"You left me there!" he whispered dramatically, turning his face away from me. My gut clenched. "How could you? Do you see what they did to me?"
"I—... Brad, I said I'm sorry, I didn't know what was happening—"
"Because you were drunk?"
"Drunk!?" The accusation sliced through my fear like a red-hot knife. I clutched my purse with white knuckles, fuming. I had been sober for years and this asshole was damn well aware of that. But he also knew how much it hurt when he accused me of relapsing. He was manipulating me, plain and simple, and frankly, I was fucking tired of it. "You know I don't drink or do drugs. Don't try to twist this around. You were in over your head with those biker guys—"
"What? So you think they're better than me?" Brad crossed his arms, pouting up at me. His pouting was significantly less effective with his face all banged up like that. "I can't help it that they were trying to rob me."
"They weren't trying to rob you," I said, refusing to let him spin an alternate version of the truth. Usually, it was my word against his and it was too exhausting to fight him, but this time there was a whole bar full of witnesses to what had really happened. Ty knew what had happened. "And while we're on the subject of abandoning people, how about the fact that you abandoned me? I weigh like ninety pounds, Brad! What the hell was I supposed to do? You're supposed to protect me—"
"Look what they did to me," he said gravely. "I'm in the hospital, Candace. The fucking hospital. Okay? This is serious. I could’ve died. You should’ve been able to save me."
"Save you how!?" I ran my hands through my hair in exasperation. "Look, I don't want to fight, Brad, can we just... move on?"
He sighed, laying his hands across his abdomen. "I guess. I'm too weak to argue with you right now."
"I said I was sorry, honey..."
"Weren't you even worried about me?" His voice took on a dolorous tone. "Didn't you even wonder if I was okay?"
"Of course I did," I lied because any other answer would've been unacceptable. "I've been worried sick." I reached for his hand. "I'm so glad you're alright."
"I'm not alright," he insisted. "I'm in the hospital."
I sighed and patted his knuckles.
"You look skinnier today," he added, looking me up and down appraisingly.
God damn my eating disorder, I thought, because those were the magic words. Brad knew that any compliments about my appearance, especially my weight, would make me melt in his hands. I felt warm and wanted whenever he said shit like that, even though, deep down, I knew he was just messing with my head. I smoothed my hair and flashed him a nervous smile. "Do you think so? I skipped breakfast."
"Oh, aren't you supposed to be in recovery or whatever?" Brad made a face of disapproval. "Skipping meals is bad baby."
"But you just said... I..." Tears welled in my eyes. I withdrew my hand from him, clutching my abdomen. I hated that he had the power to make me feel so good one second, then literally destroy me the next. He knew just where to hit me: My body image, and my recovery. As the tears rolled down my face, my hatred for him multiplied. He was playing me, and I knew it. What was worse, however, was that I was powerless against it.
"You never kissed me hello," he complained, pressing the button on the IV line to deliver another dose of morphine.
Obediently, I stood up and gave him a peck on the lips, hating myself for doing as he asked. What I really wanted to do was slap him for being such a manipulative jerk, but I couldn't slap my boyfriend... could I?
"I'm tired, you can go now," he said.
"Oh, I'm dismissed, am I?" I pointed out sarcastically.
"Yes," he answered in perfect seriousness.
"Fine. Bye."
"Wait, you have to kiss me— are you coming to visit tomorrow?"
"Yeah, sure," I sighed, wanting to get him off my back, "what time?"
"Anytime, I don't know how long they'll keep me here," he said gravely. "I'm very injured."
"Sure." I gave him another peck on the lips. "Feel better soon."
"I'll try."
"Love you."
"Bye."
I left feeling less anxious than when I'd come, but more angry. Everything about Brad pissed me off lately. Why are you even dating him? Asked the little voice in the back of my head. And honestly, I didn't have an answer.
CHAPTER SIX
Ty
I had texted Candy about "owing me a favor." I was kind of joking because I didn't feel like she "owed me" anything. I had saved her because it was the right thing to do and she was the one who had said she owed me. I guess it was my own fault for trying to joke around because I didn't joke much in the first place. I was wondering if she didn't "get it" and thought I was being a jerk. Really, all I wanted was some help with planning a surprise birthday for my Ma. It was corny as hell, but I really wanted to do something special for her since she was gonna turn fifty this year, but we couldn't afford to take her out, really. I wanted to have some of Ma's friends over, plus Albert, and I needed Candy's help to do all the... y'know girly stuff. I didn't know shit about decorating unless it was a dive bar, and I was horrible at cooking and stuff. After all, we had to make a cake, and Justin had ideas, but with his CP, he couldn't do much about it. I thought maybe Candy wouldn't mind helping, but she hadn't answered yet. I was at the Den where we were getting ready for a meeting, and I should've been thinking business, but the only thought in my head was Candy. I wondered why she hadn't texted me back yet. It had been, like, all day, and I knew it was stupid for me to even be thinking about it, but I wondered if she was offended by my insinuating that she "owed me." I didn't want her to think that at all.
I was sitting in the office, staring at my phone, about to call Candy, when Charlie burst through the door.
"Boss, we got trouble," was all he said.
I shoved my phone in my pocket, quickly forgetting that I had just pressed "dial" on Candy's number, and followed Charlie out the bar. My guys were all clustered around the front windows, grumbling and muttering, as a pack of Wildcats had just pulled into the parking lot, forming a half-circle around the bar entrance.
"These fuckin' guys don't know when to quit," I snarled under my breath. "This wasn't s'posed to happen—"
"What're they gonna do, send us an invitation to a rumble?" Charlie drawled. "Of course they're gonna do it when we least expect it."
"I just hope they— HOLY SHIT!"
My sentence was cut short as one of the front windows exploded inward with a ball of flame. Several guys were burned and screaming as they tried to put out their clothes, which had caught fire. Someone outside had thrown a Molotov cocktail, and if they meant business, they surely had more. I ran for the fire extinguisher and started dousing the flames, but at that point, the other front window was shattered by a second fiery projectile. This time, the guys were expecting it and got out of the way, so no one else got hurt.
"What the fuck are you idiots doing!?" I bellowed. "Get the fuck out of here, they're gonna try to burn this place down! Charlie, get 'em out of here—"
"Yeah boss," said Charlie as he began barking orders and rounding up our guys like a tall, skinny, human sheepdog. Guys had their knives and pistols out and ready because as soon as they stepped outside, there would be hell to pay.
I just wanted to save my Den. I had built this place from the ground up, pretty much, turning it from a tumbledown shack into a decently operating dive bar— and the headquarters for all our nefarious gangster shit. I loved this place, it had been my second home for years. I wasn’t about to let these fuckers burn it down.
Unless, you know. They did.
Two more Molotov cocktails came flying inside, the second one landing real close to the bar, where there were several dozen gallons of highly flammable cheap liquor just waiting to ignite. A shudder went through my body as I was quickly realizing that I couldn't stop this by myself. The tables were burning, a banner had caught fire and I was sweating balls. And just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, the
fire extinguisher ran out of foam.
I was fucked.
I turned and ran for the back door where everyone else had evacuated, stifling my tears and choking on smoke. As I darted past the bar, a bottle caught fire and exploded. I loosed a primal, gut-wrenching scream and hurtled outside as my beloved Den went up in flames.
Outside, the Wildcats were waiting for us. They faced us with their clubs, knives, and guns ready and we squared off.
"What the fuck is going on!?" I yelled, whipping out my knife. "You fuckers are the ones who broke the code by coming to my fucking house and threatening my family—"
"And we're just repaying you for your warning," sneered the fat fucker who had come to my place yesterday. He had no weapons. Just giant fists. "You redecorated our hangout so nicely, I thought we'd return the favor."
"Fuck you!" I spat, leaping in his direction, stopped only by Charlie grabbing the back of my jacket. "You can't burn down my bar!"
"We can, and we did," the guy laughed. "The fuck you gonna do about it, bitch?"
I screamed again, struggling against Charlie's hold on me. He was lucky I was shorter than him because I was so pissed that I might've killed the guy if given the chance.
"You wanna go!?" I cried, shaking with rage. "You wanna try me, you fat fuck? Fuckin' try me!"
"No, we don't wanna fight," he said with false, sickly sweetness. "But we do have a parting gift for you, which we brought in case no one was home."
One of his cronies came forward and threw something furry and brown at my feet. I gagged a little when I realized it was a dead, bloody, headless dog.
"Consider that your final warning. Pay up, or shit's gonna go down. And I said two weeks yesterday, but after that fuckin' stunt you pulled, you got three days. Or someone's gonna get hurt. I've got my eye on that skinny chick with the black hair. She looks like she'd be fun to break."
With that, the Wildcats all turned and left in a cacophony of motorcycle engines revving and belching. Had Charlie not been there to restrain me, there probably would've been a huge fight right about now. I stared at the dead dog, my face feeling cold as I thought about what he had said about Candy. I couldn't let this happen to her. I couldn't let anything happen to her. I had no choice but to pay the fuckers. Charlie's hand moved from gripping my jacket to rest on my shoulder as the guys congregated and started talking shit. A firetruck siren blared in the distance, coming our way, as I heard bottle another bottle of liquor explode inside my beloved Den. I felt defeated and had no idea where I was gonna get that kind of money in such a short amount of time. Three days to come up with ten grand felt pretty fuckin' impossible at that moment.
"Don't worry, boss, we've got some leads on a couple of bikes. If we make a deal, you can have my cut to help pay those bastards."
I looked up at Charlie and nodded just once. I knew he needed the money— we all did, it's not like we were criminals for fun. It meant a lot to me that he was willing to give me his cut to get the Cats off our back. I still doubted we could make enough in time, though... short sales were hard to come by. But I wasn't gonna denigrate his offer by saying something like that.
"Thanks, man," was all I could say.
"Something'll come through, boss, it's got to."
"Sure." I nodded. "Sure it will. You're right, Charlie. Maybe we can collect on the Den's insurance policy."
"Yeah, right," Charlie laughed because we both knew the Den didn't have a fuckin' insurance policy. "Is that your phone goin' off?"
I looked around and then down at my pocket. I had barely heard it, but now that Charlie mentioned it, my phone was ringing. I took it out and instantly recognized the number.
It was Candy. I had about a million missed calls from her and a handful of frantic texts.
Are you okay?
What's happening?
Please call me
Call me back ASAP
What's happened to you? Did I hear an explosion??
Ty, I'm really worried about you, please call back!
As guilty as I felt about letting her worry, I couldn't deal with her just yet. I was too shaken and too sad. If I talked to Candy right this minute, I knew I was probably gonna cry or something and I couldn't do that in front of the guys. Not right now. I took a deep breath, then exhaled very slowly. I had a huge mess to clean up. I turned my phone off and put it in my pocket, praying to whatever god was listening that Candy would be okay until I got back to her.
Somehow, I knew she would.
***
After talking the situation over with Charlie and the guys, I could think of only one thing to do.
I had to sell my bike.
Most of the bikes we sold were sorta counterfeit, bikes we bought real cheap and then spruced up to look nice and rare, flipping them at ten or twenty times the original price. My bike, however, was genuine. It was a 1952 Vincent Black Shadow, the kinda bike that sold for two hundred grand in mint condition. Mine was nowhere near mint. I had found it at a junkyard and bought it for a couple hundred bucks because the junkyard owner had no clue what it was. Once I restored it, it ran like new and I had it painted flat black. That bike had been my baby for about three years. Reminiscing about it, I started wondering how much I could get for one of my kidneys…
I really didn't wanna sell that bike.
I remembered that Candy's stupid boyfriend supposedly had money. He was gonna buy a bike off of us and everything. After the Wolves had roughed him up, he probably wouldn't be too keen on loaning us ten grand, though, so that seemed like a dead end as well.
The thought of selling my baby weighed on my shoulders as I rode home. Unless we found someone else willing to buy one of our other bikes, this was the only way. I knew I could sell her for a lot of money and fast. Hell, she'd sell for enough that we could probably afford to have Justin's arm fixed. Thinking of it that way, I actually felt kinda guilty that I didn't come up with the idea sooner. I'd do anything for Justin, even sell my bike.
When I got home, I went for a walk around the block. I texted Charlie, Start calling around. I'm selling my bike. I then dialed Candy, because she had been in the back of my mind all day. I had no clue what I was gonna tell her.
"Ty!" Her voice was ragged. I felt horrible for leaving her in the dark for so long and making her worry. "Jesus Christ! Are you okay!?"
"I'm fine," I reassured her, my voice much softer than I intended it to be. I didn't sound tough at all. But, I didn't want to be tough with her right now anyway, I wanted to make her feel better. "Just had a little bit of, uh... an incident."
"Incident?" she repeated, her voice hollow. "Ty, I heard yelling, and— and I thought I heard an explosion—"
"I'm fine, okay?" I snapped because I didn't want to lie to her about what happened, but I wasn't about to tell her the truth, either. "Did you get my text?"
"W-what? Oh... uh..." She sounded hurt that I had raised my voice. I felt like a monster, as I so often did when talking to normal people. "About coming over tomorrow?"
"Yeah. I need your help with something."
"Oh. Um... okay? What's up?"
"My Ma's birthday is the day after tomorrow. I was wonderin' if maybe... y'know, she's gonna be fifty and all that, and we could use some help throwing a party and I'm lousy at baking... what d'you say?"
Candace was silent for a moment, but those few seconds dragged on for what seemed like hours. I wished I could see her face, to know what she was thinking, or at least be able to guess. She probably thought I was stupid or some mama's boy or whatever—
"Of course," she said, at last, her voice soft and warm. "I'd be happy to help you guys."
"Thanks, Candy," I said, smiling at my feet. "That's real sweet of you."
"When should I come over?"
"You can get here by lunchtime. See ya then."
"Okay, Ty. G'night."
I hung up the phone with a nauseous mix of feelings in my stomach. Candy made me feel like I had never felt before. She made me feel… diffe
rent. I mean I had kinda felt like that with Alice, but with Candy, it was about a hundred times stronger. It was good to feel this way again, but it was bittersweet, on account of Candy having a boyfriend. Not to mention, a guy like me is no good for a gentle soul like her. Technically she'd already come close to getting hurt because of me, and it was bound to happen again if we kept seeing each other... but, could I make myself stop seeing her? Was I man enough for that?
"Ty Jameson Franklin!" my Ma bellowed as I walked in the door, and behind her, Justin was freaking out too. They were both staring at me with huge eyes, stunned. Ma slowly rose from the couch. "Honey, what happened to your face?"
"Huh?" My hand drifted to my cheek where I was surprised to feel the skin was blistered and hot, but my face was numb. I hadn't even noticed in all the hustle that I'd gotten kinda burned, probably when the liquor bottles started exploding. "N-nothing, just a bar fight, you know how it is—"
"Just a bar fight?" Ma looked wounded, her chin trembling. "Are you sure about that?"
I didn't even know how to answer that, so I just shrugged.
"I saw it on the evening news, Ty, I know the Den burned down..."
"Oh." I hung my head. I didn't even know why I had tried to lie to her in the first place. So stupid. "Yeah."
"So why are you trying to tell me it was a bar fight?" She came over to me and put her hand on my shoulder, but I stepped back, bristling. "What? You can't be honest with your own mother?"
My nostrils flared. The steam was building. She had no idea the shit I'd done for the family, for her, and she had no idea how much I'd had to lie to her, and how much it hurt me every time. Years of lies I was holding back and I was so fucking ashamed, I couldn't even look at her face. It was just too much. She tried to touch me again and I turned my back on her, tearing at my hair.
"Just leave me the fuck alone," I growled.
She inhaled sharply and stood there for a second. I could feel her eyes on my back, burning holes right through my leather jacket, until she finally turned around and walked back to her room, shutting the door— loudly— and locking it.
Pursuit: A Bad Boy Romance Page 65