Page 11 of Tortured Souls
While I’ve always been a rather angry child, as some like to call it, it wasn’t until my father passed that this dark, shadowy rage morphed into the evilest form of venom. After my mother died when I was six years old, the anger become more and more present. And once my father passed, it was all over. Fury is constantly flowing through my body—that’s not me bragging, it’s just facts. The loss of the two people who loved and provided for me will do things to a young man. For me, it created a separate entity within me: rage. I don’t like being this full of darkness, but our past is what molds us into who we become, or so I’m told. These are the cards I’ve been dealt, so I live with it.
Finn was able to get information about where Damien plans to go tonight by tapping his cell phone. Now it’s just a waiting game.
Saint and I have been sitting outside of Mack’s, a popular local bar, for the last hour, and I’m starting to get antsy. I like to think of myself as a patient man, but let’s be honest, I’m not.
“What time did Finn say he’d be here?” Saint groans from the driver’s seat. His attitude is as annoyed as mine.
“He was supposed to be here by six.” It’s now ten past seven, and I’m starting to think maybe Damien’s plans have changed. Just when I’m about to call it quits, a familiar cherry-red Mazda 6 pulls into the parking lot near the side of the building. My curiosity has suddenly taken a turn. Sitting up in the passenger seat, I pull up my phone and click to the app with the cameras at the club. Quickly, I scan through all my feeds, and Sky is nowhere in sight.
“Wait, is that Skylar?” Saint says from beside me. Sure enough, out steps Sky, dressed in tight as fuck black leather pants, heeled boots, and a deep red flowy blouse that showcases her cleavage for every motherfucker to see.
“The fuck is she doing here?” Saint asks again. His eyes follow Sky as she enters the bar alone.
“If I had to guess, it would be for the same reasons as us.” I haven’t told Saint, or anyone for that matter, about all the men I’ve watched Skylar murder in the basement of Capital Vice. However, Saint knows as much as I do that there’s some type of connection between Damien and Sky. A connection that’s deeper than him being a part of her father’s motorcycle club.A secret relationship, maybe? Even that doesn’t seem likely. The entire time she’s been in my town, not once have I seen her with him. This just increases my suspicion that she’s still harboring a connection to the Hellstorms. Or worse, plotting against me and my own. Playing the role of a scared runaway, seeking refuge, all to get information to use against me. For her sake, I better be wrong.
“What do you want to do now?” I rub my hand down my face at Saint’s question, because if I’m being honest, I’m not entirely sure. Before I have a moment to think of a new plan, the faint sound of a motorcycle in the distance approaches. Damien.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” I groan, leaning my head back in frustration as we watch the idiot park his bike at the front of the entrance.
“Sax, what’s the plan?” I watch as Damien removes his helmet, leaving it on the side of his bike and entering the bar. I let out a deep breath, unclick my seatbelt, and recline my seat just a bit.
“Now, we wait until ‘little miss ruins the party’ leaves.” Leaning my head back, I close my eyes, settling in for what I can only imagine is going to be a long night.
Fuck.
SKYLAR
Mack, the old man who owns this bar, is the father I’ve adopted as my own. His father handed down the establishment when Mack was twenty-one, and he has been running it for the past thirty-five years. Originally, I applied for the bartender position he had listed when I arrived in Golden Heights, but being the nice man he is, Mack pointed me in the direction of Capital Vice. He told me I could make a lot more money at the club than I could in his bar. I appreciated his honesty and have made sure to visit him at least once a month since then just to chat. We’vebecome close, our relationship similar to a father and daughter or a grandfather and granddaughter.
“Hey, pumpkin! How are you?” Mack yells from behind the bar, immediately dropping what he’s doing and coming up to give me a bear hug. He hugs me tight; his embrace is that of a loving father who’s seeing his daughter after being apart for too long. Or at least, this is what I would assume it would feel like.
“Hey, Mack. I’m good. Sorry it’s been so long,” I apologize, my head resting perfectly on his chest as he holds me close to him.
“Oh, don’t do that. No apologies. I’m happy you’re here.” Pulling away from me, he rests his hands on my shoulders, looking down at me with his bright green eyes. “You look great, girl. You here meeting someone? A man maybe?” Mack wriggles his eyebrows at the mention of a possible date, but I quickly shake my head.
“Nah, just here to ask for a favor, actually.” I hate asking Mack for anything, but I need this if I’m going to get the edge on Damien.
“Name it, pumpkin.”
“Would you mind if I sat in your office and watched your surveillance for a bit?” It’s cryptic as fuck, but Mack knows my background with the Hellstorms and rarely asks me for details when it comes to my shady favors. Tonight is no different.
“Of course, help yourself. But first, should I be worried? You’re not in trouble or anything, are you?”
“Oh no, I’m not in trouble, but someone will be.” I give him my sweetest smile.
“That’s my girl. You know where it’s at.” He grabs his office keys out of his pocket and hands them over to me. “Want a drink or anything?”
“No, I’m okay. Thank you though.”
“Nonsense, I’ll have Charlie leave a plate of food for you at the door. I’ll tell him to knock once and leave it on the table beside the door for ya.” Mack is already making his way back to the bar and begins typing in an order of food on his monitor at the register. I smile as I watch Mack type away.
The bar only has two customers occupying a table in the far-left corner. The two older women sit, talking and picking through a plate of fried pickles. This bar is rundown, but the customers are regulars, and the atmosphere of this place is cozy. A close-knit community supporting a local business. Mack has really put his heart and soul into his bar, making sure every customer is comfortable and feels welcome.
Remembering why I’m here, I make my way to Mack’s office, the last door on the left at the end of the small hallway. Putting the key in the handle, I unlock the door and push it open. His office is small—a desk, his computer, and a large screen against the side wall that’s currently displaying the four camera views of the bar. Three inside and one in the parking lot.
I round the desk and pull out the roller chair, sitting down and getting comfortable. Leaning back, I look over the contents on Mack’s desk, the small picture frame drawing my attention immediately. Grabbing the photo, I brush my fingers down the faces of his late wife, Macy, and his daughter, Emily. Twenty years ago, Mack and his family were driving to the coast for a long weekend beach getaway when a drunk driver veered over the yellow line, hitting Mack head on. Macy and Emily died on impact. Mack suffered severe spinal injuries, as well as having to be placed in a coma due to swelling in the brain. He’s lucky he survived. However, after waking up, he learned he lost his whole family, his life, his world. Emily would have been my age this year.
A lone tear slides down my cheek. Why do the worst things happen to the best people?