“I thought you said that asshole didn’t hurt you?” He barked out and I froze, mentally double-checking that I hadn’t spaced out and missed the part where the asshole touched and hurt me. It hadn’t been him. When I turned around, Deklan was a few steps behind, bringing his hand to touch the small of my back. I stiffened my spine with anticipation as his fingers lightly brushed the small of my back.
“You’re bleeding,” he said. He held his hand up to show me the small amount of blood on his fingertips.
Shit, shit, shit.
“I told you I fell. I must have not noticed I scraped it.” That sounded lame even to me, but I had no other explanation. I could feel my palms getting sweaty by the minute, the crushing weight consuming me, the panic. “You know, I’m really running late. I have to get going. Thanks for…you know.” I made a move to leave, but he quickly walked around to block my path on the sidewalk. Dammit.
Forget all the other times he stared into my eyes. This time, this look that he was giving me now seared me deep inside. It got under my skin and burrowed a hole, making itself nice and comfortable, and touched me where no one had ever touched me before. I tried to look away, or look tough and reproachful, but I just…couldn’t. I pleaded with my eyes for him not to say anything, because if I had to talk, to explain what was so obvious, I would cry and never stop.
I expected him say something, anything, but was surprised when he reached down and threaded my hand with his and guided me to walk, not saying a word. I was insanely aware of the way he glanced over at me every few seconds, like he noticed the small beads of sweat that broke out over my forehead or the way I was grinding my teeth against the pain. But he didn’t say anything. Nothing. The silence was so loud. What must he be thinking?
We finally came to his car, where it was parked around the corner, and I realized he must have passed me while driving. Had the asshole not been all up in my grill, I was sure I would have noticed Deklan. He didn’t open the passenger door when he let my hand go, like they do in the books I’d read. Instead, he just slipped in the driver seat and looked at me expectantly.
Fuck, how do I ease in without crying out against the pain? I hadn’t intended to bend today. I wanted to tell him never mind, that he could drive away and let me walk the rest of the way, but I didn’t. Instead, I made what had to be the slowest descent into a car seat ever and eased on my seat belt, sitting up stiff as hell so that my back wouldn’t touch the seat. I waited for him to start the car, but when a few seconds passed by and he didn’t, I chanced a glance his way and found him glaring at me, again not saying a word, those steel eyes of his just watching me, assessing. For a frightening minute, I thought I’d gotten blood on his seat and he was two seconds away from blowing up in my face, but he reached over me, his scent filling my nostrils and clouding my head, and adjusted the seat to a reclining position, making it easier for me to relax and not worry about getting blood on his seat. Then he finally threw his car into gear and pulled away from the curb.
I remained silent.
He knew, I knew he knew, and I wanted to say something witty or try and explain it, but my bestie, fear, threaded herself in my throat and I was stuck. Besides, the pain from each bump we drove over was like getting hit with the belt again. I also didn’t speak because I liked his presence invading me. Even in his eerie silence, he was like a salve to my wounded soul. I knew how crazy that sounded. I’d only known him a short time. I mean, I didn’t know him, but yet it felt like I did. My soul knew his. Clearly, I needed to stop reading romance novels because I knew, knew that shit like that didn’t exist in real life. My real life anyways.
And if I admitted my torment, it would be gone. He would be gone. So we silently drove down the road, and all the while I was controlling my breathing and fighting the urge to look over at him, to reach over and run my hand along his hard jaw that had a light stubble to it, just because. A song came on, and I was drawn to the way his Adam’s apple moved up and down as he hummed along. I wanted to run my tongue over his Adam’s apple. The thought caught me off guard, so I tamed my thoughts and stared out the window.
For most of my life, I had always been drawn to music, a haunting melody or tune, of how it made me feel, the lyrics and the emotion in the voices as they flowed through me and brought out emotions that I didn’t know how to fully express. Before I could read, music was my reprieve from the constant ugliness of my life. I would let the lyrics flow over me and wrap me up in their safe cocoon, shielding me. Lyrics are one of the first things that I fell in love with, words. The song flowing out of Deklan’s car stereo stopped me from fantasizing about what I would do to him if I were someone different.
The words to the song called to me, like the song was made for me. Without thinking, I reached over and turned up the volume, getting lost in the melancholy lyrics and the raspiness of the woman’s voice as she belted out at the top of her lungs:
I think it’s time that you should know all the damage you’ve done to my soul
Everything is in the names that you call me (every hurtful thing you say)
Everything is in the things you do (how could you be so cruel?)
I was so lost in this hauntingly accurate song that I didn’t realize we passed by Bookwormz until I noticed the store go by in the passenger-side mirror.
“You just passed my job,” I said, looking over at him.
“I know,” he said, and kept driving, leaving no room for argument.
What the hell?
Chapter 16
Deklan
I was pissed. No, pissed wasn’t even the correct word. I was fucking lit, so much so I needed to take a motherfucking minute to calm down before I went the fuck off on someone. Before I went off on her.
And this morning was going to be so promising, too. I woke up to the sun fucking shining and birds chirping and shit with a plan in my head to smash and dash, say good-bye to my ma, and ride out. But all that was before I was headed over to see Mom and saw some fucknut all but dry-humping Harley.
The fuck? How had she been kissing me like she was last night and then all up on this dude? Nah, didn’t think so. I parked around the corner and got out, creeping and shit, intent on blowing up on her on the spot, but when I turned the corner and saw the look on her face and that body language, the “don’t fuck with me” mixed with helplessness, and I saw fucking red. This must be the fucker who’s been boxing her up, I thought. But after I popped him in the mouth real quick and heard the little punk all but confirm my suspicion of how innocent she was, I knew it was someone else who she wanted to be free from.
Little did she know how hard she was making me by trying that tough-girl act on me when I knew that was all it was, an act. It was like her words and attitude had a direct line to my dick, and I fucking loved it. Let me tell you how quickly that shit changed when I knew she was in pain and I saw a piece of her raw-ass back. That shit propelled me back in time so quickly I had to blink rapidly to bring me back to the present. Royce used to dole his “lessons” out frequently, but not so frequently that the king of dry cleaning raised any eyebrows. And what with all the “fights” I would get in at school, my bruises were easily explained. This was twice now that I had seen glimpse of Harley’s back, and each time the fucking bruises looked fresh.
What kind of asshole did something like that to someone like her? She was no more than a buck fifty and had the demeanor of a scared puppy, at least around me. Royce may have been, and still is, a prick, but he never laid a hand on Ma, and if the man who did this to her was ever in the same room with me, I’d show his ass what’s up.
I knew she was nervous about where I was taking her. I could tell by the way she kept wringing her hands together, and to be honest, I had no fucking clue what I was doing. I just knew that I had to do something, take her somewhere to get her checked out or some shit.
“Can you just tell me where you’re taking me, please?” she asked in such a defeated voice it almost made me stop the car and demand s
he tell me what the fuck was up with her. But the only thing I did, because I was still so fucking pissed, was drive faster to nowhere.
“Deklan? I’d like to get out,” she said firmly. “Can you pull over? Please?”
“No can do, babe,” I said. This wasn’t how this was going to go. I wasn’t about to go about my business and pretend I didn’t hear my gut telling me Harley needed help. And the fact that she wasn’t talking, yelling that shit to the world, was pissing me off.
“Look, I don’t know what—” she started, but I cut her off.
Without taking my eyes off the road, I said, “Look, you know I don’t what? Give a shit that you’re hurt because I don’t fucking know you? Can turn a blind eye when I know good and goddamn well that under that shirt you’re covering up more than a great pair of tits?” I paused to glance at her somewhat surprised face and noticed her cheeks stained red. If I wasn’t so pissed, that sight would be like foreplay. “You need to get checked.” I gripped the wheel and tried to rein in my shit. She didn’t need me to flip the fuck out on her.
“What…what do you mean ‘get checked out,’ like a hospital?”
She sounded…scared. Why the fuck is she scared? At best she can report this dude, and she has a good reason to leave him or get a restraining order or some shit. Not be scared.
“Yeah, like a hospital, clinic. I really don’t give a shit as long as someone checks you.” I busted a right and headed south, with a destination in mind now. Out of my periphery, I saw her put her hand over her heart and then blow out a silent breath.
“Please, just take me to work. I can’t go to the hospital or clinic or anything. Just please take me back to work.”
I stopped at a light and leaned back in my seat, assessing her. Her lower limp trembled and her eyes were darting from my face to the steering wheel to the window, like she was trying to find a way out of the front seat.
“Can’t? Or wont?” I crowded her space and caught her eye, fucking daring her to lie.
“What’s the difference? I just don’t want to go.” Her eyes pleaded with me to let this shit go. Fuck that.
“Why?”
“Why what?” she asked, almost impatiently now. Cute, she was trying to get mad.
“Why don’t you want to go? Obviously you are in pain, so why not?”
“I don’t have insurance,” she blurted, like that was going to deter me.
As the light changed and I shifted gears, I called her on her bullshit. “You’re lying.”
“How the hell would you know? You don’t even know me,” she challenged.
“And yet you let me stick my tongue in your fucking mouth.” Yeah, she had shit to say.
“You kissed me,” she accused.
“I know.” I pulled up to the clinic and parked, then turned to her and leveled her with a knowing look. “I also know that your nipples got hard and heavy and were begging to be touched, that you had an ache in between your thighs, and that I could have found your pussy just as wet and willing as your mouth had I pushed it. And I also know you’re fucking lying to me about your back, and I’m not letting you out of this car until you agree to get checked out. So yeah, I may not know you, but you don’t know me either. Don’t push me. I push back.”
She stared at me without blinking for so long I thought I broke her, then she exhaled a long breath and gave me this defeated, resigned look.
“I can’t go here. I’m not trying to be difficult, but this place will take all day and I really need to work. If I miss a day…I just can’t. Please, can we figure out something else?”
I looked her over, the way she was sitting without her back touching the seat, the pain she must’ve been in trying to hold her body in that position but still trying to negotiate this. Who was this girl, and why was I suddenly doing a 180 and flipping who I was for her?
Don’t get involved.
That’s my motto, my slogan, and what I had been solid on. My life was full of enough chaos. I didn’t need anyone else’s shit added on to my pile. Except with her, I wanted all her shit and then some. I wanted to fuck someone up, anyone who would fuck with her like this. When I looked at her, I felt so many things. New, different things. I wanted to help her, fuck her, and save her all at the same time. Shit, I was turning into a punk.
I got the fear—I did—and you couldn’t push someone on it. Fear was a powerful bitch that grabbed you by the balls and twisted, so I knew what her hang-up was about being checked out. She was scared of him, of what that fucker would do if he found out or called work and she wasn’t there. If I could, I would roll up on his ass and take care of it, but I didn’t want to leave her. Exhaling, I turned on the car and began backing out and heading in the opposite direction, not saying a word.
She seemed to relax the farther and farther we drove away from the clinic. It wasn’t until we passed the turn for her job again that she said something.
“I told you I can’t miss work today. Where are you taking me?” Panic laced her question.
Fine, she didn’t want a professional at a clinic checking her out, cool. But someone would.
“My house,” I replied and accelerated.
Chapter 17
Harley
His house? Shit, shit, shit! I was not prepared to go to his house. I was not prepared for agreeing to let someone help me, and I was definitely not prepared for the things he said and how they made me feel. I should’ve been focused on other things, my back, me being late for work, my monster. But I was stupidly obsessing over him saying I had a great pair of tits. And that I was wet and willing when he kissed me. Those words did something to my brain, turned it to goo and made me want to do things I had only dreamed about. His voice was like a warm summer’s day, wrapping me up in a blanket of warmth and making me too hot all at the same time. My overheated, sexed-up brain was probably the reason why I had agreed to let him take me some place to get looked at.
He didn’t say anything as we sped closer to the edge of town where the well-off people lived, and I had to wonder if he lived there, why did he ever leave? I wasn’t naive enough to think that money could buy happiness, but I was sure it made life cushy.
Afraid to protest, I just sat there watching as we passed one fancy house after another, probably filled with families about to head off to work, some having breakfast, doing things I was envious of.
We slowed as we neared a large two-story home that had more front windows than I could count. The lawn was a plush green, and as we pulled into the circular driveway, I noticed a fancy-looking car parked to the side, along with what I knew was Matt’s truck. I tensed, and he must have sensed it because he looked from me to the truck and bit out a low curse.
“Look, I’ll ease you up to my old room through the back. He won’t even know you are here,” he said as he took the keys from the ignition. I braced myself, because this could go only one of two ways: Matt would pick that moment to come out of the front doors and see me and assume I was there to fuck his brother, or he could catch me in the house and notice the stiffness in my walk and would know something was off about me, and then my phone would blow up with texts and phone calls from Ember. Neither one of those things I was rooting for.
With carefulness, I eased myself out of the passenger seat and placed my bag in front of me like a shield. I followed Deklan around the house to a side door, which he unlocked with a key that had been hidden somewhere in the bushes. We stepped into a spacious and modern-looking kitchen with black and brown accents and a large island in the middle that was so shiny I could have used it as a mirror. I tried not to gawk at the expensiveness of everything, but it was kind of sensory overload for me.
Deklan walked directly to the small set of stairs just off to the side of the fridge. I followed his long stride up the stairs and past two closed doors, all the while trying not to stare at the wide set of his shoulders or the muscles in his arms flexing as he reached for another door and turned the knob.
He turned to me with an
expectant look on his face, and I scrambled inside and watched him shut the door quickly behind him. Turning to me, he pulled out a desk chair and waved to it casually.
“Kick it up for a bit. I’m going to go get someone to take a look at your back. You wanna tell me some things before I go, though?”
I said nothing. I didn’t even know where to start if I wanted to. How do you start off telling someone your mom hates you? So instead, I examined a thread in the plush carpet at my feet and waited.
“You’re gonna talk, babe, whether it be on your own or me fucking it out of you. One way or another those pretty little lips are gonna start spilling your secrets.”
At the mere mention of him getting me to talk by fucking me, my head popped up—in alarm or anticipation, I couldn’t tell you which one, and neither could he, as he was already out the door with a “wait here” demand.
Feeling more than a little out of place and left with nothing to do but sit, I did what any girl in my position would do. I snooped. Or rather, I looked around. His room didn’t have much in it as far as personal things went. No pictures of half-naked women on his walls, no sports posters or trophies displayed. Weren’t guys supposed to have stuff like that in their rooms? I had never been in a guy’s room before, and I found this one kind of plain. Considering whose room it was, I figured there would be wrestling trophies or football memorabilia. Even though he had left home, normal parents kept things like that around, right?
Looking around at the spacious and bare room, I took in the bed, with its plain blue sheets and pillows, made nice and neat. The desk was made of a smooth oak and had a pencil holder, stapler, and tape dispenser on top, just waiting for someone to do work there. I tried to imagine Deklan coming home from school to a mom who had a snack made for him while he sat at this desk and did his homework. I didn’t want to be too jealous of the fact that while he was getting pampered, I was getting nothing short of tortured. I didn’t belong here. I couldn’t believe I’d let him talk me in to this.
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