Rogue Nights (The Rogue Series Book 6) Read online

  He had no idea why. They’d gone from texting constantly and talking every day to absolute fucking silence; he’d read more of her website in the past six weeks than he had over the last two years, just because he wanted to feel like he was with her. Which was probably pathetic. But not as pathetic as the fact that he’d been driving by her house every night just to check she was okay.

  Her brother had asked James to keep an eye on her, after all. Though Mark probably wouldn’t approve of just how hard James had been looking, recently.

  “I published the piece a while ago,” Nina hedged, which was a non-answer if he’d ever heard one.

  He took a deep breath, because he had a feeling he’d need to concentrate on staying calm during this conversation. “And the death threats started when?”

  “A few weeks back,” she mumbled.

  So much for staying calm. James stood up so fast, his chair hit the floor with a harsh clang. She jumped slightly, but he couldn’t even bring himself to care. He was too busy trying not to breathe fire, the sudden fury in his chest burned so bright. “Weeks, Nina? Are you serious?”

  She folded her arms, glaring up at him. “Sit down. You look like a bloody brick wall.”

  He ignored her, planting his hands flat on the desk and leaning forwards. “You’ve been getting death threats for weeks, and I’m hearing about this now?”

  Her cheeks hollowed, which meant she was biting down on the insides. Hard.

  Little hurts. She was always hurting herself. He hated it. But he’d hurt her too, hadn’t he?

  “It’s not like I could tell you before,” she said.

  His blood became ice. “You mean you kept this to yourself just because we aren’t talking?”

  “I mean why the fuck would I tell you anything when we aren’t friends anymore?” she shot back. Every word was like a bullet, slamming into him and tearing him apart. “We aren’t friends anymore.” Is that what she thought? Is that what this was? He’d told himself that if he gave her space, things would all work out in the end. But what if he’d been wrong? He’d told himself that she’d spoken in anger on that awful day, but Nina was never carried away by emotion like him.

  What if she’d meant every fucking word?

  The fire in him burnt out, leaving nothing but cold, charred insides behind. He felt suddenly disorientated, as if the world had shifted around him. But he couldn’t waste time with self-indulgent worries about his place in Nina’s life when that life was apparently in danger.

  And you weren’t there for her. She’s been dealing with this alone for weeks, all because you were weak.

  He squashed the guilt. It could haunt him later.

  “If you weren’t planning on coming to me,” he said quietly, “what changed? Did something happen?”

  Her silence was even more damning than her suddenly shifty gaze.

  “Nina,” he gritted out. “What. Happened?”

  She exhaled sharply, slumping down in her seat. One booted foot came up to rest against his desk, and she fiddled with the rip in her jeans. “I thought—I mean, I was wrong, I’m sure I was wrong—but I thought I heard somebody trying to get into the house last night.”

  His lungs seized. “Explain.”

  “Well, now it’s daylight, I think I was just paranoid. But I got a weird message yesterday, some cryptic clue about figuring out my identity, you know? Like someone knew who I was. And then, last night, I heard the front door rattling. It was probably the wind, but—”

  “What?” he choked out. A cocktail of anger and fear held his muscles in its tight, clawed grip. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  Her mulish stare was, apparently, all the answer she was prepared to give.

  “Did you at least call someone?” he demanded.

  “Like who? Flynn? Effie? Hey, babes, come over and make sure I’m not murdered, would you? Bring Jelly Babies. Xoxo, Nina.”

  “Like the police,” he gritted out.

  “Hmmm… home alone with a stalker, or home alone with the police. What an exciting game of chance.”

  James closed his eyes and took yet another deep breath. He knew Nina distrusted the police even more than most. A riot van ploughing into her parents’ car and killing them on impact hadn’t been anyone’s fault—but the way the local force had acted afterwards? That had been beyond reproach. So much so that, with the help of their aunt and uncle, Nina and Mark had actually sued for emotional damages—kicking off a Police versus Chapman vendetta in which one side held all the power. Before he’d left to join the RAF, Mark had been pulled over or stopped and searched once a day. Nina’s experience wasn’t much better.

  “Fine,” James allowed, opening his eyes again. “Fine. Okay. But you do realise that we need to report this, right?”

  She gave him a dark look.

  “Nina.”

  “Yes,” she said flatly. “I realise that.”

  Thank fuck. “Okay. We’ll do it together. I’ll take you to the station.”

  “Not right now,” she said.

  He stared. “I… really think we should deal with this as quickly as possible.”

  Her tongue snaked out to wet her lips. She turned her head to stare at the CCTV screen. He followed her gaze and found nothing unusual. So, she wasn’t distracted; she was deflecting. Which, combined with her uncharacteristic meekness, added up to one thing: Nina was afraid.

  “Alright,” he said. “Not yet. Tomorrow. We’ll spend today focusing on… other things.” Things that would make her feel better, safer, more like herself. “Starting with taking down the website.”

  She jerked back to face him. “Get fucked.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I. They want me to shut the site down, James. That’s why they’re doing this, and it would be an easy out, but I can’t. I can’t give them that kind of power and I can’t forfeit my principles. I won’t be silenced.”

  The speech pissed him off, but at least she was starting to sound like her usual self: loud, uncontainable, generally annoyed at the world. He liked her passion. He loved her passion. But he’d wished, more than once, that she’d put herself before the good of ‘society’.

  “Nina, I know your work is important—”

  “Do you?” she demanded, lifting her chin.

  “Yes,” he insisted. “I do. But it’s not more important than your safety. If whoever’s threatening you wants you to take the site down—”

  “I comply?” she interrupted softly. “You know how I feel about compliance, James.”

  He did. In fact, he usually agreed with her. He was struggling now, caught between his own beliefs, the promise he’d made to her brother, and the way he felt about her.

  On the one hand, he knew that the world would be a shit storm if people like them sat back and did as they were told. On the other hand, his best friend had asked James to ‘look after’ Nina while he was off engineering Her Majesty’s sodding death-planes with the RAF. And since she’d been nineteen at the time, he’d agreed. But she wasn’t a kid anymore, and somehow James had started to see her differently. Dangerously differently. Which brought him to the metaphorical third hand: he would rather gnaw off his own arm than ever see Nina hurt. If he had a choice between saving the planet from alien invasion and saving her… Well, he should choose saving the planet. He knew that. But he also knew that he would definitely, 100%, without remorse, choose her.

  Which probably wasn’t healthy, and definitely wasn’t an attitude conducive to his Stop-being-in-love-with-Nina plan.

  So he forced himself to say, “Fine. You’re right. The site stays—for now.”

  She arched her brows slightly, a sharp almost-smile curving her lips. It didn’t mean she was happy. It meant she was basking in her own dominance, or some such Nina-like bullshit. But the sight of any expression on her face made his heart swell with hope, because blankness was her defence mechanism. If she wasn’t blank, she was letting him in. Whether she realised it or not.

 
He rubbed a hand over his jaw and started to pace. “Next up: living arrangements. You can’t go home.”

  “Believe me,” she said dryly, “I have no desire to.”

  If things were the way they used to be, he’d touch her right now. He’d take her hand for a moment, ease her clenched fist open to reveal her ink-stained palm. He’d trace her life line up to her wrist, then run a finger over her racing pulse until it calmed. Once it did, he’d pull her into a hug, and she’d let herself be afraid. She’d whisper her feelings into his ear like they were dirty secrets, and he’d protect them for her like precious stones.

  But things weren’t the way they used to be, and he was beginning to think that the line they’d crossed six weeks ago was something they could never undo. Things had changed, and he needed to figure out what that meant—but one thing was for certain. Whether she liked him or not, whether she wanted to hug him or kick him in the nuts, Nina was his to protect. So, despite the confused mess of his thoughts, he spoke without hesitation. “You’ll stay with me.”

  “Like fuck,” she snorted.

  James sighed. He wasn’t in the habit of telling Nina what to do, but he could, and he would. “I know you like to argue—”

  “Now you’re just trying to piss me off.”

  “—but this really isn’t up for debate.”

  She leaned back in her seat, propping one booted foot against the desk, and batted her eyelashes. “Is this the part where I say ‘Yes, Daddy,’ and do as I’m told?”

  He ignored the many layers of sarcasm in that sentence. That was his usual tactic when it came to Nina’s teasing and Nina’s strength and Nina’s beautiful fucking face: ignoring it. Instead of throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her, kicking and screaming, to the safety of his flat—which was what he wanted to do—he took a deep breath, walked around the desk, and leaned against it, facing her. He met her flinty gaze and held it, letting her see his worry, his outright fear.

  And then, when the hard set of her jaw softened and her scowl faded slightly, he said, “How would you feel, Nina? If I wasn’t safe in my own home?”

  She huffed out a sigh and rolled her eyes haughtily, and he knew she was cracking. “Don’t ask me emotional questions. We aren’t friends.”

  He didn’t flinch, focused on his goal. “Who’s going to keep you safer than me?”

  “It is not your job to keep me safe.”

  “But I’m going to do it anyway. No need to thank me.” Trying not to laugh at her outraged expression, James stood and strode towards the door. “We’ll get your stuff after I close up.”

  “What are you going to do?” she growled. “Kidnap me?”

  “If necessary, Cupcake.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  She wasn’t seriously arguing anymore; he could tell. She knew he was right, and she’d already given in. Still, he responded honestly. “For you, I’d dare a lot.”

  2

  The fact that Nina had given in to James didn’t make her fickle, or pathetic, or childish—at least, that’s what she assured herself as she flopped back against his bed and stared at the ceiling. She was afraid, she was at risk, and she had limited options so far as the whole ‘feeling safe’ thing went. That was all. This didn’t mean she’d forgiven him for… well, for the disgraceful crime of not being in love with her, which wasn’t technically a crime, but whatever. Neither did it mean she’d given up on her personal resolution to stop being in love with him. Three years of unrequited adoration was more than enough. She was a dignified sort of woman, after all.

  But burying herself in James’s sheets was making it hard to remember all that, and even harder to focus on disliking him. The scent of clean skin and star anise, along with the hint of engine-oil-edged musk that was pure James, flooded her lungs and confused her heart. How the fuck was she supposed to sleep in here?

  About as easily as he’d manage to sleep on the sofa, probably. The thought of him squashing his broad frame onto living room furniture while she took up his king-sized bed appealed to her pettiness… But not to the annoyingly devoted part of her that just wanted him comfortable and well-rested. Christ, that part was annoying.

  Nina got up, heaving out a sigh, and pulled her pyjamas from her mammoth holdall. She’d spent the day hanging around at the garage because James refused to let her out of his sight, but now they were home and she was exhausted. She changed, grabbed her laptop, and wandered out into the living room. Returning to the scene of her greatest humiliation wasn’t high on Nina’s bucket list, but that was exactly why she had to do it. First of all, to show him that she didn’t give a fuck. And second of all, to convince herself that, eventually, she wouldn’t give a fuck.

  She’d get over it. She would. The alternative was too depressing to think about.

  She gritted her teeth and sat down on the innocuous-looking sofa, trying her best not to remember. It didn’t work. The minute her arse touched the plush, dark cushions, her mind was assaulted with high-def, surround-sound recollections of that brief perfection. The picture-perfect moment in time when she’d really believed that James wanted her. That she, the prickly freak with the dark past, the awkward emo everyone had once loved to bully, the big-mouth who didn’t know when to swallow her outrage or how to express her own pain, would get the guy. She wasn’t supposed to want to get the guy, but fuck that—love was important. Love was good. She loved James, and she’d wanted him to love her back.

  He hadn’t, of course. Not like that, anyway.

  But she couldn’t stop thinking about the blissful slice of reality where she’d believed that he did. The way he’d stilled when she kissed him, just for a second—before wrapping his arms around her and kissing her right back. The way he’d touched her, so tender and reverent and barely restrained, as if underneath it all he was desperate. And the things he’d said—she’d never expected that from him, that flood of passionate honesty when they touched. He was always so calm, so steady, but when they’d been together…

  “God, Nina, I want you so much I can’t fucking breathe.”

  Her eyes slid shut.

  And then popped open again when she heard James’s voice, not inside her head but from across the room.

  “You hungry?”

  Her cheeks burning, she turned to stare at him. He was standing in the doorway, looking good as fuck because he’d showered and changed. She liked his work clothes, but she liked regular James even better. He always dressed so well, as a kind of ‘fuck you’ to shops that didn’t carry his size, so he was leaning against the doorframe in a pale blue shirt that made his brown skin shine, the sleeves rolled up to display the black line tattoos on his thick forearms. His soft, grey trousers clung to his heavy thighs—but she really shouldn’t be staring at his thighs. She shouldn’t be staring at any of him, no matter how handsome he was.

  Nina cleared her throat and opened up her laptop, patting nervously at her hair. Usually, she wouldn’t care about the fact that her week-old braid-out was in need of a wash and refresh. Usually, she wouldn’t think about James’s handful of ex-girlfriends—most of whom he remained friends with, and all of whom were 24/7 gorgeous. She didn’t compare herself to other women, ever. But right now she couldn’t help wondering what he saw when he looked at her, and why it hadn’t been enough.

  Christ, what a gag-worthy thought.

  “No,” she said, working to keep her voice calm. “I’m fine, thanks.”

  There was a slight pause. He stared at her, his gaze a burning spotlight on the side of her face. She kept her eyes on her laptop, the words on the bright screen blurring into nothing.

  Finally, he said, “You’re not hungry?”

  “Nope,” she repeated.

  “You haven’t eaten since that sub at lunch.”

  “I know what I’ve eaten, James.”

  He sighed. “Not to nag—”

  “So don’t.”

  “But if you don’t get three square meals a day, you…”

&nb
sp; Despite herself, Nina felt a smile tugging at her lips. She refused to give in to it. Still, her voice wasn’t quite as dry as she’d like when she said, “I turn into a raging beast?”

  “Not exactly how I was going to put it,” he murmured, his amusement clear. He wandered closer, and for a moment it felt like old times: the two of them joking while he tried to look after her and she tried to resist. There was a slight, teasing smile on his face, and laughter fought its way up her throat.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have stopped talking to him. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t want her. She should’ve stayed calm, listened to his oh-so-considerate apology, and found a way to forgive him. Better yet, she never should’ve touched him in the first—

  A word on the computer screen caught her attention with a jolt. She finally focused on the page in front of her, for real. And the tentative, wistful hope she’d been feeling was replaced by devastation.

  James must’ve seen the blood drain from her face, because he frowned and came to kneel by her side. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” She tried to shut the laptop, but his big hand caught hers. Giving her a warning look, he pushed the screen fully upright again. Together, they watched the constantly-moving stream of posts.

  @CheckEmB4TheyWreckUs, we got you now bitch

  @CheckEmB4TheyWreckUs gonna pay u a visit see how loud u scream

  @CheckEmB4TheyWreckUs this will teach you to look down on your betters you dumb ape

  @CheckEmB4TheyWreckUs—

  James shut the laptop a little too hard and set it on the coffee table.

  “Someone shared my address,” she whispered, her blood cold and sluggish, creeping through her veins. “They know who I am.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “They know you’re from Nottingham. They might know where you live—but you’re not there anymore. And we’re handling it.”

  “The police won’t do anything.” Her lips were numb. “Not until it’s too late. They never do. I knew a girl who ran a feminist sex blog—”