I flick the cigarette into the woods and hold the nicotine inside my lungs. "I've done my research, but I need you to make sure I've got the right girl. Sofia Solomon," I speak into the phone, smoke seeping from my lips, "make sure she's Stan's daughter, alright?"
He doesn't say anything. David's being too fucking quiet, and it's making me paranoid.
"You gonna help me with that, David?"
He draws in a hesitant breath. "Yeah. I'll see what I can do, but..."
"But what? What the fuck, David?"
"JP, this has all just gotten outta hand. There's only so much I can do, I mean, fuck, I'm a cop, not the FBI."
I clench my jaw and lean over the wooden railing of the porch. David's always helped me out of shit, I shouldn't be so agitated with him, but damn it, I can’t help it. "I'm kinda fucking stuck here, David. Hell, I don't know if you remember, but I blew my damn house up. I'm limited on supplies here. After I get Joe, I'm gone. And you can live your life in fucking peace, but until I get him, I need your help."
He groans. "God, what are you gonna do with her, huh? Cause I tell you what, I draw my line if you're gonna hurt her. How old is she JP, do you even know that?"
"I found her Facebook profile. She's twenty-one. And, no, I'm not gonna hurt her. I just need him to think I will."
"Fine. I'll call you back." He hangs up. I know he's angry with me. I don't give a shit as long as he gets me the information.
I shove the phone into my back pocket and stare out over the ridge, and as I do, Caleb creeps into my thoughts. I try my damnedest not to think about him because it bothers me so fucking much. It hurts, and I'm not used to that unsettling feeling. My mind sorts through the hazy memories of coming up to Marney's cabin with my dad as a kid. He taught me and Caleb how to shoot in these woods, just like I taught Tor...
"Now, when you shoot someone, you can shoot to kill them, or you can shoot to make them vulnerable," Dad says, as he steadies my hands. "And what have I taught you boys about why you shoot someone?"
"To kill them," I respond.
"That's right because a dead man can't kill you."
"What happens if someone kills you, Daddy?" Caleb asks, and I spin around to glare at him. His brown eyes are full of tears. He's only seven, and he's scared of guns, but that's how old I was when Dad taught me to shoot. He has to learn. Dad has to know we can protect ourselves in case something ever happens to him. He's told me that countless times.
Dad glances down at him and scoops him up into his arms, placing him on his hip. "Oh, don't worry son, no one's gonna kill your pops. I'll be here for a long time, and if I'm ever not here to keep you safe, your brother will take care of you, won't you, Jude?"
I pull the trigger, watching as the bullet tears through the center ring of the bullseye. "Yep, I'll always take care of you, Caleb. Promise."
I shut the memory down because I didn't. I didn't take care of him. My muscles tense and flex as I grip the edge of the rail, trying to release some of the anger quickly flooding my body. I should have forced Caleb out of this lifestyle the day my father died because Caleb was too good of a person to be mixed up in this shit. He had a fucking heart. I don't. He always did.
I narrow my eyes on those woods, listening to my breaths as they grow deeper and angrier. I miss him, and every time I think about him the only thing I can see is the way he looked when I found him. All I can see is the bullet hole, and his vacant, milky eyes and grey skin. I can't even fucking have my memories because they're ruined. My pulse is hammering in my ears, my skin hot. Tension twists down my neck and across my shoulders. Drawing my hand back, I slam it into the rail, leaving divots from my knuckles in the soft wood.
I exhale as I turn and reach for the door and walk into the living room. Something on the stove is sizzling, and the rancid aroma of burnt tuna assaults my senses. I glance over and Marney's whistling, stirring something in the pan.
"God, Marney, what the hell are you fixin'?"
"Tuna melt," he says, hovering over the stove. "Want one?"
"Hell no."
"They came and got the head. Don't want her pitching another hissy fit," he chuckles.
I can't help but laugh a little. "Where is Tor?"
"Probably upstairs still sulking." He jumps back from the stove like he's burnt himself. "Shit. Damn grease," he says shaking his hand.
I shake my head and walk up the stairs. On my way to the bedroom, I hear the shower running, and push open the bathroom door. The room is full of steam, and I can just make out Tor's silhouette behind the glass door of the shower.
I stare at her shadow. I haven't seen her entirely undressed since before she left me. She won't take her shirt off in front of me. Tor told me she doesn't want me to see her naked because of the brands. She's afraid I'll be disgusted... like anything about her could disgust me. To me, she's fucking perfect, no amount of scars will change that.
Her head is tilted back, her hands running through her hair as she washes it. She leans back farther into the stream of water which causes her back to bow. Just the thought of her completely naked and wet and pressed against my body is giving me a motherfucker of an erection. With her, I need to take control of the situation sometimes. I kick off my boots and jeans and grab the handle to the door.
Steam billows out as I step inside. And as soon as the door clicks shut, Tor freezes, keeping her face to the wall. My eyes immediately land on her back. The raised scars from where Joe branded her have reddened from the heat of the water. The longer I stare at them, the more my chest tightens. That fucker will pay. I swallow as I gather her wet hair and drop it over her shoulder.
She pulls in a breath. "Jude..."
"You're so fucking beautiful," I say before I place my lips to the top of her spine.
I tenderly kiss over the thick scars marking her back. I want her to know I don't fucking care. Every mark I kiss over causes my stomach to knot because I know it represents a day I didn't fucking get to her. He did this to punish me, not her, and it enrages me to the point I have to consciously calm my racing pulse. I trail a few more lingering kisses over her skin and trace my fingers down her arms before wrapping my arm around her waist. She tenses, her hand bracing the wall, and I hear her breathing hitch.
"Just let me touch you, Tor, please," I whisper against her skin as I skim my fingers along her sides. She's so thin that my fingers bump over each of her ribs as I make my way over her body. She hardly eats, and when she does, she throws it up half of the time. The stress of everything has really taken its toll on her. I brush my hand lower, slowly making my way between her legs, and I stop, my hand resting on her tight stomach. What the fuck? There's a slight bump underneath my palms. I slide my hands back up toward her breast, and I feel ribs, then back down, and her stomach is rounded. I grab her shoulders, spinning her around to face me. Her eyes are closed, her lips pressed together like if she doesn't look at me she can hide from me. My eyes dart down to her stomach where a small bump protrudes between her hips. I watch the water trickle over it, and then force my eyes up to her face. She staring at the shower floor, and she's biting her lip.
"Tor?" She doesn't lift her eyes. I feel the blood pulsing through my temples, my fingers twitching and tightening ever so slightly on her arms. Surely she's not. She would have told me.
I wrap my fingers around her chin, lifting her gaze to mine. Her brows pull together, as guilt and fear wash over her face. "Are you..." I inhale. "Are you fucking pregnant?" My barely restrained voice echoes from the shower walls.
Her eyes stay locked on mine, but she remains silent, and I take that as confirmation.
"Tor?" I make an effort not to raise my voice. "You're pregnant? How long have you fucking known?"
She watches me, no emotion registering on her face. "A while."
"A whi—" I can't even fucking breathe right now. Heat flashes over me, and I push my body flush against her wet skin, pressing her against the shower wall. "A while?" I growl. "How long is a fucking while, Tor?"
Her eyes squeeze shut, and I feel her slick breast pushing against my chest with each deep breath she pulls in.
"Weeks..." she whispers.
Is she fucking serious right now? Releasing her from my hold, I drag my palms over my wet face. Weeks! I take several deep breaths. The water trickles over my nose as I stare at her. Bracing my forearms on the wall beside her head, I inch my face into hers. "And just when were you gonna tell me, huh?"
"Eventually."
Fuck, I am so pissed right now. I want to punch something and fucking yell at her. I close my eyes again, pinching the bridge of my nose as I let the water pelt down on me.
"Eventually? Tor? Fuck." I groan.
I glance up at her, and all she does is stare at me nervously. She's been running around with guns, fucking beating the shit out of people. Fuck me, she knew this and went in after Mussa. She didn't tell me because she knew I'd flip my shit and not let her do a damn thing. Fucking manipulative... "You can't just do that. You can't just keep shit like that from me!" I shout. "Goddamn it, woman. Why the hell wouldn't you tell me that...?" Staring down at that bump, I stop mid-sentence, my stomach turns as a possibility I don't even want to fucking acknowledge creeps into my head. It may not even be mine! Fuck! If it's Joe's... I exhale and close my eyes. I want to ask her who the fuck's it is... but I can't bring myself to do it. I drop my chin to my chest, my palms groaning as they slide down the slick wall to my sides.
"Awe, fuck." I swallow, then turn and slam my fists into the wall, cracking the tile. She flinches away from me. She nervously wraps her arms around her body, and her wet hair falls over her face. It's as though she thinks she can make herself invisible.
"I'm sorry. I... fuck!" I reach out to touch her but stop. I have no fucking idea what to do.
Her brows drop into a frown, and she looks away from me, pressing her body tightly to the wall, trying to put as much space between us as possible.
My eyes hone in on her stomach. "Is it..." I swallow around the lump in my throat, "Is it his?"
Her shoulders tense, and there's an awkward moment of silence. All I can hear is my own pulse hammering in my ears. Her next words hold the potential to completely fucking destroy me.
"No," she whispers.
I release the breath I've been holding in, and with it some of the tension dissipates. Now what the fuck do I say to her? Did she fucking know this before she left me? Fucking hell! I've never wanted a fucking kid, never even been able to stand the idea of it, but the thought that she left me because she is pregnant, that fucking hurts.
I step toward her, gently cupping her cheek, turning her face to look at me. "Tor, is this why you left me?" As soon as the words leave my lips, I feel sick as shit. If she was pregnant when she left, that means she was pregnant with my child when Joe beat her and raped her, over and over.
Her eyes close and she shakes her head. "No. I didn't know."
What the fuck do I do? She's cowering in the corner like a dog that's been beat. I'm angry, I'm fucking worried. And this doesn't help a damn thing.