Conor Thames 2

by R. J. Lewis

  I made sure Penny never went to bed in a mood. I made sure we spent every evening with her cradled in my lap, watching a movie, or flicking through a book.

  Skin on skin didn’t have to end after she’d stopped being a baby. We sprawled on the couch, chatting endlessly. I gave her every ounce of my attention, enjoying her soft moments. I reminded her that her hard edges didn’t have to be gone, they just needed to be rounded out a bit.

  “When is Daddy coming home?” she’d ask periodically.

  “Soon,” I answered, soothingly.

  “You always say that.”

  “Because it’s true.”

  “It feels like it’s never going to happen.”

  I felt my lips tremble. I blinked back tears, whispering. “I know.”

  Fucking time, that dreaded void, never seemed to inch closer to where we wanted it to be.

  “But I promise,” I added, pressing a loving kiss on her forehead. “I promise soon will be here before you know it.”

  And I waited.

  And she waited.

  And we waited, together.

  THE HOLE

  One day, four boys decided to play hide and seek under a hot sun on the outskirts of a rotting town.

  One boy decided to be It.

  The three boys hid.

  Two were found.

  The third vanished.

  Chapter One

  Thames

  He stood still, waiting.

  A gentle calm settled over him. Every breath expelled was another second closer to the end of this abyss.

  This godforsaken, never ending hell.

  This pit of despair.

  This fucking doom that had stripped him of life and love and all things good.

  They’d ushered him out of his cell hours prior at the bumfuck of dawn. After a frisk, he signed a gutful of paperwork and was transferred to the holding cell.

  Freedom was within reach.

  But every time he heard approaching steps, or the sound of movement, or even a sigh from beyond that cell, he felt his body clench. It was too good to be true. They knew. They had to know all the evil he had committed within the walls of this soul sucking fortress. They must have known he didn’t deserve the other side.

  Yet here he goddamn was.

  Waiting.

  He felt almost guilty. Not for leaving this shithole, but for leaving him. Dominic. His childhood friend who had helped him when it got too much. His childhood friend who was atoning for a crime he did not commit.

  “You want to survive?” Dominic said, staring solemnly into Thames’ busted up face. “You need protection. You don’t make it far in here without protection, and protection comes at a cost. Nothing is free. You will always owe somebody here.”

  It had been Thames’ first week at Blackwater Maximum Penitentiary, and the experience had been unsavoury to say the least. He was an immediate target, but he stood his ground and he knew never to let up, even if it meant being outnumbered by a group of skinheads.

  He had never felt so inferior in his life. For once, his fists did not protect him from the world.

  For once, being alone was not going to save him.

  Protection came at a cost, and the cost was not going to end when Thames walked out of here. He had to remind himself that. He swallowed hard as he stared blankly at the empty wall.

  Eight years penance. He served the full-term sentence. He lost his chance for parole when the prison yard had descended into premeditated chaos and he’d been caught on camera beating a man unconscious. He had had no choice. He remembered why he did it, but he didn’t remember tackling the man to the ground. What Thames did remember the most was looking up at the camera and wanting to die.

  He had done so well leading up to that point. It was yet another cruel twist of fate. He couldn’t make it back to her. Out there, beyond the walls, she was living without him. Out there, time was bleeding by, and she was letting him go.

  He told her to move on.

  She must have by now.

  He wished he could say he had stopped thinking about her. To say he had let her go over the years because it would have eased the heartache. Sadly, that was not the case. He breathed her in every time his lungs came up for air. She was his every waking thought, and if he was trying to think of something else, he felt her presence in the back of his mind, lingering like a ghost.

  How was it possible to love somebody longer than you had been with them? He hadn’t seen her face in eight years, nor had he seen the face of the child they had excitedly prepared to bring into the world. He didn’t know if she still cared, didn’t know if she had been with anyone else, and yet she was still branded into what was left of his heart as fiercely as the day he met her.

  He still wanted Charlotte Miles. He killed for her. Removed the demon from her life so she didn’t have to live in fear. He felt he had no choice at the time. He was violent, he was triggered, and he didn’t know how to contain himself.

  The man today would have done things differently.

  Jesus fuck. This loop of thought never stopped.

  Thames swallowed again. This time the lump in his throat felt heavier. He wanted to cry. He wanted to cry because he knew it would ease the pain, but he didn’t think he could anymore. Only certain emotion was allowed here, and he learned long ago that to survive within these confines one had to be hard and callous. Yes, he had adapted well to letting certain parts of him die, and yet…he couldn’t remember the exact moment he let his soul go. He woke up one morning some years ago, and he was not the same man. That man fled somewhere in the darkness of the night, and he never felt him again.

  Now, Conor Thames was just a shell. You didn’t have to look hard to see how hollow he was inside.

  The holding cell unlocked. It was the sound of freedom. Once upon a time he had been pumped to hear it. This time he felt dread. He didn’t know what was waiting for him on the other side.

  He didn’t know if he was strong enough to face it.

  The autumn morning air felt cool on his skin. He trudged past the gates, nothing but a small bag in his hand and some cash. Waiting on the side of the road was a black SUV. He was told it would be waiting for him. In the driver’s side was a large beefy man he had never seen before. The man watched him, nodding once as he approached the passenger side and hopped in.

  “Welcome back, Thames,” he said, looking starstruck. “Heard a lot about you, man. You’ve earned some mad respect for what you did here.”

  Feeling disconnected, Thames managed a stiff nod. He didn’t know what was said about him to the crew. Didn’t even want to know because he was too ashamed to admit them. The memories tormented him enough. It was kind of fucked up this guy was celebrating them, looking chuffed he was seated next to a fresh ex-con capable of such abhorrence.

  Thames was wretched inside. He fisted his hands to stop them from shaking. He couldn’t focus on his newfound freedom when all of him still felt locked away beyond those gates. He stared at those gates as the man put the car into drive and peeled out of there. Thames was supposed to feel relief when the space between him and the gates grew, but he felt panic instead; it was like rope around his throat, tightening until his vision blurred and his head felt light enough to float away.

  He thought of Charlotte.

  God, he thought of Charlotte because she was the only thing that gave him ease.

  “I decked us out with some snacks and drinks,” the man continued, pointing a tattooed finger to the centre console packed with chocolates and sodas. “It’s going to be a long ride, and I figured you missed some of this good shit.”

  Thames looked the big fella over. He couldn’t have been older than twenty and had the crew’s signature tattoos all over him: the raven and the black roses. He spotted the tattooed number on the guy’s inner wrist. No.48. The 48th man to be added to the crew.

  Thames glanced at his inner wrist.

  No. 34

  There had been at least fourteen more sin
ce his recruitment. He wondered how many of them were still breathing. How many of them died trying to get out?

  “What’s your name?” Thames asked.

  “Oh, shit, sorry. I’m Drew.” The guy looked genuinely embarrassed for not introducing himself. He shot an apologetic look at Thames.

  “Can we have a quiet ride, Drew?” Thames returned, tiredly.

  He had a feeling all Drew would do was rattle on about useless shit. He couldn’t handle the noise. Anything but the noise. He needed the silence. Two seconds out and his ears were aching.

  He didn’t know how he handled it before.

  Was the world always so loud?

  “For sure, man. I’ll be dead quiet.”

  Thames dragged a hand through his thick hair, digging his nails into his scalp. His head never stopped pounding. It had become debilitating. His only escape was sleep, so he shut his eyes and embraced the moment when all went black.

  “What is it about you Conor Thames?” She stared into his eyes, captivated.

  He used to think being rich meant having lots of money. Now it was measured by how many times she gave him that look. It made him feel like a fucking god.

  “You keep saying that, dove,” he murmured, kissing her lightly. He watched the way her eyelids fluttered shut. She looked so innocent like this.

  “Because I can’t get enough of you,” she whispered against his lips.

  She couldn’t get enough of him? God, if she only knew what he felt. Words didn’t do it justice.

  “You think one day you might?” he wondered, kissing her slowly as he studied her reaction.

  It had been like this lately. His vulnerability was high, and he found himself asking these sorts of questions when the moments came up. Thames was aware more than ever that he was falling harder for her and the hole he was falling into didn’t appear to have a bottom.

  He loved her so deeply, so wholly. All he thought about was taking care of her.

  Charlotte pulled back to look at him. Her brows furrowed in thought.

  “You worried I might?” she asked in return.

  He swallowed the knot in his throat. “If you leave me, Charlotte, I don’t think I’d find myself again.”

  “We’re having a baby together. How could you think I could leave you?”

  “Because I’m a fuck-up. Because I’m realizing how short my fuse is and I’m scared of myself, pup. I’m scared I’ll drive you away, or you’ll be taken from me. Maybe you’ll find someone better.”

  She cupped his cheeks with both hands and stared deeply into his eyes. “Conor,” she whispered, gravely, “I would go to the ends of the earth for you.”

  “What if something happens?”

  “Then I would wait an eternity for our happily ever after.”

  “No matter what?”

  Her smile reached her eyes. “No matter what.”

  The car turned into a quiet neighbourhood. Thames had been awake a while and distinctly aware he wasn’t anywhere near Blackwater. She was still out of his reach, and he was cold, so cold. The house Drew pulled up to was small and orderly like the others. The only thing that stood out was the number of cars parked in the driveway. Thames counted six.

  As Drew stepped out, Thames sank further into his seat, taking a few moments to himself. He stared at the house with empty eyes and a frown. He knew what lurked inside. He was already prepared for what was to come, but it still didn’t stop his heart from battering inside his chest. He felt mild adrenaline coursing through his blood, making the tips of his fingers tingle with urges he had learned to suppress over time.

  Then he stepped out before his mind could justify otherwise. As they began walking to the front door, it swung open before they got to it.

  “You’re here!” a familiar voice greeted.

  Thames felt his spine straighten. He forced his lips up in response while his insides twisted at the sight of Holden. Immediately, memories fired through his mind, recalling the first time this bastard approached him in the prison yard. Thames would never forget the cocky smirk on Holden’s face and the joy in his eyes as he demanded Thames to brawl with a fresh fish for a spot in their crew.

  “I win when he’s down?” Thames asked.

  “You win when he’s dead,” Holden answered.

  There were very vivid moments Thames could recall in his life that were monumentally altering. That brawl was one of them, because it didn’t end in the yard, it ended in a dark corner with begging eyes looking into Thames’ soul. He would never forget that look, and he would never forgive himself for what he’d done.

  Now Thames wanted to die all over again. His neck felt hot and itchy. His fingers trembled something awful. This physical reaction was the weakness he had to bury for eight long years.

  “I’m here.” He smiled, robotically.

  If he was wrecked, they wouldn’t know it. Thames was great at putting a good distance between him and his emotions. So great, in fact, he frequently felt like a spectator outside of his body, watching his movements with zero attachment to them.

  Holden pulled him in for a bear hug. He smelled of smoke and beer. In prison, he had a shaved head and zero facial hair, but out here he looked wild. His beard was a few inches long and unkempt, and his hair was tied back in a tight bun. He slapped a hand against Thames’ back and pulled back to look at him. His dark eyes peered into his, that smirk now filled with enormous respect.

  “You’re a fucking king,” he told Thames, giving him a friendly slap on the cheek. “We bow down to you!”

  Thames heard cheers as he was pulled into the house and greeted by a long line of faces he didn’t know. Not one of them mattered to him, but he smiled in greeting, nodding at them.

  “This is the crew,” Holden said, motioning to the men standing around the room, booze in hand. “Not all of them, but most are top tier level guys. They came a long way just to see you, buddy.”

  “We heard what you did,” one of them said, raising the beer in hand in Thames’ direction. “Mad respect, brother.”

  “That’s Mal. He’s been here from the start. Number seven.”

  Thames nodded at Mal, glancing briefly at the man’s inner wrist. “Good to be here, Mal.”

  “Get the man a drink, will you,” Holden demanded, looking at a random young man in the back of the room. The man took off in response. Then Holden wrapped an arm around the back of Thames’ neck and tugged, staring into his profile with a broad smile. “You’re going to relax, Thames. I want you to have the best fucking night. We got booze, we got women, we got the crew and we are here to fucking celebrate. Isn’t that right, fellas?”

  Thames nodded, looking bright as the young man approached with a beer bottle. He took it off him and raised the neck up. “I’m honoured,” he said. “Can’t think of a better place to be.”

  Except he could.

  Fuck, he could think of a place he would rather be very clearly.

  Then he brought the tip to his mouth and took a swig and the room descended in cheers. Holden was bouncing off the walls with energy. The loudest of them all, he delivered more introductions before grabbing a random girl in passing.

  “Look at these babes,” he told Thames, his eyes glassy and gleeful. “Can’t say you got this kind of beauty in Blackwater, hey? What’s it going to take to keep you here, Thames? Surely nothing is tying you down over there. Here, you’re welcomed. We are your family, if you’ll have us, and we got stunning babes like this here in limitless supply. What do you say, brother?”

  Thames forced a laugh, attempting to look heatedly at the girl who looked too fucking young. “She’s a fuckin’ dream, man.”

  In truth, the second he glanced away he couldn’t tell you a thing about her. She was a blur, like all the others. But Thames played the part, realizing very quickly he had never left prison.

  Because he was still surviving.

  Left to his devices, Thames made his rounds, making idle conversation. Reserved, he offered his thanks
and half-listened to the drunken stories spouted to him. Thankfully, after a couple hours, the crowd formed into smaller groups, talking amongst themselves.

  The beer in his hand was decoration. He slipped into the kitchen when it was hardly occupied and discreetly poured the drink into the sink.

  “Can’t stand that shit, either,” Holden said suddenly, coming up from behind him.

  There was no reprieve.

  Holden just kept coming.

  Thames forced a closed mouth smile. “I like the harder stuff.”

  “We’ll have to go out properly for that. Hit up a strip club or something. There’s a good one downtown.”

  Thames noticed the bottle shaking from his tremors and promptly stopped tipping it. He placed it on the counter, aware as ever Holden had noticed.

  “Hey man,” the guy said seriously, nudging his shoulder against his. “You’re out now, bud. I know it’s hard to take in. I got the same shakes as you when I left that cunt of a place. It’ll go away, okay?”

  He nodded in response. “Keep expecting a fight around the corner.”

  “You don’t have to look over your shoulder here. You’re home now.”

  Thames swallowed, knowing now was not the time to tell Holden he had no plans to stick around.

  He wanted to run.

  Run from everything.

  Everyone.

  Even his shadow wasn’t welcome.

  “Why don’t you take a shower?” Holden said, smiling now. “I know how grimy you feel. You’ll feel better when you wash that prison smell off you. There are clothes in your room you can fit into. I got a nice surprise for you when you get out too.”

  “Yeah, that sounds good.”

  Holden pushed him in the direction of the stairs. Still hopping from energy, he practically followed Thames to it like a bad scent. The respect in Holden’s eyes – the awe in his gaze – was so drastically different to the man he was when Thames met him. The roles had reversed. Holden was doing everything in his power to please him, and fucking god, Thames should have delighted in it, but he felt nothing. Fucking dead on the inside, he disappeared up the stairs and escaped into the only bedroom that was shut.