Chapter Four #2
“Crap,” I said, eyeing the remaining bags as the rain intensified. My hair began sticking to my neck, dampening quickly.
Rancor studied the sky, his expression tightening. He moved past me, gathering twice as many bags as before, his muscles straining beneath his shirt. “Storm’s gonna hit hard.”
As if on cue, lightning flashed, followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that I felt in my chest. The sky opened up, rain suddenly pouring down in sheets. Within seconds, I was soaked, my T-shirt clinging to my skin, water running into my eyes.
Rancor set his bags inside the kitchen door on the counter. “Leave it,” he called over the roar of the downpour as he shut the door. “Prospects are on the way.” He held out his hand. “Come with me.”
I hesitated, watching rain pound into the remaining groceries. “But the food --”
“Is taken care of.” Another flash of lightning, another boom of thunder.
The rain hammered down harder, stinging my exposed skin.
Rancor held out his hand. “I’ll get you some dry clothes and you can wait out the storm with me.
” He ducked his head slightly, but not before I saw a stain of red blush on his cheeks above his beard line. “I mean, if you want to.”
I stared at his outstretched hand. This was different from a kiss in the compound yard. This was entering his private space. Crossing a line that had nothing to do with physical touch and everything to do with trust.
As if on cue, the door burst open to admit two younger men. A strong gust of wind nearly knocked me sideways and the decision made itself. I took his hand.
His fingers closed around mine, warm despite the cold rain, and he tugged me away from the kitchen, deeper into the warehouse.
His grip was firm but gentle as he led me through the massive building to the back of the common room.
From there, he took me through another door leading to a long, wide hallway with doors at intervals along the walls.
Rancor -- Marcus -- moved down the hall to stop in front of one of the doors. He fished a key from his pocket. When he pushed the door open, he stood aside, letting me enter first.
I stepped into his space, taking in everything at once.
The apartment was sparse but clean, with an open layout that revealed a small kitchen area, a living room with a worn leather couch, and a doorway I assumed led to a bedroom.
What caught my attention, though, was the wall of windows on one side, partially covered by a roof overhang to create a sheltered porch.
Through the glass, I could see the garden below, not being lashed by rain.
“Bathroom’s there if you need it,” he said, pointing to a door on the left I’d missed when I’d first entered.
“No. Good. Thank you.”
“Come,” he said simply, reaching out for me to take his hand. Once again, I did, this time I allowed myself to relax, to let him slip his fingers through mine and tug me gently after him.
He took me through the door onto a covered porch that stretched along the back of the building.
The space was sheltered by a metal roof that extended several feet outward, keeping the rain at bay.
Two wooden chairs sat side-by-side, facing outward.
The small garden looked freshly tended with loving care.
It held various herbs instead of flowers or fruits and vegetables.
“Sit.” Rancor gestured to one of the chairs.
The gray T-shirt clung lovingly to his arms and chest. It was hard not to see how strong the man was.
I lowered myself into the chair, not exactly at ease, but the sound of the rain and the rolling thunder was soothing.
The scent of rain-soaked earth rose up, mingling with the fragrance of the herbs and fresh-cut grass.
The rain was heavy, but the thunder only rumbled, any lightning well off in the distance.
Rancor settled into the chair beside mine, his large frame making the wooden seat look almost too small, yet his presence filled the space without being overwhelming.
We sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, watching the rain fall like a curtain on the garden below.
I tried to relax, to ease the tension from my shoulders, but awareness of him beside me kept me rigid.
Yesterday I’d kissed this man without hesitation.
Today, sitting fully clothed on his porch, I felt more exposed than I had in years.
The garden captivated me despite my nervousness. Even through the rain, I could see the loving way the small bed had been cared for. The juxtaposition of the way he tended the herb garden and the man whose road name was the very definition of deep, bitter anger wasn’t lost on me.
I jumped when there was an unexpected clap of thunder amid the lazy rumbling. The rain picked up and the sound was loud enough to make conversation impossible. Despite the first big boom of thunder, I found the sound of the wind and rain oddly peaceful.
Rancor’s gaze shifted to me, those dark eyes taking in my jumpy reaction. His expression remained neutral, but something in his posture changed, softened almost imperceptibly. “You’re safe here. But we can go back inside if you want.”
I looked over at him and smiled. “I like it here. I’m good until you tell me otherwise.”
I must have said the exact right thing because he gave me a startled expression before smiling at me, reaching for my hand again. Again, I let him lace his fingers through mine, and we watched the storm raging just beyond the overhang.
Minutes stretched in silence, broken only by the storm’s percussion. Thunder rumbled, softer now, moving away from us. The rain continued to pour, but the frantic intensity had eased to a steady rhythm.
“Sarah planted everything,” he said, the words emerging from him like he’d had to pull them from somewhere deep inside him.
“My wife.” I turned to look at him, surprised by this voluntary offering of information.
His gaze remained fixed on the garden, raindrops sliding down his profile.
“She started with herbs.” He gestured toward a section near the center.
“Cooking herbs first. Then medicinal. Said a garden should heal both hunger and sickness. The roses came later.” His hand moved toward the far edge where climbing roses clung to a trellis.
“For our third anniversary. Said we needed something just for beauty.” A pause, heavy with memory.
“Was gonna add fruit trees next. Had it all mapped out.”
The past tense hung between us. Had. Was gonna. I thought about the man kneeling in the soil, tending what his wife had started. Preserving what she couldn’t finish.
“It’s beautiful,” I said softly. “You’ve kept it alive.”
His jaw tightened, the muscles working beneath the skin. “Least I could do.” Another pause. “After I couldn’t keep her alive. Knight and Oktober helped keep it while I was in prison.”
I couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath.
My grip tightened on his hand, and I thought his hand trembled slightly.
Seeing how much pain he was in hurt me. It was easy to see this guy hadn’t had an easy go at life the last few years.
If this place gave him peace, I’d sit with him as long as he wanted me to.
“Do you tend it every day?” I spoke softly so, even though the rain had slowed somewhat, I wasn’t sure he could hear me, but the situation didn’t feel right to try shouting over the downpour.
He nodded. “Morning ritual. Before the compound wakes, generally.” His fingers drummed lightly against the arm of his chair. “Helps me… remember. And forget.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’m looking for some kind of absolution.”
“What happened to her?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could reconsider. “To Sarah.” I’d have felt like an ass for pushing him, but I got the feeling he needed to get this out and had been leading up to the conversation but was stumbling along just as much as I was.
Rancor went still beside me, so completely motionless I wondered if he’d even heard me. Then I saw the change come over him -- a darkening, a hardening around his eyes and mouth. When he finally spoke, his voice had dropped to nearly a whisper.
“Carjacking.” Each word emerged like it was being torn from somewhere deep inside him. “Wrong place. Wrong time. I was across the street. At the store.” His breathing had changed, becoming more measured, controlled. “Came back to find her bleeding out on the pavement.”
My heart clenched. “Rancor, I’m so --”
“She was pregnant.” His hands curled into fists on the arms of his chair. “Five months. We were gonna name him James. After her father.”
The grief in those simple statements nearly broke me. I couldn’t imagine the weight of losing not just a partner but a child who never had the chance to be born. The storm inside this man suddenly made perfect sense.
“The guy who did it.” Rancor’s voice remained steady, emotionless in a way that spoke of practiced control.
“He was a junkie lookin’ for money for a fix.
” His jaw tightened. “Police caught him. Released him a few days later because his daddy had enough pull to get him bail when he never should have been let out of a fuckin’ cage.
” The more he spoke, the less calm he seemed.
He broke out in a sweat, his reaction to the memory visceral.
I knew what was coming. Could see it in the set of his shoulders, the careful blankness of his expression.
“So I found him myself.” No inflection. Just fact. “Beat him to death with my bare hands. Didn’t even try to hide it. Waited for the cops to come.” A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Got six years in Terre Haute, but I would do it again without hesitation.”