Rocks tore at my jeans, dug into my back, then my face. He swung, I countered. My nose cracked, his lip tore wide open.
Tango was faster, but I was meaner, and I had no problem fighting dirty, going for the throat, balls, spleen, hell, I wasn’t above hair pulling to keep the upper hand, and the rich boy had plenty of hair to grab.
Blondie, being Tango’s kryptonite, yelled, “Jesus fucking Christ Tango! Your son is watching,” tearing his attention away from the fight, and giving me the upper hand.
I twisted, grabbing his throat, and laid my full weight over the top of him, then dug my fingers deep, ensuring he knew his next breath depended on my generosity.
Only because Blondie begged, “Dane. Let him go,” did I loosen my grip.
“You drugged me,” he wheezed. “You sick motherfucker. I never would’ve fucked Addison that night. You drugged me goddammit. Six soulless, miserable years I suffered because of you. That’s all on you!”
Asshole was right. I deserved any punishment he deemed fit. I hadn’t only hurt Rossi, I’d hurt Blondie, and that girl didn’t deserve the hell she’d gone through. I fell back on my ass. Tango wasn’t one to waste an opportunity. Once, twice, he struck my jaw, laid me flat in the gravel, and I didn’t fight back. Pretty boy could have his retribution.
No doubt, the guy would’ve crushed my skull with his fist, had Blondie not warned, “The kids are watching.”
Tango trembled, his bloodied face twisted. “Get out of my town.”
“Can’t,” I rasped, blood choking me.
“Like hell,” he growled, landing two more licks to my jaw.
“I ain’t leavin’.”
“Tango,” Blondie warned.
Fisting my shirt, he leaned closer. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
Out of habit, I taunted, “You’re too much of a pussy.”
“Stop!” Blondie screamed, using the full force of her body to shove Tango. He slumped at my side, heaving, every muscle coiled to strike.
Standing over me, she ordered, “Dane. Get out of here. Get yourself cleaned up. Mim can stay with me today.”
Then, turning her venom on her man, she scolded, “Tango, get out of my sight. You two are acting like a couple of pimple-faced, ’roid-raging, high schoolers. Go.” She kicked at Pretty Boy. “Get out of here.” She marched off, still yelling, “This is my place of business, and you’re turning it into a freakin’ circus sideshow, and not even a good one.”
Tango hopped to his feet, whereas I had to roll to my side, push to hands and knees, then breathe through the pain while I rocked to my heels and eventually crouched. Only through stubborn pride was I able to stand upright, where, what do ya know, Pretty Boy met me bloody nose to bloody nose.
“Get the fuck off my property.” He spit, pointed toward Hammer and Low-Key. “And take your trash with you when you leave.” Brushing the dirt off his shirt, he turned and stormed toward the back of the diner.
“Pathetic.” Hammer huffed.
“Get the fuck outta my sight,” I mumbled, though I wasn’t sure my jaw worked right.
Hammer advanced, getting right up in my grill. “You got something of mine,” he said, voice low and threatening. “Soon as I get it back, you’ll never see me again.”
“The fuck you talking about?” I stood my ground, though unsteady.
Sirens in the distance drew the bastard’s attention toward the highway. Two blue and whites heading our way.
Hammer hung his head, gave it a shake, then tossed a set of keys at my feet. “I’ll be in touch.”
I stared at the gravel under my boots, watching the earth absorb drop after drop of my blood. After the rumble of Hammer’s engine faded, I fired up my baby, and hit the open road.
# # #
What do ya know, the tin box from hell still stood, looking like a rotten tooth sprouted in the otherwise untainted landscape. Mother Nature had done her best to hide the eyesore. Yard was overgrown, though that was nothing new. Weeds and wildflowers reached almost to the windows. Years’ worth of dead foliage and moss coated the roof.
A quick inspection revealed a broken window around back, most likely caused by a fallen branch, but the shithole didn’t look like it’d been ransacked. Front door was boarded over, but easy enough to break through.
The second I stepped inside, prepubescent emotions rolled through me like acid, unwanted memories stinging my pulverized psyche. My sorry ass dropped to the moldy carpet, the polyester fibers clumped and hardened from years of abuse, spilled libations, piss, and vomit.
I’d taken beating after beating in that shithole. Covered my father’s crimes. Witnessed and been victim to degradation most wouldn’t survive.
Only reason I’d stuck around was for Addy. Wasted energy. My father had ruined her regardless. Looking back, maybe she would’ve been better off in the system instead of the rotten metal cage and its ever-changing parade of guards.
When my head stopped spinning enough for me to stand, I stumbled to my old room, pausing at the hole in the wall that had marked my turning point, changed my path, branded me abuser. No longer the victim.
The Slayers had come to collect a debt from my father on my tenth birthday. A bastard three times my size had tried to get “friendly,” and I’d beaten the sick fuck to a bloody pulp. He’d only stopped me by shoving my head through the wall. The Slayers had threatened to kill me then, but after a private conversation with my father, the club had taken me under their wing. There was never any doubt I was nothing but a grunt. From that day on, until years later when they’d patched me in, I’d been called “trailer boy.” A reminder that I was trash, like the heap of tin and sin I’d come from.
After I had proven myself loyal, and indispensable to the club, the derogatory nickname was upgraded to “Trailer.”
For a short time, I wore that name with pride. Not anymore.
Face a pulsing, throbbing mess, I rifled through the closets, the cupboards, the hidden compartments under the carpets, coming up with a hefty stack of dear ol’ dad’s dirty money. I found a few photos of Addy that hadn’t been destroyed and shoved them into my breast pocket.
Out back, the tool shed stood crooked, half the roof missing. I collected anything flammable—a canister filled with old gasoline, paint cans, turpentine, motor oil, then dragged that shit back to the metal shack, and made a pyro’s version of pick-up-sticks in the center of the living room.
Giving the shithole a final fuck you, I raised my middle finger, made my way outside, lit a cigarette, took a long drag, then ignited the rest of the pack. I tossed the burning Marlboros through the open door, waited for the orange glow of flames, then kicked my bike into gear and left that putrid, piece of shit to burn.
Fuck my father. Fuck the Slayers. Fuck Trailer.
Moriah
“Fuck that trailer trash piece of shit, fucking Reynolds.” The stairwell door flew open, scaring a squeal out of me, and Tango barreled my way, face bloody, clothes dirty and disheveled, murderous glower aimed straight ahead.
Before I could muster a greeting, he grunted, “Clear my schedule. I won’t make any meetings today.”
“Sure.” I paused, then before his door slammed shut, blurted, “Are you all right?”
Stupid question.
From behind the heavy wood, I heard, “Not even close.”
Awkward situations were nothing new in my profession but having my new boss of two days storm through the building beaten to a bloody pulp was definitely a first. No protocol for that occurrence.
Instinct led me to the employee lounge, where I found hot coffee, ice, and a first aid kit. Then I dug a bottle of pain relievers out of my handbag. I found Tango slumped in his wingback chair, a fancy crystal tumbler full of amber liquid in his hand, attention aimed at the family photo on his desk.
Tango ignored me while I opened the shades, filled a plastic bag with the ice cubes, then got busy with the bandages and antiseptic. He didn’t protest while I cleaned his face and winced only
once while I dug dirt and pebbles out of his chin. The guy was either a rock, or he was in shock.
“I’m a good listener if you feel like talking.”
“What I have to say, you don’t want to hear.” Shrugging away from me, he tipped his head and downed his liquor. “You know what? Fuck it.” His glass landed on the desk, heavy bottom landing with a crack. “Dane is bad news. You and your niece need to stay the fuck away from him.”
A punch to the gut would’ve been less surprising, painful, or nauseating. And because I fought a constant uprising of bile, and wonky hormones, and because I was already on edge from that strange encounter at breakfast, I slammed my hand on the desk and met him nose to nose. “I’m going to keep my mouth shut about that comment, considering the shape of your face. But I would appreciate if you don’t talk to me in that tone ever again.” A huff. A deep inhale. “I’m grateful for this job, but not dependent on it.” Lie. Lie. Lie. “So I would have no problem walking away.” I almost gagged on my verbal diarrhea.
Tango had absolutely no grounds to keep me under his employ. I hadn’t been with the company long enough to make any kind of impression, and the thin ice began to crack under the weight of my self-righteous rant.
When he didn’t order me to pack my belongings and leave, I picked up a cotton swab, squirted goopy gel on the tip, then continued poking his face. After a long silence, I asked, “So, how does the other guy look?”
The other guy obviously being Dane, considering Tango’s outburst. I worried about his current state of health, assuming he was the reason Tango looked like he’d survived a tangle with a grizzly bear.
“He was uglier than sin to begin with. I might’ve improved his looks.” Tango started to crack a smile, then mumbled, “ouch” under his breath, bringing a finger to the cut on his lip.
“All right. I’ve done all I can do.” I leaned back, inspecting his wounds. “Let me know when you need more ice.”
“Thanks, Moriah,” he mumbled, pressing the cold bag to his face.
I gathered the garbage and turned to leave. Halfway through the door, I heard, “And I’m sorry for being a dick.”
Back at my desk, my phone lit up with a string of unopened texts. All of them from Slade.
Mim is w/ me today. I’ll take her to her appointment
BTW Dane is a jackass
Mim and Rocky are so cute together. He’s teaching her to use the milkshake machine.
Mim let Charlie pick her up and set her on the counter. I almost cried
Did I mention Dane is a jackass?
Tango is a jackass too
I’m venting. Sorry
I’ll bring Mim home after dinner if that’s ok
I responded with: That’s perfect thank you so much
I didn’t question why Mim was with Slade. I trusted her completely. Dane, on the other hand, had some explaining to do. But that would have to wait until after work.
I released a frustrated breath and shook off the bad vibes. Had to be a full moon. Everyone was acting off kilter.
To prove my point, the senior Rossi sauntered toward my desk, all crisp, clean lines, sharp angles, and uber-confidence, singing “Downtown” by Macklemore and carrying a coffee mug that read “Billion Dollar Grandpa.” He paused mid-rap and offered a panty-melting smile. “Morning, Miss Peterson.”
“Good morning, Mr. Rossi.”
“Tango in?” He gestured toward the closed door.
“Yes.” I considered the courtesy of a warning, then decided it wasn’t my place.
Mr. Rossi paused, sliding his free hand into the pocket of his trousers. “How are you settling into Whisper Springs?”
“Fine, thank you. I love this town. So charming.”
“And your niece? She’s well?”
“Better every day.”
“Good to hear.”
“Mr. Reynolds treating you well?”
“Mr. Reynolds?” I asked, my heart skipping a beat.
“I apologize. I assumed you and Dane were an item, considering…” He let the sentence hang. Charm seemed second nature to the handsome man, with those ridiculous good looks, intoxicating emerald eyes, and that dimple he wielded like a weapon, working their magic, weaving a spell that almost made me forget we were having a conversation.
But then I realized, Dane and I had kept our fling private, neither of us ready to put a name to whatever it was that was happening between us. And Mr. Rossi obviously knew something I did not, and judging by that annoying, albeit sexy smirk on his face, I should have known. “Considering what?”
With a deep, throaty chuckle, he offered, “Reynolds and I are old friends.” He pinned me with a stare, waiting for me to connect the dots, a gleam in his eye, clearly enjoying himself.
Carlos Rossi and Dane old friends? Seemed unlikely. Still, my insides warmed, the mystery solved. “Let me guess. Mr. Reynolds got me this job?” Dane had gone behind my back to keep Mim and me in Whisper Springs.
“Apologies if that was meant to be a secret.”
Mr. Rossi did not appear sorry in the least.
I should’ve been furious, but I couldn’t muster an ounce of indignation. Why? Because although dirty and underhanded, Dane had fought to keep Mim and me close. And damn it, sometimes, being fought for felt really effin’ good.
“And because he got me this job, you assumed that we’re an item?”
He nodded, his grin fading. “Dane wouldn’t have called me otherwise.”
I wanted to ask why Dane wouldn’t have called him otherwise. I wanted to know more, but I was a professional, and I would act as such. However, I wasn’t about to let that handsome devil off the hook. “Mr. Rossi. We’re both adults here. Let’s be honest, you enjoyed letting that little secret leak, didn’t you?” I offered a wink.
He countered with a panty-melting smile and a wink back. “Have a good day, Miss Peterson.”
I smiled and waved, keeping my glee in check.
# # #
A warm, heavy weight lay over my stomach, rousing me from a daunting dream. Blinking sleep haze from my eyes, I slowly filtered my nightmare from reality, drawing measured, quiet breaths in attempt to steady my racing heart.
Though drowned in darkness, I knew who shared the couch with me, whose thighs my calves were perched upon, whose strong finger traced a circle over my stomach. The scent of alcohol, sweat, and night air permeated the room.
“How long have you been here?” I tried to rise, but he held me steady, a firm grip on my ankle with one hand, the other weighing heavy on my abdomen.
“Couple hours,” came a clipped reply.
Agitation rippled the air, adding substance to the silence.
“What happened today?”
“Best you don’t ask.”
“I have every right to know.” I kicked free of his grip and shoved to the sitting position. “You said you would take care of Mim. You didn’t. And I had to hear from Slade that you’d pawned her off.”
The couch shifted. “Fuck,” floated through the room, more pained than angry.
Weary, and in no mood to fight, I straddled Dane’s lap, ignoring the scratch of denim on my bare thighs. I reached for his beard, but he clamped my wrists and pressed my hands to his bare chest instead, his warmth doing crazy things to my libido.
His silhouette revealed cuts and swollen areas, his handsome mug clearly marred. “What happened?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“You can talk to me, you know.” I kissed his cheek, a featherlight assurance. “I’m on your side. Whatever it is.”
His chest rose and fell. “Don’t need to talk.”
Uncomfortable silence followed, and I knew if I could see his face, I’d find those eyes gone dark.
I swallowed my trepidation. “What do you need?”
His fingers tightened around my thighs. One deep breath. A moan that sounded like a growl.
“I need to fuck.” With a grunt, he gripped my ass and yanked me closer, slamming my knees
into the cushions, grinding me against his erection, stealing my air. “And I need to forget.” He forced a hand between us, moved my panties aside, and worked his voodoo. “Can you give me that, gorgeous? Give me a place to get lost?”
Warm lips brushed mine, his rum-laden breath heightening my arousal. Beneath me, the man was coiled tight, a spring ready to snap, vibrating and humming with an undercurrent of violence.
Strange, my strong sense of security. Curious, my desire to ease his burdens.
In my blissful, sleepy state, I rode his hand, my pleasure spiraling, and rasped, “Trailer.”
He stiffened, a low rumble rising up his throat, then bit my lip, and plunged those thick fingers deeper between my legs. “Trailer is fucking dead. It’s Dane.”
The poison in his tone triggered warning bells, breaking the spell. Hands to his chest, I tried to push away. “Are you okay?”
Rough, and unrestrained, he pulled me tighter against his unforgiving muscles, and circled my clit with his thumb. “Does this feel good?”
“Yes.” Oh. Shit. Shit. “Yes.”
“Then shut those gorgeous lips and let me fuck you.”
My stomach lurched, but Dane gave me no time to react, fisting my hair, and forcing our mouths together.
Though my mind protested, my body gave way to his lips, his hands, his raw, violent need. Every sweep of his tongue, or stroke of his finger, made me hungry, desperate for more, for any pain he could share. Whatever filthy, vile, dirty purge he needed to use me for, I was all in. I was game. His puppet on a string. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew regret was inevitable, but in the moment of heat and desperation, I let go of reason and gave myself to the monster beneath me.
Dane was everything and everywhere. Breath, sound. Touch, taste, smell. Darkness, pain, and exquisite pleasure, and I was nothing but a woman wanted, a greedy soul wanting more, more, more.
I came on his hand, whimpering, “Yes, yes, yes,” into his neck, and before crashing from the high, we were moving, and then he tossed me on the bed, and his jeans hit the floor. The mattress bounced, and Dane crawled over me, his beard tickling everywhere his lips touched, my skin tightening and tingling.
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