Bad Bitch (15 page)

Evan

Lincoln slid into the seat next to me.

“Go back to the city.” He gave the cabbie his home address. I stared at the back of the pleather seat, following the white stitching along the seam. It was frayed, coming apart and allowing stuffing to poke through. Too many rough visitors pushing against it with their shoes or knees or who knows what. Some things weren’t meant to be handled so roughly. Some things couldn’t take the abuse.

“—Evan!” Lincoln said, as if he’d been calling my name for a while.

I felt his arms around me, pulling me into him. I sat on his lap, my legs stretched out in the seat where I’d been lying. There was fire in the distance. It retreated through the back windshield. A small explosion sent a burst of fire into the air before my view was obscured by trees. I looked down at my legs. They were dirty, and my shoes were gone.
Odd.

He looked me over, a full inspection as his hands roved here and there. It wasn’t sexual, more clinical than anything else.

“What hurts?” he asked.

I didn’t know. I reached up to touch the cut along the bridge of his nose. I didn’t put it there with my own hands. But something whispered around in my mind that I might as well have.

“Angel, please, tell me what hurts.”

I tried to concentrate. There was a ringing in my ears that prevented me from focusing. The incessant hum was maddening.

“I . . . I . . . my head here.” I touched my forehead.

“You have a cut there. Anywhere else?”

I could barely hear him through the single note playing in my ears.

“Evan, stay with me here. What else?” He was so calm. The worry in his voice was thick and the fear in his eyes consuming, but he was still so calm. A thought flitted by, reminding he should be mad at me, that he hated me.

“Do you hate me?”

He shook his head. “Concentrate, Evan, please. Does anything else hurt?”

“Nothing, I don’t think. Nothing. Just my ears, they hum.”

“I think you have a concussion.”

“Don’t let her go to sleep,” someone said. Must have been the cabbie.

“I know. Evan, I’m going to need you to stay awake and talk to me. Can you do that for me, angel?”

I didn’t know if I could. I was tired, and I was having trouble remembering things. I had been in a car accident, I knew that. My clothes were damp in places, wet in others. Other things were fuzzy now.

I leaned into his chest and rested my head on his shoulder. He felt good. His clean scent enveloped me. It was the best thing I’d ever felt. I was light. I was safe. I closed my eyes.

He pushed me away, jarring me back awake. “Can’t do that, angel.” He winced when he looked at me—was there something ugly on my face? Then he schooled his features, getting his poker face back in place. He even smiled a little, casually, as if he were just chatting me up over drinks. “Tell me more about you. Did you have a pet when you were little?”

Random.
“A pet?”

I wanted to lean into him again, just lie on his chest and sleep. He wouldn’t let me. He held me still and away from him, even as the cab jostled over the roads.

“Yeah, are you a dog person or a cat person?”

It was one of those questions that was meant to test who you were; at least that’s what I used to think they were for. When I was a kid, your answer to a question like that could divine your whole future.
Chocolate or vanilla? Left-handed or right-handed? N
SYNC
or Backstreet?
The earth’s axis seemed to spin on the answers to those questions.

“I had a cat.”

“Good.” He stroked my hair, pulling the strands out of my face. He was loving, intimate.

I wondered if the cabbie was watching us, but I didn’t care enough to turn around and look. He’d seen much, much worse in the back of his cab, no doubt.

“What was its name?” Lincoln asked.

“Tybalt.”

He smiled. I wanted to kiss him.

“How did you come up with that?” he asked.

“Shakespeare.
Romeo and Juliet.
Tybalt was Juliet’s cousin. He was called the prince of cats in the play.”

“That’s an interesting name.”

“My college professor said “prince of cats” meant Tybalt got a lot of pussy. He didn’t say it quite like that, though. But when I was in junior high, I didn’t realize the name was a pun. I thought it was cute, kitty cat royalty. So that’s what I named my little furry prince.”

He laughed, though the sound was strained. His eyebrow scar was scrunched, and his gaze kept roving over me, assessing. “Tell me more about Tybalt.”

“He was gray and black and stripey. Like a tabby but bigger. And he had a ridiculous fluffy tail. I loved him. He would sleep on my bed at night. He was warm. I would get so cold at night. My room would be freezing.”

“Why would you get cold?” His scarred eyebrow arched subtly.

I shrugged. “My parents didn’t like Tybalt. So if he slept with me, they made me close my door and keep it shut all night. Our house was small, no insulation, I guess, and only had a heater in the living room. So with my door closed, my room would get almost as cold as it was outside.”

He kept stroking my hair.

“They let you sleep in the cold?” His voice had grown a little less tender.

“Yep. I could see my breath.” I closed my eyes and remembered how cold I would be. I crossed my arms over my chest, hugging myself the way I did in the foggy memory. Tybalt would snug up against me and the thin quilt I slept under, but even his fluffy warmth wasn’t enough. I would wake up with my teeth chattering. I would open my door to let the warmth from the rest of the tiny house in. If I fell asleep again and my parents found my door open and Tybalt in my bed, they would make me skip breakfast and lunch the next day. “I would have to stand in a corner. If I sat down, then it’d be dinner, too.”

“Eyes open, angel.”

I did as he said.

“Any other pets?”

“Just Tybalt. But he left. One day, my parents found him in my room with the door open. They didn’t punish me like usual. I thought maybe they’d come around. I was so happy. And then he was gone. I never saw him again. I thought he ran away.”

“Cats do that. They’re wild.”

“That’s what I figured. He was out tomcatting around and would be back in a few days.” I nodded. “A while later, my sister told me she saw Daddy drown him in the tub and throw him in the garbage.”

He ran his hand down along my back and rubbed circles over the wet fabric as if he were trying to will comfort into me. “I’m sorry he did that.”

“So am I. Eudora seemed sort of gleeful when she told me. She never liked Tybalt, either. She was just jealous that he preferred me to her. But once Tybalt was gone, I knew I needed to be gone, too. I couldn’t stay there anymore. I didn’t want to. I was afraid of them. I hate being afraid.” I looked anywhere but at him. I didn’t want any more bad memories pouring out of me. I had so many to choose from, it was hard to keep them all in check.

“Tell me something happy. Something that made you happy.”

We were on a bridge, the sounds different, more open. Then we hit real pavement again in the city. The road was smoother here.

“I left. That made me happy.”

I watched as the light of the moon slid through the glass separating us from the misty outside. It was fleeting, only peeking through clouds here and there. The rays were mesmerizing, though my eyelids drooped, blocking the view. Lincoln took my chin and guided my eyes back to his. I didn’t realize I had been crying until he began wiping my face with his sleeve. My tears came off pink somehow, leaving streaks on his nice shirt. I wondered if it would come off at the laundry.

“You sure we shouldn’t take her to the hospital?” the cabbie asked. His voice was muffled, barely reaching past the ringing in my ears.

“No, she’s got a concussion. I’ve dealt with those plenty. I can take care of her.”

After a while of silence, with only the background noise of the hum in my ears, the car stopped for good. It felt as if my brain sloshed forward, riding smoothly up the inside of my head before settling back down again.

“Here.” Lincoln handed a large wad of cash to the driver. Too large. “You never saw us and you never saw the wreck. Nothing. Got it?”

“Yes, yes. I understand. This fare never happened.”

Lincoln gave him a curt nod and opened the door. He lifted me into his arms and stepped into the night. The open air felt wonderful. It was like I could finally breathe. I wrapped my hands around the back of Lincoln’s neck and settled my head against him, breathing in the mix of cool air and his scent. So much better than being stuffed in a car.

“No sleeping now, angel. Not until I know you’re okay.”

He freed one hand and entered the door code. He carried me up the two flights to his room with ease. I clung to him. I didn’t care if I looked weak. I couldn’t focus because of the ringing and the fog that swirled in my mind. Something out in the fog scared me. I needed to hide. Maybe I could let my walls down a bit and let the fog hide me instead?

After unlocking his door, he took me inside and sat me on the bed. He knelt in front of me. His fingers were at the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head. He reached around me and unclasped my bra before letting it fall to the floor. Then he laid me back and finished stripping me. He pulled me back up so I was sitting.

“Let’s get you into a hot shower. Sound good?”

I nodded. My eyelids dropped closed and my chin hit my chest.

“No, no.” He pulled my chin up almost roughly. “No sleeping. Just watch me. Keep those beautiful blues on me, got it?”

He unbuttoned his shirt and threw it down. It was ruined. I saw now that we were both muddy and bloody. He stripped off his pants and tossed them into the pile, and then his boxers. His skin was streaked with dirt.
Where were we that was muddy?
Before I could figure it out, he pulled me to my feet and led me to his small bathroom. A walk-in shower, enclosed with glass on two sides, took up half the room.

“We’re going to take a long, hot shower.” He reached in and turned the knobs. The room quickly filled with steam.

I shivered and crossed my arms over my chest. I was freezing, though I hadn’t realized it.

Once the temperature was to his liking, he stopped fiddling with the knobs and backed away so I could enter first. I was happy to oblige. I slid past him, grazing his hard body in the small space. The water stung in a good way, opening my pores and replacing ice with heat. The hiss of the water competed with the ringing in my ears. I wanted the hiss to win.

A stream sluiced away from me, a dirty mix of pink and brown against the white tiles. Lincoln walked in behind me and closed the door. He reached around me for a bar of soap and started lathering it as I stood beneath the spray.

“Put your hands on the wall.” His voice wasn’t gruff, but the command had something else in it, something hotter.

I put my palms against the wall beneath the shower head as he smoothed suds down my back, over my ass, and down my legs.

“Mmm. Smells like you.”

“You like it?” He massaged the soap into my skin, erasing anything else.

“The smell or the service?” I asked and giggled. I giggled even more for having giggled in the first place.

“Either.” He finished at my feet, soaping my Achilles.

“Both.”

“Good, because now I’ll need to do your front.” He rose and took my shoulders to turn me toward him.

I obliged and let the water flow down my posterior. I leaned my head back and soaked my hair as he started soaping my front. His touch was firm on my shoulders, thorough as he continued lower. He lingered for only a second too long on each breast before moving on to my stomach. My nipples hardened under his touch. A warm sensation rushed through me that had nothing to do with the water and everything to do with the contact of his flesh on mine. When he got to my pussy, he ran his soapy hand along my mound, then on to my thighs.

“Shit.” His voice was a low growl.

I leaned my head forward. “What?”

“Nothing.” He knelt in front of me, never stopping his work. His dark hair was wet and wavy. Water beaded on his broad shoulders. Some droplets skirted down, joined with others, and then took the plunge down the wide expanse of his back.

He looked up at me, studying his handiwork. I studied him right back, the muscles of his chest and abs giving me a tantalizing show. His shaft hung between his legs, long and hard. Was that his problem? It certainly wasn’t a problem for me. I imagined it between my lips and couldn’t stifle an
mmm
sound.

“Evan, you can’t make noises like that right now, okay?” He sounded strained.

“I can’t help it. Your dick made me do it.”

Another curse from him as he lathered my ankles.

The ringing in my ears had subsided a bit, though I still felt as fogged as the shower glass. I closed my eyes, enjoying the rubdown.

He stood. “You’re all soaped. Let me get your face and then I’ll wash your hair.”

“You can’t put
that
soap on my face. Do you know how much I pay for face soap? I bet I spend more on face soap and lotions in one year than the entire net worth of my parents.”

“Well, this one time, you’ll survive. I need to clean that cut.”

I opened my eyes.
I have a cut?
“I have a cut?”

He gave me a slight nod. “Yes, it’s not bad. But any head wound is going to bleed like a son of a bitch. Close your eyes.”

I trusted him and returned to the foggy darkness as he ran his hands along my face with a feather touch. I felt a sting and flinched when he got to my hairline.

“That’s the cut. I just need to get it good and clean. I’ll bandage it once we’re done here.”

“It needs a bandage?”
Should I be worried?

“Just a small one. Don’t worry, angel, I’ll take care of you.”

“You’ve been doing well so far, but there are a few other things I’d like.” I reached down and gripped his length.

He groaned before pulling my hand away. “Hands to yourself. You know what happens when you break the rules.”