Disengaged: A Dangerously Forbidden Love Affair (3 page)

It was then his wicked gaze landed on me again; at exactly the same second I realized I was still shirtless. My bra was nothing more than a low cut piece of lace. My shorts weren’t much in the way of any kind of cover either. Even though the room was thick, struggling to cool with its one vent in the center of the ceiling a chill rushed over my skin when I watched him swallow, his jaw tensed and his gaze flickered with something dark, lustful...a dare I wanted to take, no matter how freaking scared I was.

His steps to me were slow, so slow that I could hear the skid of his boots on the cement floor and knew my heart pounded a thousand times between each. I wanted to retreat, to scream, but the only response I could muster was a tremble. Just before me he stopped. I breathed in his beer-laced breath as it rained down on me. He leaned down to where I felt the scruff of his check against mine. I barely heard his question. “Name?”

“Em—Ember,” I managed to say.

He leaned back, the look of measured scorn on his face gave me no choice but to raise my defenses.

“Which is it, little girl?” he said gruffly.

I glared, then crossed my arms, which I regretted because all it did was bring his attention to my chest. I couldn’t figure out how one look could unravel me so much. Sex and boys was an ‘it is what it is’ kind of thing for me in the past. I got off, yeah. I had fun, yes. But I was always over it once I had a taste—once the chase was over and there was nothing left for me to guess about.

I was still guessing about Slayton. Yeah, he kissed me, but I didn’t know what his tongue tasted like. Yes, I knew exactly what it felt like to have my body wrapped around his as we sped through the dark streets of the city. And without a doubt, I knew what it felt like to have him resting in the cradle of my thighs and rocking hard against me—the feel of his lips against my neck, on my shoulder. But that was all I knew. The boys at my old school had crossed more lines in the hallways than this rebel had so far.

“Ember Bloom,” I said in the toughest voice I could manage. Inside I was cursing my body’s reaction to this boy, the tension I felt swelling between us. I needed answers. Had he really gone after my father last night? Was he hurt lying in an alley somewhere? Why did my dad owe these guys money? And above all why in the hell did Slayton lie to his friends for me?

Just as one of those questions began to bubble up he turned and went back to his bed. He collapsed on the edge, then one by one pulled his boots off. His belt was the next to go which had my heart rate pick up as I debated if I should be on the defense or dripping with anticipation.

Utter deflation washed over me next as I watched him lay back, he turned the lamp off, then pulled his pillow to him before moving to his side to face the wall. The only light in the room was glowing from the radio and the exit sign above the doors that were locking me in.

Once I settled my fight or flight thoughts, I edged forward. He hadn’t spoken to me above a whisper the entire time I’d known him which left me wondering if he knew others were listening. I wasn’t dumb enough to shatter whatever protection he’d given me, so I crawled on the bed until I was just behind him.

Watching him tense, but never move only jumbled my thoughts and desire for this boy all the more. I swallowed nervously. “Is my dad dead?”

Long seconds later he answered me. “Not yet.”

THREE

Not yet.

I went boneless as anxiety and adrenaline went to war for center stage in my veins. My mind kept turning over all my father’s comings and goings, things he’d said recently. Even things I’d overheard him and my grandmother say in the past. I knew my father was a gambler. I knew he lost big and won big. I knew he battled with addictions and PTSD. I knew he never meant any harm.

I didn’t realize a single tear had fallen until Slayton sat up and turned toward me, and the back of his hand whispered across my cheek. I couldn’t see his face in the shadows, but I doubted his expression was kind. I could sense his resentment slamming into me, a blame I didn’t understand. He pushed his pillow to my side, then pulled my legs out from under me. Once I was laying down, he pulled the sheet over me then laid down by my side like I was nothing more than a chore he had to deal with when all he wanted to do was sleep.

I was tense, too scared to move, too petrified not to. Each thought twisted my emotions all the more. The girl in me was breathing in this boy at my side, the dark, addicting mystery of him. The survivor was working out every escape plan I could for my father and me. The realist, the voice of my grandmother, was telling me no matter where I convinced my father to run—something like this, if not worse—would always be around the corner waiting on us. It was the reason he’d kept me far from him my entire life.

My desperate thoughts seized when Slayton hooked his arm around my waist and pulled me to his chest. It wasn’t until then that I realized more than one tear had fallen. My cheeks were soaked. I wiped them as dry as I could. Then struggled with what I could or should ask him. My number one question was obviously: am I your hostage now?

By the time I gathered my courage, I heard his breaths become deep and even, a sign of tranquil sleep. At first, I didn’t let my defense down as I stayed stiff at his side, but then the constant adrenaline started to abate, and I relaxed. Somehow reasonable logic faded, and I found myself feeling safe at his side, protected.

I was sure by how deeply and quickly he had fallen asleep that he’d been out all night. I hadn’t. The night before I’d crashed at nine pm. Knowing Mrs. Jin expected me at 4:30 am. Her shop was slammed in the a.m. as people dropped off their laundry before they caught their train. Realizing I very well could be fired for not showing wasn’t helping me.

The follow up thought that she more than likely had called my father looking for me and now all kinds of red flags, if not worse, the law, was out looking for me didn’t make me feel any better. If I knew anything about my father’s lifestyle, it was that it was best to not stir any trouble. To assume governing laws protected you. I saw no way out of this which made every moment in Slayton’s grip both crawl and rush by at once.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I studied him. His jawline was sharp, but under the light scruff, there was a baby face. The top edge of his lip had a tiny scar. There was one along his left brow line too, but neither were noticeable, and once they were, they only expanded the dark allure of him. His hair was dark and thick; the cut was one I was sure was made for the wild boys. His long locks had been trained to swoop out over his eyes and cling to his neck—it was the perfect length to rush your fingers through, to pull in a fit of lust. My fists clenched against his chest as I realize I had done that. Not even hours ago I’d felt this boy’s power all but owning me.

I could see the shadows of ink peeking out from under his tank. I imagined his back and chest were marked with paths and lessons he didn’t want to forget. The numbers and marks 13: and 9: were tattooed on the side of both his wrists, leaving me to question what gang had marked him. I studied the shape of his eyes, how they were demanding and fierce even when they were closed. They were moving rapidly under his lids, causing the careful draw of his brow.

Hours went by and it was still hard to openly stare at him, study him. I couldn’t figure out why. I wasn’t a nervous person. The woman who raised me always told me it was foolish to be so when angels walked with me, when they’d never present me with more than I could handle, or they could save me from. But this boy made me edgy. Not in a fearful way. I don’t even know how to explain the way it felt, the sensation was too new. It was almost like a crush, but more so because a crush was an idea, this boy was a brutal reality.

Every time he moved I’d tense and edge back, but his grip would become even more possessive as he pulled me against him; every once in a while his fingertips would reach for my cheek as if to check if they were drenched in tears or not. His hand carefully sliding down my side always followed those touches, a move I was sure was silently judging how relaxed or tense I was. Not surprisingly, it was those touches that brought the tension of anticipation back into my body.

A person can only lie still for so long until sleep finally comes. No matter how much I fought it, dreams stole me away. When my eyes fluttered open again, the lights were on, and he was standing over me, loosely holding my shirt in his hand.

At first, the nightmare my life had turned into was lost in the fog of sleep, so I jarred back on the sheets and gave myself a once over wondering why he was standing over me with my clothes. The straps of my bra had slipped from my shoulders, causing the edge of my dark nipples to peek out. Realizing how exposed I was rushed a wave of heat across my flesh. A blameless reaction that had somehow caused his taut physique to stiffen.

A grunt that was close enough to a moan came from the center of his chest seconds before he tossed my shirt at me. When I focused on the space around me, I seriously questioned how long I’d slept. He’d shaved and changed clothes. There were tools lying around his bike. As I dressed and tried to pull myself back together, he picked up each of the tools and locked them back in his tool chest.

I’d found a reasonable sense of calm in the silence we were sharing, right up until I watched him arm himself. One gun in each boot, another went into his waistband. Switchblades went in each of his pockets. He was point blank lethal.

When he found my rapt attention on him, he made no move to calm any of my more than obvious fears. I’d stood and was wringing my hands together as I tried to find the will to ask one freaking question.

He ticked his head to the back corner. For the first time, I noticed the door there. Hoping it was his way of telling me to get the hell out I moved double time to it. My hopes crashed into a pit of dejection when I realized it was nothing more than a makeshift bathroom. There was a toilet and a sink. A showerhead in a stall with no curtain was in the back corner.

Not knowing how much time he was giving me I rushed to relieve myself, then splashed water on my face. One glance into the tiny mirror above the sink told me my hours of crying had wreaked havoc on my eyes. They were red and swollen. The sky blue color had darkened the way they always did when I’d exhausted myself. I was embarrassed and hated he had seen me at my worst, which was a first—I never really cared what boys thought of me in the past. Wanting a quick fix, I dug through his doc bag that was by the sink. I brushed my hair and teeth, then held a cold paper towel to my face hoping the coolness would chase the evidence of my tear soaked eyes away.

I’d found some personal space and was in no hurry to leave it. Once I was cleaned up, I paced. I prayed. I thought hard and long about my odds of surviving any of this. Shamefully, the seductive pull I felt for Slayton was overshadowing all of my doomsday thoughts. I was furious that of all boys, all the pretty faces that had crossed my path, it was this one, the deadly one, that had ignited a dormant passion inside of me. A sensation that flipped my already fucked up world upside down.

I didn’t dare leave my safety zone until I heard the doors to the unit slide open. Even then I was slow to open the door. I wasn’t sure if we were being invaded, if he was leaving and locking me in, or if by some miracle all of this drama was meeting a very anticlimactic end.

He was the one who had opened both doors, and now he was on his bike walking it out of the unit. With my mouth agape, I stared as he dismounted then ticked his head for me to come to him. Walking to him was easier said than done, beyond my unsure steps I had to navigate through the now dark and quiet unit. He’d shut everything down.

Once I reached his side, he secured the unit, and as he did so, I cast my gaze in every direction trying to gauge the time of day along with any immediate danger. I didn’t see anyone but us. All I could hear was a train rambling by. But then again, my father, a million times over, had told me that I was oblivious to the danger I walked through daily.

The sun was starting to set which meant it was well into the evening. By now, my father would’ve surely picked up on the fact I hadn’t showed. I’d left my phone at home by accident, a mistake I didn’t realize I’d made until long after I was in Slayton’s world. Dread for the fight I’d have one way or another with my father stirred my gut.

Slayton handed me a helmet like we were nothing more than an ordinary couple heading out for the night.

“Wh-where are we going?” I inwardly cursed myself when it dawned on me that I’d yet to speak to this boy without a stutter much less without a tremble in my tone.

He scuffed his boots across the ground as he moved closer to me. At first, I only stared at his chest, at the cross he had dangling there between his hard pecs, but then I forced myself to meet his steely gaze. His head was angled and tilted down at me. In one slow sensual swoop, he leaned down and claimed my lips. I couldn’t help the strong draw of breath I took in, at the same time I had to question why he’d done the same—why he was acting like a forbidden delicacy had just grazed his lips. Like I was affecting him just as deeply as he was me.

His arm reached around me and pulled me gently, but possessively to him, the way old lovers would hold each other. I felt the heat of his palm slide down my ass and give it a smooth, playful squeeze. He leaned away from our kiss taking my bottom lip with him. When I felt the helmet crash down over my head once more, my eyes were still closed, spellbound by him.

I was astride the bike, molding my body to his before I figured out he never answered my question—that he’d yet to speak to me. At the same time, I noticed the short asshole from the night before leaning against the edge of the units we were driving by, smoking, glaring Slayton and me down. A danger I never sensed or saw.

Slayton had saved me again with a heart-stopping kiss. And I’d be damned if I knew why or exactly how dangerous my life was just then.