Can't Hardly Breathe (The Original Heartbreakers #4)

He expected her to leave, but once again she leaned toward him, her elbows resting on the bar between them. “Well? Taste everything, and tell me again about the amount of salt in the food.”

Daniel snagged a French fry, and Brock grabbed a pretzel. Jude hadn’t had a real appetite since...in a long time, but he couldn’t stop himself from tossing popcorn and pistachios in his mouth. The sweet and perfectly salted flavors hit his tongue, and he moaned.

Next thing he knew, he’d emptied the bowl.

“Guess my snacks are delicious, after all.” Ryanne laughed, the magical sound somehow turning the food in his stomach to rocks. “Tips are encouraged or the next round might come with an extra special topping.”

With one more of those annoying winks, she wandered off to do what she did best: charm absolutely everyone.

Before his brain registered his intention, Jude found himself on his feet, stalking after her, finally jumping in front of her. “You’re being nice to me.” Flirting with him. “Why?”

“I realized I’m now your boss.” Cheeks glowing a lovely shade of rose, she beamed up at him. Whether she was flushed from the temperature of the room or pleasure, he didn’t know. “My word is law, no matter how much you protest.”

So beautiful. But then, a devil never appeared with horns, holding a pitchfork. A devil appeared looking like everything you’d ever secretly wanted but knew you shouldn’t have.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You actually think you’re in charge.”

In the muted light, her dark eyes glittered like jewels, tempting him to—nothing. “You said you were doing this for your friends. I know how much you love them, how much you don’t want to let them down. I’m willing to play the part of happy employer, but it’s going to cost you.”

Blackmailing him? “The price?” he grated.

“Praise. One compliment a day. Two if you’re being particularly snarly.”

You’ve got to be kidding me. “An unearned compliment is a lie.”

“And you never lie?”

“Never.” Truth was too precious.

Her head canted to the side, her study of him intensifying. “So you can’t think of anything positive to say about me?”

“I—” Could. Denying it would have been a lie.

She’d well and truly trapped him, an impressive feat. One worthy of the compliment she desired. Unwilling to give up an inch of ground he’d won, he said, “If you want your business to come out of this alive, you’ll do what I say. End of story.”

She took a step toward him, those glittering eyes threatening to hypnotize him into submission. Then her breasts brushed against his chest, earning a gasp from her and a hiss from him. Like a coward—an aching, throbbing coward—he took a step back, severing contact.

“Are you afraid of me, Jude?” She took another step forward, so close her warm breath rasped over his skin, over the racing pulse at the base of his neck.

“No!” His back bowed as the denial roared from him. Over the years, he’d been shot, stabbed and had part of an appendage blown off. Fear a slip of a woman? “No,” he repeated more calmly.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that.” As graceful as a ballerina, as erotic as a pole dancer, she flipped her silky hair over her shoulder. “I think I would have enjoyed soothing you.”

The words astounded him. Had she just come on to him?

Jude pulled at his collar, suddenly sweating. Ryanne Wade was too hot, and so was his blood. His body was in serious danger of overheating, a physical reaction he hadn’t experienced in a long time, thanks to another woman. My Constance.

Memories fought for his attention. The way Constance had smiled at him each morning when she’d woken in their bed, as if overjoyed to find him home. The way she’d somehow ruined every meal she’d ever cooked, but had looked at him with adoration whenever he’d cleaned his plate. The way she’d cried over Hallmark commercials.

Suddenly the air was too thick to pull into his lungs. His chest tightened, and his limbs shook.

Time to go. He didn’t bother saying goodbye to Ryanne or even to his friends. He rushed out of the bar, never looking back.

*

JUDE THREW HIS truck in Park, half the vehicle in the grass, the other half in the driveway of the cabin he and Brock leased. Still fighting for breath, he exited and headed for the porch, but he only made it halfway across the yard before falling to his knees, the pain and grief he sometimes managed to hold at bay exploding through him all at once, filling him, killing him.

A lie. He wasn’t dying. Death would have been a mercy, and mercy had long since abandoned him.

As he screamed obscenities at the sky and punched his fist into the grass, crickets quieted, fireflies vanished. Hanks of dirt flung this way and that. A rock sliced into the side of his hand, the sting a minor inconvenience compared to the fire seeming to pour through his chest, ashing his heart, charring his lungs.

This was his life now, a series of minutes and days that bled into months and years. He existed, nothing more. Except for moments like this, when waves of pain and grief overtook him. Deep down, he resented every second he spent on this earth.

But what rankled most? Part of him didn’t want to fight. Pain had been there for him on the worst day of his life. Grief had hugged him close and kept him focused on what he’d lost: his entire fucking world.

He would have eaten the barrel of a .38 a long time ago if not for a promise he’d made to Constance. Shy, sweet Constance, his high school sweetheart.

They’d met on a double date he’d attended only because his friend had begged. Constance had been as pretty and delicate as a cameo, and at moment one she’d sent his adolescent hormones into a tailspin. He’d wanted her more than he’d ever wanted anything, and she’d wanted him too, willingly shucking convention to go steady with the poorest boy in town. The boy who’d once nailed more tail than Brock on his best day, all in an effort to prove he was wanted—worth something.

You’re worth everything, Jude Laurent. Do you hear me? Everything!

They’d married the week after graduation, and soon after he’d joined the military, determined to provide a good life for her.

Before he’d shipped out the first time, she’d wrapped her arms around him and said, Promise me no matter how hard it gets and no matter what happens, you’ll never give up.

I promise. I’ll never give up. Now give me a kiss. Remind me of what I’ll be missing.

If he could have lived inside the fabric of his happiest memories, he might have had a halfway decent chance of becoming the man he’d once been. But reality was a determined foe, as unstoppable as the pain and grief, clawing and kicking for rights to his mind. Dreams offered no succor; any time his subconscious took over, he relived a moment he hadn’t actually witnessed, a night forged in blood, fire and death.