Ash to Steele (6 page)

   “Easy, Emma, it’s just me.” Breck inspects me with concern filled eyes before bursting into a hearty laugh, “Damn, I do love your expressions!”

   “I’m glad you find me so amusing.  You about gave me a heart attack,” I chastise.  “What are you doing here, anyway?  Are you stalking me, now?” I ask, my lips curving into the slightest smile on their own accord.

   “Maybe,” he replies with a mischievous wink.

   His usual effect takes over, stealing my air and sending my heart into a palpitating frenzy as I drink in his dressed down state of athletic wear and a dark gray hoodie mercilessly hanging open over a tight black cotton t-shirt that shows the sinew outline of his muscles. 

   Breck leans against my car, his right foot resting casually over the other, “Or, maybe you are stalking me.”

   His skin shines from a sheen of sweat and, strangely, I find that immensely arousing.  Wishing I could turn my hormones off, I drag my eyes away from his slick skin and moist shirt that’s clinging mercilessly to his tight torso. “Sorry to burst your egotistical bubble, but I teach art here on Monday nights.”

   “Egotistical?  Okay, I’ll agree to that,” Breck laughs.  The sound sends delicious shivers spiraling up my spine. “I’ll have to be sure to switch nights with Dylan permanently now.”

   Knowing I shouldn’t engage, I do anyway, “What are you talking about?”

  “We take turns delivering food from the restaurant every night.”

   Impressed, I glance at the run down center that currently houses eighty two children.  Last week, there were eighty three, but a gang fight took the life of the vibrant fourteen-year-old who had shown so much progress in his paintings before he stopped skipping classes and then stopped coming altogether.  I asked about him every week and, tonight, my heart broke when I was told that he had been killed.  Blinking back tears, I look away.

   Strong, gentle fingers lift my chin, “Hey, you okay?”

   Nodding my head, I compose myself, “Yeah. I think it’s great the owner of the restaurant donates food every night.”

   “I wouldn’t have told you if I knew it would make you cry,” Breck teases, trying to lighten the mood.

   “I’m not crying.”

   “Such a beautiful liar.”

   Something about my tears seems to soften him.  I see no anger in his eyes like I have the past two times we’ve met, only concern.  “One of the kids that used to be in my class was killed last week.”

   “I heard about David,” Breck states, his eyes softening further.

   “You knew him?”

   “He’s one of the kids who played basketball with me on Tuesday nights, when I usually come.  If I knew he was getting involved with a gang, I would’ve busted his ass.”

   The pain darkening Breck’s eyes sends a sharp stab slicing through my chest.  The way his pain affects me is alarming.  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, not knowing what else to say.

   “He made a choice,” Breck mumbles, his voice heavy. 

   Wrapping my hand around his wrist, I give it a comforting squeeze.

   His gaze falls to my hand, and several long seconds pass before Breck steps backwards, pulling his wrist away from me like I burned him.  His eyes turn hard, cold, as they penetrate my soul, “There’s a consequence for every choice you make, Emma.”  With one last soul searing glare, he walks away.

   Staring speechlessly after him, my mind spins at what just transpired as he climbs into the truck sporting the name, “Kylianna,” in beautifully scripted calligraphy. His words followed what happened to David, but, somehow, I feel they were meant specifically for me. I crank the heat up in my car and turn the radio up as loudly as I can stand, fruitlessly trying to drown out my erratic thoughts that bounce between the tragedy of what happened to David and the enigma of Breck on my way home. 

   It takes a couple of minutes in the old apartment before the water turns somewhat hot.  Catching my reflection, I grimace at the dark circles under my eyes as I strip the required black polo from my second job at the gallery over my head.  I stare into the mirror, making myself a solemn vow,
You will be in that gallery under different circumstances, and soon
! 

   My cell rings, Justin McCall displayed in bright blue.  Just like a needle to a balloon, every ounce of confidence deflates in a flustered rush.  Closing my eyes, I lean my head against the cold, cracked tile wall, letting the call go to voicemail again.  Three months and nothing to prove.  Three months of Justin making excuses of why I should go back to Pickens.  I can’t take another reason tonight. 

   Screams echo outside my paper thin walls.  Vile names are spit back and forth between the on again, off again neighbors next door as dishes break and the door slams.  Absently, I wonder how many dishes they could possibly have to be able to throw some around every night.  I would call the police, but I’ve never seen a mark on the short-haired brunette, other than from needles.  I’ve seen a few on the dingy undershirt and droopy jeans wearing unkempt thug, but I don’t know if they are from his girlfriend or from a drug deal gone wrong.  Judging by her frail ninety pound frame, my guess is it’s the dealer’s handiwork. 

    Sirens wail a few blocks away, and, for a second, I think of returning Justin’s call.  Steel blue eyes engulf my senses, taking over as everything else shuts down.  Images of Justin fade as a portrait of Breck spreads through my mind like poison slowly seeping into every lobe, overriding their functions until the only smell is his haunting scent, the only sound is his words replaying like a forbidden whisper, and the only thing I see is the piercing fire in his eyes burning through my soul. 

   Slowly lifting my phone, I turn it over in my hand a few times before shutting off the power and slipping into the lukewarm water.  I blame my failing sanity on the stress of what could’ve happened with Derrick last night and what did happen to David, telling myself that I’m just tired and feeling shaken and lonely.  As the stream rains down over me, my reasoning begins to return, washing away Breck’s contagion.  

Chapter Three

 
Beautiful Liar

Breck

   The chains of the punching bag rattle as my fists pound against the battered leather. Pain radiates through my knuckles; I welcome it.  The wraps usually wound around my hands lie on the chair, and I laugh bitterly, taking another punishing swing.  The soft curve of Emma’s lips flashes though my mind, driving me insane. 
Fuck
. Thrashing the bag, I throw punches relentlessly until I’m covered in sweat that rolls from my body and drips onto the floor. 

   The throbbing in my knuckles radiates through my hands, so I hit harder. Groaning, I swing five more times, relishing in the blissful distraction the pain provides.  Emma’s still there, looming in my mind, images of her playing over and over, her torturing smile killing me.  Giving the bag all I’ve got, I attack, mercilessly throwing hits that would send a live opponent to the hospital, probably the morgue.  Out of breath, I keep swinging like my survival is dependent on beating her out of my head.  For all I know, it is.  

   The coolness of the wood gives no relief as I lie, panting, on the floor.  The blood red of my knuckles slowly turns to purplish blue.  Touching my wrist, I can still feel the warmth of her touch from hours earlier.  The way she smiled at me, even when she was trying so damn hard not to, makes me smile.  I want to hate her for that.  I’ve tried to hate her for that.  Dammit!  Why can’t I hate her for that?

   Throwing my hand across my forehead, I close my eyes, remembering Jess’ words.  If only I had listened to her, then I wouldn’t be here right now, with bruised knuckles, lying on the floor in a pool of sweat.  Instead, some nameless girl would be getting me off.  Maybe two.  Hell, I’d fuck three, or a dozen, if it would rid me from the haunting of Emma.

   The fear in her eyes last night sears my brain.  No.  I’m glad I didn’t listen to Jess; if I had, who knows what Derrick would’ve done.  The thought of someone hurting a woman enrages me, but the thought of someone hurting Emma drives me over the edge.  I’m losing it, clearly getting in over my head.  I never get in over my head.  Never.  I shouldn’t have pursued this one, not after the way she made me feel that first night.  Taking deep breaths is useless in taming the savage darkness as Jess’ words from twenty-four hours ago reverberate in my memory. 

   “Don’t do this Breck, she’s an innocent.”

   “Those don’t exist,” I winked and flashed a grin before turning towards Emma, my gaze fixated on the silky, loose strands of chestnut that had fallen free from her beautifully messy hair.  

   “You’re going to corrupt her,” Jess had called out to me.

   “That’s the plan.” I called back, trying to find her best friend.

    “She’ll never go out with someone like you anyway!”

   “Good, you know how I do like a challenge,” I replied, undaunted.

   Angrily opening my eyes, I slam my palms against the floor, not wanting to think of last night, of Emma, or how beautiful she looked without make-up and wearing those old, torn jeans and worn-out jacket.  I wanted to kiss her.  That goes against all my rules.  No kissing, no personal shit, just sex.  Lots of sex.  Seeing her bare skin through the holes in those jeans made me thirst for sex.  I could taste her.  Her phantom flavor bursts on my tongue even now.  There was nothing remarkable about the modest amount of skin I saw.  Hell, the holes weren’t even near intimate areas, but seeing her tan skin made me want to see all of her, lying on the bed for me.  Just for me.  That’s another cardinal sin, none of them are mine, I make damn sure of that. 

   There’s an unending supply of women who are willing to follow the rules and service my needs, so thoughts of Emma getting in my way doesn’t make any sense.  Only pansy asses like Jason believe in love at first site, swearing that’s what happened between him and Jess.  That’s bullshit. 
Love
is bullshit.

   Emma is different, possibly innocent, or at least more innocent than the others.  Maybe that’s what’s screwing with my head.  I’ve grown too accustomed to women who are anything but innocent. Debased.  That’s what I prefer, what I’m used to, what I need.  There’s only one way to get her poison out of me…I will make her like the others.

͠

   “Get your naked ass out of bed before I come over there and drag you out.”

   Groaning, I roll over and grab the phone, “Morning, Jess. Who’s pissed you off already?”

   “Don’t play with me, Breck!  What did you say to her?  Did you tell Emma to
stay away from the bar?” Jess continues her verbal assault, “I don’t care if you did front my part of the money, she’s my friend and it’s
my
bar!  You have no right-”

   “Jess, what the hell are you talking about?” I interrupt, not anywhere near the mood for one of her rants, especially one this early. 

   “Emma’s refusing to come to the Dark Hole.  It took me three months to get her to come inside in the first place.”

   “Drinking’s a sin, remember?  Maybe the preacher’s daughter got blessed out by her preacher father.  Don’t blame me if she can’t think for herself.”

    “Is that what this is about?” Jess’ tone softens. 

   There’s a long pause.  I know what she’s thinking, and I don’t want to go there.

   “Emma’s not like that, Breck.  Please, leave her alone.”

   “She’s a big girl, Jess.  If she can’t handle a little teasing, it’s not my problem.”

   “You know that I don’t have many friends, other than you and Gavin, and she’s my only girlfriend.  I like Emma, so lay off her, okay?”

   Jess knows how to play me; she’s a longtime pro.  “Fine.  I won’t start anything, but only if she doesn’t.”

   “Very mature of you,” Jess retorts.  “She’s not the one who starts trouble.”

  
Oh,
s
he’s already started plenty
.  “I said I’ll lay off, Jess, now back the fuck off me; you got your way…again.”

   “Invite her to lunch.”

   “Hell no!” The words leave my mouth harsher than intended. 

   “I don’t know what you said or did, but I’m sure you’re the one to blame, so suck it up and play nice.”

   Beginning to get seriously pissed off, I roll into a sitting position, dragging my hand down my face. “I did play nice.  I saved her ass when Derrick was trying to get his hands full of it.  I offered to walk her home and even caught her when she fell,” I snap, leaving off the part where I made her fall.

   “When did Emma meet Derrick?”

   “Outside the bar two nights ago.”

   “He’s always given me the creeps, did he hurt her?” Jess nearly panics.

   I can tell by the concern in her voice that she truly cares about Emma, which is significant for Jess. She’s too close to being like me. “No, he was just drunk,” I minimize, knowing it would’ve been more than that if the bastard had his way.

   “I’ve told her it’s not safe to walk alone at night in Boston.  She’s not been here long enough to realize that yet.  I thought she would’ve brought her car, or I wouldn’t have asked her to bring the key.”

   “It was a dumbass move on her end, Jess, being out alone like that.  I tried to walk her home, but she took off.  I followed to make sure she made it alright.  I even talked to her at the center last night”…until she looked at me with those luminous blue eyes filled with compassion and then had to fuckin’ touch me… “I’ll leave her alone, but I’m not inviting her to lunch.”

   “Fine!” Jess rants, “I’ll invite her; you just make sure you’re there, and you’re paying.  The deli on the corner, 1:00.”

   Jess ends the call before I have the chance to refuse.  Throwing the sheets back, I head to the shower, turning the sprays to full blast and just shy of scalding.  Steam engulfs the bathroom in seconds.  Stepping into the misty haze, I try to rid my mind of Emma and of the thoughts I haven’t allowed myself to revisit in years.

   The annoying buzzing
in my pants vibrates again and I give up.  Jess is relentless.  If I don’t show, I’ll never hear the end of it.

   Rays of sunlight scatter across the sidewalk as the clouds slowly drift in front of the afternoon sun.  The air is crisp, vibrant, lifting my mood as I pull into Jess’ favorite lunch establishment.  The deli is permeated with the aroma of pastrami, vinegar, and cilantro. 

   Jess spots me as soon as I step inside, giving me her smartass I-knew-you-would-come smirk, but Emma’s back is turned towards me.  Her long hair is twisted into some kind of smooth bun.  Her jacket hangs from the back of the chair and her soft, feminine frame is covered in a form fitting white sweater.  It’s not too tight, just snug enough to torture a man with fantasies about the sensual curves hiding just underneath.

   The acoustics suck in the old building but the food makes up for having to strain to hear the person next to you.  Plopping in the seat next to Emma, she jumps, startled by what I quickly perceive as my unexpected presence. 

   Her shocked gaze pierces me. A fleeting pleased look flitters across her flawless features and the hint of a smile curves the edges of her soft pink lips before she catches herself and turns towards Jess, cocking one eyebrow, effectively cocking the unruly part of me into a rock hard state. 
Damn, I want to fuck her
.

   “I invited Breck,” Jess shrugs innocently.

   “I gathered that,” Emma says through gritted teeth, all pleasure gone from her eyes.

   The waitress arrives and starts to ask our order until her gaze falls on me.  Her cheeks tint as she flashes a sexy grin before biting her bold, red lip. 

   Her reaction is not new to me, women have always seemed to be turned on by my presence for some reason. Despite what people may think, I don’t thrive on the attention; I’m just used to it, and I learned its advantages at an early age.  It’s a mutual benefit.

   Bringing the tip of the pen to her mouth, the waitress’ eyes are filled with exactly what she wants to do with me.  I begin the game the women expect, playing the part they seem to want me to play, and give her my I’ll-have-you-out-of-your-panties-in-ten-seconds smile. 

   Jess mouths a vile word at me.

   Emma shifts uncomfortably in her chair.

   I smirk arrogantly.

   Snapping her finger in front of the blonde’s face, Jess verbally scourges the waitress,  “He’s not going to strip you down and have his way with you on the table, so how ‘bout doing your job and forget about him doing you and take our lunch order.”

   The waitress shoots Jess a scathing glare before raising her eyebrow, impatiently waiting for Jess’ order.

   Interestingly, the cocked brow action coming from her does nothing for me.

   Emma orders an eight inch sub with extra sauce and fries, impressing me. 

   “I like a girl who eats,” I remark, turning my attention back to the girl who keeps surprising me, this time, by her choice of the loaded sub.

   “You like a girl who is breathing,” Emma mumbles under her breath.

   Biting back a chuckle, I turn towards the blonde waitress who seems to have regained her earlier flirtatious smile.

   Emma glances between the waitress and me before I catch her, causing her to immediately look away. 

   Winking at the blonde, I have to force myself not to burst out laughing at the way Emma’s mouth drops and her nose crinkles up in that cute way when she’s disgusted.  Knowing it will push Emma over the edge, I slowly lean in front of her, careful to brush my shoulder against her arm, as I grab the waitress’ hand, telling her that I want my sub spicy, hot, and dripping with juices.

   The noise leaving Emma’s lips is something between a shocked gasp and a gurgling grunt.  Snatching her jacket, Emma pushes away from the table.

  
Damn
. “Where are you going?” I ask, the thought of her leaving affecting me way more than I like. 

   “Next to Jess.  Sitting next to you seems dangerous; who knows what I might catch.”

   “Ha, cute! I’ve got a clean bill, the epitome of health. 
I
prefer not to make stupid decisions.  I always use protection and get tested every few months.”

   “More than I needed to know,” Emma spouts, her words drowning in disdain.

   The pleading look Jess discretely shoots my way weakens me, making me bite back my smartass reply.

   Emma refuses to look at me while we wait on our food, but I can’t seem to pull my eyes away from her, or the quirky way she fidgets with everything when she’s studying it.  I want to bite that lip, graze its fullness between my teeth and taste its sweet ripeness before tasting the rest of her, wondering if the intoxicating flavor in my head is anywhere close to what I imagine.  Somehow, I know it is.