Let Him In (Let Him Trilogy) (19 page)

Heat rushed to her cheeks. She quickly took a gulp of cold milk.

Just imagine what he looks like naked.

Lacey strangled and then started coughing, sending white liquid spraying everywhere: the front of her blouse, tray of food, table, floor,
and
Clark, who she’d forgotten was even standing there.

While she slapped her chest and gulped for air, he swiped his milk-covered cell phone over his jeans-clad thigh. “You’re a liar,” he grumbled, “and when Heather comes back to visit, she’s gonna whoop your ass.”

Lacey managed to catch her breath only after Clark had already stormed off.  Not that she would have been able to deliver a comeback to his threat of a blonde bimbo beat-down—the perturbing thoughts of The Man had left her thunderstruck. 

Glancing around as she blinked away the tears the coughing fit had produced, Lacey noticed a sea of faces with varying expressions of revulsion and amusement. She grabbed her tray of sodden food and stood up, deciding that she’d had more than enough attention for one day.

Sammy bounded up the stairs, feeling like he was going to burst apart at any moment. He shot down the hall, came to an abrupt stop outside his brother’s bedroom door. Sitting on his bed wearing only a white towel—which, Sammy couldn’t help noticing, didn’t cover even half of what it was supposed to—Zane glanced up with an ear-to-ear grin.

Sammy tore his gaze from the massive piece of flesh hanging down between his brother’s thighs like one of those giant summer sausages. Life simply was not fair. At all.

He cleared his throat. “You look like the cat that ate the canary.”

Zane arched a brow. “Not yet.”

Sammy indicated the Blackberry in Zane’s hand with a jut of his chin. “So whatcha doin’? Texting one of your giiiiiirlfriends?”

“No, your sister.” A wicked-looking gleam filled Zane’s eyes. Sammy wondered if his were that radiant. “She just informed me she knows someone who thinks that I am—and I quote—a Greek god.”

Sammy shook his head in awe. His brother didn’t even have to leave the house to attract girls. “So is Sissy having fun in—” He frowned. “Where is she anyway?”

“She did not say. And yes, she is enjoying herself. Immensely.” Zane cocked his head to one side. “How was your day, Samuel?”

He smiled, started to speak but then giggled like an idiot instead.

Zane chuckled. “That good?”

Sammy stopped short of squealing as he all but leaped on to the bed. “You should have seen her face when she saw me! She just stopped right where she was and her mouth was hanging open and her eyes were all huge and stuff and then Clark—”

“Clark?” Zane repeated, his brow furrowing.

“Dumb jock who likes to give me shit.” He waved his hands in the air “But listen! Clark threw a spitball at me and Lacey—”

“Lacey?”

“Aaargh! The new girl! Now stop interrupting me and pay attention!”

Zane held up his hands in surrender. “Please, do continue.”

“Anyway, I had a spitball in my hair and she came over and told Clark she was gonna make him eat it if he didn’t get it off me!” He threw his head back and laughed as he repeatedly slapped his thighs. “Isn’t that great?”

“Did she? Make him eat it?”

“No, but she told him right in front of everyone that he was just in a bad mood because his girlfriend ditched him the other night for another guy!”

“Really.”

Sammy gave him an enthusiastic nod. “Yeah! And then she let me buy her lunch!”

“You had lunch with her?”

“Well, no, but she let me buy it!”

“How thoughtful of her.”

“No, it wasn’t like that. She forgot her money.”

“Sure she did.”

Sammy scowled. “It wasn’t like that,” he repeated. “She—”

Zane shot up off the bed and lost his towel, making Sammy lose his train of thought. “Is using you,” his brother said, the words coming out as a sharp exhale of breath as he bent over.

“No she isn’t,” Sammy snapped, averting his gaze. “She didn’t even want me to buy her lunch. She told me no.”

“And I bet it took you all of thirty seconds to change her mind.”

“I didn’t give her a choice,” Sammy said as he shot up off the bed. “I bought it without her approval and then left it with her.”

Zane cocked a brow. “Is that right.”

Sammy’s slammed his fists against his hips. “Yes!”

Zane’s lips compressed into a thin, white line—but just for a moment. And then he smiled as he wrapped the towel around his waist. “Calm down, Samuel.”

Sammy irritation skyrocketed at his brother’s condescending tone and patronizing expression. “Don’t tell me to calm down,” he snarled.

Zane’s arm shot out to grab Sammy as he moved toward the door, bringing him to a fast, jerking stop. “I am only trying to look out for you, brother.”

Sammy thought he saw genuine concern in Zane’s eyes, and for a split second he wondered if maybe he was being too hard on his brother.

But then he remembered Zane was gripping his arm.

Preventing him from leaving.

Holding him back.

Controlling
him.

And he was sick of it. “I don’t want or need you to,” Sammy bit out through clenched teeth.

“Fine,” Zane exhaled, throwing up his hands as he turned away. “You are on your own.”

“Good.”

“I only hope your desperation for companionship does not cloud your judgment.”

“I’m not stupid, Zane.”

“Never said you were, Samuel.” Glancing over his shoulder as he strolled to the closet, Zane met Sammy’s narrowed gaze. “However, there are many who would seek to exploit your trusting nature for their own selfish purposes.”

Sammy looked down at his feet when Zane’s towel dropped. “Lacey isn’t like that.”

“You
hope
she is not,” he corrected.

Wetting his lips in preparation to disagree, Sammy looked up and promptly forgot his argument when his gaze landed on Zane’s crotch. “Cheese ‘n rice,” he gasped, his eyes so wide he was surprised they didn’t pop out and roll across the floor. “It got even bigger.”

Zane’s eyebrows shot up as he stepped into a pair of slacks. “I beg your pardon?”

“How is that thing even usable?!”

His brows furrowing, Zane glanced down. He adjusted himself, then zipped up. “I am afraid I do not understand the question.”

“I know—well, I’ve read—that girls like some meat with their potatoes but that’s not a slab of beef, it’s the whole damn cow!”

Zane’s chest puffed out, his chin lifting as he slipped on a silk shirt. “Which is why I seek out the ones with voracious, demanding appetites.” He smirked. “When it comes to sex, brother, women like a little pain.”

“That’s not a little anything,” Sammy blurted. He swore he could feel heat rising to his cheeks as he quickly turned away. “Okay, bye now.”

“If you ever need advice—”

“I won’t,” Sammy interrupted as he bolted out of his brother’s bedroom. Zane’s amused chuckle followed him all the way to his. Sammy shut the door behind him and then banged his head against it once.

Something cracked.

He jumped back, his hand flying up to his forehead as his eyes landed on the slight dent that was now in the wood.

His mouth fell open. “I’m strong again,” he whispered in disbelief.

Sammy sat down on his bed, even more grateful now for his ability to keep his cool. If he ever got angry and hurt someone, he would never forgive himself...especially if that someone was Lacey.

“My new friend,” he murmured, standing back up when his stomach growled.

Smiling, Sammy made his way down to the basement, pausing outside the steel door for only a second before swinging it open. “Hi, Timmy,” he said to the burly, bald male in the seat closest to him as he stepped inside the room. The man began straining against the leather straps, his tattooed biceps bulging with the effort. “Oh sorry—
Tinker
. I forgot.”

Sammy leaned over him. “I’m sorry to have to do this, but like my brother said, it’s very important that I don’t allow myself to get too hungry.”

Tinker’s eyes bulged and he began screaming, the sound muffled by the duct tape covering his mouth.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it quick and painless, okay?”

“What are you doing?”

Standing up, Sammy looked over his shoulder. “Hav—” He stopped, hurried over to where Zane stood at the door. “Having dinner,” he whispered, so as not to scare Tinker anymore.

Zane looked like he could have been knocked flat on his back by a thrown peanut. “You are going to feed yourself?”

“Sshh,” he said, pressing his finger over his mouth. He glanced at Tinker and then looked back at Zane. “Keep your voice down. And yeah, I’m an adult, I can take care of myself.”

“You are going to feed directly from the source?”

“I don’t wanna cut his wrist or throat,” Sammy whispered, and then frowned as a thought occurred to him. “Would drinking from him be quicker and less painful or snapping his neck before I feed?”

Zane blinked. “Do you know how to snap someone’s neck?”

Sammy moved his mouth back and forth as he thought about that. “Um, no...”

“Would you like me to do it for you?”

“Is that, you know, more humane?”

“Yes.”

Sammy took a deep breath, slowly released it. “Okay.”

Zane took a step toward Tinker and then stopped, turning around to face Sammy. “For whom are you doing this, Samuel?”

“Myself,” Sammy replied, looking down at his feet. “I just...want to be normal.” He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound, only sad acceptance. “Who would’ve thought to do that I’d have to be abnormal?”

Zane’s brows furrowed as he searched Sammy’s eyes. In his brother’s, Sammy saw skepticism and curiosity. “Look, I’m not doing this for anyone else, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he lied. “I’m just tired of everyone looking at me and seeing a freak.” He shrugged. “No matter what I do I’ll still be one, but at least it won’t be so obvious on the outside, you know?”

Zane opened his mouth as if to speak and then snapped it closed. With a curt nod, he turned away.

Sammy swallowed hard, his stomach feeling like it was filled with hornets attacking him with fluttering wings of nausea and piercing stingers of hunger.

“Hold up,” he said as Zane grabbed Tinker’s head. After ripping off the duct tape, Sammy leaned over the man, who was crying instead of struggling and screaming. “I really am sorry about this, but it’s not my fault, you see? I was born this way so I don’t have a choice.”

“P-Please,” Tinker blubbered, his breath blowing the thick string of snot hanging from his nose. “I...I have a f-family.”

Sammy glanced up at Zane, who had an expectant, impatient look on his face. “So do I,” he whispered.

Zane rewarded him with a genuine smile of pride that made him feel even worse—

For a second or two.

He’s going to a better place, Sammy told himself, and then, closing his eyes, gave his brother the go ahead with a quick nod.

After he heard a loud crack, Sammy lunged.

Lacey sat in the driveway, the late afternoon sun beating down on and dampening her heated skin. She wished she had somewhere, anywhere, to go other than the rickety old house towering ominously before her. Something, anything, to do that would distract her from the mess that was her life... 

Because right now, she was stuck with it.

On her way home from school she’d stopped at Burger King, chowing down on a Whopper and fries while filling out an application. She hoped the blob of ketchup she’d dropped on it wouldn’t hurt her chances of getting hired. She needed a job. Needed to save up money...

Because she wasn’t moving anywhere else with Clint.

Lacey rubbed her cheek. The slap he’d given her had been the wake-up call that she’d needed: for him, it was and would always be about Amelia.

Only Amelia.

And Lacey had finally realized, and more importantly accepted, nothing she could say or do would ever change that.

And if the hate she now felt for her father turned out to be nothing more than a temporary side effect of anger, she knew exactly what to do to make him slap her again and get it back.

“Bitch whore,” Lacey snorted, shaking her head as she climbed off her scooter.

Scanning the army of trees surrounding her like wooden soldiers, Lacey slowly made her way up the overgrown path. How could he remain loyal to someone who didn’t know the meaning of the word? He had to have known about Amelia’s affairs. Wasn’t like she was discreet about anything: dressing up and going out every Friday night, coming home early Saturday morning smelling like cigarette smoke, alcohol and cologne  with her pantyhose stuffed into her purse.

Glancing up, Lacey almost fell flat on her face when her foot tangled in a long weed. Unlike the other night though, she managed to regain her balance, preventing her from kissing dirt. “Stupid grass,” she grumbled, turning her attention back to the porch’s slanted roof.

He must have jumped up, grabbed the edge and then pulled himself up.

“Stop,” she scolded herself, “don’t even start thinking about him again.”

Once inside her bedroom, Lacey stripped out of her jeans and T-shirt. “He saw my underwear,” she groaned, trying to remember which ones she’d had on that night as she peeled Eeyore from her damp body. Her cheeks got even hotter when she realized that with The Man standing behind her as she was dangling from the roof her butt was probably right in his face.

“No, it was too dark for him to see anything...unless, of course, he has X-ray vision to go with his supersonic hearing.”

Stop, damn it!

Lacey shimmied into a white tank top and matching shorts, socks—no matter how hot it was, she simply could not stand to go without them—and then slipped her shoes back on.

After loading a 90’s music CD into the player, Lacey fed Casper, scooped his dirty litter into a plastic Walmart bag and then headed downstairs. She tossed the bag into the trash can next to the back porch, which was even more dilapidated than the front, with the bottom step completely missing, and then went back into the kitchen.

“I am so sick of cleaning,” she groused as she removed the supplies from the broom closet. At that moment, hanging out at the store as Ghost Boy apparently liked to do seemed like a thrilling adventure.

Lacey poured the rest of the bleach into the bucket, took it over to the sink and then turned on the hot water tap. He’s probably there right now, she thought as she stared out the window.
Bored out of his mind, too.

She slipped on rubber gloves, dipped a sponge into the water and then started attacking the counters. Riddled with deep gouges, stains and even a few burn marks, the mottled-white surface showed no signs of improvement after ten minutes of furious scrubbing so she switched to the cabinets.

Ghost Boy’s being nice only because he wants something...and I doubt it’s a cow tipping partner, either. He’s a typical guy, just like—

Damn it!

Lacey turned her attention to the music coming from upstairs. She snickered when she realized what song was playing: Shaggy’s
Mr. Boombastic
. “Mr. Lova Lova is right, huh, Heather? Bet he gave you one helluva going away pres—”

Aargh!

Squeezing her eyes shut tight, Lacey shook her head hard and fast, as if the action would erase her thoughts like an image on an Etch-A-Sketch.

It didn’t.

“I can’t forget to pay Ghost Boy tomorrow,” she said, shifting her focus to the lesser of two evils. “I’ll thank him for buying my lunch, give him his money back and that will be that.”

Exhaling sharply, Lacey threw the torn sponge into the bucket of filthy water and then grabbed the broom leaning against the wall. She knew it wasn’t going to be that damn easy—he would probably want to pay her back for paying him back.

Romeo would probably like a payback, too...

“Fuck!” Lacey threw the broom, shook her fists at nothing in particular and then ran out of the house. She sprinted across the front lawn, up the dirt road, screaming every curse word that came to mind until she started up a hill that rivaled Mount Everest and the only thing she was capable of doing was gasping for air.

By the time she reached the top her legs felt like rubber and her lungs like they were about to explode. Lacey bent over, squeezing her knees hard as she coughed and wheezed. She may not be overweight, but she was definitely out of shape.

After her breathing returned to normal, Lacey realized her run and rant had actually made her feel a little better, so she took off down the hill. Half-way she lost her footing on the loose gravel and pitched forward with a shriek that turned into a grunt when she belly-flopped the hard ground, rocks of all shapes and sizes sinking into her tender flesh.

Lacey closed her eyes and focused on the pain, which turned out to be a rather easy thing to do. All she could feel and think about was the stinging and throbbing in her hands, forearms, breasts, stomach, thighs and knees
.

Smiling, she relished the peace for a moment longer before pushing herself up. After a quick glance at her bleeding hands and knees, she continued her run, disappointed when she made it to the bottom of the hill without falling again. She started back up, sprinting as fast as she could. Reaching the top, she nearly toppled over when she resumed the hands on the knees position, legs feeling boneless, head like a balloon and heart like a jackhammer inside her tight chest.

More coughing, wheezing and gasping ensued.

After she was able to breathe normally again, Lacey stood up. Stretched. Glanced down at her damp, filthy clothes, the sweat and blood trickling down various parts of her body.
I look like the star of a horror movie.

For once she was thankful to be in the middle of nowhere, away from prying—

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

Lacey yelped and jumped backwards, her hand flying up to her chest as her heart high-fived her tonsils. She snapped her head in the direction of the noise. Blinked. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she murmured as The Man poked his head out of the van’s open window.

“We meet again,” he said in a voice as gravelly as the road she stood upon. He flashed her a straight, even, unnaturally white smile. “I am beginning to suspect you may be stalking me.”

Pompous ass.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied, and then rolled her eyes. “You are so not my type.”

The door flew open and The Man’s polished Oxfords hit the dirt. He stormed toward her on the longest pair of legs—encased in another pair of black slacks—she had ever seen. His unbuttoned black silk shirt whipped in the breeze his fast moving body created, as did the long bangs of his otherwise short hair. 

Sweet gherkins, he was a sight to behold. There should have been a giant S tattooed on his chest...his unbelievably broad chest...his unbelievably broad chest lightly dusted with dark hair—

Not your type, huh?

Oh shut the hell up.

The Man’s scent reached Lacey before he did, and she couldn’t resist taking a deep breath, greedily drawing his intoxicating essence deep within her. Then, he was looming over her, staring down with those ice-blue eyes. She half expected laser beams to shoot out of them, disintegrating her on the spot...or her clothes.

I must have hit my head when I fell. Again. Damaged my brain. Again. Yeah, that’s definitely it.

“What is then?” he said.

“Huh?” 

“Your type.”

Lacey cleared her throat. “That’s none of your business.”

“Nonetheless, I wish to know.”

“Do I look like a fucking genie to you?” she spat, immediately regretting her sarcasm when he gave her a painfully slow once-over.

“No,” he said, his eyes lingering on her suddenly taut nipples. “You look like an angel.”

Lacey snorted as she quickly crossed her arms over her breasts, which felt really heavy all of a sudden. And why the hell were her nipples tingling like that?! “Oh, please—does that really work on anyone?”

“You would be surprised.”

“Actually, I wouldn’t. Most women are incredibly gullible.”

He arched one dark brow. “But not you.”

“No,” she replied, tilting her chin up. “Especially when it comes to men.”

“I am not like—”

“All the others?” Lacey rolled her eyes. “And yet you’re familiar with the slogan of the male species.”

He gave her a lop-sided grin. She vaguely recalled thinking his lips were nearly non-existent the first time she’d seen him, but now they seemed rather full. Did he get stung by a bee? Have an allergic reaction to shellfish? Or perhaps Heather had done what Lacey had wanted to do and tried to slap that irritating smirk off his face.

“I think it is time for—”

Her breath hitched. “What?” she asked, stepping back. “Time for what?”

He chuckled, the sound making her scalp prickle. “Proper introductions,” he said, and then, with a heart-stopping smile, offered his hand. “Zane.”

Lacey regarded the appendage as if it was a big fat hairy tarantula. “Sorry, not much for the touchy-feely stuff.” As if determined to prove otherwise, her body responded to her statement with a burst of throbbing heat at the core of it, which almost made her moan out loud.

“Already,” Zane said, dropping his hand, “something in common.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, are you going to divulge your name or do I have to refer to you as
angel
from this point on?” 

Forcing her gaze from the muscles threatening to rip the thin fabric of the sleeves they were encased in, Lacey said, “I don’t think your girlfriend would appreciate that—she’s a real bitch.”

“I have heard it takes one to know one.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me,” she said, returning his smirk.

“Then what will?”

“Nothing in Heaven or Hell or on earth,” she replied sweetly.

“You are a little brat,” he bit out through clenched teeth, flexing his chest muscles as he uncrossed his arms. “One in crucial need of a lesson in manners.”

“And you are a cocky asshole,” she snapped back, uncrossing her arms as well. “One in crucial need of a lesson in how to get the fuck over yourself.”

Zane had bridged the short distance between them before Lacey even realized he’d moved, and then leaned in so close that their noses almost touched. His heated, forceful breaths caressed her lips as his mouth hovered over them. “Careful,” he growled.

Lacey felt the familiar icy tingle of adrenaline zipping through her body. Her deep, slow breaths turned short and quick. Her heart sped up, tapping against her chest as if to say,
Psst! Hey, Hey! Not a good idea!,
as she j
abbed his chest with her finger. “Why don’t you shove your careful not so carefully up your ass?” 

Zane seized her, his large hand completely swallowing her wrist. “Do not
ever
do that again,” he snarled, his eyes appearing to be a shade darker than they’d been only a couple seconds ago.

“Or what?” Lacey snorted. “You’ll hurt me?”

Moving faster than Lacey could blink, Zane’s other arm shot out to snake around her back. With a hard jerk he pulled her forward, smashing her body against his. “Yes,” he answered, his already deep voice lowering an octave, “by taking you across my knees.”

Lacey’s fast-beating heart felt like it had shot up her throat and into her mouth. She couldn’t breathe let alone speak, which was a damn good thing since her pride was demanding that she tell him she’d like to see him try it. What stopped her was the look in his darkening eyes. She didn’t need to be a mind-reader to know he was secretly hoping she’d challenge him so that he could make good on his threat.

And she had no doubt that he would. 

Lacey could envision him throwing her over his shoulder and then carrying her to his van. Sitting down on the back seat and then forcing her across his lap. Peeling off her shorts and then spanking her until her butt was as red as she knew her face was just from thinking about it.

Zane’s deep, rumbling growl yanked Lacey out of her mind and into her body. The internal thoughts became external sensations as she became aware of his dizzying scent, suffocating heat, smooth hardness—