by Eros, Marata
“No!” she yells in a hoarse shout. Her eyes meet mine, round with fear.
Tight with her lies.
I look at the man.
“Then he can take the beating I meant for you.” He jerks her up by her hair and I run to him, punching him with fists too small to inflict damage.
He tosses mama like garbage and her beauty falls to the floor, her long hair spilling around her like a dark fan, luminous eyes catch mine in belated warning.
He shoves me on my bottom.
A pot full of rage that has nowhere to go simmers close to boiling. I feel it swell inside me. Ready.
“Don't you hurt my baby!” she screams.
An ember appears in his free hand, it glows like a lost firefly in the darkness and the air fills with cloying sweetness. “Sorry, Tasha. If you don't pay, someone will.”
“No, Rex...”
His hand slams into her face. “Don't say my name.”
Mama falls back.
She doesn't move.
I do what she's told me to do.
I grab the bulge between his legs and twist it.
I use both hands.
*
An elephant is sitting on my chest.
I gulp oxygen and it tastes like water.
I'm drowning.
“Ty—hear me.”
I gasp as I swim to the surface.
Gotta. Break. Through.
“Tyron Marius Simpson, hear me and awake.”
I sit up straight, my eyes bulging so hard they feel like they'll burst the pockets of my face.
I take in where I am.
I can still smell the cigar smoke and my hands tremble as they search for fresh wounds that are no longer there.
I can see my mother and how beautiful she looked in the middle of violence and dirt.
I turn my forearms over and see what my tats cover.
I was her shield.
Doctor Grady says nothing, just watches me.
“How do you feel, Ty?”
I feel like someone kicked me in the stomach, thanks for asking.
Out loud I ask, “Did you...? Did I?” God, this sucks ass. I don't know what bonehead things I did when I was lying there helpless in my sleep. I don't know what I said.
The secrets I revealed.
“Yes, you were under for quite a while. But,” Doctor Grady's clear amber eyes look into mine, “I thought it was best we get you out of there.”
“What did I say?” I ask. Hating not knowing.
Hating knowing.
“Your mother's name? Tasha...” Grady's eyebrows rose.
It felt weird as hell to have someone say her name.
Tasha Simpson isn't beautiful anymore.
She is dead. Her funeral is this week.
The drugs that she loved more than anything have taken her.
“What do you remember?”
My eyes burn. I've never cried in my life.
I won't start now. My hands clench into fists. I shove that shit down where it belongs: deep and unowned.
I hate what the child I was had to suffer. I don't regret it. He'd have killed her.
Rex.
I turn over my arms, bringing my forearms together. The tribal sleeves do a bang-up job of hiding the worst of it.
But if you know what you're looking for, it stands out like measles of scar tissue.
Grady leans forward until his knees press into the side of the couch as I wordlessly show him that I know the why of the damage I camouflage.
He knows what he's looking for.
Grady's hands dangle between his knees as he loses count at the circular burn marks that dot my flesh.
Cigar-sized.
I shrug his hand off my shoulder when he tries to give me comfort.
I can't accept it.
I have one goal.
Vengeance has a name.
*
three days later
I rub my eyes with my index and thumb, leaning back my chair. I knot my hands behind my head and close my eyes.
I'm so fucking tired of using Google I could die.
There is no Rex.
I know what I have to do. I need more information. I'll need to visit Grady again just to find out what I can. I can't break the lock of my memories.
He says it's a deep-seeded measure the mind uses to protect itself.
The thought of recounting any more snippets of my miserable childhood brings on an instant, physical reaction.
My palms sweat and my breathing comes short and hard. I sit up, my hands gripping the armrests in my office at the Black Rose.
I know I'm having one of those candy ass panic attacks so I plow through it, my eyes burning, my armpits tingling with instant sweat as it beads my upper lip.
Kiki bursts in without knocking, pushy broad.
She takes one look at my face and walks closer, cautiously. “What the hell is it?”
I shake my head, dumping my chin to my chest, not looking at her.
Kandace “Kiki” King is a pole dancer, one of my best. Though I don't supervise much anymore. I leave that to the floor manager. Even private lap auditions, once a mainstay of my job and a sick thrill I enjoyed, is now growing stale as fuck.
I'm unraveling.
I know it.
Grady sure as fuck does.
And he's got the word for the precinct. Good old Thorn is hanging on by a thread.
They have a dumb name for it.
Trigger.
A current event triggers memories of a traumatic one.
When my boy McKenna's girl almost got done in by that whack job, Bunce Junior, it had enough parallels that now I was on vacation from undercover.
Mandatory, with pay.
Standard with a kill in the line of duty.
I guess I took a little too much pleasure in offing that fuck.
I close my eyes, the image of Faren on the floor, covered in Butch's blood.... it echoes too many long-buried memories.
Now, like an exhumation, the ghosts have escaped their graves.
I open my eyes and Kiki is standing there. She knows I won't give an inch, no one knows Thorn.
That's how I like it—safe. Anonymity by choice.
Her face hardens, but inside that bravado is a soft center. Kiki doesn't fool me, she never has. “Ready?”
I nod, standing abruptly.
I tower over her.
A sudden memory comes over me.
Rex was tall. Like father, like son.
But that's where the likeness ends. His fair skin is milk to my chocolate.
Who says dark is evil?
I say it hides in the light.
Kiki and I leave for Tasha Simpson's funeral.
#
Preorder TT7: THORN
Coming July 25, 2014!
Acknowledgments
I began TDS with the encouragement of my husband and continued because of you, my Reader. Your faithfulness through comments, suggestions, spreading the word and ultimately purchasing my work with your hard-earned money gave me the incentive, means and inspiration to continue.
There are no words that are sufficiently adequate to express my thankfulness for your support. But know this: TDS novellas continued past HARVEST only because of you.
I truly feel connected to my readers. It is obvious to me, but I'll say the words anyway for clarity: a written work is just words on pages if they are not read by my readers. As I write this I get a lump in my throat; your enjoyment of my work affects me that deeply.
You guys are the greatest, each and every one of ya~
Marata xo
Special Thanks:
You, my reader.
My husband, who is my biggest fan.
Cameren, for without whom, there would be no books.
Cassie C., my copy editor. Thank you readers, by supporting my work you've provided me with the means to give you cleaner copy.
Cori M., my proofreader.
My Aussie Girl, I love ya.
BDH, a big supporter of my work, and of me as well; priceless~
Dii
Shana
*
Ashley H.-H.
Autumn
Caryn
Crystal
SueBee
More Books by Marata Eros:
The Druid Series:
Reapers
Bled
Harvest
Sow
Seed
Plow
Thresher
Exotic
The Druid Breeders
Baird (preorder)
The Siren Series:
Ember
Constantine
Brandon (preorder)
The Demon Series:
Brolach
The Token Serial:
The Token
The Token 2
The Token 3
The Token 4
The Token 5
The Token 6
Thorn- The Token 7 (preorder)
Kiki- The Token 8 (preorder)
Chet Sinclair- The Token 9 (preorder)
Dark Romantic Suspense:
A Terrible Love- NYT & USA Today bestseller
A Brutal Tenderness
The Darkest Joy
In Broken Love
The Dara Nichols Series, 1-8:
3500-5500 words each (naughty & sexual, non-romantic encounters)
A Hard Lesson, where Dara Nichols gets “schooled” by a few students...
To Protect and Service, Dara gets pulled over by the cops and taken in hand...
The 13th Floor, Dara attends a professors' symposium and things heat up in the elevator...
The Boardroom, Dara's sexual encounter with her students is discovered and she receives some much-deserved discipline...
The Four Whoresmen, Dara takes a weekend getaway at a remote ranch and gets man-handled...
The Masquerader's Balls, Dara and Zoe get nailed by a couple of masked men...
The Ball Player, Dara takes one for the team at the local gym...
The Cock Tale, Dara and Zoe teach university president Craig Taylor a lesson in discipline at his own party...
Disclaimer: The DNS titles are a completely different “flavor” from the work that you just enjoyed. These are explicit erotica centered around sexual, non-romantic encounters. These short stories are more sexual in nature, whereas the dark paranormal novellas are more sensual/romantic tension/erotic romance-driven.
The ZOE SCOTT Series:
Smoldering Wet
BLOG: marataeroseroticaauthor.blogspot.com
Books written under my real name, Tamara Rose Blodgett:
BLOG: Tamara Rose Blodgett
The Death Series
(young adult dark paranormal dystopian fantasy):
Death Whispers
Death Speaks
Death Inception
Death Screams
Death Weeps
Unrequited Death
The Death Bundle, books 1-3
For the Love of Death (available for preorder)
The Savage Series
(new adult dark post-apocalyptic steampunk paranormal romance):
The Pearl Savage
The Savage Blood
The Savage Principle
The Savage Vengeance
The Savage Protector (available for preorder)
The Savage Dream (available for preorder)
Savage Bundle, Books 1-3
The Blood Series
(new adult dark supernatural fantasy and paranormal romance):
Blood Singers
Blood Song
Blood Chosen
Blood Reign (available for preorder)
*
The Reflective (The Reflection Series, #1)-(available for preorder)
