tighter grip around my arm.
"You asked me to take it away," he hisses. "To take the pain away. And I did, didn't I?"
I gulp, trying to hold back tears. His demeanor intimidates me. He scares me.
"Yes," I breathe, nodding.
"I told you, I'm not good at consoling people, talking about feelings and shit," he says. "This is all I could do for you. Give and receive pleasure, make you forget the bad and make you remember the good. The rest —— well, you'll just have to figure that out for yourself. But God damn it girl, you will figure it out.”
He lets go of my arm, and I rub the place where his fingers pressed in viciously on my upper arm. As much as it hurt, I do crave his touch. A part of me feels saddened and lost when he withdraws his hand.
“You should be fucking thanking me,” he mumbles, as he turns around to grab his jacket from the bar chair.
“You’re right,” I agree. “And I am thankful. For everything.”
He puts his jacket on and heads for the door. Before he leaves, he turns around to me one last time and looks at me quizzically. “So, what’s it gonna’ be? Door locked or unlocked?”
I hesitate for a moment, pondering both options and their accompanying implications. I know he’ll grow impatient, so I don’t give myself too much time to consider before I answer him. “Locked.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kade
I’m on the phone as soon as I get to my car. “Sorry about that.”
Unlike me, Joseph never wastes time on pleasantries.
“Is it done?” he wants to know.
“Yes,” I say simply.
“All good?” he presses. “No trouble? No one saw you?”
I hate lying to him. Joseph has been my friend for as long as I can remember. We lived the same fucked up lives, connected through the choices our mothers made. No one gets me like he does. No one. We are closer than most brothers and I trust him, but I can’t tell him about her. I can’t tell him that I picked up a suicidal girl from the bridge as she was getting ready to jump, and I sure as hell can’t tell him that she’s currently staying at my mother’s apartment.
My old home. Telling him would cause nothing but trouble. He would worry about me losing myself, and he would worry about her yapping. Even though there was no reason to worry about the latter, as she has no idea about anything that happened. Luckily, Meadow has been too wrapped up with her own troubles. She doesn’t know I drove up to that bridge to dump off the dead body of a filthy scumbag.
“It’s all good,” I assure him. “The guy is gone, rotting at the bottom of the canyon, just as planned.”
“You made sure no one saw you?” Joseph asks again. “No one followed you?”
“Chill,” I tell him. “This is not my first time. When did you stop trusting me?”
Joseph laughs. “All right, all right. Calm down buddy, I trust ya’.”
He’d better.
Joseph and I have freed the world of another asshole because no one else would. But we’re still murderers. The law doesn’t care who you kill, and the police has proven to be ineffective against him. They’re our heroes and protectors all right, but if you ask me, they’re far too easy on the guys who could really need a kick in the nuts — or their heads chopped off.
Joseph and I don’t have that problem. When someone needs to go and the law is not taking care of him, we make sure that someone does. Especially here, where we grew up. We’ve seen shit happen to good people almost every week, and the bad guys never seem to have to face prosecution. Even if they were found guilty, they were back out on the streets within weeks, sometimes days, because whatever they’d done wasn’t bad enough to lock them up for any longer, or there wasn’t enough evidence to put them away for a more serious crime. A man could rape women and girls as young as twelve over and over again and again without facing any harsh consequences because his victims have no voice or are too afraid. They’re just poor little
"You asked me to take it away," he hisses. "To take the pain away. And I did, didn't I?"
I gulp, trying to hold back tears. His demeanor intimidates me. He scares me.
"Yes," I breathe, nodding.
"I told you, I'm not good at consoling people, talking about feelings and shit," he says. "This is all I could do for you. Give and receive pleasure, make you forget the bad and make you remember the good. The rest —— well, you'll just have to figure that out for yourself. But God damn it girl, you will figure it out.”
He lets go of my arm, and I rub the place where his fingers pressed in viciously on my upper arm. As much as it hurt, I do crave his touch. A part of me feels saddened and lost when he withdraws his hand.
“You should be fucking thanking me,” he mumbles, as he turns around to grab his jacket from the bar chair.
“You’re right,” I agree. “And I am thankful. For everything.”
He puts his jacket on and heads for the door. Before he leaves, he turns around to me one last time and looks at me quizzically. “So, what’s it gonna’ be? Door locked or unlocked?”
I hesitate for a moment, pondering both options and their accompanying implications. I know he’ll grow impatient, so I don’t give myself too much time to consider before I answer him. “Locked.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kade
I’m on the phone as soon as I get to my car. “Sorry about that.”
Unlike me, Joseph never wastes time on pleasantries.
“Is it done?” he wants to know.
“Yes,” I say simply.
“All good?” he presses. “No trouble? No one saw you?”
I hate lying to him. Joseph has been my friend for as long as I can remember. We lived the same fucked up lives, connected through the choices our mothers made. No one gets me like he does. No one. We are closer than most brothers and I trust him, but I can’t tell him about her. I can’t tell him that I picked up a suicidal girl from the bridge as she was getting ready to jump, and I sure as hell can’t tell him that she’s currently staying at my mother’s apartment.
My old home. Telling him would cause nothing but trouble. He would worry about me losing myself, and he would worry about her yapping. Even though there was no reason to worry about the latter, as she has no idea about anything that happened. Luckily, Meadow has been too wrapped up with her own troubles. She doesn’t know I drove up to that bridge to dump off the dead body of a filthy scumbag.
“It’s all good,” I assure him. “The guy is gone, rotting at the bottom of the canyon, just as planned.”
“You made sure no one saw you?” Joseph asks again. “No one followed you?”
“Chill,” I tell him. “This is not my first time. When did you stop trusting me?”
Joseph laughs. “All right, all right. Calm down buddy, I trust ya’.”
He’d better.
Joseph and I have freed the world of another asshole because no one else would. But we’re still murderers. The law doesn’t care who you kill, and the police has proven to be ineffective against him. They’re our heroes and protectors all right, but if you ask me, they’re far too easy on the guys who could really need a kick in the nuts — or their heads chopped off.
Joseph and I don’t have that problem. When someone needs to go and the law is not taking care of him, we make sure that someone does. Especially here, where we grew up. We’ve seen shit happen to good people almost every week, and the bad guys never seem to have to face prosecution. Even if they were found guilty, they were back out on the streets within weeks, sometimes days, because whatever they’d done wasn’t bad enough to lock them up for any longer, or there wasn’t enough evidence to put them away for a more serious crime. A man could rape women and girls as young as twelve over and over again and again without facing any harsh consequences because his victims have no voice or are too afraid. They’re just poor little
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