Pandemonium (MC Sinners Next Generation #1)

by Bella Jewel

  “Ava?”

  I jerk my head up and see Lucas standing in front of me, his arms crossed, wearing a white rolled up button-up shirt, and a pair of slacks. The shirt is tucked in messily and god, he looks good. So good. I stand and look up at him. “How’s it going, Detective?”

  He studies me, and his face hardens. “I don’t have time for this.” He turns and starts walking off.

  Desperation hits me hard and I know I can’t bear to have him walk away. “Please,” I cry out.

  He stops, his fists clench and unclench and he turns slowly, staring at me. “What do you need, Ava?”

  I meet his eyes. “To talk?”

  He jerks a thumb down the hall. “Five minutes.”

  I follow him into his office and as soon as the door is closed, he growls, “You’re high again. I’m considering arresting you for being so damned careless.”

  He storms to the window, places his hands on it, and looks out. He’s angry at me. Disappointed. I don’t know this man, but for some reason I’m drawn to him, and the disappointment I see in his face bothers me. I take a step towards him, then another, the alcohol and drugs in my system making me bold.

  “You’re angry at me,” I whisper, stepping up behind him.

  He doesn’t move, but his body tightens. “Yes, I am. You push me away, tell me not to pity you but you come to me like this . . .”

  “Because I’m careless. Because I don’t care.”

  He flinches. “Because you’re careless. Because you don’t care.”

  “And . . .?”

  He doesn’t look at me. “You’re letting it beat you, kid, and it’s fucking killing me to watch, knowing that I’m damned helpless to stop it. You have people to help you, and you won’t lean on them.”

  “They can’t help me,” I whisper.

  “Why not?” he mutters.

  “My dad is a biker.”

  “He is.”

  “You can’t see the problem with this situation?”

  He steps even closer, leaning down until our lips are nearly touching. “The problem here lies in you, Ava. You have family. You have friends. You have the help you need.”

  “All of which I can’t take. You’re the only person I can . . . I don’t know . . .” I whisper.

  “And why is that?”

  “You know the answer to that, Detective.”

  “So you’ll have me believe,” he says, reaching up and curling his fingers around the back of my neck, “that you have nobody.”

  “Yes.”

  “Except me.”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes flash. He drops his hand and stands. “I was never any good for this. You need to rely on your family.”

  My lip starts trembling and I can’t hold it back. Tears explode and run down my cheeks. “I can’t,” I croak, and he stops, but doesn’t look back at me. “I can’t. I have no one. Please, Lucas, I need someone.”

  He walks to the door and puts his hand on the knob. “I don’t think I can be that someone.”

  With that he walks out.

  ~*~*~*~

  I catch a cab home and thankfully, no one is there. No doubt they’ve already come by and looked. I quickly step in and close the door, locking it with the chain and the key, then I set the alarm. Then I go to my cabinet and search desperately. I have no alcohol left. I pull bottle after bottle out and toss them on the floor with a smash. A scream rips from my throat, and I throw the last bottle across the room and it smashes against the wall.

  I turn and run into my room, slamming the door with a ragged cry. I drop to my knees on the floor and whimper helplessly. So alone. So broken. I want to stop seeing her face. I want it to go the hell away.

  I curl into a ball on the floor, and I cry myself into a pitiful, restless sleep. Images of her, of Bethy, dance in my mind, tormenting me. And nothing I can do will make it go away.

  A warm hand curling under my legs and back jerks me awake from my sleep. I sleepily try to figure out what’s going on when a low voice fills my ears. “Say nothing,” he warns, his voice soft but stern. “Just say nothing.”

  Lucas.

  I start to cry again as he walks me to the bed, jerking back the covers. He lays me down, and I hear rustling as he kicks off his boots and tosses his shirt. Then he slides in beside me, rolling me to him, tucking me into his strong arms and pressing my face into his chest. We both lie still and stiff for sometime, neither of us comfortable with the situation. I don’t know him. He doesn’t know me. Yet he’s here, under the strangest circumstances, and I can’t help but be grateful for that.

  He keeps stroking my hair until the sobbing stops, and my body finally relaxes into his. His breathing deepens, and the bicep that’s curled around me becomes less tense. My eyelids flutter closed and when darkness takes me, I feel him squeeze me tighter.

  Grateful. Yes.

  Definitely.

  ~*~*~*~

  I wake in the morning without a man wrapped around me, and I wonder if Lucas was an illusion. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, and make a little squeaking sound when I see Lucas sitting on the chair in the corner, pulling on his boots. He’s got his white shirt back on but it’s unbuttoned. I can see his hard body beyond it, and the colors of his tattoos peeking out.

  “You weren’t a dream.”

  He looks up and those intense brown eyes meet mine. “Listen,” he says, standing, leaving his laces undone. His hair is messy, he’s got two-day growth on his chin, and he looks rugged. So rugged. So handsome. “I don’t know you. You don’t know me. Last night was . . . it was . . .”

  “Comfort,” I whisper, looking at him through my lashes.

  He stiffens. “Ava, I can’t be what you need. I’m a cop, a good cop, and when it comes to my job, I follow protocol and provide the right level of comfort for those who come in, but this isn’t my job, this is outside of my job, and it’s personal. I don’t know how it became personal, but it did. It can’t go on.”

  “What do you think it is I want from you, Lucas Black?”

  His eyes flash. “What you want and what I’m willing to give vary, kid.”

  “What you gave me last night, it helped. I don’t know why, considering I don’t know you, but it helped. Nothing has helped except alcohol and . . .”

  “I can’t be the binding factor, Ava. I can’t be what puts you back together. You need to find your strength on your own.”

  “I’ve tried,” I whisper.

  His eyes soften slightly. “I’m not even supposed to be here, doing this.”

  “I just need someone to talk to,” I whisper. “A friend.”

  His eyes flash. “I don’t know how to be a friend.”

  “What you did last night—that was all you needed to do.”

  He sighs, dropping his head and running his hands through his hair. “I’m risking everything doing this. It’s wrong for more reasons than one.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  He looks up. “Because I’ve seen the pain in your eyes in my own before, and I know how it fuckin’ feels.”

  “It’s still there.”

  He narrows his eyes. “What?”

  “The pain in your eyes. Maybe you could use my help as much as I could use yours.”

  He studies me, his eyes reading mine like an open book. “I can’t promise anything, but if you can’t breathe, if you’re struggling . . . you know where I am. It’s the best I’ve got.”

  “That’s enough.”

  “But you have to stop the drinking. It won’t fix anything, and if I so much as see you pop a pill again, you and me will go and visit the station.”

  I smile—it’s weak, but it’s there.

  He smiles—weak, but there.

  “I was right,” I whisper.

  “What about?”

  “You do have dimples when you smile, Detective.”

  CHAPTER 16

  THEN – LUCAS

  “How’s the paperwork for the case going?” my partner, Johns
on, asks, as he walks into my office, tucking his dark hair behind his ears and crossing his arms.

  “It’s going,” I mutter. “Worst part of the job.”

  “You’re tellin’ me. At least it’s another case down.”

  “Yeah,” I say, rubbing my forehead, tired.

  It’s been seven months since I lost my baby girl. Seven long, broken, empty months. In that time, I’ve thrown myself back into work instead of dealing the way I should. I know that isn’t the right thing to do, but it’s the only thing that helps me cope. The busier I am, the less time I have to miss her with an emptiness that’s all consuming.

  Jennifer, on the other hand, is not coping.

  She’s drinking more, she’s taking more drugs, and she’s staying out late doing god knows what. I’ve asked her, I’ve helped her, I’ve held her, but nothing is working. She doesn’t want my help. She doesn’t want to stop. The harder she sinks, the worse it gets for both of us.

  “Detective?” my receptionist, Amelia, says coming into the office.

  “Yeah?” I respond, my voice tired.

  “Your wife is out front.”

  She is? What the fuck is she doing here? She never comes into work.

  “Is she okay?” I ask.

  Amelia frowns. “Ah, I think she may be drunk.”

  Dammit.

  I push my chair back, and Johnson gives me a concerned look. I storm out of my office and see Jennifer sitting next to a woman who is waiting for her drunk husband that was brought in two hours ago. I storm over, taking her by the arm and lifting her to her feet. “What’re you doing here?”

  “Talking to this nice lady,” she slurs.

  “Come with me.”

  I pull her down the hall, and when we reach my office, I slam the door and spin on her. “Enough is enough; I’m not doing this anymore. You’re going to get the help you need, like it or not.”

  “You’re being so dramatic.” She laughs, swaying. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re drinking, you’re doing drugs, you’re losing weight and you lost your job—don’t tell me you’re fucking fine. You asked me to get better. For what? For you to fucking drown?”

  “I’m fine, Lucas.” She waves a drunken hand. “You need to ease up.”

  “I’m done here. If you want this marriage to work, you and me are going to get you the help you need.”

  “I don’t need help!” she yells.

  “You need fucking help.”

  “No,” she slurs. “I don’t.”

  “I’m not arguing with you. I’m taking you into a clinic, a program—I don’t fucking care. Dammit, you’re my wife, but I won’t live the rest of my life like this.”

  “Why don’t you fucking leave then?” she screeches. “Why don’t you go away? You don’t fuck me, you don’t love me—you just push me away.”

  “I’m trying!” I bellow. “I got out of that house. I fixed shit with my family. I came back to work. I’m trying to fucking breathe. What are you doing?”

  “The same!” she snaps.

  “That’s not fucking trying.”

  “To you!” she bellows.

  “We’re done here, Jennifer. You either take the help I’m giving you, or you walk. What’s it going to be?”

  She leans in close. “I’m going to fucking walk!”

  Then she turns and stumbles out.

  Fuck.

  ~*~*~*~

  “You’re going to be okay,” I soothe, stroking a cold cloth over Jennifer’s forehead a week later.

  She didn’t walk.

  She came back sober and begged for my help. I locked her in the bedroom and I took a week off work, and for the last eight days I’ve been listening to her cry, scream and beg in that room. I’ve cleaned her vomit. I’ve bathed her. I’ve listened to her abuse and her pleading. I’ve stood by her side, because she’s my wife, and she needs my help.

  “Please, Luke,” she croaks. “Just a tiny bit.”

  “No, baby,” I murmur. “No.”

  “I need it!” she screams.

  “You don’t. We’re going to get through this together.”

  “No,” she yells. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Luke please.”

  I keep stroking her face, gliding the cloth over her damp forehead. “Got you, honey. It’s okay.”

  “Please,” she wails before drifting off into sleep.

  I drop my head against the wooden pole on the bed. When the fuck did life turn into this big, ugly mess?

  CHAPTER 17

  NOW - AVA

  My fingers tremble as I rock back and forth, fighting the overwhelming urge to grab my keys, go out and get drunk. I didn’t realize how heavily I’d come to rely on the alcohol. Sure, I’m not an alcoholic, but it has become my lifeline, the only way to cope. I promised Lucas I’d try to stop, try to fix myself, but it’s four days in and I’m struggling more and more with every passing second.

  An agonized groan escapes my lips, and I scratch at my legs. Surely it wouldn’t matter if I just had one sip, just to calm my nerves. I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to keep fighting against myself every day. Tears gush down my cheeks, and I’m equally as tired of them as I am of feeling so helpless.

  My phone rings beside me.

  I glance at it and see Lucas’s number. He calls me every day since the night he gave me comfort. Some days we have a one-minute conversation, other times he just tells me about his day, but he always calls. It’s getting less awkward with each conversation. I decide to take the call, needing him in a way that scares me. I know nothing about him, but he was placed in my life for a reason, and that’s enough for me.

  “Lucas,” I whisper into the phone.

  “What’s wrong, kid?” he says, the second he hears my voice.

  I start to cry harder. “It’s hard. I’m . . . I’m trying so hard, but I don’t know how to cope without it.”

  “Sit tight. I’m coming over.”

  He hangs up, and I drop my phone. I sit there for twenty minutes, my head in my hands, breathing deeply. I hear my door open and close and the sound of heavy boots walking across my living room. Then a hand curls under my chin, and I lift my head to see Lucas kneeling in front of me, his eyes concerned.

  “How long has this been happening?” he asks, touching my clammy forehead.

  “I’m trying,” I croak. “I don’t want to drown, but it’s so hard not to drink. It’s the only thing that makes it feel better.”

  “There is another way,” he says, studying my face. “You could talk about it, let me in. Tell me what really happened and start to heal.”

  “I told you what happened,” I whisper, turning away.

  His hand cups my face. “You lied.”

  “Lucas . . .”

  “If you’re not going to let me in, Ava, I can’t help you.”

  “I told you everything I know,” I say desperately.

  He meets my eyes. “If you’re not willing to feel this, it’ll never leave.”

  “I am feeling,” I yell.

  “You’re not. Feel, Ava,” he says, his eyes hard.

  “I am!”

  “You know what,” he says, his voice resigned. “I can’t help you if you won’t let me in. Call me when you’re ready to talk.”

  He turns and starts to walk away. The very idea of him leaving scares me so much that I’m speaking before I have even thought about it.

  “He shot her in front of me,” I cry, and he flinches. “She was in there with me. She begged and she pleaded, too much, and he shot her. Right in front of me. I . . . I . . . it was so awful. Her head . . . Lucas, her head . . .”

  He leans down, scooping me into his arms. I cling to him and cry so hard it hurts. I bury my face into his shoulder and hiccup as he sits on the sofa, holding onto me tightly. “Hush,” he murmurs. “You’re going to be okay. It’ll ease. Those images will ease.”

  “They won’t leave me,” I wail, clutching him. “Every time
I go to sleep I see her eyes, hear her screams, and then see the moment she was killed. It was horrific; I could have never imagined something so awful in my worst nightmares. She was my age, Lucas. She had so much ahead of her.”

  He doesn’t say anything; he just holds me tight as I cry the tears I should have cried when I got home that awful night. I bottled it in, locked it away and drank until I couldn’t feel. Now I can’t hold them back. Lucas is the first person I’ve let see the pain that lies deep in my heart, and now I’ve let him in, I can’t stop it gushing out.

  “That’s a girl,” he murmurs. “Get it out. Come back from this.”

  “I don’t want to feel this for the rest of my life. I don’t want to see her face. I want it to go away.”

  “It’ll never go away,” he says, his voice pained.

  I start to cry harder at that harsh reality.

  “But it’ll get easier, kid. It’ll get easier until you learn to breathe again.”

  I make a pained, desperate sound, and clutch him tighter.

  “Drinking won’t make it go away; you have to feel it, process it, move on from it. Talking, letting people in, it’s the only way to do that.”

  “I don’t want to feel it.”

  “But you’re going to. I won’t stop until you get every piece of ugly from your heart.”

  I bury my face into his neck and I let it in. I let myself see her face. Hear her screams. Feel her pain. I cry so hard my body shakes and the sobs turn silent. He holds me through it all.

  I cry myself into exhaustion. Lucas strokes my hair, holding me with his strong arms, keeping me together when I’m ready to fall apart.

  And fall apart I do.

  There in his arms, I let it all go.

  ~*~*~*~

  I wake in my bed, my entire body hurting. I don’t know what the time is— I assume it’s late in the evening and I cried myself to sleep in Lucas’s arms.

  I don’t know where he is now. The room is dark.

  I sit up, and my body groans in protest. I’ve cried so much, let so many emotions release, that everything aches. Like the last few months of pent-up pain all came gushing out in one hit.

  I rub my eyes and throw my legs over the side of the bed, standing. I fumble my way to the door and push it open. The light in my hall is on and as I move down the hall, I see the kitchen light is on, too. I step around the corner to see Lucas standing, talking on the phone softly. He looks up when I come in, and his eyes do a quick onceover of my body before settling on mine. I give him a weak smile.