eyes filled with regret. His large muscles stand out, straining as if he’s holding a lot in. “Can you forgive me?”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” I try to tell him. “We’re only doing what we have to.” I stare at his swollen lips, and my body vibrates with the tension between us.