Thorn: Carter Kids #2 (5 page)

YESTERDAY HAD BEEN ONE
of the lower points in my life.

Having Kyle Carter tear strips out of me, and hashing up my personal life in front of a roomful of people was something I didn’t care to experience
ever
again.

Even though a small part of me understood where he had been coming from, I was still feeling hurt and hugely resentful.

When I woke up this morning with a stuffy nose and puffy eyelids, I had decided I needed to take control of my life. It was because of the emotions that had poured out of me last night that I found myself lying on my stomach, as a tattoo artist drew on my body with needles.

I welcomed it the throbbing burn as the needle penetrated my flesh. This tattoo was a symbol of my freedom, and a warning of how close I had come to destruction.

Noah Messina was bad for me – he was treacherous.

I needed to remember that, and this tattoo would be the perfect reminder.

I wouldn’t cry over him again.

It was pathetic and I was
not
.

Not another damn tear would I shed.

WHEN I ARRIVED BACK
to the Harte’s home later that evening, I spent a good twenty minutes standing in front of the bathroom mirror, ogling my back.

Getting a tattoo was so unlike me.

It felt sort of surreal.

“What the hell have you done to your body?” Hope’s yelp of outrage quickly turned into a squeal of excitement when she rushed into the bathroom for a closer examination. “Oh my god, Teegs, it’s huge.” She trailed her fingers over the black lettering that trailed in a vertical line down the entire length of my back.

“Ouch, Hope, don’t freaking touch it,” I groaned, flinching from Hope’s touch.

“Why did you do that, Teegs?” Hope asked me in a voice full of concern.

Letting my loose t-shirt drop back down and cover my back, I spun around and faced my friend. “I needed a reminder,” was all I replied and it was the truth.

“Of Noah,” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” I croaked out, forcing down the turbulence of emotions threatening to spill out. “Of Noah.”

I WASN’T SURPRISED
when the judge passed my sentence.

I didn’t bat an eyelid.

I just stood slowly, with my hands in chains, and let the officers lead me away.

I purposefully ignored every damn person in the courtroom.

I didn’t care anymore.

To the outside world, I was emotionless.

Inside, I was dead.

My one consolation lay in the knowledge that George Dennis was gone.

Fucker had a stroke three days ago and never pulled through.

That piece of news was the only good thing that had come out of his daughter’s mouth during her visit the other day. I had thought Ellie wanted to visit to gloat, or pass on a message from her father. When she cried over her dead daddy and apologized and then cried some more, I felt something break free inside of me. It was like the shackles that had held me down for so many years had been torn off.

George’s son and right-hand man JD was still out there somewhere. He’d managed to escape arrest that night, but with father dead, and his gang either in prison or in hiding, he was weakened. I knew JD wouldn’t forget about me, not by a long shot, but right now I was taking one small victory at a time.

I would sleep soundly tonight because the grudge I had feared George was holding had died with him.

The man who knew my weakness was dead.

And my Thorn was safe.

THE REMAINDER OF SPRING
passed in a hazy blur, and by the time summer arrived, Hope and I were settling back into the Irish culture and lifestyle. We had found ourselves a nice little bedsit close to Salt Hill where we had lived contently for the past three months, but one visit from Hope’s parents last week, and it was decided that our living quarters weren’t close to being good enough for their only daughter.

Mr. Carter made a few phone calls and one night’s packing and a four-hour drive later we found ourselves standing in the swankiest bachelorette pad
ever
in the Rebel County.

I wasn’t friends with Hope for the money, but the fact that her dad was loaded with cash didn’t hurt. Personally, I would have preferred to stay in Galway, but I was homeless and the Carter’s had the money, so it was their call.

“I can’t believe you actually own this place,” I told my best friend as I unpacked a box of towels. “This is insane.” It wasn’t a huge apartment– two bedrooms, with one bathroom and a kitchen/lounge – but it was beautiful and in a really safe part of the city. This place made our bedsit look like a cow shed. “Most nineteen year old girls get hair straighteners for their birthday, Hope.
You
get a property.”

“You know what my father says,” Hope huffed as she balanced a gigantic box against her thigh, lowering it onto our brand new coffee table, matching our brand new L shaped couch. “Rent money is dead money.” Dropping the box on the table, Hope stretched her back and let out a sigh. “This isn’t a freebie, Teegs, and I’m not accepting this place as a birthday gift either. I’ll pay him back.”

“I don’t think he minds, Hope,” I assured her, holding back on the sarcasm. Being in debt to her dad was a touchy subject for Hope. She hated getting handouts. For a daddy’s girl, she was unusually independent and incredibly self-sufficient.

“I mind, Teagan,” Hope shot back, “I…”

Hope’s phone went off and she dropped everything she was doing before bolting down the hallway towards her bedroom.

Of course, I knew why she was rushing to get to the phone. It was the same reason Mr. and Mrs. Carter had flown back to the states instead of helping us move.

Noah was being sentenced today.

When I thought about Noah locked away in some shitty penitentiary half way across the world my chest squeezed so tightly I could barely draw a breath.

A huge chunk of me wanted to board the next flight just to be there for him, to support him and love him; but then I remembered what he had done to me and I shut those feelings down. I couldn’t feel sorry for him, it would break me, and I couldn’t cry for him because if I did, if I let myself mourn, I would never stop.