Not My Heart to Break (Merciless World Book 3)

by W. Winters

  “And you’re sure they’re okay with just fifty a month?” I ask her again and then I want to kick my ass for second-guessing her and bringing in “bad mojo,” as she’d call it.

  “The hospitals?” she questions. Nodding, she makes her voice seem more chipper than it has been. “Yeah, they’ll settle for what you can afford. Fifty a month for these bills is… appropriate. Insurance doesn’t cover it. Eight bills total, so four hundred a month to cover someone else’s medical bills. That’s what you can afford… Barely.”

  “At least the new bar is coming.” I’m trying to be optimistic as I sit back at the kitchen table. I stare through the threshold to the large bay window at the front of the living room. It needs new trim and the whole house could use a fresh coat of paint. Everywhere I look I see dollar signs and evidence that times are changing.

  “Right. When the new bar comes, you’ll make more money bartending. For now, you have the Clubhouse… and… and Seth… if you ask him.”

  I move my gaze back to Cami. “I don’t want to ask him.”

  “He’s—”

  “Not yet,” I say to cut her off. “I just… just give me time to figure everything out,” I plead with her to understand. I don’t want to be indebted to Seth more than I already am. Even if I love him, I still need a sense of independence. Especially now.

  I have nothing but this little piece of independence. As small and shitty as it is, it’s mine still. If it’s gone, all I am is Seth’s girl. If I don’t pass this test, I’ll never be anything but his girl. His burden too.

  I don’t ever want to be anyone’s burden. Not like my father was. I will always love him and I hate to think ill of the dead, but it is what it is. He was a burden to my grandma. Hell, he was a burden to me. I won’t be that. I won’t allow it.

  “I get it,” Cami says. Breathing in, she taps her empty can on the table at the same time as I see a bright red shirt on my porch.

  “What the fuck?” I can feel confusion line my face and then recognition when what’s happening dawns. My heart races. “Who the hell is that?” I whisper the question and Cami turns to look out of the window too.

  I see the guy’s profile; I don’t recognize him or his shaggy hair. And then I see my bike. In his hands.

  “He’s stealing my bike!” I jump out of my chair so fast it falls onto the floor, clattering as I rush past Cami and make my way to the door.

  Bat, bat, bat. It’s a mental reminder I scream in my head with every step. It isn’t the first time in this neighborhood I’ve needed an edge on my side.

  I keep a baseball bat between two umbrellas in the entry stand. Hating the feel of it in my hands, but damn grateful to have it, I snatch it and then unlock the door. Feeling a wave of disgust and anger rush through me, I watch the guy walk out into the middle of the street, both of his hands on MY bike and surrounded by a man on each side of him.

  “Hey!” I scream out in the street, hearing my front door slam open and then shut behind me. “Hey fuckers!” I yell louder, my footsteps pounding down the uneven stone steps as I hustle my ass toward them in the middle of the street. The bat is in my hand, swaying heavily, but my grip is white knuckled on it.

  It doesn’t escape me that if it was just one of them, he could get on the bike and take off, but as it is, all three guys turn around and face me.

  One of the assholes has a broad and gorgeous smile on his baby face. Freshly shaven or incapable of growing hair on his chin, I don’t know. And I don’t care. The asshole is smiling at me. That’s when I notice his eyes are red. So are the guy’s next to him. With blond hair down to his shoulders, the second guy looks like he doesn’t give a shit about anything. He’s just here for the ride.

  The one holding the bike looks me up and down like, “What are you going to do about it?” with the same bloodshot eyes.

  They’re young. Young and dumb. I may be around their age, but age is a number, while youth is inexperience. The shit we’ve gone through—Seth, me, the crew—it’s enough to age someone decades. We’ve been through more than some people go through their entire lives. These guys in front of me? I can see in their eyes that they haven’t experienced the turmoil life is.

  Three assholes out for a walk, high as fucking kites and taking what they want along the way as a joke.

  My life isn’t a joke. They don’t get to take from me. No one gets to take from me.

  The adrenaline causes the blood to course too fast through my veins. I can barely breathe, barely keep from shaking I’m so furious.

  “Laura!” Cami’s yelling my name from the porch, but I don’t turn around. I’m not taking my eyes off these bastards.

  “That’s my bike.” I grit out the words, my chest heaving.

  “Looks like it’s his now,” the first guy says, and the others laugh. They laugh at me. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” one of the others says. Even glancing down at the bat in my hand, the bat that sways slightly and brushes against my leg, they continue to laugh.

  Taking one deep inhale full of rage and disbelief, I whip the bat above my head and crash it down onto the bike. I don’t think twice. I just do it.

  It’s all the hurt and bitterness inside. I let it out. There are times to contain and times to explode. I’m hoping this is one of the latter, because I do it again. Screaming incoherently all the while.

  I land the bat down with tired, aching muscles that somehow find explosive energy in the single act. The wooden bat is raised and swung.

  Crashing down upon the bike my dad taught me to ride on before he died.

  Smack! The wood hits the asphalt and the shock from the impact travels up my arms.

  I used to ride it to his grave after the car accident. The memory brings a prick to the back of my eyes. Maybe this is what I get for thinking ill of him. Instant karma. The universe decided I wasn’t allowed to have the bike anymore.

  I lift the bat again, hearing the men back away. Calling me crazy. With both hands on the bat, I swing with everything I have, hitting the gears, smashing the handlebars again and again.

  All I can hear is my frantic breathing and Cami telling me to calm down, saying that I’m all right.

  With hot tears streaming down my face, I look up to see the three men looking more awake, more sober than they were when they stole from me.

  “Now it’s no one’s fucking bike,” I spit at them, tossing the busted bat at their feet then moving to walk away.

  “Get out of here!” Cami screams at them. Her hand on my shoulder is soothing in some ways. I don’t think I can speak right now.

  “Are you deaf?” Cami urges them on when they hesitate, staring at me like I’m a sight to behold. Sometimes when you take from people, you take more than just a dumb bike.

  They don’t care. Or at least they didn’t.

  I wonder if they’ll laugh and grab something off of another person’s porch again.

  The tears keep coming, but I don’t brush them away; I won’t give them that satisfaction of watching me clean myself up. I’m fine like this. I’m just fine.

  I watch them leave, picking up their pace as they get closer to the street corner. Occasionally, they turn around to see if I’m still here. And I am. Standing right where I was when they left and waiting for them to disappear.

  I don’t even realize Cami’s cleaning up my bike until I hear the clink of the broken gears against the metal trash can she dragged into the middle of the street. I’m grateful that this time of day isn’t busy. Because heaven forbid a car come down this road now and beep at me or tell me to get out of the way. I can still feel the thrum of anger.

  It’s a good thing I put that baseball bat down. I don’t like it. I just want it to go away. I don’t like this side of me.

  “I lost it,” I say then finally swallow the sharp pains in my throat and wipe under my eyes. Falling to my knees I help pick up the mess, the tiny bits of metal and the bent wheel, the splinters of wood. All the small pieces go in the trash can.
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  There are also some pieces under my knees. They dug into my skin. I guess with the adrenaline, I didn’t even feel it.

  “Those guys were assholes,” is all Cami says. But she knows, just like I know, that I lost it.

  “And to think, I thought my anger issues were dealt with,” I joke and that makes her laugh although the sound is choked.

  She hugs me tight, both of us still on our knees in the middle of the street. “You okay?” she whispers.

  Although I nod and pull away, hurrying to clean up, I’m not okay. I haven’t been okay for a while now.

  I feel hot and my head is light when I finally stand up and drag the bent, broken bike to the curb. Sniffling, I wipe the rest of the tears from my heated face.

  I barely look over my shoulder when I hear a car pull up. “Fuck,” I murmur and roll my eyes when I see who it is.

  “What the hell is going on?” I can hear Seth freaking out before his door even shuts. The slam seems like an overreaction as it echoes down the street.

  My heart’s all sort of wonky. Hurting and flipping and full of distress. So much for not being a burden.

  “What the hell happened? You okay?” He’s staring between the bike and me. My legs that aren’t scratched, my elbows that aren’t bruised. He’s trying to figure it out, I know he is, but right now I can’t speak. How the hell did my bike get so damaged when I’m seemingly fine, although I’m sure it’s obvious I’ve been crying?

  “Babygirl,” he says and his voice is consoling as he cups my chin and then brushes away the remaining tears.

  “I’m fine,” I tell him and then I have to clear my throat. My voice is so raw. “I didn’t fall. I…”

  “She took a bat to it,” Cami finishes for me. She takes a seat on the stone steps to the porch, brushing her hands off on her pajamas. “Some guys tried to steal it and your girl lost it.”

  “What guys?” Seth’s voice turns stone cold.

  “Three assholes. Never seen them before.” Cami does all the talking, even though she pauses to look at me. I can’t look her in the eyes as my gaze drops.

  “You fuck them up?” Seth asks. His voice is even, low but even. He just wants to know; he’s not judging me. God, do I love this man. I shake my head in his hand and then move from his grasp. I don’t deserve him.

  Taking a deep inhale, I calm myself.

  “I just lost it,” I explain to him.

  “So you wrecked your bike?”

  “Better the bike than them, right?” I try to make it sound like a joke. He doesn’t think it’s funny though. There goes my gaze, back to the weeds in the cracks of the sidewalk.

  “I mean, you should have seen it,” Cami butts in before Seth can reply. I feel embarrassed, guilty, remorseful. My stomach churns and I feel sick. “I can guarantee you they think she’s crazy.”

  “You should have called me—”

  I cut Seth off. “They aren’t going to steal from me again.” Finally looking him in the eyes, I tell him, “They aren’t coming back here and taking things off porches again.”

  In my periphery, I can see Cami nodding, although her expression is solemn.

  “I handled it,” I say with finality.

  Seth shifts his weight, staring down at me. He feels very much like the judge, jury, and executioner right now. As if that’s what I need.

  “What would you do if someone stole your pen?” he asks me as Connor’s car pulls up behind Seth’s. I barely keep from rolling my eyes, knowing Seth must’ve called or messaged and told him to come. All because I’m a little messed up right now.

  “My pen?” I say, trying to remember what the question even was.

  “Like next time, say someone steals your pen. What are you going to do?”

  I imagine someone at the Club doing that. Not like they took it accidentally after signing their check. But deliberately taking from me… at the Club? No one would be that stupid.

  “There won’t be a next time,” I say and my voice holds an edge to it. Seth closes the distance between us with a few easy steps. Placing a hand on each of my forearms, he squeezes, consoling and relaxing.

  Pulling me in closer to him, he gentles his voice. “Just humor me. Say someone steals your pen, what are you going to do?”

  “Take it back.” He nods at my response but then I add, “And then stab the hand they took it with. I’d keep stabbing that hand with the same pen until there was nothing left of the pen anymore.”

  Seth’s eyes widen comically, but the Cheshire cat smile grows on his face even more. “You’re psycho, Babygirl.”

  “I’m joking. Ish.” The “ish” makes Cami laugh. The tension in the air seems to dissipate.

  Seth’s smirk widens to a grin and I give him a small smile in return.

  “Come here,” he says and holds me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me. I didn’t even realize how cold it was outside today until I feel how warm he is.

  “Next time, call me,” he whispers into my hair. “Please.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” I answer into his chest, breathing in his scent. The essence is fresh but masculine. And if I breathe in deeper, I can smell a hint of the cologne I got him for Christmas. I heard smell is the scent most likely to hold memories. With everything that’s happened while I’ve been at Seth’s side, you’d think they’d all be bad. Like the smell of him would bring me nothing but pain. It’s the opposite though. I feel safe, I feel cherished. I never want to forget the smell of him. I wish I could bottle it up and put it in an aromatherapy roller ball or something.

  “You’re adorable but fucking psycho, you know that?”

  I pull away at his comment. “What was I supposed to do? Let them steal my bike?”

  Any worry he had when he arrived has turned to a smile. “I would have gotten it back for you and made sure they knew never to do that shit again.”

  “Well you weren’t here, so I did it for you.” I stand on my tiptoes for a quick second to offer him a peck. Although the kiss is more for me than him, I think. “You’re welcome,” I add with a little more sass than I should have right now.

  “Mmm.” His groan is more than a turn-on and he grabs my ass before I can turn around and leave him like I planned on doing. Pinning me to him, he tells me, “I’m not done with you yet.”

  The spike of heat and want is immediate. A feeling of calm washes over me. I could stare into his soft blue eyes forever. Well, I can try. But when he leans down for another kiss, I close my own and let him press his lips to mine. He nips the bottom one and when I smile, he takes that as his cue to deepen the kiss. The embrace is heated and brings a singe of desire that overwhelms every other feeling.

  “My little hotheaded psycho,” he murmurs when he breaks the kiss, his lips still close to mine.

  “Stop,” I say and jokingly push him away, but both of us are smiling. “I’m not psycho,” I tell him and I finally roll my eyes, although of course it’s in response to my own statement. I really lost my shit. Over a bike. It’s just a bike.

  “Yeah, you are. I fucking love it, though.”

  There’s that word. Love. He didn’t say he loves me. Not quite, but it feels like he did.

  “You two need a room?” I hear Connor’s question laced with heavy sarcasm before I hear his footsteps stopping just behind Seth.

  “If I wind up dead in a gutter, she did it,” Seth tells Connor, not answering his question.

  “Oh, fuck off,” I tell him playfully as Seth laughs at my reaction. He’s good at soothing me, teasing me, working me up. He’s good at me. That’s the best way I can put it. Turning to look over my shoulder as I make my way up the steps, I tell Seth as they follow me into the house, “I’m going to leave long before I reach my breaking point with you.”

  Seth

  “You want to talk about it?” I ask her, watching her strip out of her clothes to get into the shower. She’s still in her old room in her grandma’s house, even though the master’s been cleared out.r />
  I get it, I do. I’ve stayed plenty of nights here and I know this is her place. It’s her safe spot. I get it.

  This room is just small. She’s got a twin-size bed and barely any room in here with her bulky dresser. She has to have the damn dresser because there are no closets in this old house.

  She wrinkles her nose at me, as if I’m pushing her too far. She’s the one always asking me to talk, though.

  “Is that a no, you don’t want to talk?”

  “No.” The way she eyes me before answering puts a smug look on my face. She’s not psycho, she’s defensive and scared. After everything that happened these last few years, she should be.

  “All right then,” I tell her and lean back in her bed, taking up the whole damn thing as I stretch out my shoulders and stare at her ceiling fan. “What’d they look like?” I question her even though she’s not going to tell me. She doesn’t have to say a word though, because I told Connor to get the descriptions from Cami. I’ll figure it out and make sure they don’t ever make my girl feel like that again. She doesn’t have to know. She just needs to be safe.

  “I don’t remember,” she answers half-heartedly, shrugging her shoulders as she steps into the stream of the shower. With the bathroom door open, I’ve got a great view from where I’m lying.

  I think about talking louder over the running water, of pressing her again on whether or not she’s going to sell this place. It’s not the right time though. It’s never the right time with her.

  The house is in a rough part of town, every piece of it. From the staircase that creaks, to the trim that’s dented and stained, it’s all worn down, but the old home is sentimental. If she wants to keep it, we can. Shit, I’ll even fix it up. I want her with me though. In my house that she helped me build, that she furnished. I got that damn house for her.

  Isn’t that what compromise is?

  I’m debating about approaching the subject, when I turn over and see her family photo on the dresser. Her dad, her grandma, and her at some park when she was just a kid. I get that this house is all she’s got left of them. I swear I do. I just don’t like it.