by Grace, Hazel
Parting my lips, his tongue continues to lace with mine slowly, as if he’s taking his time tasting me. A soft groan escapes between us, and I don’t know if it was me or him, but I’m too engaged to care. I’m lightheaded and enraptured that I am so turned on right now from a total stranger that I’ve completely forgotten my prior issue until I hear her snooty voice behind us.
“Excuse me,” Katherine squeaks behind my victim. He breaks the kiss and peers over his shoulder. Thankfully, he’s big enough to block me from view.
“Were you looking to join or was there something you fucking needed?” he snaps, his voice a deep baritone, smooth and thick, twined with danger.
“Is that—”
“Is that who?” he barks. His body moves to the side, which leads me to believe that Katherine is trying to get a look at me. “If you’re looking for a hooker, she’s your girl, or were you the one I was supposed to meet?”
I hear Katherine’s scoff. “I’m not a hooker.”
“Could have fooled me with the red lipstick,” he counters.
“How dare you!” I can see her now, in her perfect Prada dress with her nails just done, her blonde waves casting down over her shoulders. Where the hell she bagged a Prada dress in this small town blows my damn mind. No one cares about that sort of thing.
“Get the fuck out of here,” he snarls.
Gazing up for the first time, I note my stranger has a square jaw lined by a dark beard that wraps all the way up to the sides of his face. His large neck is covered with tattoos, and his nose is perfectly straight.
“You have three seconds to clear out or I’m going to throw you down these stairs lady.” He pauses for a moment, before starting. “One…”
The rapid clacking of heels scuttle off to safety, unladylike I’m sure, when I’m met face to face with the most captivating, rugged man I’ve ever seen. Dark hair matches his beard, and his light green eyes study every feature of my face, making me feel vulnerable with his body still pressed up on mine.
“Do you run around kissing strangers just to get away from people?”
“I…. I am so sorry. I was trying to get away—”
He raises a brow. “I see that.” He brings his head closer to mine, hovering inches over my mouth. “Don’t apologize, I’ll be sure to clear my calendar next time.”
I open my mouth, feeling the pulse in my neck going crazy with excitement and fear. I’m alone now and don’t remember how many flights I’ve gone down already. If he starts pressing his actions further, I’m not sure Paige would hear my screams.
Clenching my hands into fists, I try and focus on my breathing, something my therapist told me to do when I was sixteen. It was the only thing I walked out of there with that was useful. Well, that, and the fact that my mom was a selfish bitch.
“What’s your name?”
I can’t find my voice. That kiss literally making me brain dead.
His thumb comes up to rub underneath my chin, his lips quirking. “Did you forget?”
I slowly shake my head. “No.” I’m lost, dazed but certainly not confused. I haven’t been turned on by a man long as I’d like to admit.
“Then what is it?”
Hesitating another moment, I battle with myself about giving him my real name. I’ve had a stalker. I ran from that shit, and I’m not about to replace that one with rugged over here.
“Aurora,” I tell him, giving him my middle name. Sliding against the wall, I squeeze myself between it and his body.
“Leaving me already?” he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.
I need my oxygen supply back.
“I have to get back to work,” I reply.
“And where is that?”
“Upstairs.”
He raises a brow. “Upstairs?” I nod. “So, the white stuff on your face is— “
It takes a minute for my brain to comprehend what he’s talking about before I exclaim, “No! It’s not…that.”
He holds his hands in the air. “No judgment.”
I brush my face with my palm. “Seriously, I’m not a hooker.”
He shrugs. “Alright, just be careful, your next victim may not be so gentle.” He turns to leave down the stairwell before I stop him.
“Again, I’m sorry if I’ve scarred you for life.”
He peers over at me, bringing my attention to the tattoos that drift under his white tee and down his arms. “I wouldn’t say that,” he replies, sizing up my body.
I shift nervously. This was it, my embarrassing yet amazing two minutes of lust and bliss that I’ve had in years. And I’m acting like a moron. “Well….have a good day.”
He gives me a curt nod. “You too, Rora.” And with that, he starts down the stairwell, leaving only the scent of his cologne as company.
“You ready?” Cole yells over my ‘69 Camaro.
I nod, feeling the adrenaline course through me as my engine rumbles along my hands on the steering wheel. Hitting the gas to release the sound of my exhaust, the car growls in response. It’s countered with the racer next to me driving his daddy’s Mustang. A v-6 Mustang.
Don’t even get me started on that shit.
Keeping my gaze straight ahead, I watch Marissa stand between our two cars wearing short denim shorts that show off her ass and holding a white handkerchief in one hand. She looks at my car for a long seductive moment, her lips curving up in a smile and giving me a wink.
I flex my grease-stained fingers, silently expressing to her to hurry the fuck up. Thankfully, she isn’t as stupid as the other females around our normal groupies and extends her hands in the air. Everything goes silent; the sounds of the cars, the cheering in the background. The only thing I can hear is my breathing and the stillness of this moment. It’s the only time my mind isn’t entering some sort of tug of war.
Marissa’s handkerchief comes down, starting the race, and my hand flies off the trans brake. The front tires of my car come off the cement, the wail of my engine screeching through the night like Satan is coming up from hell to take us all.
As the wheels come down, I focus on the blinking red light ahead, our checkpoint. Everything blurs—the trees, the grassy field covered in marigolds. I know the newbie racer is behind me. The idiot didn't even warm up his tires, so I'm betting he fishtailed for the first few feet.
Shocker.
We get a lot of young guys coming to our street races thinking their cars, that they legit bought off the lot, are going to take one of us down.
Negative.
My guys and I know the ins and outs of a car, we live to build and race. But with open arms, I welcome newcomers money, bets, women, and cars.
Reaching the street light, I ease off the pedal, letting the car coast. I want to keep driving, pass the light and into the next state, but Levin is here, and I won’t abandon my family. Not even if it drives me to the point of absolute insanity. I have two more scheduled races to go and don’t know what awaits with that yet. Plus, I might be challenged by a bystander, which happens more and more often lately. Guys are getting word of us racing for money and pink slips, and that has their egos going in full force.
Pulling open my glove compartment, I pull Isla’s photo out. I knew Levin would put it back after I threw it out of my car earlier. He always does. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a ponytail as she leans against her TransAm. I hated that car. The Phoenix on the hood was too cliché for me, but it fit her free spirit and got me to ink it as a tattoo on my forearm. Something I could peer down at when times got rough. Which has been more so lately.
Studying her familiar goofy smile and dirty overalls that she wore when she worked on the car, my chest constricts as my jaw twitches. I've told Levin to stop putting this picture in my fucking car, but he tells me it’s a good luck charm. It’s as though he’s afraid I’m going to forget, getting so entrapped in my anger that she’ll fade away from me.
It’d never happen, not with all the memories we had together. Especially ones being o
n or near a race track. When we could get away from the house, all three of us would hitchhike up to Kentucky to see the street races and inhale the smell of turbo blue gasoline. Looking down at that smile, I can hear her tell me to just let it go, but I can’t.
I won’t.
Life isn't fair as it is, but when people take it upon themselves to fuck with my life, I’m going to return the favor. Fuck turning the other cheek. She took what was mine, what I’ve protected my whole life and the reason I wake up every morning with a purpose. She fucking took my sister.
Newbie's car drones next to mine, bringing me back to my reality. The brand new blue paint expressing my prior conviction of morons that showed up here. “Rematch?” he yells over our cars.
I raise a brow and make a U-turn to get away from this asshole. He obviously doesn’t understand how this works.
You lose.
I get your title.
Your pink slip.
Your car goes bye-bye in my garage.
Approaching the starting line again, my guys are jumping up and down, high-fiving like this is our first time doing illegal street racing. That’s where we got our name, Disorderly, by getting too many speeding tickets and court dates, had a few cars impounded too. Needing to clear that constant problem of the cops hitting us with shit, I took matters into my own hands, being a convict has its perks. I could get any type of drug, pill, and gun that I could ever want, but we don’t deal in that shit. We’re not a club looking for power, just street cred.
Though I can’t say I’ve never taken advantage of my special benefits. To get the Sheriff off our backs and the random stop-ins at the garage, I once bought a few grams of heroine and slipped it into his patrol car, along with his house and garage. And for the cherry on top, I left a burner phone too. It only took one anonymous call and Sheriff Dickhead is now spending ten years in prison for possession. His deputy moved up in rank to which I feed his cocaine addiction, and continue my ownership of the streets.
“You did fucking great, man!” Colt exclaims, holding his hand in the air for me to high five.
“What are you twelve?” I jest, nodding for Eli to take my car back around to line up for my next race.
The kid is eighteen but he’s delicate with my rides, so I let him live the dream of driving an expensive, fast car for a few moments. Plus, it gets him pussy, so it’s a team effort.
“Alright, Wy,” Colt says, rolling his eyes. “I forgot, we’re in the presence of greatness.”
Ignoring him, I walk up to Rocco, my accountant who handles the races. “What’s my next car?”
Rocco glances up at me, then back down at the race sheet. “A Zenvo ST 1.”
I shake my head. “Don’t want it. Any other good ones out here?”
“I want it,” Colt interjects.
I peer over my shoulder. “You have enough cars, you can’t even get that Ranger to work.”
Colt glares at me. “That is a work in progress, asshole. I want the Zenvo. Win it.”
Rubbing my forehead, I sigh. They’re all like brothers, ones that keep me in line, that keep my bad ideas just bad, and keep me from not acting too crazy on sudden urges to kill a certain her. The thoughts ripping through my head have been constant, especially the ones I have stirring up right now. It was twenty ways of suicide, we’d all have a target on our backs and it would become an all-out war.
“Why don’t you tear your car up and win it,” I retort. “I need to throw another fuel pump in that Camaro. I’m not looking to push it that hard tonight.”
“Didn’t bring mine,” Cole replies.
I raise a brow. “Then why the fuck are you here? We planned a race, everyone steps in.”
He crosses his tan arms. “Where’s your brother at then?”
Good question.
Before I can open my mouth and look around for myself for Lev, Eli brings my car around, getting in line for the next race.
I point a finger at Colt. “You owe me a car.”
Eli pops the hood of the car to let it breathe and cool off when I hear my name. Glancing over my shoulder, Beast is jogging toward me.
“What’s going on?” I ask him.
Beast props his forearm on my car door. “I got a hit on the Queen.”
Sitting at my kitchen island, I twirl Katherine’s new wedding cake around by the stand. The buttercream frosting is perfectly applied, and I silently congratulate myself on the miracle I pulled off. My Top Hits Pandora station is replaced by my ringtone, and, without looking, I reach over, carefully trying to keep as much frosting off it as possible.
“Hello?”
“There you are!” My body halts at the sound of my mother’s voice. I’ve been dodging her for weeks since moving here, trying to stay away from the memories that cause me to go into panic attacks at night, and sometimes, during the day.
“Mom,” I deadpan, not having much to say.
I take that back.
I have a shit load to say but nothing that will solve my current life status, so I’ll leave it at that.
“I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks. I was about to report you as a missing person,” she scolds calmly.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
She’d never do such a thing. She would send a search party out for one of her models before me. I could’ve gotten away with so much as a child, but drugs didn’t interest me, and my friends enjoyed dances, movies, and shopping. I was the definition of a goody two-shoes, I guess, which got me into trouble in the long run with my sweet and welcome demeanor.
“Did you move again? I sent you a birthday card and received it back.”
“No,” I lie. ‘That’s weird.”
Mom starts to talk to someone else, complaining about a shipment of lace, and comes back on the line. “Interesting. Anyways, I called to ask you if you wanted to come with me to Paris. You haven’t been since you were a child, and we are due for some mother/daughter time.”
I roll my eyes. We’ve never had mother/daughter time. Last time we went to Paris, she was launching her fashion line in between business meetings, while I played with Post-it notes and highlighters in a nearby conference room.
I twirl Katherine’s cake on the stand. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get the time off work, but thanks for the offer.”
“That’s too bad. Then next time,” she offers. “Are you coming back home to visit? Jerry has been asking about you.”
My stomach kinks into knots and my throat tightens as I clench the countertop, forcing myself to breathe evenly.
He isn’t here.
I’m far away.
You’re safe.
“Nova, are you there?”
“Don’t ever mention his name to me again,” I fume. Her betrayal was enough when she never believed me.
When I told her about Trevor between sobs and what Jerry had done, she had the audacity to laugh and brush me off like I was playing a joke on her. I still don’t know what ever happened to Trevor. He ended up dropping out of school, his parents moved, I never saw him again after that night. I tried looking him up several times on social media too, but came up with nothing.
“Nova Aurora, you watch your tone with me. I don’t know what happened between you two but—”
“I already told you, Mom, and you ignored me.”
“He is gay as a jaybird,” she retorts. “He dates a different man every damn second he gets and—”
“I’m not lying, stop with your fucking excuses and listen to me. He put his hands on me, slapped me, beat the shit out of—”
“Stop it,” Mom snaps. “He'd never do that to you. He loved you like—”
I slam my hand on my countertop. “He loved me a little too much, and not the kind of love that a person has for another. He was obsessed with making me suffer, watching me cry and shake in fear. Why do you think I left?”
I squeeze my phone because the next words I say will plummet on fallen ears, but I’m hoping, for once, five years later that she
’ll believe me. “He constantly tried to rape me, Mama.”
There’s a long silence on the phone, and I notice there isn’t the normal bustle around in the background. She’s somewhere quiet, which isn’t normal at all, then she shatters my confidences in one sentence.
“Now you’re being dramatic.” Her tone is flat and monotone, like a business deal. And that’s exactly how I’ve always been treated in her world because mine ended the day Dad died from a car accident. She didn’t even notice he was gone until he was found two days later in a ditch along Route 34. I begged her to call him, reach out to the police because it wasn’t like him to be gone.
But again, deaf ears.
“I’m done, Mom.” Anger crawls underneath my skin, and I tamper down the need to throw my phone across the room, shattering this conversation into oblivion. I can’t keep doing this to myself. My mother is just not someone I can confide in, and I need to admit it to myself after all this time.
“I didn’t call to argue,” Mom asserts. "I want you to come back home. California is hot and horrible for your skin.”
I hold back a choked laugh, I’m not in Cali, far from it, and in the wrong direction. I live in Tennessee now, knowing that Jerry would stay far away from any hillbilly town.
“I’m fine, and I’ll come home when you fire Jerry.”
Mom puffs into the phone. “This is ridiculous, I need you both in one room to talk about whatever it was that happened. It’s alright to admit you have a crush on him and—”
“I didn’t have a crush,” I snap. “I need to go.”
“Nova, please. I haven’t seen you in well over five years.”
“Not my fault.”
“Well, how is Paige?”
“I don’t know, call her.” And with that, I hang up.
Slouching my shoulders, I rub at my temples. Paige was all I had, agreeing to leave with me when it became more than I could bear. I packed what I could in my backpack, stole the money out of my mom’s purse, and took Paige’s beat up Tempo, using all our money for gas.
And I never looked back.
___