Page 98 of Gangsters and Guns


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She crouches down and scrunches her face into a frown. “Aww. Going to cry now, are you, Allie? Such a fucking baby,” she taunts, before an evil smirk plasters itself on her face. Sometimes she can be kind, usually in the morning when she feels bad and tells me she’s sorry, but that never lasts. I like that mommy, I don’t like this one.

The tears spill from my eyes, the ache in my chest deepening as she stands up and walks to the door. “If I hear you again, I’ll send your father in with his belt,” she warns before slamming the door behind her.

So alone.

I’m so alone.

“Come here, Allie,” Rogan calls from the couch, and I run to him. He opens his arms and holds me against his chest while I cry silently. “It’s okay, brother. It’s okay. You can sleep here with me.”

Rogan shifts, and I curl up next to him on the couch, desperately wishing my mommy could love me like he does. Why won’t she hug me? Why won’t she read me stories like I see the mommys on TV do?

“Why does Mommy hate me?” I ask, looking up at him.

He wipes away my tears and shrugs. “Because she hates herself.”

I don’t know why this particular memory chose this moment to arise. Perhaps it’s the smell of donuts that I long to eat but never will again. They remind me of my childhood. But what’s more profound is the knowledge my then seven-year-old brother already knew our mom hated me because she hated herself.

And I’m becoming just like her, drowning in a sea of women and drugs, desperate to hide my feelings. Do I even know how to love anymore, or have I lost that ability?

Cutting the walk short, I head back to Rory’s, wanting to do something nice for her after what she did for me. It might seem insignificant to anyone else—the expectancy that when you’re too fucked up to take care of yourself, someone will step in to do it for you—but it’s not to me, especially coming from a woman.

After unclipping Mischief from his leash, he trots over to his water and laps thirstily while I move into the kitchen. Strawberry scented soap coats my hands as I wash them before getting started. Having to fend for ourselves as kids means my brothers and I learned our way around the kitchen. Believe it or not, even kids get sick of food coming from drive-throughs and frozen boxes.

Tearing open the pantry, I pull out a few potatoes and dice them up before tossing them into a pan filled with butter. I preheat the oven, slice up strawberries, and rinse them in a bowl with blackberries and raspberries. I give the potatoes a quick toss before working on a crustless quiche.

Eggs, milk, broccoli, and cheese are whisked in a mixing bowl before I dump the contents into a glass pie pan, set the timer, and stick it in the oven to bake. Next, I set the table for her, using the nicest dishware. Hell, I even find a cloth napkin.

A fresh pot of coffee brews into a carafe I set on the table. The sizzle of the potatoes grabs my attention, and I hurry back to the stove and take off the lid, tossing them once more. Basil, paprika, and garlic salt quickly turn the diced potatoes into home fries, and I keep the lid off to let them crisp.

The oven timer dings, so I grab a hand towel and pull out the quiche, adding extra cheese to the top before slipping it back inside to melt. I turn the stove and oven off, then head into Rory’s room.

I kneel down next to her bed and just appreciate all that this woman is. She’s so much more than I could ever be, and I want to be better for her…if she’ll even have me after whatever I said or did last night.

Brushing her hair off of her face, I feel my heart drop. She’d never want me. Not when she can have a perfect Rogan or protective Maddox. She’ll pick one of them over me, and I’ll once again be that sad little boy who just wants to be fucking loved.

Unable to help myself, I steal a kiss from her soft lips, knowing it might be the last one I ever get after how I acted last night, and stand to leave. Back in the kitchen, I plate her a generous portion of breakfast, then put it in the warmer under the oven. With a sticky note, I scribble down where to find her breakfast, and I leave before she wakes up. I can’t see her right now, I’m too embarrassed.

The call to snort the shit burning a hole in my jeans pocket pulls at me, tempting me to numb this feeling, to stop the embarrassment, to feel nothing but ecstasy and happiness. I hurry back to our apartment, praying my brothers aren’t awake yet. Outside our door, I smell coffee, and I know my prayers aren’t answered. Taking a huge breath, I school my expression and waltz inside, trying to be as carefree and smug as possible.

But Rogan and Maddox see right through it.

“So did Rory sleep with you? Or just sleep next to you?” Maddox taunts.

I roll my eyes. “Next to me,” I admit. “Or at least I think that’s all that happened. My memories are a little foggy.”

“Well, shit. If I’d known I could sleep in my little hellcat’s arms all night, I would have raced you down there,” Rogan jokes, but I’m not in the mood.

“You can both fuck off,” I growl, storming past them and into my suite. Once there, I head straight to my bathroom and turn the shower on as hot as it goes. I peel my clothes off, toss them into the hamper, and step into the water, groaning at how good the heat feels.

My eyes flick to the drawer next to my sink, knowing a line is already waiting for me to snort on a tiny mirror. All I have to do is open it, and then these feelings will go away, but I turn my back as a battle rages inside of me. Have I gone too far with drugs? Am I slowly becoming the people I hated most in this world?

I know the answer to that, though I won’t admit it. I’m spiraling, that much is clear. On the outside, I pretend to be poised and proud, but on the inside, I’m a turbulent storm that seems to have no end. Frowning, I dump some shampoo into my palm and scrub my hair.

Rory…

When she looks at me with those emerald eyes, it’s like she’s staring right into my soul. She looks past the fancy clothes and the luxury car. She sees through my fake smile to the person who’s hiding behind it. What does she think of that man? Of the desperate coward I really am? A woman like her…does she accept flawed men?

I don’t know. Her life has been so much harder than mine, so why would she want to even consider messing with another train wreck?

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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