Finding Peace (Rollin On Book 4)

by Emilia Finn

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re annoying us,” Iz says, sitting back on her haunches and tucking her hair behind her ears. “You’re both sitting there with your panties in a twist, critiquing our every move. Go away, teach a class. Leave us alone. We want Aiden.”

  “Suckers.” I laugh at their heartbroken faces, enjoying my victory over their pouty asses, but they both turn on me. “Don’t.” I step back. “I’ll take you both on, so don’t try it--”

  I grunt when they both jump me, taking us to the mats, rolling on the damn floor and Jim’s knee comes up, moving my ribs a few inches higher than they should be.

  Two against one, I see how it is. Assholes.

  I roll away from them, getting to my knees before Bobby rushes me, wrapping his legs around my hips and taking me in half guard.

  He reaches out for my arm, trying to trap me in a triangle choke but I twist, instead slamming him to his back and sitting on his hips.

  They forget rolling is my domain. I’ve taught both of these fuckers everything they know. I’ve trained them, working their mistakes out and correcting them, which means I also know their weaknesses and I know how to capitalize on them.

  Jimmy takes my back, wrapping his legs around my hips, piggy backing me and trying to choke me out that way, but I grab his head in my right hand and slam his face down on my shoulder. He grunts as his arm comes loose. I throw my elbow back, crunching it against his jaw, then using that same momentum, I bring my fist forward, slamming it down on Bobby’s jaw.

  Jimmy falls off my back at the same time I spin, taking Bobby’s arm in the same way Iz took Kit’s. I slam down onto my back, stretching his arm out, hyperextending his elbow, then I lift my hips, tugging a fuck-ton harder than Iz did to Kit. I wouldn’t feel that bad breaking his arm. Iz is nicer than me.

  “You’re a dick,” he grunts, tapping my thigh with his free hand, then bending and flexing his arm once I let go. Jim holds his jaw, agreeing.

  “Bobby,” Kit calls, coming down out of the cage and sliding on her knees against his prostrate form.

  “Yeah baby?” Bobby asks, running his hand along her neck.

  “He tricked you, baby. You gotta keep those arms tight,” she mocks, leaning down and kissing his nose when he grunts at her.

  Eight

  Tina

  Repetition is good

  My breath comes fast, shallow and painful as I flee from him. Upstairs, I run from Sean’s unconscious body as it lies on the expensive marble flooring, away from the knife I left behind, still buried deep between his lower ribs.

  I need to get to Katie; I need to get us out of here.

  I sprint up the ornate marble staircase, skidding on slippery feet, hating how fucking big this house is, hating that Katie’s room is at the very end of the hall.

  We need to get out, now. Before the alarms are set off. Before his men come back.

  I run through Katie’s bedroom door, deciding at the last second to leave the light off for fear of drawing attention to us. I can see well enough. I spot her standing in her crib, holding the bars for balance. She can’t walk or stand independently yet, but she’s been pulling up in the crib for a month now.

  “Sarah.” He calls my name in that sing song voice and my stomach rolls. “Where are you?”

  I shoot up in bed, my heart racing in my chest, thumping painfully against my diaphragm. I gasp for breath, almost gagging on my dry tongue as I greedily gulp air and I wipe hair from my sweaty brow.

  I hate when I dream of him. I loathe it.

  Katie and I ran over two years ago. I thought I was done dreaming about him. I had an entire year reprieve, but he’s back and I don’t know why. I don’t understand why my psyche is throwing him at me again, but I hate it.

  Leave me the hell alone!

  I look at the clock to find it’s not quite four thirty in the morning and I slump back down against my pillows, groaning and exhausted. I slept for four hours total.

  Great.

  I’m too awake to go back to sleep; it’s going to be a long day.

  I throw my covers back, detangling my feet from the twisted sheets, then I get up and put a cami over top of my sports bra.

  I put socks on my feet then I grab Evie’s baby monitor and walk out to the kitchen.

  I flick the coffee machine on, then I study the monitor’s nighttime picture of Evie as she sleeps, almost as tangled in her sheets as I was in mine.

  She flip flops all night long, staying under the covers for minutes at a time before she kicks them off, then she cries out because she’s cold and doesn’t understand why.

  Her hair is spread out over her face, tickling her nose, and her stuffed puppy is squished between her arms as she sleeps on her side.

  She’s one of the best snugglers I know.

  I turn back to the coffee machine when it beeps, then I shove my cup under the spout and smell the air as caffeine wafts and wakes me up properly.

  I decide I’ll take my coffee and the monitor and I’ll go spend some time in my darkroom.

  I don’t spend nearly enough time in there and I miss it.

  Izzy and the girls gave me an old throwaway camera from Izzy’s wedding that they wanted me to develop. Mostly it’s just for fun, since we have digital these days, but nevertheless, Nelly took photos with the throwaway, and now the girls are curious to see what they find on there.

  I got to watch pieces of her wedding through FaceTime, since I was working, but what I saw was lovely. I’m excited to see what Nelly captured.

  I prepared the negatives a few days ago, soaking them, ready for developing to proper photo paper, so I grab my coffee and the monitor and I sneak down the hallway, past Evie’s door, into the darkroom at the end.

  I quietly open the door, then stepping into the darkness, I place my things down on the desk I know is there even though I can’t see it.

  Even if it weren’t four a.m. and the sun was up, this room has been completely blacked out so no light can get in no matter the time of day.

  It took me at least six months of searching before I found second hand gear to fit this room out, since I never got to grab the stuff at my old house.

  I trolled photography sites for months, and Evie and I visited old second’s sales, looking for an enlarger that still worked, with magnifiers and lights that weren’t completely trashed.

  It was a slow process, but when I found it, I was more excited than I had been about anything in years.

  Evie and I carted that monster home and we had ice cream and pancakes for dinner to celebrate.

  It was the first day of our new life that we both smiled. It was a good day.

  I switch the small red-light on, to help me work a little less blind, then I grab the canister holding Nelly’s negatives and I take it and my coffee to the other side of the room.

  I have another desk set up with my enlarger on the far wall, then along the wall adjacent, I have my chemical trays laid out; developer in one, stop bath beside that, then the fixer, then another tray with water to finish it off.

  Taking one last gulp of my coffee, I set it aside then open the negative canister and start unrolling it, smiling at the nostalgia of being in a dark room with a genuine throw away camera negatives roll.

  The chemical smells fill my nose, reminding me of happy times past, and getting comfortable, I unroll the strip and start cutting them into groups of five.

  The repetition of the task relaxes me, and I feel the dregs of my nasty nightmare being stripped away, my heart slowing down, the sour taste in my mouth washing away.

  We escaped that life and we’re safe now. I need to remind myself of how far we’ve come.

  I place the first strip in the top of my enlarger, sliding it along until it sits in the window, then I smile when the light flashes, illuminating the girls mid laugh, all holding each other in a group hug.

  I take the exposed paper and sit it in my desk drawer, hidden from light, then I replace it and slide to the nex
t image.

  I smile again, this time at Bean’s squish face pressed against Jacks as he kisses her. His eyes are puffy and already sport dark shadows beneath them.

  The girls told me about that day; about Jim going bananas on the front lawn and breaking Jon and Jack’s noses.

  I’m told Kit went bananas at Jim after the fact, but she was laughing her ass off when they told me the story. I think she just enjoys scaring the guys.

  I slide the negatives to the next, an image of Jim holding Iz, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, locking him in and never letting him go. And he looks damn happy about it.

  Repeating the process, I store the exposed paper and slide a new one in, then I change the negative, flash the light and hold my breath when I catch a glimpse of five large men.

  Instead of moving onto the next, I feel my heart race for a whole new reason. I jump up from my chair, walking right to my chemical trays and I drop this one into the developer, desperate to see those faces again.

  I watch as though by magic, the guys all reappear again, sliding into existence from nothing to amazing clarity.

  I pick the image up with my tongs and slide it into the next tray, then the next, then when it finally makes it to the water I stand in the dark, staring down at the man on the end, his smile so big and unfamiliar yet so charming and boyish.

  What I wouldn’t give to have Aiden Kincaid smile at me like that.

  It’s almost as though he’s just… unapproachable. Intimidating. The opposite to his boisterous brothers. He’s quiet, as though you have to really mean something to him to be rewarded with his time. And to get the smile is like hitting the lottery jackpot.

  From left to right, Jack with his crooked nose and dark eyes, then Jon, with his own brand of boyish charm but with a solid side of edgy and dangerous masculinity. His own broken nose lending more danger to his appearance, although his carefree smile contradicts it. Jon is a paradigm.

  Jimmy in the middle, pure mischief in his happy eyes. That was the day he got everything he ever dreamed of. Bobby next, who looks like a thug with his ink and wild hair, but is pure sugar and teddy bear, at least as far as Kit’s concerned. That’s not to say he can’t be dangerous himself. He can. He is. But Kit brings him to his knees, forcing him to push down his dangerous side. She makes him gentle.

  Then Aiden on the end… His hair cut much shorter than his brothers, almost military short but not quite, definitely flattened on top as though he had been wearing a hat but his mom made him take it off for the pictures.

  I can easily imagine her voice, nagging at the boys to stand up straight, to stop goofing around, to take the damn picture.

  She’s definitely no pushover herself, and she raised some really awesome men.

  I’d love to have met their dad. I bet he was handsome.

  Aiden’s right arm is thrown over Bobby’s shoulder, holding him in tight, a picture of men, even Jack on the end, as though they were all family. As though they’d been of the same womb at the same time. They’re a brotherhood.

  Even with the bruised faces, I love this image and decide I’ll enlarge it, print it and frame it. Perhaps a copy for each of the guys to display in their homes.

  I’d print one for my home too if that wasn’t considered strange and slightly stalkerish. I wouldn’t mind waking up and having coffee with this picture every morning.

  I find my fingers tingling, as though wanting to trace Aiden’s jaw just to learn the exact shape and texture.

  The few times I’ve seen him, at the store, and that time at Kit’s house, he wears this slight stubble. Not really a purposeful facial hair look, just like he forgot to shave that day.

  I’m a damn mess.

  I’ve met him once, officially, and he tried to physically throw me out of the house. Not exactly a good first impression. Plus I looked like a homeless person. He’s probably glad he hasn’t seen me since.

  I hang the image of the guys to dry, then I walk back to my desk and finish the roll, wanting to give the whole set to the girls soon.

  Once I run through all of the negatives, finding myself smiling, and even laughing at some, I collect my stack of exposed photo paper then take them to the chemical baths and set out to develop the rest.

  I’ve printed these on all six-by-four paper, but I’ll keep hold of the negatives and work on some much bigger images for Iz. Plus the one of the guys.

  I want to do that for them. As a gift, simply because they’re amazing people.

  “Mommy,” Evie calls out, her voice coming through the monitor on a cry and I sigh, dropping the finished stack on the desk and grabbing my stuff.

  I close my dark room door then I drop my stuff on the floor outside Evie’s room and rush in, hoping to soothe her back to sleep again. I’m not ready for the day to begin so soon.

  “Mommy--”

  “Shhh, it’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here,” I whisper as I climb onto her bed and snuggle against her side.

  It’s not uncommon for her to wake so early, nor is it uncommon for her to cry upon waking but it is tiring and hopefully something she grows out of soon.

  “I awake, Mommy. I awake. Get up now.”

  “No baby, go back to sleep,” I beg her, looking at her kiddie nightlight clock and noting it’s just shy of six a.m.

  Not really that early by Evie’s standards; at least I got more than an hour of ogling Kincaid’s in silence before she woke.

  “I awake Mommy,” she says, no longer crying from her bad dream or whatever it is that wakes her so often. I wonder, not for the hundredth time, if she has nightmares like I do. She might have been young, but she had a front row seat to everything that went down. Everything.

  “We get up. Have cawfee, Mama.”

  I sigh quietly. One, I can’t blame her. I like coffee when I wake up too. And two, I really need to stop calling her milk bottles, or hot chocolate sippies ‘coffee.’ People look at me weird far too often now that she’s more verbal and tells everyone about her morning coffee.

  “You’re not tired anymore?”

  “No, I awake.”

  “Alright honey.” I pull her covers back and take her legs out, letting them flop back down and she giggles.

  I pull her pyjama bottoms down and take her wet diaper off, feeling my way instead of seeing, then I pull her pants up again.

  “Go potty, baby, then come to the kitchen. I’ll make coffee.”

  “K.” She jumps excitedly from her bed and flees the room. Excitement is absolutely better than the sickness she woke up to last week, but even so, both options are tiring for me at this time of the morning.

  Tomorrow is Kit’s first fight back since before her injury, and not only have they begged me to come to the fight, which I think is super exciting and I wouldn’t miss it for the world, but they’ve also talked me into coming to the gym to check some classes out.

  I’m not actually interested in learning for real, nor in competing, but today is Kit’s ‘rest’ day before her fight, so they’ve harangued me into coming in just for fun.

  Nervous is an understatement; not because of the class, but simply because I may run into a certain Kincaid. I don’t know one way or the other if he’ll be there, but it’s probably a safe assumption since he’s a co-owner.

  Jack will be taking a kiddie class, and although Evie is technically far too young for it, Jack wants her to come play with the other kids.

  She was excited, and though I know she won’t conform, she won’t line up and do as instructed, she will have fun and I know Jack will look after her.

  That boy is all soft gooey marshmallows inside, despite the fact he’ll be eighteen at his next birthday, a legal adult.

  He’s got a large group of friends in addition to his super cool brothers. He’s the cool kid at school. Handsome. Funny. Essentially heir to the Rollin throne.

  And yet he wants to spend time with my daughter and a bunch of other little kids on a Saturday. Then he’ll spend his Sunday at a fight, cheer
ing his sister on.

  Kit and Bobby are nailing their quasi parenting gig.

  “I peed,” Evie announces as she reenters the room and I turn, smiling as she hides her hands behind her back.

  “Did you wash your hands?”

  “I have cawfee?”

  “Did you wash your hands, Evelyn?”

  “I didn’t have to. I didn’t pee on them.”

  “Good job, baby, but we still have to wash hands. Let’s go.” I pat her bottom and follow behind a visibly pouting toddler and I bite my tongue; sometimes her pouting is cute.

  Nine

  Aiden

  Ketchup

  Bobby strolls into my office, a sly grin tugging at his face as he thoughtlessly interrupts my banging my head against the wall alone time. “Why are you hiding in here?”

  “Not hiding.”

  “Kit wanted to talk to you about tomorrow but you’re hiding.”

  “Not hiding,” I repeat, stepping away from the wall and slumping into the leather chair behind my desk.

  I don’t often use my office; we all have our own, with fancy new computers and leather chairs, but I don’t even know the password to access my computer. Iz knows. She set it up for me, but I truly couldn’t give a shit about going digital.

  I have a pen and paper. That’s all I need.

  Nevertheless, my office has come in handy today since there’s a hot blonde in my gym, whose name was probably Sarah at some point, who’s wearing booty shorts and is working out with my sisters.

  I walked into the main room after a class earlier, because I heard the girls horsing around and that’s always fun to watch, but then I found Tina was with them.

  I saw her creamy legs that go on for about six miles, and her silky smooth hair, not tangled and dirty like it was the last time I saw her. I saw the swell of her peach ass, then I basically sprinted out of there and into my office.

  Which brings me full circle; to banging my head against the wall for an hour and then Bobby rudely interrupting me.