Pull (Push #2) (18 page)

“I promise you it had nothing to do with your brother.”

“So then where were you? And why is your face a mess?”

“Come on…let’s go inside.” I don’t want to talk about this in my car.

We walk into the building together and go up to her apartment. She walks into the kitchen and starts talking again.

“I want to know exactly what happened.” I hear the fridge door open on the other side of the kitchen wall.

“I got the shit kicked out of me by a fifty-year-old junkie.”

Her body bursts out of the kitchen doorway, and she stands there staring at me, eyes open wide.

“Yep. I got creamed by a middle-aged crack-head,” I repeat. “We had a disagreement about something.”

“Wow,” she says, wearing a look of amused shock. “That sucks.”

“Yes, it does,” I say with a smirk of my own.

“Who was he?”

“Remember Nikki? The one from the liquor store?” I ask cautiously. She nods her head and rolls her eyes. Her face is loaded with disgust and suspicion. “Well, her man Franklin’s a big dude. He landed a couple good ones to my face.”

“Seriously?” She leans her side into the doorframe.

“Yep. Unfortunately, Nikki and her pimp, Ray, are involved in our new poker set-up,” I answer with a sheepish shrug. Up until now, Emma had no clue that Nikki and Ray are—
were—
involved in our new poker game.

“Really? What does she have to do with poker?” Her wheels are turning. It’s a question I already anticipated. It’s time to tell her about our added game offerings.

“Because Nikki and a few of her coworkers are going to be peddling Ray’s wares at the game.”

“Oh,” she says quickly and quietly. After a pause she scrunches up her brow and asks, “Those guys go for that sort of thing?”

“Uh, yeah,” I reply, surprised by her question.

“Huh.” She looks perplexed. “But I thought you said you stopped doing that stuff after you met me.”

“I did. But this isn’t for me. It’s for my guests.”

“It’s probably gonna make you guys a lot of money, huh?”

“That’s the hope. We’ll have it in the back because not everyone’s going to be interested, you know? I mean, whatever knocks your rocks, right?”

“Knocks your rocks?” she says, letting out a small laugh.

“Yeah. What? You never heard that before?” I’m thankful for the near-change of subject.

“No. But I like it.” She’s smiling now, and I’m feeling better.

“It’s like ‘whatever floats your boat.’”

“Yeah, I get it. Real clever.” She walks over to me and puts her hands around my waist, hugging me and pushing her face into the front of my shoulder. “So what happened to your phone then? Why didn’t you call?”

“Franklin took it from me and threw it against the wall. Right before he landed those punches.”

“Didn’t you fight back?” She pulls her chest away from me and looks up at my face, her hands still holding my waist. She looks confused and sweet and sexy as sin. “I bet you could’ve beat his goddamned sorry ass in the blink of an eye,” she adds.

That’s my girl.

“I didn’t fight back because I could see that he was totally fucking high, and he’s always a loose cannon, even when he’s semi-sober. I didn’t want to push my luck.”

“Why did he hit you in the first place?”

I take a deep breath and make a choice. A grown-up choice. I’m going to tell her the truth.

“Because I told Ray that Nikki stole money from me, and Franklin found out about it.”

There’s an immediate shift in Emma’s demeanor. She lets go of my body and steps back, keeping her arms at her sides and straightening her mouth into a suspicious line.

“She stole money from you? Are you serious? How much?” she asks.

“None.”

“Then why did you tell Ray she did?”

I have no idea how she’s going to handle hearing the truth, but I have to say it. I have to tell her what happened. Because that’s what I do now. I tell her the truth.

“Because I needed to find a way to get rid of Ray, and I wanted Franklin to be the one to do it. I had to give Franklin enough incentive, so I made up a story about her stealing from me and running off. And then I let the two of them have at it.” I want to tell her the rest of the story, but before I can say another word, she’s spitting questions out at me.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Her eyes open wide and she tilts her head to the side. “And when you say that you needed to find a way to get rid of Ray, you don’t mean you got him killed or something, do you? David, tell me you didn’t do something stupid today. Tell me you didn’t mess with a fucking drug dealer.”

“I could tell you that…but if I did, I’d be lying. I promised to tell you the truth, Emma, and so I’m going to. You might not like what I’m going to tell you, but hear me out. I had good reason to do what I did.” Her skin is red now, and she’s starting to pace the room. She isn’t happy. That much is clear as a fucking bell.

“Good reason? Jesus, David. You have to know how moronic that sounds. There is never a good reason to fuck with someone like that. Never.”

“Even if it was to protect you?”

She doesn’t skip a beat.

“What the fuck do
I
have to do with Ray and Nikki and this Franklin guy? Seriously? I don’t wanna hear any of this bullshit.” She stops pacing, crosses her arms over her chest, and turns her face toward mine. She’s in a no-holds-barred rage, but she’s trying to stuff it back down inside. I think because a small part of her believes I’m telling the truth.

“It isn’t bullshit, Emma. It’s the truth. Every word of it. I had to find a way to get rid of Ray because Nikki told him about you, and he threatened your safety if I didn’t cooperate with his plans to take over the game.” I suck in a deep breath and put my hands on her shoulders, trying to settle her. “Remember when I sent you that text telling you that anyone who touches you will meet their maker before they can blink? Well, I meant it. There is no way in hell I’m going to let anyone threaten you and not do something about it. You can be as angry as you want, but I did this to keep you safe. I did what needed to be done.”

“And what exactly was that?” she asks, her eyes still filled with anger and uncertainty.

I tell Emma the whole story. Everything. I tell her how I set it up and what happened in Ray’s office. I tell her that the reason I couldn’t pick her up today was because Franklin wouldn’t leave the damn room. I tell her about my phone call with Xavier and how I put him on the path to finding Franklin. By the time I’m finished, she’s looking a lot less confused and a little less enraged.

“Regardless of your reasons for doing it, you have to know how risky it was,” she says when I’m finished, her voice far calmer than the last time she spoke. “I mean, what if Franklin had decided to shoot you, too? What if one, or both, of those men had figured out how much you were manipulating them?” She’s right. Both of these things were
major risks.

I say the only thing I can say. “To get rid of big risks, sometimes you have to take little ones.”

She uncrosses her arms and her eyes soften. A full minute passes before she decides to talk again. This time, her voice is quiet and cool. “Well, that was one hell of a
little
risk, don’t you think? I know you did what you felt you needed to do to keep me safe, but I just don’t want you to get hurt, you know? Because I don’t know what I’d do without my superhero.”

“I did everything in my power to ensure that I didn’t get hurt. I hope you know that. And I didn’t take any of it lightly.” I put my arms around her waist and kiss the top of her head. Her scalp is warm.

“Is that why you took my gun with you?”

Wait…w
hat
?

I tip my face down to her and breathe in, trying to quickly figure out how she knows the gun is no longer in her drawer.

“How do you know I had your gun?” I ask, my voice full of bewilderment.

“Because when Brad rang the doorbell, Matt and I thought Ricky was out there.” My mind is reeling. First she tells me she thought Ricky
got
me, and now she’s telling me she thought he was at her door? Jesus. Both her words and her body language are telling me that she’s not just worried about Ricky, she’s fucking terrified of him. She’s still terrified that he’s going to come back.

“I ran back to my bedroom to get it,” she continues, “and the drawer was empty.”

Nikki’s words course through my brain, and I feel sick inside. What if Emma really had needed the gun? What if Ricky’s still watching her? Fuck me for taking it. Fuck me for making her feel so vulnerable.

“I took it as insurance. Just in case things didn’t work out as I’d planned,” I say, the sourness of regret filling my mouth. “I’m sorry. I never should’ve taken it, and I promise that from here on out, it’ll be right where it belongs.”

“If there’s ever a next time—and I hope to hell there isn’t—take your own damn gun,” she says. The corners of her mouth tilt up to form a very small, very reassuring smile.

“It’s a deal.”

She sighs loudly, rolls her eyes, and then adds, “You and your deals.”

And just like that, an enormous smile spreads across her face, lifting her brow and lightening her eyes. More than anything, I want to keep that sweet smile safe. I want her to never feel the need to open that bottom drawer ever again. I want to be her superhero. For real.

She wraps herself around me and squeezes, holding me tight against her, validating everything that is crazy about us. Hammering home her love and acceptance and understanding. Making everything right again.

“So…can I knock your rocks now or what?” she says, breaking our long silence with her less-than-subtle words. I want to bend down and kiss her mouth, but I’m keenly aware of the painful split in my lip.

“Yes, but go easy on me. I’m a wounded man,” I say, now feeling comfortable enough to lay on a playful, boyish tone.

“I can see that.” She lifts herself up on her toes and plants a tiny, light kiss on my cut lip. “Don’t worry. I’ll avoid damaging your pretty face any more than it already is.”

“Thanks,” I say with genuine gratitude.

“No problem.”

She breaks the hug and steps back a few paces, regarding me intently.

“I wasn’t aware that you loved me just for my pretty face,” I say.

“Well, that and your tool belt.” Her face lights with amusement, her cheeks arch up into her eyes.

“You want me to run upstairs for a pair of pliers or something?”

“No. I just want you to take your shirt off.”

I smile back at her, grab the hem of Cam’s shirt, and lift it up over my head. I drop it on the floor next to me.

“Nice,” she says with a sinful inflection. “I want you to take those jeans off, too.”

“Not till you get rid of your fancy-ass blouse.”

“My rules this time,” she says boldly. “Not yours.” I arch my eyebrows up at her and consider flipping her the bird just to tease her, but I don’t want to sour her attitude, even in a moment of jest.

I do as she says, unzipping my jeans and quickly taking them off.

“Atta boy.” I must look a little pensive or something because she quickly adds, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you dance around or anything.”

“Smart girl.”

“So it’s been said.”

She’s stepping over to me now, unbuttoning her blouse. She drops it to the floor and then unzips her skirt. As I follow her down the hallway, I can’t help but look at the way her panties ride along the curve of her ass, and though they’re not the light blue ones with the black lace, I don’t take my eyes off of them until we reach the bedroom.

Without turning to look at me, Emma pulls the comforter off her bed and spreads it out on the floor, like some kind of kinky picnic blanket.

“Sit on the edge of the bed,” she says, wildfire pulsing beneath her skin. I do as I’m told, though I’d much prefer to touch her than sit by myself on the bed.

Emma takes off her bra, tosses it on her dresser, and lies down on top of the comforter. What the hell is she doing?

She bends her knees so her feet are flat against the floor. If she’s going to do what I think she’s going to do, I am one lucky motherfucker. Her hands move to her breasts, rubbing them, rolling them around between her fingers, pinching and tugging at them as she groans softly. Then they move down the center of her body to the top of her thighs. Thank God her eyes are closed because I don’t want her to see me drooling. She still has her panties on, and she starts rubbing herself through them. Up and down her fingers move, slender and experienced. The satiny fabric is the only thing blocking my view—and her access. Then her hands slip inside, and she strokes herself with her fingers. She’s moaning now and raising her hips up off the floor in response to her own touch. An exhale escapes her lips, and she slowly drags her panties down off her legs so they are around her ankles like a limp pair of fabric shackles. Her fingers return to their mark, skimming from side to side. She’s spreading herself open for me. She’s goading me with a series of needful, lusty groans, though I’m still as stone because I don’t want her to stop. I could watch this forever.