Chapter 7
LIGHTNING RIPS THROUGH the sky, and everything inside me freezes—my heart seizes, my lungs lock, my limbs go limp.
I can’t scream; I can’t move. It’s as if the bolt reached in and cut every wire in my body.
Memories of Lillian—her laughing face, her bright hair—lash through my mind, and I’m a prisoner of terror.
No matter how many years pass, nothing changes.
It takes me a minute to gather myself, to get out of my car, to pull myself together.
I do, just barely. Then, I slip into Chief’s compound and see Travis right away, leaning against a railing in the yard.
He catches my eye, offers that award-winning grin, and I can’t help but return it.
Chief is sitting in a lawn chair with Jaq straddling his lap, her lipstick-slick mouth grazing his neck.
I scowl. “Ugh, get a room.”
Chief lifts his head, flashing that patented dazzling smile. “Sorry, baby.”
I walk over, leaning down and hugging him, purposefully shoving Jaq out of the way as I do. She mutters something, which only makes me grin.
“Hi, Daddy,” I say before pulling back.
“Always good to see you, darlin’. How are you?”
“I’m okay,” I force a smile and meet his eyes.
He knows what this weather does to me, but he’ll never say anything in front of people.
He turns to Travis and changes the subject. “Phoenix, where’s your usual lineup of beauties?”
“Taking the night off,” Travis says, raising his hands. “A man’s gotta breathe.”
“Rena,” Chief calls. “Show our boy a good time. He’s losing his touch.”
Rena, one of the clubs sweetbutts, sashays over in impossibly high heels. Travis straightens and puts a hand up, stopping her. “Not tonight.”
Rena pouts.
“You good, brother?” Chief asks.
Travis nods, raising his beer. “I’m good.”
Chief ushers Jaq off his lap and pats the empty seat next to him. “So, Mischief, what’s new?”
“Nothing much,” I say, sinking into the plastic chair and cracking open a beer. “Work’s busy.”
A crack of lightning—sharp, deafening—splinters the night.
It is so close it catches me off guard, the sheer sound of it is enough to bring me to my knees.
My beer bottle slips from my fingers, shatters on the ground beneath me.
I can’t breathe. Chief is on his feet in a heartbeat, pulling me to my feet.
He has experienced the worst of my trauma, and he knows what it does to me.
“Inside, baby,” he murmurs, curling an arm around me and leading me in through the side door.
I stay like a statue, vision flooded by Lillian’s face, until another thunderclap shakes the house.
Chief whispers over and over, “It’s not your fault. It’s over now.”
He takes me to my room, where it’s darker, safer, and we sit on the side of the bed. I drop my head, tears falling down my cheeks and onto the floor.
“It wasn’t your fault, baby,” Chief murmurs. “You know it wasn’t.”
It doesn’t matter what he says.
I’ll never believe it.
“I need to be alone,” I say, softly, as soft as my voice will allow.
Chief pulls me closer, his lips finding my temple. “I love you, baby. You’re good.”
Then, he leaves.
I sit on the side of the bed for a while, how long, I don’t know. Eventually, the door swings open and Travis slips in, silent as a shadow. He kneels in front of me, his face twisted with confusion. He doesn’t understand what happened out there, why would he?
“Tell me what the fuck that was, Violet?”
“I can’t,” I whisper. “Just...I don’t want to think about it anymore. Make it go away, Travis.”
He leans up and presses his lips to mine, gentle at first, then insistent, hungry.
My fear bleeds into something else entirely—relief, desire, a desperate need to be consumed by something other than memories.
Before either of us can think better of it, we’re both on the bed, stripping off clothes with urgent hands, breath ragged, fingers trembling against buttons and zippers.
The cool air against my bare skin makes me shiver, but Travis's hands are warm, so warm they seem to burn away every dark thought.
Travis's mouth is everywhere, on my collarbone, tracing the hollow of my throat, along the curve of my ribs, down to the sensitive skin of my hip, igniting nerves I didn't know were starved for touch.
Each press of his lips feels like salvation, like he's marking me as something precious rather than broken.
I slide my fingers through his hair, pull him closer, needing more of this exquisite distraction.
His body presses into mine with a firm promise; it's not my first time, but it feels like I've never known pleasure this fierce, this consuming.
"Let me take it all away," he whispers against my skin, and I believe him. I believe he can.
I wrap my legs around him as he settles between my thighs, the weight of him anchoring me to this moment, keeping me from floating back into terror.
His hands cup my breasts, thumbs tracing hardened peaks until I'm gasping, arching into him, silently begging.
The lightning outside seems distant now, replaced by the electricity between us.
I watch, mesmerized, as he rolls a condom down his cock, his eyes never leaving mine.
He slides into me in one steady motion that takes my breath away.
There's a sharp heat, a moment of exquisite stretch that borders on pain but never crosses that line.
His eyes search mine, checking, caring, and I nod, pulling him deeper.
Then rhythm begins—slow at first, letting me adjust to the feel of him, then building, intensifying.
Each thrust drives deeper, closer to that place where fear dissolves entirely, where Lillian's face fades and there is only Travis, only this, only us.
I dig my nails into his shoulders, matching his pace, meeting him thrust for thrust. The bed creaks beneath us, a counterpoint to our ragged breathing.
His hips move harder, faster, and I feel the coiling pull of release building low in my belly, spreading outward like wildfire.
"Trav—" I gasp, voice trembling, breaking on his name.
He shifts, angling deeper, hitting a spot that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. "Let go," he commands, and it's the tenderness in his voice, not the demand, that undoes me. "Let me take it all away."
He curses and picks up speed, one hand sliding between us to circle my already aching clit.
Our skin slaps together in the dim glow, sweat slick and sweet, the scent of us—of sex and need and comfort—filling the room.
I shatter around him in a fierce, shuddering climax that seems to go on forever, waves of pleasure washing away every trace of fear, every memory, until there is only this perfect moment of release.
He follows seconds later, his rhythm faltering as he stiffens and then growls his release, his voice a low, husky rasp.
We collapse, tangled and spent, hearts racing in tandem.
We stay like that for a long time, until he pulls away, leaving me cold and empty.
I push up on my elbows, watching as he pulls his clothes on, the moment gone.
“You’re going?”
“Chief would kill me if he found me in here, you know that.”
My heart sinks.
I know he’s right, and I hate it.
Because I want him to stay.
“I know,” I whisper.
“You need me, you call, yeah?”
He places a finger under my chin and tips my head back, bringing his lips to mine.
“Maybe one day, you’ll tell me what broke you so fucking bad.”
My heart skitters and I meet his gaze. “Maybe one day.”
He kisses me one more time, then he’s gone.
And just like that, the storm outside continues raging on.
MORNING SHATTERS THE silence.
The door slams and Chief walks in, boots thundering on the floor. He yanks the curtains open so hard the rod groans. Sunlight floods my room and I hiss like a feral vampire being tossed into the light for the first time.
“Good morning, Mischief.”
I squint, tangled in blankets. “Ahhh, it’s early. Make it go away.”
He glances at the clock. “Seven. You’ve got work.”
I groan again. “Like you care,” I mutter. “It’s a stupid job.”
His jaw tightens. “I care about your future. Don’t ever doubt it.”
I grunt. He kneels beside me, his hand gentle on my cheek. “You holding up okay after yesterday?”
I force a smile. “Fine, Dad. I’ve learned to deal.”
He studies my face as if searching for cracks. “I wish you knew it wasn’t your fault. You’d deal with it differently.”
My chest stings. “Sorry you have to put up with my mood swings. Embarrassed?”
He grips my chin, lifting my gaze to his. His eyes, steady blue, soften. “My girl’s never embarrassed me, and she won’t start now.”
He releases me, pushing to his feet and turning to leave.
“Dad...?”
He stops, knowing I’m about to ask something difficult. “Ask.”
“Will you let me love whoever I want?”
His expression darkens as he faces me again. “Don’t like where this is going, Mischief.”
“I get to choose, right?”
He exhales, eyes hard. “If he’s decent, I’ll bless it. If he’s a fuckwit, then no.”
“Define fuckwit?”
He crosses his arms. “Meaning he has to be good enough for you, in every single way. Not a cheater, abuser, liar, drug addict, you know the drill.”
Liar.
We would be classed as liars, Travis especially because my dad trusts him.
I sigh, frustrated. “I should shower.”
He smiles but there is hesitation in his gaze. He wants to ask more, but he doesn’t. “You goin’ home tonight?”
“It’s Monday, that’s usually the plan.”
He nods. “You don’t have to, but your Ma needs you.”
I give him a gentle expression. “What about you, old man?”
He grins. “I’m a big boy, can handle myself.”
“So you’re saying you don’t miss me?”
He walks over, leaning down and kissing my forehead. “I miss you every fuckin’ second.”
I beam as he leaves.
An hour later, after two coffees and zero attempt at making myself look good, I step into the office.
The air vibrates with hushed conversations and clicking keyboards.
Sally, tall, sleek in a pinstripe suit, snaps her fingers by my elbow.
“There’s a guy here, for business he said.
You’ve helped him out before. He’s in the conference room.
” She smooths her hair, then leads me into the conference room.
My heart skids to a stop.
He’s there. Jeremy Willis. His cold blue eyes lock on mine and a slow, mocking grin spreads across his face. “Hello, Violet. Long time.”
My world tilts. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. My legs go limp. I press a shaky hand against the doorframe. “Jeremy...what are you—why are you here?”
Sally steps forward. “You two know each other well?”
Nausea explodes in my stomach. I spin away, adrenaline and panic fueling my flight. I burst into the women’s restroom and collapse to my knees in front of the stalls. My fingers claw at my skirt. My vision blurs. Bile rises. This can’t be happening. It can’t. Why is he here? Why now? Why today?
I stay curled on the cold tile until Sally’s voice cracks through the door an hour later. “Violet, we have a problem. Can I come in?”
I don’t look up.
I can’t.
She opens the door anyway, stepping into the ladies' room. “Just tell me,” I breathe.
“He told me to tell you that he’s trying to charge you—for manslaughter.”
My heart stops. “What?”
No.
Why would he come now?
Why would he do this years later?
“He says you killed his sister.”
The room spins. My mouth floods. “It was an accident. It...I didn’t...”
Sally drops beside me, hands on my shoulders, gentle. “He’s a creep. I’ll figure this out, we have the best lawyers in this building. We will help you.”
I stare onto the tiled floor, trying not to think about how dirty it is. “He nearly beat me to death years ago.”
Her fingers curl into mine. “That’s helpful. Records?”
I nod. “County hospital. They’ll have every detail.”
She exhales. “Let’s go back to my office, I’m going to need you to tell me everything.”
I stand, and then we slowly make our way back to her office. Once I have sat down, calmed myself, I tell her about the night he found me alone, about the blood, the broken bones, the terror. And as the words pour out, I steel myself for the battle ahead.
Because I know it’s not going to be an easy one.