FATHER: Men of the Cloth - Tristan (Forbidden Priest Romance 1) Page 8

  OhGodohGodohGod…

  Dry heaves wracked her body in small but continuous waves and saliva began pooling in her mouth—a sure sign she was seconds from hurling. She seriously needed to get to a bathroom but the corridor was listing like the Titanic. Shoving away from the wall, she attempted several unsteady steps before staggering like the pathetic drunk she was.

  “You don’t look like you’re doing so good.” Kady was startled by a male voice. She hadn’t heard his approach. “No, you don’t look like you’re doing good at all.”

  He sounded amused more than sympathetic, and despite her inebriated state Kady detected a sinister edge to his tone that started her radar pinging. She was unable to lift her head and needed assistance to walk, so having little choice in the matter she ignored her woman’s intuition and reached out to the stranger for help.

  “Please…” she moaned. “C-could you get my sis—sis— Aagh!” As a bigger wave of nausea crashed over her, Kady’s stomach contracted and she doubled over.

  “I got you, Beautiful.”

  S-sebastian?

  As she collapsed into a masculine embrace, the hold around her body felt a little confining and the arm encircling her, a tad too close to her breasts. The Good Samaritan was positioned behind her, his front pressed against her back, and with both his arms locked around Kady, she was completely imprisoned—a fact that reinforced her initial unease.

  “Come on…” he whispered into her ear. “Let’s get you feeling better. Give that body a little distraction.” His breath was hot, the stench of stale beer making her gag.

  Weak and wobbly, she had no choice but to let him fully support her. With her limbs feeling like they were molded from Jell-O, she couldn’t keep her eyelids from sliding down, let alone larger body parts. In total physical control of all sixty-two inches of her, Kady’s rescuer began shuffling her back to…back to…

  Um, why was the cacophony of voices and clinking of silverware getting fainter? Was it her imagination or was the light at the end of the hallway moving farther away from her? Where was Sebastian taking her?

  “So fucking sweet,” he murmured against her neck. “Not like that stuck-up ginger cunt.”

  Kady’s eyes flew open.

  “I was watching you. From the second you walked in, couldn’t take my eyes off that tight little ass. You women and your fucking yoga pants.” He gave a contemptuous hiss of laughter.

  Suddenly panicked, Kady dug in her heels. “Who are you?” she gasped, trying to twist out of his hold.

  Chapped lips rasped her earlobe. “Beautiful, I’m the guy who’s gonna make all your dreams come true.”

  She spun her head around to see a young man in a knit cap staring down at her, his unnerving grin mirroring the salacious intent in his coal black eyes. It was a look Kady well recognized. Sobering instantly, her heart rate sped up and cold sweat trickled down her sides and between her breasts.

  Dragged toward the supply closet, she felt the unmistakable evidence of his arousal nudging her buttocks and it was growing harder and more threatening by the second.

  Please, God, no! Hysteria overtook her and she began fighting for her life—frantically, like a wild thing caught in a snare. At least… that’s what Kady thought she was doing. Inside her head she was screaming her lungs out. Outside she felt sluggish, as if everything was moving in slow motion, like in a dream. Like in a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from. She was dizzy. Oh God, still so damn dizzy.

  When she heard a door creak open on rusty hinges, her heart stopped. Catching a dank whiff of mildew and inhaling a lungful of ammonia fumes, it suddenly hit her. He’d gotten her inside the supply closet. No one would be able hear her cries for help in the supply closet.

  The man—boy really, for he couldn’t be more than twenty-one—had Kady pinned to the wall with both wrists clamped beside her head. Flattened against her, he began rubbing his wiry body up and down Kady’s breasts and groin, his erection leading the way. He buried his face in her neck, sucking and biting like a voracious vampire. There was nothing sexy or erotic about it. While he grunted in lust, Kady moaned in revulsion. His slobbering was churning her stomach worse than the whiskey. Like a baby, she did a little spit-on on his shoulder.

  He lurched back in disgust. “Jesus, bitch.”

  Robbed of support, she slumped to the floor like a rag doll, limbs sprawled out, head flopped to one side. Sinking in a mire of alcohol and feeling so sick she wished she were dead, Kady didn’t care anymore what happened to her as long as in the end she’d be put out of her misery.

  Face shiny with oil and perspiration, there was more mascara under eyes than on her lashes. Her hair was a riot of tangled strands. Add in her green pallor and the residual drool on her chin, and Kadence Janacek looked anything but the picture of desirability. Yet the sleaze didn’t seem to notice, or care—determined as he was on having another go at her.

  Squatting down in front of the semi-conscious woman he tore open the front of her blouse and brutally grabbed a breast. “Goddamn,” he murmured. “Such big titties for such a little girl.” He slipped his hand under her bra cup and viciously twisted her nipple. “Goddamn.”

  Kady flinched in pain and batted his hand away. “No,” she whimpered. “Please. Don’t.”

  God, even to her ears her feeble protests sounded pathetic. Why was she sniveling when she should be screeching like a banshee? But she was. She was screeching. She was resisting. In her mind she was clawing the bastard’s goddamn eyes out!

  “Bet you’re pretty all over,” he said, his meaning made clear as he went for Kady’s waistband. But mid-reach his hand stopped, as did his breath when he heard a low growl behind him.

  “Lay a finger on her and I’ll break your fucking hand.”

  eLEVEN

  Before he had a chance to turn around, the boy was yanked violently to his feet by the scruff of his collar like a marionette pulled up by its strings.

  “What the—” He yelped as his arm was wrenched savagely behind him.

  “On second thought, I might do it anyway.”

  When he tried to twist free it was forced higher against his back. “Ow, shit!”

  “Don’t goddamn move.”

  At the familiar deep voice Kady stirred but still couldn’t get her eyes to open.

  “Whatever you’re assuming, man, you got it all wrong.” The cocksure kid was now sounding like a squeak toy. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

  “You’ll understand if I don’t take your word for it.”

  “I swear, nothing happened!”

  “Let’s hope for your sake the lady concurs.”

  “Aw shit, come on,” he whined. “The chick’s so embalmed she wouldn’t even know her own name.”

  “Shut your fucking pie hole or I’ll stuff my fucking fist in it.” The threat was delivered in a tone so dangerous the boy immediately clamped his lips closed.

  Kady heard her name called, the voice sounding like it was coming from the far end of a very long tunnel.

  “Kadence?”

  Who but her mother ever used her full given name? There was only one other person and no way would he be here. No, her ears were hallucinating. It had to be someone else acting her knight-in-shining armor. He would never—

  “Open your eyes, Kadence.”

  At the gentle command her lids fluttered opened. As if she had cobwebs over her eyes she blinked in rapid succession trying to clear them and looked up. It really was him. But how could that be? Where did he come from? Why was he here?

  She saw that he was holding tight to that young guy who’d been trying to… trying to… trying to what? Oh God, did anything happen? Something must have if Tristan’s murderous expression was any indication. But from the way he was staring at her Kady wondered just whom it was he wanted to kill.

  OhGodohGodohGod…

  The room was rocking like a rowboat in a tempest. For about the hundredth time that hour Kady let out a woeful moan. Barely lucid now, she dropped
her head in her hands and clutched her scalp, waiting for blessed blackness to take her.

  “Look at me,” Tristan barked. “Stay with me, damnit.”

  Her head came up a fraction, just enough to make eye contact with him.

  “Are you okay? This motherfucker didn’t…?” A feeling of rage merged with some other emotion Tristan refused to identify welled up inside him. “You’re all right? He didn’t hurt you?” Give him the word and he’d rip his motherfucking head off.

  The terror the stranger inflicted on her had affected Kady to the degree that she couldn’t stop trembling. Even now. Even with Tristan here to protect her. But aside from mauling her breast, he hadn’t hurt her physically. But given more time, who knows what he could’ve accomplished? Kady did. Kady had learned up close and personal what boys like him were about. Boys who didn’t think twice about taking what they wanted, in any way they wanted.

  Anxiously waiting Kady’s answer, Tristan’s limbs relaxed in relief when she mouthed the word, no. But he still wasn’t satisfied. She was clearly shaken up. The slimeball intended to take advantage of the fact she was three sheets to the wind and most likely had in some fashion. It appeared he’d just been getting warmed up when Tristan happened upon them. Jesus, if he hadn’t gone looking for the little drunk… Searching every damn nook and cranny in the entire pub for her…

  The possible outcome made him furious as hell—at the piece-of-shit who dared put his hands on her, and at Kady for putting herself in such a vulnerable position.

  “The dirtbag didn’t assault you?” he reiterated.

  “You heard her, she said, no. Fuck, come on. I didn’t know she was taken, all right? She’s yours. I’m sorry. But nothing happened!”

  “Why’s her blouse ripped?”

  “How should I know? I found her like that. Shit, she could’ve torn it falling down drunk.”

  “Kadence? Don’t be afraid to tell me. You’re safe now. If he did anything, anything at all, we can press charges.” Tristan winced hearing himself. What was this we crap?

  “Charges?” Panicked, the boy began thrashing wildly against Tristan’s ironclad hold. “Nothing happened! I told you I didn’t do anything to her.”

  “And I told you to shut the fuck up.”

  “Go to hell, asshole. You got no right to keep me here like this.” When kicking out didn’t work, the punk tried a backward head-butt to free himself. That equally unsuccessful stunt was rewarded with a vicious arm twist, causing him to squeal like a stuck pig.

  “I’ll snap it like a pencil,” the father snarled. “I’ll fucking do it. Now keep still.

  Under his breath the boy muttered, “Fuck, who are you?” But understanding he was outmatched, ceased struggling.

  Somewhere in the back of her fuzzy intoxicated brain Kady recalled the unsettling feeling she had in the confessional, when she’d wondered if this unfamiliar version of Tristan could be capable of violence. Listening and watching him now, there was absolutely no question.

  “No police,” she pleaded. “Please, no police.”

  The boy huffed out a breath of relief.

  “You sure?” Tristan’s jaw muscle jumped with barely banked fury.

  “I just want to go home.”

  No way was he letting this little shit just stroll out of here. But damnit it wasn’t his call. Without releasing his hold on him, Tristan began roughly patting him down.

  “Hey, the fuck, asshole?”

  Finding his wallet, he flung it open with one hand. “Show your punk-ass face in here again—” He glanced at the driver’s license. “Zachary Warren, and it’ll be for the last time.” A hard jerk underscored the threat. “If I see you around town and happen to catch you giving another woman your unwanted attention, or find out you’ve been within even a hundred feet of this woman here… I’m going to show up at—” Reading, “23 Carlton Street, apartment 6… and make you wish you’d never been born.”

  The young man whimpered like a wounded animal.

  “But for now, maggot, looks like you lucked out. If it were up to me…” This time he let it ride.

  “I didn’t do anything,” the maggot grumbled, not sure anymore who it was he was trying to convince.

  Pulling him close, the holy father placed his mouth beside his ear and lowered his voice to an authoritative rumble. “‘Walk by the Spirit and you will not carry out the desire of the flesh.’”

  With his Adam’s apple bobbing spasmodically the boy croaked, “W-what?”

  “Galatians 5:16,” Tristan said as if that explained everything. Then he thrust him away so forcefully he stumbled onto his knees. “If you’re at all interested in learning about God’s grace and how to tread the righteous path, I can be found at St. Benedict every day of the week except Wednesdays. Just ask for Father Cleary.” He tossed him his wallet.

  The kid’s dark eyes rounded. Was the asshole kidding? He scrambled to his feet. No, the dude didn’t look like he had much of a sense of humor. Rubbing his aching shoulder, he backed slowly out of the closet, warily scanning Tristan’s face for any sign of psychosis.

  A priest? Riiight…. And he was a fucking Ninja Turtle. He spun on his heels and without looking back, Kady’s assailant fled down the hall.

  Relaxing the hands he hadn’t realized were fisted, Tristan stared down at the woman sagged against the wall. She looked as miserable and bedraggled as a cat left out in the rain and the tenderness it stirred up irked the crap out of him.

  Kady’s eyes lifted shyly to his. “Thank you,” she breathed out.

  A resentful frown overtook his face. Her gratitude was galling. It implied he’d shown her a kindness. He didn’t want to be kind. Not to her. “You might want to…” His gaze raked her open blouse, the black lace bra underneath and well-endowed breasts they barely contained. Disapproval creased his brow. “Cover yourself,” he said tightly.

  Her face pinkened with embarrassment. As she hastily clutched at herself trying to straighten her blouse, she marveled at the man’s knack for making her feel ashamed and guilty when there was no cause for either. “Why do you do that?” she asked in a small, pained voice.

  Ignorance heightened Tristan’s frown.

  “Always look at me with revulsion,” she elaborated softly. “Like you’re on the verge of losing your lunch. What is it, Tristan? The two heads? The green goop running out my ears? What is so wrong with me that makes you look at me with such loathing?”

  Through narrowed, critical eyes he catalogued every feature on her heart-shaped face. The cheeks, round and soft as peaches. The dainty upturned nose with the slightly flared nostrils. The bluer than blue eyes. That hair. Christ, he didn’t dare start on her body.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you,” he grated bitterly. “Not. One. Goddamn. Thing.”

  His cold stare burned into her, forcing Kady to look away in fear of her retinas detaching. While her gaze dropped to the safety of her lap, his slid down to her mouth. An elfin mouth with a Cupid’s bow and full bottom lip. A mouth tailor made to fit around a man’s cock. His cock.

  Blood surged to Tristan’s groin as a picture of Kady on her knees blinded his mind’s eye. Kady… looking up at him while taking his hard, thick length down her throat… swallowing his load as he jetted into her… gulping it down like she was greedy for it. Kady… sucking him off as if she actually enjoyed it. As if she fucking loved it.

  Jealousy like a noose tightened around his neck. The thought of her doing that with anyone else made him mean. “You know him?” he asked gruffly.

  Kady’s stunned face floated up to him. “W-what?” she whispered, confused by his question as well as indicting tone.

  “Him. That frat boy. The scumbag trying to get into your pants. Remember?”

  Her head pivoted slowly from side to side in utter disbelief.

  “The two of you weren’t…? So you didn’t…?”

  Didn’t what? Bring this on herself? God, so quickly did he go from defending her to condemning her. He
thought she’d voluntarily come back here with that guy. To make out, mess around, maybe more. And when things got out of hand she cried wolf. Because that’s what teases did, right? Oh yes, she understood perfectly what he was getting at. What he thought she was. In Tristan’s eyes she was the Whore of Babylon and deserved whatever she got.

  The tears brimming Kady’s eyes were about to spill over but it was the words on her tongue she could barely get out. “You hate me so much?” she asked, the question coming from her fractured heart.

  Guilt sliced through Tristan like a carbon-steel blade. “I don’t hate you,” he snapped defensively. “I—” Fucking hell. He clenched his eyes and threw back his head. Taking a moment to corral his emotions, he repeated quietly to the ceiling, “I don’t hate you.”

  I hate what you do to me.

  He was a prick for insinuating she was responsible, of course he was. But imagining her with other men always made him want to slam his fist into the nearest wall. Kady making love, having sex, fucking them… The thought was as agonizing as getting eviscerated alive by a wake of vultures. He didn’t know what hurt more. The fact he hadn’t been her first… Or that he would never be her last.

  Kady’s head felt heavy as a cement block. Trying to keep it on her neck, she held onto it with both hands as the room began to spin again. No, no, no Tristan, she wanted to scream at him. I’m not what you think I am.

  Instead she cried, “I’m going to be sick.”

  Her stomach roiled. Her stomach lurched. This time there was no suppressing it. She was going to blow chunks like Old Faithful and she was going to do it front of the last person on earth she wanted seeing her do it. Bolting from a sitting position, Kady fell onto all fours. With shoulders hunched and head hanging, she loudly and violently emptied the contents of her stomach across the floor.

  In an instant Tristan was kneeling beside her, his arm around her for support. “It’s all right, I’ve got you. Easy now… easy…”

  No sooner did he sweep her hair out the path of destruction than a second slurry of Irish whiskey, partially digested pizza, and butterscotch blondies splattered the concrete like a Jackson Pollock.