Shy Kinda Love (22 page)

Chapter 36

I’m lying on the couch, trying and failing to clear my head of the images from the past few days. My dad, as he cried telling me he did always love me, he just hated himself for not being able to protect me. Kade when he practically told me he hates me. Walker, looking at me as he took his final breath. As I try to scrub all these visions from my mind, I once again wish that I had died on my bedroom floor three years ago.

Agent Hill, who is sitting in the chair next to me, jumps to his feet when Agent Clarkson comes to the front door. “Mike saw something out by the barn when he was putting the tractor away,” Clarkson snaps.

Hill nods his head. “I’ll cover the back door, you take the front.”

Clarkson agrees, then he turns to me. “You stay here.”

I just stare back at him, not caring about anything, so Angie speaks up. “I’ll stay with her.” She is sitting at the dining room table, in a chair near the living room. Hill nods to her, then he disappears out the back door.

Angie gets to her feet and comes to stand next the couch. She is staring down at me, with sadness in her eyes, when we hear a pop and a thud come from out back. Angie grabs my hand. “We need to get out of here,” she says, just before we hear the back door.

I look up to find Marco Munro standing just five feet from me. I haven’t seen him since the night he took my virginity. This is the first man to ever come to my room. Now that I think about it, it seems fitting that I killed his brother in that same room. I smile a little, probably looking insane to Angie.

I stand and turn to face him, placing Angie behind me. As soon as my eyes meet his, I see the cruel smile reach his eyes. “Sweet Christ, Nicole, you are even more beautiful today,” he says. His voice is deep and scratchy, as if he has smoked too many cigarettes. The stench emanating from him indicates he has indeed had too many smokes, and he has not showered in weeks. He’s wearing a light denim button-down shirt, but it’s filthy and threadbare. His brown hair is greasy and looks like it hasn’t been cut in years.

I feel Angie shift behind me, then I hear her voice at my shoulder. “Shyanne, do you know him? Who’s Nicole?”

I ignore Angie’s questions. Instead I speak to the man who has been searching for me for three years. “What do you want, Marco?” Not surprisingly, I feel no fear. I have nothing left to fear.

“To deal you the same fate I dealt your horse,” he says. Out of the corner of my eye I see him raise his hand, so I look to see what he’s holding. It’s a gun with—if my obsession with cop shows is anything to go by—a silencer on the end.

However, I don’t see a gun, I see my serenity; my peace. So, I take a step toward him. “Do it.” I look him in the eye, letting him know I’m not bluffing. That gun in his hand is the answer to ending my pain.

Angie gasps. “Shy,” her voice cracks, “What’re you doing?”

I ignore her again. “Do it, Marco,” I shout this time. I can see the confusion on his face. He must have assumed that I would fight, try to run, anything to try and prevent my own death. Well, he doesn’t know that death would be a blessing to me.

“Shyanne, stop,” Angie is yelling now between her sobs. “Get away from him. You don’t want to do this; you’re just hurting right now.”

I take another step closer to Marco, and plead, “Please do it. This is what you came here for, isn’t it?”

It’s then I hear footsteps on the front porch and Smoke’s voice. “Shyanne, what’s wrong?” Clarkson enters the front door, gun lowered in front of him, and quickly takes in the scene. “Drop it, Munro.” He raises his gun at Marco and I hear more people on the porch, coming to rescue me. What they don’t understand is that Marco is the only one who can rescue me right now.

I know they won’t understand, so I look back to Marco. “Hurry… please.” My breaths are becoming shallower as I beg this man for mercy. Not the kind of mercy he expected, so he continues to just hold the gun, pointed at me, as he watches me in fascination.

“Shyanne, back away. I’ve got this,” Smoke commands.

I shake my head and make my final plea. “Please, Marco,” I say on a desperate exhale as I fall to my knees in front of him. “Hurry, before they shoot you.”

Smoke’s voice interrupts my pitiful plea. “Shyanne, get the fuck off the floor and back away.” I hear the shaking in his voice now, too. He has no idea how to handle a crazy woman begging a crazy man to take her life.

I can hear Angie sobbing behind me, and one of the agents has his gun raised and is yelling for Marco to drop his. The chaos is drowned out when I see the cruel smile return, and his lips begin to move.

“You’re suffering.” It’s a statement, not a question. “I don’t need to kill you. You’re already living in hell.”

I close my eyes, knowing he has made his decision. He is choosing to make me live in pain, not die in peace.

“My job here is done,” he says, in almost a whisper so only I hear him. Then he lifts the gun, smiles, and leans towards me, never intending to shoot me. I’m looking into his eyes as the bullet shatters his temple and his brain explodes just inches from my face.

I hear Angie’s shrill scream as my eyes watch Marco fall to the floor, almost onto my knees. Still, I feel nothing. Actually, I feel less. My entire body goes numb and my eyes glaze, so I only see a blurry version of the mess in front of me. I hear lots of noise but I no longer register who is saying what.

Just a minute ago I thought I had an answer, an end to this disaster of a life. Instead, it just upgraded to new a level of disaster.

Chapter 37

The morning after the shooting I wake from my self-induced coma. The last thing I remember is Marco’s head exploding just inches from my face. Now I’m in the guest room at Ryder’s house and Kade is sleeping on the floor. I don’t know if he knows what happened or even why he is here, and I don’t care. Even though I’ll no longer be held in witness protection, I can’t go back. I can’t go back to feeling again.

I go to the bathroom then wander out to the couch, where I wrap myself in a blanket and stare at the wall. A few minutes later, Kade kneels in front of me. I shift my eyes to look at him, but I don’t smile. I can’t smile.

He reaches a hand to touch my face. “Are you okay, Filly?”

I just blink.

He leans in and kisses my forehead. “You scared the shit out of me last night,” he says, when he pulls back to look at me again.

I stare back into eyes, and feel nothing. “You need to leave,” I tell him.

The shock of my words is clear. After a minute of searching my face for answers, he narrows his eyes. “You know I didn’t mean what I said. I was hurt, and terrified, and I panicked. I would have said anything to get a reaction out of you. Anything to get you to fight for us.” He strokes my face again as his expression softens. “I could never hate you Filly. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure you are the only girl I will ever love.”

With no expression of emotion, I tell him again. “You need to leave.”

He releases a harsh breath and turns, so that his is now leaning against the couch, his back to me. He hangs his head. “Please don’t shut me out again. You don’t need to run, or even hide anymore.” He scrubs his face with his hands. “Ryder and Hudson told me everything. I know you killed a man in self-defense. I know you were in witness protection, which is why you had to leave. I know that Walker’s dead and you were begging a madman to kill you.”

When Kade realizes I’m not going to respond, he turns to face me again. “I get it, Shyanne. Your life has been a big bag of horse shit, and I wish I could change that for you. But everything that has happened to you made you the girl that I love. You can go forward from here; you’ve done it before. I’m just begging you, please don’t run from me this time, because you have no reason to run, but you have a million reasons to stay.”

I feel a little tug in my chest as I look into his eyes and remember how good it was with us. Almost as quickly as I feel it, I shove it back down. I do know how good it can be, but I also know the better it gets the more it hurts when it’s gone. Even though Marco is no longer a threat to me, there is always another tragedy waiting around the corner. If I walk into the sunset, holding hands with Kade, there could be a bus waiting to run him over when we get there. I’m done pretending that happy endings exist.

I emphasize each word this time. “You. Need. To. Leave.”

He closes his eyes and sighs loudly as he stands. He picks up his keys from the stand and crashes through the front door.

I go back to staring at the wall.

***

It’s day five of my new non-life. I only know it’s day five because the shrink, sent by Agent Clarkson, was here at Ryder’s yesterday and told me it had been four days since the shooting, since I lost Walker.

I shower and get dressed, in the same mindless routine I have been following for five days. I go to the kitchen for my coffee, the next step in my routine. There I find Smoke, sitting at the island, working on his laptop. I guess he is my chaperone for the day. Although irritated that I still have a chaperone, I’m glad to see that Kade and Ryder are not here. Smoke doesn’t try to make me talk. I don’t want to talk, or think, or feel. My only goal for the day is to breathe. Just breathe.

As I pour my coffee into the mug, I wonder if Kade has finally realized that I’m toxic and he needs to stay away. Although Kade did leave the other morning, he came back later that night. He has been coming here every day after classes and sleeping on the couch at night. I don’t want him here, and I’ve told him that every day for the last four days.

When I see him, he makes me feel things. The night of the shooting, I allowed my mind and body to drag me into my safe place, the place where I’m wrapped in numbness. I need the numbness. I don’t need Kade around, or Keegan or Gemma or Ryder, because they bring back memories. And memories make me feel.

Dr. Reynolds, the psychologist sent by Clarkson, attempted to get me to talk about my feelings, but after ten minutes of silence, she left me alone. I heard her talking to Kade and Ryder in the living room, telling them something about me dissociating. I considered reminding her of her confidentiality agreement, but then remembered I didn’t care.

Smoke interrupts my thoughts. “Ryder will be out most of the day. He suggested you go to your apartment today, for a couple hours, to see your friends.”

“Of course he did,” I say. Of course Ryder would still be pushing me to get back to the life he made for me, even when he’s not here. I shake my head once, then exit the kitchen, making my way to the door.

Knowing I need a plan, I take my coffee to the front porch so that I can think without feeling like Smoke is reading my mind. I sit on the swing, tucking one leg under me and letting the other hang, my toes touching the boards of the porch. With both hands wrapped around my mug, I look out over the yard and take in all the signs of the season. The big tree in the yard is still holding on to a few leaves, but most are covering the yard, creating a blend of red and yellow swirled with the green grass. The cool breeze invades my senses, causing goose bumps under my sweatshirt, and leaving the smell of dampness behind.

I have always loved fall, but now it feels like a cold reminder of the happy moments I’ll never have again. I close my eyes and consider how I’m going to escape all of the things that remind me of what I’ve lost; what I was never meant to have.

After I killed Samuel, and Ryder got me to safety, I knew I’d gotten a second chance at life. However, I also knew that I was going to protect myself from further emotional pain, at any cost. Even though I was only eighteen years old, I knew that meant living a life of emotional isolation. I had learned that humans were dangerous, and not just to our physical bodies. I’d been hurt worse emotionally by my mother leaving and my father not protecting me than I had at the hands of the men who took my body. Instead I chose to surround myself with animals, and find my happiness in them.

I’d had it all figured out, and I was functioning just fine. That is, until Ryder, Keegan, and Gemma forced me to connect with humans again.

Well, I’m three years older, and twice as damaged. My father confessed his sins, then disappeared from my life again, likely dead and never to be found. And the horse that I rescued from slaughter ended up losing his life anyway, because of me.

So now I need to take the lessons I’ve learned from life number two, and go live life number three—alone, where I just breathe, never feel, and where I never hurt anyone or anything else.

I know Ryder won’t let me leave, but I also know I can’t stay here. I need to pack a bag and wait for the moment that he’s not watching. For today, though, I have something I need to do. I inhale the damp fall air one more time before I take my coffee inside to find Smoke. I tell him I have an errand to run, and of course he insists on driving me.

***

We arrive at our destination and I lead the way through the front door of the tattoo shop. I’ve considered getting a tattoo before, something horse-related. I just never made the decision to follow through, until yesterday. Unfortunately instead of getting something to represent my love of horses, now I need to choose one in memory of Walker. As I look over the artwork relating to horses, my heart stutters as my eyes catch a beautiful drawing of a winged horse. The horse and its wings are created by black intricate swirls, dots, and flowing lines. I know immediately this is the ink I will be leaving with today. It’s a perfect symbol of the two loves that I have lost. Although I’m leaving everything behind, I know I will never forget Walker or Kade, so I’m using the needle and ink to find my closure.

As the needle begins its hammering into my flesh, I feel a sense of comfort settle over me. The physical pain in my leg overrides the emotional pain trying to rise again in my heart. I have never understood the addiction of self-mutilation, the comfort one seeks by cutting their own skin. Now, however, I can understand how a person seeks release through physical pain. I close my eyes and focus on the needle that is a balm to my injured heart.

When I hear the buzzing cease and I’m told it’s complete, I sit up to inspect my first tattoo. The perfect flying horse sits low on my outside left calf. Its wings are so large they wrap around the back of my leg. Its front feet are raised while the hind legs appear to be standing on the ground, creating the image that the horse is reared up.

Arched along the edge of one of the wings are the words “just breathe.” Those two words describe all I plan to do from this day forward. I will not live. I will not laugh. I will not love. I will just breathe.