away. I didn’t know why he’d left home, but it had to have been some serious shit to just walk away from his life and never look back.
I could relate.
“I’m pretty sure taking a ten year old with you would’ve been considered kidnapping,” I assured him, knowing that it really wouldn’t be comforting.
He clenched his jaw. “I should’ve done it anyway.”
“When did she—”
“Late last year. A piece of shit ex-boyfriend killed her. Raped her first.”
I felt a lump form in my throat. Christ. It was all making sense now. Everything he’d done and said since stumbling upon me—beaten and broken—made sense. And I’d been a total bitch and a half about it.
“I don’t know what to say, Torch. I’m so sorry. Not just for your loss, but for thinking you were being an asshole.”
“No need to keep apologizing, babe. You asked me to lay off and I should’ve respected it. You’re not my sister. You left instead of thinking some bullshit restraining order would be enough. You were smarter and I should’ve given you more credit.”
“It brought back some shit. I get it.”
Torch shrugged and threw back the last of his beer. “I need another fucking drink. You?”
“Yeah, something stronger. Did you get a room? You got here pretty late.”
“Snoop’s letting me crash on his couch tonight. Didn’t have anything open ‘til tomorrow.”
Well, at least we’d have a babysitter.
“So you’re staying for a while?” I asked.
“Don’t know. I’m not the kind of man that makes plans these days, darlin’. I go where I’m told. The rest of the time, I wander.” He didn’t offer up any more of an explanation before standing up and grabbing my hand. “Come on. I’m sure the old man’s got the good shit stashed at his place.”
: 7 :
Torch hadn’t gotten any fucking sleep after she passed out on the couch. He’d managed to keep his hands to himself, only because Snoop was one thin wall away from hearing it. Not that he gave a shit who saw or heard him fucking, but the old man had made it clear that he’d shoot first and ask questions later when it came to his precious Liv.
The asshole could’ve warned him she was still there. Instead, he’d gotten the shock of his life when he spotted her, professionally dodging drunk fucks in the bar.
Now healed, the woman was beyond fucking perfection. Her porcelain skin looked like it hadn’t seen a drop of sunshine, the polar opposite of all the spray-tanned bitches he was used to. On her, it worked. Jesus Christ, did it ever fucking work. And those bright red lips and smokey eyes just made her look that much more exotic. Gone were the bruises and split lip, the only evidence of the battered woman he’d met weeks ago was a large scar on her shoulder. Even that looked as good as it probably would for a while.
He’d dealt with her barely-covered pussy tempting him as they watched a movie. He’d even resisted staring as her skimpy top shifted to the point of almost exposing her nipples. But then, he’d stupidly decided to be a gentleman and carry her to bed so she wouldn’t wake up sore. Stupidly, because as soon as she was in his arms—one under her back, the other under her silky, smooth ass—he discovered she wasn’t wearing any panties. And she was drenched.
Fucking hell.
If the door to her room had been closed he could’ve pushed it open with his cock, that was how hard the feeling of her juices on his arm got him. Her sleepy moans as she nuzzled his neck made it fucking impossible to think straight. It took every goddamn ounce of self-control to put her down in bed and walk away. All he wanted was rip off that fabric and make her scream his fucking name.
But Snoop would’ve woken up and shot him right in the ass with the .45 he kept under his pillow.
He’d had a conversation with his friend after coming back from laying out the assholes who’d harassed Liv. She’d apparently charmed the man stupid.
According to Snoop,
I could relate.
“I’m pretty sure taking a ten year old with you would’ve been considered kidnapping,” I assured him, knowing that it really wouldn’t be comforting.
He clenched his jaw. “I should’ve done it anyway.”
“When did she—”
“Late last year. A piece of shit ex-boyfriend killed her. Raped her first.”
I felt a lump form in my throat. Christ. It was all making sense now. Everything he’d done and said since stumbling upon me—beaten and broken—made sense. And I’d been a total bitch and a half about it.
“I don’t know what to say, Torch. I’m so sorry. Not just for your loss, but for thinking you were being an asshole.”
“No need to keep apologizing, babe. You asked me to lay off and I should’ve respected it. You’re not my sister. You left instead of thinking some bullshit restraining order would be enough. You were smarter and I should’ve given you more credit.”
“It brought back some shit. I get it.”
Torch shrugged and threw back the last of his beer. “I need another fucking drink. You?”
“Yeah, something stronger. Did you get a room? You got here pretty late.”
“Snoop’s letting me crash on his couch tonight. Didn’t have anything open ‘til tomorrow.”
Well, at least we’d have a babysitter.
“So you’re staying for a while?” I asked.
“Don’t know. I’m not the kind of man that makes plans these days, darlin’. I go where I’m told. The rest of the time, I wander.” He didn’t offer up any more of an explanation before standing up and grabbing my hand. “Come on. I’m sure the old man’s got the good shit stashed at his place.”
: 7 :
Torch hadn’t gotten any fucking sleep after she passed out on the couch. He’d managed to keep his hands to himself, only because Snoop was one thin wall away from hearing it. Not that he gave a shit who saw or heard him fucking, but the old man had made it clear that he’d shoot first and ask questions later when it came to his precious Liv.
The asshole could’ve warned him she was still there. Instead, he’d gotten the shock of his life when he spotted her, professionally dodging drunk fucks in the bar.
Now healed, the woman was beyond fucking perfection. Her porcelain skin looked like it hadn’t seen a drop of sunshine, the polar opposite of all the spray-tanned bitches he was used to. On her, it worked. Jesus Christ, did it ever fucking work. And those bright red lips and smokey eyes just made her look that much more exotic. Gone were the bruises and split lip, the only evidence of the battered woman he’d met weeks ago was a large scar on her shoulder. Even that looked as good as it probably would for a while.
He’d dealt with her barely-covered pussy tempting him as they watched a movie. He’d even resisted staring as her skimpy top shifted to the point of almost exposing her nipples. But then, he’d stupidly decided to be a gentleman and carry her to bed so she wouldn’t wake up sore. Stupidly, because as soon as she was in his arms—one under her back, the other under her silky, smooth ass—he discovered she wasn’t wearing any panties. And she was drenched.
Fucking hell.
If the door to her room had been closed he could’ve pushed it open with his cock, that was how hard the feeling of her juices on his arm got him. Her sleepy moans as she nuzzled his neck made it fucking impossible to think straight. It took every goddamn ounce of self-control to put her down in bed and walk away. All he wanted was rip off that fabric and make her scream his fucking name.
But Snoop would’ve woken up and shot him right in the ass with the .45 he kept under his pillow.
He’d had a conversation with his friend after coming back from laying out the assholes who’d harassed Liv. She’d apparently charmed the man stupid.
According to Snoop,
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