Burn (Brothers of Ink and Steel #2) (10 page)

Now I hate him more.

“Self-pity certainly tastes good, doesn’t it? Mmm …” he makes a face like he’s eating dessert, or maybe pussy.

“Shut. Up,” I say.

Then he throws a spoon at me. It hits me right in the head. “Ouch! Fuck!”

“WAKE UP! You knew she was coming, you felt her.”

“Goddamnit!” I find the spoon and chuck it across the room, hard. It skips across the floor. “This is my place, Talon! You can leave if you don’t like the company!”

“HA! I’ve put just as much sweat and heart into The House of Ink and Steel as you have. A name on a piece of paper is only ink on burnable tree pulp,” he challenges.

“Fine, I’ll leave you to yourself then.” I stride towards the back door of
my
tattoo and pierce shop.

“Even this place is full of her,” Talon says, just before I get out the door.

I halt in my tracks.

He continues, “The House of Ink and Steel—the brothers of ink and steel—these …”

I turn to see as he lifts the hem of his t-shirt to reveal the
“I am my brother’s keeper”
tattoo across his left rib.

Seven of us have it—me, Talon, Ryder, Josh, Chase, Connor and Reese. We were troubled kids who hated each other, forced under Cade’s roof at North House. Quinn was always trying to make us get along, but it was her near death plight that brought us together that fateful night.

Fucking-ass fate—I’d give up every one of my friendships with the brothers to have her back. I don’t give a rat’s ass if the idea is selfish, it’s the fucking truth. And I would certainly give them all up in a fucking heartbeat if it meant she didn’t have to suffer the way she did that horrible fucking nightmare night.

I feel the sting of tears pool in my eyes and blind me for a moment before they fall. Yeah, Talon is one hundred percent correct; Quinn is and always will be everywhere. And wasn’t that the argument I’d been having with myself all day?

“I don’t … I can’t …” I stammer and wring my hands together. “How do I do it—be her friend with all of this rage and hurt and unreciprocated love inside of me—without breaking?”

“No one said you wouldn’t have to break,” Talon replies in all seriousness. “Might be the only thing that’ll put the two of you back together again.”

“Two halves of a whole, she used to say,” I think out loud.

I take a quick glance at the wall clock. It’ll be dinner time at North House in a couple hours. She’ll be there. Could I handle it?

“I’ve got to run Bailey and think.”

“Remember to use your heart.”

“Yes, oh spiritual master,” I throw back over my shoulder.

“Don’t forget it,” he gets out before the door closes.

An icy wind rides up my shirt and swirls around me before I can get my coat zipped. I slide into my car and tear out of the shop’s back lot.

I drive too fast to my house near Lake Nokomis.

Thinking straight is obviously out. Every thought, every word, every memory, proves to be alive and well in my psyche. It feels like a fucking hurricane of torment with Quinn as the eye of the storm.

Can I really handle going to dinner? At North House? And have every bit of the destroyed part of me thrown in my face—like a Technicolor replay?

I pull into my driveway and stalk like an angry, frustrated animal up to the house. I’m greeted immediately by Bailey, my all black Newfoundland puppy, who at under a year old, weighs almost one hundred pounds. And try as I may, I can’t stay mad when one hundred pounds of fluff and love comes to playfully maul me.

“BAILEY!” I open my arms, and he leaps up, places his huge paws over my shoulders and licks my face in our I’m-home-hug ritual.

“Come on, boy, I bet you want to go for a run!” I grab his leash off the hook and we head off to the greenspace by the lake.

I know
what
to do; it’s the what to
say
and
how to say it
that’s stumping my pre-psychology play-through. It’s a trick all professional athletes use—you visualize the fight—the opponent, how calm and confident you feel in his presence; you imagine yourself punching and kicking; you visualize each strike hitting its mark.

This is so not the same psychology at all! I really want to speed dial my brother, Josh North—the Light Heavyweight champion of the UFC—and get into the ring with him. He’d give me the satisfying challenge I could really use right now to release these feelings and this pent up self-fucking-pity … he wouldn’t let any of that shit slide. But he’s too busy right now to pester.

I’m on the UFC fight card against Milano a month from now.

First you’re on the fight card with Quinn Kelley, in about a half an hour.

Chapter Five

October, 2004

Quinn

“Fucking snow! Not tonight.” Liam curses the sky once we get away from his foster house and tries to figure out the new and almost as bad situation we’ve been thrown into.

It feels worse than if we’d been dealing with the cold all through the night; instead, we were warm and asleep just a couple hours ago.

The wind is blowing badly, too.

“If I was alone, I’d go to Randy’s,” Liam says. “Crawl through his basement window. But if his mom found me there with a girl … not good.”

“Then, go on. I know where the bridge is!” I snap back, hurt.

“I didn’t mean it like that! I was just thinking out loud—”

“That you’d be better off without me. Trust me, I’ve heard that one, Liam.” All of a sudden the cold doesn’t bother me anymore. “You know what? Fuck this and fuck you.”

Abruptly I turn and walk the opposite way.

“Quinn!” Liam catches hold of my arm.

I scream, “Let go of my fucking arm!”

“What the fuck is your problem?” He shoves my arm down.

“You! You’re my problem!” I get in his face. “I didn’t ask you to take care of me!”

“I didn’t say you did!” he yells.

“Yeah, well, you’re acting like it!” It’s not right, and I try to stop myself—he just had his asshole foster parents try to snuff out his life and I’m going to be a bitch? “I’m not stopping you from going your own fucking way! Go to Randy’s! Maybe you can call Tina and get into her pants, and it can be like you never met me!”

Fuck! I’m going to cry. “Screw this! Screw you!” I run away from him. I’m acting like a baby, but I can’t control my freaking thoughts or mouth!

“Tina?” Liam shouts at my back. “What the fuck are you talking about? And get back here!”

“None of that would have happened with your foster parents if I hadn’t been there. You’d be sleeping in your safe, warm bed!”

“That’s ridiculous, he’s been pulling me out of that bed since I’ve been there—it was never warm or safe.”

“Look, I’m really not trying to be an immature bitch. I’m serious. You’re better off without me! You don’t owe me anything.”

“Would you just shut up? Stop talking like that! Jesus Christ! You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

“An even a better reason to go our separate ways.”

“Quinn, I don’t want to go my own way. Friends don’t do that.”

“I haven’t had many friends who
haven’t
done that. Could be I’m just a loser.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, but you are definitely not a loser! You’re anything but a loser.”

“I don’t want to be weak! This world isn’t kind to weaklings.”

“You just feel weak ’cause you’re tired and have been fucked over so many times,” he says. “You’re not weak, you’re not a loser. And what I said before about wanting a home and a family not being a dream … I was acting like a dick. They’re perfectly real dreams … and maybe I want to help you get them.”

I take a deep breath as Liam pulls me into his arms and holds me.

“Christ, you’re freezing. Now stop fucking fighting with me, I have a good idea.” He takes my bare hand in his and stuffs them both in his coat pocket.

I like it—the warmth of our skin together creates a thawing heat inside his pocket. We walk on the outskirts of the city for a while, until Liam stops in front of a 24 hour laundromat.

We go in. It’s so wonderfully warm.

And as my eyes adjust to the bright fluorescent overhead lights, Liam leads us to the back of the place, next to the cement wall.

We carefully step past a homeless guy who is lying on the floor, bundled up in a blanket.

That makes me seriously nervous. Liam catches me eyeing the guy.

“I’m here, you don’t have to worry.”

I nod then think of his back. We need to do something about those wounds before they get infected. Plus, I know he has to be in a lot of pain, even if he doesn’t want to show it.

Looking around I spy a sink.

“Take off your coat,” I tell him. “And turn around.”

He does. The blood from his wounds has soaked through his t-shirt.

“We need to clean your back.” I go to the sink and find soap and paper towels.

When I walk back over, Liam has removed his shirt and sits on the floor with his head cradled in his hands.

“It didn’t hurt until we stopped running,” he admits.

I move around him to examine his back. My heart lurches in my throat. He has horrible, swelling welts crisscrossing his back from the hose and jagged rips from the metal hose end. Gently, I clean the blood and sweat. I can feel Liam flinch, but other than that, he stays incredibly, and eerily, still and quiet.

Silent tears spill from my eyes. At this moment I hate the human race.

In the wake of such evil, it’s hard to believe in anything or anyone good.

But then I think about how Liam and I both protected each other and wonder … even if everyone else in the world is evil, maybe we can be good together.

“Thank you, Quinn.” Liam’s voice is soft and unsure.

I can’t think of a moment since I met him that he sounded
unsure
. I want to comfort him, but I don’t know the best way.

“It’s good that you had your emergency backpack ready.” I open it and pull out a fresh t-shirt for him. “You should try to get some sleep.”

“I’ve slept enough,” he says with a far off look in his eyes. “Here,” he balls up his coat and sets it in his lap. “Rest your head. By the time you wake up I’ll have figured out another arrangement.”

I think of something I want to do to comfort him, but when I play it out in my head it feels … clumsy and silly.

Forget it,
I tell myself and lay down.

I feel the weight of his arm as he lays it protectively over me.

I can’t not do it. I feel compelled. Sitting on my knees, I get face to face with him and lay my palm on his cheek. My body shakes with the action.

“I’m so sorry that they did that to you. You didn’t deserve it. And if I could take the pain from you, I would.” I slide my hand away and replace it with a soft kiss before I pull back and lay down again.

I startle awake.

“You’re okay, Quinn,” Liam’s voice reassures me. My head is still on his lap. “I’m sorry to wake you, but we need to get someplace safer before the sun comes up. The Richardsons probably called the cops.”

“Okay.” I climb to my feet, not very enthusiastic about having to go out into the cold. “How is your back?”

“Sucks, but I’ll get through it,” he says. “I found some gear in the lost and found crate.”

After I get my coat on, Liam starts shoving mismatched mittens over my hands.

“It’s too cold to go back under the bridge now, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Yeah,”—he positions a black knit hat on my head—“but there’s an old abandoned house we can get into a few miles from here.”

“We don’t have to go near …?” I ask cautiously.

“Vince’s stomping grounds? Not a chance. I’m not taking you anywhere near that fucking place!” he guarantees, remembering what I told him about my encounter with the pimp and gang leader. “We’ll lay low for the day, and when school gets out, I’ll call Randy and see if he can let us stay at his place. His mom works a lot of double shifts at the all-night diner on 3
rd
Street. She usually brings home good leftovers.”

I nod and we step out into the cold.

We get a mile into our walk, when a police car goes by on the other side of the road.

Liam carefully looks behind us once it’s past. “If we get separated, Quinn, get yourself to 411 Huron Street. No one has been living in it for the past year. Get into one of the upstairs bedrooms—stay out of sight and away from the windows. I’ll meet you when it’s safe.”

“You think they’re going to turn around.”

“I think we need to be prepared if they do.”

Adrenaline is rising through me. A moment later, we both see the blue lights reflected in the windows around us.

Liam says, “Run through Park Alley and then double back. Cut in between the houses and stay off the roads. Do you hear me?”

I nod. I don’t trust my voice.

He uses his hand to tilt my head towards him. “I promise I’ll come back for you.” I feel the pressure of his lips press over the hat as he kisses my forehead. “Run now.”

The second after I bolt, the cruiser’s sirens howl, slicing and echoing through the early morning quiet.

I run as fast as I can and as long as I can without slowing down and pray to the angel that neither of us will get caught.

I follow Liam’s instructions until I can’t hear the sirens anymore. My lungs are burning, my side is hurting and my muscles are aching when I finally have no choice but to slow my pace.

A yellow school bus picks up a group of kids waiting at a stop. I hide behind an old car and watch, burning with jealously—jealousy that I’m not one of those kids, that I won’t be going to school today or meeting Liam in the hallway for a stolen kiss next to my locker. I’m jealous that they came from their warm beds and protective parents who kissed them goodbye and told them to have a good day.

I sink into my hiding place and wait.

It’s an hour later when I turn down the alley behind Huron. 

I hang for a while, watching the house. I don’t see anything going on in it, or around it, and there are no cars in the surrounding homes’ driveways. Maybe—hopefully—everyone went to work.

Holding my breath, I move through the backyard and get to the doorway. The window on the door is shielded by a curtain, and I can’t see inside. I work the knob carefully.

“Shit!”
It’s locked!
“Now what?”

I’m at the back of the house—moving around to the side or front doesn’t seem smart. I press my eyes closed and do the only thing I can think of. I knock on the door.

I practice what I’m going to say if someone answers. “Hey, I’m wondering if you saw a black kitten? We lost her last night.” I whisper it over and over, while I coax my heart to calm down.

No one comes.

“Okay, now what do I do?” I worry the inside of my cheek. I hope to God Liam is right and the house is empty.”

I find a rock and use it to break through the glass and then reach in and turn the lock. Opening the door slowly, I put my head in first. This door goes to the kitchen, and I can see all the way through the dining room into the living room.

A big sigh of relief blows out of me.

There’s no furniture. It’s empty.

Carefully, I let myself in and close the door behind me. My heart doesn’t stop pounding for some time, and I don’t go any further, just in case someone does respond to the breaking and entering I’ve now gotten myself into.

Once I feel more secure, I walk soft-footed through the lower level. It’s cold; I watch my breath steam in front of my mouth.

I’m confident no one is here.

Luckily the water is still on in the house. First thing I do is use the bathroom; second thing I do is stick my head in the sink and drink from the faucet until my stomach hurts. There are no towels and the water is like ice, which means it tastes good, but there is no way I can wash up.

I tip-toe up the stairs. Honestly, I’m terrified. Just because the downstairs was clear doesn’t mean the upper floor is. If Liam knows about this place, who else does?

The floor creaks, and panic races up my spine, but the sound is only from my own footfalls.

The quiet is eerie, and after checking through the barren bedrooms, I curl up like a ball in the closet, in case someone else comes in from the cold.

I have nothing here to do or to entertain me. Since my mind isn’t occupied, it starts wandering to crazy shit—like when my mom was gone for days on end. How I’d be afraid and do exactly what I’m doing now. I’d pretend that she came home, what she’d say—if she’d been a good mom—how we’d bake chocolate chip cookies and she’d give me a handful of chocolate on the side. She’d hug me and kiss me on top of my head.

Liam kissed me on the top of my head.
I don’t think anyone ever has before. I don’t remember it, if they did.

Did he mean anything by it? Why would he have done it if he hadn’t? What if he doesn’t come back? What if he decides that I’m not really worth it and that it would be easier for him to go to his friend’s without me? Maybe he was hoping we’d get separated all along.

“Oh God, what if he got caught?” I whisper into the dark of the closet. Would they hurt him? Would he be in trouble for defending himself against his foster parents? Would they even believe him?

I hug my knees to my chest. The idea of Liam in cuffs at the station, or even behind bars, could be a reality! He’d be gone. They’d send him to a boys’ home, and I’d never know.