The Perfect Stroke (Lucas Brothers #1)(116)

I’m walking slowly from the building, keeping my tears at bay and trying to keep from running from the nursing home. I f*cking hate dealing with my mother. I hate it. It brings back too many ugly memories, too many things I’ve spent my life trying to hide from. The last thing in the world that I wanted was for Roman to witness my shame.

And my mother is my shame. She always has been. I hate her. I despise her and yet I can never seem to turn my back on her. I force myself to visit her once a month. If I went more than that, I’d probably be one of those people about to jump off a ledge they used to send my unit out on sometimes. Dealing with her makes me feel that desperate. It makes me feel that stupid. How can I still feel any type of responsibility or loyalty towards someone who doesn’t deserve it? Someone who was high my entire childhood, passed out, or in emergency rooms from overdosing? Someone who let drug addicts and johns into the same house she kept a twelve-year-old girl and a nine-year-old boy while she worked out her next high?

Roman wasn’t wrong. There’s a reason I sleep with a gun under my pillow. A big reason, and it has nothing to do with being a cop. It has more to do with a frightened little girl and boy hiding in a closet scared the latest monster would be worse than the one before. It has more to do with the last time a f*cking * thought it was okay to try and rape a sixteen-year-old girl. One man stopped him: Paul Banks. He took me out of the hellhole, set my brother and me in county care, and took an interest in seeing me succeed. I tried to get Allen to follow me, but I think the memories haunted him more. I’m not sure. He turned to the same shit that helped make our life miserable to begin with. There are days I can’t forgive him for that. I’m so lost in my thoughts, I jump when Robert touches my shoulder.

“Go ahead and get inside, Ms. Stevens,” he says, surprising me.

“Ana,” I tell him, and my voice is thick with unshed tears.

“Ana,” he says gently. Maybe he can sense how close I am to breaking.

I get into the limo and look out the far window, lost in memories I’ve spent a lifetime trying to forget. I’m so deep in them I almost didn’t notice Roman opening the door and sliding in beside me, pushing me further on the seat. It takes him all of two minutes to grab me and haul me back on his lap. His arms go around me and his heat slowly melts into my body as I relax against him, burying my head in his chest.

“I know I told you to do nothing today and rest. To wait for me to get some business done so I could help you move to the house.”

“I needed to visit the sea creature.”

“The sea creature?”

“Vanessa. The womb donor from hell. Everyone always call her Nessie. She was more terrifying than the loch ness monster growing up. So Allen and I took to calling her the sea creature.”

“Let me guess. You and your brother were into Sci-Fi when you were younger?”

“We had a neighbor, Mrs. Lancaster. She loved old movies. We’d sneak over there when mom was out and watch television and Mrs. Lancaster would feed us. It was fun. I still watch the movies today with a smile.”

“What happened to Mrs. Lancaster?”

“She passed away last year.”

“A pity.”

“Yeah. She has a great-granddaughter. She’s working herself through school by waitressing. Mrs. Lancaster’s daughter died of cancer. Life is cold sometimes, Roman,” I whisper, keeping my head buried in his chest.

“That it is, pet. Let’s get back to your apartment, pack up, and get you moved in to my place.”

“You still want me around, even knowing what kind of branches exist in my family tree?” I ask him, only half-joking. My mother is my dirty little secret, one I’ve kept hidden from everyone but Paul. The only reason he knows is because of our past. I would have gladly made sure no one ever found out, especially Roman.

“Maybe because of it,” he says, and I go completely tense. No. That’s not happening.

“I don’t want pity, Roman. I’m not some kid in need of rescue now. Maybe I once was, but I rescue myself now. I don’t have to depend on anyone. I fought hard to get that, and I don’t want you trying to swoop in and make it better for the poor charity case. That’s not—”

I trail off when he grabs the side of my neck and pulls my face up until I’m looking at him.

“I’m trying to go about this gentle, pet, because you’re upset.”

“I’m not…”

“Don’t lie to me. If the way your body is shaking doesn’t give you away, the tears in your eyes do. So this is me, a man not used to putting others first, trying to be gentle with you. But I know you can feel the way my cock is hard against your ass and I think you get I want to be touching you and holding you all of the time. If not, let me spell it out for you. There’s not a f*cking thing about you I view with pity. I see a strong woman, a beautiful woman. I see a woman I want to f*ck and dominate and lose myself in over and over. I see a woman I’ve claimed and one I won’t give up. I see a woman who f*cking fascinates me to the point that I canceled the rest of my day so I can spend most of the afternoon being gentle with her in hopes of getting between her legs without feeling guilt tonight, when I’m not so gentle.”

“There’s a lot there to take in,” I tell him, my brain replaying his words. All of them and everything they say storms through me and they make me feel alive. Roman doesn’t give flowery words and seduction. His words are raw. I could be lying to myself, but I think they are full of truth. I decide to give him truth in return. “What if I don’t want gentle?”