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 BAD INK

Megan Hetherington
 Copyright @ 2019 Megan Hetherington
All rights reserved

This book is a work of fiction. Any reference to real events, real people and
real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents
are
products of the Author’s imagination and any resemblance to persons, living or
dead, actual events, organizations or places is entirely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in

any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic
or mechanical methods, without prior written permission. Apart from small
excerpts that are used in book reviews.

ASIN: B07TY55CYD
 Prologue

Isaac Winters

Seven Years Ago

“You like it up the ass, Jay?”

Laughing at Rory’s joke, I strain my neck to glance over my shoulder to the
rear of the camper van, catching him flick the back of his hand on to Jay’s bare
thigh.
“Screw you,” Jay spits. He slides open the rear door, pulls his shorts out of
his
backside and slips out into another morning when the mercury tips one-hundred
degrees.
Like the rest of us, the heat and lack of sleep this week have made Jay cranky
and devoid of humor.
The original idea for spring break was as a tonic; a time to rejuvenate before a
serious semester of exams but, like all college freshmen, we missed that memo.
Desperate to cement our status as the bad-ass newcomers at San Diego
University, we’ve been on an all-out jaunt to Mexico. And, yeah, we smoked too
much dope and drank excessive amounts of Tequila. So, rejuvenated is not a
word I’d use to describe us right now as we yearn for the nearing comforts of
home. More frazzled. Tetchy. Even paranoid.
Fidgeting in our sarcastically named Pussy Wagon, eyeing the border crossing
ahead, it’s natural the five of us panic. Shit, we’re teenagers and watched too
many drug-smuggling movies; it’s obvious our young imaginations shift into
overdrive.
Henry glances across from the passenger seat with furrowed brows.
“Prison,” I explain to him. “Rory thinks we’ll get pulled by the Federales.” I
nod up the line to the Mexican militia, stalking the cars at the border control.
Henry’s jaw slackens and instinctively he swipes his forefinger under his nose.
“Do you think so?”
“Lighten up, dude.” I re-sit my ball cap on my head, prodding the annoying
curls of my over-long hair behind my ears.
I’m about to close my eyes and dream up a vision of Cate, my wholesome girl
with her soft, creamy skin, mahogany-colored hair and lusciously plump lips.
Instead, I’m forced to acknowledge Carlos in the windshield mirror, lining up
between the front seats.
He nudges his fake Oakley’s down the bridge of his nose before thrusting his
head through the seats to join in the conversation. Carlos isn’t strictly on Spring
Break—he didn’t enroll at college and bunked off most of high school too—but
he convinced us we needed him on this trip for his local knowledge. It turns out
his local knowledge is as extensive as ours. Sweet FA.
“Fuck that. They’re only for show.” Carlos smacks his gum loudly in my ear.
“They’re not interested who’s coming in or out, it’s the US border guys who are
and we’re US citizens. So, go figure.” He throws himself back on the bench,
reveling in his cocky surety.
“I’m not bothered who we’re hiding. It’s what might be lost in here,” Henry
fusses.
“Stop being a pussy,” Carlos scoffs. “Just because this rental’s in your name
doesn’t make everything in here yours.”
“You better not have stashed any shit, guys.” Henry’s eyes redden as if he’ll
burst into tears.
“Fuck this. I’m going for a piss.” Rory joins Jay out on the melting asphalt,
closely followed by Carlos, who, despite his nonchalant shrug-off, has left
sweaty handprints on the worn-leather front seats. I angle to one side to avoid
them.
“Shut the door, Henry, it’s a fucking furnace out there.” I blow out a breath
and twist the grime-covered knob which sets the air-conditioning to stutter out
dust-ridden air.
As requested, Henry squeezes through the front seats and, with a grunt, slides
shut the door while I watch the other three saunter off toward the amenity block.
To calm the tension brewing, I crank up the volume on the radio and we sit
tight, weighing up the soldiers ahead against a background of Maroon 5’s ‘One
More Night’. There are half a dozen guards, wearing dark-blue fatigues,
punctuated with sturdy utility-belts and black combat-boots. Their menacing
image topped with rifles held protectively across their armored vests. Two
German Shepherds and their handlers circle a car ahead. The dogs suddenly pull
onto their back legs and bark aggressively at a sun-bleached Dodge Journey
truck.
Henry blurts out a nervous laugh. “Seems their time’s up.” He grasps the nape
of his neck and wipes his palm over hairs which have likely stood on end. I
figure this because mine have prickled too.
Flicking my eyes to the truck, I purse my lips and selfishly wish it’s exactly
what’s happening to the occupants.
Four of the guards move away to investigate the targeted car and, as I hoped,
the line moves quicker—three cars being waved through in quick succession.
I clear my throat and thrust the van into gear so we can edge closer to the
front. Two hours it’s taken to get to this point and now we’re only two cars away.
Panic rises in my throat and an icy bead of sweat snakes down my spine.
A glance over at our friends laughing and joking as they exit the restrooms,
has me for a moment, considering bailing out too. But that’s plain ridiculous. As
Carlos assured us—we’ll be fine. We’re US citizens they’re not interested in us.
The guards will apologize for holding us in this line.
As we inch closer to home, the needle on the engine-coolant dial nudges into
the red. We don’t need to break down here—other side and we’re fine. If the van
gives out on the US side of the border, I’ll hitch a ride home or call Cate to
collect me. I’ve spent enough time in this heap of crap and with its occupants to
share another shit-show with them.
Now, there’s only one car between us and the rabid dogs which have now re-
joined the main check-point.
I gulp.
A solitary guard strides around the rest of his team and makes a beeline for
our car.
He lifts his gun. My jaw slackens.
Then he repeatedly flicks his rifle from our car to the side of the line.
I can’t swallow. My Adam’s apple swells in my throat.
There’s no mistaking what the guard means.
He’s indicating for us to pull over. They’re going to run an inspection on us.
And the van.
“Isaac?” Henry looks as if he’ll pass out, his face paling to a green-tinged
white.
“Fuck,” I murmur under my breath, my chest tightening as I watch Rory, Jay,
and Carlos turn away from us, disregard our plight and join the pedestrian line to
cross the border.
I screw my sticky hands on the steering wheel. “You got any dollars?”
“Why?” Henry asks innocently.
A tingling sensation which starts as heat in my hairline travels over my
forehead, stinging my eyes on the way to my heart, where Cate made me
promise. Don’t do anything stupid and come back to me the same man.

That was almost three thousand days ago. Shit, it seems such a long time,
when said like that. Actually, it’s a long time whatever unit of measure you care
to use.
So much has happened since, and none of it good.
My heartfelt promise to Cate was soon forgotten as I strived to survive the
hell-hole of a Mexican jail.
Now I’m back, not by choice. I couldn’t pass on this—it’s the only reason I’m
still breathing. In those seven years, each breath was sucked in and blown out
with this in mind. A debt I promised to repay.
I’m not the same guy who went into prison, fuck, I was only a boy when
Henry and I were turned away from the border and manhandled to a Mexican
holding cell.
Henry never made it beyond the cell. His final words lost on the Mexican
criminals who crowded around his twitching legs as he swung from the bars by
the belt of his jeans.
It was obvious I wouldn’t tread on American soil in a hurry after that—a
rushed trial, no help from the consulate, and a lengthy sentence meant I was
doomed.
Understandable—who cares about a boy from state care who’s written off by
society before he can prove himself?
Well, I did prove myself. I proved to be precisely what every statistic said I’d
become. A failure. A criminal.
And to my friends? To them, I became the fall guy. The scapegoat.
Whichever title anyone gave me, I stopped being Isaac, the boy with an all-
American future. I’m now the ex-con with history and a new identity borne out
of a need to survive.
And everyone now calls me Raul.
 1

Cate

Present day

Although I’m nowhere near water, it feels like someone wraps my hair around
their wrist and drags me to the depths of a murky lake. As I sink to the bottom,
my vision blurs and my hearing muffles—a regular feeling when my low blood
pressure causes me to faint.
Before I completely succumb to the effect of air squeezing out of my lungs, I
gasp in a breath and steady myself with a shaky hand on the hood of my car.
My lungs violently object with a cough, which leads me to clap my hand to
my mouth and, with fright from the consequences of being spotted, I drop to my
knees.
Huddling on the curb, I press against my car tires and take a deep breath,
inhaling warm rubber and brake dust.
The plan I made on the drive here was clear. Walk confidently in to the gym
where Isaac trains every morning. Introduce myself and tell him he is father to a
beautiful daughter. Our daughter. Arrange to meet somewhere appropriate at a
later date to discuss what happens next. Walk out.
Not, drive into a dodgy part of town, feel sick with nerves when I see the
‘Carlos Combat Training’ signage over industrial looking doors of an ex-
warehouse; attempt to cross the street intending to ask the huge guy loitering
outside if he knows Isaac Winters. Then, fall at the first hurdle, when I realize
the huge guy is actually Isaac.
It’s been seven years, so it’s not surprising his appearance has changed.
Shaven head. Broad shoulders. Tattoos spilling over the collar of his shirt. But
it’s his bold stance which gives him away. Feet wide apart, arms crossed, and a
curve to his back from broad shoulders which narrow to a tight core. Isaac has
presence and always has. A calm, iron-centered, never-to-be-messed with,
presence.
After several restorative breaths, I dare edge to the front fender to take
another
look, because my mind is already doubting it’s him.
My first love.
I vividly recall his musky sandalwood scent, the rhythm of his heartbeat
against mine, and the vibration of his voice on my neck. I rub away the trail of
goosebumps from my throat, brought on by the thought of his touch. And to stop
me from being overwhelmed by the sensory onslaught, I close my eyes to the
flashback and focus on the reason for me being here.
Another glance, and I see Isaac is now twenty feet away, and with by a smaller
guy, wearing a light-gray, shiny suit. It could very well be Carlos. And even
though it’s not my place to judge, I feel an unexplained hatred toward him and
his cigar-toting swagger. Leading my Isaac astray.
Elliot, my assistant at work, reluctantly revealed to me Isaac is back in town
and working out every morning at a gym run by his school friend, Carlos
Hernandez. Despite Elliot’s protestations, I had to see for myself. And, although
I’ve described Carlos as Isaac’s friend, I can’t understand why Isaac would see it
that way. Their lives took very different paths that day at the border. One walked
the crossing back to freedom, the other sunk seven years into a Mexican jail with
no foreign privileges.
Isaac jerks his head over his shoulder in my general direction. I press my back
to the steel body of the car, desperate to disappear into it, while I take shallow
breaths and look to the sky with a prayer.
I’ve learned to live without him—scratch that—I’ve learned to live. But he’s
always there. Every day I’ve looked into eyes as unique as his, run my hand
through hair the same shade, and trailed a fingertip across lips with the same
texture. There’s no mistaking who my daughter’s father is. And it taunts and
rewards me every single day. I could never forget him even if I tried.
And, for that reason alone, I can’t do this.
My decision to come here was ill-conceived. I can’t risk letting him see me,
for fear of where this might lead. My bravado vanishes, leaving me crouching
like a fugitive behind my car, across the street from the man I’ve always loved
more than any other and no courage to face to him.
Waiting for my moment, I grab it when Isaac turns to Carlos and claps a heavy
hand on his shoulder.
I half-stand, and with feet which cannot carry me fast enough, I scurry around
to the driver’s door. My hands shake violently, requiring me to cup one over the
other to get the key in the lock.
After sliding into the seat, I glance in the rearview mirror, on the slim chance
Isaac’s seen me. Followed me. But, there’s nothing except the two of them, fixed
to the spot against the backdrop of a line of gray buildings, set against a gray
road surface and thunderous gray skies.
My view remains on the mirror but refocuses on my reaction and I’m
surprised—not by the ashen pallor of my skin, nor the glassy eyes, but my
grown-up self. Like him I’ve matured into an adult with history. So much has
occured in the seven years where he’s not been part of my life. It’s difficult to
know where to start with him.
For a moment, I’m transported to the last time I saw him. The parting kiss we
shared before he went on a spring break road-trip to Mexico, and the promise he
made to come back to me.
Back then, he had soft chestnut hair framing a boyish face. Caramel eyes,
coated with a ring of brown which grew darker as you looked in to them. And
three gold specks on his left eye, he said only shone for me.
What a load of bullshit.
He doesn’t give a damn about me or what I’ve been through. He
communicated not a single word when he entered jail. The flurry of letters and
calls stopped. And that’s when his sentence became my sentence.
My focus re-adjusts to look beyond my reflection to his form. He’s now facing
my direction. I sink into my seat so I’m hidden from view by the headrest and I
glance into the side mirror; freezing with horror as he takes a few paces toward
me.
After all these years fantasizing over him; desperate to tell him about his
daughter and have him describe to me what he endured. I can’t go through with
this.
Frantically, I scrabble to insert the key into the ignition, ready to take
flight if
he continues this way.
I sigh with relief when he veers off to the right, zapping open a fancy-looking
SUV with blacked-out windows and a Lamborghini badge on the sunflower-
yellow hood.
After a few seconds, when I sink further into my jacket collar, the SUV
burbles passed. Fixing my eyes forward, I hope and pray he isn’t looking
sideways into my open window. Then, once his SUV sails passed the front of my
car, he presses his accelerator and roars away.
Caused by a mixture of anticipation, shock, and relief, sobs rack through me.
I’ve been through too much in my adulthood to let them continue for long.
Biting on my trembling bottom lip and a quick swipe of the back of my wrist
underneath my nose, I straighten my back and turn on the engine. A blast of
warm air courses over my face from the air-vents, reheating my cheeks to their
normal shade of pink.
Fumbling in my purse, I pick out my cell, balancing it under my chin so I can
fix my hair into a ponytail while the call rings through.
“Elliot.” I blow out a steadying breath. “I… I can’t come back to work. Make
some excuse or other. Say Hope’s ill or something.”
 “You’ve seen him?” he blurts.
“Uhuh.” I close my eyes, recapturing the vision of Isaac stood a few feet
away.
“Well… what happened? What did he say?” He sounds as breathless as me.
“Nothing… nothing happened. I couldn’t go through with it.”
“Did he see you?”
“I don’t think so.”
There’s a pause before he answers calmly, “Good, it’s for the best, Chica.”
“Uhuh.” A ball of relief, mixed with poison and regret, collects under the base
of my tongue.
“I’ll see you in the morning. Go relax. Drink a bottle of wine or even better,
go screw that guy of yours.”
An explosive laugh painfully ruptures the ball under my tongue.
“Okay.” I open my eyes and start the car. Pleased to pull away from what
could have been the biggest mistake of my life.
For a few blocks, I drive aimlessly, not concentrating on where I am or where
I’m going. Just enjoying the breeze blowing through the open window—the
humidity of June stifling in a car with no air-conditioning in southern California.
Until I find myself stuck in traffic on Sorel Avenue and familiar stores and café’s
jolt me back to reality.
Jaz, my best friend from way back has a hair and beauty salon in this
neighborhood, so I pull over. Anything to stop me going home—I need to keep
my composure and going back to my two-bedroomed rental doesn’t have the
restrictions for that.
Hesitating outside the window, Jaz looks up from her current client and
beckons me in with a curl of her hand.
I breathe a sigh of relief. I might while away an hour here amongst the
buzzing of hairdryers and the meaningless gossip of a beauty salon. Eventually,
able to pick Hope up from school as her mother; the one who has everything
sewn up and life fully worked out.
“Hey Cate, good to see you. You come for a makeover?”
“Yeah.” I feign a lighthearted smile.
“Sit down. I’ll be with you in a tick.”
Taking a seat in front of a row of mirrors, I once again study my reflection.
Forcing myself to remember the way I looked last time I saw Isaac—the
morning he left, seven years ago.
The joyful plumpness in my face has been scrubbed away by the harsh
realities of adulthood, and parenting responsibilities have taken their inevitable
toll.
 Jaz walks her current client over to the hood dryers lining the far wall;
settling
her with a cup of herbal tea and a magazine. Then she bounds across to me and
immediately untangles my hair from the band and runs her fingers over my
scalp.
“New color maybe?” She points one of her talon-shaped fingernails at her
unicorn colored hair.
The look of horror which crosses my face has her howling with laughter.
“Okay, okay. I know you’ve got the most serious job in the world. I’m only
pulling your leg.”
I laugh because there’s not much else to say. Yes, I have got a serious job. One
where I’m expected to dress in a sober suit, medium-sized heels, and a
personality draining hairstyle. It’s a job I love and hate in equal measure. My
choice of career borne out of Isaac’s arrest and a desire to find out how such an
injustice could occur. But criminal law was too complicated for me, so over the
years my quest to be a successful Mom, sane person, and career-minded woman
has led to compromise. Now, I work at a commercial law firm, as assistant to
one of the most formidable lawyers in San Diego. But hey, I’m killing it there.
And my daughter hasn’t been taken away from me either. Bonus.
My attention draws back to my pallid complexion and how it drains the life
from my blue eyes—making them look dirty instead of fresh.
“Hey Jaz, you got time to do me a facial too?”
She lifts her head to check the clock and then angles over to run her finger
down the appointment book on the nearby reception desk.
“Yeah, why not? For you honey, I’ll make time.”
I smile appreciatively at her, not warming to the wrinkles cragging out from
the corners of my eyes.
“Ugh.” I press a finger to them. “Can you do anything about these too?”
“You want me to get the needle out for you?”
I shake my head. “Shit no. I’m only twenty-five. You stab me with one of
those now, goodness knows what I’ll look like by the time I’m thirty.” Pulling
my skin taut with my palms and sticking out my tongue.
“They’re laughter lines. You should be proud of them.” Her saccharin smile
beaming back at me through the mirror.
“Huh? Really?”
“Oh, come on Cate, you’re much happier now life has finally given you a
break.” She picks out the scissors from the station drawer, immediately tapping
them in her open palm. “You’re doing good now, girl. And shit you deserve it,
after everything you went through.”
I need reminding now and then; I don’t know how I got through those early
years. A shitload of caffeine and oodles of determination, if I remember rightly.
Oh, and support from my family and friends like Jaz. A reason I’m so confused
right now. Everyone else thinks I’ve moved on and left Isaac in my past. Written
off as a teenage mistake.
I suppose I had. Until today.
She spritzes my hair with water. “And now you’ve got a beautiful daughter
who doesn’t want for anything. You need to make time for yourself… and not
feel guilty.”
“I can’t help it. I feel I could do more. You know?”
“Don’t beat yourself up. Some kids with both parents around don’t have as
much love and attention as Hope gets. It’s not wrong to show yourself love too.”
I nod, swallowing away my anxieties. Another moment where I need to dig
deep and pull on strings which convince me—I’ve got this.
“So how did you swing a day off work?” She drags a comb through my wet
hair.
“Had plans but they were canceled.” I fidget in my chair, adjusting the apron
Jaz has tied around my neck.
“Plans?”
“Yeah, loose ones. Nothing certain.”
I can tell my elusive reply has Jaz’s brain cells whirring into gear and I wish
I’d said something else. There’s no way I’m admitting I saw Isaac. Shit, why
would I? She’d only convince me to leave well alone; dredging up sordid details
of how I was abandoned by him and had to fight to keep Hope. How I hauled
myself through college and found my own feet in the world.
These may be thoughts I share, but I don’t need anyone else to ram them
down my throat. Not at the moment. I want to limit who knows he’s back until
I’ve decided what I’ll do about it. Right now it’s me, Elliot, and Carlos. I doubt
Isaac’s foster parents are aware—they dropped him when he was labeled a
criminal.
Jaz has my back and hates Isaac more than I ever could. For getting into the
stupid situation in the first place. For getting caught. For abandoning me. For
everything he hasn’t done and everything he has. But she doesn’t know he’s
back in San Diego otherwise she’d have said something by now. So, I’ll do what
I came here for. Relax and forget.
“But you’ve got a date tonight, yeah? No point in wasting a new hairdo on a
night in on your own.”
Actually, a few cheeky drinks with my hookup doesn’t sound like such a bad
idea. “Maybe, if I can get Mom to pick Hope up from music class.”
“What’s the guy called you’ve been seeing?”
 “Nate.”
“Yeah, Nate.” She stares at the ceiling, conjuring up some vision or other.
Scissors slicing menacingly across her palm. “You decided whether he’s
boyfriend material yet or is he still just a fuck-buddy?” She glances across to the
hair dryers, to make sure her other client isn’t listening to her foul-mouthed
assertions.
Laughing, I shake my head at her. “It’s a relationship of convenience.”
She places her hands on her hips and cocks her head. “Fuck-buddy then.”
“You gonna cut my hair or what?”
I text Mom to see if she can help and then sit back to watch with amazement
as Jaz snips the scissors across my hair with lightning speed. It’s not long before
she’s ruffling my new shoulder-length style with her fingers.
“Okay let’s pin a few rollers in, to give it bounce and I’ll do you a quick
scrub
and mask while it sets.”
This is my favorite part, her light fingers smoothing out the tension and
whisking off the dead cells. I almost forget about this morning. Almost.
She registers my smile when I read the reply which beeps through from my
mom.
“She’s a star, your mom.”
“I know,” I breathe.
And she is. Not only because she helps care for Hope, but how, after those
initial terse months when I admitted to her I was pregnant, she’s lightened up
and become one of my closest allies.
“So, you still out on Friday night?” Jaz asks, as she unwinds the rollers and
brushes rogue hairs from my shoulder.
“Of course.” I live for Friday nights. Okay, so that’s an exaggeration, but life
would be hard without one whole night of freedom every week.
I shove one-hundred dollars into her fist and leave before she protests.
“Great, I’ll pick you up at seven?” she calls after me.
“Sure,” I agree, shoving open the door with my backside, so my hands are free
to whisk my thumbs across the phone screen.

Me: Hey Nate! Free for a drink after work?

Quickly, I drop the phone back into my jacket pocket and run through the
heavy summer shower to the car.
I feel better already. As if the stress of the last few years yearning after a
fairytale, has been banished with a new haircut and the promise of an orgasm or
three.
 2

Isaac

I wonder who I would have become. What mundane, safe occupation I would
have pursued if my adolescence had taken a different turn or not even a turn, but
carried on in an undramatic fashion.
This is a question I asked myself many times until the day I realized dreaming
of anything was futile. It didn’t take long, six months maybe a year in prison,
before I admitted my destiny was not of my making. The dreams repeatedly
beaten out of me until I submitted to a greater power with different plans for me.
Plans to turn me into a monster with no right to expect happiness or comfort, and
to make sure everyone knew it.
My new destiny was doled out to anyone who believed they could bring me
down. Making enemies was a game; a game which required me to train harder
than them, to fight with no remorse, and to constantly watch my back.
And now I’m pitched in battles, organized by a onetime friend, now prime
enemy, Carlos Hernandez. Wannabe gangster. Small-time drug dealer. And serial
sleaze head.
I can’t feel the pounding on the asphalt any longer, that feeling stopped five
miles back on the sunbaked streets of San Diego. Running on a hard surface is a
necessity. Everything I do I need to hurt. It’s the only emotion I’m capable of.
After a while, a sharp pain sears through my knee joints and when I drive
through that my lungs wheeze in complaint. But I’ll ignore them too. This game
I play, I play harder with myself.
The rules are not to give in, never to lose, and always to make it hurt.
The fiery-skied dawn brings other joggers onto the street; their penance just
starting. But they are losers already in my book.
My steps slow and I notice my heavy breaths. I shove open the door of the
converted meat-packing warehouse and I’m reassured by the stench of sweat and
encouraged by the cacophony of grunts. These guys are playing the game too.
None of them acknowledge my entrance, they’re too engrossed in their own
battles and for that I respect them more.
My trainer spots me from across the expanse of rubberized flooring and jumps
up to follow me into the changing room. Joe’s not fazed when I strip off my
sweat-soaked running gear and step into the shower cubicle in front of him. I
became used to a lack of privacy within the first month of jail. A shock at first
for a vulnerable eighteen-year-old but there was no choice, unless I wanted the
lice to multiply. It’s also why I’m completely shaven.
“You shouldn’t run the day of a fight, Raul,” Joe protests. The aged veins in
his temple protrude like a mattress spring. It seems everyone’s angry in this
business. Too many steroids, no doubt.
I snort. It doesn’t make a difference if I’ve run this morning. I’m not going
the
full five rounds tonight. Fuck, my opponent will be hot-shit-lucky if he’s still
standing after five seconds.
Unperturbed, Joe stands his ground and continues his sermon. “We've got a
new training schedule. Today is minus thirty and, after tonight’s event, we’ll be
switching up your diet to ensure maximum cutting, ready for the big fight.”
His enthusiasm isn’t infectious. I rub the soap from my face and give him a
hard stare. “We?”
His lips tremble and eyelashes lower in a display of insecurity. Strange
reaction, considering the line of work he’s in and the fighters he tries to tame.
He
folds back the notebook he’s clutching and rips out a page.
Striding passed him, I brush my wet biceps against his pathetic book.
“I’ll pin this on the inside of your locker.“ He turns and opens the long metal
door, riddled with dents from frustrated fists.
Ignoring him, I pull out clothes from said locker and shut it without
consideration of the diet sheet he wants to attach to it.
The grunts from the main gym puncture the tension in the changing room
when the door clicks open. I throw my towel into the laundry cage and pull on
my sweatpants, ignoring the entrant, Carlos.
“Raul.” He eyes me up and down, like I’m a carcass of meat about to be
carved for his entrée. Then he flicks his head toward the exit and my trainer
heeds the hint and slides out the door.
Carlos refocuses on my chest and I follow his gaze from my sizeable pecs,
onto my abs. He’s drooling over my tattoos but has not asked a single thing
about any of them. It’s obvious where I got them. But what they mean? It’s a
question he wouldn’t like the answer to.
The crown tattoo on my chest elicited the most surprise from him when he
first saw it. Beads of sweat appearing instantly on his forehead and his Adam’s
apple repeatedly scratching his throat. But the explanation he was given
preceding my reappearance to San Diego allayed his fears. He bought the story I
was a pawn, a mere extra on the entertainment stage in jail, now looking for a
way of making a dime from my brawn and cage-fighting skill. The bait dripped
through to him. By the time I made an entrance he was begging for me to join
him on his quest to make a fortune.
I pull on a tee and swipe my head from side to side, clicking out air between
vertebrae in my neck. I rest back against the lockers with crossed arms and legs.
Carlos paces the floor in between long wooden benches which carve up the
room, all the time talking at me about promotors, flash fight-wear, sponsors, and
betting odds.
He loves this. It’s the only semi-legit thing he’s in to. Something to give him
kudos with celebs and the mega-wealthy. Those who make their fortunes in a
more legitimate way. The list he regales, goes on and on as he follows me out of
the changing room and to the kitchen.
Joe jumps up from his seat, opens the fridge door and picks out two protein
drinks. I take one from him, twist and throw the cap on the counter, and drain the
contents with a steady flow down my throat.
“We need to get that stock changed out too. We’re not using that brand of
shakes now,” Joe tells me.
I look at him with bored facial muscles and shrug my shoulders.
“Whatever.”
Makes no difference to me, I don’t taste any of it. I turned my taste-buds off
to
food and drink years ago. It was the only way I could stomach the shit they
served us in prison.
“We’ll re-stock your store cupboards at home too. I’ll arrange for the supplies
to be dropped off later.”
I scrub my palm from the nape of my neck to my crown and back.
“You gonna send someone to prepare it too?” Giving him an unflinching
glare.
He inhales an exaggerated breath. “Sure. Yeah… who do you want?”
I chuckle, which I know puts him on edge. “You know what I like.”
He laughs nervously and backs off into the gym, leaving Carlos and me to it.
Carlos laughs at my bully behavior. He likes how I’ve changed from the
college boy who rarely dipped into the unrestricted parts of San Diego, to one
who revels in them now. So, I play it up. Even though I can tell his admiration is
tinged with a little nervousness and tarnished with a lot of doubt.
He’s not quite taken me for who I am now and the reservations still rear their
head. And he has good cause to be concerned. I took the rap for what turned out
to be Carlos’s first, failed drugs haul. He’s never admitted to it and I wouldn’t
expect him to. Because it doesn’t matter. I know—I’ve got it on good authority
and backed by plenty of evidence.
The day which turned into seven protracted years—robbing me of my
freedom at the prime of my life. And he doesn’t know what to make of it.
 “You got it tonight, hermano?”
I fix my stare on him. I’m not his brother. But there’s no need to throw it back
in his face, just yet. He thinks the term makes me feel part of a family.
Something he thinks I yearn for. He’s got that wrong too.
With no affirmation from me, he decides I’ve agreed. “Yeah, that’s my boy.”
He smirks and playfully punches my arm. The effort behind the jab doesn’t go
unnoticed.
I smile. “I’m heading home to get some sleep.”
“Okay.” He refuses to move, so I snag my car keys and walk around him
toward the door, twirling the keys on my forefinger. He follows me outside. I pat
him on the shoulder. A signal that I’m going now whether he likes it or not.
He lights a cigar; blowing smoke so it whirls annoyingly around my
shoulders.
“Raul,” he calls after me. “I’ll send the boys to pick you up at six. Make sure
you have a good rest. They’re not too friendly that side of town.”
I lengthen my pace toward my Lamborghini. Escaping the cigar smoke and
leaving behind his ill-researched threats. Not too friendly. What a fucking joke.

It takes thirty minutes to reach my apartment in a nicer part of town. Carlos

approves of my choice of neighborhood. Keep my image at the right end of
lucky. But it doesn’t help me sleep any better. I could be tucked up in a palace
with armed guards surrounding my goose-down-filled mattress, set on the finest
silk-draped, four-poster bed and I’d still have nightmares which regularly rip me
from slumber. It’s why I prefer to nap during the day. The terrors feel less real
in
daylight.
Three hours and I’m done. Waking to sweat-drenched bed sheets, I take a
shower and let the rivulets of water rinse away the lingering memories of bad
dreams.
As promised, Juan and Diego pick me up at six o’clock. They’re my trusted
guards, although Carlos believes he handpicked them himself. Whatever. As
long as they’re loyal to me, I’m not concerned what he thinks or how many
dollars he rams into their fists for the bad information they feed him.
Their black Chevrolet SUV rolls to the back entrance of the fight club in San
Ysidro. Too close to home for me and I take a few deep breaths before stepping
out of the car. I’ve restricted those who know I’m back but now is not the time to
worry about that. No-one needs know my fear and I’ll use every ounce of mental
energy to turn it into a win tonight.
We skirt in through the low-key entrance and we’re shown into a room with
no windows and little artificial light. Juan, my right-hand man out of the two
bodyguards, checks the chairs and massage bed for stability and the adjacent
shower behind a mold-ridden curtain for fuck knows what. I’m not concerned
with the lack of backstage facilities—I’m not here for the blue M&M’s or the hot
towels.
Without a thought, I hop onto the massage bed and my trainer fusses with my
gloves, repeating the mantra he thinks I should fight by. “Take it slow. Use your
mind.”
After seven years of heeding both, I’m too close to the end to worry now.
Out in the main hall, the audience is hostile. Jeering and jostling, wanting
their
home-boy to do good against me. The only ones with anything at stake, stand
calm in the front row. Their sharp suits and bulging pockets a reminder of who
this fight actually benefits.
The referee signals the start and we dance around each other for the first round
with no major move made. Then, at the beginning of the second, I stop to tuck
the tape in my glove. My opponent thinks I’m distracted and I allow him the
luxury of a confident grin before dipping below his right hook and shoving him
against the cage with an explosive shoulder barge.
He coughs the air from his lungs.
Fucker will give me respect next time. If I allow him a next time—I’ve not
finished with him yet.
Ignoring his eyes wide with fear, I stamp on the mat, dust billowing around his
head. His hand taps furiously at the ringside and his trainer jumps over the cage
wall and to his aid.
Against a cacophony of jeers from the audience, they furiously exchange
words, the trainer looking over at me with greedy eyes. I know what he’s
thinking. I know what he thinks he would do to me if he was in the ring. Fool.
I stand in the center my head hung off the back of my shoulders, soaking up
the energy of the crowd with each heave of my chest.
None of this is adequate retribution for the last few years, nor does it justify
my constant seething. I am, who I am. Only the man who stands before you.
Muscle, brawn and sinew. It’s the whole of me and the least of me.
My thoughts driven by my physical being and my physical being my only
thought.
So, don’t ask me how I feel. Because I don’t.
The ringmaster announces me the winner and I acknowledge his proclamation
with a roar. The first few times I thought it would exorcize my demons, get it out
of my system. But no, it seems whoever has charge of my destiny isn’t done with
me yet.
The cage door opens and I exit into the circular human blockade. Each guy
forming it, can handle themselves against anyone in the crowd. Even so, they
hold a look which exudes respect for me. I tower above them as they escort me
to the changing room.
Spit rains down on me, which only serves to make me smile. If only they
knew what I’ve been through, they would know it’s futile mockery.
The dressing room door opens and Carlos ushers me in.
“Great fight, Raul. We’ve earned a shitload tonight off the bets and our plan is
coming together. The promoter’s gonna draw up a contract for thirty more
fights.”
I settle on to the chair, holding out my hands for Joe to kneel at my feet and
unwrap the bloodied tape from my hands.
“Before long we’ll hook televised bouts. Vegas. The lot.” Carlos slopes into
me, his gold tooth glinting with greed. “We’ll show them who pulls the strings
around here.”
Slowly, I lift my gaze from Carlos. His enthusiasm should be infectious but
it’s not. I can’t remember when I last saw the good in any prospective event.
Here, I fight and I fuck.
Everything else is optional.
Next in the line of attendants is the doctor who I immediately swipe away. I
don’t need band-aids and iodine, I’m only interested in the masseuse who I’ve
spotted slink into the room. She’s the only one who can take away the pain right
now. Or mask it at least.
“I’ve started the ball rolling with a fight on Friday.” Carlos lights a cigar
taken
from his jacket top pocket.
Joe tenses beside me. He’s obviously not happy with a last-minute bout—we
are supposedly in training for the big one in thirty days. But he doesn’t protest—
why would he? He’d only lose his job.
Juan enters the room. “It’s clear, the crowd have dispersed.”
“Catch you later, hermano.” With teeth clamped on his cigar, Carlos swipes
my tortured hand and in a show of macho equality I grab him back; gripping
with a power which over-compensates for the pain. We tug for a few seconds. To
show there’s no weakness between us and no fractures in our loyalty.
He struts out of the room, his flimsy silk jacket flapping at his side while he
holds his cell to his ear and barks to his driver to bring his car to the rear
exit.
I wrap my aching fingers around the neck of a sports bottle filled with
electrolytes and drain it in one go.
 “Out,” I growl at everyone and no-one, my eyes transfixed on the masseuse.
She looks nervous and shy, having never experienced me before.
I shower while she prepares the couch, the hot water scalding but not cleaning
my bruised and inked skin. The scars from the needles cannot wash away. Nor
should they. They’ve given me a new identity, one which will forever mask who
I am. And the longer I stare at them, the more distant that person becomes.
Isaac is long gone.
Raul is who I am now.
When I step out from the shower the masseuse stands in her underwear at the
side of the couch. She believes she’s prepared for me. I’ve got a very different
opinion on that.
 3

Cate

Yesterday resulted in a hangover, a hairstyle I’m unable to replicate myself,

and a carryover of work from a missed day in the office. I mean really… on a
Monday? Who the hell pulls a stunt like that at the beginning of the week?
Especially a litigation assistant who needs a clear mind to function.
I should have declined Mom’s offer to keep Hope overnight and keep the cork
firmly in place on the second bottle of wine. Nate didn’t protest though. He’s
flying out to LA today. A traveling day he called it. My jealous mind snaps
—high-flying cocksucker.
“Does anyone want another coffee?” I call out, as I push my chair away from
my oak desk, positioned in parallel to the window overlooking the grimy side
street.
“Another one, Caterina?” Elliot taunts.
I walk over to his workstation set in the corner behind the door, antagonized
by his sarcasm and his use of my full name. “Yes, Elliot, and after this I’ll need
yet another. You’ve been warned, I’m not in a mood to take any shit today.”
“Got it, Chica.” He hands over his empty mug with a flourish, almost sloshing
the half-drunk contents onto my dry-clean only jacket.
The intern looks across from the filing room which leads off from my office
and smiles sweetly. She proclaims herself too young for coffee, although she has
ten times the caffeine intake from those crappy energy drinks she insists on
sucking hypocritically through a straw.
Turning back to Elliot, I add, “Anyway, wasn’t it in your job description that
we require you to make the coffee? You are my assistant, after all.”
“Eh, don’t think so, Chica.” He flicks his pencil at me. “It’s a modern world
we live in now. My job is as important as yours and if I don’t get these client
invoices out for you today, you’ll be, well and truly, in the proverbial.” He
purses his lips and, with a rock of his highly dramatic hips, shuffles his chair
from side to side.
I roll my eyes at him. Why on earth did I take on an assistant with more sass
than Nick Miller? He’s only been here six months and already he’s ruling the
roost with his over-familiarity and warm ways. Or maybe it’s me. I’m not cut out
to manage staff.
Trudging the mugs passed the closed office doors housing the actual attorneys
on this floor of the commercial arm of Silvers & Partners, I eventually reach the
kitchen. It’s unlikely I’ll ever fly high enough to occupy my own office. I
scraped through a lower-tier law school and had to find a job before moving on
to the next stage of a Master’s degree. Each of the lawyers on this floor has a
salubrious client list, healthy expenses, and a spacious office they can snooze
away the day in. While litigation assistants like me, have to share an office and
get paid a pittance to mop up their crap.
I squeeze passed the stack of copier paper lining one wall to get through to the
coffee machine. There’s no amount of caffeine to help me concentrate on my
case load today. Just as there was no amount of wine to dilute my thoughts last
night. I even wore Nate out with the demands for continuous attempts to fuck
my brains out. Nothing will work and the sooner I come to terms with what’s at
the base of this, the better.
Steadying my breathing against a background of spurts and hisses, I watch the
erratic stream of black froth squirt into a mug while trying one last attempt to
clear my mind. I need to focus today, I’ve got to get the case notes to my boss,
Tessa, for tomorrow’s court hearings and I can’t stay late. I push up my jacket
sleeve to check my watch. I’ve got five hours before I have to leave and based
on what I’ve done so far this morning, it’s not enough. This case is goddamn
complicated, I still don’t get her logic in wanting to take copyright claim
disputes from our largest clients when the standard contract stuff is so much
easier to advise on. Then there’s the time in front of the judge—I’m spending
more days in court than I am in the office right now.
Anyway, this ruminating is delaying the inevitable. My knees stretch the
fabric in my tight skirt, as I stride with purpose back to the office and plonk
Elliot’s coffee next to his keyboard.
“So, you’re not feeling any better about it all today then?” Elliot smirks.
I flash him a glare and he drops his gaze to his keyboard. An email from him
pops up on my screen as I take my seat.
To mask my expression, I take a careful sip of the coffee. Yes, Elliot, I will
try
to forget Isaac now but I won’t admit it to you, just yet. You can stew on it for
being such a testing dick-wad.
The rest of the morning flies by on a coffee-coated cloud, where I ignore
Elliot’s childish innuendos but still bite at an uptight stare from little Miss
Intern.
“Are you going for your lunch at a normal hour or are you going to further test
me by disappearing when it’s inconvenient?”
A small indistinguishable noise escapes from her mouth, and she grabs her
phone and energy drink and scoots out of the door.
“Was it any different when you were the intern?” Elliot calls across to me.
I sigh, ignoring his remark.
“Let up on her, she’s only young.”
After thinking better of my desire to have another quip at her expense, I snap
shut my mouth and nod. “Yes, I know, I’m off kilter with what happened
yesterday.” And only ever so slightly jealous of the way she sailed through
Stanford and landed this internship, which will see her rise to partner way before
I get there.
“Hmm. Thought you might be. That’s why I told you not to spy on him. You
should have let me contact him first.”
A huff blows from my nostrils before I have a chance to stop it. “Sorry Elliot,
I know you’re only trying to help, but you don’t know him. He’s…” I push back
my chair from the desk. “Actually, Elliot, I don’t know him either.”
He screws his nose and narrows his eyes at me. “You’re not making sense,
Chica.”
“I’m tired, confused, and not good for anything. But… I have to get this shit
finished for Tessa. And I can’t leave late today—Hope’s teacher’s messaged—
she played up in class today.” Flicking my eyes from the stack of manila-bound
case files to the neighboring office of our boss, Tessa Montgomery. A venerable
lawyer who likes to wipe the floor with her adversaries, and her staff, on a
regular basis.
“Aw, bless her,” he says, with empathy I know is not feigned. He’s not known
me or my daughter for very long, but he’s smitten with her. And for that, I love
having him around.
“So, are you going to tell Isaac about Hope?”
Rolling my lips at the gravity of the question, I answer, “I should, but I’m
worried about the consequences. He’s not… it’s not…” I blow out a breath and
start again. “I don’t think it’s in her best interests.”
I’ve pushed her out of a routine by my selfish behavior last night and she’s
retaliating about it at school. Goodness knows what a revelation about her father
would do to her and I’ve got to put her first.
I plonk the file I’ve finished with onto the stack at the edge of my desk. It’s
one too many, and the lot topples over, sliding the contents of most of the folders
out onto the floor.
In frustration, I throw back my head and release a heavy sigh.
“Don’t worry. I’ll see to it.” Elliot rises from his chair and scoops up the
mess,
taking the files over to his desk. “You finish the summary and I’ll box these.”
After a few seconds of fighting back tears, by biting on my inner cheek, I
thank him. It may be his job to help me achieve mine but, even so, he’s a saint
sometimes. And I’m feeling emotional about it today.
With a final surge of concentrated effort, the summary is complete and I leave
Elliot boxing the wad of manila-bound files I need to take to court tomorrow. On
my way out, I wave at Tessa through her open door, who glances over her
reading glasses, at me. I recognize the look on her face and hurry toward the exit
before she can call me back to interrogate me on something she’s highlighted in
the case notes. I haven’t got time tonight, I’m due at Hope’s school in thirty
minutes.
I forego the elevator in favor of the stairs, my heels clacking on each step as
I
bravely run down them and rush across the parking lot to my spot.
My phone rings in my purse and I fumble to retrieve it before it cuts off.
“Yes, sorry Tessa, I’ve got an appointment with Hope’s teacher tonight and I
can’t be late. You know how she gets.”
After a few seconds where I imagine she is pacing her office, staring out of
her window at me, she replies, “Sorry Cate, I didn’t realize. Can you come in
early tomorrow to go over everything before court?”
Sticking the phone under my chin while I ferret in my purse for my car keys, I
mask the annoyance in danger of tainting the tone of my answer. “Yes, sure.”
She has no children and doesn’t even try to empathize with my situation.
She’s no idea how hard it is to get a six-year-old and yourself ready in a morning
as it is, without adding in convincing a child already reluctant to go to school,
to
try the breakfast club too. I can already see the wrangling of emotions I’ll be
dealing with.
Why do I have to make it hard on myself? I could have chosen a less
demanding career, maybe something with fewer hours, so I could juggle
everything more easily and not get so uptight with everyone because of it. But
no, that would be too easy. I breathe through the tears threatening to spill out. I
don’t understand why I’m so emotional. I’ve had the self-pity knocked out of me
so many times, it has no place resurfacing now.
I bang the steering wheel and turn the keys in the ignition, unnecessarily rev
the engine and screech the car onto the street and toward the suburbs where the
school Hope attends is situated.
The moment I see Hope’s angelic face, watching for me from the school
reception window, my heart leaps and I’m reminded of why I don’t take the easy
route. Because I have no choice. She’s my everything and I want the best from
this world for her.
I swipe my pass, push through the security door, and acknowledge the teacher
before crouching next to Hope, brushing her hair behind her ears and making
sure she’s okay. It’s better that way. Five minutes at the beginning of any
potentially stressful situation saves countless hours of resolving the fallout.
None
of this is her fault. I’m to blame.
When she’s settled enough, I enter the teacher’s office, leaving Hope with the
assistant.
Having been in this situation before, I know word for word what the teacher
will say before a syllable leaves her lips. She shows her nervousness in the
needless rearrangement of books and papers stacked on her desk and her chin
wobbles before she chooses each deliberate word. I could make it easier for her
and finish the sentences, but I don’t. I’m tired. And a fierce momma-bear.
With an appropriately placed nod and a fake smile, I bide the sermon, not
taking in the message but understanding the sentiment. I want to get Hope home
and our routine restored.
It’s important to have the odd night of freedom and I’m eternally grateful for
my parents to allow me to do that, but the disruption is always clear. And I’m
sorry. I’m sorry to everyone who ends up picking up the pieces. I try. Really, I
do.
I strap Hope in the back of the car and we stop at a drive-through for dinner—
don’t judge me, I’m tired.
A calming bath for her and then after a dozen read throughs of her current
favorite story, Peter Pan, I’m done. Literally. Until the weekend reprieve.
 4

Cate

Another day, another dollar. I’m sure that’s the saying meant to get me
through the week. And what a week it’s been. It started badly with the stalking
of Isaac. A late drunken sex-fest on a school night with Nate. Then progressed
uphill with a heavy workload and a tetchy six-year-old. So, tonight I’m gonna
spend those dollars, because I’ve earned it.
The intern has gone on her late lunch. Again. And with only an hour left
before I can escape, I hum, ‘Let’s Go Crazy’ by Prince. Even singing aloud when
I get to the chorus.
“I think you already have.” Elliot’s dry jibe is accompanied by an eye roll
which would fit a black and white silent movie.
“Why don’t you come out tonight?” I sit on the edge of his desk, squinting at
the message he’s typing out on his phone.
“I’ve got nothing to wear.” He angles the screen away from me.
“Don’t be a wuss. Who cares what you’re wearing after a dozen shots?”
With a sigh, he pushes his phone into his man-bag. “Where you going?”
“Up town. Hit a few bars; maybe a club.” I steal a dollop of his hand lotion,
examining the label which proclaims it to be organic and free of everything.
“Mmm. Nice.” I remark about the mango fragrance left on my hands.
He drums his fingers on the desk. “Okay, text me when you get to the first bar
and I may join you.”
“You got a better offer?” I stand and move back to my desk to finish closing
the files I’ve been using today and disgruntled he didn’t share his text with me.
He’s gotten secretive of late, and it makes me wonder whether he’s snagged a
mysterious boyfriend.
“I’m going to the gym.”
I roll my eyes. “For Christ’s sake it’s Friday night. Nobody goes to the gym on
a Friday night.”
He touches the silver cross at his neck and looks to the ceiling. He hates it
when I blaspheme, which, for some twisted reason, makes me do it more.
“Sorry,” I apologize for the slip. “But come on, you seriously need to pull.
I’ve not heard you talk about anyone in ages.”
 He sinks his chin into his neck. “How do you know what goes on in my
private life?”
My jaw slackens. “Elliot, you don’t shut up about your private life.”
Although, when I think about it, it’s not what has happened that he frequently
talks about, but more what he would like to happen. Which usually involves a
copious amount of tattooed muscles and beards.
“Is that it?” I wag a fingernail in desperate need of a new polish at him.
“You’re trying to pull someone at the gym.”
“No,” he fires out.
“Yeah, right?” I plonk the last of my files on his desk and scoop up my
briefcase. “I’m off. See you later, loser,” I joke.
He kisses his teeth at me.
I clip clop down the stairs and through to the parking lot, pulling my vibrating
phone from my pants pocket and crossing my fingers it’s not Tessa pulling me
back.
A wicked smile pulls at my lips.
“Hey Nate. How was Seattle?”
“I can’t tell you, and if I did, I’d have to arrange for you to disappear.”
I snort. “Give it up. Like anyone’s interested?”
He laughs. “Anyway, what you up to tonight, sexy?”
My hips wiggle a little more.
“Out for a few drinks, and you?”
“Got corporate tickets for an event in town, wondered if you wanted to come
along? There’s a few of us going.”
“Okay sounds interesting, but I’ve organized drinks with the girls tonight. I
can’t duck out. Any chance we can hook up later, like usual?”
“Yeah, sure. What if I text you the details and leave your ticket at the door?
Let me know if you’re gonna make it, so I can look out for you. If not, I’ll let
you know when I’m back at my place. Although it’ll likely be the early hours.”
I’m practically skipping the last couple of yards. I put myself through heaps,
sacrificing my youth to ensure Hope had everything she needs and now she’s
passed the needy stage and I’m used to the way things are, I can afford to let my
hair down. Now and then, at least. Earlier this year, Mom offered to have Hope
every Friday night. That way it’s part of a routine which is good for everyone.
I hop into my passed-it’s-best, Ford Focus, connect my phone to the not very
user-friendly hands-free system I’ve set up in it and instruct a call to Mom.
She picks up straight away. “Hi honey. Everything okay?”
“Yes, just checking the pickup from school went okay?”
“Yes. I’m fixing dinner and then we’re going to watch TV. Do you want us to
hang on to Hope until Sunday? We’re planning to visit your Aunt Maude
tomorrow and we can take her with us?”
I swallow a lump materialized in my throat.
“Yes, that would be fantastic. Thank you.”
“You’ve been looking tired lately, and we thought you could do with a break.”
Tears mist my eyes and I ease off the accelerator to compensate for my
inability to see.
“Thanks Mom.” It’s all I can say without my voice cracking.
I’m strong, but the slightest hint of kindness and I can’t cope. Especially
since
I saw Isaac. It’s brought back too many memories of the struggle I’ve put myself
through and the stupid wish I had for it to be perfect one day. The three of us
together as a real family unit. And that’s not going to happen.
It would have been better if he had never come back, stayed away forever and
my dreams not be crushed. And as ever, the crust I’ve developed around my
exterior is impenetrable to sticks and stones but kind words, now that’s my
kryptonite.
“I’ll put her on.” I hear Mom shuffling off through to another room, the chirpy
tones of a cartoon blaring from a TV.
I blow out a breath, in readiness for a conversation with Hope. She may only
be six, but she’s a shrewd girl. And having spent so much time with mainly me
over the years she knows every nuance in my character.
“Hello Sweet Pea. How was school?”
“Awful.”
“Don’t worry. It’s the weekend and you’ll spend extra time having fun with
Grandma and Grandpa.” I’m not being mean or dismissive. Awful is Hope’s new
word, and she uses it for pretty much everything she’s not interested in. “Have
you had dinner yet?”
She sighs. “Yes. A vegetable teddy bear.”
I laugh. My mom arranges vegetables as faces or animals, hoping she’ll eat
them.
“Yes. Anyway, gotta split, Cate.” Ugh. It’s another thing she’s started with—
calling me Cate instead of Mom. It’s a common thing apparently when kids enter
elementary school. Well, it’s what her school teacher reassures me.
“Okay. Love you, Sweet Pea.”
The phone crackles as it’s dropped or hurriedly handed over.
With a hand muffling the receiver, I catch Mom clearing her throat. “Sorry
about that, Cate. She was watching TV and you know how she gets when she’s
engrossed in something.”
“It’s fine. I’ll call you in the morning.”
 “Have a great night.”
“I will, and you too.”
Music blurts from the car speakers as soon as the call disconnects and I push
my foot harder on the accelerator.
It seems the girls are as excited as me about our outing tonight. As each leaves
work, there’s a flurry of messages in our group chats and I can’t help but have a
nosey as I stop at the intersection near home.
My house looks as if a bomb has hit it, with toys and shoes cluttering the
hallway. Last night’s dinner plates languishing in the living room. All that can
wait. In fact, I’m happy to leave it exactly where it is and focus on getting
dolled
up.
I dump my briefcase on the sofa and walk through to the kitchen, relieved to
see there are still two beers in the fridge. I grab one and swig almost half in one
go before heading up the stairs to my attic bedroom.
I fire off a few texts to the girls before connecting the phone to the Beats
speaker and picking tunes to get ready to.
Although I’m not sure what the event is Nate has invited me to, he said it’s a
corporate do, so I’m using Tessa’s age-old advice of not under-dressing. An
adage she lives by to get what she wants—her nine-inch heels and expensive
suits grab the eyes and dicks of every guy in a courtroom, long before she opens
her well-educated mouth.
My choice tonight is a cherry-red dress, with a deep plunging neck leading to
a subtle ruche of material down to the knee. Black Jimmy Choo peep-toe heels
and a matching purse which I know is somewhere around. Finishing the fuck-me
look with lipstick which is a perfect match to the dress. Red is a color my
complexion and hair coloring fit with well. Anything paler looks insipid.
The rap on the front door is overly loud, as if the visitor is annoyed they’ve
been knocking for too long. I finish the last curl with my tongs even though it
will likely fall out over the evening, as I haven’t any hairspray. Turn off the
music, and rush to the window to holler to Jaz.
“About time. I’m freezing my tits off here. C’mon.”
“One sec.” I pull the window to and frantically look around for my purse. I
yank every drawer open and ransack the shelves but it’s not until I retrieve my
jacket from the back of the door I see it hung there. I ram my lipstick, wallet and
phone into it and run down the stairs clutching my shoes.
“Come on Cate. I’m gagging for a drink here,” Jaz shouts out of the top of the
partially open front window of the cab.
I lock the door behind me, pop the keys into my purse and hop along the path
trying to put my shoes on at the same time.
 “Sorry, I didn’t know you was waiting. You’re early, aren’t you?”
“Nope.” Jaz taps the driver on the shoulder. “Almo’s please.”
I settle on the seat, fumbling at the side of Jaz for the seatbelt. She shrugs
her
shoulders at me and I give up; resting my hand onto the front seat instead.
“Hope okay?”
“Yes, she’s at Mom’s… until Sunday.” I beam.
“Aw, that’s awesome. So lovely of her.”
“I know. I’ll treat her and Pops to something nice.”
Jaz accidentally stabs my foot with her ridiculously spiked heels and then
elbows me countless times applying, removing and then reapplying her false
eyelashes.
“They’ll fall off into someone’s drink if you don’t stop messing with them.” I
hand the eyelashes back. “Either that or you’ll glue your eyelids together.” I
giggle.
“So, who else is out tonight?”
I reel off names of the girls I’ve invited.
She takes a small bottle of vodka from her purse. “Here.” I take a cautious sip
and wipe the lipstick from the neck before passing it back. She glugs a good few
mouthfuls.
“Jeez. Is your mouth made of asbestos?”
“No, just plenty of practice.”
We fall out of the taxi at Almo’s and compose ourselves before swaggering in.
“Ooh la la.” Jaz sucks her stomach in as we parade passed a line of hot
looking men stood near the door.
Our group are loitering near to the bar and there’s a cheer when they spot us.
One girl comes across, doles out friendly embraces and steers us away from
the bar and into their enclave to share in the bottles of Prosecco they have
already acquired. Introductions, or in most cases, re-introductions are made and
before I realize I’m feeling light-headed. A glance at my phone, and I realize
we’ve only been here an hour and I need to slow the drinking down if I’m to see
the night out. There’s no reason to waste a good evening with friends by going
home early to an empty house because I’m too drunk. I also see a text from
Elliot.
“Shit!”
“What’s up?” Jaz looks over at my phone screen.
“Oh, nothing major, I forgot to tell Elliot where we are and now he’s gone into
a hissy.”
“Oops.”
I fire off a quick apologetic text, interrupted by the strong smell of
aftershave.
 I look up to see the line of hunks are obviously feeling brave as they’ve joined
us, each picking off whichever prey they prefer. Mine happens to be exactly the
opposite of my type. Which suits me. I purposely steer clear of dating and men
in general. I’ve got my thing with Nate and it suits me fine. No strings. At all.
Nate is one of the most career-minded people I have ever met and we hit it off
at Law School. He has a life plan, and it doesn’t include any kind of commitment
until he’s where he wants to be in his career. And me? I’ve got Hope and there’s
no man who will come between me and her.
Nate and I never talk about each other’s personal lives. It’s our way of staying
distant and not caring too much about each other. It allows us to hook up, have
sex, and go home with our emotions intact.
I stay at his pad, because it’s not a home, more of a resting place. I don’t
think
I’ve even seen any personal photos, or books, or anything which looks as if it
wasn’t provided for by the landlord. It’s not at all personalized. He knows I have
a daughter, and that’s it. He doesn’t even know, or care, where I live.
So, when this guy stood before me, opens with a line. I smile politely without
the slightest hint of a come on and answer in as benign fashion as I can.
Fortunately, he’s not one of those assholes who turns aggressive when his pants
aren’t unzipped right there and we have a decent, but in no way leading,
conversation.
I’m still holding my phone when a text comes through from Nate, giving me
the address for this event he’s at. It’s my perfect excuse.
“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. I’m meeting my boyfriend. It’s been nice chatting
with you.”
“The pleasure is mine,” he charms.
I smile sweetly. Even in a different life, this conversation isn’t going
anywhere.
Quickly, I catch hold of Jaz and tell her where I’m going. She’s used to me
sloping off early. It’s what I do. Cramming the only downtime into one night has
its compromises, and this is one of them.
She bustles her way through the door, to make a note of which taxi I take and
also so she can have a sly cigarette at the door.
I roll my eyes at her.
“How else do you think I stay thin?” she quips, lighting it and letting the
first
exhale of white smoke curl up her nose.
There’s a queue of taxis outside Almo’s and I climb in the first in line,
throwing a last wave to Jaz and reading out the name of the venue from Nate’s
text to the driver.
I watch her sucking on the cigarette as the driver waits to pull out into the
traffic, contemplating if I should talk to her about Isaac. Subconsciously, it’s
why
I went to her salon on Monday. It’s only I don’t want to dump it on her when I
can’t make sense of any it myself.
She has a dim view of Isaac, born from his misdemeanor and subsequent lack
of contact. She is one of a handful of people who knows he is Hope’s father—
my parents, my aunt, Elliot and Jaz. And of those, only Elliot knows Isaac is
back. Everyone else is told Hope’s father lives overseas and doesn’t want to
know. No lie there. Well, until now. Now he’s back on US soil. Living in the
same city.
I allow my head to relax back on the head rest and my eyes momentarily
close. The alcohol has made me tired and I hope Nate doesn’t want to stay at
whatever this event is, until the early hours. The thought reminds me I don’t
even know what it is I’m going to, so I angle forward to the cab driver.
“Do you know what’s going on at this place you’re taking me to tonight?”
“Yeah. MMA.”
“What?” I’ve no idea what he has said.
“Cage fighting.”
“What with men or animals?” I’m still not sure what it is.
He laughs and shakes his head at me in the rearview mirror. “A mixture of the
two, ma’am.”
Sounds fantastic. Not.
I gain entrance, as Nate said I would, after collecting the ticket at the
admissions office.
An usher shows me into the venue and I’m instantly assaulted by raucous
noise of men baying for blood. I pan the room wide-eyed as she leaves me to be
sucked into the atmosphere.
Men standing on seats, throw their fists in the air toward the ring. Screaming
at the fighters with such ferocity the tendons in their necks look as if they may
snap.
Nobody notices me stood here, a flower amongst an army of thorns.
The audience shouts and thumps and stamps; the vibrations booming through
me.
It’s barbaric. And primal. Hot, and stinks of testosterone-laden sweat.
But it’s also energizing. And the throb from my toes to my chest excites me.
After a few seconds acclimatizing to the alien scene, my eyes come to rest on
the spectacle everyone’s focused on. Two men in a high-sided cage; dressed only
in tight shorts, with mid-calf boots, and gloves, circling each other as if about
to
pounce.
Both have tattoos, although the larger one is covered in them. A vivid
explosion of black marked with color.
I edge further down the gantry, not spotting Nate in amongst the audience.
A quick glance to my ticket, skimming over the ridiculous name of the
fighters—Raul the Wolf and Bo ‘Ripper’ Johansson, I home in on the seat
location. Row C, seat 47.
I scout around for seating numbers and count from row L at my side down to
row C. Halfway along the row I spot Nate and his colleagues. Like everyone
else, he’s stood, arms aloft and angling forward, spitting out macho taunts. I
make my way toward them, stepping on toes and dipping under sweaty armpits,
until I reach Nate’s side.
There’s a huge roar and I’m instantly frightened, my attention refocuses on the
animals in the cage.
It looks as if the fight is over. The smaller guy laid out on the ring floor.
I clap a hand to my mouth.
My heart leaps into my throat as I tunnel into the vision.
And recognize the shaven head with tattoos which snake down a thick neck
and across broad shoulders, scooping to a lean waist.
Now being held aloft by equally burly men.
He is turned mid-air and homes straight on me. His eyes latch onto mine and
his mouth closes mid-roar.
It can’t be.
And for the second time in a week I’m staring at Isaac.
 5

Isaac

I hate this guy already and he’s not even laid a punch on me yet. That’s what it
usually takes, a slap to the head or a kick to the ribs, before I snap. But this
guy…
My nostrils flare watching him taunt me. He’s cocky, but then aren’t they all?
But he’s also blasé, and that will be his downfall. Mock me and I either walk
away or snap, and in a cage there’s nowhere to walk.
Twice he’s rushed into my face, done nothing but smirk and pull back.
Third time he’s not so lucky. His nose splatters across his face, the sound of
the crack, making the promotors and VIP’s on the front row suck in a disgusted
breath. He staggers backward; unable to keep his balance he topples over. Blood
spurts over the mat.
Jerk.
I hold out my arms and slowly circle the ring.
The crowd is on their feet, some cheering, some jibing but all fired with
emotion.
The cage fills with medics, trainers, scantily clad women, cameramen, and
fuck knows who else. I’m lifted onto the shoulders of two of my crew and
paraded above everyone.
I drink in the crowd's energy and it pumps me until I’m deflated with a sharp
burst.
Through the chaos, there’s one still figure and, like a satellite, I zoom in on
her.
Cate.
She’s here.
In the crowd, her face the only clear object. I fix my eyes on her, pivoting my
head as the guys holding me continue to move around the ring.
Her mouth drops open and I try to wriggle free, then she turns, fighting
through the crowd to move further into the stands.
It was obvious at some point I would see her. I knew this when I came back
three months ago. But I never planned for it to be like this. Or for her to look
the
way she does.
 The last time I clapped eyes on her she was a kid. We both were. And I’d not
imagined her this way. A beautiful woman with curves in all the right places.
Wearing a dress which makes her look as hot as a fucking poker.
Nor did I expect for an immediate spark to be there between us. And from
thirty feet it looks a lot like desire.
The self-discipline I employ to make my body perform in the way it does is
blown into a million fragments. The reaction, over whelming.
Fuck. This complicates everything.
Every. Fucking. Thing.
I prize the meaty hands from my thighs so I can drop to the ring floor.
With urgency, I elbow a way to the edge and shout after her. There’s no way
she can hear me as she slinks her way through the crowd.
When I can’t see her any longer, I scout around for the group she was with. I
drop to my knees and shout instructions through the net to Juan and Diego who
scurry off in pursuit.
The formalities of the win are dealt with as quickly as I can manipulate. Then,
I exit the ring and move swiftly up the concourse toward the dressing room
where I’m met by Juan who whispers bad news into my ear.
They caught up with her and asked her to come with them to meet me but she
refused. She was upset and seemed frightened, which isn’t surprising
considering what she witnessed me dish out. I describe to him the group she was
with and they go off on their new mission.
The usual routine of debriefs and attending to cuts, lost on me. I’m
somewhere else. Back to when I was eighteen and in love. My brain freezes and
then jerks back and forth with memories of those days. Of Cate.
I study my blood-stained hands and rub them over my face.
Those teenage days gone and I can’t believe I even want her to see me. Not
like this, not the person I am now. I doubted I would ever be good enough for
her and now I know I’m not.
She’s flourished into a beautiful woman worthy of any man, like the one she
was ringside with tonight. While I’ve rotted into a hard, rough beast.
The masseuse enters the room, her slim stature, delicate amongst the other
bodies in here. She lingers near the entranceway, awaiting instructions and when
the entourage stream out of the door I half expect her to as well. But she doesn’t.
She locks the door and comes to kneel at my feet and, to prove I’m not worthy of
Cate, I pull her mouth onto me.
She takes my cock all the way to back of her throat. No gag reflex. Like a
fucking robot.
There’s a knock at the door, and she looks up, her mouth still latched onto me,
silently asking what she should do. I push her away and bark for the visitors to
enter, pulling a towel over my already limping dick.
“We found out who she was with,” Juan grunts.
I nod to the girl and she gratefully slips away.
“It’s a swanky solicitor firm, the main guy gave us his contact details.” He
extends a business card to me and I reach out for it. Slowing flicking it over in
between my finger and thumb.
“With?” I question the nature of their relationship.
“Yeah. He described her as his date.”
Nate Crawshaw.
Nate.
A date with Nate.
Cate and Nate. That don’t sound right. Fuck him.
What kind of guy takes his girl on a date to a cage fight? And what kind of
girl goes?
I hand the card back to him.
“Give me a minute.”
They nod and walk out of the dressing room. The masseuse peeks her head
around the door.
I shake my head and she closes it behind her.
With my back resting on the wall, I push away the thoughts of being with Cate
again but, no matter how hard I try, they won’t go away.
My recollection of Cate was the one I clung onto. A perfect girl. Who would
grow to be a perfect woman with a perfect family. Twinset sweaters and plaid
skirts. Sensible heels. A Labrador.
A recollection which made me believe she wouldn’t be interested in a guy like
me. Seeing her right now has made me doubt that assumption.
 6

Cate

I rest against the cold brick wall outside the venue, catching my breath. Wet
hair plastered across my face, and my heated cheeks stinging as they scorch off
the splotches of rain. My head reels from the alcohol I’ve consumed tonight and
what I have witnessed.
There’s no way I can reconcile what I’ve seen and his reaction.
The look he gave me.
Lodged in my stomach, my heart wrenches to free itself. A sickly yet excited
feeling. One I’ve never had before.
When I hear Nate calling out for me, I sink back into the wall. I don’t know
what I would say to him. None of this makes sense to me, so trying to explain it
to someone else is not going to happen. Besides, this goes against our
arrangement. Me dragging up my ghosts from the past is not part of our deal.
The two meat heads who questioned me earlier are back again and have
caught up with Nate. I can’t hear what they’re saying but Nate shrugs his
shoulders and holds out his arms as if he can’t answer whatever they are asking.
One of them puts his hand on Nate’s shoulder and I catch a breath, worried they
might harm him. The hand appears to be squeezing, but he’s showing no sign of
wriggling free.
I take a tentative step towards them, I can’t let him face this on his own. This
is my drama, not his.
Then, they retreat inside, leaving Nate and his friends engaged in an animated
discussion. I wait, hoping they will leave so I can make my escape. One of his
friends tries to get back inside and two others wander off down the street. But
Nate stays; on his cell and continuing to look distressed.
I’m about to go to him when I feel it. Against my neck. Warm breath which
makes the hairs on my skin prickle and my nipples pebble.
The feeling has a sound attached to it. And the tone is rich and deep and
vibrates all the way down my body to my sex.
“Fuck,” he growls.
After seven years of not hearing his voice, the first utterance is a word which
has no, and yet every, meaning. One drawn out syllable annunciated perfectly.
 I’m not prepared for this. And although I know I have to look up to the mouth
which has orated this greeting, I have no idea how I will react.
“You’re cold,” he says.
As if I’ve been given permission, my body shivers. He envelopes me with his
strong arms, pulling me into his warm chest and, despite my best judgment, I
feel like I’m home.
Still nestled to his chest, he walks me around the brick wall and in through a
door secreted down a dimly lit alleyway. I can’t tell if I’m trying to resist or
pull
away because his strength is all-consuming. With his huge bicep wrapped around
me there’s not even an inch of breathing space as we pace along a corridor.
He pushes open a door and we leave the noise of the hallway behind.
I still daren’t look at him, because the way my body feels, I won’t be able to
speak. Although I sure as hell know what I will do.
Why, after everything I’ve been through, do I still feel this way about him?
The yearning to have him close to me. Skin on skin. Breath on breath.
Now I hear water running.
“Step in.”
He pushes me under scalding hot water, still fully clothed and my eyes
screwed shut. Eventually, the shivering stops and I blink through the water at the
haze of a man stood before me.
“Better?” he asks.
I want to answer the question with a simple nod of the head but actually
there’s another more truthful answer, and, with an alcohol-loosened tongue, I
hear myself say, “I will be… if you join me.”
His Adam’s apple bobs low and for a painful second, I’m not sure how he’ll
answer.
Then he pulls off his shirt.
Holy shit. This man. The boy I once knew has become this man stood before
me.
Rubbing the water from my eyes clouding the perfect vision, I drink in his
body and skim across his tattoos.
From across the street and from several rows of seats away in a cage, he
looked strong and muscular. Up close. He’s a work of art and the sight makes my
lower belly ache with need.
The moment he steps in to the shower, I know there’s no going back from this.
Simultaneously, I’m frightened and a whole lot turned on.
The flimsy material of my dress proves no armor against the barrage of hard
muscles forcing me against the wall of the shower, and when he rips the dress
from my flesh, I feel no loss.
 The moment our eyes lock and our mouths gorge on each other, I know for
certain I’m ruined.
The taste of his tongue and the pressure of his lips takes my breath away. I’m
dizzy and my whole-body fizzes with the sensation of being so close to him. My
need to have us as one is intense.
My feet float upwards and I wrap my arms around his neck, straddle his waist
and throw back my head; laying bare my neck to him. He devours it like it is
nothing and everything.
The throbbing low in my belly is insane and I’m desperate to feel him inside
of me. Throwing away any self-respect I have, for a memory of searing heat and
icy cold shards to spark through me once more.
Then his head drops and his lips trail down my neck coming to rest on my
pulse.
With his forehead pressed against my windpipe, he stills. The only movement
the heaving of his shoulders as he pants in new oxygen.
“Isaac?” I gasp.
He snaps his head up and for one fleeting moment I see it in his eyes. Him.
My Isaac. But the moment vaporizes, and he drops me as if I’m poison. I fall to
the floor; the deluge from the shower hitting my skin like darts.
“Get dressed,” he rumbles his instruction from outside the shower, walking off
further into the room, dripping water over the floor.
Not knowing what I’ve done or said to elicit such a response, I turn off the
faucet and step cautiously out of the cubicle. I grab a towel off the rail and wrap
it around me. And shiver once more.
Back in the changing room, he’s sat on a chair with his head in his hands. His
sweatpants cling to his legs and droplets of water weave down his rippled, inked
chest.
“You need to leave,” he growls, to the floor.
“Why?” The fury rising from my stomach is a mixture of his crude dismissal
and my self-loathing for being such a hussy.
He ignores my question, raising from his seat and throwing a tee and
sweatpants my way. They hit my knees and fall to the floor.
“Why did you do that to me?” I cry.
He stands before me and without removing his gaze, his eyes change. The
golden sparks disappear and he shuts me out. “You weren’t part of the plan.”
“What fucking plan?” I yell.
He coolly turns, grabs a robe from the back of the door, and walks out on me.
For seconds or minutes, I’m not sure which, I’m rooted to the floor, staring at
the door.
 “Motherfucker,” I scream after him. Livid at the predicament I have allowed
myself to be in.
Eventually, I bend to pick up the clothes he has left; not wanting to make use
of them, but, when my only other option is the towel wrapped tightly around me,
they will have to do.
The sweatpants drown me. Even after I fold over the waistband twice and roll
each leg with hands still trembling with rage. Ditto with the training shirt which
hangs loose around my hips. My purse, jacket, and shoes are discarded in the
corner of the room, and with them looped in my fingers, I storm out of the door.
Two gorillas flank the exit; each as wide as they are tall. One talks into a
microphone dangling from an earpiece as I approach. Expecting push back, I’m
surprised when he opens the door to the alleyway. My surprise turns to fright
when he manhandles me into a black SUV.
Curled on the back seats, I fret where they are taking me, until they ask for my
home address. I’m not giving them it.
The SUV glides into the tree-lined street of the fake address and I hear the
doors click open, just as I’m giving in to a desire to sleep. Roughly, I pull on
the
door handle and make my escape. With a tight grip on my belongings, I scurry
along the sidewalk; the limo crawling along beside me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the passenger window lower.
“Shit,” I murmur under my breath. Ready to sprint away.
A voice booms, “1036 is over there.”
I snap my head across to him and then realize what he means, the address I’ve
given is further along the street in the opposite direction. For a second, I
consider
ignoring his remark but then turn on my heel and march to where he’s pointing. I
don’t want them to pull me back in the damn car.
Discreetly, I squint at the numbers on address plates and as I get closer I
scout
around for a way of entering 1036. There’s an expansive front lawn and what
looks like a path alongside to the rear of the house. Without slowing my pace
onto the driveway, I rush over the lawn and through a gate and over the path at
the side of the house. I close the gate and rest my back against the rough board,
catching my breath and listening intently for the SUV to pull off. I shallow
breathe and after what seems like a decent amount of time, I cautiously pull open
the gate and peek my head through. They seem to have gone, so I scurry across
the lawn and back onto the sidewalk.
I hate to admit, but I’m lost and pull my phone out of my purse, upload the
maps app, tap in my home address and follow the directions out of the upmarket
neighborhood.
The unbelievable events of tonight replay in my head and a cocktail of
emotions fizzes through my veins. Ranging from shock, to desire, to
embarrassment and now anger.
“Douche bag,“ I spit out.
A message pops over the map I’m following. It’s from Nate.

Nate: Hey. Where are you?

I contemplate what I tell him. He knows none of my history and now is not a
good time to fill in the gaps. I mean how would I explain an MMA fighter called
Raul, who he watched avidly beat the shit out of his opponent, is actually the
father of my child. An ex-con called Isaac Winters. Oh, and I ditched you tonight
to have shower sex with him. Almost.
Like a madwoman, I throw both hands in the air. My shoes flick and hit me on
the side of my head, causing me to laugh hysterically and a skulking cat to
screech and run off across the street.
This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. The plan was to have a good
night with the girls and then a drunken sex session with Nate. Instead, here I am
stomping barefoot on a dirty, wet sidewalk to an empty house.
At least it’s stopped raining.
I keep my reply simple.

Me: Gone to bed.

Was it the alcohol tonight which made me act the way I did? I mean, really?
Why the hell did I invite Isaac into the shower? What am I? Some kind of slut
with a death wish?
When I reach home, I’m no less annoyed with myself. With him. And the
whole situation.
I strip off the borrowed clothes and, despite my tiredness, scrub myself clean
in the shower before crawling into bed.
 7

Isaac

A heavy beat reverberates through my body as I enter the nightclub. Carlos

and his crew are in the VIP area and I stride through the parting crowds to join
them. Carlos spots me and leaps up in an exaggerated fashion, waving his cigar
and champagne glass in the air. Arching his back, he extends his neck and shouts
my name above the discordant music. “Raul,” he howls like a coyote, drawing
attention, as usual, to himself.
Girls lounging on plush seats push in to sexy poses. As ever, I’ll have a choice
tonight. Although to be fair, it’s not something I deliberate over. The nearest.
The most drunk. Whichever one sits on my lap first. I’m not fussy. It doesn’t
matter to me as it’s only a means to an end.
With one lunge, I counter the steps to the elevated area and stand my ground
when Carlos leaps at me like a coiled cobra, slopping the contents of his
Champagne glass over his girlfriend, Ulyana. She protests in a flurry of
Ukrainian, grabs her sister Zoya’s arm, and they both rush off toward the ladies’
restroom.
Carlos doesn’t even notice the commotion he causes. He notices nothing
unless he has a mind to.
With his legs wrapped around my thick thighs and his arms waving in the air,
he proclaims me the king of the ring. Pulling on my shirt collar to reveal the
crown I’m tattooed with on my upper chest. Stoically, I stand rooted like a tree
and when eventually he drops his cocaine-fueled cling, I grab hold of his hand in
a manly clasp, piled high.
He is the ultimate reason I’m here today. In this club as a VIP surrounded by
bodyguards instead of tormented in a jail cell and labeled a foreigner with a
white ass for sale. But there is a price. As with everything in this life. A heavy
price. And it’s down to me which of us will pay.
I’ve already sold part of my soul and, with the added surprise of meeting Cate
tonight, I’m about to sell more.
Carlos keeps hold of my hand and pulls me to the now spare seat next to him.
The bodyguards relax somewhat and the girls swivel in their seats toward me,
rearranging their hair and fixing renewed pouts.
Carlos shouts across an order for a bottle of Tequila to be brought to our
table.
He knows I’ll decline the Champagne, as I’m not a Champagne type of guy. If I
have to get wasted—and it’s not something I usually do—then I’ll do it with the
hard stuff.
A bottle of the finest, aged, gold Tequila and a dozen shot glasses are brought
rapidly to the table. There aren’t enough glasses to go around. Only the inner
sanctum of Carlos’s empire will take one.
The waiter pulls out the cork but Carlos pours it. It’s like a ritual. Denoting
both the serving of alcohol and the giving of life.
Although it wasn’t always like this with Carlos and I. At school we were
buddies, living in the same run-down neighborhood. That was his territory, not
mine. My escape was supposed to be to the next set of foster parents who would
hopefully adopt me full time. But it never happened. It seemed I was destined for
the type who wanted the extra paycheck, the additional benefits. Not those who
fostered children for the good of it.
Maybe it was me, expecting the world and not seeing the best in those who
gave me shelter. Selfish, because their shelter was in the poor part of town. Even
so, I kept my nose clean and our paths deviated as Carlos sought thrills on the
shady side of the street.
I mulled this dilemma constantly, in those first few months of prison—that my
ungrateful thoughts about my upbringing had dealt me a shit hand in a nod to
Karma. But as months turned into years, I came to understand Karma was
involved but not in a revengeful way.
It was my destiny to be incarcerated, so I could be re-born.
Carlos admired me for taking the rap for our little college trip. Or that’s what
he says. But I know he didn’t expect to see me again. And certainly not like this.
He thought I’d rot in that jail cell. Not end up a fighting hero. But, he appears
to
have taken the bait so far. And, as I get the measure of him, I make sure he
doesn’t do the same with me.
With a flick of my wrist, I down the Tequila in one. The glass doesn’t touch
my lips and the burning liquid doesn’t touch my tongue. The one and only place
it hits is the back of my throat, where it lands like a hot ember.
Once empty, I drop the glass on the table and it rolls off the edge. A petite
blonde with an eye-catching rack stoops to pick it up. As she goes to place the
glass back onto the table, I grab hold of her wrist and pull her on to me. Yeah,
she’ll do tonight. I desperately need to forget. To forget Cate. And this blonde’s
rack looks the perfect place to get lost for a while.
She’s immediately attentive—her hands roaming my chest. Then she tries to
kiss my lips so I roughly push her face onto my neck. I’m not ready for the taste
of Cate to be kissed way.
 As she sucks on my neck, the chemical smell of hairspray smarts my eyes.
And it’s what I need—the antithesis of Cate’s sweet, natural smell. Hopefully,
everything else about this petite blonde will be different too. And, as I quickly
skim down her fake tanned skin, to her false tits and pussy revealing skirt, I let
out a sigh of relief.
“You were fucking awesome tonight, Raul,” Carlos yells above the pumping
music. “Fucking awesome.”
“He made it kind of easy,” I reply.
“It’s what I like about you, hermano, you make it sound like a walk in the
park. And it’s why I have faith in you.”
Juan and Diego march towards the VIP area and, with a slight jerk of my
head, Juan comes behind my seat.
Tactfully, he whispers into the ear furthest away from Carlos, “We got her
home. Eventually.”
I don’t like the way he says that and I snap my chin at him. Although I don’t
want to go into any detail in front of Carlos or the girl latched onto my neck, I
want to know Cate got home safe.
“Problem?” I hiss.
“No, not at all. She thought she’d given us the slip with a false address. But
we followed her home.”
I straighten my head away from his voice. It’s all I need to know. She’s as far
away from here as she needs to be.
Fortunately, Carlos doesn’t notice our exchange. He’s in an animated
discussion with Pedro, his actual blood-brother; not a brother like the rest of us.
Between them they run this shit parade. The legit, the not so legit and the
downright criminal. The only parts I get to see, thankfully, are the training gyms
and clubs. As one of his few non-illegal assets, it was a demand he agreed to.
Keep me clean. The other demand was my identity. I came out of jail with the
tag, Raul, and he is more than happy to run with it. I didn’t want to alert my
reappearance to anyone unnecessarily, especially not Cate. Although that part of
the plan has been thwarted.
The blonde has stopped paying attention to my neck and has now sunk her
hand onto my dick. But her moves are irritating. Like all the girls in here she’s
too eager and bold. They’re about giving. Which as nice as it sounds is boring as
fuck. I’ve not been inclined to eat pussy once since I’ve been around Carlos and
the girls he throws at me. And I miss it. Giving a woman an orgasm is the best
feeling ever. The smell, the taste, the heat, the vibrations and the satisfied
moans.
These women aren’t interested in any of that shit. Giving is all they want to do. I
guess they don’t want to enjoy it. All they want is money and security and they
won’t get those from me.
I tilt forward, and with little effort, squash her tiny hand. She squeals with
the
pain of her wrist being crushed. And it’s the final nail. If she cries out like
that
with a little discomfort, it‘ll be the end when I show her the true meaning of
pain. Because I don’t do gentle.
With a hand on the neck of the Tequila bottle, Carlos taps me on the elbow. Of
the few of us who are allowed glasses, there’s even a smaller number who can
touch the bottle. But it’s not why Carlos is tapping me. And as I pour a steady
stream over the glasses on the table, I turn to hear what he has to say.
“I’ve put a bonus into your account. A gift for being such a good soldier.”
I give him a small nod of gratitude, behind which I disguise the repulsion of
his act.
“Buy yourself a new car. Something flash.” He beams.
The next fight can’t come quick enough. He’s spinning his web, one radial at a
time and I need to make my move before I’m cocooned in his trap.
Money is the last thing I need. His expectation for me to buy something lavish
with it, will be considered an act of loyalty to him and a show of extravagance to
the rest of the San Diego underworld. The desired message being—Carlos
Hernandez is on the way up and so are his posse. He treats them well, because
they respect and adore him.
What a load of crap.
 8

Cate

The next morning, I wake with a start, my heart racing and thumping out of
my chest from the clutches of a vague dream involving Isaac and Hope.
For a good few moments I stare at the elaborate, fake-glass chandelier
hanging from my bedroom ceiling and run over the events of the night before.
I’m no calmer about any of it. When I heard Isaac was back in town I made
plans, rational plans, to meet with him. To discuss our circumstances and tell
him about Hope. Like two adults should.
Instead, Isaac is Raul, a monster who dumped me like a sack of shit in a
shower, backstage at a fight.
I’m the mother of his child who single-handedly raised his offspring and his
response? To embarrass me beyond belief.
I thump both fists on the mattress and sit bolt upright.
He’s not getting away with this.
Throwing off the powder-blue duvet, I reach out for my cotton robe, before
stomping to the kitchen to fuel for my intended showdown. A double helping of
Hope’s favorite cereal should fix my hangover. I take a bowl full over to the
kitchen door hoping the cool morning breeze will calm my frame of mind.
A ball flies in the air and lands in the backyard, bouncing off a plastic ride-
along truck and into the sand-pit with a dull thud. A puff of golden grains billow
into the air.
I stick my head out the partially open door. “Thank you Mr Lee,” I shout,
through a mouthful of breakfast.
My mom helped me choose this neighborhood. It’s family orientated she
explained. That might have been so when she had a growing family, now it’s full
of bored middle-aged couples who take part in swing parties disguised as wine
tasting. Fortunately, they’ve not approached me. But they’re nosey all the same.
Knowing my comings and goings and forever ‘making sure I’m okay’. It’s
thoughtful but in a suffocating way. I would much prefer somewhere rural with
no neighbors and my space or slap in the middle of the city surrounded by
people who don’t get involved.
The crunching of my teeth on the chocolate hoops further works me up. I
chastise myself for wasting time on another unlikely dream and I retreat to the
bathroom to brush my teeth and style my hair.
With heated tongs, I curl my hair into shiny ringlets. Then, with the help of a
YouTube video, apply a double helping of make-up complete with contours,
false eyelashes and newly shaped eyebrows. Then, I go through to my closet and
pick out a short, tight skirt made from three thick Spandex bands which lift at the
center front. My legs aren’t particularly tanned but enough to not wear any tights
and when I pull on my thigh-length, suede boots I know it doesn’t matter. I push
my tits into place in the snug-fitting bra top, and to make sure his eyes wander to
my bolstered cleavage, I fasten a silver necklace with a sleek-hanging pendant
which arrows into it.
I stand in front of the mirror and practice a pose and even a swagger. He’ll
wish he never passed up on this baby.
Cautiously, I totter downstairs and pick up his discarded tee and sweatpants,
intent on stuffing them into a plastic bag. But, the moment the fabric bunches in
my palms, my determination falters. It’s soft and smooth and instantly grabs hold
of my emotions when I bury my face in it. A deep inhalation of Isaac spikes
straight through to my heart.
How? How can that man-half-beast, be the same person as my Isaac?
Ugh! I slump onto the arm of the sofa still clutching at my past. Hope’s toys
scattered around the living room floor; I gently push a heel on her latest
obsession, a fire truck. I wheel it back and forth while I think about what I’m
expecting to get out of this move. To make him jealous? To make him hate me? I
don’t know. I can’t reconcile my feelings toward him.
Leaving Isaac’s clothes on the back of the sofa, I hitch each ankle up to
wrench off my boots. Then, I trudge upstairs and wipe off my make-up, brush
out my curls, and twist the frizzy mess which is now my hairstyle into a bun. I
wiggle out of the tight skirt and pull on a pair of denim shorts with a cute lacy
edge. I’m not being cute for him but it’s summer and the brief rain shower we
had last night was a blip in an otherwise hot June. I don’t have any energy to pull
the bra top off so mostly cover it instead with a blouse. Finally, I stuff the
sweatpants and tee into a cotton bag and plod downstairs to screw my feet into
my Converse sneakers.
With my Ray Ban’s pushed onto my nose, I climb in the car and roll down the
windows. Reminding myself to find a garage to fix the air-conditioning as soon
as I’ve thrown the clothes into his face.
I drive off toward Isaac’s gym with Dua Lipa pumping out of the speakers and
a breeze buffeting my face. It’s fresher today, the rain yesterday clearing the air
somewhat, but I know San Diego well enough to appreciate the heat will
intensify as the day wears on. Cautiously, I massage my fingertips over my
forehead at the thought of the humidity coming back which will undoubtedly
make my hangover worse.
Ironically, the parking spot I occupied the other day is the only one free once
more. I parallel park into it, pausing before I complete the maneuver when I spot
Isaac’s SUV parked near the gym entrance. I assumed he would be here but now
I know he is, my breathing falters. Before I can back out, I scrunch my fingers
on the top of the bag and trot across the road to the entrance.
With my hand curled around the heavy-duty handle, I cautiously pull open the
door. The thumping beat of rock music hits me first, then my nostrils are
assaulted with a mix of testosterone-laden sweat and vanilla ice-cream smell of
air-conditioning.
My eyes dart around, not wanting to take another step without knowing my
ultimate destination. But I need not worry. I home straight in on him; laid prone
on a press bench.
He’s bare-chested and his knees are bent at either side of the bench; his
sneaker-clad feet planted onto the floor. His arms stretch passed his head and
with huge hands he holds a weighted iron bar. I bite on my lower lip when his
grip tightens and his knuckles pop as he prepares to push on it.
A mountain of a guy stands at his side, presumably to grab hold of the weight
should he need to. He looks like one of the guys in the black SUV who drove me
away from the fight last night. I cringe at the thought.
The bar sags alarmingly with the weight of the plates stacked on to it. I’m
unable to lift my feet, as if they’re stuck to the carpet with gum, mesmerized by
the sight of his trembling arms lifting the bar. Slowly, his elbows bend and the
bar lowers onto his collarbone. After a few seconds, he puffs out his chest and
with an explosive grunt, yanks the weighted bar into the air. Locking his elbows
for a moment before he drops the weight with a heavy clang onto two side rests.
I hitch a breath as he crunches his abs to sit, grabbing a towel from the side
of
the bench. He wipes his face and I stiffen further, realizing I’m in his direct
line
of sight. I clutch the bag to my stomach which cramps as his expression hardens.
He casts the towel to the floor, stands, and scoops his leg over the bench
before striding towards me.
It takes three breaths from me and three strides from him before I snap out of
my frozen state with an indignant thought. No-one will treat me like he did last
night and get away with it. No one. Not even Isaac Winters, father of my child. I
grit my teeth and brace for whatever he throws at me.
Without a word and his hot mint-infused breath on my forehead, he wraps a
palm around my elbow and drags me backward to the exit. Punching the door
open, he pushes me into the street.
 “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I shout, rubbing at my elbow now
free of his vise-like grip.
“Who said you can come here?” he growls, his expression as dark as wet
earth.
“I don’t need anybody to tell me where I can and cannot go.” I cross my arms
defiantly in front of my chest, still clinging onto the bag.
“Don’t come here again.” He leans into me and snarls in my face, “Ever.”
For a moment, I’m shocked by the venom he spits out. I pull myself together
and fire back at him, “I don’t know who you think you are Isaac Winters but this
is a free country and I’ll go where ever I goddamn want.”
Slowly and deliberately, he inches into my face until our noses touch and eyes
lock in a battle of wills. “Don’t,” he says through gritted teeth, “ever, call me
that again.”
A laugh blurts out of my astonished mouth and, with a precocious rock of my
head, I snap out, “Screw you!”
I attempt to sidestep him but he grabs hold of my arm squeezing on it until his
grip sears through to the bone.
I yelp. “Leave off, you’re hurting me.”
Although I try to pull away, only my head turns. His free hand closes on my
face and, with both cheeks squeezed between his thumb and fingers, he reels me
back into his face. “I’m warning you, Kitty.” His pupils are so dilated, the whole
of his eyes are consumed with an inky blackness. “Don’t.” His growl
reverberates across my face.
Forcing my eyes away from his glare, I notice the hickey on his neck, which
wasn’t there when we got close and personal last night. Fucking dirtbag.
I bite down hard on the piece of skin between his thumb and forefinger.
“Fuck!” he bellows, releasing his grip on me.
Wasting no time, I run across the street to my car and with adrenaline coursing
through my veins I jump in, start it, and flip it into gear. First, I reverse with
a
toe-curling bang into the car behind and then shunt forward into the car in front.
Finally, I screech out into the traffic; leaving Isaac steadfast on the sidewalk
glaring at me.
A hundred yards down the street, I realize I’ve still got the bag of clothes—the
whole stupid reason I’m here. I spin the car around in the middle of the street
and throw the cotton bag at his feet. Wheel-spinning away with my heart
pounding into my mouth, I watch him in the rearview mirror pick up the bag and
disappear into the gym.
After the excitement, I desperately need to use the bathroom, so pull up in
front of a drive-through restaurant. Abandoning my car in the parking lot, I rush
through the family-filled queues to the restroom. I heave my anxiety from the
recent escapade, curdled with the alcohol laying heavy in my stomach from last
night, into the toilet bowl. Hanging my head over the pan, I ruminate over who
he is now or should I say what? After my two altercations with him, it feels like
I’ve got the wrong guy.
Eventually, I feel calm enough to flush the pan and wash my mouth in the
sink, startled by my reflection which shows eyes as wide as a frightened rabbit.
I’m not cut out for this drama.
As calmly as I’m able to, I walk into the dining area, stop at the counter to
order an iced coffee, and retreat to the car to sip it in relative safety.
Toeing off my shoes, I stick my feet onto the dash and wiggle my toes in the
fresh air. After several cooling sucks through the paper straw I’m calm enough to
drive home. Determined to make the best of the rest of my weekend.
My minds made up—there is no way that asshole is getting anywhere near
Hope. She deserves better than that, and right now she has it, in me.
The greater distance I put between me and the gym, the less concerned I am
about what’s happened. Shaking my hair out of the bun, I turn up the volume on
the radio and sing out my anger. But the feeling of amelioration is thrown upside
down when I pull into my driveway, because parked in the middle is a bright
yellow SUV and resting against it, Isaac.
What the hell?
I shift into park, pulling dangerously close to his pumped-up bodywork and
scramble out of my car. Marching straight to him, I yell in his face, “Come for a
second round have you, asshole?”
I’m not even considering the twitching of drapes and the number of fingers
hovering over 911, this altercation will cause.
Isaac doesn’t respond, he merely maintains his stance—crossed arms, crossed
legs and a dark expression on his face.
He’s now wearing a muscle hugging tee and vibrant white sneakers which
draw my gaze slowly down gray sweatpants that bulge in all the right places.
There’s an unwelcome pull at the top of my legs at how fucking goddamn
delicious he looks. The guy sure knows how to pull off casual seduction.
Knowing full well the answer to my question is something to do with the
gorillas who dropped me off last night, I ask, “How the hell do you even know
where I live?” Trying to maintain the anger in my voice to disguise the desire I
have to hop onto the hood of his car and command he takes me.
He doesn’t answer that question either.
“We need to talk.” He pushes off the car and stalks toward me.
 9

Isaac

When Carlos saw the altercation I had with Cate outside the gym, I knew I
had to draw an end to this. He may have accepted my flippant remark about her
being a hooker, pissed she didn’t get a bigger tip. But he’s not stupid. Far from
it.
And, if he ever sees her again, he will take an interest. And although Carlos
trusts me more than most, he trusts nobody. I’m not even convinced he trusts
himself.
Even though I didn’t want to come back to San Diego, I did with one promise
to myself—the past didn’t get in the way. I’ve a new identity now— nothing to
do with Isaac and nothing to do with Cate. So, I have to stop her from pushing
her way into it.
I don’t know which direction she came home but I’ve been here a while and
it’s lucky for me she’s still on her own.
Ignoring her first two questions, I push off the car and step towards her,
allowing three pathetic punches to land on my chest before I grab hold of her
wrists.
“Let it go,” I growl.
She takes a step back. “Let it go?” Her fists ride onto her hips, her cheeks
flush and little beads of sweat appear on her forehead. Rising on her tiptoes, she
repeats her last line. “Let it go? How dare you?”
Her feistiness makes goosebumps tickle the back of my neck and my cock
twitch. She’s grown so much since our sweet teenage love.
But I can’t let my desires taint this.
With control, I lower my voice. “Let’s talk inside; not out here.”
“No. No way. You can’t come in.” She shakes her head and tries to brush
passed me but she’s too slow. I grab hold of her wrist and reel her into me. My
eyes lock on to hers and I glimpse the fear. Heavily shrouded by a cocky, snappy
exterior. I’d recognize that emotion anywhere—it’s the one I look out for in the
ring.
I haul her towards the SUV. “Get in.”
She tries to wriggle from my grasp but my grip is too firm. I open the driver’s
door and push her in and over to the passenger side of the car. Hopping up next
to her, I press the central lock on the doors.
 “This is kidnap. A felony if you didn’t know already know?”
I ignore her plea and wheel-spin out of the drive. Heading south. I need to get
us out of town. Somewhere I won’t be spotted and I can make her see what a
mistake she’s making.
She seems to settle somewhat. Chewing on her fingers and gazing out the side
window.
I release the tension of my fist wrapped around the top of the steering wheel
and relax my back into the molded seat.
We travel in silence for three quarters of an hour until eventually I make a
sharp right down a pot-hole riddled track towards the Ocean. Although I’ve not
been here for seven years, I’m assuming it’ll be as deserted as ever.
Kate removes her elbow from the door and clasps her hands together on her
lap. She knows where we’re going. This used to be one of our dating haunts.
Where we would go to make out. Swim naked in the refreshing ocean. Talk
about shit. Just be.
She looks at me, a brief sadness cast my way.
I know Kitty. This was a poor choice of location. But you’re fucking with my
mind right now and I can’t see through the fog.
Eventually, I skate out into a clearing and shut down the engine. We listen to
it
ticking for a few seconds before she pivots her head to me.
“Is this a sick joke?”
“No. But I know you won’t run from here.”
“Do you wanna bet?”
I laugh and shake my head. “You sure as hell have lost none of your spirit.”
“Screw you.” She crosses her arms and presses her lips in to a thin line.
I pull on the door handle and grasp her elbow, hauling her once more toward
me.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She tries to pull back on my grip which
makes me laugh more. I drag her across the central console, her bare feet
scrabbling on the seat.
“Don’t you know it’s dangerous to drive with no shoes on?” I tell her.
“What?” she snaps. “You kidnap me in broad daylight and bring me to this
godforsaken place and all you can comment on is my lack of footwear?”
Without comment, I slide my hand from her elbow and into her hand, kick the
car door shut with my foot, and plow through long grasses until we break out
onto the beach. As I suspected, this stretch is the quiet—not even dog walkers,
let alone bathers around.
We walk several more yards over the deep fine sand before she drops to her
knees behind me. “Stop, will you? I’ve had enough already.“
 I let go of her hand and sit on a piece of driftwood on the wrack line which
snakes with sea-weed, pebbles, and plastic bottles along the beach. For a
moment I indulge myself on her limped form. My eyes run over her face—the
familiar lines of her cheekbones and the cute button-end to her nose. Even her
ice-blue eyes are exactly the same as I remember contrasting exotically against
her mahogany-colored hair.
“Cate. You need to do as you’re told.”
She huffs and sags her shoulders further. “Give me one good reason?”
“I won’t justify this. But believe me, you have to stay away.”
“I got the message loud and clear last night.”
I stretch out my hands in frustration. “So why the fuck did you come to the
gym this morning?”
“To give you your shit back.” She picks up a long thin stone and carves a line
in the sand.
Snapping up from her doodling, I say, “Fine. I’ve got my shit and now I need
you to promise me you’ll never go there again.”
“Why? What’s happened to you?” She looks to me with a soft, almost pitiful
expression.
I chew on my bottom lip for a few seconds. “I’ve changed.”
“I can see that.” She pushes off her knees and slumps her backside onto the
sand. “You’re a complete asshole now.”
It’s impossible not to chuckle at her assertion. She’s right. I am an asshole,
of
the biggest variety.
Crossing her ankles in front of me, she wiggles her toes. They’re exactly as I
remember and I have a flashback to when we would float naked in the Ocean.
Massaging her toes before dragging each foot until she drifted on top of me.
The sound of the waves taunt me with my memories. Seagulls dive into the
surf pecking away at my resolve.
“Anyway, asshole. If you’re hellbent on not seeing me, why did you come to
find me last night? And if you’re not interested, why did you bother to find out
where I live?”
I lick my lips, to reignite the taste from last night. I’m so fucked. “Because
now I need to protect you.”
“Bullshit.” She attempts to stand, but I get there before she does.
“Cate.” I grasp her hair in my hands and fist it at either side of her head.
“You
don’t know what you’re getting in to.”
Unable to hold her stare, I let my eyes drift to her lips, at the moment she
parts
them. Oh fuck. I feel my heart race, the thumping louder than any time in the
cage. Blood surges through my arteries and veins, pumping me in a way that’s
out of my control.
“I’m sure I can handle it,” she hisses. “I’ve been through a lot since you’ve
been away.”
I loosen the grip on her hair. “Nothing like this. You need to leave it. I won’t
say it again. Stay. Away.”
She’s doesn’t reply. Her feisty retorts dried up, and when I look back to her
eyes, I can see why. She feels it too. This thing between us has not finished.
Seven years ago, we pressed pause and now it must be brought to an end.
A dog barks and the owner calls out for it. Our moment alone in this world
gone.
I let her silky hair float through my fingers.
“Promise?” I ask, knowing my voice has dropped its usual gruffness.
“Promise to forget me?”
Her dark eyelashes flicker for a moment and she juts out her jaw, making me
expect another snide remark.
“Yes,” she breathes, her eyes dropping. “Now will you take me home.”
My heart sinks.
She’s doing what I ask but not what I want.
Without a word, I walk to the car and silently she follows. With the agreement
between us made, I drive on autopilot to the city.
Since she’s agreed not to bother me again, I’m left thinking about her and who
she is now. I glance across to the hands she wrings together. I know she’s not
married and the absence of a wedding band or even an engagement ring makes
me sad. Sad no-one else has wanted to make this woman theirs. I would’ve done.
She pulls her bare feet into a cross-legged position, tapping them on the
leather seat in time to ‘Talk’ by Khalid playing on the radio she’s turned on. How
ironic.
The song taunts me, as it’s what I want to do—turn the radio off and talk to
her. But I don’t.
It’s a commercial radio station and when the music finally stops, an
advertisement blares out for an auto repair shop; the owner singing his services
in a grating way.
“Hey, do you know where that garage is?” she asks.
I look across to her in amazement. “What, am I your secretary now?”
Immediately, I’m annoyed with my grumpy retort.
She lets out a huff.
“What do you need a garage for?” I glance across at her.
“Duh, my car.”
“What are you spending money on that heap of crap for?”
 She wriggles her feet from under her ass and sits straight. “Very funny. It’s a
good little runner and just needs the air-conditioning fixing. And maybe the
bodywork after this morning.” She rests her elbow on the door and stares out of
the window and mutters, “Just because you seem to have landed on your feet and
don’t have money worries, doesn’t mean you can diss my car or my life.”
I’ve pissed her off with the remark. And she’s right, money-wise I have landed
on my feet. It’s everything else that’s a clusterfuck.
With her face away from me, I allow myself one last look over her body, my
eyes drinking in her womanly curves and my mind wandering back to last night
when her wet skin glided over mine. I sniff in a deep breath remembering the
sweet, luscious smell of her neck and the satin smooth feel of her skin on my
fingertips.
It’s a new memory I have now of her. One which replaces the teenage memoir.
But there’s something not right with it. Something I need to stop interrogating
before I go too far. I’m at the point where I’ve sealed off that option. Dwelling
on it might rip it apart again.
I reach across to the radio and punch my forefinger on the off-button. Her jaw
slides off her hand as if she is about to say something but doesn’t bother and we
drive the rest of the way in silence. The traffic slow. Every traffic light out to
get
me.
Eventually, I pull the car into her driveway, allowing the front fender to nudge
against hers. It’s symbolic and earns me a scowl. I don’t like it, but for her sake
it’s exactly the way she should feel about me. Mad.
She hops out of the car and makes straight for her front door without giving
me a second glance. I watch her all the way in and there’s not a falter to her
step;
the only movement the flick of her hair over her shoulders.
Good. Maybe it’s the end. For now.
 10

Cate

The door closes with a satisfying click and I slouch onto the sofa, listening to
Isaac reverse out of the drive and then power away with a heavy roar from the
engine.
I’m shattered. Worn out by the drama of it all.
This was not how any of it was meant to play out. Ever since he was
imprisoned seven years ago, I’ve been trapped in a nightmare. Living through
one unwelcome event after another and I’ve used up my energy to fight against
every single one.
Something digs into the small of my back. I reach a hand underneath and pull
out Mr Rat. My daughter has a strange obsession with all things boyish.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket and as I bring it to my face, there’s a
surge of anticipation rushing through my body that it may be Isaac. But no, it
won’t be, he’s made me promise to never contact him again.
It’s Elliot. I stare at his name for a while before deciding to answer. It’s
obvious he will give me a mouthful of snark and it will cheer me no end.
“Hey Chica,” he chirps. “What happened to you last night? I went to the bar,
and they said you’d gone off with a guy. I mean really? You’ve already got one
dick you don’t know what to do with. What you gonna do with another?”
I chuckle at his absurd reasoning. “First, I did not go off with any other guy
and second, I know exactly what to do with the one I’ve already got.”
“Tsk. Don’t you be pulling a fast one with me.”
“What do you mean?” A modicum of panic rising through my chest.
“You didn’t go to Nate’s.”
I roll into a seating position, calming my mind. I can’t admit to Elliot what
happened last night. Or this morning.
“How do you know?”
“He text.”
“Oh?” I don’t know have a response, but I’m surprised Nate would bother. He
barely knows any of my friends.
“So? Where did you go?”
“I… I went home.”
“Not very convincing you know?”
 “Well, it’s the most you’re getting out of me.”
After a few unusual seconds of silence from Elliot, he asks, “So, what you up
to today? Have you picked Hope up yet?”
I twirl the long tail of the stuffed rat around my finger, watching the coil
spring straight again when I release it, before answering him. “No, she’s at
Mom’s again tonight.”
“We going to get on it then? I’ve not had a day drinking session in forever.”
“No. I can’t.”
I feel lost now, without a purpose. As long as Hope’s been around I’ve always
thought what I would do if I saw Isaac again. And even though I spent many
years thinking he would rot in jail, there was always a glimmer of hope he would
come home to us and we’d make a go of it. A perfect little family. I shake my
head at the ridiculous notion.
“Sorry Elliot, I’m not feeling it today. I need to get the A/C fixed on my car
and maybe tackle some domestic shit around here.”
“Sounds boring as…”
“Yes, but then I’ve got responsibilities,” I whine.
“Okay,” he says in a hurt tone. “I’ll find another playmate to have fun with
and send you pictures.”
I laugh at his remark. “Okay, okay. I can’t go missing out, can I? Message me
when you’ve made the arrangements and I’ll let you know.”
Choosing my words carefully, I text an apology to Nate for ditching him last
night. Telling him Hope’s at Mom’s again tonight. He’ll make of that what he
will. I’m not chasing him.
I slide the phone across to the coffee table and study the ugly face of the rat.
Wincing at how Hope has plucked each of the whiskers from its now bald face.
On a sigh, I push up, taking in the room's mess. I should clear this crap. And
with the thought gleefully drifting out of my head, I call Mom. When she
answers the phone, I can hear scrabbling in the background.
“How’s things? Are you enjoying your free weekend?” she asks, none the
wiser.
I roll my eyes at the thought of what’s happened so far this weekend. “Yes. I
wondered if you wanted me to pick Hope up today?”
“Are you missing her?”
“Always.”
“No need to worry, she’s having a fantastic time with us and we’re heading off
to Aunt Maude’s.” She pauses. “You can always come with us? Although we’re
ready to go now. It’s a long drive upstate.”
Looking at my sandy feet, I say. “I’ll pass. I need a shower but send her my
love.”
Aunt Maude was so helpful when I found out I was pregnant. Helping bridge
the gap in understanding between Mom and me. She’s the philosophical one out
of the two sisters and has more of an inclination to see everyone’s point of view
and all the shades of gray in between.
“Is Hope free for me to talk to?”
“Let me check?”
I listen to Mom shouting in the background. Then I hear a joyful squeal which
makes me smile as easily as it makes my heart squeeze.
Mom comes back to the phone, out of breath. “She thinks it’s a game,” she
puffs. “She keeps running around the dining table but I can’t grab hold of her.”
“No worries. She sounds as if she’s having fun. Give her a kiss from me.”
“Okay honey, we’ll get off now and will see you tomorrow afternoon.”
The line goes quiet and I move the phone to my other ear, wondering if she’s
cut off the call. Then softly she asks, “Are you sure you’re okay, Cate?”
Cuffing my emotions, I reply, “Yes, Mom.”
Once Mom and Dad set aside their shock of my five-month pregnancy they
have been right by my side. There was nothing anyone could do about it by then,
and now I wouldn’t have it any other way. Even though they desperately wanted
me to stay at home, I didn’t. I’ve always been fiercely independent and whether
my choices have been right or wrong I’ve insisted on dealing with the
consequences myself. And it looks like today is no exception.
I drop to my knees and bundle Hope’s toys into a decorated wooden chest next
to the TV, when a text comes through from Nate.

Nate: Hookup tonight?

I smile. He’s probably missed our Friday night acrobatics too. And I need to
get the taste of shit-for-brains Isaac, or Raul, or whoever the hell he is, off my
lips.

Me: Your place?

Not that it’s ever anywhere else. Even though it’s only me here tonight, I’m
fiercely protective of letting him in to our space. It’s how things start.
Nate’s text reminds me of the excited feeling I would get when Isaac would
send me a message to meet. I arrest myself—no it doesn’t, it’s nothing like that.
When Isaac texted, my heart would beat into my mouth and I’d feel instantly
sick and giddy. How miraculous it was, with a simple thought my body would
act as if it had been given a drug. What’s it called again? Oh yeah, that’s it.
Love.
Nate’s texts are more about the act and not the person. Sad. I know.
Now I’ve seen Isaac as he is today, it’s hard when I close my eyes to
remember the boy he once was.
I pad over to the set of drawers in the corner of the living room and sift
through the photo albums Mom made when Hope was a baby. Gliding my
fingers across the lace and suede covers she crafted herself. My mom is fantastic
and I wish I could be half the mom she is, but then she has always had the
support of my dad.
And that’s it, I suppose. It’s always been me. And, I’ve never been able to take
the easy route. I could have stayed with them through the pregnancy and the first
few months, when all Hope seemed to do was feed and cry and never sleep. But
somehow, I finished college, landed an intern at Silvers & Partners, and kicked
off my career as a legal exec. All on my own.
Any sane single-mother’s next step would be to find a suitable life partner—
someone to take Hope on as his own—and forget about the boy from the wrong
side of the tracks. But not me. No. I took myself off the market, shagged a guy
who is so career focused he hasn’t got a personal life plan, and waited.
And look where it got me.
On cue another text comes through from Nate.

Nate: Sure. Make it after ten though. Got shit to do.

I hesitate. I want to tell him to get lost, but isn’t this what we’re about?
Night
out with friends and then sex with no strings?

Me: Yeah, but if I don’t turn up, don’t go texting my friends.

Nate: ?

I snicker. Hopefully that will tell him to back off. A sweet retort for the
glance
off he’s given me.
He repeats his last text. I repeat my ignorance.
Then, I pull out the photo album I’ve been looking for in the drawer. Our
senior high year book. The pages fall open to our class and the goofy comments
each of us made up. I laugh at the pathetic tag on mine. Cate ‘the girl with the
clean slate’. Then I flick the pages to Isaac’s class. I remember hating how he
was on a different page to me and next to Sonia Billows 'with the enormous
pillows’. I chuckle. God weren’t we were childish.
Isaac’s unruly chestnut curls frame his then angelic face. He had perfect skin,
which colored in the sun, and dark, dark eyelashes that lazily lifted to show his
gorgeous caramel eyes, decorated with those golden sparks.
I touch the image where his full lips are slightly open at the start of what
will
have been seconds later a wicked grin.
Oh, Isaac.
I have other photos which I look at regularly of us together, but this one is
special because he’s looking at me. I was the photographer’s assistant that day,
pulled out of class to help with the shoot.
The sparkle in those eyes were ignited by me. The wicked grin was for me.
“What happened to you, Isaac?” The beautiful, sensitive boy who went from
one foster carer to another, with no complaint. Chasing a dream. One I felt
destined to be part of.
Then, I search through the album again, for the others who went on that
fateful spring break. Carlos, Henry, Jay and Rory.
Henry’s not in our book, he must have been in the year above. He died in
prison and I bite my lip at the memory of his funeral. The stomach-gnawing haze
of it all. Me pregnant, Isaac in jail and Henry dead.
Jay and Rory joined the navy as soon as they finished college. You’d never
have thought it was their destiny remembering them as they were then, but it
seemed they couldn’t escape quick enough. They’re posted overseas according
to the gossip.
And then there’s Carlos Hernandez. I remember little of him at school,
because he mostly didn’t turn up. It’s a surprise to me, Isaac has sought Carlos
now. I may have to do some digging on him.
With a bang, I clap the book together.
Why? Why am I even bothered who Carlos Hernandez is now? I’m not
interested in Isaac anymore, let alone any of his friends.
Tonight, I’ll get drunk and fuck the thought of him out of my mind with my
nice, clean, un-inked Nate.
 11

Isaac

A penthouse duplex apartment overlooking the city. It should be every man’s

dream. Fully furnished and decorated throughout when I moved in. There are no
personal possessions and if I had to leave tomorrow, there’s nothing I will take.
After an overly long shower and a plate full of prime steak, I should be able to
forget the last twenty-four hours and the morning I’ve spent with Cate. But it
seems Carlos has other plans for me.
When I step out onto the rooftop deck, I spot him on the street, exiting his
car.
He takes the edge off his rudeness for turning up unannounced by calling me on
his way across the street. I pay the concierge handsomely to let me know if he
turns up, especially when I’m not here. As far as I know, and I’m damn sure
about this, he doesn’t have access to the garages and the lift from there. I could
hide here. But then again. What good will that do?
I step down into the apartment and open the door, letting him saunter straight
through.
“Decided you need some R&R, Raul. Loosen up after last night's fight. You
didn’t seem to get into the vibe at the club afterwards.”
Ignoring a groan rattling around in my head, I sit in a Barcelona-style chair
with my legs open wide and my hands rested behind my head. I toy with telling
him I’m beat but I know he will ignore the excuse, so go with his suggestion in
the hope I can slip away early.
“Sure.” I push off the chair and leave him to snoop around my apartment
because it’s why he’s here.
“We’re gonna hit the casino,” he calls after me. “There’s people I want you to
meet.”
“Fucking great,” I mumble as I walk into the bedroom and through to the
closet where I change into a black silk and cashmere suit and a simple white
dress-shirt from which my tattoos creep out of the cuffs and neck.
The last few years in prison, I could have pretty much anything I wanted. But
it would never be the tailored suits I enjoy wearing now. There’s a huge amount
I’ve quickly grown accustomed to and some I’m happy to leave behind.
With a splash of Chanel Bleu over my freshly shaven jaw and head, I slip into
a pair of Louboutin loafers and pop my passport and wallet into my inside
pocket—because you never know.
I’m hiding nothing in this $20,000 a week apartment and Carlos knows it, but
he likes to remind me he’s able to snoop. So, I’m not surprised when I re-enter
the living room, he’s on his cell, wandering around; inspecting stock
photographs and other crap on my display shelves.
He hears me come in from the bedroom and waves over to the coffee table
where he’s set out two lines of cocaine. I smile and raise my hand to decline. I’m
not about to take that shit now. Many years in the past when it might have been a
temptation but not now, not anymore. What’s the point? It’s not part of the plan.
I take a second look at the cocaine and for a second time dismiss it from my
mind. There’s a silk thread between being part of his crew and keeping my
identity. And strangely enough it’s how Carlos likes me to be too. If I rolled over
and let him tickle my belly like everyone else does, the respect and wariness
would vanish, and I’d be his to squash under his crocodile-skin shoes. And
where’s the fun in that?
Living on the edge is his lifeblood.
Keeping a clear mind and every shrapnel of revenge will be mine.
With a flurry of Spanish, he finishes the call and slides the phone into his
inside pocket. I bet he’s not secreting a passport in there ready to bail out at
any
opportunity.
“That was Chico. Do you remember him? He runs a casino up town now for
some jefe or other.” His tone dismissing the label he’s given Chico’s boss. He
won’t be so brave about it, soon.
Of course I fucking remember Chico; he got me into fighting in jail and
introduced to me to the man who turned everything in my pitiful life on its head.
He’s who saved me but also sealed my fate.
“He’s got the gambling on your next fight sewn up.” He holds both hands up
and smirks. “But you know nothing about that, right?” He cackles like a half-
crazed Bond villain.
His laughter continues beyond the initial joke which irritates the fuck out of
me, then cuts off. Yeah. Carlos isn’t stable. I’ve come up against every type of
madness in prison and Carlos is up there with the craziest of them.
Loosening the fabric of his pants around his knees, he sits on the sofa and
snorts the two remaining lines through a rolled hundred-dollar bill. Throwing his
head back, he sniffs loudly and slaps his thigh when the sting takes hold.
Fuck, this will be a long night.
“We going?” I ask, wanting to break the intensity of this one-on-one
atmosphere. If I stay in his sole company any longer, I’m gonna snap his sinewy
neck and throw him through the window. I’m sure the concierge would back-up
my claim that he fell. But I can’t do it because Carlos’s destiny is not mine to
dole out. And I would have a different enemy to contend with.
“Sure.” He beams his cocky grin and calls his driver.
We stop off at a cocktail bar on the way to the casino where we’re joined by
Carlos’s crew. Unusually for Carlos, this bar is not one in his growing money-
laundering portfolio and I wonder if he is muscling in to take over the joint. He
would never stop somewhere for no reason.
The cocaine has made him more aggressive than usual and he forcibly pushes
out of the way patrons hovering in the entrance. Acting up because of those extra
two lines he’d laid out for me.
We commandeer a large booth which seats a dozen near the window. The
marble-topped table is cool on my wrists and I press them hard against it, in the
hope it will calm my nerves and stop the irritation I feel from brimming over.
Irritation as ever, caused by Carlos and his macho ways. He has an eye for a
fight tonight. I hope he realizes to involve me would be the end of my short-
lived MMA career. And his current dream. Unless he mistakenly sees it as a
publicity stunt.
He calls over a waitress and demands the finest Tequila.
Not having served us before, she comes back full of smiles and with a tray full
of shots. Carlos lashes out at the tray and it smashes onto the floor; the clear
liquid and shards of glass splashing onto her feet. She turns and runs off crying,
and as much as I feel sorry for her, there’s no real harm done. So, apart from
shuffling in my seat, I don’t react.
Carlos stands and waves animatedly at the bar manager, who doesn’t know
whether to run after his sobbing waitress or tend to our needs. Fortunately, for
him, he chooses the latter—rushing over with two bottles of Tequila and
replacement glasses. He goes over the top with his apologies as he backs off to
the ladies’ restroom to salvage what’s left of his dwindling serving staff.
Looking around, I notice we’ve accumulated a group of women, the usual
hangers on, but they move away from Carlos when Ulyana appears. She’s an ice-
maiden and the complete antithesis to Carlos and his hot-headed ways. He lazily
rests his arm over her shoulders and she noticeably flinches. Her mouth pulling
into a bitchy pout. I drag away my stare, not wanting to get involved or to even
have an opinion on what’s going on there. It’s none of my business. Just another
issue I have to pretend doesn’t exist in this sordid world.
I try to think of something other than being in this moment and, without my
permission, my mind drifts to Cate. I couldn’t imagine her in amongst these
subservient women, and I almost laugh out loud to think of her draping herself
over any of these men. She’d be in Ulyana’s camp.
 Instead of the thought leading me to appreciate the women here, willing to do
anything, it makes me despise them.
“We’re waiting for the casino to get into full swing,” Carlos says across to
me,
as if he’s read the question in my mind about why we’re even in this bar.
I reach out to a glass of Tequila and throw it down my neck. The casino is so
much worse than the club. The casino requires conversation and mind games. I
may need plenty of Tequila to get through this evening. And that’s even if I slope
off early.
“You should use the bonus I gave you, roll it up into some serious dinero
tonight.”
A huff leaves my mouth before I can get a hold of it. I’ve already had Juan
enquire about a new car. Part of the plan. But Carlos doesn’t need to know about
that.
“You don’t agree?” he asks, with a bitter edge to his question.
“Sure. Just with my luck…”
“Yeah, I need mine to rub off on you.” His ball-shrinking laugh shrills out
again.
The evening doesn’t get any better and I’ve given up trying to be self-
disciplined. Resigned to blanking out this shit-show with Tequila. And plenty of
it.
Chico hosts us in a private room at the casino. A poker and roulette table take
center stage in the lavishly decorated room. Fake bronze busts of Napoleon,
Julius Caesar and Abraham Lincoln sit on plaster column plinths in front of
rococo-style wall panels. Croupiers stand unflinching at the tables and wait for
our raucous behavior to settle.
I don’t have the patience for poker, nor the luck for roulette but I’d choose
either if it meant dipping out of Carlos’s conversational clutch. I wait to see
which one he chooses and steal myself to follow. As much as I wish to be away
from him, I need to keep him close. Especially when he’s discussing business
with Chico.
“So, how’s life, Raul?” Chico sits on the high stool in between Carlos and me.
“Beats life in the pinta,” I jest.
“Mostly.” He laughs, patting his palm onto my shoulder. “I don’t think our
friend here would have survived as well as you.” He jerks his head toward
Carlos, whose face darkens. A reactive mixture of only now realizing Chico and
I know each other and the insult he’s been thrown.
“I have the brains to stay the right side of the bars.” Carlos taps his head,
his
mouth pulling involuntarily into a wince from the Tequila he’s sunk.
Un-fucking real.
 With every pull on my self-restraint, I resist cracking him with a punch which
would land him on his backside. Instead, I revel in knowing he hasn’t got a
fucking clue how badly I will fuck him over.
I listen in to their conversation about my fight. Nodding in the appropriate
places when they agree on how the bout will go down. Take it to round five.
Knock him out before he fades. Give the audience a fight to remember. Make us
rich.
Rich. A word with multiple meanings. And my definition will never be the
same as Carlos’s.

As ever, after a fitful drunken sleep, I awake covered in sweat. The vividness
of the dreams punching through to my wakening thoughts.
Last night didn’t quite turn out as I planned but it was necessary. I need to
make sure Carlos and I are on an even keel. And if it means me tagging along to
his exuberant nights out, then so be it.
But… I went over the top last night and with only two weeks to get back on it,
I can’t do it again in a hurry. I may not be too concerned with following Joe’s
training plan to the letter, but this fight is everything.
I wonder if there wasn’t an ulterior motive, whether I would choose to live
this life forever. Or try to reclaim Isaac and the way I used to think.
They say your childhood shapes you, but I guess it doesn’t count when you’re
plummeted into a whole new world at eighteen.
With a gut-wrenching pounding in my head and the vile taste of Tequila on
my lips, I stagger to the bathroom, step into the shower and wash away every
thought of my former self.
I’m Raul now and two things I did last night are outside of that character’s
composition and not part of the plan. I can’t let either of them happen again.
The first is laid in my bed. And I even know her name. It’s Charlene, one of
the best lap dancers in San Diego and unfortunately, she’s danced on my lap too
many times now. I don’t know if it’s this town getting too small or whether my
discipline is faltering, either way she’s bound to get the wrong idea and I can’t
have that.
The first mistake is easy to deal with. I’ll tell her straight.
The second will bite me in the ass, I know it.
 12

Cate

Sweat drips from my brow, and it’s not because of the humidity tonight but
because of the amount of effort it’s taken to orgasm. More than usual and that’s
saying something. I’m sure if Nate took up with another partner he’d still be a
‘one bam, thank you ma’am’ type of guy. He’s learnt nothing from the way I try
to work myself up. The foreplay, the games, the toys.
Were as I like it long and slow with a rough edge, he prefers for it to be over
with.
My taste of Isaac last night hinted at the kind of sex I hanker for. To be
taken,
without mercy or remorse.
Coming back to bed from Nate’s bathroom, I watch him from the entranceway
rummaging in his nightstand; the duvet tucked under his armpits.
“I’m curious Nate…” Last minute, I temper my question away from asking
why he’s not more adventurous between the sheets—it’s not cool to diss a guy’s
technique when he’s only recently pulled out—and ask him instead, “Why don’t
you have a girlfriend?”
He takes a Marlboro Gold from a soft pack he’s pulled out of the drawer—a
cue usually for me to get us both a drink—today I’m more interested in his
response.
“What’s got into you?” he asks, writhing onto his elbows and lighting his
cigarette.
“No reason.”
Tonight was like any other hook up with Nate—I snuck off, leaving my
friends at a bar and grabbed a taxi to his place. We shared a bottle of vino, our
sips interspersed with banal discussions and quick fucks.
Our conversational topics are as boring as hell. The latest legal case hogging
the headlines, a new partner who joined the firm, or an intern making the same
mistakes we did.
The fucks are no less predictable.
For me, I supposed this arrangement between us could go on forever. I’ve
been in no hurry for anything more. But him? I’m surprised he’s lasted this long.
Sure, to begin with, he was taking the edge off his sexual needs so he could
focus on his career. But he’s qualified now and has good case results, so it makes
no sense he’s not settled with a girlfriend; or even a wife, a couple of kids, and
a
lifetime membership at the country club.
Me, however, I’m an entirely different matter. There was only ever one man
for me—the father of my child. Isaac. And now he’s back.
Realizing I’ll get shortchange from this line of conversation, I leave Nate to
suck cautiously on his cigarette and go in search of a bottle of water from his
underwhelmingly-stocked refrigerator. As usual, there’s nothing else in it other
than stacks and stacks of water. The guy lives off powder and water. Protein
powder and vitamin-enhanced shakes that is, not the narcotic variety. Nate is far
too sensible for that. His post-coital Marlboro, his most damaging vice and a
packet lasts him several months.
I recline against the countertop sipping on the water while the coffee machine
does its thing. Thoughts invading my mind of Isaac and what type of sex he has
now. I should imagine he’s brutal with the women he fucks. And I bet they’re
stunning as hell. I glance down at Nate’s Gulls tee I’ve pulled on, and wiggle my
toes, sighing at the chipped nail polish, worn away by sand and shingle on the
beach earlier today.
“You making coffee or what?” Nate calls from his bedroom.
“Who do you think you’re talking to, asshole?” I shout back, pushing off the
counter so I can scout in his cupboard for dairy-free creamer.
Moments later, he pads into the kitchen, resting his pajama-clad hip against
the doorjamb and stares at me. “What’s up with you?”
I rattle a spoon noisily in a cup as I stir in the creamer and consider playing
with him but it hardly seems worth it. “Nothing. Why?”
His eyes lift from my feet all the way to my eyes. “There is something up with
you. You don’t normally snap out.”
I shrug my shoulders. I’m difficult, I know it. My resting bitch-face would
have most men worrying what they’d done wrong, never mind a quip from my
sharp tongue.
“Nothing at all. I’m tired.” Which isn’t a total lie.
“Okay. Just checking. You know I like what we’ve got going here.” He prods
my stomach with his fingers. “But you get I’m not looking for anything more.”
This isn’t a question, and he has no interest in asking whether I am—looking
for more, that is. He’s merely restating his position. Which is all right with me.
“Fine,” I sigh on an exasperated breath.
“Oh, and also, the text you sent about me checking on you. I didn’t text your
friends. It’s not my style. I’m not bothered if you go off with someone else. I’d
never be jealous.”
Then, without waiting for a reply, he picks up his coffee and saunters back to
the bedroom. I rest my stomach against the sink and lower my head to watch
frothy, brown bubbles slide off the spoon and down the drain.
He’s right of course, there is something wrong with me. It’s only I don’t know
what to make of it. The range of emotions too hard and too complex to decipher.
On one hand, I could kick and scratch and punch Isaac until my feet, fists, and
nails are raw. But, on the other hand, I want him to take me, to own me, and to
devour me in a way no man has.
When Isaac and I were together, it was a sweet teenage love. Full of stuttered
dates and discovering each other’s bodies. But now I’m a woman and he’s a man
and I need to know what it feels like.
I wonder if there’s a way for me to find out. To get him out of my system.
Because no way will he be a father to Hope—that option is well and truly
crossed out. Me and him? I’m not sure.
Unable to drift off, I listen to Nate snore and chuckle in his sleep for a few
hours before I order a cab home.
It’s appropriate for me to leave a note for Nate, suggesting we give it a rest
for
a while. Because my mind and body are not in this anymore.
Exhausted, but with a strange and unwelcome desire to fuck more, I take a cab
home in the early hours. My night with Nate was predictable but this lingering
sensation of sexual dissatisfaction is a new feeling which worries me because I
know exactly what’s causing it. Isaac.
“Pull in here.” I point over the shoulder of the cab driver to my little house,
on
the left.
As the card reader scans my Apple Pay, I notice the twitching drapes in my
neighbors’ houses. There seem to be a few this morning. It’s not unusual for my
neighbors to watch my comings and goings. They’re looking out for me. And, as
early risers, they often witness me coming home in the small hours. It’s only,
today there’s a heightened level of surveillance—more drapes open than not.
I grab my purse and my shoes and tip-toe across the cool grass verge onto my
driveway.
The vision hits me square between the eyes.
“What the…?” I suck in a sharp breath and drop my shoes and purse to the
floor.
My head snaps around in search of my car and, in the distance, I spot a tow-
truck with my battered Ford Focus strapped to its back. Then, I flash back to the
Porsche Panamera sat snugly in my driveway.
As if the sight of the gleaming, smoke-gray sports car isn’t enough, it’s topped
with a huge, yellow, satin bow. I wipe the spittle from the corner of my mouth
which has leaked out whilst my jaw has been slack. Repeatedly, rotating my
head like a fan at a tennis match, from my car disappearing around the corner,
back to this monstrosity on my drive.
Only one person could be behind this.
“What are you spending money on that heap of crap for?” I mutter in a whiny
voice. Repeating the words Isaac uttered to me yesterday.
I pick up my belongings and storm into the house, sidestep a gold envelope on
the doormat and go straight to the window to look at the car from a different
angle. Yeah. It’s still the same—sat there in all its fucked-up glory.
But why? Isaac made it perfectly clear, to the point of kidnapping me, to make
sure I understood he wanted nothing more to do with me. Now this?
I think of my options. What am I going to do? I don’t know where my car has
gone and I’m not a hundred percent confident this is Isaac’s doing.
Glancing back at the envelope on the doormat, I pad towards it. It has my
name on the front, and I guess it has something to do with the car. So, I pick it
up. My finger slides easily under the gummed flap and inside there’s a key on a
Porsche decorated chain, set into a thick card. The only words printed on it are,
“Congratulations! Enjoy your new ride.” I flick the card over repeatedly to
search for a name but there’s nothing. No car dealership name. No note from the
gift bearer. Nothing.
But it’s got Isaac’s mark all over it. This is definitely of his doing.
Slumped on the sofa, I spin the key around my finger, while weighing up my
options.
Keep it. Return it. Keep it. Sell it. Keep it.
The gigantic, yellow bow is still in my sight and I’m annoyed with how
cheerful it looks. So I storm outside, grab hold of a strand and tug at it. It
won’t
budge. I rush back to the house, grab a pair of scissors from a kitchen drawer and
come back to hack it off.
Close-up the car looks beautiful and I can’t resist peering through the smoked-
glass windows. Pristine white, Napa-leather cloaks luxuriously styled seats. Matt
black dash and center console, trimmed with graphite. It’s a dream.
With arms full of the satin ribbon, I bundle it back into the house, thrusting
it
in to a trashcan where it unfurls and pushes off the lid. I sigh a heavy breath.
What’s happened to my weekend? The normal turn of events when I drink too
much alcohol, dance too long in my heels, and satiate my sexual needs with my
fuck-buddy.
With a quick glance at my watch, I realize I need a plan, otherwise I will pick
Hope up in that monstrosity and that cannot happen.
I go upstairs and take a quick shower counting on the pulsing water to clear
the fog from my brain. As I step out of the cubicle, I almost slip on a pool of
water leaking from the tray and the jolt bolsters my resolve.
Isaac needs to take this crap back.
With no way of contacting him, I’ll have to turn up. Despite his warnings
yesterday. He’s the cause of my disobedience. So I’ll go to his gym. Fling the
key in his face, and… well I’ll figure it out when I get there.
I dress without care, pulling a ball cap onto my still damp hair, a fresh cami-
top and the shorts I had on yesterday. I’m not trying to win him over and right
now I don’t give two hoots if he thinks I look like a tramp.
Pushing my phone into the back pocket of my denim shorts, I grip the
envelope in between my teeth and pull the bow from the trashcan.
If he’s taking the car back, then he can have it all.
It takes longer than it should, for me to find the door release on the key fob
and, when I lower into the bucket seat, it’s form scoops around my backside and
shoulders; relaxing me gently into its hug. My hands position perfectly on the
stitched-leather steering wheel and it gives slightly to the touch. The smell is
intoxicating. And, although I’ve never smelt it before, I recognize it to be the
new car smell everyone raves about.
Even though I don’t want it to, it feels beautiful
What I wouldn’t give to own a car like this.
I shake my head and then look for the next cryptic puzzle. How to start the
monster. As everything in life, I work it out and the noise the car makes is
insane. Then, I panic when I notice the shift stick. Crap. My dad told me I should
learn to drive a manually geared car, but I pooh-poohed him saying there was no
need. Well, there’s every fucking need now. And, if I don’t want to launch
myself through the fence into my neighbors’ front yard then I will have to get my
head around it. Now.
After several maneuvers I edge the beast out of the driveway and rumble away
up the street, with icy air floating over me from the air-vents and plenty of
stares
from passersby.
Unfortunately, it seems I’m enjoying this.
By the time I arrive at Isaac’s gym, the beast is mastered. To be fair, it
didn’t
take long as this car is meant to be driven. I roll passed the space I occupied
previously; judging it too small for me to back into. There’s a spot further along
the street and I’m not concerned how far away it is. Isaac is welcome to the
inconvenience.
Psyching myself for another showdown, I hop out of the car before
remembering my phone which I tossed onto the passenger seat when I first got
in. Kneeling back in, I reach across the console to retrieve it.
The panic in my scream is very real and only stops when the peak of my ball
cap hits the passenger window, digging the rim back into my forehead.
The force of whatever has rocketed my ass across the center console lets up. I
screw my head around to find Isaac sat in the driver’s position with a scowl
plastered across his face. Reaching across, he wrenches the car keys out of my
grip, starts the car, and blasts us away down the street.
For the second time this weekend I find myself at the mercy of his kidnapping
habit.
“I thought I made myself clear?” he bellows, bearing his teeth like a rabid dog
and pushing the car through its gears.
I squirm into a seated position and pull down the vanity mirror, cautiously
removing my cap to see if there’s blood.
“But you…” I start to reason, then change my mind and scream back at him,
“Fuck you.” Snapping the mirror cover back to the roof.
I glare across at him. His arm is high, triceps bulging from beneath a tight
white tee. The other arm rests on the center console, giving a concave shape to
his chest in a sexy and delicious manner. Fuck, he looks good.
“I came to give you this car back.” I say, still focused on tracing the cotton-
clad muscle lines.
“Every other girl would take it. View it as a parting gift or something?”
“I’m not every other girl.” Re-seating the cap on my head.
“No shit?” He snaps his head, and with a tic to his jaw floats his eyes up and
down me.
I’m immediately conscious of what I’m wearing, taking off the cap and
ruffling my fingers through my hair.
“I didn’t ask you to buy me a car, or a parting gift, or any such crap. So, you
can take it back. I don’t want shit from you, Isaac Winters.”
With eyes fixed on the road ahead, he clenches the muscles at his jawline.
“Where are you taking me, anyway?”
“Somewhere we can talk.” His grip tightens on the steering wheel and he
pushes his foot on the gas. The back of my head presses to the seat.
“We’ve got nothing to talk about.” I cross my arms tightly across my chest,
shirking the desire to grab onto the handle above the door as he careens the car
down back-streets and across intersections.
Suddenly, we veer a sharp left off the street, dropping to a roll shutter door,
which slides open as we approach and we plummet into an underground parking
lot. The xenon headlights flash on and the interior instrument dials illuminate
green.
Unexpectedly, he throws the car into a parking spot, turns off the engine and
grabs hold of my wrist; pulling me across the passenger seat and out to the cool,
damp space. He strides us toward the elevator doors, the only feature brightly lit
in this otherwise dingy place. I frantically try to grapple my wrist from his grip,
the skin burning as I twist and pull. But I’m nowhere near strong or quick
enough and he’s yanked me into the elevator cab before I’ve broken free.
Bright lights illuminate the full extent of his fury. A furrowed brow and teeth
clamped together, his chest pumped in frustration.
“Where are you taking me?” I bark out at him.
His face continues to stare at the crack in the elevator doors while his jaw
tics
furiously.
If ever there was a dangerous-looking guy, then it’s this man stood at the side
of me. I’ve never felt as weak and wanting.
With my mind occupied by his looks and my body aching for his touch, I
chastise myself when the elevator reaches the top level—I should have spent the
time planning my escape or at least coming up with a few lines to hit him with
instead of ogling his perfection.
As he opens a sleek steel door, I’m drawn into the most spectacular living
space I’ve ever seen. It’s the kind of swanky apartment which would grace the
pages of an interior design magazine. The expanse of white and shagpile is
opulent whilst also ludicrous. The picture windows lining the far wall must
command a sizeable price tag as they offer an unprecedented view of the city.
I flex my toes in the luxurious carpet and take a few deep breaths. Glancing
across at him, I wonder how this has come about.
Before I can ask, he makes his move. A deep growl emanating from his chest
should warn me this is not what it seems. And, with my lips parted and poised to
shoot out the thousand questions I have of his situation, he pins my arms above
my shoulders onto the wall and ravishes my mouth with his.
I don’t give up. But I also don’t reject his assault. With every ounce of energy
I possess, I fight back with my tongue, my teeth, and my pumped-up lips.
He loosens his grip on my arm when he realizes I’m giving as good as I get,
so I throw my arms around his neck and dig my nails into his scalp pressing his
face deeper into mine.
But I’m no match for his fighter-trained hands which come to my ass and,
with flesh filling both of his palms, he pulls me onto his waist. I hook my legs
around the small of his back, feeling the hardness of his cock on my apex;
rubbing against it as he strides us through the room.
After a few paces, he launches me onto a pristine white sofa which fills a
sunken seating area in the middle of the room.
When the air blasted out of my lungs returns, I manage to utter a few words.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, my chest heaving and my heart beating in
anticipation of the one response I desire.
He towers above for a couple of beats before dipping toward me. “Something
I should have done before now,” he growls, lowering onto his knees and forcing
open my legs.
The dark, lustful look in his eyes is terrifying. I’ve seen nothing as intense
directed at me.
He is too much of a man. Or beast.
He’s not the man I dreamed about having a life with, when laid in bed with a
child suckling at my breast. A life full of children’s birthday parties and trips
to
the mall. Of vacations at hotels with water parks and Disney. Oh my god, how
Hope would love Disney.
That man, I buried not once or even twice but time and time again when
snippets of news about his endurance became clear. The final splinter of the
dream shattered when I saw him last week in the flesh. The image blown out of
my mind for the final time.
My palms reach to his collarbone and I drag my fingertips across the black
and gold ink marks of his pulsing skin. Then I run my nails over his tee,
bumping over the tiny buds of his nipples as I glide to his waistband. My
reaction is impulsive and the heat building in my core is insane. I want to feel
his
bare skin and I grab hold of his tee to free it from the waistband of his shorts.
Without warning, his hand squeezes on to mine, pushing it against my
throbbing and now soaking wet pussy.
 13

Isaac

“Stop.” I pull to a sitting position and grasp hold of the back of my neck.
She doesn’t move, laid on my sofa, her chest heaving with ragged breaths.
“Me stop?” she guffaws, pushing on to her elbows. “I can’t fucking believe
you… Me stop?” she mutters, as she wriggles toward the edge of the expansive
sofa.
“You don’t want me, Cate. I can’t give you what you want.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” She flashes a scowl at me. A scowl which
reignites the burning embers in the core of my stomach.
“Careful, Kitty,” I drawl, licking my lips.
I grab hold of her hand and she turns while trying to yank it from my grasp.
When she realizes she’s not going anywhere, her top lip quivers, and she growls
which almost makes me laugh. It’s more like a purr and does fucked-up things to
my balls. But I don’t laugh. This is serious shit and I almost lost it. With her.
I tighten my grip. “We can’t do this. It would ruin us.”
“Ruin us? Are you fucking loco? There is no ‘us’ to ruin.” Her head dances
from side to side, making her hair ripple with sass.
“So why did you kiss me that way?”
“I thought if we fucked then I would get you out of my system. Like a bad itch
that gets scratched.”
For a nano-second, I loosen my hold but as her fingers slide away to my
fingertips I clench them in a vise-like grip.
I yank her back to the sofa, bracketing her with my arms. “You think you can
handle my scratch do you, Kitty?” I rumble.
“I’ve had more manly men than you. Raul.” She lengthens my name in a
mock of my fighting identity.
The mockery unleashes my inner beast. And it makes this acceptable.
Raul can fuck Kitty until she screams for mercy.
Isaac would complicate it with feeling and emotion. Emotion I can’t afford to
serve up right now.
“Let’s test it out?”
I twist the strings on her top, the taut fabric digging into my palms; then I
pull
so hard, a welt instantly brands her skin before the straps snap.
 She gasps, at the same time as lust in her eyes ignites.
“Like it do you?” I taunt.
“Fuck you,” she scratches at my skin, grappling with the neck on my tee and
trying in vain to rip it.
I laugh. A deep, rumbling, merciless laugh and pull my hand over my head
and slide the tee off effortlessly.
Her eyes soak up my tattoos. I’m covered in them. From innocent, to jovial, to
downright demonic.
My muscles instinctively tense, as if I face an opponent in the ring. It
doesn’t
frighten her away, nor make her squirm, if anything it powers her on. She
reaches with delicate fingers to trace the lines of ink which carve out the
mythical dragon, whose scales snake down my stomach and under my
waistband.
I grab hold of her hand.
“No, Kitty. Who said you could go there?”
“Judging by the bulge in your shorts, I’d say it’s exactly where you want me
to go.” She smirks, an expression I quickly wipe away. Forcing my lips on her
and sucking, biting, and licking her mouth until she pushes balled-up fists on my
chest and gasps for breath.
She reaches her arms around her back to undo the clasp on her bra, but that’s
not happening. I can’t handle seeing her perfection. I need to close my eyes and
pretend she’s someone else, because if it snaps into my brain she is Cate, my
teenage love, then I’ll crumble.
Then she wouldn’t get what she is begging for.
And she wouldn’t leave me alone.
I deftly toss her onto her front, unhook the bra with one hand, and draw her
back to my chest.
“So, this is it?” I growl out. “If I give you what you want, you’ll leave me
the
fuck alone?”
“Yes,” she snarls.
Good. It’s the answer I need to hear.
Yes, it was a mistake to buy her the car. I was drunk and reckless when I
ordered it last night and thought I could make it part of the plan. But it was the
least I could do. I wanted to help her somehow. To show her I was sorry to
abandon her how I did.
I stopped replying to her letters when I entered prison. The torment of them
was too much. It didn’t help to know there was a real world out here with her in
it. I wanted her to forget me. Get on with her life. I couldn’t bear to think of
her
mourning over me, suffering a dream which would never become real.
 She needs to become the woman I always knew she would. Strong.
Independent. Happy. And that requires me to be out of the picture.
I grab a handful of her hair, wrapping it around my wrist and tugging back on
it until her back arches away from me. My greedy hand rubs over her tits; the
soft skin and hard nipples teasing across my palm. Quickly, I banish the image of
her that flashes in my mind.
“You sure?” I slant in to lick her elongated neck from her collarbone to her
earlobe. Inhaling the sweet, spicy smell of her skin—an exotic mix of cinnamon
and orange blossom.
“Yes.” She grinds her ass against my cock. She was right about that. Without
even a touch, or a suck, or a measly lick she’s made my cock as hard as steel.
Ready to slice into her at a moment’s notice.
Her hands reach around her back, and dive between my skin and training
shorts.
She purrs when she realizes there’s nothing to stop her from grabbing hold of
my cock. Teasing me, she ignores it and scrapes her palms around to my ass.
Digging her fingernails into my muscles. Instinctively I tense, pushing into her
soft, voluptuous backside.
“Is this how you want it, Kitty?” I let go of her hair and her head falls
forward.
She chuckles behind the sheet of hair. It seems as if she gives as good as she
gets.
With both palms curled around the waistband on her shorts, I yank them down
her legs. Closing my eyes against the vision of her peachy ass.
Fuck, I’ve got it bad.
I take my cock out before she tries to touch it. I’m not ready for that—I don’t
want her fingers or mouth around it. It’s too personal.
Teasing my hard length up and down the middle of her perfect backside, I
can’t resist spanking one cheek and then the other. Biting my lip against a groan
when her creamy skin taints with the redness my palm leaves behind.
She tenses when I nudge my cock gently against her puckered hole.
“You still a virgin when it comes to real sex, Kitty?” I growl.
“Yes,” she whispers in a surprisingly innocent fashion. Then turns to look over
her shoulder at me with a smirk kicking up on her fuckable lips. “Unlike you,”
she mocks. “I guess that’s what prison does.”
Fuck you, Kitty! Without warning, I slam straight into her pussy. The electric
shock, intense, first off hitting my balls then ricochets around my body with
heart-arresting voltage. The gasp she lets out echoes in my head.
I still, sucked into a vortex I’ve no desire to pull away from. Her walls have
clamped around me and fuck it feels good.
It shouldn’t feel this good.
There’s a danger, if I stay like this, I’m gonna come and after a few scary
seconds when my balls tighten and my cock throbs, I pull out. So slow, I can feel
every ripple of the walls of her pussy as I glide free.
I bite down on my lip. Hard. I can’t let on how good this feels, because then
I’m ruined. She needs to feel I’m only doing this for her, to make her hate me
and with that thought, I pound back in. Relentlessly, I pump harder and harder
with each thrust, holding onto her shoulders so I can push her back on to me.
Her groans and screams fill the room. And with every cell in my body I’m
desperate to join her. To shout out her name and roar with the satisfaction I’m
feeling.
To still my mind, I bite harder on my lip to shut off my impending orgasm.
But fuck is it good. I want to stay here forever. Fuck her over and over again.
With every ounce of willpower I possess, I pull out before it’s too late.
Squeezing out the last thought of how good it was I implant a vision into the
forefront of my mind, of Carlos snorting coke and taunting me to punch him.
Back in control, I sit on my heels and pull my shorts over my limping dick,
leaving her to flop prone onto the sofa.
“Is that it?” she mumbles into the cushion, her lips dragging along its knitted
surface.
I want to laugh. Hard. She’s so fucking feisty and I can’t bear how much I
love it.
“Yep.” I run my dry palm over my head and onto the back of my neck.
Anything else and I’d get lost in this woman. But I can’t admit that, so say,
“Everything else I save for the whores.”
She huffs.
I chuckle, in the hope doing so, makes her mad. And she needs to be a mad as
hell when she thinks of me. Because I need her to stay the fuck away.
She pushes onto her knees, picks up my tee and wipes her pussy on it, flinging
in over her shoulder and into my face.
I chuckle again. I fucking love her fight.
Still facing away, she re-clasps her bra. I’m ready to close my eyes if she
attempts to turn around before covering her tits as my willpower is not strong
enough.
After wriggling her shorts back up and pulling on her top—tying a knot in the
snapped straps. She asks. “Where exactly are we? I don’t have my wallet on me,
only my phone.” She turns to look at me. “Oh, and don’t get an idea I’m tapping
you for money, because I’m not. I’d rather walk.“
 “Why you even saying that? You’ve got a perfectly good car down there.”
“I’m not taking it from you.”
“You already have.”
In my drunken state I went along with Carlos’s taunts that I should buy a new
car. Only I didn’t buy one for me. It seemed a clever at the time. A parting gift.
An apology for how I would leave her and how I left her last time. If Carlos
asks, I’ll say mine’s on order. It’ll be over by the time he finds out.
“No, it’s not how this works. You stole my car and left yours on my drive. I’m
simply returning your car so you can return mine.” She scours the floor for her
ball cap, pulling it out from under the sofa.
“That car will be dog-food cans by now. And your new car is non-returnable.”
“You have it.”
“I can’t. It’s registered in your name, your address.”
She looks close to tears. “I don’t have time for this shit, Isaac.”
“If you don’t like it, sell it.”
I pick up the tee and walk off into my bedroom before I say something I
shouldn’t, something caring and with empathy.
“Isaac,” she shouts after me.
“What?” I stop walking but don’t turn around.
“Why do you have that tattooed on your back?”
“What?” I turn to her. I have nigh on fifty tattoos across my back and
shoulders.
“Hope,” she breathes.
I shrug my shoulders, putting my hand to my neck and rubbing my palm over
the italic-scripted word and the two outlines of butterflies which float from it.
Murmuring my answer as I make my way back on my mission. “It’s what I clung
on to in prison.”
Just as I reach the door, I push my hand into my shorts pocket and retrieve her
car keys. “Here. Let yourself out.” I throw them at her feet.
Stepping out of my shorts, I walk straight through to the granite-tiled wet-
room, turning on the overhead shower and the jets which pulse out from the side
walls. I press my fists onto the wall and hang my head under the pummeling
water, watching the ravines flow down the side of my head and splatter onto the
floor. When the water hits my ass, it stings with the scratches she’s made.
I don’t know about her but the itch has multiplied and what happened out
there still doesn’t feel like the end.
She wasn’t supposed to enjoy it. And neither was I. The way she responded
was like nothing else I’ve felt. It’s not like she succumbed or moaned like a
whore. Or even whimpered like an innocent girl. She pushed back and gave as
good as she got.
Without knowing quite what to make of it, I rub the towel over my head and
pad into the bedroom, heading for the walk-in closet. As I step over the threshold
and the light turns itself on, I throw my towel backward into the bedroom.
There’s a squeal which I react to, turning around to face Cate who’s sat on my
bed holding my towel at the end of an outstretched arm. In a panic, she throws
the towel toward me and I let it drop to my feet.
“I thought I told you to go?” I bark out to her. Remembering at the last
moment to make it sound harsh.
“But I asked you a question, and you didn’t answer,” she protests, constantly
staring at my dick. I don’t blame her but I wish she wouldn’t because I can feel it
twitching alive again.
“You got what you wanted. Answering questions wasn’t part of the deal.”
“I... um…”
She’s having difficulty forming a sentence which isn’t surprising considering
I’m now sporting a massive boner.
“Isaac?”
I have no idea what the question means—I need to get my head into gear first.
Because right now I’ll take the meaning in a direction I’ll regret.
“Have you not learnt coming into a man’s bedroom and staring at his dick
leads only to one thing?” Yep, that wasn’t the sensible response.
She answers with an imperceptible nod of her head.
“Do you want to touch it?” I dig a deeper hole.
“Yes,” she whispers, leaving her moistened lips parted at the end of her word.
Slowly, I pace toward her, stopping outside her reach. She bends forward and I
take one step back. It seems she does want to touch it.
My dick throbs and my balls tighten with desire; low in my belly I feel a pull
too strong to resist.
“You sure about this, Kitty?”
Once again, she nods, her eyes alive with a flickering flame.
“Because I’ve lost the ability to be gentle. This time.”
She sucks in a breath leaving her bottom lip trapped in between her teeth and
nibbles on it, pensively. That will fall victim first, I decide.
“You were gentle out there?” she asks, as if questioning if she can handle it.
“There’s only one way to find out, Kitty.”
I close the gap between us and she reaches out to touch my cock but I push
her backward onto my bed instead. Before she can recover, I yank at her shorts,
peeling them over her backside and down her legs. I blank out the image
crawling into my mind of the last time I laid my eyes on her in this position.
Bare and vulnerable. Eager and afraid. And also, of those times I laid by myself
imagining whether I would ever experience her again.
And with the memory laid before, me I blacken my thoughts. Because all that
matters right now is to scratch the itch and drown those memories.
I press her thighs out and upwards and lean in to inhale a deep breath, sniffing
the arousal left from her orgasm, and making sure my one and parting memory
has all the senses ticked.
Usually, I don’t go down on women for fear of tasting the last guy who was
there. And even though I know Cate has some guy she’s fucking, I want her so
bad. And there’s also a perverse desire to drown out any fucking chance of him
ever taking her again.
The taste of her is divine. Sweet and tangy and uniquely her.
She reaches her hands on to my head, encouraging me to stay there and give
her pleasure.
And that’s when my desire snaps.
This isn’t how it will go down.
I’m going to fuck her till she breaks. Take her to the point where all she ever
wants is a gentleman. Not someone like me.
With the taste of her on my tongue and lips, I kneel onto the bed hauling her
further on to it.
She tries to touch my cock and against my better judgment I let her. After two
or three gentle strokes I decide that’s enough playing around. I line my cock at
her entrance and slowly let her draw me in. A sigh leaves my lungs, travels up
my throat and bursts out of my mouth before I can swallow it.
Then, I open my eyes to discover tears misting hers. Urgently, I coral every
dark thought I can muster to leave behind this feeling of bliss and of being home
with my one true love, and callously, I pull out.
She whimpers.
Good, I’ve made the right decision. Roughly, I grab her backside and flip her
over, grappling with the flesh of her buttocks so I can push her onto her knees
and slam back in.
This is the only way. When I can’t see her. Where she can’t touch me. And all
there is left, is to fuck her hard.
It still feels good, way too good. I dig my fingers into her hips and pull her
back, picking up pace and thrusting as hard as I can.
Trying to blank her out isn’t working and every time I close my eyelids all I
can see are her icy blue eyes. Soft, bright and hypnotic.
When I try to think of other women, it makes me angry.
The faster I go, the more difficult it becomes. This isn’t how it supposed to
work with my girl.
I wrap my long fingers around the front of her neck, squeezing and lifting her
chin. But instead of trying to break free she pushes her hips back on me. Meeting
my thrusts with equal vigor.
With a herculean amount of mind power, I push every thought away.
She’s just another woman. She’s not my Cate.
As soon as I get it straight in my mind, I feel myself about to orgasm, at the
precise moment she shakes from within. Jesus Christ, I’ve never had a woman
respond like this. With that, I catapult over the edge, tip my head back and blow
out the pressure before the veins in my neck and temples explode.
“Fuck!” I rumble from deep in my gut.
Quickly, I pull out and come over her backside, smearing it around her
gorgeous cheeks with my hand.
With legs too weak to want to stand, I force myself up. Away from the body I
want to lie with and cuddle.
I stagger to my bathroom, leaving her flopped on the bed, and lean my head
over the wash basin. Taking heavy breaths to calm my mind. I’m not sure how I
should feel about this. It’s all wrong.
Movement catches my attention and I glance out to the side as she pushes to
her knees. Taking my tee from the floor she rubs the come off her backside and
throws it at me.
“You done now?” she snarls.
“No, but you are,” I snap out, restraining my look to the basin. I can’t, not
even for a second, look at her again because otherwise I’ll bridge the gap
between us and hold her tight until everything else fades away.
I kick the door shut and when I eventually re-emerge to the bedroom, she’s
gone.
 14

Cate

When I get to the office, Elliot stands in my line of sight, dancing on his
tiptoes and drumming his fingers together. He seriously looks as if he will pee
his pants; he’s that excited. And for Elliot, it’s saying something.
I throw a rolling scowl as I circle around him, casting my briefcase under my
desk and slowly wheeling back my chair. “What?” I snap. Knowing I’ll lash out
at everyone today. Even when it’s not their fault.
“What the fuck?” He manages to whisper his cuss, before strutting across to
the office door and shutting out any chance of Tessa hearing him. “What have
you driven to work in?”
I shrug, which he ignores, coming to sit on my desk and crossing his legs so
he can angle in to pierce into my tired eyes.
“Come on, whose is it? Is it to do with the mystery guy on Friday night? Tell
me, while we’re still alone.”
I open my mouth, but don’t get as far as uttering a single word when he
continues.
“Is that where you sloped off to on Saturday night, too?”
“No, I went to Nate’s.” I’m quite pleased I’m able to answer his question
honestly. The second one at least.
“So where, for the love of all things holy, did you get it?”
“A benefactor. From way back.”
I turn on my computer, adjusting the monitor so it’s a shield between me and
Mr Nosey-pants.
“So, it’s not like it’s a rental. You own that sweet machine?”
“No, not really, I’m kinda using it. For now.” Which was the excuse I told my
parents when I reluctantly had to pick Hope up in it yesterday.
“You’re not making any sense, Chica.”
“Hmm.” I ignore him, opening emails and clicking overly loudly on my
keyboard.
He ducks his face, so he’s eye-level with the screen. “I need details and I’m
not gonna stop being a pain in the ass until I get them.”
He straightens his back and waltzes off to his desk before his words cease to
be the final ones in the conversation.
 I sigh and bring up a used car website. I need to buy myself a runaround,
sharpish. But with no money in the bank and Hope’s summer school fees on the
horizon, it won’t be half as decent as my Ford Focus. I shut down the site and get
on with my work. No point in looking if I don’t have a job.
It lasts the whole damn day, Elliot looking across at me with a questioning
glint in his eye. He’s dying to fire more questions at me but I keep myself busy
and don’t give him any opportunity to ambush me.
“Got it,” he screams. Scaring the intern so much she knocks her can of
Mountain Dew into the trash and has to take the basket to the kitchen to deal
with the spillage.
Taking the opportunity, he rushes over, flapping his hands. “Nate has
proposed. You two are official.”
It starts as a quiet chuckle in the back of my throat then develops into a full-
blown raucous laugh. The absurdity of it not even touching the actual ridiculous
reason for me having a freaking Porsche sports car.
“Nate? You couldn’t be further from the truth if you tried. And when did a car
replace an engagement ring?”
“But he’s the only one you know who’s loaded.” He wanders off to the
window, no doubt to look for the millionth time at the Porsche in the company
parking lot.
I screw up my face.
“Well he must be, he doesn’t spend it on anything else.”
I huff out a disinterested breath.
“Unless…”
His shoulders slump and he takes a long breath before walking over to me in
his usual hip-jerking fashion. Lowering into my personal space he murmurs out
of the corner of his mouth, “Is this to do with you know who?”
His accuracy must reflect in my expression because he drops his hands to my
desk, stuttering and stammering with the shock of his revelation, he tilts his body
toward me. “I… you… We need to talk somewhere private before you go
home.”
“I can’t I’ve got Hope to pick up.”
“No, no, no.” He flourishes his palm in front of my face. “You know I can see
her schedule. It’s Monday, and she’s got music class tonight.”
“I intend to clean the house before I have to pick her up.”
“Pft.” He flaps his hands. “That would be the day.”
I look around him, to the intern who has crept back into the office and is
straining to hear what we’re talking about.
“Do you mind grabbing me a carton of paperclips from the stationary
cupboard? You know where it is don’t you? Tenth floor, next to the vending
machine,” I ask.
I don’t need any, but she dutifully trots off, giving me the chance to grab
hold
of Elliot’s hand and answer his never-ending questions.
“Yes,” I say, burrowing my gaze into his. “I met with Isaac over the
weekend.”
“Holy shit.” He claps his hand over his mouth. “Are you two back together?”
“No.” I close my eyes.
“But he bought you a car? Who buys someone a car, unless… Hope. Is it
because of her?”
With pursed lips I shake my head.
“What happened then?” He raises one foot as if to stamp it like a toddler, then
thinks better of it and shuffles his weight from one leg to the other instead.
His reaction makes me feel nauseous, as it confirms how wrong this situation
is.
The footsteps of the intern coming back to the office, ward me off telling him
more. “Okay Elliot, we’ll go to the bagel bar on the corner and I’ll give you the
lowdown,” I fire out. “Now will you get back to work?”
“Nope.” He shakes his head vehemently. “We need to go somewhere you’ll
drive me. In that.” He points over to the window.
I curse under my breath. “Okay, where?”
“The diner near Hope’s school, that way I get to see her too. It’s been ages
since she spent time with her Uncle Elliot.”
I roll my eyes at him. “Okay, okay.”
Although, to be fair, he would make an excellent uncle.
Unlike Isaac, who would make an awful father.
Neither of us work particularly hard after that and leave as soon as it’s five
pm.
On the way to the diner, Elliot presses every button and twists every knob in
the car. “You have to keep this, Chica. It’s sooo cool.”
“Who said I would give it back?” I tap his hand as he goes to tune the radio to
a different station.
He crosses his arms and looks across at me. “I know you, Chica. You’re too
proud and independent to take a gift like this. Especially one with strings
attached.”
“What strings?” I ask, as I pull into the lot in front of the diner.
“The ones winching your heart out into the open.”
Silently, I shake my head.
“So, you don’t think he’s trying to win you over with this?”
 “Nope.” I sigh. “Absolutely not. Parting gift apparently.” I turn off the
engine,
forgetting about the stupid gears and it lurches toward the diner making our
heads snap forward and then back.
He laughs, as do I. “Goddamn stupid car.”
We carry on the conversation over a ridiculously large stack of pancakes.
Waiting until the server takes our order, comes back with cutlery, then cups, then
water, then napkins, then syrup, then plates, and eventually pancakes. Each time
asking if she could get us anything else. By the time the pancakes come out,
Elliot has bust every vein in his temple and chewed away the skin across his
knuckles.
I can wait. Wait until I know what on earth I will reveal to Elliot about my
weekend and what emotion I use to convey it.
In the end, I tell him of the fight, the lift home, and the altercation over
Isaac’s
clothes. The car and his apartment, leaving out the orgasms and other more
sensitive descriptions of our primal indulgences.
Elliot rests back on his seat, rubbing at his belly to calm the protestations of
indigestion. “This will take time to process, Chica. Because there’s a whole load
of gaps and even more questions swimming around in my brain.”
I pick up a jar of maple syrup, tipping it from one side to the other, lost in
the
motion of the brown liquid clinging hopelessly to the glass, while I mull over the
précis I’ve aired.
“I know. I don’t know what to make of it either. It’s as if there’s unfinished
business, you know?”
He guffaws. “Hello. Earth to Caterina.” He waves his finger in front of my
face. “Hope?”
“Yes. Obviously, there’s Hope. I meant between me and him.”
He rolls his bottom lip and shuffles onto his sit-bones. “But he’s told you not
to contact him?” His face falls in sympathy.
“Hmm, yes he has. But I don’t know why?” I sigh. “Do you think he’s
involved in something illegal?”
“Not that I know of. Nothing in the intel. Only him coming back as a fighter.
For Carlos Hernandez.”
“And what did you find out about him?”
“Carlos?”
I nod, knitting my fingers together and resting on the table toward him.
“He’s a small-time businessman, trying to take a step up with his nightclubs
and gyms.”
“No drugs or racketeering?” I recline, huffing with disbelief.
“Nothing I came across.” He rubs his belly again. “You don’t think Isaac’s
involved in anything like that do you?”
“I don’t think so. He tells me I should stay away.” My anxious hands take hold
of the syrup bottle again.
For a few moments, Elliot is silent and eventually, with as serious face as he’s
ever shown, he drops his voice and inclines toward me. “If it wasn’t for Hope,
then I would agree with him.”
I nod my head, slowly and surely, in agreement. “But there is Hope to think
about. And I’m torn between keeping her well away from him and her right to
know who her father is. Or I was…”
“So, you gonna meet him again?”
I stop rocking the maple syrup and wipe my fingers on a napkin before I
attempt to answer. The answer shouting loudest in my brain is, ‘yes’.
Fortunately, I give the answer Isaac told me I should, “No.”
“But what about Hope?”
I stutter a laugh. “That’s why I said no.”
For a moment he rattles his head as if to dislodge the fog clouding it. “But,
she’s his daughter.”
“Exactly. Can you imagine? She’s my priority and there’s no way she deserves
to have a father like him.”
“I don’t understand why you would say that, Cate? It seems you barely know
him. You told me yourself. You know what he used to be. You know why he was
imprisoned. But you never once believed he wasn’t what you wanted. So why is
he suddenly not good enough?”
“Because of what’s happened in between. The part of his life which turned
him from Isaac, the father of my daughter, into the monster he is now. And, at
the moment I can’t see beyond his rough exterior and mean ways. Simply
looking at him scares me.”
A shudder racks through Elliot’s body.
I laugh. “What’s that for?”
“He sounds dreamy.”
I gasp at him. “Have you not been listening to anything I said? He rips men
apart for a living and he must be good, considering the amount of money he
splashes around. And that’s before he’s ruined your foo-foo for any other man.” I
clamp a palm across my wayward mouth; sex with Isaac was part of the
weekend re-count I missed out. I’d tried very hard to blank it from my mind, tell
myself I wasn’t a selfish slut who enjoyed every rough minute of it. But Elliot
isn’t naïve and, the way his expression has frozen, he knows exactly what I
mean.
“You didn’t?” he gasps.
 I feel so ashamed and utterly selfish for not once, but twice getting naked with
my estranged ex. The father to my daughter. Who is now part monster and a
whole lot repulsive.
“I didn’t mean to. And it won’t happen again.” I feign a disgusted look.
He makes a mewl noise deep in his throat. “Well, he can wreck my foo-foo
any time.”
“Did you just say that?” I’m not shocked at his comment. He says stupid
things about any rough-looking, tatted-up guy. It’s more because he changes his
tune. Almost wanting me to see Isaac again.
“Do you think I’m a hoe, Elliot?”
He straightens his face. “Of course not, Chica. You’ve put Hope first in
everything you do. Even down to keeping that guy of yours, Nate, at arm’s
length.”
“He’s not my guy. And never will be.” Thinking back to the discussion we had
on Saturday night and the note I left for him. He’s not contacted me since. So
that says it all.
Elliot laughs for a few seconds before evening his expression. “So, are you
not going to talk to Isaac about Hope?”
I drum my fingers on the tabletop.
“I know I have to. I just don’t know how.”
“I don’t think you should write him off yet. You’ve got to give him a good
chance at this, because if you don’t, someone will hate you at some point. And
whether it’s Hope, or Isaac, or yourself—now is the time to seriously think about
it.”
The words stick me in the heart like a needle. Of course, he’s right.
“I don’t know how to meet with him. I don’t have his number. I know where
he lives—if I can remember the apartment block that is. And I can’t go to the
gym again.”
He points his fingers towards his chest. “Em, hello, Chica. You have the best
research assistant in the history of law firms. Leave it with me.”
“Okay. Get his number and then I’ll decide.”
“Good.” He claps his hands on the table. “So, you gonna keep the car?”
“Do you think I should?”
“Hell yeah.”
I laugh and shake my head. “I can’t.”
“It’s the least he can do for you. You’ve endured the cost of raising a child
and
he’s got money to throw around. I think you should keep it.”
“We’ll see. It doesn’t feel comfortable right now. But I can’t afford to buy a
replacement car yet.”
 “Why you even bothered about that? Sell it and buy a decent car and save the
rest for Hope’s college fees. You’ll even have spare to take her to Disney.” He
claps his hands, rising on his sit-bones. “You could take me too. Oh, please say
it’s a plan.”
I laugh at his absurdity. “Don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
 15

Cate

Monday and Tuesday have flown by this week. Hope is in a great mood, to the
point I’m wondering who has abducted my child.
After the initial phase of being wary of school and on the teacher’s watch-list,
she’s settling. And has a friend, Tiggy, who she speaks about incessantly and
whose house she’s been invited to after school on Thursday.
It’ll be awesome if her good behavior lasts, although I’m not counting my
chickens yet. She is my daughter, after all.
The pace at work is heavy going—caught in a whirlwind of court
appearances, case reviews and end of month reports. But it’s good for me as it
limits time to think about Isaac.
The only downside—I’ve not had a chance to follow up on my car. I’m sure
Isaac is right. It’ll be food cans by now, even if it wasn’t when he said it. My
head is telling me to sell the car but my gut is saying give it back. Either way,
it
irks me how loaded he must be and how the money could be put in a trust fund
for Hope. I’ve not checked how much a Porsche Panamera costs, but I’m sure
it’s enough; certainly to lighten the load with college fees. I shudder at the
amount of debt I racked up putting myself through college.
Elliot comes up trumps with a mobile number for Isaac. Even giving me a few
draft texts to send.
Fancy another fucked-up sex-fight? was ruled out straight away. In fact, I
dismissed everything other than. Need to TALK. Your apartment 5pm Thursday.
Isaac chooses not to respond. Not even to tell me he got the damn text.
Leaving me hanging and with no chance to rehearse my lines. My mind going
from there’s no point, to, he doesn’t deserve to know about her, anyway.
Then, to cap it all, Elliot has had a sudden change of heart about Isaac.
Telling
me, on reflection it’s best I forget him and move on. I don’t get his U-turn other
than him agreeing with my view. It seems his thoughts on it are attached to a Yo-
Yo string too.
Despite the advice, and my sensible head insisting I should leave well alone, I
have a doubt—a nugget wriggling around in my brain like a worm of self-
destruction.
I’ve always been this way—going against the grain. It’s the reason I took up
with the boy from the wrong side of the tracks in the first place and why I bust a
gut making my way in this world instead of taking the easy route. And why Isaac
turns me on. Especially the way he is now.
“So, what you wearing tonight?” Elliot asks me, as I gather my purse and stuff
my briefcase with papers—which will not be looked at until I show for work
tomorrow.
Studying my tailored, gray dress, partially covered with a matching bolero
jacket, I screw up my face and hold out my arms. “This.”
He pulls his chin into his neck. “Oh, okay. That’s good.”
Now I’m feeling self-conscious. “Why, what’s wrong with this?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Elliot swipes an arm across his desk, brushing a
stack of files into an open drawer. “It’s good you’re focusing on talking to him
tonight.” Locking the drawer with the key which he slides under his mouse mat.
His bitchiness makes me chuckle. “Of course, I’m of no mind to do anything
else.” Lie. Lie. Lie.
All the way over to Isaac’s apartment building, my stomach churns. I’m
debating what I’ll say, where I’ll sit when I say it, and what I should do if he
makes an advance on me. The over-thinking is endless.
Waiting in the parked-up car until five pm, I scroll through my phone to find
there’s nothing exciting going on in my little world and thankfully no message
from Hope asking to pick her up early from Tiggy’s.
I log onto the school calendar to make sure she’s still booked in for music
class next week and there’s no other teacher appointments scheduled. All good.
It kills me to wait until after five to face Isaac, but when it comes, I feel as
sick as a parrot. Forcing myself to leave the comfort of the car and go into the
reception, only to feel my shoulders sag when the concierge informs me Isaac
isn’t home. A ruse maybe?
Deflated, I leave the sleek building and stand on the sidewalk for a few
moments weighing up my options.
Isaac’s apartment is at a quiet intersection off the main commuter route and
his bright yellow SUV easily beacons from a distance.
Quickly, I retreat into the shadow of a reveal in the brick wall a few meters
from the glass doors. I blow out a breath and smooth my skirt, rocking nervously
on my heels as his car burbles toward me.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him when I’ve been wearing my work attire and
after Elliot’s jibe, I wonder what Isaac will make of it. It’s pathetic I have such
a
thought—I shouldn’t care what he thinks of me like this. But I do.
My head follows the path of his car and my jaw tenses when he rolls to a stop
outside the main entrance. Just as I take one step out into the light, I spot two
high-heeled shoes attached to a pair of long, lithe legs poke out the back of his
car.
Hastily, I shrink back into the shadows.
The tops of the legs are wrapped in a tight cocktail dress and the woman they
belong to has shimmering platinum hair. Another female, with a similar look,
follows her and then Carlos and Isaac exit from the front.
Shit. I suck in my stomach and press my back into the brickwork; cursing
myself for taking the chance without a confirmation text back from Isaac.
Anxiously, I wait until they disappear inside his apartment building and then I
scurry across the street to my car with my heart pounding in my chest.
I sit, thinking of what I might do. Repositioning the rearview mirror so it
shows the apartment block entrance, I lower my seat so I’m out of immediate
view. It’s stupid I know, because he would recognize this car a mile off. But so
what? I’m not hiding from him, only Carlos. Who I’m sure is the reason Isaac is
acting like a prick. Warning of me of dangers which can’t be seen and making
out he’s a criminal mastermind.
The concierge emerges and drives Isaac’s car into the garage. Then moments
later a limo pulls up in its place.
Repeatedly, I check my watch and phone to make sure Hope is still okay at
her friends. She went to Tiggy’s straight from school and I need to pick her up
soon.
But curiosity has me sat here, waiting on Isaac to be alone, so I can tell him
he’s father to a beautiful girl and I’m going to sell the car and put the proceeds
in
trust for her. And I would appreciate him forming a relationship with Hope, but
one based on how a father should be to his estranged child. Caring. Kind.
Thoughtful.
But it doesn’t seem it’s a conversation we will have tonight. I’m about to drive
off, when Isaac strides out of the building, followed by Carlos and one of the
blondes. The other woman hovers by the door, adjusting her shoe strap, stooping
low so even at a distance I get a good view of her ample cleavage. Bitch.
Isaac waits at the limo door, blocking my view of Carlos and the first woman
getting in the car. Then, he turns and holds out his hand for the other, whispering
in her ear when she trots to him.
Bile hits at the back of my throat.
He raises his head in my direction before ducking into the car, acknowledging
he knows what I’ve witnessed.
“Motherfucker.”
I wait until the limo glides by, sunk in the seat like a fugitive again. Then, I
spin the Porsche around and speed away to collect Hope.
 She’s had a great time. And when I strap her in the back of the car, she tells
me about it and doesn’t stop until we arrive home. Tiggy’s puppy, the wonderful
food they had, the family trip to the carnival in Granville, and the tree-house in
the garden. I love she’s enjoyed herself but I can’t help feeling inadequate.
“Can I go to Tiggy’s again, tomorrow?” she claps her hands.
“It’s our turn next,” I tell her. “Tiggy can come around after school next
Thursday, if you like.”
“Will we have a puppy by then?”
I laugh. “There’s no-one to look after a puppy during the day, Sweet Pea. It
wouldn’t be fair on the dog.”
“Tiggy’s momma doesn’t work. She stays at home and looks after their puppy
all day. You could do that.”
“One day, Sweet Pea.” I reach my hand through the gap in the seats and
squeeze her knee, for which she rewards me with a stuck-out tongue which curls
in at the sides.
I stick mine back, so it does the same, and she giggles. So uplifting.
 16

Isaac

The scene is as boring as ever. The women, the men, the music, the alcohol,
the drugs, and most of all the banter.
Why would anyone choose to hide away night after night in this dark, seedy
club? I miss the fresh air, the sunshine, the ocean.
But then this is how this shit goes down. I snap back into Raul mentality.
Thank fuck there is only two weeks to go before I can rid myself of this charade.
I decline the Tequila offered to me.
Carlos shrugs his shoulders and downs my shot and then his.
Maybe I should let his liver kill him off. Slowly. Like he deserves.
It was touch and go when I saw Cate outside my apartment earlier. I blocked
her number and deleted the text when it came through on Monday and the
concierge was under strict instructions to turn her away if she tried to gain
access.
At least here, Carlos is occupied and nowhere near her. And Juan and Diego
are under strict instructions not to let her in the club.
But I do have to fix this whole clusterfuck before it throws everything off
plan.
Zoya has bored of my cool attitude and has re-seated herself on the other side
of Ulyana. If I wasn’t already in one sticky situation, I would play her game.
She’s not ideal because she’s like her sister. Full of bitterness.
It’s one of the few things I admire about Carlos—he chose the one woman to
be by his side who he can never control. I bet she’s a bitch at home and a bitch in
the bedroom.
Lucky Carlos.
“What's up?” Carlos angles away from Ulyana and growls in my ear. “Anyone
would think you’re not enjoying yourself.”
I snort. “It’s killing me but I’m on countdown.”
He lifts his chin, asking me to explain.
“You not seen the movie, Rocky?”
For a moment his expression is blank. Then he titters, bringing his arm from
around Ulyana completely. “Yes. The fight. No sex. No drink.”
He’s now laughing.
 Others around the table teeter on the edge of a chuckle—not sure if they’ve
missed the joke and they need to join in before Carlos throws a moody.
“Fuck man, you must be some kind of saint to be here with all this going on.”
Then his expression hardens. “You need to go home, hermano. I’m a bad
influence.”
Thank fuck for that.
Not only does this reprieve me from these godforsaken evenings of
debauchery but it also means I can deal with Cate with a clear conscience. Since
I’ve had her body beneath me, I’m done for any other woman.
Carlos doesn’t need to tell me twice. With my hand held out to shake on his,
he pulls me into him, wrapping his other hand around the back of my head and
pressing his forehead on to mine. “This fight is important, hermano. Do what
you need to.”
“Oh, I will. Don’t worry.”
I stand and, with a breath held in, I walk out into the fresh air. My two
bodyguards filing out behind me.
When we’re safely outside, I turn to them.
“Did we have a visitor?”
They both shake their heads.
Good. Cate’s a hot-head and it wouldn’t have surprised me if she followed me
here for a showdown. And that would have been disastrous.
I need to change tactic with her, otherwise everything will be ruined.
Diego goes to bring the car around to the front door and I give instructions to
Juan. Carefully. This is Carlos’s club, and he has cameras everywhere.
 17

Cate

My eyes snap open but I can’t see anything. It’s pitch black from the heavy-
lined drapes at my bedroom window.
It took ages to drift off to sleep last night, tossing and turning with thoughts
of
how Isaac had ignored my text and let me turn up to witness him slope off with
the long-legged super-model. How little I must mean to him, compared to how
important he is to me and Hope.
So, after what seems like a few snatched moments of sleep I’m awake again.
Or should I say, I’m woken.
I sniff in a breath but the heavy hand on my mouth also covers my nostrils.
This is no nightmare; the hand is very real.
Panicked, I strain to sit up but the weight across my chest is too heavy.
Tears of fright sting at the side of my eyes when I draw in my knees and try to
lift my hips off the bed to find myself completely trapped.
All manner of crazy thoughts whizz through my head.
Then I hear a whisper in my ear, “Cate.”
It’s Isaac. Of course, it is.
“I’m going to remove my hand but you have to agree not to scream. Blink if
you understand.”
Slowly, as my eyes become accustomed to the dark, I make out his form,
blink, and he cautiously removes his hand from my mouth.
I gasp and then cough violently, having to wait until I have my breathing
under control before I can lash out at him. Randomly striking the air in front of
me.
“Pile of shit,” I hiss out and his hand immediately clamps across my mouth.
Then I feel the mattress dip as he lays at my side. “Shush, Kitty.” He loosens
his grip on my mouth. “You need to listen.”
For a few seconds I consider my options, of which there don’t seem to be
many. I can’t afford to have Hope wake and find him like this, or worse, hear us
fighting and be scared.
“Okay,” I mumble through his fingers, the taste of his skin, salty and warm.
I reach over to my nightstand and he immediately grabs my wrist, squeezing
on it until I yelp. “Get the fuck off.”
 “What are you reaching for?” he growls. “A gun?”
I snort. “Yes, I have got a gun in the drawer,” I lie. “But it’s not what I’m
reaching for. I’m turning on the goddamn light.”
His grip releases once again, and I rub at my wrist as I twist to turn on the
wall light.
As well as long shadows, I can now see his face. Tanned and glowing with a
mist of sweat.
Shuffling up the bed to a seated position, I try to pull the duvet with me but
it’s weighted down by him. “Why are you here?”
“I thought it would be obvious.” He smirks, dropping his eyes to my neck and
licking his lips as he savors the rest of my body.
I draw up my knees and wrap my arms around them. Thankful I put on sleep
shorts and a cami-top last night instead of sleeping buff-naked as usual. “How
did you get in?”
“It was easy. You need to get your security checked out.”
My mouth drops open at his level of audacity. “First, you kidnap me. Twice.
Then you break in to my house and tell me it’s my fault. You’re nuts.” I throw
my hands in the air. “A criminal.”
He laughs sarcastically. “It’s a proven fact. Having spent the last seven years
in prison.”
I huff. Then reach over to the nightstand again—which makes him flinch—to
pick up my phone and squint at the time.
“It’s five am, Isaac.”
I then scan his clothing, taking in sports leggings under running shorts, a
loose
Everlast wife-beater, and a hoodie tied around his waist. “Have you been
running?”
“Yes, I’m going to the gym.”
What is up with this guy?
“Ugh. I need to get ready for work soon, so stop playing games and tell me
why you’re here.” I rub my palms onto my gritty eyes.
“To apologize.”
Apologize? Has he had a lobotomy?
“You could have text.”
He closes in to my face. “No. No texting. No visiting without agreement.”
My stomach loops at the proximity of his lips. “But we need to talk. It’s why I
came to you last night.”
“Go on, I’m listening.” He sits back and crosses his arms over his chest, the
tattoos flexing across the muscles in his biceps.
“Not now.” I want him out of here before Hope wakes. “Look you need to
go.”
“I will. As soon as you promise not to contact me.”
“I can’t do that Isaac. We need to talk. I’ve got things to say.”
“Okay. Tonight then. My place. I’m free all night.”
I snort, unattractively. “Don’t worry, what we’ve got to say to each other
won’t take all night.”
He stands. “Fine. Wait in the same place as last night. I’ll drive by at six pm.
If there’s anyone else in the car, go home. If I’m alone, wait five minutes then go
into reception. Do not follow me into the garage and do not wait in the reception
area. Got it?”
It’s too early in the morning for me to interpret what he means. “What’s with
this cloak and dagger shit, Isaac? You sound like one of my law cases.”
A faint smile grows on his lips and he shakes his head at me.
“I should set Elliot on to it,” I say.
“Who the fuck’s Elliot?”
I whistle sarcastically. “No need to get your panties in a twist. He’s my
research assistant.”
He sits and angles in to me, grabbing my chin with his thumb and forefinger
so I have no choice but to look in to his deliciously stern eyes. “Cate. This is
serious. Don’t tell anyone. Any. One. About me, or Carlos, or anything to do
with this shit.”
He lets go of my chin and I feel my face flush, knowing Elliot is aware of
everything. Including the parts even I can’t fathom.
“Carlos? What’s he got to do with it?”
He chews on the inside of his cheek. “Nothing. Forget I mentioned him.”
I swallow noisily but can’t help with a rebuke. “Don’t worry. I won’t let on
how shit a fuck you are or… or… everything else.” I almost spat out how crap a
father he would be too.
“Cate,” he growls out a warning.
“Fine.” I cast my hands in the air. “I’ll meet you tonight at your apartment. I
won’t tell anyone. I’ll let you murder me and no-one will know jack-shit.” I
swing my legs to the other side of the bed and step onto a piece of Lego; biting
the inside of my cheek so I don’t scream out and be forced to admit to what I’ve
stood on and why it would be there. “Now, will you get the fuck out of here.”
“Remember. Same place. Six pm. Wait five minutes after I drive by, then go to
reception. Alone.”
 18

Isaac

Without even seeing her face I know it’s her skulking in the shadows and
peeking out from the corner of the apartment building. It’s not exactly where I
asked her to wait, but then it’s a good thing. If it’s a surprise to me, then it
will
be to anyone else.
I don’t know if Carlos is watching, or has asked someone to follow me. My
rebuttal of Zoya last night didn’t go down well. Apparently, she bitched to her
sister about it after I left, which meant Carlos endured an ear full too.
Even though he agreed—if it was a good enough excuse for Rocky then it was
good enough for me—I can’t assume anything about Carlos right now. It’s too
close to the final showdown for that. Not long until the big fight and I need to
stay focused.
Cate turning up on my doorstep every five minutes was not part of the plan.
But I can’t stick to the order of events as I hoped.
She will have spotted me, and will come into the entrance now, hopefully
accept the concierge’s invitation to take the elevator to my apartment.
He’s sent it to me first, so I quickly park the car and take the cabin to the
reception area.
A ping signifies my arrival at the first floor and the door slides open. She
steps
in before seeing me pressed to the wall.
“Isaac,” she gasps, clapping her hand to her chest. A place my gaze lingers
more than it should.
I punch my finger on the button which will send us below ground.
“Where are we going?”
I pull her over and wrap her in my arms. “Kitty, I’m sorry.”
“For?” She wriggles in my grasp.
“For how this will play out.”
She swallows noisily, her eyes sparking with fear.
I can’t help myself and I must come to terms with this. There’s no going back.
I have to forge a way to make this work otherwise she will be my sacrifice.
The elevator sinks, causing my stomach to leap into my chest. There’s no easy
way out of this, no escape. We can’t simply run away. I’m in too deep. I’ve made
promises with dangerous men attached to them. Not only Carlos, who would
stop at nothing to find out why I turned my back on his plan to make me famous
and him rich. More deadly men than him.
I’ve got to forge ahead with the plan and now make room for one more.
Seven years ago, me and Cate were like every other teenage couple. We spoke
often about what would be, but our conversations were always measured in days
and weeks, never months, or years, or a lifetime.
And here I am, thinking in lifetimes—how it will play out and how it will end.
Perversely, now should be the time to think about those hours and days and
weeks because without that level of detail we will have no future. And no
lifetime to live.
“Here.” I brandish an arm across the elevator doors to stop them closing on
her while she steps into the dim, damp garage.
“Isaac?” she questions, her eyes open wide like a frightened marsupial. “This
is the garage.” She curls her fists onto her hips, cocking one out in a way which
makes me smile.
“Sharp, aren’t you?”
She rolls her eyes. Bingo. I fucking love her cocky, snappy way. The smile
I’m hiding bursts through. “And this is where you need to come in next time.”
“Next time? Like there will be a next time? One conversation, that’s all this
will take.”
I chuckle and pull her into my body, slowly rubbing the erection straining in
my jeans across her stomach. The delicate fabric of her top bunches with the
friction. “Don’t fight it, Kitty.”
She puts her hands to my chest and tries to push me away, which only makes
me press into her harder. “You’ve changed your tune.” Still wriggling.
“We’ve got ground to make up and here is not the place to do it. So, listen to
what I’ve got to tell you and then we can go upstairs.” I loosen my grip and take
her by the hand toward the vehicle entrance. “This is the electrically operated
door. If you drive up to it, it will open. Your car is fitted with an RFID tag,
programed to this door.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
I ignore her question; I don’t want to spend longer down here than I need to.
“Then you drive into that spot there.” I point at the corner, nearest to the garage
door. Anyone looking from either the elevator or the garage door won’t see her
car in the darkest part. “Under no circumstances should you park anywhere near
my car.”
“Why?”
“Just because. Then you come to this elevator.” I walk her over to the corner,
away from the brightly lit, passenger cabin we’ve exited. “This is the service
elevator and goes straight to the roof, where I have a deck.”
Guiding her by the elbow, we step inside and I punch in the code. “It’s your
birthday. Do you think you can remember?”
“What the…? Isaac, I don’t like this. You’re scaring me.”
The doors shut us in and the lift speeds to the top floor. My ears popping on
the way. I open my jaw and click it from side to side to ease the pressure.
Cate is stunned, trying to take it all in.
At the top, we step into a glass-encased room with one steel door out onto the
amenity side of the roof, where the janitor and window cleaners exit, and
opposite an identical door with a code pad to the side of it.
I slide up the panel cover, pausing and taking in her already frightened
expression before saying, “And this one is Hope’s birthday.”
It’s like the moment in a movie when the air sucks out of the atmosphere
before a mushroom cloud explodes.
Fortunately, I still have hold of her elbow. As her knees buckle, I tighten my
grip and keep her upright.
I punch the six-digit date in and the door swings open into my oasis.
Cate continues to lean on me, so I scoop her into my arms, and carry her
through like a wounded animal, rustling our way passed bamboo plants on to a
decked area. Carefully, I lower her onto the soft padding of a recliner, positioned
next to a sunken hot tub bubbling away with lights which color the water a soft
shade of purple.
She looks up at me, her eyes questioning.
“You knew?”
I nod.
“How long have you known, Isaac?”
“Too long.” I lower my head and pepper kisses along every inch of exposed
skin. “I’m sorry, Kitty.“
It’s all I can say, so I say it again and again, punctuating each apology with a
kiss, a lick, a suck.
She gently rubs her hands over the bumps on my shoulders and back,
caressing away knots in my muscles.
“What for?” she whispers against my lips.
“Everything and nothing. What hasn’t happened yet and what surely will.”
“But, Isaac… I don’t understand.”
“I know you don’t. And I’m sorry but it wasn’t safe… still isn’t safe.”
“Safe? What’s going on Isaac?” She pushes onto her elbows.
“Not now Kitty. Later. I’ll tell you everything later, as long as you promise to
tell me what went on with you while I was away.”
 I don’t allow her to question my statement, keeping her mouth occupied with
mine. My tongue tangled with hers. Teeth biting her lips.
God this feels good. Better than I remember and better than I ever imagined.
She pushes against me and for a moment I stop, in case I’ve got this wrong
and she’s about to reject me. “But I need to know?” she gasps, relaxing back
onto the recliner.
“I know you do. And I promise I’ll tell you everything. Let me show you first
how much I’ve missed you and how sorry I am for pushing you away.”
“And then you’ll tell me what’s going on?”
My eyes search hers. I could stop and we’d have a conversation, but that’s the
thing about making love. There’s no room for sarcasm or misinterpretation. And
it never lies. I need to soften the way for the conversation. Make her trust me.
Yearn for me.
“Uhuh,” I murmur onto her lips.
When she’s sufficiently entranced, I drag my lips across the line of her jaw
and up to her ear. Breathing heavily into it and sucking eagerly on her fleshy
lobe, my tongue tangling with the silver of her earring.
She gasps, her fingernails digging into my back.
“Do you like that, Kitty?” I breathe into her ear.
“Uhuh,” she purrs. “But I…”
Her protestations fizzle out when I force my wet tongue into the center of her
ear, making her feel how strong and supple it is. “I have a very skilled tongue.”
“Mmm.” Her knees draw up with the anticipation of where my tongue should
be. “But you need to tell me…”
I trail my fingers down her abdomen and onto her mound, rubbing the heel of
my palm onto the denim enclosed center.
“Oh god, Isaac…” She squirms under my touch. “You’ll tell me everything?”
Her question laced with need.
“Kitty, we can’t talk right now. Later. I Promise. I’ll tell you everything I
can.”
Thrusting my hot tongue back into her ear.
Traitorously, her hips push against my hand.
“Promise?” her sweet breath feathers across my neck.
My head lifts so my eyes can meet hers. I know they are true, because that’s
all I can be now with Cate.
“This is happening. Now or later. It’s up to you.” I pause, long enough for the
lust oozing out of her eyes to give me her answer. “And if it’s now, we can talk
afterwards. All night long even. But if it’s later, then it’s gonna be a very short
discussion.”
Her bottom lip sucks in between her teeth. Fuck, does she want this.
 “Now, do you want me to show you how skilled my tongue is?”
“Yes.” Her voice urgent, as her hands go to unbutton her jeans.
“What was that? I didn’t quite catch your answer?”
She stiffens beneath me. “Don’t you make me beg for it,” she snaps.
I laugh at her gritty reply. “We’ll see about that,” I taunt.
Rising on to my knees, I curl both hands around the open fly to her jeans and
rip them apart. The triple stitched Levi’s burst at the seam, opening her to me.
“Shit. Isaac.”
“Sorry Kitty. Raul’s coming out to play.” I wrench at the lace triangle of her
panties and pull the torn garments down the creamy, soft skin of her thighs.
Her cheeks flush and she gasps as I drag my hooded eyes from hers and dive
my head between her legs, licking my tongue flat over her pussy.
I gorge on her, sucking her labia and rubbing the stubble on my chin up and
down her opening. Humming on to her skin, my appreciation at how sweet she
tastes.
Her hips jerk when I suckle on her clit and her hands wrap around my head,
where she tries to keep me in place. But there’s no need. I’m where I’m meant to
be.
When she’s seconds away from the best orgasm of her life, I pull away, to see
her beautiful face before it explodes into a million tiny pieces of sheer ecstasy.
Then I sink back for one last lingering lick.
It’s been a long time since I’ve given a woman pleasure like this. I didn’t
purposely save doing this to any other woman, waiting on her. But it’s how it
seems now. And it’s perfect; a pleasure I want to indulge in every single fucking
day.
Lost in her orgasm, she doesn’t see me climbing out of my jeans. Nor does she
move when I gently push into her. Only awakening when I audibly sigh my
relief. Choosing a steady pace so we both can enjoy every single second. There’s
no need to rush—we’ve seven years to make up for.
I resist the urge to increase my pace, locking onto her eyes and sucking her
into mine. Then she moves beneath me and, in unison, we rock steadily, over and
over again, into our first shared orgasm. And shed our first shared tear.
After several minutes of coming back down to reality with her protected under
the crook of my arm, I wrap her in a blanket from the back of the recliner, and
stand. Pulling my jeans up, in case I need to deal with any unwanted visitors
inside.
“I’ll grab some drinks and then tell you what’s going on.”
“I’d appreciate it.” She grips the blanket and shuffles to a seated position.
I indulge another look at her before I step into the apartment. She’s rested her
head back onto the cushions and is looking at the stars. Content? I hope not.
With a deep breath I clear my mind, making sure I have straight what I can
and can’t tell her. I won’t lie to her. I can’t now. But there will be details I’m
unable to reveal.
Carrying a bottle of water and a glass of white wine I go back to her and face
what will be the million and one questions flying through her mind.
“So, what do you want to know first?” I offer out the stemmed glass to her.
She takes the wine from me and downs a healthy gulp before asking, “How
long have you know about Hope?”
“Before I came back to San Diego.” I rub the back of my neck.
“So the tattoo is for her?”
“Uhuh,” I admit.
“So, I don’t get it. Why did you come back without getting in contact, and
then when we met, not mention it?”
I slant forward, resting my elbows onto my knees and looking sideways into
her eyes. “It’s complicated.”
She plonks her drink onto the glass-covered table, wine sloshing over the rim.
“So you keep telling me. But you have a daughter and you’ve not once asked
about her?” Her voice shrilling at the end.
With a need to calm her and make her understand, I put my bottle down too
and take both her hands into mine. Rubbing my thumb over the tender skin in
between her thumb and forefinger, I tell her, “I’ve seen her. I’ve watched you
both. I know more than you can imagine and it’s killed me not being able to
meet with her. And I want you to tell me everything about her. All the parts I
don’t know.” I squeeze her hand. “But I couldn’t go waltzing in without talking
to you first.”
“But I don’t get it—it’s exactly what I’ve been trying to get you to do. Talk.”
“I know. It’s only I have a… situation… to deal with and it wouldn’t be safe to
involve you until it’s fixed.”
“What situation?”
“It’s best you know as little as possible about it.”
“You need to give me details, Isaac. If our daughter is in danger, I swear,
I’ll… I’ll…” She bites her bottom lip and looks up to stop tears from spilling
from her eyes.
After a deep breath, I tell her calmly. “Hope is not in any danger, as long I
keep my distance and you do as I tell you. We will be fine.”
She shakes her head and tries to pull her hands away. I fight against her desire
and draw her closer to me, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. “In under
two weeks, it will be over. Until then… I have to keep you both out of the
picture.”
The concern pours through her eyes as she searches my face. “And what
happens in two weeks?”
For a few seconds I gather my resolve. “Then I need to leave here.”
“Here?”
“San Diego. California. Get as far away from this as possible.”
This time she pulls away from me. “So, you’re going. Leaving us before
you’ve even had a chance to get to know Hope. For us to determine what the hell
is going on here?”
I shake my head. “I don’t have a choice, Cate.” I stroke my knuckles across
her quivering lips. “But you do. Come with me.”
She laughs harshly. “You’re a serious piece of shit, Isaac Winters.”
“I know,” I say calmly.
She weighs me up for a while. “You’re not joking, are you?”
“No. I’m sorry. This is deadly serious. I have a fight and after… I need to
leave.”
Her body flops back on the recliner. “Isaac, I’ve been mother and father to our
daughter for seven years now. Created a life for the both of us here and you’re
asking me to give it up. For what?”
“Us,” I breathe.
Her eyes flick over mine. “You don’t get it do you.”
“I do. Believe me. It’s only there’s serious shit going down here, and it’s the
only option.”
“So you keep saying, but until you tell me more. Fill in the gaps. I don’t
understand.”
I rub my palms across my head. “I get that. Really, I do.”
She grabs her drink off the table and pulls her feet onto the recliner.
“Go on. Tell me, Isaac Winters. Because it’s the only way you’re gonna
persuade me. And even then, I’m not promising anything.”
“Okay. Let’s go inside.”
I scoop up our clothes from the floor and take our drinks into the living area.
She follows, still wrapped in the blanket.
 19

Isaac

Cate relaxes onto the sofa where, only last week, I’d taken her like the cold-
hearted motherfucker I am.
Pushing that to the back of my mind, I top up her wineglass and settle next to
her.
“So where should I begin?”
She takes a sip of wine. “At the beginning. From the day you stopped
writing.” It sounds like a knife rusting inside her.
I gulp. “I had to stop writing, Cate. I’m sorry.”
“Why? I could have helped you through it.”
I shake my head, a sick smile on my face. The last letter was hard to write, but
it had to be done. The sentence given, I was waiting to be transferred to jail.
Everyone took the opportunity to scare me on how lawless prison would be.
How I’d have no privileges and be lucky to survive. So, I wrote to her; I told her
to forget me, jail was not a place she needed to know about.
“No, Cate. It would have been torture. I had to protect you from knowing
what went on in there. It was a sick, fucked-up place.”
I put my hand onto the inner skin of my forearm and squeeze at it until it
puckers and disfigures the tattoo there—a sunken face, a noose around its neck,
a mouth open with a silent scream.
“Henry?” she rises and kneels next to me.
I nod. “He was convinced, and rightly so, the holding cells were mild
compared to the despair of prison. He couldn’t face it.”
Lovingly, she takes hold of my hand and caresses it until I release the
pressure, leaving a mark on my skin which ignites the colors on the tattoo.
“I went to his funeral,” she whispers.
“Did you?”
“Yes, it was awful. Most of our high school were there. I half hoped you
would be—that they’d let you travel home to see him buried. Maybe even
release you out of sympathy.”
A sarcastic snort huffs from my nostrils before they flare with anger.
 “Never. That would require a level of compassion which wasn’t remotely
present. The authorities didn’t give a fuck about me or Henry. And I’m surprised
they even let his body be taken back to the US.” I rub the back of my hand from
the irritation brimming in my nose. “I suppose it was less hassle to let someone
else deal with it.”
“Your parents weren’t there?”
“Parents?” I snap out.
“Your foster parents. I tried to contact them many times when you stopped
writing.” She pauses and looks at her hands. “They ignored me.”
I sink back on the sofa. “Yeah, they gave up as soon as I was sentenced.
Didn’t have a need for me anymore. I…” I pause for a moment, not able to give
her the full story revealed to me of how I came into foster care. One reason I
changed inside prison. “I didn’t hear from them either.”
“So, what happened? Tell me, Isaac. Tell me what it was like.”
I look at her, my mouth languishing open for a second. “You sure about this?”
“I’m a big girl now. And I need to know what you know. Otherwise there’ll
always be a gulf between us.”
After a deep breath, I begin what I know will be a cathartic journey. Choosing
the words carefully to ensure no slip of meaning.
“It was the noise which hit me first. I thought it would be the smell, but that
wasn’t too bad. The riotous, out-of-control sounds coming from everywhere at
once. From places I couldn’t see and people I didn’t want to. Jeering. Taunting.
Shouting. Screaming. I didn’t understand any of the words, but the sounds. The
sounds were unmistakable. All noises of insanity.”
She visibly shivers, and I feel it too. Creeping across my skin with its bony
fingers.
Tucking the blanket under her chin, she nods, so I continue, “In the early days,
I was like a cornered animal, skulking in the shadows, desperate not to be
noticed. But the shadows are where the most twisted of men hide.”
She gulps. “Did anything happen to you?”
I snicker. “Oh yeah. Plenty happened to me.”
“Like what?”
I brush her hair back from her face, a face which is showing the innocence she
believes she has lost. “No, Cate. You don’t want to be part of the nightmares.”
A tear trickles from her eye, weaving its way down her cheek until I wipe it
away with the pad of my thumb.
“I’m sorry for what happened to you,” she says.
“But they’re only nightmares. I survived.” Barely.
“How?”
 “I moved into the light. That required me to become a different person.”
I open my palm and look at the first tattoo I was inked with in jail. On the
hand which took its first life. Perversely, it’s what gave me the initial flutter
of
hope I would survive that cesspool.
“What does it mean?”
I clench my fist tight shut; my knuckles popping with the pressure. “It
signifies the day I came out of the shadows.”
She uncurls my fingers, revealing the image of a knife on the heel of my palm,
claret-colored blood dripping into a black heart tattooed on my inner wrist.
“You killed someone?” she gasps.
“Don’t judge me. It’s not who I am.” I look up to her, seeking understanding.
“And, if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here now.”
“Oh.” Her face grimaces with a tinge of understanding and a lot of disgust.
“Do you have to kill again?” Breathing her words with an underlying tremor. “Is
it what this about? Is it Carlos—do you have to kill him?”
“No. Carlos’s ultimate fate is not my doing.”
“I don’t understand, Isaac?”
“I’m not going to kill anyone. I have to come through on a pact I made with a
guy in prison. That’s all.”
“So why is it dangerous?”
“Because the pact means I’m in amongst dangerous men. Men who don’t stop
at anything to get what they want. Men who don’t value life, only power, money,
control.”
“What is the pact?”
“I can’t tell you the details, not because I don’t trust you… because if you
don’t know then they can’t extract it from you.”
“Who won’t extract it from me?”
I pause. I don’t want to give her names but she needs to know who she should
look out for. Avoid. At all costs.
“Okay.” I sigh. “Carlos and his posse have taken over areas in San Diego they
don’t have rights to. And they’re stepping on toes. Toes attached to powerful
men who for half a century have run this town, but had to back off while their
boss was incarcerated.”
“The same place as you?”
I nod. “And while I was imprisoned this boss found out I knew Carlos and the
incident which led me to jail. He took me under his wing and I fought in his
corner. Giving him entertainment during those years when he had to run his
business from jail. In return, he protected me. But protection came at a price.
And it’s what I have to pay back now.”
 “How?”
“I can’t tell you. After this next fight, it will be over. And, if everything
goes
according to plan, we will be safe to leave.”
“But if it goes according to plan, why can’t we stay?”
“Because there will be a fallout and we’ll be caught up in it—if I don’t leave
then I’ll be sucked into their way of life. And I’ve never wanted that. Despite my
history.”
“Why? Can’t they leave you alone?”
Without thinking, I rub my knuckles across my sternum. Cate grabs hold of
my closed fist and pulls it away, replacing it with a flat palm, spreading her
fingers across the gold crown inked on my chest. “Is it because of this? What
does it mean?”
“Reverence and loyalty.”
She tenses her fingers. “So, you’re a gang member?”
I place my palm directly over hers. “No. I’m not.”
“But you’re involved with gangs?”
“I wouldn’t call them gangs—more organizations. Only they don’t pay taxes
or file corporation reports. And they don’t abide by any employment laws.”
Her breath quivers across her lips. “Oh Isaac. This isn’t how it’s supposed to
be. I waited years to be with you again. For the three of us to be a family.”
“I’m sorry. If I could change it, I would.”
Her watery eyes latch onto mine.
“I know. I believe you.”
My arms wrap around her, drawing her into my chest, where I rock her to
sleep. My heartbeat a lullaby in an otherwise cruel world.
Her tale will have to wait until tomorrow; one I hope I’m strong enough to
hear.
Tonight, I won’t sleep. Too many memories. All horrifying and too real.
Gently, I kiss the top of her head, and inhale deep. The scent of teenage love
taking me to our special place. Isaac and Cate.

The next morning, I awake with her still in my arms. Quickly, I retrieve the
messages on my phone and with nothing to worry about sink back into the
pillows and pull her in tight. There are only minutes more I can indulge in this
bliss. I need to get to the gym and continue with my expected routine. They
won’t know I’ve not been for a run this morning. Hopefully.
“Cate,” I murmur on to her forehead. She stirs, her sleepy groans making my
cock twitch. No time for that now. “Cate. We need to shake a tail.”
She giggles softly, still half asleep. “You sound like the old Isaac.”
I smile. “I told you he was still in here somewhere.” I place a kiss onto her
forehead.
“Hmm. I like Isaac.” She snuggles in to me, arching her back so her stomach
presses into my side.
“Are you sure, Kitty? I thought you also like Raul?” I tweak her dusky pink
nipple, which does absolutely nothing to ease my morning wood predicament.
Her groans take on a needy edge.
I swallow painfully. “I have to get to the gym and you need to go home. You
can come again tonight so we can finish talking. You didn’t keep your part of the
bargain.” I rub a thumb around her other nipple, killing myself in the process and
go against every promise I made to myself to keep my distance until the fight is
over. “You still need to tell me what happened with you while we were apart.
Tell me everything I’ve missed in our daughter’s life.”
“I can’t,” she groans, pulling her knees over my thighs. “I’ve got Hope
tonight.”
“I’ll come to you then.”
Shit. Where did that come from? Can I be as careful there? Protect her as I
should?
Suddenly she rests on to her elbow. “You can’t see her though. Not yet.” Her
voice panicky.
“I know.”
Her eyes take on a sorrowful tinge.
“It’s fine and don’t worry I’ll come after she’s gone to bed. Nine pm?”
She looks at me, wistfully. “Okay.”
“I’ve arranged for Juan to take you home this morning. No rush.” I bend and
kiss the peachy end to her nose. “Grab some shorts from the closet. I’ve put
yours in the trash.”
“Naughty Raul,” she yawns.
When I come out of the shower, she’s asleep once more and my breath stutters
with the vision of her lying in my bed.
This is a mistake.
I’m falling for her all over again and the more I fall, the more of Isaac I
become.
And it’s not good right now. In fact, it’s bordering on insane.
 20

Cate

Hope senses I'm trying to rush through her bedtime stories, as she repeatedly
asks for one more. Which I am, as it’s nearing the time Isaac said he would come
over.
I brush aside her chestnut curls and plant a kiss on her cute button nose. “If
you go to sleep now, we'll go somewhere special tomorrow.”
“Where?”
"I won’t tell you, unless you promise to go to sleep straightaway." There’s
nothing like a touch of bribery for Hope to do something I ask for once.
"Promise Momma."
My heart soars, she used my real pronoun, instead of the infuriating Cate. It’s
obvious why she's done it though, she’s clever my daughter and knows how to
get her own way.
“Okay, Sweet Pea. We're going to the carnival in Granville.”
She begged me all week to go; ever since she found out Tiggy had been. And
if tonight works out okay, then it will be the perfect opportunity for Isaac to
meet
her. And if it doesn't work out with him, well Hope and me will go anyway.
The beam which radiates from her face melts my heart. She is my most
precious of things and I can't let her down. If Isaac doesn't say the right things
tonight, then it's over. The worst I could do is introduce her to him, only for him
to disappoint her.

It's after nine and I'm still waiting for Isaac to turn up. He said it might be
late,
but he promised he would come no matter what. So far, I’ve washed the dishes,
wiped the kitchen cabinets, tidied Hope’s toys, and dealt with the laundry. All to
keep myself busy and not worry about what might not happen.
Worn out, I pour a glass of wine and sit out in the backyard to soak in the still
evening and calm my racing heart.
It’s what I’ve done many times before. Sit here on my porch, swing
rhythmically, and look up. Wondering if Isaac could see what I could. Both
living under the same cluster of planets and stars but in entirely different
worlds.
After an initial hitch of breath, I sneak a smile when I hear a rustling in the
bushes. It’s the kind of noise which would usually send me scurrying inside for
fear of being savaged by a raccoon. Yeah, I’m not very brave—even a stray cat
would have me cowering behind a locked door. But after a glass of wine and the
inkling it might be Isaac, I remain seated.
Then there’s a soft thud as he lands on my scraggy patch of lawn.
“Fuck,” he hisses, as he trips into Hope’s sand-pit.
I stifle a not very empathetic giggle.
Hobbling toward me, he slumps onto the swing holding his ankle in his hand.
His breathing is strained and his heaving chest draws me to the tight tee strained
across his muscles.
“Have you run here again?” I skim over his glowing cheeks and shiny
forehead.
“No. Dropped off.” He picks up Hope’s baseball mitt, discarded on the swing.
“Yours?” he asks.
I roll my eyes at him. “No, your daughter’s.”
He lifts his brow toward his hairline.
“Hmm. There’s plenty to tell you about her. She was in a huff for days when
she lost the ball at the park. A dog ran off with it.”
He laughs.
“It wasn’t funny. I chased the damn dog around the park until I thought I’d
collapse.”
With a shake to his head, he squeezes me with his meaty arms and kisses the
top of my head. “I’ve got a lot to make up for, haven’t I?”
“Hmm,” I murmur into his chest.
“Anyway, don’t you usually offer guests a drink?”
I pull away from him. “Sorry. I'll get the wine.” Standing and turning toward
the back door.
He grabs my hand, pulling my face on to his and kissing me seductively.
“Water will be fine,” he says, when he finally lets go.
I retreat to the kitchen and he follows. "Is she asleep?"
“Yes. It took a while tonight, but then it's nothing new.”
“Can I take a peep? I’d love to see her sleeping.”
“In a while. She may still wake. It’s not unusual.”
He wraps his arms around my waist, snuggling into my back while I fill a
glass with water from the dispenser.
"I guess it's been hard for you, Cate."
Looking over my shoulder, I catch a darkness sweep across his face. I'm not
sure how to interpret it. It's not quite pity, maybe regret? And if it is, I'm not
sure
whether it’s regret for what has been or what is about to become.
“I’m sorry to have left you on your own. Both of you.” He removes the glass
of water from my hand and puts it onto the counter, turning me into his chest. “I
have looked out for you.” His arms wrap around my shoulders, blanketing me
with warmth and concern.
“How?” I ask.
“From afar, I’ve…I’m here now. And I’ll make amends for my absence. In
whichever way I can.”
He squeezes his arms, tucking my head into his neck. And there, in one move
our breaths align and my heart beats to his rhythm.
This was always how I imagined it. Me and him in our little house with our
daughter sound asleep upstairs. I want to tell him I love him and I've always
loved him. But I’m wary especially where my daughter is concerned.
“So, are you going to tell me everything that happened to you while I was
away?” he asks softly.
“If you want?” I’m not sure if my life compares to the suffering he endured
but I’d like to close the gaps. Tell him everything he’s missed about Hope
growing up.
“Of course, I want.” His hot lips press on to the top of my head. “I know some
of what happened to you both, but not how you felt. What was going on in that
pretty little head of yours.”
I huff a sarcastic chuckle. “Now that’s a weird place to want to be. Even I
don’t like being in there most days.”
“Did you hate me?” He pulls back and looks into my eyes.
“Sometimes. But never more than I hated myself.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because I felt like I’d failed you. I should have done more to help get you
out of that hell-hole. And that’s before we even get on to the hatred I have for
my selfish decisions.”
“What?” he pushes me to arm’s length; a distressed frown knits his eyebrows
together. “You can’t say that Cate. There was nothing you could do. I was a
pawn in a political touchdown. And you’ve been everything other than selfish.
Raising our daughter on your own is the ultimate sacrifice.”
I shake my head, lowering my gaze to his chest. “Pursuing a career when I
should have chosen something simpler, where she wouldn’t be repeatedly
handed off to my parents, or daycare. Often, she’s the first to be dropped off and
the last to be picked up. That’s selfish.”
His strong arms pull me back in and he runs his fingers through my hair. “It’s
not selfish. You’re showing your daughter what’s it like to be strong. Brave.
Independent. Everything a girl needs to be.”
I’m on self-deprecating roll now. “And not letting any other man get close to
me. Someone who could have been a father to her?”
“Yes. You should have, Cate. For you, and her.”
And that’s why I don’t open up to anyone—because honest answers hurt.
They hurt like hell.
An icy pain swells in my chest. “Are you saying this is a mistake?”
“Truthfully, yes.” He sighs against my forehead, a breath of life melting me to
the core.
“So why are we doing this?”
“Because it’s beyond our control. The pull between us is too strong.”
“I know, I feel it too.” I reach up to place a soft kiss on his firm lips.
“Neither of us can change the past. It’s the future we should concentrate on,
now.”
A future; we have a future. It’s all I ever wanted. But despite him declaring
it,
it still seems a lifetime away.
“But you told me last night you’re moving away from here.”
“I did and I am. But I also asked you to come with me.”
I move from his arms, taking the bottle of wine from the refrigerator and
filling my glass. I offer the bottle to him and he shakes his head. He has
willpower. I’ll give him that at least.
“It’s not that easy, Isaac. Hope is settled at school. I’ve got my parents to
think
of. My work. This is where our life is.”
“I know. And I wouldn’t ask but I can’t stay here. And now neither can you.”
My sigh is heavy.
“I’m sorry, Cate. There is no choice. If you and Hope stay, your life will be
in
danger too. And it won’t be a simple accident or a gun to the head. They will
make you pay for what I am about to do.”
“So, don’t do it.” I slump against the wall.
“There is no other way. I’m beholden to someone and this is their price.” He
slowly reels me back into his chest. A place where I have no option to turn down
anything he asks of me.
“But if you do as they ask, why can’t we stay?”
“Because there will be others who will want revenge and you will be their
path to it. Or I will be forced to become like them.” The answer is the same, no
matter how many ways I ask.
“And if you don’t do it?”
“With certainty they will make me suffer through you.”
 “Isaac?”
“I know. I’m so sorry.”
This sudden turn in the events of my life seem so final. Within the space of
three weeks there’s a paradigm shift in what will be. Gone are the frivolous
nights out with my friends. Nate. The heavy case load at work. My parents
looking after Hope. Hope’s schooling. Her friend Tiggy.
“Is there no other way?”
With lips pressed tight, he slowly shakes his head.
Isaac doesn’t do ‘maybe’ and the air of assured presence he carries around
with him is what it’s all about. I have to give in to this. Let him be our destiny.
With a heavy breath, I blow out my nervousness. “Okay. But we need a plan. I
can’t simply walk out on everything. And we can’t live life constantly on the
run. It doesn’t work like that with a child.”
He nods. “I get that. Tell me what I need to do to make this work.”
 21

Cate

Isaac wakes before the alarm, even though Sunday is his one day off training
before the fight. I’m not convinced he slept at all last night, as every time I
turned over he did too. The original intention was for him to go home after we
talked and opened our hearts to each other. But, one thing led to another and we
could not break our togetherness.
Our love-making was peppered with ugly truths. All doubt about being
together banished, as we rediscovered the requited love which set us on this path
in the first place.
“I’ll go home now, before Hope wakes,” he says, pulling on the clothes he
arrived in last night.
I don’t want him to go, but agree anyway. It’s for the best. Everything we do
should have Hope in mind. She didn’t ask for any of this and now we’ve decided
to turn her entire world upside down, we need to be careful of the little things.
The stuff she can cling to when she’s unsure where she is and what we’re doing.
“Okay. So, we’ll meet you there. Yeah?”
The mattress sags as he sits back on the bed next to me; where only nights ago
his presence made me wish I had a gun. I run a finger slowly up his arm and
over the images he felt the need to scar his skin with.
“Yeah. I’ll be the guy with the trembling legs and sweaty palms.” He
chuckles.
I smile at his admission. “You nervous?”
“As hell.” He lays a soft kiss on my lips.
“Me too,” I admit.
We spoke last night of how horribly wrong this could go, if Hope decides she
doesn’t like Isaac. I didn’t want to agree with his concerns but thought it best he
heard the truth. His daughter has her own opinions and is wary of most strangers.
I almost revealed she isn’t like that with everyone—taking to Elliot the moment
she saw him—but thought it wasn’t wise, considering the gripe Isaac made about
him previously.
I indulge in a few quiet moments after Isaac has click shut my front door,
listening to the hum of the car which extracts him from my world.
My sheets smell of him. Us. And truthfully… I like it. A lot.
 It feels as if my prickly edges could soften with Isaac by my side. Relax some
of my responsibilities. And let him into our lives.
When Hope first wakes, she’s forgotten my promise to visit the fair and I take
joy in telling her again where we’re going.
My chest hums when her face lights with a beam to melt any tattooed beast’s
heart. And here’s wishing he can do the same to her.
She rushes through her breakfast and foregoes any TV time. Bouncing up and
down while I help her get ready and pulling on my hand as I try my best to look
presentable.
We both feel a thrill of nervous excitement when I pull the Porsche off the
drive and head towards Granville. Singing along to songs on the radio and
making up rhymes all the way there.
The smell of corn dogs and mustard pulls us from the car and Hope chatters
away as we walk under the brightly lit arch at the entrance to the fairground. She
avidly points at various attractions and gasps at the screams she can hear from
riders on the Ferris Wheel.
Then I spot Isaac, stood next to a cactus-toss stall, his hands stuffed in the
front pockets of his jeans.
I squeeze Hope’s little hand and pace toward him. He’s wearing a hoodie,
zipped to his neck, and a ball cap with the peak pulled low over his eyes.
I blow out a breath. Here we go.
Suddenly, Hope spots the carousel and pulls me toward it.
“Hope,” I say, stepping in front of her and bending to her level. “We need to
meet Isaac first. Remember?”
She nods, her chin tucked into her neck. “Yes, Momma. We’ll show him the
fair. He’s not been to a fair for a really long time.”
“That’s right, Sweet Pea.”
I stand and meet Isaac’s stare, smiling at him in anticipation he smiles back
because right now he looks a little frightening and a lot out of place. As we
approach, I tense when Hope slides behind my leg to hide.
“Hey.” He squats to greet her. “I’m Isaac.”
Cautiously, she angles forward and with a finger in her mouth she says.
“Momma said I need to show you the fair.”
He nods. “That would be awesome.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out
a leather-stitched baseball, proudly displaying the SD Padres logo. “Here, your
Momma said you’d lost yours.”
She looks up at me and I nod.
“Thank you,” she says, her small hand reaching out to the ball and Isaac’s
little finger extending slightly so his skin touches hers. Their first touch as
father
and daughter.
She places the ball under her chin, rolling it back and forth.
“Do you like scary rides?” she asks, coming out from behind my leg.
He looks up at me and I chuckle back at him, shrugging my shoulders. There’s
no right or wrong answer.
“Sure,” he says.
“Good. So, do I.” Her hand slips out of mine and she tugs on his sleeve.
“Come on, Isaac.”
He stands, with a genuine smile on his face.
“Hot in that are you?” I ask, referring to the hoodie he’s wearing on a day
where the sky is cornflower blue and the sun is so hot it’s causing waves of heat
to dance off the asphalt ahead.
“Mmm,” he says, grabbing an opportunity to squeeze my backside, as he
slides the hoodie down his arms.
Hope’s first choice of ride is a dinosaur-themed rollercoaster. It’s meant for
kids her age, but she insists Isaac rides with her.
It’s the most hilarious thing I’ve ever seen. Isaac squished into a plastic-
molded stegosaurus car. His knees up near his chin and an arm around Hope’s
shoulders. Her squeals of delight as they bump around the track send a warm
current to my heart.
At the end of the ride, he lifts her out of the car and carries her to me. It’s
a
picture I want to freeze forever and a sight I thought I would never experience. A
tear pricks in the corner of my eye.
“Enjoy that?” I ask him, sardonically, handing his hoodie back to him.
He laughs, placing Hope onto her feet and rubbing at his knees. “You need to
come on the next one.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Want cotton-candy?” I call across to Hope who has run off in the direction of
the carousel.
Isaac chases after her, before we lose her in the crowd.
“Horses,” shouts Hope, taking Isaac’s hand and pulling him toward the
carousel.
Catching them both, I explain, “She loves horses. She should have been raised
on a ranch, she’s obsessed by them.”
“Maybe one day.” He winks, then picks Hope up and rushes her over to the
carousel before it begins again.
“Which one do you like the most?”
She studies each of the horses for a while. “That one.” With an outstretched
arm she points at a dappled gray, with a flowing white mane and tail. “And you
can go on that one next to me. And Momma on the inside.”
“Are you sure you want to go on your own? It’s faster at the outside.” The
concern in my voice clear.
Hope nods her head.
“She’ll be fine. I’ll hold on to her,” Isaac says, hopping her onto the horse
and
tying his hoodie around his waist.
The carousel operator strides over, takes one look at Isaac, then thinks better
for stopping Hope from riding at the edge.
Isaac’s broad hand holds her steady on the ride until it has glided to a stop,
when he once again picks her up and carries her off. It’s as if she has lost the
ability to walk and they are now forever joined.
“Can I have cotton-candy now?” she asks Isaac.
“Sure, Sweet Pea. What color?”
My heart squeezes at the term of endearment he has used on Hope, and, at the
same time as she says it, I mouth silently, “Blue.”
“Great,” he says. “My favorite color.”
I chuckle. Knowing she will have him eating as much as she does.
We stand in line for the cotton-candy and Isaac eyes the funnel cake truck next
to it.
“Do you want me to get you some?” I ask him.
His eyes light up like the teenager I once knew. “You know I can’t resist.”
“Sugar and strawberry sauce?”
His throat bobs and I know he’s recounting the same memory as me, of our
first kiss over a plate laden with funnel cake at the top of a Ferris wheel. “You
know me, Kitty.”
I smile. Literally from ear to ear. “I’ll grab one while you get the cotton-
candy.”
When I come back with the wobbly plate, topped with Isaac’s favorite
carnival food, it’s as I thought. “One for Isaac, one for me.” Hope stuffs small
fistfuls of spun sugar into Isaac’s mouth; his lips stained blue with it.
I laugh, the funnel cake sliding to the edge of the plate. I break a piece off
for
him and when he chews it, he smiles like a naughty boy.
“This sugar’s gonna kill my training regime.”
And for a moment I’d almost forgotten who he was and what he was about to
do, and before I can shake my head of the image, Hope asks him, “Why do you
have drawings all over your arms?”
“They’re tattoos,” he answers.
“Oh… Can I have a tattoo?” She cranes her neck so she can look beyond Isaac
to me.
 “Sure thing. I’ll get you one now,” Isaac says, touching the end of her nose
with a crooked finger.
“What?” I squeal. My brain jellied by the scene of Isaac and Hope enjoying
precious time together and only now catching up with what he’s promised her.
He nods his head towards a booth selling hats, balloons, and fake tattoo
transfers.
“Oh.” I put a palm to my chest.
He places her down in front of a display of transfer strips. “Here, what about
this one?” Isaac points to a purple and pink fairy.
Her lips press into a thin line and she shakes her head vehemently. I want that
one. She points a small finger to the skull and crossbones.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Her word final.
Isaac furrows his brows at me and mouths, “Sorry.”
I laugh and shake my head in amusement. Of course she wants that one.
“We’ll put it here, so it’s not on show when you go to school tomorrow.” I hold it
against her upper arm.
Her face drops.
“You’ll have to wash it off tonight if you don’t.”
She reluctantly agrees.
By the end of the afternoon, and after the cotton-candy sugar-rush and
adrenaline-induced rides, she’s pooped out. Isaac carries her back to my car, her
head lolling sleepily on his shoulder.
“Do you like puppies, Isaac?” she asks, her lips dragging on his shoulder. Too
tired to talk.
“Yes. I do.”
“I like puppies too.” She yawns.
“I’ll get you a puppy for your birthday, if you like?” he says, without warning.
I clench my teeth with the frustration of his promise.
“Promise?” she whispers.
“Yep. Promise.”
Her eyes close and a huge smile sits on the back of his neck.
Another promise Isaac Winters has made.
“When can I see you again?” he asks, backing out of the front of the car. Hope
now securely fastened and asleep in her booster seat in the back of the Porsche.
I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know.”
He pulls me into his arms. “Come to me tomorrow night. She’s got music
class, hasn’t she?”
I furrow my brow I don’t remember telling him. Maybe she did on the ride.
“Okay.”
He adjusts the peak of his ball cap. “Drive into the garage. And use the
elevator like I showed you.”
“What if you’ve got visitors?”
“Don’t worry there’ll be no-one there from now on. I’m on a strict curfew,
ready for the fight. Carlos won’t be anywhere near me. I have a routine. Early
morning run, gym, sleep, then eat.”
“Okay.”
He lifts my chin. “We don’t have long Cate. The fight is on Saturday.”
I blow out a breath. “I know and I’m not ready.”
“We’ll meet tomorrow and finalize plans.”
Finalize plans? My stomach twists into a knot of anxiety.
“And until I know exactly when we can leave, carry on with your routine.
Hope. Your parents. Your boss. Everyone… except him.”
“Him?”
“Nate.” His lips stick to his teeth in a cute look of jealousy.
“Don’t worry about Nate. We’re done.”
“Good, because I would have had to fix that issue too.”
I scoff at him. “Yeah, right?” But my belly is on fire with his possessiveness.
I’ve never experienced it before and, in a sick way, I like it. Someone who cares
enough to want me for them. And only them.
“Look, got to go.”
He presses his mouth onto mine in a kiss which doesn’t last as long as I need
it to, and then jogs off to the edge of the parking lot, through a line of trees
and
onto the street where a black SUV awaits him.
I scout around the parking lot before ducking into my car, feeling nervous
without him here. All the way home, I repeatedly check my rearview mirror for
goodness knows what.
After waking Hope from her nap, I wipe the blue stain from her mouth and we
go to the backyard to play with the baseball Isaac gave her at the fairground.
“Catch,” I shout.
Shielding my eyes from the low afternoon sun, I watch Hope hold out her
mitted hand to catch the baseball. She lets it drop to the floor when she notices
the sleeve on her tee shuffle down her arm. She rips off the mitt so she can fold
the hem back over to reveal her skull and cross bone tattoo.
“When we gonna see Isaac again?” she asks, scurrying across to me so I can
help fix her tee.
I crouch in front of her and roll up her sleeve. “I’m not sure Sweet Pea. He’s
real busy at work for the rest of next week.”
 “Oh, why didn’t he come back with us from the fairground?”
I shrug. “He’s got stuff to do. Like Momma does on Sundays.”
“He does ironing?” Her top lip curls as if she doesn’t approve.
“Probably not.” I laugh at her. She hates domestic stuff as much as I do.
She squidges her lips together in dismay. “Can’t he come for dinner? After
work. Everyone has dinner?”
I smile at the simplicity of her thought. Wouldn’t it be great if everything was
as straightforward in life as a child makes it sound?
I latch onto her Isaac colored eyes and kiss the button-end to her nose. “We’ll
see. Maybe next week.”
My heart squeezes at how next week everything will be different for her. Will
having a father and being in a complete family unit be enough to take her from
everything she knows?
The wheels in her mind turn over at the thought of next week. A week is a
long time to Hope.
“When’s my birthday?” she asks.
“Another couple of months. When you go back to school after the summer
recess.” I realize what she’s getting at. A puppy. She’s linked Isaac’s promise of
buying her a puppy for her birthday and continuing to see him again.
It’s one thing I’ve always stayed true to. I’ve never broken a promise to Hope.
Never. And it’s important no-one else does in her childhood. There’ll be plenty
of opportunities for people to disappoint her when she’s older, but for now, I’ll
make damn sure no-one breaks my daughter’s heart. Father or not.
“Okay,” she says with a mouth which hardly opens, obviously not overly
enthused with the answer. Then she trots back to retrieve the ball which has
rolled under the bushes edging the back yard.
“Come on, then.” I clap my hands together. “Last throw before bath and bed.”
 22

Cate

As I knuckle down into the working week, my mood swings from irritable
with how selfish I’ve become, to walking on sugar-coated clouds. It’s killing me
not being able to tell anyone my world will turn inside out and never look the
same again. My stomach churns and my desire for a brief snatch of time with
Isaac tonight grows.
“Cate.”
The cup of coffee I nurse, drops onto the counter with the interruption,
sending a shower of the scalding liquid over my skirt and blouse.
“Drat.” I bend awkwardly to try to separate the fabric from my skin.
“Oh.” Tessa’s face drops. “You can’t come to court like that.”
No shit?
“I… I can run home. Get changed.”
“There’s no time. I came to find you so we could do a run-through of our legal
arguments. Elliot said you would be hiding in the kitchen.”
I gasp. I’m sure he didn’t. Hiding? Who the hell would I be hiding from?
Ruminating over the biggest change I will ever make to mine and Hope’s life.
But not hiding.
“We need to leave in thirty minutes. Judge Carmichael has asked for a pre-
hearing in his chambers.”
I grimace, not knowing what else to suggest. Take off my blouse and button
my jacket? Fashion a new top from dish cloths and a staple gun? What do you
expect me to do Tessa? You caused this issue. I hold out my arms in dismay and
roll my lips.
“Come with me. You must borrow clothes from my emergency closet.”
“Emergency closet?”
She doesn’t bother explaining, simply takes me to her office, where, in a
corridor to her private bathroom, there’s a closet secreted behind wood paneling.
I can’t believe all the time I’ve worked here, I’ve not known and it makes me
wonder whether all the attorneys have such luxurious office arrangements.
“Here.” She thrusts a beautifully cut, Prada suit into my arms. “You may be
able to squeeze into that.”
I nod toward her private bathroom. And she nods her agreement in return.
 The bathroom is typical Tessa. Sleek and expensive.
There are a range of perfumes stacked on a glass shelf. None of them the
average vaporizer type, all pure perfume in bottles which you use the stopper to
dab on your pulse points. I run my finger along the edge of the shelf, a piece of
my old self surfacing—the desire to be successful enough to make this my
reality. My hand hovers over the Chanel No 5. But not for long. I can’t go out
there smelling of her perfume. As much as I want to tell her to stuff her job and
suit and to do it while daubed in her fragrance. I can’t.
Isaac made me agree to tell no-one and to carry on until he knew exactly when
we could leave. And it will be at least the day after the fight, if not early next
week. So, having a huge bust-up with my boss right now won’t help.
With shoulders pushed back, I emerge from the bathroom and join her in the
office. Elliot comes in wheeling the file case and almost falls over when he sees
me in Tessa’s suit. He restricts his surprise to a slight kink of his mouth and a
cock of his eyebrow. I’ll miss Elliot.
Tessa lets out a large sigh. “Let’s go now.” As if she’s been waiting a while
for
me, and it was my fault. Makes me I wish I had washed in at least fifty dollars’
worth of Chanel No 5.
Without a word, but an exchange of knowing looks, I take the handle of the
case from Elliot and march off behind Tessa toward the elevator.
It’s a short walk to the courtrooms, which is why this area is littered with
attorney offices. I relish the looks we receive from passersby, who crane their
necks at our determined pace in our expensive suits.
Throughout the meeting with the judge I feel detached from the conversation.
Struggling to keep my attention on a case I won’t see through to the end. Judge
Carmichael’s point is well made. Why waste time on a hearing when an
agreement is left on the table? Tessa and her advocate both turn their backs on
each other. They’re too far gone in their waring minds to let this go.
It’s not how I would have handled it and that makes me sad; to think I’m
throwing away a career I know I could excel at.
I wonder who they will replace me with. Elliot isn’t qualified yet and has only
been with the firm seven months. The intern, is simply the intern, and as much as
her career is bound to leapfrog mine, she’s not ready yet.
Another thing to feel guilty about. Leaving my clients and the firm in the
lurch.
On our way to the courtroom, Tessa reels off the mental notes she’s made
during our conversation and I quickly tap them into my phone with one hand
while dragging the case with the other. The pre-meet will have surely wound the
judge up and now everyone’s nerves will be ragged. Great. Any thoughts of
having the last few working days taking it easy, have vaporized.
The court hearing is adjourned after an hour, for lunch. I rush home to change
my clothes and drop Tessa’s suit in at the dry cleaners. She wasn’t happy for me
to wear it any longer than necessary.
I could have sent Elliot but needed the break because recent events keep
turning in my mind. Also, I didn’t want to give Elliot an opportunity to quiz me
about the weekend. I might crack and tell him more than I should.
Taking five minutes before I go back to work, I look around the house and
what I’ll leave behind. None of it important, now I’ve decided I can’t live
without Isaac and how he would make a great father for Hope. But there is still a
niggle about the persona he has, Raul, who is dangerous and hangs around with
men who kill.
I check my phone for messages. None from Isaac. He’s still paranoid about us
texting and calling each other. Mom has messaged though, reminding me she
will pick Hope up from music class. Shit. I didn’t think about that. Hope is
bound to tell Mom about this new friend of mine she met at the fair yesterday,
who has promised to buy her a puppy. She will need at least a few days for the
tattoo to wash off and the memory to fade.
I text Mom back and tell her I’ll pick Hope up. I need to buy myself time to
come up with a plan.
Fortunately, the afternoon’s court hearing stutters and the judge is frustrated
with the lack of smooth progress so adjourns to the following day.
It irks me that I could have made a better job of this case than Tessa has. But
what is most confusing is I know how to deal with all matter of decisions and
crises at work but in my personal life I’m a gibbering idiot.
At least the cessation of today’s hearing means I can get to Isaac’s early and
still pick Hope up on time from her music class.
It feels bad to leave work mid-trial. Elliot knows everything important to
know about the case, but even he is disinterested in the details. It’s because he
rarely needs to know them and I can’t tell him why this time it’s different.
I hope we don’t have to leave everyone in the crap. Hopefully, there’ll be the
early part of next week to make sure Elliot is up to speed.

With significant churning in my stomach, I swoop the car down the ramp
toward the roller shutter door. As promised, the door slides up and I plunge into
the dark garage in the basement of Isaac’s apartment building. There’s a moment
when light filters through from outside but before I can park the car, it’s gone.
The lights on the Porsche illuminate and I turn into the spot Isaac instructed I
use.
I don’t like this. One bit.
The nervousness is draining. And also, ethereal. I’m only worried because
Isaac has told me to be. I don’t recognize the threat and wouldn’t if it tapped me
on the shoulder. If it’s Carlos, then I don’t know him well enough. My only
memory of him was as a teenager. Wiry and annoyingly mouthy. I didn’t care for
him then but wasn’t scared by him. Now, Isaac is making him out to be a big bad
wolf, when the only scary person I’ve been exposed to is Isaac himself. Or
should I say, Raul.
Ignoring the inviting passenger elevator, I head for the other one, briefly
checking out the shadows and small noises which emanate from every corner of
this dank place. I punch in my birth date on the code pad, and the elevator speeds
to the top of the building, leaving my stomach below ground.
It still isn’t clear when Isaac found out about Hope. And to know her birthday
makes a shiver tingle up my spine. This, and a million other questions, stack in
my mind. With only an hour to spare, it doesn’t seem like they’ll be answered
tonight.
The steel door to the rooftop deck springs open and with the gentlest of pushes
I’m stepping into the designer garden. Isaac’s sat in the hot tub, his head rested
back on a cushion and shaded eyes pointing to a cloud spotted sky.
Lazily, he cocks his head onto a side and pushes his glasses onto his forehead.
The wicked grin on his face tells me he’s stark naked in the tub. I know it.
All those questions I have float out of my mind. The hot tub would be inviting
even without him.
“Hey there.” He smirks. “Hard day at the office?”
“You wouldn’t believe it.” I jut out a hip.
“Good. I’m here to wipe away the tension.”
I cock a brow.
“Come in and let me show you.” He curls his hand, resting on the deck at the
side of the hot tub and lazily lifts the corner of his mouth in to an irresistible
smile.
For a moment, I stare at him. Wanting him to take me seriously for once but
against my better judgment I remove my clothes and gingerly dip my toes. Isaac
reaches up and pulls me by the waist into the bubbles. Heaven. The salt water
feels silky and the jets invigorating. Not to mention the way my body glides
against his.
“We do have plenty to discuss, Isaac.”
 He snickers. “Talk away, Kitty. I’m listening.” Pulling his sunglasses back
down which only further highlights his roguish smile.
“Really?” More than a tinge of disbelief wrapped around the word.
“You been in here long?” I rub my leg over the top of his thigh.
He laughs. “Not that it makes any difference. I’m hard for you, Kitty,
whatever.”
His burly arms wrap around my waist and he lifts me onto his lap.
“I have to pick Hope up in less than an hour and I want to know where we’re
going?” I ask, removing his sunglasses so I can see his response.
“What now. Or later?” He teases, placing his hands on my hips and rubbing
me over his length.
Shivers tingle across my clit and I have to concentrate on swallowing so I can
carry on the conversation. “Seriously, Isaac. I need to know. I can’t up sticks
without a plan.”
He sighs, letting up on the rocking of my hips. “Where do you want to go?”
“Not too far away. Near to my parents. My friends.” I rest my hands over his
shoulders, making my breasts squeeze together.
A low growl rumbles up his throat and his hands rub over the sides of my ribs
and across to my nipples. “Okay. How about Arizona?”
“Hmm,” I moan. “Too hot.”
“Nevada?” His thumbs circle my nipples.
“Also too hot.” My hips sway in response to the buttons he’s pressing.
“You live in San Diego, how can anywhere be too hot?” he tips his head to
graze his teeth across my jaw.
“Too dry then.”
He licks away the stings from the bites.
“Anyway, I thought you enjoyed being by the ocean. It’s what you always
used to tell me.” I say, circling my center over his erection.
“I do.” He smiles, a range of emotions cloud across his face.
“Upstate then?” I say dabbing myself onto the end of his cock.
“Not sure. Has to be somewhere we can’t easily be found.”
I still and then rest away from him, my arms still roped around the back of his
neck. “Where then? It seems you have more need to choose where we go than I
do. All I want is a safe place to raise Hope. A nice neighborhood. Good school.
Where she has family and friends. Oh, and not too hot.”
He pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth. “What about upstate? A small
town. Away from any cities. Oregon might be good.”
“Oregon?” I regard his expression closely. I’ve never been there and damn
sure he hasn’t either. “And what about a house—can I choose that too?”
 “Sure. I’ll get contact details for a real estate agent. They can help you
organize a rental. One close to a good school.”
My chest feels lighter with the modicum of a plan in place. But my head files
away every snippet of information and every snapshot of his reaction.
He trails a finger across the lines on my forehead. “It’ll be fine,” he says.
“Will my parents be able to visit us?”
“Once the dust has settled.”
I feel like I should push this more. “I’m kinda thinking we should trust them
with this. Tell them we’re going, so at least they’re not worried.”
“It’s too risky.”
“But we can’t take off without letting them in on it. They’ll be worried sick.
File a missing person’s report. Go to the press. We’ll be plastered over the side
of milk cartons.” The despair in my voice clear.
He chews on his lip. “I’ll think of a plan. But for now, you can’t mention it.”
“But it’s already become an issue—I’ve had to cancel them seeing Hope
tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because she’ll let on we met you yesterday. And they’re not stupid. They’re
gonna put two and two together.”
“Shit. Didn’t think.”
“I know. It was a mistake.”
“What me meeting my daughter?” He shuffles on the molded seat.
“No… I didn’t mean that—just the whole circumstance we’re in.”
“There’s not much I can do about it now. We weren’t supposed to meet until
the path was clear.”
For a while, I stare into his eyes, doubting myself for trusting this man who
won’t let me in on what’s going on yet expects me and Hope to give up
everything for him.
“And what about my work and home?” I further test my theory on something
less contentious.
“You sure have many questions. I’m hard for you Kitty.”
I huff. “You’d better come up with some quick answers before you limp out.”
“Work isn’t important? You don’t need to work anymore. I seem to remember
you mentioning how you feel guilty for not being a stay at home Mom.”
“I do. But who would I be if I did?”
“I don’t understand what you mean? You’re you. You’ll always be that.”
“Sure. But a small piece of me might get lost somewhere.” My independence
is the key to my survival in life. I can’t be reliant on anyone else. Least of all
the
person who left me all those years ago and has chosen not to get in contact,
despite knowing he has a daughter.
“It’s all about choices, Cate.”
“Hmm. And what if I choose to stay?”
He laughs and pulls me into his chest, whispering in my ear, “It’s not a choice.
Not now, Kitty.”
“I know. But it scares me.”
“There’s nothing to be scared of. Not when I’m here to protect you.”
“And my home?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll make the rental payments for a while. The owner
won’t be out of pocket. And it will keep everyone guessing.”
I pull back to study him for a few heartbeats. Unsure what to make of his
blasé attitude. I suppose he doesn’t have the same ties. Or as much to lose.
“So, do you think these people know of me already?”
“No, but they will dig into everything as soon as I disappear. It’s when they’ll
learn about you. And Hope.”
He swipes away a stray bubble spurted onto my face. “It will be okay. Leave it
to me and don’t worry. You choose a house and a school for Hope. And I’ll fix
the rest. And for the moment let’s keep this between you and me. I’m sorry
about your parents but we can’t risk them finding out right now.”
As he tilts in to kiss me, I say, “I’ll hold you to that, Isaac, this has to
work,
otherwise I’m straight back here.”
He laughs. “Yep. You’ve proved to me you’re feisty and determined. It’s up to
me to make sure you’ll never want to leave me. And all I ask of you, is to carry
on as normal, do everything you would usually do between now and when we
leave. It should be a surprise to everyone.”
His hands grab onto my backside and he pulls me in closer to him. My chest
squashes against his and his erection squeezes in between our stomachs.
I can’t help but rock myself against him with my selfish, sluttish hips.
 23

Cate

Tuesday rolls into Wednesday and before I know what’s happening, we’re
hurtling towards Thursday evening. I’ve been so busy at work I’ve not had much
chance to plan the biggest change in my life. Although I’m wondering whether
I’m putting it off with the excuse of being run ragged at work.
A real estate agent contacted me on Tuesday morning and came up with
several rental options in Oregon. They even cut and paste relevant paragraphs on
schools in the area. I’ve not looked at them.
I also received tickets in the post from an online travel agent, for a week at
Disneyland. One adult, one child. Putting two and two together I’m guessing it’s
what I’m supposed to tell everyone. I’m taking Hope to Disney next Wednesday
for a week.
The lies. The deceit. I can’t do this.
And I’ve still not worked out how I will stop Hope from telling my parents
about Isaac, or what I’ll say to them if she does.
I’m planning to see him on Friday, the night before the big fight, and the last
opportunity we have to iron out any issues before we leave San Diego.
A desire grows in my mind to talk this through with someone other than Isaac.
Someone who has my back. Elliot is more and more dismissive and there is no-
one else other than Jaz.
So, Friday evening, Hope will go to Mom’s, as usual, I’ll go out with Jaz, as
usual, and then I’ll deal with whatever the fallout is. As usual.

I’m already waiting outside when the Friday night cab pulls into the street. I
purposely stand away from my house so Jaz doesn’t see the car parked on my
driveway. I need to tell her about Isaac before the car, otherwise the revelations
will be out of order.
“Do you fancy Almo’s again?” Jaz asks as I duck into the back seat.
“Yeah, as long as we can find a quiet spot. Somewhere to chat.”
“Oh?” Her brows knit together while her mind works on my answer. “That
sounds ominous.”
I can’t lie. “Yeah. It is.”
She glances over at the cab driver. “Come on Cate. You can’t make me wait.”
Fumbling in her bag and pulling out a small bottle of vodka.
I huff and blurt out. “Isaac’s back.”
Her shoulders slump and she positions the vodka bottle between her thighs
while she zips her bag closed. “Oh, Lordy.”
“He came back a few months ago, under an alias.” I pause, searching her face
for signs of disgust, or joy, or anything else which might give me a clue how she
feels about my revelation. “And I’ve met with him.” Again, no response I can
pin a label to.
“Okayyy,” she drawls. “And how did it go?”
“Intense,” I say, not knowing where to begin and with the realization I’ve
stepped over the line. The line I promised Isaac I wouldn’t breach. But I can’t
think straight on my own. When I’m with him it’s fine. When I’m not, my fears
take a hold of my throat and choke me into disbelief I’m making the right
choice.
She takes a large swig from the vodka bottle before passing it over to me.
I hold up my hand. “Can’t. UTI.”
Vodka sprays from her mouth and I reach in my purse for a tissue to help her
mop the spillage, frantically trying to explain my excuse, because that’s all it
is.
“Nothing to do with Isaac. I’ve simply picked one up. Stress or some such shit.
I’m taking antibiotics,” I garble the lie.
Seriously, I don’t know where the excuse came from but I need to stay sober
so I can drive to Isaac’s and have a clear-headed discussion, with hopefully a ton
of insightful advice from my best friend.
The cab driver turns his head to look over his shoulder. “We’re here ladies.”
His expression shows he’s more than a little embarrassed, having caught the end
of our conversation.
“Oh, okay.” Jaz thrusts ten dollars into his hands. “Keep the change.”
I notice his bemused look as we exit he car. The fare was shy of ten dollars so
no real tip left there.
Jaz holds open the door for me. “You find somewhere quiet so we can talk and
I’ll grab the drinks.”
“Shirley Temple for me please,” I shout after her.
She holds up her hand, as she trots off to the bar.
It’s early evening and there’s a choice of booths at the top end. I steer
through
the drinkers stood around and march over the checkered floor tiles to a spare
booth. Stepping up into it, I shuffle along the padded seat, move the last
occupants’ dirty glasses to the edge of the table, and glance around the room at
the other patrons.
Bored with people-watching, I pick out my phone and scroll through social
media, before having an idea to look up Isaac. There’s nothing. He didn’t have a
profile before he was imprisoned and hasn’t felt the need to set anything up
since. The only imprint I find is a promo for the fight at the San Diego Arena.
I’m lost in the world of his strength and masculinity when Jazz plonks down an
ice bucket along with a bottle of white wine, two glasses, and my cherry-topped
cocktail.
“I brought a second glass, in case you change your mind.” She slides into the
booth next to me. “What are you looking at?“
I pause for a second before showing her the image.
She glances at the phone. “Hot damn.” Then steadies the base of one of the
stemmed wine glasses and starts to fill it. “You sure you don’t want wine? I got
two glasses?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Why are you ogling over MMA fighters, anyway?” She stops pouring wine
and cocks a brow.
“It’s Isaac.” Boring my eyes into her, waiting for a reaction.
Her shoulders shake with amusement and she resumes pouring the wine. Then
suddenly she stops mid-laugh, places the bottle in the bucket and fixes her stare
on me.
“You serious? Isaac?” Her mouth remaining open as if she’s lost the ability to
control it.
With a straight face, I nod. She grabs the phone from me, pinches her finger
and thumb on the screen and shakes her head at the same time. “No. Way.”
“Yes. Way.”
In my peripheral vision I spot Elliot strutting towards us so I grab the phone
back.
“Hey Chicas.” He slides in next to me. “You all good for drinks here?”
“Yes, but you can share this wine if you like. Cate here’s got a UTI.”
Elliot’s chuckle starts off low in his throat but when Jaz joins in, it becomes
an
uncontrollable giggle.
“Okay, okay guys. It’s not funny.”
Elliot takes one look at the stack of dirty glasses at the edge of the table and
stands, picks them up in a skilled manner and walks off toward the bar with
them. I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist tidying. It’s what he does every time
he comes around to my house. And it gives me an extra few seconds alone with
Jaz.
 Quickly, I grab the opportunity. “Yes, it’s Isaac.”
“Jeez. I’ll have to ask Papa if he knows him.”
I gulp. “Shit. I’d forgotten your dad is a trainer. No, please don’t mention it
to
him. Isaac doesn’t want anyone to know he’s back.”
“What about Elliot? I seem to remember you telling me he is your source of
information on Isaac.”
“Yeah but he’s not too happy about it.”
At that very moment Elliot rejoins us and, sharp as ever, asks, “Who’s not
happy?”
“Isaac,” Jaz answers for me. “Did you know he’s back?”
There’s no chance of this conversation stopping now.
Elliot’s expression hardens. “No.”
Jaz huffs at his lie.
He shakes his head at me, while Jaz focusses on pouring wine into the second
glass.
“You know he is, and of all things an MMA fighter.” She laughs.
“Is he?” Elliot hisses out to me.
“Go on, Cate, show him the photo.”
“No, it’s fine. Elliot’s not interested in looking at men’s bodies.” I deadpan.
Hoping to lighten the mood between Elliot and me. But it doesn’t work his
mouth twitching with annoyance.
“Anyway guys. Let’s forget that loser,” I change the subject. “I’ve exciting
news.” I clap my hands together in a not-me fashion.
Jaz turns to me, all ears. Probably wondering how I can upstage the revelation
of Isaac being back. Elliot tries very hard to remove the black look from his face.
“Hope and I are going to Disney next week.”
“Oh, wow!” Jaz says.
“Yep. So, she finishes school on Monday and then we’ve got a day packing
and what not Tuesday, driving there late Wednesday morning.”
“Oh my, I bet she’s super excited.”
“I’ve not told her yet. She’ll be uncontrollable. I can’t let on until Wednesday
morning.”
“So cool.” Jaz slurps on her wine. “Why’s she at school on Monday? I thought
they finished today?”
“Yeah, but Hope’s booked in for summer school. I’m taking her out for a few
days, which they’re fine with.”
“Ah.”
“You booked the holiday with work?” Elliot asks, his lips barely leaving his
teeth.
 “I’ve cleared it with Tessa. Yes. So sorry hun, you’ll have to cope without
me.”
I think my news finishes Elliot off. He’s gone into a complete hissy and I
decide not to press him on it for fear of a showdown. I know how much he
wanted to go to Disney, and I suppose it’s callous of me to go on, but part of
tonight was for me to let them know I wouldn’t be around for a few days. Telling
Jaz about Isaac was my need for advice, which I’m obviously not going to get
while Elliot is around.
After another round of drinks, I decide it’s as much as I can bear.
“Right, I’m going now.” I stand, my phone in my hand ready to call a cab if
there’s not one out on the streets.
Jaz giggles. “Enjoy. I bet Nate’s trying extra hard now he knows your ex is
back on the scene.”
I clear my throat. “Yeah. Something like that.”
Shit, this evening didn’t go as I planned.
Jaz comes with me to the door and I take hold of both of her hands, almost
squashing her cigarette in the process. “I’ll tell you more about Isaac, but for
now, please don’t say anything to anyone. It’s hush-hush at the moment.”
“Okay. I’ll be at the salon tomorrow, so pop by if you get a chance.”
“I’ll try, and it’s best not to discuss it with Elliot either, he is kinda pissy
about
him too.”

It takes more time than I need it to, to get home and pick up my car to drive to
Isaac’s. Every signal on red. Every crosswalk full. I’m desperate to speak to him
and to make sense of everything building in my head since we last met.
I roll the car into the usual entrance and enter on the rooftop, for what will
be
our last time together before we leave for our new life.
Isaac’s mood is more serious. And although I wouldn’t describe him as being
nervous, I feel the waves of tense energy as he paces the room, and it makes me
uneasy.
“Are you sure we need to go through with this, Isaac?” I grab hold of his hand
as he passes me again, while I sit on a stool at his kitchen island, sipping on a
glass of white wine.
“Yes,” his answer clipped.
“I’m sure between us, we could come up with another way. If you tell me
what you have planned or what you need to achieve.”
 He chuckles, sarcastically. “No. This is the only way. I need you to trust me on
this. I will tell you everything once we’re out of danger.”
“Are you sure everything’s all right? You seem tense.”
For a few seconds, which isn’t a great length of time but longer than feels
comfortable, he looks at me. Then his face softens. “It’s okay. I’m sorry, I’m
thinking about the fight.” He lifts me off the stool and onto the island, so my
eyes are in line with his.
“I’m sorry Isaac. I should have realized you’d be focused on that.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’ve planned this for a long time. And so far, everything’s
where it needs to be.”
I rest my forehead against his, to show him support. “So, what’s the plan
then?”
“I’ll be out of touch tomorrow and Sunday. You go to work and Hope goes to
school on Monday and we’ll meet at five at the parking lot in Granville. Where
the carnival was.”
Suddenly, I remember. “Hope has a dentist appointment Tuesday afternoon.”
“Perfect. Don’t change it but she won’t be going. You can cancel it on
Tuesday once we’re well away from here.”
“And I’ve said I’m contactable on Tuesday if my work colleagues need me.
They know I’m not going to Disney until Wednesday.”
“Don’t worry, they’ll be able to call you.” He moves away to look into the
refrigerator. Shutting the door without selecting anything.
I hop off the island and walk over to the sofa, snagging my wine on the way.
“And I’m sure Mom will want to keep in touch, but I must text her and she
won’t be able to speak to Hope.” I sigh. “I can’t see how this will work, Isaac.”
“It will. It has to.” He sits next to me and rests his arm around my shoulder.
“Put more appointments in for you and her in the coming weeks. It’ll help with
everyone thinking there’s nothing amiss.”
“But won’t it make it worse, when we don’t show to these appointments?”
“No Cate.” He removes his arm from around my shoulder and, with an earnest
face, tells me, “This is about the next few days and there will be a very short
window during which we can escape. Too early or too late and it’s over. We have
to make it look as if we’re not going anywhere.”
“Why do you keep saying we? Do people know about me and you?”
“No, but they will as soon as I disappear. They will make sure they know
everything about me then.”
“And when will I be able to tell my parents and everyone else exactly what’s
happened?”
“We’ll have it fixed before you’re due back. By then we’ll have our new life
set.”
Doubt is a curious state of mind. With a smattering of knowledge, it breeds to
the point where there’s nothing able to take it away. And doubt about this
situation rattles around my head.
Jaz’s reaction wasn’t what I expected and Elliot’s arrival curtailed any
probing. It was as if she wasn’t taking it seriously. And it leads me to worry I
shouldn’t either. Did she believe I was over him? Because if she’d have asked, I
would have said, no, isn’t it obvious?
“You okay?” he asks innocently.
“Yes.” I plump my chest and straighten my back. “So, do you want to see the
house I’ve chosen and the area it’s in?”
“Sure. As long as you’re happy then I am too.”
I tuck my legs under my backside and pull up the email from the real-estate
agent so I can show him the photos. I’ve not gone anywhere near the budget he
said we could afford.
“Yes, looks nice,” he says, handing me back my phone.
He’s focused on the fight. The next few days. Keeping us safe. I shouldn’t be
concerned he’s not interested in a house we might never see, if he doesn’t keep
his focus.
I put my phone on the table. “Okay so we’ll meet at five on Monday?”
“Yes, we’ll get lost in the commuter traffic if anyone follows us.”
“Do you think they will?”
“No. But I’m not taking any chances. Oh, and we’ll take your car. Nobody
knows about it.”
“Okay.” I think how little space my trunk holds for clothes and toys. “Will we
be able to pick up our stuff another time?”
“I’ll find a way,” he says, not very convincingly.
“What if it goes wrong, Isaac?”
“It won’t.”
“I’m scared.”
Then he looks me up and down. “Have you ever done any martial arts or self-
defense?”
“Eh… no,” I splutter, my eyes bugging out of my head.
“Okay. I’ll teach you a few basic moves. Nothing fancy. But…”
My mouth lingers open, dry breaths heaving over my quivering lips. “I’m not
sure I’m feeling confident about this.”
“If I’m with you, no-one will come near.” He burrows a hand into my hair and
pulls me to his lips. “This is as a back-up. Over the next few days I can’t be
anywhere near you. I’ll have people watching, but I’ve got to be focused on the
fight and the aftermath. And the people involved in it all.”
“Okay,” I utter with a cracked voice. “I wish you could tell me more. It seems
so bad.”
“It will be. But it’s still better you know nothing.”
“And what if it goes wrong?”
For a moment he deliberates. “If I don’t show, go anyway. I will put money
into your bank account.”
“How do you know my account details?”
“I just do. Check on Monday there’s a deposit and if I’m not there as planned,
go anyway. Someone will get in touch with you to let you know what’s going
on.”
“Who?”
“Someone you know.” He lifts my chin so I see the seriousness in his eyes
when he says. “And this is important Cate. Do not go anywhere with anyone you
don’t know and trust. Okay? Even if they say I need your help or they’re taking
you to me.”
I nod. My bottom lip trembling at the thought.
He pulls me to my feet. “But for now, I can at least show you how to protect
yourself if you need to.”
I giggle nervously and he taps my feet apart with his. “Stance is important.
Maintain your balance at all times. And focus on your opponent’s weak spots.”
He shows me where they are and what I should use to hit them with. Elbows,
knees. Parts of my anatomy which are not feminine and fragile.
“And if Hope’s with you.” He gulps. “Show no remorse. Don’t run until
you’re sure you can do no more damage. And remember, they will harm you if
you agree to go anywhere with them. And probably Hope.”
My whole body is instantly heavy with foreboding. I slump back on the sofa.
“Okay, so tomorrow I’ll pick Hope up from my parents and then we’ll go for
pizza. Sunday, I’ll take her to the park. Monday work.”
He chews on his lip considering my suggestions. “Okay, but be careful. I’ll
make sure someone watches over you.”
It feels as if I might burst into tears at how out of my comfort zone this is.
“You won’t have anything to worry on and it will go as planned. But know
this, if it doesn’t…” He rests his forehead against mine. “I love you both.”

Once again, I don’t think Isaac slept last night and my sleep was fitful. I left
soon after he did. The fight is tonight and my gut is all kinds of twisted. For him
and for me.
I pick Hope up from Mom’s and fortunately she doesn’t mention Isaac, so I
guess Hope said nothing to her. She gives me a hug before I leave and whispers,
“Enjoy Disney. Wish we could come too.”
“Next time,” I tell her and rush off before the misting of my eyes turns into
full on tears.
 24

Isaac

Carlos is on edge. It’s Saturday night and time for the fight of my life. And
his. I watch him pace the ten meter by ten meter dressing room. The stench of
sweat from the last fighter’s defeat hangs ominously in the air.
Sitting on the masseuse bed, my legs dangle while Joe ties the laces of my
calf-length boots. The tape around my hand feels too tight but then it’s a good
thing if it makes me numb to the blows I will relentlessly deliver.
“Are you done yet?” Carlos snaps out, his venom directed at my trainer.
I don’t react although I should. If I’m not equipped correctly, tonight will not
go as planned and if it doesn’t go as planned then we’re fucked.
Joe flicks his gaze up to Carlos before remembering his place, mumbling,
“Sorry boss.”
I close my eyes, psyching myself for this most important fight. Although I
can’t anticipate the moves my opponent will make, I need to believe he will react
in the way I’ve played out in my head.
Eventually, Joe pushes off his knees and steps back, studying me from head to
toe to make sure the preparations are complete. With a slight nod of my head, he
retreats from the room and Carlos immediately leaps into my view.
“You got this Raul?”
He circles on the spot like a crazy dog chasing its tail. I can imagine how fast
his heart is beating right now. It must be off the scale.
A thought smolders inside of me, of him laid in the back of an ambulance
hooked to an ECG machine. No, wrong. It’s not what will happen. He has a
destiny which must play out in the way I’ve agreed to.
“Just so we’re clear. And no sparks of bravado pop off in that little brain of
yours.” With two fingers he motions to his skull, pumping them at the side of his
head.
And, for a moment, I’m glad it’s his head he’s tapping in such a
condescending manner. If he was a true boss, a true jefe, instead of a wannabe
gangster shitting on more powerful men’s territories, then it would be my head
he would be nudging.
But it’s where this would end, because I’d rip his fingers from his hand.
 And Carlos is not stupid. Coked up maybe. But definitely not stupid.
Our little tête-à-tête is interrupted by a knock at the door. And it opens to a
tall
fedora-topped man. His cool, oversized-suit, and loose, white shirt—open one
button more than is fashionable—gives him an air of confidence but of a time
long gone.
This is where I see Carlos bend at the waist, get a boner, and lose his mind.
All at the same time. I swear if the guy dropped his beige linen pants, Carlos
would suck on those Mexican balls without question.
“Señor Ramirez, come in, meet our prize fighter. Raul.”
The fedora tips with flair and respect. Toward me.
I slip off the bench and shake his hand. Out of the corner of my eye I notice
Carlos ready to jump in. I don’t know what he thinks I will do to the guy or what
he would do about it, anyway.
“Good, good. Want a drink?” Carlos takes hold of Ramirez’s elbow and gently
steers him back toward the door.
He glances over his shoulder at me and waggles his Cuban cigar.
“Remember.” He taps his head again.
Cocksucker.
A few seconds later, Joe re-enters with an energy drink and a jar of grease. I
take a careful sip on the plastic bottle while he greases my eyebrows and
cheekbones.
“Ready?” he asks, without looking into my eyes. He holds out my silk robe,
printed with my fighting name. I take it from him, slide it over my gloves and
pull the hood up so the front hangs loose, leaving a hint of the muscles and
tattoos my opponent is about to trifle with.
“Born ready,” I reply.
My two bodyguards stand opposite the door and file in at either side of me as I
walk through the tunnel. We wait out of sight of the crowd and when the music
pumps we stride in unison toward the cage.
I push back my shoulders and expand my chest. The crowd goes crazy,
banging the sides of the tunnel like warriors would with shields.
The referee opens the door for me to climb into the cage. It’s as if the cage
mesh is soundproofed because all I can hear now is the faltering breath of my
opponent.
Good. It’s how I like my adversaries—shit scared to begin with.
The trainer takes off my robe and with a waggle, I loosen my neck and
shoulders. Squatting, I kiss the floor and stretch out my arms. My opponent
thinks I’m humble and subservient, and when I take my eyes off the mat, I see
he’s taken the bait; a wry smirk on his lips at odds with the faltering fear in his
eyes.
He’s confused now. And it’s exactly what I want him to be.
Calmly, I pace to my corner. Casually entering the combat when the marker is
sounded.
The first two rounds play out exactly as expected. Everyone ecstatic the fight
is going the way everyone’s puppets need it to.
Carlos even jumps on to his seat at the end of the round to call out my name.
His actions amplified by Ulyana next to him, who looks decidedly bored. I brave
a glance to the cool-looking Señor Ramirez who remains motionless, several
seats away.
But it’s in round three when I start to enjoy the fight. Stomping on my
opponent’s finger. He knows I’ve heard them crack but with gritty determination
he carries on as if nothing has happened. Maybe he’s in on the betting fall too?
It hadn’t escaped my thoughts. This whole setup is as corrupt as they get. And,
like a game of chess, it’s about who out-masters who.
But before I can let anybody do any more thinking, I jab out my elbow, the
spider’s web hitting him exactly where I know he will now see stars. His eyes
roll into his head and his knees visibly wobble. I walk off without looking back,
hearing his skull rattle against the floor.
I latch onto Señor Ramirez and his mouth ticks up at the corner.
The referee counts my opponent out and his entourage rushes to the cage to
rescue him. My trainer must have been listening in on the discussions between
me and Carlos, because he looks as frightened as hell. He edges into the ring and
wraps a towel around my neck before scooting off into the corner.
I wipe away the sweat on my forehead and toss the towel to the floor. My
bodyguards rush to the ring and, as is customary, haul me onto their shoulders. I
cry out my trademark roar. It’s only at this point I look down on Carlos. His
mouth agape, his cigar smoldering away in his hand. Then, he realizes his
reaction isn’t natural, so he claps and cheers with false joy.
He drags Ulyana to her feet and she slow claps alongside him.
Carlos thinks he’s lost everything. Although it’s not what will scare him right
now. It won’t be what he’s lost which scares him. It will be what he’s gained.
Enemies. Gamblers who put big money on his tip-off. His sure bet. Gamblers
with ties. And guns. And people who will fire those guns.
I smile inside when he looks across at Señor Ramirez. Carlos’s mouth
twitching with fear.
When I get to the dressing room, Carlos is already there. As I expected him to
be.
He spins around when I walk through the door. Launching towards me. I
sidestep his assault.
“What the fuck?” he hisses, dragging his short fingers through his greasy
black hair. “What the fuck did you do that for?”
Before I need to answer, the door opens again and Señor Ramirez stands in the
doorway.
Carlos is about to drop to his knees, kiss his feet and beg for mercy.
But Ramirez ignores him and strides straight to me and pats me on the back,
before turning to Carlos.
“Thank you,” he says to the gob-smacked Carlos. “You surpassed yourself this
time, hombre.”
The range of emotions which pass across Carlos’s face is comical. It’s
dawning on him, what I did out there was a massive favor.
“It’s what makes this game so fucking brilliant,” Ramirez explains.
Carlos avoids answering, instead, sparking his lighter against his cigar and
waiting for more of an explanation.
Carrying on, Ramirez says, “the double bluff is always the most rewarding.
I’ve made twice as much tonight as our original deal. And so did you my
friend.”
Carlos feigns a smile, although I can tell he’s seething underneath.
He wants to like that Señor Ramirez is thanking him, and he wants to like that
he’s made more money than he expected, but what he doesn’t like—it wasn’t
within his control.
And it’s clear in his eyes when he next flicks them across to me.
I hope it will be short-lived. Like him.
“You’ll get your money tomorrow, Carlos. Oh, and think of the odds you’ll get
next time.“ With one last hearty pat on the back, he leaves Carlos and me alone.
Carlos waits until the footsteps outside fade. “Raul?”
“You know I’ve always got your back.” His eyes pierce into mine, I ignore
them and nonchalantly unwind the tape on my hands. “This way everyone is
happy. Ramirez was going to double-cross you, anyway.”
“How?” His head slowly cocking on to one side, the weight of the revelation
making him engage every brain cell he possesses. “How, hermano?”
“The other guy was going to tap out in round four.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it was the bet Señor Ramirez was going to make. I heard about it
from Chico and persuaded Ramirez to go with my suggestion instead. This way,
everybody was left guessing: the bookies, the organizers, even the opponent was
surprised.”
“So why didn’t Chico come to me?”
 “Because if he had, you’d have known. To work, this had to be a surprise to
everyone.”
Carlos considers me for a second, then leaps over and gives me a resounding
clap on the face with both hands.
“You’re a fucking genius, hermano.” He kisses me on the lips. “But never do
it again.”
“That was definitely the last time.”
He sucks on his cigar for a few puffs while I untie my boots and slip out of my
shorts.
“You’re a dark horse, Raul,” he shouts after me as I head for a shower.
“Maybe it should be your new fighter name. Raul the horse.”
I laugh at his unfunny humor, and turn on the shower. It’s then when I allow
my legs to shake with how close I came.
When I get out of the shower, he’s sat on his own on a bench which isn’t a
good sign. Carlos on his own means Carlos with his thoughts and that’s a
dangerous place to be.
“So, it’s time to party, Raul?” It’s not a question, even though he couches it
that way. There’s only one time in this life to go against Carlos’s direct orders
and I’ve already used that.
“Sure.”
“It must have killed you passing up on the booty these last couple of weeks.”
“The fight was important. Success is in the preparation you know?”
He laughs. “Good, well now the fight is over, it will be pussy on tap.”
I’m not looking forward to that.
The last two weeks with Cate mean I’ve not given the whores a second
thought and I can’t cheat on her. Not now.
If I could, I’d make my move now before the dust has a chance to settle.
The next couple of days waiting for Chico and Ramirez to finish what they’ve
started will crucify me.
 25

Isaac

I was physically sick on Saturday night. Although I side-stepped anything

compromising, it still clawed away at me I was having to spend a single minute
in Carlos’s company. And not be with Cate.
Although he bitched about Ramirez to me, I know he doesn’t have the balls to
do anything about it. He doesn’t know Ramirez is the jefe whose territory he
robbed. Nor that Ramirez was in prison with me.
Carlos has learnt nothing from his first failed drug haul seven years ago. Or
certainly the most important lesson. Know everyone. Learn everything you can
about the players, large and small. Significant and inconsequential. Carlos’s ego
is too big for any of that. He thinks he should act the person he wants to be.
Above everyone else and above reproach. He knew nothing about the land he
claims is his heritage. Never did and never will.
He celebrated hard. And as soon as he passed out in the club, I sneaked home.
Sunday was a recovery day for me, spent at home on my own. It was the
longest day of my life, waiting on confirmation from Chico the fallout from the
bets is ricocheting around town. Carlos will feel the squeeze soon.
And today, I have to make out there’s nothing wrong. So it means I’ve
completed a run on legs which wanted to sprint in the opposite direction and I’m
now punishing myself at the gym.
“Carlos wants to see you.” I look up from my weights to Joe. “He’s in his
office.” He scurries away before I’m able to ask why.
After completing my reps, I grab my towel and water, carrying them with me
along the corridor and up the stairs to Carlos’s office.
He doesn’t do business from here and I’ve no idea why he’s asked to see me
instead of coming to the gym floor. But then that’s Carlos for you. Likes to keep
everyone on their toes.
I try not to read too much into it as I bound up the stairs two at a time,
flinging
the towel over my shoulder.
The door is ajar and I push on it, realizing as I do, the groans and grunts will
lead to a vision I won’t be able to unsee.
Ulyana’s sister, Zoya, tilts her head, as much as she can with a belt looped
around her neck, and glances over her shoulder at me. She smirks before the next
yank of the belt pulls her back onto Carlos’s thrusts. The wheels of the chair
she’s knelt on squeak as they move back and forth against the friction of the
carpeted floor.
I turn and click shut the door.
Fucker. He wanted to me to see that.
And I bet her pussy clenched around his cock when she saw me.
“Raul,” he bellows after me.
“Catch you later,” I shout back, tripping on down the stairs.
I need to react normally, not in a way which would make him suspect there’s
something wrong. Going home now would only lead to him visiting me there,
when I’m about to leave for good.
I carry on with my weight routine until I can pump no more. It’s not possible
to further sculpt my physique, but it still takes effort to keep it in shape.
It’s mid-afternoon now and most have left for the day to their jobs and lives.
My intention is to shower and change, go back to my apartment for my usual
sleep then meet with Cate in Granville. But Carlos is in the changing room,
circling the wooden-slatted bench while he talks into a cell held in front of his
mouth. He wants the person on the other end to shut up and listen as he’s got no
intention of hearing what they have to say.
I acknowledge him with a nod, I’ve no desire to eavesdrop, in fact quite the
opposite. He winks at me, a gesture loaded with meaning.
Leaving him to it, I grab two protein drinks from the refrigerator in the
kitchen. Draining one straightaway, I cast the empty plastic into a nearby
trashcan and repeatedly toss the full one as I make my way to the stretching
mats.
Juan enters the gym to work out. Heading over, he tells me discreetly, the last
piece of the jigsaw is in place and shit will now heat up. Ramirez has given the
nod for me to leave San Diego.
I pop in my earbuds and lay on a mat, hugging one bent leg into my chest and
then the other. I’m going to take five minutes, finish my routine and then get out
of this shithole for the last time ever.
“Do you fancy a bout?” Carlos has snuck up on me, lent over my face and
removed one of my earbuds. He punches the air between us.
I politely laugh. “You’re joking, right?” It’s not unusual for us to spar in the
ring; but right now?
“I’m serious, hermano.” He looks away briefly and then, with a less than
pleasant expression, fixes his stare back at me. “Why, you got somewhere else
you want to be?”
 Sirens go off in my head. It may be paranoia or it may be Carlos being Carlos.
Either way, I must play this cool. I’m supposed to be meeting Cate this afternoon
and I don’t need a tail from one of Carlos’s men.
“No. I’m done for today and going home for my regular sleep.” I realize I’m
explaining myself too much.
“It won’t take long. Still time for you to get your beauty sleep before the
club.” He throws a pair of training gloves at me from out of a box at the side of
the ring. “I’ve pent up energy today for some reason.”
“Yeah, about that.” I point upstairs. “Did you want to see me on something?” I
push away the image of him sticking his dick into Zoya.
“Probably. But whatever it is, has gone right out of my mind.” He chuckles.
“So, we’re actually doing this?”
“Yeah why not?” He hops from foot to foot, punching the air between us.
I inwardly sigh. “Do you want a gum shield?”
“Will I need one?”
“Always.” I deadpan.
For a moment, I think I glimpse worry in his eyes but then, maybe not. Carlos
is on the wrong side of insane and it gives him a ruthless edge. And in my seven
years in the Mexican jail I think I’ve seen a full spectrum of hard men. So many
men with nothing to lose and every crazy-ass reason to try. Carlos is up there on
that scale.
He leaps over the top rope, as is his fashion. He is wiry with not an inch of
fat
on him. His olive skin marred with rudimentary tattoos, mostly etched onto his
skin before puberty. Such was his destiny. Whereas mine are more detailed and
cover most of my body, depicting incidents which have shaped me both good
and bad. His tells only one story—his one goal in life. To be the head of this joke
of a crew and rule it with a hard-hearted stranglehold.
Juan looks over at us, a flash of concern darts across his face and he settles
onto a pec-deck with a full view of the ring. Two other trainers leave for the
changing rooms. I guess it’s gonna be hard watching this for some. A misplaced
smirk could see their life change.
I slip between the ropes and for the first few minutes Carlos circles the ring,
leaping from one foot to the other in a display of cockiness. I smoothly pivot on
the spot keeping him in front of me at all times. My arms are elevated from my
side and I’m ready for him to pounce, which eventually he will.
“That was Pedro on the phone earlier,” he tells me.
I jerk my chin to him in a non-comital fashion.
“He’s dealing with the fallout from Saturday night.”
I shrug my shoulders as I continue to circle. “Nothing he can’t handle, I
shouldn’t imagine.”
“Yeah that’s right. Pedro will fix it.”
Then, with lightning speed, he makes his attack and even though I see it
coming, he still latches onto my upper arms. He tries to swipe my legs from
underneath me but unlike him, I don’t miss out on leg day. Like a tree rooted to
the ground I’m immovable. I take advantage of his imbalance and push him
over. We roll to the floor, writhing around until I have the upper hand.
He’s not going to injure me and I have to show the same restraint. Because as
much as I want to and will if I have to, I won’t snap his neck. It will be down to
one of the losers from the betting.
Carlos never knew who eventually bet on his recommendation, but those who
did will see it as his fault. Especially when it comes to light, as it’s starting
to, he
won from the last-minute switch in result. Chico will make sure the right
information gets into the right hands. That way Chico and Ramirez stay clean,
while Carlos takes the fall. Just like he did to me all those years ago.
Like the snake he is, Carlos slips from underneath me and jumps on my back,
hooking his elbow around my windpipe. For a moment he thinks he has me but it
doesn’t take much to flip him over my head, where he lands square on his back
on the mat. I resist the urge to jump flat on top of him, making do by resting my
body weight progressively onto his chest. With the air squeezed out of him it
doesn’t take the cigar smoker long to tap on the floor.
“I’m out,” he gasps.
I jump to my feet and offer out a hand. He pulls on it laughing at the
situation.
Although I’m sure if anyone else joined in his laughter, it wouldn’t be funny for
very long.
“We should do it more often,” he jokes.
I don’t respond.
“So, you coming to the club tonight?” he asks “Or have you got other plans?”
I roll my lips.
He throws his gloves straight passed my ear towards the storage box. “Maybe
to hook up with some girl I’ve never seen before?”
Not expecting an answer he carries on, shaking his arms and shoulders as if to
loosen up. “Actually, I’m beat. You’ve seriously taken it out of me, hermano.”
There’s a brief mask of seriousness on his face followed by a hearty chortle.
But that’s Carlos for you. Nobody ever knows if he’s joking or not and which
way to take him. Although if anyone ever asked my advice, I would tell them
straight. Dead serious.
“I think I’ll pass on the club—spend the night at home with my beautiful
girlfriend.”
 My stomach churns in disgust.
“Only joking.” He laughs, “I’ll see you at the club later. The guys will pick
you up.”
 26

Cate

I take several deep breaths to calm my nerves as I skip up the stairs to the
school entrance.
Nothing unusual, it’s what Isaac made me repeat when I last saw him on
Friday night. Nothing out of the ordinary and although I could hardly
concentrate at work today, Elliot stepped up to the mark and took on more than I
expected. I hope he gets the promotion he deserves when they fill my position.
As I reach the top step, I see someone out the corner of my eye heading
toward me and, although I keep my focus, there’s something about the
movement of this person which makes me paranoid.
Three more steps before I reach the security console which will give me
access into the school.
My heart beats out of my chest and my mouth becomes alarmingly dry.
One more step.
I reach in my purse for the security tag given to parents, but it’s not in the
pocket I usually keep it. Panic rises from deep within my stomach. I lower my
wrist, so a strap sags open in the cavernous purse. Frantically, I scrabble for the
orange lanyard they attach the security tags to; pushing through the myriad of
useless articles which litter my purse. I’m about to turf everything out onto the
floor when something touches my elbow. Or someone.
My legs turn to Jell-O and I’d scream, if I could, but my mouth is so parched
no sound materializes.
All I can do, is suck in a sharp breath before I turn to look with no implements
or weapon other than my feet and fists. I try to remember the moves Isaac
showed me and I’m about to stomp on the person’s foot when a glimpse of
orange catches my attention.
“Here, ma’am, you dropped this outside of your car.”
I lift a hand to calm my heaving chest and muster a smile. With the key fob
now firmly in my hand, I swipe the console.
All is quiet and cool inside the school except for the clicking of my heels,
which grow faster as I hasten my pace to the reception window.
The administration staff in the office chatter away and normally I would wait
until they look up. But for obvious reasons I’m in a hurry today and don’t want
to waste any time. I press lightly on the top of a brass desk bell.
A receptionist, Josie, comes to the desk.
“Cate. Everything okay?”
“I’m here to pick Hope up.”
She nods, the smile on her face turning into a frown. “Dentist. She’s gone to
the dentist,” she says.
For a moment I maintain my smile while I decipher what she said.
“Is it her teacher you’re here to see?”
“No… What do you mean? Her dentist appointment is tomorrow.” The
anxiety rising in my voice.
Isaac and I planned meticulously by putting three appointments in the next
few weeks for her. Everything as usual. All planned as if we will be here
tomorrow and back in town after Disney.
“It was in the diary Cate, you put it in yourself.”
I could have sworn I double checked it and it was for Tuesday.
Tears cloud my eyes and my voice cracks when I ask “Who?” It’s the only
word I’m able to utter.
For a moment the receptionist looks at me blankly then she realizes what I
mean, she says with a smile, “Hope’s grandmother. We called her when you
didn’t show. We don’t let the kids go with anyone. Only those who parents have
approved. We tried to call you.”
I gasp twice, the tears flow down my face. “Okay, thank you.” I want to reach
across the counter to kiss her.
As I turn and reach into my purse once more, she calls after me, “Oh and have
a good time at Disney.” I wave my hand at her before diving it into my purse for
my phone.
“Call Mom. Message Isaac.” I mumble to myself. No, I can’t message Isaac.
He said he’d leave his cell at the gym which would give us extra time if they try
to track him down. I can’t leave a message for him on it.
I can’t find my phone, then I remember—it’s connected in the center console
of the car. I run the last few yards of the hallway way and punch the exit button
with the side of my fist. Bouncing on my toes, waiting for the excruciating
slowness of the automatic door mechanism to whirr into action. Finally, it opens
and I scurry down the stone steps to the car.
My mind is a whirlwind of abstract thoughts. Why has Mom picked Hope up?
Why didn’t the school call me?
I’m confused by this until I beep open the car and pick up my phone—there’s
no service to my cell.
 What’s going on? I pay the bill every month, there’s never been an issue? I
power the phone off, unable to wait until it’s up and running, and speed off
toward the dentist. Maybe the service will reconnect when the phone re-boots.
I regulate my breathing and slow my speed to the legal limit. The last thing I
need is to be pulled over.
Two blocks have whizzed by, before my phone powers up again. I press my
thumb on the screen and make repetitive glances towards it but there’s still no
service. I feel like the universe is against me right now.
I slow the car when I reach the dentist and scour the parking lot for Mom and
Dad’s car. Although I can’t see it, it doesn’t mean they aren’t here.
Dumping the car on the street, in a spot which may earn me a ticket but
hopefully not a towaway, I run into the building.
The reception room is heaving, as ever low-cost dentists are hard to find, and I
elbow my way with profuse apologies to the front of the line.
“Sorry. I’m so sorry. Has my daughter been here today? Hope. Hope Carter,” I
fire out at the receptionist.
She looks at me blankly for what is a ridiculous amount of time, then finally
consults the appointment screen. “No, she’s booked in tomorrow at three.”
I take a deep breath to stop me from reaching over and taking hold of her
thorax. “Yes, but has she been in today?”
The other receptionist casts her eyes at the screen and takes over the inquiry.
“Yes, she came in earlier but went when we advised it was the wrong day.”
“Okay. Thank you,” I shout as I stumble through the waiting room and onto
the sidewalk.
I haven’t got time for this shit, Isaac will have left the gym and will expect
to
meet me at our designated place. If I’m not there, he’ll panic. I don’t know how
to make up time.
I power up the phone. One bar of signal strength appears at the top and then it
lights with messages from Mom telling me she’s taken Hope home, ready to pick
up whenever I’m ready.
Against Isaac’s instructions, I call him, biting my fingernails waiting for him
to pick up and hoping he hasn’t left the gym, and his phone, already.
 27

Isaac

My heart thumps against my rib cage as I climb in my car. With eyes fixed on
my rearview mirror, as I pull off, I try to keep calm. Carlos kept me at the gym
longer than I intended to stay and it makes me suspicious. Cate calling me as I
was about to dump my phone in an unused locker makes me crazy.
I un-mute the phone.
“Isaac.” Cate’s voice frantic. “What happened?”
“I was still at the gym. I’m in the car now.”
“I’m going to be late. Hope wasn’t at school, Mom’s taken her to her place.
I’ve got to go across town now to pick her up.”
Shit. Everything about today is screaming like an air-raid siren; get the fuck
out of Dodge.
“Okay don’t worry I’m leaving now. I’ll meet you at your Mom’s,” I say
calmly.
Shit. I look at the phone. I’ll ditch it once we’re safe.
The gym is only ten minutes from Cate’s parent’s home, and I quickly call
Juan on my way there.
“Hey. Shit’s not right around here.”
“I know,” he says, sounding as if he’s walking while talking.
“You need to leave the gym now.”
“Already have. Diego’s bringing the car now.”
“What happened when I left?”
“Carlos came back in shouting orders. He’s told me to pick you up from your
apartment. Take you to the club tonight.”
“Okay. That’s good. He doesn’t know then. We’re setting off early, so don’t
hang around.”
“Yes, boss.”
I cut off the call, taking my foot immediately off the gas, when I round the
corner and see a van parked outside Cate’s parents’ house. It looks out of place.
Shit. Hope’s supposedly in there.
Despite my meticulous planning and my belief Carlos had no brains, it looks
like I screwed up. Okay, he might not have the most diverse vocabulary or any
notion what it’s like to go to school. But he has a strategic mind which picks up
on signs and stashes them away until he can make sense of them. And that’s
what he’s done with me.
Maybe I was too late. I let him get under my skin. If I’d made my departure
straight after the fight, on my own, I might have made it.
Or maybe Cate and Hope should have disappeared first.
Now, I don’t give a shit whether I make this and maybe I never did. But I have
to make sure Cate and Hope do.
I park around the corner, pull on my ball cap and zip my hoodie to mask any
visible tattoos. Then, with hands stuffed in my pockets, I walk with a fast gait to
the back of the block and leap softly over the neighbor’s fence.
Skulking close to the fence, I approach the side of Cate’s parents’ house and
drop to a squat with my back lent against the wall.
I can hear voices inside. Two different men.
Bouncing up, I flick my head so I can peer through the window. Cate’s dad
lies on the floor with a pool of blood around his head.
I sink back down. “Fuck, fuck,” I hiss.
Once again, I poke my head over the window ledge and this time can see
Cate’s Mom slumped in the chair with her hands taped behind her back. One of
Carlos’s henchman, Mario, looks wired to fuck.
This will not go well.
I need to find Hope while these guys are occupied with Cate’s mom and dad.
Making sure she’s safe before I make a move on them.
Scooting around to the front of the house, I scan everywhere before slipping
over the fence and on to the porch. I cup my hand to my face and stare through
the sheers at the window. The TV blares out a kiddy program and Hope sits in
front of it playing with toys. I breathe a sigh of relief.
There’s a small gap in the lower sash, so carefully I push it up, halt when it
squeaks, adjust the line of resistance and push again.
I squeeze my head through the gap.
“Hope,” I whisper across to her.
At first, she doesn’t hear me but I don’t want to draw unwanted attention to
myself or to her. I push on the drapes and a shaft of light streaks onto her face.
She rubs her eyes and then looks directly at me, taking a few seconds to register
I’m a familiar face.
With a finger to my mouth, I whisper, “Shush. Come here.”
I pull back my hand as she comes to the window. She’s about to say
something, when I stuff my hand back through and cover her mouth, carefully
pulling her through the gap.
She wriggles but I hold her tight to my side, running quickly across the road to
my car. I beep it open and put her in the back.
“Hope, we need to go to your mom, okay?”
She nods her head, her lips sucked into her mouth in fright.
“There’s nothing to be scared of, Sweet Pea. You’re safe in here.”
“Okay-y-y,” she sobs.
I push back her hair from her forehead. “You’re all right but I need you to tell
me how many men were in the house?”
She shakes her head with a frightened expression on her face.
“Did you see anybody in there with grandma and grandpa?”
“No,” she whispers, her head drooping.
It’s a relief, but it also means my next move may not be as straightforward as I
would like.
“Hope, I need you to be a big girl for me now.” She raises her head and wipes
her eyes with the back of her hand. “I need you to promise to stay here. I’ll be
real quick.”
“Okay,” she sniffles.
I close the door, deactivate the alarm in the car, and lock it.
Walking around the corner, I’m about to sneak onto the property when I hear
the air blast from a silencer. I’ve not heard the sound many times in my life but
enough to know what it means. I can see figures behind the sheer drape at the
glazed front door. These hitmen don’t take rear exits because all they know is
how to instill fear.
Quickly, I rush back across the street and crouch at the side of the car. Hope
looks across at me through the window and giggles. She thinks I’m playing a
game.
I creep around to the driver’s side and slink in. These guys know this car and I
cross everything wishing they carry on.
As soon as they pull off, I check Hope is still buckled in and push my foot on
the gas, turning the steering wheel with the heel of my palm. I need to take us as
far away as possible from the direction those guys are heading.
I call Cate’s cell, but it’s unable to connect.
“What the hell,” I mumble under my breath, hoping for the best and expecting
the worse.
Calling Juan instead, “Where are you, man?”
“Picking Eduardo up.”
“Okay. We’ve got a situation here. I need you to stay and manage it.”
“What do you need me to do?”
I glance in the rearview mirror and spot Hope staring at me. I take the phone
from the holder and place it to my ear. “I’m gonna call 911 and I need you to
watch what happens. The address is 303 Holder Parade. Tell Diego and Eduardo
I’ll see them tonight.”
“Sure boss.”
“Fuck.” I briefly look in the mirror at Hope’s reaction to my cuss and almost
miss Cate’s car flash by in the opposite direction.
I stamp on the brakes and hurl the car around, the four-wheel-drive traction
powering me off again toward the direction of danger.
Quickly, I call 911, and anonymously report a gunshot and guys making off in
a van.
Throwing the phone onto my seat, I speed up behind Cate’s Porsche.
Shit, I need not have bought her a fast car, like everything in Cate’s life
she’s
mastered it well. And there’s no way she can see her parents, especially if
staying here puts her and Hope in more danger.
I pull up as close to her bumper as I dare, until I see her glance repeatedly in
the rearview mirror. I pull back, expecting her to stomp on the brakes.
 28

Cate

With relief oozing out of every pore, I clamber out of the car and fling my
arms Isaac as he rounds the hood. But there’s something not right, deep in his
eyes.
I don’t ask if everything is okay because I want to believe it is.
He places both hands on my waist and pushes me away. I search his eyes but
can still only see that same expression. I swallow hard on a rising feeling of
dread.
Quickly, I glance through the window to the back seat and a rush of relief
fizzes up. Hope looks bored; sat in the car rocking in her seat, wanting us to go.
“Get in,” a soft edge to his words and not the usual authoritative tone.
“What do you mean? I thought we’re going in my car.”
He shakes his head. “No. It’s not safe.”
That sounds like someone knows. Someone who shouldn’t.
“Isaac?” My bottom lip quivers. “I like this car.”
“Not anymore you don’t.”
I slip into the passenger seat while Isaac strides around to the driver’s side.
“Our bags, they’re in the trunk,” I say, as he ducks his head to lower into the
seat. He goes to retrieve the bags, hitching them into the back of his SUV,
coming back with a cooler bag which he stuffs into his door pocket.
“Drinks for the journey,” he explains.
I turn to face my daughter and ask her, “You excited, Sweet Pea?” I try to
make my voice as light as possible, not wanting to scare her.
“Where are we going Momma?” she asks.
“We’re…” Isaac grabs hold of my knee, squeezing it until it hurts. I stop
talking mid-sentence and turn to him, screwing up my face in a silent question.
He purses his lips and makes small shakes of his head.
“We’re… We’re going somewhere you’ve never been before.” I look at Isaac
for approval and without smiling he nods his head.
“Oh, it sounds awful,” she replies, stopping her rocking as Isaac speeds up the
car and instead, she places a finger on the window as if trying to touch
everything flashing by.
 I shuffle in my seat my head fogged with a slew of thoughts. None of this
makes sense, I know we agreed to keep everything between ourselves but now
we’re finally executing the plan it’s crazy not to tell Hope where we’re going.
A glance in the side mirror and I spot Hope yawning. It’s a good sign; if she
sleeps, I can at least ask Isaac what the hell is going on.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” he eventually says. Hope’s head rocking in
her seat.
“I feel sick, Isaac. I had an awful fright back there. I messed up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I put the dentist appointment in the wrong day.”
He snaps his head across to me. “There’s nothing you can do about it now. We
should be back on plan soon.”
He passes over a bottle of juice from the cooler bag. “Here, drink this. It’s an
electrolyte drink. It’ll help with the shock.”
I sigh a big breath; the tears welling in my eyes about to spill over. Then, I
glug the juice, the bitter aftertaste of sweeteners makes me wince.
He reaches across and gives my hand a big squeeze. “It will be fine. Grab the
blanket from the parcel shelf and have a nap. You’ll feel better after a sleep.”
Despite the urge not to, I recline the back of the seat and let the motion of
the
car and the hum of the tires on the asphalt, lull me to sleep. Knowing Isaac is
here to protect me and Hope is asleep in the back.
Sometime later, my head rocks against the car window and the heat from the
sun wakes me in a sweat. I reach for the back of my neck, and rub out a painful
crick.
Yawning, I ask Isaac. “How far did we get?” Scrabbling at the side for the seat
recline button to bring me upright.
Without looking across at me, he wrings his hands on the steering wheel.
“Almost there.”
I hitch my body around to look through to Hope, who is fast asleep, clutching
Mr Rat. I smile and turn back to the view through the windshield at ruddy-brown
earth marked with an occasional scrub bush and cactus.
“Isaac, where are we?”
I study the scene from the side window and still nothing but desert.
A black SUV rushes by, making our car quiver. It flicks on its hazard lights
and I suck in a frightened breath. Isaac lifts one hand off the steering wheel in a
friendly enough wave and it carries on speeding away from us.
“Isaac?” I ask, trying not to let panic overcome my voice.
“We’re almost there,” he repeats.
“Where?”
 He doesn’t answer, his jaw muscles tensing as he continues to look ahead.
“What time is it?” I ask, trying to make out if the clock on the dash actually
reads eight pm. I can smell the salty notes of the ocean. We must be on the I-5.
Then I look back at the clock. The retro design making my fuzzy brain twitch.
“Did we get stuck in traffic?” I ask. We should be beyond Los Angeles by
now, but we’re obviously not, as the road is so close to the ocean I can glimpse
its turquoise hue now and then.
He shakes his head. Silently.
This is looking uniquely Mexican. But it can’t be so. We must have gone too
far and are heading back south. Or maybe it’s not the coast. Maybe I was
mistaken. It’s a reservoir or river.
“Isaac. Are we in Arizona? We’re supposed to be going to Oregon. It’s cool in
Oregon. I brought sweaters,” I say, stupidly rambling.
“You don’t need sweaters here.”
I snap my head from him back to the ocean. On my right-hand side.
And the sun. Is hovering over the ocean.
The cogs in my mind click into gear.
“Isaac. Where are we going?”
“Home.”
Then suddenly the relevance of the clock design registers and I look around at
my seat, the dash, and the black hood stretching before us. This isn’t the car we
set off in. This isn’t Isaac’s car.
“Isaac?” I ask, not know which specific question to ask first.
Suddenly, he swerves the car off the tarmac onto a pot-riddled track and the
air bumps out of my lungs, preventing me from asking anything else.
The black SUV ahead, is on the same track, kicking up dust. As the track
becomes more stable, I can see through the diminishing dirt-cloud a large set of
metal gates. They’re flanked by a high, red-plastered wall, topped with clay
pantiles.
The gates open and the SUV ambles passed them, with us following closely
behind.
As we speed through, I clock two men dressed in checked shirts and
sombrero’s holding open the gates and when I spin around, I watch them close
us in. Rifles slung on belts around their shoulders.
I want to ask questions, but my heart is pounding so fast and loud, I can’t find
the composure to mouth a single word.
Isaac glances across at me and it’s at that point I comprehend there’s
something wrong. Something has de-railed our plans for a happy ever after.
He drives through a grove of trees, growing out of cracked earth, until my
eyes are drawn to a large ranch which looms before us.
Its low roof extends to either side and at its center a heavy wooden double
door, studded with metal. Small windows with decorative ironwork grills run
along either side. Pots of cherry-red poinsettias positioned in each window
reveal as if to soften the fortifying nature of the ironwork.
With that, the SUV veers off to the left of the ranch and we come to a stop at
the double doors.
I go to unclip my seatbelt, while Isaac steps out of the car, reaching back in
and unbuckling a still sleeping Hope. He waits at the side of the car for me to
catch up with him. And with my sweaty palm in one hand and Hope’s head
resting on his shoulder, he walks through a shaded porch into a courtyard.
I flit my eyes across the row of people stood in the courtyard; from a homely-
looking woman who has her hands clamped to her mouth, to several teenagers
jostling for attention in what looks like their Sunday-best clothes. There are men
with weathered skin and beautiful women with raven colored hair decorated with
bright flowers.
And then there’s Elliot. Stood next to the woman in the center.
My muffled hearing catches Isaac saying, “Mamá.” As he strides toward her
holding my daughter. The woman’s arms stretch out and her grin tears through
my soul.
A queasy feeling rumbles through my stomach. The juice I drank earlier
burning with fright up my throat.
My eyes dart back to Elliot. Why is he here?
His smile quivers in the early evening heat and the chorus from the cicadas
fades away.
 29

Cate

The warm smell of wood is all around me. My head lain on feather soft
pillows, encased in a heavy cream brocade. Several split-tree-trunks hold up the
ceiling and a fan whirrs lazily above my head.
My breathing shallows when I hear Hope giggle from beyond shuttered
windows.
“I’ll get Isaac,” a familiar voice whispers, and footsteps click on a hard floor
towards the door.
“Elliot?” I croak.
He turns, the usual flamboyance gone. “Actually, it’s Eduardo.” His voice
softened with a husky tone.
Battling with the crocheted comforter, cast over my body, I push onto my
elbows and squint at him through the dimness of the shaded room. “But… but
you are… were Elliot, right?”
He pauses with one hand on the door handle. “Yes. I’m sorry, Chica.” His
term of endearment pierces my ribcage as he walks out of the room.
I flop my head back onto the pillows. More questions.
The next footsteps are heavy and ominous.
Digging deep, I fling the throw and swing my legs to the edge of the bed. I’m
meeting him head on this time. No more smooching or holding me into his warm
chest with his hypnotic heartbeat and muscle-bound arms.
However, my body has a different view on it. As soon as I place my weight
onto the floor, my legs give way and with two lengthy strides Isaac catches me
as I collapse toward a cowhide rug.
“Cate.” His voice brimming with concern. “Here.”
Strong arms pull me to the bed and lay me right back where I started. “You’re
in shock. And I bet you didn’t eat yesterday.”
“Yesterday…” I falter. Writhing my head from his gaze, feeling helpless in my
anger.
“Where. Are. We?” I hiss through gritted teeth.
My eyes fix onto a gold-leaf-framed scene of two cowboys amid a herd of
cows.
 “Home,” he says, with an unfathomable simplicity.
“This feels nothing like home to me.”
A gentle hand pushes my hair back off my forehead and curled fingers
carefully nudge my chin his way. “Cate. I’m sorry, this was the only way.”
With a huff, I shake off his comfort. “You need to convince me. Fast.”
A nauseating buzz washes over me and, for a second, I close my eyes and
concentrate on swallowing saliva built up in the corners of my mouth.
“You need to eat first,” he says, his confident steps fading away.
Either some time later or straight away, I’m not sure which, a savory aroma
entices me awake.
My eyelids flutter open and I’m met with the sight of a large, silver, soup-
spoon raising from a bowl. Isaac sits on the bed beside me and helps lift my head
while the woman I saw when we first arrived, ladles cinnabar colored broth into
my mouth. The spicy tomato soup stings my parched lips.
With every refill she opens her mouth, like a mother would when feeding a
child, and after every slurp I take, she smiles. A genuine smile which nurtures
me back to life.
Eventually, I hold up a hand and Isaac lowers my head back onto the pillows.
The woman dabs the corners of my mouth with a starched napkin and bends to
kiss my forehead before retreating silently from the bedroom.
Isaac parts the shutters so rays of bright sunlight filter across the room in
strips. The heavy scent of marigolds fills the air.
“Where’s Hope?”
“She’s with Eduardo and Mamá in the kitchen. They’re making fresh
tortillas.”
A soft chuckle borne from hysteria rattles in my throat.
Eduardo. Mamá. Tortillas.
“What the hell is going on?” My tone exasperated but with no vigor.
He drags a chair from underneath a desk in the corner over to the bed and sits
on it. His chin resting on upward pointing fingers.
“This is my home, where I was born twenty-six years ago. The woman you
met is my mother. Hope’s grandmother.” He removes his fingers and lets the
words sink in.
“And Eduardo?”
“My half-brother.”
I gasp at the leap of understanding my brain tries to comprehend.
The sucking in of more breath than I need, leads me to cough, making my
shoulders heave from the pillows.
Isaac places a steady palm on the nape of my neck and lifts my head so I can
take water from a glass he holds to my lips.
“Slowly.”
As I take small sips, I look into his eyes. The gold specks still hiding behind
clouds of sadness.
When my throat is lubricated, he replaces the glass on the side table and
moves his palm down my arm to my hand, where I let him hold it.
“I found out about my family when I was in jail. Do you remember me telling
you about a guy who took me under his wing? Who I fought for?”
“Probably, I don’t know…”
Despite the soup, water and Isaac’s supportive hand, I still have no energy. My
fighting spirit, which has been with me all my adult life, is absent and Isaac
seems to sense it. He squeezes my hand and leans in close.
“I’m so sorry for putting you through this Cate. It had to be done. This is us
now.”
“Really?” I murmur, my eyelids heavy with exhaustion.
“I have more to tell you, but you need to rest first.” He kisses my forehead.
It takes too much effort to stay awake. I drift off into a half-conscious state.
Hearing people coming and going. Hushed chattering. Cold hands on my
forehead. Fingers opening my eyelids.
The next time I awake, Isaac’s mother has hold of my wrist. She’s counting
my pulse against her watch and looks startled when I open my eyes.
A warm smile grows on her face. “Just a moment.” She places my hand on my
stomach and pats gently on it. “I’ll get my son.” Rushing off with quick, nimble
steps.
“Hope...,” I croak after her. “I want to see Hope.” She won’t have heard me. I
can barely hear myself.
Elliot pokes his head around the door. “Okay to come in?”
“Why not,” I sigh.
He enters the room with a cup of coffee. “Thought you might like this. I know
how cranky you get without caffeine.”
I shake my head against the pillow. “It’s a dumb attempt at humor, Elliot.”
“Eduardo,” he corrects me.
“Yeah, right? And I bet you’re not even gay?”
His lip curves to the side in a wry grin. “No. I’m not, but I had fun pretending
to be.”
No matter how hard I try, I can’t stay mad at him. I shuffle onto my elbows
and take the cup from him. The aroma of freshly ground coffee satisfyingly
good.
“Do you feel better now? We were anxious.”
 “I’m okay, I think. I felt weak, like I’d been drugged.”
His cheeks flush.
“Elliot?”
“I’ll go get Isaac.”
I grab onto his sleeve. “No. I need to see Hope. Why is everyone keeping her
away from me?”
“They’re not, Cate. She popped her head around the door earlier, but you were
asleep. Believe me, she’s fine. She’s having fun exploring the ranch.”
“Why should I believe what you say? I mean how the hell did I even end up
giving you a job?”
“I was the best candidate, wasn’t I? I didn’t let you down.”
“Hmmpf.” I take a sip from the cup. “But it wasn’t a coincidence was it?”
“Eh… no. And the disguise was Isaac’s idea.”
“What?” I look over the cup at him.
“He didn’t want you to hit on me.”
“Let me get this straight, Isaac came to San Diego, pushed me away and did
Christ knows what, with whoever he wanted and expected me to be good?”
He pulls the cross from under his shirt and kisses it.
Some shit is genuine in this screwed up place, anyway.
“I don’t know if he intended to be with other women, or what he expected of
you, but I guess bedding his half-brother was too much. Even for him.”
“Unbelievable. And I thought he came back for me…” The caffeine is helping
my thoughts stack into order. “And why did you tell me to stay away from him?”
“I know. It confused me. Going from wanting the three of you to be together,
to him coming home alone. He didn’t think he deserved you or you would want
him. And, at times, I thought that too.”
“I didn’t. Until… he persuaded me.”
His hand pushes across the duvet and he interlaces his fingers in mine. “I love
you Chica. You and Hope truly became my family. But he’s my brother, and I
had to be loyal to him.”
I drain the coffee and place the empty cup carefully on a lace mat on the side
table.
“I need you to be truthful here.” I swallow hard, not wishing to hear the
answer but determined to know the truth. “Was his intention always to bring me
and Hope here?”
His lashes blink furiously and he rests back in the chair. “No. Not both of you
anyway.”
My heart pounds at such a rate I feel sick. My lungs unable to oxygenate the
blood coursing through my veins. “Do you mean he was going to take Hope
away from me?”
“No. Mamá would not have tolerated it. Not after what happened to her.”
“So, what the hell was supposed to happen? What if I didn’t go along with the
plan? Didn’t fall for his charms?”
“I don’t know Chica. You need to ask him. Although I’m not sure he can
explain either. You’ve got to understand, prison did serious damage to him.”
A lengthy sigh escapes from my lungs. “I need answers and now.”
He stands and nods like he’s bowing to a queen, rushing out of the room.
I need the bathroom and gingerly get out of bed. My feet surprisingly steady, I
head toward a door next to the picture of the cowboys. It opens to a bathroom.
Whilst sat on the toilet, I study the skin care and grooming products stacked
on a shelf below the mirror. This is Isaac’s room. I’d recognize his taste in
aftershave anywhere.
A ranch he calls home, with his own bedroom in it.
And I’m supposed to believe this isn’t where he always intended to come
back?
 30

Isaac

Deep in thought, I carefully place my cell on the counter. Juan has delivered
the news I’ve been waiting for. Cate’s parents are safe in the county hospital. Her
father is out of intensive care and both are protected by the Police—although
there won’t be any danger from Carlos or his hangers on. War raged last night on
the streets of San Diego—or the back alleys and ghettos—and Carlos’s empire
has been wiped out before it even took hold.
Juan stays on, to keep a watchful eye at the hospital, but is under instructions
not to get too close for fear of getting involved. At the moment, it’s believed to
be a failed burglary and Chico has made sure the two guys responsible can never
be identified.
Not seeing it with my own eyes, it’s difficult to believe the threat has
completely gone. Without burying Carlos myself, I’ll always imagine he’s
lurking around a corner somewhere.
Eduardo whisks into the kitchen. He’s not interested in Carlos and the pact I
made with Chico and Señor Ramirez. His only concern, is everyone he cares for
is safe and then he’ll go back to the US and pursue his career in law.
“Cate’s fully recovered, the sleeping pills must have worked their way out of
her system.” He pours himself a coffee and takes a sizeable gulp. “She’s back to
form. So, I hope you’re ready for her.” His eyebrows lift high into his forehead.
He thinks I’m an ass. And he’s right. If I’d listened to him, none of this would
have come down on Cate. But I couldn’t help myself, I was in too deep with her.
I go to seal my fate.
Resting my forehead against the carved, acacia door, I take a restorative breath
of the scented wood before clicking open the wrought iron handle. Above
everything these last few months. Years even. This is the hardest trial I’ve ever
faced.
She’s stood at the side of the bed, screwing her feet into her pumps.
“Where’s Hope?” she fires at me.
The internal fury makes her shake and the steps she takes toward me will
obviously stop with a punch or three.
I brace myself and allow her to vent her anger on my muscle-tensed chest and
abdomen. My arms stoically held at my sides as she buffets my torso with her
fists.
Eventually, I take hold of her wrists. “She’s fine.”
“Take me home. Right. Now.” Her voice quavering and eyes wild.
This is one situation where her feistiness isn’t a turn on. Because I feel sad.
“I’m sorry.” I hang my head for a second and blow out another calming
breath. “It had to be this way.”
“Did it? Bull. Shit. We had a plan. An agreement. We were going to Oregon.
To a small town with a good school. If you’d have told me this was where we
were coming then I’d have never agreed.”
The tears rack through her and she staggers back toward the bed. Catching her
elbow, I lower her and sit by her side, pulling her into my chest. Her sobbing
soaks my shirt and I hold her tighter to me.
“I want Hope and I want to go home.”
“Shh,” I murmur into her hair. The smell making me sadder. “She’ll be
frightened seeing you like this, it will be better to wait until you’ve calmed.”
“Calmed?” the venom in her voice, darts its forked tongue right into my neck.
“This is your fault, Isaac or Raul, or whoever the hell you are. I will not calm.
And you need to take us home. Now.”
She pushes hopelessly against my chest. But I don’t let up. She will need this
chest and these arms when I explain to her everything.
“I have something to tell you and you need to be prepared.”
She tries to pull away and a range of emotions cloud across her face.
“What else could you possibly throw at me?”
“Your parents.”
“Yes?” she says with a huge amount of worry.
“They’re okay but they’re in hospital. Carlos’s men got to them.”
“Got to them?”
“When you went to pick up Hope yesterday, two of his men were there
already. From what I could tell, they were trying to extract information from
them. Your mom is fine and has been kept in for observation. Your father is
wounded but recovering well.”
Her shoulders collapse into her chest and her head falls into her hands. “How
could you do this to us?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I need to go to them.”
I shake my head. “You can’t. They’re safe, but I’m not one hundred percent
sure the fallout from this weekend has settled.”
“But they need to know we’re okay and who will look after them?”
“I’ve spoken to your aunt. She’s gone to them and will explain. You’ll be able
to speak to your mom soon.” I check my watch.
“You rang my aunt?”
I nod. “Yes, she remembered me.”
“Sure, she did. You’re the father to my child. All of my family remember you.
They thought of you as much as I did.”
There’s nothing I can say. Loving families have those who’ve retracted from
their lives often in their thoughts. Wondering what might have been and how
they can protect loved ones from those experiences again.
Well here I go, proving to them they can’t.
What a selfish fucker I am.
“How did Carlos know my parents? I don’t understand. I thought you said it
was fine? All under control?”
“It doesn’t matter how. Everyone is okay.” There’s no way I could tell her it
was her friend’s father—my trainer. Joe. And the information came from Cate
herself. She’s suffered enough.
The blackness pulsing from her says it all. After all those attempts to make
her
hate me. I’ve finally succeeded.
I stand. “Let’s find Hope.”
She runs her fingers through her hair and straightens her blouse, sniffing the
energy depleted from her body back to her soul. And without an answer, she
pushes passed me and out of my bedroom.
Hanging back in the corridor, to let me lead the way, I take her through the
length of the covered walkways to the central courtyard.
Mamá is setting a table under the lilac mass of the Jacaranda tree with bowls
covered with straw hats to keep away the flies. She turns as we approach, and
wiping her hands on her apron, comes across to meet us.
“Caterina. Here.” She turns back to the table and pours a hand-painted glass
with the homemade aqua-fresca she continuously iced in the refrigerator this
morning.
“Thank you.” Cate takes the glass and, after initially sipping it politely,
drains
it.
It will have made Mamá’s day. She loves to feed and nourish us all. It’s pretty
much what she lives for.
“We’re going to see Hope,” I needlessly explain.
“She’s with Eduardo at the stables.”
Cate nods her thanks and I lead on toward the sand corral. As we get closer, I
see Hope on a pony being led around by one of the ranch hands. Eduardo sits on
a wooden fence cordoning off the enclosure. As we get near, he removes his
Stetson, smooths back his hair and re-seats it.
 “Get you,” Cate says to him, her eyes fixed on his hat. It’s obvious she has
forgiven him, unlike me.
“She’s doing well.” He nods towards Hope, who is concentrating hard on the
ride, her body swaying with the cadence of the pony.
“Shouldn’t she be wearing a helmet?” Cate asks, leaning onto the fence and
studying our daughter.
“Yes, she should,” I agree with her, concerned for Hope’s safety.
“She’s fine, she’s in good hands,” Eduardo reassures us.
On the next circle of the paddock, Hope spots us and releases one hand from
the saddle to wave. A small wobble has me hopping the fence. She quickly
plonks her hand back on the horn but the handler steers her to me, anyway.
Her smile softens even this inked-up fighter's heart, especially when she holds
out her arms for me to lift her from the horse. There’s no holding back with
Hope, even though she has no idea I’m her father. There’s a natural bond neither
of us are reading too much in to yet.
“Was I doing good?” she asks, her eyes alight with enthusiasm.
“Real good, Sweet Pea.”
“Did Momma see me?”
“Yes.” I stride with her in my arms to her mother. Wishing I could make all of
this all right but knowing it’s beyond me. Especially now, with how I’ve handled
everything.
“Momma.” Hope tips out of my arms to Cate. “I can ride a real horse.”
Cate nods with a smile as she reaches out to take Hope from me. The hug she
gives her as she smooths over the back of her head says everything.
“Are you riding a horse today?” Hope asks me over her Cate’s shoulder.
“No. Way.”
Eduardo laughs. “That would be the day. I don’t think there’s a horse big
enough.”
Cate looks around to me, and I swear there’s a faint smile on her lips. “Or
dumb enough,” she adds, unable to hold her sarcastic tongue.
I smile, as my stomach dips with hope.
“I’m hungry,” Hope announces.
“Lunch is ready,” I say.
“Ooh good.” Hope curls and uncurls her fingers, as if she wants to come back
to me.
I look at Cate, who nods and releases her over.
The three of us walk to the courtyard as Mamá brings the last of the dishes for
lunch.
“Please.” Mamá gestures at the table and we sit around it.
 At first, Cate concentrates on Hope, making sure she has everything she wants
on her plate. But when Hope takes her food and sits in the shade next to
Eduardo, it leaves Cate and I sat next to each other.
Her leg jiggles under the table, hands held together between them. I’m
desperate to soothe her but resist putting my hand on her knee for fear of the
reaction.
Mamá looks across at me and takes charge. Using tongs, she puts a chicken
tostado onto Cate’s plate and holds up another dish to her. “Pico de gale?” she
asks.
“Go on Momma,” encourages Hope. “It’s yummy.”
“Have you tried it? It’s spicy?” Cate’s eyebrows lift as she takes the dish from
Mamá.
“I like spicy.” Hope grins.
I smile inside. Hope loves it here. But then the smile turns sour when I think
of how I’ve ruined it for everyone.
My nieces and nephew jostle towards us, followed closely by my half-sister,
Maria, and her husband, Joaquin. They each kiss my mother and Eduardo, then I
introduce Cate to them. The children take a place at the other end of the table
and Hope looks over at them longingly.
“So pleased you are feeling better, Cate.” Maria says, sitting next to her and
passing food to her children.
“Thank you,” Cate says politely, as she studies Maria.
I was surprised too when I first met her. She has the same eyes as me, whereas
Eduardo only has a slight air of my looks, which people have said they fleetingly
catch when I first turn around or laugh. As I don’t laugh often, there’s not much
to compare.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and after looking at Mamá for approval, I step
away from the table to take the call.
“Hello,” I say in hushed tones as I stride from earshot of the gathering.
It’s Cate’s aunt. After an update on Cate’s parents, she asks to speak to her.
“Cate,” I call over.
She excuses herself from the conversation she is having with Maria and comes
to take the phone from me.
“Your aunt,” I say, handing the phone to her and leaving her to take the call.
She will say what she wants and I will comply with any request she will have.
There’s no way after this, I can ask her for anymore.
When Cate eventually comes back to the table, her shoulders are less slumped
and her chin held higher than before. I follow her gaze over to Hope, who has
moved again to be with Maria’s children, before Cate sits.
 Cate eagerly eats the tostado and accepts another one, this time drowning it in
the spicy relish. I swear I even hear her hum an approval to the taste.
“Everything okay?” I ask her.
“Yes,” she replies curtly, looking up to me for a few seconds but not saying
anymore.
The lunch is pleasant enough and, if it wasn’t for the strained atmosphere
between Cate and I, it would be viewed as a typical family gathering. But there
is a tension between us and it won’t go away on its own.
First the children drift off to play. Then Mamá clears the table, assisted by
Maria and our trusty housekeeper. When Cate tries to help, Mamá places a hand
lightly on her forearm and she sits back down.
“Are you guys gonna talk this shit through then or what?” Eduardo finally
asks, when everyone else has left the table.
Cautiously, I turn to Cate. “Do you want to take a walk?”
She shrugs her shoulders and climbs off the bench when I do. Crossing her
arms so she’s in no danger of reaching out to me.
“Dad is out of intensive care,” she says, as we walk away from the table.
“That’s a relief.”
“Yeah. Mom’s okay too. They think it was burglars. They couldn’t understand
what the two guys were saying to them and it escalated quickly. They seem to
think they were only in the house five minutes.”
I pause for a moment, not knowing what to say, so she turns back to me. “It’s
probably best they think that.”
“Okay.”
“I want to visit them.”
“Sure. When?”
“Whenever it’s safe.”
I resist the desire to tell her it will never be safe. “Tomorrow?”
“Okay.” She studies me carefully. “So, everything’s taken care of?”
“As much as it can be.”
“Who will take us?”
“I will.” I’m the only one who can look out for them. And the only one who
should.
She stops to sit at a wraparound bench in the shade of the tree. Watching on as
Hope and her cousins play.
“She seems to enjoy it here,” she whispers my thoughts.
“It’s easy to do.” Looking around at the space a child can roam.
“Hmm.” She bends her head forward and rests her chin on a hand.
“Did you always intend to bring us here?”
 “Eventually,” I admit. “I wanted you both to see it, and for my family to meet
you.”
She continues to gaze at the children, a smile appearing on her lips when
Hope shows the other girls how to cartwheel.
“But not in the way it happened,” I add.
“No. Don’t suppose you did.”
She kicks her feet in the dust and I rest back onto the gnarly bark of the
sturdy
tree trunk.
“So, you told me you found out about your mother in prison. How?”
“The guy I struck a deal with, needed to know who I was before he would pull
me into his inner circle. He easily traced my roots back through the San Diego
authorities to a couple who initially adopted me and from there to my biological
father.”
“You were adopted? I didn’t realize.” She sits on her hands as if she wants to
comfort me with them. But daren’t.
“No, neither did I.”
“So, who was your father?”
“A scumbag who deserted my mother in Mexico and stole me at two months
old. Selling me to a couple who couldn’t have children under the pretense my
mother was dead.” I shake my head aware my voice is lowering to a growl and
my mood darkening. “He frittered the proceeds of my sale in the Bahama’s
before repeating the whole charade. He fathered several children.”
“I don’t understand? Why didn’t the couple raise you or give you back to your
mom?”
“They found out my mother wasn’t dead and to hide their own guilt gave me
up anonymously. Buying a child on the black market carries a heavy sentence.
They didn’t deserve children. And I’m relieved the whole episode killed their
marriage.”
“And couldn’t your mother trace you?”
“No. My father was an American and my mother never knew anything about
him. Nothing which turned out to be the truth, anyway. He said he was a buyer
of electrical transformers and had applied for her US citizenship.”
“And where’s your father now?”
“Weighted down in the El Capitan Reservoir.” My face devoid of emotion.
A gasp prefaces her question. “You didn’t?”
“No. I didn’t.”
 31

Cate

I’m in Isaac’s room tonight. Again. On my own. Again.

Hope was insistent on sleeping in the bedroom she slept in the previous night
too. She said she could see the pony from there, but I doubt she could as the
horses are stabled overnight. However, her independence is something I’ve
created and a state I have to learn to live with.
I listen to the noises of this unfamiliar place. The creaking of the roof tiles,
the
whinnying of horses, and the chatter of the men sat in the courtyard playing
Conquian and drinking.
The bed creaks as I turn over on to my side and stare at the painting of the
cowboys; parts of it lit by the shafts of moonlight peeking through the cracks in
the wooden shutters. The simplicity of it. The way of life. This way of life.
No-one here has spoken about getting up for work, or moaned about chores.
Family come and go. No compartmentalized boxes surrounded by panel-wood
fences. Even the men with guns I saw when I first came here, are not evident.
Under different circumstances, I could grow to like this place.
But I’m going home tomorrow.

I awake to the sound of cockerels, and it’s not my phone alarm either. I pad
across to Hope’s room and she’s still asleep. Mr Rat next to her. I take in her
room in the daylight. It’s bright and homely, full of floral prints. Cozy striped
rugs cover the boarded floor, and she looks a real princess in the hand-painted
bed. A canopy above her head, trails white organza fabric in soft pleats around
the bed head.
For a good few minutes, I kneel beside her bed until I realize I’m staring at
Isaac’s daughter. And gasp.
“Momma,” she mumbles, coming out of her sleep, her little arms stretch
across to me and I pull her to the side of the bed.
“We’re going home today,” I whisper into her hair. Inhaling the unfamiliar
floral scent from the shampoo someone must have cleaned her hair with while
she’s been here.
She wriggles away from me, her lips squeezed into a small puckered pout.
“No. I don’t want to go home. I want to stay here and ride Rio again.”
“We need to see grandma and grandpa today.”
“Tomorrow,” she demands.
“No, today,” I whisper.
She shakes her head and sits up in the bed. “Nope. Tomorrow.”
“Do you know what tomorrow means?” I ask her, knowing she will put it off
each day.
“Yes. Not today.”
Not wanting to make her dig her heels in harder than necessary, I concede.
“Let’s discuss it again after breakfast.”
With that, she clambers out of bed, her nightdress falling to below her knees.
“Come on. I’ll make pancakes for you. Like I did yesterday.”
“You made pancakes yesterday?” Hope eats nothing but cereal normally for
breakfast.
“Yes,” she tells me as if I’m stupid.
We go through to the kitchen and Isaac’s mother is there, busying herself with
pots, pans, and a multitude of ingredients.
“Ah,” she exclaims with joy when she sees Hope, who rushes over to her and
hugs her around the legs. The sight surprises me. She hardly knows this woman
and yet, like with Isaac, and Elliot before him, she’s taken to her immediately
and without reservation.
“Hey,” I greet her. “Can I help with something?”
“Sure. Come here.” I receive the same warm greeting as Hope and settle in
next to her, shelling boiled eggs and stirring fried peppers and onions into a huge
bowl of rice.
Hope stands on a chair at the side of me, using both hands to whisk a bowl of
milk. Isaac’s mom steadily pours pancake mix over the whisk.
“Do you want to get the blueberries, Hope?” she asks, and while Hope hops
down and runs into the pantry for blueberries from the cooler, Isaac’s mom
furiously whisks the lumps out of the mix. Looking across at me with a wink and
a smile.
When Hope rushes back with a colander full of berries, the mix is frothy and
ready for ladling on to the skillet. She lifts Hope onto her hip and angles her
away from the hot metal, pouring a circle of batter onto the sizzling plate.
“It’s ready for the blueberries now.”
Hope banks over to the colander and sprinkles a handful onto the pancake.
 My heart aches. For this moment. And the people in it.
One by one, the house awakens, each coming into the heart of the house and
showing their gratitude to the matriarchal head. Each taking a bowl, or a stack of
plates, or silverware out to the table under the Jacaranda tree. There’re no
grumpy morning moods, or yawns from lack of sleep.
Finally, Isaac appears, but not from inside the house—jogging across from the
edge of the ranch. I shouldn’t be surprised he’s been for an early morning run.
While everyone else takes the last of the breakfast items outside, I stare
across
the courtyard from the frame of the window. Isaac is shirtless and his muscles
move gracefully with his gait—four abs on one side moving up, while the other
four move down. He jolts to a fast walk, rubbing his tee across his forehead.
I’m mesmerized. A hot and needy mess. With a hugely fucked-up head.
He stops by the table and waves his tee toward the house, briefly ducking to
kiss his mother on the head.
I rake my fingers through my hair, scooping it into a hair band from my wrist
and quickly wipe the pad of my thumb underneath my eyelashes. Running my
tongue quickly over unbrushed teeth and taking a quick swig of a glass of lemon
and mint water his mom gave me earlier.
“Hey.” He stops with a surprised but pleased look on his face as he steps into
the kitchen.
“Want some water?” I ask, heading toward the jug, with a glass from the
counter.
I turn and he takes it from me, both our hands on the glass while he searches
my eyes for a sign of my current mood, before glugging the drink in one go.
“More?” I ask.
“No. I’m good. I’m going to grab a shower,” he says, pointing a balled-up tee
at the door.
Without thinking, I pull my bottom lip into my mouth and cross my legs.
Shower. Isaac. Naked. Stop it!
“Okay,” I murmur, the fluster obvious.
“Ask Hope to save me some pancakes,” he says.
“Sure.” I nod, not able to look at him any longer.
When Isaac comes out of the shower, breakfast is mostly finished. Everyone
talking about what they’ve got planned for the day.
I keep quiet. We’re going home.
His mother serves a large portion of the rice and Hope proudly brings him a
stack of pancakes she’s patiently saved for him.
The image is too much.
I made this happen when I thought I was being selfish. Now I’m confused.
 “Do you want to help with the dishes?” Isaac’s mother asks Hope.
“Yes.” She jumps on the spot.
I run my slack jaw off my hand.
“Mamá has a spray attachment for the faucet. Hope loves it,” Isaac tells me.
I smile as I watch Hope and his mother trot off to the kitchen.
“So, when do you want to leave?” He asks me in between forkfuls of rice.
I shrug my shoulders. “As soon as I can convince Hope to leave here.”
He nods, stabbing a fork into a slice of avocado and adding it to his plate.
“But she’s not too eager. She wants to go horse riding again today.” I tell him.
“And what do you think of that?”
For a couple of minutes, I watch him eat, the muscles in his square jaw
working away and his throat bobbing as he swallows. Eventually he swerves his
eyes across to meet mine, as if to remind me I need to answer his question.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
He lays down his fork. “She can always stay here.” He snags a napkin from a
filigree-metal container, the contents weighted with a pretty hand-painted stone.
“It might be better if she doesn’t see your parents at the hospital.”
He’s right. But leaving her here? That means coming back.
 32

Isaac

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yep.”
Cate stares through the open car window at Hope who’s pulling Eduardo back
into the ranch. She’s desperate to ride on the pony again and although Cate
didn’t push it, leaving Hope here is tearing her apart.
I’ve promised we will be back here tonight and they are free to leave
whenever they want after that. Providing, this visit proves everything in San
Diego is fixed. And if it’s not… then we’ll deal with it then.
My attempts to push Cate away to begin with, were useless and my attempts
to keep her now, are an equal failure.
I have to let her be. Let her be wherever and with whoever she chooses.
She falls asleep in the car. Her barefooted legs curled at the side and my
hoodie folded between her head and the window. Before the roads become
busier, I feast my eyes on her several times over. I’ve missed her these last
couple of days—under the same roof but in a different solar system.
The guards ask me to wake her at the US border, unlike our recent entry to
Mexico they’re not as amenable to the greenback. For a few seconds she’s
disorientated but doesn’t ask why she didn’t have to produce her passport two
days ago.
She stretches out a yawn and glugs the water. “Hope this one’s not drugged,”
she says.
“I’m sorry, Cate. I had to get you to safety and couldn’t risk a hiccup at the
border. With what happened to your parents…”
“I might have agreed.”
“Really?”
“Okay maybe not.”
She falls silent again for a while.
“But then we wouldn’t have had the chance of meeting your family.”
I snap my head across to her, twice.
She reaches to turn on the radio, the film version of “I’ll Never Love Again”
by Bradley Cooper and Lady Gaga taunting us with their words.
My heart thumps harder in my chest and I heighten my senses as we drive
through the suburbs to downtown San Diego. Juan is around, but apart from him,
it’s up to me to ensure I protect Cate and it feels as if we are heading straight
into
the dragon’s lair.
Her aunt greets us at the hospital. She stayed there overnight and I go with her
to the visitor waiting room while Cate rushes off to see her parents.
“So, you’re back for good?” Cate’s aunt asks, sipping sludgy looking coffee
from a flimsy plastic cup.
“It’s a difficult question to answer.”
She quirks a brow.
“San Diego is not a place I want to be, but I’ll do whatever it takes to be with
Cate and Hope.”
She nods with a pensive smile on her face. “Okay. And where do Cate and
Hope want to be?”
For a moment I ponder over her question, as simple as it might be, I don’t
know the answer and it’s what I tell her.
“Start there and work your way around it. Places in themselves are never the
answer. It’s people who are. And there are always choices—compromises. So, if
Cate wants to be with her parents but that means she can’t be with you. Then she
will have a choice of people. Place is always secondary.”
I nod. “That makes sense.”
“It’s why it doesn’t work when people go someplace new. They don’t know
anyone and then are dissatisfied because of the people they leave behind. It’s
missing the point.”
She takes two steps forward and lightly squeezes my hands.
“You may not look like the caring type, Isaac Winters, but you’ve got a heart
of gold. I can see that. And so can Cate. She’s been pulled in so many directions
these last few years, waiting on you. Now, you’re finally here she’s had
adjustments to make. The dream becoming a reality.”
My heart speeds with the sentiment of her words.
“Treat her and your daughter right and you won’t go far wrong.”
“I will ma’am.”
“And make sure I get an invitation to visit you all. Your place sounds
amazing.”
Something lodges in my throat. Few things in life shake me, least of all words
from a gray-haired senior with a fragile grip. But that did.
Juan’s burly shadow falls into the room, before disappearing back into the
corridor.
“Will you excuse me?” I say politely to Cate’s aunt.
“Sure.” She curls a delicate hand over my wrist. “Remember this is your close
family. You may have been gone for seven years but claim them as if they are
yours.”
“Thank you, ma’am, I will.”
And I will.
Juan is deliberating over the coffee machine when I reach him outside. He
slots two coins and retrieves a powdered coffee. His face says it all when he
takes a precautionary sip and lobs it in the nearest trashcan when we exit the
hospital.
The gardens at the hospital have several benches set amongst bushes which
give us privacy for a catch up.
“So, what’s up?” I ask of him.
“Some good, but plenty bad.”
A shiver runs up my spine as I look across at the entranceway into the
hospital, where Cate and her family are.
“Okay, hit me with it.”
“Carlos, the two guys who were responsible for this.” He throws his chin
toward the hospital building in reference to Cate’s parents. “And others are long
gone. I’ve seen the evidence for myself. But his brother, Pedro, went into
hiding.”
“Fuck.” I screw my palms over my eyelids.
“But that’s not all.”
“Go on.” I turn my head to him.
“It seems Pedro got a message to Señor Ramirez direct. He says he’s got intel
he’s prepared to trade.”
“For what?”
His face clouds over. “Your family.”
“What do you mean?” I stand, ready to run to Cate and get her out of here.
“Your daughter.”
The ball rising from my stomach is full of every type of emotion going.
Anger, hate, panic, fear. A deadly mix which will see me do anything to protect
my daughter and nothing to protect myself.
“Where’s the scum hiding?” I growl.
“We’re still working on that.”
“You stop here and watch over Cate. I’m going to pay Chico a visit.”
“Sure, boss.”
Juan strides back to the hospital and I run to the parking lot, calling Eduardo
on my way.
“Where are you?” I pant into the phone, sprinting to the car.
“The ranch.”
 “Good. Stay there. Is Hope with you?”
“Yeah. Why what’s wrong?”
“You need to lock everything down. Get the guys around the perimeter. The
security system activated. No-one in. Or out.”
“Is Cate okay?”
“Yes, she’s fine, but Eduardo… protect Hope with your life, yeah?”
“Sure thing.”
I hurdle the barrier to the parking lot and beep open the car, throwing it
haphazardly into reverse and out onto the main drag into San Diego.
The casino shouldn’t be open at this time of day but, when they see me on the
security cameras at the back entrance, I’m sure they’ll let me in. Or it’s what I’m
banking on.
I park the car a half block away and walk with long strides to the alleyway to
the entrance I would use to meet with Chico.
It’s as if they’re expecting me, and I’m buzzed in instantly.
Boldly, I take the steps two at a time to Chico’s office, not waiting to be
invited in.
On the short ride here, I’ve taken an annoyed stance to the development Juan
has advised me of. The agreement with Chico and Señor Ramirez was clear. I
win the fight under their terms and they fix the mess. No additional
complications or side deals. This stinks and they’re messing with the wrong guy.
They’re both there, full of false smiles and shaky legs.
What they’ve mistaken is my ability to give a shit about who they are and
what they stand for.
They’re in it for money, power, kudos.
Me. It’s all about family. And that wins hands down.
Every. Fucking. Time.
“Raul. Wondered when you might show up.”
I don’t react.
“We’ve a proposition for you.”
Now a sensible person would listen to what they have to say. Maybe mull over
their offer. I’m not that person.
“Not interested,” I say, calmly.
“You sure? You’ve not heard what we’ve got to say.”
“With due respect, we know each other well enough to realize I’m a man of
my word. I carried out my side of the bargain. Now it’s time for you to do the
same.”
Ramirez stands and places his hat with precision on to Chico’s desk.
“Very true my friend. Loyalty is of the utmost importance. And you are one of
the most loyal men I’ve met. Which is why we can make this offer to you.”
I clench and release my fists, tensed at the side of my hips. It’s not likely
I’ll
hit either of these guys, but there’s no harm in showing it’s a possibility.
Despite my reluctance to hear it, Chico explains the offer. “We want you to
fight for us. Your reputation has soared and you are exactly the guy this game
needs. We’ve picked up Carlos’s connections and the promotors are begging for
you to come back to the cage.”
With my head hanging low, I repeatedly twist my head, slowly and
deliberately.
There’s a heavy silence for a few seconds before Ramirez says, “We thought
you might decline our offer, we understand right now you want to play happy
families. And who would blame you? Right? A beautiful daughter and…”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because his throat is being squeezed by
my hand, his back smashed against the wall.
“Hey, hey.” Chico tries to pull my shoulder. “It’s cool, man. It’s only an
offer.”
I burrow my stare into Ramirez’s eyes, his smoldering as much as mine.
Eventually, I let him go.
He rubs at his neck. “One hell of a grip you have there, Raul.”
Chico chuckles. “Seriously, it’s only an offer. We could make plenty of dough
from this but it’s cool if it’s not your thing. You’ve come good on your promise
and we’ll do the same for you. We’re brothers, man.”
“And Pedro?”
“Don’t worry about him. We’ll flush him out and make him history.”
“Not good enough.”
“Okay, okay, we’ll fix it now.”
He picks up his cell and speaks in a torrent of Spanish, instructing someone on
the other end, to make the problem disappear.
A thought flashes through my mind about which problem they think they may
have and I text Juan asking him to stay close to Cate.
Señor Ramirez relaxes back onto a sofa, both of his arms on the cushions
behind him and his legs crossed at the knee. “So, what does the future hold for
you now, Isaac?” the use of my American name significant in my mind.
“Depends on Cate.”
Without questioning who Cate is, he nods. It’s not a surprise he knows her
name but to not even feign ignorance sends a message.
“Why don’t you sit while we wait for the confirmation?”
“Sure.” I sit on the sofa opposite.
I’m not going anywhere until I’ve got evidence of the hit. I can trust Juan to
protect Cate and her parents, and Eduardo will make sure nothing happens to
Hope. And while I’m here within neck snapping distance of these two, I’ve got
all bases covered.
Chico offers Tequila, which both Ramirez and I decline. Chico pours himself
a healthy glass. Seems Carlos is replaceable in this world.
“So, there’s one topic you’ve not asked about. Your father.”
I shrug my shoulders. “It’s become less important since they released me.”
“So, you carried out the fight regardless of whether we kept our side of the
bargain?”
“Yeah. It was never such a big deal. I merely wanted you to trust me to do
what you asked.” I huff a laugh. “You saved me in jail and that’s what I repaid.
Not a hit on a bum like him.”
A slow smile emerges on Ramirez’s lips. “I like that. I like that a lot.”
The mood softens and we re-count prison stories, the ones we’ve re-lived a
thousand times or more. Especially those which make us laugh with the
absurdity of the situation.
I feel, as the conversation goes on, my soul retracting from the memories.
For them this is their life, for me it was a few chapters which I’ve finished
and
no desire to re-read.
After a couple of hours, Chico gets a call while my phone remains silent.
I shoot off two texts and get immediate replies.

Juan: Kitty ok.

Eduardo: Sweet Pea ok.

The use of the nicknames allows me to breathe.

I stand and after a sizeable hug from Chico and a formidable hand shake from
Señor Ramirez, I bounce down the stairs.
Now on to my next challenge.
 33

Cate

Pacing the waiting room for Isaac to come back, I wonder what’s holding him
up. Surely, he can’t have dumped me here and I can’t bear thinking he’s hurt.
My conversation with my parents has been a revelation and has helped me see
more clearly. I need to talk to him about it.
Then, I hear his unmistakable footsteps. Confident. Bold. Clacking along the
corridor to the waiting room.
“Where’ve you been?” I jump up, tears smarting my eyes.
He takes in a sharp breath. “Fixing some shit.”
I wring my hands together in front of my stomach. “I’ve spoken to Hope,
she’s having fun riding the pony again and helping in the kitchen.”
“And your parents?” he asks.
“They’re recovering. They were asking to see you.”
“Okay.” He rubs his hand over stubble on his chin before giving a nod to Juan.
Juan stands. “Do you want me to stay on here, in San Diego?” he asks.
“Appreciate it.” With a manly clasp of hands, Juan leaves us to it.
Isaac turns back to me. “Where’s your aunt?”
“In with my parents.”
“Okay.” He takes a large intake of breath. “Let’s do this.”
I lead the way to the darkened, cool room my dad occupies, Mom now being
discharged and sat at the side of his bed with Aunt Maude.
It’s hard for my parents to disguise their surprise at Isaac’s appearance. He
looks even more menacing with the stubble across his jaw and head.
My mom stands and reaches out for to him. “Isaac, it’s been such a long
time,” she says, taking both his hands in hers and rubbing her thumb across his
knuckles. “Cate told us you’ve met Hope. It’s wonderful she can get to know her
father.”
His eyes flicker to mine.
“This incident has shaken us both.” She looks across to my father, laid in the
bed, propped up by three white pillows. “We’ve decided life’s too short, so we’re
going to take time out, buy an RV and tour for a while.”
He nods.
 “And Cate tells me you’re spending time with family you’ve discovered in
Mexico.”
“Yes, near Ensenada.”
She squeezes his hand more. “That’s fabulous. We’re so pleased you’ve found
your family. It’s nice to have a second chance at these things.”
“Yes, it is,” he says, cautiously.
After much hugging and a few tears, we leave my parents and aunt and head
back to the parking lot in silence.
“So, your parents are taking off?” he asks, unlocking the car.
“Yeah, although, I had to spend a good deal of time convincing them it wasn’t
selfish of them to want to do so. That Hope and I would be fine—better even—
in the knowledge they were doing for themselves.”
I glance across at him, hauling myself into the car, toeing off my shoes, and
pulling my feet on to the seat beneath me.
He hums his agreement.
Nervously, I chew on my lip waiting until he navigates the late-night traffic
and joins the highway before dropping my bombshell. I’m not sure how he will
take it.
“So… I guess, that means I don’t have to worry about leaving San Diego
anymore or upsetting my parents by not seeing them regularly.”
“What does that mean?” he says with impatience.
“Maybe we could give Mexico a try. Or Oregon. Or wherever?”
Suddenly, my head wobbles and I grab on to the center console to stop myself
from smashing into the door. “Isaac?”
We bump across the sunbaked verge at the side of the highway, dust billowing
at the windows as the brakes engage.
He reaches across, presses my seatbelt release, and hauls me onto his lap.
“You serious, Kitty?” His eyes emblazoned with heat.
“Uhuh.” I nod, pulling my bottom lip in between my teeth, my heart racing
from his reaction.
His lips smash onto mine and he squeezes my back so every breath of air is
trapped in my lungs. A deep-seated growl reverberates from his throat; emotion
and desire pour through his mouth into mine.
I feel as if I will burst from the amount of desire he’s showing me.
Eventually, after ignoring dozens of honks from passing motorists, I climb
back to my seat and Isaac merges the car into the traffic.
“Are we able to stay at the ranch for a while?”
“Of course. It’s the family home. I never got to meet my step-dad, Maria and
Eduardo’s father, but he was a very successful rancher. The cattle herd is
significant and while my sister and her husband have been supportive, Mamá
needs more help.”
I study him for a while. “So, you’re gonna be a ranch hand?”
He looks back and winces. “I don’t know. I know jack-shit about it and
animals are not my thing. Especially horses—they’re kinda unpredictable.”
A laugh blurts from my chest. It feels good to laugh again; even if the image
I’ve conjured is responsible for my reaction.
“Yeah, I can’t imagine you on a horse, although in a pair of chaps, now there’s
an image.” I purr, running my fingers over his forearm. “No denims underneath.”
He does a double take and chuckles. “Now, now, Kitty. If anyone’s going to
brandish a whip, it’ll be me.”
Now that makes me swallow. Hard.
We have things we can explore, and it makes me even more excited for our
future.
Eventually, I ask, “What about Elliot?”
“Not sure. He says he might hang around for a while, depending on what
happens with you?”
“What do you mean?” An embarrassed flush heating my cheeks.
“He said he wanted to spend time with us if we’re gonna stick around. If not,
he would be back to the US and maybe even that lousy job you got him.”
“Really?” Embarrassed I’d not given my job a second thought in the last few
days.
“Yeah, why not? No point in his education going to waste.”
I’m surprised, not able to correlate the Eduardo I’ve been introduced to and
the Elliot I knew for the last seven months.
“I’ll need to consider homeschooling Hope though.”
“Whatever you think is best, although there are international schools she could
attend.”
“Oh?” I didn’t think about that and to be honest I’ve not thought over a life in
Mexico. It’s only been a few days and during that time I’ve been insistent on
going home. Mom and Dad declaring their wanderlust has lifted a self-imposed
veil of selfishness.
“And what about Carlos and the other stuff?”
“It’s as fixed as it can be. I can’t ignore the fact I spent seven years in a
Mexican jail and only survived by getting close to people whose whole life
revolves around crime.”
He looks across as we come close to the border crossing.
“I won’t lie to you, Cate. I won’t get involved in any of that, but I can’t
guarantee it won’t come looking for me.”
 I take in a large breath. “I understand.” And I do.
As we speed up at the other side of the border, the heat from the windows and
the melodic tones of the radio lull me to sleep. I feel Isaac push a bunched-up
item of clothing into the crook of my neck; the smell of him soothing and
protecting me at my most vulnerable.
The jolting of the uneven surface of the road, shakes me awake and I smile as
the ranch walls come in to sight. I can’t wait to see Hope.
Isaac calls ahead and when the gates open, he drives straight through. It’s such
a comforting scene. Music drifts from the kitchen where I can see Isaac’s mom
preparing food. Two dogs laze in the shadows. The bright potted plants
punctuate the red earth and brickwork. It’s beautiful here. A beauty I saw but
ignored previously.
Hope runs across the courtyard. “Momma.” She has something bundled in her
arms. “Look, look one of the dogs has puppies. We found them in the barn while
you were gone. Look.”
She shoves her crooked arm toward me as I step out of the car. “And I can ride
the pony now without anyone holding the rein.” Her eyes huge and alive with
excitement.
Isaac comes across and lifts both her and the puppy to me, whispering into my
ear. “They’re actually three weeks old, but we didn’t want her and the other
children fussing over them until now.” His other arm scoops around my
shoulders and he pulls me into his protective cuddle.
My heart breaks into a million tiny pieces.
“And I’ve been helping make a special dinner for you both,” Hope says.
“Really?” I ask, looking at Isaac who pulls his face into a surprised look.
“Sounds cool,” I say, reaching over and kissing the end of her nose, before
Isaac walks us both into the kitchen.
His mom rushes straight over and gives us both a hug. “Perfect,” she says,
leaving me guessing whether it’s our timing, our appearance together, or both.
“Barbecue,” Hope shouts, the puppy wriggling in her grasp.
My nose instantly recognizing the sweet, smoky notes of barbecued meat.
“Come.” Isaac’s mom pushes in front of us with a large bowl of corn salad,
followed closely behind by two maids clutching various dishes. “Put the puppy
back, Chiquita. Its mother will be worried sick.” I know that feeling and so do
mothers the world over.
We follow her outside to the table under the Jacaranda tree where Isaac’s
brother-in-law hides behind a cloud of smoke, basting a huge rack of ribs. Hope
wriggles free of Isaac’s clutch and disappears into the neighboring barn, to take
the puppy back to its mother and Elliot rises from his seat to greet us.
 Elliot’s smile says it all. Gone are the lines of worry and concern. He’s
glowing, a reflection of the way Isaac and I are radiating our love for each other.
I sit next to him and Isaac goes to help with the BBQ.
“So, you and Isaac are good now, Chica?”
“Yes. More than good.”
“Excellent. I think this calls for a celebration.” He calls over a maid and asks
her to bring the jug from the refrigerator. “They make the best Margarita ever
here. The best Tequila and fresh limes.”
“Better than Almo’s?”
“Way better.” He laughs.
The evening couldn’t be more perfect. With a full belly, a light-headedness
from the cold, sweet-yet-sour cocktail and the loving hug of my man, I watch
Hope and her cousins jump rope. Elliot holding one end and his sister the other.
No-one is in a rush to wrap up the celebration and as the evening sun fires up,
so does the music. Elliot surprising me by playing guitar. Fireflies stud the air
in
front of us and the cicada’s up their ante against the sound of Corrido.
There are more people than I’ve seen at the ranch so far, sitting on chairs, low
walls and tree branches, and a group of women dance on the dry earth.
Isaac tilts in to me. “Coming to bed?”
His rumbling voice vibrates right through to my core. “Hell yeah.” I sit up
away from his chest. “But I need to put Hope to bed first.”
“Don’t worry, Mamá will care for her.” He looks across to his mother who
nods and smiles.
Hope is in no hurry to follow us, even though it is late, so I let Isaac lead me
on quivering legs to his room.
The heavy wooden door clicks behind me and he lets go of my hand. Toeing
off his boots, they clunk to the floor as he relaxes back onto the bed. “Come on
then, Kitty. I think after everything I’ve put you through, you deserve to make
me pay.”
I laugh. “You sure about this, Raul?” extending the vowels in the way I know
he hates.
“Why you still talking?” he jests.
With that, still at the other end of the bed, I turn away from him and unbutton
my blouse, looking seductively over my shoulder as I free each button.
Then, I unzip my shorts, and with my back still turned, shimmy my hips so
they slide over my ass and down my legs.
Shrugging my shoulders so the blouse floats down my arms and back. With
one hand I unclasp my bra and fling it over my shoulder, giggling when I see it
has landed in his face.
 “You gonna turn around now?” he asks.
“Stay there,” I tell him, as he sits up.
When he’s rested back on the pillows, I bend forward to touch my toes, my
panties riding into the crack of my ass. I run a hand up my calves, over the back
of my knees and thighs, and curl a finger into the lace, pulling it out from
between my cheeks.
“Fuck, Kitty. You’re killing me here. Turn around.”
“Not until you’ve stripped.”
I suppress my giggles as I hear him frantically ripping at cotton and denim,
the clanging of his belt-buckle when his jeans hit the floor. I sneak an upside-
down look through the opening between my legs and hitch a breath when I catch
sight of him stretched out in all his naked glory.
“Ready?” I ask, with my tongue firmly in my cheek.
“Uhuh.”
Slowly, I straighten and twist around, coyly looking at him through heavily
batted lashes. I twirl outstretched fingers around both of my nipples at once. His
already lengthened cock, jolts up from his belly. His hands ball the sheets at his
side.
“Now, should I keep these on? Or not?” I ask, fingering the lace triangle at the
top of my legs, pulling on the elastic before letting it snap back into place.
His eyes roll and he blows out a frustrated breath. Then he launches himself
on to his knees and with a move I can’t react quick enough to, grabs hold of me
and pulls me onto the bed. My head hits the pillows and hair clouds onto my
face.
“You know I’ve got no patience when it comes to you, Kitty,” he growls,
kneeling over me and ripping my panties off like they’re made from paper.
I giggle, like a stupid teenager until a hot, wet tongue hits my clit. The
giggle
stops and I gasp. Hard. The emotional switch has my core tied in knots. And I
know which feeling wins. Hands. Down.
It’s the first time we’ve made love with total openness in our hearts. Every
penetration, tremble, and moan are expressed without doubt.
This is a start, a fresh start, to our life together as a couple and a family.
And
although I don’t know if it will be here or somewhere else, it doesn’t matter. As
long as we are together and go where our combined hearts take us, we’ll do
okay.
Hope is a priority for us now and who knows maybe we’ll have more children
someday but for now we need to rediscover each other and nurture us.
 34

Cate

I clap until my palms sting at the sight of Hope and Rio mastering their
dressage routine. Rio’s not a dressage pony, but when Hope saw it on TV, she
wanted to learn. And, commendably, for two hours every single day for the last
six months she’s practiced. And, when she’s not actually on the pony, she talks
about it, or sits in front of her laptop and studies the greatest riders in the
world.
She hops off Rio, and I let her puppy, Raul, bound toward her. Despite his best
efforts, he fails to dig beneath the wire mesh Isaac installed around the corral.
He
whimpers all the time she is away from him and it won’t be long before he’s
leaping over the fence.
Hope was insistent on naming the dog, Raul. I don’t know where she heard
the name but she couldn’t be dissuaded from using it. I choose to believe it
wasn’t anything she heard from our bedroom, although Isaac threatened to gag
me if I don’t stop. Now there’s a challenge.
“Will Papa come and watch,” she shouts over, letting the reins flop down the
side of the pony as she tries to scoop up the puppy who I’ve placed into the
corral.
“Okay, Sweet Pea. I’ll go fetch him. But you need to catch up on your
schooling today. Uncle Elliot…” I say as I walk through the gate, toward her.
“Eduardo,” she corrects me.
I huff a laugh. “Okay, Uncle Eduardo, says you’ve not sent him your latest
essay.”
She rolls her lips and snuggles her face into the soft fur of the dog, behind
his
floppy ears. Resurfacing to argue with me. “It’s the time difference.”
“How so?”
“I fell asleep before he could come online.” Her eyes open wide with the lie.
“Eh, no, there is no time difference between here and San Diego.” I prod her
playfully in between the ribs.
She jerks away from me and giggles. “But there is a time difference with
grandpa and grandma.”
I shake my head at her logic. “Yes, but it’s because they’re in New England.”
Thinking to myself how even that’s not relevant because they’re behind us time-
wise. Anyway, I’m not even going to go there, because it’s Hope’s favorite
pastime with me right now. Spinning me around in circles with an unfathomable
argument and logic. It’s how she avoids bath time and any school work, unless it
field studies.
I’ve still to decide on an International School for her. But for now, I enjoy
having her home every day.
She puts the dog down and gives me a hug. “Papa,” she says as if to remind
me of which errand I now need to go on for her.
“Okay, Sweet Pea.” I kiss her button nose and adjust the helmet strap on her
chin.
One of the ranch hands chases the dog around the sand, so Hope can safely
mount the horse, and I jog to the ranch to find Isaac.
I’ve not seen him since breakfast. He went for his run, ate breakfast with us
and then disappeared for a shower, while I went to the weekly market with his
mother. She doesn’t have to go, but it’s one of her favorite outings, sniffing the
fresh melons and squeezing the avocados. We always stop for a Paloma in a cozy
bar on the edge of the market. The sourness of the grapefruit a pick-me-up which
helps us scoot around the rest of the stalls before the heat of the day builds.
There’s always an armed guard following us. It’s something Isaac insists on.
At first it was obtrusive, and I felt self-conscious, arguing it would only draw
attention to us. But he said I’m very easy to kidnap, having proved it on two
occasions himself.
“Mamá, that smells delicious.” I reach over to pinch a stick of celery, from a
pile of vegetables she’s making soup with, kissing her on the cheek on my way
passed.
“It’s my version of gazpacho. Very refreshing,” she says.
It means it has heaps of chili in it. I’m still not used to the ferocity of the
spice, unlike Isaac and Hope who lap it up.
I skip through the covered part of the courtyard, crunching on the green celery
and slow as I approach our bedroom door.
With a hand on the wrought iron door handle, I pause, a buzzing sound from
the other side of the wood making me halt.
Is he shaving? I hope not, I’ve grown to like the abundance of chestnut curls
he now has on his head and the beard which suits his gravelly voice.
Then there’s a groan.
Is it a sex toy?
Enough already.
I yank on the door handle and throw open the door, my brain taking a few
seconds to catch up with what I’m seeing.
 Isaac is laid on the bed, his top off and a woman bent over him.
She has one purple-gloved hand on his shoulder and the other holding a tattoo
gun, buzzing color into the two outlined butterflies which flutter from the
scripted namesake for our daughter.
Underneath is a new name, raised from the skin in a show of red.
Cate.
I put my hand, clutching the celery, over my mouth.
“Cate,” he says in between groans. “This was supposed to be a surprise.”
“It is.”
The tattoo artist steps to a side. “I’m done now, anyway.” She packs her
implements into a plastic vanity case and sticks a dressing on to his shoulders.
As she leaves the room, I leap on to his back. “I love you Isaac Winters.”
“I love you too, Kitty. But for fuck’s sake will you move your elbow. You’re
pressing right into the wound.”
“I thought you liked it when I played rough. Do you know what I thought was
going on when I heard buzzing from the other side of the door?” I laugh at the
thought of it.
“You’re crazy.” He kneels, launching me onto the bed and caging me with his
body and arms.
“No,” I say. “You’re the one who’s loco. Remember?”
Other Books by Megan Hetherington:
Wilder Bros Romance:
Pump It Up
Tee It Up
Ramp It Up
Paint It Up
Standalones:
Into The Light
Bad Ink
Novella:
Love on an Island

Angel Duet:
Falling for his Angel
Loving his Angel
 Author Profile
I’m a wife and mom who loves losing myself in
romantic fantasy. Writing is my passion and I do it
listening music and drinking coffee (who am I kidding,
more likely to be red wine). I also love to travel and
places I've been often pop up in my books. When I've got
a deadline to meet, I can usually be found gardening or
watching historical romance films.
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 Sample Chapter - Into the Light

Chapter One

Rosa

It flashes up at the top of my screen, hovers, then disappears from where

it came.
Such an innocent, insignificant missive.
So much so, it could have been easy to ignore, or, if I was a little more
naive, dismiss.
But I didn’t and I’m not.
I am slightly behind the curve when it comes to the workings of this new
desktop and I’ve no idea what to click to bring the message back up. But
actually, there’s no need. I know what I saw and, if I close my eyes, it’s
imprinted on the back of my eyelids in indelible ink.
The blood drains from my head to my toes, leaving an unpleasant
tingling over my skin. And my stomach clenches, threatening to lurch onto the
twenty-seven-inch screen before me. Simultaneously, I’m burning up and
freezing cold.
While I know these things are happening to me, they are merely
distractions; physical wrenches to deviate from the singular emotion which is
overwhelming and clear. Loss. The very definition of that word can be applied in
every sense to the shell I am now inhabiting.
Then there’s the reply.
A laugh erupts from my throat. Hah. Just one, not a belly aching, rolling
off the chair, tear inducing laugh. No, just one, or perhaps even half of one.
That’s what the reply I see has me doing. Expending half a laugh.
Further analysis will explain this as hysteria; acknowledgement of
stupidity or unworthy faith. Not humor, not unless it’s in the form of some sick
and twisted black comedy such as Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night.
 I leave my lair, the one which pathetically took months of design to
evoke the right balance of creative stimulants. The photo of Mont Blanc, the
fresh flowers, and the view of the picture-perfect, quaint, English frosted-over
garden. I abandon the steaming bean-to-cup coffee, its anticipated effect
completely unwanted now, and crawl under the duvet. Pulling it over my head
and curling into a fetal position.
The insulation provided by the goose feather and down, does nothing to
mask the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs.
“Honey?”
I seethe and draw my knees in tighter.
“Honey, where are you?”
I cover my upward facing ear with a flat, heavy palm.
The floor boards creak and then the mattress dips.
“I thought you got up already?”
With clenched my teeth, I screw shut my eyes.
“I’m going to work now. I’ll be home late—I’ve got so much shit to get
through today. Don’t wait up for me as I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”
The side of the bed sags, threatening to roll me into him and I tense when
I feel a weight on my shoulder; an act fraught with meaning, and I’m relieved
when the bed regains its shape.
I want to throw back the covers, grab his arm, and pull him in close. Bury
my head into his chest and have him squeeze me so hard I have to keep my
breaths shallow to draw air into my seized lungs.
But that will never happen again. Not now. Not ever.
“Have a good day, Rosa.”
It’s his daily parting message and I’m sure he doesn’t even know he says
it anymore. He certainly doesn’t mean it. Not today anyway.
Hah. That half laugh again.
It’s obvious now, he’s not said anything he’s truly meant in quite some
time. He’s a liar. He lies. He’s lied.
Then the final act, that morning ritual hymn of footsteps skipping down
the stairs, front door banging, precious car engine growling under a heavy foot,
gravel crunching, gate whirring, and finally unnecessary screeching of rubber on
the road surface.
Eventually, the stage curtain is drawn when the gate clangs back into
position, followed by a theatrical hush before the applause, or in this case,
sobbing.
Dry, shoulder-heaving, stomach-clenching sobbing.
I bite down on my lip and halt my lungs when the gate stirs to life again.
He’s back.
With urgency, I poke my head out of the covers. Footsteps crunch on the
gravel along with something being dragged toward the door. I strain to listen
properly; to make sense of what it is. Then my heart sinks when I recognize the
dull thud from a wad of paper landing on the doormat, the letter box clinking
back into place and the postman’s cheery whistle drift away.
Flinging back the covers, I haul myself to the bathroom where I hover at
the vanity unit, studying his sink. The razor with shaving foam bubbled over it
and his toothbrush still wet from cleaning his mouth. His dirty, lying, cheating
mouth.
A scream builds in my head and I thrust my arm across the counter,
sending everything flying around the room.
Slowly, I sink down the vanity unit to the floor, letting my knees flop
to one side and my hand languish on the edge of the sink above me.
Everything is hard and uncomfortable, just how I want it to be right
now. I bang my head repeatedly against the cupboard door, just to make sure I
can still feel something. Anything. There needs to be pain right now, but there
isn’t. All I feel is hollow and empty with loss.
After what seems like an eternity, I drag myself up to a stooped position,
hanging onto the edge of the unit while the feeling comes back to my legs. When
it eventually does, the surge of pins and needles sting in a gratifying way.
Doubt crept into my mind while sat on the bathroom floor and I feel the
need to make certain—to check this isn’t some stupid nightmare that I need to
wake up from.
I slump at the desk and nudge at the mouse. The black screen in front of
me transforms into an image of an eerie, mist-shrouded lake. I hate this image; I
asked him to put up a photo from our wedding blessing in my Mom’s home town
of Sarasota in Florida, one where I was slim and we looked happy together. No
wonder he didn’t oblige.
He only set-up this early Christmas present for me yesterday, so I’ve no
idea how to navigate my way around it yet. I tap randomly on the keyboard,
causing the screen to split off into several tiny icons.
Blowing out the frustration in a long breath, I flick my finger onto the
mouse. Miraculously, the list of messages re-appear and the conversation-string I
have to torment myself with is at the top. I savor each message and every single
one tastes of bile. It becomes apparent as I scroll down that the first message was
in May and it’s now December. The realization of how long this has gone on for
makes my necessary swallow, painful.
I force myself to read the early messages, to see how it developed—how
this relationship started that my husband…my husband…is in.
It started in the office. Of course it started in the fucking office,
that’s
where it always starts. That’s where we started. Over the coffee machine and at
the photocopier, with the double-entendres and the snappy suits. The
authoritative memo and awe-inspiring presentation. The reserved, extra-wide
parking space right outside the door for the extra-important director with the
flashy and totally unnecessary sports car.
Hah. That knife-brandishing laugh resurfaces.
“Ooh, Mr Cockburn-Holt, you’re paying me attention. Ooh, Mr
Cockburn-Holt, thank you for saying how much you like this dress and how it
shows off my perfectly tight ass. Ooh, Mr Cockburn-Holt, you don’t think
anyone will hear us when you fuck me senseless over your ridiculously large
desk do you? Ooh, Mr Cockburn-Holt…”
I slap a cold palm across my mouth to stop my schizophrenic rants,
because, now I’ve homed in on a message from last week, I’m afraid of how
much of myself will throw itself out.
A breath hitches into my throat and my eyes start to drown in a salty rock
pool, before a solitary tear sizzles onto my heated cheek.
He’s leaving me.
He’s leaving me for her.

Into The Light - available at Amazon