Beneath These Scars (Beneath #4)(56)

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

Lucas gave me a brisk nod, as if something was decided. “Then you’ll stay here.”

“I don’t do handouts,” I said, uneasiness filling me. I didn’t want to slide into that dynamic with Lucas—taking something for nothing. Whatever it was we’d been doing, we’d been on even ground, and that was what had made it okay in my mind.

“It’s not a handout. I’m the guy you’re f*cking. If I want to offer you a place to stay, how is that a big deal?”

How is that a big deal? He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand.

“Because I’m not a whore.”

Lucas’s head tilted to the side. “You think I treat you like a whore? How? Tell me.” He paused. “Are you talking about last night? I don’t react well when I’m called an idiot. A moron. Stupid. It wasn’t . . . about you.”

It wasn’t an apology, but he was showing signs of being a mortal man.

“And yet being called an * doesn’t bother you?”

A ghost of a smile spread over his lips. “No. Because that’s true.”

I had to get off this subject. I didn’t want to see him as fallible, human. It made things . . . complicated. Dangerous. I remembered how he held me in the shower and carried me to bed. Yes, definitely dangerous.

Lucas needed to keep playing the * card for me to hold on to this delicate balance between us. This concern, it wasn’t something I was used to, and it had the power to change everything.

I tried to put the conversation back on track. “I can always put a cot in the back room of Dirty Dog.” Even as I said it, I knew I wouldn’t feel safe there either. Not as safe as I felt . . . right here.

His lips flattened, annoyance with my stubbornness clear. “There’s a bed behind you that’s empty, and you have an open invite.”

My resolve was crumbling. I fought to keep it solid.

“What are the strings?” I asked, because in my experience, help always came with strings.

He shook his head. “No strings, Yve. Unless you’re talking about the fact that I want to f*ck you, but that’s no secret. This just makes it a hell of a lot more convenient.”

“I don’t need you to fix this for me.”

“I know, but you don’t need to do it all alone, Yve.”

For a few moments, I let myself imagine what it would be like to accept his offer. The lure of safety was strong. The lure of Lucas himself was even stronger.

I was wavering when his jaw tightened and he came closer. Gesturing to the bed, he said, “Sit. We need to talk. Seriously.”

The sudden change in his tone sent apprehension crawling over me like a pack of spiders. “Talk about what?”

“About who the hell would want you dead. Because I just got off the phone with Hennessy, and his buddy at the fire department doesn’t think this was an accident.”

“But the explosion came from downstairs. It wasn’t—”

He told me about how Mrs. Jones won a ticket to see her sister on a radio station that didn’t exist. Apprehension turned to good old-fashioned fear.

“But still—”

Lucas—when had he become Lucas to me instead of Titan?—turned my chin to face him. “You’re in denial, and you’re lying to me. If there’s anyone who understands what it means to have secrets, it’s me. But when those secrets start putting your life in danger, it’s time to come clean to someone who can help you.”

My determination to be strong and deal with this all by myself suffered another foundation-shaking blow.

“Why? Why would you want to help me?”

“Because despite the fact that I’m an *, I’m not the kind of * who’s going to let you face whatever the hell is going on here by yourself.”

I didn’t know what I’d been expecting him to say, but that wasn’t it.

Wait, what had I expected him to say? That he cared about me?

At what point in this not friends but we’ve got some benefits thing we had going on had I started to care about him?

I’d watched him swim last night, wondering what the hell had made him flip so quickly, and had lain in bed thinking about it. And this morning when my house had gone up in flames, he’d been the first person I’d wanted to call, but I hadn’t let myself. Because somehow . . . some way . . . Lucas Titan had become that person for me. The one I wanted to be around. The one I wanted to tell things to. The one who took up more space in my brain than anyone else.

No way. Impossible.

Lucas’s words from earlier echoed through my brain. Nothing’s impossible.

How had I let this happen? Another rich guy? One who wanted nothing from me but my body, which was all I was supposed to want from him.

If I wanted anything else from him, I was going to be in trouble. Because it was guaranteed I wasn’t that person for Lucas. Men like him didn’t look at women like me for anything more than what he was already getting. Right?

Could he see me as something more? A ribbon of hope curled through me . . . until my mama’s voice smothered it. He won’t buy the cow if you give the milk away for free, girl.

Well, at least Mama took her own advice. Could I take Lucas’s and accept his help? Weariness settled in my bones from trying to be so strong all the time. What would it be like to let someone be strong for me?