Revenge - Reckless Renegades 1

by Gadziala, Jessica

  All of the anger I had been feeling welling up due to his presumptuousness melted away when I realized that he hadn't been sprucing the clubhouse up because he wanted to, to suit his aesthetics, but because he wanted it to feel more comfortable for my sister when she came back. He'd done it all without being asked, without making a big show of it. He'd just quietly went about making the adjustments, not expecting gratitude, not expecting anything. Just because it was what he thought of as the right thing to do.

  It would be easy for an outsider to write off a man like Thayer as bad, as a criminal, as an stain on decent society.

  There was no way to deny it, when you got up close, though, that he was a good man. One of the best, even.

  He was all about loyalty, about taking care of those you loved, about providing for everyone who depended on him. He went out of his way for people he loved. He went above and beyond when no one even expected it of him.

  I had never known someone like him before.

  I was sure I would never meet someone like him again.

  "Thank you for doing this," I told him, voice thick with sincerity. "You didn't have to."

  "Yes, I did," he corrected. He'd told me on more than one occasion that he felt responsible. For everything. For all of it. For the fact that Doug was even in the club in the first place, that he had managed to sew discontent among the men, that Thayer got into a fight that had gotten him locked up - even though everyone knew he'd been set up with that one - that his brothers got shot. That Doug was able to take over, and let the men take advantage of the dancers at the club, that Bea lost two years of her life in the basement, that Roux had needed to take the role that was his of being protector. And, yes, even that Doug got his hands on Joey, got her addicted, abused her, that I had worried myself sick trying to get her out, that I had gotten shot.

  He took all of that blame onto his shoulders, even if none of us felt it belonged there. It was a heavy weight to carry, but he bore it like it was nothing, like it didn't affect him at all.

  "No, you didn't. But I really appreciate you doing it. It is really sweet. And I will mention it all to Joey the next time I get her one the phone. But if she tells me that she isn't comfortable coming back here, I can't make her. It wouldn't be fair. It could compromise her sobriety. It could put her in a dark place. If we need to go somewhere else, we are going to."

  "No."

  "This isn't a debate, Thayer."

  "I agree," he said, nodding. "You're just not going."

  "What are you going to do? Hogtie me?" I asked, watching as his eyes lit up.

  "Hold up a minute. I am just enjoying that visual," he told me, making me roll my eyes even as my lips twitched.

  Normally, anger came easily to me.

  When it came to Thayer, though, I could never seem to hold onto it.

  "Come on, be serious."

  "I am being serious, babe. You can't go. I can't risk that. I can take a lot of shit. And I can take it in stride. But you getting hurt? No. I can't fucking take that. So this isn't a conversation we are having, because there is nothing to talk about. You have to stay here."

  "Like I said, I will talk to Joey about it. It's pointless to keep fighting about it until that happens."

  With that, I turned to walk away, only to find the door slammed shut when I had just opened it, feeling Thayer's body press in behind me.

  "Hey," he said, voice near my ear. "I respect your need to protect your sister, babe. Believe me, I get that. But because of that, you have to understand why I need to protect you."

  "Well, I lov..."

  "Exactly," he cut me of, resting his chin on my shoulder, letting his meaning sink in.

  He loved me.

  I was almost expecting him to say psych, to take it back, to tell me I was an idiot to think he meant that.

  I knew with complete certainty that no man had ever felt that way about me before. I was too prickly; it was hard to love something that was always stabbing you.

  Sure, Joey loved me. There was no doubt about that. But that was a different kind of love. Familial. Based on a lifetime of being at each other's side. There were even moments where I wondered if, were we not related, were I not a mother figure to her, would she have still loved me? Was her love a sort of obligation based on proximity and dependency and shared memories?

  I had never allowed myself to really hope someone - a man - could actually fall in love with me. To me, that was the stuff of fairy tales and Joey's romance novels. Pure fiction. Nothing even partially based in reality. Sure, every girl liked a good rom-com about how the pain in the ass, hard-headed, opinionated woman somehow finds a good, sweet man to love her, to show her how to relax, to let her hair down - sometimes even literally - but I could never see why a man would choose a difficult woman when there were millions of easier women, softer women, women who didn't prick you when you got close.

  It just wasn't realistic.

  I understood that it wasn't something I could expect in my life.

  I wrote it off entirely a while back.

  So a huge part of me wanted to tell him he was mistaken, that he couldn't have loved me, that men simply didn't love women like me.

  "Sera?" Thayer's voice called, snapping me out of my swirling thoughts. "You can relax, babe. I told you I loved you, not that I want to sedate you and sell your organs on the black market."

  That made a strange, awkward snorting laugh bubble up and burst out of me.

  "You don't... have to say things like that."

  "I don't even have a contact for selling black market organs," he told me, voice light.

  "You know what I meant," I insisted.

  "Alright, turn around," he demanded, then didn't give me a chance to make that decision for myself, grabbing me, turning me, pushing me back against the door, arms planted on the door jams, caging me in. "Thought you knew me well enough by now, but I guess I still have to clear some shit up with you."

  "Thay..."

  He wasn't going to let me interrupt.

  "I am not someone who says shit just to say it. I don't blow smoke. I don't fucking have to. So when I say something, I mean it. So you don't get to question if I am being sincere. I am. Did I expect this to happen? Honestly, no. I thought you'd be a fun lay. I figured we'd have some fun, hit the sheets, get one another out of each other's system, then move on. I didn't think anything would come of it. We'd have some good times; I'd protect you while we did it. Two birds and all that shit. But then you went ahead and became something important. I don't know the exact moment, but it happened. And this is our reality now. I love you. And the people I love get protected. Even if their stubborn asses don't want my protection," he told me, ducking his chin a bit, brow raising.

  "I, ah..." I had no idea what I was supposed to say. Even if I could say anything. My head was swirling. No thought could seem to plant, root, grow.

  "I'm not expecting anything from you, babe. I said it because I meant it. I don't want you to saying it until - if - you mean it either. Besides, I have your love words from last night to hold me over."

  I was not someone prone to blushing. That was Joey's thing. She was more susceptible to being shy or embarrassed. I was generally too jaded for it. But I felt my cheeks heating up at the mention, remembering what I had said in bed the night before.

  I love your cock.

  I really didn't actually say it. I screamed it. Loudly enough that I was pretty sure his brothers, sister, and Roux all heard the declaration.

  "You know what?" he asked when I said nothing.

  "No, what?"

  "Think I need more of those declarations," he told me, pressing in, making me feel his hard cock against my hip.

  He got them.

  TWELVE

  Sera

  She wasn't the old Joey.

  That realization had been hard to accept.

  At first, I had chalked it up to the time away, to the plane ride, to jet lag, to settling into a new space with new people all aro
und. Of course, she was feeling a little different. Everything around her was different. She was adjusting.

  So I didn't analyze the fact that she didn't hum or smile while she was making her tea or a snack. I didn't think twice about her sleeping a lot. I didn't feel like there was any reason to worry about her needing some time to herself after all she had been through, what she was still going through.

  Because, well, she was still a captive, in a way.

  We couldn't come and go as we pleased. Sure, all we had to do was mention wanting to go somewhere, do something, and a couple of the guys would make it happen, but that was still its own kind of prison.

  I expected it to take time.

  A couple weeks and then she would be bubbly and happy and reading her romance novels and insisting we do facials or paint our nails or warm up the clubhouse a bit.

  Yet a couple weeks passed, and nothing changed.

  There was a darkness in her eyes I didn't like seeing there. Not drugged. She'd even weaned off the subs in rehab despite many people staying on them for six months or even two years. She insisted to her therapists that she didn't want anything in her system anymore or ever again. She wouldn't even touch a beer, despite never having had any issues with alcohol.

  But the darkness, it was all her own. It was a new part of her identity that didn't seem like it was going to go anywhere. This meant that I was going to need to accept it, embrace it.

  Even with darkness, she was still my sister.

  I just... couldn't shake the feeling of guilt, despite knowing that what happened to her was because of Doug, not me.

  "You got to let that go, babe," Thayer insisted, wrapping an arm around me when I sounded dangerously close to tears. And I simply never cried. Ever. I wasn't allowed the weakness as a child. It became a habit that stuck.

  "I just... it is my job to protect her."

  "When she was a baby, yeah. But she wasn't a baby, babe. She was an adult. She made a decision that got her in a bad situation. Thousands of women do it every day. It's not their fault. And it's not the fault of their family or friends. You got to let that shit go. She's safe. She is learning to adjust to her new reality."

  I hated that.

  I hated that there were parts of life that I couldn't protect her from, that ugliness could touch her, that it could undo all the work I had done for the past twenty-something years to raise someone well-adjusted, happy.

  Thayer was right, though. I would have to let it go. I was going to need to get to know this new Joey, understand what she needed from me now instead of trying to force her to fit into the mold of someone she had once been.

  Besides, in some ways, I had become a bit different from the person I had once been as well. I had maybe softened a bit. I had learned to trust, to lean on people, I found reasons to smile, as she had always been trying to get me to do.

  I felt good.

  Happy.

  The only dark spot on it was her clear unhappiness.

  "Look, she's enrolling back in school in the spring. She will likely be able to start working again by then too. Hopefully. Those things are going to help her feel more like herself."

  "You're right," I agreed, nodding. Once we weren't unsure of our safety, once Doug was finally taken care of, then we would all feel a lot better. Lighter. Freer.

  Unfortunately, though, no one was making any headway on that issue.

  Focusing on that was only going to sour my mood even more, so I pushed it away.

  "Go see what she's up to. Ask her if she wants any Chinese," he offered, giving me an excuse to go see her, knowing I always had one so she didn't think I was invading her personal space, like I was checking up on her. Even if I clearly was.

  "Thanks," I agreed, giving him a quick kiss before rushing off, going down the hall to knock on her door.

  "Yeah?" she called, just loud enough for me to hear.

  "Hey you. We are ordering Chinese for dinner," I told her, inviting myself in. Normally, it would feel natural to go into her room - even without asking - and dropping down her bed. Doing it now felt awkward, though, and I worried that she could see how uncomfortable I was feeling.

  "Does no one here cook?" she asked, pulling herself up from under the blankets, raking her long hair to one side of her head.

  "Sweetie, you live with a bunch of outlaw bikers and me. It's takeout or frozen pizza. That is the best we can do. Though, Calloway makes a mean omelet once in a blue moon."

  "His room is next to mine."

  It was just an observation, but I felt like there was something else there. "Yeah."

  "He plays his guitar late at night." I hadn't heard that, but it didn't surprise me. More and more - now that he quit his other job - you could find him hanging around strumming. "And sings. I think he is writing his own songs."

  "What are they like?"

  "Sad," she told me. "They're beautiful."

  I didn't like the idea of her liking sad songs. She was a pop music fiend, a love song devourer. But I also understood that music was therapeutic. If she found a bit of healing in Calloway's sad songs, well, then that was good for both of them, I figured.

  "That's great. I hope he will play them for us when they're finished."

  "Dumplings."

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Dumplings. That's what I want," she said, almost like a dismissal, like she regretted sharing what she had with me. Like maybe she didn't want me to be able to hear Calloway's music. Like it was something she wanted to keep to herself. "Steamed," she added, as if I would forget.

  "Like always," I agreed, giving her ankle a squeeze before moving away, letting her have her space.

  "Hey, Sera?" she called just when I reached the door.

  "Yeah."

  "Thank you."

  "For what?"

  "For never giving up on me."

  My heart melted a bit at that.

  "You don't have to thank me for that. It's you and me, kid. Forever."

  And that, I was sure, was what you might call progress.

  I never could have known, of course, that my sister had become very good at something while living with Doug and the others, that all her time hadn't been spent in the misery of detox or the faux euphoria of being high.

  She had been listening, thinking, planning, learning new skills that she had never known before.

  She'd become a very, very good liar.

  And a thief.

  And a plotter.

  I was completely blind to it all, just as she had wanted me to be. All of us to be. Because she knew that, otherwise, we never would have allowed it.

  I certainly wouldn't have.

  As for Thayer, Hatcher, Calloway, and Roux, well, they would have likely wanted to go along with it, but take it over, control it, no matter my objections.

  But no one would have let it happen like she'd planned.

  It was a normal day.

  We got up, begged Calloway to make us all omelets. We ate those and drank coffee before Thayer brought me to work. I worked on a shoulder piece and a pair of friendship tattoos before it was time to head out for the day.

  Without the apartment to worry about, the pressure to make as much money as possible was suddenly gone. It was incredibly refreshing to be able to go home when my scheduled appointments were done instead of sitting around, trying to be the first person to greet a walk-in client in the hopes that they would choose me so I could actually pay a little money to my maxed out credit cards no one should have given me in the first place.

  There was still a little worry about money. Because no matter what was going on between Thayer and me, I did still plan on paying him back for Joey's rehab.

  After work, Thayer and I fell into bed for a bit, then climbed out to eat leftover cold pizza with the guys in the living room, then Thayer and Roux got ready to head to Peaches.

  With a bit of a headache pounding in my temples, I decided the throbbing music at the club was more than I could handle, and opted to hang out
at home with Calloway, Hatcher, and Joey.

  Though Joey had taken a bath then informed us that she was heading to bed early, that she was getting a headache too.

  I had no reason to doubt her, had never known her to feign not feeling well to get out of hanging out with me.

  Eventually, after Advil didn't do jackshit to even take the edge off the pounding, I decided to turn in early too. I figured that Thayer would wake me up when he came home and we could test out that theory about orgasms taking headaches away.

  I was out before one rerun of Everyone Loves Raymond went to credits.

  I didn't see anything.

  And I didn't hear anything.

  Until I heard the gunshot.

  I shot up in bed, my heart already hammering against my rib cage, not sure what I even heard at first.

  Until there was another.

  And another.

  Another.

  All I could think was that we were invaded.

  Only Calloway and Hatcher were around to protect us.

  But Thayer had made sure I would be able to protect myself.

  I flew out of bed, hands scrambling to pull open my nightstand drawer, pulling out the gun I already knew to be loaded since I had done it myself, and made my way to the door.

  By the time I was in the common room, there was a strangling feeling in my throat.

  It only intensified when I saw Hatch and Cal standing outside Joey's door, throwing their shoulders into it.

  The gunshots came from Joey's room.

  Joey.

  I wasn't even really aware of moving across the space.

  I was outside Thayer's room one second, and in front of Joey's the next.

  Cal and Hatch had the door knocked off its hinges and thrown mostly open.

  I wasn't sure what I had been expecting really.

  Joey in a dire situation, bleeding out of multiple gunshot wounds, maybe already dead.

  I certainly never could have imagined that she would be standing facing us in an old favorite light pink nightgown, long hair around her shoulders, feet bare, and arms raised.