“He resents me, but he’ll never admit it.”

“Why?”

“The baby Bev aborted, it reaffirmed his sexuality. I was there. I’m the only one who knows what really happened to him. Nyle and his boys turned Icky out—took his manhood. Then Bev gave it back with that baby, but now she’s barren.”

I tried to make sense of the bombshell he’d just dumped on me. “But aren’t you afraid the others will tell?”

“What others? One was killed in an attempted robbery two days after he got paroled. The other guy’s in a coma. Cancer. They don’t expect him to ever come out of it. Icky and my friend are the only ones who know the truth.” He paused to stab a look at me. “And you of course.”

Trace had killed a man with the same hands he’d used to caress me tonight. I should’ve been terrified of him, but instead I was ashamed—of myself.

He’d lied because he didn’t trust me. Surprisingly, I couldn’t blame him.

He cracked the door, bathing us in light. “Meet me at Rascal’s at two on Wednesday.”

I blinked away the daze. “Rascal’s? Isn’t that a bar?”

“Hole-in-the-wall would be more accurate. It’s at the seediest side of town. I know you don’t want me showing up at your office.”

“Trace—”

“Naw, this way’s better. The garage and the club aren’t options either. Neither is my house. And Briar is out of the question. So Rascal’s is the safest place. We won’t be alone and the regulars are discreet.”

“I have no interest in drinking with you at a bar.”

“We won’t be drinking.”

Curiosity burned hot. “What then?”

“We’re meeting to ride to Wyatt together. Mrs. Campbell’s house is an hour’s drive. I don’t trust my bike for a trip like that.”

TRACE

____________________________

I let myself in the house just as the answering machine cut on. It was Amber.

“Hey, shug. Yeah, I’m drunk dialing.” She laughed. “Okay, but seriously, I didn’t mean to hang up on you like that. I’m just a little down about us. Maybe I was rash. I dunno. I’m going to be busy for the next week or so. We’re training some new hires. Soon as I get them squared away, I’ll try and come by for my stuff. We can talk then.”

I fell back on the sofa. Now she wanted to talk? Unfriggenbelievable. Naw, I wouldn’t waste another brain cell on Amber or any of the other insane women in my life.

Not tonight. I’d had my fill of crazy.

From the kitchen, a sleepy ballad on the radio drifted through the shadows like a ghost, filling the darkness. Diana Ross crooned slow and lazy. She sang a sad hello to a faithful, but gloomy companion—some specter named ‘Heartache.’

Speaking of heartaches, my mind gravitated to the basement door and down the stairs to the place I’d avoided since I got out, to the demon roused by Bev and Icky’s lies.

Hey, ya little shit. Do ya miss me?

Icky had shamed me tonight. Called me a coward. Right now, I couldn’t argue the point to save my life, but I was tired of being afraid.

I needed my freedom.

I shoved off the sofa, stalked down the hallway, and stood by the door. Leaned my forehead against it. I told myself it was just a piece of wood, and this basement was just the place where my parents had breathed their last, nothing more. Fear almost did me in once I unhooked the chain. The rusty metal scraped pendulously against the wood as it fell. I threw the deadbolt back and gave the knob a turn. The thunderous groan of ancient hinges reverberated when I tugged the door open, and musty dampness smacked my face and crept into my throat. I could taste the smell. My stomach heaved, then settled.

Don’t be a pussy, echoed Gary’s rusty voice, a voice scarred by a lifetime of whiskey, cigarettes, and meanness. Come on, you little shit. I’m waitin’ on you.

I started to back away, but Doc’s soothing voice stopped me: We destroy fear by facing it, son. Instead of letting it remain a chamber of horrors, take control of the basement. Create positive memories in that room and embrace the negative ones. Stare the monster down and it’ll lose its power.

Taking a strengthening breath, I flipped the wall switch and descended into hell. Light stung my eyes. I squinted and kept a tight grip on the wooden handrail. The dusty old steps screeched beneath my weight. I could almost hear Daddy’s cruel laughter. The same laughter that had trailed me when I, bloody, bruised, and blinded by tears, had stumbled up these same stairs as fast as my young feet could carry me after one of Gary’s vicious beatings.

Once I reached the bottom, I looked around. The harsh fluorescent bulb, naked and bright, exaggerated every crack and dust ball. As basements went, it wasn’t anything spectacular. Just twelve years older than the last time I’d seen it, smelling of earth and dampness, secrets and misery. I turned in a slow circle and found nothing but empty space. Eight large boxes labeled‘Cole’s books’ were stacked in a corner. A crate filled with Bev’s Barbie collection topped them. My old, urine-stained mattress was propped against the back wall. And Cole’s first Yamaha keyboard lay strewn under the stairs—right below the buckshot holes.

Throat working, I gravitated there, my attention glued to the spot where my father had died. A dark splatter covered the wall, remnants of blood and brains, long gone, but not forgotten. Remnants of a man who claimed he loved me with every stroke of the belt, or extension cord, or whatever weapon happened to be within grabbing distance. It all went down in this basement.

I snatched Cole’s keyboard and pitched it across the room. It crashed against the opposite wall, falling in a broken heap of plastic. Exhaustion turned my legs to jelly, and my knees hit the floor. Hot tears slid down my face. Annoyed, I swiped them away, but they just kept coming.

I wept for my mama, and the goodbye we never said. I cried for my sister, because of the pain Icky would leave her with. I ached for my baby brother, sweet Cole, who never had a chance in this fucked up world. I even mourned for the father I never understood.

When I finally climbed the basement stairs hours later, weary and drained, I’d made peace with myself and my parents’ ghosts…for the most part anyway. I also did something I should’ve done my first night home—changed the damn fuse for the ceiling lamp in the living room.

And then there was light, in more ways than one.

TRACE

____________________________

Two days later, I hung up the phone and slipped back under the covers. Cholly’s call had pulled me from a dream, one that didn't star Daddy, Nyle, or Lilith. This one had Shannon in it, naked and wet for me, but unlike all my other dreams of her, I remembered every erotic detail. Now I had actual experience to draw from. Facts like the sweet way she tasted, the sounds she made, and how a minute of sucking had turned her pink nipples blood red. The memory alone made my cock hard as marble.

Apart from worrying that I’d scared her off again, I had thought of nothing else but nailing her. I wanted her in my bed, on the floor, up against the wall, outside, inside…any and everywhere.

Scowling, I tossed the covers back, spat into my hand, and grasped my cock to ease the ache. My jaw worked while I moved my palm up and down with a slow twist, each gentle tug driving me to Hades and halfway back.

I grabbed Shannon’s hanky from the nightstand, put it to my nose, and closed my eyes. Pictured myself sucking her pink nipples to red peaks. Imagined pushing her legs apart and settling between them.

Shit. I could almost feel her virgin flesh give way as I eased inside her tight little—oh yeah, that was it. I was there, taking what was mine, claiming her as my own, pumping my hips, feeling her nails score my back and her legs wrap around me. I was driving into her hard, fast, and frenzied, filling her sweet body with….