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by Chelsea Camaron

  Maybe it’s all too much. Maybe I just can’t process it anymore. Maybe I’m as cold-hearted as him.

  Instead of moving, I find myself stuck in place. On my knees, on the old linoleum floor, my mother’s blood saturating the denim of my jeans, I remain still.

  The copper stench in the air continues to grow as my father’s body empties so rapidly, his red blood now mixing with hers.

  Still, I remain unwavering.

  Lost.

  This moment in time, I can never have it back. The room spins as I search my mind, my soul for a happy time. Something that can make me feel.

  However, I am left empty.

  My parents lie bleeding and lifeless on the floor in front of me, and the relief I came here to find is not to be found. I wanted to know Tamalyn wasn’t on their radar. I wanted to have reassurance she left because she sought a change. I gave up everything for her to feel safe. I came here to make sure she was.

  The house phone rings loudly in the silence surrounding me. I make no move to answer it. I make no move to disengage myself from the death around me.

  The peace I thought I would find is not here.

  Instead, I’m in a black hole of nothingness.

  Chapter Four

  ~Tamalyn~

  “What’ll it be, Chip?” I ask the man who is a regular, sitting on bar stool three.

  Creekside Tavern is a rundown dive bar in the middle of a no name kind of town, as the people here like to call the place. It’s a rural development on the outskirts of Salt Lake City. In thirty minutes, you could be in the city, not that Salt Lake City is like other popular cities here in America. It’s full of shops, restaurants, the usual, but not the crazy crowded streets like New York City, Chicago, or New Orleans.

  Standing behind the bar, I refrain from leaning on it. The first night I was here, I learned it’s a sticky varnished piece of wood that no amount of sanitizer or even bleach can take the tacky off the top. After spending an entire shift feeling like I had something on my forearms from resting them on the bar, I don’t do that anymore.

  “Surprise me, Amanda.” He gives me his same wide grin with his missing canine tooth standing out to me.

  “Hmm … cranberry spritzer?” I joke.

  He laughs and grabs his chest in mock aghast. “Mandee, don’t break my heart, I’m a man’s man and need a man’s drink.”

  “Got it. Jack comin’ up,” I say, heading to my station to pour his drink.

  Amanda Horte, my name for this stay. As long as I can keep my life here, Amanda Horte I will be. Serving drinks with a smile as Mandee Sunshine, I will press on.

  I serve Chip just as the door opens and two men enter. This is not uncommon. The problem is these men tower over everyone in the space, and not just because they are tall, but the air about them. It’s more than confidence or even arrogance, it’s an all-consuming feeling.

  Men like this are trouble.

  I look over at Tommy, who is currently placing beers on a tray to serve two couples in the back.

  Tommy is the grandson to Benny, the owner of Creekside Tavern. He’s my height, and if I get real with myself, skinnier than me. The man seems to come to work dressed like a damn butler—dress pants, a button up shirt, black vest, and some frou-frou thing that’s not a tie, but puffs out under his chin.

  The bar has four people in the back—two women and two men—which is where Tommy is heading, while I have Chip on his bar stool and another regular, Willis, in the corner, half-blitzed.

  That’s it.

  We are seriously fucked.

  That’s my only thought as the two behemoth men plant themselves on stools in front of my station.

  “Hello, fellas, what’ll it be?” I ask, belatedly realizing my Carolina twang came out on the word fellas. I fight to keep the accent at bay.

  “Sexy, we’ll have whatever you got on tap,” the man with the deep chocolate eyes says.

  “Well”—I make an exaggerated look around— “we got no taps here.”

  Thank fuck we don’t have taps so I don’t need a bar back to change a keg. I’m not a large woman. In fact, my diet of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches does not help my situation. I burn more calories than I take in, so I am skinny. And no, not skinny in a hot chick way, but in the I-need-some-meat-on-my-bones, this-isn’t-healthy way. A girl must be smart, though, so I can make a loaf of bread and peanut butter last a lot longer than I can a steak dinner. My funds are not overflowing and my lifestyle gives me zero security, so this is how it is.

  My long blonde hair is stringy. It’s not terribly damaged looking, but healthy is not a way I would describe it, either.

  Again, it is what it is. I’m not here to impress anyone. Especially the macho men who have entered the bar.

  “Two bottles of whatever you have that’s ice cold, sugar. Startin’ a tab, so keep ’em comin’,” the other man states as he rolls his shoulders in his overpriced suit.

  Back at Haven’s Harbor, the kids used to love to group together and watch that wrestling on television. The one where they come down with lights and music, and dance around in a speedo and boots before they play a game of tap and tug that’s expertly choreographed.

  These men remind me of the men on that television show on their “draft” night. It was a big to-do of who would stay on which show. I wonder if the seams will bust in his overpriced suit if he stretches too fast.

  Pushing down all my thoughts and the way they seem to own their own space, I pop the tops off two cold twenty-twos and place them in front of the two men.

  “Deuce, deuce,” chocolate eyes says with a proud smile.

  “Figure a man of your size would want a big man’s beer.” I give him a wink.

  “Tis ’preciated,” he replies before taking a long pull.

  The men in suits, the slight southern drawl it makes me think of Tempest and her tweet. Is Bladen okay? Are these men here because of him? He has connections now, I know that. I miss him. With every ounce of my being, I miss the man who was always by my side.

  Using this as my cue to be free, I take a step back and grab a rag. Wiping the prep area, I stand in front of Chip while scanning the area. Still, the only patrons are the two couples in the back, Chip, Willis, and the tag-team champions.

  Tommy spends more time than usual with his customers in the back, which has me more on edge. Taking a moment to watch him, I wonder if these men are here for my boss’s son, since Tommy keeps glancing nervously at the bar.

  Seeing the two men get down to the last quarter of their beers, I pop the tops off two more and slide them over. As I take the old bottles away, Tommy takes the opportunity to suddenly scurry into the bathroom.

  Blowing out a breath, I move down the bar to the corner to check on Willis. I don’t have time or the energy to get caught up in whatever Tommy boy has gotten into.

  “You ready for me to call Louise to come get ya?” I ask the man as he finishes his scotch.

  “Reckin’ so, Mandee.”

  I smile softly at the old man, then step back to call his wife. They have been married for forty-seven years. Willis comes out six nights a week and drinks until his head gets heavy. We call his wife, and she picks him up with a somber face and a whispered apology.

  From what Benny told me, they had a son. Willis Jr. was the light of both Louise and Willis’s life. A year ago, their son lost his wife and child in a car accident. Unable to cope with the grief, he came home and lost it on his parents’ front porch. Things got physical to where Willis Jr. put his hands on Louise. Willis being the man he is stepped in to protect his wife.

  Killing his only son, even in self defense, … well, it’s not the father Willis is. He hasn’t had a sober night since. Louise carries her own guilt, and as a mother, she misses her son. Every night it’s the same thing, except Sundays. He drinks at home then because Louise has choir practice after Sunday night service at church and says she can’t be home to get the call. Since they are old and have no family left, they
don’t have cell phones.

  The way she cares for him tugs at my heartstrings. Knowing they are so torn up over things going wrong with their son, well, it makes me wonder how life can be so fucked up.

  How can two people with so much love lose everything?

  How can one son get so lost in his own grief he harms the woman who gave him life?

  Why, in this twist of fate, could I not have the kind of parents Willis and Louise were?

  What about me, what about Bladen, caused us to end up the children of monsters?

  Unfortunately, my attention being on Willis and his needs means I missed the tag-team boys heading out. Seeing the fifty-dollar bill on the bar, regardless of why they came here or why they left, I’m grateful they at least tip well.

  The night ends with no additional patrons, leaving my pockets light. Nevertheless, staying in Benny’s backyard shed, I can still get by.

  I make my way home with childish dreams of what could have been if I had been born anyone but Tamalyn Mary Andrews.

  Chapter Five

  ~Bladen~

  I hear the old door creak behind me, then the distinct noise of a hammer being cocked in the silence of death surrounding me.

  “Hands where I can see ’em!” Caleb Andrews roars.

  I do as instructed, raising them, but not turning around. “Kind of a coward to have a gun on my back instead of facing me like a man.”

  “The boy who runs off with my fuckin’ daughter wants to talk about being a coward?” he mocks.

  I rise and turn around, keeping my hands in the air, my clothes covered in blood making them as heavy as my heart.

  “I’m a boy no more. I’m here as a man.”

  He laughs in my face. “What, as judge, jury, and executioner?” His eyes go to my parents’ bodies.

  It’s my turn to laugh. “They call me Judge, but today, I was not their jury or executioner. The trash took care of itself. Now, for you, Caleb Andrews, I’ll gladly be yours.”

  He doesn’t move, and neither do I. Instead, we study each other. Caleb Andrews was never a tall man but the hunch to his shoulders tell the story of years of bad posture. The eyes of the monster are still the same only the wrinkles in his face tell a tale of worry and stress.

  “Motorcycle gang, Devil’s Due.” He smirks arrogantly. “Read your cut. This will be easy enough to explain. Found the outlaw just after he killed my partner and his wife. Took the shot. I’m the hero. But before all that, tell me, Bladen Jones, what the hell brought you home?”

  “I’m not part of a gang; I’m part of a club. I’m not your outlaw; I’m a nomad who walks a line.” Reaching down, I place my hands on the edges of my cut at my waistline. “No one percenter diamond here. So, let’s get a few things straight. I’m Judge to you and anyone else. Bladen left at eighteen with his woman and didn’t look back. I’m here because there is a threat to my woman I should have handled a long time ago. Promised my woman freedom, didn’t deliver then, here to deliver now.” Seeing the man in the flesh, nothing has changed. With the way he’s acting, while arrogant, he’s not a man with the upper-hand. Good fucking deal.

  He laughs in my face again, and the fury builds.

  “Where is Tamalyn these days?”

  I step forward; he steps back. Good, I have some power here.

  I shrug. “I’ll die before I tell you a single thing about her.” Not that I have much to tell anyway.

  “Well, how about I tell you a little about my daughter?” When he accentuates my, his tone is of dismay. I step forward; he doesn’t move back. “Haven’s Harbor was a smart move, Bladen.”

  My blood runs cold.

  “Only, before my guy could get to her, she ran. Took off in broad daylight and made enough changes in her route all we could figure was she went west. Lost her in Arizona. Figure you know that and it’s what brought you home. Couldn’t keep tabs on her just like me.”

  “I’m nothing like you.”

  I make no moves and show no emotion. Mentally, I make note she went west. That is a lead, but how does Caleb Andrews know all this?

  “You may not know how to track someone, but the cop in me does. Knew that shit with Ruthless was a ruse. Time wasn’t right to chase tips. Waited.” He tips his lips up in a coy smile. “Patient, Bladen, I’m a real patient man. Waited and found our lead. Tracked that sweet ass to Haven’s Harbor.”

  My gut churns, whereas the man laughs.

  “Venom, see that shit all over your face, boy. Know it, cuz I have it myself.” He never takes the gun off me, but I can be patient, too. “Well, seein’ as I got the gun and you’re alone, I think we got time for me to tell you a little story.”

  “Not interested,” I growl.

  “She’s not mine,” Caleb Andrews drops the bomb on me. “Tamalyn’s momma was a whore who cheated.”

  “Or maybe she knew love with someone else, but she was afraid of you, so she stayed in hell rather than find her happy.”

  “Love, that’s for fairy tales.” His jaw ticks. “Didn’t love the whore; loved her cunt. But, you see, God blessed me for bein’ patient. Tamalyn was a beautiful girl who grew into a woman. I had her first.”

  I freeze. Did he say what I think he said. I knew he beat on her, but this. This is a rage I’ve never felt. This is a disgust beyond all levels of disgust. I step forward, to which he shakes his head at me. I pause.

  “Sweetest cunt I ever had on my lips. You say Tamalyn’s your woman, but Bladen Jones, I had her first.”

  I don’t wait. I don’t care. I see red.

  Fucking red.

  Lunging, I hook a shoulder to his midsection and rush us both into the back of the entry door. The gun goes off and the ceiling takes the hit, pieces crumbling over us. I land a blow to his ribs, and the firearm drops to the ground.

  Pounding into him, I land blow after blow.

  He tries to swing into me, but I feel nothing.

  Physically numb, yet I let the rage consume me.

  Listening, I relish hearing every bone break.

  My knuckles burn as my skin busts open. Then I feel the liquid of my blood mix with his. Still, I continue my relentless pursuit.

  “Fuckin’ touched her!” I yell, my voice cracking with emotion.

  Sweat builds and covers my skin under my clothes as I pound away.

  The sick fuck smiles at me, blood covering his teeth. “Sweetest cunt, and so tight. My cock gets hard just remembering it.”

  Stepping back, I tower over him as he lies out flat on the floor.

  With my boot covered foot, I come down heel first on his crotch. He flinches in pain and grunts.

  “Worth it …” he chokes out, spitting blood.

  Lost, I stomp down on his face and keep going. Blow after blow, I don’t stop until he makes not a single sound. He’s unmoving, his face squished under my continued onslaught. Brain matter splatters the back of the door, the walls now covered in a mix of my blood and his, but I keep going on his lifeless body.

  The stench permeates the air of shit, bodily contents, and blood. I feel the bile rising.

  Stepping back, I see the man is unrecognizable.

  My mind goes back.

  Her hand slides up and down my cock.

  Fuck! I’m hard.

  Dropping her head to my neck, she bites.

  “Make it good, Bladen,” Tamalyn whispers before straddling me on the couch. In her sun dress, I feel the saturation of her panties against my basketball shorts.

  She grinds, and my eyes roll back in my head.

  “Gonna make me come just like this,” I moan as she crashes her lips to mine.

  Hungry. Needy.

  “Need to know it can be good,” she whispers as I slide my hand between us, two fingers sliding in.

  “Fuck those, Tama—” I groan, cutting myself off as she recklessly rides my fingers.

  Rolling my thumb, I find her clit and apply slight pressure as I slide a third finger inside her wet, slick heat.

  “Fu
ck my hand. Take it, baby,” I whisper, willing my cock not to explode inside my shorts.

  I imagine what she will feel like covering me, just as she finds her orgasm and clamps down on my digits before soaking my hand with her own juices.

  As the aftershocks come, I slide my fingers out, and she rests her head on my shoulder. Her heavy breathing hits my neck, and I realize she’s spent.

  “Need to know it’s good, just once, Bladen,” she whispers before climbing off me with a soft kiss.

  We didn’t have sex. I always got her off then stopped.

  Tamalyn Andrews has given me more blue balls than any man should ever have to endure. Her words never made sense before. They do now.

  I fucking failed her at every turn.

  Feeling that, I puke, emptying the contents of my stomach over the piece of shit that took it all from her.

  One word. If she would have given me his name, everything would have been different. He wouldn’t have taken things so far because I would have had what I needed to kill him back then. She never told me who did it. She never told me anything. I knew he beat her, I saw the marks, but this, I never imagined.

  “Sleep easy, Tamalyn. He can touch you no more,” I say before moving to the living room to catch my breath and figure out what the fuck I need to do next.

  The bodies are lining up, but I’m no closer to Tamalyn than I was two hours ago. At least she’s free from the past. I will rest easy knowing the devil has received his due.

  Looking toward the entryway and kitchen, I whisper, “See y’all in Hell.”

  And I will.

  Chapter Six

  ~Tamalyn~

  “You can run, but you can’t hide,” his voice mocks me.

  I’m in my mother’s closet. She left twenty minutes ago for the grocery store. That’s when he came home.

  “Tims,” he calls me by the nickname he always uses. It makes no sense to me, but it’s always how it’s been. “You gotta know, baby girl, I love when you play.”

  My stomach churns. I’m not playing. I hate him. I hate when he touches me. I hate it all.