Page 35 of Rough Hard Fierce (Chicago Underground 1-3)
“We need a lawyer. You know that. You can’t run from this. Where would you go? A lawyer will figure this out. Make it right.”
I couldn’t even think about that, not in the face of her gory sacrifice. “You did not do that for me. Tell me you didn’t do that.”
She sighed like I was the irresponsible one. I wanted to rail at her, except she’d already been beaten, hadn’t she? And for me.
I thought I’d known what my own stupidity would cost the people I loved, but I’d been wrong. My father had been doubtful of my future, but I’d cinched the deal when I’d ended up pregnant and alone. Parenting was a laughable term for the desperation with which I kept Bailey in generic-brand baby food.
I’d even failed Andrew. No one understood, not even Shelly. He had lusted after me, wanted me, all that time, not that I’d deserved such devotion. I should have walked away from our friendship once I found out. Or maybe just sucked it up and been with him. Anything other than remain friends but without fucking him. That was my mistake.
And that night. I’d done a million things wrong that night. I shouldn’t have worn that dress or hung out with him alone or stayed there with him when he’d been drinking. But most of all I shouldn’t have said no, because then it would have just been sex. It would have been a hookup, not rape. And right now I wouldn’t be a victim.
I’d allowed Shelly to be an escort—no, a prostitute—all this time. Not that it was my prerogative strictly, but I could’ve made her stop. I should have found a way to make her stop.
Bailey fussed, mashing the last bit of frosting into the carpet, but I stood rooted to the spot, my eyes stinging.
“Hey,” Shelly said softly. “You didn’t ask me to do it. Don’t take that on yourself. I want this fixed as much as you do, okay? It was for me. You have to take it.”
I took the money. I had to, because she’d given up strips of her skin for it, and the very least I could do was make it worth something.
With dry eyes I washed Bailey up and brought her into the room. In that age-old way of children she seemed to recognize Shelly was hurt. She curled up in Shelly’s arms and planted a sloppy, wet kiss on her cheek. I circled the bed and crawled in from the other side.
I wanted to hold Shelly, to be the big spoon, but she wouldn’t appreciate being touched like that, especially not now with her back torn up. So I settled for facing her back on my side, like a sentry, until she settled into sleep.
Some preternatural sense told me to stay. Not to protect her from the men who hit her—as if I could—but instead from the monsters that haunted her. Or maybe just to protect her from herself.
Downstairs seemed too far, too risky, when her hand clutched the pillow so tightly. So I tucked Bailey into the bed right in the middle and watched over them. There was a peace in the dark, in the quiet, where even my thoughts could still.
I didn’t want to be like the alley cats, terrified of everything. They’d rather live wretchedly than take a chance. A leap of faith. I had spent a lot of time fighting men—and fighting myself. I’d managed to hurt myself over and over again, all to prove I didn’t need to trust a man.
Except I did trust a man. Colin.
It came from deep inside, that trust, unexpected and even unwanted. He slipped under my defenses with his quiet solidity. If a man had tried to persuade me, to cajole me into moving in with him, I never could have. It was only his bluntness, his cold and steady regard that could have swayed me.
He said he’d protect me, and for some reason I believed him.
He could protect Bailey, and she deserved that.
I slipped from the bed and called Colin. Then I tucked myself back in beside Bailey and went to sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
The only fanfare for my grand dive into trust was a soft knock on Shelly’s door. I opened it and gave him a half smile, uncertain how to treat him.
“Hey,” I said softly.
“Hello,” he said, and I was struck by the formality until Shelly answered from behind me.
“Colin—nice to meet you,” she said.
Bailey burbled a greeting.
“I brought boxes,” Colin said, nodding to the parking lot.
“Boxes?” Shelly asked with a lilt of accusation.
“Yes, well.” I cleared my throat. “Colin asked me to move in with him, and…I agreed.”
I held my breath. If she hated me, if I’d hurt her, I’d never forgive myself.
