“Leave Brawler to me,” I say. “What I really need help with is convincing Johnny. He can’t hate Brawler right now. Johnny’s going to need all of us when his life implodes, and that’s going to be sooner rather than later.”
I hope I’m right. Pushing Johnny into this could be forcing him right back toward his father. But he’s come so far. He’s opened up to me. He’s told me about his past. He hasn’t hurt me in a long time. He’s done everything he can for me.
“You know him better than anyone...” I start. “Tell me he’ll end up on our side. Tell me he won’t do anything crazy.”
“Anything crazy?” His eyebrows rise. “No one can promise that when it comes to Johnny Rocket.” He worries over his lip. “Whatever just happened in here, scared you, didn’t it?” His gaze hardens. “Did he hurt you?”
I swear his hand twitches toward his back where he usually keeps his gun. “He didn’t,” I say, leveling my voice as much as I can. He didn’t hurt me physically, but as always, there’s more than one way to hurt someone.
Sure, he brought me to orgasm, but it wasn’t in a way that told me he even wanted to. It was about control. It wasn’t about the act. Hell, it wasn’t even hate fucking. At least then, you’re fucking your aggression out. The way he left afterward said it all.
“Did he tell you he’d be back tonight?” I ask, not able to help how needy I sound.
“He didn’t say.”
“Then I want to go to his apartment,” I tell Magnum. If Johnny is upset—if I’ve pushed him too far—I don’t want him retreating into other habits he might have had before.
Mag nods, and he takes me up through Security. The guards just off the elevator nod at us as we walk by, and when I knock on the door, Johnny doesn’t answer.
Thankfully, Mag doesn’t make me wait out in the hallway like a thrown-out piece of trash. He lets me into Johnny’s place with a key of his own, and I walk toward the bedroom.
“Kyla?” Mag calls out, the desperate tone in his voice makes me turn to face him. “If Johnny doesn’t choose you, he’s the dumbest man alive.”
I smile at his compliment, then retreat into the back, slipping under Johnny’s covers in his empty bed, relishing in the fresh sheets that still have that little hint of him on them.
Maybe I’ve gone completely mental. Someone on the outside might say I’ve lost my shit. They might even say I have some sort of Stockholm Syndrome. My answer to them would be a giant middle finger in their face.
I know someone who deserves to be fought for when I see it. We already promised we wouldn’t run away from each other’s secrets, which includes this. So, yeah, when Johnny gets back tonight, he’s going to find me waiting for him. And if he ever does it again, I’ll be in the same fucking place because Johnny never had anyone who fought for him, and for once in his life, he fucking deserves it.
24
The next thing I know, a door sounds as if it’s being torn off its hinges. A guttural curse whips through the air, making tiny hairs stand up all over my body. Ragged breaths fill the room as I jolt up in bed at being woken up like a bomb went off in the apartment.
Johnny stands in the doorway to his room. The door bounces against the wall and returns to hit him in the shoulder. He’s not even aware of it. He’s staring at me with wide-eyed confusion, apprehension, and relief mixing into one intense gaze.
His clothes sit askew. His shirt is all the way unbuttoned, lying open in a crooked mess. His jacket is nowhere to be seen and more than a few wrinkles mar his perfectly tailored pants.
Johnny strides toward the bed with authority. I just stare at him, not backing down, but sitting up straighter as he approaches.
He drops to his knees by the bed, his hands gripping the side of the mattress with such force that his knuckles turn white. “I thought you left.” His voice is surprisingly less hostile now that his previous curse has increased the tension in the room tenfold.
“I was waiting for you,” I tell him. “I didn’t like the way we left things.”
His heated eyes blaze with a fire hotter than the earth’s core. If I were a lesser person, I’d