Page 48 of King of Pain (Damaged Hearts #1)

Owner of a Lonely Heart

THREE YEARS AFTER

Chance

Three years. Three torturous years, and I’m still here.

The cabin is quiet, filled only with the sounds of my brush against the canvas and the crackling of the fire in the hearth.

My paintings are everywhere: stacked against the walls, piled in corners, covering almost every available surface.

It’s not lost on me that I’ve painted the same thing so many times in varying styles, poses and color schemes, I could probably paint another variation with my eyes closed.

I pause, rolling my shoulders and sighing.

Loneliness is a constant here, an ache I’ve grown used to.

But I’d serve a life sentence in this cabin alone if it meant Ant was safe.

There were nights I still thought about running, disappearing into another country, but if I ever get the word that everything is clear, I want to be able to get to him as quickly as possible.

That’s the only thought that keeps me sane.

Dropping my brush into the murky water jar, I decide I need to eat.

Dinner is nothing fancy, just spaghetti with sauce from a jar.

I smile, thinking how Ant would throw a fit if he saw me eating this.

I think that’s why I make it more than anything else.

I’d give anything to eat his cooking again.

To watch him buzzing around the kitchen, that easy smile on his face.

The jarred sauce the local runner for The Doves’ local man drops off in the groceries is the best the store has, but it’s still shit compared to Ant’s.

With the sauce warming on low and the water set to boil, I step outside to gather firewood. The second I do, I’m greeted by my self-appointed companion: Vinnie, the mountain goat. “Hey, troublemaker,” I mutter as he trots up to me.

Vinnie wasn’t always like this. When he first started coming around the cabin, he was shy, skittish.

It took weeks of patience, coaxing him closer, letting him eat out of my hand before he finally started trusting me.

Now? Now he’s by my side constantly, gives me a hard time—and makes me laugh until my eyes are wet.

The way our relationship evolved reminded me so much of Ant that I decided he needed a strong Italian name.

The big difference in this relationship? I’m the one that feeds him. Vinnie nudges at my leg, eyes locked on my empty hands. “You just ate,” I remind him, but he ignores me, trying to gnaw at my sleeve.

I grab a few logs, and Vinnie follows me back inside, trotting in like he pays rent.

After I finish making dinner and sit down to eat, he stands beside the table, bumping my elbow, trying to get at my plate.

I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m glad I have you here, otherwise I would have lost my mind by now. ”

After dinner, I clean up, then grab one of the books I’ve read probably fifty times. But my mind doesn’t stay on the words. It drifts, like a ship lost at sea, and it only wants to reach one destination. Him.

Is he happy? Has he worked his way up to being an agent yet? Does he still have Jen in his corner? I hope Lexi’s been there for him too. I should have asked her to look out for him before I cut off communication, but I didn’t. Still, I have to believe she’s been there for him.

And then, the question that always drives me to the brink—does he have someone? Someone who holds him, who makes him laugh, who got to be his first kiss?

The idea makes something dark and possessive coil inside my gut, slithering its way up, threatening to strangle what’s left of my heart.

I shove it down. None of it matters. I’d make the same choices again if it meant keeping him safe. I’d endure any amount of pain.

Frustrated, I toss the book aside. I just need to go to bed.

I call for Vinnie to take him outside for the night. He trots after me, tail flicking as we head to the door. I tried having him sleep in my room. That lasted one night. Stepping in goat shit barefoot is not a pleasant way to greet the day.

I wake up slowly, groaning as the early morning light blasts through the cheap, translucent curtains adorning the windows in this cracker box of a bedroom.

I glance down at the tent in the blankets at my crotch and sigh.

“I know, buddy. I’m sorry. One day. For now, you’ll have to settle for your side piece, Palmer Handy. ”

I make my way to the small bathroom and turn on the shower and leave it running.

The hot water takes forever in this cabin.

I busy myself with letting Vinnie inside before heading to the kitchen to start coffee.

I head back to the bathroom and start to strip off.

Stepping out of my boxer briefs, I look down at my still half-hard cock and sigh.

I squeeze my large body into the tiny shower stall and my muscles melt under the hot water.

It slides over my body as I take myself in hand, memories of Ant the only images guiding my wrist.

Fuck, I miss him.

After my shower, I towel off and slide on a pair of boxer briefs, jeans, a white t-shirt, and a flannel button-down.

Making my way to the main part of the cabin, I head into the kitchen and pull eggs and bacon from the fridge.

While the eggs cook, I grab a plastic container of cut carrots and apples, scoop some into a bowl, and set it down for Vinnie to eat.

I pour my coffee, plate my eggs and bacon, and sit down to eat. My mind wanders as I think about the spring thaw coming soon and decide to do some maintenance around the cabin. After cleaning up the kitchen, I head out to get started.

Vinnie follows me everywhere, being a menace—chewing at the handle of my tool bucket, trying to eat a discarded rag, headbutting my leg every time I bend over. “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?” I mutter, but I can’t help laughing.

When afternoon hits, I take a break and head inside for lunch. When I walk into the kitchen, I notice the burner phone flashing.

A message.

I flip it open.

X: Call incoming at 2 p.m. Answer.

I glance at the clock—that’s thirty minutes from now. While I wait, I make a sandwich and brew more coffee for my thermos.

I’m just finishing the sandwich when the phone rings. I pick up immediately.

“Hey, buddy!” comes the voice on the other end.

A smile splits my face. “Hey, Murph. Fuck, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yeah, well, you’re going to be really happy to hear why I’m calling.”

My heart hammers while I sit up straighter. “Wh–what is it?”

Murph’s voice turns serious. “It’s over, my friend. Coast is clear. You can leave.”

I shoot to my feet, pacing. “What are you saying, Murph? What happened?”

“Ronan Kelly is dead. Heart attack. The head of the Black Crows is gone, Chance.”

I exhale sharply, gripping the counter as my stomach tightens. I need to be sure this is the right move, though. “What does that mean, though, Murph? The Black Crows still exist, right? Blood debts and all—”

“Yes, he interrupts. But Ronan was old guard, Chance. He was the one who wanted blood over what happened with your father.”

I let out a short breath. “Yeah, I’m well aware.”

Murph continues, “Turns out, his new second-in-command—the guy that moved up ranks to replace your dad—is Mickey Doyle. He’s an old friend of your mom’s from high school.”

I frown. “Yeah, she mentioned him a few times. Just get to the point, Murph.”

Murph chuckles and says “Here’s the thing—Mickey and your mom were high school sweethearts before she met your dad. He hated your father, Chance. Even before everything went down, he couldn’t stand him. And now that Ronan’s gone, Mickey’s in charge. He’s the one calling the shots.”

I sink down into the chair, my mind spinning. “Holy shit.”

Murph exhales. “Yeah. I met with him this morning. He’s given the order—you are not to be touched.

That includes anyone you care about. And Chance…

he told me to tell you he’s sorry about your mom.

” I blow out a breath, and Murph continues, “He said that if you hadn’t done what you had, he would have done it himself.

He’s just sorry he wasn’t even aware your mom was gone by the time you handled things. ”

I lean back, dragging a hand through my hair. “Oh my God, Murph. I can’t believe it.”

His voice remains steady. “Believe it. And since the cops in your dad’s precinct were too busy covering things up, there’s no evidence left on any of it. Mickey’s orders extend to them too—half of them are Crows anyway. But listen, Chance, I’d stay out of Boston.”

I shake my head. “Yeah, no. I’m never going back. I promised her.”

Rubbing my hands over my face, I hesitate.

“Murph—”

“Already handled,” he cuts in. “Pack your things tonight. A car will be there in the morning. The driver will have a new phone and cash for you. The passcode is your mom’s birthday.

There’s a text on it from me with your flight info.

He’ll take you straight to the airport. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be in Arizona.

We’re putting you up in a hotel until we secure a place for you. ”

A tear slips down my cheek, my heart squeezing. “Thank you, Murph. For… fuck, for everything .”

“Don’t mention it, man. You would’ve done the same.”

I let out a slow, shaky breath. “Murph, there are some paintings here. They mean a lot to me. Can you have someone pack them up and ship them out?”

“Of course. Now go get your man.”

I hang up, gripping the phone in my hand, my heart pounding in my ears. I’m glad I shared that private part of myself—my sexuality and Ant—with Murph back when everything fell apart. I need to find a way to thank Murph for all he’s done.

But right now? Right now, only one thought pulses through me: I need to get to Ant. He’ll probably want nothing to do with me—but I have to try. I need to see him.