by Ella Goode
“Eat.” My eyes flick up to his. I’ve gotten lost in my thoughts. I should be more on edge. I don’t know why I’m not. Let’s face it, I’m in a place alone with a man I don’t know, but for the first time in a few days I feel like I can relax. I don’t know what is more tempting right now, the tacos or the sofa. I know if I sit on it I’ll be out like a light. Instead this one time I let Deuce boss me around as I come back to the counter to see he’s already made my tacos for me. I lick my lips as my stomach growls. Deuce’s eyes go to my mouth and the way he’s looking at me makes me think that he’s hungry for more than tacos.
I sit in the high top chair that he’s put my plate in front of. He doesn't have to tell me twice as I dig into the food. I moan at the wonderful taste that fills my mouth.
“Fucking hell.”
I look up at Deuce, who is watching me eat. I’m sure my face is a mess with taco remnants all over the place, but I don’t care. His jaw is tight and he looks as pissed as ever as he watches me eat. “What?” I ask. It’s tacos. You can’t make eating them look nice.
He shakes his head, going to make his own plate. At least that’s what I think he’s going to do. I’m finishing off the tacos he made me and the next thing I know he slides another plate of them in front of me. I guess he’s not hungry because it seems he’s given me his plate as well. His hand reaches out toward my mouth and I immediately pull away. His face drops for a second before he reaches over and hands me a napkin. I wipe my face, feeling bad for jerking away from him.
“Thanks.” I swallow a small lump that tries to form at his act of kindness. Okay, maybe he is a sweet asshole or one that has their moments. I pick up another taco and shove it in my mouth. Or he wants something from you, my mind whispers. My stomach drops. I try and push the thought away. No, he’s been a jerk but he hasn't made me feel uncomfortable. I’m the one that listened to him rub one out in his bathroom. Maybe he should be the one to worry.
Chapter Five
Carter
Feeling awkward for one of the first times in my life, I rub my hand against my pants. The sight of her jerking away from me fills me with unease. Did she think I was going to force myself on her? I don’t need to do that. I’m not into those power games. Sure, I like to be in control but the only people I’m exerting my will over are those who have agreed to it beforehand. When you step onto the field wearing helmets and pads, you’ve consented to my domination. My teammates know this and so do my opponents.
A casual? Never.
My stomach churns thinking about anyone hurting her like this. Appetite gone, I toss my taco onto the plate.
“What’s wrong?” she asks. “Did I burn the taco shell?” There’s a piece of lettuce sticking out of the corner of her mouth. By all rights I should think this is gross but it only looks cute. Clearly, I’m losing my mind.
“Not hungry,” I growl.
I turn away and start to clean up but there isn’t much of a mess to keep me occupied. After wiping down the counters and washing the pan, all I can do is wait for her to finish eating so I can clean the bowls. I fold my arms across my chest and watch her gobble down her fourth taco like she hasn’t eaten in three weeks.
“How old are you?”
She pauses mid-bite. “Old?” she asks like that’s a foreign word.
“You graduate from high school?”
Her mouth moves but no sound comes out. That’s a no then and it looks like she doesn’t lie readily. I give her a quick once-over. She’s not wearing any makeup and I know that the girls at school can look older if they have it on but she doesn’t have the look of a nervous freshman so I’m guessing she’s a senior like me, which means she dropped out just a few months before her graduation. What was so bad about her circumstances that she decided leaving school at this point was a better option than sticking it out for her diploma?
“You’re in your last semester and you drop out. Why? How’re you gonna get a job?” I ask bluntly, wondering how well she thought this plan out.
“I’m working out those details,” she replies with her chin out.
“What are you running from?” Or maybe it’s who?
“I’m exploring the world.”
“Okay. Where did you come from?”
Her mouth slams shut.
“I didn’t realize your past itinerary was a secret.”
“Well, it is.”
Resisting the urge to pinch her chin, I curl my fingers into a fist at my side. Direct questioning is getting me nowhere. I’m going to have to think of a new plan.
I toss the sponge onto the counter in front of her. “Clean up when you’re done. Plates and cups are all dishwasher safe. You can sleep on the sofa. I’ll get you some sheets.”
I start down the hall when her smart ass quips, “What, you’re not going to offer me your bed?”
“No, because you’d say you don’t want to use it and I’m not interested in arguing. Besides, my bed is comfortable and I like sleeping there.” Another time, I would’ve invited her to sleep in it with me, but I know from her earlier reaction that she expects that kind of abuse.
“So are you like the hired help here? And if so can I have a job?”
“No and no.” I pull some sheets down out of the closet, grab a blanket and a pillow, and return to the main living area. Besides the high-end kitchen my mom installed, there’s also a giant sectional big enough to sleep three grown men and two large overstuffed chairs facing a woodburning fireplace and an eighty-inch television. I throw the bedding down onto the sofa. “What do you do then? Just go to class?”
“Yup.”
“What a straight arrow.” The words are mocking but the tone sounds envious.
“I know what I want.”
“And that is?” She’s off the stool now, cleaning up.
“Football.”
“You sound confident.”
“Why shouldn’t I be? What’s the point of doing anything if I’m not good at it?”
She finishes stuffing all the dirty dishes into the dishwasher before coming over to stand near the sectional—out of arm’s length from me. She’s wary, making sure there’s always an obstacle between her and me.
Unwillingly, an ache develops in my chest over what must’ve happened to make her the way she is. I clear my throat and try to swallow down that sympathy. My life doesn’t have room for the waif. I can feed her tonight and give her some money in the morning, but then she needs to be gone. I shove aside the way that thought makes me feel empty and snap out a few directions. “The bathroom’s down the hall. Use what you want. The doors and windows have alarms on them so if you try to leave, sirens will go off and if the sirens go off, the police will be here within five minutes. Whatever you do, if you decide to escape tonight, make sure you can get away from here in five minutes.”
“It takes five minutes to get down your driveway!”
I shrug. “Not my problem you’re slow.”
“I—Fine. Maybe I’ll just stay here forever then.” She throws herself down on one of the cushions and looks at me with belligerence. I cover my mouth with the back of my hand so she can’t see my smile.
“Better start earning some money then. I charge rent.”
“Oh, and I bet you’ll want me to pay for it with my body, right?” she says bitterly.
Yeah, someone mistreated her bad, and soon I’m gonna find who that asshole is and I’m going to reach down his throat and rip his dick out backwards. Until then, though, the goal here is to make her as comfortable with me as possible. I don’t know why. I’m not into helping people. I’m a dick. Anyone who knows me would tell you that. Yet the need to protect her is overwhelming me. I summon a little self-control and a little sarcasm, enough to make her mad, which is when she’s not fearful.
“What makes you think I’m attracted to you enough to pay for sex? Do I look like someone who needs to buy my partners?”
“It’s not about looks.”
I give her a scathing once-ove
r. “It is for me.”
With that, I go to bed.
Chapter Six
Mallory
Deuce’s last words resonate with me long after he leaves the room to go to sleep. For a minute I felt self-conscious, but then I remembered that only a few hours ago he was in his bathroom jerking off to what I’m guessing were mental images of me. At least that’s what my mind had secretly wanted him to be thinking about while he touched himself.
His words should have settled me instead of almost bringing tears to my eyes. I should be happy that he doesn’t want me in that way but what he said and the way he looked at me still isn’t sitting right with me. It made me feel as though I was less than. Everything about this place does. The only time I feel at ease is in the rare moments when Carter flashes his kindness. I think he’s more taking pity on me. I don’t want his pity. I have enough of my own.
I should have said something sarcastic back to him but he shocked me. I hate when I think of a good retort after the person leaves. I wish I would have said something along the lines of you didn’t mind my looks when you were getting off in the bathroom. I would have loved to see the look on his face if I could have gotten myself to call him out on it. I might talk a big game but I’m not sure I would have said it without turning five shades of red. He would have seen right through my tough exterior and been clued in to how shy I can be about some things.
I lie on the sofa that is more comfortable than any bed I’ve ever slept in and continue to stare up at the ceiling. His warning about the security system is another thing I’m not sure how to handle. It sort of makes me feel safe knowing that all I would have to do if I needed help is open a window and the cops would come immediately. The only downside would be that they might actually be looking for me, so that may not work out in my favor. If my mom’s boyfriend followed through with his threats then they definitely are. I can’t imagine Ricky walking into a police station and trying to press charges against me for stealing his wallet. I bet he wouldn’t go near that station because I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a record or a warrant. My mom’s love interests aren’t exactly stand-up guys.
He doesn't actually have proof I stole the wallet. I did but no one saw me do it. I don’t feel guilty over it either. He is the reason I took it to begin with. I needed the money so I could get away from him. Who knew Ricky would have over a grand stuffed inside of it? I roll off the sofa to head toward my bag. Thankfully Carter didn’t hit the light on his way out. I hate the dark more than anything else. You can never see what is coming when the lights are out. A lesson I learned the hard way.
I dig into my bag, pulling out my phone and powering it on. I probably don’t have service. My mom would have shut it off by now. I powered it off earlier because I didn't know when I might get a chance to charge it. I wanted to preserve the battery in case I needed it in a jam. When I power it on, I don’t see any missed calls or texts from my mom. There are, however, ten from Ricky.
I don’t bother to read them. I shut the phone back off, tossing it into my bag. I hate the sadness I feel that I haven't received one text or call from my mom. I’ve been gone three days now. Sure, I am eighteen and could leave if I wanted to, but she isn’t even looking for me. For all she knows I could be dead or missing. This is some heavy crap to think about before bedtime but it haunts my mind every night. I close my eyes and know the real reason she doesn't care that I left. She didn't want me there to begin with.
As soon as I hit my teenage years and started developing, she started treating me differently. She would make sure she put me down or called me names. She mainly focused on my body. It started after the first time that I told her that one of her boyfriends said something inappropriate to me. Instead of getting rid of the pervert, she began telling me to cover up and saying I looked like a whore. Asking me if I was trying to make her boyfriends look at me.
At first I thought the things she said were true so I tried to cover up as much as possible. After a while, I realized it was her own insecurities that made her lash out. I got used to her insults and let them roll off me. That’s what I told myself, anyway. I’m sure the scars are there even though they’re not visible. They cut deep on the inside and I have no idea how one can even begin trying to heal something like that.
Ricky was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I’m not thirteen anymore and I don’t need a roof over my head bad enough to deal with that creep. He was starting to get bolder and bolder with his advances. I started shoving a chair against my door at night after I’d awoken in the dark with him standing over my bed.
He cornered me three days ago, making it clear the word no wouldn’t be acceptable this time. I did what I had to. I told him to wait for me in the bedroom. My mom was off at work for the night. My heart starts hammering in my chest thinking about the risk I took. Ricky thought I was going to finally give in to him but I stole his wallet instead. I grabbed my duffle bag that I kept packed in case of an emergency and got the hell out of Dodge. When he heard the front door slam, I was already running down the street.
That’s when I heard him screaming about the cops. I kept running as fast as I could. I know I act tough on the outside but I was actually getting scared that he would do something to me when my mom wasn’t home. I knew she would never believe me so leaving had been my best option.
I tuck the wallet back into my bag and head over to my makeshift bed on the couch. I lie down and try to sleep. Even though I’m exhausted my mind keeps racing. I suddenly feel overwhelmed by all of it. I begin to softly cry into the pillow that Deuce was kind enough to give me. I can’t make the tears stop no matter how hard I try.
Chapter Seven
Carter
I wake up feeling like shit. It’s probably because I spent most of the night arguing with myself about the girl. I was coming out of the bathroom when I heard her sniffling. I thought about going to her although to do what, I don’t know. I’m not good with the whole comforting thing. That’s not my bag. On top of that, she’s scared of being touched and thinks I’m going to make her pay for her bed and food with sex so I opted to keep my ass planted in my room. It wasn’t easy.
It’s not as if I don’t have experience with tears. Mom’s a crier but she uses her tears like a weapon. They hurt you more than they hurt her.
I don’t think the waif is like that. She was belligerent face to face but cried when alone. Those aren’t the actions of a manipulator. I scrub my face, feeling more tired this morning than I did crawling into my king-size bed last night. I grab a pair of shorts and throw on a loose tank. I need to burn off these weird emotions. Once I’ve put myself through a workout, I’ll be able to think more clearly. The waif and I can sit down and talk about her situation. She’s obviously hiding from someone. Whoever it is can’t be more powerful or richer than me so as soon as she gives me the name, I can take care of the problem and she can go home.
I ignore how my gut twists at the thought of her leaving. Better to not get attached than start liking someone, and then spend a night in a stranger’s place crying into a pillow. With that pep talk, I shove my feet into a pair of sneakers and tiptoe down the hall and over to the sectional. The waif’s asleep with one small hand tucked under a plump cheek. She looks sweet and vulnerable. My dick twitches in response. I give myself a punch in the groin and head for the gym. A smoothie awaits me when I reach the glass structure overlooking the pool. As I gulp it down, I spot my dad sweating away on the elliptical as he watches his latest fling doing laps in the Olympic-sized pool. The tiled mosaic of Neptune shimmers under the water.
“Good game last night,” he says when I step onto the treadmill next to him. “You should call your mom. She said she tried to reach you last night.”
“Haven’t seen the messages,” I reply. I turned my phone off, as I always do, before the game. I have a specific routine that I follow before the game and it does not include reading texts from my absentee mother. As for afterwards, I’m not in the mood to speak t
o her then either.
“Don’t want to talk about your mother, eh?” Dad says. “Then how about your guest? Ben said you had a guest last night.”
“Can your security team pay attention to what happens inside your house instead of mine?” I point to the swimmer. “She could be robbing you blind, but you wouldn’t know it because your nose is stuck in my business.”
“We’re able to multi-task,” Dad declares. “Besides, of course she’s stealing me blind. Why else is a girl her age in bed with a man of mine? Money, Carter. It’s all money.” He rubs his fingers together. “Don’t forget that when your pretty thing is between your legs sucking your dick. She’s only doing it because she wants something from you. As long as you understand that going in, no one gets hurt.”
And people wonder why I’m antisocial. “Thanks for the advice,” I reply flatly. I pull on my headphones, crank up the speed, and ignore my old man. He leaves halfway through my two-hour workout. After I’m done, I order another smoothie to take upstairs. By the time I’m out of the shower, it’s ready. I thank Gertie, our chef and nutritionist, and discuss a few other changes to my menu before jogging up the stairs to my loft. There I find the waif at the stove.
“What’s that?” she asks when I slide the glass in front of her.
“Mango smoothie.”
