by K. S. Adkins
“Where do you come up with this shit?” he asks “Hang on …” I can hear him set the phone down and mentioning his boner again. What is it with him and his dick all of a sudden?
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” I say back.
“She doesn’t hate you.”
“How did you know that’s why I was calling?” I ask, confused.
“Because I, or rather we, just talked to her an hour ago,” she says. “You’re calling for advice, I take it, so even though I’m guessing there’s a girl code I’m supposed to know about but don’t, I’m going to tell you a few things, because watching you two is worse than Boner humping my leg.”
“What are you two doing over there?” I ask, appalled. “I hope you both are double-bagging it.”
“Why would we—” she starts. “Never mind, listen … Macy is an independent woman, yeah? She looks girly and stuff, but she isn’t, and you need to remember that. You have a way of making her feel like she can’t take care of herself, and that will get you tazed again.”
“What’s wrong with me wanting to take care of her?” I ask.
“It’s not wrong,” she says. “She’s a part of this team, too, and you need to treat her like you’d treat me when we’re working.”
“Not possible,” I say. “You two are not even in the same league.”
“Actually,” she says, “We are, you just refuse to see her any other way. Listen, Rafe, she’s weary of cops as it is, yeah? Since I turned eighteen, it’s just been the two of us. When I tell you Macy has had shit luck with men in the past, it’s because she’s had men that pretended to be one way and ended up another. She is tough and capable; she just prefers to avoid confrontation. But when she’s forced to …”
“Okay?” I ask. “What are you telling me?”
“To be yourself,” she says. Like that helps? “If you show her the real you and she still doesn’t feel the same, then you can say you tried, yeah? Macy is the best person I know, Rafe, but you have to let Macy be Macy, and believe me, she’ll want the same from you.”
“I don’t think the real me is going to get me any oral favors here, Venessa,” I say.
“Let me put it to you this way,” she says, laughing, although I don’t know what’s funny. “You get her into you by being phony and she finds out you played her? Shit, Rafe, it doesn’t even bear thinking about! She will flat out kill you, and I’ll YouTube it.”
“Be myself,” I say. “Shit.”
“I have to scratch Boner,” she says, disconnecting.
What is it with those two and boners? Fucking weird.
Be myself, fine.
Shit.
We are meeting over at Russell tomorrow, where Venessa trains, to get some time in as a unit and plan our next move. I’ll impress her with my skills and show her I can complete a sentence and flex my muscles at the same time. Chicks dig multitaskers.
Last night I didn’t sleep for shit. I didn’t finish updating any of my research, either. I took a leave of absence from the hospital to get Shadow Squad up and running, wrap up my own work for school, and get focused. I need to win the board over so I can get the funding I need, which believe me, isn’t easy. Being a nurse is truly an amazing job, though. I love helping patients and making a difference, but my heart lies in pharmaceuticals. Personally, I feel like that’s where I can make my mark in medicine. Even though working and school are difficult, I’m in the final stages of my graduate program and I am so close to my end goal that the long hours at the lab are worth it.
Designing a drug that benefits cancer patients is my dream; they suffer so much, and I know this drug would change their lives. The problem is, it’s caught the attention of the wrong people, and it’s putting innocents at risk.
Maybe Jonas will never understand this, but I can’t be a victim again. Defending myself against Briggs backfired in a big way. I tried out smarting him, which was my first mistake; he was too strong physically. According to him, I always made him feel stupid. So instead of just leaving me, he nearly killed me. Not knowing what else to do after being attacked by him so many times, I called Venessa about a week later. She did what I couldn’t; she put him behind bars. Once I realized he was really gone, I was resolute. I decided I’d never again let someone hurt me without putting up a fight. Even more, I’d never let anyone close enough to try. What keeps me up at night is that I can fight back, but I didn’t. I’ve been training for years. But training for the odd chance of defending yourself against a random stranger is one thing; having your live-in boyfriend be your attacker is quite another. I froze. It cost me. I’m still paying for it. Luckily, for now, so is he.
Growing up, my parents were a lot of things: drunk, high, abusive, absent. And in the end? Dead. Lucky for me the Cross’ pretty much raised me, and my “parents” did me the decency of checking out when I was eighteen, so I avoided foster care.
Venessa’s house was the only escape I had. Her mom was a real mom. She cooked, cleaned, assigned chores, asked how our day was, and gave hugs. Her dad was a man’s man. He taught us to defend ourselves, work hard, pay attention to our surroundings, and appreciate what we had. I was at Venessa’s house every chance I got. Though she and I were in the same grade, I’m almost a year older. I was barely eighteen when Venessa lost her family; that night I lost them, too. To this day, I miss them more than my own family, and the guilt I feel about that is zero. Even nine months later, when Venessa and I buried my parents, it was hers I cried for. You may think me insensitive, but those parents of mine? They were high when they ran themselves into the Detroit River. Fortunately, they didn’t take any one else with them.
Venessa has always been the sister I never had. She’s the one who encouraged me to see college through, she’s the one who offered to use my “secret sauce” on the bad guys so I could deliver the strongest data, she’s the one who stands up for me when I’m too weak to do it myself. It wasn’t always like that, though; back in the day, I was the wild card. No one, and I mean no one, messed with Venessa, or they’d deal with me. Coming from an abusive home, I had a lot of anger. So I had no problem taking that anger out on assholes that picked on Venessa because she was so tiny. As we got older, though, Venessa withdrew more and more, and our roles sort of shifted. I can still get scary, but it takes some doing. V, though? Not so much.
That’s why Shadow Squad is so important to me. Venessa does for others; I want to do for others, too. Yeah I know, being a nurse helps others, but that’s not what I mean. I mean I want to make Detroit a better place, too. Women are being taken. I saw it with my own eyes. Women are also being abused every day. I should know; I was once one of them.
I’m over being pushed around; I want to take down the bad guys, too. There’s also this dark side of me that wants to be let out to play. I’ve always been labeled the “good one,” which is hysterical if you actually know me. But I’m far from good. I’m just a better actress. I’ll never be like Venessa, and I don’t think it’s expected of me.
But I can help.
And if I can use live subjects to test my data for the trials?
All the better.
As always, my thoughts go right back him. He sits out in front of my house almost every night, so while he thinks I’m asleep, I sneak out and perfect my own skills and gather data by injecting those up to no good. So far I’ve only tracked down a few, but trust me, they had it coming. A lot goes on in Detroit after dark, so until I get what I need I’ll continue to watch and be a part of it. I have a feeling the day that I do get caught will likely be the day that Jonas Rafe decides I’m no longer worth the effort, and he’ll walk away. Until then, Venessa covers for me, and I do what I do best. I research.
That’s my motivation this morning, finding my place within the group and showing Jonas what I’m made of. It’s obvious the guys are the muscle, right along with Venessa. After all, she’s the one you don’t see coming. Me? I’m gunning for position of brainiac. I analyze data for a living,
right? I also have no social life, so I watch every crime TV show available. So now I’ll analyze the bad guys. I’ll only get physical as a last resort. I know my strengths and I know my weaknesses. Venessa and I both keep in touch with two girls from the neighborhood, Halina aka Lina, and Jules aka Red. Venessa and I are pretty tough for chicks, but Lina favors me in the brains department; she’s a human lie detector and works for the state. Red, though, she’s with Special Forces, and one you should not fuck with. The four of us have always been tight, but not as tight as Venessa and I. I may be able to hold my own, but even I know when to tap out. If that fucker Briggs proved anything to me, it’s that I can’t take a hit very well. Venessa always knows when to hold back with me; Briggs, not so much.
I head to my dresser to grab a pair of yoga pants, a tank, and a sports bra. I grab my Pumas and a tie for my hair, check under my arms to make sure I’m fresh, and head back downstairs to wait for my ride. I will tell you another thing about Jonas, he’s never late. Knowing he’s waiting for me is thrilling. He gives me something to look forward to each morning, and most of the time, it’s the anticipation of what’s going to come out of his mouth.
Anxious to see him, I grab two waters from the fridge, take my phone off the charger, and notice I have a missed call from Ben and two from an unknown number. Ben and I have a simple relationship. He entered the program about six months after I did and we became study partners almost immediately. He’s met the group and comes out with us from time to time. But he’s a quiet guy, good looking yes, but unless he speaks you wouldn’t even know he was there. His quiet nature makes him an easy study partner; even if most days I feel like I’m carrying the load of two people, I know he’s trying. I shoot Ben a text telling him I’ll call him later and put the phone in my bag. Just as I head to the porch there’s a knock on my door. Checking the wall clock I see again, as always, he’s right on time.
“Good morning.” I smile, handing him a bottle of water. He smiles at me and my traitorous knees go weak.
“Mornin’, Princess,” he says, looking me over.
“Princess?” I ask, pretending to be put out when I’m actually thrilled. “Really?”
“What’s wrong with Princess?” he asks.
“What’s right with it?” I counter, secretly thrilled I have a nickname. I’ve never had one before.
“Well,” he says, thinking as we walk to his truck, opening the door for me he continues. “For one, princesses are always beautiful,” he says, climbing in. “They like dresses, dancing, shit like that, and they always need rescuing.”
“Are you saying I’m high-maintenance and can’t fend for myself?” I ask, pretending to be hurt.
“I’m saying you’re hot and I want you to wear a dress when I take you dancing,” he says, leaning in and buckling my belt for me.
“Uh …” I say with my mouth open.
“I’d also curb stomp any fuckers that got near you,” he continues, pulling out of my driveway.
“Okay?” I say, totally wigged out by this turn of events.
“Unless you look like one of those evil stepsisters with your makeup off,” he says. “Then you’re saving yourself. I don’t do ugly chicks.”
And that, ladies and gentlemen is Jonas Rafe. But for some reason, this morning is different than the others. He looks different to me. Once I decided to see past the words and look deeper at the meaning it made more sense to me. Jonas was … trying.
I’ve been sitting around the block from her house for the last half hour. I’ve noticed she’s a very punctual person, so I’ve made it a point to never be late. The only way that happens is if I’m really early or I don’t leave at all, so I wait. Since talking to Venessa, I decided to take her advice.
I’ll be me.
If she doesn’t like it then it’s her loss, I guess.
Who am I kidding? I won’t last five minutes with her, but I have to try. Most kids are taught how to be polite, how to interact with others, but not me. I was raised to stay out the way, probably because, to them, I was always in the way. If I told my parents I was hungry, I was beat for it. Get in trouble at school, beat for it. Accidently tore my jacket and had to get a new one, beat for it. Needless to say, I never got the art of talking to people, and because of that, now when I try, I’m usually ignored or made fun of. Women are especially brutal with me, and it’s fucked with my confidence, as in I have none. When I graduated from high school my parents changed the locks. A month after that, they sold the house and I haven’t seen or heard from them since. My grandfather, the only decent person in my life, left me his house when he passed so when I was hired on to the DPD, I renovated it and put roots down here.
Since meeting Macy I’m hardly home, which suits me fine. I would rather be where she is anyway, even if it is sitting outside her house to make sure she’s safe. Stretching my legs and getting out of my truck, I have to stop myself from jogging to her door. Yeah, I want to see her, and I ain’t a bitch for saying so.
When I knock on the door, she answers right away. Am I putting too thought much into this? Could she have been waiting for me? She opens the door and gives me a “Good morning,” and when I see her standing there holding out a bottle of water for me in those tight pants and tank top my heart rate spikes. She’s smiling, not scowling at me. Okay, so that’s a first.
“Mornin’ Princess” was the first thought that came to me. She looks like a fucking princess standing there tall, like a future queen. My future queen, dammit. There’s something about this chick. She stands there like she’s waiting for those fucking dwarfs to clean her house or wash her car. She just owns the room. Shit, she owns me and doesn’t even know it.
So I watch cartoons, so what? Cartoons are mostly for adults anyway, so when I can’t find anything to watch, I watch those. I may have a thing for princesses, too. Or at least this one.
I started to get off track describing a it to her, but I think I recovered well. She looked stunned when I told her I wanted to take her dancing. Touchdown! I think to myself when I see her reaction. But, true to form, I can’t just let the opportunity to ruin shit pass me by.
I knew I fucked up as soon as I said it.
She turned and looked at me and just … stared.
Shit.
Fuck.
Balls.
She’s sitting there, staring, then she tosses her head back and starts laughing. With me? At me? I have no fucking clue, so I stare at her now.
“You are full surprises, Jonas.” She giggles, grabbing her shit.
“I am?” I ask, confused.
“I think I’m starting to figure you out,” she says.
“You are?” Still confused here, and a tad worried.
“If I look between the lines a bit I think there was a compliment in there somewhere,” she says, smiling. “You don’t possess a filter, either.”
“Uh,” I say, uncomfortable. “No, I don’t.”
“I like that you say what you’re thinking,” she says. “Maybe not always the way you say it, but when I process it, I get what you’re trying to say. So, if I was a princess, which one would I be?”
“Real or fictional?” I ask.
“Fictional.”
I don’t even hesitate. “Aurora.”
“Sleeping Beauty?” she asks, shocked. “You’ve seen Sleeping Beauty?”
Here we go … The real me.
“I like cartoons,” I say. “I see enough shit in real life that I don’t watch TV or too many movies; I like cartoons better.” Plus, I think to myself, it’s not like I got to watch that shit as a kid.
“My turn,” she offers, accepting my explanation. “I get to pick for you, then.”
“Pick me for what?” I ask.
“Which character I think suits you,” she says. “Ready?”
“Sure?” I say, freaked out and turned on by this conversation.
“Captain John Smith,” she blurts out.
“He wasn’t a prince,” I say, disappointed
.
“Maybe not, but he was a captain, and Pocahontas was the Chief’s daughter, so he had Prince-like qualities,” she defends. “Besides, our game, our rules. John Smith was a badass.”
“John Smith also died,” I say.
“Yeah, well, Aurora was narcoleptic, and no one will convince me otherwise.” Then she smiles a smile I’ve never seen before, but fuck me, I need to see it again.
“This conversation never leaves this truck,” I say.
“Deal,” she laughs. “Wanna hear something more fucked up than our cartoon fetish?”
“If that’s even possible, sure,”
“Rogan bought Venessa a dog.”
“No shit.”
“Yep,” she says. “Named him Boner.”
“Well,” I say, “that explains a few things.”
We both laugh, and then there’s a comfortable silence. Damn, I dig this chick. She belongs in my truck, my bed, and my life. Now, how to make that happen? I decide to think on that until we arrive at Russell’s.
“We’re here,” I say getting out and opening her door, which I’ve never done for anyone before.
“Thanks,” she says, surprised. “How big is the lift on this thing?”
“Six inches,” I say and add, “But it feels more like nine.”
She laughs while I help her down, and I may have let her shirt ride up and my hands linger. Fuck, but she feels good. We walk into Russell’s and I open the door, letting her go ahead of me. She turns and smiles when I do it again. This chick is easy to please.
I like that she’s got some height on her, she’s built like a ballet dancer and has shoulder-length black hair and grey-blue eyes. I shit you not, she does. Her tits are perfect; I’m guessing she’s carrying Bs on her. She’s tan and toned with the most genuine smile I’ve ever seen. She’s actually really graceful, too, when she’s not tripping over shit.
Did I mention she has a great ass? That ass is fine, and yes, I’m totally staring at it. What? Like you wouldn’t?