This for That (Edge Of Retaliation, #1)

by Jewel, Bella

  “You should pay more attention,” he murmurs, stopping in front of me. “Not everyone approaching you is as nice as me. Wouldn’t want to see you getting into trouble. How are you, Callie?”

  The way he says my name. Hell, the way he talks? It nearly brings me to my knees. “I’m good,” I lie. I obviously can’t tell him about the incident, because, well, he’d have way too many questions. Questions I’m still not ready to answer, or face.

  He tips his head to the side, and says in a husky, low voice, “You’re a poor liar.”

  Shit.

  “Sorry, long day,” I say, smiling. “Your sister is lovely, by the way. She’s been so nice to me.”

  “Glad to hear it. Where’s your car?”

  I swallow, and say, “I don’t have it today. It’s broken, so it’s in getting fixed. I have to take a cab.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  Shit. Shit. I completely forgot he’s a mechanic. I have no idea what even goes wrong with cars, so I don’t even have a good lie to share. My heart starts racing, and I mutter, “Not too sure. Joanne took it in. I said I’d grab a cab for a few days.” I smile, hoping that Tanner won’t ask any more questions.

  Thankfully, he doesn’t.

  “C’mon. I’ll give you a ride.”

  I look past him and down the street a little, and see his bike. A motorcycle. I’m bad enough in cars; I can’t imagine what I’d be like on that death machine. “On that?”

  He turns and glances at his bike, then looks back at me, grinning. “Yeah, darlin’, on that.”

  “Oh. Well, no thanks. I’m good right here.”

  He chuckles. “I didn’t pick you for the nervous type.”

  I huff, “Well, you picked me wrong. That thing is crazy. I don’t feel like dying today.”

  His grin gets bigger. “Well, you’ll just have to trust that I won’t kill you, and jump on.”

  “No, no. I’m good.”

  “Come on. I’ll take you for something to eat, my treat, and then drop you home.”

  Dammit. Why does he have to say things like that? Because now I really want to go. The idea of getting something to eat with Tanner feels pretty darn good. The idea of wrapping myself around him on that bike doesn’t feel so bad, either.

  Still . . . it’s a motorcycle.

  “I don’t know.” I hesitate. “I mean, I want to eat with you; I’m just a little nervous . . .”

  He puts out a hand, a big, manly hand. “Trust me, Callie. I won’t hurt you.”

  I hold his eyes, and then my hand moves of its own accord, placing itself into his.

  I trust him.

  I’M TERRIFIED.

  For a brief moment, I’m terrified.

  As Tanner’s motorcycle speeds down the road, I clutch him as if the road is about to swallow me up. The helmet doesn’t make me feel any safer, but having my arms around him? That kind of helps.

  The motorcycle is smooth, and fast, and it vibrates right between my legs, right where I don’t need it vibrating in this current situation.

  Tanner is in front of me; that is enough to make any girl weak at the knees. My arms wrapped around him? That’ll get everything warm. The way he smells? Well, that’s just plain cruel. My body is in overdrive, a mix of anticipation and fear wrapping itself up in one big bow. I’m scared, and yet I’m thrilled. I’m anxious, and yet I’m filled to the brim with adrenaline.

  After a few moments, I relax a little, and finally start to look around. The city is slowly starting to light up as the sun begins to lower itself on the horizon. It really does look beautiful from the back of a bike. Tanner rounds a few corners, and then slows down at a bar slash restaurant. I’ve not seen it before, but it looks really nice. Friendly and fun.

  He parks the bike and I climb off, hating that I have to let him go, but excited that I get to spend a little time with him. He climbs off, too, and then turns to me. “They make great pizza here. I hope you eat it.”

  I nod. “Are you kidding? I eat everything.”

  He grins, and takes my hand, walking me inside. The thrill that runs through my body makes me feel like a million dollars. It makes me feel like my life hasn’t been a big fucking mess right up until this point. It makes me feel alive, which is something I’ve been missing for a very long time.

  Tanner and I find a booth, and he orders two beers and a pizza. He takes the lead. He takes control. He’s a man who knows what he wants, and he’s a man who most likely gets it whenever he seeks it. I like that about him. He answers to no one, he doesn’t doubt himself, and he trusts his choices. That’s really something.

  “How did your first day go?” he asks me when our beers arrive.

  I curl my hands around the cold glass, and say, “It was great. It’s a busy café, but I enjoyed it a lot. Andrea is really good, too. She invited me to the beach and then for a night out on Saturday, so that was really nice.”

  Tanner narrows his eyes. “She did, did she?”

  “Yeah. That’s okay, right?”

  He nods. “Yeah, of course. She can do what she likes.”

  “It will be nice to meet some new people,” I tell him. “I don’t really know all that many.”

  “What about family?” he asks me, sipping his beer. I try not to stare at how his jaw moves when he does, or how his throat flexes when he swallows.

  I hate that he’s doing these kinds of things to me. I feel like a teenager who’s just discovered boys. I need to snap out of it.

  “My family and I aren’t all that close. My brother, Max? I still speak to him but my parents and I don’t really . . . get along.”

  “Why is that?”

  I shrug, sipping my beer. “My mother is selfish. She’s cold and she’s heartless. Everything in this world was made for her, or about her—at least that’s what she thinks. My father, he left her and met another woman with two good kids who do no wrong. Over the years I stopped speaking to him. I guess that’s just how it goes. What about you?”

  “You know the basics of my story.”

  I nod. “You are ex-military; how long did you serve?”

  “Nearly ten years. Left when I was eighteen, came back when I was twenty-seven.”

  “How old are you now?” I ask.

  He grins. “How old are you, Callie?”

  I laugh softly. “Nearly twenty-three.”

  “So fuckin’ young,” he murmurs, “Fuckin’ sweet, though.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I point out.

  “I’m thirty-one.”

  Thirty-one.

  That makes him a quite a bit older than me. Well, it’s less than ten years, which in this day and age isn’t a big deal, but it does mean he’s had so much more experience than me. He’s been around. He’s seen things. Done things. I’m not even sexually experienced; he’s probably had hundreds and hundreds of women with that damned face.

  Okay, hundreds is probably far-fetched, but still.

  The age makes me feel a little . . . strange.

  “You’re worried about the difference,” he says, not a question but a statement.

  “No, it’s not that. I’m worried about how inexperienced I am . . .”

  His eyes grow hooded. “That’s only a problem for you.”

  Oh, boy.

  “You’re mature for your age, Callie. Like you’ve seen the world a million times over. I’ve spoken to other girls that are similar in age, and they’ve nothing on you. Own that; you’re a rare find.”

  He needs to stop, before I throw myself at him over this table. “Thank you,” I say, giving him a genuine smile.

  “Welcome,” he murmurs back, making my heart do that funny thing where it skips a beat. “Not goin’ to lie—it’s hard sitting here, wondering how fuckin’ good you might feel beneath me. Tellin’ me you are a virgin has made me wild.”

  Oh.

  God.

  I swallow, and say in a low voice, “Well, if you play your cards right, you might just find out how t
hat feels.”

  His eyes get lusty. My god. What is this man doing to me?

  Whatever it is, I don’t want it to stop.

  We drink and eat, and talk like we’ve known each other forever. The conversation flows easily, and I’m a little tipsy when we head back out to Tanner’s bike and get on. The ride home is a whole lot less concerning than the ride here was. I feel free, like nothing in the world can touch me. I get it now, why he loves this bike so much. It really does make everything feel okay.

  When we arrive at my apartment, I climb off the bike and wait for Tanner. My heart is racing a million miles an hour. I’m wondering what we’ll do; will he come inside? Will this be the night for me? Will it be horrible? I don’t know. The anticipation is killing me, and I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do next, so I turn and smile at Tanner. “Did you want to come inside?”

  He studies me, then nods, “Yeah.”

  God.

  Oh God.

  I turn and walk up the front steps and grab the door handle. The door opens, which is odd. Joanne is staying at Patrick’s tonight; they’re apparently going on a date. Her words, not mine. If I were her, I wouldn’t be doing anything with that douchebag. I just think she deserves better.

  Trying to frantically remember if I locked the door when I left for work today, I push it open and step inside. I stare around the apartment, and then flick on a light. At first glance, nothing seems amiss, but when I walk in farther, I see two chairs turned over in the kitchen. Heart racing, I look around, my head whipping left and right.

  “Everything okay?” Tanner asks.

  “Someone has been in here.”

  He steps up beside me. “Like you’ve been broken into?”

  “Yes, exactly that. The door was open, and those chairs are turned over.”

  “Stand here,” Tanner orders. “Don’t move. I’ll go and check it out. Do not move, Callie.”

  I don’t move, and watch as he walks through the house. He returns a moment later and looks like he’s seen a ghost. He narrows his eyes, and then carefully says, “There is something you should see.”

  I swallow and close my eyes, fighting for calm. “What is it?” I whisper.

  “Come on.”

  He leads me down the hall and into my bedroom. The moment we step in, I stare at the wall, and my skin prickles. I feel all the blood rush from my face. The same word that was spread across Joanne’s car is now spread across my wall. Killer. In big capital letters.

  Letters Tanner can see and read.

  “Oh, God,” I whisper, grabbing the wall to stop myself from falling.

  “You want to tell me what’s going on here?” Tanner asks, his voice calm. “What is this? Who did this?”

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  I can’t tell him.

  I can’t.

  He’ll never speak to me again. I can’t live with that. We haven’t even gotten to know each other. If he finds out I’ve spent the last six years in prison, he’ll never want to come near me again.

  “Who did this?” he asks, turning and staring at me.

  “Tanner, I don’t know.”

  “You have no idea what this is about?”

  “No,” I tell him. “No, I don’t. It must have something to do with Joanne. I should call the police.”

  “Who would want to do something to Joanne?” Tanner asks. “She in trouble?”

  God. He’s asking too many questions.

  “I have to call the police. I’m sorry. Thank you for your help, Tanner. You can go.”

  He looks at me, his eyes narrowing. “You think I’m goin’ to leave you when you could be in danger? Don’t fuckin’ think so. I’m staying. You can call the police, but I’m not leaving.”

  Dammit.

  Damn him.

  I love that he wants to help me, but calling the police when he’s here and answering their questions will only make things worse.

  “It’s late,” I say softly. “I’ll call them tomorrow.”

  Tanner studies me, then steps forward and curls his big hands around my shoulders. “I’m not leavin’ you here, so get comfortable. I’m stayin’.”

  I really wish he wasn’t so damned perfect.

  I really wish I didn’t have to lie to him.

  I really wish everything was different.

  13

  THEN – CALLIE

  The pain is unbearable. I can’t move. I don’t even want to move.

  I’m curled on my side in my bed, the ache from the stab wound having turned into a heavy throbbing. My shirt is soaked with blood, so I pulled a blanket over myself. My fight has gone. I’m tired. I’m scared. I have nobody on my side. I want to go home, but even there I’m not welcome. I have nothing.

  Madeline came back, but I pretended to be asleep. Soon she fell asleep herself.

  I then endured the worst night of my life, feeling more than once like my body was going to give up on me, and kind of hoping it would at the same time.

  When morning rolled around, I knew I was going to have to tell someone.

  “Callie?”

  The male voice and the sound of my door opening has me rolling and then crying out in pain. Officer Corel walks into the room, his eyes on me. He notices the blood when the blanket moves, and he rushes over. “What happened?”

  “I . . . I just hurt myself. It’s nothing,” I whisper, sweat trickling down my face. A cold, clammy sweat.

  I don’t feel so well. Not at all.

  “You need to tell me what happened right now. I’m taking you to the nurse. You should have been take immediately. Someone will answer for this.”

  Madeline sits up, rubbing her eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me?” Officer Corel asks, helping me out of the bed.

  I buckle over and cry out as pain shoots through my side. It’s then Officer Corel notices my hand. “What the hell has happened here?”

  “It’s nothing. I’m accident prone,” I grind out through clenched teeth. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “We’re going to the nurse.”

  He helps me out of the room, his arm supporting me. I wince the entire way to the nurse’s office, and when we get in, and I lie on that bed, a tear rolls down my cheek. Officer Corel calls Mary. She rushes in after a few minutes, and her eyes fall on me. “Oh no. Not again.”

  “What’s been happening, Mary? Speak to me.”

  “She came in only a few days ago with broken fingers. We had to get them looked at by Doctor Grace. She said she dropped something on them gardening, but now this . . . Can you tell me what happened, Callie?”

  I wince as she slowly lifts my shirt and her eyes widen. “I . . . I dropped some plates and I fell and . . .”

  “You’re lying,” Officer Corel mutters. “Tell the truth, please.”

  “That is the truth.”

  “Trisha,” he mutters. “You’re scared to say anything, but Callie, I’ll have her moved. I’ll do something, if you just tell me what happened.”

  Do I tell him? Should I trust him after he told me everything would be fine when he went away?

  I don’t know.

  I don’t know anything.

  “Yes,” I whisper. “Trisha.”

  “These are going to need to be looked at. My guess is stab wounds; they’re going to need stitching. I’ll call the doctor in,” Mary says, leaving the room.

  Officer Corel turns to me. “What happened while I was away?”

  I tell him. I tell him everything that happened and when.

  As I speak, his face scrunches up with anger. He looks like he’s about to bust a top. When I’m finished, he growls, “I had strict instructions left for you to be away from Trisha. I’ll speak to the officer in charge about this, but for now, I’m going to get you to make a formal statement. I’ve wanted Trisha moved for quite some time now; this should be enough to make that happen.”

  “And if it doesn’t . . .?” I whisper, feeling incredibly
unwell right about now.

  “It will. She’s a danger to everyone around her. It’s time she is put back in her place. I’m sorry this happened. You’re a good kid, Callie. You don’t belong in here.”

  I turn my head and look at the wall, a silent tear rolling down my cheek. He’s wrong. I do belong in here. That makes it feel that much worse, because every time I think about it, every time I get sad, I remember Celia’s life, and I can’t feel sorry for myself. She has no life left. I’m here because I took that from her.

  “You okay?” Officer Corel asks.

  I nod.

  There is nothing else to say.

  I don’t deserve pity, and I don’t deserve special treatment.

  Mary comes back in after a few minutes and announces that the doctor is coming. She gives me some pain relief and starts cleaning up the wounds while Officer Corel takes an official statement and calls in another officer, asking for him to take over so he can go and take my statement to whoever is in charge. I’m guessing, anyway.

  The man that takes over is Officer Barney. He’s older, and fairly quiet. He doesn’t say a lot, but I do notice him staring at the stab wounds in my side, and then his eyes meet mine. He looks like he could be someone’s grandfather. Is he? Is he looking at me wondering how he’d feel if I were his child? Would he be as ashamed of me as my parents are?

  I turn and look at the wall again.

  I can’t stand any more looks.

  Any more sympathy.

  I made my bed, and now I have to lie in it.

  Even if it is made of razors and broken pieces.

  “HOW ARE YOU?” MY MOTHER asks, staring at me like something is going to rub off from me onto her, as if this place is full of disease and horror. She’s looking at me like she’s never seen something so horrendous in her life, let alone had to call it her daughter.

  She doesn’t care. I’m not stupid.

  She’s visited me twice since I’ve been here, this being the second time. The first time she told me she was going to get a lawyer to look into the case again. I didn’t hear from her after that until now; nor did I hear from a lawyer. I’m not stupid. I know she’s not going to do anything to help me. Somewhere, deep in her mind, I’m sure she thinks I deserve this punishment.