by M. Never
“That sounds chilling.”
“They say drowning is the most peaceful way to die.”
“That’s fucking morbid, and I’ll take your word for it.” I press a kiss on her forehead. “How did you . . . not end up dying?” I don’t know how else to phrase it.
“My mom found me. She pulled me out and gave me CPR. I think that day was a turning point for all of us. It put everything into perspective. She started to plot her escape in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. I went through a lot of emotional shit after that. I was really lost and broken and fucked up. And it’s not something I’m proud of. Shit.” Kira hides her face against me, concealing her tears. “But I fought really hard to make it through to the other side.”
God, I’m such a fucking dick. Kira has gone through hell in a handbasket, and I’m over here all resentful because my father met a woman and wanted a better life. I have tortured both her and him over it. I’ve only thought about myself and never considered anyone else’s stake in it. Kira was right when she said I was lost. I am, but I really want to find my way back. Maybe I am, little by little, with her by my side.
“I get it. We don’t need to talk about it anymore. I know enough. And I fucking hate seeing you cry.”
“I’m not a fan of it myself.” She wipes her wet cheeks against my chest.
“You know what a great cure for crying is?” I ask.
“No, what?”
“More make-up sex.” I tickle her.
“Ky,” she screeches, attempting to fight me off. But I’m too big and powerful for her little frame. She doesn't stand a chance. I roll on top of her, trapping her body beneath me. I smother her with a consuming kiss, pouring out as much affection, heat, and emotion as I can.
“Let’s go to bed.” I flick my tongue against her lips. “I want to show you exactly where my love lies.”
“I think I know.” She widens her legs, touches my mouth, and then my heart.
This woman.
After her, I’ll never be the same.
19
Kira
WE’RE BACK at The Lion’s Den.
I’ll admit, I’m not a fan. I stick out like a blinding light. Everyone stares at me. Whispers behind my back or throws daggers in my direction. The women, especially. They don’t like someone like me with someone like Ky. I’m encroaching on their territory. But Ky insisted we needed to get out of the house. We’d been holed up since last night. And he feels his bar is the safest place to be. For him, maybe. I’m beginning to understand why Gerard never mixed his two worlds. This is sorely uncomfortable. I surmise he wanted to spare my mother exactly what I’m experiencing right now. Pure discrimination.
“Another, princess?” the older bartender they call Popeye asks.
“Sure.” I push my empty glass forward. I’ve thrown back two rum and Diet Cokes since we’ve been here, and I don’t foresee myself stopping anytime soon.
Ky is having a pow-wow with a bunch of guys in the corner of the bar. I recognize most of them. Hawk, of course. He’s shoved so far up Ky’s ass, I’m amazed he can breathe. Vet and Breaker, Agent Orange from the first day I was here, and his good friend, Panty Peeker.
The group looks thicker than thieves, and I know they’re definitely as sly as them.
“One, rum and Diet for the pretty lady.” Popeye places the glass in front of me, and I look at it forlornly. “Buck up. A beautiful face like that shouldn’t look so sad. Ky will figure out who’s bothering ya, then it’ll be lights out for him.” He winks with his one good eye.
“I don’t want Ky . . . snuffing anyone’s lights out.” I make that clear. I want to be left alone, but not at the expense of my boyfriend going to jail for murder. “And it’s not just that . . .” I let the sentence linger.
“Oh?”
I lean in a little closer so only Popeye can hear. For some reason, he’s easy to confide in. He may look like a real, live pirate, but he’s sweet as can be. “Everyone hates me.”
He laughs. “Nonsense. You’re just new. And our Prez has taken a liking to you. You’re the second most important person in this bar right now.”
“Me?”
“You’re Slashes ol’ lady, so yeah.”
“I’m not old. I hate that term.” I heard Vet use it when he was talking about Dahlia.
“It’s a term of endearment. Half the women in this bar would kill to be Slash’s ol’ lady.”
I look over my shoulder. There are still plenty of women giving me the stink eye. “I’m aware of that.”
“Just wear his cut with pride, and don’t worry about the rest.” Popeye taps on the bar top.
“I’ll try. What’s a cut?” Ky hasn't explained a damn thing to me. This world is completely new. And confusing. And I’m definitely Alice navigating through Wonderland.
Popeye laughs at my expense some more. “Let me get a drink and then we’ll have a chat.” He hobbles around the back of the bar with his walking stick and one good leg. I peek around the room some more as he gathers his items. I read the neon beer logos on the wall and the outlandish roadhouse wall signs. One says ‘A pair of balls beats everything.’ But it’s the knife that’s stabbed into the wood at the end of the bar which is the most curious.
Popeye pulls up a stool in front of me and props his empty glass and bottle of scotch between us.
“What’s with the Crocodile Dundee knife?” I ask.
“Fallen brother. Deacon,” Popeye explains as he pours himself a hefty glass. “May God have mercy on his soul.” He toasts then drinks.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize—”
“No bother,” Popeye waves me off. “It’s just there as a reminder. So no one ever forgets.”
“A memorial of sorts. That’s . . . nice.”
“Sure.” He takes another sip. “Nice. Now, what else do you want to know? What’s a cut, right?”
“To start.” I suck down my own sugary cocktail. Popeye can sure mix them. Whoa.
Popeye begins to explain what a cut is when I hear someone call my name over the hum of the crowd.
“Is there a Kira Kendrick here?” A loud voice yells. The entire places zeroes in on the strange man standing in the middle of the room holding a Tiffany-blue box.
“Who the fuck wants to know?” I recognize Ky’s low timbre immediately.
“Nobody in particular. I just have a delivery for her.”
Ky emerges from the back of the bar, flanked by all his men. He peers menacingly at the man dressed in a black hoodie and baseball cap.
“Who’s it from?” He crosses his arms, his biceps bulging, strangling the cotton of his short-sleeve shirt.
“No idea. Some guy gave me fifty bucks to walk it in here.”
“What’d the guy look like?” Hawk steps forward and takes the perfectly wrapped box.
“Some African-American dude. Real nice, actually. Said please and everything.”
“Did he now?” Panty Peeker snarls. He’s definitely the most intimidating of the bunch. There is just something so dark and ominous about him with his leather jacket, gages in his earlobes, and slicked-back hair.
“Take it in the back,” Ky instructs Hawk. “You, get the fuck outta here. And the next time someone asks you to deliver a package, say no.”
“Or go get a job with FedEx,” Breaker tosses in.
Vet, Breaker, and Panty Peeker stand shoulder to shoulder like a wall of muscle in front of Ky until the man leaves.
“Follow him,” Ky barks an order, and all three of them stride to the door. My anxiety has spiked tenfold in four short minutes.
“Snow.” Ky takes my hand and leads me away from the bar. There’s a private card room in the back of the bar Several poker tables are scattered around the space, and a full bar is situated in the corner.
“You guys take cards seriously.”
“It was bred into us. Courtesy of your stepfather.” Ky glares down at the box sitting on one of the tables.
“It looks jus
t like the other one,” Hawk makes an observation.
“Other one?” I look at Ky.
He rubs the back of his neck restlessly. “Show her.”
Hawk retrieves a similar-looking box from the back of the bar. He opens it so I can see the contents.
“Holy shit.” I cover my mouth with both hands, then reach in and pull out a lock of hair with a white ribbon tied around it. “This is mine.” A chill races down my spine.
“It was delivered to Ky yesterday morning,” Hawk explains.
“I got it just a few minutes before you called.”
“Someone sent you my hair? What kind of sick maniac are we dealing with here?” I brush my thumb over the stolen strands.
“Not sure. But ‘maniac’ seems to be an accurate description,” Ky considers. “Open it.” He nods to Hawk.
Hawk removes the white envelope and hands it to Ky. He slips out the cardstock and reads the note:
SLASHES ARE SO PRETTY in the Snow.
EVERY HAIR FOLLICLE on my body stands at attention. “Same note.” Ky crushes it in his hand. Those familiar feelings of isolation and fear begin to creep in on me. They know where I am. They know who I’m with. I’m suddenly so cold I shiver.
Ky draws me under his arm protectively as Hawk opens the box.
I’m actually terrified to see what’s inside.
Hawk inspects the contents first before he pulls each of them out. First, he places a pink silk dress on the table, which I recognize immediately.
“That’s mine. I wore it to our parents’ wedding.” I hold it up and display the huge gash right down the center of the neckline. Why?
“There’s more,” Hawk continues, pulling out the beaded headband and sparkly shoes that complete the outfit. The thought of someone in my house, in my room, fills me with absolute dread. How many times has he been there? While I was gone? While I was sleeping? I feel sick.
“I need to sit down.” I reach for a chair.
“Get her some water,” Ky snaps as he kneels down beside me. “Kira, just breathe.”
“They know where I am. They’ve been in my house. In my room. Mutilating my things. Who knows how many times?” I glance over at the dress. “What does it mean? What do they want?” Panic ensues.
“Calm down.” Ky rubs my leg as Agent Orange hands me a bottle of water.
“We need to go to the police, Ky. It’s time. My mother and Gerard will be home eventually. I don't want to put them in danger. They have to know what’s going on.”
“They aren’t coming back anytime soon, so there’s no need to alarm them right now.” Ky looks up at Hawk, who nods conspiratorially. “But maybe you’re right and we should get the police involved. Hawk will take care of that. He’s got the connections. I would just rather have it be low-key. I don’t want to spook whoever it is. Is that fair?” He compromises with me.
I nod. “Yes, as long we’re taking precautions.” I open the water bottle and chug it. I’m so fucking stressed out.
“I will take every precaution possible when it comes to you.” He pledges.
I breathe shallowly, believing him.
“Can we go? I just want to go,” I plead with Ky.
“Of course.” He stands, and I pull my legs up onto the chair, tightening into a ball.
“Hawk, do what you gotta do. Check in with Tempest about our delivery man friend, too. Keep me posted on everything. I’ll be home with Kira until this shit blows over.”
“You got it, man.” I hear them clasp hands and snap, but I don’t look up.
“C’mon, Snow, we can go out the back.” Ky helps lift me to my feet. I’m like a feather in his grasp, barely any weight at all.
“Which one is Tempest?” I ask as he leads me out a back door.
“Plugs in his ears.”
“Ah, him. One of these days you’re going to have to formally introduce me to all your friends.”
“Sure, I’ll throw a barbecue when this is all over.” He’s blatantly sarcastic.
“Sounds like a plan. Popeye can bartend.”
“All he’s good for is drinking the scotch.”
“He was nice to me,” I explain to him as he places my helmet on my head.
“Yeah, Popeye is a good guy. Known him my whole life. He rode with my dad before the diabetes took his leg.”
“Do you miss him?”
“Miss who?”
“Gerard. Do you miss him?”
Ky chews the inside of his cheek. “He’s my Pops. Of course I miss him. I’ve just been so angry at him I didn’t want to admit it. Hurts too much.”
“He misses you. A lot.” I take his hand. “He would say it all the time. And you could see it on his face at every holiday. He would ask to leave a seat open for you.”
“Shit, Snow.” Emotion bubbles in his voice. “How did this suddenly become about me and my dad?”
“I don’t know. I’m just starting to realize life is short. And so fragile. Fix things with him,” I urge.
“I’m going to,” he promises. “I just need to fix things with you first.”
“I’ll be hiding under the covers until that happens.”
“Naked, I hope.” Ky straddles his bike.
“If that’s how you prefer me.” I slide both my arms around him.
“Always, Snow. Always.”
20
Ky
KIRA WASN'T KIDDING when she said she wanted to hide under the covers. I haven’t been able to get her out of bed all day. Not that I have a problem with that, because she’s also been naked all day. I don’t want the situation messing with her mind. I know she told me she hasn’t had an episode in years, and that she’s in a better place, but I can’t help but wonder with everything that’s happening if she’ll digress. After she went to sleep last night, I googled psychosis and memorized what it is, how it feels, causes, treatments, and therapies. I barely slept a wink, but that doesn’t matter. All I care about is that Kira slept safe and sound. And that she keeps sleeping safe and sound. That she stays safe, period. Mentally and physically. From the moment I met her, this intrinsic desire to protect Kira developed. It just cropped up like a spring flower. I’ve come to learn she’s so fragile. So very fragile. Maybe not on the outside, but inside, her core is delicate. It’s beautiful, like a piece of cut glass, and equally as breakable.
How do you protect something so precious? Do you hide it away from the world? Do you put it in a glass case to look at but never touch? Do you allow it to roam free and hope for the best while expecting the worst?
I just want to do right by her, whatever that may be. Maybe I should just worship her as she walks through life, a sworn disciple. A vowed protector. A pledged soldier. I have the experience for that, at least.
I let the hot water run over my shoulders, washing away the soap as I ponder life. Kira was with me only minutes ago, pinned up against the wall while I fucked her senseless. It’s impossible to keep my hands off her. She’s my sweetest addiction, a love born out of lust. A storm of desire that rises beneath my skin. I want her now, again, even after I just finished having her.
“Ky.” Kira rushes back into the bathroom. Her hair is still wet, but she’s dressed in black leggings and a crop top that shows off her midriff. “Look what I found. Is that you?” She holds up a picture of me from the third grade with a goofy, gap-toothed grin, and the worst bowl cut known to man. I swear my mom was out to make me a virgin for life.
“Where on God’s green Earth did you find that?” I wipe away the water from my eyes.
“The back of your closet. I was looking for my bag. There’s a whole box of stuff.”
“Oh, yeah. I forgot that was there.” I sorta had a moment after my dad left and I tore down every picture and memento that reminded me of him.
“You were so cute.” She beams.
“I was a total geek until my dad got his hands on me.”
“There’s pictures of him, too. Get out of the shower. Let’s look.”
“A trip down memory lane. Awesome,” I hum dryly, turning the shower head off. Kira hands me a towel and then bounces out of the bathroom. Someone is way too excited to dig into my past.
“Oh, my God, look at Gerard. What is up with that mustache?” She holds up another picture.
“It was the eighties. Who knows?” I sit down on the edge of the bed as Kira pulls apart the box.
“Who is that?” She shows me a picture of a young blonde woman with a crown of flowers on her head.
“My mom.”
“She’s beautiful. You look like her.”
“Yeah.” I take the picture from her. “Too bad she’s a head case.”
“That’s not nice to say about your mother.”
“It’s the truth. Her mind is stuck in the clouds. She is definitely not in touch with reality.”
“She’s a free spirit.”
“That’s putting it nicely.”
“Look at you on Gerard’s bike.” Kira becomes excited again. “How old were you there, three?” She hands me yet another photo.
“About that? Yeah.” The image makes me smile. “My dad had me on a Harley with a deck of cards in my hands before I could walk.”
“Sounds like Gerard. The first week I met him, he had me on the back of his chopper explaining strategies of poker.” She laughs. “He was such a badass.” She inspects yet another photograph. “Is that a gun in his waistband?”
“Probably.” I take the picture to look. The image is just how I remember him as a kid. Dressed in a leather cut, blue bandana, and ripped-up jeans. He was nobody to fuck with back then. Hell, he’s still nobody to fuck with, but during those days, the club was like a band of wild outlaws. My grandfather, Alfred, was a crazy motherfucker, which makes me wonder if that’s why my mom is a little off her rocker. Growing up with a hard-ass like him had to have some kind of effect. Losing her mom at a young age I’m sure didn’t help either.
“Huh.” Kira scrutinizes one picture a little more closely.
“What is it?” I rub my hand across my hair to dry it.
“Who is that?” She flips the picture over and points.
