by Vixen, Jayna
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, brother.” Dax reached for the brandy.
“It weighed on us man. Marino handled his shit better than me—got himself a badge and used his special forces training to work his way in with the feds. Me—you know my story. Got fucked up on the bottle—probably from the guilt, you know? Guess Marino felt the same. When we watched that village burn, we swore we would find a way to atone for our sins. Marino contacted me six months ago when he found out that Thatcher was trafficking girls from across the damn world. I had no idea that Rhee’s kid sister was mixed up in it. Makes me feel like even more justice was done today.”
“So you helped Marino set up a sting? Did you know the Chicos were involved?” Dax wanted to know.
“I had a feeling they were. This kind of shit is too big to pull off without help. Marino said that Thatcher ran into a security problem at his regular loading dock. I tipped off Juan. He approached Thatcher. I gave our boys at the port the heads up to watch for a specific container from China Shipping.”
Slade nodded. “That explains the conversation I overheard on their radios.”
“Yep. Got some good guys down on the docks here. Gonna hook them the fuck up.”
“The night Rhee’s sister showed up-there was an unmarked car on the road.” Wince was trying to put all of the pieces together.
“Yeah—Marino got tipped off about Rhee’s sister by some boozed-up motel manager. He was going to pick her up to keep her out of trouble until this blew over. The Chicos were still looking to trade her to the cartel.”
“So, are we gonna be the feds’ bitches now?” Dax started.
“Nah, man. We’re good. Marino’s getting a promotion out of this one. There were twenty-two underage girls in that box and they’re all alive. Marino will keep us out of it. Well, everyone except that little groupie. Too bad, she had a nice ass.”
“You mean Alanna?” Slade asked. “What the hell happened to her?”
“She snooped in my desk and found a contact sheet from the feds. Guess she had her own agenda, but I’m not sure what it was. Some bozo tried to get a pay-off from Juan for the information. From what I hear, they gave him a Mexican necktie and kept her to entertain their boys. Marino sent a team down there. They arrested everyone in the Chicos compound.”
Slade shook his head. “So Alanna’s in jail?”
Hawk laughed. “Yeah, she’ll be pretty popular there. Hope she likes pussy.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
After all of this time, it was finally over. The running. The lies. But, the truth sat like a stone in her gut.
“I can’t believe you’re here, Mouse.”
Rhee sounded so grateful and relieved. She had a death grip on Mickey’s hand.
“We can start over now. You’ll meet Sirena, oh, God, Mickey, she’s so amazing…”
“Stop.” The nausea that had been brewing in her belly chose that moment to manifest itself. Mickey wrenched her hand free, ignored Rhee’s startled cry, and ran for the bathroom. Since there was nothing in her stomach, she endured a series of painful, dry heaves. Rhee handed her a damp cloth and the gesture made Mickey feel worse—she didn’t deserve Rhee’s care or concern.
Mickey sat back on her heels, gasping for breath. “I need to leave, Rhee. I can’t stay here. I—I’m not who you think I am.”
Rhee’s confused expression was visible in the mirror. Mickey paused, staring at their twin reflections, and a childhood memory was sparked. They had been so young when their father passed away. Rhee and Mickey had gripped each other’s hands tightly as his casket was lowered into the earth. The light in their mother’s eyes went dull that day, but Mickey never forgot what she said as the final rose was tossed on his grave.
One day, I’ll be gone too. You’ll always have your sister, Mouse. Take care of each other.
“What are you talking about, Mickey? Of course I know who you are. You’re my sister! I never stopped looking for you—”
“I killed her!” Mickey blurted. “I killed our mother, Rhiannon. I’m a murderer.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Rhee exclaimed.
Mickey’s mouth opened and the words rushed out, flooding the two of them like water from a burst dam. “I—I cut the brake lines on the car. The accident—it was my fault. I had to do it, Rhee. I had to.”
Rhee’s mouth opened and closed several times. “You cut the brake lines on the car? How did you even know how to do that?”
“I had to do it.” Mickey repeated. “I lied about Paul raping me, Rhee. He sold me to Thatcher. He was going to do it again. I couldn’t let him. I couldn’t!”
Mickey had pictured Rhee’s reaction so many times. Her sister would scream at her, blame her. Turn her back on her. But Rhee did none of those things. Instead, tears began to flow steadily down her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry, Mouse. I should have been there for you. I avoided home because Paul made me uncomfortable. I had no idea he would take his perversions out on you.”
“He hurt me, Rhiannon.” Mickey whispered.
“It wasn’t your fault, Mouse. You have to believe that. I know it—and so does Mom,” Rhee whispered fiercely.
Rhee’s arms tightened around her, and the two of them collapsed to the floor. Forgiveness. It was the first part of letting go. Rhee had obviously forgiven her, but more importantly, Mickey was going to have to forgive herself.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
It was time for some closure.
Wince held the tattered doll in his hands as Rhee and Mickey filed back into the office.
“You brought this to Thatcher’s?”
“He told me to put it on the nightstand, facing the bed. Later, I heard Paul on the phone. There was a nanny cam inside the doll. He recorded what—what happened. He was planning to use the video to blackmail Thatcher. Thatcher knew about the video. When Paul died, I guess Thatcher figured the evidence was gone, too.”
“How could you have kept her, Mouse?” Rhee asked, referring to Amy.
Wince had wondered the same thing. Surely, the sight of that doll would make Mickey sick. But, he was wrong. Although the doll housed her shame, it also symbolized her family—like good and evil juxtaposed on opposite sides of the same coin.
“I couldn’t get rid of her, Rhee. She was the only thing I had left from…before.”
Rhee slung her arm around Mickey’s shoulders. “Dax had Turtle look into Thatcher—the pervert had a mistress on the island. She’s got a kid who comes to my workshops. We take tons of photos. Thatcher must have seen me in one of them and noticed my resemblance to Mickey.”
“That sick bastard was gunning pretty hard for information on Rhee’s family,” Dax confirmed. “Turtle just confirmed that Thatcher’s mistress has been asking a lot of questions. He’s lucky he’s already in the ground.”
“What a shitty coincidence.”
Was it?
Wince had to wonder about that remark. Did things ever happen by chance? Because from where Wince was sitting, it seemed like everything had happened for a reason. There was no doubt in his mind that Michaela Blake’s whereabouts would still be unknown if it weren’t for a series of unlikely, yet seamless events.
Mickey sat close to Wince, her body tense. “I guess—I guess we need to turn the video over to the police.”
Wince watched the girl, noting how pale she was. “Actually, we don’t need this anymore.”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“That sick bastard is dead. And I’ve got more than enough evidence on this—” Wince held up a zip drive—“to track down everyone who uploaded to or accessed these sites.”
“Marino will be happy to take that file and owe us big,” Dax said.
“So…what should we do with the video?” Mickey whispered.
Wince held up a lighter.
“We’re going to burn it?”
“You don’t need to hold on to this anymore.” Wince said firmly. He saw the agreement in every set of eyes at
the table.
Dax yanked the door open. “Slade, start up a fire in the yard.”
Wince carefully slit the back of Amy’s head removed the small device. He turned it over in his hands. It was still intact after all of these years. He held it out to Mickey, who accepted it with shaking fingers. Good. He wanted her to be the one who tossed it into the fire. Dax grabbed a bottle of brandy. Then, they filed into the yard and watched Michaela Blake’s past turn into ash and float away in the night air.
Epilogue
Michaela Blake stood on the veranda of Rhee’s cottage with an envelope in her hand. Ruby was one of the only people she knew who didn’t know how to use email, but there was something more personal about receiving a handwritten letter anyway. The warm breeze ruffled Mickey’s hair. It was longer now, and it was finally returning to its natural, reddish-brown hue. Instead of the sallow, sickly pallor she had sported when she’d arrived, her skin now had a healthy golden glow. She took a deep inhale, enjoying the scent of the salty sea air.
Mickey opened the letter and smiled as she read it. It was going to be nice to have Ruby out on the island. Mickey had a feeling that she and Manali were going to get along great. Plus, Manali’s brother, Max, was a kind older man. He would appreciate Ruby’s humor—and her cooking. Mickey was thankful to Dax for financing Ruby’s ticket so she could visit. For an outlaw and a criminal, deep down, the man had a heart of gold.
After the federal sting went down, Hawk told Dax the club was on easy street. No more shipments for a while, though. With things so slow, Wince came out to the island for an extended vacation. Mickey had seen him every single day. She was starting to feel like something was missing when he wasn’t around.
Mickey looked up as Rhee’s car rolled up the driveway. The older model squareback was a welcome change from the dark vans and bikes.
“Auntie Mouse!” A high-pitched voice rang out. Seconds later, pigtailed maniac burst from the car and nearly mowed Mickey down with an exuberant hug.
The feel of pudgy little arms around her neck was still foreign to Mickey but she was growing accustomed to being touched. She was healing, at last.
“Guess what?” Rhee said excitedly, as she raced up the driveway after her daughter.
“What?”
“Kekoa—the kid I was telling you about—sold his first piece at the fundraiser today!”
“That’s great, Rhee.”
Mickey understood Rhee’s passion. She was one hundred percent committed to helping at the studio before Rhee suggested that Mickey work with her. They were a good team, and they were giving underprivileged kids like Kekoa a chance to “design” better lives for themselves.
Hence the new name for their studio: Design Your Life.
Sighing, she followed Rhee into the house to help with lunch. Mickey spread peanut butter and strawberry jam on thick slices of whole wheat bread for Sirena while Rhee headed for the bathroom. It took a moment for Mickey to realize that she was smiling—and humming a tune.
Until a shriek pierced the air.
Startled, Mickey dropped the knife in her hand. Then, she grabbed it up again, just in case, and made for the bathroom. Peering inside revealed her sister, hopping from foot to foot, waving a thin white stick in the air.
“What happened?” Mickey demanded. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Rhee grinned, brandishing the stick like a magic wand. “Look!”
“What is that?”
Sirena popped her head into the tiny space. “Don’t ya know?” she queried. “My mama pees on sticks!” Then, she bounced away chanting “pee on a stick, pee on a stick.”
Pee on a stick? Oh my God…
The little blue plus confirmed it.
“You’re pregnant?”
Rhee’s exuberance was contagious. The two of them danced around the kitchen, with Sirena still yelling “pee on a stick,” behind them.
Dax chose that moment to walk through the door. Mickey caught her breath, unsure what his reaction was going to be. He raised one eyebrow at them before catching Sirena up in his arms as she threw herself at him. Jeez, the man was hot.
“What’s going on, ladies?”
Rhee shoved the pee stick in his face. Mickey watched Dax’s expression change from surprise to a kind of possessive love—the likes of which she’d never seen. Dax pulled Rhee into his arms. Mickey didn’t want to intrude on their special moment. She tucked a book under her arm and let herself into the yard, leaving the three of them to celebrate.
As she walked down the sandy trail to the beach, Mickey paused. There was a familiar scent in the air—one that made her think of her childhood home—before her real dad had died. Even though the day was warm and sunny, goose bumps appeared on her arms. Then, her mother’s voice sounded inside her mind, as clearly as if she was standing right next to her. For some reason, what was happening didn’t seem strange at all.
Let it go, Mouse.
“I don’t know if I can,” she said aloud.
Mickey picked up a handful of sand, sifting through the grains with her fingers.
Do I really belong here?
The book she had found shoved under the floorboard of Dax’s car fell open onto the sand.
“Like a running blaze on a plain, like a flash of lightening in the clouds. We live in the flicker.”
She was so absorbed in the potential meaning of those words that she didn’t hear Wince approach until he suddenly sat down next to her. Startled, she snapped the book closed.
“Hey,” he said, nudging her.
“Hi.” Mickey was surprised to feel heat warm her cheeks as his muscled thigh grazed her own.
“How are you doing?”
“I—I’m okay. Did you hear the news?”
Wince grinned. “Yeah. Another Sirena running around. Can’t wait.”
“Maybe this time she’ll have a boy,” Mickey mused, staring out at the crystalline blue water.
“Yeah—that’d be cool too.” Wince picked up a stick and traced it through the sand between them.
“She’s lucky. To have a family,” Mickey said, her thoughts drifting.
“You have a family too, Mouse.”
Mickey shrugged. Unlikely.
The man beside her traced her cheek with his rough thumb and she surprised herself when she failed to flinch.
“We are your family, Michaela Blake. Rhee, Sirena, Dax. Me. And don’t you ever forget that. Family is about connection more than it is about blood. You have both. Honor that.”
Mickey nodded, hearing the truth in his words. “I’ve wasted so much time thinking I was something I wasn’t.”
“You’re a good person, Mickey.”
Now, the tears fell freely. “You—you don’t even know me. And what you do know...is so horrible…”
His fingers were on her face, tipping her chin up.
“I know enough,” Wince stated firmly.
Then, he kissed her.
The sweet, gentle pressure of his mouth on her own was unlike anything Mickey had ever experienced. Warmth radiated from his lips and spread down her body, the sensation diluting memories that she thought were permanently etched into her soul. When he finally broke contact, she was stunned into silence. Wince shook his head as though he had been puzzling over something and had finally arrived at an answer.
“Now I know that everything happens for a reason. We all have our purpose in life. Everything fits together too perfectly to happen by chance, you know? First, I thought my reason was Rhee. Then, I wondered if it might be Sirena.”
Wince tugged Mickey back, so that she was sitting with her back against his chest. She could feel the warmth of his body seeping into her, heating her in a place she had thought would always be cold. They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes. Then, Wince spoke, and his words saved her all over again.
“It’s been you all along, Michaela Blake. My reason is you.”
Author’s Note
Over the last four years, I have le
arned that anything is possible. In the face of adversity, we all have a choice. We can succumb to feelings of helplessness and melancholy, or we can choose to believe that we can change the way we think about our circumstances. By doing so, our circumstances eventually change. Whether they change for good or bad…well…that is ultimately up to us. It’s all about perspective. It takes a strong person to think, “Even though I am going through this, I am grateful because it means that I am alive.” It takes an even stronger person to look for joy in the face of hardship.
I hope you have enjoyed the Riding the Line series. It has been a labor of love to complete this work. There were many pitfalls along the way to navigate and it is with great satisfaction that I put these final words on the page. That’s not to say there won’t eventually be a spin-off series! I have so many more stories to tell. It will be an honor to continue with this journey I have embarked upon with all of you. Thank you, as always, for your support, encouragement, kind words, and love across the miles!
Always,
Jayna
About the Author
By day, Jayna Vixen is an educational consultant, supermom, wife, and freelance writer. When night falls, she transforms into a sultry, sexual seductress with a flair for pole dancing and eroticism. No one knows that beneath the crisp, pressed suit lies a temptress who lures you in with her masterful storytelling. Let her lure you in too…read on and become addicted to Jayna Vixen!
Jayna Vixen lives in Los Angeles with her husband, her young son, and a geriatric, balding chihuahua.
Email: [email protected]
Website: Coming soon to www.jaynawrites.com
Twitter: @jaynavixen
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jayna-Vixen/316403285080810
Other Works by Jayna Vixen
Earning the Cut (Riding the Line Series, FREE Prequel, Now Book One)
www.amazon.com/Earning-Riding-Line-Jayna-Vixen-ebook/dp/B00C8EUHQS
Satin and Steel (Riding the Line Series, Book Two)
www.amazon.com/Satin-Steel-Riding-Line-Series-ebook/dp/B009XIIA4I
