Cards of Love: Judgment

by Jenika Snow

  He’d given a bad boy like me a chance.

  And I felt fucking happy.

  I was grinning as I cranked the engine and started heading toward her place. I didn’t ever go over there, mainly because she’d never wanted me to. But I couldn’t stop myself from going to see her, wanting to tell her the good news. I could start really earning money, could save up and get us out of here. I’d tell her all of that and hopefully not scare the shit out of her.

  The drive was less than ten minutes, and when I finally arrived on her street, I felt my grin grow. She’d be proud of me, and that was what made me the happiest.

  I pulled my truck to a stop in front of her house, sat there for a minute, and played out in my head how this would go. But the sound of glass breaking, of a man yelling, had me looking to where the sound came from.

  Harper’s house.

  There stood Harper and her father. I could see them in the front window, her father’s voice raised, loud and clear as he called her derogatory names, his words slurred.

  The fucker was drunk.

  And then I saw him raise his hand to the only girl I’d ever loved, a man she called Dad, the person who should have been beating anyone who looked at her wrong … like I did.

  Instead he was the one laying his hand on her, and I was going to fucking kill him. I was going to show Harper’s father that when it came to her, I wouldn’t stop until she was protected, until she knew she never had to worry about anything.

  And then he hit her, brought the back of his hand across her cheek.

  I saw red, felt this beast leave me, breaking through my body and tearing through in all its red-eyed, rage-filled glory.

  I was on autopilot as I stormed up the steps and kicked open the front door. I heard him shouting at Harper, heard her crying, felt her pain as if it were my own. I was on her father in a matter of seconds, vaguely aware of anything but the haze of rage filling my head.

  This deep noise filled the room, and I realized it came from me. Her father looked over at me just as I launched my body into his, knocking him down.

  There was nothing that could have pierced through the fog that was my rage. I was consumed with it, by it. I relished the feeling of protecting Harper, of making sure she was safe.

  This wasn’t Harper’s father. This was the man who’d laid his hands on the woman I loved.

  I grabbed his head in my hands, and in one quick move slammed his skull into the ground.

  “Fuck,” he yelled. “Get off me.”

  The stench of alcohol filled my head and made me even more enraged. My vision was hazy as I slammed the fucker’s head on the ground again and again. I couldn’t see anything but my anger. Blood started to coat the ground, the faded floral carpet becoming black from the viscous fluid. At first her father made gurgling sounds, then those faded to grunts, moans … then nothing.

  I heard sirens in the background, but my only focus was on this asshole who’d hurt my girl.

  I’d kill for her.

  I’d die for her.

  I saw the lamp just an arm’s reach away, a heavy iron lamp in the shape of a cowboy boot, aged and rusted, old and decayed. Everything was black and red aside from the sight in front of me, her father staring up at me with wide, fear-stricken eyes.

  He hadn’t known real fear, but he would as I took his life from him and he realized this was the end.

  With my body pinning him to the ground, I reached out and took hold of the lamp, ripping it from the wall.

  “Arsen.”

  I was vaguely aware of my name being called, but it was static, the sound blending together until all I heard was my own heart beating in my ears, filling my head.

  He hurt Harper. Made her bleed, cry. Nothing else matters.

  I brought the lamp base down on his skull, hearing bone crunch, blood splattering across my face and chest. A scream rent through the air, the gurgling sound coming from the body beneath me deafening.

  Then there was silence.

  I moved off the lifeless body, stared down at all the gore, all the blood. Lifting my hands up, I could see crimson covering them.

  I’d killed him.

  It all came rushing back to me.

  The sirens became louder, closer.

  Someone had called the cops.

  I stumbled back and looked at her father’s body bleeding out on the floor, his skull crushed because of me. I lifted my head and slowly looked over at Harper. Her eyes were wide, glossy with unshed tears. She had a split lip, blood drying on her chin. The bruise on her cheek was noticeable.

  Her father had done that to her, probably had done this more than once.

  And she’d never told me.

  Time stood still, the world vanished, and all I could think about, feel, hear was the girl I loved, the same one looking at me with frightened eyes. I looked down at my hands again, seeing the blood, knowing it was splattered across my cheeks, my neck. I was scaring her.

  I took another step back, and another. She reached out to me, but I shook my head and closed my eyes. “No,” I said gruffly, harshly. I didn’t know if she heard me, but it didn’t matter. The sound of the sirens was on top of me then, covering me, filling my head.

  I did everything for her, to make sure she was safe, that she knew someone was always looking out for her. I opened my eyes and looked at her then.

  It didn’t matter what was happening right now. My only focus was on Harper. Always on her. And then I felt the cops pull me away, felt his warm blood cooling on my hands and arms. And still I stared at Harper. She cried, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she opened and closed her mouth, no sound leaving her.

  Harper.

  I’m sorry, I mouthed. The noise of the police, the sirens, the chaos outside this house drowned everything else out.

  “You have the right to remain silent…”

  I heard nothing, focused on nothing but Harper.

  I was dragged out, handcuffs on my wrists, my fingers curled into my palms, the pain from my nails was dull in comparison to my heart breaking as I stared into Harper’s face.

  And then she ran up to me, her tears falling faster down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around my neck and begged me to stay. I could taste her tears, the saltiness making my belly tighten and the need to hold her riding me strong.

  “Don’t leave me,” she pleaded. She pulled back and looked up into my face, her eyes big, the blueness of them so intense, her expression so vulnerable. “Please don’t go. You’re the only person I have in this world that means a damn thing to me. I love you. Don’t leave me.”

  I closed my eyes. “I’ll always come back to you.”

  “Please. He was only protecting me. He was only making sure I was safe.”

  Her words fell on deaf ears.

  I was thrown in the back of the cruiser, the door slamming shut, metal and glass separating me from Harper. She had her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide, the sheer brokenness of her sucking the very air from my lungs.

  “I’ll come back for you,” I whispered, knowing she couldn’t hear me. I’d come here to tell her I’d gotten the job, that our lives could change. And I guess they had. My life was about to change a hell of a lot. “I love you.”

  Chapter Three

  Harper

  I sat on the tattered and worn couch in my living room, staring at the place my father had died. The carpet had been soaked in blood, too grisly for me to look at. I’d taken a knife and cut it out. But the blood had seeped into the floorboards, and although I wasn’t heartbroken that my father was gone, wasn’t shedding tears because of him, I had withdrawn into myself over it all.

  Because of one thing.

  Because of one man.

  Arsen.

  One week.

  Seven days.

  It seemed far longer than that. It seemed like an eternity that the police had taken Arsen from me. Tears fell down my cheeks, fat beads of sorrow for the man I loved, for the fact he’d be gone for longer
than I could even handle. My heart would break over and over again, daily, never being whole until he was with me again.

  What he’d done was to protect me, to defend me. I knew my father wouldn’t have stopped until he’d made me black-and-blue, something destroyed, because that’s how his life was.

  The words he’d said had been crude, cruel. I remembered that night, which although only seven days ago, seemed like a lifetime. The backhand had hit across my cheek, splitting the skin. He’d pulled my hair painfully, strands being ripped out. He would’ve continued. It would have gotten worse if not for Arsen stopping him.

  I stood and walked into my bedroom, shutting the door and leaning against it. I’d done this several times a day since the incident, coming in here because it was my safe spot, the place where I pretended my father couldn’t reach me.

  But even now, dead and not able to hurt me anymore, he still haunted me. He haunted me because he’d taken away the only man who’d ever meant anything to me, who protected me, literally killed for me.

  Walking over to my bed and sitting on the mattress, I stared ahead, the wallpaper covering the wall peeling and stained, age-worn and outdated.

  I laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, the water stains something I’d looked at for years. I used to trace the outline as I listened to my father turn on the volume of the TV so loud my ears rang.

  I’d never felt freer than I did now, without my father’s presence looming over me, without worrying that I might say or do something that would set him off in a drunken rage. And still I felt guilty, knowing I should’ve been honest with Arsen this whole time.

  If I would’ve told him the truth, maybe he wouldn’t have come over that day.

  Maybe we could’ve planned on leaving.

  I closed my eyes and ran my hands over my face, never feeling more tired than I had this last week. But life moved on. I couldn’t give up, not with Arsen’s future hanging on the precipice.

  I still had so much to do, especially for the man I loved.

  Chapter Four

  Harper

  Two years later

  I grabbed my keys and headed out the door, my nerves taking control as they always did when I was about to go visit him.

  I did this weekly, despite his protests that I not visit the prison. I couldn’t help it. The fact he was locked up because of what had gone on in my life ate at me daily. But I would be there for him. I wasn’t going to leave, wasn’t going to turn my back on him. I’d be here until the end.

  I headed out the door and climbed into my car. I turned over the ignition and started driving. The prison was over an hour away, and every time I made that trek, it felt longer. But it was worth it.

  Always.

  I got to the prison seventy minutes later, my heart thundering as I looked up at the massive enclosure. The fencing, barbed wire, concrete everywhere … all of it was so intimidating.

  But Arsen was in there, so going through any discomfort I felt was worth it, especially seeing as he’d saved my life.

  Once inside I checked in and was shown back. I placed my keys in the little basket and walked through the metal detector. I wasn’t allowed to have any personal items with me when I went back to see Arsen, so I left them in a locker in the waiting room before being seen back. I held out my arms for them to pat me down, and stared straight ahead.

  “This way,” the guard said, and I followed him toward the visiting area.

  My shoes made this soft sound on the hard, unforgiving floor. My heart raced, as it always did, even two years later, when I came to see Arsen.

  “Here you go,” he said and pushed the door open for me to enter.

  “Thanks,” I said softly.

  The small room held one table, the two hard, plastic seats across from each other. There were identical rooms on either side, one already housing an inmate and an older man seated across. The other one was empty.

  I took my seat and set my purse on the table, licking my lips and trying to keep my nerves in check. I hated seeing him here, hated the orange jumpsuit he wore, the hand and ankle cuffs that kept him a prisoner in every sense of the word.

  Another prisoner was brought into the empty room beside me, the chains he wore clanking on the ground. He sat down, and I watched him for a moment. He was big, scary looking, and had this scowl on his face. This scar ran from his eyebrow to his chin, a large, puckered one that screamed violence.

  He turned his head slowly, looking at me, his gaze slamming into mine. My breath caught at his expression. The way he looked at me, like a predator wanting to devour its prey, had fear slamming into me.

  I saw plenty of prisoners when I came here, and none of them ever bothered me. But every once in a while, there was one that showed me exactly why they were here with a look.

  It was one of death.

  I glanced away quickly and looked down at my hands, which I twisted in my lap, nervously waiting for Arsen. I still felt the prisoner’s gaze on me, but I refused to acknowledge him. That would only be like gasoline on a fire.

  My heart started beating harder. I knew he was alone in this place, and I was lonely, desperate to see him. I’d deal with his annoyance that I came here, that I was subjected to this.

  If only to see him for one moment, I’d walk through hell.

  And then I heard the sound of doors unlocking, the buzz of a prisoner approaching. My heart raced even faster knowing it was Arsen. I saw him then, my big, strong protector, shackled and covered in that prison-issued jumpsuit. He had his head lowered, his focus on the ground. His hands were chained in front of him, his legs shackled. The sound of chains clanking had desperation filling me.

  He lifted his head and looked right at me then, his expression stoic, as it was every time I came here.

  Maybe it was seeing him this way, knowing he was behind bars for killing someone—warranted or not—that made him seem more dangerous, as if he wasn’t the same person I knew when he wasn’t locked up.

  He looked hardened, and I knew it was because of this place. I knew he had to be that way to survive.

  Once he was in the room, I found myself standing on instinct. Once Arsen was seated, the guard attached the handcuffs to a metal ring attached to the table. Then he left us alone, and I found myself sitting back down.

  We were silent for long moments, staring at each other, my need to touch him, hold him … tell him how much I loved him, strong within me. But I sat there, stayed silent, knowing I couldn’t do any of that.

  He breathed out and leaned back in his seat. He didn’t phrase it like a question, not when his voice was hard, set in stone.

  “I know,” I said softly and did reach out and grab his hands then, even though I knew I wasn’t supposed to touch him. But he pulled them back, the chain moving along the table, the sound piercing my heart in more ways than one.

  “Yet you still come.” He exhaled and lifted his hand, or tried to, as if he wanted to run his fingers through his hair. “Fuck,” he said low, deep. “You need to live your life, not come visit me in this fucking place.” His expression was filled with anguish.

  “There isn’t a life without you,” I said on the verge of tears. I wanted to tell him I loved him, that I needed him, but I wouldn’t tell him that while he was locked up, confused and unable to do anything about it, unable to process it fully. No, I’d wait until he was out. I’d tell him how I felt then, confide in him … wait for him.

  And then he grabbed my hand. I looked at him, my love so intense I felt it bursting from me in a physical way. I felt tears roll down my cheeks, but before I could brush them away, Arsen was rising up slowly and doing it for me. I leaned in closer to help him out because of the handcuffs, and the feel of his skin on mine had me closing my eyes.

  “Everything will be okay,” he whispered.

  I nodded and cried harder. I wanted to control myself, but every time I came to visit him, this happened. I couldn’t control my emotions. I couldn’t stop myself from project
ing them even though I wanted to be strong.

  “I’m so sorry, Harper,” he whispered again, and I opened my eyes then. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

  I cupped his cheek, feeling the scruff under my palm. “You have nothing to be sorry about. You saved me. I should be the one apologizing to you over and over again because it was my life that put you in here—”

  “Shhh, my sweet Harper. I’d kill a hundred times over, give up my life even, if it meant you were safe.”

  I closed my eyes again and breathed out. This was the same song and dance, the same conversations we had every time I visited him.

  Opening my eyes, I stared into his. I felt a gaze on me, turned and saw the prisoner from earlier staring at me, this lewd smile on his face. He leaned down so his face was close to his handcuffed hand. Then he lifted his hand, curling all his fingers inward except his index and middle finger, making a V. Then he crudely stuck his tongue between them.

  I sensed a change in the room that had nothing to do with the disgusting prisoner, the only thing separating us a piece of glass. This sound filled the room, low, deep … intense. I glanced over at Arsen, realizing the noise came from him. He was looking at the prisoner who had been lewd with me, his expression so deadly I actually found myself moving back an inch, at the coldness.

  The anger came from him like a blast to my body, rocking me to my core. He was angry, and this wasn’t the type that I’d ever seen, not even when Marcus Delany had tried to cop a feel one time and Arsen had kicked the shit out of him. This was an expression, a sensation I’d never felt before from Arsen. This place had changed him.

  “Hey,” I said, and he looked back over at me instantly. “This isn’t about him. Let’s focus on us.” I smiled, but I knew it didn’t reach my eyes. I could see out of my peripheral the prisoner being escorted out, still felt his gaze on me. Knew if I could feel it, Arsen could as well.

  And then I felt things calm down, the coldness coming from Arsen dropping slightly. He still had ahold of my hand and gave it a little squeeze.