Chapter 8
Notes:
Sorry this chapter is late. Someone told me if I waited in this one particular spot during the full moon, I could get picked up by aliens. I spent a bunch of time packing and everything, only to find out they lied. A startled armadillo scratched me, and I got sprayed by the golf course sprinklers.
Rowan
I’m a dumbass. Right? I must be.
Here I am, without being tied up or tied down or supervised in any way, and what did I do? I stayed.
Not that I haven’t been productive. I’ve questioned my life choices. I showered and changed again. Poked in the cabinets a little. Watched Iggy sleep, while gently using one finger to pet the top of his head.
Honestly, I’m envious. The last thing I can think about right now is sleep.
My ass fits your dick like a fucking glove, doesn’t it? You’re fucking me so well.
And yeah, I’ve spent plenty of time replaying what happened before with Milo. Twice now.
Such a hot fucking whore.
The more I think about it, the more I figure I was supposed to be offended. That first time back at my apartment, maybe he was trying to humiliate me or teach me a lesson. Make me sorry for our entire situation with every rough stroke of his hand on my dick broadcasting his anger.
Except a whore is what I am, and it was the first time I’d had sex that hot or that honest. The clients I’ve been with, they sort of talked around it. Maybe they wanted to fuck me, but they didn’t respect me. Neither did Tucker.
Tucker used to do this thing where he’d smile at me fondly and tell me how precious I was. His sweet boy. His precious boy. Eventually I realized what he was really saying was “You’re stupid.”
“My precious boy” translated to “Poor thing, you’ve barely got three working brain cells, but I love you anyway. Stop trying to act intelligent when you aren’t.”
When we first got together, I’d challenge him. I was a marketing intern at a major manufacturing and distribution facility. His manufacturing and distribution facility, thank you. When I caught his attention, I thought I was lucky.
Lucky. What a joke.
When I realized he would only change the subject or, worse, drag me to bed and tell me how my ass was made for his dick whenever I disagreed, I stopped bothering.
When he wasn’t around, I read. I watched documentaries. I studied every book I could get my hands on, because fuck him.
But I never spoke up again, and for that I hate myself. Worse, I hate knowing I’m in this mess because I kept letting him make me smaller.
“And here I am again, Iggy. Same shit, different sugar daddy.”
Iggy, who’s chosen to sleep awkwardly draped over a rock in his tank, twitches but doesn’t offer any wisdom.
I should leave. Sure, I told Milo I’d stay, but what do he and I owe each other?
But I’m not sure where I’d go. Since I don’t have any transportation, moving Iggy would be difficult.
Maybe I could leave town. Get a bus ticket. Get far away from here. Continue north, toward home, like I’ve been planning.
Bus stations are probably the first place he’d look.
What if I called Tucker? Maybe if I went back, if I apologized for running away, he’d help me. Except the last time I was there, his assistant told me to GTFO before I wore out my welcome, and he wasn’t kidding. I’m not even sure I want to go back.
No, that won’t work either.
By the back door of the cabin, there is a hook with a key fob and a strange-looking key. “Wonder what these are for.”
Iggy still has no opinion.
There weren’t any other cars parked out front. Probably these are for a boat or something, but if there were a car out back? Hell, even a golf cart. Maybe that would change my decision.
I glance at the messy bed, unable to stop picturing what happened there. It obviously wasn’t my first time since Tucker, but it still blew my fucking mind. Something so hot it propelled me into jerking off during my shower even though I’d gotten used like a Fleshlight not long before.
Sex with Tucker was, well, exciting at first. Vanilla. A term I hadn’t known when we met. At first, a much older man wanting me flattered me too much to care. Sex with the clients I’ve seen, excluding that one psychopath, has been mostly uneventful.
Some of them wanted to talk dirty or talk down to me or fuck me a little rough, but it wasn’t like it was with Milo.
How did this guy who at some moments seems like sunshine in a bottle, a walking list of “fun facts,” turn into a professional killer?
How does he hold me down by my throat and ride me until I can’t think about anything other than the feel of him?
He’s a mystery. I’ve always liked mysteries.
Like, what are these keys for?
I slip them off the hook and clutch them in my hand, shivering as I venture outside. Winter in Belle Argo would probably have someone from up north thinking it’s perfectly pleasant, but I’ve never liked the cold. Growing up in Tallahassee, we got snow only a few times in my entire childhood.
I don’t think there’s ever been snow in Belle Argo. Honestly, I wish I got to see it more. Is there a way to see snow without being cold?
The grass here is getting overgrown, which is a stupid thing to care about right now. Except maybe it’s better than the alternative. That someone wants me dead. That the person hired to do it also feels like my best chance at survival.
How did my life come to this? Not too long ago, I had a plan. A path. A family.
Now I’m alone with nobody but a bearded dragon and a mercurial killer. Oh, and a pimp. I could probably call Brennan. But at what cost?
“Jesus, this is really bad.” A splash out in the lake is my only answer. Fuck, there are a ton of alligators out there.
They’d probably leave a guy my size alone. Doesn’t stop me from slowing my steps, proceeding cautiously lest one of them get riled up or overly confident.
A tour of the backyard doesn’t turn up much. A stone-paved patio with a couple of deck chairs and a heavy table that’s seen better days. A large storage shed. No cars or golf carts. Though the nearest house appears to have… Is that… Did they turn an old school bus into a pontoon boat?
“Probably built by a Florida Man,” I mumble to nobody in particular.
One key in my hand turns out to unlock the shed door.
Inside, I find a rickety-looking fishing boat, a jet ski, and the worst smell I’ve ever encountered.
Something coppery and musty that has me tugging my shirt up over my nose.
Something I’m trying to tell myself is not a mixture of dried blood and mold.
There’s a small solar powered light by the door, but given the time of night, it’s about out of juice.
Which is fine. Better I don’t look around too much.
“This place is creepy as fuck,” I murmur. The packed dirt under my feet seems suspiciously dark. A shiver runs through me when I think of what Brennan might have done to people in here.
I’ve heard enough to know my pimp is probably involved in more shady dealings than simply renting out people like me. The less I know about the rest of it, the better. God forbid he decides to have me shoved off his dock.
Nothing in here I might use to get away. No way I’m getting in that lake.
After I switch off the light and lock the door, I make a slow trek across the grass. Once I get back inside, I feel like I need to decide what to do next. Still don’t have any kind of clue.
Or maybe I just don’t like the answer I’ve come up with.
The more I think about it, the more my only viable options are to run or trust Milo.
Neither feels safe or sane. My body keeps screaming to stay with Milo.
Is that because deep down I know I can trust him, or am I letting my judgment get clouded by how I feel when we fuck?
The decision’s taken out of my hands when I enter the cabin.
“There you are.”
Air rushes out of me, and without meaning to, I flinch. “When did you get back?”
He raises his eyebrows. “A couple of minutes ago. I thought maybe you’d run.”
I clutch the keys in my hand. Even though I came up with nothing, I’m reluctant to let them go.
With a heavy heart, I slide the keyring back onto the hook by the door. “I’ll be honest; I thought about it.”
“I would find it surprising if you hadn’t.” He plunks a couple of paper bags down on the small table in the open kitchen. “What changed your mind?”
“Aside from the fact that I couldn’t think of a safe way to do it so you wouldn’t be able to find me?” A deep breath tells me at least one of those bags has food, and my stomach reminds me I haven’t eaten in a while.
Milo nods toward the key hook. “Looks like a key for a jet ski.”
I take a breath. “I’ve never ridden one. And…you know. Gators.”
“Well.” He clears his throat and drops a duffel bag as well. “Probably best. You’re right. I’d have had to track you down again, and neither of us would’ve been happy.”
“Because you might still have to kill me.”
It’s not a question, and he doesn’t answer. Not really.
“Here.” Another throat clear. “I brought food.”
In spite of the thick tension in the air, I raise one eyebrow. “Did you make it yourself?”
“Fuck you.” He pulls two soda cans from one bag, along with a couple of to-go containers. “Chickpea salad roll, or a spicy southwestern wrap. Which do you want?”
“Hmm.” I’m busy looking more at Milo and less at the containers, which he’s opened to reveal two wrapped sandwich-looking things with fries. “I’m not sure. The wrap, I guess.”
He looks up, my gaze snagging on his for seconds that seem to stretch on forever.
“Come on, sit down.” He slides one container my way.
We eat in silence; him taking an enthusiastic bite right away, me, a little more cautiously.
Tucker didn’t like spicy food, so while I did occasionally experiment with hotter stuff, I’m aware I don’t have a great tolerance.
Which is made clearer when I bite into a piece of what I’m guessing is jalapeno midway through my first half.
“Fuck.” Should’ve chosen the other thing.
I sputter and cough, trying to swallow as fast as possible. My eyes water as I grab for my drink. I’m too hungry to decline the food though, and right now anything that might make Milo think I’m a liability seems risky, so I keep eating.
Milo wipes his mouth with a napkin, sighs, and reaches across the table. He slides the other half of my wrap over to his takeout container, leaving half of his own sandwich in its place.
Oh. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Here’s a tip, Rowan. When a contract killer is being nice to you, don’t ask questions.”
“Fair point.” Finishing the rest of the bite in my hand, I move on to the half a sandwich Milo gave me. “Mmm. Haven’t had this before. It’s really good. The other thing probably would be too, if I didn’t have such a baby mouth.”
Milo makes a quiet humming noise as he finishes chewing. “Jalen recommended this place in Beacon Hill.”
Wait. “You went to Beacon Hill to get food?” There must be plenty of local places.
He grunts and slides over the other bag. “All the local pet stores were closed. Found an independent place in Beacon Hill. The owner lives above the shop. Got her to open the place up and tell me what your stupid lizard needed.”
“Bearded dragons are actually very intelligent as reptiles go.” For some reason, I feel the need to defend Iggy’s honor. I glance over to where he’s still passed out on his rock. Completely uncaring.
Milo makes a dismissive hand gesture without looking up. When I look in the second bag, I can’t help but melt a little. There’s a box marked as black soldier fly larvae, and a bag of what looks like curly kale.
And he drove way out of his way to get this stuff. For my “stupid lizard.”
“Oh. Yeah. He really likes these,” I murmur. For some reason, it feels important to wait until Milo’s looking at me again before adding, “Thank you.”
He stands abruptly, showing me his back as he cleans up his side of the table. “Do me a favor and keep those wriggly little fuckers inside their container. If I see a single one anywhere other than that box or Iggy’s mouth, I’ll make you pay.”
Against all my better judgment, I ask, “Oh yeah? And what would my punishment be?” Jesus, Rowan, stop flirting with the guy someone paid to kill you.
The second he turns back around, though, there’s a strange energy pulsing between us. I put the bag back on the table, temporarily forgotten.
Instead, I’m remembering the same thing Milo probably is. Before. Him riding me. Using me like he hated me. Like it was a punishment.
My dick gets heavy and my head gets light. I brace one hand on the table, trying to make things feel normal again.
Except…what’s normal? Nothing’s been normal since I left my family behind. I wouldn’t know what that means. But I remember how Milo made me feel. I’d like to feel that again.
“They’re fucking disgusting,” he says out of nowhere.
“Huh?” Oh. Iggy’s food. The fly larvae. Right.
“They’re not that bad,” I try.
He doesn’t respond except to shoot me a look that tells me exactly how much he agrees, before returning to throwing away his empty food containers and washing his hands in the sink.
The back and forth of his arms makes me think of the muscles I felt under my fingers earlier, the authoritative way he held me down. Even though I’m bigger than him.
That hand around my throat.
This time, when I shiver, it’s got nothing to do with smelling blood. And everything to do with the intensity I saw in Milo’s eyes.
Something ridiculous unfolds in my mind. Something completely, utterly stupid.
We can’t trust each other. We don’t even like each other. But chemistry? We’ve got plenty—fuck knows why. We’ve got a horrible situation with no solution. Not yet anyway.
I wipe my mouth with a nearby napkin and take another drink of soda to… I don’t know. Fortify myself, I suppose?
Then I take a breath. “I’d like to make a deal.”