Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Mikayla
I woke up wanting to spend time along the beach.
It isn’t the first time I’ve walked in the ocean, having made stops in places like Boston and San Francisco during my year of running.
But the urge to be around the water today feels…
different somehow. As if the waves will carry the lingering worries away with the tide and bring back a renewed strength.
Throwing on my converse, jean shorts, and hooded leather jacket, I lock up my room and proceed to walk.
When I originally looked up this place, it drew my attention due to its proximity to a public beach and it doesn’t disappoint.
It’s taken less than ten minutes to reach the area and remove my footwear.
The waves have always called to me, at least for the last twelve years. Sitting close, listening to them crash onto the sand is a sound that could soothe even the most troubled of souls. It always acts like a balm, calming the erratic rhythm of my heart when things feel out of my control.
Those first three years, stuck in the stuffy and secluded cabin, it was all I had.
Listening to the sounds of the ocean as it ebbed and flowed.
The tide rising and falling with the cycle of the moon.
It was what I fell asleep to each night, the only calm I could cling to when Colt and his crew would come for me.
A constant rhythm that provided a minuscule amount of stability.
Even now, nine years later, the waves bring me serenity and a sense that everything will be okay.
I’ve spent a few hours now walking back and forth along the shoreline, shoes in hand as the salt water rushes across my toes.
The sun is high in the sky, the breeze flowing through my hair and bringing the delightful aroma of grilled meat.
Which, of course, then causes my stomach to elicit an unholy sound.
“Whoops, skipped breakfast,” I mumble under my breath, before heading for a small cafe I noticed earlier.
I’ll just get something quick, and then head back to the motel.
My savings is dwindling, and I need to figure out a way to earn some income.
I could contact J, ask for a job, but I don’t want to be indebted to him again.
He’s never called in his favor, even after all this time.
It’s always by my request that I take on jobs, and that needs to stop.
As I’m rounding the corner of a condo complex, the cafe just ahead, a walking wall of steroids pops up, blocking my path.
“Well, well. You sure are a fine thing to look at, now aren’t ya? How ‘bout you and I get a drink, and I can show you just how fine you are?” Steroids says with complete and utter confidence.
He’s not… that doesn’t…
“Does that line actually work on people?” My brows arch, as I try to hold in the laughter threatening to burst from my chest. When my restraint—along with his dumbfounded expression—finally snaps, the chuckle rolls out of me, sharp and unyielding.
“Good try, Buddy. I’m sure whoever you tested that on, loves you very much,” I coo, tapping his shoulder a couple of times.
Stepping around his frozen frame, I head for the cafe once again, erasing any and all thoughts about that encounter out of my head.
As it turns out, much like every other pig-headed gym buff I’ve come across, Steroids here managed to find his lost balls just in the nick of time.
The moment I hit the boardwalk, a hand wraps around my elbow, pulling me back to the sand and his scowling face.
“What the fuck, Bitch! You can’t just insult me and then walk away.
Who do you think you are?” With a quick tug, I’m pressed against his chest, my face getting up close and personal with his nipples.
My neck twists, arching uncomfortably to be able to look at him.
I feel the darkness inside me rising to the surface, itching to be released as my expression contorts from amusement to irritation.
Mother fucker has no idea who he’s messing with.
My eye twitches, as I try to calm the rage boiling within. My head—which should be urging me to not kill him— is instead, running through all the ways I could incapacitate this asshole using only my pinky finger.
Still looking him dead in the eye, I’m about to put this oversized pin-head on his ass, when another male voice comes from behind me.
“Hey, guy who forgot leg day. Let the lady go,” the second man says as he takes a position at my back.
“And if I don’t want to?”
“Then I’ll make you,” retorts my knight in shining… beach wear?
There’s a part of me, the part that still houses the little girl looking for love and approval.
The part that’s been buried and crushed under years of torment and survival, that warms at this stranger coming to my defense.
Too bad the much larger, louder, raging bitch part of me is in control.
She wants to remind both of these pompous twats that she’s not a damsel in distress and doesn’t need a rescue crew.
However, since I’m supposed to be staying under the radar, and something tells me kicking the living shit out of a guy twice my size might be headline worthy… I’ll let it slide. This time.
The nice stranger continues his taunts, having the desired effect on Steroids and before long he drops my arm.
I’m clearly going to have a bruise there with how tight his sausage fingers were pressing against my skin.
Must be his masturbating hand. Steroids shoves me out of the way, puffing out his chest and getting in the other guys’ face.
It’s only now that I can actually see who came to my rescue, and let me tell you, he doesn’t disappoint.
Both the men begin their pissing contest, slaps echoing off their chests as they goad one another. Eventually, A shoves B and well, you know the drill. Punches are being thrown, grunts are ringing through the air, and a crowd has started to gather.
I back off a bit, slipping my shoes back on my feet, but ultimately decide to stick around and watch.
It may be for a dumb reason, but no matter what started it, there’s something about fighting that now draws me in like a moth to a flame.
When I was little, I only ever watched the guys get into one or two fights—and I hated it.
I was constantly worrying over if they would get hurt, or if they’d be in trouble.
Not to mention the sight of any kind of blood would send me into a dizzy spell and have me kissing the floor like it was Prince Charming.
Mom and Dad had drilled it into my head that nothing good could come from using physical violence.
Saying if it couldn’t be settled with words, it meant it wasn’t worth the effort.
I lived by that motto for a very long time.
Even long after I had been taken, I stuck by my principles and tried to stay true to myself.
But there’s only so many times you can be whipped, slashed, and raped, before lessening your pain takes priority over issuing it to others.
It came down to spewing the blood of my targets, or suffering at the hands of Colt.
When the monster inside me was finally released, well, Colt relished in it.
Today, some of that monster still remains.
Hidden beneath a carefully crafted facade I portray to the world.
She lurks and lingers waiting for her time, but as the years have crawled by, we’ve slowly begun to merge into one.
Now, satisfaction—and admittedly arousal—ping throughout the hollows of my chest watching flesh hit flesh.
The feral contact stirring a primal need from deep within and releasing my inner, lustful bitch.
The fact that these two are fighting in my name, sparked an itch I had no idea needed to be scratched.
One jumping to the defense of a lady in need, the other fighting for control.
Here’s hoping my knight will take home the gold and is single.
It’s been a while, and I know a wonderful way to repay him for his kindness.
Even if I technically didn’t need the assistance.
They’re still going at it, both parties having severely more stamina than I thought they did as they continue to swing limbs around like baseball bats.
Never would have guessed it would take this long, but at least it’s enjoyable to watch as both seem to have some sort of fight training under their belts.
My attention is laser focused, waiting to see who throws the winning blow, when the name of someone long dead hits my ears.
“Addison!”
I hear the scream and involuntarily flinch at the sound.
My eyes close while I focus on not hyperventilating.
It’s a common name, that’s all. It can’t be in regards to me.
I repeat it over and over, though it does little to curb the anxiety brewing.
In my peripherals, there’s the head of a man, bobbing and weaving through the mass of people.
His head popping up closer and closer each time.
My heart rate spikes, threatening to lunge itself out of my chest cavity if I’d allow it.
“Addy, is it really you?” I hear again and this time there’s no denying that I’ve been spotted.
Chancing the full look, I immediately recognize the blonde hair and large frame.
His brown eyes constantly peak around spectators, trying to catch onto mine.
The sound of his deeper voice calling my name—no, my old name—sends a pulsing need straight to my lady bits.
It’s as if no time has passed, just the sight and sound of one of the guys has my kitty flaring to life and on the prowl.
Shit.
As much as I would love nothing more than to run to him.
To tell him everything, from how I’ve felt about them all these years to where I’ve been.
To kiss him like I need the taste of his lips to survive, I can’t let him get caught up in how my life is now.
The danger, the running. I won’t get him involved in that.