Skin (44 Chapters #1)

by B. B. Easton

  When the fuck did the two of them find the time to choreograph an entire twerk routine to 1st of tha Month? I didn’t even know they’d been hanging out. I guess when you only go to school on Fridays it gives you time for all kinds of new hobbies. And friends.

  Not wanting to get stoned and/or freak dance for grown ass men who’d probably all been to prison for murder, I tiptoed out the back door and lit a cigarette on the patio. I was considering calling my mom and telling her to just come get me—fuck spending the night with Juliet—when I heard the door behind me slide open.

  I snapped to attention, then relaxed when I saw that it was just Tony. He bumped his shoulder on the door frame as he stumbled out and lit a cigarette of his own. He leaned up against the side of the building, probably trying to look cool which was impossible with that patchy ass goatee, and said, “Yo, B.”

  “Hey, Tony,” I said, trying not to roll my eyes.

  “I bet you’re pretty strapped for cash after payin’ to fix my ride, huh?”

  Awesome. We’re having this conversation now.

  “Yeah. That was almost everything I had. I’m glad it was enough. Sorry you had to deal with that. I don’t even remember what happened.”

  End of story. Let’s move on.

  Tony took a long drag off his smoke and gave me a phony smile. “You know, if you ever need some extra cash my bros in there would hook you up real nice. Gi’ you whatever you want.”

  “What do you mean, ‘hook me up’?”

  Tony flicked his only half-smoked cigarette into the parking lot behind me. “You know, get you paid, girl.”

  “For what?” The whole twenty questions routine was getting old, but my curiosity demanded that I find out what the fuck he was talking about.

  “For doin’ what you do. What you like to do. You like to dance, right? You like to party.”

  I just stared at him with my brow furrowed. Was he saying that guys would pay me to dance? Like Angel and Juliet? Is that why they were dancing in there? Was someone going to give them money? It didn’t make sense. Nobody would pay for that.

  Tony pushed off the wall and took a few unsteady steps toward me. I backed up until my ass was against the wobbly metal patio railing and gripped it tight.

  “I could get you some more of that yellow you like too.” His heavy-lidded eyes traveled over my body. “Girl, you could be rollin’ in green and yell—”

  One second Tony was advancing toward me, and the next second he was flying away. I blinked and blinked again trying to figure out why Tony was now on the other side of the patio. And why his back was to me. And why he suddenly looked like Knight.

  “You gonna drug her again, you fucking rapist? I heard what you said! You didn’t get what you wanted last Friday, so now you’re back?”

  Fuck. That was definitely Knight. From where I stood he appeared to be talking to the wall, until I saw arms that weren’t his flailing out from his sides.

  I slid sideways down the length of the railing until I could see that Knight had Tony in a chokehold up against the apartment wall, which just so happened to be the only thing separating us from a dozen drunk and high OGs inside.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Tony fought back—or tried to—swinging wildly and kicking at leather-covered shins that blocked his every strike. Never taking his left forearm off Tony’s throat, Knight stomped on his Nikes with his left foot, pinning them both down with one heavy boot, then punched him with his right fist in the ribs. And stomach. Again. And again.

  My instinct was to cover my head with my hands and curl up in a little ball until it was over. The last time Knight went off like this I had Lance to hide behind. This time I was by myself, and so close I could practically see the blood vessels bursting in Tony’s eyes. It was so awful—the sound of bones cracking against bones. The scuffling of feet trying to wriggle free. The grunts and gasps for air. But as afraid as I was of the vicious skinhead trying to kill my best friend’s boyfriend with his bare hands, I was even more terrified of the gangbangers inside.

  I had to do something.

  “Knight,” I whispered as loudly as I could. “Knight!”

  But he didn’t hear me. Tony’s eyes were bugging out of his beet red face, and when Knight punched him low on his left side he made a guttural noise just like Skater Boy had made. I guess that sound was some kind of submission cue, because as soon as he heard it Knight stopped punching. He took his right hand, which was already beginning to swell, and wrapped it around Tony’s face, smooshing it between his fingers and shoving his head against the building.

  “Knight, you have to go.” I took a step toward him. “There’s a whole gang inside. If they see you out here—”

  But Knight ignored me. Leaning forward, pressing harder on his victim’s throat, Knight spoke to Tony’s purple face through gritted teeth. “Is this why you sent Juliet to school today? So you could snatch my girl and bring her here?”

  Whoa. His girl?

  Tony tried to say something but his voice was muffled in the palm of Knight’s hand and his throat had all but caved in under the weight of his forearm. Knight pulled his face forward and smashed it against the wall again. Tony’s eyes slammed shut in pain.

  “What was that? Speak up, motherfucker!”

  I took another step closer. “Knight,” I whispered, trying to make my voice sound as soothing as possible. “Knight. Let him go. Okay? Just let him go. If the guys inside hear you…”

  Knight didn’t look at me, but I thought he heard me because his shoulders seemed to relax a little bit.

  Then he smashed Tony’s head into the bricks again.

  Digging his index and middle fingers into the skin just under Tony’s eyes, Knight pulled his bottom eyelids down, exposing the fleshy pinks and bloodshot reds inside. “She is never going anywhere with you again. Do you understand me? If I find out you’ve given her drugs again, or even given her a fucking ride, I will gouge your shit-colored eyeballs out.” Tony’s whimper let me know that Knight must have increased his pressure. “And I will shove them down your fucking throat.”

  Knight looked like he might just go ahead and do it right then and there, so I took one final step closer and tugged lightly on his bulging arm. “Knight, stop. Please. We have to go. Now.”

  I don’t know why I said, “we.” I didn’t have to go anywhere. I could have gone back inside, where my best friend was, and told the boys in purple that some skinhead had just jumped her boyfriend. I probably should have. I’d been friends with Juliet for years, and I’d only known Knight for a month (and from what I could tell, he was bat shit crazy), but I couldn’t make myself do it. I couldn’t go back into the place where grown men paid teenaged girls to “do what they like to do.”

  Knight gave Tony’s face one last shove before releasing it and stepping off of his feet. Knight didn’t even bring his fists up to block in case Tony tried to hit him. He knew he’d won.

  Knight spat on the ground—his signature victory move I was coming to find out—grabbed my hand, and walked toward the parking lot.

  What started as me being pulled turned into me doing the pulling as I sprinted for Knight’s massive white monster truck, dragging him behind me. Knight had no idea the shit storm he’d just unleashed. Tony was probably inside right now telling the entire cartel what had happened.

  Knight hoisted me into the passenger seat of his truck, and the second he appeared in the driver’s seat I screamed, “Fucking go! Now!”

  Knight threw the truck into drive and flew out of there as I tried to explain through my hysterics, and over the roar of the engine, what was coming for him.

  For us.

  Knight’s truck tore down the highway, made a couple of quick turns through a car dealership parking lot and the loading area behind a shopping center, then jumped the curb and headed directly into the woods through a tiny opening in the tree line.

  The dirt trail led straight up a steep hill, and Knight’s massive, screaming Frankentru
ck was practically vertical as it bounced and bounded up the embankment. All I could see was the white-hot September sky and a few tree tops letting me know that we were still somewhat attached to the earth. I gripped the dashboard and prayed to any deity available to please, please, please keep the damn thing from flipping over.

  When we got to the top I tapped both shoulders, my forehead, and then my belly button with my fingertips—crossing myself just like my Irish Catholic mother did whenever she had some kind of near miss.

  Knight killed the engine and studied me with those unnaturally pale eyes. “Are you okay?”

  I looked straight ahead at a wide blue-green tower rising up out of the trees directly in front of us. “We are so fucked,” I said. “We are soooo fucked.”

  Turning toward the bloody-knuckled skinhead next to me, I spoke to his T-shirt when I said, “Knight, those guys are probably looking for us right now, and they probably have fucking guns.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they do.” Knight wasn’t being sarcastic. And he didn’t sound afraid. His voice was calm and even.

  Fucking psycho.

  “What are we going to do?!” I could hear the panic in my voice, and the anger. Why was I the only one taking this seriously?

  “We aren’t going to do shit, because they aren’t going to do shit.”

  “How do you know that?!” My voice was getting all shrill, and I hated it. It’s amazing that even while fearing for my life some small part of my brain still had the capacity to feel self-conscious.

  “Because I didn’t fuck with their members, their money, or their mota,” he said. “Those cholos probably hate Tony. They just use him to push their product and bring them girls who are willing to suck cock for cocaine.”

  Jesus. Was that true? Is that why Tony brought me there? No. Angel and Juliet were having a good time. They weren’t…doing that. And those guys seemed like they really liked Tony. Why wouldn’t they go after somebody who’d just beaten him up?

  I didn’t know what to believe. I had so many questions swimming around in my scattered mind, but one in particular rose to the surface, demanding to be asked.

  Forcing myself to look Knight in the eye, I asked, “How did you know where I was?”

  …you fucking stalker.

  Knight pursed his lips in annoyance and said, “Since you didn’t need a ride this afternoon,” his voice dripping with disdain, “I went to weight training in the gym after school. The wigger who was spotting for me got a call from Carlos Alvarez saying that Tony had just shown up at his place with a couple of bitches who were DTF.”

  “What’s DTF?” I asked.

  “Down to fuck.” Knight cocked his head to the side and glared at me like I’d done something wrong.

  “Don’t look at me like that!” I yelled, crossing my arms over my chest with a huff. “I didn’t even know where I was! Tony just brought me there. What was I supposed to do, wait in the car and die of heat stroke?”

  “Give me your phone.”

  “No!”

  “Give me your fucking phone.” Knight’s tone had me digging in my purse immediately.

  I fished the glittery plastic brick out and shoved it into his hand like an obstinate child. Knight jammed at the buttons with his thick thumbs and within seconds I heard a buzzing sound coming from his pocket. He hung up my phone and handed it back to me.

  “Next time, you call me.”

  Without waiting for my reply, Knight opened his door and jumped out.

  I glanced at my contacts list and sure as hell there was a new entry under the K section.

  Knight.

  When I got out of the truck I looked up and realized that the blue-green thing jutting out of the ground in front of us was the city’s water tower. I’d never been up there before. I’d only seen it from the highway, poking up out of the trees, and I just assumed it was a really tall tower. I didn’t realize it was also up on top of a giant, steep-ass hill.

  I turned around and walked to the back of the truck, where Knight was putting down his tailgate. He had parked in front of a clearing in the trees, and from that vantage point you could almost see the whole town.

  I looked at the tailgate, which was about shoulder-high, and wondered how I was going to get up. For all of two seconds. Before Knight lifted me up by the waist and set me down on it with minimal effort.

  He didn’t join me though. Instead he walked back around to the driver’s side door and got back into the truck. I heard the back window of the cab slide open, and some old country song came pouring out of it. I didn’t really know shit about country music. I didn’t mind it, but I definitely didn’t peg Knight for a cryin’ in your beer kinda guy.

  “You listen to country?” I yelled to him while he dug around in the glove box. “I thought you’d be more into punk or death metal.”

  Knight slammed his door and rounded the corner of his truck, holding a silver flask in his hand. His knuckles were definitely swollen and beginning to scab.

  Hopping up onto the tailgate next to me, Knight said, “I like that shit too, but right now I just want to calm the fuck down so that I don’t drive back to Carlos’ house and finish what I started with your little friend Tony.”

  Funny, he seemed pretty damn calm to me.

  Knight unscrewed the cap on the flask with one flick of his thumb, took a swig, and handed it to me.

  I sniffed the opening and winced from the fumes. Taking the vessel, I examined the engraving on the side. It looked like an etching of the earth with an anchor behind it and an eagle perched on top. “What does this mean?” I asked, turning the flask slightly so that Knight could see.

  “That’s the Marine Corps symbol. My grandfather was in World War II. That used to be his.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Don’t be. I never met the guy. He just left me all his shit.”

  I was just about to take a swig when something occurred to me. “Hey, is this, like, some kind of a test?” I asked. “I mean, you get all pissed off whenever somebody offers me dope, but now you’re trying to give me alcohol?”

  Knight snatched the flask out of my hand. “Yeah, Punk. That’s all this is. It’s just one big fucking test, and you passed. Let’s go.” He hopped off the tailgate and extended his mangled right hand to me. Jaw clenched. Eyes narrowed.

  Oh, shit. He’s pissed. I pissed off the skinhead. Again. Shit, shit, shit.

  Without thinking I leaned over and snatched the flask out of Knight’s left hand and took a big swallow. Immediately, I felt the liquid eat away at everything in its path like battery acid. I coughed and hacked and handed the vile poison back to its owner. Knight laughed—well, cough-laughed—and hopped back onto the truck bed.

  Thank God.

  Taking another swig, Knight slapped me on the back. “You know, for a bitch in combat boots you’re kind of a pussy.”

  I smacked him on the arm in retaliation, then asked, “What is that stuff? Moonshine?” as flames licked the roof of my mouth.

  “Nah. It’s just Southern Comfort—poor man’s Jack Daniels.”

  A warm, fuzzy feeling enveloped my stomach. “It burns like hell,” I said, reaching for the flask again.

  Knight handed it over with a chuckle. “You get used to it.”

  I took another swig and Knight pulled the flask away from me. “Don’t drink too much. Your tiny ass’ll get fucked up in no time.” I noticed the fuzzy feeling had already spread to my extremities, so I didn’t argue. Instead I relaxed a little and took in the view.

  From up there our town looked like a lush, hilly forest with channels carved out for roads and patches scooped out for apartment complexes and strip malls. It was actually really beautiful. Even though my parents didn’t have much money, we had managed to do some traveling. I’d been to the desert, the beach, the plains, the mountains, but the hilly woods and winding roads of home were always my favorite.

  I also noticed that there were a ton of crosses sticking up out of the trees.
I’d never realized how many churches there were in our town before. The green canopy was dotted with so many white crosses it almost looked like a grassy cemetery. One of them caught my eye, not because it was particularly grand or tall, but because it looked like utter shit compared to the rest. It was weathered and stained and even tilted to one side.

  “Holy shit! Is that the abandoned church?”

  “Yeah.” Knight pointed just next to it and said, “See that big rectangle next to it? That’s the new scoreboard they just installed on the football field.”

  “Where’s your house?” I asked.

  Knight didn’t answer me at first. He didn’t even point. He simply stared at a patch of green that I suspected contained some very bad memories, then said, without looking away from it, “It’s not my house. It’s my stepdad’s.”

  “Oh. It’s like that, huh?”

  “Yeah.” Knight took a long pull from his flask, screwed the cap back on, then set it aside. “It’s like that.”

  “That sucks,” I said, not really knowing how to salvage the conversation. “What about your mom? Is she still there?” My mom was my favorite person in the world, so I thought maybe Knight’s mom would be his favorite person too.

  But Knight didn’t respond.

  “Shit. I’m sorry.” I backpedaled. “That was like, really personal—”

  “She’s there,” he said, cutting me off. “She’s always there.”

  Knight turned his hateful gaze on me, and I couldn’t tell if he was warning me not to push him on the subject or begging me to. My brain churned, trying to come up with the most sensitive thing to say, but my mouth was way ahead of it, as usual.

  “Drugs?”

  I don’t know what made me say that. It just fell out of my mouth. It wasn’t even the most logical assumption. She could have been home on disability. She could have been mentally ill. Maybe she was just a bitter, bored housewife who started happy hour at noon. But something in my psyche said drugs, and I was right.

  Knight nodded—his jaw clenched too tight to speak.