“Who do you think kidnapped Sasha?” I ask because right now she’s our priority, along with keeping everyone else safe.
Snake takes in a long breath. “All the evidence points to Fellini. He was the last person she was seen with.”
“And we have no idea who he really is. The information on his rental car leads to a dead end, and the place he was renting doesn’t give us any leads. We’ve got absolutely nothing on him.” Lord knows I’ve researched every possible avenue I could.
“The message in the letter James’ secretary, Millicent, brought in was pretty precise. They’d kill her if we looked for her.” Rock reminds us of the black promise.
“Which is the only reason Gringo hasn’t ripped apart anyone who could be affiliated.” And the only reason all of us did not hunt them down.
This is the same place we end up every goddamn night. Crashing into this brick wall.
I hang my head.
“The girls are getting ready to close up,” Rock finally breaks the heavy silence.
I sigh. I hate this, not being able to do anything, not being able to act and retaliate.
“Yeah, I’d better get going. Don’t want to miss them.” I stand. “You know where to find me if you need me.”
“There’s a demon waiting for me as well,” Snake stands. Raven.
“If you get anything, let us know,” Rock pushes his chair back.
It’s the same thing every day. Same information. A whole lot of nothing. Another day Gringo dies a little bit more inside. Another day we wait for something to happen. One more day we get further away from finding Sasha.
I walk out of our tattoo shop, Inked, and get in my truck. I stare at the coffee shop and watch the girls turn off the lights. Gringo is packing up his laptop. The pain etched on his face hurts like hell. I know there’s not a day that goes by we all don’t wish we could turn back the clock and find the one sign that would have warned us this was coming.
It’s too late. We can’t change a damn thing.
Gringo, Summer, Gwendolyn, and Mrs. Merriweather leave the coffee shop. Gringo knows I’m outside waiting to follow Gwen and her grandmother home. He walks Summer next door to Rock. When he leaves her there, I’m not sure what he does afterward. I used to know up until recently, but everything changed. Probably more of what he does all day long. Look for Sasha, scour for clues and information, something to give him anything about what happened, where she might be, or who actually took her. Because if he didn’t, he would die.
I’m sure he wants to.
I’m going to follow Gwendolyn and Mrs. Merriweather home, and I’m going to stay there until they wake up tomorrow and come back here. When one of the other guys takes over the watch, that’s when I’ll go home. Only to come back and do it again tomorrow night.
During all this time, I wait, I plan, I investigate, and I look forward to revenge.
War is not always loud and explosive. It’s silent and deadly.
It’s patient and dangerous and mad as fucking hell.
Vengeance is coming. His name is Bull.
CHAPTER 8
Gwendolyn
“No, Nan, I am not going to acknowledge that comment. At. All.” I stare at my reflection and count to fifty to stop myself from telling her to mind her own business.
“Gwendolyn, love, don’t be daft. Put on the jeans, they make your arse look lovely, they do,” she yells again from the living room downstairs.
Oh, brother!
I love her, I do, with all of my heart, but right now she’s making me insane.
Ignore it, Gwen.
The girl with the wide eyes and uncontrollable copper colored hair across from me looks lost. That’s because she is. That’s because I am.
It’s the same battle, just another day.
She’s right, the jeans do make my ass look nice. Maybe I should put on a little makeup?
“Ugh,” I groan and drop my chin to my chest. “Why should I even bother?”
This fight I have with my reflection has become a part of my routine over the past few months. It started the day I laid eyes on a big, burly, impossible, Neanderthal, teddy-bear of a man.
A man who doesn’t even know I exist.
Well just screw him. He doesn’t matter, I don’t really care what he thinks about me.
The same old argument starts playing in my head. The one where I try to convince myself I could care less about the insufferable man, the man who makes me nervous and lightheaded and a complete imbecile. The one I try to force myself to stop hoping he’ll finally see me.
To hell with him!
I’m going to wear the jeans, and I’m going to put on the mascara, but for me, not him.
Right, Gwen, you just keep saying that.
Going into my room, I snatch the pants from the bed that I’ve pulled on and off for the past week, and each time I’d finally given up and decided not to wear. Not today. Today I’m going to strut these low waist skinny jeans. I’m going to rock them because I do look good in them.
Just because Bull doesn’t realize I’m a woman doesn’t mean I have to crawl in a hole and disappear. Screw. Him!
I shove one leg into a snug pant leg, then the other, pull them up, suck in my stomach, and fasten them. I catch a glimpse of myself in the full length mirror. And I pause.
Hmmm.
Something is not working. I worry my bottom lip between my teeth and resist the urge to tear the poor mistreated pants off again. I twist one way, then turn the other. The pants look great.
Everything else sucks.
“Just forget it!” I huff out a heavy breath, blowing my unruly curls from my face.
“Gwendolyn, love, tis the…what is it you call that hideous thing you be wearing often?” Nan is at the open door, her nose scrunched as if she’s gotten a whiff of something foul.
“Hoodie, Nan, because of the hood,” I yank it between a finger and thumb. My patience is just about nil.
She’s right, it does nothing for me. The thing is, I wear them all the time. The pocket is a convenient place to tuck my phone, my keys, and a ton of other things.
“Well, it’s quite an ugly garment,” she waves her hand at me. “Take it off, love. I’ve a right mind to burn it. You be looking like a kangaroo with that pouch in the front and all the nonsense you put in it.” She steps inside the room.
She did not just say that! I feel my cheeks warm. Granted, she might have spoken the truth, but still. Not nice. She’s a fine one to talk with her ugly white orthopedic shoes.
“It’s the style, Nan, everyone wears them,” I try to defend myself.
“Off with it, lass. I won’t be seeing you dressed like a thirteen-year-old boy any longer.”
My face and chest are on fire with embarrassment and I could probably catch flies with how far my mouth is hanging open.
“You think I look like a boy?”
Now at my side, she grabs the waist of the sweatshirt and starts to drag it over my head. “You’ll not be looking like the fair beauty you are in that thing. Posh, lass, why you cover your loveliness in these ugly clothes I never be understanding.”
The warmth that floods me is not from embarrassment, but from the affection I have for my ornery grandmother. She loves me so much; she just has a strange way of saying it.
My shoulders slump once she’s got the hoodie off leaving me in a plain white bra and camisole and throws it on the bed. “I don’t know, Nan. Maybe I shouldn’t wear the pants yet. Maybe I need to go shopping and get, you know, an outfit.”
I stare at myself again. It’s not my body, my body’s fine. It’s actually really nice. I just don’t know what to do with it. I think I got stuck in the awkward teenage phase and never found my way out.
“Your Nan always takes care of you, doesn’t she love,” she peers from behind me with a naughty smirk on her face and a wrinkled hand on my shoulder.
Her statement makes my heart hurt. She does, and I was supposed to be the one who would take car
e of her when my mother and father decided they wanted to move to Florida. Nan practically shoved them out the door. I’d stayed. I’m not sure if it was for her, we’ve always been close, but it’s only been she and I for the past several years.
I place my hand on hers and meet her gaze in the reflection. “Yes you do.”
I love the impossible old woman.
“Then you’ll be wearing this,” she shoves a flimsy pink scrap of material against my chest, and I wonder where it came from. “It’ll look mighty fine with those fancy jeans you’ve finally worked up the nerve to be putting on your bum.”
I take the delicate piece of fabric from her hand and hold it out in front of me.
“Jesus, Nan, where did you get this?”
“Tis one of mine, been ‘olding it for you. Put it on love, and don’t be taking it off.” She smiles nervously as she backs up to the bed and sits.
Slowly, I hold the blouse to my chest, it’s powder-pink silk organza with a soft, round, white, lace collar. The buttons down the front are pearlized and it has short, cap-sleeves. Everything about it embodies the female beauty of the twenties, the femininity, and the elegance.
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
“Nan, it’s gorgeous,” I breathe out softly. “Where did you get it?”
I’m afraid to touch, it’s so soft, it feels like butterfly wings.
“Back ‘ome, of course.”
I look at her over my shoulder. “Do you mean England?”
“’ave you gone deaf as well, love? Yes,” Nan chuckles.
I’m stunned speechless. “But you haven’t been back home since…how long has it been?” I’ve got the precious blouse held gently to my front.
“Och, a right many years. More than I care to remember,” she flicks her wrist at me, waving me off. “Put it on, I’ve been waiting to see it on you for a long time.”
I catch a glimpse of her face through the mirror and it makes my heart skip a beat. She looks nervous and giddy. She looks almost nostalgic.
“Are you sure? I mean…I’m going to work at the coffee shop. It might get dirty.” I love it, but I don’t want to ruin it, it’s way too special.
“Pffft, nonsense, lass. Put it on. Our boy Bull won’t be able to keep ‘is eyes off you, ‘e won’t,” she claps her hands with glee. “It might just be the thing to make the lad shit or get off the pot, it might.” She claps again and actually giggles.
It must be contagious because I do too.
“It has nothing to do with Bull, Nan,” I mumble.
“Hrrmph, don’t be giving your Nan crow, Gwendolyn. You’ve been sweet on that boy since the day ‘e and the lads came into the coffee shop, you ‘ave.”
I flush with embarrassment. There’s no use lying.
I turn to the mirror feeling a little, dare I say, hopeful? Hopeful that Bull might actually notice me. That he might actually see me as a woman? I slip the pearl buttons through the holes opening it, then feed my arms into the sleeves. The fabric whispers over my skin and fuels my already racing heart.
Don’t be silly, Gwen. It’s just a blouse.
I watch as I refasten the buttons. The fabric is almost translucent, so a hint of my white camisole beneath it is barely visible. And right before my eyes, I feel like I’m transformed from a clumsy girl into a sex kitten.
Ever since Nan and I started going to the coffee shop where I work, I’ve felt just a little inadequate. Summer, the girl who owns it, is beautiful in that natural ‘I don’t have to work for it,’ kind of way. She’s so gorgeous, she swept Rock, one of Bull’s best friends, right off his feet. And Sasha is stunning. Although she’s married, she was seeing Gringo, another one of Bull’s friends. Bull, Rock, Gringo, and Snake work at the tattoo parlor next door to the coffee shop, Inked.
I could never compete with those women. I’ve felt like I was a bologna sandwich and they’re prime rib. But dressed like this, I feel like I’m actually sexy, and not some thirteen-year-old boy, as Nan so eloquently put it.
When was the last time I dressed up?
I want to cringe as I struggle to remember. I realize it’s been a few years. I dated Charlie, one of the local sheriffs. He was my prom date; we were friends in high school. He was also the boy I gave my virginity too. He might’ve been more nervous than I was. Lord, I might have scarred him for life when I whipped out the condom and told him flatly to get ready, we were having sex. We went out to dinner a few times a couple of years after that. I want to laugh. I wonder if it took him that long to not be afraid of me any longer. Apparently not, because the dates fizzled out. Poor guy. But he’s not the poor one because he’s had girlfriends. And me? I haven’t been out with anyone since.
How pathetic. I’m a dateless woman who looks like a thirteen-year-old boy who wants a man who doesn’t know she exists.
“’es mad for you, too, ‘e is. Why do you think the lad sits outside our ‘ouse all night?”
A fresh wave of embarrassment explodes through me.
“No he’s not, and that’s not why.”
“You’re not very bright then, Gwendolyn.”
I give her an eye roll. Thanks a lot.
We’ve known he sits out there. It started when Rock, Snake, Gringo, and Summer went out of town for some tattoo convention. And if it wasn’t him, then it was one of those motorcycle gang members that showed up while they were gone. I wanted to believe it was because of me, but I squashed that idea immediately. I knew it had to be something else. Something nobody would say.
That had been right after Summer healed from her kidnapping.
Now Sasha seems to have disappeared.
No one’s talking about it, but Gringo looks like he’s walking a fine line between dying and committing murder. Bull does too. All of them do, but nobody’s saying anything. Summer’s been quiet and upset as well. I don’t think I’m supposed to know she was kidnapped, but I overheard them talking, although I didn’t hear much else.
That’s when she hired me to work with her in The Magic Bean, her coffee shop. I started when she was well enough to reopen. I was thrilled when she asked me if I wanted the job. Nan loves it there. The reality is we should pay Summer rent as much time as we spend in there. To be honest, Nan unofficially adopted her, along with the guys.
Reaching for the red lipstick, I dab a blush across my lips, then brush a few strokes of mascara on my lashes.
“You look absolutely stunning, love,” Nan gives me a peck on the cheek, then a warm smile in the mirror. “I’m going to put the kettle on, love,” she shuffles away and out of my bedroom. “When you’ve finished, go and fetch Bull for a cuppa,” she waves at me over her shoulder as she leaves.
Wait.
What?
“What do you mean?” I call after her.
“Why, what else would I mean? Fetch Bull for tea, Gwendolyn, are you daft?” She’s already down the stairs on her way to the kitchen.
“Nan, it’s nearly six in the morning,” I follow after her. She’s got the water running; she moves fast for an old woman.
“I know what time it is, lass. It’s time for tea,” she waves me away again with a dismissive flick of her wrist.
“I’m not sure we’re supposed to acknowledge he’s there. I mean, he’s never talked about it.” Going out before the sun’s up, when we probably aren’t even supposed to know he sits out there, and asking him in for tea seems like the craziest idea I’ve ever heard.
About as crazy as practically ordering a boy to have sex.
She’s got the copper kettle on the stove and is bent over watching how high the flame is underneath it.
“And don’t be wearing those ugly trainers,” she mumbles with her face at the stove.
“But my sneakers are comfortable,” I grumble as I’m about to stuff my feet into them.
“The black flats would look lovely. Go on then, I don’t want the tea to be cold,” she’s at the fridge getting the cream.
What am I, twelve?
>
“Show Bull to the loo when you come back. ‘e be washing ‘is ‘ands before hand,” I hear her as I stand at the door dreading this.
“But…but…,” I stutter quietly, my palms sweaty.
Yeah, I’m nervous. Very nervous.
She starts humming as she rummages through cupboards pulling out the tea cups with saucers, then to the silverware drawer for spoons. Apparently I’m no longer in the room, as far as she’s concerned. She’s obviously done with me. Unless I choose to push her on this.
It’s no use arguing with her. She’s stubborn and ornery and impossible when she’s made up her mind.
I love her for it.
A whole flock of seagulls have taken flight in my stomach from nerves. Taking a deep breath to steel myself, I open the door and step out onto the porch. The outside light’s on, so I know he can see me, but I don’t want to look, not yet, I’m not ready.
The sun’s barely kissing the horizon, the first golden glow of the morning is making its appearance. I close the door and glance down the street for Bull’s truck from beneath lowered lashes. It’s there, right where it always is. Every night I look out the window after I’ve shut off all the lights and just watch him. I can’t really see anything, he never parks under a street light, but it’s comforting to know he’s so close. For whatever reason he comes every night, to me it doesn’t matter. He’s there, that’s all that’s important.
I let out a heavy sigh.
I’d better just get this over with.
I start down the walkway as a breeze blows my hair around my face.
Shoving my hair back, I walk to Bull’s pickup truck. My outfit gives me strength while at the same time makes me nervous. I’m not hiding in those clothes that swim on me, and that makes me feel confident. Knowing I look good helps. If he’s an ass now, it’s all on him.
Here we go.
CHAPTER 9
Bull
I’ve died and by some crazy stroke of luck, I’m in heaven. That’s the only reason why an angel is walking toward me. She looks like she’s floating with her fiery hair blowing in the breeze and that soft blouse. Those jeans, though. They make me want to make her sin. A welcome reprieve from a lot of the thoughts I have when I’m out here.
Vengeance: The Program Book 4 Page 7
