by Lynn Vroman
“Save it, asshole.” Okay, so I picked the wrong guy. “I was mistaken.”
He came closer. “A hundred, that’s all I can offer, baby.” This time when he went to touch me, I grabbed his hand, bending his fingers until I heard a crack, and kicked out his knee. After fighting Farren for months, this guy was like beating up my grandmother.
He lay on the ground, moaning and whining about how expensive whores were here. I knelt beside him, making sure to keep my voice at a whisper. “This is what you’re gonna do, tough guy. Get up, stop acting like a pussy, and be on your way.” When he stayed put, I bunched his silky, sun-bleached hair in my fist to assist him.
“Ouch! Stop, you’re hurting me!” He pulled away, his voice shrill as spit gathered at the corners of his mouth.
I swear the guy had tears pooling in his eyes. Definitely not Protector material.
“Go on now, Ken, get back in that fancy car. We don’t want no trouble, you heard?” Dreads came up behind me, his voice like a melody. Almost hypnotizing.
The wuss-bag must’ve found it hypnotizing, too, because he limped back to his Mustang. Just like that. No argument. Stumbled away like he hadn’t been beaten up by a girl.
I turned to face Dreads, my want to tell him to butt out and the inherent need to be polite warring with each other. “Ah, thanks, man. Appreciate it.”
He nodded, a small smile lighting his dark face. I gave a half-hearted wave and steered around him into the store, needing a drink. The smell of chlorine mingling with body odor polluted every air particle in the place. I’d always hated how people thought swimming in chemically treated pools gave them permission to skip the showers.
I grabbed a water from the cooler, pissed off. Seriously, fuming. Not only did some dick mistake me for a hooker, but also Winston didn’t bother showing up. A thought hit me: If you don’t come back, I’ll make them pay…
The bastard better show because I wasn’t going back without Farren. Hell, I couldn’t.
I went to stand in the checkout line. Dreads walked in and headed to the coolers, grabbing a soda.
Damn, his arms…more than his arms. Tattoos painted every part of exposed skin. They were beautiful, like a masterpiece on flesh. He came up to stand in line and caught me staring. I swung around, heat creeping up my neck.
He stood so close the beats from his earbuds vibrated off my back. I should’ve been annoyed, but he smelled so good, unlike the sweaty chlorine people from the park. No, he smelled like ocean and coconuts. Yet when he took another step, making it impossible to move without touching him, I’d had enough. His cool tattoos and pretty smell no longer gave him a pass.
I turned. “Hey, I said thanks. That’s all you’re getting from me.”
He still had that closed-mouth grin on his face as he bobbed his head in time with the music streaming in his ears. I doubted he could hear, and so I whipped back around, muttering creative names under my breath. Language I mastered thanks to listening to Wilma’s sharp tongue.
Four people still waited ahead of me in line. Damn it. For every step I took forward, Dreads was right behind me, saying nothing, while listening to his music.
I had faced giant squid, angry Protectors, a fucking Warden. This guy… He wasn’t gonna get away with…whatever the hell he was trying to do.
I circled around on him again. “Backup, asshole.”
He tilted his head, staring at me with dark eyes so ancient they defied his young face.
“Do we have a problem?”
With pursed lips, he shook his head. Even over the blaring music, he could hear me, which meant he probably heard every nasty thing I muttered. Good.
I tightened my hold on my bag strap. If the guy wanted money, he wasn’t getting it from me. Nope, I’d be keeping my stuff today. He was a lot smaller than Abercrombie and my height. I could take him.
But in that moment, that second, I learned the size-doesn’t-matter lesson.
“Even with all the shit you been through, you still gravitate toward stereotypes.” He tsked, wagging a finger. “Shame.”
My face went numb. “Huh?”
I think you’re here for me.
His lips never moved, but his smooth voice blared in my brain, repeating the same thing I had said to muscle boy.
Oh, crap. I swallowed. “Winston?”
He nodded, never bothering to take out the earbuds.
My mouth opened and closed like a guppy’s, trying to spit out an apology, something confident to say, but Tarek’s warning, let Farren approach him, rang in my ears. I didn’t give a shit about that warning when I thought Abercrombie was the Protector, but this guy. This guy…
“Next!”
The cashier’s loud voice drummed into my head, not really registering.
“Um, kid? You’re next.”
I switched my attention to the counter, my legs like rubber. “I’m not a kid.”
“Whatever. That it?” He pointed to the water bottle clutched in my hands.
“Ah, yes?”
“It’s not a trick question. A buck five.” He held out his fleshy palm.
One hand released the bottle long enough to dig out two dollars. When he went to hand over the change, I shook my head, not willing to let go of that damn bottle again. It was the only thing keeping my hands from shaking. “Keep it.”
He threw the change in the red plastic penny container by the register. “Ain’t you generous? Next.”
When Winston began to leave, the cashier tried to reach over the counter. Good thing his fat belly prevented him from actually grabbing Winston’s arm. “Hey, you paying for that?”
Ignoring him, Winston crooked his finger at me until I followed him to the door.
“Hey, buddy, you pay or I’m calling the cops.” The poor guy’s face blossomed into a bright tomato as he rounded the counter, the other customers staring on in surprise.
Winston sighed and aimed a hand at the struggling, heaving cashier. “Stop.”
The guy froze.
“Now, I’d pay for this, but I’m a little short this week. Let’s agree to an IOU.”
The guy’s eyes glazed over and his jaw slackened. It was the same look my dad and mom had when Mateusz used persuasion on them. “Yeah, sure, okay.”
Winston turned his focus on all the other people, his blond-tipped dreads slipping over his shoulder. “Y’all go on about your business, all right?” When they gave him a glassy-eyed nod, he added, “And for the love of… Take a damn bath.”
Holding my elbow, he guided me out the door.
I forgot all about nerves as soon as we left the store. The guy washed a few brains for a goddamn Mountain Dew. Not cool. I yanked my arm from his hand. “Why the hell didn’t you pay for that? Christ, you turned a whole store into zombies for a soda.”
He smiled as if he didn’t give two shits–which he probably didn’t. “Like I said, a bit short.”
“A bit short?” Even though I yelled, annoyed by his apathetic attitude, I followed him when he sauntered across the parking lot, sipping on his pilfered soda. What other choice did I have? My moral compass wouldn’t get Farren out of jail. “I’d have spotted you the cash.”
He pulled out his buds and kept on walking until we reached a bright red crotch rocket. “Don’t need your charity, Tainted.”
My eyes grew so wide, I swear they were gonna roll onto the cement. The Tainted remark didn’t bother me. I’d heard it enough in the past five months. But…my charity? Brainwashing a bunch a people was better than asking for a five-spot? I flailed my hand at the house of zombies. “But…those people…you…can’t…”
“Yeah, I can.”
I dug my fists into my hips, the water bottle cold against my skin. “You’re… That’s…”
He threw the half-full bottle into a trashcan lining the lot and unstrapped a helmet from the back of the bike.
Well that was a big slap in the face. “You didn’t even finish it? You brainwashed people for a half bottle of soda.”
That smile–no, it was a goddamn smirk–returned to his lips. I sputtered on for a few seconds longer while he watched, nodding his head…patronizing me. Ass. When I finally shut up, he handed over the helmet. “Put that on.”
The black helmet might as well have had snakes slithering from the tinted visor. No way was I getting on that bike. I backed up a few steps, shaking my head. “Nope. Not a chance.”
He jammed it on his head. “Suit yourself.” He climbed on the bike and started the engine. “Get on.”
“Ah, maybe you didn’t understand me. I’m not getting on that thing.”
His shoulders slumped as he shut down the engine. Leaning back, his feet braced on the ground to support the bike, he flipped up the visor. “If you don’t get on the bike, I’m leaving you here.”
The way he looked at me, as if he could see right inside. “I’m… I don’t like motorcycles.”
He kept staring, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he actually succeeded in persuading me. As the seconds ticked by, my fear of the crotch-hugging rocket dwindled. In a slow, almost enchanting gesture, he slipped the helmet off his head and handed it to me.
When I still didn’t accept it, too busy locked onto his ancient eyes, he said, “Been watching your latest activity on the news. Good job, by the way, going public this time.” The helmet moved closer to my hands. “You need my help getting that Protector out of the clink, but if you don’t come with me now, my offer’s off the table, you heard?”
Really, I wanted to talk, but…how the hell did he know me?
The helmet somehow managed to find its way into my hands after I put the water in my bag and strapped it on my back.
“Good girl. I guarantee you got eyes on you everywhere. We need to ditch the tails, and we can’t do that taking the bus.”
The man had a point.
I put on the helmet and he kicked on the engine again. When the eye contact broke, I found my voice. “Don’t kill me.”
His chest vibrated with a laugh as I clenched his waist and held on for dear life. “I’ll do my best.”
We zipped through town, and indeed, a car followed our every turn. Winston didn’t rush through traffic, though. He took his time, obeying all the traffic laws–until we hit the interstate ramp. As soon as we merged with traffic, my stomach dropped and I screamed. Or at least I tried to scream. The pressure from going a bazillion miles an hour gave me enough oxygen to squeak. I squeezed his waist so hard I had to wonder if Winston was still able to breathe. But he didn’t slow down, especially when a silver Mercedes kept pace with us. He looked behind him before kicking the rocket into a higher gear.
Then we were flying. He ripped in and out of lanes with sharp, quick movements, his dreads hitting my helmet. I concentrated on that tapping sound so I wouldn’t give in to the panic and do something crazy, like jump off. We passed a few police cruisers, but none zoomed out behind us. I’m sure Winston did some freaky mojo on them. Christ, he did it for a half-bottle of Mountain Dew. I don’t know how long we were racing at that speed, but when we slowed down to hit an off-ramp, I almost cried with relief. My life flashed before me on I-80. Something I’d never forget. At least no Mercedes joined us.
When he drove into a restaurant and parked, I had trouble peeling myself from his back. To his credit, Winston didn’t throw me off. He just pried my fingers from his waist and gestured to the side. “Go on, now.”
I slid from the bike, stumbling as my tingling feet touched asphalt. Fried food smells coming from the diner didn’t sit well in my stomach, which was somewhere near my tonsils. The helmet made my head too heavy, propelling me to the ground. I palmed the lot, trying to regain control of my breathing while on all fours. For the record, I didn’t give a shit about how stupid I looked.
Not even when Winston laughed.
Okay, maybe a little when he laughed.
A little.
He squatted in front of me and unhooked the helmet’s strap. Soon as the head coffin pulled free, gushes of air inflated my lungs. Even the sticky humidity felt cool and refreshing.
I stayed on the ground a minute longer, taking in greedy gulps of oxygen. No way did I look in Winston’s direction. The smirk he probably had plastered on his face would’ve made my position more humiliating. Not until he moved to lean against his bike did I think to get up to find my self-respect.
Playing like the last five minutes never happened, I shrugged off my backpack and with unsteady hands, pulled out my water. After downing half, I screwed on the cap and looked around. “You plan on stealing lunch, too?”
He didn’t answer, his attention glued on the diner’s front doors.
Whatever. He could hate me all he wanted. As long as he helped me.
I sat in a patch of brown grass at the edge of the parking lot, the dead fauna scratching my thighs, and finished my water. If he got off hanging out in restaurant parking lots, so be it. The guy had the ability to persuade an entire store, and so persuading a few rent-a-guards who might accuse us of loitering shouldn’t be a problem.
But our little parking lot powwow ended when a pretty Latina woman walked from the restaurant. She obviously worked there, seeing as most people who were smoking hot didn’t walk around wearing black aprons and sensible shoes.
Winston stood, meeting her halfway. Her smile made her prettier when he picked her up in a hug while her arms captured his neck. After he kissed her, he leaned down to whisper in her ear. I watched the whole scene like it was Shakespeare in the park.
Freak, much? I felt like a peeping Tom. But how Winston, a hard ass from Exemplar who had no problem brainwashing for a soda, could make any woman smile confused the shit out of me.
Unfortunately, her smile disappeared when her eyes gravitated toward me the longer Winston whispered in her ear. She pulled back from his hold, her body movements telling me how unhappy my presence made her. When the woman stalked over, I hopped up on my feet. Whoever she turned out to be, I wasn’t gonna let her take a swing at me. I set my bag on the ground and waited.
She was a few feet in front of me when the accusations flew. “Who are you?”
I wanted to sound like a bitch, at least a little intimidating, but her dark eyes were a lot more intense than Winston’s. “Lena?”
She held her hands out, her whole body moving, reminding me of Jake when he got pissed. “What? You asking me who you are?”
I looked to Winston for some help. He stood behind her, arms crossed over his chest, saying nothing.
“Um…no?”
When she went on a tangent in Spanish, pointing her finger from me to Winston, I’d had enough. There were bigger things to worry about than a jealous girlfriend. I looked over her head–not hard, because she was five-foot-nothing–to glare at Winston. “Seriously? Can’t you scr–”
“Take a lap, Tainted.”
What? When I didn’t move–my ears assaulted with what were probably not very nice Spanish words–he nodded toward the back of the restaurant, near the dumpsters.
“You want me to…what?”
“Gone on, now. Don’t come back until I give you the signal.”
“The signal?”
This signal. Now leave.
Damn. His voice sounded a little more aggressive inside my head. I didn’t want to stick around, anyway. “Fine. Whatever.”
I snatched up my bag and made sure to swing wide, away from the now quiet, seething girlfriend.
The loud vent fans from the restaurant didn’t mask the yelling near the crotch rocket, no matter how far I walked behind the building. The woman was pissed. Christ, jealousy annoyed me. If she could see my giant, she’d–
Damn, even my thoughts made me sound thirteen.
All for you, Farren. And I’m gonna kick your ginger ass as soon as we get you out.
I endured the rotting smell of food and dirty dumpsters for fifteen long-ass minutes while I, and everyone else within a fifty-foot radius, heard Winston get his balls handed to him. When
squealing tire sounds ricocheted off the rusted, metal garbage bins and the yelling died down, I figured I’d get my signal. Another twenty minutes passed before come on back echoed through my head. No aggression laced his voice, only defeat.
That didn’t stop me from taking my time. I circled around, going the long way until his bike revved. Then I ran, afraid he might leave me. Maybe save that payback for a better time.
I made it to his side, and he handed over the helmet, not bothering to look up. Before I pushed the thing back on for another terror-filled ride through the mountains, I had to ask the burning question. “Why don’t you scrub her mind?”
He glanced up, the hard edges of his face softening. “Because I love her.”
Oh…oh, wow.
Respect blossomed in my chest. Every crap thing he’d done up to that point forgiven. I hopped on behind him. “Try going for just eighty this time. I don’t like having my stomach in my throat.”
Winston’s shoulders relaxed some as he started the engine. “I’ll think about it.”
JAIL BREAK
We raced over more back roads than I knew existed, twisty roads with steep hills that dropped off in an instant.
On a red crotch rocket doing at least sixty.
By the time we turned into a driveway belonging to a gothic house under obvious construction, I didn’t give a shit if Uncle Fester came out or bats flew from the windows. Whatever waited in the old place would be ten times better than taking another suicide trip on the back of a motorcycle.
We didn’t stop in the driveway. That would’ve been too rational. When we were two feet from the front door, Winston held out a hand and wiggled his fingers. The padlock near the knob unlocked, and the heavy oak door swooshed open as we rolled through to a huge living room with no furniture except for a mattress and a mini-fridge.
As soon as the engine died, I got off and wobbled to the mattress, plopping down on a few blankets. Actually, even though my body still hummed, the mattress was comfortable and the blankets were soft.
Winston didn’t say a word while he pushed the bike under a little alcove. He then went to the fridge, which sat on the bottom step of a wide staircase that led to…well, the obvious answer would’ve been upstairs. What met the top step was scaffolding that held paint cans, spray paint, and brushes strewn all over platforms. Curious, I lay back and found the ceiling half-painted with scenes so beautiful, so rich and deep, they took my eyes hostage. When I noticed the floating city in the far right corner, tears threatened.