Perpetuate Page 8

  Her pretty mouth shapes the word before the question leaks out. “Why?” Wary gaze flits from my schooled expression to the hands tightly clutching hers. “Why would you do that? Offer a stranger to stay at your home? I can be an axe murderer or a burglar, for all you know.”

  I wouldn’t offer a stranger my home, but I’ve known Gemma a long time, even if her mind stubbornly refuses to acknowledge it. “You’re not an axe murderer or a burglar.”

  “But how do you know?” Big stubborn eyes stare up at me from a pale, flawless face, perplexed and fascinated all at once. Her tongue darts out, nervously moistening her lips and has my unsuspecting body instantly jolting with alert. “You don’t know me. Don’t know what I’m capable of.”

  “I know you’re Gemma Warton.”

  She’s shaking her head, sending her ponytail dancing behind her. “I… I appreciate the offer, Mr. Hawkes, it’s—”

  “Brad.”

  “No.” Her gaze darts away only to veer back, obstinate determination more outrageously luminous than the city lights. “No,” she repeats with conviction. “You’re Mr. Hawkes. My father’s former employer. And I shouldn’t be here with you.”

  “I’m Bradley Christopher Hawkes,” I remind her in a hard, undenied voice, enjoying her flash of aggravation. “Say it, Gemma.” I need her to. As many times as it takes to trigger the repressed memory she’s anxiously trying to obliterate. Only, I won’t let her. “Say my name.”

  “Your name isn’t the point.”

  I use our clasped hands to reel her closer. “Say it, Gemma Warton.”

  As pig-headed as ever, her lips firm. “No.”

  “Bradley Christopher Hawkes.”

  “Get over yourself,” she retorts with heat.

  “Say my name.”

  Defiant hazel eyes shoot lethal daggers at me. “Mister. Hawkes.”

  She dares to flip the forbidden switch. Igniting vivid flares inside me.

  Before I give myself permission to think, I’m yanking her against me. Her yelp of surprise is sharply cut off by my mouth. There’s no tentative tasting, no hesitation. I consume her like my life depends on it.

  I wait for her to shove me away. Expect it. Count on it.

  She doesn’t. No, because she likes to challenge me, even in this.

  An eager moan rumbles from her throat into mine. I swallow it up, let it scorch me. Craving more. She doesn’t disappoint, her soft, addicting lips molding perfectly against mine. Somehow I knew she would. It’s obvious she was made for me.

  Urgently, small hands clutch at my shoulders to sear and ruthlessly stamp my skin as her possession. She’s territorial. Always was.

  Without warning she tears away. We gape at each other, hoarding huge gulps of air like they’re going out of business.

  Then her palm stings my cheek with a smack.

  Not a real one. More of a playful warning. Still... What the fuck?

  “What was that for?” I accuse.

  Her swollen lips pull back in a knowing smirk. “For lying to me.”

  What? “When did I lie to you?”

  That delicious body of hers press right up on my excited, saluting dick. “Not trying to get in my pants?” she mocks, pursing those puffy lips. “Is it trying an unconventional route then?”

  “That wasn’t a lie,” I assert, relishing the twinkling humor in those breathtaking eyes. “You’re wearing a skirt.”

  “Devious asshole.” With a downward jerk of my shirt, she tugs me down and plants that luscious mouth back on mine.

  Fuck. Yeah.

  She can smack me all day long.

  Then I’m surging against her subtle feminine curves, an arm swathed tightly around her, needing more and drowning in her taste and scent. I’m bowing over her with the half wall at her back preventing both of us from pitching over into the forgotten dark.

  Only I fell a long time ago.

  The moist tongue is playful in my mouth, teasing and exploring. I can eat her alive and still starve for her all-consuming flavor. Frantic fingers tangle my hair. My palm skids down her back to the delicious curve of her ass before lifting her thigh and grinding against her right. There.

  A half gasp, half moan explodes in my mouth.

  I suck that up too. Sweet nectar feeding my roaring blood.

  “Excuse me.”

  The uncertain male voice penetrates the haze of lust and need just as Gemma abruptly stiffens against me. Sluggishly and with greater reluctance than I care to admit, I ease back enough to take in her dazed, half-lidded gaze and flushed cheeks. I curse silently at having lost control out here where anyone can interrupt.

  Which is why I decide not to toss the man in a standard-issue security getup over the retaining wall.

  “Mr. Hawkes?” The man is so bald there’s a glare on his head as he passes under one of the lights. His tentative gaze bounces from me to Gemma and back. “Is everything alright?”

  Everything was great until he showed up. “We’re fine, Benny. Thanks for checking.” Then, because she’s warily hiding her delightful face against my chest, no doubt mortified at being caught, I can’t help but add, “This is Gemma. We were seeing stars.”

  Her shoulders are gently shaking against me, rushes of exhales warming my throat as she tries to suppress her laughter. Without looking, she lifts a hand in greeting in the general direction of the curious intruder.

  Nine

  Gemma

  Do you think that overbearing ass ran it by me first?

  No!

  Do you think he cared what I had to say?

  Of course not!

  Does he believe he has the right to take my dad away and put him wherever he thinks would work for however long he thinks would take?

  Naturally, because he’s Brad Hawkes.

  Anyone who’s ever said counting to ten helps one control anger has never dealt with Mr. CEO, I decide bitterly as I let myself into my father’s home. The domineering man thinks he can dictate everyone and everything around him, but I’m not one of his employees and neither is my father. Not anymore. Hawkes made sure of that the minute my dad strayed from his boss’s fanatic control.

  So what if the man got me wound up so tight I not only saw stars but the whole galactic universe? Once I wasn’t in his persuasive vicinity, I finally had a chance to think. I can’t afford to allow his clever mouth to distract me, as tempting as that might be.

  “Dad? I’m here!”

  Dropping my keys back in my purse, I dump it on the side table, skimming over the messy but empty living room as I make my way to the rear of the house toward the bedrooms where I can hear him moving about. I’m surprised he’s up considering it’s just after six in the morning, early for my dad since he spends his nights drowning himself for the last month. It’s not the first time I swung by before one of my morning classes.

  My unhurried steps stop short at the sight of the tall, disheveled looking man – a man who’s not my dad – stumbling out of the bathroom off the hallway.

  He screams of dark alleyways and bargain liquor.

  His ratty gray t-shirt has a noticeable tear from one side of the collar to the other, making the garment look like it’s smiling crudely. From the way it’s hanging off his gaunt frame, it’s at least two sizes too big. Worn, baggy jeans barely clinging to decency drag down his bony hips. Clearly, the man can use a shower, a decent meal, and an AA sponsor.

  Bleary, bloodshot eyes land on me while he warily braces himself with an unsteady palm against the wall, shaking his scruffy blonde head as though attempting to dislodge clingy webs. I have a feeling he might very well crumble to the floor if not for the anchor, precarious as it is.

  A vicious scowl replaces his momentary confusion. “Who the fuck are you?”

  The harsh and unexpected hostility has me taking a defensive step back before I had a chance to process it. Against my instinct but not wanting to appear alarmed, I straighten to my full height and harden my demeanor, glaring right back at him. “Who a
re you? You don’t belong here. You need to leave this instant before I call the police.”

  The disheveled intruder narrows his swollen, enflamed eyes at me, raking me over with disgust from head to toe. He takes one menacing step closer and sneers. “I know who you are. You’re Pete’s brat. The meddling cunt who won’t leave him alone and let him enjoy his life the way a man’s entitled to.” His face turns even nastier. “All you bitches are the same. Pete doesn’t want you here. Get the fuck outta here before I throw your ass out.”

  Though he’s scrawny and two cents short of being gravity-challenged, I’m pretty sure he can still take me. Ice cold dread floods my veins. Unconsciously I retreat another step only to realize too late.

  “You need to leave right now,” I tell him in as firm a voice as I can manage as I struggle back panic. I can kick myself for leaving my purse with my cell phone by the front door. “I’m calling the police. They’ll be here before you ca—“

  He lunges.

  No time to even screech when his full weight slams into me. I hit the worn carpet hard as he pins me down. My lungs burn on a scream, kicking and clawing if only to get away from his foul stench. Reflex takes over. The heel of my palm slamming up his nose like Jamie taught me. He howls and cups his face, blood spilling out between his gaunt and grimy fingers. Vile eyes blaze at me just before he rears back and smacks me across my cheek. Hard.

  I see stars. And not the ones from last night.

  My whole face blaze raw. Metallic taste seeps to my tongue. I whimper, too focused on the shocking pain to protect myself or attack. Bad mistake.

  Ruthless hands seize my neck. Iron bands deliberately crushing my bones. My eyes bug out from the pressure to stare helplessly at the demented eyes. Desperate oxygen jams in my throat.

  “You think you’re some hot shit? Do you?” Hateful face twists repulsively. “You think you can walk away? Hook up with some motherfucker and leave me? You’ll die trying, you lying bitch!”

  My frantic hands claw at his wrists, but he’s fueled by alcohol and pent-up rage. My body twists, bucking off the carpet. Feverish legs jerk under him. Angry blood slides down his nose to drip on my jaw.

  Vision blurring.

  I want to holler but not even desperate pleas can seep out of the death grip on my throat. Dirty brown eyes glaze with unchecked wrath to brutally puncture me with fatal intent.

  Then suddenly blessed air comes rushing into my failing lungs. My throat scalds. My entire body racked with hacking coughs. As if from a distance I hear a crash. Self-preservation ignites and I scrabble back, gawking in disbelief as my dad rolls around with my attacker, madly throwing punches wherever they land.

  “Dad!”

  It only came out in my head. My painfully inflamed throat can’t manage any noise other than pitiful wheezes. Hauling away from the crazies, I swiftly check around for anything I can use to help my dad. A vase or a lamp would be mighty handy right now, cursing my father for being a bare minimum kind of guy. Scrambling to my feet, I run for my purse to snap out my phone. Quivering fingers scarcely find the right keys, but thank God I only need a few taps.

  “Heeee…” I start as soon as I’m connected. Agonizingly I swallow and try again. “Heeee…”

  No no no.

  Racing back to the hallway, my legs shaking with each hysterical effort, I find the intruder pummeling my father nonstop. In a feverish panic, I spot a dirty plate on the breakfast counter and practically dove for it. Without thought or hesitation, I throw back my arm and plow the cheap porcelain against the side of the thug’s head with all my strength. Harsh shards fly off on impact.

  Manic eyes roll back just before the intruder collapses onto my dad. With a grunt, my dad heaves my attacker off, panting and gulping wildly.

  It only takes a second for my abused body to crumple to the floor.

  *****

  Everything happened so fast. Within minutes, really. That was what I told the cops. At least they were nice enough to let the paramedics tend to me so I didn’t have to see my attacker while he was being hauled away.

  I watch them drive away now. Having taken my statement and my dad’s, we’re left with more questions and a mess to cleanup. Well, we’re also left with Brad Hawkes.

  “I’m taking you to the doctor.”

  Yup, the guy showed up right after the uniforms. It wasn’t completely unexpected since he pretty much dictated my dad would be dragged away to rehab first thing this morning. I just assumed he’d have one of his paid thugs do it.

  “I’m fine,” I contend, closing and locking the front door for good measure. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel safe again, lock or not. “He didn’t hurt me.”

  “The fucker had his hands around your neck, Gemma.” The normally exquisite face is hard, all jagged bones and flinty, furious eyes. Barely tamed fury radiates from him. “You need to let a doctor take a look at you.”

  Ignoring the uncontrollable trembles, I make the short way to the kitchen, to where my dad is propped up not too steadily at the breakfast bar, and wrapped my arms around the quaking, bruised man. “You okay, dad?”

  “Am I okay?” Foggy hazel eyes squeeze close, his features contorting to one of pain before his lids pop open to meet my worried gaze. “Gemma, Brad is right. Let him take you to a doctor.”

  I shake my head and can’t suppress the wince from the vicious pounding in my head and burn in my throat. “No. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here with you.”

  A look passes between the two men. Edging me back, my dad brushes back my bangs with wobbly fingers. “Sweetheart, I’m… I’m going away for a while. A few weeks. Don’t worry about me,” he interjects quickly when I open my mouth to argue, his own cracked and swollen as it twists anxiously. “I’ll be in good hands. Brad has made arrangements so that I can live my life again, so don’t you even waste one second thinking about it.”

  Emotions churn in my stomach and all I can do is swallow back the bile threatening to make a fool of me, only that motion caused more pain than ease. An odd fusion of relief and dread invades through me. I have to let him; I know I do. I can’t do it for him. This morning was an agonizing reminder that I can’t help him, no matter how hard I try.

  Next time, we might not be so lucky.

  My eyes tear up, but I don’t let that stop me from forcing a watery smile at the only person in this world who thinks I hung the moon. “I want you to get better, dad. I know you’ll do whatever that takes.” Even if that means doing what Brad Hawkes wants you to do. “And I’ll visit you whenever I can.”

  Again a silent message is exchanged between him and the forceful man I can feel hovering too close behind me.

  “Gemma,” Brad begins, his hands big and comforting on my shoulders, deliberately increasing the distance between me and my father. “It’s time for Peter to get going.”

  My mind flashes…

  Male hands on my small shoulders. Smaller than the ones now but feverish.

  Pulling me back.

  “We have to go, Gemmy!”

  “He’s dead, Lee! You killed him!”

  “We can’t be here. Come on! We gotta go!”

  It’s gone as quickly as it appeared. I shake my head from the lingering cobweb of pulsating images. Scattered impressions. I sometimes get those, of a childhood I distraughtly deigned to forget. With an ease born from years of practice, I mentally bury it within my mind.

  “…take good care of you,” my dad is saying. “He’s a good man... Gemma?”

  I shake my head again, excruciating agony detonating in my head. I try to grasp on to the here and now pressing into my consciousness, again only to flinch from the piercing sting. The kitchen whirls into air and I feel my body swaying, heavy and light all at once.

  “Gemma!”

  The next thing I know I’m collapsing against a sturdy male chest. Images go in and out of my awareness. Terrified green eyes peering down at me, forehead so creased I can strum my fingers on it if I have the energy… bu
t I don’t.

  *****

  “Why won’t he stop, Lee? Why does he keep doing it? I hate it! I hate him!”

  “He can’t help it. It’s got nothing to do with you. He’s sick, Gemmy, that’s what it is. He can’t help it because he’s sick with it.”

  Impatiently I swiped at the tears streaking down my already wet cheeks, terror and anger gnawing a hole in my empty belly. “He’s sick? What do you mean?”

  The scrawny shoulders shrugged. “My grandma told me alcoholism is a disease. That’s why my dad can’t help himself. That’s why your dad can’t stop either.”

  My bottom lip quivered and I huddled tighter within myself, not even caring about the filthy floor or how cold and numb my butt was getting from the chipped tile. “Are they gonna die?”

  Lee looked away but not before I caught the dread and doubt on his face. For some reason that scared me even more than the thought of my dad being sick.

  “I don’t know, Gemmy.”

  We both fell quiet for a minute. I stared across the kitchen, vaguely noticing the scurrying roach skittering along the kitchen cabinet. Normally I’d be screaming in horror at the thing and Lee would stomp on it before it had a chance to escape, but neither one of us wanted to move from the relative comfort of our safe place.

  Finally, Lee asked, “Are you hungry?”

  I nodded. I was always hungry. There never seemed to be enough food around the house. Maybe the roaches ate them all. Even if they hadn’t, with mom working, dad forgot to make dinner again. He was too thirsty to cook and went next door to drink with Lee’s dad.

  “Come on.” Lee pushed to his feet and helped me up. “Go sit down at the table. Let me see what’s in the fridge.”

  I climbed onto the chair and watched Lee’s head disappear inside the old fridge. Lee was big. Way bigger than me. He said he was thirteen now. I counted my fingers… that was six years older than me! He was skinny like me but almost twice as tall. He knew how to use the microwave and everything. One time he even used the stove to make me oatmeal. He said it was just cooking hot water and mixing it with the stuff, but it looked like it was hard. I didn’t much like oatmeal, but I was so hungry I ate it anyway.