Losing It All

by Wilde, Kati

“Yes, but you didn’t know that. I lied to you. Said I didn’t have family. Said I was saving my own skin.”

  “It shouldn’t have mattered. Saving your own skin or saving someone else, we were all being fucked over by Papa. He was the only one who needed to pay. But I took that shit out on you, made it personal.” Something dark and desolate moves over his expression. “And by the time I got you into that cabin, I knew you didn’t owe me anything. Knew it real damn well. All I should have gotten from you was answers. But you made me feel so fucking good, I made you pay up, too. Took the virginity that you were saving for a husband, then fucked you every chance that I could, even though you were begging for me to let you go. And I’m sorry for that, Maxine. For making you feel like you owed me anything, then for taking what you offered to pay. I’m so fucking sorry.”

  I can see how sorry he is in the bleak torment of his eyes, hear it in his voice. Sorry for the one thing from these past months that I want to hold onto. Sorry for the one thing that doesn’t hurt me.

  Or didn’t hurt me. Until Stone said that he was sorry for it. And I don’t know what to do now. Except shrug and tell him in a voice still raspy after a night of crying, “There’s nothing to be sorry for. It turns out that I will be marrying the guy who took my virginity.”

  I was hoping for at least a smile, or for him to curse my mouth again, but he keeps watching me with that tormented gaze.

  “I just want to be real clear that what’s ahead of us ain’t like that,” he tells me, his voice all gravel. “You don’t owe me anything. And I sure as fuck won’t be asking you to pay up. So you don’t need to worry that I’ll touch you again.”

  “Okay.” It’s just a strained whisper. My eyes are hot, my throat aching, and the pressure in my chest so tight. Vision swimming with tears, I ask hoarsely, “Can I take Daisy out to play before we go?”

  I only catch a blurry glimpse of his nod before I’m gone. Because somehow…the idea of a future with Stone had wormed its way into my head. After he said that letting me go wasn’t so easy. After he agreed to meet up again when this was over. And after he held me so tight while I cried, encouraged me to keep fighting.

  A part of me was still clinging to that future. Not actively thinking of it. Not on top of everything else. But feeling it out there, like a glimmer on the horizon. Something for after all of this. Something good and hopeful.

  Something that promised I wouldn’t be alone.

  But I should have remembered that Stone wanted pussy or answers—and now he’s getting answers. I should have remembered that he never wanted me to touch him or to kiss him. Now he won’t be touching me, either.

  So whatever future had been glimmering ahead…obviously I was wrong. There’s nothing for me out there.

  Nothing beyond getting to Papa.

  It doesn’t feel like much.

  31

  Stone

  For most of my life, Maxine Faraday has only been a four-hour ride away.

  Four hours on a motorcycle is nothing. For weekend rides, the Hellfire Riders make four-hour trips on the regular. From central Oregon, four hours can take you anywhere. The beach, the mountains, the desert, the forest.

  Four hours can also take you to Redding, California. A city I’ve been to—and ridden through—dozens of times. It fucking kills me to know that Maxine’s been so close and I had no damn clue. In a tavern, all it took was one look. If I’d have seen her while riding through, I’d have come down every weekend.

  Because four hours is nothing. Barely any time.

  And that’s never been more true than when she’s riding behind me, holding me so tight. For four hours.

  Barely any time.

  Her storage unit is at the edge of town. She called ahead, saying her ID was stolen and that she’ll show them her passport after she collects it. Add in bolt cutters for the padlock, and we don’t have any trouble getting in.

  The unit is filled up mostly with rustic furniture. “From my grandpa’s house,” she tells me quietly as we head inside.

  She hasn’t said much else since leaving my place. Mostly because it’s hard to hold any kind of conversation on a motorcycle. But I’m not sure she would have talked, anyway. Everything about her seems as if she’s shut down.

  But I know she’s not. I know hurt and grief are roiling around in her. She’s just not letting it out.

  Or trying not to let it out. Because for a long minute she just stands and looks around, her eyes bright with tears that she’s not letting fall. Every damn thing inside me aches with the need to go to her, to hold her close. But I swore I wouldn’t touch her again.

  A promise that might kill me. But hurting her would be worse than dying.

  As it is, I’m waiting for her to take back her agreement to marry me. She still seems to think that she truly owed me back in the cabin. But I figure when this grief eases, she’ll realize what a goddamn asshole I am and try to distance herself from me as far as she can. And maybe she’ll realize our marriage isn’t just to protect her—though it is that, too. But also because I’m a pathetic sack of shit who’ll do anything to keep her bound to me, one way or another.

  And help her, even if I can’t hold her. “Do you need me to look for it?”

  She shakes her head. “No.” Her voice is hoarse. “It’s just…it was hard enough when it felt like I was putting so much of my grandpa in here. But there’s so much of Matt, too. His bed and his favorite chair and his dresser over there…”

  So much damn hurt that I can’t ease. “I take it that you lived with your grandpa, then?”

  She nods, her tears spilling over, then chokes out a laugh before sending me a watery smile that says the joke’s on her. “My parents drowned in a boating accident when I was eight and Matt was twelve. Not just them. My grandma and aunts and uncles, too. So Grandpa took us in.”

  Ah, fuck. My poor girl. “That’s what happened to me,” I tell her quietly. “But it was a car accident that killed my parents.”

  Confusion creases her brow. “But I thought your mom and dad were alive? Victor threatened them.”

  Yeah, he did. On top of what he did to her brother, just another reason to kill him. “I was adopted. Anna, too. And I wasn’t as old as you—I don’t remember my real parents much. My adopted parents have always been Mom and Dad to me.”

  “Oh.” She wipes her cheeks. “That’s really sweet.”

  “They’re pretty amazing,” I say. “Sounds like you were close to your grandpa, too?”

  “Yeah. Both Matt and I were,” she whispers, but this time with more bittersweet nostalgia than painful grief. She takes a deep breath and heads toward a steel safe sitting on an old rolltop desk.

  Pushy bastard that I am, I crowd in and glance through some of the other papers she pulls out and sets aside while looking for her passport, including a few leather-bound diploma covers. Her high school certificate, Matt’s.

  And a college degree. “You’re a veterinarian?”

  That makes her laugh a little and shake her head. “Just a vet tech. I originally intended to become a vet, but then…” She shrugs. “Grandpa got sick.”

  “And you took care of him.” Don’t even need to make it a question.

  “I did. Matt had just started at the FBI.” That sweet smile curves her mouth again. “His dream job. And it was easy for me to transfer to the community college here, start working as a vet tech while…” She trails off, biting her lip. “Grandpa could still work on the farm and get around. It was just better to have someone there. So I was happy to.”

  “You grew up on a farm?”

  “Not a big farm. Just a couple of cows, goats, chickens—and right at the edge of town, so we didn’t exactly grow up in the sticks.” Her voice thickens. “It was a lot of fun. Grandpa made us do chores, of course, but mostly we were just…free. To do whatever.”

  “Like learn to steal motorcycles.”

  Another laugh breaks from her. “That was Matt. Not stealing. But he had a thing for dir
t bikes. So of course I ended up with one, too.”

  Of course. There was no of course for me and Anna. Riding was my thing, not hers. But we also lived in a town, each had our own set of friends. Sounds like out on their farm, Maxine and her brother mostly had each other as friends. Though maybe losing their parents had something to do with that, too. Sticking together. “Is that bike stored in here?”

  “No. After my grandpa… I sold the farm. Because I love working with animals but working a farm wasn’t what I wanted. So I put some of the furniture and other stuff that I wanted to keep in here, but knew we wouldn’t be using the bikes. Hadn’t used them for a while, really. But I wish now that I had more of Matt’s things.” Those emerald eyes fill up again as she looks around the storage unit. “We got a really good sell price on the property. So there I was, with so much money and so many options. But Matt had already been under for a few years, and although I didn’t know exactly what he was doing, I knew that I couldn’t just move to where he was. So I thought that I’d go back to school, get that full veterinary degree. Or maybe travel for a year first. But I wanted to see Matt before making any big decisions. So I went to Vegas and…”

  Her life went to shit. But there’s no need to say that.

  She pulls out the little blue passport booklet. Holds it in her hands for a long minute before looking up at me, eyes shimmering with tears. “When we stop for the night, can we go out and get really, really, really drunk?”

  “Yeah, angel.” I might not be able to help her with everything. But this is one thing I have plenty of experience with. “We’ll get absolutely shit-faced together.”

  She smiles and sniffles. “Good. How far?”

  “About four more hours.”

  Barely any time at all.

  32

  Stone

  Reno’s about halfway to Las Vegas, and it ain’t hard to find a motel that’ll take cash within stumbling distance of a bar. Both places are real questionable, so I fit right in. Maxine, not so much. But I’m pretty sure she doesn’t give a fuck.

  My girl gets plenty of looks when we go in. Then the people looking at her take a gander at me and return to minding their own business. A jukebox is playing some Kenny Loggins shit and no one’s complaining, which tells me all I need to know about the owner.

  She doesn’t give a fuck, either.

  I figure she’s the one up at the bar. About sixty, brown hair going gray, an expression like rusty nails. I’d bet my right nut her name is Barb or Marge. She eyes Maxine, then me, then her lips quirk a bit when Maxine says, “Can I get a shot of tequila, please?”

  Shit, that’s cute.

  “Hold up, angel. We’ve got to do this right.” I scan the bottles. “What did your brother like to drink when it was special?”

  “Um… Maker’s Mark.”

  Can’t argue with that. “Two shots of the whisky,” I say to Barb. “And two more of that Don Julio Añejo.”

  Barb pours the tequila first. I slide one shot glass over to Maxine and lift the other.

  “This one is for Crash, yeah?” I tell her, my throat going all fucking tight. Because he deserved a hell of a lot better. But this is what we’ve got.

  Her gaze softens and she clinks her shot to mine. “For Crash.”

  And it burns so damn good. She throws hers back, eyes going real bright as she coughs.

  I push the whisky in front of her. “You shooting this or sipping?”

  “Shooting. Then sipping more.”

  Sounds good. “Then here’s to Matt.”

  This time she can’t repeat it. Only nods and clinks before tossing it down. Those tears aren’t all from the alcohol now.

  “All right, then,” I tell her gently. “You go and grab that booth in the back corner there, and I’ll bring us something to sip on.”

  I watch her as she goes. Those two shots couldn’t have hit her yet. Still, this is my only purpose tonight. Watching over her.

  Barb’s measuring me up with beady eyes. No need to guess why. I toss down a few bills to cover the shots—then add a few more.

  “We’re going to do a lot of damage to that bottle of whisky,” I tell her, leaning in. “And you’re probably already thinking that she’s a lightweight and that you’ll have to cut her off after this drink. You won’t, though.”

  She purses her lips. “Is that right?”

  “It is. Because that girl just found out her brother was killed in the line of duty. And the only thing she asked me for was to get drunk off her ass. So I’m going to help her do that.” I lay a hundred-dollar bill on top of the cash pile. “You’re going to let me help her, so that she doesn’t ever think her only option is heading home with a bottle. Instead, she’ll know the best option is going out with someone who’ll look out for her.”

  “Fair enough,” Barb says, sweeping up the money. “What’s your sipping drink?”

  “I’m guessing an old fashioned for her. Maybe with a little extra sugar and water. Straight up for me.”

  “Will do. You married to her?”

  “Will be tomorrow.” At least, I hope to hell that I will be.

  “Hmmph.” She begins muddling the old fashioned. “Well, honey—if you change your mind between now and then, I’m looking for husband number six.”

  Shit. With a grin, I ask her, “What happened to husbands one through five? Because you kinda look like a lady who’ll eat a man alive.”

  “Chewed ’em up,” she agrees. “Then had to spit ’em out.”

  “That settles it, then. You don’t want me. I look real tasty, but I’m hard on the teeth.”

  “Oh, I know it. You tough boys are why I’ve got dentures,” she says, popping them off her gums and clicking them together, and I’m still laughing when she puts the drinks in front of me. “Go on, then. Take care of your girl. Just wave when you need another.”

  Probably won’t need too many more. Maxine’s already got the flushed, slightly sleepy look of someone working a good buzz. Sexy as fuck, too.

  But that ain’t happening. Not tonight. Probably not ever again.

  Though she might kill me in the meantime. Because I slide in right beside her, and she begins giggling.

  “Look.” She plucks the toothpick out of her drink, a maraschino skewered on it. “I got my cherry back.”

  She pops it into her mouth, still giggling. And yeah, that’s not a buzz. She’s flat-out drunk off those two shots.

  And so damn cute. “So you just ate your own cherry,” I point out and she sputters, burying her face in her folded arms, shoulders shaking.

  For a minute I wonder if she’s just going to laugh herself to sleep right there, then she lifts her head and pulls the old fashioned closer. Then I nearly fucking lose it when she sips from the stirring straw, cheeks hollowing as she sucks hard, desperately trying to get more than a trickle through the little tube.

  Torn between laughing and groaning, I ask her, “You’re more of a margarita girl, aren’t you?”

  If she’s a drinker at all. But I’m guessing if she is, it’s party drinks with big straws, or sweet wines.

  She nods, then stops sucking to say, “Or rosé. But this is good, too.”

  “Yeah, it is.” To distract myself from her mouth, I pull out my phone. “So I was looking up how to get married—”

  Maxine gives a little snort. “Internet research again.”

  “You got a better way?”

  She nods solemnly, then grins and shakes her head before sipping from her straw again. Her eyebrows arch.

  Waiting for me to continue. As if I can think clearly while she’s teasing me. Or sucking on that straw.

  But I try. “So we can pre-register for our marriage license. That way we don’t wait in line at the county office.”

  Her brow furrows. “I thought you just had to show up at a chapel?”

  “Apparently not. See? Internet research will save our asses. So we’ll fill it out now, yeah?”

  She nods, scooting closer, watching
as I begin typing in my info. “Your name is Aaron?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How’d you get Stone?” Then she giggles. “Never mind. I can guess.”

  She’d be guessing wrong. Except that my cock’s hard enough to prove her right. “It’s because of high school football.”

  Her eyes go wide. “You pulled your dick out during a football game?”

  Oh shit. When I stop laughing, I explain, “They called me the stone wall. Because of my last name. And it stuck.”

  “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh,” she says like it’s the most amazing story she’s ever heard. “Stone Wall.”

  “Yep.”

  “Matt used to call me Mad Max. But it didn’t stick.”

  “Mad?” I type my parents’ info into the form. “As in angry or as in crazy?”

  “Neither, really. More like…survived the apocalypse that took everyone else.”

  Everyone in her family except her grandfather and her brother. And now…even them. I hear when that realization hits her, the hitch in her breath.

  Grief swims in her eyes. “I guess I really did.”

  “Hey.” I set down the phone, cradle her face in my hands. “It’s all right. I know it hurts. But they’re real glad you survived. That you made it through.”

  “I’m not sure I’m through yet.” Her tears slip over, and I can feel that hot salty pain in the back of my throat. “I’m not sure I ever will be.”

  “Yeah, you will. Because I’m going to help you.”

  Though that doesn’t reassure her. Her eyes close and her voice breaks on a sob. “I probably won’t even live through this. Everything always goes so wrong. Saving Matt. Saving you. This plan to get Papa probably will, too.”

  “No, angel,” I tell her, chest aching. “Don’t you think that. We’ll do this together, yeah? And we’ll both get through. Because I won’t let anything happen to you. All right?”

  She doesn’t answer, eyes still closed, mouth trembling.

  With more steel in my voice, I ask again, “All right?”

  Finally she nods but doesn’t look at me. Instead she sniffles and pulls her drink close again, then drains the glass with a long swallow.