Tough Enough(91)

Tag’s jaw is tight. “So he’s taking us out. Cleaning up the mess.”

“He’s trying.”

“He’s taking out everyone he thinks can be a threat, right down to people we might’ve told. Like family. To someone like him, no one is off limits, but to us . . . to us that’s sacred ground. You don’t go after family. You just don’t. We knew what we were signing up for, but not them. Not them,” Jasper says somberly, his mother having been killed already. Caught in the crossfire and blown up by a mercenary wannabe who knew about Jasper’s past.

The wheels of my stunned brain come to a screeching halt.

Family.

Loved ones.

Cleaning up messes.

Skeletons.

An image of Katie pops into my mind, the one of her face when she saw the Simses at the fight. She knows what they’re capable of. I know what they’re capable of. And after the way I reacted to her at the fight, they now know what she is to me.

“What is it, man? And who’s Katie?” Jasper asks. I didn’t even realize that I’d said her name aloud.

“I think she’s one of his messes, too.”

I know they won’t understand. They don’t know about Katie. They don’t know about what little Sims did to her. Or how that might look for a father if it came out during a bid for the presidency.

My palms start to sweat. It all makes sense now. How could I not have seen it? How could I not have known?

Mother of God.

He’s going to turn his son loose on Katie.

As if on cue, my phone rings. I see the familiar number and my insides clench.

“Katie?”

“Rogan?” she replies. My whole body, even my blood, sags with relief.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I . . . I just . . . I saw something on the Internet.” I try to come up with a plausible response without revealing the truth. “Something about you and Calvin Sims. I was just worried. That’s all.”

There’s a long pause before she responds. “Actually, that’s what I was calling about. I need to talk to you. It’s about what the Senator is trying to do. To you.”

“Stay there. I’m on my way.”

I hang up before she can argue and I look up to two pairs of eyes watching me with varying degrees of fury. After a few seconds, Jasper merely steps out of my way and nods toward the door.

“Let’s go. We’ve got work to do,” he says.

I nod and lead the way. I’ve never looked forward to hurting someone more than I do right now. Not even my shitty father.





FORTY-ONE


Katie

As I leave the studio, I realize that as anxious as I am to get away from work, I’m not very enthusiastic about going home. Work used to be just a job, neither good nor bad. Now it’s the place where I spent the happiest days of my life with Rogan and the most humiliating days of my life after him. And home . . . home used to be my sanctuary. Now it’s just pure hell. The memories of Rogan . . . they chase me. Haunt me. Refuse to give me a moment’s peace. Even to sleep.

Nights are the worst. They’re nearly unbearable. I toss and turn rather than sleep, and everywhere I look, I see and feel Rogan. With perfect clarity, I can picture him asleep on the pillow next to me. With excruciating precision, I can feel his hands on me, his mouth, his body. Oh God! What I wouldn’t give to forget, to just have my memory wiped clean of all traces of Rogan. But there’s no such mercy for a girl like me. He will live on in my head and in my heart until I reach the only escape I’ll ever have from him—death. When blood stops pumping through my veins, maybe then I’ll finally be over him.

And now I’m going to see him again. I know it will set me back. Maybe even right back to square one. But I have to do this. I have to talk to him and tell him what’s going on.

I unlock my front door, pausing to look for Dozer like I do every day. When I see that he isn’t in front of the door, I push it open to step inside. It’s as I’m closing it that I feel the niggle of someone’s presence behind me. But not soon enough.

I’m turning to face him, door still ajar, when Calvin grabs my upper arms and backs me into the living room, slamming the door shut behind us.

I struggle to free myself from his grip, but his fingers are like iron shackles. A bolt of fear flashes through me. Among the memories of his punches and kicks and slaps, I’d forgotten how easily he could overpower me. But it’s all coming back to me now. Too fresh, too clear.

I reach for bravery. I reach for boldness. I reach for tough. I don’t want him to see that he can still rattle me. Even though he can.

“What are you doing here? Get the hell out of my house!”