Then and now (Edge Of Retaliation, #3)

by Jewel, Bella

  I say goodbye to Tanner and he tells me to let Callie know that he’s trying to call her. I know he’s trying to call her. I made up some excuse that she just needs a few days, and he understood that. Little does he know she’s planning her escape, so to speak. I know it’ll bother him, hell, I’d go as far as saying it’ll hurt him, but I also understand why she’s doing it.

  She has been through so damn much.

  She deserves a break.

  When we get outside, I turn to Tatum and look up at him. His hand comes up and cups my jaw, his thumb rubbing over my bottom lip. “You and I are goin’ away soon, just us, yeah?”

  I exhale and give him a weak smile. “I wish I could, I really do, but until I sort everything out with Patrick, you and I spending time together will only fuel the fire.”

  “Fuck Patrick, he’s a fuckin’ piece of shit. He should be chasin’ a girl like you around the countryside, not fuckin’ making threats. You don’t have to give him what he wants, just because you’ve done so for your entire adult life.”

  His words shock me, and I step back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Not tryin’ to hurt your feelings, Jo, but you gotta see that you constantly give in to that man. You tellin’ me that your whole world has been your choice? Everything you have now is what you wanted? He knows he can manipulate you, and he’s using that to his advantage.”

  I’m pissed off, to say the least.

  Maybe I’m overreacting, sure, but his words cut me to my core. Perhaps because they’re the truth, or perhaps it’s simply because he’s making me out to sound weak and pathetic, like I can’t defend myself. Which isn’t the case at all. Gosh, if only he knew the things I’ve done against Patrick’s wishes in our time together.

  “You’re wrong,” I snap. “Patrick does not have control over me. I’m not the confrontational sort of woman, and he’s my husband so I hold a little respect for him, but I do not let him call all the shots.”

  “That’s the case,” Tatum says, his voice low, “then tell him you’ll take what you’re fuckin’ entitled to, and not some bit of shit on a piece of paper that he’s only doin’ so you don’t get what he knows you can.”

  “I’m not a gold digger,” I growl, crossing my arms. “I don’t want much.”

  “Know that, Jo. You’re readin’ me the wrong way. I’m simply sayin’ you shouldn’t lay down and let that man ride you the way he has been. Tell him to go fuck himself.”

  I shake my head, frustrated. “I’m tired, I’m going to go home.”

  “Jo,” he says, when I turn and walk toward my car.

  I turn back and glance at him. “You think you know me, Tatum, but you don’t. You really don’t. Goodnight.”

  I walk off without another word.

  Callie’s idea is looking more and more promising by the second.

  “SERIOUSLY?” I GASP, staring down at the newspaper in front of me. A picture of Tatum and I standing in his front lawn, his hand cupping my jaw and his expression that of love and affection.

  This had to be taken when Tatum and I were together last, which was almost two nights ago. Someone must have been there and taken this picture, and the only way they’d know I was there is if Patrick gave them the information they needed.

  A huge caption outlines the picture "Billionaire finds wife having an affair."

  “You’ve got to be shitting me!” I yell in frustration, reading the rest of the article in horror.

  He can’t honestly be this desperate, right? So desperate he wants me taken down so heavily? To keep all his things? To avoid having me get anything at all?

  Frustration deep in my chest has me throwing the newspaper across the room, just as Callie walks in. She glances at the paper on the ground, then exhales. “You saw it then?”

  I meet her eyes, fists clenched. “I saw it all right. He can’t be serious? Did you read that article?”

  Callie nods. “Yep, they’ve made you out to be the real villain. Cheating on him, going after his fortune, he’s a smart man. Smarter than I thought. He’s not willing to part with his stuff, is he?”

  “This is exactly what I suspected when I avoided leaving him for all those years. He’s trash. The purest form. I can’t believe he’s doing this.”

  My phone starts ringing on the counter and I glance over to see my mother's name flashing on the screen. Close my eyes, I spit out a curse. “They’re never going to stop. His family. My family. They’re going to demand so many damned answers. I don’t need this; I don’t need more stress after everything that’s been happening.”

  “Listen,” Callie says, walking over and placing her hands on my shoulders. “It’s going to be okay. It’ll blow over. They’ll calm down.”

  “It won’t, Callie,” I whisper, shaking my head. “It won’t, I promise you that. His family will lose their minds, my family will, too. They’re not going to believe me when I tell them I haven’t done anything; they’re already pissed at me for not living with him anymore. They’re going to take his side, like they always do. He’s going to have a damned swell time with this.”

  Callie gives me a kind smile. “I’m sorry, honey. You don’t need this on top of everything else.”

  “No,” I mutter, grabbing my phone and dialing Patrick’s number. “No, I don’t.”

  “Hello, Joanne,” he answers in a casual tone, as if he hasn’t just plastered mine and Tatum’s face across the entire damned city.

  “What is wrong with you?” I hiss. “Seriously, Patrick, what the fuck is wrong with you.”

  “That’s not a kind way to talk to your husband.”

  “Stop,” I growl. “Stop with your little act. I can’t believe you told the media that story, a story which, mind you, is not fucking true.”

  “It is true, you and I both know it is. I’m tired of fighting with you, Jo. I offered you a good deal, and you wouldn’t even consider it. I’ll do this the hard way, if I have to.”

  “Is that what this has come to? All those years of marriage?”

  “Yes,” he says simply.

  “You’re going to push me into a fucking corner here, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  I grit my teeth and hiss, “What’s the deal?”

  “Oh, you want to hear it now?”

  “Patrick, for fuck's sake, what’s the fucking deal? Do you want the drama of all this to follow you around or do you want me to sign the damn paper so we can both get the hell out of each other's lives?”

  He goes silent for a minute, then says, “I’ll give you ten million in cash, we’ll sell the house, but you can have the furniture, I don’t need it. You can keep your car and any savings you currently have in our bank accounts. I keep the business and everything else that comes with it.”

  I blink a few times.

  It’s a good deal, better than I first thought, and right now, I just want it all to go the hell away. “Deal,” I say, not even coming back with a negotiation. Patrick is a rich man, I could get double, probably triple, hell even more, but I don’t want to.

  I just want to be free.

  I’m so damned tired.

  So damned drained.

  I’m sick of this place.

  “I’ll send the papers over for you to sign.”

  I hang up the phone without another word and turn to Callie, meeting her eyes and saying in a strong, determined voice, “When are we leaving?”

  It’s time to kiss this place goodbye.

  Once and for all.

  NOW

  Two years later

  12

  CALLIE

  “I’m here, I’m here!” I say, rushing through the front doors of the incredibly awesome tattoo shop Jo just got a new job at.

  She’s been wanting to learn to tattoo for such a long time, but she’s not been able to get a chair anywhere, or a place willing to look at her stuff. She’s always been an incredible artist, even back when we were younger, but she’s never done anything with her talent
. Her marriage to Patrick was always at the top of her list, keeping her busy.

  “God, could you be any later?” she gasps, flicking her hair to the side and studying me with those piercing eyes. “My first day in the chair, my first client, and you’re bloody late?”

  I give her a big grin, just as the back door opens and the guy who owns the shop comes out. I stare at him, like I do every damn time I come in here, which to be fair is only twice, but god, he has the power to stop you in your tracks. He’s ... I don’t know ... terrifying. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Everything above.

  He is a solid six-feet tall, and is built like a statue, with thick biceps and broad shoulders. He’s covered in ink, the eccentric designs running all the way down to his fingers. No doubt under those clothes, too. His skin is olive, the prettiest damn olive I’ve ever seen. The rest of him though, damn, it’s not pretty, it’s fucking perfection.

  His hair is dark, maybe a chocolate brown, maybe even closer to black, it’s hard to tell. It’s thick and it’s long, flowing down to his shoulders in that messy, sexy, Viking kind of way. He is sporting a heck of a beard, which only adds to his masculine, dangerous features. His lips are full, his eyes are the palest and yet most stark green I’ve ever seen, and he has a scar running down his left cheek, it’s not overly pronounced, but it sure does add to his look.

  He would be a perfect match to be on Game of Thrones, only they’d probably kill him off too quickly, so I’d say that’s a very bad idea.

  He’s too sexy to be killed off.

  The best part? Oh, the best part is ... He’s part of a biker gang. Yep. A motorcycle club. A bunch of gorgeous men, who all look like him, at least, that’s what Jo told me, and they own a chain of tattoo shops. This one being the main one. When I first found out, I freaked out, until Jo told me that she’s perfectly safe working there, and that the club business has nothing to do with the shop.

  She likes it here.

  I can see why.

  Alarick. That’s his name.

  That’s his damn perfect name.

  Alarick.

  Shivers.

  I glance at him as he walks over to us and stops, crossing his big arms. Jo told me he’s the President of the club, I don’t know the name, but oh boy, imagine him leading a pack of wildly gorgeous men on bikes? That’s something I’d like to see, no doubt about it. Alarick doesn’t say a lot, and he’s super broody, but he’s fair and that’s all Jo cares about.

  I wonder if their club is bad? Do they murder people?

  God. How exciting.

  “You ready?” he asks her, in that rumbling voice that goes right through you.

  I stare at his inked arms, with the biceps showing, and the way his waist narrows down nicely to those incredibly well-fitting black jeans. God damn.

  I need to stop.

  “I think so, if it goes wrong, it’s only Callie.” Jo laughs nervously, then looks at me with a sympathetic smile.

  “It’ll be fine,” I say to her. “Come on, let’s do this.”

  Jo glances at Alarick again, and he simply gives her a nod and takes a seat, crossing his arms over his chest and spreading his legs as he lounges back in the chair, watching us.

  “Well, that’s not much pressure,” I laugh, then glance at Alarick who is watching me, expressionless.

  Oh, boy.

  He is intense.

  I wonder if he knows how to have a conversation? Probably not. Maybe all bikers do is grunt at each other.

  Like a bunch of leathered up cave men?

  I sit on the chair and Jo prepares my wrist for the tattoo she designed. She cleans my skin and then gently places the inked stencil down so it’ll leave the outline for her to follow. She pats it with her hands, and then peels it off, glancing at it before saying, “Have a look—if it isn't how you want it, we can change the position.”

  I look down at the outline on my skin, and my heart skips a beat. It does every single time I look at the flowers with a name set amongst them. A name that will forever hold more power in my life than any name ever will. Celia.

  I swallow and look back up to Jo, “It’s perfect,” I say, my voice a little thick with emotion.

  “Are you ready then?” Jo smiles at me, her eyes warm.

  “I’m ready.”

  She prepares the tattoo gun and then looks over to Alarick who gives her the go ahead with a short nod. She fires up the gun, takes a deep breath, and gets to work. The first touch of the needle to my skin makes me grit my teeth. The sharp pain that almost feels like a knife being dragged along my skin. After a few moments though, the pain becomes almost familiar.

  Funny how pain does that.

  Becomes familiar. So familiar it almost doesn’t hurt as much anymore.

  I feel that every single day.

  Every day that I think about the life we left behind three years ago. When I think about the moment I took my phone, everything that could connect me to my old life, and I tossed it. I deleted Facebook accounts, social media accounts, I changed passwords, got new cards, a new number, everything.

  I began again.

  Driving out of that town was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Knowing that I was leaving behind Ethan, my longtime friend, Tanner, the man I had fallen for, and all the memories of Celia and my life there. It was hard. For the first week or two, Jo and I barely spoke as we processed what we had done.

  I wondered how long it took people to realize we had gone.

  I wondered how many times they called my phone.

  I wondered how hard they looked for us.

  Or did they just let us go? Figuring maybe their lives would be easier, too?

  Every single moment I think about Tanner Yates, my heart still burns. It still throbs against my ribcage, it still aches to hear his voice and feel his touch. I miss him more than I’ll ever admit. Even now, even years later, he is still in my mind every single day. I’ve dated, in fact, I’m dating someone right now.

  But Tanner holds a place in my heart that I can’t seem to close off.

  It was hard on Jo, too. She had to deal with Patrick, with her family, with her friends. She had settled into a bigger life than I had, considering I was in prison for so long. She signed her papers with Patrick, and the moment they were signed, we left. She organized her house to be packed up, for her things to be moved, and then she told her family she would be going away for a while.

  She didn’t cut contact with them; she couldn’t, I suppose.

  She did however change her number so Tatum couldn’t contact her, so she too couldn’t be connected to that life. The one we left behind to find a better one.

  Has it been better?

  Sure, I mean we’re both happy. Jo bought a gorgeous set of apartments and she rents one out to me and lives in another. The rest she rents out to other people. California life, it’s nice. I won’t lie. Beaches and a freedom I have never felt before. It’s something else, that’s for sure.

  I got a job working at a local restaurant. It’s big, flashy and overlooking the water. I’ve been there a few years, and I’m part of the family, so to speak. I’ve got friends and things feel ... well ... normal. All except that empty feeling I carry around with me, like a hole I haven’t quite filled.

  But are we happy? Yeah, we’re happy.

  As happy as we can be.

  It was the best choice for us, that much I don’t doubt.

  “Rest your forearm down on her, don’t be scared to lean on the customer to steady your hand,” Alarick says, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  Jo nods, and keeps working, leaning over me a little more to get her angles right. I don’t mind, already I can see she’s doing a brilliant job. The outline taking form on my skin.

  “So, Alarick,” I say, daring to make conversation with the monster-sized man sitting in the chair. “You’re part of a club?”

  Jo pauses for a second, lifting the needle off my skin and giving me a look that warns me to stop asking questions. Shit? Am I not meant
to know about that? Is it a secret? I didn’t think it was, I mean, clubs aren’t exactly secret societies, now are they?

  “Yeah,” Alarick says in response, he doesn’t seem pissed, but he doesn’t seem like he wants to chat all day about it either.

  “Do you like it?” I ask.

  Jo nudges my foot with hers.

  “Wouldn’t be there if I didn’t,” he mutters.

  “Fair enough. Have you ever killed somebody?”

  “Callie!” Jo gasps.

  “What?” I say, shrugging. “I’m just asking a question.”

  “She always talk this much?” Alarick asks Jo.

  “Mostly. I’m sorry.”

  Whoops.

  “Have you ever killed anybody?” Alarick asks, his voice thick and strong, a real masculine voice.

  He’s throwing my question back at me, as a form of sarcasm no doubt, but little does he know that I actually have killed someone.

  “Yes,” I answer honestly, my voice a little less chirpy. “This girl right here.”

  I nod down at my wrist, and Alarick’s eyes travel to the name Jo is currently putting on my skin, to stay for the rest of my days.

  “You do it on purpose?” Alarick asks.

  “No,” I answer.

  “Accident?”

  I nod.

  “Fuckin’ horrible feelin',” he mutters.

  Ah, so he has killed someone.

  That’s all he had to say.

  “Well, now we’ve gotten to know each other,” Jo says, “can you be quiet so I can concentrate.”

  I grin.

  That’s my girl.

  There she is.

  There’s my Jo.

  I STARE AT MY FRONT door, narrowing my eyes. I’m sure I locked it when I left this morning to get my tattoo and then go off to work. Jo lives a few apartments down, but she left before me so she wouldn’t have used her key to get in. Narrowing my eyes, I carefully push it open and peer inside, wracking my brain trying to remember if I locked it or not.

  I was in a hurry, maybe I forgot.

  Still, my heart races as I step into the apartment, flicking on a light. At first glance, everything seems to be exactly how I left it. I clutch my purse to my chest, my wrist letting off a dull ache as I walk in farther, peering around. I round the corner to my kitchen and stop in my tracks as I see a package and a note on my counter.