by Max Henry
“I won’t let that happen again,” he promises. “I’ll get us away from here.”
The comparison, the similarity, and the creeping sense of déjà vu are too much. I stand abruptly and inadvertently pull both of their attentions toward me.
“Elena?” Maria turns to console me, but I back away.
“No. I need to be alone.” Her exasperated sigh is audible behind me as I bolt from the galley and run toward my room.
I miss King. I need King. My world is a waking nightmare, and I need his love to ground me and balance the hate that swirls through my soul. I hate Carlos. I hate what he’s done. And I hate myself for not being stronger to stop it. But even more, I hate the fact that I see us, King and I, in the way Sully comforted Maria. I’m jealous that she’ll probably have a happy ending with the man who loves her when I don’t think that kind of future will ever be a real option for me.
“Why the hurry?”
I skid to a halt at the base of the stairs and fight back the gag that clogs my throat when I see the pinkish stain left behind on the tiles by the quick cleanup job. “Let me be, please.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Carlos muses.
I spin around, using the banister to hold myself upright. The sight of him alone is enough to have me fighting the desire to crumple into a dry-retching heap. “Why?”
“Jesus, Elena. You think I’d let that bitch get one over on me by dying without giving me anything of use?”
“You have me,” I counter pathetically. “Is that not enough?”
“I said anything of use.” He waves a dismissive hand my way and bends at the waist to inspect the stain.
I could kick him in the face at this distance. “Do you have a heart?” I murmur.
He chuckles and straightens out to pin me with those stormy gray-blue irises. “I think I used to, but then again, it’s been a while since I truly cared about anything to remember how it feels, so I may be mistaken.”
“Does it make you feel good? Hurting people for your sick amusement?”
He shakes his head, jamming both hands in his pockets. “You misunderstand. I don’t do it because I like to hurt you. It’s not satisfying or fun, harming people in my life. It’s simply therapeutic.”
I cock an eyebrow at him, wondering how in the hell that’s supposed to make me feel any better about his disposition. “It’s still not okay.”
“No, it’s not.” He slams a closed fist to his chest. “But if my heart is this black and rotted, then why the fuck shouldn’t everyone else have to feel the same way?”
“You’re deflecting,” I whisper.
He nods. “Although it doesn’t seem to make the ache any lesser. It does, however, make it more bearable.” Carlos absently picks at a seam on his pant leg, frowning at whatever courses through his mind.
He’s crazy. There’s no other way to explain it. He thinks by making everyone around him suffer it somehow averages out his world so that his own pain doesn’t appear so bad. What the fuck has he got to hurt about? “I still don’t understand one thing, though,” I say.
“May as well ask me now,” he sneers, “since we’re having such a civil conversation for a change.”
I adjust the skewed scarf over my neck and ensure I stay front-on to him so any swell isn’t obvious. “What pain do you have to endure? You live in luxury, you rule with fear, and you get what you want when you want because you can pay for it to be that way. None of this looks like suffering to me.”
He surprises me by tugging up the legs of his suit pants and taking a seat on the second to last step. “The day I graduated as a police officer was the first real defining moment in my life.” He stares off at the closed front doors. “I wanted to be the good guy from as young as I can remember. I had this toy gun—you know the ones, made to look like a cowboy’s pistol with the wood handle and all.” He looks to me for understanding, so I nod. “I ran around the house and shot the imaginary bad guys with it, protected my parents and our two cats from harm. Thought I was the hero.”
What do I say? This man whom I’d love to watch bleed out before me opens up such an intimate side of him, and yet I can’t find it in me to feel any compassion toward the guy. I am, however, curious. “What changed?”
“The bad guys became real.”
“You’re one of them.”
He clears his throat and stands. “Yes, I am. As they say, if you can’t beat them, join them.”
Silence hangs thick, as does the next question. Asking him could spin this new side of his coin back over to angry and place me in harm’s way. But I need to know. “May I ask a personal question?”
He nods, apparently frustrated enough already to accept.
I swallow back the hesitancy and plunder straight in. “You said you loved your first wife before you shot her.” His face pales. “So why shoot her?”
Carlos runs a hand over the flattened hair at the back of his head as he answers, “I only wanted to scare her.”
“It was an accident?” I never would have picked that.
“I was high. I was angry and jealous. I thought she was going to leave me.”
“So you shot her?” I ask incredulously. I can’t hide the disbelief in my tone, the confusion. Hell of a way to put the frights up someone.
He sighs and paces to the far side of the entrance, his back to me for a while as he lets the silence hang between us. I pick up on every physical cue, every little nuance of his that he’s agitated. Good. For once, I have the man feeling uneasy, rather than the other way around.
“I wanted to hurt her bad enough she’d need me to care for her, that she’d need me to be her hero and save her from death. But she moved.” He hangs his head briefly. “She moved, I think to try and protect our son—so I wouldn’t know he was there.”
My disgust at the man eases a little. The monster has a heart after all—he’s just forgotten where he put it. “Your son saw?” I murmur.
He nods before spinning to face me with such speed that I lose my breath. “Enough chit-chat, precious.” His eyes are the color of the clouds before thunder. “Run on before I decide I need to remind myself why being the bad guy is so much better.”
EIGHT
King
Apprehension tickles my palms as I stare down at my full hands. My boots scuff on the concrete step. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. I’ve been out of play for several days; I’ve got no idea how she’ll take me just turning up like this, what the consequence will be.
The lock rattles on the far side of the door, and I stop shuffling my feet. Hinges creak as she opens up slowly to reveal a huge smile on her otherwise sad face.
“King . . .”
“Hey, Shanaya.”
Twig’s old lady steps back from the door, one of their girls attached to her hip, and ushers me in. “When I heard you were hurt too—”
“It doesn’t matter.” I set the bags of groceries down on the floor and nod toward them. “Just a few things to help out.”
She clucks her tongue as she fights tears. “He always spoke so highly of you.” Her chest heaves as she drags in a breath. “And I always agreed with him. You’re a good man.”
If only she knew. I ignore the lump that forms in my throat and focus on the golden-haired girl at my side as I step into the living room.
“Hi, King,” she says, whisper-soft. Big eyes look up at me while I stroke her hair back.
“Hey, baby girl.”
“Have you seen my daddy today?”
I whip my gaze to Shanaya and plead silently for help. She offers me a sad smile and beckons to her daughter. “How about I set you girls up on my bed with a movie? You can pick one each.”
The children sprint down the hallway, squealing about which Disney movie they’re going to select and who gets to play theirs first.
Nervous minutes pass where I wander aimlessly around the small room waiting on Shanaya to return. I pick up on all the subtle reminders of Twig: a belt buckle left beside a
new leather strap on the lamp table, photos of happier times in a frame by the door, and the TV remote still perched on the arm of his chair. His spare boots are tucked beside the front door, and his riding jacket still hangs on the hook behind it. Kind of reminds me of the awkward stretch after Garrett died when Mom wouldn’t shift any of his things that still lay about. I can’t imagine the pain that comes with physically removing the last pieces of a part of your life like that. I don’t think anyone would think any less of Shanaya if she simply let them be for a while longer.
She returns once the girls are settled and quietly comes to a stop beside me at the window. “They don’t understand. At least, I think they do, but they don’t want to allow themselves to believe it.”
“They’re young, so it must be hard to comprehend.”
She shakes her head. “They know death, King. We’ve lost pets and had to bury them. They know what ‘never coming back’ means. Hell, they learnt that when their biological father was 'taken care of'. They just innocently believed that their real dad—Twig—was invincible, that the rules didn’t apply to him.”
I draw a deep breath and search for the right words. There are none. Sometimes a spoken sentiment will do nothing but lessen the importance of a moment, only trivializing the wealth of emotion that surrounds something as tragic as the loss of a loved one. Nothing I can say will ever set this right. No reasoning will ever do the hurt justice.
“Beefy came to see me—he was the one who broke the news.”
I place an arm around her shoulders and pull her in.
“I knew it was bad, King. I knew it couldn’t be good because Beefy’s never left the club in the time I’ve known him except to get more food.” She snorts a laugh and then falls quiet with a sigh.
“I’m sorry it wasn’t me who told you, Shay. I should have come straight over.”
She shakes her head against the side of my chest. “No, don’t be silly. You had issues of your own to sort out.”
I glance down at her, wondering just how far the rumors about a mystery girl and me have spread.
“How are the wounds?” Shanaya steps out of my hold and heads toward the kitchen while she continues to talk. “If you need any painkillers, just let me know. Coffee? Beer?”
The distant sound of the fridge door opening and the muted tones that drift down the hall from the kids’ movie break the otherwise peaceful afternoon. The sun peeks through the clouds and illuminates a patch on the driveway out front . . . the same spot where Twig would always park his bike. I smile up at the clouds, certain he’s watching over his family, wherever he is.
“Did you want a drink?”
Shanaya’s question startles me out of my reminiscent state. I turn my head and take her in as she peers around the doorway, her hand braced on the frame and her cheek rested against the wood. Aside from the tiredness in her eyes, there’s no trace that this woman has just been put through hell.
“I’m good, thanks. I’ll hit the road again soon. Just wanted to check in.”
She nods and turns away, disappearing across the hall once more. The club will take care of her; she’s one of our own. Most likely she’s already had the other old ladies stop by in rotation to see if she needs anything. And knowing what I do about her, she’ll turn them all away with pride in her voice and say she can do it alone.
I cross the hallway to let her know I’m heading out and hesitate when I hear the quiet sniffles drift out from the kitchen. Shanaya sits with her back to the door, the decorative slashes in her T-shirt exposing the large, colorful back piece Twig bought her for Christmas. Her shoulders are hunched, and she clutches a hand to her mouth as she quietly sobs.
I should say something. I should also leave her in peace. If she wanted my comfort she wouldn’t have hidden herself away. But that’s just it, isn’t it? The people who are the most broken are usually the best at hiding it for fear they’ll upset the people around them. She’s trying to be strong all the time, but everybody needs to fall apart a little every now and then. It’s what makes us human—the ability to be brave enough to show our weaknesses. And yet human nature is also to fight it, to pretend we’re unaffected by tragedy and heartache.
“Would you like me to stay a while longer and watch the girls?” Things at the club aren’t exactly rocketing along for me to get to Elena any time soon, and I haven’t heard back from Sully or her with information on how we can pull this off, either. I’ve got a little time.
Shanaya’s head whips around, and she wipes madly at the moisture beneath her eyes as she lets out a lifeless laugh. “I’m sorry, I just needed a moment.”
“No need to apologize.”
She sighs and slips off the stool, walking across to fuss with the utensils beside the cooktop. “I was supposed to have what I wanted on his headstone to the funeral home by this afternoon, but I can’t sum him up in a few words.”
“Then don’t.” I take her vacated seat and lean both elbows on the island. “Make the message one to him, instead of to the world. Don’t tell whoever is reading the epitaph about him—tell us what you would say to him if you were given one last chance.”
She stares at me a beat, and then nods as she blinks rapidly. “I can do that.”
I watch as Shanaya whips around the room to gather up a pen and paper, and scribbles down a few frantic lines. She chews on the end of the ballpoint, scratches out words, and draws lines to reorder the sentences before she re-writes the final message and passes it over.
My chest tightens at the honor of being shown the words poured from her heart, at the sentiment behind them. She watches with her bottom lip pinched between her teeth while I bow my head and begin to read.
You told me after every dark night comes a dawn,
But without your light I’ll forever stand in the shadows.
Her honest words slice straight through me. None of this is fair. Before me stands a woman, a mother, who’s lost her soul mate for something as fucking trivial as a turf war. All the Eagles want is our territory, and in the process they’ve taken a man from his family, torn the lives of the innocent apart.
Nothing can justify that loss. Fuck pride, fuck loyalty, and fuck bragging rights—this bullshit has to stop.
I slip the paper back over before my rage gets the better of me and I crumple it in my fist. “It’s beautiful, Shay.”
She nods, her eyes glassy as tears drop from her jaw to the faded cotton of her shirt. “Thank you.”
With my arms outstretched, I usher her in for a hug. She wraps herself about me and buries her head under my chin. “You need anything, no matter what time of day it is, you just call. Got it?”
She nods while her tears wet the front of my shirt.
“I mean it. Even if it’s two in the morning and the kids wake up with a nightmare that you can’t handle, you call. You might be in the shadows, but the sun still shines.”
NINE
Elena
The water is warm as I glide on my back, my arms circling every so often to keep me afloat in the pool while I look for patterns in the clouds. The weightlessness is heaven on my increasingly sore feet; who would have thought an extra pound or two could cause so much discomfort. The pamphlets the doc left me have been my saving grace, teaching me all the nuances about pregnancy I didn’t know. I don’t dare use the Internet for fear Carlos will see my browsing history.
That’s one conversation I’ll never be ready to have.
“Elena.”
I roll my head to the left. Water blocks my ear and makes my hearing cloudy as Sully comes to a stop beside the pool.
“Thought you’d like to know I’m taking the tyrant out for a while.”
“Thank you.” I drop my legs and tread water until I float across to the shallower end. “How long do you think?”
“Destination is forty minutes away, so you’ll probably have an hour and a half at minimum.”
Just the thought of being able to walk through the house without the need to keep o
n alert for Carlos is enough to have my muscles relaxing. Living in a state of constant fear does a number on my joints, that’s for sure.
Sully holds out a towel as I take the curved steps in the corner of the pool. I wrap it around myself, and then reach for my sunhat and book.
“Use the time to pack what you want to take with you,” he says. “I have a plan.”
His eyes are sincere; the slight frown on his forehead gives away his concern at the idea. “When?”
“Tonight.”
“How?” I roam my gaze over the house, across the large windows. Regardless, we’re on camera so I can’t let this conversation last too long without it looking suspicious. “Follow me and talk.” I head for the house and leave wet prints on the bricks as I go.
“I’ve mapped the blind spots for the cameras. You can get out of the house undetected if you go down to the north wing.”
My skin chills despite the sun that’s emerged from behind the clouds. “That’s off-limits. It’s his ex-wife’s part of the house.”
“I know. But it’s your only way out without being picked up.”
“Why can’t we pretend we’re going shopping or something?”
Sully holds the door shut that leads inside and leans an arm over my shoulder to press against the frame. “If I can get you out and claim ignorance, I can stick around a little longer and see what he does once he realizes you’re gone. If we all go at once, we’re vulnerable, we won’t know what he’s doing to track you down.”
“What do you mean ‘all go?’ Are you taking Maria away from here too?”
He nods, eyeing the house and then the camera over our heads that points out to the courtyard. I realize we’re standing in one of the blind spots, being so close to the door.
“I’ve got an idea for us, but I’m more concerned with getting you and your precious cargo out first.”
“Why, Sully?” I love that he’s doing this for me, but why risk so much? I haven’t known him long.
“Because the things he does to you, the things he does to mess with Maria, nobody should be able to get away with that.” Sully closes his eyes briefly. “We need to keep walking, otherwise the lag between cameras will be noticeable.” He opens the door, ushering me through first, and then breaks in the opposite direction to me. “Ten p.m. Be in your room. Maria will come get you.”
