Orphan Flowers (Conquering Series, Book 1)

CHAPTER ONE

Darren

Past, April 1998

Wanting to know where she was headed and her plans, I followed her. I should have been dragging her ass back home as I had before—after only just a few miles—but this time I desperately wanted to know her intentions. Was it another man she was after? Why was she doing this? Answers were what I needed.

Pulling the car over under some dark, low hanging trees, I studied her as she led herself up the driveway to a white upper-class home, almost Victorian in style, with red trim, and a red front door. It reminded me of a house you would see in the movies, all prim and proper.

I had no idea why she would have come to this side of the city to begin with. Who would she know here? It was too far out of the way for her, and aside from when she used to work, she didn't have friends, nor did she go out anywhere. We had nothing more than the average lifestyle—we lived in North Vancouver, I provided what was needed selling the animal meats I hunted weekly, and I paid the bills. It didn't require us to be social with anyone. We lived a perfectly simple life, all we needed was each other.

She fumbled in the driveway seeming to stall herself from reaching the front door of the house. What was she scared of? Barely able to keep my eyes on her, I felt my blood start to boil and my brow beginning to sweat. Clenching the steering wheel in front of me with a nearly white-knuckle grip to contain the anger that was boiling under my skin, I knew I needed to calm my nerves. I took a swig from my flask on the passenger seat, feeling the burn travel down the back of my throat—stinging momentarily. It was a sensation I had grown accustomed to—the aroma, the burn, the feeling.

Maintaining my gaze, I watched her intently. The struggle she was having was evident as she made her way further up the driveway towards the door. She hesitated as she approached the doorbell. At first, she dropped her hand, but a moment later I saw her make contact. Anxiety welled up inside me. I feared I would see another man open the door. She appeared to be staring down at a piece of paper and checking it against the number display next to the door. At this point I had too many emotions running through my head, I wasn't even sure which one I needed to express at that moment.

No one can take care of her but me.

With her condition, she needed ample supervision. I was enough for her, I was capable of providing everything she needed. We were happy together, weren't we?

With my mind fogging over, and the outside world nearly slipping away at the thought of another man in her life, I put my foot on the gas pedal and sped off, not giving her actions a second thought.

Looking back in my rear view mirror, everything was a blur. I saw flashes of our wedding day, us happy in our home, watching her paint each room that needed to be precisely as it appeared in her old, ragged childhood book. Needing to erase the visions, the memories, I took another swig from the flask, which was becoming much like a desert. It was one of the only substances that made the feelings go away—at least that's what I hoped was happening. For the time being, it was numbing me enough to gather my thoughts together.