by James, Gemma
“Looks good,” she said, standing at my side in front of the mirror. Rafe’s name concealed the carving of Zach’s in scrawling black ink. The tattoo spanned a good portion of my belly in wispy tribal lines, butterflies in flight, and those four important letters. Having his name permanently inked on my skin made me feel close to him.
Even if he was a liar.
I love you. See you soon.
Six months later and those words still haunted me.
They said there were five stages of the grieving process, but I wondered who the nebulous they were. Since the day Jax returned to the safe house and told me Rafe was gone, I’d spent most of my time locked in step one of the natural progression of grieving: denial.
Of course he was coming back. He’d promised. Maybe Jax didn’t know what he was talking about. Maybe Rafe had lost the remainder of his memory and was stranded somewhere, confused and alone. Maybe he’d made it out of Lucas’ house and couldn’t remember how to get back to me.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
But Rafe wasn’t coming back. Deep down, I’d known it with one glance at Jax’s distraught, bloodied face.
So that brought me to step two. I was angry. Angry at Rafe for leaving me in the first place, chained to his bed with the promise of our future playing on repeat in my mind. Angry I was stuck in denial. I somehow skipped past the third stage of bargaining because let’s face it—I was screwed. If anyone existed beyond this plane of existence, they sure as hell weren’t listening to me.
Which led to step four: depression. I’d been in a perpetual state of melancholy for years, so that was nothing new. But the last stage, the holy grail of letting go and moving on…
Acceptance.
It sounded good, in theory. After attempting to put my jagged pieces back together, I wanted to accept he was gone. It was the reason I’d gotten the tattoo, my first baby step toward wiping clean what Zach had done.
“That should be the last touch up, hon.” Leslie squeezed my shoulder. “Unless you want to start on something new, you’re good to go.”
I was about to embark on something that scared the shit out of me, and it had nothing to do with getting another tattoo. The compulsion to visit the island had trapped me in purgatory, and until I laid eyes on it, I wouldn’t move forward.
I gave Leslie a sad smile, thanked her for her work, and stepped into the frigid air with my pulse thrumming a furious tempo in my veins. The drive to Dante’s Pass seemed to blur by in slow motion, yet the seconds ticked by too fast. I exited the highway and rolled down Main Street, my foot tapping the brake as snow drifted to the ground. I half slid, half wheeled into a parking spot and got out, my boots sinking into the fluffy white.
The place was frozen, desolate, the streets bereft. Most people had holed up inside to escape the snow. The setting was an uncanny snapshot of the way I felt on the inside. Rafe was gone, but the space where my heart used to reside only grew bigger with each day I faced alone. Time hadn’t dulled the pain, hadn’t eased the betrayal of abandonment. I’d finally accepted he was gone, and that meant I had nothing left to do but live.
It’s what he would have wanted, but living for me turned out more challenging than I imagined. My dad and Zach had always dictated my decisions, actions, behaviors. Now that I’d grasped control of my life, I felt imprisoned, out of my element and absolutely terrified.
Every breath I took, each new cautious step toward the future…Rafe’s absence kept me in a constant choke hold, his metaphorical fingers clamping around my neck but not applying enough pressure to send me into blackness.
I blinked the snow from my lashes and gazed at the picturesque street with its shops and cafes. The day Rafe brought me here to tell the sheriff what Zach had done was a fuzzy memory, but I recognized this street, despite the layer of snow covering the asphalt.
A breath shuddered out. I shouldn’t have come here. It was too soon, and setting foot in the place where he’d grown up wasn’t going to help me move on. How could I lay eyes on that island without fissuring? But it drew me like a magnet. I needed to know if the fire had destroyed the land as much as Rafe leaving had destroyed me.
Leaving.
I couldn’t bring myself to use the word death in relation to him. He didn’t feel gone forever. I was still breathing, so he had to be alive. Didn’t matter if my logic was skewed; I gripped it with both hands.
I took a final glance down the main street of Dante’s Pass, committing it to memory, and returned to my Volvo. I drove onto the highway again, and the island came into view, rising out of the water with barren landscape overrun by snow. An artist could use that scene to paint a morbid picture of winter desolation. Nature might wipe away some of the destruction, but it couldn’t hide it entirely.
Just like the smile I pasted on my face couldn’t hide the cracks in my soul, but I wore it anyway, especially when I worked at Sanctuary, a shelter for battered women and children. Those women found it easy to confide in me because they saw themselves in the broken girl who spent more time with them than she did living. I loved working there, actually felt like I was making a difference, even if I only did the bookkeeping. I spent more hours at that place, working and volunteering, than doing anything else. I was good at helping others with their trauma and grief because I sure couldn’t shake my own.
I rolled to a stop on the side of the highway and slid from the driver’s seat, leaving the door open and the engine running. With a hard swallow, I stepped over the rail and tiptoed toward the edge of the river. The water’s surface whispered to me from several feet below. I’d come a long way, in terms of my phobia, but my irrational fear was still an everyday struggle.
Lifting my gaze, I focused on the island with even breaths. My hands formed two tight balls of sheer willpower—if I unfurled my fists, I wouldn’t be able to stop from scratching my skin. The compulsion nearly overwhelmed me, but I drew on my breathing technique and mentally recited what my therapist often said to me.
You have the power to change your life.
No one else could do it for me, and I was fed up with mutilating my skin because I couldn’t cope.
A gust of wind nipped at my exposed cheeks. I pulled my jacket tighter, nestling deep into the hood. Coming here was hard, but it was the only way I knew how to let Rafe go. I’d tried everything to find him somewhere alive. I’d badgered Jax for the truth about that morning until he’d stormed off without a word. And after hearing rumors that Rafe was involved in illegal fighting, I’d hired a private investigator, but he’d turned up dead end after dead end.
If Rafe was alive, he either didn’t know who he was…or he didn’t want to be found.
Eyes stinging, I shivered in my boots and slid behind the wheel again. As I left Dante’s Pass, hot tears streamed down my cheeks. I was surprised I made it home in one piece, considering the wretched weather and the state of my mind.
The one bedroom house where I now lived was dinky compared to my home before they’d arrested Dad, but I paid for the rental with my own money, and I felt safe there…as safe as I could with my shadow inciting constant paranoia. Zach hadn’t made a peep in over six months. Jax assured me I was safe from him, but he refused to tell me what had become of my brother, and I didn’t want to think about it long enough to speculate. A person could go nuts thinking about this shit.
I pulled into the driveway and silenced the engine, wiped my eyes, then pushed the car door open. Placing one boot on the cement, I stepped lightly so I wouldn’t slip on ice before taking cautious steps toward the front porch. But when I raised my eyes, the world came to a standstill. Someone had tacked a note to the door. With trembling fingers, I unpinned it and slowly unfolded the piece of paper.
I’m coming for you.
The note fell from my hands, and I stared at the doorknob as if it would jump out and bite me. Those were Rafe’s words.
His.
But he wasn’t coming back. I hadn’t wanted to accept it, but I had, so that only left o
ne other option. Someone else was threatening me. Maybe one of the men from the underground had escaped the police. What if they’d missed the one bad guy who would find me and do the unthinkable?
Or…what if Zach was here to take me again? He could have gone into hiding, watching and waiting until I let down my guard—until there was no one left to stop him, not even our screwed up dad.
But those words…
Someone was playing with my head. Grinding my teeth, I jammed my hand into my purse and pulled out my gun and keys. This was going to end, one way or another. I jerked the key toward the knob but missed. After two more impatient, freaked-out attempts, I inserted the key and turned.
The door was unlocked.
Oh God.
I retreated, and a slow tingle of dread overtook me. Someone was already inside my house. Waiting. Hunting. I swallowed the acidic taste of vomit, gripped the gun handle tighter, and gave myself a mental push forward. I wedged the door open with the toe of my boot, certain I’d locked it, just as I was certain I’d left the light on near the entrance. The shadows of late afternoon screamed at me to run in the opposite direction. I warred with myself, the saner part demanding I get into the car and find a safe place, but I was tired of running.
I’d sooner die.
And then there was the masochist in me. The naive girl who believed Rafe was alive and waiting inside. I shook off that clinging hope and crossed the threshold.
“Show yourself,” I demanded, voice nowhere near as steady as the hand I used to grip the gun. That I knew how to handle. But as I curled my finger around the trigger of death, I questioned if I could kill another human being. No amount of time spent shooting at the range could prepare me for taking someone’s life. “Just leave me alone!”
A tall shadow emerged, and I stiffened, my finger twitching on the trigger.
“Leaving you alone isn’t an option, sweetheart.”
A noisy gasp escaped my lips, and the gun clattered to the floor, forgotten as the shadow morphed into the form of a figure moving toward me, hands reaching. He pushed me against the door, then his mouth was on mine, his tongue forcing my lips open and dipping inside. Seeking. Conquering.
I kissed him back, lost to delirium, to the blend of our moans as our tongues tangled. My world spun from the familiar scent of him, from the solid feel of his chest underneath my palms. He broke away, but his hungry mouth veered to my cheeks, his tongue darting out to catch my tears.
The reality of his presence bubbled in my throat, and I forced his name out with a sob. “Rafe.”
“Fuck, how I’ve craved your tears.”
My whole body shook in his arms. I clawed his skin just to convince myself he was here, but all the grief I’d tried burying crashed through and collided with the euphoria of finding him alive in my house. I screamed at him, pounding my fists on his chest, straddling the line between sane and delirious.
“How could you leave me? I fucking hate you!” As quick as my fury rose, it seeped from my bones, and I slumped against him, burrowing my face in his rough denim jacket as I sobbed.
He hefted me into his arms and strode to the couch. We tumbled onto the cushions, where he crouched over me and entrapped my wrists above my head.
“I didn’t want to leave.”
“Why did you? Why?”
“I wanted you to be safe from…” He let out a sigh, shoulders slumping. “I wanted you to be fucking happy.”
“Do I look happy?” I said, glaring at the shadow of his face.
“You look pissed.”
“You let me think you were dead! It’s been six months. Six months!” If he hadn’t pinned me, I would have slugged him. I fisted my hands, aching to slam into his face, to make him feel the slightest bit of pain, even if it would never compare to my own.
He leaned down, his hair brushing my temple. “My head was a mess. I wanted to give you a chance at something normal.”
“Normal?” I spat through gritted teeth. “I must have failed your test then, huh? Is that why you’re here now? You finally figured out I’m as screwed up as they come.”
“No, baby. I failed the test.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means I’m done fighting who I am. You belong to me.” He let go of my hands, reached into his pocket, and withdrew something. In the shadows of dusk, I could barely make it out, but once I did, my heart took off in a sprint. He held a syringe identical to the one he’d used the night he kidnapped me. God, how that seemed like a lifetime ago.
“You got your memory back,” I said, not expecting an answer because I knew it was true. He was darker, harder, no longer caged by the burden of amnesia.
“I remember everything.”
“Then you remember that I was okay with being yours.” I eyed the syringe, and a hint of fear busted through my defenses. “Why the drugs?”
“You don’t wanna be awake for where I’m taking you.” He pulled the cap off and held the needle a couple of inches from my neck. “Does that scare you?”
“No,” I said, clenching my jaw. I didn’t bother inching away from him, even if my skittering pulse gave away the lie.
“You realize I’m never letting you go, right?”
For a few heavy seconds, I failed to breathe. I’d hate him later, would rail and scream and sob until I had nothing left in me. But in this moment, the absolute ownership in those words cast me under his spell.
“You sure about that?” I tilted my head, giving him easy access to my neck, challenging him to mean his oath. To act on it.
“You can count on it,” he said, and then he plunged in the needle.
2. CHAMPION
Rafe
This was the moment I normally lived for. The adrenaline rush of knowing I had him. The smell of sweat and blood in the air. The crowd that chanted Rafe “The Choker” Mason. I moved into a kick-jab combo, but the moves glanced off him like pesky flies.
So maybe I had him.
I always faced the chance of an opponent catching me off-guard, or even worse get one up on me. Tonight, both of those outcomes were real possibilities.
Alex’s name ricocheted in my mind, drowning out the crowd. There was nothing left in my head but her. No fight, no chaotic mob of people on the other side of the cage. Just Alex knocked out and tied up on my boat near this damn barn.
Fuck, I didn’t want to be here. But in all reality, Alex would be safer if I let off some steam before I woke her because getting lost in the silky texture of her skin while strung this tightly…that could be dangerous.
Jax shouted my name above the din, but the warning came too late. A large fist slammed into my forehead, making my head kick back. My opponent sent another strike to my jaw. The distraction of Alex De Luca was going to cost me this fucking fight.
He came at me again, and I ducked at the last second, forcing my head into the fight. Literally. I slammed into him, grappling his massive frame into a body lock, but fuck, he had some furious strength. He escaped the maneuver, and we sprang apart, bouncing on our feet. The bastard’s cocky mug blasted me from a couple of feet away. We’d been circling each other for a while now, sizing the other up as tension thickened the space between us.
I got a right hook in then backed off, sensing his next move by the bunch of his shoulders, the way his hawk-like gaze followed my every step. I anticipated him coming, but I was too close to the fucking cage. His momentum hurled me straight into it. As the metal clanked, time seemed to slow. The overhead lights glinted off his bald head as sweat trickled down the side of his scruffy face.
The cage was cold and familiar at my back. I pushed against it for leverage, bringing an arm up and twisting. With a grunt, I took him to the ground and wrapped an arm around his neck, lips pulled tight over my teeth. Adrenaline careened through me in a sudden burst, and he slumped with each pulsating thump of my heart.
This was it.
The moment.
Nothing else mattered except the next few seconds
when his lids would droop and shutter the realization that he was losing. The ref shouted at me to stop, but I ignored him and increased the pressure on the guy’s throat. As I restricted his oxygen, something inside me buzzed, wept with fucking relief. The ref was crazy if he thought I’d back off. I never stopped, and the crowd knew it. They lived for it. My opponents knew it and hoped it wouldn’t happen to them, but it always did because there were few rules in this cage.
The ref finally dragged me off him by force. I jumped to my feet, staggering forward, about to hoist the guy’s spent body off the floor and demand more. But the ref blocked me and shoved me back, all the while shouting at me to cool off.
It wasn’t enough. This fight, my self-inflicted banishment from Alex…I still couldn’t protect her.
From me, the violent maniac inside this cage. I wasn’t a champion. I was a disgusting excuse for a human being.
I shook off the self-loathing as Shelton, the guy behind this corrupted operation, strode into the cage with his usual swagger. He flung my arm in the air and announced me as the winner in his deep, booming voice that reverberated through the barn. His woman attached herself to his side. She had no business being in here, but she had a habit of hovering. She licked her lips, her brown eyes roaming my abs as she straightened her spine and pushed out her double D’s. I couldn’t remember her fucking name, and I didn’t care to, even if she was the boss’ girl.
Only one girl flooded my mind, rushing blood straight to my cock, and she was stowed away on my boat, fucking safe from Zach. He was no doubt making a beeline for Portland right now, but we were miles from there in the middle of nowhere, on the edge of a secluded lake. Not many people frequented this area in the dead of winter, which made it the perfect place to engage in illegal fighting. Turned out it was also the perfect place to go off the grid, which I’d gotten fucking good at since I’d left Perrone’s estate in flames.
Jax appeared at my side and shoved clothing and a water bottle into my arms. As he took a long drag on his cigarette, I downed the lukewarm water in a single gulp.
