by Marie James
“Where is he staying?” For all the bravado Morrison spoke to his wife with just moments ago, it surprises me that he’s the first one to address me.
Giving him a sympathetic look, I don’t respond.
“He doesn’t want us to know?” Misty’s voice quavers when she speaks. “Why wouldn’t he want to see us?”
He’s angry, embarrassed, pissed, self-destructive, drunk…take your pick.
“I can easily find out where he’s at,” Griffin’s dad warns.
I know he can. He can track my phone and see where I was yesterday, easily. I’m surprised he hasn’t already.
“I know,” I tell him as my mother places a steaming cup of coffee in front of me on the bar. “He asked me not to tell.”
The explanation is in my tone. If he wants to find his son, he’ll have to do the dirty work himself. The information isn’t going to come from my lips. I don’t know why I’m protecting him or keeping the promise I made. He doesn’t have an ounce of loyalty to our friendship or even the common courtesy to treat me with respect, but I can’t bring myself to stoop to his level of betrayal.
At the same time, I feel ridiculous. Can I hate him for wanting something I wasn’t willing to give? I know I have a right to be sad that we want different things from each other, but getting upset that he doesn’t see us having a future together is on me. That’s not his concern.
“He’s fine,” I assure Misty even though drunk and out of his mind isn’t what I would ever want someone to consider fine. “He’ll come see you guys soon.”
Misty nods, giving me a weak smile at the assurance I’m not certain will ever come to fruition.
“Where is everyone else?” I ask my mom.
I avoid making eye contact with my dad because he seems to have something on his mind, and if I don’t get out of here soon, I know he’s going to expect me to stick around and discuss whatever it is that’s bothering him. If I had to guess it would be to warn me away from Griffin if he’s self-destructing because even as much as he loves Griffin’s mom and dad and the man himself, he loves his daughters more.
“Melissa, Cannon, Lawson, and Delilah are out by the pool.” She places her arm around my dad before continuing, “You should change into your swimsuit and join them.”
My dad narrows his eyes for a split second, and I realize my suspicions were correct. He has something to say, and my mother just thwarted those plans for now. Hoping to avoid the situation but knowing I’ll only get amnesty for a short period, I excuse myself and fly up the stairs to my room.
Once my suit is on and my cover-up is in place, I make my way down the stairs and use the side door to head out to the pool as a means to avoid the people in the kitchen. I’m not in the mood to swim or even socialize, but I also refuse to leave my friend alone for another second. She came to New Mexico to hang out, and I took off yesterday, not bothering to seek her out when I got back last night.
We stopped using the indoor pool two years ago. The powers that be decided we were old enough to mingle with the Cerberus guys in the outdoor pool, and we never looked back. The Cerberus guys, however, don’t usually spend much time swimming because they’re always working.
That doesn’t seem to be the case today.
I feel uneasy as I walk to the gate and let myself in as several pairs of eyes turn in my direction. Melissa squeals out a hello just before Cannon picks her up and tosses her into the deep end. Ignoring everyone else, I slide onto a sun lounger next to Delilah.
“How is he?” she asks as soon as I settle.
“Angry,” I tell her. “He’s so hateful. He’s not the same man we grew up with.”
Tears burn my eyes because I’d like to believe that Griffin isn’t happy with who he has become and maybe his quest to be alone has more to do with him needing to find his old self than hating anything and everyone around him.
“I’m sorry.” She grasps my hand and squeezes it between hers while Lawson gives me a sad smile. “What are you going to do now?”
“Go home?” I shrug. “What else can I do?”
“I know you were planning to be here later this summer,” she reminds me.
“Just the thought of being here right now while he’s hurting is unbearable. If I go back over there, he’s going to be a jerk again,” I explain. “I think going back to Rhode Island is best for everyone.”
Delilah nods her understanding just as another squeal draws our attention. Melissa is clinging to Cannon like a monkey as he tickles her sides.
“When did he get so buff?” I ask no one in particular. Not only is his boyish build gone, but he also has tattooed script down his side that I’m secretly interested in getting a closer look at.
“Right?” Delilah says with a giggle. Lawson clears his throat in annoyance. “Oh, hush. He doesn’t have anything on you, babe.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, but I catch the playful twitch of his lips.
“Really?” I ask just to annoy him. “What about compared to those guys?”
We all turn our heads to look at Scooter, Rocker, and a guy I haven’t met yet as they chat and drink beer on the other end of the pool.
“Now those guys…” Delilah lowers her sunglasses down her nose in exaggerated observation. “Those guys may be competition.”
“Really?” Lawson says before jumping up from his lounger. He scoops Delilah in his arms and beelines for the pool. She screeches as he plunges both of them into the water.
I’m staring in shock, but they’re both laughing when they resurface. Delilah wraps herself around her man, and they kiss so long I have to turn my head in embarrassment.
Melissa winks at me as she lunges off the side of the pool at Cannon’s back. He turns and catches her as if the move was choreographed. Their lips are close to touching, but they pull away right before it happens.
“Having fun?” I snap my head up to see my sister and Jameson entering the pool.
“Loads,” I answer. “Where’s the baby?”
“Down for a nap. Mom is listening for her.” Gigi strips her wrap off before crawling up the lounger Delilah was just snatched out of. If it weren’t for the size of her breasts, I wouldn’t even know she’d had a baby. Her hips are slightly rounder, but she looks absolutely amazing. I’m not the only one who notices either. I don’t miss the eyes of some of the Cerberus guys as they take in the show she’s obviously putting on.
Jameson snags her hair in his fist and leans low to her ear. “I’ll spank your ass if you’re not careful.”
I cringe, suddenly wondering if my sister has gotten in too deep with a man who hurts her. Only she doesn’t cower away from him. Instead, a devilish smile tugs up both sides of her mouth.
“Can’t wait,” she whispers back before their mouths crash together.
I’m surrounded by a bunch of sex addicts.
Chapter 9
Griffin
“Fuck my life,” I mutter, attempting to roll over without emptying the contents of my stomach.
My face touches cold metal, and after a long, unfocused look, I realize I’m not only on the hardwood floor, but I’m using a rusty shotgun as a pillow.
I can’t help but chuckle. Amazingly enough, I’ve had weirder nights.
Still managing a death grip on a bottle of whiskey, I carefully sit up without spilling a drop as I look around for the cap. Once the liquid is safe and ready for later, I shove myself up off the floor, grab the full brown paper sack and place it back on the table near the door.
Like a statue, albeit a leaning one, I look around the room to assess any damage that may have occurred last night. Everything seems to be intact. There is no broken furniture or fragments of decorative items littering the room.
A quick look on the small front porch renders the same. Everything seems to be in functioning order, except for my brain, anyway. Short snippets from last night filter through my head, but worrying about the gunfire that may or may not have happened is pointless.
Ho
w I treated Ivy? That’s a different story. I’m surprised her father isn’t here with his own arsenal of weapons and a warning to leave his damn daughter alone. Just the thought of a challenge coming from the President of the Cerberus MC makes me want to seek her out again.
For the first time since showing up at this house, I take a moment to familiarize myself with the layout. Jared wanted me to sleep in a guest bedroom, but I haven’t made it further than the couch. Most mornings, I wake up on the hard floor, exactly like I did this morning.
Not finding any other weapons, I close the door to the master bedroom and head for the shower. The warm water cascading down on me just makes me realize how cold I am in my bones. The warmth of the liquor beckons me from the table in the living room as I towel off and grab a new set of clothes from my bag.
As big a draw as the numbness the alcohol will provide is, the tears brimming on Ivy’s eyelashes yesterday is enough for me to resist, for now at least.
Grabbing my now fully charged phone from the floor, I settle on the sofa and turn the TV on to some church sermon, thinking it couldn’t hurt to have a little Jesus talk filling the room. I don’t listen to it though because the volume is all the way down.
Calling my brother’s phone from memory, I pray he hasn’t gotten a new number. I’ve distanced myself from everyone over the past couple of months, and that included getting a new phone and a new number.
He doesn’t pick up, but the smart ass voice message verifies that it’s his. I hang up and shoot him a text message instead, sure he’s one of the types that doesn’t use his phone for actual calls.
Me: Give me Ivy’s phone number.
Not expecting him to answer soon or even at all, I open the internet browser and look for a restaurant that delivers. My bike is still at Jake’s unless they had it towed after my less than gentlemanly exit from the bar yesterday.
My phone vibrates with a text while I’m on the phone with the only place in town that delivers to my area, so I ignore it until I’m done placing my order for pizza.
Cannon: Don’t call her. Come by. We’re all having fun in the pool.
“Fun,” I mutter. “I wouldn’t even know what that looks like.”
Fun is for people without cares, for those that don’t have a black cloud hanging over their head every second of the day.
Me: Not gonna happen.
If things were different, then fun in the pool would be a great way to spend a hot June day, but things aren’t different. Going over there would only lead to questions from everyone, and facing disappointment in my mentors’ eyes.
Cannon: Why not? Mom is making ribs and twice-baked potatoes.
“Ridiculous,” I pant, but it doesn’t keep my mouth from watering. My mother is an amazing cook, and her homecooked meals are something I used to dream about when I was away from home.
Cannon: Hot babes, too.
This text is accompanied by a sly photo taken of four girls talking poolside with grins on their faces. I recognize Delilah and the twins, but the fourth girl is a mystery.
Cannon: The one in the red bikini is mine. Don’t get any ideas.
Me: New girlfriend?
I don’t know why I continue to engage him. I only texted to get a phone number not to make summer plans with the guy. The guy flailing his arms on the TV draws my eyes, but my mind is elsewhere wondering what it would be like to just let go and spend some time by the pool.
I want nothing more than to forget about the last six months and move on with my damn life, but the pull of my crimes seems determined to drag me under.
Cannon: Ivy’s friend from RI. But she’ll be mine until she goes back home.
The thought of Ivy leaving New Mexico without an apology makes my chest ache, and the fact that I care makes me want to reach for the bottles of whiskey near the door. Maybe it’s because I always imagined her obsession with me being resilient enough to forgive anything, or maybe because hurting her serves no purpose to me. It didn’t make me feel better or help me justify anything. My aggression and spitefulness was pointless. Lashing out at her just because she was the only one to show up and speak to me was ridiculous.
Cannon: Actually, Ivy is the only chick available.
He punctuates the text with a shrugging emoji.
Me: Really? Isn’t that Gigi beside her?
The three little dots appear and disappear several times before his next text comes through. Only it isn’t words but a picture of some huge guy that looks to be at least a decade older than me and meaner than a damn snake.
Me: Who in the world is that?
He looks like Cerberus, and I know there’s no chance in hell Kincaid would ever allow one of his girls to get tangled up with one of his guys in the club.
Cannon: Jameson “Hound” Rawley. He’s Cerberus and Gigi’s baby daddy.
I sputter and blink down at the bullshit my brother just sent me.
“No fucking way,” I hiss as I type out another message.
Me: Gigi is pregnant? Kincaid hasn’t murdered that dude yet?
Cannon: Dude, where have you been?
I know he’s asking sarcastically, but it doesn’t keep me from muttering, “hell, obviously.”
Cannon: She already had the baby. A cute little girl. Kincaid wasn’t happy at first, but he seems like a great guy and perfect for her. She’s back home and settled as much as Gigi can possibly settle.
A baby? I can’t even imagine what it would be like to have that kind of responsibility. Gigi never seemed like the motherly type before, but what the hell do I know about people’s abilities? I wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer until a couple of months ago, so who am I to judge?
Me: Does she seem mad?
Cannon: Gigi? No, she’s smiling and giving her guy a hard time.
I almost don’t correct him. Wouldn’t it be considered rude to spy on Ivy? I know I wouldn’t want anyone doing it to me.
Me: Not Gigi, Ivy.
Cannon: She doesn’t seem as chipper as she normally is. Maybe her last semester at school was tough?
Me: Give me her cell number.
For a guy shooting off texts like his fingers are flying over the screen on his phone, it sure does take him a long time to send the contact information. I thank him because it’s the polite thing to do, and then spend the next hour staring down at the number, terrified to use it.
Chapter 10
Ivy
The sun is near setting for the night, but the day hasn’t given up on the heat yet. We’re all still out by the pool, waiting for Misty and my mom to yell that dinner is ready. It’s been a stress-free day, but the tension from dealing with and worrying about Griffin hasn’t been completely erased from my body.
The call for dinner comes at the perfect time, and like the gentlemen they were trained to be, Jameson, Lawson, Cannon, and a couple of Cerberus guys left by the pool allow us girls to make our plates first.
Misty’s slow-cooked ribs are to die for, and my mom makes the best fruit salad I’ve ever tasted. My mouth is watering by the time I take a seat at one of the picnic tables outside of the pool’s gated perimeter. We’ve spent so much time here growing up, the atmosphere is almost familiar enough to imagine a time when things were easier, when our families were whole, and Griffin wasn’t across town hell-bent on drinking himself to death.
“You left this by the pool,” Melissa says with a quick wink before sauntering off toward the buffet of food.
Looking down at my phone, I understand why she gave a saucy little look before walking away. I don’t have face recognition on my phone, so anyone can light the screen up and see what notifications I have.
Unknown Number: I need you.
My throat turns into a sandpit at the sight of the three words. At first, I think of one of my friends back home, but a quick look on the internet confirms that it’s a California area code.
It’s from Griffin. It has to be, but why on earth would he text me or need me for that matter?
R
egardless of why, I know that him asking for help even before he went into the military would’ve been hard for him to do. With calmness I don’t feel in my gut, I stand up from the table, gather my plate, and walk back inside. Everyone is so busy talking and socializing, no one stops me or questions what I’m doing as I wrap my food in tinfoil, grab my keys, and head out the front door.
I’m nervous and jumpy by the time I pull into the driveway at Griffin’s. The sun has finally given up its place in the sky, but the glare from the dusk is nearly blinding off of the front windows of the small cottage.
A split second after I knock, the door is pulled open. I try for a fake smile, but instead of a greeting from Griffin, I’m faced with the business end of a shotgun.
“Griffin!” I yell and nearly drop the plate of food.
I’ve been around guns my whole life. It’s a given when you’re raised by a military man who runs an MC tasked with SWAT-like missions all over the world, but I’ve never had one shoved in my face. Even as kids, the boys were taught that you never point unless you’re willing to shoot. That knowledge damn near makes my knees bang together in fear.
“Griffin?” I say softer when the weapon isn’t pulled from my face.
“Come in.” He doesn’t open the door and offer me safe passage, rather he grips my upper arms and drags me inside before giving the front yard another once over before shutting and locking the deadbolt on the door.
“What’s going on?” I ask, not sure that I want the answer.
Is this like the movies I’ve seen where he’s somehow stuck in combat mode, and is struggling with knowing what’s real and what’s just leftover from his time at war? Am I safe here? Why didn’t I let anyone know where I was going?
My brain tries to remind me that Griffin would never hurt me. He’s been raised to protect the innocent, but just as fast, I remember the way he spoke to me and treated me yesterday, and suddenly I’m not as comfortable around him as I have been in the past.
Breathing heavily, he just stands at the door and stares at me.
“Where is your bike?” I ask when he doesn’t answer. “Do you need a ride? Is that why you texted?”
