Untitled Book 2 (16 page)

He leaves and I stare at the door.

Motherfucker.

He wanted this to happen.

No, he'd counted on it.

I consider finding him and punching him in the face for playing with us, but does it really matter how I got Shay? The important thing is that I have her.

Sin was right though—Talon is more of a smart, manipulative bastard than we give him credit for.

*  *  *

“What are you doing?” I ask Shay when I return to the room and find her standing on a chair, dusting the windows.

“Cleaning your room,” she says, not looking at me.

“Our room,” I correct, approaching her. She turns around, sees my cut lip and scowls.

“No fighting, my ass. What happened?”

The concern in her voice is palpable. Little does she know she's about to have more important things on her mind than Talon getting in one hit on me. I don't want to tell her, but I know I have to. How the fuck do I bring this up though? By the way, your father is dead? I'm sure he loved her, he did care for her and apparently dote on her; maybe toward the end he just got desperate. People do anything when they're trying to save themselves. Anything. They don't care about other people when they're that low, struggling to get up. How am I supposed to ask her about the work she did for him, when I have to tell her that he's dead? Fuck, I don't know at all how to handle this in a gentle way.

“There was a punch or two, that's all,” I say, lifting her off the chair by her waist and placing her on the floor. She reaches up and touches my split lip, making me wince. “It's fine.”

“What happened?” she asks, wrapping her tiny arms around my hips. I sit down on the bed and lift her onto my lap.

“I have some bad news,” I start, clearing my throat. Who am I kidding? I don't have the fuckin' tact for this. I'm just going to blurt it out and she's probably going to go into shock.

“What is it?” she asks, cupping my face with her hands when I stay silent. “Is Talon okay? Oh my god, did you knock him out or something? Is he in the hospital?”

She really can be dramatic at times.

“Talon is fine.” For now. “He did tell me some bad news about your father though.”

Bad news?

I could kill myself.

“Bad news” was her father having to stay an extra year in prison or something, not that he was dead as a doornail.

“What is it?” she asks, warily, her brow furrowing.

Fuck.

I just need to say it, not drag it out.

“He's uhhh . . .” Fuck. “He's dead, Shay. I'm sorry. He was killed in prison.”

She freezes and stares at me in confusion as if she doesn't understand what I'm saying.

“He's dead?”

I nod.

Her bottom lip trembles.

“Oh my god,” she whispers.

And then she cries.

I hold on to her as she cries on my shoulder. I know there's nothing I can say or do to make this better, to fix this for her,
so I just hold her and let her cry. I rub her back and make little sounds one would use to soothe a baby or a puppy.

Fuck, I'm really terrible at comforting someone, but for her, I want to try. I don't want her to go to someone else for comfort, I want to be able to fulfill all her needs, even ones I'm not quite comfortable with. I don't think her father really deserves her tears, but then again he did raise her. And Shay loves him, there's no question about it.

“I'm sorry,” I say over and over again.

Soon, she stops making any noise, but the tears still fall.

Somehow I think the silent crying is worse.

I lay her down in bed and wrap her in my arms. She cries herself to sleep, and all I do is feel helpless, wishing I could take away her pain.

But I can't.

She'll need to fix the hole inside her on her own. Afterward though, she'll be stronger than she was.

And she needs to be strong, because no matter how hard I'm going to try to save her, it seems the world isn't done fucking her over yet.

I
DON'T
leave bed for three days, except to use the bathroom. I don't eat much, although Vinnie tries to make me. I just don't feel very hungry.

I feel exhausted.

Mentally and physically drained.

My father was all I had left, really, besides Talon, and now he's gone too. At least when he was in prison, I knew eventually I'd see him again. But now. Never again. I don't know what to do to make the pain go away.

I don't want to be like this. I know I can't be sad forever—the world waits for no one—but how do I go on every day with this pain in my gut? Nothing means anything anymore. I just want to sleep, hide under these sheets for the rest of my life. Talon calls me, but I don't feel like talking to anyone. Faye and the girls drop by to check on me, and I thank them but tell them that I'm okay, I just want to sleep.

On day four, Vinnie walks into the room with a determined
look on his face. He opens the blinds, pulls the blanket off me, and says, “Get up, now.”

I roll over and ignore him. I hear him running water in the bathroom. Filling the bath? The next second, I'm being dragged down the bed by my feet. I start kicking my legs but there's no way I can overpower him. He lifts me in the air and over his shoulder, then pulls down my shorts. Putting me down on my feet, he removes my top, then carries me into the bathtub, like he's done before.

“I don't want to do anything,” I say, my voice weak and pathetic. “I don't want to leave this room.”

“You don't have to,” he replies, handing me my body wash, shampoo, and conditioner. “Just have a bath, brush your teeth, then you can get back in bed. I'm going to change the sheets and bring some food in for you. If you eat it, I'll even let you go back to sleep without annoying you.”

It sounds fair, so I nod and dunk my head back in the water so I can shampoo my hair. It's really knotty, and I wonder if Vinnie will help me brush it out after the bath. The Weeknd starts to play, Vinnie knows he's my favorite artist right now, and I close my eyes and just allow myself to enjoy the warm water on my skin. When I'm all done, I dry myself and walk naked to the room, where Vinnie has indeed changed the sheets. I dress in the black T-shirt he left out, then lie back down. He comes in a few minutes later with some rice and chicken, with another few dishes.

“Did you get this from a Vietnamese restaurant?” I ask him, recognizing the scent of the blended spices used in the dish.

He nods, looking a little sheepish. “You said once that it's comfort food to you, right? So I got you some.”

I realize in this moment just how lucky I am.

“Thank you, Vinnie,” I say, suddenly feeling emotional. Great, now I'm going to cry over food. No, I'm going to cry because this big, bad biker is so damn thoughtful.

“Did you eat?” I ask him, taking the first bite.

“Don't worry about me,” he says, watching me closely as I chew and swallow. “Just eat. There's more if you want, and there's also a variety of desserts and shit that Faye picked up. There's cheesecake—I know how you feel about cheesecake.”

I did like cheesecake.

“Will you sit down, at least?” I ask him as he continues to stand there and supervise me. He nods and sits down. I finish half the food, feeling really full.

“Can I finish the rest later?” I ask, not wanting to waste the food, or to act ungrateful when he brought it to me.

“Sure, you did well,” he says, taking the tray from me. I yawn, and he grins. “Don't go to sleep yet. I have something for you that I think you're going to like.”

“What?” I ask, wondering what he could be up to now. “Does it require me to leave the room?”

“No,” he says, exiting the door. “Don't move a muscle.”

When he opens the door about a few minutes later, my jaw drops.

He didn't?

“Oh my god, Vinnie!”

My mood instantly lifts.

In his hands are three puppies.

Cuteness overload.

A Great Dane, a German shepherd, and what looks like a Neapolitan mastiff.

He places them all on the bed, and I die. In a good way.

I smile.

I pick them up one by one and hug them.

“I remember how happy taking you to the pet store made you,” he says, picking up the mastiff and holding him. “It was the only thing I could think of to try to make you smile again.”

He brought me puppies, to the bed, to make me smile.

My eyes start to well up.

“Fuck, don't cry,” he says, looking alarmed. He hands me the mastiff as if that will help.

I make a sniffling sound, attempting to curb the tears. “Thank you. Who do they belong to?”

“Well, one belongs to you,” he says, smiling. “If you want one. They're all boys. I kind of rented them for two days.”

“You rented them?” I ask, laughing. “How did you manage that?”

“I talked them into a two-day trial period,” he admits, shrugging. “And money talks.”

This man.

“I don't even know what to say,” I whisper, hugging the Great Dane against my chest.

“You don't need to,” he replies, leaning forward to place a kiss on my lips. “Your smile says enough. Also, you're cleaning all their shit.”

A therapy dog.

Not really, but the pup is going to distract me from everything else going on. I don't know if bringing me three was a good idea, although I'm happy he chose three big breeds, because I love big dogs.

“Well,” he says, standing up. “I'll leave you to it then. I'll bet
the women will be in here soon, wanting a cuddle, they've been fussing over them like crazy all morning.” He pauses. “They're going to fuckin' baby that puppy so much.”

I was going to too.

He scrubs his hand down his face, but then says, “As long as you're happy again, I don't fuckin' care.”

I wouldn't be happy again, but I do feel the cloud of misery move away a little. Not because of the puppies, although I'm already in love with all of them, but because of Vinnie himself. He is so good to me, and even though I don't have a father anymore, I do have him, and that's something to be joyful about.

He leaves the room, and I lie back, three adorable puppies jumping all over me.

And I smile again.

*  *  *

“You know,” I say to Faye, watching the pups play with Clover on the grass. “They're all pretty cute, aren't they? And Clover loves them. The compound is big enough for them all, don't you think? And I'm sure we could use the extra guards.”

Faye raises an eyebrow and says, “Not very subtle, are you?”

“The only way I'm going to get my way in this situation is to get the queen and the princess on my side.”

She throws her head back and laughs at that. “So what are you suggesting exactly?”

“We could raise them all here. One could be Clover's, one could be mine, and one could be yours . . . if you wanted one.”

Faye stays quiet for a moment, but then says, “I call the shepherd.”

I grin, pressing my fingers together like Mr. Burns from
T
he
Simpsons
. “Colt is mine.” Colt was the harlequin Great Dane that had grown attached to me over the last few days.

“You named him Colt after Lana's character?” Faye asks, laughing even harder than before, tears forming in her hazel eyes. “Basically you named the dog after Tracker's alter ego.”

“It suits him,” I say, lifting my shoulders in a shrug. “He's going to be as big as a horse too, so it goes.”

When Clover picks up the Neo and says, “Mom can we keep this one?” Faye and I share a scheming glance. Yes, our plan was going to work out just fine.

“Should we do an evil laugh too?” Faye asks, copying my Mr. Burns hand moves.

“I feel like it's appropriate.”

“Mwahahahahahahaha,” Faye laughs, making it sound pretty damn evil.

I copy her, and then she does it again, and then so do I.

Sin walks out and gives us a suspicious look. “What the hell are the two of you up to?”

“What gave us away?” Faye asks, tone full of mock innocence. She then starts giggling. “How great is my evil laugh, babe? I should be in a Disney movie.”

Sin blinks slowly, then turns his eyes to his daughter. “We're not keeping all those dogs.”

“Of course not, honey,” Faye replies, waving her hand flippantly. Under her breath she mutters, “Just two of them.”

In that moment, I realize that when I grow up, I want to be Faye.