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“No, I would assume you had a past. We both have a past,” I say, then take a sip of my beer.
“That’s it? Nothing else?” He looks surprised that I’m not pursuing this.
“This is us. It needs to start and end with trust. Without that, we have nothing.” He eyes me cautiously. I say, “Keep in mind, I’ve had other boyfriends.”
“Babe, I don’t want to know,” he insists, shaking his head.
“Works for me.” I’ve honestly always felt that the past is in the past. There are hundreds of reasons why couples don’t work out. Although I’m positive I haven’t had as many boyfriends as Priest has had encounters, it’s not fair to judge. I do know that if they had worked out, I wouldn’t be with him tonight, and that would be a tragedy.
* * *
Priest
The idea of someone else in Quinn’s bed makes me see red. I’m not stupid. I know she wasn’t a virgin when we slept together the first time. But there is a lack of inexperience that she more than makes up for in eagerness. The thought of another man seeing her come like she does with her back arching and fingers clinging desperately makes me crazy.
Suddenly, I hear War’s gruff voice shouting from around the corner of the compound. I don’t know what’s happening, but it would be suicide to go up against War.
“Get gone!” he shouts. “You’ve been warned. You’re not welcome here.” I move closer, edging Quinn closer to Wildcard and Charli. Wildcard automatically makes room for her and gives me a nod. Quinn watches me go with an expression of concern.
“I got this, babe,” I tell her.
As soon as I turn the corner, I see War standing like a stone statue, arms crossed over his chest, with Orion by his side, blocking my view of the person they’re barring from entering. Then I hear the shrill voice that’s haunted me most of my life.
“I want to see my kids. You can’t keep them from me,” my mother cries out.
“Wanna bet?” Orion says. “We told you a long time ago, lady, if your kids wanna contact you, they will. We know for a fact they haven’t. You’re not messing up their shit any more than you already have.”
“Fuck you!” she screams at the top of her lungs, even over the blaring music and enough so that the rest of the room goes quiet. I scan the room for Camille, knowing that she’s probably heard our mother, just as I have. I find her across the room. Steady is making his way over to her, but Camille is on the move heading this way.
I let my sister down once. That’s never going to happen again. I step in front of her, then reach out, dropping my hands on her shoulders. “I got this, sis,” I say. But all she does is try to look past me to see our mother.
“She’s on a tear,” Camille says with a sob catching in her throat. By this time, Steady’s made it to us and has her in hand.
“Yeah, and it’s not your job to fix it,” I tell my sister. She knows this to be true, but my sweet baby sister is a giver. She gives and our parents take, and take, and take. It’s an ugly pattern, and unfortunately, Camille was Mom’s cash cow until Steady put a stop to that nonsense.
Steady has an arm around Camille’s waist, holding her tightly to him. He says quietly, “Let your brother take this one on. He’s got this.”
“No!” Camille jerks in his arms, trying to break free, and spins around to face him. “I just got him back. I don’t want her anywhere near my brother,” she cries.
Christ, even now Camille tries to protect me.
“Cammy.” I say her name gently. “You need to let me take care of you for once.” I stress my point. “Ineedto fight this fight.”
Camille turns and jumps into my arms. I almost fall, but hug her back.
“Don’t let her feed you bullshit. You belong here,” she whispers in my ear, then slowly lets me go.
I take a few short strides over to War and Orion, only to find Guard and Ghost there as well. “This isn’t appropriate,” Guard tells her. “If you have a message for your kids, you can leave it with me, and I’ll see that they get it. If they want to get in touch, that’s their choice.”
“I’m not fucking leaving until I see Camille and James,” Mom insists, stomping her foot like a petulant child.
“I’m right here, Ma. What do you want?” I ask.
My mother hasn’t changed a bit. She’s got the same brash bottle-blonde hair, way too much makeup for a woman her age, and maybe she’s a bit wider around the waist. My mom used to be a looker. I can see why my father fell for her. She was gorgeous, and she knew how to work it. Somewhere along the line, things went to shit. I can’t even remember the when or why or how it happened, but it did. The more she complained, the more Dad drank. Then he would stay out all night at a poker game, only to lose the money we needed for rent or food, which only pissed my mother off more, and the cycle began.
When Dad stopped paying the bills, dear old mom latched onto her kids for money. I spent my money before she could get her hands on it, mainly on cigarettes, weed, and booze. My brother, John, got into petty theft, which led to a bad crowd and eventually to his death. Camille took the brunt of the shit. I didn’t know it at the time, but Mom bled her dry, to the point where Camille was homeless for a brief period. My parents made Camille out to be an uppity bitch who was too good for us. Idiot that I was, I believed them. They fed me lies about her and then in turn told lies to Camille about me.
“James, my baby, is that you? What have they done to you?” Mom changes her tone to a sweet coo, trying to suck me in. It figures that would be her first reaction. I’m not that skinny kid with hollow eyes and lanky legs anymore. I’ve eaten regularly and worked out religiously with Wildcard by my side most days, and when he wasn’t there, another brother was, especially at the beginning. They didn’t let me stay in the dark place in my mind. They pulled me out time and time again, until I realized I was worth more than a day-to-day existence. The tattoos are probably freaking her out. I’m covered with them, each one telling a story.
