Page 8 of Renard's Deliverance

Renard wokeup in a cold sweat.

The nightmare had felt so real, and he quickly rolled out of bed to rush into his bathroom.

Shudders ran through his body as he threw up what little was in his stomach.

Breathing heavily, he stood and flushed the toilet before cupping his hand under the running tap to rinse his mouth out.

Fuck.

It had been at least a month since he’d last had that particular nightmare. As he grew closer to the anniversary of that day, he knew the nightmares were going to ramp up.

This time of year was always a fucking nightmare for him.

He stared into the mirror. The man looking back at him wasn’t the same man he’d been back then.

Yeah, he was older with more lines around his eyes and gray in his hair and beard. But it was more the look in his eyes.

He’d been through hell and come out the other side.

And a lot of time he didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse that he’d survived.

Sometimes, he thought that living was his punishment.

Punishment for being a bit of a bastard. If it was, well, the universe had well and truly spanked his ass until it was black and blue.

Living through this was hell.

There were also times where he wondered if he wouldn’t have been better staying on the streets. His punishment would have been swifter and harsher.

Now, he had a place to live and a job. He was warm in winter And he could shower daily.

He had . . . people he was friendly with.

Would he call them friends?

Do you deserve friends?

God.

He cupped some more water in his hand and splashed it on his face before brushing his teeth.

He needed a drink.

Moving into the shower, he quickly washed himself before getting dressed. It was close to midnight, but it was a Friday night and Dirty Delights would still be open.

He could go to Saxon’s, which was closer, but he wasn’t in a good headspace to be at the club tonight. Plus, he didn’t need any well-meaning busybodies trying to fix him.

You had to want to be fixed first.

And he didn’t.

Renard walked out of the small apartment that Saxon had arranged for him as part of his salary, although he called bullshit on that because he got paid exceptionally well.

Still, he was a talented bastard. He deserved to get paid well.

And he worked all the time. Although Saxon tried to get him to take time off. He’d even hired another chef to help him.

But what the hell was he meant to do with time off?

---