Rip (Kiss of Death MC #14)

Chapter One

Jade

The soft, warm lighting in the small dining room did little to reassure me.

I stared at my hands resting on the scarred wooden table, watching them tremble against my will.

Three weeks at Haven, and my body still hadn’t gotten the message that I was safe now.

Safe. What a strange word to apply to homelessness, to sitting in a communal room, surrounded by women who couldn’t meet my eyes because we all recognized the shame in each other’s faces.

I pulled down my sleeve to cover the faint, yellowing bruise on my wrist. My ribs still throbbed with a dull persistent ache that no amount of ibuprofen could completely relieve.

The pain was almost comforting -- a reminder that I hadn’t imagined it all, that I wasn’t crazy.

My fingers brushed against my cheekbone, the swelling finally gone but the discoloration still visible beneath the concealer I’d carefully applied that morning.

A little boy, maybe five or six, darted past me chasing after his sister, both of them laughing.

Their mother called after them in a hushed voice.

All the women here spoke quietly most of the time, as if normal volume might shatter whatever fragile peace we’d found.

Or too afraid our respite would end in violence once again.

I watched them without trying to seem like I was watching.

Their mother had dark circles under her eyes, but she smiled when she caught them, tickled them until they squealed.

I looked away. There was an intimacy to their bond that felt invasive to witness, like I was trespassing on something precious.

I didn’t belong here, among these women who’d fled with children, with purpose.

What did I have? A business degree I’d never used, a dried-up marketing career, and a suitcase only half full of clothes I’d grabbed while Eric was at work.

No kids. No friends left. Just bruises and tremors and the growing realization that I had nowhere else to go.

“Jade? Do you have a moment?”

I looked up to see Ada approaching, a clipboard tucked under her arm and a sympathetic smile on her face.

Since I’d come here, I’d learned that every woman from that club Mia’s new man belonged to volunteered at this place.

The men guarded Haven but never made the residents feel smothered.

In fact, I only saw them occasionally. Everyone here cared.

Probably too much sometimes. I saw the people who came through here.

Everyone had a sob story and most of them were horrific. By comparison, I’d had it pretty easy.

“Of course,” I said, straightening my posture automatically.

Ada slid into the chair opposite me and placed the clipboard on the table between us. “Your thirty-day evaluation period ends this weekend,” she said, her voice soft. “I have your extension paperwork here. I hate that we have to do shit like this, but it gets us money for supplies.” She smiled.

My heart stuttered. I hadn’t realized how terrified I was of her saying anything else until the relief flooded through me.

“Yes,” I said too quickly, then bit my lip.

“I mean, if that’s OK. I’m still working on…

figuring things out.” I had to force myself not to wring my hands.

I didn’t used to be like this. I didn’t want to be like this now.

Ada pushed the clipboard toward me. “That’s what we’re here for. I just need your signature.”

I picked up the pen, my fingers trembling. I gripped it tighter, trying to control the shake as I signed my name. Ada watched without commenting on my obvious anxiety. She was good at that -- giving people dignity even when they were falling apart.

“Thank you,” she said, taking back the clipboard. “The extension is for another sixty days. After that, we’ll reassess.”

I tried to smile but couldn’t quite commit.

I knew how pathetic I looked by not getting back in the game of life, but the thought of trying to explain the abrupt departure from my previous job, of interviewing with visible bruises, of having to be around strange men who might remind me of Eric, could send me into a panic attack.

“Jade, honey? You OK?”

I glanced up at Ada when she spoke. Short answer? No. I wasn’t OK. Better answer? “Fine,” I said. “Just tired.”

Her eyes softened with understanding that made me want to crawl under the table.

“There’s a resume workshop on Thursday. No pressure, but it might help to interact with others.

And group therapy tomorrow at four is open to everyone.

” She put her hand on my shoulder. “There’s no rush, you know.

I’m checking boxes because it’s required.

You take as much time as you need. We call this place Haven for a reason. ”

When she left, I let my shoulders slump, exhausted by the brief interaction.

Across the room, a woman about my age was showing her daughter how to braid string into a friendship bracelet.

Another was helping her son with what looked like math homework.

I’d wanted that once. A family. To be all domesticated and stuff.

Eric had told me he had the same dream. Turned out, his dream had been more about building himself up by keeping someone under his foot. It had been me since before college. Then he wanted Mia but wanted his fucking mind games with me too.

I picked at a dangling hangnail until it bled, sucking the small wound.

I’d come to Haven because the nice lady who’d brought me said this place would keep Eric away from me.

No questions asked. I stayed in Haven because I was officially homeless and had nowhere else to go.

The sad truth was, I hated the thought of leaving this place because I’d never stayed anywhere I felt safer than I did at Haven.

What came next? The question circled in my head like a vulture. I couldn’t stay here forever, but I couldn’t imagine a life outside these walls either. Not when Eric was still out there.

I wrapped my arms around myself, pressing against the bruises on my ribs until the physical pain drowned out everything else.

The crash shattered the afternoon quiet like a gunshot.

I didn’t see what happened. First, the ball bouncing across the linoleum, then a little boy chasing after it.

One or both of them hit the table where a ceramic vase sat just a little too close to the edge.

I only registered the sound as it exploded against the floor, blue and white shards spraying outward like shrapnel.

My body reacted before my mind could catch up.

Flinch. Gasp. Arms over face. Heart instantly hammering against my ribs as if trying to punch its way out of my chest.

The rational part of my brain knew it was just a broken vase.

Just a child’s accident. But my body was already in full survival mode, dumping adrenaline into my bloodstream.

My ears rang. My vision tunneled. My muscles coiled tight, ready to do anything I could to avoid what usually came after a crash.

I sucked in a sharp breath that hurt my throat.

Held it. Forgot how to release it. The common room had gone still.

Through the gaps between my fingers, I saw women frozen in various postures of interrupted activity.

Some exchanged knowing glances and looks of sympathy, a language survivors recognized as a trigger response.

Others deliberately turned away, giving me privacy in my panic, or maybe protecting themselves from the mirror I’d become.

“I’m so sorry,” the little boy’s mother murmured, already on her knees, gathering ceramic pieces into her cupped palm.

“Tyler, go put your ball away, please.” Her voice was tight but controlled.

Tyler looked terrified, his lower lip trembling as he clutched the rubber ball to his chest and scurried away.

“It’s fine,” someone said. “Just an accident. Our fault for having something not kid-proof in here.”

“I’ve got a dustpan,” another woman offered, heading toward the supply closet.

I forced my arms down, away from my face. Attempted a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but I couldn’t just sit there like a broken doll while everyone else handled the situation. I slid from my chair and knelt beside the boy’s mother.

“Let me help,” I said, reaching for a larger piece of ceramic.

She glanced up at me, her expression a careful blank. “Thanks.”

My fingers trembled so badly I couldn’t pick up the shard. I tried again. Failed again. The third time I managed to grasp it, but my hand shook so hard that I dropped it almost immediately. It clattered against the floor, breaking into smaller pieces.

“Sorry,” I whispered, mortified.

“We’re all a hot mess,” she said with a watery smile. “How about we do the best we can and understand we’re all ghosts?”

The woman with the dustpan and a hand vacuum arrived, sweeping carefully to get the larger pieces before using the vacuum.

I tried again to help but my breath came in shallow gasps that weren’t bringing in enough oxygen.

Black spots danced at the edges of my vision.

I was going to pass out and make an even bigger scene.

I stumbled to my feet and backed away, scanning for somewhere to retreat.

The bathrooms were too far. The dormitory area was up a flight of stairs.

My legs couldn’t even manage to make it to the elevator much less up a flight of stairs.

Luckily, I found an empty corner by the bookshelves, partially screened by a large potted plant.

I made my way there on wobbly legs, pressing my back against the wall and sliding down until I sat on the floor, knees pulled tight to my chest.