Cruel Intoxication: A Dark Romance (Underground Kings Book 4)

by Kelli Callahan

  “You’ll be right across the hall from me, so if you need anything, don’t be afraid to come knock and wake me up.”

  I shouldn’t be so relieved to hear that, but I am.

  Owen is the only person I can count on in this world right now. Without him, what will happen to me?

  Eight

  Owen

  I let out the biggest exhale of my life while I sit at the bar stool at the kitchen island. Suddenly, I’m bone fucking tired, stressed out, and wondering what the hell I’m going to do with Jolie. And why the fuck do I like it when she looks at me with those big green eyes, lost and scared, needing me to tell her that everything is okay?

  I shouldn’t fucking like that.

  But I do.

  I like that I’m needed in ways that I’m not needed by the group. It feels good.

  “You alright?” Jaxon asks as he pours me a cup of coffee, and he spikes it with whiskey.

  “I’ll take one too,” Grayson says as he takes a seat next to me.

  “Do I look like a fucking bartender? Get your ass up and make it yourself. Owen is tired from saving someone. What are you tired from?” Jaxon slides the white mug toward me and the coffee/whiskey combination spills over the rim.

  “Jeez, alright. Don’t twist your balls over it. I’ll do it,” Grayson says, holding out his hands in a calming gesture as he gets up from the chair.

  Jaxon rolls his eyes and leans against the counter, sipping his drink as he stares at me. No wonder Jolie got so afraid. The man is terrifying to look at. I fucked up. I take a big gulp of the scalding hot coffee and let it burn my throat. Jaxon wants to know what’s going on. I have to tell him a dead body is going to show up soon, and it’s going to be another thing we’re going to have to take care of.

  “Talk to me. Catch me up. What happened? What are we getting ourselves into? Is it going to interfere with the job we have coming up?”

  “Fuck,” I muster under my breath before taking another sip of coffee. I forgot about the upcoming job. We haven’t worked in what feels like forever. The last job fucked us up, and we’ve been waiting on Heaven’s leg to heal. “It might. I might not be able to go. She’s afraid of everyone.”

  “I see that. Want to tell me why?” he says, his gold Rolex shining in the light as he brings the mug to his mouth.

  I lift a finger, telling him to give me a minute, and down the rest of my coffee, then fill the mug with a shot of whiskey. Grayson sits next to me with his drink and decides he wants in on the conversation too. “Might as well get everyone in here. I don’t want to repeat myself.” I shoot back the whiskey from my coffee cup. The lingering taste of rich java still lingers, but it isn’t enough to wake me up. If anything I’m just as tired as I was before.

  Jaxon opens up his phone and sends a group text to everyone. My phone dings, as does Grayson’s, and a few seconds later, there are footsteps coming down the hall. Sebastian pokes his head out next, and Heaven is behind him, bag of Cheetos in hand and orange smears across his shirt from the dusting stuck to his fingers from the cheesy treat.

  “What’s up?” he asks, crunching down on his chips. His lips are stained orange. How many bags has he eaten? “Is this about the girl? It is, isn’t it?” he says, spewing orange dust in my face.

  I close my eyes and sit there, debating if I want to kill him or not.

  “Oh, you have a little something,” he mumbles, spitting more crumbs from his mouth. His hand dusts across my shoulders, and then he lifts his shoulder and wipes my face off.

  Everything, I mean everything, about what just happened pisses me off.

  “There. All better,” Heaven says with an orange smile.

  Deep.

  Fucking.

  Breaths.

  “Owen, focus. Everyone is here, and the girls and Dillon will be back soon. You can hit Heaven later. Tell me what the hell happened in those woods. That was your time. If you need more—”

  “No,” I cut him off before he says more. “I think… I think this might be the last year that I take off those days.” I pour another shot as Heaven pats his nasty orange crusted fingers on me. I curl my lip, ready to attack when the high arch of Jaxon’s brow warning me makes me shoot the whiskey down my throat instead. Heaven washes his hands before grabbing a Coke from the fridge and leaning against the counter. Sebastian takes the stool to my left and dusts my shoulder off again.

  “Thanks,” I tell him, and he gives me a nod. I feel everyone’s eyes on me, urging me to get on with the story, and Annabeth’s face has my tongue twisting into a knot. “I was hunting, like I usually do this time of year. The deer was cooking over the fire, so I decided to take a dip in the river. I used the bunker, loved it,” I add and Jaxon grins. He knew I would. “Anyway,” I say to get back on track. “I looked around, taking in the beauty of my environment, when I saw a figure on the other side of the riverbank. I saw her. She’s skin and bone, abused. God, Jaxon…” I lift my eyes to his so he can see the seriousness of the situation. “I swam over and picked her up. She was naked, so I gave her some extra clothes, fed her, let her sleep, and then the man that she ran away from showed up looking for her.”

  “No!”

  “Shut the fuck up!”

  “You’re kidding,” Jaxon says with astonishment. “Ex-lover? Husband?”

  I shake my head. “No. A man who kidnapped her a year and a half ago, and she finally got away. She ran from him, and he combed the woods for her. She was in my tent when he came to my campsite, and he wanted to look inside. I said my wife was in there—”

  Jaxon gasps when he hears that. To call someone my wife when they aren’t is a big deal. My wife is … was…

  Was.

  That’s something I need to keep in mind.

  “He attacked me. I killed him, dragged him to the river and let it take him. So … that might cause some trouble.” I look down at my coffee cup and swallow. “Guys, he beat her, starved her, raped her. Over and over again. She told me she’d have sex with him just to get food. She got pregnant. Lost the baby.”

  “Holy shit,” Heaven says, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

  “I brought her here where she can be safe. She needs help. She’s been gone for a year and a half. She says no one is looking for her, but there has to be someone. She’s… I mean, I know you guys saw her afraid, but she’s a sweetheart. She hasn’t been with other people except that asshole I killed.” A voice in the back of my head tells me killing an enemy is never that easy, and that’s when I scold myself for not double-tapping again.

  He’s dead. He has to be.

  “Of course she’s going to be scared around people she doesn’t know.”

  “She isn’t afraid of you, Owen,” Jaxon points out.

  “She was,” I correct him. “She was terrified of me. She didn’t have much of an option. I had food, water, shelter; she did the best she could.”

  “You think highly of her for only being with her a day,” Jaxon inserts.

  “Well, I’m not completely heartless. I care about her wellbeing. What happened to her was fucked up.”

  “You killed for her,” Sebastian points out.

  I pour myself another shot, hoping to feel a buzz at some point, and shake my head in disagreement. “I killed for me too. He attacked me, and she didn’t deserve his wrath. She deserves a proper shower, for fuck’s sake. She hasn’t bathed in ages. She… I just fucking hate when men do that to women.” I slam my mug too hard on the counter, and it shatters, whiskey dripping off the broken pieces.

  “Sounds personal to you,” Heaven states, shoving a cupcake in his mouth. How a man can stay in shape and eat such crap is beyond me.

  “It is personal.” A knife sticking out of my pregnant wife’s stomach, ultimately killing her and my daughter is pretty fucking personal. I don’t like when men think they can do whatever the fuck they want to anyone. They can never pick on someone their own size because they are cowards, bullies, and instead of facing the problem head on, they t
ake.

  And they take.

  And take until … someone dies.

  I shove the parts of the mug in the sink and grab a towel to wipe up the mess. “What do we do?” I ask, feeling a bit lost. I don’t know what to do.

  “We have to ask her where she ran away from. What if there are others? If there are, we need to do something about it. We need to call Officer Howard. There is a list of things to do, but I think she deserves a few days of rest instead of chaos and stress,” Jaxon says, washing his mug out under the faucet.

  “Agreed,” Heaven adds, stuffing an entire chocolate cupcake in his mouth. Icing gets all over his mouth and a dot of frosting on his nose.

  I’m not going to tell him. He reaches for another.

  “Will you stop? You’re making my stomach hurt,” Jaxon yanks the cupcake out of Heaven’s hand and throws it in the sink.

  “Hey, I was eating that!” Heaven protests, staring at the ruin of cake.

  “You eat everything,” Grayson mumbles. “It’s why our grocery bill is through the roof.”

  “I’m a growing boy.” Heaven slaps his hard stomach and holds his arms up to flex his biceps.

  Sebastian rolls his eyes, unimpressed.

  “A few days, maybe the weekend too? Give her some time to get use to us?” I try to get the conversation back on track to what matters, and Jaxon nods.

  “Yeah, absolutely. And, Owen, it’s okay if you want to take more time,” he adds in a way that tells me he’s talking about Annabeth.

  “I’m fine,” I whisper, staring at the shiny marble of the countertop.

  “We both know that statement will forever be a lie.”

  “What happened to you?” Heaven’s nosy ass asks.

  I rub a hand over my head, realizing I need to cut my hair.

  “You don’t have to answer that. Heaven, mind your own—”

  “It’s fine, Jaxon. Everyone knows everyone here.” I grab the whiskey bottle and chug three swallows. “Twenty years ago, my pregnant wife was murdered. I took the fall for it. On purpose. There,” I say, slamming the bottle on the counter a little harder than necessary. I hate remembering my little girl would be grown by now. “Happy, Heaven?”

  “Dude, I’m sorry. I didn’t know… I’m so sorry, Owen.” Heaven looks at the floor and wipes his mouth clean.

  “You can see why I don’t talk about it.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Owen,” Sebastian says, giving my shoulder a squeeze.

  “Me too,” Grayson adds.

  “I couldn’t imagine your pain,” Jaxon says. “Now that Quinn is pregnant with twins, I wouldn’t know what to do if something like that happened to her. The time that passes doesn’t matter, Owen. Pain is fucking pain at the end of the day, and you experienced the worse thing that could ever happen to someone. Take all the time you need.”

  “I don’t need any more fucking time!” I shout at him, then exhale when I realize what I’ve done. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about more time, okay? I’ve taken twenty years; how much longer do I need?”

  “As long as it takes,” Heaven says in a whisper, as if he knows what I’m talking about.

  A whimper has all of us turning our heads to the doorway. It’s Jolie. She’s wearing clothes that fit since they are Quinn’s before she got pregnant. I lurch from the chair so hard it topples over, and she flinches.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask her when I see her face is red and tears are streaming down her cheeks. Her hair is soaking wet, dripping onto the floor. “Are you okay?”

  “I … can’t brush it,” she says, broken. She tries to run her fingers through her hair, but it’s so tangled, matted, and looks like a nest. “I can’t brush it.” I’ve never seen someone so lost and sad before. Actually, that’s a lie.

  She is a mirror of how I feel on the inside; I just don’t let it show.

  “You know,” I start to say, “that’s okay. We can cut it. Cut off what used to be, and let it grow to the new you. The free you.” I inch closer, afraid that if I move too fast she’ll run. There is no way her hair can be saved. It’s too matted, too tangled.

  “But … my hair. What else can he take from me?” She tries to run her fingers through the mess again, but she grunts and then smacks her hand against the wall.

  I cup her face with my hands, drying her tears, and smile. “I think you’ll look good with short hair. I think you’ll be happier with it gone too.”

  “Yeah?” She sniffles, looking at me for hope and guidance.

  She needs me.

  “Oh, yeah,” Heaven’s loud mouth says from the kitchen. “I think you’d look hot with short hair. Long hair can get caught in stuff,” he says.

  Jaxon slaps him on the back of the head.

  “Ow,” he says.

  “Yeah?” She tries not to cry again.

  It isn’t just about hair. Sure, it’s hair. No big deal. It can grow back, but right now, all she sees is her captor stealing something from her again, something that makes her feel like a woman. Something that keeps her femininity, the one thing that bastard tried so hard to take.

  I think she views her hair as the last of it.

  “Oh yeah, I say we cut it,” Heaven says.

  “What … what do you think?” she asks me, another well of tears forming.

  “I don’t want you to do something you don’t want. If you want to cut it, we cut it. If you want me to try to brush it out, I’ll try all night, okay?” I want to give her the option, let her be in control, but let her know I’m here for whatever she decides. I don’t want her to depend on me for her choices. She’s hasn’t been in control for a long time. Jolie deserves to gain her freedom back, and that starts with decisions like this.

  To cut or not to cut?

  Her bottom lip trembles, and she nods. “Can we try? I really don’t want to cut it.”

  “Yeah, we can try; come on.” I take her hand and lead her down the hall, giving the guys one last look. Each of them give me an encouraging nod, and Heaven gives me two thumbs-up.

  I’m not trying to seduce Jolie. I’m just trying to be a friend, someone she needs right now. And she seems to trust me the most, so why would I not be there for her?

  She turns left into her bedroom, and I follow, keeping the door open so she doesn’t feel trapped. We walk into the bathroom, she sits down at the vanity, and her swollen red eyes look at me. She holds up the brush, which has a ton of hair in it already, and her lip starts to tremble.

  “I don’t think it’s going to work,” she admits.

  I don’t think so either, but I’m going to show her that I’m going to try.

  There are dirty droplets on the floor, probably from her hair, and it’s stark against the white tile. The claw-foot tub is lined with filth after the water drained. I can’t stand that for her. I can’t stand that she has been denied basic care.

  She blushes when she sees what I’m looking at. “I showered after I bathed. I’m sorry. I’ll clean everything. I—”

  “It’s okay. I wasn’t thinking about how dirty it is. I was thinking about how much I hate you haven’t been able to take a regular bath.” I open the shower stall and grab the conditioner to try to untangle her hair while I comb it out.

  Her hair drops down to her butt, and the ends are like dreads. Thick, matted, and filthy. I can see the debris in them from the year of not being able to take care of herself.

  “This isn’t the right brush.” I take the brush from her hands and set it aside. I open the drawer and grab a comb instead. It has teeth instead of bristles. It will be less painful and will dig through the tangles more effectively. “We need something like this.” I hold up the comb and wiggle it in my hand as we stare at each other in the mirror.

  “Where did you learn that?” she asks, staring at the comb like it’s some magical wand that’s about to be her cure all.

  Where did I learn it?

  Now, there’s a story I’ve never told or even thought about in a very long
time.

  Nine

  Jolie

  Owen squeezes the blue bottle of conditioner until he has a large amount of product in his hand. I watch him, this big, strong man, with hands the size of Texas, filling his palm of conditioner to help me.

  Someone he doesn’t even know.

  His heart is kind, and it’s the most therapeutic experience I’ve had in a year and a half. I’d be an idiot if I didn’t notice how handsome he was, even if it scares me that I notice it. His hair is short, brown, a bit curly at the ends. His eyes are a dark blue, reminding me of an ocean during a hurricane.

  I bet that’s exactly who he is as a person too.

  Beauty raging in anger.

  He soaks my hair with the conditioner, coating it until it’s heavy and wet. He grabs my ends, nearly eight inches of my hair, and tries to detangle it.

  “I only know so much because of my wife.” He stops combing, and his brows pinch together. A look of sadness crosses his face, and then he starts to comb again. “My ex-wife.”

  “She’ll always be your wife. You didn’t choose for her to die. You don’t have to correct yourself around me,” I try to assure him, and he gives a relieved half smirk, but there’s still sorrow embedded in those angry lines around his eyes.

  Lines that tell stories of heartache, sorrow, and pain.

  “You’re sweet for saying that, but I think it’s time for me to realize that she’s no longer my wife. She’s…” A breath leaves him that is so hard, it breezes across my cheeks. “She’s dead. It’s time for me to realize that.”

  “Grief doesn’t have a stopwatch,” I say, looking at him through the mirror.

  “Wise words, Jolie. Wise words.”

  We lapse into silence, not awkward, just quiet. “So how do you know so much about women’s hair?”

  He laughs, and a slight tug against my scalp has my head yanking back slightly. “Well, there was one time when Annabeth, my wife—ex-wife…” He corrects himself again, and his lips peel back into a huge grin, showing his straight white teeth from the memory. “One time when she got a wad of gum in her hair. It was terrible. We were on a rollercoaster, and there was this kid in front of us that wouldn’t stop screaming. We knew it would be a wild ride considering how much he cried before getting on. He really did not want to go on the ride, but his dad made him saying, “It’s time for you to stop being a baby.” And the guy made his kid go on the rollercoaster that went upside down, right side up, all that jazz.”