Page 71 of Full Throttle

His eyes moved to his nephew’s, who was still on the other side of the bar. “You sure?” Jer asked.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “I probably just need to go lay down for a bit. It’s been a crazy day.”

“Go upstairs. Dom and I will bring you some soup in a bit,” Sullie promised. I nodded and moved around him before ducking under the bar. Once I was in front of Jer, I gave him a half smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad at you.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you were. D and Lee are fucking pissed at me.”

I shrugged. “Just let ‘em hit you once and they’ll be fine.”

Jer chuckled as he brought his hand up to his jaw. “I like my jaw the way it is, thank you.”

After saying my goodbyes, I headed out of the bar, rounding the building.

Once I made it to the stairs in the alley, memories of the most painful night of my life resurfaced.

Seven years ago. New York City.

Years.

It had been years since I’d last seen Cain, and after endless nights of racing, mingling, and searching, I had a lead. I’d been chasing lead after lead for weeks in New York City. This was a concrete jungle filled with millions and it seemed damn near impossible to find just one man.

A man haunted by the ghosts of his past. A man who was once a boy with a friend who would read to him at night after his mother had finished abusing him. A man who pushed that friend away because of a twisted version of protection.

I looked up to sky, the buildings around me stretching high towards the sheet of black above, snow falling all around me in a soft, calming tempo. The night was quiet. As I looked to the bar in front of me, warm lights spilled from the large window, giving me a look at the few people inside. The bartender, an older man with tattoos and a gray ponytail, was making a drink as his eyes scanned the bar, and I decided to do the same.

Not a blonde hair in sight.

Fuck, they said he’d be here.

Rolling my shoulders, I shoved my hands into my coat pockets and made my way across the quiet street, my heels clicking against the pavement. The racer I’d met at last night’s meet told me that Cain had been racing here for about a month but was talking about moving back to The Pit. Part of me wanted to go back home and wait for him, but I knew it was foolish.

Cain would never go back to The Pit, not unless his life depended on it.

Once my feet were on the sidewalk, my right hand tightened around the piece of paper in my pocket.

A piece of paper that gave me so much hope—so much faith—when I’d received weeks ago.

It was originally delivered to my old house, addressed to me. According to my father, my mother tried to open it, but he respected my privacy. He’d given me a call, and I gave him a P.O. box for him to send it to.

When I’d gotten the letter, I’d been in a rut—a stall.

The hunt for Cain seemed to be pointless, and I was on the verge of giving up, despite seeing the pain in his eyes from the last time I’d seen him every second of the day. Those eyes haunted my dreams every night. The paper crinkled under my fingers as I pulled it out, unfolding it quickly as my hands began to shake.

I needed to read it one more time before I faced him.

He needed me.

My bottom lip began to tremble as I shoved the letter back into my pocket. I wasn’t crazy for chasing after him—he needed me. Lifting my chin, I stepped into the bar, greeted by cigar smoke and the smell of beer in the air. Pressing my tongue to the top of my mouth, I tried not to gag at the smoke—I hated it. It reminded me of Cain’s childhood home.

Doing a quick scan of the room, careful not to make eye contact with anyone, I approached the bar, where I was greeted by the bartender.

“How can I help you, sweetheart?” he asked, leaning over the wood barrier between us slightly.

“Cain Donovan,” I stated, keeping my voice level, hiding the fact that my knees were ready to give out as panic set in.

The bartender’s demeanor shifted, suddenly eying me with caution rather than kindness. “Who’s asking for him?”

“Me.”

---