HOPE TRILOGY: Sacred Sinners- Texas Chapter

by Cummings, Bink

A firm hand touches my knee as I sense more bodies looming nearby.

  Plugging my ears harder and squeezing my eyes tighter, I mumble a scratchy, “I just came here to find out about my dad. I just want to know what happened to my father. I don’t need to see Brent. Didn’t mean to see Brent.” I start to rock. “Please leave me alone.”

  Grumbled masculine voices clash in the space that feels as if it’s closing in on me. Another hand touches my knee. I jiggle my leg to knock it off, which does no good. It doesn’t move. The air in my lungs surges in sharp pants. Lightheadedness forces my brain to churn. Sweat drips down the sides of my cheeks, dampening my palms. Every part of my frame vibrates in tiny tremors.

  “Please go away,” I beg like a child, uncaring if I sound pathetic.

  That man … I can’t be around him. I just can’t. They don’t know what he did to me. To us. How he shattered me by disappearing. It took me over a year to feel normal again. To stop crying every night at the loss. Yet another man to abandon me. One by death and the other by choice. What the hell is with men in my life leaving?

  I shake my head to clear it.

  I don’t have time for this distraction. My job only gave me three days off. Brent wasn’t in my plans. I was to come here, find out about my dad, leave, then go to the hotel for the night. Nothing more. Nothing less. What the hell am I supposed to do now?

  The scent of familiarity catches my nose on a deep inhale—Brent. I can’t believe he’s here. I never wanted to see him again. Why would I?

  The hands on my knees squeeze, and I grimace, knowing who they belong to.

  “Please go away.” I lace my words with stern conviction despite the fact that my shaking has amped to a scary level.

  “Tiger.” His muffled words ring through. How dare he use that nickname! He doesn’t have that right anymore. He lost that privilege when he walked out on us.

  Losing my temper, I tamp down the ill wave that’s churning inside, and open my eyes at the same moment I unplug my ears.

  As suspected, we’ve drawn a small crowd. Great. Just great. The jackass is kneeling in front of me, concern written over his otherwise devastatingly handsome face. A face I want to pummel. To spit on. To bloody until all this pent up rage has been expended.

  “Tiger.” His voice is low, eyes on mine.

  I glower in return, then lower my gaze to his hands that haven’t moved. To the right, his woman, Vanessa, is standing in shock. Not that I blame her. She doesn’t deserve to witness the epic Brent and Katrina showdown. From the screwed up expression on her face, I’d bet she doesn’t know who I am. Not that any of these people do. I’m sure I’ve become a distant memory of his by now. One that he doesn’t speak about.

  Punching the top of both of his hands, I snarl a shaky, “G-get your fu-cking hands off me, you stupid bastard.”

  Jeez. I need to generate better comebacks.

  If his smirk is any indication, he, too, thinks this is fucking funny. On the other hand, he won’t be the one laughing if I get pissed enough to pull out my moves. And by moves, I mean the martial arts my dad taught me as a kid. Being his only child, and a girl, he was determined to make sure that I knew how to protect myself in more ways than one. Not only did I learn multiple forms of martial arts, but I also learned to shoot a gun, which I haven’t done in years. And I’m pretty fast with a knife, too. Not that I’ve had to put any of my training to use in forever. I’m bound to be a bit rusty.

  The backs of his hands that remain on my trembling knees are bright red, yet, ever steadfast. I should have known it wouldn’t be this easy to make him go away.

  I open my mouth to tell him off again. He beats me to it first. “You’re shaking, Tiger.” His fingers reach up to caress the side of my face. I slap them away.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  “Your blood sugar is low, isn’t it?”

  He stares at the sweat that drips down the sides of my face. I’m undoubtedly paler than usual. This always happens when my blood sugar drops. The familiar sensation courses through my body. I knew I should have eaten. Then again, I didn’t have time to get any food on my way from one side of the Atlanta airport to the next without missing my flight. When it had landed, I didn’t think to stop either. I was already running behind, thanks to us sitting on the runway an extra hour because of weather delays.

  “I’m fine. I’m just disgusted to see you. I came here to see Bear. Yet, here you are,” I snap.

  “You need to eat.”

  He tries for my face again, his expression soft. Almost as if he cares for me. Which is crazy. He’s the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.

  Batting him away, I refuse to allow him to touch me any more than he already is.

  “Ryker?” Vanessa’s voice wavers, and I feel like ten pounds of dog shit.

  To grab the situation by the balls, I punch his hands harder this time, to no avail. He still doesn’t budge.

  “Go away, asshole. Your wife needs you. I’m fine. I just need to see Bear.”

  Disregarding his woman, Brent’s blue eyes capture mine. I look away.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Tiger.”

  “You should mind your own damn business.”

  “And you need to eat. You’re sweating. I know your blood sugar is low, Kat. Don’t be so damn stubborn.”

  I hate that he remembers this shit about me. I’ve had hypoglycemia since I was a kid, and it’s always gotten worse when I’m pregnant.

  I grit my molars together. “Fuck off. You don’t know shit.”

  “I know that you’re gonna be sick soon,” he counters softly.

  “What about the words, Fuck. Off. don’t you understand?”

  He sighs. “Listen, I’ll grab you something from the kitchen after I help you to your car.”

  Oh no, he’s not. He’s not about to tell me what the fuck I’m gonna do by masking it in some generous mensch-like way. I’m not stupid. This is the perfect approach for Sir Asshole himself to forget I was ever here.

  A man and woman stand a few feet over, whispering to themselves, pointing at us.

  Great. More nosy people.

  Refusing to budge or give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s right, I tuck my arms over my chest, glancing away from him. “I’m not leaving. I was invited here by Bear. So I’m gonna talk to Bear.”

  A wave of unease washes over me as I feel my blood sugar plummet. The lightheadedness seizes control, and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath to summon any small fraction of strength I have left before the inevitable ensues.

  “What the hell is going on here?” a cumbersome voice interjects. One that’s oddly familiar.

  Willing my eyes to open as my stomach clenches in pain, I shift my gaze to the right and the man who’s stopped dead in his tracks, staring at me slack-jawed.

  The eyes I meet are the same ones staring back at me whenever I look in the mirror.

  What kinda voodoo shit is this?

  One final breath puffs heavily from my lips, I blink, and then the edges of my vision fade to black. My head slumps forward, chin resting on my chest.

  He’s alive, is the last thought I process before my world fades out and the darkness claims me, rendering me helpless. I welcome it with open arms.

  Two

  PAST

  Setting the grill box on the porch, breathing heavily, sweat glistening on his forehead, my attractive neighbor sighs, running the back of his hand across his face, clearing the wetness. “That should do it.” He smiles, all teeth and southern charm. It’s stunning. My stomach flutters.

  “Thanks.” I shift on one foot then the other, trying not to ogle him like I’ve done from afar for the past two weeks. He just moved into the house next door, and one thing’s for sure, he doesn’t often wear a shirt outside. Not that you’ll hear me complaining. His body’s like a Greek sculpture, all sharp lines of molded perfection.

  Swallowing, I wash down the drool that threatens to runneth over at the mere thought of his chest and those dam
n abs. I’ve never seen a pair this close up before. Not that I’m staring. That would be rude.

  He shoots his hand out, pulls it back, wipes it on his jeans, then offers it again. “I’m Brent.”

  Nerves chewing away at my gut, I force an awkward smile and take his proffered hand. It’s firm, yet careful as we shake. A zing shoots up my arm, forcing my heart to thump against my ribs.

  “Kat,” I reply a little breathily.

  “What’s that short for?” His palm lingers in mine, softening as if we’re on the verge of holding hands. Apprehensively, I jerk mine back and stuff it into my pocket.

  Way to act cool, idiot.

  “Katrina,” I explain.

  “Katrina. I like it.”

  Brent moves to the stairs as I disregard the warm compliment. Stopping on the top step, he glances over his shoulder, his back muscles bunching in stupidly hot ways. I bite my lip to keep from moaning. He’s too damn yummy, and I’m a … I still have my V card. Having an attraction to a man isn’t a smart way for me to keep it. Not that he’s interested in me. No way is that possible.

  “Well, Kat, if you need any more heavy lifting, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Thanks. I will,” I call after him as he saunters away, his worn leather boots thumping across the sidewalk.

  At the edge of our properties, he lifts a hand in a friendly goodbye, and the urge to see him again itches under my skin.

  I blurt the first thing that comes to mind. “I’m grilling some steaks tonight if you want one.”

  Stopping, he turns around and runs his palm down the front of his rippling abs. I squirm at the steady movement. “I’m gonna mow first, then I’ll be over.” His eyes rake my pitiful yard of yellowing, overgrown grass. It looks more like straw at this point. “How about I do yours, too?”

  “You don’t have to.” Shifting more, I blush ten shades of embarrassment.

  “It’s not a problem, Kat. You cook, and I’ll do the dirty work.”

  Dirty … Brent … Mmm…

  My mind climbs right back out of the gutter. “Um … okay … sure. Thanks.”

  “No problem. See ya soon.” Spinning on his heel, he disappears around the side of his house, and I release a pent up breath.

  Crap! Now I have to go to the store and buy some damn steaks. Big ones to feed a man his size, and some potatoes, too. That’s what men like him eat, right? I’m way in over my head.

  Kicking the box on the porch, grumbling under my breath at the task ahead, I go inside to grab tools to assemble my new grill. Returning to the porch, I gasp as I catch Brent kneeling on it, tearing into the box, pulling out grill parts.

  “Figured you might want some help with this first, then I’ll mow.” He’s all smiles, and that single dimple makes my tummy do strange things that it shouldn’t be feeling. He’s way out of my league. A hammerhead shark would never be interested in a lowly minnow. That’s absurd.

  Shocked beyond words, I nod like a bobble head doll.

  “Great. Here are the instructions.” He thrusts them into my hand, and we get to work.

  PRESENT

  My heavy eyelids pry open as a pressure cuffing around my bicep tightens. What the heck? Drearily, I glance over and peel a blood pressure thingy off my arm, tossing it to the floor. On my other arm, there’s an IV pumping clear liquid into me from a tall machine a few feet over. By the looks of it, someone raided the hospital.

  Grabbing my glasses off the nightstand, I slip them on.

  Light from a tall window shines across my sheet-clad legs. Wiggling my toes, I cup my belly, allowing my eyes to adjust to wherever the hell I am. Scanning downward, my eyes fall on the oversized white t-shirt that I’m wearing. My panties are gone. I don’t have to inspect myself to know. You can tell. Bare ass on sheets is easily identifiable.

  “Don’t worry,” a husky voice startles me, and I fidget, shifting my wary gaze in the direction of the sound. On the opposite side of the queen bed I’m lying on is a man. A good-looking man with buzzed dark brown hair and blue…

  Hey. Wait a minute…

  “You’re related to the Dickhead, aren’t you?” I query for the hell of it, because that same damn crease-like dimple and eyes match Brent’s—or whatever his name really is.

  Pursing his full lips, he nods. “If you’re referring to Ryker, then yeah. I’m his brother, Kade.”

  Great, a brother. Another thing I never knew about this Ryker fella. Was our entire relationship based on lies? It seems so.

  Slipping higher up on the bed, resting my back against the wall, I tuck the sheet around myself, feigning modesty. Not that it matters since I’m mostly undressed. It makes perfect sense that this man has probably seen all my bits by now. Somebody had to have undressed me. However, I’m not one hundred percent sure so let’s not take that gamble just in case. Not that it matters, anyhow. Nobody would care if they saw me naked. There’s not much to look at. Just ask Bre—Ryker. I’m sure he can fill ya in. Don’t worry. It’s not that I’m bitter or anything. Ha. That’s funny. I’m bitter as fuck. And seeing as though I’m in some man’s bedroom that smells a whole lot like fabric softener, leather, and cologne, I’m willing to bet that Asshole is somewhere nearby. Or … that … other man… The one with my eyes, nose, and hair. You know, the one that is supposed to be dead, but isn’t. My hands ball into fists at the thought. Lying bastards.

  Deep, angry voices clashing outside the door sever my thoughts, drawing my attention to what lies beyond that oak motherfucker with a silver knob.

  “Don’t worry about that, either,” Kade notes calmly.

  I turn my sights back to him.

  He does look like his brother. A helluva lot like him. Except he’s leaner, younger, and less intimidating in appearance. He’s got a friendly face. One that I’m sure slays all the ladies. If he’s anything like his brother, he does that regularly.

  Massaging my belly, hoping to get a faint kick or two to calm my overwrought nerves, I ask. “So, Kade, what’s up with me bein’ naked, and my father bein’ alive?”

  Unsure how to act, I cast my sights around the room to preoccupy myself further. Posters of half-naked women litter the walls, and a worn guitar case leans up against a corner. Aside from that, the room’s devoid of personality. No family pictures. No trinkets. It’s kind of sad.

  “Let’s just say it’s a good thing ya passed out last night when ya did,” he remarks, and before I can ask him to elaborate, he pulls a knife out from inside his vest. Expertly flicking the blade open with one hand, he runs it over his wrist like a mental patient, then closes it only to reopen it again to play with the weapon.

  What kind of world have I just walked myself into? This is not what I signed up for. None of it.

  Sighing exhausted, and shaving hair off his arms with his scary toy, he carries on. “Ryker and your dad got in a fight last night after you passed the fuck out. Vanessa isn’t speaking to my brother because you’re here. And Bear’s pissed that you weren’t taken straight to his office when you arrived. Guess, one of the other brothers was supposed to be manning the entrance. But he fucked off to jingle-my-nuts-ville, and Marco took his spot. Of course, that meant Marco didn’t know shit about you comin’. None of us did…” Contempt clings to his last statement as the blade I can’t stop staring at traces the edge of a skull tattoo on his forearm. He pauses a second to collect his thoughts, or I think that’s what he’s doing…

  “Fuck.” He tosses his head back, cursing filthier obscenities under his breath. “Listen, Kat.” Forcefully, the knife is stabbed into the wall, and I jump, my eyes flying wide as it sinks to the hilt. He doesn’t seem to notice, nor care that he’s making me uncomfortable. “I’m gonna give it to ya straight.” Finally, he looks my way for a response. Scared of my voice squeaking, I nod for him to keep on. Thankfully, he does.

  “I didn’t know you even fuckin’ existed ‘til last night.” His eyes meet mine for the briefest of seconds, allowing his admission to soak in. It does, to the
bitter bone. My stomach turns over, acid surging up my throat. He never knew I existed.

  “Your dad, Ghost, joined our club fourteen years ago when I was a pimple-faced teenager who thought he was cool as shit. Didn’t think nothin’ of it. Just like I didn’t think nothin’ of my big brother leavin’ the club to fuck off for a few years. Pop said he went undercover. Then last night, I find out...” Agitated, jaw ticking, he yanks the knife outta the wall and waves it in front of his face, staring deep in thought at the silver tang as light bounces off it, casting designs on the wall.

  This is weird. Creepy and weird. I think Asshole’s brother needs to see a therapist. And let’s not forget the other stuff he just told me. Ghost. That’s what they’re calling my dad now? Ironic, isn’t it? Ghost. It’s so disturbing that I could almost cry. Hell, all of this makes me want to curl into a ball and sob, all the while wondering how in the fuck my life went from normal, missing my dad like every other girl who loses their father—to this bullcrap. But I won’t lose it. I can’t. I wasn’t raised to be a whiny baby. I’m gonna take any information I can get, and use it to my advantage, just like I was taught. It’s better to know all the facts before formulating my plan on how the hell to get out of here. If I wasn’t pregnant, I’d climb out the window. Since I am, that idea is nixed. I’m going to have to come up with something better. Something that will get me home to my girls in one piece without wanting to slit my wrists in the process, considering my entire life has just been turned upside down. It’s amazing how that happens, isn’t it? One second you’re coasting along happily in your mundane life, all sunshine and rainbows. Before you know it, your footing slips, and you’re forced to adjust to whatever cow shit life tosses in your face. In my case, it seems I’ve got a father who isn’t dead, and an ex who I don’t wish to think anything about. So I won’t.

  A few beats pass before Kade slaps the blade closed, putting it away before he shifts his chair so he’s facing me. His biceps, veiled in ink, flex under my scrutiny as his hands perch on his knees. They’re rather nice in an entirely objective way.