Blue Colla Make Ya Holla (13 page)

My upbringing was far different from my best friend’s. My dad is a lowlife. A drunk. A user. And, although not physically, he is an abuser. I know all too well how words can hurt.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me – if that isn’t the biggest line of bullshit we ever teach children, I don’t know what is.

When Wendol opened The Basement we immediately began offering free self-defense classes to all women. You have got to stand for something… as the saying goes…and this is what we stand for.

The Professor owes me money. He owes
House of Hope
this money so they can help a single mom of two cover her attorney costs for her custody hearing. They also have four women who are in need of scholarships for the GED program at the local community college. We have children who need clothing and women who need general physicals as they haven’t been seen by a medical professional in years.

I have had a long day on the rig and my mind is racing over last night. Why place the bet if he didn’t have the funds? I mean sure we all get desperate for money. Not paying up in this league though, that could get you entered into a death match – where the winner is the only one left alive – or get you dead at the hands of a goon. Either way, you have a low chance at being able to breathe much longer.

Pulling up to my small house, I have to blink as I see a stranger on my porch. All funds donated to the facility are done anonymously. No one knows I fight to give it to charity. House of Hope certainly doesn’t know the money comes from me. It isn’t exactly taxable income so I don’t need a donation voucher. Why is there a red headed woman on my front porch?

Parking my truck, I hop out with questions running through my mind. I am dirty, sweaty, tired, and hungry. I am not in the mood for company.

“Can I help you with something?” I ask as I approach. She stares up at me blankly. Maybe I should have started with a hello, but I didn’t. I am not one for apologies either so moving on. She doesn’t answer only continues to stare.

“You a mute?”

She shakes her head no as she looks around as if something is going to jump out and get her.

“You on drugs? You high? You lost? You drunk? Are you just plain fuckin’ nuts?”

She stands finally. Walking to me she rolls her shoulders back as if she is trying to gather some sort of courage. She looks around nervously again as if someone is watching her.

“I’m your payment.” The words come out barely above a whisper.

My head pounds. She is my what?

My question must show in my face as she repeats herself with her voice a little stronger. “I’m your payment from Professor.” She looks over my shoulder nervously.

“You are sadly mistaken. He owes me cash. Don’t take this wrong, sweets, but you are a far cry from cash.”

She tears up as she continues to glance behind me. Her hands are shaking as she tries to keep her emotions under control.

“Please,” she whispers, “please can we go inside?”

Without another word, I unlock my door. She steps inside as a car pulls around the corner and drives away. She exhales loudly and it is then I realize someone was watching her to see if I accepted.

Well, I don’t fucking accept.

LoraLeigh

‡

I
got inside. I
got inside. Step one to end my misery is a success. When Hitman approached, I froze. Doesn’t matter now, I am inside and I can’t help but exhale when I hear Joel pull away.

“Sit,” Hitman instructs from behind me.

Slowly I make my way inside his home and over to his couch. The living room screams bachelor with nothing more than a brown couch, brown recliner, and an overly large television. He has a plain wooden coffee table littered with remotes. The entertainment system is stocked with multiple gaming systems but void of any pictures.

In fact, the entire space is void of anything personal, I noticed, as I walked through the entryway and got a brief glance at the kitchen.

Sitting down, I start to think over what will happen next. How can I get through until he leaves me alone long enough to end it all?

“Who brought you here? Where are you from?” He starts to fire out questions at me. “Wait, let’s start with what is your name?”

“Annie,” I reply firmly.

He watches me in a way no one has before. His eyes tell me he doesn’t believe me.

“Annie, I’m Heath. I would say nice to meet you, but I’m rather lost for words at the moment. I’m not sure it’s nice to meet you. I’m a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.”

He runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Look sweets, I’m not trying to be a dick, but I want the money, not a girl.”

He is going to send me back. Pete’s dead if I go back. I am dead if Pete is dead. Heath gets up and leaves the room. I am alone. I am not bound. I could run. Where do I go? I have no money, no car, and I don’t even have proof of a name.

The kitchen calls to me in my desperate frame of mind. I can hear Heath in the other room talking on the phone. He is telling someone he didn’t get the money. There is a knife set on his bar. All stainless steel, very shiny, very clean, very sharp, and very much what I need.

The bite of the blade as it pierces the first layer of my epidermis is almost heavenly. The red of my blood seeps out and runs down the blade, down my small wrist, and onto his off-white laminate countertop. One line didn’t work last time, it takes too long to drain. I don’t have time. I pick up the blade, biting my lip in pain, and run another diagonal line parallel to the first. This one cuts across the scar of my last attempt.

I watch as my blood spreads across the countertop. I remove the blade and slice again. My skin tingles as the blade cuts deep. Noise behind me does nothing to distract me as I pull the knife across my wrist yet again.

Swiftly, effortlessly, the knife is out of my hand. Heath shuffles me to the sink to let my arm bleed into the basin. He grabs a towel from a drawer beside us and wraps my wrist. Firmly, he holds it in place while making a call.

“Tapper, I need Kenzy over here now. Bring her kit.”

I am dizzy from blood loss or fear, of which I am not sure. Who is Tapper? Who is Kenzy? What kind of kit? Does it really matter?

None of it does. I don’t matter and I never have to anyone. Why can’t it all just simply end?

Heath

What in the
hell have I gotten myself into now? Not only do I have some strange chick on my doorstep, but when I call Wendol to give him an update, this same chick tries to chop her hand off. Professor owes me more than money now.

Maverick ‘Tapper’ Collins and his wife MaKenzy arrive before Wendol. Kenzy is an ICU nurse and Tapper works with me on the rig. Kenzy doesn’t say a word when she sees me holding Annie’s arm in a bloody towel. She steps in and takes over.

Annie, yeah right. There was a twitch to her eye when she said her name. No way is she telling the truth. What the hell is going on here really?

I go into my bathroom and wash her blood off before I meet Tapper in the living room.

“Who the hell is that?” He questions knowing I just pulled him and his wife into some shit.

“Fuck if I know, man.”

Wendol doesn’t bother knocking and walks right in as I am getting ready to get Tapper up to speed. He takes a quick look in the kitchen before shaking his head and coming over to us.

“Legit, she’s your payment,” Wendol states like we inherited some estate from a dearly departed aunt.

“Fuck that, I want cash. The fight was for cash. The center needs the cash.”

Wendol looks over his shoulder at Annie. “Maybe she needs the center.”

“So take her there. I want no part of this, man,” I reply as my temper builds.

“Can’t,” he comes back calmly.

“What the fuck do you mean can’t?”

“Come on, Heath. We don’t know what she knows. We can’t risk exposure,” Wendol informs me.

Tapper used to fight. One too many concussions and he stopped, but he knows what I do and why I do it.

“Why not do for her what the center would?” Tapper chimes in.

“Have you lost your fuckin’ mind? I’m not equipped to handle a woman that has been through God knows what, at the hands of the criminals that bet against us and fight alongside us.”

“Keep her here for now. Let’s see what she knows. If she doesn’t know much, we take her to the center. Otherwise, we rebuild her life for her.”

Wendol makes it sound so easy. Then again, it would be easy to me too if I was leaving her with someone else.

LoraLeigh

‡

S
unlight floods my
eyelids. I blink back tears as the change in light burns. Looking around it takes me a minute to remember where I am. Heath. More specifically, Heath’s room and Heath’s bed, wearing Heath’s t-shirt.

After Kenzy stopped the bleeding and bandaged me up, he sent me here to his room for the night. Feeling overwhelmed and defeated, I fell asleep. Now he is in front of me in a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt, pouring in sweat.

“Good morning, sunshine,” He greets almost sarcastically.

Timidly, I get out of bed. Then it hits me. I am in his room. I am in his bed. He owns me. He is probably pissed I haven’t offered before. Will he hurt me? Is he going to beat on me? Will he lock me in the closet?

Before I can earn myself further punishment, I begin to pull his shirt over my head. My hands go to the band of my panties when a hand reaches out to my unbandaged wrist to stop me.

“What are you doing?” Heath asks nervously.

“Giving you your payment.”

Immediately, he drops my wrist like I am diseased. Maybe I am. I haven’t seen a doctor since I was fourteen. No one has seemed to care before. Heath, he is different though.

“No!” He barks out at me.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” I whisper.

“Nothing. Dammit, I want nothing from you because I don’t fuckin’ want you.” He paces the room running his hands through his untamed hair.

“I…I…,” I stammer. He throws his hand up to silence me.

“Get showered, get dressed, and meet me in the living room. You’re going to start your job today.”

Dread fills me. My job? What is my job?

In the shower, my wrist stings as the hot water washes over me. I wish I could hide out in here forever. I lean against the shower wall and let the water cascade aimlessly over me. If only it would wash what is left of me down with it. The water turns cold and yet I remain unmoving. Suddenly, there is a crash as the bathroom door flies open and in comes Heath. He yanks the curtain back. Grabbing the towel on the rack, he covers me and pulls me out of the shower.

Despair floods me. Desperation fills me. Dread once again consumes me.

I lay limp in his arms as he carries me to his bed. No words are shared between us. Emotions fill me that I have long suppressed. Tears run down my face that I can’t hold back. Sobs come out that I can’t push down. My throat burns, my eyes hurt, and I just cry. Heath does nothing but sit behind me against his headboard and hold me in his strong arms as I let everything out.

He says nothing.

I say nothing. I simply cry. I cry for the innocence of childhood lost. I cry for the dead mother who I never really knew because she was always strung out. I cry for the little girl inside of me who wanted, with everything, to believe that fairytales do exist to some degree. I cry for the false hope those stories gave me. I cry for the realities of my mere existence. I cry for the woman inside me who has learned there are no knights in shining armor, there are no men to save the day. I cry for the woman inside me who has no will to go on. I cry for the fear of the unknown that cuts me to my core. I simply cry.

Heath never moves only keeps his arms holding the towel around me. His shirt is soaked from my damp hair and the tears shed. When I get myself under control, he tightens his grip only enough to silently tell me not to move yet.

“I don’t know what your story is. I don’t know the hell you have been through. You gotta know, sweets, I’m not like the rest of them. Your life begins today. Cry it all out. Wash it all down the drain. You’re safe with me. You’re safe with Wendol. No one will touch you. No one will take you. No one will bring any harm to you.” Heath doesn’t raise his voice. There is no tone of anger, disgust, or anything more than a firm resolve to keep his word.