Chapter Thirty
KENZI
I knew what the appropriate response was supposed to be to his story. I knew I was supposed to recoil, blanch, feel sick to my stomach, and run screaming from the restaurant. Truly, I was pretty sure any sane person would find any one of those reactions justified.
There was no denying that his story was shocking and absolutely stomach-turning, sad, and violent.
But the fact of the matter was, I understood.
I truly got how things like that happened, how circumstances like bad areas, and no money, and bad schools, and no strong parental figure could weigh on a person, veer them onto the path of the less-than-legal land of opportunity.
Paine went there. Enzo went there. When you could make thousands in a day instead of thousands a month, and you were young, feeling invincible, and bone-deep sick of being poor, it even made total sense to go down that path.
And Paine and Enzo had good, strong mothers. They had aunts, friends, and people to try to keep them on the straight and narrow. But poverty was the surest way to weigh down a soul. And weighted souls did whatever they could to get some burden off.
Tig didn’t have what my brothers and I did.
Tig had a junkie mom, a convict dad, and a little sister who needed to be taken care of.
What was he supposed to do? Let her starve?
Let her live on the streets? It was truly a testament to the good person he was, even when he was hardly more than a child, to take that onto his shoulders.
Then to have her abused and murdered—holy freaking hell, I genuinely couldn’t imagine that, even though someone I thought of as a sister was going through something at least somewhat similar.
I didn’t blame him for taking the path he did.
If someone ever touched Reese, if someone touched me, Paine and Enzo would have fucking flayed them before giving them the sweet release of death.
In my opinion, that was as it should be.
There was murder, and there was justice.
They weren’t one and the same. Exceptions had to be made.
What he did after, well, that was definitely more of a gray area.
That was dark, cringe-worthy, and, well, wrong.
But he eventually gave that up.
He moved on.
He put some good back into the world as penance.
That said a lot about him.
So I wasn’t completely horrified. I wasn’t going to let his past change my opinion of the man who was sitting across from me.
I was a prime example of the fact that people could change their ways, they could get their lives on track, they could take responsibility for the person they had been but still choose to move forward and become someone else entirely.
Fuck anyone who said differently.
“So how is the chicken parm?” I asked, watching as Tig, the huge wall of a man that he was, actually jerked back like I had slapped him. I was pretty sure it was such a big movement that the front feet of his chair lifted up.
“What?”
I felt a twitch pull at my lips and forced them to settle. “I have always wanted to get it, but the portion is massive, and if I bring the leftovers home, Reese will eat them and then bitch about me being the reason her ass is getting big.”
To that, he relaxed back into his seat, shaking his head a little as if to clear it. “How about you tell Reese that a man likes a nice plump ass. Gives him something to sink his fingers into… or slap.”
Oh, hell.
Really, there was no way that comment wasn’t going to send wild visions flashing across my mind. One, a memory of his fingers doing just that—sinking into my ass. The other, the idea of him fucking me and slapping my ass as he did so.
Let’s just say there was a definite reason that I had to discreetly press my thighs together under the table.
I cleared my throat slightly, reaching again for my wine, my lips tipping up. “Maybe you should tell her that.”
“Don’t like that look in your eye, woman,” he said, lifting a brow, instantly able to tell I was up to something.
“It’s nothing. Reese just… likes a man who is good with his hands. You fixed the dishwasher…”
“Please,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not the guy she needs. It was a knee-jerk reaction to seeing a man be a man. So many pansy-ass men these days wouldn’t know an Allen wrench from their own dick.”
My wine got stuck at the back of my throat as I snorted, the burn in my sinuses for a second making me genuinely worry that I might have a completely embarrassing wine-through-the-nose situation before I got it under control.
And judging by the smirk on his lips, Tig knew exactly what I was dealing with. “You alright?”
I waved a hand as I forced a swallow. “What type of man does she need then?”
Honestly, I was genuinely curious. I could never peg down a type for her.
Part of me thought she needed an opposite to balance her out.
The other part thought maybe that type of man would scare or intimidate her and that she would be better with a quiet, bookish sort.
Though, there was a part of me that believed that was the worst thing she could have because the quiet, bookish guys likely didn’t know how to use their dicks, and every woman deserved to have epic sex with their partner.
He shrugged at that. “Someone extroverted but not a jackass about it. Someone who can encourage her to come out of her shell a bit, but likes the shy thing enough not to want to change her either.”
“Wow, you know… I think you missed your calling as a matchmaker. Time for a career change, maybe?”
“Watch it, smartass. You asked,” he shot back, the smile on his face spreading wider. “Know who kinda fits the bill, though?”
“No,” I said immediately, knowing exactly who he was talking about. Brock. “Not a chance in hell. He’s too old for her anyway.”
“He’s my age, and she’s only a couple of years younger than you.”
“Yeah, but I led a life, y’know? She’s been living in her books. She’s not ready to take on a man with darkness like Brock has.”
“Just an idea.”
“Besides, I think she likes guys with beards. Weird, but true.”
After that, the conversation stayed on lighter topics, both of us already having purged all the old, ugly parts of ourselves and therefore able to move on to the smaller things: work, friends, family, the town, movie and music interests.
By the time the check was discreetly placed at the edge, but center of the table, I was riding high on a good first date buzz.
“Don’t even fucking think about it, Kenz,” he said oddly, making my gaze shoot up from the bill to his face.
“I know you asked me out. I also know that you are a strong, independent woman who can pay for her own meals, but understand this about me- I take care of my woman. That means I make sure she is safe, that she is happy, that she is fucked however she wants to be fucked, however often she wants to be fucked, and it also means I pay.”
There was absolutely no denying that sent a primal surge of appreciation through my body.
He was right; I had asked him out, and proper etiquette meant that it was my place to pay.
It was something I was happy to do because, as he said, I was a strong, independent woman who could pay for her own meal.
I really, really liked that he didn’t give a fuck about convention and wanted to cover the bill.
“You gonna give me shit about this?” he asked, it obviously being a rhetorical question because he was already reaching for the black leather fold that held the bill, which I knew would be hefty since it was Famiglia and I was pretty sure their tap water cost five dollars a glass.
I sat back in my chair, cradling my glass of wine between both hands, getting ready to savor the last sip. “Not at all.”
“Halle-fucking-lujah,” he said, but he was grinning as he slipped cash into the fold and pushed it to the end of the table, waving at the server and saying ‘All yours,’ before moving to stand.
And then he went ahead and did another thing to surprise me. He moved over toward me and actually pulled out my chair.
I swear on all that was holy, my legs were a little wobbly as I forced them to hold my weight. Was there anything hotter than a guy who could break a man’s neck with one hand but was still a gentleman?
I was pretty sure there wasn’t.
We were walking to the SUV in the lot when my phone screamed, shocking me enough to reach for it, though I had a strict no-cellphone rule for dates, especially first ones.
Finding an email, my brows drew together as I clicked the link that brought up a webpage… and a video.
My hand slammed hard into Tig’s chest as the image came up on the screen, making him stop short and turn back, looking down at me as I watched Cassie’s image clear.
She was sitting on a chair in a dark room, she being the only thing illuminated, like a spotlight was directed on her, bright enough to make her eyes squint. Well, one of her eyes. The other was swollen shut.
My stomach clenched hard as I was vaguely aware of Tig lifting his own phone and video calling Barrett to live stream it with us.
“Say hi, Cassie,” a voice that was decidedly altered said, creepy even more so because I was so familiar with that robotic manipulation from all the messages I had gotten over time. “Say hi, Cassie!” the voice screamed when she didn’t immediately follow orders.
Her entire body jerked back violently, a loud whimper escaping her busted lips.
I couldn’t see below her chest, but it looked like she was bound.
Her shoulders were squared back almost unnaturally, and she made no move to swipe a small amount of spit that escaped her lips when she cried out.
Her hair was so greasy that it actually looked wet.
Her makeup was still half-on, but messy around the eyes from crying.
Cassie.
My poor, poor Cassie.
Every little bit of food I had finally gotten into my stomach churned and sloshed around ominously, threatening to lurch upward and make me sick all over the pavement.