“I’m more than happy to lead you in the right direction. Follow me.”
I pout when he turns around and starts leading us down the hallway. I’d rather not have a shadow at the moment, and having Jett hovering is cramping my style. He’s about to make the left, but I stop short. “Would you mind?” I stop him. He spins around with a scrunched brow. “I mean, I can go on my own from here, if that’s all right?”
Jett’s lips press together as his head nods. “Yeah, sure...of course.”
“Thanks.” I slip passed him, my arm accidentally brushing against him. I suck in a sharp breath at the contact. Embarrassed, I drop my head and pick up my feet to get away from him. Before the guard lets me into the holding room, I steal a peek over my shoulder. Yep, he’s looking at me. No, not looking, more like watching me...watching my every move. It’s the first time anyone has ever made me feel so exposed. I don’t like it one bit. My face is burning with anxiety, or it could be flush, but at this moment, who cares? I’m a sweaty, anxious spazball, ready to explode at any moment. As much as I want to run out of the station screaming like I was streaking at a sold out football game, I have to force myself to go into a room with someone who I haven’t seen in years. Which is the lesser of two evils? Blue Knight or Jett Roman?
Well, no shit, of course it’s Blue Knight. My brother doesn’t make my panties wet. Gross. Jett Roman, on the other hand, makes me all sorts of crazy...more than usual, that is. I push my way into the holding room where Blue is lying on the metal cot that’s hanging off the wall like an overly large shelf, one arm over his eyes while the other arm and one leg droop over the side of the so-called bed.
“Blue?” I ask in a tight whisper. He’s bigger than I remember. And I don’t mean fat. He’s just...bigger.
A groan escapes his slightly parted lips, but he doesn’t remove his arm from his face. “What?” he whines.
I’m taken aback by his aloof welcoming. “What? That’s the greeting I get for coming to pick up your drunk ass after not seeing you in over eight years?” Hey, I lasted one whole minute before spewing at the mouth. That must be a new record.
Blue rolls his body into a sitting position and rubs at his scruffy face with his dirty palm. “I didn’t ask for them to call you,” he spits.
Clearly he’s still holding a grudge, which...whatever. I did what I did for a reason, and I don’t feel the least bit bad about it. It’s called tough fucking love, and since I can see where this is going, I want no part of it. I shrug my shoulders on a hiss. “Alrighty then. Peace out.”
I turn to leave, but my foot doesn’t even hit the threshold before Blue’s on his feet stumbling after me. He grabs my arm, using me as a wall to stabilize his swaying body. “Fuck, Gray, c’mon, don’t be like that. I’m sorry. Good to see ya, sis.”
Good to see ya, sis?
Wow, how the tables turn so quickly when you’re drunk, broke, and need a fucking ride. It’s obvious he has no one else that he could count on to pick him up. I wonder why that is. Obviously, alcohol is a vice, but is he still doing drugs? How about sex? Is he the product of our mother, or does he have the mind of a killer...like me?
He towers over me now, making me feel like a dwarf. His hair isn’t as red as mine, but there’s still a hint of the fiery color in the brownish strands, and it sits on top of his head in a fro of curls. The deep shade of green of his eyes stand out against the coppery color of his unruly beard, and when he tries to smile, his teeth are crooked and in need of a good cleaning. Funny, he’s a grown man, but yet when I really look into his eyes, I still see the little boy that was robbed of his innocence.
He’s staring back at me just as intensely as I am at him. It’s a bit unnerving, but I don’t break the contact. If there’s something he’s hiding, I’ll find it. “Do you have a place to go?” I finally ask.
His eyes fall to his feet as his hand finds it way through his hair, puffing up his curls into a frizzy mess. “No.”
I sigh, knowing I can’t just drop him off on some random corner. I don’t have to, but a part of me wants to, so I force my lips into a soft grin. “Okay then, you’ll stay with me for a few days until you figure out what you’re going to do.”
His head snaps up, and I think he might actually cry, but he sniffs the tears and snot back in with a heartfelt, “Thanks, sis.”
“Mmhmm. Come on.”
I take the lead, thanking the guard as we walk past, but stop abruptly when I see Jett standing at the end of the hall. Has he seriously been waiting for me this whole time? Fucking weirdo. No, I’m the weirdo. I find him absolutely ridonkulously hot, especially in his fitted suit. Hot damn, it hugs his muscles like a well-fitted glove. Gah, I need psychiatric help.
Blue grabs my shoulders, almost plowing me over, but before I can fall forward, he pulls me back. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I look back over my shoulder at him. “Why don’t you wait at the front desk. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Blue nods and begins to walk around me, but then notices Jett. He glances at Jett then back at me, making the connection that he’s there for me. I shoo him along with a wave of my hand and stop in front of Jett. “Are you being a stalker right now?”
Jett’s laugh resonates against the cement walls of the hallway. “It is part of my job description.” He winks.
“Dude, you need to back off a bit. I’m not gushing over you. I told you, I came to pick up my brother. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, stop hovering.”
Jett smiles as he tilts his head to the side and tosses out his hand in a half-ass wave. “Thanks, mate.” He moves around me and stands behind an inmate, grabbing hold of the man’s restraints. “You were sayin’?”
Heat spreads across my cheeks with embarrassment, realizing that he wasn’t waiting for me, but for a criminal. Wow, I am a fool. Can I cower out of here now with my tail between my legs, and wear a mask over my face until the end of time? Oh God, someone shoot me already and put me out of my misery. With a rushed, “Nothing,” I damn near sprint out of the police station, swinging my arm in a large hook motion while yelling at Blue, “Let’s go!”
Blue bolts from his seat and wobbles after me through the parking lot. “What was that all about?” he asks, slipping into the passenger seat of my modest Civic.
I turn to him in my seat, glaring at him. “You don’t get to ask personal questions, Blue. You need to earn that privilege. Buckle up.”
Oh, for the love of all things holy, the last thing I need is my brother to start buttin’ his nose where it doesn’t belong. I hope he doesn’t need a place to stay for very long. If I have anything to do with it, he’ll be out of my house and my hair by the week’s end.
Chapter 18
Gray
Three weeks. It’s been three fucking weeks and he’s still here. It’s like I’ve opened the door and invited in the devil. Blue has got to be the messiest person on this entire planet. Everywhere I turn, there are empty glasses on the furniture, dirty clothes on the floor, toothpaste in the sink...which, hey, at least he’s finally brushing those bad boys, but still. There’s dishes left on the counter, trash next to the trash can—never in it—television left on, lights on in every room, a trail of food crumbs leading to the pig that never leaves the sofa, and the amount of gas that comes out of each end of this grown ass man is just...well, it’s flat out gross.
In the past three weeks, I have taken a hiatus on my weekend rituals of stalking and killing my prey. I obviously can’t partake in such events if I have a looky-loo. The curious mind of thunder butt over here has severely thrown me for a loop and has halted all activities revolving around my hidden life. And. It’s. Pissin’. Me. Off.
I circle the twentieth apartment ad and the hundredth job posting in the local newspaper and toss it on top of Blue’s chest as I’m on my way out of the house. Of course, it doesn’t faze him one bit. I could slap him silly with the funnies and he still wouldn’t remove his eyes from the Price Is Right. This lazy bastard has used
every excuse in the book for why none of the jobs work for him and why each apartment doesn’t fit his needs. At this point, I’m tempted to show him to his new home—a cardboard box tossed on a curb somewhere. “Your ass better be off the couch by the time I get home,” I shout over my shoulder as I slam the door behind me.
I never thought the day would come that I’d much rather spend my time at school teaching spoiled twats. But whaddaya know, it appears that I’m finding refuge in my classroom, even with these whiney teenagers. Ah, I have to admit, I kinda like these buggers, at least today anyway. They pretty much aggravate me every other day, but today they’re a’ight. Every class has gone smoothly with minimal fussing, even when I announced the surprise quiz. And my friend, Thomas Anderson, he’s been just peachy lately. I suppose I can give the credit to his stepdad, Mr. Roman...if he truly is his stepdad. Not that I care or have even given it a second thought. Okay, well maybe I’ve given it a second, all right...perhaps a third and fourth thought, but hey, can you really blame me? I mean, I could have both feet in the grave, yet one glance...one smile, and Jett Roman could easily resuscitate my heartbeat. Yep, he makes me weak in the knees. This isn’t news. If you haven’t figured it out yet, then you’ve been living under a damn rock. The guy turns my insides into mush, which then makes me squirm because my panties are doused with arousal. That has never happened to me. Ever. And I really don’t want to advertise it either. Bringing up those types of feelings will only bring bad news.
It’s a bit disconcerting, actually. I’ve never once have had a real relationship, nor have I been remotely attracted to someone. The encounters I have had have consisted of me being pinned to the ground with a disgusting pimp or dealer invading me while the next asshole stood in line to wait their turn. My mother was my biggest pimp. She’d often watch in order to ensure that I didn’t fight back, because if I fought back, then not only would I be beaten, but she would be, too. My mother sold herself to make money for her pimp, then turned around and pimped me out for free drugs. It was a vicious cycle that I couldn’t get away from. When I was old enough to run away, I miraculously found other low-lives that used and abused me, and since I didn’t know any better, I let them. It wasn’t until I pulled my shit together and got my GED, then put myself through college—one designed to help people like me—that I started to meet normal people. And when I mean normal, I really mean people who weren’t out to sell me or use me for anything other than copying my notes. But, by then I was too damaged to actually feel anything when guys would approach me. Sure, I went out with them...even had sex with them, but there has always been a void in my head and in my chest that has kept me disconnected from others.
And it’s true, I have never once had an orgasm, and I’ve had sex, a lot. Really, I have allowed my body to be the hole for some guy’s dick to use as he sees fit. I’ve gotten pretty good at faking it, which took me awhile to figure out. See, when you’re being raped, the guy isn’t looking to pleasure you in any way. He’s looking to hurt and torture you any way possible. And, quite honestly, it’s not something you want to feel. You drown out the noises and the pain in order to get through it. But then as I started to spread my legs for men that actually wanted to give me something, and I wasn’t stroking their egos with wailing orgasms, they started to think there was something wrong with them. Now, yeah, there were some bad lovers, but some weren’t so horrible. I just couldn’t get my head to let go. That’s when I started watching pornos and YouTube videos. It’s amazing what you can learn from the Internet. Needless to say, I’ve become the master at faking it with twisted facial expressions to match.
All this talk about orgasms and sex have me thinking about what Jett can do—in bed, that is. Is he the dominant authoritarian? Well, of course he is, just look at him. But does he have the balance between making love and fucking? Does he have the power to slam me up against the wall, pull my hair, then thrust into me with abandon? Can he gently lay me down on the bed and make me come with the smooth rotation of his hips? Holy shitballs, I need to stop. I’m having a hot flash in the middle of my classroom.
I hear my name faintly in the distance. Thank God, too, ‘cause the more my mind wonders about Jett, the more likely it is I might give myself an orgasm right in front of my students. “Uh, what?” I ask. My eyes roam the width of the classroom in search of the person talking as I wave the the stack of papers that I have in my hand in front of my face, trying to cool the burn on my cheeks.
“When is the flower project due?” Amber asks from the back row.
Ah, the flower project. My students are trying to find the key behind keeping flowers fresh. Ha! Of course, I know the best way to do that.
“It is due on the Monday of the last week of school,” I respond, keeping my giggles to myself. I’d love nothing more than to sing out, “Na-na-na-na-na, I know the answer! It’s human remains,” but I can’t really say that out loud, now can I?
“Well, can I turn it in if I have it done already?”
Fucking brown-noser.
“I suppose you can.”
Amber flicks her head, sending her hair swaying as she presses her overly plump lips into a smirking smile. “Okay,” she says, all too bubbly, drawing out the Y until the kid next to her tells her to shut up.
I chuckle to myself until Thomas chimes from the back, “You can take your project and shove it up your ass.”
My head darts in his direction, my snarl evident across my face. Here I thought we were going to make it through a whole month without any problems. For the past few weeks, he’s managed to control his outbursts, but I guess the streak is over.
“Excuse me?” I ask, knowing damn well what he said.
He leans back into his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. “I said, you can take that project and shove it up your ass,” he repeats louder.
I expel a heavy sigh when there’s a round of ohs and ahs, followed by some giggling and gasping. I’d love to take this punk out and save the world the destructive future of Thomas Anderson. But, I swore to myself that I would never hurt a child. Hey, I’ve broken all my other rules lately, why not keep it going? As politely as I can force my voice, I say, “Thank you, Mr. Anderson, for demonstrating the inappropriate way to speak to a teacher. I’m so glad that you can teach the class a thing or a two...the way to behave if you want to be dismissed.” He snatches his quiz off the table and begins to stand, but I stop him. “Not just your quiz, Thomas. You are permanently removed from my class. You and your potty mouth are no longer welcome here.”
Thomas laughs as he swings his bag over his shoulder and storms out of the room, most likely thinking that I’m kidding.
“Toodles!” I yell after him. I’m not sure if I can actually rid him of my classroom, but I’ll damn well try. If I don’t get him out of here, the chances of me following through with making him my next victim are pretty damn high.
I’m not surprised that the principal, Mr. Baker, and Jett Roman, are in my classroom the moment the last bell rings. However, I am surprised that Mr. Baker is almost groveling at my feet to take Thomas back. It seems that if Thomas doesn’t come back to my class, the only place for him to go is Mr. Baker’s office, which apparently, Mr. Baker isn’t too keen on.
“Please, Ms. Knight, I don’t see any other way to handle this issue than to have him back in your classroom,” Mr. Baker whines.
Ugh, how I’d love to throat punch this pussy. “So, what you’re saying is you don’t have the patience to babysit Mr. Anderson, and that is why you want him back in my classroom where he is disrespectful to me and to the rest of my students. He’s disruptive, rude, and a poor student at that. Mr. Roman,” I say, waving my hand between me and Jett, “and I have already spoken about this matter and how we were going to handle it. It appeared that the weekly counseling meetings were helping, until today that is. I will not subject myself or the education of my other students to Thomas’ bad behavior.”
“No child left behind,” Mr. Baker strai
ns to say through clenched teeth.
Oh, he’s mad at me now. I’ve thrown him under the bus, and in front of a parent at that. It’s a good thing I have tenure, he can’t fire me now, but he may just try to make my life miserable. “Mr. Baker, I’m sorry and, Mr. Roman, I mean this in the best possible way, but I’d rather leave one child behind than thirty...”
Mr. Baker straightens in his seat and begins to cut me off. “Ms. Knight, I strongly—”
“She’s right,” Jett interjects. Mr. Baker’s face is priceless, as he’s staring at Jett like he has lost his mind. Granted, most parents are pushy and irate, and stop at nothing to get their poorly behaved kid intermingled with all the other students. But not Jett. He holds his hand up, stopping Mr. Baker from saying another word, and adds, “Ms. Knight is a hundred percent correct. Why should the other students suffer just because my son can’t control himself? It’s not Ms. Knight’s job to put back the pieces that once were Thomas Anderson. And I agree with her, he is not to come back to this class. Thomas has not been raised to be disrespectful, and I know his mother would be devastated, God rest her soul, if she knew how he’s been behaving. Maybe a little time in your office will make him realize that he’d much rather be in a classroom with his peers, learning something fascinating with this wonderful teacher.”
Wait, hold up, let me scrape my jaw off the top of my desk. Did he just compliment me? I’ll be fucking damned...he did, didn’t he? Mr. Baker doesn’t find this meeting amusing. With a scowl, he storms out of the classroom, leaving Jett and me alone. I can’t help but fiddle with my fingers. Maybe I should say thank you. After all, that would probably be the most polite thing to do. My mouth opens to talk, but Jett beats me to the punch.
“Gray, I mean, Ms. Knight, I’m so very sorry for the trouble my son has caused, and I can assure you, I will get to the bottom of it.”
What Lies Beneath The Flowerbed Page 12
