Bitter Sweet Beginnings (6 page)

And it was a fucking turn-on.

She didn’t want me in that moment, didn’t need me, yet it triggered something in me. It made me want to
make
her want me. To
make
her need me. It never even occurred to me then that it would have the same effect on me. I would need
her
. I would want
her
.

I pull over harshly to the side of the road, jump off the bike and storm off into the waist high weeds, kicking at the dirt in anger. My hands fly up to my head, holding the sides, pulling at the hair in fury. My voice screams out into the emptiness around me as I drop to me knees.

I’m never going to be able to get away from this. I don’t even know if I want to. I’m mad at her, angry as hell at what she’s done, but even more pissed off at what’s become of me because of it.

I had my moment, let off some steam, said some shit to hurt her as much as she hurt me. I’m not the type of man to run from his shit. I needed my space, and it did me no good.

It’s time to face this storm head-on and to stop running away like a little pussy.

EPILOGUE

CHARLIE

I leave Dana and T.J. to answer the door.

I thought she was here to help me?
Some help she is. I feel like I’m babysitting a pair of horny teenagers, trying to keep them from molesting each other. I notice movement out of my peripheral and hear the confirmation from the creaking leather sounds, that as soon as I get up, they both readjust to fill my empty seat and gain closer proximity to each other.

“I’m coming!” I yell at the knocking door.
Give me a minute, already.

I pull the handle hard.

And then I stop breathing.

I’m not ready to see him. Not now, maybe not ever. I look like shit, I feel like shit, and I’m not in the right frame of mind to talk to this man right now.

“Um… we’ll go grab some lunch,” T.J. is on foot, grabbing Dana’s hand and pulling her up to follow.

“I need some more things, so we’ll hit some stores, too,” Dana adds.

I manage to somehow speak. “Dana, you’re going home later today. You don’t need to buy more things to have to pack.”

She smiles. “Actually, I’m not leaving, But, you have more important things to deal with right now.” She glances at the leather-vested man who just walked through the door. “We’ll talk later, sis.”

She quickly leans in to give me a peck on the cheek in passing before I can object to her new change in travel plans.

With the two of them gone, it’s just him and me now.

Holy-fucking-shit.

“How you doing, kid?” he asks. He looks tired, worn, worried.

I don’t answer.

He clears his throat awkwardly. “Let’s have a little father-daughter talk.”

My words spit themselves out harshly at him. “You’re
not
my father. I had a father. A
rea
l dad. He died. You’re just a cheap imitation in a leather vest.”

He flinches, hurt. I don’t care.

It doesn’t matter what some fucking DNA test can prove.

Vince Cauley will
never
be my father.

He sits at the table regardless of my answer, apparently resigned to have this chat anyway. He folds his hands atop one another and waits patiently.

Fuck
.

I’m not getting out of this short of kicking him out of my place, and even then, I doubt he’ll leave.

“I need a minute,” I call behind me as I grab my handbag and head into the bathroom.

I search quickly and find the recently filled bottle I picked up at the pharmacy on my way home yesterday. The doc was a little hesitant to give me a refill but I’m a nurse. I knew the trigger words to use to convince him.

I work the cap clumsily, nervously, but finally get it open.

I pour two pills into my palm and slam them down my throat quickly, using the tap water from the faucet to swallow them down with. I move to put the bottle away, but think twice about it and grab another pill to make the upcoming conversation a little easier.

I watch myself in the mirror and breathe deep. I know it will be better soon. The pills will work their magic.

TO BE CONTINUED IN

THE 6
TH
AND FINAL BOOK

OF THE KINGSMEN MC SERIES,

THE FULL LENGTH NOVEL,

BITTER SWEET CRAVINGS

SEPTEMBER 13, 2015

ALSO BY TARA OAKES

MY SOUL TO WAKE

Book one, STAIN available now

** Warning: this novel is intended for those over 18 years of age due to its erotic nature and mature content. ***

Witchcraft.

Reincarnation.

True love.

These are the things of legend. Unexplained, some even say impossible… but nonetheless prevalent in stories and tales from all cultures and in every land from the beginning of time. What if there’s something to it? What if there is an explanation behind the mysteries and bedtime stories? Something beyond words?

SALEM, MASSACHUSETTES 1692

She was taken from him in the cruelest way... condemned, sentenced and punished out of fear of the unknown. How is he supposed to live without her? How can he go on knowing that in this life, they will never be one again? There's only one thing to do... only one option that will bring them together again.

SALEM , MASSACHUSETTES TODAY

Leah is taken on a weekend excursion with her best girlfriends to let loose, relax and have a little fun. What harm is there in a little vacation? It's not like the legends, the haunted history of the place can scare them away. It's all harmless fun.

Or so she thought.

Something seems familiar about the town. The trees, the winds, the feel of everything. Her ever present nightmares have become more intense within the limits of the old historical setting. She's prepared to write off the whole trip as nothing more than a case of her mind running away with the sensationalized magic here. When she meets a handsome stranger who's eager to know her in a way no one else can, she begins to think there just may be something more to this place, something more to him.

Will has been waiting, biding his time, and praying that she'll come back. He's broken the natural order of things to possibly find her again, weaving their way through the years until they can be together again. He knows he may never find her, but he can't risk not trying. This place calls to her, just as it did to him. It will bring her back home. It will bring her back to him.

What's 300 years when it comes to true love? He's prepared to wait an eternity if he has to, just to see her, hold her, make her his and to help her remember what was stolen from them so long ago. He’ll stop at nothing to make her remember who she is, the power she possesses, and the love they swore to each other.

PLEASE ENJOY THIS SAMPLE OF

MY SOUL TO WAKE

Book one,
STAIN

PROLOGUE

The crackling of the nearby torches pop and singe. I can smell the burning flame as the wind catches the wafting smoke, swirling and weaving into the night air around me. I ca
n
’
t see them. I ca
n
’
t feel their hea
t
…
but I know the
y
’
re there.

Each of my senses is heightened, on high alert. My lack of sight has seemed to innately trigger my other faculties, kicking them into overdrive to compensate. I can taste the sweet, metallic tinge of blood in my mouth from biting my lower lip. Fear will do that to you.

Biting my lip was the only way to keep my teeth from chatterin
g
…
or to call out and beg for mercy. I somehow know it would do no good, other than to bolster their frenzy. My fate is sealed.

The roughness of the cloth that scratches against my cheeks is harsh. I try not to move, so as to keep it from abrading my skin. The quivering of my muscles does little to help that.

I swallow hard but feel a tightness around my throat, a constriction that offers no forgiveness. I breathe in deep, savoring each breath, knowing that it may be my last. My lungs are confined, though, unable to expand far enough.

I muffle my sobs. The tears that fall are not for them. I will not give them anything, let alone my tears, though I know they are wanting something else.

They want my words.

Words that would betray the very essence of my being. Those words could spare my life, but they would also condemn others. Others who may still manage to escape this fate.

I will not give them my tears
OR
my words. Those are for me alone. They have already taken enough from me, are still going to take more from me before they are through.

Although there is naught but darkness around me, I close my eyes. I clear my mind and remember the things that bring peace and calmness.

Delicate fresh flowers in my memories, swaying in the tiniest of breezes. The beautiful petals each rippling in their own direction, dancing with the wind. The dewey aroma they give off after a cooling rain storm. The grand power they harness to cure ailments and maladies.

My fingers twitch, imagining the feeling of running the tips of them over those wild flowers. My heart breaks knowing that I will never run through the fields of beautifully-colored blooms again. I
t
’
s one more thing the
y
’
ll take from me.

But i
t
’
s nothing compared to the greatest of all punishments they are condemning unto me.

Fresh tears sprinkle my warm cheeks as I finally face the worst of their punishment.

I wo
n
’
t ever see him again.

I
’
ll never catch his beautiful brown eyes staring at me.
I
’
ll never again feel the heavy weight of those eyes as I pretend not to notice.
I
’
ll never feel the flush of my concealed skin as I bask in his gaze.

The soft touch of his hand on mine was everything and more that I could have ever prayed for. It was unexpected and gentle and exhilarating. I remember the moment I first felt his caress and knew for sure that I had finally found that which I did
n’
t even know I had longed for.

The only thing more exquisite than his touch were his words. Words that stirred deep in me to awaken something only he could harness.

I feel the charged energy from those gathered round. He and I connect, something powerful, drawing us to each other. I do
n
’
t feel him now. I
t’
s some small mercy in all of this that my last moments wo
n’
t be of suffering with him near. I could
n
’
t bear that.

I want him to remember me as I was. The carefree girl he fell in love with. Those are the memories we shall keep of each other.

Those are the memories I will replay during the next few moments. I know then, that I will die happy.

The crowd now draws silent. The time has come. I think of his smile, just as I had planned. My shallowed breathing is fast, the air coming quick and hard.

The time passes both brisk and slow, measured against the thudding heartbeats strumming in my ears.

I think of his tender caress, and of the lost promise of our wedding night never to be fulfilled.

I feel the ledged platform underfoot begin to rattle, the vibration unlocking the hidden despair in my being.

I think of his pooling eyes, searching deep into my own.

Wood begins to scrape against wood, sliding against the grain, offering a terrible screech that sends a chill up my spine. A weightlessness takes hold as I drop, and the once abundant air is no longer available to me. I feel my feet dangle, my hands confined at the wrist unable to relieve the tortuous burning around my throat.

I think of his smil
e…
.

CHAPTER ONE

I awaken startled, gasping deep breaths that have proven through experience to help me regain some sense of composure. The first seconds immediately after I wake are always the worst, full of terror. It’s hard to distinguish dream from reality in those first few seconds.

The details of the nightmare are vivid at first, all encompassing, as I remember the sounds, the smells, the feelings. Almost instantly, they begin to fade, leaving nothing but an evaporating impression behind. Before long, there is nothing left but fear and heartbreak, all elements of the dream having been forgotten… until the next time.

Although the nightly ritual has plagued me since childhood, there are times when I am free from its spell. In some ways, those absences are much more cruel than the nightmares themselves.

Those are the times when I convince myself I am just like everybody else, that some phase of all-too realistic night terrors has been outgrown. That, finally, I can close my eyes at night and not dread the darkness.

But then after some time, whether it be a night, a week, or in the longest stretch five months, the dream returns, serving as evidence that I am
not
like everyone else. All the “normal” things that most everyone else does in life aren’t possible for me.

The feeling of a good night’s sleep, rejuvenated and well rested… those feelings don’t come for me. In the rare nights when the nightmare is kept at bay, I sleep with unease somehow, waiting for it.

I’m young, twenty-three years old, but the lack of sleep seems to have aged me. I feel it. I don’t have that same carefree, whimsical manner that my contemporaries seem to effortlessly radiate. One more example of how I am different somehow. But it isn’t only in these later years that my affliction is a barrier to what I yearn for most.

When I was a child, the dreams plagued me, causing screaming fits and endless tears. I didn’t know that I was the only one to have these nighttime fantasies. I thought everyone did. It was a second-grade assignment where we were asked to write a small page about our favorite dream that I realized I was different.

The kitty cats and unicorns that my classmates spoke of were foreign to me. My mom helped me with that homework assignment, convinced she could ensure a good grade. Though, I suspect she wanted to save me the embarrassment and ridicule that the truth would have brought.

For however upsetting the dreams made me, I know my parents were equally affected. There were endless doctor appointments, specialist referrals and testing to determine what ailed their little girl. When no cause could be found, and a corresponding cure no longer a possibility, the diagnosis given was psychological.

There were weekly therapy appointments, nightly melatonin treatments, and finally an arsenal of prescription elixirs to mask the symptoms.

They never worked, though. Short of sedation, there was no barrier that could be put in place to keep the dreams at bay.

I am the only girl I know who has never had the right of passage sleepovers that pre-teen girls subject themselves to. The risk was too high. Mom went to great lengths to keep my torment hidden. Other than relatives, there were never overnight guests in our home, and when there were, creative excuses were given to the rare witness to my calamity.

It’s amazing how adaptive children can be. It became my normal… the girl who had to sleep at home, never inviting her friends to spend the night.

It was successful though. The careful plan than mom and dad had constructed when I was young had helped me to navigate those awkward teen years without any ridicule for my hidden disorder. It was our little family secret.

That privacy and secrecy paved the way for my approach to many things in life. My college years were spent living at home, commuting to and from daily classes at Easton University, while my closest friends dormed in the coed living quarters on campus.

After a long night of studying, partying, or trying to act like your normal college undergrad, I would then take the forty-minute drive back home to the safety of my own bed.

Those habits die hard. I still sleep alone, although now as a young adult I have the luxury of my own little apartment, carefully chosen with only a nearly deaf little old lady as a wall-sharing neighbor.

The curse has other lasting consequences. Besides my two best friends, no one knows about the nightly visits to hell I endure. To keep that from changing, I take great pains to keep others at bay, a safe distance where my secret will remain secure.

The possibility of sharing time with a boy is not even an option to me. Because of that fear, I rarely accept anything beyond a second date. It’s easier to make random excuses, however untruthful, to avoid the type of affection that will lead to sharing my life with another. It would only lead to their discovering my secret and then hightailing it out of there, far away from the mentally unstable freak that has nightly panic attacks.

I convinced myself long ago that I was only protecting myself and my heart from the inevitable.

So now, lying here, awaiting the calmness that will eventually overtake me as the episode passes, I struggle to remember the details as they once again fade.

The damp sweat beading on my skin has long since chilled, slowly drying and disappearing along with the cause of its outbreak. I sigh loudly, thankful it has passed, relieved that the rest of the night will pass uneventfully.

I sip from the glass of water set out on my nightstand just hours before. My throat is raw from the effects of the dream, and so the liquid works some sort of magic on the aching flesh as I swallow.

My breathing has slowed. My pulse evens. I take the ribboned hair tie from the bedside drawer and clumsily tie back my thick wavy hair from the sweat-moistened nape of my neck. A chill has taken over, and I slip my feet back under the crumpled blankets that had been strewn about in my fit.

I smooth the crisp linens, straightening the bedding before settling back into the well broken-in pillows. It’ll be easier now. The threat of dark shadows no longer lingers over my sleep.

~*~

No!

Ring all you want. I will not answer.

I toss over onto my stomach to easily pull up at the sides of my oversized down-filled pillow, covering my head like earmuffs. Another ring. Another swear word is mumbled under my breath into the thick fluffy pillow.

Four more rings to go as I silently count down to when the answering machine will automatically trigger itself to end the torturous sound. I have to remember to change the ringer settings-- three rings should be enough, I think.

The last of the mechanical tolls chime before the listener hears my generic yet specific greeting to leave a message. The possibilities are pretty limited as to who’s listening to my pre-recorded missive.

Mom and dad don’t call before nine unless it’s an emergency. I’m not scheduled to work today, so the chances that anyone at the coffee house is ringing me are slim. I stopped seeing Paul weeks ago. I think it’s pretty safe to say that he won’t be calling after the way I left things between us.

I put my money on Courtney or Nina.

The rumbled clicking makes way through the plastic speaker of the nearby phone base on my nightstand.

“Wake up sleepyhead!”

Yup, it’s Court.

“We’re leaving my place now. That gives you less than thirty minutes to get out of that bed before I drag you out of it myself.”

Ugh. I drop the pillowed corners from the sides of my face. I know her well enough not to underestimate her threat. I do recall a specific morning about six months ago when she did just that… dragged me out of my bed.

We had impulsively signed up for some boot camp-styled workout course together during a moment of bloated weakness. I wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about the prospect of sweating my pants off by some over-muscled, over-proteined, two-bit drill instructor with a thirst for making women so sick from exercise that they vomit outside on the sidewalk. No, thank you. I chose to sleep, instead.

Courtney literally rolled me out of bed at 5AM to tumble on my hard wooden floor in order to make sure we got to the class on time. I suffered through the ninety-minute obstacle course and bull horned commands only to stop by the Dunkin Donuts on my way home and officially withdraw from the class on their website later that day.

All it took to convince Court to join me in my boot camp mutiny escape plan was an iced coffee and a jelly doughnut.

“We’ll bring a thermos of coffee for the road. Thirty minutes, Leah!” she warns through my answering machine.

I flip onto my back and exhale deeply into the feathered pillowcase before me. Even if I pretend I didn’t hear the message, I know it will be no use. She has a key to my front door, and the last time she threw me from my bed my knee was bruised for weeks. I might as well face this head on.

Especially if she’s got coffee.

~*~

“We were supposed to be on the road ten minutes ago, Leah. How much longer?” Nina calls to me while I’m half buried under my bed, searching in vain for my old broken-in baseball hat.

The morning sun is rising higher through the bedroom windows offering a fair amount of light, but the far depths of this narrow space escape that benefit, leaving only my blind fingers to do the searching.

I flatten my palm and clap it against the smooth wood as my wrist moves about. “Got it!” I call out in echoed victory.

Carefully, I squirm back from under the wooden bedframe and dust myself off before my two friends.

“Fabulous! If we leave now, we can make up those last ten minutes by skipping the third bathroom break at two fifteen.” Nina doesn’t wait for a sign of agreement from either Courtney or myself before she stalks out of the room, fiddling with her mini iPad.

I have no doubt that she’s reworking our entire trip itinerary on that thing, to compensate for my tardiness. She takes the type-A personality thing to a whole new level, that girl. I’m sure every meal, gas, and bathroom break is scheduled with no less than two alternatives apiece.

She and I couldn’t be more opposite in that regard. Where I can just sit back and roll with the punches, she needs to have everything planned out in great detail. If it isn’t, she becomes a mess to deal with… a certifiable basket-case on the edge of a breakdown. For all of our sakes, it’s just easier to let her have her little bit (well actually, a lot!) of control, than to have to be around her when she’s in a tailspin.

Court and I are left behind in her dust as she makes a beeline for the front door, as if that will somehow encourage us to follow. All it manages to do is cause Courtney and me to roll our eyes at each other.

“What else?” my best friend asks, looking around the room for any other pieces of luggage.

I pull up the extendable handle from the small roll-along tote.

“Nope. This is it.”

She casts her eyes down and onto the black rectangular suitcase in disbelief. “You can’t be serious, Leah. For real?”

My eyes widen. “Yes... why?”

She shakes her head. “We’ll be gone for five days. Five whole days and four whole nights. How is this possibly big enough for that amount of clothing?”

For however different Nina and are I in our organizational skills, Courtney and I are just as different in our sense of style. I had thought by now she would have given up on trying to transform me into her little clone. But, every once in a while a little comment like what she just said will pop out.

“Court, this isn’t makeover time. I promise I won’t embarrass you. Just… just don’t start in on my clothes.” I plead with her. I don’t have the energy to fight her off when she gets all
fashion police
on me.

She thinks long and hard on my request.

“We’ll take it day by day. What you’ve got on now isn’t terrible. Besides,” she reaches over to the long dresser and scoops up the handles of my carrycase of toiletries. “I hear they have great little shops in downtown Salem. We can always buy you some new things.”

I smile, thankful for the moment’s reprieve, and turn to follow Nina’s exit.

“Or… maybe even a whole new wardrobe,” Court suggests.

“Not a chance.” I tuck a few loose strands of hair that have escaped the confines of my navy blue baseball cap behind my ear.

The sound of the front door opening once again draws our attention although the bedroom wall blocks our view.

“We are now sixteen minutes behind schedule! If we don’t leave in the next three minutes, we’ll have to skip the first rest stop. And I won’t care how much coffee you’ve drunk. We will not stop.” Nina’s authoritative voice booms.

Courtney laughs to herself and I let her pass to appease our friend. I look around once more to make sure I haven’t forgotten anything in my rushed packing. Nope. I think I’ve got it all.

The wheels of the pull-along are stiff, having sat unused for months. It takes a little effort to get them rolling smoothly. As I move through the narrow hallway, I pass the opened door to the bathroom. With Court now safely out of range, I take the opportunity to make an inspection. It’s true my cap hides most of my light brown waves, but I think it looks all right. I mean, it may not be perfectly styled like Courtney’s but it’s not even seven in the morning yet and we’re driving in a convertible. I’d like to see what her long layered red hair looks like after the wind has had its way with it. Especially the extensions. That’s gonna be a mess to comb through.