Red (Black #2) Page 5

  I shake my head, none of it does.

  “Can I touch you?” she asks.

  I don’t answer her straight away. It’s a weird question to ask, why would she ask that? I nod my head and she gets up and slowly walks to me. Her hands are light when they touch my chest like she’s being very cautious. Her eyes won’t look at mine, they watch her own hands.

  “You let this woman touch you?” Still no eye contact, both hands are now on my chest.

  “Yes.”

  “That h-hurts me t-the most,” her voice breaks as she speaks.

  “Why?”

  Her beautiful blue eyes finally look to mine. Sadness covers them. “No one was allowed to touch you. Except me.” I grab her then, pull her body into my chest. She cries harder, I can feel the wetness from her eyes seeping through my shirt. I pick her up, cradle her, and carry her to the couch. She clings to me, sobbing on me. This would make me highly uncomfortable, it would make me dizzily angry to the point where I black out—nothing shows weakness more than tears.

  She stays on me, her dress is ridden up from me picking her up. Her soft pale skin on display, so close to exposing her beautiful ass. I stay the exact way I am, not moving. She eventually calms down, and when I move her to check on her, I find her asleep. I shift her from me completely, place a pillow under her head and walk out. As I do a young man stands at the door, obviously watching. He’s tall, with short blond hair, and he smiles brightly at me.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” he says, he looks around at Red, then back to me. A school bag is linked over his shoulder. I nod my head at him and walk past, he stops me as I get to the car.

  “Can I get a lift?” I recognize him from Red’s photos. He must be hers, but how? He looks too old to be one of hers. I nod my head and he climbs in, smiling at me.

  I drive for a while, waiting for him to talk, to tell me where to go. But no words leave his mouth. “Where to?”

  “Back home, Mr. Black.” I look to him then press my foot on the brake hard.

  “You know me?”

  He smiles, nodding his head. “And I thank you, Mr. Black.”

  He’s odd, just like the woman. I don’t bother asking anything more, no one seems to give me what I really need. Hell, I don’t even know what I really need. Though, I have a feeling it comes with long blonde hair and see-through blue eyes.

  “I want you to tell me a secret” Her voice pulls me from my thoughts as I speak to her on the phone.

  “A secret?” I question. Why is she odd?

  “Yes. Tell me a secret no one knows. I want to be the only one to hold it.”

  I start to think what I should tell her because I have no fucking idea. “I like it when the blackness takes over,” I say, she laughs through the phone.

  “I knew that. That’s why you were so good at your job. Now Black, tell me a secret, make it good, and I will tell you one, too.”

  “I dream of you, I’ve always dreamed of you.” I hear her intake of breath. “Just not your face… but it was always you.”

  “I’ve missed you,” her voice is so small, if I didn’t have the phone glued to my ear, I wouldn’t have heard her.

  “I can’t say the same.”

  She doesn’t respond straight away, making me think she has hung up, and I have to check the phone to make sure she’s still there. “What are you doing for work?”

  “I kill people.”

  “No, no… How? How are you doing that? Again?”

  “Again?” I want to know what she means.

  “That’s what your job was, that’s what you did. How are you still doing that, and not remember who you were?”

  “Tell me, tell me about who I was?”

  “Can I come to you?”

  “Yes, I’m at the hotel.” I hear her shuffling, then talking to someone in the background.

  “I’ll be there soon,” she says then cuts off the phone. Just as I place it down, a knock comes at the door, and when I open it a short brunette stands there, her face is flushed, her fists are scrunched—she’s definitely not a happy camper.

  “Black,” she huffs out walking past me. She’s heavily pregnant, her belly pushes me out of the way when she enters. Her face is flushed, her cheeks red. She stands in front of me once I close the door, her finger pointing at my chest.

  “What game you playing at?” Her finger does it again, pushing into my chest. If she weren’t so heavily pregnant, I would probably kick her ass out the door. I don’t answer her, just stand there, watching her pointy chubby finger dig into my chest.

  “If you hurt her, pregnant or not, I will slice you in your sleep. You get me?” Her hands move in a motion of cutting her neck. I want to laugh. Is she a joke? “I can see you think I’m a joke. I am, after all, nothing compared to the big and scary Black. But be warned, you broke her, broke her fucking well and good, and if you do so again, I will break you.” Her hands finally drop to the side, then our heads swing to the door at the same time, because there’s another knock.

  “Fuck, he found me.” Her body relaxes, so I know it’s not a threat to her. She waddles to the door and pulls it open, Sax stands there with shades covering his eyes. He looks to me, tenses, then back to the brunette, then relaxes.

  “I told you to stay out of it, woman,” he says walking in, touching her hip—the wife I realize. Her nose scrunches up at him. “I can do what I want.”

  Sax shakes his head and leans down and kisses the top of hers. “She didn’t pull a knife on you did she?” he asks, and the brunette hits his chest while he laughs.

  “You took it away from me,” she whines.

  Who the fuck are these people?

  “Brother.” He nods his head, guiding his wife away. She looks back at me and pins me with a cold hard stare, one I think is meant to intimidate me. But does no such thing.

  The door opens, and she’s there. No not Red, Savannah. The brunette looks her up and down. Sax tries to guide her out with a hand to her back, the look she gives Savannah is anything but nice, but Savannah doesn’t care, she simply smiles at her like she doesn’t give two shits.

  “Trace,” she says, as they leave and shut the door behind them.

  Why the fuck is she here? This bitch has a few screws loose. She steps closer to me, inching herself into my personal space. I don’t want her here, she comes with lies. Nothing but lies.

  “You need to come home… please come home?”

  I hear a woman’s voice, it’s sultry, unlike mine. I look to the door again. Checking the number on the hotel room door, confirming that it’s his. So why did he say I can come over if there’s a woman inside? I stand there, unsure of what I should be doing. Jake wanted to come, maybe I should have let him. So I don’t have to face this alone. Except, I’ve always loved alone time with Liam. It’s completely different now, but somehow and in some ways, it’s still the same.

  Knocking on the door because I can’t stand here any longer, I either have to do it, to see him or walk away. Which is impossible to do, I could never walk away from him, even when I was sixteen.

  “I can’t, I won’t go with you.” My voice was raised, my mother getting angrier, my temper high, and she knew it.

  “You don’t have a choice, Rose. This is what’s best for us. You can’t stay here anymore, that boy is no good for you.” I scoffed at her. Really? She didn’t even know him. She had heard, though, people talked in a town that was small. I was now associated with the bad boy, someone I shouldn’t have been socializing with. But who were they to tell me so?

  “I won’t go, you can’t make me go. He needs me, I need him.” I was on the verge of tears, she couldn’t take me away, she wouldn’t take me away from him.

  “You don’t have a say!” She stepped closer to me, her hand brushing my face. “He is just a phase, darling, you’ll soon forget about him.”

  I never did. I never would.

  Sixteen, I remember that day, the day I was meant to go back to him. He would have been waiting f
or me. Like I always waited for him. It was us, we waited for each other, just to be near each other. I never forgot him, but mother never knew that. I went back once, before I met Robert, before my life collapsed. I searched for him, no one knew of a man named Liam, I didn’t even know where he lived. I asked everywhere, no one knew. I got on that train and never went back. I wish I found him then, I wish I had those years. Except I don’t, and I’ve even missed so many more. It’s like we’re to be torn apart no matter what.

  Except when a sexy brunette answers the door, I know that’s a lie, that I will have him and no one else. As I stare at him behind her, his eyes go to the woman, then back to me, and right there is my confirmation. Just that slight look alone. He won’t see any other woman the way he looks at me. It’s small, but I know. Just as I know him.

  “You need to leave,” she hisses at me. Like I’m the intruder.

  Well, maybe I am? I go to step back, not wanting to be involved in whatever’s going on, though wanting to stay so I can see him.

  “Don’t leave.” His voice is strong, just like it always is. He comes off demanding, without raising his voice.

  The woman’s head snaps back to his, but his eyes leave mine to look at her. “She can’t stay. We need to talk, you need to come home.”

  A punch in the gut is what that is. Black doesn’t speak, he doesn’t have to, his body language and the way he looks tells you exactly what he’s thinking. And just as she realizes this, it hurts. It hurts so much because she understands him, she knows him—the now him. Not my him.

  “I’ve seen you before,” she says turning to me now, my head is down, I don’t want either of them to see the pain in my eyes. I look up to her, realizing she’s speaking to me. I drop my head to the side, trying to gather where I’ve seen her. Nothing comes, I have no idea.

  “You were high as a fucking kite. You still a druggie?” She steps closer. She’s taller than me, prettier, everything I’m not. She’s wearing shorts, so short they would fit my ten-year-old daughter. I’m wearing a knee-length dress. His hand snaps out and wraps around her arm, her eyes leave mine and look up to his. “What baby,” she says. That makes me snort, and both heads turn toward me then. “You think that’s funny, bitch? You won’t think it’s funny when he’s fucking you and wishing it was me riding his cock.”

  “Enough, leave now.” He pushes her arm forward, and I step to the side. He then closes the door in her face, locking it, effectively trapping us both inside together.

  “Umm… that was interesting,” I say. He looks to me, his green eyes staring right into mine. His hand runs through his dark hair, pushing it backward.

  “Interesting bloody day! Had your friend here just before…” I look behind me, who? Obviously not that chick. “The heavily pregnant one… a bit crazy…”

  “Shit, sorry, I told her where I was going, she wanted to know. I didn’t even think she would come around.”

  He sits on his bed, watching me as I stand still near the door. “How many kids do you have?” he asks, and I remain there shocked.

  “Three.”

  “I knew you had three kids? And I still wanted to be around you?”

  “What’s that meant to mean?” I’m defensive now. That was rude, and two of those kids are because of him.

  “I don’t do kids. Fuck! I hardly do people.”

  “I know.” I understand now, he still slightly the man I once knew. “You liked these kids if that counts?”

  He nods his head, I know he doesn’t believe me. He just agrees for the sake of it. “Your name?”

  “My name?”

  “Yes, I still don’t know it. And as far as I’m concerned, I’ll call you Red.”

  “I kind of like it,” I admit. I do. I kind of like it—it goes with his, Black.

  “Name?” he questions again. He’s looking at me so intensely, the only way he can, the only way he does. And I have no choice but to answer.

  “Rose,” I finally reply, watching him as he stares at me, his lips quirk when he responds.

  “Perfect.”

  “Can we go somewhere?” A simple head nod is all I get.

  We come to a stop at a two-story home. It’s nothing special, though in some ways, it feels special. She climbs out of the truck, and stands in front, waiting for me. I walk up next to her and she reaches up and touches my face, then removes my glasses.

  “I like to read you, your eyes tell me more than you do,” she explains, and I don’t stop her even as she walks toward the house and I follow blindly behind her. She stops at the bottom of the stairs, I see that there’s an open door and behind that is a spare room, her gaze lingers on it longer than necessary, before she walks up. I watch her ass as she sashays in front of me, knowing I shouldn’t. Her ass is perfect, the whole package of her is perfect actually, she shouldn’t be able to tease the male population with her looks because it’s a crime.

  “Stop staring at my ass.” She doesn’t even turn around when she says that. It’s like she knew. I chuckle slightly not denying the fact that I was blatantly checking her ass out.

  She opens the door and the inside of this house is the most colorful thing I’ve seen, the walls are lined with tags and graffiti covering the walls. What an odd thing to see, or even decorate? She walks straight past it all and goes to the back, opening a door. She stops and doesn’t flick on a light, I stand next to her and everything in this room is the complete opposite of the house. It’s all black, the walls are black, the bedding, even the bed. Not a sign of color anywhere.

  “Whose room is this?”

  She turns to look at me, her glasses now on top of her head. “Yours.” She smiles sadly, a tear leaking from one eye. I walk in, and touch things, hoping something or anything will come back to me. Nothing does.

  “It took me ages to come back in here, I had to sleep in the living room or on the floor.” She smiles just barely.

  “Why?”

  “You had your demons.”

  “Did you?”

  “Did I have demons?” she asks raising her hand to her chest. I nod my head. “Yes, plenty. You saved me from them actually.”

  “Really?” I question her, I’m not the type to save someone, I’m actually the complete opposite. I destroy, ruin, kill. Her ice blue eyes lift to mine. She steps closer, so our toes almost touch. Her hand shakes as she reaches up and touches my chest.

  “Is she allowed to touch you whenever she pleases?” Her eyes won’t reach mine, even though I want them to.

  “Yes.” I know who she’s talking about. I know it is ain the way she says she. Savannah. Her hand goes to drop but I catch it with mine and hold it there. “Why?” Our last conversation about touching, she broke down, I couldn’t get many words from her.

  “It took me ages to be able to touch you, I thought I’d never be able to.”

  “I didn’t allow you to touch me?”

  Her cheeks blush. “Only in certain areas,” she says shyly.

  She wants to take me somewhere, I don’t say no. If she can help me piece together my memory, I won't be saying no. A part of me wants to find a place, stay in it by myself, do my work, and escape into the darkness. I like the place it takes me to, it’s a place that’s peaceful. But it’s wrong, so people tell me.

  I was surprised by her choice of car, it’s a truck. A black truck, it’s something I would own. She doesn’t look to me when she drives, her shades cover her face. Her fingers tap on the steering wheel, her fingernails are red. The name I once called her, still call her, matches her even more now I know her name.

  “Where do you live?” she asks pulling to a stop.

  I look around, it’s quiet, a train track, no one is here but us. I feel her stare on me, even with the glasses covering her eyes I can tell she’s looking directly at me.

  “A few hours away, in a club.”

  “In a club?”

  “Yes, Vicious Vipers.”

  Her hands fly to her mouth. “A bikie club?”


  “Yes!” Her hands start to shake, then her body. She reaches for the door, trying to open it but she can’t, because her hands won’t stop shaking. I reach over, it shocks her and makes her jump backward in the seat. She looks to me, and I can just make out her wide eyes behind the glasses she wears. I open it and she jumps straight out, hands crashing to the ground while she breathes deep on all fours.

  I don’t know what I’m meant to do. I don’t know this woman, I don’t comfort women. Hell, I don’t comfort anyone.

  When I walk around to the side of the truck where she’s on the ground, she starts to stand. Her hands bracing herself on the truck.

  “Sorry, it doesn’t happen often.” She wipes the front of her dress, straightening up.

  “Why?”

  She removes her glasses from her face, sadness is evident in her eyes. “Blackness…” is all she says before she starts to walk past me. I follow her, unsure of what we’re doing, or even what’s happening.

  “This is one of our places,” she says. I look to the train, her hand slips into mine, then I remember… remember something.

  Her hand slipped into mine, it was odd, I hadn’t gotten used to her hand. It was too soft, too tender, too innocent. She had done it often, though. Every day I saw her, she would sneak up on me and lace her fingers through mine. Like she knew I needed it, like she knew that she brought color with her. That when she was there, it wasn’t so dark, because fuck it was—fuck was it dark.

  She squeezed my hand, nudging me with her shoulder. We were at one of our places, the train tracks. Trains were colored on one side, mainly from me, painting her name. Mainly in red, or any other color that was as vibrant as what she was. No black was needed when I was with her—all color.

  “Tomorrow,” she whispered turning her head away from the train, looking up at me with her ice blue eyes. Tomorrow was what I always looked forward to, till I could gain the color back, gain it back by her hand, in her touch, in her. She raised her other hand, brushing the stubble that was now growing on my jaw, it wasn’t much, but I couldn’t afford to shave it.