Objective: (Bloodlines Book 2) (13 page)

“You’ve been in here for two days, Mags,” Bentley says in a low voice. I shake my head to clear it a bit and think. It was just this morning that Bentley was over, wasn’t it?

“I gave you the rest of the day, you know, to cool down, but then you didn't come out on Monday,” he says, filling in the blanks for me.

“Wait, what? What day is it?” I ask feeling a little woozy.

“Tuesday, girl, damn, did you eat?” Brock bellows.
Shit, Tuesday.
I did miss work. I drag a hand down my face and then run it through my hair and start counting to ten.

“Crap,” I blow out when I hit five. “Brock, I’ll see you tonight if I still have a job,” I say and push past them to the door. I open it and point outside. “Out,” I clip.

“No way. Talk, Mags,” Bentley barks. Brock moves to his side and crosses his arms over his massive chest. They are fools if they think they can intimidate me.

“I got drunk. Really drunk. Okay? It’s not that big of a deal,” I huff.

“It’s not that big of a deal?” Bentley grinds out.

“Why do you give a shit?!” I bark.

“You know what? I need time to cool off. Go to work tonight. When you get home, we talk,” he growls as he storms past me pausing at the door.

“I’m not yours, Bent!” I holler after him. Brocks hand runs down my left arm. The contact makes me spin around, glaring.

“Is this how you want to be remembered?” Brock pleads.

“I don’t want to be remembered at all. If I’m being remembered, it means I’m dead,” I snip.

“Mags, there are two types of tragedies in life. One is not getting what you want, the other is getting it,” he says, shaking his head at me. His words send chills down my spine.

“Listen to him,
Mags. You can’t do this to yourself. Maybe you
think
no one cares about you, but you’re wrong,” Bentley says gently before seeing himself out. Brock follows him out. I shut the door behind them, lock the deadbolts and slide down against the door to the floor. What am I doing? I moved past this phase! I function again without drinking. Feeling like I was run over by a Mack truck, I slowly crawl across the trailer to my phone to call Aster when I notice the date. One year. It’s been one year since his funeral. The funeral I missed. The funeral I caused. I pull myself off the floor and grab my keys.

“Hey! Back again so soon?” the pimply faced kid says as I set the bottle of bourbon on the counter.

“Yup,” I answer, thankful that I thought to snag my sunglasses before heading out. My eyes are a scary bloodshot mess.

“Well, have a great day!” the little shit sings as I toss cash at him and head out. There is nothing great about this day at all. I pull into my spot and jerk the car into park
before it’s even stopped fully, making the contents of my purse spill onto the floor of the passenger seat as the car lurches.

“Shit,” I mumble. I rake the loose items back in, grab the bottle and head inside. I don't bother with a glass, or ice, I open the bottle and pull directly from it. It burns going down. The burn is familiar and comforting. I feel the warmth spread slowly throughout my limbs. I take another slug of the liquor and wait for the same warmth to come over me. I don’t set the bottle down until it’s half empty.

If a person’s heart could bleed, physically bleed, that’s what mine would be doing right now. The weight of the silence in my trailer is deafening. The weight of my guilt is crushing. I transfer it all to the hate side of me. I morph it all into rage and direct it at the cause, the root. I’ve taken numerous steps to protect myself long enough to get justice.

Chapter 11

“My parents think you’re leading me down the wrong path.” ‘Cypress, that boy’s the wrong kind of bliss, he’s born to be a leaver,’ my dad had shouted at me.

“I am, Mags. You shouldn't get involved with me,” he crowed.

“You didn't let me finish..
 I just want the chance to find out on my own. I don't agree with them. They don't understand. You’re more than Ezra and the boys. You have a soul, Cane. I see it. Please, please don’t shut me out.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to live without you,
Mags. Tell me what to do,” he begged.

“I’m only going to be thirty minutes away. It’s college, not the end of the world.”

“You’ll change. I won't be good enough anymore.”

“Never,” I said sternly. “God, Cane. I’m so nervous about you being here and me being there, please don't make this harder. I need to know that we can do this.”

“You want a promise?” he asked.

“I want...something. I want to know we’re something you intend to follow through,” I mumbled. He lifted me and walked into the bathroom, closing
 the door and setting me down. I glanced at the speaker and tub and whipped my head back to him.

“Cane...” my voice was breathy.

“Trust me.” I wondered if he could hear the strain in his voice like I could.

He turned the water on, letting the tub fill, and then lit the one candle in his bathroom that I made him buy. He plugged in his phone and started the playlist he had been making for me to bring to school when I leave. When the music was softly lilting in the background he reached for the hem of my dress and lifted slowly.

“Cane,” I put a hand on his to stop him. “I ah...I’m…nervous…” My voice was quiet and insecure.

“
Mags, everything about you is beautiful. But, I promise, I won’t do anything you don't want me to.” He started moving his hands again. His fingers grazed my hips as he lifted my dress higher. I thought I’d be more nervous but I only felt beautiful. I raised my eyes to his and trailed my hands up his sides under his shirt. He pulled the dress over my head. A strangled sounding moan slipped from him. The look in his deep brown eyes was full of heat, so much that I think his zipper is going to undo itself from the strain in his jeans. He reached around my back and unclipped my bra, gently tugging it off, letting it drop to the floor. His breathing was shallow and labored but he kept his focus on my eyes. I moved my hands to his hips and tucked my thumbs inside the waistband of his jeans, before undoing them and slowly pushing them down. I started trembling then.

“Step out, baby,” he cooed. I looked down and stepped out of my underwear. He picked me up and, gently, set me down into the water, never tearing his eyes away from mine. “I wish I could tell you how much I love you, how much you mean to me." He nuzzled my cheek and continued down my neck, setting a fire across my skin, coals deep in my soul bursting into flames.

"Show me,” I whispered and moved my hands up to his shirt and started lifting it off of him.

My hands moved on his chest, his ribs, his belly and sides as my lips moved to his jaw, then neck, throat, collarbone and down. Everywhere I touched and tasted his muscles jumped. He crawled into the water with me. The warm water moving around and over us only added to the sensations. I went down, tracing the ridges of his abs with my tongue. He growled. I felt bold with him. Adventurous. His fingers flexed at my neck and that sent a shot of heat right between my legs. His lips met mine and claimed me. I was his. Always. Never breaking our kiss, he moved us from the tub to the bedroom.

Taking a deep breath I trailed my tongue along the line of muscle that curved from his hip to his groin. The hand at my neck disappeared and I was suddenly being pulled up his body. He brought me up so I’m straddling him. He kissed me while holding me tight to him. His erection was between my legs and in that moment, there was nothing else I wanted or needed. My hips ground down on him. Cane’s hands came to my sides, one hand coming to my breast, lifting it slightly. I broke away from the kiss and looked down to see him taking it to his mouth. His lips closed around the nipple and he sucked, hard. My hips bucked in his lap which caused him to growl against my nipple. I whimpered from the sensations rolling through me. His mouth left my breast and he picked me up and laid me back on the bed. Looming over me, trailing a calloused hand on me from my shoulder to my waist, I shivered. He ran his hand over my hip and in between my legs.

“Beautiful… ” His hand paused.

“You want this?” he breathed. Was he serious?

“Yes,” I rasped.

“You sure, baby? After this, there’s no going back.” I sat up. “There's only one thing I need." I placed my hand on his heart. "The rest are just technicalities, Cane.” His torso was heavy on mine. I liked the feel of it. I wrapped my legs around his waist while his kisses worked my ear, neck and collarbone. His fingers toyed between my legs and my groans were drifting into his mouth as he kissed me.

“I need you, baby girl,” he whispered. His thumb put pressure on my clit and my hips bucked again. His hips shifted and I adjusted my legs around his and felt him drive
in. I squeaked, trying not to let the pinch bother me. Once he was all the way in he’d stopped and waited.

“Are you alright?” he asked. I nodded my response. He slowly pulled out and then pushed back in. It was amazing. My lips parted, my neck arched and my eyes fluttered closed. His thrusts were driving me towards an orgasm the likes of which I’d never experienced before when he pulled out. My eyes flew open. “Don't stop!”

Suddenly I was flipped on my belly and moving backwards towards the edge of the bed. My feet hit the floor, a palm pressed between my shoulders and I was bent over the mattress. The pads of his fingers squeezed my hips. “Full of surprises!” I gasped playfully. His voice was low and heavy as he held tight to my hips and resumed thrusting. “I want you to feel how good you make me feel.”

I was going to explode. I could feel it coming on hard. He pulled out and flipped me back over, wrapping an arm around my ribs and hoisting me up the bed with him. He entered slowly, taking his time now. Our eyes locked and he started rolling his hips. The buildup was too much. “Cane!” I breathed as my orgasm crashed over me and his tongue traced my collarbone. Five seconds later with my legs tightly holding his hips, he planted his face in my neck, drove deep, and groaned my name. I loved the weight of him on me. We were both panting. I’d had okay self-orgasms before, even what I thought was a good one before, but nothing compared to what just happened.

I turned my face into his neck and kissed him behind the ear while I lightly traced the muscles of his back, feeling elation deep in the joints of my bones. Before my brain caught up with my mouth I whispered, “I love you, Cane.”

His body went stiff. Then he kissed me.

“I love you too, Mags.” Those simple words changed me forever. I would never be the same.

I wake up with an epic hangover and an ache between my legs. I squeeze my thighs together tightly and pray for the sensation to go away because it’s just that, a sensation. No truth behind the feeling at all. Just my body conjuring up old feelings. Muscle memory. It's like I've woken up in bed and he's not here...because he's gone to the bathroom or something. But somehow, I know he's never going come back to bed. If I could just reach over and touch his side of the bed, I would know that it was cold, but I can't. I know I can't have him back but I don't want to wake up in the morning thinking he's still here anymore. But how can I heal? I can feel the details of him, the bits and pieces I never bothered to put into words. And I can feel these extreme moments, even if I don't want to. I put these together, and I get the feel of him, enough to know how much I miss him...and how much I hate the person who took him away. Knowing that person is me - it’s torture.
Please, this has to get easier.
I will myself to stand up and stumble to the bathroom. After I relieve myself I push my hair from my face and take a good look in the mirror. Hell. I see hell. There is no resemblance to the pretty girl who was brought into this world. There are only broken remnants. Shards. Bits and pieces of Cypress.

I brush my teeth and then shower. In the mirror I line my eyes with thick black eyeliner and blend silver and navy eye shadow across my lids. Taking the crimson red tube from my makeup case, I carefully color in my full lips with the deep colored stain. I sweep a little bronzer across my cheeks and swipe my lashes with mascara and call it
good. I run the comb through my hair and twist it up off my back and neck on top of my head and tug on my work shorts, push-up bra and tank-top. It’s time to see Penny.
 

Penny looks over the brim of her glasses at me and shakes her head slowly.

“Honey, no matter what happened to you, and especially since you won't tell me, I’m left guessing here, but you can't drink yourself into a stupor. It’s not going to make any of it disappear. It’s not going to change history or your reality. I can’t keep giving you chances. You’ve done well for the last year. You’ve picked a handful of fights with customers but quite frankly I’m sure that they had it coming, considering you generally keep your mouth shut and your hands to yourself.” She winks at me.

“I know. I know. Penny, please, I need this. Don’t fire me.”

“I’m not firing you, Mags. Just show up for the next seven days, I need to give some of the girls who covered your ass a break…so you’re pickin’ up all their shifts.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes and whine at her. Seven nights on is a lot for anyone but I’ll take it. I thank her profusely and get my ass out to the bar to get everything ready for the night.