My Thug Protector

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We're done.

The words were out before I understood them. Then the whole thing dropped into me at once, the entire story, like someone had crammed the last page into my skull.

I'm the villainess.

The gold-digger who dumps the broke mechanic, runs off with the rich boy, and gets beaten to death in his bed for it. That's the plot. That's how I'm supposed to end.

And the broke mechanic in front of me, grease to the elbow, all heat and quiet, is the only way out I've got.

Roman dragged a rag down his forearm and stepped into me, slow, like a wall deciding where to fall.

"Say that again."

I swallowed the part where I'd called him poor.

"I I'm too small."

His mouth tipped, low and dark. "Won't know till we try, good girl."

I meant my age. I'm barely out of my teens. I've never even...

That is not what he heard.

Chapter 1

Roman stood over a stripped-down motorcycle, a wrench balanced in his hand like it weighed nothing.

Sun-browned skin with a sheen of sweat gone bronze in the heat. When he leaned into the bolt, the veins down his forearm stood up.

His black tank clung to him in the wind. The cut of his stomach came and went under the cotton.

I looked at the oil slicked across the concrete and felt my whole face pinch.

"Roman. Come here."

"Sun's bad out there. Go wait for me."

He frowned, wiped his hands on the towel around his neck, and steered me into the shade of the pool hall next door.

Cracked open a soda. Fed the straw in. Put it in my hand.

Borrowed a chair off the owner and wiped it down with a napkin. Seat, back, every inch, before he'd let me sit.

"There. Not dirty now."

He did all of it without thinking, like taking care of me was wired into him somewhere under thought.

Then he set himself between me and the sun and looked down at me.

Here is the thing the oil and the tank top hide. A man does not move like that, no wasted motion, everything handled before you've finished wanting it, because he plans to fix other people's bikes for the rest of his life. I just didn't know it yet.

"Roman. We're done."

It came out of me on rails, like a line I'd been programmed to say.

He straightened. The corner of his mouth moved. His eyes stayed flat.

"On what grounds."

All six-foot-two of him, looking down. The weight of it pressed the air flat.

I opened my mouth to argue and couldn't find the reason. Because there wasn't one.

He'd carried me for three years. Ate cold lunch off a job site every single day so I never had to go without.

Bought me designer bags without a flicker. Never once let me feel the money.

I stared up into all that dark, and the story landed.

I'm the villainess. I use the good man who loves me, throw him over for a rich boy, and claw my way toward a rich family's front door. And to thank him for three years, I dump him.

Then he meets the right girl and gets the life he earned. And me, I end up black and blue, dying slow in a rich man's bed.

The picture of my own bruised body rose up behind my eyes.

I flinched and threw myself into his chest before I'd decided to.

"I you're too big."

I swallowed the poor thing again and grabbed for cover.

Roman went still. Then a short, dark laugh. One arm scooped me up onto the pool table, and he braced his hands on either side of me.

His throat worked. His voice dropped and roughened.

"And how would you know that, good girl."

His palm, rough and warm, found the small of my back and dragged along the base of my spine, slow, in no hurry at all.

Something bright went off under my skin. My face caught fire.

"I I meant my age," I got out.

"Shaw! Customer for you!"

One of his crew, bellowing across the lot, buried my little mosquito of an explanation.

Roman didn't catch a word of it. He just pulled out his phone, head down, and sent me another five hundred.

"Gotta get back. Grab a cab home."

"You're young. Don't go putting ideas in that head."

Chapter 2

I watched him walk off and stamped my foot, caught somewhere between fury and humiliation.

Perfect. Now I couldn't explain any of it.

On the way home I stopped at the market and bought beef. I was going to cook him something good.

For three years the plot had run me like a puppet and I'd been cruel to him. I was done with that. I was going to make it up to him, starting tonight.

And I had my own reasons to keep him close, ones I wasn't saying out loud. I knew things no one else did. How the rich boy chased the market and bled money every single time. How all of this was supposed to end, and exactly where to bend it. So from here on, every dollar Roman put in my hand, I wasn't spending. I was stacking it. I had a longer game to play.

Then I reached my door, and there was Preston Ashford.

He lounged against a flashy red sports car, waving a fat armful of roses at me.

"Camille, baby. Why won't you pick up?"

"Be mine. My girl. You'll never have to live in a dump like this again."

"Come on. Look how good I am to you. I drove all the way out here myself."

He rolled the car key across his knuckles, smug down to the bone.

I stepped back and pushed the roses into his chest.

"Sorry. I have a boyfriend."

"Who? That grease monkey who comes to get you?"

He said it like I'd told him the funniest joke of his life. Didn't bother to hide the sneer.

"Yeah. Him. Put some respect on his name."

"And lose my number."

"I'm not interested in you. And I'm not going to be your little secret on the side."

I went cold in the face and moved around him for the door.

"So dump him. What's a guy who fixes cars ever going to give you? Come with me and you have everything."

He seized my wrist and hauled me back, forcing me around to face him.

"No. I've been clear. I'm not interested."

I twisted against his grip, anger climbing into my voice.

"Christ, Camille, that's enough."

"Weren't you the one throwing yourself at me not that long ago? Drop the act."

"There's a limit to playing hard to get. Look at you. You really think you can raise your price?"

He wrenched me toward the car, his hand already coming up to slap me.

"Let go of her."

Roman's voice. Not loud. It didn't need to be. It walked in and flattened the air anyway.

Preston's neck ducked. Then he pushed his chest back out.

"Oh. It's you. The broke"

He didn't finish. Roman's boot took his legs out and put him flat on the ground.

Roman didn't waste a look on the cursing or the groaning. He took my hand and walked me in.

The door slammed. It went through me like a struck bell.

The light was still off when my back hit the door.

In the dark everything else went sharp.

Clean soap off his skin, straight into me. His breath, warm against the side of my neck, gooseflesh chasing down my throat.

"Found your replacement already?"

He turned his head and caught my earlobe in his teeth, like a punishment being handed down.

Wet heat, and my breath jammed in my chest. My face went so hot it hurt.

I shook my head fast and grabbed his shoulders before I knew I'd done it.

He leaned in until there was nothing left between us.

Those black eyes, all that aggression clamped down over something angrier. His hand closed around my jaw and tipped it up.

"Talk."

Cold to the bone.

His body ran so hot it dried my throat.

"I didn't. Nothing happened."

"I don't want him. It was all a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding."

He laughed once, short, and shoved a hand back through his cropped hair.

He looked at me, steady, and pulled his mouth into something that mocked himself more than me.

"That's new. You actually bothering to lie to me."

I'd done too much to him for too long. No wonder there was nothing left to trust.

He dropped his head and lit a cigarette.

Pale smoke unspooled. In the flare and die of the ember his face went sharper, colder.

He held the cigarette in his teeth, eyes down, and watched me without a word. Then he turned to leave.

Something in my chest went hollow, a floor giving out under me.

I knew this part. This was the night he gave up on me for good. Walked out to clear his head and met her instead, the soft-voiced right girl the story owed him.

I set my jaw and threw myself at his back, both arms around him.

"I'm not lying. Roman. It has only ever been you."

He went rigid. His hand closed on my wrist and started to peel me off.

The rough drag of his palm left my skin itching.

I put everything I had into holding on and would not let go.

He didn't want to hurt me, so his big hand just settled over mine and went still.

The quiet turned strange.

The broken ceiling fan dragged around in circles. Yellow streetlight came through the flowered curtain.

I bit my lip. My voice came out shaking.

"Roman. I'm not too small."

His breath dropped low. Every muscle in him pulled tight.

"Good girl. You know what you're saying?"

"I said. I'm not small."

The next second he had me off my feet, one arm hooked under me.

His voice broke against my ear, rough with wanting.

"Then let's find out. Big, or small."

The kiss came down, and I watched the want in his eyes go wild, past anything careful.

And still, it stayed a kiss.

The low catch of his breath went ragged. He pressed me into him and rubbed a slow, gentling circle at the back of my head.

"I'm going to shower."

He stood by the bed. The height of him set my cheek against his stomach.

The heat kept climbing. I looked up at him, a little unfocused.

I understood the restraint. He always put me first.

Somewhere outside it had started to rain, ticking light and fast on the tin eaves.

The little rental sat damp and airless, one restless heart cooking inside it.

Snap.

The cheap breaker spat a spark and tripped.

"Voltage's bad in the rain. I'll check the box outside."

He said it like he was holding something down. He didn't look at me when he did.

The dark came back over the room, and it felt like handing a shy thief a perfect excuse.

So I caught the hem of his shirt, small and careful, all bluff.

"Roman. Or is it that you can't."

The air left my lungs again. I could barely pull a breath.

He set his mouth to my ear in the dark, and every ounce of bluff drained out of me.

His hand found mine and folded over it.

"Watch, good girl."

Chapter 3

I surfaced the next morning, blurry, just as Roman came out of the bathroom.

Sweatpants slung low. No shirt.

Water he hadn't dried ran the lines of his stomach and slid under the waistband.

The gray cotton went dark where it soaked through, and the wet made every ridge of him stand out.

He still had my underwear in one hand.

Heat rushed my face and I ducked back under the blanket.

"Sleep a while more. I'll make food."

He hung my rinsed-out underwear on the drying rack like it was nothing.

Opened the fridge like he'd done it ten thousand times. Tied on an apron.

Took down the cutting board, rinsed a tomato, sliced it, set it aside.

Reached for a bowl, cracked two eggs one-handed against the rim, eased his fingers, let it all pour clean.

Oil into the hot pan with one hand, chopsticks whipping the eggs with the other.

White steam climbed off the stove.

Something settled in me I'd never felt before. Full and ordinary and real. The plain warmth of a life you could stand on. It sank into the base of everything and would not come loose.

As he worked, the good lines of his back pulled tight and ran down into a lean, narrow waist.

"Kitchen gets greasy. Cooking's mine from now on."

He set a bowl of egg fried rice in front of me, still steaming, and used his free hand to drop the bag of beef in the sink to thaw.

"No. I want to make you something good."

I took the chopsticks in protest.

His eyes moved over me, and he laughed under his breath, low, a little wicked.

"No need. I ate plenty last night."

That put heat all the way up my neck. I shoveled the last few bites in fast.

Grabbed my bag and bolted.

"Off to class."

"Slow down. I don't bite."

His teasing chased me out the door. I filed a silent complaint.

Liar.

Last night he was no different from a man about to eat me alive.

Chapter 4

That night. The dance studio.

I folded my practice clothes into my locker and pulled out my phone.

Me: [Class is done.]

Roman: [Five minutes. Almost there.]

My mouth tugged up on its own. I stretched and headed for the door.

"Camille."

Preston Ashford stepped out of the shadow at the corner, smiling in a way that crawled.

There was still a big purple bruise on his face from Roman's boot.

I tightened my grip on my bag strap and backed up two steps.

"What do you want?"

"You've got the nerve to ask? Your boyfriend put me on the ground. What do you think I want?"

"Whatever the medical bill is, I'll pay it."

"Pay. You people couldn't pay this off. I can drag that grease monkey into court and bankrupt him to nothing whenever I feel like it."

"He'll try that. You threw the first punch. That was self-defense."

"Self-defense, excessive force, it's all just a lawyer's mouth, isn't it. If I decide to make it hurt, you really think you slip out of it? Come on, Camille, I actually like you. Say yes to me and the whole slate's clean."

"Oh, I get it. You don't want to be my little secret on the side. You want the title. Official girlfriend. That's the game."

He let out two wet little laughs, and something hungry and bare came into his eyes.

"Quit playing hard to get. Fine. I'll give it to you."

"Back for another beating?"

Roman swung off the bike, helmet hanging from one hand, weighing it.

Red-and-black riding leathers cut his tall frame clean out of the dark.

I ducked behind him on instinct.

"Preston. Last time I was out of line and let you get the wrong idea. I apologize."

"But I'm not interested. Don't come near me again."

Roman kept a firm hold on me, his thumb pressing a slow circle into my palm.

Then he looked at Preston, and something came into his eyes that stood the hair up on my arms.

"This is a school. There are cameras everywhere! You lay a hand on me and you're finished."

Preston threw an arm up in front of his face, cowering and swaggering in the same breath.

Roman closed the distance, taking his time.

Looked him over. One cold flick of a smile.

"I need to pick a spot to beat your ass?"

Preston stammered, rattled to the bone by how little Roman cared whether he lived.

"You you wait. You all just wait!"

"Camille, you've got that big dance competition, don't you? I will make sure you never take that stage."

"And you! You broke bastard! I looked into you. You're trying to start a company, aren't you? I'll bankrupt you down to your last pair of shorts!"

Preston backed off, still cursing, and ran.

Roman scooped a rock off the ground and started after him.

I caught his arm and shook my head.

"Roman. I want to go home."

Because I know what he becomes. A few years from now this man is a dark horse worth a fortune, the kind nobody sees coming.

One hot second, one assault charge on his record, and it costs him all of it. I was not going to let a rat like Preston be the reason.

"Okay. Home."

Roman's eyes narrowed. His feet stopped.

He turned, tucked the loose hair off my cheek behind my ear, and settled my own pink helmet down over my head.

Careful. Gentle.

Then, out of pure habit, lifted me onto the back seat before he cracked the throttle.

I pressed into the broad plane of his back, my voice going muffled.

My fingers knotted in the fabric at his waist, knuckles white.

"Roman. Feels like all I ever do is make trouble for you."

None of this was in the story. Preston, the threats, all of it. None of it happened back when I was following the script.

It only started when I decided I wasn't walking the road I'd been handed. Maybe the villainess is supposed to keep her distance from him. Stay far, far away.

The night wind tore past, loud.

I thought he hadn't caught me talking to myself.

Then he said it.

"Good girl. You don't worry about a single thing."

"All you have to do is stay right next to me."

"The rest is mine."

Chapter 5

We'd barely gotten off the bike when a girl in a white dress came hurrying over.

"Shaw. Our trademark cleared. A few details need your sign-off."

"I'll get on it first thing tomorrow."

Roman's hands stalled on the snaps of my helmet strap. He took the file she held out.

"Thanks for handling it."

I pulled my own helmet off, uneasy for no reason I could name.

She walked him through something about company operations, and he listened with a slight frown, dropping in a word here and there.

It was like they had their own room, and I'd been shut out of it.

I didn't understand any of it. I stood off to the side, awkward.

And whether it was really an accident or not, when she stepped forward she drove her shoulder into me, hard.

Roman was circling numbers on the file with a pen and didn't see me stagger, didn't see me nearly go down.

Maybe he'd spoiled me too far, because it took about ninety seconds for the tilt in my chest to hit the point I couldn't stand.

"Roman. Who is she?"

I poked the dip at the small of his back, quiet.

"My assistant. Bianca Reyes."

"Bianca Reyes?"

I froze and said it back like I couldn't believe it.

Bianca gave me a quick little smile. A greeting, technically. Her mouth moved and nothing behind it did. The hostility was plain.

"Hi."

"You two talk. I'm going to head back."

I left fast, like I was running from something. My voice wasn't quite steady.

Bianca Reyes.

The right girl. The one the story saves for him. The soft-voiced one he's supposed to fall for, once he's finally done with me.

They found each other after all.

Every scrap of panic I'd just choked down came surging back up at once and swallowed me whole.

Because I know how this story ends. He gets her. I get a rich man's bed and the bruises that finish me.

The clock I thought I'd smashed just started ticking again.

Bianca Reyes graduated top of her class at Booth. She knew operations, she knew sales, she was the best partner Roman could have on the way up