Marked

by Charisse Spiers

  On the opposite side of the window in the driver’s seat is a male about five years older than me, give or take a couple of years. Most people don't look their ages anymore, so it's hard to be sure. He's kind of cute actually, at least from what I can tell. Dirty blonde hair, stubble, lighter eyes, maybe green, and well built. His arms are so big that the sleeves to his polo look tight. Still, he doesn't have anything on Kaston. Face-palm. Why do I keep comparing people to him? That has to stop. "Get in. I'll give you a ride."

  "No thanks. I was taught not to get in a vehicle with strangers. I'm not really in the mood to become a missing person today. Try again tomorrow."

  He laughs. It's deeper than Kaston's, but oddly similar. Shit, I did it again. The way he's leaned back against the leather seat of his Cadillac Escalade with his left wrist resting on top of the steering wheel, and leaned onto his right elbow on the center console, makes me feel like I'm in a movie scene and about to be the victim of a lame pickup line.

  "I can see why he likes you. You're quite the smart-ass."

  "Define he."

  "Boss man."

  "Which is who? Everyone has a name."

  "Kaston. You're the girl from my club right?" He winks as if it's not really a question that he doesn't already know the answer to.

  I feel like he's fishing...

  "Well I don't know. There are a lot of clubs in Atlanta. Which one are you claiming?"

  "Ride or fly."

  "You own that club?"

  "Yep. Don't look so surprised. Nightlife works for some people. Are you going to get in?"

  "Do you just randomly show up in parking lots to pick up stranded girls?"

  He smiles and leans over to open the passenger door. "I was in the area looking in on some things. Boss man wouldn't be too happy knowing you are without a ride at dark, especially when he’s unavailable. It seems you've left an unforgettable impression."

  Something is off...

  "No fucking way. Did he tell you to keep an eye on me? Where is he? His balls will be mine."

  "Jump his bones all you want when he returns. I'm sure he'd appreciate the gesture. For now, make my life easier. Get in. I don't bite...unless you’re into that sort of thing.” He winks again. “But, you're clearly not up for grabs at the moment, so I’ll be good."

  I take a step forward, followed by another. Fuck it. I get in the car and shut the door, before fastening my seatbelt. My senses are on overload from the cool air blowing through the vents, the cologne circulating through the car, and the rap music turned down low, coming through the speakers.

  I turn my upper body toward him. "You don't strike me as a rap kind of guy. I would have guessed heavy metal or rock."

  "I reserve that for special occasions. I like a little bit of everything; I kind of have to, to run a club. Plus, what exactly does someone look like that likes rap or rock? The worst mistake you could ever make is to judge a book by its cover. It would blow your fucking mind sometimes at what lies between the pages. The name is Chevy: partner, right-hand man, confidante, assistant, or whatever the fuck else you want to call me, to Kaston Cox. And you are Lux I assume."

  I roll my eyes. "And guys think girls talk. Y'all can't even get it back in your pants before you're announcing bragging rights to each other. It's a good thing I just don't give a shit or I might be slightly offended."

  He laughs again. "Ninety-nine point nine percent of the time that's probably true, but since I like you I'll tell you a little secret. If you're worthy of bragging rights you're okay, but if a man keeps most of it to himself, only revealing the essentials in fear that someone else may take interest, then you're different from the rest. That girl that becomes the point one percent, a man doesn't want to share with the world."

  I'm not even going to ask which percentage he's putting me in because that is a piece of knowledge I'm fine without knowing. Being in the ninety-ninth percentile suits me perfectly.

  "Noted. I'm ready. Let's ride. As much as I would love to sit here and chat boy stats with you, I really need to get to work. It's across town. Then you can report back to Mr. Cox that I'll be having a word with him upon his return. I'm always packing. He knows this. I can take care of myself. He's starting to inch himself into the creepy category...just a smidge. That's not sexy. I don't need his hired eyes on me. Please and thank you."

  "I'll be sure to pass the word along, Miss Larsen."

  He starts to pull away as he looks back at the road ahead. The funny part is...he never asked me for my place of employment or the address. At this point, I'm not sure if I should get pissed off or more curious. If I were smart I'd get pissed off and run in the opposite direction of Kaston Cox, but I have a feeling he'd find me pretty quickly...and I think I want him to.

  I've been listening to the beeping of the machines all night, occasionally dozing off. Between waiting on a flight and the layover, once I got here the doctor had already made the call to do surgery and was finished. I guess the information Chevy got was a little outdated. I suppose it was the right decision, because he removed the bullet lodged in her head.

  From what I was told I'm the only relative that's come forward, not that I'm surprised. The amount of damage done to her mentally is yet to be determined. She’s been sleeping since she got out of surgery...and I’ve been waiting since I arrived. The only reason I'm still here is because she is blood, and I'd feel like shit if I didn't at least stay for the outcome. Even a man like me has a heart. It's just been compromised.

  I lean forward in my chair and lay my forearms on my thighs, tired. My phone vibrates in my pocket. Leaning back to straighten my body, I run my hand in the pocket of my jeans and pull out my phone, checking the now lit up screen. Lux. It's been a while...or at least it seems that way since I spoke with her yesterday morning.

  Lux Larsen (4:01 AM): I have a bone to pick with you when you return from wherever the hell you are.

  Me: Well hello to you too...

  Lux Larsen: I'm not in a pleasant mood and I’m tired. That means polite salutations get bypassed.

  Me: Does that ill mood have anything to do with the absence of my cock?

  I smile as I lean forward once again, my back becoming stiff from this hospital chair.

  Lux Larsen: Your cock won't get you out of this one...

  Lux Larsen: Okay, well, maybe it could if it were here!

  Lux Larsen: All jokes aside... I'm a grown ass woman. I don't need your beef stock checking up on me. Unless you have me on my back with my legs spread, my safety and whereabouts are my business. Got it, Cox?

  Me: I'm assuming by beef stock you mean Chevy?

  Lux Larsen: Precisely.

  Lux Larsen: What is it with you people and knowing someone's personal demographics before they tell them to you. You're really getting close to that mad stalker line. You could at least make it a little less obvious.

  Me: Do you always do that?

  Lux Larsen: Do what?

  Me: Press the send button multiple times before you finish your thought, not giving the other person a chance to respond before you immediately come back with something else.

  Lux Larsen: Maybe. No one said you had to respond, killer. I didn’t even think you would respond until hours later.

  Me: Eh… Well I did. I’m awake. Gives me something to do. Better than what I was doing.

  Lux Larsen: Where are you?

  Me: You don't hold anything back do you?

  Lux Larsen: Never.

  My smile broadens. Suddenly I'm not tired anymore. With her, silence and solitude are no longer desired. The normal itch and twitch has steadily dulled since the night I put my hands on her body, which is pretty strange still. I don’t even have the urge to smoke or drink. Something that I've become accustomed to, thinking it would forever be present if I didn't take part in certain obligations, has suddenly taken a back seat. I’m becoming… content… to just survive on a day-to-day basis, even somewhat thriving.

  Me: I'm in New York taking care of a
few personal matters. Where are you?

  Lux Larsen: Are you a New Yorker...because I'm not a fan.

  Me: That's a little stereotypical, Miss Larsen. What if I said yes?

  Lux Larsen: I would say the last one ruined me and I'm good with not going down that road again, but it was fun while it lasted...

  Me: I guess it's a good thing I don't give up that easily then. To answer your question, no I'm not. I may have been born here, but I haven't lived here since I was a kid. It's a foreign place to me now. You're dodging. Where are you?

  Lux Larsen: Waiting for a cab. Just got done with work.

  Me: This late?

  Lux Larsen: Yeah…engagement party. Let’s just say bachelors and bachelorettes alike don’t get tired when hyped up on alcohol from an open bar and love is in the air… There is probably lots of bodily fluid scattered throughout that place. A grope on the ass and lame one-liners to get me in the bathroom later and I’m getting a pretty big bonus on my next check. I thought I was going to have to immobilize some balls.

  Me: You’re not painting me a pretty picture when I’m hundreds of miles away….

  Lux Larsen: That’s because it never is when dealing with youngins not old enough to be at an engagement party in my opinion. Boys will be boys. You people never think with the right head.

  Me: I’m pleading the fifth… Where is your car?

  Lux Larsen: I'm in the market for a new one. That one was getting old...

  My brows scrunch. That car was practically brand new. Bull fucking shit.

  Me: I can smell a liar from a mile away. Where is your car?

  Lux Larsen: You sure are bossy to be hot.

  Me: I'm aware.... Where is it?

  Lux Larsen: What do I get in exchange for that information?

  Me: Do not tempt me...

  Lux Larsen: Are you getting angry, Cox? Mmmm.... I may possibly like the effects of your anger.

  Me: Lux. Tell me where your damn car is. Are you waiting inside for a cab? If not is someone waiting outside with you? 'Beef stock' preferably. It’s like 4:15 in the morning.

  Lux Larsen: Oh fine. Obviously someone needs pussy. You're cranky, and what's with the twenty questions?

  Me: My need for pussy will be taken care of upon my return. There is only one I'm servicing at the moment and it's not here.

  Lux Larsen: That good, huh?

  Me: Lux….

  Lux Larsen: Dammit, loosen up a little. I'm just pulling your dick... The jackass that gave it to me had it picked up before work. No big and definitely not your concern.

  Me: Why?

  Lux Larsen: Just being a dick. I'm handling it. My cab is here. I'll let you get back to your thing. I'm probably going to crash soon. Have a good trip, sexy. ;)

  Me: This conversation will resume promptly when I return. Expect my call when I land in Atlanta. I would like to see you...

  Lux Larsen: Maybe, if you're lucky :O Goodnight, my killer.

  Me: And your face will look exactly like that. Goodnight, beautiful.

  My jaw steels. There is something extremely sensual about that: my killer. She's marked her claim on me, and for some fucked up reason I like it, even though I shouldn't. I'm a businessman by day and a killer at night. My rules tell me she is forbidden, but everything else proves that I don't give a fuck.

  I lock my phone and slide it back into my pocket. I may even be slightly happy that she's no longer driving that fucking car. I hated it from the first sight of the license plate. Nothing about her should be linked to another man. It just pisses me off. I don't do well pissed off.

  "Who are you?"

  My shoulders tense as I hear the weakened voice. It's like nails on a chalkboard. It may have some age on it, but it's still pretty much the same. I didn't think I'd remember, but it's more familiar than I want it to be. I look at the woman lying in that bed that gave birth to me. The only thing I recognize is her eyes.

  I stand and walk to the foot of the bed. "Hello, Mother. It's been a long time."

  She blinks a few times, as if she's confused. "I think you have me confused with someone else. I don't have any children."

  Ouch. I wait, expecting to feel some sort of sadness, betrayal, disrespect, but instead, I get nothing. Interesting...

  "Maybe not now, but you did...twenty years ago, before I walked out of that apartment with the only man that's ever been a parent to me."

  "I have no idea what you're talking about. I'd like you to leave."

  I walk around to the side of the bed as I study her face. I stop beside her and press my index finger beneath her chin, turning it up. She whines out. "That hurts."

  "Look at me. I'll leave once I've said my peace."

  She does. There is clarity there. Who knows what she's forgotten or what will be permanently disabled from her accident. That's the funny thing about the mind. It's an unpredictable organ, but still a vital one. There is one thing she didn't fucking forget, and that's who I am. I can see it in her eyes. Her lips start to quiver. "What's wrong? Now that I'm not a kid under your thumb you want me to leave?"

  I rub my thumb along her jawline. "Time hasn't been good to you. It's ironic how being a pathological liar and abandoning your only child the second you had the chance can do that to you. At one time you had it all, and now look at you. I know your secrets, Anna. I know all the little games you used to play for money. Karma sure is a bitch though, is it not?"

  I pull my wallet from my pocket and open it, removing the small, square photograph that is worn from years of carry. I extend it toward her between my index and middle fingers. Her shaky hand stuck with an IV takes it. She studies it. Her eyes grow in size. "I was your fucking son. I may have left with him, but I still wanted a relationship with you. I was a kid, a kid that shouldn't have to comprehend the evil and fucked up of this world. I called you almost daily for six months only to get a voicemail. I left countless messages. I sent you packages to keep you updated on how I was. For half a year he watched me with a saddened expression every time I asked why I wasn’t good enough for you to love me, or to want anything to do with me, yet as much as he hated you he let me continue to try for all those months.”

  She turns the photo over and looks away. “Then, after six months, you went from unresponsive to a mystery. Suddenly that voicemail became a disconnected number and those packages started returning as undeliverable. You became dead to me. I had just turned nine fucking years old. My own mother didn't care whether I was alive, dead, thriving, or starving. Not once did you check on me. That's termed as reckless abandonment. In case you're too stupid to understand since you obviously never comprehended the opposite of that act when he actually tried to be a part of my life, I'll simplify it for you. A child needs both parents. Not a mother, not a father, but both. If you were ever more than trash you would have understood that. You could have been my superhero, but instead you were the villain."

  I lean down closer to her ear to lower my voice. "And in case you were ever wondering...I turned out just fine. Unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances, I still have to share your last name, but now you're going to know what it feels like to be cut below the surface. That fucking money that is still being deposited in the one account you've left open all these years will cease the second you're released from care. He could have cut you off the day I turned eighteen, but because he was decent human being he didn't. I guess he had a little more of a heart than I do. Since he's dead I'm in control of all the finances. He may have been the saint but I'm the sinner. That photograph of you and me will be the last reminder you will ever have that I existed. It was a waste that I even kept it all this time. This is what I felt like twenty years ago, only I had someone that loved me. You have no one."

  I stand upright and turn to walk out of the hospital room. "Kaston," she says in a whisper.

  I open the door and stop. "You got a second chance. He didn’t. I suggest you don’t take it for granted. Goodbye, Anna."

  The word mother will never again
leave my lips in reference to my own. I don't have one. I had a father, and a damn good one. That was it. I'm fine with that. It's better to have had one good parent than two shitty ones. The funny thing about a con artist is that when you take away their money source they panic. I may be an asshole, but one thing I've learned is that you don't continue to feed the rich while the poor starve. If you endorse and continue to support evil, you’ll have evildoers. I will not let the scum of the earth thrive while good people die out. If you cut off their air supply, water, and food source, they'll either survive or they'll die, but at some point in between they have to learn to make it on their own. I won't kill her, because she gave me life. One sacrifice for another. Now we're even, and I don't owe her a fucking thing.

  Maybe Lux was right... I need pussy, and there is only one place I'm going to get it...

  A constant buzzing sound wakes me from the peaceful sleep I was in. I reach over and feel around until I find my phone on the nightstand, and then press the side button to mute the vibrating against the wood without even opening my eyes to see who's calling.

  I roll back over on my side and pull my comforter to my neck, everything buried underneath but my head. The only way I can sleep is with it freezing cold. It's easier to nestle in cold temperatures than to try to sleep if sweating. That shit just doesn't work. My phone starts vibrating again. "Seriously? What the hell?"

  I roll back onto my back and grab my phone, jerking the charger from the port before swiping my thumb across the screen and placing it to my ear, still half asleep. "Hello," I say, groggy. "I hope this is important. Some people aren't up at the ass crack of dawn."

  "Are you at home?"

  That sexy voice radiates through the phone. If I were awake it would faze me, but there is one thing I love more than anything else and that's my sleep. No one is too important for me to pass it up. If I work nights I sleep till at least lunch. "Did you miss the part where I basically said I'm trying to sleep? Being sexy won't help you here. Can you call me later? Give me three more hours."