Rory

by Jordan Marie

  “The day?” he asks.

  “Jesus,” Gunner growls.

  “The fourteenth,” I mutter, knowing only because once upon a time, before time and women fucked my boy, he used to say that being born on Valentine’s Day was why all the women loved him. He was a different man back then.

  I miss him.

  This Rory chick must be some fucking woman for him to trust her.

  “And do you have something to show that you know uh… Mr. Cross?”

  “Doc, you’re going to have to start explaining shit and soon,” Fury growls.

  “I need to make sure you all know my patient,” he says, not even blinking at Fury. Fury is big and mean looking. Hell, most people go out of their way to avoid him, let alone the four of us together. If I wasn’t so pissed, I’d be impressed by the doctor’s cojones.

  “Fuck,” I growl.

  “I have a picture in my billfold of the four of us, will that work?” Gunner asks.

  “What the fuck are you doing with a picture?” I ask, surprised. “Have you turned into Mr. Hallmark?”

  “I kept a snapshot of us and Devil when I got my new cut. I learned the hard way to hold onto the good times,” Gunner says, the ghosts he carries close to the surface in his eyes. Brother almost lost himself during his last stent in the military and sometimes it really shows. “Is this good enough, Doc?” he asks, once he gets his billfold out. He reaches over to the doctor, showing him the snapshot. The doctor stares at it closely. Then he nods.

  “We don’t have a Westin Cross listed as a patient here,” he says, taking a step away.

  “What the fuck? You made us jump through hoops to just tell us he’s not a patient here?” Fury growls, advancing a step on the doctor. Gunner shifts in front of him, and I do too. The doctor doesn’t know what danger he’s courting. There’s a reason my brother has the road name Fury.

  “As I was saying,” the doctor begins, standing his ground—and therefore, impressing me more. “We don’t have a Westin Cross. We do however have a John McDaniels here.”

  “Come again?” I ask, not sure what was going on, but getting the doctor was telling me something—without actually telling me.

  “We have a patient here in ICU that was left for dead. He’s been here for quite some time. We had him listed as a John Doe.”

  “Doc, I’m not comprehending—”

  “And then we were contacted by an Agent Lodge with the FBI.”

  “Doc…”

  “He was calling for a Rory McDaniels.”

  “Fuck,” I growl.

  “I take it that name means something to you,” the doctor says.

  “It’s starting to.”

  “We were told to give no one information on Mr. McDaniels—although I guess that would be Mr. Cross—until his family contacted us—if they did.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Fury growled. “What did Diesel say about this shit?” he adds.

  “Diesel?”

  “The fucking man you’ve got hidden from us,” Fury growls, his patience—which he doesn’t really have in the first place—gone.

  “Uh… He didn’t say anything. I don’t think you have a grasp on the situation here,” the doctor says, starting to look a little panicked. That’s nothing unheard of though. Fury can be a scary motherfucker.

  “You need to start talking, Doc,” I growl.

  “Perhaps it’s best if I show you,” he says. The four of us look at each other and then we take the doctor’s lead and let him lead us through the corridor that has rooms with glass doors pulled on them. There are curtains hiding the beds, and therefore the glass doors are useless—you can see nothing. We walk in, and each of us are bracing. You don’t live the lives we do and not prepare when you walk into a room blindly.

  The doctor pulls the curtain back and I wasn’t ready. Even having braced myself…

  I wasn’t fucking ready.

  Diesel is lying in the bed, he’s lost weight, his face gaunt, his skin pale. His eyes fucking closed and he’s breathing through a fucking tube.

  Through. A. Fucking. Tube.

  “What in the hell is going on here?” I growl, those words feeling as if they are torn from my gut and as they tear they leave a wound that might never heal. “We were told our brother had been in a coma for a few weeks and was fine!”

  “But… I’m sorry. Mr. Cross has been in a coma for almost four months. In fact, we were about ready to unhook him when we received the call from Agent Lodge. Mr. Cross is a witness in a federal crime and because of that they asked us to keep the treatment going until his family contacted him. They’ve requested to speak to you when that time came.”

  Motherfucker.

  “I don’t care what it takes or what it costs. You do not unhook him,” I growl. “I want to talk to Rory McDaniels now!” I demand, barking my order in a way that I dare the fucker to argue with me. “And tell her she better be sure she brings Diesel’s son with her!”

  “But, Mr. Dawson, I don’t think you understand.”

  “Understand what?” I demand, unable to tear my eyes away from my brother.

  “I’ve never met Ms. McDaniels. She’s never been here and I don’t know anything about the patient’s son.”

  “Motherfucker!” Fury yells, and for once I’m feeling as much anger boiling up inside of me as he is.

  5

  Rory

  Almost Four Months Earlier

  “I have a surprise for you, sister dear.”

  I jerk up at King’s dark voice.

  One week.

  I’ve been here an entire week since watching Noah die. A week in which the pain doesn’t get better. It just seems to get worse.

  I loved him.

  It didn’t matter he was an asshole who hurt me. It didn’t change the fact that I loved him.

  I loved him. My brother killed him.

  Seven words that I just keep repeating over and over. They’re a broken refrain that have seared into my brain with such force my body feels as if it weighs a million pounds.

  “King—”

  “Now your purpose begins,” he says and my heart batters against my chest so hard it feels like it might break free. That’s because behind him I can see Ryan. My brother’s goon, Sanchez, has Ryan, his big, meaty hand three times the size of Ryan’s shoulder, is clamped down tightly on the little boy. The grip is obviously painful, because poor Ryan's head is at an odd angle and he’s doing his best not to move.

  He’s crying.

  There are tears running down his face. He’s crying silently, but the sobs are moving through his body. I scramble off the bed, getting the first energy I’ve had in days.

  “Ryan,” I gasp, I lurch towards him, but King grabs me—not letting me get close. His hand wraps tight around my neck, the force of it bruising. He squeezes even tighter, causing me to gasp as I try and drag air into my lungs. He leans in, his face so close that I can feel his breath against my ear.

  “Remember what I told you, Rory?” he asks, his voice deadly soft.

  I try to nod. I can’t really with the hold he has on me, but I manage enough movement that he knows I say yes.

  “Make sure you stick to your side of the deal, Sis,” he growls. He uses his hold on me to practically toss me back on the bed. I fall, but not far enough on the mattress. Instead I slam against the foot of the bed, too out of control to stop myself from crumbling against the floor. I look up as my ass slams onto the hard tile of the floor. Sanchez does something similar to poor Ryan and he falls into my body. I absorb his fall, my arms immediately going around him, holding him to me.

  He doesn’t speak. I think he’s afraid to. I kiss the top of his head, never taking my eyes off of King.

  “It’ll be okay now, Ryan. It’ll be okay,” I whisper to him as quietly as I can, my gaze locked onto King’s.

  “It will if you remember our deal, Rory,” King warns.

  “I… I want my dad!” Ryan dares to cry, his voice hoarse and cracking from his tears
.

  “I am your father, Ryan. You better get used to that now,” he says, his smile looking so sinister my stomach turns.

  I think I was wrong before. Our father didn’t turn King into him… King is much worse than our father ever was.

  6

  Rory

  The minute the door closes, I turn Ryan to face me. I look over his little body, searching for injuries. Just because King believes Ryan is his, that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t hurt him. King would hurt anyone or anything—and has.

  “Ryan? Are you okay?” I ask, running my hands over him, just to make sure.

  “Daddy,” Ryan cries. “I want, Daddy.” He collapses against me, letting his silent sobs change into a sound so full of pain they hurt.

  “I know you do sweet boy. I know you do.”

  “I tried to do what Daddy told me, but I got lost,” he says, in between gulping breaths.

  “What did he tell you to do, honey?” I ask, my heart breaking for him, for me…for the baby inside of me—even if Noah didn’t believe it was his…

  “He told me to go to you. He said you’d take care of me,” Ryan says, his voice now muffled because he’s buried his face tightly into my stomach. My hand is brushing his soft hair, my other hand wrapped tightly around his back, holding him and trying to bring him comfort.

  His words cut me. I thought Noah hated me, but according to Ryan one of the last things he ever did was tell his son to go to me. What do I do with that? How do I even process it? Did he trust me in the end? Did he care—even just a little? Did he know I’d do anything to keep Ryan safe? I have so many questions, but I know they will never have answers. How could they?

  Noah is gone.

  I’m lost in my thoughts. I don’t know how long I hold Ryan, I lose sight of time. I just hold him tight and absorb his misery and take it inside of me, letting it settle deep into my own.

  “Rory?” Ryan asks, when his sobs have finally calmed. His voice is raw, the tears have taken their toll on him—just like mine have to me.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “Where’s Daddy?”

  It’s a simple question. Two words that should be so easy to answer.

  They’re not.

  Simple words shouldn’t scald you—burn you so deep that each syllable robs you of breath.

  Where’s Daddy?

  I chicken out. I shouldn’t…

  But… I do.

  “I don’t know baby. I really don’t know.”

  Truth and lies are sometimes so fucking close together they destroy you. I let them, but I can’t let them destroy Ryan. I just can’t.

  “He’ll find us,” Ryan whispers. “He’ll come for us.”

  “Ryan, I… don’t…”

  “Every time someone tried to hurt me Rory, my daddy would come for me. He’d save me.”

  “Ryan…”

  “He’ll come for me this time too.”

  “Ryan…”

  “He’ll come for me.”

  “Okay, baby,” I finally say, holding him close and putting the side of my face against the top of his head, trying to envelope him… protect him.

  “He’ll come for me,” he repeats.

  “Okay, baby.”

  “He’ll come for you too, Rory.”

  “Okay, baby.”

  “I know he will,” Ryan whispers, his fingers getting so tight when they bite into my skin that I know he’s scared. He’s worried this time his Dad won’t be there.

  I can’t let the truth destroy him.

  “Okay,” I whisper, rocking him, ignoring the silent tears that run down my face. “Okay.”

  7

  Rory

  One Week Later

  “No,” Ryan says stubbornly. His little body solid, his face still pale but defiant.

  “Sweetheart,” I start, but I have no idea what in the hell I’m going to say.

  “No, Rory! I am not going to call him my dad! I have a Dad! He is not my dad!”

  “I know, honey,” I tell him, feeling a little hopeless.

  How do I tell Ryan to call my brother anything…? I wouldn’t in his place.

  “He’s a monster! He hit you, Rory!” Ryan cries and I hate that he saw that. In the week that he’s been here, I’ve tried to shield him. I truly have.

  I’ve also failed. When my brother goes off, there’s not much I can do. My hand goes up to my cheek in memory. It’s still tender, there’s a cut on it from the ring that my brother wears, but at least the swelling has gone down. I knew the hit was coming. He wanted Ryan to come eat dinner downstairs at the table while King was holding a small gathering. I knew that would be a disaster and I knew that if I had tried, Ryan would have been the one punished. So, I didn’t take Ryan down. Instead, I made sure he’d be in bed by seven and when King came to collect us… I told him there was no way, that Ryan felt bad and went to bed. I thought it would be safe. I knew what would happen, but I thought Ryan would be protected. I don’t have kids, I worked as a teacher, I should have known Ryan would be watching from the bed, but I thought he was asleep. I was wrong. Ryan saw my brother hit me—not once, but several times. He saw and heard my brother threaten me. That upset him, and he’s held that in, but hearing that he’s supposed to call my brother father tonight at our dinner? That’s what has him upset the most. I don’t know how to convince him—especially when I don’t really want to convince him.

  “Let’s just try to get through this, okay?”

  “Daddy should have been here by now, Rory. He’s always here by now,” Ryan whispers, his body trembling under my hand as I adjust his tie.

  A tie.

  Ryan is dressed in a suit with tie and cufflinks. He’s barely old enough to go to school. He shouldn’t be forced to wear a suit to dinner. A suit maybe to a wedding—if he’s a ring bearer or it’s family he cares about. He shouldn’t wear a suit to eat dinner with a monster. He shouldn’t be trembling and beginning to realize his dad isn’t coming for him either…

  “Ryan, it will be okay,” I whisper lamely, because I don’t know what else to say. I hold him, squatting down so we’re more at eye level. The tight white dress I have on that has an overlay of puffed, hand-stitched roses over it, stretches like a glove that’s a little too tight. I’m gaining weight. I am hiding my pregnancy as best I can, but I’m gaining weight. Soon, I won’t be able to hide it. Soon, King will have something else besides Ryan to use against me. I have to get free somehow and soon. I have to do it for me, for Ryan and for my unborn baby. I have to do it and when I do it this time, I have to be smarter. I have to keep my head down and not fall for any of my brother’s tricks. He’s twisted and he enjoys them and they come in ways you can’t prepare for, but I can do it this time.

  I have to.

  There are too many counting on me now…

  “You look beautiful tonight, Rory,” my brother says as we walk into the large formal dining room with a glass table the size of an entire twelve by twelve room. There are thick cushioned white chairs surrounding it, too many to take time to count, because if I do that I have to take my eyes off of my brother and I’m not about to do that.

  He rises and meets us, reaching out and taking my hand. He brings it to his lips and kisses the back of it like he’s greeting someone precious. Bile rises up in my throat, but I do my best to swallow it down. I empty my mind of all thoughts… save one.

  Just get through tonight.

  It repeats over and over in my head as if it’s being screamed and I hold onto it, because that’s all I can do.

  “Ryan you look very nice tonight. You will eat beside me,” my brother declares.

  “Want to eat beside Rory,” Ryan argues bravely, even though his voice trembles.

  “I’ll be just across the table,” I whisper quietly. Then, I look at my brother, because I can feel his anger gather around us like a storm cloud waiting for the perfect moment to release. “He’s just nervous, King. He needs time to get to know you.”

  King frowns,
but doesn’t say anything. We take our places. King at the head of the table, Ryan to his left and for some reason I’m three chairs down from King’s right. The three chairs between us don’t have people sitting in them, there are no place settings, they are just empty. This is King sending a message that I don’t belong at his table. I’m merely being tolerated because of Ryan. I could deal with that, I’d rejoice in it—if it wasn’t for worrying about Ryan.

  “Ryan, how do you like your new bedroom?” he asks. Ryan has a room attached to mine that looks like something out of a magazine, staged for the perfect little boy. It’s cold. It’s impersonal and Ryan hates it. Instead, he slips in and sleeps with me every night. He hides under the mounds of covers and holds onto me. I’m grateful for that, because I find those moments holding him, are the only ones that make me feel strong enough to get us free. Those moments give me reason to face my brother’s wrath and finally, those moments remind me that Ryan and my child are innocent and need me to be stronger.

  “Answer my brother, Ryan,” I caution him, when Ryan looks at him mutinously. I’m trying to put out a spark before the whole thing catches fire.

  Who knew I’d be the cause of the whole inferno?

  “You do not interfere when I’m talking to my son, Rory!” King growls, his façade of control cracking at once. His hand comes down slamming against the glass of the table. It’s a miracle that it doesn’t shatter. I flinch at the noise, emitting a gasp before I can stop myself.

  “You’re not my father!” Ryan screams. “You’re a monster and I hate you! I want my daddy!” he cries.

  Panic thrusts through my body like the speed of a bullet. This is bad and I know it’s going to be bad. I had no idea just how bad it is until King stands up and stomps over to Ryan. His hand wraps around Ryan’s arm and he pulls him up so roughly that Ryan cries out in pain. King backhands Ryan just as I make it to them.