Destroy Me (Crystal Gulf Book 1)

by Shana Vanterpool

  “Who saved me?” He looks like he’s asked this question a million times to no avail. “Someone had to. Unless I crawled out of the window on my own. Which I doubt. I passed out from the smoke. I couldn’t have gotten out on my own. I can’t believe I pissed the bed.”

  He really hates pee. I kind of did now, too. “Stop worrying about that. Let’s try to figure out who saved you so you can get out of that shed.”

  He reaches over and touches my cheek with his palm. “Why can’t I pretend you pulled me out of the shed? It kind of feels that way. You saved me, Harley.”

  I feel terrible for doing it, however my memory doesn’t care about my feelings. Dylan said the same thing to me. I saved his life. I saved Bach. I didn’t mean to save anyone. I wonder how someone like me, a girl who didn’t even have her own life together, could save anyone, and then realize that as long as they think I have they acknowledge that they aren’t losing anymore. Who am I to take that from them?

  “You saved me too, Bach.” I kiss his palm and his lips again. “But I’m not the one who ultimately pulled you out of the shed. Who could have done it? Dylan?”

  “No. Why wouldn’t he tell me he did it?”

  “Maybe he didn’t want you to know.” I shrug, although this situation warrants more than a shrug. “Maybe your dad had a change of heart?”

  “No.” His face darkens. “Before you go there neither did my mom. They wanted to get rid of me.”

  I refrain from cringing. “Who else is there? Dylan’s parents, his grandparents?” He shakes his head. “Did you have any neighbors?”

  “Forget about it, Harley.” He’s getting agitated.

  I let it go before I push him too hard. “Thank you for telling me. I know that was hard for you to do.” I want to hold him forever and dream his nightmare so he never has to.

  He looks down at his hands. “I pissed the bed.”

  I grab his chin and lift his head and kiss his lips softly, making sure he’s looking me in the eye. “I’ll buy you a new bed, I promise. You need a new one anyway. How many women have you had sex with in that one? The entire female population of Crystal Gulf has left her stain on it. I want a new bed with you. I deserve one.”

  “You deserve so much more.” The emotion in his eyes closes some of the holes in me.

  “So do you.” I lift off his lap and stand, holding out my hands to him. “Come on, gorgeous. Let’s go buy a bed.”

  Together we shower again. He’s dragging his body for some reason, almost as if telling me his nightmare makes it even more real. I wash his body off, dry him with a fresh towel, and then pick out his clothes. He isn’t himself again until he sees them.

  “Hell no.”

  I smirk at him. “Come on. You’d be so cute.”

  “Where’d you even find those?” He reaches down and picks up the khaki shorts. “They must be Dylan’s. And I bought that shirt to bone the girl selling them. It’s got little puppies on it. Why would I wear that shit? Move.” He covers his nose with his arm and ducks into his closet.

  “What will I wear?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” he calls from within his closet. “I like you naked. You’re hot as hell. Plus I like that apple ass on display.”

  I need a therapist. Burning sheds should not precede a tingle between my legs. Not in anyone’s world. My vagina doesn’t care. It aches for Bach. I strut into the closet and shut the door. “Tell me no or I’ll do it.”

  His towel is at his feet. He looks away from his clothes and over at my naked body and my aching vagina, all of which I know he can’t actually see. It’s dark. But it feels like he can. He drops his jeans with heavy-lidded eyes. “Do it. I need it right now, Harley. I need you.”

  I jump at him and wrap my legs around his waist when he catches me. We fall to the closet floor and tangle together. Skin on skin, sweat smearing sweat, and Bach’s pleas to forget. He’s rougher with me this time. I’m rougher with him, too. His thrusts into me with that same perfect deep intoxicating rhythm. I have a brief gratitude filled moment when I thank all of the women who got him here. Because he’s mine now. I get this. I know I’m offering him an escape and he’s begging me for every second of it. When we’re done, and I’ve fully restored the breath Bach took, I reach over and grab his jeans.

  “Let’s go.”

  His chest rises and falls rapidly. The light from under the closet door seeps in, lighting half of his face. He looks at me with something more than heavy lids this time. “Thank you. I really did need that. I was so afraid that sex with you would be like with every other girl. But that was stupid. Sex with you is sex with you. None of those other girls can touch it. What we have is ours.”

  My heart squeezes. He’s turning me on again. “If you don’t stop I’m going to want what’s ours again.”

  His laugh is warm, sliding across my sweaty body. “You have a healthy appetite.”

  “Do I? Or is it that I can’t get enough of you?” Before Bach I thought sex was exactly what it was. It fit into this perfectly comfortable category. Now it doesn’t fit anywhere. It’s a category all of its own. An aching, dirty want that I need. Crave. Shit. I’m turned on again. I wiggle my eyebrows at him and he laughs.

  “I never thought you’d be the horn dog in this relationship.” He grabs his jeans and gets up, hopping into them. “Come on, babe. Get your horny ass up.”

  “You think I’ll still be like this when I’m ninety?” I tease.

  His hands slide over my body. “I sure hope so.”

  “What about when I’m forty-something, or fifty-something? That ought to be enough.”

  Bach starts to grin, but all of a sudden his smile falls and he lets me go and stumbles back.

  “What’s wrong? What did I say?” I search the walls for a light. When I find it Bach hasn’t moved an inch. Shock weighs his jaw down. He doesn’t appear to be seeing me. “Bach?”

  “Forty-something did it.”

  “What?”

  He shakes his head in stupefaction. “Why didn’t I ever realize it before? That’s why I kept going back there.”

  In a flurry he pulls a shirt on and jumps into a pair of sneakers. I don’t know what to do so I follow him. I find my panties from the night before and my mini skirt. I forgo the corset in exchange for the same white shirt I pulled on earlier. My heels are by the door and my clutch is sitting on the floor near them. I barely make it to Bach’s Corvette in time. The second my door closes he peels away from the beach house and fishtails on the road.

  “Where are we going?”

  He doesn’t answer right away. When he does his voice is rough. “The bar.”

  I sigh and sit back, watching the beach through my side mirror. “Great.”

  “Not to drink. I want to see someone. I’m not sure she even works this early though.”

  Soon he leaves the coast behind and heads inland. The scenery changes dramatically. Dusty streets, unloved houses, and hard stares follow us. Even the air smells different. I roll my window up and cross my legs. When Bach pulls up to a dark hole in the wall bar he leaves the car on.

  “Stay here,” he orders, getting out before I can argue with him.

  I’m not sure I should be arguing with him. His hands shook when he put the car in park. I watch him walk into the bar. When the door closes behind him my leg starts to twitch, bouncing nervously in the front seat. Thankfully he comes out before I can go in. He looks frustrated. His mouth is turned down and his eyes are narrowed in irritation. He gets back into the car and hands me his cell phone. “Punch in this address for me.”

  I comply, opening up his GPS app.

  “Are your knuckles bleeding?” I gape at the cuts on his right hand.

  He shakes it out and pulls back onto the road. “The dickhead with the bat has been asking for it.” He shoots off the address as I quickly punch it into the app.

  “Turn right,” I order. Why bother? Bloody knuckles weren’t even really that weird when it came to Bach. “Where are we going
?”

  “Which way now?” he asks instead.

  “Left.”

  The scenery changes again. We’re coming up on a gray grouping of apartment complexes. Bach pulls in and parks in an uncovered spot.

  “I don’t want you to hear any of this, but I also don’t want to leave you in the car in this neighborhood. Especially not in that.” He nods toward my bare legs. “Just try not to hear too much of what she says.”

  My heels create a sexy feel as we search for the correct apartment, even though I have a feeling there’s nothing sexy about what Bach’s doing. I stick close to him as we pass open apartment doors, the occupants blowing smoke into the air as their eyes slide over me. Bach eventually pauses out front of apartment number C5. He takes a deep breath and then he knocks on the door.

  Then he knocks again.

  And again.

  Knocking harder and getting angrier after each failed attempt.

  “Someone’s going to call the cops.” I try to pull him away but he won’t have it.

  “She’s in there. I know it.”

  Just as he’s about to knock one more time the door handle turns. A frightened, doe-eyed girl answers the door. She can’t be older than eighteen. Her long blond hair is twisted on half of her head and she tightens her robe around her when she notices Bach. The first thing I can think is how incredibly beautiful she is. There’s even a halo of light around her from the sun. She’s the most innocent looking thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

  “Is your mom here?” Bach demands.

  The girl’s eye widen when she sees him. Then she looks down in embarrassment, peeking up at him through her long blond eyelashes. “Hi, Bach.”

  The sound of his name in her sweet voice makes his head snap away from the interior of the apartment and go to her instead. He smiles a little out of politeness. Why is he being polite to her?

  “Hillary, right?” he asks softly.

  She nods meekly. She even swallows. “How did you know where I live?”

  He frowns at her. “I came here for your mom.”

  “My mom? Why?” Her sweet voice is confused, and even a little hurt that he wasn’t here for her. “She’s sleeping. Her shift doesn’t start until seven.”

  “I need to talk to her. Can you wake her up for me? I really need to talk to her.”

  She nods and steps back, sensing his urgency. “Come in.”

  “Thanks,” he mumbles, stepping around her.

  I follow, so damn confused even my confusion is confused. Hillary closes the apartment door softly. “Have a seat. I’ll go and get her. Not my fault if she’s not her usual sweet self. She’s only been a sleep for a few hours.”

  Bach smiles. “I’ll brave it.”

  “Okay … ” she says, her slight southern accent unsure. “But I warned you.”

  Bach sinks down on the worn couch in the living room. I really wish I hadn’t worn my skirt. It looks wrong in this apartment. It’s comfortable and clean, with a lot of happy pictures on the wall of an older woman with tired blue eyes and the girl who answered the door. Her eyes are incredibly familiar. It isn’t until I look at Bach do I realize the resemblance. Her eyes are just as sea green as his. They’re magnificent really. There’s an undeniable sweetness in her eyes that Bach’s will never have.

  I look more closely at him. Who are these people?

  He looks around the apartment. Sweat beads down his temple. I can practically smell the fear coming off his sweat. I reach over and take his hand. He smiles but doesn’t look at me. I have a feeling I don’t want to hear any of this.

  “This better be good,” someone growls.

  Hillary, with Bach’s eyes, comes out and cringes. “Mom!” she hisses.

  An older woman probably in her late forties comes out. She pauses when she reaches the end of the hallway. When she sees Bach, she glances at Hillary with a sick look on her face.

  “You know him?” she asks her.

  Hillary looks down. “Not really.”

  “We’ve never met,” Bach assures her quickly, much to Hillary’s annoyance. Which I don’t think Bach notices. They have met. He just doesn’t remember. “I’m here to talk to you. Maybe she should leave the room?” Bach gives her a pointed look.

  The woman agrees. “Hill, honey, go make us some coffee please?”

  Hillary pouts. She even kind of looks like Bach. Her hair is blond like her mom’s but her eyes, her cheekbones, even her full lips, look like Bach. She looks like Bach. My stomach drops into my heels. In the end she does what she’s told. “Yes, ma’am. Ya’ll want sugar and cream?” She looks at me for some reason, acknowledging me for the first time tonight.

  “Yes please,” I reply.

  Her shoulders are slouched when she disappears through a swinging door. The second she’s gone Bach points at the woman.

  “It was you.”

  The woman sits down in the recliner and crosses her pajama-clad leg. “What was me?”

  “Don’t bullshit me. You’re the one who pulled me out of the shed.” When he notices his shaking hand he pulls it back.

  “I thought you knew. Figured that’s why you’ve been coming to my bar for years but never saying anything to me.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t remember you doing it.”

  She has a tough girl attitude about her that I don’t think is anything but authentic and earned. But for one brief second she drops it for Bach. “You were passed out. I was supposed to meet your daddy in the shed, you know, for aesthetic reasons. Anyway, it was on fire. I knocked on the front door and Tyler answered. When I told him the shed was on fire he said, ‘I know, I set it. It’s a good thing you got one of mine because I’m about to lose one right now.’ Then he laughed. I didn’t understand what he meant until I saw a spilled bowl of cereal on the floor. All I could think about was you, the handsome little boy with my daughter’s eyes. I ran to the shed and broke the glass.” She holds up her arms and points to a long thick rope of scarring. “Had this scar ever since it happened. You were curled up under the workbench with the fire this close to getting you, boy. If I hadn’t come over you’d be a goner. I pushed you out of the window and crawled out myself. I didn’t know what to do. I dragged you under the pecan tree, waited to see if you were still breathing, and then I took off. I didn’t want Tyler anywhere near Hillary. He wasn’t going to hurt her the way he hurt you.”

  Bach is stunned. His mouth is open wide and his eyes fill with tears. The woman hugs herself.

  “You saved me,” he whispers.

  She shrugs. “Anyone would have.”

  He gets up and goes to her. She’s freaked out by him, I can tell, but she opens her arms anyway. Bach falls into them like a child. He’s seven again. Someone pulled him out of that shed and all this time she’s been out there. I wipe my eyes off on his shirt and try to remain as still as possible. When really I want him. I want to comfort him. I want to know he’s comforted the way he deserves to be. But I know this isn’t about me. This happened before me and they understand something I never will.

  “Sorry,” Bach mumbles after a minute. He straightens up and sniffs. “I treated you like shit because I thought you were just another one of his whores. But you weren’t. I’m sorry, Patty.”

  “I was.” She shrugs again. “There’s no use in denying it. The only thing that man ever gave me was Hillary, and I thank him for that, but that’s as far as that goes.”

  “You set him up. You’re the reason he went to prison.”

  She smiles proudly. “I ain’t stupid enough to answer that question, handsome.”

  But Bach knows she did. I know she did. We all know she saved Bach when she saved her daughter.

  However, when her daughter comes back in carrying coffee mugs on a tray she doesn’t look at him the way I would my half-brother. She’s looking at him like he’s perfect and gorgeous and untouchable. The way every girl I’ve ever seen looks at him. She doesn’t know who he is, yet she knows who he is. Bach d
oesn’t remember her, yet he knows who she is. They don’t know what the other doesn’t know.

  I look at Bach as Hillary hands him his coffee. “Thanks,” he says quietly. He’s gentle with her, making sure to hold the cup even though she’s clearly got it. The woman watches them too, her tired blue eyes sharp like an eagle. She doesn’t know either. I have a feeling if she did she wouldn’t be so calm.

  “Thank you,” I tell Hillary when she gets to me.

  She nods politely and then sits on the arm of her mom’s recliner. I take a sip of my coffee, both enraged and terrified. I could be wrong. But I don’t think I am.

  “Why is he here, Mom?” Hillary asks.

  Bach looks down.

  I want to look down too. Instead, I watch Hillary’s face closely, waiting for the hammer to fall.

  “Bach is your half-brother, Hillary. Him and you have the same daddy.”

  She glares at her mom. “What are you talking about?”

  “I kept him hidden from you. I didn’t want you to get to know that side of your family. For your own good,” she insists when Hillary scurries away from her.

  “No,” Hillary says. “You’re lying. My dad’s in prison. You told me he was gone. How could he be my brother?”

  “Do you want a diagram?” her mom grumbles. “Let’s just say I wasn’t always this chaste.”

  Bach smirks, still staring at the ground.

  Hillary’s eyes shoot to him. “Did you know, Bach?”

  He looks up at her. “I’ve known about you since I was a kid. I heard my mom and dad arguing about you. I’ve always known you were out there, Hillary.”

  She puts her hand over her mouth. “You knew?” She looks appalled.

  Bach doesn’t get it. I get it. And when Bach gets it we’re all going to get it.

  “Yeah … I didn’t want you around me for a lot of reasons. Why are you so shocked?”

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  I sigh. I don’t mean to. Bach looks at me. “What, babe?” he asks, knowing I know something.

  “I don’t feel good,” I lie. “Can we go now?”

  He frowns at me. “You sure?”

  “Yeah, I must still be hungover or something. Let’s go.”