“You got news for me, brother?” I ask Beam, while pulling out a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label and two shot glasses. I set them down on my desk and glare at my friend.

“Nothing, man. No one’s talking. It’s like he disappeared.” He shrugs. “You know me, I’ll keep digging. Someone’s bound to talk.”

His eyebrows shoot up when he notices the two shot glasses.

“You know I’m not drinking that shit, right?” he smirks, then reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small pint of his cheap Jim Beam.

And there you have why we call him Beamer. I shove a glass across my desk at him.

“Best shit in the world right here,” I say as I crack open my bottle, take a deep sniff, and pour my shot. Beam does the same with his.

“Cheers, man.”

Both of us suck down our favorite drink like it’s water. This type of stuff should be sipped and savored. Not with me. I love the ever-so-gratifying feeling of the burn as it makes its way down my throat, settling into my stomach. I need to get shit-faced, forget about today, and worry about tomorrow when I wake my ass up.

“I heard about Calla coming here,” Beam says with concern.

“Yeah, man. She’s here,” I reply brusquely.

“And?”

“And what?”

“How’d it go?”

“She wants a divorce. I’m not giving her one. I’ve waited way too long, wasted six years that I could have spent with her. She’ll never get me to sign. She’s in my old house. Until we kill that rat bastard who gutted my dad and threatened her life, she stays here.”

He doesn’t need to know any more than that, so I quickly change the subject. I grab my bottle of Jack and head towards the door with Beam, intent on getting drunk. The minute I walk out the door and head towards the event in the back, I roll my eyes.

Emerald strides towards me the minute I’m out the door, circling around beside me. She loops her arm through mine as if she owns me. I want to rip my skin off when her fingertips graze down my arm. I grind my teeth like crazy at her audacity. She knows not to touch me unless she is told.

“Jesus, woman. Get your hands off of me,” I growl, jerking myself free. “I thought I told you to leave. You’re not wanted here, Emerald.”

The minute I plop down in my chair she sits on my lap, which pisses me off.

“Come on. What the hell?”

My best friend Manny shakes his head from across the yard as I try to dislodge her. Yeah, screw you too, asshole. I flip him the middle finger. Dickhead knows I’m going to go postal on his ass the first chance I get for not giving me the heads up that Calla was on her way.

“Jesus, Emerald. What the hell?”

I grab her arm and pull her back into the compound, heading straight for my office. Her smile widens across her face. I know what she’s thinking. She thinks I’m going to fuck her back here and everything is going to be fine. She couldn’t be more wrong. I’m about to set this bitch straight.

Chapter Five

Calla

I lie here staring up at the ceiling in the one room that brings back the worst day of my life, chastising myself over and over in my mind. How could I have been so stupid? This is not me. I’m not weak. I really thought I had moved on. It’s been over five years since I have allowed myself to cry. A man who did what Cain did to me was not worth one more tear.

I’m so confused. I don’t know what to make of his sweet-to-mean cycle, either. How can someone ask for an apology, then in the next breath spew out hateful, stinging words?

He has left me here with so many unanswered questions. Like, who in the hell are the Savages, and why would they want to kill me? I’ve been gone, I know nothing about this new life of his, except the things I have read or heard. I even went as far as telling my parents that no matter how much I begged them to tell me details about Cain that they were to never convey anything, and they didn’t, no matter how hard I cried.

The more I think about my mom and dad, the less angry I become with them. Even though I’m not a parent, I do understand the fact they were only trying to protect me from a life that would bring their only child nothing but danger. But why? What could be so bad that someone would want to hurt me?

And then there’s the fact that Cain knew where I was this whole time. Did he have someone spying on me? Following me around? He said he knew everything right down to knowing how many men I have slept with. Two. I have slept with two men, which I know damn well is a far smaller number than the women he has been with.

I can’t say that I blame any woman for wanting to have him. The way his hard body felt up against mine, I could have evaporated right into it. Cain has always been muscular, but not like he is now. His strong, well-built frame demands attention. I could feel how full and well defined his pecs were when he pinned me to him. How his t-shirt strained across his broad chest, his stomach feeling like a slab of granite.

God, why am I even thinking about him in this way? He nearly destroyed me, and now he’s doing it again.

Rolling over on my side and curling up in the fetal position, I suppress a loud groan, my thoughts on major overload. It’s then that I see several pictures all in familiar frames sitting on top of a dresser.

He’s kept them all; every last photo of the two of us together, and there they are, staring me dead in the face. Sitting up, I swing my legs over the edge and grab the one that calls out to me the most.

I run my fingers over the contours of Cain’s face. It saddens me to see how happy he looks in this picture and how unhappy he truly looks today. That day several years ago is a day I will never forget; the day we were finally able to show each other how much we loved one another, and he threw it all back in my face. I hate him for the vulgar way he spoke about that day, as if it meant nothing to him. It meant everything to me, and he made it sound like I was just another random fuck.

“What happened to you?” I whisper.

Instead of placing the photo back in its spot, I heave it across the room. The sound of the broken glass incites me to destroy every damn photo, every fucking memory. I take my anger out on them all, listening to each one shatter as it hits the floor.

When they are all gone, I look around, my chest heaving in anger as I take in my surroundings. How dare he leave me in here, in this room, on this bed where I caught him fucking his slut?

Grabbing my beautiful shoes and shoving my feet into them, I make my way to the door. Realizing I need my purse, I search the room frantically for it. Where the hell is it? All he did was walk in here and toss me on the bed, but it’s gone.

“Goddamnit. Where is it?” I scream.

Did I drop it somewhere?

Not bothering to look for it anymore, I yank the door wide open and descend the stairs as quickly as I can. I’m going to find a way out of this place one way or another.

I feel the warmth of summer cover me when I step onto the porch. It’s almost dark now. I have been here way too long. I inhale deeply, the scent of pine wafting up my nose along with a whiff of smoke from a nearby bonfire.

The sound of people talking and laughing loudly has me heading in that direction. There has got to be someone who will help me get out of here. It’s not until I stumble upon the party that I forget exactly where it is I am. I’m in his territory. These are his people and this is his world. No one is going to help me get out of here, not if he’s told them not to.

I search the crowd of people for him and he is nowhere to be found. I’m shocked by what I see. Jesus, don’t these women believe in wearing clothes? Skirts so short, their ass is half hanging out. Tops so low cut that if they bend over, you are sure to get a full view of their boobs. No one notices me standing here in this dark corner with my mouth hanging wide open as they all party, beers or liquor bottles in hand. The music is so loud I don’t even understand how you could carry on a conversation. I’ve been to several college parties and they’ve all been exactly like this. This is a flipping fuckfest.