Ballistic

by K. S. Adkins

  “Namaste,” he says, attempting to correct me while smirking.

  “You ruined it,” I growl. “Now I have to come up with another word.”

  Lighting up another smoke, I put the truck in drive and ignore his existence. Blazing down the streets I crank Eminem up as loud as my Bose system will allow. Jules always asks me why I don’t date, what was I waiting for? The answer was easy. It wasn’t a ‘what’; he was a ‘who’. I’m positive if I could just meet Marshall Mathers he’d write songs about me. I wouldn’t even care if he stuffed me in a trunk or lit my house on fire. I just want to meet the guy and share lyrics with him, (and maybe a lap dance too). The man keeps me grounded and doesn’t even know that he does. My ability is knowing the truth. His is speaking it. It helps he’s also as crazy as I am. Let’s face it, my kind of crazy is hard to find. That’s soul mate shit for me. Years of trying to get on set with him has been one failure after another but, I chalk it up to timing. I’ll meet him when the time is right and not a moment sooner.

  Changing the track to Rap God isn’t even helping right now because no matter how hard I try, I can’t get the JJ Fad part down. Instead of banging my head off my steering wheel at my lack of skill, I find the first bar and stop at it, intending to get fucking hammered and forget ever meeting Anthony Gallo and his straight teeth.

  Sitting there on another barstool in another shithole bar, I throw back a shot of Jameson, pissed off that he was telling the truth. Jesus, I can’t win for fucking losing. Okay so, I am carrying some guilt about it. Mostly it’s hurt, because if they did need me, all they had to do was ask. But they didn’t. I got the breakdown from Jules and even though I did the part of acting unaffected, I was. As usual, the three of them try to shield me from everything. I hate when they pull that shit. He was right, I could have spared them a lot of pain but they wouldn’t let me.

  Four shots later, I’m rewarded for stopping in when a very large, very hot biker takes the stool next to me, sliding a shot in my direction. All thoughts of my friends, the guilt and Anthony Gallo leave me in an instant. It looks like my night just improved and if he plays his cards right, so will his.

  But an hour after that, when I decide to make my move, it’s not the bikers face that seduces me, it’s his.

  And here comes the fucking guilt again.

  Perfect.

  “We are all looking for someone whose demons play well with ours”

  The problem was, she had enough demons for both of us. If you look, you can see it. Hell, she might as well wear a sign that says ‘doesn’t play well with others’ or ‘I have daddy issues’. Will any of this stop me? No. She may let her demons out to play, making bad decisions but, I keep mine hidden. I keep them hidden for a reason.

  Finding myself in a bar parking lot in the shit part of the city is not my idea of a productive evening. I pushed her too far. I also said some things I shouldn’t have. Those were my opinions, not those of the girls, but she doesn’t know that. Bottom line was, I crossed a line. The girls love Lina. If she wasn’t around, there was a reason. If I had to guess, I’d say they were protecting her. Venessa told me everything there was to know about this woman, and I thought I had the advantage. Turns out, Venessa doesn’t know nearly as much as she thought she did and that was proving problematic for me. I sought her out for my own selfish reasons¸ to use her, to get leverage, and I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve made a mistake. There’s just something about her. When any of us question the girls about Lina they got very protective. As in, tear your face off protective. I once asked Venessa why she doesn’t contact Lina for help and her answer was simple.

  “Lina won’t stop until she uncovers the truth, even if it takes getting submersed in lies to do it. She is hilarious, generous and fucking great at her job, yeah? But it comes at a price and she pays for it, dearly. None of us are willing to put her through that, not for anything. When it comes to putting us first Lina goes all in. Asking her to fix my shit wouldn’t be right. My girl has enough of her own problems. There’s always someone who wants to use her. I’m not willing to be one of them, not even for a righteous cause.”

  So why am I here wanting to drag her further into a situation Venessa will kill me for bringing her into? Because I want what I can’t have and I need only what she can give me.

  Let’s call it the truth for now.

  And I know the second I step in that joint, I’ll be noticed. This is not the type of spot I belong in. I cannot afford to be on anyone’s radar right now. God dammit, I just need to get her alone to explain things so she’ll help me. Knowing she’s in there unprotected has me opening the door to find her anyway, damn the consequences. The woman has made it clear her own safety meant little. That meant it was up to me to protect her. But when I walked in and saw her in another man’s lap, drunk off her perfect ass with her tongue in his mouth, I realized tonight is going to have severe consequences.

  For her.

  I vowed to protect her from others, but who would protect her from me?

  The weeks I’ve been watching her, I made one rule. When she went inside of a bar, I wouldn’t follow her in. I didn’t want to know what she was doing inside; knowing it didn’t include me troubled me enough. Often she was working, I knew that but more often than that, she wasn’t. Single women don’t usually just hang out in dive bars alone, but she does. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why. I knew it. I just liked pretending I didn’t.

  Now I’m seeing it. Seeing her like this makes something inside of me snap. I’ve lost so much time with her because of my fears—mainly the fear of her seeing I’m not half the man I pretend to be. I may not be willing to tell her all my secrets yet, but at least I know who I am. Watching her pretend to be into this guy tells me little miss truth seeker doesn’t know who she is at all.

  The man has his hands all over her, no doubt thinking he’s about to get lucky. If I leave him breathing, that’s luck and that’s the only boon he receiving from me. Approaching the pair, I tap the man on the shoulder waiting for him to address me, only he doesn’t. If her tongue was in my mouth I’d be oblivious too. Tapping him harder, he grunts, pulling away from her mouth, but not releasing her. “Fuck off,” he says, wanting to get back to her.

  “My woman seems to have mistaken your mouth for mine,” I tell him casually. “If you would be so kind as to release her, you won’t be an accessory.”

  “Oh yeah?” He laughs, pulls her closer. “Accessory to what?”

  “Murder,” she says, growling at me and moving away from him. “What he’s trying to say is if you don’t run along you’ll be an accessory to murder. His. Because I’m going to fucking kill him and steal his watch. Twenty bucks says he got it at Shinola too.”

  “I don’t need this shit,” he says, standing u.p “You got a man and you didn’t say anything?”

  “I’m sorry, are we sharing life stories? Were you close with your grandmother? Did your dad love you enough?”

  “We’re leaving,” I say, cutting off her speech. Picking her up and carrying her out the door, I expected her to protest or scratch my eyes out, but she doesn’t. Instead, she grabs my forearms and tries to bite me. Odd woman. Getting her into my car, buckling her up and turning up the heat, I look over at her staring out the window. “He could have hurt you,” I tell her, pulling out of the lot. “He was a stranger, Lina. Have you no concern for your own safety?” When she stays silent, I can hear my jaw crack in anger. “You have about as much common sense as a child. You certainly act like one. I told you people need you, yet you spend time in tattoo shops, roller skating with a bunch of overgrown clowns. Drinking your problems away, while offering it up to strangers in bars. It’s sad and it’s childish. You are not who I thought you were.”

  “Stop the car,” she says quietly and when I don’t comply, she reaches for the handle.

  Slamming the brakes, I reach for her to keep her inside with me. “What in the fuck is the matter with you? Are you insane?”

 
Turning toward me, she goes from quiet to outright mean and I was in no way prepared for it, even though, in truth, I knew I deserved it. I’d do whatever it took to get a response from her. “You do not know me,” she says, getting in my face. “Neither do they, not anymore. I owe you nothing. You are nothing to me. My skin, my skates and my fuck buddies are my choices. You want a little Lina in your life? Well get in line, mambo #5. I choose when and how I get used and had it not been for you, I’d be getting bent over a fucking bike and gotten used on my own terms right about now. Stay the fuck away from me, in case you aren’t processing this, He-Man, that means game over.”

  “You will watch your mouth when speaking to me,” I growl, gripping her arm. “You’re pushing me and you will not like it when I push back. Don’t try and bullshit me into thinking you wanted that guy. Tell me, when you allowed him to use you, who were you thinking of?”

  Reaching for the door, she gets it cracked open when I make a grab for her other arm. “If you insist on this game you will not like the ending, Anthony. I’ve been a peach so far and that’s a record for me because I don’t even like fruit. Take your manicured hands, your fake sophisticated attitude you think impresses everyone, and forget you met me. You, Anthony Gallo, are not who you pretend to be. Maybe you have them fooled, but you aren’t fooling me. Shit you aren’t even fooling yourself and it shows. Here’s a freebie, grab a pen to write it down because it’s a doozy! I’ve got your number and it isn’t 69, feel me?”

  Her rant immediately shuts me up. The way she speaks confuses me and it takes me a second to catch her meaning. Before I can say anything else to possibly defend myself or even apologize, she slumps down further into the seat and starts blinking.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask her, moving her hair from her face.

  “I’m toast,” she says, closing her eyes with a smile. “Finally.”

  “Finally?”

  “Mmm,” she says, relaxing as I pull her into my arms. “Nothing better than being drunk. No one matters and I don’t have to listen anymore.”

  “Listen to what?”

  “It doesn’t work when I’m tanked, thank fuck.”

  “You mean Namaste?”

  “No, I gave up that pipe dream. I like ‘fuck’ too much. Why did you come here? You’re setting yourself for failure, Anthony. You’ve had enough failure don’t you think?”

  Then before I can rapid fire any more questions, she slumps over into my lap and starts snoring. Christ, I’m too old for this shit. Throwing my car in drive, I pull back out, weave onto the freeway and decide to bring her home with me to my side town, to my territory, and get her to bat for my team.

  Twenty minutes later we’re at my home. Parking in the garage and coming around to her side, I gather her up and carry her in through the back door. Taking her upstairs, I lay her down in my bed, then strip her down to her panties. Reaching into her bag, I get out the ointment she needs, and take a very long time massaging it into her newest piece of art. I’ve never been a fan of ink on women in general. I’ve always felt like it takes away from the natural beauty when a women’s skin alone is a work of art. I never understood why any woman would cover it, but turning on the lamp next to the bed, I take the time to inspect Lina’s new ink. The art etched into her is not hearts and flowers. No, it’s dark and troubling. Skulls, wafts of smoke, bullets, clouds, a Bible, a depiction of heaven and hell as well as various other non-descript pieces all intertwine into a very menacing tribute. Looking at her newest addition, I can’t help but wonder what the script means. Knowing the tiny woman in my bed, she won’t offer me up the information willingly.

  Shutting off the lamp, removing my own clothing, I crawl in next to her and, needing her, I pull her to me. She throws an arm over my stomach and digs her nails into my side softly, like she’s testing their resting place. Opening her eyes I see she’s still smashed, but that doesn’t stop me from appreciating our current position.

  Touching my face with her free hand she whispers in perfect polish, “You can’t be trusted, it’s in your eyes.”

  “You may not trust me now, but you will.”

  “I trust no one.”

  “You will trust me,” I whisper to her. “I’m not giving you a choice.”

  “You think you need me.”

  “No,” I whisper, touching her face in return. “I do need you.”

  “You understand me?”

  “Yes piękno, I understand you.”

  “Shit,” she mumbles. “You called me beauty. Good to know I’m not the only one who’s drunk at this frat party.”

  Chuckling to myself I watch as she closes her eyes and snuggles deeper into me. As she is dosing I also caught her mutter “being used sucks” as it came from her mouth and promised myself that I wouldn’t use her any more than necessary, even though she expects me to. Then I lay here wondering why she expects me to use her at all. I don’t see how asking for help is using her. But before I could make heads or tails of it, she goes stiff in my arms, then the thrashing starts, followed by a string of words in polish I can’t make out, ending with her hands around her throat and her waking gasping for air.

  “You’re safe,” I tell her, noticing her eyes aren’t clear. “You’re in my bed, my home. It was just a bad dream.”

  “No,” she says, miles away. “That’s just reality.” Then she lies back down, promptly falls right back to sleep, holding onto me like a lifeline. To make sure she stayed that way, I did what I had to do. I cuffed her to the bed in case she woke before I did.

  She said she didn’t play games. I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t either, but I will manipulate the hell out of a situation if it suits me.

  “Damn baby,” he says, grinding against my ass. “Ain’t never saw anyone finer than you.”

  Rolling my eyes at the blatant lie and utterly horrible pick up line, I look over my shoulder and keep it simple. “Use your cock not your words, Romeo. I have shit to do.” I can honestly say he tried, but he really shouldn’t have. That was three minutes of my life I’ll never get back. Thinking on it, two minutes was spent trying to find the entrance and the last minute was trying to keep it there. I can’t bitch, this was my idea. I asked my vagina what she thought, she gave me a twitch which I took for ‘this one will do’ and here we are. Or were. I couldn’t bail on this guy fast enough.

  Even his begging wasn’t going to keep me here another minute longer. I used him, he used me. It was time to go scrub it off and act like it didn’t happen. Dirt off your shoulder and all that.

  Rolling onto my back and stretching, the usual disgust I feel with myself is noticeably absent. Okay, so that’s new. How much did I drink last night? While staring at a ceiling that isn’t from any hotel room I’ve checked into recently, the night’s events start to come back online. Derby practice, the bar, the biker and then finally, him.

  How does he keep finding me? How did I end up in his bed? How do I end up in his bed and not remember? Figures I’d get to fuck a guy like that and not be able to recall it. Shit, I hope I was good. Sitting up and searching for my clothes, I see they’re neatly folded and hanging over a chair. Leaning on my side, attempting to get out of the comfy bed, I realize quickly I’m cuffed to it. Oh, nuh uh.

  Stowing the rage away, I focus on sound and I can hear him in the shower. No doubt scrubbing away any memories of my being near him. I get that a lot, actually. Getting my bag and keys is imperative. I want out of here before he finishes, but I don’t see the tools I need for my escape. Perfect. I’ve been in some sticky situations. Once I was even locked overnight in a public restroom with a clogged crapper, but being cuffed takes the cake. Kicking my feet on top of the covers and pouting, I know I am stuck here until he is ready to free me. I’m not that pissed really, mostly curious and not in the least bit scared. I’m an expert at trusting my gut and oddly enough, neither of us believes he’s a threat. Taking stock of his room I see it’s very sterile. It doesn’t feel homey at all, unless you count this mag
nificent bed. I may not remember how I got here, but I hope I got to be on the bottom if we got nasty because my back loves this mattress.

  “Good morning,” he says, freshly dressed and standing next to me like I need an escort for the walk of shame. Only I don’t. This is one walk I have memorized. I just need him to let me out so I can get to it.

  “Let’s talk over a cup of coffee,” he says, dangling the keys in his hand.

  “Yeah, so I’m going to have to pass on that. Just point in the direction of my bag and I’ll be going.”

  “Your bag is in my car. You can get it when we retrieve your truck.”

  “Where is my truck?”

  “In the parking lot where we left it. Come down and have a cup of coffee with me.”

  “I’d rather not. I have shit to do and provided my truck isn’t sitting on cinderblocks, you’re keeping me from it.”

  “You are so much more approachable when you’re drunk or asleep,” he says, unlocking me, then leaving the room. Feeling my anger spike and frustrated he doesn’t see me for the threat I am, I dress quickly and find him in the kitchen prepared for a confrontation. “I told you game over, so why am I here?”

  “Sit down or I will tie you to a fucking chair. Do you understand me?”

  Having enough of this guy, I try to push past him to grab his keys, but instead he pushes me into the doorway stopping me from going anywhere. Fuck, he’s strong. He also smells good and looks amazing in jeans and a t-shirt. Of course his big feet are perfect and I’d bet money he even gets pedis on the regular too. Tightening my legs, I refuse to fall into this trap. I’ve seen this movie, I know how it ends. Usually with my name as an honorable mention in the credits.

  Leaning in so we’re nose to nose, he attempts to kiss me, but I shut it down, though just barely. “Don’t,” I warn him, trying to push myself away.

  “I am a predator Lina. The more you fight, the higher it makes me. You may have strength, but you are not strong enough to best me,” he growls, tightening his grip. “Few women are exceptionally strong and you little one, are not.”