Enforce, Page 26

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I would kill them all for hurting her — if I could get away with it.

  Nixon

  "Are you hurt?" I leaned down and touched her face, but she slapped my hand away.

  Cursing, I tried to pick her up, but she still shied away from me. The hell with that. I was taking her out of this shithole even if she held a freaking gun to my head.

  "Shit." I examined her face. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I didn't…" I chewed my lower lip until I felt searing pain from biting down too hard. What could I say? I didn't know they would take it this far? Because I had. I'd known. I wasn't stupid. I'd known it was a possibility, and I'd let it happen.

  I held out my hand to help her up.

  She eyed it like it was the plague.

  I couldn't blame her.

  Reluctantly, she took it, and I used the opportunity to pull her into my arms and carry her down the hall.

  She gasped, and then the fight left her as she leaned her wet head against my chest.

  And suddenly everything clicked into place.

  It felt so right, having her in my arms, protecting her. I was half-tempted to growl "mine," as professors watched us walk down the hall. I'd deal with them later, what the hell? A girl gets bullied that bad, and they'd just watched, sipping their coffee like it had been a normal occurrence. Assholes.

  Trace's hand pressed against my chest.

  My breath hitched. I fought to keep the moan in. Touch from girls had always been something I loathed because it always seemed like there was a selfish reason behind it. They wanted to be screwed, they wanted to say they'd been with me, or they wanted my money. It was never what was behind the mask of Nixon Abandonato, but what I could offer them.

  Touch had been made worse when I was little.

  My father used to beat me within an inch of my life, making me shy away from any sort of human contact. Could you blame me for not wanting to show weakness? It just seemed better to hate touch — to hate pity, to hate everything — than show that it was actually a huge chink in my armor. The longer her hand stayed there, the warmer I felt, as if the heat from her palm was cracking through the ice, reaching into my chest and massaging my heart back to life.

  Thump, thump, thump. It picked up speed, like it had been starved for years and was finally getting fed.

  My entire body relaxed as I led her into our room, the one we had meetings in, the one I'd been sleeping in. It was our dorm, but it was private, nestled away from everyone else. Hell, it even had a special card that only we four had access to. Even the dean had to ask permission to get in.

  I tapped my red Eagle card against the door, it slid open. I walked in, but didn't put her down. Not yet. She struggled a bit in my arms, but I held her firm.

  I imagined what it was like seeing our place for the first time. It looked a hell of a lot like a bachelor pad: PlayStation controllers were still on the couch, the flat screen had ESPN blaring at a piercing volume, and we had a full bar in the corner.

  Trace glanced up at my face. I tried to keep myself from smiling at her awestricken expression.

  When we reached the bathroom, I glanced down, first at her eyes then her full lips. "You need to clean up."

  "Because I'm a whore?" Her voice was hoarse from crying.

  Trace's expression was priceless as if she was more irritated at being called a whore than offended. "No, I think we both know you're not a whore. You need to clean up because you smell like egg and sugar water."

  Her brow furrowed.

  With a sigh, I plopped her in the middle of the bathroom. "Get in."

  When she didn't move, I started pulling off her clothes.

  "What the hell, Nixon! You can't just strip me—"

  "I can, and I will. Now step out of your skirt like a good girl." I already had the zipper down and was fighting temptation, fighting the urge to go slower.

  She huffed but stepped out of the skirt while I went over and started the bath water. When I turned back around, I nodded for her to lift her arms up. When she did, I tugged the tank top and tossed it to the floor. I glanced back up and froze. She was clad in only her underwear, a sexy-as-hell bra, and her knee-highs. I wasn't a prude. I'd had many schoolgirl fantasies, and every damn one faded in comparison to what was standing in front of me.

  She quickly wrapped her arms around her chest, looked away, and then launched herself against me sobbing. "I miss cows!"

  Sexually tense moment officially gone.

  I burst out laughing, unable to help it. Clearly, when she was hungry, this was how she dealt with trauma. "Sweetheart, I'm sure they miss you too. Now do you think you can manage the rest?"

  "The rest?" She blinked at me through thick lashes, her hands still on my chest. It felt so damn good. She closed her eyes and sighed.

  I cupped her face. "Open your eyes, Trace."

  When she opened them, she was staring directly at my lips, leaning forward. It would be easy to kiss her — too easy. And for some reason I'd found my morals and decided it would be wrong to take advantage in her current state — no matter how right it may feel. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Yeah, chant that a few times.

  "Do you need me to help you take off the rest of your clothes, or can you make it from here to the tub without killing yourself?" I whispered.

  "No, um, I can do it."

  I was still chanting the word wrong when I leaned forward and breathed in her neck, allowing her scent to wash over me, tickle my senses, tempt me beyond redemption. "You sure? I wouldn't want anything to happen to—"

  A fist came out of nowhere, hitting me in the arm. Chuckling, I stepped back. "Towels are in the cupboard under the sink. We have everything you need next to the tub. Just… don't drown, okay?"

  "Why would I drown?"

  How the hell was I supposed to know? But it could happen! And I was suddenly aware of every single disaster that could strike in that damn bathroom. "Just…" I slammed my fist against the counter, upset at myself for being so weak. "…just, don't make me worry, okay? I hate worrying." Because that didn't make me sound like a complete nursing-home escapee.

  "Fine." She nodded. "I'll try really hard to keep myself from mermaiding it, deal?"

  If I looked at her again, I was going to lose all control. Already too close, I nodded and slammed the door behind me then leaned against it, allowing my body to cool. Not working. So not working. With a curse, I peeled my dampened t-shirt from my body and stared at it. I was just about to lift it to my nose and smell it… Right. Smell the egg from Trace's body — I knew it sounded insane — when yelling commenced from the other side of the door. Naturally, I went into Superman-mode, jerking it open and screaming, "What happened?"

  Trace was standing in the middle of the bathtub.

  Completely.

  Naked.

  Without clothes.

  Without shame.

  Absolutely, I would sell my soul a million times over if I could just have stared for five more minutes. Beautifully naked.

  Her eyes locked with mine, and slowly her cheeks turned red as I allowed my eyes the great honor of staring at her breasts.

  Mother of God. I was going to go down in flames for wanting her that much.

  I took a step toward her and then another. My fingers clenched at my sides. Just one kiss, harmless really, in the grand scheme of things.

  "Nixon! Are you in here? Is she okay?" Chase's voice sounded from behind me.

  Panicking, I backed up and slammed the door as he rounded the corner.

  "Dude." Chase slapped my back. "Why is your shirt off?"

  "Uh…" I scratched my head. "It was wet."

  "And you're staring at the door like you want to hump it because… it's going to magically grow lady-parts, or what?"

  "Shut up." I pushed him away and scowled.

  "Dude, it's fine. Remember Tex and his weird fascination with Mrs. Butterworth?"

  "He was ten." I gritted my teeth. "And she's fine, by the way."

  "Mrs.
Butterworth?" He grinned.

  "Trace."

  "Ah, the hotter of the two. Good to know." He plopped down on the couch. "And everything's taken care of. I did a little bit of threatening, there were tears, a few hiccups, the usual."

  "Hiccups?"

  "They came after the tears — more of a gasp, Chase, no! type of hiccup, which is a hell of a lot better than a black eye, if you ask me."

  "Like that girl would have punched you."

  "Girls are like cats, completely unpredictable and scary as hell when cornered."

  "Been attacked by a cat recently?"

  "Whatever. They're creepy. Stop getting off the subject. How's our girl?"

  I growled.

  "Just checking to see if you've marked your territory, which apparently you have." His jaw flexed. "Anyway, you should grab her some clothes."

  "And while I do that, go grab her a new uniform."

  "Already called one in."

  "Really?" My eyes narrowed. "How do you know her size?"

  "I'm a manwhore. I know sizes." Chase smirked. "I'll go grab the goods. Try to keep it in your pants."

  I rolled my eyes and ran into the bedroom to grab some clothes. I wasn't really sure what her size was, but Mo had left a few clothes from her last shopping expedition here on campus, just in case she needed them, whatever that meant. I found a pair of jeans, a sweater, and some lingerie, thinking it would have to do, and went to knock on the bathroom door just as it swung open, revealing Trace in nothing but a damn towel.

  She collapsed against my body.

  My fingers dug into her shoulders, and her nose smooshed against my chest. My breathing was erratic as blood pounded through my body at an epic speed, demanding I tug the towel and push her against the closest object that would hold both our weight and a hell of a lot of movement.

  "You need something?" I whispered into her ear. My lips grazed its' wetness. My knees damn-near buckled at the touch.

  "I need…" Her voice cracked. "…um, I need something to wear."

  "Hmm…" I gently pushed her away and glanced at her towel. "Are you sure about that?"

  She quickly looked down.

  "I'll find you something. Give me a few minutes." I tucked the clothes under my arm and went back into the room and exchanged the sweater— What the hell was I thinking? I switched out the bra size too and returned.

  "So…" Suddenly nervous, I scratched my head. "…I, um, I guessed on the sizes, and I honestly didn't want to offend you by guessing too big or guessing too small, which is why it took me five years to pick something out. So don't get pissed if I was wrong, okay?"

  She let out a little laugh. "Okay, I promise I won't get mad." She took the clothes and went back into the bathroom.

  Nervous, I waited in the main living area, my eyes watching the TV but not really soaking everything in. My ears were perked, ready for any noise emerging from the bathroom that would give me an excuse to run to her rescue again.

  Soon, the door opened, and Trace walked out.

  "Better?" Needing something to do with my hands, I reached for my water and took a sip.

  "Squeaky clean." She sighed. "And I'm happy to announce that no drowning took place in your bathroom."

  I smirked.

  She cleared her throat, making the silence more awkward. "Well, thanks for… everything. I'll just go back to—"

  "You aren't going anywhere until classes are dismissed. You still have two hours to burn. So make yourself at home." I pointed to the couch.

  "But…" She held up her crap uniform. "I need to get these cleaned and…"

  I swore, stood, and grabbed the uniform. I took aim and tossed it in the trash. "Done."

  "What? You have a magical trashcan that cleans clothes?"

  "Nope. You can't wear those again. They're ruined, and there are rules here. You can't just wear a ruined uniform."

  "I hate the stupid rules!" She stomped over to the trashcan and tried pulling the clothes from it. "This uniform is all I have!"

  Cursing, I pried the clothes away and returned them to where they belonged — in the trash — and dragged her to the couch. "Sit."

  "But—"

  "Sit," I commanded. "You thirsty?"

  "No."

  "Hungry?"

  Her stomach growled loudly. She closed her eyes, refusing to answer me.

  "That's what I thought."

  Why was it so hard for her to accept help? Was it because I'd been so horrible? I needed her to trust me, and, well, the only way I could think of to make her feel better was to cook for her. It was what my ma would have done. So I threw a hamburger patty into the microwave, hit defrost, and went to work baking some fries. It was a staple in our kitchen. For some reason, it made me feel normal, less Italian, when I had a hamburger and fries. The guys always knew it was a bad day if I was at Mc Donald's. Not that I'd been there in weeks, considering we were on high security.

  When the food was done, I put everything on a plate and walked back into the room, holding it out to her.

  Tears pooled in Trace's eyes as she took the plate and whispered, "Thank you."

  "You need to eat more." I cursed.

  Just then, the doors opened. Chase strolled in with a garment bag, followed by Mo, Tex, and Phoenix.

  "Are you okay?" Mo ran to Trace's side and hugged her.

  Trace had just taken a huge-ass bite out of the burger, so she nodded and then coughed.

  "I made her half a cow," I explained. "I'm sure she's in meat lover's heaven right now."

  "Aw, you killed a cow for her?" Mo sighed and gave me a wink.

  Annoying twin sister. Yeah, yeah, first a granola bar, now a cow. Laugh it up, Mo.

  "Good God, people, he put frozen meat in the microwave and pressed defrost," Chase muttered. "Is this all you needed, fearless leader?" He held out the garment bag.

  I nodded, ignoring his sour mood. What the hell was his problem? Chase's eyes fell to Trace then back to me. Right. She was the problem. Or better, it was me being with her that was the problem. "Right sizes?"

  "Yup."

  "Good," I said in a cold voice. "Just put the bag over there, and we'll take it over once classes are out."

  I said we on purpose so Chase would know I wasn't backing off. I wasn't going away. He glared but did what he was told — because Chase always did what he was told, which made me feel slightly guilty. He may like Trace, but I liked her too, way more than I should, and I wasn't going to let him sneak in and steal away the one girl who made me want to feel again. The one girl who, for some reason, had snuck into my heart and refused to leave.

  Phoenix leaned against the counter, his stare pensive, and directly set on Trace, like he was waiting for her to call him out or something, which was crazy. Then again, Phoenix had been acting bat-shit crazy for the past few days. I knew I needed to talk with him, but part of me felt guilty because I'd been the one to snap at him at the party.

  Tex squished himself between Mo and Trace and put his arm back on the couch. "So, what are we doing this weekend?"

  "We…" She placed her hand on his knee. "…are doing nothing. I'm going to be a good friend and hang out with my roommate who was brutally assaulted by the stupid assholes who go to our school."

  Tex pouted. "Nixon, can't you just order a hit on the ones who started it so I can have some alone-time with your sister?"

  Trace laughed. "Order a hit? You guys talk like he's Mafia or something."

  The room fell silent, and then everyone laughed nervously — it was awkward as hell.

  The rest of the hour went by fast between Mo and Tex arguing over what to do with Trace, Phoenix staring a hole through the wall, and Chase trying to sit as close as humanly possible to Trace. I was ready to lose my mind.

  "Guys! Just go hang out. I was going to go to the store anyways," Trace finally said above the noise.

  "No!" We all responded in unison. Right. Like that didn't look totally suspicious.

  Her eyes narrowed. "Is the st
ore dangerous or something?"

  Mo shrugged. "No, it's just not smart. I mean, you shouldn't leave campus by yourself. Besides, you need a car. You don't have a car."

  "I'll take a cab."

  Mo faked a horrified look. "A cab?"

  Tex burst out laughing. "Do those still exist?"

  "So…" Chase asked, thrusting his hands in his pockets. "What will it be, Nixon?"

  All eyes fell to me.

  Because that's what I did.

  I made decisions. And I'd been the one who'd told everyone we couldn't go out — we had to hunker down on campus. I eyed Trace briefly before answering. "I guess we're all going shopping." It was the least I could do.

  "But—" Monroe started, but I glared, telling her with my eyes to stop.

  "We'll take security." I shrugged it off like it wasn't a big deal to go marching out into the wild while Alfero men were on the hunt.

  "But last time—"

  "I said…" I hated being challenged. "…we'll take security."

  There hadn't been a last time; we all knew that. Well, not Trace. It was just Mo's way of trying to argue the point.

  She was afraid.

  And I hated that I'd caused the fear, but she was my sister and I would protect her at all costs. We could take security, and if we stayed close enough to campus, it would be fine. Besides, who would kill a newly minted mob boss in cold blood?

  The answer?

  Frank Alfero, that's who.

  I just had to be smarter than the old man or die.

  The things I would do for a girl I hardly knew — a girl I wanted to know a hell of a lot more.