Chapter Six
Twenty-six years ago. Detroit, MI.
The front yard, underneath the skinny oak tree, used to be my favorite spot in the world.
I liked being outside. I liked the warmth the sun gave me. Our house was always cold, even in the summer. I think it was because there was never any love in it. I was old enough to know the difference now. My buddy from school, his house was always warm and…pretty.
I looked up from my spot on the ground, my bike currently in pieces, my eyes taking in the chipping white paint, the broken screen on the front door, the trash all over the porch, Mom’s old cigarette buds piled all around her smoking chair. Every night after the sun went down, she’d come out and smoke all night. Shaking my head, I felt embarrassed. The outside of the house looked sad, but the inside was worse. I hoped that one day, that TV show would knock on our door and clean it out. Mom kept everything she found interesting, even trash.
I blew out a breath and looked back down to my bike. I was almost too tall for it now, but I haven’t been able to find another one in the junkyard by the high school yet. Since early this morning, I’d been out here, taking it apart with an old wrench I found in the boxes from the shed. I wanted to see if I could make the seat taller, more comfortable for my legs. I also took the chain off. I needed to get more oil on it, but I would have to find some.
My head snapped up with I heard her, forgetting my bike as I watched my new neighbor bounce down the steps of her porch. She was wearing a light-yellow dress with clovers on it and white shoes. I’d never seen shoes so white before. Hanging from her arm was a pink basket filled with colors, and she was talking to her dad.
That wasn’t the right word.
I felt my brows come together as I tried to remember that word Mom used when she was yelling at us the other day.
Blabbering.
She was blabbering again.
All this girl did was blab about stupid shi—stuff. Stupid stuff.
I shook my head as I watched her dad smile down at her, running some of her shiny hair through his fingers. He gave her a kiss on the head before getting in the car—which was a nice car. A Honda. Those lasted a long time. Their engines were really really good, according to the old car magazines the old man from Mom’s garage let me take the last time she needed to get a new tire.
Once the dad was gone, the little girl went and sat in the middle of the driveway and pulled out a box of chalk.
Chalk.
How old was she?
Chalk was for babies.
The green-eyed girl looked my way, and something felt funny inside of me. I didn’t like it. I didn’t smile back when she smiled at us, her arm going in the air. She waved wildly.
What was she so excited and happy about?
“Fuck, she’s annoying.” I looked to my left. My older brother, Xander, shook his head, glaring at the girl next door as if she was some disease.
I didn’t think she was a disease.
I just didn’t like how colorful she was. Her skin was a golden tan, and her hair was a mix between brown and red. I hated it. Why couldn’t her head just pick a stupid color and stick to one?
“Yeah,” I mumbled, ignoring the way Xander cussed. We weren’t allowed to cuss, even though Mom cussed at us every other word.
Xander told me he could cuss because he was older—by two years.
I looked back to the girl, who was now focused on whatever she was drawing on the concrete.
How old was she?
Would she go to my school next week?
What was her name?
Did I have to be friends with her? I mean, we were neighbors and all.
“CAIN!”
I jumped, looking away from the girl and her chalk. The front door of our house opened, the screen door slamming against the siding as our mother stepped out.
Xander and I didn’t have a pretty mom.
We had a witch.
When I was younger, I used to think that God was punishing us for some reason by giving us horrible parents. Our father left when I was six, a little over three years ago. I didn’t like him anyways. He hated me.
But not Xander. No, our dad loved Xander so much.
I was nothing but a freak to him.
I don’t know why I was born with such pale skin and why my hair was so light. Our parents both had dark hair and skin that darkened underneath the sunlight. I couldn’t be out in the sun very long.
When I was five, Mom took us to the pool once. I was only outside for about ten minutes before my skin was on fire. It stayed red for days, and I couldn’t sleep. Mom told me to quit being a baby about it. I cried into my pillow when the pain got too much so she wouldn’t hear.
Today, Mom was wearing her stained sweats and an old Lions t-shirt that had multiple holes in it. Her hair was dirty and tangled in a big knot on the side of her neck. She just woke up. It was after lunch time.
“Yes, ma’am?” I called, wondering what I did this time. Or maybe it was my day.
Xander and I had days. Mom would pick one of us to focus on and yell at. Xander had two days this week so far. I could hear her from outside as she screamed and told him he was worthless. She didn’t call me worthless. She called me a “weird little fuck” because I liked to take things apart and build them back up again. She called Xander other things too, but I didn’t like to think about those.
“Get your ass in here!” Mom hissed, showing her yellowing teeth.
I knew better than to argue. When I argued, she liked to slap my face, and that shi—I mean, it hurt a lot. As I got to my feet, I couldn’t help but look over at the girl. She was staring at me, her lips turned into a frown. Something inside of me wanted to tell her not to worry about me, that I would be okay. She wouldn’t have to worry.
But maybe I wanted her to worry about me.
“Cain!” Mom barked.
I didn’t let my fear show as I walked across the yard, past my brother who mumbled “good luck” underneath his breath, and up to the porch. Mom snapped her fingers and pointed into the house. “Now.”
I remained silent as I stepped inside, the house dark and smelly. It made me want to gag. I hated how small it was in here. I hated this house.
I heard the door slam behind me, and when I turned around, I felt the hard, stinging slap of Mom’s backhand on my cheek. I stumbled back into the living room, tripping on the rug and falling back into a pile of trash. Bottles and cans rolled away as she towered over me. She bent down, her dark eyes sinister as she jabbed her pointy nail into my chest. “You are nothing but shit,” she sneered. “Do you hear me?”
I bit the inside of my cheek, and she looked up to my hair. Her face twisted in disgust as she whispered, “Don’t know where you came from, and half the time, I can’t believe it’s from me.”
I stared, waiting for her to be done. I tried so hard to ignore the pain coming from my cheek, and I felt a trickle of warm liquid run down it. She might have broken the skin. I’d have to find a way to cover it up for school next week.
“I wake up and look outside to find you taking something I bought you apart,” she lectured, her voice rising with every word. I didn’t look at her, keeping my gaze straight ahead on stairs. Soon she would be done, and I could go back outside. I didn’t bother correcting her either; that would only make it worse.
Mom didn’t buy me this bike.
I stole it. Over a year ago.
She continued her rant, kicking the trash around me but not hitting me again. She threw her arms out, shouting cuss words.
I wasn’t going to give her what she wanted.
She wanted me to fight back so she could hit me again.
I wasn’t Xander.
I didn’t want to fight back.
I just wanted to survive.
The longer I stared at the stairs, I pictured going inside my room, to my window. I pictured myself standing there, watching the girl next door as she played with her toys in her clean room. I pictured her looking over at me and smiling. I pictured me saying something through the open windows and her laughing.
I wanted to hear her laugh.
That’s what I imagined as Mom hit me again, hearing the green-eyed girl laugh.
Present day. St. Louis, MO.
My hands were covered in grease and oil as I got into my gray Toyota Supra, starting the car as my back ached. I’d just spent the last six hours finishing up a project for a customer in Germany. The car body was shipped to me from Mickey’s place in Denver a week ago. I installed the engine, test drove it, worked out the tweaks, and tomorrow I’d get the final product onto a ship.
After Leon’s drive, I needed some time to think, and the only place that allowed me to do that was when my hands were working on something. So, I came back to Oasis, working late hours into the day and night as I processed everything.
Jeremy wanted me to be included in the decisions for Oasis. I didn’t deserve that; I hadn’t paid my dues yet. I hadn’t even been here a year yet. I was man enough to admit that I wasn’t ready to take on that level of…authority yet. I was brought in for the Bratva and to help Oasis take them down. Yes, after Leon and I worked out our shit, I’d planned on staying in St. Louis and running my business out of Oasis.
I never expected them to offer me a permanent seat at their table after Kavi was six feet under.
Leon explained to me that he and the other two Oasis leaders felt that with my business bringing in income, I should have a seat at the table. I told him no. I still had so much of myself to prove, so much more that they had to find out before they could bring me up to that level.
I pulled out of the darkened parking lot of Oasis, knowing that for the next few weeks, it would remain empty, because we were now in the middle of winter. A nasty winter snow was expected to be here within the week. Shifting gears, I headed into the city, going through the part of town where Mina was ambushed by Kavi, where Tiggy was murdered.
I ground my teeth together as anger shot through my veins, my foot pressing hard on the gas. I shifted again, flying past the building, getting closer and closer to the glowing lights of St. Louis. Minutes later, I was flying through intersections, the roads empty as the citizens slept.
The turn to head to my place was up ahead. I could turn left and head home, or go straight into Soulard where Dominique was…
“Fuck,” I bit off, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel.
Leon told me that Jeremy was telling her everything tonight.
Everything I tried to keep her from.
Everything I tried so fucking hard to protect her from.
I failed.
I failed to protect her.
I failed her. Once again, like a broken record, I failed her.
The intersection was a hundred meters away, and I was still struggling to make a fucking choice.
Go to her. Talk to her.
Leon also told me that Dominique was here to stay. She didn’t want to leave, and the boys weren’t going to make her.
“She’s a good fucking driver, Cain,” Leon said plainly.
“I know she is,” I muttered back.
Last time I saw Dominique before seeing her in Denver, she didn’t know shit about racing.
That was a different story now.
Everything was different now.
She had talent. Talent wasn’t taught. It was given.
As the intersection drew closer, I knew I had a decision to make. I could check on her from afar, or I could go to her. The red light ahead switched to green, and her smiling face and deep green eyes flashed before me. “Dammit,” I clipped, shifting again and gaining more speed as I flew through the intersection, the left turn to go home a distant memory.
I needed to see her.
Five minutes later, I was shifting down, slowing the Supra as pulled into the alleyway behind Sullie’s. I parked, shutting the car off before leaning back in my seat, my eyes on the windows above.
The lights were out, but the glow from the purple neon sign across the street poured into the loft. Sullie was long gone, the bar closing over two hours ago. It was nearly four in the morning. I knew she’d be asleep, but I had to lay eyes on her.
I ran my hand down my face, exhaustion falling over me.
Once I laid eyes on her, I could go home. I needed sleep. I needed a shower. I needed food.
I needed a fucking cigarette.
Opening the car door, I folded my body out of the vehicle, shut the door and locked it up. As I walked up the stairs, I pulled out the key I had made to the loft the day after she got here. Once I was at the top, I looked around, scanning the alley around me. My body tensed as my eyes landed on a black town car parked on the next street over, its headlights shining bright as it lingered.
My gut twisted as instinct kicked in.
Minutes passed, but I didn’t take my eyes off it, memorizing the front plate number. I couldn’t see the driver; the windows were tinted too dark. About seven minutes later, my ass fucking freezing, the car took off, crawling down the street and turning right at the stop sign.
“Shit,” I muttered, unlocking the door and stepping inside.
Closing the door quietly, my eyes scanning the living room.
The couch had been moved to line up with the TV on the brick wall, and a heavy throw blanket was tossed over the back. There were to-go food bins left on the island in the kitchen, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. I moved, cleaning them up quietly. I put them in the trash and noticed it was full. I bagged it up, tied it, and walked it to the door, placing it outside for me to take down when I left. I replaced the bag in the trashcan scanning to make sure the kitchen was spotless.
It wasn’t. There were some dishes in the sink.
Leave it, Cain.
Just fucking leave them.
I couldn’t.
I turned on the overhead light on the stove top, pushed the sleeves of my hoodie up, and got to work. Once the dishwasher was loaded, I made sure the faucet was dripping.
It was below freezing outside, and she didn’t have the faucet dripping?
Pushing back the irritation building in my chest, I moved on, going down the hall. I peeked into the bathroom to check on the faucet. It wasn’t running either.
For fuck’s sake, Dominique.
I stepped into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and folded the hand towel by the sink.
When I was back in the hall, I reached for the knob on the bedroom door, putting my ear to it so I could listen for her soft snoring.
I didn’t hear anything, and my shoulders tensed.
Twisting the knob slowly, I pushed the door open, and my eyes locked on the bed.
“Jesus,” I whispered, unable to tear my eyes away.
The bed was in the middle of the room, currently bathed in the purple neon glow, and Dominique was in the center of it—underneath the blankets and a pile of clothes. I clenched my jaw as I made my way over the side of the bed, putting my hands in my pockets. Her hair was tied in the knot on her head, and her eyes were closed, her lips pressed together.
The right side of her face wasn’t as swollen, but the cut on her temple was enough to make me want to kill another man.
Tilting my head, I took the time to enjoy her during one of the rare times she wasn”t blabbing about stupid shit. She’d always been beautiful, even as a child. Her hair was always pin straight and shiny, reminding me of silk. Her skin always seemed to have some sort of glow in the fall and winter due to all the sunshine she absorbed in the spring and summer. She didn’t have a round face; it was more angular, which made her even more striking as she got older. She’d gained some weight since high school, but that was to be expected. It didn’t make her unattractive by any means.
The curves that she had now only added to my frustrations.
Dominique turned from a beautiful girl into a beautiful woman. There was no other way to describe her. Even when she was testing everything I had in me; she was beautiful.
I watched as the muscles in her face twitched, her lips parting.
She was dreaming.
“P-please,” she whispered. The sound of need in her voice floored me.
What or who was she begging for in her dream?
A few whimpers left her as she rolled onto her back, the pile of clothes sliding onto the floor. I wanted to put them away, but I wasn’t allowing my body to move. I wanted to know what she was dreaming about.
“I—I—can’t,” she breathed out, moving her legs, bending her left knee.
What couldn’t she do?
My tongue pressed against the roof of my mouth as she pushed the covers down her to her waist. In the glow of the light, my eyes dropped to her shirt, and all my blood rushed down to my dick.
Unable to move, I kept my eyes on the shirt, instantly recognizing it.
It was my fucking shirt.
My fucking shirt.