Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition by Elizabeth Knox (top 5 ebook reader txt) 📕

“That’s him, there at the register.”

“Who?”

“Sara’s stepfather.”

My head swivels to look for the man. He’s standing at the counter, checking out.

“The one that . . .” Rhonda’s voice drifts off to nothing.

“Yep. I’m so glad she got that scholarship and left town and got away from him. She told me he came into her room one night and put his hand on her leg, but her mom came home just in time from her night job, thank God, and he left.”

“She told me he cornered her in the hall once and felt her up. That’s why I was always asking her mom if she could spend the night at our house.”

“I begged her to tell the guidance counselor, but she never would.”

“What about that guy from school she always hung around with?”

“You mean Irish? No, she never told him. She was always afraid it would ruin what they had.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, that he wouldn’t look at her the same anymore or that it would be awkward.”

“He was built like a brick house. I bet he’d have punched that jerk in the nose.”

“Sara was afraid if he found out, he might do something and get arrested. It would have ruined his life.”

I tighten my hold on the hammer, my blood pounding through my veins and my face heating. My eyes connect with the man at the counter, and I want to smash his skull with this hammer and not stop until his brains are pulp. I take a deep, slow breath. Not here, not now, but soon. He’ll get what’s coming to him, that I swear.

I blink from my dark memories and when my gaze connects with Sara’s, I know my silence has said everything for me. It’s clear in her wide eyes, and if that isn’t proof enough, the way she sucks in her breath seals the deal.

“My stepfather? That was you?”

I never planned to tell her. Saw no point in it. But I’m not ashamed either. The man deserved exactly what he got. Probably more. I was just eighteen at the time. If that shit had happened now, I’d take my time, draw out his pain, and make him suffer for what he did.

“Irish, tell me.”

I meet her eyes, letting her see the truth in mine. “I overheard your girlfriends talking in the next aisle. They were talkin’ low; didn’t know I was there.”

“What were they talking about, Tim?” she asks me with an edge to her voice, like she already knows.

“You . . . and your stepfather.”

“Oh my God.”

I’m quiet so long she finally asks.

“What did you do, Tim? What did you do?”

“I knew it was garbage night in your neighborhood, and I knew he was the one that always took it to the street. I waited behind your garage and jumped him when he came to haul the garbage cans out.”

“Tell me it wasn’t you.” Her words are whisper soft.

I hold her eyes, refusing to look away. Hers fill to brimming, and even in the low light I can see them shine. They piss me off. “He deserved it, Sara, every swing of that hammer. But he sure as hell doesn’t deserve your tears.”

She shakes her head. “They’re not for him.”

I yank my head around and stare at the ceiling. “They damn sure better not be for me.” Her touch is soft on my arm. I don’t turn, but I can’t fight the pull that has my gaze dropping to her small hand, her creamy skin so pale against my tanned, inked flesh.

She shakes my arm. “You did that for me—for me. And you’ve lived with it all these years.” There’s a catch in her throat, and my own tightens so hard that I wonder if I’ll be able to get a word out. Instead, I jerk a single nod, confirming it.

“Irish, no one’s ever done anything so noble for me.”

With that my eyes slice to hers. “You think you don’t deserve it? I wish you’d have told me yourself. I would have stopped him a hell of a lot sooner, Sara.”

“I was afraid to tell you.”

“Because you knew what I’d do.”

She nods, then dips her head, and bursts out in sobs.

Maybe I’ve ruined everything by telling her what I did. How could she ever love the man that killed her stepfather?

I cup the back of her head and pull it to me, pressing my lips to the crown, breathing in the floral scent of her hair. It’s intoxicating, like fresh cut wildflowers, a mix that reminds me of the girl I once knew—a scent that will always be hers. I want to drown in it, I want to commit it to memory and never forget the way it makes me feel. Because in the deep dark part of my mind, I know she’s going to leave me again, and when she does, I don’t know how I’ll exist.

15

Green

It’s morning when I finally blink open my eyes and remember where I am. I feel the warm body pressed against me and stroke my hands over Sara’s soft skin. I roll until I’m spooning her from behind, wrapping her up in my arms.

She moans and moves against me.

I dip my mouth to her ear. “You awake, baby?”

“I am now.” She strokes her hand up my forearm, and I see the side of her cheek plump with her smile. I nuzzle my way down her neck and across her shoulder.

“Irish.” Her voice is soft.

“Hmm?” I continue kissing her skin.

“I love you.” The words are barely there, and then gone like a wisp on the wind. Did I really hear them? Did she really say them after all this time?

My motions still, my lips pressed to her skin. Once I lift them, she’ll expect the words back. I feel them. I know I do, down to my soul, but I’m afraid to say them, afraid to ask her to stay only to have her leave anyway. I