I squeak when a fish jumps from the water and bounces on the bank before rolling back in.
There’s a shack of sorts across the flowing stream that for how shallow it seems, looks extremely dangerous.
“I have vertigo, I’m not getting across that,” I admit when he motions to a path of small, slippery-looking rocks in the water. They form a gapped, zigzagged bridge. “I’m almost ashamed to say it.”
“Your head hurts?”
I look at him incredulously. “Have you seen it?”
“I don’t want to look at it.”
“Well, you should.” I yank off my shades and tilt that side of my head towards him. “What I did to your tires can be fixed, what you did to my face with your truck can’t. Your actions towards others, your attitude, it has an effect on them.”
“You think I don’t know that? I’m not stupid.”
“Then stop acting like a bad guy all the time. Your reputation at school is abysmal.”
He laughs harshly. “You think I care about what people think of me?”
“No, I don’t, and I don’t care what people think about you. But I care what they say.”
“About me or you?”
“Does it matter?”
He raises his hands. “What talk are you talking about?”
“NOTHING!” I yell, stomping to the water. “I don’t know. Fuck. Barbie.”
“Fuck Barbie?” He smirks.
“I’ve forgotten her name. The blonde one. She said you fucked her and took her V card then dumped her at a gas station.”
He shuts down again like before, all emotion leaves his eyes and his smile vanishes entirely. “If you really think I’d do something like that then why would you follow me into the woods.”
“You overestimate my intelligence.”
“Clearly.”
“Or maybe I’m just not scared of you.” I step into his body, the toes of my boots against his. He towers over me like a bear of the sexy variety.
“I think you’re scared of how I make you feel.” His hand snakes around my back as the other cups my groin over my jeans, eliciting a whimper from me. “Because you know me, somehow, and you know what I’m capable of.”
I do, or at least I think I do. Deep down. I know exactly what he’s like and exactly what he’s capable of.
“What happened on Friday night? Why’d you freak?”
Sighing, he turns after releasing me and crouches in front of me, hooking his arms behind him.
“Hop on.”
I want to tell him that there’s no way he can get us across safely, but I know he can. I trust that much about him.
I perch myself on his back, wrapping my thighs around his waist and then my arms around his neck. I rest my cheek against his ear and grip him tight, but not so tight that he can’t breathe.
“Why do you always smell so good?”
“Why are you always smelling me?” He takes the first step and then the second, his body is graceful and poised. I wonder how many times he’s done this.
When we reach the other side, he doesn’t let me go, not until we reach the shack that looks to have been handmade out of materials found across the forest floor and some parts from a hardware store.
He places me on the soft grass and yanks open the shack door. I wait for him to bring out two dark green fishing chairs, the kind that fold up to near umbrella size.
I watch him adjust them at the water edge for a moment before peeking into the shack to see what’s inside.
Tools, a couple of fishing rods, a net, buckets. Typical tools that you’d find in a shack in the forest by the river.
“Why are we here?” I ask softly, not wanting to ruin the moment.
He pats the seat. “Originally I was going to kill you and bury you out here but then I saw your face and figured I probably deserve worse than what you did in retaliation.” When I sit, he relaxes into his seat and I follow suit. This is nice, it’s so quiet in a peaceful way.
“You’re not a good liar, Nok. Why did you bring me out here?”
I follow the line of his soft, full lips with my eyes. He notices and raises a brow. It’s so obvious when somebody is staring at your lips.
“I didn’t go after you on Friday night. Regardless of what you did, you were my guest in a location you don’t know.”
I laugh lightly. “Since when do you care?”
“I don’t, but my father and Nash do. I’ve disappointed them enough over the years.”
Now that is something I can definitely relate to.
“They told me to make amends.”
I laugh louder this time. “Of course. And that’s why you haven’t apologized, because you’re not sorry.”
He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I feel bad for hurting you, but I’m not sorry for getting us the hell out of there.” His eyes cloud over with sorrow and confliction, and then pain. I see it all roll through him and I want to prompt but I don’t want him to close down.
But then he admits it himself and my lips part.
His tone is soft and quiet when he says, “I just… I couldn’t be there anymore.”
“Okay,” I whisper, placing my hand on his because I understand him in this moment and understand that there’s more to this that he’s not saying. “You know, every time I try to find a reason to hate you, you just… pull me deeper.”
“Why would you want a reason to hate me?”
I wet my lips and look up at the sky. The sun is shining today, a rare occurrence for this area at this time of year. “I have to hate you. I have to hate someone.”
We share a lapse of silence until he utters, “You really are crazy.”
“Oh… you have no idea.”
“Why do you go to mainstream when all of your res buddies go to school on the res?” I ask as he gently dips a hook into the water. He’s caught three fish already with his dilapidated-looking fishing rod that is more duct tape than wood at this point. Still, he caught three fish.
I look at them swimming in circles in the bucket. They’re steelheads, or rainbow trout, I’m not sure the exact name. They have a rainbow sheen over their scales. It’s beautiful really. It’s a shame he’s going to kill them and cook them later.
“Because I don’t know any good white people.”
My lips part. “Seriously?”
He doesn’t elaborate, he looks uncomfortable with the conversation.
“And then the first white chick you decided to befriend was me?” I start to snigger. “Oh, you poor thing.”
“Exactly. I thought you’re new, you might be different to the sheeple at Lakeside.”
“And?”
He pushes his hair out of his face. “And you are definitely different.”
I stand and move behind him, being careful not to kick the bucket of fish over.
He tenses when I stand behind him and lift a lock of his silky, dark hair. “What are you doing?”
I thread my fingers through his hair, surprised by how soft it is. He shivers when I gently tease the snags free, and groans when I scrape my fingertips over his scalp.
“I’ve wanted to do this all day,” I admit, continuously brushing to the ends with my fingers. “I love playing with hair.”
“I love having my hair played with… as of this moment. But that stays between us.” He leans his head back and reaches up to remove my glasses. When he sees my bruised face, he frowns. “I hate that I did that. I’m not a violent person.”
I crook a skeptical brow.
He grins, still leaning back to look at me as I gently rub his scalp with my fingers and thumbs. “Okay, I’m not a violent person when it comes to women.”
“You slammed me up against a locker.”
“You liked it.” He stands, letting my hands fall from his hair, and drops the fishing rod. “You’re as fucked up as I am. So I know you definitely liked it.”
“I admit nothing.”
He stalks towards me and I walk backwards, careful not to trip
and fall. “Right this second, your heart is racing, wondering if I’m finally going to kiss you, or make you come all over my hand like you did Friday night.”
My breath catches in my throat. “I didn’t think we were talking about that.”
“That’s the only good thing that came out of that night. It’s the only part that I want to focus on.”
My back hits the tree, and my mind conjures an image of the way he kissed that girl at school. I want that.
The breeze whips through his hair, sending it across his face. I push it back behind him and then hold the sides of his smooth neck, letting my thumb feel for his pulse. It throbs against me, synchronizing with my own.
“You always look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I breathe.
“Like you can’t decide if you want to see me naked, or dead.”
I blanche and then I start laughing hysterically because he has no idea how hard he just hit that nail on the head. “Something like that. Maybe both together.”
“That so?”
He lifts his shirt over his head, pulling it off in one swift move that flexes every muscle of his abdomen, making each pec tighten while accentuating every strong, deep groove.
Oh… wow.
I place my hand over his heart, and he puts his over mine. He’s so warm.
So tanned compared to me.
“I want to kiss you, but I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathes, letting his fingers drift over the swollen part of my face.
He kisses my temple, the swollen side. I close my eyes. His lips are softer than I thought they’d be and his touch sends lust and tingles spiraling through my body.
I gulp. “Why did you have to be shirtless for a kiss?”
“I wanted to give you more of a reason to say yes.”
I laugh and bite my lip. “You’re so arrogant.”
“Is it endearing?”
Shaking my head, I stand on my tiptoes, the bark of the tree grazing the soft skin of my back. “Not in the slightest.”
Our lips meet… at last.
I allow myself this thing that I will never allow myself again, and deepen it, pressing my tongue to his. He’s gentle, frustratingly so. Too gentle. I need more. I need harder. I need him to consume me.
I pull back and search his eyes. “I’m not a delicate flower. Kiss me harder than you’ve ever kissed anyone in your entire life.”
His brows rise and his eyes flare with arousal that he’s now pressing against me.
He says nothing, he just grabs me and pulls me into his body. Mine slots perfectly against his, like two human puzzle pieces now a complete picture.
I moan when he assaults my mouth with his tongue, stealing my air and making it impossible to get more. But he knows when to pull back, when to let me breathe and I almost hate my need for air because it means I must separate from him which is something I don’t want to do at all.
His hands wander to my hips and then sneak around to grasp my rear. We both groan, a rough harmonious note of wanting more, but more is where I have to draw the line. Or is it? Maybe I don’t have to stop. Maybe we can keep going. Maybe I can try.
Something is watching you.
My mind screams it at me, but I don’t want to stop. I loathe the idea that this has to end. It’s the most I’ve felt since… since…
I can feel the prickles of distant eyes on my skin. A flash of paranoia lights up my hazy brain like lightning through a gray cloud.
I open an eye, expecting it to simply be paranoia, but dread twists my gut, and a humming sounds through my head when I put a body to the eyes I felt on me mid-kiss. He’s back. The man from before.
Dark clothes, dark hair, heavy jacket.
No face.
“Nok,” I breathe, pushing against him and pointing to the shade of the trees across the stream.
He turns, sensing a change in me as I look at the faceless man watching us from the shadows. I point and the man ducks down behind a bush. “What is it?”
“He’s back, right there. Just staring at us.”
Nok pulls away, keeping me behind him as he surveys the area. “I can’t see anyone.”
“He dropped down when I saw him.”
He looks at me like he doesn’t believe me and why would he?
“I’m serious,” I admonish, slapping his chest. “He was standing right there.”
Sighing, he peels away from me with clear reluctance. “Wait here.” I reach down for my knife and pull it from my boot, but he immediately takes it from my hand. “You don’t need to be playing with that today.”
I’m not a delicate fucking wet paper towel that needs protecting but something tells me not to let him cross that stream alone without it.
He holds it as he hops across the rocks in the water, peering over and around all of the mossy obstacles that separate him from the creep.
“Hurry back,” I call after him on a hushed note. “Knowing my luck, a bear or a wolf will come along and eat me while I don’t have a weapon.”
He laughs through his nose but sobers and stops in his tracks when we hear the cracking of a stick and the rustle of a tree. It’s insane how instincts can force us to drown out all sounds but the ones we deem most dangerous during moments like this.
“Come out and I won’t hurt you,” Nok warns, yelling so loudly it echoes through the near silence, piercing it like a pin in a balloon. Birds fly and animals that lie sleeping now run away, startled.
My ears stay tuned in to anything out of the ordinary.
“Can you see anything?” I ask as he kicks at the ground.
“Nope. Nothing. Are you sure you saw someone?”
“You think I’d interrupt that make-out session for nothing?”
He grins at me over his shoulder for a brief second before returning to his manhunt. After searching for another minute, he returns to me and shrugs. “We’ll go, just to be safe.” He peers around again, a crease in his brows. “What did he look like?”
“I don’t know…”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Like… he kind of reminded me of my dad, I guess. Broad shoulders, dark clothes…”
He looks around one more time. “You don’t think he followed us out here?”
I shake my head.
“Are you sure? It wouldn’t be the first time a girl’s dad has chased me with a shotgun.”
“My dad’s dead, Nok. I’m sure.”
His eyes inherit an understanding sadness that one only gets when they’ve felt the loss of a parent.
“Your mom?” I ask and he nods grimly. “How old were you?”
“Seconds old. You?”
That’s a tragedy.
“I was…” I want to answer; the age is on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t think of it. It’s not that I don’t remember I just can’t seem to get my head to work for long enough to conjure the moment my dad died. Or how he died.
“Nokosi,” an unfamiliar male voice calls from somewhere to our right. It’s distant, too distant to have been the man hiding, just like that howl before.
Nokosi mutters a curse and quickly pulls his shirt back on. “It’s Anetúte.”
“Your dad?”
He nods, his lips a thin line. “He’s checking to make sure I’m being nice to you.”
I raise a brow. “You know, I can switch on tears like that.” When I click my fingers, he glares at me. “What’s it worth to you that I don’t make up shit for attention?”
“You wouldn’t dare…”
I drop my features and inhale sharply. “How could you say that? Why do you have to be so mean?”
“What are you doing?” he asks, looking and sounding panicked.
I sniff dramatically as tears well in my eyes. “You think I’m fat?”
“You better stop it.”
“Nokosi?” the voice shouts again, getting closer this time.
“What do you want from me?” Nok hisses and I realize in this moment t
hat he respects his dad. I can see it in the panic of his eyes.
“Nothing, just figuring you out,” I mutter, smiling wryly. Then I lean into him, pressing my shoulder against his arm.
“And what have you figured out?”
I lower my voice as I speak through the side of my mouth, “You’re a daddy’s boy.”
“I will throw you in that river.”
“I’m telling everyone that Nokosi Locklear loves his daddy.”
“Nokosi,” the voice yells once more.
This time Nok replies, his eyes still on me, both glittering with humor and curiosity, “Over here.”
I hear footsteps come closer, more than one set. Two men appear, both look so much like Nokosi it is unreal. It’s like looking at his future, plus twenty years then plus another twenty. They must be related.
“Dad,” Nok says softly and bows his head with his hand raised.
“Son,” the younger of the two men say, both with acorn-colored eyes lined by a sharp ring of darker brown just like Nokosi. They look at me, assessing me, figuring me out.
“Lilith, this is my dad, Dasan, and my grandfather, Peter.”
I want to ask why they all have a mixture of Native names, yet Peter seems to have a normal name. But that’s probably rude so I don’t ask.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say stupidly because I don’t know how to greet them beyond that.
“Likewise, young lady,” Peter says, smiling kindly at me. “I trust my grandson is being a gracious host?”
They all stare at me expectantly waiting for my answer. I look at Nok and consider telling them he’s an ass, but he hasn’t been, not today anyway.
“He’s been teaching me some new life skills,” I reply, nudging him with my arm. “Though I don’t think I’ll be able to survive in the wild for more than a few hours without heading back in search of a Starbucks.”
They laugh and I feel a pleasant tingle in my chest that I’m the one who elicited such a response from them.
“This brings me happiness.” Dasan places his hand on his son’s shoulder and then looks at the discarded fishing rod. “Was your morning out here fruitful?”
Naked or Dead Page 10