Hard As You Can

Chapter 4

On a short break, Crystal leaned into the dressing-room mirror and tilted her face into the light. The swelling had gone down, so between her makeup and the dim lights of the club, the customers didn’t seem to be noticing that she’d been struck. Bruno was too damn strategic to use his fists on her face, but he had no qualms about using an open palm, nor about taking out his frustrations on the rest of her body.

And last night, having lost Church’s prisoner and the guys who’d stolen him, he’d had frustration to spare.

Of course, he’d apologized, wrapped her in his coat, and escorted her home afterward. Normally, she drove herself crazy worrying about Jenna when she slept over at one of her college friend’s apartments, but last night she’d been grateful into her very marrow that her sister hadn’t been home to see what Bruno had done. Again.

When the abuse first started, Crystal had fallen for his apologies and made excuses for him. After all, he’d saved her from far worse. Now, she recognized the apologies as the reprieve they were, smiled and made nice, and bided her time.

Thanks to a merit scholarship that covered her tuition and a bunch of summer classes the past couple years, Jenna was on track to graduate from college in December. So they only had about eight months until Crystal could put her escape plan into action.

Where to escape to Crystal still hadn’t decided, but the anonymity of New York City’s teeming crowds looked really good. Maybe Crystal could find a job in the Garment District working for a big-name designer, and one day she’d have the resources and contacts to design her own collection . . .

“Hey, there,” Brandy said, pulling Crystal from her fantasies and slipping into the space next to her. A cleavage-revealing white robe around her shoulders, the raven-haired woman had a beautiful, lithe body and a serious meth addiction, and had worked at Confessions longer than Crystal although as a dancer, not a waitress. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Crystal said, chancing a smile at her.

Brandy’s gaze landed on her left cheekbone, and her expression faltered for just a moment. “Yeah? That’s good,” she said, her voice less successful at hiding what she’d seen.

“Is it that obvious?” Crystal grabbed her compact as she turned back to the mirror.

“No, not really. The fluorescent lights in here show every damn thing.” Brandy fished through her cosmetics bag. “I know just what to do. Look here.”

Embarrassment heating her cheeks, Crystal turned in her chair and faced the woman, who couldn’t be more than a few years older than her. They were friendly but not exactly friends. To Crystal, friends were people you could trust implicitly. Around here, it just wasn’t safe to give anyone that kind of power.

“Your skin is so pretty and so fair,” she said, holding back the loose curls on the side of Crystal’s face. “I always wanted red hair.” She stroked a brush over Crystal’s cheek.

“Why? Your hair is gorgeous and mysterious.”

She shifted the brush to Crystal’s other cheek. “And yours is rare and unique.” Her hand sagged into her lap. “What happened?”

Crystal pursed her lips and shrugged. Brandy knew what’d happened. Everyone around here knew what had happened when she showed up with a mark on her skin. And they all looked the other way.

“You’re too good for this place, Crystal. You know that, right?”

She gave a half laugh. “We’re all too good for this place.”

Brandy shook her head. “I’m being serious.” When Crystal didn’t say anything, the woman continued. “You’re talented and smart. What were you studying to be in college?”

“How did you—”

“God, girl, your father was so proud of you, he wouldn’t shut up about it. ‘First in the family,’ he’d say.”

“Oh,” Crystal said. Once, she would’ve glowed to hear such a thing about her father, but after she’d learned what he was into, it had gotten a lot harder to keep idolizing the man who had failed her and Jenna so spectacularly. It shouldn’t surprise her that Brandy had known her father. Lots of people around here had. His position as one of the Apostles meant that he’d been well-known and well respected.

But then his imprisonment and death and the revelation about his indebtedness to Church put an end to college for her before the end of her sophomore year.

Now, school felt so long ago it was as if Brandy spoke of another person. What life would be like if getting along with her college roommate was her biggest problem. God, how naïve she’d been. About the world. About her father. About everything.

“I hadn’t decided,” she lied. But she just couldn’t sully her dreams of becoming a clothing designer by giving voice to them in this place, especially given how she’d bastardized those dreams by occasionally making costumes for the dancers. Now it just sounded stupid. Childish. Impossible.

Brandy stroked more blush on Crystal’s cheeks. “Well, I’m sure it was going to be something great.” She grabbed a tube from her bag. “Let’s do this, too,” she said, rubbing some red lipstick on a sterile applicator.

Crystal turned back to the mirror and smoothed the bold color onto her lips.

“It’s way more than you usually wear, but you can totally pull it off, and it hides the mark,” Brandy said, echoing Crystal’s own thoughts. The rouge and lip color made the rest of her skin paler by comparison, but Brandy was right. The color on her face now looked intentional, hiding the redness by highlighting it.

“That is better. Thanks,” she said, glancing at her cell phone. Break time was over. “I guess I better get back out there before someone comes looking for me.”

“Hang tough, hon,” Brandy said, giving her hand a squeeze. “You have more of your father’s strength in you than you know.”

Crystal nodded and bolted for the door, suddenly feeling as if the walls were closing in on her. People around here didn’t often talk about her father. His arrest, conviction, and death provided an unwelcome reminder of where this life could take them if they weren’t careful. For her, his arrest and later death had been just the beginning of everything she’d lost, including her ability to trust. Because if you couldn’t count on your own father to tell the truth and protect you, who could you count on? She’d had no idea what he’d been into until his arrest.

Back on the floor, Crystal switched off with Amber to cover the section in the back corner of the club. Monday nights were always on the quiet side, and for that she was grateful. She moved between the tables, taking orders, delivering drinks, and offering flirtatious conversation. Just another role to play. But as this one earned her money, she always gave it her all.

“Welcome to Confessions. What can I get for you this evening?” she said to the man sitting by himself in the next-to-last booth.

He lifted his gaze to her. And all the air sucked out of the room.

Steel gray eyes.

Pretty Boy.

She gasped and took an unthinking step backward. Oh, God. What is he doing here? Crystal forced herself to ease her posture. If she called any attention to herself right now, things could get bad. For both of them.

“I’ll have a beer, please. Whatever’s on tap. And Crystal?”

She almost asked how he knew her name, but then she remembered telling him when they’d spoken last night, when she thought she was helping someone who belonged here.

“Just breathe.”

She turned away, her brain sorting through a variety of choices. Tell. Run. Avoid. All of which were fraught with potentially negative consequences for her. If she told them she recognized this man from last night, it would reveal that she hadn’t told them everything she’d seen. Namely, the man’s face.

The man’s exquisitely handsome face. Chiseled jaw. Playful, full lips.

God, what was wrong with her? If he didn’t get his sexy ass out of here, they were going to be in deep shit.

Walker filled her order, chitchatting with her the whole time. His chatter helped calm her nerves. Just be cool. Nobody knows anything. Nobody sees anything. Just act natural. As her panic receded, anger rushed in. She’d helped him. She’d risked herself. Enough was enough. He had no freaking right to put her in any more danger than she was already in. She scrawled a note on a napkin and returned to the man’s booth with his beer.

“Here you go, sir.” She placed the napkin down first, waited until she was sure he saw her message—Leave now and don’t come back, then set the glass on top of it. “Will there be anything else?” She let every bit of the rage brewing inside her shine from her gaze.

It didn’t seem to faze him. “I’d like to talk to you, darlin’.”

She pasted a smile on her face and pretended the hint of Southern in his accent didn’t make her go warm. “Well, I wouldn’t like to talk to you.” She turned on her heel—

And he caught her hand in his and reeled her in against his side.

Crystal gasped at the contact, and her chest went tight with a growing panic borne of an old, horrible experience. Then her brain registered that he wasn’t hurting her, and he wasn’t trying anything else, and she managed to beat back her anxiety enough to hold it together.

He was damn lucky she was a waitress and not a dancer, because the club had a hands-off policy toward the latter. At least out on the floor. But the waitresses, her included, tolerated a pat on the ass or a hand on her thigh because flirting brought bigger tips. Every time.

Pretty Boy’s grasp probably looked playful from the outside, so Crystal forced herself to throw her head back and laugh like she was enjoying the attention. And, truth be told, between the unusual gentleness of his grip and the hardness of his muscles where they were pressed together, a flash of heat shot through her. Ridiculous. Dangerous. “You have no idea who you’re playing with,” she whispered, anger at herself mixing with her ire toward him.

“I need your help. And I think I can help you in return.”

She scoffed, leaned in closer, and prepared to let him know just what she thought about that—

“What happened to your cheek?” Anger slipped into his expression, sharpening the angles of his otherwise pretty face.

Well, shit. Not covered as well as she thought, then.

And why the heck would he care?

So, so gently, he stroked his knuckles over her cheekbone.

The tenderness of the gesture sent tingles through her belly. Bruno didn’t always hurt her, but he was almost never gentle, either.

Softness and compassion weren’t traits she was used to from a man. It was so foreign, she almost wasn’t sure how to respond. For a moment, she pressed into the touch, but then her brain restarted, and she jerked away. She tapped her finger on the napkin. “I don’t want to have to tell you again.”

Without waiting for him to reply, she turned and moved to another table that blessedly needed her assistance. She had to keep busy, act normal, laugh, and make the men feel special—and, above all else, avoid the gray-eyed man until he finally got the message. Or her shift ended. Thankfully, she wasn’t closing tonight and only had another hour to go. She could keep it together that long.

It was maybe the slowest hour of Crystal’s life.

Everywhere she moved, she felt the man’s gaze on her. The one time she gave in to the urge to look at him, he appeared absorbed in the dancers onstage, but somehow she knew it was an act.

Maybe it took an actor to know one?

The guy was watching her even when he didn’t appear to be. She would’ve sworn it. Prickles ran over her scalp. Her awareness of him was so intense, it permeated the air all around her. This man was dangerous in all kinds of ways she didn’t want to explore. Couldn’t even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t.

Then, ten minutes before the end of her shift, he threw a few bills on the table, shoved out of the booth, and strode across the club as if he weren’t Jimmy Church’s Number One Most Wanted.

And, God, if she’d thought his face handsome, the head-to-toe view was a total stunner. Tall, built, and all in black, the guy moved with a lethal grace that was quiet and powerful at the same time. She recognized the swagger a lot of the guys in the gang possessed, but his movements weren’t full of the posturing she often witnessed in the men around here. Like he was so bad-ass he had no need to prove it.

Crystal forced her gaze away and breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank God he’s gone.

She ignored the niggle of regret that settled into the pit of her stomach and made her way to clear his table and pocket his tip. At least for her troubles, Pretty Boy had left money—she could often keep a bigger portion of cash tips because the shift manager couldn’t track them with specificity, as opposed to the credit-card tips he could account for to the last penny. She wasn’t sure if the guy had been brave or stupid for returning after what he’d pulled the night before. All she knew was she hoped he didn’t ever return.

Niggle.

She groaned as she returned to the dressing room and changed out of the skimpy halter shirt and tiny skirt that just covered her ruined back but left her cleavage, midriff, and legs bare. Stepping into her jeans and flip-flops was like seeing an old friend. When she got out of this job, she might never wear heels again.

Crystal reveled in whatever crisis had kept Bruno away from the club tonight as she made her way out the door, across the parking lot, and into the dull red pickup that had been her father’s. Red, for the hair all three of the Dean women had had in common, not that she could remember much about her mom. She’d died in a car crash when Crystal had been so young her only real memory of the woman was her warm, happy smile. At least she’d managed to hang on to her mother’s sewing machine. Knowing that her mom’s hands had once worked at that needle made Crystal feel close to her every time she sat down to make her or Jenna a piece of clothing—one of Crystal’s few interests that had survived from before.

The engine started on a loud rumble, and Crystal’s hands gripped the wide steering wheel. The truck was so big it made her feel tiny, but a part of Crystal loved the fact that she owned a vehicle large enough to move all the important stuff she and Jenna owned. For when the time came to get away.

And it was coming. This year, she and Jenna were going to have the happiest Christmas ever. Because by then, they’d be somewhere new and far, far away.

In the grand scheme of things, eight months was nothing.

She just had to keep out of trouble in the meantime.

That meant no more taking chances. And definitely no helping strange, beautiful men. No matter what.

SHANE SIGHED AS he positioned his truck on the street so he wouldn’t miss Crystal leave. The trip to the club hadn’t been a complete waste.

Before he’d found Crystal, Shane had managed to place listening devices at the ordering station on the bar, near the bar’s phone, and in both public restrooms. He’d also double-checked that the receiver-transmitter that Easy had wired into the exterior cable the night before was still intact. That piece was key, enabling Marz to do some sort of technical voodoo whereby he could remotely access the live feeds the mics picked up. Or something. Shane loved the man like a brother, but Marz’s technospeak had the power to put him right into a coma. They still needed eyes and ears in the private spaces of Confessions, but it was a start.

Situated among a run-down strip of restaurants, dive bars, and stores gone out of business, the club’s property dominated the whole side of the block, a hotbed of activity in the midst of the otherwise subdued street. It was one of those neighborhoods through which the cops never patrolled and taxis never drove without a call specifically bringing them there.

Shane studied the club’s points of ingress and egress, assembling a mental catalog of the building in case he needed to return. But his thoughts keep coming back to Crystal.

She was more than a survivor—which the demand to hit her had already told him. She was also a fighter. Which was good. Whether she knew it or not, they were in this thing together, and she was going to need to be smart and she was going to have to be strong. That she’d come at him with all kinds of hellfire—all the while acting like he was just another customer—was reassuring. Not to mention damn hot.

Jesus, she was a slight little thing in his arms, tall and lean and warm. Beautiful curves and smooth skin. A man could lose himself in a body like hers.

And someone had taken a hand to her.

As he sat in the cab of his truck, a big bucket of rage parked itself in the center of his chest. When he’d seen the handprint under the extra layers of her makeup, it’d taken everything he had to not react in a way that would draw attention. He’d put her in harm’s way enough. Clearly.

But one thing was for goddamn sure. Whoever’s hand matched that print wouldn’t need two gloves come winter.

Just like Shane had seen what she’d tried to hide, he’d learn who’d hurt her. In the Army, Shane had been known for seeing what others missed. Like the inked eagle sprawled across his back, he excelled at sighting his prey from far, far away and attacking with a speed and accuracy that never gave them a fighting chance.

The sonofabitch who hurt her would never know what hit him. On second thought, yeah, he would. Abusers were bullies. Cowards. And Shane wanted to see the fear in the man’s eyes when he made him pay.

About twenty-five minutes later, movement caught his attention. A red truck made its way from the back of the lot to the gate at the street. With Crystal in the driver’s seat. Bingo. She had to leave at some point, and it would be easier to talk to her away from all the eyes in the club.

Crystal turned onto the street and passed him. He let two other cars go by before pulling out behind her. Bright and big as the truck was, he didn’t need to be aggressive with the tail. He could keep track of her just fine. And the fact that she was the Mother Teresa of drivers—obeying every traffic law to a tee—helped a lot, too. He found it oddly endearing since his foot was normally an anvil of pure lead when he got behind the wheel.

Speed was a fucking awesome distraction from the shit in his head.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled into a garden-apartment complex just outside the city line. Shane kept going straight, ditched his F-150 about a half block down the street, then hightailed it on foot, keeping to the shadows, until he saw her truck.

Crystal sat behind the wheel. Still. Head back. From this distance, it almost looked like she was sleeping. He didn’t want to scare her, but in case she lived with someone, maybe he should approach her while she was—

A strange moan caught his attention. His gaze whipped to the right, to the outdoor stairwell of the building he approached.

A girl sat on the next-to-the-bottom step. One moment, she had her arms around drawn-up knees. The next, she went rigid and started convulsing.

Shane was immediately in motion.

The seizure forced her muscles to contract, forming her into a ball that made her fall down the last two steps.

He went to his knees beside her, his medic training kicking in without a second thought. Gently, he rolled her to her side in case she vomited, then he whipped off his jacket and slid it under her head.

There was nothing else to be done until it was over. Damnit. The medical identification bracelet she wore announced her epileptic condition, so Shane held off on calling 911. If the seizure wasn’t too severe, she might be lucid within another minute and could tell him how best to help.

Aw, damn. This girl has red hair like—

“Oh, my God, what are you doing?” came a voice from behind him.

Crystal.

This was so not how he’d wanted to reveal himself. “This woman is having a seizure.”

She went to her knees beside him. “I’m here, Jenna. Hang on.” Worry poured off her as the younger woman’s muscles contracted, and her eyes rolled back. “She’s my sister.”

Yeah, he’d figured that much out. “She’ll be okay,” he said.

“I’ve been taking care of her for years. I don’t need you to tell me she’ll be okay,” she said, her tone equal parts anger and fear, beautiful green eyes flashing. “What are you, anyway?” Her gaze dragged over the holstered gun under his arm.

“Former Army medic.”

“I told you to leave me alone,” Crystal bit out in a hushed voice.

“No. You told me to leave Confessions. Which I did.”

“Yeah. And then you followed me home. Right?” She nailed him with a stare.

Shane’s gut clenched. No defense there. Instinct told him the truth was the only chance he had to keep her from shutting him out for good. “Yes. I really need your help. I thought maybe it would be easier for you to talk away from the club.”

Jenna’s muscles went slack on a groan, recapturing their attention. Her eyelids lifted sluggishly, as if they were made of five-pound weights.

“Okay, sweetie, just hang in there. I’ll get you inside,” Crystal said, sliding her hands under the other woman’s shoulders.

Shane gripped his thighs and forced himself still. “Let me help,” he said, itching to just pick Jenna up since it was pretty damn clear Crystal wasn’t going to be able to move her unconscious like this. But he sensed that doing it without her permission would bring down all sorts of shutters, and so far he wasn’t making great headway in winning her over.

The debate played out across her expression, then her gaze dropped to Jenna’s face. She stroked her sister’s cheek and sighed. “Okay. But just because I know I can’t get her up the steps like this. And she could be out of it for a good half hour.”

Nodding, Shane scooped up his coat and the woman and rose to his feet. She couldn’t weigh more than a buck twenty soaking wet. Jenna was totally out, exhaustion from a severe epileptic seizure often sent a person into a sleep state immediately afterward and left them drained for the next day or two. Crystal had a damn lot on her plate. Even more than he’d known.

For a moment, Crystal mother-henned over her sister in his arms, as if making sure he wasn’t hurting her. With a resigned expression, she finally said, “This way.”

As he followed Crystal up the set of concrete steps, he realized he’d learned something important about her tonight. She didn’t like to receive help. And she didn’t like to ask for it. But she would if her sister was the one who needed it.

Damn if he didn’t respect that.

And, Jesus, if he’d thought Crystal sexy with too much skin showing, she was even sexier in the tee and faded jeans, her hair swept into a long ponytail. Damn, even the painted toes sticking out of her flip-flops intrigued him.

At the door, she stopped and looked around, like she was making sure no one noticed them, then she let him in.

The apartment was small and plain, but clean and organized. Crystal led him through the combination living-dining room decorated in shades of blue and past the galley-style kitchen to a narrow hallway at the back. Three doorways stood in the dimness of the space, a bathroom and presumably each of their bedrooms. They entered the one on the right, and Crystal clicked on the small lamp on the bedside table.

The orderliness of the rest of the apartment stopped at Jenna’s bedroom door.

The room was like a bookstore with a double bed in one corner. One of those old, used bookstores where it was possible the removal of a single book from the shelf might bring the whole place collapsing in on itself. Towering stacks of books sat on every flat surface, including the carpeted floor, and one whole wall was lined with overflowing shelves.

“So, she likes to read, then,” he said as he gently laid Jenna onto the rumpled comforter. Colorful flowers and butterflies on a white background. A butterfly mobile hung from the ceiling in front of one window. Shane resisted the urge to check that Molly’s necklace still lay safe in his pocket. And to think this girl’s apparent fascination with his sister’s favorite creature was some kind of a sign.

Crystal smirked and busied herself with the covers. “What gave it away?”

It wasn’t the smile he’d been going for, but it was a start. He hoped.

Jenna’s breathing was raspy—not unusual after a seizure, and Crystal sat on the edge of the bed and stroked her palm over the younger woman’s forehead. “So, uh . . .” She frowned. “You were a doctor in the Army?”

Shane studied the reluctant expression she wore, the lines of worry settled into her forehead, the way the soft, red waves of her ponytail cascaded over her shoulder. “I cross-trained as a medic.”

On a long sigh, Crystal shook her head and stood. “Well, thank you for helping her. I . . . I don’t know how I would’ve gotten her inside . . .” Her gaze landed everywhere but on his.

He frowned, sensing the good-bye from a mile out. “I’m glad I was here.”

She hugged herself. “You should go.”

And there it was. “Crystal—”

She gestured to be quiet and led him out of the room, gently pulling the door shut behind them. In the dimness of the hallway, she looked up at him, a war of emotions on her face. “You can’t be here.”

“Why not?” he said. Not only did he need her help, but the fact that she and her sister might need his had his feet rooted firmly in place. All of a sudden, his brain assembled the last few minutes into a puzzle picture he didn’t like. “Wait. Is she not receiving treatment for the epilepsy?”

Crystal’s eyebrows slashed downward, and outrage dropped her mouth into an oval. “Of course she’s receiving treatment.”

Shane held his hands up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you. It just seemed like you might want my help. For her,” he added.

She didn’t school her expression fast enough, and Shane saw the rightness of his analysis.

“Come on, Crystal. What’s going on?”

She turned on her heel and walked the short distance to the living room. “You really need to go.”

Shane sat down on the well-worn denim couch and crossed his boot over his knee.

She gawped. It was almost comical how expressive her face could be. When she let it.

“What’s going on?” he repeated.

“I don’t even know you.”

“That’s why I was hoping we could talk.” His gaze scanned the room and landed on the large flat-screen mounted to the opposite wall. Beneath it sat a bookshelf with a variety of high-end equipment—DVD player, receiver, stereo, speakers. Sweet setup, but not a single piece of it matched the worn-out nature of the rest of the women’s belongings. Odd, since Crystal didn’t strike him as the type to splurge on luxuries, not when the woman’s truck was likely so old it was flirting with a historic vehicle designation.

She arched an eyebrow. “You can’t be here.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true. Jesus, if—”

Shane was off the couch and in front of her. “If what?” He tucked a few bronze wisps off her face and behind her ear, then let his fingers graze her cheekbone. The gentleness belied the storm whipping up inside him at the near reference to her tormenter.

She stepped back. “It doesn’t matter.”

Like hell it doesn’t. Crossing his arms, Shane waited.

“God, I can’t get rid of you.” Exasperation had her throwing up her arms.

“I specialize in pain in the ass, darlin’.” He smiled, forcing himself to gear down the intensity.

“Well, congratulations, because you clearly graduated with honors.”

He grinned and watched as she twisted her lips to avoid doing the same. The problem was clearly that she didn’t think she should talk, but his gut told him she wanted to. That she was dying to. “I just want to be your friend, Crystal.”

All traces of humor disappeared from her face. “I don’t have friends.”

“You don’t have them? Or you’re not allowed to have them?” Shane worked hard to keep his voice neutral.

“The reason doesn’t matter. And it’s none of your business.”

Goddamn. Had he ever worked this hard to get a woman to warm up to him? Far from making him back off, the strength of her defenses had him worrying about why she felt she needed them.

He closed the distance between them. “Okay, no friends, then. But I could still help you and Jenna.”

She sighed and looked him in the eye. “We don’t need your help.”

Just then, a thump and a muffled cry sounded from the back of the apartment.