Walk the Line (Kings of Chaos Book 5)

by Shyla Colt

“I’ll hold the bag. Let’s see if you remember anything I taught you,” Warp says.

  I snort. “It’s like that?”

  “Yeah. I ain’t seen you in here in a while.”

  The rhythm comes back to me as I run through the familiar motion, warming up and loosening my muscles. We move together seamlessly as we return to the roles of teacher and student.

  “That’s it. Stick the jab. You got it.”

  I add a little footwork as I get into the rhythm. Warmed and calmer I step back and roll my shoulders.

  “Still think I don’t have it, old man?”

  He laughs. “You’re not half bad.”

  I shake my head. He was never one for high-praise. “You ready to talk this out?”

  “Don’t know what’s left to say.”

  “She agreed to be my Old Lady, and I think you owe me an apology for bad mouthing a woman you’ve never met. Yeah, her ex-lunatic was rich, but she came from a middle-class family from a tiny town in Tennessee. That’s pretty salt of the earth. If it’s three things my girl knows, it’s whiskey, Jesus, and loyalty.”

  Warp snickers. “Are you serious right now?”

  “Partially. She prefers beer to whiskey unless it’s Tequila, but she’s loyal, strong, and yeah a little godly too.”

  He grunts. “You set a date for her to get tatted?”

  “Not yet. Neither of us is in a rush.”

  He scoffs. “The road to hell is paved with, good intentions.”

  “You sound dangerously close to disrespecting my Old Lady. You calling her a liar?”

  “I ain’t calling her nothing. I never met her.”

  “Yet, you have a lot to say about her.”

  “Not her. What I know about her type.”

  “We going to agree to disagree or are we headed into the ring?” I ask.

  “She sure got you wrapped tightly around her finger, don’t she?”

  “Warp, I’m warning you.”

  “Warning me? You think I’m scared of you?”

  “Let’s take this to the ring,” I say.

  “Gladly.”

  “When we’re done, I don’t want to hear another bad word against, Blanche. You feel me?”

  “Hopefully I’ll knock some sense into you.”

  “I’m going to change and grab Stone to referee.”

  The bell rings, and it’s all-out war. There’s no dancing around, it’s a slugfest as we go blow for blow, laying into one another. Pain explodes in my ribs. I land a shot to his left eye. His head snaps back, and I grin. The metallic taste of blood coats my mouth. His lip splits, and my ears ring as he catches me with a wicked right hook.

  “Alright. Enough of this. Whatever beef you have stays in this ring.”

  I place my hands on my knees to catch my breath and nod.

  Not even one round. My knuckles are bruised and bloody, and my eye is swelling. Warp looks equally bad, if not worse. His busted lip makes me smirk. I focused on the source of my rage, his mouth. He spits out blood.

  “Agreed.”

  “Good. Now touch fists and get the hell out of here.” We touch fists reluctantly and retreat to our own corners. I climb from the ring ignoring the stares following me out of the room and down the hall to my dorm room. Warp and I were like two peas in a pod most of the time, so stepping into the ring to settle a difference is major gossip material. I hit the shower with water as hot as I can stand it. I cringe as the water hits my open wounds, but I know my body will thank me later when I’m not as sore. I rinse off the blood and stand beneath the spray until the water runs cold. I step out, dry off, and pop pain pills dry mouthed. The knock on the door makes me scowl. Last thing I’m up for is a lecture about brotherly love from Stone.

  “Freeze, it’s Ratchet, I got your stuff man.”

  I’ve never been relieved to hear from a Prospect before. I walk to the door and open it. “Good work, Spec.” I take the mail and my cut with a head nod. There are times like these when the walls of the club close in. When you need a break from the constant noise, women vying for your attention, and brothers who all have a story to tell you. I finish dressing, shrug on my cut and put on a sneer. My expression keeps everyone at bay as until I’m out the door and on my way home. I’ve never had a home like this. The dorms are a shelter. A place I can eat, change, and keep my stuff. I have company and brothers, but it’s not comforting, unless you count familiarity. It suited me fine when I was on the road more than not, but I see the difference.

  The thought of the condo decorated by Blanche with bits of me, memories of our time together, home cooked meals, and someone who loves me is a universe unlike any I’ve ever known. Love. For most of my life, it’s eluded me to the point where I wondered if it was a myth. A pretty concept they feed you like fairytales, romance stories, and myths. Most marriages end in divorce, and unlike most people, familial love is like a unicorn to me, mythical and completely ridiculous. I no more believed in the concept of concentrated affection as I did that ridiculous horned creature.

  Except now, it’s all changed. Funny how the first-hand experience with the right person can completely change your point of view. I’m stiff and exhausted by the time I get to the parking lot. I grunt as I dismount and get my saddle bags over my shoulder. I wrap an arm around my bruised ribs and climb the stairs. I know she took the third floor for extra security. It’s a smart move for a single mom on her own. Right now, I’m hating it. I unlock the door and step inside.

  “Oh, my, God. J, what the hell happened to you?”

  “I came to an agreement.”

  “With who? Mike Tyson?”

  “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts too badly.”

  “J,” She deadpans, clearly not amused.

  “I told you we take our issues to the ring.”

  “Wait. Warp did this?” Anger flashes in her eyes.

  “Trust me if he wanted to, I’d be hurt a lot worse. This was just blowing off steam and clearing the air.”

  “Yeah, there are these magical things called words that do the same thing.”

  “Not for us.”

  “You guys need a damn mediator then.” She scowls.

  “We have one. The ring.”

  “Men.” She huffs.

  “Hey. You should see him. He’s got a black eye and a busted lip.”

  “You’re proud of that aren’t you?”

  “Hell yeah, the old man can box, and I held my own.”

  “Let me get you some frozen peas to stop the swelling before it gets any worse.”

  I plop onto the couch with my saddlebags at my feet. I dig into the bag and begin to sort through nearly a month’s worth of mail. Junk. Junk. Bill. Bill. Mysterious package. I hold the manila envelope between my fingers. I can’t think of a single person who’d know how to find me. I rip the top and find a letter folded into three parts. I open the letter and freeze when a picture of me, my grandmother and my mom fall out onto my lap. What the fuck? Who is this from? I glance down at the letter.

  I’ve thought about what I’d say in this letter for years. I had the words memorize and ready to write down. But when I sit down, I draw a blank. My name is Karen Frances Ryan, and I’m your mother. This is a picture of me you and my mom, Doris when you were one, before your father was killed in the robbery and I received life with no parole for the murder of a guard. Good behavior and crowding gave me the opportunity to leave jail and re-enter society.

  My heart jumps into my throat. She’s out? She looked me up? How the fuck did she find me? I stand and drop the letter like it’s on fire. Is she looking for someone to bum money from? Can I afford to not find out? I have a link to family.

  “J?”

  I peer down at Blanche.

  “What happened?”

  “My mom is out of jail.”

  “What?”<
br />
  “I just got a letter.”

  “What did she say?”

  “I don’t know I’m still trying to wrap my head around the first half,” I say bashfully. “Shit I thought she’d died years ago.”

  I sit on the couch, and she hands me the peas. I close my eyes and place them over my left eye. She picks up the letter and hands it to me. I have to finish reading it.

  You were the only thing on my mind. I had no clue where to find you or what had happened. I signed over my rights to my mom. When she passed, and you went into the system, it was the harshest wake-up call I’d ever been given. My piss poor decisions put you into a broken system. I used to blame your father. But that was part of my problem, never taking responsibility for my own actions. It’s part of the disease I have. Addiction. Like my father and your father. It’s an ugly thing that takes away your ability to think about anything else but your next score. Truth is, if I hadn’t landed in jail, heroin would’ve killed me.

  Being in here gave me a lot of time to think about my life, where I went wrong, and what I would change. I have many regrets, but failing you is my number one. I spent the past year getting on my feet. It took time to land a job, and earn enough money to hire an investigator to hunt you down. I lost track of you after you left the system. You’ve been my angel. The saving grace that keeps me on the straight and narrow when I was overwhelmed by the switch to life in the real world.

  I’d think about the moment I’d find you, wake up, and put one foot in front of the other. If we never meet and I never hear you from you. I needed you to know that. You’re the best thing I’ve ever done in my life. The only right decision I made. I’m sorry for the derailing I caused to happen in your life. There aren’t enough words to apologize for that, so I won’t pretend I expect this to bring about forgiveness. But I hope you’ll consider writing me back and starting a relationship. I’d like a chance to know the man you’ve become.

  Yours,

  Karen

  I feel like the air has been sucked from the room. My mother is alive. She’s apologizing for what she did and asking for a chance to know me. How can I say no? How can I risk it? Would it hurt worse to be disappointed, or to ever take the risk? All I ever wanted was family. Now I have a shot.

  “She wants to meet me.”

  “What do you want?” B asked.

  I shake my head. “I never entertained this being a possibility.”

  “It’s got to be a shock to the system.”

  “Yeah. She’s been out a year and trying to find me. She traced me through the foster system and then lost my trail when I was nineteen and left the state.”

  “A year? Why is she only contacting you now?”

  “She had to get stable and save up enough to hire a private detective to find me.”

  “Whoa. She’s really serious about this, isn’t she?”

  “Apparently. Damn.” I rub my mouth and stroke my goatee.

  “Whatever you decide, J, I’ll back you one-hundred percent.”

  Her words are background noise compared to my crowded head.

  Chapter Eleven

  Blanche

  I feel like I’ve been lifting heavy weights all day as I trudge up the stairs. In the nostalgia of remembering what being a physical therapist was like, I’d forgotten how physically demanding it could be. I hesitate as I reach our landing. Jagger has been unusually sullen and withdrawn. The letter from his mother threw him for a real loop. While I can’t blame him, I hate the distance creeping in between us. The man has a lot to learn about communication. I shake my head as I think about his mediation with Warp. Healthy communication that is. I unlock the door and step inside dragging my feet as I toss my purse onto the table.

  “Hey.”

  “You’re home,” I whisper trying to gage his mood.

  “I got sent home early. I was covering shifts for Tinley this week because Cody had the flu. So she did me a solid and took me off the schedule for the next two days giving me four days off, with the weekend.” He studies me and frowns. “You okay, B?”

  “Yes. The only thing I want right now is to take a shower, put on my pajamas and crack open the bottle of Tennessee Whiskey Jess sent to the house.”

  “We can do that.”

  I shake my head. “Not really, ‘cause I need to tame this mane. Which is fine, except I can barely lift my arms over my head right now. It takes so much more upper body strength than I’m used to. Before I worked with clients, who had a variety of injuries. The center focuses on spinal cord injuries which means I need to beef up the muscles.” I flex my arms.

  “Don’t worry about doing your hair; I can do that for you.”

  “Babe, my hair is totally different from yours,” I say gently.

  “I know, Curly Q, but I can follow directions.”

  “You’d do that for me?” I whisper. His willingness is worth more than any diamond bracelet my husband ever gave me.

  “Yeah. I know I been a dick lately. I’m working my way through the bomb my mom dropped on me. I think I want to see her. At least once, you know? Do you think you could go with me?”

  “You don’t even have to ask. Let me know dates when you’re ready. I’ll work it out with the center.”

  He relaxes. “Alright. Go get showered and bring me the hair stuff.”

  “If you’re sure,” I say with a frown. I’ve never had a man willing to cater to me like this man. Maybe that’s why I follow his directions. If anyone else ever treated me the way he did, I’d be turned off. It’s different with, Jagger. I know my happiness and well-being are always at the forefront of his mind in everything he does. I crave the ability to live unencumbered by too many choices. I can turn my busy head off and follow his lead.

  “Now, woman. And use the good stuff I bought you by the crate at the mall.”

  “Yes, Sir.” I salute him, and he smacks my ass as I walk by.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m dressed in a pair of black, white, and pink plaid boxers and a pink tank top with a comb, twist cream and seated between his legs.

  “Show me what you want me to do, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  “Okay, the first thing you’re going to do is part my hair in sections.” I pull the comb down my hair and section off a chunk, pinning the rest back with a clip. “Then break into a smaller section.” I part a smaller piece, dip my hand in the vanilla cupcake scented all-natural white hair cream, and work it into my hair with smooth downward strokes. “Once it’s all saturated, you’ll part the hair into two strands like this.” I make a twist. “And then I like to add a Bantu knot.”

  “A Bantu what?”

  “A Bantu knot, watch.” I twist my hair and wind it into a circle, forming a small knot.

  “And that’s it?”

  “Yeah…. All over my head.”

  “Lean back, and relax.” I hand him the comb, and he gently parts the next section and follows my process. By the fourth Bantu knot, I’m relaxed against the couch, sipping on my tumbler of whiskey and falling deeper in love with the man who does more than make love to my body. He romances my soul.

  “How was your day, other than being exhausting?”

  “It was great. I’m working with this teenager girl named, Bethany, who’s amazing. She has a lumbar injury that landed her in a back brace for about six months. The doctor gave the green light, and we’re starting physical therapy.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “She took a fall while horseback riding. She’s competed since she was nine, but when the accident occurred, she was riding for fun.”

  “Jesus.”

  “I know. She works so hard for me. Her goal is to get back on a horse within the year and reclaim her old life. I have no doubt she’ll do just that.”

  “You sound proud of her.”

  “I am. I’
m always inspired by work. These people are facing all kinds of challenges and most attack it with courage and optimism. It takes some longer to get there than others, but I’ve seen it time and time again. The will to survive is strong, and hope is a living breathing thing. I missed the daily reminders of that.”

  “So you like your job.”

  “I love it, J. When I’m there, I know I’m exactly where I should be, doing what I was put on this Earth to do.”

  “I like seeing you happy. You’ve been glowing since you started there.”

  I wrap my hand around his leg and rub up and down his muscular calf. “Thank you for pushing me to go for it. I needed someone in my corner, and you and Jess were there every step of the way.”

  “I didn’t, do anything but speak the truth. I knew you could do it if you wanted it bad enough. Who else did you work with?”

  “I worked with Mr. Anderson. He’s a regular we see three to four times a week. He’s got a spinal injury at C-7 it’s between the cervical and thoracic where the nerve roots exit, so he’s unable to use his legs for the most part, though he does have sensation in them.”

  “Whoa. What happened?”

  “Car accident.”

  “And it’ll never get better?”

  “No, but he’s an ideal patient. He was healthy before the accident, and jumped right back into the eating and exorcizing he could do during his recovery. There are so many things they can still do, just in a different way. He is playing on a basketball league, drives an adaptable car, and mentors others who’ve been recently diagnosed with his support group. He lives more than most people with full use of their faculties.”

  J whistles. “It sounds like. I can’t imagine what it would be like, not having the use of your lower body. Does he have help?”

  “Yes, he has an assistant during the day, and we work closely with him to make sure he has everything he needs to help make his life easier. I love that our center does consultations on equipment. It makes us a full stop. I think that’s part of the healing, getting the complete picture and remaining with the people you trust.”

  “You never get sad?”