Penance

by Kristin Harte

  So, Storm was Finn. Like a fish. Fish guy.

  Storm fit him better.

  “C’mon,” Finn said, tipping his head toward a door behind the bar. “I’ll get you set up.”

  I followed him through the door without thinking about where it led, a mistake on my part. Hallways tended to be traps in my world—dark, quiet spaces where bad things happened. Could happen. Always seemed to happen. And I didn’t know Finn from anyone.

  As the walls seemed to close in around me and the shadows crept closer, ice spread into my chest and up my spine while my vision blurred. Not now, not here. Don’t panic. I am okay. I am safe. I am—

  “Hey.” Finn’s soft voice in the dark stole my breath and made me jerk backward. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.” The word exploded from my mouth, an almost instinctual response to a question that could reveal a weakness I didn’t have the luxury of showing. “Where are we going? And why are there no lights?”

  He stayed quiet for a long moment, watching me. Shadows hiding his eyes from me even though I could feel them. Then he pointed to a door. “There’re lights in there along with the clothes. Go ahead. I’ll wait out here for you.”

  I wanted to say thank you, but words were hard, and my emotions felt too raw, so instead, I slipped past him and slammed my hand against the wall, trying to find the light switch. After five or six pats, Finn leaned in and grabbed a thin chain hanging over my head, pulling hard. Flooding the room with light.

  “Still okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Fine.”

  But I wasn’t—not by a long shot. Ink. The man had ink on his arm—a tattoo I’d seen a time or two before. One that held meanings to certain kinds of people who’d been in specific situations. The cobweb around his elbow was also a trendy design, but not usually in such dark colors. Not usually so unrefined and heavy. The kind of tattoo Finn wore was one I had experience with. The sort that implied he’d lived a life that didn’t fit what I thought I knew about him.

  Had he been to prison?

  That wasn’t a question I wanted to ask, though, so I kept quiet as he shut the door behind me, giving me privacy, it seemed. Or trying to get away from me. Most women didn’t exactly have panic attacks from walking down a hall or being unable to find a light switch. I wasn’t most women.

  I was a little bit broken.

  Chapter Three

  FINN

  “Wait. Alder brought another woman home with him? From Vegas?”

  If Lainie’s surprise had been any more evident, it would have reached through the phone and grabbed me by the shoulder.

  “Technically, I guess.” I poked at the remnants of my breakfast—the one I’d eaten while talking with Elijah before he’d had to leave for work. “There’s a guy with her.”

  “What’s big brother doing? Picking up strays?”

  “Lainie.” The harshness of my voice took me by surprise, but her insinuating Jinx was a stray didn’t sit right with me. “They seem nice enough, and it looks like the girl needed a little help to get on her feet. Just because you hate our brother doesn’t make him some sort of devil.”

  Silence. Lainie didn’t like talking about Alder. Bishop either, really. At least not unless she was complaining about something regarding them. Then she could talk all day. I wasn’t in the mood for it, though.

  “Fine,” she finally said, sounding anything but fine. “What are you carving this week?”

  Carving. As in wood. My stress reliever and the only hobby I’d ever really been able to keep up with. “I’m making a statue of a man and a woman for Alder and Shye. Something they could use as a cake topper if they want or just stick on a shelf somewhere.”

  “I still can’t believe he’s getting married.”

  “You should come home. Spend more time with Shye. You’d like her.”

  “Does she kick Alder in the knees every few hours?”

  Hardly. “No, but she makes him smile. A lot. It’s grinapalooza over here.”

  I chuckled as she laughed, moving to wash the dishes. I couldn’t concentrate this morning. My razor had been in the right spot, my house as clean and orderly as I’d expected it to be, but something had felt off all night and morning. Something had been missing.

  I didn’t want to think about what that could mean.

  “Okay, Finn. I need to get to work. You steady?”

  She meant was I craving something. Was I struggling. Was I likely to start using today. Probably not. “I’m good. Be careful out there.”

  “You too. Love you.”

  “Love you too.” I ended the call and headed for the sink, ready to wash up and get my day started even if my thoughts were stuck in a loop. One I hadn’t been prepared for.

  Half an hour later, I turned onto the highway toward The Jury Room, trying hard to focus on the drive. The scenery. The sound of the wheels eating up the concrete and the music playing softly in the background. Anything but Jinx and those nearly gray eyes looking my way.

  I failed miserably.

  Elijah and Lainie had both asked me about the newcomer—the girl Alder had brought back from Vegas. I’d struggled to answer because the words wouldn’t come. Anything I’d have told them would have been too simple, too easy and light. Jinx couldn’t be described with mere words. Well, except for one.

  Disruptive.

  The only word that came to mind when I thought about Jinx—and I thought way too much about the woman—was disruptive. But how could I explain that to my sister and brother? You couldn’t tell someone about a woman like Jinx—they had to experience her. Just like I had.

  All day—every damn minute yesterday—she’d taunted and teased, directing conversations with snark and wit when she’d wanted to. Almost disappearing into herself when she hadn’t. If I had to guess yesterday, I’d have said she didn’t like talking about herself. But after a night of not being able to get that blond hair or those smoky eyes out of my mind, I had come to the conclusion that not liking to talk about herself wasn’t quite right. Her aversion went a smidge deeper. She didn’t like revealing anything about herself.

  Jinx had worked my entire shift at The Jury Room, inventorying the bar and learning how to place orders. She’d been a good student—attentive and interested in what Deacon was teaching her. But I’d seen that veil she kept between her and everyone else, had noticed it drop into place whenever anyone—boss, customer, man, woman—asked her something personal. That sweet smile she gave the customers walking through the door at the bar, the front of confidence she’d throw out there, pretending to be all loud and brash.

  Fake.

  Others might have bought it, but I didn’t. I’d watched her snap at herself when she couldn’t get something right. Had seen that wide smile fall into a scowl when someone greeted her in more of a flirtatious way. I’d watched that confidence crumble when she’d thought no one was looking. But I’d looked. I couldn’t stop looking, it seemed. Jinx was hiding something, and it had eaten at me all night not to know what. Which had led to another problem.

  Thoughts of Jinx and her secrets had come with thoughts of bending her over and smacking that tight little ass. Of pulling her into my lap and feeling her weight on my cock. Thinking of Jinx had led to jacking off to thoughts of Jinx, which had led to more guilt and confusion than I cared to admit to. I hadn’t thought about a woman in that way in a long time. Not a specific one, at least. Sure, I masturbated while imagining a partner with me, but they were always slightly blurry in my head, leaning toward looking like some random celebrity. Jinx wasn’t random and wasn’t a celebrity, and she hadn’t been blurry at all. Those damn shorts she’d worn the day before needed to be burned so she could never wear them again.

  I walked into the bar with my head still buzzing, unsure if I wanted her to be there or not. Unsure what I should do about this certainty that Jinx wasn’t who she’d said she was and my attraction to her. Both seemed far too dangerous to sit on.

  Deacon met me at the door. “G
ood afternoon, sunshine. You ready for an exciting day slinging beer and serving burgers?”

  I’d once wanted to be a doctor. It was moments like this that reminded me how far from that idea I’d slipped. “Absolutely.”

  I turned to head for the back room—because today was Wednesday, and that meant I needed to check-in yesterday’s liquor orders and make sure the back room was stocked—but Deacon cut me off.

  “She already did it.”

  “Did what?”

  “The inventory of the back. Putting the orders away. She did it before I could stop her.”

  My hands itched to work with something, and my chest grew tight. Those were my tasks, my job. Counting bottles in the back was how I started every Wednesday shift.

  “So…what do you want me to do?”

  “Keep an eye on the kitchen for now.” Deacon eyed me hard, looking more concerned than I wanted him to. “I’ll make sure to separate tasks for the two of you so there’s no overlap.”

  As if I couldn’t function without my routines. Which…sometimes, I couldn’t. The razor yesterday, the way I’d forgotten to rinse down the shower this morning and had needed to spend an extra twenty minutes washing the walls because the idea of soap scum made my skin too tight, how my breakfast call to Elijah had been late and he’d had to drop off early, leaving me to chat with Lainie alone. Routines and rituals ruled my days, and I hated to have them disrupted. But I’d have to deal with this particular change, this Jinx in my space. At least for today. “Yeah. Great. That’s fine. Just let me know if you need anything.”

  “Sure thing, kid.”

  He strolled off as if he hadn’t just set my world on a different axis. Me? I headed for the bar. For Jinx. The girl wore a long-sleeved shirt today, covering the scars I’d gotten an eyeful of the day before. I knew cutting scars for what they were, knew the rings around her wrists were from restraints, too. Hell, I’d even spotted and catalogued the burn marks on her upper arms. I’d noticed, logged, and memorized every one.

  I hadn’t asked about them, though.

  Today, those arms were covered, but her stomach was on full display as she’d apparently cut off the bottom of the shirt. Ridges peeked from under the shadow of the fabric as she stretched and twisted, as she glided along the length of the bar, wiping down the top. Looking completely at home. And sexy. My God, did she look sexy.

  “Morning, Fish,” she called as I approached, tossing me a casual sort of smile. One that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

  Calm down. Breathe. Don’t get a hard-on at work. “The name’s Finn.”

  “I know.” She raised an eyebrow, one side of her mouth ticking up just a smidge more than the other. “Want a beer?”

  Yes. Always. For fuck’s sake, yes. A beer, then a joint, then…well, more. Every day I wanted to drown myself in the chemicals that would make me feel then take all the hurt away. And every day I denied that need.

  “No thanks. I’m good.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Easy. Simple. She didn’t know I was an addict, that I’d made too many mistakes to count. That I’d been in prison. She knew nothing about me, and she showed no interest in finding out. I was a non-issue to her. A thought that hurt a little more than it should have.

  I beelined for the kitchen, needing to get away from her. Half wishing she’d never stepped foot in Justice. Half wishing she’d show me something real.

  “How many days?” Parris stalked the length of the prep counter, his phone tucked against his ear and a vicious snarl on his face. He caught me watching him but didn’t stop, just gave me a head nod before saying, “There’re too many opportunities for collateral damage in town. We’ll need to deal with it on the road.”

  The man talked like my brothers did, like Alder and Bishop, even Deacon and Gage. All former military, which meant Parris likely was as well. His Semper Fi tattoo and all that added into the mix meant he was likely an ex-Marine. Though Camden—who’d joined the Marines while I’d been incarcerated—would have said, once a Marine, always a Marine, so maybe the ex wasn’t fitting. Those sorts of details muddled my mind. I’d been stuck in a cage many of the years my brothers and friends had served—seven of them. Three years using, seven spent inside, only five out. I had a long way to go still in terms of making up for lost time. A damn long way.

  I changed direction, heading for the back office. Needing a quiet place to settle my thoughts. The entire bar, what had become my second home, suddenly felt different. As if I didn’t belong there anymore. All because two people had infiltrated it.

  When I turned the corner into the room Deacon used for bar business, I found my boss sitting in his chair tossing a red ball in the air. No, wait. Not a ball. An apple.

  “Don’t you know you shouldn’t play with your food?”

  He cocked an eyebrow my way. “Don’t you know not to sneak up on a man when he’s alone?”

  “Yeah. I do. Learned that one pretty damn quick.”

  Deacon’s face didn’t change—he didn’t look at me with disgust or pity. Didn’t try to push me to forget or talk about those years spent learning entirely new rules and ways to survive in a ten-by-ten cell. He knew more about that time in my life than most people.

  He was also really fucking good at giving people the privacy they needed. “Parris still jawing away on the phone?”

  Subject change: achieved. “He was when I came through the kitchen. Why? You need him?”

  “Nah, just wanted to chat for a few. I’m worried about Jinx.”

  Every instinct in my body lit up, as if I needed to run, fight, protect, and defend—all at once. Funny thing was, I couldn’t tell if I was supposed to run away from Jinx or toward her; defend myself from her or jump between her and whatever was coming. Because something was coming for her—of that, I had no doubt. Alder and Deacon had shown up with her out of nowhere, and no one would forget about a woman like Jinx.

  “What’s going on?” I managed to keep my voice steady for those three words, managed to banish thoughts of the little blonde needing me. My sort of trouble was the last thing she needed.

  “I want to make sure she’s comfortable at the motel, but if I ask her that, she’ll say she’s fine. She’s always fine.” He tossed that apple again, staring up toward the ceiling with a scowl on his face. “I fucking hate the word fine.”

  “Maybe she really is fine.” She wasn’t, but I wasn’t about to tear away that veil she relied on. Not just yet.

  But Deacon had a way of seeing through things even better than I could. “Or maybe she’s never learned to ask for better than the scraps people have handed her.”

  That… Yeah, okay. I’d met people like that. Had known men inside who were grateful for the bullshit life the state had given us. For three meals a day and a place to lay their head down, even if the cells were dirty, the building infested with rats, and the other inmates a danger we couldn’t control. The idea of Jinx being like one of those guys, the thought that she could possibly be so simple, didn’t fit in my head. Those puzzle pieces didn’t go together.

  “That’s not Jinx’s issue.”

  Deacon whipped his head in my direction, the apple gripped tight in his hand. Stationary. The words hung between us. I hadn’t meant to say them, hadn’t even given them any thought, but no way could I—or would I—take them back.

  “What’s her issue, then?” Deacon asked, still staring hard. Watching me.

  “I don’t know.” I didn’t, but I knew that wasn’t it. “I’ve barely talked to her, but I have a feeling she’d ask for what she needed.”

  “Huh.”

  That single syllable sounded more dangerous than it should have. “What, huh?”

  “I’ve just never seen you interested in a girl before. It’s…different.”

  “I’m not interested in her.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  “Apparently I did, because I’m not interested in her.” Not her blond hair, her scars, her curves, her soft
smile when she thought no one noticed…none of it. “I don’t date.”

  “You say that.” He tossed the apple again. Still paying more attention to me than to his edible projectile. “Someday, maybe you’ll stop punishing yourself.”

  That day felt a long fucking way off. “Someday, maybe I won’t deserve the punishment.”

  Deacon sat up with a sigh and rested his elbows on the desk, looking equal parts bartender and therapist. “You’re allowed to have a life, Finn. Past mistakes don’t negate that truth.”

  “I have one. A nice, calm one. I don’t need chaos brought into it.”

  “Life is chaos. And you deserve to have one.”

  “Yeah. Okay. I’ll get right on that.” I took a breath, nearly apologizing for my sarcasm. But not. This was Deacon—he hadn’t known me back before the drugs. Hadn’t decided how my life should be and then watched me destroy those ideas in a storm of bad decisions and even worse luck. He’d only ever known ex-con, addict Finn. That fact actually made our relationship easier. “I’m heading over to The Baker’s Cottage to see if Katie’s got any soup ready.”

  “It’s not Thursday.”

  “What?”

  “It’s not Thursday. You buy her cream of chicken every Thursday, but she won’t have that today.”

  He was right on both counts—I went to the restaurant in town every single Thursday for that cream of chicken soup. I also went to the diner on Saturday afternoons for huckleberry pie and ate spaghetti on Monday nights. Structure, rigidity, attention to the details—that’s what had gotten me through treatment. What had helped me go from addict to…whatever I was now. Former addict? Recovering addict? Neither felt as if they fit, but I wasn’t using, so maybe they were right and I was the one who was wrong. I was the one who couldn’t fit in the definition.

  “I just want soup,” I said, the argument weak.

  Deacon didn’t push, though. Simply reached into his back pocket and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill. “Why don’t you ask Jinx what she’d like and grab her something too?”