by Renee Rocco
Or I can put my trust in Wraith.
I’ve never taken a leap of faith, and I’m scared to take one now.
“Is it because of what happened with your father? Why’d you kill him?” Okay, wow. Tempest is direct. She stares at me unflinchingly, and I realize that if eyes are the windows of the soul, hers show me that we share the same pain. “My old man was a dick. He had a hand problem. Liked to put them all over me. I ran away at seventeen.” She nods at Sadie, who is now busy with Ava pulling side dishes out of a giant blue cooler. “Sadie took me in and, well…” She sets down the last of the utensils. “Here I am.”
My first instinct is to put up the wall. But it’s lonely living behind defenses. Words flow out of me like tears, and when I finish telling her my story, I don’t feel vulnerable or dirty. I feel revitalized.
“Good for you, J,” she says, with a fortifying nod. “I wish I’d had the balls to do what you did. Instead, I ran away, and now my dad is doing to my sister what he did to me. I should have gutted the pervert when I had the chance.” Her hug squeezes the breath right out of me. “No one gets it. The shit we’ve been through. Kinda makes us sisters.”
I put my entire self into the embrace. “Yes, it makes us sisters.”
When we separate, a bond remains. An instant kinship. We share pain, but it’s more than that. We share a strength. Not to mention how her positive energy is additive. And apparently, once she knows a person, she’s a chatterbox, like Ava. I love it. She likes to ask questions, and after a lifetime of silence, I enjoy talking.
We share stories about our lives. We talk of our fears and hopes. We leave out nothing, and I realize I have more in common with Tempest than I do with anyone I’ve known.
“What was the trial like?” she asks, circling back to my acquittal.
“Scary.” I give her the CliffsNotes version. “The first days were hectic, with a lot of police and lawyers. But after that came the doctors to check my mental health and the judge, who took mercy on me and recommended the case stay in juvenile court. But I had to face my father’s family, and details of my life were out there that I didn’t want known. Those details spread like wildfire. It’s one of the reasons I stayed away. I wanted to start over where I’d have a clean slate.” I give her a rueful smile. “It didn’t work out as well as I hoped.”
“Is that why you stayed in Florida?”
I let out an incredulous laugh. “What didn’t you hear?”
Tempest shrugs, unapologetic at having participated in Mayhem’s gossip mill. “Not much.”
“Yes, that’s why I stayed in Florida. First, though, I lived with my grandmother.”
“What happened, she die?”
I give her a droll stare. “No. I killed her son, so…”
Tempest cringes. “Oh yeah, I can see how that wouldn’t work out. But you’re back now, and that’s what matters.”
“Yes, I’m back now.” We stroll over to where Sadie and Ava are stacking packages of hamburger and hot dog rolls.
“But you’re staying, right? Discord said you might leave, but I can’t see you taking off now that you’re home.”
I catch the inside of my cheek and chew on it as I run through my limited options. And then I freeze when I realize the keywords in what I’m doing. I run. It’s all I’ve ever done. Ran from my aunt’s house. Ran from Orlando. Ran from Ocala. Ran from Mayhem. Ran from Wraith.
Maybe it’s time I make that leap of faith.
“I believe I am, Tempest. Good or bad, I’ll stay.”
“Cool.” She gives me a playful jostle and nods toward Sanctum. “Good Lord, because you’d be a fool to walk away from that.”
I follow her gaze to where Wraith’s striding across the yard. He’s with Jester, and good Lord is right. The pair are a sight to behold. They’re fresh off the track, dusty and sweaty and hot as hell. Wraith is holding his helmet in one hand and his jersey in the other. A wifebeater clings to his muscular torso. Neon-green-and-black riding pants sit slung low on his trip waist. O’Neal boots hug his calves. He’s all arrogant swagger. The personification of prime masculinity, and pardon me while I take a moment to drool all over myself.
Wraith has no business being that gorgeous. Throws off my equilibrium.
I also notice I’m not the only woman appreciating the scenery.
A group of women more interested in entertaining the men than helping us women set up the food also notice Wraith and Jester. Hang-arounds, Ava called them. One woman, in particular, is watching Wraith a bit too intently for my comfort. She’s tall, pretty, and wearing pigtails. Pigtails. But I’m not jealous, I remind myself, and even if I were, I have no right to be because Wraith isn’t mine.
Not officially, my mind tells my heart.
Jester’s holding his own next to Wraith, with his tousled light brown hair and lazy strut. Electric-blue nylon pants are unzipped, exposing a decadent eyeful of black boxers. Shirtless, he’s an enticing display of male splendor. I lift a brow at the sadistic jester tattooed over his left rib cage. The design fits, obviously, on so many levels.
“There’s some big dick energy going on there.”
“Which one?” I need clarification because, honestly, Tempest could refer to either man.
“Both.”
“I wouldn’t know the dimensions of Wraith’s dick.” It’s a half-truth. We may not have had sex, but I’ve cupped it in my hand and certainly know how long and thick he is, but far be it from me to kiss and tell. “We’ve been friends since we were kids. Nothing more.”
“Bullshit.” Tempest’s booming laughter draws attention—including Wraith’s.
He walks by us, his hostile gaze skidding over me. Okay, seriously. Whatever happened on that mountain needs to get sorted out because we can’t afford to fight a side battle when there’s a war on the horizon.
“It’s true,” I insist, the lie burning a hole through my tongue.
Ava comes rushing over. “What’d I miss? What’s so funny?”
“J says Wraith and her are just friends.” Tempest makes a thrusting motion with her hips. “You know, friends.”
“Oh yeah, friends.” Ava throws Tempest an exaggerated wink. “I wish I had a friend like that.”
I fling my hands in the air, feigning exasperation, but if this is what having friends is all about, I’m all in. “I don’t have to take this abuse.”
Ava launches herself at me and engulfs me in a suffocating hug. She’s freakishly strong for such a tiny person. “You’ll take it, and you’ll like it because you don’t know it yet, but you love us.”
Tempest joins in by giving me a loud, wet kiss on the cheek. “Yeah, you love us. How can you not? We’re fucking awesome.”
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of faces and names. Tempest and Ava stick to my side, feeding me tidbits about everyone I meet. Rotten, the gang’s VP, may be a sweetheart on the surface but has a terrible temper. Voodoo, the sergeant at arms, is mildly deranged. Rooster and Sadie take in strays, as they’ve done with Ava and Tempest, with Sadie being Mayhem’s resident mother hen—and God forbid if you mess with her chicks. By the time I’m done meeting most of the senior and junior members, I’ve been introduced to Dirt, Rebel, Preacher, Angel, Ruthless, Roswell, Sunny, and lastly, Hades. There are at least ten others, which doesn’t make them the largest gang, but they certainly are one of the most formidable.
Ferryman, a mammoth covered in tattoos, takes a seat next to me when the food hits the tables. When he catches me trying to not to stare, he proudly boasts that the scar on his bald head is from a bullet intended to kill him. Instead, it grazed his skull, and he murdered the Berserker who’d been too craven to fight him fairly. I show him the scar on my arm from where a fellow homeless woman cut me with a broken bottle when we brawled over a scrape of shelter during a hurricane.
You know, normal dinner conversation.
Malice saunters in after everyone else is already at the tables. He, along with Wraith, Jester, Havoc, and D
iscord take up the far end—as far from me as the space allows.
I pick at my burger, with Ava on one side of me and Tempest on the other. Peppered among us are some of the other trusted women. All young and beautiful, and each one capable of holding their own in a town dominated by some of the most brutal men this country produced. Stories fly. Laughter booms. It’s a fun meal, and although I feel a bit lost, I truly enjoy myself.
When the sun begins its descent behind the Appalachians, the tables get cleared. The men fold them and set them aside. I lose sight of Ava and Tempest and make my way inside Sanctum. Suddenly awkward and unsure, I use the bathroom, and when I come out, I literally bump into Ferryman’s impossibly broad chest.
He grips me by the arms to keep me from toppling over. “Having a nice time, honey?”
I wriggle out of his hold. “I am, thank you.”
“Good.” He winks. “Kids are gone. Actual party is about to start.”
I drag in a fortifying breath and glance around him down the hall to where the main room is—and then to the front door. My way out. “I was actually hoping to leave.”
I hide my recoil when he wraps his heavy arm around my waist and pulls me against him. His body is solid and strong. “Nah, you can’t go home yet. I gotta piss like a racehorse. Promise you’ll stay and do a shot with me. Just one, then you can go.”
I hold up my index finger. “One shot.”
…that I have no intention of doing.
He untangles his arm from me. “One shot.”
As soon as Ferryman ducks inside the bathroom, I hurry down the hall. When I hit the main room, I skid to a stop. He’s right. The real party has started. The overhead lights are off. Strings of white lights are on, draped across the walls in a crisscross pattern that gives the room an intimate ambiance despite its immense size. The music’s turned up, with Tool pumping through the speakers. Everywhere I look, there’s someone doing something. Drinking something. Smoking something. Sniffing something. Couples are intertwined with their mouths and hands on each other. Not caring that they are in full view of everyone. Others are getting off on watching. With others seem to like that they’re being watched. It’s decadent. Scandalous. Everything I’d heard an Unholy party is and more, and this is just the beginning of the night.
But one couple, half-hidden behind the carnival of chaos, catches my attention. My limbs go numb, and my stomach drops at the grotesque sight of Wraith perched on a couch with a brunette draped across his lap.
My first instinct is to grab the woman by those stupid pigtails—because what grown woman wears friggin’ pigtails—and haul her trashy ass off him. But I fight down the surge of jealousy. Wraith isn’t mine, and even if he is, the woman doesn’t deserve my anger. Wraith does for his audacity to stare point-blank at me, smug smile slapped on his face.
His disrespect draws first blood in a war I didn’t know we were fighting.
My heart doesn’t break. That would be too merciful. Instead, it withers in my chest like rotten fruit on a vine. My blood is a river of acid. It slides through my veins and destroys every part of me in its wake. And then I’m dismissed when he turns his head and goes back to his conversation with Malice. His apathy is the cut that severs my soul and bleeds it out at my feet.
Even if Wraith had found out what I did, if he knew my sin… He could at least have the courage to fight with me. To tell me he hates me. Blame me for what he suffered. But this… This cold cruelty?
Wraith can take it and shove it up his ass.
I’m worth more than this, dammit.
Jester glares murder at Wraith before shooting me an apologetic look. I shake my head, seething because I won’t be the guest of honor at a pity party.
“You stayed.”
At least someone is glad I’m here.
I give Ferryman a tight smile. “I did.”
Those two words are a breathy whisper, forced out of a mouth that feels full of sand.
“Cool. Afraid you were gonna bolt.” Ferryman grabs my hand and pulls me toward the bar. I swallow a gasp when he lifts me and sets me on a stool before claiming the empty one beside me. “What’s your poison?”
I bunch my shoulders. “Nothing. I’ve never touched a drop of alcohol.”
Ferryman lets out a hoot of laughter. “Holy shit, girl. We better take it easy on you. Flask, can you get me one of those girlie shots?”
Flask, a grisly older man with the longest, whitest beard I’ve ever seen, doesn’t even bother to hide his amusement. “Want a tampon with that?”
Ferryman raps his knuckles on the bar in front of me. “It’s for Jamie, you cranky old fuck. Shot of Jack for me.” Then to me, he says, “Rumor has it you grew up here.”
“I did.”
“So where you been? Mayhem’s a small-ass town. I’d remember seeing a fine woman like you walking around.” Ferryman’s voice is low. Gravelly. His words work up my spine as I struggle not to glance over my shoulder at Wraith and that woman.
“Florida.”
He leans away to give me a once-over, and I bristle under his scrutiny. “You’re pale as fuck for someone who lived in Florida.”
“B-52 for the lady.” Flask sets a shot glass in front of me. “Jack, for my favorite jerkoff.” He slams this one in front of Ferryman.
“Thank you kindly, Flask.” Ferryman lifts his glass. I lift mine. “Welcome home.”
In my peripheral, I see beer bottles and glasses go up.
“Cheers.”
Everyone but me downs their drink.
Ferryman nods at my glass. “You gonna hold it all night?”
“Honestly, I haven’t decided,” I admit.
“Christ, honey, just put it to your lips and let it slide down your throat.”
I follow his simple instructions and tilt my head back. Caramel, coffee, and a hint of orange hit my tongue in an explosion of bitter and sweet. Unfortunately, I can’t do the shot in a single swallow. There are a few chuckles, but I don’t care. It takes three tries. Eventually, I get the entire concoction down, and once I do, Ferryman throws those massive arms around me in a celebratory embrace. Everyone here is touchy-feely, and it’s a culture shock given that I’ve never enjoyed people putting their hands on me. But when he smacks his lips against the side of my head in a rough kiss, I have to laugh at how exaggerated it is.
“Congrats, honey.”
Ferryman releases me, and as I catch my breath, he orders me another. I don’t plan on drinking it, but more Unholy join us, and although my mind is on Wraith, I’m having a decent time. The conversation is loud and lively, with tons of fucks and shits and assholes flying, and without realizing it, I’ve finished the second shot.
Only when my brain is nice and fuzzy do I bring myself to sneak a peek across the room. Bad idea. My heart slams against my sternum, and I swear to God, I’ve never been angrier at empty space.
Wraith and that woman are gone.
I swing around and search the room, frantic. Every familiar face has vanished. I’m alone in a room full of lethal strangers.
Ferryman’s large, heavy hand settles on the small of my back. “You okay, honey?”
I swallow hard. “Yes.”
No.
He looks over my head and says to someone, “Get her some water.”
“I’m fine,” I protest.
Ferryman’s dark brows slam into a scowl. “Sure, you are, lightweight.”
“I just want to leave.”
I can’t drive because I don’t know how. But even if could, I wouldn’t thanks to getting myself good and buzzed. And I’d rather chop off my feet and walk back to Wraith’s house on two bloody stumps than choke down my pride and drag him away from pigtail girl so he can take me home. Ferryman might, but I’m not comfortable enough around him to be alone in a car with him. As much as I hate to bother one of Wraith’s friends, they’re my only options.
There’s a lesson to be learned here.
Correction.
I learned this l
esson living on the streets. I swore I’d never lose control of myself. But here I am, a buzzed helpless sad sack, and that’s a dangerous thing to be.
Ferryman leans in, his warm whiskey breath feathering over my ear. “Want me to take you home?”
“Thank you, but Jester and Malice told me to find them if I wanted to leave.”
It’s a lie, but it’s okay. I rarely lie, and it’s a small one.
“If they can’t for whatever reason, you come get me.”
Seriously. Ferryman needs to stop being sweet. Everyone here needs to stop being nice to me. These people are killers. They’re supposed to be terrible. Worse than David. Their kindness is confusing. It’s chipping at my wall, and I need my defenses up because if they come down, I’ll be exposed, and they’ll see I’m a fraud. That I’m a scared and weak little girl trapped in a grown woman’s body.
“Thank you. I will.” I slide off the stool and shuffle across the room, my gaze fixed on the floor because there’s some form of sex happening everywhere.
“You,” someone slurs as I pass, and I realize it’s Havoc. I don’t look at him, not even when, in my peripheral, I see his hand reach toward me. “Come here.”
“Nah, bro, she’s Wraith’s,” Discord says.
Nothing is further from the truth.
“Someone better tell Wraith that, because from I saw, he was all up on Rissa,” Havoc sneers.
Rissa.
Pigtail girl has a name. A pretty name.
Swear to God, if I don’t get out of this building, I’m going to shatter into a million pieces.
I make my way down the hall and pause at the only door that’s slightly ajar. I missed the class on proper cockblock protocol. Do I knock? Barge in? Inch it open and see if I glimpse someone familiar? And what happens if I stumble upon Wraith and Rissa?
Miserable, I give up. Flat-out surrender and plow ahead.
I rap on the door, then inch it open wider. Perfume hits me like a brick to the nose. Dim light contrasts the darkness of the hallway as I edge inside. I’m polite and keep my head down, eyes averted. “Sorry to bother you, but have you seen Jester or Malice?”
“Oh hey, sweetie. Wanna join?”