Beef Cake (Donner Bakery Book 4)

by Smartypants Romance

  “You didn’t know he had an old lady?” I ask, dread filling my stomach for her. I don’t know much about the club, but I know you don’t mess with someone else’s man.

  She shakes her head. “I was so young, so stupid and naive.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “I figured Razor wasn’t exactly faithful to me, but he spent so much time with me in the beginning, I’d assumed I was his favorite. I didn’t know about Christine until she found me and threatened to slit my throat. I ran to Razor and told him what she’d said and he laughed. He laughed in my face, like I meant nothing to him, which was exactly what I’d meant—nothing. Less than nothing.” When she pauses this time, I can feel her pain. I feel her want and need to belong to someone and then how it must’ve felt to have those needs crushed.

  “I almost told him then I was pregnant but something inside told me not to. I must’ve known on some level it wouldn’t have made a difference to him and might’ve given Christine even more ammo against me, so I left.”

  We’re both quiet for a few minutes, letting the beginning of her story settle around us, while we prepare for the remainder. Because even though my mom knows what happens next, she’s just as reluctant to continue as I am to hear it.

  “Those first few years with you were so hard. Not because of you—you were the best baby a mama could’ve wished for. But being a poor single mother in a small town like ours wasn’t easy. I didn’t have any help and struggled to keep a job for more than a few months at a time, which means I didn’t have money for a place to live or food or medicine. I’d latch onto men who meant nothing to me just for a place for us to stay but they all got tired of us, and eventually, we’d be on the streets again.”

  As I listen to her talk about our lives back then, I’m still amazed I don’t remember any of this. It’s as if she’s talking about someone else or reading a story to me. None of it is familiar, but I’m starting to understand more and more.

  “You were almost seven when I couldn’t take it any longer. We were always hungry, always dirty, and your school was threatening to call social services on me. I couldn’t lose you and I knew they’d take you away if they knew we didn’t have a permanent place to live, so I did the only thing I could think of—I went back to the Iron Wraiths.”

  At her words, I feel my spine stiffen and my skin go cold. This is the part of the story that changes everything—I just know it. This is the everything I both want and dread.

  “I thought enough time had passed that I’d be welcomed back, that all would be forgiven. I thought Razor would be thrilled to know he had another kid to raise—”

  “Stop right there,” I command. “Razor has other children? I have brothers and sisters?” I’m not sure how to feel about this information. It’s overwhelming, to say the least, but that’s been the last twenty-four hours. The nurse in me thinks I might be in shock, but I just need to press on a little longer.

  We’re almost there.

  “Yes, I guess you do. I don’t think about it much now but back then, I was happy you might have siblings to play with. But, anyway,” she continues her story, “Razor was a man’s man, your typical alpha male, you could say, and most men like that feel the more offspring they have, the more virile and powerful they are. I thought he’d . . . well, I thought he’d love you. I didn’t care if he loved me or not, but how could he not love our perfect little girl?”

  My mother wipes her eyes and I notice her hands are shaking. I’m torn between wanting to comfort her and wanting to shake her so she’ll keep talking. I swear, this is the most I’ve ever heard her say in all my life.

  “I was desperate. So desperate . . .” She trails off briefly before shaking herself out of her thoughts. “Turns out, Razor isn’t an alpha male—he’s a monster.”

  Her voice is quivering and I’m afraid she’s going to fall apart.

  “It’s alright, Mama.” Reaching over, I place my hand over hers. “You’re doing great, just please keep going. I’m okay and you’re okay. We’re safe.”

  She nods, wiping her eyes before continuing, “I found a dress for you at the shelter and brushed your hair into a ponytail, so he’d see how pretty you are.” Finally, she looks up at me, giving me a watery smile. “But when I presented you to him, he laughed. It wasn’t a laugh that made a person want to laugh along. It was the kind of laugh that made your stomach turn sour. It was the sound of evil, I know that now.

  “He called me names—horrible names, some I’d never even heard before. He said I was stupid for coming back and bringing you to him. He said he didn’t love any of his kids and he’d show me what they were good for. I . . . I had no idea . . .”

  She’s full-on crying now, so I pull her into my arms and try to soothe her, but she pushes away and shakes her head, as if to say, “No, I have to keep going.”

  Once an avalanche starts, it doesn’t stop until it gets to the bottom of the mountain.

  “He told me to get him a beer from the bar and leave you with him so he could get to know you better. I thought it was a good sign, but when I came back…” My mother’s body shakes along with her sobs and I realize I’m crying, too. I’m not sure why but I’ve always cried when she cried. There’s not much worse than seeing your mother cry.

  “He’d cut you.”

  My blood turns to ice at her whispered words.

  “When I came back with his beer, he had you laying on top of a table and he—he was . . . cutting you. Not stabbing, not slicing, but cutting your flesh. He was so meticulous about it, like it was some sort of art form. It took me a moment to realize what was really happening because there was no sound. Tears were running down your cheeks and your mouth was open in a silent scream. Seeing you like that still haunts my dreams.”

  The two of us remain quiet for a few minutes. My tea has gone cold, but I wouldn’t be able to drink it now if I’d wanted to. I think it’ll be quite a while before I’m able to eat or drink anything without the threat of vomiting.

  Eventually, a question pops into my head.

  “Razor gave me all these scars during that one time?” To my nurse’s mind, that just doesn’t seem possible. That’s a lot of trauma for anyone to suffer through, much less a child.

  I watch her sit back while keeping her eyes on her fingers as she twists them together. She waits a bit longer before answering me.

  “That was the first time it happened, but it wasn’t the last. His biker name is Razor for a reason. He cuts his children because it gives him some sick relief or pleasure, like he’s claiming them . . . you. I thought that was what I wanted—for him to claim you—but I had no idea what I was really asking for.” She pauses, shaking her head as her eyes drift away, obviously stuck in a horrid memory.

  The ice in my blood starts to simmer now because I can’t allow myself to believe what I think she’s trying to say. Surely, I’m wrong.

  “Frankie, I was in a bad place back then and I was a completely different person. I know there’s no excuse but please, let me try to explain.” When I don’t respond, she continues. “I’ve already said how desperate and scared I was, but what I didn’t say is that I was an addict, too. When I saw Razor working on you, it was easy to make myself believe it wasn’t real, that I was just high or hallucinating. And when he was done, he gave me a wad of cash for us to live off for a few months. I had no idea the pattern I was inadvertently agreeing to.”

  “You let him cut on me for money? Is that what you’re saying?” No longer simmering, my blood is now boiling.

  “It wasn’t like that!” she cries. “At least, I didn’t mean for it to be. It wasn’t until I was finally clean that I realized what I’d done, what he’d done. I walked in on him just like I had the first time except this time, my eyes were clear. And they saw red. I attacked him, jumped on his back, and pulled him off you. That’s when he turned on me but I didn’t care. By that time, I knew I’d deserved it and I was willing to face it again and again if it meant I was keeping you safe.”

  �
��That’s my earliest memory now, him hitting you. Before the nightmares started, it was being welcomed into the shelter by Helen. Last night, I watched someone I care about fighting in a cage match and it brought back images of you being hit. I . . . I couldn’t deal. I ran and then Crow found me, telling me about Razor. Everything has been such a mess inside my head. I don’t know what to do with all of the newness, all the rawness of these memories. It’s crazy that I blocked it all out. I don’t remember anything from that time, not even getting my scars.”

  She places her hand on mine and I feel it shake, her old fears coming back in full force.

  “Promise me you’ll stay far away from them.” There’s a pleading in her tone and when our eyes meet, I see what drove her into hiding—the pain, the trauma. I might’ve spent my entire life hiding away the truth, but my mother lived it. She saw the horror and she remembers. It’s what’s kept her here for so long.

  She tries to hide the new pain I’ve just caused by peeling the scabs off old wounds, but I can still see it, still hear it in her voice. “They’re trouble, Frankie. All of them. I’ll never be able to apologize enough for bringing you into a world like this. I tried for so long to keep you from it. Selfishly, I’d hoped you’d never remember and never find out about Razor because I couldn’t bear you knowing the truth about me. I know that makes me a horrible mother, a horrible person, and I don’t blame you for being angry with me.”

  When she pauses, I let her explanation soak in. At least, I try to. All this time, she’s been trying to protect me, but what about then? What about when I was small and helpless? How could a mother allow a man to cut her own child? Those questions plague my mind as I stare at the mother I thought I knew and try so hard to reconcile her with the truths I’ve been faced with.

  “I did what I thought was best . . . for you,” she says absentmindedly, like she’s lost to her thoughts and memories. As a sob breaks through, I instinctively reach for her, wanting to heal what’s broken. “It probably sounds crazy to you, all of this, but it’s true. I just hope you’ll be able to forgive me one day.”

  Chapter 23

  Gunnar

  Lying flat on my back on the mat, I drape an arm over my eyes and breathe deeply, recovering from the intense sparring session with Cage. Usually, I’m with Vince, but Cage was feeling left out and needed to release the demons. So, I indulged him.

  Honestly, it was great. Even with his injured shoulder, which is what took him out of the sport professionally, he’s still a beast to contend with.

  His left hooks and roundhouse kicks are better than anyone else’s I’ve ever come up against.

  I appreciate this level of exhaustion; maybe I’ll actually sleep tonight.

  Ever since the fight, which was over a week ago, I spend every moment—when I’m not kicking ass or getting my ass kicked—thinking about Frankie and how I can fix this. She hasn’t called or sent a text message and I’ve been waiting, trying to give her the space she asked for.

  But I’m starting to think I could be waiting forever.

  “Get this,” Vali says walking into the studio, a newspaper in one hand and a half-eaten muffin in another. He’s really made himself at home over the past couple of weeks and I’m starting to wonder if he ever plans on going back to Dallas. Not that I mind having him around; he’s definitely brought some much-needed levity to my daily routine, refusing to let me dwell in the dark places.

  He and Cage are constantly on my ass to stay focused and let the cards fall where they may—meaning Frankie—but that’s easier said than done and they fucking know that. I know I can’t force her to open up to me or let me in . . . but fuck it all if I don’t want to try.

  And it’s killing me to not be able to see her, touch her . . . to know if she’s okay.

  Thanks to Helen, I know she’s still going to work and the shelter, still carrying on with her life. Except for the part where I’m concerned. Helen won’t give me much, but she assures me Frankie is “hanging in there.” She also made me promise to not give up on her. I didn’t plan on it, but I also didn’t think it’d be almost two weeks of silence.

  After shoving the rest of the muffin in his mouth and swallowing it down, Vali continues. “‘The Viking sightings continue around Green Valley. Now, there is not only one Scandinavian Stud, but three. After a benefit fight in Maryville benefiting the Women’s Shelter of Maryville and sponsored by Green Valley’s newest establishment, Viking MMA, people around town have been abuzz about the Erickson brothers.’”

  Vali lets out a loud laugh, holding the paper in the air like a trophy. “We made the front page of the Green Valley Ledger! I’m sending this paper to Mom. She’ll love it.”

  I roll my eyes, pulling myself up into a crunch position. Might as well do some work while I’m down here. There’s another fight next week and after winning so decisively in my last one, the media is swarming and talking. Now I know what Cage was always talking about when he said it was easier when he was an unknown name.

  When people know what you’re capable of, they expect it out of you every time. You don’t get the luxury of fighting when you feel like it.

  Right now, I definitely don’t feel like it.

  The only thing I feel like doing is hunting Frankie down and demanding she talk to me and let me help fix whatever is wrong.

  “Oh, shit,” Vali says, turning a page in the paper and then looking up at us. “We made the gossip column too.” His eyes grow wide with excitement. No one appreciates the power of media more than Vali. He lives for shit like this.

  He pauses, scanning the paper. “Apparently, Trixie—or maybe it’s Tess, I don’t know because they sign off with two names—anyway, one of them is wondering how many Ericksons there are and whether or not they’re planning an invasion.”

  “I was kind of wondering the same thing,” Cage says, walking back into the studio. “I thought you were just here to help with the benefit.”

  Vali looks up, a look of hurt on his face. It’s fake, but he’s playing it up well. “Are you trying to get rid of me? I fly all the way down here, forgo Starbucks for weeks, and sacrifice common amenities like late night drive-throughs, delivery services, Uber . . .” He’s ticking them off as he makes a list. “Oh, and frozen yogurt. Dude, if someone wanted to make a killing, they’d open up a fro-yo shop.”

  Cage just rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “That doesn’t answer the question.”

  “You didn’t ask one,” Vali retorts.

  “How long are you planning on staying?”

  “Why are you trying to get rid of me?”

  “It’s getting a little crowded,” Cage shoots back with a smirk.

  “Well, someone’s in a peachy mood. What? No midday sexcapades?”

  Vali and I both share a look and he chuckles. We all love giving each other shit, but Cage is right. With the three of us and Tempest, the quarters are crowded.

  “I was actually thinking about putting an ad in the paper to see about finding a place to rent. Kind of like a roommate available ad,” I say, continuing my crunches until I tap out at a hundred.

  This time, it’s Cage and Vali who exchange looks.

  “What?” I ask. “It’s a small town. We’ve established that. I spend all my days and nights here at the studio training, except for my occasional escape to the Piggly Wiggly. I have a fight in a week and no social engagements planned for the near future. If I want to find a place to live, I’m going to have to get creative.”

  Cage huffs, sitting down beside me on the mat. “I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea. You need to focus on your fights.”

  “I’ll go back to Dallas if that’ll make it easier,” Vali offers.

  Pulling myself up, I lean over, resting on my knees. “I want to find a place. I like it here, so if I plan on staying, I need a place of my own. But I also want to save what money I have until I make it to some bigger tickets. So, finding a room to rent seems like my best bet. Besides, there are plenty of o
ld people in this town who have an extra room. Maybe I’ll luck out and get a little old grandma who wants to make me pies and shit.”

  “That’s just what you need,” Cage says, sucker-punching me. “I’m working to get you in the best shape of your life, and you’re dreaming about pies.”

  It’s not exactly what I’m dreaming about, but it feels good to have my mind off of the real issues for a few minutes. And I’m glad Vali is staying for a while, however long that may be. I like having him around.

  “We’ve got a fight in Nashville in two weeks,” Cage says, glancing up at me and then to Vali. “I thought we’d drive up the night before and get a hotel room so you’re well-rested.”

  I nod in agreement.

  “I need you to get your head on straight between now and then—whatever that takes. Cut ties, make amends, do one or the other, but make it happen.”

  Gritting my teeth, I stare at a large piece of tape on the mat, covering a tear. It’s a gaping wound, kind of like the one Frankie left in her wake. I know Cage is right, but I hate him telling me what to do. It’s none of his business what happens between me and Frankie. If she wants to talk about things before I leave for Nashville, I’ll be elated, but if she doesn’t, that’s okay too.

  I’ve thought about checking out the farmer’s market or going to the Piggly Wiggly on Tuesday nights, but I don’t want her to feel pressured or trapped. Or scared. Maybe I’m a little scared of seeing her again too. That look she gave me is one I won’t forget for a long time, if ever.