Breaking Mr. Cane (Cane 2)

He then flipped his wrist, checking his watch. With a heavy sigh, he picked his head up and looked toward the clinic. It was a big place, very hard to miss. It reminded me of the white house with how grand and white it was. Too bad the inside didn’t uphold the same elegance.

“I have an hour. Coffee sounds good.”

To that, I smiled, and when he offered to give me a ride, I smiled even harder.

“Sorry for snapping at you.” He rubbed the back of his neck before starting the car up. “I didn’t catch your name…”

“Oh, I’m Kelly,” I filled in for him. “And your name?”

“Uh…Quinton. Quinton Cane.”

I nodded with a small smile, and he pulled away from the clinic. I was beaming inside.

I had him. I was close to him. He was in my clutches and that pleased me in more ways than one.

Little did he know that I belonged to Polly Heights Rehabilitation Clinic, too, just like his mother. Little did he know that I’d been checked in for drug overuse, and was still in therapy to control my personal disorders.

Little did he know that he was going to be stuck with me forever.

Chapter Eight

CANE

I hated that I couldn’t be around to see Kandy off. Instead, I was in the hospital recovering, ready to break the hell out already. Just a few more hours, I reminded myself, but it was getting harder to settle with the idea of that with Kelly on my back.

I had to find a way to get rid of her without being too crazy about it. She’d found the letter my father had sent to me from prison. The words weren’t delightful either. They were a threat.

Though I hated him and he hated me, he knew a lot of things about me—things that I’d wanted to keep buried for the sake of my new life, my business, and my family, but he would use my mistakes just to piss me off and ruin me.

I knew that my past would bite me in the ass one day…I just didn’t think it would be so soon. My father had eight more years to go in prison so anything he had to say, even now, would have been meaningless. His word as a jailbird wasn’t worth shit…but anything Kelly said could have tarnished me completely.

I never thought I would be able to hate someone as much as I did my father, but I hated her. I always felt something was off about her, but assumed it was my paranoia and lack of trust in everyone kicking in.

My gut was right about her. With all her beauty and patience, there was no choice but for her to have a major flaw or two. Meeting her at the clinic, but not knowing why she was really there? Never seeing her there again after she’d run into me? It was like she’d planned all of it—staged it somehow, but why on earth would she go out of her way to do such a thing?

Later that night, I dreamt about my sister. It was funny how that worked. I remember telling Lora that our bond was like the one of twins. If she were in trouble, I would know it. I’d feel it deep down in my soul—a tingle so deep in my palms it drove me mad—and sure enough, she’d call text or call me a few hours later about her problem.

The same went for me—whenever I was in deep shit or just overwhelmed with stress, I’d get a random call from her. Always on time. Always to pull me out of my funk and away from reality for a while.

But in my dream, something was wrong. Someone was chasing her through a dark alley. She ran into a building and hid for a while, but he grabbed her. She was screaming. I could see it all but couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. It’s like I was a fly on the wall, helpless, only a small buzz to a loud storm.

I gasped, springing up a little too quickly on the bed. The rush made the back of my head throb, and my breaths came out labored.

I looked around the hospital room, so glad Kelly was nowhere in sight. None of her things were here either. Thank God.

I stared down at my lap, listening to the many footsteps going back and forth outside my door.

I sat back again, trying to relax, but I couldn’t help remembering Lorelei always begging to die, and the thought of the memories made my heart ache. That’s probably why I had that terrible nightmare.

She hated her life—was so fucking miserable, and it killed me because there wasn’t much I could do about it to help her. At sixteen, I was still worthless. I played sports and attended debate clubs after school, just to have an excuse not to come home until my father was too tired to deal with us. I would sign Lora up for anything that would keep her after school with me. Cheerleading, yearbook committee, even reading programs. I did what I had to do to make sure my sister was always nearby and safe.