Thorn (Carter Kids #2)

by Chloe Walsh

  Did he go down for me?

  Did he hate me?

  “I HAVE A MESSAGE FOR YOU,” Angelo Javi announced when he walked into shower room, flanked by his goons. “From JD Dennis.”

  “Tell that asshole that if he wants me I’m right here,” I shot back, not taking my eyes off him. Anxiety churned inside me as I watched them approach. My hands balled into fists on their own accord. “Come and fucking do his own dirty work.”

  “He wants you to know that he hasn’t forgotten about you,” he taunted, closing the gap between us, surrounding me. “He wants you to know that if it takes him all the days of his life, he will find a way to make you pay for what you did.”

  “Like I said,” I snarled. “You can tell that piece of shit that I’m right fucking here, Chico.”

  “This is for my brother,” Javi hissed seconds before ramming the blade into my side. Collapsing on the ground, I fought to drag air into my lungs as his two little helpers held me down. “And consider this a little sample,” he added before stabbing me again, “of what you have to look forward to on the outside – if you live long enough to make it out of here.”

  Crouching down beside me, Javi slapped a folded up piece of paper on my chest and smirked. “Your fate is sealed, Messina.”

  Laying on my bunk hours later, stitched up and bandaged, I was still clutching the note smeared with my own blood. As I held the piece of paper in front of my face, I wasn’t dumb enough that I couldn’t make out what the two words were – or what they meant.

  I’m coming.

  It was inevitable that JD would try and get me for my part in the Ring of Fire being taken down. A criminal mob prince was bound to have contacts in low places, and Angelo Javi was the perfect messenger boy because he wanted the same thing JD wanted.

  My blood.

  To be honest, I didn’t blame Angelo Javi for stabbing me. His brother spent six months pissing through a tube because of me, and I wasn’t even badly hurt – just a couple of nicks in the side less than two inches deep. In a sick way I could respect the man for what he’d done. If the shoe was on the other foot, and he had done what I did to Low, Cam, or Colt, I would have reacted exactly the same. Except I would have done a better fucking job than he had. I would have put him in a body bag.

  But I would be a liar if I said JD’s note didn’t unsettle me, and I would be an absolute fool to believe the guy didn’t blame me for his father’s death and the demise of their family business. JD was weak now but he wouldn’t always be and knowing he was out there somewhere made me, for the first time, thank god that Thorn was an ocean away.

  I might not be free of him, but she was, and that was music to my ears.

  Thinking of Thorn caused the burning pain in my side to spread to my chest.

  Deep down inside, I’d known she wouldn’t come to me; she wouldn’t call, and she wouldn’t care. But there was this tiny glimmer of hope that wouldn’t fade no matter how much time passed, or how badly she let me down. She had burst into my world and thrown it upside down, ruining everything, and making it right all at once.

  Disappointment bloomed inside of me. Getting stabbed was the sign I had been waiting for, and now I had to accept the fact that it was over.

  She wasn’t coming back.

  She didn’t want me.

  My Thorn was gone.

  And I was fucking hemorrhaging from the inside out.

  THERE WEREN’T MANY THINGS I had done in my lifetime that I regretted.

  I was a live in the moment kind of person.

  I was passionate and let my emotions guide me through my life.

  I didn’t do regrets – I never had.

  But not going to Noah that night, leaving him alone to deal with his injuries, well, I regretted that.

  I called the prison the night I found out, but that had proved fruitless. I wasn’t told a damn thing about him, which I had expected to happen anyway. I wanted to see him, no one would ever realize how badly I wanted to see that boy, but how could I show up after a year of no contact? And what if he refused to see me?

  Oh god, my mind was a mess, obsessing and freaking out over the potential possibilities – working myself up about conversations that hadn’t taken place.

  If he had just listened to me that night. If he had trusted me and come away with me then none of this would be happening now. He wouldn’t have cheated, he wouldn’t be in prison, and I wouldn’t be driving myself out of my mind worrying about him.

  But he didn’t listen to me that night.

  He didn’t trust me.

  And now I was stuck.

  Trapped in his love.

  Lost in my misery.

  I couldn’t get past it.

  I NEVER HAD A STABLE HOME LIFE AS A KID.

  My parents were a goddamn disaster and, in many ways, had steered me in the direction of prison life from the day I was born. Every bad thing I had ever done was both for and because of them. I had never really had a chance at normality.

  I couldn’t read for shit because I had missed a lot of school growing up. I wasn’t even sent to a mainstream school until I was seven, and even then we had moved around so much I never really got a chance to settle down anywhere – not that my folks gave a damn about that.

  They weren’t concerned with what I could do with my mind, only what I could do with my fists. I remembered the first time I stood in a ring. I was six and up against a boy who was nine. That kid beat me so badly that I cried. I had quickly learned that showing weakness was a mistake and, after taking my beaten from my father, I had been tossed back into the ring and told fight or die.

  Fight or die.

  Three words that had been my bedtime prayers.

  After that day I never cried again. I toughened up. I stopped feeling.

  But I knew I had one reason to thank my parents.

  Their fucked-upness kept me clean.

  Experiencing what I had growing up was the reason I was able to keep my head clear in this place. Drugs were as easy to come by as a glass of water, and I’d be a goddamn liar if I said I wasn’t tempted.

  Fuck, I wanted to forget about shit, just like every other asshole in this place, but I wanted to not be like my parents that much more.

  So I used my best attribute and hit the weight room as hard as I could every spare chance I got; fucking working myself to the goddamn bone.

  I accepted every fight I was challenged to in here, and I destroyed every single opponent. I was ruthless because I feared nothing, and I was unbeatable because I had nothing to lose.

  Losing didn’t matter to me.

  Dying meant even less.

  Whoever took me on would have to put me in a body bag, or quit like a bitch because I felt no pain and I showed no remorse.

  I’d had more fights in the last two years than I could remember – broken more bones and spilled more blood – and it did absolutely nothing to stem the anger inside of me.

  Anger at being abandoned.

  Fucking hatred at being let down by the one person I had put my trust in.

  Thorn…

  Some nights, I forced my mind to pretend that she had never existed in the first place. It was just easier to live in denial than to live with the fucking betrayal, hurt and goddamn torture of it all.

  But then there were other nights.

  Nights when I dreamed about kissing my girl; of feeling her body against mine, flesh against flesh, no barriers. Those nights the memories of being inside her kept me company. Thoughts of Thorn, naked and spread open beneath me, kept me company at night.

  Fisting my dick, I would envision fucking her in every orifice in her body every night from my jail cell. Trapped in the silence, I would mentally paint her image on the ceiling of my cell.

  Her hazel eyes.

  Those plump fleshy lips.

  That long blonde hair I fucking adored, and her sassy spirit.

  There was a time I would have done pretty much anything for that girl. Anything. I would ha
ve torn the skin off another man’s flesh just to keep her safe. But she betrayed me in the worst fucking way – abandoning me when I needed her most.

  It wasn’t like I wasn’t used to being let down and betrayed.

  I was.

  Hell, my whole life consisted of disappointment after disappointment, but with Teagan, I always knew deep down in my bones that I had found something different – special.

  Something permanent.

  She was the polar opposite of every woman I had ever known. She never wanted me for my dick, or my fists, or the popularity that came from being with the local bad boy. Teagan had never been interested in any of that shit. She saw through it – she saw the real me.

  That’s why it hurt so fucking bad. I swear to god, nothing had ever hurt me like she had.

  Now my anger was all I had.

  My anger and my thirst for revenge.

  “YOU ARE MOVING FUCKING MOUNTAINS in this place, Messina,” Lucky announced later that afternoon when he sauntered into our cell.

  Walking over to where I was lying on my bed, he slipped his hand into his pants before tossing half a dozen packs of cigarettes on my lap. “You did some number on Campbell,” he said, grinning. “Poor fucker’s still pissing blood.”

  “He needs to learn how to rein in his emotions,” I told my cellmate. “The guy fights with his feelings. That’s never a good thing.”

  “It’s a good thing for us,” Lucky shot back with a shit-eating grin on his face as he crouched down and pulled the small bottle of amber liquid out of his sock. “It’s a fucking great thing for us.”

  “I’ll be in the weight room,” I told him, refusing the bottle when Lucky offered me a sip. Grabbing the packets, I shoved them into the hole in the side of my mattress before climbing to my feet and heading down the corridor to the only release I needed.

  “YOU SAID IN,” NOAH WHISPERED as he held himself above me, smiling down at me. “You said you’re in love with me.”

  My cheeks reddened. “Yeah, so?”

  “That’s the most important word.” Noah bent his head and pressed his lips to mine. “And for what it’s worth, my in belongs to you,” he whispered.

  “It does?” I asked, barely breathing as my heart hammered in my chest.

  “Of course.” Noah scorched me with a kiss that ignited a fire that burned a hole right through the center of my heart. “You’re my Thorn,” he rasped between kisses. “If you leave me, I’ll bleed out.”

  We were lying on my bed in Uncle Max’s house. Noah had his arm wrapped around my shoulders and I had never felt so safe.

  Twisting onto my side, I curled into him and smiled. “I’m glad you feel that way,” I admitted, biting down on my lip to stop myself from grinning like a lunatic. I couldn’t help it. He made me that happy. The thuggish boy next door had well and truly won me over. I knew I would never be the same again. Noah Messina would forever own me. Heart and soul. “I want you to need me.” Stretching up, I pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “I want to be the one to make you fall apart – to make that hard exterior crack clean open.”

  “Mission accomplished,” he rasped, cupping my cheek. Using his free hand, he dragged me on top of him. “You own me,” he added, kissing me again. “What are you going to do with me?”

  “Keep you forever,” I whispered against his lips…

  Beep…beep…beep…

  The shrill sound woke me from the best dream I’d had in months and I could have cried. Stretching out in my bed, I curled and uncurled my toes before reaching underneath my pillow for my phone. “What the heck,” I croaked out, voice thick and sleepy when I checked my screen to see who was calling.

  Holding my phone between my ear and shoulder, I covered my mouth to stifle a yawn. “It’s like…” I glanced briefly at the screen of my phone. “Half past one in the morning, Sean, come on.”

  He was always doing this. Phoning me at outrageous times of the night even though he lived on the floor below us.

  Sean Hennessy and I had struck up a conversation one day when we were passing in the hallway, and in the two months that had passed since he had moved into our building, I had come to know him as very lovable – and very gay. Sean had stepped in as a sort of surrogate Hope for me. Ever since she hit the NYT bestsellers list with one of her books last year, she had been hitting the town hard on the weekends, partying with the newfound friends she had found since hitting the big time and drinking her memories away. During the week she still barely left her room.

  Sean was fun, and I needed that in my life.

  The night I discovered his sexual preference – during an extremely clumsy and surprisingly amatory game of charades on my birthday – I had rushed upstairs to my apartment to drown my sorrows with three bottles of wine and an entire box of After Eights. Not that I would ever admit it, not to a soul.

  I had been trying to force myself to move on from Noah. I was feeling so lonely and in my drunken state I had thought Sean to be the perfect candidate. He was the polar opposite of Noah – thin, with baby blue eyes and choppy light brown hair, happy and outgoing. Where Noah was a fighter, Sean was a hairdresser. It should have worked. But it didn’t because I wasn’t over Noah and Sean preferred male company.

  Ugh, the shame of forcing myself upon my gorgeously gay neighbor would forever haunt me. My heart still hurt a little at the memory…

  “Time for you to get your skinny ass out of bed,” I heard Sean chuckle down the line. “I’m outside, babe, and I come bearing gifts of the Foxy Dan kind.”

  “It better be some good whiskey,” I grumbled, throwing the covers off my legs, and climbing to my feet.

  “You’re looking a little flushed there, Teegs,” Sean announced, studying my face with his brows furrowed, when I let him inside. “Have you got a fella hiding in your room that I don’t know about?”

  “Oh yeah,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “He’s hiding in the closet right now.” Grabbing the bottle of Jameson out of his hand, I made my way over to the couch, curling up in a ball as I unscrewed the cap and swallowed a mouthful of whiskey. “I’m all alone, Sean,” I told him after I forced down the alcohol, grimacing as it burned my throat. “Same as always.”

  “Babe,” he replied sadly. Sinking down on the couch beside me, he patted my thigh. “Come on.”

  “It’s true,” I hiccupped, handing him the bottle. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a man anymore.”

  “Well that makes two of us.” Sean slumped back and took a deep draw from the bottle. “I’m going through a serious dry spell, Teagan. Six months.”

  “Ha,” I grumbled, not feeling one bit sorry for Sean. “That’s nothing.” If six months was classed as a dry spell then I was living in a drought. “Try going without any for two years and then come back to me.”

  “You could always have Liam,” Sean offered after a moment before bursting out laughing.

  “Funny,” I shot back crankily. “But no, thanks all the same.”

  “Why not?” Twisting on the couch, he faced me. “He’s crazy about you, Teagan – always has been by the sounds of it. And you two had that thing back in secondary school.”

  “Liam and I are just friends,” I declared, flustered at the thought of being anything more than that. “Seriously, Sean,” I said crossly when he waggled his eyebrows at me. “We are just friends.”

  “Then you might want to tell him that,” Sean scoffed. “That guy has a soft spot for you.”

  “No he doesn’t,” I grumbled, not liking where this conversation was going. “Can we change the subject now? Please?”

  “Fine. Suit yourself,” he replied, holding his hands up in the air. “But I really think you ought to give the guy a chance.”

  “I can’t give Liam a chance, Sean, because I’m still not over the last guy I gave a chance to,” I snapped. “So just back off. Okay?”

  Sean’s mouth curved into a knowing smile. “So that’s it,” he whispered as if the whole world suddenly made perfect sen
se. “You’ve been burned.”

  “I guess if you call having your heart annihilated burned, then yes, I’ve been burned before,” I grumbled. “I’m still burning.”

  “Want to talk about it?” he asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Want to get drunk?”

  “Definitely.”

  AS TIME PASSED BY, and my heart grew harder, shriveled up and died in my chest, I allowed myself to forget all about JD Dennis and his threat that night. I knew he was still out there, somewhere, but I didn’t care. I had nothing left to lose. All I cared about now was fighting…well, fighting and the sadist sitting on the bunk in front of me.

  “Stop moving, man, fuck!” Lucky hissed, shoving me backwards with the palm of his hand.

  “I’m trying,” I hissed out through clenched teeth, as I wrapped my hands around the metal bunk and braced myself for the pain. “Fuck, Lucky, I thought you said you knew what you were doing?”

  “I do,” my one friend in this shit hole of a place replied as he inked the side of my ribcage. “So stop crying like a bitch and let the master work his magic.”

  “Look at me,” I snarled, clenching the bars of the bunk when it felt like he was going to cut through my ribs. “I’m fucking bleeding out here.”

  I wasn’t a stranger to pain, but letting Lucky tat me with his fucked up concoction of ink was almost unbearable. “Fuck!” I hissed, when he nicked me for what had to be the fiftieth time. Throwing an arm forward, I swiped the cigarette that was balancing between his lips, and put it to my mouth, inhaling deeply.

  “There,” he mumbled, “Done.”

  Inhaling one final drag, I passed Lucky his smoke and climbed off the bed. “Jesus Christ,” I growled, looking down at my tender, bloodstained skin. “You fucking butchered me, man.”

  “You wanted a thorn in your side, Messina,” Lucky drawled, leaning back from where he was perched on the bottom bunk. Chuckling, he admired his handiwork with a shit-eating grin on his face. “And it looks like you’ve got one.”