The Edge of Night

by Jill Sorenson

  Carmen disappeared behind the stall. “What did you do, visit the library? Play golf?”

  “Don’t make fun of me.”

  “Let me give you some advice, m’ija. White boys like the same things as our paisanos. Women with curves. Blow jobs.”

  “That’s your advice?” she said, wriggling into her skirt. “Blow him?”

  “Definitely.”

  April finished dressing and left the stall, shaking her head. When she leaned over the sink to finish her makeup, Carmen came up beside her. April’s hand trembled as she applied mascara.

  “You look guilty,” her friend accused. “You did something.”

  April hid a smile, dusting her face with powder. Today she didn’t need blush.

  “Was he good?”

  “Stop,” she chided, snapping her compact shut. “We had a nice date at the water park. He was great with Jenny. It was fun.”

  “You took Jenny? Estás loca?”

  “She fell asleep on the way home, and he kissed me goodbye.”

  “What kind of kiss?”

  She bent forward, painting her lips crimson. “A sexy kiss,” she admitted, shivering at the memory.

  “Are you going out again?”

  “I think so.”

  Carmen did a bump and grind, offering her interpretation of their next date.

  April struggled not to laugh. “Let me give you some advice—m’ija. Sometimes it’s better to leave a little mystery.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She studied her reflection in the mirror, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. Maybe it wasn’t smart to get involved with Noah, but she didn’t care. Her cautious side warned that he would hurt her. Another, secret part of her was starved for his touch and yearning for more.

  Carmen smirked, skeptical. “We’ll see how long you hold out.”

  The evening passed quickly. For a Tuesday night, it was busy. After a few slow days, business had picked up again. In two weeks, when college classes started, the San Diego bar scene would explode.

  Although the recent victim had no ties to the club, most of the waitresses were still jumping at shadows. They gossiped incessantly about the murders, sharing stories of creepy men and dark nights.

  Nikki swore that she’d had a Peeping Tom once. Maya said she’d almost gone home with a customer a few weeks ago but had changed her mind because his car smelled like death. Lupita recited a bone-chilling tale from her hometown in Mexico, about a demon that preyed on prostitutes.

  The streets of Chula Vista were quieter than usual. Women were urged not to be out alone at night. People went home earlier, and voices were less raucous. The club’s bouncers had been escorting female customers to their cars, as a precaution.

  April thought about her mother often. Last night someone had called, but not spoken. She listened to the taut silence, convinced it was Josefa. She’d finally said, “Mamá?” but the connection ended.

  It broke her heart to imagine her mother struggling and alone. She’d second-guessed her decision a thousand times. Maybe she should have taken Josefa to the methadone clinic or tried to find a low-cost rehab. Her mother’s drug and alcohol addiction had cast a pall over April’s life. At least now Josefa’s behavior didn’t directly affect Jenny.

  April had to move forward.

  She was pleased with the new babysitting arrangements, excited to see Noah again, and anxious to start her upper-division classes at San Diego State. It felt good to step out of her comfort zone and to imagine a brighter future.

  When her shift was over, she said good night to Eddie and walked outside with Carmen. As they crossed the parking lot, April’s cell phone rang—a rare occurrence.

  It was Noah. “Can I see you?”

  “When?”

  “Right now.”

  “Um …”

  “I’ll meet you at your house.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Okay,” she said, moistening her lips. After he hung up, she darted a glance at Carmen.

  So much for leaving a little mystery.

  “Booty call,” Carmen sang, getting into her car.

  “It is not.”

  Her friend waved goodbye, laughing.

  April drove home at a snail’s pace, growing more nervous with each mile. Noah hadn’t mentioned what he wanted, but he’d sounded tense. Maybe he wasn’t as friendly on the phone as he was in person.

  Would he expect sex?

  When she arrived, he was already waiting outside. April parked in the garage and walked through the kitchen, setting her purse on the countertop. Thankfully, the house was tidy. She grabbed Jenny’s stuffed dog off the floor and tossed it into her bedroom.

  They wouldn’t be going in there, anyway.

  She walked toward the front door, wishing he’d given her time to wash the stink of the club out of her hair.

  He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, casual clothes that fit him well. His shoulders seemed to span the width of the doorway, perhaps because his stance was so rigid. Tonight, there were no flowers, no relaxed attitude, no lazy smile.

  His gaze cruised over her thin tank top and short skirt. His mouth twisted wryly, as if he both appreciated her outfit and resented her wearing it.

  She felt a flutter of unease. “Would you like to come in?”

  He nodded, brushing by her. Once inside, he appeared uncomfortable. His hands were clenched at his sides.

  She didn’t offer him a seat.

  “Is there anything you want to tell me?” he asked finally.

  “About what?”

  “Jenny’s father. Your gang connections.”

  Her throat tightened. “Raul and I have no contact. There’s nothing between us. I told you that.”

  “What about Eric Hernandez? Do you have ‘contact’ with him?”

  “Yes. He visits Jenny.”

  “Not you?”

  She swallowed, nodding. “We’re friends.”

  “Does he give you money?”

  “Yes,” she said, lifting her chin. “He helps me out here and there. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  His brows rose. “He’s documented CVL. He’s also a coworker of Cristina Lopez, victim number two. And I have reason to believe he fled the scene of another recent crime.”

  She’d heard about Junior’s accident but not a whisper from Eric. He hadn’t visited since the night Noah had interviewed her at the club. Feeling her knees weaken, she collapsed on the couch, stunned.

  “Does he sell drugs?”

  “He has a job at the market,” she murmured.

  “A part-time gig, at minimum wage, wouldn’t even cover his rent.”

  “He—he lives with his grandmother.”

  “An elderly undocumented immigrant with no job. She’s not eligible for public assistance.”

  She already knew Eric took care of his grandmother. And Noah could tell that she knew. His questions felt like a setup, a rope to hang herself with. “What do you expect me to say?” she asked, throwing her hands up. “What do you want from me?”

  “The truth.”

  Tears pricked her eyes. “I told you Jenny’s father was in prison. I said I had a hard time trusting men because of some issues from my past. Do you think it was easy for me, opening up like that?”

  He looked away, his jaw clenched. When his gaze met hers again, it was cold. “You’re accepting money from a kid who slings dope to fund gang violence. Your ex is a member of the Mexican Mafia. I’m a gang-unit officer. It didn’t occur to you that the department would frown on our relationship?”

  She shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “No. I’ve had a lot of other things on my mind. As far as my ‘gang connections’ go, everyone in this neighborhood has them. You can’t grow up Mexican in Chula Vista and never have associated with a gang member. Surely you understand that.”

  He made a scoffing sound, infuriating her.

  “It doesn’t make me a criminal,” she said, placing a hand on he
r chest.

  “You don’t think it’s wrong to benefit from drug sales? Your own mother is an addict!”

  Furious, she rose from the couch, walking to the kitchen for a drink of water. He followed, watching her pour the glass with trembling hands. After she slaked her thirst, she said, “Don’t you dare talk to me about money. You don’t know anything about my life! You came to this city to clean up the streets—you don’t know what it’s like to live on them. You’ve never had to apply for Medi-Cal, or wait in line at the clinic, or buy groceries with food stamps. You don’t know how it feels to be poor, Noah.” She slammed her cup down. “I’m sure your childhood was like a Norman Rockefeller painting.”

  “Rockwell,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Norman Rockwell. He did the Americana paintings.”

  “Oh, fuck you,” she said, pushing past him. She could field his criticism and match his anger, but she’d be damned if she’d put up with his condescension. “Why don’t you go back to your summers at the lake and your sparkly snow and leave me alone.”

  When he wrapped his hand around her left wrist, preventing her from walking away from the argument, she reacted without thinking. Drawing back her right arm, she slapped him across the face. The sharp sound echoed through the kitchen.

  He released her immediately.

  April had often initiated fights with Raul. Many times he would strike her with no prior warning, for no discernible reason. It was like waiting for a bomb to go off, every single day. The anticipation was torture.

  So she set the bomb off herself.

  She would do things to make him angry, pick fights, talk back to him. Then, when he exploded, she felt an awful, inevitable relief.

  Noah didn’t explode. She stared at him in horror, her palm stinging from the impact. Its harsh imprint stood out on his cheek.

  As soon as he lifted his hand, she flinched, cowering against the kitchen cabinets. But the blow she’d been expecting didn’t come. She glanced up at him warily, realizing that he’d merely raised his fingertips to his face, touching the mark she’d made.

  His gaze filled with sympathy, and she experienced a crippling wave of shame. She saw herself through his eyes—half crouched against the counter, panting in fear, as fractious as a wild animal.

  She straightened, raking a hand through her hair.

  When he reached out to her, she shied away again, her shoulders trembling. Undeterred, he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her. Still lost in the flashbacks of abuse, she struggled to break free. Raul had done this. Hugging her close one minute, smacking her down the next.

  Terrified and humiliated, she started pummeling his chest, fighting hard. Noah grabbed both of her wrists and held her arms behind her back.

  She twisted to the side, bringing her spike heel down on top of his shoe.

  He grunted in pain, but he didn’t loosen his grip. “Stop,” he said, pinning her against the counter. The blunt edge dug into her hip. Off-balance, her heels scraped the linoleum floor, useless. “I’m not going to hit you,” he said, his teeth clenched. “But I won’t let you hit me. Do you understand?”

  Tears sprang into her eyes. She understood that he was incredibly strong and that resistance was futile. Already exhausted, she stopped fighting him and conserved her strength for the explosion.

  It didn’t happen.

  Noah continued to steady her, his arms locked around her, his heart pounding in rhythm with hers. When she wilted against him, forcing him to bear her weight, he boosted her up on the countertop, keeping her wrists secured behind her back.

  After a few moments his hold began to feel less restrictive. Like an embrace rather than a restraint.

  With caution, he released her wrists. “Okay now?”

  She nodded, trying to hold the tears at bay. But it was impossible, because all of her walls had come tumbling down. Giving in to her emotions, she pressed her face to his neck and cried, clinging to the front of his shirt. He made soothing sounds and rubbed her shoulders, gentling her. Although she was appalled by her actions, his touch felt good.

  Incredibly good.

  Her tears stopped flowing, little by little. In slow measures, she realized she was sitting on the countertop, her skirt hiked up to the point of indecency. He was standing between her splayed legs, his chest heaving against hers.

  For a man who was no longer expending much energy, he was breathing hard. “Raul … abused you?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t know how to respond to that or where to start. He’d asked for the truth, so she made an attempt to tell it. “When Raul became … violent, Eric often tried to protect me. He was only a kid at the time and no match for his brother physically, but he would put himself between us. Once, Raul held a gun to his head for interfering.” Her eyes searched his. “I don’t know how Eric makes his money. I wouldn’t tell you if I did. He’s like a brother to me, and I would never betray him.”

  Noah paused before he spoke, letting her words sink in. “What if I asked you to stop accepting money from him?”

  She slid her hands over his shoulders, smoothing the wrinkles her fists had made. “Are you asking because you’re jealous or because you don’t want me involved with something illegal?”

  “Both,” he admitted. “I don’t want another man … taking care of you.”

  “Even Raul? If he paid child support?”

  “If you were mine, I’d give you everything you need.”

  Her heart warmed at the sentiment, even while her mind rejected it. “I’m not yours,” she said, placing her fingertips on his jaw. “I can’t be yours.”

  He went very still. Their lips were less than an inch apart, and he obviously longed to close the distance. But getting together wasn’t really an option for either of them right now. Being with her violated his code of ethics. Being with him threatened her sense of independence.

  “Why are you here?” she whispered.

  “I wanted to get your side of the story.”

  “And to break up with me in person?”

  He couldn’t deny it. “I know I should have stayed away,” he said instead, his eyes locked on hers. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. I lie awake at night, aching for you. I fantasize about making you come, over and over again.”

  April smothered a moan, because she’d been suffering from the same problem. Last night she’d woken with his name on her lips, writhing against the sheets. She couldn’t imagine finding another man she connected with on so many different levels. It might be five more years before she came close to sexual intimacy again.

  “Before you leave, do me a favor,” she murmured, dipping her head to taste the warm skin at his throat. His pulse throbbed beneath her lips, and his salt tingled on her tongue. She could feel the heat of his erection jutting against the juncture of her thighs.

  If they couldn’t have a relationship, maybe they could have this.

  “What?”

  Her mouth touched his ear. “Fuck me.”

  His body shook against hers, his resolve crumbling under the weight of his desire. He lifted his hand to her nape, fisting it in her hair. She couldn’t have said why, but the action excited her beyond belief. Her panties were damp, her flesh swollen and achy.

  When he tilted her head back, she moaned and clutched the edge of the counter, steadying herself for his kiss.

  His technique wasn’t graceful. He devoured her mouth, thrusting his tongue deep inside, possessing her completely. She wrapped her legs around his waist and grabbed handfuls of his shirt, loving every second of it.

  One of them knocked over the sugar bowl. Its contents spilled across the counter, dusting the tile surface.

  They didn’t waste much time with foreplay. She tugged off his shirt, her fingertips dancing over the muscles in his chest. He reached under her skirt, yanking her panties and stockings down her thighs, just far enough to give him access. The countertop
felt cool against her bare bottom. He jerked open the fly of his pants, and then the blunt tip of his erection was right there, pressing against her.

  “No,” she said, pushing him back.

  His eyes flashed with anger. “No?”

  “Not without a condom,” she clarified.

  He shook his head, as if to clear it. “Right,” he muttered, reaching into his front pocket. “I, uh, agree.”

  While he took care of that, she kicked off her shoes and finished removing her panties and stockings. Then she pulled her top over her head and unhooked her bra. It fell away from her body, her breasts tumbling free.

  Her nipples stood out like pebbles, begging for his touch.

  Moistening his lips, he rolled the condom down himself, looking from her mouth to her breasts to the dark triangle between her legs. His eyes were hungry, as if he wanted to taste everything at once.

  Impatient, she flattened her palms on the countertop and parted her thighs.

  He groaned, stepping up to the plate. Bracing one hand on the cabinet above her head, he guided himself into her with the other. Although she was very wet, she didn’t accept him easily. She wrapped her legs around his waist, squirming for a better angle. He found it, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth thrust.

  “Oh, my God,” she moaned.

  “I like it when you say that.”

  She dug her fingernails into his bare shoulders, panting against his throat. After a long stint of celibacy, she felt an almost painful sense of fullness. He was big, but not so big that she couldn’t take him. Her body stretched to the limit, accommodating his size.

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “It’s a good hurt.”

  He clenched his teeth, obviously wanting to pound her into oblivion. Instead, he skimmed his hands along her sides, cupping the soft weight of her breasts. He unwittingly transferred some spilled sugar from the countertop to her skin. The granulated particles clung to her stiff nipples, abrading her sweetly.

  When he bent his head to lick the sugar-dusted tips, she gasped with pleasure, her hips jerking forward. He withdrew from her a few inches and drove himself deep again, plunging into her slick heat.