by Leah Holt
Thumbing at my lip, I looked up at him. “Those aren't good options.”
“At least you have options right now. I can't promise those options will stay. But, right now you're safe here, no one will be able to find you.”
“Safe? You call this safe?!” Tensing up, my nails clutched the blanket, diving into the fabric and holding on like talons. “I hate you, you know that? I fucking hate you. I hope you rot in hell.” Baring my teeth, I shook my head. “How can you tell me I'm safe? How the hell is this safe, Porter?”
“Sweetheart, my life is already shit, going to hell would be doing me a favor. Until then, I need you to just listen to me. I'm not asking you for much, just keep your mouth shut about what really happened.”
Tucking my feet under my legs, I snuggled up deeper into the blanket, wishing that I could just disappear. “I don't know if I can just pretend, I'm not good at lying.”
“You better get good at it, because until this is over, you're going to do what I tell you to do.” Stalking closer, he sat on the bed, and ran his hand around my face. Resting his fingertips against my throat, his mouth pursed tight. “If you don't, you can kiss your life goodbye.”
Holding my breath, I felt the pads of his fingers dance over the thick vein in my neck as his thumb traced my chin.
“Are you going to kill me?”
“No. But the men that are after me, they'll kill you just because you were there with me. I'm trying to help you, Emery, I really am. I just need you to trust me on this.”
How could I tell him no?
He held my life in his hands, he had the power to destroy me, or save me .
What choice did I have?
If the men that came after him would kill me too, then I had to trust him.
And that trust, it had to start somewhere. I'd like to think I saw the good in him last night.
He helped me when he could have left me.
He carried me when I grew weak.
He saved me once already.
Chapter Eight
Porter
Closing the door behind me, I stood in the hall, staring blankly at the floor. I felt like a fucking scumbag for what I was doing. That poor girl hadn't done anything to deserve this, not a fucking thing.
She wanted to leave, and I couldn't blame her for it. But I wasn't going to just let her go, there wasn't a bone in my body that was willing to send her to her grave.
It was hard for me to try and explain it to her, to make her see how dangerous it was for her now, knowing it was all because of who I was, and what I couldn't do. But she would never believe me. Her mind was already set, the look in her eyes had already laid the foundation; I was just a cold-hearted killer.
The second that car flipped I should have called an ambulance and let them take her away. If they found her, I'd never know. If they already knew who she was, and where she lived, she'd be dead in less than a week.
It would have been easier than what I was about to do, I could have washed my hands of her and moved on.
Except I didn't.
I carried her home because a piece of me felt responsible for her. I wanted to make sure she was alright, I needed to make sure she was safe. And the only way to do that was to have her with me.
I hated that I was acting like I didn't give two shits about her, because the truth was, I did care. But my hatred for the men that were dead set on killing me, and my fucking ego was more important than her sanity.
Without me, she didn't stand a chance in hell.
She wouldn't be in this mess if I hadn't gone out of my way to talk to her. She would be safe at home, waking up to start her day; nothing would have changed for her.
That made me angry, it pissed me off and made me furious that I had been so fucking stupid to let my guard down at all.
But that's what happens when you're flying on pure adrenaline and lust. You don't see the things that can make or break you; and this woman was going to fucking break me.
“Porter,” my father said, causing me to sway on my heels and look up. “We need to talk.” Nodding his head for me to follow him into his study, he walked inside.
Taking in a long breath, I rubbed my face and tried to get my head together. Stepping in behind him, I closed the door and waited for him to speak.
“What the fuck did you do? And why the hell did you come here?”
“There was a deer, it ran out in front—”
Holding up his hand, he cut me off. “Not the fucking car, I'm talking about the girl. What the fuck did you do?”
“What are you talking about?”
Growling, he leaned against his desk, his eyes black as tar. “There's a girl in our home, and she doesn't belong here—you don't belong here.” Tapping his fingers against the desk, he let his eyes settle on mine. “What the hell were you thinking, what the fuck did you do this time?”
“What are you talking about? I didn't do anything, I met her at a bar, and I thought—”
“You thought what? You thought you'd get a quick piece of ass after taunting D?” His mouth folded into an angry scowl, brow arching high. “You said you were done, you swore you'd never come back here. You promised me I'd never have to see your face again. Is she one of theirs? Is that how you got her?”
“What? No, she's not.” My jaw hung open as my eyes widened, baffled at his words. “What the hell do you think I did? Do you think I stole her from them? Do you really think I'd do something like that and then come here?” My eyes were huge, my mouth hard. “Why would you even think I was taunting them?”
How did he know that I went out looking for D?”
I had been so careful, doing everything I could to keep this secret to myself. Emery was the only person that could tear down the wall, and expose me for what I had done. And that put her in danger, it nailed a target to her back.
Fuck! I did it again!
It was like I carried some fucking black magnet that dragged people into the war zone around me. And no matter how much I tried to fix it, I only made it worse.
Sighing, my father dropped his gaze to the floor, and shifted against his desk. Pulling out a piece of paper from his pocket, he handed it to me. “It was on the car.” Folding his arms, his eyes hardened. “We moved to get away from this, to get away from you, and the shit that follows you. But, for some reason, you just can't help yourself, can you? You keep bringing it back. This is why I told you not to ever come here.”
Unfolding the paper, the note was quick, and to the point. You don't get to walk away, not now, not ever. You and your girlfriend are dead. We're coming for you.
“You need to get her, and get the hell out of here. Your mother has had enough to worry about because of you. She doesn't need this shit too. You just keep fucking up, it's like you can't help yourself. It's not over, is it, Porter?”
“It never was over.” Crumpling the paper in my hand, I threw it into the small garbage beside his desk. “I'm trying to end it for good, but it isn't as easy as moving away. I can't run anymore, I'm sick of it. And after what they did, after what they did to our family, I can't let them live. They won't stop until I'm dead, so why shouldn't I take matters into my own hands? I'm done hiding.”
Standing up straight, my father stepped to the small bar he had against the wall, and poured two short glasses of scotch. Picking them up, he walked to me, and handed me one of the drinks.
He didn't speak for a moment as he took a long sip, and watched me through the glass. Smacking his lips together, he asked, “Is this your plan? To chase each and every single one of them down and kill them? Is that what you want to do?”
“Yeah, it is right. After what happened to Zander, after they tried to pin all that shit on me, do you really think that I can just let it all go? I can't, someone had to do something.”
“She isn't theirs? You're not lying to me?”
“No, she's not. I met her at the bar, but it's complicated now, I can't explain it.”
Pointing at me with his
cup, he smirked. “Did I ever tell you about the first time I saw your mother?”
Shaking my head no, I threw my head back, and downed the alcohol in one gulp. “That's one of those stories you left out I guess.”
“We met in a bar. You know they say you can never find love in a bar, but they're wrong. I did, I found your mother, and I knew the second I saw her that she was the one.”
Thinning my lids, I let me eyes steady on his. It wasn't the time for a stroll down memory lane. “Why the hell are you telling me this? What does this have to do with anything?”
“I'm telling you, because your mother said she saw something in your eyes last night. She said you looked different, that there was something in your eyes she had never seen before. She told me that when you were sitting beside that girl on the bed, you looked at her the same way I used to look at your mother.”
“Used to?”
Rolling his head on his shoulders, he closed his eyes. “I say used to because time changes things. Back then, we were young, and our relationship was new. That fades after awhile, eventually you find yourself standing in the background, wondering where the hell your life has gone, and why it ended up the way it did.”
“I get it, I fucked up your life. Thanks for the reminder.”
“I'm saying, don't lose sight of what matters. Right now, that girl might look good, you might feel a tingle in your chest, and a jerk in your pants, but that will change, especially with your past.”
“What the hell is your point?” I ask, my tone hard.
“My point, Son,” he said, highlighting that single last word. “Is if you do feel something for her, don't drag her into this, she'll have to spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, dealing with your damage. Forget about what you feel right now, and do what's best for her, send her away.”
Rolling my eyes, I laughed. “Are you serious? Franco,” I say, not calling him dad. Father is a word I don't like to use. “You think I like this? Do you think I want to have to worry about her?”
“I just want to make sure you understand. You didn't think about us when you jumped into this shit, and I never could have imagined when I met your mother that we'd be living on eggshells because of her damn son. I never expected to lose my son because of you. Don't fuck up her life too.”
Taking a step closer, I held his eyes with mine. “Just so we're clear, I didn't fuck up your life on purpose. He was your son, but he was my brother too, or did you forget that?”
“You say it like that makes a difference. Where were you when he needed you? Where were you when he was out there, and they took him?”
“I thought I was doing what I had to. But for you to think I knew that would happen, that I willingly let them kill him. . . That's fucking bullshit. When are you going to realize that?”
Scowling, he tilted his head. “When you're out of our lives for good.”
“I'm not doing this right now.” Grinding my teeth together, I chewed up my words and spit them in his face. “I know what I did. How many times do I have to apologize for it? I'm trying to make it right, I'm trying to end it all.”
“Porter, I don't think you realize that this is bigger than you. You said it yourself, they won't stop till you're dead. Imagine the life you'll give that girl; constantly paranoid someone is out there waiting, no freedom to come and go as you please. You're dragging her into hell.”
“That's right.” Chuckling, I stroked my jaw and stepped back. “And that's why I need to get to them before they get to her.” Slamming the glass down, I move towards the door.
“You just can't see it, can you? You think you're fucking unstoppable.” His voice was dark and harsh as his eyes turned to pinpricks. “Didn't you learn anything from your brother's death?”
Slicing a hand through the air, I threw my finger in his face. “I tried to get out, but they wouldn't let me go. They always told me if I wanted out all I had to do was say it.” Turning towards the door, I started to walk away. “Maybe it's time for you stop criticizing me for my mistakes, and treat me like a real son. Stop hating me for what they did, I never meant for it to happen. I didn't know.”
“Mistake? You call that a mistake? We had to uproot our lives because of you, we had to start over. Zander was innocent, he was still a fucking kid, Porter. You failed him, you failed all of us.”
Holding the door handle in my hand, I kept my head facing forward, refusing to look at him. “Yeah, that's exactly what I set out to do. . .” Pausing, I yanked the door open. “I'm a fucking horrible person, aren't I?”
Slamming the door, I stormed down the hall and headed downstairs. Being judged, being told over and over again how you're a disappointment to the family, how you're the cause of all the problems they faced—it fucking hurt.
I already felt like shit, I was already well aware of how my actions affected the people around me. I didn't need my father constantly throwing it in my face.
Doesn't he see I'm trying to make it right?
Can't he see that I'm doing what needs to be done?
Not once did I think getting involved with D would come back to haunt me like this. I was a lost kid, a boy who needed guidance, and wanted to be seen as something other than the problem stepchild. D gave me that chance, he taught and trained me, he made me his angel of death.
He was more of a father to me than Franco had ever been. I was pushed aside when Zander came along, treated like I was the black sheep, like I held no value.
When I met Marcos Disesto, and found my calling, nothing was more important to me than riding the ranks and becoming a made man. That had been my goal. To become the best, to be the danger and the fear that kept all our enemies up at night.
And now they're my enemies.
My nightmares, my sleepless nights, my life of solitary confinement, they did that to me. And all of it was because I couldn't pull the trigger one fucking time.
“Are you hungry?” my mom asked, sneaking up behind me, and placing her hand on my shoulder.
“Not really.” Closing the fridge, I stepped back, and leaned against the kitchen island. “I don't even know why I'm looking in there anyway.”
“What's wrong?” Running her hand across my forehead, she smiled. “Come on, spill it, I can see the wheels turning. Talk to me, don't shut me out.”
Gripping the granite in my hands, I shrugged my shoulders. “I'm trying, Mom, I'm trying to fix this shit.”
“I know you are, Honey, I know you want to fix it.” Turning away from me, she opened the fridge and took out some items to make a sandwich. “You thought you were hiding it, but I've known. I could always tell, even after you took off.”
“Then why did you let me go?”
Laying her hands flat on the counter, her shoulders rolled forward. “This isn't my fight, Porter. I want you to be here, I don't want to lose you, but I can't fight this for you either.” Lifting her eyes to mine, she smiled and asked, “Is there anything I could say that would change your mind?”
Thinning my lips, I shook my head. “No, not a thing.”
Her eyes softened, tender and understanding. “Here,” she said, handing me a plate with a turkey sandwich on it. “Take that up to Emery for me, I've got a few errands to run with your father. And don't leave her alone, understand? The last thing I want is for her to try and get up, fall, and hurt herself even more.”
Tipping my head to show her I understood, I took the plate and started to head upstairs.
“Oh and Porter,” she called out, causing me to look over my shoulder. “I don't know how that girl ended up with you, and I'm not sure I want to know. But be nice to her, I kind of like that one.” Winking, she grabbed her pocketbook, and threw it over her shoulder. “Franco, I'm heading to the car!”
I heard the door to my father's office open and close, his steps echoing between the walls as he approached the top of the stairs. Fixing the cuffs on his sleeves, he stared down at me, his face still cured in resentful hate.
My mo
ther wasn't able to keep me at arms length for too long, deep down she still loved me. Despite the hell I rained down on her, she knew I hadn't done any of that shit on purpose.
But Franco, he never looked at me with anything but hate in his eyes.
Stepping to the side, I made room for him to walk by. “Don't do anything stupid while we're out, I'd hate to come home and find the house in flames because your little friends figured out where we live. You can't stay long, I want you gone,” he grumbled as his shoulder brushed my chest.
“Franco, that's enough.” My mother rolled her eyes as she dug around in her purse for her keys. “You have to stop doing that to him, stop treating him like he doesn't belong.”
Smiling to myself, it was nice to finally see my mother standing up to him. She wasn't bowing her head like she used, she wasn't sitting quietly and letting him take the lead. For the first time in ages my mother wasn't just a pretty handbag dangling off his arm, she had found her voice.
Walking to her side, my father and her started bickering back and forth about me as they stepped outside and closed the door.
You'd think by the way they sounded that I was still sixteen years old, and they were leaving me home alone for the weekend.
Shaking my head to myself, I sauntered upstairs, stopping outside her door. Knocking softly, she didn't answer, staying quiet.
Opening the door slowly, I poked my head in and saw her sleeping. As quietly as I could, I walked to the bed, setting the plate down on the nightstand. With my hands at my sides, I watched her.
It might sound strange, but I liked watching her while she was sleeping. She was beautiful, small and fragile, but perfect.
Her hair was fanned out around her head, her cheeks and lips tinted the faintest shade of pink. She had a small button nose with freckles that spanned just beneath her eyes, stopping at the very edges.
Tilting my head, I sat down beside her and placed my hands in my lap. I could stare at her for hours and never get bored. There was something about this woman that sent prickling hairs down my arms and made my insides twist and turn.