Merissa loved her
brother. She’d always seen him as Superman, larger than life, a rock whenever
she’d needed one. He was only a couple of years older than her, but for as long
as she could remember he’d seemed grown-up.
Right now,
Superman was in her kitchen, insisting on getting her a drink when all she
really wanted was the time alone to let go. She knew if she fell apart in front
of him, Cannon would never leave her.
He didn’t need to
be a savior, not right now.
“Here.” He
returned with a cola over ice, urging her to the couch. He smoothed back her
hair, his gaze drawn to the bruise. Yes, it hurt. But the physical discomfort
was nothing compared to the fear.
And here she’d
promised herself, long ago, that she’d never again let herself be that type of
victim.
But this fear—it
was more about Armie standing in front of her, using himself as a shield.
Risking his own life.
Willing to
die.
“Take these.”
Cannon handed her two aspirin.
She tried a
teasing smile. “This feels so familiar.”
He stalled, then
shook his head. “Don’t think about that.”
She couldn’t help
herself. They’d lost their dad when she was only sixteen. As the owner of a
neighborhood bar he’d resisted the extortion of local thugs, refusing to pay
their demanded fees for “protection.” Late one night when he’d been closing, men
had come in and beaten him to death.
Devastated but
determined, their mom had nearly worked herself into her own grave trying to
keep them afloat. Merissa could remember it all like yesterday. The goons wanted
her mother to sell but she’d refused.
Until some of
those goons had cornered Merissa on her way home from school.
“It’s all the
same. You coddling me, being the strong one for both of us.”
“You were a kid
then.”
“You’re only two
years older than me,” she reminded him with a shoulder bump. “You were a kid
then, too.”
“Maybe. I remember
feeling so damned helpless.”
“Like you feel
now?” She knew her brother, knew he wanted to make things right for her when
that wasn’t his responsibility. “I’m not a kid anymore, Cannon. I can handle
it.”
“You don’t have
to.”
“Yes, I do,” she
told him gently. “Because I don’t want my big brother stuck taking care of me
again.”
He folded her hand
into his own. “You know I enjoy it, right?”
Her laugh sounded
pitiful. But she still remembered how her mother had given in because of her.
Cannon had found those men, and even at eighteen he’d made them pay with his
fists—because of her.
She’d influenced
him into becoming a fighter.
And it was because
of her that he’d formed the neighborhood watch.
Everyone loved Cannon, but no one could love him more than she did.
“Superman,” she
teased. “This time, I promise I can take care of myself.”
A slight knock on
the door made her jump.
“It’s just Armie,”
Cannon said with a squeeze to her shoulder. “I’ll let him in.”
Nodding, she again
thought of the way Armie had stood in front of her, willing to block bullets if
necessary.
Emotion welled up,
choking her, killing her.
She quickly took
the aspirin and tried to get herself together.
Armie peeked in
cautiously, saw her on the couch and came in farther. “She okay?”
“Yes,” Merissa and
Cannon said at the same time.
Armie gave a
slight, tilted smile. “Hey, Stretch.” He came over to her, laid her keys on the
coffee table, then winced at the darkening discoloration on her jaw.
“I bruise easily,”
she explained. “By tomorrow it’s going to look worse, believe me. But it was
just a slap. I doubt you guys would have even noticed.”
Armie crouched
down in front of her. “Hey, you’re not a fighter, hon.”
She liked it when
he called her something other than Stretch. Something affectionate. “No
kidding.” She hadn’t fought at all; fear and the furious beating of her heart
had kept her malleable and weak. It infuriated her. “I may be big, but I lack
muscle.” And guts.
“Tall,” Armie
corrected. “You’re tall, but far from big. More like…”
“What?”
He thought about
it. “Delicate.”
A genuine smile
took her by surprise. So Armie Jacobson saw her as delicate? Huh.
Knowing she needed
to get this over with, Merissa took another drink, then set her glass aside and
stood.
Armie slowly did
the same, his cautious gaze never leaving her. Cannon stood near him, strangely
quiet. They both watched her as if expecting her to lose it at any
second.
And maybe she
would—if she didn’t have an audience.
Since first publishing in January 1996, Lori Foster has become a USA Today, Publisher’s Weekly and New York Times bestselling author. Lori has published through a variety of houses, including Kensington, St. Martin’s, Harlequin, Silhouette, Samhain, and Berkley/Jove. She is currently published with HQN. Visit her online at
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I am so behind. I need time!!!
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