Tyrant (King #2)(23)

Bear knew this.

“Fuck you and your gun,” Bear scoffed, “you already know I liked her from the beginning.” He ashed his cigarette into an empty beer bottle. “I regret sending her up the stairs to you that night. Not keeping her for myself.” There was a lingering sadness in his voice. “And then when you f*cked it all up by almost getting your cock wet, I’d never been more f*cking pissed then when you showed back up at the dock.” Bear took another drag of his cigarette. “Way I see it, you owe me motherf*cker.”

Bear sending her up to my room that night being the reason I ever set eyes on Pup, was the only reason why my fist hadn’t yet connected with his nose.

We needed a change in conversation before I did something we’d both regret. Me, because he was my friend. Him, ’cause he’d be full of f*cking bullets.

“You still haven’t answered the question, motherf*cker.” Bear leaned forward. “Why her?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “It’s just another fact. Just like the sky is blue. The grass is green.” I shrugged. “She’s mine. Just is. Just know it.”

“You ever think she deserves better than this shit?” Bear waved his hand around the room. “Than you?” I flashed him a questioning look. If I was on edge before this conversation, I was teetering off of it now. “Not me, motherf*cker. Just…better. Than this. Than this life.”

“’Course.” I lit a cigarette and inhaled, tossing the lighter onto the table. And then I looked up and Bear and smiled.

“But she doesn’t have better…she has me.”

I’d barely gotten the words out of my mouth when concrete and steel came crashing down around us, flying into the apartment like a tornado was ripping through.

I ducked; crawling on my stomach I sought cover behind the coffee table. I coughed as I inhaled one lungful of dust after the other. I squinted, looking past the settling debris toward where the crash had sounded.

There was a gaping hole where the wall had stood only seconds before.

The remnants of that wall; a huge pile of toppled concrete block, covered the living room.

And the couch that had been against that wall.

And the person that had been lying on the couch.

Bear.





Chapter Eight




Doe


It was too early. Or too late.

Or too, something.

I’d finally had a memory of someone pre-memory loss and it was of someone I knew post memory loss.

Nikki.

My best friend since I was in diapers. Who was also the hooker who’d acted like she was doing me a favor by letting me tag along while we both tried to survive on the streets.

There was no doubt in my mind that it was the connection of my past and present that helped me to remember. It was the only thing that was clear to me. Everything else was like driving a car, with a muddied windshield, trying to look through the smears to see the road.

Why would Nikki, knowing who I was, knowing that we’d been practically sisters, suggest that I sell myself to a biker at King’s party in exchange for a warm bed and protection?

Unable to sleep and with way too many questions running through my mind, I’d come out to the front porch and had been sitting there staring at the framed picture of Nikki ever since.

King hadn’t been the only one lying to me all that time. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were? Who I was?” I asked her picture, running my fingers over the silver frame.

“Hey Ray, long time! What’s crack-a-lacking? How’s it going? How was your trip? How’s the tyrant doing these days?” I looked down to where a postman stood on the bottom step. It was light out, but I didn’t even remember the sun rising. He wore dark blue shorts with matching knee sox. His smile was one of those ginormous ones that said he was either one of those truly happy people, highly medicated, or completely insane.

“Hey…” I sat up from the porch swing, squinting in an effort to read his name tag, “…Barry? He’s fine…I guess?” I was a horrible liar, but at the same time, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that not only did I not remember him but that I hadn’t seen my father since he dumped me off the previous day with no word on when he’d be coming back.

I didn’t want to offend the smile.

Barry didn’t say another word, but he didn’t need to. His furrowed brows and wrinkled nose spoke volumes for him. He set the mail on the ledge and without another word, he slinked backward, before turning around and walking away as if he’d just fed an angry pit bull and was trying not to get bitten.

But I was angry. Confusion is a bitch. It leads to questions, which only lead to more questions which leads to being frustrated which leads to being pissed off.

“He wants to see you in his office,” Nadine said. “Your mother is there, too. They’re waiting for you.”

“Really?” I stood from the swing, automatically smoothing down my hair and adjusting my shorts, pulling on them so they would appear longer.

Which was odd, because I didn’t care what they thought of me, but the motion to make sure I was presentable was automatic. I’d seen the same Town Car that had taken me from King’s pull up that morning, but I didn’t have any sort of urge to rush up to the senator and welcome him home either. He may not have been the one who had ordered for King to be killed but there was something way too coincidental about the entire situation that was keeping me on edge with my guard up and locked firmly in place.