by D. A. Young
Appearance-wise, Ingrid was the perfect blend of his sisters, and that was what fucked with Graham most. That there was a chance that they, too, could have suffered from her lifestyle and Ingrid hadn’t done a damn thing to protect any of them. She was too busy spreading her legs and searching for her next fix to care about her offspring. The rare times she was sober, Ingrid went one of two ways with him.
One was smiling all up in his face and telling Graham how much he looked like his daddy. Then came the stories about the man, who was depicted as a god, but had beaten and pimped his own wife out, gotten her addicted to drugs, and would have sold his own children.
“Boy, your daddy was a man’s man,” Ingrid would say with a reminiscent smile that often turned into a wistful sigh. “They don’t make them like my Russie anymore.”
And what a pity that was. After his father’s death, Graham became the family’s official dragon slayer and drove all the johns who mistreated Ingrid off and afterwards life was…decent. Unfortunately, for every dragon slain, there was another that was bigger and badder. And none were more frightening than Arthur Watts.
Ingrid’s second way was she insisted that he wasn’t shit and would never amount to anything just like his sonofabitch father. So, basically if Graham had chosen to believe her, he’d have been fucked either way.
“Prognosis?” Graham abruptly inquired.
“She’s fought us every step of the way, but your mother is doing very well,” the doctor beamed with satisfaction. “You should be very proud of her, Mr. Carlton.”
“I should, shouldn’t I?” Graham answered cryptically as he monitored her every move.
He’d tracked Ingrid down after she left the halfway home Georgie checked her into. She was laying low on the westside of Las Vegas in an abandoned apartment building. The hovel was filthy and dank, smelled like mildew, and had minimal light that seeped through the boarded-up windows. This place made the apartment he’d grown up in look like a mansion. Graham could hear the roaches scattering out of his way across the linoleum floor as he approached the partially closed door of what he assumed was the bedroom.
Suddenly, the door was yanked open and a man stumbled out, pulling his pants up haphazardly. He looked startled to see the tall, imposing figure blocking his way and froze. Graham bared his teeth and cracked his knuckles menacingly, and alarmed, the man backed up, putting distance between them before sprinting for the door. Graham watched him bolt with a combination of anger, disgust, and resignation, knowing what he would find on the other side of the door. He pushed the door open to find three more men lined up against a side wall, lustily watching the scene in front of them unfold. Just like old times.
Two people occupied the filthy, stained mattress on the floor that was covered in fast food wrappers, used condoms, and empty alcohol bottles. The woman was so stoned that she wasn’t even paying attention to the scrawny black man with the conked white hair humping away on top of her. Graham’s skin crawled as he watched the man’s narrow, saggy behind twitching, damn near twerking as he pumped away inside of Ingrid.
The men turned at Graham’s entrance, and he leveled his gun at them. Two scrambled out the door first, then the apartment, leaving an older white man to glare at him balefully as he scratched his balls through his dirty, ripped sweats.
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere! I already paid my ten bucks,” he whined, almost knocking Graham over with the stench of his fetid, alcohol-soaked breath. “I want my turn!”
Ten. Dollars. That’s what Ingrid was degrading herself for. Graham viciously pistol-whipped him before bringing the butt of his gun down on the man’s head, knocking him unconscious. His attention was drawn back to the bed and the pair that was oblivious to their surroundings.
“Bitch, you like this dick, don’t you? Say it! Say you like my dick!”
Instead of answering him, Ingrid gave a tired yawn, stretched, and closed her eyes. She was quickly awakened when he struck the side of her face with his fist. Her scream of pain had Graham crossing the room in two strides to grab the motherfucker by the neck and squeeze it painfully. The man howled and his dick bobbed around when Graham flung him to the floor like a rag doll and connected his steel-toed boot with the asshole’s jaw. The satisfying crunch that followed made Graham smile. The man rocked back and forth, screaming in agony and cradling his broken jaw as Ingrid peered fearfully up at Graham between her splayed fingers. The panic in her hazel eyes receded only to be replaced with hopefulness as she lowered her hands.
Graham’s stomach tightened with revulsion when she tentatively whispered, “Russie? Is that you, baby? I ain’t dreamin’, right? You for real?”
Jesus. Christ. Not this fuckery again.
“Nah, I ain’t your precious Russie,” Graham spoke bitterly as he avoided looking at her naked form by scooping her clothes up from the floor and flinging them at her. “Get your ass up and dressed, Ingrid. We’re leaving.”
Recognition dawned slowly in Ingrid’s eyes. She stood up and shuffled into her clothes. “Boy, what in the hell are you doin’ here?” Ingrid yanked her short, threadbare dress down as she sneered malevolently, “I bet that whiny little bitch Georgina went runnin’ and cryin’ to you! I know she put you up to this shit—”
Her words were cut off as Graham’s hand wrapped around her throat and lifted her up, holding her against the wall effortlessly. Fear made her eyes bulge as she desperately clawed at his hand and he tightened his grip until she stopped moving. Her eyes darted around the room furtively, looking for an escape, but none would be forthcoming. From this day on, Graham would make sure Ingrid was held accountable for all her actions.
Regret ate away at his soul that this was what they’d come to. Graham didn’t like putting his hands on a woman in this manner, but unfortunately, this was what Ingrid understood best. His voice was deceptively polite when he made his point as if they were discussing the weather. “If you ever disrespect my sister again…I. Will. Kill. You. Blink once if you understand.”
She did and Graham relaxed his hold slightly. “Excellent. Now in my opinion, Georgie was a little too lenient with you regarding that halfway house bullshit. I know the perfect place for you…”
The doctor’s voice broke Graham out of his reverie. “Would you like your mother moved to our community center once she completes treatment?”
“No. Keep her in treatment until I say otherwise. I’m going down to see her.”
***
“YOU BASTARD!”
An enraged Ingrid screamed as the automatic door to her room slid open and Graham entered the confined space before it closed again. She launched herself at her son, fists flailing. “I knew I should have aborted you sorry-ass bastards when I had the chance! You can’t keep me here! Get the fuck outta my way! I’m leaving now!”
“Sit your ass down!” Graham ordered harshly as he easily deflected her blows. Shaking and shivering, Ingrid’s glare was full of fury as she grudgingly obeyed him, restlessly twitching and plucking at the comforter.
“What’s the matter, Ingrid? Reality ain’t your cup of tea?” Graham taunted as he stood over her with a derisive smirk. “It sucks when you can’t hide behind drugs and alcohol, doesn’t it? Everything sharpens into blinding clarity and there’s no room for denial. You gotta own your shit.”
“Leave me alone!” Ingrid swiped her arm across her snotty nose and drew her knees up to rest her face on it. Trying to block him out, she began to wail pitifully.
“You must really think I’m ‘boo-boo the fool’. Spare me your theatrics, Ingrid. Nobody’s fallin’ for your pathetic tricks.”
Immediately, she raised her head and confirmed what Graham suspected— nary a tear in sight.
“What do you want from me?!” Every word was soaked in venom and in her hazel eyes, so like Eliza’s and Camille’s, Graham saw nothing but corrosive hatred blazing at him.
Graham recoiled in disgust from her. “Ingrid, I don’t want a damn thing from you. I’m here because yo
u had no business disrupting Georgie’s life. Instead of doing what I really want to do to you, I’m giving you a gift.”
“What kind of gift?” Ingrid inquired warily.
“I’m talking about the gift of life. I’m giving yours back. You’re going to stay here and work through all your fucked-up shit and then go about your business, functioning like a pseudo normal member of society.”
He squatted down until they were eye level. “Stay away from my family, Ingrid, or I promise you won’t like the consequences.” Graham paused to make sure his words were sinking in, to allow her to see the dangerous intent in his eyes. “Whenever you think of defying me, just remember what happened to Watts when he also took me for a joke. I was just a kid back then, Ingrid. I promise you that I’ve only gotten better with age.”
Ingrid said nothing but Graham could see the defiance warring with trepidation in her eyes until acceptance claimed its rightful spot. Good. He stood up and walked to the door when Ingrid made one last attempt at having the last word.
“How dare you!” Ingrid screamed at his retreating back. “I didn’t raise my children to talk to me like this!”
“Lucky for your children, you didn’t raise them at all.”
***
“So, it’s a damn waiting game?” Max questioned sardonically, his black eyes hard with displeasure. Lips twisted in a snarl, he shook his head in the negative. “You know that’s not how I’m built, so miss me with that bullshit, man. I saw what dealing with Ingrid did to my wife firsthand! I won’t have her coming here to destroy everything we’ve been building.”
“Man, I know exactly how you’re built because you sure as hell wouldn’t be with my sister if you were a punk. I also get where you’re coming from, but Ingrid can only do that if your house was built on a shaky foundation to begin with,” Graham challenged with a raised eyebrow as he surveyed the loves of his sisters’ lives. “Is that what the two of you are tryna tell me?”
“Fuck. No.” Wade spoke succinctly for him and his best friend, determination blazing from his dark blue eyes. He set his drink down with a thud on the counter and straightened his dark suit jacket. “I think it’s time I remind my woman of that fact as well. Eliza seems to be suffering under the impression that we face difficult times apart. That shit doesn’t fly with me.”
He strode toward the door, but it swung open before Wade reached it to reveal Eliza and Georgie, hands tightly clasped as they entered the kitchen.
“Relax, Wyatt Earp, I’m right here,” Eliza remarked dryly, squeezing Georgina’s hand reassuringly before releasing it to slide into Wade’s outstretched arms, allowing him to pull her tightly against him. Despite her initial resistance to his attempts at comforting her, Eliza realized being wrapped in Wade’s strong arms was exactly where she needed to be. His lips brushed the side of her forehead, and she slid her arms around his waist and pressed a kiss to the muscular column of his neck. “I owe you an apology for earlier, babe. I saw her and my self-preservation kicked in. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to shut you out like that.”
Wade rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles as he dropped a lingering kiss on the corner of her mouth. “It’s a good thing you came to your senses, love, because I was on my way to set you straight.”
Eliza’s hazel eyes smoldered with desire in response of his claim while her hands slipped down to slide into the back pockets of his black dress slacks. Her lips quirked up in a teasing smile as she seductively murmured, “Hmmm. Maybe I should I just go back upstairs and wait for you?” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at Wade. “You know I love the way you, ahem, ‘set me straight’. Oh, and don’t forget to bring your cuffs, Sheriff.”
“Yeah, we’re all still here and can hear you!” Graham reminded her with a cringe of disgust, prompting a laugh from Max and Georgie at his expense while Eliza and Wade remained oblivious in their own little world. “And some of us had appetites.”
“Give it up, Graham. You’re surrounded by love,” Georgie crowed from her position on Max’s lap where her husband held her securely with his arms possessively circling her waist. “It’s just a matter of time before Cupid taps that ass, big brother.”
“If he hasn’t already,” Max added slyly, earning him a middle finger from Graham.
“There’s not a chance in hell of that ever happening,” Graham said confidently. “I don’t do relationships.”
“Uh-huh; that’s what you say now.” Max remained unconvinced. “You do know that the Spring Chickens have started another town wager, this time in your name?”
“Say what?!” Graham’s incredulous expression was priceless to the couple as he begged his sister, “Please tell me his ass is lyin’.”
“Max!” Georgie attempted to cover her husband’s mouth. He managed to avoid her hand and cup her face to give her a resounding kiss that melted her objections. “That was supposed to be a secret!”
“Woman, what kind of brother-in-law would I be if I didn’t warn him?” Max chuckled good-naturedly.
“How about the kind who put two hundred dollars in the pool himself?” Wade quizzed his friend, laughing at the death glare Max shot him.
“Like you didn’t match it?”
“Jackasses.” Graham glanced suspiciously at his sisters who were suddenly preoccupied with studying the assorted medallion patterns they’d tastefully decorated the ceiling with. A sense of foreboding filled him at their guilty looks. With a pained expression, Graham probed, “Please tell me that the two of you didn’t partake in this foolery as well.”
“Weeell, at least the proceeds go to a worthy cause,” Georgina cheerfully consoled her irate brother. “The money from Max’s wager was donated to Baymoor High. Lucky for the students, the amount was large enough for the school faculty to purchase new uniforms in every sport for the boys and girls.”
“Do I even want to know what it’s up to?” Although Graham was horrified by this ridiculous turn of events, he hoped that the women of Baymoor at least thought enough of him to make the pool interesting.
“I believe Ms. Ida said there’s enough in there for at least six months’ worth of mortgage payments for the average Baymoor house right now,” Eliza managed to say with a straight face. Her eyes drifted upward to Graham’s bald head. “Word is, Armisha Johnson’s tithing is at an all-time low because she likes the fact that you maintain your bald head. She said, and I quote, ‘Stubble only gives her rug burn on her thighs’. She already knows that wouldn’t be an issue with your cue ball head.”
“The good reverend?! Jesus, be a fence!” Graham groaned painfully as he downed the liquor in one fiery gulp then snatched the bottle for a refill. “Don’t mind me; I’m just going to drink that image away.”
“How long do you intend to be gone?” Max asked as Wade and Eliza joined them at the table.
Graham concentrated on the dark amber liquid he was pouring as adrenaline rushed through his body at the thought of finally coming face-to-face with the woman who’d haunted his dreams as well as most of his waking moments. Annabelle Gaines.
He raised his glass to his lips. “For however long it takes to get what I want. But first, I’ve got one stop to make.”
“Should I ask why and where?” Wade’s somber expression matched Max’s as they both knew the mission Graham was on.
Graham met the eyes of both men, and understanding passed between them before he spoke with finality. “No, Sheriff, you really shouldn’t.”
***
“You really won’t let me stay at the house?” Ingrid was filled with dismay as she watched her older brother and one-time protector unload his trunk. She hadn’t anticipated not having a place to stay when she came home. She was anticipating Nate being proud that she’d finally completed her stint in rehab and willing to overlook her past transgressions. “But I’m clean now! It’s been more than ninety days and I’m in an Outpatient Program with a sponsor I talk to everyday. Nate, I did what everyone wanted!”
Nate lifted h
er last bag from his trunk and a silently fuming Val shut it. He pointed to the faded brown door with the number 89 on it. “Open the damn door, Ingrid. That’s your problem. You didn’t do it for you. My son had to go and drag your ass out of some rathole and threaten you. There was no choice for you to make on your own. If Graham hadn’t gotten you clean, you’d still be a swamp-ass drug addict! I don’t let addicts into the home I built in love with my wife and considered to be my children’s safe haven. This is where you will stay and I will pay for a month’s stay. I suggest you find yourself a job or you’ll be out on your ass.”
“They don’t even live there anymore and they’re not your children!” Ingrid knew she didn’t have a leg to stand on, but felt some sort of stand was necessary.
“They sure as hell aren’t yours, Ingrid!” Val seethed coming to stand beside her husband. “You didn’t cherish and love them like we have! You preferred to play Russian Roulette with their lives instead.” She got in Ingrid’s face. “They are my babies! I should beat your ass for the shape you left them in! You will accept my husband’s generosity and submit to a weekly drug test. The first time you come back positive I’ll come back and throw you on your narrow-ass myself. Are we clear?!”
Meekly Ingrid nodded her head and dragged a suitcase to the door. After shooting his wife raised eyebrows, Nate followed suit.
On the way home he grinned at Val. “I don’t think I ever met that woman before! Where you been hiding her?”
“Were you trying to meet a woman like that, Nathaniel?” Val asked sweetly.
“No, ma’am. She scared the hell outta me.”
“Good, then you have nothing to worry about. She only comes out when someone talks about her babies.”
Chapter Two
Baltimore, Maryland
“Hank, it was great seeing you! We’re going to meet up for another game of golf soon! Now that you’re retired, you have plenty of time to improve your game!” Sherman Fowler joked with his former colleague, Hank Belcher and his wife. “Loretta, it was a pleasure as always. I’ll make sure to pass your well wishes on to the missus.”