HARDCORE: Storm MC(100)

Hemmick thought about this. “So far, I haven't found anything connecting any of this to Gaspar,” he said. “If you say he's involved, fine, I'll look into it. Meanwhile, pay up within the next three days, and don't forget what I said. Next time you drag your dirt out into the spotlight, it's your ass.”



The sheriff headed for the door, then turned back with his hand on the knob.



“And don't forget to take care of that bloodstain,” he said, nodding towards the floor with a grim smile. “Remember, cleanliness is right up there next to godliness.”



With that, he stepped out, slamming the door behind him.





Chapter 21



Cain



Cain sat on the couch restlessly as Missy brought her bags in from the car and started doing some cleaning. He flipped through the channels on the TV, cursing under his breath at each new show before switching to the next.



He tried to ignore the sounds of Missy wiping down surfaces and sweeping floors, but even with the volume on the television turned all the way up, he still felt like it was all he could hear and it annoyed him.



Cain tried not to think about his childhood much, but this situation brought up all the old awkward feelings of watching his dad sprawled on the couch, drinking beer after beer until he'd made his way through the whole case while Cain's mother quietly cleaned the house around him. He remembered that his dad had always seemed to keep his eyes purposefully pointed forward so he could ignore his wife and somehow pretend that the house magically cleaned itself. He'd only acknowledge her when she accidentally got in his way or made some small sound that distracted him from what he was watching.



Then came loud cussing, and sometimes his fists if he was drunk enough.



And now Cain found himself replaying the scene as an adult, with—infuriatingly—Missy in the role of his mother. That wasn't how he wanted to think about her. Come to think of it, after what happened between them when she was washing his hair, he didn't know how he wanted to think about her, if at all.



Just as this unsettling parallel tangled up Cain's thoughts, Missy entered the living room and started sweeping up. She hovered at the periphery of his vision, and as she pushed the broom, Cain's eyes fell on her toned ass.



Her jeans had a few well-placed holes in them, revealing small oval glimpses of her pale thighs. Before he could stop himself, he found his thoughts drawn to what it would be like to hook his fingers into those ragged holes in her jeans, and then slide his fingers up into the tight crevice between her legs...



“What'cha watching?” Missy asked.



“Huh?”



Missy stopped sweeping and straightened up, turning around. “Anything good on TV?”



Cain blinked and glanced at the screen. Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn were verbally sparring in a colorized flick from the '50s.



“Not really,” Cain muttered, switching channels again.



“Oh. You'd stopped on that one for a while, so I figured you'd found something worth seeing.”



Cain swallowed. His throat felt like a desert, thanks to those fucking pills. He didn't want to ask her for a glass of water. He didn't want her cleaning. He didn't want her here.



“I really don't want a maid, you know,” Cain said.



“And I don't want to be one,” Missy retorted, going back to her sweeping. “But I'm supposed to be here for a few more days, and I'm not spending them surrounded by dust-bunnies and prehistoric food stains, so I guess it's mop-and-bucket time for me. Besides, I don't have much else to do except watch you play ADHD with the television for hours at a time, and I'm afraid it'll give me some kind of epileptic fit.”



“You're a real comedian, huh?” Cain said, rolling his eyes.



“Well, you're the perfect straight man,” Missy replied. “About as fun to be around as a block of wood. You getting hungry?”



“No,” Cain answered.



Missy sighed. “Look, not that I give a shit, but you haven't had any food in about two days. If you're serious about healing up as quickly as possible, you're going to have to put some fuel in your tank or your body will start eating itself.”



Cain scowled. “Hey, you're not my fucking mother, okay?”



“And you're not a sulky teenage boy, so stop acting like it,” Missy said. “I'm going to make an early dinner, and you're going to have some of it so your body can start putting itself back together. For both our sakes, don't make me do the whole 'Here comes the choo-choo' thing with the spoon, okay? I know you're in a bad mood, but try to scrape together a little dignity.”



She tossed the broom into the corner and headed for the kitchen. A moment later, Cain heard her taking out pots and pans and using the can opener.