In love and ruins

by Rachael Tonks

  “I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but everything will work out.”

  “I just feel like I should be doing something. Anything. Instead I’m under house arrest and fearing for my own life. And yes, I know that it’s for my own protection, but I feel like I’m suffocating. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not the kind of girl to just sit and wait shit out. Never have been. Never will be.”

  “Nothing you can do or say will fix this. You have to let the guys do their thing.”

  “I know,” I choke out my lie. I don’t know that at all. In fact, I’m the only person that can sort out this shit. I just have to figure out how. Turning to face her, I can’t help but notice the pained look on her face.

  “Please don’t feel bad for me.” Walking over to her, I place the bottle on the floor and drop to my knees, taking her hands in mine. “I just need time. But tonight, I think I need to be alone…”

  “But, I want to help you. Be the friend you’ve been to me this whole time. You risked your life for me, Tara, and I would do the same for you in a heartbeat.”

  “Me needing time alone isn’t a reflection on our friendship. It’s me. I need time to get to grips with all the shit whirring around in my mind.”

  “Sure. I just don’t ever want you to feel alone. You always got me, you know that right?”

  Leaning up on my knees, I hug her tightly. “Love you, Iz,” I whisper as she holds me tightly against her.

  “We’re getting through this. Together. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Relaxing my hold on her, I lean back on my heels. “And Nate? What about him?” I fight back the need to sob.

  “I can’t make any promises about the two of you. But what I do know is this. If it’s meant to be, it will be. Might not be today, might not be tomorrow. Hell, it might take ten years. But if your hearts truly are connected, nothing will stop you two being together.”

  Squeezing my hand a little harder, she looks me dead in the eye. “Love and hope were all I had to cling onto during my time away from Brax. The one good thing that got me through all the hurt and torture were my memories of him.”

  “I never expected to feel like this about anyone, Izzy. I’ve always been so strong, so independent. I just can’t think or focus on anything but him. He’s all I see at night when I close my eyes. He’s all I can smell when I inhale. And I have no idea how to get through the day knowing I won’t be able to see him or touch his face.”

  “We’re going to help you all we can. I see the pain in your eyes every time you look at me. Not to mention the weight you’ve lost and those damn black circles under your eyes.”

  Exhaling a shaky breath, I chuckle. “I look a mess, right?”

  “Mess? No. Heartbroken? Yes.”

  “Hopefully this bad boy will help me sleep,” I say, lifting the bottle of bourbon and giving it a little shake, dropping down on the bed beside Izzy.

  “I’m going to leave you to sleep. I’m not far. Should you need anything just shout. But don’t drink too much, I’m not good with puke,” she warns, stepping up from the bed and crossing her arms.

  I laugh a little. “No puke. Got it.”

  Watching her leave, I dart off the bed and head over to the window. I can’t help but stare out at that beautiful view. But something I’d never noticed before catches my attention. Below the window is a roof. I dart out my tongue, wetting my suddenly dry lips as I contemplate my next move. I swiftly look over my shoulder to the door, checking no one has followed me before closing it as quietly as I can.

  Even though I know I shouldn’t, my mind is already made up.

  I have to see him.

  I have to see Nate.

  Now that I know the truth, I have to find a way for us to be together. We have to work this shit out. Doing it together gives us strength in numbers.

  I look around the room like a woman on a secret mission. Locating a chair in the corner, I grab it, wedging it under the door handle.

  If I’m going to do this, no one can know. I have to get there without alerting the damn security. Darting over to the window, I open it, craning my neck out, searching for options. The alcohol buzzes through my body and I don’t feel the chill of the night, even though I know I should. Pulling my head back inside, I stumble back, dropping my ass hard onto the bed. Inhaling a deep, shaky breath, I just know this is something I have to do. My fingers curl, gripping the sheet beneath them. For just a millisecond, I stop breathing and fear makes my heart thud. I know how dangerous this is. I’ve heard Brax tell me that I should be scared, and I am. Only the one thing I fear above all else is never feeling the way I did when I was with him. Nate. I drop my head, allowing my eyes to close, the sting of tears almost too much to bear. I always wondered what true love felt like. Sometimes, I would look around and wonder whether it really did exist, or whether it is just in our human nature to not want to be alone. That finding someone to spend the rest of your life with was less about love and more about tolerance.

  All of that changed when I met Nate. The bad boy with tattoos. The untouchable Savage. Son to the president of an MC gang that are feared by all and liked by none.

  I want to do this. I have to do this, despite how it scares me. I know it’s wrong, so damn wrong. But doing the wrong thing for the right reason seems like all I have left.

  If I’m going to do this, I need more Dutch courage. Grabbing the bottle, I unscrew the top, placing the bottle against my lips, gulping down more of the golden-colored liquor. Clenching my eyes, I try to ignore the burn as I swallow mouthful after mouthful.

  “Shit,” I grumble as the burn begins to sting and I can’t control the shudder that works through me. Replacing the cap, I drop the bottle to the floor before launching myself up from the bed. My legs feel shaky, but it must be the nerves. Grabbing my jacket, I lace my arms through the sleeves, pulling it on and reaching down trying to line the zip up. But I can’t seem to get it to slide in. I stamp my foot with frustration and blink rapidly as I try again. Finally, I get the zip to connect and pull it up to my chin. Lifting my hood, I secure it over my head while my less than cooperative eyes search the room trying to locate my car keys.

  Dammit.

  My eyes are blurry and I’m not sure I can drive like this.

  So, instead, I grab my purse, checking I have money and sliding in my cell phone before stepping closer to the window. Opening the window as wide as it will go, I step onto the windowsill, glancing down to see how far below the roof is. Trembling, I have to remind myself that I can do this. Of course I can do this. I’m Tara Mellano.

  Pushing back my shoulders, I grip onto the frame of the window, turning my body and allowing my legs to drop down. My grip weakens and I instinctively close my eyes as I can no longer hold on. I drop onto my ass, hitting the flat roof. “Ouch.” I whisper my grumble, using my hand to rub the part of my ass that took the brunt of the fall. Standing, I look up at the window I just climbed from, realizing that it wasn’t that big of a drop. Chuckling to myself, I step closer to the edge, looking at the ground below, only to stumble back when the view below seems to spin. Resting my hand on my forehead, I give myself a mental slap as I try to pull it together. Breathing, I check the other side, wondering if there is anything below I can drop onto, making it less of a fall. As I glance over the side, I see a huge black truck below. I’m not sure why it’s there, but it is and I’m taking full advantage of it. Sitting on the edge of the roof, I slowly lower myself down until my feet reach the roof of the truck. Despite the wobble, I manage to steady myself. With a quick look around, the coast seems clear before I step onto the hood of the truck and finally my feet meet with the ground. Slowly, I creep around the vehicle in search of the best way to get out of here unnoticed. Making my way to the side of the house, distant voices become clearer and louder as I do. Resting my back flat against the brick wall, I peer around the building. The men I saw earlier are still standing around smoking and chatting.

  Shit. />
  Resting my head back, I use my fingers to nervously tap the skin above my lip. Think, Tara. Think. There’s no way I’m getting out of the main gate, so I have to make it out some other way. As I look straight in front of me I know the answer is staring me in the face. The field beside me with small shrubs and trees leads to the main road where Isabelle’s mom’s house used to be. If I can get over the fence and walk far enough, it will eventually bring me out at the road.

  And that’s exactly what I do. I climb over the fence, dropping down at the other side and tiptoe through the dense grass. I’m not sure how long it takes or how far I walk, but eventually I make it out to the road. Pulling out my phone, I call for a cab as I continue down the road, staying close to the edge. Telling them where I am and asking them to hurry, I drop the phone back into my purse and charge forward. The last thing I want is for them to realize I’m gone and send out a search party.

  Not long after I called the cab, I notice lights approaching. Covering my eyes with my arm, I try to focus, despite the brightness of the oncoming lights. A lump forms in my throat as I hope this is the cab and no one else. The vehicle slows and as it stops beside me, the yellow cab comes into focus.

  Thank God.

  I let out a huge breath, grabbing the handle and yanking open the door. I drop into the back seat and look between the chairs to the driver.

  “Little late to be out here on your own, ain’t it?”

  “Thanks for coming so quickly,” I say, taking hold of the seatbelt and pulling it across my chest. I fumble with the buckle, trying to get it to clip in. My coordination seems to have gone to shit, and I can’t match the buckle to the clip.

  “Shit,” I grumble, letting out a growl of frustration.

  I hear the cab driver chuckle, and I look up, glaring at him.

  “Do you need a hand?” he asks sarcastically.

  “No,” I snap. “I’m fine, absolutely fine.”

  “Sure,” he drawls.

  “Listen, mister. Just drive the damn cab already,” I say, shaking my head, then finally managing to get it fastened.

  “Where to?”

  “Drop me at the end of Creek Road.”

  “The motorcycle club?” The guy’s face contorts and his eyes bulge a little. “You don’t look like the kind to go to a place like that.”

  “I wouldn’t be going there unless I had to.”

  “Me either,” the guy says with a lift of his brow. Putting the car in drive, we set off from the side of the road, making our way to the clubhouse. I can’t quite believe I’m doing this, but there’s no turning back now. Nate is my ride or die, and tonight, I’m going to let him know that we can get through this together.

  Nate

  Walking through the clubhouse and down to the studio, Emily chats away and I can’t help really liking her. For the first time in days, weeks even, I’ve found a distraction. Something to take away the dark thoughts, even if only temporarily.

  Unlocking the door, I hold it open, flicking on the light. The light flickers above and her gasps fill my senses.

  “Wow, so you really are an artist?” Her eyes scan the walls, my drawings framed and lining the wall. She steps down, eyes fixed on the wall full of art. She stops in front of a huge board with images of some of my finest designs and tattoos.

  “Yep, and those are all mine too.” I point to the photographs pinned on the board in front of her, sliding down and resting on the couch. I reach in my pocket, pulling out my smokes. Tipping the packet, I grab one with my teeth. “Smoke?” I offer, holding them out in front of her.

  “Thanks.” She turns, taking one and resting it against her lips. Getting up from the couch, I push my hand into my back pocket, retrieving my lighter. Flicking back the lid, I thrust my thumb over the wheel until the flame meets the end of my cigarette. Taking a quick drag, I hold it in my mouth while offering the flame to Emily. Leaning forward she lights her own cigarette and turns her back on me, her attention back on the images.

  “I don’t have a single tattoo,” she informs me. “Not that I don’t like them, I’ve just never gotten around to getting one.”

  I nod, watching as her focus flits between me and pictures on the wall.

  “I’m so grateful for what you are doing for me,” she murmurs. Her thumb works over her lip while she clutches the cigarette between her fingers. “Don’t know what I’d do right now if it wasn’t for you.”

  “You’d be screwing one of those fuckers back in there,” I say with a jab of my thumb.

  “True.” She lifts her brows, a shudder visible.

  “What happened to you, Emily? What happened in your life to make you think the MC lifestyle was for you? Don’t you have family? Friends?”

  “I’m a traveler. Born and raised. My parents and I would move around from state to state, and I never settled long enough to make friends. My ma would homeschool me the best she could, but I never really did the high school thing. I’d make friends occasionally when we would stay in the same place for a few weeks, but we never stayed anywhere for very long.”

  “Where are your parents now?” I ask, taking a drag of my cigarette.

  “They’re dead,” she replies quietly and I almost drop the grip on my smoke.

  “Shit, I’m sorry,” I rush out, furrowing my brow.

  “Road traffic accident. Lost 'em both when I was just fifteen. And I had nobody. No options. Even the damn trailer was a wreck. I had no choice but to sleep on the streets, working odd jobs to keep food in my belly and the occasional night staying somewhere warm and dry.”

  I study her for a second, suddenly understanding why this is all so attractive to her. She literally has nothing and no one.

  “Makes sense.”

  “What does?” she questions.

  “Why this dump seems so attractive to you.”

  “Ozzie promised me somewhere to live. Told me that you guys would accept me with open arms and help me out. I guess you could say I sold out to the devil.”

  “He brought you here under false pretenses. Shame on him.” I make a mental note to speak to the fucker. My father may have very few morals, but that shit doesn’t wash with me.

  “I’m scared, Nate,” she chokes out. I walk over to the small door beside the garage door, unlocking it and tossing out my smoke.

  I shake my head. “Don’t be. We stick together and I think we’ll be okay.”

  She reaches out, squeezing my hand once as if to show her agreement. I nod lightly, dropping back on the couch. Emily walks over to the door, throwing her cigarette out of the door too.

  “So…” she states with a clap of her hands. “What does it take to get a tattoo from the great Nate Jeffries, huh?” Hands together she tilts her head, eyes hard and focused on me. “Because you know I have no money, right?” A thin smile dresses her lips and her expectant eyes wait for my answer.

  “You have an idea of what you want?” I get up from the couch and stalk over to my desk, pulling open the drawer. Pulling out my tattoo gun I place it on the desk. I reach for my sketchbook and make my way back over to her. “You tell me, and I’ll draw it up for you.”

  “What, now?” she gasps with excitement.

  “Sure,” I say with a loose lift of my shoulders.

  “That one,” she says animatedly. “I want that one.”

  My eyes focus on the sketch she points to. “It’s so beautiful,” she says with a clap of her hands. Excitement radiates from her and I can’t help the smile that twitches at the corner of my mouth. I reach up, grabbing the frame. I quickly remove the sketch and start to trace over it.

  “Good choice,” I remark as I work the image onto the transfer paper.

  “She is so beautiful.”

  I nod in agreement. Even though the sketch of this woman depicts her crying, she is beyond beautiful. Roses surround the woman in the image, her hair long, cascading down the side of her face. The top of her hair shows a braid with woven flowers.

  “What drew you
to this image?” I ask out of morbid curiosity.

  “Reminds me of myself. She looks broken, but like she won’t give up. Just like me, I guess.”

  Lifting my eyes, I flash her a smile.

  “What made you draw this? Is it based on someone you know?”

  “Not at all,” I mumble. “Created from in here.” I use my finger to point to my head.

  “Impressive,” she says with pursed lips.

  “So, where’s it going?” I ask, continuing to trace over the outline of the image onto the carbon paper.

  I hear the rustle of clothes and flick my gaze to her. She’s removed her top completely and stands with her hands on her hips wearing nothing but her bra. “Just here I thought.” She points to the area just under arm and down to her waist.

  “Sure, if that’s where you want it,” I say, turning my attention back to the transfer.

  It only takes about twenty minutes before I’m ready to get started. Positioning her on the couch, I pull on my gloves, using disinfectant across the area she has chosen for her tattoo. Grabbing the sterile packets from the cabinet, I take out the new ink cups, filling them with the colors needed for the image. I unwrap the sterile needle, attaching it to Dora. Dora is the name I gave to my machine when I got it.

  “Are you ready?” I ask as she lies on the couch and I slowly place the transfer against her skin. I press down gently, rubbing over and over. Peeling back the paper, I inspect the placement.

  “Stand,” I order, wanting to make sure the position is exactly right. “Go check in the mirror,” I tell her with a flick of my head.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Go look,” I say authoritatively. “I ain’t doing it until you have looked and are a hundred percent happy with it.”

  “You always this bossy?”

  “Maybe,” I say with a roll of my eyes.

  Darting her tongue out at me, she turns and steps toward the full-length mirror just beside the door.

  “Oh, Nate. I love it already,” she coos, stepping back over to me.