Confessions (Tattoos & Tears Book 3)

by Amiee Louise

  “You’re in Boulder City, just outside Vegas. Good girl, that’s fantastic. I’m twenty minutes away at my house in Henderson. Sit tight, I’ll be as quick as I can, I promise you. I’ll break every speed limit to get to you, beaut.”

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  “Thank you so much, Remy”.

  “You haven’t got to thank me, I’ll always come to your rescue you know that? Regular superhero, that’s me. Just give me a phone box and call me Superman, minus the muscles!” he jokes, and I chuckle at his sense of humour. “I need you to stay out of sight for me, hang tight and I’ll be there as soon as I can, I promise.”

  I feel my heart beat quicken and try to choke back the sobs that are threatening to escape. As if Remy can read my mind.

  “Please try not to worry, beaut, everything’s going to be alright.”

  I smile to myself, at his pacifying tone.

  “How do you do that, Rem? How do you know exactly what I’m thinking?”

  He chuckles softly.

  “I’ll let you into a little secret, I’m psychic, shhh!” he jokes, and I laugh.

  “God, it’s so good to hear your voice, beaut, it’s been too long. Look, I have to go now. I promise I’ll be with you as soon as I can. Stay out of sight, stay out of trouble and please try not to bleed to death,” he says drolly.

  “Thank you so much, Rem.”

  He stops me.

  “Hey, none of that, everything's going to be alright. I’m hanging up now, sit tight, bye.”

  He hangs up the phone, and my shoulders sag with relief as I tuck myself in the tight space beneath the phone booth. The pain of my stab wound is apparent now, and I feel a sharp ache under my left shoulder blade. All I can concentrate on is my breathing. I am going to make it, and I am not going to die, not now, not anytime soon.

  I am not sure how much time passes, but I hear the slamming of a car door nearby and cross my fingers that it is Remy. The sun is just coming up, and I try to focus on my surroundings, but the pain has just become too much. I can’t focus on anything else but the pain, and my vision is foggy. In my peripheral vision, I see the outline of a tall, lean figure coming towards me. My heart beat starts to quicken, and as the figure gets closer, I recognise him. Remy. The sun is coming up behind him, and he looks like an ethereal being, an angel, my angel, my saviour.

  “Peyton?”

  That is when everything went black.

  ***

  The next thing I remember is just a muffled, distant conversation between two men.

  “I didn’t know she was pregnant, but I couldn’t just leave her out there to die, Colt. She needed my fucking help! We were close once. I took her V plates, and at one point, she was practically family.”

  There is a pause.

  “Don’t be a martyr, her face has been all over the god damn news for fuck's sake; she's on the front page of every newspaper! She’s a fucking murder victim, Logan. She needs to go to the goddamn police, and if you’re not going to do that, then you need to get her the hell out of dodge, as soon as possible. Take her to your place in Santa Monica and keep her out of sight, at least for the time being, until you figure out what to do and the heat dies down.”

  Remy chuckles softly.

  “All that time in the military has made you paranoid, brother. You need to bloody relax and unravel those panties of yours. Peyton came to me for help, and I intend to help her. I couldn’t just turn her away. What the fuck was I supposed to do, Colt?”

  The other man sighs, and I want to say something; I want to let them know I can hear every word they are saying, but my mouth refuses to co-operate with my foggy brain.

  “You know I’ll do anything to help you, Remy. You know I have your six, one million fucking per cent. I’ve stitched you up so many times after all those god damn bar fights you used to get yourself into, but you’re such a fucking sucker for a pretty face. Are you really ready to take in a girl you haven’t seen for years and be responsible for someone else’s kid?”

  There is a silence, and I don't hear Remy's answer, as the room plunges into darkness once again.

  ***

  I come around in unfamiliar surroundings. I open my eyes and look around.

  “Here she is. How are you feeling, beaut?”

  Remy strokes my hand, struggling to take in my surroundings in my disorientated state.

  “Remy, w…where am I?” I say with a panicked edge to my voice, and he strokes my knuckles softly, to reassure me.

  “You’re safe, shhh; you’re safe with me, I’m going to take care of you, and I won’t let anyone hurt you, I promise.”

  I go to sit up, but a shooting pain rips through my shoulder, and I cry out in pain.

  “Fuck, please try not to make any sudden movements’, beaut. You need to rest.”

  I look wide-eyed and panicked into Remy’s deep brown eyes. He takes my hand and strokes my knuckles soothingly.

  “Sh, sh, just rest, I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

  With those words, I am a slave to sleep once again, and when I finally come around for a second time, I feel a little more aware of my surroundings. I am in a small cosy, house, which feels and looks like a log cabin. It is warm and inviting, decorated in warm cream and taupe tones. Remy hands me a glass of water and sits next to my bed. I take a long welcome sip of water on my dry, scratchy throat. The cool liquid instantly makes me feel better. As I drain the contents of the glass, Remy begins to explain where I am and what happened.

  “You’re in my house in Henderson, I called in a favour from a friend, Colton Gray, he’s an ex-army medic. We attend a support group for wounded soldiers together. He’s a good friend, and I trust him implicitly. I called him as soon as I got off the phone to you and he came as soon as I asked him. No one else knows you’re here apart from me and Colt. I’m going to keep you safe, Peyton, you have my word.”

  The other man in the room steps forward, and I regard him intently. He is average height around five feet nine inches tall. He is lean but heavily built around his shoulders. He has light brown skin, green-grey eyes and black hair styled in a buzz cut. He is wearing khaki trousers, a grey t-shirt, and I can see an army tattoo poking out from the bottom of his sleeve.

  “Remy bought you back here a week ago, and I stitched you up. You and your baby, you’re both going to be just fine, Peyton. Your wrist is just badly bruised, not broken, and the stab wound was deep, but not life-threatening. You lost a lot of blood, but I did the best I could with the resources I had. I managed to stop the bleeding, and I gave you some pain relief. I also sedated you, so your body had time to properly heal.”

  I squeeze Remy’s hand, and that is when the tears finally start to fall. Remy climbs up on the bed and pulls me into his arms.

  “Shhh, I’ve got you, beaut, you’re safe now.”

  He strokes my hair, and I start to wonder if I ever will truly be safe.

  I have been lying with Remy for a while, content to feel the warmth and safety of his body next to me. When the sound of his voice rouses me from my sleepy state.

  “Do you want to tell me what happened, beaut? You’re all over the news.”

  I begin to tell him, briefly, what happened, and he gasps as I fill him in on the unbelievable events. He informs me that there was a DVD of me being killed, which was played at a Rancid Vengeance gig in Las Vegas, and the police are looking for my body. I give a sharp intake of breath at his revelation and the recording J.D made seems to make a lot more sense now. Remy resumes his gentle stroking of my hair, instantly relaxing me.

  “I have a place in Santa Monica, I’m going to take you there to recover. You can stay with me for as long as you need to in my house, and I’ll take care of you, I promise. Money isn’t an issue. I know people who can make Peyton Harper disappear; I can pull a few strings and make a few calls. I’ve got contacts; I can get you a brand-new identity, find you a job, and you can start fresh again… If that’s what you want.”
<
br />   As Remy says those words, I start to wonder if all this is possible. A new start somewhere new. I can build a life for my baby and me. I find myself agreeing all too easily to the American dream.

  27

  Peyton

  Present

  I feel myself trembling uncontrollably at the unwelcome thoughts of what I endured at the hands of J.D. I start to wonder how things could have turned out so different. I could have died.

  “Fuck me, sweets, you’re trembling.”

  Brody takes both of my hands in both of his, and the warmth of his touch strangely soothes me.

  “I’m so fucking sorry, sweets. I shouldn’t have asked, it’s not my business.”

  I look up at him with glazed eyes and shake my head.

  “No, it's fine. I was fucking terrified that J.D would find us; I had to stay hidden, Brody, and I had to keep my baby safe. He had to believe that he had succeeded in killing me, or he would have come back to finish the job, I know he would. You don’t understand what he was like, but if I could have done things differently, I would have in a heartbeat.”

  My trembling voice betrays me, and he squeezes my hands.

  “He can’t hurt you anymore, prison is too good for that motherfucker, and I hope he fucking dies a painful death. The night...that night...at the gig in Vegas, there was a v...”

  His voice is trembling, and I stop him, finishing his sentence for him.

  “A video, yeah I know I’ve seen it, babe. It was all over the internet for months. I watched that fucking video over and over again.”

  My voice is small, and Brody moves his hands up to my face.

  “Look at me and fucking listen, sweets. None of this is your fault. Sam is a stubborn fucker, but even he knows that none of this is down to you. He might be a fucking dick sometimes, but he’s definitely not an idiot. You just did what you thought was right. You’re not a bad person, babe; surely you have to know that?”

  With Brody’s words, I can’t stop the tears that fall down my cheeks. Brody comes around to my side of the table, and he pulls me into his arms.

  “Shhh, you’re safe now, sweets, I’ve got you.”

  As Brody's hands roam soothingly up and down my back. I sense a presence behind us, and something tells me that it isn't Sam. Brody must sense it too, as I feel him tense.

  "Now is not a good fucking time, dude," he says softly against my hair.

  "I just need five minutes with Peyton to say my bit, that's all. There's no need to get all protective, man."

  I recognise the voice as Jax. Shit, Brody pulls away from our embrace and kisses me gently on the forehead.

  "Are you going to be ok? Yell if you need me, sweets? I’ll be just outside the door."

  He winks reassuringly, and I nod as he strides out of the canteen. The earlier crowd seems to have dispersed, leaving Jax and me alone. The only sound is the clanking of plates and cutlery coming from the kitchen. He runs his hand through his long blonde hair and tucks his hands in his pockets.

  "Answer me one question, why the fuck did you come back?" he says tersely, and I shiver involuntarily at his frosty tone.

  "I had to make sure Sam was all right, I never stopped caring about him, surely you have to know that? I saw what happened on the news. When I heard he had been stabbed, it bought back...terrible memories for me."

  I swallow back the lump in my throat, as Jax chuckles bitterly.

  "Bought back terrible memories for you? Fuck me, Peyton, I found my best friend lying in a pool of his own blood, unconscious after he slashed his own wrists and took a fucking overdose. I thought he was fucking dead! So, don't you dare fucking give me that bullshit, I still have nightmares. It terrified the living shit out of me, the blood, the noise he made before I booted the door down, that will stay with me for the rest of my fucking life. And all that? It's on you," he spits harshly.

  My stomach drops as I process his words, and I feel my heart slam violently against my rib cage. I feel the colour drain from my cheeks, and I feel like I have been punched in the gut. I can’t breathe.

  Sam tried to take his own life, because of me? Oh my God, he’s right, all this is my fault.

  Bile rises in my throat, and I start to sob.

  "I'm...I'm..."

  He smiles coldly.

  "Let me guess, you're sorry? Fucking save it, sorry doesn't make up for the fact you stayed away and hid like a fucking coward. We would have protected you; we could have kept you safe! You were like a Goddamn sister to all of us, and we were like family! Sorry doesn't make up for the fact that my girlfriend, the girl who you called your sister, cried herself to sleep night after night because she’d lost the one person who knew her better than she knew herself.”

  I swipe my tears away angrily.

  “Sam, my best friend, my fucking brother, tried to take his own life because you were a cold, heartless, selfish bitch!" he shouts, and it makes me sob harder because everything he says is true.

  "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I sob.

  "The ambulance men said he was so fucking lucky to be alive; he missed severing his main artery by a quarter of an inch, but that doesn’t make up for the fact he was so fucking devastated, that instead of talking to us, he shut us all out and tried to take the cowards way out!" he bellows.

  As Jax tells me of Sam's suicide attempt, my heart constricts, and I find myself sobbing uncontrollably. I caused this, it's all my fault. I don't deserve his forgiveness.

  "I should never have come here."

  He untucks his hands from his pockets and steps closer to me, jabbing his finger angrily in my direction.

  "No, you’re right, you fucking shouldn't have, and you need to fucking leave, right now. Make your excuses and go, because he doesn't need you fucking his life up any more. He's a mess, Peyton, and he's fucking broken. He's changed. He’s not sleeping, he's drinking, he's..."

  His sentence is stopped abruptly by the sound of Sam's familiar deep, commanding tone.

  "Jax, that's enough," he rasps.

  "She needs to fucking know, Sam, what she put you through; what she's done. She needs to fucking see first-hand the consequences of her actions," Jax yells, as Sam menacingly steps forward with his fists clenched at his sides.

  I retreat into myself, backing a few steps away from both men.

  "You need to shut your motherfucking filthy mouth, Jax."

  Jax squares up to Sam. Jax's lean frame is eclipsed by Sam's large muscular one as he comes up a few inches shorter than Sam.

  "Stop fucking defending her, for Christ sake, Sam! We were the ones who were there for you; we were the ones who picked up the pieces. I was there through the nightmares, I was the one who listened to you wake up screaming night after night. I watched you break down and turn into a shell of what you used to be. You have to take pills day after day because you can barely manage to drag yourself out of bed and that’s not you! So, don't you fucking dare stand there defending her, not when she's the one who did this to you!" Jax shouts.

  “STOP TALKING AND SHUT THE FUCK UP JAX, I SWEAR TO GOD!” Sam snarls and grabs him by his t-shirt with his uninjured arm, pinning him to the wall.

  I am frozen to the spot. I feel my heartbeat start to quicken, and I know I am going to have a panic attack. Shit. My breathing becomes erratic, and I feel my legs start to buckle underneath me. Before I hit the ground, I feel myself being scooped up in a strong familiar arm and my vision is swimming. It is as if everything is in slow motion and my chest starts to tighten. I am struggling to force precious air into my lungs.

  "Fuck."

  I hear someone curse.

  "Breathe, angel, I've got you, stay with me, deep breaths," Sam says gently, and his voice brings me back. "Breathe."

  My eyes lock with his concerned green ones, and he grips my hand softly. He is sat back on his haunches in front of me.

  "Breathe with me, angel. I need you to focus. In and out. That’s it, eyes on me, just keep breathing.”

  We start to b
reathe in sync with each other, and I feel my heart beat return to normal.

  "Good girl."

  He smiles his familiar dimpled smile, and he strokes my cheek. My gaze drops to the floor; I feel my face start to flush with humiliation and pure embarrassment.

  "Hey, look at me, angel."

  He cups my face in both of his hands and forces my gaze to his.

  "It’s just a panic attack, angel, you’re going to be ok, I promise," he says softly, and I manage a small smile as he strokes my knuckles softly with his calloused fingers.

  "Shit!" Jax mutters, running his hands through his normally neatly styled blonde hair. "Fuck!" he curses. "Bollocks!"