by R. J. Lewis
I didn’t want to know.
I just wanted to hide away and cry.
I fucked up, but I still wanted Conor, even if he was probably halfway to prison already.
A car pulled up beside me. “You want a ride?”
I looked up; my vision blurry with tears. The truck was a new black dually and a beast, its engine roaring next to me, I could hardly hear myself think. Behind the driver’s seat was… Jem Wright. I went still, too stunned to respond. First it was the suited man in the coffee shop, and now it was him. Just what the hell was going on?
Jem jumped out of the truck and walked to my side. He did it so naturally, smiling shortly at me from under his cap like I wasn’t a stranger to him. He took the bike out of my hands and looked it over, whistling slowly. “Did Reid do this?”
I was too busy taking him in to respond right away. Jem Wright was scary. He was brawny, shorter than Conor, with a rough face and villainous nature. Out of all the Blackwater Boys, he had the most ruthless reputation. Where Conor was violent with his hands, Jem was cunning with his tongue. He made threats and he stuck by them.
No one wanted to fuck him over.
He outsmarted the police, and he outsmarted the law, and he was practically untouchable.
“How’d you know?” I asked him, quickly brushing away my tears.
Jem smiled and my instinct was to run. “When it comes to Conor, it’s our job to know everything. He spoke about you, and we’ve come to look over the goods, make sure it’s right. After hearing what went down last night, who else would be responsible for a broken bike and you crying on the side of the road in front of the workplace you were called a slut in just an hour ago?”
I was knocked breathless. There was no way news spread that fast. Had there been someone in there this whole time I didn’t know about? I was officially freaked out and hesitant. I looked around, the flight response kicking in.
“It’s okay,” he quickly said, noticing my reaction. “You’re not in any harm’s way. Or we’d have Conor to answer to.”
Taking the bike, he effortlessly placed it in the back of his truck, his back muscles stretched under his muscle shirt as he leaned over the bed, straightening it. Turning back around, he opened the passenger side door and motioned me in.
“I’ll drop you off,” he told me.
“I can walk,” I returned quickly. “I don’t need the bike anymore.”
“I’ll drop you off,” he repeated strictly, but his demeanour was still casual as he smiled again, adding a little too nicely, “We have to talk.”
Shit.
I inched toward the car, even though my body screamed not to go. I didn’t feel like I had a choice. This guy was not going to take no for an answer, and he frightened me enough to listen. Just as I approached the door, I looked up at him, bravely warning, “I can scream really loud if I have to.”
He looked down at me with just his eyes and let out a dry chuckle. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
I climbed in, nervously buckling the seatbelt as he went around the truck, his baseball cap covering most of his face. He jumped in, smelling like diesel and musk, and it wasn’t a good mix among the potent smell of new leather. Nerves bustled through me. Half my body was glued to the door, my hand was on the handle, just in case. If he noticed, he didn’t care. He was relaxed, his expression unreadable. The vibe I got off him was all wrong.
He didn’t talk for a few minutes. He drove out of the parking lot and onto the main road. I barely breathed, wondering what he could possibly want to say to me. Didn’t he have other unsavoury people to deal with? I wasn’t some priority that needed tending to. I was just a girl that’d gone to a Halloween party at the wrong place and the wrong time.
“You just met Conor, is that right?” he finally spoke, glancing over to me with his blue eyes. Conor’s eyes were bright and cocky, whereas Jem’s were flat and uninviting.
“Yeah,” I forced out, nodding stiffly at him. I wanted out. God, I wanted out now.
He glimpsed me over, paying more attention to me than before. It didn’t help we were stopped at a red light and he had a long time to do it. Now, he looked confused. “You’re…eighteen, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh. See, that’s weird. Conor’s never been with a woman younger than him.”
“I keep hearing that,” I muttered.
Frankly, I was tired of hearing about it already. I could dig for the truth and probably find out just what he had preferred to take home, but I didn’t feel driven to do it. Part of me wanted to keep that shit separate, while another part of me didn’t trust what people had to say.
Jem gave me a questionable shrug. “So, what is it about you then? Why has that changed all of a sudden?”
I just blinked at him, lost. “I don’t know.”
He looked unconvinced. “I don’t get it.”
Was he being an asshole on purpose? I studied him as he shook his head to himself, looking more aggravated as the moments ticked by. He was trying to fit me like a puzzle, but he was getting all the pieces wrong.
“You’re very pretty,” he said, as though he were trying to make sense of things. “But Conor’s never given a particular fuck about a woman’s looks. I can’t for the life of me think you’d be in the way of things. You can’t possibly be an issue, right?”
He arched his brow at me, waiting for me to confirm that. I just looked at him, though, wanting desperately to understand what was going on.
“All he did was ask me to wait for him,” I finally said, letting go of the door handle. Jem wasn’t going to do anything, I surmised. He was trying to make sense of me.
“Did you say you would?”
“I didn’t get the chance to, really.”
My brain had fried. With Reid present, the shop dwellers watching, and the shock of Conor running in, kissing me and then being thrown to the ground in cuffs – my brain had decided to take the exit than formulate a response.
I suddenly regretted not telling Conor I would miss him.
The light went green and we moved forward, going in the direction of my house. He knew my fucking address. Of course, he did. These shady men had information on tap.
“Look,” he said, firmly, “When Conor gets out of prison, he’s usually rowdy as fuck. He’s on a high and he doesn’t truly process what he says or does. I’ve known him all my life. I grew up with him, and he’s a brother to me. I’m afraid, sweetheart, you’re just going to have to let him go.”
My heart spiked in alarm. “Let him go?”
“You’ve known him for a fucking day. It’s not like you’re going to grieve a whole lot.”
“He wants me,” I snapped.
“Conor doesn’t know what he wants,” he retorted. His expression went grave, and I knew right then he truly believed what he was saying. “Look, he’s going to get out again, and you’re not going to be on his radar. I wouldn’t waste my time gambling on someone like Conor Thames.”
I pursed my lips. “I think I’ll take my chances.”
He squeezed the steering wheel, frustration bleeding out of him. “Let me be clear. This ain’t the best fucking time for him to be distracted. I can’t have him jeopardize things because some eighteen-year-old in her little school uniform decided to come along and make him fall in lust with her.”
“I didn’t decide to come along,” I argued, glaring at him. “Conor pursued me.”
“And he’s going to pursue another pretty girl after you.”
“So why are you having this talk with me then if you’re so sure of that?”
He gritted his teeth, nodding once at me. “Okay, okay. Yeah, you’re right. I’m not sure of that. I’m just hoping for that, and you want to know why, Charlotte Miles?” He looked at me, right into me it felt. “Because Conor has a habit of being destructive. He self-sabotages, and he doesn’t fucking think. He hurts the people he loves, but he seems to think he’s hurting out of love. It’s a fucked up way of living and I’d h
ate to see a girl with an angel face like yours go down with him.”
He waited a few seconds, watching me as I took in what he was saying with my mouth shut.
“I’m warning you,” he continued. “One day, you’re going to regret waiting. Conor doesn’t change, and you’ll only change trying. Let him go before you fall in love because, sweetheart, he is so fucking easy to love, but he is a misery to endure.”
I considered his words. They made sense. I saw the signs in my short time with Conor to know he had serious problems. If one day afforded me this much drama, what would a lifetime bring?
And was I really thinking of a lifetime with Conor Thames?
Slow down, Charlotte.
All I knew was it didn’t make sense what was happening, and I wasn’t thinking with my head. I was thinking with my feelings; and all I could remember was how he made me feel when he touched me, looked at me, talked to me.
“Are you warning me because you care where I’ll end up, or are you pushing me away so I don’t impede on whatever business you and Conor have together?” I finally asked, looking at him solemnly.
His eyes shined at my question. It was the most life I saw in them in my short ride with him. I must have impressed him somehow. I wasn’t totally oblivious. I may have known very little because I’d been in this town thirteen months, but what I did know was enough to put the pieces together to formulate a picture. It was fuzzy and incomplete, but it gave me enough of an idea to understand what Jem was doing.
He and Conor were up to no good.
Judging by Conor’s words in the shop – “I didn’t know you would happen” – Conor’s return to prison was premeditated. The fork in the plan was me. Any affection outside the usual paradigm was a threat to their business – and Conor had informed me vaguely what that business was.
Jem being here added weight to my hope.
It was validation Conor cared about me.
“I gotta watch out for you,” Jem muttered inquisitively. “I don’t like smart women. I got one I deal with every day. You’re unpredictable species that need to learn a thing or two about being submissive.”
I would have smiled if someone else had said that, but Jem was dead serious. He wasn’t a funny guy, anyway. He studied me the rest of the way to my house, saying nothing else until we stopped in front of the shithole. Like Conor, Jem didn’t bat the house an eye. He didn’t give one fuck how I lived. That was the only thing I liked about him.
“Can you take care of yourself, or do you need help with anything?” he asked, but his offer sounded empty.
I was baffled. “I don’t need help with anything.”
“Conor seems to think you might. His public display of affection is gonna rattle the feathers of many women. You’re not going to be very popular in town, and he won’t be here to save you from the hate.”
“Yeah, I’m a cheating slut, apparently.”
“Your words.”
I glared at him. “Anything else?”
“You know my bar, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know where to find me.”
My nostrils flared. “No offense, Jem, but you’re as inviting as a rock. You spent most of the time trying to shoo me out of Conor’s life, and you couldn’t give a fuck if something happens to me. I’d rather the suit than deal with you.”
“The suit?”
“Your other pal.”
Once he realized who I was talking about, he laughed sinisterly. “Sweetheart, careful what you wish for. Better the devil you know.”
Okay, I was done.
“I guess this is the part I thank you for dropping me off,” I icily said.
“Save your breath,” he replied, giving me a fake smile. “I didn’t enjoy the privilege.”
Asshole.
“Next time just leave me stranded.”
I opened the door, ending our discussion. I didn’t like being around Jem. I hated the off vibe I got from him. I hated his smirking eyes. I jumped down and shut the door behind me. He didn’t even wait until I got to my front door before driving off.
Yeah, he didn’t like me either.
Boo-fucking-hoo.
There was no zero connection with the meathead. I felt like a business deal gone wrong the entire time I was around him. It would be a cold day in hell asking him for help of any kind.
Standing before my house, I heaved out an exhausted sigh and trudged reluctantly to the door. My feet felt heavy. I would have to spend the night. There was nowhere for me to go.
I unlocked the door and slowly pushed it open. I didn’t enter until the door swung the entire way. I poked my head in, scanning the front room quickly for signs of Devil. The house was dead. Mom was at work – ironically at a homeless shelter helping people – and Paul did construction, currently stationed at a new complex on the rich side of Blackwater, close to where Conor lived.
Shaking with nerves, I took a step inside, listening tentatively for any sounds. There was the stench of old pizza in the air. I stepped over beer bottles and dead bugs on the carpet. It was like wading through a minefield, hopping for empty spaces in the room on the way to the staircase. Stopping at the bottom, I looked up, still edgy, still keeping an ear out.
I walked up; every stair creaked under my foot. When I got to the top, I stared down the dark corridor before proceeding. My heart beat faster, and my steps picked up pace. I passed Mom’s door, then Devil’s. I looked over my shoulder the whole way, staring at his closed door, wondering if he was in there. When I got to mine at the very end, I practically dived in. I didn’t stop to turn the lights on. I shut the door straight away and locked it by pushing the knob in, and then locked it with the latch I’d screwed in a couple months back. I pressed my forehead against the wood, catching my breath.
After a few minutes, I turned to the empty desk next to my closet. Pulling my dead phone out of my pocket, I put the charger in and laid it on the desk. After a while, it vibrated back to life, and I wondered what texts awaited me on the other side.
“I heard you fucked Conor Thames.”
I jumped and my knees nearly buckled from the scare. I whipped my face to the corner of my room where my bed was and felt every inch of me go numb. He was seated there, back against the wall, arms crossed, legs spread out, looking comfortable as ever. The window was over him, and the sunlight poked through the cracks in the curtains. I saw his pale face clearly. He was smiling at me, but it was all teeth and insanity and zero warmth.
“Get out of my room, Billy,” I ordered, furiously.
“Why?” he asked, putting on an innocent front. “You know I can’t sleep without you, sister.”
My hands fisted. “I am not your fucking sister.”
He feigned hurt. “Don’t make me upset, Charlotte. You don’t like me when I’m upset.”
“I don’t like you period.”
“You’re suddenly talking back to me like you’ve got a spine. Did Thames put it there? You know, I’ll just snap it.”
His words, for some godforsaken reason, rattled me to the core. He was my nightmare, my trauma and my pain. He was the only living thing in my life that had brutally used me and silenced me after.
I raced back to the door and quickly began unlocking it. I heard him move, felt him quickly come up from behind me. He pushed me face first against the door, plastering my entire body to it with all his strength. I groaned in pain, angrily trying to move, but I was trapped.
“Let go of me!” I seethed.
“Then stop moving,” he hissed back.
I felt his entire body press against the back of me. I felt his erection on my ass, and this time I cracked and let out a sob. “Don’t!” I begged him. “You promised, Billy. Stop!”
He acted quick, like an opportunist would. I heard him pull his zipper down. Felt his speedy jerky movements. I shut my eyes tightly, shaking my head as the tears fell. He came within a minute, grunting his release as his face dropped to my shoulder. His mouth was op
en, panting against the back of my neck. My stomach churned and bile rose up my throat. I was shaking but still. I’d been here before, too many times to count, but it had been months of evading him and this fucking sickness in him.
Finally, he took a step back and I was released. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and whipped around as he tucked himself back into his pants. Pent up with rage, I came at him, violently, scratching at his arms, slapping at his face, screaming incoherently at him. He took my abuse, never once stopping it. His face contorted to guilt, and then to indifference. When he’d had enough of my violent swings, he grabbed me by the arms and then shoved me down on the bed, knocking the air out of me.
“Stop acting like a fucking idiot,” he growled over me, his black hair falling over his forehead as he bent over me. “I’m sorry, okay? I can’t help myself with you, Charlotte. I’m pissed the fuck off you’d open your fucking legs to Thames of all people and then look so disgusted when it comes to me! You prefer a criminal now? Are you fucking crazy?”
I looked past him and to the ceiling, detaching myself from him, from everything. The numbness crept in, saving me from the feelings I knew were on the other side.
He did what he usually did when he felt guilty. He paced, trying to justify his actions by blaming me. “If you hadn’t fucked the lunatic, I wouldn’t be here waiting for you to come home! I’d be at work! I’d be with my girl! I wouldn’t spend so much fucking time thinking about your fucking face or your fucking body! Why’d you go and do that, huh? Why’d you make me come here? You bring out the worst in me, and all you think about is yourself. You never stop to consider how fucking much I’ve loved you and wanted you. You just go off and fuck anything that moves!”
I accepted his tirade. I was fading away, becoming part of the furniture. My eyes glazed back. I fell into my escape. He was just a character in a scene, and I was the bed, the walls, the light fixture and the air we breathed.
“I won’t do that again, I promise,” he whispered, stopping in front of me. “I didn’t even fuck you. No damage has been done. You’re not a fucking victim. Just don’t go around acting like a slut. Everyone’s gonna start treating you like one now.”