Tame: A High School Bully Romance (Savannah Heirs Book 2) Page 2

  I didn’t bother sitting with the rest of the asshole addicts who were drinking piss-warm, cheap beer and chewing on tobacco. I had a lucky spot in the arena, a back corner hidden from the world that had a great view of the tracks. But as I made my way over, I noticed a man standing in my spot. He was hunched over, arms leaning on the railing as he watched the horses in their lineup. I recognized him immediately. It was none other than Rocco Nomar.

  Observing him for a moment, I noticed how he gnawed on the inside of his cheek. The bastard was nervous about something. Normally, I'd turn and walk away because this was one of the few places I found peace—the one place I could just watch the damn race and escape the thoughts about my fucked up family and how I needed out of this fucked up town. But the way his stiff shoulders practically touched his ears from tension had me curious. And curiosity always trumped peace. It was in my blood to dig.

  “Rocco,” I said in greeting, coming forward to stand beside him.

  I leaned against a metal beam holding up the second floor. Red chipped paint fell in little flakes at my feet. This damn arena was old and decrepit—nothing like the fancier ones that other cities could boast. But I liked the grittiness of it. I liked that it was real. This was the place where the true gamblers came. The ones who had everything to lose and put it all on the line because it got them off. The fancy places? Those were just for appearances, so men with long bank accounts and short dicks could show off. I didn’t bet to show off. I didn’t even bet because it was addicting. I bet because I always liked playing with stakes.

  “I used to come here a lot,” the bastard finally said.

  I wasn’t a big fan of him. Mostly because he was a shitty father. He was involved in a war with Johnny Jack, and his daughter was taken because of it. Looking at him reminded me of my own shitty father, but it also reminded me of how he’d fucked us over and hadn’t helped ambush JJ’s men like he’d agreed. My friends and I had almost been killed because of him. Scarlett had nearly ended up like his daughter Rachel, and I hated him for that. He’d taken his sweet ass time coming in when it was convenient for him.

  The only reason I didn’t throw my fist in his face right then was because I wanted to know why he was here. People always showed their colors eventually. Rocco was a bastard of epic proportions, and I wasn’t about to let one of those barrel into my life and demand things of me. “I used to stand in this very spot,” he told me. I nearly snorted. Everyone knew this was my spot. If he was looking for a bonding moment, he’d be stuck smelling horse shit alone.

  Rocco and I stood there, watching as the gun went off and the gates opened, letting a dozen thoroughbred horses take off like a bullet from a pistol. I watched them run, waiting Rocco out. The people in the stands started screaming, getting high off the energy. I always found it hilarious that people yelled like that. It was like they believed their shouts would make the beasts run faster. These animals were trained to run. For them, it was mechanical. Automatic. They were born for it. One harsh crack of the whip, and they were gone. Like everything else in the world, they were motivated by pain. It was fucked up, really.

  We both watched the race in silence. I had no problem not talking, and it seemed neither did he. I could sense that we were similar in that way, even though I didn’t want to be anything like Rocco Nomar. Still, we both wanted to see if the other person would reveal something useful first. I was in the mood to be first.

  “Why are you here, Rocco?” I asked as I watched California Chrome surge to second place. He looked tired already, his muscles straining as his hooves pounded into the sandy track.

  “My daughter.”

  His daughter. I should've known. The girl was memorable, I'd give her that. There was something about her that I couldn’t quite shake. I caught myself thinking about her from time to time. When I’d gotten out and limped my way over to the wrecked car to pull her out, I thought I was pulling Scarlett. When I saw it was a stranger, I almost left her to look for Scarlett instead, but Luis’s shout told me he’d gotten her. I pulled Rachel the rest of the way, away from the fire and mangled metal, and as soon as she came to, she started screaming bloody murder. Her yells mixed with the thunder, and the flash of her wild eyes lit up with the lightning. She was a force, but she was broken, and broken people inevitably cut up everyone around them. That's why the moment Bonham got out of the hospital, I dropped her like the problem I knew she’d become. The pull I felt towards her was dangerous, and I played for better odds than that.

  "I saw you at the hospital with her. She spoke to you. She hasn’t really been talking to anyone lately," Rocco admitted. Was that supposed to make me feel special or some shit? “She only gives me one or two words here and there.”

  "And?" I asked impatiently. He was trying to play my emotions and was failing miserably at it. I knew damn well that Rocco hadn’t been in the hospital room with us, because then he would’ve heard me call her a druggie with daddy issues. I didn’t think that would have gone over so well.

  I saw a flash of anger cross Rocco’s aged features, and I had to bite back a smile in triumph. Rachel was his weakness and always would be. I pocketed that information like it was worth more than the sixty grand I bet on California Chrome. It was something I learned from my father. Always find out what people’s weaknesses are. That way, when you need to play your hand, you know what to bet on.

  "So I think we can come to an arrangement," Rocco said ominously. “I’ll be straight with you. She responds to you for some reason. Maybe because you pulled her from the wreck. Maybe because you didn’t know her...before. Or maybe just because you’re a fucking Heir. I don’t know why, and I don’t care. But what I do care about is making sure my girl makes it through this,” he said, his voice thick. “It’s not just that I want her to open up either. I’m worried about her. I killed that motherfucker, JJ, but there is a line of men just waiting to take his place. They’ll be looking for me. They’ll be looking for her. Everyone knows me and my men killed JJ and his. We’re at war, boy.”

  “And what? You’re trying to draft me into your little army?” I mocked.

  “I’m here to make an arrangement. I can’t put just anyone on her. Everyone on the street knows my men, so it can’t be any of them. And I don’t trust other outsiders. But in her eyes, you saved her. She’ll trust you. I want you to get her to talk.”

  I was getting really fucking tired of powerful men thinking they could make arrangements with me. It all started with an agreement with my father, and here I was, a shell of who I used to be and always putting my friends in danger. I could still see Scarlett's broken body in that car crash and Bonham’s limp that he’d probably always have.

  "I don't do arrangements. But I'm curious about what you need her to talk about, so I’m listening," I answered.

  The crowd started screaming as California Chrome slipped behind to the third place. He was too eager right out the gate and didn't have the stamina to actually win. Good thing I got here early and had my guy make another bet without anyone watching. Fifteen grand of my own money on Savannah Smiles, who had pulled into first and was going strong. I didn’t mind losing dear old dad’s cash to work my own agenda. My public bet wasn’t made offhandedly. I didn’t do anything offhandedly. I used my reputation to change the odds. I’d made Savannah Smiles the underdog that no one bet on, which meant more money for me. Now, since so many had followed my public bet and put their money down on California Chrome, that sixty grand loss was nothing compared to what my other winnings would be. Suckers.

  Rocco gave me an unimpressed look. “You think I don’t do my homework? I know your father worked with JJ. I also know that you hate the son of a bitch,” he said, and my shoulders stiffened. “You want to take him and JJ’s gang off your back. So do I. We share a mutual interest.”

  “The last time we shared a mutual interest, you left us to face Johnny Jack alone. Why the fuck should I trust you now?” I shot back.

  He tilted his head. “You’re too
smart to trust me without some assurances. I’ll show you my operations and give you a gift in good faith—it’ll take a bit of work on your part, but I bet you’re up for the challenge.”

  I looked Rocco over, searching for any deceit hidden under his wrinkled surface. “And tell me in good faith, how do you plan on taking down my father and the rest of JJ’s gang?”

  “You let me worry about that. You worry about Rachel,” he said.

  “You still haven’t told me what you want from her.”

  He turned his body toward me and looked me in the eye. “I need names, and she won’t give them to me. I want to know the sons of bitches who hurt her so that I can fucking end them,” he spat, his slate eyes hard with fury and determination. “But every time I ask, she clams up again. Those fuckers pumped her with drugs, abused her, kept her like a dog in a kennel—” His words cut off as he tried in vain to speak without emotion. I watched his throat bob up and down several times. “Get me names, and I’ll help you. That’s the deal,” he finally finished.

  Turning away, I put my gaze back on the track just as Savannah Smiles crossed the finish line first. The crowd erupted into pissed off chaos as I mentally calculated my winnings.

  “Why do you think she’ll talk to me?” I asked without looking at him.

  “She’s already talked to you more in that hospital than she’s talked to me since she got home.”

  “Probably because you’re the fucking reason she was taken in the first place,” I drawled.

  He stiffened, and I watched the faded tattoos on his arms jump from the strain. “I looked everywhere for her—”

  I cut him off. “But you didn’t find her. We did. It was only because of us that you knew she was in that car. Because you fucked us over and didn’t show when you said you were going to.”

  He ground his teeth, making the muscles in his jaw pop. “Enough. You might be one of the fucking Heirs, but you don’t have the manpower to take down the rest of the Macon Mob. This arrangement helps both of us,” he reminded me. “I want retribution. I want her to be able to leave the house without looking over her shoulder.”

  “So just leave. The Macon Mob has a pretty expansive reach, but you could go. Start over somewhere else,” I offered, already knowing the answer. Rocco loved his daughter, but he loved his business too. That’s always how it went. And his pride? He loved that a fuck of a lot too, and the Macon Mob had spit all over it.

  “And let them get away with what they did to her?” he asked, shaking his head. “No. I’m going to make those fuckers pay. Besides, business is good here. I’m not going to uproot our lives and let them win. It’ll do my girl some good if she knows those assholes are buried. She’s...fragile right now.” I had to laugh at that. From what I’d seen of her, she was far from fragile. She had survived abuse and a deadly car accident. The girl could take a hit.

  "I don't trust you," I said with a shrug. I didn't trust anyone except my friends.

  "I don’t expect you to. But I’ll give you enough money to get out of this fucked up town,” he said, piquing my interest. “People 'round here say you've got a gambling problem, but I don't think that's what it is. I think you've got a daddy problem. You're stockpiling to get the fuck out of here. I'll give you enough cash to leave for good—after I get those names."

  He was one to talk about daddy issues, seeing as how he was a daddy issue.

  And I barely knew Rachel, but I knew that this wasn’t going to be some simple task. Especially given our last little talk. Still, I had to admit that the deal worked in my favor. All I had to do was get her to give up the names of the motherfuckers who’d hurt her, and Rocco would take care of our mutual enemies and give me money? I wasn’t going to get a better offer than that.

  I glanced back at Rocco, cataloging his weaknesses with everything I had, trying to look for deceit. But instead of deception, he looked desperate. He looked like a miserable fucker, worried about his daughter so much that he didn’t care that he was showing me his hand. I also didn’t think he actually expected me to succeed. He came here as a last-ditch effort and had no intention of me actually succeeding. He just wanted a reason to tell himself he actually tried. That's what people did. They chased after hopeless dreams and told themselves they did what they could. Rocco knew I was enough of an asshole to turn him down, despite that he’d offered me everything I wanted on a silver platter.

  So I did the unexpected.

  "Okay, old man. I'll bite. I’ll get those names from her. But I want to help to bring him down."

  As expected, the poor bastard’s mouth dropped open in surprise for a moment. I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. There was a flash of regret. A sense of hope. All those little nuances that made him a shitty parent and fake ally crossed over his haggard face with a vengeance. Then he snapped back into the calm demeanor that he pretended to have when I first found him here. "I’ll have my guy message you an address. You're out of school for spring break, right? We’ll meet tomorrow."

  I nodded once and then left without another word. I had a bookie to see and a slip in my pocket to turn in. I’d just single-handedly made hundreds of people lose thousands of dollars, and the thought made me smirk. I could feel Rocco’s eyes on my back as I walked away, and I knew exactly what he was thinking. He came here trying to find a savior for his daughter. Too bad he just gave her to the fucking devil.

  Chapter Two

  Rachel

  Someone once told me that the strongest people bled in silence—that applauding your own growth was for the weak. Maybe that was true, because I didn’t need to scream about my pain. My recovery was more like a whisper. I was clinging to the last bit of control I had with clenched teeth and muted responses. I was holding my cards against my chest and not showing my hand. It was driving my father crazy.

  He hadn’t mastered the art of control quite as I had. He didn’t know that talk was cheap. I was determined to be a woman of action now, but I hadn’t been able to act yet. Not with my dad breathing down my neck or my memories hounding me. Most days, I woke up thinking I was still in that basement.

  “Do you want waffles for breakfast?” my dad asked while standing in the kitchen, already pulling out bowls to mix up the batter.

  He knew the question was rhetorical. I always wanted waffles. But I didn’t answer him, because I knew he was using any means necessary to get me to talk. I’d kept a tight lip for weeks. Or maybe it had been months, I couldn’t remember. Time was another one of those things I stopped keeping track of since I was captured. There were no clocks to mark the time passing when I was held by JJ’s gang. Just an endless stream of misery and fear.

  My ma used to make the best waffles. She’d put all kinds of things in it. Chocolate chips. Blueberries. Bananas. Sometimes even sweet potatoes and cinnamon. It was my favorite comfort food, and my dad had been making them every day since I was discharged from rehab. Just the thought of rehab had me scratching my arms again. I still wanted a hit. That clawing craving dug its nails into my shoulders and rode on my back. It was a weight that I couldn’t shrug off.

  Dad looked at how I scraped my nails along my skin with sadness. Yeah, Dad. Your daughter is a fucking addict. It was a bit ironic that the drug that killed my mother was the only thing that kept me alive in the hellhole of Johnny Jack’s underground ring. The numbness it offered had been my best friend. The high my only relief.

  “I want you to come with me to the warehouse today,” Dad said quietly before cracking a couple of eggs into the bowl. He eyed me, cataloging my expression for a response. I didn’t move an inch. My eyes didn’t grow wide, and my lip didn’t twitch. He knew I hated that damn place, but I wasn’t about to show him how much it affected me.

  “Why?” I asked in a cool, calm response. “You haven’t let me leave the house since I got back. You’re even making me finish senior year online,” I said. He’d taken his overprotectiveness to an entirely new level, and it was a primary source of conflict in our house.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew why he did it, but most days, I felt like I was still in captivity. I’d gone from JJ’s basement to the hospital, to rehab, to home. There was always someone around to keep an eye on me, and I was never allowed out alone. I knew it was because the rest of the Macon Mob were still out there, reorganizing. They’d be looking for us. Looking for me.

  “I think it could be good for you,” my dad answered. “You keep saying how you want to get out of the house. Well, now’s your chance. Besides, there’s someone there I want you to see.”

  “No,” I replied. I didn’t want to go there. His damn warehouse, his operations, they were the reason why Johnny Jack came after me. To teach my dad a lesson.

  “Yes.” Dad poured the batter into the waffle maker and slammed it shut, gripping the edges of the griddle like he wanted to stuff his fingers between the burning hot sides and scorch his skin. “I never wanted you to get hurt, Rach,” he whispered without looking at me. He wasn’t the sort to look a man in the eye when he apologized.

  “Well, I did,” I replied before standing. And it was your fault, I wanted to add. But I didn’t.

  I didn’t want to go to the warehouse; my plans involved ditching the security team outside my house to meet with someone. Dad’s sudden insistence that I go to work with him would change things. I made my way to my bedroom to get dressed and come up with a plan.

  Everyone at the warehouse usually wore dark clothes, so I picked out a white summer dress that showed off my shoulders where Johnny Jack’s branding was. I knew it was wrong, but I liked that dad had to see it. He offered to get me to a plastic surgeon, but I decided I’d get rid of it when I got my revenge. Until then, it served as a reminder of my mission. JJ had carved his initials into my father’s chest the day he kidnapped me. He’d forced me to listen to my father’s grunts of pain, to watch as his blood trickled onto the floor. I didn’t know then that I’d soon have a matching brand.