Chapter One

 

“Hurry up, girl,” her father snapped. “We’re gonna miss the wagon.”

Eva-Ann fumed silently as she half-dragged the chest over the uneven ground, away from the train depot, and toward the waiting supply wagon. Her father had already rushed up to the supply master, completely ignoring her as usual, not that she really cared. It was best that Clyde Dunclyne stayed busy and preoccupied, rather than worrying about the daughter he never wanted in the first place.

“You need help, Miss?”

The deep voice carried from behind her, startling her and causing her to drop the chest. She spun and looked up, far up, into the soulful, searching gaze of the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Deep-set brown eyes, thick black lashes that she envied. Concern radiated out of him as they locked gazes. Her heart stuttered as the saliva in her mouth dried up, causing her to grow a little uncertain. For the first time in her life, she couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought.

“You’re heading to Byron City?” the man asked.

She nodded, trying desperately to remember words.

He smiled, and it was like getting hit in the gut. What the hell is happening to me?

“The name’s John,” he said, touching the brim of his hat in a show of respect.

She cleared her throat, thankful she seemed to remember how to talk. “Eva-Ann Dunclyne.”

“Nice to meet you, miss,” he murmured. “I’m the local blacksmith and horse wrangler for Byron City. Your pa a miner?”

“Yes. Powder monkey.” She pointed to the chest. “Probably not a good idea to drag that thing over the ground.”

John’s eyes widened as he studied it. “He always leave you to move it?”

Eva-Ann glanced at her father, who was still talking to the wagon master. “I’m his only child, and to have been born a girl is a mortal sin he cannot forgive.”

“Ah,” John said. “Well, if it’s any consolation, from my point of view, it’s definitely better that you’re a girl.”

He winked at her.

****

Present Day

 

“Jesus Christ, Evie! Wake the hell up!”

The words penetrated through the sleep clouding her mind and she struggled against the chemicals trying to drag her back into dreamland.

“Evie, I swear to God I will commit your ass to a psychiatric ward if you don’t knock this shit out.”

The anger, as much as the words, cut through her desire to drift off again, and she opened her eyes. Her brother, Chris, hovered over her. The frown creasing his brow looked unnatural on his usually cheerful face, and although she knew she was the reason why he was upset, she simply was too tired to care. She pushed feebly at his shoulder, trying to get him to move back, but he must have interpreted her gesture differently because he grabbed her arm and shook her hard.

“One day I’m going to walk in here and you’re going to be dead,” he all but yelled at her. His tone was hard and cold, but she could detect the fear underlining the words. “How the fuck can you possibly do that to me? You’re my only Goddamn family!”

“Shh,” she whispered. The loud words made her head hurt.

“No, I will not shush,” he said. He shook her again. “You will get your ass out of bed, shower because you fucking stink, and brush your teeth. If you don’t then I’ll do it for you, but you are coming with me tonight.”

“What? Where?”

“I got a gig tonight, a fight out at the abandoned water park,” he said. “And since I can’t fucking trust you not to swallow more of those fucking pills, you’re coming with me.”

“No—”

“Don’t you dare tell me no. I won’t lose my sister to a fucking overdose. So get up and get into that bathroom. If you’re not clean in fifteen minutes I will wash you myself. Got it?”

Clutching the bottle in his hand, he turned to leave.

“Gimme back my pills,” she said.

“No.”

“I need them, Chris,” she whispered, and even she heard the pleading desperation in her voice.

He turned back around to stare at her. Even in her drowsy state, she saw fear and concern in his face. Guilt sliced through her.

“Do you want to die?” he asked without malice or anger. A simple question that seemed to freeze him in place.

“No,” she said, and it was the truth. His shoulders relaxed a bit, easing the strain on his face. “I don’t take them to die. I take them to sleep.”

“Why?” He held up the bottle and pills rattled around in the plastic vial. “What can this possibly give you?”

She opened her mouth to reply, to tell him exactly why she needed to sleep. Only in dreams can she see him again, the man she knew was her soul mate. A man she had met only once, in a dream land, and one she desperately wanted to be with again. Only problem was the fact that he was a complete fantasy that only existed when she closed her eyes.

In the end, she closed her mouth, not answering. What could she possibly say without sounding crazy? That she was in love with a man she’d only met while she’d been in a coma? The psych ward would have her on psychotropic drugs faster than she could blink.

Chris sighed and stuffed the bottle back into his pants’ pocket. “That’s what I thought. Get showered and dressed, Evie. We leave soon.”

He stormed out of her bedroom, his boot heels echoing on the wooden floor as he walked to the front of the house. Evie lay staring up at her bedroom ceiling, her mind once more consumed with John. She knew it made no sense, this obsession with a man who didn’t exist, and before the accident she would’ve been the first person to laugh at her pitiful self. Now, however, she was more a shell than an actual person, one who didn’t want to let John go. Maybe one day she’d have the willpower, but if she were completely honest with herself, that day wasn’t anywhere in her future.

“Ten minutes, Evie!”

Chris’s warning got her moving. Her brother didn’t make idle threats, so she pushed herself out of bed and into the bathroom. The face that reflected back at her in the mirror was more skeleton than human. She’d lost too much weight, indicated by the way her bones protruded from under her skin. As she stared at herself, her image shimmered, and her other self superimposed over her reflection. Every day it became harder to distinguish who she really was, or which Evie she wanted to be.

She bent and splashed water on her face, trying to shake the image before her. Eva-Ann was taking over, and she was quickly losing the will to fight her off. Everything Evie wanted was in the dream world, and the real world held nothing but a long stretch of empty time. For now, however, she had to get through the evening, so she turned on the shower and tried to shake off the lingering pull of sleep.

After she dried off and dressed in jeans and a sweater, she walked over to her bed and kneeled down so she could easily slide her hand between the mattress and box spring. She touched upon a plastic bag and pulled it out. Several orange-red capsules bounced about in the baggie. The first chance she could get, she promised herself that she’d sneak back to Chris’s car and take a nap.

****

Bishop sat apart from Groto and Iron Fist in the limo, preferring to keep his back toward the glass partition so he could observe the interchange between the two men. They cruised down the freeway, heading toward the last fight Iron Fist would ever engage in before retirement. The pathetic excuse of a man thought he was walking away that evening, but Bishop knew the truth.

The pedophile would breathe his last that night.

“Thank you, Mr. Groto,” Iron Fist blabbered. “Thank you for your forgiveness. I promise to never do it again. You have my word that I’m a reformed man.”

Sherman Groto’s face revealed nothing. To most, he seemed relaxed, even jovial, but Bishop recognized the ruse. He’d been with the boss long enough to recognize the fury simmering just under the surface.

“Don’t think my acquiesce to this fight makes me forgive you,” Groto said softly. “Men like you need to have your balls cut off and stuffed in your mouth before being ass raped by every homo in Las Vegas. You can never be forgiven because your sin is unforgivable. Any man who touches a child sexually isn’t a man.”

Iron Fist was a huge bear of a man, with the force to back up the bulging muscles, but even under the easy nature Groto presented, the man visibly wilted.  

“I swear, Mr. Groto—”

“I don’t want to hear your fucking lies and platitudes. Just take a dive ninety seconds in and you’ll have made good on your culpability.”

“I know what I did was wrong,” Iron Fist said. Bishop realized the man didn’t know when to shut up. “I have a weakness, but I promise to get help.”

Bishop was ready to kill the fucker on those words alone. Only one thing was taboo and that was children. Groto’s own granddaughter had been an innocent victim, a sweet young girl who now had to see a therapist on a daily basis to deal with the abuse she had suffered. Bishop had helped his boss take the pervert apart, piece by piece, and now staring at Iron Fist, knowing the asshole had hurt children, Bishop wanted to exact that same revenge.

But Groto had a different plan.  

“Thank you for not, you know, killing me or something. I won’t let you down tonight.”

“I know you won’t,” Groto said. “Mr. Kain will escort you to the waiting pen. I suggest you not leave that area and try to run.”

“No, sir,” Iron Fist replied, shaking his head. “So this new kid I’m fighting, Blackout, he’s good?”

“Does it matter?” Bishop asked blandly. He didn’t really expect an answer and Iron Fist didn’t pursue the answer. Instead, he changed topics.

“I’m going to set myself up in Reno, I think,” Iron Fist continued. “Find a nice community where I can retire and live comfortably. Maybe next to a park or something. Yeah, that’ll be sweet.”

Bishop had to restrain himself from shooting the fucker. Just the thought of the slimy dickwad anywhere around children was enough to turn his stomach. His hand inched toward his gun but Groto caught his eye and gave a small negative shake of his head. Reluctantly, Bishop pulled back. He may not have the satisfaction of killing the pervert, but he would at least have the pleasure of seeing his face beat to a bloody pulp.  

It was time Iron Fist learned exactly what getting on Groto’s bad side really meant.