Tainted Read online

  “Ren?” I ask gently, not wanting to scare her.

  Not even a twitch from her.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, probably Clark and Harris, who are both on perimeter surveillance. I ignore the call and move around the bed, leaning over Ren. “Hey,” I murmur, touching her shoulder.

  She’s a sweaty mess, and fly away hairs are matted to her forehead. The covers are pulled right up to her neck as if she’s cold, which is impossible considering the stifling heat inside this building.

  When she still doesn’t stir, I become suspicious and lean closer, inhaling deeply. I smell alcohol, and disappointment hits me like a tidal wave. She’d gone back on her word.

  Angry now, I move to the nightstand and jerk open the drawer. Sure enough, there’s two bottles of liquor that are half-empty. We haven’t been to the store lately, which means she’d stolen them from the bar.

  My phone continues to vibrate, and I stride out of the room to answer it. “It’s a domestic disturbance, call it in,” I tell Harris before he can utter a syllable. I end the call before he can respond and mutter a curse under my breath.

  Fourteen

  Ren

  The following morning, I wake with the sensation of guilt burrowing deep within my chest. It’s not until the grogginess fades that I recall stealing two bottles of liquor from the bar.

  A soft groan escapes as I yank the covers over my head even as I perspire from the heat. Last night, I’d been desperate. This morning is a different story.

  I feel terrible.

  I’d given Holden my word, and I’d gone back on it. A dull ache forms at the thought of him finding out that I’d broken my promise. Disappointing Holden is the very last thing that I want.

  It’s ironic, because I’ve worked hard to stay distant from everyone. Forming any sort of relationship meant inevitable pain when I would move on to remain safe. Now, for the first time, I’m beginning to feel something for someone. In the beginning, he’d pissed me off, but he’s starting to grow on me. I believe him when he says he wants to keep me safe, that he wants to see me make it out of this alive.

  He didn’t have to take me to the gun range, and he didn’t have to work with me yesterday on self-defense. He’s going above and beyond his duties, and I’d reneged on my end of the deal. How am I going to look at him today knowing I’d lied?

  It’s too stuffy beneath the covers, and I pull them down and push my hair off my sweaty forehead. Ugh. I need a shower. As I ease out of bed, a headache makes itself known, but I’m so accustomed to them that they barely faze me these days.

  I’m walking down the hall to the bathroom when I come to an abrupt halt. Something’s not right. My heart begins to thunder in my chest as my gut warns me that I’m not alone.

  Very quietly, I tiptoe to the end of the hall and peek around the corner. I blink with dismay when I see Holden reclined on the sofa. He’s wide awake and looks lost in thought. When I realize he’s bare-chested and only wearing jeans, I’m automatically distracted from wondering why he’s in my apartment.

  The man is built. I mean wickedly built. His shoulders are broad, his pecs are defined, and ridges trail down to the waistband of his jeans. There’s six-pack, and then there’s eight-pack. Holden’s more of an eight-pack. He’s fucking sex on a stick, and I want to explore him from head to toe. I’d spend hours learning every angle and curve of all those muscles.

  Holden’s head slowly turns, and his gray eyes connect with mine, catching me ogling him. Under normal circumstances, I’d be annoyed that I’d been caught. However, his expression brings all my thoughts to a screeching halt.

  His perfect face has darkened upon seeing me.

  “Um…hi?” I ask lamely, not quite sure what’s going on or why he’s even here.

  His stomach muscles flex as he sits up and turns to face me full-on, his jaw set in a grim line. The small scar on his left pectoral muscle snags my attention, and I realize it’s where he’d been shot. My heart immediately skips a beat, and some sort of emotion burrows deep within my chest.

  I manage to find my voice again as I ease closer to the doorway of the living room. “What are you doing here?” I ask carefully.

  “I thought I’d better explain the broken chair,” he says in a measured tone, betraying that he’s barely holding onto his temper.

  I bite my lip. “Broken chair?”

  Anger radiates from him as he forces through stiff lips, “The one that was beneath your door. I had to break it to get in last night.”

  I’m completely bewildered by this conversation, and my expression shows it.

  Holden slowly rises to his feet, anger etched in the hard line of his jaw. “You’d know what went down last night if you hadn’t been out cold from the alcohol you stole.”

  His accusation has me recoiling as pain stabs at my chest. As much as I hate how he’s looking at me, I latch onto the ‘what went down last night.’ The color drains from my face as I reach out and clutch the wall for support. “What happened last night?” I ask thickly. Please don’t let another girl have been taken, I pray.

  “Thankfully, it was just a domestic disturbance,” he replies.

  The relief has me nearly sagging against the wall. Oh, thank God.

  “Are you out of your goddamned mind?” Holden asks angrily, his voice a gravely, rumble.

  I quickly straighten, and as much as I want to defend my actions, I know that there’s no excuse for breaking my promise. “I didn’t mean…” My voice trails off. How do I explain why I’d done what I had?

  “How the hell am I supposed to trust you with a gun when I can’t even trust you to stay sober?” he asks with frustration.

  He has every right to be pissed, and I look away, chewing the inside of my lip. I had no idea that it would feel like this to have him so mad at me.

  “Ren!” he says sharply.

  With great reluctance, I drag my eyes to his.

  Some of the anger has faded as his eyes search mine. “Why?”

  I shrug half-heartedly.

  Irritation flashes across his features, and he strides over, his hand reaching out to grip my shoulder. He peers down at me. “How am I supposed to save you if I can’t trust you?”

  His disappointment chips away at me, and I know I owe him an explanation. “It’s the only way I can sleep at night,” I say in a thick voice. I hate confessing my vulnerability to him. I’m so worried he’s going to think I’m weak.

  “Explain it to me,” he says softly.

  I look everywhere but him. “I have nightmares. Bad ones,” I mutter.

  Silence.

  I wait, and when he doesn’t reply, I dare to look up at him. I can’t begin to decipher the expression on his face, but at least he doesn’t look like he pities me, nor does he look as angry as he’d been moments earlier.

  His gray eyes are much calmer now. “You drink so that you can blackout,” he says slowly.

  I nod, even though it wasn’t a question.

  He releases my shoulder, and I immediately miss his touch. His tanned chest rises as he draws in a deep breath and exhales. “Okay,” he says quietly, his eyes returning to mine.

  I stare at him. That’s it?

  Holden turns and walks to the sofa, sitting down as he scrubs his hands over his face.

  He’s still struggling with my actions last night, and I can’t stop myself from saying, “I tried. I really did, but I was desperate. I didn’t sleep the night before, and I was tired…”

  He looks up at me, and his expression softens. “We’ll figure it out, Ren. We will,” he assures. “But I can’t have you drinking if I’m going to trust you with a gun.”

  “I know,” I say unhappily.

  A long, heavy silence fills the room.

  Holden’s voice eventually breaks the silence. “We’re not going to the range today.”

  “Why not?” I ask sharply. The gun range has become my favorite place to be. I don’t want to miss a single second away from it.

>   “You gave your word and broke it.”

  My mouth falls open, and I look at him accusingly. “So this is punishment? I’m not a damned child, Holden.”

  He gives me a deliberate look. “I’m aware.”

  I fold my arms across my chest. “So that’s it? You’re just going to leave me vulnerable?” I ask with disbelief. He can’t mean it. What happened to giving me the best chance of survival?

  “You handle the gun well, so one day away isn’t going to be detrimental to your training,” he informs me.

  We’re just skipping one day, and I’m relieved. But I’m also still upset about missing it, and I glare.

  “Do you have running gear?” he asks, ignoring the look on my face.

  “Why?”

  “We’re going running instead,” he announces.

  “Why?” I repeat, hanging onto my temper by a mere thread.

  He rises to his feet, picking up his gun from the sofa and tucking it into his waistband behind his back. “What if something happens and you have to run miles to get help? Think your body can handle that?”

  “Don’t lie,” I say with narrowed eyes. “It’s punishment.”

  His eyes meet mine. “That too.”

  I fall silent, and he watches me expectantly, waiting. “Fine. No, I don’t have running gear.”

  * * *

  For the hundredth time, I mentally curse Holden to hell and back. We’re at Boyle Park and jogging on the trails. We’ve been here for an hour, and I’m tired, but Holden keeps pushing me to continue onward.

  Finally, as we cross a small bridge over a rocky creek, I come to a stop and hunch over, bracing my hands on my knees as I draw in a lungful of air. I’m aware of Holden pausing beside me, and I ignore him as I struggle to catch my breath.

  We’d had to buy running gear for me, and I’m currently wearing a sports bra, running Capri’s, and a pair of running shoes. I’ve never been the type to exercise much, and it shows. I’m in horrible shape.

  As my heart begins to slow, I glare up at Holden from where I’m still hunched over. The man isn’t even out of breath, and he’s patiently watching me.

  “You’re enjoying this too much,” I grumble to him.

  He uses the back of his hand to brush hair off his forehead. “I’m not trying to punish you, Ren.”

  I straighten and readjust my ponytail. “Could have fooled me,” I shoot back, but there’s no bite to my words. It’s hard to be mad when I’ve been admiring his fine ass for the past hour. I’d told myself that there was no harm in it since I was constantly trailing behind. He looks really good in his white tank, and his biceps are shown to perfection. His black running shorts also show off his tight ass.

  Holden holds out the water bottle he’d been carrying for us. “There’s a reason for our outing. We would have eventually ended up here anyway. The better prepared you are, the better off you’ll be.”

  I nod and accept the bottle, taking a much-needed drink. “Thanks,” I say, handing it back.

  He takes a long swig, and I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs while a drop of sweat makes its way down his throat. Seeing him all sweaty like this has me envisioning what he’d look like in bed—all worn out from sex.

  I tear my eyes away and bend down, retying my shoes. How am I supposed to stay in control of my hormones when he’s always looking so damned good? At least I have some restraint, but I’m not sure how long that’s going to hold out. Sure, my pride is still stinging from his rejection the other day, but I have a feeling that’s not going to stop me from making another move. He’s single after all, and so am I. What’s the harm in having a little fun? It might be the last sex I have anyway.

  That last thought brings me back to reality, and I release a heavy sigh and straighten. I know I need to stop thinking so negatively, but it’s hard to have hope when I’ve seen my father at his worst.

  Holden must sense where my thoughts have gone, and he gives me a look of reassurance. “We’re going to make it through this, Ren.”

  “I hope so,” I say honestly.

  He rolls his shoulders and tilts his head side to side, working out any tension that had formed while we’d been jogging. “We will. You hungry?”

  “Starved.”

  He gives me an easy smile. “We’ll walk the rest of the way, and then we’ll grab a bite to eat on the way back.”

  “Sounds good.”

  We begin walking and I tilt my head, enjoying the light afternoon breeze. “So, if you weren’t on the job, what would you be doing right now?” I ask curiously.

  He shrugs a shoulder. “Probably the same thing we’ve been doing. I enjoy outdoor sports and activities. I’m not one to sit behind a desk all day or anything.”

  A wry smile curves my lips. “I can’t imagine you in a suit and tie.”

  He grins. “Me neither. What about you? Got any interests?”

  I shake my head and watch as a squirrel scurries up a nearby tree. “Not really. My life has been all about hiding, so I would work and…drink. That’s about it.”

  “What were your interests back in high school?”

  “I’m sure you already know that I enjoyed cheerleading,” I say dryly.

  “Besides that.”

  This time, I’m the one who shrugs. “I spent time with friends. I had boyfriends.” A lump begins to develop in my throat. I’ve come so far from being the teenage girl that was more worried about her clothing and boys than anything else. I can’t even relate to her anymore.

  Holden pauses and brings me to a halt with a touch to my shoulder. “Hey, there will be future boyfriends, and future friends. I promise.”

  I want to believe him so badly. “We’ll see,” I say quietly before I turn and continue walking.

  * * *

  That evening, I’m very much aware of Holden as we work at Bull’s. I’m certain he’ll be checking my bag tonight. Little does he know, after his reaction earlier today, I wouldn’t dare touch another bottle for fear of disappointing him again. I don’t know how I’m going to get through tonight, but I suppose I’ll worry about it when the time comes.

  When the bar closes for the night, Holden and I work on cleaning behind the counter. I’m just about to lug a crate of dirty glasses to the back when Paul walks up to Holden. A look of concern is on his face as he holds out what appears to be a piece of paper.

  Holden glances at it and stiffens, his head lifting as his eyes intently scan the bar.

  Curious, I set the crate on the bar and walk over. “What’s going on?”

  Holden glances at me before turning back to Paul. “I got it. Thanks,” he tells him. As Paul walks away, Holden watches him for a moment until turning his attention back to me. Almost reluctantly, he shows me the wallet size photo Paul had given him.

  Every muscle goes rigid when I see the picture of myself. It’s my school photo from my sophomore year. My eyes dart to Holden’s as the air stalls in my lungs. “He was here?” I ask hoarsely.

  His forehead creases as he takes in my expression. “He could have paid someone to leave it on the table for us to find.”

  “But…” I shudder as my skin crawls. He could have been feet away, watching me. For him to be so close…

  “I know, Ren,” Holden says softly.

  I shake my head, my stomach now tied in knots. “No, no you don’t,” I say quietly as I move away from him and retrieve the crate of glasses. More than anything, I want to get away from the bar and put a door between myself and the rest of the world.

  Holden, sensing my mood, catches up to me in the small kitchen and tells me we’re leaving for the night. I’m not about to argue, and we both say our goodbyes and exit the bar. Holden is alert, gun in hand as he escorts me to his truck and helps me inside.

  It’s not until we’re inside my apartment that my body slowly begins to relax. I watch as Holden locks the door, and I frown. “I’ll be fine now, you can go,” I say, keeping my tone light. I’m not sure what the night will bring, and I
don’t want him witnessing a possible meltdown.

  He turns to me, determination etched across his handsome features. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m camping on the sofa.”

  “I won’t sleep tonight, and I’ll keep you up,” I protest.

  His arms fold across his chest, and the expression on his face warns me that his mind is set. “You’re going to change and climb into bed. I want you to try to sleep on your own, Ren.”

  “Holden—”

  “All I’m asking is for you to try,” he says lightly.

  I’m not in the mood to argue, plus my legs are sore from our jog earlier. I’m looking forward to getting off my feet, because all the standing I’d done this evening had just made the soreness worse. I silently nod and head for my bedroom, closing the door behind me.

  Fifteen

  Ren

  Slowly, I wake, and something feels different. The usual headache isn’t there to greet me, and I pry my eyelids apart, waiting for a spear of pain from a hangover.

  Nothing.

  After blinking a few times, I look around the room and try to sort out why I feel strangely…refreshed.

  Then, it hits me.

  I must have fallen asleep the moment my head hit the pillow last night. I abruptly sit up as I draw in a sharp breath. No dreams, no nightmares. I’d slept like the dead. As soon as that thought unfolds, I wince. Bad analogy.

  The bedroom door is closed, and I toss back the covers and climb out of bed. A groan quickly forms as my legs protest. They hurt like a bitch. I take a moment to do a few stretches, wincing as I try to ease the tight muscles. When I’m finished, I brush away the creases in my flannel lounge pants before tugging on a shirt to cover my flimsy tank. Once I’m presentable enough, I hobble to the door and open it.

  The scent of eggs has my stomach growling, and I slowly make my way to the living room and into the kitchen.