The Cane Series: A Complete Forbidden Romance Series (4-Book Set)

by Shanora Williams

  “Come with me,” he insisted, killing the engine and getting out.

  What? Was he serious?

  He pushed out of the car, shutting the door behind him, and I looked around, my heart pumping as I got out. I rubbed the back of my arms with my hands, even though it was nearly eighty degrees outside. “Cane…why are we here?”

  “Because this is where I grew up.” He stared at the house, and I lowered my guard just a notch, realizing what this was.

  “Oh.”

  He inched forward, giving the house a complete sweep with his eyes. “It used to look much better than this,” he laughed dryly.

  “What happened to it?” I stayed close to him when I heard deep laughter in the distance.

  “When I sent my mom to rehab, she couldn’t keep paying the bills for the place. She wasn’t working after all. The house was in Buck’s name. He tried selling it, but couldn’t make anything happen, probably because no one would be dumb enough to buy a home in this neighborhood. Technically, he still owns it, but I highly doubt he’ll be coming back to this piece of shit. It’s paid off, though. When I’d saved up a few checks from selling for Jefe, I paid the mortgage off myself so Mama wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.”

  I stood at his side, looking at the house too. “That was nice of you. I can’t believe you grew up in this neighborhood, though. Doesn’t fit you.”

  “Funny enough, it’s all I really remember about my childhood. There were good and bad days. I heard gunshots all the time. Got into a shit ton of fights. I even got robbed…but that only happened twice before I learned to stand up for myself.” He looked to his left as a kid rode a bike across the street. “This neighborhood was a fucking hellhole when I stayed here—way worse than it appears now. I constantly promised Lora, my mother, and myself that I would get us the fuck out of here. I told them I would do something great—make a change in our lives so that we didn’t have to deal with struggling, or wondering what we would eat for dinner some nights.” He snatched his sunglasses off, and I realized his eyes were red and damp.

  He huffed a laugh, dropping his head. “I sold drugs here,” he confessed. “When I was eighteen, I ran every street in this neighborhood. I owned it…and then I met your father.” He turned to look at me. “And I realized there was still a chance for me to do good. Be good. What I was doing wasn’t right. I was a terrible kid, but he saw potential in me. He saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself.”

  My throat thickened with every word he shared. I had to tear my gaze away so my vision wouldn’t become blurry.

  “I’m not proud of what I did here to get to where I am now. The people I had to threaten. The lives I almost took just to be at the top of the food chain…but I did what I had to do for my family. They were all I had, so I did what I could, until better solutions arrived.” His tongue ran over his bottom lip as he stared at the house. He stalled for a moment, and then he moved, walking up the dirt walkway. “Let me show you something.”

  I followed behind him, and he went around the back of the house, where a broken-down shed was leaning. Pulling the doors open, he coughed and fanned the air with his hand as dirt and dust clouded him. I stayed back, waiting for it to clear up, and when it did, he stepped inside. He turned halfway, offering a hand, and I took it, gingerly moving into the shed.

  It was mostly empty and smelled of mold and moth balls. “Watch your step,” he cautioned as he stepped over a hole in the floor.

  He stood in front of a shelf that had empty wine bottles on them. The bottles didn’t have labels. “What’s all this?” I asked as he picked up a stack of papers that was beside one of the bottles.

  He handed them to me, and I swiped the dirt and dust off with my hand, reading it over.

  It was a business plan for Tempt. A complete outline, with income goals, types of wine, and everything. I looked up at him.

  “Buck claims to be the one who thought of Tempt and all it represents, when the truth is he overheard me talking to a friend whose family makes the wine. I had to be about twenty, twenty-one. I went to school with this friend of mine, and he had a father in Italy who owned a vineyard. He’d bring me some of the wine to try, but his father never sold it. He made it because he loved it, but the taste was absolutely incredible. These were the bottles he’d bring or send to me,” he said, pointing at the shelf of empty green bottles. “My friend, Joey, visited one night, and I told him we could sell that wine and make his family a fortune. All we needed was his father to agree—which he did—a plan, and a name. We did a lot of the planning at school, but Joey came here a few times when I had to do something for my family. While we were planning, though, I couldn’t for the life of me think of a damn name for the brand. Unfortunately, when I was thinking of names one night, going over a list with Joey, I was on the front porch and Buck was around. He came outside and said I should have called it Tempt, because he was tempted to hit me with one of his beer bottles if I didn’t shut the hell up so he could hear the game. His words exactly.” He huffed a laugh, head shaking. “I never thought there’d be a day when Buck had a good idea…but even Joey said that name wasn’t bad, because the wine is strong and still a little sweet, and it sneaks up on you…so we went with it, but he didn’t have shit to do with building Tempt. I was the one who came up with that business plan, working hard on it every single night in college when I should have been studying. I was the one who went to Draco and risked my life, all for a dream, and all while still selling his drugs. All Buck did was mention the word during one of his annoying tirades, and it stuck with me. He didn’t own the word. He threatened me with it. I don’t even know how he remembers that conversation, given that he was drunk like always, but he’s used it against me for years, claiming he thought of Tempt and everything it stands for. I was tempted to change the name, but I was stubborn back then and wanted to prove a point to him, that he didn’t own the fucking word.” He smashed his lips together. “You know that he actually tried to go to court over it while he was in prison? Of course it didn’t get anywhere. No one wanted to represent a man in jail. But he’s had time to think. He’s going to come with some bullshit, and he’s going to want a lot of money.”

  “Well, why don’t you give him some so he can leave you alone?” I urged

  “It doesn’t matter how much I give that motherfucker, he’ll never leave us alone, Kandy.” He looked me in the eyes. “I tried it before. I filled his commissary—stuffed it with money so he could get whatever the hell he wanted and so he would leave us the hell alone, but was he satisfied with that? No. He kept making threats. Kept writing to my mother. Kept sending me letters, telling me that I couldn’t buy his silence.”

  Damn. I didn’t even know how to respond to that.

  “He’s miserable, and I’m sure you’ve heard of the saying ‘misery likes company?’ He hates knowing that we are happy. He wants us to be just as fucked up and miserable as he is and will do anything to make us feel that way.”

  “Is that why you brought me here? To vent about him?”

  He looked all around him, and eventually shook his head. “No. I came because I wanted to see it one last time before I left it behind for good. When I lived here—way before I met you or your family—I’d constantly come back to this house, even after Buck went to jail and Mama was hardly around. I came at least once a week just to torture myself,” he breathed. “I’d remember all that happened here—the hatred that seeped through the walls. The fighting. The years of abuse…but then I met the Jennings.” He put his eyes on mine, taking a step toward me and grabbing my hands. “And when I met that beautiful family and saw how happy and complete you all were, I came back here less and less. Unlike Lora, I didn’t run without looking back. I kept looking back, and it fucked me up for years.” He cupped my face, watching my eyes carefully. “I also wanted to show you where we grew up, to let you see why we fight so hard for what we want…because this is where we came from. What Lora did was truly fucked up, but sh
e did it for you and me, and I can’t fault her for that because if the roles had been reversed, I would have done the same for her.”

  I pressed my cheek into his palm, nodding. “I know you would have. And I don’t blame her for it, or you for thinking that way.”

  His hand moved down to tip my chin. He dropped a smooth, warm kiss on my lips and then sighed as he pulled away. “Come on. Let’s get out of here,” he said, grabbing my free hand. “And hold onto that. I might use some of those notes to write a book one day.” He winked and led the way back out. We walked back to the car, and I got into the passenger seat. He walked around the car to get to the driver’s side, but didn’t get in right away. He stood outside of it for a while, and I had a feeling he was giving the house one more view.

  When he was in the car, he put it in gear without hesitation and drove off without looking back.

  He’d mentioned that when he met my family, that he’d stopped torturing himself by coming back, but I think in that moment, he had really let that torture go.

  His brutal past.

  The years of abuse.

  His broken soul that had slowly been restored thanks to meeting my family.

  He let it all go, and for the first time in all the years I’d known him, he was finally in control of his own life.

  Chapter Thirty

  CANE

  There was one more place I wanted to show to Kandy before going back home. It was a place that I had pretty much called my second home.

  Killian’s Tattoo Parlor.

  When I first started getting tattoos, I wasn’t even the legal age to get them, but I went to Killian’s garage anyway. Now, thanks to the fifteen grand I’d promised to give him if I ever got successful, he’d opened up his own shop. I was basically Killian’s canvas as a teenager, and he did one hell of a job. Every tattoo I had? They were drawn by him. My tattoos weren’t regrets. They all had meaning and represented my life in some way, shape, or form.

  “A tattoo shop?” Kandy asked as I locked the car.

  “Yep. I’m craving some new ink.”

  “You’re basically slathered in ink,” she laughed, hooking an arm around my waist. “Where are you going to get another one?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get one on my face. Haven’t tried that yet.”

  She busted out laughing. “You do that and I’ll strangle you.”

  The shop was just as I’d remembered. The walls were painted burgundy, and there were three black leather chairs in their own corners. Every corner was vacant except Killian’s. He was inking up someone’s back, focusing hard on his work, brows furrowed and all, like I’d remembered. That focused face of his still hadn’t changed. Killian was a buff guy. He lifted a lot, and by the looks of him now, he hadn’t stopped. His skin was light-brown, his head bald. He had several face piercings and both ears pierced, and of course he was decorated in ink. Full sleeves on both arms. He even had tattoos on his legs and feet. “How can I help you?” he mumbled with his thick, southern accent. He was never a man for many words.

  “There’s a lot you can help me with, actually,” I said.

  Killian looked up, his eyes getting bigger. “Ho-ly shit!” he bellowed, stopping the buzz of the needle. “Cane? What are you doing here, man? Shouldn’t you be somewhere in Hawaii or some shit where all the rich people are?”

  I laughed. “Just visiting.”

  “You know I’m always happy for a visit.” He placed his needle down and said something to the man before taking his gloves off and walking my way. “Look at you, brother. Don’t even look a day past thirty.”

  “The gray hair says otherwise.” We did our brotherly hug, clapping each other on the back. When he pulled away, he dropped his eyes to Kandy. “This is Kandy, my girl.”

  “What, as in girlfriend?” he inquired, cocking his pierced brow.

  I smiled. “I don’t know. I can’t really figure out what to call us. Maybe you should ask her.”

  “Well, what is it, little lady? This man holding you hostage, or do you really love him?” Killian asked, grinning.

  Kandy blushed and fought a smile. “I’m whatever he wants me to be.” She giggled. “But girlfriend sounds more formal, so let’s stick with that for now.” She beamed, looking up at me. I winked back.

  “That’s good to hear,” he said.

  “How much are your tattoos?” Kandy asked, looking around at a few of the artworks hanging on the walls.

  “I have a price sheet on the wall over there, but seein’ as I owe this man for a lot of shit, I got you. What you want?”

  Kandy looked up at me. “I want what he has on his knuckles.”

  Killian focused on my hand. “Oh, yeah. RISE.” He bobbed his head. “You got it. Let me finish him up, and then I’ll get to you.” He walked off, and I looked down at Kandy.

  “RISE, huh?” I quirked a brow.

  “Yep. We’re rising together.” She grabbed my hand, bringing it up and entwining her fingers between mine. “We can only go up from here, right?”

  I couldn’t fight my smile. “That’s right, baby.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  KANDY

  I got the tattoo exactly where I said I would, right on the edge of my left hand, linked to my pinky. “You’re right,” I said to Cane, in awe of my new ink as we walked out the shop. Killian had covered it in some kind of plastic-looking stuff. He said it was like a Band-Aid, but for tattoos. “It wasn’t too bad, and these are addicting. I already want another one.”

  “Let’s see what you think when it starts peeling and itching like a motherfucker,” he laughed, unlocking the car. He started the car up, but I grabbed his hand before he could put it in gear. “While we’re here…I think there’s one more stop we need to make,” I suggested.

  He looked me in the eyes, and as if he’d read mind, he nodded once and started driving. The drive from this side of town to get there was close to thirty minutes, but when the area started to look familiar, my pulse quickened, and I tensed in my seat. I could feel Cane glancing at me every so often, but he didn’t say a word. Just drove with the music playing to fill the silence.

  And then we were there.

  Cane pulled into the driveway, and as he did, my house came into view. My childhood home, painted a dark blue with white shutters. I looked to the left, at the tree that used to have my tire swing on it, and then at the rose bushes that Mom still tended with loving care.

  This place was my safety once. It was all I knew.

  Dad’s police truck was parked in the driveway, and I had a feeling Mom’s car was in the garage, since it was well after four in the afternoon. We sat there for a while, just staring, and then Cane finally spoke. “You don’t have to do it today, Kandy.”

  “Yeah, Cane. I do. It’s been long enough.” I unclipped my seatbelt. I started to get out, but stopped just as quickly, looking back at him. “Come in with me?”

  He looked unsure. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

  “Please. My dad may act like he hates you, but I know he doesn’t. He still cares about you, Cane.”

  His eyes became glossy. Pressing his lips, he shut the car off and grabbed the door handle, getting out with me. We walked to the front door together, hand-in-hand, and before I could knock, it was already swinging open.

  “Mom,” I breathed as she looked me all over. Without a word, she rushed out, roughly towing me into her arms. She held me so, so tight, and my eyes burned, just from feeling her warm arms around me.

  “Kandy! Oh, my baby!” She released me to hold my face in her hands caressing it with her thumbs. “Look at you.” Her smile was a mixture of guilt and glee. She then shifted her gaze to Cane, and her smile slowly faded. Tipping her chin, she looked him over, pulling her hands from my face. “She looks a lot better,” she said to him, and I assumed that was some form of thank you.

  Cane nodded, barely smiling.

  “Come inside,” she insisted, ushering me in. I went into the house, smellin
g something sweet in the air. It smelled like her snickerdoodles, which she only baked when she was stressed. Cane followed behind us, closing the door after him.

  “Where’s Dad?” I asked, rounding the corner and checking the living room. He wasn’t there.

  “Man cave.” Her tone was flat. “He’s been down there a lot lately…drinking.”

  My eyes stretched, and Cane let out a harsh breath. “Any stunts?” he asked.

  “Fortunately, no. I think his new role as Sergeant makes him think first now.”

  “So he got the position?” I asked, excited.

  She smiled, nodded.

  “That’s good!” I tucked a piece of hair behind my hair. “I tried calling you a few days ago.”

  Mom’s eyes fell. “I know.”

  My brows strung together. “Why didn’t you answer? Or at least call back that same day?”

  Her throat bobbed. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I guess I was being selfish? I knew you were happy, and I didn’t want to hear the happiness in your voice when I missed you so much.” That surprised me. I opened my mouth, but clamped it shut a second later. “Not only that, but I didn’t want to ruin that happiness. This whole thing with you finding yourself? Clearly, it paid off when you left. You look healthy and well-rested again.”

  “I feel better.”

  “Good. As long as you’re happy…” She didn’t complete her sentence. I didn’t expect her to. Of course I’d broken her heart. She looked happy to see me, but also ashamed and hurt.

  “Well,” she breathed, “if you want to see your dad, he’s right downstairs.”

  I bobbed my head, going to the door that led down to the basement.

  “Coming?” I asked Cane over my shoulder.

  “Nah.” He held up a hand. “I think I’ll hang out up here, let you talk to him alone.”

  “You can try my snickerdoodles,” Mom insisted, gesturing with her hand for Cane to follow her. “It’s a new recipe. I had a craving, but instead of my original recipe, I added caramel. You’ll let me know what you think? I plan on taking some to work tomorrow.”