Dragon: A Bad Boy Romance (9 page)

“But I just wanted the best for you,” he says. “I wanted you to be safe, and married.” He can't see his part in it, so then I get pissed off and the argument starts up again. And on and on it goes. Finally, eventually, he comes to realize that he needs to loosen the bonds and give me some freedom. We have the conversation that we should have had the night of my engagement, and it goes well.

The only thing he won't relent on is Dragon.

“Why are you being such an ass?” I yell. “He saved me! Are you defending Carl?”

“I am
not
defending that little prick,” he shoots back. “But Dragon shoulda come to
me.
” He prods himself in the chest, emphasizing his point. “He had no business taking it on himself. He's a fucking bodyguard!”

I couldn't explain to my father why Dragon had reacted so harshly without revealing that he'd been more than a bodyguard. I change tack.

“Even so, Dad,” I say in a gentler tone. “I want to check on him. He was still unconscious when you took him home. He could be dead...”

“He was coming round in the car,” he says sulkily, “but fine. Go and check on him if you want. Make sure he knows he's not getting paid, though!”

~~~~~~~

As I knock on Dragon's door, I realize I feel a flutter of nerves. I was so focused on getting my father's permission that it never occurred to me that Dragon might not want to see me, at least not until now. After all, my father held him at gun point, knocked him out, and then dumped him back at home without a penny of the money he earned. Freeman might not be a popular name around here. But it's too late to turn back now, and besides, I
have
to see him. I have to thank him for what he did, even if he doesn't want to hear it.

He opens the door and I gasp. His eye is blackened.

“Relax, I've had worse,” he says. “In fact, I've given worse.”

He holds up his right hand. The knuckles are cracked and swollen.

“What can I do for you, Honey?”

“I've... I've come to see how you are.”

“Well, you've seen,” he says, going to close the door in my face.

“Wait! I've come to say thank you, as well. For what you did.”

He sighs. “You want a coffee?”

His apartment is small, but surprisingly clean and tidy. I follow him into the kitchen as he starts to go about making the coffee.

“So, what happened after I checked out?” he asks.

I tell him that Carl has vanished, and that my father has come round to the idea of letting me have a few small freedoms.

“Like this?” he grins. “I don't imagine he was thrilled at the idea of you coming over here. And since I'm not riddled with bullet holes, I'm guessing you didn't tell him about our... connection.”

The word hangs in the air, and I know that like me, he's picturing us together, remembering all the times we were together. It's like somebody whacked the thermostat up to full. The air is suddenly hot and thick. I don't even know who moves first, just that one minute we're standing there awkwardly, and the next minute we're in each other's arms, kissing, touching, stroking.

He's urgent and passionate, but gentle too, mindful of my delicate, bruised skin. I gently kiss the broken skin of his knuckles. He flinches slightly but doesn't stop me, stroking my hair before moving down to my back, my belly, my breasts.

And then somehow we're naked on the kitchen table and he's inside me, and it's good, hot and hard but sweet, too – and I feel more connected to him than I've ever felt to anyone, ever. I know he feels it too because he's different, moaning my name into my ear as he spills his seed inside me. As I orgasm, I don't want it to stop, ever. I wish that I could be frozen in this moment forever...

~~~~~~~

Afterwards, we just... hang out. Like we've done many times before, but this time it's different. Before, he was being paid – or at least expecting to be paid, I remind myself – to spend time with me at my house. Now, it's purely because we want to. And it's lovely, just to chill out without any tension or agenda or drama. For the first time, we're really talking. He tells me about his boxing career, and the old man that trains him. It sounds like he's something of a father figure to Dragon. I tell him about my mom, and how hard it was when she passed, especially on my dad.

We're talking about tattoos, my finger tracing the Chinese dragon that covers his left shoulder, when a thought occurs to me. I can't believe I've never realized this until now.

“Dragon?” I say.

“Yeah?”

“No. I mean, Dragon – that can't be your real name, surely?”

He laughs. “Sure it is. My parents gave me this tattoo when I was just a couple of days old. Of course, it was a picture of a newt back then...”

“Shut up and tell me,” I say, laughing.

“David,” he admits. “David Nolan, at your service.”

“So what came first, the nickname or the tattoo?”

“The nickname. I've had it since I was a little kid. I kind of want to make up a really cool story about why they called me that, but the truth is, I just really liked dragons. I was a geeky kid,” he says.

“That's sweet!” I say.

“What about you?” he says, grinning. His voice becomes high pitched as he mimicks me. “That can't be your real name, surely?”

I punch him in the chest. “Do you mind? My mother gave me that name! And I do
not
talk like that,
David
!” I'm trying to sound outraged, but I'm laughing too hard to pull it off convincingly...

~~~~~~~

I'm sitting on the couch with his arms wrapped around me, and we're watching some stupid show on TV, when my phone rings. It's my father. I let it go to voicemail, but I know what it means.

“Time to go home?” Dragon asks with a wry smile.

“Yeah,” I say, stretching and yawning.

He gets up too, and starts walking me to the door.

“So,” I say, “when do you want to do this again?”

His face is conflicted, and he clears his throat before he speaks.

“Look, Honey,” he begins. “This... this can't become a thing.”

I feel like I've been punched in the stomach.

“Don't you... like me?” I say, like a child. I regret the words as soon as they come out of my mouth. I've been through too much to stand here begging some guy to see me again.

“It's not that,” he says. “Your father fucking hates me. And, you know, a lot's happened. You need to take some time, make sure that you're not just doing this because you're grateful I ran that asshole out of town. Nothing's changed, not really, since the last time we had this conversation. You need to stand on your own two feet.”

I feel my temper flaring. Not just because he's rejecting me,
again,
but because deep down I know he's right. I can't go through life clinging to one man and then the next. I need some space, and some time. That doesn't take the sting out of it, though. I open the door.

“See you around,” I snap.

He grabs my wrist.

“I'm not going anywhere,” he says, kissing me.

I try to be cold, and reject him like he's rejecting me, but I can't help it. I relax, and the hard press of his lips against mine turns into a long, lingering kiss.

“See you around,” I repeat, but this time my voice is warm.

“Most definitely,” he says with a grin as he closes the door.

I'm parked right outside, so it's not too far to the car. As I cross the lot, I find myself feeling lighter, like I have a future for the first time. My own future, one that I can choose, instead of one that's chosen for me or one that I've just fallen into.

I'm so lost in my own happy thoughts that I don't hear the person move up behind me. The first I know of it is when the hypodermic needle slides coldly into the side of my neck...

Chapter Seven - Dragon

As I lie in bed, watching the night turn to dawn, I wonder if I've done the right thing by sending her away. I know I have, but if that's the case, why do I feel like I've just made a huge fuck up?

I grab a beer from the fridge - breakfast of champions - and sit down on the couch, trying not to notice how empty and big it seems, now that I'm the only one sitting on it. I can't concentrate, not on the TV, not on anything. My mind keeps wandering back to her. Frustrated, I decide that I need to get out of here. It's too early to go down to the gym and train, but I can go for a run. I down the last few mouthfuls of beer and get changed into my running gear.

An hour or so later, and I'm starting to feel better. I've pushed myself hard, pounding the streets relentlessly. My thighs and calves are aching, and my breath is starting to come ragged in my chest. It's always the way with me – the physical exertion seems to compress the noise in my head, making it smaller and easier to manage.

I
have
done the right thing. Maybe not for me, but for her. If she was with me, then her relationship with her father would be impossible to manage. He'd never swallow it down, and I'd come between them. Even as it is, I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to go on fighting in this town without feeling the weight of his wrath. I've done nothing wrong, at least not by the code I live by, but I can never explain that to him. If he knew I'd been sleeping with Honey for months, before and during my employment, he would kill me. If Honey and I were together, then who knows what he'd do.

I'd like to think that he'd lay off, but on the other hand, this is the guy who was forcing her into marrying that abusive asshole, just because he was a rich lawyer. Yeah, he didn't know that the douchebag was hitting her, but he must have known she didn't love him, didn't want him. And even before that, he'd practically kept her a prisoner since the mom died. When Honey had talked about it, she didn't seem to realize how crazy it sounded. Or maybe she did, and she was just covering for him. She loves him, that much is clear. Being with me would fracture and twist that love until it was broken and unrecognizable.

I can't do that to her. I know more than anyone what it's like to have a hole in your life where your father should be. Or, more accurately, an asshole. I'd have been better off alone than with him. The day that Child Protective Services took me away was the greatest day of my life, although it hadn't felt like it at the time, and not for a long time after. But, hindsight is 20/20 as they say. I'd been five years old when I was taken from my home, and sent to stay in the house of an older couple who had no children of their own. Mr and Mrs Patrick – known to those who loved them, and many did, as Paddy and Mrs Paddy.

I'd been terrified. A new house, with new rules to learn, and new parents to issue punishment if the rules were broken. It took me a long time to learn that in this new house, it was okay to touch things, to make noise, to laugh and play and run about in the yard. A couple of days in, I'd dropped a cereal bowl and it had smashed on the tile floor. I'd wet myself with fear – breaking something was a Very Bad Thing, one of the worst things you could do – but Mrs Paddy had just hugged me, and told me it didn't matter, it was an accident, and besides, there was plenty more cereal and plenty more bowls, come and look. I'd thought it was a trick, a trap, but it wasn't.

If I'd have stayed with my father, who knows how I would have turned out. Like Carl, probably. The whipped and cowed often grow up to be bullies and thugs – it's the only way they know how to feel powerful, in control. Instead, Paddy taught me to channel my rage and aggression, to control it instead of letting it control me. I think they'd have liked me to get a formal education, but that always reminded me too much of my father. Instead, I became a fighter. I knew I was finally free of my father's malignant shadow the day I stopped dreaming of unmasking him for the monster that he is. He was on the TV, his wife beside him, smiling and waving at the people who had elected him state Governor. I could take it all away from him with a single phone call – any news outlet in the country would fall over themselves to run my story – but I couldn't care less. Fuck him. I know who I am, now, and I know what's important in life. It's sure as shit not him.

So yeah
, I think as I pound the pavement, pouring out the tension and frustration,
maybe I'm projecting a little, but so what?
Honey's father loves her, really, genuinely loves her, and I can't get in the way of that. Besides, she'll meet someone else. She's a great girl – not just hot and sexy, but sweet and kind. She needs to stand up for herself a little more, and learn some self-reliance, but she'll make out okay, I'm sure of it.

As I hit the final stretch, I can see Freeman's car parked outside my building.
Oh shit, round two.
There's nothing I can do about it, no point running away. Besides, it's not in my nature. Maybe it's another beating, or maybe this time he'll use the firearm he waved in my face earlier. Either way, all I can do is make a stand and go down fighting.

As I reach his car, he
bursts
out of the drivers seat and launches himself at me, grabbing the front of my sweat-soaked shirt with his fists. His eyes are wild – he's completely fucking lost it. I'm about to headbutt him when he speaks.

“She's gone! They've taken her! They've taken my baby girl!”

He falls to his knees, right there on the parking lot, sobbing.
Fuck.

Chapter Eight - Honey

The light is harsh, searing my retinas. I close my eyes and see halos of orange burning there. There's something important, something I need to remember, but it floats away like smoke. I feel my mind slipping away, as I sink back down into the darkness.