My life is worthless.
And the thought of punishment for not being here for her when she needed me most, that’s intoxicating.
One
Owen
Present Day
The fan blades circle as I lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling. I have one arm behind my head and the other laying across my stomach. I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to look at the time. I’m supposed to be getting ready for our next heist. It’s in a week, and it’s to infiltrate Richard again.
Today, I don’t care.
Tomorrow, I won’t care either.
Today is the day I lost everything. Twenty-two years ago, my life changed for the worst. I’d have a grown daughter right about now if everything went according to plan. I bet she’d be beautiful. She’d have her mother’s dark hair but my backbone. Her mom used to cry over seeing a squirrel cross the road, getting a little close to a tire of someone’s car.
I smile at the memory, and in the next instance, my eyes burn. I’m strong every damn day out of the year, but around this time? I let go. I take my two days, and I mourn. I’ve never gotten over her. Annabeth wasn’t someone anyone could just get over. So I wait, all year by spending my days being a coldhearted, crazy bastard.
But when May 24th comes around, I’m a different man, and I’m okay with that.
I close my eyes and let my mind get lost in the what-ifs.
Annabeth’s hair might have a few strands of gray in it, maybe a few laugh lines around her eyes and mouth because she’d be happy. I’d make her happy; I’d make sure of that. My daughter, Chloe, her mom wanted to name her, she’d be a rebellious girl who gave me headaches and threats of a heart attack more often than not. She’d test me.
And I’d give in because she’d be my little girl. She’d have me wrapped around her finger.
I press my palms against my eyes and take a few deep breaths. I know. I need to be over it by now, but I can’t get her death out of my head. I can feel the last breath leaving her mouth against my cheek. It’s all too real for me.
A knock at the door has my eyes falling from the ceiling to the door.
“Owen, Julia made breakfast,” Heaven’s happy voice has me turning on my side and giving the door my back. I tuck my hands under my head and ignore the constant pounding.
No one knows my secret, not even Jaxon, our leader. The guy who made the group. He took in a few guys who were innocent of their crimes, and he found me. I didn’t find him. When I got out of jail, I had planned to go right back in. It was where I belonged. Jaxon didn’t ask for my story, but he read my file and apparently confessing and not saying anything else for my defense was a clear giveaway to him that I didn’t kill my wife.
I remember walking out of the prison gates with a bag thrown over my shoulder. I saw a man leaning against an old 67’ Chevy painted charcoal gray.
“Tell me the truth, and I’ll go. Did you kill her?”
I stay silent, wanting to say yes, but the words won’t leave my mouth. I stop walking. I want to move my feet. My brain is telling me to move, to get going so I can find a way back inside. I need to die there. Behind bars, unloved, with nothing, but I’m frozen.
“Join me and my men, and you can get your revenge. I promise you, you can right the wrong done to you. If you didn’t kill her, and I don’t think you did.”
And the rest is history. I jumped into his car and what a beauty it was.
Until we totaled it on the next job, and now he swears he won’t ever get a classic car again because it hurt too much to lose Martha—the 67’ Chevy.
I never told Jaxon my story. He had my file, and that’s all the information he needed. I know he researched me. He had to in order to bring me into his home. Jaxon never asked me about it. He never pressed.
He just … knew.
And I’ll forever be in his debt for that.
“Owen? It’s ten in the morning. You’re always up. You okay?” Heaven prods, knocking again.
I don’t say a word. I close my eyes and bring the comforter to my chin. Today I’m going to be a sad, pathetic sap who can’t fucking move on from the murder of his wife.
In two days, I’ll be back to the old me, and everything will return to normal.
“Heaven, leave him alone,” Jaxon interrupts Heaven’s shenanigans to try to get me out of the bedroom. “He’s taken two personal days like he does every year. It isn’t our business.”
“Shit, is he okay?”
Heaven is a good friend, and there are so many times I wish I could confide in someone to tell them the burden I carry. It gets so heavy, and it’s why I need these two days.
Today I lost my future.
Today I’m just a fucking man.
I’m a human being.
Today I’m going to let my heart grieve.
“He’ll be fine,” Jaxon reassures, and I hear a pat on the back. “Go on, go eat brunch.”
If I know Heaven, he’s eyeing Jaxon before taking him up on his word. “Fine, but if he self-destructs, I’m blaming you.”
“Deal,” Jaxon says.
Heaven drags his bum leg as he walks down the hall. The cast finally gets to come off next week. It’s been months since the explosion, and he’s the only one left waiting to heal. We’re counting on it coming off before we go on our heist.
A softer tap on the door has me sighing. I want to be left alone.
“I know you want to be left alone,” Jaxon plucks the words right out of my head. “I want you to know we’re here for you. Take all the time you need. Everyone is in the kitchen, so if you need to go do what you need to do, I understand. Everyone is preoccupied.”
I let his words tumble around in my head before I find the strength to sit up. I know what he’s doing. He’s giving me the chance to go out into the woods and kill, the one thing that helps me ease my mind, but the energy it will take… I’m not sure if I’m up for the challenge. Every bone in my body, every muscle and tendon straining for me to get up won’t work.
“I’ll leave you alone, Owen. Just know we’re all here for you, okay? You can talk to me if you want. I know a little about your situation, not everything, and I want you to know one thing—I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re hurting. I wish I could change it.”
His words mean a lot to me; his sympathy and support mean the world, but no amount of love from anyone can bring Annabeth back. I sit on the edge of the bed and let my head hang, trying to dig deep and find some strength to move.
Jaxon sighs on the other end of the door since I’m not saying anything in return. “Alright, bud. I’ll see you around. Find me if you need anything, I mean it.” He gives the door a tap one last time before he leaves.
Maybe if I get up and out of the house, hunt, it will help get out some of this emotion inside me. Gripping the edge of the mattress, I close my eyes, and push myself up into a standing position. I open the nightstand drawer. A thick red leather photo album sits there, and I want nothing more than to look at it again. Whenever I think about Annabeth, I almost can’t remember what she looks like because it’s been so many years. I stop myself from looking at the picture every night because it isn’t good for me.
I wait every year to look at our journey that was cut short. Everyone said we got married too young and we did, but I knew. I knew when I saw her at sixteen that I wanted to marry her at eighteen, and I did. I only had five short years with her before everything changed, and the anger of her being taken away from me too soon will never fade. I’ll never understand the cruelty of the universe to decide to take a young, pregnant woman’s life away.
I’ll look at the photo album later. Right now, I think getting out of this room and taking my frustration out on something other than my heart is a good idea. I head over to the closest and grab a plain green shirt and a pair of worn jeans. It’s all I ever wear when I go into the woods. It’s reckless, but I don’t care. Getting shot by another hunter isn’t something I’m worried or care about. Part of me hopes d
eath finds me because I’ll finally get to prove that I’m not afraid of it.
Grabbing my boots, I sit down on the bench at the end of the bed and lace them up on each foot. I grab my green khaki jacket laying beside me that I wore yesterday and slip it on. Before I head out of the bedroom, I squat and grab my gun case from under my bed and heave it over my shoulder. I have a few blinds and tree stands up right now, and I plan on staying gone for a few days, getting filthy in sweat and dirt. Hell, maybe I’ll stay gone longer and live off the land.
All I know is that I need a break from reality.
Being as quiet as I can, I slip out of my bedroom door and ease it shut behind me, so the click of the lock is silent. Laughter echoes down the hall as everyone dives in to the conversation around the dining room table. This is my family now. It’s a bit makeshift, a bit uncommon. It’s something I definitely thought I’d never have again after Annabeth’s death. If anything, this group of innocent convicts saved me.
“Where’s Owen?” my heart melts when I hear Quinn’s voice. She’s too sweet. Just when I think no one cares what would happen to me, someone speaks up. “I feel like I haven’t talked to him in forever.”
“You talked to him yesterday,” Heaven points out.
She manages to make me smirk, which is usually impossible on this day, when she huffs. “I know, but I talk to him every morning. He’s always is kind and has a smoothie waiting for me since my morning sickness has been so bad. It isn’t like him to not be around.” I can almost imagine her crossing her arms in a pout and tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder.
“He’s going through something personal. Just leave him be, baby,” Jaxon says, probably giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Aw, I hope he’s okay.”
Before I change my mind and go eat brunch with my friends, I turn away and march down the hall, letting their concern stay in the distance. The hallways are long, almost never ending. The floors are black marble, and the walls are painted a light beige. Expensive paintings hang on the wall, and the chandeliers above me glitter.
When I get to the end of the hall, I make sure no one is behind me and press my hand against the spot on the wall so the scanner can run my prints. I wait and rock back and forth on my heels. I’m afraid someone is going to catch me, but it isn’t too often someone comes to this end of the house; everything interesting is on the other side.
We always say the only way in and out of the house is through the door in the kitchen and opening the garage, but there is another way—a secret way.
This elevator doesn’t go to the basement. It doesn’t go to another floor.
The ding is loud, and it has the hair on the back of my neck standing up. I turn my head over my shoulder and let out a breath of relief when no one is behind me. The silver doors slide open, and I step inside the square lift. I can already smell the dirt, the moisture in the air, and my skin itches for the outdoors.
Jaxon was right. This is exactly what I need.
The door slides shut, and the lights start to flicker when the elevator descends. There are no buttons to press on the inside because there’s only one destination. The light above me goes out and the elevator comes to an abrupt, shaky halt. When the doors part, darkness meets me like an unfriendly acquaintance.
The cold air wraps around me and beacons me forward. I step out of the elevator, and my boots hit solid ground, dirt to be exact, and the musky scent of earth invades my nostrils. I take out my flashlight and turn to the right to find a lamp hanging on the tunnel wall along with the shelf next to it that has extra lighter fluid and matches.
I take a few bottles and stuff a few packs of matches in my pocket before lighting the lamp. Once I get a good glow, I blow out the match and stomp on it, digging it directly into the ground. Jaxon made sure that no matter what, we would have a way out if something happened at the Cliff House.
So we built these tunnels. There are two. One leads to town, and the other leads to the woods. It’s a bit of a journey, but I enjoy it. I like the solitude the woods bring, and the journey to them is peaceful too. I shove my gun case up my shoulder and start to walk, taking a right when the tunnels fork. Keeping my arm stretched out, the lamp in my hand lights the way, and I’m constantly in awe with how these tunnels turned out. They are big enough for me to spread my arms and still have a few feet on either side. I’m over six-foot-three, and there is easily enough space above me. The area isn’t cramped.
I could live down here and be happy. I’m a minimalist kind of guy. I don’t need much. If I have shelter and a gun, I can survive, and I know I can make a cabin out of some damn sticks and call it a day, but Jaxon wouldn’t ever have me living down here or in the woods.
Shame. Nature is so much better than being stuck inside four walls.
The blackness of the tunnel goes on and on, an abyss, a void, something that seems all too familiar the more I look at it. I shouldn’t feel at home here, but I do. I think about all those years ago, the beautiful home I used to live in and the plush job I got because my dad knew a guy, and I realize how easy my life was up until the point of the murder. I had everything handed to me on a silver platter. I never had to bust my ass to get to where I need to be. I guess I still don’t. I’m wealthy, wealthier than I’ve ever been because of the jobs we do.
Prison wasn’t even as hard as losing Annabeth. By far the only struggle I’ve had in my life is dealing with the loss of her. Does that mean I’m not capable of coping because I lack experience? I don’t think so. Seeing my wife with a knife sticking out of her stomach, killing her and my child seems to make up for the lack of experience in my opinion, but I find it odd that I’ve yet to be able to move on from it.
Maybe it’s time I try.
That
has me stopping in the middle of the tunnel and betrayal hits me hard along with guilt. How could I think such a thing on the anniversary of her death? “I’m sorry, Annabeth,” I whisper, and the hiss of my voice bounces off the dirt walls surrounding me.
A few hours later, I come to the end of the tunnel, and there is a ladder built into the dirt wall that allows me to climb to the top. I unlock the latch and push the hidden shelf off to the side. A burst of clean spring air hits me in the face, and I inhale the fresh scent of the river flowing to my right.
This is my home. Isolation.
Until my dying day.
Two
Jolie
I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Time is irrelevant when it’s spent in the dark. It’s cold too. This house doesn’t have electricity, so there is no air conditioning or heat. I can see the daylight through the cracks in the wood, slivers of light between the rotten planks illuminate part of the darkness here and there.
I’m starving. I think this is the third day without food and water, and it’s starting to get to my head. I can’t take anymore abuse. I want to die. I don’t know what this guy wants from me, and I don’t know who he is, but I give up. He wins. I have nothing left.
A few months ago, I had missed my period, and I knew I was pregnant. I never felt so terrified. I thought being kidnapped was the worst thing that could happen to me, but no, once he got his hands on me, the abuse was constant. Eventually, him beating me wasn’t enough, and he tied me down and made small incisions all over my body.
And then that became boring which led to the last thing he could ever do to me.
I hoped I wouldn’t become pregnant, but life hasn’t been kind enough to grant me a break over the last year. I know it’s been at least a year since I’ve been here, but the exact time is blurry to me.
My fear of being pregnant was cut short. I miscarried because of the stress and malnutrition of my body. And now since I look like I’m on the verge of falling over, the man wants nothing to do with me. I’m grateful. Maybe I’ll be able to die in peace.
I don’t want to die, but I don’t know what else is left for me. I don’t beg for my life anymore when he touches me. I don’t ask him to s
top because I know he won’t. It’s been months since I’ve fought for my life. Maybe it’s time I give a damn and start fighting again. I look around the room and squint my eyes, looking for a way out. My head swims when I try to move, but I have to keep trying. It isn’t often that I’m here by myself because I’ve never been weak enough for him to know he can leave me be.
Like now.
I know the door is locked. I heard him lock it this morning. I follow the largest splinter of sunlight coming through the wooden planks, and I lick my dry, cracked lips when I see an inch opening. How have I not noticed that before?
Probably because I haven’t thought about living in a very long time.
If I can yank the boards off, I can slip through the crack and run away. It’s a long shot. I doubt I have the strength, but the more I think about it, the stronger I feel. I can’t die in here. I can’t let this man win. He has already taken so much from me.
It makes me think about the baby I lost, the innocent child that had no clue about his or her father’s insanity, and my heart aches. Don’t get me wrong, I’m equally relieved as I am sad. Does that make me a bad person? I’m not sure. What I do know, the baby is better off because if they ever came into the world, who knows what this man would have done to them. Plus, there part of me believes I would hold resentment if I saw the baby. It’s unreasonable because the poor child is nothing but innocent in this mess, but would I truly want her? Him?
A lot of what-ifs that I do not need to worry about right now because I am no longer pregnant, and I consider it a blessing in disguise.
I fall against my belly and slap my hand on the floor, dragging myself along the rough floorboards. The wood adds scratches to my body, and my nipples tug along the groves and nails poking out of the planks. I wince, but the pain isn’t too bad. I’ve been through worse. I collapse when I get to the part of the room I need to be at, and with shaky arms, I push myself onto my knees. My heart races unsteadily, and I lay a hand across my chest when the world around me begins to swim again. I’m so hungry and thirsty.
Cruel Intoxication: A Dark Romance (Underground Kings Book 4) Page 2
