Ash to Steele

  Breck shrugs, “I’ll survive.”

  My eyes close. Survive. That’s all he’s ever done. “Can we please leave?”

  Dad goes to wrap his arm around my shoulder the same time Breck does. The faintest smile curves Dad’s lip as he lowers his arm, “It looks like the two of you have a lot to talk about before the three of us talk.”

  “I want to get Emma out of Detroit, Mr. Jones. You are welcome to fly back to Boston with us if you want.” Breck tightens his grip around my shoulder, obviously questioning the motives behind what my father wants to discuss.

  “Breck’s grandfather owns Dur Acier; the jet and the helicopter are here. You can take whichever you like and meet us in Boston,” I offer, reassuring Breck that I’m going where he goes.

  Justin is leaning against the wall, and I tense. Breck feels the change in my body and drops his gaze to mine before following my line of sight. His entire body stiffens, but he doesn’t say anything. Dad nods his head and I’m beyond ready to leave, but our escape is delayed by some additional paperwork before the doors to the police department closes behind us.

  The first half hour of the flight is mostly silent. There’s some unspoken conversation passing between Breck and Gavin, and I’ve never seen Gavin quiet and pensive for this long. Jess refuses to leave my side as she pulls my head down on her shoulder. As mad at her as I am, I understand why she didn’t tell me what I now know.

  I keep looking at Breck, unable to pull my eyes away from him.

  “Go talk to him, Emma,” Jess suggests.

  I squeeze Jess’ hand before raising my head from her shoulder, and she gives me a weak smile, mouthing, Go easy.

  I nod before I reach across my seat, taking Breck’s hand and leading him to the plush bedroom on the Boeing. When I close the door behind me, Breck tries to give his cocky grin, but I see the fear in his eyes, and it rips a hole in my heart. He knows what I’m getting ready to ask and he’s scared he’s going to lose me.

  “I read the police report; I know what happened when you were twelve, Breck, and I know what happened when you were fifteen. I’m not going anywhere, but I need to hear it from you.”

  The pain in his eyes tears the damn hole bigger. He sinks onto the bed, his elbows on his knees, as he places his head in his hands and roughly rakes his fingers down his face, “I’m going to tell you, Emma, but before I do, I need to know that you are mine, always mine, from this moment on.”

  I fall to my knees in front of him, placing my hands on his, “I was always yours to begin with, even before I met you, I just didn’t know it yet.”

  “Yes, you were,” he claims in between a growl and a groan as he grabs my arms, pulling me from the floor and possessing my lips, before he buries his head against my neck, “Do you have any idea how much I love you, Emma?”

  “I love you, too,” I breathe, running my fingers through his disheveled hair and across the dark stubble on his chin. His contradictions continue to astound me. He’s the fiercest man I’ve ever met but also the most gentle. When he killed Liam and his men, I saw his raw savage side but, when he touched me, his touch was painstakingly gentle. He took four lives without a second thought to save mine. Softly, I pull away from him, the appeal in my eyes telling him it’s time.

  “My uncle, Aaron, was a preacher,” Breck begins quietly, “I used to love hearing him prepare for his sermon when I was a kid. My dad was Avery Ash. He had a hard time keeping a job and he and my mom started fighting a lot when I was younger. She had stayed home with me until I started school but then she took a job as a waitress. When dad would lose another job, she would work doubles, coming home exhausted.” Breck rubs his hand down his face, his eyes sad, distant, when he looks at me.

  I take his hand, holding it tightly, at a loss of how to ease his pain as he continues, “We were poor, Emma. Living from pay check to pay check, always behind on rent and barely having enough food on the table, kind of poor.”

  Hearing that shocks me. I know there are too many people in this situation but hearing Breck probably went hungry is just as heartbreaking as it is hard to comprehend, especially with everything he has now and with his grandfather.

  “Aaron came over one day, telling my dad that he talked with the manager at one of the factories and that he got him a job. Mom was relieved, she was always so tired. Dad seemed relieved, too, at first. The job required him to work shifts, many times doubles, so he was away a lot. Aaron would come over and check on mom and me, and his visits became more frequent. When I was twelve, Aaron came over one day and mom packed a bag and left.”

  My mouth drops, anger and pain sear my words, “Your mother left you?”

  “Not everyone has parents like yours, Emma,” he states, his words calm, sad, not accusing, just factual. “She was gone for two days before Dad figured out that I was lying when I gave him some new excuse as to why she wasn’t home. I thought that she would come back. I really did. I was just some dumb kid who didn’t want to see the truth.”

  “No you weren’t!” I cry, “you believed in your mom like any kid would have.”

  Breck squeezes my hand, and I can see the old ache piercing his eyes, “Several months later, she did come home but I hardly recognized her. She was so thin and busted up. When I opened the door, it took me a few seconds to realize she was my mother. When Dad came to see who it was, I saw hate burning through him. She asked him to let her stay, but he turned her away, telling her she made a choice and she would have to live with the consequences.” Breck closes his eyes, “He told her that he was done.”

  Unbelievable pain tears through my soul. I’ve said those words to him. Now I know why he reacted the way he did. I want to hold him, to tell him that he doesn’t have to tell me anymore, but I don’t. I place my hand against his cheek, and Breck covers it with his, pressing his hand tightly against mine.

  “I snuck out that night and walked nine miles to my uncles’ house. I could hear him yelling at her before I made it to his yard. I ran up the porch stairs and went inside. He was too enraged to even notice me. He had my mom by the hair, screaming in her face, and she was crying. I saw the gun on the table, and when he hit her, I grabbed it. I just wanted to scare him, to make him leave her alone.” Breck’s voice breaks, slaying me, “I yelled at him to stop. He turned towards me, still holding her hair, and he laughed. He told me that she was his wife now and that she was to obey him, to submit, and he would teach her to if she didn’t. He actually quoted scripture. The bastard twisted everything to suit him, to justify his actions.”

  Tears fall down my cheeks as I watch Breck’s lip tremble.

  “When he hit her again, I shot him in the leg. Mom screamed, and Aaron grabbed a knife, holding it to her throat. I yelled at him to drop the knife, but he pulled her hair harder and pressed the knife closer against her throat. I thought he was going to kill her.” Breck’s voice softens as his tears fall, “So, I killed him.”

  Throwing my arms around his neck, I pull him tightly against me, “It wasn’t your fault, Breck, it wasn’t your fault.” I feel him shaking and I hold him tighter.

  Breck doesn’t respond, and I push away, the truth behind my gaze penetrating his, “You are not to blame. You didn’t have a choice!”

  “We all have a choice, Emma. That’s the one I chose to make and my mom paid for it. She started screaming at me to get out. I tried to comfort her, but she pushed me away, telling me to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I was angry, hurt, and fucking terrified, so I went outside. I stood there, waiting. Waiting for the police to come and arrest me, waiting for mom to rush outside and pull me into her arms. She never did. I wasn’t outside longer than a few minutes when I heard another gun shot. I ran back inside and saw my mom lying on the floor next to Aaron.” Breck’s voice is raw, broken, when he looks at me so full of despair, “I went to save my mom that night, but I killed her instead.”

  “NO! No you didn’t, Breck!” I cry out, trying to pull him closer to me, but he pulls his arm away.<
br />
  I try to hold back my sobs when Breck drops his head, tears rolling down his face. I want to be strong for him, but I don’t know how, so I just wrap myself around his shoulders and hold him. Time is lost and nothing else exists as we stay tangled in each other’s arms. After awhile, Breck pulls away, grabbing me and pulling me onto his lap. He stares at me, his red, swollen eyes focusing on mine while his gaze softens. Desperately, he crashes his lips against my mouth, and I kiss him back feverishly, giving him the absolution from me that he needs. I feel how I soothe him, fuel him, and he kisses me harder. I want to give him what he needs but I’m not what he needs right now. He just thinks I am. He keeps needing reassurance of something I can’t give. I went about all of this so wrong.

  “No wonder you hate religion,” I muse softly as we lie wrapped in each other’s arms. I think of my father flying somewhere close to where we are. I think of me and what I believe, the faith I turned away from. I’ve gotten myself so lost in all of this just like Breck’s gotten lost in the mess of his life. He’s right, but deep down, I already knew that, we’ve been living it; there is a consequence for every choice you make. Finding my way back won’t be easy, especially after everything we’ve already been through, already done, but even though I turned away from faith, it never turned its back on me. I think of Dad and everyone back home. There will be some who try to tear us down, but the majority will be there for us. Part of what Justin said was right; I compromised myself out of fear when who I was before all of this is who Breck fell in love with in the first place.

  Breck is silent for a few seconds. Rolling on his side, he props his head on his hand as he holds himself up by his elbow. He traces his fingers down my cheek and my neck, before circling them on top of the angel wing, “I don’t hate God, Emma. It’s important you know that.”

  “I know,” I answer honestly, “and He doesn’t hate you either.”

  “I know that now,” he whispers.

  “You do?” I ask, surprised, happy, but a little taken aback.

  “Yeah. He gave me you.”

  Breck tells me everything. He gives me all of him, every fear, every dream, every painful memory, and every beautifully exalted moment that hasn’t happened yet. I am undeniably his just like he is undeniably mine, and I’m ready to spend the rest of my life with him. Forever.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Handful

  Breck

  Nine days. Emma will be my wife in nine days. A grin spreads across my face as I bound up the stairs to her apartment. Before her, I never wanted anyone. I never needed anyone. Emma changed everything. She never flinched or doubted who I am when I told her the rest of my sordid past that night, of how my father didn’t even show at the hearing when the judge decided to make an example out of me with the adolescent killings being on a rise. I gave her the whole story of when I was twelve years old when I was sentenced to the juvenile detention center until my eighteenth birthday. Not two hours into my first day, I was jumped by eight older kids. I fought back, having decent skills from growing up in the drug ridden slums, but I was grossly outnumbered, and the harder I fought, the more they attacked at once, beating the living shit out of me. I woke up in the hospital four days later. I had survived the initiation.

  Instead of recoiling from my touch, Emma held me when I told her that the day I got put back into that hell hole, I went after the leader, a seventeen-year-old badass who controlled the kids in the facility by inflicting sheer terror. I went at him hard, holding nothing back, as I beat him mercilessly. That was my first rage. He was in the hospital twice as long as I was. No one was stupid enough to fuck with me alone after that. What I did both saved and condemned me. Every new asshole who had heard of me and wanted to make a name for himself when he was sent to the facility from somewhere else took the time to herd enough of the mindless kids into believing they could take me. They were wrong. I proved that time after time. The warden grew tired of my fighting and moved me to a high security detention center. That’s where I met Gavin.

  I was hesitant to tell Emma about his shaded history; I didn’t want her to fear him, but after what she went through with Liam, she deserved to know. She didn’t seem too shocked when I told her that Gavin was involved in a gang before he was sent to the facility. He and his crew had a nasty reputation on the street, known to resort to ruthless means to take out rival bangers. My childhood certainly wasn’t ideal growing up but Gavin’s was horrific. His mom moved him from Britain when he was eight after his father nearly killed both of them. She was gunned down on the street in front of him when he was ten. Then, he was bounced from foster home to foster home for a few months until he ran away and was taken in by a local gang. They bred him into a killer.

  One night, Gavin and two of the members from his crew were arrested after an armed burglary. He was thirteen when he was landed in the high security facility and quickly became the one everyone feared. Until I came. Gavin was the most skilled opponent I ever fought and the bad blood between us was lethal when he lost. I had to watch my back everywhere, even when I was locked in my private cell. His reach was long and spanned beyond the prisoners. Then, rival bangers became the new residents at the hell hole that was even worse than the first one I was in, and they went straight for Gavin. That’s when things shifted between us.

  When Liam and his brother were sent to the facility, I saw Gavin scared for the first time. He had killed one of their cousins before he was arrested, and Liam was out for revenge. Emma had gripped my arm so tightly, I thought she was going to cut off my blood supply when I recounted the horrors of the night I killed Liam’s brother when they attacked Gavin in the mess hall. There had to have been twenty rage filled kids who knew nothing but how to destroy and kill when they joined in the melee when Liam tried to institute his twisted form of justice by making an attempt on Gavin’s life for killing his cousin, who had started the fight between the two in the first place. Blood was everywhere. It was hard knowing who was fighting for who as fists flew, bones were broken, and lives were lost. Three kids were sent home to their parents in coffins after that day. Liam’s brother was one of them; I’m the one who put him there.

  My grandfather didn’t know about my conditions at first. Mom had cut him out of our lives because he tried to force her to leave my worthless father when I was young. She made the wrong choice. When he heard what had happened, he reached out to try to help me, including making sure I saw a psychologist. My grandfather met Gavin during one of his visits and saw something in him that gave him hope that the therapy would help Gavin when it wasn’t doing a damn thing for me. He had paid for the best, working it out with the warden to have two weekly sessions for both of us. Gavin responded well. I didn’t. Gavin looked up to Granddad like a father. We both did, especially since my father didn’t visit me once since I was sent away.

  My dad blamed me for what happened to my mother. So did I. That’s why the piece of shit left his house and my uncle’s house to me, knowing that was the last way he could torture me after hurting me all of those years. My father never raised a hand to me; he didn’t have to. His contempt and blame tormented me enough and I left his name behind as soon as I moved in with my grandfather when I turned sixteen after Granddad went ballistic when he found out about the attack and pushed for my early release. He pulled every favor with every connection he had, saying I was targeted and wasn’t safe. He fought the judge’s original decision by bringing in domestic violence experts and child psychologists to take the stand at my appeal. He upped the therapy sessions, threatening me to comply if I ever wanted to see life outside of bars.

  I played the game and they fell for it. He wasn’t worried about me looking for trouble but he did with Gavin. Gavin continued with therapy, overcoming more than most, but knowing nothing but a life of violence, it was hard for that bloodlust to be drained from his system; that’s when I pushed him into boxing then becoming a bouncer, when we were released. I watched the fire in his eyes slowly fade. He has no des
ire to kill, and the occasional fights that break out at the Dark Hole seem to satisfy the dark side of him, that, and his continued weekly therapy.

  I laid my life bare to Emma, showed her every demon I had, admitting that I felt nothing when I caused all the damage to the others in the facilities. I had no remorse, not until my past caught up with her and she was threatened for my sins. She was lying peacefully in my arms, regaining the peace I saw in her before I clouded it, when I realized what I had to do. When the plane had landed, I dragged Emma behind me, telling her father that she’s my entire world, and I’m going to marry her whether he approved of me or not, but I hoped he did. I asked him not to blame Emma for any of her choices since meeting me. I swore I would fight, live, and die for her. My heart was pounding through my chest, wanting his blessing for Emma’s sake.

  Jess’ eyes lit up brighter than I’d ever seen, and Gavin smiled for the first time since leaving the station, when they heard our conversation. They stood behind Emma’s and my decision; Justin was a different story. He went off, and despite my hating him, I had to admire his wanting to protect Emma, even though she doesn’t need protection from me, not anymore. I gritted my teeth and forced myself not to rip his head from his neck when he started throwing reasons why Emma’s father should drag her back to Pickens – away from me. Her dad calmly stood, holding his hand up and silencing Justin before turning towards me. He looked at me, really looked at me, and saw past all my shit, seeing the man I’m trying to be for his daughter. I earned his blessing that day, and he earned my respect.

  We’re using the trip to Paris as our honeymoon since we are both so busy, her with painting and extra projects at Shallonelles and my continuing to split long hours between Kylianna’s and Dur Acier, and won’t have the extra time to take another vacation anytime soon after Paris. Granddad is getting stronger each day and is already bitching about getting back behind his desk, so I can stop working two jobs soon, and Emma can leave Shallonelles anytime she wants. She just hasn’t made that decision yet. I’m hoping her seeing Paris and all of the art there will change her mind about feeling guilty about painting full time until she can replace her income with her own art. I tried to tell her how I make more than enough to sustain us, but she’s so damn stubborn.