I didn't want to like him, not even after finding out he had good reason to be angry and spiteful toward his father. I didn't want to let him in. And, I realized with a clarity that made the lunch in my stomach churn, I apparently had no choice in the matter. He found a crack and he slithered in. I knew the exact moment it happened too; when he told me about his baby teeth. I couldn't help but think of a young Johnnie, those big green eyes on a little boy face, blood pouring out of his mouth, Ben storming away from his son's injuries to go bury the memory at the bottom of a bottle.
What did that say about me, that I liked someone because of their trauma?
A part of me whispered that it said I had some trauma of my own, but I ignored that voice.
The attraction, well, that was a problem. He was hot. And on top of hot, he was the best sweet talker I had ever come across. There was only so much resistance a woman could convince herself she needed to demonstrate. I wanted him. I wanted him like I had never wanted a man before. But that didn't mean I planned on giving in. Okay. If he had kissed me in the diner, well, I would have given in. But I was all hyped up on his putting those jerks in their place and his ability to see right through me. Now, with a little space between that, I was seeing more clearly.
Because, well, he was a gosh darn killer. He killed people for a living!
So even if I really wanted him, he was the least appropriate option.
I did not need to get involved in his kind of darkness. My life was finally darkness free. I wasn't going to willingly fall back into that. And, well, he was gone in a couple days. I wasn't the kind of woman who had a one-nighter, or two-nighter. That wasn't how I was wired. I didn't do casual. Then again, I didn't do complicated either. Actually, I didn't do anything with men.
"Augh," I growled, picking up my globe-shaped stress ball and flinging it against the wall.
Then I did something I never did; I grabbed my purse and I left work early. See, I liked work. I liked knowing I had a purpose. I liked focusing on anything other than my empty apartment I spent way too much time cleaning with an OCD-like drive because I literally had nothing else to do with my time. As mundane and dull as all the paperwork could be at times, it was something to do. We held four meetings every week, chafing against my belief that there needed to be one each night so people could properly complete their recovery process. How were the people in town supposed to do their ninety meetings in ninety days if we didn't offer that service? But, unfortunately, that was not up to me. That was up to Father Sanders. And Father Sanders believed two meetings a week for alcoholics and two meetings a week for narcotics was more than enough.
That night was the first alcoholics anonymous meeting since Ben died. It was going to be a rough one, for me and for the people in the group. If there was ever a day to take off early and get myself together, that was the one. I tried to push the unreasonable stab of guilt away as I climbed into my car and headed back to my apartment.
I paused for the barest of moments outside of Ben's (Johnnie's) door. Okay. I paused for at least a minute before I snapped myself out of it and let myself into my own place. I paced around restlessly, kitchen to living room to sliding doors to the balcony. On the other side of the wall, there were no sounds from Johnnie. If I hadn't seen his car outside when I pulled up, I would have assumed he wasn't around, given how loud he seemed to be whenever he did anything. Not entirely sure what possessed me to do so, maybe as an apology for being so nasty to him, or maybe just for an excuse to maybe have a run-in with him again in the near future, I moved to the kitchen and got out my nicest pitcher and poured most of the contents of my sweet tea into it. I grabbed some of the banana bread I had baked the day before and piled it on a plate, wrapped it in plastic, and headed into the hall.
I was half-bent toward the ground where I planned on leaving the plate and pitcher when the door flew open, making me yelp and almost lose my balance. My head jerked up as I straightened to see Johnnie standing there in his creepers and black jeans, but wholly devoid of a shirt. I repeat: he didn't have a shirt on. And whatever fantasies I had conjured up in my head about what he looked like underneath his clothes, well, they fell so short it was laughable. His tattoos didn't just snake up his arms and across his chest. No, his tattoos covered every bare inch of skin from his throat to the waistband of his jeans. There were vivid, colorful images I knew instantly I could spend hours studying, trying to memorize every line, running my fingers over the strong muscles underneath.
"Hey angel," his voice called, light, low, almost... gentle. My eyes drifted upward to his, seeing the tiniest trace of a smile at his lips and warmth in his eyes. Oh, god. He totally caught me checking him out. Great. That was just wonderful. He was going to have a field day with that. "Is that for me?" he said instead, his tone still soft.
"What? Oh," I said, looking down at my hands dumbly. "Yeah. Um... an apology for having such bad manners yesterday," I said, pressing them forward at him to try to make him take them so I could run back to my apartment and throw myself into a humiliated heap on my bed. But his hands didn't reach out. Instead, he backed up a step to leave space in the doorway, a silent invitation inside. "I'll just drop these on the counter. I really need to get going..." So I could, you know, call myself a bunch of awful names in private.
The door clicked as I put the items down and I realized my mistake on turning my back on him. Because one moment, he was across the apartment by the door, the next his entire front was plastered against my back. His hand slid around my belly, sending a shock of desire through my system, settling with a heavy feeling in my lower belly. His other hand moved up to stroke my hair off the side of my neck and I could feel his warm breath there.
"What are you doing?" I whispered, my hands curling hard into the counter top.
"Saying thank you," he replied in kind and I felt his nose brush just underneath my earlobe.
The warning alarm was going off in my brain: danger danger danger. And despite the suddenly pulsating desire between my legs, I knew I needed to heed it. I needed to get away from him because I was seconds away from giving in.
"You're welcome," I said breathlessly, whirling out of his hold and all but running across the apartment away from him, away from the need to go right back to him, to beg him to thank me in every naughty, dirty way he could.
My hand was on the doorknob when it was snagged at the wrist. He used it to turn me, grabbing my other wrist and pulling them both over my head, pinning them against the door behind me. His body pushed forward and pressed the rest of me against it, and him. It happened faster than I could draw a breath and every inch of me felt suddenly like it was buzzing.
"Johnnie..." My voice sounded like a plea, but whether it was for him to let me go or to kiss me already, well, that was up for debate.
"You give me all that fire, baby, then you come over here with baked goods, being all sweet and you thought you could get out of here without being kissed?" He asked and, from so close, I could see the tiny silver ball of his tongue piercing and I wondered what it would feel like teasing my tongue and, well, other things.
"It's a bad idea..." I objected but it was half-hearted. Actually, it was more like third-hearted or quarter-hearted. Okay. They were really just empty words with no heart involved at all.
"Those are my favorite kinds," he smiled slightly, watching my face as he slowly, so freaking slowly, lowered his face toward mine. My breath felt caught somewhere under my ribcage, the sensation making my chest tighten, making me feel lightheaded. Well, maybe it was the close proximity with Johnnie that was doing the lightheaded thing. Every inch of my skin felt like it was begging for more contact, though he was already pressed against me from knees to chest. I was greedy. I wanted his hands running down my sides, across my back, over my belly. I wanted to feel them easing some of the ache in my core. "Don't get ahead of yourself, darlin'," he said, his voice drawling back into a southern accent and I wondered if that was something that happened w
hen he was turned-on.
His nose brushed against mine, a simple, non-erotic touch, but it sent shivers through my body. My eyes closed slowly, my face angling slightly upward in invitation. If felt like an eternity, like time got suspended. Then I felt his lips press into mine and, well, it was worth the wait. With my arms pinned over my head, the pressure just shy of bruising, I had expected hard and hungry. But his lips were the barest trace of pressure. Still, they sent a current through my body. My arms fought the restraint as his tongue traced the seam of my lips. My mouth opened and his tongue moved in, stroking over mine and the bead of the piercing teased across, foreign and exciting, full of promise, before it pulled suddenly away and his lips took mine again.
A whimpering noise escaped me and I felt his mouth smile against mine for a second. His hands released my wrists, his fingers dancing down the sensitive undersides of my bare arms before creeping across my shoulders and up my neck, cupping my jaw with both hands as the kiss deepened. My arms fell heavy to my sides for the barest of seconds before sliding upward of their own accord, resting at the space where his body disappeared under the waistband of his jeans at his hips. My thumbs traced up the deep V of his Adonis belt muscles, then up his sides, over his ribs. I was greedy. I wanted to touch every inch of him. My hands slid around his back and up his spine, grabbing his shoulders from behind and sinking in, pulling him closer to me.
Against my belly, I could feel his erection pressing into me and a primal, desperate part of me begged me to rub against it, to show him the evidence of the chaos between my thighs that he couldn't see or feel but was no less intense, no less demanding of fulfillment. His teeth bit into my lower lip, drawing a moan from my body, the sound echoing off the inside of my skull, making me start, making me see what this was; which was: too far, too fast. The message took a moment to reach my lips so I kissed him back like it was everything, like it was everything we would ever have as my hands slid back down his back and over his ribs until they landed on his hips and started pushing backward.
His lips gentled on mine, just small kisses across my mouth before he slowly pulled back, his thumbs brushing across the apples of my cheeks. My eyes opened slowly, feeling weighted with want, desire so deep I swore it seeped into my marrow. His deep green eyes were endless pools of promises I wanted him to follow through on.
And that was the exact reason he couldn't.
"Uh oh," he said, his head shaking slightly.
"What?" I asked, annoyed at the breathlessness of my voice. Why couldn't I sound unaffected? Why couldn't I just fake it?
"Got under those walls there today, honey. I see them building back up."
"No," I said immediately, shaking my head. "No this was just a little... fast," I half-lied. It didn't feel too fast. In fact, my body was urging me to strip naked and let him sink inside. Fact of the matter was, Johnnie was dangerous. It had nothing to do with his job or his past. It did, however, have everything to do with the fact that in just one day he had managed to do something that other men worked weeks or months for and never succeeded- he started to matter. And that was dangerous. I didn't feel often, but when I did, I felt deep. I couldn't feel deeply about Johnnie because he was a runaway train. He was leaving this town and me as fast as his wheels could turn. I couldn't just spend a night with him and watch him leave like nothing happened.
I knew me and I knew from just the barest taste I got of him, that I would want more. I would want it all. And I couldn't have that. So I needed to stop things before they went any further.
"Alright," he said, watching my face as if he was picking up on something. But then his hands dropped from my face and he moved away. The air conditioned air hit me full force, making my skin feel prickly and I rubbed my hands up my arms. Johnnie moved back toward the kitchen, making short work of unwrapping the banana bread (mostly because he clawed at it like a bear). He brought a slice up to his mouth and pushed half of it inside, closing his eyes on a quiet groan. "And she can bake," he said, seemingly to himself.
There was a cold, spiraling feeling in my stomach watching him. I couldn't place it at first, seeing him move around and grab a glass out of a cabinet and pouring himself some sweet tea. He took a long gulp, making a strange growling noise. "Haven't had this in so long," he said, giving me an appreciative little smile. And then I got it. I recognized something in him I had, so far, been wholly incapable of- openness. There wasn't an inch of Johnnie that was guarded, that he protected or kept under wraps. He wore everything on his sleeve- from his attraction to me to his enjoyment of the food I gave him. There was just... so much honesty in everything he did.
Meanwhile, it felt like everything about me was a secret wrapped in a lie.
He was everything good to all my bad.
He was so much better than me.
"Angel," he broke in and I hadn't even noticed him watching me, I had been so absorbed in my own thoughts. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing," I said, forcing a smile. Another lie to hide a secret. One of his brows raised like he could see right through me and I scrambled for something to say. "I was just... thinking about work. I have a meeting tonight. It's the first once since your dad..." I trailed off, taking a breath. "It's not going to be easy."
Johnnie looked down at his feet for a second, shaking his head, still not believing me. When his gaze found mine, I saw determination there. "I'm gonna figure you out, darlin'. You might want to rip my cock off for it, but I'm still gonna do it."
"There's nothing to figure out," I said, my feet finally remembering how they worked and I moved away from the door so I could open it. "Enjoy your banana bread," I mumbled, closing the door and rushing back to my apartment.
I slumped against the inside of my own door, my hand moving up to touch my kiss-sensitive lips. I stayed that way for a long time, rolling the memory of his mouth over and over in my head despite knowing all it was doing was adding more kindling to the fire and I was pretty sure my panties were seconds away from bursting into flames as it was. I forced myself to move away from the door, to make myself something to eat, to get dressed into something more appropriate for the meeting: dark wash capri jeans and a flouncy white shirt.
I'm more than a little ashamed to admit that I actually looked out my peephole before I stepped out into the hallway, terrified that I might run into him and, I dunno, just rip my clothes off and beg him to take me or something.
--
The meeting went about as I had expected. Meaning, it was depressing as all heck. Everyone sat around and shared their stories about Ben Allen. Some were stories about the crazy things he used to get himself into when he was drinking; many were about the good he had done since he got clean. Then there were the head shakes, gazes falling to the floor as people thought how unfair it was that he finally, finally got his life together only to have it cut short by something as indiscriminating as a heart attack. The tone went downhill from there, everyone wondering how long they would have to make amends, to repair the damage their addiction had caused.
I tried to keep things upbeat, focusing on how Ben had turned his life around, how they all had turned things around, about how two years clean and sober was better than another twenty too messed up to see how their actions were affecting everyone around them. But the fact of the matter was, the black feeling of the group had started to seep into my skin as well, leaving me feeling bleak and sad as I made my way to my car and started back toward my apartment.
The next afternoon was Ben's wake. The following morning was his funeral.
I blinked at the tears that started to threaten at the back of my eyes as I made my way into the hall toward my apartment. Suddenly, the door to Ben's apartment flew open and, I admit, a surge of relief flooded my system. If ever there was a time I needed some of Johnnie's light-hearted charm, it was right then. But then I stopped short, my pathetic little heart starting to pound hard against my ribcage.
Because it wasn't Johnnie in the doorway;
it was a woman.
And she was, well, she was gorgeous. She was tall and lean (and I mean lean), with thighs that I would kill for. Her face was delicate, almost doll-like with flawless porcelain skin, deep brown eyes, and rich-mahogany hair that she had sweeping her shoulders that was slightly damp from, presumably, a shower.
Well then.
I mean, I shouldn't have been upset or even surprised. He was a manwhore; that was what manwhores did. They slept around. One woman was just as good as another.
"Hey," she said, eying me oddly and probably with good reason. I mean I had totally been staring at her.
"Hey," I said, nodding slightly and rushing past her toward my apartment.
I let myself in and closed my door, throwing off clothes as I moved through my apartment until I was just in my bra and undies and crawled slowly into my bed, falling down on the middle on my belly and letting out the sob I had been holding in for hours.
Ben was dead. And the Ben I knew and loved was the same Ben that knocked a little boy's teeth in and did god-knew what else to him. The only person I had in town was gone. His son had made me feel something then replaced me with another brunette just a couple hours later.
Yeah. That seemed about right.
That was how my life went- endless piles of crap I had to pretend I didn't smell as I sidestepped them so no one could ever say I stepped in it. How silly of me to think there could be anything different.
My hands covered my face as if I could silence the sounds of my cries with them.
Killer Page 6
