THE END OF FEAR
A BLACK DAGGER BROTHERHOOD NOVEL
Disclaimer:
I do not own the fandom of the Black Dagger Brotherhood. I make no money on this work of fiction. I have no connection to JR Ward, who is the owner and author of all original Black Dagger Brotherhood works. This was written purely for fun and the only characters that are mine are Rio and Jace. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
This work had been edited due to a continuity error in Chapter 3 and Chapter 17. Thanks to the anonymous reader who was kind enough to point out this error and I apologize to any readers who have pulled out any hair in confusion over my original posting. I was obviously asleep when I proofed this story before posting.
Chapter 1
Rio leaned back on the futon and stared out the patio door. The darkness had settled in over the back yard like a massive wave, covering everything it touched. With one foot propped on the coffee table, the other ankle bouncing on her bent knee, she felt the restlessness surge and ebb through her. Before long the tingling and itching made their familiar presence known and Rio pulled in a deep breath, holding it for several moments before letting it out in an explosive rush.
There had to be more to life than this, she thought as she dragged her nails up her arms and rubbed her thighs hard. Days were bad enough but when the night moved in, the internal shift was becoming too much for her. She felt like a stranger as the sun set and the night opened the door to a different world. Despite the edginess that crawled over her every night, Rio came alive. She felt like a different person; awake, sharper, her senses flaring out in all directions, looking for...she didn't know what. But it was there. Somewhere.
Yet, despite the flush of life, of unnamed emotions that flooded her every sundown, she knew something vital was missing. And that absence left a hole in her. A hole that she couldn't fill, no matter how hard she tried. The ache it brought was one of the few things that scared her -- badly. Rio didn't dwell on fear much but as the ache seized her chest tight, she dropped her head back on the couch and closed her eyes.
She had spent a good part of her life afraid of a lot of shit. But her fears had always been more of the emotional kind rather than of anything physical. As she'd worked her way through a lonely childhood into an even lonelier adolescence the thought of any physical pain had always kicked off a shot of steel through her. Even now those memories resurfaced easily and she felt the gates that had protected her slam open with a bang.
Bring it on. Go ahead, try to hurt me. See if it even matters.
But in the next second the pain changed and she grabbed for the gates in a shuddering panic. She heard the words always spoken, saw the looks given, the faces that turned away; their disappointment, their dismissal, their superiority that had sliced through her like whips of acid. Burning through skin and bone, dissolving her heart in strips, going for her soul to finish her off.
But Rio had encased her soul in a steel shell very early in life, before she even knew why it was necessary. And then she'd set out to try to prove to everyone around her that she was worth caring about, was worth...something. She became a chameleon. Whatever anyone needed, she became. Became, did, was. Became the one everyone could count on, no matter what. Did every job necessary, especially the ones no one else wanted to do. Was always there; to fetch and carry, to listen, to offer advice, to take the shit that somebody needed to take from everybody who needed to give it.
And there were those who said she was great. That she always understood whatever another person was going through, what they felt, more than anyone else had. That with a sentence or two, she could sum up another person's anguish perfectly, and always knew the right thing to say to them to help them feel better, more worthy.
Yet what she could do so easily for others couldn't be done for herself. So, despite all, Rio was a shadow. Alone in a crowd. And everyone's doormat. Because no matter how great everyone said she was, the moment she disagreed with anyone about anything, the moment she wanted or needed something for herself that might mean not doing for someone else, their desertion crushed her down and the emotional vacuum they left had her fighting for breath, everything in her screaming for salvation.
Adulthood hadn't turned out much better but after several relationships that ended badly, but predictably, something in her had died and she'd realized that she didn't care anymore how far that death went.
Most people fight the world around them and keep it all together because the fear of death outweighs their fear of the daily unknown and so they work at living. The day Rio realized she'd reached a easier acceptance of death than of the nowhere direction of her life, that shot of steel had ripped her open and brought a realization. Nothing or nobody around her was worth her death.
That was the moment of her first internal shift and most of her fear died with that realization. She didn't care what anyone thought of her anymore. No more doormat. No more sucking up everybody's shit because, really, it wasn't doing her a damn bit of good anyway. And if everyone wanted to treat her like a bitch because she didn't bow down and scrape before them anymore, well...she had a detailed map of how to go to hell and she was perfectly willing to make copies for anybody who needed one.
She woke up one morning, called work and said sorry, but goodbye. There was no one else to call since she'd said goodbye to her family a whole lot of years before. So she packed up her basics, pulled out a map, closed her eyes and pushed a pin into the first place it landed. Albuquerque, NM. Leaving the map pinned to her kitchen table, she headed for the bus depot.
And that was how Rio had lived for a long time. She was already looking for something even though she didn't recognize it yet. And there were those over the years who insisted the only reason she kept moving was because she was trying to run away from herself. She paid no more attention to them than she had to all those others who insisted she stay because they still needed a door mat. But even through all the moves, she hadn't been alone, anyway.
Rio drew in a deep breath and popped her eyes open. The trip through nostalgia not only hadn't erased the ache choking her up inside but it seemed to have cracked open a new one. She pressed hard on the middle of her chest, wishing like hell the damn pain would go away but unwilling to admit there could be any reason why it was suddenly a whole lot worse.
"Well, wasn't that fun," she muttered as she pulled on her leather jacket. "The perfect mind set for a solitary visit to the local cesspool."
She touched the small of her back, checking the dagger sheathed up along her spine under her black wife-beater and headed for the door of her small garden apartment. She shook her head, smirking softly. ZeroSum wasn't a cesspool...exactly. It was one of the most successful clubs in town but it still had its undercurrents. Didn't they all.
Like all clubs, the booze, drugs and sex flowed through its doors like a raging river. It was definitely not the place you wanted to take Mom and Dad for an evening out when they dropped by for a visit. But when you needed a zone where the music surged through your veins like a tide, where the ebb and flow of bodies and energy made you felt alive, where you could choose to sit in the shadows and watch a portion of humanity scramble and claw for a few moments of feeling like their world was ok, well, it was the best place around. As Rio rubbed at the ache in the center of her chest, she nodded. The shadows were beckoning.
Half an hour later she was standing in the line outside the club. She had no car so she walked most places and the club was no different. She knew it wasn't the safest idea, especially because she was alone, but it was also one of the reasons she felt alive. It was her
fuck you
to the possibilities that lurked in the dark, the sinuous slink and stalk that waited for the next victim to drift by. Despite her past, Rio had never viewed herself as a victim in that way, even with the shit in the dark she'd been unable to stop from happening. So as she walked her eyes moved constantly; sharp, clear, watching for whatever waited and knowing that because she watched, it was less likely to catch her. At least, not without a fight.
She crossed her arms over her chest and heaved a sigh, wondering how long she'd be stuck out here tonight. This week so far hadn't been much different than any other week. Two nights ago it had taken two and a half hours to get to the door. Last night was quicker. Only an hour and a half. Still, it sucked some of the excitement out of the night when you stood around like a wallflower at the school dance waiting to be picked.
She heard a quick flurry of noise and when the two girls behind her started shuffling and giggling she turned. There they were again and she understood what was doing with the carefully sprayed, starched and preserved twinkies. Three young men were approaching them and despite the fact Rio wasn't there to pick up anyone, her breath caught in her throat at the sight of them.
