Hard to Let Go by Laura Kaye
The words made his chest squeeze. “You . . . like the feeling of me on top of you?”
“You feel good, Beckett.” She shifted a little, and he let her move until she seemed comfortable, and then wrapped his arms around her and laid his head partly on his bicep, partly atop her head.
She wanted him to stay. She welcomed him inside her body, where even now he remained. She thought he felt good.
Beckett realized that as satisfied as his body was in this moment, it was his soul that was all lit up inside. Because even though it wouldn’t last, for right now he was wanted and he was good. And he so rarely experienced either that it was one of the most special moments of his life.
Chapter 11
Angel. He’d called her Angel.
Kat could barely breathe, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the 250-pound linebacker currently lying on top of her.
He’d called her Angel.
Why? All they did was fight and annoy the shit out of each other. Where had the term of endearment come from?
Maybe it was just the haze of lust and epically good sex talking. That could totally be it. She wondered if he even realized he’d said it.
But it was still confusing as hell. She’d been so mad at him last night that she hadn’t even wanted to be in the same room with him. And she’d promised herself that after all the bullshit he’d said, this wasn’t happening again. Not ever.
Now, here she lay. His cock still tucked inside her, his body covering her, his arms holding her. And a part of her didn’t want it to end. Because he’d also apologized. More than that, he’d made it clear that he’d flown off the handle because he was worried about her. Which was downright sweet, really. In a totally fucked-up Beckett Murda kinda way.
Honestly, he was, at once, the sexiest, most attractive man she’d ever known—and the most confusing and infuriating.
He’s rough around the edges, but he’s a good guy. Beckett just takes a while to let anybody get close . . .
That’s what Marz had said. Could it be that Beckett’s whole strong-silent-grouchy routine was just . . . some kind of defense mechanism? If so, a defense against what?
And did it really matter?
She laid there for a long moment, surrounded by Beckett’s heat, his soft breath playing over her ear.
Yeah, on some level it did matter. Because there was something between them. Clearly. Maybe it was just pure animal attraction. Except he’d given her glimpses that there was something more to him. Something deeper. Something that spoke to her heart. All of which played as much of a role in the fact that they kept ending up naked together—or partially naked, anyway—as the fact that he fucked her better than she’d ever been fucked in her life. At least, it explained why she kept giving in.
“Beckett?” she whispered, not possessing the energy to speak much louder.
No answer.
“Beckett?” she said again.
Holy shit. The big, hard-ass jerk had fallen asleep? Holding her.
Aw, crap. That was kinda sweet, too. Proving that her heart was such a sucker. Because she didn’t want to wake him up. She didn’t want him to get off of her. All she wanted was to listen to the call of her exhaustion and close her eyes.
But she couldn’t. Because they weren’t exactly in a private place. And Beckett’s ass was, she guessed, hanging out for all to see. She grinned. Ah, but what an ass. Shakespeare might’ve written sonnets about that ass.
For a long while Kat lay there and listened to the rhythmic in-out of his breathing. She wished they were in a soft bed somewhere with no clothing between them, because she would’ve loved the feeling of his bare chest against her back. Instead, she was stuck wearing long sleeves until the bruises healed—especially now. If he flipped out over her participating in the morning’s op at the coffee shop, imagine how he’d react if he saw fingerprint-shaped bruises on her arms. Nope. Couldn’t let that happen.
It got harder and harder to keep her eyes open, and finally her lids sagged closed altogether. If she didn’t get up soon—
Beckett’s whole body flinched, jarring Kat into awareness so hard that her heart kicked into a sprint. He groaned and flinched again, like he’d been shocked by an electrical current.
“No,” he moaned.
Was he having a nightmare? “Beckett?”
“Why you doing this?” he slurred. “What did I do?” His breath caught hard.
A knot lodged in Kat’s throat, because his words were so pleading they nearly broke her heart. “Beckett, wake up.”
Most of his weight lay on the right side of her back, so she pulled herself to the left, trying to get out from under him so she could try to pull him out of whatever had its claws in his subconscious. As she moved, his head slipped backward, and her elbow accidentally caught him in the cheekbone.
In a flash Beckett’s hand clamped down on her upper arm. Hard. Kat yelped. But before she had a chance to react, he shoved her away with enough force that she rolled over onto her back. Breathing hard, heart racing, and not a little alarmed at the ferocity of his handling, she stared at him with wide eyes, braced to flee or fight.
His eyes remained closed, but the expression on his face was one of abject desolation. Whimpers and harsh, uneven breaths rasped out of him.
What the hell could he be dreaming about?
What she wanted to do was go to him, cup his face in her hand and gently wake him out of whatever it was. But, clearly, he wasn’t aware of his surroundings, because there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d treat her that way if he was. She was certain of that down into her very soul.
She tugged up her pants and moved onto her knees, but stayed outside the reach of his arms. “Beckett? Beckett?” She slammed her hand down flat onto the mat twice.
His eyelids flipped open and his body stilled. Awareness immediately slid into his eyes, which locked onto her with a cold calculation.
“Beckett?” she said, unsure if he was actually awake.
He rolled onto his side, his gaze darting between them. “What just happened?”
Her shoulders sagged in relief. He was back. “I think you were having a nightmare.”
Bracing on his upper back, he lifted his hips and hiked his jeans up, covering himself. Then he sat up and let out a long, shuddering breath. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Are you okay?” she asked, fisting her hands together in her lap.
Beckett’s eyes narrowed at her. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He tilted his head to the side. “Why are you over there?”
A quick shake of her head. She’d give Beckett Murda shit for a lot of things, but this wasn’t one of them. “It just seemed bad, that’s all.”
His gaze was so intense that it made her feel observed, analyzed. “What happened, Kat?”
“Nothing,” she said. “You just flinched and started talking. And I couldn’t wake you up.”
He crawled closer, and Kat hated the momentary urge to back away. He hadn’t meant to be rough with her. He didn’t even know he’d done it. Remembering how bad he’d felt when he thought he’d hurt her yesterday, when he hadn’t hurt her at all, no way did she want to guilt trip him with this.
“Something happened,” he said, coming to rest on his knees right in front of her. “Tell me what I did.”
“You didn’t do anything, Beckett. Really.” She forced a small smile. “It was actually a good thing you ended up dreaming, because I would’ve fallen asleep and we would’ve still been laying here when everyone gathered in the morning.” That part was actually true. And then she gave in to the urge she’d had a few minutes before. She rose up onto her knees, cupped his handsome face in her right hand and pressed her lips to his left cheek. “Everything’s okay now.”
His hands flew to her hair and his blue-eyed gaze drilled into hers. “Kat,” he said, voice raw. “I know something happened. I remember . . . things. When they’re bad like that, I know I . . . act out parts of my dreams. Just tell me.”
Oh, Go
Hard eyes searched hers as his Adam’s apple bobbed on a rough swallow. “I’m sorry,” he gritted out, then he pushed her hand away. Not hard, but not gentle either.
A rock sat heavily in her belly. “You were asleep, Beckett. You didn’t know what you were doing. It’s fine.”
“Don’t make excuses for me—”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t fucking make excuses for me!” he yelled. At least, it sounded loud in the silence of the gym.
Kat reared back, her heart in her throat. She held up her hands. “Okay, okay.”
“Oh, God, I’m sorry—”
She was on her feet in an instant. “It’s fine.” With a shaking hand, she scooped her phone off the mat in a quick movement. Her brain was a whirl of What the fuck?
“Kat—”
“It’s fine, Beckett,” she said, walking away from him. But it really, really wasn’t.
“JESUS CHRIST,” BECKETT said, dropping his head into his hands. Across the gym, the door snicked shut. Kat was gone.
No, you chased her off. Like the useless, piece of shit your father always said you were.
Half collapsing, Beckett lay down on the mat and stared up at the shadowy ducts and beams that made up the old ceiling.
The night had gone from shit to perfect to shit again. And the bad parts were all his fault. It was almost like he couldn’t help destroying anything good that came into his life. His mother, who was so unhappy the whole time he knew her that she slowly drank herself to death. Marz, who had nearly died for and because of him. And now Kat.
Beautiful, brilliant, strong Kat. Who was his friend and teammate’s baby sister, to boot. You know, just in case this situation wasn’t already enough of a giant cluster.
What had he actually done to her? Before yelling at her, that was. In the dream, his father jumped him the minute he came home from football practice, almost like he’d been lying in wait. The dream was based on a memory, from when Beckett was fourteen. That day his old man had caught him in a choke hold from behind, taking him entirely by surprise. He slammed Beckett face first into the refrigerator and then after a short shoving and hitting match, his dad tripped him and he went down to the floor. Hard. As if that wasn’t insult enough, the mean old bastard had kicked him with his steel-toed boots, catching him in the cheek.
That was the first time it had been really bad. Before then it was joking face slaps that weren’t really jokes and playful shoves that weren’t really playful. It was belt whippings that Beckett had thought were totally normal forms of discipline, until friends saw his back and backside in the showers after practice. And it was a constant stream of verbal attacks and name-calling that slowly chipped away at his self-esteem and warped his own sense of himself.
After all, both his parents had been miserable people, so there had to have been something wrong with him, right? That’s why his mother drank herself away from him and his father tried to chase him away with his meanness. Beckett was the common denominator in both their lives.
Now, shaking his head, he forced his thoughts back to the dream and what Kat had said—that he’d pushed her away. Like he’d pushed against his father? But, in the dream, he’d also elbowed his father and grabbed his arms, trying to break free of his grip, and the two of them had fought before he fell. Was it possible he’d acted any of that out, too?
Yes. It was fucking possible. Beckett didn’t dream a lot, but he’d woken up on more than one occasion over the years and seen he’d wrestled his pillows and blankets to the floor. And that meant he could’ve hurt Kat. Even if he hadn’t, even if she was telling the truth, he could’ve hurt her. And everything about that was fucking unacceptable.
What good was keeping her safe from their enemies if he was going to turn around and hurt her at home?
Jesus.
He scrubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes.
Meow.
Beckett’s gaze cut to the left to find Cy standing at the edge of the mat, blinking his one eye at him. “What do you want? Huh? To tell me what an idiot I am?”
Cy’s tail flicked back and forth, and then he came a few steps nearer.
Slowly, Beckett extended his arm in the direction of the orange cat and held out his fingers. He wasn’t sure why he wanted Cy to come to him so bad, but he really did. Maybe it was because if you couldn’t get an animal to accept you, what the hell did that say about your chance with humans? For fuck’s sake. “Come on,” he whispered. Moving slow and easy, Beckett pushed himself into a sitting position and stretched a little closer.
Reaching out his neck like he wanted to sniff Beckett’s hand but wasn’t sure, Cy’s nose twitched and his ears quirked back.
The door to the gym clicked open.
Kat.
Beckett rose instantly to his feet, sending the cat into flight across the gym and into the darkness.
“Hey, what are you doing down here?” Marz asked, crossing the room, showered and dressed for the day.
“I don’t know,” Beckett said, irrational disappointment flooding his gut. He’d wanted it to be Kat. So he could make sure she was okay. So he could apologize one more time. He heaved a deep breath.
“What’s up, B?” Marz asked, frowning.
Beckett shook his head. Even if it was within his character to talk about the shit that bothered him, which it totally was not, he couldn’t talk about this thing with Kat. She wanted to keep them quiet, and he’d agreed it was for the best. More than that, respecting her wishes was the least he could do.
Marz crossed his arms and nailed him with a stare. “Want me to take a guess or leave it alone?”
How the hell did he even think he had a guess? The fact that he did made Beckett damn curious, but if he indulged that curiosity and Marz was anywhere within the vicinity of being right, then Kat would be out of the bag.
“Leave it,” Beckett said. “What time is it anyway?”
Marz gave him a long, appraising look, then finally nodded. “Uh, going on four-thirty,” he said as he made for his desk.
Shit. Probably wasn’t even worth trying to sleep now. Not when they were meeting at oh-six-hundred. Nick wanted time to scope out the coffee shop, establish a perimeter, and get his people into place long before the eight o’clock meet.
“Have you even slept yet?”
“Tried.” Beckett scrubbed at his face. And damn if his hands didn’t smell like Kat. “Mostly failed.” The exception to that? When he’d held Kat in his arms. Then he’d slept like a fucking baby.
God, he really wanted to go to her, make sure she was okay and apologize one more time. He didn’t deserve that from her, but that didn’t make him want it any less.
“Yeah, I know how that is,” Marz said, booting up the machine in front of him. “Although, waking up in the middle of the night doesn’t bother me as much now that I have Emilie.” He winked.
Beckett had given Marz ten kinds of shit about developing feelings for the woman, but his friend was a lucky son of a bitch. The irony of realizing that now wasn’t lost on him. “Uh-huh,” he managed.
Marz chuckled as his fingers clacked over the keyboard.
“Need help with anything?” Beckett asked, his voice like gravel.
“Not right now, but I don’t mind the company if you wanna hang.”
Yawning, Beckett shook his head. “I think I’m gonna go drink a pot of coffee while standing in an ice-cold shower.”
Marz nodded. “Throw in a few cans of Red Bull while you’re at it.”
“Now you’re thinking,” Beckett said, his feet scuffing against the concrete floor. “I’ll be back.”
“Hey, B?” Marz called when Beckett had almost reached the door.
He turned. “Yeah?”
“I think she’d be great for you.” Marz held his ha
Sonofafuckingbitch.
Chapter 12
Getting the text message signal from Nick, Kat moved out of her hiding place and walked the twenty-five feet down Eastern Avenue to the corner coffee shop. Kaine must’ve just arrived.
Taking a deep breath that pressed the handgun tucked into the back of her jeans into her spine, she pulled open the door and stepped inside. Sure enough, Becca was rising from her table and greeting a tall, older man in a camouflage combat uniform.
Kat dropped a jacket at a table close to Becca’s, just as they’d planned, then joined the short line to order. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Becca and Kaine move to get in line themselves. A patch with two black stars sat in the middle of Kaine’s chest, identifying him as a major general. Standing behind her, their conversation was easy for Kat to overhear, and was all the normal sort. Whether he’d encountered traffic or had a hard time finding the place. How long she’d been here, etc.
Kat, Nick, and Becca had come in over an hour earlier to scope out the interior and select a table for the meeting. Nick wanted Becca in front of a window so he could keep a visual on her, and arriving early meant they could control that.
When it was her turn, Kat ordered a coffee and a muffin, then returned to her table. She chose the seat that would allow her to face Kaine and the front door. Not including the two employees behind the counter, ten other people filled the small shop, many of them on laptops or reading the newspaper.
When Becca and Kaine returned to their table, breakfast in hand, Kat kept her eyes focused on her phone. They’re seated, she texted.
Got em, came back from Nick a moment later.
Kat knew roughly where all the guys were posted outside. Nick sat in a parked car across the side street. Easy sat in plain sight on the other side of Eastern by the park, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and carrying a plastic cup in his hand that made him look like a panhandler. Shane sat in his truck on Eastern beyond where Kat had been hiding. And Beckett and Marz were behind the building, guarding the back exit and the alley it led to. Jeremy and Charlie had remained at Hard Ink, monitoring the wire they had on Becca, running communications, and watching the street cameras that Marz had intercepted to make sure nothing unusual headed their way.