by Christa Wick
Tom leaned in close. The ceiling light hadn't shut off, so I saw the lift of his brows and the spark of interest in his pale green gaze. "Really?"
"No." Trying to ignore how Tom was close enough for me to smell what he had eaten for dinner, I stared at Molly and imagined her face melting. "Someone has apparently been spreading rumors."
I placed special emphasis on my use of "someone" while staring at the culprit.
Molly didn't bat an eye at the accusation. A smug grin tugged at the edges of her glossy mouth as she ever-so-sweetly informed me. "It's only a rumor if you prove it's not true."
Before I could explain just how flawed her logic was, Tom seized my wrist and pushed my sleeve up.
"No tracks," he observed. "But I've heard that junkies hide their injections, like between their toes or the back of their knees, even on the bend of their thighs."
His hand darted toward the last potential injection site he had listed. Pushing at his forearm, I blocked his attempt to touch me between my legs.
"Don't," I snapped then caught Anna watching me in the mirror. "Let me out or take me home now."
"Curfew's not over for another hour," Tom answered for his cousin. "And I have to pick something up first. We'll drop you off after."
Pulling a jewel case from inside his denim jacket, he handed it to Molly. "Pop this in, babe."
Her eyes lighting up at the endearment, Molly eagerly opened the case and loaded the CD into the stereo's slot. Garbage rewarded her efforts. The scratchy, screeching voice rapping obscenities over the speakers made me want to stab sharp instruments into my ears so I would never risk hearing the music again.
Next to me, Tom started to sing along, screaming something about bitches and riches, snitches and ditches. I was just starting to piece together the similarity in the voice blaring over the speakers and that of the boy sitting next to me when Tom put his mouth against my ear and yelled a question at me.
"You don't like my song?"
"I love it," Molly piped up before I could think of some tactful way to tell Tom that his singing made Vanilla Ice sound like a rap god.
"Is this the turn?" Anna asked, casting a quick look over her shoulder.
"Yeah," Tom answered, his breath filling my ear in a way that brought bile rushing up my throat. "Right then two blocks down, third house on the right."
I wrapped my fingers around the door handle and prepared to fling it open as soon as I heard the lock disengage. My attempt at keeping the movement discreet failed. Tom hooked two fingers in the belt loop on my jeans before ordering Anna to unlock the controls on his window.
"Keegan can come out," he said, his free hand dipping into his jacket once more to pull out his phone. He thumbed through to his texts then started tapping out a message. "Not like the bitch is raiding his parents' liquor cabinet for free."
Hoping Tom would release his hold on my jeans if it didn't seem like I was ready to bolt, I let go of the door handle and forced my body to relax. I told myself to stay calm. When Keegan came to the window, I would tell him I wanted out of the car. He wasn't part of Tom or Anna's circle. And if he did nothing to help, I would start screaming while the window was open.
The house's front door opened. A hulking shadow slipped out and jogged across the lawn. Throwing one last suspicious glance in my direction, Tom unhooked from my belt loop then slid across the seat and lowered his window.
Seeing Tom in the car with three girls, Keegan put one closed hand through the window for a congratulatory fist bump. "Damn, dude. How many hotties you gonna bang tonight?"
"At least two," Tom chuckled as he completed the gesture. Opening his fist palm up, he revealed a neatly folded twenty dollar bill.
Keegan scooped the money up and started to pass the boy a fifth of whiskey.
"Keegan, I want out of the car." The words released with a squeak as I searched his face for any hint of rescue.
"And I want in," he shot back with a leering grin. "But I'm toast if my mom comes home early and finds my little sister home alone."
"No, seriously! Help me." I begged, crawling over Tom as Anna started to raise the window.
I reached for the closing gap, my lips opening for a full-throated scream.
"Get your skanky hands off Tom, you bitch!" Molly pushed at me, screeching like a banshee.
With only my face and one shoulder open to her, she slid her fingers into my mouth. One of her long acrylic nails poked at the back of my throat. I started to gag. My eyes watered with the need to puke.
Anna accelerated and I fell back, gasping for air and blind with tears.
Leaning into the front seat, Tom wrapped his hands around the sides of Molly's face and kissed her, their tongues slurping together before he pulled away laughing.
"Fuck, I love it when bitches fight over me!"
Still choking with the memory of Molly's finger in my mouth, I scratched out a fresh plea for Anna to stop and let me out.
"Here." Uncapping the bottle of whisky, Tom shoved it at my face. "A little sip will make everything better."
I pushed the bottle away. Molly snatched it up and took a swig then passed it back to Tom.
"What's the matter, honey?" she asked, her voice sickly sweet again. "I thought all addicts were drunks, too. Are you in withdrawals?"
"Let me out!" I pounded my fist against the back of Anna's headrest. The car accelerated. I realized she had just pulled onto the expressway. We were heading away from my house, not toward it.
"Come on, one sip," Tom insisted. Grabbing a handful of my hair, he pulled my head back. The position hyperextended my neck, forcing my lips open.
He poured the whiskey into my mouth. I coughed half of it out, but the rest burned its way down my throat and into my stomach. Dizzy and sick with adrenaline, I blinked away fresh tears as I twisted in place. Praying I could attract the attention of other drivers on the road, I looked out the windows as I banged on them.
Clearly, it wasn't a good night for me. My mom, Anna and Molly, Tom and now the entire fucking universe seemed to be conspiring against me. We were the only vehicle going in our direction and the divide of grass was too wide for any chance of the other cars passing at highway speeds to catch even the most fleeting glimpse of my face or how I pounded on the glass.
"Fucking stop her before she breaks something!" Anna screamed. She veered a hard right to suddenly take the next exit.
Tom tried to force more alcohol down my throat, succeeding with a quarter of a mouthful while the rest of the foul liquid splashed on his hands. He passed the bottle to Molly with a rough order to cap it.
"I should bash her fucking head in with it," Molly snapped as Tom dragged me toward his side of the back seat.
Shoving his hand between my thighs he squeezed roughly as his ragged whisper filled my ear. "Chill the fuck out, Burke. We're all just having a little fun."
He squeezed me again, this time so hard it brought tears to my eyes.
"I'm sure your mom taught you all about having a little fun. The way I hear it, she's been spreading her legs all over town since Mike fucked up and got himself killed."
Hearing my stepfather's name on Tom's hateful lips, I found a measure of calm. Whatever fun the three of them had in mind, they weren't getting it without a fight. Michael Burke may have treated me like a princess, but he also taught me to punch and kick like a UFC fighter. There would be blood before the drive was over -- mine and theirs. If I didn't make it through the night alive, my DNA would be all over the car and theirs would be all over me.
I managed to twist just enough that I could bring my legs up from the floor. I aimed my steel-toed boots at the window on my side and kicked as hard as I could.
"Fucking stop her!" Anna screamed, slamming on the brakes just as Molly's arm reared back with the glass bottle in her hand.
Our bodies whipped forward. Molly lost her grip on the fifth she had aimed at my head and Tom lost his hold on me. I gave another hard kick as I twisted. My arm shot forward, m
y hand making contact with Tom's face. I dragged my nails down his cheek and was rewarded with a trail of warm, wet blood.
Trying to crawl into the back seat, Molly delivered a flurry of vicious punches as I simultaneously kicked at the window and tried to shield my head from the blows.
"Get out you fucking cunt!"
I couldn't tell if Anna was screaming at me or Molly, but I heard the locks click open and then I saw Anna grab Molly's arms. I threw myself against the passenger door on my side, my fingers scrabbling along the hard plastic for the door's release. Finding it, I pulled. I spilled onto the ground but pushed up immediately and ran for the open corn field on the opposite side of the road. I kept running until my legs gave out and then I stayed on the ground. Breathing into the dirt to stay silent, I listened for sounds that any of them had followed me into the field.
When I finished counting to five hundred without any sign that the McPhersons and Molly were hunting me, I returned to the road and started my long walk home.
Chapter Three
Dare
More than an hour passed before I found Eden sitting on a park bench. Stacked on top of those first three thousand, six hundred seconds of failure searching for her was the abandoned hunt that had started my night, exhausted my fuel supply and forced me to stop at the gas station where I ran into McPherson. Any other weeknight, I would have been in my room studying for the fire department's written exam with my dad.
But my dad wasn't at home. His black truck had peeled out of the driveway around eight-thirty, leaving two dark tracks of rubber on the concrete. A full hour of fighting between my parents had preceded his departure. The angry squeal of the truck's tires echoed in mood the slamming cupboard doors in the kitchen as my mother mumbled under her breath about how she would divorce Frank if she wasn't such a devout Catholic.
I knew the longer my dad stayed gone, the less salvageable the marriage would be. What I didn't know was that the relationship between my parents was already dead and finding Eden in the park would be the final nail in the coffin.
Blind to the universe's plans for the night, I parked my truck on the street and headed toward the bench. I had expected my tension to ease once I found her, but my body grew tighter with each step. With no other traffic on the road, Eden had to be aware that someone had stopped, but she wouldn't even look in my direction.
The corner street lamp offered just enough light for me to be sure I was walking up to the right girl. Beyond the glint of red at the crown of long hair that flowed to the middle of her back, I recognized the curve of her jaw and nose and the full bottom lip that I had spent far too much time thinking about since Mike's funeral.
...usually with my hand fisted around my cock.
Desire stirring deep in my gut, I sat on the bench and reminded myself that, as desirable as I found Eden, she was off limits. Later in life, an age difference of three and a half years would mean nothing, but at that moment, she wasn't even eighteen and I was almost twenty-one. She had grown up as part of my extended family, her stepfather closer than any brother to my dad. A handful of other reasons insured neither of my parents, especially my mom, would approve of how I felt about Eden.
Then there was the very real possibility that my feelings were completely unreciprocated.
Resisting the impulse to touch her and make sure she was physically unharmed, I shoved my hands between my legs. My chest tightened with the realization of how badly our friendship had deteriorated in the time since Michael's death. Seven months ago, I would not have hesitated to drape a casual arm over her shoulder or tug her to me for a gentle head bump. But now Michael was gone and things between Eden, her mother and my family had surpassed the definition of "awkward."
A firefighter like my dad, Burke had died on Christmas Eve trying to rescue a crippled woman from the second floor of a burning apartment building. The woman's two caretakers, huddled on the street outside, hadn't mentioned the oxygen tanks in the entry closet.
My chest tightened another notch at the memory.
Trapped in the burning rubble caused by the explosion, the woman had been burned alive. More merciful for Mike, his death had been instant. No burns, no suffocation, just a broken neck that made his head look a bit off center in his casket. Seeing that spinal kink had made me dizzy in a way I could never forget. Nor could I erase the memory of Helen, Michael's widow, as she sat through the services stone faced when she wasn't glaring at her sobbing daughter.
I had tried to console Eden that day, wrapping my arm around her shoulder and walking her up to the casket before the pallbearers loaded Michael's body into the hearse. The funeral was the last time I had touched Eden without thinking about it. Afterwards, I found myself hugging her too tightly, my thoughts turning in an intimate direction.
If tight hugs had been the only thing to worry over, the awkwardness would have already disappeared. But her stepfather's death had other consequences I could never have anticipated.
My dad started spending a little too much time with his best friend's widow, a woman my mother had never liked or accepted into the station's family of firefighters. With Burke dead, mom chided dad for every little favor he did for his fallen comrade's wife, all the errands he ran and the repairs he made while our own house had leaky faucets and stuck drawers and the "change oil" light on her black Impala flashed a constant warning to check the engine.
Sitting on the park bench next to Eden, I didn't yet know how fitting it was that Helen Burke had been the source of that night's fight between my parents, indirectly leading me to that moment in time, my muscles tensing as I rejected a dozen ways to start talking to a girl who had once been like family.
Hell, she was family, I reminded myself.
Michael and my father Frank had been more than station brothers -- they were the same age, had grown up in the same neighborhood, their fathers working at the same station. They took their first communion together, graduated high school together, dated the same girl at different times more than once and encountered each of their firsts in short succession up until the day my dad had proposed to my mom.
Dad had been the first to marry by fifteen years and Mike had been the first to die, ensuring there would be no more firsts for him and no one left with whom my dad wanted to compete.
Tugging my thoughts to the present, Eden shifted a few inches away. As subtle as the movement was, its message was clearer. She didn't want me next to her. I couldn't fault her for feeling that way. I had probably come off as a creeper the last time we were together and then I had shut her out, promising myself that my absence was only temporary. Once I got a grip on how I felt, I would be back.
Then my parents started fighting about the Burke family.
"Past curfew," I said at last, the words reminding me of our age difference.
Even though I knew I had no right to do so, I captured Eden's wrist so she couldn't move further away. I didn't trust myself with any other part of her body, not even her fingers. Absently, I stroked my thumb along the smooth band of flesh just below where her long sleeve ended. With my pulse pounding in my head, I fought not to tighten my grip.
"Ran into McPherson," I prompted when she remained silent. Frustrated that she didn't respond, I closed the distance between us, my shoulder bumping lightly against hers. Turning my head, my nose collided with the soft, silken strands of her hair. I inhaled, the smell of lilacs making me oddly hungry as our bodies began to warm against one another.
Shut it down, O'Donnell. There are plenty of girls you can fuck. This one needs your protection.
Irritated with whatever remained of my better nature, I blew a hot puff of air that landed against Eden's skin and made her jerk. With a deft twist, she freed her wrist from my grip and scooted until her bottom hung halfway over the bench's edge. My stomach tensed at her withdrawal, but I deserved her mistrust.
The more my father had started hanging around the Burke house after Michael's death, the more absent I had become. I didn't think my d
ad was up to anything inappropriate, but I couldn't trust myself around Eden and I didn't want my mother interrogating me over every last detail I might have witnessed at Eden's house. Mary O'Donnell not only disliked Burke's widow, she had also long blamed poor, dead Michael for holding my father back at work.
By her estimation, dad should have been a station chief years ago. Instead, he was happiest when he was charging into a building, axe in hand and his childhood friend by his side, each of them keeping the other alive.
Until one of them was dead.
"If you need Tom's ass kicked," I said, pausing to push aside the ghost of Michael Burke. "You just have to tell me. Already punched him once as a warning."
I wasn't bragging. I wanted her to know I was there for her, that she could count on me even though I hadn't talked to her for half a year and had behaved almost as boorishly as Tom the last time I saw her.
My promise didn't have the reaction I intended. Instead of relaxing and moving close to me again, Eden stiffened, her spine shooting straight and hard so that her shoulders trembled from the strain. Her response confused me. Did she actually have a thing for that weaselly piece of shit McPherson?
"Your mom..." Her voice shook as badly as her shoulders and it took her a few seconds before she continued. "Your mom won't like that."
"My mom doesn't like anything." I wanted to tack a laugh onto the end of my sentence, but I couldn't find one to spare. I hated that I had just made a hard night harder for Eden. Now she was worried about facing Mary O'Donnell's wrath.
Forgetting my earlier caution, I reached out and wrapped a hand around her shoulder. I pulled her close, my mouth and nose separating her hair to make contact with the soft shell of her ear.
"Don't worry about Bloody Mary," I said, intending my words to be a soft tease despite the strain in my voice. "I won't let her touch you."
Her body continued shaking. I felt the tremors like a rusted knife sinking into my chest. With Michael Burke alive, Eden had blossomed from a quiet, fatherless pre-teen into a fierce tomboy. A year ago, I easily could have pictured her following in Michael's footsteps, just as I was following my father's. I had become a volunteer firefighter at the age of eighteen, had already completed my EMT certification and, despite my mother's opposition, I planned on applying to the fire department when I finished community college at the end of spring. I had already taken the first step with passing the physical test.
