Blame It on the Shame- Part 3

by Ashley Jade

  “No,” I snarl and she jumps. “No one is allowed to tell her about him.”

  “What?” Momma balks. “Why—”

  “Because.” I rub my chin and let out a frustrated sigh. “Look, I'm not disclosing her personal business, but she thinks DeLuca killed him and I refuse to drag her through hell all over again. As far as she's concerned, he's dead.”

  Because he will be.

  “Then how do you plan to make her cooperate?”

  “I don't.”

  Her mouth drops open and she gapes at me. “Lord have mercy.” She inhales deeply and wrings her hands in her lap. “If I didn't know just how much you love her, I'd think you were a full-fledged psychopath right now.”

  And if she knew Lou-Lou even half as well as I do...she would understand why I have to no choice but to go about it this way.

  “It's only until I can figure out my next move and I come up with a plan. Then I'll let her go.”

  Again.

  I reach for my glass of whiskey because the closer I get to her, the more I fucking need it. “Besides, she hates me anyway, this will just give her one more reason.”

  “She doesn't hate you, Ricardo. She lo—”

  I down my drink and pound my fist on the table again. Every mile that closes between us only makes my entire body pine for her that much more. “Enough, Momma,” I say with enough bite in my tone to render her silent.

  I look around the plane at my crew, making sure to look each and every one of them in the eyes. “None of you make a move until I tell you to. Once I give you the go-ahead...then we take her.”

  Chapter 9 (Lou-Lou)

  The air around me buzzes and I tip my head back and laugh as I try my hardest to keep up with Atticus on the dance floor.

  He really wasn't kidding, he can dance circles around everyone else here.

  The Devil Went Down to Georgia starts up and I quickly run over to the bar. “Alabama slammer, please,” I say as everyone around the small bar cheers.

  A pair of calloused hands find my hips and I throw my head back and begin slowly grinding against him.

  I hear Atticus's sharp intake of breath as I continue swaying to the music. “Hot damn...if I didn't know any better, I'd think the devil went down to Alabama, tonight, darlin'.”

  I giggle as the bartender slides my drink across the bar. “After this I'm cut off.”

  Atticus gives me a wink and taps his glass against mine. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Even though I'm starting to feel the effects of the alcohol and I'm having fun for the first time in a long time—I'm not looking to get drunk.

  I'm just looking to escape for a little while.

  I take a few more sips of my drink and hum along to the music.

  “Looks like you wanna go back out on the dance floor.”

  Before I can blink, he grabs my hand and leads me to it.

  “Only for a few more songs,” I shout above the music as he twirls me around. “It's getting late and I have to go home and study.”

  I'm fighting to catch my breath when a slow country song begins and I have to close my eyes because the lyrics from the Lady Antebellum song are too much for me to handle right now.

  I say a silent prayer they don't play a certain song by The Pretenders after this as Atticus pulls my body flush against his. “I can help you, you know. It's kind of my area of expertise.”

  “No thanks.” The room begins to spin around me. “I don't need any help, I need to do this on my own.”

  He grins, until he looks down at me. “What's the matter?”

  “Nothing.”

  I don't realize that I've stopped dancing until that moment...I also can't help but notice that my heart feels like it's going to pound right out of my chest.

  “I'm gonna run to the bathroom really quick.” I start to walk away but pause and look at him. “After I come back...can we leave?”

  He tips his cowboy hat at me and gives me a smile. “Sure thing, sweetheart.“

  I return his smile before I head to the restroom. As soon as I'm inside, I lock the door behind me and walk over to the sink. Then I splash water over my face and force myself to breathe until my lungs can't take in any more air.

  I don't know why I'm feeling so off right now considering I've only had two drinks—technically one and a half— because my second one is still sitting on the bar half full.

  That's when it hits me. “Another fucking panic attack,” I grumble into the mirror.

  I forcefully snatch some paper towels from the dispenser and dry my hands and face.

  Atticus is a nice guy, I remind myself. The kind of guy I should be pursuing something with.

  Another swaying sensation hits me but I force myself to ignore it and stand up straight.

  “Don't let him ruin this,” I say as I look at myself in the mirror. “Either of them.”

  I fill my lungs with another deep breath and let it flow through me.

  I want to forget about DeLuca...and I really want to forget about Ricardo. And the more time I spend with Atticus, it's clear he's just the person to make that happen.

  Even if it's only for a little while...and even if it's only for one night...it's better than nothing.

  I need to move on...I need to try and move on for good.

  How do you move on from the only thing that makes you whole?—My stupid mind taunts.

  “Fuck you, Ricardo.” I scream out loud so I can stop the sob that's gripping my throat. “Fuck you for letting me go.”

  Fuck you for everything you've ever done. Including making me fall in love with you.

  “How do you move on from the only thing that makes you whole?” I ask out loud to my own reflection.

  I reach down and pick up the heavy, metal door stopper off the floor.

  “Watch me.”

  I throw the object at the mirror and watch the glass shatter and break...just like me.

  Then I open the bathroom door and walk out to meet Atticus with the biggest smile on my face...because that's the biggest fuck you to Ricardo I can think of.

  “You alright?” Atticus asks me when I walk up to him at the bar.

  Another swaying sensation grips me, but I pay it no mind. My stupid panic attacks can kick rocks right now.

  “Never better.”

  And it's the truth...I'm feeling so much calmer compared to a few minutes ago.

  He hands me a glass. “Well in that case, let's have one more drink before we leave.”

  “This one's full,” I note while looking down at it. “My drink was half empty.”

  He looks around the bar and tilts his head so his lips are directly over my ear. “You left your drink at the bar, darlin'. Who knows what some jerk could have done to it while we were gone.” He kisses my cheek. “I got you a new one.”

  “Oh, yeah...you're right.” I fight the flush in my cheeks for not realizing that myself. “And thanks.”

  He clinks his glass against mine. “Don't mention it.”

  I pull in another deep breath because I feel like I can't seem to get enough air—and this time, I down the entire glass.

  Atticus looks both shocked and impressed. “Damn, girl. Well, okay then. You about ready to go?”

  I glance in the direction of dance floor again...studying can wait until tomorrow. “I want to stay a little longer.”

  “Shit.” He glances at his watch. “You know, you were right before...it's getting late.” He slides off the bar stool and stands up. “I mean, if you really want to we can stay.”

  A warm, fuzzy feeling envelops me as his hand brushes the small of my back and he stares down at me.

  “I don't want to stay,” I whisper, the warm feeling spreading and intensifying.“I want to leave...with you.”

  He grins and pulls his wallet out of his pocket. The hand on the small of my back moves even lower and settles there as he pays the bartender and proceeds to lead me out of the bar.

  The lights in the parking lot look both brighte
r and duller and bigger and smaller as we continue making our way to his truck.

  “My car,” I say, halting him. “I have a car.”

  He opens the door to his truck. “It's still at the school, remember?”

  I climb inside his truck, feeling like an idiot.

  “Oh yeah. That's right.” Why didn't I remember that?

  He closes the door and I feel my entire body twitch. “Atticus,” I whisper, my voice sounding much more slurred now than before.

  My eyes dart around the truck nervously, I feel like I have no control over my own body suddenly and I need him to reassure me that everything is okay. Why am I so drunk?

  “I only had two drinks tonight...right?”

  My head spins, my stomach churns and I dig my nails into the seat and fight to hold on.

  My brain feels like it can't put things together...not like it should. My sense of reality feels altered somehow.

  It's like someone pressed the fast-forward button and I'm stuck in rewind mode trying to keep up and understand what's happening around me.

  He rests his arm on my seat as he backs out of the parking lot. “That's right. But you slammed that last one down, which means it's time to get you home.” He shifts the truck into drive and winks at me. “After you tell me your address, of course.”

  I quickly rattle off the address to Momma's and for once I'm glad she's not home because I can only imagine what she'd have to say about the drunk state I'm in.

  My eyes feel like they're being weighed down by bricks, and I'm sinking even further into whatever this feeling is during the entire drive home.

  Relief flows through me when we finally pull up the long driveway leading to Momma's house.

  He shifts the truck into park and cuts the engine off. “Home, sweet home.”

  “Thanks, Atti—”

  I'm silenced by the hand that's slowly making it's way up my thigh.

  “What—what are you doing?”

  His hand slides under my tiny black work shorts and he leans in close and whispers, “You've been begging for my dick all night, sweetheart. Teasing me with that sexy little body of yours, I'm just giving you what you want.”

  Panic grips me...or at least it should...but my body doesn't seem to get the memo.

  The memo that's screaming—something's not right—this isn't the same Atticus.

  What happened to the Southern gentleman?

  “No—” I start to say, until I think about his statement.

  This is what I wanted...isn't it? I wanted to forget about Ricardo...and he's not exactly wrong...I've been flirting with him all night.

  And clearly my body isn't opposed to the idea of having sex with him, because I'm not fighting him off.

  Quite the opposite actually, I'm extremely calm.

  Almost too calm.

  That is until he shifts and leans in closer...and his lips are only a centimeter away from mine.

  I want him to be my first kiss, my last kiss, and every single kiss in between for the rest of my life.

  Ricardo.

  “Please don't kiss me,” I choke out.

  He grunts, gets out of his truck, and slams the door angrily.

  I'm about to follow suit...but I can't.

  Because I can't move.

  Or rather, it's not that I can't move...it's just that my reflexes are extremely slow.

  I open my mouth but all that comes out is a slurred sound somewhere between a moan and a whimper.

  Alarm bells are firing off now but there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

  And that's when my own door swings open and Atticus lifts me out of the seat and into his arms.

  “Atticus,” I say, fighting like hell to hold on to reality and not this tunnel of doom that I keep sinking further into by the second.

  “Shh, sweetheart,” he says. “I'm gonna take good care of you, don't worry.”

  “No, put me down.”

  He ignores me and kicks the door to his truck closed instead.

  “Put me down...now,” I say again, more forcefully this time, despite my own body betraying me by acting so tranquil.

  He sputters a curse and does as I ask...but only so he can pin me up against the side of his truck. “This would go a lot smoother if you'd quit fighting me,” he barks in my ear.

  I want to laugh—because if he thinks this is me fighting...boy he's got another thing coming.

  I haven't even begun to fight yet.

  I want to laugh—but I can't because that floaty, euphoric, immobilizing, feeling is doing a real number on me.

  I bring up my hand in an attempt to punch him but it barely moves an inch before that too is slammed against his truck along with the rest of my body.

  I want to cry because it feels like my body is paralyzed...and yet I can make out what's happening to me through all the murky fuzziness...but I can't stop it. I'm completely helpless.

  Especially now that I can feel myself sinking lower and lower. I'm barely holding on...almost on empty...almost out of time...almost out of fight.

  To anyone else looking at us, this entire act would look consensual. Like two lovers caught in the heat of the moment.

  His free hand skims along the sliver of my stomach that's exposed by my work shirt and he drops his head and kisses my neck.

  “Atticus,” I warn, although it comes out like a sigh.

  My gun. If I could muster enough muscle control and coordination to get it out of my purse...I can make this all stop.

  “That's right, you keep moaning my name through those pretty lips of yours.”

  His Southern accent...it's gone.

  I hear the sound of a zipper being undone and a moment later his entire hand disappears inside my shorts. “Maybe if you make this fuck worth my while...I won't do what it is that I was hired to do. I'll keep this hot cunt of yours all for myself and make them both kill each other over it.”

  What?

  I don't know what he's talking about...the only thing I know for sure now is that I wish Ricardo was here.

  I don't care how desperate and pathetic it makes me. I need Ricardo right now.

  He smirks and I feel myself drift off...but not before I sob, “Ricardo.” At the same time I hear a deep and very familiar voice shout, “Lou-Lou.”

  I feel something sharp pierce my flesh and I faintly register the sound of a gun being fired somewhere in the far off distance.

  And then I free fall...into nothing but pitch black.

  Chapter 10 (Ricardo)

  “That's her car,” Momma says and my stomach sinks.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” Momma insists. “I know for a fact she attends class here every weeknight.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose and mutter a curse. Not only is it after hours, I've already wasted the better part of the last hour searching every single crevice of the campus for her.

  “Is there anywhere else she would be?” I glance at the car again. “Any one she hangs out with that would give her a ride somewhere?”

  Momma rubs her forehead and looks down at the ground, appearing uncomfortable, and that only makes me even angrier. “Momma!” I shout, on my last thread.

  “She—um,” Momma starts. “She keeps to herself mostly, no friends or nothing like that—but uh—she has a job.”

  Guess that would explain why she didn't use any of the money in my account after all.

  I look at my men and gesture to the large SUVs. “Let's go.”

  I can hear Momma struggling to keep up behind me. “She only works there on the weekends though.”

  I shift the car into drive and peel out of the campus parking lot. “Address?”

  “You know, sugar...maybe it's best that I call the establishment first and see if she's there.” She swallows hard and pulls out her cell phone. “No point in wasting any more time.”

  I slam my hand on the steering wheel, I've had about enough. “You have about 5 seconds to tell me where her job is or I'm g
oing to assume you know a hell of a lot more about her current whereabouts than you're letting on.”

  I glare at her, no longer attempting to keep my emotions or frustration at bay. “I love you, Momma. I love you a whole lot...but so help me fucking god...if you don't start talking—”

  “Show 'n Tail,” Momma whispers while doing the sign of the cross. “She works at the Show 'n Tail.”

  I plug the name into the gps and my blood turns to lava when the rest of the name comes up. “A gentlemen's club!” I roar, slamming my foot down on the gas.

  Any and all relief I once felt about Lou-Lou staying with Momma dissolves. “How could you let her work as a stripper?”

  Momma whips her head around and jabs my arm with her finger. “First of all, she's only a waitress there. She doesn't strip, she promised me she never would. And secondly, don't you dare take that tone with me or use the lord's name in vain against me, Ricardo. For crying out loud she's 2—” She pauses and her brows draw together. “How old is she?”

  “She's 24. Her birthday's July—motherfucker.”

  “What?” Momma screams as I pull into the parking lot of the Show 'n Tail.

  “It's her birthday...that prick chose today of all days on purpose.”

  My chest tightens and my head pounds with adrenaline.

  There's no doubt in my mind that he's striking tonight...if he hasn't already that is.

  Momma follows behind me as I march into the club, my eyes scanning every single inch of the grimy shithole for her.

  I never thought I'd find myself in the position of hoping and praying to find her here of all places.

  Some man—one that I can only assume to be the owner by the way he's grinning like an idiot, and the fact that I can practically see the dollar bill signs in his eyes when he looks at me—holds out his hand. “Welcome to the Show 'n Tail—”

  I push his hand away. “Where's Lou-Lou?”

  When he looks confused, I huff and look at Momma. “What's her alias?”

  Momma shrugs and her lower lip trembles. “She refused to tell me...she didn't want you to know.”

  “Of-fucking-course.”

  “Well, sir,” the owner interrupts. “We might not have any Lou-Lou's round' here...but we have plenty of Trixie's, Daisy's, and Candy's for your personal enjoyment.”