Read Online Vengeance Borne by Amanda Bonilla - Free Book Online Page A

arms. The false comfort of the drugs wrapped him up, held him tight, and he slept.

    Micah rolled over on his side with a groan. He felt only a little better than death warmed over. His throat and tongue were too dry, like they’d been covered with a layer of velvet. What a shitty way to start the day.
    He noticed, as he stretched and rolled his tongue around his mouth, a tenderness in his face. After stumbling a few paces to the tiny bathroom mirror, Micah realized why. A bruise had bloomed high on his left cheekbone. Almost gone, but it looked like someone had popped him in the face. And stranger yet, it was in the exact same spot as the gash he’d touched on Jax’s cheek the previous day.
    What the hell…? Micah examined the bruise, the skin still a bit swollen and tender to the touch. He couldn’t recall falling, bumping into anything…had he rolled out of bed and not even realized it? No. The only explanation was the least logical one, and wasn’t that a crazy fucking thing to consider. When he traced his fingers along the butterflied gash on her cheek he’d felt… something . And now here he was, bruised as though he’d picked the injury right off her face and planted it on his own. Wow. Like the weirdness factor wasn’t already cranked up too high, this just added a new dimension to the crazy shit storm he called life. Hit the road while you can, reason shouted. No. Micah had felt alone his entire life. Floating and disconnected from everyone around him. But a simple touch with a complete stranger left him feeling anchored. He couldn’t run from that. Not until he got some answers.
    Micah stepped under the spray of the shower and let the hot water sluice down his body, relaxing the tension in his muscles and clearing some of the fog from his drug-muddled brain. He stayed in the shower until he exhausted the RV’s small water heater, toweled off, and threw on some clean jeans and a t-shirt. After that, a strong pot of coffee brought him officially into the land of the living. As he sat at the table, watching the morning news on the flat screen hanging on the wall above the driver’s seat, Micah absently fiddled with the items in front of him. Nothing out of the ordinary: toothpicks, packets of sugar, and a few condiment containers he hadn’t put away from dinner the night before. When the station broke for commercial, he looked down at his handiwork and spilled his coffee in the process. In neatly grouped piles were items of three. Three toothpicks lined up like soldiers, sugar packets piled up in threes. The salt and pepper standing on either side of the steak sauce, in a grouping of three.
    Too eerie to be a coincidence. The number three had been solid in his memory; not even the drugs could banish that image. It meant something—something important. He just wished he knew what.
    For a brief and stupid moment, he considered calling his mother. But the lunacy of that act would be worse than anything the dreams told him. First she’d be thrilled at the prospect her son had finally accepted his “gift” and was putting it to good use. Then she’d scold him for leaving, cry, and lay a hell of a guilt trip on him. He’d feel bad, think about going home, and it would all start over again.
    Jesus, you’re almost thirty years old dude, time to cut the cord . Micah let out a weary sigh as he scattered the pieces of three across the table, making a nonsensical mess out of the careful groupings. Signs were just excuses. Omens, nothing more than nonsense. Dreams had no meaning.
    But then, how did he explain Jax? He snatched up the drawing he’d tacked to the wall. If that dream hadn’t been a sign or some kind of omen, then what could it be? He’d driven through the town where she lived the day after the dream. And what about the gas station? Was it just chance that he’d stopped to buy fuel there? It couldn’t be a coincidence. He brought his hand to his bruised cheek. How in the hell did he explain