Bo grabs my arm and drags me to the sliding glass doors. He points to the backyard. “No, seriously, though. There’s a body in the backyard. Look.”
I look out to see a mangled clump of naked man directly in the center of the yard.
“Holy shit. You’re right.” My mind is racing and in full alert mode.
“Told you,” Bo says, skipping off to the kitchen. “You want a cookie, Uncle Kevin?”
“Uh, not right now, but save one for me. And can you go ask your dad to come out here? Like, right the fuck now?”
“Sure thing,” he says around a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie as he strolls leisurely down the hall. “Dad, Uncle Kevin wants to talk to you about the dead guy in the back yard. Right the fuck now!”
I step out into the yard, swatting away the flies colliding into my face with each step. As I get closer I notice a large red tattoo on the dead man’s back. No, it’s not a tattoo. Paint, maybe? It’s not until I’m up close when I can make out that’s it’s a message written in blood.
It’s a number. And not just any number.
It’s the number nine.
And the body? It’s missing it’s fucking head.
Preppy joins me outside. “Any clue who the corpse is?” he asks, crouching down beside me.
“Yeah,” I say. “It’s Jared’s business partner, Sheff. The owner of the head left in Lenny’s bed.”
“Fuck me sideways,” Preppy whistles, but his words are all garbled. I look over, and he’s got a mouth full of cookies.
Bo steps out from beside him, his own mouth full of cookies. “Been dead about two days, by my guess,” he says, “The redness of the blood pooled under the skin of his chest means that he’s probably been kept face first somewhere before being moved here.”
“Makes sense,” I say considering we found his head not three days ago. “But how do you know that, kid? And why are you out here?”
Bo shrugs. “Doesn’t everyone know that? And I’m out here because you and Dad told me not to come, so naturally, I’m curious. Plus, I’m nine years old. Listening isn’t a strong point for kids of my age.”
Preppy ruffles Bo’s hair. “Go back inside, Bo. I’ve got to get rid of this situation before your sisters see it. Then, we can go to the skate park after your mom gets home.”
“I didn’t know you skate,” I say to Bo.
He wipes the crumbs from his hands on his pants. “I don’t. I just like to sit at the top of the ramp and watch people fall.” He skips back inside.
“Since the head was at Lenny’s and the body is here with Nine written on the back, I think it’s safe to say that he’s made the connection between the two of you and knows that you have her.” Preppy points out. “Am I right to assume that you’re not about to turn Lenny over for a little chat?”
“Not a chance fucking in hell, brother,” I grate.
“I figured, on the account of you being in love with her and all.”
“What?” I reply, standing up. “That doesn’t matter right now. Ricci’s people would torture her, and when she can’t tell them what they want to hear, they’ll kill her anyway. I’ve got to get a message to them. One that Tico Ricci will hopefully understand.”
“Understand? Tico? I hope that you’re right, but you better get that message out quick, brother,” Preppy holds his nose. “And this body. It stinks so bad it’s almost killing my appetite.” He shoves another cookie in his mouth while still holding his nose. “How you planning on explaining shit to him. Email? Stripper-gram? I’ve recently discovered that balloon bouquets are quite popular.”
“The only way I can get a message to him that he actually might listen to.” I crack my knuckles. “In person.”
By the time I pull up to the RV, I’ve sent a message to Tico by way of every encrypted email and phone number he’s ever been known to use requesting a face-to-face.
Now, I wait.
I shove my phone back in my pocket and step back inside my RV where I pause when I find a stranger standing in my kitchen with her back to me. Only, she’s not a stranger. She’s from the past. The same light white-blonde hair to her shoulders on one side and slightly shorter on the other. She’s wearing an off-the-shoulder, slouchy baby blue shirt over a short white denim skirt and plain white tennis shoes.
She looks exactly like she did the night I met her.
“Poe?” I ask, without thinking.
I think I’ve just fucked up royally, but she turns around and jumps at my presence, placing her hand over her heart. She pulls out the ear buds from her ears that are connected to my old MP3 player, peeking out from her pocket.
“You scared me,” she says, taking a deep breath.
Not nearly as much as you scare me.
“What do you think?” she asks, twirling around slowly with her arms open so I can get a look at her.
My throat is dry. My pulse is racing.
It’s hard to come up with the right words that can explain to her all the things I’m thinking and feeling about how she looks right now. Fuckable. Gorgeous. My living breathing wet dream.
MINE.
I clear my throat and decide that simple is best.
“I think it’s…you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
LENNY
When Nine tells me that he’s taking me somewhere tonight, I can’t help but be excited, especially when he says that wherever we’re going is two towns over in Coral Pines where Ricci’s men wouldn’t be looking for me.
After I do some more primping and preening with the makeup that Dre left for me and step out of the RV. Nine is waiting for me at his truck, looking as handsome as ever in his standard, fitted white t-shirt and low-slung jeans. His hair is wet from his recent shower.
He glances up at me and freezes, his jaw open. He flicks his cigarette and comes to stand before me. “There you are,” he says, and I know he’s not talking about my physical presence. He’s taking in my new shorter platinum blonde hair and my off-the-shoulder shirt. I traded my glasses for a pair of contacts I luckily remembered to pack in my toiletries bag.
“You look fucking amazing,” he says, appreciation lacing his deep raspy voice.
“Yep, I’m here,” I reply, feeling suddenly nervous. I press my fingers into my palms but Nine surprises me when he takes my wrist and lifts my hand.
I try to pull my hand back, but he holds it firm, turning my palm up he looks over the crescent shaped scabs and scars. I wait for a question to come asking why I do this to myself or an admonishment of some sort, but what he does surprises me more than harsh words or judgements ever could. He presses a gentle kiss over the scabs then folds my fingers back in, releasing my hand.
I’m shaking now while Nine looks completely unaffected. He doesn’t say a word about what he just did or why.
“So, where exactly are we going?” I ask.
His lips turn up in a crooked grin. “Well, since the two of us have lived very adult lives before we ever had a chance to be kids…”
“Yeah?” I press.
He opens the passenger door of his truck and lifts me up inside. “What do you say we go be kids for a while?”
My heart leaps. Whatever the plan is the answer is yes.
“I say, lead the way.”
The second I set foot on the mushy grass parking lot, I breathe in the scent of fried foods and a sugary sweet scent, as if cotton candy was blowing around in the breeze like sugary dandelions.
Laughter and music floats through the air from within a vast, fenced-in area, which is covered with dozens of black tarps, presumably to prevent onlookers from taking a peek at what’s going on inside.
“A fair?” I ask, my palms sweaty with excitement. It’s been a while since I’ve been to a fair. Mindless fair games and dizzying rides are just the distraction I’ve been looking for that doesn’t come in a bottle.
Although, I did bring my flask, so there’s that.
“Sort of.” He flashes me a knowing grin and out pops
that dimple on his chin.
Don’t lose your shit over a stupid fucking dimple. Sure, Nine can be nice, but he’s also dangerous and for all intense and purposes, your kidnapper.
I’m warring with my inner thoughts, so distracted that I don’t see the man beside the ticket booth until he jumps out from behind it, holding a bloody heart in his hands.
I scream and turn to run, only to collide with Nine’s hard chest. I begin to move away, to continue my escape when I feel him pull me back in, his torso shaking with laughter against my cheek. I crane my neck to see what’s so funny and ask why we aren’t running when Nine, looking highly amused, slowly pushes me off of him and turns me around to face my assailant.
Instantly, my face flushes with embarrassment. The man isn’t coming after me, he was never coming after me. He’s in costume and elaborate zombie makeup. The heart in his hands is only a prop. A good one, but still, just plastic and some sort of red liquid made to look like blood.
The man uses his hand not holding the prop to tip his tattered top hat in greeting. “Welcome, living ones. Do you two already have your tickets? If not, you can purchase wristbands from the zombie at the gate, otherwise known as my dear undead wife, Zelda,” he announces, then limps off to scare his next victims, a young couple who shrieks in terror before breaking out in uncontrollable laughter.
“Don’t worry. He’s not a real zombie,” Nine teases in a whisper.
I playfully smack his chest, but when I connect with his shirt, he grabs my hand and slowly lifts it to his lips. My breath catches in my throat. “You don’t have to worry about being bitten by zombies,” he says, grazing my knuckles with his teeth. “It’s me you should be afraid of.” He growls, then nips playfully at my hand, pretending to take a bite.
I both love and hate the way my body reacts to him, but kidnapper or not, I do like this playful side to Nine.
He lowers my hand, but doesn’t release it, instead linking his fingers with mine. He leads me through the gates after showing our tickets to the undead wife of the zombie who greeted us. He catches me staring at our linked hands. “For zombie protection, of course,” he assures me with a wink.
“What exactly is this sort-of fair?” I ask, using his earlier words.
It is a festival, that much I know. There’s rides and carnival games and booths with sugary treats and fried everything, but it’s not like any festival I’ve ever been to before, like the shrimp festival or the annual charity wine festival. For one thing, this place is packed with people, and none are wearing formal attire. In fact, most are dressed in tattered clothes like the greeter, and full faces of elaborate paint. Black circles around their eyes and mouths, splatters of red to make it look like their leaking blood. Some of the makeup is so elaborate and well done, it’s made to look as if they have gaping holes in the sides of their faces or heads. A tall, skinny man passes by and hisses, he’s shirtless, and his entire body is painted to make it look like his internal organs are hanging on the outside.
“Welcome to Zombie Fest!” Nine announces.
I raise my shoulders and let them fall again, relaxing for the first time in what seems like forever. The energy in the air hums all around me. “It’s…it’s fantastic.”
Nine tugs on my hand, leading me further inside the fairgrounds. “Come on. Unless you’re too scared.” He wags his eyebrows.
I straighten my shoulders and stick out my chest. “I’m not scared.”
Not of the zombies, anyway.
What scares me isn’t fake blood or gore or the hundreds of undead walking by. It’s the way Nine’s looking at me. The way his hand feels in mind. The way he’s smiling as he leads me around the fairgrounds and the way he laughs at what we discover in each booth. It’s how his eyes are filled with wonder and excitement. It’s a child-like enthusiasm that I’m both jealous of and at the same time makes me wonder other things about him. Like how it would feel to feel the full weight of him on top of me. Inside of me. Skin. Heat. Sweat. Lips… I shudder at the erotic thought.
Nine notices.
“Cold?” he asks.
It’s eighty degrees outside. I’m far from cold. In fact, my entire body is beading up in a sheen of sweat, but it has nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the man holding my hand.
“Still afraid?” he teases with a nudge. He pulls me deeper toward a booth with a bar and orders a couple of beers.
My whispered reply is lost amongst the music and the roar of the crowd.
“Terrified.”
I spot an ice cream stand right away, specializing in a cherry syrup topping that looks like blood.
Nine chuckles. “Do you want some of that, or are you just planning on eye fucking the ice cream stand?”
“Can we?” I ask, bouncing on the balls of my feet like a kid.
Nine takes my hand and walks me over to the ice cream stand. “What flavor do you want, Miss?” The zombie behind the counter asks. He’s got fake blood splattered on his apron and his paper hat.
“I’ll take vanilla,” I reply.
“You want the blood topping? It’s our specialty.”
My smile brightens. “Then, of course!”
The zombie grabs a red cone and swirls the ice cream on top from the machine. He squirts on the oozing red topping containing chunks of cherries and strawberries. Nine reaches over the tall booth and passes me the cone.
“You’re not going to have any?” I ask him as he pays.
His eyes are full of mischief. “They don’t have the flavor I want.”
I take a big bite from the top of the cone, and it tastes like heaven. I close my eyes and groan out loud as the flavors explode in my mouth. When I open them again, Nine’s staring at me like he’s suddenly hungry. “What flavor do you want that they don’t have? I’m pretty sure the menu lists every flavor known to man.” I take another bite and groan yet again.
Nine’s lips are suddenly at my ear. He whispers, “Lenny’s pussy. It’s my new favorite flavor. It’s a pity they don’t have it.”
I choke on the ice cream sliding down my throat. It’s the first time he’s mentioned what happened the other night. I was wondering if he forgot or if he just didn’t think much of it, considering his abrupt departure afterward.
Nine chuckles. “Come on, little bird. There’s more to this place than ice cream.”
But suddenly, I’m not interested in the ice cream or the festival because all I can think about is Nine’s face between my spread legs. How it felt. How much I want to feel it again.
I shudder as a delicious chill rakes over me, and he again takes my hand in his.
We spend hours at the fair. First, we gather around a makeshift stage to watch a zombie show where the zombies fight against the humans for world domination. Spoiler alert, the zombies win. We walk from booth to booth sampling treats, laughing at the costumes, and playing games.
After a while we find ourselves standing in front of a trio of wonky mirrors that distort your height and shape. I laugh as our heads are contorted into stretchy oblong shapes in one of them. “They’re all the same,” Nine says.
“No, they’re not,” I argue, taking a bite of my second ice cream of the night. This time chocolate with raspberry blood topping. “That one stretches your head, that one makes you look like a pencil, and this one makes everything short and wide.” I look up to him. “Do you need glasses? You can borrow mine but they’re back at the RV.”
Nine stands behind me and places his chin on my shoulder looking at our distorted reflection in the wonky mirrors. “I don’t need glasses. They’re the same because in every single one…you’re still you. Sexy as fuck, irreverent, quirky, you.”
My heart melts as the ice cream from my second cone of the day drips down my hand. I search around for a garbage can. Nine takes what’s left of my cone and walks it to a nearby booth to dispose of it. He comes back with a handful of napkins.
A group of teenage girls blatantly stare at him and giggle as
he passes. “Here, let me,” he says, taking my wrist he lifts up my arm, and I think he’s going to wipe the melted ice cream from my hand when he brings it to his mouth and licks the drip from my thumb to my wrist. “Hmmmm…delicious.”
I want to say something. Anything. But I can’t because I’m pressing my knees together to keep from combusting right here and now. “Uh…thank you.”
“Anytime.” His words laced with wicked promise.
“Come on, I’ve got one more thing I want to show you.” Nine leads me to the back of the fairgrounds, past a running, screaming herd of mini-zombies that almost knock me over. Nine reaches out and grabs me before I faceplant, then pulls me close and wraps his arms around me to protect me from a second herd that screams by in a blur of blood and cotton candy.
His eyes search mine. He lifts my chin, and slowly he lowers his head. “Fuck, you make me…” He doesn’t finish because our lips brush together, but it only lasts for a fraction of a second because we’re yanked apart by a high-pitch voice that breaks through the moment like a familiar shrill battering ram.
“Lenny? Oh my god it is you, Lenny!” the voice exclaims.
Nine releases my chin, and we both turn to face Lori and her husband Penn. Lori is dressed like the typical Stepford wife she is in a fifties-style white sundress and matching flats. Her bleached blonde hair in an elaborate up-do highlighting her long neck and the double string of pearls around it.
Penn is wearing a yellow polo shirt complete with a pink sweater tied around his neck, long white cargo shorts, and brown leather boat shoes with anchors embedded on the tops. I cringe. Not just because it’s a terrible look for a man, one that ages him at least ten years, but it’s also how Jared dressed. It took me until this very moment to realize how nauseating I found the look.
“Lori, Penn, it’s nice to see you both again,” I lie through my teeth. Literally, my teeth gnash together, and I’m trying not to grind them out of my skull.
Nine, the Tale of Kevin Clearwater Page 18
