I led Raven and Toby farther into Dive, and we slid into our seats just in time to see Blaine smack CJ upside the head as he shrugged his shoulders, struggling to explain himself. I laughed out loud. Luckily, Toby and Raven were seated across from me and didn’t catch the exchange.
“What?” Raven asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Nothing. Just . . . honestly, he’s harmless. Dense, but harmless. Sorry you had to see that.”
She brushed off my apology with a shrug and picked up a laminated menu, shielding her face. “It’s fine. I deal with guys much worse . . . as you know.”
Ouch.
“Yeah, uh, sorry about that too.”
When Lidia, one of the waitresses, came over to greet us and take our order, I was thankful for the reprieve from the awkward silence. Trying to talk to Raven was like running full speed into a brick wall over and over again. Her tenacity was unshakable. It made me wonder why the hell I kept trying to break through that stubborn wall of pursed, pink lips, narrowed, blue eyes and clipped, cold responses. Call me persistent. Or maybe insane. Yeah, probably just insane.
“Hey, there, Dom. What can I get y’all?” Lidia smiled, her drawl like a sip of southern sweet tea. Girls in the South had a kind of sweetness that made your teeth hurt. Obviously, Raven was not from around here.
I ordered the special—pulled pork with Mr. Bradley’s special Carolina BBQ sauce—and Toby took my suggestion of Dive’s famous burger. Raven ordered a chicken sandwich, and even managed to smile when she did it.
Luckily, the food was fast, and I didn’t have to keep trying to strike up a conversation that apparently wasn’t going to happen.
“Hey, guys,” Blaine said in greeting, approaching our table. “Sorry if my cousin caused you any trouble. I hope he didn’t ruin your lunch. I’m Blaine, by the way.” He looked down at Raven and Toby and flashed a smile. And I swear to God, Raven damn near swooned in her seat. Un-fucking-believable!
“No, not at all,” she grinned back, her voice perfectly polite. “I’m Raven, and this is my brother, Toby.”
“Good to meet you both. Glad you guys dropped by. Everything good with your meals? How’s that burger treating you, man?”
Despite the extra adornments, Blaine was the epitome of class. He didn’t even flinch at Toby’s bruised face or question me about who they were. He had a way of making everyone around him feel welcomed and accepted. I really hated how much I couldn’t hate the guy. But there was no way he could have known that Toby didn’t talk. And the protector in me wanted to save him from any undue embarrassment.
“It’s fine,” I snapped before I realized how completely out of line I must’ve sounded. “I mean, it’s great. Thanks, B. Um, Kam around?”
Blaine shook off my rudeness and answered with a shake of his head. “Appointment. Should be back soon.”
Ah. So Kami really was seeing Dr. Cole regularly. It obviously wasn’t an OB appointment. No way Blaine was missing one of those.
After Blaine had returned to his station behind the bar, and I had returned to my lunch—feeling like a jackass—I looked up to find that Raven was staring at me. Not with contempt or disgust, but just . . . staring.
“You come here a lot, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I shrugged. “It’s my Cheers, I guess.” Goddamn, that made me sound lonely as hell.
“That guy . . . before . . . he called you Dirty. Why?”
“Uh, nickname. Long story.” Not a long story, actually. But I wasn’t about to tell her that I had acquired it in high school, along with my reputation for being a young Hugh Hefner. Girls just seemed to flock to me. It wasn’t my fault, honest.
“And who’s Kam?” Damn. First she doesn’t want to talk to me, and now it’s 20 questions? Ok. If she wanted to play, I’d play too.
“Best friend.”
“You actually have friends?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
That question seemed to give her pause, as if she had to think about it long and hard. What person had to think about whether or not they had friends? Shit, between me, Angel and Kami, we were more nuts than Almond Joy, and we still managed to find each other in this big, wide, crazy world.
She shook her head and diverted those magnetic eyes to her food that had been left to grow cold. “I have a job and school. I don’t have time for friends.”
I wanted to say that was bullshit, but I settled for, “The world is a scary place. Especially when you have to brave it alone.”
She looked at me then, dropping the poker face and allowing me see her hand, if only for a moment. “I’m not alone. I have my brother.”
I saw her courage and raised her some honesty. “Yeah, I know that. But who has you?”
WHO HAS ME?
Shit. I didn’t even know how to answer that question.
Truth be told, no one did, and no one had for a very long time. And I not only preferred it that way, I had designed my isolation specifically to keep nosy ass people like Dominic Trevino from delving into my life. Yet and still, he managed to find me. Four billion people in this damn world, and he found me.
Coming back to Charlotte was a mistake. This wasn’t my home anymore, and if it hadn’t been for Toby, I would have never returned to the one place that served as the gravesite for every one of my demons. You don’t return to the scene of the crime. You run from that shit. You run and you never turn back.
I glanced over at my kid brother, who was pretending to be overly interested in his food. I knew he was listening to every word, probably even siding with this arrogant prick across the table. I could tell he actually liked the guy, which threw a monkey wrench in my quest to completely ice him out. Shit. It wasn’t like I could just remove Toby from Helping Hands after our caseworker “suggested” the program. But that didn’t mean I had to deal with the guy. Yet, somehow, here we were. Having lunch like one big, happy, fucking family. The manwhore, the mute and the misanthrope. It was like a bad sitcom on the CW.
Honestly, I didn’t want to hate him, or anyone else for that matter. I hated playing the role of the bitch; I was tired of shutting out the world. And a long time ago, I was a starry-eyed, naive and optimistic young woman with her whole life ahead of her.
But that all changed in one night. One night that served as the first tumbling domino in a long line of tragedies that completely shattered our world. And the guy that sat across from me, gazing at me with heavy lashed, hazel eyes swirled with green, he was the nudge that tipped that domino, sending our fate into motion.
He just didn’t remember it.
Of course he didn’t. Fucking narcissistic sluts rarely did keep tally of the lives they’d ruined.
I hated the way he looked at me. I hated that he was so nice to us, and so good with Toby. I wanted to believe he was an evil, despicable person down to his core. Because if he was in fact devoid of all redeeming qualities, it’d make it easier to see past the gorgeous exterior. It’d ensure that I wouldn’t feel fucking butterflies flapping around in my gut whenever he was near. Dammit.
The first night I saw him again—sitting at that table at The Pink Kitty, those hooded eyes sliding over glitter-dusted skin and teased hair extensions—I told myself I could do this. I could play it cool long enough to get close to him, play to his wanton desires, and when I had him right where I needed him, I’d do to him what he did to me.
I’d fucking end him.
That was before one very important variable changed all that. Toby.
I wouldn’t let him get hurt in all this. He had already been through enough. Selectively mute children needed support and understanding. And after the hell he’d witnessed, he needed stability. He didn’t need another crazy ass broad turning his already ravaged life upside down. I was all he had. Hell, he was all I had. And I had to do right by him or I could lose him for good.
“Well?” Dominic urged, the intensity in his stare turning my insides into goo. I hate that he had that hold over me. I felt posse
ssed by him, the demon wriggling its way inside my soul and stealing my resistance.
I couldn’t say a word in response to his question. I couldn’t tell him that I lay awake almost every night, staring at the cracks embedded in the ceiling of my tiny, shoebox apartment until I felt as if it were closing in. Caging me in my own denial and regret, and making me a prisoner of consequence.
So no. No one had me. I was alone, just as he had left me.
“Hey kid, you just about done there?” I turned to ask Toby. He had polished off his burger and most of his fries, as well as two rounds of sweet tea. I didn’t even give him a chance to nod or shrug or whatever. I stuffed a hand into my purse, slapped down a twenty and slid out of the booth. “Come on, Toby. Time to go.”
He looked disappointed, but he wiped his face and hands and got up anyway. I felt like an asshole, but I couldn’t let this . . . this poser . . . continue to pretend to care for one second longer. People like him were incapable of feeling for anyone outside of themselves, no matter how many charity cases they took on.
“Hey, wait up!” I heard Dominic call out once we got outside and were trekking to the car across the lot. I didn’t want to do this here, but he just wasn’t getting the message. Leave. Us. Alone.
“Why don’t you get a good station warmed up for us,” I grinned tightly down at Toby, handing him the keys. That was our thing—channel surfing in the car. There weren’t many ways for us to communicate, so we did it through music. And since my car was old school, yet legendary, so were the music stations.
The moment he was safely in the passenger seat and occupied with his task, I turned my gaze on Dominic, who was trying to hand back the twenty dollar bill. My face was so tight with rage that it hurt, and my hands were shaking as angry adrenaline pumped through my veins.
“Listen here, jackass. I don’t know what your angle is here or why you seem so invested in “helping” us,” I spat, demonstrating the air-quotes with my trembling fingers. “But you can drop the act now. I know what the fuck you’re about, and it’s downright sick that you’re walking around here like a fraud . . . like you actually care about Toby. We don’t want your fucking help, you understand me? And we damn sure don’t want your friendship. So you can take your fancy suits, and your flashy ass car, and the fake smiles, and shove them up your ass. We’re fine.”
I should have left it at that—I had definitely gotten my point across. But emotion had taken hold, and I couldn’t stop the ugly truth from tumbling out, taking with it my fears and insecurities. “You don’t know shit about us—you have no idea what it’s like. You get to go home everyday to a plush, cushy life with some false sense of satisfaction, feeling like you’ve done good by the poor, mute kid and his sister. Fuck that, and fuck your charity. Save it for someone who cares.”
He looked shocked . . . hurt . . . like I had just zapped him with a taser. Maybe even a bit humiliated that I had pulled his number and called him out on his bullshit. But that look of horror only stayed frozen on his face for a split second before the veil dropped, shielding any weakness that may have been exposed. Because the only thing those enigmatic features displayed after that was fury, rage, and pure disgust.
He opened his mouth to reply, but quickly turned on his heel, mumbling, “Fuck it,” as he swiftly strode to his car. But the very second I exhaled, releasing all the frustration . . . the hurt . . . he was right back in front of me, close enough to give me a start, yet far enough not to seem threatening.
“What the fuck do you know about my life?” he spat, his voice so low and menacing that it was only for my ears. “You don’t know shit about what I go home to. So no . . . fuck you. Fuck you for making snap judgments about shit you have no goddamn clue about. You want to be so selfish to deny that boy the care that he needs? Because you have some personal vendetta against me that I don’t even know about? Fine. I’m done. But before you ruin that kid’s life with your hatred, think long and hard about what you’re doing. You wanna shut out the world and be a bitch, go right on ahead. But don’t drag Toby down into your misery. He deserves better than that.”
With that, he whipped around and didn’t stop until he was inside his car and peeling out of the lot, tires screeching, leaving me with my twenty dollar bill at my feet.
He’d heard me. He’d heard the years of pain and anger in my voice, and it had worked. Dominic Trevino would officially be out of my life. Again.
I VIOLATED EVERY TRAFFIC law known to man trying to get to Helping Hands. But when I looked up from the view of road through the frame of my windshield, I realized I hadn’t made it back to work. I hadn’t even made it home. I was at The Pink Kitty.
It was if my body had known what my soul needed to mend itself from the verbal assault that had left me open and bleeding. Sex was that healing balm for me. And this was exactly the place where I could find it.
None of the dancers here were prostitutes, and I never paid to get laid. Ever. They fucked me because they wanted me. And I fucked them because I needed them. It was an even trade.
Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t stick my dick in just anything, and other than Cherri, had only been intimate with two other girls there: Skylar, a hot sophomore at UNC Charlotte, stripping her way through college, and Velvet, a tattooed, purple-haired vixen from England who fucked like a porn star and cursed like a sailor.
Right now, I needed Velvet. If anyone could make me forget the last twenty minutes, Raven’s razor-sharp words and myself, it was her.
My legs carried me inside, despite the numbness I felt. I didn’t want to be here, but I needed to be. And once I had the soft silkiness and warmth of a woman’s skin against me, I’d feel a helluva lot better. Luckily, Velvet was there for a day shift, working the lunch crowd in her usual getup of velvet and chains. Today she wore a cut-out thonged romper that left little to the imagination. And that was fine by me. I was tired of thinking anyway.
“Hey love,” she smiled as I approached. Her lips were painted a deep, dark eggplant purple that almost looked black. I’d have the color smeared all over me within the hour, most of it in places invisible to the public.
I didn’t waste any time. I didn’t have it in me to go through the motions and pretend I was here for anything other than sex. I leaned in close to her ear, letting my lips brush her earlobe in that sensual way I knew would get her hot, and whispered, “Back room in 10.” Then I quickly made my way to the bar to slam a shot of tequila.
She was there when I arrived, lounging on a plush loveseat with her heeled boots propped up on the arm. She looked at me with sin gleaming in her heavily lined eyes and gave me a slow, Cheshire grin. “Someone’s awfully anxious today.”
I was already loosening my tie as I stalked towards her and said, “Clothes off, boots on and get on your knees.”
Velvet didn’t waste a second. She slipped out of her one-piece in a swift movement and sank to the floor. The moment I felt her take me into her warm mouth, it was like a thousand pounds had been lifted from my shoulders.
A long time ago, long before I should have, I learned to separate the physical from the emotional and mental. I told myself that just because my young body had been stolen from me and manipulated in ways that would make even the toughest man cry out in agony, I didn’t have to feel it. Not deep down inside. I didn’t have to accept what was being done to me. So I pretended to be somewhere else. I pretended to be someone else. I let my mind drift to thoughts of my parents, imagining what they may have looked like, dreaming about happy smiles and warm hugs and kisses on my cherub-like cheeks. I painted pictures of family vacations at Disney World and barbeques in the backyard. I told myself that we would have a dog named Buddy. Mama would tie bandanas around his neck, and Papa and I would take him for walks and play Frisbee with him at the park.
I had built an imaginary fortress, and in it, nothing could touch me. I was safe. I was happy. And I was loved. That was what I told myself, and that was what I held onto every day since to survive.<
br />
As I grew older, and was no longer held captive by the physical pain, I was left to face the emotional hurt that no one could see. I was like a pariah to the family that had taken me in. We were related, but they didn’t know me, and what they did know about me was deviant and disgusting. Too awful to talk about. So I suffered silently in my mind until it became necessary to tell myself lies.
Lies like the ones I was telling myself right now.
I want this. I need this.
I’m totally normal.
There’s nothing wrong with me.
Being a man means having sex with as many women as possible.
These women desire me because they need me. They love me.
They love me.
She loves me.
It was the only way I could keep doing this. The only way the shame and disgust and self-hatred didn’t keep chip-chip-chipping away at the fragments of that broken boy. The boy that had grown up to be a shattered man. The man that couldn’t be mended.
Velvet sucked me until I was on the brink of release and for a quick moment, I thought about just getting it over with. But I needed more. I needed that physical connection. I yearned for her touch, her kiss, her smell. It reminded me that I was not like him. I was not what he had hoped I would be. It stated that just because I had been violated, that didn’t make me . . . it didn’t make different. It didn’t make me gay. I didn’t want that. I wanted this.
Spreading those shapely, toned thighs and filling her up until I pulsed in her womb validated me. Every stroke was a confirmation, and the deeper I went, the more whole I felt. But the moment it was over, the moment I pulled out of her, my latex-sheathed cock wet with her gratification, the doubt began to claw its way back in. Telling me that I was dirty—stained. Used. Useless.
She smiled lazily at me, the dark kohl outlining her eyes smudged along the apple of her cheek. I brushed it tenderly with the pad of my thumb and told her she was beautiful.
Afraid to Fly (Fearless #2) Page 7
