Authors: Harlow Stone
Mind Lies (22 page)
“Don’t be scared. We’ll be in and out,” Siobhan giggles as she leads me through the fence to the shipping yard, practically dragging me behind her.
Like a fool, I follow.
I always follow.
Since my horny, sixteen-year-old self got hold of her two years ago, I’ve been following her everywhere.
And once I got my dick wet, there was no turning back.
Her father would fuckin’ kill me if he knew what happens when we’re out at night. We may be eighteen, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’d cut my balls off and feed them to me for dinner.
“Siobhan, slow down!” I hiss at her. I know the docks like the back of my hand, ever since my dad took off and I started staying with his cousin, Paddy. I’ve spent nearly every minute down here.
I love the docks.
The water, the hard work that Siobhan says makes my body lickable, and the men I get to meet from all over the world makes it interesting. My dad’s a piece of shit. He never taught me anything other than how to lie your way out of a shitty situation . . . and the best places to gamble. He made his life on bets. However, I’m grateful that ever since I turned ten, I’ve been making mine out of honest work.
Paddy has been more of a father to me than my own.
“Well then hurry up!” Siobhan’s voice cuts through my musing as we weave through containers on the way to the docks. Why she wanted to sneak in here, I have no clue. Her dad works for a trucking company that frequents the docks, and if it weren’t for her tailing along with him one day, we never would have met.
Now we’re inseparable, and even though she seems to get us into shit wherever we go, I can’t help but follow. She’s my first girlfriend, my first love, regardless of the fact she’s fucking crazy.
Last week she wanted to try acid, just to see what all the hype was about. I didn’t join her, but after that experience, I hope to hell she never wants to do it again.
The week before, she’d jumped off the Clover Street Bridge, just to say she’d done it.
I didn’t join her then either.
She has lived a sheltered life, but as soon as she hit eighteen, she became more brazen, sneaking out in the middle of the night so she could hang with some of the East Street Gang to score drugs. Just so she could say she tried them.
The list goes on.
I hoped that since it was just the two of us tonight she wouldn’t be dragging us toward trouble. Paddy told me she’s a spark waiting to hit a pile of gasoline.
I told him I didn’t care because I loved her.
He told me to be careful. He would never stand in the way of me making my own mistakes.
I never saw Siobhan as a mistake. But lately, these past few months, I have been seeing her as a liability, as someone standing between me and a jail cell, or death. And instead of pushing me away from either, she’s pulling me toward them.
“Here!” she tells me, and I look up to see some of the East Street crew along with a few girls she went to school with.
“What the fuck, Sio? I thought it was just us tonight?”
She gives me those big brown eyes, batting her eyelashes at me. “Lock, why aren’t you any fun? You used to be fun, but now all you want to do is couple stuff. Why can’t we hang out with them?” she pouts.
I cave for a moment, and remain silent. I like couple stuff because it keeps her out of trouble. I like taking one of Paddy’s boats out, just the two of us, because I know it’s safe and I won’t have to worry about what trouble she wants to get into.
I also like fucking her, which I can’t do in a group of people.
But I don’t tell her any of that. She wouldn’t care anyway. Lately, all she cares about is the East Street crew and those rail-thin twins she has been hanging around who snort coke all day long.
She likes coke too.
I’m not a pussy—I’ve tried it.
But I didn’t need to keep doing it. Not because the shit’s expensive, but because I’d rather be spending my time with her.
Shaking my head, I tell her, “Sio, you want us to hang out with other people. That’s fine. But do we really have to do this every night? Get high, hang out with a bunch of people we don’t give a shit about, and sleep all fucking day? I have to work tomorrow, Sio.”
She scowls at me. “I thought you loved me, Locklin?”
I sigh. She always does this.
“I do love you, Sio. More than anybody.”
She melts a little in my arms before kissing me.
“One hour. Then we’ll leave. Okay?” she promises.
Reluctantly, I nod, knowing it won’t be an hour.
It will be four.
I swallow back the words I really want to say and follow her.
***
I wake with a start, scrubbing my hands over my face and shaking off the nightmares of my past.
Siobhan.
I remember that night, much like all the others. If I had known it would only take two more weeks for Siobhan to become hooked on more than just blow, I would have grabbed her hand and dragged her out of there.
In my mind, I think that would have helped. But deep down I know I’m wrong because Siobhan did what Siobhan wanted. And there wasn’t a man on this earth who could have told her otherwise.
If she had the choice to run away with the carnival as a child, I’m sure she would have. She was a free spirit, but a dangerous one. She jumped in with both feet, regardless of the fire.
And that’s what scared the fuck out of me.
That she wasn’t scared at all.
She had no regard for her own life or those around her. She’d been sheltered for so long her only choice when the cage opened was to rebel, to run and fly and stretch her wings as far as they would take her, no matter how strong the wind.
At first I found it inspiring.
But then I learned it was ignorance.
I tried. Fuck, did I try. But she never listened.
It only took those two weeks before I never saw her again, before the drugs became more important, and the only people she wanted to hang out with were those who could supply her with more. I’d blame the gang, or even the twins who marched alongside her; but, the truth is, I know the only person responsible was herself.
And if she weren’t so careless, so clueless, she wouldn’t have been wandering around the docks, higher than a goddamn kite by herself late at night.
When her father called Paddy to tell him she hadn’t been home in two days, Paddy cursed me out. I would never do anything to disrespect Paddy; he’d done more for me than anyone else in my life. That being said, I told him everything.
Then we went to look for her.
And I haven’t been the same since.
Finding her on the dock that night broke something in me. It broke the part of youth that remains innocent—it also broke my faith in love.
Was I not enough for her?
If I was, would she have sought the reckless path she took?
Paddy always assured me there was no saving something so wild. She was like a lion held in captivity being let loose in the wilderness. There was no taming her.
Like a spark, only she wanted to be bigger. She didn’t stop until she found a flame.
The flame was the drugs.
She burned so fucking bright you would think she would take down everything in her path. Ultimately, she just took down herself, to the lowest pit of hell, when she got strung out, when she stumbled upon Yakov’s crew while wandering the docks late one night.
That’s when flying free got her killed.
I don’t know if Siobhan tried to free the women she found in a container that was ready to be shipped off to god knows where. All I know is she’d been beaten so badly when Paddy and I found her that she was waiting for death.
She plead for me to save the girls. And then all she kept mumbling as she began to die was that name. Yakov. I promised her I would save the girls, even though I wasn’t entirely sure what that promise was at the time. Who knew women were being trafficked into the very port I practically grew up in?
I sure as hell didn’t, and neither did Paddy.
So I made the promise, and I’ve been nearly killing myself every day since.
I couldn’t save Siobhan. But maybe, just maybe, I could save someone else.
But I’m getting tired.
I’ve spent the better part of my adult life chasing a ghost.
I know that now.
From the day Siobhan was killed to today, I’ve done nothing but try to bring Yakov’s crew to justice.
But it didn’t end there. No, it never fucking does.
Yakov is just one man, with one crew of sick and twisted motherfuckers who get off on trafficking women. Yakov is also just one fish in a big pond. I’ve worked hard trying to get information—to interfere—on the skin trade while keeping up an appearance by working for Paddy.
Long story short, I’ve helped put a lot of people in jail.
I’ve even seen a few killed.
Most importantly, I’ve saved a lot of innocent women from Siobhan’s fate.
But not them all.
And that’s part of what keeps me doing what I do.
But not all of it. No. The last of it is that I’m a fucking coward. Jerri was the first woman who I enjoyed fucking for more than one night, and when I found her in the hands of Visily all those years ago, my worst fucking fear came back to haunt me:
Losing someone else.
So, gone was the attentive Locklin she’d come to know. If I kept my distance, kept doing what I do, I told myself it wouldn’t hurt so bad if I did, in fact, lose her.
I’m a fucking idiot.
I know I’m lying to myself, but I’ve refused to believe it. Jerri is strong, resilient even. No matter what shit I put her through, she always bounces back.
And I’ve taken advantage of that.
For twelve fucking years.
I know what I’ve been doing is wrong, how I’ve treated her. I know I need to change, but that’s an easier thing to say than do. How do I quit what I’ve been doing and break a promise to Siobhan?
Better yet, how do I get the woman who means the most to me—the woman who carries my child—to believe I’m worth it?
I wasn’t worth enough to Siobhan, and as much as I feel like a damn pussy for saying it, I wonder if I won’t be enough for Jerri either.
If I give her everything . . . what if it’s still not enough?
What if, after all the sacrifices I’d have to make to be with her, she would decide it isn’t worth it?
Would decide I’m not worth it?
I’m a proud man, and that’s the hardest fucking pill to swallow.
Mostly, because I fear it’s the truth.
“God I love your cooking,” I mumble around my spoon as I take the last bite of stew from my bowl. Nessa’s practically preening, not only because of the compliment but also because she’s grateful she has more than two mouths to feed.
Nessa and Paddy were never fortunate enough to have their own children, which is probably why they did so well with Locklin when he came to live with them at ten years old. They truly wanted kids, so when they were given the chance, they spared no love or expense in giving him everything they could.
It breaks Nessa’s heart now to know what Locklin does day in, day out; not because she isn’t proud of him, but because she worries that one day the phone calls will stop.
Because she worries that one day he might not come home anymore.
Along with that worry comes a woman eager to resume her motherly role. In my case, it’s the small things, such as the stew she just fed me for dinner; and the large things, such as how often she spends on the internet searching for healthy meals to help the baby grow, or how she’s bought a crib and change table, and all the clothes currently occupying the closet in the nursery she’s made.
I never had a plan, really, when I came here three weeks ago, but staying until the baby was born was only a thought at the time. Nessa would have me here forever if it were her choice, and I love her even more for that. But the bottom line is I still haven’t figured out exactly what I want, or need, to do. When I do think about it, my head spins.
I miss Portia like crazy, but our near-daily Skype conversations help curb that. When I was in Boston, I didn’t get that luxury with Paddy and Nessa. I didn’t get to stay in touch as often because I never wanted anyone to know about them.
When I look back now, I think it probably would have been okay to make more contact with them. But as the years wore on, it became the norm to stay somewhat out of touch.
Besides, how do you suddenly explain your family in Ireland to your friends in Boston without telling them the whole story?
On top of that, Locklin has been paranoid about my safety since we first got together. Hiding and lying about my past has become as normal as making a cup of coffee. After one year turned into two, and two into three, I knew nothing else.
All I knew was I couldn’t go back to Ireland. I couldn’t let myself be that much closer to Yakov’s crew, again, and worry about leading them to Paddy and Nessa.
After that awful night in the warehouse, it was a given. It isn’t as if they couldn’t figure out who I was. They’d seen me before, knew where I worked.
And later, as Locklin’s friend Lee informed him, they knew where I lived.
My flat had been ransacked.
I had left my purse behind at work one day. Identification inside.
No brainer, really. I had to hide.
When Locklin called Lee to tell him what had happened to me, he basically said I had no other choice but to hide. G2 wasn’t going to stick me in some sort of witness protection program to testify about what I saw that night in order to help hang Vasily, because
he
would never rat on Yakov.
If he did, he signed his own death certificate.
As Locklin once said, “Any smart man knows that jail is a little girl’s tea party compared to being in the hands of Yakov.”
So we were on our own.
And six months later, I was settled back in the States under the protection of Bryan O’Shaunessey with a new last name a social security number.
That was over ten years ago.
Thankfully, I never had to call Bryan for help, but when I look back, it makes me miss all the time I could have shared with Paddy and Nessa. It didn’t take long, but they wormed their way into my heart in the six months I stayed with them.
We visited a handful of times. Once when Portia went on vacation with Cooper, Locklin and I came back to Ireland for two weeks to spend time with the lovely couple. It was never enough though; it always hurt to leave.
Now that I’m back, I feel a mixture of peace and a mild fear.
I fear that I’m that much closer to the Russians, but I’m at peace because I feel home.
And that’s tough. It’s hard being torn between two places.
I have no desire to return to the docks unless I’m getting on a boat to go somewhere, and I’m certain that I’m safe hidden at the little cabin. But I suppose my feelings might change when the cabin fever sets in, when I realise I have nobody in this country other than Paddy and Nessa.
I also don’t have a purpose, such as I had with the shop.
I’ve spent days online purchasing and finding new treasures to ship to the shop. I’ve also been doing payroll and other clerical work from here since I have the time. It helps, gives me something to do in the day since Nessa insists on feeding me. And aside from tidying up after myself, there really isn’t a whole lot to do.
There’s a small barn with a few horses on the side of the hill. I venture there every morning to visit them, give them a good brushing. But that too only takes up a little of my time.
“Ye won’t be havin’ time when the babe gets here, Jerrilyn. Enjoy it!”
Nessa had told me.
I take her word for it and help out where she lets me. She’s a pushy older woman who works from sunup to sundown looking after those under her roof, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Thanks, Ness,” I tell her as I place my bowl in the dishwasher. “I’m going to head back for the night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Grabbing my shoulders, she places a kiss on my cheek. “Get some rest, dear girl.”
Swinging by the lounge, I give Paddy a tap on the back as I pass by and say, “Until the morning, Ol’ Man.”
He sighs and nods his head.
“Paddy?” I ask, confused since he’s normally more vocal. Normally, he has some smart-ass comment to fling back at me.
“Aye, Lass. ’Til the mornin’,” he grumbles.
“Everything alright? Did Locklin call?”
He shakes his head. “Nothin’ for ye to worry about.”
I don’t believe that at all, but he seems contemplative so I leave him be and begin the mile-long trek to the cottage.
There are pathways all over the landscape, and I follow the one heading toward the water as I begin the walk home. Paddy often offers to drive me; he even left one of his old trucks at the cabin for me to use to get back and forth. But this bucolic walk is not a burden.
It’s a blessing.
After my fifth refusal, he stopped bugging me. But he made me promise to call or text Nessa when I arrive.
***
I watch her from the covered porch as she makes her way along the lake.
Jerri girl.
It has been almost a month since I called her last, since I heard her soulful voice.
God, she’s beautiful.
It has been almost six months since I’ve held her, made love to her.
Tasted her.
I’ve been a stupid son of a bitch for letting something so perfect slip through my fingers, but I vowed that day in the hospital bed that I would never fuck this up again.
I would never hurt her again as I have in the past.
I would never, not for the rest of my life, take for granted how important she is.
One could argue that she’s been weak in the past for choosing to stay with me, a man who has nothing to offer but incredible fucking and the occasional meal. The fucking part has always taken precedence over food, so I can’t even say that I eat with her often.
Unless I’m eating her.
Our trips to the coffee shop were as close as we’d gotten to sharing a meal because it was the busiest time of the year for me: fall through spring. Human trafficking slows down in the summer months because nobody wants to worry about their merchandise cooking in a container on its way to the port.
It’s the end of November now, a busy time for business. But for once I don’t feel the guilt setting in. I don’t feel that weight I normally have on my shoulders of not working twenty hours a day, hell bent on saving every defenseless woman I cross paths with.
Jerri continues her walk toward the cabin at a slow pace.
She always loved it here, and you can tell by the way she takes her time, by the way she stops occasionally to take in her surroundings, to absorb the beauty of the landscape. I simply absorb
her.
The way her hands rest protectively on her stomach, which has grown with our child. She’d be five or six months pregnant now, and my God, how it suits her. The emerald-green tunic she has on is molded tightly to her perfectly round stomach. Her hair has grown a few inches, and her skin is paler from the lack of sunshine.
But she
glows.
Not wanting to scare her from where I stand in the shadows, I walk out toward the light and wait until her hand is firmly gripped on the railing before speaking to her. There’s an odd sensation in my throat, as though there were a golf ball lodged in an awkward place. Swallowing past the offending lump, I manage to rasp, “You look beautiful, Lass.”
Her head whips toward me, face whitening like a ghost. Her fingers dig so hard into the railing I’m surprised I haven’t heard it splinter.
She heaves in a breath, and like the true bastard I am, I watch her tits. They are much larger than they used to be, having moved up her chest. Her neck flushes pink, and when I follow her flawless skin, I see the color matches her cheeks.
She’s fucking stunning.
There’s a fire in her eyes, a fire that I missed when she tore me a new asshole and gutted me at the hospital. The fire I’ve admired and envied, and I’m glad she has it back. It’s better news for me because if my Lass has some fight left in her, it means I still have a chance.
It means I haven’t completely fucked everything up.
“Why did you come here, Locklin?” she whispers, eyes still blazing, face contorted in agony as though it physically hurts her to speak to me.
My fingers twitch with the urge to touch her, so I ball them into fists at my side before I do something stupid like grab her and kiss her fucking senseless.
“For you, Lass. I came here for you.”
She sighs in frustration, closing her eyes to gather herself before opening them with new resolve. Gripping the railing tighter, she ascends the steps and says, “Then you’ve wasted your time. If and when you come here, it should be for your family, not for me. Go and see them. Ness misses you.”
Shaking my head, I follow her up the steps and tell her, “I did come to see my family, Lass.”
She huffs. “Then why aren’t you with them?”
“I am, Jerri girl. My family’s right in front of me.”
Pausing with her hand on the door, she looks over her shoulder with the same expression on her face I probably had when she left me with nothing but an ultrasound picture.
“You can’t come here and expect to win me back with words, Locklin.” Shaking her head sadly, she adds, “You can’t win me back at all.”
Ignoring the burn in my chest, I grab on to my fiery Irish temper. “You’re wrong, Lass. I’m here to prove it to you.”
She laughs humorlessly. “What are you going to do, Lock? Beat down my defenses, make me love you again? And then when you have me right where you want me, hop on your motorcycle in the middle of the night and take off?” She scoffs. “I’m not signing up for that life agai—”