Break Me Down (8 page)

He didn’t see or hear anything until two cops grabbed him from behind and slapped cuffs on him.

He’d figured he’d end up in restraints tonight.

This was not what he’d had in mind.

Sam paced the waiting room at the small police station, fuming. Smoke was probably trailing behind her, she was so freaking pissed. Gibson had gone after those guys in the shop like some rabid bulldog, and not only had he gotten himself punched, he’d gotten picked up by the cops. She’d told him to walk away and it’d been like she’d said nothing at all. They could be home right now having a nice night together. But no, they were here. Because of male fucking pride.

One of the officers had come out a few minutes ago to let her know that the other guys weren’t going to press charges. The store clerk had given a statement that the truckers had been giving Sam trouble. There was video. So that was a huge relief. But Gibson was still back in the bowels of the tiny building, finishing up giving his own statement. And she was stuck
here
.

She hated police stations. Goose bumps had prickled her skin since the moment she’d walked in. The smell of the place the same as all the others—old paper, stale coffee, and astringent cleaning products. Phones ringing. Lights that were too bright. All of it brought back memories better left buried. She’d been in stations like this one far too often as a kid for minor shit—shit that got her kicked out of homes over and over again. But she’d also spent the longest night of her life in one. She glanced down at her hands, almost expecting to see the dried blood on them. She shivered and rubbed them along her jeans, even though the only thing on them was smudges from the finish she’d used on the chair.

“Sam?”

She jumped at the sound of the voice and then spun around to see Gibson sauntering through the door that led to the back. His cheek was swollen on the right side near his eye and he had a taped-up gash on his forehead, but other than that looked to be all right.

Good. Because she was going to kill him.

He reached her and put his hands on her arms. “Hey, baby, you okay?”

She shrugged out of his grip. “Are you done here?”

He frowned. “Yeah.”

“Good.” She spun on her heel and strode out, not looking back to see if he followed. She pushed open the door and took a deep breath, letting the damp night air wash away some of that police station stench, trying to get her nerves back in order.

“Sam.”

She didn’t pause, and Gibson’s heavy footsteps sounded behind her.

He grabbed her elbow. “Hey, wait up. What’s wrong?”

She kept walking. “Nothing. I’m just ready to get home. We’ve already wasted the whole night.”

Gibson stepped in front her, blocking the sidewalk. His confused gaze searched for answers on her face. “You’re shaking, Sam. Tell me what’s going on.”

She glanced away, focused on the handicap parking sign behind his right shoulder.

“Come on, Sam,” he said softly.

She pinned him with a look, letting the fire well up and take over. “You want to know what’s wrong? You acted like a goddamned idiot in that store. I told you to leave it be, and you had to go all Mike Tyson. You ruined the whole night, got yourself hurt, almost got arrested, and made me spend time in that godforsaken police station because your precious pride got dinged.”

He frowned. “I was looking out for you. What he said . . .”

“No.” She held up a finger. “No, you didn’t. Don’t even. I had it handled. That fight was so not about me. That was about you. You proving that you’re not . . .” She made air quotes. “‘A pussy.’ Which, by the way, pisses me off even more because I have one of those. And they’re spectacular. And being called one shouldn’t be some ultimate insult.”

His lips parted. “I—”

“Or maybe what set you off was being called my bitch. Well, guess what? You’d be fucking lucky to get that spot. You know how many guys at the Ranch would happily, proudly volunteer for that role?”

A thundercloud of an expression descended over his features. “I’m doing the best I can, Sam. This . . . what we’re doing is private.”

“Secret.”

He grimaced.

“Yeah, I get it,” she said, words clipped. “I know all about being someone’s secret. One of my foster brothers introduced me to the concept.”

Gibson’s angry expression fell.

Fuck.
Where the hell had that come from? She never talked about Jesse and their screwed-up relationship. The revealing words seemed to scream between them. “Sam . . .”

She shook her head. “Just don’t.”

She skirted around him and headed to the SUV, her shoes slapping hard against the pavement.

Gibson followed her, getting into the driver’s side and sending her a sidelong glance as he turned the ignition. But no way was she in a place to talk right now. As soon as the engine roared to life, she reached over and dialed the volume knob of the radio to earsplitting. Hard rock blasted from the speakers.

She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes.

But after a few minutes on the highway, Gibson turned down the radio. “We’re not going to do this.”

She glared over at him.

He didn’t look her way, his eyes steady on the road, his one-handed grip on the steering wheel tense. “You don’t have to talk. But maybe you can listen.”

Her teeth pressed together, and she jerked her head forward, staring out at the lines of the road disappearing beneath
their tires. She wished her own car hadn’t been towed to the shop, wished she were alone on this drive.

Gibson cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for acting like I did at the store. You’re right. There was nothing noble about it. It was about me.”

She sniffed and resisted the urge to blurt out,
You don’t say?

He shifted in his seat. “You’ve only known me in the
After
. Gibson Andrews, executive, PR guy, Kade’s stepbrother, cocky asshole, whatever labels people put on me. But that’s not who I’ve always been. The labels used to be very different. White trash. Freak. Fag. My own father could barely stand to look at me. When I asked him what happened to my mom, he told me she’d overdosed when I was four because I was such a pain in the ass to care for—too needy, weak. Apparently I cried a lot, always wanted her attention. I was just too much, I guess. He blamed me for her death.”

Sam’s chest constricted, and she turned toward him, but his gaze was still drilling holes through the front windshield. The proud, beautiful man holding the pieces together for that little boy he used to be. She’d been through her own shit childhood, but she couldn’t imagine what that had been like for Gib. How does a kid walk along carrying that kind of weight?
You were too much for your own mother.
When, in truth, any kid was probably too much for a drug addict.

Gibson continued without looking her way. “I’ve spent most of my life trying to figure out how not to be the person he said I was. To be strong. Tough. To make sure no one could laugh at me or make me feel the way he did. To make sure I could take care of myself and not need anything from anyone.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Having anyone look at me like I’m weak or less than puts this knot in my gut, makes me sick inside. Makes me think of
him
. And some part of me starts to wonder if he was right. If something’s not quite right with me.”

The quiet pain that laced his tone threaded through her and made her hurt for him. She knew what it was like to wonder if something inside was broken or deficient, if you had somehow missed the day God gave out the normal stuff. Every time a family had passed her over for adoption, she’d had that thought.
Why not me? What’s wrong with me?
“Gib . . .”

He scoffed, this humorless sound at the back of his throat. “I mean, what would the old man think if he saw you defending me in that store? Or worse, saw me getting on my knees and being ordered around by a woman, getting off on it?”

She reached for his free hand and pressed hers over his. “Submission doesn’t make you weak or less of a man, Gib. It takes more strength to give up control than to hold it. You’ve got to know that.”

He wet his lips, still not looking at her. “In theory, I know that. I’ve watched subs at the Ranch take more than most people could ever handle. But when I’m in that moment, skirting that edge of really giving up control, I can’t get his voice out of my head. All this shit gets kicked up. Why do I want a woman to take me over? And what is begging if not being
needy
? I’m afraid if I let you push me past that line, I’d be disgusted with myself and hate you for it, that it’d all merge into that black pool, that I’d lash out like I did in the store, only it’d be directed at you instead.”

“You would never hurt me,” she said with absolute confidence.

He looked over at her, his eyes sad. “Not with my fists, Sam. But there are things that are far more hurtful than that.”

“Like when you ended things with us before they could go anywhere.”

He peered back out to the road. “Like caring about the opinions of two rocks-for-brains scumbags over yours. Like acting ashamed to be with you when I should be on my knees thanking the fucking universe that someone as smart and sexy as you wants me in her life. You’re like hitting the girl lottery, and I can’t even get out of my own way to appreciate it.”

The words pricked her, bitter and sweet.
Gibson. Sweet, sexy Gibson.
He had no idea what a gift he was, what a gift he could be if he could cut those ropes that tied him down. But the yearning in his voice was like balm for her soul. He wanted this, even though he didn’t believe he could get there. She could work with wanting. This was hard for both of them. Tonight had been a disaster, but maybe there was still some hope. She just had to figure out how to help him navigate through all the crap tangling them up.

His hand flexed against the steering wheel. “Maybe the kindest thing I ever did was walk away from you. Being here this week, accepting the deal, I’m starting to think that was the cruelest—for us both. You deserve better than this, Sam. You know you do.”

She leaned back in her seat, keeping her hand tight over his, and took a leap, hoping to hell it was the right move. “I don’t think I like you presuming what I do and don’t deserve. That’s not your choice to make. And I definitely don’t approve of my sub insulting himself. Pisses me off.”

He glanced at her, confusion cutting lines around his mouth and eyes.

“You agreed to a week,” she reminded him, the words coming on pure instinct. “I expect you to honor that.”

“Didn’t you hear what I just—”

“I heard what you said. And unless there was a safe word I missed, it doesn’t change our deal. Are you calling your safe word?”

“Sam . . .”

She smiled inwardly. That wasn’t it. Her confidence buoyed.

He had to look away so he could make the turn onto the road that would lead up to the farmhouse, but she could almost feel his pulse tick up, could see the push and pull going through him. She’d thrown him off track. He was scrambling to get his footing, figure out her game.

“You know why I was at Viv’s in the first place?”

He didn’t answer, but the tilt of his head said he was listening to every word.

“I’d already planned on making a stop there. I was headed that way when I hit debris on the service road and shredded my tire. And guess what? With all the commotion of the cops hauling you guys to the squad cars, the clerk comped everything I had in my basket. So nice of him, don’t you think?”

Gibson sent her a sharp look but then turned away and stayed focused on the road until he pulled into the makeshift driveway next to the darkened farmhouse.

Once again, that wasn’t a no or a safe word. Sam charged on, her heartbeat thumping against her throat. “Tell me your hard limits, Gib.”

He turned his head slowly this time, something dangerous flashing in his eyes. Warning.
Don’t do this, Sam.

But she wasn’t stopping unless he said
red.
“Tell me.”

After a long pause he said, “Nothing public.”

The words sounded like he’d had to force them from his lips, like their jagged edges had torn his flesh on the way out.

She could feel the shame there. He hated admitting that sore spot. In Gib’s mind, a hard limit would be a weakness. “What else?”

“I don’t have any more.”

She lifted a brow. “Surely there’s more than that.”

He turned away, stared out into the darkness. “Not with you.”

The three simple words hit her full force.
I trust you.
That’s what those words meant. The hugeness of that responsibility wasn’t lost on her. The list of things she could do to him was long and dangerous. And a man like him, one who didn’t want to safe word, who wanted to prove how much he could take, made it even more risky. But he trusted that she wouldn’t push him too far.

He shouldn’t be so confident in that. She had her own lines she wouldn’t cross. But she had a feeling Gibson had no idea how far out her boundaries could be. And this was a man who needed to be pushed.

She let go of his hand, undid her seat belt, and angled her body toward him. “Look at me and listen good, Andrews.”

He turned to meet her gaze, a hard set to his expression, like he was steeling himself for something, erecting the walls that would keep her out during whatever happened next.

“When we go inside, you’re mine. You are going to pay me back for the shit you stirred up at the store. Do you understand?”

Something dark simmered in his eyes. Challenge, yes. But also, anticipation. Desire. “Yes, mistress.”

“But if we’re walking in there with no limits on the table, I need your promise that you’ll safe word if something goes too far. You trust me, but I need to be able to trust you. Being hardheaded about a safe word puts
me
at risk. And you don’t want that, do you, Gib?”

“Of course not,” he said quietly, but his gaze flicked toward the darkness again. “I promise.”

Lie.
He wasn’t going to safe word. He was humoring her.

She took a deep, calming breath and pressed something on the dash. “Unfasten your jeans and shove them down. Show yourself to me.”

At that, his attention jumped back to her.

“Now.”

The car was still running, the music a thudding hum in the background. But the quickening of his breath was hard to miss. He unbuckled his seat belt and followed her instructions. He still wasn’t wearing underwear, and the hardening state of his cock was quite a sight when he shoved his jeans to his knees, his shaft jutting proudly from the dark thatch of hair at
the base. She smiled. That hadn’t just happened. Someone had been getting turned on for a while. Had it been the mention of Viv’s, of knowing what she had in the bag in the back?