by Evie Harper
Slater
The kiss is sloppy and tastes like what I imagine kissing a dirty playground slide would be like. I hate it and despise every second my mouth is attached to this slut’s lips.
“She’s leaving, asshole. You can unlock your lips from the skank,” Mack says from the other side of the table, but he isn’t finished having a go at me. “You succeeded; she looked like you just stomped all over her heart.”
I pull back roughly from the redhead and instantly turn to where Piper was standing. Mack is right; she’s heading straight for the exit.
I squeeze my eyes closed as my gut churns from knowing I hurt her, yet again. I don’t even want to imagine what her face would have looked like as she watched me kiss someone else.
I shake the thoughts out of my head. What the fuck is wrong with me? I owe her nothing. We weren’t a couple. Sure, we fucked for a while, but then I found out she works for scum. End of story and end of us. If only it was that easy to forget her. Even now my body vibrates with urgency to go to her. How did I let myself fall so deep in such a short time?
I push the redhead off my lap, and she stumbles drunkenly and giggles. Fuck, that giggle is like nails on a chalkboard.
I turn back to watch as Piper finally leaves TK’s, but instead, a man stops her when he places his hand on her elbow.
He’s fucking touching her. The words are snarled in my mind and the venom in them surprises even me.
I stand and take a step, but Mack grabs my arm and stops me.
“What the fuck are you doing? You can’t go over there. Don’t fuck her around like this, Slate. She may be a CPS worker, but she’s a good woman. If you don’t want her, then leave her be.”
Mack’s right, so I decide to sit back down. I just showed her she meant nothing to me, and now I need to prove that to myself. But then the fucker turns around. I know him: Peter fucking McRow, the local real-estate agent. And a man I know works for Rex when he needs drugs for his addiction.
Jesus Christ, he’s fucking smiling at Piper like he knows her!
I take a tight hold of my seat. I don’t need to look down to know my knuckles are white. Stay, Slater. She’s not yours; not anymore.
I continue to torture myself and watch them, but then Peter does something which has my blood boiling. No more can I hold myself down, and the fierce possessiveness I’ve fought off comes back like a burning fire through my veins and has me off my chair and furiously walking toward fuck-face in a flash.
Chapter Five
God Help Us Both.
Piper
“Leaving already?” I turn around at the feel of a hand on my elbow to find a lanky blond man who I realize is my real-estate agent, Peter. I’ve only met him once when I signed my lease. My instincts told me he was someone to steer clear of, but he never did anything which made me think my feelings were justified. He was overly chatty and tended to stand too close, but other than that, he seemed like a nice man.
I swallow in an attempt to try to speak, but I find my throat dry. I’m scared I’m going to stutter and embarrass myself, more than I already have tonight. I take a deep breath in, which releases some of the tears I begged not to fall before I could leave.
I look to the floor and try to hide them as they trickle down. A cool sensation slides across my cheek, wiping at my tears. I flinch at the fingers and look up in surprise at Peter for being so intimate with me.
“Touch her again, McRow, and I will break every fucking one of your fingers,” a low, gravelly voice warns.
My head whips up to find Slater standing beside me, feet apart and hands fisted at his sides, hatred vibrating off him as if he’s just declared war on Peter.
My mind stumbles over itself trying to work out why Slater is telling a man not to touch me. He just kissed a woman in front of me, and I’m pretty sure he did it just to hurt me. So what the hell?
I look from Slater to Peter and see his shoulders slouched in a defeated pose; however, animosity is in his narrowed eyes which are set on Slater. From this situation, it’s easy to guess these two already know each other.
My breathing accelerates with the anger which is pulsating through me because Slater thinks he can interfere in my life after everything he has done. I don’t even care if I stutter anymore; I just want to give Slater a piece of my mind.
“How dare y-you,” I seethe at Slater.
Peter begins to speak at the same time I do, but stops when he hears my words and stuttering. I glimpse his wide eyes and surprised expression. Nothing I haven’t seen before, yet the force that strikes my confidence never diminishes.
I hate people knowing about my stutter. It’s as if they have a piece of my soul from that point, something they can use against me if they choose to. My two biggest triggers are feelings of inadequacy and the thought of exposing my stutter. It’s a vicious cycle when it gets started. I did well for many years, but being in a new place and Slater’s rejection is what’s hindering my control.
I knew that moving to a new place could cause my stuttering to come back for a time, but that as I got comfortable, I would be able to control it again. Only with Slater, it’s much harder than I thought it would be. He brings out emotions in me I’ve never felt before, and I find it difficult to pull myself together around him. To stay calm and breathe, as I had been taught. Instead, my first instinct is to react. It’s so frustrating.
Slater turns to meet my angry stare and I detect pain in his features. Pain? Or is it pity for me?
Slater’s expression changes to one of irritation, and his lips press together hard as he narrows his annoyed eyes on me.
“Go home, Piper. You were on your way out, weren’t you? You should keep going.” He turns and says his next words while staring at Peter. “This fucker is nothing but trouble and you should stay away from him.”
Is he serious? Anger surges through me like a tidal wave. He just guaranteed I am now staying, and I’ll do it while talking to Peter just to piss him off.
Don’t stutter again, don’t continue to embarrass yourself, Piper. I may be imperfect, but I can do this, pretend to be normal. For just a moment, I can be the girl he’s going to regret not running after.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
“Go to hell, Slater. Walk away, go back to your redhead and leave me alone. I can take care of myself.”
I’m surprised by the strength in my words and proud I didn’t stutter. I’d smile if I weren’t shaking with outrage.
Slater looks down at me with shock and frustration on his face and angrily whispers to me, “Piper, I mean it; this guy is bad news.”
“Well, it must be my flavor of the month,” I whisper bitterly back to him.
He stares at me for a long moment, irritation coating his beautiful face. Finally, he speaks through clenched teeth, “Fine then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Then he looks to Peter and says, “I got business with you later, so don’t fucking go anywhere.”
Without another look my way, Slater marches back to his table and sits on his stool. He glances back to me once before pulling the clumsy redhead back into his lap.
God, he is so annoying!
I finally turn back around to Peter and find him staring at me. I’m unsure what to say so I calm my heart, take a deep breath and start with an apology.
“I’m really sorry about that.”
“You and Slater a thing?” he asks.
“No!” I say, a little too quickly and high-pitched. “I-I mean we were s-something... Well, really, it wasn’t anything—” I stop because I realize I’m rambling and my stuttering is getting worse.
I glance up to Peter whose face has contorted into a look of disgust.
Humiliation floods my chest and I cringe at what he must think of me. I hate that I loathe a part of myself when it is intrinsically who I am, who I was born to be.
Peter recovers quickly, a rescue from awkwardness I’ve seen many times before. “Hey, it’s cool. You w
ant a drink? My treat,” he offers and it’s with one of those Cheshire cat smiles which instantly causes your intuition to scream at you to be careful. Just one drink. I can do one drink and then I’ll find a way to lose him.
I bite my lip and look around the room for Sarah and Beth. I spot them at a table near the dance floor, talking and laughing with two other women I recognize from the Community Center. I decide my best option is to invite Peter to our table and hope I can avoid him with all those people around us.
“Sure, get me a vodka raspberry please. That’s my table over there.” I point to Sarah and Beth and then turn back to him. “I’ll go wait with my friends while you get the drinks.”
Peter nods and lines up at the bar.
I take quick steps to Sarah and Beth and they both smile as I approach. “There you are! We were wondering where you got to,” Sarah says.
I give them a bright smile. “I ran into my real-estate agent and we talked for a bit. He’s just getting some drinks and then he’s going to come over here. Hope that’s okay?”
Beth giggles. “Gosh, you don’t muck around. We just got here. Can I borrow that red dress next week if that’s the result it gets?” The girls laugh and then continue their conversation.
A tingling sensation runs down my back and I turn around to find Slater staring intently and possessively at me. I remember that stare, the one he would give me as he’d saunter over and lead me to the bathroom to fuck me until I screamed his name. Shivers race across my body from the memories now fleeting through my mind.
Peter startles me as he nudges my elbow and hands me a drink. I look back to my table and find it’s just Peter and I. Surprised, I scan the room to find Beth and Sarah on the dance floor with the other two women from our table. Damn.
I stand alone with Peter and we talk. Well, mostly I answer his questions. He asks me where I moved from and if I like Portland. He brings up Slater again and asks how well I know him. I give a vague answer while bopping my head to the music and pretending I’m preoccupied watching my friends dance.
I’m still holding the full drink in my hands, because I was stupid to accept a drink from a stranger. I don’t intend on drinking it, but don’t get the chance to either. A body slams into me and my glass goes smashing to the ground while I stumble backward trying to catch my balance. All the people around us scream, “Cab!” at the sound of glass breaking.
I look up at the person who crashed into me and find a beautiful, blonde woman grinning at me.
“Sorry,” she says, unconvincingly apologetic as she glances down to her feet and shrugs. “Two left feet.”
She turns to face Peter, loses her smile and narrows her eyes at him. With an icy tone, she addresses him, “Peter.”
“Della,” Peter replies, his voice dripping with disdain.
The woman walks past me, but stops and whispers in my ear, “Woman to woman, he’s a pig. Run very fast away from him.”
I shift my face to Della’s and observe the seriousness she’s trying to convey to me.
Goose bumps pop up all over my body as I suddenly realize how foolish I’ve been. She’s right. I knew something about Peter was off and yet, to show Slater up, I invited him to hang out with me.
I nod and she leaves as a waitress is cleaning up my broken glass.
“You know her, too?” Peter asks, barely controlling the anger in his words as if I have somehow lied to him.
I stare down at the table and fidget with my fingers, feeling out of my depth. “No, I don’t, but you two seemed to know each other,” I state.
“She’s one of them,” he spits and takes a sip, finishing his drink.
His words now have my full attention on him. “One of whom?” I ask, confused.
“A Street King. Well, she’s their sister. Still as bold and cocky as they are, but she isn’t involved in their gang business.”
I look over my shoulder to Slater’s table and find not just Slater staring at Peter and me, but Mack and Della, as well. I narrow my eyes on all three of them then turn back to my conversation with Peter.
“What’s their gang’s business?” I ask, extremely eager to hear what it is Slater does on the days he’s not fucking women or crushing their hearts.
Peter looks my way, his eyes assessing me. I’m not sure what he’s looking for. Perhaps wondering if I can keep a secret.
“Speed Wars. Illegal street racing in Louisville, and the Kings have dominated it for years. But it looks like their reign may end soon because if they win their next four races, they qualify for the death race.”
I bite my lip, peering down at my fidgeting hands while trying to figure out exactly what he means by that.
Peter must see my confusion because he answers my unasked question. “Death race is where the top ten racers in Kentucky go head to head in a race where there are no rules. You can tamper with other’ racers cars or you can pull a gun out and start shooting them during the race. No rules at all. Death race happens once every ten years, and over half of the racers die on the course.”
I gasp. “Why would anyone want to enter a race like that?”
“Because the prize is two million dollars,” Peter answers with a greedy glint in his eyes.
“Oh,” I whisper. “So how come you don’t like the Kings?” It’s clear he hates them, so I decide to come straight out and ask why.
“They think they own Portland,” Peter replies as he signals a waitress to get him another drink. “But really they’re just brats who grew up on the streets and now think because they can beat people up, they own the town.”
God, I really hate this guy.
“But isn’t it because of the Street Kings that businesses here don’t have to pay for protection, since the Kings give it freely? They protect them from other gangs trying to hustle them for money. They’ve also been able to get back stolen money for shop owners who can’t afford to pay for insurance. And aren’t they the reason drugs aren’t as bad in Portland as they are in other places?”
In an attempt to try to understand Slater more, I had asked around about the Street Kings this past week. I’d heard rumors the Kings keep the drugs out of Portland. Not all of them, though; marijuana is everywhere here. I often see people openly selling and buying it on the street as I walk home from work. But I was told the Kings went to a meth dealer’s house, killed the dealer and burned the house to the ground. At the time, everyone was grieving the death of a thirteen-year-old boy who was sold the drug and overdosed. No one has dared start up a similar venture since.
Peter grumbles and says, “Yeah, fuckers.”
I notice he keeps scrubbing the counter in the same area over and over again. His new drink arrives and he snatches it out of the woman’s hand, gives her a handful of change and then skulls the liquid all in one go.
Not looking at me, he continues to mutter under his breath as he fiercely scrubs at the same spot on the table. “Fuckers think they own everything. Wish they would just die. Rex just needs to fucking kill them, once and for all.”
I step away from the table at his words and straight away, Peter turns to look at me. I’m pinned to the spot as his eyes penetrate mine with a livid glare.
What the hell is this guy’s deal?
Heat hits my back and Peter’s scowl shifts from me to whoever is behind me. I glance down to the hands on my arms and find they are Slater’s.
A booming chuckle erupts from Peter. His neck is bent backward, eyes closed tightly with fake and unkind laughter bursting from his mouth.
“Something funny, fuck-face?” Slater growls.
Peter’s head whips around and his laughter ends.
Slater moves me to the side then takes a threatening step forward, causing Peter to step backward and stumble in the process.
I shake my head, deciding I’ve had enough for one night, but I’m thankful Slater came over again to give me a reason to escape. I snatch up my clutch from the table and start walking quickly for the exit. I catch sight of Beth
at the bar.
“Hey, Beth!” I shout. “I’m heading home; tell Sarah I said goodbye.”
Beth smiles, nods and waves to me as the bartender asks what drink she wants.
I make it out the front doors and the cool night air soothes my heated skin. I make it to the parking lot and then I’m spun around quickly, staring up at an infuriated Slater.
“Where’s your car? I’ll walk you to it,” he states in a tight voice, looking around the lot.
“I walked here,” I answer, annoyed, and yank my elbow out of his grasp.
Slater’s eyes widen. “Have you forgotten where you live?” he says in a disapproving tone.
I sigh. I just want to go home. This kind of drama isn’t something I’m used to, nor am I interested in having it with anyone. He doesn’t want me, fine, but he needs to leave me the hell alone. I want to speak those words, but my heart is beating a million times faster than normal and it has to do with the stupid fact he came out here to walk me safely to my car. Stop caring, Piper; he’s an asshole. A hot-as-fuck, dominant man who is amazing at giving orgasms, but still an asshole.
“Have you always walked home?” he asks, demanding an answer from me.
I take a deep breath and pray I don’t stutter. “No, I came with friends tonight. I was supposed to leave with them as well until you and,” I point to TK’s frustratingly, “that idiot ruined my night.”
I turn my back to Slater and again start my walk home. I get three steps in before Slater is in front of me, arms crossed and anger radiating from him.
I go to step around him and he moves to the side. I try one more time, anger bubbling inside of me when he repeats the motion and blocks me again.
I straighten my arms in an angry stance and fist my hands. “What the hell do you w-want, Slater?”
“It’s fucking dark, Piper. You are not walking home on your own.”
I stare up at him with eyes narrowed and lips pressed together, trying hard not to start screaming in his face.
