Page 3 of Savage Hate
I lean against the counter and look around, biting my lower lip as I continue to rub my chest. It feels wrong to be back here, somehow. Wrong to be twenty-eight and living in a place my mom owns–and not even the house I grew up in, because it’s currently being renovated.
Just a week ago, my life was so different. I had a plan, a life ahead of me. I had everything I’d ever wanted, everything I’d ever dreamt of. My life was supposed to lead to my happily ever after–a reprieve from my shitty childhood and adolescence.
Until it didn’t.
Maybe that was the problem, maybe I expected too much. Maybe I dreamed a littletoohard with the unattainable fairytale endings I’d planned out in my head. The first eighteen years were fucked up, but maybe the rest of my life would be okay, right?
Maybe that’s why Wright did what he did.
I was too busy daydreaming to notice that my fiancé was sleeping with his executive assistant.
I was too busy daydreaming to realize that the townhouse we bought together wasn’t actually mine in writing, and that I had no right to any ofourmoney.
I always assumed we’d get married, have kids, and live the Upper East Side lifestyle I so coveted.
That was my problem. I was too distracted with the dream to see the reality. I was so eager to leave this place behind and live the life I always wanted… and look where that got me.
Back in Greythorn now, ten years older, with nothing to show for it.
I tug my shirt over my head and then slide my leggings and underwear off. Pulling the hair tie out of my hair, I walk to the shower and turn the handle, waiting for the hot water.
It doesn’t come, so I grit my teeth and step into the cold stream, gasping as the frigid water hits my skin. I take the world’s fastest shower and I’m shivering when I wrap the small, thin towel around my body. It’s warm out, but my teeth are chattering. Pulling on some sweats and a t-shirt, I pad to the kitchen and find a takeout menu for the pizza place down the street. I don’t have a ton of money left, but I have enough for essentials for about two weeks.
The thought is terrifying, and I ignore it altogether while I wait for the pizza to show up. It’s barely past five in the evening, and I can already tell that I’ll be settling in early tonight with trashy TV—just like I’ve done the last few nights at a motel since everything happened.
I’ve gotten good at distracting myself from my current reality.
The pizza arrives, and I eat the entire thing before climbing into the double bed. Checking my phone every few minutes, my heart sinks deeper into my empty chest when I realize my mom has no intention of texting me back anytime soon.
And even though my entire life was turned upside down last week, that fact makes me the saddest of all.
two
Lennon
A crash startles me out of a deep, peaceful sleep—the first restful sleep I’ve had in over a week. Heart racing, I throw the covers off and sit up in bed, looking around the small apartment. Muffled laughter sounds from the stairwell, or what sounds like the stairwell, and I walk over to the front door as I listen. Deep, male voices echo up to the second story, and I realize with a sinking feeling that they’re not in the stairwell. They’re downstairs, in the tattoo parlor. My eyes glance at the clock on the oven. 12:52.
Another crash sounds, and I let out a frustrated growl. Throwing a thick, oversized cardigan over my silky sleep dress, I grab my keys and open the door, walking down the concrete steps barefoot. I land heavily on each foot, anger fueling me as I shove the door to the street open, twisting to my left and glaring into the windows of the parlor. It’s dark inside, and I squint as I put my face against the glass to peer inside.
Three men are sitting on the couch, beers in hand, laughing. They don’t notice me at first, and I can’t see them well enough to know if I recognize them. Greythorn is a nice area—and these guys don’t look very nice. From what Icansee, which isn’t much, two of them appear to be inked up, and all of them are wearing black… that’s about all I can ascertain.
I take a step back and peer at the sign swinging in the cool, late-night breeze.
Savage Ink.
The letters are wrapped around a hand drawn heart, and theIis a knife, poised to stab the middle of the heart.Cool logo… not so cool people.
Scowling, I step forward and knock on the front door, which appears to be locked. I see one of them get up to answer. Do they work here? Their ink says yes, but then again, the place doesn’t seem open… the least they could do is be cordial. It sounds like they’re smashing beer bottles against the wall.
My jaw is clenched as a man opens it. He cocks his head as he leans against the door frame, and I study his small smile, my words getting caught in my throat when I take him in. He’s… gorgeous. I’m suddenly aware of my flimsy sleep dress, and I pull my cardigan together as I take in the two guys behind him.Drunk.They are drunk. I narrow my eyes at the man before me.
“Can you please, for the love of God, keep the noise down?” I try to keep my tone even, but the annoyance is evident. “It’s nearly one in the morning,” I add, my eyes roving over his crystal blue ones.
He’s young, about my age, with wavy, dark blonde hair that falls slightly in front of his face. His jawline is angular, cheekbones high… of Scandinavian descent, perhaps. Something about him is familiar. He’s wearing a black thermal and black jeans. My eyes flick behind him again as two other guys meander over to the door.
“Who is it?” one of them asks. He pokes his head over the first guy’s shoulder. “Oh.”
This guy is the opposite of the first guy, with longer, messy, dark hair, dark eyes, and eyebrows that pin you to the spot with their intensity. Plus, he’s a good six inches taller than the first guy. Massive, menacing, and terrifying.
