by Beck, J. L.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I say a silent prayer that I’ll make it out of here in one piece. A strange gurgling noise meets my ear, and it takes me a second to realize that the sound came from my throat. I can feel myself growing lightheaded. Just as panic starts to really settle in, Paul releases his hold on me. Thank god.
Sagging to the floor, I clutch my throat as I suck in a painful breath. When I pry my eyes open, I don’t quite know what to expect, but it sure isn’t what I see. Cam and Easton have Paul pinned to the nearby wall. Easton is holding him up, while Cameron is raining down punches on his face. I can hear Paul’s head bouncing off the wall with each hit.
“You shouldn’t have touched what’s ours,” Easton growls, the tone of his voice cuts through me like a shard of glass. It’s dark and edgy like he’s barely holding on by a thread.
“Now you’re gonna pay,” Cameron seethes between his punches. His voice sounds just as dark and scary as Easton’s.
I don’t know how I manage, but somehow, I make it back onto my feet. Stumbling through the kitchen, I put as much distance between the three men and myself as I can. I need to get away from here. I can’t watch them kill another person. I can’t be part of this again.
Without looking back, I run through the building until I make it to the side door. I don’t want to draw any attention to myself, so I speed walk to my car instead of running.
I fumble with my keys, my throat aching, and my heart thundering inside my chest but manage to open the door after a few tries. My hands are shaking when I turn the ignition, and the engine roars to life. Hitting the gas, I pull out of the parking spot faster than I should, surprised when I don’t hit another car. Tires squeal beneath me as I speed away. Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them away.
Shit, shit, shit. Why can’t just one day go as planned? Am I asking for too much? All I want is to have a normal life. Go to work, go home, take care of Grams, and then do it all over again the next day. Why the hell do I keep ending up in situations like this? My thoughts race through my head, making it hard for me to concentrate on anything in particular.
The drive goes by surprisingly fast, and before I know it, I’m pulling up to Grams’ house. I feel a little better now, though I’m still shaking a bit when I get out of the car and walk to the front door. I don’t know what’s worse, the thought of Paul touching me or the thought of the guys killing him for it. I don’t know if I can handle someone dying because of me, even if he does deserve it.
As soon as I open the door and see Grams sitting in the recliner, my heart rate calms, and my hands stop shaking. She looks up at me, smiling while continuing to knit what looks like a scarf.
“Hi, pumpkin, hope you had a great day at school,” she greets me cheerfully, completely oblivious of the shitty day that I’ve had.
“Hi, Grams. I did,” I lie, the last thing I want to do right now is upset her. “How was your day?”
“Boring, but I kept myself busy with cleaning and knitting.” She looks at me, and her smile suddenly fades, her eyes grow big, and her eyebrows furrow. “What happened to your neck, Stella?”
My hands fly up to my throat, where my skin is already tender. “Oh, nothing.” I play it off. “I’m going to take a shower before I start dinner, okay?”
Grams opens her mouth to say something, but I’m already out of the room before she can finish. I speed walk to the bathroom and close the door behind me. As soon as I’m alone again, I sigh and look at my reflection in the mirror. My throat is already red and blue, outlines of each of Paul’s fingers decorate the skin. Shit, I’m going to have to cover them up with makeup. I can’t return to work like this… who am I kidding? I can’t go back to work there, not after what happened.
There are only two ways that things could’ve ended after I left. One, they killed Paul, which means the cops are going to come knocking on my door very soon, or two, they beat the crap out of him, which means I can’t go back because Paul will hate my guts and most likely fire me anyway.
Either scenario leaves me in the center of a shitstorm and without a job, which means I need to find work elsewhere, and I need to do so fast.
All I want to do is cry, but I can’t. I have to be strong, not only for me but most importantly, for Grams.
Things could always be worse.
I tell myself as I strip out of my clothing and turn the shower on. Maybe if I go to sleep, I can wake up in the morning and pretend that none of this happened.
Wishful thinking, huh?
* * *
Twenty-four hours have passed, and the police haven’t shown up. I checked the news, and there was no report of a body that’s been found or any other scandal surrounding Blackthorn. Thank god. That means Cameron and Easton didn’t kill Paul, which also means I can never show my face in Blackthorn again. Paul will probably kill me if he gets the chance, or worse now.
Maybe not going back there isn’t such a bad idea. If I don’t go back, maybe Cam and Easton will lose interest in me. Out of sight, out of mind. One can only hope.
Rifling through my closet, I find my best-looking outfit, consisting of black slack pants and a light pink blouse, and put them both on. I only have sneakers available, not flats or heels, but hopefully, they won’t look down at my feet when I ask for a job. I shake off the nervous feeling in my limbs and force a smile onto my face.
The bell above the door rings as I step into the diner. The hostess, a middle-aged lady with curly red hair, greets me with a wide smile. “Hey, sweetie pie. Coming in to dine with us?”
“Hi, ah… I’m actually here to see if you are hiring right now?”
“Oh, sweets. I’m not sure about that. Let me ask Amanda, our manager. You come and sit in the booth over here, and I’ll go get her for you.”
“Sure, thank you!” I tell her and take a seat in the booth she pointed to. A few moments later, the hostess returns with a woman in tow, which I’m guessing is Amanda.
“Hi there,” she greets, extending out her hand to me. I stand and take her hand, giving it a light shake.
“Hi. I’m sorry to come in unannounced, but I was just wondering if you are hiring?”
“Don’t worry about that.” She smiles before continuing, “We aren’t actively looking, but we usually always need some extra waitresses. What kind of experience do you have?”
“I worked as a nanny for a while, and I used to stock at the local grocery store. My most recent job was in the kitchen as a helping hand at Blackthorn University.”
“So, you don’t have any experience being a server?”
“No, just more like in the background. I’m not great with people.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize that I couldn’t have said anything dumber.
Apparently, Amanda thinks the same because she tips her head back and starts laughing.
“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head.
“Don’t be, I appreciate your honesty. However, I can’t help you out with a job. I’m looking for people with experience. I’m sorry.” She sounds genuinely sorry as she gives me a sad smile.
“It’s okay. Thanks for talking to me.” That’s more than I can say from the last three places I’ve been.
“You know what. I might not be able to offer you a job, but I can offer you a slice of our famous apple pie. You sit right here and let me get you a piece. I promise it will make you feel better.” I doubt it, but I appreciate her kindness.
Amanda gets up before I can object and disappears into the kitchen, leaving me sitting alone with all my problems, each one hanging over my head like a heavy cloud.
“Hey, sorry…” An unfamiliar voice says. I turn my head to see where the voice comes from. Two beautiful girls are sitting in the booth next to me. They both stare at me, their eyes soft. “I overheard that you are looking for a job.”
“Ah, yeah. Do you know a place?” I ask, hope blossoming deep inside me.
“Yes, actually. And it makes good money too, at least 2k a week,” one of them
tells me. She has long blonde hair and big blue eyes rimmed with black eyeliner and long thick eyelashes.
Wait, did she just say two thousand a week? I can barely contain myself. Then again, at the back of my mind, all I can think of is being a whore, or drug dealer, both of which I would not be good at.
“What kind of job?” I ask suspiciously. If it sounds too good to be true, it usually is, and I’m in need of legit work, not some fake shit.
“You ever heard of Night Shift?” The other girl asks. She has dark brown hair and hazel eyes that gleam with mischief. I can tell that she’s trouble just from one single look.
Night Shift. The neon letters pop into my head, it’s a club not far from my house actually. “Like the strip club?”
“Yes, the strip club,” the hazel-eyed girl smirks, “you are very pretty, and you have the girl next door vibe, mixed with something that makes you wholesome. If you’re interested, you could make a lot of money.”
“I don’t know…” Stripping? Could I really take my clothes off for money? Even if it is a lot of money? I mean, I am desperate, but am I that desperate?
“No need to decide right now. I’m Valorie, by the way,” the brown-haired beauty introduces herself, and then she points to the blonde girl, “This is my friend, Katie.”
“Hi, I’m Stella.”
“Nice to meet you, Stella,” Katie beams. “If you’re really looking for work, I would head over to Night Shift. We could even vouch for you. Help you get your foot in the door. And you don’t need any experience there.”
“Not with a body like yours,” Valorie adds. A soft blush starts to form on my cheeks, and my confidence blooms.
“Maybe I’ll stop by there,” I smile.
Amanda returns with my pie then, and I undo the silverware to dig in, just as my cell phone starts to ring. I internally groan and pull my cell out of my pocket. The number isn’t one I recognize, but I decide to answer anyway because I’ve filled out so many applications; it could be any of them calling for an interview.
“Hello,” I try and sound as cheerful as possible.
“Hello, is this Stella Young?” The man on the other end asks, his voice holding authority. Immediately, I’m caught off guard.
“Yes, this is she. Who is this?”
“This is the Jaspen county police. Miss Young, could you tell me where you are right now? I’d like to send someone to talk to you.”
“What? Why… I mean, what is this about? Am I in trouble?”
“No, no… nothing like that. I’m afraid I have some bad news…”
51
Cameron
Panic claws at my insides. Where the hell is she? It’s been days since we’ve seen Stella. She didn’t show up for work at all, and every time that we’ve tried to call her phone, it’s gone straight to voicemail. Normally, I wouldn’t give two fucks about a girl, but Stella isn’t just anyone.
I’ve been wanting to go over to her place, but we had to deal with this Paul mess first. This fucker seriously tried to call the cops on us because we roughed him up a bit, okay, maybe more than a bit. Still, he deserved it. Truthfully, he’s lucky I was able to pull Easton off of him because it could’ve ended way worse.
Of course, my dad smoothed things out, and Easton’s mom helped too. It just took them longer than expected. While waiting, we had to lay low, my dad basically put us on house arrest, but that’s done with now. Now we’re free again.
Easton gets into the passenger seat of my car. He closes the door, and I speed off, heading toward Stella’s house. I cut the twenty-minute drive down to fifteen by breaking every speed limit there is. The need to see her, to touch her is borderline insane. My infatuation with her has only grown more over the last two days. Judging by Easton impatiently tapping his leg, he feels the same.
While stuck in the house, I checked to see if she had any type of social media, and of course, she didn’t. And all over again, I’m reminded of how different she is in comparison to the other girls at Blackthorn.
My thoughts fade to the back of my mind, and as soon as we pull into her neighborhood, I feel like something is off. I can’t put my finger on it yet, but there is something wrong. Turning on to her street, I spot it right away.
“Fucking Christ,” Easton mumbles and shakes his head, his leg bouncing faster and faster, giving his uneasiness over the situation away.
Slowly, I pull up closer to Stella’s house… or where it used to be. All that’s left now is a pile of black ash and rubble.
What the hell happened?
I park right in front of the pile of burned wood, my mind moving a million miles a minute, questions swirl, and burn at the tip of my tongue. We just sit in the car, neither one of us saying a word as we stare at what used to be a house. The air is thick, making it hard to breathe, and my stomach rolls. I’m aware I shouldn’t really feel anything for this girl, not when our plan was to torment her and keep her quiet, but that’s the least of our worries now.
My gaze catches on something, and that thing has my stomach-churning. Flowers. Among the destruction are a set of bright flowers. They stick out like a sore thumb. I notice then that someone brought a wreath and set it next to the mailbox. I’m not stupid. People only bring flowers and wreaths for one thing: remembrance, which means…
I can’t even think about it. Someone died. No, not someone. Stella. Fuck, I can’t comprehend the thought. Dead? There is a tightening in my chest, the emotions pushing to the surface. All I can do is think as I sit there staring at what should be her house.
I should be glad that she’s dead, one less person to worry about telling our secret. I should be cracking open a cold one, celebrating this easy out the universe has dropped into my lap. In reality, it feels like I’ve lost something… precious. I can’t fully explain it, just that there is this missing piece where something used to be.
“Call your dad,” Easton breaks the silence, his face void of emotion. “He has to know something.”
Of course, why didn’t I think of that? Probably because I was too shocked to think of anything else. Pulling out my phone, I dial my father’s number. A moment later, his gruff voice comes through the speaker.
“Hello, son, staying out of trouble today?” My father asks humorously.
“Hey, Dad. Yeah, I am, but I need something… Can you tell me what happened to the house on 2nd Street?”
“Are you talking about the house that burned down?” My father asks, casually.
“Yeah, that one. Did someone die?” The words feel like shards of glass on my tongue.
“Why? Surely you don’t know anyone in that neighborhood.”
“I do actually… a girl I sometimes see,” I admit.
“Oh, well. I don’t know the whole story; I had the PR guys deal with it. I only know one body was found but couldn’t be identified, and one older lady was brought to the hospital. Fire marshal says the lady set her own house on fire. Dementia or some shit. That’s all I know.” Inky dread pumps through my veins. Grams started the house on fire and Stella… my jaw aches with the pressure from clenching it so hard. She died because of it.
“Oh, okay. Well, thanks, Dad.”
“Anytime.” He hangs up the phone, and I drop my own into my lap, twisting to face Easton, who looks a little ashen.
“I mean… we should be glad she’s dead. It’s one less person we have to deal with. She definitely won’t tell anyone who killed James now.” I try to make light of the ordeal, but a sourness fills my mouth at the thought of talking about her like this.
“Look, shit happens,” Easton says, “can’t get hung up on some girl. It’s done, people die, nothing we can do about it. Let’s go to Night Shift and find someone we can screw. I doubt we’ll even remember this chick come tomorrow.” Easton tries to cover up his emotions with our usual activity, but I can see he is struggling. He might not show it, but he is.
“You sure that’s what you want to do?” I ask, giving him a chance to right his wrong. I�
�m not fond of the thought of fucking Stella’s memory from my brain, but what the fuck else is there to do about it?
“Yeah, I’m sure. Don’t be a pussy. Let’s go fuck our way through some girls and forget that she ever existed. She wasn’t anyone important anyway.”
I nod and swallow around the knot that’s forming in my throat. I want to tell him he’s being a stupid prick, but there isn’t any point in arguing with him. He’s hurt, and this is his way of hiding it, of dealing with the pain.
Starting the car up, I drive in the direction of Night Shift, wondering if I’ll ever truly be able to forget about Stella.
* * *
Arriving at Night Shift, we walk in as we always do, straight to the bar for a beer. We barely sit down before the girls flock to us, knowing that we always leave a wad of cash behind for them. They’re all pretty in an extremely fake way with their fake lashes, tits, and painted on faces, and normally I wouldn’t be bothered by that, but tonight I need something else.
Easton reads my mind because he opens his mouth to speak before I can, “You ladies are nice and all, but we’re looking for something a little different tonight.”
Bridget, a girl I know by name because I request her every time I come in, starts to pout. She sucks cock like a vacuum cleaner, but that’s not what I want today. I mean, I want my cock sucked but not by her.
“Oh, come on, Cam.” Bridget runs her red painted nails across my chest.
“He’ll be coming, but not by you,” Easton chuckles.
“Are you sure? Remember that thing I do with my tongue?” She leans in and presses her body into mine, making it hard for me to ignore her presence. I can practically see her nipples through the skimpy getup she has on, and I’m tempted to lean down and suck one into my mouth. Then something off in the distance catches my eye. Blonde hair, the color of sunshine, acts as a beacon drawing my attention away from Bridget.
