Free Lady Killer (Tangled Desires Book 2) by Misti Murphy Page B

I’m right in front of her until I stop. Reaching out, I go to trace the outline of one of the marks that ends in a half moon dent where the skin’s torn, but she flinches away.
    I take a step back, just one. Someone’s hurt her. “Are you okay?” I ask, staring at her face. There’s black shit all under her eyes. She looks like a fucking panda, but it’s worse. Her left pupil’s dilated more than the right, and the white of her eyeball is this bright reddish pink like she’s popped a blood vessel. I know the feeling. It’s happened to me on more than one occasion.
    She shakes her head, and I know whoever hurt her is going to pay for it. I have a sister. One of my best friends is a girl. I’d kill if this was one of them. This girl matters too, because she’s someone’s friend, someone’s sister. And she called out for me. Not for my alter-ego, but for me. No one calls out for me. They call out for Harbinger. Only ever for him. Whether I know her or not is irrelevant. She sees me as a person, and she needs my assistance. So I’m going to help her. How can I not?
    I shove my hands in my pockets to show her I’m not going to try to touch her again as I move closer. “What happened? Tell me who did this.”
    The echo of the girl tapping her foot behind me fills the street. She has to realize her chance of getting lucky with me tonight is gone. Dead. Buried. I don’t bother to turn around and shoo her away. She’s inconsequential in the scheme of things, the same way I am to her. A random hook up, when my hand will service just as well.
    “Tommy,” the blonde girl in front of me says. Her voice is hoarse and cracks in the middle of the syllables, and she finally lets go of the length of silk and wraps her arms tightly around herself. No one calls me Tommy. No one except my sister Claire, and occasionally my brothers. When my brothers say it, they’re teasing, but when Claire says it, it’s important. I get the feeling that whatever is happening between me and this girl standing on the side of the road is important, too. I don’t say anything. I should. I know I should, but for one second I’m selfish enough to want to hear her say it again. Then I shake my head.
    She looks like she’s about to cry. She sucks her bottom lip in, but she can’t keep it from quivering.
    “You need to tell me what happened,” I say. “So I can help you.”’
    She opens her mouth, but words don’t come out.
    Instead there’s a heavy roar. Then, nothing.
    Opening my eyes, I swipe a hand over my brow. Even though I’ve tossed the covers, and I’m lying in my shorts under the air-conditioning, I’m sweating like we’re in the tropics. I grit my teeth to try and deal with the pain as I scoot to the edge of the bed, and then I have to use both hands to get first one leg and then the other off the bed. There’s nothing really wrong with them. The pain is in my mind, but it hurts as bad as it did that first night when the car clipped me. Even though it can’t. My hip joint’s titanium now. Made of metal. Metal doesn’t feel pain, but that knowledge doesn’t help. The regret of having my life altered at the hands of someone else is sharp on nights like these, pricking under my skin. I limp out to the kitchen to get a couple painkillers. I don’t usually take them, but tonight I need them.
    Mace sits on a stool at the counter, reading something on his tablet. He looks up as I snag a glass from the cupboard and fill it with water from the tap. Popping two pills, I grimace and swallow them down, draining the glass. I’m not going to be able to go back to sleep now. Lounging against the cabinets, I stare at my older brother. He’s been having trouble sleeping for a long while. None of us know what his problem is. He won’t talk about it, but it’s clear after the way he beat on Razer after he stumbled across the pregnancy test I’d thought I’d hidden, that things aren’t good. It wasn’t the type of beat down you