Page 38 of Cruel Debts (Killers of Port Wylde #4)

THIRTY-THREE

LIAM

Fucking sand took me twenty damn minutes to pick up. Stupid ass sand, stupid ass old punching bag. If St. Clair sprung for new equipment once in a while, maybe the damn thing wouldn't have busted from such a pathetic punch.

It's not like I was hitting it that hard. No more than I normally did.

Apparently, I was just full of rage today, because as I stormed up the stairs of the asylum, I managed to put my foot through the edge of one of the stairs. At the top, I got my shirt stuck on a crooked nail in the railing and ripped it halfway up the side to get free.

I was afraid to open the door to the dorm, for fear I might rip it off its hinges.

The door swung open with a gentle creak, and the aroma that filled the corridor was nothing short of heavenly. Hawke must've been cooking. Nothing smelled this good in this place and turned out to be something other than his cooking.

Sure enough, the sound of laughter—feminine laughter, alongside Hawke's familiar growly laughter—filled the air, and I was too tempted to keep standing out here any longer.

I might not like what was happening, but I had to know.

I had to pretend that it didn't affect me, because there was still a job to do.

Hawke and Trinity stood in the kitchen, one on either side of the island, poking a plate between them with matching forks as they giggled like school children.

She'd poke it, and he'd laugh, and then he'd spear something and lean over the island, wiggling it at her until she either turned her nose up at it or opened her mouth and took it from him.

And then they laughed again, and the sound stabbed me right in the fucking heart every time they made it.

They didn't even notice me as I walked past them and into my room, quietly shutting the door behind me.

I should have slammed it. Hawke wouldn't be so damn close to her then. And where the hell was Asher? I thought he was busy burying himself in her pussy? Now, Hawke was over here playing cutesy house with the girl he professed to hate?

Let him sweat a little.

Let them all sweat a little.

It wasn't more than they deserved.

The water was, once again, cold when I hit the shower. It was a good thing I liked cold showers, or this would be irritating to no end. Dollars to doughnuts, it bothered Hawke and Asher, but me? Never.

And right now, I needed one like I needed air to breathe.

The chill ran bone-deep and set me to shivering as I took the soap off the wall and lathered up. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shake the image I'd walked in on.

Trinity, bent over the island, her knees on one of the stools, her ass hanging out under Asher's shirt, her whole face lit up as that smile stretched from side to side and illuminated the darkness that continuously clung to the apartment we called home.

Her hair cascaded down her back as she tossed her head and laughed.

The curve of her spine as she leaned in and accepted the offering Hawke held out for her.

Sweet. Innocent. Wholesome.

But not. Those words hadn't applied to Trinity McCoy a day in her life.

She was walking sex appeal, a dangerous, heady combination of beauty and fire. With a single look, a single touch, she could wrap you around her finger and tug to make you do whatever it was she wanted.

I hated this.

It didn't stop me from grabbing my throbbing, stiff cock with a single-minded focus and determination to jerk the thought of her out of my head and leave it behind to swirl down the drain.

Every stroke of my cock felt taboo, sinister, like I was defiling her image in my head with the wanton actions.

Like I might taint her from two rooms away with my disgraceful desires.

But each pass of my hand over my head was accompanied by an image in my head of her hands on me instead, tugging on my cock, begging me to let her touch me, make me feel good.

Apologizing, promising to be a good girl this time.

I imagined her on her knees in front of me, hands on her thighs, sitting pretty as she watched me fuck my hand while she watched, and the groan that ran through me was so loud for a moment I worried someone in the next room might hear it.

The water was loud, though. It would drown out any sound that might trickle through.

They'd never know what I was up to in here.

Just me, and my conscience.

That was bad enough.

My brain helpfully conjured another image of her, accompanied by the sounds of bodies slapping together wetly, her ass on the kitchen counter, but instead of Asher's name in my head, she called my own.

Instead of his dick slamming into her, it was mine.

I gripped myself at the base and groaned as the thought of what she might feel like around my dick drove me to the edge, and with gritted teeth, I tugged once, twice, and came against the wall of my shower with a subdued roar.

The shame was instant. As was the regret that I'd done this. Violated her memory, her image, without her consent.

And now, unless I did something to atone for what I saw as a degrading private act, I wouldn't be able to sleep at night. Not with her in the same damn house.

It was one thing to jack off to the thought of an imaginary version of her I'd never met.

To pretend I'd ever be worth her time, that we'd ever fit in each other's worlds.

It was another entirely to see her, know her, protect her, and then turn around and imagine doing filthy things to her like I just had.

As I toweled off my body, dick hard once more, I decided the least I could do was make sure she could protect herself.

Self-defense was one of the first things they taught us in the military.

How to react in certain situations, to keep ourselves safe, to perpetuate escape from captors as a hostage. And she'd already been kidnapped once.

Maybe it was a good idea to show her the basics.

Asher couldn't do it. Man was a wet blanket when it came to fighting.

He'd roll over and give up and then end up under her as they lost their clothes and their sanity.

Hawke was no better—his only preferred problem-solving method was a carefully-placed time bomb, whether literally or figuratively, that he could walk away from and never be tied to.

I was the only one of us who ever bothered to learn hand-to-hand combat or self-defense. It had to be me. Keehn would have wanted me to do it.

I threw on a pair of sweats and a compression top and steeled myself for an interaction that would prove to be awkward. My feet carried me to the door of my room.

And then I stopped, with my hand on the knob, waiting for—for what?

I wasn't sure.

Twist the knob, buddy. Twist it, push open the door, and take a deep breath before you embarrass yourself. You kill evil men for a living. How the hell are you so scared of a simple fucking girl?

I wasn't. I wasn't scared of her at all. The fear that raced through my veins was because of the real possibility that I'd do more harm than good the second I opened my mouth and spoke to her.

When I finally reached the kitchen, Hawke was nowhere to be found, though.

It was just her, sitting at the island, her fork in hand as she speared what looked like sliced chicken and some sauteed vegetables, bringing them slowly to her mouth with a frown on her pretty lips.

Her eyes trailed over to Asher's door, then Hawke's, and when she got tired of that, she turned to mine and spotted me standing in the doorway, leaning against the wall.

Her frown deepened. "Oh, it's you." As if it might be someone else coming from my room's direction. "You come back to yell at me some more?"

The desire to match her sullen attitude nearly suffocated me, but I managed to tamp it down and pretend it didn't exist. "No. I came to make you an offer."

I watched her brow climb. "An offer? What is this, where you shove money at me like one of those cheesy dramas and tell me to leave you and your brodudes alone, and walk away? Take the money and never be seen again?"

I didn't follow. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Never mind." She shook the thoughts from her head and turned back to her food, taking another bite. "What do you want, Liam?"

I want you to leave my brothers in arms alone. I want you to stop fucking Asher. I want you to stop mind-fucking Hawke. I want you to start fucking me.

"I want to teach you how to defend yourself."

Great.

"Like self-defense?" Somehow, the idea seemed as preposterous and insincere to her as it did in my own head. "Why would you want to help me when you've made it so clear that you can't stand me?"

Why, indeed? "Because I've been a bit of a shit human being, and a shit friend, and I owe it to you, and to Keehn, to do right by you.

And if you're not going to listen to us, or stay where you're safe, then it'll make me feel immeasurably better to know that you can do more than whine and wait for rescue if something were to happen to you. "

"So this is to make you feel better," she said with a huff, her lip twitching in a scowl. "No thanks. I'd rather be shot to death by accident or be held hostage for a year, than take lessons from you."

In seconds, I had her in a reverse headlock, and she struggled against my grip, though I didn't hold her tight enough to hurt her.

I was an asshole, sure, but I was just trying to prove a point. Show her how necessary it was for her to know something more than what she did. Instead of working in my favor, though, the move seemed to have done nothing more than incense her. And that wasn't helping my case any.

"Let me go, Liam, or I swear I'll?—"

I looked down at her with side eyes, sarcasm dripping from my words. "You'll what, Trin? Hurt me? Go ahead. Try to hurt me."

She tried kicking, but I was too fast. Her feet flailed pointlessly in the air behind her as I lifted her tiny frame into the air and immobilized her.

Then, she resorted to trying to slam the back of her head into the bridge of my nose—a smart move, but she wasn't fast enough, and I easily dodged the attempt.

She brought her heel down where my instep was seconds before, and then she tried to claw at my arms, before I pinned her hands to her sides, despite the strangled snarls she made at her plight.

"Okay, okay, so what if I can't fight back?

You happy now? Does it make you pleased to prove that you're so much better than the spoiled rich girl, that she's too weak to be trusted on her own?

" There was something below the surface, something more than the anger she projected at me, but I'd never pry it from her. Not like this.

"I'm not happy or pleased," I said instead, my eyes hard. "I'd be happy if you would learn how to prevent a situation like this, for when I'm not around to save you."

"I did just fine when you left me in the gym alone," she huffed, her mouth hanging open as she leaned down and bit me in the forearm.

Whereas her other attempts were unsuccessful, this one hit the mark, and I hissed as she slipped from my grip and danced out of reach, triumphant at her perceived victory. "And I can do just fine now."

Translation: I don't need you.

Fine. I could take a hint. "You don't want my help?

Cool. I won't force it on you. But when you're ready to admit you don't stand a chance on your own against a trained professional, you know where to find me.

" And with that, I turned on my heel and marched right back into my room, slamming the door behind myself.

If she wanted to turn my peace offering down, then she could just go ahead and do that.

I wouldn't be caving when she finally realized what a mistake this was, and came around begging for me to help her.

I wouldn't give a damn. I made the offer. I made the attempt. My guilt was assuaged. I'd paid my dues.

She came knocking later that night. Just like I knew she would.

I wished I could say I shut the door in her face and went back to bed. I wished I could say I turned her down and told her to get lost. I wished I could deny being soft for her.

But I couldn't. Because at my core, just like Asher, I was weak for this girl, and no amount of my own personal rage and anger could change that, or dissuade my heart from getting involved when my head should be taking the lead.

All it took was one look, one bat of her eyelashes, one simpering, sad girl gaze, and I was crumbling like a three-day-old stale ass cookie on the counter.

"I'll teach you, okay? Stop looking at me like that," I snapped at her when she didn't bother turning off the puppy dog eyes when I agreed. "I can't stand that look."

"Something certainly can stand it," she said with a grin. I watched as her gaze snapped down below my waist. She let out a low whistle, her lips curling pleasantly at the sight she found there.

I winced at my evident eagerness and shut the door in her face, before realizing I hadn't told her when or where. I cracked the damn thing and sighed.

"Tomorrow morning. Six in the morning. Dress in loose clothing, but not too loose. And bring your A-game. You're going to need it, because I'm not going soft on you, Trin."

The smile on her face was absolutely devastating. "I hope you never do."