Present
Slamming the locker door closed, I stuffed my clothes into my duffel bag and zipped it shut. It was late, the gym was empty, and I walked out of the locker room not feeling as exhausted as I’d hoped.
After another workout and another shower, I was still far too awake at ten-thirty at night.
Leaving the locker room, I walked down the hall to the office, grabbed my phone off the desk, and locked the door. Everyone was gone by now, the rest of the place quiet and dark.
My phone rang.
Looking down, I saw my mother’s number.
My shoulders fell a little, but I knew she’d be calling. I cancelled on showing up for dinner tonight.
I loved my parents, but I really envied Michael’s parents’ no-hands approach sometimes.
I brought the phone to my ear. “You’re up late.”
“I’m trying to not sleep,” she chirped. “It seems to work well for my son.”
I laughed to myself, walking around the lobby and making sure the computers were shut down.
“Are you calling to bust my chops?” I asked her.
“Maybe.”
“I’m sorry, okay?” I walked toward the front door. “I should’ve been there tonight.”
I made it home on Sundays for breakfast and to train with my father, so it wasn’t like I never saw them. I just found it hard to force myself to be there any more than that when I could still feel his disappointment from across the table.
“Is Dad angry?”
“No,” she replied. “He’s just…”
I nodded. “Disappointed. I know.”
My mother was silent, because even she knew it was true. We’d gone round and round, and while my father rarely yelled at me, his silence was harder to take.
“I marinated a couple extra steaks,” she sing-songed. “They’re waiting for you if you want to come home tomorrow.”
“Maybe.”
Which meant I would see her Sunday, as usual.
“You’re doing well,” she told me. “And he sees it. He loves you, Kai.”
“Yeah, I know.” In theory.
If I died, he’d mourn me. I knew that. I doubted anything else would bring us out of this stalemate we’d found ourselves in since I got arrested all those years ago, though.
“I’ll see you soon, okay?” I punched the code into the keypad and opened the front door, walking through and locking it.
“I love you,” she said quietly, but those three words have so many more things she wasn’t saying. I hated that I’d ever made my mother cry.
“Love you, too,” I replied and hung up the phone.
Sliding it into my pocket, I turned around and glanced up at The Pope. If I didn’t find Damon, the shit was going to hit the fan again, and I’d probably never be able to look my father in the eye.
Walking toward the alley around the corner, I spotted Banks leaned up against the brick wall with her hands in her pockets.
“What are you doing?” I’d let her leave an hour ago.
“Waiting for my ride.”
“You don’t have a car?” I asked.
“Have you ever seen me with a car?”
I faltered. Well, no. She was always chauffeured around by those idiots.
And speak of the devil…
I looked up, seeing the same black SUV charge up to the curb, pulling to a quick stop. David and that kid—I forgot his name—sat in the front seats, shooting their eyes between Banks and me.
Whenever she called, they sure came running, didn’t they?
I walked around her and into the alley. “I’ll take you home. Get in.”
“Like I said, it’s covered,” she bit out.
I stopped, turning and meeting her eyes.
“Besides, I’m going to Thunder Bay,” she added. “I need to take care of a couple things.”
“Awesome. I’m heading there, as well.” And I turned, walking for my car and unlocking it.
I wasn’t planning on going to Thunder Bay, but I guess now I was.
And I wasn’t jealous. I just didn’t like how these guys always showed up, acting like she was still theirs.
She wasn’t, and everyone needed reminding.
I opened my car door, staring at her over the hood. “Banks.”
She stood there a moment, shooting a sideways glance at the guys and looking embarrassed. She probably wanted to argue, but she did what she was told. Walking over and opening the door, she climbed in, slammed the door, and didn’t bother putting her seatbelt on.
I shot the guys a look, seeing them scowl back at me. I almost laughed.
Backing out of my parking space, I swung the car around and sped past them, out of the alley and into the quiet street.
She didn’t say anything, and I let her be silent as I drove. I was pushing her around a lot lately, and I didn’t want that to be every interaction we had. I liked talking to her.
After Michael’s party a couple days ago, I’d stayed out of her way and let her stay out of mine, more because I was confused, rather than angry.
I was supposed to be searching for Damon. I was supposed to be cleaning up what he had on me.
But the other night, in that dark hallway at Delcour, everything came flooding back. How easy it was to engage with her, talk to her, and how much I loved those rare moments of vulnerability when she almost needed me. And wanted me.
She was such a mystery, but right now, the only truth I kept wanting was what I would get with her underneath me, between the sheets. What would her eyes look like? What words would she whisper? Where would she put her hands on me?
But she was loyal to the Torrance’s. How could I do what I needed to do and keep her?
The car cut through the night, racing across the bridge and down the dark highway toward Thunder Bay with the headlights shining ahead. I drew in a thick breath, everything suddenly feeling so heavy inside the car.
My skin buzzed with the feel of her next to me.
I glanced over, seeing her staring out the window, her back straight, and her hands in her lap. Slowly, though, she started to run them up and down her thighs, and I noticed how deep her breaths were growing.
She turned her head to the front again, and I noticed the quick glance out of the corner of her eye. She folded her lips between her teeth.
I turned my eyes back on the road, holding back my smile. “You’re real good at self-control, aren’t you, kid?” I kept my tone calm. “Do you want to say something to me? I can feel the weight of it. You may as well go ahead.”
But she remained quiet as I knew she would. I put my elbow on the door and ran my fingers over my lips. How do you play with someone who doesn’t engage?
And then I got an idea.
“So, what is she like?” I asked.
Her eyebrows pinched together. “Who?”
“Vanessa.”
She turned her eyes back out the passenger-side window, sighing impatiently. “Like she’s going to look real good bouncing up and down on top of you on your wedding night.”
I squeezed the steering wheel, grinding it in my fist. Such a fucking brat.
“So, you’ve never talked to her, then?” I pressed.
I wanted her to be jealous.
“A couple times,” she answered. “And she once paid a boy to grab my breasts at a party when we were fifteen. Damon tied him to a tree for that and stuffed his snake, Volos, down his underwear. The kid screamed like a bitch.”
I snorted.
And then my face fell, hating that, for a moment, I missed Damon. I didn’t like hearing someone attacked Banks, but for some reason, I was appeased, knowing he avenged her. That was unlike him.
Why was he so attached to her?
But then again, I was fast becoming attached myself. For reasons I couldn’t even try to understand right now.
“I talked to Michael today,” I told her, changing the subject as I stared out the front windshield. “He said you threatened him at The Pope. After he grabbed you and pinned you to a wall to threaten you.”
I couldn’t resist feeling amused at the picture in my head.
“You told him that we are vulnerable and unfocused?” I smiled at her, rounding a soft turn. “He actually seemed concerned, like you had a point.”
Her eyebrows dug in deeper, clearly trying to ignore my attempts as conversation.
“You know, the last time I saw you, six years ago, you were timid and innocent. The type of girl who would flinch at a light breeze.” I let out a long breath, wondering if that girl was still inside her somewhere. “Now, it’s like even a sip of water is calculated. And the next nineteen moves after it.”
I could feel her tensing next to me.
“A couple years after that Devil’s Night, Rika tagged along with us on one,” I told her, but I suspected she already knew all about that. “She reminded me so much of you that night. Just learning about what it was that excited her. Just starting to put that first step over the line that she craved to cross so much. You’re both so much alike.”
Rika had reminded me of Banks that night. Someone I could be drawn to. Someone who would go down the rabbit hole with me. I had my friends, but it wasn’t the same.
“Except for the control. Rika reacts from the gut,” I added, licking my lips. “She wants what she wants, and she takes it.”
Banks turned her eyes back out the window, acting like I wasn’t here.
“But growing up, she, too, was very different.” I steered the car around a soft right turn. “When we’re young, we are who we are out of necessity—we are who we’re taught to be. With freedom, though, comes the liberty to broaden our horizons. When we only have ourselves to answer to,” I said and glanced at her again. “You haven’t gotten that freedom yet, have you? Why? Do people hurt you if you step out of line? Does Gabriel hurt you when you misbehave or speak out of turn? Did Damon hurt you?” I kept prodding, hoping I’d exhaust her.
She drew in a hard breath and faced the front again, clearing her throat. “You and Michael can start by curbing Will’s destructive habits. They’ve gotten worse since Damon left,” she said, ignoring all my questions. “He’s depressed. You need to give him something to do. Lots of things, actually, so he has no time to think. Give him a purpose.”
I raised my eyebrows. I wasn’t annoyed she’d changed the subject back to her discussion with Michael. She was talking, after all.
I thought about what she said. Will was hardly ever sober and that made him weak and an easy target. Maybe she was right. After all, I was functioning better than Will, and maybe it was just due to the fact that I kept really busy, so I didn’t dwell on the past.
The car grew quiet again, and I caught sight of her hands, running up and down her thighs once more. I reached up and turned on the heat—low level—just in case she was cold.
The glow from the dash cast just enough light to make out her jaw, her nose, and a strip of the skin on her neck. I squeezed the wheel again, my body charged with new energy. Too much pent-up energy.
It had been a while since I’d been with anyone.
Maybe I should let you hunt me, too.
I blinked, trying to derail the heat coursing through me. She had too much of my interest, and I didn’t need the distraction. There were other women to play with. Hell, Alex had given me her card like fifteen times. She was ready to go if I ever decided I wanted her.
A small sound broke the silence, and I realized it was Banks. Her stomach had growled. I glanced at the clock on the dash, seeing it was after eleven.
“When was the last time you ate?” I asked her.
But she didn’t answer.
“I’ve never seen you eat, actually.” I kept glancing at the road but back to her, too.
“I think everyone could say the same for you.”
True. I kept strange hours, so I did things at my own pace.
But I couldn’t ignore the dull ache in my own stomach, either. After meetings earlier, I’d been busy with payroll and making calls. I’d forgotten to eat.
“You’re right,” I said, swerving to catch the fork in the road. “And I’m starved. What do you like to eat?”
“I’d like to go home.”
Yeah. I’m sure you would.
“No problem,” I replied.
“I meant my home,” she bit out a half hour later, annoyed.
I laughed under my breath, walking past her as she stayed rooted next to a wall in my parents’ dining room.
Instead of taking her back to Gabriel’s, I’d brought her to my house. Or my parents’ house, anyway. My mom and dad—both upstairs sleeping and oblivious that we were down here—still lived in Thunder Bay, as did Michael and Will’s parents, and of course, Damon’s father.
I carried plates to the long, wooden table, shining with the soft light of the wrought-iron chandelier hanging above. Despite my father’s love of the traditional Japanese style of decorating, my mother won and furnished our house with lots of dark wood, carpets, paintings, and colors.
But she also aimed to please him. There were wonderful views of our property and plenty of natural light entering the house.
I set down two plates and napkin rolls with silverware.
“This is the best restaurant in town,” I told her, tossing a bottle of water to her that I’d carried under my arm. “Sit.”
But she just crossed her arms over her chest, water bottle tucked underneath, and looked away, ignoring me. “Can I leave now?”
I yanked out my chair. “I know you’re hungry.”
Her eyes drifted to the plate but quickly looked away again.
Unrolling my napkin, I sat down and grabbed the fork and knife inside, starting to cut one of the filet mignons my mom said would be waiting in the refrigerator.
She remained on the wall, and I dropped my elbows, losing my patience. “Sit.”
She waited about three seconds, just to piss me off probably, but she finally yanked out the chair and dropped her ass in it.
After setting the bottle of water down, she promptly crossed her arms again. “I don’t like steak.”
Yeah, okay. Whatever.
I decided not to fight her on it.
Even though I knew she was lying. It was an excuse, so she wouldn’t have to be cordial for a meal with me.
I mean, who the hell didn’t like steak? Unless she was a vegetarian, and no offense, but I got the impression she grew up eating whatever she was given. And more often than not, that was probably McDonald’s and other peoples’ leftovers rather than organic broccoli and fucking almond milk.
I dropped my eyes, looking at the plate holding the food. Baby potatoes, green beans, and a thick chuck of steak that I knew would cut like butter.
I was suddenly lost in thought. We were probably more alike than she thought.
I set my knife and fork down, my stomach groaning at the smell of the charred edges I loved on my meat.
“When I was little,” I told her, leaning back in my chair, “we lived in this crappy, two-bedroom apartment in the city.” I drifted back there in my mind, trying to remember every detail. “The holes on my bedroom walls were so deep, you could smell the weed our neighbors were smoking and the curry the lady upstairs was cooking.”
I stared off at the tablecloth, remembering the flights of stairs we climbed every day, my poor mom with me in tow.
“My mom did her best to make it nice, though,” I said, remembering my scratchy drawings she decorated the walls with. “She was really good with money and making a little go a long way.”
Banks remained quiet.
“My dad was finishing school and working all the time, so he was barely ever home,” I explained. “I ate mac and cheese so much, I never asked what was for dinner. Not that I cared. Mac and cheese is awesome.” I gave a half-smile. “But my mom would do her best to make it all gourmet and shit. Pile it over some bread and add a sprig of parsley.”
I don’t think I’ve had mac and cheese since we left that apartment, now that I think about it.
“I remember one night—I was like, five—my dad came home,” I continued, my voice quiet like I was talking to myself. “And I’d already eaten. Mac and cheese, of course. I was sitting, watching TV, and she put a steak in front of him at the kitchen table. I still remember hearing it sizzle on the plate. The way the butter it had sautéed in smelled. He was livid.”
I remember him looking up at her from his chair, this mix of anger and confusion. My father had been used to doing without. He grew up poor. But my mother hadn’t. She came from a wealthy family and left a rich fiancé forced on her in order to marry my father. She was disowned. My grandparents had still never met me.
“’How could you waste the money?’” I repeated my father’s words to her in his stern voice. “‘If my family doesn’t eat steak, then I don’t eat steak.’ But my mother said that important men eat steak, and she didn’t want my father to forget that he was an important man.”
I raised my eyes, forcing a smile as I looked into her eyes. “Instead, he became a great man, and now we can have steak any time we want.” I dropped my gaze, mumbling under my breath as I absently nudged the plate away. “I don’t even need to be important.”
I wasn’t important.
Not yet.
My father worked his ass off to give my mother back everything she sacrificed in choosing him, and how did I repay him? I fucked around, driving cars he paid for and eating anything I wanted, no matter the cost. I didn’t earn a damn thing.
I was nothing in the shadow of what he’d accomplished.
I took my trust fund after I got out last year, invested a lot of it, and tried to make something of myself, but the black cloud of being labeled a criminal still hung over me. I could always see it in his eyes. I’d never be able to erase the shame.
My eyes stung, and I blinked, looking away. I didn’t deserve to be at this table, let alone eating his fucking meat.
But then I saw her move. I looked up just enough to see her unroll her napkin, taking out her silverware. Slowly, I watched as she cut into the meat, slicing off a piece, and timidly put it into her mouth.
She chewed softly and then suddenly squeezed her eyes shut, putting her hand to her mouth.
My body warmed. “Is it good?” I asked quietly.
She opened her eyes again and nodded, letting out a small whimper.
My shoulders relaxed, and I watched her take another bite, this one faster. I smiled.
My mother’s homemade marinade was fantastic, but I’m pretty good at cooking it just right, too.
I looked at my own plate and pulled it forward again, picking back up my knife and fork.
“Well, I’m glad I could change your mind about steak,” I said, cutting back into my own.
She swallowed. “I’ve actually never eaten steak.”
I took a bite of the tender meat, the juices sending my taste buds on a high. “Ever?”
She shrugged one shoulder, looking away as she chewed another bite.
“What do you usually like to eat?”
She sliced into the steak again, making short work of it. She must be hungry. “Eggs, toast…” she told me. “That kind of thing.”
“Can’t be that filling.”
But she just looked away again, ignoring my prompt for more info. I let my gaze drop to her hands. A thin line of black smudge lay under her nails, and the black jacket she wore was frayed at the cuffs. Eggs and toast, huh? I got the sneaking suspicion that was all she could afford, goddammit. What did Gabriel pay her?
Well, I guess that was on me now, wasn’t it? I’d sort something out tomorrow, then.
“You never used to wear those gloves,” I pointed out, gesturing to the leather, fingerless gloves she wore. “Is there a reason now?”
“So I don’t tear my knuckles when I hit you.” She stuffed another bite of food into her mouth.
My chest rumbled with a laugh I held in. Hey, I might let her get in a punch. She wouldn’t win, though.
She downed the steak, green beans, and most of the potatoes, finally opening her bottle of water and taking a long drink.
She looked…satisfied, oddly enough.
I don’t know why, but it felt good to feed her. She wasn’t the kind of person to let others do things for her, so this was going to be a rarity. I may as well enjoy it.
She took another long gulp and capped the bottle, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.
I finished a few more bites while she sat quietly, fiddling with the napkin on the table.
And then she finally spoke up, breaking the silence. “I don’t know where he is.” She raised her resolute eyes, meeting mine. “And if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
She wasn’t trying to be difficult. Just honest and straight with me, and I turned her words over in my head, finally nodding.
I brought the napkin up and wiped off my mouth, setting it back down and holding her gaze. “I understand. I’m still not letting you go, though.”
