Page 39 of That Girl is Trouble

Her spine straightens, and she turns back, as if doing a double-take at the street sign we just passed. “Where are you taking me?”

“I’m taking you home.”

“No. You’re taking me to my sister’s place.”

“Kat—”

“I don’t want to go there,” she says tightly as she rips her hand from mine.

I scrub my hand over my jaw, exhaustion finally catching up to me. “The clubhouse is still a crime scene. There’s blood all over the floor. My place was ransacked, and it’s still a mess. You don’t need to see any of that. And your sister will want you home.”

“My sister will be with Graves. And I”—she turns towards the passenger-side window and clears her throat—“I don’t want to sleep alone.”

She doesn’t want to sleep alone.

That’s my cue to point out that Jesse’s gone, that I’ll be the only other person there, and that means she sleeps alone regardless of whether she’s at my place or at her sister’s.

Except those words would be laced with total bullshit. It’s clear in her voice, what she expects of me. Evident in the way she twists her fingers in her lap, how she worries her lip between her teeth. She’s not sleeping alone tonight, because she expects to be sleeping in my bed.

After those first two nights, it only happened one other time. She and Jesse had gotten into another one of their wall-shaking fights. After he passed out drunk, she knocked on my door. I should have turned her away, but once again, I couldn’t find the strength to tell her no. Nothing happened. She slept, I slept. I woke up with her in my arms. And once she stirred awake, she simply rolled out of my bed and went back to hers without a word.

“Please, Axe,” she begs, her fucking sad eyes urging me to give her what she wants, what will surely get me an early appointment with death. Because if Graves finds his seventeen-year-old stand-in little sister with me like that, he’ll fucking kill me. But that look, it makes it hard to care. It makes it seem worth the risk. Because maybe it’ll make her happy. Maybe it’ll ease her pain.

Sighing, I slow my speed and make a U-turn. “Just for tonight, Kat. Okay? Then no more of that.”

“Okay,” she says softly. “Just for tonight.”

I take her through the back entrance when we get to the clubhouse, avoiding the bar area where Jesse’s blood still stains the concrete floor. Cops took the body hours ago, but since it was tagged as a homicide, the whole first floor’s been locked up and cordoned off with police tape.

Kat keeps her eyes on her feet as we pass the door to the bar area, then climbs the stairs two at a time, as if trying to escape the scene where only hours ago, she watched her boyfriend die.

Slowly, I follow her through my door, across my apartment where there’s still broken pieces of furniture and smashed glass, and into my bedroom. It’s the only room I managed to clean before everything went to shit. My mattress is back in its frame, my pictures secured to the wall once more. My dresser drawers have been re-fastened, and all my shit is safely stowed back inside.

I open my mouth, ready to tell her to get in bed, when Kat unbuttons her jeans. She tugs them off, then her sweater, and then strips down to nothing but her underwear and a tank top. Fuck. Kat is half-naked in my goddamn bedroom, and I’m about to crawl into bed with her. This was such a bad fucking idea.

I sigh. “Kat—”

“Do you have a shirt I can borrow?”

I drag my hands down my face, forcing myself to avert my eyes. “Second drawer from the top.”

She rummages through the drawer, finally settling on a dark Black Sabbath T-shirt. Once she’s pulled it on, she slides into my bed like she belongs there.

“Listen, Kitty. I gotta sort some shit. Clean up some of this mess, yeah? You good here?”

Pushing up, she tilts her head and frowns, her eyes round and pleading. “You’re… not staying?” When I don’t respond, she says, “Can’t you? Just until I fall asleep?”

Sleep. I need that too. And it won’t come easy sleeping beside this girl. Especially after what I did tonight. After all the lives I took. Despite that though, I kick off my boots, toss my jacket onto the floor, and hit the lights.

I slide into bed, intent to keep my distance, to stack a mountain of pillows between us and lie there until she falls asleep. No. Fucking. Touching.

Naturally, Kat has different plans. Much like every other time she’s found her way into my bed, she nuzzles into my shoulder, and her hands wander under my shirt and over my stomach as her body curls into mine. But unlike those other nights, her touch has intention. Like if I’m not careful, this could turn into a lot more than a little inappropriate cuddling. Unlike those other nights, her fingers slide down my skin and flirt with the waistband of my jeans.

“Kat,” I growl, snatching her hand and settling it back on her side of the bed. “What are you doing?”

She lets out a small sigh and wiggles closer, bringing her palm to my cheek. She pulls me tight to her body, and my heart jumps in my fucking chest. It would be so easy to lose myself in this. It’s easy to fall into bed with a woman after a rough night. It’s easy to say yes, to get wrapped up in a pair of legs and forget about the bodies and the bullshit and the blood still staining my hands.

But this isn’t just any pair of legs.

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