Wrecked & Reclaimed (Sacred Sinners MC - Texas Chapter Book 5)

by Bink Cummings

  “I got a text sayin’ she was goin’ on vacation.” Big’s gruff tone echoes throughout the small space as I hunch over, elbows landing on knees.

  I… fuck… I’m gonna lose it.

  Fingers dive into my short hair. Nails scrape across my scalp, deep enough to hurt, hopefully draw blood. I need my knives. Now. I let Pops take them with him when he came to visit. Didn’t think it’d get this bad. Thought, maybe, she’d come. That she’d stay with me through this.

  She left.

  Vacation.

  A harsh breath ejects from my lungs. The need for my blades triples.

  My skin crawls like little fire ants scratching across my flesh, burrowing through the epidermis to scritchy-scratch their way into my tar-filled veins.

  This isn’t good.

  I can’t deal with this now.

  Fuck.

  Needing to quell the urge before I do something rash, like find a scalpel, I score ugly red marks up and down my forearms instead. The hum of pain sings to my corrupt soul. Right at the corner of my redemption tattoo, I dig in, picking flesh from flesh until blood rises to the surface. A rush of relief expels with my next exhale. I smear the red bubble around and around, tracing the letters of the tattoo, painting it.

  “Kade?” Big tests when I forget to respond.

  “Yeah?” I dig the cut open more, to keep it from stitching shut.

  “Did you hear anythin’ I just said?”

  Yes. I’m just too fucked in the head to reply.

  “No. My phone cut out,” I lie, and must be convincing enough that he repeats. “I got a text sayin’ she was goin’ on vacation.”

  “And you buy that? Come on, Big, even I ain’t that stupid.”

  Rosie doesn’t take vacations. Bet she hasn’t taken one her whole life. She’s too laser focused for that. If leisure time at the cabin wasn’t her cup of tea, a vacation sure as hell ain’t on her to-do list.

  “Kid, watch your tone,” Big admonishes. “I never said I believed her. If she wants space, then I’m inclined to give it to her. I don’t own her.”

  She owns me. Ain’t that enough?

  “Fuck. Goddammit.” The hollowness in my middle, where the insatiable beast sleeps, yawns open and that snarled creature peers at me through a single red eye. His taste for blood, for razor-sharp pain, seeps into me through our intimate connection. He licks his dripping jowls, catching the gelatinous slobber before it splatters the floor of his cage.

  Fuuucckk.

  Sweat beads on my brow as I fight to re-close the door. To keep him locked away.

  Rubbing both temples with my knuckles, I draw a deep breath and try to mend the exposed nerves misfiring in my brain before I need to find a scalpel to slake these feelings… the blackness… the twisted parts my mother implanted in me. Today’s been hard enough. Now, with my Swan gone, I’m hangin’ on by a thread. Barely.

  Poe said it best, “The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls.”

  Once I’ve recovered some semblance of control, I re-engage with Big who waits patiently, as if he knows the war I’m fighting. It hasn’t been this bad in years. “Okay… Where’d you think she’d go?” I ask, my voice as tight as a guitar string.

  “Why do you care? I wouldn’t tell you even if I did know.”

  Loyal motherfucker.

  “She’s mine,” I confess, because it needs to be said. He needs to know.

  “Excuse me?” Big taps the receiver as if I’m speaking a foreign language. Smartass Prez’s got jokes. “I think I heard that wrong. Repeat. I don’t wanna miss this.”

  I groan, not wanting to play whatever game this is. “She’s. Miiine. Mine.”

  Big snorts. “Uh. Sorry to break it to ya, but Rosie ain’t nobody’s.”

  “She is mine.”

  “Your old lady?” he hedges like I’ll give him a different answer the next time ‘round.

  I roll my eyes and thumb massage my healing flesh wound. “Yeah. My old lady.”

  “Awe shit, you done got your crazy, sadistic pecker sprung on an untouchable chick. You’re fucked, Kade. Seriously, fucked. Like, royally fucked. You’d have an easier time pinnin’ down Oprah, than her.” A barrel laugh thunders through Ryker’s hospital room.

  “Yuk it up, old man. But let me ask you, does the name Johnny ring any bells?”

  Bet he ain’t so cocky now. Let’s pray he doesn’t tell her I mentioned this, or I’m a dead man. She’ll gut me. I broke a promise, a vow that said I’d never disclose her personal history to a single soul. And I wouldn’t have, if he wasn’t the only man I know she trusts more than anyone else. Way more than me, and rightfully so.

  “Johnny who? You mean with Rosie?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “No.” A door opens on Big’s end and he whispers to someone.

  “He was her husband,” I explain louder than normal, so I know he’s paying attention.

  “Wait… what…” He stalls a beat, then two. “Rosie was married? Our Rosie? The same ballbustin’ blonde?”

  “Same one.”

  “Huh. I guess that makes sense.” A rustling of paper trails his words. He must be in his office.

  “What do you mean that makes sense?” I ask.

  “The boxes of stuff I’ve got stored here of hers, it’s gotta come from somewhere. She had a past she wasn’t keen on sharin’… A husband. Shit. Didn’t expect that one.”

  “What stuff? Why isn’t that at her house?”

  “She doesn’t have a home, idiot. No roots.”

  What?

  “How the hell is that possible?”

  “She might’ve told ya about this Johnny, but she ain’t told you jack about shit else, has she? And you’re callin’ her yours.” Big bellows a laugh, mocking me, making me wanna reach through the phone and choke the prick ‘til his face turns tomato red and he’s clinging to life. Then, I’d grant him mercy, only because he brought her to me. Without him, I’d never have met my Swan.

  Prez continues. “A woman you know nothing about. One of these days you gotta let your brain do the thinkin’ and give your dick a rest.”

  Fuck. Off.

  “It’s not like that with her,” I snarl, not letting him belittle what I’m building with Rosie. It might not be much. Baby steps, even. But I’m not about to give up. Not on her. Not when I need her as much as I need oxygen to survive. More than I need bloodshed, knives, and orgasms—combined.

  “How’s it not?” Big’s asshole know-it-all Prez tone hits my ears full force.

  I slump in my chair, leaving the phone be. “She feels different.”

  “Ahhhh… She feels different, so now she’s The One. What are you? Twelve? This ain’t middle school.”

  “For someone bustin’ my balls about my old lady, you have no room to talk, Prez.”

  “You leave Bink outta this,” an unhinged creature growls through the receiver.

  Touchy. Touchy. It’s not my fault he fell for a chick much younger than him. Those who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. Every-fuckin’-body knows that.

  “How long have you known she’s yours?” I test.

  “Decades.” The inhuman nature of his timbre hasn’t dissipated the slightest. “And before you go talkin’ your childish crap, I know everything there is to know about her. This ain’t the same. Not in the same ballpark, country, or planet. Ya got me?”

  That’s not where I was headed.

  “Didn’t say it was. But she feels different, right? More important? Like she’s your entire world? You’d die for her. Kill for her. Even say and do stupid shit to keep her. AmIright?”

  Big groans. “Did we just grow pussies? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you did, talkin’ about worlds and other fluffy pink nonsense.”

  “Prez,” I warn, hoping he takes note before we go down a not-so-pleasant path.

  A long-suffering sigh dispels. “Fine. Sure. Important, world, kill for, die for, and all that happy horseshit that don’t do a d
amn good for either of us sad suckers. But… Awe fuck… I can’t believe I’m about to explain this over the phone, to you of all people.”

  “Explain what?”

  “You can’t say a word of this to nobody, we clear?”

  “Sure. Not a word… What about Rosie?”

  “Fine. This is about her anyhow.”

  “Once upon a time, many years ago—” he starts

  “Big, come on, don’t.” I mash my lips together to keep from smiling. Leave it to him to be a difficult fucker about this. Can’t make it easy on me, can he?

  The sarcastic behemoth clears his throat on purpose making it extra loud and extra annoying. “Alright. As I was saying… Once upon a time, I met this pretty blonde chick at a bar who turned out to be my biggest asset for years to come. This woman has taught me more about the ugliness of the real world that lurks on every neighborhood street corner, than I’ve learned in my years in this club… Rosie’s every bit the badass you think she is and beyond… She’s…”

  Big carries on his vivid tale of Rosie as I sit here, quietly listening to every nuance of her history, soaking it up like a sponge. The more I hear, the harder I fall. The deeper my respect goes. My woman’s a goddamn savior. Helping women like that for so long. Seeing what she’s seen. Bleeding the scum she’s bled, for the greater good and for Big. I… I had no idea. No wonder she went stir crazy at the cabin. The more Prez discloses the more I understand her, her unique brand of darkness that draws me like a moth to a flame, and the special parts that make her tick. People don’t just wake up one day and decide to take on the world and save random women. To murder their captors in the addictive tango of steel to flesh. It’s clear Big doesn’t know Rosie’s cryptic backstory. What she’s been reluctant to share with him, she’s been less reluctant to share with me. I know about Johnny, and that’s something. That’s all the hope I need to stick with her. To work this out, one way or another.

  Refusing to interrupt the buffet of Rosie morsels, I continue to listen to Big for the next half hour. He doesn’t stop. Don’t ask me questions. He merely feeds me. Each chapter of her story settles something within. Which is fucked, I know. Any normal human would be up in arms, disgusted by the bloodshed. For me, I’m lulled into a sense of peace that only she can bring.

  At some point, a nurse comes in to check on Ryker. She doesn’t complain about the speakerphone, or recoil as Whisky and Bonez’s part in this arrangement are revealed. This is all so fascinating and… morbidly beautiful. Rosie’s a goddamn fallen angel. My fallen angel with clipped wings…

  A sigh that says everything fills the space the moment Big finishes telling the tale of Rosie: The Protector of Innocence.

  A silence descends.

  The second hand on the clock ticks nine times. Twelve. Sixteen. Twenty-seven.

  It’s a comforting quiet that gives way to inner reflection. My mind replays its fondest moments with Rosie on a highlight reel. Our kiss topping the charts at number one.

  Sixty-two ticks and a blink later, I’m the first to speak. “That’s a lot to digest.”

  “No shit.”

  “And she does this all by herself?” That’s the part that doesn’t sit well with me.

  “The hunting, yes. The intel and weapons we help with.”

  “And the women?”

  “As I said, Bonez and Whisky handle all that. The less I know, the better.”

  I hum my reply.

  “Ya still sprung?” There’s no mocking this time ‘round.

  Elbow perched on the chair arm, I glance down at the tent in my pants. “Very… I’m…Fuck… This is a lot to process. You think that’s where she went? Back to work?”

  “I’ll talk to Bongo and Gunz, but I don’t think so. She finds most of her leads from them. Gunz has been stockpiling them since she took a break to help Katrina. Last I knew, he hadn’t sent the details.”

  “She can’t leave me. Not when she’s mine.”

  “You can’t make a nomad like her stay, Kade.”

  “No. Not stay. But you’re gonna help me think of something.”

  “What? Do you forget who you’re talkin’ to?”

  “You sayin’ if given the opportunity, you wouldn’t do somethin’ to help her, after all she’s done for the club?”

  Prez curses under his breath. “Christ… Fine… What do ya have in mind? Oh... and next time, I’m not callin’ about an update on Ryker. You can fill me in through text. I haven’t been on the phone this long in… ever. Think I did grow a pussy.”

  He says that like it’s a bad thing. Pussies are the best and tastiest treat on the planet. Who’d complain about havin’ one?

  I press on undeterred. “Then you won’t mind usin’ that new pussy to get in touch with your inner goddess and help me win this betty.”

  “I hate you,” he grumbles.

  “But you love her.”

  “I know. Now spill.”

  Smiling wickedly, I do as I’m told and spill the various ideas I’ve been toying with for over a week.

  How do you catch an angel without wings?

  You don’t.

  You lure it to you with things it never knew it wanted.

  Big’s gonna help me accomplish that.

  Not only for my sake, but hers. Rosie deserves a home, and that’s me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rosie

  Standing beneath the showerhead, hands splayed on the tile wall in front of me, head hanging low, scalding water sluices down my naked form. It swirls around the drain below, a gurgle and groan following its escape.

  I’m bone-deep exhausted.

  Emotionally spent.

  The wreck.

  The baby.

  Kade.

  That kiss.

  It’s done something awful to me.

  A light switch has been flipped and I have no idea how to shut off the electricity. The barrage of emotions it’s brought to the surface, I can’t combat. They’ve shaken the very foundation of who I am. Ripped the deepest roots asunder and exposed them to the sunlight, unable to adapt to a new atmosphere. I was made in the dark; the dark is where I survived, where I thrived. Not here. Not like this. Every minute of every day the newness strikes, beating me down, baring old wounds, hurting… hurting… hurting.

  A tear made of fatigue and devastation slips down my cheek, joining the water there, washing away its existence. If my nose wasn’t burning with the impulse to crumble, I’d chalk it up to an anomaly. But it’s not. As soon as my job at Kat’s was finished, I rode as far away as my tank would take me. Since then, I’ve been holed up in this same hotel room, fighting tooth and nail to keep my last ounce of sanity. I haven’t thought about hunting in days, the memories won’t let me.

  They haunt me with no end in sight.

  I close my eyes as another swallows reality whole—pushing me an inch closer to madness. I can’t take this anymore. This new life? This new me? I hate it. I hate her—the woman I’ve become. She’s weak and weepy. Emotions tear from her lungs when they shouldn’t. There are gross feelings here now. Unrelenting ones I can’t turn off— gnawing, gnawing, gnawing, begging… inside my head, tormenting me. Making me feel.

  Across the kitchen counter Kade sits, a devastating smile hooked at the corners of his lips. His eyes twinkle in schoolboy delight as I pull an apple tartlet I made, under Katrina’s supervision, from the oven. My first pastry, it smells and looks gorgeous. The flaky crust golden brown, the apples in their cinnamon sauce, bubbly. My mouth waters as I carry it to the hot pad and set it in front of the man who looks at me with such fondness it squeezes my heart.

  “You did good…” The dark prince leans closer as if he’s about to tell me a secret. Drawn to him like a magnet, I lean in, too. “You’re beautiful and talented. I’m a lucky man, Swan,” he purrs in that seductive tone that speaks directly to my sex.

  My eyes shudder as his complement slithers its gooey warmth through me. I don’t want it to feel good. But it does. I… li
ke it.

  Swallowing, I ignore his words, the potent way they affect me, and draw back as if none of it ever happened. A moment in the wind. To stay occupied, I set forks, plates, and a knife on the counter. The girls will love…

  The memory swirls into another…

  “Mommy, I wub chocolate sooo much!” Sebastian licks his fingers as chocolate ice cream melts down his cone, covering his teeny hands. There are brown polka dots on his pants from the mess.

  Not caring about the stains, I laugh in motherly joy and lick around my chocolate vanilla swirl as I sit in the grass, legs outstretched.

  A very handsome and cunning Johnny steals a bite from Sebastian’s melty top and makes a show of Mmmming. “I love your ice cream, bud. Thanks for sharing.”

  Sebastian folds over in a round of giggles. “You silwee, daddy.”

  The time with my son and husband fades and in pours another flash of Kade… On and on the deluge of the past turns like a page in a book. There’s no stopping it. Trust me, I’ve tried. So, I ride the wave, until I can no longer cry another drop. Until there’s nothing left to wring dry.

  Climbing woodenly from the shower, I wrap a stiff, white towel around myself. Skin pruned, my face the picture of blotchy heartache, I pad into the dingy circa 1970’s bedroom, where I check my phone on the dresser out of habit. The messages have been rolling in nonstop since the day I left. The majority from Kade and Bongo. Each are worried. The former, I wish would stop for both our sakes.

  The most recent text is from Gunz. I had to shut off Mr. Hot Biker Boy’s notifications ages ago. Haven’t read a single one.

  I pick up my cell and sit on the corner of the bed, ankles crossing, body slumped forward. Droplets of water trickle down the rim of my face.

  I sigh.

  Gunz: Ryker’s out of the hospital, need a favor delivering paternity results.

  Head shaking a sharp no back and forth, I groan at the words staring at me on the screen. Deliver paternity results. Which means they ordered them for the boy. Why would I want to take any part of that circus sideshow? Even if the kid is Ryker’s, he’s not Katrina’s. Not biologically, anyhow. My loyalty doesn’t lie with him. I’m only glad he didn’t bite the dust—because of Kade and Katrina.