The deafening crack of knuckles kissing bone. Jarring you enough to rid you of any coherent thought. If you’re lucky enough, sometimes a bone will break, gifting you the freedom from the shitstorm swirling inside you for that little bit longer.
My uncle taught me the salvation physical affliction can offer. Not intentionally of course. But after Mom died, I was drowning. My heart was broken. My soul destroyed. My life had all but up and left me without a fucking direction.
Then Marcus hit me, and for that split second in time, my heart didn’t ache as much. Truth be told, I forgot it existed. Every depressive thought was replaced by the sweet agony Marcus’ fists rained down on me.
I craved it.
Physical pain; that I could manage.
Emotional pain; that needed to be healed in a way I will never understand.
“You’re up,” Carmichael shouts into the room, the sound of his feet moving away as quickly as they came.
Standing, I roll my shoulders, shifting from foot to foot in a pre-game dance that builds my adrenaline. Cracking my neck one way and then the other, I run my tongue around my teeth.
One full inhale into my lungs and I move from the stench of defeat and victory, mixed together so potently, it’s likely neither actually exist, not in this world.
* * *
“Lost me a lot of money, Shay.”
Carmichael steps out from behind my car.
Opening my door, I throw my duffle inside, never taking my eyes off the fucker. “You should know better than to bet against me.”
“You said you’d give me four rounds.” He steps forward, spit flying from his mouth as he yells.
I raise an eyebrow. “I said three and I have somewhere else to be.”
I hear footsteps sound behind me, but I don’t let myself turn around.
“Don’t make an enemy outta me, asshole.”
He lets me see the glint of his knife held tightly in his hand by his side. A silver spark glowing in the gleam of the streetlight.
I can’t tell how many of his cronies have stepped up behind me, but I’m not stupid enough to turn my back on a fucking junkie, irate that they lost tonight’s hit.
“You pissed a lot of people off tonight.” He steps closer again, making it known he has a fucking death wish.
“Nah, fuckface, that was you. Now put your butter knife away and move the fuck on,” I growl.
He laughs just as the barrel of a gun pushes against my spine.
I blink slowly in irritation. More at myself than anything. I had to know the dickhead would do something unhinged after fucking him the way I did.
“Big, bad Rocco Shay knows he’s about to see Mommy again.”
My eyes flash open. “Bring up my mother again, cunt. I dare you.” I bare my teeth, a threatening growl cutting across the night air.
Shoulders pushing back, my fists opening and closing in anticipation, I have no doubt I look like a wild animal. Feral and unmanageable.
He steps back in fear.
“Wise decision,” I snarl, right as the fucker at my back lifts his gun, whipping it across the back of my head.
“Fuck,” I spit out, grabbing my head.
Carmichael takes the opportunity, my reflexes slowed by the bright yellow dots dancing in my eyesight. I hear his feet shuffle forward, the tip of his knife sliding into my abdomen like a hot knife into butter.
Smooth.
In and out in one quick burst.
I reach for him, but the dickhead with the gun, dissatisfied with his first attempt, whacks the butt of his gun against the back of my head once more.
I stumble against my car; one hand clutching my side, the other my head.
Carmichael is off before I can even consider running after him, my body dropping to the asphalt, eyes falling in and out of focus.
I yell out after them, promising their slow and painful deaths, but the words are nothing but a jumble of gibberish.
Chapter Five
Camryn
“Camryn,” my dad warns and I turn my scowl onto him.
“No,” I argue. “When did our family become so entwined with the Shays?”
Parker clears his throat.
“No disrespect to you, Parker, but your relationship with my sister has absolutely nothing to do with me.”
“Parker is my family, Ryn, which means Rocco is too. And as my sister, I’m asking you to help,” Codi pleads and I hate that she’s playing on my loyalty to her. Can’t she see it’s because of my loyalty to her that I refuse to help?
“Are we all just forgetting that he tried to have Codi killed? That he charged Parker with shooting her. All because he refused to see what was right in front of him. Did I miss the family meeting where it was decided that we’d all just move past this…” I’m yelling. My voice breaking like brittle glass, shards stabbing at our already tender wounds.
My dad clears his throat. “Camryn, sweetheart—”
“Don’t use that voice on me,” I cut him off. “You all may have forgiven him, but I haven’t.”
“The circumstances—”
“I get his pain,” I concede angrily. “I’m not denying him that. But if Kane Shay killed you.” I gesture to my dad standing in his office, the epitome of calm. “Would I have conspired with Codi to take Parker‘s life?”
“Of course not,” Codi argues. “But that’s because we were raised with love. Rocco was molded in hate.”
I sigh. “You’re asking me to do something I don’t want to do. I’ve stitched his face once, that was my good deed.”
“He’s really hurt, Ryn.” Codi’s purple eyes are filled with tears, panic streaked across her features.
“Because he fights for fun,” I contend.
“You’ll have him die because you want to hold a grudge?”
There’s little I hate more than being manipulated. Which is exactly what my sister is doing right now. Playing on my conscience, on an oath I’d taken eagerly.
I step back in shock. “That’s not fair. All I’m saying is that he should go to a hospital.”
“Questions will be asked,” my dad answers.
I laugh sardonically, irritated that they won’t let this go. “Nothing you can’t clear up for him, Father.”
“Watch your tone, Camryn,” he warns, and it’s the first time I’ve ever heard my dad speak to me with such authority, with such demand. “No one is asking you to befriend him, Camryn,” he continues more gently. “All I ask of you is to care for his injury until he’s well enough to go back home.”
I open my mouth to say no, my words catching in my throat as Parker steps forward.
I don’t know if his imposing nature has worn off, the love of my sister quietening the demons that stir within him. Or if I’m just so used to his presence, I can no longer see the darkness.
“You found it in yourself to forgive me,” he speaks quietly. “I’m not askin’ you to do the same for Roc. I’m just asking you to help me save the only family I have left.”
I swallow my animosity.
“He’s all I’ve got left, Ryn. Please.”
My eyes close in defeat.
“Thank you,” he whispers, reading my reluctant acceptance.
“You manipulated me to get your way,” I bite out. “Save your thank you. Where is he?”
“Your old room,” Codi mumbles.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” I storm past her, moving toward the staircase with purpose.
This was the last thing I wanted or needed. Avoiding Rocco Shay has quickly become my number one priority. I don’t want to know him. I don’t want to fall down a hopeless hole of pity because of the life he’s been forced to live. I sure as shit don’t want to understand him or the way his fucking mess of a mind works.
Our similarities have become like a cancer, growing steadily within me. Small moments of accord I felt creeping inside of me last time we spoke, spreading like a wildfire I needed to extinguish. The threat of both destruction
and devastation in finding camaraderie with someone like Rocco Shay all too real.
I throw my door open with an exaggerated force of anger. The handle hitting the plaster with a crack that shakes the wall.
Rocco lies on my bed, a towel held weakly against his side. The usual tan of his skin has faded, replaced by a shade paler than white. His breathing is quick and sharp, his body attempting to pull oxygen in at a rate too quickly. Eyes closed over, his eyelids flutter open. He attempts a smile when he sees me, but it barely forms before it’s replaced with a pained grimace. He coughs; every one of his features twisting in agony before he passes out again.
“Fuck,” I worry.
“What can I do?” I hear the restrained panic in Parker’s voice.
“Towels,” I instruct. “There’s also a medical bag in my closet.” I point to the corner of my old room.
I move closer to Rocco, my fingers gripping at his wrist to feel his pulse.
“Cold,” Rocco breathes out.
“You’re burning up,” I tell him, watching Parker return with my bag.
Dropping to my knees, I pull at the towel pushed against his side. The pristine white of the material is forever lost, now stained red with the blood leaking from his body.
“Hold this here.” I stand, moving aside to let Parker move into my position.
I rush into the ensuite of my childhood bedroom, not recognizing myself in my own reflection, in the crazed look of fear that is staring back at me. I’ve stitched countless patients, seen more blood than a vampire, but never like this. Never with the pressure of my family weighing on my shoulders, daring me to fuck it up so they can attribute blame.
Hair tied up, hands disinfected, I move swiftly back into the room. Parker lets me move into his space, shifting easily as I push him aside. Retrieving a new towel, I dump the blood-soaked one to the floor. “It looks surface,” I offer, taking a closer look. “He likely would’ve been dead if it wasn’t. The knife has nicked at the muscle though. I’ll need to suture that first.”
I pause briefly. “Do you know his blood type?”
Parker nods as I look at him.
“Good. Speak to Dominic, ask him to call in a favor. Get some sent over, just in case.”
He doesn’t look at me again before rushing from the room.
“You are gonna be the fucking death of me, Shay. You’re lucky someone loves you,” I murmur. “I probably would’ve let you die.”
“Do it,” he chokes out and I’m human enough to admit that I feel a little guilty he heard me. More, a little taken aback by the confidence in his request. He’d be happy enough to die right now. To take his final breath and be done with the heinous world he’s been both born into and crafted for himself.
“Sorry, pal. You don’t get to do that to Parker.”
“Better off without me,” he grunts, a soft groan following the anguish in his words.
“You may think that, but he doesn’t, and this may shock you, but I trust him more than I do you.”
A burst of air shoots from his nostrils, an almost laugh that makes me grin.
“Dominic’s on it.” Parker breaks up our private therapy session, rushing back into the room.
“Come.” I usher him over unnecessarily. “Shine the light of your cell onto the wound. Let’s get our god of stupidity all sewn up.”
“Thank you, Ryn,” Parker whispers.
The words echo around the room like a tornado, swirling in and out of my ears like a thick barrel of wind, demanding I hear them. My throat closes over at the distress in his tone, at the complete and utter desperation.
Looking at Parker Shay, you’d be forgiven for making your assumptions. Tall and broad, tattoos peek along the thick line of his neck. They drip down his arms, wrapping his hands in a multitude of colors. His eyes shine in hostility to those who don’t know him, the set line of his jaw communicating the same. But if you dig deeper, if you take the time to know him, it’s easy enough to recognize the scared and uncertain boy he once was.
I don’t acknowledge his thank you, not trusting my throat to open up enough to let my words release evenly. I would be expected to tell him he’s welcome. Of course, I’d help. But he knows the truth. We both know he backed me into a corner, pitchfork of expectation and burden aimed at my heart. He, Codi, and my father forced my hand and I refuse to push away my resentment toward them for that.
I let my thoughts wander away, focusing on the broken tissue and blood in front of me. I lose myself in repairing muscle, in sewing together Rocco’s skin.
His body is an ode to violence. Muscles like stone, skin marred with scars of battles fought. Fresh ones like warning signs of a warrior still standing. Others, old enough to twist at your heart, knowing they were gained in adolescence.
He falls in and out of consciousness as I work, mumbling incoherently, grunting in pain involuntarily.
“Did he tell you what happened?”
Parker’s eyes fall against my profile. “No. A guy we know through Ruin found him. He’d been knocked out, copped a nice blow to the back of the head.”
I glance up at him. “Pull his eyelid up for me,” I instruct.
He does so without delay.
I lean in. “Not dilated,” I murmur.
“Back of his head just looks like a surface wound,” he offers. “It had stopped bleeding by the time he’d woken up.”
“No other signs of a nasty concussion?” I refocus on my hand, indicating Parker move the light back to where I’m working. I concentrate on the needle, watching it slide through Rocco’s skin without issue.
“Mac said he was walkin’ okay, aside from the limp from the knife wound. Told him Carmichael was a dead man, so, coherent enough to throw out threats.”
“Carmichael?”
I feel Parker shrug beside me, anger bristling under his not-so-calm exterior. “No idea. Mac said he’d found him outside some dive where illegal fights pop up from time to time.”
“Sleep is probably good for him then,” I offer. “He hasn’t vomited or slurred his words?”
“Nah,” Parker offers, hand resting on his brother’s leg.
A comfortable silence settles between us, me working, Parker watching on in interest.
“Don’t think I ever apologized to you for the shit Rocco and I started.”
I pause for a beat, clearing my throat on a roll of my shoulders.
“I have to Codi a million times over, a few less to Dominic, but never to you.”
My eyebrows pull together, working to push out his ill-timed apology. “You have their forgiveness, you don’t need mine.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he mumbles. “It’s nice having a family again, Ryn. Roc and I forgot what it felt like.”
I frown. “Bullshit,” I lash out. “You had one another, you had Mira.”
He nods, unbothered by my show of anger. “Mm-hm, but we were too caught up in our own pain to appreciate it all. Codi healed those wounds for me. She taught me that life, no matter how shitty and painful it is, will continue. The sun’ll still rise in the east and you’ll breathe for another day.”
A heavy exhale drifts across my shoulder.
“I should’ve learned all this from my mom’s death, better late than never though, eh? Until your heart stops... there’s always a new fucking day.”
My heart spasms in my chest and I stop what I’m doing to look him in the eye. I can’t determine if what he said was truthful; if it was his new philosophy, or if it goes deeper. If it was aimed at me, or more likely an excuse for his older brother.
“My brother hasn’t found a way to heal his wounds,” he explains. “His sun never rises, Ryn. It’s all fuckin’ dark. Most of the time, he’s ready to give up and Mira only lives in our memories now.”
He clears his throat, the thickness in his voice giving way with the forced cough. “What I’m trying to say is that you guys are my family, so I’m sorry for threatenin’ your people, not lyin’ when I say it’s a
guilt that I’ll carry forever.”
“All finished,” I announce louder than necessary, unsure how to respond. “I’m gonna clean up. Hopefully, Dad’s contact will come through with some fluids and blood.”
He remains quiet, moving into the space I sat to rest his hands atop his brothers.
“You’re forgiven.” I stop, turning on my foot to look at him. “Only because in a small way I saw you as a victim in this fucked up situation. I saw the conflict in your eyes, I felt it. It’s always been obvious to me that you didn’t set anything in motion.” I pause, letting a soft breath go before speaking again. “It was all Rocco. I saw the way you wanted to move away from everything in your past; the hurt, the anger, the hostility. Rocco wanted to watch it grow. He took the person he was supposed to protect and forced him into a corner he had no hope of escaping. You’re forgiven because the moment you were finally set free from your father and uncle, you fell into the trap of someone just as dangerous. Maybe even more so, because you trusted him to know what was best for you.”
I look at his brother, unconscious, the steady rise and fall of his chest comforting me. I don’t need to communicate that Rocco will never have my forgiveness. He’s as poisonous and damaging as Sarah and Marcus were. Their fates are aligned and I don’t wish for them to be pleasant.
Chapter Six
Camryn
I walk into the dining room, stomach grumbling in anticipation. Having just finished a twenty-hour shift, I’ve survived on little but stale coffee and a bran muffin from the hospital cafeteria.
Barf.
I’m famished and as close to an extra on The Walking Dead than I’ve ever been.
“You look awful.”
I blink at Codi. “Thank you.” I place a hand on my heart. “That’s so sweet.”
“She always looks like that.”
I turn to Rocco. The color in his face has returned, making him look a little healthier than he did a few days ago. “Ventured from your prison, I see. Emerging like Gollum, just us creepy and unwelcome.”
He laughs, face twisting in discomfort the shake in his body causes.
Reining Devotion: A Chaotic Rein novel Page 4
