Under Her Skin

by Adriana Anders

  It was so different now, watching him move, drinking in the emotions he wore so plainly, eyes wide open. The two of them truly bared for the first time. He thrust into her slowly at first, then all the way out, and sliding back in as if they had all the time in the world. For a second, the sight of him emerging from her body again, all shiny and slick from her, made her close her eyes and wish for the blindfold. It was too much, only not because of her ink.

  “Look at me, baby,” he ordered, and how on earth could she refuse him anything? He was deep inside her when their eyes met again and everything skittered to a halt.

  “Don’t go, Uma,” he whispered.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she promised without even meaning to.

  “Stay with me. Here.”

  “I’m here. I’ll stay.”

  With a groan, he closed his eyes and lost himself. Everything became grasping hands and pumping hips.

  All it took was a few minutes before the first flutterings of orgasm stirred within her. She flew apart in a dark, sinful climax, the kind you get from digging too deep and uncovering things best left untouched.

  “Ah, fuck,” he grated out in a voice she’d never get enough of, “so fucking good. So good.” He thrust a few times, messy movements that showed how far gone he was. Ivan’s words had her pressing her fingers to herself, in search of an elusive second orgasm.

  He said, “I wanna come inside you.”

  And she wanted that too. She wanted to spread her legs wider, to absorb everything he could possibly give her. “Yeah,” she panted, rubbing herself hard. “Ivan.”

  “Yeah,” he echoed, frantic with need, lost. “Ah, fuck yeah.”

  His hands, hard as vises on her, the filthy things he said led her straight into it—another climax. Different this time, weaker, more in her head than her body. She was aware of Ivan shouting as he came, thrusting another handful of times, tight and jerky, before collapsing onto her.

  Their bodies cooled, and the craziness subsided, but their touches didn’t stop. A gentle squeeze of her hip, a callused thumb to her face, his weight too much but so very perfect as he nuzzled her neck. As their breathing eased, he shifted off a bit and settled at her side, leaving her chilled, her with a shadow of regret for what she’d done.

  She’d promised to stay here. Tied to a man. A new relationship? What would Joey do if he found out? What would he do to Ivan?

  Who the fuck was this person she’d become? This wasn’t her. Uma was reasonable. Never in a million years would she allow her libido to make decisions for her. Even that first time with Joey had been more about lack of confidence than sex. He’d pushed; she’d pulled; she’d lost.

  This morning was nothing like that. Layers of her had been peeled away, pieces of her past flaking off like chips of paint.

  Lovely. Remove my shell, and apparently I’m a fucking wildebeest. A complete sex fiend.

  Ivan kissed her hard and rolled off, leaving her alone and cold on his bed. She looked away as he got rid of the condom, her mind snaking out to the cold reality of life beyond these four walls: dealing with Ms. Lloyd, her next appointment with the doctor.

  “Hey, Uma.” Ivan bent to pick something up, then came around, and it was a strange jolt of surprise to see the camera in his hands.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Let me take your picture, Uma. You’re beautiful. I want you to see how beautiful you are. No matter what happens.”

  That same old fear reared up for a second, along with a moment of shock, but his words sank in, and the look on his face…

  “You want a picture of me?”

  For a second or two, his face tightened, and he lost the young, sweet look she’d gotten used to. “Want more than that,” he finally said, and the words resonated deep in her chest.

  With a big breath in, she capitulated, imagining the photo—more permanent suddenly than the ink on her skin. “Go ahead. Take it.” Eyes screwed shut, she turned and waited for it to be over. Just when she thought he’d never snap the damn thing, she felt it—a shift, a realization. Whatever it was, it felt as real as the metal Ivan pounded with his hands. As real as the photo she was letting him take.

  He wanted more.

  She turned to him, opened her eyes to the camera and the man on the other side, and let him see all the things she might be willing to give.

  With a flash and click, she was immortalized. Uma Crane, baring skin and soul.

  She sighed as he kissed her, trembled a bit as he dressed her, slow and sweet, and once he’d thrown on his clothes, they walked down the drive hand in hand before a long kiss good-bye beneath Ms. Lloyd’s kitchen window, heedless of the woman’s squinty stare.

  And all the while, it grew on her, a realization, piercing and true: she was okay. The shame was gone. And so was the regret.

  But there was something else there instead. What was that? Sadness for the loss of the girl she’d once been—the girl she’d lost that night. But something else. Acceptance, she thought. And as she stood in the kitchen window, watching Ivan’s figure walk away, straight and strong, it felt an awful lot like love.

  25

  “I, Ivan Shifflett”—smash—“do solemnly swear”—punch, smash—“not to go against”—smash—“the wishes of one Uma R. Crane.”

  Panting, Ivan rested his head against the heavy bag, his breath like a damn racehorse rode hard, his fists shaking. All of him shaking. No, not shaking—nothing so controllable as that. More like an earthquake, rolling and vibrating and tearing up the whole fucking world.

  The problem was, these were the early tremors. The quake had yet to hit. And when it did…

  Pushing off the bag, he went in again, attacking with a tight volley of punches that rocked it right back into his crazy dance. Steam came off his body, visible in the cold, clear light of day, but the rage…that festered deep inside. A tumor, sick and dark, expanding by the second and begging to be taken care of. Carved or…ripped out.

  But goddamn it he’d promised.

  I will not go against the wishes of the beautiful Uma R. Crane.

  He’d said those words to her, in the back of his truck, and he’d meant them, but he hadn’t fucking known. How could he have known what he was promising?

  Oh God. His arms clung to the bag, and the sound that came out of his mouth…the sound was bad. He knew it when Squeak whined and moved away. But he didn’t know how to stop. He couldn’t stop.

  If he didn’t kill him—Joey—then the fucker’d get away with it. And Ive couldn’t handle that. No justice. No fucking justice in this world.

  “No justice,” he said over and over as he pummeled the bag, wishing he could spew the poison, until his chest hurt and his hands were numb and there wasn’t a dry spot on his body. But it wasn’t working. It wouldn’t work, and by the end, without his really noticing the change, his strikes took on the ring of his own brand of justice, and that felt infinitely better. Infinitely right.

  Swallowing, he pushed himself off, noticed Squeak curled up in the opposite corner of the porch, as far from him as possible, and headed to his truck, still soaking, but what the fuck did it matter?

  The gym. He’d go to the gym. Find Steve and maybe pummel his ass. That might do it: cut out the fury, burn it or cauterize it or…

  No. No, first to the forge for some clothes. He couldn’t show up looking like this, even at the gym. He grabbed a shower, changed, made a quick phone call, and, at the last minute, picked up the container of dog food by the door and threw it into the truck. Just in case.

  First, he’d go by Jessie’s, to look something up. No big deal. He needed to know. The man’s full name, if nothing else. Just his name. As he steered toward his sister’s, he didn’t let his thoughts stray from the road itself—his hands on the wheel, his eyes hyperalert, his foot on the pedals. Motions that meant nothing. Just drivi
ng. Just going for a drive.

  In front of Jessie’s, he took stock. Breathing fine, pulse a little weird, but, hey, he’d beat the shit out of his bag for probably—a glance at his dash shocked him. Three hours? One spent in his forge, shaping hot iron, then another couple on the porch, pounding leather. Was that possible? The sun, high in the sky, confirmed it, and suddenly, what started as an idea became an urgent mission, a crusade, burning brighter than reason and promises or anything else.

  For Uma. For justice.

  * * *

  All day, Uma thought of Ivan. His hands on her, his cock inside her, his expression when he came. The night spent in his bed, safe and warm in his arms. And sleep—he’d given her real, honest-to-goodness sleep, like a miraculous gift. That alone would have been enough to make her fall for him. But then, there was the way he’d calmed her, taken on her troubles, how he took on everyone else’s.

  Her body was shaky and tired as she worked at Ms. Lloyd’s, but it didn’t matter. It was a good tired. Emotional and wrung out, but also…thoroughly fucked, she thought with a giggle. She’d heard him earlier, hammering and then pounding at his punching bag, which hadn’t helped her oust him from her thoughts. Not that she wanted to, she thought with a secret smile. Even here in Ms. Lloyd’s creepy basement, folding laundry, it was easy to bask in the bright glow of him.

  Could she really love him? Was it even possible after so short a time?

  Yes. I love him.

  A noise from upstairs startled her out of her thoughts, flushed and excited and a little bit…lovesick.

  It was no surprise that her mind went straight to Ivan when she heard it again and identified it as knocking. She was so convinced it was him—missing her, wanting to see her face, the way she wanted to see his—that it took her a moment to process his sister standing at the top of the stairs.

  “You sure she’s down here?” Jessie asked, peering into the dark basement.

  “Got a visitor, Irma.”

  Even that stupid name couldn’t bother her today.

  “Right here!” she called from below.

  “No need to walk me down, Ms. Lloyd. I just want a few words with Uma.”

  “Oh? What’s she done now?”

  “Nothin’. Didn’t she tell you we’re friends?”

  Ms. Lloyd scoffed. “Never seen anyone make faster time in this town.” Uma couldn’t hear the rest as Ms. Lloyd walked away from the top of the stairs.

  “Wow.” Jessie sounded breathless as she came down the stairs. “This place. It’s…”

  “I’d invite you to sit, but it’s…not very inviting.”

  “Yeah. Listen. I need to tell you something.” Jessie’s voice was low and urgent, her eyes a little frantic.

  “Okay.”

  “Ivan made me promise not to, but…sometimes doing the right thing is thicker than blood, right?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Does the name Joseph Chisholm ring a bell?”

  “What?” Uma’s vision blurred, and her legs went liquid. She stumbled back onto the sofa. “Oh no.”

  “I thought so. Ive’s gone after him.”

  “How’d he—?”

  “He came over to use my computer. Actin’ real strange. He asked me to keep Squeak for him and left a shit ton of dog food, talked about feedin’ the other animals if I didn’t see him come back tonight or in the mornin’. So, I went and looked at his history after he took off. Ive’s a dumb-ass with computers. Doesn’t know how to cover his tracks. Anyway. His Internet search? Commonwealth Attorney Joseph Northern Virginia.”

  “Please God, no.” Uma’s whispered words overlapped Jessie’s. She didn’t need to hear the end. Didn’t want to know any more.

  “Turns out there are only two up there. So he cyberstalked the one named Chisholm before taking off. I remembered what you’d said about your ex being a prosecutor and—”

  “Oh, no, no, no. Fuck!” A buzzing started in Uma’s ears, louder than her words. Her head was shaking back and forth, side to side. It wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop it. Any of it. Anything.

  “All right. So, Ive’s gone up there to find him. You know he’ll do somethin’ stupid, right?” Jessie was louder, the frantic edge right there in the forefront.

  “He promised,” whispered Uma.

  “What?”

  “Oh God. When did he go?”

  “Couple hours, at least. Didn’t think to check the computer until a little while ago. He’s not answering his phone.”

  “Then it’s already too late.”

  “Look, I called Steve and—”

  “The cop? No! Oh please, no.”

  “Look. He’s our friend. I had to tell him. He”—she lowered her voice—“said you were a person of interest in some case?” When Uma didn’t respond, Jessie moved closer to squat at her feet. “What is goin’ on? I want to help, but you’ve got to tell me. Let me help.”

  “You can’t help if the cops are involved.” The words came from deep in Uma’s chest. A dead place. “They’re on his side and…nobody can help.” Something occurred to Uma. “I don’t get it. How’d Ivan find out about Joey being a prosecutor?”

  “I told him,” came Ms. Lloyd’s voice from the top of the stairs. “He called when you took out the trash.”

  “Wait. Now you decide to answer the phone?” Uma asked, disbelieving.

  Ms. Lloyd shrugged. “Know about the ad now, don’t I? Figure I’d give the caller a piece of my mind instead of being scared.”

  “I trusted you!” Uma shrieked, the betrayals like a knife to the chest—Ms. Lloyd’s and Ivan’s. “He’s going to kill him, Ms. Lloyd. Don’t you get it? Ivan’ll go back to prison for this.” Uma looked between the two women, frantic. “Joey works with cops, judges. He’s been hunting me for six months. What do you think he’ll do when Ivan shows up there? Oh God, I’ve got to go. I’m going. I’m going. I’ll go and—”

  “Hold on,” said Ms. Lloyd. “No running off half-cocked. It’ll only make things worse.”

  “What fucking choice do I have?”

  Jessie said, “I don’t think this is the time for—”

  “Shut up, both of you, while I get a drink.” Slowly, Ms. Lloyd made her way down the rickety steps. “You’ll screw it all up. You hear?” Her voice was low enough to cut through the yelling and sharp enough to pierce the cloud of panic hanging in the air. Her eyes, when Uma’s met them, were deep, dark anchors. “Welcome to Leon’s man cave. Mr. Leon Lloyd. My husband.” The way she stressed the first syllable made it sound like a dirty word. She hobbled to the back wall and flipped a switch, lighting up the animal-head trophies hung high on the wall and shimmering over the dust motes floating on the air, then placed a glass on the bar with a decisive thunk and filled it with a golden liquid.

  “Is he—” Uma began, briefly derailed from her panic by Ms. Lloyd’s odd behavior.

  “Dead? Yes. Dead as a doornail. Dead, dead, dead.” The last was said in a singsong.

  Uma mouthed a silent oh, exchanging a frantic look with Jessie before saying, “I’m sorry, Ms. Lloyd, but—”

  “It’s Cookie.”

  “Cookie?”

  “My name. Cookie Lloyd. You can call me Cookie. Lloyd was his name.”

  “Cookie? Your name is Cookie?” A hysterical titter welled up inside Uma. Cookie? All this time, her evil nemesis’s name was Cookie?

  But she didn’t have time for this—for hysteria or panic or… She stood. “Jesus Christ. I’ve got to get out of here, got to do something.”

  She’d made it halfway up the stairs, Jessie right behind her, when Cookie said, “He died right here, you know.”

  “Oh shit,” Jessie whispered. They stopped and turned despite themselves.

  “Bastard already put me in the hospital twice. Last time, his buddy, the sheriff, dro
pped by to see him, told him he’d have to rein it in or people’d start asking questions. Cracked ribs he could hide, a black eye, but the broken ankle, now that raised eyebrows at the emergency room.” She smiled and pointed at her leg, the one she limped on.

  “Cooked, cleaned, sucked him off. Son of a bitch never was happy, no matter what I did. He had to hurt me. Said it was my fault. And my mama brought me up a lady. Taught me to grin and bear it. Wasn’t till the miscarriage that things changed.”

  Uma gasped in a breath at that, shocked at the image of a young Cookie Lloyd in a family way.

  “He killed my baby. Killed her.”

  “I didn’t know there was a baby,” Jessie said, still quiet.

  “A girl. Knew it in my bones.” She nodded, eyes glazed over with a film of memories. “Bastard murdered my baby girl and put me in the hospital. Everything changed after that. I wouldn’t take it again. Never again.”

  Uma suddenly realized her breaths were coming in fast and sharp with more than just worry over Ivan. Cookie Lloyd’s pain floated up the stairs, jagged little bits intermingled with the dust particles and the scent of thirty-year-old bourbon sludge.

  They were wasting time down here. Uma was frantic, but she couldn’t seem to stop the litany emerging as inevitably as a train wreck from the older woman’s lips.

  “Blackwood Sheriff arrested me the night I killed him. Leon, that son of a bitch. Three weeks after the miscarriage, and he tried to make me do it. Doc said to wait two months, but I didn’t refuse ’cause of that. I told him no because I’d never ever let him get me pregnant again. No way I was bringing a sweet little baby into this foul, disgusting place.” She slugged back her drink, slammed her glass on the bar, and meandered over toward the deer heads on the wall. Her veiny, wrinkled hand reached out to touch a shiny, black nose.

  On the stairs, Uma stood, transfixed.

  “See that space between the two heads?”

  Cookie Lloyd couldn’t see the other women nod, but that didn’t seem to matter. She continued. “Always wished they’d let me keep his body after they embalmed him. I’d have dug him up myself, if they hadn’t put me in prison for so long. Too rotten after eight years. I wanted to get a taxidermist to stuff Leon’s head. I’d have stuck the stupid fool up there, right where he belonged.”