Shane (Damage Control #4) Read online

  ***

  Manon answers her phone after the third time, and she sounds breathless. “What is it, Cass?”

  Not “how are you, is everything okay?”

  I have the distinct feeling I’ve interrupted something, and normally I’d tease her mercilessly, but not tonight.

  “Need to talk to Seth, girl. Is he around?”

  “Yes, he’s around.” She mutters something, giggles.

  Yep, definitely interrupted something. Ah well. They’ll live. “Is it…” I swallow hard. Can’t do this over the phone, I suddenly realize. “It is okay if I come by?”

  “Now? Isn’t it kind of late?”

  I check the time on the car clock. Ten PM on a Tuesday evening. “Just for five minutes. I promise.”

  “Don’t know…” Seth’s voice rings in the background, and he doesn’t sound happy.

  Crap.

  “Please,” I say, gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles turn white.

  “Why?” Seth’s bass voice says into the phone, startling me. “What’s up?”

  I lick my dry lips, debate how much to say—then decide, screw this.

  “I need a clue,” I blurt out, fighting to keep my voice steady.

  “What sort of clue, Cassie?”

  “A clue before I face Shane again. Before I do something that can potentially hurt him—again.”

  “Hurt him.” Seth’s voice deepens, lifting the fine hairs on my arms. “What the fuck happened? What did you do?”

  “I didn’t...” I sigh, too tired to do this over the phone. “We need to talk.”

  “Fine.” He grumbles something I don’t catch, then, “Come on over.”

  And hangs up.

  Oh boy, this is already going swimmingly, I can feel it. Dropping my head on the wheel, I close my eyes.

  Crap…

  ***

  Manon opens the door, dressed in an oversized T-shirt which has to belong to Seth and pink shorts with bows. She shakes her long dark hair out of her eyes and waves me inside, her expression shuttered.

  I used to hang out here a lot, at her apartment. Haven’t been here in months, even though we’re friends again. The rift I opened between us was too big to go back to where we were before, although I hope… I hope we can bridge it over in the future.

  A lump in my throat, I enter her cozy living room, reminding myself I’m here for Shane, not me, and that the fury on Seth’s face can’t touch me.

  He’s pacing a furrow into the carpet, dressed in loose draw-string pants and a white T-shirt, his hands fisted at his sides, his wide mouth set. Anger is emanating from the tense lines of his body in hot waves.

  He turns and halts when he sees me. “Cassie.”

  I force myself not to move, not to back down. “Seth.”

  He jabs a finger at me. “I’m about to head over and check on my cousin.”

  “Half-brother.”

  “What he is to me doesn’t concern you.”

  I flinch. I can’t help it. His anger stings like burning sand thrown in my face. “Can’t we talk?”

  “We are. What did you do to him?”

  Shit. Even prepared, I feel my own anger rise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “What do you think? Did you…?” He sighs, starts pacing again. “Look, he’s not Jesse Lee.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?”

  I glance at Manon who’s watching us with bright, frightened eyes. “Yeah.”

  “So what? Did you touch him? Did you...? Oh fuck.” He runs his hands through his short dark hair, and I catch a glimpse of Shane in his face. “I should go, now.”

  “Calm down,” Manon says, and goes to intercept him. She takes his hands. “Shane is okay. Cass wouldn’t be standing here, waiting to talk, if he wasn’t, right?” She turns to me. “Cass?”

  “That’s right,” I manage to say, which is half lie. “I saw him less than an hour ago. Seth… What happened to him?”

  Seth hesitates, then tugs Manon along to the couch and they sit down. I take this as my cue to follow suit, and I sit in the armchair across from them, folding my hands in my lap.

  “You go first,” Seth says, wincing as if in pain. “Why are you here? What makes you think something’s wrong with Shane if you say he’s okay?”

  The accusation is still there, a dark current under his words. I remember Manon telling me that back when I kissed Jesse against his will at Asher’s wedding, at first nobody believed him when he said he hadn’t wanted it.

  Now I guess it’s my turn. I’ve done something bad once, so everyone expects me to keep doing it.

  “He kissed me.” I lift a hand to stop them from yelling at me, but they’re only staring at me. Right. “He. Kissed. Me. Not the other way round.” I wipe my hands on my thighs. “Well, I kissed him back, of course.”

  “Back up. Just a fucking sec.” Seth rubs his forehead as if fighting a headache. “I thought you and Shane were friends. I didn’t know there was more.”

  “So what if there is?”

  “Fuck, I don’t know. I don’t fucking know what to say.”

  I’m barely listening to him. “Anyway, the kiss… That was days ago. But then…” I wipe my hands again. My heart is going a thousand miles an hour. “Then he freaked out. Shut himself up in his bedroom. I heard something crash, so I went looking for him. He had some sort of flashback. He was on the floor, clearly in pain, and he couldn’t see me. He was begging someone…” I swallow, my eyes hot. “Begging someone to stop. Stop hurting him. Who was it, Seth?”

  His face has gone ashen. “You don’t wanna know,” he whispers.

  “I do. I do want to know.” Tears slip from my eyes down my cheeks, and I get up, take a step toward the two of them. “Tell me who hurt him, and I’ll hurt them back, I swear. I don’t know how yet, but I will.”

  Now they’re both looking at me wide-eyed. Stunned silence spreads.

  “You…” Seth glances at Manon, then back at me. “You serious?”

  I sit down on the coffee table, lean forward, our knees almost touching. “I kissed him back because I really, really like him, Seth. You got to believe me. I’m here, talking to you, because I want to help him. Without knowing what happened to him, it’s difficult not to touch any triggers.”

  Seth makes a small, distressed sound in the back of his throat, hunching over, and Manon puts her arms around him.

  “How much do you know?” he whispers.

  “Not much.” I look down on my hands, curled up on my legs, my red nail polish chipped in places. “I saw the scars.”

  Felt them under my fingertips, raised and terrible.

  “Scars?” Manon whispers, a gray cast to her face. She tugs on Seth’s hands. “What scars?”

  He bows his head, lets out a ragged breath. “My fault. I let him down. Didn’t protect him as I promised. I couldn’t. Bad things happened to him in the prison. To both of us, but in his case… Damn.”

  From the way Manon is going paler and paler, her eyes round like coins, it occurs to me this is all news to her as well.

  “What scars?” she asks again, her voice trembling.

  “On his wrists,” Seth bites out. “I could hear him, you know? Hear him scream as they used him. He called for me, and I couldn’t go, locked up in my cell. Couldn’t save him.”

  He’s shaking, and Manon puts her arms around him. His eyes are glassy, but no tears fall.

  My own heart is tripping. The truth is as bad as I imagined.

  No, worse.

  “Just…” He gives me a defeated look. “Just be careful with him. My cuz likes you, more than he’s ever liked a chick before.”

  His words sink in slowly. Shane likes me. More than other girls. Warmth spreads in my chest, up my neck.

  “I don’t know what’s happening,” Seth goes on. “He hasn’t had flashbacks in a while. First the accident at the construction site, now this.”

  “Has he seen a therapist? Does he have coping mechanisms
?”

  He gapes at me.

  “Objects that make him calmer, techniques to help him center himself,” I explain. “A first-aid kit of sorts. Also, do you know his triggers?”

  Seth shakes his head. “He met with a therapist in prison a few times. I don’t know what they talked about. He never wanted to tell me what was on his mind, and I never pushed, but I think it did more damage than good.” Red steals over his cheekbones. “Christ. All this time on the streets, the depression he was in… I failed him again, didn’t I?”

  “You didn’t fail him.” Manon’s eyes glitter with sadness and fierce love. “You and him, you’ve had each other’s backs in every way possible. You’re not superhuman, Seth. You can’t blame yourself for this.”

  He says nothing, his gaze bleak.

  I get up, a pressure in my chest, sadness weighing on my shoulders. “I’ll do my best not to hurt him,” I promise. “I’ll do my best to help him.”

  “How do you know all this? About the techniques and triggers?”

  “My brother.” I shove my hands into the pockets of my coat. “He used to have flashbacks and panic attacks after he came back from war.”

  “Used to. Did they stop? Did he get over them?”

  “He didn’t.” I turn around and walk toward the door, refusing to talk more about Angel. It was too late to help Angel—but not Shane.

  I’m not letting him fall, and that’s that.

  ***

  The cold is sharp like a knife by the time I park my car and cross the avenue to Shane’s building. It’s close to midnight by now, and I wonder if he’s still awake. If he’s okay.

  I wish I hadn’t left him in the first place earlier tonight.

  By the time I ring his bell, my stomach is twisted with nerves, and I’m convinced he won’t even open his door, caught in a vicious flashback.

  So of course he opens the door a few moments later, tall and handsome and looking just fine, his dark eyes lighting up when he sees me.

  Without a word, he steps aside and sweeps his hand in invitation, strangely, charmingly formal. I take it, brushing past him to enter his pad, then stop to take a better look at him as he locks up.

  His long black hair sways as he draws the bolt in, the muscles in his arms rippling, his back so broad and perfect, tapering down to his narrow hips and muscular ass. The lines of a tattoo creep from under the short sleeve of his black T-shirt.

  Then he starts to turn around and halts when he catches my eyes on him. His silver dreamcatcher earring flashes like a star.

  Any other guy might wink at me and ask if I’m enjoying the view, but this is Shane we’re talking about. He tilts his head to the side, as if trying to figure out something.

  “You came back.”

  I’m not sure if he’s happy about it or not, his expression closed off, but then I remember the light in his eyes when he opened the door, and what Seth said.

  That Shane likes me, more than other girls.

  So I grin at him and do what he won’t do: I wink. “Miss me?”

  Head still tilted, he studies me, and a tiny crack shows in the blankness on his face. One side of his mouth tips up. “Maybe.”

  Aww. Guess I wasn’t really expecting him to admit it. “Sorry I ran away earlier. Mom was waiting.”

  He nods. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s fine. Drunk off her ass, like usual.” I shrug and walk up to him, wondering if he’ll let me hug him. “You?”

  He watches me approach from under his long lashes, warily. He doesn’t reply, but doesn’t move, either, letting me stand right in front of him. If I rose on tiptoe, if he bowed his head, we could kiss, we’re so close.

  “We need to talk,” I whisper.

  “I need to touch you,” he whispers back.

  My breath lodges in my chest, because God, this is what I want, too, touch him, have him touch me, kiss me, have sex with me—but this isn’t about me.

  “Then touch me.” I keep my hands down, by my sides, my fingers curling in. “You’re hot, Shane Tucker.”

  His mouth curves up into a full smile and color rises high on his cheekbones, under the gold of his skin. “And you’re beautiful.”

  Not touching him is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in my life.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” I say quietly.

  “You can’t hurt me. Not you.” He swallows, the knot in his throat bobbing. His hand lifts, hovers over my cheek. “But I could hurt you, like last time. I can’t take that risk.”

  I put my hand over his, press his rough, warm palm to my cheek, lean into it. “You didn’t. I swear I liked it. I like you, Shane.”

  It’s more than that. “I like you” sounds so unimportant and mild when what I want is to wrap myself around him and keep him—but I don’t dare say anything else. Not when he’s spooked just by the fact he’s touching me, and I fear that this could well turn into a replay of the nightmare of the other night.

  Which is why we need to talk, even if his proximity is wreaking havoc with my senses. His scent is everywhere, spicy boy musk with a deeper layer of sea salt and a note of graphite from drawing. He has a smudge on his cheek from his drawing pencils, and under his knit dark brows, his uptilted eyes are elfin and all kinds of pretty.

  He pulls his hand away, tucks a strand of dark hair behind one ear, looks away. “It’s my goddamn mind,” he mutters. “I think it’s broken, Cassie. I’m broken. Don’t know how to fix me.”

  My pulse crashes in my ears. My heart aches.

  “Listen to me.” This time I lift my hand to his jaw, trace it lightly. “Being broken is not the end. Hurting means you’re alive. As long as you’re alive and trust me, and want me, it’s not the end.”

  There’s despair in his eyes, and I want to kiss all the pain away. What to do?

  “Do you want me to stay?”

  “Yes.” No hesitation. He reaches up, takes my hand, holds it tightly. His gaze returns to mine, raw and vulnerable. “Yes.”

  I draw an uneven breath. This is some kind of cosmic joke, I think dizzily, that for the first time in my life I’m dying to be with a boy with a desire that goes beyond physical, and I’m scared shitless.

  Me. Cassie Reyes. The girl who goes home with a different guy every night. Who fears nothing.

  But that’s no longer true, is it? In fact, it never was. I’ve always been the girl who fears love, and now here I am.

  Shivering in my boots as the boy I love doesn’t know how to love me back.

  ***

  I’m in his bedroom, sitting on his bed as he turns off the lights in the living room. I’ve taken off my coat, draped it over the chair that’s already loaded with his clothes, and kicked off my shoes.

  Nervousness has me drumming my fingers on my leg and tugging on my rubber bracelet. Unable to sit still any longer, I jump to my feet, head to the door of the bedroom—

  He’s right there, taking my face in his hands, kissing me, walking me backward.

  Holy cow, he tastes so good, feels so right. I throw my arms around his neck, forgetting all my fears, forgetting we need to talk first. How can I think straight with his mouth on mine, his tongue exploring, lighting me on fire, his body crashing into mine?

  We fall on his bed, still kissing, his long hair sliding over his shoulders, pooling on my chest. His weight settles between my legs, his hands on either side of me. His cock is a hard bulge pressing against my throbbing pussy through the denim.

  One of his hands snakes up my neck, into my hair, strong fingers tangling and pulling, sending tiny zings of pain through my scalp that only make my arch my back, intensifying my need for him.

  I want him so badly. My nipples tingle, pleasure zaps over my nerve endings, leading into my core. I lift my legs, trapping him between them, raise my hips to push against his hard-on.

  Too many clothes. I need him naked, warm skin stretched over taut muscle, need to touch and lick and kiss, feel his cock inside me.

  I reac
h down, find the hem of his T-shirt, tug on it. He doesn’t immediately get the message, but once he does, he breaks the kiss and pulls the T-shirt off, before leaning over me again.

  My mouth is hanging open. Can’t help it. Crap, he’s so hot, all hard muscle and golden skin, ink darkening his flat stomach, his wide chest, his arms. He’s breathtaking.

  He has a badass snake tattooed on his right arm, and stylized eagles or some other bird of prey on his chest, with a date inked on top of them. A big dreamcatcher is etched on his muscled stomach.

  I trail my hands over his chest, down his yummy six-pack, but before I reach my destination below his belt, he crushes our mouths together again, grinding his erection into me.

  Oh yeah, this… this feels perfect. I just need to get his pants down and—

  With a groan, he rips himself away and off me. He stumbles off the bed and into the chair, sending it crashing and our clothes tumbling to the floor.

  “Shane.” I sit up, trying to untangle my thoughts, tear them apart from the burning need making my insides clench. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it fucking isn’t.” He leans against the wall, his jaw clenched tight. “I can’t even fucking kiss you without freaking out. Goddammit.”

  “I can wait.” I lick my swollen, kiss-stung lips, tasting him on them. “Let’s sleep. It’s late. We can talk tomorrow.”

  “What’s there to talk about? I’m a lost cause, Cassie.”

  “Cass. Call me Cass.” I slide my legs off the bed, stand up. I walk over to him, slowly, and slip an arm around him. He doesn’t look like he’s having a flashback, so I wonder what this is about. “We don’t have to do anything. Not right now. Not tonight.”

  “But I want to.” He sounds frustrated. He pulls me against him. “I want to. With you.”

  Oh God, me too. Can’t he tell? Can’t he read on my face everything I try to hide?

  “What can I do?”

  He doesn’t reply. I’m not even sure he heard me, but after a while he turns his gaze back to me.

  “Seth held me together when my mom died,” he mutters, rubbing at his chest, at the date inked there, and now I know what it is.

  The date of her death. It’s his memorial to her.