Violets & Violence (18 page)

“It’s overdue, Luke. He sucked the best years out of my life.” Her eyebrows tightened, her face turned hard and it seemed that her scar turned a burning white. “Fuck him.”

Smiling, I kept my cheers to myself. There was plenty of time before the next train.

“But I still think he will kill you.”

“If you leave him, he can’t touch me,” I said with an admittedly quiet arrogance. Without Lindsey, Rinker would be too busy hunting her down, he wouldn’t even waste a breath on me. “And you need to leave.”

She gave a determined nod. “I’m done. Fuck him. I have money, I don’t need his condescending lunacy. Fuck him.” Another nod.

I give it a couple of months
.

We didn’t say anything else until we boarded the next train and were airport-bound. That was when she asked me what happened to cause all of Rinker’s animosity toward me. “If it’s been as long as I think, why won’t he just let it go?”

I considered telling her my side. I didn’t expect that it would matter, even if or when she returned to him. But it couldn’t exactly hurt, could it?

“I knew the box belonged to a Russian software programmer,” I said, glancing over at her to gauge her familiarity with this story.
She doesn’t seem surprised; she must not know about it, then
. “He worked for one of the bigger, swankier investment banks. But Rinker knew him somehow, and he told me one day that this Russian genius had rented a safety deposit box in our retail center. Which was where I worked.”

“Software?” She frowned and shook her head, but it lacked conviction. “I’m so confused. Where does Violet fit in? And the two hundred thousand dollars you mentioned? And…?” She frowned and shook her head again.
Okay, it’s not making sense, she really doesn’t know, does she?

“I’ll get there,” I promised. “Rinker and I had a special kind of relationship. We worked together. There was you, right?”

She nodded.

“But there were others, too,” I told her. “He was a little…different. I always pictured him as a voyeur, the kind of guy that would just watch. But when he told me about taking you out for gourmet mac and cheese and how much he liked you…well, I figured I had him pegged all wrong.”

She listened quietly, but the longing in her eyes didn’t suggest for one instant that she enjoyed hearing about Rinker or that she wished for those simpler times of gourmet mac and cheese. She wanted to learn more about his motives with me, the root cause of his lunacy.

“By the time he told me about this particular client, the Russian programmer, I already knew Violet. I knew her plans and dreams about becoming a big entertainer. We were both students at the time – even though I was part-time – and we were in love.”

I couldn’t help but smile at
my
simpler times, the date nights with movie coupons or mid-week tickets to the junior-pro New York teams that nobody wanted.
That’s love, our love, the big dreams and small dollars, the scraping by and wild make-up sex. Fuck, Violet, what happened to those times; now it’s just sex and wasted abundance
.

“I never had much,” I went on, sharing a bit of myself with her. “And I obviously didn’t
come
from much, and I wanted nothing more than to make Violet’s dreams come true.”

Deep breath, and I stared straight into Lindsey’s eyes now. This was the moment of truth.

“So I looked up this client. I knew if Rinker had an interest in him, he was big. He had something. And it wasn’t sitting in his six-figure bank account. The only other thing he had was a safety deposit box, so I figured whatever Rinker liked about this guy, it was probably hidden in there.”

“Wait,” she said, her face crunching up as we stopped for no other reason than the train had run out of steam. It didn’t make sense, and I recognized enough sights to know we were getting close to the airport. We could walk the rest of the way if we had to. “You stole whatever was in that box because you wanted to make her dreams come true? Really?” I waited for her to say that was a sweet thing of me to do, but she didn’t; still, it seemed implied that she was impressed.

“Yes, I would have done anything for her,” I added for emphasis. “Anyway, I had an idea, something I’d read about. So I created an illusion that would allow me to steal whatever was in this guy’s safety deposit box.” I took another deep breath.

The train started moving again, but I was lost in my memories.

“If you’ve ever seen her show,” I went on, and I felt like something of a storyteller, talking like this with no inhibitions, the words rolling off my tongue. “Violet can be two places at one time. She’s pretty talented. And while it’s not
literally
two places at once, it seems that way. So, after making sure Quotient’s security cameras caught Violet and me leaving the bank premises just before closing time that day….” My eyes rose to hers. I grinned. “Well, she snuck back inside. She got to the vault and drilled the lock.”

“Holy shit. This is straight out of the movies, isn’t it?” Lindsey asked, her eyes so incredibly wide I feared they might fall out of their sockets.

I nodded as we eased into the station at JFK. It was time to go.

“So what happened?” she begged, standing but holding me back. “What was in the safety deposit box?”

I had to think about it, unsure how to explain it without the benefit of another hour-long train ride with transfers sprinkled in between.

She grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “What was it?” Part of me wondered why she didn’t know this story already and why she wanted to know so badly now. Why now? Why didn’t she know?

But then I realized that she
did
know. She knew, but she didn’t understand whatever it was that Rinker had shared with her.

I shrugged, ready to step off the train. “It was computer code. Software. Programming. Essentially a foreign language.”

Lindsey closed her eyes and shook her head with impatience. “What was it
for
, Luke? What did all of that coding amount to?”

I thought about it some more. I could’ve talked to her for hours, but I didn’t have that kind of luxury. Not now; I had a flight to catch, my girl to meet. “It was time,” I admitted at last. “It was for and about time.”

“Time?” she said, her face twisted absolute confusion. She blinked back her lack of understanding. “Time?”

“Yeah,” I told her. “Time. That’s what the computer code amounted to. It amounted to time. Two hundred thousand dollars worth.”

Despite the lack of a bustling and trendy neighborhood at my loft’s front steps, one of the reasons I loved my Grinnell Place loft was the sunrise each morning. And with this area of Detroit being what it was, keeping the curtains open all night and morning didn’t exactly invite a stream of creepers either.

So Saturday morning, lying in bed with Violet on my arm and the sun pouring in through the uncovered bedroom window, I opened my eyes and just watched her. I admired her naked body while she clung to her last few minutes of sleep.

I tried my best to not move – without much feeling in my arm since the weight of her head was cutting off all circulation, lying still was not so much of an issue. My gaze travelled the entire surface of her face, settling on that freckle high up on her nose. With my other hand, I combed my fingers through her hair –
her
real
hair was boy-short and so dark it became invisible against a black sky –
and then I leaned in and kissed that freckle. It felt like it belonged to me, this one piece of Violet that her audience couldn’t get close enough to see or appreciate. And I liked that because it made me feel safe enough to open myself up again after everything my ex had done.

“It’s mine,” I whispered, and watched her lips curl into a sleepy grin.

“That’s it?” she mumbled, her eyes clamped shut and her lips moving in a slurred, lazy motion.

“Yes,” I leaned in and kissed her once more, as if proving to myself that I could do this again, I could trust and open myself up.

As I pulled away, I felt her hands sliding up my biceps, shoulders, up my neck to the sides of my head. She still had her eyes closed, but that smile had amplified.

“Kiss me,” she cooed.

And so I did; and if the way she moved her torso closer to me was any indication, she enjoyed this long, deep, early morning kiss.

When I pulled back, the world seemed to spin around me, as if passion had something of an intoxicating effect. I hadn’t felt like this when we had gone to 220 and the club downstairs, the night at Starbucks, but in this moment, I didn’t even care that she could switch from the wonderful and open woman that made herself seem like she was exclusively mine, to that cold, stand-offish and closed spirit she had been.
Must be how it goes when you’re a rising celebrity
.

Her eyes opened, but she didn’t seem to be looking at me. She seemed a little possessed, aroused as she rubbed herself against my erection.

I watched her get off on me, my hands (one of them recovering from absolute numbness from when she had slept on my arm) creeping up her thighs. My right thumb travelled to her clit and began massaging it, slowly, gently but persistently.

“Oh, God,” she moaned. She made this easy, but I was happy to hear her enjoyment.

With her hips moving a little quicker now, I abandoned her pussy and moved across her belly, up her chest, and stopped at her breasts, cupping them for a moment before pinching her nipples gently.

“Carter…” She lowered herself against me, pressing those firm nipples to my chest and burying her head in the crook of my neck.

I could feel her warm breath spill over my flesh and couldn’t help but tighten my arms around her. I wanted all of her.

“I want you,” she moaned, reaching underneath the sheets and finding my cock. She began stroking it as she sat up again. “Inside me, Carter. I want you inside me.”

With that, she tore the sheets away and peeled me out of my briefs—I had some kind of aversion to sleeping fully naked, don’t judge—before angling my erect cock and placing my tip between her folds. She felt warm, her body temperature heightened from having just awakened.

Gradually, she lowered herself on top of me, taking me inside of her. I watched her eyes roll back, her teeth biting down on her lower lip, her hands reaching up and gripping her hair as she made herself come while riding me.

I had to close my eyes and think of something else—
playing
baseball, driving my Toyota, and, oh, man that’s not working, think about… James?
—just to keep from ending this morning’s encounter before it really got going. But then I had it; I opened my eyes and glanced at the door where her wig of long, blonde, wavy hair hung from the knob, and that seemed to do the trick. It had freaked me out last night when she removed it, but then I remembered her telling me all about the different identities she needed to assume as a popular – and sexy, I might add – entertainer, how leaving the Fisher at times could present challenges, let alone finding some creep on an airplane or at the grocery store.

“Make me come,” she begged, flipping onto her back and bringing me with her in such a way that our rhythm hadn’t noticed.

I thought you already had
, I thought, but kept that to myself.

My distraction tactic didn’t last very long.

I would lose this battle, especially with Violet pumping her hips with greater speed and intensity, her body getting tense with every breath. “Carter…Oh…God!”

The sound of her voice alone could destroy any man’s resolve, but at least we came at the same time. Still, I felt a little humiliated as I rolled off and sat up in bed, my elbows on my knees as I shook my head.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She chuckled and rubbed my back. “We’re getting better at this.”

“I wanted to break ten minutes,” I admitted, then stood up.

Violet moved quickly; she jumped out of bed and intercepted my path to the bathroom. Taking my hands, she kissed my chin, nose, forehead, and then my lips. “Carter, you please me. This is new to me, too. It’s good, exciting, and I came, too.”

“This time,” I added with a pout.

She shrugged, released me, and we entered the bathroom together. I found the softest washcloth, wet it with warm water and she snatched it out of my hand.

“I got this,” she said, but tossed it into the sink and turned to the shower. She started the water, stepped under the spray, and lured me into the shower with her. As she lathered me down with soap, I found myself awakening to her.

“You amaze me,” I breathed as she took me in her mouth. She sucked and licked and had me so hard it hurt. A good hurt.

When she stood up, she handed me the soap, but my hands trembled from wanting her that I couldn’t get much of a lather going.

Violet giggled, hitched a leg around my waist and pulled me against her. “Let’s pick up where we left off,” she said, and then brought her mouth to mine. We kissed under the steady spray and it was the most beautiful feeling I had known.

Parking behind a restored 1998 Buick LeSabre on Franklin, a street that didn’t inspire much confidence in Detroit’s overall safety record, I glanced over at Violet and noticed the puzzled look on her face. Outside my window was a fenced-off, abandoned warehouse; outside hers, a vacant lot with debris surrounding a three-story building with no windows and various signs of graffiti.

“What’re we doing here?” she asked. Even as a non-native, Violet clearly recognized that this street, a few blocks from Detroit’s core, did not resemble the streets in her own neighborhood.

“I want to show you where I grew up,” I told her. With no other family around, the only parts of my past I could introduce to Violet were the landmarks that help create me. But, like family, not all of those places were pretty.

“You grew up on the streets?” she asked, shifting in her seat a little like she was trying to be funny but also a little nervous about this big step.

“No.” I chuckled and took her hand, squeezing it and finding it clammy. “We’ll get closer to my childhood. But this – the city, Detroit – is where I spent my childhood.” I shrugged. “A friend of mine owns a batting cage facility and runs a baseball school, but he’s also a pretty good photographer and he knows all the sights. He’ll get his art fix while also making sure I don’t forget anything.”

She studied me, her eyes wide and her cheeks slightly ashen. “You’re not joking.”

Before I could answer, a loud rapping at my window startled me. I glanced back and found Darren Rawlings outside the window, a big smile on his face, a scarf wrapped around his neck and tucked into his rugged-looking leather jacket. He hadn’t shaved, and his baseball cap had seen better days (decades ago). He waved at me to come out, but I glanced at Violet.

“I want you to see where I’m from,” I told her. “It’ll be fun, sad and a little surprising, trust me.”

She gulped and then nodded before unclipping her seatbelt. “Okay. Just don’t get me killed.”

We stepped out of my car, the cold hitting me right away. I hadn’t realized just how chilly the November morning was because I had gone from the warmth of the bed to the steaming shower, then back into the warm bedroom, then to the heated, covered garage.

“You cold?” I asked Violet, glancing across the car’s roof.

“I’m good,” she said, coming to our side of the car and introducing herself to Darren. “I’m Violet.”

His grin broadened. “I’ve heard great things about your show, Violet. Detroit will miss you once you move on to bigger and better things.”

She shrugged, a humble half-grin on her lips. “I don’t know about that, but thank you.”

We packed into Darren’s old Buick with Violet in the passenger seat and me behind the wheel. I drove off toward the downtown core. With Darren in the backseat, he had plenty of room to play with his camera equipment and snap off photos while we cruised through downtown. At this time of day, the streets were pretty quiet. With the Fisher Theater not all that far away, it seemed Violet could barely believe her eyes as just how calm this city could get once the nightlife fell asleep.

I steered onto Gratiot, which would eventually turn into the M-3, and followed it for a few quiet miles. At Mack, I made my right and then a quick left onto Meldrum, which was where I had spent my teen years. I slowed down at the house that I still owned, my eyes taking in the decrepit roof, boarded up windows on the main floor and chain-link fence. It was all meant to keep the squatters out and preserve as much as my childhood house as possible. I knew it would eventually come down like so many of its neighbors, but with the divorce and losing so much of my assets, I didn’t have the capital needed to have it demolished properly.

“Really?” Violet asked, shaking her head. “And here I thought my childhood sucked.”

I shrugged. “A few blocks on the other side of Mack is the Heidelberg Project where people paint colorful circles on their properties and hang stuffed animals from their eaves,” I told her as I killed the engine and opened my door.

“You’re getting out?” she asked, then added a nervous chuckle. But I didn’t believe that act for one minute; she could disappear, after all.

I leaned back into the cabin. “I have to check it out. Wanna see? Maybe you can work some magic and turn it into the kind of place where unicorns and fairies come to play?” Now it was my turn to add a fake chuckle.

“Smart ass,” she shot back.

Darren grunted in the backseat. “Ignore him, Violet.”

“I will,” she promised, then reached for the door handle.

“There’s a nine in the glove box,” Darren added as she stepped out.

“A
what
?” she squawked.

I laughed. “It’s safer than it looks here,” I told her.

When she joined me, she slid her arm around my waist and stayed close. “It’s not really safe, is it?”

“This isn’t so bad, Violet. It’s my house.” I pointed across the street to the house with the red roof; it was larger than the home my parents had purchased for fifty thousand dollars in the sixties (it was probably worth less than five
hundred
dollars today). The neighbor’s place was in much better shape, too. “The Arndt’s have been there from the start. Their neighbors bulldozed and left back in the early two-thousands. My first kiss happened in the Arndt’s backyard around the fire pit. They’d gone away for a weekend and Jerry had a party.”

Darren got out of the car with his fancy camera hanging around his neck. “You talking about Leila at Jerry’s spring break party?” He reached into the front seat, probably for the handgun. He always brought a handgun when we visited these abandoned ghettos.