Way to pack for the apocalypse of your life, Lenny.
I wrap a towel around myself and open the door into the bedroom, which is just big enough for the queen-sized bed and about a foot of walking space on each side. There are two drawers built in to the corner, and I’m lucky enough that the first one I open contains several clean white t-shirts. I pull one over my head, and it’s so big it hangs off my shoulders and almost reaches my knees. But it’s clothes, and it’s not ripped or red pleather.
So, there’s that.
I make my way out to where Nine is sitting on the small couch, trying to bandage his bleeding arm by himself.
“Need some help?” I ask.
Nine turns to look at me, and his eyes darken as he takes in what I’m wearing. Suddenly, I think he’s going to be pissed that I didn’t ask about wearing his shirt. “And I thought the fucking dress was bad,” he mutters.
“Sorry, about the shirt. I realize I didn’t pack any pajamas or…anything.”
He looks away and turns his attention back to bandaging his injury, but he’s having trouble tying it off since the injury is so high on his arm and on the very back.
“Here, I’ll do it,” I say. I sit on the couch facing him and take the first aid kit from his lap, setting it down on mine. He hands me the gauze, but I set it to the side. I open one of the alcohol packets and press the pad to his skin.
He flinches.
“Don’t be a baby,” I tell him, blowing on the dime-sized injury.
He’s staring at me. Unmoving. Unblinking.
“That’s not why I flinched,” he says as I finish wrapping his wound.
“Then, why?”
He’s still staring at me with that puzzled look on his face. I’m squirming inside my own skin, so I break the moment by standing and retrieving my bottle from the bathroom.
“Do you believe me?” I ask, with my back still turned. “That I didn’t have anything to do with Jared’s scam?”
“I want to believe you,” he answers.
“Why am I here?”
The frustration in his voice grows as does the volume of them. “Because it’s not safe. There are men looking for you, or don’t you remember?”
It’s an answer, but it’s not a good enough one. “Why do you care if they come for me? Why do you care if they take me? I don’t know where the money is. I can’t give it back to you. I can’t do anything but drink your vodka and squat in your RV until you throw me out for failure to pay rent or failure be sober or just for being a failure at life, so any sort of reason you could offer, any little tidbit of info as to why you’d want to surround yourself with this, please, by all means, do tell.”
He stands and takes a step toward me. “I don’t have to tell you shit except that you’re not leaving. Not yet. Not until I have this figured out. Until then, you can be as drunk as you want for as long as you want, but you’re going to be drunk here. Is that understood?”
“You don’t believe me, do you,” I say. I turn my back to Nine.
“I don’t know,” he answers, his voice is close, I spin around to find him standing so close it only takes one tug on my hip, and I’m pressed flat against him.
“I don’t fucking know what to believe,” he continues.
Suddenly, I’m furious, the anger simmering deep down and explodes into my words. “Well, that makes two of us. It might be the one thing we actually have in common. I’ve trusted the wrong people one too many times, and I’m not about to go down that road again and take you at your word and just hang around until you do decide to torture or kill me, and you know what? You shouldn’t trust me,” I push on his chest, but he catches my wrists, squeezing them tightly. “because you don’t fucking know me!”
I lean to the side and look past him to the door.
He tugs my body back, holding me tighter. “You’re not leaving,” he warns.
I push my chest into his, challenging him. “Oh yeah? Watch me!”
“I said you’re not fucking leaving.” Nine’s nostrils flare.
“You’re not just some puppet master who can pull my strings and get his way,” I yell, struggling harder, but he’s so damn big and strong, it’s infuriating!
He moves in closer, brushing his lips over the sensitive tip of my ear. A tingling sensation tickles its way down my spine and I curse my betraying body.
“Oh, little bird, you’ve got it all wrong.” He grabs my chin, forcing me to meet his dark hooded gaze. “I don’t want to pull your strings.” He looks so deep into my eyes that I’m sure he can see my spleen. I’m scared and uncomfortable. Two of my least favorite things to be. “I want to set you free.”
His lips cover mine and the tickling in my spine burns, turning into an all-out eruption of sensation and need.
He’s kissing me. I should be mad. And I am mad. I pull away, but his fingers tangle in my hair, holding my head in place while he ravages my mouth.
Suddenly, I’m in the air, in Nine’s arms. My legs instinctually wrap around his waist. His tongue seeks mine and when they touch, there’s no dancing or sweetness. It’s a war. A battle of mouths and lips and tongues. Clanking teeth and hissing sounds. It’s anarchy. Chaos. Desire burning like heated iron colliding with an unmistakable need for victory. As if whoever wins this kiss wins the argument and gets their way.
Win the kiss. Win my freedom.
You mean win the feeling of his body on top of yours. Win the feeling of his tongue stroking your—
I cut Anxiety off before she continues, because she’s no help to me here. If anything, she’s the reason I find myself writhing against him like a cat in heat.
Nine carries me into the bedroom, tossing me down onto the bed. He stands over me, breathing hard. I can see the outline of his huge erection under his sweats. My face flushes along with the rest of my body.
Of all the things I am imagining that might come next, none of it is close to what does happen, which is Nine, flicking off the light and uttering only a single word before leaving the room completely.
“Sleep.”
* * *
NINE
“I can sleep on the couch,” she calls back to me.
I shut my eyes tightly. “Just go to sleep.” Fuck my life. One more second with Lenny wrapped around me like that, and I was about to take her like an animal. Fucking her isn’t in the cards right now. She doesn’t know who I really am. I don’t know what she’s really guilty of. And the thought of taking her, of being assaulted by the past when I’m with…no, I can’t do it. Not now and not with her.
Although with this aching need and pain in my gut and in my cock, I might have to relieve myself soon with one of the girl’s that’s used to me freaking out afterwards and doesn’t give a shit as long as she gets paid.
“Can you…” Lenny trails off. I duck my head into the bedroom in time to see her roll onto her side, her back to me. “Never mind.”
“What?” I bark, frustrated in more ways than the raging hard-on beneath my sweats.
“Can you just lay in the bed with me for a while? Just until I fall asleep? I’m not a good sleeper, and I don’t want to be alone right now.”
Her question surprises me, considering she was preparing for torture not thirty minutes ago and a fight only a few seconds before.
Reluctantly, and knowing I won’t get any sleep at all with her right next to me, I get into bed and rest my hands behind my head.
How the fuck did I get here? Lenny’s right. What am I doing with her?
“Can you answer one teeny, weeny, tiny question and give me the truth?” she asks quietly. “Have you ever killed someone?”
I can’t be honest with her about so much right now, but this I can give her. I’ll show her who I really am and it’ll be much easier when it’s time to let her go.
If I let her go.
“Yes,” I answer to the ceiling.
“More than one person?” She rolls over to face me, her green-blue eyes searching mine, her lips parted
awaiting my answer.
I give her a curt nod.
“Tell me about one,” she presses.
My head snaps in her direction. “That shit isn’t important. Plus, you’ve got anxiety, and the last thing I need right now is for you to fester on what I tell you and grow it in your head into something it’s not. Then, you really won’t be able to sleep.”
She thinks for a moment. “Actually, it will fester more if you don’t tell me. Because what will happen is that my imagination will get away from itself, and I’ll lay awake picturing you slaughtering entire villages of women and children like a Viking.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “That escalated quickly.”
She shrugs and rests her cheek on top of her hands. “Don’t blame me. Anxiety sets the rules. I’m just the messenger.”
The few inches of space between suddenly us feels like an ocean, and I want nothing more than to pull her against my chest.
“Fine,” I submit, but if she wants to hear the truth, that’s exactly what I’m going to give her. “He was someone who knew the consequences of playing this game, but he betrayed us anyway. I didn’t plan on killing him, but like a fucking idiot, he freaked out and pulled a gun. Shot a friend of mine twice. Luckily, he didn’t kill him, but then the guy turned his gun on me.”
“So, you killed him,” she finishes, her eyes never leaving mine.
I turn onto my side and without thinking I reach out and push a lock of hair from her eyes.
I pull back my hand and nod. “So, I killed him.”
She scrunches her nose. “No village of women and children then?”
I’ve never met anyone that thinks the way she does, and I can’t decide if it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever encountered or the devil himself testing me and the limits of my lust for her. “No. Never. Just a guy who played the game and lost.”
“That doesn’t seem so bad,” she says with a yawn. “Thank you for telling me a truth, even if it’s not the one I really wanted.”
I roll over to my back again, and stiffen when she scoots closer, curling up beside me as close as she can get without touching me. I blow out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, but the relief that usually accompanies such a sigh is nowhere to be found and instead the only thing I’m filled with is a lingering sense of dread.
“Get some sleep,” I whisper.
Lenny doesn’t answer.
I look down and find that her eyes are already shut. Her breathing is even. I run my fingers down her cheek. And again, without thinking, I lean over and kiss her forehead. “I guess you will be able to sleep after all,” I say in an almost inaudible whisper. “Even though I just told you how I killed your boyfriend.”
Chapter Seventeen
NINE
I’m at a truck stop. The smell of gravy from the cafe twenty yards away taunts me as I sit inside the cab of a big rig about to do something I’ve never wanted to do less. However, my growling stomach and inconsistent thoughts remind me of why I’m here.
So, does the eager look from the burly man in the driver’s seat.
At first, I intended to rob him. Steal something of value or possibly even some cash, but it was a terrible plan. His wallet is on the dash over the steering wheel, within arm’s reach but too close to the man behind that wheel.
I make a new plan, probably equally as terrible, but it’s all I got.
Distraction.
I unbutton my pants and pull out my cock ignoring the masculine gasp from beside me and the sickening feeling in my empty gut.
“You’re huge, kid,” the man says. I can smell his rank breath across the truck cab.
This isn’t going to work unless I can actually distract him, so it has to, at least, seem real. I close my eyes and try to pretend he’s not watching me. I picture a beautiful supermodel from the swimsuit issue I used to hide under my bed at my last foster home. I’m able to get semi-hard and am about to open my eyes to see if my distraction is working when I feel the heat of his rank breath on my neck.
My eyes shoot open.
“Let me do it for you,” he says, licking his thin lips with his fat tongue. He goes to reach for my dick, but I pull away, slamming my back against the door.
“That wasn’t the deal. Twenty bucks was to watch. JUST to watch,” I remind him, covering my junk with my hand. It’s not like I haven’t done more in the past. I just want to get this the fuck over with and get some food and to get a hold of Pike.
“I tell you what. I’ll sweeten the deal. I’ll throw in an extra hundred if you let me do it,” he offers.
I’m about to say no when he reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a hundred-dollar bill, waving it in front of my face.
I snatch it from him, but he grabs it back, setting it on the dash.
“You’ll get it after,” he says.
I sit back down on the seat and try to pretend I’m somewhere else while my stomach turns at the feeling of his calloused rough hand grab the base of my shaft.
I go soft instantly.
“You ain’t getting paid unless you come,” he gruffs, angrily.
Fuck, I actually have to do this.
I close my eyes again and imagine the same supermodel, only now she’s holding a Brillow pad as she strokes me. It takes forever, but thankfully, I lose myself to my thoughts until I do, in fact, come in the most exhausting grotesque, bile-inducing orgasm of my life.
Before the sinking regret and shame can sink in, I lunge forward and snatch the bill from the dashboard. I yank up my pants as the trucker closes his eyes and licks his fingers clean.
That’s my shot. I don’t have time to vomit, so I swallow down the bile rising in my throat and snag his wallet from the dash. I wait in the shadows for him to pull out of the parking lot before I run at full-speed into the diner.
I’m too hungry to think about what I’ve just done. Or anything. I’ll think about it later, after my stomach is full.
I eat two of my three full-sized meals without even bothering to savor the taste. I pause before I begin my third and look around the diner. The rest stop is buzzing with people and not just truckers. A few of the small tables are overflowing with families. One family of five is wearing matching Disney World logo shirts in varying colors. They’re laughing and smiling while the mom and dad unfold a theme park map and happily point to the different attractions.
My stomach turns, and it’s not because of the meatloaf or the chicken fried steak I just inhaled. Another table nearby has an elderly couple. The man is sipping a cup of coffee while reading from an open newspaper on the table while his wife reads a romance novel. They aren’t speaking, but they’re holding hands across the table. Another couple is arguing while their baby cries until the wife covers her face with her hands. The husband gets out of his side of the booth and goes to her, removing her hands. Whatever he says to her makes her laugh, and they embrace before going back to their meals, staying on the same side of the booth while their baby finally stops screaming to suck on a bottle the man feeds it with his free hand.
Everyone has someone. Even the truckers who live a solitary life on the open road alone are gathered together at the counter chatting about gas prices and politics. I’m utterly alone. Always have been. And if I don’t find my brother, always will be.
I remove the picture from my pocket and unfold it. Samuel Clearwater. I say his name over and over in my head. Maybe, I didn’t miss out by never getting a chance to meet him. Maybe, he was a degenerate asshole just like my fucking mother. But I can’t help but to think What if? What if he wasn’t? What if he was amazing? What if he was funny and genuine, and…I stop. I can’t let myself think that. It makes it all so much worse. I fold the picture back up and shove it into my pocket.
He was probably an asshole.
But he did have a cool last name. At least, it was a fuck of a lot better than mine. Clearwater. My last name is Schmooter. More than likely given to me by our shared mother to honor whatever bastard she let
come inside her. I make a decision. Asshole or not, I want to keep a piece of my brother with me, and the only thing I know about him is his name.
From this second on, I’m no longer Kevin Schmooter.
I’m Kevin Clearwater.
I hurry up and finish my third meal. Leaving a tip on the table, I grab my backpack and head over to the adjoining Quick Mart. I purchase a burner phone, and when I get out into the parking lot, I immediately dial Pike’s number, which is the only number I actually have memorized.
No answer.
Fuck.
Logan’s Beach is only ten miles away, and now, with a belly full of food, I’m sure I can manage the walk.
I only make it to the middle of the parking lot when I remember what I’d done to get that full stomach. The trucker. The…
All of the much-needed food in my gut comes back up again in a rush of regret, right there in the parking lot.
After I’m sure it’s passed, I wipe my mouth. Before I can even stand up straight, a thick pair of legs appear before me. I look up to find the trucker from earlier, glaring down at me. “I think you took something of mine.”
“I’ve got no clue what you’re talking about. We’re done here,” I say, stepping around him.
He grabs me by the arm just as another trucker, even bigger than him, comes out of the shadows and grabs my other arm. “This the kid?”
“Yeah, check his bag.”
He does and immediately finds the wallet.
Shit, mother fucking fuck. I should have tossed it in the diner, but decided to ponder my shitty life instead.
Nine, the Tale of Kevin Clearwater Page 14