Devil on Your Back (11 page)

I SHOULD
be gutted that he hung up on me so abruptly, but I’m not. I’m angry. His curt attitude makes me think that he’s intending to play a little game of tit-for-tat. I could be crying into the bedding and screaming about how unfair he is to do that, but I’m not. I’m mad that he’d be so childish.

I toss my phone on the nightstand and stalk out of my room to find Ramona, ready to give her a piece of my mind for coercing me into such a stupid idea. King meets me halfway down the stairs.

“Have you seen your buddy in crime?” I ask.

“Which one?” he answers with a playful smirk.

“Ramona,” I deadpan. “She owes me an apology for bad advice.”

He laughs, and shakes his head. “Last I saw, she was heading home with Mack. Said the kid needed to sleep in the car on the way.”

“Oh.” My shoulders slump, my vigor drained at the news. “Never mind then. Abby’s back, right?”

“Yeah, she’ll be on bar tonight. You can kick back, have a bubble bath, drink a case of wine or whatever it is you normally do.” He grins.
Ever the joker.

“Might switch it up and have a case of whiskey,” I retort, sauntering down the stairs.

“As long as it ain’t mine,” he calls out, heading up.

I’m grinning when I walk into the common room, only to lose my short-lived joy when I catch sight of Bruiser’s forlorn expression as he sits at the bar. He reaches over to the serving side to top up his short glass with more amber amnesia.

“Hey, big guy,” I greet, pulling out the stool beside him. “How many is that, now?”

He shrugs. “Not enough.”

“It doesn’t make you forget—just blocks things for a while. You know that,” I chastise. “How many times you going to do this to yourself?”

“As many times as it takes for Ramona to leave that asshole.”

If only the two of them would stop denying what they feel for each other. “She’s trying,” I assure him.

“Is she?” he roars. “Are you fuckin’ serious when you feed me that bullshit?”

I lean back and shoot him a warning glare.

His eyes are wide, and he’s staring at me like a wild animal that hasn’t eaten for weeks.

I continue to glare until it sinks in.

“Sorry, Sonya,” he finally says, patting my hand on the counter top. “I just—I don’t know. I get fed up with it all.”

“I know. I think we all do,” I agree, reaching over to get myself a glass. “Sometimes you just gotta give people all the tools they need and wait on them to decide how best to use them.”

He chuckles, low and deep. “Yeah, and sometimes them crazy bitches don’t even take the tools out of the shed.” He turns and pins me with a hard stare. “You know he blackmails her, right?”

I knew the guy was a bastard to her, but I never thought he’d go that far. “He better not be putting that sweet little boy between them.”

“He is,” Bruiser grumbles, taking a healthy swig of his drink. “I told her what I thought about that.”

“And?”

“She hit me. Went full bat-shit crazy, telling me she’s doin’ what she can, that she ain’t at fault. Accused me of calling her a bad mother an’ all sorts. Said I needed to leave her alone, that she wished she didn’t have to see me every time she come in here.”

“Oh, Bruiser. I’m sorry. She does care—she’s probably just scared to do anything with that asshole controlling her.”

“We’d all have her back, though. We’d help her. Why doesn’t she wanna see me no more?”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “The girl can’t make sense of the mess in her head, let alone what comes out of her mouth. Here’s to hoping she just said it in the heat of the moment.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and takes another slug of the good stuff. “I fucked up with something, Sonya.”

“What happened?” I ask, concerned for this gentle giant of a man.

“You know I can’t say.” He shakes his head and refills.

“Club rules. Blah, blah, blah.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“Well, without knowing the details I’ll just say that we all have days where we just seem to mess up everything we touch. You only have to remember that tomorrow will be better.”

“I’m not sure about that,” he says. “I messed up pretty bad.”

“Have you talked to King about it? Does he know?”

Bruiser shakes his head slowly. “I can’t tell no one, Sonya. I can’t share this with anyone.”

“Rules be fucked. If you need to talk this out, just tell me.”

“I can’t. Not even for someone as kind-hearted as you.” He sighs, and mutters something incomprehensible. “How you doin’ though? You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I ask him with the smile of a saint . . . a fake saint.

“We ain’t stupid either, Sonya. We see how you are.”

“I’ve just had a bit on my mind. In all honest truth, I miss having Mike to talk to.”

“I bet. He was a good man.”

“So everyone keeps reminding me.” I idly fill my glass with whiskey, eyes glazed over as I stare at the drink.

“It’d be nice to be missed like him when I ain’t here anymore,” he says.

“Well, that’s a long time off, isn’t it?” I smile.

Bruiser mumbles more jumbled words, and takes a swig.

A chill skims my flesh, and my smile fades. I push the uneasy feeling away and spin the glass in my hands, twirling it around as I think back to the nights Mike and I would talk for hours. We didn’t stay up until dawn because Mike liked going without sleep—he did it for me. He did it to get the troubles off my mind, to give me a clear head.

Would Vince do something like that? Does he really care? Or am I just a conquest, a convenience?

Only one way to know.
I have to stop dancing around the issue at heart, and ask him.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” I tell Bruiser. “Keep my glass full, huh?”

He nods, and goes back to sipping his whiskey. I leave him at the bar and race upstairs to my phone, unsurprised when I see there’s no missed call, not even a message. A few taps later, and I wait out the ringtone.

“What do you need?” Vince answers with a yawn.

“Do I have to need something?” I ask, irritated with his attitude already.

“It’s been four days, Sonya. I don’t think you were calling to check the weather report.”

“I wanted to tell you why I hung up the other day,” I say defiantly. “But you cut me off.”

“I was busy.”

“Big deal,” I snap. That may be, but he also hasn’t tried to return the call.

“I’m waiting.”

I push down the anger clogging my throat, and respond as calmly as I can. “I was upset because it’s the first time I did anything with a guy since Mike.”

“So?” he asks.

“So, I felt like I dishonored him, Vince.”

“Why?”

Oh my God? Does he seriously not get it? “You’re telling me you never feel like you’re cheating on Julia’s memory when you’re with another woman?”

“Not if she’s good at what she does.”

My gut lurches. How could a man who seemed so interested in me be suddenly so cold? So horrid? “Fuck you, asshole.” My skin sears, and my heart races. “You called up and shared a really intimate moment with me, but you don’t care about that do you? You got what you wanted.”

He chuckles. The fucking bastard actually laughs at me. “Is that what you’re concerned about?”

“I was
lonely
, and you took advantage of that.”

“Told me you were horny, too.”

“Yeah, and I have no idea why. I mean, where the fuck did that get me?”

“Oh, I get it now.” His tone borders on menacing. “You’re angry ’cause you didn’t get what you needed from me. Poor, Sonya.”

I pull the phone away from my ear for a second, and stare at it. “Why don’t you just spit it out, Vince? What’s got you so damn sour?”

“You fuckin’ parade around, flirt with me, and then have the fuckin’ audacity to tell me . . .
me
. . . that
I
took advantage of
you
? You’re the wench who fuckin’ saw an opening and took it.”

“Are you fucking serious?” I’m shrieking, and probably half the clubhouse can hear me, but I’m so far past caring it’s not funny.

“Deadly,” he answers. “What was it you wanted, huh? Did you think you could shove your tits up against me, sink your fuckin’ claws in, and
wham
, you’d be my old lady? Did they tell you they’d give you a trophy for it, too?”

“Who?” I yell, ready to reach down the phone and do my best to kill him.

“The other whores. Did you have a bet on it?”

I choke back my anger and take a steadying breath. “Did you just call me a whore?”

“Not directly, but if the shoe fits . . .”

“You conceited fucking bastard! Did it occur to you that maybe I actually liked you? Did that cross your fucking Neanderthal brain? I oughtta—” I don’t get to finish my sentence.

A single gunshot rings out from downstairs, followed by a tremendous thud.

Oh my God. He didn’t.

“. . . Sonya, Sonya, what was that?”

“I can’t talk right now.” I hang up on Vince, too caught up in the moment to realize the irony of what I’ve just said.

I drop the phone where I stand, concerned only with getting downstairs as fast as I can. The wood blurs beneath my feet as I take the steps two, and three at a time.

“Bruiser!” I scream. “Bruiser!” His name cracks off my tongue when I see him, toppled off the stool and lying in a fast-flowing pool of blood.

I skid in beside him, ruby-red evidence coating my knees, tears breaking free as I scream for help. I brace myself over him, looking for the wound, and find it near the base of his skull. There’s blood everywhere, so much blood.

And fragments of flesh.

My hands swipe through the muck in frantic, messy passes, trying to clear enough to see if it’s the entry or exit wound.

He gurgles, and I yelp at the sound. “Bruiser, baby, what did you do?”

Callum thunders into the room, followed closely by two of the prospects. “Call an ambulance,” he yells at one of them. “Sonya, what the fuck happened?”

“I left the room, Callum,” I moan. “I left the fuckin’ room.”

He kneels down beside me, checking Bruiser’s pulse. “It’s faint, but there. Help’s on the way, big boy. Hang in there.”

Sitting back on my heels, I shake my head at Callum. “I don’t think he wants any help.”

DESPITE BEING
held up by Sonya’s impromptu call, I arrived at the address Ty gave me first, probably thanks to the fact I have the ability on a bike to bypass the traffic at red lights, essentially gaining time on the others. Ty’s Audi was easy to spot, and I made sure to take a wide pass when I overtook them. Last thing I needed was to ruin the surprise.

My heart kept pace with my revs the whole way. What the fuck happened before she hung up? Part of me says to calm down, that King would have called if anything serious happened. But then another part—the darker half—tells me that he hasn’t because he’s in trouble too.

It’s one fuck of a distraction right now, and one I’d rather not have.

Standing beside my bike, I stare at the dwelling before me. The house is what a girl would call cute; I call it old. A dog whines from around the back, and I head over to the gate to check it out. Turns out it’s a black Labrador, eager for a pat, and not even remotely what you would call a guard dog. I give it a quick rub on the head, and keep looking around.

I’ve barely made it to the far side of the house when the crunch of stones under tires grows louder. Squinting into the setting sun, I make out Ty’s white Audi, followed close behind by a sleek black truck. Saliva fills my mouth, and I swallow continuously as I take position on the front stoop.

Ty comes to a stop before me, and jettisons out of the vehicle as if his ass is on fire. He’s damn near pole-vaulting the car’s hood to get to me as my boy and his girl step out of the pick-up. A new guy, one I haven’t seen until now, gets out of the Audi and stands between us all, hands in pockets.

“Whose is that?”

Alice’s question, directed at my bike, has me on my feet. The timbre of his voice rips at those old regrets.

Ty does a pansy-ass attempt at fending us off each other while I call over his head to Alice, “Mine.”

He ducks out from behind Ty, and my heart seizes. It’s really happening, no longer a dream. He’s right there.

“Fuck off. Not today.”

Expected.
I mentally shrug.

“Look, man,” Ty placates.

“Nothing, okay? I’ve got nothing to say to either of you.” Alice glares at Ty. “How could you?” He turns heel, much to the bewilderment of his girl, and storms off down the driveway.

Seems some things never change.

The girl looks to Ty as I walk back to the new guy, who remains strangely quiet throughout all of this. I hear her ask who I am, and die a little at the thought he has a whole life I know nothing about.

• • • • •

AN HOUR
later, I find myself sitting across the table from my boy, equal parts intrigued at how he looks like me and distressed at looking into Julia’s eyes again.

He stares back with the same morbid curiosity, and the same stubborn, blank expression. We’d have a formidable match of poker, that’s for sure.

“Are you assholes going to talk any time soon?” the new guy, who I’ve since learnt is Bronx, asks.

I shrug. “It’s up to him.”

I get eyeballed in response, and Alice’s lip curls up in disgust. “What do you think I’m going to say, huh?”

“Do you still blame me?” Lord knows I do.

“I’d be a dumb fuck to blame you for her death, wouldn’t I? But yeah, I still blame you for the fact I left, for what happened after that.”

“What did happen?” I ask. How the fuck does he expect me to know when he just up and walked out of my life? “If you’d bothered to keep in touch I might have known.”

“And done what?” he bites back without hesitation. “You didn’t give two shits about your only child, you asshole. What would you have done, huh? Tell me.”

I didn’t care about him? Is that what he thought? I knew he’d feel that I‘d let him down, that I hadn’t done right by him, but not care? All I ever did was care. “I don’t know,” I answer him. “But we sure as fuck won’t find out like this.”

“You still as selfish and fucking in denial as you were back then?” he asks, raising his chin a little.

The kid’s casing me out, testing me, seeing what my response is—seeing if I view things his way. Hell to the fuck no, I don’t. Yes, I was selfish, but I was never in denial. If I were in denial, I wouldn’t have been so upset that Julia was gone. If I were in denial I wouldn’t have been so
affected
. In my opinion it’s
him
who’s in denial, denying the fact he had any part to play in our falling out, that he failed equally as much as I did in trying to make it work.

“Pot, kettle, isn’t it, Son? Who’s in denial now?”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m your fucking father,” I roar, angered that he’s still as temperamental as a teenager. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that, you little prick.”

“Fuck. You.
Dad
.”

I see red. After all this time, after rendering myself broke in the first few years he was gone, trying to find him, and after the effort
I
put in to trying to reconnect, the little asshole is still as pig-headed as he ever was.

I push out of the chair hard enough to make it fly out behind me, and the table rocks between the two of us as we each try to get the upper hand over the other. His shirt balls in my fist and he tucks his fingers under the armholes of my cut. He may not be as big as me, but my boy is just as strong.

The dog barks at the back door as we jostle, keen to get in on the action.

“Cut it out!” Bronx yells. “This sure isn’t going to sort anything.”

I let go, shoving Alice backwards. A cheap shot, I know, but I want that little punk to remember who’s boss. He stumbles, and then primes for another round when Ty takes hold of him.

What am I doing here? I’ve waited almost two decades to see him, to find out what happened after he left, and we’re trying to kill each other? How the fuck is this helping? What would Julia have done to get through to him? She would have laid it out on the table, told him she’s his mother and said that he’d better listen.

She wouldn’t have asked for permission, that’s for sure.

Just tell him
.

Of course.

“Losing the love of your life,” I explain, “isn’t something I hope you’ll ever understand, boy. Fuck, for all I know you’ve been there.” I throw my hands up in frustration. Anything could have happened with all these years apart; I don’t even have a clue on what he’s had to face. “But shit, kid. She was my world. She was my everything, and she got fucking taken from me without so much as a goodbye. You know what cuts me up the most?”

I turn and look at him, happy to see he’s at least listening, although still looking as if he wants to kill me. “She went in
terror
. Your mom was scared out of her fucking mind, and I wasn’t there to protect her. I wasn’t there to tell her she’d be okay, to keep her from pain, to put
myself
in harm’s way instead of her. I tortured myself over that for years.”

Alice’s expression eases, and I hope to hell I’m breaking through to him, making him understand that the things which happen to a grieving person’s mind can sometimes run very parallel to insanity. He flicks his gaze to the floor, but in no way looks ready to say anything. I decide to continue while he’s quiet.

“Yes, I should have done more for you, been there for you, put you before me. But damn, Alice, all I wanted was to die so I could be with her again.”
Some days I still do.
“Even today, I wish like hell I could hold her one more time, tell her I love her, show her the man her son’s grown up to be. But at least now I can keep those feelings in check, think of her without losing my mind.”

Liar.
I still lose my mind; it’s just not so obvious to others when I do. I fiddle with a thread hanging off my shirt while I bottle the pain yet again.

“It hurts,” I admit, “and I regret everything I did from the day she died to the day you left. But I moved on. We all need to move on. I found a place that I felt welcome, and people who picked me up when I fell into the bottom of a bourbon bottle, hoping to drown. I found a new home.”

He frowns a little. “So, why are you here if you found a ‘new home’?”

All eyes are trained on me, waiting on my answer. I could sugar-coat it with the immediate reason why I’m here—their safety. But I feel he needs to know that I’ve wanted this for longer, that I’ve never stopped thinking about him. So, I give him the reason why I wanted to come
before
King told me about Carlos’s plan. I tell him the raw truth of why I do any of this.

“Because I still don’t have it all. I don’t have my son—my blood. And that hurts more than waking every day to find your mother is still dead and that it’s not a nightmare. I can’t change what happened to her, but I can change this.” I gesture between us, watching him carefully for his reaction.

Ty drops his arms, finally letting Alice go, and my kid’s eyes hit the floor. “I don’t know.”

I recognize what he’s doing—fuck, I’ve done it enough times—he’s shutting down, burying the emotions tickling at his heart and closing himself off from more pain.

It’s time for this bullshit to stop.

I move to say something, but his girl—Jane, I heard him call her—steps up to his side. She whispers in his ear, his eyes snapping back up to me as he listens. They talk between themselves, the rest of us patiently waiting for the answer that’s going to shape the rest of how this dispute with Carlos will play out.

Alice looks me square in the eye. “You still haven’t said the one thing I wanted to hear from you back then.”

I look around the room, and back to my boy, working through every argument, disagreement, and bickering we had together. One thing stands out. One simple word that neither of us ever said afterward, but that I needed to say most for what I put him through.

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s all it would have taken,” he mumbles.

We eye each other, silently finding our way through this new ground. A dynamic has shifted, a key element changed, but neither of us has been here before. Both of us are in as much of an uncharted area as the other. Feeling the intense need to do something, anything, I step forward and offer my hand. Alice locks his fist in mine, and we pull each other into an awkward clinch.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

He responds no differently than I would have expected; we’ve both reached our limit. “Like a beer?”

I shake my head and laugh. Perhaps things have a chance after all.