Page 96 of A Stop in Time
“Even as a junior, this kid ruled the school. He had a way about him, a confidence that I envied. He wasn’t obligated to help me and sure as hell didn’t have to take me under his wing.”
“But he did,” she counters softly.
“Yeah.” I nod slowly. “He did.” Drawing in a breath, I exhale slowly. “He told me he saw somethin’ in me, somethin’ that told him I’d be a good leader right alongside him.
“He took me in, welcomed me into his home, where I always had a hot meal and nobody fuckin’ shoved me around like I was worthless.” A smile tugs at my lips. “He introduced me to his family, and they didn’t bat an eye at the stray he brought home to them.”
I touch my fingertips to the medal at my throat. “Even though she never said a damn word, I think his mom just…somehow knew what I’d been through and what I’d done. That I’d done the unthinkable to get away from that livin’ nightmare.
“The day she gave me this, she told me it was the patron saint for kids. Said it would keep me safe.”
“Did anybody ever ask what happened to your dad?” Hesitance lines her question.
A harsh, humorless sound erupts from my throat. “Nobody could fuckin’ stand him, so, no. All he did was collect disability, kill his damn liver, and beat on me.” Hatred ignites inside me at the mere thought of the worthless piece of shit. “Nobody missed Reggie.”
We both fall quiet before she reaches out to graze a fingertip over my medal. “The boy who took you under his wing. Are you still friends?”
A hint of a smile graces my lips. “Yeah. He’s the best friend I’ve got.” I gauge her reaction as I reveal his name. “Bronson Cortez showed me more than friendship. He showed me what it’s like to be a part of a family.”
My throat grows tight with gratitude and affection. “That people can come together without being blood related and will lay down their life for you in the blink of an eye.” The wonder of it still resonates deep. “I’d never had that. But with Bronson and his family, and The Scorpions, I did. Still do.”
Mac studies me for a long moment. “It’s hard to reconcile that Bronson with the one I’ve always heard about in the news.” She tips her head to the side, a crease forming between her brows. “The leader of a violent gang who’s evaded murder charges…”
My spine goes stiff with defensiveness, and a scowl overtakes me. “We don’t just go on killin’ sprees. And if you believe everythin’ you hear in the news, they’ll have you thinkin’ he’s some kinda serial killer.
“But buildin’ the community the way we did took a fuck ton of work…and a lot of spilled blood, too.”
I turn my hands over, palms facing up, and study them. How many times I beat the shit out of some bastard as a warning or the countless times my finger pulled the trigger to extinguish a threat…
“We both knew what we had to do, and that it wouldn’t be easy, but it’d be worth it in the end.”
Raising my eyes to hers, I feel a fraction of my unease dissipate at the lack of judgment in her expression. “We’ve got a close-knit community where everybody looks out for each other, and our businesses thrive because of it.”
I hold her gaze. “Just because we don’t play by the same rules the bulk of others do doesn’t make it wrong. People forget to think outside the fuckin’ box. There are always exceptions to everythin’.
“In my world, if you don’t rule with an iron fist and show your enemies you’re the one holdin’ the power, they’ll run right the fuck over all that hard work. We’ve got no time for weakness and complacency.”
My attention drifts back to my hands—hands that have killed for decades now—and I know there’re more motherfuckers out there who still need killing. Right now, at the top of the list is the bastard who murdered my sister.
“Who do you have to come home to at night?” My head jerks up at her softly spoken question. “After you have to…” Her top teeth sink into her bottom lip as if she’s trying to choose the correct phrasing. “Enforce?”
“Nobody.” I shrug. “Thing is, women either wanna be with me for the notoriety, ’cause I’m Bronson’s second-in-command, or because I make good money doin’ it. Or both.”
Mac’s eyes scrape over me, her expression unreadable. Then she rises to her knees and climbs onto my lap, straddling me. She braces her palms on my shoulders, and her hands are softer than I’d expected for someone who constantly handles tools and car parts.
A flash of vulnerability crosses her features. “You’re the first man who hasn’t been afraid of my scars.”
When I part my lips to tell her I don’t give a fuck about them, she presses a finger over my mouth. Her voice is hushed, soft-spoken. “I know. Just like I know how isolated it can be not having anyone.”
The ghost of a resigned smile touches her lips. “No sane man wants a scarred woman who has a weird ability.”
She traces her fingertip along the curve of my bottom lip. “But when you look at me, I see myself differently.” Her eyes track her finger’s movements. “I feel like I’m more than my scars.”
Sadness edges into her gaze. “I know we don’t fit in each other’s worlds and this is all we’ll have.” Her voice drops to a barely audible whisper. “And I’m okay with that.”
“…this is all we’ll have.”
“And I’m okay with that.”