Paradise Found: Cain (Paradise Stories Book 2) (5 page)

“You finally slept,” I said weakly, attempting to break some of the tension. He didn’t answer at first.

“What time is it?” he asked, and I twisted to look over my shoulder at the nightstand. He hadn’t released my wrist and I couldn’t view the clock. Turning back to him, I noticed his watch. He had the answer.

“I need to go see my father,” he stated.

Uncertain how to respond, I muttered, “I need to go to my room.”

“Stay here until I return. Then I’ll take you home.”

“Home?” I laughed nervously, ignoring his demanding tone. “That’s in California.”

He didn’t reply so I clarified, “I need a change of clothes.”

“I told you, your things would be brought here.” He nodded in the direction of the corner. I didn’t have to look to see that my bag most likely was within the room.

“I guess I should get up and dress?” I questioned before I gently tugged my wrist free of his grasp. He released me, but I didn’t move away from him. I took the risk and forced my shaky fingers to reach out again for his face. He remained perfectly still, as if holding his breath. His eyes focused on mine while I traced down the side of his cheek. He had a cut where his brother had hit him. He still looked tired and his eyes closed, only briefly, as the pads of my fingertips absorbed the light scruff of his jaw. Wishing to outline his lips, I reconsidered. That would have been too much.

“Why didn’t you sign the papers?” he asked abruptly. His question was like a sharp prick to the heart; a pin popping a balloon, and I withered away from him.

“What papers?”

“The divorce papers.”

“Divorce?” I choked. “We weren’t legitimately married,” I laughed humorlessly.

“Sofie, yes, we were,” he said definitively, staring at me. His dark eyes opened wider. “We
are
,” he added for emphasis.

I sat up instantly, dragging the sheet haphazardly with me to cover my chest. We couldn’t be. That night, he’d had too much to drink, and the diamond ring was pawned off a divorcee in the bar. It was all a rouse. The ceremony. The dance. The vows. It was all pretend; a means to justify the end - a night of bliss.

“We…we can’t be.”

“We are. That woman was an ordained minister in the state of California. She filed the papers the next day.”

“I… she…what?” The reality was slow to process.
Married?
To Cain Callahan? For real?
It had been almost a year. It couldn’t be possible.

“You really didn’t know?” he asked. I couldn’t look at him as his voice drifted softer. I wiped a hand through my messy hair and held it at the base of my neck. My knees pulled up, and I began to curl into myself, just like I’d done when he left me behind that terrible morning. When his father called me a slut, then kicked me out of his room, and Cain did nothing to defend me. He didn’t even come after me.

“I had no idea,” I whispered.

There was a long silent pause between us, as I tried to digest what he was telling me. The fantasy of our marriage and the reality of his request to divorce were in juxtaposition.

“So you filed for divorce?” I swallowed hard. It seemed worse than a fake marriage.

“I sent the papers to the vineyard address.”

“I don’t live there,” I replied nonchalantly. “Plus I’d been away.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “But you worked there. It was the only address I had,” he stated, his voice rough. That’s how we met. I was working at my grandparents’ vineyard for the weekend, trying to earn cash for my long awaited semester abroad in Italy; the romantic place I joked would be perfect for our false honeymoon. I ended up going alone, but that had always been the plan anyway.

He sat up suddenly. Sensing his hand reaching for me, I flinched, expecting him to touch me. He froze. We stared at one another for a long moment, then ever so slowly the cobra-tattooed arm stretched toward me. He drew the sheet higher up, over my back as unbeknownst to me, it had slipped down my body. I remained still, confused at the sudden tender gesture. After covering me, he brushed back my hair before he spoke: “I need to go. I’ll be back soon to take us home.”

I had to see my father. Then I had to get Sofie out of Vegas. I’d been summoned to meet Atom in his suite that morning. After his heated attack on me the night before, I had ignored him. He wasn’t pleased with the outcome of the fight with Abel, my younger brother. It was my destiny to win. I, however, had other plans.

My father nearly jumped out of his skin when he first learned my brother was fighting. He came almost completely undone when the suggestion to fight one another was offered. My father and his relationship with Abel had been less than ideal. It was practically non-existent. He ignored Abel as much as possible, belittling any effort Abel attempted to gain his attention, in a positive or negative manner. I never let Abel take the destructive attention. He wasn’t strong enough as a kid. He couldn’t take the hits. So I did.

I entered the suite in time to hear Abel arguing with my father. In the past few months, my little brother displayed a side I’d never seen before. He was stronger. Confident. Cocky. He talked back to me, but more intriguingly, he spoke back to our father, and didn’t back down like he did when he was a child. Presently, his fist was raised along with his voice in response to something my father said.

“Don’t even look at her,” Abel growled.

“Or you’ll what?” my father tormented. Abel raised his fist higher. Elma screamed.

Elma Montgomery was the girl Abel was in love with, even if he hadn’t admitted it to her. Blonde hair, smoking body, and pesky attitude, she’d been the source of our fight. She was a handful of trouble, but I deserved her blame. I’d killed her brother. Even if it was ruled an accident, I still lived with the guilt.

Our father didn’t even flinch at Abel’s threat.

“I knew you couldn’t do it. What kind of son raises his hand to his father?” Atom tsked.

“One that doesn’t have a man to call a father.” Abel wound back for the punch, but I grabbed his elbow. He hadn’t noticed I was in the room.

“Always intervening for him,” our father spit, shaking his head. His attention was focused on me as I lowered Abel’s arm.

“Abel, step back,” I directed. The tension in his arm was strong. He had developed a physical strength he hadn’t had when he was younger. I could attest to that newfound power from our fight the night before. My father’s eyes focused on mine for a moment, then shifted back to Abel. Menacing evil beamed from cold eyes, ones that I’d grown used to seeing in pleasure or pain. He never looked at me like he did Abel. We’d been told it was because Abel had our mother’s eyes. Our father hated to be reminded of her.

Abel continued to face off with our father, not allowing me to interfere.

“Just like old times. The older brother tries to protect the younger. Doesn’t it get exhausting?” Our father addressed me. “Don’t you get tired of taking care of him?” Atom sighed.

“That’s enough.” I spoke as if I was bored. I
was
bored of this torture. I just wanted to get out of Vegas.

“For. Once. Just stay out of this, Cain. Let him fight his own battle.” The collective shock between us filled the room. I went rigid. I had my reasons for protecting Abel.

“How do you want me to fight? You want me to raise my fist to you like you did to Cain?” Abel sneered.

“Abel,” I warned.

“You want me to insult you with words, cut you down to nothing, like you did to me?” Abel growled, beating on his chest. My father narrowed his eyes.

“Or should I just ignore your existence like you’ve done to Evie?”

“Abel!” I hissed. We never mentioned our little sister. Her exile had been almost as painful as our mother’s. Our father was turning red, a telltale sign of his anger. His eyes widened. His hand rose. In a shocking move, Abel caught that hand with the speed he had developed as a youth and mastered as an adult. He shoved our father, and for the first time ever, Atom Callahan stumbled, caught off guard. Unable to accept his fluster, he straightened quickly.

“I won’t ever let you raise a hand to me,” Abel threatened. In a way, it felt like an insult, as if I’d let our father beat me, as if I had allowed it by choice.

“You know I hardly did,” my father said. “I couldn’t do it. Her eyes looked back at me. It was easier to fight my mirror image.” His words were eerie, as if he enjoyed hitting me. He saved his precious punches. For me. He never took his disappointment out on
her
, our mother, which is what he wanted to do; he simply sent her away. Banished her. Then he punished himself, by punishing me.

Abel looked at me with uncertainty. I’d seen that look before. He pitied me. He knew what I would endure on his behalf and he felt sorry for me. I despised his sympathy.

In our brief attention on one another, my father got Abel. The crack of skin on skin was familiar; the sound of crushing bone an instant memory. Abel’s hand went up in retaliation, but I stepped in between them, uncertain if I was protecting Abel or my father

“Abel. Get out. Now,” I demanded. The instantaneous shock on Abel’s face was a blow in itself. He couldn’t believe I stood before him, as if defending our father, and the pain was etched into his face, right next to the swelling of his eye. He stared at me in utter confusion. My head shook infinitesimally. It was our signal to listen to me.
I would handle this
, it said. I always handled things between our father and Abel. Abel stepped back, then lunged forward in that lightning speed he had perfected. His fist connected with one blow before I hauled him off our father and pushed him toward the door.

“Elma, get him out of here,” I demanded. Willingly, Abel retreated, with Elma quickly behind him. The door slammed hard enough to shake the wall. I rounded on my father immediately.

“Why can’t you just leave him the fuck alone?” I hissed.

“Why can’t you just let him fight his own battles?”

We glared at one another, mirrored images, except for the graying temples and the harder outlines of his older face. I was larger than him. The student had surpassed the master in stature and ability. I did not want to surpass him in anger and bitterness. My mind slipped to the sweet image of Sofie sleeping. In that secondary slip of focus, my father’s eyes weighed heavy on me.

“You let him win,” he growled, as he had the night before. “There’s no way he could beat you. Not you. Not the Cobra.” His voice rose in emphasis; the tone confirming the impossibility. Nothing would beat me, he believed. I wasn’t, however, invincible, despite what he thought. I’d been fighting for years, so many I’d lost count. There had to be something more, I decided. I just wasn’t certain what. To win the fight was no longer everything to me.

“Your little stunt cost us,” he snapped, as he walked around the suite desk and sat with a thud. The furniture wasn’t as imposing as the power-hungry looking desk in his office at his home. I was surprised our father stayed in the casino resort for the night. It wasn’t like him. He liked to be in his castle, his house on the edge of Vegas. The irony of it all was that I had paid for that house. The fight hadn’t cost us. It only cost me, and in matters that had no monetary value. I needed to get back to Sofie.

“Where’s your head?” Atom bit. “You keep drifting off. Didn’t you get laid last night? You have some energy to burn?” He paused to examine me. I couldn’t let my fists clench. It would be a sign I hadn’t gotten laid. I refused to think about Sofie like that. Of course, my father didn’t need to know these things.

“Maybe you need to get back in the gym, if you want to convince me you
lost
.” His voice was incredulous. It was impossible for him to believe I lost that fight fairly. He decided we’d cheated, and I’d never admit, we had.

“I need to go,” I stated, turning on my heels and walking toward the door.

“Where?” he inquired, but there was something under his tone.

“I have somewhere I have to be.”

“You have another fight in a week,” he said, and without looking I sensed he narrowed his eyes at me. He was questioning my motives. He’d been doing it a lot lately: wondering where I was going, why I was gone for long absences from Vegas, inquiring where I’d been. It wasn’t any of his damn business. It wasn’t concern that drove the inquisition. At least not concern for me directly. I didn’t wish to answer his question. I had other answers to search out.