Reclaim Me

by A. O. Peart

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, locations, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Reclaim Me

  Copyright © 2014 by A. O. Peart

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used, reproduced, scanned, distributed, stored, or transmitted in whole or in part, in any form, by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying or recording without the express written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author. Your support and respect is always highly appreciated.

  For further information or permission please contact the author at angela@aopeart.com

  Author and publisher do not have control and do not assume responsibility for third party websites featuring this book and their content.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situation. It is intended for adult readers only.

  Cover art and design by Kelly Walker

  Formatted by Author's HQ

  Copyright © 2014 by A. O. Peart

  First Edition, 2014 published in the United States of America

  Three Graces Publishing.

  ISBN- 978-0-9883695-9-7

  To my friend and assistant Jessica

  You are an amazing woman. Thank you for standing by my side.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Other books by A.O. Peart

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Sneak Peek: A Fighter's Desire by L.P. Dover

  Chapter One

  It was a good night to get wasted. Not that I had a reason. I just felt like it. My twenty-four hour shift at Firehouse 8 ended this morning, so I didn’t have to go back to work tomorrow. I had nothing better to do tonight. Correction—I could’ve chosen a thing or two to do. I wasn’t a loser whose best bet in life was drinking alone in a bar. I simply made a clear decision to be lazy and get drunk tonight.

  Hard to believe, but none of my buddies were interested in watching the Portland State Vikings getting their asses whipped by the Arizona Wildcats at the Black Pelican over a pitcher of beer, but I wasn’t disappointed. Sometimes, I was just fine in my own company.

  Ethan, my best buddy and one of my countless cousins, was pulling his night-rotation shift at Firehouse 8. My other closest cousin, Nash, one of Ethan’s brothers, had some business deal tonight with the leaders of a large MC from Seattle. I’d often ridden my Harley with the Hell Ravens, Nash’s Club. But I was a free agent, not interested in joining, no matter how often Nash tried to recruit me.

  “Rita!” I waved to a good-looking, curvy redhead behind the bar. I lifted my empty beer glass, indicating a need for a refill.

  She grinned, showing her perfectly straight, super-white teeth. She grabbed my glass, refilled it from the tap, and slid it back to me, winking. “There you go, cowboy,” she drawled in her native Texan style.

  “Thanks, doll.”

  “Don’t mention it. Say, how’s Ethan these days? Haven’t seen him in here for a while.”

  She still was hell-bent on dating my cousin. Apparently, she didn’t know about Lisbeth—the girl who quickly wrapped Ethan around her pinky like no woman had ever done before.

  I just shrugged, took a long swig of my beer, and said, “You know how it is.”

  That vague answer clearly wasn’t what she was hoping for. For a moment her face contorted into a mask of confusion, then uncertainty, until she rolled her eyes and snorted, “Whatever, Jack. Like I give a shit.”

  I was sure she actually did, but I wouldn’t point that out. I liked Rita. She was a good friend.

  She turned her back to me and walked to a customer on the other side of the bar, tossing her hair with her hand. I would’ve sworn her middle finger poked out from between her thick mane, suspiciously looking as if she was flipping me off.

  I chuckled. Rita had attitude, but she also had good-humored personality to go with it. Not that I’d often experienced that sunny side of her nature, but that was my own fault. I got a kick out of pushing her buttons, and so I did that every chance I had. Yeah, I was a jerk, but with good-humored personality as well.

  For a fleeting while I wondered why Rita and I have never hit it off. Ethan went out with her a couple of times, but that was it. No woman, until Lisbeth, ever had him by the balls. Maybe Rita wasn’t exactly my type … or maybe I just wanted us to be friends. I had quite a few female friends, but rarely dated. Who was I kidding? There would never be another one like Willow. I would never fall for a woman the way I’d fallen for her. Lost in my thoughts, I slowly drained my beer and signaled Rita to refill my glass again.

  She wasn’t angry with me anymore, because she smiled and nodded to me. I bet a big tip from a group of drooling guys leaving the bar had something to do with the sudden change in her mood. She set two pitchers filled to the brims with the amber liquid on the counter. A guy in a striped sweater and baggy jeans picked them up and turned to carry the beer to the corner table where three of his buddies shouted obnoxiously for him to hurry up.

  The striped-sweater dude walked cautiously toward his friends, his gait very unsteady. The beer sloshed in the glass pitchers and splattered to the floor. He swore loudly, hiccupped, and swore again. More beer splashed onto the floor and his shoes.

  “Hey!” he yelled, turning his head to the bar, where Rita was wiping off the counter. “Bring that rag over here, would ya?”

  She gave him a fuck off look, but said, “I’ll take care of it in a minute.”

  “And while you’re at it, clean my shoes too. Come on, bitch! Chop, chop!” he shouted.

  His buddies hooted and catcalled, high-fiving one another. Idiots.

  I stood up and wordlessly walked toward the punk. He was much shorter than my six-four frame, and I had a good fifty pounds on him. I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him back to the bar.

  The beer spilled down his sweater and pants. He bellowed in surprise and confusion, “Fuck, man! What’ya doin’? Fuck off!” He held onto the pitchers though, helplessly trying to save what was left of the beer in them.

  “First, you apologize to the lady. Then, you’re gonna clean up that mess you made,” I said to him, dragging him forward.

  There was a commotion behind us. From the corner of my eye I saw his three friends rush us. They cursed out loud and knocked over some chairs in their path. A few customers scurried out of the way. More chairs fell, clattering onto the floor.

  One of the guys, short and pudgy, with a sheen of sweat on his round face, grabbed my arm. I reacted withou
t thinking, just moving. Fast and efficient. I twisted the guy’s arm and pushed him away, knocking him down to the floor. He collided with the second man who foolishly came up too close behind him, and together they tumbled down, on top of an overturned chair.

  The third one rushed straight at me from the other side. I turned to face him and slipped outward, evading his straight punch. His fist went past me, and now he was wide open for my counterattack. Even though I was a bit drunk, the adrenaline took care of clearing my head. I delivered my own punch—a heavy left—but he quickly raised his arms and covered his face, blocking the blow. I swiftly repositioned myself to his right and launched the next punch. My fist connected with the side of his skull. He went down onto one knee, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it.

  The other two clowns managed to scramble up. The heavy-set one had enough and ran out the front door, but the second guy was ready for round two. I rolled my eyes. This wasn’t the evening I was hoping for. Ending up in the bar brawl was not something I’d done in a long time.

  “Look man, just walk away,” I told him. But he had murder written all over his face. He motioned to me with both hands to come to him. There was no convincing him to get out of here and save his sorry ass. They guys like this one were the worse idiots who thrived on getting into fights. I used to be just like that.

  “Whatever.” I shrugged and backed off.

  “Scared?” he taunted.

  “Yeah, of you. Go home, asshole.” As soon as I said that, the striped-sweater dude who insulted Rita earlier came at me, swinging his fists in some pitiful, drunken dance.

  When I dodged a sloppy punch from him, I was facing the bar and saw one of the waitresses run back, grab the phone on the counter, and quickly punch the numbers on the keypad. Crap, she was calling the cops, I was sure of it. I had to end this circus and get the hell out of here. Fuck, so much for a relaxing me-time.

  Striped-sweater lost his balance and fell down. The other fool who wouldn’t back off before jumped on my back, attempting a choke-hold. He was much shorter than me, so he ended up hanging off me like a monkey.

  I promptly leaned forward, twisting my body at the hips. His choke-hold wasn’t strong enough, and so the force of my movement threw him off me and sent him flying onto a nearby table.

  By now, the area around us was completely cleared. This was a slow night, so the handful of customers who came here tonight already left in a hurry. Only two waitresses and Rita were working tonight, and now they all yelled at us to stop fighting. Actually, I was the only one standing, so all the yelling was directed at me.

  Rita rushed toward me, eyes blazing with anger, face twisted into an ugly mask. She urgently whispered, “Get the hell out of here now. Tara just called the police.”

  “Fuck no. I’m not gonna run from the cops. That dipshit attacked me, not other way around—”

  “He didn’t attack you. You grabbed him, remember?” she hissed. “What the hell is wrong with you? I deal with pricks like that one almost every day. I know how to handle it. But no—a big, bad Marine had to show off.”

  “I wasn’t showing off. I was stopping a man who insulted a woman. That’s all I was doing.” Once a Marine, always a Marine. How could I let that asshole get away with what he did?

  She shook her head and thrust her arm down, indicating the three guys sprawled on the floor, one of them unconscious and the two others moaning in pain, clutching their various body parts. “Why couldn’t you just ignore that little shitface? Do you really think you did me a favor?”

  I gaped at her, lost for words. I was trying to protect her, to help out. That guy totally stepped over the line, so why was she chewing my ass for trying to straighten him out?

  “Go,” she hissed again. “Back door.” She pointed with her chin.

  “I can explain to the cops—” I tried to reason with her.

  “I don’t want to lose this job, Jack. I’m already late with the rent. If I get kicked out, I’ll be living in my piece-of-shit car that’s on its last leg.” Rita put her fists on her hips. A deep frown formed between her eye brows. “The owner will blame me, because you’re my friend. He will say it was my fault. I just know it. So do me a favor, and leave. We’ll just tell the cops, and the owner, that it was some random customer, that none of us has ever seen before.”

  I didn’t want to argue with her. She might’ve had a point, but then I thought of something. “What about the security tape?” I pointed to the small video camera in corner of the bar, right under the ceiling.

  “Well, we’re in luck. It’s broken.”

  “Okay.” I shrugged. “Are you sure I shouldn’t stay?” Getting out of there now didn’t sit well with me.

  Rita pushed me toward the back door. “I’m positive. Scoot, you bandit.”

  Tara, the girl who called the cops, followed us. “Sorry, Jack. I just freaked out. I thought the three of them against just you… I didn’t… I mean…” She looked frightened and unsure of what to say. I suddenly felt bad for her.

  “It’s cool. Sorry about the mess.” I stopped her.

  The other waitress, whose name I didn’t remember, said hearteningly, “We won’t tell them anything.”

  “Oh, for God's sake—just go.” Rita unlocked the back door, swung it open, and pushed me out.

  I stood in the empty alley, looking at the closed door. I got pissed all over again. This just wasn’t right. Was I some freakin’ low life to start a brawl in a bar and then run from the police, leaving three women to deal with all the mess? Fuck no. I took two steps back toward the door and yanked on the handle. Nothing. She locked it. “Hell!” I punched the frame. The pain exploded in my already battered knuckles and travelled all the way up to my wrist. “Shit.” I shook my hand and then pressed it into the crook of my other elbow in an attempt to soothe its throbbing.

  The rain fell in sheets, and my thin jacket was quickly soaking up the water. I zipped it all the way up to my chin and looked around, uttering bloody curses. The alley was surfaced with uneven pavers and littered with the garbage spilling from the overflowing dumpster.

  I kicked an empty can of Coke, sending it flying into the shadows. It bounced off the opposite building and rolled back under the dumpster. The only light in the alley came from the small lamp sconce attached to the wall above the doorframe. It flickered once, twice, and died.

  “Yeah, just my luck,” I muttered. I thought about walking around the building to the front of and waiting for the cops to explain what happened. But I knew Rita didn’t exaggerate. She wasn’t the type. If she said the owner would fire her because of what I did, he probably would.

  “Fuck that shit!” I yelled. I was boiling inside. “Son of a bitch!” I should’ve gone home. But, instead, I was standing there in the pouring rain, trying to decide the right thing to do.

  My cell phone rang. I patted my jeans pockets and pulled it out. The screen lit up with Rita’s name and phone number displayed on it. Rain drops covered it immediately and ran down the surface. I wiped the screen off on my jeans and slid my finger across it to answer then put the phone to my ear. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  She sighed deeply and said, “Listen, sorry, I think I overreacted. I know you were trying to help. But now the cops are here, so I only have a moment to talk.”

  “Do you want me to come back? I’m still in the back alley—”

  “No,” she stopped me. “No, Jack. I told you why. But … I need a favor.”

  “Of course, anything. What’s up?”

  “My neighbor just called me. She lives in the apartment above me. She’s my best friend, and I really worry about her,” Rita sounded nervous.

  “Okay,” I said slowly. “What’s happening?”

  “I can’t leave because of the cops and the mess here, otherwise I would. But as soon as they let me, I’m gonna drive home.”

  I waited for her to continue. It sounded as if she covered the receiver with her hand and was talking with someone. A moment l
ater, I heard her come back, “Sorry. I have to go, they wanna talk with me now. Okay, can you go to my place? She has a spare key to my apartment, so she’s hiding in there.”

  “Hiding from whom? What’s that about? Is the girl in some kind of trouble?” The rain pelted down on my head, running in thick rivulets down my face. I wiped my eyes with the back my hand, but that didn’t help much. I turned around, trying to locate shelter, but there was nowhere I could wait this downpour out.

  “Her boyfriend beat her badly. She grabbed her purse and ran. He has no idea she might be hiding in my place, so for the time being she’s safe. But she’s scared he’ll figure it out and come to get her. Can you go and just make sure she’s okay until I arrive?”

  “Yeah, sure …” I realized I had no idea where she lived. “What’s your address?”

  She relayed the information and promptly hung up. I started toward the end of the alley, water splashing under my heavy boots. I had to find a taxi. I turned left into NW Hoyt Street and ran up to the traffic light. Vehicles passed me in both directions, but no taxis. As soon as I got to the crosswalk, the light changed to red. I could care less—I was already soaked to the bone. Nevertheless, it pissed me off.

  “Damned rain,” I murmured to myself. I was fuming, waiting for the light to change to the green. It wasn’t changing. “Is there a cab available anywhere in this God forsaken city?”

  This was unbearable. I wished I had my truck. But I knew I wouldn’t drive it anyway after having a few beers. What the hell was I doing, standing here in the pouring rain in the middle of downtown Portland, looking for a non-existent taxi? How did I get myself trapped in such an idiotic plan? If it wasn’t for that shitfaced worthless piece of crap at the bar, I would’ve called a taxi before I left the Black Pelican. But no, I had to get involved and end up here, soaking wet and stranded. And as if that wasn’t humiliating enough, I had to go and promise Rita to rescue some chick I’ve never met before. I didn’t even know what she looked like or what her name was. I was a moron.