FEELS LIKE THE FIRST TIME

by Scott Hildreth

  “I hated my father for a while after going to the psychiatrist. But that speech you gave at the fight…well, it made all too much sense. I already felt that way, but you saying it made it sink in. I suppose my father was sick about my mother leaving. And his way of clearing his head was to fight the only way he knew – as a US Marine in a war that he couldn’t win. He died fighting. In a sense, he died fighting so he didn’t have to beat another woman. At least that’s what I’m thinking,” I paused and took another breath as I started to fill with emotion.

  I got this.

  “My grandfather did the same thing. I’m sure of it. He beat my grandmother until she left. I don’t remember it, not really. But I am starting to. Generations of abuse creates generations of abusers. The chain has to be broken, and rebuilt. It can’t merely be broken and left alone, or it’s all for nothing,” I explained.

  With both hands and without talking, she wiped the tears from her eyes. It was all I could do to see her cry. I attempted to maintain my composure as I finished speaking.

  I was almost done.

  I took another breath.

  “Now, the question,” I exhaled.

  Chapter 27

  KACE. I was an emotional mess. I wasn’t ready for all of this talk. Shane had me on cloud nine, and now this talk was so sad. I felt so sorry for him, for his father, and for his grandfather. I felt sorry for their wives.

  Basically, they were me.

  We were the same.

  Shane is a good man. I know he couldn’t control his father, especially not as a child. After his explanation, his desire to fight made a lot more sense. He was fighting against everything that he hated. He was fighting to make everything make sense.

  He was fighting for me and those like me.

  “So, the chain. It’s gotta be broken and rebuilt,” he said as he lifted his lips from my stomach.

  “People in an abusive relationship have children. The girls grow up and get beaten. The boys grow up and beat women. From time to time, a girl or boy is born who is different. I’m that boy. But for me Kace, for me - I need to fix this. I need to do something to fix it,” he paused and looked into my eyes.

  “To fix me,” he breathed.

  He rubbed his face with his hand and took a breath.

  “This is where you come in,” he smiled.

  “Kace. Someday I want to. Not right now, but someday. I want to have children with you. I want that. I want to raise children the right way. I want to raise them in a house with a yard and a swing set and everything else kids need. I want to be there every day and provide them with the answer to every question they can muster,” he paused and took a breath.

  His eyes were filled with tears, but none leaked out.

  I couldn’t take it any longer. I sat up and wrapped my arms around him. I loved this man with every morsel of my existence. No one, at any time or place, has ever loved or respected a man as much as I loved and respected Shane Dekkar.

  I held him a close as I could and smashed my body against his.

  My flowers.

  My car.

  One day he wants kids

  My chin resting on his shoulder, I held my arms around his waist. He stared at the wall, resting his chin on his clenched fists. I had felt so much emotion in the last few hours, it seemed as if I was going to have a nervous breakdown. I needed to be strong for Shane. It wasn’t very often he needed me to hold him up, but when he did, I needed to be strong.

  “Which brings us to the question,” he said.

  I raised my chin from his shoulder.

  He took a deep breath.

  I can’t take any more.

  Please no more.

  “Kace,” he barely got my name out of his mouth without losing composure.

  “Kace, I need to…” he turned his head to the side and licked his dry lips.

  “Know something,” he said as he moved his head from his hands.

  He opened his clenched fist and reached into his palm with his other hand.

  “Would you consider marrying me?” he asked as he removed a diamond ring from his palm.

  As he held the ring up, I burst into tears and grabbed his shoulders again. I sobbed and shook as I held him in my arms.

  My entire life, since about thirteen, all I ever wanted was to get married and have children. To be able to do it with Shane would make me the happiest woman on earth. Incapable of comprehending the emotions I was feeling, I sobbed and held him in my arms.

  “Kace?” he asked, holding the ring over his shoulder in front of my face.

  I looked up at the diamond ring.

  Holy. Mother. Of. God.

  I wanted that ring more than anything. I wanted to be his wife.

  “Kace? Will you marry me?” he asked, his voice shaking.

  The ring shook in his hand.

  I held him in my arms, sobbing, and opened my mouth.

  No words.

  “Kace?” he asked softly.

  “Kace, will you?”

  Tears dripped off of my chin onto his back. I needed to answer him. Inside my head, I said yes, but my mouth wouldn’t work. I lowered my hands and massaged my tears into his back.

  I opened my mouth.

  Nothing.

  “Kace? Babe?” he asked nervously.

  And I did the only thing I knew to do.

  I raised my hand and tapped him on his back.

  Once.

  For yes.

  Want to read more of the Undefeated Series?

  Book Two - Unstoppable

  Book Three - Unleashed

  Book Four - Unbroken

  Author’s Note

  THIS BOOK IS A WORK OF FICTION.

  All names, locations, club names, and incidents in this book are a figment of the author’s imagination, and are depicted in a work of fiction. Any likeness to fact is pure coincidence. The club depicted in this book does not exist; it was created for this book. Lastly, the colors depicted in the cover and described in this book are a creation of graphic artistry, and are not actually the colors for any Motorcycle Club known to exist by the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, are coincidental.

  Blurred Lines 1st Edition Copyright © 2015 by Scott Hildreth

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at designconceptswichita@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Cover design by Jessica www.jessicahildrethdesigns.com

  Follow me on Facebook at: www.facebook.com/sd.hildreth

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  Prologue

  Dressed in khaki trousers, a neatly pressed long sleeve cotton shirt, and work boots, the man stood arrow straight on the porch of the modest home as he reached for the doorbell. After pressing the button once, he leaned back and waited. From his utility belt hung various tools, a leak detector, and a roll of duct tape.

  In a matter of a few seconds, the front door opened a few inches.

  Upon recognizing the man as an employee for the gas company, the woman opened the door a little wider. The man lifted his identification card with his right hand as he clutched his clipboard with his left.

  “Kansas Gas and Electric, Ma’am. We have a report of a severe gas leak in the area, and we’ve narrowed it down to the homes on this side of the block. I’ve got a leak detector, and I’ll need to check your water heater and furnace for gas leaks. I should just be a f
ew minutes,” he said.

  She raised her hand to her mouth as she gasped. “Oh my.”

  Still dressed in her robe and slippers, her reservation to allow him to enter the home was soon overcome by the fear of the unknown. She leaned forward and pressed her head between the door and the door frame.

  “I’m sorry, I just woke up. The alarm…” She paused and gazed down at his boots. As she shifted her eyes upward, she continued. “I don’t know what happened. The leak? Is it safe?”

  The man shook his head. “No Ma’am, the leak has the potential to cause a severe explosion. That’s why I’m here. We need to get this resolved, and quick. One spark could cause this entire block to be nothing more than a memory. I should just be a few minutes.”

  “Oh, alright,” she said as she nervously pressed her hand against her unkempt hair.

  The man removed the leak detector from his belt and raised it in front of him as he studied the small display screen.

  “Come on in,” the woman said as she opened the door.

  Normally, she would be home alone this time of day. The alarm hadn’t gone off, and the morning sun through the east window caused her husband to rise from his sleep, one hour later than normal. In the basement her child still lay asleep, unaware kindergarten class had long since started.

  The man entered the home, quickly surveyed the room, and cautiously began to proceed walking toward the basement steps on his right side.

  “I’ll need you to show me where the water heater is,” he said over his shoulder. “I assume it’s here in the basement?”

  “Yes, it’s in the utility room,” she responded. “I’m sorry but it’s a mess down there.”

  A few feet before the stairway, he stopped and tilted his head to the side. The faint sound of the shower in the back bedroom was the only noise in the otherwise silent home. After a short pause, he turned to face the woman and cleared his throat.

  “Is there water running?” he asked.

  “Yes. My husband is taking a shower. He’s late for work,” she responded.

  The man nodded his head and slowly turned around. He knew there was no place in his intricate scheme for a man. There was no turning back now. A small kink in his plan, but not one he wouldn’t be able to overcome as long as he made quick decisions.

  With lightning speed, he slid the lanyard of the detector along his forearm and swung his open right hand over the woman’s mouth.

  Her silence was crucial to his complete success. Failure, in his mind, was not an option. Although the husband’s presence wasn’t by design, he realized it would allow him to reach his goal in a more expeditious manner.

  As he dragged the woman toward the back bedroom, his mouth curled into a shallow grin.

  After taping the woman’s mouth and binding her hands he walked confidently to the closed door which led to the master bathroom and positioned himself beside it. As the sound of the running water stopped, he held his hands at chest height and waited. He grinned and raised his hands slightly as he heard footsteps approaching the doorway.

  They never should have denied my promotion to detective. I’m smarter and more cunning than any of them, he thought.

  As the woman’s husband stepped through the doorway and into the room, he gasped at what he saw.

  And that was the last sound he would ever make.

  Chapter 1

  RILEY

  I pulled my car to the curb and stopped a hundred yards from the entrance, being careful to park in a location where no one inside could see what I was driving. I wasn’t ashamed of my car, and in fact, quite the opposite was true; but it wasn’t every twenty-one year old girl who drove an eighty thousand dollar car. It seemed as soon as someone realized what I drove, I was quickly labeled as a gold digger or a spoiled little rich girl, neither of which were true.

  My former boyfriend gave me the car as a gift, and as much as he probably expected me to return it after we broke up, I didn’t even consider it as an option. Putting a price on his abusive behavior would be impossible, but if I did, the car was a small price for him to pay for what he did to me over the four-year period we were together.

  Each time he touched me he later swore it would be his last, and for whatever reason any woman believes what her abusive boyfriend promises, I believed him. At first, I suspect it was because I was young, immature, and filled with false hope regarding what he would offer me long-term. At the time he was protective of me - sometimes overly so - but it was comforting to have someone care enough to be conscious of where I was going and who I was seeing. Over the next few years, I matured slowly, and his abusive behavior continued. When my level of maturity rose to a level which allowed me to question his behavior as abusive, I quickly did so.

  Mentally, I drew a line in the sand on my twenty-first birthday, saying if the abuse continued, I would leave. He gave me the car as a birthday gift, and six months later slapped me so hard he knocked me to the floor.

  The next morning, I was gone.

  The car did remind me of him, but forgetting Stephen entirely was close to impossible, as his face was plastered all over billboards throughout the city. My best option for forgetting him was changing where I spent my time, who I spent it with, and getting a much needed tattoo depicting my newfound intention of flying solo for a long, long while. My first six months of single life was easy, and I hoped the future remained just as simple.

  There was very little risk in encountering anyone meaningful at ten o’clock in the morning at a tattoo parlor other than the overweight former sailor who I expected would tattoo the Latin phrase on my shoulder. As far as I was concerned, I should be able to go get a tattoo without exposing myself to anyone who would tempt me to be in another relationship. Although a relationship wasn’t something I was afraid of or opposed to, I felt it was something I needed to proceed slowly with.

  I glanced in the rearview mirror. Although my preference was to wear contact lenses, a severe scratch on my right eye - the result of his most recent slap - prevented me from doing so for at least another month. I removed my glasses, placed them on the passenger seat, and gazed into the mirror as I tossed my hair into a cute little mess.

  Not knowing for sure how long the tattoo might take, I chose my most comfortable jeans, an open neck tee, sports bra, and my Chuck’s. From what I had read on the internet, being comfortable was the most important thing about getting my first tattoo.

  I walked along the rows of shops, peering curiously into the windows of each one as I passed. Living under Stephen’s thumb for the last four years prevented me from seeing certain parts of the city; he preferred the more glamorous and glitzy east side to the artistic regions of down town.

  With the early morning sun shining directly into my face, I walked along the sidewalk and toward the tattoo shop. As the warmth of the sun combined with my nervous stomach began to make me feel slightly uncomfortable, the flashing neon sign in the window to my immediate right caught my attention.

  Blurred Lines.

  A quick glance through the window and into the shop revealed the back of someone’s head who was seemingly preoccupied with whatever he was studying. Having made my appointment over the phone and not knowing for sure what Blake looked like, I leaned into the door with little expectation of him being anything but a talented tattoo artist.

  As I pushed the door open he spoke over his shoulder without turning around.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  I nodded my head as I glanced around the eclectically decorated shop.

  The interior brick walls differed from the exterior brick in that they were covered with various pieces of painted canvas, framed watercolor paintings, and sketches on transparent paper. Dragons, winged serpents, snakes, flowers, and colorful fish surrounded me. As I seemed to lose myself in the colorful display of artwork, someone stepped between me and the wall I was ogling - well into my personal bubble.

  As I began to step back and separate myself from the invasion, I real
ized in a matter of minutes he would probably be piercing my skin with a mechanized needle, and although it was nothing more than a tattoo, the experience would probably be an intimate one, bonding us together in what I hoped to be a long-term client-artist relationship.

  And he meant no harm.

  “Riley, my ten o’clock?” he asked.

  I stood firm and shifted my focus from the dagger filled skull, nestled in a bed of roses, to the man standing at my side.

  Covered in brightly-colored tattoos from his neck to his fingertips, he stood before me rubbing his hands together. As our eyes met, he extended his right hand and smiled, revealing much whiter teeth than I was prepared for.

  He was far from the overweight sailor I had expected.

  “Blake, I’ll be doing your piece,” he said.

  I shook his hand, stared at his teeth, and smiled. “Riley.”

  He was tall and appeared thin at first, but as I studied him it became apparent his upper body was proportioned very nicely. The Vans tee shirt he wore - obviously one of his favorites - clung to his well-defined chest. Underneath his shirt, the definition of the cross he wore around his neck was apparent. I shifted my eyes along his body. Where the waist of the shirt met his belt, a few dozen holes adorned the faded black garment, clearly showing its age and his preference to wear it. Although I told myself not to stare, refraining from doing so was becoming increasingly difficult. He seemed to be, at least from what I was able to see, everything Stephen wasn’t. He was attractive, yet cute in a boyish sense where Stephen was demandingly handsome. Instead of an expensive suit, he wore a tee shirt, sneakers and jeans. His hair wasn’t cut perfectly; it was more perfectly un-cut. Instead of barking out orders, he stood and nervously rubbed his hands together. As I began reconsidering my recently adopted “single forever” mantra, I shifted my eyes upward until I met his gaze.