Tormented (Fallen Aces MC #3)

by Max Henry

  “It’s not a joke,” I snap. “They could have fucking killed him.”

  King stares at the ground, a firm frown in place. I know he wouldn’t have done it on purpose, that this wouldn’t have been his first choice, and he’s right. Sawyer striding into Carlos’ estate like a bull in a china shop, shooting up anything that walks and talks, creating all-out havoc, wouldn’t have been in anyone’s best interests.

  “I’ll hang out here,” I say calmly. “You go do what you need to, King. I’ll let you know if I get any trouble.”

  “What are you doin’, Abbey?” Hooch asks, looking between King and me.

  “She’s keepin’ an eye on Sawyer, checking he doesn’t accidentally OD.”

  Hooch shakes his head vehemently. “No way.”

  “Why not?” King asks the question burning in my mind.

  “You know what the risks are, right?” Hooch asks. “Hallucinations, out-of-body experiences, psychosis—as though he doesn’t have enough of that—and general violence when he comes down.”

  “I’m well versed on what the drug does,” I tell him. “And I’m pretty fucking experienced in the come down, too.”

  He stares at me, as does King. Oops. Just let another slice of my history slip.

  “Evan?”

  “What the fuck is it now, Abbey?”

  “Your friend woke up, and she’s being sick on Momma’s bed.”

  “Aw, shit.”

  “Sort it out between yourselves,” King says, checking his phone. “But somebody needs to keep an eye on him. I’ll message you a number to call if you need a doctor, Abbey.”

  Hooch watches King go, waiting until he’s through the garage door before he settles on the armchair opposite where I kneel. I lift Sawyer’s arm from where it rests over the edge of the sofa and feel for his pulse. It’s quick, but nothing to be concerned about.

  “He’s going to wake up in the next hour,” Hooch says. “K doesn’t last that long.”

  “I know.”

  “Why do you like him so much, Abbey?” He settles back in the seat, no ounce of malice in his question as he crosses one ankle to the opposite knee.

  I shrug, looking over Sawyer’s sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, and long eyelashes. “When I look at him, I feel as though I’m looking in a mirror.”

  Hooch snorts. “Right. Last I checked you didn’t have a double-digit body count to your name. Hell, any for that matter.”

  “I do.”

  He twitches a frown. “What?”

  “I said I do have a body count. Two.”

  He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees as I gently tuck Sawyer’s arm beside his big body.

  “You’ve killed, Abbey?” His voice rises an octave, giving away just how unbelievable he thinks the possibility is.

  “There’s a lot about me nobody knows,” I answer, settling with my ribs to the sofa, legs kicked out to the side. “There were a lot of things I was made to do before I was old enough to understand the consequences.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “You need to.”

  I lift my gaze to his, trying to get him to see sense in this. Uncovering the past does nothing to assist the future. If I’m to move forward, be the woman I want to be, and not the one I was forced into being, then I’ve got to leave the pain and regret where it belongs: behind me.

  “I want to live a normal life,” I say. “Get married, have kids, hold down a steady paying job, and worry about how I’m going to pay the utilities just like everyone else.”

  “What’s stopping you?” He reclines into the seat again.

  “Me. Who I am stops me.”

  “Why?”

  “Would you love me?”

  He takes a moment too long to answer, and my vague hopes crash. “You don’t let anyone love you, Abbey, so no, I probably couldn’t be bothered with the constant battle.”

  “And there’s my point,” I whisper.

  He studies my face as Sawyer rolls beside me. I coax pretty boy’s chin up to keep his airway clear, and get comfortable again.

  “It doesn’t mean we don’t care,” he offers quietly. “But I think if you’re lookin’ to that guy there for answers,” he says, holding a hand toward Sawyer, “you’re looking in the wrong place.”

  “Because he’s crazy?”

  “Especially because he’s crazy.”

  I reach out, gently wiping some stray dirt from the shell of his ear. “What if that’s the key, though? Maybe it takes an unstable mind to understand one?”

  “And maybe it’ll just ruin you further, give you some new bad habits to add to your collection.” He stands suddenly, sighing as he looks down at the two of us. “Either come and get me, or get one of the boys when Sawyer wakes up. He’s goin’ to be a handful, and I don’t want him hurtin’ you.”

  “He won’t,” I say, admiring my sleeping beauty.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because if he was truly that evil, he would have taken advantage of my weakness a long time ago.”

  NINE

  Sawyer

  Jesus Christ, my head. I open my eyes, blink a few times, and try to remember what the hell happened. All I can see is the hazy image of my bike lying wrecked. Did I come off?

  In a manner of speaking . . . .

  Damn it. Whatever the hell happened, it wasn’t enough to knock that asshole out of my head.

  Come on now . . . you’ve got a present waiting for you.

  A what? My whole body aches as though I’ve been run over. Shit. Maybe I did come off and get in an accident?

  Do you really think you’re that bad of a rider . . .?

  He has a point; I have excellent history, so dropping my bike doesn’t sound all that likely.

  “How you feeling?”

  I turn my head toward the soft voice behind me, rolling my body over on the sofa so that I face her. Abbey.

  “Rough.”

  “I bet.” She reaches out, and fuck me dead, willingly picks up my wrist to feel my pulse.

  Yeah, it’s quick, sweetheart, but not for the reasons you might think.

  “What happened?” I ask her.

  She frowns, tipping her head to one side. “You don’t recall?”

  I shake mine.

  “Huh,” she says simply.

  “Well?” I tuck my left elbow back and push to sit up, yet almost end up on top of her.

  Not that it would be a bad thing . . . .

  Back off.

  “Careful.” She coaxes me back onto the sofa, dusting her hands on her knees after she’s done. “You’ll be a bit wobbly.”

  “Why do I feel like I’ve had a huge fuckin’ night out with Hooch?” I rub my head, trying to remember anything other than the bike.

  “There’s no soft way to say this, so I’ll just spit it out.”

  I ease onto my side to listen to her as she starts to explain, but hold a hand up to stop her, my eyes going wide.

  “What?” she whispers.

  “Look.” I point behind her. “Are you seeing it?”

  “Uh, the wall?” she asks dryly.

  “The motherfuckin’ March Hare, man. Look at him!” Jesus, I love that crazy bunny.

  “Okay,” she says, pushing my shoulders to make me lie down. “Time to take it easy for a while.”

  “Shh,” I whisper. “You’ll scare him away.”

  How can she not be excited about seeing the March fucking Hare? I loved that story as a kid, the crazy world Alice fell into that made complete and utter sense to all those who lived there. I wanted to live there.

  “In a nutshell, you had a big dose of ketamine, and you’ll feel a little out of it for a while yet.”

  “Ketamine?” I’ve never wanted to do that shit. Why try a drug that fucks with your psyche when your own is bad enough to begin with?

  “Yeah.” She huffs, looking around. “Stay there.”

  I eye her long legs as she rises and walk
s away, her tan skin begging to be stroked right where the frayed edge of her cut-offs rides her ass.

  My pulse pounds thick in my temple as I lie back and stare up at the vaulted ceiling above me. The Cheshire Cat appears in a cloud of magical blue mist, hovering a few feet above my head. I reach out to touch him, but he vanishes, only to reappear on my goddamn toes.

  You’ve really lost it now. My devil collapses over his desk, head in his arms.

  “You’re so cool,” I whisper to the cat, unable to contain my excitement.

  His trademark smile spreads, and his body fades away.

  I clap my hands rapidly, laughing at the fucking mystery of it all. How does he do it?

  “He’s a show-off,” a clipped voice to my right announces. “Never did like the fellow.”

  I turn my head slowly, huge fucking smile on my face, and laugh in disbelief when I find the Mad Hatter leaning over the back of the sofa. “You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding.”

  “I’ve lost something,” he announces, adjusting his oversized hat. “It’s small, furry, and very noisy. Never shuts up.” His eyes go wide, the pupils stretching and shrinking. “Have you seen it?”

  “No,” I say. “Nowhere.”

  “Nowhere, what?” Abbey asks.

  Poof. They’re all gone.

  “Great,” I moan. “You scared them away.”

  “Who?” she asks with one eyebrow cocked.

  Hooch stands behind her, arms folded.

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “How much did they give him?” Hooch asks.

  “Who’s they?” I ask at the same time Abbey says, “Too much.”

  “I’ll take over from here.” Hooch stands tall as he sighs, resting both hands on his head. “You go give Fingers a hand with that mess he’s got to sort out, yeah?’”

  Abbey nods, giving me one last look before she leaves . . . and smiles. Yep, I’m definitely high if I think that crazed woman would want to smile at me. She steps back, and crosses behind Hooch to head for the garage.

  No. Don’t go . . . .

  “Right then, big boy,” Hooch says, moving into my line of sight so I can’t see her anymore. “Let’s detox.”

  ***

  Knock a man out for a while, and the whole world goes to the dogs. The rage from last night returns tenfold when Hooch recounts what the hell happened to send me so far off the rails they thought it would be best to sedate me.

  Only this time I have the clarity to realize that going in without a plan and without support is assisted suicide.

  “We’re not lettin’ him get away with what he’s done,” Hooch reassures me as he stares out over the backyard. “We’re just makin’ sure we don’t rush things.”

  “I know.” I scrub a hand over the back of my head. “I’ve been waitin’ twenty-odd years, so what’s a few more months, right?”

  “Pretty much it.” He slaps me on the shoulder and then drops onto the seat beside me. “You good now, though?”

  I close my eyes and frown. “Apart from feelin’ like I’ve run a goddamn gladiator course or somethin’, yeah, I’m good.”

  “Aching is part of the side effects.”

  “You don’t say.” I lift my phone from my lap and show him the Google page detailing info on ketamine. “What the hell was King doin’ with that shit lying around, anyway?”

  “Jo-Jo uses it.”

  “Explains why he’s so messed up then,” I say dryly.

  “Pot, kettle.”

  I chuckle as my gaze drifts across to where Mack is laid out on his stomach on the grass, playing some game with plastic army men. “That rich boy gonna pull through?”

  The Butcher Boy Ramona shacked up with went and got himself shot while on the way back to the clubhouse with King and Tap last night. Talk about a busy one all round. Something about a whore and a pimp, and some questionable behavior.

  Maybe he isn’t so different to you . . . .

  Probably not. She did always like mothering the broken ones.

  “Yeah, I think he’ll heal up just fine,” Hooch answers. “How’s she doin’ though?”

  I bumped into Ramona at the top of the stairs going off her rocker—after only just hearing what was unfolding myself—ranting shit about making Mack see what this life entails. Except she didn’t scare the kid with the truth of the matter downstairs—Ty bleeding over our goddamn pool table—she scared the hell out of Mack with her crazed ramblings.

  So I did what any self-respecting father would do: I told her to fuck off and get her shit together, and then took Mack for the rest of the day so she’s got time to do just that.

  “She’s shaken up. There’s been a lot goin’ down over the last couple of days, so you can’t really blame her.”

  “You two squared your shit away, though?”

  “Yeah. We talked early this morning, before all that ruckus with Ty.”

  “No more Sawyer and Ramona then, huh?” He leans back, nodding at the thought.

  “Had to happen sooner or later.”

  I confided in him, after he hauled my ass to safety. Told the guy what it was his sister had done for me. What Dana opened my eyes to; the way I treated Ramona was one of those things.

  I’ve never pretended to be a good man. Fuck, I ain’t even a half-decent guy. But the emotional abuse, the manipulation, and the games I played with her? Mack saw it all.

  And I don’t want my son to be just like me.

  I want him to be a real man.

  Sure of who he is, and with a heart full of nothing but love.

  “I’ve been thinkin’,” I say.

  “Here we go.” He rolls his motherfucking eyes at me.

  I let it slide. “Until this plan of King’s to steal the distribution from my father runs its course, my old man is just gonna keep on comin’, keep on fuckin’ with me.”

  “No surprises there,” Hooch drawls.

  “Stayin’ close to Mack. . . it’s selfish.”

  Hooch frowns, twisting in his seat slightly so he can face me better. “How is wantin’ to be a part of your boy’s life selfish?”

  “Because as long as I’m around, trouble ain’t far behind.”

  “You sayin’ you think it’s best if you left then?”

  I sigh, jamming both hands in my pockets as I slouch down in my seat. “In a nutshell.”

  Nutshell. My devil laughs. That’s priceless . . . Nut=me. Shell=you. Fantastic . . . .

  With a quick heel of my hand straight to the temple, I manage to shake him up enough to shut his piehole.

  “You talked to Mona about it?”

  “Ain’t none of her business, what I want to do.”

  “Who’s going to tell Mack then? Or were you just plannin’ on skippin’ out of town without saying a thing?”

  I roll my head to the side and level his gaze. “I may be an asshole, Hooch, but I’m not that cold.”

  He shrugs. “Just puttin’ it out there.”

  The dense clomp of heavy boots on the timber decking has both our heads turning to see who’s joined us.

  Now we’re talking . . . .

  “You boys thirsty?” Abbey asks. “I was just fixing myself a drink, so thought I’d be polite and ask.”

  Hooch places his order.

  I just stare.

  She’s a fucking sight for sore eyes, that’s for sure. Long legs going on for miles before they reach her tight leather booty shorts. And one of those old T-shirts of Apex’s she’s always worn, but unlike when she was young, the side is tied into a knot at her hip, giving me a peek at her stomach.

  I lift my gaze to find her watching me. “What about you?”

  “Love a Coke,” I say, narrowing my gaze on her.

  “No alcohol?” Bitch smirks.

  “Not for a while, I think.”

  “You need anything else, you just holler for me, okay?” Her teeth rake over her cherry red bottom lip before she turns and walks away.

  I can feel Hooch’s eyes on me, but fuck
him and his opinions; I watch that ass as it leaves anyway. Something’s flipped in that girl since I lost my shit, and damned if I know what it is. Nobody can simply turn a light on when they’re as dark as we are. She’s testing me—has to be. Especially with that fucking clothing and makeup. Can’t tell me she needs to get that prettied up just to hang around in a place like this. Only the property girls get dressed up nice, makeup and all, every day.

  Unless . . . .

  Don’t say it, fucker.

  Maybe she is . . . .

  Abbey wouldn’t be that stupid.

  Each to their own . . . .

  She wouldn’t be turning tricks for these boys—not when she shies at the touch so easily.

  “She fuckin’ anyone?” I blurt before my internal filter can get its shit together.

  Hooch laughs, pulling his fucking tinderbox out of his pocket. “Not right now, man.”

  He’s beaten you to it . . . .

  Fuck off he has. I eyeball Hooch as he lines a bump up in the crook of his hand.

  Look at him . . . that smirk . . . the light in his eye . . . he’s tasted the candy . . . .

  “You fucked her?” I ask, a darn sight less friendly.

  His hackles go up as he stiffens his shoulders, wiping under his nose while he squares my gaze. “Wouldn’t tell you if I had.”

  “Jesus, you fuckin’ dog. You have.”

  “That’s between her and me.”

  I slam both arms over my chest, sliding down in the seat and widening my legs. My expression mirrors the storm inside as I sulk like the spoilt fucking kid I am. He’s played with my toy first; taken it out of its wrapper and touched all the pretty pieces before I can.

  Asshole . . . .

  Can’t blame him though, really.

  Thought you didn’t want her anyway . . .? Thought she was too weak for you . . .?

  Yeah, well, I changed my mind.

  TEN

  Abbey

  “Pass me the wire brush, would you?”

  “Sure.” I pick the tool up from the mess that is always Fingers’ worktable and hand it over.

  He sighs, running his worn fingers over the weld where he’s fixed the dent in Sawyer’s tank. He’s been tinkering with it for the last two days, ever since pretty boy got knocked off, frustrated that he’s having trouble getting it to patch evenly.