Then she’s in my lap, hands grabbing my face and crushing my lips to hers. Those long legs wrap around my waist, and she pries my lips open. "Fuck me, Cliff," she breathes into my mouth.
And I want to—physically, anyway. Maybe even emotionally, whatever the fuck that means. But I can’t. Because I’ve now shown her who I am. Now that she’s seen a glimpse of the monster, there’s no happy ending here. We’re not going to make love and then fall asleep in each other’s arms.
It ends now.
I push her out of my lap. Not hard enough to send her flying, but enough to get her attention. "No," I growl. I stand from the bed and pace the room.
Jumping up from the bed, she touches my arm with a delicate hand. "Cliff, you did what you had to—"
I shove her hand away. “Everyone keeps saying that." Caging her, I back her up against a wall. I press my body into hers. "Don’t you get it?" I seethe. "You’re playing with fire, little girl."
Her hands strain at my chest, her mouth twisted. "You’re telling yourself the wrong story, Cliff." Those luminous eyes meet mine. They glint with lust—and something else. A fire that I can’t name. It makes me want to claim her even more, to make her mine forever.
But I can’t.
I lean in, our noses touching. "Become a social worker," I rasp. "Get out of this town, and save little kids. But don’t ever come near me again."
Her eyes flicker. "Don’t do this, Cliff." She isn’t pleading. Her voice is hard. Like she’s so much wiser than I am, like she can see the future.
I have to let her go, though.
Gripping her arms, I press her hard against the wall. Lucy will be home soon. And I have to leave.
I release her, resisting the urge to kiss those lips one last time. Then, grabbing my cut, I brush past her. As I walk through the living room, I hear a tiny meow. My gaze snags on the cat carrier on the floor, wondering why Olivia would bring Dio over to Lucy’s. But it doesn’t matter. I have to get moving, get out of here before Lucy gets home and talks me out of this.
I slam the front door behind me, and Olivia doesn’t follow. Even as I stomp on the kick starter, I sort of hope that she will. But this isn’t a fucking Disney movie, and my resolve has to be solid. For her safety, and for mine.
I let the Screamin’ Eagle speak for me as I roar away, locking my heart down as tightly as the engine welded underneath me.
Pulling into the parking lot of The Wet Mermaid, I decide I really need a second vehicle. The roads were slippery, and I nearly wiped out a few times. I don’t want to outdo Skid. He can keep that title.
I find Beer Can inside, sitting at the bar. Seeing it is a stinging reminder of Olivia. Of course, she isn’t here. A woman I’ve never seen is currently serving, but that doesn’t say much. I’m still an alien here.
"You’re late," Beer Can says without looking at me.
I sit on the stool next to him. "Yeah. I got caught up in something." I shake my head at him. Since I’m a Prospect, I’m not included in Church or votes. I’m pretty much in the dark. But I’m seriously pissed that they sprung all of the Mercy shit on Olivia without giving me a heads up.
"Something you wanna say?" Beer Can eyes me, bloodshot and red-rimmed.
"No." It comes out a gruff rasp, harder than I intended. But fuck it. I’m in a shitty mood.
"Can I get you something, honey?" the bartender asks. Golden hair flows over her shoulders, cascading to her hips.
There isn’t a drink in the world that is strong enough, but I order a whiskey on the rocks.
"Now that you’ve got your sippy cup," Beer Can says, standing, "follow me. I’ve got a job for you.”
He leads me to the rooms upstairs, then knocks at a closed door. A woman’s voice answers, and he pushes it open.
She sits on the bed, black chin-length hair tucked behind her ears. I peg her at about my age. The clothes she’s wearing are a mix of a size too big and too small—a mashup of donations, from the looks of them. Bruises mar her face and neck. The clothes cover the rest of them. It’s just a guess, but from the way she ducks her head, I’d say it’s worse than that.
"Cliff, this is Bree." Beer Can nods to us both in introduction. "She’s your job."
Holding my whiskey, I look back and forth between them.
"Bree is a friend of the club. She needs a ride to the train station." Beer Can tosses me a set of keys. "You’re taking the blue Chevy."
I raise my eyebrows. "I don’t have a license."
"That hasn’t stopped you from riding that bike around," he remarks.
"Yes," I say slowly, "but we’re talking about driving into New Haven. Lots of cops. Spot checks. Shit like that."
Beer Can laughs, crossing his arms. "Well, well, well." His eyes skewer me. "Don’t ask questions. Just do what you’re fucking told." He picks up a duffel bag from the floor and shoves it into my arms. "Take the lady to the train station, Prospect. When you get back, you can take her room."
He leaves us, swaying as he heads down the hall.
I turn to look at Bree. She stands from the bed, hugging herself.
"Well," she says, "shall we?"
I chainsmoke as I drive, eyes flitting from the rearview mirror to the side mirrors to the windshield. This whole thing makes me nervous as fuck. Strange woman, unlicensed driver. Probably an unregistered car. Maybe they’re testing me to see how loyal I am.
"So how do you tie in with the club?" I ask, stopping at one of Naugatuck’s million stop signs. My plan is to avoid the highway and 63. It’s going to take us forever to get to New Haven. At least I don’t have dinner plans.
"Oh, well, you know." I glance at her. She smiles. "I help out here and there. They help me." Her shoulders lift and fall.
“That's not vague." I light another cigarette. "Are you a hooker?"
Bree snorts. "Are you a bank manager?"
My eyebrow twitches. I check the speedometer. I’m pushing the speed limit. Letting off the gas a little, I try to put the pieces together. Donny is the club’s Enforcer. Beer Can is the Sergeant-At-Arms. Bree is a friend of the club who’s wearing an awful lot of bruises. "Who are you running from?"
The laughter dies on her lips. "No one," she says. "Not anymore."
Bingo.
I relax back into the driver’s seat. "Where are you going?"
"New Haven," she replies. "That’s where you’re taking me, isn’t it?"
"Yeah, the train station." I glance at her again. She’s staring out her window, probably looking for ghosts. "How far out of state do they want you to go?"
"My, my. There are some brains behind that handsome face." She shifts in her seat, and I notice the edge of a tattoo on her wrist. She pulls her sleeve down before I can get a good look at it.
"Sounds like this is a regular thing for you." I hold my pack of cigarettes out to her over the center console.
She pushes them back to me. "That’s pretty presumptuous for someone who just met me fifteen minutes ago."
"Look, I’m not looking down on you." I rake hair back from my face. "I’m just wondering . . . Aren’t you tired of running?" I know I am.
Bree doesn’t answer.
After ten minutes, the silence starts to get to me. I turn on PLR, since I’ve recently discovered that WMRQ is no longer the alternative rock station that I grew up with. PLR mostly plays classic rock like Def Leppard and Tesla, but they slide in some Stone Temple Pilots and the like every so often.
The closer we get to New Haven, the more Bree checks the time on the dashboard. I don’t know what time her train leaves, but it must be soon. Ditching the back roads for 63, I push the speedometer as far as I can without truly speeding. I just hope we don’t hit the regular gridlock.
Whoever designed New Haven’s network of one-way streets was an asshole with a sadistic sense of humor.
Traffic in the city isn’t bad, but it’s still slow. Bree fidgets in her seat, looking more and more like she’s going to eject herself from the car and run the res
t of the way. We inch toward Union Station. I’m not the one catching the train but I’m starting to feel anxious, too. If I fuck this up and Bree misses her train, I have a feeling I’ll be losing more than my cut.
But traffic starts flowing again, and I pull in front of the station at 5:39.
Bree grabs her duffel bag from the backseat.
"Am I walking you in?" I don’t remember whether Beer Can said.
But Bree shakes her head. "My train is for 5:45. I’ve got to haul ass." She leans over and gives me an almost motherly peck on the cheek. With one hand, she pushes open the passenger door. Then she climbs out, slamming the door shut behind her. She starts to walk away, then pauses. Turns.
I roll down the window. "Gonna give me a tip?"
A smile touches her eyes. "Take care of my daughter, Cliff."
Then she turns and disappears inside.
16
Olivia
By the time Lucy gets home from work, I’ve composed myself. I’ve even fixed my makeup and fed Dio some canned tuna. Watching him wolf it down soothes me in more ways than I can list. I sit at the table reading for one of my classes on my phone when she walks in.
Despite my efforts, though, she takes one look at me and clucks her tongue. "I’ll kill him. What did he do?"
Big sisters always know.
I’m not even sure where to start. I look down at my hands. "Hope you don’t mind that I brought a date." I nod to Dio, who’s passed out in a heap of towels on the floor.
Lucy’s face transforms from concerned sister to laser-shooting rage dragon. "Cliff did that?" She looks from me to Dio, appalled.
"No," I say, beckoning for her to sit down. I suck in a deep breath and steal a glance at my purse.
"Go ahead," Lucy says, rolling her eyes.
I light up, grateful, but consider busting Cliff for smoking in his room. Not that it matters. He isn’t coming back.
I slump back in my seat.
"Out with it, kid," Lucy says. "I’ve had a long day. Six-year-olds are exhausting. It’s like they can sense spring vacation coming up." She eyes my cigarettes, which is odd because I’ve never seen my sister smoke, or heard her mention it. And we tell each other everything.
I envision myself telling her all about Eli, how he initially seemed cute but worked his way up to creeping around my apartment and nearly killing my cat. But I can’t tell her all of it, because then she’ll never let me go home. And I can’t even use Esther and Donny as a compromise, because my roommate texted me earlier to let me know that she and Donny are going away for the weekend.
They’ve been dating for less than a week, and they’re already going away together. I hate to admit it to myself, but I desperately want that with Cliff.
Lucy whistles. "Okay, Olivia, come on out of the rabbit hole."
I sigh again. "Dio got out and a car hit him," I say, waving a nonchalant hand. My stomach twists with guilt. I should be telling Lucy all about how angry I am. Instead all I can think about is Cliff, just up and leaving me here because he’s "too dangerous." My lip curls.
My sister stands and pulls a bottle of wine out from the refrigerator. "We’re going to play a game," she says, grabbing two wine glasses from a cabinet. "And I really hope I don’t lose, because I can’t afford a hangover on top of first graders." She sets it all down on the table.
Pouring us each a glass, she announces the rules. "Every time I have to prompt you, you have to drink. And every time you give me details without me asking, I have to drink."
I arch an eyebrow at her. "That is the worst game you’ve made up. Ever."
She shrugs. "I told you I was tired." She clinks her glass to mine. "Let the games begin."
I stare at her. "Luce, you do realize that all we have to do is not talk and the whole thing collapses . . . right?"
"Fine." She takes a sip. "We just drink. And you talk. Now."
It takes me two gulped down glasses before I’m lubricated enough to spill everything that’s happened today. I’m sober enough that I can easily leave out everything about Eli. I tell her what Donny told me about my father, and she refills both of our glasses without asking.
Then, without meeting her eyes, I tell her about my conversation with Cliff.
"He told me what happened," I say slowly. "Why he went to prison." I sip wine to continue avoiding looking at her.
Out of the corner of my eye, though, I see her mouth make a tiny O. Her chest rises as she chooses her next words.
"You don’t have to talk about it," I say quickly. "I guess he was trying to reciprocate. Or push me away. Or something." I polish off my third glass. I’m now comfortably buzzed, enough so that the words start flowing and tears prick at my eyes. "Fuck." I dab at them with the corner of my sleeve. "I just fixed my makeup."
"Livvie," Lucy says, her voice full of sisterly sympathy. She pushes a box of tissues toward me. This girl is so together, she has tissues in every room. And she never runs out of things like toilet paper or milk.
It’s almost hard to believe that someone could hurt her the way that Cliff’s father did.
My eyebrows scrunch together. I fucked the direct spawn of the man who molested my sister. In a way, that’s seriously fucked up. Or maybe that’s the wine talking. My frown deepens.
"Liv," Lucy says gently.
I look up, meeting her gaze.
"Cliff is . . . kind of like a twenty-year-old kid. He has no idea what he wants. He’s just figuring everything out for himself." She blinks several times, and I realize my sister is on the verge of tears. "He’s missed the most important years of his life," she whispers. "He’s, like, emotionally stunted—and it’s all my fault."
I grab her hand, squeezing. "No. It’s not your fault! Cliff made that choice himself."
"He did it for me!" Her voice breaks. Tears rolls down her cheeks.
It kind of freaks me out. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lucy cry. I push the tissues back her way. "He’s still the one who did it. I’m sure he knew what the consequences would be." I glower. He sure as hell better know what the consequences are now. I am never, ever letting him back in. "Asshole," I mutter.
Lucy dries her tears. "So what happened?" she says, voice thick with emotion.
I know she’s just trying to deflect the conversation away from her, but I’m drunk and too clumsy to bat it back at her. "He went on about how he’s so dangerous and blah, blah, blah." I roll my eyes, my voice too loud. "Basically, the whole 'you’re too good for me' spiel."
"Pathetic." She crosses her arms. "Well, his loss."
My pursed lips twitch to the side.
"What?" Lucy peers at me. "It is his loss, Olivia."
"Then why," I draw out the word, "does it feel like mine?" I huff. This is all too weird. I’m not used to men turning my world upside down and inside out. I feel like someone’s slit my body open and rearranged all of my organs. It’s not a nice feeling, and it has nothing to do with the wine.
"You’ve got to focus on you, Livvie," my sister says in her preachy I know better because I’m so much older voice. "You have so much to offer in a relationship. Anyone who doesn’t see that is . . . is . . ."
"Even if he’s your childhood hero?" I scowl, eyeing the bottle of wine. There’s enough left for one glass.
"Go for it." She pushes it toward me. "Look, Cliff may be like a brother to me, but you are my sister. Hos before bros, yo."
Cringing, I pour my glass. "Please don’t ever say that again."
She shrugs. "But it’s true. And you do have a lot to give—to someone who’s really going to appreciate it."
"A lot to give? Luce, I’ve missed like seventy-five percent of my classes this week. I’m behind on my internship hours." I lift my voice into a southern twang. "My daddy’s in prison." I giggle. "I’m a fucking country song."
"Too bad college radio stations don’t usually play country," she jokes.
"Maybe they do down south." I tilt my head, pretending to contemplate. "I could move to Ge
orgia or something, redo the semester . . ."
"You’re a sneeze away from graduating." Lucy stands and puts her hands on her hips. "Don’t you dare throw it all away over some guy."
If only she knew.
I rest my chin in the palm of my hand. "I wish I could go back in time." Add/drop that damn photography class. Or just never accept the camera from Eli. And definitely, for sure, not have sex with Cliff in someone’s station wagon. I fold my arms on the table and bury my face in my sweater.
"Let me drive you home," Lucy says, rubbing my back. "It’ll all look better in the morning. I promise."
I snort. "Like you’re even sober enough to drive." My voice is muffled against the table.
"Pfft. How do you think I get through my week with these kids?"
Sitting up fast, I twist around to see her face. A smirk dances across her lips. "Luce, that’s like borderline alcoholism."
She rolls her eyes. "I don’t drink to function, Livvie. I have one or two glasses every night, after dinner and while I correct papers. It’s my way of celebrating surviving another day in educational hell." She sighs. "I thought this teaching gig was going to be so different, you know?"
"You," I say, poking her in the ribs, "are ruining your own 'graduate in time' lecture."
She smoothes my hair. "You’re going to find that the world doesn’t always meet your expectations. And that feeling, my friend, is called disillusionment. Learn to love wine." She pats my back. "Now come on. I’ve got to get up early, and I’m sure your kitty wants his territory back."
We both look over at Dio, who is happily munching away at the remainder of his tuna dinner.
"Are you sure about that?"
Lucy nods to my glass. "Chug it, woman."
Feeling pleasantly woozy, I obey. While I’m sucking down pink moscato, I decide that I’m going to continue this warm party when I get home. I’ll draw a nice hot bath and bring a battered copy of one of my Terry Brooks novels with me. Maybe The Elfstones of Shannara, because I could really use a little Eretria in my life right now. Reading isn’t really my jam, but I have nice memories of my mom—my birth mother—reading to me when I was little. The Shannara books are all I have left of her.
A Disturbing Prospect (River Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 1) Page 15
