Текст книги "Rogue"
Автор книги: Callie Hart
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 12 страниц)
“How many times have you done this?” she asks me. Her eyes shine brightly, full of pain and sadness, but they’re dry. I get the feeling I won’t see her crying over Raphael Dela Vega again; the firm set of her jaw and her ramrod straight posture speak volumes.
I want to lie to her and tell her I’m new to this. That I haven’t been burying people out here in the desert for years now. But I can’t. What would be the point in deceiving her? She’s a smart girl—maybe too smart for her own good—and she must already know the truth. I want her to know me, dark, evil things included, and telling her otherwise would only be misleading her. “Too many times to count, beautiful girl.”
“Were they…were they all men like Raphael?”
Nodding, I drive the point of my shovel into the ground. “And worse. Far, far worse.”
She seems to think about this for a long moment, the sweet smelling breeze lifting tendrils of her dark hair about her face, and then she nods. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes. If they were worse than Raphael, then they deserve to be here. I get it.”
I’m not prepared for her acceptance of this knowledge, so I don’t have anything to say at first.
The two of us start digging; it’s not long before Sophia sheds her sweater, stripping down to the thin t-shirt I gave her to wear, and I’m naked from the waist up. We’re both sweating and breathing heavily by the time the hole is deep enough to dispose of Raphael’s body.
I purposefully haven’t covered him up. He’s all blood and horror and loose-limbed madness as I heave him out of the back of the Humvee and drag him under his arms to the grave we’ve prepared for him. His skin a strange mottled purple color, apart from where he’s covered in his own dried blood, which has turned the color of rust and dirt.
“Are…are his eyes meant to look like that?” Sophia asks softly. She’s glancing at Raphael’s already decaying body out of the corner of her eye, as though, if she only manages to glimpse him in small snapshots, she’ll be spared the true horror of what she’s done. That won’t do her any good, though. That’s why I left him uncovered. She needs to see him. She needs to come to terms with the fact that she killed him.
“Yeah.” I drop Raphael on the ground, and then go to stand beside her. Taking her hand, I draw her to my side, trying to stem the body-wide shivering that seems to be taking her over. “That always happens.”
Her fingers feel icy and cold in mine. “Do you know why?” she asks.
“It’s the potassium breaking down in his red blood cells. Makes the eyes go cloudy.”
“He looks…looks like he has cataracts. He doesn’t look real anymore.” Taking a deep breath, she finally looks at him properly. “I get why you’re making me do this,” she whispers.
“Tell me.”
“Because you want me to have closure. You want me to be the one who buries him. You want me to be the one who shovels dirt onto his body and sends him away forever. You want me to understand he’s never coming back, and he’s never going to hurt me again. That’s why.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t need to. She’s hit the nail on the head; without this sort of closure, she’ll only ever remember him with his hands on her, trying to force himself on her. He would always seem stronger than her in her mind. More dangerous. He would forever haunt her. Now, like this, broken, just a slowly degrading husk, he has no power. Yes, he looks terrifying, covered in all that blood, staring up at the star speckled night sky with his mouth yawning open in surprise, but he also looks small. Weak. Incapable of causing her any more pain.
I nuzzle my face into her hair, breathing her in, trying to transfer some of my strength to her. She’s already so damn strong, but that’s irrelevant. If I could carry this burden for her, I would. If I could have been the one to kill him, I would have. I should have. I don’t ever want her to hurt or suffer any more than she has to. “Do you want me to help you?” I whisper.
She squeezes her hand in mine, taking a deep breath. “No. No, it’s all right. I can do this.”
She gets to work. Even after she’s pulled on the gloves I gave to her at the clubhouse, I can tell she doesn’t want to touch Raphael. She has to in order to get his body into the hole, though, so she steels herself and then grabs him under the arms, the same way I did when I dragged him from the car.
Raphael was a big guy, and Soph is nowhere near as strong as me, so it’s not as easy for her to maneuver him to the side of the grave. She doesn’t give up, though. She positions his body directly beside the gaping hole in the ground and then she straightens, staring down at the man who’s plagued her dreams since that night back in Seattle.
“You were a vile piece of shit in life, Raphael. And you’re a vile piece of shit now. Fuck you.” She trembles as she spits on his body. Trembles as she uses her foot to shove him roughly into his final resting place. He lands face down, which feels highly appropriate. A strange sense of pride washes over me as my girl tosses the first shovel-load of dirt into the hole.
“My father would have a fit if he knew I was doing this,” she says.
“Burying the man who assaulted you?”
“Burying him like this, face down, with no blessing and no prayer for his soul.”
“Your father’s religious?”
She remains quiet for a second. I know it’s hard for her—she still hasn’t given me her real name, and I haven’t pushed for it. I know her last name is Romera, or at least her father’s last name is, but even that wasn’t information she volunteered. I heard him say it when she called him on that payphone back in Alabama. She still feels conflicted about parting with information that might endanger her family, and I get that… But she has to get that I am not a danger to her family. She must know that. The main threat to her family is now being covered with the dirt she’s letting fall from her shovel.
I don’t think she’s going to answer me, but then she speaks after all, talking in muted, quiet tones. “Yeah. He’s a preacher for all intents and purposes. My family are pretty devout Christians.”
I had no idea about this, but it fits. When I first met her, she had that uptight air about her that spoke of a sheltered, strict upbringing. That’s gone now, lost to the four winds. Now, she seems like an entirely different person.
I sit on the ground by the graveside and watch as she labors to fill it in. The work is backbreaking but she doesn’t complain and she doesn’t ask me to do it for her. With every load of dirt she piles on top of Raphael Dela Vega’s body, she seems to become more and more confident, her back straightening, her eyes flashing with determination. When it’s done, Sophia drops the shovel to the ground, rips off the gloves I gave her, and sinks to the ground beside me. My arm finds its way around her shoulders instinctively, and she folds into me, resting her head on my shoulder.
“About what you said before,” she says.
“Which part?”
“The part about you driving me back to Seattle.”
I cringe at the words. “Yes.” It’s going to hurt like a motherfucker taking her back home, but it’s the right thing to do. What I should have done weeks ago instead of dragging her further and further into this mess.
“I don’t want you to drive me back,” Sophia whispers.
Hearing her say that is like a punch to the gut. I understand. I don’t like it, but I will respect her wishes. “Okay. Public transport’s out of the question, though. I need to know you’ve walked back through your front door okay. I’m sure Cade won’t mind taking you if you pref—”
“No, that’s not what I mean.” She looks up at me, frowning slightly. “I mean, I don’t want to go. I mean I want to stay here. I want…I want to be with you.”
I’ve known pretty much from the beginning that she was attracted to me. It was fairly obvious from the way she acted around me and how often I caught her staring. I was hardly shy about the fact that I was into her, too, though. This, however, is a huge surprise. She looks a little stunned herself.
“I thought you’d jump at the chance to get out of here, Soph. Don’t you want to go home? See your parents? Your sister?” I stroke my hand over her wild, wavy hair, dreading whatever she’s going to say next. I want her to be safe. I want her to be a million miles away from Ramirez and his men, even if Raphael is no longer a concern. But I also want her in my line of sight at all times, close enough that I can touch…
“I’m going to call my dad,” she says. “I want them to know that I’m okay. And I want them to know that…that I’m not coming home.”
“Perhaps you should think about this before you make any rash decisions.”
“I have. It’s all I’ve been thinking about for days. I don’t think I can go back to who I was before, Jamie. I’m not…I not the person I used to be.”
When she calls me Jamie, I feel like I could be the person I used to be, if I tried really hard. That would mean giving up this whole enterprise, though. It would mean admitting that Cade’s sister is gone and that we’re never going to find her. After so long, I think I’ve already come to terms with that fact anyway. Admitting it is hard, though. Admitting it to Cade would be fucking impossible. We barely talk about her anymore. He must have come to the same conclusion that I have, but she’s his blood. He won’t stop looking until he’s found out what happened to her one way or another. And I won’t abandon him.
“This club is intense, Soph. Being here means you’re going to be more and more involved in the way we live our lives. Is that something you can put up with?”
“Yes. I want to. I—” She turns to face me, eyes about as wide as I’ve ever seen them. She’s so fucking beautiful. I want to wrap her in cotton wool and keep her safe. Forever. “I want to be a part of it,” she whispers.
“Be a part of the club?” This…this is guaranteed the very last thing I ever expected her to say. I still don’t think I’ve understood her correctly. “You want to be a part of the club?”
“Yes. I want to do what Carnie did. I want to prospect.”
“No. Fucking. Way.” She’s gone mad. I shouldn’t have made her bury Raphael. It must have caused severe trauma to her brain.
“Why not?”
“Come on. Let’s get in the car.” I help her to her feet, and then I’m half guiding, half dragging her back to the Humvee. She doesn’t make a sound when I open up the passenger door for her and usher her inside. Slamming the door closed, I hope the loud noise will be an end to the crazy conversation, but Sophia’s ready and waiting for me.
“Shay’s a woman. Fee, too.”
“That’s correct. They are.”
“So why can’t I be a Widow Maker? If they can be, then surely I can be, too.”
I start the engine but I don’t put the Humvee into gear. I swivel in my seat so I’m facing her, desperately trying not to launch myself across the other side of the car so I can shake some sense into her. “You can’t join because it’s dangerous, sugar. Things with Ramirez are about to get grade A fucked up. I’m trying to make your life safer, not even more dangerous.”
“Do you honestly think Ramirez is going to forget all about me now that Raphael’s gone? Am I still not the only person who can testify about your uncle’s murder?”
“Raphael killed Ryan. Raphael’s now dead. There’s no way to prove in a court of law that Hector ordered him to do it. That ship has well and truly sailed. The cops are never going to fix this. I’m going to have to fix it. The club is going to have to fix it. It’s going to be all out warfare, and that bitch Lowell is going to be along for the ride. God knows how it’s all going to end. I don’t want it to end with you swinging from the end of a rope, missing your fucking hands and feet, though.”
“Why are you reacting like this? I thought you’d be happy that I wanted to stay, Rebel.”
Rebel. Huh. No more Jamie. That’s probably for the best. I punch the steering wheel, grinding my teeth together, expecting to feel them crack under the pressure. I can’t seem to think straight all of a sudden. My entire body feels hot, my senses working overtime to keep up with my rising anger. “Have you forgotten what I said to you the other day? I told you I was fucking in love with you. That means I will let you go. That means I will kiss you goodbye and I will help you pack you shit into the back of this car, and I will let another fucking guy drive you out of here. It means I will never see you again if that’s what I have to do, because I love you so goddamn much that I’d rather my whole world come crashing down around my fucking ears than have you killed because of me. Go back to Seattle, Sophia. Become a psychologist. Marry boring Matt and have a ton of children. Go to book club and drink too much Sauvignon Blanc on the weekends. Get a divorce at forty and find yourself all over again. Live the clichéd, middle class life that I can’t give you.”
I’m blowing hard, my lungs burning when I shut my mouth. I’ve never really known what it is to feel like this—utterly destroyed. It’s come as a complete and very unwelcome shock to me that I am going to be fucked when she goes, but she needs to see it’s for the best. She has to.
It takes me a long while to realize that she’s not saying anything. When I look at her, Sophia’s staring dead ahead, arms folded across her chest, eyelids unblinking. She’s practically vibrating with rage. Her tone is even and flat when she begins to speak; I can tell it’s taking everything she’s got to remain calm enough to get her words out. “Over the past few weeks, you’ve been stabbed, nearly bled to death right in front of me, attacked by Ramirez, shot with a Taser and arrested by the DEA. You think I wouldn’t worry about you if I went back to Seattle? You don’t think I would be sick to my stomach every second of the day, wondering if you’re alive or you’re dead? Fuck, Rebel…you don’t think I’m in love with you, too?”
She gets out of the Humvee, slamming the door so hard behind her that I’m surprised the damn window doesn’t shatter. I watch her storming off into the desert, the pale blue of her t-shirt fading fast into the darkness as she hurries away from the car. For a moment I can’t move. I can’t think straight. She loves me, too? She loves me too. I feel like she’s just punched me square in the jaw. I mean…how?
I finally get my shit together in time to realize that she’s been totally swallowed by the near pitch-blackness outside and I should definitely find her before she vanishes for good. I get out of the car and run after her.
She’s not too hard to find. Standing with her back to me, she’s only made it thirty feet from the car, and she’s crying. “I should fucking hate you,” she tells me. “I shouldn’t give a shit about you, whether you live or die, but I do. That day you took me up on the roof of your dad’s place, you said something to me and it’s been stuck in my head ever since. You said, ‘Don’t bother trying to get inside my head. It’s a dark and scary place. Even I don’t want to be here most of the time.’ But I couldn’t help it. I wanted to get inside your head, and you…” She turns around, stabbing her index finger into my chest. “You invited me in. You didn’t for one second try and stop me from developing feelings for you. So why should you get to care more about me than I care about you? And why the hell am I not allowed to take risks to make sure you’re okay? I have nothing to go back to, Rebel. I have a family and a college degree and I have an apartment sitting empty in Seattle, but if you’re not there with me then I have nothing.”
I can’t fucking breathe. I can’t…
I grab hold of her and pull her to me, wrapping my arms around her and holding her so tight to me that she probably can’t breathe either. She presses her face into my chest, clinging onto me, and we just stand there, not letting go. Not saying anything. Not moving.
This woman has turned me fucking inside out. I reach down and lift her up, my hands underneath her thighs, and she wraps her legs around my waist without question. I just hold her there.
“You want this? You really want this, knowing what it involves?”
She pulls back, her eyes slightly red and puffy. There’s real grit there, too, though. So much fire. She swallows, and then says eight words that will change things for us both forever. “I want you. And I’m not going anywhere.”
This is pure fucking madness, but I can’t help grinning. One of us will end up dead soon enough, but in the meantime I’m sure things are about to get really fucking interesting. “You realize you’re going to need to learn how to ride a motorcycle now, right?” The thought of her in charge of a bike is instantly hot. Her intensity breaks as a small smile spreads over her face.
“Seriously? That would be kind of badass.”
“Oh my god,” I groan. “You’re gonna be the death of me, woman.”
“Huh. And here was me thinking I would try and keep you out of trouble instead,” she says softly, biting her lip.
It occurs to me how fucked up this is—the fact that we’ve just disposed of a body in the desert in the middle of the night, and I’m swiftly developing a hard on. I laugh like a maniac because I can’t help myself. “All right, then. Sophia Romera, consider yourself the newest prospect of the Widow Makers Motorcycle Club.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Callie Hart is a bagel eating, coffee drinking, romance addict. She can recite lines from the Notebook by heart. She lives on a ridiculously high floor in a way-too expensive building with her fiancé and their pet goldfish, Neptune. Rogue is the first instalment in her Dead Man’s Ink trilogy. Book three will be coming out soon!
Her Blood & Roses series has over two thousand five star reviews, and features a dark hero and a kickass heroine. Book one, Deviant, is FREE right now! Click here to download now!
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