Beneath the Stars (Falling Stars #4) - A.L. Jackson Page 0,18
had to be a reason.
I tossed back the sweet liquor. It burned as it raced down my throat. I breathed out heavily at the impact of it, as it coated my belly in a soothing, calming fire.
Instantly, my eyes were back to seeking hers.
Charcoal was staring back. Sketching again.
Cautiously, Maggie tipped me her glass in a silent cheer that somehow felt a little sad.
Girl looking at me in a way that touched me from across the space.
Innocent but knowing.
Unfound but familiar.
Impossible but real.
I jumped when my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Thankful for the distraction, I dragged my attention from the trance and pulled out my phone so I could read the text.
My blood went cold.
It was the same number he always contacted me from, when he’d mete demands and tighten the fist he had wrapped around my throat.
Though this was different.
This was a picture…a picture of my mama…out in her garden tending to her tomatoes. It had been taken from a bit of a distance, clear as day that she had no clue that she was being photographed.
Being tracked.
Rage exploded in the middle of me.
My hand shot out to the island to keep me from dropping to my knees. Or maybe it was to keep me from flying out of there to go on a rampage.
Violence on my fingers. It buzzed again and a message blipped through.
You want to play with fire? Let’s play.
Dread curled down my spine.
Fuck.
The motherfucker knew.
I tried to swallow, but my throat felt sticky. Too tight.
Anger and guilt gushed, a thunder that raced through my veins. Sweat slicked my skin, and I could feel myself burning up from the inside out.
Barely able to stand, I muttered a quiet, “Excuse me.” I ducked out of the circle of my band who’d struck up a conversation with Lyrik and Baz, and I wound through the crush packed in the kitchen.
I snagged the half-empty bottle of Jager, and the second I cleared the crowd, I rushed for the back door, refusing to look back.
I stumbled outside into the darkness like a fool clutching that bottle and that phone.
I ran smack into the smell of salt and the sea and humidity, my ears full of the pounding of the waves that pummeled the beach on the shore.
Wind whipped through, battering my face, and I sucked for more of that air I couldn’t find as I treaded across the elevated deck and down the boardwalk toward the darkened beach.
I never slowed as my feet hit the sand.
Emotion crashed.
Fear overwhelming.
My breaths were coming in jagged pants.
A million thoughts zipped in and out.
Wanted to get up and go.
Fight.
Protect.
But to Dalton or Tennessee, I wasn’t sure.
I sank to one of the high banks of sand, balanced the bottle between my knees, and tapped out a message.
Stay the fuck away from her. You know the deal.
I unscrewed the cap on the bottle and tossed it back while I waited for the response.
Sucked it down.
Relished the promise of oblivion while sickness churned in my guts.
A second later, my phone buzzed again.
Exactly. We had a deal.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I roughed a shaking hand through my hair, realizing I was rocking.
Rocking with rage.
I buried the bottom of the bottle in the sand to keep it from tipping over and let my fingers fumble over the screen.
I needed to verify that she is okay.
I’d needed to check on her.
See her with my own eyes.
Tell her I was sorry.
Genny.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m so fuckin’ sorry.
Except I’d been saying it for years, and it didn’t change a fucking thing.
Two seconds later, the phone blipped again.
Your mom looks happy.
I choked over a sob that formed at the base of my throat. A knot of fury and desperation.
She doesn’t have anything to do with this. You do anything to her, and I will destroy you. End you. I promise you that.
I meant it in the most literal way.
My phone pinged again.
You don’t make rules. You suffer the consequences. I warned you I didn’t ever want to see your face again.
Yet he had no issues accepting the money I sent month after month.
Agony clawed across my flesh.
Pain.
Regret.
A ghost I was never gonna outrun.
Just stay away from my mom. I’ll give you anything you want.
I could almost taste the bitterness through the miles.
The hatred.
You haven’t even begun to pay for what you did.
Motherfucker.
Torment screamed, and I wondered if he could feel my hatred radiatin’ back.
Way it curled around my consciousness and seeped into my spirit.