by Max Henry
It takes us next to no time at all to find them: two maids crouched in the far corner behind an easy chair and side table. If we had been hostile, these girls would have been toast.
“Come on out,” I say. “We can see you.”
The more composed of the two slowly stands, reaching for the other’s hand. “Come.”
The sobbing mess at her feet stares wide-eyed at the two of us and bursts into tears. She rattles off something in her native tongue, way too fast for me to catch on.
“What’s she saying?” Jacob asks the other girl.
“She’s scared of you. Thinks you’re friends of the boss.”
I fight to contain my smile. “Quite the opposite. You’re safe to leave.” I jerk my head toward the corridor.
They make their way warily around the two of us, only for the scared one to cry out as they come across Alvarez and his buddy. The mouse rattles off another string of barely coherent words, but this time it’s not her workmate who settles her down, it’s Alvarez. He replies in kind, holding her shoulders and gesturing to the main entrance. She nods, eyes wide, hands clutched to the cross at her neck. He gives the girl a smile, and rubs his thumb across her cheek.
The braver of the two gives Jacob and me a small nod before she ushers the mouse toward the exit.
“Alvarez.”
He stands tall, turning to face me. “Yeah, boss?”
“Go with them, would you? Make sure they get out to the road and then find out if they have someone who can pick them up without askin’ questions. If not, call Vince and get him to arrange somethin’.”
He rubs a finger under his nose as he nods. “Yes, boss.”
I turn my head in the opposite direction and eye the double doors that lead into the north wing. My father’s the only person who’s ever been able to make me feel this way: nervous. Even on the day of his death, I still fight the insatiable longing to make him proud, impress him with what I’ve learnt, what I’ve taught myself.
You’ve been waiting for this day . . . .
Exactly. So why now, when I stand here literally feet from making my every fantasy a reality, do I freeze?
Believe in yourself, my devil whispers. You’ve practiced your whole life for this . . . .
I guess I have. Years of killing, of discovering what torture techniques make a man squirm greater than the rest; they’ve all led me to this moment, here and now.
“You good?” Jacob asks.
I nod, steeling my resolve and kicking my feet into action before I have another chance to let the words my father drilled into me over and over as a child, stop me.
Useless.
A disappointment.
Such an embarrassment.
A mistake.
What I would have done to hear him say he loved me, or that he was proud, that he cared. No matter how cruel and ruthless the man is, he’s still my father, and those words from his mouth would have meant so much more than the same sentiments from a man I truly respect, such as King.
Twenty-odd years of trying, boy . . . it’s not going to happen now . . . .
Which makes it even harder to bear.
The clomp of our boots echoes off the barren walls as we make our way through the doors and down the corridor. I hold a hand up, asking the guys to wait where they are when we reach the library, and with a deep breath, push open the doors to the final act.
Well, well, well . . . .
“Honey! I’m home!”
My father’s head lolls to the side as he tries to fix his gaze on me. “What the hell? You organized this?”
Blood runs in a steady stream from a wound on the top of his head. His body and arms are bound to my mother’s favorite reading chair, leaving only his legs loose. And judging by the strange position of the chair in the room, he’s been pedaling to get free.
I pull up a stool, and lean both elbows on my knees, my hands cupped over my mouth while I look him over.
He’s completely at my mercy. I could end this within seconds, or drag it out for hours. It all depends on how I feel for a change. For once in my fucking life, my father has no say in what happens next. He’s finally lost control, and it’s the most glorious thing to behold.
“Get on with it then,” he grumbles, frowning down at his leg.
I shake my head slowly, relishing this moment. So many emotions fight for precedence, leaving my chest aching from the pressure: happiness, regret, confusion, and relief.
Sweet relief.
All the things he did to me, to Mom, and to everyone I love, play through my mind. I stare at him, a living piece of art, while he fidgets in his constraints.
“Is this how you saw it happening?” I ask, curious if he’s thought about this day as much as I have.
He spits on the floor between us. “Fuck your chitchat. Just get it over with, you coward.”
I chuckle, rising off the stool. “Who’s the coward? I do believe you’re the one who’s beggin’ me to make it quick, right now.”
“Never did like wasting time.” He smirks, lifting his venomous gaze to mine. “Probably why I never liked you much; such a monumental waste of time.”
I deal a quick punch to the side of his head, forcing the wound further open with the shock. Blood pumps quickly over his eyebrow, curling around his eye and gathering in his lashes. The contrast of the crimson against his graying hair is striking in itself.
“Nothing about this is a waste of time,” I growl. “Nothing.”
Eeny, meeny, miny, moe . . . .
My devil points his bony finger to various parts of my old man, picking where we’ll start.
I make my way slowly across to the doors, and give the men waiting in the corridor a nod before I shut them out. The click of the lock echoes around the room. My chest rises and falls with measured steady breaths as I commit every sense of this moment to memory: the smell, the feel, and most of all the sounds.
From today, this moment will be my dreams. No more will I wake, my gut in knots after another nightmare where I failed, where I let my father get away.
No, from today onward, his screams, his protests, and his final regrets will be the symphony to which I live my life.
Let’s get to work . . . .
FORTY-TWO
Abbey
He’s been in there for over four hours. The gunfire stopped not long after they got inside, maybe twenty minutes at the most? I didn’t count. I was too busy puking in the hedge to pay that much attention.
Seated side-on over pretty boy’s bike, I tap the home button on my phone for the millionth time, cursing the fact it only has 7 percent battery left. If it dies while I’m waiting, I’m going to go stir crazy not knowing how long it’s been.
A scuff from my left sends my heart into my throat. I freeze, hoping the dark night will give some sort of cloaking effect and hide me in plain sight. The scuff gets louder, closer perhaps. I slip my hand down to where the gun rests atop the fuel tank.
Murmuring. A voice in the night.
I strain my ears so damn hard that my jaw aches with the pressure as I try to work out who it is. Friend or foe? What did half those Devil’s Breed men look like again? Not that it matters; Sawyer said I had permission to shoot anyone acting strange, so I’m sticking with it.
I palm the gun, slowly bringing it up to point in the general direction of the noise.
“Easy, Abbey-girl.”
The bike rocks with the speed I launch off the seat, the gun landing in the grass as I sprint through the dark toward the hazy outline of my man. He holds his arms wide, ready to catch me as I launch myself at him.
Four fucking hours.
Two hundred and forty minutes I feared he was dead or injured.
He wraps his strong arms around me, hoisting me high and crashing his mouth to mine.
“Best reward for a hard night’s work, ever,” he mumbles against my feverish lips.
“I was so stressed, you asshole. Why did it take so long?” I run my hand over his
face, around his neck, searching for injuries I can’t see.
“It took as long as it needed to, baby.”
“Where are the others?”
Sawyer shifts one arm under my butt, and I wrap my legs securely around his waist as he walks us to his bike.
“They’re going through the place, looking for anything of use.”
“And you’re not with them?”
He shakes his head as he sets me down on the seat. “Nothin’ there I want to keep, other than what I brought out for you.” He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a closed fist. “I want you to wear it so I get the opportunity to see it every day.”
I offer my hand when he holds out his, and take the delicate jewelry he drops into my palm. It’s too dark to see the detail, but by running my fingers along the chain, I can pick it’s a pendant necklace.
“Thank you.”
Thank fuck for the dark and it hiding how much of a blubbering mess he’s made me.
He strips his cut off, handing it to me, and then peels his T-shirt off over his head. Something feels cool against my hand, and I realize that his leather is probably covered in blood splatter. A chill races up the arm that holds the cut, causing me to shudder violently.
“Everything okay?” Sawyer asks as he bends down to roll up the leg of his jeans.
“I’m touching his blood, aren’t I?”
“Yeah,” he says hesitantly before chuckling. “Guess I can say you met my old man, right?”
“That’s gross.”
He laughs.
“What are you doing?”
“I untied him,” he says vaguely, as though that’ll explain everything. “Felt wrong doing it without it being fair.”
“And?”
“He knew where there was a letter opener in Mom’s library, but I didn’t.” He hisses, bent at the waist. “Got me good, too.”
The fear and concern that had only just subsided, rush back in with a vengeance. “If you’re hurt, why are we mucking about here?” I jump off the seat. “Let’s go.”
“Baby,” he says with a hint of humor. “I’m fine. Now get back on that fuckin’ seat, I’m not finished with you.”
I grow considerably hot between my legs when he takes the cut, drapes it over the handlebars, and then lifts me with his hands on my waist to place me back on the seat. The whole gentle, yet bossy feel to his actions has me subdued and waiting eagerly to see what he wants.
Sawyer presses in between my legs, reaching between us to undo the button and zipper on my shorts. The pressure in my core, the tension below: I know what he’s going to discover as his hand slips inside my panties.
“Already wet.”
“Is it any surprise?” I reach out and run my palms over his shoulders, admiring the raw strength beneath my fingers. He flexes, and I clench. “Easy.”
His lips spread in a wicked grin, his face still heavily shadowed by the night. With a simple curl of his digits he presses the sweet spot deep inside me. I go limp with a moan, and he catches my weight with his free arm looped behind my back. I reach out blindly, feeling around in front of me until I find what I’m searching for: his belt. He pumps his fingers, priming me as I wrestle his buckle open, and free his straining cock.
My fingers close in a fist around his thick heat, and he hisses.
“Did you ever imagine this would be part of how things went down?” I ask.
He leans closer, taking my bottom lip between his briefly. “Nope.”
“Nice bonus?”
“The best.” He brings his free hand to my jaw, holding me firm, and borderline painful. “You’re never gettin’ away. You get that, right?”
“I wouldn’t want to leave.”
He pulls free, and steps to the rear of the bike. “Straddle it facing me.”
I do as I’m told, but only after I quickly hop off and drop my shorts and panties.
He lets out a heavy breath, his head cocked to the side in disbelief as I hop back onto his bike, legs parted, and my naked pussy slick on the leather. “Jesus, Abbey.”
“What now, pretty boy?”
“This.”
With a growl he grabs ahold of my hips and jerks me down the seat. I fall back, petrified I’m going to tumble off, but he steadies me with a firm palm to my chest. Sawyer gently coaxes my feet in turn onto the stems for his taillights, giving me a little added stability. He shunts me again, a couple more inches toward him so my legs are folded tightly at my hips.
“You better hold on.”
I scramble for purchase on the side of the bike, unsure what I’ve got my hands wrapped around, but he leaves me no time to fuss as he slams himself deep inside. Oh, Lord, yes. Every wired nerve, every last scrap of my unspent energy from worrying that he was okay, explodes and sends me into overload. The Harley rocks with his thrusts, but being the heavy beast it is, it holds up.
Myself? Not so much.
He’s barely been inside me a minute, but already I can feel the tingles in my toes, the tightness in my chest, and the joy as my endorphins rush through my body on a tidal wave of release. “Fuck, Sawyer. I . . . I can’t.”
He slips the hand on my chest to my breast, and grabs hold. The pain spikes, clashing with the pleasure still swirling inside. The contrast is too much, my over-wired brain making each feel more intense than the other as I struggle to focus on one alone.
“Jesus, Abbey. You got no idea how right this feels, baby.” He grunts with his efforts, possessed and lost in his pleasure.
“I do, pretty boy,” I groan. “I do.”
He shifts his hands to my thighs, lifting my ass off the seat with a painfully tight grip. I tip my head back as he angles himself deeper, and gaze up at the stars, shifting as I rock on the bike. I dreamed of finding the man who’d complete me, wished upon the very twinkling beings that shine down on me in this moment, and asked whoever looked out for me for guidance to know when I found the right one.
I gaze at the night sky, my body alive, teetering on the precipice, and smile as a shooting star strikes its way across the inky black backdrop. My eyes fall closed, tears of happiness and relief slowly tracking a path across my temples as the man I know I love with my whole heart cries my name the moment we fall apart together, becoming the one thing he wished for us to be.
Normal.
Loved.
And complete.
I found the soul who could temper my demons, and in return he found a companion for his own.
Life couldn’t be better.
EPILOGUE
Sawyer
Pine needles stick to the mud on my boots as I walk the short distance from the detached garage to our cabin. Moving up here into the mountains was the best decision we ever made. Abbey and I literally left the bullshit behind, made our own little slice of paradise, and set down roots without worrying who’d recognize us or turn up out of the blue to shake our world apart.
I lean a hand against the timber panels of our front door and shuck off my boots, leaving them in the messy yet perfect pile of footwear at the door. I don’t take overnighters as much anymore, and when I do, I find I miss the little things like haphazard footwear at the door more and more. The little things that make our house a home.
I step inside and breathe in the scent of a hot home-cooked meal as I shut the door behind me. “What’s for dinner, baby?”
My woman, my life, comes careening around the corner in a flurry of hastily put up pastel-blue hair, and loose “mom clothes” as I love to call them. She’s never been more stunning.
“I thought that was you I heard.” She waves a dismissive hand behind her, explaining “I couldn’t hear properly over the sound of the blender” as she presses up on her toes, waiting for a kiss.
I reward her with what she needs, and she reaches around me to snag the duffle out of my hand.
“What you got, today?”
“Not much. Pretty clean this time.” I smirk, reaching out to tap my index finger under her pretty chin
. “Must be getting better in my old age, huh?”
“Old.” She snorts, giving me those bashful eyes that always lead to trouble. “You’re not old, pretty boy.”
“Feel it some days.”
She disappears into the laundry room off the entrance, all the while still talking. “I’ll dish you up some dinner, if you want to go wash up.”
“Yes, boss.”
Her chuckle follows me through the lounge as I cross over to the bedrooms on the far side. I catch myself staring out our floor-to-ceiling windows, amazed yet again by the breathtaking view. We lucked out buying this place, getting it on the cheap since the previous owners were in the middle of a messy divorce and wanted the last thing that kept them together, gone.
I pass the guest room, and frown at the job I’ve got to do renovating the space. It seems like the perfect weekend job Monday to Friday, but come Saturday it’s the last thing on my mind. Not when I’ve got the best reason to kick back and hang out right here in front of me, smiling like a lunatic.
“Dad!”
“Hey, little man.” I brace myself and welcome a hug-attack. He’s almost five, and he’s greeted me with a cuddle every damn time I’ve been away since he was old enough to stand on his own two feet. It’s more than I deserve. “Were you good for Mom?”
He smirks, the devilish smile matching my own. “Of course.”
“What you been up to?”
Leyton hops on his bed and snatches up the controller for his Xbox. “Mom and I did some shopping for new shoes, and then she did baking for you, Daddy.”
I chuckle, watching him attempt to control the animated character on the screen as it bounces through an alphabet minefield. He shuffles to one side, giving me room to stretch out and lie down. I kick my feet up, hands behind my head, and enjoy the serenity for what it is.
Nothing cleanses the palate after a noisy weekend of gunfire and bloodshed, than the quiet muttering of a child determined to succeed at everything in life.
My gaze roams over his room, and I settle on a couple of new drawings atop his low table. I slip off the bed and cross to them, bent at the waist to check out the details. Two stick figures with crazy hair pointing straight up are placed beside what I’m assuming is our house going by the color and the shape. A bunch of scribbled circles float over the house in a rainbow of color. I pick the picture up and carry it back to Leyton, lying down once more.