The Long Road Home [The Final McCassey Brothers Book]

by Lauren N. Sharman

  Splatters of the man's blood began landing on both Georgia and the mattress as Wade beat him. Still, Wade was relentless. “Do you have any idea who you just tried to rape?” he hollered, in the midst of his rage. The man didn't attempt to give an answer that time, but Georgia had a feeling Wade hadn't been expecting one. “This girl is a McCassey, asshole. When her family finds out what you tried to do, you're a dead man."

  When she'd gotten her jeans pulled up and buttoned, she righted her shirt and rolled to the side, trying to get up. When she was finally standing, Georgia reached out and used the wall for support as she took a good look at the man, who was slumped and unconscious.

  "Wade,” she said to try and stop him, but he was still ignoring her as he continued the beating. “Wade!” she yelled louder; this time hearing the panic in her own voice. “You're going to kill him!"

  That time, he did stop.

  When Wade let go, the man fell to the floor in a bloody heap. Wade kicked him a few times, then turned his attention to the bed, ripping part of the sheet off the mattress and using it to wipe the blood from his hands.

  When they were reasonably clean, he turned to Georgia. Cupping her face with his hands, he bent down to her level. “Are you all right?"

  She nodded, because it wasn't until that very second that exactly what had been happening hit her. And when it did, she had to force herself to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat in order to be able to breathe. Then she started to cry.

  "Not now, Georgia,” Wade ordered in a hasty, hurried voice as he backed away from her and glanced down into the street through a hole in the wood covering the window.

  She wiped at her tears, watching him closely and wondering what he was doing. Why was he looking out the window? Why did he seem so nervous?

  "We have to go,” he told her, his tone void of emotion, “now. Can you walk?"

  Unable to find her voice, she nodded again.

  "Good,” he said, then quickly removed his flannel shirt and not-so-gently wrapped it around her. “Put this on."

  He gave her less than five seconds to slip her arms into the sleeves and button the shirt before he started giving her instructions again. “Listen to me, Georgia, and listen good. There are a lot of people downstairs. I ran past them on the way up here, and since they didn't follow me, there's a good chance they won't bother us on the way out, but you never know. I'll go first,” he told her. “Stay as close behind me as you can. Keep your head down. Don't look at anyone on the way out, don't talk to anyone, and for Christ's sake, don't stop, no matter what, until we're out of the house. Understand?"

  That time, he didn't bother to wait for an answer. “Give me your hand,” he told her, and she did.

  Without looking back, Wade squeezed Georgia's hand and practically dragged her out of the room and into the hall. He moved quickly down the steps, using his body to push past three men loitering at the bottom of the stairs.

  "Hey!” one of them called, “don't you and your girl want to stay and party with us?"

  Wade ignored them and continued heading for the loose board covering the front door. They were almost there, almost home free, when a man the size of Blackie stepped forward and blocked their path. “The party's just getting started; why don't you two stay a while?"

  Without releasing Georgia's hand, Wade leaned forward. Using his weight to pin the man's body against the wall, Wade jammed his right forearm against the man's Adam's Apple. “We're leaving,” he said matter-of-factly, “and we can either do it around you, or through you. Your choice."

  Sure the enormous guy was going to lash out at both of them, Georgia was surprised when he stepped to the side, allowing them to pass. Wade held back the loose board, practically shoved Georgia out of the house then followed behind her.

  Once they were on the sidewalk, Georgia expected Wade to talk to her. Instead, he grabbed hold of her hand and began dragging her behind him again. He didn't stop when they reached Main Street, and not once in the approximately fifteen minutes it took them to walk to a small brick building that looked like it wasn't far from the garage.

  Wordlessly, they entered double glass doors, climbed two sets of stairs, and came to a stop in front of a door at the end of a short, dimly lit hallway. Releasing her hand for the first time since they'd left the house, Wade pulled a set of keys from the front pocket of his jeans, unlocked the door, and ushered her inside.

  Once he'd closed and locked the door, he reached out and grabbed Georgia by her arms, pulling her close. “Are you okay?” he asked, unaware that is was difficult for her to talk because he was pressing her face into his chest.

  "Tell me you're okay, Georgia,” he ordered, the unsteadiness in his voice showing her just how worried he was. “I need to know that you're not hurt so I can kick your ass for being so goddamn stupid. I couldn't kick a hurt person's ass, it wouldn't be right, so tell me you're fine."

  Georgia thought he was trying to be funny—until he released her and backed away, and she got a good look at his face. “I'm fine,” she told him, and then cringed, waiting for him to lash out at her.

  Instead, he reached out and gently touched the left side of her face, which was tender and sore. His thumb then traveled to her lips, touching the cut ever so slightly. “That bastard,” Wade snarled, “I should've killed him."

  She tilted her head and moved away from him. “The man at the house isn't the one who cut me."

  Wade squinted at her in disbelief. “He didn't hit you?"

  "He did,” she confirmed, “be he wasn't the one who cut my lip."

  Taking a step closer to her, Wade crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Someone else hit you today?"

  She nodded.

  "Who, goddammit?” he demanded. “Who hit you?"

  She remained silent until Wade looked like he would shake the information out of her. Georgia quietly said, “Blackie."

  "What!” Wade's voice was so loud and frightening that she actually took a step back. She had no idea he was capable of saying and doing the things she'd witnessed today. It was a side of him she'd never seen. “Your brother hit you? Why?"

  "We ... got into a fight."

  "What kind of a fight could you have gotten into that Blackie would hit you, Georgia? Your brother is a lot of things, but abusive toward women, he's not. I can't believe he would ever lay a hand on you."

  At that moment, Georgia felt as if she was on the outside looking in. Why? Why did everyone just assume everything that came out of her mouth was a lie? “So you don't believe me, either?"

  Wade furrowed his brow and suddenly looked very confused. “I didn't say that. And what do you mean, ‘either'?” he asked. “And while you're at it, why don't you tell me what the hell is going on."

  With her mind still fuzzy from the heroin, Georgia was having a hard time concentrating. Shifting uncomfortably from her right foot to the left, she asked Wade if she could sit down.

  "Over there,” he directed, “on the sofa."

  Georgia walked across the small, studio apartment, which was no bigger than the one she'd stayed in at the garage, and sat on the sofa. Wade took a seat in a chair directly across from her.

  "I ... don't know where to start."

  "How about with why your brother hit you,” he suggested. “And Georgia?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Don't leave anything out."

  She nodded and began talking.

  Twenty minutes later, in tears and so upset she couldn't seem to stop crying, Georgia finished her story and looked at Wade, who hadn't said a single word during the entire time she was talking.

  "So let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “All this started because you were trying to do something nice for Blackie?"

  "Yes."

  "But he doesn't know that because he wouldn't give you a chance to explain?"

  She nodded to let him know he was correct.

  "And that lousy mother fucker actually slapped your face so hard that he drew blood
, and threw you up against the wall?"

  "I went after him first,” she said, defending her brother, “I deserved it."

  Wade suddenly jumped off the sofa, startling her. When he grabbed hold of her shoulders and squeezed, she winced and tried to back away, but he refused to let go. “You listen to me, Georgia Virginia McCassey; you do not deserve to be hit. Not now, not ever! It doesn't matter what you've done, no one should ever lay a hand on you out of anger. Do you understand me?"

  She heard him, and she understood.

  "I know you're high, Georgia. And I know that your mind is fuzzy and confused because of the heroin. So if you remember nothing else from this conversation, remember that."

  He released her and, stifling a yawn, she sat down again.

  Wade, on the other hand, was pacing like a caged tiger. He was obviously extremely angry, but Georgia wasn't sure why. Sure, he probably cared about her as a friend, but he was more than just-a-friend upset.

  Rubbing at her watering eyes—a symptom that her body was already beginning to go through withdrawal—she watched him for a good five minutes before he stopped and turned to her.

  "Why didn't you come to me when Blackie threw you out?” he asked. “I thought we were friends, Georgia. Christ, we're practically family. I could've helped you. I could've gotten in touch with your brothers and talked to them; helped you talk to them. This whole damn situation could've been avoided."

  "I—” Why hadn't she gone to Wade? “I don't know. When Blackie told me to get out and not come back, I was so upset that I wasn't thinking straight. All I knew was that I wanted to make the hurt go away. Numbing myself was the only way I could figure out how to make that happen. And the only way I knew how to get numb was by shooting up. It always worked before."

  "But you've been clean almost four months, Georgia. How could you throw away all your hard work?"

  She shook her head and choked up. “I'm sorry, Wade, I'm sorry."

  Shifting uncomfortably as he stared at her, she was relieved when he finally spoke, even though what he said was something she didn't want to hear. “I'm calling your brothers. I'm going to get them over here and we're going to work this out. Now."

  "No!” she hollered as he reached for the phone.

  "No?"

  "Don't call them, Wade, they don't want anything to do with me.” She glanced down at the needle mark in her left arm where she'd shot up back at the abandoned house. “Especially now."

  "But you said you weren't using heroin before today."

  "I wasn't. But they'll never believe it."

  "Georgia—"

  "They won't believe it, Wade! We started fighting in the first place because they thought I'd gone back to using. If they show up here and see this,” she pointed to the needle mark, “they'll think I was lying to them after I swore that I wasn't. Please,” she begged, “don't call them."

  "They're probably worried."

  "No, they're not. If they were, one of them would've at least contacted you to ask if you'd seen me. The fight I had with Blackie was hours ago, and no one's contacted you, have they?"

  Wade's silence was the only answer she needed.

  Yawning again, Georgia closed her eyes and rested her head on the pillow behind her. “I have no one now,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  "Oh no, you don't,” Wade said at the same moment his hands landed on her shoulders and began shaking her. “You're not passing out on me yet, girl. We have a few more things to talk about."

  Georgia tried unsuccessfully to shake him off. “Leave me alone, Wade, I'm tired."

  Her eyes flew open when he pulled her to her feet. “I know you are, but we need to go over some ground rules, first."

  What in the world was he talking about? “Rules?"

  "Yes, rules. For example, if you think you're walking out of this apartment before you're clean again, you're out of your mind."

  "Wade—"

  "Don't ‘Wade’ me. I know you want to be clean, Georgia, I know you do because you told me yourself."

  "That was before—"

  "Before what? Before you had a fight with your brother? Well I've got news for you, girl, brothers and sisters fight all the time. Deal with it."

  Deal with it? “Wade—"

  "You can't run away every time you argue with one of the boys."

  "I didn't run away; I was thrown out! And why do you keep cutting me off?"

  "Because it's my turn to talk, not yours."

  "Well, when—"

  "In a minute!” he shouted, effectively shutting her up.

  Fine, she'd be quiet. She was too damn tired to fight anyway. All she wanted to do was take a shower and crawl into bed.

  "You're going to detox here,” he told her. “And don't bother arguing with me or trying to sneak out in the middle of the night. I'll tie you to the damn bed if I have to. And when you're better, I'm calling your brothers. They're going to come over here, and we're all going to have a nice, long chat. Got it?"

  "Why are you doing this, Wade? Why are you going to imprison yourself with me for another two weeks, knowing what it's going to be like?"

  "Because I care about you, Georgia. You're a special girl, and I don't want to see anything happen to you."

  "But—"

  "Still my turn,” he interrupted. “Plus, I worked damn hard to help you clean yourself up, and would like to see a return on my investment someday."

  Huh? “What's that mean?"

  "We'll talk about it later."

  "Promise you won't call the boys, Wade,” she begged. “Promise me. I don't want them to know where I am."

  "I promise not to call your brothers while you're detoxing unless it's absolutely necessary. How's that?"

  Not good enough.

  "It's the best I can do, Georgia, because not telling your family where you are goes against my better judgment. Take it or leave it."

  "I'll take it."

  "Good.” She stretched and yawned. “I think you should go take a shower and get a few hours rest. You're going to need it. You know what's coming."

  She knew, and she was dreading it. The sweats and chills and tremors that she'd suffered through during her last withdrawal were bad enough, but the vomiting was what really wore her out and made her so miserable. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

  "Here,” Wade said as he handed her a clean towel, along with a T-shirt, some socks, and pair of sweatpants. “I don't have any underwear that'll fit you, so you'll just have to rough it."

  "It's fine, Wade,” she told him, “perfect."

  "Go ahead and take your shower. There's shampoo and conditioner in the bathroom. Feel free to use what you need."

  Before heading to the bathroom, Georgia set the things on the arm of the sofa and walked toward Wade, coming to a stop directly in front of him. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his middle, resting the right side of her face against his chest. “Thank you for saving me today, Wade. God only knows what would've happened to me if you hadn't shown up."

  Georgia smiled to herself when she felt Wade return her embrace. He didn't respond, but she knew he was listening.

  "I was wrong earlier when I said that I was all alone. I'm not alone, Wade. I have you."

  Georgia felt him place the light kiss on top of her head and smiled again. “You'll always have me, Georgia. Like I said, we're practically family."

  Surprisingly, his insinuation disappointed her. She'd been hoping he was helping her for more reasons than just the fact that they shared relatives.

  "I'll never be able to repay you for all you've done for me."

  "You don't need to do anything for me, Georgia. Just stay clean. That's all the repayment I need.” He backed out of her embrace and leaned down, giving her forehead a light kiss. “Go take your shower."

  Georgia gathered her things and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

  Suddenly feeling dirty and ashamed, she couldn't wai
t to step into the hot water and wash away everything from her sweat, to what the heroin had done to her, to the touch and feel of the drug dealer.

  How could she have done this to herself?

  It didn't matter what anyone said about how smart she was. Georgia had done a stupid thing today, and she knew she was going to pay dearly.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 26

  "It's been almost twenty-four hours,” Blackie pointed out for what felt like the hundredth time since his brother's had barged into his house at dawn. “Now can we go look for her?"

  "Judd and I did that yesterday, Blackie,” Rebel reminded him. “We looked in every spot we thought she might be hiding, and didn't find a single sign she'd been around. We even talked to Lucas at the bus station. He hasn't seen her, so as long as she wasn't hitchhiking, we know she's still in town."

  "What about Wade? Ain't either one of you heard from him? Maybe they're together."

  Rebel shrugged. “Maybe they are, but he hasn't seen fit to call us."

  "Then we'll start there."

  "Fine,” Rebel said, “let's go."

  As the brother's were getting ready to leave, the doorbell rang. Blackie glanced at his brothers, who looked just as confused as he felt. He'd been living in the house Angel had grown up in since they'd gotten married nearly two years ago, and he didn't even know he had a doorbell.

  "Who the hell could that be?"

  Rebel shoved at him. “Only one way to find out."

  Blackie half-heartedly swatted at Rebel with his left hand as he started toward the door. What he saw when he peeked through the curtain made him want to laugh. “What the hell?"

  "What is it?” Judd asked.

  "Come see for yourself. It's a little man dressed like a colorblind pimp holdin’ a brown box."

  "What?” Judd and Rebel asked in unison.

  Blackie motioned to the window, and stepped aside as his brothers pushed past him to get a good look. As they gawked through the glass, Blackie reached on top of his gun cabinet and grabbed a loaded .357—just in case the little man got any funny ideas.