Objective: (Bloodlines Book 2)

by Larsen, K.

  “Everyone has to be inspired by their life, otherwise what’s the point?” I countered, slightly taken aback that he had nothing to say.

  “I like you, you say what you mean,” he beamed at me. “I guess graphic design inspires me. I’d really like to study that. I’m good at art.” He sounded timid, like he didn't want anyone to know.

  “So get a degree in graphic design,” I said.

  “It’s not that simple, Cy,” he replied sadly.

  “Why not?” I pushed.

  “That’s not first date material, but let’s leave it at the fact that I don't think any college would take me with my grades, for now.” His tone was slightly clipped so I decided to leave that topic alone for the moment.

  “So, what’s the plan for after dinner? Do I get dessert? Because I really love dessert,” I chirped to change the subject.

  “My girl likes dessert, huh?” he stated more than questioned. His girl. A thrill coursed through me at his choice of words.

  “Your girl?” I questioned, hoping that his answer was everything I wanted it to be.

  “Yeah, Cy, my girl,” he said with a level of finality in his voice that I hoped would never go away. Cane Ash just claimed me as his girl. I had never felt anything as amazing as that moment. I stared at his beautiful caramel eyes, breathing a little heavily at the intense look on his face.

  “O-Okay,” I stuttered. “Your girl does indeed like dessert,” I answered, trying not to show how thrilled I was to be ‘his’ girl. I’d never been anyone’s girl and the feeling of knowing someone thought of me that way was powerful.

  “Dessert it is then, baby girl.” I swear the butterflies that had been in my stomach just fluttered around so fiercely that I thought I might float out of my seat and right to heaven. When we finished eating dinner, Cane paid the bill, grabbed my hand and tugged me out the door. We walked through the park together, still holding hands. It was beautiful out there. The street lamps were on, casting a low glow over the trees and path. Cane’s thumb gently rubbed back and forth over my hand, sending little chills through me intermittently. Just short of the ice cream stand he stopped abruptly, making my steps falter. He tugged my hand, swinging me around to face him. His caramel eyes looked stormy. I liked it. I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth and waited for whatever it was he was going say. His eyes zeroed in on my mouth before snapping back up to my eyes.

  “I might kiss you,” he stated.

  “I might be bad at it,” I countered, smirking.

  “That's not possible,” he whispered. “Have you ever been kissed, Cy?” Those damn butterflies took flight again. His eyes were a clear amber color, so intense and hypnotizing. I tried to remember the question so I could answer it for him.

  “Summer camp, once, but it was just a peck, so I don't count it. Why?” I asked.

  “Because I’m going to kiss you now,” he said as he leaned down towards me. Our eyes met and he dipped his head until our lips were a breath apart. Every fiber of my being was crying out for him to kiss me. When he didn't, I opened my mouth to protest and that's when he claimed my mouth, urgent and giving all at the same time. I melted into him. My knees started to give out so I clung to him. His strong arms held me to his chest. He cupped my face with both hands and stopped, touching his nose to mine. “I like that I can be your first,” he growled. This. Man. Was. Hot. He tilted his head just so, and softly brushed his lips on mine. Electricity shot through my body. I’d never felt so turned on in my life, not that I’d had much experience to go on. This kiss was one that would ruin a person for life. This kiss was everything I’d ever read about in sappy romance books. My body responded immediately to him as he deepened the kiss, opening my mouth to his. It was a foot popping kiss. My arms wrapped around his neck and I pushed up on my tiptoes to gain better purchase. When his tongue leisurely slipped into my mouth I moaned and hoped like hell that I wasn’t a terrible kisser. His hands moved from my face to my hair as he held me close to his body. “I don't ever want this kiss to stop,” I remember thinking, feeling it in my toes. I molded myself against his hard, tall yet lean body as our kiss became more aggressive. Just as I was ready to do anything he asked of me, he stiffened and slowly ended our kiss, pulling back from me. I didn't let him get far. I felt like a starved woman.

  “Slow down, baby girl. We have all the time in the world,” he cooed to me. Suddenly I felt embarrassed at my lack of experience and I knew that my cheeks had reddened. I dropped my arms and my eyes to the ground, feeling foolish. “Hey,” he cupped my chin and tilted it up, “none of that. You didn't do anything wrong. That was the best kiss I’ve ever had but if I didn't stop now, we wouldn't have stopped at all. Are you ready for all, baby girl?” he asked softly. My eyes felt like they were bugging out of my head at his insinuation. I shook my head ‘no’ a few times as he chuckled at me. He brushed the pads of his thumbs over my cheeks gently. “So sweet,” he said, before grabbing my hand and continuing to the ice cream stand for dessert.

  “UP!” a voice booms at me. I sit up with a jolt and lose my balance. My equilibrium is completely off. Tumbling backwards off the bar stool I scream as I anticipate hitting the floor hard. My eyes are squeezed shut as I wait for impact. It doesn't come. Two firm arms, large arms, hold me suspended in the air. I try to focus my eyes more because it looks like I’m staring up at a face, and behind it is ceiling - not wall. I am frozen in his arms. The trembling starts almost immediately. Shame. I feel nothing but shame with his hands on me. My breathing goes next. I can’t seem to capture a full breath. This wall of a man needs to get his damned hands off of me.

  “Hands off!” I rattle out, shaken.

  “Come with me,” the large black linebacker huffs at me as he sets me on my feet. I sway a little and reach out to the bar to steady myself. I feel dirty. I need to scrub myself clean. The urge to do so is overwhelming. I count to ten silently, taking deep breaths as I do.

  “Um, no,” I say, finally finding my voice. A chill goes through my body from the lingering feeling of his hands on me. I haven’t had more than the accidental brush of someone walking past me for human contact in weeks. I don’t want anyone to touch me ever again.

  “If you want the job, then yes.” His voice sounds like sandpaper. Rough and alluring.

  “What?” I huff.

  “If you want the job you just landed then yes, you will come with me,” he snaps, looking thoroughly irritated. What the hell is this dude talking about? I stare at him bewildered and wish for the first time in weeks that I was sober. He motions me to follow him yet again and as I look around the empty bar, since it is a Wednesday at four pm, I decide to follow him. I don’t really have anything to lose in life. He leads me around the corner of the bar and through a set of double doors. The hallway is dimly lit. Wood paneling lines the walls as we make our way to a door at the end of the narrow corridor. I reach out and poke the big guy’s back hesitantly.

  “Uh, what’s happening?” I ask.

  “You must have a real convincing cousin,” he states, saying nothing more. Oh crap, Aster. I totally forgot I called her. I feel around my pockets for my phone but it’s AWOL. Double crap. Big man pushes through the door and holds it open for me to enter. I take a tentative step back inside.

  “You must be Magnolia,” a soft voice says. I survey the room slowly until I land on a woman’s face. She’s sitting behind a softly lit desk peering at her computer screen. The office is minimalistic at best but still somehow warm feeling. The lights are all low and all the furniture has clean lines and is black. There are splashes of turquoise and yellow in all the artwork surrounding her desk. “I’m Penny,” she says. “Sit.” I try to unscrunch my face but it’s all screwed up in confusion. My linebacker escort nudges the small of my back to get me moving. I recoil at the contact and quickly move to the chair across from Penny to avoid any more unnecessary contact. Her short blonde hair is cut in a cute bob and hangs perfectly in place at her jawline. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of
her nose slightly and finally looks to me.

  “You can go now, Brock,” she says while still checking me out. So linebacker dude does have a name. The door shuts softly behind me, leaving Penny and me alone. I wait silently but she says nothing.

  “Uh, I guess I’m at a disadvantage since I have no idea what’s going on,” I start.

  “Yes, it would seem that way, wouldn’t it,” she quips. Okay, not what I expected.

  “Okay.” I try.

  “Listen, clean yourself up. I’ll give you a week to pull it together. If you do that, you have a job. It’s not much. You’ll sling drinks to the tables on our busy nights. Your cousin seems to think you really need this job, and I’m inclined to think she’s right,” she chatters.

  “What did she say?” I urge.

  “She asked where you were and just about blew my eardrums out when I told her. She went on explaining that you recently lost someone important to you and are ‘self-medicating,’ her words not mine,” she explains. “She asked if I would employ you. I feel for you, honey, I really do. I’ve lost people who were important to me. Life’s hard. She said you're twenty-two so you're at least old enough to serve drinks. I said if you could go a week without showing your face in here blitzed, I’d give you a chance,” she finishes rather uneventfully. I’m surprised by the lack of judgment in her expression. She seems to just be a straight shooter. I like that.

  “Um, can I have time to think it over?” I ask.

  “Honey, if you want the job, stay sober for seven days and come back next Wednesday. If you’re here and not drunk off your ass, be prepared to work,” she answers unceremoniously.

  “Right. Okay. So, uh, can I go?” I fumble with my words.

  “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out,” she admonishes while nodding. I push up from the chair, wondering what the hell Aster has gotten me into. I don’t drink that much. Well, I don’t think I do. Maybe it’s true. Maybe I need to slow down a little. But how do I process everything going on inside without drinking myself numb? My hand stills on the doorknob as thoughts swirl through my mind.

  “Do you have my phone?” I ask, remembering that I seem to have misplaced it. I watch her open her desk drawer and fish it out. I walk back to her and take the phone from her outstretched hand, careful not to touch her. “Thanks,” I say.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” she shrugs. I turn and exit her office. The walk back out to the bar seems to take forever. My brain is going nuts with thoughts. I really want a drink. I’ve sort of accepted that my penance in life is to live; it’s to get up every morning that he can’t. I took that away from him and now I have to wake every day and put one foot in front of the other. The guilt drips into my chest through a pinhole, slowly drowning me. I want to go to sleep and not wake up. I want to drink myself into a stupor and not deal. I’m trying my best to get it together somehow, but I’m unraveling, searching for something that doesn't exist anymore. Screw you, Aster, for being so clever.

  I pass the bar, resolving to not stop for the drink I so desperately need. I can always have one at home anyways. “Bye, Brock,” I mumble arrogantly as I pass him. He smirks at me. He’s handsome, with adorable crinkles around his eyes when he smiles. Tugging my keys from my pocket I unlock the car door and plop down into the driver’s seat. What else can I do to keep my mind from him? A job would be good but can I actually commit to that? Jesus, there’s too much to think about. I suck in a deep breath and put the car in reverse to head home. I don't know how I’m supposed to feel right now.

  A cloud of dust follows the car into the parking space. I fold out of the car lazily, walk into the trailer and look around. I really need to make this more livable. It’s depressing and mostly empty. Tomorrow, I’ll get up and hit a Walmart or Target. I sit on the floor and stare at the thread-worn carpet. My chest aches constantly for him. The loneliness consumes me. I don’t recognize myself in the mirror anymore. I don’t know who I am without him. I don't know how to be a whole person under the weight of my guilt. I feel like some kind of Frankenstein waiting for a shock to bring me back to life. The pain of that day is magnified by the events that happened before he came home. Why couldn't he have come home when he was supposed to? Why did he have to make that last run for Ezra? The tornado of questions brings tears to my eyes. I drag myself off the floor and push the door open, stumbling out into the Arkansas sun and fresh air. I collapse to my knees and stare at the dirt. Dirt. I hate dirt. I want flowers. I want grass. I want home. My stomach rolls and I throw up into the dry, brown dirt. If I can't have him back I just want what he took from me returned - my heart.

  “You alright?” a husky rough voice asks. I snap my head up and wipe the drool away with my forearm.

  “Just peachy,” I answer flatly. The gruff but handsome man throws his arms up in the air in mock surrender. My embarrassment crawls up my neck and face in the form of scarlet red. I adjust myself so that I’m sitting on my butt instead of my hands and knees and stare at him.

  “I’m Magnolia. I guess we’re neighbors but I don’t like people,” I blurt. I just need him to go away.

  “Good to know. Have a great day, Magnolia,” he smirks and disappears beyond the next trailer. Well that went well. He didn't even tell me his name. He also didn't seem to give a shit that I was surly and rude. Arkansas is full of strange people, people who apparently are just like me, just want to be left alone. I lie back, letting my hair splay out in the dirt and stare up at the cloudless afternoon sky. I can’t live like this. I don't know what to do. No one from a normal family, who lived a normal life, can sustain this life. A white streak from a jet is drawn across the sky. I stare at it, unblinking, lost in my thoughts.

  Chapter 5

  “In this world, not everything will be won by justice. If you want to win, you have to learn how to cheat.”-Ai Yazawa

  I have no idea how long I laid there on the dusty ground, but at some point after the sun had gone down I steeled myself from the swirling emotions inside myself and tucked them all away in a box in my mind. No more. I jumped in the car in search of the closest mall. Doing normal everyday things seemed to help distract me, if only momentarily. Every time I wondered what we would be doing right now if things were different, I pinched myself, hard. Every time I felt tears pricking my eyes at my grief, I dug my nails into my skin, hard. Every time I felt the disgust of Ezra touching me, the shamefulness, I grabbed a few hairs and pulled them out with a painful tug. I spent more than I thought I would, but there while shopping around I saw a couch at Crate and Barrel that I fell in love with. It seemed stupid to feel something over a couch but when I saw it I could envision myself on it feeling content. I immediately bought it. It’s going to be delivered Friday and I can’t wait. I got the essential housewares that I was lacking. A bed, linens, kitchenware and a few other things to make the place look like a place I might actually want to be in. I got a little outdoor end table and some AstroTurf stuff to give the illusion of a lawn for my little patio area. I also picked up some really awful, tacky lawn ornaments for the outside of my trailer, and lights for the cheap awning. I don’t want to stand out, at least not from the outside. The electronics shop was playing national news stories on the plethora of TVs while I was looking for one. Ezra’s face flashed across the screen. The news ticker at the bottom scrolled his quote: “If the police won't find the person who shot my nephew, I will.” In a rush I purchased a TV and hauled ass out of the store. My grief...my grief has started to transform. It’s become something more...volatile. Ezra is coming for me. I need a security system. I’ve been stupid to think that he wouldn't come looking for me. I’ve been stupid to think that maybe he already hasn't been looking for me. Adapt or die. Cane had said that to me once and now it seems like the best advice I’d ever received. I turn the radio on low while unloading all my purchases into the trailer and unpacking, so to speak. When I’m finished I plop down on the floor with my new blankets. I stare at the bottle of Bourbon on my counter. A little won'
t hurt. Things will just be better. I get up, grab a glass and clutch the bottle in my free hand. I can’t pour it though. I unscrew the top and turn it upside down in the sink, watching the liquid swirl and gurgle down the drain. When the last drop is gone I feel angry. I shouldn’t need it. I shouldn’t want it. I never was a drinker really. But so much has changed. Everything is different. In a fit of rage I crush the bottle into the sink and watch as it shatters. Little crystal-like pieces of glass explode into the sink and my hand. Not caring about the mess, I stalk to the couch and lay down. I’m so emotionally exhausted that it doesn't take long to find sleep.

  “So, how do you feel about motorcycles, baby girl?” he whispered in my ear as we exited school for the day.

  “I don’t,” I breathed, waiting for him to nip my earlobe like he always did.

  “You don't?” he asked and pulled away.

  “I’ve never been on one, no one I know has one... I don't feel anything about them I guess,” I explained as he wound his fingers through mine.

  “Let’s change that today.” He smirked. He had a lone dimple that popped out when his smile reached his eyes.

  “Um, okay?” I said hesitantly.

  “Perfect,” he said and nipped my earlobe. “I can’t wait to have you wrapped around me.” His gruff voice in my ear instantly made me blush. “So sweet,” he laughed, tugging me through the parking lot.

  “Bike’s at home. I’ll drop you at your house then pick you up,” he said as his beat up truck bounced over every pothole in the road.

  “That’s silly, let’s just drop your truck at your house and leave from there,” I offered. He still hadn't let me come over to his house. I still hadn't met his uncle. I knew that his parents were gone and that his dad’s youngest brother had been raising him even though he wasn’t that much older than we were.