Chapter three
QUESTIONS ANSWERED
SABAN
“What design would you like, sweetie?” I ask Emmaline, one of our new mayor— Sebastian Shelby’s twin girls. “Shuri from Black Panther.” She smiles prettily at me.
“Ohhh, I want that too.” Her sister, Esmerelda, pipes up, crowding in beside her to watch me paint the design on her sibling’s arm.
“No, get your own person, copycat.” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head adamantly in the negative.
“I can get what I want.” The other twin crosses her arms over her chest, her little body bristling with obstinacy, her little bow lips tightening with determination as she stares down her sister.
“You’re acting like that is why Summer can’t come back,” Emmaline says with a wrathful whisper.
“Nooo, that was because Daddy kissed her.” The little stage whisper has my brows shooting up at her words.
These kids are telling all their daddy’s business, and though I wouldn’t say anything, the same can’t be said for many of the people milling about. This town is messy as hell.
“I don’t think you guys should talk about your dad like that.” Pressing my lips in a slight smile, I add, “Or at least not around people.”
“Humph,” they say in unison, neither liking what I have to say. All this arguing is a new thing between them. Lourdes and I have babysat for them off and on since their mother passed away soon after they were born nearly six hears ago.
“Hey, I know what’s like to want to keep things the same but different. How about I do that for you guys? I can give you both Shuri, but in different outfits and hairstyles. How does that sound?” The girls’ eyes round, then they look at each other and then squee with excitement.
“Yay.”
“Awesome sauce.” They both chime in at the same time.
I love that I can do the artwork for them without it causing a rift between them.
Sensing eyes on me, I look up into the dark umber gaze of Snake. The awareness of his unchecked appraisal causes my heart to flutter and coochie to clench.
I hold his stare, unable to help the smile I have for him. In the few weeks since the kiss, we have fallen into a companionable truce.
He didn’t kick me out, like he should have, for my inappropriate behavior. I realized pretty soon after he roared away on my bike that I had pushed him too far. He was more than clear when he said I couldn’t possibly satisfy him.
Crushing as it sounded, I’ve heard the whispers and the blatant references to how he is.
He’s never brought women to our house, but there were nights once I got older and a lot more recently where he stays gone almost until dawn.
Never spending the night with anyone but he’s never hid his escapades from me.
Not that he’s had a serious relationship either.
I’ve been told outright by some of the women who wanted more that it was because of his responsibility to me.
I’m grown now, so there’s nothing holding him back from being with someone. In the back of my mind, I know I need to get my heart and mind ready. He’s made it more than clear it won’t ever be me.
He more than drove his point home. Most nights he doesn’t come home, choosing to spend them either with the twin cousins when they aren’t on rotation at the Leon Spencer Women’s and Children’s Center or with some other sweet butt at the MC.
I have no desire to be part of his harem. In fact, I’m going to make it my mission to find a nice guy — someone not affiliated with the el Diablo crew to date.
Being so sheltered is part of the problem. I’ve never dated because everyone was so scared of him and Angel. It’s no surprise I started crushing on him.
I’ve had stars in my eyes since was sixteen, and it hasn’t let up.
I can forgive myself for my heart, but pushing him like I did was not cool. It could have ruined everything.
So we both just pretend it didn’t happen.
I want to tell him so badly he doesn’t have to stay gone all the time. Say I miss him. Let him know the nightmares have come back. Knowing just how needy that sounds stops me cold.
I miss the friendship we had. I know it’s my fault - this chasm exists between us. Pushing him into that corner was atrocious behavior. Now I’m paying for it in my dreams, and I can’t even tell him because he may think it’s a ploy.
Catching wisps of him ribbing Angel over Easy being here, then Angel making it no secret he likes us together, giving it to him right back about me.
I watch a frown darken his visage as he lays a near murderous frown my way.
“I don’t fuck jailbait.” Comes the scathing reply.
Embarrassment heats my face. “H-have you decided on your design?” Forcing cheerfulness into my voice, I turn to the girls who, thankfully, are so absorbed in picking their designs they don’t hear his horrible words.
They are just as fluent in Spanish as I am, with their father being Brazilian and the only decent Shelby aside from his cousins, the sheriff, Ulysses and Mathias, Angel’s best friend since forever.
I tune out the rest of what’s said as I immerse myself in the design.
The rest of the day passes with a speed that belies the warm sultriness of the south, which usually makes the days drag on.
By the time dusk comes, I call it quits. The light is enough to illuminate the path to the tents, with most of the focus having turned to the stage.
When I gather my temporary tattoo kit and face painting supplies, tucking them into a carrier on my bike, both Angel and Snake are gone.
Later that night…
Hot fetid breath washes over me as the man tries to force his mouth on mine. Twisting my head, I try to get away. He holds me down, pressing my head into the cot. I feel trapped. My body strains. Hard hands grip my face, squeezing hard.
“Be still.” Two hard smacks sting my cheeks. Fingers squeeze hard over my nose. Straining, I twist, earning a sharp jab to the side of my face. Pain explodes and I see stars. Whether by oxygen being cut off or by being struck by his closed fist, I don’t know.
My arms are wretched high over my head, pulled taunt and tied to the cot’s rails with zip ties.
Another hot breath. “Now be a good little puta and I may not kill you.” The sweaty body lifts. The air in the little tent is stifling. His massive body heaving and expelling his body odor quickly overcoming the spicy homeyness of the family’s temporary home.
I hear him shucking off his clothes.
Paralyzed with fear, with my body strung tight, I can’t move. Panic slams into me. Tears spill freely down my face.
Sobs shake my body.
Is he coming?
Is he going to leave me here, this time?
Is he —
“Shh, I got you, Saban. Calm down. I’m here.” Startling awake, my eyes opening to the rough promise, I stare into the midnight of Hadrián’s gaze. Concern brackets his mouth in hard lines.
“Oh,” the nightmare rushes back. I messed up is all I can think burying my face into the crook of his neck. My entire body shivers still locked in the aftermath of the dream.
Strong arms hold me, settling the trembling. I take deep cleansing breaths. I count backwards. Nothing works. Pushing away from him, I rush into my ensuite bathroom, diving for the toilet.
Everything that spews out of me, coming in a hard rush of sickness. Stars dance before me as I heave. Once I’m done, my body feels wrung out, no different than a used wash towel.
My eyes dart up when I hear the water running from the sink. Unable to look his way, I try to stand. Strong fingers grip beneath my arms, helping me rise.
Reaching over, he flushes.
“Sit,” pressing me down on the closed toilet seat, he presses a cool compress on the back of my neck.
“Just breathe it out.” Moving back to the sink, he busies himself loading my toothbrush.
“Here.” Taking it, trying not to inhale the spearmint lest it triggers another bout of sickness, I brush, keeping my eyes averted. Shame eats at me. I wait for him to say something about my not taking care of myself.
We both know what happens when I don’t take care of my mental health as I should — my night terrors return with crippling ferocity. I haven’t been using any of the tools Dr. Kensington gave me to stave off the nightmares. Nor have I been keeping my appointments as I should.
Since the night of the kiss at the el Diablo, I’ve been winging it — screwing around, not doing what I should. To punish myself or Snake, I don’t know, so now here I sit suffering. I guess that answers the question of who I’m really hurting.
“C’mon, let’s get you back to bed.” His voice is gruff and far away. I still feel like I’m in that dark place — tied to the cot in some family’s tent waiting to be savaged by a monster.
I finish brushing and then rinse. I want to tell him so bad I don’t need him putting me to bed like I’m still a fragile ten-year-old, that I’m a grown woman if he cared to look. Instead, I trudge on tired feet back to my room without a word.
Feeling silly, I curl into myself, hoping I can stay awake until exhaustion takes me to a dreamless paradise.
Knowing the pattern, I’m likely to fall back into another nightmare I can’t escape from.
There’s only been one thing or rather person who kept the demons away, and he’s not speaking to me now.
He pauses, seeming to will me to look his way. No, I’m not asking him for shit. Never again.
I let the little nonsense song’s melody from my childhood I can’t remember the lyrics to soothe my mind. I quell a shudder when I hear his feet slap against the woodgrain floor as he leaves.
“Scoot.” His voice rumbles many minutes later. “I know you’re not asleep.” I press my body far over to the other side of my queen-size bed.
“Humph,” he mutters. “Being over there means you’ll be right back up in a hour, waking me up. I have a lot to do in the morning, so stop cutting up. C’mere and let me hold you, man.”
Hesitating, I exhale. Relief cascades over me in waves along with a relief I should not be feeling.