Please understand that I mean absolutely no disrespect to any type of law enforcement, the following opinions are for the sole purpose of this story.
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Chapter 2
Lying back onto his modest cot in the small ten by seven foot room over the crumbling bar, Tate stared up at the brown spotted rain damaged ceiling skimming his fingers across his full parted lips.
Traces of her lingered dizzyingly against his tongue momentarily holding his rage at bay while his bat laid on the wooden warped floor beneath him.
Images of her pale flawless heated skin danced dangerously inside his mind.
The pit of his stomach still twisted in glorious pleasure as he recalled delving deep inside her wet walls that fluttered with desperate need against every thrust.
Black eyes heavy with determination peering through damp blonde curls envisioned her last words as she slipped out from his grasp disappearing down the alley.
'… this was a mistake.'
Tate burdened with a multitude of fuck ups and wrong turns in his life was well aware of what a mistake felt like, this was not it.
Like an angel she had walked out of the shadows of an otherwise dark and lonely existence for which he seldom felt any respite from.
"Violet…"
Whispering her name against the bare walls of the cold small room was a call to her, a promise that he would be seeing her again, that he would soon discover the animal that left the imprint of demented fingers that curved like a snake around her delicate neck.
She was inside him now, a thorny vine of roses embedded around his heart, he breathed her in, bathed in the sound of her voice, the touch of her body, the perfection of her kiss.
Willing himself to sleep, to dream once again of the girl he now knew of as Violet he vowed to find her again.
vTv
The following week was the longest of his life, even compared to the endless hours spent locked in a cell could not measure up to the seemingly endless days that led to the night she would appear.
As the usual barfly's made their way in for another Friday night of bullshit lies and empty promises he stood waiting, watching, his heart bound into a knot suffocating in his throat.
As the hour of one approached he began to pace behind the bar fists curled tight by his side his pulse racing to a dangerous beat.
He instinctively knew in that instant that she would not be coming.
Slamming his back against the many liquor bottles that lined the wall he felt razor shards of glass rip into his skin.
Physical pain was over shadowed by the crushing ache in his chest as he gripped his mass of thick flaxen hair devastated.
Clenching his teeth he dug his fingers into the marked up curve of the bar as Gus pulled the green and brown transparent slivers from his tender back.
"Tate my boy, you're walking down a dangerous path here. She's a married woman. You're messing with a hornet's nest…. we both know this is the last thing you need now."
Nodding blankly Tate already was making plans in his head, he had a way of finding her, but it would mean coming face to face with the man responsible for the death of the only person he ever loved.
It was a dangerous move, one that was sure to resurface demons that he had worked so hard to quell.
But it was her.
"You can take the cost of the bottles out of my pay." Tate muttered softly wincing as Gus removed the last and deepest of the glass from his back.
Scoffing Gus reached for the first aid kit under the bar pouring a generous amount of peroxide over his cuts.
"Don't be an asshole, I told you this was your home. I understand your temper Tate. I was there through it all when you were a kid. In my eyes that bastard father of yours is lucky he's not six feet under rotting in the ground. But you are only hurting yourself when you lash out like this."
Feeling a deep shiver rush through Tate's arms as he gripped the counter hard Gus backed away after bandaging his wounds.
"You need to let this go son; you've been given a second chance, she didn't show, take it as a blessing and let it be."
Pressing his forehead against the cool wood in front of him Tate sighed knowing he had to tell Gus what he needed to hear.
"You're right; I guess I didn't think this through. My parole officer is just looking for a reason to come down on me."
He heard the words but Gus was no fool, he knew Tate since he was a boy, rescued him time and time again when he father would get drunk and beat on his mother.
The little blue house by the bar was a house of horrors for the little boy.
His father was protected; piles of domestic abuse reports were systematically buried year after year.
Gus threw a shot down his gullet remembering the night he found the twelve year old hovering over his father.
His father's own gun pressed to his temple by a small hand as he mother lay dead by his feet.
He clearly recalled the emotionless black eyes staring down into the face of the man that took his mother, without a shred of uncertainty only vengeance looming in his young face there was no doubt of Tate's intentions.
With no fear he cocked the gun ready to fire just before Gus yanked him away.
His mother's death was deemed an accident covered up by a brotherhood bound by loyalty.
The bar became his home, his escape, Gus his only friend, the only person who knew the truth.
But the damage was done; the following years were filled with a long list of arrests for Tate.
Drugs and alcohol fueled his rage against the demons that plagued him but it was his temper that landed him in jail time and time again.
With help from Gus and his young age he managed to escape any real jail time serving short sentences in local Juvenile hall.
It wasn't until the night at the cemetery when his luck ran out and his demons came out to play.
Finding his father drunk slumped over his mother's grave broke the last shred of humanity Tate was holding onto.
The beating was viscous, unforgiving and totally justified as far as he was concerned.
Tate hammered his father first with his fists then with his trusty bat that his mother had given him for a birthday present.
He had no memory of pulling the bat from the back seat of his car or the crack of his father's bones that left him permanently disfigured.
Tate did however clearly recalled his father reaching for his gun and pointing it to his chest with his one working hand.
It was that very same gun that he pulled on his father years ago; the same gun that ended his mother's life and now would put him behind bars, the irony was not lost on him.
"On your fucking knees! You're eighteen boy, no more juvie stints for you, this time you're going in."
He father backed up his threat pressing charges against his only child.
At the sentencing Gus was the only one there for Tate, he watched with a worried heart that this would only serve to deepen his need for vengeance, his ever present boiling rage blistering his skin just below the surface.
To his surprise the opposite seemed to unfold for the young boy.
He stayed out of trouble taking beatings on the inside when he could've easily defended himself.
He grew quiet, controlled, as if he had somehow found a way to put the past behind him.
Tate did his time without incident and was rewarded with an early release for good behavior.
Gus was waiting for him on the outside with a job and place to stay, it wasn't much but Tate had every intention of rising above his past.
In Tate's mind this was temporary, a step up to a life he should have had.
He made promises to Gus, talk of community college in the fall, a real future, no more trouble.
He swore to him that he wouldn't let his mother death be in vain, that he wouldn't allow his father to drag him down the same path.
Gus wanted to believe, almost needed to, but Tate could not hide the coldness in those black eyes.
His pain ran deep and forever, there was no escaping it.
Gus knew it was only a matter a time, the right situation, the perfect storm, like the sun rising each day it was inevitable.
Someone was going to end up paying the price for the hell he was put through and the loss he would never recover from.
vTv
Peering through the glass doors of the police station Tate bore a hateful glare at the man who was responsible for his mother's death not to mention putting him in jail.
It was his intention to never see this man again, to leave him in a past he worked hard to rise above.
But it was for her.
With a deep breath he blinked his intense eyes magically changing his hard stare into a fake mask ready to play the game.
"Detective Landon your son is here to see you."
Recognizing him immediately the scrawny, lanky officer at the desk who was the same age as Tate nervously led him to his father's office.
Forcing the edge of his mouth upwards into a smile Tate raised his hand out to the balding middle aged man slouching in an ill fitted cheap brown suit.
Shocked he met his son's hand with a tentative but forceful shake.
"Tate… I heard you were out. Is there something you wanted … cause if its money I'm afraid – "
Hold up his hand Tate shook his head. "No, I'm fine, I'm working for Gus right for now."
His father shifted his jaw back and forth suspicious of Tate's intentions.
Tate could smell the booze on his breath from three feet away giving him a slight twinge along his spine and a flood of memories he wished he could forget.
"Well if there's nothing you want from me, what brings you here?"
Digging his teeth inside his cheek Tate softened his expression offering his father an apology.
"We're the only family we have left, I just thought maybe we could start fresh, bury the hatchet so to speak."
Imagining a large steel blade embedded down the middle of his father's forehead seemed to ease the blatant lies spilling all too easily from his mouth.
Nodding hesitantly the detective gripped his coffee mug curious as to what this was all about, not believing a word of it.
Rising from his chair his father nodded towards him as he shook his near empty coffee/whiskey drink in his hand.
"Take a seat, I need a refill… you want some?"
Sitting behind his father's desk he looked up at the deep indent below his right eye caused by Tate's fist that shattered his eye socket nearly blinding him.
"No, I'm good."
Casually leaning back against the black leather chair he watched his father disappear into break room gripping the small bottle of whiskey inside the pocket of his suit jacket.
Eyeing the busy police station he quickly began typing the information he needed into his father's computer pulling up DMV records.
His plan was to get her address and if he had time to see if there were any arrests or history of violence connected with Violet's husband.
Tate may have not been formally educated but he had the streets smarts that would rival the most accomplished Harvard student.
Plugging in Violet's license plate number had he her address and her last name but before he could dig into her husband he caught a glance of his father turning the corner of the main office.
Clearing the history Tate calmly eased back into the chair with his cell in his hands thumbing several screens as if he had been this way the entire time.
His father returned fumbling over a desk clearly buzzed not to mention shaken by the sight of Tate without restraints or handcuffs knowing full well the punishment he was capable of dealing out.
It had been a few years since that night in the cemetery but the impression his son made would stay with him forever as well as the scars he would be forced to carry for the rest of his life.
Upon his return Tate immediate rose stepping slowly backwards.
"Sorry to cut this short, just got a text from Gus, the delivery truck is at the bar, he needs help… we'll talk soon."
Giving Tate a wide path Detective Langdon slowly nodded as he downed his drink choking roughly taking too much in at once.
"Sure Tate… but maybe it would better if you call first next time. I'm not big on surprises."
Raising two fingers out from his temple in a lazy solute Tate turned away pushing open the double glass doors with a force that made everyone in the station look in his direction.
It was a small town where cops looked after cops and dirt was covered up, a place where bribes and threats were almost expected to keep things quiet.
Justice was like the images portrayed in Norman Rockwell paintings, a thing of the past…
Basically as it always was… a fucking lie.
vTv
Standing outside the large Victorian impressive home of the Harmon's Tate patiently leaned against a mammoth Oak tree just out of sight veiled in the shadows of the expansive backyard.
His intense glare was focused on a single light that he suspected was a bedroom at the edge of the limb of the towering tree he was resting against.
Tate's muscles flexed tensing hard as he heard a deep male voice booming throughout the house.
A string of swears and accusations spewed from the domineering voice that soon had a face as the front door swung open.
Dressed in a navy expensive suit, jet black hair slicked back, over coat thrown over one shoulder stood Violet's husband.
A vial feeling of hate overcame Tate as his eyes narrowed in over the air of his egotistical, narcissistic attitude that could not be missed.
Silently Tate stood motionless his jaw clenched tight knowing now without question that this was the man responsible for her bruises.
With the black BMW edging out of the driveway Tate began to climb the massive tree with ease avoiding the front door not wanting to bring attention to what he suspected was a street full of nosey neighbors.
Slipping soundlessly inside her bedroom window he stood breathless from the sight of her as she stood with just a thick red towel wrapped around her slender body.
Studying her beautiful reflection in the mirror he observed the tips of her long silky hair brushing lightly along the curve of her breasts in such a way it almost hurt.
His stomach twisted in that now familiar torturous way craving her, needing to touch her as bad as oxygen to his straining lungs.
With a gentle husky voice he spoke desperate to find her eyes upon him once again.
"Did he hurt you Violet?"