by A. M. Wilson
Wouldn’t that be fitting for me? I can almost say I don’t wish that were true.
Attention is drawn when I rise from the seat of the bike. Heads turn, and the whispers cease. I don’t want to make a scene, but I wouldn’t be Sin if I didn’t. I’m a powerful man with a plethora of tattoos, coupled with the beard and I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude, makes me one scary motherfucker.
The crowd parts like the Red Sea, allowing me a clean pass. It’s when I hit the yellow tape that some sorry ass officer steps in my way.
“You need to step back.”
I level him with a gaze, and even with the shades covering my eyes, he cowers. I nod my head in the direction of the rubble. “My house.”
“You’re Nicolai Sinclair?”
“His son. He died last week, makin’ this my house.”
He straightens his shoulders and lifts his chin. “I’m going to need some proof of that.”
“Man, I do not carry his death certificate in my back fuckin’ pocket.”
“Let him through, Davis. For fuck’s sake.” That voice I recognize, and my rage decreases marginally.
The man who’s like a second father approaches and gestures me through.
“Richard,” I say with a chin lift.
“Yeah, you’re welcome.” He stops us a few feet away from the officer. “Sorry about your loss. I know there were some valuable memories inside.”
“Yup,” I grunt, crossing my arms over my chest. My shaded eyes glance back at the destruction once more. The sight of it churns my stomach. “Know what happened?”
He sighs, the kind that can only come from an old man who’s seen too much throughout his life. My gaze swings back to him. “A detonation of some kind. Neighbors report hearing an explosion around two in the morning before flames could be seen sky-high. Didn’t hear about it until I got into the station this morning.”
“What are the chances the bar’s next?” My concern isn’t for the bar. The place is going to suck all my fucking time up anyway. My concern is for the poor souls who plant their asses on my stools night after night, and what would happen if they were unlucky enough to be there when the place exploded.
“I’ll keep an ear to the ground, but I don’t think it’s a big concern. They didn’t know who your father was from what I can tell. My guess is they took out the address on his driver’s license in order to destroy any evidence he might have had on them. Probably didn’t dig much deeper than his back pocket.”
“Right,” I grunt. “Just like them shootin’ him in the head was a coincidence? Do you really have a clue what’s going on with Gutierrez, or is it nothing more than ‘your guess’?” With everything going on and my own reckless behavior, I haven’t taken time to talk to Richard about our failed mission.
A look of frustration shadows his face. “Our information came from a trusted source and even he can’t figure out how Gutierrez knew we weren’t who we pretended to be.”
“Maybe you need some new sources.”
“Dwelling on this will drive you crazy. We do our best to weed out the facts from the bullshit, but sometimes things go wrong. I wish I had a concrete answer for you, but I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
The old man claps me on the shoulder and opens his mouth. Before he says what’s on his mind, we’re interrupted.
“Sir, I wanted to let you know the Red Cross is on their way.”
My head swivels around, and I fix him with a glare.
Before I can kill the guy, Richard steps in. “Get out of here, Davis. I’ll take care of it.”
“Is he kidding?” I growl.
Richard shrugs. “It’s the way we do things. You said you were the owner. Any normal person would be out of a place to sleep.”
I know he’s referring to my many outings of late. I haven’t slept in my own bed in probably a month. Letting his comment slide, I prepare to leave.
“Deal with the charity. I’ll take care of the insurance. Once they clear the place, call me. Doubt there’s anything salvageable, but I’d like to look.”
“Will do. Hey,” he calls as I start back toward the crowd.
I stop and give him my attention over my shoulder.
“How’s the girl?”
Just the thought of her makes my body respond in several different ways. Anger wars with curiosity, and they both mingle with stress.
Snap out of it, asshole. Her well-being is not your priority.
“Fine. Elias has her.”
Richard gives me a look I can’t quite interpret, and it pisses me off. His shoulders sag, and he glances down at his sneakers for a second. “Good,” he responds when his eyes meet mine through my shades.
After another chin lift, I walk back through the onlookers and straddle my bike. With one last long look at the remains of my childhood home, I start the beast and pull away.
Back to Elias’s, back to the girl with the haunted look in her eyes, back to everything that symbolizes the life I don’t have, don’t want, and don’t fucking need.
After swinging by the bar to see what paperwork pop stored there, I grab a bottle of liquor from the storage and head back to Elias’s. The place is silent when I walk inside, so I set about fixing myself a double and plant my ass on the sofa. I reach for the remote and flip through the channels until I find some sports highlights on ESPN. The TV is nothing more than a sound barrier for anyone else who may be home. My mind is too consumed to pay attention to the screen.
I can’t even comprehend the fact that every last bit of my missing sister went up in smoke and flames early this morning. My stupid ass doesn’t even have a picture of her in my wallet. And I was too proud to display her angelic face at my own place. I felt like building her a shrine would solidify the fact she was gone and dead and never coming back. I was too much of a man for that. Too big and proud to give up on finding her and accept that Molly was dead and gone. That the only thing I had left was a memory in a frame.
Now I’m kicking my own ass through half a bottle of scotch.
It couldn’t be more than fifteen or twenty minutes after I sat down and started my path to drunken oblivion when I hear a door creek down the hallway. Of course it’s the little princess because Elias doesn’t walk like a goddamned fairy.
I pretend I didn’t hear her through another swallow when her tiny, scraggly head peeks around the entryway to the living room.
Even ignoring her, I don’t miss the way her body relaxes, and her shoulders droop when she sees me.
“Sorry to bother you, Sin. I just heard someone come in and wanted to see who it was.”
“Been here for twenty minutes,” I grunt through another swallow.
The anxiety etches itself in the crease of her brows and the frown of her lips. “Yeah…I was too scared to come check,” she says sheepishly.
My insides contract.
“I’ll whistle.”
Her face scrunches in confusion. “What?”
“When I come back, next time I’ll whistle.”
“What will you whistle?” she asks, stepping farther into the room.
I shrug. “Something. Like this,” I say, then demonstrate a three-note low whistle. I’m not stupid enough to do a catcall, and this isn’t the fucking Hunger Games. “Like that. Just think an intruder wouldn’t fuckin’ whistle. You hear that, that’s the all-clear.”
The girl smiles a shy smile. Her lips tip up, but it doesn’t meet her eyes. I don’t know if she even knows how to produce a genuine smile like that. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” I go back to drinking while she edges herself farther into the room. When I go to pour myself another double, her quiet voice interrupts me. I look up to find her nearly right next to me on the couch.
“Do you have cat feet?” I ask a little drunkenly.
“I’m sorry?”
“You’re so goddamn quiet I didn’t even hear you cross the room.” I sit back with a big swallow.
“I think it’s a learn
ed skill.” The tone isn’t to be mistaken. She’s referring to sneaking around the traffickers.
I’m a fucking idiot.
“Sorry,” I grunt.
“It’s okay.”
Silence engulfs the two of us fucked-up people sharing a couch. So what do I do? Drink. Nothing breaks the awkwardness like a healthy dose of alcohol.
“Why do you do that?” She breaks the quiet.
My head turns slowly to take her in. She’s wearing another tee that’s way too huge, this one black, and a pair of flannel sleep pants. These seem to fit her better than the tee, so I’d guess that Elias picked them up from somewhere. She looks warm and timid, like a little, soft rabbit.
I realize I’m glaring when she cowers a little. “Sorry. Do what?” It doesn’t escape me that I’ve apologized twice now in the span of five minutes. I spend every minute of every day apologizing to Molly in my head, but I can’t remember the last time I uttered the words to another living human being.
“Drink. I mean, it seems like you’re drinking or drunk every time I see you. I don’t mean to call you out; I’m just curious why.”
The question angers me. My hands curl into tight fists. “Why the fuck do you care? It’s not any of your business.”
She scurries back against the arm of the couch, my words alone scaring the crap out of her. “It’s not, you’re right.” Her chest rises rapidly and falls slower with a long, deep breath. “All the men I’ve met in the past two years did nothing but drink. I can’t help but wonder if you’re one of them.”
The hand holding my glass of scotch freezes in midair. The breath I just took expands in my chest to the point it hurts, and I can’t take air in or let it out. I’m suffocating, choking on her words.
My back molars grind together so forcefully it’s a wonder one of them doesn’t snap right in half.
Using all my control, I force the air out through my nose. It’s a slow, painful process. Everything inside is screaming at me to let it out in a loud bellow of rage. My muscles tense with the desire to beat the fuck out of something. Before I break the glass, I lean forward and, as gently as I can manage in my drunk, furious state, I place it on the coffee table.
Only then do I move.
With perfect precision, I stand, plant a knee on the couch, and throw myself in the direction of the girl. An arm lands on each side of her, one on the arm of the couch and one planted in the backrest, caging her in. The girl’s eyes go wild with fear at my swiftness and proximity, but I don’t give a single fuck. Her words cut deep. So deep, I don’t think I can staunch the bleed.
Lowering my face to hers until there’s nothing more than a centimeter of space between our lips, I force her gaze to mine. She tries to hide her head, but I’m one step away from physically holding it in place.
“I’m a goddamn man. A man who lives and breathes life without anyone telling me what the fuck I need to do. I want to drink; I’m going to drink. I want to fuck; I’m going to find a nice, hot wet pussy to fuck. I want to drive; I’m going to hop on my motorcycle and take off without relaying my whereabouts to anybody. I am a fuckin’ man.
“What I’m not,” I pause, trying to control the pain twisting inside, “is a lowlife piece of shit who abuses and rapes women to get his fuckin’ rocks off. What I’m not is a man who has a woman beneath him wearing nothing but a thin tee, and more helpless than an injured bird, and takes advantage of that.” I spear her with a scowl. “Don’t doubt for one fuckin’ second that I couldn’t rip those tiny clothes off your skinny ass and fuck the shit out of you, and you couldn’t do one. single. thing. about it until I was good and done with you. Don’t ever doubt my power. And don’t lump me in with those goddamn pieces of shit all because I like to drink. Fuck!”
Finished with my tirade, I throw myself backward off her, grab my glass, drain it, and trudge drunkenly to the sink. My hands tremble so hard they make little tap, tap sounds against the metal basin, so I grip the countertop until my knuckles turn white. Guilt swamps me as the moment recedes, and I start to calm back down. “All I said is true, but you also don’t have to question my restraint,” I whisper. My heart pounds in my chest as the words choke me, and painful memories flash before my eyes. “I would never fuckin’ hurt a woman.”
“I know.” Her timid voice sounds behind me a second before her tiny hand wraps around my bicep. “I’m sorry I said that.” She finishes on a squeeze before turning and practically running down the hall.
I stay planted in the kitchen until I hear her door slam shut. Once I’m alone, my shoulders slump in shame.
After rinsing my glass, I turn out the lights and turn off the TV. As I pass, I snag the half-empty bottle and make my way to Elias’s room. He can take the fucking couch. I’m finishing this bottle, then sleeping in a real bed.
I moan in my sleep. Something prods my shoulder. “Fuck, go away,” I groan still half drunk and half asleep. Securing my pillow against my chest, I roll over and face the middle of the bed.
The poking starts again, this time on my back.
“What?” I snap.
“Sin, are you awake?”
This fucking girl, I swear to God. “I am now,” I mumble.
“There was a noise, and I don’t think it was Elias. It was too loud, and normally, he’d come into my room and let me know he was home.”
Just as she finishes speaking, a loud thud comes from somewhere outside the door. I’d guess the living room.
I’m up in a flash. The girl’s eyes widen when I jump out of bed, but she doesn’t say anything else.
“Get in the bed and stay quiet. I’ll be right back.” I don’t wait for her response.
Grabbing my Glock from where I left it on top of the dresser, I open the door and walk down the hall.
The house is dark except a small light over the sink in the kitchen. We’ve been leaving it on at night for the girl, and tonight is no different. That light is just enough to illuminate the person stumbling through the living room. I watch in amusement as he runs into the shelf by the TV and lets out a loud, “Shit!”
I hold the gun loosely at my side. Crossing my other arm over my chest, I lean against the wall. “You drunk, brother?”
“Fuck!” he yells, spinning around. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Serves you right for scaring the shit out of your little houseguest.”
Realization dawns all over his intoxicated face. “Oh, shit. Is she all right? I should check on her.”
Elias moves to walk past me, but I stop him with a hand to his chest. “She’s fine. I have her.”
He looks at me in disbelief. “You’ve got her?”
“What’s wrong with me?” I ask in amusement.
“You’re an ass.”
“You’re drunk.”
“So?”
“Why? I’m the drunk asshole, remember?”
Elias flops down onto the couch. “Yeah, well, I couldn’t let you have all the fun.”
I push away from the wall. “That’s fine, man, but maybe we should coordinate this better. I already drank nearly a bottle this evening. I would have held off had I known you were going out to get shit-faced.”
Elias leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He face plants into his palms. “I know,” he groans. “Believe me, this wasn’t my plan.”
“You all right?” I busy myself with straightening the shelf he ran into while I wait for his answer.
“Yes.”
“Bull,” I fire back.
“Just not sure what we’re doing here. I want to help this girl, but I can’t do it all myself. I work. I have a life. I’d like to remember what it’s like to fuck a woman, which, by the way, I accomplished tonight so I can check that off the list for a few days.” He smirks, but it quickly fades into seriousness. “I know you’ve got a shit load on your plate, but I could use your help with her. We’ve got to find out what she needs, or we’ve got to get her someone who knows what they’re doing. Either way, she ne
eds help, and as much as you want me to, I’m not going to toss her on her ass.”
I know it’s the alcohol talking, but him throwing my words back at me sours my gut. Fuck, I’m an ass. “You’re right. On all accounts. I’ll help out starting now.”
His face contorts in surprise before he masks it. “Thanks.”
“Right, well, I’m still drunk, so I’m going back to fuckin’ bed. Try not to run into any more furniture and scare our houseguest.”
He waves me off, and before I’m even out of the room, he starts snoring.
I make my way back to the room and enter. From the silvery moonlight shining through the window, I realize that I didn’t close the shades in my haste to pass out. The door creaks softly as I close it behind me, and I deposit the gun back onto the dresser with a quiet thud. Then I shuffle to the window.
With my back to the bed, I hear her shifting around, and then her timid voice comes at me. “Don’t.”
“What’s that?” I look over my shoulder and freeze.
The girl’s eyes are wide as they roam over the inked skin of my bare back. In my drunkenness, I stripped down to nothing but my boxer briefs, and in the rush to check on our safety, I didn’t get dressed. The little rabbit looks at my body in intrigue with only a small hint of fear. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel that in my cock.
“The curtains. Can you leave them open? Elias always does.”
That stupid fucking sentence injects a stream of jealousy into my blood. “Sure.”
I drop the two pieces of fabric and turn her way. The way she’s looking at me makes me feel like a model strutting down the runway in his fucking underwear. Which isn’t too far off.
I take in the girl sitting wrapped up in the blankets like a cocoon. She doesn’t seem like she’s about to move, so I guess it’s back to the spare bedroom for me. “You good?”
“I’m better now, thanks. It was Elias, wasn’t it?”