She ended the call a few minutes later and stood, leaning against the countertop. Davy had always done what he could, done more than he should. Their father had his own path and used the whip of religion to drive his flock to what he wanted to accomplish. Even there, Davy had tried to save her.
An eleven-year-old Bethany lay on her stomach in bed, an unfamiliar ache low in her belly. She thought she knew what was happening. Aunt Barbra had warned her about what it meant to become a woman. Knowing that it was inevitable. They had talked about how to manage her body when she would become unclean. That was what Daddy always called it, and Bethy knew why the women sat to the side in church, and sometimes had to sit in the back, no matter who their husbands were. When women were bleeding, this condition their monthly reminder that they had much to repay for Eve’s betrayal of God and her temptation of Adam, they couldn’t be around the men. Unclean.
She rolled to her side and as she moved, felt something weird between her legs, a slippery warmth that was a lot like when the men anointed her. No one had visited her tonight, though so it couldn’t be that. Bethy lifted the covers and looked down at her body in the shadows, seeing a dark stain on her nightgown. Touching herself there was forbidden, but she needed to know so ran her fingers along her hip, and dragged the blue cotton up so she could see her underwear. They were also stained. Between her legs was dark with what she knew would be blood.
A sound in the hallway, then the rattle of her doorknob had her rolling out of bed, standing straight. Her door opened. “Unclean,” she whispered, looking up at the man.
“Fuck. Stay there, girl.” Uncle Ezra closed the door.
A few minutes later, the door opened again. Bethy hadn’t moved. She’d been told not to, after all. With a sobbing sigh, she threw her arms around her best friend. Tabby said, “Hang on, Bethy. Lemme get you to Aunt Barbra’s. She’ll see to you.” In the hallway, Tabby pulled them both to a stop, and Bethy could feel her trembling, even though it wasn’t cold.
At the end of the hallway stood two figures. Uncle Ezra, and Bethy’s brother, Davy. In a voice filled with gravel that belied his fifteen years, Davy said, “Ezra, you do not want to let me catch you near her again.” He moved a step closer to the older man, Davy’s already broad shoulders nearly dwarfing him. “Not if you wanna stay breathin’.”
“Your daddy runs this household, boy. Not you.” That was Ezra’s voice, filled with arrogance and disdain. The Ledbetters always wanted to remind folks that they had money, and influence. Aunt Barbra was blood, but the Ledbetters were congregation. Ezra wasn’t really Bethy’s uncle, but her daddy wanted her to call both Ezra and his wife, Loretta, aunt and uncle, to keep everyone happy. “He’s the one who let me in tonight. You think you got more sway than your daddy?”
“I don’t think Davy knows,” Bethy whispered to Tabby, who nodded in response. “He can’t know.” Tabby shook her head, and the two girls turned around and headed the other direction. Davy would kill Daddy if he knew, she thought, remembering the men standing in a circle around her, touching her, touching themselves.
The girls eased out the front of the house, Bethy holding the screen door against the spring, letting it close quietly behind them. Tabby whispered, “If he knew, what would he do?”
Bethy looked over her shoulder, staring at the dark windows of the house. “He’d kill ‘em all.”
“They’d send him away like they did Mikey.” Tabby reached out, gripping Bethy’s hand. “You cain’t let him know.” The first time Tabby had been anointed, one of the men had gone too far. Scared and hurt, Tabby had run away from the church camp, making her way through the woods, bleeding. Her big brother Mikey had found out what happened, found out who had hurt Tabby, and had almost killed the man. That was five years ago, and he had only been allowed home a few times since then. The girls loved when he did visit, because his uniform was a novelty. Each with a foot in his boots, arms around the other, the girls would clomp around the house Tabby lived in with Aunt Loretta and Uncle Ezra, laughing and giddy. “You cain’t lose Davy.”
“I won’t tell. Not ever.” Bethy’s belly cramped, gripping her middle like a fist and bending her double for a moment. When she could straighten up, she looked into Tabby’s moonlit face and swore, “Never.”
Bethy shook herself, looking down at the phone in her hand, thumb already moving in a long-memorized pattern to dial a number from the past. When a woman answered the phone, Bethy didn’t say anything. Didn’t respond. Listened to the quavering voice call, “Hello? Is anyone there?” A pause, then, “Hello?” Bethy’s eyes closed, and she stared into the darkness. “Hello?” A final greeting, then the sharp click of a disconnect.
Only then did Bethany allow herself to speak, voicing what she wished to God she could still say. “Hey Aunt Loretta, is Tabby there? I really need to talk to her.” Fist pressed to her mouth, Bethy kept her eyes closed, tasting salt as the first tears slipped down her face. “Tabby girl, I miss you, baby. Miss you somethin’ fierce. Wish you were here, honey. I left it too late. Too late and I’m so sorry.” She swallowed convulsively, fighting against the sobs beating against her ribs, clawing at her throat. “I left it too late, too late. I miss—” Shoulders shaking, she bit her lips, unsuccessful in keeping the cries inside.
Movin’ on
Gabe
“Good to see you, man.”
That voice. That fucking, goddamned voice he had hoped to never hear again.
Gabe sat still on his stool, elbows to the countertop in front of him, one forearm protectively framing the plate which held his meal. Keeping his chin down, he angled his eyes up, catching how the waitress was frowning at the man who had walked up behind him. Gabe hadn’t seen Dion for years, not since Nashville went to shit, but still knew what the waitress would be looking at. Tall and broad, Dion had always held an edge of brutal in his face that foiled every effort to smooth it away. Skin puckered on one cheek from an encounter with a hot muffler, Dion wasn’t handsome, not by any definition of the word. What he was, was memorable.
Shuffling the dish a little closer, Gabe leaned forwards, mechanically moving the fork from plate to mouth, and then back again, scarcely chewing in his haste. He’s not supposed to be here.
Here was Raleigh. North Carolina being a place Dion had never talked about. So, when Gabe got released, he worked with his contacts to get himself to this town.
The cushion on a neighboring stool compressed, the sound of the air being pushed from the fabric and batting quiet, but telling. Dion wasn’t leaving and probably wouldn’t tolerate the silence for much longer. Whatever, fucker. Gabe stayed quiet, finishing his food, knowing now that there was no escaping this encounter. Fork clutched in one hand, he reached for the handle of his coffee mug, lifted it while tilting his head, and gulped at the hot liquid. It was robust, rich with flavor, something he had missed while inside. Like the food he’d ordered, eggs over medium, it was exactly how he liked it. Bacon crisp, cooked through. He’d even gotten wheat toast, not something he liked, but being able to order something because you wanted it was still a novelty.
“You been out what, a month? I’m hurt, Gabe.” A cough, the air expelled was laced with the scents of cigarette smoke and decaying teeth. “You didn’t even bother to look me up before you raced out of Tennessee.”
“Don’t give a fuck.” Gabe let the words escape then clamped his mouth shut, being in the diner meant he was limited in his response, so much less than he wanted to give this asshole.
“Yeah, well, you should. You need to get square with me.” Arrogance and confidence, two things he once admired about the man, were now traits that annoyed and angered.
Twisting his neck, shoving the empty plate towards the inside rail of the counter, Gabe glared at Dion, seeing his imagination had painted an inaccurate picture of the man. Lank, greasy hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, Dion’s face looked sallow, cheeks sunken around missing teeth. Life ain’t treated him well. Good. “We’re square.”
He levered himself upright, muscles honed by hours of push-ups bunching in his arms as he shoved against the countertop. Looming over Dion, Gabe relished provoking an expression of fear that flashed across the man’s features. “Yeah.” Pulling his lips back in a snarl perfected over years in the open yard at Riverbend, Gabe leaned close, letting the weight of his rage free for just a moment. “We fucking are. Square—” He bent deeper, putting his face right into Dion’s. “—and fucking done.” Reaching for the wallet in the front pocket of his pants, Gabe laughed when Dion’s eyes widened in terror. “Not going back inside. Not for something like you.” Money tossed to the counter beside his plate, Gabe glanced at the waitress who had retreated towards the swinging door that lead into the kitchen. “Thank you.” He held her gaze until she nodded. Leaning back towards Dion, he offered the only advice he would ever give the man. “Don’t let me see you again.”
***
Huddled under the thin blanket on his halfway house cot, Gabe let the movie spool out through his head. Like he had every night for six years.
“I think this is going to be a very advantageous arrangement.” Bethany turned from the coffeemaker, carafe in hand. “I’m excited about bringing this to the table for my partner. He deserves for me to hit a home run.” She smiled at him, leaning across the conference table and Gabe eyed the smooth globes of her breasts where they pushed against the soft fabric of her shirt. They’d been talking for hours, and she had taken off her suit jacket a while ago, draping it across the back of an empty chair.
Angled back in his chair, ankle across one knee, he lifted his gaze to her face to see she’d caught his open admiration. He’d done his job, keeping her off center all day, plying her with enough compliments that his attraction was clear, while piling on the details in a way that obscured the shallowness of his understanding of the music industry. He knew all the right words, had done his homework on that part, just the meaning behind most of them was gibberish. Today was laying the groundwork, and part of that was keeping her from talking to her partner.
Knowing what he did now, Gabe had no doubts that the partner was her older brother, Davis Mason. And Mason wasn’t someone to toy with. He’d see through the ruse in a New York minute, which meant Gabe had to build up Bethy’s self-assurance, make her believe that she was skilled enough to put together a deal like this. The damning thing was that she was smart. She was gifted and more than capable; she just lacked the confidence. So, in doing his job and building her up, Gabe knew he was ensuring that it would be a long time before she believed in herself again.
“Let’s have dinner to celebrate.” Gabe smiled up at her, reaching for the coffee mug she’d refilled. “I’d love to hit the town with a beautiful woman on my arm.” If he kept her busy tonight, she wouldn’t have a chance to call Mason. Tomorrow? If she went for dinner, that was already solved. He’d do a rinse and repeat, worming his way under her defenses a little more every day. “Leave your checkbook here, B.T.” He couldn’t bring himself to call her Bethany, afraid his accent or intonation would give him away, so he’d fallen back on what she called herself on the radio. “Tonight is on me.”
She studied him for a moment, the confident exterior slipping slightly, and for the span of a breath, he saw the little girl he’d known. Tabby’s best friend. Then she smiled, and he knew she was hooked. “Sounds really good, Mr. Sorenson.”
“Derek,” he scolded her, having already asked her to use his first name. “I’m ready when you are. Anything you need to do before we hit the town?”
She glanced at the phone, then turned back to him. “Nothing that can’t wait.”
Hitching the blanket higher on his shoulders, Gabe sighed, then rolled to his back, drafts of air stirred by the moving blanket softly caressing his heated skin. Just the thought of Bethy was enough to bring him fully erect in moments. Determined not to sully the memories, he had denied himself every time. She’s everywhere. Can’t escape her when she’s always in my head.
The sound of her laugh swept through his thoughts, how she’d giggled at the shit he’d said. He smiled, remembering when she found out he was ticklish and spent an hour keeping him on edge, mouth around his cock, fingers tracing along his ribs and him never knowing when she’d dig them in.
Damn.
Throwing off the blanket, he shivered for a moment at the rush of being naked. Exposed. His body, anyway. With Bethy, his heart had been exposed. “Yeah, look how that worked out.”
Swallowing hard, he clamped his mouth shut, not wanting to hear how desolate his own voice sounded in the tiny room. The air surrounding him was dead, no resonance, like he felt most of the time.
“I’ll always say it like it is,” Bethy promised him, chin propped on her arm folded across his chest. “And after four days, I can say I like you, Derek Sorenson.” Gabe flinched and knew she assumed it was because of her statement. It was, sort of, because he found he wanted to hear his name on her lips, not the assumed persona he was using as a front. “Doesn’t mean you have to return anything, Derek.”
“Honey, you know I like you, too.” Sighing, he let a tinge of melancholy slip into his tone. “I’ll tell you that right out. But I’ll also tell you that I’m not a settling man.” He didn’t want to leave her heartbroken at the end of the con. “I’m with you when I’m here, though.” Gabe trailed his fingers up her spine, gripping the back of her neck in his hand. “And here is where I want to be.” Nothing in there was a lie, and he sold it as hard as he could. “Right here.”
Toes digging into her mattress, she pushed up his torso until her lips covered his in a long, sweet kiss. “Good enough,” she said when she pulled back, but he could see the pain in her eyes.
“Liar,” he whispered, and she grimaced. “I like that you are willing to take what I can give, honey. I wish I could offer more.”
“Damn.” Cheek to his chest, she lay in his embrace. “I can’t hide anything from you, Derek.”
“I like that you’re an open book, too.” Pursing his lips, he kissed the tip of her nose. She moved to cover him like a blanket, and as they lay there, belly to belly, Bethany slipped her hand down between them. Angling his hard cock to her opening, she pushed and sat up, sliding him inside her.
Hand to his cock, Gabe groaned at the memory of how hot and tight she had been. How she moved over him, her hands on his chest, fingers digging into his muscles as she rode him. Her dark hair swinging over her shoulder when her head tipped back, a groan coming from between her parted lips. His fist moved fast on his cock, hips thrusting up into the tight grip that could never imitate how good she’d felt. That was why he never did this; he knew the illusion couldn’t hold. “Good enough,” he heard her voice in his head, and he stroked faster, frantic now.
“Bethany,” he groaned, feeling the spiral of heat in his spine. Ass cheeks clenching, his balls drew up to his body and a long jet of white striped his chest. Strangling his cock in a brutal grip, he didn’t let up, embracing the pain and pumping hard as he milked his cock, imagining again that it was Bethy riding him. When he was done, he rolled his head to the side, teeth clenched, the heat of his ejaculate cooling on his belly.
Not good enough.
Iron Indian Records
Bethany
“Double latte, please. Skim milk.” Bethy smiled at the woman in the food truck window. “That’s all today.”
“Child,” Dorothea scolded, shaking her head. “You ain’t gonna get no ass drinkin’ no skim milk. And you got no ass, you ain’t gonna get yourself a man. Lemme make you a real cup of coffee, with whipped cream on top.” Even as her mouth moved, arguing, she was already assembling what Bethy had asked for. “And no muffin? Child, that’s nearly criminal, with how good these banana nut muffins are today.”
Rolling her
eyes, Bethy laughed. “Dot, I’ll give on the muffin, but you put whipped cream on my coffee, and I will not be coming back.” She grabbed her purse, unslinging it from her shoulder. “And if you try to put butter on the muffin, we’ll have words.” Dorothea chuckled, and Bethy grinned at her, finding her wallet by feel.
“Put her stuff on my tab.” Bethy didn’t try to stifle her glad cry as she recognized the voice that came from behind her. Purse clutched in one hand, she whirled and threw herself at the man standing there.
“Davy.” She felt his arms settle around her, holding her close. Then she laughed again when his voice rumbled in his chest underneath her cheek.
“But, Dot, if you put whipped cream in my coffee, we’ll have more than words.” He gave Bethy a squeeze. “How you doin’, baby girl?”
“Better, now.” The sadness from last night threatened to reappear, and she pressed closer when he would have released her. “I didn’t know you were coming into town. When did you decide?”
“Coffee’s ready, Miss Bethy,” Dot called, and Bethany reluctantly pulled back from her brother.
“Thanks, Dot,” she said, accepting the wax paper-wrapped muffin and paper cup of coffee. “You’re my favorite.”
“I’ll remember that the next time you tell my son something I don’t want him to hear.” Dot laughed and shook her head. “My Ty thinks a lot of you, but you sic him on me again for my food choices and I doubt I’ll still be your favorite.”
Bethy felt her smile slip, and she waited for Mason to give his order for a breakfast sandwich before she asked, “Have you heard anything from Sarge?” It had been several days since the last update Bethy had gotten, but he usually kept in closer contact with Tyrell’s mom. “Ty okay?”
“Yeah.” Dot brushed at her forehead with the back of one wrist. “He said Tyrell is getting back on track. Every episode he has, my boy seems to come back from quicker, and that’s good, Bethy.” Dot reached out, sandwich in hand, waiting for Mason to take the food. “I’m glad he’s got you to lean on. Matters a lot, more than you know.”
Fury (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 11) Page 3
