If I Should Die: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel (35 page)

When his dark voice continues rattling on, I’ve already started to shut out his rambling riddles. I learned this trick a long damn time ago. ‘Cause after all those years in Child Protection, and all those counseling sessions the tax payers’ money paid for, I learned a thing or two. And deflecting isn’t always a bad thing. Sometimes it can save your sanity. Sometimes it’s the only thing that can save it. And your ass.

I close my eyes and breathe in deeply, conjuring up the first image I can of Jacques from when I was child. I can’t remember if it’s an actual memory, or one of my favorite dreams, either...I just close my eyes and myself, blocking out what Ben’s haranguing at me in the background.

So when Jacques Cain’s navy blue eyes settle on mine, it isn’t in this room. And we aren’t in a place in this time. He’s where I’ve always kept him. It’s a place I’ve kept hidden, even from you. Hidden in the clandestine corners of my heart. He’s where I always find him...just when things seem darkest. He’s where I always need him...there to hold my heart. I almost feel his fingertips tilt my chin up and it causes a smile to cross my face.

Which is odd, because in this memory I’m above him…looking down.

“Vagabond, huh? You can’t beat that. I like that, actually. I’ve been calling myself a roamer. Or nomad. But Vagabond has a much better ring to it. Name’s Jacques, and you? What’s your name, little one?” His dark blue eyes search mine through the branches of the old oak tree I’m saddled up on a branch in as a smirk creeps across his cheek and a dimple appears. When I see the cross hanging from his tanned neck, I try and remember the little prayer I learned last week in bible school.

Now I lay me down to sleep...no.

Lord, I lay me down to sleep. No—If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.

When I notice Jacques’ eyebrows start to raise—probably because of the stumped look on my face—I hurry to answer, trying to sound like a grown-up. Like he did when he asked me my name. Completely forgetting bible verses and bedtime prayers.

“Jacques. There’s a reason I’m still here…”

When I feel Ben’s fingertips dig into my chin, his words cut through my happy place with Jacques and my eyes almost fly open to glare at him for it. “Huh, Vagabond?” I hear. But I slow my thoughts and my breathing. Then I watch him through my lashes as he leans over me, and I witness as he settles his knees on the thin mattress on either side of mine. I squeeze my already clamped thighs closer together and my hands involuntarily clench into even tighter fists. I’m trying to keep from touching him. I feel myself huddle closer into the corner of the cold room in an effort to make myself smaller, until, hopefully, I disappear, but he won’t let me.

I feel my lungs constrict around my battered and confused heart when the hand he’s now gripping the lower half of my face with slides down until it’s wrapping around my neck. It tightens to a vice as his other hand comes from out of nowhere, and I’m not ready for it. But I highly doubt anyone my size would ever be ready for a hit from someone with his towering stature and weight behind it. The bones of his hand connect with the weaker ones in my face, and it’s my flesh and bone that doesn’t win.

“Huh? Vagabond? Huh?” The voice belonging to Ben mimics a ricochet of Jacques’ from my earlier memory. And I briefly wonder if Ben can read my fragmenting mind after the hand that struck me comes back to my face. This time when his hands settle on me, he keeps the one hand clenching around my throat, and the other hand lands on the swollen side of my face. His fingertips bite into my quickly swelling cheek and it makes my vision blur with tears.

“I pray to God Roxy makes the right choice,” he mutters vaguely. “She’s the only damn thing I have that hasn’t been blown to shit because of you.” His spit flies off his lips and I decide
—
fuck it.

I can’t take this shit anymore. And I’m not helping a goddamn thing huddling up in this dark corner. I try and breathe around the threats he’s barking at me. I try and concentrate on my memory. My memory of Jacques. But his words won’t stop.

“She’ll do the job, though. Roxy’s a big girl, and she knows the ramifications if this shit goes off the rails. She knows the plan. Rox’ll kill him. She’ll finish the job the chumps I’ve accumulated couldn’t. I think they said the last guy who took the literal hit for my unusual sloppiness sneezed—and that’s what got him killed.” And I decide, I fucking can’t. I can’t listen to anymore of his bullshit.

He’s flaunting his pride.
For what? I don’t know yet, but I’m not learning anything sitting here listening to his psycho-babble, either.

I squeeze my eyes shut before plugging my ears like an eight year—which is what I prefer at the moment—then abruptly stand, trying to shut off his words. Using my weight against him, I stand with all my might, shoving with every ounce I own until I’m steady on my own two feet. And when my head connects with the spot under his chin, it makes his teeth clack and he stumbles backwards before falling onto his side and cursing, “You stupid bitch!”

Then a split second later I’m up. I trip once. But still, I’m on my feet another split second after that, and I’m running. My feet slam against the condensation covered concrete floor, and it’s difficult, but I slip and slide my way across the room and when I finally make it up the wooden stairs and reach the door, I cry out. Hell, I may have even laughed, I’m so excited when the doorknob on the door at the top of the rickety wooden stairs turns in my hand.

“Thank you, God,” I mutter before going to shoulder open the door.

I never saw him. I never heard him, I never felt him. Fuck, I think I forgot him the second the door opened. But I did see Roxy. I did see Roxy step from the eerie light illuminating from behind her in the well-lit house.
She almost looks angelic.
The thought crosses my mind just before her words strike out across the basement-like room.

“Don’t I clean up enough messes? Between the both of you, I swear to fucking God, Ben. Don’t I stay busy enough?” Her hands land on her hips at the same time she begins tapping her toe.

And like I said, Ben was forgotten. So when I hear him, and his face is directly beside mine...oh—I scream. Like a bitch. You can kiss my ass; I scream. Of course, until it registers I need the information that’s being exchanged here.

“Did you clean up the last mess? Did you finish it? Is he still alive?” Ben’s voice circles my mind the second or third time.

“No, I didn’t. And yes, he is.” I didn’t realize I was even holding my breath until the moment she speaks the words. But she continues. “There’s been a change in plans. At least until we know what’s gonna happen when he wakes up. I didn’t want to burn any bridges. That was never a part of my plan, Ben! Never!” Roxy’s light blue eyes can be seen, even in the dimly lit stairwell as she glances down at me after her accusing words ring off the narrow walls.

Her tone is cold as a tomb the next moment she speaks. “I’m not gonna be put on the backburner. Not by either of you. Do you understand me, Ben Cain? Not by you, nor by Jacques.”

I feel his warm breath stirring the ringlets in my hair that hang around my face as he chuckles again. I’m sure my unruly hair is even more so from the humidity in the room and the time I spent in it while I was unconscious for however long. I bring my hands up beside my face and unconsciously tuck my hair behind my ears for reasons I can’t explain. But it’s probably ‘cause of the look of disgust on Roxy’s face when she finishes eyeballing me from head to toe. Then her eyes glance back to Ben’s over my left shoulder.

“I’m not just a pawn in this fucking game anymore. Jacques and I talked; he was headed to my house. Before you and your thug friends wrecked his bike! None of this was supposed to happen!” She cries, and when I see the tears along with her bittersweet words I hear breaking off, my heart constricts within in my chest. And I almost feel sorry for her.
Almost.

Her blue eyes appear the color of mercury when they narrow back on mine. “Did Ben tell you what he did to your sister? I had to take her to the hospital the first time; he wouldn’t even do it. I at least tried to get her help. It’s not my fault she kept bleeding. She wasn’t supposed to die.” Her words are spoken as taunts. And for some reason, this fact confuses me. Because the words alone hurt enough. So I don’t understand…

“Why?” I whisper as my heart shatters before barely faltering to a still beat in its cage. “The baby?” I ask as the hot tears well up in the four corners of my eyes before scalding a searing path down my face. I back away from the both of them, backing down towards the basement at the bottom of the stairs. Stupid, but it’s my only choice at this point. And I quickly try and remember if I saw any windows or doors in the room below, but I can’t think straight. My mind is going too fast in circles. My thoughts start mimicking the pins scattering on the floor again and I can’t seem to find my lungs and tell them to breathe.

I grip the sides of my head around a headache that’s been lurking around the edges of my subconscious, hoping the pressure of my hands will ease the ache. And when my eyes fly back open, suddenly I’m not hurting anymore. I pull my shoulders back and slowly breathe in, checking for any sharp aches or any pain. I mean, other than my heart, or the spot where it used to beat, I’m not hurting anymore.

‘Cause I’m pissed, and I allow that fury and that anger to swell inside me. And when the adrenaline is pumping fast enough through my veins and I can hear the blood whooshing past my ears, I stop cutting old scars across my heart with the painful memories I keep in my arsenal so that by the time I feel so pissed, I’m so angry and my tumultuous thoughts are the only thing fueling me, I might as well be ten foot tall and fucking bulletproof.

I glance around the room after making my way back to the wooden chair Ben was sitting on when I awoke. And my thoughts are like little fast moving molecules. Only the faster they get...the more they seem to almost...still. So I focus my attention on that stillness, instead of my racing thoughts.

“I’m not worried,” I tell the both of them honestly, in a calm tone. ‘Cause I don’t have to lie my way through this. Not anymore. I’m suddenly aware of a very few, but very
certain
things. One being I’m not going to be forgotten about. Jacques’ SOS brothers were there. They saw Ben take me. And 'King' was already there. Even Dreads said so on our way downstairs before all hell broke loose. So as soon as the stuff with Jacques is figured out, they’ll remember me. They’ve fucking got to. “As far as I’m concerned, I have all the time in the world.” After settling my weight evenly in the chair, I lean back. And when my eyes narrow on Ben’s across the room, I throw out the only card I’ve got. And even now, I know it’s probably a shit hand. But it’s the last one I have up my sleeve. “You can’t afford to kill me, Ben. You need a hostage. The first my father hears about me, he’s coming. He already knew, before the meeting you tried to sabotage. He just hadn’t been told I was his daughter yet. But he will be told. Oh, he will be.”

I barely notice it’s
my
dark sinister chuckle when I hear it echo back to me in the small space as I look from Ben to Roxy. I also hadn’t realized how quiet it’d gotten as I spoke. My harsh tone strikes out again...almost startling even me. “Whoever killed my sister will die. At my hands. And that’s if the both of you live when my pops finds out he has a daughter. I’ve done my homework. Have you? I don’t think you paid attention then, ‘cause 'King' O’Malley is about one thing after his MC. And that’s family. Who just so happens to be me. Only me, aside from one nephew since his mother’s—my grandmother’s—passing. You two are fucked. If you aren’t dead by the time he gets done with you, chances are you will be once the NYC chapter of SOS figures out this one’s bullshit.” I nod, motioning towards Rox, and tell them both truthfully.

I can’t think about my sister right now. I can’t mourn the loss of her. Not yet. As much as it hurts the old scars around my hurt. I can’t mourn Eden. Not yet.

Besides, I’ll need that fuel for another day.

I glance around the room slowly. And when my eyes land on Roxy’s, I can’t help it.

It’s like, I see Jacques in my head do it, and so I do it.
I smirk before winking at the bitch, completely pulling off the badass loner girl act I’m shooting for. “Roxy? Bell? That’s your name, right?” I snicker and I mean for it sound every bit as snarky as it does. “I don’t know what to tell you, sweetheart. For someone who didn’t want a lot of people killed, you sure are standing there with a lot of blood on your hands.” I shake my head and glance down. And it’s then that I see my cross.
His cross
. And I don’t know how it got here, but it’s here. And it just became my saving fucking grace. I slide the toe of my navy Chuck over it, trying to keep it concealed. Suddenly its guarded position takes precedence over my very own. And when I look back up at Roxy, I keep my thoughts on that anger. On that fire burning deep within me; the one that’s keeping me going. The only thing that’s keeping me going. And it mirrors a sunburn but from the inside, it’s tight and taut, making me feel stretched.

I burn my gaze into Roxy’s, and growl my words at her. ‘Cause I’m still pissed. Above all, I’m still more than pissed. And that feels better right now than feeling the hurt. “If I were you, I’d stop giving me the evil eye and start fighting with him.” I nod towards Ben standing beside her. “And try to finish the job you started on the Blakeney girls when you killed Eden and the little niece or nephew of mine she carried. My last name may be O’Malley, but I’m still my momma’s daughter. And I’m still my grams’ kid.” I mutter the words from the bottom of my heart. The only words I know for certain. Other than these two are fucked—my fate aside.