Chapter 4 #3
That’s Alicia for you. Even knowing everything, she’s still trying to stick up for people.
She’s a mighty protector behind people’s backs, despite the fact that she can be a harpy to your face when she wants to and has quite the reputation of being a bitch.
Though now, she’s more likely to be called aloof because she tends to avoid human interaction at all costs.
I wish Ashley would get the hint and stop trying to befriend her.
Jake’s face darkens. “That’s exactly what I should do. Keep kicking.”
“ Jacob .” Mom’s stern voice and the clang of a spoon on the table stop him from spewing any more hate. “I did not raise you to treat people like that.”
“Mom—” Jake starts, but I cut him off with a harsh sound from the back of my throat. He looks outraged.
“Don’t ‘Mom’ me. You’re using your position to bully this girl,” she accuses.
“That’s an abuse of power. If that’s the kind of police officer you’re choosing to be, I wonder if your suspension should’ve stayed permanent.
The sheriff gave you a second chance, but I don’t know if he’ll give you another one. ”
“Mom!” Jake yelps like a little kid, and even Alicia looks impressed with how pitiful he can make himself.
“For fuck’s sake, Jake!” I bellow and smack my palm on the table, making everybody jump. “Leave it.”
Jake contemplates saying something, I can tell, but he stays silent. Furious and defensive, but silent. Then he stands with a bang of his chair and leaves the room.
Mom looks between Alicia and me; she knows something’s going on—she’s always known—but she never asks. She always gave us the chance to share our problems on our own terms without too much meddling.
“I gotta go too. Thanks, Mom—the food was amazing, as always.” I stand up and kiss her cheek. Then I position myself next to Alicia and quietly ask her, “You okay?”
“Always am,” she says with a smile. It’s fake.
I leave their house with a heavy heart.
I’m wondering if I should make a small stop as I drive home. Just to see her squirm. She doesn’t know that I know where she lives. That more people than she realizes know that. She wants to hide in that little haven she found, but the world doesn’t work like that.
When I nearly crush the wheel under my fingers, I realize that I need a breather, so I make a turn and stop by the Cat and Stallion, a local pub. It serves nearly all night long, despite the law, and I’m okay with that. Tonight, I might stay longer than I initially intended.
I walk in and take a seat at the bar. Rory, the new and very attractive bartender, comes to take my order.
“Whatcha want, Justin?”
“Some action, if you’re up for it.” I wiggle my brows playfully.
She rolls her eyes. “I’m not.” She walks away and comes back a minute later with my usual IPA. “Open a tab for you?”
“Sure thing, hon.” I smile seductively, causing her to chuckle and shake her head.
“One day, Justin, you’ll find a woman you’ll want to keep, but all that,” she circles her finger around my face, “will fuck you over.”
My smile drops for a moment before it returns in full force. “No woman like that exists.”
“Sure thing, Justin. Keep believing that.” She winks and walks away, and I just laugh.
Rory is new to the bar but not new in town.
She’s five years older than me and has a hot, lithe body and a fuck-off attitude.
We had a fun couple of nights ages ago when I was barely of legal age.
She knew a lot of tricks, and she was wild.
Just reminiscing on all that fun, I anticipate my neighbor downstairs to stir at the thought of our old hookup and the idea of possibly rekindling things, but nothing. Fucking nada!
I look at her again and notice that her hair is too yellow, and while she has two tattoos on her collarbone, they’re the wrong sizes and placement. She’s too tall for my liking.
What the fuck? For my liking? I used to like everything. Love everything. Every shape, every size, every color. What the fuck happened to me?
The memory of that vivid tattoo of a red rose with sharp green spikes creeping up a milky forearm enters my mind, and my dick roars to life. Fucking roars to full mast in seconds. Without anyone even touching it. In memory of a tattoo on a person I fucking loathe . In public, no less.
I chug my beer and regret… a lot.
I’m gesturing to Rory for another when I hear a familiar male voice behind me, and I still.
I don’t hear that voice often. I slowly turn my head, and there he is: another asshole from that night .
Walking in like he owns the place. Like he has any fucking right to enjoy life when others can’t anymore.
He looks around and tenses once he notices me. That’s right, asshole. I’m here .
Even from my seat at the bar, I can see how tightly he clenches his jaw. I hope he fucking loses all his teeth. He rakes his hand through his hair, messing up his man-bun. A fucking man-bun . Who wears that?
Training his eyes on me, he walks to the other side of the bar and motions for Rory to come to him.
When she hasn’t even brought my drink yet.
I don’t think so. I stand up from my stool, about to voice my opinion, when Harry, the bar owner, comes into view in front of me, placing my drink on the bar with a loud thud .
“Not here, Justin. Not in my bar. Is that clear?” He looks between Mark and me (I spit his name even in my head).
I feel my nostrils flaring while trying to contain my anger, but I finally nod.
“Is that clear, Mark?” He raises his voice to be heard through music, and the asshole finally nods too. “Good. Enjoy your evening, boys.”
Everybody knows Mark and I can’t be in the same space without a fight. Often a physical one. That’s why we try to avoid each other.
Mark downs his drink just as I did a moment ago and relaxes in his seat. He’s alone. Probably waiting for his degenerate friends, whoever they are. Leopards don’t change their spots.
I take a deep breath and try to shift my attention to my glass. I’m considering another one but decide against it. With Mark here, it’s not a good idea to push any limits—Harry’s warning will mean nothing to me after another drink, and I’ll be banned from the only decent bar in town. Not worth it.
I drop a few bills on the counter and walk out without a glance, feeling his stare on my back the whole time. I decide to leave my truck parked at the bar and walk home; it’s about ten minutes down the street anyway.
I’m leisurely strolling along the sidewalk when I notice the lights at Marina’s diner are on.
A brief look at my phone screen says it’s past eleven—I don’t know why somebody would be there so late.
A weird, worrying feeling nudges at my chest—the last time something felt off was when the diner was on fire with her inside.
A shiver runs down my spine, and my legs pick up speed of their own accord.
When I’m at the diner entrance, I push the door handle with too much force, and the door smacks on the wall, nearly making me jump.
But not her, no: with headphones tucked in her ears, she can’t hear a thing, not even flinching at my loud entrance.
She’s shaking her tight ass in those skintight black leggings that I hate with every fiber of my dark soul to some heavy beat in her ears.
That red rose with its green spikes on full display in a cropped tank top that barely covers anything.
I take a deep, cleansing breath and watch her move along the wall of the diner with a paintbrush.
She has a few colorful streaks on her skin and clothes from the wet paint.
Her hair’s tied into a messy bun on top of her head, and from here, I don’t see any color added to it.
Huh—she always has some type of color in there, so that’s new.
If I knew her better, I’d know what color represented what, but I don’t know her, nor do I want to.
I open the door again and smack it with all my might into the wall, causing the windows to shake. She finally jumps, startled by the loud noise that was able to penetrate whatever rock ballad she’s been rupturing her eardrums to.
“What the hell?” she shrieks, yanking the headphones out of her ears. Then she takes me in, and her eyes go round before darting around us. “Justin? What are you doing here?”
“Why is the door open?” I ask, ignoring her question.
“What?”
“Why is the door open?” I repeat, slower this time, pointing at the entrance.
She looks between me and the door. “What’s it to you?”
I take a step toward her, causing her eyes to go even rounder.
“Not long ago, you were locked in that pantry,” I remind her, pointing at the door where I found her, tied and nearly unconscious, “and now you’re dancing around with your headphones in without a care in the world with an unlocked door where anyone can just walk in? ”
“It’s Little Hope .” Like that’s supposed to explain everything.
“It’s not that Little Hope anymore. Times change.” I clench my jaw. “You have to adapt. ”
Her face darkens in an instant. “That’s what I’ve been doing all my life. Adapting.”
“Have you?” I hum, my tone menacing, taking deliberately slow steps toward her, carefully watching her actions.
She looks around, but there’s nobody around, and that’s my point. Anybody could barge in, and she wouldn’t know because she wouldn’t fucking hear!
Only two feet of space separates us now, and she hasn’t moved an inch, hypnotized by my slow approach. I stop in front of her and watch for her reaction—fight or flight. That’s what has always been between us, and that’s what will always be.
“Justin—” She wants to say something but decides against it.
“Yes?”
“I—” She clears her throat and licks her lips. My eyes instantly dip and follow the movement of her pink tongue, which makes an appearance just for a second, leaving her plump lips moist and ready… then she snaps me out of my trance. “I meant to say thank you for helping me.”
“I didn’t do anything.” My lip curls of its own accord.
“You saved me.” Her chin stubbornly sticks out.
“Not me.” My chuckle is dark, and her face falls. “It was all Alex. He knew something wasn’t right. Thank him.”
Her face hardens. “Right. You probably wanted to leave me there. So wrong of me to assume that you genuinely wanted to save my life. Thank God Alex was there.” Her voice is bitter and full of sarcasm, and I have the horrible urge to tell her the truth—that it was the second time in my life I was so scared I couldn’t breathe.
But no. Let her think it was Alex. He was the one who called me and said that something might be wrong at the diner .
She moves to leave, but I grab her elbow, stopping her in her tracks.
“I never wanted you dead.” My voice is barely above a whisper as I let the words tumble out.
“Could’ve fooled me,” she declares shakily, trying to pull her arm from me, but I grip tighter.
“Believe it.”
She stops struggling against my hold and lifts her eyes. “What happened, Justin?”
I clench my jaw. “You were tied up in a burning building.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know that. What happened that made you hate me so much?”
That question, passing so innocently over her lying lips, always drives me insane.
I come closer to her and spit through gritted teeth, “Stop fucking with me. You know what happened. Own your shit.” Her face is ashen.
“Never fucking ask me that question again. I’m done playing this game with you acting so fucking innocent.
Done ,” I roar as she rears back. “Do you understand? Never open your mouth again around me.” I lean closer, her signature strawberry smell assaulting my nostrils, and repeat, “Never.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and I hate to see them.
And I love to see them.
I’m a sick bastard.
One fat tear escapes her blurred eyes and runs down her cheek. I follow its trail and start feeling like complete shit before the recent encounter with Mark pops into my head. And just like that, I’m sober from any emotions that might make me do something stupid like rush and comfort her.
Refusing to let myself bend for her, I back away toward the door. “If you know what’s good for you, stay away from me. Make sure you’re not around when I’m with Freya or Alex.”
Then I turn and get the hell out of that place, because I don’t want to see the cascade of tears streaming down her pale cheeks.