by Amo Jones
I sat front row at his hearing, determined to look him in the face and show him what he’d taken from me hadn’t given him control over me.
I threw up every morning I walked into the courthouse. And when I left. Then I’d go to the shitty foster home I was placed in, turn the shower to as cold as it could go—which wasn’t hard since it never actually got hot. I was determined to freeze my insides, to chill them to the bone so it wouldn’t hurt, so I could handle his triumphant sneer.
I was there when they sentenced him to life in prison without the possibility of the parole. That should’ve made me happy, to have him locked away like an animal for life.
But he was locked away holding a part of me that I pretended he didn’t take. And I wanted him to die, so that part of me could die too. Because I’d rather bury what was left of my innocence, what was left of the girl I was—the woman I was supposed to be—rather than have it in his possession until the end of his days.
I blinked Cain into focus. “He’s still locked up. Interestingly in the prison that’s a forty-minute drive from here. It must be dark kismet. I visit him every year, on the anniversary of my parents’ murder—which just happens to be today. Every new, fresh year is already tainted by the decaying and rotting bodies of my parents. It’s safe to say the holidays are not my favorite time of year.”
He jerked as if someone had tased him. “What?” he clipped, voice quiet.
“What else is there to do?” I asked. “They were cremated, no graves to go to, not that I’d visit them anywhere. Graveyards aren’t for the dead, they were built by the living to fuel their delusions about comfort in the face of loss. I’m a lot of things, but deluded is not one of them.”
His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. “You’re not deluded, yet you visit the man that murdered your parents that…”
“Raped me?” I finished helpfully as it became apparent he was unable to utter the word.
He jerked again.
I ignored that, his visceral, physical reaction to my pain. I had to. “I visit him to show him what I did. Where I put him. I’m the only person alive to identify him. I’m the one who testified against him. I’m the one that got away. And I know that fucks with him. I go to show him that I’m free, that I’m alive and he doesn’t control me. That he doesn’t scare me. He got to torture me for two hours, forty-eight minutes, twenty-three seconds. I plan on doing it to him for the rest of his life.”
“You’re not doin’ it this time,” Cain decided. “You’re not gonna get over that shit by facin’ a monster. I can’t let you fuck yourself up like that. Hurt yourself.”
My entire body froze with his words, all the places that had thawed the past week with him. The one that I had tricked myself into thinking was going to last for longer than the shadow of death that was dissipating. That might survive the revenge mission the men were planning. But it was now I realized I’d been doing the thing I’d spent over a decade avoiding for the sake of my survival.
Hoping.
“You don’t get to tell me how to react to my fucking trauma,” I hissed. “You don’t get ownership on how I deal with it just because you think you own my pussy. The last man that thought he owned it took it by force and killed my whole family.” I spat the words for their impact, not for the truth in them.
He jerked like I’d struck him. “Don’t you fucking compare me to him.”
“Well stop fucking acting like him,” I snapped. “No one owns me, or my pussy. Not the man who ruined my life and certainly not the one who tricked me into thinking that there was something left to salvage.”
“No, you’re not fucking doin’ that,” he hissed, advancing on me, he circled my neck with his hands. “You’re not shuttin’ down on me, goin’ cold. Pretending you don’t have feelings. Pretending you don’t feel this.” His other hand bit into my hip.
“I’m not going cold,” I replied. “I am cold. That’s who I am. I’m not going to be that warm, loving, smiling Old Lady. I’m not gonna fit in with all those other women at your club. You were living in a delusion, and I bought into it because a delusion was better than the death that brought us together in the first place. Now the dead are buried it’s time to bury whatever the fuck we pretended this was.”
“I wasn’t pretending, and I know you weren’t,” he growled. “You’re not gonna push me away with this bullshit just ‘cause you’re scared.”
I raised my brow, yanking out of his grip. “I’m not scared,” I uttered the first lie I’d spoken in years. “I’m realistic. And I’m late for visiting hours at the prison.”
I strode toward the door.
“I’m fuckin’ coming.”
His words gave me pause.
I turned. “No, you’re not.”
Cain’s entire body was shaking. “My woman is visiting the psychopath that murdered her fucking family and…raped her.” He ripped the word from his throat like it caused him physical pain. “Without me at her side.”
“You try and come in with me, see what happens,” I warned. “This is not a place for you. And if you don’t respect my wishes, I swear I’ll never talk to you for as long as I fucking live.”
I was sincere. He somehow could tell, because did nothing but nod once. But then he stepped forward as if he were going to take me into his arms. I scuttled back, holding my palm to him. “No,” I whispered. I couldn’t have him get stained with the dirt of my past. I couldn’t have him touch me right now when I felt so dirty.
“Angel, you can’t expect me not to touch you after that,” he hissed, voice raw.
I didn’t let it affect me.
Outwardly.
“That’s exactly what I expect.”
And then I turned and walked away.
Cain’s bike followed my car the entire way to the prison.
I hated that I felt comfort in that.
That the sickness I usually felt on this drive was somehow mildly bearable. But my past had been shaken up, and now it was churning through my mind, memories of my parents assaulting me every time I blinked.
I hadn’t let myself think of them since they died.
I hadn’t cried at their funeral.
Hadn’t kept a single picture.
Never spoke about them.
Didn’t let myself miss them.
And now the pain of losing them was somehow as fresh as the moment I discovered their bodies. My vision swam as I entered the gates of the prison.
That couldn’t happen. I couldn’t break down right now. I was not to show an ounce of emotion, of weakness to face this man. That was the point. Every visit was designed to taunt him with the lie that he hadn’t beaten me.
My door was open before I could undo my seatbelt. Cain reached over, undid it for me and pulled me out of the car and into his arms. I wanted to fight him. I should’ve. I didn’t.
His lips landed on my head as I leaned into his embrace, as I sought asylum in it. He let me go enough so our eyes met. “Fuckin’ breaking my heart, angel,” he murmured.
“That’s why I’m not good for you,” I whispered. “I only know how to break things, how to be broken. I’m toxic.”
“No,” he hissed. “You’re the fuckin’ cure to the poison I’ve been livin’ with.” He clutched my neck. “I know what happened to you fucked you up. Chiseled off pieces of you that made it impossible for you to live normal. Without pain. But I’ve got missing pieces too, babe. I’m not askin’ you to cut yourself to fix me, I’m askin’ you to pay fuckin’ attention to the fact that your empty places fit with me.” He stroked my bottom lip with his thumb.
I glanced to the building. “We can’t do this now,” I hedged.
“No, we have to do this now,” he argued. “I know there’s nothin’ I can do to stop you walking into that building because your will is stronger than anyone’s I’ve ever met. But I’m not havin’ you walking in there without knowing that you’re mine. Without fuckin’ admitting it.” His eyes bore into me. “Fuckin’ admit it, a
ngel.”
My eyes shimmered. I wanted to. With every cell in my body. “I can’t,” I choked.
And then I ripped myself out of his arms and walked to the building that housed all my nightmares and horrors built into a person.
Cain
He watched the doors his woman had disappeared into for forty-six minutes. Didn’t move his gaze from them. Mostly because he couldn’t move a muscle, despite the fact it was fucking freezing. He knew if he moved, it would be to those doors, to get her, his angel, to make sure she wasn’t facing her devil alone.
But he didn’t. Because he had been telling the truth, her will was strong. Strong to her detriment. She promised she’d never speak to him again if he went in there. He believed her. This was a girl who would cut off her own limb without hesitation if it meant surviving. And she had tricked herself into thinking she had to cut out her fucking heart to survive.
He wasn’t going to let her.
The shrill alarm sounding inside the prison gave his thoughts pause. Gave him time for pure and naked fear to run through his veins.
Then he moved.
He sprinted to the entrance.
He managed to get in just as the doors locked behind him.
And there was fucking chaos.
“Hey!” a guard yelled at him as he tried to fight his way through the metal detectors, that obviously screamed as he was still wearing his piece. “You can’t go in there, don’t you hear the alarm? We’re in lockdown.” The guard snatched onto his arm.
Cain paused, though his fury didn’t. “Lockdown?” he bit through his teeth.
“Yeah, there’s a riot—”
Cain started struggling the second the guard spoke. It took two more to hold him. “Let me go,” he roared. “My woman’s in there!”
His woman was in the middle of a fucking prison riot. With the man who’d killed her parents and raped her.
Scarlett
I had gotten all the way through security on autopilot. It was only as I sat in front of the plate glass did I realize I hadn’t been thinking about…him, the entire time. My stomach hadn’t been churning with dread, I wasn’t grinding my teeth with the effort it took to keep my face blank.
Even though I’d left Cain standing in the parking lot, I’d taken some of him with me. His words. His promises. And though I wanted them to be as empty as my fucking heart, they filled me up. And though I hated to admit it, they filled that up too. But there wasn’t something even Cain could do to take away the effect of the man who sat down in front of me.
He didn’t look like much now. The years had not been kind to him. There was an ugly, jagged scar down one side of his face and he was missing his left eye. His skin was wrinkled, spotted with old and new bruises. He was balding, hair almost entirely grey.
He obviously hadn’t made many friends in prison.
But he kept himself busy. Despite most of his face declining to make him look grotesque—nothing like he was on the inside, of course—he had obviously spent his spare time not bettering himself or repenting, but doing push-ups.
He was lean, but all muscle.
“Ah, my favorite part of the year, my Scarlett coming back to visit me,” he said, grinning.
He was missing three teeth.
My stomach turned.
I sank my nails into my palms, digging in hard enough to cut the flesh. I needed pain to get through this, like I did everything in life.
“No, I’m not yours. I’m coming back to remind you of that. And remind you that I’m out here, free. And you’re rotting, from the inside out,” I said evenly. I knew he wanted a reaction. He was a leech. Willing to feed on any emotional blood I spilled in my words, my expression. I gave him nothing.
He didn’t stop smile. “Ah, so strong, Scarlett. That’s what you come here to remind me, right?” He tilted his head. “Or is that what you come here to remind yourself? Because I know that you’re lying. That I haunt your dreams. In those quiet hours, you feel me. You know how I know that? Because I feel you.” He licked his lips.
I tasted bile.
He glanced to his side. “But this visit’s special. Because I get to feel you again. Feel the woman you’ve become. Taste her.”
I jerked with his words, I didn’t have time to rebut, because all hell broke loose.
I didn’t quite know how it started. It had been planned, that much was obvious. Because it was chaos. But organized enough to somehow get the prisoners’ control over the doors that separated the prisoners and the visitors. Some people were screaming as the prisoners filtered through. Others ran into the arms of the criminals, some covered in blood.
Sirens were deafening, ringing my ears as I stood frozen amongst the chaos. Some people were trying to run, pounding on a door that had likely been locked for security.
Guards fought off prisoners, screaming at visitors to get behind them.
I watched it all with outward calm.
Watched the man who had indeed haunted my dreams for the past twelve years walk calmly through the chaos and to me.
He was still smiling.
Because he likely expected me to be a victim again.
I surprised him with a smile of my own.
Then I attacked.
My blows were true. All of my training had worked me toward this. That dark kismet that put his prison to be so close to where I lived also served me the ability to pin him to the ground, fight the shiv he’d been clutching out of his hand and put it to his through. I met his wide eye.
“You were right,” I said. “This visit is special.”
Then I slit his throat.
Cain
His heart stopped beating the second he stopped pounding on the glass that separated him from the prison, from his angel, the moment she came into view. She was escorted by two guards. And some other visitors who were crying, hysterical. Of course, she was calm, not a tear in sight, no sense of panic in her expression.
She was also covered in fucking blood.
He had never felt more fear in his life than right then, entertaining the feeling of not only her in pain but a world without her in it. His world without her in it. It had only been a week, but a fucking moment was all it took to ensure that his life would always be split into two…before her and after her.
She wasn’t a woman you shook off. You forgot. She was a woman you held onto, if you could get a grip. And that was the only reason she had stayed in her position for as long as she did. Not because she wasn’t good enough, like she believed—he knew for a fact every patched member wanted her on the back of his bike. But because she never let a fucker get a grip. She gave everything but herself.
And she hadn’t even realized she’d been giving it to him. He knew though. And he was sinking his fucking grip to the bone.
He lost all control seeing her, plowed his fist through a guard’s face, snatched a key card and used it to open the door that separated him from his woman. From his bloodstained woman.
He snatched her immediately, searching for an injury, a source of the blood. “Angel,” he choked out. “Did he hurt you?”
To his utter fucking amazement, she smiled. The first real one he’d ever seen on her face. “Oh, no, I hurt him.” She blinked at him. “And I’m ready to admit I’m yours now.”
He loved her.
He’d known it for awhile.
But in that moment, it hit him harder than a fucking bullet.
He was going to marry that woman who came out of a prison riot, covered in the blood of the man who’d ruined her life.
One Week Later
“That’s all your shit, angel?” Cain’s eyes were wide as he took in the small rucksack I handed him.
I grinned as he put it in the saddlebags attached to his bike. “I pack light, the emotional baggage is heavy enough.”
He paused, regarding me intensely as he had been for the past week. As everyone had been for the past week. I knew what they were doing. They were waiting for me to have some k
ind of breakdown.
I had killed the man who ruined my life, that wasn’t something to break down over, it was something to celebrate.
There was still an investigation going into the prison riot. But the club’s lawyers already assured me that the death was being cited as self-defense and I wouldn’t be charged. The prison was too busy with all the lawsuits from guards and visitor’s families. Two guards had been killed and three visitors injured. I wasn’t even quite sure how I wasn’t. Everything after the blood hitting my face was a blur.
Though that was likely because guards rushed in, one snatching me and hoisting me off to safety while they fired at the prisoners with rubber bullets.
Cain hadn’t let me go since he punched that guard—super hot—and yanked me into his arms with a look of pure and naked dread on his face. And the entire week, he didn’t seem keen to let me be in another room for an extended period of time. The rest of the Amber chapter had stayed another day after news of what happened.
To celebrate.
Though it wasn’t the patched members that organized the celebration. It was Amy, Bex, Mia, and Gwen. Lily and Lauren quietly attended but the first four were the main organizers.
“Seriously, that is one of the most badass things I’ve ever fucking heard,” Gwen said sipping at a cocktail. “You were in a prison riot, with murderers, and the serial killer who…” She trailed off.
I sipped my own cocktail. Macy squeezed my hand for a moment. “The man who murdered my family and raped me, you can say it,” I said.
She blinked at me. “Well, I don’t have to now that you did.” She squeezed my hand too. “But you killed him in the middle of a prison riot. I think that you’re my new hero.”
“Don’t let Cade hear that,” Amy put in. “He might challenge Scarlett to arm wrestle.”
“I’d pay to see that,” Bex said. “And I’d put my money on Scarlett.”
And it was then that I realized I was having cocktails with the girls, women who I felt comfortable with. Women who felt like family.