Chapter Thirteen

RUE

I 'm numb as the guys drive me home, barely conscious of the world around me. The vehicle rings with oppressive silence, the weight of it crushing my lungs, and it's a struggle to find enough air to breathe and not pass out in sheer panic.

I promised myself this morning that I would ignore the spirits today, pretend that they don't exist.

I was just congratulating myself on my success when a lost little girl appeared in the aisle, wandering around while sobbing her heart out. Young spirits are tricky, often not understanding death and what it means.

Most are too young to have any unfinished business, passing right through to the afterlife. The only reason any linger in our realm is if they suffer a violent death. Unfortunately, their souls are bright and shiny. It often leads them to be targeted by dark souls who crave their energy to remain in the human world.

The little girl kept flickering in and out of existence, like a stereo unable to lock onto a signal. As much as I wanted to ignore her and pretend I couldn't see anything, the large tears trailing down her cheeks broke my heart.

While Gunner turned to grab something from the last aisle that I said I forgot, I approached the girl, then freaked out when I realized she still pulsed with a faint touch of life.

She was still alive, but barely.

It didn't take long to get the story out of her. I probably looked like a crazy idiot when I insisted on being allowed access to the freezer section, nearly decking the manager who tried to stop me. I saw a vicious spark enter the bastard's dark eyes, recognizing it often enough in my father that I knew he was seconds away from hurting me.

Thankfully, Gunner arrived in time to stop the asshole from laying a hand on me.

It only took one second of distraction for me to slip past them and rescue the girl.

While I'm not sorry I did it, my throat is tight from the inevitable questions I know will follow. Speculation already swirls in Jameson's eyes whenever he peers in my direction. The guys will demand answers that I'm not ready to give them—none that they'll believe, anyway.

If I lie and tell them it was just dumb luck, the hint of doubt will remain.

If I tell them the truth, they'll either call me a liar or demand that I prove it.

I've never willingly shown my abilities to anyone, my mother's disgust and father's avarice permanently scarring me. I'm not ready for them to toss me out of their life or look at me and wonder what I could do for them.

They would eventually stop seeing me as human.

I would be a tool, something they could own.

I shudder at the thought, closing my eyes as if I could prevent either future from happening. I'm not even aware that the car has stopped until Gunner opens my door, and he crouches at my side. "I know we were supposed to cook today, but if you're not up for it, I can take you home."

Looking through the windshield, I startle when I realize that we're parked in front of their mansion. I twist my fingers anxiously, acid churning in my stomach at the thought of putting off the inevitable questions until later. My anxiety would just stew, leaving me an even bigger mess.

Taking a deep breath, I shrug and force a smile. "That's okay. We can cook if you want."

A furrow appears between his brows, and I can't resist the impulse to lean over and smooth my fingers over it. His dark expression immediately softens. My stomach flutters, and I'm not sure if my reaction is because of his nearness or because I dared to touch him so freely.

My parents taught me that touch was pain, and I mentally wince at the consequences of my rash behavior. I've never been so forward with anyone, but something about Gunner and the boys makes me feel safe for the first time in my life.

Deciding to be daring, I peer up at Gunner from under my lashes, and he looks the opposite of upset. Yes, I know my father is a liar and a piece of shit, but the lessons he taught me were so intertwined with pain that it's hard to forget.

Gunner reaches for me, and I barely stop myself from flinching. Instead of a blow, he gently grabs my hand and tugs me from the vehicle. He doesn't back up, though, and I end up nearly plastered against his front. It should be awkward as fuck and I should be shuddering in fear, yet I find myself slipping my arms around his waist to hug him close.

Since I haven't been given many hugs in my life, I'm awkward as fuck, and I suddenly wonder if I'm doing it right. His arms wrap around me, and I melt against him with a sigh, his heat making it impossible not to cuddle closer and savor the safety of his embrace.

The scents of man and detergent and car are so different from my father's synthetic scent that I barely resist burying my nose in his chest and inhaling. "Do you think the little girl will be okay?"

She's the first person I was able to save with my gift. The experience was exhilarating, but now I feel responsible for her well-being, and it's terrifying.

Before my anxiety can take over, Jameson speaks. "Ellis and I will make sure of it."

His voice is so close that my eyes pop open, and I find him standing only inches away. His normal pale blue eyes are stormy, nearly white with rage. In place of the trickster is a god of vengeance, and I swear I can practically see dark ribbons of black and red swirl around him like an aura.

It's like I'm seeing the real him—the opposite side of the coin from the normal mischief and chaos he spreads.

Maybe I should be afraid of the change, but rightness settles in my bones. This is what he is meant to do—avenge those who couldn't protect themselves. I reach out and lightly touch his face. "You'll let me know if you need my help?"

He captures my hand and kisses the back of it almost reverently, dipping his head slightly in acknowledgment. The tension in his body eases slightly, and he squeezes my fingers before tossing me a wink. "Of course. Now why don't you head into the kitchen while this big lug and I carry in the groceries?"

I reluctantly pull away, rubbing my cheek against Gunner's chest one last time before I go, loving the little rumble under my ear. I plop my hands on my hips and scowl at Jameson. "I'm not helpless. I helped with the shopping, and I can help put away the bags."

His eyebrows shoot up, then a smile takes over his face. He opens the trunk and disappears for a second. Just as I take a step toward the back of the car, he strides toward me, solemnly cradling a single bag in his hand. "I'm entrusting you with our secret project. Guard it with your life."

"What the hell did you get?" Gunner peers over my shoulder, suspicion and curiosity in his tone.

"Never you mind." I immediately snatch the bag to my chest and shoo him away. Of course he doesn't listen. He reaches for the bag, a furrow between his brows, and I squeal and take off toward the house at a dead run. "Death over dishonor!"

Jameson's bark of laughter echoes across the yard. Even as I throw open the door and charge inside the house, Gunner's exasperated voice reaches me. "Dear gods, there are two of you now."

I would almost feel bad if I didn't detect the hint of amusement coloring his tone.

He needs to laugh more, and I vow to make him smile at least once a day.

I soundlessly creep through the house, having plenty of practice while sneaking through my old house…well, after picking the lock on my door first. Punishment was brutal—usually a beating before being shoved into a tiny closet that my father had specifically built for me.

It wasn't tall enough for me to stand or stretch out my legs, and the lack of air-conditioning created a tiny sauna that stomped out any defiance. Just finding air to breathe was a chore. After a day or two in the box, it was all I could do to keep my body from shutting down or my brain from completely cracking.

Logically, I know the guys would never do anything so horrific. It just feels wrong to walk through the rooms without them being present, almost like I'm doing something forbidden, and I'm not sure if I want to get caught or not.

Entering the kitchen eases the oppressive feeling, the wall of windows allowing me to take a deep breath. I glance around the kitchen, conscious of the bag in my hand, and I'm not sure where to stash it.

Hiding things from my father, who periodically searched my room for anything he considered contraband, became a specialty of mine. After a second of hesitation, I plant my foot on the counter and pull myself upright. Bag in hand, I push myself up on my toes and carefully edge the bag over the top of the cupboard, the crown molding easily hiding any evidence of my stash.

I dust my hands off, satisfied with myself.

"What are you doing?" Though the tone is only mildly curious, I still yelp and whirl…and trip off the edge of the counter with a startled squeak.

I tuck my arms close, bracing for the pain, and land with an oomph when arms catch me. I stare up at Ellis with wide eyes, not sure how to react to his bemused expression. With a crooked smile, I blink up at him innocently. "That last step is a doozie."

He snorts, squeezing me close for a moment before he reluctantly sets me down on my feet. I slide down the length of his body, my smile slipping when I feel every inch of his hard frame. He's not as bulky as the others, and I completely misjudged his slim musculature. Though slender, his body is like steel, and my fingers itch to explore him more.

Realizing that I'm petting him, I jerk my hands away in mortification. I'm fighting a blush, looking anywhere but at him, when a noise in the hallway catches my attention. I leap away from him, then run my hands down my shirt as if we were caught doing something illicit.

"Hey, cupcake." Jameson saunters toward me, a twinkle in his eyes and an armful of bags. "Have you been getting into mischief without me?"

He drops the bags on the counter, never once taking his eyes away from mine, and the contents spill everywhere. I lunge forward and catch a can that slowly rolls off the counter, grateful for the distraction. When I bounce back up, Jameson is standing before me, his grin softening as he runs a single finger down my heated cheek. "Flustered is a beautiful look on you."

He plucks the can out of my hand, sets it on the counter, and begins whistling as he scavenges through the bags. I'm staring at him in bemusement when Ellis gives me a small smile and shrugs.

When they both begin sorting through the items and putting them away, I follow their lead. Since I don't know where anything goes, I just end up piling everything on the counter. "It looks like we robbed a grocery store," I muse, frowning down at some of the items I don't remember putting in the cart. "Were these on the list?"

I hold up…Slim Jims?

What are Slim Jims?

Gunner grunts when he enters the kitchen, loaded down with even more bags than Jameson, if that's possible. He lowers them to the floor, the bags sagging under the weight, and my eyes widen in surprise at how much he managed to carry in one trip.

His eyes latch on Jameson, and a fierce scowl darkens his face. "What is all this shit? We only left you alone for fifteen minutes. How did you manage to buy all this crap, much less fit it in the car?"

"I think I know how," Ellis says, lifting up a loaf of bread…or what used to be a loaf of bread. Now it's as thin as a pancake.

Completely unrepentant, Jameson just flaps a hand and continues to rummage around in the bags. "Why don't you let me put the stuff away while you start your cooking lessons?"

Gunner immediately looks over at me, his expression softening. "I can do that."

Over the next hour, Gunner teaches me step-by-step instructions on how to cook, what type of pans are used for what, and temperatures needed for different types of meat. After another ten minutes of walking around the kitchen and putting things in order, he finally takes out the ingredients. His expression is so earnest that I secretly find him adorable and don't mind the lecture.

I've been assigned to cut vegetables while he continues with his teachings. When he opens the oven, I lean back and blink furiously when a wall of blistering heat rolls out. Gunner immediately sweeps his arm around my waist and tugs me out of the danger zone, and I instinctively lean into the comfort of his chest.

After making sure that I'm a safe distance away, he places the food in the oven, then continues to show me how to wash all the dishes we just dirtied while I dry.

"That was fun." I slowly fold my towel, reluctant for our afternoon to be over. "I didn't realize cooking could be so therapeutic."

Gunner grabs the towel from me and sets it on the counter, a pleased smile on his face. "I think it's the simplicity of following step-by-step instructions. It allows your mind to wander just enough that you can forget your worries for a moment. It's the same with fixing cars—taking something apart, figuring out the problem, then fixing it before putting it back together again."

I mimic him and lean back against the counter. "It's satisfying."

"Exactly!" His smile is brilliant, and my eyes widen when a set of dimples appear in his cheeks.

I don't blink or breathe, completely unaware that I'm staring at him so intently. Who knew having dimples would cause such havoc? My stomach swoops, a sensation I thought people only wrote about in romance novels to con unsuspecting women into buying their books, and I'm not sure that I like it.

Desperate for a distraction, I scramble for something to say.

"You have dimples," I blurt out, then I want to palm my face for stating the obvious.

Before either of us can answer, Jameson laughs and throws an arm around Gunner's shoulders. "So you do have a weakness! Dimples and muscles." He winks at me, inviting me to laugh with him. "For future reference, when you get mad at us, we'll send in a half naked Gunner to make you forget why you were upset in the first place."

I'm not sure who is blushing more—me or Gunner.

His eyes soften when he looks down at me, and my insides turn gooey again, then he turns and scowls down at his friend, speaking very slowly through clenched teeth. "I'm going to enjoy hurting you."

"You're welcome to try…if you can catch me." Completely unperturbed, Jameson slaps him on the back, then quickly dances away. When he's a safe distance away, Jameson lifts his hand in the air, revealing a set of car keys dangling from his fingertips. The metal jingles tauntingly when he shakes them at Gunner. "Want to go for a ride?"

I gaze at the keys in fascination, wondering if he just pickpocketed Gunner while I watched. He was so smooth that I didn't even notice, and if the disgruntled expression on Gunner's face is any indication, neither did he.

Gunner inhales deeply, as if searching for calm, then lunges toward Jameson and snatches the keys from his friend, moving so fast that I can only blink in shock. "Fine, but I'm driving."

Jameson strolls toward me, absently pressing a kiss to my cheek before he saunters away. Gunner pauses, looks at Jameson with an indecipherable expression, then peers down at me. Very hesitantly, he leans forward and presses a kiss on the top of my head.

Before I can respond, I'm left watching them leave the house, bickering at each other every step of the way. A throat clears behind me, and I swear I jump a foot in the air. I whirl, a hand to my chest, and only relax when I spot Ellis standing on the other side of the island.

I've never been so distracted that I didn't sense another person enter the room.

It's disturbing to say the least.

"Sorry," he says with a sheepish expression, and I immediately feel chagrined.

"No, my fault," I say, feeling discombobulated and anxious now that the other guys are gone. I inch toward the door, uncertain of my welcome. "I should probably head out too."

Ellis frowns, tilting his head to the side in a way that says he's thinking about something a little too hard. "James sent me down here, saying that I was supposed to work on a secret project with you."

I immediately halt in surprise and suspicion. "He did?"

"You'll have to forgive James. He often makes plans then forgets to have conversations with people involved before disappearing on some new mission or other." Ellis runs a hand through his hair, a slightly exasperated expression on his face.

Warmth spreads through me at Jameson's thoughtfulness, and some of my unease fades. "If you're sure that I'm not bothering you…"

"No bother at all." Ellis straightens and tugs at the bottom of his dress shirt. He's wearing black-rimmed glasses today that give him a cute, nerdy look. When he looks at me, intelligence gleams in his brown eyes, and I'm drawn to the sexy nerd look he exudes. He begins rolling up his sleeves, wry humor twinkling in his eyes, and his lips twist in an inviting half smirk. "Now, what shenanigans did James involve you in?"

I can't stop the grin that spreads across my face, my gaze flicking up to my hidden stash. "He might have mentioned Gunner has a secret weakness for chocolate, but he rarely indulges. I thought I would bake him a cake in return for cooking lessons." Feeling a bit presumptuous, I hesitate and wonder if Jameson was messing with me. "Unless he was just playing a trick on me."

Ellis snorts and saunters toward the counter. "Oh, James loves his pranks, but he would never tell outright lies. Gunner is obsessed with chocolate but never buys it for himself. The man eats healthy and works out religiously to stay in shape. It's only by sheer willpower that he keeps himself from devouring the chocolate Jameson has stashed in the cupboards."

Ellis places his hand on the counter, then effortlessly swings his legs up and stands in one smooth move. He's taller than me and can easily see over the crown molding. Without even batting an eye, he collects my stash. He crouches, then leaps to the floor with no more effort than it takes to turn the page of a book.

All the guys are insanely in shape.

While I haven't met many people my own age, something tells me that not everyone is so meticulous. I clear my throat as he straightens, doing my best to pretend that I'm not fascinated by each of my new neighbors. "You guys must work out a lot. Is there a gym around here that isn't too busy?"

I suddenly feel the urge to train, if only to keep up with them, but if my father tries to make a move for me, I want to be prepared as well.

Ellis tilts his head as he studies me, his lips slightly pursed, and I lean over the counter to keep from wandering closer to him. "We have a gym in the basement. We're usually up pretty early, but I should be able to work out a schedule with the guys…uh, if you want?"

My eyes widen in surprise. While I want to accept his generous offer, I learned caution when I was young. "Are you sure the others won't mind? I don't want to intrude."

He waves away my response. "That's what the schedule is for. If they don't like it, they can choose a different time to work out. I'll ask Gunner to put together a little workout session for you to get started."

My stomach swirls in excitement at the thought of spending more time with the guys. When Ellis begins taking items out of the bag, I finally allow myself to wander closer. His nose wrinkles at the boxed cake powder, and he shakes his head. "We'll make it from scratch. It will taste better."

Trusting his judgment, I nod and watch him work. His approach to cooking is different than Gunner's. While Gunner roughly guesses measurements with cups and spoons, Ellis takes out a scale. It's not long before he has me stirring batter while he prepares the pans.

Watching him move so effortlessly is mesmerizing. He's so comfortable with himself and his body that I'm jealous. I'm so used to watching where I step, how to eat, how to even breathe, that it's suffocating to remember all the rules.

He scrapes out the bowl, pouring the batter evenly between two pans, then pauses and peers up at me. "Here."

I take the spoon he offers me, holding it up as I await his next order. A tiny smile curls his lips, and he nudges it toward me. "Taste."

"Oh." I hesitantly lick it, and my eyes widen as the rich chocolate flavor bursts across my tongue. "Dis isch delischoz," I mumble around the spoon in my mouth.

Ellis laughs, and I blush at the spectacle I made of myself, then I shrug and lick my lips, completely unrepentant. "Sorry, it was just that good."

"You've got something here." He points to my lips.

I reach out, swiping my hand across my mouth, then look at him expectantly.

He laughs again, then shakes his head. "You missed it. I've got it."

Reaching over the counter, he drags his thumb across my bottom lip, sending pure havoc rushing through me. If I were a computer, I would liken it to a virus created to crash the hard drive and spread chaos in its wake. I watch, enthralled, as he shows me his thumb with a smear of chocolate before he brings it to his mouth and licks it clean.

The air suddenly feels electric, and I unconsciously lick my lips. I swear he groans, his eyes locked on my mouth. Just when I lean toward him, he whirls away to gather the discarded bowls, and I deflate in disappointment.

Wanting to break the tension between us, I grab a cloth and wipe the counters. "Where did the others go? You mentioned something about a mission?"

Keeping his back to me, Ellis fills the sink with water, squirting in some soap. "They went to make sure the little girl you helped is okay. I was able to hack into the hospital servers. Apparently, her mother has custody of her.

"She uses the child support money to support a nasty drug habit and often sends her daughter out to steal food. I was able to locate her father. It seems he fought for custody, but he was moving out of state. He was awarded limited visitation."

He turns and leans against the counter, his posture deceptively relaxed. "I sent him a copy of the police report and medical records, anonymously of course, and told him if he wants custody, he should leave immediately. James and Gunner were heading toward the hospital to make sure the mother doesn't disappear with her before he arrives. I suspect while the mother is being questioned by law enforcement, the guys are going to break into her house and collect evidence to make sure the little girl never has to go back there again."

My throat tightens, and I'm overwhelmed by the lengths they would go through to help a stranger. I duck my head, blinking furiously to keep my tears from falling. "Thank you. I—You—" I clear my throat, then lift my chin, wanting to show him my sincerity. "Thank you."

I was that little girl once, a very long time ago. No matter how much I might have wished to be rescued, no one ever came. I'm not sure the guys realized how amazing they are to put themselves at risk that way, but I'm determined to show them. I step toward him, then stretch up on my toes and kiss his cheek lightly.

He sucks in a sharp breath, his hands settling on my hips, and I slowly drop back down on my feet as I peer up at him. His brown eyes darken with lust, and I sway toward him. The scent of books mixed with chocolate makes my mouth water, and my eyes immediately drop to his lips. Hunger swirls in my gut, desperate for another taste of him.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," Hicks says in a sardonic voice, "since it's my kitchen and all."

I leap away from Ellis like a scalded cat, not sure why my insides feel like they did when my father would punch me when I wasn't paying attention. Unable to look at either man, I whirl the rings around my fingers.

The buzzer to the oven sounds, and I sigh in relief. Grateful for the distraction, I hurry over to the oven and open it. Heat billows out, and I rear back with a cough. Grabbing the potholders, remembering how Nan used them, I carefully reach for the pan. Unfortunately, I miscalculated the space, and the inside of my arm touches the handle. I curse when a sharp stab of pain sears along my skin.

I quickly place the pan on the top of the stove, gritting my teeth against the sting on my arm. As I drop the potholders, I grimace when I spot the inch-long mark burned along my forearm.

"Don't touch it." Ellis grabs my arm to hold me steady. The burn feels like it's stretching my skin, and I barely resist the impulse to hide my arm behind my back. "Come with me. We have a first aid kit in the bathroom."

I allow myself to be hauled out of the room, but not before Hicks' steely green gaze clashes with mine. The judgment in them is so disapproving, so much like my father, that I immediately flinch away. Nightmares that still haunt the dark recesses of my fractured mind stir awake, and I find myself drowning in memories I wish I could erase from existence.