Threat (11 page)

“Okay. That's good.” I can tell she doesn't believe me.

“And I'm not fucking dumb,” I add. “I read shit.
And I think about stuff too.”

“I know. I can tell.”

“Don't fucking patronize me, Leah.”

“I'm not patronizing you. I don't think you're dumb. Being dumb
and an ass are two different things.”

She slipped that one in there, but I'll let it slide. “And I
know exactly what I want to do with my life.”

The corner of her lip curls into a smile. “Let me guess, it has
to do with ink?”

I nod. “Exactly. And I'm damn good at it. I'll be taking over
for my dad soon enough.” Hopefully.

“Well you've got one leg up on me.”

“Please, you can do whatever you want with a full ride to a
fancy ass school.”

“Drive and talent can get you a lot farther than any degree
can.”

“Well I hope you're right.” I say. “So does that
answer your question?

She glances at me quizzically. “Why do you call yourself
Threat?”

“Pretty sure that's two questions on one turn.”

She scratches her chin. “And how does your dad know so many
famous people?”

“Okay. That's
three
.”

“It's not like this game is particularly structured anyways.
Plus, we're talking about your favorite subject—you.”

She does have a point there. “It's a nickname I picked up in
juvi.”

“Wow. That's pretty hardcore.”

“It is.”

Her eyes widen. “Did you shank someone?”

“No,” I say through my laughter. “It's not prison,
it's juvi. No one gets shanked there.”

“And your dad?”

I smile proudly. “My dad used to be a musician back in the 80s.
After his band broke up he went back to doing tatts. For a while he
was the go to guy in rock circles. He was way more successful doing
that than he ever was as a musician, until his illness kicked in.”

“He's sick?” she asks, looking concerned.

“Arthritis,” I explain, clawing my hands to demonstrate.
“So now, he can't do either—music or tattoos. Although he
still tries to do a tattoo now and then.” And that rarely ends
well.

“I'm sorry.”

“Eh,” I shrug, “he's not crying over it so why
should we?”

Leah flips her fiery locks behind her ear. “So, is it my turn
again now?”

“Your turn, I think you've racked up three turns in a row,”
I reply with a chuckle.

“Uh oh,” she replies jokingly. “Truth?”

You're damn right it is. “Well here we go.” I rub my
hands together greedily. She sure went deep with her questions. I
rack my brain for a moment, thinking back to our conversation this
morning. “Why don't you ever talk to your mom?”

She scrunches her brows together. “
My
mom? I could just
as easily ask why you hate
your
mom.”

“You could but it's my turn to ask a question now.”

She rolls her eyes and shrugs. “She doesn't want to speak to
me. Ever. So I stopped trying a long time ago.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why doesn't she keep in contact with you? Did things not end
well with your dad or something?”

“Well, yeah, basically. She didn't like his career path.”

Now that's surprising. “Really?”

She nods. “I mean at the time he was a struggling comedian. And
he'd struggled for like, a decade without any kind of a big break. At
all. That wasn't her style. She came from an upper crust, highly
educated family and they shunned her when she married dad. But then
she decided she wanted someone with more stability, so she left.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” She laughs nervously, shoving her hands
in her pocket. “The funny thing is, Stanford was her alma
mater.”

“So, when your dad struck it big—”

Her heavy lids flutter. “Still not a peep. She has her own
family up in Utah now. Like, five kids, all boys, I think.”

“Wait, so you have five half-brothers?”

“Yep. And I haven’t met a single one of them. I guess
pretending like I don't exist helps her believe she has the perfect
life now,” she says. “The funny thing is, my dad actually
built the cabin for her, or tried to. He was almost done when she
left us.”

“I'm sorry,” I say to her, the words sipping out easier
than expected.

“You don't need to be. Dad and I were better off without her. I
don't even consider her a mother, she's just... some woman named
Miriam who gave birth to me.”

“So if she called you tomorrow, would you hang up on her?”

“You really are digging deep with this one, aren't you?”

“Just answer the question, Parker.”

She sighs. “I don't know what I would do.”

“Not good enough.”

“I really don't. I'm not even mad about it anymore. I'm just….”

“Numb.”

Our eyes connect and for the first time I see a flash of pain in her
eyes. She immediately looks away, her eyes downcast as we walk.

“Your turn,” I say in a solemn tone.

“My turn again, huh?” she muses with joyless laughter.
Her brow perks. “And I can ask you anything.”

“Here it comes.”

“Why the hell did you kiss me?” she demands.

Now I can't hide the smile that creeps across my face.

“Because I see the way you look at me,” I reply.

“You mean with disdain?”

I shake my head as I stifle a laugh. “No, your eyes get dark
when you look at me. Your pupils, they give you away.”

With a groan she drops her head forward, conveniently shaking her
bold locks in front of her face. “You are delusional.”

“And I see the way you can't help but glance at my arms and my
abs.”

“That's because you never wear a freakin' shirt.”

I lean in toward her. “And my hips,” I whisper. She
stiffens. “Perhaps even lower.”

“Stop!” she hollers, shoving me away from her.

“Did I get you hot and bothered, sis?”

Her cheeks somehow manage to turn an even deeper shade of crimson.

“It never takes long for you to go back to being gross, now
does it?” she says, her nostrils all flared and cute. “And
no, none of that is true. It's all make believe. You're so fucking
cocky, you think is in love with you.”

“Hmm. The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

Her eyes roll over like stones. “It's ‘
methinks
the lady doth protest too much.’ If you're going to quote
Shakespeare, then quote it right.”

That is wrong. So God damned wrong and I'm
going
to exploit the hell out of it. “Well what do we have here?
Little Miss Know-it-all doesn't even know her literature? I thought
I'd never see the day.”

“I know the quote. I know what I’m talking about,”
she replies, attempting to push up her non-existent glasses.

“You so sure about that? Care to stake a wager on it?”
God, I sound like my dad.

“Is everything a game to you?”

“Not everything. Just most things.”

“Fine. If I’m right, I don't have to play your
dumbass
version of Truth or Dare anymore.”

“And if I'm right?” I ask. She pauses to think and I take
advantage of her silent, jumping back in with a suggestion of my own.
“I get to give you a tattoo. Anything I want, anywhere I want.”

“I told you no tattoos.”

“That was for Truth or Dare. This isn't Truth or Dare. Besides,
you're confident that you're right, aren't you?”

She pauses again. “What if you choose to put it on my forehead
or something?”

“It shouldn't matter if you're right.”

“Fine. Tattoo it is then.”

I can sense her uneasiness. I almost feel bad about this. Almost
being the operative word here.

“All right,” I reply with a smirk and whip out my cell
phone. “If I could just get this piece of shit to work.”

She's anxiously eying the screen over my shoulder. We both wait ages
for Google to load as we trudge along the road. When I finally get a
result I hold it up closer to my face, stalling for dramatic effect.

“What does it say?”

“Hmm, there’s a lot of results here…”

“And you were wrong. Just fess up.”

“
And
… it's ‘the lady doth protest too much,
methinks.’ ”

“Please. You're making that up.”

I shake my head. “Nope. Sorry sis, every single source says I'm
right.”

Leah narrows her eyes. I can tell she doesn't believe me. “Let
me see that.” She snatches the phone from my hand and scrolls
through the results, her brows narrowing more and more as she goes.

“Read it and weep,” I say in her ear.

“No! This can't be fucking right!”

“Except it is.”

She looks furious—completely distraught, and I can't stop
myself from laughing at her.

“You can't hold me to that!”

“Oh, I damn well will,” I tell her, taking my phone back.
“So, what do you want? That same quote across your back? Maybe
the word ‘dunce’ across your forehead?”

“Ugh, you asshole!” she shouts, slamming the phone back
against my chest.

“Hey, it's not my fault you were wrong!”

“I can't get a tattoo!”

“Why?”

“I just...can't! It's not me. It would be like, if someone made
you wear a suit or a cardigan or something.”

“Yeah, that seems pretty accurate. And it's exactly why I'm
going to enjoy this.”

She groans, stomping off ahead of me.

“Hey, now, slow down. I don't want you getting heat stroke,”
I say as I catch up. “I'm a good enough artist, promise.”

She crosses her arms, pursing her lips until her cheeks hollow.

“You can pick anything you want, and get it anywhere you want
it. Hell, it can be tiny if you want.”

Her whole demeanor snaps and suddenly she looks worried. “Is it
going to hurt?” she asks.

“Is that what you're worried about? Well, it might depending on
where you get it. Just don't get it right on the bone. Some place
fleshy is good. Like your ass.”

“I'm not getting a tattoo on my ass.”

“At least no one would see there?”

“Helpful as always, Threat,” she mutters.

I shield my eyes from the sun, looking out into the distance as the
road winds. It's tiny from where we're standing, but I can see an old
dilapidated building by the roadside.

“Do you see what I see, or is that just a mirage?” I ask.

Leah pipes up and takes a look too. “Holy shit, we're almost
there!”

I wipe the sweat from my brow. “It's about damn time.” I
start to speed up.

“Hey, pace yourself, remember? Heat stroke!” Leah calls
out to me from behind.

It's a bad idea but I can't help it. We've been walking down this
road for too damn long and I’m ready for it to be done. My body
felt completely drained of any energy just a few minutes ago, but
seeing the gas station in the distance just gave me a second wind.

But the closer and closer I get, the more I notice just how run down
this place look. There isn't a car in sight, so how can anyone
actually be running the store? Shit. It starts to dawn on me that
this place is just as abandoned as it looks. Leah is going to be
royally pissed if she finds out we walked all this way for nothing.

“Just hang back there, let me check this out first,” I
holler back to her.

I hasten my step more than
I
should, quickly closing the gap between myself and the rest stop. My
worst fear is pretty quickly confirmed—the place is completely
and utterly deserted. I stop just a few yards in front of the store,
breathing hard and resting my hands against my knees. This is a
fucking nightmare, and neither of us can stand another second outside
in this heat.

“What's wrong?” Leah calls out to me. “Is
everything okay?”

I close my eyes tight and curse loudly. There's a rock right next to
my foot—I kick it hard and send it flying into the street. This
is the last fucking thing we need right now.

“Threat?” Leah yells.

Does she really not realize what's going on by now?

I
step closer to the building and glance into the dirty window,
wondering if there is a phone inside, or at least a pay phone
somewhere. Hell, even if there were, it would most likely be out of
service.

“Threat, what the hell is going on?”

I turn around to see Leah panting in the same spot I was in just a
few minutes ago. Her hair is mattered down to the sides of her face
and she wipes the sweat from her brow.

“This place doesn't even look open!” she says between
breaths.

“Will you please just not panic, okay?” I tell her.

“How can I not panic when we're stranded in the middle of
fucking nowhere, with no water, in one hundred degree weather?”

God, I don't need this now. I let out a deep breath and massage my
temples. I need to just ignore Leah and not let her get me worked up.
Again.

“Check your phone for a signal,” I tell her as calmly as
possible. To my surprise she obliges.

“No bars, no anything,” she says. She looks up at me,
urging me to fix this with her eyes.

“Same here,” I reluctantly reply.

“So what now?” Her voice shakes. “Do we just die
out here?”

I shake my head as I glance around, looking for anything that might
help us. My eyes dart towards the roof.

“If I can get up higher, maybe I can get a signal?”

“
That's
your plan? You'll get yourself killed!”

“Don't have many choices, now do we?”

“There's got to be another way?”

“Well when you come up with it, let me know.” My words
are curt but if I want to get us both out of this heat I don't have
time to go back and forth with her. I stomp away from her and around
the building, surveying the dilapidated exterior, hoping to find a
ladder or anything that will make this easier. The only things I find
are some old plastic chairs, slabs of concrete, and broken trash
barrels. It all looks grody as hell but I figure, if I can stack some
of these things together, I just might be able to reach the roof.