Bad Wolf(85)

"Yeah, of course." But I know he won't. He doesn't feel he can wash the stench of the street off him. It's like he has a brand on his forehead marking him as homeless and a hooker and is convinced everyone can see it.

I feel that way sometimes, too, although it's not as bad as it used to be.

"Are you seeing the others? Mayleen, Adam, Josie? They still around?"

"I see them. Where would they go, man? We're stuck here."

Except me. Familiar guilt washes through me. I've tried giving them my money, but they won't take it. They're proud people, and I know how they feel about charity.

"They okay? No trouble?"

"You talking about something specific now, aren't you, J?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

Jason nods. He knows, and normally he'd tell me to chill, and that everything's calm.

This time, though, he remains silent, and I don't like it. He glances down the street, then behind him. On edge.

"Come on, Jason, spill." I want to shake him, rattle any information out of him, so I ball my hands into fists and wait him out.

"There's this new guy," he finally says, shuffling his feet, uncomfortable as hell. "Mikey. Sixteen or seventeen. Pretty face, though no comparison to you, J."

I huff. Jason has hit on me a couple of times. I'm used to men hitting on me, as much as chicks, but I hope Jason has taken the hint. I just don't swing that way.

In fact, I managed, against all odds, to only service women. Jason helped me with that, and I owe him big time, taking on the guys who'd hit on me and putting out the word about me to lady friends.                       
       
           



       

"Go on," I say when it becomes clear he'd rather not. "What happened?"

He lets out a frustrated sigh, checks the street again. "He won't say, but we found him beaten up pretty badly. Not far from here, in fact."

A chill runs up my spine despite the warm day. "You think it's the same guy? Simon?"

Pimp and leader of a MC gang, he arrived to take this city under his "protection." Simon Gomez.

"Could well be. Kid mumbled something about turf wars and ran. Never heard where he ended up."

I swallow sourness. "Has Simon ever threatened you?"

Just his name makes me feel sick.

"Kaia keeps tabs on him." The local pimp. "But she's getting sicker by the day. If she passes on, I don't know what will happen."

"Yeah." I jam my hands into my pockets. "Me neither."

"You could press charges, J."

He's told me this before. Jason is the one who found me and patched me up. He found a doctor to sew my arm up for free-or if he paid in kind, he never told me.

"I can't. He'll find out I ratted him out. Too risky. Besides, it's been years and it's not like I had any witnesses."

"If nobody accuses him, he'll never fucking stop. You're safe in your castle in the clouds, J, but what about us?"

Holy shit.

"Take care of yourself," I tell Jason and turn to go, the jab hurting like a punch to the gut. No idea what I expected to find, why I thought coming here might calm my frazzled nerves. With guilt added to the mix, I'm worse off than before.

With my stomach lodged under my ribs like a damn stone, I make my way back to my new life, knowing full well that my old one will haunt me forever.



After a night spent tossing and turning, caught in nightmares and twisted in my sheets, I finally catch some shuteye with the sunrise, a pillow jammed over my head to keep out the light. I slip in and out of dreams, or memories, dark places with the stench of piss and vomit, yelling ringing in my ears as I cower, small and powerless, trying to hide.

But the hands always find me and drag me, kicking and screaming, back into the fear and pain.

The knock-knock seems to come out of the blue. It comes again, smashing into my sleep, shattering the dreams.

Thank God.

I open bleary eyes and squint as the door cracks open. A shaggy dark head pops inside.

Alex, I think, my brain hurting as it tries to come awake. My roommate. Important to clarify this, even as my body still shakes with remembered fear.

"What?" I croak, hugging my pillow, wincing at the sunrays spearing through the window and straight through my head.

"Someone here for you. A girl. Says you told her to come this morning."

A girl? Who … ?

Amber.

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Throwing off the sheet, I shoot to my feet and stagger sideways. My head hurts as if I've been drinking.

Have I? My memories of last night are somewhat disjointed, but I may have joined Travis and Gage in a few glasses of whiskey after returning home from my second job of the day.

Ow.

"Don't let her in. I mean, not yet. Give me five minutes, okay?"

Alex looks at me as if I'm speaking Klingon. Was he drinking with us? Fuck if I remember. Maybe. Important thing is, he closes the door, leaving me to scrub the sleep out of my eyes and put some order to my room.

Not an easy feat after such a night-or in general. I stumble a couple of times, my feet caught in dirty clothes. I don't have many, but apparently last night I thought it was a good idea to drop them all on the floor. What the hell?

Oh, they aren't dirty clothes. They're the new clothes I bought with Amber. So last night I was angry-at her? At the clothes?

Shit.

I tidy up as best I can, pull the sheet and comforter up on the bed, then crack the door open, check the hallway and make a mad dash for the shower.

The thought of her right outside, in the living room, turns my morning wood into a nuclear warhead, and I'd have jacked off if I wasn't running so damn late. If I wasn't worried I won't be able to keep quiet and she'd hear me.

And damn, right on the heels of that thought comes an image of her opening the bathroom door and joining me under the spray, curling her hand around my hard-on and pumping.

Damn, I can't help myself. I grab my cock and jerk off quickly, desperately. I imagine her breasts, her long legs wrapped around me, her face flushed with pleasure, and I come with a strangled moan, shooting my load on the tiled wall.

I lean back with a groan. Christ.

Turning off the water, I dry myself and drag on my jeans, not bothering with underwear or anything else. Okay, ready to face Amber like a human being, or almost.                       
       
           



       

That's when I remember what I invited her over for.

"I want to draw you."

Oh hell.



She walks into my room, her hair caught up in a messy bun, loose strands framing her small face, making her eyes look huge. Her low-cut black top has my pulse racing, and she hasn't even sat down yet.

Disaster alert. Everyone abandon stations. I repeat, abandon stations.

She hesitates in the middle of my room and chews on her lip. "Good morning. I …  I think maybe this was a mistake. I shouldn't have come."

I push off the wall, where I've been pretending to lean all cool and shit, and lurch after her. "Wait!"

She stops with a hand on the door frame. Her purse slips from her shoulder and hits the floor with a dull thud, but she doesn't turn around.

I reach her, refusing to acknowledge the relief flooding me, and skim up her arm with my fingertips, tangle them in a loose curl. I love how she shivers. How she feels, like silk and feathers.

Leaning in, I whisper in her ear, "Please stay."

Fighting the urge to press my mouth to her neck, I suck in a deep breath, try to control my body. Scary how much I want her. How easily I'd forget Zane's warnings, forget I shouldn't be doing this.

Forget that she deserves better, forget everything but my need for her, a need that goes deeper than anything I've ever felt before. I want to meld myself with her, merge, make her …

Make her mine.

Fuck.

"Okay," she says. "What should I do?"

I gesture at my bed. "Take a seat, make yourself comfortable. I'll sit over here," I point at the only chair I have in my room, "and draw you. That's all."

I step away and go grab my drawing pad from a box in the corner, grab my charcoal pencil and eraser, and sink into the seat.

When I look up, my mouth goes dry.

She's sitting on my mattress, her hair loose on her shoulders, and she's leaning forward, her top dipping low, giving me a glimpse of the pale mounds of her tits.

Tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, my hard-on pushing frantically against the seam of my jeans, I stare and stare.

"JJ?" Her uncertain voice is like a splash of cold water. She's staring right back, frozen in place, one hand planted on top of my blanket.

"Perfect," I rasp, coming down to earth and clutching the drawing pad over my crotch to hide how excited my dick is to see her. "That's perfect. Stay …  stay like that."

Swallowing hard, attempting to bring some moisture back into my mouth, I start sketching quickly, broad lines, bold strokes to capture the posture, the curves of her body, the wild tangle of her dark hair, her wide eyes.

I botch the line of her thigh and blot it out with the special eraser. Fuck, fuck. My hands are shaky.

"Where did you learn to draw?" she asks, and I pause, the charcoal gripped in my hand.