Page 63 of All the Forbidden Things
I step back, allowing Billie the space she needs to stand up.
“I’ll just go put the garlic bread in. Do you want a salad to go with it? Wendy said there was plenty in the fridge to make one.”
Standing in front of me, I take in every inch of Billie Wild, from the pink, black, and grey fluffy socks on her feet, her freckled cheeks flushed pink, to her hair, the colour of everything autumn piled on top of her head in an untidy mess … which is all kinds of sexy in that just been fucked kind of way.
I clear my throat and meet her eyes.
“Salad sounds good. There should be some fresh parmesan in the fridge too.”
She gives a small nod then turns and heads towards the kitchen. I watch her leave, parts of her I actually don’t take my eyes off. She’s wearing khaki green-coloured sweats that showcase her perfect arse and tiny waist, a cropped black sweatshirt hangs off one shoulder, giving me a quick glimpse of a tattoo on her back that I’d gotten a glimpse of yesterday. I force my attention away from her arse, and stare down at my hardwood floor because this is Billie. Cal's little sister. Pete and Lainy’s daughter. Little Billie.
“What the fuck am I doing?” I stare up at the ceiling and ask anyone who might care to respond and pass judgment.
Layla squeezes her hands into fists, stretches her arms up into the air, and pulls her knees up to her chest. “Wha’d’ya reckon, bug, is Daddy a terrible person? If anyone ever checks your arse out the way I just checked out Bamm’s, I’d gouge their fuc—fluffing eyes out. Then I’d shove them down their throat.”
Her little face screws up, and she gives a small cry before opening her eyes and staring up at me.
She smiles, making everything right in the world, and for now, I forgive myself for checking out Billie’s arse and other parts, as well as all of the other inappropriate thoughts I’ve had about her.
“Ow! Shit!” I hear Billie swear from the kitchen.
I move in that direction and ask, “You okay? Anything you need me to do?” It’s then that I remember Billie has her hand in a cast. She manages so well with it that I’ve barely noticed it’s there.
“I’m fine, just burnt my thumb putting the bread in the oven.”
“You sure you can manage with that thing on your hand?”
She turns and faces me as I move towards the table. Her good hand goes to her hip and her chin tips up.
“I’ve managed just fine all day,” she responds with attitude. Eyebrows raised and looking at me as though she’s about to go into battle.
It would be impressive if there weren’t faint yellow bruises still shadowing her face.
I’m hit with a wave of nausea then absolute blind fucking rage when I think about what that dick in America did to her.
“Yellow’s not a colour I like seeing you wear, Bamm,” I tell her.
She frowns.
“Good job that fucker’s dead; otherwise, I’d be hunting him down.”
Her fingertips move to her face, brushing across her cheek. My jaw aches, and pain shoots through my temple as I grind my teeth together.
She’s so little, why would someone ever want to hurt her? I kiss Layla’s head and close my eyes in an attempt to calm myself the fuck down. I was pissed off and angry when Cal told me what had happened to her, but now, reconnecting and getting to know the beautiful woman Billie has grown up to be, I just want to hurt the prick responsible.
I look up and meet Billie’s grey-blue stare.
She holds up her hand that’s in the cast. “I’m nearly healed now. If anything, it’s my ribs that still give me the most pain. This thing’s just a nuisance, and my bruises are mostly faded.” She shrugs and shakes her head.
I move Layla to the crook of my arm. “And what about up here?” I point at my temple with the index finger of my free hand. “He put his fucking hands on you. He pointed a fucking . . .” I look all around my kitchen as I try to rein in the overwhelming anger I’m feeling. “He pointed a gun at you, Bamm. I mean, what the fuck? How do you move on from that?”
“What d’ya want me to do, Max? If I keep reliving the fear I felt that night, it just means he’s won. He’s dead, I’m alive, and I intend living my best lifenotthinking about him.”
“I’m just . . . I’m not okay with it. His hands on you. Him hurting you.”
“Me neither, but I won’t let it rule or ruin my life.”
I want to kiss her. I want to hold her in my arms and kiss her mouth and her bruised cheeks and jaw. “You are so fucking brave.”
