I stopped the truck near the door and turned to face Tate. “Stay behind me. You see anything or anyone, you get down and stay there till I tell you it’s okay, got it?”
Tate swallowed hard and nodded. We both got out and met around the front of the truck. Even though the place had clearly been deserted some time ago, I kept my eyes open and my gun in my hand as I placed Tate behind me and headed towards the front door.
It was easy to get into the trailer since it wasn’t locked. Several windows of the trailer had been broken at some point so the smell inside wasn’t as rancid as it probably could have been, but it also meant that various wildlife had managed to find their way into the structure and the second we stepped inside, I saw several rats scurry for cover. The inside didn’t look much better than the outside and whenever Buck and Denny had left, it didn’t appear they’d taken much with them because there were several pieces of furniture in the living room along with an older model TV.
As disappointed as I was to find the place completely deserted, I also felt a pang of relief because it meant I could focus the majority of my attention on Tate who’d gone deathly pale as soon as we’d stepped into the place. He moved past me and examined the living room. He didn’t say anything as he walked towards the back of the trailer. The kitchen and the two bedrooms we passed were in the same state of shambles, but Tate didn’t stop until we reached the very last bedroom at the back of the trailer. He had to wrestle with the door to get it all the way open because there was so much debris on the floor. But while the other rooms had just looked like someone had been in a rush to leave, the last room looked like a tornado had hit it.
Or someone in a rage.
“Your room?” I asked as I looked at the shredded mattress, scattered clothes and broken knickknacks.
Tate only nodded. There were a couple of posters on the wall, but they were torn, their pieces dangling precariously.
“I loved this room,” he finally whispered as he moved to the foldable plastic table in the corner that had clearly been turned into a desk. “Doesn’t really make sense, does it?” he said as he fingered what looked like the pieces of a torn photograph. He glanced over his shoulder at me. “I hated this place, them, but this room…it was the only place I ever felt safe even when I wasn’t.” Tate shook his head in confusion.
“It makes perfect sense to me,” I admitted.
Tate looked at me almost hopefully.
“It was your escape,” I said. “They may have still been able to hurt your body in this room, but they couldn’t reach you here,” I said as I pointed to my head.
Tate glanced around the room and then nodded. He returned his gaze to me. “Did you have a place like that?”
I shook my head. “No, not a place…a person.”
“Your wife?” Tate asked softly.
For once, the mention of Revay didn’t send a searing pain throughout my entire body. “Yes, but she wasn’t my wife then.”
“Tell me,” Tate whispered and even though he wasn’t anywhere near me, his voice felt like a caress.
I should have told him no or made an excuse about not having time, but I couldn’t force the words out. To my surprise, I wanted to tell him.
“I met her in the third grade. I’d moved to town a few months earlier but hadn’t gone to school right away so that day had been my first. The desk next to hers was the only one open. A lot of the other kids were laughing at me because my clothes didn’t really fit me and I…I hadn’t showered in a while so I guess I smelled kind of bad.”
The humiliation of that day as I’d walked between the row of desks came back to me and I could almost still hear the snickers all around me. I’d managed to hold my head up high and had kept my eyes trained on the empty desk the teacher had pointed to, but when the kids had started making oinking sounds beneath their breath, I’d wanted to curl up in a ball and die.
I didn’t realize I’d sat down on the edge of Tate’s old bed until I felt his fingers threading through my hair. At some point he’d moved between my spread legs and one glance at his face and I knew I’d voiced my humiliation about what the kids had done to me out loud.
He didn’t say anything, he just kept caressing me and that made it easier for me to continue.
“I didn’t even notice Revay at first because I was trying so hard not to cry. Then the teacher tells us to get our books out so we can each read a section. I hadn’t gotten my books yet so I thought the teacher would just skip me. But when she said my name, everybody turned around to look at me and I could see some of the kids making silent oink oink sounds. I wanted to fucking die right then and there,” I whispered and I actually had to blink back the tears that threatened to fall.
“What happened?” Tate asked as he continued to gently soothe me with his touch.
“The room was totally quiet, all eyes on me, the teacher waiting…and then there’s this loud screeching sound and I look over and there’s Revay, standing up just a little and sliding her entire desk over. She was a tiny thing even back then and I could only watch in fascination as she pushed it across the aisle until it hit my desk. Then she opened her book, plopped it down in between our desks and pointed to the paragraph we were on.”
Tate chuckled and I looked up at him.
“That was it,” I murmured. “I knew she was going to change everything for me. And she did.”
“She was amazing,” Tate said with a smile. Not a question, not speculation…he said it like he knew it for a fact.
“She was,” I said with a nod of my head.
“Thank you,” Tate whispered and then he leaned down to brush his lips over mine. The kiss was achingly sweet and way too quick. He dropped his hand from my hair and began to step back, and I saw the tension in his gaze as if he’d just then realized what he’d done.
“For what?” I asked, grabbing him by the wrist before he could completely pull away from me.
“For sharing her with me,” he said, clearly startled that I’d stopped him from moving away.
Some unnamed emotion inside of me burst and I felt warmth spread out to all my limbs. But it wasn’t the same rush of heat I felt whenever I touched Tate or he touched me…it was different. It was deeper, stronger.
In that moment my need wasn’t about lust and I refused to release Tate when he took another step back. Instead, I drew him forward but I closed my legs so that he had no choice but to awkwardly straddle me. His eyes filled with confusion until I tugged him down until he was sitting astride me. And then his eyes cleared and he met my lips as soon as I lifted them. As I let my tongue steal into his mouth for a taste, I wrapped my arms around his waist and I was rewarded with his arms closing around my neck.
I loved kissing Tate. There was just no way around it. I didn’t care that I could feel just the slightest hint of stubble where his skin scraped over mine or that he was hard in all the places I’d only ever experienced softness as I let my hands roam along his back. I loved that his need ran just as deep as mine and he held nothing back from me as his tongue dueled with mine before slipping into my mouth. I loved that his grip on me was hungry and desperate and there was nothing tentative as he held my face in his hands so he could take over the kiss. And nothing about the erection I could feel pressing against my abdomen turned me off. If we’d been in any other place, I would have already been settling Tate’s body beneath mine on the bed.
I ended the kiss before the desire became too much to contain and my guess was that Tate understood because he didn’t resist the move. Instead, he let out a rush of breath and pressed his face against my neck as he drew our bodies closer together. I held him for several minutes as we waited for our racing hearts to settle and I forced my arms to release him when he finally crawled off of me. His face was flushed with color as he looked around the room and then back at me. I saw a hint of a smile as he said, “I think I love this room even more now.”
I laughed and stood up. Tate moved to his closet which was also in a disarray a
nd I watched him pick up an older looking camera from off the floor. He examined it and then flipped something on the camera and it began making whirling noises. He opened the back and popped the film canister out of it a moment later and looked at it.
“What’s on the film?” I asked.
“I don’t remember,” Tate said quietly. “I forgot about this one.”
“This one?”
Tate looked up at me. “Uh, yeah, I sold the few cameras I had before I left.”
“You were a photographer?”
Tate chuckled and shook his head. “I took pictures. Big difference.”
“But that was what you wanted to be.”
A wan smile drifted across Tate’s mouth. “A lifetime ago, yeah, I guess.” He tossed the camera on the floor.
“You don’t want to take it?”
“The lens is cracked,” Tate said. “It would cost more than it’s worth to get it fixed. I guess they didn’t think to check it for film,” he added as he pocketed the roll of unprocessed film.
“Did you take these?” I asked as I moved to his desk and looked through a few of the scattered photos.
“Yes.”
I switched my attention to the torn up picture Tate had been playing around with. It looked familiar and I realized why when I glanced over my shoulder at one of the torn posters which I now saw was a blown up copy of the photo. “This was one of your favorites,” I observed as I looked at the smaller photo again. It had been ripped into four pieces, but Tate had pushed the pieces into place enough so I could see what the picture had been of. It was a black and white photograph of two black birds, smaller than crows, in the process of taking flight, one slightly higher than the other. Heavy clouds hung in the clouds above them…a coming storm they were flying right into.
“It’s beautiful,” I said as I glanced at Tate who was standing next to me, his shrouded gaze on the picture.
“I still remember that day. It was the summer I turned fifteen. Buck had just beaten the shit out of me for something – I don’t even know what – and I snuck out after I heard him drive off in his truck. There was this old barn about a mile away that I liked to take pictures of…I kept waiting for the light to be just right. It was a perfect night. I could smell the rain in the air and the thunder was so loud you could feel it under your feet. I felt so free…and then I saw these birds and I just started snapping away until they were gone. And I knew that would be me someday.”
Tate let out a harsh laugh. “Seven years,” he whispered. “Seven years of pinning all my hopes and dreams on that picture; of thinking I’d someday be strong enough to face the storm instead of run from it.” He shook his head and turned away. I watched him give the room one final look before he left. I reached down to pick up the two largest pieces of the picture and held the torn edges together. I saw the things Tate saw.
But I saw something else too and that had me reaching down to collect the smaller pieces and putting them all carefully into my pocket before I followed Tate from the room.
Chapter Fourteen
Tate
I could already feel Hawke’s devastating kiss fading to the back of my mind as I moved around the dilapidated trailer. I would have liked to have kept the taste and feel of him with me as the memories started to come back to me one by one, but the past was just too strong. Because everywhere I looked, I saw and heard everything that had had me dreaming of the day I could escape the endless nightmare.
“You okay?” I heard Hawke ask from behind me where I stood at the entrance to Buck’s bedroom.
“He never closed his door when he was with his women,” I murmured. “I made the mistake of watching him and Denny with one of them once when I was younger. Buck ordered me to join them.”
“What did you do?”
I could feel the bile rising in my throat. “I said no and tried to leave, but Buck came after me. He kept asking me if I wouldn’t fuck her because I was a faggot. I knew what he’d do to me if I admitted I was gay so I told him I was scared.”
“How old were you?”
“Thirteen.”
I closed my eyes when Hawke’s big hand settled on the back of my neck.
“What happened?”
“By the time Buck dragged me back in here, Denny had the woman on her knees on the floor. She looked high, but when Buck told her to suck me, she reached for my pants. I started crying when she put her mouth on me. Buck started fucking her from behind and Denny was giving her instructions on how to suck me. When I couldn’t get it up, he shoved me aside and asked the woman if she wouldn’t rather suck a real man.”
I turned away from Buck’s room and faced Hawke. “Buck started calling me Cryin Chris after that. Denny’s favorite was Sissy Chrissy. Chris…that’s my real name…Christopher.”
Humiliation was coursing through me as I tried to move past Hawke, but he used his body to crowd me back against the door frame. “Tate,” he whispered and then he kissed me softly.
“Tate,” he repeated along with another kiss.
Every time he said my name, he deepened the kiss that followed. I’d thought the kiss in my room was just another chance occurrence because Hawke had been in a vulnerable state, but as his tongue met mine, I couldn’t help but hope it meant he was feeling even a little bit of what I was feeling. When he finally released me, my knees felt like jelly.
“We should look around to see if we can find some evidence of where they went,” Hawke said, his voice husky with desire.
I nodded and locked my knees. I followed him to the kitchen and began looking through the drawers while Hawke searched through the debris on the floor. Unfortunately, the work didn’t help me tune out the memories of all the times I’d been tormented and tortured by both Buck and Denny.
I had no memory of a time when Buck had been kind to me, but that wasn’t the case with Denny. I’d often wondered if the few times I remembered Denny protecting me when we were kids were really memories or just fanciful dreams like the one I’d had about the red-haired woman who’d called me Tate.
Denny had been older than me by eight years, so by the time I was Matty’s age, Denny had been a teenager and we’d had little in common. But I had distinct images of him sitting on the floor with me playing with my little green army men or reading to me from one of his many comic books. And there was even one recurring image where Denny had shoved Buck away from me after Buck had grabbed me by the arm and twisted it until the bone had snapped. I’d collapsed on the floor, screaming in agony as my big brother had taken the rest of the beating that had been meant for me.
I couldn’t pinpoint a specific event that had led to the change between me and Denny. At some point, he’d just grown more and more distant and one day when Buck went after me for accidentally spilling some of his beer as I’d been bringing it to him, Denny had stood off to the side and watched for a minute or two before disappearing into his room. I’d spent the next several days making excuses in my head for Denny’s defection, but I hadn’t been able to deny the truth any longer when everything had changed less than a week later.
I’d been exploring the woods behind our trailer when I’d come across two stray puppies and I’d carried them back to the house where Denny had helped me get them cleaned up and fed. We’d spent hours playing with the puppies and he’d named his Comet while I’d named mine Ranger after one of my favorite cartoons. But when Buck had come home, I’d seen something in his eyes as we’d shown him the puppies and asked if we could keep them. He’d looked almost…giddy.
I hadn’t understood what he’d meant at first when he’d started talking about only being able to afford one of the puppies and that we’d have to choose which one to keep. But Denny had gotten it because his face had fallen and he’d looked back and forth between his puppy and mine. I’d still been confused when Buck had grabbed both puppies and taken them outside. We’d followed him and I’d asked Denny what was going on as I’d watched Buck put the puppies down on the driveway and then gra
b a shovel from the back of his truck. Buck had looked at Denny before holding out the shovel. By the time I’d finally figured out what was happening, Denny had straightened next to me, strode over to Buck and grabbed the shovel. My scream of denial had come too late and wouldn’t have mattered. Ranger had yelped once and after that, all I’d heard was the sickening sound of the shovel striking flesh over and over again. I’d fallen to my knees and thrown up and when I’d finally had nothing left to expel, Buck had walked past me, a triumphant smirk on his face. Denny had followed, his puppy in his arms. He hadn’t even spared me a glance as he’d left me there on the ground.
Everything had changed after that. Buck had still been my judge and jury, but Denny had become the executioner. And he’d been every bit as ruthless as Buck. I’d stood no chance and I’d spent the next fifteen years of my life in hell on earth.
“There’s nothing here,” I heard Hawke mutter in frustration as he tossed a stack of papers he’d been holding in his hand to the ground.
“I know of a couple more places we can look,” I said.
Hawke cast me a glance and nodded, but he didn’t look reassured. And in truth, I suspected our luck wouldn’t improve. And while I’d dreaded the prospect of having to confront Buck and Denny, the idea of Hawke not being able to find the closure he so desperately needed actually bothered me more.
I ended up being right.
After we left the trailer, I directed Hawke to several different locations including the two places Buck had used as meth labs. The first had clearly been abandoned some time ago and the second had been obliterated by what I suspected had been an explosion. We’d checked out a couple of bars Buck had often frequented and while one had gone out of business, the other had been open. But instead of going inside, Hawke and I had sat in his truck across the street and watched people come and go for nearly two hours before he’d started the car up. And not once had he spoken even a single word to me.
As Hawke drove us to a motel on the outskirts of town, I tried one last time to draw him out by saying, “There are a few places we can ask around tomorrow.”
Retribution (The Protectors, Book 3) Page 13
