Pull

by Claire Wallis

  “Franklin took it from me and threw it against the wall. Right before he landed those punches.”

  “Didn’t you fight back?” She pulls her chest away from me and looks up at my face, her hands still holding my waist. She looks confused and sweet and sexy as sin. “I bet you could’ve beat his goddamned sorry ass in the blink of an eye,” she adds.

  That’s my girl.

  “I didn’t fight back because I could see that he was totally fucking high, and he’s always a loose cannon, even when he’s semi-sober. I didn’t want to push my luck.”

  “Why did he hit you in the first place?”

  I take a deep breath and make a choice. A grown-up choice. I’m going to tell her the truth.

  “Because I told Ray that Nikki stole money from me, and Franklin found out about it.”

  There’s an immediate shift in Emma’s demeanor. She lets go of my body and steps back, keeping her arms at her sides and straightening her mouth into a suspicious line.

  “She stole money from you? Are you serious? How much?” she asks.

  “None.”

  “Then why did you tell Ray she did?”

  I have no idea how she’s going to handle hearing the truth, but I have to say it. I have to tell her what happened. Because that’s what I do now. I tell her the truth.

  “Because I needed to find a way to get rid of Ray, and I wanted Franklin to be the one to do it. I had to give Franklin enough incentive, so I made up a story about her stealing from me and running off. And then I let the two of them have at it.” I want to tell her the rest of the story, but before I can say another word, she’s spitting questions out at me.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Her eyes open wide and she tilts her head to the side. “And when you say that you needed to find a way to get rid of Ray, you don’t mean you got him killed or something, do you? David, tell me you didn’t do something stupid today. Tell me you didn’t mess with a fucking drug dealer.”

  “I could tell you that…but if I did, I’d be lying. I promised to tell you the truth, Emma, and so I’m going to. You might not like what I’m going to tell you, but hear me out. I had good reason to do what I did.” Her skin is red now, and she’s starting to pace the room. She isn’t happy. That much is clear as a fucking bell.

  “Good reason? Jesus, David. You have to know how moronic that sounds. There is never a good reason to fuck with someone like that. Never.”

  “Even if it was to protect you?”

  She doesn’t skip a beat.

  “What the fuck do I have to do with Ray and Nikki and this Franklin guy? Seriously? I don’t wanna hear any of this bullshit.” She stops pacing, crosses her arms over her chest, and turns her face toward mine. She’s in a no-holds-barred rage, but she’s trying to stuff it back down inside. I think because a small part of her believes I’m telling the truth.

  “It isn’t bullshit, Emma. It’s the truth. Every word of it. I had to find a way to get rid of Ray because Nikki told him about you, and he threatened your safety if I didn’t cooperate with his plans to take over the game.” I suck in a deep breath and put my hands on her shoulders, trying to settle her. “Remember when I sent you that text telling you that anyone who touches you will meet their maker before they can blink? Well, I meant it. There is no way in hell I’m going to let anyone threaten you and not do something about it. You can be as angry as you want, but I did this to keep you safe. I did what needed to be done.”

  “And what exactly was that?” she asks, her eyes still filled with anger and uncertainty.

  I tell Emma the whole story. Everything. I tell her how I set it up and what happened in Ray’s office. I tell her that the reason I couldn’t pick her up today was because Franklin wouldn’t leave the damn room. I tell her about my phone call with Xavier and how I put him on the path to finding Franklin. By the time I’m finished, she’s looking a lot less confused and a little less enraged.

  “Regardless of your reasons for doing it, you have to know how risky it was,” she says when I’m finished, her voice far calmer than the last time she spoke. “I mean, what if Franklin had decided to shoot you, too? What if one, or both, of those men had figured out how much you were manipulating them?” She’s right. Both of these things were major risks.

  I say the only thing I can say. “To get rid of big risks, sometimes you have to take little ones.”

  She uncrosses her arms and her eyes soften. A full minute passes before she decides to talk again. This time, her voice is quiet and cool. “Well, that was one hell of a little risk, don’t you think? I know you did what you felt you needed to do to keep me safe, but I just don’t want you to get hurt, you know? Because I don’t know what I’d do without my superhero.”

  “I did everything in my power to ensure that I didn’t get hurt. I hope you know that. And I didn’t take any of it lightly.” I put my arms around her waist and kiss the top of her head. Her scalp is warm.

  “Is that why you took my gun with you?”

  Wait…what?

  I tip my face down to her and breathe in, trying to quickly figure out how she knows the gun is no longer in her drawer.

  “How do you know I had your gun?” I ask, my voice full of bewilderment.

  “Because when Brad rang the doorbell, Matt and I thought Ricky was out there.” My mind is reeling. First she tells me she thought Ricky got me, and now she’s telling me she thought he was at her door? Jesus. Both her words and her body language are telling me that she’s not just worried about Ricky, she’s fucking terrified of him. She’s still terrified that he’s going to come back.

  “I ran back to my bedroom to get it,” she continues, “and the drawer was empty.”

  Nikki’s words course through my brain, and I feel sick inside. What if Emma really had needed the gun? What if Ricky’s still watching her? Fuck me for taking it. Fuck me for making her feel so vulnerable.

  “I took it as insurance. Just in case things didn’t work out as I’d planned,” I say, the sourness of regret filling my mouth. “I’m sorry. I never should’ve taken it, and I promise that from here on out, it’ll be right where it belongs.”

  “If there’s ever a next time—and I hope to hell there isn’t—take your own damn gun,” she says. The corners of her mouth tilt up to form a very small, very reassuring smile.

  “It’s a deal.”

  She sighs loudly, rolls her eyes, and then adds, “You and your deals.”

  And just like that, an enormous smile spreads across her face, lifting her brow and lightening her eyes. More than anything, I want to keep that sweet smile safe. I want her to never feel the need to open that bottom drawer ever again. I want to be her superhero. For real.

  She wraps herself around me and squeezes, holding me tight against her, validating everything that is crazy about us. Hammering home her love and acceptance and understanding. Making everything right again.

  “So…can I knock your rocks now or what?” she says, breaking our long silence with her less-than-subtle words. I want to bend down and kiss her mouth, but I’m keenly aware of the painful split in my lip.

  “Yes, but go easy on me. I’m a wounded man,” I say, now feeling comfortable enough to lay on a playful, boyish tone.

  “I can see that.” She lifts herself up on her toes and plants a tiny, light kiss on my cut lip. “Don’t worry. I’ll avoid damaging your pretty face any more than it already is.”

  “Thanks,” I say with genuine gratitude.

  “No problem.”

  She breaks the hug and steps back a few paces, regarding me intently.

  “I wasn’t aware that you loved me just for my pretty face,” I say.

  “Well, that and your tool belt.” Her face lights with amusement, her cheeks arch up into her eyes.

  “You want me to run upstairs for a pair of pliers or something?”

  “No. I just want you to take your shirt off.”

  I smile back at her, grab the hem of Cam’s shirt, and l
ift it up over my head. I drop it on the floor next to me.

  “Nice,” she says with a sinful inflection. “I want you to take those jeans off, too.”

  “Not till you get rid of your fancy-ass blouse.”

  “My rules this time,” she says boldly. “Not yours.” I arch my eyebrows up at her and consider flipping her the bird just to tease her, but I don’t want to sour her attitude, even in a moment of jest.

  I do as she says, unzipping my jeans and quickly taking them off.

  “Atta boy.” I must look a little pensive or something because she quickly adds, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you dance around or anything.”

  “Smart girl.”

  “So it’s been said.”

  She’s stepping over to me now, unbuttoning her blouse. She drops it to the floor and then unzips her skirt. As I follow her down the hallway, I can’t help but look at the way her panties ride along the curve of her ass, and though they’re not the light blue ones with the black lace, I don’t take my eyes off of them until we reach the bedroom.

  Without turning to look at me, Emma pulls the comforter off her bed and spreads it out on the floor, like some kind of kinky picnic blanket.

  “Sit on the edge of the bed,” she says, wildfire pulsing beneath her skin. I do as I’m told, though I’d much prefer to touch her than sit by myself on the bed.

  Emma takes off her bra, tosses it on her dresser, and lies down on top of the comforter. What the hell is she doing?

  She bends her knees so her feet are flat against the floor. If she’s going to do what I think she’s going to do, I am one lucky motherfucker. Her hands move to her breasts, rubbing them, rolling them around between her fingers, pinching and tugging at them as she groans softly. Then they move down the center of her body to the top of her thighs. Thank God her eyes are closed because I don’t want her to see me drooling. She still has her panties on, and she starts rubbing herself through them. Up and down her fingers move, slender and experienced. The satiny fabric is the only thing blocking my view—and her access. Then her hands slip inside, and she strokes herself with her fingers. She’s moaning now and raising her hips up off the floor in response to her own touch. An exhale escapes her lips, and she slowly drags her panties down off her legs so they are around her ankles like a limp pair of fabric shackles. Her fingers return to their mark, skimming from side to side. She’s spreading herself open for me. She’s goading me with a series of needful, lusty groans, though I’m still as stone because I don’t want her to stop. I could watch this forever.

  She’s bowed up, her back arched, her head tilted back, and her hands indulging in a fit of self-gratification. She’s breathing heavily, harshly, as her fingers slip over her body. I’m seriously inspired, but I keep my hands off myself and just watch. Jesus fucking Christ.

  Her eyes open and meet mine just as one of her hands moves to her mouth. She sinks the first two fingers inside, sucking them, making them wet. Then she lowers them and slides them inside her own body. She pushes them into herself over and over as the fingers of her other hand continue to move. She’s still looking at me, staring at me with a look of purpose and power and self-assurance. It’s sexy as fuck.

  I watch her rise. I watch her hips lift up off the floor and her fingers curl into her pelvis again and again until she is shouting with her own pleasure. Her body tenses and her eyes roll back away from mine. When she is still, her eyes open again and look up at me. I’m shaking my head from side to side as I lift my arm and run my fingers through my hair. My hand stops on the back of my neck. I’m frozen. Stuck in wonder.

  “For fuck’s sake.” It’s all I can say.

  I drop to the floor. I’m kneeling next to her, a sense of worship washing over me the moment my knees hit the ground. She is everything that is worth worshiping. Everything.

  Emma pulls herself up onto her knees and lunges at me, wrapping her arms around me, pressing her chest into mine, and knocking me backward until I fall onto the floor, my upper body splayed out into the hallway. I bring my legs out from beneath me and lie on my back, over the threshold of her bedroom. She climbs on top of me and straddles my hips, her hand resting on my chest. I feel the warm, slick wetness dripping from her body, and it arouses the hell out of me. I’m both elated and relieved when she raises herself up and puts me inside her. I take a deep breath to collect myself and put my hands on her ass, lifting her up and dropping her back down. She’s bent over me now, looking at my face. I look up at her, soaking her in for a few minutes before my eyes are drawn downward. I want to watch our bodies meet. I want to see myself slide in and out of her. I want to watch her body fuck mine.

  Her palms are hot against my chest. I wonder if she can feel my heart pounding through my skin. I think she’s going to come again, but before she does, she brings her legs forward and puts her feet down on either side of my waist. She’s squatting over me now, holding onto the doorframe, and dropping herself down onto me faster and faster.

  “Don’t stop,” she says breathlessly.

  I couldn’t if I wanted to.

  I grip her hips and dig my fingers into her, pounding into her as I lift my hips up to meet her body every time she drops back down. I wish I could go deeper. All the way to her soul. She’s groaning now, and the sound is ringing in my ears. I can’t stop myself, and a minute later, I come with a sharp push and a bottomless, lust-fueled sigh. Obsession and covetousness surge through me. I want to keep her here, chained up and always mine.

  I listen to her stuttered breaths and watch her eyes close as she comes only seconds after I do. I hold her tight against my body and then she’s still. She straightens her legs and lies down on top of my chest. Her breath is heavy, and I can hear her heart in her chest. I wrap the birds around her back, fastening her to me. Keeping her safe and close.

  “How was that for rock knocking?” she says after a few minutes of silence pass. I reluctantly break the hug and run my fingers up and down her spine, feeling where the skin is still slightly raised from her tattoo.

  “Pretty fucking awesome.” My breath is lighter now. “I just hope no rocks were injured in the melee.” She rolls herself off of me and looks down at my crotch.

  “They look unscathed to me, but I’m no expert.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” I add as her eyes move away from their target, and she sinks her face into my neck, snuggling in close.

  “So what do you want to do tomorrow?” Her words brush into the hair on my chest.

  “I don’t know. But more rock knocking would be nice.”

  “Yes, it would. But maybe between bouts of rock knocking we can step outside and do something fun.”

  “You got it,” I say, thinking for a few seconds before I step out on a limb and add, “I hear there’s a sale down at Jackson’s Hardware.”

  “Is that so?” I can feel her face twist into a smile against my neck.

  “Yeah. And I hear the owners could use some help with it.”

  “Well, then, Jackson’s it is,” she says, a calm happiness filling her voice. “And then we should probably get you a new phone, right?”

  “Sounds like the perfect day.” I mean it, too.

  “And then let’s round it all out with an ice cream sundae.”

  “Like I said, sounds like the perfect day.” I squeeze her tight against me and smell her sweet, feminine smell.

  Right then, I decide that there is no way in hell I am ruining tomorrow by telling her about what’s in the backpack tonight, even though I promised myself that I would. I need more time to work things out. I need more time to come up with the right words. I need more time to plan.

  Chapter 30

  David—Age 12

  Now that I’m twelve, my dad says I have to start helping him at work a few days a week over the summer. But I don’t want to. Because I don’t like him, and I don’t want to have to spend any more time with him than I already do. Which isn’t much, mind you, but still…even one more min
ute with him is too much. I don’t want to smell like sawdust and tar paper and metal shavings at the end of the day. I would rather spend my summer reading books and watching TV and playing video games. I don’t even want to have to look at him. I know he hates me for being born, and I can’t imagine why he would want me around. But, he’s making me do it. And there’s nothing I can do about it.

  My dad and Ellie were together for over a year. They broke up early this spring when she decided that my dad liked booze better than he liked her. I don’t know why it took her so long to figure that one out. Clearly, she’s no genius. And, as far as I can tell, she likes booze just as much as he does. But, whatever. When they were together, he mostly ignored me. Which was actually pretty great. But now that she’s gone, he’s on some kind of mission to make my life a living hell. He’s acting like he wants to take me under his wing or something.

  It’s June 7th. Yesterday was the last day of school, and today is my first day on the job. I ride to a jobsite in the passenger seat of my dad’s truck, looking out the window and thinking about how I’m going to survive all this. I’m wearing jeans with a T-shirt and the new boots he got me. He said they had to be steel-toed. Whatever that means. We don’t say a word for the entire ride. When we get there, I see that my dad’s crew is building a house. I don’t know anything about it, but there’s a foundation with part of a wooden frame on top. My stomach rises into my throat when my dad gets out of the truck, puts a hardhat on my head, and tells me to follow him.

  I spend the morning running around getting the guys whatever they need. I get more strips of nails out of the truck when the nail gun magazines run empty. I fetch their water when they ask for it. I grab someone’s layout square when it’s accidentally dropped from the top of a ladder. I run to the truck to grab a couple of clamps when someone needs them. Oddly enough, I kind of like it. The guys are pretty nice to me, patiently describing the tools they need when asking me to go get them. By lunchtime, I know the names of a bunch of tools I never even saw before. My dad ends up spending most of his time on the phone in his truck, apparently talking with customers and suppliers. Maybe this isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.