“Yes…tis I,” he replies with a chuckle and an exaggerated accent along with a Shakespearean bow.
This man is Adam’s brother. She’s seen him being kind and gentle while tending to his niece and nephew but she knows down to her bones that she should never be caught alone in a dark alley with Chase King on a bad day. She can only imagine what might happen to anyone caught in that situation and what that would mean for their life. Or what’s left of it.
“Is…is something wrong?” she asks.
“If you’re asking about Adam,” he replies nonchalantly. “He’s fine. It’s the other brother that I’m here about.”
Other brother? She tilts her head, awaiting more information.
“Yep. Derrick,” he tells her.
“Derrick?” she parrots.
“He was shot in the wee hours of the morning while we were on that drop that your bosses coordinated for us.”
“Oh God! Is…is he okay?” she blurts out.
“He’ll live,” Chase replies as he approaches her.
“That’s…that’s good,” she whispers.
“Is it?” he asks.
Then he’s standing in front of her and she finds herself looking up into those steel eyes of his. So much like Adam’s eyes yet so different at the same time. Nothing is soothing or calm about Chase’s eyes. It’s chaotic and…ruthless.
“Why are you here?” she asks nervously.
“Did you know? Was the order to have him killed?” Chase deadpans.
“What?” she cries. “No. I…I mean, I don’t know. I…I wasn’t told about any of their plans. I’m never told. I…I told Adam all I knew about that motorcycle club. I swear.”
She trembles when he lifts his fingers to her chin, forcing her to hold his gaze. The silence in the room is terrifying and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t shaking were she stood. But he doesn’t let go until he’s ready and satisfied.
“Our circle is a tight one. You can understand why,” he tells her as he takes a step back, hands back in his pockets. “I don’t deal well with outsiders coming in and the next thing I know, my brother’s blood is gushing onto my favorite suit. Nothing is ever a coincidence.”
“Of…of course. I understand,” she replies as if he asked for a response. But his presence is demanding just that…a response. She can feel it vibrating from him mixed with his anger and bloodlust.
He turns on his heels and heads for the doorway of the bedroom. He pauses at the door but doesn’t turn around, only giving her the side-eye.
“Your strokes are too heavy,” he says with a chuckle and nods his head back towards her pile of drawings. “You need better quality pencils and maybe an art class or two would help.”
With that, he leaves her room and she finds herself running for the bathroom to heave up what she had to eat for dinner.
“You can get past this, Ariana. You know you can,” Marcus tries to coax her from the other side of the bed. It’s the only thing standing in between them at the moment as she cowers into herself against the wall.
The trembling won’t stop and the craving is eating her alive. She can feel her skin crawling as if insects are trying to get in while life is trying to seep out through her pores. Everything hurts. It hurts to breathe.
“Focus on your breathing with me,” Marcus gently prods.
But she can’t comprehend the words. They are but faint echoes. She can’t even be sure if he’s indeed in the same room with her or not. Maybe this is her mind trying to help her through by creating the only person who’s helped her understand sobriety.
“Adam,” she manages to squeak out.
He’s who she needs. He can take all of this away with just one command. He can save her from this suffering.
“No, Ari. You’re not going to trade one addiction for another. You’re not going to exchange one dependency for another. We talked about this. Remember?”
Her brain is scrambling to recall the conversation. It takes more than a few moments but she begins to remember Marcus telling her that it’s not encouraged for recovering addicts to start a relationship so soon.
But what she and Adam have…they’re not in a relationship.
“We’re not together,” she mumbles, unsure if Marcus even heard her.
She can hear his loud sigh though.
“It’s for your own good, Ari. Trust me. You still trust me, right?”
The petulant child inside of her wants to scream at him. NO! Get me Adam. NOW! But she keeps mum. She doesn’t even bother to wipe away the wisps of hair annoyingly stuck to her sweat-drenched face. It’s not like her limbs and muscles are going to listen to her brain anyway. Otherwise, she’d stop shaking by now.
“Come on. Let’s get you back in bed. I’ll stay with you through this. I’m here,” Marcus tells her.
She can feel his arms pulling her and holding her. Every step hurts more than the last. But he manages to help her in bed.
“No covers,” she tells him. “I’m burning alive.”
“No covers,” he repeats.
He doesn’t say anything else for what seems like an eternity.
She can hear and feel his steady breathing an hour later but knows he’s not asleep. She knows he’s awake and watching. Making sure she gets through this. Whether it’s because it’s his job or not, she’s still thankful.
“This suffering…these cravings,” she whispers. “They’re bad. So bad, Marcus.”
“I know,” he quietly replies. “I’ve been there.”
That’s the truth. Marcus is also a recovering addict. Twenty years sober.
“It’s still not as much suffering as I’ve lived through on the drugs with men using my body,” she continues.
A teardrop slides down the side of her face at that comprehension.
“Hold on to that truth, Ariana. Draw strength from it. Being weak when you’re fighting to stay sober is better than being weak and giving up. I’m proud to hear that you are fighting for your right to live.”
“Proud?” she whispers. “No…no one has ever said that to me before. Not even my mom,” she confesses. “But I always knew that she was,” she quickly adds.
She didn’t need to taint the memories of her mother. Those memories have always been her light in the darkness to remind her that there are good things in life. Her straight fall to hell didn’t start until her mother passed away anyway. Many times, she wondered what her mother had to do to pay off this endless debt and what horrors her mother had to endure.
Marcus chuckles and she can feel the bed shaking a fraction from it.
“Did Chase King set this off?” he deadpans.
“Not exactly,” she replies.
“But you thought he was here…for a turn,” he states rather than asks. “It forced you to revisit memories that you’d rather suppress.”
She nods without a verbal response.
“It sucks to tell you this but it’s the truth. You’re going to have to face many moments like this, Ari. Moments that will force you to face your past. Don’t try to suppress them because then these moments become triggers. Live through them.”