by K. L. Savage
Mercy gets up from his chair and leaves. This topic hits too close to home. I don’t blame him for leaving. It’s hard for me to bear too.
“No, Dad. There’s so much we need to talk about but I’m safe. I’m with Whistler. I love you.”
“I love you too. I’m coming over, okay?”
“No. No, don’t. It isn’t safe. Kenneth might follow you. He doesn’t know I’m here but if you come here on a weekend he might.”
“I won’t let him keep me from you. I need to know you’re safe.”
She turns and her copper lashes blink as she slides them from the phone to stare at me. “I am safe, Dad. I promise. I think…”
I have to hold my breath with what she’s said and what she is about to say. Her eyes dart between mine as she finds her words.
“I think I’m the safest I’ve ever been in some time.”
I nod, giving her a reassuring grin, but on the inside, I’m fucking doing somersaults. This is huge. She feels safe here.
“Whistler is here, and he is protecting me. I…trust him.”
I could have fallen over if it weren’t for One behind me.
“I like them bikers, pumpkin. You stay with them, okay? I’ll act like I haven’t heard from you. I’ll see you Monday? Can I call you later? I’ll lose my mind otherwise,” he gets choked up and must pull the phone away because when he clears his throat, it sounds distant.
“Okay, Dad. Love you. Talk later.” She hangs up the phone and hands it back to me. “I don’t know what to do.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m so used to doing what Kenneth says. Work, money, groceries, dressing a certain way. I don’t know what to do now. I’m not his anymore. Maybe I get a restraining order?”
“We can do that. I’m not sure it will do anything, but legally it will be good to have. And Charlie? You’re free. You can do whatever you want.”
“It can’t be that easy.”
“It is. That ring is gone. He held you back from the truth, but you know it now. You want to go to Italy? I can make that happen.” The last thing I want is for her to be halfway around the world where I can’t protect her or have a chance to have her fall in love with me.
She throws herself at me and knocks the wind out of my body. Her arms tighten around my neck and her face nestles against my chest.
I’m surprised, but my arms work quickly, and I circle them around her, holding her tight.
“Thank you for saving me from him.” Her words are muffled against my chest. “And thank you for saving me from myself.”
“Anytime, Cupcake.” She feels good here. Right here in my arms. Her body pressed against mine, chest to chest, and I never want to let her go.
She has to feel it too.
“I have a feeling you mean that,” she says as she pulls away, but doesn’t take her arms from where they are on top of my shoulders.
I don’t know if she knows she’s doing it, but her fingers are playing with the long pieces of my hair that curl at the base of my neck.
“I do mean it.”
She stands on her tiptoes and presses her lips against my cheek. I shut my eyes and relish her lips on me. It’s a peck on the cheek, which means nothing to most, but for me, this is huge. “Thank you so much.”
“You deserve the world, Charlie Cupcake.”
“Why do you call me that?”
“Cupcake? That’s for me to know,” I wink.
She unwraps herself from around me. “What happens to Kenneth?”
“I don’t want you to worry about him again. We will take care of him.”
“Do I want to know what that means?”
“You know what it means.”
“I should be scared but….”
“But?” I urge.
“But it makes me happy. Does that make me a bad person? I want him dead; only then will I be able to breathe again.”
“You start doing that now and you let me worry about him. As I said, you can go anywhere now, and I’ll make sure he isn’t around to follow.”
She chews on her bottom lip, causing it to swell slightly and turn a darker shade of red. I reach for her lips, and she flinches, a habit and instinct to protect herself. I gently tug the flesh from her teeth.
“Don’t do that,” I husk.
“Why?” she stares up at me with those innocent blue eyes.
Innocent because she hasn’t experienced just how good life can really be, even if she has seen the harshness the world offers.
“You aren’t ready for that answer.” I swipe my thumb over her bottom lip, watching it turn different shades of pink from the pressure.
“I think I might surprise you with what I’m ready for.”
“You surprise me every day, Charlie.”
She blushes and her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink, like the sun right as it sets and paints the sky in its wonders.
“Tell me,” I switch the subject because if I don’t, I’ll do something stupid like kiss her. “Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere?”
“Name it, Cupcake.”
“The beach. I’ve always wanted to sink my toes in the sand.” She gets this dreamy look on her face. “I’ve never been.”
Yeah, I’m going to fix that.
“I’ve never seen the ocean.”
I’m going to fix that too.
“I’ve never done…anything that amounts to something,” she says with a frown, disappointment engulfing her.
“I’ll have to disagree with you, Cupcake. You survived. That’s a whole lot of something.”
“You always know the right things to say.” She tries to twist the rings that used to be on her finger out of habit and when she doesn’t feel it, the corners of her lips tilt into a small smile.
“Not always.”
“Whistler!” Mercy’s voice booms from the other room and Charlie jumps and runs behind me.
I hate she’s scared, but damn, I love that she wants me as her shield.
“Whistler.” Mercy charges into the kitchen. “Sorry, Charlie, but club business. I need you to go upstairs. There’s a Kindle on your bed I got for you. It’s got a three-hundred-dollar gift card on it for books and there is the TV but do not come out of your room, got it? Lock the door and Whistler will come to you when it’s over.”
Her nails dig into my back, her body trembling against mine. I reach behind me and automatically take her hand, lacing my fingers with hers. I hope my touch helps steady her because there is nothing to be afraid of.
Not while I’m here.
Not while I’m breathing.
“It’s okay, Cupcake. Run up to the bedroom. I’ll knock three times so you know it’s me, okay?” I spin around and she’s shaking like a leaf.
“Promise you’ll be okay?” she asks, her palms against my chest, no doubt feeling my racing heart.
It isn’t beating for whatever threat is outside.
It’s beating for her.
She’s willingly touching me.
“I swear it.” I kiss her forehead again, controlling the urge to kiss her and guide her out the door. I walk her to the stairs, and she glances over her shoulder at me, unsure whether to leave or not. “Go on,” I urge her, kissing the top of her hand before I let it go. “I’ll see you soon.”
She stares over my shoulder to Mercy and runs up the steps. I watch her until I hear the door shut and the lock click.
“What’s going on Mercy?”
“Two things,” he starts, charging through the front door and dragging a dead body into the entrance.
Fuck.
“Oh shit, I missed the party,” Socks says, taking a bite of peanut butter and jelly as he stares down at the nameless man.
How could someone eat right now?
“So someone sent us a message.” I squat down just as Princess comes through the front door and closes it so no outsiders can see.
Yeah, we definitely need to be more careful since we ar
e right off the road.
I flip the guy over by pushing on his shoulder. I study his face and tilt my head. “He looks familiar,” I say, lost in thought while I try to place him. “Damn, they weren’t forgiving to this poor bastard, were they?” The guy's eyes are cut out and his throat slashed from ear to ear.
Mercy lowers himself to my position and parts the guys chest where a note is nailed—actually fucking nailed—and my stomach drops as I read it out loud:
I’ll kill every single one of her dad’s crew until she’s brought back to me.
I will have her.
Short. Sweet. And to the point.
My favorite kind of love note.
“Shit. I knew I saw this guy. He was the one talking to Charlie the other day when I pulled her aside and asked her if she was being abused. Shit.”
“See the signature?” Mercy points at the bottom of the note.
It’s an upside-down triangle with a goat in the middle, which would be hilarious if it didn’t mean some bad shit was about to go down.
“Holy crap. Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” I grumble. I’ve seen that insignia before. One other time.
In my sister’s trailer after her boyfriend had kept the cocaine out when I had dropped by for an unexpected visit.
“Scapegoats,” Mercy informs.
“You mean to tell me that, Kenneth Hastings is a fucking drug dealer?”
“No,” Mercy shakes his head and yanks the note from the poor kid’s chest, leaving the nail in the middle. “I think he runs it with his father and Charlie has found herself in the middle of this.”
“Not just her. Taylor too. I saw this at her trailer.”
“Well, isn’t that fucking convenient.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Prez?” I grit, not liking his implications or his tone. “My sister is a victim just as much as Charlie is.”
“Yeah? Well, that’s the second thing I wanted to tell you. Your sister isn’t here. She’s gone. Any idea of where she could be?”
“I have an idea,” I grumble, then reach for my wallet.
Please, don’t let it be empty.
I unfold it and part the middle, cursing when I find the cash missing. “Goddamn it, Taylor.” I drop my wallet to the ground and scrub my fingers through my thick scruff, scratching the skin. “She went to go get her fucking boyfriend from jail. She didn’t do this, Mercy. She wouldn’t kill someone.”
“I know that, but she could have the information we need. I want her brought back.”
“As a prisoner?”
“Until she’s proven innocent, right now, she’s fucking guilty in my eyes.” Mercy stands and steps over the body. “If this kid doesn’t have family, then get rid of the body. If he does come up with a creative way for his family to claim him.” He punches the wall as he strides away. “Fuck!” he yells, disappearing into the kitchen.
“I think Prez is pissed.”
“No fucking shit, Socks.” I am too.
The last thing I need is for my sister to be caught in the middle of some drug ring. Charlie is in the crossfire and has no idea just how close she is to the problem.
No, not close.
Dead center.
And if I know one thing about assholes like Kenneth, it’s that they take their possessions seriously. He will do whatever it takes to get his punching bag back.
I need a scapegoat, only mine isn’t drugs. It’s an auburn beauty and she’s waiting for me upstairs.
Charlie Cupcake, the only scapegoat a man truly needs.
Kenneth is an idiot. He already had the only drug he ever needed.
“Cupcake, wake up. Come on, Charlie, wake up.”
My shoulder shakes and I turn over, taking the comforter with me and pulling it over my head. No. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. I’m finally able to sleep knowing I’m not bound to a monster. I tried staying awake for Whistler but one hour led to three, which led to six, and I got tired of pressing my ear to the door, so I crawled into bed and fell asleep.
“Cupcake.”
I groan and kick the person rude enough to try to wake me.
“Ow, damn it. My dick,” the intruder rasps.
But the intruder sounds a lot like Whistler.
I bolt forward and my eyes open wide when I see him bent over, his hands cupping his cock, and he coughs. “Oh my god, Whistler. I’m so sorry.” I crawl onto my knees and crawl closer to him. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was asleep and noticed your voice, yet didn’t, and I get kind of violent when I’m woken up unexpectedly…it’s been a while since I’ve done that.” Before Kenneth was the last time I had hit someone. I gave my dad a black eye one time.
“That would have been good to know,” he chokes. “I’m fine. I just need to find my balls.” He stumbles across the foot of the bed and vanishes into the bathroom.
The water turns on and I hear a groan, hopefully of relief. “Did you find them?” Am I allowed to ask? I feel so bad. What can I do? I was asleep.
“We’re good. We’re great. One. Two. All here and intact.”
I can barely understand him since the door is shut, but I get the gist and spread my arms out like a bird, then fall back onto the bed. My head hits the pillow and I stare up at the ceiling, replaying the information that’s been given to me.
Not about his balls, but about me not being married. I should be mad or maybe sad? A normal person would be sad, right? I’m not. I’m not sad, not even a little, but I am pissed off at Kenneth for lying to me, for putting me through hell only to decide to keep me there.
But I’m so relieved. I’m so happy.
Happy.
Something I haven’t been since the day I married Kenneth.
I’m ready to move on. I’m ready to live. I don’t want to be afraid of shadows anymore. I don’t want to be afraid of anything.
The bathroom door opens and Whistler walks out with his thumb up. “Crisis averted.”
“That’s good. I’m so sorry.” I push myself up onto my elbows and rub the sleep out of my eyes with my fist.
“I was asking for it. I shouldn’t wake a woman in the midst of her sleep,” he jokes, which makes me grin.
“True.” I tug the blanket to my chest to hide the fact that I’m only wearing his shirt. “How did you get in here? I locked the door.”
He sits at the bottom of the bed far enough away to make me comfortable, yet also far enough away for me to wish he was closer.
“I’ve had my fair share of needing to break into places.”
I check the time and see that it’s almost four in the morning. I yawn and lift my arms above my head to stretch.
“Pack a bag,” he says, slapping his palms on his dark-washed jeans. “I’m taking you somewhere.”
“At four in the morning?” I’m hesitant but I’m not afraid. Whistler doesn’t have my stomach screaming at me to run. He doesn’t have my body in protective mode. I’m not trying to be perfect around him. I’m simply…me.
I’m able to breathe without feeling guilty about it.
The constant edge of sickness I had with Kenneth isn’t present with Whistler. There’s no revulsion.
I’m experiencing peace after losing so many pieces of myself.
There’s a small voice inside the back of my head wondering if Whistler is a missing piece. The last thing I need to think about is a man, but really, when have I ever been with someone I wanted? I haven’t been in love in years, I haven’t felt a positive touch, I haven’t laughed with someone else, and I want those things.
I deserve those things I want.
“Just do it,” he grins.
“I don’t have anything to pack, remember? Unless you count this?” I wave my new Kindle in the air. I’ve downloaded fifty books so far. I find one to read but then I get recommendations and I go down this rabbit hole of other books and I’m not even close to being done looking at all the possibilities. I was never allowed to have a Kindle
with Kenneth. He said it would take too much time away from my responsibilities.
“Perfect. It can fit in the saddle bag and on the way, we will stop and get you a few things.”
“Are you going to tell me where you’re taking me?” I swing my legs over the bed, keeping the blanket wrapped around me as I dip down to pick up his sweatpants.
“Nope, that would take away all the fun, Cupcake.”
“You’re not going to take me to the middle of the desert and kill me, are you?” I realize how bad my joke is when he doesn’t laugh, not even a little, considering the situation.
He crowds my space and I hold my breath, tilting my head back and meeting his dark gaze. His eyes fall to my lips and his fingers stroke under my chin. “There’s only one reason I’d take you into the middle of the desert and it wouldn’t be to kill you.”
I lick my lips and he groans, taking a step back to put space between us. “Put your pants on. It’s going to be a long drive.”
The space between my legs tingles for the first time since my wedding night and my nipples bead in response. Not wanting to get lost in lust, I slip the pants on under the blanket, then drop the comforter. “I’m ready,” I say as I slip my shoes on.
He holds out his hand, the palm wide and the fingers long, thick, and calloused, stained with grease and years of hard work. I can tell where he holds the bat he carries around. His palms are rough too.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Cupcake.”
“I know. That’s what’s surprising me.” When I slip my hand into his, I know I’ve created another link with him. There’s no way around it.
I’ve been forged in blood and fear and Whistler is the fire, the flame, and the steel to bind us together.
“There’s no turning back after this,” he says.
“I have nothing to turn back to,” I reply, holding my Kindle to my chest.
“I’ll fix that,” he promises.
He drags me down the steps and the length of his sweatpants almost makes me trip. I slip along the hardwood floor and he’s there to steady me, then swing me over his shoulder.
The heated night air hits me in the face along with the smell of a cigarette.
“She ready?” Whistler asks.
“Gassed up and ready for those miles, brother. Tell me when you get there. I’ll keep you updated.”