by Cora Kenborn
It takes her a few moments to find her voice. “Yes?”
I want her unbalanced so I wait a few beats before sliding my thumb around to the soft indention at the base of her throat.
“While you’re inside these walls, I actually do own you. You’ll do what I want, when I want, how I want, and anywhere I want. Are we clear?”
“Cary…”
With her lips still swollen from my assault, the indignant smartass I’ve known all my life vanishes, replaced by the woman I saw yesterday. The one who hung her head when I called her Shallow. The one who finally knew what it was like to smell fear.
The power I have to bring out this kind of panic in her does things to me. Things I have no business feeling.
So much power.
I run the pad of my thumb over the delicate skin of her throat, and shift my lips away from her ear, trailing them down her jaw line. I know I’m being watched. Not only by her, but by the family I call my own.
Darting out my tongue, I lick my lip ring before placing a light kiss right beside my thumb. “I said, are we clear, or do I need to make a scene in front of our audience?”
Although I can’t see her, I feel her body shift, and I know she’s taking stock of her surroundings. When she stiffens, I know that’s the minute she’s locked eyes with ten salivating, horny teenage boys, and I’ve won.
“Yes,” she says, her voice raspy.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, we’re clear, Mr. Kincaid.”
I can’t help but smile. I know Shiloh better than she knows herself. She’s not pissed because she lost. She’s pissed because she’s turned on, and the only thing she hates more than losing the upper hand, is losing control of her emotions.
Checkmate, baby.
“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Just to drive my point home, and because the damn outfit she has on is driving me crazy, I slide my hand down to her ass and give it a firm slap. “Now clean this shit up.”
I refuse to give her a second glance as I fling open the door and slam it behind me. I don’t even flinch at the bloodcurdling scream that’s muffled by the heavy door or the subsequent slam of what I assume to be the mop bucket as it crashes against it.
Am I jackass for putting on a show like that? Yeah, probably. My mother would be mortified and fall down on her knees in church praying for my soul if she ever saw me treat another human being the way I just treated Shiloh.
Then again, my mother never had to endure a living hell courtesy of that woman. Once upon a time, I was a good person with a promising future and a worthy soul headed for white wings and a cushy afterlife. One night, two years behind bars, and seven years of hatred kind of clips those wings.
I’d sold my soul a long time ago. First to Shiloh. Then to Taryn.
No one changes once they darken.
They both taught me that.
Nine
Shiloh
Since the state of California took away my driver’s license, and my mother’s driver has carted her off to some ladies’ luncheon, I’m stuck eating a granola bar from a vending machine I’m pretty sure has been there since the dawn of time.
Frankie has taken the bus into town to meet with Will. It seems that Cary usually mans the center for him during his monthly check-ins. However, since our boss decided to manhandle me then haul his ass out of here, there’s only one person who’s old enough to legally take charge of the building and everyone inside of it.
Lucky me.
I last all of ten minutes alone with multiple sets of eyes watching every move I make before I grab my granola bar and Diet Coke and sashay my ass out on the stone bench in front of the building. I have no idea if I’m breaking about twenty different laws by doing it, but I don’t care. It’s Cary’s fault for leaving an ex-convict barely out of adolescence, and a current convict with absolutely no clue what the hell she’s doing, alone to run the place.
It serves him right if the whole damn building goes up in a ball of flames.
Asshole.
My hand trails along my lips where he kissed me and then drops to the base of my collarbone. Cary’s touch didn’t scare me. There was more in his eyes than anger or desire. I can’t describe it, and trying to rationalize my own reaction to it confuses me.
Resolving to put Cary Kincaid and his lips out of my mind, I force myself to people watch. As usual, by one thirty in the afternoon, sitting outside in Myrtle Beach humidity is like reclining in a wet sauna fully clothed. Sighing, I toss the half-eaten granola bar onto the bench and squint against the blindingly bright sun while lifting the Coke can to my lips.
“Anorexia for lunch? Good to see some things never change, Shiloh.”
Even though the sun keeps me from seeing her face, I know her condescending voice in an instant. I can’t mistake it, because it mirrors mine. When you grow up as a sheep herder, you tend to recognize your own mannerisms. It’s sad that she’s held on to them instead of mimicking my more sophisticated arrogance I’ve acquired.
Yesterday, her presence with Cary knocked me off guard and I allowed her to see a rare moment of weakness. She won’t get that from me again. I know she wants a reaction, so I purposely take another long sip of Diet Coke before I lick my lips and set the can down on the stone bench.
“I could say the same thing about you, Taryn. Twenty-five years old and still chasing my shadow.” Shaking my head, I point to my outline on the sidewalk and laugh. “Oh look, there it is. Mission accomplished; you can go now.”
Taking a few steps to my left, her full form comes into focus, and it takes all I have in me not to laugh. The outdated Alexander McQueen dress and clearance rack Louboutins she has on are such a cry for help I almost feel sorry for her.
I sit up straighter, feeling more like myself than I have in months.
“Don’t worry, Shiloh,” she taunts, resting a hand on her hip. “I won’t get too close. I mean, I know what happens to your best friends when they hang around you now.” Looking dramatically from side to side, she cups her hand against the side of her mouth. “You know, they d-i-e.”
“Hmmm, how unfortunate.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Well, taking your logic into consideration, maybe I should’ve spent a few more days in town after graduation, friend.” Tossing her a brilliant smile, I lift the warm can from the bench and give her a condescending wink before taking a sip.
The smirk fades from Taryn’s face, and her red nails dig into her cocked hip. “You’ll never get him back. He hates you now.”
“Is that right?” Brushing the left side of my hair forward, I force a yawn.
“He told me what you did to him, you know. Graduation night?” Raising an eyebrow, she takes in my hardened stare and matches it with her own. “I always knew you were selfish, but there are no words to describe someone who deliberately ruins such a good person’s life.”
Taryn hits a nerve and she knows it. I have no right to consider it a betrayal that Cary told her about that night, but my heart feels filleted. Cut out by the only person I ever thought worthy of any sliver of my trust.
What he said to me when I walked into his office yesterday couldn’t be truer. Carrick Kincaid doesn’t exist anymore. Whoever Cary Kincaid is, I don’t know him.
But I refuse to let my former best friend play the martyr.
“Because you were such a good person back then too, right, Taryn? To Cary, I mean. You never put him down or called him names.”
“Fuck you. Say what you want, but I wasn’t the reason he was behind bars when his sister took her last breath.”
She might as well have kicked me in the stomach. I can tear down her insults. I can match her hit for hit against tabloid gossip. But I can’t fight back against truth.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She smirks, tucking her long brown hair behind one ear. “He may have followed you around like a love-sick puppy as a boy, but he’s a grown man now. He finally sees you for what you are. You ma
y have nine lives, but eventually they’re going to run out.”
“Be careful, bestie. Someone might consider that a warning.”
She glares at me silently with a blank look in her eyes. Finally, a smile breaks along her lips. “Mop your floors and then go home. This town was better off when you left, and it’ll be better off when you do it again. Until then, stay away from me and stay away from Cary. This conversation never happened, do you understand me?”
“Or what?” I don’t take too well to idle threats. I never have.
“Whose family do you think gave him the capital to build this center? Do you really think any reputable bank would give a loan to an ex-con?”
I feel sick. “Are you threatening the center now?”
Turning, she wags a manicured finger in my face. “I didn’t say that. You did. All I’m saying is, easy come, easy go.”
By the time I find my voice, she’s already halfway across the parking lot. I don’t even realize I’m still gripping the Coke can until I hear metal crunching and warm, sticky liquid spills onto my bare legs. I’m about to go back inside when the sound of an engine revving catches my attention. Against my better judgment, I glance toward Taryn’s car as she sticks her head out of the open window.
“Oh, and just in case you had any ideas of showing your face at The Light House—don’t. Unless you want to get an eyeful of his hands all over me, I suggest you snap on the ankle bracelet and hang with your alcoholic mother.” Her high-pitched laughter mixes with tire squeals as she peals out of the parking lot.
Pissed off at my lack of response, I do the only thing I can. Lifting my middle finger, I hold it high in the air until her taillights disappear around the corner. Once I’m positive she’s gone, I let out a long string of curses and grab the granola bar off the bench, and throw it across the lawn.
Fuck Taryn. Fuck Cary. And fuck Frankie for leaving me alone to deal with bullshit that isn’t even my job.
Cursing again, I stomp across the grass, pick up the granola bar, and head back inside.
Ten
Shiloh
As far as productive days go, this one doesn’t even rank. After Frankie comes back, I spend the rest of the afternoon hiding out in the kitchen area stabbing things with dull utensils. The one time Frankie wanders in and sees me hacking a pot holder with a pair of steak tongs, he shakes his head and walks right back out.
“Quittin’ time!” Frankie rubs his palms together, washing off the remnants of a bad day and nods to some new guy as he takes over for the night.
That’s the understatement of the year.
Setting the broom inside the closet, I close the door and lock it from the outside. The floors still feel a little gritty, but for a five-minute rush job, it’s not half bad.
And fuck Cary if he gets mad. If he has something to say about it, he can take it up with me whenever he decides to grace us with his presence.
“You okay now, killer?” Frankie makes his way toward me, twirling his keys to the center around his finger. “You’re not packin’ any blades, are ya?”
I want to be mad, but his goofy smile is infectious. In the middle of trying to force a scowl, I find myself grinning back at him. When the hell did I start liking the kid? I don’t like anyone.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Lunch didn’t agree with me.”
Or like me. Or want me around. Or care if I got hit by a bus.
Which is fine, because the feeling is mutual. What bothers me the most is that my anger stems from more than just Taryn’s taunts. It’s mostly because Cary never bothered to return after our confrontation. My first full day at the center and the asshole just kisses me and then blows me off.
As we walk in silence toward the front door, I reach for my phone to call Malcolm, my mother’s driver, when Frankie slaps a hand over the screen.
“Where are you partyin’ tonight, Snowflake?”
“Nowhere. I’m a dangerous fugitive, remember?” Although the words are meant to be sarcastic, the gravity of their meaning hits me. Sighing, I pull the phone away from his hand. “My party days are over, Frankie. I’m going home.”
“Everybody heads out to The Light House on Fridays. There’s a DJ and everything.”
My eyes widen. “I can’t go to a bar, Frankie. Didn’t you hear me? I’m on probation. I have to attend rehab meetings.”
“So do I. What’s your point? You tellin’ me you can’t go to a restaurant, listen to music, and drink water?”
“Look, I just don’t think—”
Moving in front of me, Frankie places a hand on my shoulder. “Okay, real talk? I know you’re freaked out to face those assholes. Shit, I’d probably piss my pants too. But what are ya gonna do, Shiloh? Hide out here for the next three years? People know you’re home. Woman up and grab the situation by the balls before it grabs your tits.”
People have bowed down to me all my life. When I say jump, they say how high. It started in high school and just got worse the more famous I became. I can look someone in the face and tell them that the sky is pink and potatoes grow on trees, and it doesn’t matter whether they believe me or not. They’re not going to argue.
Know why? Because I’m Shiloh West. And if I want potatoes to fucking grow on trees, then by God, they’ll grow on trees.
Ridiculous, right?
But these people aren’t just out for my blood. They want my head on a stick.
Frankie cocks his chin. “What the hell are you smirkin’ at?”
“You called me Shiloh.”
“You stabbed a potholder. I’m being cautious, all right? Don’t read anything into it.”
Glancing down, I run my hands over my still sticky legs and Diet Coke stained shorts. “I need to change shorts first.”
“You need to change more than that.” Flicking my hair, he circles his finger around my face and arches an eyebrow. “When was the last time you fixed your hair, and put on some damn makeup?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have mirrors in my house.”
“Why?”
How long do you have?
“I just don’t.”
I look away, suddenly engrossed with the cracks in the floor. After what seems like an eternity, Frankie clears his throat and taps the screen of my phone, still in my hand.
“Call this driver of yours.”
* * *
“Okay, what gives? Are you gay?”
An hour later, I’m standing in the middle of my princess vomit bedroom looking like I’m ready for the catwalk. Frankie has me dressed in a lacy, wine-colored strapless dress with a neckline that plunges so low, I have to triple the normal amount of body tape to avoid a wardrobe malfunction.
Frankie lets out a whooping laugh and holds his stomach, almost doubled over with laughter. “Hell no, I’m not gay,” he manages to get out. “Woman, I’ve ruined so many of your centerfolds…” Holding out his fist, he mimics jerking off, and I hold up both hands.
“Okay, fine, I get it.” I turn away to slide on my other stiletto when I hear him curse under his breath.
“I grew up around a lot of foster sisters and learned some shit. But if you tell anybody that, I’ll kill you. You feel me?”
“Duly noted.”
There’s a comfortable silence between us until he motions to the two covered mirrors.
“What’s with the trash bags?”
I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m honestly shocked he’s waited this long to ask. Most people would’ve blurted that shit out the minute they stepped foot in my room and saw them mummified like some museum exhibit. For that alone, I suppose he deserves a straight answer.
Unfortunately, he’s not going to get it.
“I told you. I don’t like mirrors.”
“That’s a little weird for a model, isn’t it?”
I motion to my outfit and impromptu makeover. “We all have our quirks. You feel me?”
His response is a simple nod. “I feel you.”
Pushing his fingers into the sm
all of my back, he urges me forward. “Now move your ass so we can get to The Light House and show that bitch what’s what. Now are you with me, or are you with me?”
I have no idea if it’s the way he talks to me, or the overwhelming urge to make him proud, but I find myself nodding like a bobble head as he maneuvers me through my bedroom door.
“I’m with you,” I assure him, ready to conquer the world.
Right up until those three little words from my earlier conversation with Taryn detonate in my brain, causing me to come to a complete stop. “Wait, did you say The Light House?”
Frankie just grins and closes my bedroom door behind him.
Eleven
Cary
In that movie, Groundhog Day, Bill Murray just repeats the same damn day over and over. I feel his pain. Same bullshit, same day. Kind of like every moment spent with Taryn.
Sitting across from her at The Light House, I roll my eyes and run my palm across my unshaven chin. Even though the DJ has occasionally played some songs that don’t suck a complete dick, a little Rob Zombie doesn’t make up for the constant bullshit I have to hear from her about Shiloh.
What the hell is it about me that makes me gravitate toward crazy women? Do I have a mutation in my DNA? My parents are fairly normal. I don’t have any distant relatives with obsessive death wishes. So why do I continually jump from destructive to vindictive, back to toxic?
Maybe I’m the one who needs rehab.
“So, she just sits there like she owns the damn place, and you know what she says then?” Waving her third Crown and ginger in the air, Taryn’s voice gets louder as the liquid sloshes all over the table. “This bitch tries to tell me I’m still chasing her shadow and flips me off!”
I quickly bring my beer to my mouth to hide my smile. Taryn has always lived in Shiloh’s shadow. Shiloh’s a selfish bitch, but sometimes I see flashes of something way darker in Taryn. As if her intent is to create fire just to watch it burn.
