Thin Love (Thin Love, #1)(90)
“Man, if I do this for you, you gotta cut me loose. I’m serious. I don’t want in this shit anymore. I just want a clean break.” Kona could practically hear Ricky thinking. He knew getting out wouldn’t be easy. He knew Ricky liked having him around to scare off punks like Dino, but Kona was done being his muscle. He wanted free from the weight of Ricky’s bullshit.
Finally, the man exhaled, released the sound that Kona thought was a little too calm and a little too forced. “Fine. You do this shit for me and I won’t bug you no more, but Kona, everything has to run smooth… I mean f*cking perfect. No f*ck ups.”
“I got you.”
“I mean it, man. I’d hate to have to…”
“I said I got you. I’m not a kid. You don’t have to warn me.”
He ended the call before Ricky could threaten him again. Or threaten Keira. Flat against his mattress, Kona covered his eyes with his arm, heart slamming as Ricky’s voice ran over and over in his mind like a stuck track on a busted CD player.
That pretty little bitch of yours gets bloody.
Kona wanted out; he’d wanted out for over a year when Luka started seriously bitching at him about dealing. It’s was too much and Kona always felt dirty, pathetic when he sold for Ricky. He didn’t want that life. He didn’t want any of it to come near Keira. If that * touched her… if anyone touched Keira—Kona sat up, gripping his phone again, not bothering to check for her message and when her voicemail picked up immediately, Kona ended the call, moving around the room for his keys.
He knew he was being paranoid. He knew she’d probably crashed on her bed as soon as she got home, but Kona couldn’t ignore the need to see her again; that crushing urge to touch her, to make sure no one had bothered her. And behind that protective need lay a more urgent want. Kona needed to be calm, to feel the world disappear for just a moment. There was only place he could find that peace.
Keira dreamt between notes. Not every night, not every dream was filled with lyrics. Only the good ones. Most mornings she couldn’t remember them, but when she did, she heard the soft rasp of her father’s voice and felt his rough fingers smooth on the inside of her wrist. In those good dreams he was always happy, always proud. He was young, full of the potential she remembered him feeling before everything turned to darkness. Before his life clouded with the burden of expectancy and the disappointment that colored most of Keira’s childhood memories
The dream that night wasn’t dark and Keira suspected it came from being happy that day, from being around Kona and his family. There had been laughs, broken apart only by the cool stare his mother gave her and the overwhelming sadness she felt once she was driving away from the city, away from Kona.
Keira dreamt of her father, of them together, smiling easily, happy, and the strum of twin guitars, both Hummingbirds, both his, that pushed back reality. In that dream he sang in a loud, clear voice, encouraging her, praising her talent. He sang Van Morrison’s “Crazy Love,” something she knew wasn’t for her. Keira thought it might have been for her mother, but the woman in the song sounded nothing like the woman who threw her best china at her father’s head. The song her father sang was slow, slower than Morrison’s version and as her father sang it, his voice carried around them, kissed into her consciousness and Keira sat fascinated, amazed at his emotion, at the joy on his face. It was a song about falling in love, falling hard and deeply and completely. It was a love Keira told herself she was inching toward with Kona.
“Nothing less, sweetie.” Her father’s smile didn’t break when he spoke to her. “Nothing less than crazy love will ever be good enough for you.”
Keira felt the soft impression of lips on her back and she smiled, still caught in that dream, slipping somewhere away from it until she knew Kona was in her bed. Eyes blinking open, that smile grew and she exhaled, released a great swell of satisfaction when Kona moved his mouth to her neck.
“You didn’t call,” he mumbled through her hair. Keira rolled on to her back, catching Kona’s face between her fingers as he lowered over her. She didn’t like the frown on his face and decided to make it leave with her mouth over his. “I was worried,” he said, rubbing his thumb over her forehead.
“I fell asleep. I meant to…” a yawn interrupted her excuse and Keira covered her mouth. “That drive takes it out of me.” Another quick kiss she hoped reassured him. “I’m sorry.”
He moved her head, inching it to one side then the other and Keira laughed at the steely way his gaze moved over her face. “She didn’t…?”
“She was passed out when I got home and Steven wasn’t here.” Keira sat up, brushing her hair off her face as she climbed onto Kona’s lap. “She doesn’t make it a habit, you know, and my life here isn’t an afternoon special.” When he started to argue, she shut him up with another kiss. “You gotta stop worrying so much. I told you, I won’t let her smack me around anymore. You give me a reason not to cave.”
“Wildcat…” whatever Kona wanted to say lay trapped in his throat and he cupped her face, took her lips like he owned them. In the back of her mind was the small worry Kona would catch whatever funk was making her throat hurt and caused the throbbing in her head, but he felt too good, his large arms were too comforting. They fell back on the bed, worked each other up, but Keira felt him holding back; she felt him hesitate, not putting enough of himself into those kisses or lazy rubs against her body.