Shatter (The Choosy Beggars Series Book 1)

by Charisse Moritz

  “I’m very busy today.”

  “This is one hundred percent more important,” I tell her.

  Her lips compress until tiny lines fan out from around her mouth. I’m sure she’s going to refuse, but then she finally taps the little arrow on the screen and Ms. Robbin’s voice bleeds from the tiny speaker. Taz starts to get up, drops back down and twists around to look at the door. He doesn’t want to be here. We’re exposing abuse that degrades him to a woman he considers the enemy. And I’m not sure what scares him more … that she won’t step up for him or that she will.

  Reaching across the space between our chairs, I grab the hand closest to me and even though it’s like trying to hang on to a trapped mouse, I keep it and lightly squeeze.

  Turning back to Principle Sanderson, I watch her face fight between too many emotions to figure out. As the seconds roll by, she reminds me of a plastic cup tossed into the fire, every part of her curling in on itself.

  The video ends, and we all sit in silence.

  “We …” I start but Mrs. Sanderson suddenly takes these big, heavy breaths, like maybe she’s hyperventilating. She drops my phone as if it’s radioactive and presses steepled fingers against her mouth. Looking up, her eyes find Taz for the first time. Every bit of color has drained from her face.

  “Um.” I look from my high school principal to Taz and back. There is a noticeable resemblance between mother and son, which I will never point out to him, and I don’t know which of them is in worse shape. “Here’s what we need to happen,” I plow ahead. “Ms. Robbins is gone by Friday. I’m trusting you to make sure she doesn’t just switch to another school. You give Taz permission to move out, and there’s no more threats of sending him back to juvie.”

  I don't think she’s heard a word I’ve said. Her eyes are wide and wet and tears stream down her cheeks.

  I hesitate. “If you make any more threats or problems for Taz, I’ll take this video to the school board. I’ll post it all over social media. I’ll go to the police and ...” My voice trails off as her chest starts to shake from full-blown, gut-wrenching sobs. I peek over at Taz, but he’s staring back at his mother with dead eyes. This is heartbreaking. “So … um … I don’t think that would be so good for your career or … um, the school or whatever.”

  I definitely didn’t nail the dismount on that one.

  Mrs. Sanderson extends one hand toward Taz, her fingers stretching even though he’s beyond her reach in every possible way. “I shouldn’t have left you behind,” she tells him. “I didn’t believe he’d hurt you. Not like that. I truly didn’t, but I should have found a way.”

  This is so horrible I’m shaking and starting to sweat.

  “I can’t stand to look at you,” Principal Sanderson admits.

  “Hey, I don’t think …” I try to get in the middle, but she keeps right on talking.

  “Because … because I see what he did to you, and I know it’s my fault. For the longest time, I couldn’t face it. It kills me to face it. I should have … I should have ...” She can’t catch her breath, can’t keep up with the rough hiccups tearing out of her lungs. Gripping the edge of her desk, she whips her head back and forth and says, “I’m so sorry.”

  Taz answers by lurching to his feet. I’ve never seen his eyes so sharp, an expression so hard. Her tears pour over jagged rock, and I think a hundred years won’t wear down his edges.

  Just above a whisper, his mother keeps repeating, “I’m sorry, Gibson. I’m so sorry. So sorry. Oh god, oh god. I didn’t know, I didn’t … “

  I don’t expect him to wrap his arms around her and forgive her, and he doesn’t. Taz walks out without saying a word.

  I stand up more slowly, retrieve my phone and debate for half a second. Maybe because of what I have with my own mother, my family, I can’t quite write this woman off. Isn’t she genetically programmed to love and protect him? So if her wires got somehow crossed, even if she made terrible choices, maybe something can still be salvaged. Maybe someday.

  “Telling him isn’t enough. You need to show him.” I leave her with that. The rest is up to her.

  CHAPTER 65

  TAZ:

  I’m huffing and puffing so hard I’m getting lightheaded. Anger punches straight through my roof. Blows the lid right the hell off, and I need something to bite, punch, kick, mangle, kill.

  Fucken counsellor. Fucken V for Vivian. Shit. Fuck.

  I squeeze my fists tight. Squeeze everything until it hurts. Squeeze and squeeze and clench and vibrate and twitch.

  Tia’s worried. She’s got her hands at ten and two and openly stares. That she navigated the ugliest minivan on the planet from school to her driveway without running anything over is a miracle. That she brought me home with her is incredible. How is she not sick to death of my shit? I hate my shit, seventeen years of nothing but shit, and if I buzz any harder, somebody’s gonna douse me in pesticide.

  “Taz?”

  I hold up my hand and shake my head to stop her. Doesn’t even slow her down.

  “You’re going to be OK,” she tells me, and there’s no doubt in her at all. “You just need to talk this out.”

  I’d laugh if I could pry my jaw apart. Instead, I fling the door open, give it an extra hard shove and flop onto the driveway, hitting both knees and a palm before scraping myself back up. Leaning back against the minivan, I let my head thump off it and welcome the sting. I do it again, harder.

  Her sneakers literally land on mine. This girl is tough on toes and hearts.

  “Taz,” she murmurs, turning my name into something it’s never meant before as her hands wrap all the way around and find each other at the small of my back. “Please let me help.” There’s tears in her voice and soaking through my shirt.

  Careful, careful, so very gently, I cup the back of her head in my palms, tip my chin down so my mouth rests beside her ear and drag my voice out of the deep black mud of my brain. “Just give me some space.”

  “No,” she tells me, steel in her voice now. Her hands slide up and down my back, right over the worst of me, sending my heebie jeebies on a rampage. Stupid girl. She thinks she knows me better. She’s daring me to measure up when I’m better at falling short. “You’re not alone anymore. We do this together.”

  I try the counting backward thing, but can’t get past my goddamn mother. Why did she start apologizing when it doesn’t matter one single fuck? Why is there always a line of people so eager to use me like a snotty kleenex? Why didn’t I speak up sooner? What did I ever do to deserve all this?

  It’s done. Over. Can’t live my whole life being pissed. Somehow, I’ve got to twist my mangled pieces back into a passable shape and move on. Like the paperclip in my pocket. It won’t be pretty, but with a little effort I can get it functional again. I gotta find a way to do that because of this girl standing right in front of me. This amazing girl, who’s crazy enough to want me. And I’ll ask again, different meaning this time, what did I ever do to deserve all this?

  “Taz.” She squeezes me into a tighter hug, going right up onto her toes. “Look at me. C’mon.”

  When has this little bully ever backed down? It’s one of the greatest things about her. She’s the reason I’ve made it this far and can finally look further than six inches in front of me. I’d have nothing without her.

  I love my guitar. I’d throw myself in front of a bus to save it.

  I’d throw my guitar and an innocent bystander, holding a puppy, into oncoming traffic to make Tia West smile. Wouldn’t even think twice about it. And yeah, I know murdering a dude and his dog wouldn’t make her happy, but that’s not the point. I’m having an epiphany here, so keep the fuck up. She’s more important than … anything. Holy shit. I might just love this girl.

  How did that happen? What do I do about it?

  “Listen to me,” she keeps pushing and for a second, I picture her going ape shit on the counsellor. I remember her mom and Step Douche getting between me and the cops. I think of how pissed
I got over that kid harassing Tulip, teaching Theo guitar and playing catch with my step-brother. My life has changed. My way of thinking needs to catch up.

  “Taz? Are you listening? It’s been a lot to get through today and I get that, I really do, but the hard part is over and …”

  She’s bossing me around again. So I dip my knees and grab her around the thighs.

  “Hey, hey, hey, what, what?” she babbles as I straighten and flop her over my shoulder. “Taz!”

  This is the second time I’ve had her in this position, and since her delicious ass now belongs to me, I bite it.

  “Did you just bite me?”

  Yup. It won’t be the last time.

  “What’re you doing? Where are we going? Are you having an episode or something?”

  I give her ass a nice rub and carry her right up onto the porch, through the front door, which of course isn’t goddamn locked, and toe off my shoes like I belong here. The yap of dogs, stink of hockey gear, fat cat darting between my feet and stray skateboard in my path don’t slow me down. The weight of the day, drag of years, don’t follow me inside. This house and the people who live here have welcomed and given me a place to start. It feels pretty goddamn good, and my steps are light when I jog up the stairs with my prize.

  I set Tia on her feet once we get inside her bedroom and take her pretty face in my hands, fingers cupping her jaw, thumbs brushing over her cheeks. I know I’ve got less than two seconds before she starts talking at me again, but I steal a moment to look at her. I’m stunned by this girl. Every time.

  She opens her mouth, takes a breath, and I kiss the words off her lips. Our tongues slide over each other and just that much is so fucken hot, a moan originates in my balls and dies a husky death in my throat. Jesus. Tia West owns my ass.

  With her fingers digging into my hips, I crowd her, forcing her backward until her legs hit the bed. She stumbles, sits, breaking the seal of our lips and looks up at me with eyes so big and blue, I could sail away in them. Her head cocks to the left and her mouth curves. I don’t know how or why I get her smiles, but they are always the best part of my day.

  I reach around to draw the elastic from her ponytail. Pale blonde hair spills over her shoulders, and I comb my fingers through the long strands.

  “Scoot up,” I tell her, and as she moves further onto the bed, I prowl after her, liking the surprised look on her face. On my knees between her legs, I take her hands and use the hair tie to loosely cuff her wrists together. Before she can argue, I say, “Trust me?”

  She lays down and lets me guide her hands to rest above her head. I lower my hips into the cradle of hers, adjust so she’s ground tight and perfect against my dick and trace her nose with mine. Shivers run up her arms. She’s where I want her, and I could stare at her for the next hundred years and never get tired of it. By some miracle or cosmic mistake, I also get to touch her.

  I draw my tongue along the shell of her ear, suck the lobe into my mouth, and give it a little nip. She tips her head back, making happy-cat sounds, and I move to her throat, kissing the underside of her jaw, where the skin is pale and unbelievably soft. I get a purr out of her, and it drags me straight to the edge of control.

  Braced on one elbow, I try to hold myself back but can’t stop my other hand from slipping under her shirt, searching out the lace of her bra. My fingers tingle and tremble. The curve of her is warm, firm, and fills my palm. Her nipple buds under my thumb, and my hand hasn’t been anywhere near this happy since it was down my pants this morning.

  I kiss her again, spending a whole bunch of time on something I’ve always avoided in the past. I suck her bottom lip into my mouth, trace her teeth with my tongue, explore and learn and take in her taste. Deepening the kiss, I get impatient for more and break away long enough to shift my hips off to the side and tug on her shirt. Getting the OK, I roll it up to her armpits. And yes, the stars have aligned, I’m a lucky bastard, and the clasp of her bra is right in front. Like a Christmas morning I’ve never had, the cups spring apart and here are my presents, pink tipped and waiting for my mouth to suck on them. Suck, lick, tug, dividing my time between them and encouraged by the way she arches and twists.

  “Please,” she whimpers. I don’t think she knows what she’s begging for, but I sure as hell know how to answer.

  I drag my fingertips slowly over her ribs, circle her belly button and when her hips lift with eagerness, I pop the snap and unzip her jeans. I hesitate, waiting for a no that never comes, then slip my hand down into her panties. My mouth takes hers again as my fingers find her hot and wet and oh my ever loving fuck, she is perfect. My dick weeps with want, and I need to quit kissing her because I’m getting dizzy.

  Her knees fall wide, heels digging into the mattress and I lose my mind when her sounds speed up and morph into a desperate chant of my name. I wish I could record her, play her voice back every night and fall asleep rock hard and tickled fucken pink.

  Adding a second finger, putting my thumb to good use on her clit, I manage the right spot and rhythm to make her jump, her fingers curl, and I watch her face. Eyes closed, lips swollen and parted, cheeks flushed, she is so goddamn beautiful, so fucken sexy, in what universe do I get to have her? With this memory, I’ll never need to watch porn again.

  “Taz!” She rips her hands free of the elastic tie, reaching for me, grabbing my hair and clutching. I feel the tightening around my fingers as she comes, and I nearly explode from the sensation. I could definitely die happy right now, but I am a greedy asshole. With this girl, I will always beg for more. More time, more of her, more of everything.

  Tugging my hand from her pants, making sure she’s watching, her eyes all dazed and dazzling, I lick her taste from my fingers. She is delicious, and I smile as her stare widens and her skin flushes the pink of Tulip’s favorite crayon. Then I peel the jeans from her endless legs, stopping to pull off her shoes and socks. She’s wearing pink panties, just a scrap of lace, and pretty as they are, I get rid of them too. She helps me out by shrugging out of her shirt and bra, and now she’s naked and while I’m feeling really good about that, she’s a little shy.

  I wish she could read my mind. I had no idea happiness felt like this. Pretty goddamn fantastic.

  Crawling back up, I wrap my hands under her knees and guide them upward and over my shoulders. I need to taste her. If she gives in, I think I might die. If she doesn’t, I don’t want to live.

  Her eyes fly open. Startled, the blue of them is enough to drown me. I stare into them for a long moment, letting her see how bad I want this, pleading with her to let me make it good for her. Not to hurt her. That is my new goal in life.

  “OK?” I ask, and my voice is so friggin rusty she may need a tetanus shot.

  She bites her bottom lip, and keeping my eyes locked with hers, I dip my chin just enough to drop a kiss right where I want to go. Her hips buck and little goosebumps spread over her. And then she nods.

  That’s a yes.

  I reach out with my tongue and her head falls back to the pillow. A sound rich and warm and helpless spills from her, and as she clutches the sheets and maybe forgets who she is for a second, every swirl of my tongue, every slide of my fingers seems a little bit selfish because there’s no way she’s getting as much out of this as I am. And when her body trembles from the inside out and finally goes limp, I tell her, “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  The look on her face isn’t something I’ll ever forget, and even though my balls are pulsing with need, it’s enough.

  Then she tilts her head in a new way and says, “Your turn.”

  What?

  My very own Princess Barbie sits up, suddenly bold and dangerous as she pulls at my shirt and tells me, “Off.”

  I tense.

  “Will you lay down so I can …” She blinks at me. “Play with you?”

  Until this girl, I’ve never in my life wanted to be touched. Now I can’t wait to have her hands on me. Yanking off my shirt, stre
tching out on my back, I warn myself to manage some control and not jizz my pants before she even starts. I’m already quivering like a wet dog sitting on the welcome mat, begging, pet me, pet me, please. I may start panting.

  Just watching her kneel up over me, naked curves and flawless skin, is almost too much. She has no idea what she does to me, how much power she has. And she surprises me, goes right for the button of my jeans. I nearly cry I’m so goddamn excited.

  “Can I?”

  Since there is no way I can form a single word, I jerk my chin into a nod and should squeeze my eyes shut and think about baseball, but can’t give up watching her.

  Her slender fingers drag my pants down my hips, down my legs and off my feet. The tent in my boxers slows her down for a second. The head of my dick, pushing up out of the waistband, probably scares her spitless.

  But oh holy hallelujah, she leans over me and presses her lips to it. My whole body convulses as if she just tasered me. I suck in a big gulp of air, make the yelp of a hemorrhaging walrus and likely suffer brain damage, since every ounce of blood just rushed to my balls. Right there is where her hand finds me, cups me, tortures me in the best possible way while her lips, tongue and teeth tease a path up my belly and across my chest. I’m pretty sure I fall into cardiac arrest. I definitely black out for a second.

  “Is this OK?” she wants to know. I think that’s what she said. I’m gripping the sheets and pinching my toes just to hang on. In-between kisses and licks and bites, she strokes me overtop my boxers, and my dick strains so hard, I no longer understand or speak English. I decide to nod to whatever she asks. Doesn’t matter if she wants me in the feather boa. If she’ll keep playing with me, I’ll go along with whatever.

  Then her fingers dip under my boxers, wrap around my cock, and I make this “ah, ah, ah” sound that is so far from human I should be wearing a collar. I’ve lost IQ points just from her touch.

  Her breath fans hot against my ear, exploding shivers over my scalp. “You like?”