Hurt

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Hurt Page 7

by Rachel Van Dyken


  “Letter.” She gasped when my hands jerked her yoga pants over her ass.

  “No,” I argued, lifting her shirt next.

  “Nixon.” She gasped.

  “Say it louder, sweetheart. Don’t think the neighbors heard you.” I chuckled darkly as my mouth found one breast then the next. She was so damn sensitive that it was wreaking havoc on my self-control. Trace let out a light moan as I bunched the waistband of her yoga pants and shoved them over her hips.

  “Nixon—” She pushed against my chest. “—we’re in the kitchen!”

  “It’s my damn kitchen. I’ll do whatever I want in it.”

  “But—“

  “Everyone’s gone.” I assaulted her mouth again, finding comfort in the fact that she always tasted the same, perfect, sweet, mine.

  I lifted her into the air as she hooked her ankles around my waist, then I walked us into the kitchen and set her on the counter. Once she was positioned where I wanted her, I tugged her pants the rest of the way down and tossed them into a heap in front of the pantry, followed by her shirt.

  Trace’s face flushed as her eyes followed the discarded clothes. “I’ll never eat cereal again without seeing my clothes in front of that stupid door.”

  “Getting lucky in front of your Lucky Charms.” I scooped her body forward as her hands grabbed my jeans and undid the button.

  “Oh, so now you’re eager?” I pulled away, meaning to tease her. Instead, her feet that were hooked dug into my ass, forcing me into her.

  “Always eager when it’s you, Nixon Abandonato.” She licked her lips and then went ahead and licked mine, making me die to be inside her.

  I freed myself as she inched her body closer to me, to the edge of the counter, exactly where I needed her.

  “You know…” Trace’s hands toyed with my hair. “… Chase cooks here.”

  “Unless you want me to lose all enthusiasm, you’ll keep yourself from talking about Chase and his pasta.”

  Trace licked the corner of my mouth then placed a hungry, deep kiss against my lips, rocking every ounce of sense I had.

  Three inches of movement — off the counter. Our eyes locked as I inched into her.

  Her body clamped down around me, and, in a weird, sense of history repeating itself, I was transported back to the story.

  When Luca and Joyce had been together.

  The frantic lovemaking.

  The aggression they must have felt, knowing it would be the last time they could be together.

  Luckily, I didn’t have that with Trace.

  At one point, I’d thought I may die and never see her again.

  But we didn’t have to go fast…

  Slow… I could savor her, move slowly against her and know, without any doubt, she was mine. Forever.

  I was a lucky bastard.

  “I love you,” I whispered as she came apart in my arms.

  I swallowed her soft sob with a kiss, refusing to move, to pull away, knowing she needed the comfort of what she had more than she realized.

  “Hey, guys, I think I— Oops. I was never here…“ Tex’s voice faded as a door slammed behind him.

  “I thought you said everyone was gone?” Trace’s eyebrow shot up in amusement.

  “Mostly everyone.” I shrugged. “Besides, you think I haven’t found him and my damn sister in similar situations? Bastard’s lucky I don’t make him wear a bulletproof vest in case I get an itchy finger.”

  Trace rolled her eyes. “You love him.”

  “I love you.” I nodded. “Tex, I could light on fire and not even blink.”

  “You and your big talk.” Trace winked. “Now, grab my clothes so we can read the letter.”

  “You want to read? After that?”

  “Yup.” She winked. “And then when we’re done reading, can we try a new position? I heard when you’re pregnant that—“

  I tossed the clothes at her face then, because she was moving at a snail’s pace, lifted her into my arms, grabbed the letter off the counter, and rushed her into our bedroom.

  “Now who’s eager?”

  “Read the letter, Trace,” I growled.

  She was still semi-naked, lying on the bed, tempting me beyond reason.

  “No…” She tossed it to me like it was burning her hand. “… you read it.”

  I sighed and sat on the bed; it dipped under my weight. “Fine, but if there’s more sex, I’ll never be able to look at Frank the same way.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Trace,

  I imagine by now you’ve read the sins of my past and realized the hope you have for your own future. I stopped writing in the diary after the birth of my twins… only to pick it up one last time to record the night of your parents’ death. It was too painful to be doing something I’d done my whole life, and I also felt it unfair to your grandfather. My diary for so long had been my affair, it kept my secrets, it kept my hurt, my pain, and in doing so, it was a chasm between me and your grandfather. I had my diary. What need did I have for him? Remember this, Trace... marriage is a partnership, a friendship, a comradery. If it is anything else, then it is simply like having a roommate who happens to sleep in the same bed. When you love, do it with your heart, your soul, your every breath. Don’t make my mistakes. I recorded one last moment in Wyoming My handwriting is not what it used to be. The cancer makes it hard to concentrate on too much, the headaches and nausea make things difficult, but know, I love you, so desperately. —Grandma Alfero

  Casper, Wyoming

  2012

  “JOYCE?” FRANK YELLED MY NAME LOUDER than necessary as he stomped through the house, his boots leavinYAYg mud all over the beautiful wood floors. “Joyce!”

  I hid a smile behind my book then slowly lowered it and tilted my head. “Yes, dear?”

  “Dear?” He blushed bright red as he sat on the other end of the couch and plopped my feet in his lap. “Last time you called me that was when you and Trace begged me for a pony.”

  “Admit it, Frank was the best pony.”

  “You named it after me.”

  “He was ornery.”

  Frank smirked. “That he was.”

  Had someone given me a snapshot of the future, it would not be what was currently taking place in the exact same living room where my love for Luca had been solidified. I still heard from him, though the letters were always addressed to both of us.

  My heart, it still ached, but I wasn’t the young girl I used to be. My heart hurt for the past, but this was the present, and I was finally content.

  And yes, I had found love.

  A different type of love, the type that created a slow burn in one’s soul, only to turn into a blazing fire.

  The love I felt for Frank had started small, with midnight conversations, dates. And it had solidified the day he left the family business to take care of you, Tracey.

  We lost our son.

  But we gained a beautiful granddaughter who we treated like our own daughter.

  Everywhere Frank felt he’d failed with Mario, he’d succeeded with Trace. He had let her be a child, allowed her to run, to play, to get grass stains on her jeans, and fuss during church.

  She was our joy.

  And she brought us together.

  Her joy, in return, gave us love.

  Her love was the fuse for our own.

  “You were yelling my name. Did you need something?”

  “No.” Frank smiled and leaned back against the couch, his muddy boots starting a nervous tick in my right eye as they rubbed against the clean rug. “I just wanted to say your name.”

  One night he’d found me crying, and I’d confessed the way Luca had said my name and the reasons for it.

  Ever since then, Frank had made a point to address me with such respect and reverence that the first time he’d spoken my name like that I burst into tears and hugged him for an hour.

  I had never realized how starved for love I was or how bitter I had been about it until Luca.

/>   What Frank broke… Luca helped fix, and what Luca fixed… Frank nurtured. It’s silly, really. When I write these words, it sounds like a horrible soap opera, but it was our life, our truth.

  “Are you feeling alright?” Concern etched every plane of Frank’s handsome face. I’d never admit to him how bad I knew it really was.

  “Today?” I nodded. “Yes.”

  Trace came bounding into the room, her dark hair pulled into a ponytail. Grandma!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. The girl didn’t do quiet. “Guess what!”

  “Hurry and guess…” Frank winked. “… or she’ll wake up the neighbors.”

  Trace rolled her eyes and kissed the top of his head. “Very funny. But, um… you know how I want to do my part?”

  Frank and I shared a look. She had no idea how wealthy we were, how connected.

  “And you’re both getting old…”

  “Who are you calling old?” Frank frowned.

  Trace waved him off. “So, here’s the thing. I found a way to do it!”

  “Oh?” I knew what she was going to say before she said it. I’d left that magazine on her bed early that morning. “And what’s that, dear?”

  “Eagle Elite University!” she squealed. “They’re doing another lottery for tuition, and my grades are amazing, I think I’m going to apply. I mean, if I graduate from there, I can basically work anywhere, right? Isn’t that the rumor? And—“

  She kept talking while Frank and I stared at one another.

  My eyes conveyed the message he didn’t want to acknowledge. “It’s time,” they said. “Time to return to our home.”

  I feel it in my soul that I won’t be there to see what happens, but I wanted you to know the story of my life, the story of our love. Take care of your grandpa and remember I loved him, dearly. Don’t let him fool you. The man has a heart of gold, even if he sometimes uses his gun to negotiate before he opens his mouth.

  Take care of them. Take care of my lover. My best friend. Give Luca the hug I never could. He owned my heart. Frank possessed my very soul.

  Perhaps, in the future, you will have a similar situation where you will need to make a choice. Who do you live for? Who do you crave? I hope you make the right choice. —Grandma Alfero

  Stunned, I dropped the letter onto the bed and stared blankly at Trace. It was like her grandma had known the future.

  “Creepy.” Trace shivered. “She’s more like Luca than I realized.”

  “Hey!” A knock sounded on our door. Chase poked his head in just as I covered Trace with a blanket. “Sorry, not meaning to interrupt, but business calls.”

  Trace looked between us.

  I felt my body go rigid.

  Yeah, I knew what she was thinking, because I was thinking the same damn thing. How close we were to having history repeat itself.

  “I love you, Nixon.” She kissed my hand as I stood.

  “And me? You love me?” Chase joked, having no idea what we’d just been reading.

  “Yes, Godfather,” Trace winked. “You too.”

  I put a shirt on and shut the bedroom door behind me.

  “Care to tell me why you’re looking at me like I’m a ghost?” Chase asked once we were out of earshot.

  “Nope.”

  “Alright then…” Chase slapped me on the back. “… tag, you’re it. One of the men decided to get drunk and talk up a local police officer about his… illegal dealings.”

  I groaned. “And why am I the one having to deal with it?”

  “You’re the boss, boss,” Chase snickered. “Not me.”

  “Sure about that?” I countered.

  “Positive.” He moved past me. “Phoenix is already in the car grumbling about how we need to stop for ice cream, or he’s not allowed back into the house, so get a move on it.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I followed him outside and looked up at the bright night sky. Shivering, I licked my lips and just took a minute to digest what I’d read.

  Life, was anything but predictable. And I was so thankful that in the midst of all the chaos, Joyce had been wise enough to write things down, and reach out from the grave, giving us both a gift we didn’t even know we needed.

  “Nixon,” Chase yelled. “Hurry up, Phoenix is getting twitchy.”

  “Dumb ass, I’m not twitchy!” Phoenix yelled back.

  With a shake of my head, I walked over to the car and got in. Heart heavy, I made a vow to do what my father never had. Be good. Not just good, great. I would be a leader, a father, a warrior — someone that I could be proud of. If anything, reading that diary had reminded me yet again about what was important.

  And why it was so necessary that I live every day to the fullest.

  Because you only get one shot at life.

  THE INITIATION

  By Kristin Vayden

  PROLOGUE

  Daphne

  MY MORNING STARTED WITH COFFEE. I was sitting at my kitchen table, trying to ignite myself with caffeine, when Konstantin Agron, the six-two Adonis came to my house to find his sister Sofia.

  Coffee forgotten, all I needed was one glance at his searing blue eyes and the tousled mop of his sable hair, and I was on fire. It was almost embarrassing, to have such a strong reaction each time I saw him, especially when I’d known him for so long… at least through his sister.

  My brother Jude had dated Sofia Agron since their sophomore year of high school, which meant that they had been together for four years. Honestly, I thought of her as part of our family. If he didn’t marry her eventually, I’d beat him myself. She was perfect for him, sweet where he was stubborn, decisive when he was not, sensitive when he was oblivious. Thankfully, my brother was smarter than he let on and knew all the above and loved the girl more than life.

  It was both disgusting and wonderful at once.

  No younger sister should have to see her brother kiss his girlfriend… with tongue.

  But, because Sofia was practically part of our family, it was only natural that I’d get to know Konstantin, her brother, and consequently develop one hell of a fascination for the six-two fallen angel.

  Except the guy darted in and out of his sister’s life like a lightning bolt. Bright and brilliant, then gone. Of course the fact that he was forced to take over his father’s business, before he even hit twenty-one, played a large role. And I knew that Sofia struggled with it.

  I struggled with it… but for entirely different reasons.

  Because, while I didn’t know Konstantin well, I knew all about him from Sofia. He drank black coffee, hated snakes, was overly protective of his little sister, and literally threatened to kill my brother if he broke her heart.

  Or got her pregnant.

  But Konstantin started staying away more and more, and the precious glimpses I caught of him became few and far between.

  But that didn’t stop Sofia from talking about him or me from listening.

  But then… the stories stopped.

  Jude held her a lot, and when they weren’t in class at the U, they were together, quiet, as if sharing a pain they both felt… but wouldn’t mention.

  And then, they didn’t need to say anything at all.

  Because everything fell down around my shoulders, and I had a choice to make.

  Because sometimes right and wrong weren’t black and white.

  Sometimes life was grey.

  Love? Grey.

  Death? Grey.

  Konstantin? Red. Blood red.

  And now… I was too.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Konstantin

  I WAS IN OVER MY HEAD. You couldn’t play both sides and walk away without a scar or two to show for it. At this point, I would be happy to walk away at all. The wireless mic felt like a huge blinking sign as I walked toward the rendezvous point. A black SUV pulled into the dark parking lot, the echoing sound of gravel sealing my decision. Pulling in a deep breath, I strode forward.

  Keep it together, man.

  “Sergey.” I jerked my chin
in a greeting, extending my hand.

  The older man took it, studying me through his black-rimmed glasses that reflected the small light shining from one lone streetlamp.

  “Do you have it?”

  I turned away, pretending to be insulted by his question. “If you have to ask that, then we have no business to discuss.” I shook my head and started to turn.

  I needed him to talk… really all he had to say was one word.

  “Wait.” A heavy hand landed on my shoulder, halting my progress. Turning, I glanced meaningfully from the hand to the bodyguard it belonged to. My jaw clenched.

  I hated being touched.

  “I wouldn’t do that.” I growled, my shoulders tensing with both anger and aversion.

  “Let him go, Boris.” Sergey waved off his watchdog.

  I turned to Sergey, raising my eyebrows in question. Hoping it would force him to say something.

  “I believe we got off on the wrong foot,” he mumbled as he pulled out a cigar and took his time lighting it. The spicy and sickly sweet scent of burning tobacco filled the air, sending a puff of smoke into the night sky.

  “We’re all friends here.” He held out his hands, his cigar tipping in his lips, a slight grin on his face.

  “Of course,” I replied, knowing I needed to say something. After all, when Sergey made a statement like that, you didn’t ignore it.

  Unless you wanted your feet in cement, pulling you down to the bottom of Puget Sound. You see, while he wasn’t the head of the family in Seattle — no, that was Petrov — he was the Pakhan in that family.

  Meaning he was deadly, ruthless — soulless.

  “Now, let us finish our business.” He held out his hand expectantly.

  Swallowing, I withdrew the manila folder from my black suit coat. “Here is what you asked for,” I replied cryptically.

  His hand froze. “Everything?” His gaze was dark and cold.

 

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