Point of Return

by Stacey Lynn

  Then Travis walked out and I almost smiled. That was until I could tell he didn’t bother locking the door on his way out, leaving the street access to her apartment completely unsecure. Fucker. I needed to get those locks fixed immediately. It needed to be something with an alarm system so she’d be safer.

  I watched Travis head down the street and start his pick-up truck, peeling down the street like he was in a hurry to get somewhere. When he’d been gone for ten minutes, I began to make a move to her apartment. I’d tell her to lock her doors and then I’d be gone.

  If she got pissed we were watching her, so be it. I’d tell her to deal with her old man about it.

  I was just about to step out of the shadows when a figure came walking down the street.

  At first glance, he looked normal, dark sweatshirt, hood up, which wasn’t peculiar. Typical teenage punks thinking they were men when they weren’t even close. It was his backpack that caught my eye, and the way his glance shifted to his right and left right before he reached the door to Liv’s apartment, that didn’t feel right. Then he began unzipping the backpack.

  Holy shit! I was moving, my gun pulled and at my side as I darted across the street. His hand moved, and before I knew it, before I could aim and shoot, glass from GetInked was shattering all over the sidewalk and smoke and fire erupted inside the building.

  Fuck! I raised my gun and fired, right as he reached for the handle to Liv’s apartment.

  Two quick bursts fired from my gun, even though I knew the first hit him right on target. The smell of the gunpowder filled the air, the heat from the discharge felt comforting in my hand.

  “Olivia!” I shouted as I crossed the street.

  Heat from the flames and smoke were already pouring out from the windows.

  I kicked the body out of my way and threw open her door, shouting her name again.

  She stood still on the stairway. Wrapped in a short bathrobe and bare feet, I froze at the sight of her. Tanned, long fuck-me legs was all I saw before I quickly regained control.

  “Shoes! Now!” I shouted again, and pushed her backward toward her apartment.

  As soon as we flung open the door to her apartment, I ran to the other side in five quick strides and threw open the window to her fire escape at the back of her apartment. It was also at the back of the tattoo shop, not at the front where the fire burned.

  I hoped like hell it’d still be safe enough.

  “What’s going on, Daemon?” I looked over my shoulder and saw her struggling with her shoes. She had already switched out the robe for a tight tank top—no bra—that showed off her perfect tits, and shorts that barely covered her ass.

  “Get some clothes on! Fuck it!” I grabbed a sweatshirt from the floor and threw it at her. “Cover up!”

  “Don’t fucking boss me around!” Her eyes flashed as she stomped her foot. Was she seriously choosing now to fucking argue with me?

  “There’s a fire, Liv! Get your shit and let’s get the fuck out of here!”

  In seconds she was dressed, purse in her hand, and we were rushing down the fire escape. With a kick of my foot, I dislodged the ladder. The loud gnashing of iron on iron reverberated through the back alley.

  Sirens were blaring in the distance and I knew they would be here any second. I squeezed my eyes closed, remembering the body out front.

  Pulling the burner phone out of my pocket to call Jaden, I pushed Liv in front of me. “Get down. And be careful.”

  “Get to Liv’s quick,” I snapped as soon as he answered.

  “We’re fuckin’ busy man.”

  “You’re not fuckin’ busy. There is no drop. Someone just threw a pipe bomb through Gunner’s shop. There’s a dead body outside the front door to Liv’s place.”

  I cursed inwardly when Liv jumped to the pavement and stood there, staring at me wide-eyed. I dropped to the ground next to her. Shit. So many things were said she didn’t need to hear.

  “There are sirens headed this way, Jaden. You guys gotta get here quick and cover it up. Do whatever you need to do.”

  “Liv?” His voice came through the line right as his engine started.

  “She’s good. Tell Bull I got her.” I closed the phone and bit my bottom lip.

  What in the hell was I going to say to her now?

  Nothing. There was too much to say and this wasn’t the place.

  I grabbed her elbow and pulled her with me, walking around the block and back to my bike. Surprisingly, she followed without arguing.

  This wasn’t how I wanted her on the back of my bike, but fuck it. Sometimes plans go to shit and you have to adapt.

  Bull taught me that. I hoped to hell he had taught his daughter that too, because after tonight, there was no way he was letting her out of the club’s sight ever again.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Fucking Shit. My apartment was almost just blown up. There was apparently some dead guy outside my building. A guy Daemon ‘took care of.’

  I didn’t even know where to begin as Daemon pulled me toward his bike. There wasn’t a single completed thought in my head. Fragments and words were there, but they were all scrambled into a giant pile of ‘what the fuck’ before shattering into oblivion.

  Someone tried to set the place where I worked and lived on fire. A pipe bomb. Had it been immaturely made, it wouldn’t have done much damage, but I had felt the blast. I felt the heat almost instantly and the floor of my place shook just after I heard the glass break. Whoever threw it knew what they were doing. And I was their target; if not directly, indirectly.

  “This is your fault,” I finally said, stopping right next to Daemon’s bike. It wasn’t the one he had when we were kids—it was newer. I instantly knew it was only a year old by the new Harley body design.

  I hated that I could figure all that out in one quick glance.

  I caught his black helmet as he tossed it to me. My fingers gripped it tightly as they wrapped around the cold, leather chinstrap.

  “Get on the damn bike, Liv. We’ll talk as soon as we’re out of here.”

  “If you think I’m getting on this bike—” His hand at the back of my neck cut off my words. My lips parted and my eyes flew open. His fingers tightened around the back of my neck and my body heated. I wanted to kick him in the balls for making me feel like this, for showing back up into my life. For reminding me how much he affected me every time he was within a mile of me.

  “This isn’t a fucking option. Someone just threw a bomb into Gunner’s shop and it could have killed you. And there is a dead fucking body outside your front door. You want to explain how it got there?”

  I shook my head, and hated that I was checking out every single curve, every single stress wrinkle that lined his eyes, and hated even more that he smelled really, really, good.

  “Then get on the damn bike. You’re coming with me.”

  I got on the damn bike. Instead of wrapping my arms around him like I did when I was younger, I fisted the sides of his cut in my hands. My small act of rebellion.

  It must have been the adrenaline but if Daemon had thrown me to the ground, I probably wouldn’t have argued at the time.

  I ducked my head behind his back and felt the vibrations—familiar sensations that I had tried so hard to forget. I had grown up on a bike and it was one of my favorite places in the world.

  I hadn’t been on a bike in years. But as Daemon took the first corner, faster than the speed limit suggested, I leaned with him and it felt like I was in my own brand of heaven. Leather, oil, exhaust from the bike, and the wind in my hair.

  With my eyes closed, I could imagine I was eighteen-years-old all over again, my head full of hopes and dreams, and the boy I loved more than anything, promising me the moon and anything else I wanted.

  I was such a foolish girl.

  It wasn’t until the bike stopped and I felt it lean slightly to the right when Daemon put the kickstand down that I finally opened my eyes. I realized two things. One, I was surprised we weren’t at the N
ordic Lords’ clubhouse. And two, my arms were wrapped so tightly around Daemon’s body, my hands holding onto him so firmly, it was amazing he was still capable of breathing.

  I flexed my fingers, releasing my tight grip and stretched them. My knuckles burned from the tension from holding on to him.

  Then I scowled at the house in front of me.

  Daemon’s childhood home, a classic old farmhouse complete with a wraparound porch, stood in front of me. It wasn’t large, but it was set back on two acres of land that Daemon and I had explored every inch of. The swing was crooked and from the driveway, I could see the back was missing a slat. I doubted anyone but me had ever sat out on the front porch, rocking on the swing, and sipping a simple glass of lemonade.

  “I’m not going in there,” I said, still sitting on the back of Daemon’s bike. Neither of us had said anything while I fought against the memories assaulting me.

  “It’s here or the club. But you’re not out of my sight until we know what happened tonight.”

  Bossy asshole. For the first time in five years, the club seemed like a more viable option. I had to be losing my mind.

  “I need to call Travis. He’s probably heard what happened.”

  “Right. Call him and let him know you’re staying with me. Perfect idea.”

  I fisted my cell phone. I fought the urge to throw it at Daemon’s face and erase his cocky grin that I could barely see underneath his facial hair. But phone replacements were expensive and I was going to be on limited funds until GetInked was open again.

  His phone buzzed and he cursed. “Yeah?” he snapped, flipping the phone open and answering it.

  “She’s here… I know.” He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Got it.” Then he hung up.

  “Who was it?”

  He looked away, ignoring me, and stared at his front door. “I need to get you inside. Somewhere you’re safe.”

  “It was my dad.” I wasn’t stupid. Who else could possibly call Daemon, and he wouldn’t want to tell me who it was?

  He sent me a pointed look that had me aching to scream my bloody head off. Why? Why now, were they acting like they freaking cared about me? A gunshot wound to the thigh. Leave Olivia alone in the hospital for weeks. A small bomb through my place of employment and the club rallied as if I was important to them. Bullshit. It was such bullshit.

  My nostrils flared as I fought to remain calm in front of Daemon. The hurt and pain that had rushed my heart five years ago, and clearly hadn’t been dealt with yet, consumed me. I felt heat flood my cheeks and I rolled my lips in between my teeth, as I realized the truth.

  By something coming close to hurting me, they assumed a threat had been made to the club. They weren’t rallying around me or protecting me. They were protecting their damn brotherhood and club. To them, I was still expendable.

  I hated them. All of them. All over again.

  Instead of replying, I shoved my phone back into my purse and followed Daemon toward the house. He never looked back to see if I was going to come in. Like he knew I’d just do whatever he told me to. When he opened the door, he stepped back to let me pass, so I shifted to avoid rubbing against him, and I didn’t miss his scowl while I did it.

  I stopped walking as soon as I stepped inside. Nothing had changed since the last time I was here besides the living room couch and area rug.

  Of course, that would have had to change; what with the blood that had exploded all over the other furniture. My blood and my mom’s.

  I took a deep breath, the memory flashed in front of my eyes as I collapsed back against the front door.

  “Fuck!” I heard him curse and shout my name; and I felt his hands on my shoulders, shaking me, but I didn’t see him. I saw it though. And I saw him; not a face, just a man in a hooded sweatshirt. The man’s face was blurry, but his gun was pressed against my mom’s temple. His voice vibrated in my ears, clear as day, as if I was experiencing it again for the first time ever.

  “Tell me where your old man is.”

  My mom shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  I sat, bound in a kitchen chair, with a thick, braided rope around my ankles at the front of the chair legs and my wrists tied behind my back. Daemon would be here any minute. I didn’t want him to save us. I wanted him to run and be safe. I didn’t even know why we were here, why Daemon’s dad had called my mom. It made no sense earlier.

  Now it made perfect sense. My mom and I had been set-up. We had walked into a trap, and the man holding the gun wasn’t looking at my mom anymore.

  His knees bent down and he lowered himself until he was squatting directly in front of me. The muzzle of his gun slid slowly down my cheek. I fought to resist the urge to squirm under his evil glare and the cold, hard metal. “No matter what happens, baby girl, show no fear.” I responded to my father’s voice in my head, finding strength in it. The man’s breath stunk like cigar smoke and whiskey, but his eyes were clear.

  “Maybe, if I shoot her, you’ll tell me?” The sick man turned and grinned at my mom.

  “No. You can’t.” My mom’s voice was strong. I looked at Rebel Knight, Daemon and Ryker’s dad, still unconscious on the floor from when the man came in and hit him over the head with the gun.

  Why didn’t I run when my mom yelled at me?

  “Fine.” He stood up, his knees cracking on the way up. He positioned the gun so it aimed at my lap and turned his head toward my mom. “Tell me where they store the guns.”

  “They’re not in the gun business anymore.”

  I heard the loud shot go off right as a searing, hot pain hit my thigh.

  “Ahhhh!” I cried out and heard my mom yell my name.

  My eyes blurred as a fire raged in my leg with no way to put it out. I bucked against the rope tying my hands, but it made the pain worse. It seared through my leg to my spine and down my arms to my wrists. I couldn’t hear anything except my mother’s screams and then another gunshot went off.

  I opened my eyes, afraid I’d been shot again, but the man was standing over the couch, smiling down as if he had created a masterpiece.

  He hadn’t.

  My mom’s blood was splattered all over his cheek. It was everywhere. All over the couch and the floor and there were chunks that I couldn’t think about what it belonged to on the cushions next to her. Her head lay at an awkward angle on her shoulder and her eyes were wide open, but lifeless.

  The man spun around, facing me, as I shook my head, trying to erase the image already ingrained permanently into my brain.

  When I opened my eyes again, his shadowed eyes were peering down on me. With the back of his hand, he wiped off my mother’s blood, looked at me, and grinned.

  He had enjoyed that. He reveled in death.

  He took one more step toward me and my head fell to the side.

  Then I threw up. My stomach heaved, my thigh burned, my wrists pulled against the rope and everything inside me told this was the end. This was how I was going to die.

  And I had never lived.

  I saw him lift his gun again, point it directly at my forehead, and then everything went black.

  “Olivia!” I shouted again, shaking her, and watched as her catatonic eyes stayed focused on the living room.

  I didn’t think. I just picked her up and carried her to the kitchen.

  Once she was settled into the kitchen chair, I bent down and held her hands with mine, and waited for the memories to pass through her mind. I was so used to the memories of that night hitting me every time I stepped inside my front door that they no longer plagued me.

  My toes hurt in my boots and my knees shook while I silently crouched in front of her, hating that she had to see everything play out in her mind, in her memory, until she had lost consciousness from the blood loss of her leg wound. I had seen her have a similar attack in the hospital right after she was shot. Her eyes blanked, her pulse raced, and the only indication she was alive came at the end of the nightmare when she exhaled a breath. It
wasn’t just the last time I had seen her have an attack, it was the last time she saw me before she kicked me out of her room and out of her life.

  No way in hell was I letting her do that this time.

  “Hey, baby,” I said, not thinking about what I was calling her. My hands rubbed the tops of her thighs and I gently brushed her knees. “It’s okay, Liv. It’s all done now. You’re okay.”

  Slowly, her eyes closed and then opened. The light brown color was dull, but her hands moved and I knew she was coming out of it. Finally, her hands began to rub her wrists, twisting them slowly as if she were still trying to get the ropes off or ease the rope burn that had scarred the inside of her wrists. I had seen the marks the other day, small faint lines from rope that had cut into her wrists as she tried to get away from her killer. She had fought so hard she had sliced her own wrists.

  My girl had been a strong fighter. Fighting for everything she thought was right. It wasn’t the first time I wondered if that night had sucked all the strength and determination out of her. Perhaps almost dying would do that to someone.

  “I almost died.”

  I took a deep breath, exhaling loudly as soon as she spoke. She blinked again and her wrists fell to her lap, but her right hand slowly began rubbing over her thigh where I knew there was another scar.

  “But you didn’t, Liv. You’re okay.”

  She smiled sadly, not looking at me, not seeing me. “Live. I’ve never done that, not really.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “Liv, it’s such a stupid nickname.”

  “I’m sorry,” I told her and watched as she continued rubbing her wrists and thigh. “I didn’t realize what bringing you here would do. What can I get for you?”

  “Water.” As if she realized how close we were, Olivia pushed the chair back, stood up and walked to the corner. Or maybe, it was the fact that I put her in a wood kitchen chair.