Sweet Destruction

by Paige Weaver

  And I did hate her. I hated the way she made me feel. How she smelled, how she walked, how she smiled with her eyes. I hated that I would do anything for her, including going to jail.

  When I came home from juvie after that motel and drug incident, I knew Sam would be my destruction. I would never forget watching as my father raised his hand, almost hitting her. I felt rage burst in me, exploding from within. I was willing to hurt for her, take a beating for her, put down my life for her, and that made me madder than hell. Who was I to want to save her?

  I was no one.

  So what did I do? I treated her like crap, told her I hated her, and hoped she left me alone. It was the only thing I knew to do. She didn’t need to be around someone like me, a disaster waiting to happen.

  But tonight the alcohol had me not thinking straight.

  I sauntered over to her, wanting to appear cool and indifferent. “What are you doing here?” I asked, keeping my distance.

  Sam swung around. Anger flared in her beautiful green eyes as soon as they landed on me. “I’m looking for my brother. Seen him?”

  “Nope,” I said, telling her the truth. “Not since this morning.”

  Doubt crossed Sam’s face. I wanted to tell her that I might be a lowlife but I would never lie to her. I kept my mouth shut instead.

  She turned to go and I wanted to say adios but something stopped me. I saw just the tiniest flicker of sadness in her eyes. Shit, she was upset.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, taking a step toward her.

  She glanced at me then wrinkled her nose. I probably smelled like the inside of a bottle. The thought hit me in the chest, reminding me that I was my dad’s son.

  “Nothing, Cole. I gotta go,” she said, turning away.

  “Lying doesn’t look good on you, Sam,” I blurted out, unable to stop myself.

  She turned back around, revulsion on her face. It made me livid. As Sam got older she tended to look down her nose at me more and more, avoiding me like I was contagious. It was just another drop in the hate-Walker-bucket.

  Sam took a fast step toward me, bringing her closer to my chest. “And drunk doesn’t look good on you, Cole.”

  Hell, she had spirit.

  I gritted my teeth and fought the urge to wrap my hands around her neck. Or better yet wrap my arms around her body, feel what she hid beneath that faded shirt and worn-out jeans. The thought that I could if I wanted to, scared me worse than anything else.

  “You know the way home, Sam,” I said, sounding meaner than I wanted to. “Why don’t you follow it?”

  She stared at me, seeing deep inside my soul. Somewhere I didn’t want her to see. Without warning her voice became soft, hitting me smack dab in the solar plexus.

  “I don’t have time for this, Walker,” she said. “I need a ride. Do you think someone around here can give me one?”

  She was asking for help? From me? I held back a smirk.

  “Why do you need a ride?” I asked, cocking my head to one side and fighting the twitching of my lips to curve upward.

  “I heard my dad’s in town. I think he’s staying at a motel not far from here. I … I wanted to go see him,” she said, sounding almost ashamed.

  I scoffed and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Sam, that ain’t your daddy. Bentley heard the same thing and said it was bullshit.”

  She shook her head in denial. “It’s him, Walker. I just know it.”

  I rested my hand on the doorframe above her, studying her closely. Her full lips were open slightly, her face scrubbed of all makeup. Freckles danced across her cheekbones and nose – little dots of brown that I had stared at my whole life. Her scent wrapped around me, calming my senses and driving me crazy at the same time.

  She stood up straighter, determined. “I’m going, Cole, with or without Bentley.”

  I’d known her a long time. She was stubborn. Damn stubborn. I knew she would find a ride, one way or another.

  “Well, good luck sweetheart,” I said, feeling a twinge of guilt for being a jerk.

  Hardness came over Sam’s eyes. “Thanks for nothing, Walker,” she said, sounding like a spoiled brat as she turned away.

  “You’re welcome!” I called after her, watching as she walked down the porch steps. “Anytime!”

  Telling myself it wasn’t my problem, I started to close the door. I was too drunk to drive her anywhere and too drunk to care if she ran off to god-knows-where and got herself into god-knows what kind of trouble. It wasn’t my concern. I really didn’t care.

  But I did.

  I watched her head for the street. She tried to hide her despair but it wrapped around her like an old jacket. Even in my drunken state, I recognized it because I wore it all the time myself.

  “Shit,” I muttered under my breath, knowing I couldn’t let her walk away. Bentley would kill me. And I would kill myself if anything happened to her.

  I stumbled down the porch steps and jogged across the front yard. Sam glanced over her shoulder, her eyes widening when she saw me.

  “Hold on,” I called out, catching up to her.

  She didn’t stop. In fact, I think the little witch started walking faster. Guess I deserved that.

  When I was close enough, I grabbed her wrist. Her skin felt smooth in my hand, like the softest silk that only the über rich could afford. I wanted to run my fingers over it, pull her toward me, wrap my arms around her and never let go.

  But I didn’t. My grip tightened on her wrist, making her wince. The delicate bones were small in my hand, too tiny for a girl that had more guts than glory.

  I let go of her, disgusted at what I was feeling. A scowl crossed my face, directed more at myself than her.

  Sam took a step back but didn’t look afraid. Good. I liked sparring with her. Hell, I wanted to have a drag-down fight with her. Anything to get her beneath me.

  “What do you want, Walker?” she asked, sounding bored. She was the only girl I knew who didn’t beg for my attention. Maybe that’s what made her so appealing.

  And frustrating.

  I tried not to notice how she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear or how her shirt raised just enough to see the bare skin of her waist. I wasn’t much on talking but when she opened her mouth, I couldn’t wait to see what she said next.

  “Why do you think it’s him?” I asked, jutting my chin out.

  Sam sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Because I overheard my mom talking to someone on the phone about my dad. Then she said something about meeting up at the Tiger Lily Inn.”

  I scoffed. “I hate to tell you but that doesn’t mean shit. She could be meeting one of her old fuck buddies.”

  She grimaced at my words but I didn’t care. She was naïve if she didn’t know her mom was a whore. Hell, her mother had even made a pass at me.

  Sam opened her sweetly shaped mouth to say something else but then clamped it shut. Crossing her arms over her chest, she watched absently as a black SUV drove by. Her shirt rose just enough, exposing her waist again. I swear my dick was going to pop my jeans open if she didn’t stop flashing me with her bare skin.

  She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I have to check it out, Cole.”

  I watched the taillights of the SUV as it drove away, a funny feeling in my gut. It pulled over to the curb of someone’s house and stopped. Something about the vehicle bothered me, but I didn’t know why. Must be the alcohol messing with my mind.

  I concentrated on Sam again, blinking her into focus. “And what if it’s your daddy. What are you going to say? ‘Hey, Dad. I’m the daughter you left behind with an addict for a mother? Thanks so much for that. Love ya.’”

  “Yeah, something like that,” Sam snapped, her eyes growing cold.

  A swift wind blew against us, cool and wet. Rain threatened, bringing humidity and a chill in the air. Sam started shivering, the shirt she wore not protecting her from the dropping nighttime temperatures.

  I took a step closer t
o her, wanting to warm her up. Damn, I must be wasted if I was thinking that shit. I decided to goad her more instead. It was what I did. What I was good at.

  “And what if it’s not your dad? You gonna cry and bawl like a baby?” I asked, knowing full well that Sam didn’t cry. If nothing else, she was a hard ass. Something I especially liked about her.

  “At least I can hope it’s him. Is that so bad?” she asked, drawing her eyebrows together in a frown.

  “Yeah, hope is a bad thing. I hate it. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth,” I whipped back.

  “No, Walker,” Sam quipped sweetly. “That’s the aftertaste of alcohol in your mouth. How does being a drunk taste?”

  I bristled, rage rising in me. She raised one eyebrow, daring me to say more. But I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

  I turned and started walking back toward the house. “See you later, Sam,” I said, not bothering to look at her.

  The screen door slammed behind me seconds later. I called myself stupid for talking to her in the first place. I had no right. None at all. It was just asking for trouble.

  The inside of the house was hot, packed with people pressed together. The music seemed louder, the crowd crazier. And me - I wanted to be drunker.

  I grabbed someone’s half-drank glass of vodka off the coffee table as I passed it. I needed something to numb the feelings that Sam evoked. When we were kids those feelings consisted of hate and irritation. But sometime over the years, I had started to confuse hate with something else.

  Lust.

  My eyes landed on a blonde a few feet away. She was swaying to the music, a red cup in her hand. I pushed a guy out of the way to get to her. I had no idea who she was or if she had a boyfriend but I needed a woman fast.

  And it didn’t hurt that she looked a little like Sam.

  I grabbed the blonde around the waist and tugged her to my chest, becoming friendly really quick. She smiled at me, not at all surprised to see some stranger touching her.

  I grinned, covering up my disappointment when I saw that she wasn’t nearly as beautiful as Sam. But I could deal. I just needed a little help.

  I reached around for the cup she held. She handed it over without argument, watching as I drank the fruit punch and tequila combination in one gulp. But I craved more - something harder with more of a bite - but first another need was calling me.

  I wrapped my arms around the blonde and started moving to the music. I didn’t protest when she ran her hands up my body, feeling the muscles in my abs. And I sure as hell didn’t argue when she moved closer to me, rubbing against my crotch.

  I just wished it were someone else.

  The music changed, something slow and sensual. I leaned down, moving my hands to the girl’s hips. She was wider than Sam but I was only interested in one thing. I put my mouth near the girl’s ear. I needed to rid myself of thoughts of Bentley’s little sister for good. I knew the perfect way to do that.

  “Let’s get out of here. Somewhere quiet, private. I want to…” my words faded, the words forgotten. I didn’t realize I was staring at the front door until it swung open.

  Sam walked in again. What the hell? I lifted my head from the girl’s ear, ignoring how she continued to rub against me to the music. I watched with disbelief as Sam walked straight back into the house, pushing her way through the crowd liked she owned the place.

  I pulled away from the girl, anger bubbling inside me. “Catch you later,” I muttered through gritted teeth, my eyes on Sam.

  “Hey, wait!” the girl called out, disappointed.

  I ignored her. She wasn’t what I wanted anyway. That person was several feet from me. And damn if she hadn’t just pissed me off.

  Pushing people out of the way, I rushed toward Sam, anger in my stride. Who the fuck did she think she was, coming into my house after she called me a drunk? Yeah, it was the truth but that wasn’t the point. No one said that to my face and walked back in here. This was my house. My own personal hellhole. She didn’t belong anywhere near it.

  I moved around a couple, almost to Sam now. When I was close enough, I reached out and grabbed her wrist, squeezing hard. She swung around, shock on her face. The people between us moved away, swaying to the music and oblivious to my anger.

  I got right up in her personal space, blocking her from leaving. Trying to intimidate her with my height. “Did you not hear me?” I shouted above the music. “I said to leave. Bent’s not here!”

  She shook her head and moved her lips but I couldn’t hear her. Someone had turned up the volume and the living room was full of spastic people, jumping up and down, making the trailer shake.

  I suddenly wanted privacy. Holding onto Sam’s wrist, I pulled her through the crowd. In seconds we were heading down the tiny hallway, passing the dingy bathroom that always smelled like mildew and sweat.

  Three more steps and we were in my bedroom. The black walls were faded and my bookcase leaned to one side, some of the shelves missing. My bed was nothing but a mattress on the floor. It wasn’t much but it was neat. I might live in a dump but it didn’t mean I had to live in squalor.

  I shut the door behind us, dropping her wrist. The music was muted in here, along with the crowd. Sam stood in front of the bookcase, her hands on her hips.

  “You can’t go dragging a girl to your bedroom, Cole!” she said, outraged.

  I walked toward her, itching to touch her but refusing to give in.

  “Sure I can, Ross, but most girls come running,” I said. I made a point of looking up and down her body, curling my lip in false disgust. “I told you to go home. Bent’s not here and this isn’t a place for girls like you.”

  Sam ignored me and glanced around my room, her eyes touching on everything but me. I wondered what she was thinking. She had been in here plenty of times as a little kid. It wasn’t like anything had changed.

  Just us.

  “I’ll go home when I feel like it,” she said stubbornly, meeting my eyes and sticking her chin up. “Besides I heard someone say Bentley was here.”

  I walked toward her, stalking her like she was my prey. And I guess she was. I just wasn’t sure if I would eat her or play with her first.

  “Bent’s not here Sam. I told you,” I said, still advancing toward her, waiting for her to cower.

  But Sam stood her ground, not moving a muscle. Not even flinching when I stopped in front of her. I liked that. She wasn’t afraid of me.

  Time to change it.

  “You a virgin?” I asked, looking down at her.

  Her eyes rounded and her mouth fell open. “What?” she asked, flabbergasted. “What kind of question is that?”

  “A simple one. Answer it,” I insisted.

  “Kiss my ass,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and rolling her eyes.

  I gritted my teeth. “You heard me. Answer it.”

  Fire lit in her eyes. “I don’t think it’s any of your—”

  I kissed her.

  Shit. I. Kissed. Her.

  I couldn’t resist. She was standing too close. No - too far away. Hell, I don’t know. I just had to kiss her.

  My lips angled across hers, not gentle but not exactly rough either. She stood frozen, her lips unmoving, but I wasn’t giving up so easily. I urged her to respond, lifting her jaw using my thumb and tilting her head, giving me more access to her mouth.

  Sam started to kiss me back, her lips soft under mine. I could taste her inexperience as if it were a tangible thing and knew instantly the answer to my question. She was a virgin. The thought only made me hungry for more.

  I slipped my tongue into her mouth, just enough to sample her. She tasted like candy, just like I imagined she would. I wanted to experience every inch of her wet, warm mouth. Commit it to memory for the times when I was alone and my dick was hard, thinking of her.

  I angled my head, deepening the kiss. Forget about our past and our hate. I had to have more. There was a box of condoms and a bed behind me. They called to my seventee
n-year old mind like a beacon. My dream was to have Sam spread out on one and my dick sheathed and ready to go in another. But I reminded myself to slow down. Sam was new at this and shit, so was I when it came to her.

  But when she moaned and gathered a handful of my shirt, I became frantic, more frenzied to have her. I pushed her back against the bookcase, making the thing shake. Her back hit the wood hard, knocking the breath from her.

  “Damn, I’m sorry,” I whispered against her lips, leaning into her.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered, her hand snaking up to the back of my neck. “Just kiss me some more.”

  Never expecting her to say that, I groaned and dipped my head again, taking her mouth. I slipped my tongue past her lips more aggressively, wanting more. Her tongue met mine, unsure at first. Then she became bolder. More daring. Sending me over the edge.

  I grabbed her waist, tugging her closer. The edge of her shirt teased me, beckoning my fingers. I eased my hand up until my fingertips were touching the bare skin of her stomach. Then I paused, waiting for her to protest, to tell me no. When she didn’t, I felt a rush of excitement. A sense of being in forbidden territory.

  I moved my hand farther under her shirt, knowing no boundaries now. My fingers touched her ribcage, feeling the protruding bones. I silently cursed the mother that had let her starve over the years, leaving her skinny and malnourished. I eased my hand higher until my fingertips encountered the edge of her bra.

  Sam dragged her mouth from mine, grabbing my wrist and stopping me. “Wait. Maybe … maybe we shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered.

  “And maybe we should,” I said in a gravelly voice. “You feel too goddamn good to stop.”

  She let go of my wrist and grabbed the front of my shirt, giving me all the encouragement I needed. I pushed her bra out of the way and covered her mouth with mine again, rough and desperate this time. She let out a tiny mew of pleasure and gripped my shirt tighter as I moved my hand higher, finding her breast. Oh, fuck. It was perfect, fitting in the palm of my hand like it was meant to be there.