Better When He's Bad (Welcome to the Point #1)(42)

The little kids were all down for the count. The teenagers . . . well, they were teenagers and it was easy to tell they were faking being asleep, but since they were in the room and not out roaming the streets, I let it slide. I went out onto the front porch and clicked open the text messaging on my phone.

You have a good night?

I wasn’t expecting to hear from him until Monday, and by then I wasn’t sure I was going to want to talk to him. I felt like space away from him gave me some kind of breathing room to escape the Bax force field that surrounded him. Blowing out a breath, I sent my hair flying over my forehead.

It was alright. How about you?

It took a minute to get a response, not that I even really expected one. It was Saturday night, and he was wild at his best. I didn’t even want to think about what kind of shit he could stir up. It made my skin crawl and made me wonder how I had ever thought I could handle him. I was an amateur and he was a pro all the way.

Hit up some places. Asked some more questions. Race was asking about some rich guy doing business with Novak. I think I need to find out who the rich guy is. That might be the key to the whole thing.

Where are you at?

I shouldn’t have asked. It wasn’t my business and I knew I wasn’t going to like the answer. I was right.

The District.

I bit my bottom lip and stared at the glowing screen of my phone. He had spent time in the District before me, and undoubtedly he would be right back there after me. I hated that I cared one way or another. While I contemplated what to say back, like he could sense my unease across the space that separated us, he sent me:

I’m headed back to my mom’s place. I went by my place in the city to grab some stuff. I told you I would be good.

I don’t think you know how.

Really? I thought I just showed you how good I can be. I guess I’ll have to step it up next time.

I snorted out a laugh and silently thought that if he stepped it up any more, I wouldn’t be able to walk. I had bruises on the outside of my thighs, hickeys chasing across my chest, and there were twinges in muscles I didn’t even really know I had until he had gotten ahold of me. Like they were mocking me, those checkered flags flashed across my mind, and I suddenly felt a little warm. I pushed my hair off my face and blew out a breath.

Thank you.

It was all I could think to say. I wanted to trust that he was being good, more because he wanted to than because I asked him to, but whatever the reason, I was grateful.

I get the feeling that you won’t let me put my hands on you if I put them on someone else. Right now that doesn’t work for me and I want my hands on you as often as you’ll let me put them there.

Well, hell, if that didn’t just make all my girl parts get all warm and tingly.

You scare me, Bax.

I know.

That was it. He didn’t send anything else and I spent a half hour wondering what exactly I was going to do when this ended up killing me or more likely making me wish I was dead.

THE NEXT MORNING THE kids were up early and I was exhausted because I had spent the entire night replaying the last two weeks and every encounter I had had with Bax over and over in my head. I shouldn’t have ever told him I was going to go to bed with him. What was I thinking? Like he needed an in. Like he needed any kind of encouragement. I should have stayed strong, never given in to the temptation and gone to the fight when I knew it was more than likely a setup. When I had asked him to lie to me, to tell me that I would be different than the other girls, it had taken me sideways when instead, he had done the opposite. I might not be important to him, matter to him, but he was honest enough to admit that whatever was brewing between us was significant and different.

I was getting the kids’ breakfast when one of the teenage girls, Blake, decided to grill me about Bax. She was a pretty girl, her story was sad and broke my heart. Her parents were way worse than mine ever had been, and the things she had seen at only fourteen made me hate the world we lived in. She was a prime candidate for going into a long-term foster situation, if only someone could teach her how to trust. I had talked with her at length, tried to make her understand not all grown-ups were going to sell their kids into prostitution because they owed their dealer money for drugs, but it was like talking to a wall, and frankly, I couldn’t blame her after everything she had endured.

She propped her tiny chin on her hand and blinked long lashes at me, despite my grouchy mood and warning look.

“So what’s up with the hottie in the hotrod? You go get a boyfriend on us?”

I frowned at her and helped a couple of the little kids with some cereal.

“No. I don’t have time for a boyfriend. You brats keep me too busy.”

“He kissed you like he was your boyfriend.” I winced because I forgot they had witnessed that. Reeve chose just that moment to walk in, and I didn’t miss the hard look she gave me.

“Guys like him . . .” I looked at Blake and purposely avoided Reeve’s glower. “When they kiss you they do it because they want to, not because you’re important or special to them like a girlfriend.”

She lifted an eyebrow at me, and it was easy to see how far beyond her years she was in the “yeah, right” look she leveled at me.

“When a guy like that kisses you, it doesn’t matter if you’re important or special. All that matters is that it’s you he’s kissing, and man, was he kissing the shit out of you.”