by W Winters
“Shhh,” Seth soothes me. I close my eyes and listen to his heartbeat. I hear him shush me over everything else.
A paramedic is at our side too soon. I don’t want to go; I don’t want to leave, but Seth makes me.
I have to grab his wrist, holding it too tightly. “Someone broke in,” I tell him, feeling my dry lips crack as I do. I stare into his dark eyes. They widen, a sense of recognition taking over. Carefully slipping my gun to him, hiding it under his jacket, I tell him before the medic returns to take me away, “Someone did this on purpose. Someone burned it all down.” It’s only when I’m in the ambulance with an oxygen mask over my face that I remember the black sedan. One and seven. I want to text Seth, but I don’t have anything. Not my purse. Not my phone.
I refuse to forget. Someone might have seen whoever it was. Whoever it was may have taken everything from me. Whoever it was, is a dead man.
Seth
My skin is ice cold but everything inside of me is on fire. A raging fire hotter and more violent than the one at my back. I can feel the heat, smell the burned wood, and it means nothing. The chaos has everyone’s full attention, but it means nothing to me.
Someone did this.
They tried to hurt her. They tried to send a message.
Mathews is the only one I can think of. But why go after Laura?
The heavy doors to the ambulance close one at a time and the sound of them shutting, removing her from my vision snaps my gaze to the EMT.
“You can’t ride with her, but she’ll be the top priority in the emergency room. We already called it in.”
You must be family. That’s what the guy said to me when they ripped her away.
There are only two things keeping me from chasing down the ambulance and staying on its tail as they take her to the hospital.
The first is that Charlie said she’s okay and that she’ll be all right. It’s just smoke inhalation they’re concerned about. More importantly, he said he’ll stay by her side until I’m there. I’ve known Charlie for years; he works with us on and off the clock. No one’s getting near her room and Roman is already on his way to the hospital.
The second is that Jackson is in plain view when the ambulance leaves.
Dressed in his finest blues, his badge is on clear display and it reflects the light from behind us. It’s waning as the water subdues the fire. I’ll deal with Jackson first, and then I’m not leaving her side.
“Mr. King,” he calls out and I huff in irritation. His footsteps are even and grow louder as he makes his way to me.
“Since when am I Mr. King to you?” I ask him when he stops in front of me, although my voice is lifeless, not hiding a damn thing I’m feeling.
The agony is something I didn’t expect. It fucking hurts. The anger is better. Seeing her on a gurney in the back of an ambulance tears me up inside.
“I did this to her,” I tell him, knowing exactly what I’m doing. I don’t have many friends outside of my crew, but I need Jackson. I need all the help I can get.
Surprise colors his expression before he responds. He clears his throat and glances to his left and then right. “It was arson,” he tells me as if I didn’t know. A fire this large, this fast, there had to be an accelerant. Even if Laura hadn’t told me, it doesn’t take a genius to know.
“I figured as much,” I tell him, looking coldly into his eyes at the thought of someone breaking into Laura’s house.
“There were explosives too, Seth.”
His lowered voice and this knowledge make my blood go cold. “They didn’t go off. Duds I guess, but if they had, it would have blown up most of the block.”
Leaning forward he asks, “You know who did it?”
I shake my head, trying to swallow the overwhelming feelings that make it hard to stand up right now as I say, “But I have suspects.”
He tried to kill her. He tried to kill Laura. I can barely breathe.
Jackson’s eyes read, I told you so, but he’s a friend not to say it out loud and grind the heel of his shoe deeper into the pain and regret.
“I can’t believe he’d go after a woman.” My woman. “Fucking coward,” I spit.
Breathing out, Jackson watches the fire behind me for a moment before telling me, “It’s a good thing you got in there and dragged her out.”
“Yeah,” I answer him in a breath and turn to watch the blaze, but I can’t do it. It almost took her away from me.
All I keep thinking as my muscles tighten to the point where I’m trembling is, Mathews is a dead man. All of his men are dead. Anything he’s ever touched, is dead.
Rage is an adulteress. She comes at my weakest times, like now. Seeing the fire play on the metal of the police car, I imagine what I’ll do to Mathews. It had to be him. He’ll die a slow death. The rat, Wright? He can die slow too. Everyone who had a part. They will all suffer.
“Was she here when it happened?” Jackson asks with a careful tone, like what he’s asking might make me snap. I shake my head no, remembering the little bits I’ve heard from Mr. Timms giving his statement as I held Laura.
“She came home and saw the fire, and ran in.”
Jackson blows out a grunt. “Of course she did.” His comment forces the faintest of laughs from me. She’s safe. She’ll be all right. She’s safe. Just then I get a text from Roman. He’s at the hospital now and ensuring Laura gets a private room.
Good. Stay with her, I tell him but he already knows.
“What are you going to do?” Jackson’s question resonates with me. It’s what I’ve done that’s led to this.
“What do you think?” My answer is spoken darkly. He holds my gaze, taking it in with the seriousness it deserves. “If you have any insight to offer, now’s the time,” I prod when he doesn’t respond.
“If I did, I’d tell you. Are you sure it’s Mathews?” he asks me and a list of names runs through my mind, the many faces I’ve seen who hold nothing but contempt for me.
“No,” I answer truthfully.
Jackson seems to consider something, but he only says, “If I hear anything, you’ll be the first to know.”
“I appreciate it.”
He nods solemnly and stares past me. The night sky is darker than it was moments ago, and the streets are emptying out. Mr. Timms is seated on his porch, staring between the wreckage and me. My hard gaze doesn’t deter him. The old man knows how this life works.
He knows this happened to her because of me. Everyone knows that.
“She’s going to have to file a report,” Jackson tells me and I nod in agreement.
“I’ll tell her,” I say although he looks anything but reassured.
“Do you have a statement to give?”
“No. I have to get to the hospital. To make sure she’s okay,” I tell him when I hear the sound of tires coming up behind us a little too fast. Both of our hands reach for guns, both of us on edge. Derrick’s car screeches to a halt and Jackson and I both visibly relax when we see him get out and slam his door. It feels like war all over again, because that’s what this is. An act of war.
“You do that.” Jackson’s already walking off, heading over to the fire truck when I call after him, “Thanks.”
We may be on opposite sides of some things, but there’s a loyalty between us that hasn’t faded. Not yet. I imagine one day it will. All that will be left are the ashes of what used to be.
It seems like there’s a lot of that going around.
“Yo.” Derrick is at my side and out of breath before Jackson’s even across the street. It’s so dark now, I know he won’t be able to see how bad it is. Not until morning.
“Is she okay?”
“We have to go to the hospital,” I tell him and make my way to my car. My throat’s tight and my jaw clenched as we walk past the last few onlookers.
“We see her, get her home, and then we have business to attend to.” Feeling his eyes on me, I turn to look at him. A chill sweeps across my back, blowing the cold down m
y spine as I lower my voice. “We’re killing Wright tonight, but first we need information. We need to know what he’s been telling people and if this is Mathews’s doing.”
“Fuck.” Derrick’s response is accompanied by a mix between a groan and a snarl. With both hands running over his buzzed head he turns to look at Laura’s old house. I watch it sink in. The disbelief, the outrage and then the guilt.
He swallows hard and looks down at the asphalt before looking back at me.
“We get her safe and then we settle this.”
“Wright will be easy. If this is because of Mathews…” I trail off and shake my head, knowing that’s a fight I’ll need heavy backup for.
“We have Fletcher,” he reminds me as I open my car door. “And cash to buy men who don’t have a dog in this fight.”
Looking between him and the rest of the scattered crowd, I wonder how easy it’s going to be to get to Mathews. To get revenge and ensure it doesn’t happen again.
“I know we have men and the arms to do it,” I finally respond and meet his gaze. “I just want it for myself. I want to kill this prick myself.”
Laura
Seventeen. I keep thinking about the number and checking every plate that drives by the Club as I sit here in the front corner booth. I swear the worn amber leather smells like smoke. Everything smells like smoke still. Even after I washed up and put on clothes that had been tucked in drawers at Seth’s house for a year now.
All I smell is smoke.
Another car rides by and it’s not black, it’s a dark red SUV, but I still check its plate. I’ve been doing this all day. I don’t need to find its owner though, not if what Derrick said in the hospital is true. Still, I watch, I check. I’m on guard and trapped here in this booth.
Seth doesn’t want me to leave the Club; I think he’s having Roman keep an eye on me.
I’ll be better when they find that car. I remember that feeling I had. Why didn’t I listen to it? Gut instincts happen for a reason. That air of danger was meant to warn me. I know it deep down. And yet, I couldn’t even remember more than two numbers. It’s okay though, if what Derrick said is right.
Cami’s voice jostles me from my thoughts about last night. “Hey, you good?”
“Yeah,” I answer her as quickly as I can. I have to clear my throat and take a drink of the Sprite she set down in front of me.
“Ugh,” I groan and nearly spit it out, not expecting the strong taste of vodka. With the back of my hand over my mouth, I barely keep it down.
“I thought you liked vodka?”
“You spiked it?”
“You need a drink,” she says, emphasizing the word need before sitting down next to me. The seat groans and I watch another car go by. It’s black this time, but another SUV and not a sedan. Still, my heart starts to race, pounding against my rib cage. I want them to find whoever it was so I can stop worrying that he’ll come back. That’s what it comes down to. I fucking hate this feeling that claws at me.
“I know you’re shaken up,” Cami says, trying to soothe me. She has no idea. I have no intention of telling her that it wasn’t an accident. She doesn’t need that worry in her life. But I wish I had my friend to confide in.
As she consoles me, telling me the insurance company will pay out and how she’s certain some things will be able to be recovered from the house, I wonder if this is what Seth feels like when I try to talk to him after a hard day. Her hand lands on my knee under the table and she looks at me with wide, innocent eyes. “It’s going to be okay,” she tells me like she means it. Like she knows for sure it will.
I’ve heard it so many times. It’s going to be okay. It never is.
“I hope so,” I answer her weakly.
She pats my knee, giving me a sweet smile.
“You know it will,” she says with a raised brow, and a look on her face that says, we’re choosing to be positive.
In this moment, I almost want to tell her the truth just so I can see that look fall.
I want to tell her how I told Seth about the black sedan and how Derrick knew right away who it belonged to, or at least he thinks he does. I want to tell her all this shit happened because of the men we love. Dumb for dick. It’s a saying Cami has when certain women come into this bar. We are dumb for dick.
That would take that smile right off Cami’s face and wake her up about who she’s dating.
All the snide thoughts ping-pong around my head and I know they’re only there because I bit my tongue when Seth leaned down to kiss me before he left. I didn’t have the words to give him last night. I felt it all bottled up, but nothing would come. This morning though, I’m full of plenty of words. They aren’t meant for Cami though.
“Right,” I tell her, forcing a smile to my face. “I know everything will be okay,” I lie to her.
She grabs the edge of the open textbook on the table, dragging it to face her so she can read it.
“I’m not sure you’re going to get much enjoyment from Physiological Integrity by—” I say as I grab the book so I can lift it up and peek at the spine of the textbook.
“I don’t even know how to pronounce the first word,” Cami says, cutting me off and then she laughs. It’s contagious so I end up laughing too, for the first time today. She glances at the papers in front of me.
“Applications,” I say, answering her unspoken question. “I got a really good score on that practice test I took so I’m applying. I’m really going to do it. I think I have a good shot at getting into a lot of good schools.”
“Oh.” Just like that, her happiness vanishes. “Where are you going?” she asks and her hands find her lap. She picks at her thumbnail—a nervous habit she’s had for as long as I’ve known her.
“Not far,” I reassure her.
“Right,” she says and nods her head with her eyes closed and that simper reappears. “Seth wouldn’t want you to go very far.” With her worries eased, I add another to mine.
The school I want to attend, one I thought I’d never be able to get into, is across the country. Maybe I could just leave for a little while. The voice in my head is small and hesitant. Just a little while, just to get some distance.
“Hey.” Cami’s voice brings me back to the moment. “It’s going to be all right,” she says, encouraging me.
“I know,” I answer her and snag my pen as if I’m going to fill out these applications. I’ve been staring at them all day and I can’t bring myself to do it. I lie to her again, but it feels easier this time because I picture Seth telling me the same, like he has so many times, “It’ll be all right.”
I’ve never thought of myself as strong. Never.
I grew up surrounded by men with guns. Men who made threats and made jokes about women who looked like me. Jokes about how easy women were. My father would tell me that all men were pigs but him.
He was a pig too, though.
I suppose it didn’t bother me that I wasn’t a strong woman until tonight. Until I’m here sitting cross-legged on the floor of Seth’s living room, sunk into the deep blue rug I picked out for him, staring at cardboard boxes filled with my few remaining possessions that weren’t destroyed by the fire or the water damage.
“We can get the smell out,” Seth tells me from the kitchen. I listen to him open the fridge and get a beer. It’s followed by the sound of a drink being poured and I figure that one’s for me.
The words I’ve been thinking all day are stuck somewhere deep down my throat. Like I’ve swallowed them, even though inside I’m begging for them to come up. He needs to hear exactly what I’m thinking.
He needs to know.
I have to stare at the large black imprint on the cardboard box to say it. It comes out all wonky, like it’s scratched its way up. “I want you to get out of the business.”
“What?” I hear him reply from the kitchen and close my eyes. I feel lighter already having gotten that off my chest. Even if I know exactly how he’ll respond.
“You
need to get out.” My voice is louder this time, stronger, and for a moment I question if I was really so weak. Until I see him.
Seth makes me weak.
“Get out?” he questions but it doesn’t sound like it. His expression is emotionless at best, and disapproval riddles his gaze.
He hands me the drink he made. Smells like Sprite, and I imagine there’s vodka swirling in it alongside the ice cubes. He knows it’s my favorite, which makes this conversation hurt all the more.
I can’t say it again, not while he’s looking at me like that. It feels like my chest is hollowed out. Like my own damn heart abandoned me. My throat’s dry when I try to explain, but still nothing comes. Yeah, I was never a strong woman.
“You want me to get out of the life,” he says, repeating my words back to me with no emotion behind them and then stares straight ahead, still standing while I’m seated. His gaze is on the blank TV screen that’s hanging on the wall when he takes a drink of his beer. “It’s not like that, Babygirl.”
“Then what is it like?” I ask him, listening to the ice clink against the glass and taking a heavy gulp and then another. There isn’t enough alcohol on the West Coast to save me from this moment.
Seth’s quiet and so I lift my gaze to his. “Because I don’t like the way it feels anymore. I don’t think—”
“You knew,” he says, cutting me off, and his tone is accusatory. It’s what he always goes to. I knew he was in the life when I started seeing him. I did. I admit that. Times were different then. It was kill or be killed. There was no in-between. I fell in love; how could I not? I’m not the strong one. I was never the strong one.
The bottom of his beer clinks down hard on the coffee table. The cords in his neck tighten as he swallows and looks down at me. He opens his mouth, but he doesn’t have any more words for me.
It hurts so fucking much. “I love you,” are the only words I can whisper. That’s what it always comes down to for me.
