by K. L. Savage
Skirt has his elbow on his knee, chin in his hand, and he bats his lashes at me with grin, that if I didn’t know him, I would think he was flirting.
“Skirt, what?” I snap.
“I’ve never heard ye talk in complete sentences. It’s nice.”
“Shut up.”
“There’s your blonde,” Reaper juts out his chin, and I see Sunnie. My heart skips a fucking beat when I notice the puffy eyes and wet nose. She wipes her face and slams the door to her room.
I get up without question to go check on her, and Reaper grabs my hand, forcing me down to the chair. “She can wait. What we need to talk about can’t.” He flips open the file, and the first image that appears is a shot of Tom, smiling. It looks like a picture that belongs on a billboard with his straight white teeth and suburban husband appearance. His hair is parted and trimmed to perfection, and his eyes hold kindness that I know is a lie.
Men like him are good at hiding the monsters lurking within.
“Thomas Hurst, also known as Tom. He has been a criminal defense attorney in Vegas for fifteen years. He’s made a real name of himself. He gets criminals parole, shorter sentences, and he even got a few off of death row.”
Skirt whistles under his breath. “Sounds like a slimy motherfucker if he wants to defend criminals.”
“Well,” Badge inserts himself into the conversation and flips a page. “His record is clean, obviously. He’s a lawyer, but if someone has been charged with something, there are always records of it. Digging deeper, I found he had been arrested for assault and battery, illegal gambling, and purchasing a prostitute.”
“That’s legal in Vegas,” I point out.
“That didn’t happen in Vegas. Anyway, following the not-so-straight-and-narrow path. I went to the streets. I know people who have been there a long time. Confidential informants. I pay them for their information and let them go. Or, I used to.”
Right. I forgot Badge wasn’t in law enforcement anymore. Reaper made him choose sides, but I’m starting to wonder if that was a mistake. Badge is miserable, and he loved being a cop.
Badge flips another page and points to a sentence. “He has this listed as one of the many addresses he owns, but he doesn’t live there. According to my informants, he runs a prostitution company. Not a ring because it’s legal. Most women who work for him like to. Apparently, he let’s them keep a lot of the cash they earn.”
“Most?”
Badge grunts and flips another page. “Most. That’s where Sunnie comes in. She is right, as father figures go, he is the only one she knows. One of his prostitutes, when he was just getting in the game, got pregnant by one of the clients, and the client wanted nothing to do with the kid, and neither did the prostitute. All of twenty-two, a damn shark, he raised the girl on his own.”
“Sunnie,” I say her name on a whoosh. “What next?”
“He raised her in that lifestyle. I don’t know details of that, but I’m going to go out on a limb and say she was young the first time she had sex, probably before she was ready. Guys like him only see the dollar signs, and a girl like her, a virgin, she was a paycheck, and it helped she grew up to be beautiful.”
My jaw clenches when I hear him talk about her like that. I lift my gaze and see him smirking at me. Damn him, trying to get a rise out of me. Today isn’t a good day for that bullshit.
“Badge, get on with it.”
“Right, sorry, Prez.” Badge turns another page, and what I see has my stomach dropping. No. They can’t know about this.
I stare at the crisp clear photo of the dungeon I was placed in when I was thirteen. The dirt is dark, almost black, and the cage is open, showing a dried puddle of blood where that bastard laid to die after I chopped off his hands.
“Where did you get that photo?” My fingers twitch, and the urge to drink slams against me hard for the first time in a few days. The room spins, and a cold sweat wraps around me, causing a chill to rattle my bones. I feel like I’m going to vomit. “Get it away. Get it the fuck away!” I shout, spittle flying from my mouth and spraying the file. I rock onto my feet and slap the file off the coffee table. The papers fly in a disorganized array and float to the floor. “Fuck you for showing me that. Fuck you all. How dare you go prying into my life. You had no fucking right. None! Those records were sealed.”
“We didn’t mean to, Pirate. It was a complete accident. You and Sunnie are connected,” Reaper stands toe-to-toe with me, but not in an intimidating way. He doesn’t press his chest against mine to peacock or show his power. He pulls me into a hug. “I’m so fucking sorry that happened to you, Pirate.”
“Get off me.” I push him, and I sway, stumbling as if I’m drunk again. I’m dizzy. I hear my sister’s voice echoing in my head.
Bubba, you let the bad man get me. Bubba.
I bend down and grip onto the chair and close my eyes. I can’t let the memory beat me anymore. Someone reaches out to touch me, and I jerk away. “Don’t, just give me a minute.” I lay a hand against my head and Macy’s voice starts to fade until all that is left is guilt.
That’s new.
Usually she would have stayed until I drove myself into a drunken stupor. I’m gaining control of my mind. It takes time. That’s all. It just takes time.
“We’re fine, Gale.” Reaper reassures the one person in this place that can kick them out.
I wipe my brow on my shirt and snap my eyes open. “How the fuck are we connected?”
“Tom Hurst has officially gotten Hester Ginning parole.” Badge swallows and bends down on the floor to pick up the mess of papers.
“No.” I shake my head with disbelief. My arms tremble, and my knees give out. “No, that’s impossible. How?”
“Good behavior for the last eighteen years,” Badge finishes, but I can feel all of their eyes on me. I can feel their pity, their sadness for me, and that is why I never wanted them to know about my past. I didn’t want pity. I only wanted to be left alone in my nightmare. I never wanted to share it.
“But he raped and killed my sister. That has to mean something today. He kidnapped me. He tried to… No, I can’t let this happen.” I turn to Reaper and sit down, needing a moment to get my head on straight. “No. Macy deserves peace.”
“I read the testimony,” Badge says. “I read what you said, and if it’s any consolation, I would have turned to drinking too.”
“We understand you now more than ever.”
“You don’t understand shit about me. Until you watch something like that, then you will understand me, but don’t sit there and try to relate. You can’t relate.”
“You’re right. We can’t, but do you know what we are really good at, Pirate?”
Reaper squats next to me and grips the back of my neck, applying pressure as he speaks. “We are really fucking great at retribution. That guy won’t live another day if he sees daylight.”
“Don’t do it without me. He’s mine, and when I’m done with him, I want Tongue to do what he does best.”
Reaper has a satisfied gleam in his eyes from my words, pleased that I’m being an active member of the club.
“And Sunnie is protected at all costs. She deserves retribution too. She’s lost enough. I’ll be damned if she falls into Tom’s hands again.”
“Yeah, I read on her too—”
I cut my eyes to Badge and try not to get annoyed at him for doing his job, but I feel like he is prying into shit that is none of his business at this point. It’s just about him being curious because he is a cop at heart, and he has to follow every trail he can, getting his nose as dirty as possible. “Don’t say another word about her, Badge.”
“I just wanted to say, I’m sorry that happened to her. It isn’t easy losing a child.” Badge gets up from the couch, and Skirt follows. Reaper and Skirt don’t seem surprised by what Badge said, but I am. Did Badge lose a kid, or is he just saying that because he has seen many situations where parents have had to mourn over their child?
“Three more weeks, Pirate, and you can come home. You will go to meetings two or three times a week, and you are to stay at the clubhouse; do you get me?”
It isn’t a question. He is telling me the rules of being at the clubhouse. “Yeah, Prez. I get you.”
“Sunnie too. We know all about her addiction. We have kids from NOLA at the clubhouse, and Skirt’s ol’ lady is pregnant. We don’t want that shit at the club, okay?”
“You don’t have anything to worry about, Reaper.”
All three of the members start to walk away, and I don’t feel right letting them leave; not yet. “Guys?” I rub my palms on my sweats as I run over to them. They are right next to the front desk, and Gale is still glaring at Reaper. He is professionally ignoring her.
The door swings open, and a few new orderlies walk into the room pushing empty carts.
“Thank you.” I look them each in the eye, especially Reaper. I shove my hands in my pockets and try not to feel embarrassed for being in here while they get to walk freely out the door.
“For what?” Reaper asks, confused. He shakes his hair out of his face and then pushes it back with is hand.
“For getting me here. For giving a shit when I didn’t.”
“It’s what brothers are for, Pirate. We aren’t going anywhere.” He knocks my shoulder with his fist and trudges away, and Skirt and Badge follow. My eyes fall to the file in Badge’s hand, and nausea hits me hard.
That bastard cannot get out of prison.
“Hey, Gale, are there emergency therapists on call?” I’m two seconds away from raiding the closet to see if there are bottles of rubbing alcohol. The craving is deep, clawing like talons through my intestines and tearing me in half.
“Absolutely, Patrick. Let me call Ms. Havensworth. She’s usually available.”
It’s a step in the right direction. I’m fighting the urge instead of giving in to it. It may not be much, but it’s something. I’ll need to be at my best when Hester gets out of prison. He has to be pushing sixty now, and I’m in my prime. His blood is going to be all too sweet when it’s spilled.
I reach toward the necklace I wear around my neck, and the locket is warm from laying against my skin.
I need to be better for Sunnie.
For Macy.
For me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SUNNIE
You know where to go.
I hold the note to my chest and refrain from squealing like a little girl with excitement. Instead, I shove the note in my pocket and check the time. It’s nearly nine. I do the same as I did last time and pretend to go to my room before turning left.
It’s sneaky. I feel so rebellious breaking the rules, but it’s worth it if I get to see Patrick. We haven’t been able to see a lot of each other over the last few days. His therapy sessions have increased to twice a day, along with group sessions, and the sessions with my therapist are just going in circles.
When Patrick and I have seen one another, it’s to put a puzzle together, and it’s been the worst torture watching him from across the table. All that man just waiting to be pounced on. I love how wide his shoulders are, the girth of his neck, the way he nibbles on his bottom lip when he’s thinking about something or contemplating where to insert the puzzle piece.
I’m lost in thought when an arm snakes out and wraps its hand around my mouth and drags me into a room. I kick and land my foot against the kidnapper’s kneecap. “Let go of me, you asshole!” I say vehemently, jumping out of his arms.
“Shh, damn, Sunnie. It’s me. It’s Patrick.” He moans in pain.
I close the door and lock it, covering my mouth with my hands when I see him hopping over to the bed. He’s holding his knee and is taking such deep breaths that his cheeks are puffing in and out like a blowfish.
“Oh god, Patrick. Are you okay? I’m sorry. I thought you were a kidnapper.” I hurry over to his side and try not to laugh at his dramatic display. I didn’t kick him that hard. “I thought we were meeting in the garden.”
“We were, but Gale was there. I was watching you through the peephole of my door.”
“That’s not creepy.”
He lifts his arm from his face and eyes me. “Babe, you have no idea the creepy lengths I will go for you.”
I crawl up his body and give him a quick peck. “I oddly find that really hot.” I drag my finger down his chest.
“Oh, yeah?” he says low, grabbing my hand and lifting my fingers to see his mouth. He kisses each digit until all that is left is my palm. “What other creepy things do you want me to do?”
“You took it too far.” I sit up and prepare to leave, as a joke, when he pulls me down and wraps his mouth around my tit through my shirt, soaking the material.
“I don’t know where you think you’re going, but you’re staying right here with me.”
Feeling frisky, I shove at his chest and slip out from under him to run to the door, but he’s there, slamming his fist above me, keeping me from leaving. He rubs his erection against my back and sucks my earlobe into his mouth.
“You’ll have to catch me first.” I tilt my head to give him more access and then remember the game I’m playing. I arch my back, pressing my ass against him, and a vibration in his chest tickles my spine. I dive to the left and out of his reach, hurrying … nowhere since there is no safe space in this room. I hurry around the bed, and he is still at the door, fist against the wood, and when he turns around, the irises I’ve grown to love are black, the color of smoke after a hot fire.
He takes off his shirt, and there are a few tattoos on his torso, but the one that catches my eye is the one on his left trap muscle.
Macy.
It’s written in a delicate cursive, yet bold and unique.
“You aren’t leaving this room, babe,” he taunts, tossing his shirt at me. Liquid drips into my panties when his scent bombards me, nearly knocking me off my feet.
I throw his shirt to the ground and let my finger drift down the plain blue sheets on the bed. “That’s what you think.”
He feigns right, and I run left, but then he turns left and reaches out to snatch me, but I’m able to get away in time. I’m giggling up a storm when I see him in position. Legs spread, squatted, arms out and fingers wiggling. He’s prepared to go either way to get me. His abs flex, and his skin glimmers like 24 carat-gold. He has the kind of skin that looks permanently kissed by the sun.
Patrick’s sweatpants hang low, and I almost pant from how sexy he looks. What is it about a man in gray sweatpants? I know it’s an outfit I see him in every day, but they are seriously the hottest thing in the world he could ever wear. His hips are carved, deep divots tempting me to grip as he drives into me.
“The way you’re looking at me tells me you don’t want to leave the room.”
“You can be nice to look at while a girl comes to her senses, you know,” I say, inching to the left while my eyes drift to the tent in his pants. Fuck, he is so big.
“Looks like your senses aren’t working because you aren’t moving.” He grips his cock and adjusts it to the left, the long shaft pronounced against the fabric. I know he isn’t wearing underwear, and that only makes the need to feel him inside me worse.
“You’re a distracting man.”
He gives a cheeky grin, one that shows a rare flash of his straight teeth, and I’m tripping over myself all over again.
He sidesteps to the left, and when he gets to the edge of the bed, instead of going right, I make a crazy decision and jump onto the bed to try to cut through the middle. Patrick’s arm snakes around me and throws me on the mattress. I bounce a few times and wait for my body to settle.
“I win,” he says before plundering my mouth with his tongue and owning my lips in a carnal kiss. He rips off my shirt and tears my bra off too.
“You have to stop doing that,” I lie. I want him to rip every piece of clothing off me until I have no choice but to be naked all the time.
“No. I like doing it.
I’ll get you more,” he says off-handedly. He must be forgetting where we are because there isn’t a way for us to go shopping. “Maybe you should start going braless. I can imagine these tits free, nipples always hard and putting on a show, tempting me all damn day.” He ends the last word on a depth of gravel I haven’t heard before.
He bites my tit, sucking most of the flesh into his mouth, and I grab a pillow to shove over my face to block the screams from echoing. Like there is any use; the way he handles me has me going out of my mind. He lets my breast go with a soft plop, and the cold air wraps around the wet bud that’s swollen from the ravager laying on top of me.
Patrick doesn’t ever pay attention to one side and not the other, so he lavishes the right breast with his tongue and bites me hard there too. I whimper, the floodgates between my legs open, and rapids of slick drench my aching hole for his cock.
“I can never get enough of you,” he admits against the fever of my skin. My hands slide up and down the bunching muscles of his Adonis belt.
“I hope you don’t.” My hands push under his soft lounge pants and grip the firm globes. I give him access to the side of my neck, and he kisses along the spot where he accidentally drew blood. I didn’t mind. I liked it. It was a brand, a statement, something that told me I was his.
I’ve never belonged to anyone.
I’m not proud to say I’ve been with a lot of men. Faces I couldn’t remember, touches that made me sick, kisses that made me weep into my pillow every night, and cocks used me until they had their fill, leaving me tainted.
I’m broken. Used goods.
I think that’s why I can’t orgasm. What’s the point of feeling good when at the end, I’ll only be left with disappoint and cum dripping down my legs? I know that isn’t the case with Patrick, but part of me is afraid he will leave me; only this time, not only will I be left with his essence between my thighs, but a broken heart.
Because I’ve fallen in love with him. I love him more than the high I was addicted to. I’ve never said those words to someone. I grew up in a loveless home surrounded by greed and sex. I remember walking in on Tom fucking a girl’s throat while Ross fucked her from the back.
