Claimed Darker by Em Brown
Chapter 35
BRIDGET
Past
The following evening, I wake up in the middle of the night to find Darren isn’t in bed. He probably went to use the bathroom, but several minutes go by without his return. I glance towards the bathroom and find the door open. The lights are off. I don’t hear anything. Sitting up, I look around. Still hearing nothing but silence, I decide to get out of bed and go searching for him.
We had fallen asleep after making love. He hadn’t seemed himself. His mind was somewhere else. At one point, he was thrusting so roughly, I had to use my safe word. Maybe the trauma of getting shot has finally set in.
I find him in the main room, sitting on the sofa and staring into the fireplace, which isn’t lit. He doesn’t seem to notice me until I’m standing next to him. I would ask him if he’s okay, but I don’t think he is, and he doesn’t seem to want to talk. So I just sit down, curl next to him, and rest my head on his shoulder. He releases a long breath and seems a little less tense. After sitting in silence for several minutes, he puts his arm around me.
“Sorry about the rough sex,” he says. “I just…blanked.”
“It’s okay,” I reply.
He heaves another sigh. We sit quietly for several more minutes.
“You should go back to bed,” he says. “Don’t you have an early shift at the library tomorrow?”
“Are you going back to bed?”
“Not yet.”
“Then I’ll stay.”
I curl tighter beside him and rub my arms. He reaches for the remote and turns on the fireplace.
“After work tomorrow, I have an appointment with a therapist at the student health center,” I tell him. “Have you given any thought to seeing a therapist?”
“I don’t need a fucking therapist.”
I press my lips together. In my seminar on racial disparities in health, one of the subjects was the stigma various cultures and ethnicities have specific to mental health. The Asian American community is the least likely to take advantage of mental health services.
“You survived a shooting,” I say. “As a gunshot victim, you—”
“I don’t need therapy.”
“Says the guy who got wasted the other night.”
“That had nothing to—I just felt like drinking, okay?”
“It’s just a coincidence that you went and got yourself hammered after your meeting with Sergeant Trawley?”
“Yes.”
“What did he want to meet with you about anyway?”
“Just wanted to review what happened, make sure I didn’t leave anything out.”
“Several days later? Wouldn’t your memory be worse now than before?”
He shrugs.
“Did he have anything new on who it was?” I inquire.
“Nope.”
“Is the shooting even a priority for him?”
“Why are you picking on Trawley?”
He sounds on edge, and I feel bad because he had been more relaxed a few minutes ago.
“Sorry,” I say. “I just wish they could find who did it. It would provide closure.”
Darren shifts as if uncomfortable before saying, “It’s like lightning, unlikely to strike the same place twice.”
“But what if it wasn’t random?”
“It was a random shooting,” he replies emphatically.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Who would want any of us dead?”
“I thought Trawley mentioned a possible case of mistaken identity?”
“Then it’s not likely the perps will make the same mistake twice, but Trawley checked with the division that handles gangs. JD and I don’t look like anyone they know.”
I drop any further questions because Darren seems to be getting on edge the more we talk about it. But I make one last attempt regarding mental health. “Will you at least keep an open mind about therapy?”
“No,” he answers flatly. He turns to me. “I’d rather fuck your brains out.”
“I don’t think sex is an adequate substitute for therapy,” I respond, a little nervous at the look he’s directing at me. “In fact, it can be an addiction, like drugs or smoking—”
Next thing I know I’m on my back on the sofa, and Darren’s mouth smothers mine.
“Seriously,” I mumble against his crushing lips, “I wonder if we’re…”
“Having too much sex?” he fills in. “If that’s the way you feel, then you’re with the wrong guy.”
I can’t imagine being with anyone else. My body responds like Pavlov’s dog to his kisses and caresses. Just feeling the weight of him on me drives me crazy. And that’s why I wonder if I’m addicted. But I’m not going to worry about it for now. If it helps Darren cope in any way, then I’m for it. And it’s not like I don’t get anything out of it.
He pauses from kissing me and stares into my eyes. “I am the wrong guy, you know.”
Why did he say that? I wonder. Is he being facetious or is his statement a prelude to breaking up? It’s got to be the former.
“Yeah, you are the wrong guy,” I say. “I don’t know why I’m with you.”
His hand is at my crotch, rubbing me. “That’s easy. Because I can make you come like no one else.”
“So you say, but I haven’t been with enough guys to form a statistically significant sample.”
He raises his brow. With one hand, he fists my hair and pulls my head back while he fondles me harder with the other. “You think you can do better with some other guy?”
I was just messing around with my words, but I can sense that he might make me pay regardless.
“No, sir,” I whisper.
His mouth descends on my throat. My back arches as I surrender my body to him. I can’t get enough of him, and yet he’s too much for me at the same time. As if to prove the point that I can’t do better, he makes me come three times. Once by rubbing his cock against my clit, then in missionary, then finally with me bent face down over the arm of the sofa, bracing myself with my hands against the floor.
Afterward, we fall asleep on the sofa. In the morning, I help him change his bandages before I get ready to head over to Berkeley. Darren seems to be in a better place, and I tell myself it’s normal to have highs and lows. I’m just glad I’m able to be with him to help see him through it. I realize there’s nothing I’d rather be doing and nowhere else I’d rather be than at his side.
* * *
It’sthe first night the club has been open since the shooting. As I sit with Darren on the second-floor balcony, watching the patrons filter in, everything looks normal, just like any other night at The Lotus.
I turn to Darren. “Would it be okay if Amy came over?”
“Don’t know if JD is coming tonight,” he replies.
“Amy might want to come to the club anyway.”
There’s a brief pause before he answers, “Sure.”
I reach for my phone, but then remember it’s not there. Although Darren is okay with me having a cellphone when I’m at his place, standing policy at the club is no phones allowed inside—JD, Darren, Cheryl and Marshall being the exception. I dial Amy using Darren’s phone and let her know she can come.
“Is JD there?” she asks.
“No, not sure if he will be.”
“I’ll join you anyway. It’s boring over here.”
I know that it’s not so much boredom as it is the hope of getting to see JD. I hope JD doesn’t walk into the club with another woman on his arm.
Though maybe it’s better Amy finds out sooner rather than later, if he’s that kind of guy.
After I’m done with my call, Darren takes the phone and walks to the railing, where he starts texting.
“Darren! I couldn’t believe it when I heard it!”
I turn around to see Kimberly, wearing a skintight dress that shows off her huge cleavage. She walks up to Darren and throws her arms around him.
“I thought you were going to die,” she says.
She pulls back, stares at him, then smushes her lips to his. He tries to disengage himself, but she continues to plant kisses over his face.
“Thank God you’re alive!”
With his good arm, he peels half of her off him. “Why did you think I was dying?”
“Ronald.”
“And you believe what comes out of his mouth?”
It dawns on her that Ronald is not someone she should take at his word. She tries to embrace Darren again, but this time he’s rougher in his hold.
“Kimberly, stop it,” he tells her.
“I’m just happy to see that you’re okay,” she whines.
He looks in my direction. Kimberly follows his gaze and immediately her bright smile turns upside down. I wave hello.
“I take it Eric’s not here?” Darren asks.
“He had to go back to Florida for some meetings. He said I could fly back with him, but I have a photo shoot here in a week.”
It doesn’t seem like Kimberly, who continues to stand close to Darren, is going to leave anytime soon.
I don’t want to get into a spat with Darren’s ex, so I say, “I’m going to go say hi to Felipe.”
Darren gives me a where-do-you-think-you’re-going look, but I pretend I don’t see it and go merrily on my way.
Downstairs at the bar, Felipe leans over and gives me a big, long hug.
“Don’t scare me like that again,” he admonishes.
“How are you holding up?” I ask him as I sit at a stool.
“Why are you asking about me? I wasn’t the one getting shot at. I think you need a real drink, honey. What can I get you?”
“I’ll take cranberry juice if you have any.”
He eyes me skeptically. “Just cranberry juice?”
“Yes.”
He gets a glass and the juice. “I had several shots of tequila that night. If I went through what you did, all the liquor behind me wouldn’t be enough. How are you dealing with it?”
“I guess I’ve been so focused on Darren, I haven’t really dwelled on it. Plus I keep myself busy. I think I might make another batch of fried chicken this weekend.”
“Oh, I’m there.”
I smile, then let my gaze wander up to the balcony, where Kimberly has her hand on Darren’s shoulder.
Turning back to Felipe, I ask, “So what did you do while the club was closed?”
“I hung out with my younger brother.”
“Cool. He’s local?”
“He lives in San Mateo with my mom. He got into the West Imperial Academy of the Arts, which is, like, the Juilliard of the West Coast, right?”
“Impressive. Congratulations to you all.”
Felipe sighs. “But we don’t know if he can go. The tuition is crazy. He has a scholarship, but it’s only going to cover a fraction of the cost. There are student loans, of course, but he doesn’t want to be that much in debt when he graduates. I mean, how are starving artists supposed to pay off tens of thousands of dollars in student loans? But this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And he’s so talented.”
“What kind of art does he do?”
“Mixed media. If I had my phone, I’d show you photos of his work. They’re amazing. Anyway, I told him I’d give him all I’ve saved up, but it’s still not enough. I thought about asking Darren for, maybe, an interest-free loan, but I can’t ask him now.”
“Why not?”
“The man just got shot. I think he has a lot going on right now.”
Looking back up at the balcony, I think the only thing he currently has on his plate is Kimberly. I see the two laughing.
“He might be happy to help out,” I say to Felipe. “You’ve been a loyal employee of his for many years, right?”
“Yes, but…”
“What’s the worst that can happen?”
Felipe’s reply is on the tip of his tongue, but he closes his mouth instead.
“I’m sure Darren will be cool about it. How much of a loan were you thinking?”
“Ten thousand. I think I can talk my brother into taking a relatively small loan.”
“Unless everything I’ve seen is just smoke and mirrors, money isn’t something that Darren worries about.”
“Oh, it’s not,” Felipe says definitively. At my raised brow, he adds, “His father was loaded.”
“What exactly did his father do?”
Felipe looks uncomfortable. “Something financial. I didn’t pay that close attention since it’s not my thing. Whenever Bryan starts talking stocks and bonds, I fall asleep.”
I comb my memory and don’t recall Darren saying his father worked in finance. I think Darren said his father worked in international business. So maybe Felipe is referring to the same thing.
“So ten thousand dollars may not be that big a deal,” I say.
“I guess I’m just intimidated.”
I get it. I’d have a hard time asking for that much money of anyone, even if that amount was a drop in the bucket for them. But asking on behalf of a good cause is different.
“I’ll ask for you,” I volunteer.
Felipe’s eyes go wide. “No!”
“Why not?”
“It should come from me.”
“Then ask him.”
“I can’t. I’ll wait till he’s better.”
“How much better?”
“I don’t know.”
“The sooner you can give your brother some good news, the less stress your family will have. I’m sure Darren would be willing to help out in some way.”
I think about the clothes he had insisted on buying for me for our Phuket trip.
“You think so?”
“How can he not?” I return.
Felipe makes a face, but I continue talking. “I mean, if he doesn’t, then he’s an unfeeling miser who doesn’t deserve to have such an awesome bartender working for him.”
“I’m an unfeeling miser?” a voice behind me asks.
It’s Darren. I know it without even turning around.
“I should check on the guy over there,” Felipe says before heading over to a guest at the end of the bar.
Collecting myself, I turn to face Darren.
“It depends,” I tell him.
“On what?” he asks, his tone slightly dark.
“On whether or not you’ll help out a loyal, longtime employee of yours.”
Darren looks over at Felipe. “You mean your buddy there?”
“I mean your devoted bartender. His younger brother got admitted to a prestigious arts college, but they need some financial assistance.”
“How much?”
“Ten thousand. At least.”
Darren cocks his head to one side as he looks at me.
Trying not to be daunted by the cool reception I’m receiving, I say cheerfully, “And you should be excited to help him out.
“You wouldn’t take the clothes I bought you for Phuket, but you’re happy to hand out ten thousand dollars on my behalf?”
“It’s for a worthy cause.”
“What do I get out of it?”
“The joy of knowing you helped out a friend.”
“I want more than that.”
“Like what?”
Darren leans in to me. “Like you either go for sounding or something else comes off your list of hard limits.”
