Cut (The Devil's Due)

by Tracey Ward

  Josh stands gracefully, his big body closing in on me. Eclipsing the light behind him and trapping me in the hard contours of his shadow.

  “Besides,” he says quietly, his voice dipping low. So low I feel it in my knees that weaken as he advances on me. “There’s nothing I want at MIT more than what’s right here in front of me right now.”

  I close my eyes, pinching my lips together tightly. “Don’t do this.”

  “Why not?”

  “Devo.”

  I feel him step closer. I feel the shadow grow deeper, weighing heavier on me. “Stop using him as an excuse.”

  “He’s not an excuse.”

  “He’s your favorite excuse. You used him three years ago and you’re using him now.”

  I open my eyes to glare up at him defiantly. “You’re nuts. You can’t stay here. I don’t want you here.”

  “You’re lying to me again,” he growls, his eyes going hard with frustration. “You never used to lie to me. Don’t do it again.”

  “Or what? What will you do?”

  “Stay or go. What do you want me to do?”

  “Go,” I snap. “I want you gone.”

  Josh breathes out hard through his nose, like a bull about to charge.

  “Little fucking liar,” he whispers viciously.

  He destroys the meager distance between us. His mouth finds mine, his hands find my hips, and when he jerks my body against his, the hard contour of his desire finds the softening center of my body. I moan into his mouth, unable to keep quiet. The fire on my skin is back, burning under his hands, against his body, and as his tongue touches mine, I feel myself ignite in a blinding flash of want.

  This is the feeling Josh gives me. This buzzing in my blood that feels like boiling. The hum at the center of the universe that keeps the stars in the sky and the oceans alive. This feeling like I’m everything. Every broken, beautiful thing he’s ever wanted.

  He lifts me up to push me back onto the table. I feel his gun brush against my ass. His mug tumbles, sending the rich scent of coffee into the air and warm liquid dripping to the ground. It doesn’t stop him. Nothing could. He’s a man possessed as he kisses me passionately, exploring every inch of my mouth with his tongue.

  “Say you want me, Harlow,” he demands desperately. “Say you fucking want this as much as I do.”

  I close my eyes tight, trying to clear my head. He doesn’t give me a chance. He doesn’t allow a breath without taking it for his own. “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “Don’t, Josh. Please.”

  “You want me to stop?”

  “Stop talking.”

  “Do you want me to stop touching you?” His hands rise up my sides. “Do you want me to leave?” He grips my breasts through the thin fabric of my flannel shirt. “Do you want me to walk out that door right now and never come back?”

  “No.”

  “Then what the fuck do you want, Harlow?”

  I put my arms around his waist, reaching around until I can feel his ass in my palms. I pull him closer, harder against me where I want him the most, looking up at him with open, pleading eyes.

  “I want you to kiss me,” I whisper tremulously.

  Josh pulls at my shirt until the buttons come undone. I’m exposed to the cold air and the hot feel of his palms. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him as close as I can as he cups my bare breasts in his hands, squeezing them crudely. It hurts but I love it. I want it. I want every inch of him against me, inside me, and I claw at his bare back trying to get more of him. All of him.

  “I’d do anything for you,” he grunts, his lips trailing down my throat. “I’d fucking kill for you, Harlow. I’d die for you.”

  “Stop,” I moan. “Stop talking.”

  “Not until you admit it.”

  I let my head fall back as his lips find my chest. The tops of my breasts. I breathe in a deep sigh of satisfaction as he licks a line along my cleavage, his hands pressing my tits tightly together.

  “Say it, baby,” he demands, his breath scalding my skin. “Say you want me. Tell me to stay.”

  I want to. I do. I want to scream it as he drives inside me, but I can’t. He can’t. This is a dangerous game we’re playing in a crowded club with Devo sleeping only a few doors down.

  I realize just how dangerous when I hear boots in the hallway.

  Josh backs away immediately. I jump down from the table, quickly buttoning as many buttons on my shirt as I can before Hyde comes around the corner. I’m breathless as he peeks his head inside the kitchen.

  I turn my back to him, hiding the flush on my cheeks. The hardness of my nipples through my shirt.

  “What’s the hold up on the drink, huh?” he asks casually, looking around the room.

  “I spilled my coffee,” Josh answers evenly, the easiness of his tone impressive considering he was just tongue fucking my tits a second ago. “Harlow was helping me find a rag to clean it up.”

  “I didn’t know there was coffee. Harley, grab me a cup, will you?”

  I nod quickly. “Yeah, of course. Let me clean this up and I’ll bring one right out.”

  “Thanks, honey.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Hyde’s boots echo down the hall as he heads back to his post. I stand with my palms flat against the table, breathing heavily. Josh watches me closely.

  “That can’t happen again,” I hiss. “If he’d seen—”

  “He didn’t.”

  “If he had, you’d be dead. He’d wake up Devo, they’d all kick your ass, and we’d both be on the street. Is that what you want?”

  Josh takes his time answering. He takes so long, I turn to face him, silently demanding an answer.

  “No,” he admits. “That’s not what I want.”

  “That’s the only way this plays out.”

  “Not if you leave him.”

  It’s a simple thing to say. An easy solution to this insane problem, but is it really that easy?

  Not for me it’s not. This club is my world. My family. It’s the life I’ve made for myself and I’m completely terrified of the idea of starting over.

  I may not understand a lot of my emotions, but fear is one I’m very familiar with.

  “I won’t leave him,” I tell Josh firmly. “I love him. I’m gonna marry him someday and I’ll have his babies and I’ll be the Club Mother when Angela dies, and nothing is going to change that, so just go. Go to MIT. Go anywhere but here and forget about me so I can forget about you.”

  Josh’s eyes are angry. Hurt and burning with something so visceral it stings in the back of my throat. “You’re goddamn lying to me again.”

  I throw my arms out in submission. “I wanna fuck you. Is that what you want to hear? I do. I want to fuck you, Josh. You’re hot and you’re good. You’re really, really good, and I’ve been with the same guy for four years, so yeah, I’m tempted by some strange. But when you’re gone, I’ll get over it and so will you. You’ve been pining over me for too long. You’ve got this idea built up in your head of what I am, but I’m not. I’m nothing like the girl you’ve dreamed up so quit with the fucking fairy tale, get real, and get out of town as fast as you can.”

  I don’t wait for him to respond. I don’t give him a chance to. He reaches for me as I dart past him, hurrying out of the kitchen as fast as I can go. He’s smart enough not to chase me. He lets me go. For now.

  Hyde frowns at me as I hurry down the hall toward him. He watches me open the door to the bedroom, moving to disappear inside.

  “Hey,” he whispers loudly. “Where’s my coffee?”

  “Get if yourself!”

  I shut the door hard in his face. I stand with my back against it, my chest heaving with ragged breathes. My eyes burning with hot tears.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Josh

  “The key to a woman’s heart,” Pops intones seriously, “is through her feet.”

  I laugh, tipping to the si
de in my chair. “Her feet?”

  “Her feet. I have years of study to back this up.”

  “I don’t want to hear about your years of foot fetishism.”

  “Uh, uh, uh,” he scolds lightly. “It’s not a fetish. It’s a deep adoration and respect for the beauty of a woman’s foot.”

  “Yeah, whatever you say, Tarantino.”

  Pops frowns. “Who is that? Is that a Latin singer?”

  “No. And gin.” I proudly spread my cards on the tray between us.

  Pops’ frown deepens as he studies them. He quickly shoves them back at me. “That’s not gin.”

  “What?”

  “You said you knew how to play.”

  I gather my cards, crestfallen. “I thought I did.”

  “You don’t. And I’m right. If you want a woman to love you, be good to her feet. Especially when she’s pregnant. At that point, just worship every inch of her. She deserves it.”

  “Where’s all this advice coming from?” I ask distractedly, sorting my cards. “Two minutes ago we were talking about pasta and suddenly you’re giving me the keys to the kingdom telling me how to score with women.”

  He shakes his head in disgust. “I’m not telling you ‘how to score’. I’m telling you how to make a woman fall in love with you.”

  “Oh, right. Okay.”

  “You don’t want my advice?”

  I shrug, discarding a three of spades that’s doing me no damn good. “I mean, I’ll always take free advice but I don’t know what you expect me to do with it.”

  “I’m going to die soon, Josh,” he tells me matter-of-fact. “I’d like to see you and Harlow together before that happens.”

  I freeze, my fingers pinching the glossy edge of a queen of spades. “What are you talking about?”

  “I had hoped I’d live to see great-grandchildren, but I’ve given up on that. I’m not even hoping for a wedding. At this point, I’m waiting for a look.”

  “A look?”

  “The look. The one that says you both get it.”

  Slowly, I push the queen back into my hand, shaking my head. “You’re not dying, Pops.”

  “Like hell I’m not,” he argues, obviously offended. “I’ve got one foot and three toes in the grave.”

  I hang my head. “Just for one visit can we not do this?”

  “You want to lie to each other? The way you and Harlow do?”

  “What is your obsession with me and Harlow?”

  “What’s yours?”

  I look up at him from under my furrowed brow. “She’s my friend. She always has been.”

  “And you’re in love with her,” he tells me, his hard, old eyes shining sharply, daring me to lie to him again.

  I run my hand over my face, dragging my fingers down it tiredly. It’s been over a month since I kissed her in the kitchen and things between us have been strained. We don’t talk about anything important. We’re never alone together. We barely even look at each other. The distance hurts worse than it did the first time. It’s shorter but it’s deeper. It’s harder to handle because I feel like we’re so close to something great but we can’t get over that threshold.

  “Yeah,” I grunt quietly. “I’m in love with her.”

  “Well, let’s hope you’re better at wooing women than playing cards.” He slaps his hand down on the table. “Gin.”

  I have no idea if he’s actually won, but I willingly concede. When I offer to play another hand, he waves me away. He’s already lowering his bed back down. It’s naptime.

  I shuffle the cards once quickly before stuffing them back in the worn, blue and white box. “Can I ask you something, Pops?”

  “You can ask me anything.”

  “Yeah, so can you. That’s why I’m wondering why you never asked.”

  “Asked about what?”

  “My face. When I was bruised, you never said a word about it. Why?”

  Pops looks me over slowly before settling his eyes on mine. “I didn’t ask you about your face because you’d tell me the truth. And I don’t think I’m ready for that truth. Can you understand that feeling, Josh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “When I’m ready for the truth, I’ll ask you for it. Until then, don’t force it on me. Just be there. That’s all you have to do is be there.”

  “I got it.”

  “Do you?”

  “You’re being transparent here, Pops,” I tell him, grinning with amusement at the blunt brush strokes of the picture he’s painting. Subtlety is not his medium. “Don’t give you more truth than you’re ready for and be good to your feet. Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What if, um…” I hesitate, not sure how much to tell him. “What if I already told her a little too much?”

  “How much?”

  “I might have kissed her. And told her I want her.”

  “That’s not so—”

  “To leave Devo,” I finish on a rush. “I told her I want her to leave Devo for me.”

  Pops looks at me with pity. That sucks. “You told her too much too soon.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Is there some sage advice coming or are you just going to keep agreeing with me that I screwed up?”

  “I’m going to keep agreeing with you. I don’t know how to fix what you did.”

  “Perfect,” I mutter. I toss the cards on the nightstand before shoving my hands in my pockets, feeling like a little kid who broke a beautiful vase but there’s no super glue in the house. I want to fix it but it looks like it’s going to stay broken.

  Pops’ eyes soften as he stares up at me. “What did she say?”

  “Uh, that she loves Devo and she’s going to marry him and have his babies and that she’ll forget all about me when I leave this town.” I click my tongue in the back of my throat. “It was pretty brutal.”

  “It’s not true.”

  “Which part?”

  “All of it. She’s pushing you away because she’s scared of you. She doesn’t love easily, Josh. Her dad made sure of that. You can’t flood a girl like Harlow. She’ll willingly drown or swim away. You have to come on her slow, like a river filling in the spring.”

  “That’s surprisingly poetic.”

  Pops gestures to the stack of library books on his other nightstand. “I’ve been reading the shit nonstop. I got sick of Stephen King and his haunted everything.”

  “I get that.”

  “Are you going to remember what I told you? About the river?”

  “Yes. You want me to get her wet.”

  Pops points an annoyed finger at my face. “Watch it. You’re not too old to get a slap in the face.”

  “You want me to take it slow with Harlow,” I chuckle.

  “But not too slow.”

  “No. Never. Perfectly paced. I promise. Any more advice I might need?”

  “Never buy American. It’s patriotic but we build shit. Just look at Ford.”

  I smile, studying the taupe and green pattern on the floor. “I was actually thinking about buying a bike.”

  “Are you getting a newspaper route?”

  “No. I don’t mean a ten speed or something. I mean I’m thinking about buying a used Harley. I’ve got a line on a pretty good old one that someone is selling in Reno. I might go check it out this weekend.”

  Pops is quiet for a long time. I glance up but he’s not looking at me. He’s focused out the window at the road running along the front of the home.

  “Pops?”

  “I want to ask where you’re going to get the money for that,” he says softly, “but I don’t want to know, do I? I’m not ready for that.”

  My heart hammers nervously in my chest. “No. I doubt you are.”

  “Then I don’t know what to say.”

  “Me either.” I run my hand through my hair, pushing it away from my face. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”

 
; “If buying a bike is what you want to do, then I think you should do it.”

  “It was a stupid idea. I wasn’t really serious about it.”

  “Josh.”

  I stop, looking up at him. I hadn’t realized I looked away. “Yeah?”

  “What everyone else thinks doesn’t matter,” he tells me. “It’s what you think that’s important. If you want to buy a bike, buy a bike. If you want to love Harlow, love Harlow. Be honest with yourself first. Everything else will follow after.”

  I grin, nodding my head. “Got it.”

  “Was that sage enough for you?”

  “Yeah,” I chuckle. “That was pretty good.”

  “Good. Now go on, get out of here. Roadshow’s about to start.”

  I lean down to hug him goodbye. “I’ll see you in a couple days, okay?”

  “If I’m not dead, I’ll be here.”

  “For fuck’s sake.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Josh

  Business is booming. With Christmas closing in and the end of the term just days away, kids are freaking out. I’m one of them. Doing business with the Due has taken up more of my time than I expected. I haven’t been paying as much attention to school this term as I should have been. A lot of that is my fault. If Raw and I aren’t working, we’re hanging out. Drinking. Partying. He’s teaching me about bikes, showing me how to work on one, pushing me closer and closer to the decision to buy. The crazy thing is, I can almost afford it. Last month, I was able to pay off the loan the Due gave me, opening up more of my profits for other things like power and water. Milk in my fridge. Heat in my house. I’m actually torn between what to buy first – a bike or a bed. The way I’ve been living lately, I think I’d get more use out of the bike.

  “We going to Ritchie’s tomorrow?” Raw asks, rocking his beer back and forth on the bar. “We’re running low on Adderall.”

  “No, I know. You’re right. We should go in.”

  “Too bad we can’t go now. Shit is dead in here.”

  “‘I’m not a Walgreens’,” I quote, mimicking Ritchie’s slightly slurred speech. “‘If you want an all-night pharmacy, go to Vegas’.”