We Shouldn't (The Raven Brothers Book 2) Page 6

“So, you’re okay that your family is worried about you—”

  “They’re worried about what I’ll do to hurt the reputation of the company.”

  “That you fuck a different woman every night—”

  “Not the last three nights,” I said, surprised at her using the word fuck.

  “That you can’t escape the horrors that you saw in the war.”

  I stood as hot energy built, needing an outlet. “You don’t know anything about it.”

  “You’re not the first veteran I’ve talked to. Their experiences may vary, but they all say they can’t escape the images and pain of what they saw. Why do you suppose so many avoid getting help for that?”

  I laughed. “You think talking about what I saw will magically make it all disappear, and then I’ll be walking around like a fucking loon like Chase?”

  “It can’t hurt,” she said, watching me as I paced. How did she do that? How did she get past my carefully controlled defenses?

  “Is it because you’re a man? You have to be strong. You think what’s going on in your head makes you weak?”

  I ground my teeth together, hating that she was on the right track.

  “You’d rather look tough and strong than try to get rid of the anxiety and fears. The dreams.”

  I shrugged, hoping she’d see that I didn’t give a fuck. I tossed my water bottle out and nearly reached for something stronger. Instead, I sat back down and worked to shut down everything inside me.

  “How much longer do I have to stay here?” I asked.

  “Normally, we go just under an hour, but you can leave anytime you want.”

  I hated that she wasn’t trying harder to make me stay, which made no fucking sense.

  “But you’ll tattle on me to my brothers about how I’m not being cooperative.”

  She leaned forward. “Mr. Raven, I don’t care about your brothers. This is about you. You have an opportunity here to work through things that can make your life easier and happier. If you’d rather go through life unhappy and angry, you can. No one is stopping you. You might ask yourself, though, why you’re the only one here who doesn’t seem to want that?”

  I wanted to grab something and throw it. How dare she suggest I didn’t give a fuck about my life. Or that my family cared about me.

  She studied my reaction, and I realized she would make some sort of judgment based on what I did. So, I did nothing.

  8

  Grace

  Monday

  Initially, Hunter seemed to be amiable and cooperative. Not that I thought this would go easy. Often, clients were all smiles and happy to talk as a way to appear well-adjusted. I figured Hunter’s initial cooperative attitude was so that I’d give him a positive report so he could go on his way.

  But it didn’t take long for his veneer of easygoingness to start to tarnish. Right now, I could see the tension in his face, and the extreme effort he was exerting to hold himself in check. But from what? Most of his anger seemed to come out through verbal aggression. Did he have an urge to do something physical too, such as throwing something?

  Working with clients who didn’t want to talk or tried to hide their issues wasn’t new to me. The trick was to find a way in so that they trusted me. But I wasn’t sure Hunter would ever fully trust anyone, least of all the woman he saw as being on his brothers’ side and who cornered him a few days before.

  “Let me ask you this,” I finally said when he didn’t respond. “What would you like to have happen in your life? What goals or dreams do you have?”

  He scoffed. “I don’t have them.”

  “Why?” Most vets I’d worked with before often felt defeated but usually had something they wanted to work toward whether it was holding a job, falling in love, or being present in their family’s lives.

  “Why bother? The world is a crapshoot.”

  “Is that how your father amassed his fortune? Luck of the draw?”

  “Craps involves dice,” he said.

  I considered calling him out on his passive-aggressive attitude, but he turned away and I thought perhaps he was embarrassed by it. Interesting.

  “Luck of the throw, then,” I amended.

  “That whole ‘best-laid plans’ thing didn’t work out for me,” he said when he turned his attention back to me.

  “What was your plan?”

  “Get away. Travel. Defend my country.”

  “What went wrong?”

  His jaw did that tick thing suggesting I hit a topic he didn’t like.

  “Attack that killed most of my brothers…military brothers. An injury that made me unfit to serve. So here I am. Back with the family I’d hoped to escape from.”

  I watched him for a moment. He and his brothers did have an aggressive way of engaging with each other, and yet, I had some sense that there was love and respect there. Otherwise, why bother with hiring me and staging an intervention?

  “So, you gave up on setting a new goal or dream,” I said. “You’re just going to accept your lot in life?”

  He shook his head. “Why do you make me sound like a pussy?”

  “Why is what I said something that makes you a pussy?” I was intrigued by how he interpreted my questions.

  “You think I’m weak.” He stood again and jerkily ran his fingers through his thick, cropped hair.

  “It would bother you for people to think you’re weak?”

  He whirled. “In the military, weakness gets you and the people around you killed.”

  I wondered if something had gone wrong that he blamed himself for the attack he mentioned earlier.

  “You’re not there anymore. I didn’t see weakness with your brothers.”

  He went to the minifridge and pulled out another water. “They’re the worst. My father raised us to put this business first. Above family. That’s why I left. I wanted out of the constant drive to outdo everyone else.”

  Wow. It was difficult to understand why a father would do that.

  “And we did it, or at least, my other brothers did. We did what he said, and then he had the fucking gall to say, ‘Oops, no that’s wrong. You should love each other and get married and procreate.’”

  “That was wrong?” I asked.

  He looked at me with his dark eyes. “I suppose that, in and of itself, isn’t wrong, but my father has a way of tying money into everything.”

  Huh?

  “No wife and babies, no inheritance.” He sliced his hand through the air.

  “You don’t want to get married?” I asked.

  He laughed derisively. “I can barely live with me, what woman would want to put up with me?”

  I found the statement sad but kept my face impassive. “You don’t think you’re worthy of love.”

  “Fuck,” he said under his breath, and he turned away like he wasn’t comfortable sharing so much.

  I waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, I asked, “If you don’t think there is a woman for you, and your inheritance is tied to getting married, why are you still here? You have no reason to stay.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Is Chase telling you to make me want to leave?”

  I remembered him accusing Chase of trying to run him off and having a good reason for it. But this was the first session, and I wasn’t sure how far and fast to push him.

  “No. And everything we talk about here is between you and me unless there is the potential for someone to get hurt.”

  He planted his hands on his hips and glared at me. “You think I’m violent?”

  “No. I don’t know. If I thought you were going to be hurt, I’d have to tell too.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Who’s going to hurt me?”

  He had a point. He was a large, imposing man. But that didn’t mean he might not hurt himself. I didn’t see any indication that he had suicidal thoughts, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Suicide was high among veterans.

  We had jumped around a lot in the session, but I did get a lot of interesting infor
mation in areas I’d want to pursue in the future. We’d been in the room for nearly an hour, so I’d decided now was a good time to end things.

  “We’ve been here for an hour. How do you feel right now?”

  “Not healed, Doc.”

  I couldn’t stop my lips from twitching at his continued use of ‘doc’ to refer to me. “Do you feel worse?”

  “No.” He said it in a way that suggested he was reluctant to admit it.

  “So maybe we can meet again.”

  He shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

  I put my notes away and stood.

  “Say Doc, do you like crawling through the dark recesses of people’s minds?”

  “I like helping people learn to accept and cope with the dark recesses.”

  “Why?” Clearly, my line of work baffled him.

  “Because I like helping people live happier lives.”

  He laughed. “You think you can help me be happier?”

  “I can help anyone be happier if that’s what they want. Do you want to be happier, Mr. Raven?”

  “Sure, but all this talking doesn’t make me happy. Now, if you wanted to engage in some sex therapy, I might be on board.”

  I tried to assess if he was being provocative for me or if this was how he engaged with all women. Either way, the intensity of his eyes as they raked over me had my body heating. My guess was that he didn’t have any problem finding women willing to help him in the orgasm department. But I also knew that sex could be used like a drug to numb pain, not fix it. That sounded like his coping mechanism clearly wasn’t working. At least, not anymore if his behavior was getting worse.

  “It sounds like you’ve tried already, and yet, here you are,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t sound breathless.

  His smirk morphed into a scowl. “At least sex is pleasurable.”

  “I’m not here for your pleasure.”

  “Well, now, that’s a damn shame.” Again, his eyes were on me with an intensity that made me want to strip naked. Geez, he was good. “You look like you could use pleasure in your life, Doc.”

  He wasn’t wrong. I would love to discover the pleasure those dark eyes promised. But no. I was his therapist. “Is this the only way you can relate to a woman? With sexual innuendo?”

  His jaw ticked again. I suspected he wasn’t used to a woman not falling at his feet.

  “We’re done, right?” he growled.

  “For today.”

  He turned and walked out the door without a word.

  I sank back down in the chair, exhausted from all the tension and working to keep up with his roller-coaster emotions. Finally, I grabbed my bag and headed out. As I got into the elevator, the woman I recognized as Hunter’s secretary joined me. I wondered if she ever helped him with sex therapy.

  “I saw you with Mr. Raven. Are you working with him on a project?” she asked as we rode the elevator down to the ground floor.

  “I don’t work for the company. My visit with Mr. Raven was more of a personal nature.”

  The woman studied me and then laughed. “Figures. He gets personal with any woman that has a pulse.” The door opened, and she walked out, leaving me standing there wishing I’d chosen my words better. I didn’t want anyone thinking I was having sex with Hunter. It would be a disaster for my career if there was any thought that I was having an affair with a client.

  Of course, I wasn’t his type. Sure, he tried to use his knowledge of women and sexual charm to his advantage with me, but if I’d said, “Sure, let’s have sex as therapy,” I was certain he’d laugh in my face and walk out just as he had earlier.

  9

  Hunter

  Friday – Two Weeks Later

  It has been two fucking weeks that I’ve been meeting with Grace. The only thing that has changed is this insane need to be around her, which has grown. What the hell was that about? I was still pissed off most of the time, and even nearly tore into one of my staff who I’d learned fucked up and fell asleep the night of one of the thefts.

  I was still having nightmares. Some nights, they were worse than I’d ever had. The last one felt like I was falling into a pit. At the top, Sara and Chase and everyone else was cheering and chanting how I killed her baby. The only thing keeping me from falling all the way into an abyss was a rope I gripped and held on to for dear life. Grace kept telling me to let go. Apparently, in my dreams, she also thought I was a murderer.

  I was exhausted, and for the first time, seriously considering giving up and retiring. I could go to the island. Yes, I’d still have the dreams, but I’d be alone with no responsibilities. Unless of course, my father prohibited me from going to the island for not getting married and having kids. Still, I had money, I could leave all this fuckery behind.

  Especially all this talking to Grace. Why the fuck was I still doing this? Okay, I knew why. As long as I was meeting with her, my brothers let me be. But it wasn’t helping. And yet, each time we had an appointment, I was eager to come. That was until she started pushing me to tell her things I didn’t want to talk about. I was a sadist. Clearly, I should just go back to my old ways. They didn’t solve my problems. They didn’t get rid of the dreams either, but a good orgasm took the edge off of them. I could forget about my sexy therapist by burying myself in a slew of one-night stands. Maybe I’d go for having two women at one time. I hadn’t tried that yet.

  “Your brothers seem to think something changed for you a few months ago that has you angrier. What would that be?” she asked. It was a question she asked in some form or fashion every time I met with her.

  I rolled my eyes. “Gee, let me think. My father wants his sons to live a fairy tale and procreate to earn our inheritance. My oldest brother has drunk my dad’s fairytale juice. The world is a dangerous place. My favorite TV show was canceled. Take your pick.”

  “Tell me about ‘the world is a dangerous place,’” she prompted.

  Of course she’d pick up on that part of the statement. I shrugged. “Muggers. Stalkers. Crazy fucks…take your pick.”

  “Have you been mugged—”

  I laughed. “No. People don’t mug me.”

  “Okay, how about a stalker or crazy fuck,” she asked.

  I hated how close she could always get to the truth of my guilt. I turned away, using my forefinger to trace something along the back wall behind the couch I was sitting on. “They show up to Ash’s clubs sometimes.”

  “Have you had an altercation with one that was different from usual?”

  I blew out a breath. “How is all this going to help me? I’m sorry that I’m an asshole. But it’s who I am. Why can’t people just leave me the fuck alone?”

  “Is that what you want? To always be alone?”

  “Yes.” Good Christ, she certainly could have figured that out by now, couldn’t she?

  “Then why all the women?”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, ready to stop talking about all this bullshit, especially since there hadn’t been any woman since I started all this therapy bullshit. Feeling surly, I asked, “Why do you want to know? Want to be one of them?”

  There were times I thought I saw flashes of interest in her pretty hazel eyes. Maybe it was wishful thinking or blue balls because she always seemed to ignore my offers to give her the O of a lifetime.

  She closed her notebook, and I was glad that we were nearing the end. Then she sat back and crossed her legs, revealing a length of soft-looking pale thigh. My tongue longed to run up it and to her pussy. To know her taste. Inwardly, I wondered what she’d do if I told her that. She was a sexy woman who seemed to have no clue about her appeal.

  “Your brothers mentioned that you have a proclivity for one-night stands since retiring from the military.”

  I laughed. “My brothers are jealous.”

  She leaned forward, resting her forearms on her thighs. Immediately, I was drawn to the creamy swells of her tits peeking through the gap in her conservative buttoned blouse. I wanted my mouth there too.
So did my dick, which started to harden behind my expensive slacks. I liked fucking. A lot. But normally, I had better control over my libido. I didn’t like being a slave to my emotions; anger or arousal.

  “What are you looking for in these encounters? What do they fulfill for you?” she asked.

  I smiled wickedly. “I’d be happy to demonstrate how fulfilling they are.”

  Again, I thought I saw a flash of interest, so I thought I’d go with it. “There’s the first time I see her across the room. Luscious curves. Sexy lips. My dick starts to get hard just thinking about how tight she might be or how her mouth will feel sucking me off.”

  I swore I could see the uptick of her heart rate in the pulse point along her neck. Oh yes, she was feeling the words I was telling her.

  “Then there’s that first taste of her mouth when I kiss her. Hot. Wet. Sweet. Just like her pussy will be.”

  She shifted slightly, and I wondered if her panties were getting wet.

  “There is exploring her body. The way her nipples harden as I suck them. The way her body arches when I rub her clit. The perfect O her mouth makes when I drive her crazy into the first orgasm.”

  I had her now. Maybe I could take her right here, right now. Perhaps I wouldn’t have the dreams if she’d let me.

  “Does she have a name?”

  Her question was like pouring cold water on me. I scowled, but then hid it, not wanting her to know she could get to me. “Sure. They all do. Everyone does.”

  “But do you know theirs? All these women you bring home, do you know their names?”

  My jaw tightened. Why did I need to know their names? It was one night. “What’s your point?”

  “My point is, Mr. Raven, that you use these women the same way other people might use drugs or alcohol.”

  I didn’t mind that. “Are you calling me a sex addict? Because that actually sounds pretty good. I don’t want to be cured of that.”

  “No. I’m saying you’re using sex to dull the pain or fill a hole in your life.”

  I didn’t like that. “So, what if I am?” I growled. “I’m not hurting anyone.”

  “Except you are. You’re hurting you. You’re hurting your family—”