by Lane Hart
Over in the passenger seat, I see a dark blue photo album and flip it open. Inside are pictures of a man and woman and then their baby, followed by pages showing a scrawny little girl with butterscotch hair and a shy smile. Blair.
Shutting off the light with my fist, it becomes clear to me that Blair obviously stole this fucking car, and the photo album is the only thing of hers inside it. Which means, they probably didn’t let her walk right out of the mental hospital. She escaped, and now her father wants her dead before she opens her mouth and rats him out.
Jesus. Christ.
Needing a fucking cigarette more than ever, I park her car, I mean Gladys’s car, in front of the house until I can get Blair to open the garage to hide it. Once I cut the engine, I pull out a smoke from the pack I bought on the way back to town. I had gone in the store to just buy a razor, but the fucking red and white boxes where taunting me from behind the cash register.
After lighting up, I only take two quick puffs before I remember the look of disgust on Blair’s face. No longer craving the nicotine rush, I put the cigarette out in Gladys’s ashtray before I take a deep breath and head inside.
Walking up to the front door, I push the doorbell. After the third time, I start to get annoyed and impatient. Why is it taking Blair so long to answer the damn thing? I’m considering just breaking in, worried she may have hurt herself during the last twenty-four hours while I’ve been gone when the front door finally opens.
“Wow,” I remark at the first sight of Blair standing before me in nothing but panties, her eyes lowered, hair tussled and wild in her face. “What the fuck have you been doing?” I ask her. Of course, her only response is the blood-red flush that magically appears on her cheeks while she stares down at my shoes. Then I notice the other red marks on her neck and shoulder, making me a helluva lot more murderous than I’ve ever felt in my life. “Maybe I should ask who the fuck have you been doing?” My jaw clenches so hard it nearly breaks when she just turns and walks away, back into the house without answering me.
She’s hiding shit and won’t talk to me, so why the fuck do I keep coming back? Because she’s gorgeous, and I’m a sick bastard who can’t stop ruining her?
Going in after her, I shut the front door and then find her in her room, curled up in the fetal position in bed on her side, her bare back to me standing in the doorway.
Grabbing some paper and a pen from her desk, I walk over and toss it over in front of her face.
“Who the fuck is he?” I ask, sitting down on the edge of the mattress behind her to look at her finished tattoo. It’s beautiful and feminine with bright blue, white and yellow blooming flowers mixed in with the greenery. Two Monarch butterflies are on opposite sides, one at the top and one at the bottom. It’s even sexier than I expected, but now I know it holds a deeper meaning since she incorporated two names throughout it. From afar, most people would never notice them, but I see them clearly.
Blair eventually picks up the pen and scribbles on the paper so messy I can barely read it, “Who I’ve been doing or on my tattoo?”
“Both,” I tell her, surprised when she actually admits to seeing someone. Goddamn it, I want to kill that motherfucker. Who the hell has she been fucking around with? An asshole from the tattoo parlor? Did she mess with someone else just because she’s pissed at me? “You could just talk to me, you know?” I snap.
She shakes her head and keeps writing while I scowl at the tangles in the back of her hair, wondering who the fuck’s hands have been on her. While I think of ways to torture and kill the unfortunate bastard who’s decided to mess with my girl, Blair writes, “I would rather not say on the first one, and on the tattoo is a long story.”
“Well then, write me a fucking book,” I bark at her. I’m not sure what I’m angrier with her for, the fact that she refuses to tell me about the other man or that she obviously fools around with him too.
“Have you fucked him?” I ask, needing to know even if she doesn’t want to talk about it. When she shakes her head, I let out the breath I was holding and spear my fingers through my hair in relief. I still don’t like knowing another man’s hands have been on her. Having never been jealous before, I realize it’s throwing me off balance. Making me doubt myself with her. I’m starting to care about her, and she’s been seeing someone else. What do I even say to that? No, you can’t fuck anyone but me? Yes, that’s what I should say as Blair holds the pen above the paper, carefully considering her words for so long I want to smack her ass and tell her to hurry the fuck up. When she puts the tip of the pen back to the paper, I relax a little more and decide my raging jealousy can wait a little longer since she’s already pissed at me.
“My mom’s name was Valerie. She died when I was eight. I think Ben was supposed to be my new father.”
I have to swallow past the knot in my throat before I can talk. “So why the tattoo?”
“The white flowers are gardenias, and they represent secret love. The yellow rue is for regret, and the blue flowers are forget-me-nots. The two butterflies…some cultures say they carry souls to heaven, so maybe in another life, they can be together.”
“How did she die?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. I need to hear it from her.
Blair’s shoulders slump and her head falls forward before she scribbles, “I can’t do this,” and then gets up and goes to lock herself in the bathroom.
While she’s showering, I glance around the childish bedroom, and consider rummaging around for the answers that I can’t get from her, but I decide against it. She’ll open up to me eventually about the other man, or boy, rather, or maybe she won’t. I need to try harder to get her to talk, and being an angry, jealous asshole isn’t gonna help. I need to calm down, be honest with her, and figure out what to do next. Which is gonna be hard since she’s either angry at me for ditching her yesterday or she’s still thinking about someone else because she didn’t even look at me once from the time she opened the door.
I’ve got to find some way to get through to her because the clock is ticking even louder. She’s not safe here, so I’ve got to convince her to leave with me, and soon.
Chapter Eighteen
Blair
The water stings when it cascade down the side over my new tattoo. I try to hurry up and finish up so I can climb out, but it feels like my arms and legs weigh a ton when I move them. Maybe I just need more sleep. Or maybe it’s a side effect of withdrawal from the pharmacy of drugs they’ve had me on for years.
All I know is that I was so close to telling Brede everything. The only reason I didn’t is that then he’ll know I’m a lying coward, and I would probably never see him again. It’s bad enough that Aden knows the truth, the truth that he wants me to admit to set a man free. I want that too, more than anything. So I need to toughen up and do the right thing.
I’m not sure how long it takes to dry my hair and leave the bathroom in a towel, but I can’t say I’m in a hurry to face Brede again. At least he came back tonight, but he was a jackass for leaving me last night at the tattoo parlor.
When I walk back into my room, he’s standing in front of my dark window, his back to me. Hearing me shuffling through my mother’s clothes, he turns around, and that’s the first time I notice the change in him.
He shaved his entire beard off.
I barely refrain from saying the words begging to escape after I gasp in shock. Just as I suspected, he has a gorgeous face and looks so much younger. The word wow seems to be the only way to describe him.
“It’s summer, and the beard was getting hot,” he says in explanation as he strokes his now smooth jaw. “Well?” he asks. “Better?”
I nod enthusiastically making him turn his head and chuckle, almost like he’s embarrassed by my compliment. Going over to him, I have to touch his face. Otherwise, he doesn’t seem real. He’s too handsome and manly to be standing in my childhood bedroom with me. Reaching up, I run my fingertips over his cheek and down to his chin. I’ll miss t
ugging on the hair there and feeling the rough texture of his beard between my smooth thighs. But without the beard…God, he’s so freaking hot.
Standing on my toes, I kiss him to see how that feels too. I can’t say I miss the way his mustache used to tickle my nose. And the taste of cigarettes on his breath surprises me since he didn’t smoke any yesterday while we were together. It’s not exactly unpleasant, just different.
The two of us kiss, tongues tangling until I feel his hard erection pressing into my stomach. Not quite ready to take that final step yet, and remembering what I promised Aden, I still want to pleasure Brede and give him some relief. So I drop to my knees and go to work undoing his pants.
“Lose the towel,” he orders, widening his stance. I quickly oblige by pulling the white towel apart and tossing it to the floor next to me, baring all of my body to him. After the last few days of being touched and caressed by two guys, I’m not nearly as self-conscience as before. In fact, I feel sexy since both men are so gorgeous, so different but also so alike. Sure, it feels naughty to be fooling around, sharing my body with both of them, but I can’t help myself. They’re irresistible, and I like the attention they give me. It’s so freeing, making me feel alive after being hidden behind four walls for more than half my life.
Once Brede’s pants are lowered, he reaches down to cup my face and tilt it up to look at him. From the corner of my eye, I see a tattoo filling his once bare forearm; and when I grab his arm to examine it, I can’t help but suck in a breath at how stunning it is. An angel, hugging her knees while she weeps into her arms, so beautiful and sad and…
Brede clears his throat before he grumbles, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now suck my dick.”
I glance up, meeting his eyes, biting down hard on my bottom lip to keep from smiling while arching one of my eyebrows in question, just because I want to hear him say it.
He eventually gives in, huffing out a breath and rolling his eyes. “Yes, it’s you. Are you happy now?” he asks, and I nod. “Good. Now put that mouth to use.”
He grabs the hair at the back of my head to guide me forward, not the least bit gentle. But even still, the warmth between my legs rises and fills me up, all the way to my chest just knowing that for some reason this man wanted me to have a permanent place on his skin. Me. The girl who was cast aside and forgotten ten years ago. Now I’ll never be forgotten, at least not by Brede. No matter what happens, he’ll always remember me in the most amazing form, as an angel, sad and weeping as she loses her tarnished wings, but still a beautiful angel. She’s definitely not what I see when I look in the mirror, but is that how he sees me?
Quieting my racing thoughts, I do what he wants, parting my lips to take his cock into my mouth. The jerk of his hips and rush of air from his lungs urges me to take him deeper. In fact, after I tease my tongue near his engorged tip, I take all of him.
“Fuck,” he groans, and I hum triumphantly around his thick length when he loses his balance and crashes into the chair and desk behind him before quickly reaching out and righting himself. Such a big, tough guy and I have the power to throw him off balance with just my mouth.
He doesn’t last very long before I feel the usual swell of his cock and pulse of his release down my throat. Once he’s finished, I use my fingers to wipe my mouth and then stand up to get dressed, leaving him to pull his own pants up. I’m sort of surprised when he doesn’t bark at me, ordering me to do it for him.
By the time I get dressed in clean white cotton shorts and a black tank top, Brede’s barely moved. I glance over and see that his jeans are up and zipped, but he looks a little…stunned or deep in thought, which makes me ecstatic.
“I love having your mouth on my cock, but I wish you would sometimes use it to talk to me,” he says when his dead serious eyes lock on mine, causing the smile to slide right off my face.
Lowering my gaze, I shake my head. Anytime I even think about speaking I hear my mother screaming and see her body covered in blood and the image of my father turning into an angry monster. It’s bad enough that Aden knows the truth, but I don’t want Brede to know about my lies too.
“What’s with the stolen car, Blair?” he asks, causing my eyes to shoot back up to his in surprise. How did he…? “Yeah, I stole the car you stole from the tow lot. It’s out front,” he says with a jerk of his thumb. “Might want to hide it in the garage.”
I nod in agreement, thankful to have it back and hopefully the photo album still in the front seat.
“Blair?” he asks. “Blair, did you escape or did they let you out of the mental hospital?”
Oh my God. How does he know? Covering my embarrassed face, I shake my head, refusing to answer him, refusing to admit I’m a certified crazy person who they want to lock up for the rest of my life. My actions the past few days with Brede and Aden have only confirmed the fact that I’m out of my fucking mind. I’m so overwhelmed by them both that it’s making me feel even more confused than usual.
Three weeks ago when I turned eighteen, I thought I might finally get free from confinement, that they would let me leave now that I’m legally an adult. But nope. The doctor deemed me mentally unstable and upped the dosage on all my meds.
“We need to leave,” Brede suddenly says. “You’re in danger, more than just getting hauled back to the crazy house.”
My palms that had been covering my face slip down so that I can convey my confusion, hoping he’ll explain what the heck he means by that.
“Just trust me, okay?” he says, his hands braced on his hips in a sign of his frustration.
I shake my head, knowing that I’m unable to leave, even if I did trust him not to abandon me somewhere like he did at the tattoo parlor. What if he decided to do that to me in California or who the hell knows where? What am I supposed to do to get by on my own with no job, no money other than the cash leftover in my purse, and no identity?
Aden’s a cop, and he’s promised to take care of me. I have to stay here and help him bring down my dad and get Ben out of prison. How am I supposed to explain all that to Brede?
“Blair? Get your shit and let’s go. Now. Tonight,” Brede says.
I shake my head again. What’s with him and the urgency? He was gone all last night and today, and now he thinks he’ll just show up here without even apologizing for bailing on me and that I’ll take off with him?
“Stop being a fucking brat,” he replies as he walks towards me and snatches me up by my arm. “Come on.”
“No!” I say, the vehemence in my voice surprising the both of us apparently, because Brede’s steps instantly halt, and his hand falls from mine.
“Why not?” he leans down and asks through clenched teeth.
I try to decide what to tell him, how to explain it. Aden told me not to let anyone know he was here, and I think he specifically meant Brede since he also warned me to stay away from him. Because I can’t tell him the truth, I go with a lie. The words burn my throat before they even leave my mouth.
“You’re an asshole and…and he’s not,” I say.
Brede jaw ticks twice before he responds. “I guess that’s the first and last sentence that I’ll ever hear you say. So here’s the last one you’ll get from me; your father wants you dead before he gets back in town next week.”
With that metaphorical punch to my gut, he stomps out of the room; and a second later, I hear the front door slam shut. I slap my palm over my mouth when a sob escapes from my throat, and I can’t help but feel like I just made the biggest mistake of my life.
Chapter Nineteen
Aden
Nothing.
We didn’t find a single fucking thing. Of course, it’ll take weeks for a team of agents to sort through all the boxes, but nothing seemed to implicate him directly to bribery, murder or any fucking thing else.
Angry doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel right now, especially when I drive past Blair’s house and see the car parked out front. The stolen car! Furious is what I am when I climb into Blai
r’s bedroom window and smell…smoke. Fucking cigarette smoke.
“Blair,” I say into the darkness as I move to where her small form startles in the bed. “Tell me he hasn’t fucking been here tonight!”
She sits up, holding the sheet to her, and I turn on the lamp to see the expression on her face since she still rarely talks.
When she blinks her eyes and turns her face away from the light without answering, I nearly fucking snap. This girl could be all we have to nail the goddamn DA, and I may very well have to beat the words out of her! Although right now, I’m more pissed because she let him in the house.
Climbing on the bed, I straddle her legs and grab her face between both my hands, forcing her to look at me.
“Why was he here?” I ask her. Those beautiful eyes of hers seem to change color, and right now they’re grassy green in the dim light.
Her response? She just shrugs her shoulders. Shrugs her fucking shoulders like it’s no big deal to have a cruel, dangerous assassin in her bedroom with her. In her bedroom! My pulse races as I consider all the various things he may have done to her in this bed while I was gone tonight and trying to be the good guy cop. Fucking worthless asshole. He could’ve killed her, taken her from me in a matter of seconds. The thought makes me feel sick to my stomach and my cock hard at the same time with the need to claim her as mine, to make her forget about that bastard. First, I need answers.
Pulling the scarf from my pocket, I grab the hem of her top and take it off of her without her protest. Does she let him undress her too? Does she let his hands, his mouth, his cock inside her? I raise both of her arms above her head and tie her wrists to the bedposts like most other nights. She doesn’t resist when I restrain her because she likes it. I can tell by the way her red lips are parted, how her aroused breasts rise and fall rapidly, the blush on her cheeks and the way her thighs are rubbing against each other for friction.
In one quick jerk, I remove her shorts and panties so that my fingers can slip between her legs to see…fuck yes, she’s so wet. I feel dizzy from the speed at which all the blood in my body seems to rush to my dick. It’s so hard it hurts being cramped up behind my zipper, so I undo my pants and unleash it with a sigh of relief. Now, back to my unanswered question.
