Dark Cherries

by Eve Bradley

  “What about my stepdad? I didn’t see any pictures of him. Is he still there?” I ask, realizing that I need to know this for my own sanity.

  “No,” he starts and stands. “He’s in Washington state.”

  “Washington?” I repeat, wildly confused. “What’s he doing there?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Shawn says, grazing his thumb over his bottom lip.

  He reaches his hand out to me, and I look up at him, finally coming around to the utter perplexity of why he would even do this for me. Why send guys out to my old home to snap pictures of my family for me? What does that even mean? The blood pounds in my head as I hold back the thought that comes.

  “Are you hungry?” he asks me calmly, his hand outstretched and waiting.

  I let my gaze slide up his body, taking in every inch of his smooth suit, the tailored cut of it, his messy dark blond hair, and sun-soaked skin. He called the pictures a gift. There’s now no doubt in my mind that he cares about me in some way, shape, or form. Even if he has put me in danger, I feel like he’ll go to any lengths to keep me safe, and that is something I can trust.

  Seven

  The Movies

  Rhett is on duty the next couple days. He’s silent for the first few hours that we’re together, even though I chatter at him and ask him multiple questions while rummaging through the clothes he bought me and packing things away in an order I like. I am confused as to why he doesn’t want to talk to me now, especially after how good our conversation was at the bar. Not to mention the way our bodies meshed during the dancing. Part of me is suspicious that he doesn’t want to try to get to know me because he probably thinks I’ve done something with Shawn, and I doubt Rhett or Alexi would dare betray Shawn by flirting with his girl.

  The thing is, I’m not Shawn’s girl. I’m no one’s, and I’m not going to act like I belong to anyone. Because belonging would mean that there’s something more going on here, and the more time I have to think, the more I know that once this entire con is finished, they’ll all let me go, and nothing more will come of it. I just have to bide my time.

  “Why do you play the double agent?” I ask him as I gather up the array of lacy underwear and then toss them in drawers. “Did it take a long time to build up rapport with the Young brothers?”

  Of course, no response. Rhett is sitting in the armchair by the balcony window, the light streaming in and making him look like a mythological figure of Greek descent. One ankle rests on his knee and a few fingers fiddle with a dry cigarette. He shuts his eyes for a minute, and when he opens them again, his tongue glides over his pink cupid's bow, and he leans forward.

  “Alexi said you were like a child. Now I know why,” he mutters, grumbling into his chest.

  “If I wasn’t asking questions you’d have a problem,” I snap. “I’m bored. I hate being trapped in here. Knowing my jailers makes things way more interesting.”

  “Jailers?” a softly stubbled mouth lifts into a teasing smirk. “You feel pretty strongly about that, hmm?”

  “Yes,” I say, folding a shirt and tucking it into yet another drawer. “You guys are a mystery.”

  “I could say the same to you, little miss,” Rhett smirks and leans back, a smug expression on his face. “You shot your stepdad, left your family, and have been living on the streets. I guess now I know the answer to the question: why you want to be alone.”

  I roll my eyes and stuff away a few more pieces of clothing, noting that there are a few silky little numbers that look like they’re supposed to be for a luxurious bedtime soiree. I redden when Rhett’s lazy eyes glide over them, and I swallow the lump of awkwardness that’s been growing in my throat.

  “You don’t really know me though, do you?” I clap back. “None of you do. You can think you see the facts about someone, but you’ll never really truly see them for who they are on the inside if you don’t dig deeper.”

  I say this as the final pieces of clothing are dropped into the drawers and I give him a glassy eye roll and cross my arms. These men think they know all. But they truly, truly don’t. The world is so much darker and riveting than just surface-level facts, and I enjoy the intrigued expression that blooms on his striking face. In honesty, I hate the assumptions people make about me. They see a skinny bitch with stick-straight hair and a bad attitude and they think I’m like every other mediocre Chelsea. I guess when you lay it out, people aren’t so different and I’d be extremely fucking arrogant to say that I’m better or worse than the other girls out there. Still, there’s something about Rhett’s lackadaisical way of looking at me that makes me want to prove him wrong, that he doesn’t know me, and that he’ll never be able to pin me down.

  Rhett stands up, and for a second, I think he’s going to come and hold me down on the bed, based on the way his eyes are smoldering. But he walks right past me and crouches, grabbing at the mini-fridge and the cute little bottles of champagne stored there. He pops up again and offers me one.

  “So how do you think a man should dig deeper?” he asks me, the little bottle outstretched in a smooth tan hand. My heart flutters in my chest, dancing like a crazy little cherub. It’s like a fucking cupid pokes me with his arrow and wants my panties to be soaked just because this man, in all his yummy erotic goodness, is looking at me. Part of me feels guilty because I think Shawn and I almost kissed the other night. But after a good long night’s rest and some reflection, I remember that I cannot and will not get attached. That being said, I can still have fun, can’t I?

  I snatch the bottle and pop it open quickly.

  “I don’t know. People share stories. They get to know one another’s likes and dislikes, their hopes and dreams. Right?” I ask, starting to second guess myself.

  “Sounds like something you do with someone you’re dating,” he shrugs and takes a long swig.

  “Friends do it too,” I counter and sigh as the bubbly liquid dances down my throat.

  “Do you want some?” Rhett raises a hand with a baggie of white powder in it.

  “What the hell is that?” I glance at him, shocked that he’s actually about to do drugs while watching me.

  “Something to calm me down,” he says, and I can hear the subtle edge of anxiety in his voice. Something about it makes me extremely sad as he shuffles past me, this tall, leanly muscular man who’s entire image makes my mind dumb with blind attraction. Warning bells are going off in my head, and I cannot ignore them.

  “Are you not calm right now?” I ask him frantically.

  “Woah, Allie. It’s fine. I just need to relax a little,” he says, but the stiffness in his body language has my head cartwheeling with questions. Except, I don’t know what to say. He’s a grown-ass man, and as much as I feel uncomfortable about what he’s doing, he can make his own decisions. I don’t know him and I certainly don’t have control over how he lives his life.

  He goes to the bathroom and I hear him snort the powder. When he comes back out, he sits on the large chair again. He looks visibly less tight in the shoulder area.

  “Okay…?” I roll my eyes and rest my hands on my hips.

  “Sometimes I need it to calm down,” Rhett finally says, large hands flexing out. “It’s nothing.”

  “If you say so,” I nod, pretending to be sympathetic. In the back of my mind I know I’m just like him. I go to alcohol when I want to feel better, I like the way it makes me free to say and do whatever the fuck I want. I like the way it makes me as carefree as a bird. That being said, I know that it’s a sickness. I’m not dumb. So…I guess Rhett is sick.

  “When did you first start?” I ask, trying to be inoffensive.

  “Years ago, when I still lived in Peurto Rico. My dad said heroin was medicine. We never told my mom. I turned to Xanax because for me it’s easier to get, and I guess makes me think my need for it isn’t as bad,” he says, resting his forearm over his face as he leans his head back on the plush chair. “Look. I’m good. I’m not reckless with it. I do just enough to keep me chill. Don
’t worry about it.”

  “Puerto Rico? Were you born there?” I ask him.

  “Yeah,” he sighs, moving so that he’s more comfortable. “My family still lives down there. My mom was from Texas. She met my dad, they hit it off, had me. I just got sick of working for the cartels, met Shawn, and joined him.”

  I turn away and grab the remote to the television. I don’t know what I feel. I can’t handle thinking about another person’s problems right now, not when I’m so deep in shit I can’t even walk. If he says he’s fine, he’s fine. There’s nothing I could do to help him anyway. And I’m not a prude when it comes to drugs because I’ve done them. It does surprise me that he’s from Peurto Rico, and I can’t imagine working for the cartels.

  “I trust you,” I say flatly, and flick the TV onto some cheesy reality show.

  Me turning on the TV probably speaks volumes to him. It tells him I don’t want to talk. It tells him that I feel uncomfortable. It tells him that I’d rather drown out the rest of the world with fantasy than face reality.

  As the show drones on and he makes no point to keep the conversation going, we settle into silence. Rhett’s head slowly dips back against the chair. I see that stubbled jaw relax and his breaths become slower with every rise and fall of his chest. As I snuggle up on the bed I think that maybe I’ll take a nap too. But then, another thought comes.

  I could just…leave.

  This is my chance.

  I may not get another one of these opportunities again. As much as I feel like Shawn wants me to be safe, he’s always going to do things his way and Rhett and Alexi will always take his word as law. Do I want to go back and see my mom and sister? Should I? If I went back, could I stay elusive enough as to not raise the suspicions of the authorities? If I left, there’s no way I could stay in California. I’d have to find somewhere else to go. Who knows if Shawn will even let me go? What if he decides I’m a liability and I’m not worth the risk? What if he decides I know too much?

  Fuck. My mind is racing now and my heart is hammering away in my chest. If I don’t take this chance, I’d be stupid. I can’t ever trust a man’s word. Not even if they’re the sexiest, richest, most delicious men alive. Shawn’s promises can’t mean anything to me. I’m the expendable one here.

  Slowly I ease off the bed. I go around to grab the bag of cash that I’ve stashed under the mattress and watch to see if Rhett flinches or shows any sign of awareness. Next, I slip the folder of pictures that Shawn gave me into the side pocket.

  I should go back to Mom and Emily. They need this money more than me.

  Carefully, quickly, and stealthily, I maneuver my way towards the door. I can stop at the store and get hair dye, maybe some different clothes. A backpack. All the essentials for my journey.

  Part of me is torn. I know I shouldn’t be, but I think there’s something between me and…each of them. Although I hate to admit it, they’re my kind of people. Rhett and his drugs? Shawn and his cons? Alexi and his dark deeds? They don’t live by normal rules and that’s something I’ll always appreciate finding in this life. At least I know I’m not alone.

  Still, it’s best for me if I go. There’s less danger for me if I leave because I know I can survive on the streets. I don’t know if I can survive here.

  I slide out of a crack in the doorway, making minimal noise. I’m sweating now, praying to whatever god exists in the universe that I can make it out safely.

  And I do. I make my way out of the giant, grandiose hotel with its high vaulted ceilings, angular lines, glossy floors, and posh people glaring at me as they pass me in the hallways. I don’t look that poor, do I? I mean, I’m wearing a Gucci tracksuit and some Nike running shoes. I swear to god I hate rich people. Oh no, a homeless girl! Watch out she has rabies!

  The receptionist looks startled to see me. Fuck. I really hope they don’t know about me. Maybe they’re in cahoots with Shawn? I start to walk faster, giving her a peachy nod, and then I fly out the glass front door. The bellman and a few chauffeurs eye me suspiciously, but I hike my bag up on my shoulder and set off down the street.

  It’s a sunny day. The light hits me and I instantly feel warm again, relaxed by the tingly way California’s sunlight always makes the madness of my mind less distressing. I cannot believe how light I feel with twenty-thousand dollars on my shoulder. I’m nearly floating, the sounds and smells of the city invading my senses, causing my heart to glow with the familiar feeling of freedom.

  I’m not meant to be caged. In a sick way I think I’m a wild beast. I need the freedom of lawlessness, to be without walls. I like to never know what’s coming next. I crave unpredictability. Staying trapped in that hotel room was the equivalent of caging a tiger; no animal could thrive there.

  Across the street, there’s a massive cinema and next to that there’s a Rite Aid. It’s perfect. Rite Aid will have everything I need to shrink back into my old life and it’ll be just like I never left it.

  It’s just like every other store I’ve gone to in the past, but this time, I’m not stealing to get what I want. I don’t even scan for cameras, or locate every employee in the store. I won’t lie, it’s a little liberating not having to go on high alert when I walk into a store. Before I’d have to steal things like tampons, headache medicine, or makeup to barter to others for food and water. I’d mastered stealing small items. Slip it up the sleeve and no one really notices. Take the tampons out of the box and casually slide them down your boot. Or, if you’re feeling especially naughty, slip whatever you need into your bra. It’s these things you adapt to as a vagrant.

  I head straight for the hair dye and grab the blackest black. But as I’m doing this, I notice someone lingering in my peripheral. All the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and through some strange, intuitive force of nature, I know instantly that I’m in danger. I glance up and see a man staring at me. Then I hear a few more swishes of leather behind me.

  “Penelope Windsor,” I hear a gravelly voice behind me, and I spin around to face the devil’s brother, Daniel Young.

  Do I play dumb? How can I make it out of this alive?

  “Oh my gosh! What was your name again, Daniel? Daniel Young? You’re Shawn’s friend right?” I put a fake smile and try not to let the creeping nausea pour the champagne and doughnuts that I had for breakfast all over the floor in front of me. This man is thinner, sly looking, and the scars on his face are similar to James’, making him look like a villain out of a movie.

  “What are you doing out of the hotel, Penny? I thought Van Doren was keeping his new little toy safe?” he asks, condescension saturating his voice.

  “I’m not his toy,” I shiver and smile brightly. “And I’m not staying in a hotel. I just came in for…”

  “Some hair dye?” his oily black brows rise in question, and I hold my breath.

  My heart sinks and I feel it skip a few beats. The air conditioning makes my skin clammy, and I shrug.

  “He wanted something new.”

  “Oh Penny,” Daniel strides closer to me and vines a long arm around my shoulders. “I think we both know what’s going on here and I’d like to offer you a little deal. Let’s be honest, we both know that you’re not who Shawn says you are. And…if you just give us the information we want, we’ll only take a finger,” he says, words bristling like a cold blade against my ear. “As opposed to your life. You want that, don’t you?”

  I swallow tightly, the weight of his arm nearly causing my knees to buckle underneath me. I don’t think the smile has left my face. Maybe that’s just a survival tactic, smile and pretend like everything’s fine because smiling people don’t die, right?

  “Well, I do like my life,” I say simply. “How about you guess who I am and then I’ll tell you if you’re right or not.”

  Daniel grips my shoulder hard, warning me.

  “Listen here, you little bitch. I’ll take you outside right now and choke you until you slowly slip away from yourself. Or maybe one of my guys will s
hoot you, and it’ll be lights out-game over.” He leans in to whisper in my ear, a deadly, ragged voice that turns my blood cold. “My brother needs this deal with Mr. Van Doren, but if he’s going to fuck us over, we’ll fuck him over twice as hard.”

  “It must be difficult living in the shadow of your brother. James is always calling all the shots while you’re the one doing all the work scaring innocent girls. I don’t know who you think I am…but I can tell you this,” I force myself to sound confident, just like all the other times I’ve swindled other homeless bastards or talked my way out of dangerous situations. “I’ve gathered that you guys have some sort of deal going on. All I want is Shawn. I’m no threat to you and whatever operation you have going on. Just let me fuck my man and be on my way.”

  He sighs and hangs his head, chuckles darkly, and then removes his arm.

  “Alright, bitch. Your life or your finger?”

  I have no idea what to do. Would it surprise him if I told him I was a homeless girl Shawn found on the side of the road? It sounds like he thinks I’m working with Shawn and they’re guessing something shady is going on. Well, something is. Shawn’s going to steal all their money. But at least now I know they need what Shawn’s offering, they’re just trying to make sure everything’s legit. If I go with him, I have nothing to tell him except the truth and that could get Shawn, Rhett, and Alexi killed. If I run, they might shoot me before I can escape. Then they’ll know for sure something’s up. Either way, we’re fucked.

  “Like I said, I like my life.”

  I lick my lips and decide.

  “But I like my fingers too.”

  Then I run, adrenaline coursing through every fiber of my body. I sprint faster than I ever have, the image of my blood splattered all over the grimy checkered Rite Aid floors powering every step. I hear the cocking of guns and then the window to my right shatters. I vault myself out the doors and race down the sidewalk. I’m already out of breath. Damn, I need to work out.