Page 4 of Untamed Heart
It wasn’t a question. I already knew.
His hands shot out, his fingers wrapping around my arms and pulling me into him before I had a chance to evade. “There doesn’t have to be a choice. You don’t have to leave, Honeybee. You can stay here and we can get a house together or something. I’ve been working a lot of hours at the garage and saving up. I have enough for a down payment.” His words were a silent plea, which only made everything hurt worse. “I can take care of you. You’ll never have to see that vile bitch again if you don’t want to.”
Being a Wraith meant the garage wasn’t Roe’s only source of income, and there wasn’t a chance in hell I would use a singlecent of the money he made doing whatever illegal shit the club demanded of him.
The sadness and anger faded into nothing as a cold numbness wrapped around me like a shroud. “Do you remember what I said to you the first time you saw the bruises?” My gaze was pointed at the center of his chest but I wasn’t actually seeing anything as my mind spun back to that night. “That night was one of the worst. Mom was mad because Dad was with the club again. She got drunk on cheap vodka. Do you remember?” I didn’t wait for him to confirm. “She found out you and I were dating, and she lost it. Said one of her daughters would be a whore for the Iron Wraiths over her dead body.”
“You arenota whore.”
I carried on like he hadn’t said a word. “She beat me senseless. Said it was for my own good. Once I was able, I got up and ran to you. What did I say when I finally found you? What did I tell you, Roe?”
His throat worked on a swallow. “You said you’d rather die than stay in Ashland forever. That you were getting out no matter what.”
“And what did you say when I told you that?”
The glassiness returned to Roe’s eyes but it wasn’t from the alcohol this time. It was from his own tears. “I told you that where you go, I go. Because you’re my home.”
“I guess those were just words, huh?”
Roe dropped his gaze to his boots, unable to meet my eyes for another second, but not before I caught the flash of shame in them as he looked away. “I’m sorry,” he said so quietly I almost didn’t hear.
“My mom was right,” I whispered, the razor edge of those words slicing my throat to shreds on their way up. “I was a fucking idiot for falling in love with a Wraith.” I felt along my wrist for the bracelet he’d given me for my fifteenth birthday.To anyone else, it probably wouldn’t have been that special, just a cheap piece of jewelry with chips of glass meant to mimic diamonds. But to me it meant everything. Roe hadn’t had a lot of money back then, and what he did have, he used to get me a present.
I’d worn that bracelet like a badge of honor every day since, never once taking it off. Until that moment.
I ripped it off my wrist, busting the cheap clasp, and dropped it onto the carpet. “This is over,” I croaked, the sharp, jagged edges of those words slicing my throat to ribbons on their way up. Without a backward glance I ripped his door open and stumbled out into the hall, clutching at my chest right over where the organ inside was bleeding out.
“Baby girl?”
The voice down the hall came from the very last person I wanted to see. Batting the tears from my cheeks, I lifted my head and turned to look at my father. The memory of the man I had once adored and loved with everything I had flashed in front of my eyes before it was replaced with the man of today. A man who might have looked so familiar but was little more than a stranger. A thousand emotions played across his face at warp speed, starting with concern and ending with understanding. Then, finally, resignation.
“I’m not your baby girl,” I gritted out. “I’m not your anything. Not anymore.”
Desolation filled my father’s eyes, but instead of fighting for me like I’d always prayed, he simply nodded, not saying another word as he let me go for good.
As I walked out of the Iron Wraiths clubhouse and away from the only two men I’d ever loved—the same two men who’d destroyed me—I vowed to myself that I would never come back.
ONE
DAKOTA
Now
You would have thought that sixteen years away would have made GPS necessary, but as my car hugged the road’s curves and the scenery outside my window whizzed by, my brain recalled the way with perfect accuracy. It wasn’t rational, but the fact that my mind hadn’t erased everything from my time in Ashland pissed me off way more than it should.
“I can’t believe you’re going back.” My sister’s voice carried through my car’s speakers. Her tone was a mixture of disbelief and just the smallest hint of disappointment.
That disappointment killed.
Truth was, I couldn’t believe I was going back either. I pulled in a deep breath as the town sign came into view. The twinge in my ribs was still there, but it no longer took my breath away any time I inhaled or moved, and I could finally manage to get by without having to wrap them tightly. Thank god, or this drive would have been even worse than it already was.
As it was, the drive had gone by faster than I’d anticipated. I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t adequately prepared myself for what I wasabout to do but there was nothing else stopping me. I’d already stopped in Redemption, one town over from Ashland, for gas and coffee, so there was nothing delaying the inevitable.
After leaving when I was nineteen, I’d bounced around for a few years, trying to figure out where I belonged. I’d tried a few larger cities first, thinking it would be easy to reinvent myself in a place packed with people. It didn’t take long for me to realize I hated the crowded spaces and cluttered cityscapes, though. I missed the mountains, so I traded in the Smoky mountains for the Rockies. I put down stakes in Colorado and tried to grow roots there, but no matter how hard I tried tending to them, they simply refused to grow. I realized then that nowhere was going to feel like home. I was just going to have to accept that and settle anyway.
So that was what I’d done, hoping the happily ever after I’d always wanted for myself would finally findmesince chasing after it hadn’t done me a damn bit of good.
But it hadn’t.
