Next to Never
Page 8

My knuckles cracked, and the room felt like it was getting smaller.
He leaned back, eyeing me with his self-satisfied fucking face. “We keep a suite at the Waldorf, Jase. You’re not getting a divorce, so I suggest you use the room whenever and however often you need it.”
I shook my head and spun around, bolting out of the bar without even stopping to get my coat.
Jesus Christ. What a fucking prick.
The frigid March evening cut into me, but it was a welcome relief from my burning temper.
I powered down the sidewalk, my gaze driving over the concrete, and I couldn’t seem to get a handle on myself. I couldn’t make myself happy and keep my family intact. Why couldn’t I find a balance? Maddie wasn’t the problem. I was. Why didn’t I want her?
She knew I didn’t love her like that when we married, and it was the same for her, but we thought it would grow into something bigger.
I’d see her standing at the refrigerator in the mornings dressed in my white T-shirts, her long, beautiful legs and angelic face equal in their perfection. Any man would desire her. So why couldn’t I? Why couldn’t I slip my hands inside of her clothes and whisper in her ear how beautiful she was? Or how much I needed to be inside of her right then? Why couldn’t I give her the husband she deserved?
I rounded the corner, heading into the rear parking lot, lost in my thoughts, when I heard hushed chatter. I looked up and immediately halted.
My eyes narrowed at the sight of two kids hovering around my car, fiddling with the handle of my BMW.
What the . . . ?
“Hey!” I burst out, charging forward as both of their heads shot up. “Get away from my car!”
“Run!” one of the guys shouted, darting around the car and breaking into a run. “Come on, Kat!”
I raced over, seeing one of the kids shooting down to grab tools off the ground.
“Thomas!” he shouted after the other kid had already run off like a coward and saved himself.
But it was too late for this one.
These fucking kids were out of control, and I hoped like hell he was old enough to taste a night in jail.
“Come here, you little shit.” I swooped down and grabbed the kid by his black sweatshirt and yanked him up.
But my face immediately fell.
It wasn’t a boy.
Not a boy at all.
It was a young woman.
She breathed hard, both fear and fight blazing in her chocolate eyes as I held her by the collar. I stared into the warmest brown hue I’d ever seen, and a glow of light sweat covered her flushed cheeks.
My mouth went dry.
Her long brown hair was tucked into the collar of her hoodie, but strands blew across her face with the light wind, and I squeezed her sweatshirt tighter.
“Let go of me, asshole!” she shouted, struggling and squirming to get away. I narrowed my eyes, amusement fluttering through my chest.
She twisted, throwing out her pathetic little fists, and I almost laughed.
I jerked her up. “How old are you? Didn’t your parents teach you to keep your hands off other people’s things?”
“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” she yelled, tears filling her eyes despite her tough act. “I promise we won’t do it again. We just needed the money.”
“Tell it to the cops,” I snapped, even though I had no intention of calling the police.
Her worried eyes darted around her, and I could tell she was struggling not to cry.
“How old are you?” I demanded again. Did she have parents responsible for her?
She shot angry eyes at me but clamped her mouth shut.
I got in her face. “How old?” I yelled.
But the next thing I knew, she’d swung her fist, bringing it down across the side of my face, and I reared back, loosening my grip on her.
Shit!
I grabbed my face, trying to force my stinging eye back open, but all I could make out were legs and ass as she darted away, into the night.
I squinted, rubbing the ache in my cheek, and I swallowed blood from where my teeth had cut the inside of my mouth when she’d hit me.
I composed myself and moved toward my car. But then I zeroed in on something on the ground, and I reached down to pick it up.
A wallet.
It had to be hers. Fake red leather with a coin compartment. Opening it up, I immediately went for her license and picked it out.
“Kat,” I said slowly, eyeing her bright smile and dark eyes.
And then I looked at her birthdate, since she’d refused to tell me.
Nineteen.
A smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “Old enough to know better,” I said to myself.
The address read “14 Truman Street,” and I turned the card around in my fingers, thinking about what to do.
I could have them arrested. Or I could save myself some aggravation, because they were only common street punks, and toss the license into the Dumpster. I had better things to do. Who really cared, anyway?
But then her eyes flashed in my head, and I suddenly knew what I wanted to do. My interest was piqued. The fear and the way her breathing shook. The vulnerable tremble to her bottom lip. The anger and the way she slapped me as she found the courage to fight.
What was her story?
Slipping the card into my pocket, I climbed into my car and sped out of the parking lot. Truman Street was on the other side of town, and I had no clue if she and her little pal even had transportation or they were just counting on taking mine, but I suspected I wouldn’t even find her home. If that was her real home, that is.