I clear my throat and fish my wallet out of my back pocket—careful to avoid looking at Livie’s picture as I open it. I only have about eighty in cash, but I slip it out and place it on the table in front of her.
“I haven’t added you to the payroll,” I say. “Until then, I’ll have to pay you in cash. I’m a couple hundred short right now, but I’ll get the rest to you in the morning.”
Rocky drops her eyes to the cash, staring at it like it offends her in some way, before moving her gaze up to me.
“Don’t do that.”
I feel my eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Do what?” I ask. I close my wallet and tuck it back into my jeans.
“Pity me.”
“I don’t—”
“You looked into my empty fridge and then handed me money. Just because I sucked your dick doesn’t mean you owe me.”
“Don’t do that,” I counter. “I do owe you, because you work for me. Don’t cheapen whatever the hell this is between us. Don’t act like I’m throwing money at you for sexual services rendered. And don’t act like I’m just using you for sex.”
She laughs softly, her dark eyes holding mine. “Aren’t you though? Isn’t that what we’re both doing? Using sex—using each other to forget?”
We are. I know we are. But I don’t think it’s as bleak or as black and white as she makes it sound. Isn’t she the one who said people are more complex than that?
“I don’t know,” I say honestly. I leave the money where it lies and walk out the door.
***
I stare at Morrison’s house. I count the windows and doors, making note of each possible exit. There’s only one car in the driveway, but there could be another in the garage. His Facebook relationship status said, “It’s complicated.”
I have no idea what that means.
He doesn’t have children. At least, that’s the conclusion I made based on his lack of family photos. And isn’t that what you do when you have kids? Post pictures of every accomplishment the kid makes. Show off new outfits representing the current holiday. And mark achievements, such as first steps, first day of school, first tooth lost.
Morrison has pictures of a cat.
I just need to figure out if he lives alone. “It’s complicated” could mean a hundred different things.
In my time sitting in my car across the street from his house, I’ve noticed a few details that could be important later. Like the fact there are three newspapers on his stoop, but the mailbox stands open, empty. And the way all the lights are out in the house except for the blue flicker of a TV in a back room. And the slightly opened window in the same room, though it’s easily thirty degrees tonight.
Just minor details, but I store them in my memory anyway.
And then I just sit here, watching. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to think.
What I’d like to do is knock on Morrison’s door, look him in the eye, and explain I’m here to kill him.
Eight
Rocky
I’m still learning how to deal with who I am now after what happened to me. I do whatever works best at the moment. Whatever it takes to get by. That doesn’t mean I’m often happy about my actions after. I live with so much regret it’s overwhelming at times.
Today, as I watch the light filter through my blinds with the sunrise, I worry about what’s transpiring between Link and me. Something is happening and it scares me.
I’m tired. So tired. I can’t remember the last time I slept well.
I get ready for the day, but instead of going to work like I’m supposed to, I sit on the couch and stare at the floor where Link and I laid last night. At the exact spot where something changed for me. And I wonder why I don’t feel any regret.
This lack of repentance is almost as overwhelming.
I slide off the couch onto my knees and I press my hand into the carpet.
I like Link. I like him a lot. The idea is foreign, and honestly, a little unwelcome.
I don’t want to like him. Because what good can possibly come from it? What can liking Linken Elliot do for me?
It doesn’t matter what it can or cannot do for me. I can just sit back and enjoy it while it lasts. And when it ends, it ends.
I push myself off the floor and grab my purse. I can’t stall any longer. He knows where I live anyway. I’m about to turn the doorknob just as someone knocks in a succession of four quick raps.
Several seconds pass as I stand here. Frozen. I don’t really know if someone can knock with authority, especially when this isn’t their home, but I just know Link is on the other side of the door.
He’s probably here to give me a ride to work, but I’ll never know if I don’t open the door. It’s just a door, and he’s just a guy, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to turn the handle.
The knocks sound again, louder this time, causing me to startle. I inhale a deep breath and pull the door open. Link stands there with several shopping bags in hand. He doesn’t wait for me to invite him in. He nudges past me and walks straight into my kitchen, setting the bags on the counter. I watch silently as he opens the refrigerator and begins emptying the bags.
“You bought me groceries?”
“You needed them,” he answers without looking away from his task. “I don’t know what you like, so I just kept it basic. Milk, eggs, cheese, bread, juice.” He glances back at me with a smirk. “And some fruit and vegetables.”
Most women would be grateful and say as much. But I’m not most women. And I’m trying really hard to establish some kind of line with him.
“You might as well take the healthy shit home with you. I’m on an alcohol diet.”
He straightens and swings the door shut before turning to face me. “It’s all healthy,” he says.
I press my lips together and raise my eyebrows.
Link chuckles as his gaze meets mine. “I knew you’d do this.”
“Do what?” I ask innocently.
“I’m not taking anything back. If you don’t want it, don’t eat it. But you’ll need your strength for what I have in store for you tonight.”
That gets my attention. “What you have in store for me? Tonight?”
He prowls toward me, closing the distance between us. His fingers skim my hips, finding their way just under the hem of my shirt with ease. Goose bumps erupt up my arms.
“Tonight,” he murmurs, his breath puffing against my hair on both of the T’s. “I’m going to work you hard.” His fingers slide higher, caressing my ribs. “Make you sweat.” Higher still until his thumbs brush back and forth across the underside of my breasts. “Through the entire class.”
Damn.
I step back, glaring at him and he grins. It’s the only thing that saves him. “You’re kind of an asshole,” I inform him.
He grins wider and it has a direct effect on my girly parts. “I’m not finished.” He tugs me back to him, pressing me close to his body. And I don’t hate it.
“If you’re a good student, after class, I’ll let you help me clean up.”
I crinkle my nose. “You’re just making it worse.”
Link brings his mouth to my ear, letting his lips stroke feather light as he continues. “I don’t mean clean the gym. These classes make me very dirty.”
Hm. Visions of Link, naked and sweaty, fill my mind. I think I can handle that. And I also think I’m looking forward to self-defense class tonight.
Nine
Link
I keep my eyes on Rocky during the warm-up. I’m half expecting her to run again. All I can do is hope I gave her enough incentive to want to see this class through. She needs this. She needs to feel the power she so desperately craves. And this class can give it to her.
I can give it to her.
Her gaze locks onto mine as I step up front. I clear my throat, ready to begin. “What’s the first thing you do if someone approaches you in a way that makes you feel uncomfortable?” I ask the class.
/>
“Yell,” several of the women say in unison.
I grin, proud of these ladies and the fact that they retain the knowledge I offer them. “That’s right. Yell, scream, growl. Clap your hands, stomp your feet. I don’t care. Just make noise. The louder the better. Draw attention and let the asshole know you’re not an easy target. Hell, make him think you’re too damn crazy to mess with. But,” I pause, moving my gaze over each person, “if that doesn’t work, you fight. You fight with everything you have. If an attacker’s gone far enough to grab you, then he’s serious. You hurt him before he can hurt you.
“Your goal is to get your attacker to the ground before he has a chance to get you. You’ll have about three to five seconds. Try to stay calm. Three seconds isn’t long, but it’s enough if you know what you’re doing. There are several places on a man that you want to focus on. A strike to the proper place can buy you time to get away.”
Joe moves in beside me and I point to him. “The eyes are a great place to attack because they’re sensitive. And if he can’t see you, chances are he isn’t going to follow when you run.
“Poke, jab, gouge, scratch the eyes. Do any damage you possibly can.”
“What if you can’t reach the eyes?” a woman asks. It’s her first time here, and I can tell she’s nervous. I smile, attempting to put her at ease. She drops her gaze, not returning the gesture. This simple act leads me to believe she may have already been attacked or possibly been in an abusive relationship. I make a mental note before I answer her question.
She’s another reason why I teach these classes.
“That’s a good question. If your attacker is too tall or wearing some form of eye protection such as glasses, go for another body part.”
I turn to Joe and lift my foot as if I’m going to kick his knee. I slow just as my foot makes contact, landing the blow softly. He feigns injury, falling to the ground. “The knees are perfect for smaller women. They’re within reach and low enough that the attacker will most likely not be able to grab your foot when you strike. Plus, any angle of the knee will work. So if you go blank on the moves you learn here, which is likely during an attack, you can just kick away at the knee and cause injury.”
Joe stands, taking an attacker stance. I kick out again, this time applying a small amount of pressure on the side of his knee. It gives easily and he falls again.
“I suggest the side because it will knock him off balance quickly, giving you the opportunity to run.”
I glance over at Rocky, making sure she’s still with me before I move on. She’s watching with rapt interest. Like the thought of sending a man to the ground in pain is something she’d like to do. Good.
“Ears are another good place. Clap your palms flat against the eardrums as hard as you can. This will bring the strongest man to his knees. And this is where you can double up moves. Clap to the ears and a gouge to the eyes.” I act it out in slow motion on Joe who plays along, collapsing to his knees, and then to the floor.
“My personal favorite is the neck,” I continue. “The carotid artery and the jugular are both located in the side of the neck.” I run my finger up the length of Joe’s neck, showing the class exactly where to aim. “Hit quick and hit hard, with either the palm of your hand, or a karate chop motion. This is where the saying, ‘go for the jugular’ stems from. This vein returns blood from the head to the heart, so imagine what will happen if you cause damage to it.
“Also keep in mind, if it ever comes to it, severe injury to the jugular can bleed a man out within a minute or so. But we’re here to keep it from getting to that point.”
I lose my train of thought for a moment, surprised that I offered that information to the class like that. I’ve never done that before. Slipped like that. Some of these women are here to prevent an attack, but I know some of them are here to ensure it never happens again. I shouldn’t give information out like that. It was a reckless slip on my part. I don’t need to be responsible for the spilling of more blood.
“The nose,” I say, trying to move on quickly, “is another point to concentrate on.” Joe steps into position and I raise my hand to his face. “Use the heel of your hand and hit the bottom of the nose in an upward motion.” We act it out twice, Joe going for an award in dramatics as he falls to the ground in imaginary agony.
“This hurts, trust me,” I say, chuckling as Joe writhes on the floor. “I’ve been hit several times in the nose and any blow stings. It also makes the eyes water, which will make it a little harder for an attacker to see you. Take the opening and run.”
I hold my hand out, helping Joe back to his feet. He grins at me, proud of himself. “I think we covered the head, so onto the body. We already talked about the knees. The shins and thighs are good areas to kick as well, but watch with a thigh kick because your foot can be caught easily at that height.”
“What about a foot stomp?” one of the regulars asks. “You never really talk about that, but I see that all the time on shows,” she continues.
“Can I?” Joe asks.
I nod, gesturing for him to go right ahead. He served in the Marines. His firsthand knowledge beats mine any day.
“Stomping is okay,” he begins, “it can hurt, but it’s not often effective. The guy could be wearing steel-toed shoes. But more commonly, when you’re being attacked, the guy’s moving around. Trying to stomp on his feet is like playing a game of Whack-A-Mole.”
Several of the women laugh at the visual. It’s unexpectedly nice to have this lighthearted feel to the class for once. We’re all still taking this seriously, but not ominously. I think Joe might need to assist in more classes.
“If you can get a good stomp in,” Joe says, “then do it. But don’t waste precious time chasing after his feet. A kick to the nuts is way more effective and he can’t move those around as easily as he can his feet.”
The class laughs again and I look over at Rocky. She’s smiling, laughing along at her brother. I’ve only seen her look like this a couple of times. It nearly takes my breath away how a smile can transform her.
Her gaze shifts from Joe to me, and our eyes lock. She just busted me watching her, but I don’t look away. I keep staring because there isn’t anything or anyone I’d rather look at.
“We should practice,” I say. “Partner up and run through strikes on all the vital points. Eyes, ears, nose, neck, groin, knees, and shins.”
“We didn’t go over the groin,” someone speaks up, drawing my attention from Rocky.
“Kick, hit, pull, twist,” I explain. “Trust me, any negative attention to a man’s groin area will work. This is a really good starter for doubling up. Kick him in the nuts, when he bends forward or drops to his knees, clap his ears, poke his eyes, or strike the neck. And then?”
“Run,” they answer in harmony. And if I’m not mistaken, I think Rocky chimed in as well.
Ten
Rocky
“You coming?” Joe asks as he shoulders his gym bag.
“Uh, not yet. Link’s going to give me a ride.”
He raises a dark brow, casting a questioning look my way. I knew this was coming, but I’m no more ready to explain than I was a few days ago.
“What’s going on between you guys?” He takes a step closer to me, lowering his voice. “Are you dating?”
I huff out a laugh. Is oral sex dating these days? I’m a little rusty, so I can’t be sure. “No. We’re just…friends.”
“Friends,” he repeats. “You haven’t made new friends since high school.”
I arch a brow, mimicking him, and letting him know he’s becoming annoying. “What’s your point, Joe?”
He shrugs. “It’s good, right?”
I see now. My dumbass brother thinks because I actually have a friend that I’m magically getting past my rape. Everything is sunshine and unicorns because I don’t detest one guy.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” I say trying to make him understand. One person isn’t going to make it go away.
Doug couldn’t do it in high school.
All the random bar guys couldn’t do it.
And Link can’t do it either.
Nobody can.
It’s always going to be there.
Garrett is always going to be there.
“I still think it’s good,” Joe says. “You need friends.” He touches the tips of his fingers to my elbow before he walks away. “See you Monday,” he calls over his shoulder as the door closes behind him.
Link pulls the office door closed and smiles. “Are you ready?”
Am I? I don’t know. I looked forward to this all day. The thought of another night like last night had me anxious all day long, anticipating what he had in mind. My thoughts were engulfed with the ecstasy I would find with him. However, my new discovery has my libido held hostage. All my thoughts are once again focused on Garrett Marshall.
“I never worked up that sweat,” I murmur. I hear the sexual innuendo in my words, but my voice doesn’t reflect it. Link picks up on it immediately.
“Everything okay?”
That. That right there. The concerned look in his eyes. I hate it. I despise it. I loathe it with everything inside of me.
“No,” I utter. “Nothing’s okay.” I shake my head slowly as I try to gather my thoughts. “I hate living like this.”
“Like what?” He moves closer. I back away. He pauses, his head cocked to the side, confused.
“I’m scared. All the time. I don’t want to be like this. I want to do it.”
“Do what?” he asks. “I’m not following.”
Of course he’s not. How can he follow when I don’t understand myself? Emotions are evil bastards. They twist you up, confuse you, knock you down, lift you high, and then drop you on your ass.
Talking Dirty Page 3
