Craving Redemption

  By the time she hung up on me, I was in my room, and the whiskey and beer I’d downed at the party were like dead weight in my gut.

  She was pissed, and I fucking knew she was going to do something stupid.

  I had to get to Sacramento.

  I stood up from my bed to find a bathroom and pack my shit, and the room fucking spun.

  Great.

  I stumbled my way to the door, trying to decide if I should just try and drive my bike down there—or wait until the morning when I knew I’d be sober enough that I wouldn’t lay down my bike somewhere and fuck up the paint job.

  I started calling Callie again, but every time I did, she sent me to fucking voicemail. I made it into the hallway just in time to see Dragon leading—fuck—Brenna into his room. Did he have a death wish?

  I tried to stop him. I really fucking tried.

  But I was so goddamn preoccupied with Callie’s shit and just trying to stay standing that he bitched a little and I dropped it. The stubborn-as-hell look on his face told me he wasn’t listening to a goddamn word I said anyway, and Brenna didn’t even look at me as he pushed her gently into his room.

  He wanted to fuck around with Poet’s daughter?

  Fuck it.

  And why the fuck wasn’t Callie picking up her phone?

  I didn’t remember making it to the bathroom, but I must have—because when I woke up the next day, at two in the goddamn afternoon with the mother of all hangovers I hadn’t pissed myself.

  Chapter 35

  Callie

  I looked around the apartment full of people with a small smile.

  I’d set my plan into motion that morning, and so far it had worked perfectly.

  I’d driven around our small neighborhood watching for ‘help wanted’ signs, and within fifteen minutes I’d found one in the window of a local fast food place. After giving them my application and doing an interview with a greasy guy not much older than I was, I had the job. I wasn’t sure how they’d chosen me so fast, but I hoped it was because I was the only one that applied and not because the skeevy manager couldn’t stop looking at my boobs. Either way, I’d walked out with a job that started the next week.

  The next thing on my to-do list had been even easier to arrange. One call to Farrah and I’d been promised all the booze and weed I could handle. I left it to her to spread the word, and she hadn’t disappointed. She showed up at seven o’clock that night and by nine, the entire apartment had been filled with people.

  So, by nine-thirty I was sitting on my couch with friends of Asa’s that heard about the party from Farrah’s stepdad. I couldn’t even begin to understand that type of fucked up parent-child relationship, but instead of worrying about my friend, I told myself it really wasn’t any of my business. I was enjoying being social for the first time in months, and the male appreciation for my shorts and wide-necked white shirt wasn’t anything to scoff at, either.

  When Farrah walked by to grab more drinks, I pulled her onto my lap.

  “I love you, Farrah,” I told her dreamily.

  “Ha! Okay, drunky,” she answered back, patting me on the head.

  “I’m not drunk.” I gave her a squeeze, “I’m just happy I have a friend like you, who throws me awesome birthday parties.”

  Her eyes widened and her head snapped toward me.

  “It’s your birthday?” she asked me in confusion, and I couldn’t help but laugh at how she wrinkled her nose.

  “Yup!” I took a drink of the screwdriver she’d mixed for me. “Seventeen. Woo fucking hoo.”

  From the side of the couch I heard someone mumble, “Holy fuck. She doesn’t look seventeen,” and then what sounded like a thump before Michael warned, “Hands off, she’s Grease’s.”

  I ignored them both, my eyes still on Farrah.

  “When’s your birthday?” I asked her, trying to get her attention away from where Echo was standing across the room.

  They’d been eyeballing each other the entire night, but I knew how Farrah felt about bikers. After watching one after another come into her mom’s life—and bedroom—she had little respect for them. I knew she wanted a normal guy with a normal family, at least in her head. It seemed her hormones wanted something entirely different.

  “Earth to Farrah!” I called, my voice rising above the music.

  “Oh, what? Sorry. It was last month,” she answered distractedly, her eyes darting between me and Echo.

  “Dang. You’re already seventeen?”

  “No, I just turned sixteen,” she told me with a shrug, “I got moved up a grade.”

  Michael stood up, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, and she immediately slid off my lap and into his vacant seat. I couldn’t help but tease her about her age as she eyeballed Echo who was flirting with some girl in the kitchen. He was way too old for her, but it’s not like I could bitch at her about it. I didn’t think I had any room to judge, especially when the front door slammed open and Asa stood in the doorway.

  I wasn’t surprised when he showed up—my last comment to him had been the equivalent of waving a red scarf in front of a bull. I just hadn’t been sure if he’d cared enough to take the bait.

  “Get the fuck outta my house!” he roared, throwing his helmet across the room, barely missing some guy who had passed out sitting on the floor.

  Most of the people shot out the front door, and someone actually grabbed the passed out guy and dragged him out. Within seconds, the only people left in the house with us were Farrah, Michael, and Echo. Farrah had reached for me when Asa started yelling, and by the way her nails were digging into my thigh, she was scared out of her mind.

  “It’s fine, Farrah,” I told her, never taking my eyes off Asa. “He’s just pissed he wasn’t invited.”

  I stood up and started picking up beer cans and garbage as everyone looked at me in shock. I wasn’t sure if they expected me to be scared, or if they themselves weren’t sure what to do, because no one moved.

  “Everybody out,” Asa rumbled again, his voice lower but no less menacing.

  Farrah hopped off the couch and looked around her as if she wasn’t sure what to do. I recognized the look of panic in her eyes, and I instantly felt like shit that I’d put her in the middle of our drama. At the very least, it had to be really uncomfortable for everyone.

  “Hey, guys,” I looked at Michael and Echo with weary eyes, my fight pretty much gone, “can one of you drive Farrah home?”

  Echo offered to drive her, and I almost opened my mouth to argue, but one look at Asa had me shutting it again. I knew that Echo wouldn’t let anything happen to Farrah, and I had to let that be enough. Asa wasn’t going to wait much longer to have it out with me and they needed to get out of the apartment.

  It was strange, but at no time was I afraid that Asa would physically hurt me. He’d protected me in so many other important instances that I couldn’t even imagine him putting his hands on me in anger. However, words? He could definitely cut me with those.

  Chapter 36

  Callie

  Once Farrah and the guys had left, it was completely silent in the apartment. Asa stood watching me as I cleaned up the beer bottles and garbage, but he didn’t speak. I wasn’t sure what to say to him, and I felt like anything I did say would be like poking a rabid dog—so I kept quiet. I swept and dusted and wiped down every surface I could until both the kitchen and the living room were spotless, but still, he said nothing.

  When I was finally finished and putting the broom away, I heard him take a step behind me, so I spun toward him. He was standing away from the wall and had raised his arms until his hands were entwined behind his head, his elbows pointed toward the ceiling. I watched his biceps flex as he pushed his head back against his hands and my mouth went dry.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked quietly, running my tongue between my lips and braces where they’d stuck together. “I thought you were busy this weekend.”

  “You knew I’d be here.” He scowled at me, “
You practically begged me to come.”

  I almost gasped in outrage but took a deep breath in through my nose instead. I wasn’t going to turn into some screaming psycho, even if that’s exactly what I wanted to do.

  “I told you not to bother,” I sneered back, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Yeah, you did. What the fuck was that about?”

  “You don’t want to be here—don’t come. It’s pretty simple,” I answered flatly.

  “I told you I had shit going on! That’s my fuckin’ job, Callie. How do you think I’m paying your fuckin’ bills?” he thundered back, a vein in his neck bulging.

  “Funny thing about that…. You sure showed up pretty fast even though you had shit to do,” I answered, tilting my head to the side in mock confusion.

  He raised his face and roared at the ceiling, his entire body tight with frustration.

  When he finally dropped his head back down, I’d controlled my facial expression from the horror his explosion had caused, and was glaring at him with my brows raised.

  “You done?” I asked calmly, as if my heart wasn’t racing.

  “Bitch, I’m paying for your shit. The food in your belly is mine. The power in your electronics is mine. The fuckin’ gas in your car came from me! The fuck is your problem?”

  Bitch?

  I snapped.

  “You can keep it, you fucking prick!” I screeched at him, grabbing a bunch of bananas off the counter and throwing them at his head. “I got a job! I don’t need you! Fuck you!”

  He ducked the bananas, but the apple that I threw right after hit him square in the jaw. We both stopped for a second, stunned, and then I was darting around the counter so we had a barrier between us.

  He was stomping toward me, his chest heaving, but when I lifted my hand between us, he stopped instantly.

  “You didn’t even call me on the day of my parents’ funeral,” I told him quietly as a lump formed in my throat. “I needed you.”

  “Fuck, sweetheart. I’m sorry,” he answered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was on a run and I forgot.”

  “You forgot?” I asked incredulously.

  “I know the world revolves around you Callie—”

  “What?” I yelled, cutting him off.

  “Fuck, that didn’t come out right. But, shit, girl. It’s not like I’m in Oregon sitting at a desk in some office! I’ve got people depending on me up there to keep their asses alive—I can’t stop to call my girl because she’s having a hard day.” He ran a hand down his face. “I’m not explaining this very well.”

  “No. You pretty much just sound like an asshole at this point.”

  “Sugar, I was in the middle of something important and I fuckin’ forgot. No excuse,” he told me, lifting his palms out in front of him and then dropping them down at his sides. “I’m sorry as shit for it.”

  He was sorry. I was sure he’d fuck up again, but at that moment, I knew he was sorry for being so distant. His face was soft in a way that I’d seen before, watching me as if I’d break.

  I couldn’t comprehend what he was doing in Oregon that was so important, but he obviously felt strongly about it, so I wasn’t going to question him. I didn’t want to know about that part of his life. However, I was still freaking about one other thing in Oregon.

  “Do you have a wife?” I blurted, mortified, but not willing to take back the question.

  “What? No!” he laughed, looking at me like I was crazy.

  “Well, Farrah’s mom sees a guy named Gator and he has a wife!” I griped back, annoyed that he was laughing at me. “She only sees him once in a while! It sounded pretty fucking familiar!”

  “Wait, you’re friends with a club whore’s kid?”

  “Her name is Farrah, and don’t call her mom a whore,” I replied snottily.

  “Gator’s bitch? Wait, Natasha?” he asked, his voice raising an octave as his face paled.

  “Yes. That’s Farrah’s mom,” I answered with a nod, daring him to say anything further. “She only sees Gator once in a while because he has a wife and kids he has to get back to.”

  “Sweetheart, I think you’re forgetting something,” he told me in amusement.

  “I’m pretty sure I’m not.”

  “I’m pretty sure you are,” he said back, imitating my voice. “Only reason you aren’t living with me is because you refused to move to Oregon.” He laughed again. “Sugar, you’re my old lady—not a whore on the side.”

  “Oh,” I sighed, my doubts fading.

  His words gave me a sense of calm even though he was laughing as he spoke. But I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be considered anyone’s ‘Old Lady’. My mouth lifted in a small smile at his laughter. I couldn’t help myself. His laugh was beautiful.

  But even though I wasn’t feeling the need to maim him with fruit, I still wasn’t fully ready to forgive him. He’d pretty much ignored me for weeks and then showed up acting like I was the one who was in the wrong. Um, no.

  “I’m going to bed,” I told him dismissively, ignoring the shocked look on his face as I gave him a pat on the stomach, effectively ending our conversation. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I knew I wouldn’t get far.

  I barely made it into the bedroom before he was wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling my back against his chest as he slammed the door behind us. His arm squeezed tight—almost to the point of pain—before he was using his chin to brush my hair away from my neck.

  “You didn’t tell me it was your birthday,” he rumbled against my throat, placing sweet kisses there.

  “How?”

  “Michael was outside when I showed up,” he answered, kissing me again. “You shoulda told me.”

  “It wouldn’t have made a difference,” I mumbled bitterly, pushing at his arm on my waist.

  “Yeah, Sugar. It would’ve.” He walked us to the bed, flipping me over onto my back before lying down on top of me, his forearms on each side of my head. “You have to tell me this shit, Callie. How’m I supposed to know if you don’t tell me?”

  “You knew about the funeral,” I pointed out, tilting my head.

  “Are you gonna keep throwing that shit in my face?”

  I ignored his comment as if he hadn’t even spoken.

  “And when exactly was I supposed to tell you? The two fucking times you’ve called in the last three weeks when you barely spoke and couldn’t wait to get off the phone with me?” I sniped back, raising my head from the comforter until our noses were practically touching.

  “Don’t gimme that shit, Calliope! The phone works both ways,” he growled back, lowering his head until mine dropped back down to keep us from touching. “Only time you seem to call me is when your ass is in trouble!”

  My eyes opened wide as I stared at him, stunned.

  “You never seem to want to initiate contact, but you’re pissed as fuck when I don’t call. It’s fuckin’ bullshit, Callie,” he growled at me, his brows drawn in frustration. “What the fuck do you expect?”

  He was waiting for an answer, but I didn’t have one. Instead my eyes closed in disbelief.

  He was right.

  “Fuck,” I whispered, feeling like an insane bitch.

  “Yeah, Sugar. ‘Fuck’ is right,” he grumbled, dropping his forehead against mine.

  We lay there silently, our breath mingling for long moments before he whispered against my mouth.

  “Can we just drop this shit?” he asked me quietly, rubbing his nose along mine. “I fuckin’ missed you.”

  Every emotion I’d been feeling since he’d left me instantly bubbled to the surface and I made a sound deep in my throat. I reached up to grab the back of his head, but I didn’t have to pull him down because his mouth was already covering mine, his tongue pushing between my lips.

  He tasted like mint and smoke and I couldn’t get enough.

  I slid my fingers into his hair and worked out the rubber band holding it back, making him groan as he slid us fa
rther onto the bed. When we’d almost hit the other side, his lips ripped from mine and he leaned back, searching my face.

  Whatever he saw there had him slowly pulling the wide neck of my t-shirt down my shoulder until one of my breasts was popping out the top, covered in a plain white strapless bra.

  “Fuck me,” he whispered, a grin forming on his face. “Is it wrong that I’m glad as fuck that you had a bra on out there with those assholes?”

  He laughed hard as I punched him in the stomach, but his face quickly turned serious as he used my squirming to pull my shirt over my head. He didn’t take the time to undo my bra, just pulled it down to my waist, but I didn’t care. I was too busy watching his face as he undressed me. It didn’t take long before I was completely naked, and I shook as his eyes took me in.

  His nostrils were flared and his jaw tense as he ran a finger from my collarbone to my navel.

  “Look at you. So beautiful,” he whispered, running his fingers lightly over my nipples. “You scared? You’re shaking, sweetheart.”

  “No, just wondering if you’re going to be a prude again,” I joked uncomfortably as I pushed at his vest with the tips of my fingers. “Are you finally going to get naked, too?”

  That was all the prodding he needed to stand up from the bed and start stripping with a small smirk on his face. It took less than a minute for him to get completely naked, and he paused for a moment, completely unselfconscious to let me stare. His body was huge, with wide shoulders, a thick chest, and a lean waist that tapered down to heavily muscled thighs. He didn’t have the steroid look that I’d seen so many times in Southern California—his body came from being naturally large and honed to perfection. Holy shit.

  “Naked enough for you?” he said quietly before climbing onto the bed and pushing my legs apart. When he was braced above my body, he grabbed my thighs and pulled them up his sides so he could nestle between them.