Blood to Dust (12 page)

He took the bait. More like swallowed the whole fishing rod.

I don’t want to hurt Nate, but I need him to set me free. And if that means compromising the truth of my mental state, then so be it.

It’s not that I manipulated him. I
am
depressed. I
am
scared. Just not enough to give up on life. I’d never give up on life. That’s the only thing I’ve got left after what they did to me.

And Nate? He gave up on his. I see how he lives. The long hours he works. Bending over backward for Godfrey. Constantly jogging to the door every time the bell rings, worrying it’ll be his parole officer, that I’m going to be found. He is a trapped animal, a caged soul and a terrible liar. I know his kind.

We eat together in the darkened basement. Nate blindfolded me because he can’t eat with his mask on. I don’t need to see him to know that he’s here.

“Thank you for the food, Beat.” I munch on my rice and bean burrito. He grunts in response. Back to being a caveman.

“Why did you get thrown in prison?” I ask, sucking sour cream from my finger with a moan. I miss good food so bad.

“You want the long or short version?”

“Does it look like I’m in a hurry?”

He lets out a chuckle. His voice is great. Baritone, gruff and throaty. Not that it matters, I remind myself.
He’s business
.

“Manslaughter. I smashed a vase into my dad’s head. Fractured his skull.”

By the way his leg nudges mine playfully, I’m guessing that he’s sitting with his knees drawn up just like mine.

“That’s your
long
version? Gee, how many words do you use for the short one?” I snort.

“One.
Destroy
. I’m pretty good at ruining things.”

“That’s harsh. And false. For one thing, you can football-tackle a girl like a pro,” I joke as Nate passes me a bottle of water. I take a sip and give it back to him. “You didn’t want to take me hostage. You cared when Ink hit me. . .” I trail off. “Maybe you’re good.”

I feel him chuckling against me.

“You hate your roommate,” I say.

“I hate everything,” he deadpans.

“That’s not true, you just don’t care.”

“Maybe that’s how I started this morning. Indifferent. But, today I did things I cannot undo. What’s more—I don’t want to undo them. Maybe I’m a monster.”

“I know monsters, Beat. I know them real close. You have a long way to go until you get to that point.”

I toy with the foil between my fingers. Nate is done eating by the sound of it. He is opening up to me. Something made him fragile and attentive today. Not really sure what, but I need to make another move before he slams the door to this opportunity in my face.

So I go bold.

I press my head against his huge, hard shoulder.

There’s silence, the questioning kind, and I swallow every feminine fear I have of being rejected.

He shakes his shoulder lightly, brushing me away. “What the fuck, Pea?”

“I need human contact,” I whisper. This time, it’s not another half-lie I spew on autopilot to draw him closer to me. “You can use a cuddle, too.”

I place my head on his shoulder again, and this time, Nate doesn’t move. His hair tickles my ear. It’s glorious. Shiny, straight and jet black. I’ve seen it plenty of times falling across his Guy Fawkes mask. Short and buzzed on the sides, long at the top.

He sounds beautiful. His walk’s beautiful. His body’s beautiful. And I’m positive that behind the mask and the blindfold awaits a man that’s about to crush every single promise I’ve made myself about men.

To stay the hell away from them.

“You know what you need to do, right?” I snuggle into his shoulder. “Run away.”

He doesn’t answer, because he knows that I’m right. I don’t know how he got tangled up in all the mess that he’s in, though I have a feeling his little red diary will soon spill the beans. One thing is for sure, this place is killing him slowly from the inside. Godfrey, Seb, Ink, this job he hates. . .his happiness is compromised by his circumstances. But I can set him free.

I clear my throat, hoping he’ll take me seriously. “You know I’ve got money on the outside, right? Enough to run away and fix you up with whatever you need to start a new life. I have drug routes in Oakland, Richmond and Stockton.”

Nate shifts to face me, raising his palm and flattening it over my neck, wrapping his fingers around it gently. My throat constricts.

For the first time in years, I feel something that’s so strange and scary, I almost tip over and collapse on the floor.
Aroused
.

“Yet you’re here in my basement, and Godfrey’s out and about.” His voice is low and dark. “Funny how life works, huh, Silver Spoon?”

“That can, and will, change soon.” My daring statement sounds thicker under the pressure he applies on my throat.

It’s hot, confusing and completely unwarranted. Since I normally don’t do sex, why is it that I want him to squeeze hard and fuck me even harder? I don’t even care what his face looks like. It’s a torturous foreplay, the wickedest kind. The one that isn’t meant to be fulfilled.

“If Godfrey was stupid enough to throw together two people who have the exact same shit list, it’s his problem.” I pinch my lips together between my teeth, gaining strength for what’s about to come out of my mouth. “You don’t have to tell me who screwed you over and chained you to this situation, Beat. I already know. We can be a team. We can take our freedom back.”

“Yeah? You think my parole officer will be down with that shit?”

“I think you sticking around here with manslaughter on your record and Godfrey barking insane orders at you, sinking you into deeper trouble, is just as restricting as San Dimas. What do you think is going to happen if your parole officer pays you a visit while I’m down here? You know I’m going to yell my lungs out. You can gag and tie me, but I’d still use my body to draw attention. Where would it leave you? The only reason you’re still here is because you can’t afford not to be. Get out of the States, Beat. Start fresh.”

“Sounds like you got a plan mapped out for me.”

He squeezes my throat harder, but not hard enough to cut off my air supply. I hiss a moan, rolling my head against the wall. I don’t have a plan mapped out for him. All I can think about is how we walk out of here together and assassinate my enemies.

“We leave. First stop—my apartment. Get my credit cards, cash and a replacement phone. Second stop—we’re getting a car with an out-of-state license plate. Third stop—Los Angeles. I know a guy who can issue us legit IDs under different names. Two passports, fresh and new, my treat. Fourth stop—we go back to NorCal, kill Godfrey, Sebastian and Camden. Fifth stop—SFO airport. You go your way, I go mine. We shake on it. Wave goodbye. I’ll even buy you a cup of coffee for your trouble. This will take us three weeks, max. Camden should be here by the beginning of September. Three weeks, Beat, in exchange for a new life. You pick a place, Canada, Mexico, South America, and I’ll pay you 50k for the hassle and for helping me out with the boys. Now how does that sound?”

His palm leaves my neck and a sense of loss grips me, the kind I hadn’t felt since the last time I’d been hugged.
Really
hugged. It was by Preston, who told me to take care of myself before he’d disappeared.

Nate mulls over my offer wordlessly. I can almost hear the wheels in his brain rolling as he processes my words. But even I know it’s farfetched for him to put his trust and life in the uncalloused hands of a blonde girl of pedigree and designer mini dresses. Pussy is always a disadvantage in the street business. And rich pussy? That’s practically a weakness in Stockton.

“You’re a wild card,” he says.

“Does that scare you?” I breathe.

“Not if I’m about to burn down the whole motherfucking table.”

More silence.

“Godfrey will try and kill us,” he booms, his warm breath crawling up my face. Am I imagining it, or are his lips hovering over mine? My fingertips tingle and I wet my lips again. I’ve been doing it a lot since he threw me in his basement.

“That’s okay, I’m not planning on keeping him alive, either.”

“Mmmm.” His voice is closer, his nose brushing against mine. Hotness caresses my body. “Are you planning a bloodbath, little Pea?”

He’s mocking me, and a shiver of rage jolts down my spine, making me tighten my fists.

“I’m going to kill them.”

“You think you’re going to kill them,” he says dryly. “But when it’s show time, when you’re in front of your victim, no matter how much you hate them, no matter what they did to you, most people chicken out. That’s what separates the monsters from the throng. Monsters switch the human button off.”

“Are you a switcher?” The air’s stuck in my throat, tangling into a suffocating ball of thrill.

“I’m a switcher,” he confirms with a small nod that makes our lips connect.

I need him. I need a switcher. Someone to help me out with Godfrey, Sebastian and Camden. He is perfect.

“I’m taking down these men, Beat. With or without you. Now, are you in or are you out?” My brazen question skulks into his lips. That’s how close we are. He laughs hard, a bad laugh, a villain’s laugh, a laugh that doesn’t belong in his mouth, and pulls away. Then I hear him standing up on his feet, stretching.

“Out.” He tucks the book he brought for me under my arm and pulls my blindfold off in one go. I can still feel the burn of his fingers wrapped around my neck and want them to make me gasp for oxygen again. No one’s ever done that to me before, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Nate’s face is covered by his black shirt, his abs sticking out under the dense black and blue ink. A faint trail of short, dark hair leads into his pants and I want to yank his jeans down and find out where it ends.

Never happened to me before. Not even with Camden.

“Sleep tight, little Pea.”

I feel tight, all right. With nerves, fears…between my legs.

I look down to the book he brought for me.
The Perfume
by Patrick Suskind. About a serial killer who murdered women for their scents.

Time.

If Nate gives me three weeks of his time, I’ll be able to kill the bastards and get my life back. Now I just need to make sure he’s just business.

That’ll be easy. . .right?

“What did the scumbag do?” I ask, my hands tucked under my head as I lie in bed. I shouldn’t wanna know what Pea’s deal is, shouldn’t favor listening to her story over diving into a book. But I do. Godfrey had said that she’s from Blackhawk. That she’s the daughter of a loaded politician. How did she end up as a low-class drug dealer who managed to piss off some of the most dangerous men in the United States?

I shouldn’t listen to her ramblings, and I
definitely
shouldn’t have let her rest her head against my shoulder. Toss into this list a few more
shouldn’t haves
: I shouldn’t have almost kissed those pinks when my cock ached so bad to dig into that tight dress, and I shouldn’t have almost choked her with my lust for her. But I did all of those things, because she’s the center of my social life. Whatever fucked up relationship I’m forming with my hostage, she’s the closest person to me right now. Pathetic? Sure. But it’s the truth nonetheless.

“I dropped out of UCLA and moved to London to live with Camden.” I hear her voice seeping from my cracked floor. The fact that Irv’s always at work when we talk is a god-fucking-send. “I thought I loved him. And as you may know, in love, logic is almost always the first casualty. My parents weren’t happy about me dropping out, but they didn’t try to stop me either. My dad was too wrapped up in his campaign, too smitten with the idea of the Archers and Burlington-Smyths strengthening their ties. And my mother. . .” She drifts off with a bitter chuckle. “Who knows where she was at the time. She battled depression and a herd of demons that seemed to have followed her into every rehab facility she checked in to. I remember the first time I realized my mom wasn’t coming back. It was on my sixteenth birthday. All I got from her was a letter. Not even a phone call. I think she lives in North Carolina now. She sometimes sends Christmas cards, and I hate it. It makes me remember her. Christmas is my least favorite time of the year.”