by Jaci J.
He nods, leaning back in the chair, scrubbing at his beard. He looks tired. “You’re alive.”
“I am.”
“But shit could’ve gone differently.”
“But it didn’t.” Putting my hands on his thighs, I lean in toward him.
He sighs, head shaking slowly. “I’m fine,” I say again, hoping he hears me—really hears me.
Grabbing my jaw, he looks me in the eye and says seriously, “But it could’ve gone differently.”
“King.”
“I keep seeing you with that motherfucker’s hands on you, covered in his blood. It’s on fucking repeat, Princess,” he growls, tapping on his head violently. “Over and over. Every fucking time I look at you.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, but I don’t know why. I did nothing wrong.
King just keeps shaking his head, his elbows rested on his knees, and his tattooed fingers steepled in front of his lips.
“Don’t be sorry.”
“Be careful,” I add, repeating his words from days ago.
We go home and nothing is the same. King’s distant, and not with the usual distance he used to give me, but with something much deeper, much wider. Something that scares me.
He’s cold, detached, uncaring, but he’s still here, still with me, and that’s worse than the cold and uncaring I used to get when he’d leave. Now I have to live with it. See it.
“I’m goin’ to bed,” I tell King, standing in the doorway that leads to my yard and small covered patio out back.
King nods, staring out into my back yard, watching the rain fall. Holding a bottle of Jack, he doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t say anything, and I can’t accept it.
Walking out onto the patio, I step around in front of him and crouch down, hands on his thighs. “I know what happened at the rally bothered you. Still bothers you.”
“You were almost taken.”
“I know.” I’d argue that I wasn’t, but there’s no point. In King’s mind, I might as well have been. He keeps seeing me gone and I get it, but… “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Go to bed.” He dismisses me, taking a drink from the bottle.
“You’re scared because you love me,” I tell him, feeling brave, feeling strong. I might be right, I might be wrong, but I’m tired of the in between.
“I don’t know what love is, Samantha. Go. To. Bed.”
“I love you, and I know in some fucked-up way you love me,” I whisper, getting up and walking back toward the door. Stopping, I add, “It’s fucking scary. You scare me, but I love you.” I go to bed, alone.
Trying not to be close without pushing Samantha too far away is a fucking joke. It’s so goddamn difficult some days. I don’t know how the fuck I’m gonna do it.
I want her so goddamn bad, even when I know I shouldn’t.
Walking out of the bathroom, I look at the bed where the princess is asleep, naked. Lying in her plush bed, surrounded by pillows and frilly shit, she looks like a goddamn angel, soft and smooth. Too goddamn good for me, which doesn’t make a difference to me because she’s mine, too good or not.
I can’t keep her.
My phone chirps from my pocket and I ignore it, knowing goddamn good and well what it’s about. It’s time for me to go.
But I take a few minutes, watching her, knowing this might be the last time. After all this shit and all this time, there’s no fixing it, no going back. I can’t be what she needs.
I can’t stay and I won’t ask her to go, so that leaves here, with nowhere to go.
Tugging on my jeans and slipping on my boots, I lean down, kissing her soft lips one last time. Savoring it.
“King?” she mumbles, rolling over, tugging the sheet up around her. “Are you leaving?” This used to be shit she’d ask me and I’d tell her yes, but this time I lie, and I fucking hate myself for doing it.
“Nah. Just headin’ to the club. Church.”
She nods, cuddling into my neck when I kiss her forehead. “Everything okay?”
“It’s gonna be.” Which isn’t a fucking lie. After this, everything will be okay. Everything will be good. The stalking. The threat. Us. It’ll all be over.
She laughs softly. “Okay, big guy. One more kiss.”
I give it to her, exactly what she wants. One more kiss.
I feel fucking crazy, all over the goddamn place, my mind on a goddamn downhill slide. I want nothing more than to grab Samantha and hit the road, keeping her with me, safe and away from this shit, but I know goddamn well that’s not how this shit works. That’s not why I’m here.
“What are you thinkin’?” Danny Boy asks from the head of the table, his eyes on me.
“I’m not.” I lie. I’m thinking. Thinking more than I should be. This shit should be easy, but it’s not, not even fucking close. Samantha makes this job that much harder for me.
In room one, around the table, we hold church. Making plans and discussing strategies, I listen, but don’t contribute because I don’t know where my fucking head is.
“This the Mexican mob then?” Rock growls, leaning back in his chair. “Same motherfuckers we dealt with a few months back?”
Ty nods. “Juan Diaz.”
I don’t know what the guys have got going here. Don’t know their business deals and shit, but what I do know is something that shouldn’t be touching Samantha is, and that isn’t gonna fly.
“Fill me in, yeah? Who the fuck’s this guy and why’s he here, fucking with Samantha?” Dan scratches at his face, tired. And I get it, this shit’s frustrating, but I need more. “Who is he?” I bark, done waiting.
“We intercepted a couple shipments of meth a while back. Ya know, the good Mexican shit,” he tells me in way of an explanation. Not even close to enough. I need more.
“And?” I fire back, not understanding where this is going.
“Took the trucks out back, into the woods and burnt them, product and all,” Bish tells me, connecting the dots. “Kept the little extras inside.”
“So, you pissed off the dealer?”
“And the supplier.”
“We paid the Mexican mob in fake bills,” he adds, chuckling. Jesus Christ.
“You bought product intended for someone else with counterfeit money?” Danny just keeps nodding, his face grim. “Who was the meth for?”
He just shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Meth doesn’t come in or out of our town. We shut that shit down.”
“I fuckin’ get that, but you’ve got the Mexican’s pissed, paid in funny money, and more than likely, someone else out there mad as fuck their product never made it?”
“Pretty fucking much,” Buck says, smirking. “We’ll handle whatever fallout we get.”
“Really? Any fucking fallout, huh? So, Samantha being fucked with isn’t considered fallout?” I fire back, getting out of my goddamn seat.
Buck squares up, ready for a fight.
“Listen, brother, had we known this would touch one of the girls, we would’ve had more eyes on her from the beginning, but we didn’t and here you are,” Danny Boy says, getting out of his seat, his hand on my shoulder. “So sit the fuck down so we can finish this shit.”
I don’t sit the fuck down. I’m outside and on my bike.
“How we gonna play this?” Rock asks, leaning back against a tree.
“Blow their fuckin’ place up.” End this shit.
He nods, understanding what I’m not saying. “No plan then.”
“Everyone dies, that’s my fuckin’ plan,” I bark, my mind gone. I need this to be over and be miles from here, from Samantha, from this whole goddamn thing. “Their place burns with every one of them inside.”
“Got everything in place,” Bish tells me, walking back around the thick of trees we’re in. On top of a small hill, next to a clearing, we watch.
On the border, at one of their distribution spots, I watch some asshole roll up in that old black sedan, pulling right up to the door and hopping out. It takes everything in me not to
blow his fucking head off on the spot.
“You okay?” Rocky asks, watching me and watching him.
“Fucking perfect.”
Walking around toward the clearing, I stand out in the open, waiting. “He in there?” I ask Buck, looking at him.
“Watched him walk in about an hour ago.”
It’s dark and raining, the place black, but I know goddamn well they’re in there, and it’s all I need to know.
“Light it up.”
Buck doesn’t hesitate. He lights the motherfucker up.
I watch their warehouse go up in flames, the fucking sky lit up like the fourth of goddamn July. Our explosives already detonated, and now it’s their shit in there, their meth lab, going off. Explosion after explosion. Most rewarding thing I’ve seen in a long goddamn time.
A side door flies open with some crispy fried motherfucker falling out the door, engulfed in flames. It’s a satisfying sight.
The warehouse burns and I leave, satisfied.
Leaving the store with a prospect following, I pull out of the lot and head toward the club, when a weird sensation settles over me. Driving down the two-lane highway, I glance in my rearview mirror, catching the single headlight from the prospect’s bike in the dark. Looking back at the road a moment I take another quick look only to find the bikes headlight and a car’s.
As soon as I got in my car and started it, something felt off. I pulled out of the lot next to the grocery store and just knew something wasn’t right—I knew!
My blood runs cold, a chill crawling up my spine. Something’s really fucking wrong.
My eyes dart between the road in front of me to the road behind me, the set of headlights gaining. I watch in horror as the car speeds up behind the prospect and someone shoots. Jumping, I jerk on the wheel, crossing the center line when a second loud shot explodes behind me and the prospect is gone. The only thing in my review mirror now is that car.
My hands shake. Vomit crawls up my throat, my stomach knotting.
“Oh my God!”
Scrambling, I reach for my phone on the passenger seat, fumbling.
I call King.
The phone rings once before he answers. “Princess.” I’ve never been happier to hear his voice in my life.
“King? He’s right behind me!” My voice is high and shaky as panic claws at my throat, tearing apart my stomach. “They shot at the prospect…I think they killed him!”
“What?” he shouts, his voice hoarse. “Fuck!” I hear commotion in the background, shouting voices. “He wasn’t fucking in there,” he snaps. His panic makes me panic.
“Samantha, the prospect’s fine. He’s on the phone now.” He talks to someone in the background and comes back on the line. “Princess, where’s the car now?”
“He’s right behind me. Really fucking close.”
He doesn’t have to ask me who, he knows. “Head to the club.”
“Okay.” I nod. “I’m heading there, but his car’s right on my ass.” His headlights are so damn bright, I can hardly see the road ahead of me.
“Just keep drivin’,” he tells me, his voice rough, but calm. “What color is the car?”
Taking my eyes off the road, I glance in my rearview mirror quickly, bright headlights lighting up the mirror. “White. Maybe gray. I can’t see it very well.”
“Don’t worry. Watch the road.”
Looking back through the windshield, I squint through the rain pelting the windshield.
Silence fills the car and I can’t stand it. “What’d you have for lunch today?” I ask him, my voice wobbly.
He doesn’t seem confused or thrown off by my question because he answers me right away, his voice soft. “Nothin’. Savin’ my appetite.”
“For what?”
“For you.” I know his words are lies, but I appreciate them nonetheless. I know things have changed between us and aren’t the same. But right in this moment, I don’t have it in me to not believe him.
“I had a stale donut.” It was awful.
“When you get here, I’ll make you somethin’ to eat.”
“You cook?”
“Somethin’ like cookin’.”
“King—” I start to say, but he stops me, his voice solid, unbreakable.
“Don’t.” I don’t ask what or why. There’s nothing left to say.
The bar comes into view, the old sign hiding behind the twisted trees that surround the lot. “Don’t slow down. Don’t turn on your blinker. Just whip it in,” King instructs.
“Okay,” I agree, holding my breath and turning quickly, right before I pass the club. My tires slip, floating.
The car behind me misses the turn but slams on their brakes, and like the movies, they squeal and slide, brake lights lighting up the dark highway. The driver throws it into reverse.
Pulling into the empty lot, I feel sick. There’s no one here. We’re alone.
“Pull in right up front and stay in your car,” he orders.
Before I can answer, the line goes dead. “Fuck!” I cry out, putting my car in park with a shaky hand.
Twisting in my seat, I stare out the back window as the car goes into reverse and burns out, backing into the lot and flipping around quickly, gravel flying.
This guy is a fucking lunatic. A suicidal lunatic, because in the lot is King, alone, holding a gun.
There’s silence. The only sounds are the raindrops hitting the metal roof of my car.
The car just sits there, headlights shining on King, doing nothing. Time stands still.
What the fuck? What. The. Fuck?
It’s stupid and reckless, but I get out of the car.
“King! What are you doing?” I scream as he walks closer to the car, gun pointed right at the damn windshield.
He doesn’t even look at me. “Get back in the fucking car, Samantha.”
The driver’s side window rolls down and King doesn’t hesitate. He pulls the trigger, over and over. The windshield shatters and empty shells hit the gravel.
I’m stunned. Shocked. Terrified.
For long moments, nothing happens. King just stands there in the rain, gun pointed at the car.
I don’t know what to do.
“King?” I whisper, walking toward him slowly, carefully.
Behind him, I wrap my arms around his middle, my head between his shoulders. “It’s okay.”
“It’s over.”
I’ve got a bad habit of leaving, and this time is no different. I’m already putting in the distance, putting that fucking space between us. I’ve got one foot here and the other on the road, ready to go.
The way I grew up and the life I’ve lived, it’s what I fucking do, and I don’t usually regret it. But this time it’s different. This time, leaving isn’t fucking easy.
I know leaving her this time will be harder than any other because I won’t be coming back. Unlike every other time, I had the next run through to look forward to, but not now.
We need a clean break.
Watching the car burn with that asshole inside it, his body melted to the seat, bloody and bullet riddled, was fucking satisfying. It’s over. Done and fucking over with.
Out back, alone, I turn when I hear her feet brushing along the gravel.
“King?” Samantha says softly, leaning into my side, her head on my arm. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, baby. I’d do it again.”
“You saved my life.” There are emotions in her eyes I don’t wanna see, don’t wanna feel. They’re too much. Too real. Too raw. “Thank you.”
“Don’t.” I don’t need or want her thanks. She knew I’d do it for her, knew I’d always be here for her when she needed me.
“Don’t thank you?” She laughs, the sound uncomfortable and stiff. “But you saved me.”
Saved her from that asshole, but who the fuck’s gonna save her from me?
“Just doin’ my job,” I tell her bluntly and hate how she flinches, my words hurting.
Sh
e frowns at me, her eyes narrowed. “A job? So, this was a job? I was a job?” She’s always been so much more and she knows it. Knows she’s the only real thing in my world. The woman has been my life for the last eleven goddamn years, the only good thing in my pointless existence. The only thing I had to look forward to. She might not realize it, but I’ve lived for her for a long goddamn time, yet I know it’s time to cut that shit off. We can’t keep doing this, especially now.
“Just a job, baby,” I tell her simply, nodding.
I just can’t live like this anymore, being here for a few days and looking forward to coming back as soon as I leave for the rest of the year. It’s not good for me, and it’s sure as fuck not good for her because that’s all it’ll ever be, me dropping in once or twice a year and giving her a fuck of a lifetime. Samantha needs more, deserves more, and I can’t give that to her. It’s not in me.
“Wow,” she breathes, moving away from me and wrapping her arms around herself. “I…uh, I don’t know what to say to that shit.”
I don’t know what to say about it either. I’m an asshole. A fucking dick, and it’s good she knows that now.
“Are you leaving then since your job’s over?” She’s mad, putting up that wall, and I know the only way she seals that shit up is to lie to her.
“Not sure.”
“You’re not sure?”
“Might hang around for a while.” Biggest lie I’ve ever told her. My bags are packed and I’m already gone.
“Sammy?” T shouts out the back door of the club.
She looks back at him, holding up her finger, then looks back at me, her blue eyes full of hope. “So, you’ll be here when I get back?”
“Yeah.”
Her shoulders relax, and it’s painful to watch. She thinks I’m staying, and it brings her comfort to think it. Jesus Christ, I’m the biggest piece of shit alive because I add one more lie to the fire. “I’ll see you in a little bit, yeah?”
She smiles. It’s cautious, but real. “Yeah.”
I watch her walk away and know it’s the last goddamn time.
Standing in the lot next to my car, I watch King stuff his bag into the saddlebag on his bike. He’s leaving. I knew it, felt it. I didn’t want to, but I did. I fucking knew it the moment he told me he’d see me later. His soulless eyes gave him away.
