His Rough Side

Chapter Twenty Six

A train passed overhead , deafening Aubrey to everything around her. Litter floated in the air, showering the homeless encampment below. She ducked her head, unaware of why Serge would bring her after warning her about how dangerous it was.

The overpass blocked out the setting sun. A chill rolled through her. They shouldn't be here. The others would look at them and know they didn't belong.

The train noise faded. Serge held her hand and led her toward the tents staked three rows deep on each side, with a walkway running through the middle.

People stood around, some in groups and some alone. All of them averted their gaze. She wasn't even sure if they were aware of her walking among them. They were like shadows passing in the night.

Serge's grip on her hand pinched her fingers together. She looked up at him, wanting to ask why he had brought her here, but he had closed himself off. Everything about him remained attuned to their surroundings.

He walked silently with the hood of his hoodie pulled over his head, exactly like he'd looked the first time she spotted him inside the shelter.

And like that time, he moved quietly. Whether he wanted to avoid reminders of his past or block out all the suffering, she would never know, because he refused to talk much about growing up in a homeless camp.

She knew he was aware of her beside him by the way he continually held her hand.

He stopped. An older man stepped out of a tent and approached Serge.

The man held out his hand. "Ghost."

Serge clasped the guy's hand without letting go of Aubrey. "Blackjack."

"Trouble?"

"No more than usual." Serge crossed his arms over his chest, so that her hand was pinned against his chest. "I'm showing Aubrey around The Point."

"You're gonna get her dirty." Blackjack dug through a baggy of cigarette butts and put one in his mouth, then offered the bag to Serge.

"I'm good." Serge uncrossed his arms and pulled Aubrey closer. "Take care, man."

"You don't have to tell me." Blackjack pinched the filter of the cigarette. "Two got carted away earlier today. I'm not going to be next."

"Stabbing?" asked Serge.

Blackjack tossed the cigarette to the ground. "Fenny. That's all that's around here anymore. They're dropping like flies."

Aubrey watched the exchange with curiosity. Serge appeared at ease with Blackjack. Anyone observing the two men would not guess that one of them lived in a large house in an affluent neighborhood.

Serge led her deeper into the encampment. Before she could ask if Blackjack had been living there since Serge ran the streets, he let go of her, dashed several feet, and slammed a lanky kid against the concrete pillar. She gasped, stepping back from the violence.

A knife fell to the ground. Serge grabbed the boy by his shirt and tossed him to the side.

Picking up the weapon, Serge rubbed the blade on his jeans. "You have to be quicker than that or you're going to get killed."

The boy, no older than sixteen or seventeen years and already with the beginnings of a beard, grinned before reclaiming his weapon. "I'm getting faster. One day, I will be a legend, like you, Ghost."

"I made it halfway down the point before you even noticed me." Serge tipped the boy's chin, forcing the kid to look at him. "How is your mother?"

"Dead." The boy looked at the ground. "They took Sierra away. She's in foster care now."

"You a man yet?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Then, don't lose track of your sister. Be there for her when she turns eighteen."

The boy tilted his head and looked at Aubrey. "This your lady?"

"Yes."

The kid grinned. "She's pretty."

Aubrey smiled. Despite the hardships, he was still a boy.

"It's nice to meet you. I'm Aubrey," she said.

"Name's Gordy." He scuffed the heel of his sneaker against the ground. "I gotta get down to the precinct before the gate closes."

Serge watched Gordy run off. "Behind the police precinct, there's a water faucet. They take empty water bottles they find in the trash cans around the city and fill them with clean water."

She swallowed, knowing those bottles weren't clean. All kinds of germs and sickness would be on them.

Serge pulled Aubrey to him, turned her around, and wrapped his arms around her, so that her back was solid against the front of him. "This is where I lived from the time I was six years old until almost nineteen. This is my life."

"I can't even imagine," she whispered.

"Tell me what you see."

"It's a homeless camp," she said.

He shook his head. "Look around and tell me what you see."

She scanned the area in front of her. "A man is sleeping on the ground." She swallowed, dropping her gaze. "There are syringes and paper littered all over."

"Look deeper."

She inhaled, not knowing what she was supposed to see. It was all depressing. The darkness and sour smell reeked of depression and defeat. There was no laughter, no activities that suggested people were happy to be there.

She cleared her throat. "There are a lot of ripped tents and tarps."

"Go on."

"There are several shopping carts outside the tents." She turned her head to the left. "A woman has a baby tied to the front of her." She turned her head to the right and flinched, glad to have Serge's arms around her. A man sat on the ground, rocking back and forth, and wailing. "Is anyone going to help him?" She tried to turn in his arms. "Nobody is paying attention to him. They walk right by him."

Serge held her tighter, forcing her to look. "Nobody will help him. He'll either survive or he won't wake up in the morning. Everyone living here is numb. Numb to the reality they live in. They keep to themselves, mind their own business, and hope no one notices them."

"Is that how it was for you? Did no one pay any attention to a child living on the street?" She pressed against him, needing to be close enough to take the pain he'd experienced away. "Were you blind to it all?"

"I was like Gordy. From a young age, I had the job of announcing trespassers. If anyone unfamiliar walked into the camp, I'd notify those in charge. Eventually, I started defending the camp."

"You fought people?" Her forehead hurt from the continual frown. "Wasn't that dangerous?"

"It didn't matter. When I fought, I naturally felt pain, and to someone who grew up never experiencing happiness or sadness, pain was the best feeling imaginable. It was the only thing I could feel while living here. Most people turned to drugs if they weren't already addicted, and I became addicted to fighting. When that wasn't enough, I turned to sex to achieve that high."

She turned in his arms, and he let her face him that time. "Is that why you have all the scars?"

"Most of those are from me. I'd cut to feel...different." He frowned. "When I got old enough to learn I could find the same feeling from hurting others or from sex, I stopped cutting."

"That's why you like it rough," she whispered.

"That's one reason." His voice deepened. "I know I can be an asshole, Bree. I know that to keep you in my life, I must compromise, and that's hard because I have fought between needing the pain to prove that I'm alive and trying to control my desire to hurt myself and others all my life. I wouldn't allow anyone in. I was emotionless to the actions and the people around me. I brought you here because I want you to see why I'm the way I am. It's why I am going to the extreme with you. It's the only way I know to show you how I'm feeling."

She stared into his eyes. It was the most he'd ever told her about his feelings toward her.

No one had taught him how to express himself or how to show someone affection in a more acceptable way. Her heart broke for the loneliness he must always feel and the despondent way he grew up on the street.

Unlike her, he was never allowed to dream because he was too busy surviving. With each day filled with the lowest of lows, he found that the only way to face another day was to pretend none of it existed. Every moment was consumed with thoughts of survival, having a blanket to stay warm, and finding food for himself and his brother.

"What's the other reason?" she asked.

He looked between them and then raised his gaze and looked her in the eyes. "No amount of money, luxuries, or fighting has ever given me the same buzz. The same high. The same satisfaction as I get from being with you. In my head, if I control you, I can't lose you. Getting rough with you is the way I express how fucking much you mean to me because if I can feel that way, then I want you to feel it, too. I've never had anything like you in my life. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't." She stretched to her toes and kissed him. "I love you so much. I'm not going to leave you. Ever."

He dug his hand into her hair and tightened his hold. "Do you think we'll survive?"

"I know we will because you're a survivor."

"We'll love," he said. "Because you're showing me how."

What a perfect way to sum up how she felt about him and what she wanted for their future.

"We'll love," she whispered.

She beamed, perfectly safe in his arms. She wanted to remember this moment for the rest of her life.

He kissed her forehead. "We have one more place to go."

"Where?"

He collected her hand. "Not far."

She hurried beside him as he led her out of the homeless camp, away from his past. At the Harley, she got on behind him. It was an odd experience holding on to him from behind while a big machine vibrated between her legs.

At first, the turns scared her, but eventually, they got easier the longer she rode with him. Away from the camp, she inhaled deeply, but the rancid smell remained.

He pulled down an alley. She raised her head off the back of his shoulder. The streetlights were on.

Serge parked. "Hop off."

"Here?" She looked around and slid off the seat.

He had taken her from one dangerous place to another. She would never walk down that particular alley in her life. A person slept next to a dumpster. Garbage cans lay knocked over, and litter was scattered across the ground. She breathed through her mouth, but even that couldn't block the strong scent of urine.

He took her hand, guiding her to a door, and knocked. She rested against his arm. Already overwhelmed by his vulnerability, she couldn't fathom what he would reveal next.

The door opened. An older man with a cigar in his mouth and a white tank top that barely covered his beer belly stood in the opening.

"If you're looking for a fight, I got no one here willing to go up against you."

"I'm not fighting tonight, Tank. I'm looking for the woman you hired," said Serge.

Tank motioned him inside. "You know where to find her."

Serge led Aubrey into the building. She fought against wrinkling her nose at the heavy body odor in the room. She got closer to Serge, avoiding the boxers congregating around the two rings where fights were going on.

At the back of the room, Serge opened a door, pulled her into a hallway, and shut her in. She looked at him curiously. Tonight had overwhelmed her. He had expressed himself in a way that made her feel she would blindly follow him anywhere because trusting him was no longer a question.

The way he communicated his feelings and expressed himself heightened her sense of security in their relationship.

"I have a surprise for you." He led her up a set of stairs.

She laughed softly. "Not to be rude, honey, but I don't think a gym membership for boxing or martial arts is really my thing."

"Cute." He stopped in front of one of the doors and kissed her. "I think you'll like this."

He knocked. She leaned against him, tucking her hand into his back pocket. It felt like she had lived forty hours in the last twenty-four, and while her personal life was all falling into place, she couldn't shake off her failure at keeping the shelter open.

The door opened, and Evie stepped forward. Aubrey gasped, glancing at Serge before grabbing Evie's hands.

"You're living here?" she asked.

"Thanks to Ghost." Evie laughed. "I mean, Serge. He got me a job cleaning the gym in the mornings, and that way I can be done when Sia gets home from school. I got her enrolled yesterday."

"She's with you?" She clasped her hands together under her chin. "That's the best news I've heard all day. I'm so happy for you."

"We wouldn't be here without his help." Evie nodded at Serge. "I'll never be able to pay him off for all he's done for us. I finally feel like I'm doing something for my daughter."

"You are." Unable to contain her happiness, she hugged Evie.

"I'd wake up Sia so she could see you, but she just went to bed."

"It's okay." She waved off her concern. "We'll see each other again."

After one more hug, she walked away with Serge. She hugged him, overjoyed that he'd helped Evie find a job and a place to live. That was one less thing she had to worry about.

She jumped into his arms, not caring that she stood in a darkened alley. "I love you so much. I can't believe you never told me you helped her."

"I wanted to surprise you."

She kissed him on the mouth, on the cheeks, on the nose, and on the forehead, unable to stop the happiness from bubbling out. "You're the best."

He set her away from him and framed her face with his hands. "Then, let me give you the money to keep the shelter open."

As if doused with cold water, she exhaled heavily. Her mother had always taken pleasure in reminding her of her failures. She wanted to succeed on her own. While her mother was dead and she had no one to prove herself to, she still set out to obtain her dream and succeed at helping others.

"If I borrow money from you, I have no way of paying it back. The shelter doesn't bring in enough money, which is part of my problem." She inhaled deeply. "I just need to find—"

"What's the difference between taking a grant from the state and taking money from me?"

"I'm running a non-profit. I wouldn't have to pay back the grant." She shook her head. "I have no way of paying you back."

He tipped back his head and laughed. The deep sound of amusement was so startling coming from him, she couldn't even think of a response. She gawked.

"Bree, what do you think I do? I'm an investor. I know you've read the articles about me." He smoothed her hair off her face.

She pursed her lips. He dealt with a lot more money than she'd ever see in a lifetime.

"You can't make money off a shelter," she insisted.

He sobered. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course." She put her hand on his chest. "But do you trust me?"

"That's why I'm offering the money." His voice lowered. "I've seen you with those you're helping. You have reliable employees. Your only downfall is you're running a non-profit organization. It puts your back against the wall. Your funding comes from donations and grants. It's not your fault that money isn't flowing in your direction. I can give you money that you can pay back, if that's what you want to do—though I'll put it right into an account for you, so I don't know why you're fighting me on this."

She sighed. "But how would I make money? I can't and won't ask the homeless to spend money to use the shelter. That defeats what I'm doing."

He leaned forward and kissed her softly. "That's why I'm an investor. Let me find the way to make you money."

She raked her teeth over her bottom lip. He made it sound easy.

"I showed you where I came from tonight." He cupped the back of her head, forcing her to look at him. "You know the comfort of where we sleep. Let me make you money so you can follow your dream."

God, his proposal sounded so tempting. As much as she wanted the West-Central Homeless Shelter to thrive, she knew that if she reopened the doors, it would only operate on a month-to-month basis.

With Serge backing her financially, if she could turn a profit to guarantee that it would keep the doors open, she would help so many people—people like him and kids like Sia.

"Okay." She exhaled a shuddering breath. "I'll let you help me."

He kissed her hard while her head continued spinning over everything that'd happened today. "We'll get started first thing in the morning. You'll have the doors open tomorrow night."

She grabbed him, slowing him down. "Why? Why would you help me?"

He cupped her face in his hands. "Because I wish someone would've helped me when I was young, before it was too late. I never would've turned out this way."

"Don't say that." She shook her head. "I love you for who you are."

He kissed her again. "Let's go home."

"Home." She stepped over to the Harley. "I've been thinking. Maybe I should rent out my house since I'm rarely there. It's paid for. I could even use the income and invest more into the shelter."

"Now you're thinking." He sat on the Harley. "Get on, let's go."

"Okay. Okay. What's your hurry?" She climbed up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Because I want to see your round ass in front of me, instead of behind me." He started the motorcycle, cutting off her laughter.

Buzzed from all the changes coming her way, she smiled against his back all the way home.