Betrayal of Cupids

by Sophia Kenzie

  A few slow claps followed my final words and were soon joined by the rest of the group. They were clapping for me. They were clapping because I made a promise to them and to Pops.

  Rocket’s voice bellowed over the crowd.

  “To our new president.”

  The crowd mirrored his call. “To our new president.”

  New President? President?

  Shit.

  Grace

  Goodbye, but only for now, Ryan. Know that I love you, today, tomorrow, and past the light.

  ~Your Grace

  Pitiful: completely pitiful. I wanted to crumple it up and throw it away, but I knew if I didn’t send this one, I would never send another. If I didn’t send this letter, Ryan might be waiting forever, not knowing I was doing the same.

  The idea of a pen and paper letter seemed ridiculously humiliating, but with everything that had happened, with my father being killed only two days earlier, the club was sure to be on lockdown. We had been through this before. All Internet and phone use would be monitored. I wouldn’t even be able to look up a recipe without being questioned about it later. So there I was, pretending I had grown up in an age where people had pen pals. I was writing a letter to the man I loved, the man I would always love, hoping that my family wouldn’t intercept it. It was completely pitiful.

  I pushed back from my desk and grabbed an envelope. I scribbled down the address of Ryan’s clubhouse, where I had found myself both the night I was shot and the night I was tortured. My hand shook as I penned his zip code. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I be stronger? Why wouldn’t my nightmares let me forget a single detail?

  After allowing myself a second to breath, I found my balance and stood up. My plain black dress fell below my knees. I took a quick peek in the mirror, preparing myself to leave the room. The neckline of my dress was high on my chest. It was a deliberate move. Any lower and the bright white of the butterfly stitches holding my torn skin together would be visible to everyone. I didn’t want questions. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option. I was about to go to my father’s funeral. There would be plenty of people who would be lining up to talk to me.

  I threw the letter into a little clutch purse and slowly turned the knob to my bedroom door, pulling it open. No one. Was I really alone? I was sure someone had been posted outside my door the entire previous day. Did they give up on me? Maybe I could sneak out of the house unnoticed. I turned the corner and prepared to step down the stairs, when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  I screamed. It was instinct really: one of my daytime nightmares. My body just did not want to be touched.

  “Grace, Grace, it’s just me.”

  Standing a least a foot taller than me was a monster of a man. His shoulders were that of a behemoth, and his tanned skin was that of someone who could only have lived in Florida. While his bare arms were littered with tattoos, a brightly colored leopard on his bicep stood out from the rest. You could practically see every single one of his muscles through his shirt—even when he wore sweaters. That was why Aunt Kathryn and I had jokingly called him ‘Mr. Muscles’. It wasn’t his road name; it was just something we had made up. Come to think of it, I didn’t actually know his road name. I didn’t know his real name, either. Sometimes I really was a bitch, but at this point, after knowing him for just over four years, it was a little too late to ask. I felt bad that it was he was the one tasked with watching over me—a little. Mostly, I didn’t care.

  “I’m sorry, you scared me.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “A funeral, remember?” I was not happy.

  “Oh right.” His eyes grew big. “I’m sorry. I’m… I’m… so sorry.”

  I nodded, hoping to stop the stuttering. It didn’t matter to me that this situation might be awkward for him. I just kept moving.

  “I’ll drive you.”

  “No, thank you.” I didn’t even look back at him.

  “No, I don’t think you understand. I have to drive you.”

  He was cautious and stern, but my words were snarky and sarcastic. “You actually don’t.” I might have been a bit mean, but I did not take lightly to being told what to do.

  I was halfway down the stairs before he caught my wrist in his calloused hand.

  “Let me go!”

  “No.” This time his voice was strong, unwavering. I couldn’t respond; I was too taken aback. No one ever spoke to me with such a tone; no one, at least, who was employed by my father.

  I inhaled through my nose and spoke very slowly. I wanted him to understand what I was saying. “You do not ever raise your voice to me.”

  “Do as you’re told, and I won’t have to.” He lifted his eyebrow as he finished his sentence.

  The nerve! Who did he think he was? Telling me what to do? And on this day, of all days?

  I pulled my hand free and continued down the stairs.

  “I’ll be in the car.”

  He pursed his lips and shook his head. I could tell he felt sorry for me, but pity was not what I wanted. I wanted freedom.

  I’d play his way, but it would not become a habit. I refused to be followed around like a child for more than a day. If someone were really going to come after me, as the club obviously feared, a bodyguard wouldn’t save me.

  Mr. Muscles quickly threw on a jacket and followed me outside. He opened the passenger side door for me, and I crawled into the car. He found his way to the driver’s seat, but instead of starting the engine, he turned to me.

  “We don’t know each other that well,” he said.

  “And I’m fine keeping it that way.” I didn’t want to talk.

  “Well, I’m not. If I’m going to be watching over you, I want you to know you can trust me.”

  This made me turn to him. “Do you actually think trusting you is at the top of my list of priorities right now? Getting through each day is taking enough effort. I don’t need a bodyguard. I need to be alone.”

  He took a second to breathe in my reply, but then fired back, “Grace, I don’t care what you need. I need to protect you.”

  “Don’t you have better things to do?”

  “No. There is nothing more important to me than making sure you’re safe. Nothing.”

  I stopped pitying myself for a second and looked at him. He was serious. “Why?”

  Mr. Muscles sat back in his seat. “Do you remember your first year of college? I was the sad little prospect tasked with following you around campus.”

  “Believe me, I remember that.” I glared at him.

  “I know that might have been annoying for you, but it meant a lot to me. For your father to trust me enough to protect you… it was…” he choked on his words, “for the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged somewhere. And when you spend every day following someone from afar, you learn a good deal about them. Grace, you might not know me, but I know you. And when we showed up the other night and your shirt was torn and there was blood everywhere, the only person I blamed was myself.”

  He now had me hanging on his every word, but I couldn’t have him feeling responsible for that night. “That was not your fault.”

  “Maybe not, but I still feel a responsibility to you, to your father, to keep you safe. Please let me do that. To honor his memory.”

  What was I supposed to say to that? While I understood and appreciated his commitment, I still couldn’t promise him that I would be okay with having him following me around indefinitely. A person just can’t live like that.

  But today was my father’s funeral. It wouldn’t hurt either of us to have someone close by.

  I nodded in response. His right cheek lifted in a sort of muscled half-smile, and he brought the engine to life. The engine. The roaring sound still made every hair on my neck stiffen. I sucked in a breath, pleading to find a way out of the moment.

  Mr. Muscles sensed my apprehension and placed his hand on mine. It should have been comforting, especially after our excha
nge, but I couldn’t stand to be touched. Did I have to spell it out for everyone?

  “No.” I scolded, as I pulled my hand away.

  “I’m sorry, Grace, I just thought…”

  “Well, don’t think. You might think you know me from watching me at college for four years, but today I’m different. From now on, I will always be different.”

  I was stern, mean, but I was hurting. If there were an excuse for behaving like this, my father’s funeral might be the only one. Still, I felt bad. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t this hateful. Or was I? How much truth was in my rant? Would I ever be the same after Sean’s attack, after witnessing the murder of my father? I certainly didn’t feel the same.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just too much.”

  “I know. You don’t need to explain yourself.”

  After my small outburst, the ride to the cemetery was quiet. Mr. Muscles offered a few pleasantries, trying to break the silence, but I was reluctant to respond. I didn’t need a friend or a confidante. I needed this day to be over. I needed to be back in bed.

  I rested my head against the window. This was going to be my life for a while: being escorted and protected everywhere I went. But it wasn’t a life. It was a prison, and I was the prisoner. There was nothing left. I would be completely shackled to my little town, with its population of barely five hundred people. I would be unable to finish my first semester of grad school. Even in his grave, my father had made sure to tie me to the life that he had built, the life that he had wanted for me, the life that I would forever despise.

  November 30

  Grace,

  I wish I knew how to reach you. I’ve thought about coming to Alexandria, but I fear that me showing up in your town after everything that went down Thursday would just end up being a disaster for both of us. I assume that you’re being guarded by one of the Shadows, and that my trying to get close could be seen as a threat. I keep trying to convince myself that we need to lay low, we need to mourn our families right now, but that doesn’t mean that you haven’t been the only thing on my mind for the last thirty-six hours.

  Sean is missing. No one has been able to track him down. We sent three guys out, but their searches have turned up nothing. I can only assume he’s far away, knowing we’re looking for him. He knows he’d be in for a fuck ton of pain if we catch him, so my best guess is that he fled the country. It’s what any of us would’ve done in that situation. Still, I won’t give up hope that we will find him. Until I’m sure of that, I won’t feel safe. I won’t be comfortable that I’m not the one protecting you. I still will never forgive myself for not protecting you in the first place. I knew not to trust him. I should’ve trusted my gut.

  As I’m sure you know, it hasn’t been the easiest of days. The club is in full mourning, and I feel as though it’s completely my fault. I should have been more careful. I shouldn’t have allowed you to leave my sight. I should’ve seen the war coming.

  I can keep going on and on about the things I should and shouldn’t have done, but the thing I know I will do is find a way back to you. This story doesn’t make sense without us together. I need you, Grace. I need your love and your warmth.

  I will find a way to be with you today, tomorrow, and past the light.

  Ryan

  Ryan

  She was standing right in front of me; all I had to do was reach out and take a hold of her. Her soft red curls blew behind her shoulders, revealing the slender indentations of her collarbone. Her chin was lifted, as if she were looking off into the distance. I took one step closer, but she was still at an arm’s length. She wore a lavender silk nightie, which favored one side over the other, showing off her bare shoulder. The fabric clung to her hips, displaying the perfect target for my outstretched hands. Grace finally brought her gaze down, staring directly into my eyes. It was then that my fingertips grazed her skin. The touch sent a stream of chills through my entire body, and my hips instinctually tipped in her direction. I slid my hands down her naked arms, interlocking my fingers in hers. We stood there forever, rocking back and forth to the music that was only in our heads. A loud noise jolted us from our little fantasy, and we both turned toward the sound. I felt a cold, blunt object pushed up against my chest. I looked down, to confirm my suspicions: a gun. My head shot up to ask her for her why, but I was instead met with the face of my uncle. The sound of the gunfire was first. Then came shock. I never felt the pain.

  My eyes sprung open. There was no Grace. There was no Sean. There was no gun. It was morning, but I was disorientated; I hadn’t remembered falling asleep. I looked around my apartment; I had made some mess. Broken glass covered the floor, frames were split in two, and somehow my dresser had ended up on its side, clothes spilling out of each drawer. I wasn’t handling Pop’s death very well.

  It was the day of the funeral. I would have to face it all today; there would be no hiding. That didn’t mean I couldn’t escape for just a few minutes. I rolled out of bed, careful to not rip open my makeshift stitches. I tossed back two of the pills Rocky had given me, threw on a gray sweat suit and attempted to leave it all behind, if only for the moment.

  The morning air was crisp, cool, and it stung my face as I began to run. I knew I shouldn’t have been moving, I should’ve been resting, but I needed the freedom that only running could offer. I moved my arms faster, sure to keep my torso still. The pain was there, but I could handle it, and it was slowly numbing: I wasn’t sure if it was the meds or the adrenaline.

  The air smelled of snow. Snow would be nice. It’s clean, fresh, and pure. Maybe it would wash away the evidence of the fight still left in our parking lot. That would be a nice start.

  My mind wandered as my feet pounded the pavement. I tried to wipe clear the unending thoughts of my Pops, to no avail. Today would not be the day I would stop blaming myself.

  Shaking out of my daze, I realized my travels had taken me farther than I had planned. I looked quickly to my left. There was a police barricade blocking the entrance to a blackened garage. It had been badly burned, and large chunks of concrete were splayed around the entry. The devastation was obviously caused by some sort of bomb. It was a bomb meant as a warning, a punishment for me. It was meant to kill Grace. How had I ended up by Grace’s apartment? I stopped running, allowed my body the break it deserved.

  I knew she wasn’t up there. I knew buzzing up to her apartment would prove to be fruitless, but just standing outside her door seemed comforting. It was the first bit of comfort I had felt since the incident. Of all days, I didn’t expect to find any peace of mind on the day I would bury my Pops. I wished I could thank Grace for that moment.

  I turned around, knowing that the distance I had covered in my fogged state must have taken up a good deal of time. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much time left. I had somewhere to be. I picked up the pace as I travelled south, calculating the time I would need to prepare for the cemetery. I wouldn’t feel confident running the extra few miles back to my apartment, so I decided to swing by the house I had grown up in: my Pop’s house. I guess it was my house now.

  I turned down his street, assured I still had plenty of time. My feet slowed to a walk. Especially with my injury, I would need a while to cool down.

  “Ryan!”

  It was weird to hear my name called from a distance, especially in a neighborhood I rarely frequented, but I knew exactly whose voice it was. I had just passed Rocky’s pad.

  I turned, offered a small smile, and walked back toward him.

  “Nice day for a jog.”

  “A little cold.” Why the small talk?

  “You really shouldn’t be running.”

  “I needed to.”

  “I know. Just be careful. I don’t want to do that again.”

  I nodded. Rocky was our resident doctor. He was a nurse in the army about ten years back, hoping to use the experience to pay for medical school. After he got out, he realized the medical profession wasn’t his calling. Funny thing was, he hated blood, but he
didn’t let that bump in the road stop us from using his talents. Although he never actually became a doctor, he still knew enough to get us through our altercations without multiple trips to the hospital. He saved us from having to answer too many questions.

  Rocky kicked the ground; I could see him struggling to bring something up.

  “Have at it, Rock.”

  He sighed, searching for the words. “I didn’t mean to throw the presidency on you the other night. It just made sense.”

  I bit my lip. “It did make sense. No hard feelings.”

  “You swear? No hard feelings?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  “So you want the job?” He seemed hopeful.

  “For now, it works. We’ll decide as a group if it’s the best thing moving forward.”

  “Okay.” He seemed excited, patting me on the back. “And this is why you’re going to make an awesome president. Cassidy would be proud.”

  “Thanks.” I had to look away for a second. “You coming today?”

  “That’s not even a question. Of course I’ll be there. The little lady is just dressing the kids, and we’ll be on our way. Do you need a ride?”

  “No. I’m going down myself. I’m just swinging over to Pop’s for a shower before I do.”

  “Uncle Ryan!” A shirtless kid burst out the front door.

  “Hey kid.” Rocky’s oldest ran toward me, preparing to jump into my arms. I knew lifting him could tear my stitches, so I bent down to greet his embrace. “I think it’s a little cold for the outfit you’re rocking. What do you think?”