by Jc Emery
Frustrated, I close my laptop and set it on top of my dresser, swaying a little when I stand. I look around, suddenly annoyed that I don’t even have a desk in here. I’m so unprepared to start classes, it’s not even funny. But I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I just want to loosen up a little. I’ve had exactly enough alcohol to lower my inhibitions, but not so much I’m not aware of what I’m doing. Before the last couple of sips of alcohol, I had been convinced that all I needed for a proper party was in my room with my laptop and the vodka. Now though, my curiosity has been piqued. I’ve seen how mobsters party; now I want to see how bikers party. I give the dogs one quick look and find that they’re curled up together beside my bed. It’s crazy to think I was once scared of them.
A crash sounds outside my bedroom door and then loud screams followed by a chorus of laughter. Before I can think better of it, I swing the door open and peer down the hallway. A suffocating strain is put on my chest at the sight before me. Ryan is pressed up against the other side of my bedroom wall. His head is tilted back against the wood paneling, his eyes closed. A woman, curvy with jet black hair, drapes herself over him. Her lips are attached to his neck, her pelvis rubs against his, and her hands travel up his abs. Words fly through my head at such high speed they threaten to fly out of my mouth.
Whore.
Bitch.
Skank.
Something primal strikes me. I have to grip the doorframe to keep myself in place. It’s stupid, this jealousy. Wanting Ryan when I’ve barely seen him for two months. Wanting him after he was such a bastard. There’s just always been something about the things I can’t have. I want them more than anything.
“Princess!” Duke’s deep voice sounding behind me makes me jump. Ryan shifts his head, staring me down with angry, bloodshot eyes. A quick look at Duke, and I see he’s leaning up against the wall with a grin on his face. The sickly sweet scent of pot wafts off of him. His normally rigid posture is slack and his eyes are unfocused. In his left hand is a bottle of whiskey, and in his right is a lit cigarette that’s nearly burned right down to the filter.
With my eyes back on Ryan, I back up until I’m next to Duke. Taking the bottle of whiskey from his hand, I bring it to my lips and suck in as much of the vile stuff as I can without breaking eye contact with Ryan. Lowering the bottle, I lick my lips. His body vibrates in irritation, his jaw ticking as he fights to keep himself still. Duke fumbles behind me, throwing a heavy arm over my shoulders.
“Again,” Ryan says huskily, giving the woman on him a gentle push. Oh, he wants to do this again. She pauses for a moment then continues her ministrations on his neck, her right hand reaching down to cup his dick through his jeans. His lips part. I’ve seen enough, but I can’t help myself. I bring the bottle to my lips and suck down twice as much as the last time, never letting my eyes leave his.
“Again.” And just like last time, I take another draw from the bottle. Duke watches us, his eyes slowly moving between Ryan and me.
“Something going on here?” he asks. Ryan’s eyes cut to Duke and then narrow when they fall on me. I don’t know what his problem is, but he’s pushing me in ways I can’t handle. I shake my head and turn to Duke. My belly is a flutter with a mass of nerves. I think I’m either going to be sick or pass out, perhaps both. My head is swishy, and my knees feel a little weak. Perhaps I imbibed a little more in the comfort of my room than I realized. I can’t chicken out, though. I want to prove that I can handle it here, and that means not running away to my room every time something happens that’s even remotely uncomfortable.
“I want to have fun,” I say. Duke tightens his grip around my neck and gives Ryan the cockiest smirk I’ve ever seen.
“Princess wants to have fun,” he says, leading me toward the kitchen, past Ryan and that stupid bitch who still hasn’t let go of his neck. With every step that brings me closer to Ryan, my heart rate speeds up little by little. Brushing past them, a calloused finger reaches out, wrapping itself around my pinky. His touch sends waves of heat and bolts of anger through my entire body. I don’t want him touching me, but my body craves it. The more distance I put between us, the farther our arms must stretch to keep the contact. And we do for as long as possible. A quick look back, and I find Ryan’s arm reaching out, his index finger slipping from its grip on my pinky. We lose contact, and suddenly I’m not nearly drunk enough for this shit. Turning my attention toward the kitchen, I bring the bottle of whiskey to my lips, intent on making everything so blurry I won’t be able to remember what Ryan’s touch feels like.
“What are you up for?” Duke’s breath washes over my face, an olfactory reminder of how high he is. I check my nerves in the hallway and bring my face to his.
“Anything,” I whisper, letting the word drawl out in a husky breath. Really, I could fall over right now with how terrified I am of my own actions. If I thought I was in over my head with Ryan, I’m not sure what I’m thinking as I lead Duke on. The smile on his face is blinding. He leads us through the kitchen, where men I’ve never met play poker. Women who are nearly naked flank their sides. One conspicuously has her hands beneath the table, and the man beside her looks like he’s having trouble focusing. I turn away quickly. It’s not much different through the rest of the house, where people have crowded into smaller groups and talk amongst themselves. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a few couples making out up against walls, or in the corner of furniture. Through the open windows in the living room, Ruby and Jim, she in his lap, entertain another group in the sun porch beyond.
We round the corner to the foyer and exit through the front door, making our way down the deck. We pass men in vests who smoke cigarettes, grope the women who stand beside them, drink straight from the bottle, and even what looks like a coordinated fight between two of the prospects, but I can’t make out who it might be.
We make it to the barn before it quiets down enough to really hear anything of substance. The closer we get to the cracked barn door, the more it smells like they’re burning sage in the barn, only wetter and sweeter. I know better than to assume they’ve lit incense to help soothe their nerves. The smoke coming from the barn is thick and stings my eyes more with every approaching step. I take another drink from the whiskey bottle and shake off the shiver that runs up my spine. Now that we’re out here, I’m less nervous than I was in Ryan’s presence.
“This is why I like you, Princess. Underneath that little girl act, you’re wild.”
Tears spring to my eyes as a flurry of emotion bursts inside of me. I barely contain the scream that wants to escape. My chest rises and falls with labored breaths. I push my body up against the front of his and whisper, “I’m no little girl.”
His arm falls from around my shoulders and cups my hip, his fingers splayed on my ass cheek. He lowers his face, his eyes darting to my lips. The energy’s changed between us, and suddenly Duke, my friend, is Duke with the piercing blue eyes and the firm grip on my ass. His fingers kneed my pliant flesh, and I press into him.
“No, you’re not,” he whispers and lowers his lips to mine. His kiss is rough and persuasive, like he’s trying to convince me of something. But I don’t need to be convinced of anything in the state I’m in. I want it all. No matter the disaster I’m going to face tomorrow, I want to enjoy the trip down the rabbit hole tonight. I open my mouth, inviting his tongue inside. I keep my eyes closed tight, trying to block out the feel of his goatee against my skin. Ryan doesn’t have a goatee, but if I focus on the way his tongue slides against mine enough, maybe I can block the differences out. I let myself drown in the idea that it’s Ryan who’s wrapped himself around me, whose dick is pressing up against my stomach, and I become greedy, needing more than he’s giving me.
He speeds the kiss up hungrily and then slows it down, withdrawing his tongue until he’s merely placing chaste kisses on my corner of my mouth.
“You taste good, Princess.” His voice is a painful reminder that it’s not Ryan here with me, that I’m self
-medicating. But it’s not enough because Ryan’s in the house with that stupid bitch. His neck must look like a victim of domestic violence by now with how hard she was sucking on the skin. I wonder what else she sucks on that hard.
“Shut up,” I snap against his lips. Duke’s eyes focus for a moment as shock registers on his face. Then he’s descended on me again. I take my frustration out on his mouth as I nip and suck at his soft lips. Slowly, we slide to the damp grass and tangle in one another’s limbs. Every time he grunts or moans, I find myself irrationally ticked off. I try to limit how often I hear his voice by keeping his mouth busy.
His body covers mine, his right hand trails up the outside of my bare thigh. Fingers drag over my jean shorts. My body responds to the attention immediately as I dampen my underwear. I let my head fall back into the grass, arching my back in anticipation. Clenching and unclenching the muscles in my lower stomach, my breath hitches as Duke unbuttons the top of my shorts and then tugs down the zipper in one smooth movement. His thumb circles the top of my pants and then dips below, brushing against my soft curls. My body tenses as his thumb makes contact. Moving in a clockwise motion, he keeps his speed steady. My core pounds with a wanton need, pushing me to the edge. As he slips a single finger inside, I think back to Ryan wrapping his cracked pinky around mine when the tire blew in the van, the ride into Nevada, and even his angry rant. As I dissolve into a thousand little pieces, the only face I can see is the same one that’s been haunting me for the last two months. I bite down on my bottom lip to control the scream as my muscles tighten and I spasm around Duke’s finger.
Barely coming down from my release, Duke moves off of me. His middle finger is pointed up, covered in my juices. He dips it into his mouth and sucks it clean. Looking more sober than he has all night, he adjusts himself in his jeans. I prop myself up on my elbows and stare up at him in confusion. A mixture of shame, embarrassment, and fear overtake me as he gives me a cold look and turns to walk away. The more distance he puts between us, the more painful the rip becomes in my chest. What have I done?
I want to ask him where he’s going, if I did something wrong, and even beg him to come back. I fight the urge to zip up my shorts and chase after him. I have such little experience. I’ve dated, sure. And I’ve fooled around. I’ve had sex. But never have I let some dirt bag finger me in a damp field before. Never have I just been left like this before. And never have I wanted to just disappear this much before. So I don’t chase after him, I don’t even zip up my shorts. I just lay there, in that field, for as long as I can take the encroaching cold. Silent tears stream down the sides of my face as I stay perfectly still, in the same exact position he left me in, feeling like the most pathetic person to ever live.
I drag my zipper up, catching my index finger in the process. It throbs, but I force myself to ignore it as best I can. Just then, the night sky lights up in an explosion color so vibrant it makes me blink away the spots that dot my vision. Fireworks shoot high in the sky, like missiles they wheeze through the air and then burst with pops. I watch them, mesmerized by how lovely bolts of fire and light can be in the near total darkness surrounding me. Lying here, alone with the fireworks, I whisper to myself, “Happy Independence Day.”
Chapter 14
Whatever is begun in anger ends in shame.
- Benjamin Franklin
TELLING RUBY I wanted to get a job wasn’t the best of ideas, in retrospect. True to her word, she talked to Jim about me helping down at the shop, and he agreed that he could use the help. After what happened with Duke at the party, I thought better of working with them, but it’s not like I can say anything. I should be grateful for the work, but really, I’m too nervous to feel much of anything else right now.
“How should I answer the phone?” I ask, standing behind my new desk, surveying the space. I raise my eyes to meet Jim’s. He’s got his hands on his jean-clad hips as he smiles at me.
“I don’t care,” he says with a shrug. I tilt my head to the side and fold my arms over my chest. This has become a thing between him and me.
“I need specifics, Jim,” I plead. We’ve been over this. My father always had a specific way of doing things. There was nothing in my world he didn’t have an opinion on, and he was never shy about letting me know how he preferred things. Jim, on the other hand, is so laid back it’s frustrating. The only thing he ever cares about is club business. Everything else, he defers to Ruby.
“Okay, how about ‘Forsaken’?”
I twist my mouth up, thinking on that one, and finally decide, “I’ll ask Ruby.”
“She knows more about running this business than I do.”
“I’m not surprised,” I say with a smile. Jim stretches out his arms with a smile and waves me off as he leaves through the front door to the office. As is typical with him, he hasn’t given me any instruction. I have a mountain of paperwork on my desk that I think needs to be sorted. Or filed. It might be a stack of invoices that need to be paid. I don’t even know.
I flip on my work computer and wait for it to boot up as I eye the stack in front of me. The sheet of paper on top is a photocopy of a receipt for a turkey sandwich from two years ago. I can’t understand why Jim would have kept this, much less photocopied it, but it’s not really my call. I set it aside and scribble RECEIPTS on a sticky note, for later reference.
The old desktop computer is up. I spend a good half an hour poking around to see what kind of software Jim has installed on this thing. He has small business accounting software, a spreadsheet program, and some kind of part-ordering program. The first thing I do is find the operation manuals for the programs online and save copies to the hard drive just in case I need them in the future. The rest of my morning is spent sorting through the paperwork. I find more receipts for luncheon items and even a few for beer runs. There are, maybe, five receipts that relate directly to the business in here.
My head pounds in confusion. Surely there must be a good reason Jim has all of these food receipts that date back some more than three years. I mean, how else do you explain stacks and stacks of photocopied receipts for everything from fast food to condoms? After finding that one, I’m just glad I didn’t find one for an escort service. Not that the guys have to pay for it—they might—I just have no idea what to expect anymore. Giving up for the time being, I rest my head on my desk and let the world slip away.
THERE’S DROOL POOLING in the corner of my mouth, and my heart’s beating a million miles an hour. It takes me a moment to figure out what’s going on. Last I remember, I was laying my head down to try to clear my thoughts. A chorus of laughter sounds from around me. Picking my head up quickly, I try to wipe the drool away as inconspicuously as possible, but I’ve been caught.
Duke and Ian laugh heartedly from across my desk. It’s the first time I’ve seen Duke since the fourth of July. That lingering residue of shame is suddenly thick on my skin once again. Unable to meet his eyes, I focus on Ian.
“What do you guys want?” I pull myself up straight in my chair and wait for a response.
“Just saying ‘hi’ is all,” Duke says. Out of habit, I look at the person who’s speaking to me. Duke’s blue eyes betray his smiling face and relaxed demeanor with their intensity. I don’t want to notice this, but I can’t help it. No matter how difficult the answer, but I can’t stop myself from wondering why. Why did he take me to that field, and why did he use me, and then just leave me there?
“You’ve said it. Now I’ve got work to do.” I look away from both of them to re-straighten the stacks on my desk. Ian leaves without a single word, but Duke remains. Now that we’re without an audience, I feel on slightly better footing.
“What do you want?” I snap. Duke’s blue eyes bore into mine. He takes long strides to reach me, and, when he does, I’m cornered. Standing up from my seat, I pull back into the wall behind me. Invading my personal space, he places his hand on my hip, fingers splayed across my backside, just like the other night.
�
�Don’t touch me,” I whisper. He doesn’t retreat. Instead, he moves in closer, blocking everything else from my line of sight. All I can see and smell is him. But everything about him reminds me of Ryan, and that’s painful. Because while Duke may be a dirt bag, Ryan’s a bastard, but the bastard doesn’t want me. Neither is any better than the other, but at least I don’t feel as inconsequential with Duke as I do with Ryan. He may have left me in that field, but at least he saved the degradation for afterward, which is more than I can say for Ryan.
“You like it when I touch you, Princess,” he breathes into my ear. Pulling back to meet my eyes, he licks his lips. With all my might—which isn’t much—I shove back on his chest. At that exact moment, the office door opens and there stands Ryan. He’s got a few days’ worth stubble on his chin, a dirty, wrinkled white shirt on under his leather best, and once again, black jeans with black boots.
“Give us a minute,” he grinds out. For a split second, I pray he’s talking to me. I’d gladly leave right now if only I had the option. But it’s Duke who removes his hand from my hip and steps away, leaving me in an even less comfortable situation than I was in when Ian left me alone with him.
“Are you fucking him?” Ryan asks. He’s in a mood where he apparently can’t be bothered with pleasantries, not that he and I have anything pleasant to say to one another. All I really want to tell him is to go choke on a sock, but since I know I don’t have the courage to do that, I lift my chin, refusing to answer.
“I said,” he repeats, moving closer. “Are you fucking him?” He stops at my desk and, instead of coming around, cornering me like Duke did, he places his hands atop the Formica surface and leans in. “Well?”
