by Teagan Kade
“So you are a criminal?”
He nods to himself, placing the roller down. “Perhaps. Does that bother you?”
It’s a solid question. There were plenty of bad boys around growing up. California really breeds them, but I don’t think I’ve ever gotten so close to one. Not like this. “I don’t know. Should it?”
“We’re not axe murderers, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I keep painting. “Good. I like my head attached to my shoulders very much, thank you.”
“That was dark.”
“Maybe I better lighten things up then.” I turn and flick the paintbrush in his direction, specks of blue falling over his chest.
He looks down, then up. “Oh, really? That’s how you want to play it?”
He picks up a tin of paint from the floor, holding it in his hands, slowing approaching me.
I stand up against the wall. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.” He pretends to throw the paint and I flinch.
I hold out my brush like a sword. “Come any closer and I’ll…”
He holds the tin with two hands. “You’ll what?”
“Go Picasso on you.”
He shrugs, letting down the tin. “Guess I shouldn’t then.” He turns and I think he’s done before he snaps back around the throws the tin forward, a torrent of white paint covering me around the torso and splashing all over my shoes, tee and pants, the rest of it is just dripping off the wall behind me. I drop the brush and hold my arms out. “You did not just do that.”
He places the empty tin down. “Wow, you look like a really, really cute snowman. I mean, snowgirl would be the preferred term but—”
I lunge forward and pick up the tin, tipping what’s left in it over his head. He stands there, eyes open while the paint drips off his eyebrows and chin, puddling on the plastic we laid out earlier.
He wipes paint from his forehead. “You, madam, just declared war.”
He tackles me and pins me to the floor, rolling us over in the paint and tickling me in the ribs.
I ball up, laughing, trying to get out from under him, but he’s way too strong.
“Stop,” I plead, barely able to draw breath I’m laughing so hard.
He keeps tickling, working his way up under my arms, leaning over me, dripping and wet. “Had enough yet?”
“Never,” I laugh out, squirming and wriggling beneath him, the paint sloppy and cold soaking through the back of my shirt.
I try to tickle him back, but it seems he’s immune.
Through it all I feel the bulge in his crotch pressing against my chest, the heft and size of it.
He stops and we both pause breathing hard. We look at each other and he begins to lean down, our faces drawing closer and closer.
Oh god. We’re going to kiss.
“What. The. Fuck?!”
We both look sideways to see Razor and Bo, each carrying a handle of a large ice box.
Deacon gets off me, standing and pointing. “Last time I checked we already had plenty of ice.”
Razor’s beaming. “And last time I checked, you put paint on the walls, not each other, kinky as it may be and all that. But you know, whatever turns you on. I’m fond of schoolgirls myself, short skirts, glasses, knee socks…”
Deacon crosses his arms. “Wait, wait, you’re not telling me you actually caught something today, are you?”
The boys place down the ice box and open the lid, Razor’s smile saying it all. “Rock lobster, my friends, as much as you can eat.”
*
I lean back in the deck chair staring up at the night sky, embers from the fire soaring up in spirals. “I’ve never seen so many stars.”
Deacon looks up from his deck chair beside me, beer in hand. “I don’t doubt it given the light pollution in California these days.”
“You fuckers want any more lobster?” calls Razor from the grill.
I hold my belly. “I’m completely full.”
“More for me.”
Deacon looks across to me. “You do much barbequing back home?”
Holding my food baby like this I almost look I’m pregnant for real. With Deacon’s baby. Would it be so bad? It would be hellacute. “Dad did all the cooking. We had a Weber out back that saw a bit of use, though I can’t say we ever had grilled lobster like this.”
“As we’ve discovered,” continues Deacon, “Australians love their BBQs. Any excuse to throw something ‘on the barbie’ and they’re there. I respect that, respect the dedication.”
“You don’t miss home?”
“Do you?”
Enough deflection, buddy. “I asked first.”
Something cracks in the fire at our feet, the side of Deacon’s face amber in the firelight. “Sure. I miss Girl Scout cookies and coffee to go, thanksgiving and turkey pants.”
“What the hell are turkey pants?”
“You know. Giant, oversized trousers with a slack waist you wear when eating turkey so you can stuff in as much as possible.”
We both laugh. I’m amazed at how easy it is to be around him now, how much he has softened since we first encountered each other at Shipstern. I still haven’t forgotten the way his lips pressed against mine, literally breathing life back into my body. I’m starting to think I could benefit from something else of his being pressed into my body—deep, hard, sinking right to my sopping core.
Calm down, Lux. You need two to play that game.
I pick up my beer from the grass and take a swig.
Bo and Razor stand up. “We’re heading down to the bottlo. Want anything?”
“The ‘bottlo’? I repeat, confused.
“Bottle shop, liquor store,” Razor corrects. “Fucking Australians, man. They shorten everything out here, always adding ‘o’s and shit. It’s fucking catchy.”
“Like Vegemite?” I query.
“Nectar of the gods,” smiles Razor.
“I thought that was Judie Myers’s pussy juice back in middle school,” laughs Bo, pushing his brother over.
Deacon throws a bottle at them from his chair. “Hey, there are ladies here.”
Bo pretends he’s looking around aimlessly. “Really? Can’t say I see any, not given the way everyone here surfs.”
Razor nods, looking at me. “I still think you’re packing a pair of billiard balls between those sweet legs of yours. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re wrong. I’d show you, but somehow I don’t think you’ve ever seen a vagina.”
That gets them. They all explode with hysterics, Bo bent over slapping Razor’s back. “Only your fucking mother’s, bro.”
Deacon shakes his head. “She was your mother too.”
Bo looks up confused.
Deacon picks up another bottle, tosses it in their direction. “Just get the fuck out of here, will you?”
The two brothers go off giggling and shoving one another.
Deacon and I sit there silently watching the fire for a while.
Finally, I break the silence. “You really care for them, don’t you?”
He kicks a can into the fire. “Who, Dumb and Dumber?”
I tuck my legs up under myself. “You’re not fooling me. You’re soft as cotton candy under all that muscle and bravado.”
He glances down between his legs. “You sure?”
I push away the thought of his hard cock. “You’re deflecting again.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.” I shift in my chair again, an odd heat gathering between my legs that has nothing to do with the fire. “I dig it, you know.”
“Dig it like Samuel L. Jackson digs it?”
“I respect what you’re doing,” I correct. “It can’t have been easy.”
He takes a pull of his beer. “It wasn’t. You ask a lot of questions.”
“You told me you prefer women of action.”
He looks across. “I do.”
The air’s electric between us, charged. It would take seconds to close
the distance between us, to jump into this lap and take his zipper down, kiss him while he slowly slides himself inside me.
Holy Horndog, Batman.
Why do I feel like this? Why this man? This… I don’t know what he is. A trouble-maker, someone who’s lost their way, a vagabond, family patriarch? It seems I still haven’t met the true Deacon Hunt and until I do I’m better off not allowing myself to fall for him, to take those final steps towards hot, skin-on-skin sex only a bad boy alpha male like him can deliver.
The moment passes and we resume watching the fire.
I don’t know what I see in those flames, perhaps my old life burning away, the last embers of it trying to stay alive but soon to be snuffed out. For the first time in a long time I truly don’t know what tomorrow will bring only that I’m excited to find out.
*
We train in the pool in the morning, the brothers deciding it’s too flat to head out and instead standing on the sidelines hollering and heckling.
It doesn’t stop as we head back inside. Bo and Razor decide to fight it out in darts down at the pub. I’m exhausted. It seems all I want to do is sleep these days—train all day, work all night. It’s taking it out of me.
You could have done this back home, you know?
There’s no Deacon back home, my mind retorts, my clit twitching in agreement.
“I’m going to hang here,” says Deacon. “I’ll be in my room. Oh, and Lux.” He taps a piece of paper on the table. “Someone named Jason called earlier this morning, left his number if you need it.”
Bo makes kissing sounds… before Deacon clips him in the ear.
“Keep walking, fucker.”
I watch two brothers go out the window, wait for Deacon’s door to close before dialing the number.
As before, the ringtone seems endless before Jason picks up.
“Jason, hi,” I start, sure to keep my voice as quiet as possible.
“Luxy Lux. How you been?”
“Good. Really good. What you got for me?”
He huffs. “So, I had a look into your boys.”
“And?”
“Ain’t nobody by those names ever lived in Newport, let alone California. I searched cross-checked ‘Razor’, ‘Bo’ and ‘Deacon’, but the only matches were for a Deacon Hunt in Alabama, and he died in 1977. I can’t imagine that’s who you’re looking for.”
I’m practically whispering, phone cupped close to my mouth. “So they’re ghosts. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“That’s what I’m telling you. Whoever these guys are, they’re hiding something. The problem’s what, and why.”
“Thanks. I’ll look into it.”
“Anything else I can help you with?”
“A couple of Baby Ruths would be nice.”
“They don’t have chocolate over there?”
“They don’t seem to share our fascination with peanut-chocolate treats, sadly.”
“I’ve always wanted to visit Australia, you know. Seen any kangaroos?”
I laugh. “The only furry creatures you’ll find around here live down at the pub.”
“The pub?”
“The bar.” Jesus, this place really is starting to take me over.
“Right. You stay safe, you hear.”
“I will,” but even as I say it I can’t help the small pang of suspicion that’s begun to grow inside me.
CHAPTER TEN
DEACON
No one asked Lux to become our live-in chef, but she seems to have taken on the role regardless, even offering to help paint the back room on the weekend. She wanted to give me cash from work, pay for her board, but I wouldn’t have it. She almost feels like family, which is precisely why I can’t let my dick rule my head.
I look to Razor. “Where’s Bo?”
Razor lifts his shoulders, stuffing toast into his face. Oddly, we’ve become fond of Vegemite over these last few months. It seems the trick is to be sparing with it, not suck it down by the spoonful. “Don’t know, bro. He took off late last night and hasn’t come home yet.”
It’s odd. We always tell each other where we’re going. “He didn’t say where he was headed?”
Another shrug. “Beats me. Midnight booty call with Mrs. McLoughlin for all I know.”
While I try to brain bleach that image out, I notice Lux is watching us.
I look out the windows, the clouds growing even greyer, but that ain’t going to stop us spending time together.
I stand. “Grab your board, Hollywood. We’re going out.”
*
Bo’s leaning against the railing when we return, a beer between his hands.
“Hey,” Lux waves.
“Hey,” he replies.
“I’ll meet you inside,” I tell her. “Don’t use all the hot water, you hear?”
She salutes. “Yes, Dad,” heading inside.
I place my board down and draw Bo into the corner of the verandah. “Where the fuck were you last night? Razor said you went out late.”
Bo shakes his head. “Fucking Razor, the dibber-dobber.”
“Where were you?” I press.
“Easy. It was for the greater good.”
I tighten. “What was for the greater good?”
He lowers his voice, watching the door. “Our friend, the peeping tom? He won’t be bothering us anymore.”
Shit. I come closer. “What the fuck did you do?”
Bo takes a deep breath before speaking. “I went over there to the motel and sorted him out, gave him a real working over. He knows nothing about us. He wanted her, wanted to take her, fuck her, whatever—sick fuck, but I laid down the law, let him know he was not fucking welcome.”
I prod him in the chest. “You should have talked to me first.”
Bo puts his hands up. “You always said we have to protect our own. Lux is part of that now. I wasn’t about to let that cocksucker, what? Snatch her, rape her? Who knows what he fucking wanted?”
“He didn’t tell you?”
Bo laughs, almost seems proud. “Not with a mouth full of blood. The guy might have looked like a Hell’s Angel, but he was a pussy like all the others. He fucking begged me, offered me cash not to break his jaw.”
“Did you?”
He shakes his head, holding up his hands. “I did it old school, pounding him like a bag of fucking meat until he was blubbering like a baby on the bathroom floor.”
There was a time before all this when Bo was the quietest of us, when he wouldn’t have dreamed of getting involved in an actual fight. Things have changed. They’ve changed because of me and my actions. I can’t say it’s been for the better.
I have to ask. “Is he…?”
Bo leaps back. “No. No. Jesus, I didn’t go that far.”
“He’s gone then?”
“Watched him go myself. We got lucky.”
I grab him by the shirt, can’t place where this sudden burst of anger is coming from. “Lucky? Fuck. You put us all at risk.”
“I was only trying to protect us, protect her.”
I let him go. “Did you leave any evidence?”
He tilts his head. “You taught me better than that, bro.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “Okay. It’s done. Let’s just forget about it.”
“What’s done?”
Fucking Sergeant Bill fucking Wilson walks around the corner of the house, stopping below us with his hands behind his back. He’s out of uniform, but that doesn’t mean he’s not on the job.
“Nothing, officer,” says Bo. “We were just having a quiet family chat.”
The sergeant looks down at his feet before looking up. “Say, you boys haven’t seen an individual around,” he points to his neck, “tattoo of a crown of thorns here, real lowlife looking?”.
I cut a glance to Bo. “Can’t say we have. Why’s that?”
If the sergeant did overhear us, he’s not letting on. “I got word someone matching that description was seen in the area, some fucking cr
iminal.”
“Who?” I ask.
The sergeant smiles weakly. “Nasty rapist scum, missed parole back in the big city.”
I exchange another look with Bo. “And you thought because, what, we have tattoos we might know them?”
The sergeant’s a pretty shit cop if he didn’t notice the stranger in town, his fucking stolen car at the motel. Then again, between the pub and his desk, the sergeant doesn’t seem to get out much. Drifters and dirt-bags come and go from Finke all the time. Maybe our friend really did go unnoticed.
The sergeant continues to smile up at us. “As they say, like attracts like.”
“As we said,” Bo spits down, “we ain’t seem him”.
“Who said it was a him?”
The sergeant gives a small salute. “See you around, boys.”
We watch him walk off just as Lux pokes her head through the front door. “Everything alright?”
“Sure is,” I reply, but I can’t help the sickening foreboding that has set up shop deep inside my gut. Maybe we did get lucky. The stranger wasn’t here to hunt us, but he was here to do harm. Better for us if he’s as far away as possible. All kinds of horrors lurk in the shadows around here. Sometimes they need to be flushed out. Perhaps Bo should have taken him out, one less rapist clogging up the world.
I need a distraction. “Say,” I call to Lux before she disappears inside, “how do you feel about a midnight dip?”
*
It’s a cloudless night, the moon casting a silvery staircase over the swell. I ease on the throttle and bring us around into the bay.
Lux blows into her hands.
I cut the throttle and drop anchor, watch as it disappears down into the black. “You nervous?”
“Nervous, cold—same thing, isn’t it?”
I nod to the sky. “Just remember, the darkest nights produce the brightest stars”.
She laughs into her hands. “My god. Where did you pick that one up from?”
“It’s working, isn’t it? I bet you’re wet already,” I look over the side of the boat, “or at least you will be soon enough. You ready?”
Her eyes are pearly saucers in the moonlight. She looks ethereal, beautiful. “Let’s do this.”
I check through the gear—the tanks, the regulators. It’s good to go. I help her get everything into position before spitting into my mask and moving the saliva around. I sling it over my head, hold up my thumb. She nods, sitting on the edge of the inflatable.