by Rae, Nikita
“I was too hot?”
“You’re crazy! It was freezing last night. I woke up three times because my hands and feet had gone numb.”
My hands and feet hadn’t fared that well either, but I couldn’t deal with having his bedclothes on top of me. It felt like he was on top of me, and I was scared by how that made me feel. I crunch down on a piece of toast and chug the coffee he’s made for me—extra sweet again.
“I’m gonna grab a quick shower, then I’ll drop you off at the hospital, okay?” Luke tells me, slinging a huge white towel over his shoulder. I nod, my mouth full, and he disappears into the bathroom. Once I hear the water running, I inch over to the low sideboard and stroke my fingers across the file that still sits there. My heart rate trebles when I find myself opening it up at random. I’ve opened up in a safe place. Barely legible text, scrawled in blue and red and black biro, marks page after page after page. I flick through them, not focusing on the paper for too long in case I read something I don’t want to. Stupid, really, considering I want to pick this apart until I find something to clear Dad, and I’m too nervous to even read the reports. I’m about a quarter way though the file when a photo slips out of the papers and floats down to the floor. The face of a pale young girl stares up at me from the polished hardwood flooring, about fifteen years old. Her blonde hair is so colorless it’s almost silver. Other than the bleached whiteness of her skin and the fragile purple tinge to her lips, she doesn’t particularly look dead. Her blue eyes are open, staring; the accusing glare behind them makes me shiver. I suppose she looks a little like me when I was her age. More than a little like me, in fact.
“Already playing detective?” Luke asks, inches behind me. I jump so hard I nearly drop my coffee mug.
“Geez, are you trying to…kill me?” My brain momentarily shuts down when I see he is only wearing a towel and water is beaded across his naked chest and down his arms. The tattoos I’ve been catching glimpses of are pretty extensive: tribal black ink that traces across the tops of his shoulders and down his arms a short ways, stark and contrasting against the faint golden tan of his skin. Over his right pec, the letters D.M.F are scrawled in swooping cursive.
I snap my eyes to his face so I have to stop staring, and Luke gives me a slight smile. He stoops to pick up the photo, displaying that the tattoos continue onto his back, too—arching, powerful tribal wings that sweep across his shoulder blades in broad, powerful black lines. The ink really compliments his body, mirrors the way his muscles shift under his skin when he moves. He straightens, holding the towel around his waist, and hands over the photo.
“Here.” The smile on his face has grown, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. If he does, he’s apparently not going to oblige my fantasy by losing the towel.
“Thanks.” I snatch the photo back and study it intensely. The fierce clenching of my jaw probably counters the hot blush on my face, but still…I’m reacting like a thirteen year old who’s never seen a shirtless guy before.
“What’s the D.M.F stand for?” I ask nonchalantly, pretending to be unfazed. But holy shit, am I fazed.
“It’s the band’s name,” he tells me. “The guys thought it’d be amusing to tease people with initials and never tell them what they stand for.”
“And what do they stand for?”
Luke cocks an eyebrow, his smile ruinous now. “I’d literally wash up on the banks of the Hudson with no teeth or fingerprints if I told you that.”
“Well damn.” I realize I’m still holding the photo that fell out of the file. What the hell am I doing stuttering like an idiot when I’m supposed to be concentrating on the job at hand? I mentally curse myself and block out Luke’s tattoos and near nakedness. “Do you know who this girl is?” I ask, trying to force a note of indifference into my voice. Luke sweeps his wet hair out of his eyes and glances at the blonde girl staring lifelessly out of the picture.
“No. Like I said, I was waiting for you before I looked at everything.” He carefully places his hand over mine and turns the image over, leaning closer to read the writing on the back.
Loreli Whitman August 6th
Poisoning. Shore of Jackson Lake, Grand Teton National Park.
Poisoning. That explains why there’s no blood in the picture. No signs of a fight. I step away from Luke and slot the picture back in the file. “Only two girls were poisoned, right? What was it? What did the killer use?”
“Strychnine. It’s a convulsant. Both girls asphyxiated. These were the two last killings before they stopped altogether. They were also the only ones with the fourth symbol on their palms.” Luke leafs through the file until he finds a picture of the symbols and points out the one the poison victims were branded with. It’s the circular one from the piece of paper Luke sent me the other day—the one with two smaller circles inside.
“My contact in Wyoming PD says these girls were different to the others. Their deaths weren’t as violent. Well, in comparison, of course. Asphyxiation’s still a horrible way to die.”
I take a sip of my coffee and sit myself down on the leather sofa, trying not to picture how that would feel. Luke carries on talking. “She said it was almost like they’d been treated reverently. Their hair had been brushed out and their finger and toenails had been painted. They were wearing dresses their parents had never seen before. It was like he’d decided to dress those two up like dolls.”
“That’s totally sick. But why was it so strange?”
“Because…” He cups his hand to the back of his neck and grimaces. “The other deaths were so different. Violent and cruel. They weren’t treated with any kindness. They were defiled in most cases, some worse than others.”
My chest tightens, and I rub my eyes with the backs of my hands. I’ve considered asking about that but I haven’t had the nerve. I link the acts with the allegations being made by Colby Bright—that my Dad is behind all of this—and it’s too much to take. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Sorry, Ave. I know this is hard. I shouldn’t have involved you. I’ll do most of the digging myself from here on in. I’ll let you know if I come across anything noteworthy, okay?”
I try to steel my nerves, try to form words to tell him that it doesn’t matter and I can do it, but I really can’t. Can’t form the words, and can’t face the details, either. Maybe it would be better to let him do the legwork. But my dad…that would feel like I’d failed him. Let him down. “Luke?”
“Yeah?” He looks at me, his eyes filled with an intensity that makes my breathing sharp. I force myself not to look away.
“Does this not bother you anymore? If I just keep going, will it get easier?”
Luke’s expression falls flat. “No. It never gets easier.”
******
Noah: Hey, where are you? Turns out Tate’s not been home since the party. The cops are looking for him.
Noah’s text comes as we’re headed over to Woodhull Hospital. I notice Luke’s eyes flickering to my cell phone and decide I’d better respond or it will seem weird.
Me: Shit. On my way to the hospital right now. I’ll have to tell Morgan.
Noah: Meet you there…
“That the non-boyfriend boyfriend?” Luke asks casually.
“Yeah. He said Tate, the guy Morgan was with at that party, still hasn’t come home. Morgan asked me to find him for her. She’s going to flip out when I tell her that not only have I not found him, but no one else has seen him in two days, either.”
“Doesn’t sound good.”
“No. No it does not.”
When we arrive at the hospital, Luke gets out of the car and walks me to the building, but then pauses at the sliding glass doors. The whole world is covered in a layer of frosted glass today, stark and cold, and Luke is the only vibrant thing in it. His cheeks have reddened from the short walk across the lot, and his green scarf stands out against the muted blues and variances of white and grey.
“You want me to come in with you?” he asks, b
ouncing on the balls of his feet to keep warm. I don’t really know what to say. Luke and Noah in the same place? That makes me feel all kinds of wrong. But I do want him to stay. Probably more than I should. I open my mouth to speak but wait a second too long; Luke’s easy smile doesn’t disappear entirely so much as dim. He starts walking backwards and buries his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “Because if you’ve got people coming to meet you, that means I can go home and work through that file. If you don’t need me.”
If you don’t need me. I bite down on the inside of my cheek and nod. “Thanks, Luke. Thanks for running me around and for dinner last night and, well, everything, I guess.
He pulls his hood up, still backing away. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
Something impetuous makes me speak before I can stop myself. “Are we? Are we friends, Luke?”
He pauses, blowing out spirals of smoke on the cold morning air. “Of course we are.” He gives me a small smile and then he is gone.
MORGAN TAKES Tate’s missing person’s status about as well I’d hoped: explosive tears and a lot of swearing. Noah arrived twenty minutes later and Morgan’s mother veto’d our presence, saying we’d caused enough drama for one morning. I’m really starting to see why Morgan hates going home so much.
By the time Noah and I have braved the subway, changing three times to get back to Upper Manhattan, I’ve almost managed to put Luke out of my mind. Almost.
Noah holds his breath when he follows me into my apartment, and I know it’s because he’s waiting to see if Leslie is around. She isn’t. We go to my bedroom all the same, a dangerous thing to do. I fall back on my bed and smile when I see Noah grinning.
“You look like you’re up to no good, Irish,” I tell him, toeing off my shoes.
“Ahh, God, not you, too. It’s bad enough with Morgan and the rest of Columbia calling me that. So unimaginative. If I were as limited as you all, I’d be calling everyone I meet American.”
“Good point,” I concede. Noah peels off his coat to reveal a light grey sweater that matches his eyes. He sits down on my bed and leans forward. “Hat on or off, darlin’?
I try to hide my small smile. It feels wrong to smile when Tate is missing and I’m in the middle of a major meltdown regarding my dad’s serial killer status, but with that accent it’s hard not to. “Off,” I tell him, pulling the knitted beanie from his head. His hair is mussed already, and he only makes it worse when he rakes his hands through it. I reach up and twist my fingers through it carefully, waiting to see if he cares that I’m touching him. He leans back against my hand and closes his eyes, breathing out hard.
“You have this amazing ability to make me feel like there’s nothing else going on in the world, you know that?” he whispers.
“Really?” That surprises me. Noah sinks down slowly beside me on the bed, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I’m gonna kiss you now, Avery. I’m gonna make you want me. You okay with that?”
Luke’s face instantly springs to mind. I squirm on the bed, awkward and irritated. I can’t keep doing this to myself. Seriously, letting him invade my thoughts every second of every waking day is ruining everything. I can’t do it anymore. Maybe doing this, being with Noah, will change things. I stare up at him, feeling suddenly like a little girl. The look in his eyes is a hungry one, and I can feel myself buckling, needing contact, needing someone to hold me and make me feel something other than worry and fear for more than five minutes. “Okay,” I whisper.
He doesn’t hold back. In a second his hands are on my waist, tugging at my clothes. I gasp in a deep breath when he tips my head back with his own and starts kissing my neck, grazing his teeth over my skin. The shudder that runs through my body penetrates down to my bones, half arousal, half panic. Can I do this with him? Can I really do this? There’s only one way to find out.
I scramble with Noah’s sweater, trying to get my hands underneath to feel his skin. A low growl rumbles in his throat and he quickly leans back so he can tear it over his head. His t-shirt goes with it, and I slip my hands over his sides and upwards to grip onto his naked back. He’s leaner than Luke but still muscled, still beautiful to look at. I sit up and press my lips slowly to his chest, gently running my tongue over his skin.
“Ahhh fuck, Avery. You shouldn’t have done that.” Noah grabs hold of my hips and pulls me up so that our chests press together, and his left hand buries itself into my hair. His other hand hurriedly pulls at my cotton shirt, lifting it up over my bra. That’s as far as this adventure can go without one of us breaking away from kissing each other to lift my shirt over my head. Noah is as incapable of making that happen as I am. He cups my breast over my bra, pinching and rolling my nipple hard through the material so that a sharp twist of pain relays around my body. My back arches away from the bed, pressing me even closer to him, and Noah groans. He rolls me onto my back and throws one leg over mine so that he’s hovering above me. His eyes wander greedily over my bare stomach and up over my bra. Devouring every inch of me, he shakes his head and lets out a ragged breath.
“You’re amazing, Avery. You’re so fucking beautiful. I wanna make you feel so good.” He dips his head and lets his weight rest over me so he can tug the lace of my bra cup out of the way, and then his mouth is hot on my skin, licking and kissing. A desperate keening sound catches in my throat when he carefully bites my nipple, the pain even sweeter than when he pinched me.
“Noah!” I dig my fingernails into his back and he growls again, sending a low wave of pleasure through my body. He reaches down and shoves my legs apart so he can climb in between them, and I hitch my knees up so he can get closer. We both shiver when he pushes down, rocking against me so that I can feel how hard he is. A demanding throb burns between my legs, insisting that I do something about it, and I run through the scenario in my head. Pulling off my jeans, tearing Noah’s off, too. The very thought of it sends me running in two different directions. My eyes start to sting, but I ignore that. Ignore Luke’s face and the sinking pit in my gut. Suddenly this doesn’t seem so easy after all. Noah reaches down and strokes his hand lightly over my jeans between my legs, and I tremble involuntarily.
“Do you want me, Avery?” Noah breathes into my mouth. His tongue runs over my lips, teasing me.
“I—,” I pant, unable to finish. Unable to give him an answer either way. Noah takes my shortness of breath as a yes.
“I’m gonna take off your jeans now.” His hands move up, slowly unbuttoning my jeans, and he watches me writhe underneath him the whole time, daring me to stop him. I want to. I definitely want to stop him. Or at least I think I do. I’m balancing on a knife’s edge, fighting to maintain control. Luke’s brown eyes are burned into my mind and I just can’t seem to shake them. A sob wells at the back of my throat. That’s when I start to feel pathetic. Noah’s a good guy. He’s been patient with me; he’s sexy as hell and funny. Why shouldn’t I want this? I swallow hard, forcing that sob to remain unvoiced. I have to do this.
Once he’s unzipped my pants and I’ve eased them off my hips, Noah sits back and tugs frantically at the material while I help by kicking out of them. When he lays back down on top of me I can feel a whole lot more of him. He is so hard, rigid through his jeans. His breathing quickens when he rocks his hips against me and I let out a startled cry. It feels so good. This is what I’ve needed. I’ve needed it more than anything, which makes shame flood through me.
“Do you want me?” Noah repeats again, his voice low and hoarse. I can’t speak. No matter how badly I’m fighting with myself internally, pushing myself to just do this so I can get over a person I can never possibly hope to have a future with, I still can’t make myself tell Noah I want him. The noise that comes out of me is close to a whimper. He looks up at me with a heavy, greedy expression in his eyes and slips his hand downwards over the sensitive skin of my stomach. My back arches again as he keeps reaching down, and when his fingers brush over the thin material of my panties I
let my knees drop to the side and moan.
“Fuck, Avery, you’re so perfect.”
I don’t feel perfect, though. I feel flawed and vulnerable. I don’t want to feel that way. This should be amazing and fun. I shrug out of my embarrassment and meet Noah’s awed gaze to see that he really means it. There’s a hunger burning in the way he’s looking at me, which makes my skin flush. He keeps working his fingers over the material of my panties, gradually increasing the pressure each time until I can’t take it anymore.
Avery, just do it, damnit. Take control. Just do it!
I reach down and fumble with Noah’s pants, unzipping them and thrusting my hand inside before he can object. My hand curves around him and his whole body jerks.
“Shit! Avery, don’t, I’m gonna…” A visible judder runs through his body and he shoves away from me, hunching over himself. He pulls his arms into his side and goes absolutely still. It’s fairly obvious what just happened, and by the way Noah has stopped breathing and is staring at the floor, he’s mortified. My heart is still jack-hammering in my chest, five seconds behind the change of atmosphere in the room. In the time it takes for my body to catch up, Noah has stood up and put his t-shirt and sweater back on. He’s working on his shoes when I sit up and pull my knees up to my chest.
“What are you doing?” I whisper.
“I have assignments to complete,” he says flatly. I reach forward and place my hand on his back but he inches away from the contact, stooping down to tie his laces. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”
I just gaze up at him, knowing the expression on my face makes me look simple. “Sure. Uh…”
“Okay. We’ll catch up soon.” Noah snatches up his coat and bolts out of the room before I can say anything else. And that’s it. He just leaves. I stare at the door he’s slammed closed and try to get my head around it. Sure, he was embarrassed, but what the fuck? It happens. Guys come a little quicker than anticipated on occasion. He needn’t have fled the apartment like it was the very worst thing that had ever happened. There are far worse things reserved for that particular title.
