by Lane Hart
“I figured it would be easier to act like a visitor who comes to the front door instead of sneaking into your bedroom window in broad daylight,” he says in explanation. “So, I’ve got good news.” His hand still locked around my wrist, he leads me by it into the living room where we sit down next to each other on the sofa. “A federal judge just granted us a search warrant for the DA’s office and sheriff’s department’s evidence room.”
My eyes widen in surprise before he continues on.
“Tonight, after everyone leaves for the day, we’ve got two teams, one going to the courthouse to take all the documents we can find, and the other to seize evidence from the sheriff’s department’s storage facility. It’s gonna be a big mess; but hopefully, once we start sorting through it, we’ll find everything we need to take down your dad.”
“Good,” I reply, not the least bit upset about him getting what he deserves after all these years.
“I need to finish searching the house, too. Legally this time,” he says, pulling out a piece of tri-folded paper from the inside of his suit jacket and placing it on the coffee table. “My Pathfinder is out front. So, after I load it up, I want to play with you a little before I have to leave.” Leaning forward, his big palm grabs the back of my neck and holds me still while he kisses me quickly, enough to leave me wanting more before he gets to his feet.
While he works, I sit back and watch him go in and out of the house from my seat on the sofa with my arms wrapped around my legs. The excitement bubbling in my belly is almost too much to be contained. I want to jump up and down screaming in celebration that the evil bastard, who I’m unfortunately related to, is gonna hopefully go down in flames. At the same time, a small part of me is skeptical. He has connections in law enforcement, politics and probably everywhere so I wouldn’t put it past him to walk away from even a tall stack of evidence showing his wrongdoings a mile high. It’s what he does. He no doubt pays people well for them to stay on his side.
“Okay,” Aden says when he returns to the living room, swiping a hand across his face to wipe away the sweat. He’s lost his suit jacket and has rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt that’s tucked into perfectly fitted pants. With his hands on his hips, the fabric stretches across his broad chest in a way that my lower body perks up and takes notice. I frown when the sight of him also makes the little girl inside me want to run and hide because he reminds me of my dad, never without his suit and tie. “I think that’s everything that might be worth a damn. Do you know of anywhere in or around the house where he might hide evidence?” Aden asks.
Now go to your room, take the dress off and hide it inside your dollhouse.
Jumping up, I run to my bedroom and kneel in front of the three-foot tall dollhouse that still sits in the corner, wondering if it’s in there. Surely not. He’s had ten years to destroy it, but the rest of the room looked untouched when I first arrived a few days ago. My finger shakes as I push the button on the top of the roof to open the dollhouse. I pull the perfect, pink and white replica house apart, and…there it is, my crumpled up light blue dress that he ruined.
“You okay?” Aden asks from the doorway. I shake my head and point inside to the bloody dress without touching it. “What’s that?”
“The dress I was wearing…” I tell him, unable to say anymore.
Aden leaves the room and returns wearing latex gloves, carrying a clear plastic bag. I scoot back on my knees, moving out of the way so that he can get to the old cloth. When he picks it up, he holds it out, reminding me how small I was that day ten years ago.
“How…how did you get blood on you?” Aden asks as tears start rolling down my cheeks. It’s been a few days, thanks to him and Brede, since I’ve relived the habitual nightmare that plagues me even when I’m awake.
“Blair?” he prompts when I stay silent, but I just shake my head, unable to explain anymore.
“Fuck! You’re gonna have to talk,” Aden shouts caustically to the ceiling as he throws the bagged evidence, rips off the gloves, and paces back and forth in front of my dresser with his fingers locked behind his head. He comes to a stop beside me, his pale blue eyes narrowed and glaring bright with anger. “Or do you not give a shit about the man who’s been rotting in prison for a decade?”
My tears fall faster since I already felt guilty. Every second of every day of my life I feel incredibly guilty. But now he’s making me feel even worse, calling me out for being such a coward.
“I can help you, Blair,” he says, his voice much softer, although still heavy with emotion. “But you have to be the one who’s ready to make this right, more than just a pretty tattoo on your side.”
My head hangs in shame because I can’t look at him. I want to do this, but it’s hard when I’m still terrified of the man who stabbed my mother to death in front of me. What if Aden’s wrong and they don’t put him away? He’ll come after me, especially if he knows I confessed the truth. But I owe it to Ben to take the chance, to stop being a weak, silent girl and try to save him from spending the rest of his life in prison for a murder he didn’t commit.
I freeze when Aden kneels down behind me, afraid he’s still angry and will take it out on me. He lifts my hair from my neck and presses a few kisses to my skin, causing the tension in my body to instantly evaporate. Just as I relax, his teeth bite down harshly on my neck. I gasp at the pinch of pain before he distracts me, pulling my shirt off, leaving me kneeling on the carpet in nothing but my panties.
“You’ve gotta be strong for me, baby girl. Can you do that?” he asks, both of his hands moving around to cup my breasts. I hiss when he brushes over the tattoo that’s still sore. The burn soon fades away as his mouth continues to leave hot, wet kisses over the side of my face, ear, and neck, leaving cold chill bumps in his wake, while his hands continue to squeeze and caress my breasts.
“I’m gonna keep you safe,” he says. His teeth graze my shoulder, and one of his palms rubs down my stomach and slips into the front of my already damp panties. “And you’re gonna confess to being forced by your father to lie, right? You won’t be in any trouble. No one blames you, Blair. You were just a little girl. So can you do that? Can you own up to the truth for me, for Ben Rawls?”
“Yes,” I whisper when he drags a finger through my wet pussy lips before penetrating me gently with it, over and over and over again, until my hips start to rock and my vision blurs. Until I forget everything else in the world except for the man behind me, taking me closer to the escape I desperately need.
Pushing on my shoulder, he guides me forward until I’m on all fours, his fingers still moving in that wonderful teasing way. His knees spread my legs further apart; and when he pulls his hand away, leaving me right on the edge, I whimper in protest.
“Shh,” he says from behind me, placing kisses on my lower back, down to my thigh before lowering my panties so his tongue can enter me from behind.
“Ahhh,” I cry out, my entire body shaking, wound up tight, frantic with the need for a release. “Please!” I beg.
“I’ve gotta go, baby girl,” he says, pulling his mouth away.
“No! I need…I need,” I stutter.
“I need it too, baby,” he says, trailing a finger through all the wetness he just created. “You gonna give me what I need tonight? Finally, give me this pussy?” he asks.
My first thought is no…Brede. But then Aden’s tongue returns and starts giving me what I crave from him, from both men.
“Ohgodohgodohgod,” I chant, thrusting my hips back into his face, chasing my release. Brede’s gone, I remind myself. He walked out on me without a word, and he’s a wanderer, so the odds are, I’ll never see him again. Aden, though, is here, trying to help me, trying to put away the asshole who killed my mother and locked me away. He’s the one who holds me at night and makes me feels so damn good.
“Blair? Tonight when I come back, will you let me fuck you?” he asks, his breath fanning over my heated flesh. Then, the tip of his tongue flicks ra
pidly over my clit again.
“Yes!” I exclaim as the most intense orgasm explodes from my body. “Yes! Oh God, yes, Aden!” His mouth doesn’t let up, even when I try to pull away, he keeps working his tongue inside me until I come again and again, until I swear it feels like I’m drowning in bliss, and I don’t want to come up for air.
When he eventually stops, I collapse face first into the carpet. I hear his heavy panting behind me and his curse of “Fuck, I could eat your pussy all night” before I hear his zipper go down. The blunt head of his hard cock rubs through my wetness, and then his hot release oozes down my lower back.
A little while later, I hear the jingle of Aden’s pants being done up before he says, “I don’t want to leave, but I have to. See you in a few hours, okay?”
I nod, incapable of words or moving my body a single inch. That’s where he leaves me, lying on the floor, my panties still down around my knees, soaking wet and very satisfied. So why do I feel so…empty?
Chapter Seventeen
Brede
I walk into the unlocked house and head for the living room where I hear the TV blasting. There were no other cars here, thank goodness, because I don’t really want to deal with anyone’s bullshit today.
“Yo, Rog,” I say when I see him stretched out in a recliner. I didn’t want to have to come back, but if he gives me an assist, I can get this done quicker, see Blair even sooner.
Rog’s head turns, and he nods in greeting. “What’s up, Brede? Where you been, man? Took care of business yet?”
“I had to take a road trip,” I say in explanation, trying not to visibly wince at the reminder of what I was hired to do. “You got any plans tonight?”
“Ah, only the ones that I made between me and my bong,” he says with a grin.
“Good. Do you, um, think you can help me out?” I ask with my hands braced on my hips. Asking for help is not something I’m used to doing. Most of the time, I take care of shit myself, but this one will be easier with some help.
“Ah, sure. What you getting into?” he asks, lowering the footrest of the recliner to sit up.
“I need to bust a car out of the pound,” I explain.
“A random car or one in particular?”
“One, in particular, Blair’s. You know, so that I can make sure it disappears,” I lie.
On the way home from West Virginia, I tried to figure out a way to apologize to Blair for up and disappearing on her, for acting shitty to her about the whole suicide issue. Now I get it. She saw her mom murdered, probably brutally by her own father, and then he threw her ass into a mental hospital. I’m not sure how she got out, if they released her or if she escaped, but now I’m starting to understand her, why she doesn’t say much and why she got the tattoo. I think she feels guilty, but she shouldn’t based on what my dad told me.
“Okay,” Rog agrees easily like I figured he would. “You need a Slim Jim and something to pick a padlock?”
“Fuck yes,” I answer. “You’ve got that shit lying around?”
“What kind of half-assed criminal do you take me for?” he asks with a chuckle as he gets to his feet. “Let me change clothes. And once it gets dark, it’s show time!”
Rolling my eyes at the crazy SOB, I go into the spare bedroom he’s let me crash in and change into my own dark jeans and a black tee. Then, the two of us meet back up in the living room to down a few beers while we wait for the sun to go down.
“So, you fucked her yet?” he asks during the commercial break of the stand-up comedian show we were watching.
“No, can’t find her,” I tell him, which is not really a lie since I haven’t looked for her since I got back.
After finding out the history, I care about her even more, not just because I want to take her virginity. Fuck yeah, I want that too, but she’s the weeping, defiled angel on my arm. Someone needs to take care of her because she’s been through hell and back. Maybe it’s idiotic, but a part of me wants to make sure that every last one of the suicidal thoughts in her head is knocked out. Whether or not I’m capable of that, I don’t know. But I want to try.
For too long I’ve been a fuck up, my anger at the life I was dealt getting me into fights and trouble with the law, leading me to the Army and becoming a cold-blooded killer. Now, things don’t seem quite as bleak, especially since I now know the truth, that my father is innocent. I wasn’t born with murder in my DNA. He never meant to leave us, and he sure as shit never had a choice in the matter. Knowing who’s to blame, I want to wipe that bastard off the face of the goddamn earth, especially since he was ready to end his own daughter’s life. Time’s running out now. He’ll want an update on whether or not she’s alive; and if she is, he’ll hire someone else to finish the job. Before that happens, I need to keep Rog quiet and find a way to take the DA down.
“You ready?” Rog asks a little after eleven. It’s been good and dark for hours, and there shouldn’t be anyone hanging out around the pound lot this late.
“Let’s do it. You driving?” I ask.
“Sure, we can take the Benz.”
Shaking my head at the rich fucker, I follow him into the garage where he pushes the button to raise the door while I climb inside. Wandering around the brightly lit room, he grabs a few supplies before getting into the driver seat. “Here,” he says, thankfully offering me a pair of gloves with the tools we’ll likely need.
“So how did the girl’s car get impounded?” he asks with a snort.
“Fuck, I don’t know. She left it at the pawn shop the other night, and the next morning it had been towed.”
“What does she drive?”
“A little Audi something another,” I tell him since I didn’t see it that closely. “There’s only one in the lot. You know the guys who own it?”
“Yeah, old man Peterson,” Rog answers while driving us over. “That kook ain’t got any damn sense and shouldn’t even be driving a tow truck, but everyone in town keeps using his senile ass.”
A few minutes later, we park off on a side road and walk the rest of the way to the lot. We didn’t bring a flashlight, ‘cause that’s one way you sure as fuck get caught, so we walk slowly, careful with our footing in the light of the few lamp posts.
Reaching the chain-link fence, we follow it around to the gate, since climbing it is out of the fucking question with the barbed wire around the top. I’m not sure how Rog does it in the dark, but he pops the padlock in seconds, and then we’re in. We open both sides of the gate wide to drive right on out as soon as we can find the keys for Blair’s car.
“Uh-oh,” Rog whispers. “Is that red Audi hers?”
“Yeah,” I answer as we walk closer.
“It’s blocked in by a truck and a van,” he says before he laughs.
“Fucking great,” I grumble when we reach the car. In order to get it out, we have to move the truck that’s in front of it. And to get the truck out of the way, we’re gonna have to move the van that’s blocking it. Which means, instead of finding one matching set of keys in the office, we have to find three. “Goddamn it. Guess we better get started,” I say, looking around for the door to get inside.
“Nothing’s ever easy,” Rog says as he follows me to the side entrance. I let him do his magic picking the lock, and soon we’re in. Now I wish we had brought a flashlight; but since we didn’t, there’s no choice but to turn on the fucking overhead light. At least the pound is off the road on a few acres of land with no nearby neighbors.
“We’ve gotta hurry,” he says unnecessarily. “I don’t want to end up in fucking jail tonight.”
“Neither do I,” I say, much rather preferring to end up in bed with Blair once I return her car to her. Going over to some drawers on a desk, I start digging through them and find a shit ton of keys. So many that I don’t even know where to start. “What’s the make of the truck and van?” I ask Rog, hoping he noticed.
“Ah, Toyota Tundra and Honda Odyssey I think,” he replies. “Want me to go back and check?�
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“Nah,” I tell him, grabbing up all the keys with Toyota, Honda, and Audi trademarks. “We’ll see for sure when we go back out and try these,” I tell him, holding up the handful of keychains. “Get the lights,” I say since we’ve found what we need to get started.
On the way out the building, Rog helpfully says, “You know, if these were all towed, then they wouldn’t have a set of keys with them, would they?”
“Well, fuck,” I mutter, knowing he’s right. I’m pretty sure Blair would have her keys in her purse.
“Do you know how to hotwire?” Rog asks.
“No, do you?”
“What good are you, Azrael?” he asks with a chuckle. “Of course, I know how to hotwire. That’s criminal delinquency one-oh-one, motherfucker.”
It takes a while, almost longer than my nerves can take, but we finally get the Audi out. Why it’s important for me to return the vehicle to Blair, I don’t fucking know. But it’s not like I’m the type of guy to buy her flowers or some bullshit. No, I steal a car from the pound for my girl.
Whoa.
I brake so hard in the Audi that my face nearly smacks into the fucking windshield.
My girl? Where the hell did those words come from?
Inches away from the dashboard, I see a handicap placard shoved toward the crease where the window meets the dash. When I come to a stoplight, I reach for the piece of blue plastic with the little white guy in a wheelchair. Huh. Blair’s obviously not physically handicapped, but maybe it’s for her mental illness.
Although, now that I think about it, she didn’t have a license in her purse. If she’s been locked up for ten years, she wouldn’t know how to drive a car, would she?
The stoplight turns green; and as I ease my foot down on the accelerator, I reach for the glove box and pop it open, digging around for the registration. Finding it, I flick on the overhead light and read it as I try to keep the car between the lines on the road.
“Gladys Franklin,” I read from the piece of paper from the DMV in Maryland. “What the fuck?”