I take a glimpse of myself in the mirror and make sure I’m presentable. Which I’m not, but I can’t hide in the bathroom forever. I attempt to comb through my mess of red hair with my fingers, but will have to ignore my damp, bloodshot eyes and pale face. Sucking in a deep breath, I exit the bathroom and head for the living room. But it’s empty. There’s a clanking sound from what I’m guessing is the kitchen, so as I stroll toward the light around the corner, I repeat in my head what I plan on saying, “I have to go. Please take me home.”
What? I can’t come up with anything other than “I have to go.” But yeah, I better come up with why I have to go home, because I know Jett will ask, and I won’t have a good answer. Then I’ll have to call Andi or Jaz to come and pick me up because Jett won’t want to take me home. And if that happens then I’ll never hear the end of it. Son of a bitch, get me off this merry-go-round. Make it stop.
Oh, I stop all right.
Whatever rambling bullshit I have going on in my head flies right out of my ears when I see Jett’s back. And when I say back, I mean his bare, toned back. His shirt is off and tucked into the waist of his jeans, and he’s standing at the counter slicing something on a large wooden cutting board. The muscles in his back flex every time his hand guides the knife. Shit, I think I just drooled. I wipe my bottom lip with my knuckle and open my mouth to talk, but I see Jett’s face in the reflection of the window. He spins around, his hand holding the knife in front of his chest. Oh God, now I’m gawking. I fumble for words, but what I had planned on saying sits tight in my throat. Is it the broad chest or the knife that has me so worked up? Fuck, I think it’s both.
“Feel better?” he asks. His voice is deep and smooth, and it pulls me in. I take a step closer to him, still not able to speak when he asks, “You hungry?”
Come to think of it, I am. I nod my head and take another step.
“If you would open that cabinet right there,” he says, pointing to the pantry, “and pull out the graham crackers, I’d very much appreciate it.”
My brows furrow together, but when Jett steps to the side and waves his knife over the cutting board, I see he’s been cutting up chocolate and there’s a bag of marshmallows sitting on the counter. S’mores. I keep my smile contained, but inside I’m as giddy as all get out. Only when I turn around to face the pantry do I let my grin spread wide across my face. I don’t want him seeing how vulnerable I’m feeling right now. Stay in control. That’s my goal. Control. Control. Control.
I suppose that plan isn’t going to work, because when I open the doors to the cabinet, I gasp. Okay, I more or less moan like I just got the best orgasm of my life. Which, if I need to remind you, would be the first ever orgasm of my pitiful little life. Each shelf is categorized by baked goods, canned goods, snacks, and labeled plastic containers full of different noodles and cereals, amongst other jar-worthy food items. It’s the Holy Grail of cabinets. It far exceeds mine, which is very similar, by the way, but, oh God, nothing tops this.
Is it possible to have an exploding orgasm after opening pantry doors? I need a towel long enough to wipe both sets of lips. Talk about having a sobering moment. The sight alone of this immaculate cabinet has my insides smoldering into an erupting volcano. I snatch the box of graham crackers from the baking shelf and clench them to my chest. It’s too beautiful. I’m not ready to close the cabinet, but Jett walks up from behind me and reaches around to take the box from my grasp.
“I know, it’s a bit over the top,” he whispers in my ear, closing the cabinet like he’s ashamed.
I turn my head into his cheek. My voice always sounds so much stronger in my head, but when I open my mouth, my words are breathy and weak. “It’s not. Not at all. It’s the most beautiful cabinet I have ever seen. Your bathroom, too.”
We all have times when we wish we could stuff the words back into our mouths and choke on them, and this is one of those moments. I cringe at how that sounded, let alone I just admitted to snooping through his personal bathroom space in my sad attempt to confirm that he is in fact obsessive compulsive like me. I might as well purge all my secrets right here in Jett’s kitchen. He can arrest me and haul me off to jail when I come clean about being a serial killer. Fuck me. I might as well lay my whole body down in a hole and pull the dirt down around me. Being buried alive and suffocating to death has to be less painful than this. If he didn’t think I was strange before, I sure as fuck gave into any suspicions that he may have had.
“So, you don’t think I’m crazy then?” Jett asks from behind me.
I spin around, my mouth wide open. He thinks that I think he’s crazy? Well, that’s crazy! “Um, no. Not at all. That would make both of us crazy then, because my cabinets look the same way.”
Jett holds his hand out to me. I stare at it for a moment before I realize he wants me to shake his hand. I slip my palm into his. “Nice to meet you, obsessive compulsive. I’m also obsessive compulsive. Glad to know there’s more of us out there,” Jett says on a firm shake before bringing the top of my hand to his lips for a kiss.
It’s the first time in Jett’s presence that I relax. My shoulders drop and a wave of calmness washes over me. I catch a lot of flak for my OCD and how I have to have everything just so. But standing in Jett’s kitchen, with his lips on my skin, both of us sharing a common denominator, makes a tiny corner of the wall I have securely placed around myself fall off and shatter at my feet. I have to be careful. If I want to to keep my secrets hidden, I can’t let anymore pieces crumble. It’s imperative to keep control. But when Jett leans in and places his warm lips against mine, all the control I’m trying to hold onto for dear life slips from my grasp.
I’m pushed back into the cabinet, and when Jett doesn’t have a place to put the box of graham crackers, he tosses them over his shoulder. Neither one of us flinches when it smacks the floor with a loud slap. Jett further steps into me, bringing his hands up to the sides of my face, and pins me against his bare chest and the pantry door. He parts my mouth and plunges his tongue inside. Not forcefully, but it’s an eager push past my lips, like he’s been wanting to kiss me for some time now. And I welcome him in, letting our tongues dance around together and his lips massage mine.
Now, clearly my brain should know the difference between what it wants and what it’s afraid of, but the longer Jett kisses me, the more my chest tightens and the memories begin to come at me like wild slaps in a bitch fight. I know I’m not being smothered, but my breathing is starting to become constricted, and when Jett’s foot wedges itself between my feet, he presses his knee between my thighs and spreads my legs apart, leaving no spare room around our bodies whatsoever. There’s nowhere for my head to go. I can’t pull back, and when I try to shift my head to the side, Jett follows. I know, I really do know, that his kiss is heated with passion and not at all with demand. He’s not taking something that isn’t being offered, and I know that if I could come up for breath and ask him to stop, he would. But explain all of these rationalizations to a scarred brain and it only gets you backing into a corner flailing like a fish out of water, trying to get away.
One of Jett’s hands falls from my cheek and lands on my collarbone with his fingers loosely wrapped around the base of my throat. Look, my control only goes so far before I lose it. It’s another form of control, really. I’m taking control over the feeling of being shoved head first into a black tunnel. The further I’m pushed into the tunnel, the darker it gets. It’s stifling, and that’s when memories of being abused hit me smack-dab in the chest, causing me to lash out.
I swipe my right arm up and over Jett’s hand on my neck, shoving it off of me, and when he’s knocked off kilter, our lips separate in a loud smack. But I don’t stop there. My brain has fully taken over and it’s in defense mode. I jab my left hand out, striking his suprasternal notch...you know, that little dip in the neck...with four of my fingers. Yes, it’s a bit extreme, but it doesn’t hit me what I have done until Jett flies backward, holding his neck and gagging
for breath. My reaction is strictly a self-defense move that has saved me on a few different occasions. Not that this should have been one of them, but fuck, like I said, I’m an idiot.
Jett’s on his knees regaining an even breathing pattern when I sink to the floor next to him. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
His eyes meet mine, and to my surprise, he gives me a sly smile. “You could have just told me to stop. Maybe a little nudge or something.” He coughs.
I cover my face with my hands, mortified by my actions. He didn’t deserve that, and yet he’s grinning at me and cracking a joke. He pries my hands away from my face and holds them between his palms. “Too soon?” he asks.
I answer quietly, keeping my gaze down at the floor. “Maybe.” I force myself to look up at him. “Oh God, I’m sorry,” I repeat.
Thank goodness someone has a sense of humor, because Jett laughs it off and pulls me to my feet, picking up the box of graham crackers as we stand. Jett goes back to the counter and begins putting together a plate of chocolate, marshmallows, and graham crackers. When he turns around, he holds the plate out to me. “S’mores?”
“Please.”
* * *
I guess that’s all we needed to break the ice, me walloping Jett in the throat. We continued to laugh about it over the plate of S’mores, and when we finished, Jett suggested he take me back to my car that was still at the bar. I agreed it was a good plan, and assured him I was fully sober and safe to drive. Another piece of the wall came crashing down when Jett asked me what kind of music I liked to listen to. When I said classical, he smirked with a shake of his head, but indulged me anyway, even commenting on how calming it was. Of course I chastise him with an, “I told you so.”
“Canon in D” comes to an abrupt stop when Jett kills the engine, pulling up alongside my car. He exits the truck and runs over to my side, opening the door for me and holding his hand out to help me out. I fumble for my keys that are hiding at the bottom of my purse. I pull them out and unlock the door using my key fob then step into the opened door that Jett has so kindly opened for me. Using the door as a shield, I turn around to say goodbye to Jett, who’s standing on the other side of the door. “Thank you,” I say.
“You’re welcome,” Jett responds. His hands cover mine on the ledge and he scrunches down so his neck isn’t exposed. “I’d like to kiss you, but I’m thinking it would be best if I ask for permission from now on. One throat punch a night is all I can handle.”
I chuckle. The fact that he still wants to kiss me after my little attack has me giddy. Truth be told, his kiss is welcomed. And needed. I didn’t want it to be, but the more I fight it, the more I realize I’m losing the battle. So why bother, right? “I’m really sorry. I’ll try to keep my hands behind my back.”
Jett plays like he’s skittish to come out from behind the door, but when he does, he leans over and kisses me lightly on the lips. It’s gentle and lovely, and I don’t want it to stop. But he pulls back and leaves my lips, and my heart, feeling the void.
“I must say, I’m relieved to know you have some bite with that bark of yours. I won’t worry about you as much with what’s been going on around here lately.”
My head cocks to the side. “What do you mean?” I ask.
“People are disappearing left and right. Only men, but they’re vanishing without a trace. We have an investigation going on right now, but until we can catch the fucker, no one’s safe.”
I play shocked, adding in the dramatics of my eyes growing wide and my mouth gaping open with a, “You think they’re being kidnapped? If they’re disappearing, does that mean you think they’re being murdered?”
“That’s generally what happens. Like I said, so far, it’s only been men who have gone missing, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be aware of your surroundings at all times. Stare people in the eye, never be on your cell phone...that sort of thing. Use your head is all, but with that reflex of yours, I’ll sleep a little better at night.”
Well that’s funny, because now that I know they’re on a hunt for...me...I won’t be sleeping at all.
Chapter 23
Gray
I call my girls for an emergency meeting. And when I mean meeting, I mean breakfast at First Watch. I find myself alone in a booth waiting not so patiently for Andi and Jaz’s arrival. I’ve already rearranged the sugar packets, putting all the white, pink, and yellow packets in order, and restacked all the jellies in the slots according to flavors. And, I’ve already managed to drink two cups of coffee with enough cream and sugar to choke a llama. My idea that the sweet would override the sour taste in my mouth is a big epic fail.
The bitter sting of last night’s realization that I won’t be able to hide forever is having me rethinking my favorite pastime. I can’t give it up cold-turkey, but maybe there’s a simple solution. Maybe I can divert the eyes of law enforcement to another town. Move around a bit. Not limit myself to one area where a handful of guys have gone missing, but spread them around some. The only problem with moving around is trying to transport these fuckers back to the compound. But, let’s face it, even though we rotate between a few different bars and local hang outs, if we continue to hit those spots, it will only be a matter of time before someone recognizes Andi or Jaz as the ones leaving with these bastards, with me following close behind. And we can’t just stop, that would throw a big fat red flag right in law enforcement’s face. Which would eventually flip a switch in Jett’s brain that I am the only other person in the outside world that he’s sharing this information with. He’ll put two and two together and realize that it was me the whole time, only stopping because he was on the verge of figuring me out.
I can’t not kill these poor excuses of human beings, nor do I want to stop. But I can’t keep doing what I have been. We need a new plan, and we need it fast. And no, moving is not an option. I mean, it’s always an option, but it’s not one that I’m willing to entertain at the moment. The one good thing about being close to Jett is I’ll be able to get the scoop fresh from the babe’s mouth, in real time. I can keep one foot ahead of them...that is if I don’t let Jett distract me. The cackles of Andi and Jaz burst through the restaurant’s door, and when they see me, I raise my hand and wave them over.
“Hey, brat,” Jaz says, scooting into the booth so Andi can slip in next to her.
I mumble a quiet, “Hey.”
Before we get down to business, we order and wait for the waitress to get out of eavesdropping range. When we’re in the clear, I lean into the table and drop my voice. “We have a problem.”
Andi and Jaz both mimic my posture, tilting forward on a hush. “What’s that?”
I know they’re teasing me on how serious I always am, but I let it go. Spinning my top only escalates their childish bullying. Look, I think I’m funny and I’m not always uptight, but when it comes to business, I take it very seriously. And I think these two knuckleheads should too. “Jett informed me that they’ve started an investigation on men going missing around here.” They both look at me like I’m the one a few sandwiches short of a picnic. I shake my head and roll my eyes. “They’re looking for us, dummies.”
You know you have friends for life when you can talk shit, berate, and poke fun at each other and they don’t take offense by it. Being brutally honest is a must, having some peeing the pants laughs is a requirement, and putting every ounce of trust into the only two people who are like family is a necessity. I love these fucking biatches, but man, they make me want to bang my head on a concrete wall. I know, they’re really only into this deal for the sex and the excitement. It’s not an outlet for them like it is for me, so the need is different for each of us, but while they’re in it for fun, I’m in it to survive. Maybe that doesn’t make sense, but for me killing and breathing go hand in hand like bacon and maple syrup, coffee and creamer, applesauce and cinnamon, sex and Jett. Shit, did I just say that? I seriously need to get him outta my head.
Andi flops back
in the booth with a heavy sigh. “Shit.”
“Exactly,” I bark. “Shit is putting it lightly, my friend. They’re on to us, and we need to figure out a new game plan. Like, yesterday.”
Jaz stiffens, straightening her back. She begins to rub her chin with her fingers, then covers her whole mouth with her palm.
It’s a sign. She’s fidgeting because something happened, and she doesn’t want to be the one that blabs. “What?” I ask. She looks at me, fear in her eyes. “What. The. Fuck. Is. It?”
Jaz looks over at Andi, whose eyes resemble her own...large and scared, then looks back at me. “Drew and Cole came over last night.”
I shake my head like, so, and that means what?
“They came to the compound,” Andi finishes.
I’m not sure if I should slap them both or if I should scream at the top of my lungs. Obviously, I can’t scream...that will only draw attention to us, and I can’t really slap them, because that too will cause a scene. So, I hang my head for a moment and take a few slow, deep breaths before gritting out, “You took them to the compound?”
Their heads nod in unison.
Okay, I just need to stay calm and not lose my head. I need to remind myself that they didn’t know...none of us did, that a man hunt is in the works for our heads. But come on...we’re talking common sense right now. These two are not stupid women...but fuck! They made a huge—and I do mean huge—mistake. We agreed that whoever we took to the compound were people that wouldn’t be leaving. With the exception of the South Dakota twins, which, hey, turned out working in our favor anyway. No one is supposed to know where the compound is. That is why it’s located where it is. It’s virtually impossible to find unless you’re searching for it. And if it is found, it simply looks like a modern, industrial-style house that I paid cash for so there’s no trail of it. I thought out every last detail, and in one single swoop, our cover could be blown. All because these sex-crazed lunatics can’t keep their vajayjays in their pants.
What Lies Beneath The Flowerbed Page 16