“Black isn't a color. It's the absence of color,” I countered.
“Don't be a know it all,” he chuckled, reaching up and tugging my hair playfully.
After that, we fell silent. I took a breath, breathing in his scent, snuggling closer to him, throwing my leg across his body, giving in to my need to be as close to him as possible.
“What about you?” he asked later. So much later that I had assumed he was asleep so the shock sent me jolting up, the top of my head slamming underneath his chin, making me yelp and him grunt.
“What about me?” I asked, reaching up to rub my head.
“What was your childhood like?” he asked, shocking me. He actually wanted to know about my past?
“Oh, um...” my past sounded silly compared to his. His was rough and sad and interesting. Mine was, well, not...
“Talk,” he commanded and I felt myself snort at his bossiness.
But I gave in anyway.
“It was just me and my dad. He was great. Always encouraging. Always there to help me out when I needed him. Really strict about my grades, my friends, and later... who I dated. He kinda... forced me into the family businesses which I kind of resented. But, then again, I had never said anything about not liking it so he couldn't have known about that.”
“What happened to your mom?” he asked, one of his hands moving up into my hair, slowly sliding into it and sending a shiver through my body.
“I don't really know,” I admitted, my words a little sad, a little edgy. My mother wasn't a good topic for me. There was resentment there. “My dad didn't really talk about it. He just said she was selfish and didn't want to share our lives and that it said things about her, not me, that she did that.”
“Sore spot,” he commented quietly.
“No, no it's fine. I mean I'm over...”
“Sore spot,” he repeated, his arm around my hips squeezing me a little.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“So let's stop talking about it,” he suggested.
And we did.
**
It really kinda sucked that I was never going to get the chance to tell Reign that I finally got my answers about her. That she wasn't just a sore spot anymore. She was a giant festering wound.
At that thought, tears burned up behind my eyes.
Not because my mom was a monster.
Because Reign would have found something to say.
He would have told me to stop talking about it. To stop thinking about it.
And I would have.
And I wouldn't feel so shitty.
I tilted my head up to look at the ceiling, taking a deep breath, closing my eyes tight to keep the tears from spilling over. Because the same rules applied. I wasn't going to fucking cry. I could bury my face and I could scream. I could tell Martin and Daniel and my mother to rot in hell. But I couldn't cry.
So I sucked it up.
Eventually, sleep got the best of me.
I woke up to a hand pressing hard into my throat. “You stupid fucking bitch,” Martin's whispered voice cut through my sleep fog and I was instantly alert. My eyes snapped up to his face, seeing red dried around his nose, one of his eyes blackening. “You think you can put your fucking hands on me and not get taught a lesson?”
Fuck.
Shit.
I knew it.
I knew it.
She had no control over her men.
What a pathetic fucking excuse for a crime lord.
Martin's hand meant business, his hand not pressing onto the carotid so I didn't pass out, but pressing so hard that I couldn't draw a proper breath. Or scream. Or think of anything but how bad it was hurting. How terrifying it was to feel your air cut off. To know you could only go for so long without a good lungful of air.
“You break my fucking nose? I'm gonna break your fucking face.”
Then his hand was moving from my throat and cocked back so fast, I couldn't even draw a breath before his fist landed hard next to my right eye.
The pain was like an explosion. Like fireworks. How the hit is in the center and it radiates out, spreading, consuming. My entire face felt the sting. The second the contact ended, the pain turned to a throb, deep and insistent.
“That's just a preview you stupid cunt,” he growled when a tap sounded at the door. No doubt, the buddy who was assigned to watch him.
The door opened, the light from the hall painful and I saw the outline of another guy. Not Daniel. Someone else. Someone I didn't know. Someone I had a sinking feeling I would get to know quite well in the time coming.
The door shut me back into darkness and I rested my head back against the headboard, taking a deep breath.
It was just a black eye. That was it. It was no big deal. Worst case, broken eye socket. Not fatal. Probably wouldn't be pretty. But swallowing a bullet was going to make an open casket impossible anyway so it didn't really matter.
I needed my answers.
And then I needed a permanent way out of the hell.
I choked back a weird sob as a flash of Reign came into my mind.
I pushed it away, trying to not think about him.
But that wasn't possible.
He wouldn't be happy I was dead.
I kind of liked that.
It would be a blow. Because he wanted to save me. Because he was going to make V pay for what (s)he did to me.
But it wouldn't break him.
He had lived too hard a life to be shaken by my death.
He would be okay.
“What the fuck?”
I forgot how alarming it was to wake up to angry male voices.
I tried to shoot up out of bed, but my wrists pulled, my shoulders screamed, and I fell back against the headboard.
“Oh, fuck it gets worse,” he repeated. I blinked slow, taking in Daniel standing in the room. In a gray suit. White shirt. Gray patterned tie.
“What?” I croaked, my throat like I swallowed razors.
“Mother fucker. I should have known,” Daniel said, shaking his head.
“Worried Mom will be pissed?” I asked, wincing at the stinging.
At this, Daniel gave me an weird smile. “No. It's just the point,” he said. “I gave you my word. Come on,” he said, reaching for a key and letting one of my wrists free. “Bathroom break and then V wants to have a sit down.”
“Oh joy,” I drawled and I could have sworn I heard him chuckle. But that wasn't possible.
He opened the bathroom door and let me shuffle inside. I turned back to him. “I know... five minutes,” I said, rolling my eyes.
He shook his head, a smirk toying at his lips like something about me amused him, then shut the door.
I took a deep breath, letting my eyes meet my reflection in the mirror.
“Shit.”
No wonder he sounded pissed when he saw me.
There were defined blue finger prints to the left of my neck, a long blue band across the center from the space between his thumb and forefinger. My eye was blackened. All dark, awful blue and purple. But, more than that, the sclera of my eye was blood red.
It wasn't pretty.
I sighed, turning on the water like I always did before I peed so whoever was standing outside didn't hear me. It was kind of stupid to feel insecure about going to the bathroom when those men had seen me on my period, but still. It made me feel marginally less like a captive and more like a normal human being.
I washed my hands and tried to work some order into my hair. Then the door was opening and I had to give up.
“To the basement,” I said in a weird, cheery tone, flinging a hand out and feeling like a total dork. But it was cool. I was going to die soon. I wouldn't have to live with the mortification for long.
I held out my wrists and was cuffed in the front. “Kitchen,” he corrected.
I pursed my lips and shrugged, following him downstairs.
And, sure enough, there was my mother in the kitchen. Looking well rested and gorgeous i
n faded bluejeans, a navy v-neck tee, and camel colored high heeled boots. Her hair was loose, falling in the same kind of wavy mass that mine did.
I felt dirty.
Once I got out of her house the last time, I showered as much as possible. Two, three times a day. Never feeling like I could scrub the dirt and sweat and disgust out of my skin.
One day back and I felt filthy all over again. It was like I had never gotten a chance to wash it all away.
“Summer,” she greeted, giving me a warm smile. “I see you had a little mishap.”
“Oh yeah,” I said, dryly. “I somehow managed to knock myself around while cuffed to a bed. I'm so clumsy like that.”
To this, she laughed. Daniel looked down at his feet.
“Well, no matter,” she said, waving a hand, brushing it away like I had complained of a paper cut instead of a bloody, black eye and a crushed larynx. “Why don't you have a seat so we can have a little chat?”
Not given much of a choice, I scooted onto one of the backless stools that were pressed against the island.
“What did you want to chat about? The last twenty-four years? Seems a little heavy for coffee conversation.”
Another smile. “I wanted to talk about your father.”
Shit.
Reign's words whooshed through my brain. “Sore spot.”
“What about my father?”
Her head tilted to the side, watching me. “You really had no clue, did you?”
At this, I kept silent. Because, she was right, there was a lot about Richard Lyon I didn't know about. But I wasn't going to own up to my own stupidity or naivete either.
“Did he keep you in a bubble?” she asked, shaking her head. “Last I heard you were in a good college, working at one of his legitimate businesses in the city.”
There was a strange inflection on the word 'legitimate' that had my spine straightening.
“You kept tabs on me?” I asked instead.
“You father and I made a deal when I left. He didn't mess with my business. I didn't mess with you. You were his. But a mother gets curious.”
Oh. Holy fuck.
They made a deal? She didn't just up and leave one day like the selfish bitch he made her out to be? He was in on it?
And also... her business? He knew about her business? Before the kidnapping and torture? He knew?
“I see you're confused,” she said, leaning down on the island several feet away from me. “Let's start at the beginning, shall we?”
Honestly, a part of me was done. I didn't want to hear more. I was feeling freaking light headed with all the revelations. But I didn't want to appear weak. Weakness would get me nowhere.
“If you need to have your say, I'm not exactly in a position to stop you,” I offered, showing her my hands.
Her lips quirked up. “I guess I didn't quite miss the rebellious stage of your upbringing after all, did I?” she asked, but went on before I could throw something snippy in. “I met Rich when I was nineteen. He wasn't the man then that he is now,” she said, almost wistfully. “He came from a bad neighborhood. I came from a worse one. And he was doing pretty well for himself. He was older. Charming. Offered to take care of me. I didn't know then that his brand of 'care' came with a lot of expectations, demands, and unrelenting high standards.”
Well, that certainly hit home.
“But still, I was in love. Young and stupid. Not more than a year or so later, I learned I was pregnant. Rich was thrilled. I, well, not so much,” she didn't say this with regret or shame like she should have seeing as I was what she was pregnant with and I was the one listening to her fucking story. “When he learned you were a girl, he was ecstatic. He always wanted a little girl to spoil and buy ponies for.” She paused, looking at me. “Did he buy you ponies?”
Yes, yes he did.
“Yeah.”
At this, she nodded. “By the time you were a year, his business had skyrocketed. He was very powerful. With more power, came more control issues. More expectations for me to be someone I wasn't. Endless hours at the personal trainer, with tutors, in piano lessons, and French lessons. He wanted a wife on his arm who he could be proud of. Not some rough and tough chick from the streets. And I did it because I didn't see another alternative. But, when he wasn't around, which was a lot, I plotted. I planned. I got my business started. Just a barn with ten or so girls. But it was enough. I was getting a reputation. I'd drive over there with you strapped into the baby seat and handle business, then come home and cook him dinner, telling him we spent the day at the park or at baby music lessons. For a year, he believed me.”
Um.
Hold.
The.
Fuck.
Up.
She used to bring me to her whorehouses?
“Then about a week after your third birthday, Rich got wind of what I was up to. I guess because business had quadrupled and my name was getting out there. Anyway, he was, as you can imagine, not very happy. It wasn't respectable for a wife of his to work, let alone start to build her very own empire. We went a lot of rounds. I wasn't giving in. He wasn't giving in. So then I told him I was taking you and leaving.”
Oh, god.
I mean, my father was no saint, but he certainty seemed better parent material than my mother. I didn't even want to consider what life would have been like growing up with her.
“Rich saw red at that. He threatened to tear my business down. And, while I was doing well, I wasn't doing so well that his threat wasn't a viable one. So I asked what he wanted. He said you. The rest is history.”
“You gave me up so you could force girls into the sex trade?” I snapped, my tone deadly.
Her eyes flashed. “Don't look down your nose at me, Summer. You grew up in a god damn criminal empire yourself. You were just too clueless to see it.”
Alright.
This information was something I had started to consider myself. Back in my bedroom at my father's house, trying to figure out who the fuck he really was. It had crossed my mind.
But having validation was something else all together.
My mother's head shook, her eyes rolling slightly as she looked to the ceiling. She looked down at me. “What did you think your father did?”
“He's an importer,” I said automatically.
“Yes, but an importer of what?”
That was a good question. One I had never even thought to ask. Dad owned a chain of clothing stores. I always figured he imported clothes made in sweatshops. A fact I was always uncomfortable with, but never had the guts to talk to him about or even look into it when I was working in the corporate headquarters.
She shook her head at me again like I was dense. “I wanted his containers. That's why you're here. His containers that come in from South America. There's a lot of ripe, pretty girls in South America. Do you know what else there is in South America?” she asked.
I was too busy trying to not throw up over the 'ripe, pretty girls' comment to even pretend I knew. “No.”
“Cocaine,” she supplied and I felt her words settle like lead in my belly.
Cocaine.
My mother was a heartless skin trader.
And my father imported and sold cocaine.
What.
The.
Fuck?
Nothing. Literally nothing could have ever prepared me for that harsh reality. I was the child of criminals. Of god damn crime lords. And I had been blind to it my entire life. Going around sipping mimosas at brunch and getting my nails painted and thinking I had the most normal, albeit privileged, life imaginable.
Jesus Christ.
I had crime lords for parents.
And at least one of them was a fucking psychopath.
What the hell did that say about me?
Twenty-five
Reign
Three. Fucking. Days.
“You need to sleep, man,” Cash said, watching me, looking just as haggard as I did.
“I sleep when we get
her the fuck back.”
It had been the same argument since I rolled in from the meeting with the Russians. After checking out the shit evidence we had. After looking in at Repo. After sitting at his bedside until he finally regained consciousness and gave us his side of the story.
“Didn't hear shit. But then I saw an outsider and he was cuffing Summer's hands behind her back. Had duct tape over her mouth. She was struggling with him. Fucking idiot I am,” he said, slamming his hand onto the mattress, “I fucking called her. And she turned. And then he saw me. And then we were fighting. He clocked me to the side of the head and I was fucking out man. So fucking stupid.”
“No man,” I said, shaking my head. “No, you did good. You tried to protect her. You took a beating for her. You did good,” I said, clamping my hand down on his shoulder.”
“Prez,” he said, sitting up as I made my way to the door. I turned back. “You need anything. To get her back. I'm in. I know I'm not patched-in. But I'm fucking in,” he said, his voice fierce.
And even though it was against rules. Even though it would cause problems, I felt myself nodding. “Yeah you are.”
“Wolf's been gone a long time,” Cash said, bringing me back to the present.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“Should have sent someone with him, man. Now we know who the fuck Richard Lyon is...”
Maybe we should have. But I didn't want to involve anyone else in my mess. It was already bad enough with Cash, Wolf, and now Repo involved. We couldn't put anyone else at risk.
“Wolf knows what he's doing,” I said, hoping it was true.
I raked a hand down my face.
Her fucking father was the biggest cocaine dealer on the East coast. How the fuck did that stay so far under our radar? Granted, we didn't deal in drugs. But we tried to keep up with the big organizations around. The MCs. The Italians. The fucking Irish. The Mexican cartels. Everything. How'd we miss a cocaine dealer? And not some little guy. He was fucking huge. Had been for the better part of twenty years.
And it had somehow escaped Summer's notice her whole life.
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