Page 19 of Tortured Souls
“Please don’t tell anyone about… you know.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sky. We were just hanging out at the bar, nothing else.” I give her a wink and turn before she can say another word. Exiting her apartment, I make sure to lock her door before I hurry down the stairwell to the parking lot. Saint has his head resting against the headrest, looking like he’s fast asleep. I get into the passenger seat and turn my head towards Saint.
“Finally,” he groans.
“Let’s go take our friend swimming, shall we?”
“I thought you’d never ask.” Saint’s tone is playful, and I give him a smirk before he leaves the parking lot and heads towards the quarry.
It’s been three weeks since Damien Devonte disappeared. After dumping that piece of shit in the depths of the quarry where he belongs, I opened my security camera app and watched Sky crying in her bed after we left. I went back and forth about whether to go to her and distract her from her tears or just be there for her while she processed that whole fucked-up night. I couldn’t take it any longer—the soft whimpers of her cries got to me, and I stormed out of the house, leaving Saint with Sage, and drove to Vice.
Once I pulled into the parking lot, I pulled up the camera one last time and found Sky fast asleep, clutching her comforter beneath her chin. Exhaustion took her under, and all I could hear through the app was her soft breathing and her annoying sound machine she always sleeps with. That night’s playlist was the sound of rain dropping against a tin roof. It was loud, and I wondered how she could even sleep through it.
I wanted to go to her, brush the loose strand of her hair away from her face and watch her sleep. She looked so at peace. I had not intended for her to become tangled in my plan that was in complete disarray, or caught in the volcanic eruption that was my behavior. The moment I saw her face fall with Damien’s confession, my chest felt as though it was caving in. A deep penetration of a blunt object spearing its way through my sternum and breaking its way through flesh and bone, making a path through my body until it made its way out the other side. A pain I hadn’t felt since my mother died.
This woman I’d been keeping an eye on for the better part of two years has always been a force of nature. Strength unlike any other, a true female Viking warrior, who never onceexposed a weakness. She has an uncanny ability to adapt to her surroundings, good and bad. She’s left me, more than once, in a state of bewilderment. I’ve grown up around women all my life, but Sky, she’s an anomaly. She’s fierce in every way possible. I’m captivated by her behavior and the way she eliminates her enemies with a smile on her face. She’s a bit psychotic, but wouldn’t that be the kettle calling itself black? She’s playing a game, created by her own twisted, messed-up mind, and every day I watch her take another soul, makes me want to join in as player two and assist her in her ventures of death.
I left her asleep that night. I couldn’t bear the idea of disturbing her much-needed rest, so I left. I drove back home and let her be, my mind in shambles over how I’d let this woman rearrange my thoughts and emotions so thoroughly.
My head is raging a war against my heart. One screams for me to remove the cameras and let the woman be, while the other protests and insists that I continue playing psycho stalker. Keeping an eye on her is better than letting her slip between the cracks. She is still the daughter of my most rivaled motorcycle club. What if her being here is still all a ploy?
You know that’s not true; it’s been two fucking years, and she’s had no contact with her father or her mother.
The voice in my head knows I’m just making excuses. I want those cameras to stay where they are. I like knowing I can see her at any moment. Whether she knows or not, it gives me a sense of relief. A heavy feeling lifts when I see her through my phone doing well, smiling, and even when she’s brutally torturing someone in the basement. She’s my favorite Netflix series, and I crave the next episode.
“You look like a big pile of steaming hot shit, my man.” Finn’s deep, gravelly voice penetrates my ears, and my head hurts just a little more. I peel my eyes away from my coffee mug and pin himwith a death stare, hoping my “don’t fuck with me today” look gets through to him.
“Okay, peaches, what’s got your panties in a twist this time?” Pulling out a barstool, he plops his ass down across from me at the kitchen island. If my head wasn’t already pounding, I would bash his fucking head in, but maybe later. I sit up straighter and stretch out my back, twisting from side to side, relishing in the cracks my spine releases, before turning my attention back to Finn.
“When is your next championship fight?” I ignore his question about what’s got me in a foul mood and distract him with one of his favorite topics: fighting. He takes the bait and stands to his full height. I’m a big guy and so is Saint, but this motherfucker is a towering 6’7”. He starts shadow boxing a phantom opponent, and I can’t help chuckling at how ridiculous he looks.
“Tomorrow night, baby. Can’t fucking wait.” The sound of the front door opens and closes, followed by heavy boot steps coming towards the kitchen, but I already know who it is. Finn turns on his heels, grabbing his twin, Brooks, by the neck and putting him in a guillotine.
“Finn, cut the shit,” Brooks chokes out as Finn spins him around and pretends to knee him in the face as he tightens his grip on his brother.
“Say it! Say it!” Finn yells playfully to his brother, not letting up his hold even a little.
“Fuuuuck, mercy. Happy now? Mercy,” Brooks surrenders, the pair breaking apart as Finn does a mock Rocky jog around the island like the big-ass fool he is.
“That’s right, the superior brother wins, as always,” Finn mocks as Brooks rolls his neck out and takes a seat at the island beside me.
“What the fuck did you give him this time?” Brooks elbows me, as he now rubs the side of his neck as if Finn dislocated his head off his shoulders.
“He gave me nothing, bro. I wake up every morning and piss excellence.” I laugh at Finn’sTalladega Nightsreference and sip the rest of my coffee. I get up to put my cup in the sink when I hear the loud yawn of Saint emerging from his cave, shirtless, with only a loose pair of shorts hanging from his waist.
“What the hell? Who let the animals inside?” Saint groans through a second yawn, making his way to the coffee maker and pouring himself a cup.
“Better watch your mouth ‘God’s favorite.’ I’ll fuck you up too.” Finn is playing with fire this morning. His fists are coming mere centimeters from the side of Saint’s face as Finn pretends to punch him. Saint is not a morning person—we all know this—so it’s like watching a bomb slowly tick.
“Better watch yourself, Finn. He’s a different kind of man in the morning,” I warn.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m not afraid of the caveman.” Finn barely has a second to finish his sentence before Saint turns on him and delivers a hard jab to Finn’s ribs, not even remotely going easy. Coughing and sputtering come from a hunched over Finn as Brooks belts out a deep belly laugh. Just when I think Finn couldn’t get any crazier, he starts laughing himself.
“There it is. Morning to you too, princess,” Finn groans as he pulls out his own stool, sitting beside his brother as he coughs a few more times.
Saint takes up the last stool as we all place our elbows on the island and get to business.
“Wait a minute, where’s Owen?” Brooks asks from my side. Right on cue, the front door swings open and slams against the wall. Owen steps through the doorway, his face looking like he, too, just woke up.