War of Hearts

by Nina Levine

  King lifts my chin to bring my eyes back to his. “Don’t do that. Don’t let that motherfucker ruin you.” If only he knew the full truth.

  I blink as the first tear falls. God, I do not want to cry today. But I can’t stop them once that first one streaks down my cheek. Within seconds, I’m a blubbering mess, unable to talk or do anything but madly try to wipe them all away.

  King’s strong arms circle me and he pulls me into a hug again. It’s comforting. He’s comforting. And I’m reminded how lucky I am to have him in my life. Mum’s friend Adelaide still struggles with accepting him, even after all these years, but if she saw this side of King, she’d know that Mum made the right choice when she married him.

  We stay like that for what feels like a long time, and when I’ve finally got myself under control, I step out of his arms. “Thank you,” I whisper. I might not have needed this conversation, but I needed that hug.

  “Yeah. You also need to talk to someone about this. Someone outside the family. Because this shit going on in your head isn’t going to go away on its own, and numbing yourself with alcohol isn’t the answer.”

  I nod even though what he’s suggesting isn’t something I want to do. He and Mum have suggested a few times that I see someone, and I told them I would, but the thought of it makes me feel ill.

  When I don’t answer him, he pushes, his voice hard now. “Make the appointment, Zara. I want confirmation by tonight.”

  That gets my back up. I don’t like being pressured into anything. “I’ll do it when I’m ready.”

  “No, you’ll do it today.”

  “Don’t boss me around, King. I’m not my mother,” I snap.

  His jaw clenches. “No, but you’re my daughter, regardless of whether you have my blood or not, and I’m not letting this go. Make the appointment or I’ll do it for you. And I don’t give a fuck what I have to do to make sure you show up for it. I refuse to watch you slide thanks to some asshole who had no business being anywhere near you. I also refuse to allow you to become a victim. We don’t do that shit around here. You know that.”

  His phone rings, a call he has to take, but it doesn’t matter because he’s said everything he wanted to. He’s made his point loud and clear.

  I watch him walk away, feeling all kinds of things I don’t want to be feeling. He’s damn right that I’m trying to numb myself with alcohol. I don’t want to think about any of this; it’s a lot easier just to get drunk and forget. But if I know one thing for sure in my life, it’s that King never backs down.

  Looks like you’re either fleeing the country or making that appointment.

  Ugh, that bossy man. I take back every good thought I’ve had about King today. Right now, I just wanna stew over his demands and the way he’s going about them. Doesn’t matter his reasons. He could have given me longer than a day to wrap my head around this.

  “Zara, I’m leaving,” Holly calls out from the garage. “You’re not going out tonight, are you?”

  “No, I’m staying home tonight.”

  “Okay. See you then. Have a good day.”

  Well, it can only get better from here on out. That’s for sure.

  “There’s my girl,” Tommy says a couple of hours later when I arrive at my best friend’s house. He’s lounging by the pool, his tanned abs on full display. His entitled attitude is also on display when he reaches for my leg as I walk past him. It’s not so much in the way he reaches, but in the way he touches me, like I’m here solely for him. Like I’m here to please him however he wants.

  I smack his hand away with “I’m not your girl, Tommy” and continue on my path to my best friend Marissa who’s on a sunlounge next to Puck, Tommy’s friend and the guy she currently wants to sleep with.

  “Fuck,” I grumble as I drop down onto the lounge next to Marissa. “Why are they here?” I already know the answer, though, and if we were having this conversation two months ago, it would be a whole lot different. I’d be completely on board with her reasons. Hell, I’d share her reasons. But we’re not, and I’m not on board. Not anymore. I wish Tommy and Puck weren’t here.

  She looks at me over her sunglasses, questions wrinkling her forehead. “I see you’re just as grumpy as always. What gives?”

  “I’m not always grumpy.”

  “Well, you have been for a few weeks now.” Her gaze drops to my body. “And what the fuck’s with your new wardrobe, Zar? Why am I always seeing you in these ugly, baggy dresses?”

  I stretch my legs out in front of me and wrap my arms around my body as I attempt to ignore what she said. That’s never possible, though; Marissa is the kind of friend who pushes and pushes until she gets what she wants. We’ve been best friends for three years, so I know the ins and outs of how she is, but lately I’m not feeling it. I’m not feeling her. And so I’ve started pushing back.

  Without answering her, I check my phone for a text. I’m waiting to hear back from Holly about whether she wants me to grab something for dessert tonight.

  Marissa sits forward before swinging her body around to face me. “Are you seriously ignoring my question?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Did you ever think maybe I’m wearing clothes I like? That your question was rude?”

  “Oh, come on, Zara, that’s some bullshit and you know it. You’re the queen of bikinis and tight, slutty dresses. This baggy shit you’ve got going on is so not you. I wanna know what’s going on.”

  “She’s right, Zara,” Tommy calls out. “I’m missing your tits and ass.”

  “Fuck you, asshole,” I throw back, irritation flooding me. And not just at him, but at myself for having ever liked him. For ever wanting a guy like him as my boyfriend. I look at Marissa. “I didn’t come here for an interrogation. Can you just accept me for once and let me be me?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” she lashes out, the venom I only ever hear directed at other people, now directed at me. “Can I just accept you for once? What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means exactly what you think it means, Marissa.” I stand. “I’m sick of always having to measure up to who you think I should be, and I’m done with bikinis and slutty dresses.”

  She pushes up off the lounge. “I’m sick of your crappy attitude. Maybe you should just go.” The venom in her voice is now ice, and I wonder how this conversation escalated so fast. But I shouldn’t because we’ve been walking on eggshells for a while now.

  Marissa likes surrounding herself with people who hang off her every word and do whatever she tells them to do. That’s been me for too long, but since we finished school a year ago, I’ve been slowly pulling away from her. I’ve opened my eyes, finally. And since the night I was mugged, I haven’t been able to switch off my thoughts that maybe we just shouldn’t be friends anymore.

  Am I really ready to walk away from the people I’ve had in my corner for all these years? Because that’s what I’ll be doing if I choose to walk away from Marissa. Once you’re out of her life, you’re out of the group’s life, too.

  I glance around at the house that’s been my second home for three years and a tumble of memories flash through my mind. Good memories. Fuck, maybe all this shit I’m feeling is just because of everything that’s happened in the last couple of months. Stuff that Marissa had no part in.

  I run my fingers through my hair and blow out a long breath. “Fuck,” I mutter before pushing past her and stalking into the pool house.

  Thank God she doesn’t follow me; I need some space to get my head sorted. Locking myself in the bathroom, I place both hands to the vanity and force out another long breath while staring at myself in the mirror.

  Why am I so fucked up over shit at the moment?

  I’m trying like hell not to think about the mugging or about anything that happened that night, but it seems the more I try not to think about it, the more I do think about it. Or at least, the more hold it has over me.

  Maybe King’s right. Maybe a shri
nk is what I need.

  I pull out my phone and search for one.

  Holy hell, there’s so many to choose from. I narrow the search to my suburb, but there’s still more than I know what to do with. I mean, how does someone decide which shrink will be the one who can fix them?

  I’m sitting on the toilet, deep in thought, scrolling through websites when Tommy bangs on the bathroom door, scaring the crap out of me. Not as badly as the noise this morning, but enough to get my heart racing again.

  “Let me in,” he demands.

  The small amount of panic I feel eases as I breathe through it, and I continue scrolling. “Go away.”

  “Babe, I just wanna talk. Open the door.”

  I roll my eyes. Tommy never wants to just talk. “No.”

  Silence for a moment and then—“God, Zara, what the fuck is with you? I thought we were getting somewhere, but lately you’ve turned into the biggest bitch.”

  I fling the door open and glare at him. “Fuck you, Tommy. And fuck your “getting somewhere” bullshit. We both know that just means you thought you were getting in my pants, and since that’s not a place you’re ever going to get, you should stop wasting your time.”

  He scowls, but it’s quick and gives way to him entering the bathroom and coming so close to me that it forces me back against the vanity. With one hand to my hip, he says, “Why you gotta be like that, baby? I like you. A lot. I thought we could hang out this summer and get to know each other better.”

  I put my hands to his chest and push him away, thankful that he doesn’t fight me. “I don’t wanna get to know you, Tommy.”

  He cocks his head. “You did. Two months ago, I was all you were about. What happened?”

  My chest tightens again as the memories of what happened two months ago rush forward. I push him again. Harder. Enough to be able to get past him and out of this room. “Life happened, that’s what.”

  I’m out of the bathroom and halfway to the door to exit back outside when Tommy grabs my hand and pulls me back to him, flush against his body. “Whatever it was, I can make it better. Whatever you need, I have it.”

  Yeah, he does. Tommy deals in whatever anyone needs to make a whole lot of shit better, but I don’t want any part of that. Not anymore.

  “How about you leave me alone and go find some other girl to string along? I’m done with guys like you.”

  As I exit the pool house, he calls, “You’re kidding yourself if you think you’re done with guys like me, Zara. You were born for guys like me. Just like you were born to wear a fucking bikini. When you figure that out, come find me; I’ll have what you need.”

  I head for Marissa, finding her on top of Puck, his tongue down her throat. “I’m leaving.”

  She drags her mouth from Puck’s. “Already?”

  It strikes me how fast Marissa moves on from an argument with a friend. We’ve never really had a fight or a huge disagreement, but I’ve seen her fight with a lot of people. Sometimes it’s the end of a friendship for her, but more often than not, she puts people in their place—the place she wants them—and then acts like nothing happened.

  She’s the cattiest person I know, and I’ve always just ignored it. Mostly because it was never directed at me, but also because I didn’t want to see it or deal with it. Life was easier when I lived in a bubble of blissful ignorance. These days I don’t seem able to ignore anything. It’s like life has screeched in, horn blazing, and demanded my attention.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “You still good for tomorrow night?”

  Tommy’s party.

  “Yeah.” No. I think I’m done with parties.

  “Good. I’ll see you there, babe.” Her dismissal comes in the form of her locking lips with Puck again. This might actually be the first time I’ve ever been dismissed by my best friend, but I can’t be sure because I just never paid enough attention before.

  “Jesus,” I mutter softly as I turn and leave. What the fuck is going on inside my head? Why am I only noticing this shit now?

  Tommy’s words ring in my ear as I walk to my car. You were born for guys like me. When you figure that out, come find me. One of my greatest fears is that he’s right. That I was born for guys like him. That I’ll crawl right back to him, exactly how he predicted.

  3

  Fury

  * * *

  I suck back some beer and stretch my legs out in front of me as I relax into the couch in the clubhouse bar. It’s been a long day and I’m ready to do nothing but drink and maybe find some company for the night.

  “Hey, man.” Sarge drops down onto the couch next to me. “Heard you’re up tonight.”

  “No.” No fucking way am I fighting when I’ve had a day like today. I’ll channel my frustration into the fight and no one needs to be on the receiving end of that.

  He frowns as he tips his beer bottle to take a swig. “Not what Mace told me.”

  “I’m too fucking tired tonight. And besides, Mace doesn’t want me in the ring with him.”

  Sarge grins. “True. But I think he wants to chance it anyway. Get some pointers off you.”

  I swallow some more beer before scrubbing a hand over my face. “Fuck.” Leaning forward so I’m resting my elbows on my knees, I drop my head to stretch my neck muscles. Then, glancing sideways at Sarge, I say, “Mace has a fucking death wish. Get Devil in there with him instead.”

  Sarge slaps me on the back and stands. “Devil’ll get the job done, but it won’t be half as good to watch.”

  I shake my head as he leaves. Sarge has no idea. None of them do, except for King. He’s the only one who’s seen me fight no holds barred. What I give when I’m in the ring out the back of the clubhouse is a fraction of what I’m capable of, and I do my absolute fucking best to avoid getting in that ring with my brothers very often because I know the tightrope I walk when I’m fighting. If they manage to drag me to the edge, fuck knows what will happen, and that’s something I refuse to have on my conscience.

  “Fury,” King barks from the doorway. “My office.”

  The last thing I want is a job for tonight, but it looks like that may be on the cards. I drain my beer and follow King down the hall to his office.

  “Close the door,” he says as he walks around his desk to sit in his chair behind it.

  Once I’ve done as he says, and he’s downed a shot of whisky, his eyes meet mine. Something serious is brewing behind those dark eyes. “I need you to dedicate all your time to Hagarty, and dig as deep as it takes to get some dirt on him. If you find it’s gonna take cash to get people to talk, come to me and I’ll make that happen. If you find it’s gonna take some manpower to get people to talk, I’ll take care of that, too.” He pauses, his eyes boring into mine. “Whatever the fuck it takes, I need you to find some shit on this motherfucker that’ll be worthy of him agreeing to do whatever I tell him to.”

  King hasn’t mentioned Hagarty for a good six months. Before that, he had me watching him a fair bit. I never knew what for, but that’s how King and I usually work. I never question him on anything. That was our agreement from the day he first approached me back before I joined the club, and it’s how our working relationship has continued ever since.

  “You want me to start tonight or tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow is good. Get some sleep tonight. You’re gonna need it.”

  “Report back in daily or just when I have something for you?”

  “Daily. I wanna know everything this asshole does, from the shit he takes in the morning to the moment he closes his eyes at night.”

  He wasn’t kidding when he said I’m gonna need sleep tonight. I don’t mention that, though. King wants a job done, I’ll get it done.

  “Anything else?”

  “Yeah.” He downs another shot of whisky. “Thanks for the heads up on Zara this morning. I appreciate you getting her home and for filling me in.”

  Fuck me.

  A thank you from King isn’t common around here.
r />   He then gives me one last directive. “Deal with Ricardo. And find out once and for all if he’s working with Black Deeds.”

  I leave the office, having decided to skip drinks here tonight in favour of going home and passing out. However, Anya, one of the club whores, stops me on my way out.

  “You wanna hang out tonight?” she purrs, pressing her body to mine and slipping her hand into my jeans.

  I hiss when her hand wraps around my dick. “Yeah.”

  A smile spreads across her face. “Your place or mine?”

  “Yours.”

  She strokes my dick. “This time I’m not letting you leave.”

  I don’t bother to tell her she has no say in the matter. Anya might be a good lay, but I’m not in the habit of spending the night with anyone. I remove her hand from my pants and jerk my chin towards the door. “Let’s go.”

  My mind is already on tomorrow and what I need to take care of. A quick fuck with Anya will barely drag my attention from that, but it’ll help me work some of this tension out of my body in ways that only sex can, and that’s what I need tonight.

  I locate Ricardo just after four the next morning after getting less than three hours sleep. I tossed and turned most of the night, but that’s my usual routine. Insomnia is a bitch that took up residence in my life years ago and I don’t see her leaving anytime soon.

  “Fucking hell,” Ricardo practically squeals when I remove the hand I’ve clamped down over his mouth. He was tucked up nice and tight in his bed, sleeping like a baby, but that sleep has come to a not-so-peaceful end.

  Hauling him out of bed, I drag him down his hallway, kicking and screaming, until we arrive in his kitchen. I then yank him up off the floor and shove him onto a chair at his kitchen table. Using cable ties, I fasten his hands to the arms of the chair, and then secure his feet together, too.

  When he refuses to shut up, I punch his face. “Keep it fucking down unless you want a bullet through your head.”