Toxic

by Nicole Blanchard

  “Why the prison?”

  I laugh. “Well, there aren’t many employment opportunities in that part of Michigan, or didn’t you notice? At first, it was only supposed to be temporary until I could afford enough money for a move to the city or somewhere warmer. Then I met Vic, and well, you know the rest.”

  “What were your parents like?”

  With a groan, I say, “Is that what you want to know? It isn’t what you’d call a happy story.”

  “The real ones hardly ever are. Yes, it’s what I want to know.”

  “Fine, but first you have to answer one of my questions.” He nods, and I say, “You mentioned you got into a lot of trouble when you were younger. Why?”

  “You already know why. My dad was a drunk abusive son of a bitch, and my mom was more interested in her next score than raising a son.”

  My hand reaches out to touch him of it’s own volition, needing to touch him, to soothe. Having grown up in a house just the same, I don’t have to imagine what it was like, I already know.

  I may not be sure about what the hell we’re doing, or why I can’t stay away, but he hadn’t been lying when he told me about his parents. If I doubted it then, I don’t doubt it now. “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugs. “It is what it is.”

  “I think I get another question because you slipped in several.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “What happened to your parents? Are they still alive?” I almost hold my breath. Getting Gracin to talk, to open up like this, feels like a fragile opportunity and I don’t want to ruin it.

  “No, they aren’t.”

  I shouldn’t, but I ask anyway. “What happened?”

  He looks at me, tugs off his glasses, and rubs a hand over his face. “Are you sure you wanna know these things?”

  There’s a pause while I consider, but it’s a short one. “Yes. After what happened in Michigan, I honestly couldn’t think worse of you, so it isn’t like you’re going to ruin your first impression.”

  At first, I think I may have insulted him, but then he smiles. “I guess you’re right, but remember, you asked.”

  His left hand lies on the top of the steering wheel, and he rests his right elbow on the center console between us. As he talks, I stare at his arms, at his tattoos, and clutch my own hands between my legs to keep from touching him or pulling him close to me.

  “My dad liked to get drunk, like I said, and he had a fondness for cards. He’d get wasted and piss away whatever money he had on him, sometimes more. When he’d win, he’d win big, and things would be great for a while. If he didn’t spend his earnings on more booze and lousy bets, my mom stole it to finance her meth habit. When they were both dry, she’d sell her body to come up with the money for her next fix.”

  I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until white spots dance in front of my eyes. Slowly, so Gracin won’t notice, I let out the breath and draw in fresh air.

  “When I turned ten, my father nearly beat her to death, but she was okay enough to go out and overdose.”

  This admission shocks me into a stunned silence as I remember the way he looked at me when he first saw the bruises on my arms. Had he seen his mother in me? Is that why he chose me out of everyone to help him escape?

  I clear my throat. “And your dad?”

  “He went away for a while, and I went to live with my grandma, who wasn’t much better than the both of them.” He looks at me, his eyes bright and full of mischief now. “Your turn. Tell me something no one knows.”

  This one I have to think about, and when I do, I start talking before I can think better of it. “Vic got me pregnant last year. He didn’t know because I was afraid to tell him about it. He didn’t want kids, or at least that was the impression I got, so I was waiting for the right time to tell him.” A tear slips down my cheek, and I wipe it away. “I didn’t get the chance. I did something . . . I can’t remember what it was, but it pissed him off enough that he beat me. I wasn’t that far along, but the baby didn’t survive. I kept it from him because he didn’t deserve to know. As far as I was concerned, he didn’t deserve to be that child’s father.”

  When I glance up, I find that the SUV isn’t moving anymore, Gracin’s pulled it over to the shoulder. We rock to a stop.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as he unbuckles and throws up the center console.

  He undoes my seatbelt and pulls me across the console, so I’m in his lap.

  “What I should have done a long time ago,” he says and wraps me in his arms. “It wasn’t your fault. It was mine, and I promise I’ll do everything I can to make it up to you.”

  He holds me for a long time. Until the tears dry and my emotions steady.

  “The only way you can make it up to me is to make sure they pay for what they did.”

  His gaze searches my own, and he nods. “They will.”

  The bar we pull up to an hour later is like a thousand others. It looks more like a shack than an actual place of business, but the dozen or so cars parked in the parking lot and the music blasting from the open windows says it isn’t going to close anytime soon. Alcohol is one of those things that will never go out of favor. There will always be someone steeped in misery and in need of something to drown their sorrows.

  Before I open the truck door, Gracin puts a hand on my arm and says, “Wait for a second, we should talk before we go in.”

  I flash him a wobbly smile. “I think we’ve talked enough for now.”

  He shakes his head. “I mean about what we do when we get in there.”

  Oh. That makes sense, so I nod and wait for Gracin to fill me in on the plan.

  “If we’re lucky, none of Danny’s friends will recognize us.”

  “And if we’re not?”

  I should be terrified by the prospect, but I can’t deny the buzz of anticipation just beneath my skin. I don’t know if I’m excited about the idea of revenge, thrilled to be outside and doing something about what happened to me, or if I’m just high on the intensity that’s rolling off Gracin in waves. It doesn’t matter. I’m itching to get in there.

  He doesn’t answer my question, but he doesn’t have to, the gun he stuffs in a holster underneath his shirt says enough. He hands me another, and I hide it at my waistband.

  “Just listen to what I tell you to do, and we’ll be fine.” I nod again, and he continues. “They won’t know who I am here, so I’m going to join the card game, and you’re going to sit where I tell you and be quiet until I speak to you, okay?”

  I make a zipper motion over my lips. “Whatever you say.”

  He considers me for a second. “Why can’t you be like this all the time?”

  “What fun would that be?” I say and then open my door and hop out.

  “I’m starting to think this was a bad idea,” he says as we walk to the front door.

  The sign over the porch says simply, Ray’s, and the interior is as unassuming as the exterior. Since the only light in the place is coming from the backsplash behind the counter and a few ancient-looking fixtures above that must be on a dimmer, the inside is as dark as the inside of a cave. The smell isn’t much better. Dirt, dust, man, and sweat assault my nose, making me have to work hard to keep from wrinkling it in revulsion. Peanut shells crunch underfoot as we cross the room to the bar where two lone men sit sipping their respective drinks. Music plays on low from an old-fashioned jukebox tucked in the corner.

  A woman in a skimpy tank top with skin in desperate need of moisturizer sidles up to us and plops down a rag. “What can I getcha?” she asks around the cigarette clutched between her lips.

  “Beer, whatever you have on tap, for me,” Gracin replies.

  “The same for me,” I say, pleased to find my voice is steady despite my nerves.

  Gracin slides a couple crumpled dollar bills across the counter as she slams two chilled glasses down in front of us. I take a sip to keep my hands busy and twist in my swiveling chair to study the rest of the bar. Gra
cin keeps his back to a corner as he does the same.

  There aren’t many patrons this time of day, and those who are here seem to be solely focused on drinking as much alcohol as possible. I don’t see anyone who looks like they would be involved with Danny, but what do I know?

  Gracin leans forward and grabs ahold of my chair. It screeches against the scuffed tile floor as he pulls it over to him, so close that I can feel the heat coming from him.

  I lift my brow in question, and he leans down and says, “Play along,” in my ear, causing me to shiver then his lips brush against my skin.

  His arm goes to the back of my chair, and he props one foot up on the rung underneath. I take a few deep swallows from my beer before leaning against him and glancing up. I’m so close to him that I can see his eyes have flecks of gold in them. His eyes find mine, and before I can react, he leans down to kiss me.

  This time, I don’t fight him. I don’t know if it’s the beer, though I only had a few sips, the conversation, or his closeness. The only thing I do know is it isn’t a game. Every touch and taste is one hundred percent real.

  His hand comes to my hair as he deepens the kiss and angles my head up to take everything he has to give me. My hands come up to grip his shirt, and I whimper against his mouth.

  “They just walked in,” he says against my lips. “Don’t look, and laugh when I tell you to.”

  He doesn’t give me a chance to respond because his fingers tighten in my hair the same way they did that night in my hallway. I’m so lost in the lust of the memory that I almost miss him whisper, “Now,” before he pulls away.

  Feeling a little drugged, I laugh over the rim of my beer and down the rest to cool the heat rising within me. I wave at the bartender and use the opportunity to look around.

  It would be hard not to spot them right away as loud as they’re being. There are three of them who saunter across the bar to the pool tables. They’re dressed way too nice to be regular patrons, but the way the others’ eyes slither over them like they aren’t even there makes me think they’ve been here before and they’re trouble.

  Gracin toys with my hair idly as he covertly watches the three of them rack the balls and cue up a table. If I weren’t as tuned into him as I am, I’d never suspect he isn’t focused on me. I remember getting the same hyper-focused impression from him when I realized he wasn’t after me just to get some ass. It’s like the cogs in his brain are turning at triple speed.

  I take another gulp of beer because he may be focused on the men across the bar, but I’m not. Ever since I got another taste of him, my body’s been clamoring for more, and all I can think about is getting another. He’s situated us so my chair is positioned in the V of his legs. One of his hands rests casually on the bar, and the other is on the back of my chair, twisting around the ends of my hair.

  “I love this,” he says as he runs his fingers through the length of it.

  “Do you?” I ask dryly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Hmm. The first time I saw you with it wrapped up I wanted to take it out and see it all around you. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

  “Why?” My voice sounds hoarse to my ears.

  He makes a noise in the back of his throat. “I’m not sure. Maybe because you seemed so uptight. I wanted to loosen you up a bit.”

  “You have a funny way of doing that.”

  “Worked, didn’t it?”

  I consider my current state of affairs. My limbs are loose due to my second mug of beer, and my hair is spread out over my shoulders. Even after all that’s happened, I’m out of Michigan and free, so to speak, of the relationship that was slowly killing me.

  “I didn’t mean to kill him,” I say, and I realize it’s true.

  “I don’t think the world is any worse off having lost him,” Gracin says, his hand coming to rest on my neck underneath my hair.

  “Is that why you say you aren’t sorry for what happened?”

  “Partially,” he replies. I wish he would look at me. “But mostly because I can’t be sorry that you’re alive. I never planned on being a father. I’m not sure I’d make a good one,” he says ruefully. “But I do know I don’t know what would happen to me if you hadn’t made it that day.”

  My throat closes, and I take another sip of beer to clear the emotion weighing there. Maybe the drunks at the counter are onto something. I feel better than I have in a long, long time. Or maybe it’s the comforting feeling of Gracin’s hands now whispering along my back.

  “It’s time,” he says and gets to his feet. He holds out a hand for me, and I take it without hesitation.

  The three men are finishing their game of pool when Gracin pulls up beside them. I don’t have to act drunk because after two beers on a semi-empty stomach and having a low alcohol tolerance to boot, I’m buzzed.

  “’Sup?” one of the men says. His brows are pinched and wary as he crosses his arms over his chest, his discomfort with Gracin’s commanding appearance apparent.

  Gracin jerks his chin. “What’s the buy-in for tonight’s game?” He starts digging in his pockets.

  The one who must be the little ringleader says, “Private game, sorry.”

  The first one’s eyes bulge out of his head when Gracin extracts a rather large wad of money from his pocket.

  “You’re sure?” he asks with a cheeky grin at me. “My lady and I are looking to have some fun tonight. She’s never been to a poker game before.”

  The two guys look to their leader, who favors Danny enough in the color of his skin and bone structure that it makes me think they are distantly related. This one has about thirty pounds on Danny and a rounder face, but the eyes are the same. I’d never forget those eyes.

  Gracin wraps an arm around my shoulder and presses his lips to my hair to whisper, “Stay calm, little mouse. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

  I could end it here. Reach for Gracin’s gun and put bullets in the three of them. Killing Danny’s relative would send a hell of a message, and I like to think I’m getting pretty good at being just as ruthless as the man beside me. But sending a message like that may cause Danny and Sal to go further to ground, so I relax and send him a sunny smile.

  Breaking from his grasp, I brace my hands on the pool table to accentuate my cleavage and bat my eyes at them.

  “So, what’s it gonna be, guys? Are we gonna have some fun tonight or what?”

  The tension in the room is palpable, and the three guys, who I learned are named Desmond, Cody, and Jasper, are sweating so much their skin reflects in the yellow light from the overhead fixture.

  About an hour ago, the bartender, I still haven’t gotten her name, led the five of us back to a dark room with a small card table and a couple of chairs. The felt table is worn to the pressed wood underneath and not one of the chairs sits squarely on the ground, but the three men don’t seem to care. After Gracin flashed his money, they only had eyes for the pocket where he stashed it.

  The first two hands, Gracin sat back in his seat and quietly listened to the three of them talk shit. He let them beat him until they felt comfortable. Then this attention grew much more focused.

  It’s their tenth hand, and Gracin hasn’t been kind to their wallets. I can tell Desmond— the one who looks like Danny—wants to call him out on something, but he wisely bites his tongue. Which is surprising considering how much they have drunk. While they’ve been downing Jack and Cokes, Gracin’s sipped his warm beer and studied them. A panther waiting to attack, all sleek muscles and dark eyes.

  “Call,” Gracin says and places his bet. “So are you gentlemen from around here?”

  I nearly snort into my third beer, which I’ve been drinking much slower than the first two, but I manage to contain it. He’s lulled them into such a false sense of security and plied information from them so subtly I wouldn’t believe it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.

  So far we’ve learned they visit California and Mexico frequently and that they all have f
amily in the area. I wanted so hard to perk up when they revealed that little piece of information, but I forced a bored expression on my face and pretended like I’d rather be anywhere else in the world. It wasn’t hard because I’d rather be with Danny watching the life drain from his eyes.

  “Yeah, they’re from around,” Desmond says with a side-eyed look at me. He’s the only one of the bunch who wasn’t completely charmed by my faux airheadedness or wooed by the stacks of cash Gracin kept piling on the winnings in the center of the table.

  “Why are you so interested?” he asks Gracin.

  “Just making conversation.”

  When the others aren’t looking, he sends me a look under his lashes, and I tense, my body coming alive. Whatever he’s planning is going to happen soon.

  Desmond doesn’t look mollified. If anything, his suspicion grows. “Then I’d suggest you focus more on your cards and less on chitchat.”

  He places his cards face up on the table. The others do the same with Gracin at the end. Desmond’s aces best Gracin’s kings, and Gracin sighs.

  “Sorry, baby,” he says to me. “I didn’t mean to ruin our night.”

  Desmond sends his friends a wordless order, and they surge up from the table, their hands slipping knives from where they’ve been stowed in pockets.

  “You think we didn’t know who you were the second we laid eyes on you?” Desmond says. “You must be dumber than you look.”

  “That’s a possibility,” Gracin says calmly without bothering to get up. He takes a sip of his beer and casually places the glass back down. “What is it you think you’re going to do with those pig stickers?”

  “You’re coming with us,” Desmond says. “Uncle Sal’s been looking for you.”

  “I don’t think I can accommodate you,” Gracin says and begins tucking his things back into his pockets. “You can give him a message for me, though.”

  Desmond scoffs. “I’m not giving him shit. Keep your hands where I can see them. Your lady, too.” He jerks his chin at me, and the two men circle the table and bracket me on either side.