by Wendy Cole
Bard stood as the old man entered the room and held out a hand.
Mr. Frankfire didn’t take it. His eyes narrowed, ever the perceptive. They darted between me and Bard and back again. “What is it I was interrupting exactly?”
Bard, who seemed to be able to elicit the adoration of more than just me, snatched a bag from the table and held it out. “We were eating candy, watching Rocky.”
He motioned to the tv which I’d forgotten about completely. Someone was once again in the process of getting beat for the sheer pleasure of pain.
He lifted the bag again. “You want to join us?”
The old man took it and made himself right at home. He sat down at the table, broke into a candy bar, and chewed happily. “Alright, I like you, I suppose.”
Bard’s lip twitched. “I’ll give you two a minute.”
He turned towards the back, his steps stiff as he made his way down the hall.
Mr. Frankfire’s gaze followed him. “Take a cold shower, boy! You’ll feel better!”
He took another bite and looked at me. “You’ve been busy.”
He had no idea.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I took the seat across from the old man and stared at the empty hallway. The man who’d disappeared down it wasn’t a normal man. He’d shaken me, climbed inside my head, and left behind an echo of the rough sounds that rumbled from his chest. Each inch of skin his hands had touched prickled with awareness. My stomach clenched.
“Here, girl.” A candy hit my hand, and Mr. Frankfire lifted a brow. “Focus on something else.”
I unwrapped the treat and took a bite. “I’m perfectly fine. Zeke let me stay here. It’s his RV. That’s just his nephew.”
A smug smile twisted his mouth. “That’s good. I told you he’d find a place for you. Just…be careful. Don’t shit where you eat.”
“I’m not.”
At least not yet since you’re still here.
He snorted. “Don’t give me that crap. I know a wistful look when I see one. You’ve got those woman eyes, daydreaming, and lashes all,” he wiggled his fingers, “aflutter.”
My eyes narrowed. “I don’t flutter.”
“Yes, you do. You’re a woman. You all flutter.” He took another bite, his face a mask of pockmarks and scars, but his eyes full of a wisdom I wanted to beat out of him.
The last thing I needed was love advice from someone who thought the president was secretly a lizard. “How’d you find me?”
“I asked your new boss. He told me you were staying out here.” He took another bite as he simultaneously shoved candy into his coat pockets. “I’d hoped it would be something like this.” He ran out of room and moved onto his jeans. “But I wanted to be sure. It’s dangerous out on these streets.” He unzipped his bag and, with no shame at all, shoved a full bag inside. “Now that I know you’re safe, I can go about my way.” He smiled, clutched my hand, then stood.
“What do you mean? I’m not abandoning you.”
He paused to study me, his eyebrows furrowed in a way that made his already-wrinkled face even more scrunched. “You? Abandon me?” He shook his head. “It’s me who’s been helping you, girl, not the other way around. Now, I’ll remember you with great fondness.” He patted his bag, signifying the candy inside. “But I’m done babysitting. You’ve got your shot here. If you fuck it up, that’s on you.”
I gaped at him. “Don’t be an ass! I plan to save up some money and get a place for us! I was going to…”
Mr. Frankfire stepped forward, and in a move uncharacteristic of either of us, he pulled my head into his chest and gave me an awkward hug. “You’re a good girl, Jessie. Too good for the shit that’s been handed to you.” His gnarled hand patted my head before he pulled away. “But I’m an old man. I’ve chosen my life. Don’t you go thinking you can change it.”
He walked away without a backwards glance, and it wasn’t until the door had shut behind him that I noticed the prickling sensation in my eyes. They were tears. Motherfucker. I wiped them away and thought about running after him.
He was wrong. As much as I’d love to forget all about the crazy old man, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I’d bring him some food the first chance I got, and if I had to drag his ass when I got a place, I would.
My gaze drifted to the hallway. One thing was for sure. The old man was right. I needed to put a stop to this. I was a grown woman with a lot to do, and becoming involved with a man―this one especially―was the worst idea I could possibly have.
I just needed to tell him and be straight about it. I stood and slowly walked in the direction he’d disappeared.
I’m sorry. This was a mistake. I can’t get involved with you. Whatever this is will have to stop…
Yeah. That was good. I would keep it real simple. It was a work thing. It would be unprofessional; a conflict of interests. We’re living in the same…
Bard stepped through the backdoor. His muscles were tightly wound just as they’d been when he walked away. “Is your friend gone?” he asked, and the sound of his voice caused goosebumps to rise along my flesh.
I swallowed hard. “Yeah. I was about to…”
His lips hit mine, harder than before. It was rough, deep, and everything a woman could ever fantasize about. A rush of heat flooded through my chest and pooled into my stomach. Everything I’d planned to say left my lungs in the form of a low moan, and Bard gripped me tighter.
Powerful hands grabbed my thighs and lifted me in one swift move, causing me to wrap my legs around his waist. His tongue never left mine as it continuously provided me with ardent and desperate kisses that made my chest tighten and heart thunder.
He backed us into the bedroom and lowered me to the bed. “I want you.”
His hand drifted under my shirt, and his rough palms scratched my skin just enough to send tingles across my skull.
I arched into him. To hell with mistakes. To hell with good ideas. I’d deal with the consequences when they came, but right then, I just needed to scratch that torturous itch that he’d caused. I needed to rid myself of it, to give in, and then, when it was over, I could let go.
Bard gripped the material, pulled it over my head, and tossed it to the side as if it stung his hand. His eyes roamed over me, from my face to my collar bones, my breast, my stomach, then back again.
“You did all these,” he asked. The question was smooth as smoke in the otherwise silent atmosphere. He trailed his fingers across my side, outlining the shape of the swirling ink, then down to my hip bone where the tip of a wing just peeked from beneath my waist band.
“Yes.” I barely recognized the sultry sound of my own voice. I’d never sounded like that before. This man―something about him―did things to me no other man had ever done. He set my blood on fire, turned my brain to mush, hollowed me out, and left me begging to be filled.
But nothing was ever perfect. Karma just makes it look like it is.
Bard’s eyes narrowed, and next thing I knew, he gripped my shoulder and pulled. “No.”
His jaw clenched. His eyes were ablaze, and when they met mine, they cut me like they never had before. Not sweet. Not lustful. Just... rage.
“You…” His eyes widened a fraction. His lip curled around a half sneer, “this whole time.”
I tried to scramble back, but the grip on my arm was too tight. His fingers dug in, and his thumb rested just below the mark of my former self: the eagle, the onyx eagle.
Shit. He recognized it. He knew. “What are you talking about?”
His face fell and his eyes darkened. He shook his head from side to side in a motion so slow, it was terrifying.
“Don’t do that.” He pinned me with his bottom half as his face came within an inch of mine. Those eyes―his eyes―seared into mine in a way that made my blood rush for an entirely different reason. “I know this symbol. I’m not an idiot. You’ve been playing me.”
“What?” My breath caught, and I tried to break free again. “You’re
wrong. I’m not…”
“Who sent you?” The sound of his voice, combined with his volume, made my heart jump. A million memories flashed before my eyes―a million painful reminders―and I was back to hell once again: a cracking whip, a harsh whisper. His grip was too tight. His body was too close.
“Fuck off!” I bucked beneath him as my own instincts took over. I needed to go. I needed to leave. If I could just get away; just wiggle out from beneath him and make it to the door.
His jaw clenched, but his eyes dug deeper. They scanned my face. “I won’t hurt you. He knows that. That’s why he sent you.” He ran a hand along my hair then lowered his mouth to my ear. “I’m going to let you go. When I do, you go back to wherever you came from, and you tell him this,” he said, his words slow and clipped, “Men from the mountain don’t forget.” His eyes met mine, dark and deadly. “Tell him I look forward to hearing from him.”
My hands shook as adrenaline rushed, and if I thought I’d known what fear was, it was nothing compared to how Bard appeared in that moment. I didn’t give a fuck what history he had with them. All I cared about was self-preservation, and right then, that meant getting the fuck out of that room. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll tell him.”
He pulled back, and the moment he did, I shot out from beneath him and scrambled towards the door. I snatched my pack from the shelf. To hell with the shirt I’d been wearing. He could keep it as a souvenir.
“Wait!” He gripped my arm before I could make it off the mattress. “Wait.” It was quieter this time, a hush of a word spoken on a breath. “Your back…”
I flinched. The scars. “Let go, and I’ll leave.”
“You weren’t sent.”
No fucking shit. “Let go, Bard. I’m leaving.”
“He did it.” It was a rumble that was even more aggressive than before. “You’re running. Jesus, Tequila. I’m sor…”
I turned back, and saw his shocked look, his fixated stare.
“I wasn’t sent,” I said, my fear vanishing as anger took its place. “But you’re right to ask me to leave. He’s looking for me, and regardless of whether or not he’s looking for you, he’ll kill you just the same.”
I jerked away, and his hand fell to the mattress.
“I should know.” I met his gaze and tried to infuse some of my own hatred into my eyes so he’d fully grasp what I was about to say next.
“I was his old lady.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I left.
I walked away, and Bard didn’t follow. I supposed even that was too much for him. I wasn’t just involved. I was the leader’s girl. Anyone who was anyone knew you didn’t get involved with Drake’s old lady. It was suicide.
The first shirt out of my pack was inside out, but I threw it on anyway. Outside, the weather had warmed. The sun shone down on the world as if mine wasn’t falling apart, and I couldn’t help but feel bitter.
There I was, with the opportunity of a lifetime, and I’d thrown it all away. Once again, it was for a man; for a set of intense eyes and a stream of sweet words. Maybe it wasn’t Karma to blame. Maybe I only had myself to account for the shithole that was my life.
With no real destination in mind, I walked aimlessly for miles. If any of Mr. Frankfire’s ramblings were true, I hoped he was right about the earth being flat. Maybe if I walked far enough, I’d reach the end and fall off. I wanted to fall off. I wanted to put a stop to this cycle.
But I didn’t reach the end. Instead, when I finally took stock of my surroundings, I found a playground.
It stood like a miniature kingdom against the backdrop of the dimming light. A fortress of tiny wooden crannies and perfectly placed hiding spots.
I walked through the entrance and dipped into one of the structures, then weaved through the beams until I found a little alcove. It was barely big enough for me to sit with my legs scrunched up, but I squeezed myself inside and propped my back against the corner.
Finally, I was alone. I closed my eyes and heaved a sigh. Finally, there were no intense men too sexy for their own good, no old men to piss me off, no risk of a probation violation or a new charge, no club, and no Drake. It was just me, Jessie. It felt safe. For the first time in a long time, I felt hidden. My mind ran through the odds of Drake or any of the club finding me in that tiny spot, and I knew it was unlikely. It was so unlikely that I relaxed. Muscles I hadn’t even realized were tensed loosened. Each breath came easier. A small satisfied smile lifted the corners of my mouth. This was nice. If it wasn’t for food, water, and the inevitable playing child, I could have just stayed there and built a life around swing sets and graffitied boards and died in peace.
An orange glow flowed through the cracks of wood as the sun set, and the world fell perfectly still. Dust motes danced to a slow, calm rhythm within each stream of light. It was nostalgic in a sense. For a rare moment, I could vaguely remember my own innocence. It felt like another life.
My thoughts drifted back to my situation. As much as I wanted this chance for myself, it had never been just about me. I could see that even more in the light of my failure. The old man needed help. He looked frail, and the way he’d eaten the candy was a testament to his hunger. He was always small. His wrinkled skin had always appeared too loose on his bones, but today he looked even more haggard than usual. I’d planned to help. I hadn’t paid too much mind on it with the intention that I would, but I fucked it up.
I always did.
Because of Bard.
They say admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery. Well, I had a problem. I wanted him. My body wanted him. I responded to him in a way that made it impossible to have ever thought I would have kept a distance. My mind had been set against it, but my stupid, stupid body wasn’t on the same page.
I should have remembered. Drake had started out like that. He’d bought me things: clothes, beer, drugs. He’d kept the fridge in his house, our home, stocked. Drake had said he loved me. I was beautiful, he’d said. I was perfect, he’d said. There was nobody but me.
I scoffed.
He built a home for me then turned it into a prison. The room we used to make love in―the bed where he’d whispered all his sweet words―was now the scene for every horrifying memory I had. It was there, in that same bed, that the sounds of sweet words turned into cracked whips, burning skin, the press of a cherry against flesh, and pungent aroma. Each time I thought I might start to forget, my brain would take me back to freshen the memory.
How could I forget when I needed to remember it the most?
Bard was no different. So what if he bought me candy? So what if his kiss caused a sensation that Drake could never compare to? He was wrong. He was a man. He was dangerous.
I wasn’t that fourteen-year-old girl anymore. I was a woman, grown and strong. I was stronger than Drake. I was stronger than Bard. I just needed to remember that.
The orange faded to black as I sat for what felt like hours. I needed to move. I needed to find the old man and figure out what to do next. He would be furious with me for fucking it up, but I could only hope that his talk about being done with me was for show. As much as I hated to admit it, I needed him. I needed someone. The thought of being alone terrified me like no memory ever could.
I crawled out of my cramped position and gave my legs a minute to wake up. Moonlight shone through the trees, casting shadows against the ground, and a chill ran down my back. I had a bad feeling. Something was wrong. It hit my chest and twisted up my nerves.
I walked briskly towards the street and headed in the direction of the bridge. I had no idea how far I’d ventured. It took me over an hour to even catch a glimpse of the lights down Main, and when I did, my heart jerked.
Three men stood in a circle, all crowded around a hunched form I’d know anywhere. Mr. Frankfire stood a little more crooked than usual, a little more slumped. His hand was out, a sign of surrender, and the laughter echoing around him made my hands twitch at my sides.
One of the m
en shoved his chest, and the one behind caught him before he could fall. Raucous laughter filled the empty night air as the one in front took a swing that doubled the old man almost in two. He coughed and spluttered, and dark liquid speckled the ground beside his feet.
I didn’t think.
“Hey!” I ran forward, uncaring if I was outnumbered and not giving two shits what they would do to me. Every pent-up emotion I had rushed to my chest. My teeth clenched so hard, my jaw popped, and a scream that had nothing to do with fear clogged my throat and begged to escape.
Mr. Frankfire looked over at my fast-approaching form and yelled out, “No! Girl! Go away!”
The hell I would.
The closer I got, the more I could see they were just boys; youths of no more than their late teens. It was all for sport. For some reason, the fact pissed me off even more. How must that old man be feeling? How degrading. How fucking ashamed, helpless, and powerless he must be. It was an echo of my own shame. I knew that feeling. I knew what it was like to be overpowered and turned into nothing―made into less than nothing, garbage, ash.
It happened without warning. My body wasn’t my own. All the bullshit of my life came spewing from me like a broken pipe, and I barreled forward.
My fist connected. Bone crunched. Then all hell broke loose.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Suddenly, it was as if I’d been swept into an ocean current. All three men grabbed for me, one going for my legs, the others going for my arms. I kicked and twisted, but it was no use. I was outnumbered and overpowered. Their grips locked, the world settled, and I was suspended in air, unable to move an inch.
“Put that girl down!” Mr. Frankfire rushed to help.
“Stay back!” I yelled.
“Shut up, girl!”
Panic filled me. The old man couldn’t take any more beating, and I knew that was what would happen if he didn’t walk away. I fought against the hands restraining me, but with no way to leverage myself, I barely managed to move.