Mayhem: A Twisted Hearts Love Story Book 2 Read online

  The doctor places a hand on my shoulder and I want to stop the words that are about to come out of his mouth. I brace myself. “I’m sorry. He’s gone.”

  Eyes of pity turn to me, and words of condolences flood my ears as the room spins out of control.

  ****

  A week has come and gone and today, I buried my fiancée and son. It feels as if I too were buried alongside them. Kayla’s parents’ and siblings’ funeral was yesterday. It’s been nothing but people coming and going, everyone crying and breaking down. My family and friends have been keeping an eye on me as if I’m on suicide watch. I’ve been in a daze since the scene of the accident, and the death of Kayla and my son only shoved me further into the darkness. How could my life have been so full of hope, love and laughter one day and the next it’s like I’m walking through the depths of hell?

  Away from the sorrowful eyes of friends and family, I sit on the back porch where I proposed to Kayla two months ago. I still remember how her eyes lit up with surprise and I felt like the luckiest guy in the world. She kissed me and I kissed her still-flat stomach, promising her and our baby that I would be the best husband and dad in the world. Had I known then what I know now, I would’ve never taken a moment for granted. There were days when I wanted to hang out with my friends and I would leave her behind. She never complained and always teased me that my days were numbered. Had I only known then…. How am I supposed to live here without her? Everything in this town reminds me of her, even my childhood home. Everywhere I look, all I see is Kayla.

  Bending over, I gasp for breath and fight to stay upright as memories of Kayla and me together flood my mind, and the absolute horror of watching my son die hit me.

  “Dante, are you okay?” My father’s voice comes from behind me.

  Not willing to turn around and face him with tears in my eyes, I straighten to my full height with my back still to him. “Y-yeah, I’m all right. I’ll be back in a while. ‘Kay?” My feet feel like lead as I place one foot forward and then the other slowly moving away from the hurt, pain, and anguish that I feel when I look around my house.

  “Want me to come with you?” My body stiffens at the hurt and concern I hear in his voice.

  I’ve already turned to leave, holding up my hand. “Nah, need some time alone.” I hate being so short with him when I know it hurts him, but I can’t handle the looks of pity any longer and I can’t take any more of the suffocating grief that fills the air of our house.

  I wander the streets aimlessly for several hours. Passing a few people I know, they offer their condolences. I don’t bother to stop to talk to them. They can keep their fucking sympathies. Nothing anyone says or does can bring back my fiancée and son. I’m about to pass by a storefront that recently became a Marine recruitment center. The poster in the window with some Marines in their dress blues reads: ‘For Honor. For Courage. For Country.’ Before I know it, I’m opening the doors and stepping inside.

  “May I help you?”

  Chapter 1

  #1 Crush ~ Garbage

  Present Day

  Tick

  Heading back to my loft after a three-hour gym session with Manny, I feel the tightening of my muscles from an excruciating workout. After getting out of the Marines six years ago, I made it a point to maintain my workouts. In my line of work, you have to be in top physical condition even though most of my days are light and easy, but I like to be prepared just in case. I’m Tony Delaney’s number one guy. His business used to be, let’s just say, of the illegal variety, but he’s slowly started turning his business legit.

  As I maneuver through the crowded streets of Chelsea in Manhattan, I stop occasionally to salivate at some chicks wearing next to nothing in the unusual Indian summer we’re having. God bless the heat, because when it’s hot, the clothes cover less. Shit, that was a sweet piece of ass strutting down the street. Maybe I should turn around and holler at that. It couldn’t hurt to have a bed warmer for the night. Turning around to get her number, I hear a woman’s whimpering voice.

  “No, please don’t.”

  I freeze and the brain below my belt takes a back seat to my protective side.

  “Please. This is my last.”

  Adrenaline pumps through my veins at the possibility of stepping into a fight. Most people run from fights, but I’ve become a person who runs to them. My height plus working out six days a week gives me an advantage over most. Couple that with my hand-to-hand combat skills, courtesy of the Marines, and I’m virtually a one-man army.

  Turning into the alleyway, the pungent smell of garbage sitting in the heat hits me. Carefully setting my gym bag on the ground, I place my back to the side of the building as I edge my way deeper into the alleyway. My world feels like it has been thrown off its axis when my eyes land on the helpless woman cornered by two thugs demanding her money. While their backs are to me, I have a unobstructed view of her. She looks nothing like Kayla, but the innocence that pours off her tries to pull me back into the darkness.

  I scan the alley and surrounding areas for any more possible threats.

  “Look, bitch, we don’t give a shit.” Slap.

  Oh fuck no! That familiar itch I feel when I’m running from the darkness of my past and into a fight takes over and my anxious fists clench, eager to make contact with flesh.

  I run up behind the one who slapped her and place him in a chokehold from behind. His friend turns to face us, looking shocked. Before the sack of shit hits the ground, I hear the retreating footsteps of his friend, who is running away. I consider giving chase when I hear the woman whimper. Turning around to check on her, I see someone who should be a model for the Sport Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, even with the handprint that’s starting to form on the side of her face. Reaching out my hand to touch her cheek, she flinches and I feel as if I’ve been kicked in the gut. The douchebag on the ground put the mark on her face and my temper goes into overdrive. I kick the fucker and he lets out a moan of pain. The rush I feel from his agony takes over and I lift my size fourteen shoe again to stomp on him, but she cries out. “Please don’t. He’s already down.” I look into her troubled eyes and for a moment, I am adrift in her gaze. I nod and put my foot on the floor and not on his neck, as I’d originally intended.

  A inner battle goes on in my psyche. The blood thirsty anger that is always raging under the surface versus the need to not scare her any further. I do the best thing that comes to mind. I hide my clenched fists by folding my arms. Clearing my throat, I exhale and ask, “You all right?” I assess the rest of her, taking a quick inventory. She nods slightly and seems uneasy on her feet. So much about her mannerisms remind me of Kayla. Softening my voice and lifting my chin at her, I continue, “Need a doc or something?”

  Her eyebrows rise in surprise at first, and then she smoothes down imaginary wrinkles on her jeans. “N-no. I’m fine.” She stares in the direction of where her pocketbook lies. Bending down, I pick it up and hand it to her. Our fingers touch briefly and we are both shocked by the electricity that flows through our contact. I pull my hand away as she holds her bag protectively against her body and offers me a slight smile. “Umm… thanks for everything.”

  “No need to thank me...” I pause because Kayla’s name almost slips past or from my lips.

  “Cyma. My name’s Cyma.” She fidgets and turns away as she says her name.

  Sexy name for a sexy-as-fuck woman. “Mine’s Tick.”

  “Tick?” Her eyes are alight with amusement.

  “Well, that was a nickname my unit gave me in the Marines. My real name is Dante.” My unit gave me the name of Tick short for Ticking Time Bomb because of my notorious temper. Yeah, definitely not telling her what Tick stands for.

  She stares at the form on the ground and wraps her arms around herself, holding her purse tighter like a security blanket, the same way that I want to hold her. If only I had the chance to wrap Kayla in my protective arms maybe she would still be here.

  “You don’t have to w
orry about him.” I purposefully leave out the fact that I’m willing to snap his neck if he makes a move toward her.

  Relief settles across her face as her arms drop to her side, still clutching tightly to her purse. Her smile is so genuine; it reminds me of times with Kayla when we would sit and joke around together. “Well, thank you again, Dante.”

  Damn, my name on her lips is like a siren's call and makes my dick twitch. How would it sound with her underneath me, screaming it? Music to my ears, that’s how! “My pleasure, Cyma.” My voice comes out in a low rumble.

  She fidgets with her purse as an awkward silence surrounds us. I take her in slowly from bottom to top, my eyes linger on her form-fitting blouse, which exposes some of her cleavage. I’ve always been a breast man, and my imagination is starting to run away with me about the things I could do with hers. She coughs and I realize that I’ve been busted staring at her perfect 34C—no, maybe D cup—orbs.

  “I have to go to work.” Her voice is low like a whisper.

  Fuck no! She can’t leave yet! “Umm, are you sure you’re well enough to go to work? Why don’t you let me buy you something to eat?”

  “I really can’t afford to miss any days.” Clutching her bag closer to her chest, she tries to step over the fucking dirtbag, but he lets out a groan, causing her to jump backward. She’s about to lose her footing, but I catch her in my arms. Holding her close to my chest, I close my eyes momentarily and imagine it’s Kayla. Her body trembles in my arms. I stroke her back as I used to do with Kayla, until she relaxes in my arms. Her eyes peek through long lashes, and I see the vulnerability in them. I’m surprised at how protective I feel over her all of a sudden. Not just damsel-in-distress protective, but something more. Something I haven’t felt in a long time. Her arms raise and I think she’s about to push me away, but instead she hugs me. “Thanks, Dante. You’ve rescued me once again. I guess your training in the Marines comes in handy a second time.” When she takes a step away from me, I want to pull her back into my arms, but I resist the urge.

  “All in a day’s work,” I reply, and she laughs. I stare at her moist lips as she bites her bottom one. Small beads of sweat form above her brow. A feeling of being on auto-pilot comes over me because I want this moment to last longer.

  The asshole mugger shifts and lets out a groan, breaking her attention, bringing the worry and anxiety for Cyma. She shifts further away from him, bringing her closer to me. “I don’t know how to thank you –“ Her brilliant green eyes look up to me and I’m locked in her gaze. “-for everything.” Leaning up on her tiptoes, placing her small hand on my chest to hold her steady, she places a feather soft kiss on my cheek. Her simple touch leaving a burning heat in her wake. “I have to get to work. Thank you, again.”

  I’m immobile trying to figure out what just happened and how her touch can light my blood on fire as I watch her retreating silhouette. Another moan drags my eyes away and I pull my leg back giving one last hard swift kick to his head, leaving him once again knocked out. I spring out of the alleyway and search the crowded Manhattan streets, trying to find a silky dark head of hair, but she’s gone. Swallowed up by the hundreds of people bustling by.

  Back inside my loft in the trendy Chelsea area, I shower and change quickly. My cell phone rings, and I run to pick it up before it goes to voicemail.

  I answer the phone without checking to see who is calling. “Yeah?”

  “Is that any kind of way to talk to your mother?” Her voice is sweet and gentle as she mock scolds me. Ever since losing Kayla and the baby, she has taken to this tone with me as if I will break.

  I roll my eyes. At twenty-eight, my mother still has the ability to make me feel like an eight–year–old. “Hey, Mom. Sorry, didn’t realize it was you.”

  “You’re still coming tomorrow?” Her voice is full of hesitation, still unsure of how to talk to me and what are and are not the right questions to ask.

  A pang goes through my heart as the reminder of tomorrow hits me. Tomorrow marks the ten-year anniversary of Kayla and my son, Dante Junior’s, death. My large loft suddenly feels too small and the air feels thick around me. Ten years of what ifs. Ten years of regret and pain, heartache and sorrow. I swallow down the emotions and answer my mother’s question. “I haven’t missed a year yet, Mom.”

  “Well, you’re always so busy. You hardly ever come home. I thought when you got out of the service we would see more of you. But…”

  We are both silent. I know I’ve hurt my parents by pulling away, but I just didn’t know how else to cope. When I got out of the Marines, I thought I could fall right back into my normal routine but quickly realized I wasn’t that same eighteen-year-old kid. Something in me died the same day that Kayla and my son did. The pain of seeing my hometown again was too much and I chose the coward’s way out and left yet again. Leaving Upstate New York to come to Manhattan where I met Tony and started working for him. At the time, it was just simpler to move on and leave my past and the people in it behind. My muscles tense as I grip the phone tighter, trying to figure out the words to say that will soothe my mother. But I’m coming up blank, as usual. How can I find the right words for her when I’m still healing myself?

  How can I explain that I hate being surrounded by memories of Kayla? My chest tightens as I swim through a wave of emotions. “Hey, Mom, who’s my favorite girl?” I try to sidetrack her with my usual form of distraction for her.

  She giggles as she always does when I say this, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “See you tomorrow at one. Love you, son.”

  “Love you too, Mom.” We both hang up and I toss the phone on the couch.

  Going to my desk, I pull out a picture of Kayla and myself. The sight of us together and so happy has me bringing my hand to my chest, digging it in, trying to alleviate the pressure that seems to always be there when my thoughts go to her and my child. I stare at it for a long time, trying to remember what it was like to be a couple of carefree kids with our future ahead of us. The two kids in this picture are young, happy, and in love. If only I’d known! Guilt hits me as it always does when I think of her. Why am I alive, but she and my son are not? I went into the Marines hell-bent on finding death, always volunteering for the most dangerous missions. Only to come back heavily decorated with a Medal of Honor and not in a coffin as I’d hoped. If only I could be with them again, if I could hold Kayla one last time and tell her how much I love her. Placing my past back in the drawer, I gaze out my window at the city. My thoughts go back and forth from Kayla to Cyma. I wasn’t able to save Kayla, but at least I was able to save Cyma.

  Chapter 2

  Are You Gonna Go My Way ~ Lenny Kravitz

  Tick

  Days later, I’m speeding down Manhattan’s FDR Drive to make our meeting with Ignacio’s former men on time. Ignacio was Tony’s crazy half-brother.

  “Yo, slow the fuck down!” Manny complains from his seat in the back of my car. After several failed attempts to light his cigarette because I’m weaving in and out of traffic, he looks up and gives me a dirty look. Finally able to light up, he takes a deep drag and puffs out a plume of smoke.

  I roll down the windows to let the stench out.

  “Trying to get to this meeting on time, so shut the fuck up!” I honk my horn at someone who has the audacity to obey the speed limit.

  “Both of you shut the fuck up!” Tony says as he flips through his folder, going over the club’s numbers. Tony is the owner of Pulse, one the hottest night clubs in the tri-state area. He has branches in Miami, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, and most recently, Chicago. Each of the clubs has a medical sounding name like Heartbeat, Syndrome, Heart Attack; ya know, shit like that. The servers dress in scantily clad nurses and doctors uniforms with stethoscopes. It’s a place where you go to get more than your fill of eye candy and I’ve left with a toothache on more than one occasion. People travel from all over the world just to get a chance to say they’ve been.

  The success of the clubs is great, especially since
he’s in the process of turning all of his illegal businesses into legitimate moneymakers. This was already a hard feat, but when you add in the fact that, after his half-brother was killed, he took over his criminal empire as well, it seems almost impossible. So now he has the added stress of turning Ignacio’s business legit along with his own. And as if he didn’t have enough on his plate, he has a deadline that he promised his wife, Anaya.

  Tony promised he’d have everything turned over in five years, leaving him now with four years to go to make good on his promise. Anaya is a real sweetheart, whom I’ve come to love as a sister. They have a son, Xavier, who is now my godson. Those two overcame a lot to be together. Tony met Anaya when she was still dating his half-brother, Ignacio. Let’s just say complicated doesn’t even begin to explain their story.

  “He started it,” Manny mumbles under his breath from the backseat.

  “What are you? Five?” I ask as I glance at him from the rearview mirror.

  Manny shrugs at me.

  He’s a good guy; took him under my wing just before I went into the Marines and kept in touch with him all throughout. When I started working for Tony, I brought him in. Yeah, he’s a pain in the ass at times, but I’ll kill for him in a heartbeat and vice versa. I pull off the 96th Street exit from the FDR. I glance at the dashboard clock before refocusing my attention back on the road. “We’ll get there with time to spare.”

  “Good. Let’s get this over with as quickly as possible. I want you and Manny to have feet on the ground with this. Work with Magnum.”

  Magnum was one of Ignacio’s former captains. He and his crew are the enforcers or some would call them the “muscle”. They run a chain of gyms that used to host illegal fights and gambling. It was a good front and brought in a shit load of business. Now it’s what they were supposed to be…just gyms. Instead of milking people for money illegally, we just charge exorbitant fees for training sessions and memberships. Most of the business types that flock into our gyms try to bulk up to impress the bobble-head Barbie types. Is it bringing in the same amount of money as it once had? No. But that was never the point as long as it’s above board.