eight

“Come on. Everyone knows the words to ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow.’”

“I don’t. Sorry.”

I playfully narrow my eyes at him. “I’ll bet you do know it. I’ll bet you know the words to all the songs I’ve mentioned, but you’re lying to get out of singing with me, you sneaky werewolf you.”

His mouth twitches into a quick smile. “I really don’t know them. I swear.”

It is my new life’s mission to get that man to give me a genuine, huge, brilliant smile that lasts more than a heartbeat as often as I possibly can. To get him to let his guard down like when I’m singing. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s possible. It’s almost as if he’s reluctant to, even afraid maybe, as if allowing joy inside could crack him in two. I truly, deeply hope his father is not only burning in hell but is Satan’s personal bitch for all he’s done to his son. I keep my own smile plastered to hide these evil thoughts.

“A likely story, Blondie. I’ll get the truth out of you yet. I have ways of making you talk,” I say in a terrible Clint Eastwood impression. This gets another brief grin. I do think they’re getting longer each time. Oh. In the distance, I see a sign. “Look! Look! Wait for it … wait for it …” We pass under the “Welcome to Ohio,” sign attached to a big blue arch. I blow a kiss behind us. “Good-bye, Indiana! You will be missed!”

I turn back around with a grin, but Jason doesn’t share my enthusiasm. He’s too busy yawning for the fourth time in ten minutes. Once again, I catch the bug. I’m exhausted, but unlike him I managed to catch an hour or two of sleep since leaving Stoker. I offered to drive a few times through the night, even suggested we stop. Nope. Good thing I like my men stubborn. So I’ve been making him stop for coffee every two hours and am doing my best to keep him entertained. I sang the entire Gershwin CD complete with dazzling jazz hands. I interrogated him within an inch of his life. I was pleasantly surprised, shocked even, that he never hesitated to answer. What a difference forty-eight hours makes.

I learned his best friend Adam, who no matter how many times Jason literally snapped at him when they first met, never stopped trying until he wore Jason down. Then there’s Tate, Adam’s older brother, who taught Jason to fight whether Jason liked it or not. Maureen, their mother, who has the patience of Job. She taught him to read and was like a mother to him. Jenny, our stepmother, who never took a shine to him nor him to her. Probably intimidated by him. That and she was too busy playing Queen of the Pack to spend much time with her children. Frank sure does have a type. He spent the most time talking about Matt, our little brother.

That was the only time he seemed reluctant to speak. I didn’t press, though I was dying to know. I think he sensed that and without further prompting began talking. He started with how frightened they were of each other at first, but Frank kept pushing them together until coexisting became love. It all started a year after he moved in. Some of the boys in the pack were picking on Matt, and Jason heard them. He just walked up, punched the ring leader in the face, and probably would have put the kid in a coma if Frank hadn’t intervened. The gesture didn’t endear Jason to the pack, save for Matt. He became Jason’s little shadow. Big brother didn’t mind. He was even the best man at Matt’s wedding to Linda and is godfather to the twins, Dustin and Nicole. My niece and nephew. He sounded sweet. Artistic. He loved nothing more than walking around a forest snapping photos or playing with his children.

Though Jason shared these stories in his usual monotone manner, there were moments when the façade cracked, manifested in twitches or clearing his throat. I realized halfway through, when he was deep in a story about Matt’s first change, that he hadn’t had time to process, to come to terms with the fact his little brother died. Maybe when we reach Maryland, he’ll feel safe enough to break down. Mourn. And I’ll make sure to be there to help in any way I can.

Jason began yawning around three AM, and by the time we passed through Indianapolis just after dawn his eyes started drooping. I’m not much better. I haven’t left the car for more than twenty minutes in over twenty hours. Hell, even the little sleep I got was shallow. I don’t know how we’ll get through the next eight hours to Maryland. I—

The sound of a gunshot solves our exhaustion problem. We both jerk our gazes back at the source. There are no cars behind us and no further gunshots, just a thumping. Oh, thank God it’s just a flat. Upon realizing this, I also realize my hand is in the map holder where I stashed the Glock Price gave us. Jason had a similar reaction. His free hand is on the knife he attached to his belt. We exchanged a relieved sigh. “I better pull over.”

“Yeah.”

He maneuvers onto the shoulder. Since I’ve been sitting four hours straight, I take the opportunity to stand. My back actually cracks when I’m fully erect. Much better. At least we broke down in a lovely part of America with full, tall trees and gentle rolling hills. It’d be nicer if the trucks and cars zooming by weren’t so damn smelly and loud. I literally choke on exhaust.

Jason’s first to the open trunk. The good news is there’s a spare tire. The bad is that it’s almost as flat as the one we need to replace. Jason stares at the tire as if he can’t wrap his mind around what he’s seeing, like there’s a trunk full of pixies playing banjos. I’m kind of at a loss too. As someone whose car often breaks down, I know the towing company asks for a license and writes the license plate down at the bare minimum. Not advisable with a stolen car. “Thoughts?” Jason asks.

“Um … I don’t know. We’re dead on our feet. You more than me. We switch the full flat for the flat spare, drive to the nearest town, I drop you at the first roach motel we find, and I go buy us a new tire while you shower and sleep.”

“No. No motel.”

“Jace, it’s still over eight hours to Maryland. I don’t know about you, but I don’t have eight hours in me. I won’t make any calls if you don’t, alright? This is the universe’s way of telling us to stop.” I grab the socket wrench. “We’re listening.”

I know he’s bone deep exhausted because he doesn’t say another word in protest. Thank God because I’m too tired to fight back if he did. I hand him the tools as he switches the tires. I give the spare about fifty miles before it’s as flat as a pancake. I suppose we could just steal another car. No, it’s easier to buy another tire, not to mention I do want to keep my felonies to a minimum. We toss everything back into the trunk when we’re done, and I take the keys. My turn as Alpha dog.

It takes two towns and three motels before I locate one that doesn’t ask for a credit card. The Midnight Motel, a seedy one story with a communal porch for all rooms letting out onto the parking lot surrounded by strip malls and gas stations on a busy street. If the manager’s any indication the rooms are disgusting, greasy, and reek of B.O. At least a room won’t eye fuck me. I have to pinch Jason to wake him. Ugh, I was right. I lead him into the disgusting, stuffy room where a cockroach sleeps on the bed. I don’t think the window’s been opened for a decade, the same amount of time since a maid serviced the room. Still, in my worn-out state, it’s the fucking Four Seasons.

“I need a shower,” Jason says.

“Yes, you do,” I say, opening the window. Of course I’m one to talk. My deodorant wore off five hundred miles ago. “You better get to it. Don’t want to pass out in there.” When I return to the room with our suitcase and weapons bag, he’s already in the bathroom. I leave them on the bed—oh, Lord I think the bedspread has mold sprouting on the fake flowers—then leave again. Tire shopping to do.

I have to endure another round of eye coitus with Walt the manager to get the name and address of the nearest tire store. Pep Boys save the day. Good thing I stole a newer model car otherwise they might not have the right tire in the store. The clerk seems reluctant to sell it without attaching it. Guess I’m the only person ever to buy a tire and not want installation. Doesn’t help I pay in cash. We’re running low on that as well. We have maybe enough for gas and a fast food stop or two. We’ll make it to Maryland by the skin of our teeth.

Walt must have been watching out for me because I’m barely out of the car in the Midnight parking lot before he strolls out. I really have no patience or energy left for his bullshit. He’s by my side as I walk to the trunk.

“Got your tire,” he says.

“Yep.” I roll the new tire to the side and retrieve the tools in the trunk.

Walt pretends to look at the license plate when he’s really staring at my ass. “Oh, Utah, huh? You one of those Mormons?”

“Yep,” I say, positioning the jack. The only thing Barry ever did for me, taught me to change a tire. Probably because he didn’t want to spend money on adding me to his AAA account.

“Sexy and handy. Nice.”

The last straw is reached when the asshole touches my bare shoulder. I do what I always do, react. I drop the bar and grab one of his offending fingers, bending it back to get my point across. Walt gasps more in surprise than pain. I stare at him. Hard. “Touch me again. I dare ya.” I release his finger. “Fuck off.” Shaking my head, I return to work as the perv retreats to the safety of his office. Should have broken it.

When I’m done, I return to the room. I’ve earned a nap. Jason is asleep in bed facing me with a large strand of wet, golden hair falling on his cheek. Strange how I notice that before I take in his bare chest. Really I take him all in, utterly captivated. I don’t know what it is, but he is the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Hands down. Yet he is absolutely not my type. I usually go for the androgynous, lean men. There’s nothing feminine about him whatsoever. Still I can’t take my eyes off him. Every fiber of my being is screaming at me to crawl into that bed, bring him inside me, and bring us both to ecstasy. I force my eyes closed and take a deep breath. My will power is getting buns of steel with the workout I’m giving it. Shower. Take a damn shower, Viv. A cold one.

I never knew I could achieve bliss just by taking a shower. It’s glorious. I wash my hair twice, scrub and scrub the dried blood I didn’t know I still had on me, and let the scalding water baptize me of my considerable sins. I’d stay in for hours but my eyes keep closing on their own. After toweling off, I change into a large t-
Jason’s face is scrunched up as if there’s manure spread under his nose as he moans. Bad dream. This isn’t the first time he’s done this. It happened on and off in the car during his marathon sleep yesterday. It passed quickly, though he was never curled up into the fetal position like now. His demons find him even in sleep.

I carefully climb into bed beside him so as not to wake him. He lets out another moan as I turn on my side so our backs face. I still feel him though, that always present heat burning from his body. There’s maybe an inch or two separating us. Ignore it. Sleep. I squeeze my eyes tight, but with every pained whimper that sweet oblivion grows farther away. Oh, fuck it.

My will power officially gives up. I’ve never been a big spooner, but I’ll make an exception now. I flip over and bridge the miniscule gap between us, curling against his tense body. He moans again. “Shush,” I whisper, “it’s okay now.” He doesn’t wake as I move my arm around his waist and up his exposed torso, resting my hand on his powerful heart. “It’s okay.” I feel his body loosen a little. I cling tighter.

The whimpers cease a minute later. The storm has passed. We can both find peace now. Just as I’m about to drift off, he moves his hand to mine, lacing our fingers together. I finally succumb to the steady rise and fall of his breathing with a smile on my face. No bad dreams for either of us now.

_____

A truck’s loud horn jolts me out of sweet oblivion, not that I mind. I’m greeted by something equally delicious. It seems in slumber our roles reversed, for the better. Jason’s arms embrace me like a seat belt, one around my waist and the other across my chest, securing me tight against his scorching body. In sleep I’ve locked my arms to his. I’m glued to every contour of him so not even a sheet of paper could get between us. His breath tickles the back of my neck, as does the thumb tracing circles on my exposed collarbone. This is a fine way to wake up.

I close my eyes to relish all the sensations, even the feel of his erection pressing against my back. I’m afraid to move, afraid if I do he’ll wake up and this will end. But I have to. My left arm is prickling with pins and needles from my weight on it. The pain’s clouding everything else. I shift a tad to move onto my back. Jason lets out a moan as I rub against his erection with my butt, exactly what I was trying not to do. Honest.

He releases me from his embrace. Damn it. I flip over to face him and sure enough his eyes are open and staring at me. The agony in them startles me. “What?” I ask quietly.

“I … I dreamt you ran away from me, and when I found you my father was eating you. He made me watch,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I couldn’t save you.”

“Oh,” I say, stroking his cheek. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

He presses his hand against mine, closing his eyes and almost grimacing. He huffs and puffs in an attempt to exorcise the bad memories. It physically hurts me to see him suffering like this, as if my stomach’s in a vice, the pressure growing with every second of his torment. “Shush, shush,” I whisper, cupping his other cheek. I kiss his forehead. “I’m okay.” I kiss him again. “I’m right here. I’m safe. I’m safe.”

I caress his sharp cheekbone with my thumb, never dropping my tender smile. Slowly the sides of his mouth move up to match mine. Until our eyes lock. What I see staring back gives me a bigger rush than any gunfight, car chase, or drug combined. It takes a wrecking ball to all my defenses, all my will power, all my resolve. Hunger. Bestial hunger. For me. I’ve never seen it in a man before this intensely, but I recognize it because my beast roars as loudly.

Neither of us moves, even blinks as this primal electricity vibrates between us. He’s waiting for me to make the first move, to give him permission. I don’t disappoint. I run my thumb along his dry lower lip. Upper, never breaking eye contact. His lips part, allowing me inside him. His wet tongue rolls against my thumb. Even this makes my g-spot throb. I wet his lips with my thumb before lowering my own onto them. The moment they make contact, he kisses me greedily, tongue pressing between my lips. I open to accept him. Dear God, can this man kiss. His hands are just as demanding, snaking under my shirt to urge me closer to him if possible. A flame passes up my body from my pulsating groin to my fluttering chest, stoked with dynamite by the feel of his manhood brushing against my engorged self with only my pants and his briefs separating us.

He pulls away from the kiss but only for a moment to lift off my shirt before finding my lips again. He starts there, teasing me with kisses and nibbles before trailing his tongue down to my left breast, tasting me. He takes my nipple into his mouth, rolling his tongue around its circumference, destroying me with that mouth. I moan. Then whimper as teeth bear down. The pain is savage. Sweet. Intense. He does it again. Tongue, teeth, tongue, teeth. Moan, whimper, moan, whimper. Soft, hard, soft, hard. I dig my fingernails into his back to steady myself because I’m about to fall off the edge of the universe.

This torment, this barbaric onslaught continues even as he yanks my pants off, then his underwear. He doesn’t give me time to see him before he impales me, crashing into my body like a star hurtling to earth. Holy shit! I cry out loud enough to be heard in Maryland. The pleasure, the pain as he reaches the very end of me, my maximum depth, the shock of invasion all but makes my eyes fall back into my head and teeth clench. Then he pulls all the way out again, leaving a god-awful void only to ravage me again. And again, filling me until I’m nothing but lost in my twitches and quivers. In him. He surges into me over and over with the force of a tidal wave. Each stroke reverberates in my belly, strange agonizing pitches used to punish me. I want him to. My legs curl to draw him in deeper and I grab his luscious, muscular ass as he pumps furiously into me as his cock grows larger with each thrust. Shudders accompany each coupling. He’s rough as hell, but goddamn does it feel amazing. Pulsing. No love is this act, just frenzied animalistic fucking like it’s the last time either of us ever will. Still not good enough. I meet him pound for pound with each violent thrust, causing as much damage as he is to me. I bite and scratch, I’m sure drawing blood as I rake my fingers down his back and to his ass. Mine. Mine. The world’s ending but I can die happy in this moment when he’s inside me, filling me. I’m overfull, stretched to the brink of oblivion.

The tightening, the fire, the agonizing friction, the bliss, the tension, the sheer and utter fucking joy builds with every second, every attack, every pull in my groin until I cannot stand it a moment longer. The world tilts, spins, explodes, and crescendos like the end of a beautiful symphony as I orgasm, which brings him to nirvana too as we come what’s left of our brains out. Perfect. Holy shit, that was fucking perfect.

He pulls out, sending my body into a state of shock with his absence like a junkie craving a high. A millisecond gone and I need him inside me again. Nothing in this world is right without him inside me. Jason stares at me again, panting as heavily as I am, the hunger replaced with surprise. Shock. At himself, at me, at the situation I haven’t a clue. Thought is pretty damn difficult right now. I do know I don’t like it. Especially when surprise morphs into horrific fear.

“What?” I ask. “Jason, what is it?”

His eyes search mine, for what I don’t have a clue. He must not discover what he wanted because with a grimace his eyes jut down. Away from me. “I’m sorry.” The man leaps out of bed as I watch, mouth agape. I grab the sheet to cover my nakedness. I’ve never felt so exposed, so confused in my life. What the hell just happened? “I shouldn’t have … I promised … I …” he mutters to himself as he picks up his underwear.

“You promised who?” I ask. “Frank?”

He ignores me. Instead of answering, he pulls on his briefs then jeans from earlier. I’ve done a number on his back, drawing tiny pinpoints of blood down the red welts. My anger clears the confusion. Fury fueling me as usual, I climb out of bed with the sheet wrapped around me. Jesus Christ, I’m already sore. “Hey! I’m talking to you!” I get right in his face, even closing the suitcase on him as he attempts to retrieve a shirt for his escape. “Jason, talk to me! Look at me!” His eyes move momentarily up to mine, revealing nothing, before shooting back down. “I’m not your real sister, Jason. We didn’t do anything wrong here. And Frank never has to find out.” Jason looks up again, thorny and scornful at the same time. “No matter what you promised Frank—”

“This has nothing to do with him.”

“Then what—”

“Me,” he says, staring down at me with wide eyes. “I promised me.”

My own eyes narrow in confusion. “I-I don’t—”

“Forget it. Just … forget it,” he says, stepping away from me. “This never should have happened. I have to go. I have to get out of this room.” He has to get away from me. I don’t know what else to do but watch in silence as he puts on a black shirt and shoes. “Um, just keep the door locked and don’t make any calls. I’ll … be back.”

“Jason—”

He grabs the room key and hurries out without another word. I stare at the spot he just inhabited, part of me willing him back into it. What … the fuck was that? I’m used to guys rushing out after sex, but—

Out of nowhere, I burst into tears. Hard, wracking sobs I can’t control. I crumple to the floor, clutching the sheet for some semblance of comfort. I have no idea why I’m crying or how to stop. It’s just so … overwhelming. The desolation. What did I do wrong? I don’t know what I did wrong or how to fix it. My eyes. It was fine until he looked into my eyes. He looks into them and doesn’t like what he sees. What’s the matter with them? Okay, stop this. Stop. This is exhaustion at work. Stress. Mortification. Calm down, Viv. Calm down. Fuck him. His loss. He doesn’t deserve a single tear.

The pep talk doesn’t work. Even I know I’m lying.

It was my fault. I should have stopped it. I knew he was conflicted. I knew he doesn’t do one-night stands. I must have made this feel cheap and tawdry. Like I make everything feel in my life. I broke my promise. This is my punishment. I’m no good. That must be what he saw as he gazed into my eyes. A selfish bitch. No good. No use to anyone.

I sob until my eyes ache, and my skin is raw from wiping the tears away. The only thing about being bone tired is I have little energy to fuel a long crying jag. Five minutes is all I last. When I’m spent, when I’m empty, I dab my eyes one final time, take a ragged breath, and pick myself up off the floor. I don’t feel a hell of a lot better, but at least I’m not a weeping mess anymore. I glance at the clock. Three hours. I only got a little over three hours of sleep. Despite my fatigue, I don’t think I could drift off now. Hell, I don’t think I want to even look at that bed again. Like him I just want out of this damn hotel room. The scene of the crime. Really, I want to take the car keys and drive off, never to see him again. He’d be better off without me. To my addled brain this seems like a brilliant idea. Go it alone. Maybe return to Kansas, beg the agents to protect me. I pay taxes when I remember to do my returns.

As I’m cleaning him from my body in the bathroom, the more I contemplate this, the better the idea becomes until I’ve convinced myself it’s the best course of action. I’m running. Stick with what you know, right? I return to the room and begin throwing his clothes out of our suitcase before I can talk myself out of this. There’s a loud, screaming voice in my head telling me this is idiotic. Just plain wrong. My heart not my head is in the driver’s seat though. Its voice carries a megaphone. Overpowering. It’s telling me to run. I’m fucking listening. I pull on jeans and a black v-neck shirt before frantically grabbing all my stray items around the room. I toss them into the suitcase, zip it up, slip on my flats, and walk out the door.

The motel’s gotten busier in the last few hours with double the cars in the lot and even a line at the gas station across the street. Two clean-cut men in baseball caps walk out of the room next to mine, eyes glued to me. They probably know I was the one screaming. I don’t care. I barely give them a second glance. I throw the suitcase in the backseat and slam the door shut. I start moving to the driver’s side. I should at least leave a note: “Going rogue. See you never.” He’ll be fine. He’ll steal another car, drive—

“Vivian Frances Dahl?”

“What—”

Fuck. The men in caps are bridging the ten-foot gap between us, the one in front holding a pistol down to the ground but holding it none the less. The second man, a step behind, has his hand on his belt, no doubt reaching for a gun as well. Shock and utter fear squeeze my throat shut, so I can’t even draw breath. This is it. They’ve found me. I die in the parking lot of a flea-bag motel in Ohio. The first man raises his gun. “Drop the key and step away from the car with your hands above your head!” With trembling arms, I do all he orders. “All units move in. A and B. Now! Now!”

Those words ratchet down my fear to a reasonable decibel. Oh, thank God. I’ve never been so relieved to be under arrest. A flurry of activity occurs all at once it’s difficult to focus on one. With the gun still on me, the second man approaches, pulling out his cuffs. At the same time, sirens ring out as two cruisers barrel out of their hiding spots from the side of the motel near the manager’s officer and McDonald’s on the other side. The officer grabs my wrists and yanks my arms down while reciting Miranda. The handcuffs cut into my flesh as four more officers leap out of their cruisers, guns pointed right at me as I’m patted down. “Do you understand these rights as I’ve presented them to you?”

“Y-Yes.”

Holy shit, this is really happening.

The cop pushes me toward one of the cruisers as the rest siege my room. Jesus Christ my life has changed from horror movie to porn to an episode of COPS all in one day. This realization makes me laugh out loud. “What’s so funny?” the officer asks.

“Nothing,” I chuckle. I’m still laughing as I’m forced into the backseat of a Crown Victoria.

“… officers in need of assistance at Burger King, 18976 Ring-rold Road,” the radio in front says. “Two officers down, repeat two officers down. Suspect is Gavin McHale, 6'4", blonde hair, approximately two hundred fifty pounds wearing blue jeans and black t-shirt, last seen running fast west on Route 57. He is armed with a knife and police officer’s gun and is extremely dangerous. Proceed with caution.”

West. The opposite direction from here. Still, a huge wave of relief warms my amped body. He got away. Thank God. Thank you, God. The rest of the officers, having cleared the room, sprint out to their cars, I assume to chase Jason. Poor men don’t stand a chance.

“Ambulance en route. Nature of injuries?” the dispatcher asks.

“Um, possible dislocated shoulder on Officer Kopek, and I think I broke a rib. Guy’s strong and real fast. He may be high on something.”

“Copy.”

The officer who slapped the cuffs on me opens the car door. “Where did he go?”

I keep my mouth shut tight. I learned the first time I was arrested to just remain quiet. Don’t even ask for a lawyer unless absolutely necessary. The officer glares at me for a few seconds, seething, but when that doesn’t work slams the door shut again. Just pissing men off right, left, and center lately. It is my greatest gift.

The officers exchange a few more words outside that I can’t hear before my officer rounds the car to get into the driver’s seat. “I’m taking you to the station,” he says, starting the car. He scowls back at me in the rearview mirror. I mimic Jason’s usual expression, blank. “Looks like your boyfriend ran out on you.”

“Karma is a bitch.”