by Kim Jones
“I can’t.” He shuts the door without a word, looking at me with understanding in his eyes. He knew I couldn’t do it. But he knew I had to try.
“You know you gotta do this one day, Shady. You can’t hide from it forever.”
I look around the porch, unable to stop the memories of me and Dirk standing in this very spot from resurfacing. My chest aches and my eyes burn as I think about Christmas here. Thanksgiving. Saylor’s sleepover. How at home they made me feel and how easy it was to think of it as mine. I’d never had a real home of my own. Now I do. And I can’t even walk inside.
The frustration with myself begins to take its toll, just like it did every other time I did this. I pull a cigarette out and light it. When I look up at Rookie, he’s already nodding his head. He knows what’s coming, and like the good brother he is, he doesn’t ask questions. He just accepts it.
“Let’s ride.”
The ride to the clubhouse is short, but I’m almost sober by the time we get there. My thoughts have a way of doing that to me. After a cold shower, my buzz has completely faded and I’m wide awake.
Instead of going to a room, Rookie sprawls out on the couch while I take a seat in the recliner. He says he likes being close to the door. But I know it’s because he doesn’t want to leave me alone. And keeping good on his word, Monica walks through the door minutes later.
Like she isn’t already high enough, she stops at the bar to down a shot and snort a line of Sinner’s Creed’s finest. Walking toward me in a halter top and cutoff shorts, she smiles. Monica is pretty with plenty of curves, thick legs, and long brown hair. She’s in her early thirties, but looks over forty. She’s always been good to me and my brothers, and every time I’ve had her, she never disappoints.
“Hey, baby,” she purrs, crawling onto my lap. My hand slides up her thigh, but there’s no reaction to my touch. I’m just another cock to her. “Long night?”
“Something like that.” I smirk, knowing she doesn’t really care about my night.
“Well, you just relax and let me take care of you. Tell Monica what you want.” Fuck. Even her voice is fake. And she’s speaking in third person. But my dick doesn’t seem to mind. He’s already hard with just the weight of her ass on him.
“I want your pretty lips wrapped around my cock.”
She beams. Probably because now she won’t have to fake an orgasm. She lowers herself between my legs, slowly unbuckling my belt as she stares at me with her big, sultry eyes. That look is fake too. She’s probably wondering what time her next appointment is. Or if she turned the coffeepot off.
I glance over at Rookie, who lays motionless with his hat over his face. How did he do it? Was Carrie worth resisting temptation?
“Quit looking at me, Shady. It’s fucking weird. You’re getting your dick sucked. Look at her.” I laugh at his words, and Monica takes the time to laugh too. She probably thought I was talking to her. I guess that confirms that she might physically be here, but her mind is somewhere else.
When she eases my cock to the back of her throat, I don’t give a fuck what she thinks. Or who she is. Or where I am. Or who’s watching. This bitch is a whore for this very reason. She pauses a moment, gagging slightly, before pulling me out of her mouth and smiling. Her eyes are watery and she’s breathing heavily, but she doesn’t let it slow her down.
I lean back, closing my eyes and letting the sound of her gurgling fill the room. Everyone can hear it, but nobody says a thing. She pulls my jeans to my ankles so she can cradle my balls in her hand while she sucks. She must be in a hurry.
My phone vibrates in my cut, and I frown in confusion when I realize it’s Zeke’s phone that’s ringing. I start to silence it, figuring it’s a wrong number. Nobody even knows I have this cell. But the caller is persistent and I pull the phone out to see a New Hampshire number flashing across the screen.
“Yeah?”
Loud music blares in the background. Several people are talking. When the caller realizes I’m actually on the other end, the music is turned down.
“This truck is fucking awesome.” I still at the words. My eyes widening as I recognize the voice.
That bitch.
“I mean, seriously awesome. This backup camera is so high-tech that I haven’t even taken it out of reverse.” My hand fists in Monica’s hair. I’d forgotten I was holding it.
“You crazy bitch. Get out—” Monica takes that exact moment to swallow my cock and I groan. I open my mouth to continue, but nothing comes out. I pull back on Monica’s hair until she releases me. “One minute, baby.”
“Wait, are you fucking right now?” Diem’s voice is loud enough for Rookie to hear, and he lowers his cap to narrow his eyes on me. If Monica can hear, I wouldn’t know it. She’s too busy texting.
“If I was, I wouldn’t have answered the phone,” I say, keeping my voice low and even.
“So what are you doing?”
“You don’t want to know.” Tires screech. People yell. The radio is cut off. “If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t have asked.” She sounds pissed. Good. That makes two of us.
“How about we talk about what the fuck you’re doing in my truck. The truck you stole.” I can feel Rookie’s eyes on me, but I refuse to look his way.
“I didn’t steal it. You gave it to me. Don’t you remember?”
“I didn’t give you shit,” I growl, wishing I was there to shake the shit out of her. Or fuck her. Either would work.
“Believe what you want. Where are you anyway?” She asks the question like she’s deserving of an answer. Meanwhile, my blood is rushing through my veins. I’m so pissed I could tear the roof off this fucking building.
“Diem, I swear if you put one scratch on that truck there will be hell to pay. So get your shit, your friends, and your ass out of it.” My voice shakes with fury, and I wonder what my hands around her throat would feel like.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she starts, then pauses, waiting for my reaction. I’d give her one, but I’m too pissed to speak.
Instead, I close my eyes and try to think of shit that might calm me down. When I can’t, I lower Monica’s head back onto my still-hard cock. Not because she did anything special, but to send a message to Diem, I let out a groan. The moment I do, I can feel the anger radiating from Diem through the phone.
“You’re doing it again,” she says, deadpan.
“Doing what?” I sound bored. Like it’s an inconvenience to talk to her. Right now it is, but on the inside I’m smiling.
“That. I’m guessing you’re getting your dick sucked. Actually, I’m pretty sure of it.” I don’t answer her, and I imagine her reason for silence is because it’s her mouth that’s filled with my cock. Not Monica’s.
“You know, it’s a pity you never asked for the favor I owed you. Maybe you should’ve asked for that.” I can hear her smile through the phone. I shouldn’t take the bait, but I can’t help it. I want to hear this great punch line she thinks she has.
“Why’s that?”
Bringing her lips closer to the phone, she whispers in that sexy, submissive voice that I’m sure few people have ever heard. “Because then, it would’ve been your dick I sucked in your truck. Not someone else’s.”
* * *
I’m sure Monica’s cheeks are killing her. But after Diem hung up, I couldn’t get her last words out of my head. Now my dick was having some trouble with release. Every time I’d near the edge, images of her sucking some dude’s cock in my truck would surface, and I was back at my starting point.
After a while, I pull Monica from the floor, offering her an apologetic smile. “Maybe another time, babe. I got a lot on my mind tonight.”
She shrugs it off, just happy for the opportunity. “No problem. Call me?”
“Definitely.” I stand, pulling my jeans up before kissing her cheek and giving her ass a s
queeze.
“Your money’s on the bar, sugar,” Rookie announces, still on his back on the couch. Figures he’d be awake.
“You know, Rookie,” Monica says, dragging her finger up his leg. “My services aren’t limited to just Shady. I’d offer you the same.” When she reaches his crotch, he grabs her wrist in his hand. Removing the cap from his face, he kisses the back of her hand, giving her a lazy smile.
“I appreciate that. But I’m good.”
“No, you’re pussy-whooped,” I say, falling back down in the recliner.
“Says the man who let a bitch steal his truck. And his balls.”
“She don’t have my balls, asshole.”
“So why couldn’t you bust a nut?” Smart-ass. But he’s right.
Diem had me by the balls. And that’s exactly where she wanted me. But after next week, that shit was gonna change. I’d let her play her games long enough. Now she was gonna play mine.
6
I ALWAYS DO my best to avoid worst case scenarios. But when you add the blistering heat of El Paso, Texas, a tired, pissed-off Rookie, two Mexicans who refuse to speak English, and an eighteen-wheeler trailer missing half of our shit, worst case scenario is exactly what you get.
“Where’s the rest of the shipment?” I ask, speaking slower this time in hopes they understand. My patience is running thin, but somehow, I’m keeping my shit together. I can’t say the same for Rookie.
The two drivers standing in front of us, just off the deserted, dusty back road we’d met them at over an hour ago, once again start speaking at a rate I can’t follow. Every now and then, I catch a word I understand, but I’m still clueless as to what the fuck they’re trying to say. These aren’t our normal drivers. They’re new, but have clearance from our contact across the border. We were told we could trust them. I’m not so sure anymore.
“Shady,” Rookie warns. I hold my hand up to silence him. He rolls his neck, and flexes his hands—never a good sign.
“Ricardo! English!” Even my raised tone isn’t enough to persuade him. I catch a glimmer of humor in his eyes, and the moment I hear Rookie mutter, “fuck it,” I know he saw it too.
Pulling a gun from his back, he points it between Ricardo’s eyes. I pull mine too. Not to be outdone, I fire—grazing the flesh on his partner Eddie’s right arm. He screams like a girl, but closes his mouth when I cock my head to the side in warning.
“I’m not as good of a shot as Shady.” The calmness in Rookie’s voice is more frightening than his anger. “If I pull this trigger, I’m gonna fuck something up. Permanently. Now, where is our shit?”
“It’s coming. Tomorrow. I swear on mi m-madre,” Ricardo stutters, swallowing loudly. His eyes cross as he looks at Rookie’s gun positioned between them.
“Why tomorrow?”
“Problem at the border.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you just say that?” Gone is the calmness in Rookie’s voice. Now, he’s pissed.
Ricardo gives him a sheepish grin and shrugs. “Just fuckin’ around, mano.”
“I’m not your fuckin’ brother,” Rookie sneers, lowering his gun.
I shoot him an amused look. “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.”
“And I thought you did.”
“I do,” I say, sticking my gun back in my pants. “Fluently.”
“Do you even know what fluent means?”
“Of course, papi.” He glares at me a moment before shaking his head in disgust and walking away. I turn to Ricardo, and my smile falters when I see the shit-eating grin on his face. “What?”
“You called him daddy.”
Of course I did.
* * *
The job in Texas kicked my ass. By the time I make it back to Hillsborough, I’m exhausted. But I find the energy to check the house and make sure it’s still in one piece. I also look in the closets and under the bed. It would be just like Diem to find a way past my security system, to hide somewhere and then kill me in my sleep.
I haven’t heard from her since that one night. She never called back, and hell would freeze over before I called her. Tonight I would be getting my truck back. Once I had it, I would start planning my revenge. Diem had more than earned my wrath. Now she was about to get it.
* * *
It’s almost three in the afternoon when I roll my sorry ass out of bed. After a quick workout, I shower, then pull up the GPS on my truck that’s linked through my computer. I write down the coordinates, then program them into the navigation on the rental car I’d picked up at the airport.
The address leads me to a small house at the end of a dirt road. A black BMW sits next to a truck that looks like mine. But, it couldn’t be mine. Because this one was completely totaled. Chunks of grass and dirt hang from the busted grill. The front tire is completely missing, and the others are damaged beyond repair.
Long scratches run the length of the truck, deep enough for the metal to be shining through. What isn’t scratched is dented or dirty. It’s not even black anymore. It’s gray. The windshield is busted, the headlights are busted, the driver’s side door is caved in, and I can’t help but hope her face looks the exact same way.
Without hesitation, I walk to the front door. Not bothering to knock, I turn the knob. It opens easily into a large den. My eyes scan the room. There is a leather sectional that takes up the majority of the space, a coffee table, a flat-screen, and a mural of a woman wearing a red dress. But my focus is on the woman who has a gun trained on me.
“I don’t know if you’re brave or just stupid.” Diem lowers the gun back into the side of the couch where she is laying. I should feel good about what I see, but I don’t. I wanted her to look as bad as my truck did. But she doesn’t. She looks worse.
I survey my surroundings a little more and notice how messy the place is. Empty water bottles, old pizza, bloody gauzes, bandages and about twenty NyQuil bottles litter the coffee table and floor. I step closer, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out to her. But I still don’t know if it’s to hurt her or help her.
“As you can see, I’m not in the mood to entertain today. So, if you don’t mind, you can see yourself out.” She doesn’t look at me, but the side of her face I can see is swollen and bruised. A blanket covers her from the waist down, and she cradles her left hand like it’s broken. Her hair is everywhere and she looks like she hasn’t showered in days. That might be what I smell too.
“You wanna tell me what happened?” I ask, grit in my tone.
She lifts her hand and gives me the finger. Figuring the worst she can do is shoot me, I stand between her and the TV. Now I have her attention. And she has mine. She’s cut up, banged up, and clearly in pain. She tries to hide it, but I can see it written all over her face. But those eyes, still cold as ice.
“I’ll take care of your truck. Give me a couple of weeks. But right now, you need to leave.” Her voice is strong. If I wasn’t looking at her, I’d never know she was hurt.
“Looks like you can’t even take care of yourself.” I cross my arms, nodding my head toward the endless pile of shit next to her.
“I’m fine,” she says between her teeth. Her nostrils flare wide, and I don’t know if it’s from pain or anger.
“Why didn’t you go to the hospital?” I ask, narrowing my eyes on her.
“I did. I got a DUI too. Does that make you happy?”
“They didn’t keep you?”
She rolls her eyes. When she lets out an exasperated breath, she flinches, then speaks again through her teeth. “They did. I left. Nothing they could do for me there. I didn’t want to humiliate myself any more than I already had. I work with hospitals, remember?” Leaning over, she fumbles for a bottle of water. It falls from the table, rolling just out of her reach. Instinctively, I move in to grab it. But when I look up, her gun is once again trained on my face. This time, it�
��s an inch from my head.
“Zeke, you need to leave. I won’t tell you again.” The threat is real. She doesn’t want to shoot me, but for some reason, she feels like she has to. But I’ve taken enough shit off of her to last me a lifetime. So, just when she thinks I’m retreating, and she starts to let down her guard, I easily bend her wrist and grab the gun from her fingers.
For a split second, she looks relieved. But her walls come back up and she glares at me. Her eyes shine with unshed tears. Her lip trembles slightly. But she pulls it between her teeth, biting hard enough to bring blood. It’s then I notice she hasn’t moved her hand.
Placing the gun in the back of my jeans, I gently take her hand in mine to examine it. I expect her to pull back, but she doesn’t. She just lays there, letting me run my thumbs over the small bones. Tears leak out the corners of her eyes, but she doesn’t blink. This is someone who’s endured pain before.
“It’s not broken,” I say, now caressing the inside of her wrist.
“I know that. I know all of my injuries. And I’m fine. I just need some time to heal.” She’s so determined. So independent. So fucking stubborn.
“Where else you hurting?”
“Leave,” she snaps, ignoring me.
I look around again. It’s clear that she’s the only one who’s been here. “Have your friends not come by to check on you?” I ask, feeling my anger shift from her to the motherfuckers who left her here to suffer.
“I don’t have friends.”
“You had a shitload of them the night you called me.” At the reminder of her stealing my truck, her friends are forgotten and my anger is focused solely on her once again.
She rolls her eyes. “I don’t even know those people. I met them in a bar. Just like I met you. Which reminds me, I don’t really know you either. And I don’t want you here. Seriously,” she adds, giving me a lethal look.
