by K. L. Savage
As tempting as it is, I can’t succumb to weakness, not yet.
I’m not ready.
I push myself up and roll out of bed, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hands and wincing as I rub over a new bruise.
Stripping off my clothes, I head into the master bathroom and turn on the shower. While the spray hits the tiled floor, I stare at myself in the mirror.
Bruises everywhere.
And every bruise represents a moment I didn’t try to fight. I need to dig deep for my fucking will, the give a damns, and the need to want more for myself than this. I’ve been tired for so long that I’ve grown numb to the pain he gives.
When is my breaking point?
Unable to look at my abused self in the mirror any longer, I step into the shower stall and close my eyes as the water hits against my back. My shoulder twinges in pain and I know by the end of the day I’ll have a bruise.
I always do.
The one thing I can say about a nice hot shower is I’m able to let my thoughts run away from me and no one knows about them. They are my secrets, my simple pleasures, and if there is one thing Kenneth can’t take from me, it’s my imagination.
And right now, I’m imagining life without Kenneth. It’s what I usually do when I’m alone.
As I wash my hair with coconut-scented shampoo, Kenneth’s favorite, I picture myself in a red convertible. I don’t care about the make or model, I just want the wind in my hair and loud music blaring. I’m singing at the top of my lungs and I’m enjoying the sun on my face while I drive up the coast of California.
I want to smell the salt in the air and dip my toes in the ocean. I’ve never seen the ocean before. I bet it’s so peaceful. The water rushes over my face as I tilt my head back. It’s hot and comforting. I pretend the warmth is from the sun beaming down on me as I lay out on a beach towel, getting a tan.
My shoulders are hot from the sun, and I’m sinking into a lazy state. The sand sticks to my fingertips and the tops of my feet.
I’m alone.
I usually am in my dreams.
But this time, a hand sneaks out and touches mine. Calloused fingers skim up my arm and tuck my hair behind my ear. I turn my head to see who is there and it’s a man with messy raven-colored hair and eyes that shine amber in the sunlight. His body is kissed by the heat and his abs glisten from the ocean water dripping from his abs.
I snap my eyes open and gasp when Whistler invades my daydream. The one thing that is mine and he has invaded it. How? I can’t think of him. I don’t want to be with a man after I leave Kenneth, which I will, one day.
Just because Whistler seems kind, doesn’t mean anything.
I’ve been fooled by kindness once before. I won’t fall for man’s charms again and Whistler seems full of charms, winks, and smiles.
I bet women line up just to talk to him.
Not that I want to be with him. Like my California dream, that’s all Whistler is. The man is an escape from my harsh reality and it’s better to keep him in the back of my mind. If the time comes where I’m free, I’m running far away, and not even a man as tempting as Whistler will be able to stop me.
I miss the woman I used to be. The one before Kenneth. The one that lived life and wouldn’t take any bullshit. Where did she go? Where is her strength? I think back to all the times I said I’d never be that woman in a bad relationship or the woman that would be too afraid to leave, because how hard could it be? And I want to slap that girl.
If I knew then what I know now, I would have been smarter, kinder, and more sympathetic to other women in the same position.
I was doomed the moment I met Kenneth. My naïve-self believed every word that fell out of his rotten mouth. I’d give anything to pry his lips apart and stuff him full of every lie, hit, kick, and punch he has ever given me.
Maybe then, when he is about to explode, he’ll rethink his next move.
I turn off the shower, snag the towel from the rack and wince when throbbing pain takes over my shoulder. Half of the mirror over the vanity is fogged but I can still see myself. I turn and see a bruise starting to form over my shoulder where I hit it against the bedpost.
How am I going to explain the bruises to my dad and the crew now? I’ve used every damn excuse in the book, and I’m running out of pages to turn.
Tearing my eyes away from my body, I go about my usual routine. I spray my hair with leave-in conditioner, and it smells like coconuts which takes me back to my dream of being on a California beach. I think about seagulls and their chirps and drift off to dreamland while blow-drying my hair. Beach waves crash in the front of my mind as I try to hide the bruises on my face with makeup.
Color corrector is a life saver. Green covers red, orange, and red cover darker tones like purples and blacks—perfect for bruises. It isn’t perfect. It isn’t full coverage, but it’s better than nothing.
I don’t bother with mascara. I’ll just end up crying it away throughout the day from the pain. The counter hits my hips as I lean against it, and I give myself a once over.
Damn it, Charlie. You’re better than this. He doesn’t love you and you sure as hell do not love him. Run. Run as far as you can and never look back.
“I can’t,” I whisper out loud to my own inner thoughts.
I could kill him.
I gasp and run out of the bathroom, covering my hand over my mouth from the shock of the thought. I hate Kenneth so much and every time a violent idea crosses my mind, I tremble. I’m not a confrontation personal. How could I defend myself against Kenneth? My attempt to defend myself would take too long and he’d strike.
Kill him.
The more I think about it, the more appealing it becomes, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in prison for murder.
And the one thing I know for sure… I’d feel bad for him once he was dead. I’d be ridden with guilt. I’d regret it. I’d feel sorry for him even though I shouldn’t, and I hate that quality about myself. I wish I didn’t care about people because then maybe I wouldn’t be here in this situation. I would have gotten rid of Kenneth ages ago.
My phone buzzes and when I see Dad’s name flashing across the screen, I realize I’m running late. I’ve been caught plotting my husband’s death… again. It would be sweet.
Bloody?
Definitely.
In my dreams, I’d prolong it. I’d cut him, stab him, and torture him like he did to me.
An-eye-for-two-eye’s, bitch.
That’s where I’m at with him.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m about to walk out the door,” I say as I answer the phone, putting it on speaker so I can get dressed.
“Great, sweetheart. No rush. Me and the guys just got to the job site. Can you pick up some coffee? And those—”
“Maple apple donuts you like so much? Yes,” I chuckle. Dad has the biggest sweet tooth. He must have donuts every day but is healthy as a horse since he works so much. And besides breakfast, his other meals are healthy. That’s why I don’t get onto him about what he eats.
“You’re the best, Charlie. You didn’t tell me this was for a biker club. This is good business, sweetheart. They are talking about so many projects.”
“Oh, damn. Dad. I’m so sorry. I forgot to tell you they already backed it. In cash. A hundred thousand. I’ll bring it to you so you can take it to the bank.”
“A hundred thousand!” he balks. “Wow. Charlie. Holy shit, this is exactly what Fletcher’s needed.”
“I know, Dad. I’m happy for us. I’m on my way. Be there soon. Love you.”
“Love you too. Drive safe.”
I hang up the phone and slip it into my back pocket, then slide on my work boots and tie the laces tight. The forest green Fletcher’s Construction shirt I tug over my head has been worn a hundred times and is soft from a hundred washes. It feels like heaven against my skin.
Kill him.
I’ve never thought about it so much and I’m not too sure what the breaking poin
t was for me in order to have that thought play on repeat in my head now.
On my way out the door, I snag my teal purse and take an inhale of the fresh air.
“Hey there, Charlie. How are you doing today?”
I wave at Mr. Grant, the elderly next door neighbor who thinks he needs to pick up the newspaper with a parted plush robe on and tight briefs. “I’m doing great. Yourself?”
“Just about to read the arrest reports.” He slaps the newspaper against his knee and gives me a toothless laugh. “It’s my favorite. I always see someone I know.” He scurries to his front door, leaving me shaking my head like I always do.
He’s obsessed with the arrest reports.
The truck door is heavy and the hinges grind as it swings open, which causes me to cringe. I hate that sound.
The first thing I check for is the money by shoving my hand under the seat. I gag when I feel crumbs and questionable…things, but pat around until the two stacks of cash hit my palm. I pull them out and fan them to make sure it’s all there.
Another reason why I don’t want to take this to the bank is because I’m always supposed to take ten thousand off the top, but if Dad does it, Kenneth has to get over it. If Dad deposits the money, the earnings are safe.
If I do, I’m forced to steal.
I always try to get Dad to deposit anything we earn, but most of the time he can’t.
I’m tired of being a liar, a bad daughter, a tool for someone else’s gain, and punching bag.
Kill him.
If I do, all my problems would be taken care of, and I’ll be free from the Devil.
It boils down to one thing:
Do I have what it takes to kill Kenneth?
Mercy let me bring my sister to the second floor of the bar where the rooms are renovated and brand new. I rub my tired eyes and yawn. I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours. There was no way I could sleep last night. I was too worried about Taylor.
“How’s she doing, Driller?” I ask, my voice hoarse from lack of sleep.
Taylor is sleeping and won’t be waking up any time soon with all the medication Driller has injected her with.
He listens to her heartbeat one more time before taking the stethoscope off and wrapping it around his neck. “It looks worse than it is,” he says.
“Looks worse than it is? Are you fucking kidding me right now, Driller? She’s black and blue all over. She can hardly open her eyes.”
“Which is why I said it looks worse than it is. She’s got a few bruised ribs that will hurt for a while, but considering how bad her bruises are, I expected more damage, Whistler. You’re lucky. She’s lucky. Why don’t you get some rest? Shower. Sleep. Eat. She’s down for the count and she’s safe.”
“Yeah.” I snort with a shake of my head, not believing a word of that. “For how long? How long before she falls into the hands of some other asshole? How long before one of them kills her, Driller?”
“We have to make sure that doesn’t happen. We will protect her.”
“I’ve been protecting her my entire life. I obviously am not doing a great job.”
“She’s alive. Without you, she’d probably be dead.” He slaps me on the shoulder as he walks out the door. “Really. Get some sleep. We need you rested.”
“I don’t know if I could sleep right now. Thanks for everything, Driller. I appreciate it.”
“It’s what I’m here for. She’s not in any pain. I gave her a shit ton of morphine.” He gives my shoulder another squeeze before exiting the room, gently closing the door behind him.
The buzz of the air conditioning kicks on along with the fan blades swirling which causes the metal chains that control it to click together. Taylor is sound asleep. My eyes fall to the bed and are glued to the rise and fall of her chest. “What am I going to do with you, Taylor?” I whisper to her as I tuck a piece of her brown hair behind her ear.
The lamp is on and it casts a faint yellow glow against her cheek causing the black bruises to shine bright.
“I’m going to kill Roy and whoever he owns money to, Sis-a-roo. I don’t care if it makes you hate me. I’ve been too lenient, too passive- just wanting to make you happy. That ends now. If you can’t make good decisions for yourself, then I’ll be making them for you. The nice brother is gone.” I bend down and give her a kiss on the forehead.
I step out of the room and close the door, stretching my neck left and right until I hear an audible crack. My knee throbs, something that hasn’t happened in a while. Kicking down a few doors the other night certainly wasn’t good for it.
Rubbing the muscle around the kneecap, I groan and hang my head. Fuck, that hurts. I adjust all of my weight to the other leg to give my aching knee a break. I lean my back against the wall and stare up at the ceiling.
This bar’s bones have so much potential. Huge beams support the roof, reminding me of a cathedral with a Victorian-style twist to it. The staircase is grand, like something from the Great Gatsby or Titanic. The staircase itself needs some love and after the steps get sanded, painted, or carpeted, whatever Mercy decides, it will look great.
Whoever owned it before was an idiot for having a building like this and letting it go. Mercy had a good idea to buy the place and make it into a safe haven. He’s the right man for the job as Prez. I already can’t wait for us to be a part of a mission that’s actually good for people.
There isn’t a lot of good in the world, but when there is, I always want to be a part of it.
The back of my head hits against the wall and I steal a glance at the metallic emerald wallpaper before shutting my eyes.
Just for a second.
Okay, maybe for a few minutes.
I slide down the wall until my ass hits the floor. I slide to the right as gravity lowers my body to the ground naturally, and I lay on my side with my arm under my head. The hardwood is uncomfortable, but I’m too tired to care.
No one will even notice I’m gone. A quick power nap is all I need and I’ll be good as new.
I’m not sure how long I lie there, but the sound of a sweet voice that’s as smooth as honey filters through my dreams. I slowly come back to the real world and try to pry my eyes open through the sandpaper texture under my lids.
I rub my eyes with my fist, rubbing the need for sleep away.
I need caffeine.
All of it.
Just insert an I.V. drip of coffee in my vein so I can get on with my day.
My eyes close on their own accord and I’ve made the decision to not get up. Someone shakes my shoulder, and I grunt and wave at them to go away.
And then they keep fucking shaking me.
I snag my hand out and wrap my fingers around their wrist for them to stop. “What the hell do you want? I’m sleeping.” My voice is unrecognizable from the stress and lack of sleep. It’s full of grit and gravel which won’t change unless I finally get some rest.
“Whistler, you need to come see this.”
I peek my eye open and see One crouching next to me, elbows on his knees, and staring at me with a wrinkle between his eyebrows.
“Just have Mercy do it, man. I’m not the Prez anymore and I need my damn shut-eye.”
“You can get your beauty sleep later. Charlie is here and something is going on with her.”
“So call her husband,” I grumble, the words leaving a bad aftertaste in my mouth.
“Yeah, I doubt we are going to want to do that.”
That has me opening my eyes indefinitely and pushing myself up into a sitting position. I yawn and rub my hands over my face, the stubble along my cheeks scratching against my palm and reminding me that I haven’t shaved in a few days.
“I brought you coffee,” One bribes me. He reaches behind his back and like magic, he produces a cup of coffee. It’s steaming and the smell almost has my eyes rolling to the back of my head. They would, but I’m too tired to put in that much effort right now.
I take a swig of it and cough, nearly spitting it clear acros
s the hall when I taste whiskey. My eyes burn and my throat tingles. “What the fuck, One?” I choke, swallowing the Jameson lying thick on my tongue.
He grins, like the damn cat who ate the canary. “You needed to wake up. I figured what better way to start the day.”
“Trying to kill me,” I grumble, yet take another sip of the damn coffee anyway. His way is crazy, but it oddly works. “Okay, lead the way Master.” I spread my arm out and One holds his chin up high which makes me chuckle.
I take another gulp of the drink.
What the hell is wrong with me?
A sound of pain escapes my lips when I take the first step on my bad leg.
“Shit, is it acting up again?”
“Kicking in my sister’s doors open didn’t help. I’m fine.”
“Let me know if I can get you more whiskey,” One offers.
“Damn straight.” I check the time and want to cry like a kid when I see it’s barely eight in the morning.
We finally make it to the bottom of the staircase when I finish off the whiskey coffee and see Mercy talking to a guy around his age. Mercy is waving his arms as he speaks, pointing to the area where the girls used to perform.
I overhear him say, “I want this to be a shelter of sorts, but I want each woman or girl to have their own private space. I know they will be small, but I’m hoping you could fit ten rooms in here with their own small bathroom with a tub. Women like tubs and if they have kids, they need to bathe them.”
Man, the guy has a heart of gold.
I leave them to talk and follow One to the side room where I hear workers tearing the floorboards up. A few guys are gathering the debris and carrying it outside to throw it away.
One points to a woman who is talking to a member of the crew while pointing to the wall. I narrow my eyes as I analyze Charlie. She’s got a busted lip and her eye is bruised. With how she moves, stiff and slow, it seems like her back hurts too.
My blood pressure rises, and I squeeze the white mug in my hand to a point where it might break. I knew her husband was worthless.
I stomp over to her and when the guy she is talking to sees me coming, he snatches a piece of paper from Charlie before running away.
