by Jamie Magee
He was standing just behind the row of candles. His boots were off, and his hair was wet. I could smell the Irish Spring soap clinging to his skin. He was ‘home’ for the night, not just checking on me, or dropping something off.
I’d never seen his gray eyes so dark, or his jaw clenched as tightly, much less his fists. He eased closer to me. My stubbornness kept me languid as I felt the last of the ice cube under my fingertips vanish into droplets that raced between my legs.
Slayton’s lips pressed tighter together, I saw a tremble take him over as my stare slowly drizzled down him. Pride and courage bloomed in my chest when I saw how aroused he was. When I met his eyes again, I found them riveted on mine, almost held painfully there. Slowly he lowered himself to the side of the bed.
“What are you thinking about?” his voice was deep and raw with emotion.
I studied him at length before I answered. “Alaska.” It wasn’t completely a lie, but not the whole truth.
His brows drew together in question, seconds before a boyish smile I’d never seen slowly eased across his lips.
I lazily turned my head toward him, “I can’t ever remember being cold. I mean, really cold.” He didn’t say a word. “I bet it’s beautiful there.” My stare flicked to the windows as if willing the seasons to change for my benefit. “I bet no one’s watching you constantly and if they are...they’d freeze to death, or bears or some shit would eat them.” He smirked. I giggled, but my mirth faded when I watched him pick up an ice cube.
Slayton began at my lips, tracing them with the ice, his captivated attention watched the rivulets of water slide down my neck and pool at my collarbone. “Your eyes are this clear...” he whispered. “When your...when your happy.”
“You mean when I get off,” I asked daring to laugh again and succeeding when I saw him holding in his amusement, a sound I’d never heard.
“The first time I saw you, they were this color cutting through the night. They tore into me.”
I still had butterflies when I thought of the uncanny pull that had me turning for no reason that dawn. In my quiet, alone moments I questioned if I’d still be alive if I hadn’t.
“These lips,” he groaned as he circled them more and I sighed. “I crave them,” he said under his breath. “So soft...”
Silence took over as he chased the ice across my flesh until it was gone.
My breath hitched as the next piece he picked up landed on my nipple. His eyes lit up as he watched it harden, rise and beg for his attention.
A quiet laugh left me again, and God help me my reward was his boyish grin.
“What’s so funny,” he playfully scorned.
“Always so serious.”
His stare grazed to mine then shyly fell away as he kept to his task.
It felt like hours, but I was sure it was only a handful of long moments as he worshipped every inch of my body with those cubes of ice. I told myself not to be responsive, that it would only shut him down. But no girl could have lain there and felt the contradiction of his hot fingers and the chilling ice glide across their flesh and remained still.
My breath hitched, my chest rose, I bit my lip and reached for his beautiful face. The more lust-struck I became, the further he pulled away.
“Why,” I whispered. My body went slack against the damp sheets. I felt numb, like I was standing at the onset of a buzz. I’m sure my mood changed the familiar pattern of this well-worn conversation.
Instead of him storming away, or giving me some hint others were close, that we were in danger, he leaned forward; so close I could feel his hot breath easing down my wet chest. His gaze searched mine. “I’m not my father,” he dropped his head. “I don’t want to be.”
I reached to trace my fingertips across the edge of his cheek. “No, you’re not.”
He drew his brow together questioning my certainty. I knew nothing about his family, he made sure of that. But I knew he was his own man.
“You’re Slayton Winslow.”
He dropped his forehead to my chest. Gently I moved my fingers through his dark locks.
In a tender tone, I spoke. “I shouldn’t have been alone that morning...I had no reason to turn,” he never looked up to the sound of my words. “But something bigger than me made it that way.” I ushered my fingers around the side of his face. “I don’t think either of us are a temptation or a test.” He looked up at me then. “We’re supposed to be here,” I confirmed as my eyes welled. “Right now is all we ever have.” I nearly smiled, but couldn’t. “I trust you. I have from first sight.”
So slowly he tilted his head and leaned into my lips. Our kiss was a soft dance of flesh, the kind that made every nerve ending come to life. I felt the heat of his tongue slide into rhythm with mine. When he moved above me, I slid my hands over his shoulders, down his arms, and carefully, slowly enough to not wake him from the haze I’d pulled him into, I reached down and pulled his tank top from his chest.
I watched him when his lips left mine. I loved the sight of his dark hair, the angelic side of his face as it fell to my neck then my chest. His lips moved beautifully, carefully, as they landed over my nipple then pulled away. The sensation had me rising and begging for more as I kept to my gentle sways across his face, his shoulders, all that I could reach.
When he rose to my lips once more, I shamelessly reached for his belt. He didn’t tense this time. Instead, his stare fastened to mine as I leisurely unfastened the buckle, button, and then pushed his jeans down. At first, I didn’t touch him, my feathered caresses eased over his stomach, reaching around his back. Then I pressed my fingertips into his skin and slid around his waist, finally clasping his arousal.
Need exploded from him as his lips crashed onto mine as he moaned into my kiss and his hand slipped down my body. When his fingertip grazed my clit, I broke from his lips and arched my neck back, and his lips fell there. I was well on my way to the rush I’d yearned for when his fingers glided lower then carefully circled my core.
My heart accelerated when I let myself believe that this was it, he was going to make love to me. When the first finger slid in, I tightened my grip on his shaft and he let out a hiss of satisfaction. His second finger, how they both moved deep and wide inside, brought a beautiful mix of pain and pleasure. Pleasure that only amplified when his thumb landed on my clit as his lips fell to my neck.
“Close,” I panted. I was pushing it all down, wanting to share my ecstasy with him to make everything about this first time in perfect rhythm.
Hungrily his lips moved up my neck before they pulled at mine as he raised to his knees. He held my gaze as he moved his hands down my thighs, then he gripped them and was pulling my hips up to meet his—glory was seconds away.
Then I heard my name.
It was a brutal yell coming from below. My father.
Panic and fear might as well have been a bucket of ice water pouring over me.
ELEVEN
Slayton had dressed and armed himself before I figured out where my freaking panties were.
“Stay,” he snapped before he vanished down the stairs.
Like I was going to stay. By the time I found my clothes, and scaled down the stairs, a deadly scene was in play.
The sanctuary’s altar was filled with thousands of candles; their glow and the low recessed lights cast an eerie essence over the room. One look at my father told me he was wasted, more than likely had been for days. There were dark circles under his eyes, his hair was oily, and his shirt was ripe with sweat stains.
To my horror, he was aiming a gun at Slayton. They were a few feet apart. Slayton’s gun was in his hand, but he didn’t raise it and take aim. It was evident to me that he didn’t think my father was a threat, at least not with the gun. I disagreed. I wasn’t a fan of seeing any weapon aimed at Slayton.
“You fucking took her,” my father slurred.
“What did I tell you?” Slayton said with a lifted chin.
My father shook his head. “Bullshit.
All lies. You took her!”
Slayton lunged forward; my father tightened the grip on his gun and I screamed.
Slayton cursed under his breath before he scolded, “Go upstairs!”
“No! Come to me,” my dad said. “My little girl! You fucking asshole!”
“Where’s the money?” Slayton asked fiercely.
“You took her. I’m not paying,” my dad spat.
Slayton never had the chance to respond before we all heard the church doors crashing open. I thought for sure my father had brought some street thug assholes for help, but I was wrong. I had to be because the kid who came in marched up to my dad with his gun held out at an angle, and he never said a word before he pulled the trigger.
Panic struck me even though I realized the kid’s aim was bad. The bullet only hit my father’s arm, but he went down like it struck his heart. The kid wasn’t done—he aimed again. Slayton did fire that time; his bullet went right through the kid’s hand but his gun fired anyway, the bullet shattering one of the stained glass windowpanes.
Like a fool, the boy reached for another gun with the hand that had not taken the bullet. Slayton was in his face then, no scream of mine would stop him. Instead of shooting him, Slayton took the gun from his hand then hit him, knocking him out.
I rushed to my dad; his eyes were drooping, but he had been reaching for me, calling my name, calling me his little girl. I had his head in my lap and was crying like a baby when Slayton yelled, “Get out!” at me.
Panic had frozen me at the sight of my father’s blood and his limp body.
“Now!” Slayton bellowed. The demand in his voice was enough to make me look up to see the fires of hell were closing in around me.
Vinnie was at the door taking in the scene with an odd expression that lingered somewhere between humor and disgust. With shaking legs, I rose to my knees shaking my dad, as I did so praying he would walk out of there with me.
“Nah,” Vinnie said. “You’re not leaving.”
Slayton tensed, his fist gripped the guns in his hands. A homicidal expression masked his face.
“You know,” Vinnie said scratching the scruff on his face. “You never had me fooled.” He laughed. “I knew you’d fuck up sooner or later.” He narrowed his eyes. “I knew I’d be there to watch you fall.” Vinnie looked down at the boy who was out cold. “I just never imagined it would be this bad.”
Vinnie moved closer not caring that Slayton looked like he was a step away from becoming homicidal. “When I watched this fool run into this church,”
Vinnie said with a nod to my dad, “I was sure he was looking for salvation or some shit,” he chuckled. “Then one of Zee’s up and comer’s charged in—I said to myself, nah he’s being a coward and ‘bout to get popped. But hell, might as well scare that punk off and get some real answers from this loser.”
Vinnie eyed my father who I was squeezing for dear life; I wasn’t sure if he was breathing. No matter how many times I told myself the bullet only hit his arm, that he was high, I couldn’t get the fear out of my head.
“Then this one,” Vinnie said with a nod to me. “Is in here crying ‘daddy, daddy’ just like I told the boss.” He glared at Slayton. “I bet Malcolm’s going to be excited to figure out why you flipped on him for this loser—where that conscious of yours is comin’ from.”
When I heard the doors slam open again, I was sure it was Channing or any of the other guys that were always in this pocket Slayton ran with, but it turned out that they would’ve been a blessing. It was two other gangsters, a bit older than the boy on the floor but not much.
The gunfire was so fast, so loud that it was all a blur. The only thing I knew for sure was that Slayton had lifted his gun and fired four times, the first three hit Vinnie center mass. The others all fired too, but I couldn’t see what happened, Slayton pushed a pew over me. I struggled to pull the rest of my father under the pew with me but failed.
It had only been quiet a second when the pew above me was pulled away, I crouched in defense waiting for the bullet with my name on it to slam into me. Slayton was over me demanding that I get up. I clung to my dad as he patted him down pulling something from his jacket; he vanished for a second and then came back for me. I knew he was yelling at me, telling me how fucked we were, but I heard no sound, not really. Everything was a vacant haze.
When I did focus, I heard the sirens. I started to yell at Slayton. “Go! Go!”
The doors to the church were busting open before he vanished from my sight. I cowered under the pew holding my dad’s body, begging him to wake up.
***
I’ve never been good at lying. My voice quakes, my skin reddens, and I tremble. But each of those responses I was expected to have under the circumstances.
When an officer uncovered me from the pew I was under, the look of remorse on his face had a whole new degree of panic slamming into me. I was sure he was going to tell me I was clinging to a dead man. I fought when they pulled me away from my dad and stuffed me in an ambulance. I assume they thought some of the blood I was soaked in was mine.
At the hospital, it was counselors who faced me first. They asked questions, but I only stared absently into nothing replaying every detail of the night in my mind. I kept thinking that could have been it, for me, my dad...Slayton. For all I knew in some way it was. I knew we couldn’t go back, that no story could cover this up, but I had to try.
I didn’t ask for a lawyer when the law finally approached me to talk. I asked for a priest. The same one I’d watched for weeks stepping into the confessional booth. The one who blessed me each time he passed me. We’d never spoken a word, but I found comfort with him.
He said a prayer with me before the questioning began and he held my hand as I spoke.
“It’s been hard,” I said with a trembling voice. “Losing my grandmother, moving here.” Tears streamed down my cheeks. “My dad bets, on what or where I don’t know. I just know that he can’t pay sometimes.”
“How do you know? Did he talk to you about it?” The detective asked me.
I swayed my head. “I stayed with my neighbor because his moods are hard to judge. After our place was broken into I didn’t feel safe at all in the building.” I gripped the priest’s hand. “I felt safe at the church.”
“Did anyone ever approach you about your father’s debts?” The detective asked.
I swayed my head.
The detective leaned forward. “You know this is a safe place, right?” I nodded, and he cleared his throat before he went on. “We’re very good at what we do, Miss Bloom. We have on record that you’ve been seen with a known enforcer for a lethal crime lord.
Befuddled, I searched his stare. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I mean, I went on a date or two with a boy that was always around my work. I don’t know many other people...”
“Where were these dates?”
“A deli. Mostly we drove.”
The detective settled in his chair eyeing me with what looked like a mixture of doubt and remorse, more so doubt. “Walk me through what happened last night.”
“I um,” I flinched my eyes. “I came back to the sanctuary after the choir left...I like the beauty of the candles burning and the quiet of the church. I’d been avoiding my father, and he’d been avoiding me. But he found me. He yelled my name, and I pleaded for him to hush—then…then this kid came in,” I paused replaying the truth in my head. “I can’t remember what he said or what my dad said, but a gun went off, then another.” Tears streamed down cheeks. “My dad went down; I went with him. More boys came...I think. I pulled the pew over us...then you came.”
“You saw nothing else, at all?” The detective asked me.
I swayed my head as I squeezed the priest’s hands. As strange as it was, right then I wasn’t worried that I’d lied to the law as I held the hand of a man of God. I knew I’d be forgiven one way or another for it. But I knew forgiveness from Slayton would not come as easily, if ever. I didn�
��t run with him. I stepped out of the safety he’d built around me. I was sure on my dying day if I had any regret, it would be that...being too afraid to run away with him.
My tears were for him, for what we had between us that never had a chance.
TWELVE
Slayton
I was trapped in this fucking church. Taking my bike out, walking out—all of it was a risk I couldn’t take just yet. The cops were all over the place, sure that there was another shooter. I knew this place, though. Every nook, every forgotten door. I should. I was raised here. Well, I ran away to this place, and they let me stay. A big, fucking mean church mouse, that’s me.
It was too damn hot to stay there on the regular in the summer, so I saved it for the winters. For when I needed to hide.
Leaving Ember soaked in blood clinging to that bastard father of hers was hell on me, but I never once took my eyes off her, not until she was safe and being rushed down the street to the hospital. I balked to go after her then, but I knew if I had, I’d only make this worse. I needed to fucking think.
In a rushed rage, I made it back to the attic. I flipped the mattress we’d been using up and slid it behind broken pews along the wall. I used what was left of her ice to drown the candles then scattered them so it like looked like they’d been stored in the attic.
I tossed Ember’s clothes in the trunk then changed mine. I held onto the blood-soaked ones and pushed the others in the dresser. Before I stacked everything I could on it, I made sure incense was with the clothes, around everywhere we’d lingered just in case they decided to bring the dogs. From the sound of things below, this group of cops hadn’t gotten the call to back down yet.
Those fucks never knew what payroll they were on half the time.
I ran through the attic when I thought I heard someone coming up. I was down the back stairs, ducking through a hall and in the school moments later. Down and down I went, until I made it to the incinerator. I shoved my bloody clothes in. I went to put the kids’ gun in too, but I wasn’t so sure I was ready to ditch that evidence. It was the one I’d killed Vinnie with. I didn’t want it for the law’s sake. I wanted it for Malcolm’s sake. The gun would either save my life or start a street war. I didn’t know what the right answer was right then.