I let her pull ahead by a step and then I reached up, wrapping my arm around her chest and clamping my hand over her mouth. She struggled like a cat going in water, but only briefly. Then she passed out. The mix of alcohol, no sleep, and the lack of oxygen knocked her out pretty fast. I dragged her the rest of the way to my room and pulled her through the door.
She wouldn’t be out long, but by then, I’d have her tied up and gagged. It wouldn’t matter what she wanted then.
I dropped her to the ground, ignoring the thud as she fell unceremoniously to the carpeted floor. Stepping around her, I closed the door and dug through my trunk. Nylon rope was exactly what I needed. Then I’d cram a torn-up shirt into Stephanie’s mouth. When I got back from doing what I needed to do, I’d cram something else in her mouth and teach her a thing or two about loyalty.
Then I needed to get ahold of Donnie. Whatever had happened to Ryan, I needed to make sure he didn’t get back to school.
Running things could be exhausting sometimes. After I tied Stephanie up and shoved her unconscious form into the closet, I left my room, glancing with amusement toward Olivia’s door. She had no idea the things I did for her.
She would one day and she’d be grateful for all of it.
Or she’d die.
Chapter 2
Jaxon
I didn’t want to be around Olivia. Or Braddox. Or my dad. Or anyone from the West Shores Academy. I didn’t even want to be around myself, but that was unavoidable.
Staying in Dad’s house wasn’t an option, though. Not when I was ready to kill someone with my bare hands. I roared off in my El Camino, ignoring the fact that I was leaving Braddox in the same house as Olivia. There was nothing more that could happen.
He’d screwed her. And she’d let it happen. What more could they do to betray me now? Nothing. I needed to get away so I could breathe. Gain a new perspective. Was that so wrong?
I clenched my fingers around the steering wheel, ignoring the small voice in my heart telling me she hadn’t known it was Braddox. She’d been expecting me. I got it, but at the same time, that didn’t matter. I didn’t care. Right then, I was too bruised. Too broken. I couldn’t get myself together enough to think straight.
Even with a consistent rain drizzling from the dark underbellies of the clouds overhead, I couldn’t fight the claustrophobia scratching at my skin. I rolled down the driver’s side window, leaning toward the opening and the cool influx of air that brought small drops of chilly rain with it.
The car seemed to let go of the cloying heat and I settled easier into the seat, leaning back and unclenching my hands. Okay, I could breathe. At least I had that going for me.
The trees bounced the revving growl of my engine back at me, the echo eerie and deafening in the early morning quiet. How could I feel powerful and in charge when I couldn’t even keep my… girlfriend? Sex buddy – not yet. What was Olivia to me? I’d never defined her or our relationship. Was it fair to expect monogamy at that point?
Shaking my head, I took another deep breath of the cool air rushing through the window. The cloying prison-like feel to my father’s home was slowly slipping off me. Where was I going? I wouldn’t go back to Donnie’s. There was nothing safe at that guy’s house.
I couldn’t go back to Crenshaw’s. I glanced at the laptop on the seat beside me and winced. Crenshaw. One more loss I had to tack onto the growing list of pain in my life. When was I going to catch a break? When was I going to come out on top?
Just when all I wanted to do centered around being with Olivia so I could deal with the issues I’d been dealing with the last few days, I had to add her to the list of my problems. She’d been the reprieve I’d been looking for and with one single night, just a couple hours, Braddox had destroyed my refuge.
Everything in my life had gone to shit since she’d entered it.
I sighed and shook my head. Except… that wasn’t true. My life hadn’t been right since my mom had left my dad for drugs. Nothing had been good since.
What was I supposed to do? That seemed to be the mantra of my life. I kept trying. I worked hard and did my best and that seemed to be the only thing keeping me alive. I even thrived in some ways.
Braddox didn’t seem like he would be content until he had everything from me – even though I literally had nothing.
He’d even taken Olivia from me.
My mental state wasn’t going to get better as long as I was as tired as I was. Pure fatigue dragged at me, pulling at my eyelids and slowing my breathing. I couldn’t go on much more how I was. I needed to get some sleep, even if it wasn’t very much.
In town, I turned right at Jefferson Street and then left at Montgomery, pulling into a pub that wouldn’t open until three that afternoon.
The lot was empty, giving me some safety and cover while I locked the doors and grabbed a discarded blanket from the floor behind the seat. I pulled the thin material over me, tucking the laptop behind my back on the seat. If anyone got curious, they’d look in the car and not know who I was – at least at first. If they even saw that someone was in there.
I didn’t fight the sleep overtaking me. I needed help in any way I could find it. Rest was the only way I could think of to get things figured out. Sometimes a night’s rest was the only way to figure shit out.
When I woke, later afternoon seemed to be in full swing with the clouds blocking the sun’s exact position. A large semi-truck backed up right beside me, pulling close to the back of the bar.
I snapped my eyes open, pulling the blanket down and sitting up. Rubbing my eyes, I slid my rear over to center in the driver’s seat and pushed the laptop to a safer position on the seat beside me.
The guy in the truck climbed from his cab and rounded the front of the rig, looking into the rear window of my car. I waved two fingers over my shoulder and started the car, then backed up and drove forward, getting myself out of tow-zone as fast as I could.
With a handful of hours under me, I had to do what I would expect Crenshaw to do in my position. I had to check on my old friend’s wife. For some reason, the thought that she might not be safe plagued me. He’d said he was worried about her right before shooting himself in the head. That’s where my focus had been diverted. That’s where I needed to look in on her. Checking on his wife was the least I could do for the man who had taken me under his wing.
But would the people after Crenshaw hound Mrs. Crenshaw, if her husband was dead? I had no doubt the answer was yes. Especially if she was getting insurance money for his death and the business.
I drove to his house. I’d been there more than my fair share, always impressed with how they made middle-class look like they lived like royalty. Driving by twice to see if there were any signs she was home or a sign that there was any danger, I studied the house as closely as I could. I had to keep in mind I was in a neighborhood and people watched out for each other in those types of places.
Around the back of the block, I turned into an alleyway that was mostly for the garbage collection trucks. I turned off my lights and pulled into place behind the house, hiding the car behind Crenshaw’s garage.
Assuming I was in danger was the smartest thing I could do at that moment. Broad daylight and I was a known associate. I didn’t need to bring any undue attention to his widow. I’d hate to be the reason she was injured or harmed more than she already was.
After turning off the car, I closed the door and rounded the side of the shop. From my vantage point, a for sale sign had been hastily erected in the front yard by the street. The grass hadn’t been cut in a while and I couldn’t help wondering how long this had been going on – Crenshaw’s general fear of a threatening group of people.
He'd mentioned being hard-up a couple times, but I’d always assumed it was just something the working class said.
Was his wife scared? What if she came to the door with a gun or a knife? Hopefully, she remembered who I was before she did any real harm.
I approached the backdoo
r, glancing around the yard as much into the front that I could. The street might as well have been deserted. Did they all know something I didn’t?
Climbing the wooden steps to the back deck, I gripped the railing and tried to make sure I climbed quietly. There was an ominous feeling in the air, like if I was too loud someone would come from one of the neighboring houses with their guns blazing. I didn’t need to die that day – or any day soon.
Reaching the backdoor, I continually scanned the yard behind Crenshaw’s house and to the sides. Not a soul in sight. That didn’t reassure me one bit.
I peered into the window that was uncovered. In fact, none of the windows had curtains. I blinked and out of habit, grabbed the doorknob and turned. The door opened and I caught my breath. Was I going to find his widow dead beside her sister?
Swallowing the need to call out a hello, I instead stepped quietly inside, leaving the door wide open in case I needed a hasty escape. I was too far into the house already. I couldn’t turn back at that point. I needed to see the ordeal through. If for no other reason, than to make sure Mrs. Crenshaw was okay.
Shards of a broken drinking glass sparkled on the floor in the corner of the kitchen, catching the very small amount of light from outside aching to get in.
I crept forward, my arms aching with tension holding them tightly at my sides. Was I going to be required to defend myself? Just how far would I be forced to take things?
Glancing at the counter, I furrowed my brow. Everything was gone. Everything of importance anyway.
Trash was strewn around the floor. The refrigerator door hung open, revealing a broken light and a couple rotten pieces of something I didn’t want to try to identify.
Mrs. Crenshaw’s Kitchenaid mixer wasn’t in its prized position on the counter beside the sink. The heating pads she’d hung from the walls with the different species of roosters on them had been stripped down, leaving nails protruding from the painted sheetrock like stark reminders of what had once been.
I moved further into the house, gritting my teeth. Was I going to find something worse than a suicidal-Crenshaw? Was there something worse than that?
The furniture was gone from the living room. More trash and miscellaneous abandoned items littered the floor.
I stayed against the walls, out of view of the windows. The last thing I needed was to spotlight my presence in their house. She wasn’t there. I could almost feel the emptiness of the house as I turned and rushed from the home.
Climbing in my car, I sped off toward the shop. There was nothing at the house. They’d beat a hasty retreat. For whatever reason, Mrs. Crenshaw hadn’t waited. Maybe she’d known about her husband’s plans, maybe not. Either way, she hadn’t waited for him to come home.
Which led me to believe that she was fine with the way things had ended. Maybe she was tired of being harassed as well. Was that too hard to believe? If he’d brought danger around his home, was it wrong of Mrs. Crenshaw to pray for peace and run when she had a chance to seize it?
I pulled into the woods behind the shop, turning the engine off again and sitting there in the silence. I hadn’t rolled my window up. I couldn’t make myself do it.
Every time I closed myself into a space, images of Olivia wrapped in Braddox’s arms – naked – flashed through my mind. Picturing them together was easy since it was similar to picturing her with me.
In my mind’s eye her skin glowed as she moaned and gyrated in Braddox’s arms. Their skin rubbed against each other; the heat was intense. Was she happier with him? Her first time… had been with him. She would always compare me to him, no matter how good I was for her. He was her first.
No matter what, I’d lost that to my brother. What else had I lost to him? Was she in love with Braddox now? Or maybe she wanted to wait on us? I hadn’t waited around to hear what she wanted me to hear. I couldn’t. Between losing Crenshaw, my mom, and my brother, I couldn’t tack on one more loss and keep my sanity in check. Some things were just too fragile.
I had to get out of there before hearing something I didn’t want to assimilate.
Climbing from my car, I didn’t bother locking the door. I didn’t even close it as I left the keys in the ignition. Part of me hoped someone would steal the damn thing so I would have to chase them down and mete out punishment.
I desperately wanted to beat the living shit out of someone. Anyone. As angry and hurt as I was, I wouldn’t beat up just anyone.
No. I wanted vengeance on someone specific. In that instant, I would kill for the chance to pummel my brother. Part of me would love the chance to beat myself into unconsciousness.
The wet grass gave under each step silently, cushioning my emotional strides. My breath puffed out in front of me, fogging in the cold rainy weather. I strode with my fists tight at my sides.
Small tendrils of smoke wafted slowly into the sky, slowed by the present rains and the pressure of the clouds hanging low over Shores.
I hadn’t had a chance to see how far the fire had gone into the shop or if it had reached Crenshaw’s body where he had slumped against the back of the chair.
Would his body be there, charred and burned? My mind created images and possibilities I didn’t want to face, but I had to know. I had to look for the opportunity of finding a clue, anything that would tell me where to go and who to hurt for turning my life upside down.
I slowed as I reached the burned and twisted remains of the building. Blackened shapes gave off the illusion of shells of cars, metal tools, and melted tire rubber.
The entirety of the building had been douched with water, probably with firetruck hoses. Even under the minimal protection of a roof that was more burnt and ash than anything else, it looked like a thunderstorm had taken place inside the burning building.
Water dripped from the crevices and I peeked around the corner of the building before getting too close, searching for the remnants of officials who might have lingered for more information. Crime tape stripped across the drive out front and across the sidewalk. They at least accepted it was a crime and not just some man gone crazy.
Unless they were saying his suicide was part of the arson crime.
I ducked back, pressing my shoulder blades against the soot-covered wooden panels that hadn’t been damaged by fire. I was inches from the office window. Inches from peeking in and seeing if my friend’s body had been moved. I had to find the courage to look. Honestly, I didn’t have any other option.
Taking a deep breath and then shoving off the wall, I spun and looked through the broken glass and into the office. Or what remained of the office.
Crenshaw’s body had been removed. Paper had been blasted around the office, probably from the hoses as they’d attempted to put the fire out through the windows and doorway.
Checking one more time for anyone who might be lurking around, I cautiously made my way to the backdoor that used to have a sign that read Employees Only. The door lay on the ground, askew and twisted as if the heat had blown it out.
I carefully walked on top of it, like a welcome rug I’d been forced to wipe my feet on. Each step I had no doubt was going to drop me through to the basement or crawl space. Crenshaw had multiple oil changing pits and they all went four to five feet into the ground. What if the rest of his foundation had room for other space for storage or more pits to use later?
I didn’t care about the subflooring of the shop. I just wanted to get into the office. Heat came at me in little spurts, like there were still hot spots hiding under the burned wood and paint. Using my sweatshirt covered elbow, I pushed my way into the office, glancing around as I slowly moved inside.
Water dripped on my head, the warmth telling me there were more hot spots than I’d originally suspected.
The office had a different smell than the rest of the shop. I could smell the iron from Crenshaw’s blood on the air, even though I knew that was impossible. The rain and water from the firefighting measures had long ago taken anything extra out of the air.
I pressed my lips together, determined not to let my cumulative loss get the best of me. None of it would bother me. At least not there while I was trying to get information. I didn’t need to focus on anything or anyone I’d lost. Get the information I needed and get out.
I walked around the desk, my shoes squishing and squeaking on the cement floor covered in water. I didn’t look too closely at the dark spots mingled with the water.
Crenshaw’s old green stapler had been blown against the wall, half protruding from the sheetrock behind the desk.
I pulled a drawer open, digging through partially wet and mildly damp papers that looked like inventory tracking sheets and time cards. The next drawer held pencils, erasers, a couple economy sized bags of Bic pens – blue and black – as well as White Out and glue.
I reached down, double checking my pocket for the drives I’d acquired at Braddox’s request. They were still there. I just had to protect them, but how was going to be the hard part.
The bottom drawer was the driest and had nothing in it but a thick, white envelope with an address label printed on the front. The only word on the label was Stabler.
That was it.
Stabler.
Stabler was what Olivia’s last name was supposed to be. She’d explained the whole Ramirez requirement for last names to be passed down and all that, but she’d also said her last name was supposed to be Stabler.
Like the name right in front of me.
I grabbed the envelope and tucked it into the full pocket of my hoodie. I moved to the other side of the desk, searching for something or anything else that would point me in the direction of what was going on. I wouldn’t have time to inspect my findings there at the shop. I had to collect everything I could and then get back to the car. Maybe my dad’s place was safe, maybe not. I was in over my head and I had to get somewhere safer than out in the open.
The rest of my search didn’t produce anything that looked remotely of interest. I ignored the dark red, almost black of the blood splattered on the wall. I didn’t need the reminder he’d been scared enough of whoever was after him to kill himself.
Forgiven: a bully romance (An Academy Twin Rivalry Series Book 3) Page 2