Bleed Me (Haunted Roads Book 3) Page 3

  I actually chuckled. “You’re a dick. Your buddy was about to tie my hands to the steering wheel. I decided to take hold of my own fate.”

  “You should’ve let Jesus take the wheel because Diesel had just called off the kill.”

  “W-What? I could still be alive?” I turned to face Delilah’s home down the street. “I could still be with her?” The quiet of the night somehow pounded in my ears.

  So did Art’s words. “Right now, she has a chance at a normal, happy life. If she knew you were alive, would that chance still exist?”

  The answer was no.

  My head dropped forward as I begged myself to not take that chance away.

  “Let her let you go, Kenny. Don’t make her keep payin’ for a past neither of you can control or change. Let her future be without the ghosts. You, what you need to be focusing on is how to exorcise your own demons. Let her go. Give her that.”

  Again, I grabbed my chest, tapping over my heart. Right here, Delilah.

  Art’s engine roared to life. Now, looking back, the sound was a calling of sorts. A beckoning to know there was possibly a future out there for me.

  I always had liked the sound of a Harley. I felt it made a statement. Every time I heard one, I knew the biker most likely had a brother nearby. I longed for such a comradery.

  Tucker.

  “What is it?” asked Artist.

  It was going to be a long hard journey to completely say goodbye to my friend, once and for all. “What’s it like to belong to a brotherhood?”

  He shrugged, but his words carried much weight. “Like having a family that chose you instead of cursing that you’re the same blood as them.”

  Well. Shit. If that didn’t sum up what every man wants.

  After putting on the helmet, I got on the back of the bike and held on to the edge of the seat behind me, thinking that better than getting all snuggly with Artist—the man with a gun. I’d been on dirt bikes and knew how to ride. We had no issues. Just rode in silence until we pulled down another dirt road and parked in front of a dark shack of a house.

  The condition of the home reminded me of a home I once lived in with my mom. My stomach turned as my mind searched for recollections of times in such a home. Art was right. I had a lot of ghosts to hunt down and destroy.

  Walking inside, Art laughed while turning on a lamp and answering Scorch’s call “Finally awake, fucktard? Yeah, I got him. Yep, straight to her house. Yeah, tomorrow.”

  After he hung up, I asked, “You guys tested me?” I thought I had outsmarted the bikers, but it was more of them needing to know what I would do with any freedom they gave me.

  He walked into a dirty, tiny green kitchen. “Of course.” He opened the fridge then tossed me a beer. “Hope you ain’t hungry. That’s all I got. I usually sleep at the club.”

  I popped the lid and took long swallows, desperate for the numbing agent.

  Art walked past me and down a hallway about two feet long. Walking into the only bedroom that shack had, he told me, “Can’t take you to the club. If V finds out you’re alive, too many balls will be cut off to count. That bitch is crazy.” He rifled through a couple of dresser drawers, then tossed me a brown t-shirt and a pair of black sports shorts. After digging through a closet, he threw me a black hoody.

  I stared at the clothes in my hand, remembering meeting Tuck—

  “The shower’s in there.” Art pointed to a tiny bathroom.

  Walking in, shutting the squeaky door behind me and sliding the shower curtain to the side, I missed Delilah. She ran our household like a champ. Everything was always in pristine condition. Not a spec of dirt to be seen. It had been such a drastic change from the homes I had lived in with my mom, that I remember loving the cleanliness. It brought comfort I had never known.

  Now, it was all gone.

  Under the hot water, I tried to wash away all the loneliness and heartache. I knew I deserved all I was getting. I knew I had ruined all the gifts the Wards gave me, but it didn’t change the fact that I never wanted to be a bad person. When I was my true self, I was good. I had morals and loyalty to offer those close to me. Even strangers.

  After my mom had moved us to a new town, I didn’t want to go to my new school. Of course, she forced me, so I kept to myself at the bus stop. Kids were playing around, doing what kids are supposed to do. I just wanted to disappear. That was until a young girl walked up to my bus stop while reading a book. Another kid, who clearly hadn’t gone hungry every night of his existence, like me, escorted her. I immediately resented him and his cozy home that, I was positive, exuded through his confidence. He was tall and strong, so I assumed he was another rich kid who had it easy, with his mom and dad encouraging him to bloom into the lawyer that they had always dreamt of him being.

  His girlfriend, though, she was different. She was quiet. Reserved. My heart started to pound when the thought occurred to me. Damaged.

  “Hi, you new?”

  I was still staring at her when I realized someone was talking to me. It was the rich kid. Steak and potato-fed boyfriend of the girl who captured my attention. My stomach rumbled with that thought. I’d heard steaks were awesome.

  No response was my answer to him. Deep in thought, rich kid walked back to the girl.

  When the bus finally came, I was the last to load so I got to see it all. The pretty girl, who I had watched from afar, was stepping up onto the bus, now with a different guy behind her. She was still reading and unaware that he was reaching for her ass. It was blatantly disrespectful, and I wanted to teach him a thing or two, but then I saw Rich Boy grab the back of Grabby Hands’ collar and yank him clear off his feet. Rich kid calmly tossed Grabby Hands to the side before he followed his girlfriend onto the bus.

  Grabby Hands got up off the ground, angry at the humiliating display of his inadequacy, and stomped onto the bus with a vengeance to be heard for miles. The bus driver didn’t seem to have any sympathy for the ass grabber while Grabby complained to him. The driver argued, “The only thing I saw was you trying to grab his sister’s behind. Want me to write you up?”

  The guilty one stomped to his seat with his ego bruised and checked.

  Sister? Maybe rich kid wasn’t so bad after all.

  I watched her for another three days before I finally talked to her in a class we shared. The deep thinker was in the seventh grade like me. “Hi, I–I’m Kenny,” I introduced myself.

  I was shocked by her observation and maturity. “Hi, Kenny. You do talk.” Her voice was so kind, it left me speechless. So, she giggled. “Or, maybe not. I’m Delilah.”

  Delilah… I wanted to tell her something—anything—to keep her talking to me, but the bell rang, and I was left with a smile that I would never forget.

  I watched Delilah walk away as our teacher tried to express how impressed she was with my work. I wasn’t sure why I had been told I was gifted; I felt less than common.

  It wasn’t a crush that I felt for Delilah. At the time, I didn’t understand what I was experiencing. All I knew was that young girl was changing everything for me. The next day was not much different, until the end of the school day, when I heard the scream that triggered a fight reaction in me.

  Delilah was calling for help.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Bang! Bang! “You ever getting out of the shower?”

  I was yanked from the memory to realize I was without Delilah and in a dirty tub. With heavy shoulders, I turned off the water then grabbed a questionable towel.

  Dressed, I left the bathroom to be greeted with another beer. Art asked me, “You good?”

  Not. At. All. “Yeah. Good.”

  He walked back into the living room. I followed, observing as he pointed to a couch. “I grabbed ya a pillow and blanket. Fall to sleep as fast as you can. We’re on the road in three hours.”

  He went to turn off the lamp, but I asked, “Mind leaving that on?”

  Art froze and stared at me for a moment. He finally moved his hand from
the lamp. “Yeah, no problem. You sure you’re good?”

  I may never be good again. “Yeah. Of course. Solid.”

  Art glanced around, then fought a yawn while saying, “Ya know, I’m actually not tired. Want to talk for a bit?”

  He was lying, and I was grateful.

  Trying not to be seen as the desperate kid I felt like, I shrugged. “Yeah, that’d be cool.”

  Art, tiredly, plopped back into an old blue Captain’s Chair. Untying his biker boots, he said, “Where shall we start?” He stopped in thought. “How about when you met Dumb Ass.”

  That made me smile. That was Diesel’s nickname for Tucker.

  I kept smiling as I told Art about the bus stop, Tuck defending Delilah’s honor. Now, Art was smiling, too, sitting back with his feet propped up. He asked, “Fight? What fight?”

  “Well, Delilah screamed…”

  I had been outside the school building, headed for the bus when something in me snapped, and I was sent into action. Before I knew it, I was with fists, side by side with her brother, fighting four kids that I had never met before. It’s sad, but there was a satisfying release hitting someone my size. My mom’s new boyfriend made it impossible for me to have an equal opponent.

  By the time it was over, I had only one thing on my mind. Delilah. I turned to her in a rush. “Are you okay?”

  She was relieved. I had saved the day. My heart soared…

  As for Tucker, he was nothing like I had expected. Due to a little blood on my t-shirt after that fight, at his home, he gave me one of his t-shirts he had outgrown. He nor Delilah judged me when I wore it the next day at school because it was now the nicest shirt I had ever had. In fact, Mr. Ward told me Tuck had a bag full of clothes he had outgrown, and I was free to have it. I took every offered bit of clothing, so proud to have such a friend. No one had ever given me anything before. No, they only took.

  Drifting thoughts had me thanking Art. I tugged on the hoodie. “Thanks for this, man. I’ll get it back to you as soon as I can.”

  He waved me off with his beer bottle. “Nay. Keep ’em. Tell me more about Dumb Ass. Kid sounds solid.”

  “Ah, yeah. Damn good friend.”

  Tuck and I became tight overnight, with a bond I was somehow longing for. Soon, the three of us were inseparable. Delilah was a girl you dared not fuck with because, by some trial and error, everyone learned that the wrath of two would come down and pound you on your head. This method was frowned upon by the school system, and punishments were handed out to us both, frequently.

  Mr. Ward, on the other hand, had no problems with Tuck and me coming down with that hammer. Once, he even grilled steaks to celebrate an ass-whooping that we had handed out and been sent home for. My mom didn’t answer when the principal called, so Mr. Ward, who knew the principal, took me to his home. I never forgot what it felt like to have someone… care.

  Mr. Ward told us, “Them boys need some manners. And if their mamas nor the school are gonna give ‘em any, I’m glad I have you two to get the job done.”

  Everyone went quiet as I sat motionless, staring at the huge, juicy piece of meat on my plate. Delilah’s voice rung in my ear, “Kenny, what’s wrong with your steak?”

  My throat tightened with gratitude. “Never had one before.”

  Mr. Ward had a special way of taking unwanted attention off me. He lifted his chin and said, “Never too late to have one, I always say.”

  I did have my first steak that night, and I was fed every time I was over—which became more and more often. Bones. My exposed bones began to disappear, and the shape of a young man took the skeleton’s place.

  From the Captain’s Chair, Art sighed. “You guys must have been tight, all three of you knowing what it’s like to lose a family member and all.”

  It was true, Delilah and Tucker had lost their mama to cancer when they were young, but, at the time, I was lost to Art’s meaning about me. “I haven’t lost anyone close to me.”

  His eyes widened slightly before he recovered, asking, “Tell me more about the trio.”

  My chest loosened as I thought about my friends. “Seventh grade ended, and so did middle school for the united trio. Tucker was heading to high school for his freshman year, leaving Delilah and me behind…”

  Delilah and I became much closer with her childhood friends. Cole, Hu, and Bryce didn’t seem to have tragic stories like Delilah and me. Nor did they seem to be damaged goods, not like me. It was relaxing to be around free souls.

  Jazebelle was a trip. She had lots of energy and was always looking forward to her next adventure with a smile. Viola and I never saw eye to eye. She always watched me as if I was up to something. I ignored her and lived my life. I was up to nothing, nothing but having Delilah’s back… which slowly but surely became a little bit of a fascination. Where one saw Delilah, they saw me.

  By ninth grade, having Delilah close to me became more of a need then a duty. When I was not by her side, I missed her. I craved her. Her every detail became a lullaby to me, like the way her long fingers would grip and twist the lock on her locker. Sounds like a simple task, but when Delilah did it, it became art in itself. One of my favorite things to watch her do was brush her hair. Her thick mane would dance as the brush bristles caressed her the way I would have loved to. And her smile? If Picasso would have been alive, he would have created another masterpiece by painting Delilah.

  Somehow, everything I felt for her became locked into place during my junior year, the night my home phone rang. I remember it so well because I was shocked it was actually in service. Not expecting it to ring, I jumped. Lying in my bed, I was too distracted for some reason to answer the phone. It didn’t matter. My bedroom door swung open at the same time, colliding into the wall. Rick, my mom’s present asshole boyfriend, pounced on me, screaming, “I said to take out the fucking trash!” When the bed violently bounced, a pillow knocked the receiver free. The phone fell to the floor.

  Not thinking my memory lapse was deserving of his rage, I yelled, “Rick! Get the fuck off me!” But my body’s reactions seemed so delayed as if I was just waking from a deep slumber.

  Not able to fight back, each blow to my face made me feel lonelier. My mom didn’t come to help me anymore. By that hour of a night, she was too drugged up. Eventually, I was huddled in a corner, too beaten to raise my fists in an attempt to block the hits any longer.

  It is eerie to watch your own blood splatter to a wall. The crimson dripping down was a sadistic representation of the tears in my heart.

  More angered skin smashed down, hurting my flesh… hurting me. It caused me to give up the fight to try anymore. There was no reason to have hope, so that hope slipped further and further away, even while paramedics worked on me. It had been Tuck calling me when the pillow knocked the receiver free. Tuck and his dad had heard the fight. Now, Tuck and his dad were in my bedroom, packing my shit.

  They were almost too late.

  The hope that had been beaten out of me was almost completely extinguished, until Delilah appeared in my doorway. It was like seeing an angel. I reached out to the angelic one, hoping she could put me back together again.

  It was an unfair request. I see that now.

  Mr. Ward tried to stop her, but she was suddenly kneeling in front of me, wiping tears from my eyes. I watched her. I watched her be so kind to me when I was as broken as they came. Her hand caressed my face so gently, I believe she thought I would fracture in her palm. What she didn’t know was the fracture had already taken place. Irreversible damage had already been done.

  Still in his blue chair, Art stared at me with a blank expression on his face. Was it shock? Maybe. Or maybe it was a reminder of his own past…

  Art’s cell ringing made us both jump. He fumbled to pull it from his pocket. “Uh, hello?” He listened. “What?” He took a gander at his watch before his eyes popped from his head. “Shit. Yeah, we’ll be ready.” After hanging up, he quickly stood. “Ready to meet your new family?”


  I had talked for two hours, and now it was time to move on to the next chapter of my life. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to let go of my old one.

  In the silver SUV, I sat in the back seat, my hoody tucked over my head. I leaned against the door, hoping it would burst open so my body could hit the freeway pavement and all this could be over.

  It didn’t happen.

  I had to live.

  So, for the many hours it took to get to Austin, I thought of my old life…

  My mom hadn’t put up a struggle when Mr. Ward explained he was taking me for a while. I knew she wouldn’t, but a son could hope. With garbage bags packed, I was taken from a home of violence and given a home of love.

  The first home I had met the Wards in was not as luxurious as the one they now lived in. Mr. Ward’s construction business had really taken off. He sat me down and told me he didn’t expect me to tell my life story, but if I was willing to share it, he was more than willing to listen. Mr. Ward also told me I was welcome to stay as long as I liked, but said he truly hoped I would at least stay until I finished high school. Pride should have made me say no, but I had none. It had been beaten out of me and stolen, so I agreed.

  I clung to Delilah for a while. She soothed my fears. She helped fill a void I was now stuck with. Once I finally started separating myself from her, attempting to stand on my own, I began to have reoccurring nightmares. I would be running in the dark, in the rain, with a little girl…

  “Kenny. Kenny. Wake up. Are you okay?”

  In my dark bedroom, relief flowed through me as I reached for her. No, Delilah wasn’t a little girl, but the love I had for her felt the same as the one from my nightmare. I took hold of her hand. “I was looking for you.”

  Confused, rightfully so, Delilah asked again, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Just breathing her in, I mumbled relief, “You’re safe.”

  I wasn’t sure why I was convinced she was in danger, or why I believed she needed my protection, but the nagging sensation was very strong. It was actually growing; I was just too naïve to see it or understand what was coming.