Mad Love (Guns & Ink Book 1)

by Shana Vanterpool

  “Let’s make lunch,” Joanna said, guiding her over to the fridge.

  “This way,” Austin ordered, taking off for the back of the house. “You take the bottom story—they don’t know who you are—and I’ll get the top story.” He opened a heavy white door and flipped on a light, showcasing his garage. He marched over to a pile of dark fabric. “The rods are already up. Put these on every window you can. Even the patio door. They’re not immune to trespassing.”

  He gathered an armload and took off without another word, leaving me in his garage. I could only imagine the attention a missing girl garnered, and even worse, once they came back home. I gathered all the curtains I could and then set to covering every window downstairs. I strung up a long train in the living room, on the windows beside the front door, and the large windows in what looked like a family room. I got the kitchen, and then finally, the patio door, spotting a man in corduroys and a camera just before I pulled it shut.

  Curious, I went to the front and looked through the peephole, finding at least a couple dozen cars parked outside with cameras and reporters standing on the front lawn. The sheer amount of flashes and crews stunned me.

  “Animals.” Austin touched my shoulder. “You get every window?”

  “Yes. How long are they going to be out there?”

  His eyes were grave. “They left a week before you brought Madison home. So a couple months.” He motioned for me to follow. “Before you ask, yes. You’re stuck here.”

  “I can’t be stuck here. I have to take care of my shop.”

  “What kind of shop?” Joanna asked, slicing cheese.

  “I own a tattoo parlor.” I waited for it.

  She didn’t disappoint. Her eyes widened, and she eyed my tattooed arms. In a hurry to get here, I hadn’t thought to cover them. “Is that a good living? I’m not familiar.”

  “Mom,” came a soft disapproving reprimand.

  I looked over to find Madison sitting at the table. Nothing in front of her. Eyes faraway. George was beside her with what looked like a tablet. His tongue between his teeth as he tapped on the screen.

  “It keeps me fed,” I answered.

  Austin took a seat at the bar, putting his face in his hands. It distracted Joanna, who kept sneaking glances at him. “That’s good, Klayton,” she muttered, sliding her knife through the block of cheddar in front of her.

  “Grilled cheese?” I guessed, earning a knowing smile. Feeling awkward, I decided to make it worse. “You want help?” I wasn’t exactly sure how mothers worked. Mine hadn’t been allowed to care enough for me to remember.

  She looked up in surprise. “Yes. Can you start buttering the bread? We’ll make an assembly line.”

  “Don’t burn it, Klay!” George ordered, screaming at the screen. “Run, run!”

  Madison giggled softly.

  The sound made me turn around to adjust my jeans. Thankful for the distraction, I started buttering the mound of white bread beside the pan on the stove. “Yes, George.”

  “Take your medicine,” Austin said behind me.

  “Yes, father.” Madison’s soft compliance had me listening as the bread grilled. I took a few slices and piled them on, monitoring her movements. She got down a glass, filled it with water from the fridge, and then shook out a pill. When I peeked at her, she avoided my gaze. What was she taking? She shook out two more from two different bottles, and then returned to her empty state.

  After a few minutes, Joanna joined me, cooking up a huge pot of tomato soup. We managed to make a huge pile of crispy grilled cheese, and she dipped the soup after Madison and George set the table. It was all fucking strange. Set tables? Obliging children? Family meals? With blackout curtains and reporters outside? The only person who didn’t seem to think anything of it was the kid. He ate happily, playing his game with greasy fingers.

  Beneath the table, Madison touched the toe of her shoe to the heel of my boot. She kept it there, rubbing me back and forth as she ate her food quietly.

  “What do you think?” I prompted, speaking quietly even though everyone could hear. “Do I have a future in grilled cheese?”

  She smiled at her food. “I’d stick with tattoos.”

  “And piercings?” I teased.

  Her face heated to the same color as the tomato soup. “No,” she muttered, peeking up at me with narrowed eyes.

  What the hell was that look for? Did she regret her tongue ring? Not being able to talk to her the way I wanted was aggravating. I decided it was best I eat instead, glad when her mother and father started talking shit about the reporters. The shop was closed today and tomorrow. I didn’t have to think of a way out of here until at least tomorrow night. Cat could open, but she’d been taking too much slack as it was. My back account could feel the absence of my clients, and the absence of my artist’s cut.

  “Dad and Georgy can clean up.” Joanna tossed her napkin on her plate. Both men complied immediately. “Coffee?” she asked, catching my uncomfortable gaze.

  I cleared my throat. “Uh, no thank you. Thanks for lunch.”

  “Thank you for helping.” She pushed away from the table and walked around, kissing Madison’s head. “Maybe we’ll make shepherd’s pie for dinner?” She nodded. “Good,” Joanna said, giving my shoulder a pat on her way out.

  Once George and her father left, I relaxed. “What the hell was that?” I whispered.

  “What?”

  I waved my hand at the table, now empty. “The Brady Bunch meal. The only time my family ate together was when we visited my dad in jail for Thanksgiving one year.”

  She glanced up at me. “Your father went to jail?”

  “In and out my entire life. Being in jail kind of made it hard to get a job, so he’d do shit that got him back in.” I shrugged. “It was a never-ending cycle.”

  “Like what?”

  “Stealing, selling dope. You know. What all typical loving fathers do.”

  She touched my knee. “I’m sorry it was like that.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s the way it was.”

  “Do you still talk to them?”

  “My parents?” I shook my head, not wanting to talk about that. “What kind of pills are you taking?”

  “My doctor put me on them until I can meet with a therapist. One’s supposed to decrease my depression. Another is to help keep my food down. And the last one is for my anxiety. They tell me to take them; I take them.”

  “Do they help?” She looked resolved to this. Take a pill, feel better. I didn’t like it.

  “They help me sleep. I think it’s the same kind of pill you gave me.” She glared at me, but as she stared, she dropped it, reaching over to touch my face. “Thank you for bringing me home. I miss you so much, but I am glad to have done it. For my parents, for me, but mostly for Georgy. You should have seen his face when he saw me.” Her thumb toyed with my bottom lip, and the sheen in her eyes threatened to spill over. “It was like watching him heal in seconds. He won’t shut up about you.” She smiled through her tears. It was like watching the sun burst through the clouds, bright and gray at the same time. I felt blinded staring into her unhappy happiness, both wanting and regretful.

  I took her hand from my face as gently as I could. I settled it back on her lap. Great. Now I was the kid’s hero too. Inwardly groaning, I crossed my arms over my chest, still unconvinced about the pills. This was no chemical imbalance. Could sadness change the makeup of your brain? If so, then fine, the pills would help. But there was no way a pill could fix what her abduction and abuse had broken. I had a feeling her parents were in on it. Drug her up, pretend she was better—all’s well. “Do you like taking the pills?”

  “I don’t have a choice. I never have, and I never will.”

  I wondered if I had it wrong. Bringing her here was good for her—I didn’t regret that—but maybe staying here wasn’t. Her parents seemed eager to go back to how things used to be, even with their obvious love, joy, and suffering. Their daughter looked muted; her
strength snuffed out under their unlocked doors. They loved her; there was no denying that. But maybe they had the wrong tools. I didn’t have the right ones either, but I didn’t think I could fix her with the tools I had the way they seemed to.

  I wanted to get her out. Even for a minute.

  “Umm …” We both looked over to find George in the room, expression contrite.

  “Can we help you?” Madison asked, and in seconds I saw the real her. The real Madison and Mad, a strong, beautiful, stunning woman who would find herself one day. She might not have been able at that moment, but she would. I wanted so badly to have a part in that. To feel the full electricity of her smiles, her love. Her little brother brought it out of her.

  “I was wondering if you guys would like to play Knight Rings with me?”

  “Oh, um, I’m not sure Klay’s into video games.” She raised her eyebrows at me and tapped my boot with her shoe. “Are you?”

  Damn it. “I’ve never played.” His face drooped. “But I’m a fast learner.” It sprung back up.

  “Yay!” He started dancing, doing moves that went out of style fifteen years ago.

  Madison giggled easily, tearing my heart out and making me hard in seconds. “Seriously, Georgy, you have to stop going with Mom to jazzercise.”

  He started doing high knees paired with hip thrusts. Mad clutched her stomach, laughing so hard I thought she’d puke for a different reason. Someone help me. I stood up, staring down at the kid in horror when he started humping the air and waving his arms in the air. I’d have to try that. “I’m in. Stop the freak show.”

  He broke out in laughter, falling against his sister as they both giggled like kids. I had to admit the sight of them was amusing. I cracked a smile, laughing breathlessly. “You want a tip, kid? Don’t do that in public.”

  “Someone might hire me, huh?” He slapped his knee, walking around me. “Let’s go play in my room.”

  Madison grabbed my hand, grinning at me. “Let’s go before we have to join him.”

  We went upstairs, and as we headed down the hall, they both stepped quietly past the room with the elderly menthol smell and went into the horrific Toy Story room. The number of characters on the wallpaper made me see double.

  He closed his door quietly, giving me a quiet, “Shh. Grandma’s sleeping. She needs to rest.”

  Madison’s good mood left her, leaving her pale. She folded her legs on the end of his bed as he got the game situated.

  “She have a hard time?” I guessed, sitting down carefully, so I didn’t break his twin bed.

  “I never thought she was old before. Now I can tell.”

  “She’ll come back.” Georgy sounded positive. “Dad says she just needs to drink from the fountain of youth.” He frowned at his game system. “What is that, anyway?”

  I pulled a thought at random, wanting to snuff out the agony in the room. “Maybe you should make it?”

  He paused, put his hand on his chin, and then nodded seriously. “I’ll Google it.” He pulled up the browser on his system, typing in Recipe for the fountain of youth. Alcoholic beverages sprang up. “What’s moonshine?”

  I snatched the control from him and typed in potion. The recipes changed to sorcery and potion lists. Crisis averted.

  “How do I find bliss?”

  “Bottle your happiness,” Mad said.

  “How?”

  “Laugh into a glass jar and then seal it.”

  “Ohh,” he said, like he finally understood how this potion thing worked. “What’s marjoram?”

  “An herb. It’s like oregano. Oregano makes pizza sauce taste so good.”

  “She loves pizza.” He scrolled down to a breath of charisma. “I’ll just tell her a joke. I’m funny.”

  Madison bit down on her lip to keep her laugh inside. “Funny looking.”

  He whirled around, glaring at her. “Watch it, nerd face. I was going to go easy on you. Now you’re getting my real skills.”

  She shrugged, unimpressed. “If it’s anything like your dancing skills I won’t have anything to worry about.”

  He handed us each a controller, and turned on his game. I felt like I was in some bad dream. Woody was watching me, help me all over his face, while George forced us to play a game about a knight named Lantor fighting his way back to his castle. We fought gnomes and trolls, protected this dipshit princess twice when she fell into a trap, and then defeated the corrupt king. My eyes were bleeding, but Madison hadn’t cried or puked in hours, and her brother looked lost in an emotion other than sadness. So I said, “sure,” when he asked if we’d help him with Knight Rings Two.

  When the door across the hall opened, I held my breath, hoping granny would come in and save me. I was right. The door opened, and there stood an older version of Madison. Gorgeous, aged, skin thin like paper but eyes bright like blue fire. When she saw me, she stood back, shocked to either find a man in her grandson’s bedroom, or a man like me.

  “Grandma.” Madison got up to help her.

  She waved her away. “I’m fine; I’m fine. Stop doting. Who’s he?” She jabbed her thumb at me.

  “Klayton.” Madison didn’t waver. Didn’t look down or away. She held her grandmother’s eyes like game on.

  She stared into her granddaughter’s eyes and then sighed like it hurt to do so. “You the one who saved my granddaughter?”

  What was this shit? “She stayed at my place, yeah.”

  Madison groaned. “Grandma, please.”

  She jabbed her finger at George. “Go downstairs.”

  He didn’t hesitate. He dashed out of the room. Traitor.

  “You too, Madison.”

  “I am not a child,” she mumbled. It was unsettling to watch someone who had her power taken from her, forced to someone else’s will one more time. But Grandma didn’t back down. Her eyes were severe and knowing, forcing Madison into the hall, and soon the door was closed.

  Her grandmother turned to me. “Let’s be honest here. I’m thankful you took care of my grandbaby. I am. From right here.” She tapped her heart. “But you’re too old, too bad, too much man, for a girl like Madison. She’s fragile right now. And I’ll be damned if another man takes advantage of her again. You hear me, boy?”

  Was I in a twilight zone? Did I wake up in a quaint family home with lunatics dressed in Cardigans? What the actual shit? “I brought Madison home for her and for you guys. I didn’t have to do that.” I knew I was riling up the bear, but I was getting tired of being the bad guy. I wasn’t a monster.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I think you know.” I stood up and tried to get around her, but she blocked my path. “Can you please move?” After all, she was a woman, an elderly, and Mad’s grandmother. She deserved respect, even if she didn’t give it to me.

  She shoved my chest, her strength shockingly intact. “She’s a good girl. And we both know she’s too good for someone like you.” She jabbed at my arm, right over the tattoo of a naked woman interwoven in my ink sleeve. “You did your good deed in life. You can go now.”

  The amount of rage that rumbled through me left me trembling. Because she was right. I knew that. Deep down, Madison did too. But damn it, I wanted to prove her wrong. Take my woman—because that’s what the hell she was—and leave this perfect family and show her how imperfections made it easier to stand upright. That our inadequacies were what made us human. They didn’t take away our strength. If anything, they made us stronger.

  If I didn’t leave, I’d do something I promised I wouldn’t. No more anger. I slipped around her grandmother and pounded down the stairs. The moment I headed for the hall, Madison was already standing in front of the door. She blocked it, defying me because she knew she could. With me, she could argue, fight, rage—she could feel what she wanted.

  “Move.”

  She shook her head, reaching for me. Her hands settled on my waist, my stomach, her touch tried to bend me to her will. “You can leave,” she said, surpris
ing the hell out of me. “But you have to take me with you.”

  “No,” a little voice said, and every pain he’d ever felt was inside that word. “You just got back. Don’t leave, Madi.” Georgy came from around the corner, heartbroken. He grabbed at my jeans and Madison’s shirt. “Don’t leave me. Don’t take my sister.”

  You had to be kidding! I was so close to snapping, to breaking the chains the Hart’s had already managed to put on me. That was why I kept people at arm’s length. Because emotions got involved. They wanted things I didn’t know how to give. They had control of me. My heart was a prison.

  “We won’t leave. Will we, Klay?” Her eyes bored in to mine, owning me, pulling on the chains she’d jammed into my heart. I was her tamed beast, and she was slashing her whip at my ass. “We’ll stay here. Together. Won’t we, Klay?”

  Was she talking about in this house, or later? I wanted it to be later. Later we’d be together, won’t we, Mad? “Won’t we?” I whispered.

  She gave me a quiet nod to my question. “We will.”

  “So will I,” George added, bursting the bubble.

  “Go help Mom and Dad with dinner.”

  “You’re not leaving?” he checked.

  “Never,” she said, leaning to kiss his head. “Go.”

  When he was gone, I glared at her. “Your family is nuts. Like so normal they’re not normal. What is this?” I waved my hands around me, at the perfection closing in on me. “I need to breathe. I’ll be back.”

  “Let’s breathe together. Come on.” She took my hand and poked her head in the alcove for the kitchen. Her mother and father were cutting and chopping as Georgy struggled to open a bag of potatoes. Finding them occupied, she led me past the hallway and deeper into the house. She turned a knob and then pulled me inside, locking the door. “He doesn’t have a key for this door. We’re not allowed inside.”

  It was an office. Desk. TV. Blinds pulled. Nothing exceptional. I’d missed this room putting up the curtains; it had thick wooden blinds. They were closed, leaving the room dark and enclosing. There was a couch at the other end and a small table with a laptop and an empty mug. I eyed the windows and worked the house and the street in to my imaginings. This window probably opened to the backyard, which meant I could hop the fence, run around the neighbor’s house, and be free in minutes. Never mind that I was thinking of ways to run away. It was a new feeling to want to escape the place I thought would fix the woman standing in front of me.