Chapter 7
JADE
Peeking one eye open, then the other, light filters in through the windows. Bright light. Daytime light. What the hell? I never sleep this long.
Something warm and cozy rises and falls under my cheek, and when I glance up, I blink a million times. This cannot be happening.
It’s Josh.
He’s in my room, on my bed, shirtless. Why in the world am I sleeping on his chest, and why is his arm wrapped around my shoulder?!
On his back, Josh snores just a little. His face is relaxed. He’s wearing boxers and… welp… there’s a tent in them. A big tent. A tent that may or may not have a head playing peekaboo out of the slit. It’s…
I swallow hard.
This cannot be real.
“You’re thinkin’ awfully hard there.” His gruff morning voice makes me jump, and when he sees what I see, he covers himself and tucks it away. “Christ. Sorry about that.”
Mortified, I stuff my face into his pec and mumble, “It-it’s fine. But why are you in my bed?” My voice wavers, and I flush from embarrassment. This shouldn’t be a big deal. Truly. But it is.
Josh traces his fingers across my shoulder, and I shiver in response.
“Somebody by the name of Jade woke me up screaming. I came in to check on you. Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.
So, when I tried to wake you and that didn’t work, I climbed in to see if I could help…
I dunno… calm ya or something?” He shrugs, jostling my head in the process.
“Well, that backfired when you took my arm prisoner. I tried to stay up, but I must have passed out at some point.”
Resting my chin on his chest, I look at his face. “I was screaming?”
“A lot.”
“Hmmm. Weird. I don’t usually scream.”
Eyelids heavy from just waking, Josh’s pale brows wrinkle in the center. “How do you know?”
“Hunter. He only comes in when I scream, and that’s only happened a couple times,” I explain and leave it at that.
Josh doesn’t need to know about me waking up almost every night, drenched in a cold sweat, muscles aching.
I can only imagine what he saw. The few times Hunter found me, he said I looked like I was possessed by a demon.
“Do you remember your nightmares?”
“Sometimes.” Most of the time, but he doesn’t need to know that either.
Josh sweeps hair off my forehead and tucks it behind my ear. The gesture catches me off guard. I must make a face when he chuckles low and raspy. “Do you remember last night at all?”
“No. I didn’t wake up.” Which is freaking me out a little. I always wake up. I never make it past sunrise. Ever. I lay in bed, restless for hours, trying to fall back asleep, which leads to frustration, anger, and depression. You know the spiral. I’m a zombie most days.
Josh scratches his stomach and yawns. When he asks, “What do you think caused it?” his words are a drowsy mess.
I snort at the ridiculous question. “Rape caused it. Lots and lots of rape.”
He rolls his eyes. “Christ, Jade. I know that. I just wish you’d tell me about it.”
On a half-shrug, I rest my cheek against his warm pec to avoid having to look at him.
The lub of his steady pulse through my ear is oddly soothing.
I couldn’t tell you the last time I relaxed on anyone—especially a man.
“There’s nothing to tell,” I explain, rubbing my feet together.
It’s a nervous tic I’ve had since childhood.
“Rape is rape. You’re held down, called all sorts of names, hit a few times, and stuffed full of cocks against your will.
That’s it.” That’s what happened to me. Micro-tears turn into big tears.
You bleed. Everything swells and hurts. You think you’re going to die, and you wish you would, so you wouldn’t have to feel their hands on you, or them biting your fat stomach to make you scream.
Or worse, when they jack off and spray cum all over your face, yet never let you wash it off.
Josh rubs his thumb across my forehead. It strikes me as odd, but I don’t comment on it. “That’s not it.”
“It’s everyone’s story,” I argue, already done with this conversation.
“No. It’s not.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve done the research. Read survivor stories. Not everyone experiences the same thing. Most people who are rape survivors were not raped like you were.”
Whoa. He read up on this.
Something warm unfurls in my middle, and it’s not the most unpleasant sensation. Foreign, perhaps. But…not terrible.
“Guess they’re the lucky ones then,” I mumble. “They don’t wanna die. They can probably sleep at night.”
“Not everyone can. Thirteen percent of survivors attempt suicide. You’re not alone.”
Great, I’m a statistic now.
“Well. It feels like I am.” I tip my head back to wrinkle my nose at him.
“Kit and your mom seem like they’re doing okay.
That it’s not a big deal. They have sex with their men.
Beth was sent away like she was a burden to deal with.
Then Niki fucking killed herself… and those men… the assholes who did this to us…”
Pressing my lips together, I sigh, brimming with irritation just thinking about those fuckers.
“We sure as shit didn’t get to watch them die.
Hell, I don’t even know if they’re still out there, walking around, living their lives, raping more women, after what they did to us.
They probably don’t even remember me. I’m just another body.
A blip on their radar. While I can still smell their breath and hear their voices.
I get to remember and survive. Oh. What a gift. ”
“It is a gift,” Josh growls and wraps his arm fiercely around my shoulder, holding me tighter against his side. “We get to keep you. I get to keep you. Hunter and I would be fuckin’ wrecked if you died.”
I wish I could see it his way.
“I’m a burden, Josh. Living like this, I feel…weak.” And there’s nothing worse than weakness. How is it that everyone else can just be okay? Yet I’m not.
He quirks a brow. “Have you ever thought about doing more?”
“Doing what? Therapy? I already tried that. Remember?” It didn’t go well.
“No. Helping victims of trafficking. People like Tati and Janie?”
No. I haven’t thought about it. But I’m in no position to help anyone. Bink, a sister and Josh’s club president’s old lady, has the bandwidth and support to be there for those girls. I don’t.
“I have a son in school, and I’m a tattoo artist. I’m a mess and totally unqualified. I’m not like Rosie. I can’t kill men. I’m not like that other sister who runs that underground stuff.”
“Kali?” Josh checks.
“Yeah. Her.” She’s the crystal lady who owns some sort of winery, I think.
It’s a front, like most businesses are when it comes to the Sacred Sinners.
They are more than they appear. I’ve been around long enough.
I pay attention. Even our tattoo studio is more than it seems. We launder money.
Gunz handles our books, and we don’t ask questions.
“There’s Bonez,” Josh offers, not letting up on this helping people thing. I’m not opposed to helping. If the sisters ever needed anything, I’d give them the shirt off my back and then some. But people I don’t know? No thanks.
“Gunz’s brother?” I ask, anyhow, knowing where this will lead. “What about him?”
“They opened that new place for survivors. We could visit.”
See. This man is relentless.
“Why would we do that?”
“I dunno, butthead.” He shrugs and boops me on the forehead. “To get you outta town for a while. Maybe meet some new people. People you can relate to. It’s just a suggestion.”
That sounds terrible.
I scrunch my face, like I just ate a sour grape. “I already have people I can relate to… and I may not seem like it to you, but I’m one of those introverts. Ever heard of ‘em?”
Josh dry-chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Funny. Asshole. I know what an introvert is.”
“Us weird, artsy people, covered in tattoos, who wear mostly black… I know this might be a surprise, but a lot of us are introverted.” Covering my mouth for show, I mock gasp.
In retribution, the jerk pinches my shoulder.
I swat his bare chest. “Hey!”
He snickers. “You started it.”
“No. You did when you got in bed with me.”
“And look how much that helped. You slept through the night.”
Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.
“That’s beside the point. We’re not talking about that. Plus, I saw… your…” I nod toward his downstairs bits.
Josh’s lips twitch. “Penis. You can say it. P-E-N-I-S. Penis.”
I am not saying that. Not when I haven’t seen one of those willingly for years upon years. But we are not talking about that or his… thingy.
“Aww. That’s cute.” I pat Josh’s pec. “Did you win a spelling bee as a child?”
Digging his head into the pillow, he stares at the ceiling with a smile. “You’re such a pain in my ass.”
I pat his pec again. “Yeah, and this pain in your ass needs to pee, and I have to work at noon.”
“’Til five.”
“Yes.” This man never forgets anything.
“Do you wanna go on a dinner date after?” His gaze meets mine. “Maybe visit the sisters and Hunter?”
No. That sounds horrible. Facing Loretta, after what I made her sit through, and the sisters with them fawning over me and asking all the questions? No thanks. I’ll pass.
“Could you pick Hunter up to go with us before you pick me up from work?” I ask instead, because I’d love to see my son.
I miss him like crazy. I’ve texted him a few times to reassure him everything’s okay, but I know if I talk to him on the phone, I’ll break down.
In a public setting, at dinner, I might be able to keep my shit together. There’s like a five percent chance.
“So, you’re not ready to see the sisters yet?”
“No. Hunter first. Baby steps. As much as I’ve been giving you hell and my entire body hurts, the past few days have been… a little nice. Ya know, with the peace and quiet… and the other stuff, too.” It has helped. Some.
Eyes rounding to Looney Tunes insanity, Josh gasps. “Holy shit, did you just say something sweet to me?” He grasps his heart, and if swooning while lying down could be a thing, that’s what he’s doing.
Stifling a smile, I rub his prickly chin with a finger. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. You’ll be back to cussing me out soon enough.”
Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.
Rolling my eyes, I grumble at him good-naturedly and nip his pec with my teeth.
“Down, kitty.” Josh hisses and shoves my head off him, onto my pillow.
“Rude!” I gasp in mock outrage.
Chuckling like a menace, Josh gets out of bed, and just like that, our… whatever this was, is over.
Well… I suppose it’s time I get my butt up and ready for the day. It’s gonna be a busy one with a half-sleeve of glitter skulls. This client has fun taste, and that beats the basic tattoos that everyone seems to want nowadays.
“Dippy or scrambled eggs?” Josh calls over his shoulder, on his way to the kitchen, as I pick up my phone off the floor and head to the bathroom.
“Dippy.”
“Two pieces of toast?”
“Yes.”
“Avocado?”
“Yes.”
“Wheat or sourdough?”
I step into the bathroom. “Surprise me,” I call before shutting the door to take care of business.
Tonight, I get to see my son.