Chapter Two
Callie
The noises carry through my apartment, grunting and groaning. I can’t wait until next week when I can move out of the apartment I share with my coworker and sometimes friend, Sasha. I am so over listening to her hook up with whatever random guy she picks up at the bar. My day has already been long enough, my feet ache, and I smell like grease. I am so tired of every damn male in the species looking down on me like I don’t know how to do my job. All I want to do is ditch the overalls and lay in a warm bath until my muscles relax.
Grabbing a cold beer from the fridge, I take a few large gulps and allow the cool liquid to work its way down my throat. Being the only female mechanic at Johnny’s Auto Shop has its downside. In the beginning, the guys all treated me like the damn secretary. Now, they keep trying to get me to quit, although I suspect this has more to do with my asshole boss. I’ve been buried under the load of three people for the past two weeks, but I will be fucking damned if some misogynistic asshole is going to force me out of my dream job.
Since I was a little girl, all I wanted to do was build cars. My earliest memories are of tinkering under the hood of a car or beside a motorcycle with my daddy. But fulfilling that dream is not so easy when you have a great rack and a set of ovaries. Nevertheless I have worked my ass off to be where I am today, and I won’t give that up for anyone.
My job has also been a bone of contention with my fiancé, Kevin. But we were finally able to reach an agreement. I will build my career for five years until I have my own shop but then I need to slow down and step into the owner position, no more tinkering under the hood.
What he wants is for me to stay home and have babies. He wants a pretty trophy wife, barefoot and pregnant in front of the stove. Which is exactly the opposite of what I am. Instead of manicures, I prefer oil changes. I would rather wear jeans and old t-shirts than any kind of dress, and as long as my hair is out of my face while I work, I consider it to be a good hair day.
The noise reaches a new level, and I want to bang on her door and tell them to keep it down. But I fight the urge, knowing she has just as much right to the space as I do. After all, she pays half the damn rent.
Two weeks. I need to keep my mouth shut for two more weeks. I can do that, I think.
Kicking off my safety boots, I grab them and pad down the hallway to my bedroom. Opening the door, it takes my brain a couple of seconds to work through the picture before me.
Sasha, the woman I live with and the actual receptionist at Johnny’s, is spread across my bed, her head hanging off the end as my fiancé rails into her. Her pert little breasts shake with every thrust. Their eyes are closed in the throes of pleasure which is the only reason they don’t see me standing here.
I snap. I swear I do. It’s the only way I can explain what happens next.
I’ve been in a fucking relationship with Kevin since I was in high school, we’ve been engaged for two fucking years. He took my virginity and I have never even considered being with anyone else. And now I find this asshole fucking another woman. In my fucking bed! It’s enough to send anyone around the damn bend.
Reaching down, I place my boots beside the dresser before I pick up the wooden baseball bat I have in the corner, take three steps forward, and swing. I was aiming for his head, hoping to split it open like a ripe goddamned melon. My aim is off, though, as it always has been, and I connect with his shoulder instead.
“Fuck!” he yells, toppling to the ground.
Sasha screams, scrambling off the bed.
“Jesus Christ, Callie,” Kevin moans, clutching his arm.
Walking around the bed, I swing again, and again, and again. Sasha wails in the background but I couldn’t give a shit about her. What I do care about is inflicting pain on someone who professed to love me when in fact he was lying the whole time. The blows land in different spots along his body, wood slapping against flesh. The sound satisfying something deep, dark, and slightly disturbing inside me, bringing a deranged smile to my face.
The only reason I stop is because my arm is incapable of lifting the weight of the bat above my head. I don’t know how many times I hit him or how long the beating lasted, but my body is tired and my chest is heaving as I fight for every labored breath. Blood splatters cover the carpet, bedding, and me. Kevin moans, indicating he is still alive even if he is fucked up. Pity.
Turning from his prone body, I slip my feet into my fluffy neon pink slippers. I glare at a woman I once counted as a friend as she cowers in the corner naked. Pulling off my engagement ring, I toss it on the bed.
“You can tell him the wedding is off,” I say walking out of what used to be my room.
“Are you insane?” Sasha cries out as I grab my car keys and head out the door.
There isn’t a damn thing in that apartment or my life that can’t be replaced. I’m not a sentimental person so there are no photographs or knickknacks. I was simply living there. The only thing I care about is my car.
Gunning the engine on my older model muscle car, I swing out of the underground parking and into the street. I have no fucking clue where I am headed but I do know I need to get away from that apartment and those fucking people and I have a full tank of gas. I drive for miles, never stopping, never taking time to think through what happened and what I did.
After a while, I find myself in a neighborhood I am familiar with. My favorite Chinese place is just a few blocks down. I smile to myself and make a left turn and hit the brakes hard.
In the road is a man. A bleeding man lying on his back. Isn’t this just my luck? I consider leaving him there and just driving around him but something inside me tells me I need to help him. Slowing to a crawl, I take in the surroundings before stepping out of my car.
I stare down at him, assessing whether he is still alive or if I should just call the cops and be done with this new shade of bullshit. He groans and I know I can get him to the hospital faster than an ambulance. We are in the seedier part of town and it is common knowledge that emergency services take their sweet time getting here.
“Angel,” he mumbles, blood coating his lips.
“Can you move?” I ask ignoring his comment.
He shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he replies, his voice barely a whisper.
Perfect. Just. Fucking. Perfect.
“I’ll call an ambulance.” I pull my cell phone from my pocket.
I know it’s a terrible idea but I think getting involved with the handsome bleeding man would probably be worse.
“No cops.”
And there it is. All the evidence I need to know that helping him will be a mistake. Law-abiding citizens call an ambulance when they are shot or stabbed and bleeding out.
“Of course. Well, what then?”
“Take me home, please.” He tries to sit upright and I bend down to help him.
It takes a couple of tries but I finally have him on his feet, leaning heavily on me for support, but standing at least. I lead him around the hood of my car and push him into the passenger seat. Slamming the door, I make my way to the driver’s side just as the heavens open and rain pours down on me. Because why wouldn’t this never-ending fucking day get worse? A hysterical laugh bubbles up in me as I rev the engine.
“Where to?” I ask the man beside me.
“Cammareri compound.”
Of course, he would be part of one of the most dangerous criminal enterprises in the damn state.