The Rise of Ferryn Page 9

  "She's been missing for almost nine years, West. Shit is different."

  "Shit might be different, but some other shit seems like it is starting to make sense."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Your moody ass," he told me, smiling as he snatched a bottle off the back bar. "I never made the connection. But then I saw that girl out there. It's all falling into place."

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Always noticed you eyeing these chicks. Short black haired chicks. But you never approached them. Just looked at 'em all longingly. Last I saw a picture of Ferryn, she had long-ass hair. It never clicked. She shaved her head. And so you've been looking for her in every bar and club and every town we've done a drop in. Eight and a half years, you've been haunted by this chick. Or the memory of her. And now she shows up unexpected and she's nothing like the girl you knew and were pining for."

  "I wasn't pining for her. It was never like that for us. She was my little sister's best friend. That's it. We got along. But it was platonic."

  "Platonic because she was jailbait maybe."

  "Don't," I snapped. "I don't like what you're implying."

  "Just thinking out loud," he said, shrugging, tipping back a bottle. "But I am going to throw this out here because it is something you might need to keep in mind for the next week."

  "What?" I asked, feeling like I didn't want to know.

  "No matter how fucking tempting it might be, you don't touch the president's daughter."

  With that, he moved out of the common space, going down the hall where the rooms were situated, leaving me alone with my own swirling thoughts.

  I didn't need the warning, of course.

  I had no plans on touching Ferryn.

  Unless it was to grab her and shake some fucking sense back into her, that is.

  Too amped up to rest, I told West I would take the night shift, deciding that if I was going to be pacing, pacing the grounds doing rounds was at least a useful.

  By the time the sun came up and Cash's bike was rumbling up the road, I was near dead on my feet.

  Thankful for the break, and happy I would be able to sleep instead of lie to his face about his niece, I headed to bed, not waking up until late in the afternoon.

  Groggy and disoriented, it took a long time for everything to click together in my head.

  Ferryn.

  My old apartment.

  Her not being able to leave.

  Skinnier than ever, the food I had brought her was probably more than enough to sustain her, but that didn't mean she should be forced to exist off of chips and junk food cakes and peanut butter.

  I took a shower, gave Cash an excuse about having to meet Iggy for lunch, then picked us up some food and coffee—investing in a couple more of those steel containers—then making my way back toward my old place, wondering what she might have done to pass the time, to keep herself occupied. The lack of entertainment had never bothered me much. I had always been playing music, writing music, listening to music. I didn't need a TV.

  Had she plowed through the books I had gotten her? Back when she was younger, she was never without a book in her purse, in her backpack. She would constantly ask if I could drop her and Iggs at the library to hang out, or if I could drive her past it so she could return books or pick up something she'd been on the waiting list for. I'd heard her say she went through one on a school day and two on each day there was no school. She'd been an insatiable reader.

  Unfortunately, it was slim pickings at the box store. The majority of the books were paperbacks that seemed like thrillers or crime fiction. I ended up having to get her a couple that looked like historicals, a biography of a 1920s socialite, and a couple ones with couples embracing on the cover. Thankfully, so late at night, the only lane open was self-checkout, so I didn't have to get eyes from the cashier over the smut.

  It was proving hard to picture Ferryn picking up and reading them. I guess because it was proving hard to think of her as a full-grown woman with her own sexual history.

  The recognition of that made my stomach drop a bit, something I chose to blame on a bump on the road I was speeding a bit down.

  "Might not be up yet," a voice called out toward me, masculine, with a hint of a southern twang, making my head move to find him leaning against his front door, smoking lazily.

  Last time I had been to my place, the guy who had been living there was all of eighty with a wet cough and rheumy eyes.

  Who this new guy was was anyone's guess, but I had a feeling he wasn't hanging out in Navesink Bank for the proximity to the beaches. He looked like he was here for trouble.

  "Excuse me?"

  "Your girl. We were up late drinking. Drank me under the fucking table," he added. "Got a tolerance I've never seen. But you would already know that, wouldn't you?"

  There was an odd inflection in his tone, like he was suspicious of something. What, I wasn't sure. Since there was no way he knew who Ferryn was or that she had once been missing.

  "Yeah, she's always been able to hold her own." In more ways than one. "Who are you?"

  "Finch," he supplied inclining his head.

  "Right, well, Finch, I would appreciate you staying the fuck away from my girl."

  "Don't worry, man. I'm no threat to you. Like my girls a little meatier. And with duller claws."

  "Duller claws? In this town?" I asked, lips curving up. "Good luck with that."

  With that, feeling a little bit better that Ferryn was not Finch's type—even if I knew it was none of my business who was or was not interested in her, that it wasn't my job to protect her, that I had no reason to feel possessive over her—I made my way into the apartment just as Ferryn was walking out of the bathroom.

  In nothing but a pair of the polka dot red panties I'd bought her and a white ribbed tank that left very little to the imagination.

  Her somewhat corded arm was twisted up, rubbing at her wet hair with a towel.

  "Do you know the hot water is out?" she asked, not sounding entirely bothered by the fact. As though a cold shower didn't bother her in the least. When I previously heard Iggy tell me that when she slept over at Ferryn's house, she would take such long—and hot—showers that her little brothers would bitch that there was no warm water left.

  Again, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of life she had been living since she'd left? Fleabag accommodations where she got used to a lack of basic human necessities?

  Just the idea of that made my stomach twist, not liking that image, not wanting to picture her living such a fate.

  "I would call the owner, but it is probably easier just to fix it myself."

  "You know how to fix things?"

  "You don't need to sound so shocked," I told her, lips curving up, finding all the anger from the night before dissipated. She seemed to feel the same, taking the offered coffee with a simple Thanks before walking over to the brown bag of breakfast sandwiches and hash browns on the counter. Without even a thought to putting pants on.

  I couldn't decide if I found it charming or incredibly distracting. Or, well, both. I'd never known Ferryn to be shy, but there was something in the way she moved around without a single care in the world about the bottoms of her rounded ass cheeks hanging out of her panties that was very indifferent. As though she either didn't consider the fact that it was sexy, or that she was so confident in her sexuality that it was simply a part of her, something she felt no need to feel odd about. Even in front of someone who was all but a stranger to her the past several years.

  "I had to go through the prospecting period, remember? Turns out, none of the older guys want to spend their time hammering on pipes or cleaning out drains anymore. They left that up to West and me. I learned quick."

  "Are these cinnamon rolls?" she asked, her eyes going wide when I nodded, like she'd been in some parallel dimension for eight and a half years where they didn't have such things at pretty much every fast food or coffee shop in the country.


  "Don't worry. I didn't want any," I told her as she plowed through two and reached for a third.

  "I wasn't worried," she told me over a full mouth, making my smile stretch wide.

  I'd been too distracted by the strangely ravenous way she was devouring her food to notice much else until she took a break from shoving food into her mouth to reach for her coffee once again.

  Then, well, then I noticed something.

  Her arm.

  Sure, she had strong arms. She always did. Muscled, but long and lean. But that wasn't what caught my attention.

  Oh, no.

  It was the puckered scar right near her left shoulder, still pink, but not new.

  I knew that scar.

  A couple of the guys in the club had that scar.

  An old bullet wound.

  "The fuck is this?" I heard myself demand, reaching out instinctively, moving to grab her upper arm to get a better look.

  It was the wrong move.

  One second, I was standing there with her arm in my hand.

  The next, my arm was arched up between my shoulder blades, my head was slamming into the counter, and some curved fucking knife thing was pressing into my throat.

  "Jesus Christ, Ferryn, what the fuck?" I asked, too stunned to think better of speaking, making the knife slice into my skin slightly. Superficial, but stinging.

  "Fuck," she hissed, releasing me all at once, scuttling backward so fast that by the time I turned, she was by the couch.

  My hand reached up, sliding over the wet on my neck, glancing at the blood before looking up at her.

  "Don't grab me," she warned. But there wasn't anger there like you'd expect after such an aggressive display.

  No.

  There was a haunted sound to her voice, something that made a shiver course over my skin.

  My hands moved out instinctively, palms facing her. "My bad, Ace. I was just surprised. I didn't mean to grab you like that."

  She nodded a bit tightly at that, moving back to the table, tucking the curved blade under the book where it must have been in the first place.

  "When the fuck did you get shot?"

  "Um... four, no, five years ago," she told me, tone conversational, indifferent, as she picked up a sleeve of hash brown circles, popping a few into her mouth, slowing down a little.

  Five years ago.

  She'd gotten shot when she was something like twenty years old?

  How? Why? By whom?

  I wanted to know, but I somehow understood that if I asked, things would hit the fan again.

  We seemed to be getting on alright. I wanted to keep the peace as long as possible. If I wasn't careful, I might scare her off before her family even got to see her. And then, well, then I would be in some deep shit.

  "You got more of them?"

  "More of what?"

  "Scars. And not from falling out of trees or some shit like that."

  "Yeah, I have more of them."

  Again, no inflection.

  Like it was no big deal.

  "Ace, about last ni..."

  "No," she cut me off, shaking her head.

  "No?" I repeated, finally reaching for my breakfast sandwich as well.

  "I think we can both chalk that up to being off last night," she explained.

  "I think we both made some valid points," I added, not willing to say that I was wrong because I knew I wasn't.

  To that, I got a shrug as she finally put her food down, focusing on her coffee.

  "Is Iggy still in Navesink Bank?" she asked, not making eye contact.

  "She... yeah. Yeah, she's still here."

  "Is she mad at me?" she asked, and it was the first time I heard a hint of vulnerability in her.

  "I think mad is the wrong word. I think Iggs was worried and maybe as time went on, a little resentful. She loves you though, Ace. You know she wants to see you."

  "I don't want to screw with her life."

  "You won't."

  "You don't know that."

  "Yes, I do. I know her. And I know what you two had together. Yeah, it's been a while. And you two have grown. You will need to get re-acquainted. But I know you two will fall back into it."

  "I wish I..." she started, trailing off when her phone dinged on the couch.

  Considering the fact that she cut herself off from everyone for her old life, it shocked me when she shot across the room, reaching a bit frantically for her cell. I couldn't help but wonder who was in her life now to make her jump-to so quickly.

  Her finger scrolled for a couple seconds before she was dropping the phone, grabbing for a pair of pants, pulling them on, then grabbing for her jacket.

  "What are you doing?" I asked, fearful I already knew the answer.

  "I have to go."

  "No."

  "Vance, I'm going," she said, giving me eye-contact for a long moment before slamming her feet into her boots.

  "You just fucking got back and you are going to leave without seeing anyone?"

  "I'm coming back."

  "When?"

  "I don't know. A day. Two days tops."

  "Ferryn..."

  "I'm coming back," she insisted, voice harder as she moved toward me.

  I didn't want to know why she was taking her knife. I had a feeling I wouldn't like the answer if I asked.

  "Wait," I demanded when she went to rush past me, reaching out to grab her arm before thinking better of it and holding my hand up. "Let me give you my number," I told her, watching as her brows furrowed as though the words didn't make sense. "Text me when you're on your way back," I added.

  "Oh. Ah. Okay," she said, pulling out her phone, jabbing the numbers in. "I have to go," she added when she was done, making her way to the door.

  "Ace."

  "Yeah?"

  "I don't know what you're up to, but be careful."

  "No promises," she told me with a solemn shrug.

  With that and nothing more, she was gone, the door slamming behind her.

  I couldn't focus the rest of the day.

  Figuring that Cash and some of the other guys would call me if they needed me, I spent my time working on the apartment. Getting the hot water going took longer than I anticipated. In checking to see if it was working, I noticed the tub needed re-grouting. And the whole place in general was in desperate need of a scrubbing.

  Living on the road being a musician had been a filth-filled adventure. Prospecting The Henchmen had left me in charge of all the dirty work. It was something that made me not only aware of filth when I came across it, but much more likely to grab a vacuum or mop and handle it than I once had been.

  By the time the sun had gone down, the apartment was immaculate, and I was kicking myself for giving her my number when I should have gotten hers instead. At least that would have left me with a little bit of control over the situation. Or a way to ensure I could get in touch with her to make sure she was on her way back.

  "Should I ask what—or who—you were doing all day?" West asked when I walked back into the clubhouse.

  "I was fixing a hot water heater," I told him, rolling my eyes. And, oddly, choosing not to tell him about Ferryn skipping town once again. Considering he was my only confidant in this situation, you'd think I would want to keep him up to date on everything, offload some of the stress onto his shoulders. "Do you know a guy named Finch?" I added, trying to remember if I had heard anything about him before.

  "Finch? First or last?"

  "Didn't say. Just introduced himself as Finch. Southern accent. Tennessee, maybe?" I guessed. Having done a fair amount of touring, I had gotten pretty good at telling accents apart.

  "Not ringing a bell. Why?"

  "He's my new neighbor at the apartment. Just don't peg him as someone in Navesink Bank for no reason. Was wondering if he had ever popped by trying to prospect or something."

  "Not that I've heard. But we're not the only game in town."

  Well, that was for damn sure.

  Bike
rs, and loansharks, and the mob, oh my! really should have been the town slogan. And that didn't even mention the PIs, the fixers, the gangs, or the for-hire enforcer types. If he was looking for a job, he would likely find it.

  "Do you think he's going to be a problem for us?"

  "I don't think so. But it is something to maybe put on Cash's radar if you see him before I do. Have Lo check him out just to see what he might be up to. Everything's been relatively quiet around here for a while. It would be nice to know if there were about to be waves in the water."

  "Are you asking because you genuinely want to check him out, or because your girl is moon-eyeing him?"

  "She's not my girl. And I don't think Ferryn is capable of anything even resembling moon-eyeing anyone."

  At least, not anymore.

  There had been moon-eyes once upon a time.

  Watching me from the passenger side of my car.

  Watching me from the front row when I was on stage.

  Watching me as I climbed out of my parents' pool.

  Watching me as she made me listen to her new favorite songs.

  She'd once been the queen of moon-eyes.

  Now, though, now I wasn't sure there was enough of that girl left in her to allow that kind of open vulnerability, that rare honesty of emotion.

  "Dunno. Thought I maybe saw a flash when she realized who you were. Old crushes and all that cheesy shit. Where you going?" he asked when I went to go down the hall to my room. "Gonna write some more music about her? Because two albums weren't enough!" he added just as I got to my door.

  No one brought up the albums.

  I honestly wasn't even sure anyone had thought to look it all up.

  There hadn't been a vetting process before letting me into the club, so all my secrets were mine to keep. Not that the albums were a secret at all. They'd done well, actually. They put the band on the map.

  They'd also been my undoing.

  But that was a story for some other time.

  Or never.

  Never worked for me just as well.

  I preferred my life in two parts.

  During the band.

  And after the band.

  It made everything easier to deal with. Made lost dreams less of a jagged pill to swallow. Made this new life an easier transition without everyone knowing and bringing up all that old shit.