And then she shuts down. It’s like she’s said what she’s allowed to say, but now she’s done. Not only with me, but with this conversation. She stands before putting out her cigarette then walks from the deck and out onto the sand. “And all this time, you thought you’d taken Eden’s—virginity?” She turns before smirking at me. “Didn’t even know I existed, huh?” Fuck. That chuckle. Eve Of’May O’Malley, and that damn chuckle of hers is going to be the death of me.
I gotta stay on track—I got shit to do.
It only takes me two shakes of a lamb's tail, but once I’ve grabbed the doctored beer and stepped back out onto the deck, I hand her the correct one after screwing the bottle top off in front of her.
“Actually, for some reason, I always assumed we were picking up her son.”
Rigid. She goes rigid still. And pale as a ghost.
“S-son.” Her voice breaks, and as soon as I see her eyes flood with tears for the second time tonight, glistening in the moonlight, my arms circle her waist. And I’m telling myself it’s for the right reasons, to keep her erect. When in fact, we’re all discussing the wrong erection, and I fucking know it. So do you.
After we’re facing the ocean, with her back to my front, I know she’s tense under my hands. I can feel her tensing. She’s ready to fucking run again. “No—there’s no son. Drink that. It’ll help—”
“I don’t drink.” She tries to hand me the ice cold bottle back, but I shake my head.
“No.” My finger tips the beer up when she brings it to her mouth for a swig, forcing her to take a guzzle. “I was a kid, remember? I was just a stupid kid, assuming. Your ma doesn’t have any long lost sons—not that I know of, anyway. Promise.” Once I note she’s drank well past the label of the bottle, I let my cards down from my vest. I set my intentions out next to the circumstance, and my heart, my dead heart—I feel it slowly creep open. As I open my mouth, I speak the truth to her. “I don’t know; I guess that’s why it didn’t click. Well that and you look nothing like neither your mom nor your sister.” I breathe in, deeply, sucking up some of the salt in the air with the lemon and apple scent from the few wisps of her hair that’s fallen out of the bun on top of her head.
And once I have my chin settled on her shoulder, and I feel her body relax next to mine, I get to the root of what the fuck I’m doing here.
This little vagabond’s trust is about as fickle as they come. I open my mouth, and for the first time tonight, I stop holding my tongue. “Had I known then what I know now I’d have ran like hell from you, little vagabond.” I do the same tip of the finger when she brings the bottle back to her lips, and I don’t allow her to stop drinking until she’s drained every last drop.
It hits her fast—as fuck. Much faster than I anticipated. She’s way past tipsy before she can even set the bottle on the deck railing between us and the deck. And I can tell, because even though I’m standing behind her, holding her erect, she still tips forward and stumbles. And I have to catch her. And this time when she chuckles...it isn’t dark and hollow. It doesn’t almost hurt to hear the sound of it. And it isn’t the saddest little laugh, coming from the saddest little girl in the whole wide world. No, it’s a giggle. A full-hearted, healthy fucking giggle.
“And why exactly is that, Mr. Jacques Cain?” Her words slur. “Because if you had any idea how much I wish I could've run. And I should've run. I should have run like hell that day, too. I didn’t mean to fall in love with you, Jacques Cain. I really wish I would've just kept my mouth shut sitting up in that tree. Why do you wish you did?”
“Why do I wish I did? What?” I ask, barely following her. Her eyes are damn near crossed when they land on mine. “Shit,” I mutter, before scooping her up. “Because of who the fuck your pops is kid, that’s fucking why.” And as soon as her weight hits my arms, it’s dead. She’s fucking out like a light.
I shuffle her into my left arm and dig my iPhone from my back pocket. “God fucking dammit, Vagabond. Fuck!” I curse, dialing Dreads. “Hey, man. Dude—how fucking much Versed did you put in that thing? I told you she was a lightweight! She’s fucking out, man.” I glance down at her in my arms and when she smiles, still completely out, that dead fucking chunk of meat in the middle of my chest twitches for the second or third time tonight. And my hand, on its own volition, sweeps the hair that’s fallen loose from her bun and away from around her face.
“Fuck it—change in plans. She’s not breathing. She’s coming with us, Dreads.” I slide my thumb across End on the screen of my phone, grab her pack of cigarettes and lighter, and sling her ass over my shoulder before standing up.
I look out over the sea with Eve Of’May O’Malley slung over my shoulder and sigh. After grabbing her smokes from the deck, I light one and head back across it, then through her bedroom doors, smoke billowing behind me as I carry her inside. After I flop her onto the bed and look over her from head to toe, I pull another strong drag off her cigarette and briefly wonder how she keeps her house smelling so fucking good when she smokes...
And before you even start—before you even fucking ask, yes, she’s breathing. And no, I have no idea why the fuck I just lied to the one guy that’s always had my back. Over nothing.
My eyes scan every square inch of flesh from her head to her little painted pink toes, gobbling up every minute revealed detail.
“Because besides being ‘King’ O’Malley’s kid, she really is no one,” I repeat to myself for the hundredth time since finding out that tidbit of information downtown earlier.
And this time, if it’s you who's assuming, then the fault is yours.
But know this, I keep fucking dibs on my shit—unlike Ben. And when I found out Ilsa’s other kid wasn’t a son, I pulled Dreads into the loop and we talked it out. Keeping Ben out of it. At least until I can get all this shit figured out.
So I’ve known where the hell she’s been. I’ve known who the hell she’s lived with, associated with. I have people. I keep fucking dibs.
Right, I just didn’t make the goddamn connection between Blakeney and O’Malley. Missed that whole fucking flashing neon sign, didn’t I?
I know these two things instantly when I come to the first time. One, I’m strapped, as literally as I can tell you, I am strapped to another human being. And two, that human being is going north of a hundred miles per hour, on a motorcycle, down the longest highway I’ve ever seen.
And then...night night, mothafucka. The lights went out.
***
I know this one thing, and it’s so very briefly before I pass back out the second time I stir awake, God knows how many hours later. I just know my entire fucking body aches.
***
The sun cutting through the dishrag-colored curtains stirs me awake before pulling me from my dreams, and immediately I sit up, bitching. “Why? Holy shit, where am I at? And why?” I don’t even register how groggy I am. I’m still not that awake yet, I guess, as I try to rub the sleep from my eyes and miss because my muscles won’t heed the demands my brain is screaming. “Ty?” I squint through the room, and I swear to Christ, if I weren’t sitting on a king size mattress in some roadside hotel, I would have fallen off it when my blurry vision lands on him across the room, leaning back in a chair.
Jacques fucking Cain. My last few lucid memories filter in with the morning light just as he drapes his left foot over his worn denim-covered right knee. Then his hands settle in what looks like prayer, with his pointer fingers slightly tapping his full bottom lip.
My vision is pretty much clear. Actually, it’s completely clear as I take stock of him. And somehow becoming clearer, despite the glare of sun in my face.
I hate him. I try to talk myself into the thought, then decide fuck all when it doesn’t stick, and then I side with anger. I’m past trying to figure this asshole out. “What have you done, you stupid, asshole? Ty is going to fucking kill you!” I shriek at him, trying my damnedest to get that last point across.
And when his eyes smile, the
y flick down to my lips before looking back up and settling on mine. “I’ve asked myself that exact question, Pipsqueak. A thousand fucking times.” He holds his hands palms forward before letting them fall back together. “No idea. What about you? Do you know why you’re here?”
“Ty’s going to fucking kill you. Like search parties, authorities, the whole nine.” I go to stand up, and before I can even make it to the edge of the bed, my slow moving legs are worrying me. So when I do go to stand up, and they buckle, of course he’s right fucking there. Again! Shit, he’s going to think this keeps happening on purpose!
“Okay, if you keep falling I’m going to get a complex. Shit, girl—you have vertigo or something?”
I snatch, and yes—snatch—my balance back from him before my spine goes rigid. “I’m fine.” I tug down a t-shirt over the hem of some blue jeans of mine that I don’t remember sliding up. “Where are we at? No, fuck that—” I step forward, stabbing his chest with my pointer finger as things begin finally clicking into place. “Who the hell do you think you are?” I step around him and head towards the standard window that tells me we’re in a hotel. And when I’m close enough, I reach for the blind pull and tug, tearing the blinds open. “Taking me from my fucking home?” My voice is past just being raised. I’m actually pretty sure the term shrieking isn’t even efficient enough to describe the new heights my voice climbs as I look between him and outside. “Ty’s gonna kill you,” I whisper, as my heart falls apart. When, tonight? After you’re supposedly off? And you’re late to his house after? That’s when? Oh, good. He’ll be here at two am, then. Good.
“Shit.” This time when the tears well, I don’t quickly blink them away. I don’t sniffle. I don’t try to slowly breathe. I just let them fall. Stream straight down my face before falling away. Right in front of him. “Okay, well. Maybe not today. Ty won’t kill you today. He won’t even know I’m gone—” I hiccup before the gates open and the flood happens.
And I mean, I ugly fucking cry. Hard. Snot. Tears. And I can’t even promise you there isn’t some drool somewhere in the mess that’s happening on my face. But I do know this: My vision isn’t clear anymore. It’s gone right back to blurry.
He’s so silent, and he moves so quickly and even more quietly, that one minute he’s not there and then the very next, he is. And ever so slowly, with his tall, huge presence swollen around me, his hand reaches up before sinking into my hair. He tugs at my ponytail slightly before ripping it from my bun. When the dark locks cascade down my shoulders, I blink up at him, trying to clear away the tears, but it’s useless.
“Shh…” His huge hands push my hair over my shoulders before cupping my face. “Breathe, Pipsqueak. Breathe. Hey—” I close my eyes again, squeezing them as tight as I can, then blink them back open.
Now I can see him. Now I can make out the black and deep navy against the dark blue of his irises. Now I can trace his long lashes around his big beautiful blue eyes with mine.
“We’re just here to talk. I didn’t hear Ty’s end of that conversation. Just bits and pieces of yours.” Wait—What? He must see the confusion on my face because he quickly continues. “At your house. I didn’t know if he was headed over or not. And I wasn’t finished talking to you.” He shrugs his left shoulder before smirking. And I feel it then, I feel it and for the first time recognize it for what it is. I weaken. Towards him, I weaken.
And I don’t weaken. I don’t weaken for anyone. I never have. Nor ever will.
Why him? I wonder for maybe the hundredth time, searching for the answer deeper in his eyes.
“Why who?” His brow furrows but his smirk remains. And if anything, it deepens. My eyes fly to the ground and my mouth falls open. Shit, I said it aloud!
When his hands clench into fists on the sides of my face, I glance from the ground back up to him and my breath stills at the look on his face. “I’m not gonna fucking hurt you, Eve. Now stop already. Stop with whatever it is you’re thinking. We’re—” He points between the two of us, but his hands settle back on my face, cradling it. And he keeps bringing his mouth closer to mine. And to be completely honest, I’m kinda freaking the fuck out here.
As his lips brush mine, and reality and all of her sharpness stings and shit just keeps getting clearer…
“I won’t hurt you, Eve. I promise.” He promises. He promises. But then his lips brush mine and I don’t give a fuck what he does or does not promise. Hell, I forget to hold onto my name.
“Jesus.” I doubt my mutter is even heard; he swallows it up so fast. And Jesus was right. Or Satan. Okay, probably Satan. His mouth feels like a warm heaven, opening up and granting access to my suddenly eager, starving mouth. It’s like I can’t breathe. If it isn’t his breath, it’s like I can’t breathe. I suck the air from his lungs just to prove the point. And when he pulls back, gasping for another breath, I smirk before sliding my arms around his neck and pulling him back down to slant my mouth back over his.
And he kisses. He controls this. I don’t. Actually, I don’t know who the hell I think I’m kidding. And when the thought of what an idiot I must look like causes my movements to falter, I pull away.
“No... No. We’re talking, Eve. Just talking.” His big hands wrap around mine before squeezing. “Just—I can’t. Okay?” He pulls my hands from around his neck and intertwines our fingers, then holds our hands at my sides. “I can’t. Not here. Not with you.”
And I can’t really tell you what his words meant exactly. Because I don’t know. Right after he said them he turned and left the room. And after hearing his bike crank outside, I heard him drive away.
***
It’s dark when I blink my eyes open before glancing around the room. And I’d reach for my phone to check the time, but I don’t have it. Because I’ve been taken against my will, to places unknown, and of that I don’t know what to think.
‘Just—I can’t. Okay? I can’t. Not here. Not with you.’ The last thing Jacques said before leaving me alone in this—I don’t even know where the hell I’m at—creeps through my confused mind.
When I hear a keycard slide into the keycard hole, I sit up slightly in bed, picking my head up from the mattress. And when Jacques strolls in, the room lights up briefly before the door closes and shuts us back in the safety net of the shadows. “Pipsqueak, I saw you. I know you’re up. Now sit up.” The light on the bedside table flips on, and my eyes are instantly met with his. Our faces are no more than a few inches apart. “Mornin’.” He sets a paper bag on the bed next to my face on the pillow. I barely read Burger King and I’m sitting up in the bed, tearing the bag open.
It’s cold. And it’s stale. And it’s gotta be pretty early in the morning to be late enough to still be dark. Meaning there’s no way he just got this. But ask me if I care. Hell no. It doesn’t even enter my mind until I’ve finished the burger and half the stale fries. “Where’d you go?” I mumble around the food in my mouth, and he points at the bag.
“Get you something to eat. Now, eat. Shut the fuck up. And listen.” He grabs the chair from its place beside the table by the window, and sets it dead center of the room and directly in front of me.
After sitting, he slowly unfolds himself and stretches out before leaning back in his seat, and when his eyes settle on mine, he speaks. “Your mom ever talk to you about your dad, Vagabond? Ever? Tell you where he lived, who he ran with...anything?” His eyes narrow on mine when my throat bobbles a few times around the food still lodged in it. And he winks, acknowledging the obvious soft spot he’s found. “Renee ‘King’ O’Malley? Any bells? Any at all? I’ll keep talking. For fuck’s sake, I’m sure you’ve figured that out. Only way to shut me up is to sit on my face. And even then—” I catch him slightly wince, and it piques my interest.
“What was that?” I ask, still talking around my food like a cow mooing around the cud in its mouth. “Oh, come on. Don’t be weird, old man.” I chuckle, noticing when his fidgeting stills. Good. The deflecting is working. Re-direct. Re-dire
ct this shit, now.
“What’s that? Why do you keep saying that shit? No!” He shakes his head back and forth before standing and pacing the length of the room from the front to the bathroom door. “I’m not doing this shit. Look—Dreads’ll be here in half an hour, okay, Pipsqueak? Thirty minutes. Now, start talking straight.” His fists clench until they blanch completely. And when his eyes look up and land on mine, they look like navy blue storms. Brewing. Collecting—what? I don’t know. “Renee O’Malley. What do you know about him?” His jaws tighten, flexing, hands still clenched at his sides. “Speak!”
“Nothing.” I tell him the truth. I tell him what I know. “I’ve never heard of him, ever. I don’t know who my father is. As far as I knew, no one did.” I look into his eyes again, searching for the answer. “Who is he? I mean, is he? M-my father?” I do try and blink the tears away this time. And when that doesn’t work, I swipe my wrist across my face. “Answer me! Is he?”
He just blinks at me for the longest time. And after he inhales a calming breath, he speaks. “Well, it looks like I kidnapped you for nothing, Pipsqueak. You ready to go home?”
“No. No, I’m not. I’m ready for some fucking answers! Who’s 'King'?” I make air quotes. “Renee O’Malley? Who told you he was my father? My mother?” Every milliliter of blood leaves my face at the same time the breath is kicked from my lungs. “You talked to my mother? Is she with your fucking father?” I fly, bitch—please! I fly off my handle. “All your whole goddamn lot of self-righteous bastards! Fuck your whole family, asshole! Why can’t you just leave me and my family the hell alone?” More blinking. I can hardly drag in a breath after that long-winded rant, and this motherfucker right here is as calm as an afternoon delight on Tuesday.
“That’s what I’m trying to do, Eve Of’May O’Malley. Leave. You. The. Fuck. Alone. Now, sit the fuck down.” He does...something. I can’t quite rightly tell you what it is. But one minute I’m standing, and the next I feel my knees buckle before I’m slinking into a chair, which wasn’t just behind me. When I’ve gathered my composure, I realize he just kicked my knee forward a bit before spinning me and sitting me in the chair he was sitting in when this conversation started.
If I Should Die: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel Page 13