The Hunted (20 page)

“He loved her.” I send spit flying into his face.

“Argo, come take care of her. I think I’d like to watch the lights fade out of her eyes as you do it.”

“I know love you don’t, so fuck off.”

I clench my eyes shut when the body heat flowing off of Argo hits my entrance. I refuse to scream or cry giving these sick fucks any type of kicks. I hear Argo’s phone going off, snapping pictures of him sinking into me. Numb, I’m numb and will myself to stay that way as he pumps into me.

“Step the fuck away from her.” I turn to the side when I hear Van’s voice. He’s at the bottom of the steps with a gun pointed at Argo and his dad.

His dad pulls a blade from his pocket, setting it right over my throat. “Welcome home, son. Knew you’d be up for a good fight all in the name of love.”

“Get the fuck away from her now.” Venom sprays from his voice.

I stare at his eyes, memorizing every single one of his features and willing myself back to a time when he had me wrapped in his arms and was making sweet love to me.

“Put down the gun, Van.” Police officers trail down the stairs behind him. “Put down the knife, Officer Hollis.”

I find my courage. “Help, they’ve kidnapped me and killed my best friends. Argo killed them.”

The knife’s sharp blade sinks down into my skin. I feel it serrate my skin and blood runs down the sides of my neck.

“I’ll hunt you two down in hell when we meet again,” Van hollers and pulls the trigger.

The knife falls from my neck as his dad tumbles to the ground. The next shot I hear causes Argo to fall forward, onto me.

“I love you, Bay, but can’t live knowing I let them hurt you.”

The third shot happens when Van turns the gun onto himself and fires.

D
ear Journal
,

I fucking hate life. Everything is black and white, and I like it that way. I’m never painting again, so just tell my mom to politely fuck off. Being raped wasn’t pleasant. Seeing my two friends murdered was super awful leaving the rest of my fuck ups in life quite minor.

Van has been in prison for six months and has to serve seven more. He’s sent back every single one of my letters and refuses my visits each fucking Sunday. This is the fifth therapist I’ve been forced to see and probably the tenth touchy feely journal entry I’ve been forced to write.

Watching the love of my life turn a gun on himself is something I’ll never get over. His body lying in the same pools of blood as his fucking family was evil. I’m only thankful for the officer who tried stopping Van, only allowing the bullet to shatter his shoulder. There’s my feelings, so let’s wrap this shit up with a big ol’ golden sticker and move the fuck on.

Love,

Basil

P.S. It’s bullshit to get time for killing evil men, especially when one of them had his dick in me. He was protecting me.

“Wow, you’re most sarcastic one to date, Bay, we are making progress here.” Dr. Oliver slides my notebook onto the top his cherry wood desk.

“Is my time up?” I tap the top of his desk.

“Yes, this is your last session.” He rises from his chair. “You’re free to go, Bay.”

“But what?” I counter, knowing a but is coming.

“Go on and live out your misery.”

I flip him the bird and then slam his office door, rattling the certificates hanging on his fucking wall. Promises, promises they just set me free. I’d promised my mother one last counseling session before I leave. I’m going back to the city that destroyed me, enrolling in art school, and waiting for Van. He may not answer my letters and he may refuse my visits, but I’ll never give up on him. The fucker owes me an explanation.

B
est laid plans
that never happen. I end up in one of Stew’s duplexes, working the night shift at his bar to keep my mind from wandering, and I’m back at the same art gallery. My soul is empty and my heart is angry at the world and the way shit happens. I finally picked up a paintbrush a few weeks back, painting out my emotions. I let the heartache of losing Ivy flow out and even let myself grieve for Gannon.

I want Van back in my life and wouldn’t change a thing that happened. It sounds incredibly selfish and sadistic, but I need him. He saved me, and I’m not just talking about my life when a knife was held to it. Van saved me far before that–when life was attempting to swallow me whole with its nasty ways. He walked me home, held my hand, and cooked me dinner. I pray every night that he’ll end up being able to let me love him again.

“You’ve got to move on, kid.” I look up to Stew from Van’s old barstool and finish my drink in one gulp. My life has gone from wine to stiff whiskey on ice.

“I’m waiting for him.”

“He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

“What if he’s never ready? He’ll blame himself and go to even darker places to punish himself. It’s the only way he knows how to do shit.”

“Gotta let him go.”

“Never. He gets out in three weeks and I plan to be standing at those damn gates just showing him how much he is loved.”

“And if he doesn’t talk to you?” Stew places his elbows on the bar, studying me.

“I’ll claw his fucking eyeballs out until he does.” I laugh at my own comment. Even in the darkest times laughter can lighten the mood and may be my only saving grace in this moment.

“Good luck, girl. I’ll be here for you.” He stands upright and turns to limp away. “Oh, when is your art shit show?”

“Ha, very funny, old man, tomorrow night. I’m heading there to finish my piece.”

It’s been the first full piece I’ve finished. I’ve started so many times to only turn my back on it not feeling it.

“Bye.”

I head out back and roar Van’s black Challenger to life and speed down the roads, driving just like him. Some days, I swear his scent hits me and nearly brings me to tears.

The gallery is empty with all the other artist’s pieces already hanging in the showroom. I remove the canvas from mine and feel all my worries and insecurities assault me. It’s an abstract collage of us with different colors and marred shapes bleeding together. It’s dark with lots of streaming blood flowing throughout. Ivy and Gannon’s names are hidden in the piece along with my shattered heart strewn everywhere on the canvas.

It only needs one more thing to make it complete … my happy ending. In the dead center of the canvas lies a perfect blank circle with the outer mess seeping into its line. I make the perfect outline of a heart and then begin painting the Big Bad Wolf in the center. I even sketched out a cigarette dangling from his lips. The wolf’s eyes are a piercing blue and the background of the circle a vibrant yellow. He’s my sunshine.

I look down to my phone to see it’s way past one in the morning and back up to my painting to see the final masterpiece. It’s us. Silent tears stream down my cheeks as I pray to anyone who will listen to bring Van back to me. It’s been a long fucking year and I need him. It’s time for us to run away finally.

I will be at those gates when he steps out.

T
he auction is flowing nicely
and some of the prices have nearly made me pass out. It’s my first one and the prices are intense, along with the bidding ferocious. They’ve taken a slight break allowing the customers to gaze the next lot.

My heart pounds in my chest watching some people walk past my piece while others stop. I try to read what they’re thinking, but as one man stands in front of it shaking his head, it makes me physically ill. I race down the hall to the nearest bathroom and lock myself in it. Splashing cold water on my face, I try to make the nerves and anxiety fade away.

When I look back up into the mirror, my short and out of control curly hair sprays in every direction. I cut it all off one morning in my mom’s bathroom. I was sick of seeing the long curls that Van loved playing with so much and grew physically ill when looking in the mirror at my reflection. I always saw the girl who Van loved. I’ve kept it short since, never allowing it to touch my shoulders.

My hand reaches up to cover the long scar across my neck. It pains my fingers every single time I run them over it.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

A pounding on the door startles me, so I wipe the remaining droplets from my face, straighten my pencil skirt, and open it. I’m face to face with Brenda, Z’s wife.

“Hi, Bay.” She waves to me.

“Um…”

“Probably the last person you’d thought you’d see here, huh?”

I clear my throat and try to think clearly. “Eh, no. Nice to see you.”

“I am a lover of art and told Z it was time for a proper date,” she says with a wide smile. “How have you been?”

“Okay.”

“Good to hear, my dear.” She pats my shoulder as she walks past me into the bathroom.

What in the fuck?

I have to focus on the task ahead and not figure out why in the hell she’d be here. Hell, maybe she’s a regular at these auctions for all I know. I take my place with the rest of the artists whose pieces are going to be auctioned off in the final lot. Nerves officially kick in, screaming at me that I have no right to be here. I’m no fucking artist. I’m just a girl who likes to paint. A broken girl who likes to paint and has no schooling or future at this point.

“Walk.” The man behind me nudges me down the aisle.

I scan the crowd and notice Z. Brenda can pass as fitting in, Z, on the other hand, looks like a fish out of water in the crowd with his leather cut on and no shirt under it. I focus forward again and follow the line of artists to the row of chairs near the auctioneer block. They face the crowd, and it’s when I sit down that I feel like I’m going to pass out.

The heat streaming down from the lights causes sweat beads to roll down my forehead combined with the anxiety eating my bones alive and making my vision go in and then out. Soon the auctioneer begins introducing a piece and auctioning it off. I remain focused on the tip of my stiletto and his soothing voice as he sings out prices.

Lot by lot, pieces sell ranging from a hundred dollars to a few grand. I feel sweat roll down my back, soaking my silk shirt and fight to remain calm when all I want to do is run and hide. Having my piece sold is like ripping the flesh from my skeleton. Each muscle fiber being shredded painstakingly at a time from my bone and flesh exposing my helpless soul.

“And for our final piece.”

Oh, my God, I didn’t even hear mine go.

My gaze flares up as three men clothed in suits stroll down the aisle holding my piece. It’s one of the larger canvases in the auction because it took that much space to tell our love story. Their hands covered in white silk gloves as they prance the rest of the way.

“And for our final piece tonight titled
The Hunted
by our very own Ms. Bay. The inscription on the back reads…

He’s supposed to be scary, wicked, venomous…

The bad one

He has scars to prove it

Some search for a love like it, but he found me

Left scars on my heart that will forever taint my soul

He’s my Big Bad Wolf and now The Hunted my heart will forever search

I’ll give you a moment to soak in the words and this remarkable piece.”

The crowd grows silent with all eyes on my piece. It feels like everyone in the room is analyzing Van and me from the inside out. Immediately, I regret ever pouring my heart and soul out on that canvas and before I can protest, the bidding begins.

The auctioneer sings out the numbers so rapidly my head swirls and swims trying to keep up. The bidding slows down and then there’s a dead silence that bathes the whole audience. I scan the crowd frantically trying to figure out what’s going on. Loud footsteps walking in the gallery distract me. I look up to a new bidder holding up his sign. It’s Van.

His face is hollowed out, muscles more defined, but in a black hoodie with his snapback hat on backwards. We lock eyes, and it’s like the first time we ever saw each other. My fingers clutch to the sides of the metal chair below me.

“We have a new bidder amongst us,” the auctioneer announces and then begins calling out prices again.

Van holds his sign up each time someone tries to bid against him. I lose track at eight thousand. It’s sheer fucking torture to remain seated with him twenty feet away from me. The longer the bidding goes the more emotion pours from me. Tears streak down my face and I find it hard to breathe. The oxygen supply in the room grows non-existent, forcing me to inhale large gulps of air.

“The Hunted goes to buyer number one thousand, eight hundred for ten thousand dollars. Auction is closed.”

“The hunt is over,” Van announces.

The entire crowd turns to him, and I move with reckless abandon. The sound of my heels clicking on the ground fill the air while Van takes long steps towards me.

“You’re mine,” Van lifts me from the ground, holding me to his chest.

“I’m yours.” I clutch his face in my hands. “Is this really happening?”

“Your Big Bad Wolf is back and needs a cup of sugar, Junior.”

“
I
’m serious
, Mom, keep your boobs in today.” I throw the dishtowel in her direction. “It’s my wedding day.”

“Oh, Bay, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Not in your titties.”

“I have one dirt blessing ceremony I want to do before your wedding but everything will be covered.”

I roll my eyes and don’t even attempt to ask what kind of damn hippy Earth shit a dirt blessing is. I finish shoveling the rest of the scrambled eggs from my plate into my mouth and feel the butterflies tumbling around in my belly. I’m marrying Van Hollis today, in my mom’s backyard with her friends and Van’s friends. I lost my only friend Ivy but will have a rose for her at the front with me.

“Thanks for everything, Mom.” I hug her before walking down the long hallway to my room.

I hear the roar of Van’s car pulling up front. He pouted and threw a fit when I made him stay at a hotel last night. It’s the one thing I wanted. I brush the lacy edges of my simple tank top dress as I pass it. It’s a sweet combination of lace materials that swoops down ankle length.

I close my eyes, clutching the material and thinking of the miracle of us. Van surprised me at my first auction when he walked in and swept me off my feet. He’d been at a halfway house for nearly three months receiving extreme counseling and treatment. He refused to see me or even read my letters until he was as whole as possible.

It’s something that took me time to understand. I wanted to be the one holding his hand as he healed. He stormed back into my life stronger than ever knowing exactly what he wanted and most importantly that he was worthy of true happiness.

He still has his foul mouth and works odd night jobs but carries a light heart and lets me love him without reservation. I was pissed at him at first, cussed him out and beat his chest until I got everything out. Told him the stories of my own counseling and grief. And also came to learn that Stew knew what was going on the whole time.

Van didn’t let me off the hook that easy, forcing me to go through my own treatment process for everything that happened. And of course, I fought him on it, but in the end, he drug me to the counselor and sat in on every single session. All the hatred and hurt flowed out of me knowing he was in my corner. I’m not perfect and still have nightmares of that awful night reliving each piece of it. And even find myself panicking when Van is away from me too long.

“I obeyed your rule and stayed away for one night.” Two arms wrap low around my waist, tugging me back.

“Van.” I raise my arms, intertwining them around the back of his head.

“Hey, you didn’t say anything about today.”

“Well no shit, Van, that’s a known fact.”

“My dick is sore from throbbing all night against that raw sheet.”

“You have a hand.” I giggle.

“I also have a beautiful woman.” He whirls me around in his arms, pushing me back until the back of my legs hit the mattress. Van falls over on me, attacking my neck with sweet kisses and licks.

“I have to shower, baby. Off.” I press my palms into his shoulders knowing it will do no good when my man is determined.

“Let me get you dirty first.” He sinks his teeth into my neck.

“Van,” I whine.

He snakes down my body, dragging off my tiny shorts as he sinks to his knees, dipping in between my thighs.

“You’re already wet.” He sinks two fingers inside me, stealing my breath.

“I didn’t sleep very well last night either,” I admit.

One dip of his tongue nearly throws me over the edge. I force it all back, enjoying the sensation of his tongue and fingers working in unison. He flicks the bud a couple more times before I scream out his name and ride out my orgasm.

Hoots and hollers come from the living room and I know it’s his crude friends from the MC.

“Van.” I swat his shoulders.

He lets a happy heartfelt laugh escape as he settles between my legs, entering me gently. It took us weeks before he would even touch me, and I know it was because of his brother. But with each thrust of his hips into me he’s erased away all the nasty memories, only leaving behind the best ones.

“I love you, Van.”

He buries his head in the crook of my neck, driving harder and faster than I’ve ever felt and grunts as he lets go quickly.

“Fuck, I needed that,” he growls.

“Now, wash me up so I can marry some badass stud that has stolen my heart.”

“Mmmmm.” He purrs into my hair. “Damn right, Junior.”

Van washes every inch of me with soap, water, and his own tongue taking me again under the hot water, leaving my limbs wobbly and weak.

“How am I supposed to walk down the aisle now?” I argue as he rubs the soft towel over my body.

“Thank you, Bay.”

“Huh?” I ask, slipping into a slinky thong.

“I’ve never told you thank you for waiting for me and more importantly loving me unconditionally.”

“Ah, baby.” I stand up straight and grip his cheek, rubbing my thumb over his stubble. “No thanks needed. You came back to me and healed me.”

“Out, Van, out, out.” My mom bursts in, shooing him and slapping his bare ass.

“Awkward.” I cover my eyes as Van scrambles from the room in hysterics. I swear the two love to torture me.

“Sit, I’m doing your hair. I’ve always loved your curls and now that you’ve let them grow out you’re my sweet little girl again.”

“Is that a tear in your eye, Mom?”

“No, it’s dust.”

I sit in silence letting my mom run her fingers through my hair, adding her favorite oils to it and then even let her help me get into my dress. I look at myself in the mirror. The beaming person looking back at me in her dress is stunning. My ankle length dress is a sweet combination of vintage lace and bunches of white roses scattered on the skirt. It swoops low at the neck and is utterly gorgeous. It’s not a bright white, but more of a creamy beige.

“Ready?” My mom holds her elbow out to me.

I nod and walk by her side out the door. Instead of the typical song that plays when the bride walks down the aisle we chose “Free Fallin’” by Tom Petty. It begins to boom out the speakers when my flat sandals hit the aisle. Our small group of friends all stand up and turn to see me. Van is the only person I zoom in on.

He shocks me in his black slacks, untucked short sleeve buttoned up shirt, and black bow tie. He has his favorite snapback on his head, backwards of course, and those devilish blue eyes staring back at me. His Cons are brand new white with his hands tucked in each of his pockets. He’s pure sexy waiting for me.

My mom paces us as I keep trying to quicken it to get to him sooner.

“Van, you treat her like the golden princess she is or I’ll beat your ass with a willow.”

And in my mother’s true unorthodox fashion she gives me away to my future husband, taking a seat next to the chair with a single yellow rose sitting on it.

Stew begins with a talk I know that I’m supposed to be listening to but can’t seem to pull my stare from Van. He grips my hands a bit tighter until it’s his turn to say his vows.

He clears his throat before speaking with a hint of hesitation covering his features. “I wasn’t really sure about the idea of writing our own vows, but it seems Bay has me by the balls and gets everything she wants.”

He pauses for the crowd to laugh, which they roll into quite the fit of laughter.

“I didn’t want to write my own because there are no words to express how I feel. Every morning I wake up and know there’s a better man out there for Bay. I make a promise to be better just for you, Junior. I’ll never leave your side, and I’ll work my ass off for you the rest of my life. I’ll be your better man for the rest of our days.” He leans over and kisses my cheek and when he stands back up, a single tear rolls down his cheek.

“Van has requested to play this song for Bay.” Stew announces and signals to our makeshift DJ that happens to be an MC member.

“Love Me Tender” by Elvis begins to softly play. Van wraps an arm around my waist while he hands my bouquet to my mother and then clasps my hand in his and begins to sway back and forth. He drops his forehead to mine and whispers, “I love you.”

We float in front of the crowd moving to the words. Van sings the song so softly I’m the only one who can hear it. My tears escape as he waltzes us right into our future. The emotions become so overwhelming I bury my head in his neck, not worrying about my makeup or hair. I hug his neck as tightly as possible, never wanting to let go of this moment.

The song slowly fades out, and I refuse to move, soaking up the entire moment.

“Whenever you’re ready, Bay.” I hear Stew and then feel him pat my back.

A highlight reel of everything we’ve been through plays in my mind. The first time I saw him, smelled him, his touches, and his boldness soaking into my life. His shared pain and heartache. And Van’s undying shelter of protection he’s housed me in since our eyes first locked all flood in. I tuck these memories deep away in my heart and lock it.

I finally lift my head and don’t miss the fact the song has long been over and Van has held me close, rubbing small circles on my back.

“I love you,” I whisper into his ear and then kiss his cheek.

I do my best to stand back up and face Van, but I don’t do a very good job of separating our bodies.

“Bay, your vows.”

I giggle and then wipe a tear from under my eye using the back of Van’s hand.

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to follow that.” I smile up at him and then look over to the chair opposite of my mother with the one red rose on it. It’s for Van’s mom. I pause for a moment, thanking her for sending me such an amazing and loving man.

“It was never a choice with you, Van. I couldn’t help it. I knew it from the first time I saw you. You scared me and intrigued me, and before I knew it, you were taking care of me and then making love to me. It was meant to be. You’re my story from beginning to end.” I choke up and forget the rest of my vows. I wrap one of my hands around the back of his neck, bringing his forehead to mine. “You’ll always be my Big Bad Wolf, but I’m the only one who knows the real story of how unbelievably sweet and gentle you are.”

Our lips seal with no prompting and we block out the entire world as we kiss for the first time as man and wife. We have a blank canvas before us. It will be one hell of a journey as Mrs. Van Hollis.