Wrath (8 page)

Aidan

Falling.  I was falling.

I caught myself right as I started slide off the damn bed.  It was too late to do anything, so I had to just let it happen.  Took the impact and kept my hands clear to avoid sprains and extra bruises. 

As soon as I hit the floor, though, I climbed back onto the bed.  Then I looked around, my eyes struggling to make sense of the room around me.  I had to look around.  It was part of recognizing I was here and now, not caught in the haunted pain of the past.

I ran my hands through my hair.  It was soaked, dripping onto my damp shoulders, the stench of fear laced thick in it.

I hated that smell.  I knew it would never leave me.

Broken memories of white hot pain and terrified voices still rung in my ears.

I took one breath.  Then another.  Then another.

Keep breathing
.  That was the trick.

I just kept seeing them.  Their faces.  All of their faces.  Daniels, Clinton, Renshaw.  Lifeless eyes.  That was the last thing I had seen before I blacked out the day of the explosion. 

That I couldn’t escape their gazes now…  It was as if their ghosts could not stand to fade away without someone seeing, someone knowing. 

I gritted my teeth and sent out a silent thought. 
Well, I’ll certainly never forget.  You’ll never let me
!

In my mind, irony and agony flirted with one another in a fluid dance.  And guilt haunted me worse than either.  Because as much as I wanted to escape their ghosts, it felt wrong to leave them behind.  I had lived…

Their faces faded in and out in a jumble of other images, things I couldn’t quite make out.  Things I couldn’t readily identify.  Soon it was just their eyes, accusing me for living while they died, hurting because they could never speak for themselves again.

I choked and gripped my nails into the flesh of my face, the pain helping me focus.

They plagued me in my dreams.  Even now.  Even two years later.

They’d been my brothers.  I reached for my prosthesis and sock, rolling the latter over my stump.  The scarring from where the flames licked my skin was a painful reminder of a night I’d never forget.  They climbed all the way up the outside of my hip, fading into my waist.  At least the flames hadn’t stolen the rest of me.  I was glad I still had all my equipment. 

Always something to be thankful for.

Some men didn’t remember when they lost their legs.  The whole thing became a blank for them, trauma erasing everything.  I would’ve preferred that.  The memory was always there, in the back of my mind, fighting to take over.

I put my leg on and stood, hobbling over to the punching bag in the corner of my room.  It was the fourth one this year.  I spend a lot of time there at the bag.

My gaze blurring, I wrapped my knuckles, winding quickly with experience.

I steadied myself, bracing my hand to the wall until I was sure of my balance.  Then I got into the proper stance and threw a blow against the tough body of the bag, trying to drive away the memories.

Po-pow-pow-pound.  Pound.  Pound
. 

The grind of knuckles, the stress against the bones in my hand and wrist.  The familiar burn in my arms as the repetitions built. 

I drove away the pain in my soul using the pain of my body.  The old ache couldn’t leave me fast enough.  Harder.  Stronger.  Again and again.  I just kept working out my aggression until there was nothing left. 

My past doesn’t own me.  It doesn’t control me
.

I control me
.

Sometimes I was up all night with that bag.  It was the only way I could push all the pain away, out of my head.  The only way I could forget what happened. 

Tonight was going to be one of those nights.

A bag or a woman - that was the only way I got through these fits. 

Emma
.

I shook my head, breathed deep and went back to the bag.  I couldn’t call her and ask her to come over.  She wasn’t just a hang around, not the kind of woman I could do that to.

Not the kind that I
would
do that to.  Most of the women I went out with weren’t looking for anything serious anyway.  We agreed what we wanted ahead of time and stuck to it.  I’d learned quick to use protection and to back out before they got tangled up.  Not all did, though.  I’d preferred the ones who didn’t pretend to like me.  Up until now, I hadn’t wanted anyone that close.

And Emma? 

Jesus, I hadn’t even had a chance to pull a rubber on.  The woman had sure known what she wanted.  But she wasn’t the sort for a fling. 

At least I knew I was clean…

I scowled, working through how I felt about it all, drilling the bag with my fists.  I had known for a while that I was looking for something.  Fire and Steel had offered me a job and a purpose, and that had been just right.

And now there was a woman I didn’t mind having around…

So many numbers in my phone and the only one I wanted to call was the very one I shouldn’t.

I hit the bag hard enough that my shoulder ached.

It was going to be a long damn night. 

Emma

Another slice of lemon plopped into the little silver bucket with a muffled
clang
. 

I was almost done, and my hands were raw from the acidity of the lemon juice.  I had already cleaned the counters, washing out the trough of the previous night’s vomit of drinks.  The drafts were checked for leaks, and an army of glasses was waiting for the night’s rush. 

I was nearly through with my prep.  In fact, once I was finished, I just needed to go through the whiskey stock and figure out what we were short on. 

There was a lot that went into bartending like a pro.

As I finished the last couple of lemons, I made a visual sweep of the room.

It was late afternoon and our only customers were two older men and Thrash. 

I had gotten used to Thrash’s presence.  He liked to hang around the place during the day, usually around lunchtime.  Rage came in with Layla just before the main night rush, and one of the prospects like to sneak in late in the evening and beeline for the private lounges.  Kid probably had found a girl who tickled his particular fancy. 

I’d passed word along to Kat about these frequent visits, feeling better once I knew she had an eye on the situation.  Sometimes clients got a little too attached to the dancers.  There was no harm in a little business flirtation but things could get ugly if the exchange became too personal.

I was starting to really settle into my job.  Over the past few days I’d seen the guys more and more.  I was able to identify them, and they noticed me.

In the beginning, I had been forced to pick them out by their cut.  Now I could recognize each one on sight and that worried me.  They were trouble and I knew it.  Or maybe I was just projecting my fears about Aidan on the people around him. 

Aidan
.

I had been forced to do a serious amount of mental gymnastics to get the details of the other night out of my head lately.  They kept creeping up on me, a little at a time until I felt hot all over.  Kat had asked me several times already about the stupid grin that kept slipping across my face.

Shaking my head and hoping my cheeks weren’t flushing too much, I tapped the bar in front of Thrash.  “Do you need another beer?” I asked.  He didn’t seem to come for the dancers, preferring a book and some takeout to the local entertainment.  It was downright weird but cute. 

I was biased, though.  I knew how it was.  I was a bookworm, too, and I was sure he got ribbed for his reading a lot.  So when he came in, I always tried to give him his space. 

Today, he sat and he read and he ate his sandwich.  Well, he always bought a few drinks to pass the time, so it wasn’t as if Kat would be upset.  When he wasn’t being a smart-ass anyhow.

“Glass of water and a lemon?” he asked, grinning at me.

“Sure, at least someone appreciates all the work I just did.”  I glared at the older gentleman down on the other end of the bar.

The geezer held up his hands.  “What?  I just like tap.”

“Sure, Earl.  Sure.”

I passed the water to Thrash, lemons in a bowl for him to pick and choose.

“So, what are you reading?” I asked trying to be casual about my nebbing.

“Allende.”

“Wait – what?”  I stared at him in shock till a broad grin claimed my face.  “
Isabel Allende
?” I never imagined he would read magical-realism.  It wasn’t full blown paranormal material.  More eerie, suggestive beauty cast on the trappings of real life. 

The supernatural was fun.  Magical surrealism was a subtler type of story.  Sexy rather than raunchy.  It was like comparing the elegant suggestion of peach through fine lace and orange lamé.  Both could be great, but I never would have guessed that Thrash, the bad-ass, would go for subtle. 

“In English or Spanish?” I asked, curious whether he was reading the original translation.

“English.  I don’t read Spanish well enough.”

“Mmm.”  My eyes were shining.  “I love the ways she writes.”  I’d read her as a sophomore.  Her work was so deliciously complex and dark that it made me look at Thrash with new eyes.  With respect. 

I was just about to ask him for more details when Kat’s voice called out from the office just off of the bar.

“Get the mail, kid.  Delivery guy should be here in the next few minutes.”

I didn’t even bother yelling anything back, just tapped the counter and said, “I’d love to talk about what you think about her works sometime.” 

Thrash smiled.  “Yeah, maybe.”

I walked through the doorway and out into the sun.  The contrast in light was so sudden, I had to guard my eyes.

Kat’s mailbox was shaped like a large cat, perched daintily atop its post at the end of the parking lot.  I pulled out a slew of packages and letters, checking the lot and making the long walk back to the club. 

The packages were the usual sort.  Most were addressed to Kat, but one of the boxes and a few letters had my name.  It wasn’t too strange.  I used to live in the apartment at the back of the property with Kat, and when I went to school and moved into the dorms, I had listed this as my address.

I headed indoors, separating her stuff from mine.  I had a couple tuition statements, a bunch of junk mail, and that box.  I had gotten into a habit of opening the packages last.

This one had a printed label and looked like it might be from the school.

I set the letters on the bar and opened the box.  As soon as the first flap was open, though, I shrieked and threw it away, flinging it across the room.

The body of a rat rolled out of the cardboard onto the floor, a note attached to its stiff body.

My skin was crawling.  Thrash just cocked an eyebrow, then stood and walked over to the rat, turning it with his foot.

“Looks like you got an enemy.”

I nodded automatically.  I didn’t need him to tell me that, but there was no point being an ass about it. 

He went on.  “Note says ‘Your future.’ Not the most original threat, but it’ll do, yeah?”

When he saw me shaking, he shook his head.  “Does it mean anything to you?”

I just shook my head and tried to control my disgust and outrage. 

The denial was a lie.  I knew who had sent it too well. 
Samuel
.  He’d ruined my life a hundred times over, and now I was sure he was after me again.  The question was
why
?

“What the hell was that all about?” Kat asked as she emerged from her office.  She’d heard me screaming. 

Those shrewd eyes travelled from the package to the dead rat, and then back to me.  “My office.  Now.  Thrash?”

“I’m on it, Kat.”  He’d already kicked the thing back into its box and was carrying it towards the back of the bar, where the dumpsters were.

We headed upstairs and as soon as the door shut behind her, Kat started on me.  “What in the hell is going on?”

I was ready.  “Samuel.  It has to be.”

“Samuel?”  She eyed me. 

My mom’s main heroin dealer and her pimp.  Samuel was a royal piece of shit.  This was not the first little ‘note’ he’d sent me.  Kat knew it, too.

I slumped into a chair with a scowl and crossed my arms.  “Since he got out of jail Samuel’s been sending me… presents.  First it was just a letter.  One asking to meet me.  Then it was threats.  The last one had a bunch of dead roaches in it.  But he’s been sending them to the dorm.”  I shook my head. 

He hadn’t been sending them here.  Not until now.

He knows I’m back.
He had to be watching me.  The idea made my skin crawl, anger slowly turned to fear as I realized I was being stalked.

“It makes sense, what with your mother being released and all,” Kat mused aloud.

“Wait, what?  She’s being released?”

“I thought she’d sent you letters?”

“I never opened them.  I want nothing to do with that woman.”

“She called me last week.  Gets out on Friday.” 

Katrina’s news hit me like a whirlwind, and even the seat couldn’t keep the room from spinning around me a bit.

My mother was a whirlwind of destruction.  She ruined everything in her path and didn’t give a shit about the consequences.  It’d always been like that, but the older I got, the more I realized how her bipolar affected us.  It was like a tornado, snatching her up on a whim, hurling her around the room like a rag doll while she laughed all the while. 

It terrified me and it had ruined her life.  The heroin hadn’t helped.

When it had all become too much to take, when she’d needed drugs just to stay alive, that was when she had threatened to… to sell me.  Samuel was the one who convinced her to do it. 

I had been too independent, too smart.  Too headstrong.  I had noticed the way he had started looking at me, and so I had listened in, so carefully.  When I overheard what he was whispering, I got the hell out of there.

I went to the police and reported them.  I was lucky I made it to the station. 

“I don’t want anything to do with either of them.”  If my voice ran a bit high, who could blame me?

I had wanted to leave town, get the hell out and keep going until maybe I could forget it all.  That hadn’t worked though.  Of course it hadn’t…

I thought when they put my mother away that she’d have to stay there.

After all, she had tried to
sell me
.  Sell me to that disgusting little fuck – for a hit!  It should’ve been enough to keep her away from me for good.

Instead, they were releasing her back into the world to ruin herself all over again.  Fine, but I didn’t want her anywhere near me.

Kat was watching me carefully.  She knew how this one would hurt.

“You don’t have to have any contact.  We can get a restraining order set up.  Move on with our lives.”

I shrugged. 

“You gotta let her live, Em.  She has a problem.  She got treatment.  They’ve declared her competent.”

Kat was on the fence about this one.  My mother was her Aunt, after all.  Maybe she knew the woman before… before the drugs tangled her up into my childhood monster.  But I didn’t, and I wasn’t sure I believed in that level of recovery anyhow. 

One slip of her meds.  That’s all it would take.  And she’d be right back at her old tricks.  Right back to the drugs. 

It was too likely. 

Or maybe it was just too personal. 

Kat went on quietly, patting the back of my chair as she took her own seat.  “That didn’t mean she didn’t make bad choices, but you need to come to peace with your decision, whatever it is.”

I had
been
at fucking peace.  And I was
fine
.  Hell, I was a bundle of fucking sunshine where my mother was concerned.  I’d closed that door long ago, and I wasn’t going to open it.  Not for anything.

“I need to get the fuck out of here.”  I said, standing up and ignoring Kat’s concern.  She was family, my real family, and there was no way I was going to shun her for hoping, but I needed to get my head on straight.  ”I’ll be back later.”

“Fine.  Just… Just be careful, Em.  I don’t want you doing anything stupid.”

I nodded, trying to convince her and myself that I wouldn’t.

The truth was, though, I could feel myself unravelling.  I’d spent six years sewing myself back together, a thread at a time, and I could feel the ends fraying.

I stormed into the bar and searched until I found Thrash.  He was returning through the back door, his task complete.

I hit him with it, no niceties.  “I need you to take me to the club.”

Whatever he saw, he decided not to ask any questions.  He just nodded and said, “Bike’s around front.  Got a helmet on me.”

I knew the drill.  I needed to get there.  Fast.  Aidan might not understand, but I needed to see him.

I needed something to distract me.  And drugs and alcohol and all that stuff would just make it all worse.  But a bit of company?

Well, let’s just say I’d done this before.