Maybe it was a sign. My salvation. A gift hidden in the mirage of mockery.
I didn’t belong here. Didn’t want to be. We all had choices in how we lived our lives, and I knew the choices I wanted to make for mine were out of tune here. The fact the fine hairs prickled at the back of my neck when I felt the shift in the air was proof enough.
The way my stomach flipped at that seething intensity that rippled through the air and covered me from behind. The way they wrapped me in these chains that I refused to become hostage to.
“Kitten.” His voice was a rough scrape.
My teeth ground harder. “What can I help you with, Sir?”
I spat it like my own insult.
“Your shift is over. Tom will finish loading the washers and cleaning the floor.”
I tried to draw a sane breath into my lungs and not lash out. I pinned on the fakest smile ever faked, but I was sure I still looked like a lunatic when I whirled around and shot it his direction. “Great.”
I started to wind around him. He grabbed me by the hand.
Fire streaked.
Flames that screamed up my arm and jumped into my veins.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I froze, barely looking at him, and then my brow curled when he extended an envelope for me to take.
A very fat envelope.
With a shaking hand, I warily accepted it. “What is this?”
“Your portion of tonight’s tips.”
Confusion flashed so quickly I couldn’t keep it out of my expression. “What?”
“Servers and bartenders share a cut of what they make with the rest of the staff. What you do allows them to do what they need to do. That’s how it works around here.”
Stunned, I blinked, still held by his hand on my arm. The whisper coming from my mouth was shocked. “Thank you.”
He leaned in closer, his aura taking me whole, the words a rough threat when he uttered them an inch from my jaw. “Don’t thank me just yet.”
Then he turned and stalked for the swinging door, not bothering to look back when he said, “See you tomorrow night at nine, Kitten.”
I swore, I felt the ground shake beneath my feet.
Tentatively, I peeked at the contents of the envelope. My heart nearly seized. Inside, there had to be at least three hundred dollars in cash.
Oh god.
My hand went to my chest, and I struggled to take in a cleansing breath.
To make sense of this stupor.
This feeling that I should run against the temptation that whispered I should stay.
And as I peeled off the apron and went into the locker room to get my bag, my head still spinning, I wondered if I’d finally, finally caught a break, all while praying I wasn’t being lured into the deepest pit in Hell.
Three
Trent
Groaning, I buried my face deeper into the pillow when my mattress was hit by a Richter eight. So much energy comin’ from the pint-size tot it was a wonder he didn’t bring down the house.
“Dad, Dad, Dad! You’ve got to get up and hurry it up quick.” He jumped at my side, his little feet creating a cataclysm on the bed. “It’s the very first day of school, and no way can we be late because I don’t want to go gettin’ into trouble. Gettin’ into trouble is bad, right, Dad?”
I hugged that pillow and willed myself to shake off the fog. The exhaustion. Because truth be told, three hours of sleep just wasn’t gonna cut it.
But he was the one thing that made it worth it.
One love.
One loyalty.
One reason.
“Right, Dad, right?” He kept bouncing away.
That time, I buried the groan into the down feathers before I forced myself to roll over, peeling my eyes open to the dawning day.
And there he was, the kid all sunshine and love and exuberance smiling down at me.
Gage.
My son.
Only thing brilliant and big enough to fill the crater burned through the middle of my black heart.
Only thing bright enough to give me a glimpse of the light.
He was the one good thing I had in my life. One thing I protected with that life, too.
He was dressed in jeans, a short-sleeved button up, and his checkered Vans. Looking like the budding badass that he was.
Except the skin of his arms and neck were covered in squiggles and lines and crude shapes drawn in ink.
What the fuck?
Sitting up, I stabbed my fingers through my bedhead, squinting through the blinding light. “What’s goin’ on there, little dude?”
I gestured at the shit he’d scribbled all over his body.
He stretched his arms out—far too proud. “What d’ya think, Dad? You like ’em a lot? Now I look just like you.” His caramel-colored eyes widened in anticipation. “’cept not as big yet, but I’m gonna be soon! Right, Dad, right?”
He started jumping again, little legs propelling himself as high as he could go, arms raised above his head with all that golden hair bouncing around his chubby face.