Sin & Suffer

I slumped in the backseat. “I can’t deal with you right now.” I couldn’t look at him. Had he always been this frustrating? This hard to convince?

Yes.

So many times we’d locked horns and screamed until we were torn apart by worried family members. We fought over everything. When we were younger, our battles were over stupid things like stationery thievery and bicycle tampering. When we were older, it was about lipstick smears on his cheek from two-bit hussies and innocent messages to me from boys in my class.

We were jealous.

We were possessive.

We were passionate and explosive and consumed.

And that fiery combustion never ceased because we never gave in to what existed between us.

But now we are together. Shouldn’t it be easier?

Silence was heavy and breathless as our cease-fire lengthened.

Tears pricked my eyes. My head bellowed, my stomach was empty, and all I wanted to do was have a shower and get rid of the sticky blood and memories. But I also wanted to clear the air between us. To let him know that he didn’t need to fear—

Of course!

Sitting higher, I said urgently, “All this time and I didn’t see it.”

He frowned. “See what?”

“The past few weeks I hurt you with not remembering us, our past—of leaving you behind. When you took me to the beach, I knew how much you needed me to remember, but at the same time, you were hoping I would never recall that night—”

He reared back; his face shut down. “We have to go. We’re going around in damn circles.”

Slamming the door, he didn’t hear my whispered, “Everything you think you know about that night is a lie. You went to prison believing a lie. And you’re pushing me away because of a lie.”

How could I be so stupid? How could he be so stupid?

Arthur thought I would leave him. Did he honestly think after the trauma of the past few days that I wouldn’t remember in explicit detail? If I had to thank Rubix for anything in my life, it would be that. For smashing through the panic, shame, and bitter grief and showing me I was strong enough to face the one recollection my mind had tried to delete.

Sirens sounded on the horizon, splicing through the thick smoke from burning Dagger Rose. I’d wanted to witness the houses turning to dust. I’d wanted to laugh at the symbolism of a new beginning. But that wasn’t possible with the compound being so close to civilization and me covered in blood. Questions would be asked. Men arrested.

Arthur was right. Talking would have to wait. And then by God, I would make him listen, even if I had to hit him over the head with another baseball bat.

A tap on the window wrenched my head up. Grasshopper grinned, waved, then took off in a roar of thunder on his bike.

A torrent of leather-jacketed men followed him, their motorcycles kicking up dirt like angry stallions galloping through the darkness. Roar after roar of super-charged engines devoured the silence, turning night into nightmares.

A thrill went through me at the sound. The purr of motorbikes no longer scared me. It was my heritage. My home.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Arthur slammed the door and slipped the key Grasshopper had given him into the ignition. The engine was so quiet, it didn’t sound like the car was on after the raucous of bikes.

Tension and awkwardness prevailed from our unresolved fight.

Rather than address it and bring our tempers back to boiling point, I said quietly, “I feel like you’re my taxi driver.”

The rigidity of his back softened a little as he looked at me in the rearview mirror. His eyebrow quirked. “Why?”

“Whenever we’re in a car together, you’re always in front and I’m in the back.” My mind slipped back to the day he’d thrown me into the 4WD and shot across town to the harbor to sell me. We’d had a massive argument then, too. Seemed the only way to slap any sense into this man was to fight through his pigheadedness.

Art didn’t say a word. Locking his fists around the steering wheel, he looked as if he prayed for patience … or pain relief.

My heart twisted at the void between us. “I love you, Arthur,” I breathed. “No matter what, I hope you always remember that.”

His head shot up, a low groan escaping his throat. He made eye contact in the mirror again, his face contorting with so many things. His gaze glowed in the car’s gloomy interior before he leaned forward and rested his forehead on the steering wheel. “You kill me every time you say that, Buttercup.”

The agony in his voice wrapped around me like sad, tearful mist.

“Oh, Art.” I couldn’t stand him hurting like this. Despite my bruised body and my killer headache, I shoved aside the blanket and wrapped my arms around the back of his seat, stroking his shoulders.

He reclined, folding himself into my embrace. His back rested against the beige leather, and he sighed heavily as my arms locked around his chest, holding him tight. “I’m going to say this once and only once, so pay attention.” I kissed the shell of his ear. “That night won’t change how I feel about you. I give you my ultimate promise. But I understand your need to wait to talk about it.”

He went deathly still. “You … you remembered?”

I hugged him harder. “I told you. All of it.”

He twisted out of my embrace, turning to face me with wide, incredulous eyes. “You’re telling me you remember me shooting your mother and father point blank, yet you still love me?” He shook his head. “Are you insane as well as amnesic?”