The Billionaire's Dare (Book 4 - Billionaire Bodyguard Series) (9 page)

“It’s not the worst spot,” she defended. “It’s decent. Grandpa and I used to live there, before he bought the new place, and I know plenty of decent people who call that park home.”

He huffed. “I hate picturing you on your own here. With or without your grandfather.”

“It has potential, it’s
decent,
” she defended. “Mom and I lived here for a year, before I moved in with Grandpa Tate, when he got custody of me. Trust me, there are worse places. I’ve lived in them.”

“Really.” Adam’s pitch revealed an unimpressed tone as they passed a group of apartment buildings boarded up from basement to roof. “This represents ‘potential?’” He shook his head. “If that’s your standard of decent, it’s a good thing you got out when you did.”

“Screw you.” Marissa refused to clasp her hand over her mouth at the vulgar words. She had better things to worry about than his judgment.

To her surprise, Adam laughed. “That’s a feisty side of you I’d like to see more.”

Since she’d already let it loose, she said them again, with a glare this time. “Screw you, for trashing this entire town before you had a chance to meet anyone in here. If I’d met your dad, would I have loved him the first second we met?”

Adam huffed a laugh. “He would’ve offended you within two seconds, and even after he tried to charm his way back into your good graces, chances are you wouldn’t have stuck around long enough to let him.”

“Then don’t judge me or where I come from.”

“So you’re partial to this place. I get it.” Adam backed off his initial revulsion toward her hometown. “Let me come to my own conclusion though, okay?”

She nodded. Her hometown wasn’t for everyone.

As he slowed down and pulled off into the berm, he said, “The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

“Didn’t someone famous say that?” she asked.

“Probably.” He shifted into park. “Is it everything you remember?”

“What?” She hadn’t realized he’d parked across from her grandfather’s bar. A kind gesture on Adam’s part, one she hadn’t expected.
She perked up a little, because Grandpa had taken her advice. “He added on to the side and the back. Wow, actually he expanded it into a club.” She could picture the newly formed roof peak, with skylights, hovering over the dance floor beneath a disco ball, something she’d recommended to Grandpa for years to bring in bigger bands. A sad yet gratified smile crossed her lips. “He made it better. I’m happy to see he expanded the bar.”

Adam glanced to his left, his hands tensing on the steering wheel. “Here comes your best buddy again.”

Automatically, she ducked. “Butcher?”

Sure enough, he and his gang rolled in like they owned the place.

Damn them.

A cloud of reddish-golden dust deflected from their motorcycle tires, coating Adam’s windows in a fine film, briefly obscuring her view. Once it settled, she saw several bleach blondes in short-shorts burst out the door of the bar and drape themselves on the bikers.

So gross.
And pathetic.
“Don’t these women get these guys are using them?”

“Yeah, they get it,” Adam said, shifting in his seat as though slightly uncomfortable with the topic. “They just don’t care.”

Watching the scene through his own eyes, Adam recognized girls like Tess. Women he’d taken advantage of the way Marissa despised. Yeah, as much as he didn’t want to, he needed to own up to this douche bag crowd. “It’s about belonging to something bigger, what the guys represent.” He thought of Tess and felt like the biggest asshole on the planet. “It’s about being something important to the people they believe are important.”

While he was nobody.
He belonged to no gang, gave her nothing worth hanging onto. And still Tess worshipped him in the sack like a good groupie.
You’re an asshole,
he told himself for the thousandth time. Before now, he hadn’t cared enough to consider his behavior.

Marissa shook her head. “I just never got that about the MC scene. Why would any self-respecting woman put herself out like that for some jerk to abuse?”

He ran his thumb along his steering wheel, wiping the dust off on his jeans. “You have something those women don’t.”

“What?”

“Self-esteem.” Saying it made his using Tess for sex even more heinous. How would he return to Denver and face himself in the mirror after recognizing how he’d taken a part of her, no matter how freely offered, and used her for self-gratification? Yeah, she’d agreed, no complaints. But coming from Marissa’s viewpoint, now that he knew better, how could he ever go back to girls like Tess?

“Oh. I hadn’t considered that aspect of the female psyche,” she said. “Women who don’t realize they deserve better. Still, there are other places and ways to belong.”

“Some girls might not see it that way,” he admitted, his voice raspy with guilt. “They act like doormats for a scrap of attention or a decent fuck.” God, he was the biggest asshole on the planet. “Makes it easier to treat them that way.”

Marissa straightened. “Doesn’t make it right.”

“No, you’re right,” he admitted, humbled. “It doesn’t.” He rolled his shoulders. “But that’s what guys in Butcher’s gang are used to, and maybe they don’t think they can do better than those girls.”

“They can’t. They’re trash.”

Tru-dat.
Adam wished he couldn’t relate.

“How do they live with themselves?”

“Okay, time to go.” Adam shifted into drive, considering thoughts he should’ve admitted long ago, when it came to women.

Even when it came to women like Tess.
Easy and available.
Just his type.
Didn’t mean it was right. His inadequacies had ruled his life for two decades. He should’ve treated Tess better, regardless if she’d presented herself as his own personal fuck doll. He’d slammed a door in her face, for God’s sake, when he’d thought of holding Marissa while his arms were wrapped around Tess. Asshole.
Never again,
he promised womankind.

As they drove the two miles back into town, Marissa made a sudden request. “Stop here, at the gas station.”

Applying the brake, he stopped his truck
just inside the apron of the gas station.

“I’ll be right back,” she said.

He idled until she returned to the cab of his truck, paper in hand. “Okay, let’s unload our things at the motel. It’s another mile up the road.”

But unloading was the last thing on her mind, as she combed through the pages to the obituary section.

Greg Kinsman, Robertstown reporter, earned himself a pat on the back.
Local celebrity barkeep William “Bill” Tate, friend to all, left behind his beloved haunt in a town that cherishes its ghost stories. No doubt his generous spirit will live on in the hearts of his patrons, and in his beloved bar where memories recall
kindness beyond measure of a man who will be truly missed.

Yes, exactly. No one could ever replace her grandfather. And Mr. Kinsman had captured Grandpa Tate perfectly.
She wanted to find reporter Greg and kiss him on the lips.

At the same time, the kind reminiscence tweaked her heart, releasing the water works. Fat tears dropped onto the page she smoothed across her lap lovingly.

“We’re here,” Adam announced, pulling to the back of the parking lot, forcing her to look away from the newsprint.

Great,
she thought weakly.
A sad, cheap motel.

Another reminder of the truth of this sad, cheap town.

She almost wished she hadn’t returned. Maybe if she’d sent away for Kinsman’s lovely article, she could’ve lived with his portrayal alone, and spared her and Adam this expensive, possibly useless expedition.

“Maybe I was wrong to come back,” she blurted out, as he parked and she stared down at the paper in her lap. “This should be enough, right?” Tears ran down her cheeks though she hardly felt them. “I mean, someone commemorated Grandpa Tate in writing. I don’t need pictures, or photo albums, or his Vietnam medals of honor. Right?” Her chest shuddered. “Kind words are enough, right?”

The passenger door opened, and Adam reached over to unbuckle her seatbelt. “You tell me, sugar.”

The instant the belt gave way, she collapsed against his chest. He was right there to catch her, collecting her against him with strong, powerful arms. “It should be enough…right?” she sobbed, so glad she didn’t have to face the searing loss alone.

Never had she grieved for anyone or anything the way her floodgates let loose in Adam’s embrace. She clawed his t-shirt until her fists caught the fabric and clenched tight. “It’s not fair.”

“I know, honey,” he soothed, his arms around her securely. If she tumbled out of the passenger seat, he’d catch her. So she did. “I’ve got you,” he assured, as he helped her out of the car door and led her toward the motel room. “Hang on to me. I won’t let you go.”

Nodding against him, she refused to unclench his shirt, now covered in her tears and probably snot.
Lovely,
she thought, too distraught to care about her bodily fluids impacting his impression of her. She couldn’t help collapsing in the worst moment of her life. She could only thank him for catching her before she fell.

“Thank you, Adam. For being here with me,” she whispered, pouring her soul into the expression of gratitude.

“Anytime.
I’ll always be here for you.”

Adhering to his brawny support, she felt bereft when he leaned her against a motel room door. “Hang here.” He propped her up, placing her hands on the wooden trim. “I’m going to check in and get the key from the front desk. I’ll be back in under a minute.”

As much as she wanted to curl into a ball of emotional wreckage, she forced her knees to lock, keeping her upright. She braced one palm against the door, staring at the only thing of interest in sight.

The cart outside the next motel room held layers of linens, the scent of bleach and fabric softener drifting to her nose.
Breathe.
Just breathe
.

Alongside the linens sat an ashtray overflowing with orange butts and ashes. The sight pulled her briefly out of herself, reminding her of her former best friend, Brittany.

They’d worked together at Tate’s Bar after high school. A natural destination, and probably, at the time, their only solution to earning a living in this town lacking for decent jobs. Back then smoking indoors held no restrictions. It was a way of life, especially in the bar business, and Brittany had kept the local minimart in business with her habit. She’d smoked Marlboro reds, as if its packaging offered some kind of
Red Badge of Courage
—a great novel they’d read in ninth grade, about wartime heroics…or misdeeds, depending on a reader’s point of view. Brittany had defended her choice of cigarettes.

If I’m going to smoke, I’ll smoke the real thing. Cowboy killers,
she boasted. But only halfway.
She’d never smoked an entire cigarette, stubbing each one out partway, because she couldn’t stand to keep her hands still, especially in the bar. The cigarettes burned themselves out half the time before she returned to them, so she lit a fresh one every time. Drove Marissa bonkers, even though she’d personally never smoked a cigarette in her life.

Glancing again at the overstuffed ashtray, the Marlboro logo clear on the half-smoked cigarette butts, Marissa wondered if Brittany had stayed local. She doubted it. She and Brittany had talked endlessly about leaving town for bigger, better things. Phoenix, L.A., Denver—Colorado had ranked highest on their list of must-live places for naive twenty-year-olds.

Ironic, Marissa now lived in Denver, the former ultimate destination for her and her former BFF. But for obvious reasons she’d never reached out to Brittany. The contact could’ve proved lethal to her best friend. Marissa continued to keep her identity secret from everyone she cared about.

Still, the notion of a reunion plucked at her heartstrings. Brittany
knew
her, the real her, and the tug of nostalgia proved too much to bear. Fresh tears sprang to her eyes and dripped down her cheeks.

But those cigarettes could belong to anyone, she told herself. The brand and the way they were smoked weren’t exclusive to her best friend. Desperate for connection, she’d probably see any detail as a tie to the past.

Through her bleary eyes, the broad-shouldered image of Adam came into view. “Sorry it took so long.”

“It’s okay,” she said on a faint hiccup of emotion.

“They still use keys.” He held up the tarnished gold, saw-toothed edge of metal to prove it. “Real friggin’ keys. How old school can you get?”

With one longing glance at the ashtray overflowing with memories, she let Adam lead her through the door he’d unlocked. Movements mechanical, she entered, looking around without seeing, and sat on the edge of the bed. She had no idea what to do with herself. How to tame the wild range of emotions stampeding her heart.

“We need to get this all out of you. Today.”

Startled by the sharp tone in his voice, she looked up. “What do you mean?”

“We need to bite the bitter bullet, Marissa. Before it tears you apart.” He sighed. “C’mon. Get up.” He grasped her arm gently but firmly. “We have to get this over with. I’m taking you to see your grandfather’s grave.”