As if on auto pilot, I remove my cell, and pull up a picture of Faye. Without thinking, I hand it to him, and he whistles low on his breath. “She’s a beauty.” His eyes scrunch up as he squints closer at the screen. “Perfect tits, too.”
He rubs a hand over his crotch, and I puke a little in my mouth. Snatching my cell out of his hands, I growl, gnashing my teeth at him. “She’s my girlfriend and I love her. I won’t have you saying shit like that about her. What’s your problem?”
He raises his palms in a conciliatory gesture. “Just admiring the little lady. No need to blow a gasket. Indulge an old man his fantasies.”
He winks, and the urge to hurl is stronger. I know I made the right decision to leave Faye behind. If she’d traveled with me, she would’ve insisted on coming here, and there’s no way I want her anywhere near this sleazy asshole.
It isn’t long before he unleashes his next piece of wisdom. “I hope you’re not restricting yourself, son. She’s a sexy piece of ass, and you should totally tap that, but, take it from me, there comes a time when the pussy well dries up. You hear what I’m saying? You need to partake in as much pussy as you can while you’ve still got it going on.” He waves his bottle around my persona. “If I looked like you I’d be fucking as much pussy as I could get my hands on.” He takes a swig from his bottle, while I make zero attempts to hide my distaste. “Letisha!” he roars, and the blonde saunters into the room a minute later. “You wanna bang my son?”
I jump up, almost choking on my disbelief. “What the fuck? I never said that!”
Letisha strolls toward me, brazenly cupping my junk. I quickly remove her hand and step back to put some distance between us. “I’ll fuck ya. Always wanted to do a daddy and son.” She licks her lips, looking over her shoulder at Doug. “What about a three-way?”
His eyes light up as I stumble back. “You have got to be the most fucked-up people I’ve ever met in my life, and believe me when I say I know some messed-up individuals. But, this is sick.” I pin angry eyes on Doug. “You’re my dad. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” I don’t know why I’m going there. This wasn’t what I came here to say, but the words just spew out of my mouth unfiltered.
“That’s merely a technicality.” He swigs directly from the bottle while his eyes drill into mine.
“Thank fuck.” I glare at him, wondering why I’m wasting any more time on this douche.
He chuckles. “I like you.” He points the bottle at me. “You’ve got more spunk than your brothers.” Reaching out, he yanks Letisha down onto his lap, smashing his lips against hers as his free hand squeezes her ass.
I stand up. To hell with this shit show. I’m outta here. I’ve only taken two steps when he calls out. “Hold up, son. Letisha here’s leaving so we can have a proper talk. Man to man.”
“I am?” I can hear the pout in Letisha’s voice as I turn around.
“Call over after your shift tomorrow, sexy, and we’ll go another few rounds.”
She protests a bit, and he gets up, pushing her out into the corridor. “Stay put,” he mouths, walking past me and out of the room.
I rest my head against the wall wondering what the hell I’m doing. I should cut my losses and run. Something sticky adheres to my forehead, and I jerk back, rubbing my brow with the back of my hand. Ugh. Who knows what kind of icky shit is crawling the walls. This place looks disease-ridden and like it hasn’t been cleaned in decades.
Doug reappears about ten minutes later, just as I’ve decided to abscond. Chuckling, he plops down into the reclining chair. “That woman—”
“Is way too young for you,” I supply.
“She doesn’t discriminate when it comes to cock, and she likes a man with a bit of experience under his belt. It’s one of the reasons I like her.”
“Can we cut the crap?” I drag a hand through my hair, vastly losing whatever semblance of patience I had. “I didn’t come here to listen to you bragging about banging chicks.”
He eyes me warily, taking another gulp from the bottle. “What did you come here for?”
Good fucking question. I can’t actually remember any of the reasons why I thought it was a good idea to come here.
“I can’t see you with my mom. I just don’t get it.” I shake my head.
He places the bottle down on the ground and pulls the chair into an upright position. “How is Alexandra these days?” I hate the way her name rolls off his tongue. I can’t decide if it’s respect or derision.
“She’s good.” If you ignore the drinking issue, the fact that she can’t tell the truth for shit, and her impending divorce.
“Your mother is a fine lady. A mighty fine lady. Great rack, and a fantastic lay, too. She definitely knows how to please a man.”
My insides tie into knots. He has no filter. Zero. Zilch. If he makes one more crude comment about Mom, I’ll punch him so hard he’ll be eating his teeth for a week.
“She was always too good for me, but she wanted to stick it to her daddy. He was a stuck-up cunt.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “There was a time when I thought I could change for her.” He stares off into space. “She’d just had the first baby, and things were going well for me on the circuit. I tried to clean up my act. Gave up the whoring and the drinking. Looked forward to coming home to her bed.”
“But?”
“Her daddy offered me money to stay away. I told him to fuck off at first, but when he came back a second time, I agreed. Because I knew I couldn’t do it long term. I loved your mom, as much as I’m capable of loving any woman, but I was never meant to be a family man. I’m just not made that way.” He pins me with an introspective lens, and I know what he’s thinking. That I’m just like him. “You’re not like me,” he says, and I fail to hide my surprise.
“I know I’m not,” I lie, and he smirks.
“You love your girl, and you’re protective as hell. Good for you.” He rubs a hand over his protruding belly. “But I see your demons. Bet you got some dark shit in your head, right?” I plaster my impassive face on. No way I’m giving him anything to go on. “Takes one to know one, and I bet I know where it began too.”
An icy chill creeps up my spine. “Quit that shit!” I spring up. “Don’t pretend like you know me. You don’t know me, and you never will.”
“I didn’t know she’d had a third child by me. Alexandra never told me. Did you know that?”
I’m torn between wanting to leave and wanting to stay. The latter wins out. I drop back down onto the flea-infested couch, shaking my head.
“That day at the Uxbridge track, I took one look at you and I suspected you were mine. Like looking in a fucking mirror, it was. Took all of two seconds to confirm you were a Kennedy, and then I knew for sure.” He lights up a cigarette. “I could see how scared you were. Boy, you were quaking in your boots.”
My hands clench into fists at my side, the skin blanching with the effort. “I didn’t come here to talk about that.”
“Didn’t you?”
I rest my head in my hands. “I don’t know why I came here.” I spout the honest truth.
“I’d heard the rumors doing the rounds of the motocross circuit, and I suspected they were true, but that day I knew. I knew only one thing could instill fear in a child like that.”
My head jerks up. “Shut. Up.”
He ignores me. “And when he stepped in the room and he looked at you? Hell no.”
I jump up, lunging at him. “I said. Shut. Up,” I roar. My hands fist in his shirt. “Shut. Up. Shut. Up. Shut the fuck up.”
He shoves me off him, and I lose my balance, falling to the floor.
He stands up, hovering over me. “You asked me earlier if I cared that I was your dad. God’s honest truth is I barely think about any of my kids. Told ya—not cut from that cloth. But that day at the track? That day I cared.” He
points his finger in my face. “I did you a solid, kid. I took care of that problem. Beat that perv to a bloody pulp and scared him enough that he’d leave you alone. Then I told the owners and made sure they did something about it.” He straightens up, and his jaw tenses. “That’s the extent of my fatherly duties. I’m absolved.” Roughly grabbing my arm, he hauls me up. “Now get the fuck out of my house, and don’t ever come here again.”
He manhandles me toward the front door, and I manage to extract myself from his grip. “Fuck you.” I fix my shirt, slanting him with a hateful look.
“Maybe you are more like me than I realized. You poor bastard.”
He moves to close the door in my face and I see red. All the pent-up rage and anger from the last twenty-four hours—hella, the last seven years—bolts to the surface. I can’t see or hear or think over the fury surging through my veins. My hand thrusts out before I consciously react. The sound of crunching bone is like music to my ears. The sight of that man, stumbling backward onto the ground, cradling his swollen jaw and cursing like a sailor is the most unbelievably rewarding sight ever.
I’m still pumped full of anger, and it’s tempting to go another few rounds, but I’m terrified that once I start I won’t stop. I pound my fist into the wall instead, a good couple of times, relishing the stinging pain.
While he’s struggling to his feet, I turn to leave. I flip him the bird with a mad grin on my face. That was enormously satisfying, and it’s made the trip totally worthwhile. I glance briefly over my shoulder, watching him watching me, taking my last look at his face.
I won’t ever be back here.
Mom was right. My brothers were right. No good would come from forming a relationship with that piece of shit.
I open the truck door with the sound of his cursing and yelling still reverberating in my ears. I thrust the truck into gear with a loud roar and get the fuck out of there.
My heart is still beating so fast and blood is thrumming in my ears when I pull up in front of one of the bars back in town about a half hour later. Strobe lights and pumping music assault my senses as I step out of the truck. Adrenaline courses through my system, and I’m a bundle of restless energy. I hold out my hand, laughing manically as it shakes uncontrollably, matching how I feel on the inside. I desperately need something to take the edge off. I yank the door open, almost ripping it from the hinges, and walk into the tavern.
The dive is hopping as I step inside. The room is large and completely open like a giant barnyard with scuffed wooden boards, sawdust on the floor, plain furnishings, and a long counter off to the right-hand side. A set of double doors leads to what I assume are the restrooms. The main space consists of rows of small tables and chairs with a large open area for dancing at the top positioned in front of a small raised dais. A DJ is currently spinning the tunes, and I can barely hear over the thumping music. A lively crowd is dancing energetically, occupying most of the floor space. Rocking crowd for a Monday night, I think.
I shunt onto one of the empty stools at the bar and nod at the pretty bartender. She saunters toward me with a glint in her eye. “What can I get you, handsome?”
“Whiskey on the rocks.” I hand her my fake ID and a twenty.
“Coming right up.”
My fingers drum off the counter, and I notice my torn, bloody fist for the first time, wincing at the sudden throbbing pain.
She places the drink and my change in front of me. “Keep it.” I slide the cash in her direction.
“Thanks.” She makes a deliberate show of tucking the cash into her bra, flashing a generous amount of cleavage. “You want something for that hand?”
“Nope.” I avoid looking at her, draining my drink in one go. “But I’ll have another one of those.”
She eyes me curiously but says nothing, stepping away from the bar. Two minutes later, she’s back with an icepack and another whiskey. She places the drink in front of me and presses the ice to my hand without invitation. I wince, and the corners of her mouth turn up. She leans over the counter, giving me another eyeful of her rack. “Do I even want to know how you got this?”
“None of your business.” I take a healthy glug of whiskey. “And I’ve got a girlfriend I’m madly in love with, so if you’re expecting something in return, you can forget it.”
“Well, that’s a shame. It’s not often we get visitors around these parts, least of all one that looks like you do. Although …” She taps a slender finger off her lips. “We had a couple of guys in here a few months back that looked a lot like you. You wouldn’t happen to be related to them, would you?”
I shrug, wanting to kill this convo dead. I only came in here to drink myself into oblivion, not to make friends with the locals or hook up with any girls. I finish the dregs of my drink just as she slides another one over the counter to me. “Have you checked into the hotel yet? I don’t think you’re going to be up for traveling any place tonight.” Dammit if she doesn’t have a point. I shake my head. She pulls out her cell and punches a few buttons before pressing it to her ear. “Hey, Luce. I’ve got a customer here who needs a bed for the night. Goes by the name Kyler Kennedy. Awesome, Thanks.”
She pockets her cell as I arch a brow in question. “Your name was on your ID. And your accommodation for the night is organized.” She wipes the counter down with a damp cloth. “You’re welcome.”
“Thanks,” I offer gruffly, returning to my drink.
I lose count of how many whiskeys I drink or how many girls proposition me. I send them all on their merry way with barely a look. My heart is racing in my chest, and images I’ve long since buried keep flashing in front of me. I knock back another whiskey, but nothing is dulling the pain. Nothing is erasing the memories. I rub the sore spot over my chest as I close my eyes, silently begging the torturous images to screw off. Another drink slides across the counter, and I drain it in one go. Gradually, my mind becomes a tangled mishmash of nonsensicality, and the ache in my chest loosens a little.
I’m swaying on my stool and my vision is blurry when the bartender appears at my side. I think there’s a concerned look on her face, but it’s hard to tell when I’m seeing three and four of her. “I think you’ve have enough, Kyler. Is there someone I can call to help you to the hotel?”
I shake my head. “I left her,” I slur, completely out of it. “My Faye. ’Cause she’s too good for me. She doesn’t need my shit, even though I love her more than anyone or anything in this world. I’m alone. I’m all alone.”
I don’t feel the first tear fall, but before I know it, there’s a whole fucking ton of them, and I can’t see at all over the blurry mess blanketing my eyes. A crushing weight bears down on my chest and I’m struggling to breathe. Desperately clawing for air, I stumble off the stool, arms thrust out, aimless and terrified. Sobs mingle with labored breathing, and I’m vaguely aware of arms going around me. Someone propping me up. Then I pass out.
Chapter Seven
Faye
It’s dark and the streets are virtually empty when we enter the town of Bayfield, Wisconsin. Kal and I took turns driving, and we only made necessary pit stops to refuel the car and ourselves. A puncture cost us an hour when we were only forty miles out of town. I’ve always thought boys were born with the instinctive knowledge on how to do all manner of manly stuff, but I guess Kal’s brain is wired differently because he was every bit as clueless as me. We had to call AAA and wait until someone came to change the tire for us.
Loud music and even louder voices carry outside from the only sign of life in the town. Although it’s almost two a.m., the bar across the road looks lively. A couple is outside on the footpath arguing furiously. The girl is wearing ridiculously high heels, an uber-tight, uber-short mini, and a strappy lace vest top that barely contains her ample cleavage. Her long blonde hair hangs in tousled waves down her back. Mascara streaks down her tear-sodden face. “Welcome to Hicksville, USA,�
� Kal drawls, pulling the car to a stop in front of the only hotel in town.
Yawning, I stretch my arms over my head before stumbling out of the car. My limbs are aching and stiff. I peer up at the hotel, clocking the old-fashioned fascia, fresh lick of cream paint, and the clean, shiny windows. Although it looks like it’s been around forever, someone is looking after the place. Still, it’s hard to picture any Kennedy staying somewhere so down market. Beggars can’t be choosers, though. “I thought places like this only existed on TV,” Kal says, retrieving both our bags from the boot. “This should be an experience.”
“You’re sure he’s definitely here?”
Kal locks the car, shouldering both bags and taking my hand in his free one. “Yep. The app doesn’t lie.”
We hurry into the lobby and approach the empty reception desk. I’m just about to push the bell for assistance when a thunderous rumbling sound emits from behind the desk. Kal and I peer over the counter as one. All I can see of the receptionist is a mass of curly jet-black hair. She’s asleep on her hands, snoring loudly. Kal presses the bell repeatedly, and she jerks awake with a little shriek. Pushing hair out of her face and wiping the drool off her mouth, she attempts to fix hazy, bloodshot eyes on us. Kal’s finger is glued to the bell, and she reaches out, wrenching it away. Smoothing down the front of her wrinkled maroon shirt, she pins us with a more professional look. “I apologize. I must’ve dozed off. We don’t get many visitors this hour of night.”
“Or at all,” Kal murmurs under his breath, glancing around in disgust. The lobby could definitely use a makeover. Drab brown carpet is underfoot, and the circular mahogany reception desk is scratched and stained although spotlessly clean. A large canvas with a mad splash of vibrant color on the wall behind the desk looks out of place. The gray speckled sectional sofas grouped around small oak-stained coffee tables look like a relic from the nineteen sixties, unless they were going for an authentic vintage vibe on purpose.
Keeping Kyler (The Kennedy Boys Book 3) Page 5
