Shredded

Chapter 15 Z

This girl is going to be the death of me. It seems stupid to say that, to even think it considering what I’ve done in my life and what I’ll continue to do, but I swear, it’s the truth. What years of snowboarding haven’t managed, Ophelia is going to take care of with just a look. A smile. A touch.

Outside, a strong gust of wind blows, whistling through the trees even as it has the windows rattling in their frames. Ophelia is still asleep, but some part of her must feel it, because she burrows deeper under the covers, snuggling closer to me until her ass is pressed right up against my cock.

I want to slide inside her, to be the first thing she feels when she wakes up. The first thing she sees out of those gorgeous green eyes of hers, eyes that I now know turn a deep, verdant jungle green when she comes. But we made lo—

I freeze before the words are fully formed, force a do-over in my own head. We were together (because saying we fucked doesn’t fit any better than saying we made love) four times last night. She has to be sore and tired, and I need to be considerate.

But part of me doesn’t give a damn. It’s the same part of me that can’t stand when she slips away from me, when I’m holding her or loving her and she just disappears. Just goes somewhere else in her head. That part of me wants to fuck her again and again and again, until all she feels or smells or tastes is me. Until she understands that I’m not just going to let her slip away. Not now. Not yet.

Just the fact that I’m thinking this way freaks me out. I don’t date. I don’t pine after a girl. I don’t do anything but fuck—and even that is more about letting the pressure out, feeling something even if it’s just for a minute, than it has ever been about the person I’m with. Except last night wasn’t about trying to feel—at least for me. Last night, and this morning, I feel much more than I’ve ever wanted to.

Determined to gain a little distance—or at least a little perspective—I roll away from her, start to climb out of bed. But she follows me, scooting across the bed in her sleep in an effort to keep her body pressed to mine.

It makes me smile, makes me want to wrap myself around her and stay with her until she wakes up. But as she shifts, I catch sight of the livid bruises around her arms. Bruises that Harvey put there. Bruises that he will pay for.

With that thought in mind, I brush a kiss over Ophelia’s hair and climb out of bed. I take a quick shower. Then, wearing nothing but my boxers and the smile I can’t seem to wipe off my face, I follow the signs to the laundry room on the first floor to retrieve my clothes. I really hope nobody took them, because a text about losing my clothes is so not what I want to send to Ash this morning. Already he’s pissed that I wouldn’t upload the footage from the camera and send it to him last night so he could watch it. If I press my luck, he’ll enlist Luc to find a way to get even—probably one that involves cayenne pepper in my underwear. Luc’s practical jokes are legendary.

My clothes are there, though someone’s taken them out of the dryer and heaped them on the side counter. I slip into them quickly, cursing a little at how cold everything is. It’s never bothered me before, but then I’ve never spent a night snuggled up against Ophelia before, either. In fact, unless I’m totally wasted and just pass out like I did with Stacy, I never spend the night with a girl at all. The fact that I did last night shakes me up more than I want to admit to anyone, especially myself.

I make my way back to Ophelia’s room, hoping she’ll be up so I can talk her into breakfast and a ride home. But she’s still sacked out, and when I glance at her alarm, I realize it’s not set to go off for a couple of hours. Either it’s her day off or she’s working late today.

Either way, there’s some stuff I want to take care of, and since there’s no way I’m going back to bed, I might as well do it now. I can’t stand what almost happened to her last night, hate the fact that if I hadn’t been hiking in—due to my own stupidity—then I wouldn’t have been there and she would have had to fend Harvey off on her own. I hate even more the fact that she might not have been able to fend him off. When I caught up to them, she was almost holding her own, but he’s a big guy. Who knows what could have happened.

Just the thought of Ophelia being raped and/or beaten has rage rocketing through me, and for a minute I can almost feel the bastard’s neck beneath my hands. Men who hurt women that way don’t deserve to live.

Shaking it off, or at least trying to, I add another item to my mental to-do list. Then I bend over, kiss Ophelia’s cheek, and murmur, “I’ll be back in a little.”

She moans, pushes at my face, and I can’t help grinning. Looks like my girl is definitely not a morning person. It’s kind of cute that she’s this grumpy in the morning. Then again, it shouldn’t really surprise me, not when she’s got grumpy cornered all the other times of the day, too.

Pulling my phone out, I text Ash and Luc a quick request before throwing on my jacket and heading out on the same path Ophelia was on yesterday, only in the opposite direction. If I hurry, I can be back before she wakes up.

I pretty much jog the whole way to the resort—it’s a great morning for it. Crisp and clear with air so pure it almost hurts to breathe. Luc and Ash still beat me there, though. I find them in the main parking lot, leaning against my Range Rover and shooting the shit about some of the other guys on the snowboarding circuit.

“Well, you look like you’re in one piece,” Luc says, giving me a critical once-over once he catches sight of me.

“I told you yesterday that I was fine.”

“Yeah, well, we weren’t particularly inclined to believe you—especially when you wouldn’t let us come over last night.”

“You’re turning into a little old grandma, Luc. All this worrying. You should probably get out more. It’ll take care of that.”

He flips me off, but there’s no heat in it. “Yeah, well, you should probably go get laid. It might keep you from jumping off the side of a fucking mountain.”

At his words, I can’t help but think about Ophelia and what we spent most of the night doing. Not that I’m about to tell Luc and Ash about it. Some things are nobody else’s business.

“Where’re my keys?” I ask, holding out my hand.

“Where’s my camera?” Ash counters, holding out his hand as well.

“Right here.” I pull it out of the bag I snagged from Ophelia’s place.

“How’s the footage?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t looked at it yet.”

They goggle at me like I’m crazy. “Are you kidding me? How could you not watch it?” Ash demands. “Didn’t you want to see what you did?”

“Dude, I lived it. What’s going over it again gonna do for me?”

Luc shakes his head at me. “You’re hopeless. You know that?”

“I always have been.”

Ash shoots me a look, but he’s too busy bringing up the footage to say anything. Of course, I’d totally forgotten that it was recording during Cam’s and my little talk at the top of the mountain, so—lucky me—I get to endure hearing to it a second time. While my best friends watch and listen, too.

“Well, fuck,” Ash says, pausing it right before I go over. “I take back all the shit I said. If she was yapping at me like that, I’d probably go off the side of a mountain, too.”

All three of us laugh, and then Ash hits play and we get to watch my trip down that mountain. It always feels a little surreal to me to watch footage from a chest cam—at least of myself and something I’ve done—but Ash and Luc don’t seem to have any problem with it.

They hoot and holler a little bit as the video rolls, and Luc curses when I hit that monster drop, but other than that nobody says anything until we get to the end of the footage. And even then, Ash turns around and starts scrolling back so we can watch it all over again.

“Dude, how big was that drop?” Luc demands. “It went on for fucking ever.”

“It felt that way. When I was doing it, I thought it was probably two hundred feet, but once I was down and looking back up, it seemed more like two hundred and fifty feet or so.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. It’s the only time on the whole run that I thought I might actually die. It felt like the ground was so far away.”

“It was so far away.” Ash shakes his head in awe. “Man, that is fucking Art of Flight shit,” he tells me, referencing the kick-ass snowboarding documentary that showed boarders doing a whole host of things that didn’t look like they were humanly possible.

“That’s right,” I agree. “Travis Rice ain’t got nothing on me.” Then I laugh, because the man’s a genius while I’m just a fuck-up. No doubt a lucky fuck-up yesterday, but still a fuck-up.

“No way, man. This is epic. Seriously epic. Do you know the longest drop ever landed is—”

“One hundred and seven meters. Three hundred and twenty-one feet,” Luc and I finish for him in stereo. Ash is a living, breathing snowboarding Wikipedia, and we’ve heard it all a million times before.

“Exactly. I bet you were close to that.”

“Nah.”

“I don’t know, man.” He brings the footage back to my drop, counts the seconds. “If you were dropping at a rate of—”

“Okay, okay, enough snowboarding geek stuff,” I tell him. I don’t know how far I dropped and I don’t care. For me it’s never been about that kind of stuff.

“All right, fine.” He continues scrolling until he gets to one of my tricks. “Is that really a triple—”

“Yeah.”

“And a 1440—”

“Yep.”

“Where have you been hiding this stuff?” Luc demands. “We board with you every day, and while you do some extreme shit, I have never seen you do a couple of those tricks before.”

I shrug. “We don’t always practice together.”

“No, of course not. Only like every day.”

“He did the 1440 the other day, while you and Cam were still sleeping,” Ash says. “It was totally front.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Luc shakes his head again. “Man, you are going to redefine the X Games this year. No one is going to be able to touch you.”

“Forget the X Games. This is Olympic medal shit,” Ash tells him.

“Nah, man. The Olympics are your game. It’s all you this year. Well, you and that kid from Colorado,” I tell him.

“Yeah, right. Neither Luc nor I can do an inverted 1440.”

“Hell, most days it’s all I can do to hit 1080,” Luc agrees. “This is awesome, Z.”

“People are going to go apeshit for this footage,” Ash says. “I can’t wait to get it up.”

“About that …”

He already knows what I’m going to say. “Oh, no. No way. Don’t you dare tell me you don’t want me to use it.”

“I was just thinking, maybe—”

“No! No! You’re too frickin’ modest all the time. You never want anyone to see what you can do, and usually I go along with it, but this is amazing. And it’s almost Olympic trials time. You totally need to get this out there.”

“I already told you, I’m not interested in the Olympics—”

“Yeah, well, we are,” Luc interjects. “This footage is going to get us a shitload of hits and attention on YouTube and the website. And once they’re there, maybe they’ll poke around for a while, see what else we’ve got. This is how you get the Olympic selection committee’s attention.”

“You get their attention by kicking ass at the trials. The Dew championship—”

“Bull. You know as well as I do that it’s as much about swagger as it is about your actual performance during those couple of weeks.”

“You don’t count. You’d agree with anything if it meant getting that footage on the website.”

“While that is true, I still stand by what Luc says. What you did on this video is too awesome to ignore. It’s going up.”

I start to argue with him some more, but I can tell by the look on his face that I’ll have to pry the camera from his cold, dead hand if I have any chance of keeping my ride off the Internet. And fuck it, in the grand scheme of things, what’s the big deal? I’ve got better stuff to do this morning than to stand around here wasting time with these two.

“Fine, whatever. Just don’t make a big deal of it, okay?”

“We’re not the ones who are going to be making a big deal,” Luc says.

I pull a face at him, then say, “I’ve got to go. Thanks for bringing my car up.”

“The footage more than makes up for it.” Ash tucks the camera in his truck, which is parked right next to my Range Rover. “Are you hitting the half-pipe with us?”

“Later. I’ve got some stuff to do.”

“Stuff that has to do with your busted-up knuckles?” Ash asks.

I glance down at my hands. Even though they still hurt a little, I’d pretty much forgotten about them. Otherwise I would have kept my gloves on.

“Maybe.”

“You need backup?”

I think of Ophelia tucked up in her bed. “Uh, no. I’ve got it.”

“I bet,” Luc says, shooting me a knowing look. “Oh, and speaking of bets, you better forget about snow bunnies and focus on getting with Ophelia or I’m going to be riding your Burton Landlord in the competition this weekend.”

Hell, I’d forgotten about the stupid bet. Now’s the perfect time to tell them I won, but I can’t get the words out. I don’t know what’s going on with Ophelia or me, or what’s going to happen from here. But what happened last night wasn’t about a bet, and if that means having to give up my favorite board, then I’m okay with it. Not happy, obviously, but okay. I never thought I’d say this about any girl, but Ophelia’s more important.

I finally ditch my friends a few minutes later. Which is perfect timing, because the resort’s restaurants just opened and I’ve got one more thing I have to do. I lock my sights onto the main breakfast place, then walk straight through the dining room to the door that leads to the main kitchen that serves the three different restaurants up here at the top of the mountain.

“Hey, Z, you’re not allowed to be back here.”

I pause for a moment as a brunette with big eyes and bigger boobs grabs onto my arm. I recognize her as a girl I spent a few hours with a couple of months back, but I’ll be damned if I can recall her name. Shit. Just more proof that I’m as big a dick as Luc and Cam say I am.

“I’m not staying,” I tell her with a quick smile. “I just need to talk to someone for a second.”

She rolls her eyes. “You can’t be trolling the kitchen for your next date, dude. If you disrupt service, there’ll be hell to pay. We’re just getting started on the breakfast rush.”

She grabs my arm, starts to propel me back toward the door that leads into the dining room, but I’m not ready to go yet. Not even close. Leaning down so that my lips are only a few centimeters from her ear, I say, “I won’t disrupt anything. I promise.”

“Yeah, like I believe that,” she says with a shiver. But she lets me go without complaint.

I drop a quick kiss on her cheek, then take the opportunity to dodge between two of the long stainless-steel tables that run down the center of the kitchen before she changes her mind. The last thing I need is for her to cause a fuss and get me kicked out—at least not before I do what I came here for.

Since it feeds three busy restaurants, the kitchen is huge and hectic, with waitstaff, busboys, chefs, and management darting through and around every square inch of open space. Still, it doesn’t take me long to find who I’m looking for in his little alcove off to the side of the main action. He’s taller and bigger than most of the people in the kitchen, and though his back is to me, I’d recognize him anywhere. Of course, the fact that he’s moving like he’s a ninety-year-old arthritic helps me identify him.

Maybe I should feel guilty about all the pain I caused, but to be honest, all I feel is the icy burn of regret. I obviously didn’t do enough damage or the guy wouldn’t be able to stand, let alone load a dishwasher.

I walk up behind him, clap a hand onto his shoulder, and start to squeeze. “Hey, Harvey. How you doing?” Though the words are perfectly polite, the tone I say them in isn’t. He jolts, tries to take off. But there’s nowhere for him to go. With the counter behind him and me in front of him, he’s trapped. Vulnerable. Exposed—exactly as Ophelia was when he decided to get rough with her.

“Leave me alone, Z. I’m working.” His voice is loud, panicked.

“I can see that.” I lean closer, keeping my voice low and calm in direct contrast to his. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to take up much of your time.”

“If you hit me again, I’m calling the police.” He reaches for a pan, holds it out in front of him like a weapon.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” I ask with a sneer. “You’re the one who tried to rape a girl yesterday. All I did was put a stop to it.”

“I wasn’t going to hurt her—”

“News flash, dickwad. You did hurt her.” I grab his shirt. Yank him forward so that we’re eye to eye, nose to nose. “You put bruises on her that are going to take weeks to fade. I’m not okay with that.”

“How was I supposed to know?” he whines. “She seemed interested. She was trying to get—”

“What she was trying to do was get away from you. I was four or five hundred yards away and even I could see that.”

“That’s not true—”

“Oh, it is.” I stomp the heel of my boot down on his tennis-shoe-clad foot even as I body check him, slamming him into the metal countertop at his back. “And you want to know what else is true?”

“No.” He watches me warily.

“Well, that sucks for you, since I’m going to tell you anyway.” I glance behind me, just to make sure no one’s paying attention. They aren’t. We’re in our own little piece of the kitchen over here, blocked from view by a half wall and a couple of tall shelves filled with kitchen equipment. Which means that as long as I’m quiet, I can do whatever the hell I want to this piece of shit and no one will be the wiser.

The thought is tempting—too tempting—and my fingers tighten on his collar. His face starts to turn red as he finally gets it. I could strangle him, right here in his little dishwashing area, and no one would give a shit. At least not until the dishes started piling up.

“I’m going to say this one time and you’re going to listen really well. Understand?”

He nods frantically.

“Good.” I loosen my grip a little—a very little—before continuing. “Ophelia’s a friend of mine. A good friend of mine. Now, if you know anything about me at all, you know that I don’t like people messing with my friends. So this is what you’re going to do.”

I tighten my grip again, pull him in closer. His eyes are wide, his pupils dilated with the same fear that’s making sweaty patches pop up all over his shirt, but he doesn’t even try to fight me despite the fact that he outweighs me by a good fifty pounds. Instead, he just clutches at his shirt, tries to rip it from my hands as he whimpers like the little bitch he is.

“You’re going to stay away from Ophelia. You’re not going to talk to her. You’re not going to look at her. You’re not going to think about her. You’re not even going to think about thinking about her. ’Cuz if you do, if you so much as say her name, I’m going to come back. And I’m going to end you. Do you get me?”

He nods, and I loosen up on his collar a little more, let him take his first real breath since I grabbed him.

He gasps, drags in huge gulps of air. He’s shaking so bad that he drops the pot he grabbed for self-defense. It falls to the mat beneath him with a thud.

“Now, I want to hear you say it. Acknowledge that you understand what I’m telling you.”

“I get it, Z. Jesus, I get it. I didn’t know she was yours.”

Rage, white-hot and ugly, rips through me all over again. “It shouldn’t matter if she’s mine or not, fucktard. You don’t touch women who don’t want to be touched. They deserve better than that. Ophelia sure as hell deserves better than to be raped by some loser who can’t get it up if he’s not hurting her. Understand?”

He doesn’t answer.

I tighten the shirt again. “I’m going to need an answer now, Harvey, or I’m going to drag your ass out back and beat you till you give me the one I want. Do. You. Understand?”

“I got it,” he finally says. He’s bitter, resentful, but smart enough to know I’m not joking.

I let him go, but at the same time I give him a little shove that sends him careening against the sink behind him. Water sloshes onto the counters, drips onto the cabinets, the floors, his apron. There’s a big wet spot over his pelvis now, one that makes it look like he wet himself.

Harvey grabs the counter to stop himself from actually falling into the sink, just as a couple of busboys turn the corner with huge trays of dishes. “Hey,” one of them says when they catch sight of the look on Harvey’s face. “Everything okay back here?”

“I don’t know.” I look at him questioningly. “Everything okay, Harvey?”

He glares at me, and for a second I think I’m going to have to deliver a more forceful warning. But finally he nods, tugging at his collar all the while. I can see the red marks the tight fabric left there, know that they’ll be turning to bruises before much longer. He’ll have a nice black-and-blue circle around his neck, kind of like the ring of bruises Ophelia has around her upper arms.

Just the reminder has me wanting to pound him some more. This asshole really did get off way too easy.

“Everything’s fine,” he says in a raspy voice. “Z was just checking on me after my fall.” He gestures to the bruises on his face and arms. So that’s what he told people went down. Better than telling them he attacked the new girl, I guess.

Fucking coward.

I shoot an insolent smile at the busboys, who still seem uneasy with my presence. Then I give Harvey a two-fingered wave that’s as much threat as it is promise. “I’ll see you around, Harvey.”

“No, you won’t,” he says snidely, a lot braver now that he’s got backup. “You’ll be too busy treating women right—fucking them, using them, and then dropping them—to have time for me. Or Ophelia. Isn’t that how it works with you, Z?”

For long seconds all I can think about is launching myself at him and wiping that smug look off his face once and for all. A few missing teeth ought to do the trick. But we’ve started attracting a crowd—three waitresses and a chef’s assistant have joined the busboys—and I don’t want to give Harvey the satisfaction of watching my ass get hauled to jail if I start a fight in the lodge’s kitchen. Even if it would totally be worth it.

Besides, there’s more than one way to make my point. And, more important, to protect Ophelia.

I move forward, get in his face one more time. None of the chickenshit busboys try to stop me—big surprise—and I’m close enough to see it register on Harvey.

Close enough that I can smell the panic on him.

More than close enough that he knows I’m not going to walk away from this. From Ophelia and what he tried to do to her.

“Hurt her again—touch her again—and you’ll find out exactly how it works. Because the next time you go near her, I’ll chop your dick off and feed it to you. Then there won’t be a woman alive who has to worry about you trying to rape her ever again.”

I make sure the last sentence is loud enough to carry through the kitchen. Then, as the whispers start up all around us, I turn and walk away.

Mission. Fucking. Accomplished.