Cohen: King's Descendants MC #5

by Bella Jewel

  I stand, never breaking eye contact. I strip every item of my clothing off until I’m standing before him, fully naked. He looks stunned for a minute, but quickly returns his face back to that empty, stony expression. If he wants to make my life hell, I’ll return the favor. Let’s see how he likes having to sit with my naked body for a few hours.

  I stay standing as he walks forward with his first-aid kit and places it down on the bed, pulling out some white cloth, some sort of spray, and some bandages. He sprays the cloth and then steps over to me, murmuring, “This’ll sting.”

  He pats the aching wounds on my back from where I fell onto the dirt as he captured me. They aren’t deep, but there are a lot of them and they’re sore. I grit my teeth and stare straight ahead, trying to fight back the urge to cry out in pain when he continues to clean them up.

  “Didn’t mean to hurt you so bad,” he says, moving around my body, finding all the locations where I’m hurt.

  He stops when he reaches my hips and his fingers run over the skin there. I shudder and jerk away, knowing what he can see. Scars, plenty of them. All the years of abuse left behind their marks. The whipping, the hitting, the kicking, there was no way they were going to let me walk away without forever being reminded of the damage they did to my body.

  I have a deep scar on my hip from a gash that was given to me by a very sharp knife when I was fighting to get away. It wasn’t intentionally meant to hit me there, but it did. The wound then got infected and I got very sick. Eventually, it healed. Not before leaving a hideous scar in its place.

  “What happened here?”

  I clench my teeth together.

  “What did he do to you, Aviana?”

  No worse than you, Cohen.

  Okay, that’s a lie. He was far worse.

  “You’re goin’ to ignore me like I’m not here? I get that. You’re angry. Get that, too. But if this was your family, your club, wouldn’t you be doing the same thing if you were in our shoes?”

  They were my family.

  That’s what he told me once. That they’d always have my back.

  He lied.

  They all did.

  I say nothing, even though he makes a point.

  “You can hate me if it makes you feel better, but you’re refusin’ to fuckin’ face what’s really goin’ on here. You’re livin’ in the shoes of a victim, swimmin’ in blame, and you’re lookin’ for someone to take that out on. That person is me, because I’m the one who sent you away. Get that, but it ain’t on my club what happened to you, Aviana.”

  He’s right, but he’s also wrong.

  It is on them, too.

  King had a lot to do with the goings down of that day, even though they maintain he didn’t.

  He often asked questions about my family.

  Wanting to know the ins and outs of what they were doing.

  They could have looked for me, could have helped me.

  They chose not to.

  I simply wasn’t important enough.

  “One day, you’ll have to move on from this. Remember that before you do anythin’ stupid. If you do somethin’ you can’t come back from, you’ll have to live with that for the rest of your days. Can you do that? Can you live with that kind of weight on your shoulders?”

  I stare blankly at the wall.

  He’ll not get anything out of me.

  Not now.

  None of them will.

  I’ve spoken the last of my words.

  I’ve pleaded for the final time.

  I’ve given them everything, and yet not quite enough.

  I’m done. Finally done.

  Tonight, tonight I’ll leave.

  Only this time, I’ll not return.

  But they’ll remember me this time.

  I’ll make sure of that.

  I MOVE SLOWLY. OH, so slowly.

  I push to my hands out of the bed and glance over to where Cohen is sleeping in the chair beside the door. He has made sure I can’t go out that front door without waking him. It’s squeaky and loud, and there would be absolutely no way I can get through it. That’s fine by me, he didn’t consider the other option—the window.

  There is a small window in the bathroom, it’s above the sink, but it has no screen. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but I’ll get through it. I will escape this madness. Where I’ll go after that, I don’t know. I have no money, no job and, currently, no phone. Still, I’ll find a way. I always do.

  My feet land on the old school red carpet, and I glance over at Cohen again. He’s still sleeping, head tipped to the side, and when he looks like that, I can’t help but feel a certain type of way. My heart longs for the friend I lost, my body craves his touch. Those things aren’t real, though. They’re something my mind has put together to try and make me believe that he’s good for me.

  He isn’t.

  He is toxic to me.

  Like a drug.

  I might get hooked and, eventually, it’ll kill me.

  Step by step, I move toward the bathroom, not daring to look back, terrified he’ll be awake, and my entire plan will come crashing down. When I get inside and close the door softly, I hold my breath for a moment. No sounds can be heard, he’s still asleep. I find the clothes I stashed in the drawers earlier and pull them out, quickly getting changed. Then, I run the brush through my hair, tie it up, and carefully climb up onto the sink.

  It makes a squeaking sound, and once again, I find myself holding my breath in hopes that it isn’t loud enough to wake him. When he doesn’t come bursting in, I push the window up. It takes a good amount of force to get it to slide up, and dust covers my face when I finally dislodge it. Coughing into my elbow, I push it up as far as I can and then lift my body up into the small gap. I try to ignore the dirt covering me as I shuffle through, and when I manage to get my body halfway, I peer down. We’re on the first floor. Thank god, it isn’t a big fall.

  I maneuver my body to the side slightly, so my fall is less sudden, and then I clench my eyes shut and push the rest of the way through. I land with a thump onto my side and wheeze as the wind is knocked out of me. I lie there for a moment, catching my breath, and then I slowly push to my feet. I stare back at the window, and after a minute or two, I know I’m safe.

  He’s still asleep.

  I turn and face the street, and then take a deep breath and start walking.

  That’s all I can do.

  Just walk until I find my way.

  I don’t know where I’ll end up, but being someone’s prisoner isn’t something I’m going to be again.

  Not in this lifetime.

  I walk down the quiet streets, and only a few cars pass me. I don’t know what time it is, perhaps early morning, just before sunrise. I pull my hoodie up over my head and keep moving.

  I don’t hear the car slow down, not until it’s right next to me. My head whips around and my eyes widen when I see two men inside a dark black sedan. The same sedan that was following us. The same sedan we escaped from. I thought we had lost them; it appears we hadn’t. They’ve been watching, and now they’re pointing two guns at me, their blank faces hard and terrifying. Yet, scarily familiar. I’ve seen these men before, I know it.

  “Get in the car.”

  The man who speaks is older, maybe in his forties. He’s got greying hair and a thick beard. He’s large, with wide shoulders and a terrifying scar that runs down the left side of his face. His eye is miscolored and clearly damaged on that side, too. When he speaks, his teeth are browning in areas. He’s horrible. Possibly one of the scariest men I’ve ever seen, but one thing is for certain, I have seen him before.

  I have a choice right now.

  I turn and run, praying they don’t hit me when they shoot.

  Or I get into the car and allow myself to be captured.

  The worst possible thing I could imagine in this moment, is being taken again.

  I’d rather be shot and take the risk that it won’t kill me.

  I remembe
r in school, when the teachers told us if we ever had a gun pointed at us and we were told to get in a car, that we should take the risk and run, making sure to zig zag and bob up and down as we did. The chances of the gun hitting something vital were a lot less than ending up murdered or worse because we got into the car.

  Seems like valid advice.

  I stare at the man, and he gives me a feral snarl and growls, “Three seconds, Aviana, or I blow your brains all over this fuckin’ sidewalk.”

  Wait, how does he know my name?

  These men are after ... me?

  A gunshot rings out.

  I instinctively clench my eyes shut, waiting for the pain to radiate through my body. Only that pain doesn’t come. Instead, another shot rings out and then the car speeds off, disappearing into the night as if it were never there. I spin around, confused, and I see Cohen standing beside a large tree, gun pointed in the direction the car was just sitting. My eyes widen, and I’m completely stunned, unable to say or do anything.

  He just saved my life.

  “I ...” I begin, but nothing more comes out.

  “Get back into that motel room, right fuckin’ now. You’re not safe out here.”

  I do as he asks, and I move back toward the location of the motel, terrified that those men are going to show back up and finish the job. I pick up into a jog, and Cohen follows closely behind me, jogging also. We round the corner to the motel room and run inside the room I just managed to escape from. Only when we’re inside, and Cohen has locked the door, do I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “What the fuck were you thinkin’?” Cohen barks, spinning to face me. “You could have gotten yourself killed, or worse.”

  I stare at him. “Those men knew who I was. How the fuck did they know me? Why have I seen them before? What is going on? I’m done with the secrets and lies. Tell me who those men were, Cohen.”

  “I don’t fuckin’ know who they are.”

  “You’re lying!” I yell, throwing my hands up. “You’re fucking lying.”

  “What were you thinkin’ runnin’ out there and riskin’ your life?”

  He’s changing the subject. I’ll let him, for now. But he is going to tell me who those two men were and what the hell they wanted with me.

  “I wasn’t going to be your prisoner, Cohen. If you don’t trust me, then I wasn’t going to hang around so you could all treat me like the enemy.”

  “So you fuckin’ ran off in the middle of the night? Where the fuck were you goin’ to go, Aviana? You’ve got no money, no phone, and no family.”

  “I would have figured it out,” I say, crossing my arms.

  “You’re fuckin’ lucky I woke up and saw you were gone. If I had slept even five minutes longer, you’d be fuckin’ dead right now. Is that what you want? To be fuckin’ killed because you refuse to use your brain?”

  Anger bubbles in my chest. “I didn’t know they were following me, but you can clearly see now that I had nothing to do with why they’re here. They wanted me to get into that car, and I’m sick and tired of wondering why that is. Tell me, Cohen. I want to know the truth. If you want me to stay here with you, and trust that you’re going to protect me, then you need to be honest. I’ve seen those men before. I want to know what’s going on.”

  “You want me to be honest? What about you? You complain that we don’t fuckin’ trust you, but you’ve given us nothin’ to trust. You came back and all you’ve wanted was to get your revenge on me. I’m not so stupid that I didn’t figure that out the second you came back in. Trust goes both ways.”

  Dammit, he has a point.

  I stare at him.

  Do I let it all go and just tell him the truth? Tell him what I planned on doing? Tell him anything else I know?

  Do I decide in this moment, that I’m going to move forward?

  Or will I stay exactly where I am, living this bitter lifestyle?

  “I’ll be honest with you, if you can promise me that you’ll have my back. You gave me away out there, just threw me under the bus like I didn’t matter. You’ve not trusted a single word that has come out of my mouth, how can I be sure you’re going to now?”

  His jaw ticks. “I was protectin’ the club, you know I had a right to do that. As for the rest of it, I’ll have your back if you fuckin’ let me.”

  Let him.

  Can I do that?

  Can I let him in?

  Can I trust him?

  “Tell me why those men wanted me. Tell me what it is you’ve been hiding from me for so god damned long. I want to understand, Cohen. I need to know why you did what you did.”

  He turns and walks over to his bag, unzipping it and pulling out a large file. He walks over and hands it to me, then he sits back in his chair and watches. “You want to know, that’s everything you need to know.”

  I sit down, feeling a lump rising in my throat. My stomach twists and fills with butterflies as I glance down at the large file. Then, I open it and begin reading. What I see makes my head spin and my heart race. Over and over I read it, confused and a little shocked. When I’m done, I look up at him and whisper, “Is this real?”

  “It’s fuckin’ real alright. There are people that want what you’ve got, Aviana. People that your father had beef with, and they’re willin’ to do whatever it takes to get hold of you so they can get what you’re sittin’ on.”

  Sitting on.

  That’s one way of putting it.

  What I’m sitting on is a hell of a lot.

  Houses, bank accounts, real estate, and even my father’s business which has now been taken over by another man, someone I don’t know, but as far as I know he stepped up when my family was killed and I went missing.

  All of it is in my name.

  The entirety of what he owned ... belongs to me.

  “I don’t understand why he’d do this,” I say, shaking my head.

  “He’s smart. You were barely known by most; some people didn’t even know he had a daughter. He left everything of his to you because you were the safest option. You were a secret option. If someone took him, if someone took your brothers, they’d fail because everything was smartly put into your name.”

  It makes sense, but it also doesn’t. My mind spins with confusion. If my father put everything in my name, he would have done more to protect me. He didn’t do that. He treated me as if I didn’t matter. Is that why he did that? So the world wouldn’t know I mattered. Who would suspect his daughter owned everything when he acted like he couldn’t stand her?

  I search my mind for memories, for things that would indicate the time he chose to put everything in my name. I can’t remember anything, not about that side of things, he simply never included me. He always kept me at arm’s length.

  “Those two men, I’ve seen them before,” I say to Cohen, rubbing my arms as if that’ll make anything feel better.

  “I have, too. Didn’t know who they were when they were shootin’ at us yesterday but now I’ve seen them up close, I know exactly who they are. Those two men were the exact people I was keepin’ you away from. They will take you, they will take everything you own, then they’ll kill you. You’re not safe while those two are livin’, Aviana.”

  I swallow and try to remember a time when I interacted with those two men. I don’t remember exactly, but I know their faces. I know that I’ve seen them before. I know my father had something to do with them. If I recall, they have been to our house before, but I just can’t remember anything else. Maybe because back then, I didn’t know I had anything to be scared of.

  “Why did you kill my whole family, Cohen?” I ask him, staring at his face, wanting to know the answers for a final time.

  “Because that day, the day I came into your house, your father had organized someone to come and collect you. He was going to sell you, to make sure there was never a way you’d be able to access what he’d left to you. Not only that, but if you weren’t around, there was never any leverage. He had it all figured out, he
was going to make you disappear and with everything in your name, he had all the power he needed.”

  I shake my head, not believing what’s coming out of his mouth.

  My father would never have sold me.

  He might not have wanted me around, but selling me ...

  Not to mention, if everything was in my name, then why would he get rid of me? If I was the only one who could access it, why would he make me disappear?

  “If I was the only person who had control of all this, why would he want me gone? Then he wouldn’t be able to access any of it.”

  “Aviana,” Cohen growls, his voice low. “He was going to declare you dead after five years and had it set up so it would all transfer back to him. He only needed you to have it for a small period of time. I don’t know why, but it was part of his plan. Sell you, after five years of nobody being able to find you, then you’re able to be legally declared dead. Once that happened, he would get it all back, and continue with whatever plan he had in place.”

  No.

  This can’t be real.

  It can’t.

  “How do you know all of this?” I whisper, shaking my head. “How, Cohen?”

  “I got wind of it, and so I started diggin’. That one time I was at your place with you, when you were havin’ all those boy troubles, I bugged the place. I found out enough and from there I was able to figure out his plan. I got hold of your brother and threatened the rest out of him. Once I knew for sure what they were plannin’, I knew I had to stop them. The only fuckin’ way to do that, was to take them out.”

  “So you used me, and then killed them?”

  “No,” he barks. “No, I did not fuckin’ use you. I didn’t know what was happenin’ until long after we were friends. I was protectin’ you, if they had stayed alive, any one of them, you’d be dead right now, or worse ...”

  “You mean I’d be someone’s slave, just like you sent me to be?”

  “I never fuckin’ intended for you to get hurt, I thought they’d give you a new identification and you could live your life in another place. I never, fuckin’ ever, wanted you in the hands of a monster. That was not my plan.”

  My anger swirls around in my chest, yet funnily enough, I believe him. Even though I’m fighting against myself, I don’t think Cohen ever intentionally hurt me. He wouldn’t have wanted me to have a bad life, he thought he was doing the right thing. Yet still, it burns. It hurts so god damned badly when I think about what he did.