Broken Parts (A Dark Romance) (Parts of Me Book 3)

by J. A. Wynters

  “Looks like you could use it.” My gaze swung across the room, I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth.

  Her lips twitched but she ignored my words and sighed instead, “I’ve dealt with a lot of strays in my life. Some can be trained; they will always be loyal and good—a bit like your Spots, I suspect.” She scrutinised me as she spoke, “While others can never be broken, they’re just too damaged. You can keep them contained and give them love; and when they’re busy, they forget about their troubles and wag their tails and keep a distance,” her eyes clung to my face, “But despite appearances—whether they seem loyal or damaged—there’s always a chance that one day they’ll turn on you and bite. Because in their very core, they are an animal, a predator, a thing made for hunting and killing. The trick is to keep them busy so they forget.”

  “In your little story, which one am I?”

  “I guess we will find out soon enough, won’t we?” With that she placed her cup in the sink and left her toast uneaten, “Work starts in twenty minutes.”

  “What about Spots? I won’t leave him.”

  “He will be downstairs all day, same as you. He isn’t going anywhere anytime soon,” she walked over to the door, “You can sit with him during your breaks.” She left me in her apartment, her light steps echoing in the narrow staircase.

  I sat for a few more moments digesting her words and her insipid coffee, then got up to walk out. I stopped in front of the picture, feeling its pull. The people in that picture looked like they knew happiness once. I wondered what it felt like—to experience so much joy with people that love you. I unglued my eyes from the photo and shook away the thoughts. I scrambled downstairs and found Simone in the cramped, half-empty storeroom.

  “Is that you in that picture?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the men?”

  “My husband and son.” Her breath hitched a little but she didn’t look up as she spoke, pulling clean towels from a shelf and piling them into her lap.

  “Where is he now, your son?”

  She stopped and looked into my eyes, her mouth slanted to the ground, “He went off to fight a war that had nothing to do with him, and he never came back.” Her voice was bitter.

  “He was trying to do the right thing.”

  “And see where that landed him.”

  “Someone has to go to war. Someone has to face the ugliness to preserve the beauty in this world.” I don’t know why I felt the need to defend a man I’d never seen or met or knew anything about—but as heat flooded my veins and my heart thumped faster—I wondered if it was really him I was trying to defend.

  “Maybe.” She sighed and went back to her towels.

  That first day I learned a few valuable lessons, lessons that I never forgot, lessons that saved my life.

  Simone approached one of the pens and four excited dogs jumped up and reared. Happy to see her, their tails wagged and their barks and howls echoed through the space.

  “Calm down you lot, I’m just here for Frankie. Come on Frankie, come here boy.” She called to a larger dog with long golden fur. She reached for his nape and guided him out of the pen while pushing the door closed.

  “Hi Frankie, this is Gabriel.” She smiled at the dog.

  The dog came up to me and sniffed around, his tail wagging.

  “Right, come this way you two.”

  She led us down the corridor and into a room with a giant steel basin and taps, “Time for a shower Frankie, you’re going to a new home today.” She beamed at the prospect.

  “Get him in the basin.” She directed me.

  “How?”

  Simone ignored my question, pretending she didn’t hear me.

  I inhaled and exhaled and called for the dog, “Hey Frankie come here, get in the basin.” The dog approached me sniffed, then ran circles around me, barking and wagging his tail. “Oh come on buddy, get in.” I moved towards the basin and tapped the steel. The dog ignored me and Simone’s lips twitched.

  “Hey Frankie, I’ll give you a biscuit if you get in the bath.”

  “No!” Simone cut me off, “Never bribe a dog. Don’t encourage bad behaviour and bad habits. If he comes to accept a treat each time he is asked to do something, he will only respond to bribes. Find another way.”

  I took a deep breath, brushing away my failure and tried again. “Frankie, come here boy, come on.” The dog continued to ignore me.

  Simone rolled her eyes and walked to the basin, “Frankie sit!” It was a short, sharp demand and the dog responded immediately. “Come here!” He stood up and jumped into the basin, allowing Simone to hook a leash that was attached on the wall.

  She smiled at the dog, patted his head and grabbed the hose, saturating his thick fur. Frankie tipped his head, allowing Simone to scrub and scratch shampoo into his golden fur that pulled away from his body like a curtain. His tail wagged as she washed him. Rinsing away the white bubbles, we all watched them drain away into the sink like the futures none of us envisioned having.

  “Gabriel pass me the drier hose please.”

  I stepped behind Simone—the narrow berth forcing me to squeeze myself between the wall and her—I placed a hand on her shoulder to keep my balance. At my movement, Frankie bared his teeth and growled, his eyes locked onto mine.

  “Gabriel, look down and take a step back.”

  I did as she said. “It’s ok Frankie,” she cooed at the dog, “Gabriel was helping me, don’t worry. He’s a friend.”

  The dog seemed to visibly relax, his tail wagged again as Simone dried him, brushing through his fur, grooming him for his new owners. I stood aside and watched as flurries of fur blew through the air like snow.

  When she was done, she brushed his fur once more and allowed him to jump up and lick her hand. She giggled and pulled him to her, “Oh, there’s a pretty, clean boy. Ready to go.” She scratched behind his ears and led him back to the main hall where she put him in his own pen.

  “Why did he snap at me before? He seemed so friendly.”

  “Frankie is very friendly, but he thought I was in danger. He was protecting me. I had to show him that I was in control of the situation and I didn’t need his help just then.”

  “But I wasn’t aggressive.”

  “That’s not the point,” Simone folded her arms across her chest. “At their core, dogs are wolves—hunters, protectors—and that primal need to protect the pack will always be their most important. When you own a dog, you need to always be the alpha. Assert yourself, remind them that they are dogs, that you are the one in charge or they’ll always run circles around you.”

  I waited for her to finish.

  “Even the most loyal and friendliest of dogs can bite.”

  I never forgot her lesson, not really. I just didn’t pay as much attention as I should have.

  The rest of that day I spent between Spots, cleaning dogs and dog shit, feeding, cleaning and stocking Simone’s meagre shelfs.

  When Frankie’s new family came to collect him, she smiled and laughed and scratched his head one final time.

  When they had gone, I could see tears brimming in her eyes.

  “Why don’t you have your own dog?”

  “I do.” She gestured with her hands to the pens.

  I cocked my head, “None of them are yours.”

  “They’re all mine.” She stated matter of factly.

  “But you give them all away…”

  She sighed a little and scanned the room, looking over the dogs, serenity spreading across her features, “I have known love—deep, affectionate love—from someone who belonged to me, and when he was gone, he buried a piece of me with him.” Her mouth turned in a melancholy smile, “I rent love now. It comes in waves of wagging tails and slobber. I don’t get too attached, that way my heart can never really be broken.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You don’t just cry over dogs you’re not attached to.”

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nbsp; Her mouth tipped upwards and she scrutinised me for a long minute. “It’s a passing love, and it’s not forever. I get all I need from them.”

  “Do you?”

  She turned away and left me to finish sweeping the floor. She never did answer my question and, in the end, she did get attached. Spots and I found that empty spot in her heart and, whether or not she’d ever admit it, I know that we filled it just as she filled ours.

  It was the first in many such days—animals and Simone and sleeping next to Spots.

  It took Simone two weeks to allow me into her apartment.

  The thing that Simone never understood was that she never just gave me shelter and a place to hide, she had given me a home. She gave me comfort and the benefit of the doubt. Yes I had to work, earn my place, gain her trust, but I also got respect and left alone.

  She allowed me time with Spots, allowed me to nurture him back to health as I stayed hidden behind her shelter walls and planned my revenge, my retribution, and my reckoning. When I was ready, I unleashed it like the devil.

  The funeral was beautiful— as beautiful as a thing could be when you have to put a body in the ground. I’ve buried many bodies in my life. Most have been in shallow graves or endless voids, nameless ditches that will never be found. Simone was going to be remembered if it was the last thing I could do for her.

  The heavy wooden casket lowered into the ground and lay there, keeping her safe and warm beneath six feet of dirt.

  I didn’t shed any tears and didn’t give a eulogy. I left that to Alex and the other stooges. I’d already said my goodbyes, I’d already spent my tears. All that was left was an empty void that I needed to carve out. I needed to fashion the right knife for the job, and only cold seeding revenge would cut out my new wound.

  As we left the cemetery, I caught a glimpse of Alice. She had crawled out of her hole and come to pay her respects; or maybe she wanted to ensure the woman I had thought of as my mother was dead. Maybe she wanted her place in my heart back. I had thrown dirt into the rabbit hole that held the feelings I had for Alice; I wasn’t going to let her dig them out—not today of all days.

  She waved to me but I ignored her. I walked straight to the waiting car and ushered Mia inside. I saw the questioning look she gave me, but Mia knew better than to say anything. We drove back to The Hill in silence.

  We stepped into the penthouse, lights twinkled below us. On any other night it would have been beautiful, but tonight the shine had worn off and the world felt a little tarnished—dirty even.

  Mia looked beautiful in a black dress that hugged her figure, her face was drawn and her eyes rimmed red.

  I don’t know why she was crying, maybe it was for me.

  “It was a beautiful service.”

  “Sure.” I shrugged, not sure what else there was to say. I discarded my jacket, threw it across the couch and unbuttoned my shirt. I let it fall open, and Mia’s greedy eyes took me in.

  She stepped closer, her delicate hand falling on my chest.

  “How are you holding up Gabriel?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” Her hand lingered on my chest, and her eyes burned into mine.

  “Poor, broken Gabriel,” she whispered, her warm breath on my chest as her lips graze my skin, “Let me make it better for you, let me take your pain away.”

  “You want to take my pain away? How?” I pushed her away, not in the mood for her games.

  “Let me make it…”

  “Better?” I crept forward, and she retreated as I stalked forward.

  “Better? Can you bring the dead back to life? Can you take this pain away, this emptiness? Can you make this guilt sting less, hurt less?” With each question, I took another step forward forcing her backwards into the room.

  “Gabriel I…”

  “No, no more empty words! I said I don’t want to talk about it.” There was nowhere left to go, and my body pinned hers to the floor-to-ceiling window, lights glaring at us from below.

  “Who said anything about talking? Let me make it better.”

  Mia pushed up on her tiptoes and her lips grazed mine, her eyes dark and tender.

  “Mia…”

  She pushed up again taking my lip in hers, sucking the pain from me.

  I growled at the intrusion, at her demand to pierce through my feelings and her desire to make my heart spill its guts and bleed all over the posh penthouse.

  I gripped her arm then spun her body, twisting her hand and pinning it against her back, then pushed her body against the window.

  “You want to make it better?” I growled in her ear even as I unbuckled my belt, “You want to feel how I feel?”

  She whimpered against the window, her ass pushing against my growing erection.

  I shoved my pants and underwear off in a swift move and flung her dress up, yanking her underwear to the side. I plunged into her, not waiting for permission. I wanted to give her what she’d asked for, all the pain and anguish. I drove it into her in brutal thrusts and she ground against me, taking it all. I plowed my guilt and anger into her at a punishing pace, and she whimpered my name against the cold window, her breath materialising on the pane.

  I poured my anger into her, all of my devastation and—with a final, brutal, splintering stroke—all of my sadness spilled into her. Mia screamed for me or maybe because of me or maybe because she felt it all. Deep down our hearts broke together in one shattering moment, and all the lights exploded behind my eyes in stardust.

  Mia was sleeping—a restful, beautiful sleep. I guess those with a guilt-free conscious really do sleep well.

  She hadn’t said anything when I pulled away from her and left her against the window; there was only silence between us.

  I stationed Romeo at the base of the elevator and told him not to let her out of his sight. He gave me a nervous nod and I left.

  I carved the dark night with my headlights as I drove home. Maybe because I knew I would never go past there again, I ended up at ‘Paw Prints Rescue’—or what was left of it. The car sat idle as I stared at the gaping hole. The tall building that once stood there was now a pile of blackened columns and broken bricks set on powered ash and scorched ground.

  I stepped out, ducking under the worn crime scene tape and moved towards the wreckage, my feet propelling me forward and my body aching with loss.

  In the darkness I drew pictures in my mind, building flesh on the skeleton that remained. I Conjured the dog pens, the office, and the storage room. My gaze shifted to the stairs; they had crumbled with the walls and only the bottom two remained, blackened and charred. I sifted through the remains of Simone’s beloved shelter. Paper turned to ash in my hands, coating my shoes and fingers in black dust. Nothing was left of her, just a memory that will fade once those who knew her die. I hoped she didn’t see the dogs suffer. That would have scorched her heart in a way the fire never could. I turned away, not looking back.

  This was my final goodbye.

  The lights exploded to life, and I sucked in the smell of oil and gasoline. The work floor stood empty; the boys would be back in the morning, customers would bring their cars, and life would go on.

  I exhaled and walked over to the corner where I pulled away the plastic sheet and stared at the Harley. She was stunning with a finished chrome coat and new seat. I grabbed the guard and bolted it on, making sure not to hit the fender. As I tightened the final screws, I felt lighter. This day has been a long time coming; too many delays and too many deaths stood in my way, but tonight I would resurrect one thing from the dead.

  My heart slammed in my chest and my breathing became heavier as my elation grew and expanded. I sucked in a deep breath, feeling a vortex of emotion inside of me that desperately searched for a way out—building underneath my skin, gusting between sinew and muscle, raging inside my veins, propelling my blood, and driving into my blustering heart as I exhale.

  There was only one way to hone in on that feeling, to release all the tension and hold on t
o that moment: I had to ride her.

  I filled her up with oil and petrol, and slid the key into the ignition. Anticipation crawled along my skin like a chill.

  My heart leapt into my throat as I climbed onto the leather seat and allowed myself to settle into it, my weight shifting as it sank into the contoured softness. I slammed my eyes shut and turned her on, listening—every muscle on edge, every nerve end alight.

  The engine roared to life, the sound blew through me like a hurricane and shook me to my core. She sounded like a caged beast that’s been set free. I listened to her roar and waited until, at last, the angry sound settled into a low purr. My face split open into a smile as the engine purred and fell into a dimmed hum, as the oil spread through the engine, lubricating the cold steal, and bringing her to life. She was content, singing to me.

  I revved the engine and felt life reverberating beneath my skin, crawling along my veins and flowing through my body—it was beautiful. The feeling felt warm and silky, like something resembling happiness. The wild animal below me urging it on with its purrs, begging to be set free.

  I flipped the switch and the roller door came to life, lifting slowly and letting in the darkness from outside. It called to me—beckoning— and I answered its call.

  I opened the throttle and the garage was behind me in seconds. I could already feel my anxiety shed like old skin. The Harley tore down the road, screaming as it sliced the dark night with a wild screech of freedom. The road blurred beneath me as I forced the bike faster. The wind wrapped itself around me, pushing its way beneath my clothes and into my nose, carrying with it a unique concoction of acrid exhaust pipes, smoke, spicy perfume, and humanity in all its odorous depravity and glory. Every nuance of it stuffed deeper into my nose and I sucked it all in as I opened up the throttle more.

  The world poured into my eyes without limitations—lights, buildings, objects—I became hyperaware of everything around me. All of my senses tingled as if my nervous system had been shocked and awoken after a long, numbing slumber.

  I rode.

  I rode until buildings disappeared and the side of the road became flatter, darker, and rounder. My skin prickled with the chill as the temperature dropped, and I smiled knowing I was out of the city and free.