I guess Dex somehow caught on to what was going on with her, but I honestly don’t know how.
When I say that what she and I have is strictly physical, I mean that as cut and dry as the words imply. There’s no flirting, no texting throughout the day, no hanging out, or anything like that. We’re both very much ‘hit and split’ kind of people. I could go weeks, even months without hearing from her and all of a sudden get a random text that says she needs a dick fix. The same goes both ways as well. That’s all there is to it, that’s why I never even bothered bringing her around the guys or letting them know about her. There’s literally nothing to talk about there. We want nothing from each other except a night between the sheets here and there.
I know it may seem to callous to some, but it’s honestly what we both want. For me, it’s because the idea of doing the whole ‘relationship thing’ again sounds about as appealing to me as fileting the skin from my own bones and then serving it to my friends for dinner.
For Brooke, it’s because her husband was a firefighter and died in the line of duty. She’s not ready to move on from his loss, but hey, a girl has needs. That’s why it’s the perfect arrangement for both of us. We’re literally only getting what we want. Nothing more. Nothing less.
How the fuck did Dex even find out about her? Do the others know about her too? The last thing she needs right now is my group of friends trying to pressure this thing we have into something it’s clearly not. Nor will it ever be. The depths of her loss are none of their business and I refuse to let them hassle her when there’s nothing that will change either of our minds.
As I climb out of the truck, I make a mental note to ask Dex more about that next time I see him.
I push my sunglasses a little higher on my nose as I walk over to the mangled bike laying on the ground. Whoever owns this bike clearly has no idea how to maintain it properly. Aside from the entire body, which appears to have been crushed like an aluminum can, the tires should have been changed a long damn time ago. There’s zero treads left, giving me an idea of what could possibly be one of the main causes for the crumbled exterior. The color of the fluid leaking out lets me know that this bike hasn’t been seen the inside of a maintenance bay in the last several thousands of miles of whatever journey through hell it’s been through.
Shaking my head, I walk back to the tow truck, pressing the necessary buttons to release the chains I need to strap and secure the bike and lift it safely onto the bed of the truck. It doesn’t take but a few more minutes and I’m clicking the buttons again, reversing the tension on the chains so that it gets pulled up on the truck, a stream of fluid marking the path it’s traveling.
Out of nowhere, cold metal touches the base of my skull as pressure digs in at an instant.
“Get the fuck away from my bike or I can guarantee that your brains will join the draining fluids on the pavement.”
As soon as her words cut off, a clicking vibrates through my skull, giving way to my suspicions that I have a loaded pistol pressed to the back of my head. A gun that’s officially been cocked back and ready to bestow punishment if I don’t do as she demands.
But that voice…
I know that voice as well as I know my own name.
I hear that voice in my goddamn nightmares.
A shiver runs through my body, my adrenaline elevating in an instant. I raise my hands in front of me, spanning out wider than my body with my palms facing out, showing her that I’m going to do as she asks. As the pressure of her gun eases back just slightly, I take two steps forward and push the buttons once again, easing the forward movement of her mangled motorcycle.
I lower my hands to my side, and slowly turn to face her, my pulse hammering throughout every inch of my body when I take her in.
Wet jet black hair frames each side of her face, so long that it’s touching the top of her tattered jean shorts. A solid black tank top covers her torso, a black and grey flannel is around her waist, barely covering the currently empty thigh holster that for some reason always makes my dick twitch inside my jeans. Her combat boots, which have seen much better days, are folded down toward her ankle in her signature comfort style.
Her gun is poised in perfect form, giving herself ample room for maneuvering from offense into defense in the blink of an eye if needed. The way her biceps flex with tension, yet her finger remains resting on the outside of the trigger, shows her careful precision and confidence while wielding her weapon.
She may have some bumps and bruises, her hair may be a little longer, the muscles on her body more defined, but overall she still looks exactly the same as she did the last time I saw her. Disgustingly beautiful to the point that bile rises in my throat just from thinking it inside my own head.
A perfect goddamn nightmare.
She looks just like the Remi that I gave my heart and soul to, only for her to shove it in the garbage disposal without a care in the world. She looks exactly like the girl I promised forever to. She looks exactly like the demons that haunt my fucking nightmares every night.
I raise my sunglasses to rest on top of my head and I hear the gasp escape her lips when her eyes meet mine and she recognizes who she just threatened. Her eyes are the lightest hazel you’ve ever seen, to the point where they literally look yellow.
“Lower the gun, Little Wolf.” I growl, my voice damn near booming in between us.
The bulge of her eyes makes them practically glow, demonstrating the exact reason she earned her nickname from me so many years ago. I visibly see her throat bob with the force of the gulp she swallowed down after hearing my voice.
After a moment of slight hesitation, she does as I asked, lowering the gun and holstering it in place on the outside of her right thigh. I don’t even need to examine the pistol to know it’s an RP45. She has a loyalty to the guns she was named after, something I doubt has changed in the years that have passed since she took off.
Once the gun is holstered, her hands immediately come to rest on her stomach. The motion makes my anger flare, my jaw clenching with overwhelming disdain.
The audacity of this bitch knows no fucking bounds.
She sees my reaction and drops her hands, immediately taking a step back from me.
“What the hell possessed you to show your fucking face here ever again?” I demand through gritted teeth.
Her mouth opens to respond but no sound escapes her lips. Silence greets me, just like it always has when I ask Remi questions that matter. Her mouth just hangs open, shock marring her face. Her eyes bore into mine, shock and confusion pouring out of them. After a few more moments of her silence, I feel myself begin to shake, the adrenaline coursing through my body rising to an alarming rate.
I’ve imagined what this moment would be like, if and when it ever came to be. I’ve pictured thousands of scenarios over the last few years about how I would handle seeing her again. The majority of them ended with me choking the life right out of her. I’ve imagined the good, the bad, and the ugly.
The more time that passed, they all ended ugly.
There was once a time when I imagined seeing her where she would run into my arms and beg for forgiveness. She would finally, for the first time in our lives, have the answers to the questions that I had. And they would be answers I could understand. Explanations that would allow me to forgive.
For so long all I wanted was to have her back in my arms, allowing me to love her with everything that I was. That together we could move forward and find the happiness she deprived us of when she disappeared into the night, not leaving a trace that she ever existed in the first place.
But too much time has passed. The wounds she left behind never fully healed. Now I’m left with scar tissue coating my heart and soul. That shit’s so thick you’d need a chisel and a sledgehammer to try and break through it.
Now I just want her to pay for what she fucking did. And the truth is, I don’t know if I have the restraint to be the man I’m supposed
to be right now. The man my friends all know and love.
The man I was when she last knew me.
I’ve never laid a hand on a woman before, actively stepping in if any man around me ever considered doing it themselves. Just like with my friends, Sonya and Talon when they first met. But I’m willing to make an exception for the goddess of destruction standing before me. The Kali Ma in the flesh, the woman who killed every dream I sculpted with her in mind.
No woman has dealt the amount of pain and suffering that she has. I don’t know how long I can be in her presence without literally killing her.
Just like she killed our daughter.
“You’ve got 30 seconds, Remi. And if that gun comes back out, I want to assure you, I’ll be quicker with mine. Don’t forget who taught you how to use that damn thing.”
“I… Um …” She stutters, letting her words trail off, proving that I was the last person she thought she’d come face to face with when she woke up this morning.
Join the fucking club, bitch.
I take a step toward her, feeling the need to impose a little more urgency against her tiny frame. Towering over someone with more than a foot difference in height has never felt so fucking good. I want her scared. I want her trembling.
I want her to dis-a-fucking-pear.
Her breath hitches once more but not out of fear. No, even though she knows I want to demolish her, she sadly doesn’t have the wherewithal to actually be afraid of the consequences of her actions. She never has. The hitch in her breath was from shame. I doubt she knew I was back in town, she probably thought the guys and I were still back in Cali. She didn’t think she’d have to face me again. She’s ashamed to face what she’s done. Or maybe she’s just ashamed to face me.
She clearly never planned on doing that.
Her beautiful yellow eyes close for a brief moment as she inhales a deep breath, likely gaining the courage to have any type of conversation with me for the first time in over three years. And as much as I wish the next words that come out of her mouth would provide me with some type of relief, I’d be a goddamn fool to actually believe it.
She squares her shoulders, bracing herself. “I’m just passing through. I didn’t plan on being here at all but…”
Her eyes trail beside me to the demolished bike hovering above the bed of the tow truck.
“But you were just as reckless with your bike as you are with everything else in your life.” I finish for her, venom dripping from every word.
Goddamnit, I fucking hate her!
She closes her eyes and inhales deeply once more, hating that she knows I’m right. That I know her so goddamn well. Better than either of us would like at this point.
I’ve never seen her so weak before. She’s never hesitated standing up to anyone, not even me, in the past. But I have a feeling that it’s all just part of the game to her. A game of chess where only she can see the board.
“Is the bike the only thing stopping you from leaving town?”
“What do you think?” She snaps out at me.
Ah, there’s the wolf I know!
In an instant, I close the distance between us, slamming her back against the chipping bricks of the shitty ass motel directly behind her. I pin her in place with a hand around her throat, causing no harm, but making her very much aware of how thin my damn patience is with her.
My body begs me to fuck her against this wall, to strip her bare and thrust into her so hard that the brick behind her crumbles to ash.
Forget screwing her brains out, I want to fuck my anger out.
But that will never happen again. Not in this life or the next. Remi made sure of that. I just have to make sure my dick gets the picture sooner rather than later.
I lean in as close as I can, allowing my teeth to graze her skin, calling to the animal in her that I know is resting just beneath the surface. When I feel her body responding to mine, remembering me and all the sinful bliss I used to reign down on her, I take the opportunity to show her how much I hate her. To remind her that all of the good times we shared are long gone and that she has no one to blame but herself for that.
My words come out as a growl, whispered darkly against her ear, promising retribution.
“Give me a reason, Little Wolf. Fuck with me, I dare you. I’ll do the time. I don’t care how long they give me. After what you’ve done, getting justice would be worth every year I’d get.”
Shame keeps her rooted in place. I’d be stupid to think it was anything other than that. I know how fierce she is, earning up to every ounce of the nickname I bestowed on her so long ago. If I ever dared to treat her like this before what she did, she’d lay me flat on my ass before I got a chance to finish my sentence.
It used to be one of the things I loved so much about her.
But she knows. She knows that she deserves every shitty thing that happens to her in this life and the next. She knows that she deserves every ounce of hate I can possibly dredge up and throw at her.
“As soon as I can get the bike fixed, I’m gone.” She says, not meeting my eyes.
“I’ll do it pro-bono if it gets you the fuck out of my town.” I say, removing my hand from her throat before I actually follow through with the burning desire to snuff the light right out of her gorgeous yellow eyes.
Unlike her, I’m not a fucking murderer. No matter how badly I wish that I was when it comes to her. But if her being afraid that I might actually kill her gets her out of here faster, I’ll use that to my advantage.
“Don’t touch my bike, Brody!” She hisses at me.
“Then why the fuck did my shop get a pick-up order for this hunk of junk, Rem? Huh? Do you think anyone else in this fucking town will do a better job than me? A faster job? Trust me, I want you gone. I never want to see you again.”
Every word comes out as a scream. There’s no room for poise here. Not between us. Not after everything she’s done.
There’s betrayal, raw hate, and anger swirling around us, I know she can feel it like a second fucking skin. Hell, it’s so damn thick it’s damn near choking me.
“I didn’t call that in!” She raises her voice. “Li… A friend of mine did. But I don’t have the money to pay for it right now and I don’t trust you not to sabotage it. I don’t want to climb on only to crash again a few minutes later and actually fucking die this time.”
With the last part of her statement, I allow myself to catalog her bumps and bruises a little closer. The gashes on her hairline, the cuts across her neck, the bruises that litter her arms and legs. The bruises range in different colors and sizes. Some are as small as the size of a dime, a few others the size of a grapefruit. It strikes me as odd that some of them appear to be fresh while others seem to be healing without issue.
I shake my head, dismissing the thought, knowing that no matter how many years I spent loving her, she’s not the same person now that she was then. She isn’t my responsibility to care for anymore and I wouldn’t want to even if I was in the position to offer it to her.
There’s this sick part of me that can’t muster up enough of a conscience to feel bad about, that’s glad she’s gotten fucked by life.
Serves her fucking right.
“If I kill you, it’ll be with my bare hands. I’d wanna watch the life drain from your body. Make no mistake about that.”
“So what, you either kill me now if I don’t let you take my bike or you kill me later? Are those my options here?”
“You’d deserve it either way!” I scream.
“Then just get it over with!” She challenges. “If you’re gonna do it, then do it now. Put me out of my misery. Put yourself out of your misery!”
I take a step back, my insides quivering with the need to fucking throttle her.
Her misery? Is she out of her mind?
“Are you miserable, Rem? Do you feel anything after what you did? Do you even think about her?”
My voice trembles
on the last question, something I’ve been wanting to ask her for years, but never got the chance. She took off before I could confront her. Before I even knew what the hell she was planning on doing. Before I could stop her from ruining my goddamn life.
Tears spring to her eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. Call me a bastard, but it chips off a tiny portion of my pain. It chips away a slight piece of the guilt I feel for not knowing what she was planning. She should live with that pain as fiercely as I do. She should burn from the inside out with it.
But after what she did, the conscious choice that she made, there’s no way in hell that she suffered through this as badly as I did. As badly as I still am.
“I think about her every day. With every beat of my heart, I think about her.” She cries out, the tears finally spilling over.
“Then why did you do it?”
She shakes her head, chewing on one side of her lips, a tell-tell sign that she’s holding herself back. From what, I have no idea. But that’s how it always is with Remi. There are always secrets. Half-truths. Full lies.
“One day, I will tell you everything, Brody. One day you’ll understand.”
I punch the wall beside her, breaking off more chunks of bricks that were barely hanging on to the outside frame. I feel pieces cut into my flesh, stinging as the skin on my knuckles cracks open with the force of my blow. But I can’t find it in me to care. The pain is a reminder that even though I feel like I’m dead on the inside, I’m still very much alive.
Her face remains passive, her eyes don’t even flinch with the motion. What the hell has happened to this girl that a fist flying by her face doesn’t even cause her to bat an eye? Has she really just given up on life?
Whoever the girl standing in front of me is, it’s all too clear to see that she’s not my Remi.
Absolution Page 5