by Jordan Marie
I force myself to get up and walk into the kitchen. It’s quiet, so I’m praying no one else is with him. If they are, I vow to try and be stronger, even if for a few minutes. I peek around the corner of the doorway and breathe a sigh of relief when Michael is all I see. He’s standing over the stove, reading the directions on a can of soup.
“I can cook,” I tell him, and wow my voice sounds rough, and feels almost the same. I clear it, self-consciously. Michael turns around to look at me. His dark eyes rake over my body, assessing me.
“Come sit,” he orders abruptly, and for some reason, I miss the way he called me sweetheart. I was out of it for a little bit, but I remember his softness. I hadn’t ever had that before. It was…nice.
I walk over and sit at the table, feeling out of place. I’m still raw inside from earlier, and I’m so embarrassed I wish the ground would swallow me up.
Michael brings a bowl of soup over and sits it in front of me with a sleeve of crackers. I watch him as he turns back around and fixes another bowl for himself. He should be awkward in my small kitchen, because Michael is extremely tall. I don’t think seven foot would be stretching it at all, and his arms are so broad he’s wider than my kitchen sink practically. He’s like a giant, though for a bit this morning he seemed like a gentle giant.
I want to smile as I watch the way his head bends down to avoid hitting the upper cabinet. He turns around and catches me staring, in return I get a grunt from him—which is oddly comforting. He brings us back a couple of drinks from the fridge—mine a tea and his is a beer. I look at him strangely for a second.
“I don’t remember having beer here,” I tell him. He grunts again, but he looks at me again, and I see the sadness on his face. I don’t want him to feel pity for me. That would kill me.
“Eat, sweetheart,” he says gruffly. My heart stutters in my chest at his words. There’s the gentle giant again.
Words are lodged in my throat. I want to say something, but I have no idea what, so instead I pretend the chicken soup he made is the best thing since sliced bread and eat.
“Where are your friends?” I finally ask, a few minutes later, becoming bored with nothing but the sound of spoons and bowls clanging.
“They were just stopping by. They had to leave today,” he says, not bothering to look up.
I push my bowl away and sigh. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, Michael. I’m still…I’m learning to cope.”
“Will you tell me what happened?” he asks, leaning back in his chair and watching me.
“I…was attacked,” I tell him, giving him the truth but not elaborating.
“Who did it?”
“It’s not important. It’s in the past,” I tell him, getting up, and taking our bowls over to the sink. It’s then I notice all the boxes that I haven’t loaded and then I see a large box on the counter that contains ruined pies that didn’t survive me dropping them. “I’ll have to remake these,” I say, mostly to myself.
“You don’t need to worry about it today,” he says, and I rub above my left eyebrow. I’m going to get a headache. I can feel the tension gathering.
“I need to at least deliver what I have, I can’t afford to lose my customers, Michael. That’s income Maggie and I will depend on. I’ll have to call Pastor Sturgill—”
“I’ll take you,” he grumbles, and I jerk my head up to look at him.
“You don’t have to, Michael. You’ve already done so much.”
“I’ll go do a few things and get my truck while you clean up,” he answers.
I swallow. “If you’re sure.”
He walks over to me, cups his hand under my chin, and he applies pressure until I’m forced to look up at him. “You’ll be okay,” he tells me, and when I look into his dark eyes, I want to believe him.
I really do.
41
Beast
I look at my cellphone. This is the fifth call today I’ve had from Skull. I click the off button. I’m not sure why it’s so fucking hard for him to get the message, but they all need to. That life is over for me. I’m not the man they knew. I haven’t been that man in a long time, they are all just too stubborn to recognize it. I stuff the phone in my back pocket and watch as they finish loading the last box into my truck.
I’m standing out on the Main Street of Whitley waiting outside of a local shop, while men fill my truck with items I purchased this morning. It’s been two days since Hayden’s episode and I’ve tried to keep a close eye on her. She seems to be doing fine, but there’s a sadness about her now that I don’t like. Maybe that’s the reason I decided Hayden needed something to cheer her up and remind her that her and Maggie are okay. At least that’s what I told myself. The truth is, I couldn’t resist buying the nursery furniture. I wanted to be the one to buy it for her. I wanted to give her something to smile over. Me…not someone else.
“Here you go, Mr. Jameson! We can’t thank you enough for your business,” the sales lady says, handing me three large bags.
“You’re sure this will be all she needs to get started?” I ask, still finding it hard to believe that things have changed so much since Annabelle was a baby.
“More than enough. You’re very generous to your friend,” she says, and it’s been a while but she’s got a look in her eye that I used to remember and immediately act on.
I’m not interested now. Hell, except for that one moment with Hayden, that I still can’t explain—I haven’t been interested since the explosion. The hard-on I got around Hayden, didn’t last long and it hasn’t happened since. Maybe something more than just my skin was damaged from the fire. That would be the easy answer. The more complicated one is that I feel dead on the inside. About the only time I even feel marginally normal is when I’m around Hayden. And even then, I can’t manage to talk to her like a normal person. I’m about as fucked up as they come.
The saleswoman lets her hand rest on my shoulder. I look down at it and back at her, before stepping back, letting it fall away.
“Thanks for your help,” I tell her, not bothering to look back. She says something else, but I’ve already tuned her out. I get in my truck to get back to Hayden’s. I’m getting in too deep with her. I need to keep my distance, but each time I decide that something else happens with her that lures me in. There was a moment the other day after we ate together that I almost kissed her. That would have landed us both in a huge fucked up mess. Hell, even knowing what a mess it could be, I’m still curious as to what kissing her would be like. Of course, now that I’ve seen what kind of demons live inside of her, kissing her would be the worst thing I could do.
I’m about ten minutes away when I notice two bikes on my ass. I look through the side mirror, but I can’t tell much about them from this distance. I slow down, waiting for them to go around me. They slow down and my hands tighten up on my steering wheel. I don’t have time for this fucking bullshit. I speed back up and watch as they do too. One fucker gets brave and comes around the side of me, he manages to hide in my blind spot. I swerve for the fuck of it, and watch as he speeds up quickly. Now that I can see him in the mirror I try and look to see if I can recognize him. I have a suspicion as to who it is, but I need that shit confirmed. I’m about to lock up my brakes, pull the fucking truck over and show these fucks what happens when you invite road-rage.
I don’t get that chance, however, when I hear a noise that reminds me of gravel hitting against my fender. A second later, I’m wrestling with the truck as it tries to fishtail. My back tire is going flat. I get it under control and pull to the side of the road. It’s then the bikers drive around the side of me. My hand is going for the gun I keep in my console. I’m looking out the window as I get it. My hand wraps around the handle and I’m pulling it up. When the drivers stop across from me. They have skull masks on, so there’s no way I can see their faces. I do notices their cut however. It’s a Shadow Dwellers. Motherfucker. My eyes go back to them and the one closest to me is holding a gun, it’s aimed right a
t me.
For a moment, I freeze. I’ve been wanting to die for years. This bullet will finally put me out of my misery. I watch as his finger squeezes against the trigger, and I think this is it. Finally, I’ll just stop fighting it. I close my eyes, expecting to see Annabelle, but I don’t. It’s Hayden’s face I see. Hayden crying.
42
Beast
My head jerks automatically when I see Hayden’s face. What the fuck does that mean? I don’t have time to think about it. I thought the man was going to shoot me. Instead he lowers the gun and shoots my front tire. Then they drive off.
“Fuck,” I growl, to no one as I get out and look at my ruined tires. What the hell was that shit about? I slam my door, kicking the completely destroyed front tire. “Fuck!” I growl out again, so loud that my voice cuts off, mid-scream. I slam my fist down against the hood of my truck. Pain spreads up my hand and I welcome it. It doesn’t help the anger seething through me though, and I slam my fist down again wishing it was the heads of those in-bred-motherfuckers. I’m going to kill those son-of-a-bitches! What did they think they were accomplishing besides making me a bigger fucking enemy?
I try to get control of my anger so I can sort through this shit. This is how I did my job for years. Keeping control and sorting through every action and reaction to know why or how to strike. They weren’t here to end me so what was it? A warning? Devil’s Blaze never fooled with that shit. We didn’t bother with warnings. If you fucked up, then we shut you down. Warning people got messy and usually you had blowback. If you got rid of the problem from the beginning, then you didn’t have to worry about getting a knife in your back. Blade and the Dwellers were never that smart, which is just one of the reasons their club is in the shape it’s in. I do have to wonder why he felt the need to deliver this particular message to me.
Is he still pouting like a fucking baby because I didn’t tell him I was near his territory? Diesel came with a warning, I thought he was stupid, but apparently, Blade is the stupid one. Does he really think he can mess with me? He wants to test and see if the Blaze will have my back? The day I need anyone but myself to take that ass-wipe down is the day they need to bury me in the fucking ground. I’ll be paying Blade a visit soon.
First, I need to get my fucking truck on the road. It takes a little bit of shuffling around in the glovebox to find my insurance information, but I retrieve it and search for the roadside assistance number they gave me. I could fix a flat myself, but with two of them and only one damn spare, that’s not going to be possible. Of course, the Dwellers knew that. That was probably part of the fucking fun for them. Which worked because the lady on the phone informs me it will be up to an hour before they get a truck out. I get to work changing the front flat myself. If I’m going to have to wait I might as well do something.
I go through the motions, without actually thinking about them. I have the tire off and the spare ready to go on, and I can’t tell you how I did it. My mind is too absorbed in why it was Hayden’s face I saw in my head when I thought I was going to die. Hayden’s and not Annabelle’s. I want to be mad at her, but fuck, I’m not sure I can. I’ve known for a bit that Hayden was snaking her way under my defenses. I should have shot her down sooner. I should have done something to push her away. I could do it now, but I’ll admit—at least to myself, I don’t really want to. Shit, maybe the reason I saw her face is because I was right. Her and Maggie are the reason I’m supposed to be here. I need to protect them. I had decided to before and this is just more proof. Protection.
The word hits inside of me. Protection. She has a history with the Dwellers. Those fucks didn’t try to kill me or take me out, only slow me down. They did it to keep me from getting home sooner. They headed down the road which could have led them out of town, but it would also lead them to my driveway. The driveway I share with Hayden. It could have led them to Hayden’s.
My heartbeat starts tripping in my chest and a fine sheen of cold sweat breaks out as chills run through me. Could that be what they are after? Are they here to hurt Hayden? I throw the jack and lug wrench in the back floor board, then jump in the front and start up my truck. I still have a flat on the back, but I need to get to Hayden. It’s been awhile since I’ve tasted it, but I know that bitterness is fear. I put the truck into four-wheel drive, gunning it. I’m going to destroy my rim and who knows what else, but I’m not far from the house. If the Dwellers went there after they played with me…
Fuck! Please, let me get there in time…
43
Hayden
I hear him before I see him. Well correction, I hear his truck. I didn’t know what it was. The sound of metal scraping along the asphalt was loud—so loud it even reverberated in my kitchen. Which isn’t easy to do now because those new windows that Michael had installed are amazing at keeping the sound out. I run to grab my gun. I know it’s stupid, but having something to protect myself makes me feel…safer. I don’t like being helpless. I’ve been that way too much in my life. My heart is pounding hard against my chest, and I’m having trouble catching my breath. I’m doing my best to fight down the panic, the memory of the other day is still really fresh. I make it outside and calm down when I see Michael’s truck, fishtailing around the corner. My first thought is that something is horribly wrong, all thought of the sound is blotted out of my mind with that fear. But then I notice his tires. Surely, he knew riding on his tire rim like that was crazy? Instead of replacing a tire now he will have to replace a rim too. It makes much more sense just to change the tire.
“Michael?” I ask when he jumps out of the vehicle and begins marching towards me.
“Put the gun down,” he growls, and it’s then I notice I’m half-way aiming at him.
I lower the gun and lay it securely in an old wooden glider that’s sitting close by. By the time I turn back around, Michael is there. He grabs me roughly, his hands biting into the skin on my arms. He almost shakes me, bringing me in close to him.
“Michael?” I ask again, confused. His face is angrier now than I’ve ever seen it. His eyes bore into me, their dark depths slightly terrifying. There’s a dark energy rolling off of him in waves. He’s literally vibrating with it.
“Are you okay?” he growls, his eyes raking over me, and I have a feeling they’re inventorying everything about me.
“I’m fine. I was just about to take a nap,” I tell him, sounding a little bit guilty. I should have gone into work today, but I just couldn’t handle the thought of it.
“No one has been here to bother you?” he asks.
“No one has been here. Michael, is something going on?”
“I was run off the road. I just wanted to make sure they didn’t come here,” he says taking a step back, his arms dropping to his side. He’s rubbing the back of his neck, while looking around the house as if he expects someone to jump out at any time.
“You were what? Oh my God! Are you okay?” I ask him, and this time it’s me that goes to him. I reach out and touch his face. “You’ve got so much hair you could be dying under there and I’d never know,” I grumble, not realizing I’m saying it aloud. I let my hands move down his neck and shoulders, not finding anything wrong, but panicked at the thought that something could have happened to him.
“I think you’d know if I was wounded,” he grumbles from above me, and I stop and look up at him. I realize I said the remark about his hair out loud then. I also notice that Michael looks a little more relaxed.
“You could be hiding a family of squirrels in that hair and I wouldn’t know it,” I tease him. Almost without thought, I reach up to touch the beard in question. The fine, wiry hair tickles against my fingertips. His hands come up to capture mine, stopping their exploration. His hold is solid, but not painful and he doesn’t pull my hands away from him or step back. We stand there. His big hands swallowing mine, his thumbs pressed against the inside of my palms.
“What am I going to do with you?” he asks, and I get this feeling in my stomach�
�a nervous flutter. I press my lips tightly together and swallow as I try to figure out what is going on here. It feels…important. I feel him releasing a breath, then slowly, he drops my hands, and steps away from me. I fight the urge to follow him. He looks away from me—towards his truck.
“We need to call the police,” I tell him, my voice sounding strange even to my ears.
“I’ll deal with it.”
“What? No. You should contact the police. They need to know what happened. Maybe if you give them a description of who did this they can find them.”
“I know who did it.”
“You can’t just let—What did you say?”
“I said I know who did it. I’ll deal with them,” he states, calmly. He could be telling me the forecast has rain in it tonight, he’s that calm and looks that bored.
“Who is it?” I demand. If Michael knows who it is, then most likely I do. I’ve lived here longer. He studies me for a minute and something moves across his face, I’m not sure I like.
“No one you know. I need to call roadside assistance again, and tell them I need them to come to the house with a tow truck. Then I need to get some things out of the back of my truck. Can you hold the door open for me?” he calls over his shoulder, turning away from me.
“How can it be someone I don’t know? I’ve been here longer than you…” I return, confused. It feels like he’s dismissing me, and I can’t say that I like it very much.
“You don’t,” he just insists, putting his phone up to his ear. How would I not know them?
“Are they from your past?” I ask, suddenly making a connection. He used to belong to a club. These kind of things happened all the time with the Dwellers. Maybe Michael’s club isn’t that different from them after all. I don’t like the way that conclusion makes me feel. I don’t like thinking anything bad about Michael. Maybe he needed a fresh start. Maybe that’s why he left. I can understand that and if that’s it, then I can certainly understand that too.