The Redemption of Nixon Thorne

by T Steele

“Alright, fuckface.”

  Ella and Waverly snicker, eyes ping-ponging back and forth watching me and Jake’s shit show.

  “Aw, that’s my favorite nickname. Thanks, Hunny,” he says with a wink.

  I smirk before turning to Ella. “Will you be okay?” I ask her, keeping my voice low.

  “Yes.” She smiles.

  I nod, giving her a kiss that started off innocently enough but turned into something more heated. When I pull away, Ella’s cheeks are rosy red, and her eyes are heavy-lidded. I grin, pride filling me at the effect I have on her and now that I’ve marked my territory, everyone here should know that she’s fucking mine.

  I walk up to the stage like I own the place, because I kinda do. When I fight, it’s the only time I ever feel this confident, the only time I feel like myself. Like I don’t have to hide and put up a front. I understand it. I am the ring, and the ring is me.

  Normally, Jake would be up here with me, getting me water, hyping me up, but I made him stay with Ella. I hear the murmur in the crowd wondering why I’m alone, and I make sure the expression on my face is as cold and hard as when I think about anything to do with my father. Let them think I do this all on my own. Hell, let them think I murdered Jake or something equally stupid. There have been worse rumors about me.

  The announcer's voice booms, calling out “The Annihilator” and “Rhett Johnson”. Ah, another one who uses his real name. The guy isn’t as tall as me, but he’s definitely got some bulk to him, but I have no doubt that I can take him down. Because I have to. Ella is depending on me, even if she says she won't take my money, I’ll make her if I have to if it will help keep her safe.

  The fight begins. I smile at the fucker, baring my teeth, egging him on. He eyes my piercings, and I know they’re glinting in the light, probably looking extra grabbable to him. I even cock my head to the side, making sure he knows that I’m onto what he’s thinking. His eye twitches, but other than that, he shows no other signs of anger.

  When he steps forward and goes to take a swing, I think to myself, Finally! Now the real fight can begin.

  I duck and come back up with an uppercut. He grunts, but he doesn’t go down. I raise an eyebrow. He’s stronger than I thought, but I like that there’s a challenge for once. My heartbeat speeds up, but a calmness settles over me. I lose myself in the fight.

  Ten minutes later, I’m announced the winner, and the guy beneath me lies in a bruised and bloodied heap.

  I glance at Ella, and she’s staring at me with an intensity that hits me straight in the cock. She’s turned on. I don’t know if it was watching me fight or what, but whatever the reason, I’m going to fucking ravage her body until she forgets her own name.

  I clench my jaw tight and make my way toward her. I have tunnel vision, and it’s leading me straight to her. When I reach her, I grab her hand and make a beeline for the parking lot next to the skate park.

  “Bye!” Ella calls out over the crowd to Jake and Waverly. I nod my head in their general direction, but I keep up my brisk pace.

  No one stops us. We make it to my truck, but before we can get in, I push her against the door and shove my tongue into her mouth. I’m sweaty, and my knuckles are still bloody, but I don’t think Ella seems to mind, laying my worries to rest about what I’m doing for a living. She tugs at my back, likely leaving little indents to my skin, considering I didn’t even pause to put a shirt back on before bringing her out here. I shove my hips into hers so that she can feel just how badly I want her, too.

  She moans into my mouth, and I know I’ve got to get her home, or at least somewhere that’s not here.

  “This place is a little too public to be acting like that, isn’t it?” The nasally voice has me whipping around, standing protectively in front of Ella.

  It’s fucking Tackett.

  He’s pulled up beside my truck, looking at us from a barely rolled down window.

  Coward.

  My heart freezes before dropping into my stomach like a sharp, pointy icicle. He can’t fucking be here right now. Not when Ella is finally starting to feel safer, more confident. Not now, when seeing him will likely cause all Ella’s nightmares to come barreling back.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” My voice is so venomous that it doesn’t sound like my own. I feel hot and cold all over.

  I’ve pressed Ella completely into the car, blocking her with my body so he can’t see her, but she’s still trembling.

  He pulls out an old Polaroid camera and snaps a picture in answer, before driving away. He doesn’t squeal tires, just drives away as if on a Sunday drive. And that’s almost scarier than the actual encounter. He has no fear. He’s getting bolder.

  I turn around, quickly opening my door and getting inside, pulling Ella in with me. I place her on my lap and hold her tightly.

  Now, we’re both trembling.

  And that’s when we notice a box sitting in the center console.

  Chapter 21

  Ella

  He’s here. He’s come for me. I’d always wondered if he would, and now my worst nightmare has come true. And he’s left something for me once more.

  The weight of Nixon’s arms surrounding me is a comfort. His warm body cocooning mine while he holds me protectively in his lap makes me feel safe. I had only felt numbness before. But now that it’s ebbing, my limbs are trembling and my heart is cracking. I hate living in fear. And of course, this would happen now that I was finally starting to feel at home here. Now that I finally found someone like Nixon, who understands me.

  “Do you want to open it?” Nixon asks gruffly, and I know he’s trying to control the anger in his tone, but I don’t blame him. I’m angry too, and I feel guilty for dragging him into this.

  “We might as well,” I say cautiously, not knowing what could be in here, and wondering how he knew we would be here tonight. How long has he been tracking us? Tracking me?

  Nixon gently shakes the box with one hand, and when it sounds as if it’s just paper sliding around in there—or worse, pictures—he forcefully rips it open. I was correct—they are pictures, but they’re facing down, and I’m too afraid to flip them over to see what I’ll find.

  I bow my head, my hair falling forward, acting as a shield, so I don’t have to look at Nixon. If these are the pictures he took of me so long ago, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  Nixon cradles my head to his bare chest against his racing heart. “We don’t have to look at them if you don’t want to,” he says softly.

  “I have to see them,” I reply truthfully.

  I feel the stubble on Nixon’s face rub against the top of my head as he nods in understanding.

  I pick up one of the pictures slowly. There were about fifteen in total. When I flip it around, I’m not at all prepared for what I see. Nixon and I gasp at the same time, and I drop the photograph like it’s a hot plate.

  It’s not the pictures of me. It’s a different girl with red hair.

  And she’s tied up, bound to a bed.

  Obviously alarmed by this new revelation, I frantically dump the rest of the contents of the box out and find many other girls tied up. All of them in intricate bindings, made out of what looks like fisherman's rope.

  “What the fuck,” Nixon breathes, just as stunned as I am.

  We stare at each other, shocked, not knowing how to react to this. I knew Tackett was fucked up in the head, but I didn’t know just how bad it was, and then there's the piece of paper among the photos that I have yet to read. I pick it up with a trembling hand.

  Sweet Ella Black,

  Meet my friends. They loved letting me take their pictures, just as you did, and I can’t wait to do this with you. I wonder which position you will like best? I am anxiously waiting to see.

  Meet me here tonight, and we can pick up where we left off all those years ago.

  1943 N. Front St.

  Love,

  A Friend

  “We have to leave,” Nixon says urgently, his voice so
low and deep that I feel the vibration reverberate through his chest and into me. He’s unable to conceal the rage in his tone.

  “Why is he doing this?” I ask, my voice hysterical. Nixon’s arms tighten their hold on me, and I sigh. “Where would we go?” I ask, defeated, yet just as urgent as he is.

  Tackett has upped the ante. If those photographs were any indication, he has violent intentions.

  “I think we should go somewhere far away from here and lay low. He’s only here lecturing for the week. Maybe if he thinks you skipped town, he’ll leave, and we can come back and regroup.”

  He doesn’t sound like he believes that, but we’re both getting desperate.

  What had Nixon said earlier? He’s not going to leave you alone. He knows where you are now, Ella.

  “Where would we go?” I ask, because I’ll play along for now. I know he wants me safe. I want me safe, too, but I don’t know if we can run from this.

  His rough hands stroke my hair, and his chin nuzzles the top of my head, his scruff getting tangled into the wavy strands.

  “I think we should go to another state entirely.”

  “I can’t do that to you!” My voice breaks. “I’m wrecking your entire life. You shouldn’t have to be dragged into my mess.”

  Tears clog my throat, and there's a sharp pain in my chest as my breaths start coming out in short bursts.

  Nixon cups my face, tilting my chin back, urging me to look him in the eye. “Hey,” he says, in a tone I've only ever heard him use with me and no one else. “Where you go, I go. We’re in this together, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting you out of my sight, okay?” he says all this fiercely, kissing my lips. “And you’re not wrecking my life, you’re only making it better.”

  I frown up at him. “Are you sure? I feel like a burden to you,” I tell him truthfully.

  “Never,” he whispers, bringing his forehead against mine. “But I do think we should skip town. Basically, go anywhere that’s not Oregon. How could he reach you if you’re in another state?” Nixon says with a shrug. “It’s the best plan I can think of for now, unless you’ve got any?”

  “I—” I start, not knowing how to respond. He’s right. It would be hard for Tackett to track me out of state. He wouldn’t be able to find me, but I’m a broke college student. Sure, I have two part-time jobs, but that hardly covers anything outside of my phone bill and food. Definitely not enough to leave for however long we needed. And again, the guilt creeps in. How can I expect Nixon to just up and leave at the drop of a hat?

  “I’ll take care of everything,” Nixon says.

  “You’re sure you wouldn’t mind spending your money on that?” I ask timidly. “It makes me feel uncomfortable. I still don’t like the fact that this is disrupting your life, and now you’re planning on spending your hard-earned cash all because of me…”

  “Fuck no, I don’t mind. Not when your safety is at stake.” His thumbs slide back and forth over my cheekbones, eyes imploring, almost like he’s begging for me to understand. “We could always go back to the police, now that we have more evidence…” he trails off as if that plan is a last-ditch effort. As if he already knows the police won’t do anything. Besides, if we went to the police with this now, there’s no way Tackett wouldn’t do the same in return: snitching on Nixon.

  “No, we can’t go back to the police. He’ll turn in your pictures and I will not let you take the fall for that. And he would definitely do that to you, and who knows what else he has up his sleeve?” Even I heard the urgency and hysteria in my own voice and my movements are jerky like I’m falling apart. And I guess I kinda am. “We can figure something else out, right?” I whisper.

  “Leaving,” he says. And though his tone is gentle, it’s also firm. Booking no room for arguments.

  I sigh, terrified and clueless as to what we’re supposed to do. Is this our only option? Is it the best one?

  “Would…” he hesitates, his gaze sliding away from mine a moment. When he meets mine again, his steel-blue eyes are filled with some emotion I can't quite decipher. “Would you not do the same for me?” he asks.

  I feel the breath leave my lungs. He played his cards right because yes, I most definitely would do anything to keep him safe.

  My shoulders slump. “Yes,” I whisper. “Of course, I would.”

  I burrow into him more, thankful for his comfort beside me. “I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here with me,” I tell him, voice cracking.

  He squeezes me tighter. “We’ll skip town for now. We’ll come back next week after he leaves. And then…” he trails off.

  I nod, understanding that we’ll have to play it day by day. “And then we'll figure something else out,” I say.

  He nods, bringing my head to his chest once more.

  There’s still a small part of me that wonders if he’s telling the truth. Does he really care about me this much? Or is he just doing this because he feels obligated because of what happened back then?

  You can’t think like that, I chastise myself.

  Yes, he lied before, but he’s been incredibly sweet and protective ever since. He would have no reason to lie now, right?

  We head back to Nixon’s apartment in silence, the weight of what just happened hanging over us like a giant gray cloud.

  When we pull into the parking lot, he turns off the ignition, and we simply sit in silence for a moment.

  Finally, I ask, “What are we going to do? Where are we going to go?”

  “Where do you want to go?” he asks. “Whatever you decide, I’ll be good with that.”

  “No, we should make this decision together. After all, he’s threatened you, too.”

  “We could go to Montana, take a mini-vacation?” He phrases it like a question.

  “Will it really be a vacation if we’re just running away from our problems?” I ask quietly.

  “Yes, because I’ll make it be. You deserve to get away for a bit, and then Tackett will have no idea where you went.”

  “And you think this is the best idea?” I reiterate, needing to make sure he’s one hundred percent for this plan.

  “No, but it’s all I’ve got at the moment. And…” he hesitates before continuing. “I didn’t realize the reach he has. I haven’t heard anything about him for years, but the fucker’s clearly been busy. And I don’t think the cops can do anything with the notes now unless there are fingerprints, but I don’t think he’s dumb enough to leave any evidence.”

  “He wouldn’t,” I agree angrily. Thinking back to what that cop had said: “If you’re threatened or have a suspect, then we can make a report.” But would they even believe me at this point? And how is them writing a stupid report going to help with anything now?

  “Plus, if we went back to them now, he would definitely turn your underground fighting pictures in. I can’t let you take the fall for that.” My voice sounds hysterical. “I can’t let anything happen to you!”

  Nixon stares at me sadly. “I could say the same thing about you, little fox.” He places his hand on my thigh, rubbing soothing circles. “Come on, let’s go pack.”

  ***

  We packed hurriedly while we’d discussed our plans of where we’ll go, and agreed to go to Montana. Nixon had found a private cabin online on the edge of Flathead Lake, near the Rocky Mountains, out in the middle of nowhere. It was the perfect place to go off the grid, so Nixon rented it for us. Despite my continued protests to let me help pay, he’d insisted on taking care of everything.

  I’d sent off a quick email to all of my professors, and I’m sure they were shocked when they received my email saying I was horribly sick and would be out the remainder of the week. Then, less than two hours after our encounter with Tackett in the parking lot, we were off.

  The ride to Montanna is ten hours and thirty-five minutes long, to be exact. My butt and legs are numb, and we’ve only stopped a few times for bathroom breaks and fast food. Cruising down the highway, I know it won’t
be long now until we reach our destination. I rest my head on the passenger seat as Nixon drives. Rolling down the window, I let my hand float outside of it, finding comfort in the soft autumn breeze. This “getaway” doesn’t seem real, and I find that I’ve gone numb—like I’m just going through the motions. We are officially on the run. Running from our problems and Tackett. Running for our safety.

  Pieces of unreality creep in, making me feel overwhelmed. Fear is something I’m used to, but now it’s as if the terror lives deep in my bones. Like it’s all that I’m made of now, and I wonder if I’ll actually ever be able to slay it.

  I don’t know what the end game is here, but I don’t really feel like we have many options, either. It’s such an awful feeling, having your choices taken away. I just know that the further away from Oregon we get, the safer I feel. My curiosity and wanderlust are at least being fulfilled as we pass beautiful scenery.

  We’ve both been tense, but we’re trying. Trying for each other. Although I do miss the banter we’d had just days ago when we were more carefree. But since leaving for this trip, I’ve come to realize that I’m so attached to Nixon’s presence now. I’m falling harder and harder for him. The fact that he left the state with me at the drop of a hat shows me he really cares and it makes me wonder how I ever lived without him. The thought both thrills and terrifies me. I’ve been on my own for so long that I’m not used to having someone so quickly come to my rescue.

  Because that’s what he’s done twice now. I’m just hoping that I can return the favor. I’ve never opened up to anyone like this and I’m still learning, but I hope to show Nixon just how much him having my back means to me. I still feel guilty about him taking care of everything, and I vowed that I would pay him back one day. Even though he keeps turning me down, I still plan to.

  When we finally arrive at the cabin, I am speechless.

  The cabin is not the simple, backwoods cabin I’m expecting—the pictures I had seen online when I picked it out hadn’t done it justice. No, it’s huge, rustic elegance, like a picture-perfect postcard. Tall, with a stone chimney peak and the triangular windows and a balcony overlooking the mountains of Flathead Lake. A long gravel driveway leads up to a two-car garage, and we’re surrounded by nothing but trees. This is one of the best things about the location—it’s completely secluded.