by Devney Perry
“About as bad as I thought it’d be.” I screw off the lid and take a sip.
He laughs, standing from his chair. That’s when I notice he’s not wearing a shirt, only loose jeans. He looks dirty, deranged, and not someone I should trust to be around me right now. He’s obviously drunk.
“You haven’t seen anything yet.”
“Because I haven’t seen all of your acts?” I ask, squeezing the bottle in my hand. I’m well aware of their stunts and what they can do physically, and Keaton can sing, and I mean the man can sing like Lewis Capaldi, and that’s drunk, but I haven’t seen a show from start to finish.
He pauses a few short steps away from me and tilts his head. I try to fight myself and not look too closely at what he’s doing or how he’s looking. I fail, though, because his hair is floppy and messy, his cheeks slightly flushed from the alcohol, and his body. His damn body. It’s not fair. I catch the two roses that are inked over his left hip, ducking beneath his briefs. One sits just above the other. The other over the edge. It looks to have less detail, less love. The one that slightly dips underneath has clarity and precision. It has passion.
“Getting a good look?” he asks, shoving past me to put his glass in the sink. “I’m getting tired of you eye-fucking me, Little Bird. I might just see if those eyes can match the promises they’re giving out.” He turns to face me, and I can feel his breath over my flesh.
I close my eyes and shove away from him, needing to be away. Away from him. From the fire that threatens to burn me to a crisp.
He brushes his chest against mine, and I back up, slamming against the kitchen counter. Each hand comes to the counter, caging me in. “Just to be clear, I hate you.”
“You don’t know me,” I snap, bringing my eyes up to his.
He searches mine and smirks. It sends chills down my spine. “I know more than you will ever know.”
I shiver, taking my attention away from him, only his hand comes to the back of my hair, and he yanks on it, pulling my eyes to his. “I don’t have to like you to want to fuck you, so just in case you get bored one night, my room is the one at the end of the hallway upstairs. Before you even think of wrapping these pretty little lips around anyone else’s cock again, I’d advise against it.”
“Why?” I yank my hair out of his grip.
His eyes slant in suspicion before he collects himself again and steps backward. “Because you’d go to waste on anyone else.”
He turns, and I watch the stupid muscles on his back contract as he retreats upstairs.
Storming back to my room, I’m even more annoyed when I see Keaton is still on my bed, now snoring.
I exhale, dropping down beside him. I turn to face his back, studying all of the tattoos that go up the back of his neck. They’re almost demonic. I’ve heard people say that some use tattoos as a way to express how they feel inside. If that’s the case with Keaton, I wouldn’t want to know who he is inside. It’s a form of art, and there’s no right or wrong way to art. No one can tell you what is wrong art or what is right art. If you don’t see what the artist wants you to see, then that art is simply not for you—that doesn’t make it wrong. It makes it wrong for you. My eyes drift closed and I’m pulled into a deep sleep.
I’d made a lot of mistakes growing up, but I’ve never thought of them that way. I never regretted the decisions I made because, essentially, who was to say that those decisions weren’t what saved me from another.
That night with The Shadow ate away at my insides and turned me rotten at my core.
Not because I hated it or regretted it.
Not because I felt dirty or disgusting.
It turned me rotten because I found myself drawn to him even more. Like a moth to a flame, uncaring by the fact that I could die if I flew too close to the very thing that I’m attracted to. But that feeling became worn as time went on. The Shadow became more violent with his presence. He never touched me again like he did that night.
He never teased me or drew me in.
He took back the fear that he had installed in me when my parents died and threw it back in my face at supersonic speed.
Kingston
Fifteen years old
“Are you on your way?” My father asked through the phone.
I brought my eyes up to Killian, Keaton, and Kryin, who were all opposite me in the back of the limo.
“Yes. How long will you be?”
There was a long stretch of silence before he answered. “Twenty minutes.”
I pushed up my bandana, hanging up the phone and tossing it onto the seat beside me.
“What’d he say?” Killian asked, watching me as he pulled his up to cover his mouth.
“He’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“King,” Kyrin murmured, but I ignored him. I knew what he was going to say. “They won’t initiate the kill on her. They can’t.”
I cranked my neck. “She doesn’t deserve to live.”
“She can’t even…” Kill shook his head, exhausted. “Never mind.” I knew what he was going to say, though, and although he was right, it still didn’t trump the fact that Dove was the reason why so much tragedy had happened.
Present
My hand rests on my stomach as my other shades my eyes. I’m trying to fucking sleep, but all I can think about is her. And it’s fucking annoying. I don’t want to have anything to do with her any more than what I’m here to do. She’s waning on my restraint, teasing it. I hate her with a fire so hot I want to dip her in gasoline and use it to detonate her. But I can’t. I have to stick to the fucking plan, even if the plan kills me.
Dove
I wake up the next morning, my limbs sore, and my head pounding. An arm tightens around me, and I freeze, the recollection of last night coming back to me at one hundred miles an hour. Picking up the thick, muscled arm, I fling it off me and curl off my bed.
I groan again, my hair falling to the front of my face. I didn’t think I drank that much.
Padding my way into the kitchen, I clamber for a glass of water.
“Have a good night’s sleep?”
I spin around to catch Killian walking in, sweat pouring down his bare chest. I notice that the star that King has on his chest, Killian has over his lower left hip.
He catches me staring because he clears his throat. “You’re a little pervy.”
I snort, turning back around to empty the water out of my glass. “Not at what you think.”
He chuckles, his hand coming to my hip. I freeze at his contact, when his lips touch the side of my shoulder. “Chill,” he whispers, sending goosebumps over my flesh. “I’m not King. I’m not like the rest of them.”
My eyes close as I relish in his untrustworthy words, before shaking him off and spinning around in his grasp. “It doesn’t matter, Killian. You’re all bad.”
He seems to think over my words, because his eyes search mine. I take a moment to admire his bright blue eyes and tanned skin, and the way his dark hair flops over his forehead slightly.
“Yeah, so what if we are?”
I pause. “That’s your answer? You’re not even going to pretend that you’re not bad guys?”
Killian smirks, and for a second, I want to step backward, but I can’t. The damn kitchen counter is, once again, pressing against my ass. “If that’s what you want, Little Bird, to have us reassure you that we’re not bad people, then you’re tripping.”
“Oh really?”
His eyes narrow, his mouth opening. Just when he’s about to say something, I notice another shadow behind him. I feel him before I see him, and as cliché as that may sound to most people, it’s the only way I can describe the attraction I have to Kingston right now. Or the only way I want to describe him right now.
King steps into the space that Killian left. His eyes drop to my mouth. “We’re not good people, Dovey.” His eyes come to mine, the dark green depths enticing me to test him. Just push him a little further. His eyes narrow. “But I think you
know that.”
I swallow, just as his hand comes to my chin, tipping my face up to him. “Have a good sleep?”
“Yes.”
“Did Keaton fuck you good?”
“What?” I yank my face out of his grip. “No.”
Just when I think he’s serious, his lip curls. But it’s not a smirk. It’s more of a satanic smile. One I don’t really want to test today.
I step around him, only for his hand to come to my arm. “We’re on the road today. The next show, you’ll be rehearsing.”
“Okay,” I answer, wanting his hand to release me, but not wanting him to release me. Oh, what a mindfuck.
He cages me back into the corner, both hands resting on either side of my body. “And you won’t go off on your own again.”
I shove him away, dipping out of the kitchen and making my way back to the end room. Keaton is bent over the bed, his elbows resting on his knees and his face in his hands.
“Hurt that bad, huh?” I tease, feeling strangely comfortable in his presence.
His hands move out of the way, his head tilting to the side. “Something like that.”
Annoyed with the ever-growing cryptic messages I get thrown at me by everyone except Kyrin, I pull open my closet door and take out some comfortable clothes that I can wear today, since we’re back on the road.
“Dove.” Keaton’s voice is so low I almost miss it.
“Yeah?” I answer, slamming the closet door closed.
His eyes come to mine, and for a brief second, I think I see something pass between us. Feel something pass between us. “Do as he says.” He stammers off my bed and disappears through the curtain, leaving me standing there speechless. Again.
I move through the RV and into the small bathroom as soon as I know none of them are out there and scrub up in record time. I’m tying my hair into a top knot and slipping my spandex shorts on when there’s a knock on the door.
“Dove, it’s me!” Rose’s voice soothes me instantly, and I yank the door open, my arms flying around her neck.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!” I exhale. I snatch my toothbrush and squeeze some paste on. “How was last night?”
Rose is dressed in loose sweatpants and a hoodie, her hair casual. She rolls her eyes and kicks the toilet cover down, taking a seat. “I drank way too much. I think everyone did, though. Everyone but Maya, of course.”
Rose massages her temples. “What is going on between her and Killian? They’re driving everyone insane.”
I pause my brushing, then spit and rinse and repeat. “I don’t know. I sensed something, too.”
Rose opens her mouth, but then closes it, when her eyes go over my shoulder. Her eyes turn distant, and her body tenses.
“What’s wrong?” I murmur around my toothbrush.
King walks in, snatches my toothbrush from my mouth, and pops it into his own. He licks the edge of his lip as his eyes drop to mine. “Get your friend out of my fucking space.”
“King!” I instantly snap. I don’t really answer back, mainly because I know what he and they are capable of, and I happen to enjoy being alive, even if my life isn’t in stellar form right now.
His eyebrows raise in challenge, his white teeth clenching down on the shaft of my toothbrush. “Wanna fight me on that, because I can do with some cardio this morning.”
Rose’s hand comes to my arm. She smiles weakly at me. “It’s okay. We’re all heading off soon anyway. I just wanted to see you.”
I can hear King brushing his teeth—with my toothbrush.
I let out a breath of air. “I’ll see you at the next stop, which is…”
“Texas,” Rose answers.
“Texas. Right.” How and why do I not know this? Why do I feel that even though Rose and I were both “captured” at the same time, I’m not being shown the same courtesy she has been shown by Midnight?
Rose leaves after another hug and after I promise her that I’ll have a drink with her after our next show—or before.
My eyes find King’s in the mirror, only he’s already watching me. He gargles the water in his mouth, his eyes still on mine, before he spits into the sink. “What?”
“Can you try to be nice to her?”
“Why?” he asks, tilting his head.
“I don’t know… because she hasn’t done anything to warrant your wrath?”
“No. But you have, and when I’m rude to her, it affects you.” He wipes his mouth and steps closer to me. “You’re making this game way too easy for me.”
“Why?” I yell, just as his hand touches the door handle.
He pauses.
I carry on. “Why do you hate me so damn much?”
He inches his head over his shoulder. “Because you took something from me.”
“I didn’t take anything from you! I only just met you!” It’s a shame that I have to point out the obvious, but I don’t think he’s getting it through his head.
“You don’t have to know someone to take something from them.” He leaves, and I’m, once again, standing like an idiot and left with a disarray of thoughts.
King
“How long?” Killian asks, his foot on the dash as I drive us out. Because the drive is twenty-six hours, and Justice has to drive Keaton’s Ford Raptor with our bikes and trailer on the back to the next stop. We’re all switching drivers as we go.
“When it’s done.” I already know that Kill is going to hammer me about Dove. We all know that. It’s in his DNA to be a fucking pain in the ass.
“You’re acting like it was her fault,” he whispers, and I have to fight the urge to elbow him in the face.
Dove’s laugh breaks out from the back, and my eyes fly to the rearview mirror, catching her laughing with Keaton.
“That’s just fucking weird,” Kill adds. “Seeing Keaton smile is about as rare as seeing you smile. Pair of serious bastards.”
“It’s not as weird as you’d think.” I focus on the road, wanting this long ass trip to be over.
A few hours later, we pull into a gas station. I kick Killian’s leg, waking him up.
“What? Already?”
I ignore him and make my way out of the RV to gas up. Killian is already in the store, grabbing every single piece of junk food he can find like a starved toddler. Twenty minutes later, we’re back on the road; only this time, I’m in the kitchen, flicking through Facebook on my phone.
Keaton is still talking with Dove, only he has his guitar out now.
Dove shakes her head, smiling again. I hate how much she reminds me of her. Just when I think she’s different on the inside, she goes and does something that she would do.
Her eyes come to mine, catching me watching her. Her cheeks flash red as she quickly looks away from me. Pussy. She can never hold eye contact for long.
Keaton starts playing Jo Satriani on his guitar when I start to drown them out and search her up on Facebook. I dodge past Val’s passive-aggressive status. You think you don’t need me. We’ll see... She gives herself way too much credit as far as my cock is concerned. Opening the search tab, I type in Dove Hendry and watch as the results come up. I find her instantly and click on her profile photo. My eyes go up to where she’s sitting with Keaton, before going back to my phone. Her profile photo is of her on a snowboard, wearing the entire getup. The board is flipped to the camera, and she’s making the hang loose sign. Holiday photo maybe? Fucking weird, considering her life as I knew it and as it was, wasn’t luxurious at all.
I scroll down to see she hasn’t been online much since she’s been here, only enough to be tagged in one of Rose’s statuses. Some guy Richard has put a post on her wall asking when she’s coming back. Never, motherfucker. I click on her photos and flick through them. Photos of her dancing, one with her friends at what looks like a club. Not her club, though. Another one with her and the same guy Richard. And another with Richard.
Keaton disappears upstairs, and now it’s just Dove and I and the silence that s
tretches out between us. Just as I’m watching her, my phone vibrates in my hand.
I need to kick this up.
Dove
My first real boyfriend was Lionel O’Connor; he was two years older than me and street raced as a side hobby. His parents were rich as sin from old oil money, and he had a slight Southern twang to end each sentence. I have to admit, it was partially what made me fall in love with him. That and the fact he enticed my rebellious nature to come out and play every Saturday night when there was a race. I would always be sitting shotgun, and other girls hated it. They were envious that Lion chose me. He had a square jaw and prominent cheekbones, and he smoked cigarettes like they were an oxygen source. We dated for almost a year through high school, and he was my first everything. Lionel turned out to be one big mistake because he got bored and cheated on me with my best friend at the time, which was also around the time that my parents died. I would give anything to have King bored of me and move on to the next person to terrorize, because right now, he’s staring at me like a starved bear, and I’m the freshest fish in the ocean. It would make this whole experience and life change a little easier to swallow.
When he doesn’t look to be moving from the chair he’s on in the kitchen, his phone in his hand, I end up asking the question that has been burning my throat since he made me come in the middle of a show. Literally. “Why touch me like that at the show?” The words fall out of my mouth without any thought of catching them and shoving them back inside.
He tilts his head. “Because I fucking wanted to.” The longer he stares at me, the harder it is for me to look away. “Come here.”
I pull my eyes off him.
“Stop fucking doing that, Dove.”
“Doing what?” I ask, allowing myself to get lost in him again.
“Looking away from me. Come. Here.”
