Reckless Road

by Christine Feehan

  There were chains on the walls. Dried blood. Sometimes fresh blood. Sometimes the fresh blood was on the bodies of the children. On Player’s body. She hated these nights and his memories. Her childhood had been all about love and warmth. Player’s childhood and those of his Torpedo Ink club had been all about abuse and torture. The contrast between them was stark and raw.

  She looked around her bedroom. Light spilled in from the large window. They were on the upper story facing the ocean, and the view was breathtaking. She could see the details just from the light coming in. She had several of her childhood memories right there in the room with her. Her mother’s things sat on her dresser. A hairbrush and hand mirror. On the wall, a picture her grandfather had drawn himself and Anat had carefully hung for her in every home they had because Zyah had loved it too.

  Her father had carefully crafted the beautiful frame. It was etched much like an ancient scroll, and because her father had been an astronomer, constellations, comets and stars adorned it. Every evening Zyah touched her fingers to her lips and then to the frame before she went to bed, making her feel closer to her father and grandfather.

  Anat had similar treasures she kept in her bedroom. Things that had belonged to Amara, her daughter, that were personal. A lace shawl. Her anklet bells. Photographs. Her beloved husband, Horus’s, monocle. He’d kept it on a chain because he lost them so often, he’d said. That had always made Anat laugh. That monocle was still on that chain, one of Anat’s most treasured items.

  What did Player have of his past but the scars on his body? Zyah had seen him naked the night they’d spent together and knew his body intimately. She knew every scar. Now she knew how he’d gotten them, and the knowledge sickened her.

  She sat in the middle of the bed, her legs drawn up, arms hugging her legs, head resting on her knees, Player restless beside her. She slept in the guest room right next door, but each night she had to come in and put him back together. When the pain was so bad it woke him, he would hallucinate.

  She made a sound of denial and hastily covered her mouth, not wanting to disturb Player when she’d just gotten him back to sleep. It wasn’t a hallucination. She wished it were. She knew Maestro and the others thought it was. They even laughed sometimes, or smirked.

  Player’s illusions always seemed to start with something to do with Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. The Torpedo Ink members thought it was funny and seemed to have good memories of that time in their childhood. That didn’t in any way jive with how Player felt when the White Rabbit suddenly appeared or any of the other Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland characters began to manifest in his mind.

  Zyah’s instincts told her that if Player had protected his fellow members from knowing that his illusions could become reality, then she shouldn’t say anything to them either. She didn’t understand what was going on, and until she did, she needed to stay silent and figure it all out.

  One of the many problems was that the longer she was with Player, sitting with him, getting into his head and sharing his mind, even just to heal him, the stronger the connection between them became. She didn’t want or need that. She didn’t want to know about his past. She knew it humiliated him to have her know.

  The good part about having Player in their home was that a member of Torpedo Ink was always there with him. Always. That meant her grandmother was protected night and day. She also knew that not only did someone stay inside the house with Player and Mama Anat, but someone was outside as well. That gave her great relief and allowed her to work at the grocery store without constant worry that someone would break into the house again and hurt her grandmother.

  She didn’t worry too much about Player during the day because Steele spent a great deal of time with him, healing his brain injury. As far as she was concerned, he couldn’t heal it fast enough. Not because she was being selfish and wanted him gone—that wasn’t it—but because seeing him in such terrible pain was horrific, and watching that throw him into his childhood nightmares was even worse. She couldn’t share those things with her grandmother. She didn’t have anyone she could talk to about it. The more time she spent with Player, the more he was finding his way into her heart—and that wasn’t a good thing.

  Zyah eased her legs off the bed, careful not to wake Player. This time had been particularly bad. It had only been a week since he’d been shot. She kept reminding herself that wasn’t a long time to recover, but it felt like forever when she was so afraid for him. When she cared so much. Too much. She pressed her hand to her throbbing head as she made her way into the hallway. She had a headache now from crying.

  “Zyah?” Savage’s voice came out of the darkness.

  She liked him. She knew she shouldn’t. Violence swirled around him. He was covered in it. Sometimes it swallowed him. But there was—that voice. That genuine caring that couldn’t be faked, not when she could read people when she was barefoot like she was. Savage cared. His eyes might be ice-cold and scary deadly, but he cared, whether he wanted anyone to know it or not. And the way he was with Anat—that couldn’t be faked. He was always so unfailingly gentle.

  “I’m all right. Sometimes he breaks my heart. He’s in a lot of pain, and I can’t take it away.”

  Savage saw a lot, and he seemed to have a really good bullshit meter. She had to be careful to be truthful, even though that wasn’t the only reason she had cried.

  He stepped close to her but didn’t touch her. Those piercing blue eyes of his could chill her to the bone. They could also see far too much.

  “We’re used to pain, Zyah. He’s going to get through this.”

  She nodded. “Thanks for being so good to Mama Anat. She really hates being confined to her bed. She can’t get from the bed to the chair, and she said you put her in the chair yesterday so she was able to move around a little bit. That meant so much to her.”

  He shrugged, drawing back into the shadows. “It was no big thing. She wanted to make cookies and some other kinds of baked goods and needed to get into the kitchen. She’s a little thing, so it was easy enough.”

  Zyah’s eyebrow shot up. “She baked? With her broken arm?” Her grandmother hadn’t said a word about baking. There hadn’t been any baked goods in the house. Not one single cookie when she came home.

  Savage was silent for a moment. Too long of a moment. She tipped her head back and moved closer to the shadows so she could see him, not letting him disappear. “She had you baking those cookies, didn’t she?” Her grandmother could get anyone to do anything. She was pure magic. “She talked you into letting her walk you through the recipe, didn’t she?”

  Savage had one hip against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest as he regarded her coolly. He didn’t answer, just kept looking at her like he might do her in if she persisted in the conversation. Zyah didn’t know whether she could keep a straight face or whether she should even bother trying.

  “I’ll bet you had flour all over you,” she taunted.

  He didn’t blink. He just continued to stare at her.

  She grinned at him, quirking an eyebrow. “Did she make you wear an apron? She does that because she doesn’t like a mess in her kitchen.”

  Savage didn’t so much as change expression. As opponents went, he was good. Really good. Zyah could imagine her grandmother having great fun with him. There was no sound to warn her, but she knew they weren’t alone in the hallway. Her neck hairs tingled, giving her a warning prickle. That had to be another member of Torpedo Ink, or Savage would have reacted. Savage and Destroyer were usually the two partners, so she took a stab at it.

  “She has frilly aprons. You could have worn the one with the sunflowers and Destroyer the one with the bluebonnets all over it. You would have looked so cute, especially if you got flour all over the aprons. I’ll have to ask Mama Anat if she happened to get pictures of you both. She loves to use the camera on her cell phone.”

  Mama A
nat loved to use the camera, but more often than not, she had it pointed in the opposite direction or up at the ceiling or down at the floor.

  Destroyer stepped around her. “This woman is trying to blackmail us with damaging photographs, Savage?”

  “There’s no proof,” Savage denied.

  “There’s proof,” Zyah said.

  “Anat had the camera pointed toward herself,” Savage said in his perfectly expressionless tone.

  Zyah laughed quietly, always cognizant of Player asleep in the other room. She didn’t want to wake him. It was so like her beloved grandmother to have her cell phone out and recording and the camera pointed in the wrong direction. But it also proved Zyah was right and Savage and Destroyer had baked cookies because Anat had asked them to. She would have given anything to see the two men following her grandmother’s instructions.

  “I knew you baked those cookies for her.”

  “What cookies?” Savage asked. “There aren’t any cookies.”

  “Because you and Destroyer ate them all,” Zyah accused. “I know darn well you did. Anat will try to cover for you, but she can’t lie worth a darn.”

  “Go to bed,” Savage ordered. “You have to work in the morning. You’ve worked on Player half the night already.”

  For the first time there was a hint of gratitude in his voice. Just a hint. Along with respect. Neither Savagen nor Destroyer gave much away, but that didn’t matter to her. She always knew her grandmother was safe when they were watching over her. Now she knew they were pushovers just like everyone else around Anat. That really endeared them to her. She lifted a hand to both men and made her way to the next room, where she closed the door quietly and just let herself fall facedown onto the bed. She really was that tired.

  * * *

  “Seriously, Zyah, you should stop by the restaurant before you go home,” Alena encouraged. “The boys are with your grandmother. It isn’t like she’s alone there.”

  She was draped at the end of the counter looking beautiful as only Alena could look in her casual blue jeans, tank and Torpedo Ink jacket. She didn’t seem to notice the looks she got from the other customers as Zyah rang up their groceries, but Zyah did, and she had to hide her smile. Just the mere mention of “the boys” had the women’s rapt attention, and Alena’s good looks had the men’s.

  Zyah was a little shocked that it wasn’t her grandmother she was the most concerned about. She knew Anat was safe with Torpedo Ink looking out for her. It was Player. She was worried that if he suddenly had one of his really bad episodes and she wasn’t there, he could really hurt himself—or someone else. He mostly had them in the middle of the night. That was when the pain seemed to worsen. Or he couldn’t stay on top of the pain because he was asleep and his past was too close. Whatever the reason, she felt like she needed to be there for him.

  “I could stop by for a few minutes, Alena, but not for long,” she agreed. “Even if I call her and tell her I’m going to be late, Mama Anat gets nervous if I don’t come right home.”

  She finished ringing up her customer and greeted the next one. She was a little dismayed to see it was Perry Randall. He was dividing his attention between Zyah and Alena, trying to decide who to bestow his brilliant white smile on. Zyah expected his teeth to have a white star with a little ringtone dinging when he finally flashed her the polished smile.

  “Zyah.” He said her name as if they were old friends. Instead of letting her pick up the bottle of water, he handed it to her to scan but then held on to it so he could look deep into her eyes. “You really need to reconsider and go out on a date with me.”

  Alena straightened slowly, drawing his attention. The bottle of water slipped from his nerveless fingers straight into Zyah’s hand. She took advantage and rang the bottle up fast. It was just that Alena had been so artfully draped over the counter. Any man with eyes had to watch that slow-motion undulation of womanly curves. Zyah nearly burst out laughing but refrained as she waited for Perry to recover.

  “That’s impossible, Perry,” Alena said. “Her man would get very upset with you. Trespassing on Torpedo Ink property can get you in big trouble.” She gave Zyah a slow, lazy wink, ignoring the collective gasp from the various women standing in line behind Perry. “I’ll see you at the restaurant tonight, then, Zyah.”

  Zyah gave her a small wave, shook her head and began checking out the next person. Perry barely shuffled forward a few steps to stare after Alena while she sauntered across the street to stop in front of the store directly across from the grocery. She stood there talking to Lana, the sun shining down on the two heads.

  “Perry, can you move forward so I can keep working?” Zyah asked.

  Perry didn’t respond; he just kept staring at the two women across the street as if mesmerized.

  Zyah rang up Mrs. Darden’s items. She was next in line, and luckily, she didn’t have many groceries. She was with another woman who looked very much like her. They exchanged rueful looks. Still, as Zyah put the items in the women’s totes, they were trapped behind the counter. There was a line behind them and Perry in front of them.

  “This is my sister, Jane,” Mrs. Darden said. “She lives here in Caspar.”

  Zyah flashed her brightest, most welcoming smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, Jane.”

  Jane gave her a shy smile back. “I’m so thankful that the grocery store opened here in Caspar. Marie told me it would, but I knew Inez wouldn’t keep it open if she didn’t find someone she really trusted to run it for her. It can be difficult to get into Sea Haven for groceries. I know it isn’t that far, but I walk, and it’s much too far to walk.”

  “When we get up and running, I’ll have to think about adding a delivery service,” Zyah said. “That might be helpful.”

  “Oh, yes,” Jane agreed, “especially when it’s storming.”

  There were murmurings as the line became impatient.

  “Perry, you really have to move,” Zyah said, raising her voice slightly.

  Perry glanced at her and then turned his attention back to the window, ignoring her and the fact that he was holding everyone up.

  Mrs. Marie Darden was a very sweet woman, but she didn’t have much patience. When Perry continued to stand in her way, staring at the empty street, she whacked him with a rolled-up magazine. “Move, young man. You’re being incredibly rude. That’s stalker mentality.”

  Perry whirled around, glaring. “You old biddy.” He took a step toward her to close the gap between them, raising his fist. Zyah jumped onto the counter, trying to get across it so she could put herself between the man and the older woman.

  “You touch that woman and you’ll be picking your teeth up off the floor.” The voice was ice-cold. Menacing. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind the speaker meant what he said.

  Zyah, sitting on the counter, looked up to see that Keys had come from the back room. He was staring at Perry Randall, ignoring the older women. “You put one hand on her and I’ll take you apart.”

  “You touch me and you’ll go to jail,” Perry threatened, but he didn’t make another move toward Mrs. Darden.

  “There are good reasons to go to jail. I’ve got no problem going if I smash your teeth down your throat because you touched her. Get the fuck out of this store and stay out.”

  “You can’t tell me to get out.”

  “Zyah?” Keys said, without looking at her.

  “Perry, get out before I call the police,” Zyah said, sliding back to the other side of the counter. “Don’t come back. You don’t get to threaten my customers.”

  Randall scowled at Mrs. Darden and then Zyah before stalking out. Applause broke out, which Keys ignored as he went back down the aisle to disappear into the back.

  “Are you all right?” Zyah asked Marie Darden as she began ringing up the next customer in line.

  “Yes, of course. That young man became
that way because his parents taught him that he was entitled. He never had to take responsibility for anything he did. When he was a young boy he was spoiled beyond belief. He used to pull up Jack’s flowers and laugh. His parents would act like it was Jack’s fault. Such an obnoxious family.”

  “They’re getting a little bit of that back now,” Beatrice Golden said. She was a woman who lived in Caspar, and Zyah had met her the very first day she had come to work. “Their son refuses to help them at all. He doesn’t work, you know. He lives off his trust fund. He lies around their guesthouse all day smoking pot. If they ask him for anything, he won’t do it for them.”

  “How sad,” Zyah said. “One would think he would at least have some respect for his parents.” She put the groceries in Beatrice’s tote.

  Beatrice moved to one side along with Marie and Jane Darden to allow the next customer access to the space so Zyah could ring her up. Apparently, they were all going to continue talking.

  “That young man, what was his name, that rescued Marie?” Chiffon, her next customer, asked. She was all of seventy but kept sending little glances toward the back of the store.

  “Keys. He’s Torpedo Ink. He was helping out today, putting stock in the back,” Zyah supplied. He must have seen Perry holding things up on the monitor.

  “He was very fast,” Chiffon continued. “And so heroic, saying he’d go to jail for Marie.”

  “He did, didn’t he?” Marie said.

  “He’s very good-looking, dear,” Jane added. “You’re single, aren’t you?”

  Zyah’s fingers had been flashing over the keys, but she stumbled when she realized the ladies were in a conspiracy to hook her up with Keys now that they thought he was heroic and good-looking. Recovering, she gave them a small smile and a shake of her head. “You are all incorrigible.”