by Marata Eros
I give a non-committal grunt. “Something tells me he's not easily intimidated.”
Dean gives the first genuine smile of the morning. “I'm persuasive.”
I chuckle and wince from the pain the movement causes. “I bet. Get going, and check in. I'll be attending to things at this end.”
Dean's eyebrow rises, and he rocks back on his heels.
“This isn't the only thing biting my ass, you know.”
Dean snorts. “I guess someone at your level has lots of fires to put out.”
Just a few, namely Chloe.
My face tightens at his insinuation. It doesn't matter. It's time for me to come clean. “I have a situation with a sex indiscretion that just became serious and will need cleaning up.”
Dean's forehead wrinkles. “Wait a sec, you said this ma—Kandace,” he quickly corrects, “is the end all, do all.”
“This was before.”
“Ah,” he says, tipping back his chin.
“It's a clusterfuck.”
He puts his beefy hands on his hips. His crew cut appears translucent in the morning light streaming through my windows. “Clearly.”
We stand in the oxygen-sucking silence for a moment.
“I'll be in touch—today.”
“Good,” I reply, and he stalks out of my bathroom. I stare at the door after he's long gone, and I try to work out what I have to do.
Chloe's pregnant. Of that, there's no doubt. Clarice does not bluff, and she’s behind it all, for reasons which need to be determined. Beside her usual motive of making me as miserable as possible.
Kandace is with a man of dubious intent. Damon Axton, or whatever alias he goes by, had zero concern for who I was. He's proven to be an opportunist, not a planner. A planner would have hesitated. He didn't.
I'm not thinking with the clear rationale I typically do. I'm so far from my regular method of behavior that I'm rewriting the script as I go.
*
Faren is crying, which makes Mick scowl.
This is going beautifully.
I can't get a fucking thing right and the doctor had been standing on my dick about leaving the house before I get well. But some things can't wait for recovery time. “Apologies.” Faren swipes at her eyes, and I motor forward. “I know where Kandace is, but I wasn't able to convince her to come with me.”
An image of Kandace swearing and resisting comes to mind.
Convince might be too light a word choice; coerce is truer.
Faren stands from the couch, tears drying on her face. Hearing something we can't, she rushes to a room at the end of the hall.
“What's going on?” I ask, glancing around.
“Shane,” Mick answers with a small smile.
“I can't hear anything.”
Mick shakes his head. “Faren can hear if his toe twitches.”
I make a face, and Mick gives a short laugh.
“What happened? She's taking care of the baby now, so tell me what the fuck is going on. The uncensored version.”
I condense the recounting for speed.
He plows restless fingers through his hair. “This is a colossal mess.”
I remain silent, because that's a true statement.
Faren returns as our conversation winds down, holding a sleepy toddler. Orange hair sticks straight up on his head. A chubby fist is buried in his blue eye as he rubs it and yawns.
I'm reminded of Chloe and a shudder I can hardly contain rolls through me.
My head starts to pound.
Faren notices. “You don't look so hot, Chet.”
“I'm fine,” I repeat for what must be the third time today. I'm far from fine but the least of it is the strike I took to the head.
“Not after that love tap Ax gave you.”
Faren's eyes go round. “What!?” She hikes baby Shane on her left hip and he wraps his small arm around her shoulder as though it's the most natural movement in the world.
Watching them uncoils alarm in my guts.
I shove away the reminder of Chloe's revelation, and focus on the current challenge.
“Tell me what happened? Is Kiki okay?” she asks.
“She seems well,” I say and keep from giving anything away by the slimmest of margins.
“Why is she staying with Ax?” Faren steps closer, studying every pore on my face.
Why indeed.
“Why did she take off? She's not answering my texts.” Faren's bad hand begins to shake.
Mick stands to take Shane from her. His little head falls on my friend's large shoulder, and a thumb pops inside the baby's mouth.
My swallow is painful. “I wish I knew. Eventually she'll have to return to her life—her home.”
Faren shakes her head. “No. Kiki's different. If she wants to reinvent herself or start over, she will.” She looks from Mick to me. “She has already, Chet.”
Mick frowns, swaying on his feet, and I almost smile. He's gone all daddy on me.
My humor fades at my own possible future. “All right.” I pace away, pace back. Stop.
I don't know where to begin. I don't know how to. I've never done backstory. My own.
Faren touches my arm, sensing my indecision. “Just talk.”
So I do.
I start from the beginning. Faren's expression of horror doesn't stop me. Mick's unfiltered surprise doesn't. It's unnerving how once I begin, I find I can't stop the purge.
Only when tears burn at my eyes, stinging in righteous indignation of being held back, do I stop speaking.
Faren's mouth is covered by her hand when a soft knock sounds at the door. We all jump a little at the unexpected noise.
The nanny comes inside and gives Faren a look, gauging the tense atmosphere perfectly. Faren nods, and the middle-aged woman moves right to Shane and takes him. He’d become fussy during my retelling of my deepest shame.
After Shane leaves with the nanny, Faren slowly lowers herself to the plush off-white couch. Her face turns toward the sheets of chilled rain that cascade down the expansive windows of their sprawling Redmond home, obscuring the pastoral view.
“Chet...” Faren begins.
“I always thought Clarice was a bitch,” Mick remarks.
Faren whips her head toward me with a horrified expression, but I bark out a laugh.
Mick slaps my back.
He gets what I need and it's not pity.
“God, and I thought Thorn's life was screwed up,” Faren says. Then she stands. “Have you told Kiki?”
I mow through my disheveled hair, tying it at my nape in an elastic band. The stub of the ponytail is blunt at my fingertips.
“No.”
“Why?” Faren cries softly. “She would have totally been empathetic.”
“Do you think I want the woman I love to know those things about me?”
Their mutual expression of surprise makes my gut vault.
“You love her?” Mick says.
His shock is so large, I drop my eyes and take a deep, steadying inhale. Their surprise is hard to accept. I can't hide my feelings anymore though—my actions scream it. “Yes. And I'm fucking going insane about it.”
Mick chuckles. “Sorry.” He holds up his palm. “The abuse isn't funny—not remotely.” His expression smooths to serious. “But that's just the way it strikes me. Chet the Bachelor—in love. I can't make it work.” He taps his temple.
I jerk my chin back, my teeth clenching. “The incessant worry? The I-can't-function-without-her-around? This whole experience has turned my existence upside down.”
Faren and Mick exchange a glance.
“There's happiness there too,” Faren says.
I turn toward her, shoving my hands into the pockets of my slacks. My raw knuckles scrape against the lining.
“I'm not seeing it.” I feel flat, like a cardboard cut-out—one-dimensional.
“God, you're morose,” Mick says.
I don't respond. I've said enough.
Faren bites her f
ingernail.
“I think we need to find out why she would run. It's not from the scene at the alley. You guys had moved past that.”
My pulse races, because I can sense I'm at the edge of an epiphany. I nod. We’d had a sketchy ride home after that, but I thought we'd come to an understanding.
“Then something happened.” Faren's eyes light up as she thinks out loud.
I lean forward. “What have you thought of?”
“Who?” Faren says.
Mick snaps his fingers. “You're too in the middle of this to see all the angles clearly. Ask yourself this: who would have anything to gain if Kiki was cut out of your life?” Mick's eyes never waver from mine, begging me to think it over.
“It's simple,” Faren says, and it is. I can't believe it didn't occur to me before now.
Clarice.
I pivot on my heel and don't bother saying good-bye. I can't. I don't dwell on my confession about Clarice's abuse to the first human beings I've ever told.
Rage descends, and the heat of my anger feels like a sauna with a first-class position in hell.
I race through the McKenna mansion, dive out the front door, and soak myself in the weather.
The chilled rain does nothing to put out the fire of my needful revenge.
It burns.
SEVEN
Kiki
“No.” I stare down at Ax from where's he perched on the beat-up futon—my bed. “We're not a team until we get some shit straight.”
Ax's jet black eyebrow hops to his hairline. “Baby—”
“No,” I say, waving a palm in his face like a railroad arm coming down over a track. “Don't you baby me.” My eyes shoot sparks, and he leans back with a grunt.
“You clobbered Chet.” I cross my arms.
“Yeah-huh.” He gives his short hair a rough scrub. “And Chump was deserving, Kik.”
I stomp my high heel. “Maybe!” I stab the air with my finger. “But you nailed him from behind, and now he's, I don't know, dead or broken somewhere.”
Ax shakes his head. “I've looked into Chet-buddy, and his rich ass can take care of its own self.” He wags a finger and leans back again.
I pace as if the energy is pouring off me. I whirl and point at him.
His eyes narrow on my hot pink nail tip.
“You have a closet full of chick’s clothing,” I say.
Ax shrugs, giving my once-pristine outfit an eye rake. “I see you made use of it.”
“Why, Ax?”
His expression is unreadable, not the open face I remember so well. “The Crawl isn't my only business, Kik. I have some others.”
“What do you mean?” I search his face, and a flicker skates across his dark gaze. “Don't bullshit me, Ax. It won't work. I'm a fucking hard-charging broad. You know this.”
He grins, white teeth slashing across his face. “Oh, I know. Damn, girl, do I know.” He chuckles. “This isn't where I normally hang. In fact, this is just a little lily pad I hop on to sleep over once in a while. Sometimes employees from my other businesses need somewhere to crash, and I give them a boost.”
“How much of a boost?” I'm aware my voice has just dipped into suspicion.
“Kik…” His eyes meet mine, and they're not remotely soft, but hard as flint. “Why do I feel you're coming down hard on me when I've been doing nothing but helping you? Let me count the ways of my awesome.” He winks, ticking off his great points on his fingers. “I took you in when Chump was admiring his own dick.” I roll my eyes, and he continues. “I haven't put the moves on your hotness.”
Oh.
He nods as realization swarms my features.
“I clocked Chet when he thought he'd take you from me, and I made sure Mr. Date Rapist got his good.” He kicks his feet up on the scuffed coffee table and stretches his arms along the back of the futon. “From where I sit, I look mighty fine.”
I gnaw on my lip, and he watches the action with more interest than I want. Ax is my friend.
Maybe he wants more. Maybe I was a dumb ass to think he didn't. Can I ask him about Shepard when he's obviously been so amazing?
Not really.
Not without seeming like a total ingrate. If Ax meant me harm, wouldn't he have already shown his hand?
Yeah.
It still doesn't fix things between Chet and me. And the answer about the clothes? Ax evaded explanation.
His eyes half close, and I realize with a yawn that it's almost four in the morning.
“Sleep on it, Kik. My mama always said everything looks better in the morning.”
So did mine.
But it never really does.
*
I wake slowly to the sounds of the city. Pigeons cooing, horns, sirens and the sounds of outside work revolves around where I sleep.
The state ferry blasts its horn and I about jump out of my bed.
I sit up and look around.
Ax is gone and underneath a paperweight shaped like a pair of boobs is a note. The nipples mock me. Now those are some angry titties.
Be back by five.
I stare at the clock, squinting. The numbers are fuzzy. When they come into focus, I gasp.
Frigging five minutes past two. I slap my forehead, wince and fall back on the couch.
My thoughts go straight to Chet. I know Ax hurt him. And even though he's mounting Chloe like the bitch she is, I love him.
That I was some plaything hurts so badly, I feel the hole in my heart expand to allow the blackest of grief inside.
Betrayal.
I can't hide forever. Actually, my chin kicks up as I rub the sleep out of my eyes, I could.
But I want to move my life forward. I have law school, my condo—and it's all mine, bought and paid for through hard work and sacrifice. Some wouldn't think so, but I know it.
And there's Faren. God, she must be going ballistic.
At least, that's what the million text messages she sent me before I shut off my phone seemed to indicate.
I press my phone’s power button.
No battery. I curse and roll over on my stomach, easing the USB charger into a socket that has a special electrical outlet for it.
My eyes naturally scan the floor under the armchair in the corner, and I spy a black case.
Enough snooping, Kiki, I tell myself.
Not that reprimanding myself has ever been any damn use.
I plug in my phone and set it on the floor. My eyes swing back to the case under the chair. I spring up from the futon and drag it out from underneath the chair. I snap it open.
A vial and syringe sit nestled in perfectly molded holes for them. I snatch my hand back, and the case falls open.
The top is stocked with elastic bands filled with vial upon vial of liquid. Ten in all. I absorb what it can mean as my heart sinks.
Quietly, I snap the case closed and scoot it underneath the chair again.
Suddenly, quizzing Ax doesn't seem so great anymore. As a matter of fact, I don't think I will.
I'll get the hell out of here. I don't need a drug-dealing friend, or whatever he's got going down.
My phone chimes on, syncing with my music, and I grab it, scrolling to the last text.
It hits me hard that my phone doesn't hold a text from Chet. No more hellos clutter it up.
Maybe he's given up.
A single tear slides from my eye and splatters on the face of my cell. I inhale shakily and read the last text Faren sent.
Text me, Kiki. Right now. 911.
I grip my phone. I want Faren to know I'm okay, but I don't want back on the roller coaster of Chet. That's one carnival ride I have to give up.
Motion sickness blows. Or heartsickness. Yeah.
I tip my head down and steady myself then tap out a reply.
I'm okay. Can we meet? Same place as usual, three today.
Her response is immediate.
Hell yes, you bitch—you've had me terrified!
I'm sorry, Faren. There's been some
stuff....
I know, we'll talk. I'll be there with bells on.
I smile. I love her—I do.
After my cell goes black, I hop in the shower, rush through a quick wash and throw on my yoga pants, my last clean shirt, slap makeup on and head out the door. I can walk to the Steelhead Diner from here.
My only worry is making up a plausible excuse to extract myself from Ax’s life. I can't do whatever shit he's got going on now. I don't want to be a dead-beat friend, but a little self-preservation's in order.
Kiki has to protect Kiki, or there won't be anything left of me. As it is, I feel like a slice of Swiss cheese.
*
Faren's waiting in the diner when I walk in.
I'm not prone to shyness, but I feel as if I'm slogging through quicksand as I make my way toward her. It’s probably my cheap departure of no words that makes my shame red hot. I promised myself I'd never run.
And I did.
Faren stands, acting as though we haven't seen each other in a year instead of almost a week. Her hug is fierce, claustrophobic.
Perfect.
I hug her back.
She slowly sits down.
“Tell me.”
So I do.
Faren's face is so expressive. I catalog every emotion that I’ve experienced but in a different order: rage, surprise, disbelief, sadness, and defeat reign supreme.
The waitress comes, the same dim bulb we're usually stuck with, and we smile at each other. Some things never change. It's somehow a comfort when there's so little consistency.
Faren's smile disappears with her next comment, “There's no way Chet's engaged to that pariah.”
I enthusiastically nod. “Rigghhht. So that's why stepmommy breezed by the Black Rose and told me so? Big favor to me, Faren. She's actually okay, I've decided.” I fold my arms underneath my boobs. “Chet was stringing me along, and Rich Titties came along and let me off the deceit hook. Yeah, I think between the two of them, she's the better person.”
Faren takes a deep breath as if gearing up for a marathon. “Clarice Sinclair began raping Chet when he was eleven. The last time she raped him, he was twenty-one.”
