Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Josie
Asixteen-hour drive took closer to twenty, but we rolled into Louisiana a little after lunch. Not even flat tires and multiple potty breaks could stop us.
Gary and Blayne took turns swapping with Eve and Jim so that we could keep this caravan rolling. Gary helped out of the goodness of his heart, but Blayne’s trying to absolve some guilt, I think.
As he should.
He’s a Texan, for fuck’s sake. They’re the most gun-savvy humans on the planet.
Walk into any backroom at a Fort Worth gun convention, and I guarantee you’ll see at least five of them circle jerking it around the newest safety guidelines.
Blayne should have known better than to aim center mass, even with a fake weapon.
You only do that when you mean to stop your target.
I shudder in the passenger seat when I think of what could have happened if King hadn’t moved.
Then I shudder again when I remember that he did move, clearing the way for my injury.
It’s difficult to rationalize the warring emotions, so I stop trying.
Whether he lives or dies, I’ll be miserable either way.
“We’ll rest here tonight,” King says, putting the RV in park. We’re at yet another campground. “Then we’ll set off for the event area in the morning.”
I cover my mouth as I yawn. “Why aren’t we camping at the site?”
“Not safe. Too many gators. Wouldn’t want them to eat you.”
It would be nice to be eaten, honestly. I’ve had zero playtime since the bushes, and my one-track mind runs right through a gutter. It’s all I can think about.
King looks at his watch, then closes his eyes and tips his head against the seat. “Wake me in a few hours. We have that dinner thing with the German and Rose.”
“They were serious about that?”
“Quite.”
“I was kind of hoping it was just a polite gesture.”
“Hope in one hand. Shit in the other. Let me know which hand fills faster.”
I curl my lip at him, but he doesn’t see. His eyes are still closed. “I have a better idea. I’ll jack you off with one hand and rub myself with the other. Let’s see which of us comes faster.”
He cracks one eye and peeks at me. “As tempting as that is, we’ll do no such thing until we set our ground rules.”
So he’s keen on the rules again? He’s so hot and cold. I can’t keep up. It’s making me uneasy, if I can be honest.
“You were the one who said we can’t use the same rules,” I say. “I was fine with what we had in place before.”
“Okay, same terms.” He clears his throat and closes his eyes again. “Just make sure you don’t get attached.”
“And no kissing.”
His eye pops open again. “Right. No kissing.” He closes his eye and settles deeper into the seat. “We never really talked about that rule when you made it five years ago. It’s quite strange. What’s it about, anyhow?”
“You’re just now questioning why you can shove anything but your tongue in my mouth?”
“Puh, keep your secrets, then. It’s probably something silly, like you’re worried I might comment on your breath.”
I raise my hand in front of my mouth. “What about my breath?”
“My beauty, I have been driving for almost an entire twenty-four hours. Might we discuss your oral hygiene and the finite terms of our arrangement once I’ve gotten a catnap?”
“Dick,” I mutter before sticking out my tongue at him. He doesn’t see it.
I climb out of the RV and stretch my back.
My mind wants to stray to other, much more interesting ways to stretch my back, but I bite the inside of my cheek and start running through multiplication tables.
If I want to beat King at his own game, I’ll have to utilize some of those tactics they taught in therapy, like running math problems because math is the least sexy thing I can think of.
Because really, it’s not that I can’t control my impulses.
It’s just that I don’t fucking want to.
But if he has something up his sleeve, I might as well tuck something away in mine. Impulse control, locked and loaded. No more thinking about sex. I just need to find something to occupy my mind.
Music drifts to me from one of the RVs further down the line, so I meander toward the sound. The tune is familiar, but I can’t quite place it. As long as it isn’t “Pony,” I think I’ll be okay. Then again, “Back That Azz Up” might get me in trouble too.
“Two times two is four,” I mutter. “God, this is what I get for being attracted to older men. I don’t even like normal music for my age. The things he can do to the beat of those—” I grit my teeth. “Four times four is sixteen.”
I breathe a sigh of relief when Tom Jones’ vocals ring clear enough to understand. I can stop torturing myself with math. There’s nothing unusual or sexual about this song.
A rhythmic tapping sound accompanies the music, growing louder the closer I get. I snap my fingers to the bump-bump-bump. Is someone dancing? The timing is too impeccable to be anything else.
I swing my arms and do that goofy Carlton dance as I approach the RV door. It’s wide open, which explains why the music is so loud. Now I just want to find the source of that knocking sound.
My knuckles rap against the side of the camper, but I doubt anyone can hear me over Tom Jones. Even so, I’m pretty sure I heard someone say to come in, so I step into the RV, arms still swinging in that weird little dance. I figure, at the very least, I won’t look threatening.
Unfortunately, what I didn’t figure . . . is that I’d walk in on two people having animalistic sex on the floor of their camper. And really, I blame that fucking impulse-control bullshit. If I’d had my sex detectors on, I’d have seen this coming a mile away. I know about the pineapple incident.
Bennett lies back, hands beneath his head and a grin on his face. His eyes are closed, and the only movement he makes is to ram his hips into Cat to the beat of that song.
I wish I could say her eyes are closed as she straddles him. I also wish I could say I stopped doing that stupid fucking dance the moment her terrified gaze connected with mine.
I wish I could say so many things, but what I manage is, “Hey, at least it isn’t a pineapple this time.”
Cat screams and leaps off Bennett’s lap. She turns to cut off the music, and the room goes silent. That’s when I spy the cucumber poking out of her ass. But the sex salad doesn’t end there, because when I look down, I see a bottle of Ranch dressing. I can only hope it’s not for that cucumber.
“Glad to see you guys are expanding into different food groups,” I say.
Realizing he has an audience, Bennett grabs a pillow from the couch and covers his dick, but not before I accidentally see where the ranch dressing was used. Not gonna lie, I’m fucking relieved.
Cat snatches a blanket from the front seat and covers her body. She averts her gaze, looking anywhere but at me.
Meanwhile, my awkward ass just stares.
“I’m sorry,” I finally blurt. “The door was open, and I knocked, and then I thought you said come in, but now I realize you were actually saying that you were coming. And did I mention that I’m sorry?”
They blink at me.
“I’m just gonna . . . go.”
I hurry out the way I came as Cat chastises Bennett for not shutting the door. I’m pretty sure I hear her whack him with that cucumber a few good times, but that might just be my overactive imagination.
“Two times two is four,” I whisper.
This is going to be a long night.
We sit in awkward silence as the limo ferries us into town. Rose wears a pair of overalls with daisy buttons. She’s the picture of someone’s cute little grandmother, minus the fact that she murders people for fun.
Grim opted for a gray suit, and I’m surprised King didn’t rush back into the RV to change. He’s in khaki shorts and a navy polo. The color looks amazing against his silver scruff.
I chose to dress down like Rosie. I’m in a baby-blue romper with ringlet curls in my hair and comfy sandals on my feet. Jim’s little shopping spree paid off, as I feel like a million bucks every time I change clothes. My usual wardrobe could never.
Gary pulls the limo into a place called Alligator Avenue, and I give King a sideways glare.
He knows how I feel about little roadside animal attractions.
I fucking hate them, and for good reason.
My family’s dealings in the dregs of the exotic-animal trade and roadside sideshows taught me the truth of what it’s like for these animals.
“I’m not eating here,” I whisper to King.
He smiles at me. “Suit yourself. One less mouth to feed means more money in my pocket.”
When he goes to climb over me, meaning to leave me in the limo, I snatch him down again, then motion for Grim and Rose to go on without us.
“We’ll be there shortly,” I say.
“I suggest you do not take long.” Grim looks at his watch, then straightens his tie. “I wish to complete this meal and return to my solitude for Zwei.”
Rose scowls at him and takes his hand in hers, scratching symbols onto his palm.
He rolls his eyes. “My apologies. Please, take all the time you need.”
With that, he exits the limo. Rose gives me a sweet little grin and follows him.
The door shuts, and I turn to King. “You know how I feel about exploiting animals,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Why would you bring me to a place like this? It’s upsetting. You know how I grew up.”
“Are you quite finished?”
I fold my arms over my chest and look away.
His fingertips find my chin, and he guides my face toward his, forcing me to look at him.
Damn his blue eyes. “I would never do something to cause you intentional distress. Though I may joke and tease, my goal is never to give you any true heartache. Alligator Avenue isn’t what you believe it to be.
If you’ll just give the place a chance, you’ll realize why I’ve brought you here. ”
I glance at the building again. It doesn’t look like anything good. The parking lot is in disrepair, and the siding could use a good cleaning. If they don’t take care of the grounds, I dread to think how the animals must be housed. Even alligators deserve kindness.
King smirks and holds out his hand to me. “Come on, my beauty. Let me prove to you that I’m a good man.”
But as I slide my fingertips against his warm palm, that’s exactly what I’m afraid he’ll do.