7. Hellena

7

HELLENA

G avin Rorshak.

To say he's not what I was expecting would be the understatement of the century.

I mean, I figured he was probably a tough guy. War hardened. A grizzled, old movie-style drill sergeant.

I also assumed he'd be around my dad's age which would put him late into his forties. Nope. This guy is maybe forty. And he is strong as hell .

The man is pure muscle and six foot plus. Easily 250 lbs., not that I'm a good judge of guys' weight. But he makes the college jocks I threw parties for look like twigs with the width of his chest, shoulders, and the massive biceps that look like they're about to tear through the sleeves of his blood-stained T-shirt.

I think I've heard the term "brick shithouse" somewhere before, but I never understood it until now. Even so, he doesn't look like a meathead gym-rat. He's chiseled, with a bold jaw under dark stubble and stellar cheekbones that frame his hazel eyes so intensely.

Yeah. Intense is the right word.

And scary as hell. Rachelle wasn't joking.

When he pinned me up against the side of the garage, I thought I was going to die. No question. It's the second time in my life I've had a weapon held to my person, but the first time I genuinely thought I was going to lose my life.

At the same time, it didn't feel as menacing as the drug dealers or my ex. There was no malice in his eyes, like he enjoyed hurting people. Which is why I was able to hold his gaze and actually explain myself, even if I was shaking the whole time.

It helped that the minute he realized who I was, something shifted, tangibly. His whole posture changed and became gentler.

I'm going to completely ignore the fact that when he was pressed up against me, I may or may not have found it unreasonably hot.

So. Embarrassing.

What's not embarrassing is admitting that my jaw dropped when I saw him get out of the shower. I should have looked away, but damn .

Any leftover chills I had from standing out in the cold shot right out the window when I saw the way his body moved, powerful and rippling. Heat flooded my cheeks as I took in the curve of his spine, down to an ass that was just begging to be squeezed.

Then he turned around. I can pretend I didn't see anything as he tucked the towel around him, but I'd be lying.

The man is endowed .

Auburn hair with just a touch of gray at the temples falls in wet strands around his forehead as he stands there in the doorway, staring at me in a way that makes my blood reach a boil in seconds. It must be the danger, the life-or-death situation I'm in that's got me so flustered and riled up.

I manage to drag my focus back to why I am here long enough to ask him, "Will you help me?"

Sipping my beer gives me something to do while he stands there thinking, basically naked, because that towel is losing the battle with hiding what he's got between his legs. I can see him weighing the risk, fighting with himself.

"Maybe I should just go. It's not fair to put you?—"

"Stop. I just need a minute to think. It's been a rough day." The circles under his eyes make me think it's probably been a rough month. It does nothing to diminish his handsome visage. "You can stay here tonight, at least. I'm not sending you driving back down the cliffs in the dark."

"Thank you, Gavin."

"Yeah, well." His nostrils flare when I say his name. I swear that for a second he smirks at me, catching the way my eyes dragged down his body. Then he's rubbing his neck as he shrugs and kicks the door closed to dress.

"I'll, uh, take the couch," I say a little louder so he can still hear me.

"Yeah. You will." Gavin huffs a sarcastic chuckle as he pops back into the living room in a pair of sweatpants that are almost worse than the towel. His comment has me unintentionally scowling.

"Not that I wanted your bed, but really?" My eyebrows arch and my head cocks to the side.

"I'm not an Air BnB, Hellena. And it's a pull-out couch, newer and probably more comfortable than my old bed. Besides that…" An odd expression pulls at the side of his mouth, twisting his lips, like he doesn't know how to approach it.

"You don't want me going through your stuff, huh? What's the matter, got stacks of old porn under your bed?" Oof. I just manage to hide a cringe at my own joke. I sound like one of Todd's buddies teasing him like that.

"Oh, yeah, stacks and stacks." He snorts, playing along as he downs the rest of his beer. "No. It's actually… serious. I just didn't want to sound like an asshole barking orders at you."

"Oh. Oh . Like house rules?"

"Yes. I only have two."

"Is one of them that you have to walk around without a shirt on?" Please let that be a rule…

"We could make it a rule if you want… but you'd have to comply, too." And his eyes make their way down my body for a fleeting second before he turns away, digging through the fridge. Almost like he didn't mean to say it. Like he caught himself.

"Should I get out my maid outfit while I'm at it?" It comes out harsher than I meant. I shouldn't be so snippy, but if he wants to play that game…

"No. Sorry. That all came out wrong."

Why am I disappointed that he backed down from flirting?

"You don't have to clean the place or work to stay here." Looks like the quippy back and forth is done. Back to stern and serious Sergeant. Gavin. "Just two things. Don't go into my room. Don't go into my office in the garage."

I start to salute in response but think better of it. That's definitely something my new friend Ora would do, but I don't want to antagonize him. Especially when he looks ready to keel over from exhaustion.

Added to the fact that I really don't know him well enough to be making crass jokes and poking fun at him. I need his help and I need to mind my manners.

Even if I can't stop thinking about him in that towel…

Get your mind out of the gutter, Hellena!

The last two days have me acting like someone else. Someone who desperately needs to get laid.

Then it clicks, what he just said. "Wait. So, I can stay here? After tonight?"

"Guess I just made up my mind. At least until you find somewhere safe to go or get this crap worked out. I owe Damon that much." There's a coldness in the way he says it, resolved and a little sad.

Note to self. Don't bring up Dad too often.

So much for learning more about my father.

But I am relieved to know I can stay. "I promise, I'll stay out of your way while I work to get the money together."

"Make yourself at home. Just?—"

"Stay out of your rooms. Got it." Even if the second I say it makes me feel unbearably curious as to what he's hiding. The clues I have so far tell me I am better off not knowing what Gavin does. Blood stains, a leather apron, and a gear bag that stinks of bleach.

It all rings a little too close to home, my old home. Marco had a guy like that, if I'm anywhere close to the mark.

We wind down pretty quickly after he throws together a couple of barbecue sandwiches, the two of us eating in silence at the kitchen table. Strangely enough, it's not awkward. It's companionable, like we can both see how worn thin the other is and just having someone there is enough.

At least for me.

For Gavin, it looks a lot more like a soldier, eating his rations with a far-off look in his eyes.

Maybe that's why I feel so safe as I fall asleep a little while later, snuggled in fresh sheets and a surprisingly fluffy comforter.

The sun is just clipping through the living room window when I hear him in the kitchen, followed by the irresistible smells of bacon and coffee. It's way too early. Should have expected that from his military background.

Dragging myself up, I notice the effects of a night in jail and the lack of sleep. My whole body is stiff, achy.

Still, the bed was comfy. And I've got a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it, so it's going to be early days and late nights for me until this is over.

"Morning."

"Mm." It's all I manage as I slide into a chair with my blanket wrapped around my shoulders. He snorts a little laugh as he sets down a steaming cup in front of me.

"Spare bedroom has a full bath. Help yourself." his eyes drift to my hair, which I'm certain looks like a tumbleweed.

"You have a second bedroom ?" I mumble accusingly.

"Yeah, nothing in there. Just boxes." His head tilts defensively.

"I knew you were holding out on me."

He rolls his eyes as he circles around to his seat.

Every time he brushes by me, I catch a sniff of him. He just smells so goddamn good. Wood, like cedar or something, and a hint of tobacco. I catch myself staring as he plops down across from me, setting out two plates with eggs and bacon, toast.

"Wow. Thank you. You didn't have to cook a feast."

"I like cooking. And it's good for you. High stress can kill your appetite. You need food. Too easy to forget when shit's going south."

He's right, and I dig in, taking advantage of the fact that I'm starving today.

As I'm cleaning up from breakfast, he comes back from the garage with a notebook and pencil. After sketching for a few minutes, he slides it across the table for me to inspect. "Shortcut into town. It's a back way not a lot of people know about. You can take my truck, since they know what you drive. I recommend wearing a hat, a coat. Keep a low profile while you get around. You're not going to be able to hide for too long, but just in case, it'll prevent them from keeping close tabs on you."

"What makes you think they'll be looking? I have two weeks."

"And you left your house as soon as they came calling. For all they know, you left town. They'll want to keep an eye on you."

"So, what do I do if they threaten me?"

"Text me. I'll be around town taking care of some things all week. Gotta stock up on supplies."

And that's all the planning I get before we head into town, him driving my old Camry and me in his beat-up tan truck. At least it runs better than my car. It may be old, but he keeps it in good condition.

I'm hopeful as I check in with a few businesses, people I know.

Skip ahead a couple of days of this same routine and I've got nothing .

Most of my texts and calls go unanswered.

Apparently, nobody wants to work with me since I'm not allowed on campus anymore. Can't blame them. How can I coordinate anything without being there?

I'm not in the mix. I don't see people on the way from class and overhear problems that need solving. It's really hard to write papers or find people to write those papers when I don't have access to the school library anymore, either. Tutoring. Setting up dates. My whole profile is dead.

In effect… I'm blacklisted from the campus.

That doesn't mean that I don't know a few more people. My beer guy and a few others who have delivered lights, stages, and other equipment all promise to call me if they need a hand. If. Same with my bartender friends. The local bars are always in high demand for talent. Compared to most of the competition, I'm an amateur.

Josh Barnes was one exception, offering me a cocktail waitress position at his strip club.

The thought has my stomach in knots even considering it. The waitresses there barely wear more than the dancers.

Jake, my DJ friend, doesn't have any better suggestions, other than dancing as a hype girl for an upcoming show of his.

And while I know how to dance, and I'm pretty damn good at it… I've never done anything like that before. Desperation might make it a little less intimidating, but I'm not there yet, and the pay won't put a dent in what I need. Of course, Jake, being the asshole that he is, also suggested that I pop over to the local striptease and sign up to take my clothes off.

Fuck you very much, Jake.

If I hear one more of my male friends suggest that I strip for cash, I'm going to sic Gavin on them.

By the end of the third day, I'm feeling pretty down on my luck when I get a ding on my social media from none other than Ora Clive. I'd forgotten to message her or even look her up.

Maybe she could find me some work?

I'm checking her message when the phone rings in my hand.

"Hey, you didn't look me up on social, bitch."

"I'm sorry, Ora. I meant to. I just… there's been a lot going on."

"Tell me about it!"

"You too?"

"No. I mean tell me all about it."

Next thing I know, I'm meeting her down near the docks at a local coffee shop-slash-dive bar. It's off the ‘Strand', the main street of old turn-of-the-century buildings where they have festivals and parades every year. The rusted sign reads Money$hot$ and it's no less odd on the inside.

The walls are papered with old pinups, risqué prints of bombshells. It's almost charming. In a dingy, off-putting kind of way.

The coffee, at least, is good. They put booze in most everything they serve, and I go along with it given the day I've had so far. Ora waves as I grab my drink, tucked into a booth near the back.

"My sweet, good goddess, Hell! You are just as luscious as I remembered."

"And you're exactly as vibrant and energetic as I remember."

"Is that a compliment? It didn't sound like one…"

"I promise, it is."

"I wouldn't take it any other way, my sweet Hell."

"Still sticking with my nickname, I see."

"Hell yeah! You look good as hell, and we're going to raise some, too!"

I get the feeling she's never going to run out of ‘hell' puns to throw around.

"I guess I could use a new identity after this dumpster fire in my life blows over."

"We need more drinks. Then you can finish the story you started the other night at our ‘slumber party'."

Over the next couple of hours, I do just that. There are a few tears and more laughs. I can't believe how good it feels to talk it out, mostly. I don't even bother censuring a thing.

Including my encounter with a certain tall and stunning stranger at the party.

The only thing I gloss over is my new roommate and bodyguard.

I'm not sure how secretive I should be about him, but better safe than sorry.

Ora is attentive the whole time. She makes jokes about things frequently, interjecting crass comments, but it keeps the conversation moving, lighter than it should be.

It's refreshing.

She offers me interesting and sometimes outlandish advice, ideas on how I might go about fixing my problems or just telling certain people to go fuck themselves or slashing their tires or breaking their knees if need be. Most of it isn't useful, but it is funny as hell.

Some of it is informative. Ora knows a lot of people on campus and around town. She's heard a few things that actually pertain to me and my situation, oddly enough.

"Yeah, ol' Todd McMannus has been flapping his lips about how you went rogue. Brought coke and worse to one of his parties to get him in trouble."

"In other words, dump all the blame on me for everything."

"Yep. That's what my cousin Sasha said. She's in another sorority down the block. Every one of them has been raided by the cops in the last week on the pretense of making sure the campus is safe and drug-free."

I spend the next few minutes fretting and scrambling over my options, trying to think of an alternative that I haven't thought of. "Any chance you know of anywhere I could work?"

"Yeah, that's not exactly my specialty. But if I hear anything around, I'll let you know."

"What do you do for a living?" I realize I haven't asked her much of anything about herself.

"Well, as much as I make fun of the kids up on the hill, my granddad doesn't really want me working or doing much of anything outside the family. So I'm kind of coerced into taking his money and doing what I want with it."

"Oh. Must be hard."

"Yeah, fuck you and everyone else. I didn't choose it. And I don't have too much of a say. My family is… strict in certain ways. So, I use some of the money to make money. Investments. Startups. I give a lot of it to charity, and I work with homeless kids."

"Like community outreach?" I shouldn't have sounded so surprised.

"Yeah. What, you think just because I'm a thieving, bar fighting, drunken wench of a woman that I don't do nice things for the community?"

"Sorry. That's not what I meant. Actually, yeah, kinda."

"I get it. I'm a rough and tough sort. But there's a lot of kids that need help. Like I did when my parents died. Before Gramps took me in. I like spending time with them, when I'm not hungover. Can't stand their little shrieking voices when I'm hung over." Which pretty much sums up Ora Clive, cut and dry. She's as nice as can be and an absolute bitch in the same sentence.

I liked her before, but she's quickly becoming one of my favorite people.

She shifts gears effortlessly. "So anyway, back to tonight."

"What's tonight?"

"I swear I mentioned it. I'm having a party at my place."

"I don't know, Ora…"

"Shut it, Hell! You've been busting your ass for three days trying to get work. Take a night. Recharge. Who knows? You might meet some cute guy to take your mind off shit or even make a contact for some work!"

I know she's bullshitting me, but she's hard to say no to.

"Well…"

"Well, nothing! You're coming ! And if we get lucky, we'll both come!"

We both burst out laughing.

"Fine. I'm not stripping or selling my body, though. Fucking guys need to drop that shit."

"Noted. Only giving up the goods for hot dreamboats!" Ora raises one finger officially and slams her hand down on the table, looking a little glossy-eyed.

How has she had six drinks in the time it took me to have two?

"I will say, if you do get desperate, my friend Daniel is a pimp."

"A guy named Daniel is a pimp?" I scoff.

"I mean, he doesn't call it that. But, yeah, basically."

"I'll be sure and let you know if I decide to…"

"He's really nice, Danny. I sucked his dick one time."

"What?"

"Not for money. He's really fucking hot. And fun. He brings his girls to parties, sometimes. But only if they want to come and have fun or try to rustle up clients. They're in one of those things where everybody works together for the benefit of everybody in it…"

"A co-op?"

"Yeah! A co-op. It sounds wacky, a pimp running a co-op, but it works."

"He runs a co-op with his hookers?"

"Hey! We don't use the H word! Otherwise you could call it a ho-op."

My eyebrow raises at her hilarious outburst. " Wow !"

"Yeah. I don't shame anybody for sex work. And they're all really happy with the arrangement."

Spending time with Ora the rest of the afternoon relieves a lot of my stress. We shop around a bit, grab lunch, and as I leave, she makes me promise to show up to her party that night.

"Just come and unwind. Gramps makes sure I've got protection on my place, so there's no worries for safety from spying drug dealers."

I'm sure Gavin will argue that point…

But I don't bother going home before I head over to Ora's later that evening after several more failed attempts to find work and a huge failed attempt to collect money that Brad Thomas owes me, another one of my campus clients. The prick threatened to call the cops on me.

I guess that's it. All of my leverage is gone. Which means I'll never get paid by Brad, Todd, or anyone else at this rate. The only upside is that people like Jake and Myra aren't expecting to get paid for the last job anymore.

I'm just… written off.

Feeling thoroughly overwhelmed, I debate heading home to cry and curl up in a blanket when my phone dings with a reminder from Ora not to vanish.

You know what?

Drinking sounds like a way better idea than wallowing.

- Hey, I won't be home tonight. Found a lead on work, then crashing at a friend's. I promise it's safe. I'll text you with a check in once I'm there for the night -

I shoot a text to Gavin, hoping he won't be an alpha protective prick about my staying out.

- As long as you trust them. Text or call if you need me -

Thoughts of Gavin tease at another itch I really need scratched, which means I definitely do not need to be alone with him at the house tonight.

Not that he wants what I want, but I don't need more torture right now.

Maybe I will get some action at Ora's, let off some steam.

Ugh. Probably not. I'm a mess.

My nerves come back, frayed as ever as I clunk the truck door shut and hurry down the street in the dark. That sensation that I'm being followed, watched, comes back in a zap of shivers as I reach the corner.

My breathing speeds up with my heart rate, making me panic.

I shoot a glance over my shoulder, certain someone is right behind me…

When I slam headlong into someone, a rock hard chest, and I feel strong hands grip my shoulders tightly.