by A. R. Breck
The way her bloodshot eyes stared at me with huge bags underneath her eyes, I would be surprised if she even blinked in the night.
“Damn,” Jackson grumbles.
“That’s fucked up, dude. You obviously can’t drug her. She will crash eventually. I mean, she has to, right?” Logan looks at Jackson, who only shrugs at him.
“Well, she can’t stay awake forever. I mean, all this shit happening to her body is just going to shut it down. Real quick.” I slam my palm on the steering wheel in frustration. There’s nothing worse than being a person who’s always able to get what they want, and then for once being unable to do a damn thing about it.
I feel helpless.
“Dude, calm the fuck down. We’ll figure it out. One thing at a time. First off, we’ve got to figure out what’s going on with Sanders. Hopefully, with Leonard out of the picture, everything will die down. But we need to talk to Rich if that isn’t the case.” Logan says.
He’s right. One thing at a time. Cara is watching Rose. I need to take care of business and stay focused; otherwise I’m going to get my ass handed to me. There’s also the other matter that I need to discuss with Rich.
“I'm going to tell him about Corey,” I say when we get a few minutes away from the warehouse.
“What?” Jackson snaps, grabbing onto my headrest and settling in between Logan’s and my seat.
“I mean, I have to. I can only assume we’re going to be dealing with Corey’s dad at some point. Rich should know about it. He has to know about it.”
“I guess, but shit. He’s not going to like this.” Jackson mumbles, settling back into his seat and staring out the window.
“Nope. No, he’s not. But, I would do it again in a fucking heartbeat and nothing Rich says is going to change that.”
“I feel you,” Logan says. “Do you, uh, do you love her?” Logan nearly chokes on the word. We all do.
The word is like a curse. Something that no one in this life can have. Doesn’t even deserve to have.
“Shut the fuck up, Logan,” I say, pulling into the warehouse and hopping out of my truck. I nearly trip over the words running through my head.
Do I love her?
Do I love her?
Do I love her?
Do I love her?
I’m not sure how many times I can ask myself that question without literally socking Logan in the fucking jaw. But as seconds pass, I think the person I want to punch is myself.
Do I love her?
I don’t know. Do I? Do I love anyone? Can I love anyone? What is it even like to love someone? I don’t know the answers to these fucking questions, but all I know is that of fucking course Logan had to ask me this monumental question moments before I have to confront Rich.
Good fucking job, Logan.
“Idiot.” I hear Jackson say under his breath.
“Yup.” I glance over my shoulder and watch Logan takes a hit out of his bowl. Logan is my brother, but holy shit, the guy cranks my stress level up a few hundred notches. And always at the worst time, too.
“My bad. I didn’t mean to freak you out.” Logan says, cringing as he notices my unease.
I grunt but say nothing else, letting go of the door once he’s through and walking the short distance to Rich’s office. The place is busy today, and I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or not.
With my luck, this is not a good sign.
“Boys. Follow me.” Hugo catches our attention and leads us the rest of the way. His broad, bulky shoulders are stiff. He doesn’t seem angry towards us, but that will change soon.
Shit, not good.
“Easton, glad you’re here.” My father says once he sees me. “Please, close the door.” The four of us shuffle in and shut the door. Logan and I walk over to the chairs in front of Rich’s desk, while Hugo and Jackson stay standing near the door, both antisocial and constantly apprehensive.
He looks at Logan and Jackson. “I’m sure Easton told you that Leonard is dead.”
They both nod.
“He has been working with Sanders. For how long, I’m not sure. This isn’t good, because I’m not sure how much information he’s gained. We’ve been here all night and morning, bringing in the guys and trying to see if there are any other rats.” He waves his hand over a huge stack of papers, clearly irritated with the task at hand.
“And?” I ask.
“We don’t think anyone else was working with Sanders, but there were a few we suspected that we had to let go.”
Let go. No one is let go of this business. What he means is, they were shot and buried. Hugo had a busy morning.
“But, that’s not even the bad news.”
“Shit.” I hear Jackson say from behind me. I’m thinking the same. This will not be the good day I was hoping for.
“I’m not sure exactly what Sanders knows, but I know he knows something. After what happened with Leonard, I sent our own rat out to Michigan to watch over Sanders’ operation. They’re planning to ambush our Wisconsin transport.”
“Fuck.” Logan barks out.
“No way.” Jackson groans.
“How does he know about our Wisconsin trade?” This is something that we have been keeping under wraps for quite some time. We have told only a select few about it. It will be the largest shipment we’ve received in years. Not only are we receiving a larger than usual shipment of cocaine, but we’re also receiving guns. Lots and lots of guns.
“I don’t know. Leonard is smarter than we thought.” Rich rubs his pointer fingers over his eyeballs, and I can feel his stress from here. This is not good, not good at all.
“So, what’s your plan?” I ask.
“We need you boys to head out to Wisconsin this weekend for the shipment. All hands-on deck with this one.”
We all nod our heads in agreement.
“Sanders is going to be there, so we need to be smart. I have double the guys heading out there and will have our best shooters on the frontline. Sanders will not get this fucking shipment. Over my dead fucking body.” His face turns red, and he slams his fist on his desk, rattling the pencils around in a jar off to the side.
“Whatever you need us to do, we will do it.” Logan says.
“Be ready. That’s what I need you guys to do. And watch your backs. I don’t know what Sanders is up to, but we need to be prepared in all aspects.”
We all nod again, and I figure right now is as good of a time as any.
“Rich, I need to tell you something.”
“What is it, Easton?” He says on a sigh. He’s wound tight from this Sanders shit. I just hope this thing with Corey doesn’t push him over the edge.
“Rose was raped on Saturday.” All the noises in the room cut off instantly.
Even the dust silences.
“Who did it?” He asks in a monotone voice. I can tell his anger is boiling under the surface. He doesn’t like what he’s hearing, and he knows it’s only going to get worse.
“Corey Aronole.” I wait for him to realize the name.
“Aronole?” His eyes grow wide as he stands up. “As in Frank Aronole?”
Bingo.
“The one and only.”
“Where is the little shit now?” He cool demeanor is growing thinner by the second.
“Dead.” I lash the word out. Death was too easy on him. I should have stretched out his pain for days.
Months. Years. An eternity wouldn’t give Rose the justice she deserves.
“Dead! Easton! Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” He shouts.
“Yeah, I do, actually. The fuck was raping my girlfriend. There is no fucking way in hell that his ass would survive this. He’s dumber than a fucking rock if he assumed otherwise.”
“Where is the damn body?” Hugo speaks up from behind me.
“Not sure. Down the Mississippi somewhere. Hopefully getting closer to the Iowa border by now.”
“Fuck! Easton!” Hugo roars.
“If he hasn’t been found by
now, he will shortly. When Frank starts sniffing around, I’ll own up to it. I’m not afraid of him. His son is a sadistic, drug-addicted rapist. There is not one ounce of me that feels remorse on this one.” I stand my ground with this. They can rip me a new asshole for all I care.
Rich sits back down on the chair with a weathered sigh and gives me a look. One that says he’s proud of me for sticking with my morals, but that I royally fucked up with this one by killing someone as wealthy as an Aronole.
“This one falls on you, son,” Rich says. “I don’t care what happens with Frank. You better get that shit wrapped up before this weekend. Come Friday, we’re heading to Wisconsin, and I need you ready. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now get out of here. I’ll talk to you before Friday.” He waves me off, and Hugo opens the door, waiting for us all to shuffle out before he closes it behind us. They're probably going to discuss what they're going to do if this shit with Frank Aronole turns south.
Once we get into my truck and are heading home, I turn towards the boys and ask, “What are your plans for the week? Are you going into school?”
“Probably not. I mean, after this shit over the weekend, I can assume Cara isn’t going to be going in. You weren’t planning to go in, were you?” Logan asks.
“Hell no. I will be with Rose, make sure she’s okay, and shit.”
“I'm going to go shoot,” Jackson speaks up from the back.
“You are? Damn. I need that right now.” Suddenly, a light bulb flicks on in my brain. “Shit, you know what? I have an idea.”
“What is it?” Logan asks, rolling up a joint on an old CD case on his lap.
“I gotta get Rose out of that house. She will lose her mind if she stays there constantly thinking about shit. Maybe I can convince her to come shooting with us. Give her a little training on self-defense. That might make her feel a little safer. I know it will make me feel a hell of a lot safer if she knows how to shoot.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Jackson says, taking a hit off the joint and passing it off to me.
“Yeah. I will talk to her about it and let you know. Are you heading there tomorrow?” I ash the joint in an empty pop can in the center console and pass it to Logan. Rich owns a building just north of the Twin Cities that has an outdoor and indoor shooting range. It's kind of the family joint between us three families. We go there whenever, but mostly when we need to train before going on a transport.
“Yeah, I was going to head up around noon.” He coughs through his sentence.
“Cool. I’ll talk to Rose tonight about it.” I nod my head. I hope this works out in my favor.
“I might skip out on this one. Get Cara’s mind off of all this bullshit. She’s been all worked up since the other night.” Logan says with a frown.
I give him a nod in understanding. Cara’s shit life isn’t anything to brag about. Having an abusive stepfather and a useless mother is enough drama for a lifetime. Dealing with Rose’s shit is probably making her neurotic at this point. Her stepfather put her hands on her not too long ago, and we roughed him up. Since then, he’s been completely MIA and her mother took off with him.
“What about Duke? Did you talk to him about fighting this week?” Logan asks as we pull into town.
“Yeah, I texted him before you guys showed up this morning. I told him I need to cancel my fights this week and weekend but can fight next Wednesday.” Duke is my trainer and in charge of all aspects of my fighting schedule and training. He’s a good dude, and although he wasn’t too happy with me taking some time off, there was no reasoning with me on this one.
“Was he okay with it?” Logan asks.
I shrug. “He’s fine. I told him to take his neglected wife on vacation for once in his life. He started barking at me over the phone, but I just hung up on him. I’m sure when I see him next week, he will have that freshly fucked look all over his face.”
Jackson and Logan let out a laugh, and soon we’re pulling into the trailer park. I roll to a stop in front of my house, but don’t move to turn off my truck.
“You heading over to Rose’s house already?” Logan asks as he hops out.
“Yeah, gonna go see how she’s doing.”
“Send Cara over to my house, will you?” He gives me a lazy smile. This dude is so whipped.
“Sure thing.” They both give me a wave and I head off back to Rose’s house.
Back to my Rose.
Back into the darkness and the unknown.
Chapter Six
The pain lessens every day. Or am I just growing numb?
Rose
The moment Easton slid the window shut this morning when he left, I laid back in my bed and heaved a sigh of relief. It’s odd, what my body feels right now. Such comfort when Easton is near. I know he’ll do everything in his power to keep me safe. But his watchful eyes giving me that look nonstop is too much. I need distance—from people, from words. I just need silence. A moment where I can be.
Broken. Hurt. Scared. Angry.
I can’t allow myself to let go in front of Cara or Easton. I can’t feel vulnerable in front of people. Even those I trust—my mind refuses at this point.
I hear a knock on my door not even five minutes later after Easton leaves and wish I could scream. I wish my vocal cords would allow me the opportunity to let it all out.
Leave me the fuck alone!
“Rose, are you awake?” My mom asks as she creaks open the door, poking her head around the corner. “Can we talk?”
There’s no one here to defend me this time. No one to block the persistence of my mother.
I nod my head and watch as she walks in and sits on the corner of my bed, already dressed and ready for work. “Are you okay? Something seemed really off last night. I don’t feel right going to work until I know how you’re doing.”
“Fine.” I clear my throat. “Fine.” A little better, but still filled with gravel.
“What happened to your voice?” She frowns at me.
I shrug. “Too much screaming, maybe.” Not that that’s too far from the truth. When she gives me a funny look, I clarify, “From the car crash, I mean.” Lie.
She continues to look at me like something isn’t right. “Rose, you think you’re so sneaky, but I know my daughter. I know when something is wrong. Why won’t you talk to me? I thought we were past all this.” She waves her hand around like this is floating around in the air.
“Mom, I just don’t feel good, okay? I want to sleep.” I pull the blankets up to my neck. I want to sleep so, so bad.
But I can’t sleep.
“Rose,” Mom warns.
“I’m not going to school today. Most likely all week, just like you told me to. I don’t feel good from the accident. Please, just leave me alone.” My voice still hurts, but it’s so much better than yesterday. I can speak a sentence without feeling like my voice box is tearing in two.
“I thought you would fight me on that. All week? Is it that serious?” Her wide eyes glance around the blanket covering my body, as if it will reveal the wounds that seep deeper than skin.
Because I do. I have so many wounds that are deeper than skin deep.
“It’s that serious.” The thought of even walking outside right now is not an option. Going outside yesterday was necessary, but going outside of my own free will? No, thank you.
Her eyes get watery, and I swear, for almost a second, it looks like she knows what happened. What really happened. She gives me a small nod and stands up, wiping her hands down her shirt.
“I’ll let you rest then. Call me if you need me, okay?” She looks sad, and I know it’s not because I’m not telling her the entire story, it’s because I’m hurt.
“Mom?” I whisper.
“Yes, dear.” She turns around and wipes at her eye.
“Thank you for this. I’ll be okay soon. Promise.” I give her a small smile and hope it comes across as sincere.
When she smiles back
and heads out to work, I know I need to try better. I need to heal.
Or at least try.
~
About an hour later, Cara rings on my doorbell. I almost don’t answer it, but the pounding on my door afterward says enough.
She’s not leaving.
I swing open the door to Cara still pounding and have to twitch away from her fist that ends up right in front of my face..
“Hey, there you are. What took you so long?” She looks behind me, looking for anything suspicious or out of the ordinary.
My life is out of the ordinary.
I grunt.
“How did you sleep?”
I grunt again. Add in a shrug. I didn’t.
“Did you talk to your mom?”
“Mhmm.”
“And? What did she say?”
“I think she knows.” I clear my throat. “I don’t know. I’m let off the hook for school this week.” Walking back into my room, I curl back under my sheets and stare at my friend as she stands at the edge of my bed.
Cara nods her head. “How are you feeling, really?”
I frown at her and tell her the truth. “Horrible.”
Cara’s bottom lip wobbles as she sits down on the floor. “What can I do?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” I shake my head. I have pain coming from every pore in my skin. But honestly, it’s not even the pain that my body feels that’s scaring me. It’s my mind. I feel dirty, used, and abused. I’m not sure what can fix it. I don’t know if it can even be fixed.
“I think I know what you need.”
“What’s that?”
“Let’s go on a short drive. Just get a little fresh air. Drive down to the coffee shop and back, quick and easy.”
“You know I don’t like coffee.” I pick at a frayed edge on my blanket. The idea of getting fresh air sounds horrifying. People sound horrifying.
“Fine. Let’s drive down to Jamba Juice and get a smoothie. We don’t even have to drink it there. Let’s just go pick something up and come back here.” She gives me a pouty face, and I give her a deadpan stare.