Tempting Fate

by Kylie Hillman

  ***

  The white suds are in stark contrast to Lainey’s smooth tanned shoulders and chest, the bubbles that fill the spa threatening to overflow on to the floor with our movements. I pass her another glass of vodka and pineapple before uncapping a bottle of a beer and downing half the bottle. The last thing I wanted to do was share a bath with her—it’s kinda hard to wear a T-shirt in the water—except her pleading eyes and kisses won me over. It’d taken some creative bullshitting to get in the bath before her, and I probably look like a moron with my back plastered against the side. The contentment that’s radiating from my woman makes up for the military level planning it took for me to make her wish come true.

  “Slow down there, Sir-Chugs-a-lot,” she chides with a cheeky smile on her face. “Anyone would think you’re trying to work up some liquid courage. You should know by now that I’m a sure thing.”

  The wink Lainey ends her teasing with is overdone; lifting both her cheeks and ending with her closing both eyes. The water splashes up the side of the bath when I laugh at her. She’s never been able to wink. Although, she refuses to believe anyone who tells her. “You look like an epileptic squirrel when you try to wink.”

  “Do not.” She splashes me with water so I grab her ankle and drag her over to me. Lainey shrieks, holding her glass above her head so it doesn’t end up in the water.

  “Do too.” I kiss her. “But, you’re a sexy squirrel.”

  Pulling her lips from mine, she giggles, “Well, there’s that at least.”

  I stare at her in the candlelit bathroom, running my gaze over her flushed cheeks, her glazed eyes, and the tops of her breasts where they float on top of the water. She’s fucking gorgeous. Too beautiful for the likes of me, but the love that I see in her face tells me that she doesn’t agree. Moving my hand up her leg, I grimace when I make contact with the waterproof bandage that she put on her leg before climbing into the spa to join me. The makeshift first aid kit I spied in her handbag set alarm bells ringing in my head and I’d vowed to myself to get her back into therapy the minute we get home. The bandage looks like the same one I saw at the new house, so I don’t think she’s cutting anymore—the fact she’s still carrying stuff with her means that the urge hasn’t left.

  “What’s wrong,” Lainey’s question tears me from my thoughts.

  Finishing my beer, I wordlessly lay back against the edge of the spa, bringing her with me as I do. Taking her glass from her hands, I place it on the floor, then turn her so I can pull her back against my chest. Gently splashing warm water over both of us, I kiss the top of her head and revel in the peace between us. She’s silent for a long while, although I can hear the cogs in her head turning while she ruminates on something.

  “Mik. I know something’s up. Talk to me.” The voice she asks in is soft; the steel undertone that brooks no argument impossible to miss.

  With tentative fingertips, I trace the worst of the scars on her right side. “How do you cope with these? Do they still make you spitting mad? Did pulling the trigger help?”

  I’m aware that I’m avoiding what we really need to talk about; but, Lainey’s the best person to ask about this. She sees the permanent reminders of what was done to her every time she looks in the mirror. And, in spite of their prominence, I’ve rarely seen her acknowledge their existence. Sliding down my chest until her chin is in the water, I smile when she blows bubbles instead of answering me. Tilting my head back, I stare at the ceiling, and try my hardest to talk myself into letting go of my need to know.

  “I hate them.” Lainey’s vehemence snaps my head forward. I stare mesmerised as she traces my previous path over her scars with her own fingertips. “They remind me that someone else had control of my body. That it was taken from me and there was not a thing I could do about it.”

  Intertwining her fingers with mine, she taps her temple with our joined hands. “These scars are worse though. The ones in my head—the ones that tell me I’m ruined—they’re the ones I can’t deal with. Did pulling the trigger help? Yeah, it did. Does knowing he’s dead help? Kinda. Only problem is that now he’s dead, I can’t get any answers out of him. I’ll never know why. Why me? What did I do that made him pick me? Why couldn’t he leave me alone? He went to jail and I was still the first thing he went after when he was released. Why?”

  Shit. I wind my fingers through her other hand and tighten my arms around her. We’re a matching pair now. Both fucked up—scarred on the inside and outside—and doing our best to hide it from everyone else. Leaning my chin on top of her head, I purge my soul. “I voted to end Beast. Dad voted against it. That’s why it didn’t pass.”

  Lainey stiffens in my arms, then pulls her fingers from mine and moves to the other side of the spa. “You’re joking, aren’t you? You said—”

  Shaking my head, I reach for her hands. She snatches them out of my reach, drawing her knees against her chest, moving every part of her body out of my reach. “I didn’t lie. You assumed, Angel. Dad’s vote has only postponed the inevitable. He doesn’t want to die knowing that I killed his best friend so he asked that I did it after he dies. I agreed.”

  Standing in front of me, water running down her lithe frame when she does, Lainey glares down at me. “Why are you telling me this now? I know how the Club works; you could’ve kept this to yourself. Forbidden them from telling me.”

  “I fucking wanted to. I was going to.” Anger is starting to take hold of me. I expected her to react like this, yet a small part still hoped that she’d changed her mind. Careful to keep my back pressed against the side of the bath, I match her stance by crossing my own arms across my chest. She scowls down at me while I match her hostile gaze through narrowed eyes of my own. “I’m telling you because I want you to choose me. I want your blessing. I want to be the one who makes everyone who’s done you wrong pay for it.”

  Her expression falters, the full bottom lip that I love sucking on begins to quiver. “I can give you everything, except that.” Dropping my gaze, she steps out of the bath. Wrapping a towel around her shaking frame, she turns back to me. Her beautiful eyes are brighter than usual as she fights off tears. “It’s going to happen whether I’m on board or not, isn’t it?”

  “It is, Angel.” I nod. With my admission, the tears that she was blinking back fall, a trail running from each eye soundlessly. Lainey’s sadness is my Achilles heel—it always has been. Except, I can’t give her what she wants this time. She’s had her turn to pull the trigger. I need mine. “We have time. Promise me you’ll think about it. It’s important to me.”

  Holding her towel to her chest with one hand, she steps forward and runs her free hand down my cheek. Leaning down, she kisses me—it’s closed-mouthed, devoid of passion, and filled with a sorrowful understanding. Her touch lingers, even after she pulls back from me and makes her way to the door.

  “I know it’s important to you, Mik. That’s why I’ll be doing nothing but thinking about it. You never ask for anything; I know that. What you don’t get is that he’s my dad, and while my logic says he deserves to die for what he’s done, I love him.” Lainey starts to step out into the bedroom, only to come to a stop and swing around to face me. “I might not be able to give my blessing, but, I promise I’ll try to understand.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  MADDI

  “MIK! MIK!” I scream, struggling underneath him while he tries to punch me. “Stop it.”

  “Die, motherfucker.” He jams his fist into my ribs then wraps both hands around my neck. With his T-shirt bunched around his upper body, I can’t dig my fingernails into him. I’m rapidly running out of air, my side is in agony from his hit, and I can feel my eyes bulging when he squeezes his hands around my throat tighter. Using my heel, I kick him in the back, right in the kidney, repeating it again when his grip loosens a little. Dragging in as much air as I can, I work one arm out from underneath him, then jam my fingers viciously into the side of his neck. Mik recoils; giving me enough space to free my other arm
from its position trapped between our bodies.

  In the tiny amount of moonlight that illuminates the bedroom in the cabin, I can see that his eyes are shut. He’s in the throes of a nightmare. One in which he thinks I’m an enemy that he needs to kill. While I’m examining him, he tightens his grip around my neck and starts to choke me again. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I twist my hips and try my hardest to wrestle him onto his back. It doesn’t work—he’s too heavy and too angry—so I resort to hurting him again. I push two fingers into the soft spot under his chin, pressing them into the pressure point with relentless intent, not letting up even when he bellows with pain. When his eyes open, I grab a handful of his hair and pull, twisting my hips again when he roars from the pain in his scalp, succeeding in pushing him onto his back this time.

  “What the fuck?” Mik wakes up and stares at me like I’m the one attacking him. Letting go of his hair, I grind my teeth together when some of his hair falls from my fingers, and I pry his now slack hands for my neck. He snatches them back, looking at them like they don’t belong to him. From my position on top of him, I glare down into his wild-eyed gaze. “What the fuck, indeed? You just attacked me in your sleep. You tried to kill me.”

  Holding his hands up as if surrendering, Mik looks aghast. He knocks me off him and then scrambles from the bed. Pulling his T-shirt down to his hips, he turns his back to me and stares out the window into the darkness. Gripping his hair with both hands, he shakes his head then drops to the floor on his knees. I crawl from the bed naked as the day I was born, sit on the carpet next to him, and wrap my arms around his shoulders. His entire body is shaking. I rub his back and croon to him. “It’s all right. It’s all right.”

  Although, as I say the words, I’m not sure if they’re true. It’s been bouncing around my head since his release, that something has happened to him that he’s keeping to himself. That suspicion, as well as, his weird questions about my scars just ramps my misgivings up a notch. His nightmare confuses me—who was he trying to kill?

  A horrible thought crosses my mind—maybe Mik doesn’t want revenge; he needs it? He had a nightmare on his first night too. The thought joins the other one in my head, answering my questions about why I’d woken up to him holding me like I was his lifeline.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” I change tact. His shuddering hasn’t subsided any; if anything, it’s getting worse. Despite my injured throat, my voice is strong when I tell him, “I can’t help you if you don’t speak to me.”

  Thinking that I might soothe him easier if I try skin on skin, I slip my hand under his T-shirt so I can stroke his back. Mik grabs my hands, squeezing my wrist to make me stop, then pushes to his feet. Hands on his hips, he scowls at me. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

  Leaving me on the floor, he stalks out of the room and slams the door shut behind him. I flinch at the sound, then sink back against the side of the bed. It’s my turn to stare out of the window seeking answers. The stars and the moon shine back at me, twinkling mockingly at me as they yield nothing of use. Confusion muddles my head, making it impossible to think. I drop my gaze to my hands that are folded in my lap. The white bandage catches my eye, setting off the familiar churning need in my stomach. I don’t usually feel the urge this soon after an episode, however, the aching emptiness in my chest caused by Mik’s strange behaviour is making the desire to feel pain overwhelm me. Picking at the edges of the bandage, I expose the newest cuts. They’re barely beginning to heal. I push on the closest incision, closing my eyes and basking in the bruised tenderness that hurts just the way I like it. Pressing harder against it, a shiver runs the length of my body at the delicious lick of pain.

  Getting to my feet, I flinch when the pain from Mik’s punch to my side makes itself known. Holding my ribs, I flick the lock to the bedroom door on my way to the bathroom. Once inside the bathroom, I sit gingerly on the edge of the spa and unzip the bag that holds my supplies. Plucking out a new razor, I stare at it, and try to talk myself out of cutting.

  There’s no way Mik won’t know this time. You’re going to get caught, then he’s going to be upset with you. Don’t put more worry on his shoulders. Just do one in the same spot. He won’t know if you keep it contained to the same position. Closing my eyes, I hold my breath and attempt to stop the internal monologue that’s threatening to drive me insane.

  “Just one.” I chide myself out loud in a raspy voice. “One taste and you’re done.”

  Uncapping the razor, I’m in the process of choosing which scab I’m going to cut next to when loud knocking erupts on the bedroom door. Moments later, it’s smashed open. The wood bangs against the wall, and I hear Mik stomp inside yelling for me. Hurriedly, I lock the bathroom door to buy myself enough time to pack away my stuff before he catches me.

  “What the fuck are you playing at? Open this goddamn fucking door. NOW.” Mik pounds his fist against it. I’m stuffing everything into the bottom of my bag when this door receives the same treatment as the first and is kicked in. I hop out the way just in time, pushing my bag under the basin cabinet and kicking the door shut when the bathroom door breaks and Mik follows the crumbling wood inside.

  I perch on the side of the spa and try to look innocent. Mik takes one look at my face, drops his gaze to the bandage on my leg that I’ve forgotten to stick shut again, and erupts into a stream of curses. He grabs hold of my upper arm and hauls me to my feet. Lifting my leg so he can look at it, I hop awkwardly on one foot, then try to limp away when he drops my leg and yells in my face. “You fucking promised me you’d stop. I can see fresh cuts. Fuck, you were about to do it again, weren’t you? What is wrong with you?”

  Wincing when I move the wrong way, the reminder that he might have damaged my ribs when he hit me screams loud and clear. Like the screwed-up woman that I am, I let the new pain settle me. It calms my mind and gives me the clarity I need to lie my way out of this situation. “I haven’t cut again. I was just looking at it to make sure you hadn’t reopened any of them when you attacked me.”

  Mik is instantly contrite, and guilt eats at me when he regards me with horror on his face. “What did I do to you?”

  “Nothing bad.” I sound croaky, my bruised throat making it hard to speak. Shake my head and shuffling forward to hug him, I’m rebuffed when he steps away from me.

  “What’s wrong with your side?” I lift my arm as far as I can—which isn’t much—shocked to see bruising setting into my ribs already. He must have hit me harder than I thought. Mik squats so he can inspect it. With a delicate touch, he prods my side, recoiling when I let out a hiss between my teeth. The more I’m thinking about it; the more it hurts. It didn’t seem so bad earlier.

  “Fuck. I think I’ve broken your ribs.” Burying his head into my stomach, Mik apologises over and over. “I didn’t mean to. I was asleep. Fuck. I’m fucking sorry.”

  Running my fingers through his hair, I try to calm him. I feel bad that my predominant thought is satisfaction that I’ve gotten away with my lies, followed closely by sympathy that he’s hurting because he hurt me. The irony of the situation grips me and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing at the absurdity of our situation. Here I am, deliberately hurting myself while Mik’s close to tears because he hurt me. God, we’re messed up.

  “It’s okay. I know you were having a nightmare.” The words are hard to get out with my sore throat. I clench my teeth when his grip on me tightens. Pulling him to his feet, I let out a small moan of agony at the movement. “Let’s go to bed. Everything will be okay in the morning.”

  ***

  “Just tell her.” I hear Timber’s voice in the living area of the cabin. My curiosity is piqued at what he’s telling Mik to tell me, but I’m not wearing anything so I back into the bedroom and pull on a pair of jeans. Groaning as I try to work them over my hips, I banish the idea of buttoning them from my head. It’s not happening. Stealing one of Mik’s T-shirts from the bag, I try to slide it on but fail dismally. Huffing, I per
ch on the edge of the bed and contemplate how I’m ever going to get out of this room.

  “Need a hand?” JJ’s prim voice heralds her entry through the smashed-up doorway. My heart melts at the sight of my red-headed friend with her newborn baby in her arms. Lifting my arms as high as I can, I hold out them out so I can cuddle my godson. JJ ignores me, walking by and placing a sleeping Kaden in the middle of the bed.

  “What are you doing here?” I question in a raspy voice. It seems that, like my ribs, my neck is worse this morning also.

  She sits on the bed next to me. “Mad Dog phoned Lucas in a panic this morning. Sounds like you two have been having fun. Night terrors, broken ribs, cutting.” She rubs her hand over my jean clad thigh. “I needed to escape Mama C so I sweet-talked my way into the car.”

  Sighing, I try to make light of her spot-on assessment of our current predicament. “It’s not that bad. I mean, it’s not like he asked for my blessing to kill my father. Now, that would make things fun.”

  Laughing because it’s better than crying, I lean against the tiny woman next to me. If anyone could have sage advice about any of this; it’d be JJ. She’s the poster child for family dysfunction. Her father almost makes mine look sane. Tugging the T-shirt from my hand, she says softly, “Let’s get you dressed, then we can talk about things.”

  It takes some manoeuvring to get me clothed but we manage it. I couldn’t stand the pressure of a bra so I’m just wearing Mik’s T-shirt over bare breasts. JJ helps me stand, then lifts the material covering my ribs and has a look at them. “Take a deep breath.”

  I inhale a shuddering breath as far as I can—which isn’t far since I have busted ribs and a squashed throat to contend with. “I can’t. It hurts too much.”

  Biting my cheek, I cringe when JJ prods the bruised area with expert fingers. “Can you twist?”

  “Nope.” I answer. “The only thing that doesn’t hurt too much is talking and breathing shallowly.”