Ocean (Damage Control Book 5)

by Jo Raven

  It’s like in the movies, those scary thrillers Amber likes to watch. I’m hunting around for Allie’s shoes, when the sound of a key turning in the lock freezes us both in place.

  The door swings open, and a guy is standing there, staring at us, his brows drawing together. He’s tall, probably taller than Ocean, and his shoulders narrower. His face is scruffy, his mouth pressed in a flat, angry line, and he has a pack of smokes in his hand.

  Meet the sadistic boyfriend in the flesh.

  I push Allie behind me. “I’m taking Allie out for coffee,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

  His eyes narrow to slits. “The hell you are. Who the fuck are you anyway? What are you doing in my apartment?”

  It’s not his, it’s hers, but I want to get Allie out, not pick a fight with a bully twice my height. “I’m Allie’s sister. I drove over to see her. I thought we could go for coffee.”

  “You’re lying.” He strides inside, grabs my arm and shakes me. “Who are you? Answer me. Did she call someone?” He drags me around to face my sister and shakes me again. “Who the fuck did you call, Allie?”

  I groan, my arm almost coming out of its socket. “Let go. Let me go.”

  “Let her go!” Allie yells, and he reaches for her and clamps his hand around her wrist, hauling her to him. “Stop it. Brad, stop it!”

  I kick at him, and he smacks me into the wall. My ears ring.

  Oh God, this is going to end badly, I think, bracing for more pain, even as I prepare to kick at the douchebag again.

  Then he curses and releases me to slump in a heap on the floor. Allie whimpers, and her brute of a boyfriend turns away from us.

  He stumbles backward with a grunt, and I scoot to my left, finding Allie and pulling her away.

  There’s another guy at the door. He draws back his fist and punches Brad again. And again.

  “If you touch even a hair on her head again…” He growls, and his hair shines a deep blue as he swings, throwing Brad backward and to the floor. Ocean goes to one knee, his face twisting in pain, one arm coming around his ribcage. “Are we fucking clear? Touch Kay again, and I’m not responsible for my actions. You’ve been warned, motherfucker.”

  My legs are wobbly, but I make it to my feet, and I pull Allie up, too. Ocean is struggling to get up as well, one hand braced on the wall.

  Brad is moaning, cupping his bleeding nose. “Son of a bitch.”

  Ocean’s face is a sickly white. Oh crap, his ribs. I let go of Allie to check on him, and the moment I come close, he puts a hand to my cheek.

  “You okay, Kay? He didn’t hurt you?”

  “I’m fine.” I take his hand, turn it and kiss the palm. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “I was worried.” He runs his thumb over my lips. “I know scumbags like him. And we should go before he gets up.”

  So that’s what we do, the three of us filing out of the apartment.

  “I’m glad I was here,” he says.

  “I’d have fought him off.” I hug my sister.

  “I bet you would have. But I’m fucking glad I was here all the same.”

  I’m glad, too, and one thought keeps bouncing around in my head as we make out way to my car: this guy who says he caused a child to die just put his own safety in danger to save us. He hurt himself doing so, because I can see the way he’s cradling his ribs.

  He shouldn’t have risked it. Any other person wouldn’t have. He was worried about me.

  Always taking care of others, that little girl, Avery, had said.

  This is it. I’ve made up my mind about him. And me. Now I only need to get the truth out of him and tell him mine.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ocean

  Kay says she’s all right, but I’ve never seen her so damn pale, ever, and she’s favoring her right arm. That motherfucker was pulling her arm too hard. Fucking asshole. Punching him was the highlight of my day.

  Of course my ribs aren’t thanking me for it. I almost passed out when I punched the bastard, and it fucking hurts to breathe. I wish I’d brought painkillers with me. I’d chew straight through the package.

  She’s okay, though. That’s the only thing that matters. And her sister, too. Poor girl looks like she’ll piss herself from fright, and the bruises I can see on her wrists make me wanna go back up to the apartment and keep punching the guy until he has no fucking teeth left in his mouth.

  Fuck him for hurting my girl and her sis.

  Kay is quiet, her arm around her sister, as we reach her tiny car. Cold wind is whistling down the road, and I shiver in my thin jacket, which in its turn sends fire through my ribcage.

  Goddammit.

  Without asking, I sit in the back—both to let the two sisters talk and hold hands if that helps, and to stretch out a little and wallow in my misery. Busted ribs sure suck.

  I’m sort of dozing off, dreaming of a vise crushing my chest slowly, when the car slows to a stop.

  Huh. I blink dazedly. We’re in Madison already?

  But there’s an argument going on in the front of the car—that is, two feet away from my head—and it’s getting louder.

  “You can’t go back there, Allie. Trust me, that guy’s unstable.”

  Go back? Is the girl fucking serious? I groan softly and throw an arm over my face.

  “I can’t just walk away,” her sister is saying, and dammit, I wanna grab her and shake some sense into her.

  Probably not a good idea, after beating up the violent boyfriend who beats her up.

  Shit.

  “Look, Ocean didn’t risk himself to get us out for you to return to that hell. No way. He hurt himself to help you, and I’m pretty pissed about that.”

  I blink, lifting my arm from my face. She is?

  “Brad was hurting me. Hurting you. How can you live with that guy? I’m not taking you back, Allie. Who cares if Mom is shocked? Who cares what the neighbors will say? That guy could kill you. Believe it.”

  “Kay—”

  “No. I’m calling Wyatt.”

  Wyatt?

  This is like one of those weird dreams after you’ve had too much Jack. Or like listening to a radio program in the dark.

  “Who’s Wyatt?” someone asks, and I cringe when I realize the hoarse, angry voice is mine. I’m jealous of this guy, whoever he is. The guy Kayla is calling when she needs help.

  Kayla turns around, her eyes wide, as she lifts her cell to her ear. “He’s our brother.”

  Oh. Fucking shit.

  Feeling like a jerk, I slump back.

  I have no right to feel so jealous, so possessive of her. She’s not my girl, although I’d do anything for her to be mine. Anything to have her in my arms tonight, and tomorrow, and for the days to come.

  ***

  After a short discussion with Wyatt, Kayla decides we’ll drop her sister off with a friend here, in Milwaukee. The sister says nothing pro or against, so I assume she’s okay with it.

  By now I’m so fucking tired I can barely keep my eyes open—and tomorrow it’s the convention thing.

  Fucked-up timing.

  What am I gonna do? The doctor was there when I arrived at my folk’s trailer, just finished examining my mom. He took me aside, gave me the grim diagnosis. I paid him.

  And realized I don’t have the money to pay for the fucking treatment he’s recommending. I won’t have it in one month, or two, or three. I just don’t make enough.

  The urge to hit my head against something is so strong I settle for thumping my forehead with my fist instead.

  I talked to Duane about racing again. The one thing I said I’d never do again. What Raine hates me for. Duane was pleased and tried to hide it by pretending he could get anyone to race his cars.

  Load of bullshit.

  So here I am, about to go back to a hell I thought I’d left behind long ago, when all I want is to grab Kayla, wrap myself in her and never let go.

  ***

  After we deposit Kayla’s sis with her frien
ds, I relocate to the passenger seat, as staying in the back to sleep seems like a douchy move. Kayla drove me to see my mom and back, after all, and I really appreciate that, especially in view of everything that went down before.

  I’m not in a mood to talk, though. Pain has me gritting my teeth.

  “You need stronger painkillers,” she says, glancing at me. “You should let me take you to a doctor.”

  “No.” I shift, trying in vain to find a comfortable position. “It’s okay.”

  “I’ll ask Manon if Seth has any leftover to give you, then. He broke enough bones to have a stash by now.”

  I don’t refuse. Anything to take the edge off would be great. “Thanks.”

  The silence spreads as she drives. She doesn’t put any music on, and I’m drifting in and out of thought, or maybe sleep. Some parts are definitely dream-like, for instance when her hand trails up my cheek and sweeps hair out of my eyes.

  Or when I turn my head to find her gaze on me and a soft, mysterious smile on her face.

  Definitely dreaming.

  Shit.

  I straighten, rub at my eyes. “Sorry. Haven’t been sleeping so well lately.”

  “Your ribs?” she asks.

  “Yeah.” And missing you so much it’s fucking with my mind and breaking me apart.

  “Then why didn’t you call me?” she asks.

  Wait, back up. I said that last part out loud? Shit.

  “Kay?” I search her face for clues, but she’s staring at the road ahead.

  “We need to talk,” she says, her small face determined, and even in my battered, exhausted state, my body sits up and takes notice of how sexy that is.

  “Did I just fuck up all over again?”

  Her mouth twitches. “Why would you think that?”

  “Dunno. Been fucking things up all my life.”

  She shoots me a strange look. “You’ve been doing your best all your life. Taking care of your parents, of your brother, of everyone at that trailer park. Stop selling yourself short.”

  I laugh at that—then stop and press a hand to my ribs. “You should spread your cards again, Kay. If that’s what they say about me, then they aren’t worth a damn.”

  She frowns. “I don’t… You might actually have saved my life, and Allie’s, tonight. No matter what it is you think you did when you were younger, you’re a pretty awesome person, Ocean.”

  I shake my head, my throat closing up. I swallow hard and let my head drop back. “Never mind.”

  It wouldn’t matter, even if she was right.

  It’s never enough.

  ***

  I manage to doze off again, and then she drops me off with promises to find me better painkillers. She waves off my thanks, and I stumble into my apartment and fall on my bed. Or sort of lie down gingerly, in so much pain I doubt I’ll sleep.

  But I do. I’m out like a light, and when I wake up at dawn, I find I passed out on my bed still in my jacket and boots, my teeth fuzzy and my mouth tasting like the inside of a dirty sock.

  I’m way too slow getting up and locating my over-the-counter, pretty fucking useless painkillers and swallow them down with a cup of old coffee, then sit at my kitchen table and stare at nothing.

  We need to talk. That’s what she said.

  I’m sorry, Ocean. You’re a pretty awesome guy. You helped me and my sister, and I wish you all the best, but I think it’s better we went our separate ways.

  I don’t think I could bear it, hearing her saying the words. I’d much rather consider it a given and avoid this convo.

  Today starts the convention. It ends tomorrow evening, and then Sunday is free.

  Free for others. It’s racing day for me. I’m due at the trailer park in the early afternoon. The track we use isn’t far. It’s an out of the way road, quite deserted and traffic-free, perfect for racing against the rich city-boys who want to show off their fancy, powerful cars and don’t mind throwing their money down the drain for the chance.

  The important thing for me is that Duane will pay me a small sum upfront and a bigger one if I win the race.

  I have to win that race.

  Have to.

  It takes me forever to get ready and go to the shop. I move like a hundred-year-old with palsy. I think it’s partly the pain and partly a deep, cold fear.

  Of hearing Kayla telling me exactly what she thinks of me.

  Of failing the race and not getting the money I need to get Mom well.

  Of failing Raine again by letting his mom die.

  Of fucking up yet again.

  The moment I reach Damage Control, I’m distracted by the amount of work still needed before the doors open. The guys from the guest tattoo stop are there already.

  Soul Stain their shop is called. Their banner is already hanging outside the shop, along with a poster informing passersby it’s a tattoo convention and that they’re welcome to step in and get inked.

  And free food! And live music by the Brotherhood’s own punk rock band, DeathMoth!

  Some people are standing around on the sidewalk, trying to see inside, as I open the door and enter. Chaos greets me, and Shane gestures at me to help him set up the table with the food and drink.

  I can handle that, so I hurry over. Everyone is dragging tables around, straightening posters and drawings stuck on boards and on the walls, checking tattoo guns and inks, flipping through catalogues.

  A tall, dark-haired guy ambles over and sticks his hand out for me to shake. It’s tattooed, as is his arm, the intricate, colorful design disappearing under the sleeve of his black T-shirt.

  “Kade, of Soul Stain,” he says as we shake. “You must be Ocean Storm.”

  “Yep.”

  “Can’t mistake the hair. Heard a lot about your art.”

  I lift a doubtful brow. “Don’t believe all you hear.”

  He laughs. It’s a good laugh, deep and happy. “You’re a funny guy. The rumors were true.”

  You’d be surprised, I think morosely, and paste on a smile. “That’s me all right. All fun and jokes.”

  He waves a girl and a guy over. “This is Sawyer,” he points at the blond guy, “and Mariska.” The girl with the wild curls and chocolate eyes grins at me. “We are Soul Stain.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say and shake hands all around.

  “Nice hair,” she says and tilts her head to the side, studying me. “You dye it yourself?”

  It’s none of her business, but I try to be polite. “Nah, there’s a hairdresser’s near where I live. He does it for me.”

  It was one of the first things I did when Zane brought me in and I got my apartment and my first paycheck. Got my hair dyed. Reclaimed who I was.

  Back when I raced, I did it myself. It was a mess.

  Zane joins us, patting the trio on their backs. “You’ve met Ocean and Micah. Let me show you around and introduce our new inkers to you. They’re in the back.”

  What, no swearwords? That’s a first. Not a single F-word.

  He’s nervous, I realize as he ushers our guests to the back of the shop where Seth, Shane and Jesse are helping Amber set up a table with her jewelry.

  Where’s Kayla? Wasn’t she supposed to be here, too?

  Christ. Even though I don’t wanna hear what she has to say, I can’t help looking for her. Wanting her.

  I’m so fucked…

  And then I hear her voice, and she’s walking inside, her hair a mess, her eyes bright, a riot of colors with her blue jacket, red pants and yellow scarf. There’s a golden aura around her, a halo of vibrating energy, and I forget to breathe as I watch her high-five Ev.

  “Skipping classes again, huh? Naughty,” I hear her say.

  Classes. College. Fashion design. I wonder if she makes her own crazy clothes.

  Ev laughs. “Look who’s talking.” She takes one of the shopping bags Kayla is carrying. “Have you thought up a design for my wedding dress yet? I decided I want a snake going around my torso. And spangles, maybe.”


  “How else would I make your wedding dress but with a snake and spangles? Silly girl. You didn’t even have to tell me.”

  I’m still not breathing, staring at her, wondering how it’s possible that she’s prettier every single fucking time I see her. How am I gonna get over her and stop staring like a creeper when I can’t even draw enough air in my lungs when she’s around?

  I force myself to look away. I should be stacking up postcards with the shop’s logo, and straightening shit, and probably mingling, or something.

  From the corner of my eye I see the two of them walk to Amber’s stall and start unpacking… clothes. Colorful clothes, bright shades of red and blue and green and yellow and pink. T-shirts, skirts, pants, but also gloves, and scarves and hats.

  The girls laugh, trying one or the other item on before they place them on display. Kayla tries on a red hat and purses her lips, pretending to be posing for a photo, which Ev pretends to take. Then Ev whips out her phone and takes it anyway.

  I want that photo.

  Then Kayla says something to Ev and strikes another pose in front of her stall. She leans forward and licks her lips, smiling.

  And just like that I’m hard, so fucking hard it hurts. Goddammit. It hurts to want her so badly, to need her so much.

  What am I gonna do?

  ***

  The door opens and people start streaming inside. I don’t even know if Kayla has noticed me or not before I have customers lined up to be inked, and others flipping through my catalogue and asking questions.

  Across from me are the stalls of Soul Stain. They’re getting lots of interest. Their designs are dark and twisted, much like ours. Soul Stain and Damage Control.

  How freaking fitting.

  I wonder what their stories are.

  Then my whole attention is taken up by the customers and I draw, ink and discuss designs for the rest of the day. At some point someone puts a sandwich on my stall, and I swallow it down. I couldn’t tell you what was in it.

  Just as well. For once, in what feels like years, my mind is off Kayla.

  Of course then I lift my head from a design I’m drawing on paper, and I see her. I actually catch her looking at me, a cute little frown on her face, as if she’s trying to figure out something.