Page 1 of Liv Parrish

Chapter 1

~ Heath ~

Fuck, everything hurts. Two stab wounds that burn like fire at my sides; cracked ribs maybe, or maybe broken; a possible concussion if the pounding in my head is anything to go by; bruises upon bruises from being beat on for the last three days; swollen and split knuckles from fighting back; but right now, it’s this rain that is going to be the death of me. Every drop stings my naked torso in a futile attempt to rinse the blood and dirt from my skin, but it’s no use. All it does is cause chills to run through my body and my muscles to cramp and ache.

Do. Not. Pass. Out.

I’m in some dark alley, God only knows where, but if I had to guess, I’m not too far from the harbor if only because of the smell. It’s deserted so there isn’t anyone around to ask, which I should probably be grateful for. No need to get mugged while I’m in my current state, which seems highly likely judging from my surroundings. Not that I have anything on me worth stealing. Literally, no clothes save for these dirty jeans, no watch or wallet. Certainly not a phone. My eyelids drift shut as I feel myself losing the battle to remain conscious …

There’s a gentle touch at my neck and then someone’s tugging on my arm, which causes me to flinch back instinctively while trying to force my eyes open, but my lids feel like they have dumbbells attached that are weighing them down and refuse to cooperate.

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you, but you can’t stay here.” The voice is soft but insistent. Female. Without looking, I know I’m still in the same alley but why is there a woman here? It isn’t safe! I try again to force my eyes open, to tell her she must leave, but my brain feels sluggish like mud sliding down a hill, or a long-distance phone call with a bad connection. Fuzzy. Delayed. I sense her kneeling next to me though and then her shuddering intake of breath. “Shit, what happened to you? I’m calling an ambulance. Just stay still, okay? Everything’s going to be fine.”

No! I groan out my protest and finally manage to open my eyes ... and I see her, kneeling next to me with rain soaking her clothes, matting her hair and running down her face. Even though there is hardly any light, I note her features. She looks young, early twenties if I had to guess, with a delicate body hidden beneath tight jeans and an oversized sweatshirt that makes her look more like a teenager than a young woman. I’m stunned for a moment and then reality slaps me against the head when I notice the phone in her hand.

“No!” I manage to croak out a bit more forcefully this time which causes a dozen IED’s to go off inside my skull, and she stops what she’s doing long enough to give me a questioning look.

“You need to go to the hospital, you’re hurt.” Her voice is still soft but now tinged with annoyance at my apparent stubbornness. At least she’s not panicked or scared which I guess is a good thing because I need to reason with her, convince her to disconnect that call and forget she saw me. I don’t have time for hospitals, and I don’t want the wrong people finding out I’m here when there are so many unanswered questions to figure out. I just need to get back to my brothers. They can help me fix this.

“It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise. Please, don’t call. I’ll be okay,” I manage to croak out racking my brain for more reassuring words but frustration at this situation as well as the pounding in my head makes it hard to concentrate. She’s still holding the phone to her ear, and I can hear a voice on the other end asking what the emergency is. “Please.”

A few seconds pass before she disconnects the call and sticks her phone in her back pocket, all while keeping her eyes on me as if she thinks I might pass out again or try something I shouldn’t. She’s right to be cautious. I still don’t understand what she’s doing here on her own, but she seems to have made up her mind that I’m not a threat to her, which I’m grateful for even as I curse her lack of care for her own safety.

“My apartment is two blocks from here. Can you walk?” she questions and I just stare at her for a moment, trying to make sense of the fact that she lives in this neighborhood, and that she’s sharing this information with me. She continues, “I know first aid; I can help with some of your injuries, stitches if you need them, but I can’t carry you. Can you walk?” Her words penetrate the fog swirling in my head, and I manage a slow nod. “Okay then.”

She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly before moving to my side, and I try not to wince when she gently hunches down with her shoulder and attempts to pull me up with her arm around my back. God, this is going to suck! I try to distract myself from the searing pain that’s burning through me by inhaling deeply, taking in her feminine scent which smells amazing even intermingled with rain and whatever is rotting in this alley. She smells like fresh fruit, peaches and strawberries, sweetness mixed with a touch of vanilla. That’s what I focus on so that I don’t pass out or fall over from dizziness the moment I stand up to my full height. I wasn’t wrong about her size either; she’s dwarfed by my tall frame but moves carefully with me all the same, her arm still securely curled around my waist.

Progress to her building is slow and even though it’s only two blocks, it feels like it takes forever to get there. At least it stopped raining at some point, but we are both soaked now, and my Good Samaritan is starting to shiver. She doesn’t say anything though, just keeps her head down and guides me into her building with an apologetic smile when we reach the stairs and the last of my willpower drains away.

“Come on, it’s only one flight up. We’ll take it slow,” she tries to reassure me. My head is killing me and I’m pretty sure I blacked out once or twice along the way, but we move at a snail’s pace until we finally come to a stop at her door, and she lets go of me long enough to fish her keys out of her shoulder bag and shove it in the lock while I lean against the wall and try my best not to keel over. Then she slides her arm around me again and pushes open the door, reaching for the light switch just inside.

Her apartment is small but cozy, open plan with a postage-stamp sized kitchen in one corner, a comfortable lounge area with a sofa, coffee table and bookshelf taking up most of the space and a double bed half hidden behind one of those old-fashioned screens you see in home décor magazines. The colors throughout are muted earthy tones with turquoise- and copper-colored accents and the overall effect is that of a warm, safe sanctuary, quiet and peaceful. She leads me over to the sofa, but I don’t sit down right away which earns me yet another concerned look.

Before she can ask, I explain, “My clothes are wet, and I’m pretty sure I’m still bleeding. Do you have an old towel or something I can sit on?” I don’t know what she was expecting but that obviously wasn’t it. I hear a mumbled “I’ll be right back” and then she disappears into what I assume is the bathroom. I take this moment to do a quick inspection of my wounds. The bleeding has eased up but I’m still a mess, and this poor woman is going to have her work cut out to get me cleaned up. This is also when I realize, I don’t know her name. We made it this far without talking much, except when she asked if I was okay and not about to pass out. Names weren’t a priority.

It’s not that I’m trying to hide who I am or think the people I’m tangled up with will come looking for her, but when you’re dealing with any form of organized crime in this city, there is always one more guy waiting in the wings, eager for an opportunity to take the place that has just been vacated. It’s like a bloody game of whack-a-mole, and someone always gets hurt. People think using words like collateral damage somehow makes it okay, but I refuse to do anything that will put this woman at risk. I’m one of the good guys after all. Protecting the innocent is what we do.

She walks out of the bathroom towards me with a towel slung over her shoulder and a plastic container the size of a toolbox in her hands which she places on the coffee table beside me and then spreads the towel out on the sofa. I thank her but before I can take a seat, she holds out a pair of gray gym shorts.

“Want to put these on? They’re clean and dry and will probably be more comfortable than those jeans. You’ll be able to move around a bit easier. I think I might be able to find you a t-shirt but it will be a tight fit.” She’s rambling and there’s a strange expression on her face even though she’s not meeting my gaze, but there’s also an unmistakable blush to her cheeks. I didn’t think she was shy before, but maybe the reality of what’s about to happen is sinking in. I study her face for a moment, looking for any signs that she’s scared or even just uncomfortable with my presence, but don’t see any. I am struck again by how young she looks, but she’s old enough to figure out that she’s going to be seeing more of me than would normally be appropriate for two people who just met, so I guess that explains the blush.

I thank her for the shorts but decline the offer of the shirt. Her apartment is warm enough that I don’t have to worry about getting cold and besides that, I’ve caught her staring at my chest a time or two and I don’t hate it. So I take the shorts and turn in the direction from where she came but big black spots immediately cloud my vision and I grab for her to stop myself from falling over. I don’t know how she braces so quickly but thank fuck she does, or we would both be on the floor. She’s standing in front of me, basically in a full body embrace, but even with the stab wounds and sore ribs I experience a jolt of pleasure at the feeling of her body pressing against mine. I’m six feet and three inches tall, almost a foot taller than her, but she fits perfectly against me. And then I feel it. Wet shirt. As in her wet shirt pressed against my naked chest. I pull away from her slowly, just far enough that our bodies are no longer touching but I’m still holding her just above the elbows and I can still feel her breath against my skin. I hold on until I have my bearings and won’t tumble over like a felled oak, and she peeks up at me, her cheeks even redder than they were before and her brown eyes wide as they fix on me. And that’s when it happens, as if prompted by that brief and simple contact, an awareness of attraction prickling my skin so intense I struggle to draw in a breath and my heartrate goes haywire. All I can do is stare at her.

“Are you okay?” It’s barely a whisper from her full pink lips, low and husky, causing gooseflesh to break out over my skin. I don’t think she’s trying to be seductive or alluring, but something about her has my inner caveman stirring with interest, wanting to make sure she’s okay with my proximity before crushing her to me again. I clear my throat in an effort to get the words out.

“Yeah, all good. Just making sure I can stand on my own. You should change as well, while I put these on.” I glance down at the shorts in my hand. She nods once and then steps back further, giving me space to move towards the bathroom, giving my lungs the opportunity to draw in a full breath.

It’s slow going changing into the shorts because firstly, my jeans are wet and practically glued to my ass and second, stab wounds and bruised ribs hurt. Yeah, I know. Guys in my line of work and with my training are tough and can take a beating, but I’m human too. My body is feeling the strain of weeks’ worth of stress and hard work, coupled with the beating that landed me in that alley and now in this apartment. After cleaning off the blood covering my torso, I pull the shorts on and find they fit well, perfectly in fact. Whoever they belong to must have the same build as I do. I should probably ask her about the guy, as much as I hate the idea, or maybe it’s just him I have the sudden urge to obliterate, but I don’t want him coming home and getting the wrong idea about why I’m here. I should just leave because staying here is going to cause more complications than I can afford. It is strange that there is no sign of a man living here though. No toiletries in the bathroom, no stuff lying all over the apartment and not a flat screen in sight. After cleaning up my mess I count to ten and then step out of the bathroom, hopeful that I’ve given her enough time to change as well.

She’s standing in the kitchen, and I notice she’s wearing yoga pants, a fleecy sweater, and socks on her feet. Her hair is tied in a high ponytail to keep it out of her face but even from this distance it looks lustrous, drying into soft curls I want to run my hands through. There is not an inch of skin visible below the neck of her sweater, besides her hands, and yet I’m drawn to her anyway; the subtle curves of her body, those amazing legs hugged tightly by the stretchy material. It’s the strangest thing, because it’s not sexual attraction but more like everything attraction, as in I want to know everything about her, but again it’s not a good idea. I won’t be staying, and she has a life that doesn’t include me. But who am I kidding. There is definitely sexual attraction, enough to make my hands itch with the need to touch and explore …

“Ready to get started?” She calls me back to the present with a nod towards the plastic container which I guess must hold her first aid supplies.

“Sure.” Psyching myself up for what’s about to happen, I shuffle back towards the sofa.

“Sorry I don’t have any booze to offer you.” She goes on to explain when she sees my questioning look. “In the movies, whenever this kind of situation comes up, the patient always gets a shot of alcohol, to help with the pain, I guess.” She gives me an adorably apologetic look which I imagine gets her out of all sorts of trouble. I grin back at her.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just have to show you how tough I am by not flinching, but you should probably tell me your name before we get started. I mean, I’m in your home and you’re about to perform lifesaving first aid on me, so I should know what to call you when I thank you later.” She raises an eyebrow at me, a smile now curving her lips as well.

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