Lawton

by Sabrina Stark

Oh for fuck's sake. Enough was enough. "Baby, who's in the house?"

  "No one."

  I crossed my arms. "Uh-huh."

  She gave me a pleading look. "Can't we just go to your place?"

  I felt my jaw tighten. "Sure. After I check things out here."

  "You can't," she stammered. "I mean, I don't want you to."

  And why is that?

  "Chloe," I said, "be reasonable. A favor for me, alright?"

  The way it looked, she was ready to cry. Wordlessly, she shook her head. I waited, wondering if she'd start sobbing again. I mean, it worked pretty good the first time, right?

  Damn it. Stop being a dick.

  I let out a long breath. "Alright," I said. "Have it your way."

  She visibly relaxed. "Great. Wait right here. I'll get Chucky."

  I watched in stony silence as she dashed to the front door, opened it up, and slipped inside. A moment later, I heard the door lock twist into place.

  What the hell? The lock had to be for me. What a joke. If I wanted to get in, it would take more than a chicken-shit deadbolt to keep me out.

  I gave the door a long, cold look. Later on, I decided, I'd be looking in that house, whether I had her blessing or not.

  Chapter 52

  A few minutes later, I was behind the wheel of Chloe's car, driving us back to my place. In the passenger's seat, Chloe sat, staring at the dashboard while the little dog squirmed in her lap.

  For a long time, neither of us spoke. That was fine by me. I was too busy thinking.

  Chloe's voice broke the silence. "Crazy night, huh?"

  "Yeah. Crazy."

  I wanted her to be safe, and I wanted her to be happy. I wanted to see her smile and hear her laugh. I wanted to hold her tight and never let go. I wanted all of those things and then some.

  But this shit? No. I didn't want that. I didn't want secrets on secrets and no-go zones. And more than anything, I didn't want to wonder the thing I was wondering now. Was this girl playing me?

  Thinking about it, something in my gut twisted. I recalled the knife pressed to her throat. Fake. I considered the whole kidnapping scene. Was that fake, too? Maybe. Maybe not. I thought of her smiles and then of her sobs. Fake? And more fake?

  Hell if I knew.

  Again, I thought of Brandy Blue. Supposedly, she'd been a college student, a part-time waitress, a nice girl who, in spite of her hot body, I'd kept out of my bed.

  I felt my lips curl in that familiar disgust. Nice girl, my ass. Yeah, I'd refused to fuck her – except for that one stupid night that had made her a star.

  Fucking actress.

  And now, there was Chloe. An actress? No. I knew her. Except I didn't. Did I?

  After a few awkward minutes, Chloe spoke again. "I've got to work in a couple of hours." She hesitated. "Can Chucky stay at your place tonight? I’m a little worried about leaving him alone."

  "Uh-huh." I kept my gaze straight ahead. "Sure."

  Her voice grew quiet. "Lawton?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Are you mad at me?"

  We'd just reached the gate to my house. I pulled through it and parked near the front door. Ignoring her question, I said, "Let's get you inside."

  Inside the house, Chucky dove for his favorite basket, some wicker thing with a checkered pillow. Funny, I'd picked the basket out myself just a couple of weeks earlier. I felt my jaw tighten. Hey, anything to make Chloe stay, right?

  The thought filled me with disgust. Some of it was at myself. I loved that dog. I wasn't mad about the basket. I was – well, I didn't know what I was.

  I turned to Chloe. "You want a drink or something?"

  She shook her head. "No. But if you want one…" She shrugged, as if unsure what to say or how to say it.

  Yeah, that made two of us.

  Together, we made for one of our favorite places in the house. It was the room that I'd carried Chloe into on the night of my birthday party. Trying to act nicer than I felt, I grabbed a blanket from a nearby chest and wrapped it loosely around her shoulders.

  Together, we sank onto our favorite sofa. She leaned up against me, snuggling close like she always did. And so, like I always did, I wrapped my arms around her and tried not to care that it all might be a lie.

  I didn't want to talk. So I didn't. As far as Chloe, she could talk, not talk, whatever. When she went to work, I'd be getting some answers. Wrong or not, I was going inside that house. And then, depending on what I found, well, I didn't know.

  After a few minutes of silence, Chloe pulled away. I didn't move, and I didn't look.

  In a voice almost too soft to hear, she said my name. "Lawton?"

  Slowly, I turned to face her. I waited, but said nothing.

  Her voice was hesitant. "I want to tell you something."

  Well, this should be good. "Yeah?"

  She took a deep breath. "I did sort of know that guy."

  Yeah, tell me something I don't know.

  I'd seen them together at the club. Even at the time, my gut had told me that they knew each other. Turns out, I should've listened. "Yeah?"

  "But not in the way you think," she said. "He's a friend of Brittney's. They came in where I work. He and some friend. I'm guessing it was the same guy that came with him tonight. Anyway, they caused all kinds of trouble." She paused. "With Brittney and Amber too."

  In a small, quiet voice, she finished by saying, "They got me fired."

  That didn't make any sense. "What?" I shook my head. "When was this?"

  "I dunno. Maybe a couple weeks ago."

  I recalled the scene from my bedroom, with Brittney and Amber and that stupid bow. They'd mentioned something about that. But in the end, it didn't add up.

  I'd called the restaurant. I'd even asked Chloe about it. I remembered what she'd said. She'd confirmed that yeah, they'd been giving her a hard time. But she'd mentioned nothing about getting fired or about the two guys.

  "I don't get it," I said. "You still work there."

  "Well, yeah. It's complicated." She looked down to study her lap. "Anyway, I'm guessing that tonight, Brittney put those guys up to it."

  It was a good story. Maybe too good. "Then why didn't you say something earlier?"

  "It was just so ugly," she said. "And Brittney is, I dunno, a friend of yours, and I didn't want to come across as some kind of crazy, jealous chick, throwing around accusations I couldn't prove."

  I studied her face. The way it looked, she was telling the truth.

  Or, maybe, she was just a good liar.

  "So the other night at the club?" I said, thinking of the guy she'd been talking to. "What was that about?"

  "Nothing," she said. "He just happened to be there, that's all."

  A coincidence? I wasn't buying it. I gave her a hard look. "And you really don't know him?"

  "No," she insisted. "Just from those couple of times. That's it."

  A couple of times, huh? Meaning the two times I'd seen them together? That was convenient, wasn't it? I searched her face. "And you don't have any idea what he wanted tonight?"

  She glanced away. "Well, Brittney did sort of threaten me, so –"

  I jerked back. "She what?"

  "It's a long story." Chloe let out an unsteady breath. "She came into the diner maybe a week or so later. We didn't exactly hit it off, and –" Chloe shrugged. "She said she'd pay me back or something, but I didn't really take her seriously."

  Chloe swallowed. "But if I had to guess, this was probably her idea of a joke."

  A joke? With Brittney, I could almost believe it.

  I'd seen Brittney just last night. Thinking about it, something else hit me. Also last night, Brittney and that guy – the one with the knife – had been at the same club. Together?

  It made sense. And if they'd been there together, it would explain a lot.

  Chloe was still talking, hesitant now, as if sorting things out for herself. "Or, it could've been the guys acting alone. But somehow, I don't think so. For one thing, Brittn
ey knows where I live. They don't."

  It was true. Brittney did know where Chloe lived. And she hated Chloe. I'd seen that for myself.

  As all the pieces slammed into place, I heard myself say, "I'm gonna kill her."

  "You're not serious." Chloe hesitated. "Are you?"

  I met her gaze. "Is that what you think?"

  "I don’t know what to think," she said. "You and your friend, Bishop, you guys act kind of strange sometimes, like you might not always follow the letter of the law, if you know what I mean."

  I did know what she meant. I just hadn't realized how much she'd been noticing.

  Suddenly, I was tired of all the secrets, and not only hers. "He's not my friend," I said. "He's my brother."

  "Oh."

  Funny, she didn't look surprised.

  My voice was softer now. "But you already knew that. Didn't you?"

  "I thought, maybe," she said. "But uh, you never said so, so, uh –"

  I shook my head. "Oh just forget it." I tried to think. My friends. My brother. My suspicions. All this time, Chloe had been noticing a lot more than I realized. Was it any wonder that she'd been hesitant to let me in? Thinking, I was distracted as hell. "That's a different conversation."

  "No," Chloe said. "It's the same conversation. You hardly ever talk a lot about yourself. I'd really like to know."

  I gave her a look. "Yeah, I know the feeling."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Look," I said, tired of the games, "I know you're not dumb, so stop acting like it."

  She drew back. "I don't act dumb."

  "If you say so."

  "You know what?" She stood. "I'm going home."

  I didn't budge. "Yeah? And where is that, exactly?"

  She opened her mouth, hesitated, and then clamped it shut again.

  "Yeah," I said. "I thought so."

  She shook her head, and her voice grew painfully quiet. "Maybe it's just time to accept it."

  "Accept what?" I asked.

  "That we just don't belong together."

  I closed my eyes and sucked in a breath. "Is that what you want?"

  "I don't know." She ran a shaky hand through her hair. "I can't think right now."

  At the thought of Chloe walking out the door, maybe forever, I felt myself swallow. What if she was telling the truth? What if all of this was my own damn fault for having such shitty friends?

  I thought of her house. What if she had a good reason to keep me out? I couldn't help but recall that on the night of my birthday party, Bishop had gone inside without her permission. He'd broken in, if you could call it that. What if somehow, she'd found out?

  What if all of this – all the secrets, all the mysteries, all of her reluctance to let me inside – what if it all boiled down to problems that I'd brought into her life?

  If she walked out now, I'd never know.

  I couldn't let her leave. Not now. Maybe not ever. I spoke, softly in the quiet room. "C'mon. Sit back down."

  She looked at me, and then at the door. I waited, wondering if I'd have the will to let her go. I thought of life without her. I didn't like it.

  With obvious reluctance, she sat back down, farther away this time. I couldn't help it. I closed the distance and wrapped her in my arms. She trembled against me, and I felt like the world's biggest asshole.

  Tonight, yeah, the knife hadn't been real. But her fear had. And if her theory about Brittney was true, it was my fault for bringing this ugliness into her life.

  The more I thought, the more it made sense. And the more it made sense, the worse I felt. This was all my fault, and it was time to admit it.

  "I'm sorry," I said, whispering into her hair. "You've had a shitty night, and I'm being an asshole. It's just that you've got me all tied up in knots, and I'm trying to go slow. But I can't. Not with you. Because I don't want to."

  I felt her body relax. "Really?"

  I kissed her forehead. "Really."

  She pulled away and looked into my eyes. "You know what scares me?"

  "What?"

  "It's that you're right," she said. "I know we're going too fast. But no matter what I do, I can't seem to make myself slow down." She gave me a shaky smile. "I guess I don't want to either."

  I ran my hand along her face, the face that I wanted to grow old with. "That's good, because there's something I want to say."

  "Yeah?" said that familiar voice from the doorway. "Me too."

  Bishop. Shit.

  I turned to glare at him. It was official. I was going to have to kill him.

  Next to me, Chloe was glaring at him, too. "Will you stop doing that?"

  Bishop shrugged. "Yeah. Sorry." He turned to me. "But I'm serious. I need to talk to you."

  "Later," I told him.

  "No," Bishop said. "Now."

  I blew out an irritated breath. "Go ahead. Talk. But make it quick. "

  Bishop's gaze flicked briefly to Chloe. "Alone," he said.

  Next to me, Chloe stiffened. "Well that's just special."

  "It can't wait," Bishop said.

  I studied his face. Whatever this was, it was obviously serious. No surprise there. He was, after all, dealing with two kidnappers and their getaway vehicle.

  Chloe sighed. "Oh, just go," she said. "You know he won't leave until you do."

  I turned to look at her. "You sure?"

  From the doorway, Bishop said, "She's sure. Now, c'mon."

  Chloe made a sound of annoyance. "Thanks for saving me the trouble of answering for myself."

  He gave her a cold look. "Don't mention it."

  What the hell was that about?

  I turned and reached for Chloe's hand. I gave it a gentle squeeze. "Don't go anywhere, okay?"

  Something in her eyes softened. "I won't." And from the look on her face, she meant it.

  I leaned down and brushed my lips against hers. Into her ear, I whispered, "We'll talk about everything when I get back." I smiled against her. "You're not getting out of it."

  When I pulled back, she was smiling, too. I adjusted the blanket around her, and said, "Five minutes, okay?"

  But when five minutes came and went, I was dealing with something else entirely – a cold blade straight into my heart, courtesy of the only girl I'd ever loved.

  Chapter 53

  I stood, dumbstruck, in Chloe's kitchen, staring at one thing, and then another. My heart hammered, and my skin felt like ice. I wanted to hit something, but I didn't know what.

  Yeah, I knew how to take a punch. I'd taken plenty, more than plenty during that beat-down with Sammy and Trick. But nothing in my entire life – not the beating, not the thing with Brandy, and not the stuff I'd seen in my old neighborhood – none of it had rocked me like this.

  From the other side of the room, Bishop spoke. "You okay?"

  "Just shut up, alright?"

  "Hey," he said, "don't blame me."

  I didn't blame him. But I was still pissed. "So, I guess you're happy, huh?"

  "No." His voice was quiet. "I'm not happy."

  A scoffing sound escaped my lips. I wasn't happy either. Trying to get a grip, I studied the scene, taking in every ugly detail.

  Propped against the kitchen counter was a big movie poster, obviously in the mock-up stage. Thanks to all those merchandizing deals, I'd seen enough to know. This wasn't a final print, but it was close enough.

  The poster featured me. With Chloe.

  In it, I was shirtless, with beads of moisture glistening down my chest. Behind me, Chloe stood, peering around my shoulder and smiling in a way that I'd never seen. She looked drunk and stupid, like a groupie who'd slammed one shot too many.

  One of her hands rested around my waist. The other was unbuttoning my jeans. The hands, I realized, weren't really hers. I knew, because I recognized the image this had been pulled from.

  Most of the photo was a few years old, part of some campaign promoting who knows-what. I didn't recall the exact product, but in my memories, the pho
to-shoot was clear as day.

  I recalled the photographer, some fashionista with a vague foreign accent. She'd had a little pink spray bottle, filled with oil and water, and something she called her secret sauce. Between camera-clicks, she'd spray my chest and abs, and hint that later, she'd like a private shoot of more than my torso.

  I recalled the model who'd been reaching around me. Her hands were cold, and she smelled like smoke. After the final shot, she'd reached down to grab my crotch. "Oops," she giggled, giving me a long, lingering squeeze.

  An hour later, I'd fucked her silly.

  I mean, why not? That's what I did, right? I was Lawton Fucking Rastor. I was good at fucking. I liked it, too. Thinking about it, my muscles grew tight. I didn't like it so much anymore – at least, not the empty kind with girls I'd forget before the wet spot dried.

  Now, standing in Chloe's kitchen, I felt some of my sanity slipping away. I looked long and hard at the poster. The movie had a title. It was clever, too. In a low, quiet voice, I read it out loud. "Riding the Rastor."

  It was funny, right?

  Bishop spoke. "Lawton—"

  "I'm not done," I snapped. With my eyes still on the poster, I zoomed in on the smaller words. "What happens when a good girl goes bad?" I took a deep breath and kept on reading. "Very, very bad."

  "C'mon," he said. "Don't do this."

  I waved him off and kept on reading, but not out loud, not anymore – because the words died in my throat before I could say them.

  Watch in all its naked glory as the innocent neighbor girl is spectacularly corrupted by the resident bad boy, Lawton 'Horse-Hung' Rastor, every girl's wet dream, every parent's worst nightmare.

  Disgusted, I looked away. Near a notebook computer, I spotted a disk inside a clear, plastic case. On the case, I saw three simple words. Rastor Sex Tape.

  I stared at the thing. Was it the tape starring Brandy? I gave a low, bitter laugh. Or a new one starring Chloe, the Nice Girl Next Door?

  As far as a setup, it would be easy enough. I'd given her a key to my house, along with the codes to everything else. Had she been setting up cameras when I wasn't looking? Did she have a partner? A backer? A sleaze-ball producer who'd make her a star?

  I reached out and grabbed the disk. I hurled it, case and all, across the kitchen. It slammed into a cupboard and tumbled to the floor. From across the room, I looked down at the thing. The case was cracked, but the disk looked undamaged. "Fuck," I muttered.