by Stacey Lynn
“What the hell?” I growled at him.
Pete set his fork down and pushed his plate away from him, resting his elbows on the table. He looked so at peace. How could he be so relaxed when those few words made my entire body coil in rage?
“Look—”
“No, you look.” I pushed up to my feet, bracing myself with my palms flat on the table. My chest heaved. My throat constricted. My pulse thrummed in my ears. “Byron made me promise to look after them if anything happened and I’m doing that.” I leaned down, towering over the guy sitting all chilled out in front of me, not intimidated by my size or my anger. “But don’t you fucking think for one second she isn’t my responsibility. It’s a promise I made and it’s a promise I’ll see to the end.”
Pete sucked in a breath. “Have you ever thought that it is the end?”
My eyebrows pulled in. “What are you talking about?”
He stood up, holding a stance much like mine, but without the frustration and anger. Out of the corner of my eye, our crew watched us. Fights weren’t allowed on the rig. One thrown punch and you were gone—fired. For the first time since I’d worked on the rig, my hands itched to break that rule.
“She’s strong, man.”
“I know that,” I bit out.
“Maybe what you need to consider is that you babying her, you taking care of her, isn’t needed anymore. Maybe what Meg needs is to learn to move on, to take care of herself, without worrying about disappointing someone else—disappointing you.”
He wasn’t making sense. I knew Meg was strong. She was independent and sweet. But she had Brayden, and Byron never wanted his son to grow up without men in his life like Byron had. I was doing what he wanted.
And I would continue to do it for as long as I could. I just had to figure out how to make it all work.
“Fuck you.”
I pushed off from the table, tossing my food tray onto the top of the garbage can where it clattered and rattled and thankfully didn’t knock the rest of the pile over.
Then I pushed through the doors and made my way to the platform where I could dangle my legs over the edge, seventy-five feet above the water, and forget everything.
Night had fallen and I was still standing on the edge of the rig, a fishing pole firmly fixed in my hands. When requested, the chefs would save the leftover food from meals and mix it with enough water into a five gallon bucket. It became our fish bait that we’d mash into fist-sized balls and rig to our poles. It felt disgusting and smelled worse, but it worked.
I had ignored Pete when he showed up hours ago, pail and poles in hand. I continued ignoring his smug presence when he handed me my pole and we began fishing two hours ago.
We hadn’t caught shit. And while the calming act of fishing generally gave me a sense of peace, my muscles tensed while I waited for Pete to start talking again.
“Byron’s death wasn’t your fault.”
I glared at him from the side of my eyes and went back to focusing on my fishing pole. “We’re not really going to do the pussy shit girl talk, are we?”
“No need. Meg already told me everything.”
Everything? I wanted to ask exactly what everything meant. Instead, I rolled my eyes. “Fucking women.”
Pete grunted. “Sounds to me like you’ve got one back home waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and save the day.” My lips pressed together into a firm line. Like hell I was going to let him talk to me about Faith. He squeezed the nasty leftovers into a ball, reset his hook, dropped it seventy-five feet down into the water, and kept talking, this time with a sarcastic grin. “You could be like an armored knight and all that bull-shit.”
I felt a tug at the end of my string and yanked it up quickly. Came up empty. “It’s only a name, Pete.”
“Doesn’t mean you’re not needed somewhere else.” He turned to me. “I get what you did for Meg. I get the promise you made to take care of her for Byron. But Meg?” He wiped a line of sweat off his forehead. “Meg’s strong as shit. I’ve known her since we were kids. I’m not saying she doesn’t appreciate the help or feels like she needs it, but that girl can stand on her own. Byron and you—you have that protector mentality and want to do it all for her—which is admirable. But it’s not necessary. She can move on. She simply needs someone to let her.”
“So you can move in?” I checked my growl and took a step away, reeling in my own pole. Fucking lousy night for fishing.
“Fuck you, Knight. She’s like my sister and always has been. I’ll help her if she needs it, but she also needs to learn she can be everything Brayden needs, too. She needs the freedom to move on.”
He had a point. I knew it, but I couldn’t imagine walking away from promises.
The little shit was also right. Not only about Meg. Her innocence and sweetness might have made her seem weak, but she picked up after Byron’s death and did what needed to be done in order to keep caring for Brayden and keeping his life as settled as possible.
He was also right about me. About Faith. I had more important shit that needed to be dealt with. The way Faith walked away from me that morning in the hotel still burned a hole in my chest. My fingers itched constantly to take one shot at Cain. And I needed to be on solid ground to do it.
Even knowing that, I stared out at the black Gulf, unable to agree with Pete. There was nothing to see. No land, no lights—just utter blackness with the only sound being the waves hitting the base of our rig in the moonlight.
“I don’t want to leave Brayden. It’d kill him to have another man leave his life.”
“Going home to where you belong doesn’t mean you’re leaving him.”
Again, the fucker was smarter than he looked. Maybe I hadn’t given his intelligence enough credit by figuring he could be on a billboard being used as man candy. The thought made me grin.
“Yo, Knight!”
Pete and I both turned to see John, the medic on our rig, screaming my name from a doorway.
“You have a phone call on the SAT phone!” he shouted.
I nodded and bent down to pick up my pole, but Pete stopped me. “I’ll take care of the stuff. You go get your phone call.”
I thanked him and jogged off to the office, breathless by the time I reached the SAT phone receiver in the main living quarters.
“This is Ryker,” I said, my mind already swirling with who could be calling me on the phone.
“We got problems,” Daemon’s voice cracked through the phone, and my blood ran cold as he started talking without letting me say hello. By the time he was done explaining the information Antonio Sporelli shared with Daemon about our dad and Liv’s mom, Cherry, having an affair and that being what led to Bull hiring out a hit on them instead of it being Black Death as we assumed in the first place, I was ready for murder.
So when Daemon brought up the plan to take Bull out, I growled, “That fucker’s mine,” into the phone.
Bull was the ultimate reason for all of our lives falling to shit. It almost made me smile thinking of putting a bullet in him.
Never in my life had I been filled with so much hate.
My house was no longer a home. It was a jail where a thick sense of dread and death would fill my lungs as soon as I inhaled the musty¸ smoke-filled air when I walked through the doors.
“Mom?” I called out to her by habit, as if she would answer. Some things were too ingrained to stop doing, although she had stopped answering me years ago. Unless she needed more drugs.
Then she’d answer.
This time, she didn’t. So I closed the front door behind me and dropped my eyes to avoid seeing the collection of pill bottles and ashtrays that I knew would be littered across every inch of our worn and chipped wooden coffee table.
I dropped my purse on the table in the hallway and headed toward the kitchen to see if she’d eaten any of the food I’d left out for her the night before when I had a client.
My steps were slow, as if someone had filled my shoes with l
ead. My body ached. Not physically, but emotionally. Nothing felt right anymore. I hadn’t felt anything since I had turned my back on Ryker and walked away from him almost a week ago.
My heavy laden footsteps froze when I hit the kitchen doorway at the back of our house. To my surprise, tears suddenly blurred my vision. How could I still be crying over a woman who had been nothing but a constant disappointment to me for my entire life?
That well should have dried up a long time ago. But occasionally on days like today when I saw her slouched over, her forehead resting on the kitchen table while she was passed out with a mirrored tray and fine, white dust smeared over it, emotions surfaced.
The first time I saw my mom passed out on the floor, I thought she was dead.
Now, I wasn’t surprised by the cocaine remnants on my kitchen counter and table.
A quick glance in the fridge and in the pantry told me she hadn’t eaten any of the meals or protein bars I’d made sure were highly visible to her.
She was like that, now. Ever since the cocaine appeared on the scene, her penchant for remembering to feed herself with any actual substance had diminished. It showed in the way her now, too-large clothes hung on her shrinking frame. It showed in the way her eyes looked like they were sinking back into her skull.
She was dying before my eyes.
And I was still alive, but felt the same as she looked.
I walked to my mom and pushed her dull and graying hair behind her ear. My fingers rested on her pulse on her throat to make sure she was still alive.
Then I left the room. I grabbed my purse on the way upstairs to shower and washed the stench of last night’s man off of me.
I spent the rest of the afternoon packing for Sturgis Motorcycle Rally. The club made me go every year. It was my job, along with several other women, to be “available” for the men as needed during the week.
My limbs heated. Bile rose in my throat and my fingers shook as I packed my small suitcase, knowing few clothes would be needed.
Without realizing, I went to wipe my hair out of my eyes only to come back with the back of my hand wet.
Tears.
They were such a fucking waste.
I squeezed my eyes closed and collapsed onto the edge of the bed. I sobbed into my hands and my shoulders shook with grief.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Ryker. About his promise to free me. About the way his lips felt against mine as he took control of my body. The body I willingly gave to him when I knew I shouldn’t. I knew at the time it would only end with a further severed heart on my part, and I had been correct.
Kissing Ryker, seeing Ryker, and touching him had affected me more in the last week emotionally than I’d anything else I’d felt in the last five years.
He ruined me in the best way possible.
Except only once I was away from him did I realize that without him, I was ruined in the worst way possible.
My ringing cell snapped me out of my self-induced misery. Cringing when I saw the caller, I answered it with a trembling voice. Not that Cain cared or noticed when his vile voice came through the line.
“I see you found a new way to ensure my compliance,” I told him, thinking of my mom downstairs. Fuck Cain. He had continued to get her hooked on deeper and darker shit and she simply opened her mouth like a baby bird and took whatever he gave her. And he did it only to prove that he could kill her whenever he wanted. He could lace her drugs with poison, and she’d smile and say thank you.
I suppose I was no different. She was a whore for drugs. I was just a whore.
His greasy voice sounded thrilled, even pleased, with himself. “Only the best for you and your mom.”
I suppressed my retort, knowing if I spoke it, I’d pay the punishment for it later.
“What do you want, Cain?” With my patience and my earlier emotions long gone, I began pacing the small open space in my bedroom. Four steps one way, four steps the other.
“Mills is on his way to get you. Don’t forget the rules we discussed at the rally this week. You wouldn’t want anything to happen, would you?”
My top lip curled, and I was thankful he couldn’t see my disgust for him. It’d give him a hard-on. He probably had one now, but at least over the phone I didn’t have to take care of it.
“I understand,” I gritted out. My hands squeezed the life out of my cell phone.
“Good,” he said, happily again. “Then we’ll be able to enjoy ourselves this week. Be a good girl, Faith.”
I hung up. He would hit me for it later, but I was quickly losing my ability to give a shit about what Cain thought or wanted from me. Punishments be damned. If this was my life, I would go out on my terms. Death would be a reprieve for me.
The rally was loud. Not that I was able to enjoy any of it, but the new scenery and the sounds of the bands in the distance at least allowed me to pretend that I had been free for the last few days.
Currently, I was sitting on a barstool in one of the same, small, non-air-conditioned bars encased between Mill’s legs. He was overweight, sweaty, and drunk. A perfect trifecta for a night of hell for me.
I tensed as his large hands pawed at my thighs. The short skirt I was wearing barely covered my ass. I had thrown it on that morning, knowing what I’d be expected to do—again—but I wore it because it reminded me of the day, only a few simple weeks ago, when I’d been allowed to hang out with Olivia, my one-time best friend.
I hadn’t been able to see her or talk to her since she’d been shot.
Seeing the skirt had made me smile—slightly, but it had happened—I had felt my lips spread upward a minute amount so I threw the skirt on. Anything to make me feel better helped.
Some days, I couldn’t believe so much had changed in a few short weeks. Three weeks ago, I was working at Penny’s, taking my clients, and doing my job and it had all felt manageable. Depressing—but survivable.
Then, Ryker showed up in my doorway, and suddenly, barely surviving was no longer enough. The problem I faced was I had no idea how to get away from my sentence, and I wasn’t sure life would be any better if I was.
What was there to do in life once your mom sold you to become a whore? Any aspirations I’d had years ago of a simple life with a family were long gone.
“I’m ready to go,” Mills said, standing up from the stool and wrapping his arm around me. It was the middle of the afternoon and he’d been drinking since before the sun rose, if he had even bothered stopping when it had set the night before. He was slow on his feet, and his beer breath made me turn my head away.
I, on the other hand, hadn’t had nearly enough. But I played my role. Pushing a hand to his chest, for one to give me space and also because he liked it when I touched him, I smiled. “Just one more shot, Mills?”
He dipped his head, and his thick tongue ran along my neck. My shoulders tensed, but he was too drunk to notice my disdain.
“Whatever you want, Diamond.”
His words were slurred. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, cursing myself for ever choosing that name.
After I slammed back two straight shots of vodka, I finally allowed Mills to take my hand and lead me out of the bar.
The bright afternoon sunshine blinded me as soon as we stepped outside. I squeezed my eyes closed to give myself time to adjust to the piercing sky, but then stumbled on my high heels.
“C’mon, hooker,” Mills growled, pulling my elbow and walking faster. Spit flew from his mouth. I pulled back, wiping it off my face.
“Slow down, Mills.” I instantly knew it was a mistake to talk back to him. Not only did it turn him on when I argued, but it pissed him off, too.
He spun on me, letting go of my elbow, and I stumbled back a step. When I regained my balance, he was in my face and clutching at the waistband of my skirt. “You want me to take your pussy here on the streets for everyone to see?”
I hated him. I fucking hated the asshole in front of me. My cheeks burned with rage and my small hands
curled into fists. He noticed and grinned.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
I swallowed and remembered where I was. Black Death territory at the rally. No one would say anything if he actually followed through with what he threatened. Something rose up in me, though, and I was tired of acquiescing to all of their demands.
I may have been a whore and theirs to use however and whenever they wanted, but I was still a damn person and should have been treated with a modicum of respect. Never had I battled for it, and I didn’t know why I was choosing to do it now.
“You disgust me,” I growled in his face. Mills was large and sweaty. He towered over me with his lip curled in desire and anger. “And the only reason you have sex with me is because you know there’s no one else on the planet that would spread their legs for you…”
The back of his hand was on my cheekbone in a flash. Pain radiated from my cheek to my forehead and down to my chest. My feet collapsed from underneath me as I fell to the ground.
“Get up, you fucking whore!” He shouted it, but I could barely hear his voice over the ringing in my ears.
I licked my bottom lip and tasted blood, when suddenly I heard a female voice shouting my name.
“Faith!”
I closed my eyes and embarrassment flooded me, knowing Olivia had witnessed Mills smack the shit out of me. What would she think of me now?
I sunk onto my ass on the concrete and took deep breaths, but nothing stopped the pain from pulsating all over my cheek. I smelled and felt blood dripping down my cheek.
I saw her footsteps quickly approach us and she stopped right in front of me and Mills. I wanted to tell her to run away before he hit her too, but my jaw hurt too much to open. Damn it. Did he break my jaw?
“What in the hell is wrong with you? You don’t hit a fucking woman, damn it!” Olivia shouted at Mills as if he couldn’t crush her under his boot in a second. I wanted to smile, but damn, the pain. Black dots swam in my vision.
