Lawton

by Sabrina Stark

  The fence was ten feet high, with sharp spires all along the top. It wasn't exactly razor wire, but it was close enough.

  "Yeah?" I said. "How?"

  "This is where it gets good," he said. "They're driving this little SUV and park on that side street over there." He looked toward the far side of my yard, where my fence butted up against the sidewalk. "So what they do, is park on the sidewalk and start crawling out of the car."

  "Crawling?"

  "Yeah. Because they're coming out through the sunroof. Anyway, before you know it, they're all standing on the roof of the thing, looking all pissed off at the fence, like it's taller than they expected." He chuckled. "And then, they start arguing."

  "About what?" I asked.

  "About who's gonna be the first one over. Anyway, the answer was none of them, because security got there first."

  "Security?" I shook my head. "I didn't hire any. Did you?"

  Bishop grinned. "Nah, but the girls didn't know that."

  "Lemme guess," I said. "Security is you?"

  He shrugged. "Like I said, it's more entertaining than the stuff inside."

  I glanced toward the house. Through the same window as before, I saw raised drinks and bodies gyrating. Through the next window over, past the open bar, I spotted Blake, a buddy I sparred with sometimes. He was dancing with Fiona – an aerobics instructor from somewhere out West. Blake has his hands on her ass and his lips on her neck.

  A few weeks ago, might have been me. Shit, it could be me now. A few beers earlier, Fiona had offered me that and then some. But the thing with Chloe had thrown me. For some reason, I didn't want another girl.

  I glanced in the general direction of her house, recalling the douchebag I'd met at the fence. That was how long ago? A couple of weeks?

  I'd spent the first week avoiding her – for her sake as much as mine. I'd been too pissed off – at the douchebag, at Chloe, and mostly at myself, because I still didn't know squat about what was going on.

  Afterwards, I found myself watching her place more than I should, doing perimeter checks twice a night instead of twice a month. I wore dark clothes and silent sneakers. I lingered at the fence and watched through the trees.

  Shit. I was one telescope away from becoming the neighborhood creeper.

  Disgusted, I turned back to Bishop. He was watching me with veiled eyes.

  "What?" I said, hating that it came out too harsh, too defensive, and maybe a little too drunk. Screw that. It was my party. I was supposed to be drunk.

  In my pocket, something buzzed. My cell phone. Ready for a change of topic, I pulled it out and answered without looking. "Yeah?"

  It was Amber. "Where are you?" she asked. "We've been looking everywhere."

  "Getting some air," I said.

  "Outside?" She sounded surprised. "But it's totally freezing out there."

  Was it? Come to think of it, I could see my breath. So yeah, I guess it was freezing. But I sure as hell wasn't feeling it. I heard myself laugh. "Where are you?"

  "Upstairs." She giggled. "I've got your birthday gift. And trust me, you're gonna love it." Her voice became flirty. "I'll give you a hint. It's nice and warm."

  Chapter 27

  Upstairs, I found a trail of red rose-petals that led to a giant red bow on the door to my bedroom. The door was shut, but I had a pretty good idea what I'd find inside. The only thing I didn't know was what I'd do about it.

  I mean, it wasn't like I hadn't seen this coming.

  On my way up the stairs, I'd grabbed another beer and downed it before I hit the top step. I had a good buzz going, but somehow, it didn't feel good enough. When I closed my eyes, I still saw Chloe's face. Sometimes, she was with him.

  The last week had been crazy in more ways than one. After that week of avoidance, I'd started walking with her again. I'd been trying to keep it casual. I’d been trying to act like nothing had changed. But all the while, I'd been trying to figure things out.

  I'd failed on all counts.

  I'd even asked about her electrical problems, making some vague comment about spotting a service van in the driveway. I'd given her the opening. All she had to do was walk through it.

  Tell me, I thought. Who, exactly, was the douchebag? What was he to her? Did she know that I'd met him? Talked to him? Got offered pussy by him? Who was he?

  Tell me.

  She told me nothing.

  Yeah, she said, the home's electrical system was on the wonky side. Wonky. Her words, not mine. Good thing, she said, that she didn't have to fix things herself, because she didn't know a wire from a wingnut.

  I still recalled her laughing about it. I recalled trying to join in, all the while thinking, is that old guy fucking her?

  Funny, that wouldn’t be a word I'd use if Chloe were with me. But that guy, it was the only thing he did. I knew the type. Who knows? Maybe I was that type, too.

  I did have that reputation. And who was I kidding? Most of it was earned – maybe not at first, but soon enough. How many girls had I been with? I knew the answer. Too many to count.

  Standing at my bedroom door, I tried to keep the images from coming, faces of the girls I'd been with. One by one, their faces morphed into each other, flashing by too soon for me to recall any of their names.

  Then, the face changed to Chloe's. But unlike the others, it wasn't me she was with. Above her, the douchebag was making his o-face, while Chloe lay there, looking at him the way I way I wanted her to look at me.

  The scene was too messed up. I wanted to hit something. I wanted to forget. I wanted another beer. But in some vague way, I realized that I'd had one too many already.

  Screw it. I reached out and turned the doorknob. And there they were, Brittney and Amber, wearing not much more than birthday suits of their own.

  From the open doorway, I gave them a good, long look. They wore a lacy red bras with matching red panties, along with little red bows around their necks. They looked like every guy's fantasy, and I felt my body react.

  I strode forward and shut the door behind me. Apparently, I had some unwrapping to do.

  A minute later, Brittney's lips were around my cock. I was hard and ready. The girls were still dressed, if you could call it that. As for me, I was still wearing what I'd been wearing before, except my jeans and briefs were pushed down well below my hips.

  My bare ass rested on the edge of my bed, and Amber was molded to my side. Her lips traveled from my neck to my mouth. I closed my eyes, imagining it was Chloe's lips – not just on my own, but down below too. Impossible? Sure. But at this point, what difference did it make?

  Slowly, Brittney pulled back, sucking as she went. Giggling, she moved to the side and licked my shaft, coming up just long enough to moan, "Mmmmm…You're even bigger in real life."

  As opposed to on the video. Obviously.

  Chloe wouldn't say shit like that.

  I opened my eyes and pulled back. This was wrong, and not only because I was thinking of another girl. Below, I was still rock hard, but above, things were going soft and fuzzy at the edges. Or maybe, things were clearing up. Who knows?

  I looked toward Amber. Her gaze was troubled. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

  I reached down to yank up my briefs, and then my jeans. "Sorry," I said. "Really. It's just—" I glanced at the bedroom door. "I can't do this."

  At the foot of the bed, Brittney was still kneeling. She eyed the bulge in my jeans and licked her lips. "The way it looks," she cooed, "Mister Happy still wants to play."

  Mister Happy?

  I glanced down. Yeah. I was still hard. But Mister Happy was a dumb-shit. No surprise there.

  I pushed away from the bed and eyed the two girls. Brittney was still on the floor, and Amber was sitting sideways across my bed. Their hair was alike. Their bodies were alike. Their makeup was alike. Together, they looked like twins in their matching panties and bows.

  I hadn't unwrapped anything. And I wasn't going to. This might've been a nice present five ye
ars earlier. Or shit, maybe even last month. I shoved a hand through my hair, searching for words that wouldn't come.

  God, I was such a shit-heel. If I made them leave, I was a dick. And if I screwed them while thinking of Chloe, I was an even bigger dick. I looked down. Mister Happy was still hard. Shit, even my dick was a dick.

  Fuck.

  On the bed, Amber was blinking back tears. "Is it me? Am I a bad kisser?" She sniffled and rubbed a hand across her eyes.

  And that, finally, made Mister Happy see things in a different light. About damn time.

  From the floor, Brittney spoke. "Well, it sure as hell isn't me. I'm an awesome cock-sucker."

  I turned to look at her. If I were sober, I might have a good response to that. But as it was, I turned back to Amber. She'd reached out for a pillow and was clutching it tight against her chest.

  My voice was quiet. "Amber, it's not you."

  Brittney leapt to her feet. "What?"

  Through gritted teeth, I turned to Brittney and said, "And it's not you either."

  My head was pounding, but I didn't think it was the booze. Not anymore.

  It was everything else – the rattling of windows, the girls in my room, the thought of Chloe with that douchebag, just the other side of my fence.

  Suddenly, I wanted to pack my stuff and leave for the night.

  Who knows, maybe I would. Let the party play out without me. Tomorrow, I could figure things out.

  On the bed, Amber gave another sniffle. "Then what is it?"

  I let out a long breath. "I dunno."

  "I know what it is," Brittney said. "It's dog girl." She smirked. "We saw her tonight, you know."

  "What?" I shook my head. "Where?"

  Brittney was still smirking. "At that diner place. She waited on us. And she was pretty rude, too, if you ask me."

  Through the drunken haze, I recalled how Brittney had treated our waitress a few weeks earlier. "Rude?" I felt my blood pressure rise. "Her? Or you?"

  "Not me." Brittney gave a mean little laugh. "I wasn't the one who got fired tonight."

  I stepped toward her. "What?"

  Brittney shrank back. "Well, I'm just saying, she got in trouble." Her voice became sullen. "And she deserved it, too."

  I turned to Amber. She was biting her lip again.

  "Well?" I said.

  Amber glanced away. "I don't know. We're not absolutely sure she got fired."

  "And besides," Brittney added, "it's not like she needs the money. I heard a couple of busboys talking. She's got this rich old guy who throws gobs of money at her."

  I froze. An old guy? The douchebag? It had to be. I looked to Amber. "You hear that too?"

  "Sort of." She gave another sniffle. "I guess he's a regular at the restaurant. They call him Bolger or something."

  I let the name roll around in my brain. Bolger. It didn't match the guy at the fence. His name was Leo. Leo Bolger? Maybe.

  In front of me, the girls exchanged a glance. Brittney looked triumphant. Amber looked worried. And that's when I knew, they'd been trying to get Chloe fired.

  What a couple of bitches. Even Amber. Yeah, she was nice enough at heart. But what did it matter if she let Brittney lead her along like a trained seal?

  I strode toward the door. "You've got five minutes. Get dressed. And get out."

  Amber's voice rang out behind me. "Wait!"

  I turned to look. She was looking a little shell-shocked. "You're kicking both of us out?"

  Brittney glared at her. "Well, it wouldn't be just me."

  "But—" Amber choked on a sob. "I planned this party."

  "We both did," Brittney corrected. "You can't kick us out."

  My jaw was tight. "Oh yeah? Why not?"

  "For one thing, because we don't have a car." She tossed back her hair. "Remember?"

  I did remember. I'd had Brittney and Amber picked up personally – for my sake, not theirs. I gave them a hard look. "I know. That's why I'm calling you a driver." I went to the door and opened it. "By the time he shows up, you'd better be dressed and ready."

  Brittney crossed her arms. "Or what?"

  It was a good question. I didn't have the answer. So instead, I walked out and slammed the door behind me. And then I ripped off that fucking bow and hurled it across the hall.

  It went like three feet before it floated to the floor in a harmless heap. Talk about unsatisfying.

  Feeling surprisingly sober now, I stalked down the stairs and shouldered my way through the crowd, ignoring everyone and everything as I headed out the same side door as before. As soon as I was outside, I pulled out my cell phone and called the main number for the drivers. By prior arrangement, they were staged and ready at a parking lot five minutes away.

  I ordered one of the cars now, and told the rest to be ready. An hour, two hours, five hours – I still didn't know. I'd paid for twelve hours flat, so waiting wouldn't be a problem either way. Knowing how crazy things could get, I'd even ordered a couple of party-busses, just in case.

  That done, I made my way to the back of the house, where I'd seen Bishop earlier. I felt my eyebrows furrow. He was gone. And that wasn't the only thing that was different. The rear security lights were on, flooding the back yard with light.

  Why? More crashers? It had to be.

  I peered across the yard and spotted Bishop heading out through the trees. He was moving straight toward Chloe's place. I tensed. What the hell? A split-second later, I was striding out after him.

  Chapter 28

  I'd made it halfway to the back fence when Bishop turned to call out, "Hey Lawton!" He sounded amused. "You got another one!"

  So he'd spotted me? Obviously, he had. But I didn't give a rat's ass about that. And I sure as hell didn't think any of this was funny – not if Chloe was involved.

  Bishop had stopped a few feet from the property line, but I couldn’t see much past him. Dodging my way through the trees, I was desperate to know who he'd caught.

  Was it the douchebag? It wouldn’t be surprising. The guy did seem the party-crashing type. Or maybe it was someone else. A fan? A friend? A stranger?

  What if they'd run into Chloe? Was she home? Was she okay?

  Near the fence, I came to a stop and felt my breath hitch. She wasn't okay. She was here – on the ground, wearing nearly nothing. She sat with bare legs stretched out in front of her and her palms pressed into the mulch, like she'd been trying – and failing – to push herself up.

  I rushed forward. "You okay?" I crouched beside her. "What happened?"

  Her hair was wet, and her lips were blue. The only answer she gave was a long, violent shudder.

  I reached for her hand. It was ice-cold. "God, you're freezing." And no wonder. All she wore was a thin white tank top and matching lace panties. I looked around and saw no other clothing – no shoes, no socks, no pants. Definitely no jacket. What the hell was going on?

  Had someone tried to hurt her?

  She looked up and tried to smile. I spotted the remnants of tears on her pale cheeks and bits of mulch in her disheveled hair.

  My muscles tensed. Who had done this to her? The douchebag? He was the logical choice, given everything I knew, which granted, wasn't a lot. I didn't know anything for sure. But I was going to find out.

  First things first. I pulled off my shirt and thrust it at her. "Here. Put this on."

  When she hesitated, I started doing it myself, pulling the shirt over her head and nudging her arms into the long, white sleeves. Finally, I yanked the thing downward until the fabric covered as much as possible.

  It wasn't enough. Her bare, trembling legs were still exposed. But then, she pulled up her knees, tucking them under the shirt until all I saw were the tips of her toes.

  I leaned close and searched her face. I saw no cuts, no bruises, no sign of physical trauma. But that didn't mean she hadn't been hurt. Trying to keep my voice calm, I asked again, "You okay?"

  She gave a weak nod, but still said nothing. For some reason, t
hat worried the hell out of me. She needed help and more than just a shirt. I recalled Bishop, standing a few feet away.

  Normally, he was good in a crisis. Better than good, actually. Shouldn't he be doing something?

  I turned to him and said, "What the hell is wrong with you? You just gonna stand there? She's hurt."

  He flicked his gaze toward Chloe. "That's not what she said."

  My voice rose. "Don't listen to her."

  Finally, behind me, I heard her voice, sounding almost annoyed. "What?"

  I turned to see her glaring first at me, and then at Bishop. I joined in, giving him a look that should've sent him running.

  He gave something like a shrug. "You already gave her your shirt. What do you want me to do? Give her my pants?" He made a move to unbutton his jeans. "Well, if that's what it takes –"

  "No!" Chloe blurted out.

  Bishop stopped in mid-motion. "Alright," he told her. "But hey, I offered." He turned to me and said, "There. You happy?"

  At this point, I'd be happier if I were beating the piss out of him. "No," I said through gritted teeth. "You are such a dick. You know that?"

  "Pretty much."

  I turned back to Chloe. "Now c'mon," I urged, "tell us what happened."

  "Nothing," she said. "It's fine. It's just –" She lifted her hand in a vague, dismissive motion. "It's just all really stupid." She glanced over at Bishop, who had turned, and was now studying her house with a cool, calculating gaze.

  I reached out to squeeze her hand. "Don't pay any attention to him. You running from someone? Someone in the house?" Imagining all the possibilities, I felt a cold rage settle over me. If someone was in there, they were about to get a little visit. "Want us to take care of it?"

  Looking almost embarrassed, Chloe shook her head. "No," she mumbled. "It's nothing like that."

  Working hard to keep the edge out of my voice, I said, "A boyfriend, then?" I gave her hand another squeeze. Too hard? I sure as hell hoped not. "He hurt you?"

  "God no," she said, sounding like she actually meant it.