Revved Up Soul: A MC Romance (21 page)

Luke smiled.

“But it’s still insane.”

“I know,” Luke blinked, “I know that, but we’ve got to take the risk man.”

Gabriel clicked his tongue, “Hell of a lot of risks, plural, by the by,” he put his hands up defensively.

“Look if you come with, your father will come with.”

The man shook his head, “No, you don’t know that.”

It speared him through the chest. I’ve seen the warmth that I’ll never know, Luke’s shoulders sank a little lower then. “Yeah,” he murmured, gorging himself on that familiar emptiness – the weight unbearable and uncaring, “he will,” ignoring it only pushed the creature back into the dark deep.

Don’t – just . . . don’t.

Gabriel appeared skeptical, “Even if he does that’s just three people, and we wouldn’t even have a place to call home. It sure as shit ain’t gonna be this place,” he waved a hand around, “I mean are you just going to pull money straight from your ass?”

“Kayla’s dad has money,” he shrugged, “and we’ll do what we have to, to get where we need to be. Doesn’t mean I’ll enjoy it, but once we have what we need – we’ll have what we need,” he assured.

“Slippery slope,” Gabriel wagged a finger. “Besides how much longer are you really going to stay with her, anyway?”

“That’s why I need you to keep me in check,” Luke felt a familiar buzz in his jeans, turning away from Gabriel. He focused on the TV, several heartbeats passing. “I don’t know,” he finally said, “I feel like I’m stuck,” he admitted, “like I’ve spent so much time with her, that anyone else just wouldn’t fit – and I hate it,” he seethed between grit teeth. He repeated those three words time and time again, and then some more, the anger coiling at the base of his spine in a warm pool. Luke put a hand to his head, “all she does is get high, we fight all the time and it’s just – she’s not who I thought she was.”

“Well suck it up,” Gabriel said, “if you want Rochester’s money at least.”

He didn’t say anything; it was so hard to keep himself composed after the loss of Able – it made his stomach turn into a twisted merry-go-round of knots, thinking just how good it might feel to crush knuckles against bone.

Jasmine . . .

“Look,” Gabriel said, “I’m with you all the way; I’m in your corner. It’s insane, but if any of us could stage a coup, it’d be you.”

“No,” the wrong brother died, he thought. “Able was always the better leader.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Gabriel scolded. “You’re both good people, share the same blood and the same kindness, you’ll make a great leader.” The sound of buzzing filled the room, and Gabriel looked down at his pocket, reaching inside and fishing out his black cased smartphone. “Huh,” he flicked the screen, bringing the device to his ear and mouthing ‘it’s Kayla’. “Hello?” He asked.

Luke rolled his eyes, he knew then who had just rang his phone. She was always hounding him on where he was. That woman knows nothing about personal space and independence; for being such a punk, she sure did seem to want to be a hermaphroditic blob.

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed, a graveness veiling his face. He swallowed – Luke couldn’t make out the words but he could hear Kayla’s voice. “Luke . . .”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Augustus

Licks of cold fire washed over and all that he could do was hold himself tighter, slipping against his own sweat in the white tub. Augustus tossed his head from one side to another, groaning to himself and muttering a string of apologies – the stabs of pain never ceased, shanking him anew with every dying ember of her memory; each subtle motion of her angelic face another torturous reminder.

Beads of sweat rolled down from forehead to chin and Augustus opened his eyes, gasping for breath – his sweats soaked in his own perspiration. “Come on!” He yelled, the veins in his neck bulging, his hand shooting out to the rim of the bathtub and clutching it so hard that his knuckles turned as pale as his gaunt face.

Just make it stop, just make it stop, just make it stop.

You’re too weak, a little voice reminded. Nothing will bring her back.

Remember, down, all the way down. Not along.

The sound of Augustus’ fingers slipping against the rim of the tub filled his ear; he arched his back, trying to lift himself a bit into the air – in a violent motion he slammed back down, his head thumping against the porcelain.

He yelled a litany of curses and rolled over onto his side – the perspiration of his own body soaking through his sweats. Everything was too hot or too cold and it was all at the same bloody time. Pinpricks of pain danced mercilessly across his body as he weakly brought himself to his knees, and then to his feet. Clutching the wall and onyx shower curtains, Augustus clenched his teeth and brought one leg out of the tub, and then another.

You’re a damn, stupid idiot, you coward. She’d never forgive you, he chided, neither of them would. Augustus’ tired, sleepless eyes, settled on the medicine cabinet mirror just feet away.

Puh-lease, you can’t even pretend to resist you fool. Even with the lights dimmed, the soft orange glow seemed all too bright – the temples of Augustus’ head felt like two screws were being cranked against them.

One step, two step. For every motion, another wave of pain crashed against his person – the bones of his body drinking the agonizing waters deep.

You’ll just go back to drinking, come on, just do it – do it. You can’t grieve, you can’t function – you never could. A whine escaped the man’s lips as he shambled inch by terrible inch, his hair a wet mess.

Finally, he almost tripped against the sink, throwing out his hands to catch himself, a hard breath exhaling. For all that the man cared, seasons could have passed outside – leaves could have faded and snow could have come and gone; Augustus managed to lift his head up and look at the misery that was his person. Take it, Augustus taunted, you know you need it. His muscles ached with a dull fire, the blood in his body becoming thick; every ill pulse another blow against him.

Body quivering against the sink, he tried to repress the terrible memories, tried to smother all of the pain away. ‘Clock, clock’ Augustus heard.

Shadowy as a wraith, she appeared in the mirror. It felt as though the grave itself clutched his heart, Augustus dared not look back. Her once platinum blonde hair, so long and beautiful, was now soaked, frayed and split and horrible; the luster in her amber eyes now glassy and distant: dead. What was once a smile that calmed his soul was now a scowl; her green summer dress once bright and colorful, now dark and dull – it clung wet to her shapely, if not ghostly thin, figure.

Augustus shuddered, “Go away,” he murmured in a choke. But she did not. Her ethereal coil lingered, practically gliding more so than stepping, closer to Augustus. Thin, long fingers touched along the man’s hips, a chill blooming where they met. Three sounds filled his ear again ‘clock, clock, clock’.

“Why won’t you do it, my heart?” Her voice was thin and tired, the words were hers, the voice a distant memory of light – but it was enough.

He shut tight his eyes but the stinging would not stop, he squeezed his hands but the fire would not leave, he tried to take the invisible knife from his chest – it only sunk deeper.

Concentrating all of his will, he placed his hands on either end of the medicine cabinet and grunted as he ripped it from the wall; the fixture passing through the shade of his once wife, crashing against the tile floor and shattering glass bits in every which way. His body felt hot, gloriously hot and a rush of endorphins so thick and full shot straight to his skull just at the sight of it; the hole in the wall so crudely punched out one night so long ago, his gear all still where it was once left.

The shade of Laura caressed an inky finger against Augustus’ cheek, “Good,” the word echoed like it was far, far away. The finger left a trail of dark grey smoke and her figure moved to his other side. I just want to stop hurting. Augustus swept both hands through his sweat matted hair and pulled tightly, his voice thick with distress. His eyes could not leave the dark allure before him. He sucked in a deep breath, screwing up his weary face.

“Still a coward I see,” the wraith-like voice chuckled. “You’re a failure.”

“I’m not a coward!” Augustus turned and snapped, fingers pressing harder against his heart when he realized the shadow that was his wife wouldn’t vanish. “You’re not real,” he shook his head, tears welling in his eyes, “you’re not.”

“I’d still be here,” she taunted, the smoke that was her neck growing longer and rising, “it’s your fault, you know.”

“No,” his breath hitched in his tight throat.

“Oncology? You would have seen it – you should have saved me, Augustus.”

Augustus whipped his head back to look away from the demon; it felt as though he were watching himself from far away now – not in control of his own body. His arm rose up and slowly worked its way towards the heroin, he heard his name called out but tried to ignore it.

The wraith snaked its hand in a smoky grip around the length of Augustus’ arm. Emptiness became him as his fingers coiled around the baggie of heroin, trembling ever so slightly.

A familiar voice came shining through then, from behind, “Augustus!” The dulcet tone scolded.

He wanted to put it down, but his body would not let him. He weakly grabbed at the plastic tube and needle before a great smack knocked the gear from his hands.

Jasmine pressed herself between him and his drugs, “Don’t you dare,” she threatened, cold and biting as arctic night.

“No!” Augustus howled, stumbling and nearly collapsed against the beige wall of his bathroom, fire shooting freely through his veins – he reached out a desperate hand as he watched the woman pick up the baggie. “Jasmine!” He pleaded. God, no! I need it! “Jasmine please,” he begged as he summoned all his will to inch forward, trickles of sweat falling from his face – his muscles burning with a dull ache.

The woman dropped the bag into the toilet.

Augustus screamed her name and tried with all his weak, pathetic might to shove her away. But it didn’t matter, it was too little too late. She flushed the baggie and it vanished, just like that he felt the world fall from beneath him. Augustus sunk down to his knees and let his head fall back, warm little drops rolling down his cheeks. “I need it,” he croaked, “I needed it, Jas. I can’t do it without it, I just can’t.”

She tossed the rest of his gear into the trash and crouched down to face him, putting her hands on his face. “Look at me,” she said softly. “Gus, look at me, you can pull through.”

He brought his head back down, searching her deep green eyes – trailing down to the long thin strip of wound dressing pressed against her neck. “What happened to you?” He asked concerned.

Jasmine gave that playful smirk he adored so much, “You should see the other girl,” she replied, “I was hoping to be comforted by you,” Jasmine confessed, batting her long, shadowy lashes, “but it looks like you need it more than me.”

Things felt easier with her around, but the bones in his body still felt as though they wished to creep outside of his skin. “I’m fine,” he lied, shaking.

“Sure you are,” she wrapped her arms around the man tightly. It felt wonderful, to be held so tight, and she smelled divine; Augustus never wanted the moment to end. After a while she went back to her feet and helped him up, taking him step by painful step over to the living room, laying him down on the soft black couch.

The pillow felt cool against his head. Augustus tightened his hand into a fist, tossing and turning for a moment as Jasmine lay beside him, putting a hand to his head. That feels better, he thought, looking up at the vision of beauty. Her sun-burnished skin warm and inviting in the mellow lighting, her eyes glinting with concern and her lips so full and luscious and pink. His heart tapped quicker against his chest, looking from her wound down to her chest; she had ample breasts that practically begged to be touched.

Augustus licked his cracked lips, “Come here,” he husked, swallowing hard and pulling her against him despite the pain.

“Gus,” Jasmine yelped, a little fit of laughter escaping her heavenly throat.

He wanted to say the words, he wanted to make them true – it ached as much as the pain in his bones, but they would not come. Instead Augustus growled and pressed the woman’s lithe, curvaceous body against his own; the feeling of her breasts pushed against his chest was nothing short of divine – it sent a deep, warm throb right to the base of his sex. Augustus pressed his lips firmly against Jasmine’s, loving the taste of her warm and wet lips against his own – he hummed deep from within his chest in approval of her.

She pulled back, looking down at him, her nose nearly touching his. She blinked and the lines of her face subtly changed.

Augustus rubbed a hand up the small of her back, and squeezed her tight ass with the other. “You okay?”

Heartbeats passed. “Yeah,” she said, “fine.” She leaned back into the kiss, more forceful this time.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Luke

Flying dangerously by traffic, only one thought could resonate through his mind: she didn’t pick up. Twin fiery serpents climbed up the base of Luke’s spine, and he had to consciously stop himself from clenching his teeth. Kayla must have overheard me last night, Luke realized. Kayla had said that she went down to St.Augustine to confront Jasmine, that things escalated out of control – that Jasmine attacked her. Yeah and proud men shit gold.