by Bella Jewel
He’s right about that.
“Got you. Loud and clear. I’ll do what I can.”
I stand, looking at my brother and exhaling. “Fix yourself. If you can do anythin’ in here, fix your fuckin’ self, Braxton. I’m not riskin’ my life for you to walk out of here and get straight back into it.”
He nods. “I hear you, and Dakoda?”
I meet his eyes.
“Be fuckin’ careful.”
Yeah.
Not sure that’s goin’ to matter.
Hell, I’m not sure I’m fully aware of what I’m about to get myself into.
But for blood, anything goes.
-11-
NOW – CHARLIE
“Stop being such a baby,” I say, curling my fingers back around Koda’s arm and tugging it toward myself. “The more you flinch, the harder it is for me to clean this up.”
“Quit fuckin’ bossin’ me around,” he growls, panting with pain.
I glare at him. “I’d happily let you bleed to death, but I’m not going to do that because you risked your life for us. So, you can either sit here and carry on, or you can let me sort this out.”
“How do you even know what you’re fuckin’ doin’? For all I know, I could walk away armless.”
“Tempting,” I smile at him, and it’s full of sarcasm. “But, I actually know what I’m doing. Do you forget who I grew up with? I’ve seen worse. I’ve helped worse. Now sit still.”
He sits still, one arm toward me, the other gripping a bottle of scotch that he’s swigging down every few seconds. I dab at his arm, trying to remove any dried blood but not irritate the wound too much that it starts bleeding again. By the time we got into Scarlett’s ranch on the hidden path, Koda’s wound had dried up. Which is good, because the bleeding slowed, but it also meant that I now have to gently try and clean it.
I dab it over and over with a warm, salty cloth. Cleaning the skin around it. I slowly remove the dried-up blood, revealing the wound beneath. Fleshy, straight through and out the other side. He still has full movement of his arm and hand, which means there is a good chance it didn’t hit anything important. That’s a good sign.
I think about what happened tonight and how incredibly stupid I was. Not only could I have gotten myself killed but everyone else, too. Using that phone, answering it, hell even bringing it, was absolutely idiotic. Of course my father could track it, of course he could. I’m only lucky that it doesn’t seem to be him that got hold of the number but someone else wanting to cash in the hit. At least, that’s what Malakai said. Those two men didn’t seem to be involved, but they’re questioning them thoroughly anyway.
In other words, they torturing them until they tell them what they need to hear.
I know, I’ve seen how this all works, been in this situation before.
It’s brutal, but it’s the way of life for them.
“Tell me something, Koda,” I say, still cleaning Koda’s arm, trying not to stare too long at his biceps, and the way the muscle curves so beautifully to make his arm.
Incredible.
“What?” he grumbles, head turning, eyes locking with mine.
My heart jumps.
It literally skips a beat.
“How come you’re so adamant on taking my father down?”
His eyes flash with a pain and rage that I’ve not seen in another’s eyes before. Not even my own. It’s the kind of pain that goes right to your soul. There is more to the story—somehow, there is more. I just don’t know what it is. Has it got to do with his brother? Scarlett told me he had a brother who died. Did something happen in his life to make him obsessed with bringing people like my father down?
Or does he know my father?
That’s a terrifying thought.
One I didn’t consider before.
My lips part slightly, and I whisper, “You know him, don’t you?”
He grunts and turns away. “No, I do not. I just fuckin’ hate people like that. Monsters that hide behind their power. They do more harm than good. They take innocent lives. They tangle people in their filthy fuckin’ web until there is nothin’ left. Wouldn’t matter if it was your father, or any other man, I’d want the same blood.”
I’m not so sure I fully believe him.
But it does make sense.
“What happened to your brother?”
It’s risky.
An extremely risky question.
But I had to share my entire story with him and his entire club tonight, so I’m sure he can give me a little information.
“None of your fuckin’ business,” he grunts.
Anger bubbles in my chest.
I squeeze his bicep, and he hisses. I know it hurts, but I’m also done being treated like crap from this man.
“I don’t know why you hate me so much, Dakoda,” I growl. “I don’t know, and I don’t care to know, but what I don’t appreciate is the way you treat me. For whatever reason, you have it out for me. I’ve done nothing. Nothing but help your club. I sat there tonight, and I bled my fucking heart out, do you think that wasn’t my business? That maybe I didn’t want to fucking share …”
My voice hitches and I release his arm, looking away.
I will not cry.
I will not let any of this beat me.
I won’t.
I take a few shaky breaths, and for a moment, we stand in pure silence. I wait for him to snap at me, to growl some curse and walk out. But he doesn’t, for a few good minutes, we just stand there, both of us panting. If he’d let me in, he’d see I house the same demons he does. We’re two peas from the same pod. Two damaged, broken souls.
He just won’t accept that.
He’s so wrapped up in his own pain, he can’t see anyone else’s.
I understand that, I really do, but it doesn’t make it fair.
“He got tangled up in the wrong crowd when he was younger,” Koda says, his voice low and deep. With shaky fingers, I keep swabbing at his arm. If he’s going to talk, I’m going to let him without interruption. “Became an addict, started sellin’ drugs to be able to purchase drugs. Got deeper, as they all do. Got more addicted, his brain more damaged. And he did stupid shit. Really stupid shit. Hit got put on him, and he got killed. He was young. Fuckin’ young, and he fucked up, but he did not deserve to fuckin’ die.”
Koda’s voice becomes strained and my heart aches; it literally feels like it’s going to split right open. It makes sense now why he is so obsessed with helping me, and why there is talk that he goes around looking for people with hits on them, and if he finds out they don’t deserve it, he sorts it out. I heard Maverick and Malakai speaking about it. It didn’t make sense then; it certainly does now.
He’s not obsessed with my father.
He’s obsessed with the fact that I have a hit on me, and he doesn’t think I deserve it.
Just like his brother didn’t deserve it.
And he wants to take it down, because people like my father ruin innocent lives.
“I’m so sorry about your brother, Koda. I know how it feels.”
I stroke a finger over his arm, without thought, and he flinches a little, but doesn’t pull away. I was attempting to give him comfort, without even realizing it. For me, it’s been a very long time since I’ve tried to give comfort. Hell, it has been even longer since I’ve received it.
But he held onto me tonight.
When I ran to him and my fingers locked in his shirt, for a few moments I was a kid again, the little girl so terrified of her father, and I couldn’t move. I couldn’t let him go out of fear, I’d fall and never get back up. And he held me up. Intentionally, or because he had to, I don’t know but he did it, and because he did it, I didn’t crumble.
“Sorry about your mom,” he says finally, his voice scratchy but not rough anymore.
“Thanks,” I murmur, staring at the ground.
“Never easy losin’ the only person you have left that you believe in. Bitter fuckin’ world
out there without someone by your side.”
Don’t I know it.
“Yeah, you’re right, it is.”
“You have anyone else? Ever?”
I swallow. “I had Oliver, for a little while. Not in a romantic way, of course, I was only a teenager, but he showed me there was compassion out there, good out there, people that would risk themselves to help you. So yeah, for a while, I had someone.”
“Then you lost out, again,” Koda adds, finally turning and holding my eyes.
“Yeah, then I lost out again. But then I met all of you, so I figure you do lose out, but if you believe, you’ll always find again. I was lucky enough to be reminded that there was still good out there, even when I really didn’t want to believe there was.”
“You’re lucky, then.”
I frown. “You’ve never found anyone else?”
“Got the club. Know they’re family. Know they’ve got my back. But if you’re askin’ if I’ve had a person again, one I trust, one who stands by my side and makes this fuckin’ emptiness in my chest go away, then no, I have not.”
That breaks my heart.
More than he’ll ever know.
“I’m really sorry to hear that, because everyone deserves someone. Even assholes like you.”
I give him a small smile to let him know I’m playing, and for the first time since I’ve been involved with this club, his eyes lighten just a touch. Not a lot, and he doesn’t smile, but his eyes lighten.
“How is your arm feeling now?” I ask him, changing the subject.
He holds my gaze for a few long, intense moments, then glances back at his arm. “Sore, but you did a good job cleanin’ it up. Didn’t think you had it in you. Was certain you were just takin’ on the job to give me some sort of infection out of revenge …”
I roll my eyes. “And there he is, the ass we all know and love.”
He grunts, but that lightness is still in his eyes, even if it is really hard to see.
“Thanks,” he murmurs. “Appreciate it.”
“Make sure you keep it clean and covered. It should drain and clear itself pretty well, there is no point in putting a few little stitches in it, most of the time they’ll pop out anyway.”
He stands, and when he’s in front of me, looking down, he seems so big, so scary, so dominant, and yet I feel so safe in front of him. I want to take a step closer and bury myself in him, just to feel that comfort and safety.
“Thanks again,” he says, looking at me with those eyes, and god if I don’t want to throw myself at him.
“You’re welcome, and thanks for helping me tonight.”
He nods, and then with one last lingering glance, he’s gone.
I swallow and watch him go, and only when he’s gone and the room is vacant do I exhale.
You cannot get attached to him, Charlie.
You can’t.
It’s that simple.
~*~*~*~
THEN – CHARLIE
I back myself into the corner, terrified. The man in front of me, he isn’t very nice, not at all. Father warned me that he might not be very nice. He warned me this job was a big one and I had to get it right or I’d suffer. But I don’t want to be here anymore with all these people at this party. Father knew there was a party going on, so he sent me to the house to ask for a phone.
But this man isn’t as nice as all the others.
He’s scary.
With cold blue eyes.
I don’t like him, not at all.
“So you’re lost, are you little girl?”
I push my fingers into the wall behind me, as if it’ll magically move. It doesn’t. But I really really want it to.
“Y-y-y-yes. I can’t find my mommy.”
“This late at night,” he murmurs, stepping closer.
He’s got silver hair. With some black in it. And he’s really tall. So tall I have to tilt my head right back to see him. When he smiles and talks, his teeth are so shiny they hurt my eyes. They’re so white. I’ve never seen someone with teeth so white.
“I don’t have a home, sir,” I whisper, just like I was told to if I was ever questioned. “Mommy and I live on the street, but I went for a walk, and now I can’t find the street.”
“What a shame,” he says, staring at me, his eyes moving up and down my body. “Is it just you and your mother, then?”
“Yes, sir,” I stammer.
“And is she looking for you?”
“Yes, sir. She will be.”
“Did you tell her where you went for a walk?”
I don’t like how he’s asking me these kinds of questions. Father said if they ask too many questions to leave, because they’re onto me, or worse, they want to take me for their own. I didn’t understand what that meant. Do they want a child of their own, so they’d steal me? Is that what he meant when he said that? Or did he mean they want to hurt me and do bad things to me?
“I just wanted to look at a map,” I try, changing the subject. “To find my way home.”
“And I’ll show you a map, as soon as you tell me more about your situation.”
“But …”
He steps forward, so close I can smell him. He smells like those awful things father smokes. I don’t know what they’re called, but I don’t like them. I clench my eyes shut, scared, so scared I can’t move.
“You’re going to do as you’re told, are we clear?”
His hand is around my arm now, and I want him to go away. I want him to move. To let me go.
“I n-n-n-n-need to use the bathroom, please.”
“Soon,” he says, and his fingers stroke down my hair.
I’m scared.
This doesn’t feel right.
“Why don’t you come over here and tell me more about yourself?”
He doesn’t give me a choice. He lifts my tiny frame up and carries me over to the sofa where he places me down on his lap. My stomach turns, and I keep my eyes clenched shut. He pats my leg, for far too long, and I know that this is a bad man and that I need to get out of here, but I don’t know how.
“This is a pretty dress, for a homeless girl,” he says, taking the material of my dress into his hands and curling it up. I try to cross my legs; I don’t like him looking at my skin.
“Please don’t hurt me,” I whisper, eyes still clenched.
“Oh,” he says, and I don’t like that his breath is touching my ear. “I won’t hurt you.”
I don’t really know what happens next, well, I do, but I close my eyes and go to a different place, the place Mommy taught me to go to when I was a little girl, a really little girl, and I was scared. It’s the place I still go to when I’m scared. Or when Father is being cruel.
I go there.
Even though I’m shaking and crying.
And I don’t like the monster holding me.
I go there.
Until the door bursts open and voices fill the room. There is yelling and cursing, and women dressed in pretty dresses. One of them has pretty hair, like Mommy used to, and she’s waving her hands around screaming so loudly her face is bright red. I don’t know what she’s saying, but she steps forward and pulls me off the monster’s lap, putting me by her side. She pulls out her phone and starts dialing something. The man stands, and he’s really angry. He pulls out a gun.
I run.
I run so fast.
Tears run down my cheeks. I can’t hear properly; my ears feel like they have lots of bees in them. I’m scared. And my dress is ripped. And I want my mommy.
But I keep running.
I run out of the big house and past all the people who look shocked to see me.
And I just keep on running.
I don’t know where I’m running to.
But I keep going, because I know as soon as I get home, Father is going to be so angry at me.
He’s going to be so angry because I failed. Because I let that bad man hurt me, and I didn’t get what he wanted.
He told me this j
ob was the most important.
The biggest one yet.
And I’ve failed him.
I know what’s going to happen when I get home.
So, for now, I just run.
-12-
THEN – KODA
Fake I.D.
Fake passports.
Fake everything.
It’s going to be the only way I can get Braxton out of this. He’s in too deep. He’ll never even be given the chance to try and pay off what he’s stolen, let alone fix the mess he’s made. There is just no way he’ll get away with it, and we’re only two people, not capable of taking on something of that size. Which means the only way out is to wipe everything clean and start again.
Hell, I’ll even consider faking his death if it means I can get him out safely.
Whatever I can find, I’ll try it.
I don’t have long.
I know people, thank fuck, and they have put me onto someone who can get me everything I need for the right price. New identities. We’ll start again. Somewhere else. Somewhere fuckin’ safe. I’ll get my brother out of this mess, and I’ll get him clean.
My boots splash into a puddle, jerking me from my thoughts. I glance around, pulling the hoodie further down over my head. This is a bad side of town, dangerous, but that’s what you’re dealing with when you step into this world. Danger. Always fucking danger. But for Braxton, I’ll risk it. I can’t be seen or recognized. If I am, it’ll be my life mistakenly taken.
I walk down the dark alleys, dripping with water from the rain that fell a few hours ago. The pipes make a swishing sound as the water runs through them, but that’s the only sound that can be heard. Everything else is dead silent. Nobody is around. The streets are quiet. Eerily so. I don’t like it, at fucking all. I glance at the address I was given once more and then walk up to an old, broken-down door. It has been put back together with a few slabs of timber that have been nailed on very, very well.
I lean in and yell, “Hello?”
Takes a few minutes and a dark man appears. He’s tall, with skin so dark he blends with the night. His eyes are piercing against his skin. He’s big, fucking big. A good six feet three and solid muscle.
“I’m looking for Jarod.”
He narrows his eyes. “Name?”