Page 14 of Tormented
Yeah, she did. God, I miss her.
“You all right?” King asks.
“Peachy, brother.” I push out of his office chair, shoving memories of my mother back in the box they belong in. “We done here?”
“For now.” He stands also. “I’ve got some business to sort out off-site, so if you want to use my office to talk to Ramona like we discussed, you’re welcome to.”
“Thanks.”
He halts me as I turn to leave. “Sawyer.”
“Yeah?”
King rounds the desk, and lays a hand on my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re back. But I won’t lie, you’ve got a fuckin’ uphill battle ahead of you if you want to prove redemption.”
“I know that.”
“But I also want you to realize that you’ve got a chance at it. There’s a good guy in here”—he prods my chest—“when you don’t let your head take over.”
Well, he’s no fun . . . .
“All I can do is try, right?”
“Right.” He gives me a slap on the back of the shoulder. “Now go do whatever the fuck it is you do to work out your tension, because you’re strung tight as a wire at the moment and I don’t need you breakin’ tonight.”
He takes his leave first, heading across the common room to the garage as I step out of his office and look around. Grates for the meat are being placed over the fire pits out the back, and a couple of prospects are unfolding tables from where they’re stacked against the wall. Ramona backs into the kitchen, an armful of bags that look like they contain disposable plates stealing her focus, which means she doesn’t spot me. I cross to the bar and take a seat on one of the vacant stools.
“Give it to me straight.”
Abbey falters, coming close to dropping the bottle in her hands before she carefully sets it on a shelf. “You’re an asshole who keeps startling the hell out of me.”
I stare at her back as she refuses to face me, surprised the earlier stammer has gone.
She slowly turns, catches me looking, and frowns. “What? You said to give it to you straight.”
“Not so scared now, mouse?”
Her gaze drops, flicks back to mine, and then drops again. “Still nervous,” she admits, “but I’m also fucking livid at the moment, and when I’m angry there’s not as much room for being worried.”
“Worried about what?”
“Everything.”
The heartache in her whispered answer even has my devil setting his drink aside to lean a little closer.
“Someone pickin’ on you?”
Her bitter laugh catches me off guard as she slides my straight whiskey over.
“Apart from me,” I say, rolling my eyes.
She drops her chin, staring at the counter where her hands fidget with the droplets of moisture left behind.
“Take that as a yes?”
Her head lifts as she sighs. “It wouldn’t be a day in this place if I wasn’t being ridiculed or bullied one way or another.”
Abbey’s gaze holds mine, and for the first time since I left Dana bleeding out on the old man’s lawn, I wilt under the truth in her words. I picked on her. I ridiculed her.