Page 8 of Tormented

THREE

Sawyer

Jesus Christ. I’ve been gone all of a fucking month from this hell, and somehow that kid has aged ten years since I last paid her any mind. She’s got no idea how fucking gorgeous she is. Still remember the first time I saw her: matted hair, wide eyes, dirty nails, and that feral snarl that always made me want to pick her up by the neck and snap it like a stray cat’s.

Glad I didn’t.

Why do you mock her, then . . .?

You know why, asshole. Dana’s barely in the ground—rest her tortured fucking soul—and I’ve got shit to sort out with the mother of my child. Last thing I need is another lost puppy following me around looking for love.

But puppies are so cute . . . .

Yeah, and they shit on your floor and chew all your stuff. Everything has an ugly side, my man. And that puppy? She’s riddled with rot.

Pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it?

I knock the fucker in my head into submission with a quick heel of the hand and run the other palm down my face. I know the truth, no matter what bullshit I tell myself, and so does he. Abbey’s got as many issues as I do, if not more, and what good would that do anyone, mixing our mess together? She’s a good kid underneath all that knee-jerk survival bullshit. She just needs somebody with a pure heart to bring the confidence out in her, not some asshole like me who’d only use her weakness to boost his own fragile ego.

You’ve never cared before . . . .

Nope. But then again, I didn’t know Dana before, and that girl taught me a hell of a lot before she died about the kind of person I can be if I try. She proved I have a heart that bleeds red, that I’m capable of compassion. She proved that if I’m brave enough to admit I care, I’m capable of doing some pretty damn selfless things for those who matter to me.

Which brings me to the reason why I’m here.

King wants me to address the council members tomorrow, tell them the plans my father revealed while he held me captive. He wants to use the Fallen Aces as his puppet for expanded drug distribution, and even thought he could bribe me to take over the Fort Worth chapter in an underhanded coup until I showed him where my loyalty really lies.

It wasn’t with blood.

Problem is, I don’t know how King thinks I can walk in the meeting room tomorrow with no less than half a dozen guys I’ve royally screwed over in one way or another, and not walk out with a few grams of lead in my back. The payback would be justified, the repercussions of my actions long overdue.

I’ve hurt a lot of people who’ve done nothing but sacrifice themselves to help me for little to no reward, and I’m big enough now to admit that doesn’t sit right with me. I told Dana I’d make things right, and this is the first step. If I’m going to change, there’s bound to be a hundred more times when I’ll need to walk into the fires I’ve created. Time to man up and face the music.

As if you can change . . . .

A fucker’s got to try.

“I didn’t know if you wanted a glass,” Abbey says from my open doorway, snapping me out of my trance. “So I brought one up anyway.”

I nod and then jerk my head toward the set of drawers so she knows where to set the drink down. She glides across the floor in her tight-as-sin leather pants, cropped baseball tee, and heavy military style boots. Her tits aren’t as large as I’m used to, but everything else ticks the boxes. Last I remember, the scared little mouse would get around in Apex’s old T-shirts, hiding behind the masses of fabric as some kind of safety blanket.

Kid sure as hell was hiding one hell of a package under that shit.

“Anything else?”

I feel the corners of my mouth slowly inch upward as I narrow my gaze on her. She looks to the floor, her hands fisting before her.

“Look at me, kid.”

She frowns, squares her shoulders, and brings her chin up. “I’m not a kid, so stop calling me that.”

I ignore her whiny complaint and ask, “What do you see when you look at me?” I love playing this game. Bitches usually trot out some lame fucking compliments meant to get me interested in their obsessive desires. Also usually ends up with them in my bed for the night.

If this kid is as flustered around me as I think, she’s doing her best to pretend she’s not, then the next words out of her mouth should be—

“Pain.”

Ooo, she’s good . . . .