Twisted Hearts

by Keta Kendric

  “When I walked into David’s room, I found him lying in his bed asleep. I climbed into bed with him and started stabbing him through the covers. I didn’t say anything to him as I took his life. He screamed and yelled loud enough to wake the neighborhood. He fought for his life, hitting and scratching me, but I was so consumed with rage and anger that I didn’t feel his licks. I expected that Marina would at least check to see why David was screaming, but she never came. Once I was done with David, I turned the blade on her.”

  Megan glanced up and searched my face. I assumed to see if I was viewing her differently. I was sure all she glimpsed in my eyes was hate for the people who’d hurt her.

  “After the police arrived, they found me covered from head to toe in blood and muttering to myself about how I wanted to keep killing them. The authorities must have automatically assumed I was crazy. They cuffed me and drove me to the Pinewood Mental Institution where I spent a month before they transferred me out of the state of Texas to Ravencrest in Arizona. I don’t know how the authorities were able to process me without a hearing or a trial or the legal processes that I’d expected, but they did. They sent me to one of the most secure mental institutions in the country, and I was glad for it.”

  Megan eyed me for a silent moment. My eyebrows rose as her story continued to claw its way into my brain. I shook my head, attempting to shake off the gripping tugs the story had on my heart.

  “That was some story. Jesus,” I uttered. I glared into Megan’s eyes. “I’m so glad you killed those motherfuckers. How the hell did the state place you in that house with a fucking rapist, serial killer, a teenage rapist, and a wife who condoned it all?”

  Megan shrugged. “I don’t know. I never heard much else about it other than the authorities questioning me a few times each month for nearly a year. They left me alone after they were unable to get me to talk.”

  “Fuck. That’s one of the sickest, coldest, stories I think I’ve ever heard,” I expressed. My voice was thick with emotion. “I keep picturing you younger and smaller, going through all that hell. I’m sorry, Megan. I’m sorry you had to go through shit like that. There are some people in this world that deserve punishment, but not you, and especially not innocent, young girls who had never done shit to anybody.”

  Curiosity had me wanting to ask her if she knew anything about her real family’s background, but I left the subject alone for now. D hadn’t found any family ties to Lacey Daniels. The space for the mother and father’s names on her birth certificate had been blacked out, and Megan had been labeled a ward of the state. From the looks of things, Megan didn’t have a history outside of foster care, so I was essentially the only family she had.

  After carrying her into the living room, I sat on the couch before I folded her into my chest. She’d seen and experienced some shit that had chills running up and down my spine for hours. That shit sank into a person so deep, you would never get it out and you’d damn sure never outrun it. She had seen and experienced enough to drive anyone crazy. Megan had fooled a lot of people and she’d fooled me once, but she wasn’t going to do it again.

  I believed her story. I believed every word of it. I’d seen the emotion behind her suffering force its way out of her body. I’d heard the pain and anguish in every syllable of her words, but my gut was telling me that there was more. I sensed it just as I’d sensed something off with her the moment I laid eyes on her.

  She wasn’t ready to tell it all. She was keeping some secrets to herself. Just as it had taken time and a death threat for Megan to tell me about her horrible past, she was going to need more time to tell me the rest of her story.

  17 Aaron

  I inhaled a plate of cheesy grits, eggs, fat sausages, and golden, buttery toast, only pausing long enough to thank Megan for making me breakfast. I’d been watching her like a hawk since her breakdown. After she told me her story yesterday, my watchful eye grew even keener. She’d come back to me, but not all of her had returned.

  Megan was the hardest puzzle I’d ever tried to solve. Initially, I thought I knew enough about her to see a clear image come into focus. However, I think that there were more pieces to this woman that I couldn’t see and that she wasn’t revealing. I was certain that Megan had only revealed to me what she wanted me to know, making it difficult to help her. How was I supposed to help her heal when I didn’t have a clue as to what she needed?

  “I’m going to get you out of this house today,” I blurted out. “I’ll take you on a bike ride.” My statement pulled a fake smile from her as she sat in front of me picking at her food. It was obvious that she had gotten better, but she was nowhere near back to normal…the normal I knew.

  One of her brows lifted at my statement, but she didn’t say anything. I knew her well enough to know that look. Her mind had latched onto something she couldn’t shake or get out of her head. I wish she’d tell me what she was thinking. I wanted her to tell me everything, no matter how embarrassing or crazy. I wasn’t afraid to admit that I didn’t have my shit completely together, but I was more than willing to help Megan if she’d just let me.

  “I really should be getting back to my condo,” she said as she scooted her chair back and headed towards the sink with her plate. After she tossed the food she hadn’t eaten down the disposal, a loud grinding noise sounded as my suspicious eye remained on her back.

  Her movement away from the table had been swift, but not swift enough. Tears had started to pool in the corners of her eyes, which was likely the reason why she’d jumped up from the table as quickly as she had. Megan wasn’t hurting physically, but she was suffering mentally. Seeing her battling her mental anguish and not being able to help her was killing me.

  She wiped at the already clean countertop, a clear indication that something was bothering her. With clearer eyes, she glanced back at me. “I need to move my belongings. My lease will expire in a week.”

  This was her second time mentioning going back to her condo to finish packing. I had been so upset with her when I was spying on her that my mind had noticed but had chosen to ignore the fact that she’d already started packing. I’d seen boxes stacked in her bedroom and some in the living room. She had insisted that she was packing and heading for South Carolina, but I didn’t believe her for a minute.

  I wanted nothing more than to pull more information out of Megan, but I had to consider the fragile state of mind she was still in. Therefore, I treaded lightly and refrained from putting too much pressure on her by interrogating her. She didn’t want me to know where she was moving to and I was beginning to think she had a good reason why. I was obviously becoming obsessed with the woman.

  “You need a few more days to relax,” I suggested. Truth was I wasn’t ready to let her go. “I’ll go with you and help you pack if you think you’ll run out of time.”

  She dropped her gaze and proceeded to clear my empty plate and glass from the table without answering me. I squinted, eyeing her suspiciously. She was hiding some shit, and I intended to find out what it was. I still didn’t understand why she’d concocted that elaborate plan to infiltrate my MC. She had claimed it was for some type of self-prescribed therapy she’d come up with; flirting with danger to try to understand herself better. That was a load of bullshit if I’d ever heard one.

  I flirted with danger damn near every day of my life and it did nothing in the way of helping me understand myself better. I believed Megan knew exactly who she was, but she was afraid to reveal herself fully to me for some reason I had yet to understand.

  Megan had revealed to me another chapter in her twisted life when she told me about her foster family, but she had many other skeletons buried deep inside her mind. How many more secrets was she harboring? Had she gotten herself into some type of trouble that she didn’t see a way out of?

  She wasn’t wanted by the authorities as far as I knew and as far as D’s digital reach went. Other than her frozen juvenile records, her life after Ravencrest as Lacey Daniels had been as clea
n as a whistle. The thing that concerned me was the life she led under the different aliases she used.

  What had Megan Jones, the writer, been up to? What had Kelli Hunter, another of her aliases, been up to? How many other people had she become? Why did it seem like she was running from something? Or better yet, why did it seem like she knew exactly what she was running from? These were the kinds of questions I wanted answers to but was forced to keep to myself.

  “Aaron, I know you don’t care, but biking with me can be dangerous. Do you think it’s a good idea to be seen around here with me on your bike? Despite your cousin’s ways, I think Jake was right about the people around here not taking too kindly to us mixing, especially in a romantic way.”

  I flashed a smile at her. She wasn’t going to talk her way out of this. This was something that I thought might help her, and I at least wanted the chance to try it out before she shot it down.

  “I considered that,” I finally told her. “I know a place we can go. I’ll hitch the trailer to my truck, load the motorcycle, and we’ll take a nice long relaxing ride.”

  A small smile crept across her mouth before she nodded and proceeded to wash the rest of the dishes. I sat watching, observing, anxious to ask, but holding back the questions that had my tongue itching. Megan needed to heal more than I needed to satisfy my urge to figure her out.

  18 Megan

  The question of whether Aaron cared for me or not had been answered completely. After what I’d pulled with him and his MC, he should have killed me, but he hadn’t. He’d had several opportunities to put a bullet in my brain, but he’d held back and stopped himself from doing to me what he would have easily done to someone else.

  However, there was one question that lingered in the back of my mind. Would Aaron have killed me if he hadn’t inadvertently sent my mind into a frozen frenzy? If he hadn’t witnessed my breakdown, would I still be alive? I’d like to believe so, but I believed that Aaron and I were of like minds; unpredictable, complicated, and twisted in a way that we’d never be fully understood.

  I’d been in such a distressed state when I thought he’d killed Beverly and Laura that my mind had gone into the black, retreating to that place that I hoped would save me from the heartache and pain. Instead, I was shoved so far into my despair that I couldn’t figure out how to release myself from it.

  This episode marked the second time in my life that I had fallen into this unchartered state where the darkness devoured my mind and left me helpless. My rape and the news of my friends’ deaths had been an overpowering blast that had jolted my mind, sending it plunging into the darkness.

  What did it mean that I hadn’t retreated into this dark place when my husband had died? It didn’t mean that I didn’t love him. He’d been one of the people who’d entered my life who I would have done anything for. Maybe I’d been relieved that I hadn’t been the reason for his death.

  In the case of Carlos, my mind reached into its deepest darkest corners and all I thought about was the many ways I wanted to kill and torture him. In the case of Beverly and Laura, all I saw was the endless ways Aaron, the man I believe I’d fallen for, had brutally murdered them. I didn’t understand why my mind reacted to situations in the way that it did, so I couldn’t explain myself to Aaron or anyone else for that matter.

  It was only when Aaron revealed that he hadn’t harmed my friends that I’d found my way out of my own mind. Aaron had no idea he’d likely saved me from myself by figuring out what had triggered me. He had metaphysically thrown a rope into the darkness and dragged me back to the right frame of mind. Or maybe my mind had released me. I didn’t understand it and doubted the doctors that claimed to know the human mind could understand it either.

  We had slept in the same bed together for the past five nights and hadn’t had sex. Aaron hadn’t bothered me for it since my breakdown, which was proof that he cared enough to hold back when I knew he wanted it. I wanted it too, but my mind wouldn’t allow me the freedom I needed to go there with him.

  My lips twitched at the thought of some of the epic sex scenes we’d created together. If Aaron wanted it, mind still gone or not, he could get it.

  While glancing out of the kitchen window as I stood over the sink, I watched wide leaves dance against a slow breeze as the clouds hung low in the sky insinuating rain. If there was one thing I’d learned about Florida, the weather couldn’t be predicted off looks alone.

  Aaron wanted to get me out of the house. Maybe getting out would do me some good since my brain kept limping back to the darkness that clung to my mind and tugged at my soul.

  Aaron drove in silence and although I stared out the window, I could feel his eyes on me. He had been attentive to me and careful. The curious glint in his eyes and his paused stares told me he wanted to know more about my past and about why I’d sought out his MC. He had a right to know the answers to his questions, but I wasn’t sure how much of my past I should share with him. There was so much I hadn’t told him about yet. I didn’t know how to tell him some things. Some I could never tell him.

  His hand landed softly atop my jean-covered thigh. I wore jeans and a tank under one of his long-sleeve black pull-over shirts. He’d been kind enough to help me into the shirt, which was large enough on me to be a jacket. Although the temperature was warm, I knew enough to know that the shirt would provide some protection against road rash if things went bad during our ride.

  “Not much further. Are you ready?” he asked me, squeezing my thigh.

  I sat higher in the seat to take in our surroundings. “Yes,” I answered, nodding. I was starting to feel good about his suggestion of getting out of the house.

  Occasionally, I’d caught stunning glimpses and scenes of water peeking from between the branches of the tree-lined highway as we traveled closer to the coastline. The interstate signs had periodically indicated that we were headed towards Pensacola Beach, so the beautiful ocean view coming into focus had to have been of the Gulf of Mexico.

  I inched my window all the way down and leaned into the sun-kissed breeze. I couldn’t imagine ever getting tired of the beach or any large body of water because they represented freedom to me. They were massive bodies, so open, so awe-inspiring, and no matter how much we invaded them, they would never be fully explored. Their goal was to supply us with an escape and respite from our everyday stresses and that was exactly what the beach did for me.

  The crunch of small rocks under the tires became more distinct once Aaron slowed his truck down and turned into what I assumed was a parking area. He pulled into a slot, parking along a strip of paved land that had been built between the highway and the ocean and served as a parking station for visitors. A few feet away from the parking space was an iron railing that kept visitors from falling over a steep one-story drop onto the bed of the sandy beach below.

  I was up and out of the truck before Aaron. Anticipation and excitement coursed through me, filling in the dark spaces that had taken over my mind. My tennis shoes scraped the paved ground as I made my way around the front of the truck towards the railing to get a better view of the peaceful scene that surrounded us.

  Directly in front of me was the warm, welcoming ocean dancing against the skyline. To the left was an endless patch of trees that stood parallel to the ocean but far enough away that it left an opening for a sandy-topped haven that beach goers trekked across. There weren’t any trees to the right of us, which provided a wider area for vacationers and people to enjoy the beach. Some people sunbathed, while others relaxed on towels, chairs, and under umbrellas.

  It was hard to pick out distinct conversations, but the cheers of happiness and the excitement in people’s voices couldn’t be missed. Some swam and played water games, built sand castles, and one group had a beach volley ball game going. Jet skiers could be seen further out in the water as they zoomed by, the hum of their engines revving as they enjoyed the high-powered excitement.

  I leaned over the railing, my body relaxing automatically as
I vaguely heard Aaron at the back of his truck unloading his motorcycle. He’d chosen to bring his Harley because he said he enjoyed it best for cruising the coast or for long drives. I didn’t know anything about motorcycles, so I had no clue as to what was best.

  Reluctantly, I stepped away from the view that continued to call me and approached the back of the truck. Aaron had already taken the huge motorcycle down and had started to collapse what looked like a portable metal ramp. Red and black with shiny silver pipes running all over the place, the motorcycle was a beautiful piece of machinery.

  Aaron closed and secured his truck as I continued to admire the bike. At an angle, I could see flames in the shiny red paint as well as in certain areas of the black paint. I was starting to understand why some men admired their motorcycles and bragged about how good they looked and sounded.

  When I worked for Aaron’s MC, it wasn’t lost on me that some of the men treated their bikes better than they treated their women. I bent to a stooping position, taking in the pipes of Aaron’s bike and other parts I’d never known the names of.

  For such a tall well-built man, Aaron had a stride so light and stealth like he could sneak up on his own shadow. When I rose to stand, he was standing next to me handing me one of the shiny black helmets he held. The helmet was made to cover only the top of my head with a strap that buckled under my chin.

  “Thanks,” I said as I took the helmet and glanced up at Aaron who was adjusting his own over his head. Once I set it in place, my helmet swallowed my head as I copied Aaron and attempted to strap it on.

  Aaron beckoned me closer when he noticed the chin-strap giving me trouble. My gaze roamed his body as he adjusted my strap. He wore a black long-sleeve shirt like mine. His cut was displayed over the shirt. The heavy-looking black leather vest bore his MC’s patches with a distinct patch that labeled him, Enforcer. I watched his muscles bulge underneath the black shirt as he secured the helmet on my head.