Brightest As We Fall

by Cleo Peitsche

  Undersexed… That part was sadly accurate.

  How long had it been since he’d tied up a woman and teased and tortured her for hours? A year. He’d had plenty of sex since then. Maybe not plenty, but enough. It just wasn’t the kind of sex he preferred.

  Finding willing partners was hard for a guy like him. A businessman could suggest to an attractive woman that he tie her up, spank her a bit.

  Women weren’t afraid of businessmen. They could look at a guy in a suit, a guy with a respectable job and his own house, and know they were dealing with a man who had something to lose if he crossed a line.

  The same women would fantasize about a guy like Jason doing the exact same things, but they didn’t want to act on it.

  They were afraid of him. He’d killed. It was an open secret, and Jason preferred it that way. The rumors about all the bodies he’d buried were exaggerated, and ironically, that exaggeration saved him from having to commit a lot more violence.

  But it went both ways.

  Men were afraid of him because he was a killer.

  Women were afraid of him for the same reason.

  He couldn’t blame them. The women who didn’t mind, or the ones who were excited by it, they turned him off. He didn’t enjoy killing.

  DeeAnn was breathing fast and hard. Out of context, it sounded dirty as hell.

  And… goddamn it! The erection returned, bringing with it an ache that reached his balls.

  His eyes met hers, and they stared at each other for several long seconds. Jason discovered that in the sunlight, her eyes were the deep, rich amber of dark honey. She had big eyes. Full lips. Kissable lips.

  DeeAnn raised her hands, covered her face.

  Had she noticed his reaction?

  It didn’t matter if she had. He was attracted to her—fuck if he knew why, though. Lots of women were hot, but he liked his partners experienced and slutty. Who had time to teach a blushing Sunday school teacher how to suck dick like a pro?

  And he’d seen plenty of pros at work, even if he’d never indulged in their services.

  Jason inhaled and forced himself to get a grip on his lust. “Brace yourself.” He directed the thin stream of rubbing alcohol over the worst of the blisters on the right side of her right foot.

  DeeAnn’s entire body jerked hard.

  If he hadn’t been holding her down, she’d have taken off. The noises she was making sounded less sexual now, and more like she was in serious distress.

  Under difference circumstances, that would have made him even harder. Her anguish didn’t turn him on, but being the monster that he was, it certainly didn’t diminish his arousal.

  “Almost done,” he said. “You keep these wounds clean, you’ll be on the path to recovery in a couple of days. Monitor it, though.”

  He finished up quickly, then wrapped her feet.

  If she were at home, he wouldn’t have bothered with that. He’d have told her to stay on her back, her feet elevated.

  Hell, if she were at home, none of this would have been necessary.

  “Finished,” he said. His cock had finally gotten the memo that no fucking was on the horizon and was now half asleep, though Jason knew it wouldn’t take much to bring him back to life.

  DeeAnn lowered her hands.

  “Fuck,” she said with an uncertain smile. “That was intense.”

  Her cheeks were scarlet.

  Don’t go there, he warned himself.

  “I’ll take you back to the car, then I’ll go wash my hands.”

  “You don’t have to carry—”

  “Yes, I do.”

  One arm behind DeeAnn’s back, the other under her bent knees, he stood.

  She needed a shower. He knew he needed one, too. But he liked the way she smelled; the scent of a woman’s natural body didn’t bother him in the least. If anything, the smell of her sweat turned him on.

  And he had the rapidly rising cock to prove it. He held her high in the air so she wouldn’t have to feel his growing erection.

  Getting her back into the car required a bit of finesse on his part, but he managed.

  “We forgot my sneakers,” she said, looking out toward where they’d been sitting.

  “They obviously don’t fit well, so what good are they? Here’s the plan. We buy the new car. Then we check into a hotel. We can shower and wash out our clothes.”

  She frowned. “And what? Hang around naked?”

  “You can do whatever you like, but I’m going to be passed out on the bed. I didn’t sleep last night, and I was up most of the night before.”

  He noticed her eyebrows rising. Nosy woman was probably about to ask what he’d been doing. And that, too, was none of her business.

  “Sound good?” he asked.

  She thought about it, then nodded.

  “All right. I’ll be back in a few.”

  His cock surged fully to life as he headed for the bathrooms. Just sixty seconds in a stall; that was all it would take, and he’d be able to think clearly again.

  He glanced back at the car and saw DeeAnn watching him.

  And damn if that wasn’t open lust in her eyes.

  She quickly looked away.

  Sixty seconds? He could get the job done in half the time. But he wasn’t desperate enough to resort to that.

  Chapter 20

  “Get a grip, DeeAnn,” I warn myself angrily. The back of my head thumps repeatedly against the headrest.

  I can’t believe how quickly things spiraled out of control.

  One second, Jason was Jason…

  I frown. It’s not that he changed; the situation did.

  Yesterday, he was a stranger. Then he was my adversary. Now we’re on the same side.

  I can’t pinpoint the moment that my attraction to him started to grow. I guess it crept up on me when I wasn’t paying attention.

  Maybe when he smoothed things over with the farmer. I’m pretty sure that’s when I started to respect him.

  That, plus my relief that he hadn’t double-crossed me…

  It doesn’t mean he won’t betray you in the future, you naive fool.

  Yes, yes. I know.

  Logically, Jason and I are…

  I can’t even finish the thought. It’s ridiculous. There is no “Jason and I.” Our paths have crossed, but we’re from different worlds. Because despite what he thinks, being a prostitute and going around beating up or killing people for money are two vastly different things.

  The memory of his legs over mine resurfaces, unbidden.

  And his erection.

  He was hard. For me.

  For my feet, maybe?

  Hm. I’ve never known a foot fetishist, and I have no idea how common or rare it is. Or if busted-up feet are at all appealing to them. But I want to believe Jason is interested in all of me.

  “Interested in” is the wrong way to think about this. It sounds too… prim.

  A guy like Jason doesn’t care if a woman’s a sparkling conversationalist or if she seems like a good person. Civility is probably a turnoff for him.

  Say it plainly, DeeAnn: in that moment, Jason was interested in fucking you.

  I smile. The thought is liberating.

  He wasn’t interested in getting to know me or learning my thoughts on soulless multinational conglomerates.

  I was hot enough and convenient enough, and he wanted to fuck me.

  It also doesn’t mean that he’ll get the urge again.

  He exits the bathroom and walks to where we were sitting. I’m thinking he had second thoughts about grabbing my shoes, but it turns out he’s after the remnants of our supplies.

  I’m ashamed that I didn’t think of them myself. One day on the lam, and apparently I’ve turned into a litterbug.

  My mind returns to the visual of Jason’s bulge. Definitely on the large side. He’s a big guy overall, so I guess it’s not surprising.

  In high school, my friends and I measured our boyfriends’ cocks by getting them hard, seei
ng how long they were compared to our hands, and then measuring the length later, with a ruler. It was pretty much a rite of passage.

  Jason’s would easily stretch from the tip of my middle finger to several inches past my wrist. What would that be? More than six inches. Seven?

  More?

  And thick.

  Who knows if he was even fully hard.

  Fuck. I really want to find out…

  I know my priorities are jumbled, but as long as Jason and I are going the same way—that is, as long as we’re stuck with each other—I don’t see the harm in fantasizing about sex.

  Would I fuck him if he were interested?

  Well… yes. Because, let’s face it, guys like Jason don’t fuck women like me. I’m a catch for guys like Toby. Or for middle-aged men willing to pay, I guess.

  Jason? He gets supermodels, or whatever the gangster equivalent of a supermodel is. Tough and amazingly gorgeous girls with multiple piercings and tattoos and hairstyles I could never pull off, and so much confidence it’s scary.

  I startle when Jason climbs into the car. I can barely look at him. Good thing he’s not paying attention to me.

  In other words, life is exactly the same as before our little encounter on the edge of the sidewalk.

  I open the door.

  “What are you doing? I can drive you closer to the bathrooms.”

  Swallowing, I try to think of how to phrase what I’m going to say. By the time I’ve finished stuttering it out, Jason is shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Just stay put,” he grumbles. He collects my old sneakers and socks from the sidewalk. I watch in the mirror as he carries them to the general store and tosses everything into the metal trash can.

  “Three points each,” I say when he returns. “Thank you.”

  “Can’t believe I wasted caffeine and effort on that.”

  “It’s good karma, and we need as much—”

  “Thank me by keeping quiet,” he says. It’s kinda harsh, but a minute later he asks if my feet hurt, so I forgive him.

  Three stops and four hours later—it’s now almost noon—and we still don’t have a new car.

  Right now we’re in a used car lot (fine, junkyard) situated in what I would generously describe as a neighborhood that’s seen better times. Houses wearing plastic over busted windows, trash covering most lawns—if dirt and dandelions can be called that. I saw a toddler smashing rocks with a rusty, filthy hammer while the nearby teenage mother argued on the phone about getting her electricity switched back on. If this neighborhood were an animal, not putting it out of its misery would be cruel.

  I’m perched on the hood of Timothy Swinton’s car, watching as Jason confers with a nondescript man.

  What I’m learning is that criminals don’t always look the way they do in movies. If someone pointed this guy out on the street and told me to guess what he did for a living, I would come up with accountant, principal, or maybe regional manager of a semi-fancy restaurant chain.

  It’s the conservative haircut, clean-shaven jaw, and tasseled loafers. I bet he’s got a collection of sweater vests in muted greens and browns at home. I bet he buys his kids chemistry sets for their birthdays.

  The conversation ends abruptly as Jason turns and heads toward me, his face grim.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask quietly when he’s close enough to hear.

  He shakes his head. “Get in. We’re leaving.”

  Gingerly, I hop down from the hood of the car. I’m now wearing a pair of bootie slippers, meant for the indoors. They’re supposed to resemble shearling boots but are made out of some kind of felt, which doesn’t put any pressure on my wounds. Jason bought them at a gas station, along with crusty burritos and, of course, more coffee.

  “Hold up,” the man says. “All right. You’ve got a deal.”

  Jason doesn’t look surprised as he turns back.

  There’s a lesson, I think. Always be prepared to walk away.

  Because he wasn’t bluffing. Is this a lesson for my new life, or insight into Jason? Both, I decide.

  Our new ride is a blue station wagon smothered in a thin blanket of dust. I’m tempted to make a comment about how unsexy this car is, to ask Jason if he’s actually got four kids and a mortgage, but I don’t think he’d find it funny, and he might use the comment as justification to steal something better.

  “What do you think?” Jason asks as he pointedly buckles his seatbelt.

  “It’s… roomy.” I twist and glance through the rear window. The salesman isn’t watching us go, isn’t in view at all. “Do you really trust him to get the other car back to Timothy?”

  Jason shrugs. I open my mouth to lecture him, but he cuts me off by saying, “I paid him well.”

  “Meaning it’s coming out of my portion.”

  “You learn fast. Anyway, I’m sure your buddy will be in touch if his car doesn’t turn up. No point in worrying about it.”

  I wonder if it’s really that easy for Jason, not worrying. Snap of the fingers, worry-be-gone.

  Despite appearances, the station wagon has a powerful engine. The seats are comfortable, like easy chairs.

  “What was the sticking point?” I ask once we’re on the highway.

  “Price.”

  I roll my eyes. “We could have afforded his asking price.”

  “Yes, and that would have seemed strange to him. They always start out too high.”

  Nodding, I file that away. My car, the one that was stolen, came from a cocktail waitress my dad dated for several months. It never occurred to me to haggle over the price, because I needed wheels desperately.

  “Thank you,” I say. “For buying one.”

  “I never steal for no reason. Last night, we were desperate. Today, we’re not.” He starts to stifle a yawn, then gives in.

  “How little sleep did you get two nights ago?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “It’s nothing that a few hours in a dark room can’t fix.”

  I know he doesn’t mean anything sexual by it, but the thought of being with Jason in a dark room makes a dangerous heat coil low in my core.

  He glances over at me. “How are you holding up?”

  “Fine,” I say. “I think I’m on a permanent high from all the excitement.”

  “Excitement,” he says.

  “All right. From all the fear.”

  “Are you afraid now?”

  “What, that you’ll fall asleep and crash?”

  He glances over again. “Are you afraid of me?”

  It’s a casual question, and his expression doesn’t suggest that he’s doing anything but making idle conversation, but some little instinct tells me to be careful.

  “Should I be?” I ask, hedging my bets with the non-answer.

  “Not so long as you behave,” he says, and that dangerous heat coils tighter, turning into a knot of cravings that I can’t quite understand.

  “Whatever that means,” I say, adjusting the seat even though it’s not the reason I can’t get comfortable.

  Twenty minutes later, Jason pulls into the parking lot of an outlet mall that looks like new construction. The sidewalks are cleaner than our car, that’s for sure. I recognize most of the names on the sign outside. Places I could never afford to shop at, even discounted.

  After killing the engine, Jason scrubs his hands through his hair. Dark circles ring his eyes. “We need clothes. Can you just buy some stuff?”

  “Yeah,” I say, confused by the question and his tone. But then I realize what he’s getting at. “Are you going to stay here and sleep?”

  He starts to nod, then realizes why I might not be cool with that.

  “I guess not,” he says.

  “You could hand over my half right now,” I say. “That way, no hard feelings if you decide to split.”

  “Your half?” He shakes his head, then eyes me. “The way you’re dressed, it would be criminal to abandon you. Literally.”

  “Huh?”

  He
smirks. “I’d get arrested for illegal dumping.” He opens his door.

  I get out, too, and look down. Grass and dirt stain my clothes, thanks to Jason tackling me outside the farmhouse last night. The faux-shearling booties have lost their shape already, and the tan-brown color looks dingy.

  We surely make an odd couple. I’m not limping so much as shuffling, and the stuffed duffel bag that Jason’s carrying doesn’t make us less suspicious. But it’s early and a weekday. Not many people are hanging out at the mall yet.

  “It’s weird,” I say half an hour later. We’re heading toward the exit with our purchases, which include small suitcases and a second duffel bag. “I always thought going to the mall and having unlimited money to spend would be fun, but that was painful.”

  “I doubt anything’s fun when it’s necessary,” Jason says.

  “Or when the employees don’t want to allow you in the store.”

  “It’s nothing that a shower won’t fix.” Our grossness doesn’t seem to bother him, and I guess it shouldn’t bother me, either. He yawns. He drank a large coffee while we were shopping, but it didn’t help much.

  “Let me drive,” I say.

  Jason shakes his head but doesn’t give an explanation. I’m able to supply my own.

  “I’m not a bad driver,” I insist.

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then why? The blisters aren’t on the soles of my feet. I can work the pedals.”

  He shakes his head again. I roll my eyes but drop the subject.

  We’re nearing the outlet mall’s front doors when I happen to look to the right, at the small drugstore. Other than the food court, it’s the only non-discount store. Thinking it might be wise to pick up more bandages, I shuffle toward it.

  Then I see the newspapers displayed in a vertical metal stand at the drugstore’s entrance.

  And the headline. “Four Dead in Drug-Related Shootout Outside Rhodell Heights.”

  There was nothing when I looked online yesterday. I guess I’ve been telling myself that it’s not real. But seeing the headline in black and white brings yesterday’s events rushing back. And all the emotions with them. My fear. My panic.

  Jason passes an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs into my ear. “Pull yourself together, DeeAnn. You’re acting suspicious. No one will notice us unless we make ourselves noticeable. I’m not going to get caught. Now, let’s go outside, get in the car, and find another drugstore far away from here.”