Karsen
As soon as we hit the next available gas station, one that was lit up and busy even this late at night to prevent a repeat of our last stop, Booker had me dig out the locket from my stuffed suitcase in the trunk. I wasn’t surprised at all when he whipped out a switchblade he had hidden somewhere on his body and started to pry at the delicate piece of jewelry. I expected him to tear into the sentimental piece to find whatever it was he was looking for, but I should have known better. I told him it meant the world to me, which meant he was going to handle it like the fragile, precious thing it was. Sort of the way he handled me—at least, until his control slipped. I had to say, I much preferred the forceful, demanding, and predatory Booker to the one who touched me like I was made out of feathers and glass.
I wasn’t exactly the most sexually experienced twenty-two-year-old on the planet. I’d spent most of my formative years waiting for Booker, and when he broke my heart, I may have gone on a revenge-fueled spree of sex that consisted of hooking up and walking away. I wanted to prove to myself I was desirable, and even if he didn't want me, other guys would. I refused to let his rejection and betrayal define me, but I soon realized by forcing myself into one meaningless encounter after another, I was doing exactly that. The only person I was hurting with my behavior was myself. Booker wouldn’t care, or I believed that he never did.
I don't remember a lot of what happened during those encounters, other than afterwards I always felt worse instead of better. I did learn enough about what I was into and what did it for me to know I wasn’t the hearts and flowers type. I didn't need pretty words or empty promises to get me off. I much preferred a partner who also knew what they wanted and didn't hesitate to take it. I’d been raised around strong men who only allowed softness with the women they loved. So naturally, that worked for me. I wanted a man who was strong and sure, but always made sure I was taken care of. That was a tall order when it came to college guys. Most of them were trying to figure things out the same way I was, and very few had enough life experience to take care of business, and me, the way I wanted. I was sure my disappointment in guys my own age came from being forever in love with a man who was larger than life and a decade older than me. Booker never had to be told what to do or how to do it; he simply handled what needed to be handled and I always found that incredibly attractive. So yeah, my love life was mostly dead in the water, and every sizzling minute spent with his hands on me in the front seat of the car had been a thousand times better than anything I’d experienced previously.
Booker handed over the baby pictures of me and my sister. I tucked them away watching as he stabbed the tip of the sharp, shiny knife into one side of the locket. When he pulled it up, there was a tiny, plastic disk attached to the blade. It was smaller than an SD card for a cell phone, and there was no way I ever would have seen it behind the picture and the glass that covered it. Booker popped it off and put it in the palm of his hand, turning the thing over and over.
“Definitely a tracking device. High quality.” He used the knife to pry the edges apart until the device was in a bunch of pieces in his hand. “We need to change direction. Whoever planted this is going to assume we’re more than likely heading west. I think we need to drive north, then make our way down the coast. Like I said, the bump and run was a warning, but if the person tracking you manages to get me out of the way and get you alone . . .” He shook his head. “We need to change things up and be as unpredictable as possible. You got an hour or so left in you? You can sleep in the car.”
“How long has that been in there? How long has someone been watching my every move?” If I hadn’t been watching him as closely as I was, I would have missed the guilt that flashed over his expression before he schooled his harsh features into a blank mask.
“There is no way to tell how long that’s been in there or who put it there. You told Race you didn’t want a protective detail when you left. You have to know him well enough to realize he might have agreed to that, but there was no way he was going to let you go without some kind of failsafe in place. He has too many enemies and he’s pissed too many people off to have someone he loves out in the world without protection.” When he said Race’s name, he couldn’t hold back the sneer that crossed his face. It was a clear indication he could be counted as one of those enemies Race had pissed off.
I took the locket when he handed it back to me. I ran my fingers over the antique finish, recalling how happy I’d been when Brysen handed it over. I remembered feeling like she was finally seeing me as an adult, as an equal. It was such a mature gift to give someone headed off into the world on their own for the first time. Now, I was wondering if Booker was right. Had the gift I thought was so thoughtful and considerate only been a way for my family to keep tabs on me as I asserted my independence? It rankled and once again made me feel like that little girl no one was going to allow to grow up and make her own choices.
“If Race put that in there . . .” I shook my head and looked down at the ground. “I’m not sure I could forgive him for that.”
Suddenly a warm, rough hand slid around the back of my neck, squeezing the muscles that tightened. I felt the firm press of lips to my forehead and wanted to lean into Booker’s embrace so badly I could taste it.
“Whatever that blond asshole did, you need to keep in mind he was trying to protect you and keep you safe. When you have something worth losing, it can make you do some crazy things. Things that can hurt everyone involved.” I picked up something different in his tone. He sounded like he was speaking from experience.
“Crazy things like walk into a building that’s ready to blow, while an entire police force threatens to arrest you or shoot you as you walk right past their perimeter?” There was a hopeful note in my voice which made me feel like an idiot. Race did all the things he did out of love. Booker had never indicated, not once, that he felt any such way about me. Well, he hadn’t until he showed up on my doorstep, making time stand still and the years of space between us seemingly irrelevant.
He didn’t answer. Not that I expected him to. Instead he snapped a couple photos of the destroyed tracking device and fired them off to Stark. When he was done, he inclined his head toward the car, indicating we should get back on the road. I was too wired and irritated with my family back home to consider sleeping, and I wasn’t interested in letting him ignore me for an hour so soon after he gave me the best orgasm of my life. I was still intent on returning the favor, but I couldn’t miss the way he’d returned to all business and laser-focus as soon as the car was back on the road.
“Did you grow up in the Point? I know you were in prison before you showed up in the city looking for work, and you mentioned looking up to guys like Benny and Bax while you were locked up. So, I assume you were in the same Supermax as they were.” I’d never asked him about his past because he always shut me down when I tried. Back when I was younger, I let him change the subject because I was happy simply getting to spend time with him. Now, I wanted more.
If I ever had a hope to forgive and forget him, I needed to know who Noah Booker really was. I needed him to show my heart the man behind all my girlhood fantasies, because the reality couldn’t be everything I’d built up in my head. Maybe I could finally convince myself he was just a man, more deadly and dangerous than most, but still a normal man who ended up in some bad circumstances. Then maybe I could stop comparing every other living soul to him.
Booker turned to look at me and I could see him wavering on whether he wanted to answer me or not. Finally, he exhaled and quietly mumbled, “Believe it or not, the Point is a step up from where I grew up.”
I recoiled and blinked at him in surprise. “How is that possible?”
“It’s so strange to me that everyone in the Point always seems to think they’ve seen the worst the world has to offer. I think they forget there is crime, corruption, brutality, and general lack of concern for the well-being of others all over the world. Look at Syria, or hell, where Nassir is from. His homeland has been at war since before he was born and shows no signs of stopping. There is so much hate and violence all around us, and the Point is only a sliver of it, but since it’s all you know, it always seems bigger and badder than it actually is.” He looked so resigned, as if we were all destined to get swallowed up in the ugliness, no matter where it was located. And he looked tired. Tired of the world and people being the way they are.
“I grew up in a small, Midwestern town. Literally, in the middle of nowhere. One road in, one road out. The community existed because of two things: corn and methamphetamines. It is totally different than the Point. No skyscrapers, no graffiti on the walls, no strip clubs open twenty-four hours. Hell, booze isn’t even sold on Sundays. It’s not the kind of place you go looking for or where you want to stay, but my mom’s family lived there for generations. We had a small farm, and I remember things being good when I was really little. We had a couple goats and there was a swimming hole somewhere on the property that was awesome when it got hot in the summer. There wasn’t much to do, but that was fine by me, because it meant there wasn’t much to get me in trouble.”
I gasped as I struggled to put together the image of a Midwestern farm boy with the polished, lethal man sitting beside me now. I had a hard time picturing him as a child at all, let alone one who was carefree and grew up in the country.
“One summer it was so hot the land practically turned to ash. That meant harvest season sucked, which meant money got tight. My mom was already stretched pretty thin, being a single mom in a small town without many prospects was hard for her. She was lonely and angry. She turned mean about the time I was able to really remember my childhood. She never told me what happened to my dad, and I was too scared to ask. When she couldn't use the land to grow things anymore, she turned to the only other source of income she could find. Meth. It brought all the wrong kinds of people into our lives and it wasn’t long before she was addicted to the drug and the kind of life it brought with it.”
Booker’s voice drifted off and I could tell he was getting lost in the memories and it wasn’t a good place to be. His jaw was tense and the hand he had resting on his knee kept flexing, like he was trying to keep it from forming a fist and lashing out at something. He looked very much ready to hurt something or someone.
“She spiraled pretty quickly once the drugs took over. She started selling all our stuff—and even her body—for drug money. She lost the farm and the bank kicked us out. We lived in gross motels and her beat-up old car for a long time. She would leave me in sketchy places with total strangers and I was never really sure if she was coming back.”
He rolled his shoulders and lifted his hand to rub his fingers over his scar. “One of her dealers had a thing for little boys. The first time she left me with him I was so scared I pissed myself and nearly passed out.”
I let out a cry and instinctively reached out to touch him, but pulled my hand back when he immediately flinched away.
“By the fifth time she left me, I was resigned to never getting out of that hellhole and away from that life. I was used to being used. Places like that are so rural, no one shows up to look for kids not going to school or looks twice at the ones wandering around with bruises. There’s no one like Nassir stepping in to keep the drug dealers in line, and no one like Race out there making sure the community is taken care of so they don’t cannibalize one another. It’s just a speck on the map everyone passes over.”
“Booker . . .” I wasn’t sure what to say but I wanted to crawl back in his lap and offer him all the comfort and care the little boy who’d been abused had so desperately needed.
“When I got too old to get Mom’s dealer off, he handed me over to one of his buddies who liked to play rough with his toys. I was thirteen years old, hadn’t been in school since first grade, and couldn’t remember my own name half the time. I was so hungry and confused from being knocked around and passed from man to man to man. This guy was a fucking psycho. He made the dealer look like the Easter Bunny in comparison. There was no doubt in my mind he was going to kill me, and there wasn’t going to be anyone around to miss me when I was gone. I was terrified, but I didn’t want to die. I knew, even back then, there had to be more out there than that shithole town and those terrible people.”
He turned to look at me, slate eyes as hard and as flat as I’d ever seen them. “I killed him before he could kill me. I was a skinny little shit back then. Not very tall either. No one saw me as a threat, but when you back any animal into a corner, their instinct is to fight their way free. He kept me locked in a room with nothing more than an old mattress on the floor. I ripped out one of the springs and spent days sharpening it on the floor. I was making prison weapons long before I ever got locked up.”
It was a joke but it totally fell flat. There was nothing funny about any of this. I couldn't believe this strong, unbreakable man had started out as someone so shattered. I had no idea how he’d ever found all his broken pieces and put them back together again.
“I stabbed him through the throat. I still remember all the blood and the way his eyes went blank. I had no idea what to do afterwards, so I ran to the one person who was supposed to save me, but somehow never did. My mom. She was horrified, not at what I’d done or what had happened to me, but because I’d killed her dealer’s friend. She was going to hand me over to him, let him take his revenge, but by then I knew no one was going to have my back and the bitch was going to get me killed, so I turned myself in. I was sentenced to juvie for five years because I was too young to convict as an adult.”
I was shaking my head, and as I did I could feel moisture leak out of my eyes. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been crying, but my face was soaked.
“Did you get out after five years?” I almost didn’t want to hear the answer.
Slowly, he shook his head. “No, I didn’t. Juvie is no joke. It’s a bunch of homicidal kids ready to go all Hunger Games on one another. It’s as bad as big boy prison. When I was sixteen, they put me in a cell with a guy who got grabby. After everything I’d already been through, I had a short fuse and quick temper when it came to being touched. He climbed into my bunk when I was asleep one night and it didn’t end well for either of us. He ended up in a coma on life-support; I ended up with an attempted murder charge and time in the big house. The day I was put into general population, the kid’s older brother found me. He was the head of one of the Aryan gangs that ran lock up. He and two of his guys got me alone in the shower and . . .” He trailed off, voice cracking as his eyes narrowed. “Well, they made sure I got the message that my time in prison wasn't going to go smoothly. He cut my face open to serve as a constant reminder of what they’d done. He told me every time I looked in a mirror I would see him.”
He exhaled long and slow, taking several, painful minutes before speaking again. “When I was in the prison infirmary, the doctor taking care of me talked a lot. He told me all about this place he was from called the Point. He said he left because the city was too violent and the bad guys were taking over. He was sad to see small town America wasn’t much better. He told me about Novak, and how the guy had a son who was one day going to take everything from him. He told me about a mysterious stranger with an accent who had shown up out of the blue and was already changing the rules of the game. He explained how sharks like Benny thrived and viewed everyone else as prey. He told me it would be a good place for me to go if I survived long enough to get to the end of my sentence. I didn't have much education, but there were always people in the Point looking for guys who knew how to keep their mouths shut and do what had to be done. He was actually the one who suggested I start bulking up while I was behind bars. I was small, but he said it was from being undernourished when I was younger. I hit a growth spurt at eighteen, and by then I’d put on enough muscle to keep pretty much everyone off me.”
I sniffled and angrily wiped my hands across my damp face. “What happened to the guy who cut you?”
Booker shook his head again and the scar on his cheek flexed involuntarily. “He died. Gang fight in the yard with a rival Latino gang. It happened while I was still healing. I was relieved, but I was also pissed I wasn’t the one who ended him. I had that in me. I could have killed him for what he did to me. He was right. I do think about him, and prison, and every choice I made that landed me there . . . every time I look in the mirror. When I got out, all I was good for was bashing heads, so I took Doc’s advice and headed to the Point. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen, and yet, exactly where I belonged. Violence is all I know, Karsen. The man who lives this life,” he shrugged, “it’s who I am, who I was always meant to be.”
I pulled in a shaky breath and wrapped my arms around myself. He might not be interested in a hug, but I sure as fuck needed one. “Can we stop? I don’t care where. I need to get out of this car.” I needed to move. I needed to hold him. To kiss him. To make his future better because his past was so very bad. I needed to breathe.
“Uh, sure. I wanted to keep going a little longer but there’s a motel off the next exit we can crash in for the night if you’re done.” He seemed off balance and far more vulnerable than I’d ever seen him. He would have to be after telling me all of that. He was no one’s victim anymore. He made sure of it with every single thing he did.
“I’m done.” I was done wanting him and not having him.
I was done seeing him as something he wasn’t.
I was done being alone and lost when he was the only man who had ever bothered to come find me.
We might not have forever, that was something you learned early on when you came from the places we did, but we had tonight and I was going to make the most of it.
“We only need to get one room, okay?” My voice was husky and there was no mistaking the invitation laced throughout.
“One room. Of course, we’re getting one room. I’m not letting you out of my sight until we’re back in the Point.” His eyebrows shot up and then immediately danced down.
I nodded. I knew that. But, there was another reason I was requesting only one room. “One room. One bed. One night. One good memory for both of us to hold onto when all the stuff that feels like it’s going to ruin us gets to be too much. It doesn't matter where we are, we’ll always have this one good thing that is just ours.”
A lascivious grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “Oh, it will be better than good, puppy.”
I had no doubt he was right, and it was one promise that absolutely worked for me.