Seth (Damage Control #3) (24 page)

Holy shit.

Collapsing, I twist on my side and roll her in my arms, tucking her head under my chin, her arm over my ribs, breathing her in. Feeling her heart beat against mine.

I know, as I’ve known from the first time I saw her, that this is right where I wanna be. If only I fucking could.

***

It’s morning time, and Manon is brushing her long dark hair, seated on her bed. Like a movie star, in her black lacy underwear, the silver brush in her hand, she glows in the morning light.

I’m leaning against the headboard, watching her in a kind of daze, itching to touch the shiny, loose curls.

And why not? What’s stopping me? This is what a boyfriend would do, right?

Scooting closer, I brush the back of my hand over the rough silk, and she smiles at me over her shoulder. If not for the pounding behind my eyes and the damn exhaustion hounding me this morning, I’d have dragged her back under the covers and climbed back inside her.

We didn’t get much sleep last night, and it wasn’t all fun. Sure, after the sofa, we moved to the bed, and I found out she had two condoms in her bedside table drawer. You can bet we used them. She also went down on me again, and fuck, that was also amazing.

Then we fell asleep—passed out, more like—and I had the mother of all nightmares.

Can’t remember details. There was a long dim passage, and I crawled on my hands, dragging my useless legs behind me. I had to reach Shane. Shane was held somewhere in the darkness of this place, and I had to free him before the monsters got to him. But as I crawled, the passage grew longer, and the air grew thinner. No oxygen. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t call out his name. Couldn’t go further.

Then they slithered out of the shadows—faceless at first, holding baseball bats and iron bars, wearing metal boots and metal rings on their hands, to hit me harder, cut me deeper with their blows, and kicks, and punches.

Like usual, I last a long time, writhing in pain, taking it all—stuff from my memories, my body remembering, too—until their faces are revealed.

My mom. Her boyfriends. The prison guard. The thugs from the cell across from mine.

Then Zane, Tyler, Rafe, Shane, Ocean.

“Liar!” they hiss as they kick me and slam their fists into me. “Goddamn liar. Goddamn convict. You get what you deserve.”

Almost fell off the bed before I fully woke up, my stomach churning, my heart hammering. I slipped off and made it to the bathroom just in time to puke my dinner. Managed to close the bathroom door, too, and not to wake her up.

Thank fuck for small mercies. Figures this would happen the one fucking night I spend in her apartment, in her bed.

“So you don’t really want to be a tattoo artist?” she asks, bringing me back to the present.

I blink, my fingers tangled in the shiny strands of her hair. “What?”

“You said you wanted to become a herpetologist when you were little. And you seemed sad.”

Oh shit.
Must have been on her mind since Sunday. I guess I was sad, recalling my dreams, but that’s not how it is.

“Dreams change,” I tell her. “I like snakes. But I also like inking.”

She doesn’t look convinced. “Really?”

I grab my wallet from behind me and pull out a small sketchbook Zane gave me. “Got a pen or pencil?”

Her brows go up. Then she hops off the bed and pulls a pencil from a box on her dresser. “Here. What are you going to do?”

I grin and wink at her as I open my sketchbook. “Give you what I didn’t bring with me last night.”

The question lingers in her gaze as I start sketching. Her face among roses, her smile behind curved glass, the thorns wrapping around the bottle of wine, the stars in her eyes.

She gasps before I’m done and throws herself into my arms. “Oh my God! It’s beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you are,” I tell her honestly. “Never.”

She smiles. “Can I keep it? Can you sign it?”

“You got it.” Her excitement eases the throbbing in my head, relaxes the grip of the nightmare. I sign with a flourish and rip the small page out of the sketchbook.

She places it in her lap. “You’re so talented. Wow.”

Heat is rising up my neck. “You think?”

“Are you kidding me? It’s perfect.” She smiles again, a faint, secret smile that goes through me like a rip of warm wind. “You could do anything you wanted. You’re gifted, and bright.”

“Um. Thanks?” I duck my head, because the heat is scorching my cheeks and ears.
Christ.
It’s fucking stupid how much I hunger for her kind words. Apart from Zane, can’t remember the last time anyone told me I was worth anything.

“You’re welcome. And now I have to run. New class starting today.”

That’s right. She’s moving into her new life, her new path with her studies. Soon she’ll also get fucking Fred back, do to him the things I taught her to do to me, and they’ll…

Fucking hell.
I don’t want to imagine her doing anything with him—being with him, kissing him, going down on him. She shouldn’t be with him.

She should be with me, and I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything else in my crappy, fucked-up life, even as I know it will never happen.

I’m not easy to love, Mom always said. Too contrary, stubborn, unhelpful. I’m just too damn worthless to be with anyone, and this just goes to prove it.

***

After car washing and spending a few dollars on a burger at a street corner joint, after counting and recounting what’s left, summing it up, I curse long and loud.

No way am I making enough to pay the rent this month, even with Rafe paying half. Rafe Vestri, owner of the tattoo Damage Control where I’m training, one of the two guys who give a damn about my life, who together with Zane took me and Shane off the streets and who is still looking out for me.

Need to call him, tell him I’ll need more help this month, and that I’m moving out, to a cheaper, smaller place. Need to find a room somewhere out of town. Commute will be shit, but at least I’ll have money to buy food and have a roof over my head. Winter is closing in, and I have no desire to be on the street when the temperature at night drops below zero.

The memory of my life before Zane found me makes me shudder so hard I almost drop my cell. I clutch it more tightly.

Just need a job. Like the one Shane has, at a construction site. Pays well. Only problem is my body, made fragile after too many breaks. Bones fracturing easily. Shoulders dislocating with a simple fall.

Shit.

It’s why I looked for easier gigs—bartending, cashier, cleaner. They were okay while they lasted—before I got the shit beaten out of me once, then again, landing me in hospital and then at home long enough to lose the jobs. And fuck, finding new ones is a bitch when you have a rap sheet.

Hadn’t realized when I got out of prison, but it soon sank in. Not that I could get any legal jobs without a permanent address, but still.

That’s why I can’t tell Zane or Rafe, or anyone. Why I can’t give up this one chance to a life.

My thoughts keep circling back to my mom and the call from her lawyer. I had a missed call from him the other day. Never called back.

Now I scroll back to the number, hesitate. When I told Manon my mom’s still dead to me… Okay, not true. I’m pissed off. Hate her guts for setting me up, leaving me to get captured and rot in prison.

I want to know why she did it. What she did afterward. If she has an excuse for it all. Pathetic, I know. Not wanting to believe she’s just selfish. That she just doesn’t care about me. Never has.

I’m pressing the number to call before I even know what I’m doing. It rings and rings, and then a male voice answers.

“Hello.”

I swallow hard. “John Adams?”

“Speaking.”

I get up, limp a few steps away from the bench. “This is Seth Tucker. We talked a while back. About my mother.”

Silence. Then, “Ah Mr. Tucker. Good to hear from you.”

“You called me. A few days ago.”

“Yes, I did. Your mother would like to speak with you.”

A buzzing starts in my ears. “Yeah? What about?”

“She didn’t say. I think it’s a good idea, since you apparently haven’t met in years.”

“Ask her whose fault that is.”

“You were in prison, Mr. Tucker.”

“Ask her whose fault
that
is, too.”

“What are you saying?”

“Fuck.” I pull the cell from my ear, resist the urge to throw it against the wall. “Why do you care, anyway, if she wants to talk to me or not?”

There’s a long pause at the other end of the line.

“She’s in jail, waiting for her trial, isn’t she?” Sweat trickles down my back. “Nobody bailed her out.”

“She’s in jail, yes. Mr. Tucker… Seth. She has talked to me about you. How she misses you. She’s depressed. I thought it might be good if you talked to her. This isn’t my job. I’m only doing it because I want to help.”

“Good for who?” I whisper, choking on my anger and sadness. “Is she… is she there? I mean, are you with her right now?”

“No, but I’m heading there. I could call you when I see her.” Cautious. “Would you like that?”

Yes.

No.

Fuck.

“Don’t take too long,” I growl, “or I might change my goddamn mind.”

I hang up before he has a chance to reply.

***

The call comes as I climb off the bus, heading to Damage for my training. I debate ignoring it and never returning this guy’s calls again—but as I said: it’s pathetic how much I want to believe she didn’t mean to hurt me—or Shane. That she’s capable of love. Or loving me.

Because—my brain tells me—if my own mom can’t love me, then what chance do I stand with anyone else? With Manon.

Yeah, I’m seriously fucked-up. Knowing it doesn’t help.

And fuck, then I hear her voice.

“Seth? That you?” she asks.

For the first time in years, the first time since that fateful evening.

I stop, lean against the wall of a random building and close my eyes. Fuck, this is killing me. “Mom.”

“Oh God, it is you. Missed you, baby.” Her voice cracks, and it only pisses me off more.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” I can’t help a snort of disgust. “What the fuck?”

“Why, Seth?” Goddammit, she sounds confused. I wonder if she’s acting for John Adams, or any other corrections officer there. “What happened to you?”

That startles a bark of laughter out of me. It’s raw and bitter and it burns my throat.

“What happened to me? Jesus, you’ve got balls to ask me that after you and you asshole of a husband set us up to take the fall for you, while you ran away with the cash you made. Did you stop to think what it would fucking do to me? To Shane?”

“Shane? Why to Shane?”

Jesus.
I press my thumb between my eyes, to relieve the pressure. “Like you don’t know. Shane came to find me, tried to help me. Remember how you left me, with my knee blown, my leg broken, my arm smashed?” Remembered pain shudders through me. “He got arrested, too, taken in as accessory when the narcs rolled in. Less time than I got, but it was enough.”

“Enough for what?” Her fake sadness and confusion has bled away into pure curiosity.

“What do you think, mom? You’ve been in prison, too. Don’t you know what happens to pretty, young,
exotic
boys like Shane?”

She makes a strange sound, maybe a sob, maybe a laugh.

I don’t care.

“He’s prettier than I am. Or was. You should see him now, all bulked up.” A knot in my throat forces me to stop and swallow hard. “He’s stronger on the outside, but inside…”

God help me, I’ll reach across the line and kill her for putting him through that hell.

“I didn’t know,” she whispers. “Oh God, not Shane. Never wanted this to happen.”

“What about me? Don’t you care for what happened to me?”

“Oh, you were always strong, Seth. I knew you’d make it.”

“Screw you.” A crack inside my chest tears wide open. “I know he was always your favorite.” More than me, her own son. “He reminds you of my father, doesn’t he? You were in love, and Shane looks just like him.”

She says nothing.

Fuck.
Why did I think this was a good idea? There is my answer. She didn’t even ask how I fared in prison. Doesn’t care.

“Do you feel guilty at all?” The need to know is overwhelming. “Any remorse for what you did to us? For the fucking unfairness of it?”

“I don’t know what to say,” she whispers.

Enough of this bullshit.
“Goodbye, Mom.”

“Seth…”

I wait, chewing on my rage, on my bone-deep sadness. “What?”

“It’s not that Shane reminds me of your father. It’s that you remind me of
myself
. And that hurts.”

I disconnect the call and slide down the wall until my ass hits the concrete sidewalk.
Fucking awesome.

Hell if that didn’t break me up all over again.

Manon

The day goes by in a blur, as I run from class to class, and it’s all interesting and kind of stressful, but my mind is elsewhere.

All I can see is a pair of warm, dark eyes, a wicked smile, an inked body sprawled on my bed. All I can hear is his deep voice, whispering my name. And I can feel the pain of his past through the cracks that he allows to show in his armor.

Somehow it all draws me in, the combination of his strength, his gruff sexiness and the vulnerability behind the handsome façade, in ways I never thought possible. Not even sure anymore what it was I felt, or thought I felt for Fred, because it’s nowhere near as strong and deep as what I’m feeling for Seth.

My body needs him. My mind seeks him. Being away from him even for a few hours hurts.

This is crazy.

How did I ever think I wanted Fred that way? Can’t imagine it now. I liked Fred, but the thought of kissing him or touching him? Makes me feel slightly sick.

I need to come clean with Seth about what happened with Fred—what happened and what didn’t, and all these tangled feelings and thoughts.

But I’m scared. Seth probably doesn’t feel that way about me. I mean, the few times I tried telling him, showing him, he just shut down and changed the topic. Told me this doesn’t mean anything.