Lifers (38 page)

Jordan 

It was a Friday, and Torrey had been doing the early shift at work all week. She really hated those days. Getting that woman’s ass out of bed at 5 AM to be at work by seven wasn’t easy. Even though I got up with her to make breakfast, she was as ornery as a mule with a toothache.

On the plus side, it meant we got to have the whole evening to spend together. Tonight we were meeting up with Bev and Pete to eat hotdogs, and see some movie at the mall that the girls had been raving about. I didn’t care what we saw. The last time I’d been to a movie theater
Casino Royale
had been playing, and the girls at high school were arguing about whether Bond could be blond. I mean, really?

For pretty much the first time since my release, I had money in my pocket to take my woman out. It may not seem like much, but when it came to feeling like a man, like a regular guy, it was really fucking important.

I’d just gotten home from the junkyard and taken a quick shower when Torrey came crashing into the house. She was like a force of nature, and there was never any doubt which room in the house she was in: doors would get slammed, the TV and radio would be blaring—often at the same time. Happy noise just followed her everywhere and I loved it.

Girl was a screamer, too. I’d tried every which ways to get her to pipe down just out of a sense of decency, because it couldn’t have been great for Dad to hear that every night. But short of sticking my dick in her mouth—which I have to be honest, I really liked doing—nothing worked.

Dad even made a joke about it once, saying that he hoped we never lived in an apartment with thin walls, otherwise the police would be around every night.

Yeah. That’s not a conversation you want to have with your dad, like
ever
.

“Hey, handsome!” she yelled, as she barreled into the house. “Get your pants on and get your cute ass down here! We’ve got some celebrating to do, and not just when you’ve got me naked in your bed!” Then she went quiet for a moment. “Oh, hi Paul,” I heard her say to Dad, sounding only a little embarrassed. “I didn’t know you were home. Did you have a good day?”

I took the stairs two at a time and scooped her into my arms, kissing her soundly. Dad just raised his eyebrows and headed for the kitchen where I could hear him turning on the coffee maker.

I didn’t care about showing how much I was in love; I didn’t care about showing it in front of anyone. For all I cared, the whole world could know that Torrey was my girl. She was a bit more tentative about it, but here she felt at home. I was happy about that.

“What’s this good news you’re hollerin’ about, sweetheart?”

She waved an envelope in my face and jumped up, wrapping her legs around my waist.

“Finally! I got the deposit back on my apartment in Boston,
and
Dad sent me a check for $1,000 to ‘tide me over’!”

“Yeah? That’s great. Did he write you, too?”

“Ha, well! I wouldn’t call it a letter, but it was communication with writing. He said he and
Ginger
had a great honeymoon and that I should stop by and see them sometime. As if!”

“Maybe you should,” I said, seriously. “Trust me when I say life is short and you never know if the next time you say goodbye is the last time. You don’t want to live with regrets, sweetheart.”

Her face twisted and she pulled her arms tighter around me.

“Oh, God. You’re right. I know you’re right. But if I have to spend time with
Ginger
and her surgically enhanced tits,
you
are coming with me.”

Dad grinned as he walked from the kitchen to the family room carrying his coffee. He closed the door firmly behind him, obviously deciding that any conversation that included discussion of another woman’s tits was one he’d duck out of. Couldn’t say I blamed him. No guy was going to come out of that unscathed.

“You want me to meet your dad?” I questioned. “He’s a lawyer. He’s not gonna have me arrested, is he?”

I was joking. Sort of.

She rolled her eyes. “Hell no! He’ll be so damn grateful that you’re willing to ‘take me off his hands’,” she used air quotes to emphasize the sarcasm, “he’ll probably put an arm around you and show you his golfing trophies.” She twirled some hair around her finger. “He does that. It’s a guy thing.”

“I’ll go anywhere with you, sweetheart, you know that. I still cain’t imagine he’s gonna be thrilled to see you with an ex-con who barely finished high school. But if you want to go see your old man, I’d love to be with you.”

She smiled happily, and ran her hands under my t-shirt then dragged her nails down my back. Fuck, she knew that made me hard.

“Anyway,” she said, pulling away and leaving me wanting, “I need to go deposit this into the bank before it closes at 5 PM, so we have to hurry. You ready?”

“I was born ready, sweetheart.”

“Ugh! That’s such a guy thing to say.”

“True, though.”

She slapped my shoulder and shouted out to Dad. “See you later, Paul!”

“Bye, darlin’. Have a good time now, y’hear! Bye, son.”

“Later, Dad.”

We took Torrey’s car because the bed of my truck was still full of colored metal paints that Hulk had let me take from the junkyard.

We made it to the bank with just a few minutes to spare.

“Yay!” she cried happily, after depositing the check into her account. “We can have some fun spending that!”

I shook my head. “No, sweetheart. That’s for you from your dad. I wouldn’t feel right touchin’ any of it.”

She cocked her head to one side and gave me her cutest smile.

“Aw, baby, you’re so freakin’ sensible. We deserve to have some fun, too!” And the vixen pressed against me, discreetly running her hand over my zipper.

“Christ, sweetheart!” I mumbled into her neck. “You don’t play fair!”

She gave a throaty laugh and stroked me again.

She said something else, but suddenly I was on high alert, my attention ripped away from her.

I don’t know if it was some sixth sense, or just lessons learned from my years in prison, but I knew that I was being watched.

Torrey

Wow! My deposit returned
and
$1,000 from my dad. When I’d gone to Mom’s place to pick up my mail, I hadn’t been expecting anything that good. True, I had been hoping for $2K from Dad, but maybe he was saving for his future alimony. Still, better than a poke in the eye.

I definitely had plans for how Jordan and I could spend some of the money. I had in mind a big celebration when his parole was through in four weeks time: dinner in a fancy restaurant, dancing, a club—all the things he’d told me he wanted to do—but he was being stubborn. You know, doing that macho thing where he was refusing to touch any money that belonged to me. It was cute, especially bearing in mind some of the losers I’d hooked up with who wouldn’t even spring to buy me a beer. Cute, but annoying as hell, because I wanted to celebrate the end of his parole. It was a huge deal, but Jordan seemed to want to forget about it; I thought we needed to mark it as his fresh start.

I decided he needed some persuading, and it hadn’t taken me long to realize that the best way to persuade him was via his dick. He was the sweetest person, but he was such a
guy!

“Aw, baby, we deserve to have some fun, too!” I said, pressing against him and rubbing the front of his jeans. “But ya know what, we could use the rest to put a deposit down on getting our own place, just you and me. What do you think?”

I knew from experience that by now he would be aching to go somewhere we could have privacy and let his snake loose in my lady garden.

But then I felt him tense up, not in a good way, and he didn’t respond to my come-on. I realized pretty quickly that I didn’t have his undivided attention because he pushed my hands away and stood in front of me protectively.

“Jordan fuckin’ Kane,” said a slurred voice.

Four men in their late twenties were standing in a half circle around us. My heart started racing frantically and I gripped onto Jordan’s arm, peeking around his shoulder.

“Hello, Ryan,” Jordan said, quietly.

I swallowed a gasp. I knew that name. Jordan had mentioned it often enough during the last couple of months. Ryan Dupont had been Mikey’s best friend. The three of them had hung out together, and it had been at Ryan’s party where Jordan had gotten drunk that night—the night where his old life ended, the night he’d killed his brother.

I didn’t know who the other guys were and I’m not sure Jordan did either, but tension radiated from him, and his body was rigid.

I glanced around desperately, but no one was coming to our aid. Not this time.

My mouth had gone dry and I tried to swallow but I couldn’t even work up enough saliva to spit.

“Why the fuck did you have to come back?” snarled Ryan. “Isn’t it enough that you killed my best goddamn friend? You have to come back here and rub our noses in it?”

Jordan spoke calmly and reasonably, but his muscles were bunched under his t-shirt, and his voice was tight.

“I’m on parole, Ryan. I have to stay in the area.”

“You piss on his grave every time you fuckin’ breathe! You don’t deserve to live!”

I gasped and my grip on Jordan’s arm tightened, but he didn’t move.

“I know,” Jordan said, a quaver in his voice that tore at my heart. “I don’t deserve to live. But I
am
livin’. For some reason I’m still here, and all I can do is try to deserve that gift and…”

“Bullshit!” Ryan shouted. “He was the best, you piece of shit! You’re a fuck up and a murderer! And here you are, struttin’ around on our streets with your ho!”

“You don’t get to badmouth my girlfriend,” said Jordan, his voice dangerously quiet. “Say what you like about me, but leave her out of it.”

“Come on, Ry,” said one of the other men who seemed slightly more sober. “We don’t disrespect women. Let’s just clean up the trash.”

“Shut the fuck up!” shrieked Ryan, his eyes bulging with anger. “You don’t tell me what to do! No one tells me what to do!”

I had a bad feeling about this—a really bad feeling. This guy was totally amped and it didn’t sound like anything or anyone was going to talk him down.

He looked directly at Jordan. “You’ve got a debt to pay, you fuck!”

Jordan didn’t blink. “I’m not gonna fight you, Ryan.”

“You fuckin’ pussy! I’m not givin’ you a choice! You’ve been hidin’ all summer and you’re gonna pay for what you did!”

“I’m not hidin’ from anyone,” Jordan said, thickly. “I’m right here. Fuck’s sake, man! You and me were
friends!
You think I don’t miss him? Christ! He was my
brother!
”

Ryan shook his head. “You’re walkin’ the streets like nothin’ ever happened. You haven’t even
started
to pay.”

I couldn’t stand by and listen to that shit anymore.

“He pays! God, he pays! Every day!” I yelled. “You have
no idea
what he’s been through. He even tried to kill himse-”

“Torrey, that’s enough!” Jordan snapped.

The second he was distracted, Ryan swung. He was a big guy, built like a linebacker, and his punch was solid. At the moment he raised his hand, I saw sunlight glinting off of a large ring—a class ring. I cried out as his fist connected with the side of Jordan’s face, knocking him from his feet.

“Stop it!” I shrieked, but my words had no effect.

Ryan launched a kick at Jordan’s ribs as he lay on the ground, but he managed to roll away. Then the second guy, the one wearing cowboy boots, started on him and all Jordan could do was curl into a ball and try to protect his head. I heard him grunt as kicks and punches rained down on his back, but he never spoke.

I threw myself at the guy with the boots and hooked an arm around his neck, scoring my fingernails across one cheek.

He squealed like a pig and cursed, crashing backwards against the wall of the bank, winding me so I was gasping for breath and forced to let go.

I was screaming and crying, and I could see people start to approach us, but they were too slow, too wary, and too far away.

Jordan was on his feet, and I could see the anguish on his face as he tried to get to me. Blood was pouring from a cut on his cheek caused by the ring, and the side of his face was masked in scarlet. He held one arm across his ribs, and it seemed like he was having trouble breathing.

He was still staring at me when Ryan hit him again. He hadn’t even tried to defend himself. I screamed as Jordan stumbled over the curb and flailed his arms to get his balance. Boots and Baseball Cap punched him to the ground. I tried to reach him but the fourth guy, the one with the leather jacket, grabbed me by my waist and hauled me off bodily.

Jordan had managed to stand, and I could hear him calling my name, concern coloring his voice.

I think I screamed again and struggled to get free, but Leather Jacket pinned my arms and twisted his legs to the side so I couldn’t kick him.

The crowd was getting nearer, but still no one tried to stop the murderous assault.

Ryan hit Jordan again and he went down.