Craving Redemption

  “He wouldn’t send you here,” I argued as he backed me into the kitchen. “You’re a goddamn druggie.”

  He pulled back his hand, and I noticed a weird tattoo on it before he punched me in the face, sending me stumbling into the fridge.

  “You just call me a druggie?” he growled menacingly, punching me in the stomach so hard I bent at the waist as my breath left me.

  “Huh?” he asked, using one of my arms to spin me around and press my face against the freezer door.

  “N-no,” I stuttered as he pulled my arm so far up my back that my shoulder was screaming in pain.

  “I’m pretty sure that’s what I heard,” he whispered into my ear, yanking on my arm until I felt the searing pain of my shoulder dislocating. I bit through my cheek, trying not to scream, and felt blood pooling in my mouth.

  He shoved me to the floor and kicked me twice in the ribs before he started pacing, mumbling under his breath to himself. I wasn’t sure what he was on, but he was acting fucking crazy, and I knew it was only a matter of time before things got a whole lot worse. I slowly pushed myself with my legs to the cabinet doors, using one arm to pull myself up to a sitting position while my other arm lay uselessly by my side.

  When my back touched the cabinets, I hissed in pain, and my head started going fuzzy.

  “You know, I fucking hate him!” he complained loudly. “He thinks he’s so much fucking better than me because he’s part of the Aces, and that’s just not true!” He walked around the kitchen as he spoke, waving his arms in the air. “All the Aces think they’re such hot shit! Acting like we’re nothing, sending piece of shit recruits down to shake us down for money—it’s insulting!”

  His eyes dropped to me and I groaned as he kicked me hard in the thigh.

  “So we send him into Jose’s to teach them a fucking lesson, and what happens?” He shook his head and started kicking my legs again between each word. “He—survives—it—and—kills—some—of—our—best—men!”

  My legs were on fire as I whimpered and pulled them as close to my body as I could. He’d started to breathe heavily, and it scared me, because I could see in his face that he had no intention of stopping any time soon.

  “You know, when we killed your parents, I thought for sure that they’d get the picture,” he told me softly, as if in apology. “I saw the way he looked at you, so I knew that using you was the answer, but when we showed up, you were nowhere to be found.”

  I stopped breathing as the implications of his words sunk in. He’d been one of the men in my house. He’d been one of the guys searching for me.

  “Your mama was one hot piece of ass. Mm mm mm,” he whispered. “Too bad I was searching for you and couldn’t take the time to appreciate it.”

  I felt like I was in a tunnel, sinking into that place where nothing could hurt me and I could just float away like I had in the crawlspace. I wanted that place. I didn’t want to hear anything else he was saying, I didn’t want to know anymore.

  I’d almost reached it, that place in my mind, when two things happened simultaneously.

  He drew his foot back, kicking me hard in the stomach, pressing the small of my back into the cabinets, and I heard a small voice yell, “Mama! Door!” as little fists pounded from inside my bedroom.

  His head turned sharply toward the hallway, listening, and I thanked God for the distraction as I used my good arm to pull the gun from the small of my back where I’d forgotten it. How could I have forgotten it?

  I clicked off the safety with my thumb, and his head turned toward me as I racked the slide back against the edge of the cabinets.

  “Get out of my house,” I warned him in a garbled voice, blood still pouring from my mouth as I pointed it at him.

  My heart was racing with adrenaline, all the colors in the room sharp and vivid as he smiled menacingly and pulled his leg back again.

  I didn’t hesitate and I didn’t think.

  I just pulled the trigger, the gun recoiling so hard that it hit me in the face and broke my nose.

  I was momentarily stunned by the impact, but he didn’t fucking drop. He just stumbled and came at me again, his eyes wide and crazy.

  I shot him again, but he kept coming.

  As if two shots in the chest were nothing but bee stings.

  I screamed as he got close again and braced my arms as I emptied the entire clip into his chest, the last one hitting his throat as he stumbled back against the countertop, finally dropping to the floor.

  Chapter 71

  Gram

  Farrah and I got home from a trip to my sister’s, eager to hear about the reunion. We’d left the day before so they could have a little time for themselves, but I wasn’t willing to stay gone for longer than that. I knew that those things rarely went how lovers envisioned them, and when I couldn’t reach Callie on her phone I’d decided to head north.

  I didn’t know why I had such an awful feeling, things had seemed fine when we’d left, but I’d learned over the years to never ignore what my gut was telling me.

  It was almost dark by the time we parked, and I was worried when I didn’t see Asa’s bike.

  “Farrah, you see Asa’s bike parked at the curb?” I asked as I dragged my old bones out of the car. Those long trips were coming to an end for me soon if my sore body had anything to say about it.

  “Nope. Looks like he isn’t here.”

  We trudged up the stairs, and she headed to her apartment as I pushed the key in to unlock my door. The hair on the back of my neck was standing on end, and I listened closely as I pushed the door open.

  I hadn’t taken one step inside before Farrah’s terrified voice drifted through the night.

  “Gram!”

  I spun around, hitting my shoulder on the doorjamb before I hurried down the landing, cursing my old body for not letting me move faster. When I got to Callie’s door, I stopped abruptly.

  Farrah was gaping at a dead man lying in a large pool of blood on the kitchen floor.

  “Callie!” I whispered to myself, looking away from the dead man and making my way hurriedly through the apartment. “Where are you?”

  I found her quickly, but I thought I was going to have a heart attack when I did.

  I’ve seen a lot in my seventy-three years on this earth. I’ve stitched gaping cuts on my children and I’ve set my own arm after an incredibly bad fight with my husband. I’ve identified four of my children’s dead bodies, two from knife wounds and two from gunshot wounds. But nothing on this earth, no experience in my life, could have prepared me, or hurt as badly, as what I found in Callie’s bedroom.

  She was sitting on the floor, and Farrah’s .45 was resting within her reach on top of the dresser, surrounded by bloody bullets and the cardboard box they came in.

  Her face was almost unrecognizable, her nose and eye so swollen that the latter was completely closed, and she had blood all over her body. One of her arms was hanging at her side, and the other—

  It was running through Will’s hair as he lay next to her, his head on her thigh.

  For the first time in his life, the boy was completely still, lying on his side with one palm flattened near his face on Callie’s leg.

  I covered my mouth in horror as I realized they were both covered in blood.

  Dear God.

  “Mama? Owie,” Will mumbled seriously, turning his head slightly so he could look at Callie’s face.

  “Yeah, son. Mama has an owie,” she answered gently in a tone that indicated it was a conversation they’d had before.

  “Will kiss,” he told her softly, turning his head so he could kiss her thigh before he settled back against her.

  “Thanks, Will,” she commented, closing her good eye as she leaned her head against the wall behind her. “Mama feels so much better now.”

  Chapter 72

  Grease

  I was sitting at a diner a few miles from Callie’s place, waiting for her phone call. I’d been imagining scenarios where she’d c
all and apologize and beg me to come back, and we could act like the past few hours had never happened.

  I couldn’t believe she’d kicked me out—and I wasn’t sure how I should’ve reacted.

  I went over it a thousand times in my head—different scenarios that may have worked to change her mind. If I’d fought harder, maybe she would have relented. Maybe she needed me to fight, needed that release that she used to look for when we hadn’t seen each other for months.

  I’d pussed out, leaving instead, because it had been so goddamn long that I couldn’t read her like I’d been able to before. I hadn’t been able to tell if she was serious, or just pushing like she’d done a million times before.

  Christ.

  My phone vibrated next to my coffee on the table in front of me, flashing Rose’s number, and I snatched it up before the first ring was over.

  “Callie?” I answered, hope and dread pooling in my gut.

  “It’s Farrah,” came a monotone voice from the other end. “You need to get over here… and call your boys for a pick-up. We’re gonna need a cleaner.”

  The phone went silent before I could ask any questions, and I stared at it for a moment in horror before I jumped up and dropped a five dollar bill on the table.

  I was on my phone before I’d reached my bike, barking out orders to Dragon as I climbed on and fired it up.

  I made it to Callie’s in minutes and almost dropped my bike as I went to climb off. Once I remembered I hadn’t let down the kickstand, I quickly set it, hopped off, and went running up the stairs.

  Her door was wide open.

  I took in the mess in the kitchen, my brother—

  What the fuck?

  I turned to Farrah as she came down the hallway, and I panicked at the look on her face. Even during the hardest times with her, I’d never seen her face the way it was then.

  She looked defeated.

  “Callie’s in her room. Gram’s on the bed,” she told me dully. “Be careful when you walk in, and do it slowly.”

  My heart thumped loudly in my ears as I made my way to her room, and my eyes went blurry as I stumbled into the doorway and saw her.

  I must have made some noise, because her head snapped to the doorway and she lifted her arm, pointing a huge-ass .45 at my chest.

  She was covered in fucking blood, her face was so swollen it looked like it was going to burst, and there in her lap was my son.

  “Don’t come any closer,” she ordered, sounding slurred.

  There were used baby wipes all over the floor around her, and it looked like she’d tried to clean the blood off her and Will, but had only managed to smear it around.

  I lost feeling in my legs and dropped to my motherfucking knees.

  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” I assured her calmly, making her flinch.

  “Don’t call me that,” she muttered as Will turned over, facing me with his head in her lap. He didn’t look hurt or scared, but he also didn’t get up.

  “Okay, Callie,” I murmured, sitting back on my heels and raising my arms out in front of me.

  “Your brother’s dead,” she smiled nastily.

  “I saw that.”

  “Killed him,” she mumbled, glancing at Will and then up to where her Gram was watching her quietly, tears running down her face. “Killed him and he just kept coming, so I had to do it again.”

  I wasn’t sure what the fuck she was talking about, but she was making me nervous.

  “What happened?” I questioned softly, flinching when her eyes moved back to me.

  “Said he came here looking for you,” she told me sadly, her arm wobbling until she slid the gun back up on the dresser. I sighed deeply in relief, but it was short lived.

  “Told him you were on your way home,” she shrugged one shoulder, bringing attention to the arm I hadn’t realized she wasn’t moving. Her hand went to the top of Will’s head as her eyes went glassy.

  “He knew. He knew. He knew you weren’t coming. Said he was coming for—” she didn’t say his name, but tilted her head down to look at Will who was still staring at me. “Said you asked him to come.”

  Tears started rolling out of her good eye as it came back to mine.

  “I’d never do that, Sugar. I’d never take him. You know that.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “But it didn’t matter.”

  I moved slowly to my knees when she was quiet, and started to scoot into the room, but stopped instantly when her hand rose off Will’s head to the top of the dresser.

  “You didn’t tell me he killed my parents,” she accused, her eyelid closing halfway in defeat.

  “What? Sugar, what did he say?”

  “He killed them,” she mumbled. “Mom’s a hot piece of ass. Mad at Aces. Kill me to get you.”

  I’d had no idea that Deke was a part of that. I’d known that the Jimenez brothers were pissed as hell when I’d killed their boys, but when Deke had called me, I’d assumed he’d had no part in it. He’d convinced me that there was nothing he could do to stop it, but he’d been in on it from the start. I felt rage like a massive headache hit the back of my eyes, but forced myself to refocus on what mattered. Callie and my boy.

  “You got him, baby. It’s over. You got him,” I murmured as I moved further into the room.

  The closer I got to her, the more clearly I saw that there was something seriously wrong with her arm.

  “You protected our son, baby,” I told her softly, relieved when I stopped less than a foot from her and she still hadn’t grabbed the gun. “You did so good. Is Will okay?”

  “He’s fine,” she whispered, glancing down at him. “He was in here.”

  “I had to make sure no one got him,” her voice rose as she looked at me fiercely. “I made sure. I made sure.”

  “Yeah, you did. I love you so much, Calliope,” I whispered, reaching out my hand to lay it softly on hers where it rested on Will’s head. “But you’re hurt, Sugar, and it smells like Will needs his diaper changed.”

  She looked like she was going to agree, she’d even started to slowly nod, when we heard men coming through the front door.

  Her hand moved faster than I could catch, and in seconds, the .45 was resting against my sternum, her finger on the trigger.

  She didn’t look away as she called quietly to Will. “Go over to Gram, Will,” she said gently. “Run on over to Gram.”

  He climbed up to his feet slowly, wobbling a little in a way that had my heart lurching in my chest, but he made it to Gram as she stood from the bed.

  “Get him out of here. Lock yourself in your apartment,” Callie ordered, never looking away from my face. “Go, Gram!”

  Rose shot out of the room, and the moment we heard her front door slam, Callie’s hand dropped to her lap.

  “Get your brother and get the fuck out of my house,” she mumbled tiredly as I heard someone small walk up behind me.

  “We need to get you to a hospital, Callie,” I whispered, as I gently pulled the gun from her fingers.

  “I’ll take her,” Farrah argued at my back.

  “I love you so much, Sugar.” I ignored Farrah as I set the .45 back on the dresser and ran my finger up and down the top of Callie’s hand, the only place I was sure I wouldn’t hurt her. “Let me take care of you.”

  She turned her head away from me, not saying a word as she pushed her forehead against the side of the dresser.

  “Go, Grease,” Farrah ordered behind me. “Get your guys and get them out of our apartment. I’ll take care of Callie.”

  “She’s mine,” I hissed, turning my head to Farrah. “Go make sure that Will’s okay.”

  I started to turn from her when I noticed another gun, this time in her small hand.

  “Will’s fine with Gram,” she told me seriously, her hand hanging relaxed at her thigh. “Now you need to get the fuck out of here before you make her worse.”

  “She needs me,” I argued, my hand tightening on Callie’s. “I’ll take care of her. I
always take care of her.”

  “Look at her, Grease,” Farrah snapped sharply. “She doesn’t fucking need you.”

  My head turned to Callie to see she was still facing the dresser, her swollen eye practically hiding the rest of her face from me.

  “Callie?” I questioned gently, as her body started rocking in tiny movements.

  “Please leave me alone,” she whimpered, never looking at me. “Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone.”

  I heard Farrah’s revolver as she snapped it into place, and I turned my head to see her pointing it directly at my head.

  “I’m not Callie,” she told me calmly. “I’ll pull the trigger.”

  I didn’t think she would, but it didn’t matter.

  I nodded in defeat, knowing that she was right. I wasn’t making anything better.

  I couldn’t stop myself from leaning forward one last time and kissing Callie lightly on the side of her head. “I love you. I’m not going far,” I promised.

  I made myself leave the room as Farrah kneeled down to help Callie to her feet.

  Chapter 73

  Callie

  The doctors told me that the psychological scars of the attack would be much harder to heal, and they were right.

  Farrah had informed the police that my attacker had fled and she’d found me in our apartment. I didn’t dispute it. I didn’t say anything. Not to the nurses or the doctors or the social workers or the policemen.

  I didn’t speak.

  They grew frustrated with me, asking the same questions over and over, sometimes changing the words they used as if phrasing something a different way would make me answer. I listened to them argue as if I wasn’t there, sometimes stating that they needed to leave me alone, and other times fighting that someone needed to snap me out of the fog I was in.

  I would have liked to see them try.

  No one had known what happened when they’d found me because the Aces had taken Deke’s body instead of letting the police do their work. It was a clear case of self-defense, as my broken body could prove, but I was glad that I didn’t have to explain to anyone what had happened.