Blue-Eyed Devil (Travis Family #2)(84)

"Hardy," I said softly. "I'll go. I promise. But first tell me what happened. Just a few words, so I'll understand."

I could feel the anger radiating off him. It was too dark for me to see the color of his eyes, but the shine of them was almost malevolent. Anxiously I wondered where the real Hardy had gone. He seemed to have been replaced by an evil twin. "I don't know how the f**k you could understand," he said thickly, "when I don't."

"Hardy, let me in," I said.

He continued to block me. "You don't want to come in here."

"Oh?" I forced a skeptical half-smile. "What's in there that I should be afraid of?"

"Me."

His answer sent a ripple of uneasiness through me. But I didn't move. "What did you do tonight?" I asked. "What did your mother call you for?"

Hardy stood with his head lowered. His hair was rumpled as if he'd tugged at it repeatedly. I wanted to smooth those gleaming dark locks and settle my hand on the taut back of his neck. I longed to soothe him. But all I could do was wait, with a patience that had never been easy for me.

"She asked me to bail my father out of jail," I heard him say. "He was taken in tonight for a DUI. He knew better than to call her. I've given him money over the past two years. I pay him to stay the hell away from Mama and the boys."

"I thought he was in prison. But I guess . . . he's out now?"

Hardy nodded, still not looking at me. His free hand clenched the doorframe. I felt a little curl of repulsion in my stomach as I saw how brutally strong those fingers were.

"What did he do," I asked gently, "to get himself in prison?"

I wasn't sure Hardy would answer. But he did. Sometimes the closest-held secrets in the world can be pried out by the right question at the right time.

Hardy spoke in the flat, hopeless whisper of a criminal in a confessional. I knew I was hearing things he'd never said to any living being. "He did fifteen years for aggravated rape. He's a serial ra**st . . . godawful things to women . . . never gave him parole, they knew he hadn't changed. But the term was finally up, and they had to let him out. He'll do it again. I can't stop him. I cant watch over him every minute. I can barely keep him away from my family — "

"No," I said scratchily, "it's not your job to be his keeper."

" — my brothers are taking after him. Bad blood coming through. I had to bail Kevin out last month, had to pay off a girl's family, keep them from pressing charges — "

"That's not your fault," I said, but he was beyond hearing.

"Evil bastards, all of us. No-good white trash — "

"No."

Each breath scraped audibly in his throat. "Before I left Dad at a hotel tonight, he told me — " He stopped, shaking from head to toe. He swayed on his feet.

God, he was so drunk.

"Told you what?" I whispered. "What is it, Hardy?"

Hardy shook his head, backing away. "Haven." His voice was low and guttural. "Get out. If you stay . . . I'm not in control. I'll use you. Hurt you, understand? Get the hell out."

I didn't think Hardy was capable of hurting me, or any woman. But the truth was, I wasn't completely sure. At that moment he seemed like nothing so much as a large, suffering animal, ready to tear apart anyone who came near him. And this was too damned soon after my divorce from Nick. I was gun-shy. I was still dealing with my own anger, my own fears.

But there were certain moments in life when you had to step up to the plate or lose your chance forever. If Hardy was capable of hurting me, I would find out now.

Every vein in my body was lit with the burn of adrenaline. I got dizzy with it. All right, you bastard, I thought with grimness and fury and love. Absolute scalding love, in that moment when he most needed it and least wanted it. Let's see what you've got.

I walked into the darkness and closed the door.

Hardy was on me the second after the lock clicked. I heard the thump of the shot glass as he dropped it. I was gripped, spun around, pushed against the door by two hundred pounds of hard-breathing male. He was shaking, his hands too tight, his lungs laboring. He kissed me with bruising force, lewd and whole-mouthed, going on for minutes until the tremors had eased and his erection was grinding against me. Every emotion, anger, grief, self-hatred, need, had found an outlet in pure hundred-proof lust.

He pulled at my T-shirt and sent it flying to the side. As he ripped his own shirt off, I moved blindly toward the living room, not to get away from him but to find a more comfortable place than the entryway floor. I heard a possessive growl, and I was grabbed from behind.

Hardy pushed me over the back of the sofa, bending me forward. He yanked the waistband of my sweatpants down. Gooseflesh rose all over, and I felt the weight of panic like a block of ice in my stomach. This was so much like what Nick had done. Another flashback was hovering, waiting to strike. But I gritted my teeth and braced my feet, and stiffened every muscle.

As Hardy stood behind me, I felt the brush of burning skin, a heavy shaft against my backside. I wondered if he was too far gone to recall that I was afraid of doing it this way, that this was how I'd been raped. Maybe he was doing it on purpose, to punish me, to make me hate him. One of his hands ran over my frozen spine, and I heard his breathing change.