Chapter 27

Cain

The view out of my apartment bored me to shit.

I massaged my chest and lifted my phone, stared at the screen, considered calling her for the fifteenth time in the last half an hour. Fuck it, that was once every two minutes. That was more than the average man thought about sex, supposedly.

I smacked my forehead and shoved my cell phone onto the coffee table.

Margot had been the only thing keeping me from filling the hole, again and again, with everything from booze to skydiving. And now, she was gone. Or rather, I’d pushed her as far away as I could.

I wouldn’t change. Neither would she.

She was the comfort-zone family-girl, and I was the crazy motherfucker who punched assholes for stepping out of line. She didn’t need that in her life.

Still, I couldn’t quite let go of the business. If she needed me, my protection, from whatever, I had to have an in, and Get Ink’d was that.

I rose from the sofa and walked over to the view that had ceased to touch me. To please me. Maybe it was time to move again. But where?

Nothing intrigued me anymore.

Not the chance to move to Mauritius, nor the heat in Spain, nor the smoggy grittiness of New York. All the places I’d loved before were nothing but a pale shadow of what they should’ve been in my mind.

All I saw was her.

Margot, cornered, her back against the wall, her face filled with terror. Frozen in shock.

“Fuck,” I grunted and thumped the side of my fist against the window. “Fuck, Margot.”

What the hell was I supposed to do with this shit? What would my mother have done?

Memories of her had never faded.

Her long dark hair and the soft smile as she pinched my cheek as a kid and congratulated me, and then the long illness that followed, that chipped away at who she was, even as she gave so much of herself away to others.

The fights my father had had with her. The screaming matches even when she was ill, and the resultant arguments I’d had with him as a result.

And then the last day. The day before it all ended, and the words she’d spoken to me then.

Told me how much she loved me. How I could do so much good.

I cleared my throat and shook my head, refused to accept the memory right now. I never thought about that day. It would tear me apart to go over it again, and I didn’t need that, now or ever.

“Get your shit together, asshole.” I studied those buildings, the people, and the cars far below, snaking along the roads. It was early afternoon, and everyone bustled around. They lived while I lingered. Limbo.

What would Margot be up to now?

Either tattooing one of her regulars, wielding that gun with the skill she’d honed under her father’s watchful eye, or drinking another cup of Nat’s terrible coffee.

Hey, Nat. That was her name. The purple-haired chick. What a weird time to remember that. Then again, she was important to Margot.

My cell phone trilled behind me, and I turned, picked it up, answered. “This is Foster,” I said and held my breath.

For what?

“Mr. Foster.” The grind in Mr. Begay’s tone was unmistakable. He’d heard. About everything. After all, the show had been canceled, and that equaled news in reality show circles.

“Yeah,” I said.

“This is Mr. Begay. I’m calling to talk to you about your mother’s charity. Mr. Foster, it’s come to our attention that you’ve been at the heart of a scandal in the past weeks.” Stiff as a board. Did the man have any emotion? Ha, I was one to fucking talk.

“Yeah, it wasn’t a scandal. It was a mishap.” Mist hap? The memory of standing in front of those folks in the hall, while Begay looked on and Margot basically covered my gonads from view was a shot to the head.

“It was exactly what I warned you against, Mr. Foster. Trust me when I say we’ve appreciated your ongoing support, your donations, but the National Fund for Animal Rescue can no longer associate with someone who perpetuates this type of behavior. Particularly when that someone is one of the founder’s sons. We’re going to have to separate ourselves from this situation. Perhaps in the future we’ll be able to talk about this again, when you’ve cleaned up, but until such a time—”

“I understand,” I said, and the guilt that weighed down my gut felt like an end to something. “Sorry.”

“Good luck to you, Mr. Foster, in all your future endeavors.” Begay hung up and left me listening to nothing.

Fuck.

So, that was it. My mother’s charity, my last tie to who she’d been, the way she’d cared, was gone. I’d done this. I’d burned Margot, and I’d burned myself by loving her.

“Loving!” I choked it out and thumped the window again, dropped my phone to the floor. “Fuck that and fuck this.”

I had to get out of there before I destroyed myself pining, away from her. Anything was better than just sitting there, thinking about what I’d done. What we’d done.

I grabbed my coat on the way to the door, then let myself out.

I wouldn’t be back. Not until the day I came back to collect my shit and leave Chicago for good.