Destroyed

by Jackie Ashenden

  Jesus. Maybe she was right. Why had I kept them all this time? I didn’t even know. I just knew that every time one came in the mail, I stuck it in the box with the others, closed it up and went on not thinking about them.

  You kept them for a reason, douchebag.

  Something curled up tight in my chest, a cold, uncomfortable feeling. It was familiar. The same one that had dogged me ever since I’d sat on my mother’s bed in that empty apartment, listening for keys in the lock and the opening of the front door. Listening and hearing nothing but silence. Waiting all night for someone to come home, the cold feeling in my chest getting colder and colder, heavier and heavier as I realised that no one was coming home.

  No one was ever coming home.

  They’d left me and I didn’t have the first fucking clue as to why.

  So find out.

  Ah, fuck.

  ‘You told me that I wasn’t to blame for my mom leaving,’ Summer said after a moment. ‘Which means that you can’t blame yourself for yours.’

  I shut my eyes, tension crawling along my shoulders.

  Maybe I really was afraid of what those letters would tell me and not being able to read was just a convenient excuse. Whatever, she was right about one thing: I needed to know once and for all what had happened to Mom and Tommy, not pretend the issue didn’t exist the way I’d been doing for the last fifteen years of my life.

  Summer had been able to face the stuff to do with her father, so what the hell was my excuse? I was a goddamn enforcer for the Knights of Ruin MC. I was a badass motherfucker. Yet I didn’t want to read a bunch of letters from my own mother?

  Fucking hell. What a dick I was.

  You could find out where they are. You could see them.

  Yeah, that was maybe a step too far. I was too angry, no point in denying it now. Fucking angry. I’d been telling myself for years that she must have had her reasons for leaving, for not telling me where she was going, and that I was okay with it.

  But I wasn’t okay with it. I never had been.

  And one thing was for sure; I’d never be okay with it until I found out the truth of why she’d left and put the whole goddamn issue behind me once and for all.

  I opened my eyes, picked up the mugs and strode over to where Summer sat, putting one down beside her. She watched me, her food untouched, blue eyes full of concern. Full of caring.

  She shouldn’t look at me like that. I wasn’t her business.

  ‘Eat,’ I growled. ‘And then you can read me those fucking letters.’

  She blinked. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘No. But you’re right. I’ve got the chance to at least find out why she left so I should take it.’

  Her expression softened, her mouth curving into the most beautiful fucking smile. Christ, she was like sunshine, sitting there in my shitty apartment, about to eat the meal I’d cooked for her. A ray of perfect sunshine, lighting the whole place up, making it brighter than it was before.

  Making everything brighter than it was before.

  That cold feeling in my chest began to fade away, melting like goddamn snow, leaving behind it heat.

  I wanted to pull her across the counter, put my mouth on her, taste her sweetness. Have all that sunshine on me, covering me. Get it inside me somehow, so that cold feeling would never come back.

  Dangerous, dumbass. She’s not for you.

  No, she wasn’t.

  But maybe for the next few hours she could be.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Summer

  THE BREAKFAST TIGER cooked me was delicious and as we ate, he asked me about the job offer I had from the tech firm in Silicon Valley. I went on and on about it—probably way too long—but he seemed interested so I kept talking.

  It was just so good to have someone interested in hearing what I had to say, someone who wasn’t one of my professors, that I couldn’t seem to shut myself up. And then he started asking about what I’d been studying at college and that was it, I started running at the mouth like a stuck faucet.

  My head was telling me to shut the hell up, that he couldn’t possibly be interested in all the math crap since it went over most people’s heads, but he didn’t tell me to shut the hell up. He didn’t tell me it was boring and no one wanted to hear about it the way Dad did. No, it was the opposite. He seemed to get it, the fascination I had with numbers and the way they fit together.

  I found myself describing equations and the excitement I got with solving them the way Dad talked about baseball, and Tiger’s eyes didn’t glaze over. And he didn’t walk away. He asked questions, and even though I was pretty sure he didn’t understand my answers, his mind seemed to work enough like mine that he grasped the basics of what I was saying.

  More than that, he even seemed interested, offering his own perspective in the form of mechanics and the way he fixed engines. They were puzzles to him and I could see by the light in his eyes as he spoke that he loved solving those puzzles as much as I did.

  It was so strange meeting someone who thought the way you did. Who was so different from you in every way on the surface, but underneath...

  He was talking about how he’d got into fixing things, doing stuff with his hands since he was good at it and enjoyed doing something he was good at, and the spark in his eyes, in his whole face as he talked made my heart tighten.

  Made it kick hard.

  He was such an interesting man. Despite the biker macho stuff, he was articulate and thoughtful. And he listened to me, really listened.

  This is all very bad news.

  But I didn’t want to think about that. I didn’t want to think about what made my heart kick when I looked at him. I didn’t want to think about what it might mean. In just a few days I would be flying to the West Coast and away from him, so there was no point letting myself hope for something that was never going to happen.

  Better to enjoy this moment while I could.

  We finished up breakfast and I helped him stack the plates in the dishwasher—or at least I tried. He chased me away and wouldn’t let me, efficiently taking care of the dishes and mugs and wiping everything down.

  I wanted to tease him about being a neat freak but suddenly remembered what I’d promised him after breakfast was over.

  The letters he’d received from his mom. The ones he’d kept yet never read.

  The ones that for some reason he was going to let me read to him.

  I’d felt guilty about pushing him, especially when it was so obvious he didn’t want to even think about those letters. But the stuff he’d said about me blaming myself for the way my own mother had left had stuck with me, making me wonder if he felt the same. But then, I knew he did. Why else would he be short-tempered about it every time I mentioned it? Why else would he be so angry?

  And he was angry. I could see it in every line of his body.

  This was a painful subject for him and me pushing him to deal with it probably hadn’t helped.

  As he finished up dealing with breakfast, he pointed at the couch. ‘You go sit there. I’ll go get the damn letters.’

  So I went over to the couch and sat down while he went upstairs. He was up there awhile and I was starting to think that maybe I’d been wrong to push him. That my need to help him solve this puzzle had been a selfish one.

  But then there was something inside me that knew he wasn’t going to be able to get rid of the anger I’d seen in him, the pain, until he found out what was in those letters. I wanted him to get rid of the stuff that was hurting him. I wanted to help him be okay, the way he was helping me.

  And maybe that was selfish, but if it helped him, then where was the harm?

  He eventually came back down the stairs, holding a small cardboard box in his hands. His strongly carved features were a mask, but fire raged in his amber eyes.

  He didn’t
give the box to me, merely set it on the coffee table in front of the couch, then he stood there with his arms folded across his broad inked chest. Radiating aggressiveness. He probably didn’t realise that was what he was doing, but I could feel the tension and the anger pouring off him all the same.

  As if this was a threat he was having to face down.

  ‘Go on,’ he said roughly. ‘Take a look.’

  I moved forward and grabbed the box, sitting back on the couch again. ‘Do you want me to read it myself first, then read it out to you?’

  ‘No.’ The word was flat. ‘I’m done running from this shit.’

  He was scared, wasn’t he? That was why he was so aggressive and so angry. He was scared about what was in those letters and what they would say.

  It made my heart hurt for him. Made me angry at the woman who’d walked out and left her own son without even a word.

  Well, there was no need to drag this out any longer than it needed to be.

  Taking a breath, I opened the box and looked down. Neatly stacked inside were a bunch of yellowing envelopes. The one on the top was obviously the most recent one, judging by the date stamped on it, so I dug through the rest to get to the bottom of the pile and the first letter. Then I drew it out.

  It had Tiger’s name on it—Jake Clarke—and my hands shook a little as I opened the envelope and got out the letter inside.

  I wanted to check there was nothing in there that might hurt him before I read it aloud, but he was standing there watching me, his golden eyes like a laser beam boring into me, and I knew I had to do what he said, to read out loud straight off.

  ‘“Jake...”’ I said, slowly reading out the tangled-up handwriting on the page. ‘“I know I took a long time to write this, and I know you probably won’t be able to read it, but I have to tell you this. My conscience won’t let me run away from it any more. I’m still a coward, though, writing a letter to you that I know you won’t be able to read. But there’s a reason for that.”’

  I paused and swallowed, not daring to look at Tiger standing on the other side of the coffee table.

  ‘“I had to leave, darling boy. And I couldn’t tell you that I was going. It wasn’t an easy decision to make, but I knew I had to do it. Protecting me, helping me, wasn’t doing what was best for you. You deserved more than having to protect me all the time. You deserved more of a life than that. I should have told you I was going. I know I should have. But I was afraid you’d come after me. I was afraid you’d try to find me and I couldn’t let you do that. So I took Tommy and I left. I wished he was old enough to stay with you, so he didn’t have to be with me, but I couldn’t let you have to be responsible for him, too. That wasn’t the life I wanted for either of you. I’m sorry, Jake. I’m sorry I—”’

  I broke off as, without a word, Tiger suddenly turned around, strode to the door of the warehouse, flung it open and walked through it.

  My throat closed up tight, my eyes prickling with tears. I wanted to go to him to see if he was okay, but I wasn’t sure I should. This wasn’t my pain. It was his, and I didn’t know whether that revelation had helped him or made it worse.

  Was this the blame that he’d worried about? But it hadn’t been anything he’d done. It was all his mother wanting to protect him. Sure, she’d used the most hurtful method possible, but it made sense in a twisted kind of way. I could see Tiger taking off after her, trying to find her. Not resting until he had.

  But she’d wanted him to have a life. And this had clearly been the only way she could give it to him.

  My heart clenched hard. I knew I shouldn’t go after him, that this should be a private moment. But I wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone. He’d been alone since his mother had left him—and, no, I didn’t count his club because I couldn’t see him sitting around with a bunch of bikers chatting about his pain—and I wanted him to know that I was here. That I knew a little of what it felt like. That I understood.

  That he wasn’t alone this time. He had me.

  So I put the box back on the table and I stood up. And even though it was scary to intrude on something so deeply personal, I went after him. He’d chosen me to read those letters to him and that meant something, didn’t it?

  I walked over to the front door of the warehouse and peered outside. There was an enclosed concrete courtyard with other buildings on all sides and an entranceway just off the street. Tiger was standing in the middle of the courtyard with his back to me, his head bent, his arms at his sides and his hands in fists.

  His body radiated tension and anger, and I couldn’t stand leaving him there on his own. I closed the distance between us and I put a hand on his bare back, where some of those geometric tattoos overflowed from his shoulder and down to one shoulder blade.

  His whole posture went even more tense, but he didn’t move and he didn’t say anything. And neither did I. I remained quiet and kept my hand on his back, letting him know I was here.

  ‘I tried to think of what I’d done so many times.’ His voice was so rough it hardly sounded like him. ‘I went over and over that last day, that last week, thinking over what I’d done. Wondering. But there was nothing unusual. I remember just before I left the house that day, she kissed me on the forehead. She never did shit like that, because I didn’t like it. But she did that day.’

  I spread my hand out and pressed harder, giving him my presence and my warmth, his muscles still vibrating with tension.

  ‘It was my fault in the end, though,’ he went on. ‘She did leave because of me. And she didn’t even give me a choice about it.’

  The note of pain in his voice got to me, burrowed inside me and stuck there like a thorn. I couldn’t stop myself. I took my hand from his back and wound my arms around his waist, laying my cheek against his spine, inhaling his warmth and giving him back some of mine. ‘No,’ I said fiercely. ‘It wasn’t your fault. She left because she wanted what was best for you. I don’t agree with her decision to leave without telling you, but it was her decision and there was nothing you could have done about it. She didn’t leave because she didn’t love you, Tiger. She left because she did.’

  He didn’t move, his strong back tense as a board. ‘She wanted me to have a life.’ There was bitterness tinging his words. ‘But what did I do? I got into the MC. I fix motorcycles. That’s it. What fucking life is that? I can’t even goddamn read.’

  I gripped him tighter. ‘That’s a hell of a life. You have a family of guys who look out for you and you do the work you love. Who else gets to do that? Who else gets to live the way they want? With no rules or restrictions? Isn’t that what you love about the MC? You do what you like. You live free and fix bikes, solve puzzles. Sounds like a hell of a life to me.’

  He said nothing for a long time, his muscles like steel beneath my cheek. Then his hands came down over mine where they were clasped on his taut stomach and he pushed them away. I let him, thinking he wanted distance.

  But then he turned around sharply and before I could move, his arms were around me and he was pulling me close, holding me against his hard, hot body. He turned his face into my hair and for a long moment he just stood there, keeping me tight in his arms.

  I trembled, breathless. Hurting for him. Wanting to help him. So I raised my arms and put them around his neck and simply held him the way he was holding me.

  For long moments we stood there, not saying a word, holding each other. And I closed my eyes, taking the moment to be with him. To inhale his scent and feel the strength of his arms around me, to feel the need in them, too. I didn’t think he was a man who would ever accept comfort, but again he surprised me, squeezing me tight.

  Then suddenly his head turned and his mouth was against my neck and he bit me. Not hard, but it sent an electric shock of sensation straight down my spine, making me gasp and shudder.

  ‘I want you to fuck me,’ he murmured against my ski
n. ‘I want you to fuck me hard, and I want you to fuck me rough. Can you do that, baby girl?’

  His words were a straight out aphrodisiac, firing directly between my thighs, making all the feelings that had gripped me as I’d given him that blow job come flooding back.

  His hold on me shifted, his hands curving down under the hem of the T-shirt I wore, reminding me acutely that I had nothing on underneath it. His palms were hot against the bare skin of my butt as his finger curled around each cheek, squeezing me hard, pulling me against the front of his body, his hips flexing as he ground his pelvis against mine.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded, and there was a raw note that slid into me, gripping on as tightly as his hands on my ass.

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered, my voice as raw as his. ‘Yes, I’ll fuck you.’

  He didn’t say anything more. Instead he lifted me up as easily as he had the night before and carried me back into the warehouse. He didn’t stop at the couch this time, carrying me straight up the stairs to the mezzanine floor where his big wide bed was.

  Then set he set me down on it and stood back, undoing the zipper of his jeans with one hand as he stared down at me, his golden eyes burning. Heat and anger and pain and desire, all mixed together. He stood there almost arrogantly, unzipping his fly, his cock hard and ready as he pushed the denim down his narrow hips. My breath caught, watching the play of all that chiselled muscle and smooth skin. He wanted me to fuck him hard and rough...

  I didn’t know if I could do that. Could I?

  Well, it didn’t matter if I could or not. If that was what he wanted, what he needed, then that was what I’d give him. God knew, I didn’t have much of anything else to give.

  He stepped out of his jeans, naked and strong and so beautiful I could hardly breathe. Then he moved over to where I sat and he pulled the T-shirt off me so I was naked, too. He pushed me back on the bed and came down onto it with me, crouching above me on all fours, just like the tiger that prowled up his arm. Hungry and feral and predatory.

  I put my hands up, pressing my palms to his hard, hot chest. ‘I thought I was going to be the one to fuck you hard,’ I said unsteadily.