Page 58 of Wicked

“It was wrong of me to get involved with Sam when I wanted Shephard. It was shitty of me to lead Shephard on when I knew what Sam felt for me. He loved me, Ryker. He told me before . . . before he took me.”

I roll off Ryker and tug him back on top of me. I need to feel his strength. I need to know that I can endure his large body on me and not have the overwhelming urge to vomit and claw and fight to get out from under his intimidating bulk. I also need him to look down on me as I look up at him.

What will I see on his face when I tell the last part, the most important, degrading part? Disgust? Pity? Shame?

“Sam caught on. He’s sharp. He confronted Shephard. Shephard laid down the law and lay claim using birth order in his favor. I was seventeen. He was twenty-four. The age of consent in Illinois is seventeen, but he was just sworn in as a police officer. That put him in a position of authority and upped consent to eighteen. He said he’d wait for me.”

“He was nothing but a damn predator, Harper.”

“I understand that now, but he became my savior.”

“Savior or sinner? Get those differences straight in your head.”

“That’s the thing. Shephard is both. You . . . you’re not either. You’re normal. Well, not completely. You have great odds of playing in the NFL. That’s not normal.”

He’s not normal. Oh, God, Ryker can never give me normal.

20

Harper

Panic rises in my chest. I start to slide from under him. He cradles my face, his touch firm but gentle.

“We’re solid, Harper. I’ll do anything for you, babe. Anything. Fuck the world. I go where you go. Hook, line, and sinker.” Thick finger skims my brow. “Finish your story, sweetheart. I want to hold you afterward.”

He laces our fingers, brings our clasped hands to his mouth and drops kisses along my knuckles. This guy . . . My throat tightens. My eyes water. I want this. Need him like I need my next breath.

“Sam was angry and took fate into his own hands. He took me on my way home from school. Kept me locked up in an abandoned house. He and his friends violated me at gunpoint.”

I swallow past the bile rising in my throat. Long to squeeze my eyes shut. To crawl into a tiny ball and bawl like I did as Shephard’s bellows of rage and Sam’s satisfied laughter filled that dank room.

But I don’t.

I trail my fingers down Ryker’s face. The warmth from his skin seeps into mine, comforting me. The coarseness of his beard does something to the place between my legs.

In reliving my trauma, I don’t find it wrong to want Ryker. To wish for him to thrust his thickness inside me until I shatter. He turns into my touch and presses his mouth on my palm. His tenderness is my healing salve.

“When Shephard found me, I was naked and on my knees with a gun pointed at my head. Shephard shot the guys. His brother . . . Shephard pulled Sam off me and beat him until he lay unconscious.”

Anger darkens Ryker’s handsome face. I’ll take his anger. It’s better than disgust or pity.

“Shephard didn’t call nine-one-one right away. He called my uncle. Both broke protocol. My uncle ran into the room without his gun drawn, believing he was safe, that Shephard secured the scene. Shephard was too busy beating Sam. By the time the shot broke through Shephard’s rage, it was too late. My uncle died at the scene. Sam’s friend died on the way to the hospital.”

Will Ryker stay when I tell him the rest? It’s the most shameful part of my trauma.

“I blamed Shephard for my uncle’s death. For everything that happened. I grabbed one of the dead guys’ guns and threatened to end his life and mine. A homicide-suicide.”

My throat constricts. Unrelenting pressure on my chest.

“To want to take a life after watching my mother and uncle die . . .” I squeeze my eyes shut. “I’m a horrible person, Ryker. There are better girls out there for you. Girls with big hearts. Girls who would never have the burning desire to kill like I did at that moment.”

Silence. The bed moves and the air shifts. The heat leaves with him. I take deep breaths in and out. I miss his scent, spicy and virile male. Taste my tears as they cling to the corners of my mouth.

Tired of the quiet, I open my eyes. A movement in the corner draws my attention. I push myself into a sitting position. Ryker is seated in an overstuffed chair, holding his head, his elbows on his knees.

“I won’t blame you if you leave. Just . . . just keep your promise to the kids. After your team’s party, we can say it didn’t work out. They’ll be heartbroken, but they’ll get over it.”

“When? After you introduce Shephard as your new guy? Why haven’t you ever spoken of him to your little buddy April?”

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