by Hawk, Maya
Being bad…kind of feels good…
No.
It feels amazing.
Titan swallows a deep breath and sits up on the edge of my bed. I yank the covers over top of me, simply because it seems like the appropriate thing to do now that we’re done.
He turns to look at me, his eyes dragging over the covers before returning to meet my gaze. Wearing the look of a satisfied man, he cocks a half-smile. I return it. He needs to know I’m okay with what happened. We don’t need to discuss it. It doesn’t have to be awkward.
It happened.
It’s over.
We got it out of our system.
“Fuck, Jordana,” he says with a gleam in his eye. “Best sex I’ve had in my life.”
“You’re just saying that.” My cheeks warm.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.” He rises, leaning down and swiping his white towel off the floor. It’s secure around his waist a moment later, though I can still see the outline of his rigid cock.
My room is almost pitch dark except for the moon coming through the window behind him.
Footsteps tromp up the stairs, sending my heart jumping high into my throat.
“Shit,” I whisper, scrambling to grab my clothes off the floor. “Did you hear that?”
His face scrunches, and he cocks his ear toward the door, shaking his head.
“Someone’s coming up the stairs,” I whisper, pressing my finger to my lips to quiet his response. “Hear that?”
The footsteps grow louder. My heart pounds harder.
Every ounce of ecstasy has drained from me, replaced with a heavy dose of fear. My mother would have my head if she knew I’d just had casual sex with Lewis’ son under their roof.
“This can’t happen again.” I hope off the bed and scrounge for my clothes, throwing them on in haste until I’m covered up again.
Titan gives me a curious glance with a half-grin, as if my sudden scrambling amuses him. He couldn’t care less about getting caught.
With that, I brush past him and head into my bathroom, locking the door behind me. My room smell like sex. My skin smells like him.
Masculine soap and a hint of shop grease.
I shouldn’t have gotten dressed. I need to wash him off me. Stripping down again, I run the shower and step inside, washing him off as best I can.
It was all fun and games until the prospect of getting caught became as real as the water trickling between my swollen folds.
Regardless of everything, for the first time in three years, I felt alive tonight. Since Jerome died, I’ve been merely existing. Doing everything by the book because it’s safe. Making the kind of good decisions that would make my mother proud, so she wouldn’t have to worry about me.
For the last three years, I’ve been living my life for her.
I’ve been a good girl.
Tonight I lived for me.
But it can’t happen again.
CHAPTER TEN – TITAN
“Paychecks are in.” Kyle slaps a green envelope across my chest the next morning. “There’s a little something extra in there for ya.”
I rip the seal and yank out my check from Rasmussen Auto. A paltry $298.46 for a whole week. Behind that are several hundred dollar bills.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“An advance.” He smirks, chopping gum in the side of his jaw. “Got another fight next week. Gonna be a big one.”
I sigh, staring at the tiny numbers on my check. I have to move out of my father’s house. I can’t live there another day while he plays house with Laticia and her sex-on-legs daughter with the juicy ass and the fuck-me-lips tries to pretend her pretty little head isn’t filled with the same dirty thoughts as mine.
My cock throbs at the thought of last night and how fucking amazing her tight pussy felt bare against my dick. Her smooth skin beneath my hands, her caramel curves filling my palms, her thighs straddling me, her sweet scent…
Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to have her one more time.
Judging by how quickly she bolted into the shower when we were done, she has no intentions of a second round.
But I do.
I mean, I would if I was sticking around. But I’m not.
“What night?” I ask.
“Saturday,” he says. “Same place. Same time.”
“Hammerhead?”
“Yeah.” He squeezes my shoulder as he passes by. “You good?”
I count the bills again. Four hundred bucks. If I win, which I will, I’ll get at least another grand.
“Yeah, man. Whatever. I’ll be there.” I shove the envelope in my back pocket and head toward the garage.
***
“Place rents for four hundred a month,” the pot-bellied landlord says, raking his greasy hands down his suspenders.
We stand in the doorway of a musty studio apartment in the old downtown area. The place hasn’t been updated in thirty odd years judging by the avocado green appliances in the dirty kitchenette.
The landlord pushes past me and limps toward the wall, unhooking the Murphy bed and showing me how it folds down. The fucking thing takes up the whole room, leaving barely enough space for a walkway toward the kitchenette and bathroom. A corner of the room hosts a small table and two chairs.
This place is one of the few places in town that will rent to people without doing credit checks, and they’ll sign a month-to-month. It’s exactly what I need. I don’t know how long I’ll be sticking around. The wind just might blow me far away from here, and I just might let it.
“Fully furnished.” He states the obvious with a chuckle in his tone. “Could move in tonight if you wanted.”
Jingling the keys in his hand, his brows lift. I take another look around the place. It doesn’t have to be the fucking Waldorf Astoria. Just need a place to rest my head until I get my feet on the ground.
“Everything works,” he says. “Toilet. Sink. Stove. Microwave. Cable TV is extra of course.”
The Hammerhead is across the street. It’d be easy to sneak in the backdoor over there. Drinking is a violation of my parole, so as long as I’m not seen strutting in the front door like some moron and ordering a beer, I’m good.
“I’ll take it.” I grab the keys from his pudgy fingers and hand him the four hundred cash from my pocket.
He pulls a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and shoves it at me. “Fill out the app. Drop it off in the rent drop box on your way out.”
I take it from him and shrug. Seems a little backwards, but I’m not about to argue with him. The guy waddles out, pulling the door shut behind him. I take a seat at the table and pull a pen. As soon as the app is filled out, I drop it off and head back to the house to grab what few things I have and bring them back.
The house is quiet. Dad must still be at work. I don’t know nor do I care where Laticia is. Jordana’s probably hiding from me. Still haven’t seen her since last night, but that’s on her.
I have no problem fucking the hell out of a beautiful woman and looking her in the eye the next day.
I toss my things in a couple of plastic sacks from the kitchen and hop back in Jerome’s Mustang. Still can’t believe Laticia’s okay with me driving it, and to be honest, it’s kind of weird driving a dead guy’s car, but I promised her I’d take care of it. I’ll fix it up as soon as my cash flow improves, and she’ll be able to sell it just fine.
Stopping at a big box store on my way home, I buy a cheap bed-in-a-bag set and a small slew of paper plates, plastic cutlery, and enough groceries to sustain me until I get paid again next week.
That night I pull a chair up to my window for some people watching. Not much to do without a TV, and I’ve already watched some porn on my phone and cranked a couple out.
It’s getting late; late enough that people are starting to leave the bar for the night. I watch like some fucking vigilante. So help me if I so much as see a drunk peeling out of the parking lot, I’m calling their plates in.
Be
ing a snitch in prison would get your ass handed to you.
But I’m on the outside now.
The rules are different.
Or at least my rules are different.
If I can save another family from getting the phone call we got the night of the accident, I’ll sing like a goddamned canary.
A handful of car speed away. Nothing crazy. Nothing suspect.
I rise up and grab my bed-in-a-bag, yanking out the wrinkled sheets and pulling down the Murphy bed. Five minutes later, I’m lying on the scratchiest sheets I’ve ever felt, staring up at a water-stained ceiling.
But I’m happy.
Or, shit. As happy as I can be.
I slide my hands behind my head and inhale, ignoring the musty scent that fills my lungs.
From here on out, it’s just me against the world.
Fuck my pathetic, egotistical father.
Fuck the aunts and uncles and cousins who couldn’t find the time to send one fucking Christmas card or letter while I was locked up.
Fuck all the friends who scrambled like sheep the second I landed myself in hot water.
I don’t need anyone, and I sure as hell don’t need that noise.
***
Can’t. Sleep.
I’ve tossed and turned for hours on this lumpy mattress.
But it’s not the bed, it’s my mind. It won’t shut off. You’d think a guy would be used to being alone with his thoughts by now. I roll to my side, tucking the pillow in half and jamming it under my head.
The room is hot. With one solitary window, I don’t get the privilege of having a cross breeze.
Since there’s no point in tossing and turning the rest of the night, I rise up and grab bottled water from the fridge and take a seat by the window. The clock reads just past closing time, and only a couple cars remain in the parking lot of the Hammerhead.
Streetlights fade, taking their turns in alternate patterns. A squad car does a slow crawl down Bevin Street; his due diligence I guess. My eyelids are heavy. I know my body’s tired, but my mind is wired.
A shadowy figure in the narrow alley between The Hammerhead and a donut shop draws my eye. He moves slowly, his back against the brick façade of the building. Taking careful side steps, he peeks his head around the corner.
The heavy door of the bar flies open a minute later and a scrawny man in a ball cap stumbles out, almost losing his balance. He steadies his hand against the nearby window to regain his balance before fishing in his coat pockets for his keys.
My blood boils. The fuckhead can hardly walk straight but he’s clearly going to drive home. I pull in a deep breath to calm my heated nerves before rising up and hunching outside my window.
I’m two seconds from shouting at the moron until he swaggers past the alley and the guy standing in the shadows emerges. Their strides are identical, paces matched. The drunk doesn’t notice the guy three steps behind him. The gap between them closes, my heart races.
This is the guy.
The guy on the news that KJ told me about.
Holy shit.
A car flies by. The guy following the drunk doesn’t miss a step. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t veer away. He’s brazen. Unafraid. Determined.
“Hey!” I yell in my deepest baritone, backing away from the window, out of sight. Standing in the dark of my apartment, I watch the second guy back off and veer toward another alley. He walks under a streetlamp just enough for me to catch a glimpse of his jacket: a canvas utility jacket covered in a camouflage pattern. The guy is lankier than Kyle. KJ was wrong. There’s no way that’s fucking Kyle.
The drunk glances around in search of my voice, staggering forward when he gives up. The shadowy figure is gone, probably lurking out of sight as the drunk starts his car.
I squint to read the plates. I can only make out a couple letters and a number. Going to need to get some binoculars with my next check. All I see is it’s a white Honda. Four doors. Older.
The call to the police takes a minute. I’m sure they’ll never find the Honda. He’s probably long gone by now, but at least I did my part. I can go to bed tonight knowing I did what I could.
My bed calls to me, my mind settling down for the night. Before I drone off, I make a mental note to tell KJ about the guy who is most certainly not Kyle.
CHAPTER ELEVEN – JORDANA
“Where’s Titan?” I ask at dinner Friday night. “Haven’t seen him lately. Is he putting in overtime at the shop?”
Mom glances at Lewis who sets his fork aside. The clinking of the metal on china fills the quiet space between the three of us.
“He found a place,” Lewis says, chewing his filet mignon.
“He moved out, sweetie.” Mom places her hand over mine.
Seriously? He didn’t even say goodbye.
My ears burn, and I try my hardest to maintain my cool around them. I can’t believe I spread my legs for Titan and he bolted out of here without saying goodbye. It’s not like we were friends or anything, but I can’t help feeling like it was a giant slap in the face.
Common courtesy dictates that a person should notify other people in the household when they’re moving out.
“It’s not like he had much to take with him.” Lewis sips his wine and chuckles. I fail to see the humor in the situation, but then again, I’m used to Lewis’ lack of sympathy for Titan.
I’ve never told Lewis, but I think what Titan did was noble. In several of my criminology cases, we’d study people like him. The ones who made a bad decision, acted in the heat of a moment, wanted to right a wrong. They were different from the career criminals though society treats them just the same.
“Did you ask if he needed anything?” Laticia says to my father. “I can’t imagine he has much by way of furniture. I’m sure I’ve got some extra kitchen items he could have. Shoot. I’ve got a ton of things he can have. So many items just sitting in boxes in the boathouse.”
“If you want to spend your weekend sifting through junk and driving it across town to his dump, by all means. I won’t stop you.” Lewis’ lips pull into a frown until he looks at me. “How’s the internship going, Jordana?”
“Fine, thank you.” I slice my steak. “I’m learning quite a bit, and I’ve heard this district tends to hire interns after graduation. Hoping this will help me get my foot in the door.”
“Absolutely, absolutely.” He nods, taking another sip of wine. His glass is almost empty now. So is Mom’s.
I glance at the bruschetta sitting on a tray in front of me, garnished with herbs and fresh tomatoes from the garden. Mom stopped cooking like this after Jerome died, but being with Lewis has given her a new sense of purpose. Lewis appreciates these five star, four course dinners every night, and Mom enjoys making them.
“How do you like the potato galette?” Mom asks. I shudder to think of how much time it took her to slice those potatoes thin and arrange them in a fancy pattern. Who has time for that?
For a second, I forget about being upset with Titan.
Instead, I wonder what he’s eating tonight.
Ramen?
Cold cereal?
I wonder if his apartment is nice. Clean.
We’re holed up in this gorgeous lake house on a scenic road eating filet mignon and he’s scraping by.
I shouldn’t feel sorry for him though. Obviously he can survive in this world just fine. It’s just hard to sit across from Lewis and see firsthand how little he cares about his son.
Titan has no one.
My heart squeezes. Lack of familial support is one of the leading causes of recidivism in the system. Titan’s incident was a one-time thing, an assault against the man who killed his mother and sister. I don’t think he’s dumb enough to do anything like that again, but I’ve read case studies detailing men in his situation who’ve resorted to a criminal lifestyle when walking a straight path wasn’t getting them anywhere.
He’s institutionalized. Hardened. His record is tarnished. Doors have closed to him. He cou
ld have a heart of gold and the real world would still shit all over every opportunity he’s got.
“Where’s his apartment?” I ask as soon as Mom and Lewis take a break from discussing the latest presidential candidate’s campaign antics.
“Pardon?” Lewis says, his brows furrowing. He heard me just fine, I think he’s just curious as to why I need the information.
“I’d be happy to run some things over to him,” I say. “The guy’s got nothing. I’ve got a tote full of stuff from my old college apartment he can have. Dishes. Lamps. That sort of thing.”
Mom and Lewis exchange looks as she toys with the diamond cross necklace around her neck; a gift from Lewis on their three month anniversary. She hasn’t removed it since. Believing Jerome’s in Heaven, watching down on her, is the closest thing she has to peace these days.
“That’d be all right,” Lewis says, leaning back in his chair and narrowing his gaze at me. He knows something’s up. At least I think he does.
“I’ve read several studies on the importance of helping former inmates get on their feet after release. Plus he doesn’t need to spend his money on new things when these work just fine,” I say with a sweet smile. “Anything I can do to help, I will. It’s my passion. I want to see him succeed in life.”
Lewis almost rolls his eyes.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea, sweetie.” Mom covers my hand again, rubbing my thumb with hers. “You’re very kind to want to help. I’m sure Titan will appreciate it. Stopping by with those things will be a nice surprise for him.”
I don’t know if he’ll appreciate it, but he’ll certainly be surprised.
***
The stairs to Titan’s apartment are narrow, and they creak. Stained, sticky carpet glides against the underside of my shoes. A giant plastic tote fills my arms, and it grows heavier with each upward step.
His place is the last door on the right. The number seven on the door hangs upside down.
Taking a deep breath, I rap three times on the door. It’s ten o’clock on a Friday. I have no clue if he’s home. He could be in bed by now. Or he might be with someone. Maybe I should’ve called first, but all I could think about were all the things I wanted to say to him.
