Chapter 1 #2
“Corabelle?”
I don’t know if I’m more annoyed or relieved that he picked up. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why are you drunk dialing me in the middle of the night?” Dean’s voice is raspy, laced with sleep. I probably woke him up— good . A silver lining.
I’m about to explain, but he interrupts. “Let me guess, you had one too many shots of Fireball and you’re calling to confess your undying love. I always knew you had a thing for me.”
I grit my teeth, regretting my decision with monumental proportion. I can feel his smirk from here. “You know what? Forget it. I’ll walk home.”
I’m about to end the call when Dean cuts in, “Wait, wait—you need a ride? I thought you were calling an Uber.”
“Yeah, well, some jerk stole my wallet and now I don’t have any money. But it doesn’t matter. I’d rather walk.” I really want to hang up on him.
“Don’t be stupid. Your sister would kill me if I let you walk home.”
“Your empathy astounds me.”
He chuckles. “Sensitive and good-looking. I’m a triple threat.”
“You mean a double threat. You only named two things.”
“What?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, searching for a semblance of self-control. Deep breath . “Never mind. Just hurry up.”
I hit the ‘end call’ button like it’s my alarm going off on a Sunday morning.
These are the moments I wish I smoked. I debate heading back inside, but I don’t have any money for drinks and I really don’t want to be sucked into another riveting conversation with Seth/Sam, so I lean back against the brick building instead.
Only a few minutes pass before some moron sidles up beside me asking for a light. I glance in his direction and quickly inch away. He’s a balding, pot-bellied man who smells like cooked carrots. I try not to gag.
“I don’t smoke. Sorry.” I continue to put distance between us, but I can feel the man leering at me from a few feet away. Ugh.
“Let me buy you a drink, kitten. ”
I cross my arms when I catch him staring at my cleavage. “No, thank you. I’m just waiting for my ride.”
“I can give you a ride,” he sneers, his innuendo thick and not at all subtle.
Cue more gagging.
“Again, I’ll pass. Have a nice night.”
I never thought I’d be wishing for Dean to hurry up and get here. Even that jerk face is more tolerable than John Wayne Gacy over here, boring his x-ray vision through the front of my dress.
The man prattles on, making my stomach churn. “You’re a pretty little thing, you know.”
Ew, ew, and more ew. The man is creeping his way into my personal bubble, and before I decide to head back inside the bar, Dean’s black Camaro comes careening into the parking lot with its beast of an engine and supercharged tires.
He pulls up in front of me and exits the car, tossing his keys into the air and catching them with his opposite hand.
He glances at me, waiting for me to ‘ooh and ahh’ or something.
So not impressed.
My arms are still folded defensively as he approaches, his gaze flickering between me and Gacy. My body language screams I hate you , but my eyes are sort of pleading for him to get me out of here. “Hey,” I mutter with little emotion.
Dean frowns at the man beside me, so I turn my attention to the right and notice the creep is still staring at my boobs with a salacious grin on his face. Dean’s eyes narrow, then cut back to me. “Ready? ‘Cause I’m tired as hell, and—”
“She your girl?”
Gacy interrupts, and we jerk our heads towards him simultaneously.
Dean is quick to reply. Too quick. “Hell, no.”
Jesus. As if I have leprosy or syphilis or the bubonic plague. I glare at him, insulted. “Gee, thanks.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Let’s go.”
I stalk forward towards the passenger’s side, feeling Dean close on my heels.
Gacy issues us a farewell that makes my skin crawl. “You two enjoy your evening.”
I hop inside the car and slam the door, locking it instantly. Dean follows suit, looking over me and out the window at the stinky carrot man .
His eyes are still narrowed and thoughtful. “That creep touch you?”
I flick my gaze across Dean’s face, annoyed by how attractive he is.
He runs a hand over his bristled jaw, scratching at the shadow of stubble, and I catch a whiff of his musky, cedar cologne and a trace of leather.
I chew my bottom lip, leaning back against the seat.
“No. Not like you’d care,” I mumble, turning to look straight ahead.
“I care, Corabelle. You’re in our wedding party—can’t have you chopped into little pieces and hidden under that guy’s floorboards before the big day.”
I snap my head in his direction, catching the playful smirk on that stupid, handsome face of his. “I hate you.”
“You know I’m just messing with you,” he winks.
“I still hate you.”
Dean’s eyes rove over me, assessing me in some way, as he twists the key in the ignition. The engine howls to life. “You know you’re just opening yourself up to scary dudes when you dress like that,” he says off-handedly, his wrist dangling over the steering wheel as he puts the car into drive.
I snort at the audacity of his claim. “Victim shaming,” I supply. “You really are a catch. My sister is so lucky.” I blink at him, fluttering my long lashes dramatically.
“That’s not what I meant,” he counters. “I’m just saying, when you look like that, guys notice.”
“When I look like what? Are you saying I look slutty?”
“I’m saying you look good.”
Dean issues the strange compliment with such nonchalance, I almost forget who it’s coming from. I fidget with the hem of my dress and cross my legs, unsure of how to reply, but then I remember he was still victim shaming and he’s still an ass. “Yeah, well, you look like a… bonehead.” What ?
A rich laugh mingles with the roar of the engine, and I slink back in my seat. “That’s the best you got? The alcohol must be getting to you. Your comebacks are suffering.”
“Shut up.”
Dean scratches at his jaw again, glancing my way every few seconds. “You’re welcome for the ride, by the way. And for saving your life back there.”
I snort again. I didn’t even realize I was a snorter. “All you did was pull up in your macho car, looking like a tool, and imply that you found me revolting.” I smile sweetly at him, placing my hands over my heart. “My hero.”
He sniffs. “That guy was one coquettish look away from stealing your panties for a trophy. I definitely saved your life.”
“ Coquettish ?”
Dean shrugs, his focus shared between me and the road. “Yeah, so? I got it from the Cora Lawson Handbook. You’re basically a walking dictionary.”
“I wasn’t giving that guy any ‘coquettish’ looks,” I argue, ignoring the jab. “That was me trying not to gag on my own vomit.” Then I raise an eyebrow and clear my throat, adding, “You should be pretty familiar with that look.”
He tries to hide his smile, but I notice. “No wonder I thought you had a thing for me.”
Oh, jeez. I shake my head, forcing back my own smile.
Dean shuffles in his seat, reaching for his cigarettes in the center console. “You know, I was thinking we could squash this little tiff we’ve got going on. A truce or something.”
“Little tiff? You mean the seething hatred I’ve had for you for the past fifteen years?”
“Yeah, that.”
I gawk at him. “No.”
“Why not?” he questions, his voice muffled through his cigarette as he lights the end. The embers glow bright, a deep orange and crimson. He sneaks a peek at me when I don’t answer right away. “For Mandy. She wants us to be friends.”
“Unless you plan on getting a personality transplant, I assure you that Hell will freeze over before I consider you my friend.” Dramatic, but true.
“Shit, Cora, I’m not that bad.”
His statement forces me upright in my seat, my neck craning backwards in outrage.
Is he being for real right now? I huff my disagreement.
“You called me ‘Cor the Bore’ all through high school because I’d rather study than party every night.
You set me up on a blind date with Stinky Steve and videotaped my reaction, then posted it on MySpace.
You reenacted The Ring the night I watched it for the first time and scared me so bad, I actually fainted.
Mandy thought I died, and she had a panic attack.
I still refuse to have a TV in my room.”
“High school stuff. That was years ago,” Dean dismisses through his laughter.
“You replaced my sugar jar with salt when you came by to pick up Mandy, so I had some pretty interesting coffee to start my morning. Yesterday .”
“Well…” Dean scratches his shaggy, brown hair, half-cringing, half-amused. “You give it right back to me, Corabelle.”
“You call me Corabelle . You know I hate it.” I could go on. I could go on and on and on. I’m tempted to, but it’s only boiling my blood further, and I don’t have the energy to fight. “We’ll never be friends.”
I’m looking straight ahead again, but I can see Dean gazing at me from the corner of my eye. I swear there is a hint of softness there. A small, white flag, waving in the wind. “That’s your name.”
“My name is Cora. Corabelle is the abomination my parents gave me because they already used the pretty, normal name on their favorite child.”
Okay. So, I’m taking this to a very personal place. I need to stop.
“Listen…” Dean is about to respond, but we are both distracted when flashing lights pull up behind us, blinding us with their incessant strobes. He slows down, annoyance etching across his features as he stares into the rearview mirror.
“Dammit, Dean, what did you do? I just want to get home.”
“I didn’t do shit. I was going the speed limit. My plates aren’t expired.” He pulls over to the side of the gravel road, smacking the steering wheel with his fist. “This is bullshit.”
The car comes to a complete stop and I fall back against the leather seat with a sigh of exasperation. “There’s probably a warrant out for your arrest. Maybe you killed someone. I’m not going down for murder. I’m not your accomplice.”
“You think I could kill someone?”
Well, no. “Probably. But you’re too dumb to do it right, so now you got caught and you’re taking me down with you. This is just great.”
“Jesus.” Dean swings his head back and forth, scrubbing both palms over his face. “No wonder you’re still single.”
Oof . I let the barb sink its teeth in me, seeping into every pocket of vulnerability. He knows my weakest link. I think he gets off on toying with my insecurities and giving them life. “Screw you.” There is no teasing or playful banter—only animosity.
Dean glares at me.
I glare right back.
And then the sound of glass smashing against the side of my face is ringing in my ear, and I let out a scream.
Two meaty hands wrap around my neck through the broken passenger’s side window, and I have no fucking idea what’s happening, but I keep screaming on instinct, pushing my feet against the door to keep him from pulling me out as my own hands claw at his arms.
“Cora!”
Dean is on me, over me, punching the guy and trying to release the bastard’s hold. I reach for Dean, clinging to his jacket, desperate not to leave this car, desperate not to be taken. I shout through the fear, choking and sputtering, “Drive!”
Dean is still trying to pry the hands from my neck. “I don’t have you!”
“Just… drive!”
My vision blurs as the fingers around my throat cling harder, but then one hand releases me and there is a moment of hope—maybe Dean hurt him, maybe Dean scared him away—but the other hand returns. It returns with a shiny piece of metal, and I think it’s a gun, oh God , I think it’s a gun.
More screams.
They are mine, I’m sure.
And then the butt of that gun collides with Dean’s head with a sickening thunk .
“No!” I shout, plead, beg . Dean falls across my lap like a ragdoll, and I feel myself being lifted from the seat and yanked through the window as shards of glass tear my dress and skin. “ Let me go !”
A thick palm that smells like gasoline clamps over my mouth, stifling my cries, and when I glance up, my eyes widen.
It’s him.
The John Wayne Gacy look-a-like from outside the bar.
No .
My muffled sobs slip through the cracks of his fingers, and I keep fighting as he drags me across the gravel. My legs kick and flail, my nails digging into his fleshy arms until they bleed.
Then I open my mouth as much as I can and bite down.
Hard .
The man wails in pain as blood seeps from his finger wound, and I try to make a break for it. I pull free for a moment, for just a moment, before something strikes the back of my head…
… and everything goes dark.