Finding Me (Bad Boy #2)

by S. K. Hartley

  “How does that rage feel, princess?” Jack said, ripping through my thoughts. “How does that adrenaline feel pumping through your body? You are so close to the edge of that cliff, aren’t you, darlin’? Now, what would it take to push you over the edge and into the depths of hell?”

  “You’re pathetic, Jack. I have seen hell, and I have been living in it for the past ten years,” I spat, his words becoming ever more truthful and harder to ignore with every passing minute.

  “You think you have lived in hell? You have no idea what hell feels like. I had a child ripped away from me, a child that was so very much wanted! Your father did that. Your father killed Faith. That's hell, princess,” Jack sneered.

  “Stop it!” I screamed as I watched Angel's blooded face pale at the mention of his sister's name. It became abundantly clear why Angel had never discussed his family beyond his mother, it was just too painful for him.

  "I'm so sorry, Neva," Angel apologized, his voice wavering for a fleeting moment.

  My eyes filled with tears as I saw Angel's physical and emotional pain written all over his face, I couldn't imagine how heartbreaking it was to grow up with a father who loved the bottom of a bottle more than his own son.

  “Shut the fuck up or I will shut you up!” Jack spat at his son.

  “Stop it!” I shouted, pulling the knife closer to Jack’s neck. Quickly reigning him back in.

  “What’s the matter, Neva? Too scared to take revenge on the man who killed your father? You’re just as pathetic as he was. Do it, Neva. Do it and let’s see if it gets rid of your guilt.”

  Jack’s words killed me slowly inside, shattering the heart that was beating wildly against my chest. The guilt I harbored over my father’s death was one of my biggest problems, the source to my PTSD, Jack seemed to understand that and he was using it against me. The rational Neva would ignore him and walk away, knowing that she was a bigger person than the sewer rat that killed her father. But right now I was neither the rational nor the bigger person, I was in a monstrous rage. I was shattered, I was broken once again.

  “I. Hate. You,” I whispered into Jack’s ear, moving the knife into position. Ready to take back what was wrongfully taken from me all those years ago.

  "Don't listen to him, Neva! He is trying to goad you," Angel pleaded, his eyes wide and beautifully blue.

  "Shut your fucking mouth!" Jack spat, rearing his fist, ready to punch Angel in the face once again.

  "Hit him again and I will slice your throat," I whispered into his ear as I held my breath, wondering how he would react.

  Jack hesitated, his hand suspended in mid-air as I he took in my threat. Uncurling his fist, he flexed his fingers, slowly placing his hand down by his side. My chest heaved with my silent sigh of relief as I tightened my fingers around the blade, my palms sweaty and knuckles white.

  "What are you going to do now, princess?"

  Chapter Two

  Logan

  She loves him.

  She. Fucking. Loves. Him.

  My mind was reeling, it has been since Tate came home a couple of days ago. I keep running the conversation over and over in my head. The look on Tate’s face told me everything I needed to know, he didn’t need to fucking say it. But even as the words passed his lips, I was still thrown into shock.

  ‘She loves him. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Like that's going to stop the ache in my damn chest, or the constant hard-on that appears at any mention of her name. I can’t even bring myself to say it. I can’t even say her fucking name without crumbling on the floor or running into a fit of rage. When did I become such a pussy? Before the school semester started, she was the woman I could not touch. That I could never be good enough for. Now she is the damn reason I wake up in the morning, the reason I breathe.

  I have been staring at the alarm clock on my bedside table for what felt like days. I lost the sense of time as soon as my best friend stepped through the door that day. Every thought that runs through my mind is of her, of them, of us. But as soon as it appears in my mind, I shut it away tight. I can’t think of her, of them … of us. It hurts too damn much.

  There are times where I have questioned everything. My choices, my decisions. I have questioned everything. EVERYTHING. All because of her. Everything I did was for her, and now I have no idea if I could carry on without her.

  My hands flexed around the football in my hands. Football. Jesus, I have been off of my game for weeks. Coach is losing his shit after every single game, and is probably ready to damn well bench me. My head is so screwed that I can't even concentrate long enough to catch the damn ball. Even now it feels foreign in my palms. What the hell happened to me?

  "Dude, we're headed over to Ace's. You in?"

  I looked up from my position on my bed, staring straight at Tate who was peering around the dorm door. He was smiling. As if one of Ace's parties was going to cure my fog-ridden mind, and help me move on from her.

  "No." I grunted.

  Before her, I would have gone. No questions asked. It was about the beer, the women, about having a good time. But now going to Ace's house for a damn party was like sticking pins in my eyes, and nails in my balls. Pure fucking torture.

  "You need to get out of the room, Logan. Locking yourself away in here isn’t going to do any good.”

  I could see the sincerity in his eyes, but to be honest, it wasn’t making me feel any better. I just wanted to punch him in the jaw. He's my best friend, but Christ, I wouldn’t mind using him as a punching bag right now.

  “I said no, Tate.” I sighed. Jesus, will he just drop it.

  “Fine. But take a fucking shower, man. You stink.”

  I heard the door click as Tate left and shut the door behind him. Falling back onto my bed with a sigh, I threw my forearms over my eyes. I can’t deal with this shit much longer. She's constantly on my mind, making me dizzy with every damn thought. I turned and nuzzle my sheets, and my eyes widen with surprise. Even my fucking sheets smell like her. Like the sea, she smells like the damn sea.

  Throwing myself off of my bed, I roughly rip the sheets from it, ready to throw them in the trash. But, before I can even blink, my damn body betrays my thoughts. Pulling the crumbled sheets to my nose, I inhale. Hard. The instant her scent hits my nostrils, my cock stirs and my eyes roll to the back of my head. Dammit.

  The sound of ‘Just Give Me A Reason’ by Pink makes my heart literally stop. I don’t think I’m even breathing. That song is Neva’s song. My phone is chiming, telling me Neva is calling me. But I can’t move my hands to make them grab for my phone from my pocket. I haven’t spoken to her in just under a week. A week, but it feels like a god damn eternity. My phone starts vibrating in my pocket as the song goes on and I know I need to answer it.

  Reluctantly, I ripped my phone from my pocket, answering the call, I place it to my ear. Not saying a single word. Not because I don’t want to, I so desperately want to hear her voice. No, I don’t say anything because what I am hearing renders me completely fucking numb.

  I can hear voices, but the voice that captures me the most is hers. She isn’t close enough for me to hear her clearly, and it immediately sends spine numbing tingles throughout my body. Something was not right.

  “Hello,” I demanded through the phone.

  No one answered me, and it’s sending my mind into a frenzy. What the hell is going on? I can feel my heart pounding, and sweat starting to build on my brow. What the fuck?

  “Answer me! Hello!” I shouted down the phone.

  Nothing.

  I can feel my heart pounding harder and harder, the panic quickly jumping straight from my toes to my fingertips. I pull the phone away from my ear and look at the screen. The call is still connected, and it is definitely her. What the hell? Then I hear something that instantly brings me down to my knees. Literally.

  “Jack, please. Please don’t hurt me.”

  Holy shit.

  My mind is thrown into a blind panic.
I could barely hear her plea through my phone, but as soon as I heard it, I instantly knew it was in desperation. Always in fucking desperation.

  Oh, fuck.

  I could feel my head swimming, and my stomach rolling. Jesus, what the hell do I do? I can’t put the phone down to call Tate. I didn't have a fucking clue where the hell she is. I was completely fucking helpless. For the first time in so long, I couldn't protect her. And it fucking killed me.

  “TATE!!” I yelled.

  Jumping up from my knees, I bounded my way out of our dorm. Leaving the door to swing back, almost pulling it from its hinges. I ran hard and fast down the corridor, jumping down the staircase three steps at a time. I needed to find Tate, I needed him to help me. I kept the phone locked against my ear, but I can’t hear anything. The sound of my racing heart and the thumping of my feet against the floor was all I could hear.

  “Tate!” I shouted.

  I didn't know where he was, I didn't even know if he's still here. He could have already left campus by now. I was panicking, going absolutely stir crazy as I looked around the campus grounds in a frenzy, trying to locate my best friend.

  Sweat poured from every inch of my skin as I finally made it outside. My breathing was erratic, but I held the phone against my ear like my life depended on it. My life did fucking depend on it. She is my world and everything in it. Even if I couldn't have her, she always has been and always will be mine. Always. And right now, I didn't know how long for.

  My gaze flickered over to the parking lot on the campus. Getting into our truck was Tate, ready to leave. Shit. I ran, hard and fast, pushing other students out of the way to try to get to him.

  “Tate!” I shouted as I ran even harder. “Fuck! Tate. Stop.”

  “What the-“ Tate started, but I quickly cut him off.

  “Tate. She’s in trouble,” I panted.

  As soon as the words passed my lips, I felt an ache creep through my chest. Like I had just been hit square in the chest with a damn sledge hammer. Then my fucking heart was ripped from my damn body when I heard her muffled plea into my ear.

  "Please, stop."

  And I was dying. Fucking dying. She was put in a position where she was having to beg. Time and time again she's forced to beg, just so she can damn well live. All she wants, all she craves, is just to be normal. She just wants her past to be just that, the past. Hearing her voice awakened everything inside me, but hearing her panic and pain awakens every protective fiber in my body.

  "Logan! Logan, answer me."

  Tate's panicked voice pulled me out of dark thoughts. But my muscles are throbbing with familiar adrenaline. I needed to get to her.

  "What?!" I spat.

  My own desperation was taking over. I couldn't hear anything except my own heartbeat, which has now lodged in my throat.

  "Logan, what the hell is going on?!" Tate yelled.

  His faced was laced with concern as he moved out from the seat of the truck. I didn't think I could speak, I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I was completely speechless. I don't know what to do. So I thrust the phone into Tate's hands, watching as he puts it to his ear and listened. Seconds passed as I watched Tate's face morph from concern to sheer panic, matching my own.

  "Logan... Fuck. Logan," he whispered. "She was meeting Angel's mom. But I don't know where she lives."

  I growled at the mention of the fucker's name. I knew he was trouble, it's those fucking eyes, they screamed fucking trouble. It's taking every ounce of self-control I have not to jump in the truck, and drive around the whole fucking state to find her. But I knew it wouldn't help. I needed to find her. I needed to find her before I lost my god damn mind. Shit, who was I kidding? I lost my mind years ago when she held onto my neck and cried into my shirt. Ten years later and that damn memory still cuts me open.

  "We need to find her, Logan," Tate pleaded, his eyes glassy and unsure.

  "I know. I will find her, Tate. I will bring her home," I said with so much determination it shook me to my core.

  It was a promise that I intended on keeping.

  Even after everything we had been through, even though she broke my fucking heart. I couldn't bear the thought of her heart breaking any further. I needed her, I needed her to love me just as much as I love her.

  "We need to find her, Logan."

  "I. Will. Bring. Her. Home." I said, punctuating each word so he could understand exactly what I was saying. I was going to bring her home. To me. The sudden sound of Tate's intake of breath stopped my racing thoughts. But what he said next all but fucking floored me.

  "Oh god, Logan. She's got a knife," Tate whispered.

  “W-what? Give me the phone, Tate.” I all but ripped the phone out of his grasp and put it to my ear.

  I was pacing, all the while Tate was burning holes into me. I could feel my hands shaking with every breath I took, I didn't know how much longer I could go on without knowing where the hell she was. I needed to get to her. I could only fucking pray that she gave me some sort of clue.

  “If I cut you, will you spill blood or whiskey?”

  Oh, holy fuck me sideways. I felt the air leave my lungs at the confidence in her voice. This was not her, not the woman I know. What the hell was going on? And who the hell was she threatening? Jesus, if it’s that fucker, I will break every damn bone in his body. My mind was running so fast, I could barely keep up. People were moving around us without a care in the world, while my world is threatening to cut another person open.

  Then suddenly, as if the gods had heard my prayer, I heard the words that filled me with so much relief, but so much damn fear.

  “Logan, if you’re still there, I’m at two-six-nine Marriott Drive.”

  “Tate, get in the fucking truck!” I shouted, throwing myself behind the wheel of the truck. My fingers fumbled around with the keys in the ignition. My palms were a sweaty mess, and I couldn't get my body to function as fast as I wanted it to.

  Finally, after what felt like minutes , I managed to get the truck to splutter to life. I revved the engine, my panic seeping through my body and landing like a dead weight in my toes.

  “Where the hell is she?” Tate asked as I put my foot down on the gas, and speed off campus.

  I could feel Tate’s eyes on me again. I blocked him out, blocked everything out. My only thought was her, and getting her home. Safe. I maneuvered the truck through the evening traffic, trying hard not to lose control on my nerves. I pushed our way through the winding side roads, trying to navigate where I needed to be.

  The traffic was light, but it didn't feel as though we were moving fast enough. My eyes stared straight out of the windshield and fixed onto the road. As long as I could remember the address she gave me, I knew my mind would take over and take me to her.

  “Logan, will you just tell me where the fuck she is?” Tate asked calmly from the passenger seat.

  The calmness in his voice sent my already shaky nerves up a couple of notches. How the hell is he so calm? I’m a fucking wreck and I haven’t even found her. I threw my phone at him. I needed him to listen in. I couldn’t do it while I was driving.

  “Marriott Drive.” I grunted. “Tate, this could get pretty nasty. We need to call the cops.”

  The thought of having to call the cops because we didn’t know what we were about to walk into scared the living shit out of me. We could get there and find her... No. Stop thinking, dipshit. I needed to concentrate on getting us there, and quick.

  “I know,” he said softly.

  That’s all he gave me before calling 9-1-1 on his phone. He placed my phone on speakerphone so we could listen to what's going on while he speaks to the cops on his phone. Letting them know all the information we have.

  “What’s the matter, Neva? Too scared to take revenge on the man who killed your father? You’re just as pathetic as he was. Do it, Neva. Do it and lets see if it gets rid of your guilt.”

  “Jesus,” I whispered as we pulled onto Marriot Drive.

 
Chapter Three

  Neva

  "Baby, get him off me. I can't breathe," Angel begged, his breath short and labored as he spoke.

  I suddenly froze, Angel's voice breaking through the dark, thick cloud that hung over my thoughts. I looked into his eyes, the eyes that once pulled me out from the murky depths of my depression and into the light. An involuntary shiver ran through my bones; his eyes no longer felt as though they could heal my pain, they felt like they could shatter me further.

  "Please, baby. Help me," he gasped, his face was pale and his eyes less vibrant than before.

  "Don't help him, Neva. He lied to you, he brought you here. He did this!" Jack bickered, turning his head towards me.

  He was right, Angel had done this, he had lied to me. But I had done the same, I had hid my past like a dirty secret.

  "Stand up," I said, surprising myself. As much as Angel had lied to me, I couldn't let Jack hurt him any more than he already had.

  My knees screamed in pain as I moved my tight muscles. As I got to my feet, I realized I hadn't thought this through, Jack had a good foot height advantage over me and before I could think about what I should do, the knife was thrown across the floor.

  I could hear Angel coughing and spluttering as he tried to sit up from the floor, but I couldn't see him. Jack was towering over my cowering frame with a determined grin on his face; it was only then that I could really take in his features. His jawline was tight and pronounced, chiseled and strong. His eyes were an unbelievable mixture of blues and gold, not quite brown and not quite blue. They were intense and frightening. They say that your eyes are the windows to your soul, but the only thing I could see was darkness, there was no light in his eyes, no flicker of hope. Nothing.

  I screamed out in pain as Jack took hold of my welt-covered wrist, bending it painfully behind my back as he threw me down to the floor, hard. The collision of my body against the hard ground pushed all of the air out of my lungs painfully, but I didn't have time to think or feel. I quickly reached out for the knife discarded on the floor beside me, swinging it back and plunging down hard.