And that love of art, the one thing I have that still connects me to my mother, is why I ended up at this bar, tracking down the asshole who stole my sketchbook from me. The prick who thinks he’s funny and that I’m some stupid joke or a toy he can play with because I’m a woman living in a man’s world, a dangerous one at that.
But I inherited my temper from my father. And that’s why I ended up at the Iron Heart Brewery on Church Street. Yes, a bar on a street called “church.” What’s more ironic is how much sin has seeped into these walls.
And so I went willingly, after my precious notebook that was stolen and walked right into the enemy’s arms.
It was a setup, but my mother would have called it kismet. You should know I’m smiling now, but it’s a sarcastic smile as a huff of feigned laughter leaves me. Maybe all of this is her fault to begin with. After all, that notebook was irreplaceable to me because the only picture I had of her was tucked into the spine.
The last thing you should know, and the most important of them all, is that I refuse to break. I don’t give in and I don’t back down. Not for anyone, and especially not for Carter Cross. The bastard who took me from my family. Locked me in a room and told me in simple words that my life was over, and I belonged to him.
It won’t be his cutting words from his sharp tongue. Or his broad shoulders and muscular arms that pin me down and trap me. It won’t be his charming smile that utters filthy words that makes me cave. And it won’t be that spark in his eyes, the flames licking and flickering brighter and hotter every time he looks at me.
No, I refuse to give in. Even if that same heat echoes in my chest and travels lower.
But there’s this thing about breaking; the more you harden yourself and try to fight it, the easier and sharper the snap is when you inevitably break.
And I know this all too well.
The day my life changed forever…
* * *
There’s a constant ringing in my ears. My fists are clenched so tight that my knuckles have turned white. Every time I have to face these assholes my father works with, this is how it feels.
Like I’m on edge.
My heart thuds, thuds, thuds as I pass the all-glass front door to Iron Heart Brewery and keep walking like I’m not going in. The front exterior is all windows, so they can easily see who’s coming and going; bulletproof, too. Because of the clientele. Word is my father fronted that bill, but that seems overly generous for a man like him.
Cold. Selfish. Greedy. That’s how I’d describe my father, and I hate myself for it.
I should be grateful; I should love him. But I’m loyal at least, and loyalty is all that matters. When you grow up in this life, you learn that little tidbit quickly.
Resting my shoulder against the dark red brick just past the windows, I take a look at the parking lot across the street. They aren’t here yet.
A frustrated breath leaves a trail of fog in the tense fall air as I cross my arms.
This is where my father’s men go on a night off and I know Mika is going to be here.
I hate being here alone, but I can’t wait for someone to save me. I hope Nikolai will come with them too. He’s a childhood friend, although now a soldier of my father’s, and my saving grace. Really, he’s my only friend and he’s put that bastard Mika in his place more than once when my father wasn’t there for me.
Even knowing that to be true, that if Nikolai comes there won’t be any problems in the least, I hate that I have to be here at all. My thumb runs along the tips of my cold fingers, remembering how I held the notebook only moments before Mika came into the room. The photograph was tucked safely inside. Waiting for me to be inspired by it.
A notebook is only a notebook, but that photograph is the only one I have of my mother and me the year she died.
My father didn’t have time for my “meaningless shit,” as he called it, and the vise around my heart tightened at his response.
A shiver runs down my shoulders and I let out another heavy breath. I can feel the chill on my nose and cheeks. My thin jacket isn’t doing a damn thing to help me. I hadn’t realized fall had come with intentions of revenge on the smoldering summer.
Peeking up through my lashes, I read the chalkboard sign above the bar through the windows. They’re all locals, all drafts. I guess I could have one drink while I wait.