I nodded slowly, my voice low: “of course I did.”
“Then why would you leave me?” she said, her voice beginning to rise, “without even saying goodbye!”
I took her by the hands, steadying her eyes on me. “I do love you Gemma....but nothing can happen with us here. I know that now. I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye, but I have to leave...I have to go.”
Her eyes started to change, lighting up as a smile appeared across her face. “You really do love me?”
I nodded again.
She turned and walked back towards the cab, still rumbling quietly behind us. I watched on as she climbed in, waiting for the door to shut, waiting to see her drive off for the last time, once more disappearing from my life.
But she didn't. No, she climbed back out again, pulling a suitcase out of the car as she did. She looked up at me, a beaming smile now flashing across her face, and walked forward towards me once more.
“If you're leaving....then I'm coming with you. If we can't be together here, maybe...we can be together somewhere else?” Her words were confident, but remained unsure as she looked wide-eyed at me, awaiting my response.
I didn't need to respond with words. I stepped forward, sliding my hand onto her cheek, still streaked with drying tears, and kissed her. I heard her drop the bag and her arms and legs wrapped around me as she jumped into the air.
I leaned my head back and stared into her sparkling eyes. “So which way to you wanna go?” I asked, her smile growing even wider.
“South...let's go South.”
Epilogue
8 Years Ago
Gemma
I sat in the yard outside school on a bench, the warm summer sunshine settling comfortably on my exposed shoulders. Beyond the yard was a wide wood, with glowing green trees and a tranquil, beautiful lake, nestled deep within. It was Friday and the end of another week, and Zack and I were doing what we often did at this time: we were going swimming.
I could hear the sound of other kids behind me, all shouting and chattering loudly as they were picked up by their parents or hurrying off in groups in search of trouble. Maybe Zack would get into trouble later, but not yet, not until we'd had out customary swim.
I felt a pair of hands suddenly descend over my eyes, blocking out the light of the sun, and a smile creased my lips.
“Guess who?” came the voice behind me. It was bright and breezy and so full of life.
I turned around quickly and saw Zack standing there, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his face tanned and beaming in a wide, white smile.
“Well come on then!” he said excitedly, “we're not going to get to the lake by sitting on a bench!”
He ran around the side of the bench and grabbed my hands, pulling me up to my feet. We began walking together, his arm hanging lazily over my shoulder, into the woods. The sound of swaying branches and rustling leaves filled the air, with birds darting this way and that, stopping to chirp and sing in the foliage above our heads.
We spoke as we went, catching up on the week just passed. It was my favorite time of the week: a time when we could walk and talk, alone, with no one else around. Soon I'd have to go home, my time restricted by my parents' draconian curfew, but for now it was just the two of us, and I loved every minute of it.
The woods were always so quiet at this time, something I could never work out. We'd see the odd hiker, trekking under the trees, but few of the kids bothered to go to the lake. It was like our own secret place, quiet and secluded.
It took us 30 minutes to get there, but the time always flew as we giggled and joked. Zack could always make me laugh, no matter what we were talking about, so much so my sides would often ache after an hour or two in his company.
It was less than a year that I'd known him, but it felt like a lifetime. He was the first boy I ever became friends with – proper friends, anyway. I mean, I knew boys at my last school, but never spent any time alone with them. Zack was the first, and we got along like a house on fire.
I swear I could smell the water as we got closer. Or maybe it was just because I knew where it was now, and my mind was just playing tricks on me. Soon I could see the light shining and sparkling off the water through a gap in the trees up ahead, ducks flying in and skimming down onto the surface.
When I dipped my foot in I felt the usual spark rush up through my body. It was cold, even on the shallow bank, and only got colder further in. But neither of us cared, we'd always get in and swim nonetheless.
We splashed around for a while, the water dripping off Zack's toned body. He was so lean and fit, his muscles beginning to develop and grow as he turned into a man. I'd noticed him change through the year, and so had every other girl in school.
But he never seemed to take much notice of them. Or, at least, I never saw him take any notice. Maybe he saw them at parties that I didn't go to? Maybe he saw them outside of school when I wasn't around. But I didn't care....when we were together it was our time; my favorite time.
We joked and laughed as we soaked each other to the bone. Then we'd swim to the other side, the sun beating down on our shoulders and back as we gently glided through the clear water. He'd tease me, of course, telling me there were sharks and crocodiles creeping below the surface. At first I believed him, half panicking at the thought, but when I saw him almost drown with laughter I knew he wasn't being serious.
It always felt so good to climb out onto the bank on the opposite shore, the warm rays of the sun warming my cold body. Sometimes we'd turn and swim back again, but today we decided to walk back around the lake, talking as we went.
When we got back to our things we sat under a tree, looking out over the shimmering water as light ripples swept across it. Zack reached into his bag and pulled out a small box, passing me a sandwich from inside.
We ate as the sun began to drop, neither of us talking for a while. But I didn't feel uncomfortable, I didn't feel awkward. I never did with him.
“This is like when we first met,” he said suddenly, out of the blue.
I looked at him and smiled. “Yeah, when you saved me down by the lakeside. Did I ever thank you for that...for introducing me from everyone and saving me the embarrassment?”
He shook his head. “You'll never have to.”
I kept looking at him as he turned back to the lake, the sun now painting a beautiful orange glow over the twinkling lake. He looked content, his eyes set on the post-card sight ahead.
“We'll always be friends, right Zack?” I asked him. “You'll always be there for me.”
I saw his smile grow wider as he arched his head back over to me.
“Always,” he said.
ADDICTED TO YOU (Book 4)
Prologue
Amy
I was only 18 years old when I left home and never turned back.
I couldn't handle it anymore: the pain, the lies, the deceit. All of it had become too heavy on my shoulders, the entire world I lived in built upon the suffering of others.
As I grew up I began to realize that the city of Branton held nothing for me. My mother dying: that was the final straw. When it was just me and my dad I'd had enough, so decided to move on.
I remembered the day well; the day that I left. For 6 months my dad had been pushing me into doing what he wanted. No, not just 6 months, that had happened my entire life.
He wanted me to go to college, do what he never did and get a full education. But that wasn't something I'd ever wanted. I didn't want to be tied down to one place. I didn't want to have a boring career. I wanted to do what I loved and live the life I wanted, and that was to play poker.
I knew that my parents would never understand. I was a decent student, but never got straight A's. I could have gone to college and maybe got myself into a decent career, but I didn't want to settle for that when I had this skill in my hands. So I said “fuck it” and kept playing, despite what my parents told me. I didn't regret that at all.
By the time I finished high school my m
om was already dead. Those last 6 months almost killed me. I was told that I'd need to retake the year to get the grades I needed to get into college. I was never going to do that.
I wanted to leave and never come back. My mom had been my rock, my best friend. Poker was the only thing we didn't agree on, but she was never as vocal about it as my dad. He would shout at me, that was always his way. His job, if you could call it that, made him into someone people feared, someone people would never want to mess with. But I didn't care. There was nothing he could do to me.
So I left.
I packed a bag and walked away.
It was incredibly liberating, getting out from under his iron rule. I'd grown to resent him more and more since my mother died. It was all his fault really. It was all because of his 'work', all because of his life. She'd never had died otherwise. Never.
I remembered every moment of my leaving so clearly: my dad standing in front of the door, locking it and refusing to let me leave; me crying so much about mom and everything that I could barely see through my eyes. It was summer, and warm out. I was planning to get into my car and drive all morning, find a hotel and go from there.
I had money, I had a plan. I didn't feel nervous about stepping out from under his wing. No, I felt the opposite. I felt alive, more alive than I'd felt since mom died. I felt like I could finally get away and move on. That was everything I'd planned for, and he couldn't stop me for long.
I pretended to stay and went back to my room. I knew he'd have people watching me, so I escaped from my balcony instead, climbing down a vine outside. I didn't even bother taking my car. I knew he'd track it.
Instead I just ran through the garden and into the patch of wood at the back of my house. There was a road on the other side and I hitched a ride into town. I bought an old run down motor from a used car seller and went from there.
I must have been only 5 miles outside of Branton when I felt the weight already begin to lift. I think I smiled for the first time in 6 months that morning as I drove off down the highway, the wind in my hair, the bright sunshine on my face.
That was over 3 years ago now, and I'd never returned before today.
Now I was driving back into Branton, the wide track of the highway thinning as I rumbled closer. I wasn't in the same car: no, that had died after only 7 or 8 months. I'd upgraded since then, and was now cruising in in a white Porsche convertible. Once again the wind was in my hair and the sun on my face, but that smile had vanished.
I was returning to old memories, old places that I never wanted to see again. But it was time now: time to forgive, time to forget, time to repair old wounds. I was back here to see my father, to mend our shattered relationship. I hadn't seen him or even spoken to him for more than 3 years, and maybe that was long enough?
Maybe now I'd be able to look him in the eye without seeing my mother's face?
Maybe now I could forgive him?
Chapter 1
Amy
“All in,” I said, pushing my chips into the middle of the table.
I watched the man's eyes closely. They flickered, showing a lack of confidence. I saw the same twitch before the last card came out, that's why I was bluffing. He was showing weakness, showing that he doesn't feel good about his hand.
So what do I do? I put all my chips into the middle and show strength. I force him to equal my bet – over $2,000 – if he wants to have a chance of winning the pot. I know he'll crumble before I even make the move. This guy's no pro – he's just a regular man who's come down here to blow a month's wages. I know the type well. They make me a lot of money.
The man continued to twitch and sigh loudly as I stared at him. I wasn't going to look away. No chance. I'd show steel in my eyes, an unwavering show of strength that he can't handle. It's a look I've perfected over the years, one that often bails me out of trouble. And not only at the poker table.
Eventually the guy gave in, throwing his cards down.
“What did you have?” he asked, desperate to know whether he made the right call.
I just shake my head at him and keep my cards face down. That's my secret.
It's Friday night and I'm home. For me the poker table is my home. It's somewhere I feel safe, it's somewhere I feel in control. When I play poker I am the boss of my own destiny. There's no one ruling over me, no one telling me what to do. That's the way I like it. It's the way it's been for years now.
I vaguely remember this casino from when I used to live in Branton. I never actually went there because I was too young, but I knew it was the biggest one in town, the only one in town. Logans – that's the name. Owned by the Logan family. I knew their name well, as did everyone else in the city.
I remember my dad used to do business with Charles Logan, the head of the family. No one ever told me any specifics but I began to work it out when I grew up. Organized crime, vice, prostitution, drugs, and just about everything in between. That was the world I grew up into, the world my mom always tried to shield me from.
I hated all of it, and yet it was a world I'd been drawn into as well. I remember how I used to play poker with some of my dad's men when he wasn't around. They'd treat me like a little princess and I'd take $50 from each of them, but I'd probably have beaten them even if they hadn't let me win.
That was all until he caught me playing with a couple of them and had them both beaten for it. After that none of them played with me ever again.
He ended up sending me to dance class and acting class and anything else he could think of to stop me from playing poker. All that did was drive me further towards it. I guess it was ironic that he was trying to make sure I had a normal life and yet the more he tried, the more I got involved in this world of gambling and addiction that consumed so many people.
Now my life was spent in casinos and underground poker dens. Some of the people I played with were real low-lives, the sort of people you didn't really want to win against. As a young girl moving from place to place it made me hard, made me street smart. And I needed to be when living in this world.
For a while I'd lived in sleazy motels as I worked my way around. I had credit cards but I didn't want to use them. I knew that dad would track me down as soon as I did and have me taken back home. So I was frugal with my cash, keeping my costs down. Those early days were the worst, but also the best. They helped me build my character, appreciate the value of money more than I ever had when I could buy anything I wanted.
Now, though, I lived on money I'd earned. I stayed in nice hotels, ate at nice places, bought a nice car. I'd done that all myself, achieved all of it without going to college or following the path that my father had set out for me. That was one of the reasons I'd come back: to stand in front of him as proof that he was wrong.
I sat at the table and looked out over the casino floor. The flashing of lights and incessant noise was so familiar to my eyes and ears. You'd see elated faces and grumpy faces in equal measure, people winning and losing as their dreams came true and crashed in front of their eyes.
Most were pure gamblers. That wasn't how I saw myself. I was playing a game of skill, a game where I could stack all of the odds in my favor. No, I wasn't a gambler, I was a professional, and this was my office.
The hours were ticking by when my table began to clear and thin. Maybe it was the sight of me taking everyone's money that was putting people off. My experience had told me that men hated being beaten by a pretty girl, or any girl for that matter, so I guess that was forcing them elsewhere.
But one guy caught my eye as he sauntered forward. He had this swagger about him, like he came to this casino a lot, nodding and smiling to people as he walked by. He caught eyes with me from across the room and began migrating towards me.
He looked to be about my own age, his face lit with a smile. He had this square jaw lightly peppered with stubble around the lips and chin, and wore a light tan. His skin looked like it could carry a deeper tinge of golden brown if the sun caught up with him.
He came closer, eyeing me up as he walked further forward. I could tell, even from a distance, that his eyes were a clear blue, shining against his white teeth and light brown skin. His hair, though, was short and neat, crafted to the side. It was a darkish brown, and cut fine to match his strong jaw.
I kept looking at him as he walked forward, unwilling to turn away. I was used to staring people down, so wasn't going to lose this contest. He strode forward until he reached the table, by which point I was the only one still seated.
His eyes kept burning into me, a smile inside them, as he approached and began speaking.
“Playing by yourself are you?” he asked with a wry smile.
My facade cracked slightly, not at his words, but the way he delivered them. He had this disarming way about him, a natural charm infused in his voice and tone.
“I don't think there's anyone here who can match me,” I said back, trying to keep my poker face on.
“That's a challenge,” he said, pulling out a seat and sliding into it. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a rolled bundle of money, casually unbinding it from its elastic band and counting through the bills.
“How much are you playing with?” he asked, looking first to my stack of chips and then to me.
I looked down, pretending I didn't know, and started to fake-count. I knew exactly how much I had, I always did.
“Looks like about $4,500,” he said again, “that sound right?”
I nodded, without saying a word. This guy was cute, but this was business. I wanted to make him think I was just a little girl playing with daddy's money.
He flicked through a few more notes and dropped them down in front of the dealer. “Deal me in,” he said, turning his eyes back onto me.
We stared at each other for a moment, trying to feel each other out, before a smile slowly cracked in the corner of his mouth. Against all my desires, I couldn't help but follow, my usual frosty exterior beginning to thaw.
The Logan Brothers - Books 1-4: (EXPOSURE, CRASH, TWIN PASSIONS, and ADDICTED TO YOU) Page 53