Savior (An Impossible Novel) (7 page)

“Greg.  Please.  You’re hurting me.”  My voice was weak as I gasped for air.

Almost as quickly as he had pinned me, he was torn away from me.  Greg was on the floor, his face pressed into the hardwood.  Clayton had twisted his arm behind his back, lifting it away from his body.  Greg cried out in obvious pain.

“You’re going to break my arm!”  He wailed.

Panic shot through me.  “Clayton!  Let him go!”

He ignored me.  “Apologize,” he ordered, his voice tight with suppressed fury.  As he spoke, he jerked on Greg’s arm.  My brother whimpered.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out.

“You’re not going to touch her again.  Do you understand?”

“Yes!”  He cried out.  “Fuck!  I’m sorry!”

“Clayton, please!  Stop hurting him,” I begged.

Clayton looked up at me, and most of the fury drained from his eyes when they met mine.  He stood, releasing Greg.  My brother pushed himself to his feet, wincing as he worked his arm back and forth.  Despite his apologies, he was still glowering at me.  He turned sharply and strode towards the door.

“Where are you going?”  Anxiety made my voice high and thin.  I didn’t want him to leave.  Not when he was so enraged.  Who knew what he might do?  He was probably going to use again.

He glanced back at me.  “Where do you think?”  He sneered.  His glare briefly turned on Clayton.  “And don’t worry.  I’ll do my job.  But I’m pretty sure it’ll be more convincing if I’m using.”

Clayton’s expression was thunderous, but he made no move to stop him.  “We’ll be watching you,” he said simply.  It sounded more like a warning than a reassurance of his safety.

Greg just rolled his eyes and stalked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

My legs refused to support me as a torrent of emotion overwhelmed me.  I sat down heavily on my bed and buried my face in my hands, my fingers twining in my hair and pulling at it.  But the resultant small, sharp pain did little to distract me from the agony that was clawing at my heart.

This was what I had always been afraid of.  This was why I had never been firm with Greg about getting clean.  He had turned on me, his addiction burning away any love or loyalty he had ever felt for me
.  But I had never imagined he would actually attack me, to try to cause me physical harm.  All I had ever done was protect him, but now it seemed I was going to have to protect myself from him.  Still, I knew I would never raise a hand against him.  After the first time he had come to me in tears, I had taken the hits for him from too many of my mom’s asshole boyfriends; the instinct to keep him from harm was so deeply ingrained in me that I would never be able to hurt him.

All I could do was pray
he would keep his word and help the FBI.  Then Clayton would force him to go to rehab.  I would have my brother back.

If he’ll ever speak to you again after what you’ve done.

Chapter 4

The mattress shifted as Clayton sat down beside me.  His long fingers encircled my wrists and gently pull
ed my hands from my face so I couldn’t tug at my hair.  Then his arm was around my back, pulling me against his chest.  He held me as I cried long and hard, his fingers stroking up and down my back in a soothing rhythm.  Just as had happened with Sharon, I was again struck by the unfamiliarity of being cared for.  Usually, I would have been ashamed for anyone to see this vulnerable, messed-up side of me.  But Clayton knew my dark secret now, and still he was holding me.  I didn’t seem to disgust him.

But I had been crying far too much today for my own comfort.  It was a self-indulgent act that didn’t do anyone any good whatsoever.  Willing myself to take control of my emotions, I drew in several deep, shaky breaths.  As I centered myself, I was embarrassed to realize that Clayton’s expensive suit was soaked with my tears.

“Your suit’s all wet,” I mumbled.  “Sorry.”

He hooked a finger under my chin and lifted my face to his.  His soft smile helped to ease some of the tension that lingered in my chest.

“It’s an occupational hazard.”

“Oh?”  My brows rose.  “Do women often cry in your arms in your line of work?”

His smile suddenly looked a bit forced, and his eyes darkened.  “Not so much lately.”

A flash of irrational jealously spiked through me as I wondered what woman he had been holding.  He did his best to hide it, but his expression told me she was someone he had cared about a great deal.

I shoved down my foolish reaction, suppressing the urge to pull away from him and pout.  I didn’t care about Clayton in that way.  He seemed so sweet at times, but the fact of the matter was he was putting Greg in a dangerous situation.  Even if he was just trying to help, I wished he would just put my brother through rehab and then leave him be.  The FBI we coercing Greg into spying on the Kings every bit as much as the gang had coerced him into selling for them.  They had given him an ultimatum: help the FBI or be murdered in prison.

I looked up at Clayton beseechingly.

“Please, don’t do this to him.  You don’t have to arrest Greg.  If you just put him in rehab, he’ll be okay.  He doesn’t have to spy for you.  You’re going to get him killed.”

Clayton’s expression was twisted with regret, and there was something akin to ang
uish in his eyes.  “I know this isn’t easy for you, Rose,” he said softly.  “And I know it won’t be easy for Greg either.  If it were as simple as getting him clean, then that’s what I would do.  Believe it or not, I’m not just out to throw addicts in prison.  That doesn’t help anyone.  But what’s happening right now with the Kings is very serious.  There are hundreds of other people like Greg out there right now, people who are being ruthlessly manipulated into doing the Kings’ bidding.  It has to stop, Rose.  And Greg can help us with that.”

“Why him?”
  I asked bitterly.  “Why can’t you get someone else?”

He looked at me sadly.  “There are others helping us, Rose.  But the Kings are split into rival factions.  It only makes them m
ore dangerous, and it means it will take more than one person to take them all down.  We’ve been doing what we can, but it’s not enough.  People are suffering, Rose.  People are dying.  If it weren’t your brother taking on this task, it would be someone else’s.  This gives Greg a chance to vindicate himself, to free himself from the habit that has taken over his life.  In the end, he will be better for it.  I’m not going to let anyone hurt him, Rose.  I swear.”

I still wanted to argue, to plead with him to change his mind.

“If it weren’t your brother taking on this task, it would be someone else’s.”

A nasty lit
tle voice inside of me said I didn’t care about anyone else’s brother.  Greg was
mine. 
Some other faceless addict could take his place.

But that was wrong, and I instantly felt sickened by myself at the selfish thought
.  After knowing everything Greg had gone through, everything he had put me through…  I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.  And I certainly wouldn’t want to put anyone in the situation we were in now.  I was terrified for my brother, and more than a little scared for myself.  But Clayton was right: helping the FBI would be good for Greg.  When he got clean, he would be able to see that.  The good he would do would help him get past what he had become, would help him find himself again.  He had always been such a sweet kid.  But he was too trusting; he had believed the best in everyone to a fault.  Then at seventeen he had graduated high school and moved out on his own.  It only took a few months for the real world to crush that trust right out of him.  Maybe if I hadn’t sheltered him so carefully from bad people, he would have known how to deal with it.  When it came down to it, that was the real reason why I ran myself ragged trying to look after him.  I loved him fiercely and had always tried to keep him safe, but ultimately it was my fault that he had turned to the drugs.  A little tough love and a healthy dose of reality were long overdue for Greg.  It was time for me to step up to the plate and push him; I couldn’t coddle him any longer.

Finally, I nodded, accepting the truth of what Clayton had said.

“You’ll get him in rehab when this is over, right?  Even if he doesn’t want to go?”

“Yes.  I’ll make him go, Rose.  He won’t like me for it – and he might not like you for a while either – but you will get your brother back.”  He was studying me intently, and I couldn’t
help being captivated by his gorgeous eyes: azure shot through with cobalt and cyan.  They were clear and honest, and all of the times I had cursed him as an asshole and a bastard suddenly seemed very wrong.

Those eyes darkened as he reached out and gently touched my shoulder.  The feeling of his rough fingertips on my skin made me want to shiver.

“He hurt you.”  The thread of anger was barely discernible in his calm tone.

I was slightly bewildered to find faint bruises on my pale flesh.  My puzzlement soon gave way to disgust as I realized what had caused them: Greg.

I was tired of being upset, tired of crying.  My emotions were running rampant today, ruling my actions in a way I didn’t usually allow.  I just needed an escape.  If I got away from my problems for a while they would be more manageable when I was forced to face them again.

And there was Clayton, six-feet-three-inches of the most delicious upper I could ever imagine.  Sex with him was far more transcendental than a hit of Ecstasy.

My decision made, I leaned into him and boldly pressed my mouth to his.  The masculine scent that was uniquely his – salt-kissed leather – enfolded me.  He was as intoxicating as five Long Island Iced Teas.  No.  He was better than that.  Because alcohol can’t kiss you back.

Every tug of his lips on mine pulled me a little further away from reality and a little closer to bliss.  I wanted more.  I wanted to taste him, to drink him in until I was drunk.  Or maybe I would even drown.

My tongue traced the line of his lower lip and made teasing forays into his mouth.  He answered with the ferocity I craved.  He delved into my mouth roughly as his hard body pressed me down onto my back.  Between his demanding tongue and the weight of him against my chest, I could hardly draw breath.  The world was falling away around me, leaving my head spinning in the most magnificent way.  I
was
going to drown in him; the thought made my clit pulse with an almost painful intensity.

I ground my hips up against him in wanton abandon, and I was pleased to feel the hard length of him pressing into me.  My fingers fumbled blindly at the buttons of his shirt.  I longed to feel his sweat-slicked skin against mine as his body moved over me.

His hands closed around my wrists, halting my efforts.  I let out a lustful moan as he pinned my arms to the bed on either side of my head, and I ground against him more frantically as my core throbbed in response to his domineering treatment.

A small whimper of protest escaped me as he tore his lips from mine.  As much as I hated the loss of his mouth upon me, I thrilled at the idea of him taking control, even if it meant denying me what I wanted.

“Rose.”  The lust that roughened his voice when he spoke my name sent ecstatic tingles rippling across my flesh.  They danced over my skin, crackling and popping like thousands of miniature fireworks.  The heat of it was a delectable burn.  It ignited the need within me like nothing I’d ever known, and I was desperate for him to touch me.

“Clayton,” I breathed.  “Please…”

His eyes glazed over with desire at the sound of my begging, and I could feel his cock harden further.  But he didn’t move.  He was making me wait.  I desperately wanted to touch him, to grab him and pull him down against me.  I jerked against his grip on my wrists, but he held me fast.  The reminder of my own powerlessness, of his control, made the denial of my needs a sweet torment.

He blinked hard and shook his head slightly.  With a visible effort, he pulled away, releasing his hold on my wrists.  I stared up at him, puzzled.  What kind of game was this?  His expression was difficult to read, but if anything he looked slightly abashed.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“What?”  I felt like I had just been doused with a bucket of ice water, and I jolted up into a sitting position, suddenly uncomfortable in my vulnerable position on my back.  Cutting tendrils of rejection began to slowly unfurl in my chest.

Clayton ran a hand through his hair.  I refused to allow myself to appreciate how sexy he looked with it all mussed up like that.

“You’re upset after everything that’s happened today,” he said evenly.  “It was wrong of me to take advantage of you like that.”

It was so absurd that I had to laugh.  He looked bewildered by my reaction.

“What?”  He asked, looking wary.

I smirked at him.  “
I
kissed
you,
remember?  Who’s taking advantage of whom here?”

I had thought he might crack a smile.  Or maybe even push me down again just to prove who was supposed to be in charge.  That was most certainly a desirable outcome.  But to my dismay, his expression remained serious.

“I’m supposed to be here to protect you.  It would be unprofessional of me to touch you.  Especially when you’re emotionally vulnerable.”