War of Hearts Page 5

  “Thank you for coming,” she says softly, hugging me tightly.

  Gran calls out from the kitchen, interrupting us. “I’ve put the kettle on. Do you want your green tea, Zara? Or have you gone back to the dark side?”

  Mum and I both smile at that. I gave up meat and coffee a few months ago. Gran thinks I’m a nutcase.

  “Green tea, please,” I call out as Mum runs her gaze over me.

  I wait for her to bring up the weight I’ve lost recently, or the new tattoo on my arm, or my drinking, but she doesn’t. Instead, she says, “How are you?”

  Not what I was expecting. At all. It throws me for a moment, but I get myself together and say, “I’m okay.” It’s a lie. I am nowhere near okay, but the less I think about that, the better.

  Her eyes soften and she starts to say something, but a sharp pain stops her. Her hand goes to her stomach and she bends, grimacing. Reaching for me to steady herself, she makes a pained sound, squeezing my hand through it.

  I wait it out with her. When she eases her grip, I say, “Do you need to sit?”

  “Yes.” It’s almost a whisper.

  I help her to the armchair in the lounge room. It’s a huge chair and seeing her in it reminds me of just how tiny she is for a woman who is seven months pregnant.

  “I take it you aren’t going out tonight,” I say, crouching in front of her. She’d asked me to watch the kids while she and King went out for dinner.

  “No. I’m sorry. I was going to call you to say not to come over.” She pauses. “But I wanted to see you. I’m worried about you, baby.”

  “Don’t worry about me. You’ve got enough going on to worry about. How’s Robbie?” The last I heard, he’s not talking to her because she’s forbidden him from spending time with one of his friends who she thinks is a bad influence.

  “He’s staying with your father for a while.” I hear the sadness in her voice and it kills me. Mum and Dad aren’t in a good place. Their relationship is worse than it has ever been because he’s become unreliable with his parenting. The last year has seen huge changes in our family after he remarried and started a new family. Where he was once diligent with sharing custody, helping Mum raise us, and just generally giving a shit about his kids, he’s practically forgotten us these days.

  “How did that happen? Did he ask to go or did Dad actually show up and want to help?” I can’t hide the attitude I have towards him. At a time in my life when I’ve needed him, he hasn’t been there in any way for me.

  “Don’t do that, Zara. Your father’s trying—”

  “Are you kidding?” I stare at her with wide eyes. “When was the last time Dad tried to do anything for any of us? And since when do you defend him?” They’ve fought their way through as many years as I can remember. As far as I’m concerned, now isn’t the time for her to ease up on him.

  She sighs. “I want you to have a relationship with your father, and while I know he’s a shitty dad at the moment, I’m hoping he’ll get himself together soon and go back to being the dad he was before everything changed for him. I hate seeing you shut down on him, because I’m worried your relationship will collapse completely.” Her voice softens, filled with concern as she adds, “I also hate that life is hardening you in all these ways this year. I just want you to stay my little girl. I know that’s silly and totally out of the question, but I could protect you better when you were little.”

  I swallow hard, tears close to the surface. I refuse to cry another day over everything that’s happened; there have been far too many tears already. Taking a deep breath, I say, “I don’t see him changing any time soon, Mum. Not now that he’s found someone who falls at his feet.”

  “I’m holding out hope.”

  I shake my head at her. “Those pregnancy hormones have made you soft. Where’s the Lily King I know and love?”

  A deep voice rumbles from the hallway, “Trust me, those fucking hormones haven’t made her soft on everyone.”

  Glancing up, I grin at King as he enters the room. He’s right; she hasn’t gone soft on him. Besides those hormones and the pain caused by her fibroids, this pregnancy has kicked her ass with morning sickness, and she has less patience for King’s ways. Not that it’s caused problems between them. I’m not sure he would ever allow that to happen. King has this way of managing my mother that I’ve never seen anyone achieve. He seems to be able to sit back and let her go crazy for a while and then pull her back into line at just the right time. They argue their way through all of that, but at the end of the day, they’ve got each other’s back.

  His eyes are trained on Mum. “You’re in pain again?”

  “I’m okay.” She’s trying to downplay the situation. She’s always trying to do that, because King has a lot on his plate with the club and she doesn’t want to add to his worries.

  He walks to her. “Don’t bullshit me, Lily.” Bending, he scoops her into his arms. “Your mother enlightened me. And fuck, I only have to take one look at you to know.”

  She tries to fight him. “Put me down, King. I’m not in pain anymore and I want to spend some time with Zara.”

  Ignoring her, he heads for the hallway. “I want you in bed, resting. Zara can spend time with you there.”

  I follow them up the hallway towards their bedroom, listening as they argue the entire way. It’s almost comical sometimes, the way they carry on. King is such a dominant man but he has his hands full with my mother. I hope I find a man to love me the way he loves her. I mean, I could do without so much bossiness, but I’d take that over the way my father loves a woman any day. Not that I’d really call my father’s style, love. Now that I’m older and see things clearer, I can see that Dad is a highly insecure man who doesn’t really know how to express his love. Instead, he manipulates and attempts to control. And when he doesn’t get what he wants, he moves on, trying to find it from someone else.

  King lays Mum down on the bed and sits next to her. “Your mother’s going to organise dinner and stay the night in case I get called out. You’re going to stay here and not move except to go to the bathroom. We clear?”

  “God, King, no. I’ve got things to do—”

  “You’ve got nothing to do that can’t wait.”

  She exhales loudly, her frustration evident. “You can’t boss me around all the time. I promise you I’m resting when the pain hits.”

  “I can and will do whatever the fuck it takes to ensure you’re okay and that our child is okay.” He’s forceful, commanding. Exactly what Mum needs, because if she has her way, she’ll be running around doing everything for everyone right up until the minute she delivers their baby. “And if that means I have to cancel my trip to Melbourne next week, I will, Lily. There’s no fucking way I’m letting anything happen to you.”

  Mum is silent for a moment, simply staring up at King. Finally, she says, “You’re lucky I love you. I appreciate you looking out for me, but I don’t know many women who would put up with the way you get what you want.”

  He drops a kiss to her lips and stands. “Well it’s a good fucking thing I only want you.”

  I catch Mum’s smile as he turns to leave. She might fight like hell with him, but she’s still as besotted as she was when they first got together.

  King’s eyes meet mine, shadowing with an expression I know means he’s going to ask me some hard questions. Jerking his chin, he says, “I need a minute.”

  Once we’re out in the hallway, he says, “You made that appointment?”

  Ugh. “Not yet.” At his frown, I add, “I googled psychologists, but honestly, there were so many to choose from and I couldn’t pick.”

  “I’ll find you someone.”

  That was to be expected, so I don’t fight him on it. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll text you the info tonight.” He glances towards his bedroom where Mum is and then looks back at me. “Don’t stay too long; she’s exhausted.”

  It appears he’s finished with this conversation and getting rea
dy to leave, but I’ve got one other thing to discuss. “What’s the go with Fury showing up at my place like he did this morning?”

  King has this way with us kids where he wants to protect us, but he refuses to give us much information that could potentially help us look out for ourselves. Mum says it’s his way of trying to protect us from any club stuff that might turn out to be dangerous, and I understand that, but as I’m getting older, I feel like he needs to start sharing more. So when he doesn’t give me an answer to my question, but instead says, “Don’t worry about that. I’m taking care of it,” I’m annoyed.

  “That doesn’t answer my question, though,” I challenge. From the way his eyes tighten, I know he’s less than impressed with me. “Please tell me what’s going on. I need to know if I should be taking more precautions or watching out more than usual.”

  He thinks about what I’ve said rather than simply brushing me off, and finally says, “I don’t know for sure yet what’s going on. As soon as I do, you’ll know too. Until then, I’ve got one of the boys watching you 24/7.”

  My legs turn a little shaky and my throat goes dry as I realise I actually expected him to tell me something different. Maybe that it was a false alarm or that he’d already sorted the problem out. In the time since he’s been a part of our lives, the club has dealt with stuff that threatened it, but not once has it come to family having to be watched around the clock.

  Swallowing my fear, I say, “Thank you for telling me.” My words come out a little shakily and he notices, his features shifting into a frown.

  “We’ll protect you,” he says, his tone determined, his belief absolute. “I don’t want you to worry about this shit.”

  “Uh, that’s a little hard.” My mind is already racing with worry.

  His eyes search mine, full of concern, and I’m reminded of what a good father he’s been to me since he became a part of our family. “Zara,” he starts, but something stops him and he rakes his fingers through his hair before going on, “Fuck, this is what I didn’t want to happen. This is why I don’t tell you shit unless you absolutely need to know. I’m handling this and will make sure you are safe. That’s what you need to focus on.”

  Mum calls out from the bedroom, interrupting us. “Zara, can you please get me the hot water bottle?”

  “I’ll get it,” King says to me. “You go spend some time with her. And Zara?”

  “Yes?”

  His voice drops low. “She misses you.”

  Oh God, if anyone in my life can pierce guilt straight through me, it’s King. He doesn’t bring the big guns out very often, but over the years he’s done it a few times when Mum and I have been in a bad place.

  I’ve pulled away since the night I was mugged. Mum helped me through everything I had to do after that night, but my shame has made me withdraw from her. I know she doesn’t judge me for the choices I had to make, but still, I find it difficult some days to face her.

  Nodding, I swallow hard again and say, “I miss her, too.”

  “Only you can fix that.”

  “I know. And trust me, I’m working on it.”

  “Good.” With that, he leaves me in search of the hot water bottle.

  I push all this away for now. I want to spend some time with Mum and then go home and have a long bath. I’m my mother’s daughter in more ways than one; meditating in the bath is how we both try to relax.

  “Come sit here, baby,” she says softly, patting the bed.

  I snuggle up against her, resting my head on her shoulder. The instant comfort I feel when her arm comes up and over my shoulder makes me question just why I’m staying away from her these days. King is so right; I do need to see a psychologist. I need to find my way back to those I love. I’ve spent months pushing them away when what I probably should be doing is pulling them close.

  “I love you, Mum,” I whisper, tears not far away because my emotions are in disarray again.

  She squeezes me. “I love you too, Zara.”

  King brings the hot water bottle and after setting her up with it and making sure she’s okay, leaves us again. We lie together quietly for a long time. It’s maybe the most peaceful I’ve felt for months and I decide I really do need to come over and spend more time with her.

  Mum breaks the silence when she says, “I think we’re having a boy.”

  I look up at her, smiling because I know she’d love another boy. Girls are too much hard work as far as she’s concerned. Moving to a sitting position next to her, I say, “What makes you think that?” My mother has the most outlandish reasons for thinking and doing a lot of things, which never fails to amuse me.

  She returns my smile. “I just know.”

  My smile morphs into a grin. “Oh, I bet you do.”

  Gran bustles into the room. “What are we betting on?”

  I meet her gaze. “Just Mum and her crazy-ass way of doing things. She just told me how she knows she’s having a boy.”

  “Don’t judge your mother, child. Not until you’ve been pregnant yourself. There’s something to be said for mothers just knowing things about their children.”

  A feeling of utter grief hits me before I can tell myself not to feel it. Guilt sharply follows, and my sight blurs as I try to get my bearings because suddenly I feel like I can’t think, can’t see, can’t hear. I can’t deal.

  Mum’s alarmed gaze comes to me right as I hurriedly move off the bed. “Zara! Wait.” She sits and attempts to leave the bed, but a bolt of pain stops her. I hear her cry of agony, but I’m unable to respond because my own agony consumes me. I need to get out of here.

  “Zara,” Gran says, confusion clear in her voice, “What’s going on, darling?”

  “I need to go. I’ll call later to check on Mum.”

  I’m down the hall and outside in what feels like a second, I’m moving that fast. When I reach my car, I take a few minutes to catch my breath and calm myself enough to drive.

  I’m going to be okay.

  I can do this.

  I’m not a bad person.

  My phone rings, cutting through my thoughts. I’m so all over the place that I don’t check caller ID before answering it. “What?”

  Holly’s voice hits me. “I see you’ve been hanging out with King a little too much.”

  I hear what she says but I barely take it in. Gripping my phone hard, I say, “I’m not a bad person, am I, Hols?”

  “Fuck, Zar, what’s happened?”

  I ignore her question. “I would have kept the baby if I could.” I will not cry.

  “I know you would have. You are not a bad person, Zara. Whoever told you that is a shitty, shitty person. Who was it?”

  I pull in a long, desperately needed breath. “No one told me.” Only myself, and that may be far worse than anyone else telling me.

  “Do you need me to come get you?”

  “No, I’m okay to drive.” I will be. “What did you call for?”

  “I was going to ask you to stop and pick up some pasta so I can cook us spaghetti for dinner, but I just want you to come straight home now. I’ll go out and get it.”

  I take another long breath. “No, I’ll stop and get it.”

  She turns silent, and I know she’s weighing up what to do. Holly might be a hard-ass, but she’s also a nurturer in her own way, and looking after me is a task she’s taken on since I moved in with her. “I don’t want you out there alone if you need me, so call me if you do. Okay?”

  Exhaling, I nod even though she can’t see me. “I will. And I love you, Holly.”

  “Yeah, you better.” And then she’s gone. Holly isn’t good with her emotions. She takes after Dad more than Mum when it comes to that, which is pretty much the opposite to me. Some days I wonder how we manage to share a house together with how different we are.

  Turning the key in the ignition, I force all thoughts of the baby I aborted a month ago from my mind. I’ve been trying to do that ever since I had the abortion and it’s getting harder with
each passing day. Today is no different, but I do eventually manage to focus only on driving to the supermarket and buying pasta. I’m also going to pick up a few ingredients for some cakes I’ve decided to make tonight. I’m going to spend the night baking. I’m hoping it’ll be a good alternative to partying and drinking.

  5

  Fury

  * * *

  Hagarty is a piece of fucking work. I’ve seen my fair share of motherfuckers, but he ranks right up there with the worst of the fucking worst. I’ve been watching him and digging into his affairs for three days and the shit I’ve discovered makes me sick. And it takes a lot to make me sick.

  He makes the bulk of his money in prostitution, porn, stolen goods, and money laundering. None of that information is new to me. What is new is that he now has two guys who handle most of his business dealings so he can indulge in what appears to be his new favourite activity: picking young boys up off the street and giving them a new life. That new life consists of him fucking them whenever he wants, beating the shit out of them whenever he wants, and forcing them into prostitution and porn. At my latest count, he’s “saved” ten boys from the street. And at the end of every day, he goes home to his wife and daughters, and pretends to be an upstanding citizen who runs a successful car dealership chain across Australia.

  Just before lunch on Tuesday when I’m sitting outside one of the apartments he owns, waiting for him to come back out, King calls. “Need you to leave Hagarty and get over to Zara’s and watch her for the rest of the day. Mace will take over at around five this afternoon.”

  “You want me to watch Hagarty again tonight?”

  “No, take the night off, and tomorrow, meet me at the clubhouse in the morning. Around ten.”

  “Will do.”

  We end the call and I head over to Zara’s place. As far as I know, King hasn’t found solid evidence she’s in danger yet, but he’s still got eyes on her at all times of the day.

  It takes me forty minutes to get there. Sarge takes off after we catch up for a bit and I settle in for a long afternoon. Ten minutes later, Zara reverses out of her driveway and heads out so I follow her.