Chapter 23
I cut my blueberry pancakes into square sections before drowning the buttery fluffiness in maple syrup, but it’s all for show. I can’t bring myself to eat. My stomach’s a knot of nerves and nausea.
Sandman sits opposite me, devouring his steak breakfast without a care in the world, like he didn’t just brutalize me less than an hour ago. The meat is practically still mooing. Pinkish-red liquid pools on his plate, turning my stomach.
It’s jarring sitting at this booth with him, inside this restaurant. A normal couple enjoying the morning meal together. That’s what people see, but appearances aren’t always what they seem. Makes me wonder how many times I’ve viewed my surroundings through rose-colored lenses.
I’m more than a little surprised he brought me here.
I thought for certain he was taking me to some isolated field to murder me.
He put me through literal hell, and now he wants to feed me.
Why? It doesn’t make any sense. Is this his demented way of courting me?
I’d rather be at home sleeping my aches away. Maybe I can get some answers.
“How did you find your father?”
Sandman pauses, fork halfway to his mouth, his blue gaze settling on me. I squirm under his piercing stare, wishing I had kept my mouth shut. Curiosity did kill the cat after all. He puts his fork down, the silence stretching between us. I busy myself by shaking pepper onto my cheese grits.
“I didn’t,” he finally responds, startling me. “My lawyer did. Besides my one true friend, she was the only other person who actually gave a fuck about me. I was stupid to ever trust you. I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
“This is it, then?” My voice wavers. “You’re going to hate me forever?”
“Yeah, I am.”
“I don’t know what you want me to do.”
“You can build a time machine, go back to the night you were conceived, and make sure your mother swallows you,” he snarls at me. “I want a world where you never existed.”
My soul shatters into a million pieces, forming a huge crater in my chest.
“Yo, Sandman,” a guy calls out, sliding into the booth beside him. “You sharing?” He reaches over and helps himself to a few potatoes.
“Order your own goddamn food, Cricket,” Sandman snaps, elbowing his friend in the ribs.
“Damn, you stingy.” He chuckles good-naturedly, turning his attention to me, then back at Sandman. “Interesting night?”
“You could say that.”
“Care to elaborate?” Cricket waggles his eyebrows.
“Move,” Sandman shoves him out of the booth and stands.
“Where you going?”
“I gotta take a piss,” Sandman answers him. “That okay with you, or you wanna come hold my dick for me?”
“I’m sure you can manage your teeny tiny Johnson all on your own,” Cricket retorts, sitting back down.
Sandman grunts and saunters into the bathroom.
“I remember you,” I say, recognition dawning on me. “You went to Leesburg, right? I saw you and Sandman together all the time.”
He’s the one true friend Sandman was talking about.
“Shocking,” Cricket remarks sarcastically.
“What?”
“That a self-centered bitch like you remembers me.”
I also remember the hateful glares he threw my way whenever he saw me. “You never liked me, did you?”
He laughs humorlessly. “Not particularly.”
“Why?” I ask. “What did I ever do to you? We haven’t even spoken two words to each other until now.”
“Can the innocent act,” Cricket sneers, his lips twisting in contempt. “I know what you did. I was there that night.”
I recall someone coming into the classroom and helping Sandman, but the person’s face is a blur. Everything happened so fast.
I swipe at the lone tear rolling down my cheek. “I’m not proud of what I did.”
“You aren’t good enough for him,” he states with iron conviction. “You never were. Now you’re back to ruin his life again.”
“I don’t want to,” I argue back.
“This thing between you and him won’t end well. I’m willing to stake my life on it.” Cricket interlocks his fingers on the table and leans forward, looking me dead in the eyes. “Spare him and kill yourself before you both crash and burn.”
I believe him, but there’s nothing to be done. Sandman isn’t going to leave me alone, and I have nowhere to run. Taking my own life is a hell no. I have too much to live for.
I squeeze my hands into tight fists on my lap. “I’m not going to kill myself.”
“Then buckle up,” he states, settling back against the booth. “It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”
Sandman reappears and nudges Cricket on the shoulder. “Move over.”
“I’m heading out.” He bounds to his feet instead. “Catch you later.”
“You’re not eating?” Sandman asks, reclaiming his seat.
“No.” Cricket’s reproachful gaze lands on me. “I lost my appetite.”
“Aight. Keep the rubber side down.”
“Always.” They fist bump, then he heads out the door.
Cricket hates my guts. I don’t blame him, though the kill yourself comment was way over the top.
“Eat your food,” Sandman demands, jabbing his fork at my plate.
I squeeze ketchup on my scrambled eggs and force down a few bites, not wanting to make him angry. “Can I ask you a question?”
My last question seemed unwelcome, so I figured I’d seek permission this time. Don’t want to poke the bear.
“Yeah,” he responds, though his focus remains on his breakfast.
“The video you took of me… What are you going to do with it?”
“Use it to jerk off when I can’t get to you.”
“Oh.” My cheeks heat.
I wasn’t expecting that answer. Actually, I wasn’t expecting an answer at all. I thought he was going to tell me to shut the fuck up.
“Can I ask you another question?”
I’m pushing my luck, but what the hell.
“Last one,” he growls in annoyance.
“BLOOD GOD.” I nod at the embroidered words on his cut. “What does it mean?”
I’m 99.9 percent certain it means something really, really bad.
“None of your fucking business.”
Loud feminine laughter draws my attention to the front. Five scantily dressed women linger near the entrance, waiting to be seated. The hostess directs the group to follow her and leads them to a table diagonally across from us. The last woman halts in her stilettos, catching sight of Sandman.
“Hey, big boy,” she greets him, a flirtatious smile teasing her red lips. “Missed you at the bar last night.”
A svelte figure, smooth olive skin, and long jet-black hair give her an exotic look. I’m sure she turns heads wherever she goes. She’s getting more than a few appreciative glances right now. I wonder who she is to him.
“I was busy.”
“Will you be there tonight?” She twirls a finger in his loose blond strands. “I have a surprise for you. It’s sheer and red.”
“Maybe.”
Then her eyes find me. “Who’s she?” She fails miserably to conceal the simmering jealousy in her speculative gaze. “Never seen her around here before.”
Asking Sandman about me when I’m sitting right here is a blatant snub.
“Call her trash,” he replies, his piercing blue orbs boring into me. “That’s what she is.”
I bit my tongue, squelching the knee-jerk reaction to defend myself.
The woman holds out her purse and drops it onto the floor, a smug smirk on her face. “Pick it up, Trash.”
“You dropped it,” I hiss at her, refusing to budge. “You pick it up.”
“Do it,” Sandman orders me.
I jerk my gaze back to him, his grumbled command stunning me silent. It’s abundantly clear that he loathes my existence, and I even understand why. On some level, maybe I even deserve it. But to allow other people to treat me lower than dirt is taking it too far.
No. I won’t stand for it.
I need to make a move, and I need to make it now. From my window seat, I spot a police cruiser parked several blocks away. It’s now or never, Zilphia.
I bolt through the restaurant, my heart thrumming in my chest. I head straight for the cruiser, hoping there’s a police officer inside or nearby.
Meela warned me against going to the cops, but I have to try.
There have to be officers in the surrounding police departments who aren’t corrupt.
A uniformed man exits the pharmacy just ahead.
I pull in a relieved breath and slow to a walk.
“Excuse—”
“Sandman,” he suddenly calls out, nearly giving me a heart attack. “Ready for your team to lose this afternoon?”
I glance back, finding Sandman only inches behind me.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Are they friends? I’m in deep shit now.
“The Insurgents won the Super Bowl three years in a row.” Sandman casually ambles up beside me and slips an arm over my waist. “When was the last time those sorry ass Mambas won a Super Bowl?”
“They’re going to make a comeback this season,” the officer claims proudly. “You just wait and see.”
“Mm-hmm.” Sandman chuckles. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” The officer turns his attention to me. “Who is this lovely young lady? A girlfriend?”
“Come on, Reuben. You know I’m not a one-woman man.”
“Still sowing your wild oats.” He grins, waggling his eyebrows. “I remember those days. Welp, gotta hit the road before the missus starts calling. See you around.”
“Take it easy,” Sandman says, steering me back toward the restaurant, his unyielding fingers digging into my shoulder. “Run again and I’m going to fuck you in the ass so hard, you’ll be shitting blood for a month.”