Page 8 of Risk
“He was a nice man,” she told me, then she expanded it by saying, “At first, I was standoffish because you know what they say about biker gangs.” I had to correct her terminology and remind her about how they don’t like being referenced to as gangs, and encouraged—vehemently, for her to use the word club if she ever ran into them again.
“How do you know that?” she’d inquired.
To which I’d explained, “Ran into them from time to time when I was working. Some are nice people, some not so much.”
She harrumphed, and argued, “Well, these men I met were a godsend.”
“Good to know,” I mumbled, then asked the important question, “Do you know who they were? Did they have a name stitched into their cuts?”
“Their cuts?” she asked.
Getting annoyed at her lack of street smarts, I snapped out, “Their leather jackets, Mom.”
“Don’t get testy with me, McKenna Louise! What’s gotten into you anyway?”
Ignoring her inquiry, and not pushing her for an answer to my question, I caved. I didnot,under any circumstances, want to face a one-woman firing squad and possibly get my weekend visitation revoked, therefore, I apologized—post haste. “Sorry, Mom. It’s this headache, I can’t seem to get rid of it,” I lied, covering my tracks. Something I seem to be doing a lot where it comes to her. But my reasonings and secrets must never come to light.
I will take them to my grave.
I felt like a complete asshole when her irritation turned into concern. “Have you taken anything for it? Do you need me to come by tomorrow after work and drive you to the doctor? I don’t like this, Kenna. It’s been days now.” I want to correct her and tell her it’s an ongoing, revolving migraine I’ve had for years thanks to Marshall and his perverted escapades. I can’t, however, because that’d mean I’d be exposing myself. In the end, my life, and what’s become of it, is not her problem.
There’s one culprit in this horror story, and until the day comes that I can take my control back, he’ll be reaping the rewards.
Mom, Phoenix, and Risk are safe, I remind myself for the umpteenth time.
I won’t drag them into this.
I love them too much.
After swearing an oath that I would be fine and promised to reach out if it didn’t go away, we hung up. I wish I could take advantage of her kindness but keeping her far away from my apartment is critical.
Not just for her, but for the most important person in this world—Phoenix.
The week flies by, and during that time, my mind wandered to the man who assisted my mom and son. “It couldn’t have been him,” I say, trying to shake it off. “If it had been and he’d seen Phoenix, he would be seeing a mirror image of himself. He’d know Phoenix was his and if Risk figured that out, he’d move mountains until he discovered the truth.”
My biggest fears are coming to fruition. The second I saw him in that store, I should’ve listened to those alarm bells going off in my head and done something.
“Done what?” I ostentatiously snort. “It’s not like I could’ve packed my mom up and moved them to another town without her digging in her heels. What excuse could I come up with that would be valid enough to have her boxing up her home? Nothing.” All I would’ve managed to do was have her worried about my mental state and having me committed again for evaluation. Again. I wouldn’t survive it a second time. I nearly lost it the last time, those walls closed in on me and made it hard to breathe.
The pounding on my front door has me pausing in my internal tirade. “Open the fucking door, McKenna.” Marshall’s voice coming from the protective barrier of my front door has my entire being shaking.
I quickly scan my surroundings, making sure nothing is out that’d indicate I’m a mom. His unannounced check-ins are the very reason my apartment isn’t riddled with photos of Phoenix.
On trembling legs, I make my way to the door, unlatch the chain and unlock all three deadbolts before inhaling and swinging it open. “Marshall. What are you doing here?” It’s then I notice he’s not alone. He has a woman standing a few inches behind him.
She’s in the perfect submissive pose: Head down, eyes averted, and hands clasped neatly in front of her.
Dammit.
I know what this means and it makes the acid in my stomach curdle.
“New recruit,” Marshall indicates, waving his hand harshly in front of her bowed head to get her to step forward. Once she complies, he smirks at me. “McKenna, this is Isla. She’ll be staying with you for a couple of weeks until I can get her moved into the apartment down the hall. Take care of her, show her the ropes. You know what’ll happen if you don’t.”
“Yes, sir,” I reply, grabbing the sides of my sweats to anchor my hands so they don’t fly up and smack him across his smug face.
“Good girl,” he says, patting me on top of my head like I’m a well-behaved dog who just followed its master’s command.
He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out an envelope. I can tell by its girth that it’s stuffed full of cash, and before he gets a chance to tell me to take it and fail the test of obedience—been there, done that, won’t make that mistake again, I lift up my hand and open it with my palm facing upward and my eyes downcast.
