Be My Light : A BWWM Romance (Make It Marriage Book 4) Read online

  “What?”

  “My jacket.”

  “I—“ My brain goes blank.

  Everyone is watching.

  “Um…”

  Jonas doesn’t wait around for my answer. He slides his hand down the sleeve of the jacket, catching on the empty cuff. Tugging, he leads me like a lamb to the slaughter.

  Nellie scrambles to catch up. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He brushes past her, still holding my cuff, and digs into his pocket for his keys.

  I notice the direction we’re heading.

  That fancy blue truck must be his.

  I yank my hand back.

  His grip doesn’t budge, but he does stop. Turning he arches an eyebrow what?

  “I should head home.”

  He leans back. Appraises me for a long moment. “Your book’s messed up.”

  I blink.

  “Your Flash comic? It got soaked.”

  My heart thuds painfully. With my free hand, I search my purse and lift the book out. The stench of alcohol slaps me full in the face. There’s a big grey blob starting from the corner and going to the middle of the cover. I flip the book open and see the words blurring on the page.

  No, no, no.

  “It’s fine,” Nellie snaps. “We’ll just buy another one.”

  “My brother has that in stock.”

  “He does?”

  Jonas twists his key around his finger and juts his chin at the car.

  I glance at Nellie.

  She looks back at me and shrugs. It’s up to you.

  I relax my hand. “Okay.”

  Jonas pulls me by the cuff all the way to his car.

  Nellie still doesn’t seem happy, but she doesn’t try to stop him anymore.

  I get in the front seat. Nellie climbs into the back.

  Jonas starts the car.

  And then we’re off.

  I zip my jacket all the way up and look over at the driver. Jonas is sneaking glances at Nellie in the rear view mirror. There’s something in his expression. Longing? Regret? Did they date in the past?

  Could explain why he’s oh-so interested in helping me buy a new comic book tonight.

  I’m going to selfishly believe that he helped me with his jacket because he’s a decent person though.

  Nellie catches him looking and flips him off.

  Hm…

  Whatever their deal is, I’m just glad to be away from that party.

  “Jonas?”

  His eyes return forward.

  “Will your brother’s store be open?” I check my watch. It’s almost nine o’clock. “We won’t be bothering him, will we?”

  “He’ll just have to deal.”

  “Such a loyal brother. I’m sure Luc will be proud.”

  “Watch it, Nells.”

  “Only my friends call me that,” she snaps.

  “Exactly.”

  She huffs.

  I sink into my seat.

  I can only imagine how much fun I’m going to have in that shop if the mysterious ‘Luc’ is anything like his brother.

  Three

  Lucas

  I’m nothing like my brother.

  I check my phone and sigh.

  JONAS: At a party. Not drinking.

  It was sent about an hour ago, but it doesn’t really matter.

  ‘At a party’ means he won’t be home until after midnight. Maybe later. He’s telling me not to wait up. Not to worry.

  ‘Not drinking’ means—

  It means he’s not going to get hurt.

  Or hurt anyone else.

  My chest tightens.

  After last year…

  Some things changed.

  Everything changed.

  Setting the phone down, I mix sugar into my mug of tea. The silver spoon clanks against the ceramic rim. It’s a steady, intoxicating rhythm.

  My eyes droop.

  I force them open.

  Nope.

  I’m not gonna be that guy. It’s nine-thirty on a Saturday night. Even if I’m here at home in a T-shirt and my old gym pants and not out there, living it up on the town like my college-aged brother, I shouldn’t be this pathetic.

  Professors have fun. Case in point, I’ve got a documentary on the History of the Mongol Empire calling my name.

  I chuckle, slipping my hands between the mug’s handle. Jonas would skewer me with a you’re so lame look if he caught me sharing those particular weekend plans out loud.

  It’s a good thing he’s not here then.

  With a contented sigh, I ease into the plush brown couch. I throw my legs on the coffee table and slap my hands around the sofa, seeking out the familiar shape of the remote.

  Just before I hit the play button, the shutters downstairs scream.

  My brows knit.

  I ease forward, tilting my head to listen.

  Eeeek!

  There it is again.

  Setting my tea down, I plant my feet on the ground.

  Listen.

  Wait.

  It’s still downstairs.

  Too still.

  There’s abrupt silence.

  Stilted breath.

  My mind flies to the newspaper article I read this morning.

  Petty Crime On The Rise

  I’m betting a few disillusioned kids, high on excitement and stupidity, went looking for something to brighten their dull night and they picked my store as their target.

  I shake my head and sigh as a twinge of pity courses through me.

  Kids these days…

  They’re not satisfied with the quiet life anymore. Not with their Snaps and their Instas and their addiction to how many likes they can get for posting what they had for breakfast this morning.

  But I didn’t think I’d have to deal with this problem in the city.

  Back home, I understood. There wasn’t much out there that the local teen could boast about. So they got creative.

  In my day, we drank, partied or slept around just to pass the time. Sometimes, all three. It was either that or daring each other to do crazy, dangerous stunts like—

  My heart twists painfully.

  I’m not going to think about that.

  We left the town and those memories behind for a reason.

  Another thud.

  Someone curses.

  I focus on the threat at hand. I’m dealing with a group here.

  Could be dangerous.

  Probably not.

  I should call the cops.

  But I won’t.

  I’m betting most of these kids aren’t inherently ‘bad’, just misguided.

  And maybe a little hopeless.

  A face flashes in my mind. Long black hair. Brown eyes. A smile perpetually tinged in mischief.

  Damn. It hurts.

  I scrub the vision away and set my phone down.

  No cops. It doesn’t need to go that far.

  I’ll handle this myself.

  Hustling to my room, I grab my baseball bat from its perch in the corner next to the bookshelf. The bat is a threat, not a weapon, but I’m not married to that concept.

  And I’m not stupid.

  There’s a chance my hunch is wrong. If I’m dealing with real, seasoned criminals here, I’m not going in blind.

  Easing my door open, I peer down the stairs. The wooden steps lead straight into the main part of the store. I’ve got the layout burned into my memory. I could walk around blindfolded and not bump into anything.

  Which is good.

  It’s pitch black down there.

  I can faintly trace the rectangular tops of the bookshelves and the tables. Upturned wooden chairs shoot their scrawny legs at the ceiling. Golden rays from the streetlamps struggle past the frosted front windows.

  Two tiny points of light grab my attention.

  I study the silver beams. They’re too small to be emitting from proper flashlights. I’m guessing the hoodlums are using smartphones to get around.

  “Whe
re’s the light switch?” a voice hisses.

  Information streaks through my brain.

  I collect it calmly and analytically.

  The person holding the light is female.

  Probably eighteen.

  Definitely annoyed.

  There’s a male grunt in response.

  It sounds familiar.

  I tilt my head. Where have I heard that before?

  Gingerly, I descend the rest of the stairs.

  More rustling and curses fly from the girl and her accomplice. I face the right, taking note of the lone spark of light over there.

  The second flashlight holder is creeping around the comic book section. His shadow falls over the plastic-wrapped books.

  He stops. Looks. Takes another step.

  Stops.

  Looks again.

  I know each of those books by heart. Personally handpicked and searched high and low to complete the collection. The newer editions are a dime-a-dozen, available anywhere comic books are sold.

  But those babies?

  Premium gold.

  I only put them on display because I’m so damn proud. I’d never tell Jonas, but I’m dreading the day some rich tech guru waves his big bucks around and asks me to sell them all.

  I just might cry.

  My eyes sweep the intruder’s shadowy silhouette.

  Short hair.

  Small frame.

  Bulky shoulders.

  Easy prey.

  I creep toward him, making sure to stay just shy of the circle of light to avoid throwing my shadow. I’m not as quiet as I’d like to be, but my less-than-stealthy approach fails to tip him off.

  He stands, entranced, in front of the comics.

  Slowly, he reaches out to touch one of the books.

  I pounce. Right on his shoulders. Hooking my arm around his neck, I hold him in a lock and slam him against my body.

  My fingers sink into nylon. Stretch material. A jacket.

  The scent of cologne and another, more feminine, fruity scent, fills my nostrils.

  The underage burglar wiggles around.

  I hold firm, my lock secure and unbreakable. I might be on the embarrassing end of the sedentary lifestyle scale, but Jonas ropes me into working out with him a couple times a week. I’ve got a solid grip.

  I slide the bat over his thigh. “Don’t move.”

  He stiffens, whimpering in fear.

  That blasted fruity scent.

  It’s too sweet.

  And he’s too soft.

  Confusion swarms my mind when my hand moves against his chest.

  That’s…

  I know the female body enough to recognize a breast when I feel one.

  My grip slacks.

  “What’s going on?” a voice barks.

  Wait—

  That voice—

  Before my mind can come to any more troubling conclusions, the thief twists around.

  A slender hand grabs my arm.

  He shifts his weight.

  Bends over.

  I feel my body lifting off the ground.

  Then I’m air-borne.

  He hauls me clean over his shoulder.

  I crash to the floor.

  The lights blink on.

  As golden bulbs burn into my eyeballs, I peer up at the MMA fighter who just shoulder-tossed me like a ragdoll.

  Trim brows hike.

  Cinnamon-brown eyes narrow.

  Plump lips painted a dark, sexy red tremble.

  He’s a she.

  The truth slams into me with all the force of a two-ton freight train.

  I just got K.O’d by a girl.

  Four

  Ina

  I’m in that nightmare again. I’m there, but I don’t want to be.

  Stay calm, Ina. That’s my therapist’s voice in my head.

  Feels like useless advice.

  There’s no way I can control my response to this.

  Some man is grabbing me in the dark.

  Cold metal scrapes my upper thigh.

  He’s holding me close.

  Invading my sacred bubble.

  I can’t do this.

  My body locks up.

  I’m going to that dark place. Panic crowds my mind. Fear snaps me in its toothy jaw like a monster rising from the deep.

  Stay calm, Ina. That’s Mrs. G’s voice.

  She’s been there, more than once, when I’m caught in the storm of my own making. When my body betrays me and my mind shuts down.

  The first time, she panicked right along with me.

  The second time, she coached me through it.

  The third…

  The fourth…

  It keeps happening.

  And she’s always there to pull me back from the brink.

  I can’t do it alone.

  That’s…

  It’s impossible.

  The monster gets bigger.

  Fear, it… it wants to eat me alive.

  I can’t hear anything except the roaring of my own heart and the skitter of my pulse hitting the inside of my wrist.

  Everything is spinning.

  I can’t…

  I can’t breathe.

  Darkness crackles around my vision.

  In my mind, I hear the slam of a cane against a platform.

  Whack!

  Stay calm, Ina!

  My eyes burst open.

  Stay calm!

  That’s Mr. Miato’s voice.

  My self-defense instructor.

  “Stay calm, Ina.” The In-My-Head Mr. Miato rasps. “Your attacker’s already won if you panic.”

  His snappy voice cuts through the cloud.

  Sharp as a sword.

  Stronger than the monster chewing me to pieces.

  I hear it and something deep inside, buried under all the insecurity, the stress and the baggage, sprouts to life.

  A tiny little seed of bravery.

  “Now breathe in slowly.”

  I even my breathing.

  “Get into the stance.”

  I focus on the shifting of my foot. The swing of my hips. The weight of my attacker’s arm over my shoulder.

  I try to wiggle free.

  He holds firm.

  I shift my foot out a little further. Test if I’ve got a better angle by slightly shifting forward.

  “Now throw!”

  I seize up instead.

  I can’t. He’s bigger than me. Much bigger than Mr. Miato. It’ll never work.

  My attacker’s hand drops lower.

  It squeezes my breast.

  Outrage at his invasion pours through me.

  Something takes over.

  Some dark, ugly, twisted rage.

  It’s born from the same monster, but at least it’s not as pathetic.

  I give into the feeling.

  Close my eyes.

  Crouch low.

  Use his own weight to propel him forward with all my might.

  The next thing I know, my attacker’s on the floor.

  He lands with a thud.

  The light comes on, illuminating a pair of dark chocolate eyes—wide with pain and shock.

  I’m just as stunned as he is.

  Footsteps quicken.

  I glance up and see Nellie and Jonas hurrying to me.

  “What did you do?” Nellie gasps, covering her mouth with both hands.

  Jonas rushes to the fallen man. “Bro!”

  Bro?

  I look from the big, lumbering jock to the man on the floor.

  Dots connect in my head. And I don’t like the picture it’s painting.

  I scrunch my fingers into the hem of my blouse.

  Jonas’s brother groans loudly and presses a hand against his back.

  “Lucas!” Nellie shrieks. She joins Jonas on the ground, flanking my attacker on his other side. “Can you get up?”

  Lucas shakes his head no.

  Nellie shrieks at me, “Was that necessary?”

  Uh… yeah.
Two seconds ago, I was the victim.

  But I guess it doesn’t matter now.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt him…” I mumble.

  Jonas helps his brother to stand.

  Lucas brushes him off and steps away.

  Standing side-by-side, I can see now that Lucas and Jonas are definitely brothers. They’re both handsome in that I-can’t-step-a-foot-outside-without-getting-sunburn way. Painfully pale skin. Beautiful eyes. Strong jawlines.

  But while Jonas seems brooding and mysterious, there’s a warmth to Lucas. Something open and inviting. Laugh lines frame his mouth, telling me that he laughs easily and often. His dark hair is thick but mussed like he’s got a habit of running his fingers through it.

  I want to trust the ‘nice guy’ read I’m getting, but Lucas just felt me up in the dark so I don’t know how accurate my scanners are right now.

  “What are you guys doing here?” Lucas stares at me. He’s standing straighter now, though his eyes are still crinkled in pain.

  He’s not angry.

  Which is… kind of surprising.

  Nellie rolls her eyes. “Guess whose brilliant idea this was?”

  Jonas grunts. “Thanks, Nellie.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Guys, please.” Luc has a don’t start look in his eyes.

  Nellie sighs dramatically but shuts her mouth.

  Hm…

  Lucas folds his arms over his chest.

  My eyes flicker there. I can’t believe I was just pressed up against that chest and didn’t totally panic.

  Well, I did panic.

  But not totally.

  I snapped myself out of it.

  Excitement and pride bubbles in my stomach.

  Wow.

  I did that.

  “So, it was Jonas’s idea to do what exactly?” Lucas arches an eyebrow.

  “We came to get some stupid comic book.”

  “Mine got soaked.” I gesture hesitantly to the car outside. “It’s in my purse.”

  “We were trying not to wake you.”

  “But Mr. Chatterbox over here,” Nellie points at Jonas, “couldn’t find the light switch.”

  Lucas frowns. “You couldn’t?”

  “How could he not know where the light switch is?” Nellie tosses her head. “It’s ridiculous. He lives here.”

  “Upstairs,” Jonas snaps.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “I never set foot in this shop.”

  Everyone goes quiet.

  Even Nellie shifts in discomfort.

  I glance between their sober faces.

  What is it? What am I missing?