CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"What do you miss most about your brother?" I asked the darkness, an hour
later, but I was surprised as a response came from beside me.
Jace shifted and I knew he'd been awake the entire time.
"Truthfully?"
"Is there any other way?" I teased lightly.
"I miss having the hope that I'd make it up to him. I don't have that hope
anymore."
"Because he thought you were a drugdealer when you were really
undercover?"
"No, not that. I think Brian would rather I was the drugdealer. I just miss…I
don't know…pacifying myself that I could still make him proud somehow, that…he
wouldn't always hate me."
"Did it work?"
"No." Jace bit out. "Brian hated me the worst when he died. He thought that I
did something—that I lied to Taryn about something."
"Did you?"
He laughed, a bitter laugh, but said, "Yeah. I did."
"So who was wrong?"
"Brian didn't really understand the whole picture. Neither did Taryn. They're
both...quick picture, but not the long picture."
I smiled faintly and asked, "What do you not miss the most about your
brother?"
"That's easy. The fighting." He said ruefully. "I do not miss having Brian
come at me with some new accusation."
"Were they ever true?"
He laughed again, "Most of 'em were true."
"If you had to do it again? Would you do something differently?"
His answer was immediate and swift, "I would've shot Galverson the instant I
wanted to and walked."
I shifted to my side and faced him in the darkness. I could only hear his
words, not see him, but it was enough. I felt his breaths.
"When would that have been?"
Jace laughed ruefully, "The first time I saw him. My hand itched. My hand
only itches when I want to shoot something…but I was still pretty young and punk
enough to think I could outthink that slimeball and win."
"And then you went undercover?"
"No. And then I worked for him…for three years until Chance Evans gave me a
way out."
"Did you think about the end?"
"Yeah." Jace said quietly. "I knew I'd be gone or dead. One of them, but I
thought Brian would be alive and Taryn would be…I didn't think about Taryn until
the end."
"You always took care of him? Brian, I mean."
"On and off. Dad couldn't. He was an alcoholic who liked his fists. He…always
favored Brian, but I knew that if I left—then he'd start hurting Brian like he
tried with me. Yeah—I tried with Brian, tried to raise him, but…not exactly a
pillar role model with my background."
I thought about my own life and murmured, "It's kinda funny. I didn't know
Krein and here I am—contemplating that and your brother knew you,
but…"
"Brian cared about Taryn. That's all. Well…maybe he cared about me, but I
think he was just resentful."
"About?"
"You do the math." Jace grunted.
I sighed and remarked, "Want to hear a confession of my own?"
"Thought this was Confession Time?"
"That's right. A hidey-hole's as good as a confession booth."
"And they're both good for other things too." Jace smiled—I could hear his
smile.
"And you're such a boy sometimes."
Jace laughed, rakish and confident at the same time.
He made my hand itch.
"I'd like to hear the confession." Jace shifted on his side and now faced me.
I knew if I moved an inch closer, we'd touch. I could feel his breath just warm
my skin and I smiled, a blinding smile in the darkness that covered every
action, every thought, and every whim.
"My truth…is that…," I waited the dramatic pause and finished with an
exaggerated swirl, "I always wanted to be a nurse."
"A nurse?"
"Yeah. Taking care of patients. Reading their charts. Taking orders from the
doctors. I always used to…I don't know…if my mother hadn't made me choose, I
might've ended up doing that."
"Why can't you anyway?"
"Because…" Because I didn't have an answer. Because…I'd seen too much and I
knew my path wouldn't go that way. So I just answered, "The wind hasn't taken me
there. Yet."
But maybe it would.
"I think you got a good break." Jace told me. "I think anyone who lived with
a mom who made their child choose between them or a sibling—or a father—I think
you were better off with how you grew up."
"On the streets?" I joked, slightly.
"Were you ever really on the streets?" He asked.
"Yeah." I didn't hesitate. "I was. For a year, at least, before I lucked out
and found some good roommates, but…I was still wasn't always sleeping in my
room. I was still…there's an element. You always know not to settle in, that…I
don't know…living and watching your back is still being on the streets. That's
what I was doing even if I was in the same house for awhile. We didn't exactly
have the moral friends that you must've known."
"I didn't have any moral friends." Jace remarked.
I couldn't help it. I asked, "Not even…."
An eyebrow shot up in my direction and the words died in my throat.
"Nevermind." I murmured.
"True friends—that I can go to—tell them my worries and get their opinions…I
didn't have any of them. You don't in my life."
I thought about Marcus. About lying to him, about lying to everyone else and
echoed, sadly, "Me too."
Jace glanced at me. I felt his gaze.
"Marcus and…they didn't know about my other life and my other life…they
didn't know about Marcus. I didn't want anyone to know, but that didn't last
long."
Except Munsinger. He knew, but that was a different story.
The music that had been blaring abruptly ended and the silence seemed to echo
between us.
A moment passed and I whispered, "Well…"
Jace smothered an abrupt laugh.
A chuckle slipped past my lips, but I bent my head to cover the rest.
Jace laid back down and sighed, "We can sleep."
Yes, we could, but a question plagued me… "Who are you going after
tomorrow?"
The contented atmosphere between us swiftly shifted and changed. Jace
replied, somber, "I lied to you before—"
I already knew that.
"But you know that…we've got my enemies coming and your lover coming. Who do
you think I'm going to eliminate first?"
"Is that what you're doing? You're going to kill them?"
Jace sighed and I felt the truce dissipate in the blink of an eye. We were
back to our battle lines and I suddenly felt bereft.
I tucked my hands underneath my head, still on my side, and asked softly,
"Why won't you tell me who Oscar called?"
"Because that's not your worries."
"They are now. I'm with you."
A heartbeat sounded.
Jace refuted my comment, "No, you're not. You're here right now, but you're
not with me. My enemies are my problems. And for the record—I'll take care of
who I find first tomorrow. That includes your lover boy."
Oh.
I laid on my back and held my breath.
Jace asked, and my breath left me in a rush, "Do you want me to kill
him?"
"Who?" It was stupid and pathetic, but I played the game anyway.
Jace didn't even scoff. He just answered, "Marcus."
Oh. I fell silent and really thought about it.
"I…"
I didn't know, but I knew what I should respond. It would be so easy. I
wouldn't have to worry about my friends, family—Gray. I could live my life
again, free. But….the battle of right and wrong wasn't what kept me from
uttering the logical response.
Did I feel particularly fond of my soul?
Jace answered for me, "I won't do anything, but if it comes down to him or
me—there's no question."
That was okay with me. That was the law of nature to our kind.
Your life or someone else's? Always yours, unless you wanted to make that
sacrifice. Unless that sacrifice was worth the sacrifice.
"Okay." I said
softly.
Jace sighed again and I knew he was ready for sleep. So I murmured, "For
what's it worth…I kinda like our Truth Telling tonight."
"Yeah." Jace reflected. "It was a nice reprieve."
"Even though you are a pain in the ass."
"You too." He laughed shortly, touched my hand, and went to sleep.
It was daylight before I ever closed my eyes—at least, that's how I felt when
I found myself blinking back to consciousness. I felt as if I hadn't slept at
all, but I must've because the body next to me was gone. And in his stead lay a
9mm that he'd given me before we went to meet Oscar.
It had been cool to the touch that night and it was still chilled.
My hand didn't itch like he confessed his did, but I still looked at the gun
differently. What kind of a person could itch for a gun to shoot? What kind of
person was like that?
I sighed as I heard boots stomp down the stairs. They sounded with the same
high heeled clomps that Rafe had moved with the night before. A second later, I
heard a soft knock on our locked door and I knelt, crawled, and opened the door,
all while with the gun held just behind my back.
That's my life. Opening a toilet's door with a gun in hand.
Rafe straightened from the wall, blinked, and yawned as she raked a fatigued
hand through her hair.
"Morning." She grunted and left.
"Morning?" I moved behind her.
"Yeah." It came as a whisper, but I doubted it was from the other occupants
and more from her hangover. "Jace woke me up. He took off a few hours ago. He
said to check on you later."
"Are your friends still here?"
"Yeah. They won't care about you—hell—they'll love finding you here.
Listen—you arrived here this morning. You were never here last night, okay?"
Whatever lies worked, worked.
"Fine." I remarked and saw two passed out on her couches. Both with cowboy
boots, tattered jeans, and buttoned flannel shirts with the sleeves ripped off.
One laid with his stomach in the air and even though his shirt was buttoned up,
I could still see the muscled contours of his stomach just underneath. And
judging from the back muscles that were prominent of his companion, I knew the
other sleeper had the same ripped muscles.
It wouldn't be a far guess to know that Glean was built the same.
"Don't you know any fat people?" I asked underneath my breath.
Rafe laughed hoarsely and shook her head, "A few of the guys upstairs, but
it's frowned on. The guys will make fun of you if you're overweight."
"Hmm. Shallow vigilantes. Who knew?" I remarked dryly.
Rafe opened the fridge and pulled out a box of pizza. Jace had eaten a few
slices of the pizza I'd stolen and I had eaten a few too, but there was still
plenty for another meal.
Rafe set out the milk, cereal, and orange juice while I pushed our box into
the fridge.
I turned and saw that Rafe straddled a chair with an eyebrow arched high. I
shrugged, "I wasn't about to starve in your toilet closet."
"I figured." She only said and sipped some orange juice.
The hangover held small limits because I felt her measuring gaze and heard a
second later, "So….Jace's a good fuck, isn't he?"
I couldn't ignore the bait. She'd consider herself the winner if I did, but I
didn't want to take the bait. It was so sadly thrown out there that it didn't
deserve any voice time, but…
I remarked, evenly, "Hmmm. What are you hoping to find out by my
response?"
"You haven't fucked him, have you?" Her smile was bright against the morning
light.
"Give me something to actually work with. You're just…not challenging."
I excelled at mind games, so bring it on little bad girl….
I turned the tables on her and asked smoothly, "Which parent was it that
abused you? Who locked you in your own closet?"
She was an ounce away from a cokehead's life. I'd said that sentiment earlier
and it came back again. She was also half-animal and I caught a carnivore's rage
blister in her eyes, just underneath the wave of gorgeous blonde hair.
"You better watch your mouth." The animal spewed out now.
"And you better watch who you try to bait. There's a reason why Jace left me
alone here. If he thought I couldn't handle myself, he wouldn't have and you
know that." I whipped back.
The orange juice and milk were forgotten.
The animal got smart and taunted, "Why haven't you asked if I know how good a
fuck he is?"
"Is that why you keep a mattress in your hidey-hole? In case someone locks
you inside again? Does Glean turn nasty when he drinks?" I threw back,
calmly.
Rafe leaned back and her arm muscles glistened from the sunlight's ray as her
hands held onto the chair's backrest. She tipped her head back and the bronzed
skin didn't shine with a hangover's paleness. She looked healthy and I knew—she
probably had thrown herself at Jace and Jace, being a guy, had probably taken up
her offer.
"So that's why Glean doesn't like Jace." I murmured.
And Rafe's mouth twisted in a satisfied smile.
"Because he either knows you were in his bed or he thinks you were in Jace's
bed."
She widened that smug smile.
I noted, impassive, "Or you just never answered him everytime he thinks about
it."
"He's never asked." She shrugged a nonchalant shoulder.
"And you like that, don't you? You like holding something over him, knowing
that he's jealous…even if it was a one-time fuck."
"I'm not a one-time anything, honey." Rafe drawled and pointed her steel-toed
boots my way.
She'd just clenched into the fighting stance while trying to look
unfazed.
She'd lose and I decided to remind her of that message as I drawled, lazily,
"I bet it was your daddy."
She snapped to attention, but said nothing.
I yawned, stretched, and said casually, "Yep—you have daddy issues. It's why
you like holding something over your lover. Your daddy locked you in that closet
and brought you out to 'play', didn't he?"
Rage sent her to her feet, but it was my gun that materialized from thin air
that stopped her in her tracks.
I met her on her feet and my hand was dead steady. My eyes fell flat as I
said, emotionless, "You're a physical girl. You've been around violence and it
doesn't scare you anymore, but I play with the mind. I'll win, hands down, every
single time. So don't even try it."
Rafe held herself still, but whatever might've happened next was spoiled as
one of the couches drunks materialized in the doorway, blinked, and yawned
confused, "Wwah ell going oahn?"
Rafe shifted instantly and the rage was gun.
I tucked the gun back in place, but watched her as she covered for me,
"Nothing. Just a friend that got here this morning."
"Oh." He yawned again. "Why'd she have a gun on you?" He had completed the
yawn.
"She was just showing me her new piece. That's it."
"Oh. Looked like a regular handgun to me." He sniffed away a hangover's cold
and lumbered to the table where the milk wasn't forgotten anymore. He poured
himself a bowl of cereal as Rafe and I both sat with her friend in between.
"I'm Barrows, but you can call me Michael, if you want." He wiped his hand on
his pants and held it out.
I shook it and nodded smartly, "Maya."
He plopped another spoonful of cheerios in his mouth and asked, "Is that your
real name or street name?"
"Both."
"Hmm." He nodded, easygoing. "Nice to meet you, Maya."
And another spoonful of cheerios went down his throat.
Rafe stood abruptly towards the sink, but said, "Call him Michael. Only our
crew can call him Barrows."
Barrows gleamed a white smile and remarked, "You can call me Barrows if
you're really good."
"Thanks…I'll stick to Michael."
Barrows twisted his head to Rafe and remarked, "Glean's going to like her.
She's got a fresh look to her."
Rafe stiffened, but murmured casually, "Come nighttime, her boy will be back
for her."
"Back? She just showed up."
"Back to town." Rafe explained, sarcastically. "You're such an ingrate
sometimes and don't think of putting her in your bed. She's got someone who can
slice and dice better than you."
"Who? I don't believe your foul tongue." Barrows joked, but listened
alertly.
A smile tugged at Rafe's mouth, but she snapped, "Believe it and leave it
alone."
Barrows threw a suspicious glance in my direction, followed with a
speculative eye towards Rafe before he leaned back in his chair and announced
his sudden lightbulb, "You're not telling me everything."
I wasn't baffled by the company I kept in that kitchen. In fact, Barrows
remembered me of a few past friends, but I knew their thought processes and
girls weren't high on the ladder of valid points. But I decided to play one of
the rungs that I'd used to pull myself out of Krein's shadow when I asked, "Got
any cards? I'd be up for a game of Texas Hold'em."
No chauvinistic guy would turn down a chance to humiliate an easy target.
Barrows didn't surprise me when his eyes lit up and he leaped at the
chance.
Way his thoughts ran, he'd own me by noon and could spend a pleasurable
afternoon before the rest of his boys even woke up.
I smiled softly as Rafe slapped a deck of cards on the table and cleared it
free.
"What do you miss most about your brother?" I asked the darkness, an hour
later, but I was surprised as a response came from beside me.
Jace shifted and I knew he'd been awake the entire time.
"Truthfully?"
"Is there any other way?" I teased lightly.
"I miss having the hope that I'd make it up to him. I don't have that hope
anymore."
"Because he thought you were a drugdealer when you were really
undercover?"
"No, not that. I think Brian would rather I was the drugdealer. I just miss…I
don't know…pacifying myself that I could still make him proud somehow, that…he
wouldn't always hate me."
"Did it work?"
"No." Jace bit out. "Brian hated me the worst when he died. He thought that I
did something—that I lied to Taryn about something."
"Did you?"
He laughed, a bitter laugh, but said, "Yeah. I did."
"So who was wrong?"
"Brian didn't really understand the whole picture. Neither did Taryn. They're
both...quick picture, but not the long picture."
I smiled faintly and asked, "What do you not miss the most about your
brother?"
"That's easy. The fighting." He said ruefully. "I do not miss having Brian
come at me with some new accusation."
"Were they ever true?"
He laughed again, "Most of 'em were true."
"If you had to do it again? Would you do something differently?"
His answer was immediate and swift, "I would've shot Galverson the instant I
wanted to and walked."
I shifted to my side and faced him in the darkness. I could only hear his
words, not see him, but it was enough. I felt his breaths.
"When would that have been?"
Jace laughed ruefully, "The first time I saw him. My hand itched. My hand
only itches when I want to shoot something…but I was still pretty young and punk
enough to think I could outthink that slimeball and win."
"And then you went undercover?"
"No. And then I worked for him…for three years until Chance Evans gave me a
way out."
"Did you think about the end?"
"Yeah." Jace said quietly. "I knew I'd be gone or dead. One of them, but I
thought Brian would be alive and Taryn would be…I didn't think about Taryn until
the end."
"You always took care of him? Brian, I mean."
"On and off. Dad couldn't. He was an alcoholic who liked his fists. He…always
favored Brian, but I knew that if I left—then he'd start hurting Brian like he
tried with me. Yeah—I tried with Brian, tried to raise him, but…not exactly a
pillar role model with my background."
I thought about my own life and murmured, "It's kinda funny. I didn't know
Krein and here I am—contemplating that and your brother knew you,
but…"
"Brian cared about Taryn. That's all. Well…maybe he cared about me, but I
think he was just resentful."
"About?"
"You do the math." Jace grunted.
I sighed and remarked, "Want to hear a confession of my own?"
"Thought this was Confession Time?"
"That's right. A hidey-hole's as good as a confession booth."
"And they're both good for other things too." Jace smiled—I could hear his
smile.
"And you're such a boy sometimes."
Jace laughed, rakish and confident at the same time.
He made my hand itch.
"I'd like to hear the confession." Jace shifted on his side and now faced me.
I knew if I moved an inch closer, we'd touch. I could feel his breath just warm
my skin and I smiled, a blinding smile in the darkness that covered every
action, every thought, and every whim.
"My truth…is that…," I waited the dramatic pause and finished with an
exaggerated swirl, "I always wanted to be a nurse."
"A nurse?"
"Yeah. Taking care of patients. Reading their charts. Taking orders from the
doctors. I always used to…I don't know…if my mother hadn't made me choose, I
might've ended up doing that."
"Why can't you anyway?"
"Because…" Because I didn't have an answer. Because…I'd seen too much and I
knew my path wouldn't go that way. So I just answered, "The wind hasn't taken me
there. Yet."
But maybe it would.
"I think you got a good break." Jace told me. "I think anyone who lived with
a mom who made their child choose between them or a sibling—or a father—I think
you were better off with how you grew up."
"On the streets?" I joked, slightly.
"Were you ever really on the streets?" He asked.
"Yeah." I didn't hesitate. "I was. For a year, at least, before I lucked out
and found some good roommates, but…I was still wasn't always sleeping in my
room. I was still…there's an element. You always know not to settle in, that…I
don't know…living and watching your back is still being on the streets. That's
what I was doing even if I was in the same house for awhile. We didn't exactly
have the moral friends that you must've known."
"I didn't have any moral friends." Jace remarked.
I couldn't help it. I asked, "Not even…."
An eyebrow shot up in my direction and the words died in my throat.
"Nevermind." I murmured.
"True friends—that I can go to—tell them my worries and get their opinions…I
didn't have any of them. You don't in my life."
I thought about Marcus. About lying to him, about lying to everyone else and
echoed, sadly, "Me too."
Jace glanced at me. I felt his gaze.
"Marcus and…they didn't know about my other life and my other life…they
didn't know about Marcus. I didn't want anyone to know, but that didn't last
long."
Except Munsinger. He knew, but that was a different story.
The music that had been blaring abruptly ended and the silence seemed to echo
between us.
A moment passed and I whispered, "Well…"
Jace smothered an abrupt laugh.
A chuckle slipped past my lips, but I bent my head to cover the rest.
Jace laid back down and sighed, "We can sleep."
Yes, we could, but a question plagued me… "Who are you going after
tomorrow?"
The contented atmosphere between us swiftly shifted and changed. Jace
replied, somber, "I lied to you before—"
I already knew that.
"But you know that…we've got my enemies coming and your lover coming. Who do
you think I'm going to eliminate first?"
"Is that what you're doing? You're going to kill them?"
Jace sighed and I felt the truce dissipate in the blink of an eye. We were
back to our battle lines and I suddenly felt bereft.
I tucked my hands underneath my head, still on my side, and asked softly,
"Why won't you tell me who Oscar called?"
"Because that's not your worries."
"They are now. I'm with you."
A heartbeat sounded.
Jace refuted my comment, "No, you're not. You're here right now, but you're
not with me. My enemies are my problems. And for the record—I'll take care of
who I find first tomorrow. That includes your lover boy."
Oh.
I laid on my back and held my breath.
Jace asked, and my breath left me in a rush, "Do you want me to kill
him?"
"Who?" It was stupid and pathetic, but I played the game anyway.
Jace didn't even scoff. He just answered, "Marcus."
Oh. I fell silent and really thought about it.
"I…"
I didn't know, but I knew what I should respond. It would be so easy. I
wouldn't have to worry about my friends, family—Gray. I could live my life
again, free. But….the battle of right and wrong wasn't what kept me from
uttering the logical response.
Did I feel particularly fond of my soul?
Jace answered for me, "I won't do anything, but if it comes down to him or
me—there's no question."
That was okay with me. That was the law of nature to our kind.
Your life or someone else's? Always yours, unless you wanted to make that
sacrifice. Unless that sacrifice was worth the sacrifice.
"Okay." I said
softly.
Jace sighed again and I knew he was ready for sleep. So I murmured, "For
what's it worth…I kinda like our Truth Telling tonight."
"Yeah." Jace reflected. "It was a nice reprieve."
"Even though you are a pain in the ass."
"You too." He laughed shortly, touched my hand, and went to sleep.
It was daylight before I ever closed my eyes—at least, that's how I felt when
I found myself blinking back to consciousness. I felt as if I hadn't slept at
all, but I must've because the body next to me was gone. And in his stead lay a
9mm that he'd given me before we went to meet Oscar.
It had been cool to the touch that night and it was still chilled.
My hand didn't itch like he confessed his did, but I still looked at the gun
differently. What kind of a person could itch for a gun to shoot? What kind of
person was like that?
I sighed as I heard boots stomp down the stairs. They sounded with the same
high heeled clomps that Rafe had moved with the night before. A second later, I
heard a soft knock on our locked door and I knelt, crawled, and opened the door,
all while with the gun held just behind my back.
That's my life. Opening a toilet's door with a gun in hand.
Rafe straightened from the wall, blinked, and yawned as she raked a fatigued
hand through her hair.
"Morning." She grunted and left.
"Morning?" I moved behind her.
"Yeah." It came as a whisper, but I doubted it was from the other occupants
and more from her hangover. "Jace woke me up. He took off a few hours ago. He
said to check on you later."
"Are your friends still here?"
"Yeah. They won't care about you—hell—they'll love finding you here.
Listen—you arrived here this morning. You were never here last night, okay?"
Whatever lies worked, worked.
"Fine." I remarked and saw two passed out on her couches. Both with cowboy
boots, tattered jeans, and buttoned flannel shirts with the sleeves ripped off.
One laid with his stomach in the air and even though his shirt was buttoned up,
I could still see the muscled contours of his stomach just underneath. And
judging from the back muscles that were prominent of his companion, I knew the
other sleeper had the same ripped muscles.
It wouldn't be a far guess to know that Glean was built the same.
"Don't you know any fat people?" I asked underneath my breath.
Rafe laughed hoarsely and shook her head, "A few of the guys upstairs, but
it's frowned on. The guys will make fun of you if you're overweight."
"Hmm. Shallow vigilantes. Who knew?" I remarked dryly.
Rafe opened the fridge and pulled out a box of pizza. Jace had eaten a few
slices of the pizza I'd stolen and I had eaten a few too, but there was still
plenty for another meal.
Rafe set out the milk, cereal, and orange juice while I pushed our box into
the fridge.
I turned and saw that Rafe straddled a chair with an eyebrow arched high. I
shrugged, "I wasn't about to starve in your toilet closet."
"I figured." She only said and sipped some orange juice.
The hangover held small limits because I felt her measuring gaze and heard a
second later, "So….Jace's a good fuck, isn't he?"
I couldn't ignore the bait. She'd consider herself the winner if I did, but I
didn't want to take the bait. It was so sadly thrown out there that it didn't
deserve any voice time, but…
I remarked, evenly, "Hmmm. What are you hoping to find out by my
response?"
"You haven't fucked him, have you?" Her smile was bright against the morning
light.
"Give me something to actually work with. You're just…not challenging."
I excelled at mind games, so bring it on little bad girl….
I turned the tables on her and asked smoothly, "Which parent was it that
abused you? Who locked you in your own closet?"
She was an ounce away from a cokehead's life. I'd said that sentiment earlier
and it came back again. She was also half-animal and I caught a carnivore's rage
blister in her eyes, just underneath the wave of gorgeous blonde hair.
"You better watch your mouth." The animal spewed out now.
"And you better watch who you try to bait. There's a reason why Jace left me
alone here. If he thought I couldn't handle myself, he wouldn't have and you
know that." I whipped back.
The orange juice and milk were forgotten.
The animal got smart and taunted, "Why haven't you asked if I know how good a
fuck he is?"
"Is that why you keep a mattress in your hidey-hole? In case someone locks
you inside again? Does Glean turn nasty when he drinks?" I threw back,
calmly.
Rafe leaned back and her arm muscles glistened from the sunlight's ray as her
hands held onto the chair's backrest. She tipped her head back and the bronzed
skin didn't shine with a hangover's paleness. She looked healthy and I knew—she
probably had thrown herself at Jace and Jace, being a guy, had probably taken up
her offer.
"So that's why Glean doesn't like Jace." I murmured.
And Rafe's mouth twisted in a satisfied smile.
"Because he either knows you were in his bed or he thinks you were in Jace's
bed."
She widened that smug smile.
I noted, impassive, "Or you just never answered him everytime he thinks about
it."
"He's never asked." She shrugged a nonchalant shoulder.
"And you like that, don't you? You like holding something over him, knowing
that he's jealous…even if it was a one-time fuck."
"I'm not a one-time anything, honey." Rafe drawled and pointed her steel-toed
boots my way.
She'd just clenched into the fighting stance while trying to look
unfazed.
She'd lose and I decided to remind her of that message as I drawled, lazily,
"I bet it was your daddy."
She snapped to attention, but said nothing.
I yawned, stretched, and said casually, "Yep—you have daddy issues. It's why
you like holding something over your lover. Your daddy locked you in that closet
and brought you out to 'play', didn't he?"
Rage sent her to her feet, but it was my gun that materialized from thin air
that stopped her in her tracks.
I met her on her feet and my hand was dead steady. My eyes fell flat as I
said, emotionless, "You're a physical girl. You've been around violence and it
doesn't scare you anymore, but I play with the mind. I'll win, hands down, every
single time. So don't even try it."
Rafe held herself still, but whatever might've happened next was spoiled as
one of the couches drunks materialized in the doorway, blinked, and yawned
confused, "Wwah ell going oahn?"
Rafe shifted instantly and the rage was gun.
I tucked the gun back in place, but watched her as she covered for me,
"Nothing. Just a friend that got here this morning."
"Oh." He yawned again. "Why'd she have a gun on you?" He had completed the
yawn.
"She was just showing me her new piece. That's it."
"Oh. Looked like a regular handgun to me." He sniffed away a hangover's cold
and lumbered to the table where the milk wasn't forgotten anymore. He poured
himself a bowl of cereal as Rafe and I both sat with her friend in between.
"I'm Barrows, but you can call me Michael, if you want." He wiped his hand on
his pants and held it out.
I shook it and nodded smartly, "Maya."
He plopped another spoonful of cheerios in his mouth and asked, "Is that your
real name or street name?"
"Both."
"Hmm." He nodded, easygoing. "Nice to meet you, Maya."
And another spoonful of cheerios went down his throat.
Rafe stood abruptly towards the sink, but said, "Call him Michael. Only our
crew can call him Barrows."
Barrows gleamed a white smile and remarked, "You can call me Barrows if
you're really good."
"Thanks…I'll stick to Michael."
Barrows twisted his head to Rafe and remarked, "Glean's going to like her.
She's got a fresh look to her."
Rafe stiffened, but murmured casually, "Come nighttime, her boy will be back
for her."
"Back? She just showed up."
"Back to town." Rafe explained, sarcastically. "You're such an ingrate
sometimes and don't think of putting her in your bed. She's got someone who can
slice and dice better than you."
"Who? I don't believe your foul tongue." Barrows joked, but listened
alertly.
A smile tugged at Rafe's mouth, but she snapped, "Believe it and leave it
alone."
Barrows threw a suspicious glance in my direction, followed with a
speculative eye towards Rafe before he leaned back in his chair and announced
his sudden lightbulb, "You're not telling me everything."
I wasn't baffled by the company I kept in that kitchen. In fact, Barrows
remembered me of a few past friends, but I knew their thought processes and
girls weren't high on the ladder of valid points. But I decided to play one of
the rungs that I'd used to pull myself out of Krein's shadow when I asked, "Got
any cards? I'd be up for a game of Texas Hold'em."
No chauvinistic guy would turn down a chance to humiliate an easy target.
Barrows didn't surprise me when his eyes lit up and he leaped at the
chance.
Way his thoughts ran, he'd own me by noon and could spend a pleasurable
afternoon before the rest of his boys even woke up.
I smiled softly as Rafe slapped a deck of cards on the table and cleared it
free.