This Is a Dark Ride

by Melissa Harlow

  “I’m gonna go,” she said.

  He could see how much Brody wanted to say something, but he didn’t. Instead he stared back at Sam with that unspoken plea still in his eyes. Sam bit his lip; he wasn’t going to let Brody make him the bad guy here.

  “I’m not turning you out into the snow,” Sam said quickly.

  “Why are you being so nasty to me? I didn’t do anything to you. You sure aren’t the fucking welcome wagon,” Angel said.

  “No? I’m so sorry! By all means, feel welcome here. Take my bed, go and sleep with Brody. You want my fucking car too? The check engine light has been on since Christmas. You might want to get someone to take a look at it.”

  She wrapped the sheet around her body and attempted to stand, but her legs seemed to crumple from beneath her.

  Sam caught her before she fell. He was happy to feel her in his arms, but he was very aware that Brody watched him. Sam held on to her woodenly, wondering why holding someone so damned icy made him feel flushed and hot. Other than Brody, he couldn’t recall anyone in the world that he’d ever wanted as much as he wanted the woman he now held. It should be only Brody. What the fuck are you doing?

  He felt Brody’s eyes on him, and Sam awkwardly met his gaze. Brody didn’t say anything, but slowly a smile spread across his face. Fuck. He knows. Sam wasn’t sure how Brody knew, but he could see plain as day in Brody’s eyes that he did.

  “You don’t want her to go, Sam. Tell her you’re sorry.” The authority the old Brody Redlinger once had crept into that voice, and Sam nearly shivered.

  “Tell her, Sam.”

  “Just…just stay here,” Sam said, forcing himself to speak softly. He looked at her. The sheet had slid down, baring her breasts. He realized he was staring at them, and he abruptly made himself stop. He was acting like he’d never seen a pair of tits before. His gaze moved up to her solemn face. “I’m sorry I’m being a dick.” He set her back on the sofa.

  She stared up at him, looking partly scared but mostly confused. “I’m sorry you have a problem with me,” she said, sounding more hurt than sorry.

  “I don’t.” He most certainly did, but not the kind of problem that she was thinking of. “Look, I’ve been worried about you,” he said. There. He’d said it out loud. Maybe he could stop thinking about her, dreaming about her, wanting her.

  “Worried about me?”

  He nodded sheepishly and looked over at Brody, ready to confess—sort of. He’d admit to buying the coat, but he wasn’t going to tell either of them about the way he’d been feeling. The way he couldn’t stop thinking about her…

  “I bought her a coat. It’s in my car.”

  Brody looked so goddamn smug. “Yeah? When’d you do that?”

  “A couple of days ago. She didn’t have one. It’s been so cold outside, you know? That’s why I stopped…” He could hear the defensiveness and deceit in his own voice. Brody lied to him all the time about whether he’d eaten or not, and Sam wondered if Brody felt bad inside like he did right now.

  Angel made a little choking noise, and her pretty green eyes got all teary.

  “That was really nice of you,” she said. He liked the way she was looking at him, like she was thinking about important things…like she was thinking about him. He wished he wasn’t lying to her too. He wished he could just tell her the truth. He did care that she didn’t have a coat, but the coat was only an excuse. Just an excuse to talk to her.

  “I haven’t seen you since I got it. It’s not very pretty, but it looks warm.”

  “That’s why you stopped to talk to me? Because I didn’t have a coat?”

  He nodded, grateful to have an excuse, especially while Brody was staring at him with that smirk on his face.

  “Oh.” Her expression said a lot more than just oh.

  She was disappointed, and he was happy. Not happy that she was disappointed, but glad to know she was hoping he’d stopped for some other reason.

  “See? Sam doesn’t want you to go,” Brody said.

  Sam got her up on her feet and held on to her for as long as he could. She held on to him as well, and he thought that, just maybe, it was for some other reason than being afraid of falling. She just seemed to sort of fit there in his arms. He was aware the instant he let her go that it felt like he had lost something.

  “I don’t mind sleeping on the couch.” That was a lie. It seemed like he was doing that a lot since he’d laid eyes on Angel.

  Chapter Five

  With each beat of her heart, her head throbbed. No, she definitely wasn’t dead—her body ached with pain that was very much alive. Besides, it was far too cold here to be hell, and one look at her surroundings told her that this could not possibly be heaven.

  The bedroom was cramped and messy, much like the rest of the apartment. A pile of dirty clothes the size of a truck parked in the corner, empty booze bottles on nearly every flat surface. It stunk. The unmistakable odor of cat urine burned her nose. Where was the cat? She hadn’t seen one anywhere. Maybe the poor thing was buried under all this laundry.

  She sat down on the edge of a saggy old mattress, watching Brody picking up bottles. Most of them looked empty to her, but he would tip each one, draining the last few drops into his mouth. He batted some clothes from the top of a chest of drawers and unearthed a wine bottle that was almost full. His expression then was the happiest she’d seen him as he raised it triumphantly. His hands shook as he untwisted the cap, and he took deep gulps, as though he was a dying man and that bottle contained the only cure.

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Forgot I had this. Guess today’s my lucky day.”

  It was hard to focus. She worked her tongue against the roof of her dry mouth. Nothing seemed real right now. Her arms weighed a thousand pounds; her legs were full of wet sand. Those pills must not have worn off yet. She was sleepy. Not just sleepy; exhausted. She lay on the mattress, staring up blankly at a water-stained ceiling until her eyes slipped closed.

  It didn’t matter. The dirty clothes, the cat pee smell… It didn’t matter that Brody didn’t smell very good either, or that he looked thin and haggard. He was her angel. If he hadn’t come along when he did, she’d still be lying there, lying there stone-cold dead in the snow beside some fucking garbage cans. Thrown away, like trash. Maybe that was where that asshole thought she belonged. That fucking asshole who seemed like he got off on hurting her. The other two were almost as bad. They could have helped her; at the very least they could have told the man to stop, could have done something instead of just sitting there staring. That blond bastard in his peachy shirt in the pretty car hadn’t cared about a fucking thing except when she started bleeding on his leather seat.

  Angel took a deep breath and tried not to think about it anymore. It was over. She was safe, and even if she was messed up right now, she’d eventually be just fine. Whatever just fine was.

  Somewhere inside of Brody was a beautiful man—she sensed the kindness that radiated from him. It was obvious his body had been ravaged by drugs, and she tried to imagine what he would look like if he hadn’t abused himself. He had probably once been spectacular looking. Even now he was attractive. His features were striking—those full, pouty lips of his were prettier than any woman’s she’d ever seen. Despite the fact that his large frame was pitifully thin, the arms that had carried her up all those steps last night still rippled with a bit of muscle.

  He’d carried her. She tried to remember ever being carried. Surely her mother must have carried her when Angel was a baby. It was hard to imagine though. Hard to remember her mother ever being loving, kind, or nurturing. Even harder to remember that maybe there had once been a time when her mother had actually loved her.

  She was afraid to know the full extent of the damage that the man in the car had done to her. As bad as she had to pee, she didn’t want to go, afraid of how bad it would burn or what would happen when she wiped. Brody had washed her last night, and she’d seen that
he had blood on his hands. He said it wasn’t too bad and she trusted him, but she was still scared.

  There were no words she could say, other than thank you, and that hardly seemed like enough. How exactly was saying thank you a way to pay someone back for saving your life? She could screw him, but that seemed like nothing after what he’d done for her.

  He could have just walked away. Pretended he didn’t see her there, pretended she didn’t exist, like the women did at the little grocery store when she stopped to buy something to eat, or like the man from the liquor store did when he was out sweeping the sidewalk.

  No, sex with Brody wouldn’t make them even, not that she was going to be able to consider that for a while. The man in the car had ruined her, not with his little needle dick, but with a champagne bottle and whatever else he had shoved up inside of her over the course of the three-hour ordeal he’d put her through.

  Fucking asshole. She had promised herself at least a hundred times while it was happening that one day she’d kill the motherfucker. It was a promise she intended to keep. Every detail of his face was burned into her mind.

  Brody hadn’t brought her here for the promise of a free fuck. Hell, he probably wasn’t interested in her at all. Why would he be when he had that god Sam? This didn’t have anything to do with sex—he’d just been a decent human being. Now he deserved to be treated the same way.

  He seemed uncomfortable when she touched him. Angel wasn’t sure if it was his own demons or because he knew what that man had done to her. Then again, maybe it was because she was, in his own words, a whore. For some reason, maybe because of his own less than stellar life, she’d thought he’d be able to see past that.

  She hadn’t done it very long, although she supposed that made her no less of a whore than the ones who’d been at it for years. One couldn’t be a little bit of a whore any more than someone could be a little bit pregnant. It either was or wasn’t. It didn’t sound good, but she didn’t like it either. It just was what it was—sex with men she didn’t like. It was the same thing that happened to her at home, except she didn’t get paid for it then and had to put up with her stepfather telling her what a worthless piece of shit she was after he got done. At least for a while since she’d left home, she’d had a little more control over her life, until last night.

  Her stepfather had started screwing her when she was about eleven. He was more disgusting than most of the johns since him had ever been. Over the course of her twenty years she’d been fucked over and over. It seemed funny that the most intimate, personal moment she’d ever shared with a man was last night with Brody when he had cleaned her. She had allowed herself to trust him.

  The mattress sagged as Brody lay down beside her. She waited, wondering what he would do. He didn’t move or speak. Though he was right beside her, he seemed very far away. She moved closer to him until her shoulder touched his. When he didn’t move away, she rolled onto her side and laid her hand on his arm.

  He pressed his nose into her hair and breathed in. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  She clung to him, burying her face in the hollow of his neck, pretending they were both the people they should be. Clean, beautiful people, people who were as perfect on the outside as they were on the inside. She could feel how Brody was on the inside, and he was just as handsome as his gorgeous lover, Sam, who looked like he should be doing underwear ads in magazines.

  It had thrown her, seeing Sam, learning he was Brody’s boyfriend. The night Sam pulled up by the curb at the liquor store, her heart had actually sped up. That’s why she’d remembered him. Men who looked like him weren’t usually looking to pay for sex, at least not with someone like her.

  Almost as if he’d read her thoughts, Brody spoke. “My…Sam, he really stopped up there? What did he say to you?”

  This wasn’t something she wanted to talk about. Brody pulled away from her. He sat up and grabbed the wine bottle from the table by his bed. He raised it to his lips and then drained the three big gulps that were left.

  “He asked how much for a date.” She hated everything he already knew about her. He didn’t need to be reminded what she was. Besides, knowing Sam was Brody’s boyfriend made the whole situation seem more awkward.

  “What’d you tell him? It would be free for him?” He said it like he was trying to be funny, but there was something else in his voice that made her wonder just exactly what he was getting at.

  “Why, ’cause he’s cute?”

  “Yeah. I mean you don’t look at a guy like him and think it would be fun to do him for free? I’ve seen some of the guys that stop up there at the corner, some real ugly motherfuckers. A guy like Sam, he ought to get a better rate, shouldn’t he?”

  “No.” She tried to keep the rising anger out of her voice. Like most people, he just didn’t get it. She was a prostitute. It wasn’t ever fun. It was work. There were some men who were easier to look at than others, but for her it wasn’t enjoyable with any of them.

  “It’s the same for him as anybody else.”

  “Hmm, really? I guess I’ve always thought if he wanted to, Sam would have a way with the ladies. You sure you didn’t give him a little freebie?” Brody chuckled.

  “No, Brody, I didn’t!” Did he really think that was funny? That pissed her off. What was funny about it? That Sam was interested in fucking a whore?

  “You think it’s about sex? What I do? You think I do it because it’s fun? ’Cause it isn’t. It doesn’t really matter what they look like. It’s the same fucking thing.”

  “I’m sorry. I guess I never really thought about it.”

  “You think I had fun last night?”

  “Jesus. No. Fuck no.”

  “Is getting high fun for you? Do you do it because it’s so much fucking fun, or has it become something you have to do?”

  The wounded expression on his face made her regret what she’d said. She’d definitely hit a nerve.

  “I’m sorry.” He kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “I wasn’t trying to insult you. I really wasn’t. I just can’t get over the idea of Sam stopping to talk to you.”

  “Why, is he too good for someone like me?”

  “No. I didn’t mean that. He’s just not into women. He’s never had sex with a woman.” For a moment Brody put his hand over his mouth. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have… Don’t ever tell him I told you that. Please?”

  Angel shook her head. “I wouldn’t tell him that.” She stared at him for a few minutes, trying to imagine Brody and the big, sullen, dark-haired Sam as a couple. “How long have you two been together?”

  Brody shrugged, looking lost. “I’m not sure. Five years?” His face crinkled. “That’s a shame, isn’t it? I don’t even know for sure anymore. It feels like it’s been forever, and I don’t mean that in a bad way.” He closed his eyes, and the hard line of his mouth softened. His face relaxed, and he appeared years younger. “I mean it like I can’t really remember a time when he wasn’t there for me, and I can’t picture my life without him in it. I love him, you know? Like in a way that something inside me aches.”

  The emotion in his voice and the expression on his face almost made her smile. In the world she had always lived in, things like true affection and real love were nonexistent.

  “I’m not what he needs,” Brody said. “Not completely.”

  Angel was confused by his abrupt about-face. He loved Sam so much that it made something in him ache, but he wasn’t what Sam needed? What kind of bullshit was that? “What are you talking about?”

  “I… He needs…” Brody shook his head. “Listen, I don’t have any money, but I can get some. I don’t mean right now, but I…I want to hire you. I’ll pay you to fuck Sam.” He breathed out, as if he had been holding it all in. “Not just fuck him… I don’t mean that. I don’t want it to be meaningless. It has to be more. I mean I don’t want you to treat him like it’s just business as usual…just…you know? Be nice to him. Treat him like he’s special—because he is.”
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  Angel stared at him, unable to speak. Say you’re fucking joking, Brody. Tell me you’re just messing with me, trying to get a laugh.

  “You okay with that?” Brody asked. “Obviously I’m never going to have much money. I guess I’m kind of hoping that after all the shit that’s happened, that you’ll give me a special rate or something.” He grinned. “Maybe you can give me a coupon?”

  You’re a whore, Angel. He didn’t say it out loud, but he knew it, so why did she expect him to treat her like anything else, but still—a coupon?

  Her eyes burned, but she wasn’t going to cry. “Yeah, sure. A coupon.” She squeezed her hands together until her knuckles turned white. “A fucking coupon! ’Cause I’m a whore—’cause I like being a whore and that’s all I’m ever going to be! Not even worth paying full price for.”

  Brody frowned. “That’s not what I’m saying. I just meant that Sam likes you.”

  She fought back the tears that threatened to come spilling out. “I don’t want to be mad at you, Brody, because I love you. For what you did for me, and for who you are inside, I love you.” That sounded stupid, but it was how she felt. No one had ever given her a reason to care about them. No one had ever cared about her at all.

  Brody drew in a sharp breath and didn’t speak for several moments. “Don’t go saying something you’ll regret, Angel. Sam loves me, and look where it got him. Nowhere. Busting his ass to pay all the fucking bills. He should just…” He took another deep breath. “Love is a big fucking thing. It’s not just a word. You shouldn’t go saying things like that to someone you don’t really know. You’re like your name, an angel, and I’m just a fucking loser.”

  “I’m not an angel. I’m a whore. Remember?”