Done Dirt Cheap

by Sarah Nicole Lemon

  Shifting her weight on her heels, she memorized the cabin. The road.

  The trees began to wail. The wind lashed at their tops and tugged her hair loose from her shirt, playing with it behind her and whipping it across her face.

  She’d been here long enough. The mountains were saying it was time to go.

  Exhaling, she turned for the truck.

  Somewhere on those twisting mountain roads descending into the valley, Tourmaline got a text from her father saying he wouldn’t be home that night, as long as she was okay by herself. It only took a minute of staring with all her blood thumping in her ears to decide what to do.

  Tourmaline showered and rushed through her room, looking through piles of clothes for one specific dress. Outside her open window the birds were all gone and the summer night darkened early under a blanket of twisting clouds.

  A low rumble of thunder reverberated under her bare feet, still damp from the shower. The wind wailed high and dangerous, flattening the hostas and the ferns in the garden below. She rushed in the gray light, the wind chilling the beads of water left on her body as she yanked on underwear and a light cotton dress. Resolving, with fingers trembling, that she could trust herself. And with the hazy vision of Cash yanking the dress over her arms and leaving her sitting there all exposed in just the right way, Tourmaline pulled the door shut firmly behind her and left.

  Cash’s garage door was open despite the flickering lightning and the thrashing trees. The lights.

  Tourmaline slammed the truck door against the rushing wind and ducked inside, flip-flops skidding on the slick concrete.

  Cash was bent over the engine block in camo shorts and a grease-stained T-shirt. He glanced up. “Hey.”

  “Still working on Virginia’s truck, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How’s it going?” Folding her arms, Tourmaline leaned on the side of the truck.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine?”

  He grunted a little, stretching the timing belt over the last pulley. He moved stiffly. Tight.

  The wind rattled the roof above them. “I’m surprised I got here before the rain,” she said.

  He didn’t say anything, checking the alignment on the other pulleys.

  She frowned. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Just a rough couple of days. Good, though.” He flashed a tense smile without meeting her eyes, turning to the workbench behind him and picking through a drawer. “What’d you stop by for?”

  She shifted. “Just to . . . see you.” She’d thought he’d be excited. Eager. Her back stiffened and she looked around, trying to figure out what was off.

  Cash frowned, bending back to tighten the pulleys. “Did your dad say something?”

  “No. Why?”

  He nodded past her.

  She looked over her shoulder, but didn’t see anything. Then her gaze landed on his vest hanging on his bike’s handlebars. “You patched out!” Her heart jumped, out of both sudden fear and excitement, and she didn’t move. She gripped the edge of the truck, staring at the new patches on the broken-in leather. What did that mean for them?

  Turning back, she watched him finish with the socket. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled. But the tone was very much like Jason and not at all like Cash. Turning his back on her, he dropped the socket back into a drawer.

  The world shifted wildly, and she wasn’t sure she liked the ride. “What . . . ?” she whispered, trying to catch his eye.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and didn’t look at her.

  “Cash. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing.”

  Nothing? What could have changed? And as she raced over what could possibly have changed in a matter of hours, the arrow pierced her heart and she knew. Knew.

  It was the Wardens. The patch changed things.

  She looked at the vest again. Minos changed things. The horned skull with a spiked tail wrapped around its neck stared back at her, hollow eyes blank under the fluorescent light, as if he knew that she knew. Cash must not have known what it really meant to be a Warden. The true meaning of what his father had been. He must have just learned what bond of brotherhood he had now been initiated into.

  Tourmaline put a hand on his elbow. “Cash,” she pleaded softly.

  He pulled away, that same stiffness in his body. “I’m pretty busy here.”

  She seethed.

  He turned away as if she weren’t even there. As if he could ignore her until she gave up.

  Thunder cracked and shook the garage. The lights flickered and buzzed.

  This was supposed to be her choice. Her decision. And in the end, the Wardens had taken it from her just as they had everything else.

  Fuck this. It was easy to decide now. She shoved off the truck and strode for the outside. Rain washed into the doorway and spattered a slick line between her and the dark; she stopped, staring at it. The wind shifted, lifting the hair off her neck. It reminded her of being back in the woods. Of the sureness in her body as she faced down her fate. The confidence in Virginia’s reassurances.

  She spun with a tight schlickt of her flip-flops.

  Cash’s eyes flickered to hers.

  Now here was the trick, the moment so small and yet so difficult, the moment when she crossed from thinking and feeling to doing. It was a moment that hung entirely on her.

  The fluorescent hummed. She took out her ponytail, silent as she ran her fingers through the snarls and watched the flash of silver rain in the dark. Pushing her hair back over her shoulder, she gathered all she had to use and flicked her gaze to lock with his. “I didn’t realize you didn’t know.”

  “Know what?” A muscle in the arm that held the wrench twitched.

  “About your fate.” She met his eyes. Steady. In this moment, she was the experienced one.

  She walked with her chin up, the sway of her hips holding him to the concrete.

  Something fierce set fire in his eyes, but he turned toward the workbench.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” she growled, slipping on the concrete as she shoved herself between the workbench and his body.

  “What don’t I?” he asked sharply.

  Tourmaline hefted herself up to sit and didn’t answer. Watching that fire flicker in his eyes as she wrapped her legs tight around his waist—pinning him in a vice he could break, if he had the mind.

  “You pretty sore?” she asked softly, running her hands down his arms.

  He didn’t answer. The rain drummed waves on the roof.

  She knew he must be. She didn’t know much about the year or more he’d spent as a conscript, but she couldn’t miss the telltale limp and weak smile of a newly patched member.

  Tipping her head, she moved toward him, breathing the sharp scent of grease and laundry detergent that was Cash. She wanted that smell all around her. Wanted to breathe it off his bare skin. But she stopped right before she kissed him. “And then,” she whispered, faintly brushing his lips with her mouth as she spoke, “right when you think you’re through it . . .”

  He swallowed and pushed into her.

  She pulled back. This was hers, right now. Not his. Running her hands back up, she brought them to both sides of his jaw, holding the soft push of his full lips just away from hers. “The eternal part of it.” Where he would always be a Warden, even if he walked away.

  His hands settled lightly on her thighs, smelling of grease and gasoline, and the rough, warm skin of his palms pressed open, pulling her attention in all kinds of directions. The edge of his beard twitched. His lips parted.

  “Where will and power are one,” Tourmaline whispered onto his lips, reminding him she knew his secrets, that she held power in knowing. Her head throbbed with anticipation.

  As she waited, a cool, wet breeze gusted, and she shivered against him.

  He rocked her back, mouth opening, hot and needy. His hands slipped under her knees and pulled her to the edge of the bench, thighs snug against his ha
rd stomach.

  Relief poured out of her, relief of the pent-up agony that had twisted in her body every night while they talked and that she’d never been quite able to release. Sinking her fingers into the warm skin of his neck, she pushed her chest into him, hardly breathing as he clutched the cotton dress and drew it up her hips and waist.

  He pulled away, a set to his jaw that made her heart race.

  She lifted her arms, and he slid his hands up the curves of her body, bringing the dress over her head. He dropped it beside them, yanked off his shirt, and came back.

  Circling her waist with one thick arm, he brought her tight, erasing all awareness except the feel of her bare skin hitting his.

  She pressed tight and slid up to his mouth, relishing each bit of friction between their bodies.

  Cash groaned, fingers digging into her waist. He kissed her as if he needed her in order to stay alive. Dripping liquid heat into her bones.

  The world could have ended and begun again for the amount of time they spent there, like that. Lost in the pattering rain and the tree frogs croaking under their wet leaves. Content to stay right there while nights fell into years and while ages slipped away.

  But then he stepped back.

  Her breath came fast. In some faraway part of her brain, she felt the blunt metal edge of the tool chest hit her spine as he eased her back. She was only faintly aware of anything but the way he hooked his fingers into her thong and dragged it down her legs.

  Exhaling a shaky breath, Tourmaline flattened her hands on the bench. The moment might have started as hers to lose, hers to start, but now it was all him. This was her world, but, for the moment at least, he ruled it.

  Cash caught her eye. “Trust me.”

  And without his body touching hers, pulling her into complete oblivion, reality stabbed deep into her stomach. But she forgot to think about anything but his mouth when he went to his knees and kissed the inside of her thigh.

  She pulled her knee up, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

  “Trust me, T.” But the way he looked at her made it seem he was asking about everything, not just this moment. This was what she wanted. Him. And here he was, on his knees in front of her.

  She curled forward, clutching his face to her chest. Maybe she could not give all her trust, but she could give enough for this moment at least. She kissed the top of his forehead.

  He nuzzled deep into her stomach, into her chest, and then laughed, pushing her back to where she’d been. Going back to where he’d started. His hands wrapped around her hips. Breath warm and wet on the shockingly sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

  Oh good Lord. She bit her bottom lip tight, as if to clench her teeth would keep her from falling apart. Looking down, she tried to find enough of her body not focused entirely on his mouth to remember the moment. The rain. The scratch of the workbench under her bare skin. Her thighs resting on the broad span of his shoulders. And she might just have to trust him forever, because how the hell would she get over this?

  Tipping her head to the light, she closed her eyes. Succumbing to the heavy hum spreading through her whole body.

  It wasn’t until she was braced and trembling, that he stood and gently hugged her wrecked body to his.

  She wanted to weep at his mouth.

  He kissed her once more before shifting away. “Don’t move.”

  Not that she could have.

  He came back with a condom, chuckling when he caught her watching. But then the smile faded back as he slid his hands into her hair, and widened his legs, keeping his eyes locked to hers.

  She slung her arms around his neck and chased after him.

  The rain thrashed against the metal sheathing, and the air drifted its sharp earth and wet-grass smell, but she was lost. Lost to the whispery clouds and the ridges of the mountains below her.

  His hands moved up her body and she felt herself on his fingertips. She was exactly what he’d said in the kitchen—tight mountain curves that came back in on themselves. This had always been her world, and him in it. Where she was as relentless and lush and inclement as the mountains themselves. And this, right here, was about her. Someday, some other time, it would be about him and about them. But not right now.

  Virginia trudged up Jason’s driveway in the pouring rain. The gun dug into her waist, her sneakers slipped in the mud, and the trees clashed in the dark overhead. By the time Virginia climbed up the steps and banged her fist on the door, she stood trembling from the cold, drenched, muddy, and exhausted.

  The wind shifted, pelting rain in her face. Turning her back, she pounded on the door again.

  “Hang the fuck on!” Jason yelled.

  She tried the door, found it unlocked, and slid inside.

  He was still pulling on his pants. The scarring she’d only ever seen on his arm continued on his chest, on his stomach, running into his waistband. Burns from an explosion, scars of shrapnel, she could see it now.

  Virginia leaned against the door, too tired to react.

  He started to say something, but his eyes flickered over her—from the wet bra to the T-shirt-wrapped bulge stuck in her skirt—and he clenched his teeth tight and groaned. Turning, he disappeared back down the hall. “Put that somewhere I won’t see it,” he called before a door shut. “I know nothing about whatever you don’t have.”

  She almost wanted to smile. He knew not to ask and hadn’t immediately told her to leave. The hope fluttered alive in her heartbeat until she remembered her father.

  Pulling the gun out, she looked around. Where would Jason never go in his own home? She moved into the kitchen area, opening cupboards; when she found an empty one, she put the gun on the shelf.

  Voices drifted down the hall. Not just Jason. But a girl.

  She wanted to care about that, but there were so many other things to care about—her history, her future—that there was simply no space for it. No wonder he’d been annoyed.

  That’s something you get to care about. Tourmaline’s words echoed in her head. But Tourmaline didn’t understand: Virginia knew that people cared about those things. She knew that if she were a whole person, instead of just a shell of one, she would feel more than an easily ignored twitch of jealousy or frustration at discovering that the boy she loved was sleeping with someone else.

  “Oh. You,” Aubrey said, stopping in the kitchen doorway and smoothing her curls. Her shirt was still twisted, half tucked into jeans. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just. Uh . . .” Virginia ruffled her hair and looked out the window, but only her bedraggled reflection stared back at her. The fact that she was standing in Jason’s kitchen wearing only dripping jeans and a bra communicated something far more petty and silly than the truth. She shrugged. “Did I interrupt?”

  “I have work to do,” Jason said to Aubrey. “I told you that.”

  “So she’s staying?” Aubrey asked.

  He just stood there, looking wholly unapologetic. “Until I can get her out of my hair.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Aubrey raised an eyebrow and hooked her finger into the back of her sandal.

  “I have to take care of this before it becomes bigger trouble than it is right now.”

  “Yeah, I know the kind of trouble she’s in.” Aubrey rolled her eyes and picked up her purse. She laughed. “We’ll see if you pick up the next time I’m in trouble.” She opened the door and winked at Virginia. “Have fun.”

  “Will do,” Virginia said, just to drive home the point.

  Jason shut the door and glared at her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Hmm.” She pursed her lips and stared at the floor. “What do you want to hear?”

  “You’re a mess.”

  She nodded. “Yep.”

  “You need a place to stay?”

  She kept nodding, looking around the kitchen. Everyplace but at him. Feeling small and vulnerable, and empty—terrified to go looking for feelings about this man and what had happened to her father, let alone fe
elings about what had just happened between him and Aubrey. “Yep.”

  “I’ll put a towel and some clothes in the bathroom for you.” He walked away.

  Maybe I should just leave. But hope beat against her ribs, and Aubrey was already gone, so she followed him down the hall.

  He carried a neatly folded towel and a pile of clothes into the bathroom and dropped them on the sink. Starting the water, he turned and tried to look very stern. “Don’t use all the hot water. I still need a shower.”

  Tucking her chin, Virginia waited until he left, closing and locking the door after him.

  Her reflection looked back at her in the mirror.

  What now, Virginia Campbell?

  The parts of her that looked like her father looked back and told her she was not worth anything at all. His eyes. His chin. His handiwork that had given her the permanent angle of her jaw. She’d been born softer. He’d remade her harder. To see the reminder of violence so clearly written in her features made her stomach plummet. Virginia forced herself to look past it, to ignore it, to remember she’d been worth eighteen hundred—

  Hazard echoed back to her. I’m done with her. Make it look like they did it. The summation of all she was and all she’d done.

  Virginia turned away. She did not ask herself what was next or what she wanted; she simply peeled off her skirt and underwear and ducked into the water before she looked too hard. One day at a time. She’d show up to mow lawns in the sunrise with Tourmaline. She’d help Tourmaline get Wayne back into prison. Hazard would go, too—if Wayne was surrounded by Hazard’s drugs and had Hazard’s gun, how could Hazard not take a fall?

  Then maybe she could care about who Jason fucked, what had happened to her father, and what this had all done to her deep inside. Then maybe she could find something beyond the rusted edge of anger to keep her eyes open.

  But not right now.

  Quickly, she showered and dressed in the T-shirt and shorts Jason had left for her. They smelled like him, comforting, and her body felt safe inside them, despite the stiffness and aching when she headed down the hall.