the tray and downs them.
“Who pissed in your Cheerios, asshole?”
I look up at his face and see that one of his eyes is nearly swollen shut and scratches cover the other side of his face. His white t-shirt is ripped down the middle, exposing a tattoo that lines his lower abdomen right above the seam of his pants.
“Jesus.” Stew bellows from behind the bar. “You finally found trouble again didn’t you?”
“He found me.” Van settles down onto his favorite barstool. I hand Stew the tray, and he replaces the empty shot glasses. I can’t help but stare at Van. My heart breaks at the crusted blood on his face. I dampen a napkin and begin cleaning his face. I’m shocked when he doesn’t swat me away, but instead leans into my touch.
“Where have you been?” I question him.
He doesn’t answer as he melts under my touch allowing me to clean every part of his face. I tear his shirt the rest of the way and let my fingers outline the fancy lines of his tattoo. Hair peppers his lower abdomen. I let my fingers linger underneath the top of his pants, dipping down to elastic of his boxers.
Van slumps over onto the bar resting his elbow on it but doesn’t push me away. I pull his ripped shirt the rest of the way from him. The club is hopping and not one person stops to watch us. Stew tosses me a new shirt from behind the bar. It’s a club shirt.
“Are you okay, Van? At least tell me that.”
“I’m fine,” he grits out.
“I want to take care of you.”
I’ve never spoken truer words.
He finally talks and it’s not the words I want to hear. “I’m no good for you.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” I press a soft kiss to his temple and freeze a moment too long, soaking and drinking up his scent.
Stew scurries in asking all kinds of questions about who did this and if they’re back gunning for him. It’s all too much to take in. I don’t miss a table of customers fucking scowling in my direction. It’s their drinks on my tray. I move quickly to pass out their drinks so I can return back to Van. No smiles and no flirting.
Stew slides a first aid kit across the bar and gives me a nod. Hell, I didn’t even need a nod before my hands dig into the kit. Everything inside of me hurts for Van. Not only is he physically messed up, but emotional pain also flows from him.
What in the fuck is this man involved in?
“I told you to stay away from that asshole.” Stew’s veins in his forehead pop.
The pad of my finger brushes over the cut by his swollen eye. I missed this one at first glance, but now looking at it, it’s deep.
“You might need stitches, Van.”
I feel his hand rest on the small of my back and him drag me into him.
“Just clean me up, baby.”
I fucking go weak when he calls me baby. He destroys every single ounce of me with just the deep tone in his voice. I’ve never been a hopeless romantic type or love at first sight, but it seems Van Hollis is proving me wrong.
I clench my eyes shut, relishing the feel of him and soaking up his scent. When I open my eyes, Van’s staring straight at me, and it’s like he’s just begging me to inch in closer and kiss him. Stew unknowingly interrupts our moment and instead of my lips grazing Van’s, I run the pad of my finger over his cracked lip. He darts his tongue out, catching the corner of my finger. It’s our own little private moment.
“What did he say?”
“Told me he was itching to throw my ass back in the pen.”
“You never fucking belonged there. Everyone on this side of town knows that.”
“Yeah, but I have a feeling he’s not going to stop until he does.”
“Everyone knows Argo is a fucking dirty cop. I know for a fact he’s still running drugs and even dips into the nose candy himself and who knows what else.” Stew slams both of his fists down onto the top of the bar. “I know he’s your identical twin, but he’s a dick.”
I butterfly bandage the cut on the side of his eye and then clean up the
“Who pissed in your Cheerios, asshole?”
I look up at his face and see that one of his eyes is nearly swollen shut and scratches cover the other side of his face. His white t-shirt is ripped down the middle, exposing a tattoo that lines his lower abdomen right above the seam of his pants.
“Jesus.” Stew bellows from behind the bar. “You finally found trouble again didn’t you?”
“He found me.” Van settles down onto his favorite barstool. I hand Stew the tray, and he replaces the empty shot glasses. I can’t help but stare at Van. My heart breaks at the crusted blood on his face. I dampen a napkin and begin cleaning his face. I’m shocked when he doesn’t swat me away, but instead leans into my touch.
“Where have you been?” I question him.
He doesn’t answer as he melts under my touch allowing me to clean every part of his face. I tear his shirt the rest of the way and let my fingers outline the fancy lines of his tattoo. Hair peppers his lower abdomen. I let my fingers linger underneath the top of his pants, dipping down to elastic of his boxers.
Van slumps over onto the bar resting his elbow on it but doesn’t push me away. I pull his ripped shirt the rest of the way from him. The club is hopping and not one person stops to watch us. Stew tosses me a new shirt from behind the bar. It’s a club shirt.
“Are you okay, Van? At least tell me that.”
“I’m fine,” he grits out.
“I want to take care of you.”
I’ve never spoken truer words.
He finally talks and it’s not the words I want to hear. “I’m no good for you.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” I press a soft kiss to his temple and freeze a moment too long, soaking and drinking up his scent.
Stew scurries in asking all kinds of questions about who did this and if they’re back gunning for him. It’s all too much to take in. I don’t miss a table of customers fucking scowling in my direction. It’s their drinks on my tray. I move quickly to pass out their drinks so I can return back to Van. No smiles and no flirting.
Stew slides a first aid kit across the bar and gives me a nod. Hell, I didn’t even need a nod before my hands dig into the kit. Everything inside of me hurts for Van. Not only is he physically messed up, but emotional pain also flows from him.
What in the fuck is this man involved in?
“I told you to stay away from that asshole.” Stew’s veins in his forehead pop.
The pad of my finger brushes over the cut by his swollen eye. I missed this one at first glance, but now looking at it, it’s deep.
“You might need stitches, Van.”
I feel his hand rest on the small of my back and him drag me into him.
“Just clean me up, baby.”
I fucking go weak when he calls me baby. He destroys every single ounce of me with just the deep tone in his voice. I’ve never been a hopeless romantic type or love at first sight, but it seems Van Hollis is proving me wrong.
I clench my eyes shut, relishing the feel of him and soaking up his scent. When I open my eyes, Van’s staring straight at me, and it’s like he’s just begging me to inch in closer and kiss him. Stew unknowingly interrupts our moment and instead of my lips grazing Van’s, I run the pad of my finger over his cracked lip. He darts his tongue out, catching the corner of my finger. It’s our own little private moment.
“What did he say?”
“Told me he was itching to throw my ass back in the pen.”
“You never fucking belonged there. Everyone on this side of town knows that.”
“Yeah, but I have a feeling he’s not going to stop until he does.”
“Everyone knows Argo is a fucking dirty cop. I know for a fact he’s still running drugs and even dips into the nose candy himself and who knows what else.” Stew slams both of his fists down onto the top of the bar. “I know he’s your identical twin, but he’s a dick.”
I butterfly bandage the cut on the side of his eye and then clean up the
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