Oh, Chloe, Chloe, Chloe. What am I going to do with you? Do you really want to help me, or is this all just a pity party?
I want to fight against my conscience, but after the way I acted toward her the other day, part of me seriously doubts whether she’ll continue to fight for me, the recovered me. Even though I still have a long ways to go in that department, I’m slowly getting there. I was a fool to run off like that and search for my drugs—drugs I told her to hide. Then, I had to shrug her off, basically telling her to get lost, after she took the time to search for me.
If this is her approach toward quitting, I don’t blame her; I’ve been a selfish asshole all along, and she doesn’t deserve my antics. She doesn’t deserve any of me.
I pass through the alleyway beside Bernie’s, strutting toward the rear parking lot—the last resting place of Jake. I glance up at the clear, blue sky, as if he might be hovering somewhere up there, watching. I hope not. I hope he’s moved on to bigger and better things.
“Rest in peace, buddy,” I say, stopping long enough to stare at the yellow tape sectioning off the crime scene. The horrible memory of his dead body, stabbed and bleeding, will stay with me forever. And God knows I should’ve come forward, I should’ve told the police I had a general idea of who did this so his family would’ve had some closure. But I didn’t. I’m a coward. Had that been me—and it very well may be by the time all is said and done—I think Jake would’ve told the cops he knew who my killer was.
“You did this to him,” says an all-too-familiar voice from the alley.
Big P’s voice.
I turn to run off the opposite way, but stop short of Ice and B. A third, scrawnier man steps forward, too. I’ve never seen him before.
Big P laughs, and the others follow his lead, like puppets. “Not this time, Logan. I’ve given you plenty of warning, but you avoided me at all costs.” He points toward the scene of the crime and says, “See what happens when I don’t get what I want?”
“You didn’t have to do that to him. He didn’t deserve it. This is between you and me,” I tell him.
Big P’s face is wiped clean of sarcasm, and he takes a few steps forward. “Listen here, you little shit. Anybody who lies to me is as good as dead. This kid knew where you were and he wouldn’t tell us, so guess what? He paid the price. Now it’s your turn.” With a simple nod of his head to B, Ice, and the new guy, my body is restrained. Big P is so close I can smell his nasty breath. He glares, but I don’t break eye contact with him. Then, he hauls off and punches me. My jaw crunches from the impact, and my head twists to the side. I spit out blood.
It takes me a moment to regain my senses, as they’ve been knocked out completely. “You hit like a pussy,” I say with a smile that stings, blood dripping from one corner of my mouth.
I encounter another punch from the opposite side, harder than before. Nobody’s lying when they talk about seeing stars, because I’m definitely experiencing those bright, tiny dots right now. Plus, there’s darkness around my vision. This time, I’m not so quick to recover.
“What, no more smartass comments?” he jests. “That’s too bad, because I think I just figured out a way to shut you up.” He pummels me again and again and again. I can’t even stand on my own anymore. My head hangs, and there are so many blood splatters on the concrete. Then, with an enthusiastic laugh, he kicks me in the stomach. Hard. I wheeze and cough up more blood. I think, if I vomit right now, it’ll be nothing but warm, red fluid.
But he doesn’t stop there. Oh, no. This is Big P we’re talking about here. He’s known around the drug community as being one of the most notorious leaders around, and for his bad temper. Because when he’s pissed, he’s going to take it out on whoever stands in his way.
I just had to buy drugs from him. I’m a fucking idiot.
Big P pulls out a knife from his pocket. “Do you know what this is for, Logan?” He waves it around my face for good measure. I shake my head in response. “I’m going to fillet you from head to toe, and then I’m going to dice you into little pieces and bury your remains where nobody will ever find them. Do you understand?”
He’ll fucking doing it, too, and I have no way to stop him. “Yep,” I choke out.
“Take him,” says Big P, with a nod of his head to his boys. They drag me across the parking lot. I steal a glance over my shoulder and see a black SUV parked at the curb.
Well, I think, this is it, then. This is the end of me. I should’ve stayed in the damn restaurant.
I peer up at the sky again, because this may be the last time I see it. Silently, I plea, Jake, if you can hear me, buddy, show me a sign. I’ll make everything right by telling the police the truth. Promise.
The back door to Bernie’s swings open; it’s some guy carrying out the trash. He’s an older man, maybe in his late fifties, early sixties—the kind that looks like he retired from the military, with faded-green tattoos on his forearms. Definitely not someone I picture taking out garbage.
Look at me, look at me, look at me, I will him in my mind. FUCKING LOOK AT ME!
He looks at me.
Stops.
Squints.
Then: “Hey! HEY! What the hell do you guys think you’re doing?”
Big P and the rest hurry toward the waiting SUV. The trash guy steps inside the back door and then back out, holding a shotgun. He fires it once into the air, which freezes Big P, Ice, B, and the other guy in their tracks.
“I asked you what the hell you think you’re doing!” he yells. As he nears us, I get a better look at him. He’s the one and only Bernie.
“Hey, man. We weren’t causing any trouble,” says Big P. “Best put that away before someone gets hurt.”
Bernie looks at Big P and his thugs, and then faces me. I can almost see him taking mental notes of my condition, which, judging by the expression on his face, isn’t good.
“Let him go,” says Bernie.
“Listen, man, this is none of—”
“I said, LET HIM GO!” He points the shotgun in Big P’s face. Big P throws his hands up, surrendering. For now.
Ice and B release their firm grasp on me, but the other guy doesn’t. Big P notices. He glares at the dude and says, “Smooth, man, are you deaf?” Finally, Smooth lets go, but not before shoving me toward Bernie.
I stumble to the ground, aching all over, especially my face. I regain my footing long enough to hobble off in the opposite direction, back to the alleyway of Bernie’s. I have no idea where I’m going, but it’s not safe to be here right now.
Squealing tires shriek behind me, and I know Big P and his boys are gone. I breathe a sigh of relief. “I owe you one, Jake,” I mumble. “I owe you big time.”
“Hey, kid! Hey, wait!” Bernie jogs in my direction. “Come inside and I’ll get you cleaned up. Do I need to call an ambulance for you?”
“Nah. I’m fine.” I spew out a stream of blood.
“Son, you obviously haven’t seen your face. I’m telling you, you need someone to look at those cuts and gashes. I have a first-aid kit inside. It’ll only take a minute.” He sounds convincing, and I know he has the right intentions, but I just don’t want the authorities involved yet. If he means what he says, though, then I’ll take him up on his offer.
Bernie sits me down in his office, in the back area of the restaurant, tucked away from prying eyes. True to his word, he fetches a first-aid kit and begins cleaning me up. Moments of silence stretch out between us, until he finally speaks.
“Did you know those guys?”
“Yeah.”
He stops cleaning one wound and looks at me. “Well, you’re definitely not friends with them.”
I repress a laugh. “No. Definitely not.”
“My guess is you got in with the wrong crowd, maybe owe them some money.”
Is this guy psychic or what? “I’d say that’s pretty damn accurate.”
He grunts. “Figures. Kids like you throw their whole lives away on drugs, alcohol, and sex. Ther
e’s an entirely new world out there for you, kid, and it doesn’t involve any of the above for entertainment.”
After applying the finishing touches to my open cuts, he hands me an ice pack, which I press against my jaw. “I’m just trying to get my life straight, man.”
“Well, you can’t do that as long as you hang out with the likes of those boys,” he states.
“I know.”
He stands up, hands on hips, and assesses his work. “Looks better than before, but it’s still nasty. Keep ice on your face to reduce the swelling, and take a few ibuprofens to ease the pain. Tomorrow’s gonna be a bitch for you.”
Every day is a bitch for me, I want to tell him, but I don’t.
Fourteen • Chloe
I stand by my window after Mom and I return from Bernie’s. The air cools my skin, and the view from up here isn’t all that bad. Crickets chirp loudly, frogs croak by the lake, and the summer nights have a spicy scent to them, like Mother Nature herself has sprayed the atmosphere with a sensual perfume.
A twig snaps, and I jerk my head toward the direction of the sound. Out of the shadows hobbles a figure. When the moonlight frames his body, I know exactly who it is.
“Where have you—” I start, but then I see his face. Dark blue and purple splotches cover his eyes and jaw line, and his eyes are swollen so much, they’re almost shut. “Are you okay?”
Motioning for him to climb up so we can talk, he ascends the lattice and slides through my window. Before I can open my mouth to ask what’s happened, he crushes me against the wall, his lips finding mine in the dark. He tastes like salt and blood, but there’s also a sweetness that follows. Both of his hands grab my face, as if he’s afraid I’ll pull away. As if he wants to siphon the very air from my lungs because it’s what he needs to survive, because the atmosphere around us is too electrically charged to breathe normally. Roughly, his tongue invades my mouth, which is completely exhilarating. Without slowing the pace, I circle his tongue with mine. The constant giving and taking is making me lightheaded. One of his arms loops around my waist, pulling me closer to his body. Unpredictably, I moan, sending him into another round of intense kisses.
Eventually, I pull away, barely able to tell him to stop. It’s not that I really want him to; it’s just that I don’t think I can take anymore. This feeling, like I’m floating atop water, is completely new to me. Foreign. Scary. Uncontrollable. Definitely not the same as the make-out sessions with Jeremy Frazier two years ago, behind the school. Actually, this is nothing like that.
Logan firmly plants his hands on either side of my face. He kisses my forehead once, lips lingering, and then says, “Please don’t give up on me. Please.”
“I won’t,” I whisper.
“Promise me, no matter what happens, you won’t leave me.”
I can’t exactly promise that. I mean, what if I’m unable to be by his side for some unforeseen reason? “Logan, I don’t think—”
“Please, please, please, Chloe,” he whispers against my cheek, his breath as soft as a breeze from a hummingbird’s wing. He trails kisses down my neck and over my breastbone, completely disorienting me. Then, his mouth dips even lower. I gasp, because I’ve forgotten I’m only in a slinky, spaghetti-strap top, and boy shorts. He hooks one finger underneath a strap and slowly guides it off my shoulder. I don’t protest because, deep down, I don’t want him to stop. I want to know what it feels like to have a boy worship every inch of my body. But then there’s that nagging bitch of a conscience, and she wants to impede my better judgment.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs. “Tell me to end it all right now and I will.” He lightly brushes a finger over the edge of my top, catching the lacy border and dragging it down, down, down, until he fully exposes me on one side. My chest heaves up and down with each new breath. Thank God it’s dark in here; my cheeks feel like they’re on fire. He repeats the same, slow motion of revealing the other breast. I yelp when his light stubble scrapes across the underside and all around the center. “Hush,” he murmurs against my extended peak. His lips are so close they brush the tip.
I whimper. Do it already! Put your lips on it and—
“Relax,” he says. “You’re too tense. Don’t be scared, Chloe. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. Understand?” He massages the muscles around my neck, my arms, my waist, my thighs and calves. Slowly, I unwind. “Now, where were we? Oh, I remember.” With that, he feasts on my breast. I wish I was joking about this, but I’m not. He literally takes one in his mouth, half devouring it, and sucks. Hard. Just like I wanted. All the while, he takes the other taut nipple between his fingers, pinching, rolling, teasing. His free hand presses against my back so that I can’t move.
I throw my head back against the wall. Ohhh mannn. So this is what it feels like. It’s no wonder why women and men can become addicted. This might be better than kissing. I let a moan slip past my lips, but Logan’s quick to cover my mouth with his own. “Hush, baby,” he says in between kisses. “You don’t want your mom hearing us, do you?” Without waiting for a response, Logan invades my mouth with his tongue, exploring as deep as he can go.
My lips feel like they’re bruised. My mouth is being stretched to its limits. But I don’t regret any of this as Logan carries me to the bed, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist.
He sets me down on the mattress and lies on top of my body, covering nearly every inch. “I don’t want to rush things, especially if we won’t see each other for who knows how long.” With a sweep of his finger over my cheek, he adds, “You’re so beautiful. I don’t want to ruin you, Chloe. I want everything to be right. And if that means waiting, I think we should.”
What? “What?”
“We shouldn’t do this right now. I’m in pain, and I think we should hold off.”
Why does this feel like he just slapped me across my face and kicked me in the stomach at the same time? I’ve heard so many excuses before and none of them hurt as much as his. Although he’s supposedly looking out for me, this is as close to rejection as it gets. Which sucks.
I sit up and fix my clothing so I’m covered again. Clearing my throat, I say, “Um, yeah, sure.”
“Are you mad? Please don’t be mad at me.”
He has the nerve to ask me this question after he just told me he doesn’t want to be with me? He started it, but he’s acting like it’s all one-sided. That’s it! No more.
“Yeah, actually, I am mad,” I say, bolting up from my bed to get away from him. “You can’t just lead me on like this. Do you realize how many times I’ve tried saving you already? And each time, all you do is push me away. After what you did yesterday in the woods, and then not even meeting me at the restaurant today, I don’t know if you’ll get better or not, Logan.”
He reaches for me, but I dodge his hand. “Look,” he says, deflated, “I’m sorry. I was at the restaurant, and I wish I had stayed.” He pauses to shake his head, like he’s discarding an unwanted memory. “I can’t explain what it’s like. I feel crazy. I mean, I was in the woods yesterday, listening to my little brother talk to me, so I must be insane, right?”
“Logan—”
He raises one hand. “Just hear me out, okay? You have no idea what it’s like being so addicted to something, it leaves you breathless. One minute it’s there, the next it’s not. It’s like a physical ache gushing through my blood, as if every piece of me is in pain.”
“Actually, I do know what that’s like,” I murmur.
He goes on, ignoring me. “Not to mention my stomach hurts from vomiting, I’m delusional, I have murderous drug dealers after me—”
“Wait—what?” I blurt. “Murderous drug dealers?” Then it hits me. I cross my arms. I knew something like this would happen; Logan wasn’t giving me the full story. Ever since he told me about his friend, I felt like something was off with his version of the events. Now I know why. “Your friend—Jake, was it?—he was killed by them, wasn’t he? They were after you, they knew you two w
ere friends, and Jake somehow got in the way.”
Logan inhales sharply, shaking his head, and looks at the floor.
And if they did that horrific crime to Jake, what will they do to Logan? Is that what happened to his face—they got a hold of him? Oh, shit.
“You were running from them all along, weren’t you? What do they want? Logan, you have to do some—”
“I know what I need to do, damn it! I just don’t have a way of getting it. And things are only going to get worse if I don’t play by their rules.”
Pacing across my room, I realize I can’t even wrap my head around this mess. Logan’s in some dire shit right now and there’s absolutely no way I can help him. Blood-thirsty drug dealers? Not my thing.
I stop pacing long enough to say, “They want money, don’t they? That’s what all drug dealers want. How much do you owe them?”
He waits so long to reply that I begin to doubt whether he’ll respond at all. Finally, he lifts his head and looks at me. “Five thousand.”
“Five—” I can’t even finish. Resting my hands atop my head, I bite my lip and stare at the ceiling. How the hell is he supposed to obtain such a large sum of money? I sure as heck don’t have it, and I know he doesn’t, either.
“Chloe, I danced with death today,” he says. “I was seconds away from being tortured mercilessly and cut up into tiny pieces.”
“What?”
“Lucky for me,” he goes on, “Bernie happened to be taking out the trash. He saw us, grabbed his shotgun, and advanced on Big P and his boys before they hauled me off to Godknowswhere. If Bernie hadn’t appeared when he did, I have no doubts that I’d be long gone by now.”
“This is fucking crazy,” I murmur, on the brink of tears. For him, and for both our sakes. If they find out, somehow, that I’m involved and helping Logan, I’m done for, too.
“Yeah, no shit. Bernie cleaned me up as best he could, but it’ll take some time for me to heal.”
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