Edge Of Retaliation : Books 1-3 Page 10

  “And if it doesn’t . . .?” I whisper, feeling incredibly unwell right about now.

  “It will. She’s a danger to everyone around her. It’s time she is put back in her place. I’m sorry this happened. You’re a good kid, Callie. You don’t belong in here.”

  I turn my head and look at the wall, a silent tear rolling down my cheek. He’s wrong. I do belong in here. That makes it feel that much worse, because every time I think about it, every time I get sad, I remember Celia’s life, and I can’t feel sorry for myself. She has no life left. I’m here because I took that from her.

  “You okay?” Officer Corel asks.

  I nod.

  There is nothing else to say.

  I don’t deserve pity, and I don’t deserve special treatment.

  Mary comes back in after a few minutes and announces that the doctor is coming. She gives me some pain relief and starts cleaning up the wounds while Officer Corel takes an official statement and calls in another officer, asking for him to take over so he can go and take my statement to whoever is in charge. I’m guessing, anyway.

  The man that takes over is Officer Barney. He’s older, and fairly quiet. He doesn’t say a lot, but I do notice him staring at the stab wounds in my side, and then his eyes meet mine. He looks like he could be someone’s grandfather. Is he? Is he looking at me wondering how he’d feel if I were his child? Would he be as ashamed of me as my parents are?

  I turn and look at the wall again.

  I can’t stand any more looks.

  Any more sympathy.

  I made my bed, and now I have to lie in it.

  Even if it is made of razors and broken pieces.

  “HOW ARE YOU?” MY MOTHER asks, staring at me like something is going to rub off from me onto her, as if this place is full of disease and horror. She’s looking at me like she’s never seen something so horrendous in her life, let alone had to call it her daughter.

  She doesn’t care. I’m not stupid.

  She’s visited me twice since I’ve been here, this being the second time. The first time she told me she was going to get a lawyer to look into the case again. I didn’t hear from her after that until now; nor did I hear from a lawyer. I’m not stupid. I know she’s not going to do anything to help me. Somewhere, deep in her mind, I’m sure she thinks I deserve this punishment.

  I shouldn’t have stolen her car; that’s what she has told me a million times over.

  If I had done as I were told, if I’d just listened and followed her guidance, none of this would have happened.

  As if I haven’t thought of that a thousand times over in my head.

  I cry myself to sleep every night thinking about all the things I could have done differently, right down to not taking the damned car, not having alcohol in it, not taking my friends, not taking my stupid eyes off that road, not even for a second. I’ve gone over all these things; she doesn’t need to remind me. I’ll live in this nightmare forever. She gets to continue with her life.

  “Fine,” I mutter, answering her question. “I’m fine.”

  She studies me, narrowing her eyes as if she has a million things to ask me, but isn’t going to. What could she possibly want to know? Am I being bashed in here? Yes. Is it hell? Yes. Am I wishing every single day for something different? Yes.

  Yes. Yes. Yes.

  “You don’t look fine. What happened to your hand?”

  “I broke my fingers.”

  “How?”

  “A girl stood on them, and broke them, then she stabbed me with a broken plate. Any other questions, Mother? You didn’t think I was going to have a wonderful time in here, did you? You didn’t think it would be all roses and long walks?”

  My mother’s face twists in a scowl, and she snaps, “I don’t need your sarcasm. You’re not the only one suffering, Callie.”

  “Oh.” I laugh bitterly. “You’re barely hanging on? Imagine how I feel, being locked in this hellhole for the next six years because you refused a plea deal. Sometimes I wonder if you hoped I’d get longer, and that’s why you didn’t take it.”

  “Do not accuse me of such things!” she gasps. “I’m your mother, and I love you. I can’t believe you’d assume anything less.”

  “If you loved me, you’d be visiting more often. If you loved me, you would have shown concern for the fact that my fingers are broken, and that I have stab wounds in my side. Don’t insult the word love, Mother. You wouldn’t know the meaning of it.”

  Her mouth drops open, then closes again, then opens. “You think I don’t care? I’ll be speaking to the head of this place in regards to your treatment. I won’t have my daughter being abused.”

  I roll my eyes, because honestly, what else is there to do? She’s acting like she has any sort of power, like her words mean anything. They’ll just laugh at her and move along. She’s simply saying what she thinks I want her to say, so she looks like the trophy mother instead of the useless one she comes across as more often than not.

  “Don’t bother,” I mutter. “There is no point.”

  “I won’t have you being treated like this.”

  I exhale. “How is Max?”

  “He’s fine. He’s working hard and making something of himself. He’s all I have left now.”

  “I’m in detention, not dead,” I growl. “Stop speaking as if I am.”

  “The way things are for me and Max right now, you might as well be. We’re struggling with the aftermath of your mistake.”

  My mistake.

  My. Mistake.

  “I’m done here,” I say, standing and placing my hands on the table, looking over at her. “Don’t bother visiting me if you’re just going to make it worse. I know what I’ve done. I know exactly where I went wrong, I don’t need your constant reminders. If you want to come again, do so with love and appreciation for your damned daughter, or don’t bother at all.”

  I turn to walk out, leaving her fanning herself and sobbing as if I’ve just ripped her heart out.

  I haven’t.

  She’ll step out of this place, bring a tissue to her eye, dab away her fake tears, and get in her expensive car and go home.

  I won’t cross her mind again.

  That’s how she works.

  It’s how she’s always worked.

  She’ll never be what I need.

  Not ever.

  14

  NOW – CALLIE

  Tanner’s lips are soft, and hard, and warm. His face is scratchy against my skin, and his body is hard, pressed against mine. I’m on his lap, my knees on either side of him, pushing into the sofa, and his hands are on my ass, holding me close, grinding me against him. I’m so wet, so fucking wet, it aches. Everything aches. My nipples. My pussy. My body. Everything.

  I want more of him than he can give in this very second, and yet I want to savor every moment and pray it never stops.

  His big hands roam up my back, under my shirt, and they feel warm and rough against my skin. His cock is hard beneath me, probing into my jeans, making us both moan when I rock back and forth on it, rubbing myself up and down the length. It’s an impressive length, if I do say so myself. I’m not familiar with how big they’re meant to be, but I’m pretty sure Tanner is doing okay in that department.

  “We should be talkin’ about what happened here tonight, not makin’ out like a couple of horny teenagers,” Tanner growls, then nips at my lower lip.

  I run my hands through his thick hair, and murmur, “But I thoroughly enjoy making out like horny teenagers, don’t you?”

  He moans when I jerk my hips along his cock. “Fuckin’ believe me, I do, but you’re not safe, and I want to know why. I’d love to continue this little dance until my cock is so deep in you, I can feel my balls slappin’ your sweet pussy, but that wouldn’t be the right thing to do.”

  “There is nothing you can do here,” I whisper, leaning down and inhaling the goddamned incredible masculine scent rolling off his neck. “I’ll call the police in the morning a
nd we’ll go from there, okay?”

  “Feel like you’re not tellin’ me everything there is to know,” he murmurs.

  I exhale and pull back. “Tanner, please, can we just drop this?”

  He narrows his eyes and searches my face. “Don’t appreciate bein’ lied to, and you’re hiding something. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “Someone has a problem with me, okay? It’s a long story, and I don’t want to get into it now. Please, I’m begging you, can we drop this?”

  I might be soft and supple when I need to be, but I’m also headstrong and stubborn. I don’t like being asked questions, and Tanner doesn’t seem to like me not answering the ones he so clearly wants the answers to. I’m not ready to go there with him.

  “Okay,” he says, his voice low and husky. “Okay, I’ll drop it. But I do have to go; gotta pick Andrea up and take her home. She texted saying she needs a ride. Don’t like leavin’ you here alone. When does Joanne come home?”

  “She’s not,” I say, “but I’m fine. I’ll lock up and keep my phone close. It’ll be okay.”

  He looks hesitant. “I’ll call Andrea, tell her I can’t come . . .”

  “It’s late, Tanner. She won’t be able to get another ride at this time of the night, not to mention she doesn’t need you skipping giving her a ride because you’re hanging out with the new girl. Please, I’ll be okay.”

  He exhales, and then nods. “Okay, if you’re sure. Goin’ to text you, and I want an answer as soon as you get it. Anything happens, anything at all, you call me. I don’t care what time.”

  Goddamned sweet, this man. “Okay,” I whisper.

  “As for this,” he murmurs, running his fingertips up and down my thighs, “don’t have the time to finish it the way I want to, but I will finish it for now.”

  I’m not entirely sure what he means until he takes hold of my jeans and starts moving them down. For a moment, I’m confused, then I realize he wants me to take them off. Not wanting to argue, my body way too wound up, I go with it and get off his lap, shuffling out of my jeans as slowly as I can so I don’t trip or do something incredibly unattractive. Then, when I’m down to my panties, I climb back onto his lap.

  “You have a fuckin’ beautiful body, Callie.”

  “Ditto,” I whisper.

  His fingers trail up my thighs and when he reaches my panties, he slips them aside, revealing my very wet pussy. He swipes a finger through and growls low. “Fuckin’ wet and ready for me. You’re makin’ it so fuckin’ hard to stop.”

  I wish he wouldn’t stop.

  God, do I wish he wouldn’t stop.

  I also respect the hell out of him for not taking what he wants and being done with it; that’s really something else. I’m certain it’s a good quality.

  Tanner rubs slow circles over my clit, gently massaging it. Lightning bolts of pleasure rip through my body and I whimper, clutching him. He slides that finger up and down, soaking it in my arousal and using that to make it feel even better as he strokes and teases. I’m going to lose my mind. This is a far cry from the fumbling horror job I had when I was younger. Tanner knows exactly where to touch and how to touch.

  I drop my head into the crook of his neck as the pleasure starts to build, getting higher and higher as his finger rubs at the sensitive bundle of nerves between my legs. As it builds, I forget where I am, I forget everything, and let my body truly dive into the feeling.

  “Tanner,” I gasp into his shoulder as the pressure gets a little stronger, and I can’t hold back the orgasm a second longer.

  I cry out as pleasure grips my body and takes me to places I never thought possible. My whole body trembles, my legs clench either side of his, and I can’t stop the soft moans escaping my lips as I relish in the feeling consuming my body.

  I come down slowly, and Tanner doesn’t stop until I do. When he removes his fingers from me, he brings them up between us and slides them into his mouth. I’ve never seen something so damned erotic in my whole life. I watch as he cleans me off him, and then murmurs, “Waitin’ for the moment that’s my mouth between your legs.”

  Good lord.

  This man is going to be the end of me.

  I just know it.

  “HI,” I SAY, STARING at the girl in front of me. She’s wearing an apron and staring at me like she’s bored and waiting for me to give her an order so she can go home. “Are you Amber?”

  I’ve come to this café because I found out that a friend of Celia’s works here. It took a little digging to find some of them. I had to go to her old school and act like I was writing an article on her to honor her memory as the six-year anniversary of her death is coming up, which is actually true.

  Google only had so much information. I’m guessing the family wanted their privacy, which is understandable, so there were only basics on there. She has a mom and a dad, a brother, a sister, all of whom are not named. Her parents were simply referred to as Mr. and Mrs. Yates. I get that; they went through enough without having their names tossed around for everyone to see.

  Thankfully, the school she attended was in the information when they did a memorial for her.

  So it was a start.

  I went to the school. I spoke to a few people, and luckily for me, the principal was the same one who was there six years ago. He was a chatty fellow, and more than happy to talk about Celia and what a great student she was. I mentioned her friends, and he willingly handed over some names; it wasn’t hard to find them after that. I’m certain he probably shouldn’t have given me their names, but hey, who’s complaining?

  After that, I tracked down Amber Rays. She was the only friend who still lived around here. I found a few people by that name, but after a swift Facebook search, I figured she was the one who looked closest to Celia’s age. Luckily for me, in her information, she has her place of work—a café about twenty minutes from where I live. People really should be more concerned about how easy it is to find information these days.

  I wouldn’t put a single thing on Facebook. Hell no. It’s so easy to find out the things you want to know with little to no effort. That shit scares me. I’d rather people didn’t know anything about me.

  “Yes,” Amber says bringing me back to the here and now. She’s a pretty girl—short but lean with long brown hair tied up on top of her head and pretty brown eyes.

  “Is it possible you used to be friends with Celia Yates?” I ask her.

  Her face falls, and she looks sad, which tugs at the pain in my chest I try to push down furiously every day.

  “I haven’t heard that name in a few years,” Amber says. “I feel bad. Like . . . I almost forgot.”

  Poor girl. I didn’t mean to raise bad feelings for her.

  “I’m sorry,” I say genuinely. “So you two were friends?”

  “Yeah,” Amber tells me, then narrows her eyes. “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m a friend of hers, too. Well, more like a cousin, if you will, but friends all the same. I’m doing up a memorial for her sixth anniversary, and I wanted to chat to anyone still in this area who used to know her. She used to mention your name; I hope you don’t mind that I looked you up.”

  I hate that I’m lying. That I’m tricking people. But I want to know what happened to Celia Yates, even if I have to lie my way to the answer.

  Amber smiles, and says, “What’s your name, sorry? I missed it.”

  “My name is April.” I smile. “Nice to meet you, Amber.”

  She looks like she’s trying to remember if Celia ever mentioned an April, but it doesn’t seem to concern her for long, because she says, “I don’t think she mentioned a cousin, but I’m glad to meet you. It has been so long since I’ve talked about Celia.”

  “Me too,” I admit, which is partially the truth. Ethan was the last person I sat down with and truly expressed how I felt about Celia to. After that, I rarely mentioned her name. “Would you mind meeting up with me, so we can chat about her, and I can get a few things for her memorial?”


  “Sure. I finish my shift in half an hour if you want to wait?”

  “Sounds great.”

  I sit at a table and order a coffee. Amber finishes up her shift and joins me when she’s done. I’ve got my phone on record so I don’t miss anything. I have to be really careful about what I say here, because if I look like I’m digging for answers, Amber is going to get suspicious.

  “How long have you been in the area, April?” Amber asks me.

  “A few months. I moved back. I’ve caught up with some of Celia’s family, but mostly I’m just trying to see how many of her friends are still here. So far, it looks like you could be the only one.”

  Amber nods. “Yeah, as far as I know, Kirsty and Vi left town a few years ago. I still follow them on Facebook. I’m sure they’d love to help even if they’re not here.”

  Kirsty and Vi. I make a note in my head to look up Amber’s Facebook friends list and see if I can find them. The more answers I can get, the better.

  “Were you and Celia best friends?” I ask Amber, sipping my coffee.

  Amber nods. “We were, for around five years before she died. We met by accident; it’s a funny story, actually. Someone ran over my cat, which isn’t funny of course, and Celia found him, and she was so upset. She went knocking on all the doors until she found his owner, she was so sad and wanted to make sure he got the right burial. She was good like that, really sweet.”

  “Yeah,” I say softly. “I remember.”

  “When she came to my door, I felt so bad for her that we became friends. We buried my cat together, and that was that. We were inseparable.”

  “I’m really sorry, Amber,” I say, and I mean it, I really mean it. “It must have been so sad for you to lose her.”

  Amber nods, her eyes sad. “It was the worst day of my life when we got that call. I couldn’t believe it. No matter how many times I heard what my parents were telling me, I couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t be gone. The worst part was we had been fighting a little beforehand, so I never got to tell her that she was the best friend I’d ever had.”