My mind goes back to the kiss.
Emotionally.
I pad over to the bed and pull the covers back, plopping in with zero grace. I lift the blanket over my chest. Sleep doesn’t come. I lay there for hours running every scenario I can think of regarding where we go from here. None of them ends with me making it through this alive except alien invasion where the aliens accidentally drop me from their laser beam pulling me into their ship and I fall into a soft pile of hay.
The lock clicks open and the door shuts softly and clicks back into place. I hear Pike thud over to the bed and kick off his boots, tossing his shirt to the floor, followed by the unmistakable sound of his belt and then his jeans hitting the floor before.
I feel the dipping of the mattress beside me.
“You’re going to sleep here?” I whisper, pulling the blanket tighter over my chest.
“Do you see another bed?” he asks.
“No,” I say.
“Go to sleep, Mic. There’ll be plenty of time to argue and want to kill each other tomorrow. Tonight, you did something good. The bad shit that comes along with it will still be here to worry about when the suns up.”
“What did I do that was good, again?” I ask, needing to know what he’s referring to.
He sighs. “You pointed out that the packages had been tampered with, and that there was enough fentanyl in those pills that it would have killed the stupid kids who take it.” I feel the tension in his body from across the bed. “My question is why? Why tell me at all? Why not just let it happen?”
“That wasn’t something good. I just don’t want innocent people to die,” I say simply. “I don’t want anyone to die.”
“But, why go against your own people? They’re plans?”
Now it’s my turn to sigh. “I can only tell you that every decision I make is for no one but myself and my own conscience, and I’m honestly sorry that this is hurting you.” My chest tightens.
“What game are you playing at, Mic?” he asks, calmly. Too calm.
I chuckle. “Playing insinuates that I might lose. I’m not playing at any game because losing isn’t an option.”
“You don’t belong in that world,” he says, sounding every bit sincere. “Or this one. You just don’t.”
“No, I don’t,” I admit, and it’s the truth. I don’t belong in that world.
But when all of this is over, that world will belong to me.
Chapter Eighteen
Pike
The meeting with King and Nine had been brutal. Although, King now understands that I’m not trying to cut him out by pretending to steal my own shipment that he funded. The worst part is, Nine vouched for me. If King continued to believe that I wasn’t to be trusted, ultimately, it would be Nine who could pay. I can’t have that happening to my friend, certainly not because of me.
But it’s not going to happen. Because of her.
I stare down at Mickey, fast asleep, her little purring snore the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.
I want to wrap my hands around her beautiful throat and choke the intel from her perfect mouth, but Gutter is right. The girl is stronger and physical violence would cause her not to trust me and I need her to trust me if I’m going to get what I need.
I cringe at the look in her eyes when I told her after the kiss that this changes nothing. It was a lie. It changes everything. Once I tasted her, I couldn’t stop tasting her. Covered in mud or not, I can’t lie to myself and pretend I wasn’t ready to take her right there on the curb.
Stupid fucking move on my part. Giving into my primal urge to kiss her, to claim her, then dismissing her right after we were interrupted isn’t going to open the doors to honesty.
I brush her hair from her eyes and can’t help but smile when she makes a noise of protest and moves her head so that she’s face-down in the pillow.
The way she used her photographic memory and her impressive big brain even after I’d treated her so coldly to alert me to the tampering. Only to ruin plans her own people obviously had to destroy my reputation and my connection with King. She helped me.
No, I remind myself. I can’t think like that. She did it to save people, not me. And yet, that doesn’t make me feel any less of an asshole for the way I’ve been treating her. The thing is, looking back on my life, I can’t remember a time when I’ve ever felt guilty for being an asshole. There isn’t a thing in my life I can say that I regret saying or doing even if those actions resulted in hurting other people either physically or emotionally.
She’s not the selfish person I accused her of being. Selfish people don’t save the lives of thousands of unaware ravers hellbent on a good time. They don’t thwart their own people in the name of others.
But Mickey did.
Which leads me to believe that Gutter’s right in yet another way. She has her own agenda. She’s pretty much told me that herself. She might not be able tell me who is behind all of this, but if what Gutter said is right and I can get her to tell me what it is, then it could give me enough to lead me straight to the motherfucker’s door.
My eyes sting with exhaustion.
I can’t sleep. Not just because of all the shit that’s gone down over the past few days, but because of her.
My cock stiffens at the thought of Mickey in my bed. Of knowing she’s within arm’s reach and that she’s only wearing one of my t-shirts.
Fuck this. I get out of bed, head to the bathroom and start the shower, turning the dial to cold. I step under the spray, but even the icy blast isn’t enough to douse the burning need throbbing in my cock.
Facing the tile, I take my cock in hand. Taking a deep breath, I allow my thoughts to run free. I think of the way Mickey responded to my kiss. Her innocence shown in the way she didn’t quite know how to kiss me back, but did it anyway because she wanted to. Everything I gave her in that kiss she gave right fucking back to me. All while we were both fighting against this weird thing pulling us together. The fucking want in her eyes. The way her body responded to mine. Her little moans and gasps. If Thorne hadn’t interrupted us I know I could’ve made her come right there on the fucking curb. The way she rode me, seeking her own pleasure, knowing that I could be the one to give it to her.
It doesn’t take long until my balls draw up tight and I’m coming in long hard bursts, streaming days of pent up desire all over the yellow tile. After I catch my breath, I turn the spray to rinse off the wall. I lather up, rinse off, and grab a towel hanging from a hook on the wall as I step out of the shower.
I dab at the water on my face and catch the scent of the cucumber girly shampoo Thorne gave to Mickey.
Instantly, I’m hard again.
I mentally swear, drying off as quickly as possible.
Clicking off the bathroom light, I pad back over to the bed and lift the blankets, the mattress dipping under my weight as I settle my head on the pillow. I turn my head and stare at the small shadowy lump underneath the blankets beside me.
Now more than ever, I realize that I want to know what makes Mickey tick.
I roll away from her to face the door. I close my eyes, but it doesn’t close out the unwelcome thought that follows.
I don’t want to get to know her for any admission of truth, but because I genuinely want to know everything there is to know about her.
I finally fall asleep only to have a dream I haven’t had in years. But it isn’t a dream at all.
It’s a gut-punch of a fucking memory.
Five Years Old
“Hey, big boy. Come with me so we can talk for a minute, okay?” Mom looks at me, but her eyes don’t look right. They’re bloodshot and glassy with bags underneath. I’ve seen her upset before, many times, but never like this. Her hand is shaking and sweaty as she takes mine in hers, leading me into the small living room. She sits me down on the couch. Her hand never leaves mine. “Daddy’s left us. For good this time.”
She’s waiting for a reaction that will never come. I never saw the man
, and when I did, he was beating on my mother. Why is she so upset? People who aren’t good in our lives shouldn’t be in our lives. “The thing is I can’t do this alone. I’m not… I can’t…I just can’t,” she sobs. “I’m so sorry, baby. You deserve so much better.”
I don’t care what I deserve. I want her.
“I don’t understand,” I say, holding her hand tighter as she tries to pull away.
She looks at me for a few seconds before smiling sadly. She ruffles my hair. “Never mind. Mommy loves you. I will always love you. That’s all you need to know. Everything will be fine. I promise.”
She sniffles and wipes her tears away. She stands. “Do you want to watch a movie?”
I nod, convinced everything is going to be okay like she said because I’m five and she’s my mom.
She disappears into the kitchen and a few minutes later comes back with a large bowl of popcorn, a bottle of water, and all of my favorite candy. She clicks the remote and presses play on my favorite superhero movie.
“Mommy has to take care of something. I’ll be right back,” she says. Or at least, that’s what I think she says. I’m too engrossed in the opening battle scene playing before me to really listen. I don’t even notice the door opening or closing or anything else for that matter because I fall asleep.
When I wake up from a junk-food induced coma, there’s three men in uniforms staring down at me. Policeman. “You alone, kid?” they ask.
I look around. “My mommy is here. We were watching a movie. I fell asleep.”
The officers exchange a knowing glance. “Ain’t no one here, kid. Your mommy’s the one who called us. Come on. You’re going to come with us. It will all be okay.”
I don’t believe him, not like I believe my mom. She’s coming back. She said she would come back.
“She’s coming back!” I yell as they pick me up. I kick and cry out of their grasp. “She’s coming back!”
One sighs loudly and sounds sadder than my mommy had sounded. “No, kid. She ain’t coming back.”
They lead me to the patrol car, and one gets in the backseat with me while the other two get into the front.
The last thing I remember seeing as we drive off is my mother hiding behind the trash cans in the alley next to our house. She’s pressing her middle finger to her lips to silence me as tears run down her face.
I was sad but also angry. I turned away from her and looked at the back of the seat instead.
She said she loved me, but she left me.
If this is what love is, I want no part of it.
Chapter Nineteen
Mickey
The next morning Pike drags me down the stairs into the pawn shop before I’m fully awake. The showroom smells like silver polish and stale cigarettes. It’s the first time I’ve been in it long enough to actually look around and take it in, but I can’t because Pike plops me down in a chair next to the counter.
I dart my eyes from one side of the room to the other, waiting for the preverbal monster to jump out at me. “What’s going on?”
Pike crouches in front of me. “Did I kill you yesterday?”
I cock my head and take a deep breath. Still alive. “No.”
Pike grins. “The way I see it, you and me need to come to an understanding. You won’t try and run off again, and I won’t hurt you while I’m trying to figure shit out. There’s no need for us to be down each other’s throats all the fucking time. I got enough shit to worry about.”
I’m hesitant to accept his offer of a truce, but my thought is interrupted when a pretty blonde girl not much older than myself walks through the door. She’s wearing a pink shirt that reads, “Okay, Karen.” Without greeting Pike, she begins removing tools from a blue tote bag she sets down at my feet.
Thorne steps into the room. “Pike, I need you,” she says.
Pike rises to his feet. “Be right back.”
He leaves me alone with the blonde girl who's humming to herself as she works.
“Who are you?” I ask.
She removes a small black box from her bag and presses a screwdriver into one of the holes until a black band connecting it is released on one side. “I’m Rage. I’ll be your friendly house arrest bracelet installer today.” She removes a pair of latex gloves from her back pocket and snaps them on. “Tell me, have you had any sneezing, coughing or fever in the last forty-eight hours?”
House arrest bracelet installer? He said he wasn’t following the guidelines! “Uh, no.”
“Good. Have you eaten anything from the bar next door or touched anything from said bar including, but not limited to: door handles, bar stools, restroom stall handles, etcetera?” She kneels at my feet and fixes the strap around my ankle. Again, she uses the screwdriver, but this time to click the band back into place.
I point to the device. “No, but what does any of that have to do with whatever it is that you’re doing?”
Rage shakes her head, whipping her blond ponytail into and out of her face. “Nothing. I just don’t want to catch the plague while installing this beautiful work of art, and the bar next door looks like a fucking cesspool.” She cringes.
“What exactly does this thing do?” I ask, having never had to wear a house arrest bracelet. Rage twists the screwdriver once more and stands to admire her handiwork.
“It’s a bomb,” she says, casually, confirming my suspicions. “There. All done.”
“I’m sorry, it’s a what?” I ask, white knuckling the chair.
Rage looks up at me and tilts her head. “You know…a bomb? Bombs go boom?” She makes an exploding motion with her hands. “Why do people never seem to understand what a bomb is? What are they teaching in school these days?”
“Not how to install bombs on people!” I learned all my bomb knowledge long after I was done with school.
She shrugs. “Shame.”
I try to collect my thoughts. “I know what a bomb is. I just want to know why this one is strapped to my ankle.”
She rolls her eyes. “Because it would look tacky on your wrist.”
“She giving you trouble?” Pike asks. He moves from behind me to stand next to Rage.
“No, but she doesn’t know what a bomb is,” Rage mutters. “You sure know how to pick them, Pike.”
He doesn’t argue with her. Doesn’t tell her that he didn’t pick me and that I’m being held against my will, but I don’t think Rage would be surprised…or care since she just strapped an explosive to my fucking body.
I glare at Pike. “Everything’s honkey-dory here, Pike. Just us girls having a mani-pedi bomb installation session.”
“Ugh, as if,” Rage says, her nose wrinkles in disgust. “Do you know what kind of bacteria can be found on the tools of nail salons?” She tucks her screwdriver into a blue tote bag with a megaphone on the side. “Okay, that’s it for me. Pike, I’ll send you my bill. If you don’t pay, I’ll send you in pieces to your friends in the mail.”
“How’s Nolan these days?” Pike asks.
She sighs dreamily. “A model of the perfect non-murdering civilian as always,” she replies. She picks up her tote bag and spares me one last glance, then looks to Pike, jerking her chin in my direction. “Teach the girl what a bomb is, will ya?”
The bell above the door rings, announcing her exit.
“I know what a bomb is,” I mutter. Through the glass, I see Rage ride away on a baby blue Vespa. She peels out of the parking lot, kicking up gravel in her wake.
“You said you weren’t following those stupid guidelines,” I accuse.
“If I was following them, you’d be dead already,” he points out. He isn’t wrong. It’s day six, by my count.
Pike stands before me and bends at the waist, placing his hands next to me on the arm rests of the chair. “We both know that you already know what a bomb is, so we’re on the same page there. What I do have to explain is that if you go further than the parking lot or back alley, you’ll get a warning beep. After that, you have ten-seco
nds to get back to where you need to be before it goes off. The same thing goes with tampering with it, except you’ll get no warning.”
Pike heads into the back room.
With my newfound freedom, I should go outside and breathe in some fresh air, but instead, I find myself following Pike. When I find him, he’s bent over some kind of ledger, and to my surprise, there’s a pair of black reading glasses perched on his nose. “Why did you take me to see Gutter the other day?”
“I told you. I needed to talk with him.”
“You mean you needed to give him money?”
That gets his attention. He glances up at me. “He told you that?”
“Amongst other things, but what he didn’t tell me is why you took me there. You could have left me tied to something. You didn’t really have to bring me at all.”
Pike closes the book and heads for the parking lot. “Remember, if it beeps, you’ve been warned.”
I stomp my foot on the ground. “Arrogant child,” I mutter under my breath.
“Because he wanted to know the truth,” Thorne says, making her presence known. She’s bent over in the corner, taking pictures of a china set. “To post in the online store,” she explains when she sees me staring.
“What do you mean because he wanted to know the truth?” I ask, perching on a stool.
“Gutter is an enigma. One of those savants or whatever you call them.” She arranges one of the delicate blue teacups to hide a chip in the corner then snaps a few shots, checking the screen on her camera after each one. “He can see your cracks when other people can’t. That’s why Pike took you there.”
“He’s a genius?” I nearly fall off my stool. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“No one would.”
“I like Gutter,” I admit. “Now, I feel like I judged him too quickly, and I don’t want to ever be that person. One who puts someone in a box they don’t belong in.”
Pike: The Pawn Duet, Book One Page 13
