by Elena Monroe
I laughed at his almost compliment. It wasn’t boring. I took the fat joint from him again and tightly wrapped my cherry red lips around the neat end. “Are you friends with Liz? An infamous Amherst Sinner?”
I couldn’t place the expression; it fell somewhere between disgusted and jealous. Before he even responded, parts of me felt like I knew him—parts of me didn’t even have to hear his voice to know the answer. He felt familiar because all his in-betweens matched mine.
“Liz, yes, we’re friends. Sinner? No thanks. Sounds like a lame-ass boy band.”
A smile made my full lips seem pouty without trying before my fingers covered my laughter.
“You asked for this,” was all he said, before his lips pressed against mine. His lips were slightly cold and wet from the bourbon he was sipping on when he came back. I didn’t care; he was willingly kissing me when I knew that landed in his own list of don’ts, while he was checking my most dangerous box on my master list: Fall in love.
Hunter
All my pent up anxiety was wasted energy, once I knew what Hector wanted to meet for. I knew I was good at what I did that eventually it would draw more attention than I truly wanted to have pointed in my direction. This wasn’t a hobby or way to defy everyone around me anymore. This was my job, and the only way I made money.
I wasn’t gifted a trust fund like Ollie or his friends. I had to fight for everything I had and wanted. I was willing to break a lot of morals I was convinced I was born without to begin with. I wasn't chasing desire anymore, but the sneaky bastard “need” was always lurking around the corner, pushing you to do things you didn't think you would.
Hector kept his gaze on Brittany when we walked back into the room, and as soon as I shifted my eyes up from the décor, I realized why. She was one hundred proof Addileigh now, soaked in worry and anxiety, like I transferred it all to her once I was done with it. Her fake tan looked ghostly, and nothing about her had the same color it did before. She seemed dead, and that alone made everything in me pause.
The space between us felt more and more in the way—once everything around us fell out of focus. Her gray orbs glossed over once the warmth of my palm caressed her cheek, and every ounce of guilt I had kissing other people dissipated. In this moment, all I saw was everything I was looking for all along: a key character witness—one willing testify that was a good person.
Worth loving.
Worth choosing.
Worth taking a chance on.
Her lips no longer tasted like poison anymore. This time, there was a sweet honey flavor softening the sharp edges inside my heart. All her poison took its course, ran through my veins, and eventually started tasting sweet.
Sugar Honey Iced Tea.
I knew in this moment Addi wasn't just a distraction. She was judge and jury—one I was hellbent on impressing.
Pulling away from our kiss left us both stunned too much to use words, resulting to only using our features to communicate.
Mine were painted in shock, complete with a wrinkled brow and pursed lips. She was all wonderstruck, and her features seemed smoother, like after she orgasms.
Hector’s hand landed heavily on my shoulder. “Tortolitos, shall we celebrate this arrangement?”
While downstairs, Hector made a compelling argument to take on more responsibility. In my experience you never turned down anything when it came from the hand of a powerful man like Hector.
Hector wanted me to fly to Miami once a month to see that shipments were coming in securely and everyone involved stayed under the radar. I tried to tell him I was just some punk from Florida who got lucky selling, but his husky voice, which incorporated words I didn't know, came prepared with data. Data and percentages I didn't think we’re real in any sense. He wanted me to say yes myself, giving his guilt an easy out, even though I was sure that wasn't something Hector had.
Men like Hector wanted you to say yes, so when you wanted out they could site a moment as the one that seemed like free will. Nothing in this world was your choice. I sold what he wanted, when he wanted. The only choice I had was who I sold to; that part never mattered as long as their money was green.
All guilt ended at the start of green with dead presidents on the front.
I didn't realize how much money spoke, until I started selling more than cloudy highs, instead giving people the kind of highs that have claws, sinking into your senses and making you fight for freedom.
That's when I went wrong, drawing unwanted attention.
I lived comfortably, making sure the only flashy thing I owned was my Mustang—the same one gifted to me sophomore year when my dad got engaged to my stepmom. The rest I kept tucked away in a safe, not even a bank; I was even hiding from them.
I pulled away from Brittany, wrapping my hand around her wrist, like my charm would wear off and she'd take off running. No, I wasn't letting myself fall for that trick again with hopeful eyes and using me to make someone else jealous. I was claiming a stake to this girl, and I was ready to make the world hate her, if it meant keeping her as mine.
Walking through an open doorway, there was a long table I could only assume seemed traditional and tied to his culture. I didn't know anything about Hector.
Was Maria his wife? Did he have a family? Kids? Is this the unclear life I can expect, because this is what I do too?
With his arms open, he waved his hand, slicing the air, beckoning me to sit next to him. I was sinking deeper and deeper into this business with every request. I watched his band of idiots who drove us here remove the guns from the back of their dress pants and put them gently down on a side table, like they knew weapons weren't allowed at the table.
I was right, because Hector switched to Spanish and yelling in their direction. Apparently the table wasn't right either, because we saw.
If he only knew the shit I'd seen. Juvie doesn't make you soft; it gives you ripped edges that gives everyone else paper cuts.
One of the two idiots looked at me with a snarl, as he sat down, and without even pondering it, I know why. He's just been kicked aside, so Hector can play with his new toy: me. I couldn’t help but smirk; no one was ever jealous of me.
Hector snapped his fingers, and two short middle aged women with aprons on brought dishes out to fill the table. The wrinkles were deep in one woman's face as she smiled at me, but her eyes didn’t match. They were begging me to help her. I looked down almost instantly. I couldn’t cause any waves, and I had to ignore the part of that which thrived on being any women’s crutch. Addi looked at me just as concerned, with her hand on my leg under the table.
Fuck.
Women had an uncanny ability to make a worried face my direction, and every criminal aspect of me quickly became rehabbed and out on parole for good behavior.
I touch the woman’s hand and smiled, like it cured anything. I wanted it to be a cure. Her smile brightened so much I could almost see past the deep wrinkles, pigmentation patches of a darker tone, and all the history she was wearing right on her face. She rubbed her hand on top of mine without a word, not that I'd understand, saying it all with her eyes. She was seen, and that was enough for her.
Everyone's cure is different. Mine is damaged women. Hers was simply a few minutes to notice her.
What was Addi’s cure? Makeup remover and foreplay until she realized I could love even the ugly parts?
I wanted to be whatever her cure was.
After we ate, I sank deeper into business, while Maria poured drinks and his idiots brought out a metal case, each laying them on the bar top, waiting for Hector to orchestrate the rest.
“I hear you don't carry any protection, my friend. Do you think my products are valuable enough to be protected?”
Hector spoke in a nice silky tone, making even the insults feel like compliments instead.
“I don't plan to use it.”
He walked closer to the cases and opened them with so much personality I almost thought it would be full of money. Instead it was gu
ns laid in cut outs, and this was the moment of dread. I was going to be forced to become weaponized, and the tiny voice in my head (in Layla’s voice) chanted, “Criminal… Something about Layla believing that made my guilt expand.
A clash between innocence and my corruption.
I watch his fingertips brush the metal plate on the handle of a gun that looked like it could put more than a hole through you. “A gift. You protect my supplies, and I protect you, mi familia.”
I tried to wipe off any expressions my face was probably twisting into, while I prolonged speaking by pushing the glass to my lips and sucking down the bourbon. If only it was endless and refilled automatically, I wouldn't have let myself breathe between breaths.
Against my better judgment, my hand dropped from my mouth, the glass too, and words crept from my throat, like the smart ass I am. “If something happens, I handle my problems. I don't run away from them. No dice. Not carrying.”
I felt his grip at the back of my neck when he dragged me closer to the cases, “It wasn't a question. You will take this beautiful gun, and if anything happens to my supplies, you won't have a chance to think of running.”
I felt his rings dig into me, and I knew with certainty he wasn’t taking no for an answer. There was no quitting my kind of job either. You knew too much and put everything at risk walking away. I was at his mercy now and hoping Addi didn't wipe my criminal traits away because I needed them now more than ever.
I picked up the gun, heavier than it looked, and shoved it in the back of pants hoping it didn't shift or I wasn't doing it right. This was a new level of charges I was adding to my record.
He slapped my back with a hard thud. “That's it. No big deal. You'll take my plane tonight and go to Miami for the drop. I want you there.”
I thought I was swallowing excess moisture, but really my throat was dry and I was experiencing another emotion I avoided ever knowing what it tasted like: fear.
Addi
The two men in the crisp black suits drove us to our hotel, but they didn't pull away once we were safely on the sidewalk in front. I glanced behind me, grilling the too dark tints, hoping to see something that made sense.
“I gotta go to Florida. Tonight. Now actually.”
Hunters voice was an even monotone, no emotion, and his eyes didn't even move to my direction when we walked inside. He even purposely walked quicker to the elevator, trying to escape my judgment. He knew I'd beg to go, and he had a hard time saying no to me altogether.
“Excuse me? Are you crazy? Those people are...” I glanced around us, while he kept jamming his thumb into the up elevator button. “...are legit. They aren't small time.”
He stepped inside, keeping his back to me, while his hands put stress on the rail and his shoulders hunched over like his head. He looked like a wilted flower, still rooted into the ground but giving up slowly, and you didn’t know what you were doing wrong.
Less water? More? Is it too bright on the window’s ledge?
I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my cheek into his back, clinging to him trying to help him stand up straighter. I left room for the gun I watched him shove against his back earlier. For someone the Sinners called criminal—a label they deemed worse than a morally broken Sinner—Hunter seemed awfully uncomfortable with going this far.
His voice had more character when he almost whispered, “I don't have a choice, Addileigh. That's not how this works.”
“Can't you just work for yourself?”
“It's his drugs, Addileigh. Do you think I make them myself?”
I felt my eyes well up, and everything became blurry, as I tried to conquer my worry for a man who probably still loved someone else.
Just as a salty warm tear ran down my cheek, my phone rang a doomsday tune, and I knew it was Mister. I didn't move an inch when Hunter’s curt tone made demands: “Just answer your phone. It's my problem.”
I pulled it from my pocket, still leaning against Hunter, forcing him into feeling my presence.
Mister.
I pushed my phone to my ear and waited for him to speak once he realized it was no longer ringing. “I've been texting you. You haven't been to class.”
His desperation was heavy, and he was whispering, which meant he was getting sloppy; his wife must be in earshot.
“I'm not your girlfriend or daughter,” my voice was equally saturated in disgust as Hunter’s. It never worked, how much I didn't want him now only turned him on more. Mister loved the chase, especially when my taste was probably still lingering somewhere in his mouth.
“Don't be like that. I need to see you.”
I felt my eyes roll at the thought. This guy couldn't take a hint, and nothing was getting him to forget me.
“Hard pass.”
“Addileigh, you're gonna be in big trouble if you keep that attitude up.” I heard the unmistakable jingle of his belt unbuckling, and I knew my words were only making it worse. I should have blocked his number the minute I told Hunter how I felt.
Hunter needed me to pick him, putting actions behind my words.
“Look, I don't think—”
He cut me off before I could even think of the next words. “I know you aren't trying to end our arrangement, Addileigh. I could write one email to the dean, and you'll be thrown out of Amherst.”
I pulled away from Hunter, and my worry came crashing back. Nothing I would say to our dean would be taken seriously. I already confessed to none of the scandal being true, even though it was too late to make a difference. Oliver moved to Boston to be with Layla already. I strategically left Mister out of it, and now I was having serious regrets.
He went from wrapped around my finger to changing our entire game. It was dangerous now.
I didn’t know what to say, when Hunter was behind me, crumbling under someone else, pushing him into another forced label. I didn’t want him to hear me say I’d meet him one last time when I was back home to break things off for good. He’d know I was serious if it was in person, and I was already mentally preparing blackmail to go up against his. Whatever I was planning on bringing to the table had to be good. I was going to have to get my hands dirty.
I listened to Mister go on and on about all the power he had in our arrangement, even though I knew it was a lie, when the doors opened to the narrow hallway and Hunter pushed by me. His cold shoulder nearly melted my tan and gave me frostbite in one shift shoulder check.
Little did he know, I was protecting him.
I took a risk holding my palm against my phone and shouted towards Hunter, “I’m gonna get a smoothie downstairs. I’ll be right back.”
I pressed the elevator button so fast I was hoping he would challenge my smoothie bullshit at 2 a.m. We both knew I wasn’t getting a smoothie. After the doors closed, I was able to speak more freely when I cut him off mid-sentence, and even worse, the unmistakable sound of his breath caught between a groan and more blackmail.
“I’ll meet up with you once I’m back home in Boston,” I tried to keep my voice calm and level as I spoke. I didn’t want to spook him, and I didn’t want to add to his arousal.
“Why are you in California, my naughty girl?” His voice was soaked in something menacing, and I had to remember if I told him or not. Otherwise, him knowing that was impossible. I hadn’t posted one photo to any of my socials. Liz didn’t even know I had been skipping classes, and fleeing with Hunter felt like a much needed break from everything.
“How do you know that?” My voice was harsh and disgusted, like I had just been slapped by him and it was my jerk reaction.
He chuckled before even responding, “You’re my business. I make sure I know everything I can.”
His smooth, almost perfected, voice was calming, even though every security alarm went off inside my body.
Abort. Abort. Abort.
The man I chased, taunted, and made want me certainly did—in a scary way now. Now he was chasing and taunting me into not running away from him.
“I have family dinner next week back home. I’ll text you when I’m out of it.”
I hung up, not letting him respond. Any more of those haunting responses, and I was going to need a priest to perform an exorcism.
I was about to press the button to bring me upstairs smoothie-less, when I made sure to stop at the bar. I didn't need Hunter questioning my loyalty even more than he was about to.
I pushed open the door after shoving my key card in, and a cold front wafted me in the face to match his cold shoulder. I dropped my key card on the desk with my unwanted smoothie, trying to avoid eye contact.
“I don't like being jealous, Addi. You just told me you loved me for Christ sakes.”
“Yeah, the same way you love Layla, while fucking me. He's a buffer from letting me love you too much.”
“When is the buffer useless then, Addi?”
He didn't know I had been avoiding him since right before my sister’s wedding and pumping the brakes because of how much I liked myself around Hunter, how much I liked him.
“When you get over Layla and realize there's a big difference between want and need.”
He sat up against the headboard, dragging the joint from his lips to talk instead of inhale. “What are you talking about?”
“Layla needed you to kiss her boo-boos and fill space Oliver left empty. I don't need a crutch, Hunter. I want you for you.”
“You don't want anything. Your mind is playing tricks on you. Sex doesn't help with the clarification.”
His words stung more than any wound I had ever endured. The venom in voice just poured itself all over my bleeding fucking heart in hopes it would turn as black as his.
No possibility of loving him anymore.
No risks or changes.
No need or want.
“You're an asshole. No wonder Layla didn't choose you.”
Two could play that game. He wanted to throw Mister in my face, making Layla fair fucking game.
