Amber to Ashes (The Torn Heart #1) (39 page)

I take a breath, knowing my new normal has already killed off my old.

CHAPTER 18

Amber

“
H
IS CELL WENT
to voice mail,” Ryder says as we approach my suite. “Lee and Madeline said they haven’t heard from him either, so I’m banking on him being here.”

Hands shaking, I slide my key card into the door and step into the dark entryway, my ears clogged with the suffocating sound of a chick’s heavy panting. I still, my heart rate going nuts as her husky moans fill the weed-laden air.

The weed-laden air I can’t seem to inhale enough of in my current state of
I’m about to kill a bitch
.

Ryder catches my elbow, attempting to lead me out of the suite, but I yank it back, rage fueling me as I follow the sound of snarls and flesh slapping against flesh. Barely able to see in the darkness, and prepared to happily spend the night in jail for de-dicking Brock, I pursue a path of his clothing into the living area, where I find him passed out on the couch, undeniably alone. Sure I’ve thrown up in my mouth, I suck in what I’m positive is the largest breath of relief possible. He’s wearing nothing but boxer briefs, an empty bottle of whiskey at his side, the light hum of his snoring a sure sign he’s tanked.

Ryder chuckles as he points across the suite to the gigantuous plasma television. I turn around, taking in the offender: a panty-dampening porn showcasing two chicks getting it on with an extremely well-endowed dude. Though my nerves are still revved up, I can’t help but laugh, my heart rate settling some as I flip on a lamp.

Eyes flying open, Brock jerks awake, the speed with which he darts up to reach for his gun on the end table killing my “tanked” theory.

“Are you goddamn nuts, Ber?” He shoots to standing, uncocking the weapon. “I could’ve
killed
you.”

I plop onto the couch and, with no sign of stopping, continue to giggle. God, it feels divine. Ryder sinks into an armchair and clicks off the television, laughter bursting from his chest as we release the stress that’s built up over the last hour.

Brock sets his gun on the end table, confused. “Is there a reason either of you find this shit
funny
? It wouldn’t be so comical if her brains were splattered all over the fucking couch right now, would it? I bet
neither
of you would laugh then.”

Ryder and I glance at Brock, then back at each other, our thoughts on the same wavelength. Brock’s statement isn’t possible, the empty bottle of whiskey proving to be a hindrance to his intelligence.

Silence, then—yet again—Ryder and I bust out laughing, our bodies rocking like two ships caught in the angry undertow of a tidal wave.

Mouth dropped open and hands dug into his hips, Brock stares at us with widened, defeated eyes.

“I have to agree with ya, bro,” Ryder admits, his point made with difficulty as he chuckles, if at all possible, even harder. “She wouldn’t be laughing at shit if her brains were part of the décor right now. Dying will
usually
do that. You know? Prevent someone’s ability to do . . . well,
anything
.” He reaches for a joint perched on a stack of magazines and fishes a lighter from his pants pocket. “And if she
could
do
anything, even if it was something as minuscule as licking her pretty lips”—he sparks up said joint, takes a long pull from it, and coughs before passing it to me—“then I can safely say, with all certainty, I’d turn into a pussy
real
fast. Though I’m sure she’d remain sexy as all fuck—scoring the lead role of
The Walking Dead
’s hottest zombie—that shit would be
way
too much to handle—even for someone who’s a self-proclaimed crazed, masochistic, kink-loving psycho, such as myself.” With a wink aimed in my direction, a smile deepens his dimples, his likeminded playful dementedness strumming my nerves to a complete rest as he mocks a cringe. “No offense, peach, but I think I’d pass on tapping that.”

“None taken,” I toss back over a giggle, instant gratification swelling through my muscles as I inhale a second, then third hit from the joint. I hand the smoking stick of happiness back to Ryder, a coy smile flirting with my lips. “There’s something understandably undesirable about a cold—excuse my French—pussy. I get it, really.”

“You’re both nuts,” Brock says with an aggravated sigh, stomping toward the bathroom.

A slam of a door and the mood in the room shifts, all pretense of joy gone as the reality of what’s to come pokes its menacing head into the moment.
It was fun while it lasted . . .

Attention stuck on me, Ryder’s smile vanishes, a thin line taking its place as he pulls in one last hit from the joint before stubbing it out in an empty shot glass. Denial. Realizing we’ve been in it over the last few minutes, our demeanors deflate, a needle—held in the dirty hand of a bratty child—popping our bullshit-filled balloon of false hope. Nothing, not even jokes about me perfecting the role of one hot apocalyptic zombie, can keep us from facing what’s about to go down. Silence shrouds the air, the look in Ryder’s eyes mirroring what’s eating me from the inside out, trying to kill me.

Fear. It’s smothering my breath, its cancerous poison set on making me its next victim.

After what seems like forever, Brock reemerges, instantly picking up on the anxiety wiring the air as he sits next to me. “What’s wrong?” Frowning, he kisses my cheek and slides my legs over his lap, his finger toying with a strand of my hair as he stares at me, waiting for a reply. “No more giggles?” He kisses me again, his voice tinged with regret. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I need your giggles more than you’ll ever know. I was a dick before. It’s just watching you get off on what
legitimately
could’ve happened messed with my head. I’d never be able to live with myself if some shit like that ever happened.”

“That’s not what’s bothering me.” Nervous, I flit my gaze to Ryder.

He hesitates, clears his throat. “We have to tell her, bro,” Ryder whispers.

Brock whips his attention to Ryder, fury lighting the green in his eyes. “What the fuck do you mean,
tell
her? There’s nothing
to
tell her.”

Brock tosses my legs off his lap and rises, but I catch his wrist, preventing him from taking a step. Peering up at him, I silently beg him not to fight. He touches my cheek, a flash of remorse sweeping over his features, but it vanishes, a look of resolve setting in.

“Nothing happened.” He hooks a finger under my chin. “We’ve been over this a million times, Amber.
Nothing
.
Fucking
.
Happened
.”

I nod, wanting with everything we are to believe him, my conscience screaming that I’m nothing but a lovesick fool as he glances at his watch. He pulls me up from the couch into his solid, shirtless chest and wraps his arms around me, cocooning me in his hold. For a split second, I honestly believe him, my stubborn soul winning the battle with what I already know. Every excuse he’s used has been nothing but an attempt to distract me from the truth, each lie a steel blanket protecting me from the shadows of his reality.

Confused, I don’t know if I should kiss or castrate him.

“Now that I’m officially twenty-three,” he continues, grinning, “it’s time to celebrate until we can’t think straight. I just gotta get dressed, and we’ll head down to the tables. Cool?”

Another nod, this one filled with hesitation as he presses his lips to my forehead.

“Either you tell her what happened, or I will.” Ryder stands and walks toward us. “She deserves to know. I can’t—no, I
won’t
—lie to her anymore. It’s hurting her.” He gazes into my eyes, regret swallowing his expression. “I care too much for her. Her life’s been filled with assholes who’ve hurt and used her. I’m not about to become one of them.”

Brock twists his head toward Ryder, his glare lethal. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not kidding, man. Go sit back down, smoke some more vipe, and chill while I get ready.” Brock flips his attention back to me. “You know what? Fuck this.” He grabs my hand, tugging me toward the bathroom. “You’re showering with me. I ain’t taking any chances that this asshole will say some stupid shit to you.”

“Brock!” I wrench my hand back, my mouth dropped open. “Have you lost your
mind
?”

“Maybe I have, but I love you more than I love myself, so I don’t give a fuck. But you wanna know what’s really messed up? What’s hurting
me
? You questioning me trying to protect you from something you have no business knowing about. That’s more fucked up than anything I’m doing to save you from more pain you don’t need.”

Tears needle my eyes as I try to wrap my head around what’s happened to him, what’s happening to all of us.

“We shot and killed two men,” Ryder whispers, his voice cracking through the air like a whip. “Two men who, before threatening your beautiful life, peach, deserved to die.”

I nearly trip over my feet as my back hits the wall, my barbed-wire thoughts tangled over his confession.

“Goddamnit, Ryder!” Brock reaches for my arm to steady me, curling his free hand around my nape. “Look at me, Ber.” His soft plea is barely distinguishable over the blood roaring through my veins—all sound muted as I lift my watery eyes to his. “You gotta—”

“You . . .
murdered
two men?” I interrupt through a cry, unable to believe the question I’m asking. I can’t deny a sliver of me thought that’s what happened. Still, hearing myself say it, tasting the poison-riddled word—“murdered”—has me feeling like I’m stuck in a nightmare, screaming for someone to wake me up. “Did you, Brock? Did you
kill
them?”

“You gotta listen to me, baby girl. I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he chokes out, his eyes misting over as he moves his hands to my waist. “That wasn’t my intention. You have to believe me. But after everything went down—as it started falling the fuck apart—I had no other choice
but
to kill them. Christ, I knew it was a bad move getting nasty with Dom, talking shit to him after he’d tried to act tough, but before I knew it, he had his gun to my head. Ryder pulled his gun on Dom. Dom’s buddy pulled his piece on Ryder.” His face a bed of shame, he sucks in a slow, staggered breath, his fingers nervously clenching my waist. “Everything happened so goddamn fast, Amber, but I swear on my kid brother’s
soul
, I had no other choice.”

My breath falters at the realization that he acknowledged Brandon in the past tense. I blink, tears dripping down my face, his silent admission that he’s aware his brother’s gone forever killing off a piece of who I am. A piece of who he is.

“He didn’t,” Ryder offers from behind me. “Honest to God, he had no other choice.” He sweeps my hair off my shoulder, his touch warming me as he, too, rests his hands on my waist. “You might not have been there, peach, but you
were
with us. You were all we could think of while everything fell to shit. All that kept our hearts beating, kept us . . . hanging on. Hell, you’re
still
keeping us holding on. Without you, there’s no doubt we would’ve lost our shit by now.” He takes a deep breath, his grip on my waist tightening. “You’re the reason we’re alive. The reason we’re still breathing, why we’ve woken up every day since and pretended to be okay when we’re not.” He sighs, his head shaking against the back of mine as Brock’s finger absorbs a tear from
my cheek. “We’re not bad men, Amber,” Ryder continues. “I know you know this. Can feel it. We just got caught up in some really fucked-up shit, and the only way out of it was to kill the source. But know that without you, Christ, peach, without you, we’re . . . nothing. Absolutely nothing. Try to see past what happened, what we had to do to keep ourselves—you included—safe.”

Brock lifts his trembling hands to my cheeks. “Everything Ryder said is the truth. I’d go nuts without you, baby. I need you by my side. I’ll lose it if you walk away from me now. I will.” He pauses, anger cutting across his expression. “The sick fuck threatened to hurt you. He threatened to . . . kill you. To take you away from me. To never allow me to wake up next to you, holding you, ever again. Never kiss your lips or feel your body against mine. To never build a . . . life with you.” The fear haunting his eyes bleeds me out, my body aching raw from the wave of emotions pouring off his slumped shoulders. “No damn way was I gonna let him do that. I’d die a million times over if something ever happened to you.
Especially
if it was something I could’ve stopped.”

His words,
their
words, the sincere remorse behind them, and their silent plea for help sinks me, pain fisting my soul as I try to breathe. Brock blinks, the reflection from a tear slipping down his face blinding me. Beautiful in all its purity, everything that tear represents fills my once-empty heart as I watch it follow the square curve of his jaw and drop onto his bare chest. Staring into the eyes of the man who’s forever changed my life—having painted a rainbow of light onto the darkened canvas of what was my world—my finger soaks up the warmth from his tear, my body instantly flourishing with his love as he returns my stare.

Trembling, I look out the floor-to-ceiling window, the bright lights of the vibrant city below trying to distract me from the ugly presence in the room, the undeniable camaraderie every single human being shares.

Death . . . It’s all around us, its wickedness hovering above our heads.

I try not imagine what they went through, my thoughts running rampant as I turn my attention back to Brock. I touch my lips to his dampened cheek, the overwhelming need to save him and Ryder from the pain they’ve endured—the pain continuing to feast on their mental stabilities—so powerful and unforgiving, it takes everything in me to hold myself together.

“I can’t hear any more of this.” The words drop from my mouth with urgency as I move Ryder’s hands to my midriff, surrendering to what I’ve craved for so long. I slide my lips to Brock’s, my heart letting my body take over. “I don’t want to hear any more. I just . . . I need the both of you right now, and you both need me. We can heal each other from this nightmare. I know we can.”