Devil's Kiss Page 12

  “Stick, it doesn’t matter, it’s over anyway!” I break in.

  “Yeah, no shit it’s over,” Stick growls, “You’ve got three days to find a new place to live, West. We’re done.” Stick storms out of the room and down the hall, Stacy running after him.

  West and I stand looking at each other, both exhausted and bleeding. It’s strange to feel such a chasm between us when we were so close just a week ago.

  I drop my eyes and head back into the living room. I’m just in time to see Stacy and Stick peeling out of the driveway in the Tahoe. The pictures are still all over the living room where Stick tossed them. I pick them up, wincing at each one, and stuff them back into the envelope. I take them back into my bedroom and shut the door behind me.

  Turning the manila envelope over in my hands, I see that there’s no return address. But this feels like something Richard would do. God, I can’t believe he was watching us that whole time. Every intimate moment captured on camera. I feel so dirty, so violated.

  A couple hours later, and I’m headed to my shift at the Black Rock in a taxi, since my ride stormed off. Tomorrow, I’ll have to sit down with Stick and tell him about Richard Lees, but right now, neither he nor Stacy are answering their phones, and West is holed up in his bedroom with the door closed. Not that I want to talk to him anyway. I touch my split lip gently with my fingers. It’s still swollen from where Stick accidentally cracked it open, but I was able to hide most of the redness with makeup.

  If Richard has followed me here, I’ll need to get in touch with the Nevada police. Maybe it would be a good idea to move out of the house first. I don’t want to attract police attention to my brother’s club. It would be best to separate myself first. Or maybe I should call Richard’s lieutenant, see if there’s anything he can do. I rub my temples. I feel a fierce headache coming on.

  The taxi pulls up at the alley leading into the Black Rock and I look around cautiously as I enter. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. But what if there were other things besides the truck and the pictures? Things that Stick and West didn’t tell me about because they attributed them to the Devils MC?

  My headache is now quite real as I stash my bag behind the bar and get started on my side work. Colleen comes in a few minutes later and takes an alarmed look at my swollen face.

  “Hey, don’t worry about it. You can take some of my shifts if you need to,” she reassures me.

  “Sorry, what?” I ask.

  “Oh. I just...Franchise took you off the schedule after next week,” she tells me, “I thought you saw it. I mean, you look kind of upset or something.”

  “Oh, no, yeah, I just...thanks. That’s really sweet of you.” I grab an empty box and head down to the stock room to fill it up. Shit. I can’t believe Franchise is firing me. I mean, I know I’ve been a little distracted, but I’ve really put in the extra effort around here. And this is the worst timing, right as I’m trying to save up for my own place. I take a deep breath as angry tears begin to pool in my eyes. It’s all too much right now. I just can’t let myself think about all of it tonight. Just get through the shift, I tell myself.

  All night, it’s like the male patrons can smell weakness, like I’m the wounded gazelle at the edge of the herd, because they will not stop hitting on me—aggressively, too. Those two friends, Nick and Brian, are back, and Nick won’t take no for an answer now that I don’t have a huge biker staking his claim on me.

  “Come on, do another shot with us!” Nick cajoles me. I smile, trying to ride the weird line between being a hospitable bartender and encouraging him too much. I end up doing a couple shots with them, though I spit out the liquor in my fake chaser bottle.

  The place is packed, and I don’t see Franchise. Part of me just wants him to fire me now and get it over with, and the other part knows that I couldn’t actually take that on top of everything else going on.

  Around midnight, I walk into the back stairwell to call Stick. I know he doesn’t want to talk to me right now, but I’m worried about Richard, and I need a ride home. No answer. I try him a couple more times, and then call Stacy. No answer from her, either. She’s probably busy taking care of him. I decide to text both of them:

  Hey, sorry, I know it’s bad timing, but could really use a ride home tonight.

  I go back to tending bar, and surreptitiously check my phone for the next couple hours. No contact from Stick or Stacy. Fuck. Cabs definitely don’t stay out this late in West Clayton. I sigh, and duck back into the stairwell to make one more call before Sharon ends her shift for the night. I really don’t want to talk to West right now, especially to ask him for a favor, but he’s my last option

  His phone rings a few times, and then goes to voicemail. I’m about to hang up, but just the familiarity of his voice saying “West. Leave a message,” makes me unhinge a little. I end up spilling: “Hey, it’s me. Olive, I mean. If you get this soon, could you come to pick me up at the bar? You know I wouldn’t ask you, but...but there’s this guy who’s been following me around from Concord and I’m just—I’m pretty freaked out. Just...call me back, please?”

  I hang up before I completely lose control of the tremor in my voice. I stuff my phone into my pocket and head back behind the bar. The crowd has really thinned out now, only a dozen or so patrons left. Sharon waves goodbye and heads toward the door. I briefly consider asking her to stay, but she’s got her kid to get home to. I start putting glasses in the wash and cleaning the bar off with a rag as more patrons filter out.

  Now there’s just a couple making out in the corner and my old friend Nick. I sigh. I really don’t want to deal with him right now. I walk a couple steps closer to him and take my phone out of my pocket and pretend to answer it.

  “Oh, hey honey. Sure, yeah, see you soon. You’re bringing my helmet with you right? Because I’m not riding on the back of your motorcycle without it!” I hang up and smile at Nick.

  He smiles thinly back, tosses a few bucks on the bar, and walks out. The horny couple glances around as the door slams behind him and they see that they’re the only ones left. The woman giggles drunkenly, and they walk out with their hands stuffed into each other’s back pockets.

  I follow them to the door and lock it after them. I look back at the empty bar and sigh. I check my phone again. Nothing. Well, I guess I can always sleep here. Those couches look gross, but I’m sure as hell not walking home alone. I cross behind the bar and grab my purse, eyeing the pool table—it might actually be cleaner to lie down on than the couches. I head back to it and run my hand across the green felt. It’s hard, but not filthy.

  My phone rings in my pocket. I quickly take it out. It’s West. I swipe to answer.

  “Hey. Thanks for calling me back,” I say.

  “You still at the bar?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I answer, and take a deep breath. His voice takes my anxiety down a couple notches.

  “OK, I’ll be right there. Don’t move,” he replies, and hangs up. It’ll feel good to finally tell someone about Richard. I didn’t want to worry anyone about the whole thing, but now it’s time to ask for help.

  A creak behind me causes me to jump. I spin around and peer into the semi-darkness at the back of the bar. Someone passed out in the bathroom?

  “Hello?” I call out cautiously, profoundly hoping it was just the wind. I wait, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

  The men’s bathroom door slowly opens. My breath catches in my throat.

  “Who’s there?” I call out, trying to sound as tough as I can.

  A shadow steps out of the darkness.

  “Hello, Olive,” says Richard Lees.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Olive

  “What are you doing here?” I whisper, my mouth going dry. His eyes are unblinking and staring at me, and he’s holding a pistol pointed at my stomach.

  “You know what I’m doing here,” he replies. “Take your purse,” he orders, flicking his gun toward it.

  “You wouldn’t shoot me,”
I reply. I just need to buy some time before West gets here. Keep him talking.

  Richard cocks his head slightly at me, closing the distance between us. Then, quick as lightning, he backhands me across the face. I cry out, my already tender lip splitting in the same place where Stick got me earlier.

  “Take your purse,” he repeats. I slowly reach out and grab it. That mantra of self-defense classes goes flashing through my head: never go to a second location. Easier said than done, especially with fear and pain clouding my brain.

  “Outside,” he commands, and I start walking with him trailing right behind me. We walk out the door and into the alleyway. “To the left, the blue sedan down the street.” I peer into the darkness and start walking toward the car. I go slowly, praying that West is about to drive around the corner. The door unlocks with an electronic beep. “Go to the passenger side,” he orders, and I walk around the front of the car to the curb. “Drop your bag on the ground, and put your hands behind your back,” he says, and I turn to see him take out a set of handcuffs.

  “Please, Richard,” I beg, tears falling down my face. For some reason the idea of being physically restrained is far worse than the gun on me.

  “Turn around,” he commands. His voice is emotionless.

  I do as he says, and soon feel the cold metal pinching my wrists. My shoulders sag as I take a strangled breath. I should have told someone out here about Richard. Stupid stupid stupid.

  He reaches around me and opens the rear door, pushing me in like I’m a criminal going into the back of his cop car. He leaves the door open then opens the front passenger door and reaches in for something. I see him pull out a roll of duct tape and my whole body starts shaking, as though I’ve been dropped in a freezing lake. I know his gun is in his holster now, but I don’t know what to do.

  “Richard, just tell me what you want, OK? You don’t have to do this,” I whisper.

  He tears off a piece of tape with his teeth and puts it over my mouth. I feel his hand touching my mouth through the tape, sealing it firmly.

  “Lie down,” he says. I eye the backseat of the car and awkwardly ease myself over onto my side. I feel him wrap my ankles together with the tape, winding around and around my black pants.

  He’s done, and stands up to shut the door. I’m in the quiet of the car for just a moment before I see him getting into the driver’s seat, tossing my purse on the seat next to him. We pull away from the curb, and I hear him sigh.

  “Sorry for all the theatrics,” he says. “But you’ve really gotten in over your head here, Olive.”

  I feel like I’m suffocating, even though I can still breathe through my nose. Calm down. Don’t panic, I order myself.

  “Oh, look, here’s your friend West on his way to pick you up,” Richard comments lightly. I hear the drone of a motorcycle engine approaching the car and frantically try to sit up. “Don’t bother, it’s too dark,” he says.

  He’s right. I hear West’s motorcycle come agonizingly close, passing right by us and driving away. Just two minutes too late.

  I feel Richard step on the gas a little now, and it feels like we’re speeding. Before long, though, he’s slowing down and pulling to a stop. I hear my phone ringing in my purse, and Richard reaches over and turns it off, then pulls the battery off it and tosses it back into my bag.

  “Sit up,” he orders. “It’s important that you see this.” He gets out of the car and shuts the door quietly behind him. I’m alone in the car, but can barely move. I inch myself up, pushing myself onto the rear door by pressing my knees and ankles into the seat. I rise up so that I’m just able to see out the window.

  Fuck. We’re on my block, and I’m just in time to see Richard cross my front lawn and head toward the back. He looks back to the car and waves at me. I glance at the driveway. The Tahoe and Stick’s motorcycle are in the driveway. That means at least Stick, and maybe Stacy, are currently home.

  Frantically, I duck back down and pound the opposite window with my feet. What’s Richard doing at my house? I can imagine my brother and Stacy sleeping in bed, Richard creeping in with his gun and looking over them. Tears of frustration and helplessness stream down my face as I kick and kick the window, trying to break it open. My heels slip on the glass but I think they’ll do more good than bare feet.

  I hear a knocking on the window above my head, and my heart leaps. I glance up hopefully, but it’s Richard looking down at me. He beckons me with his fingers, and I reluctantly push myself up to the window again, staring at him through the glass. Dread pools in my stomach. He points toward the house, and I look toward it, frowning. It looks normal, peaceful even. I think I would have heard a gunshot from here, so I don’t know what Richard did.

  My eyes flicker up to his face. He’s watching the house patiently, as though he’s waiting for something. I look back toward it. Suddenly, I hear a muffled boom and the sound of breaking glass. I scream through the duct tape on my mouth as I see flames licking out of the windows of the home I grew up in. I watch helplessly as my childhood home burns with my brother inside it.

  Richard leans on the door, watching his handiwork for a moment, and then gets in the driver’s seat again. My eyes are still on the house, praying for a sign of movement, for my brother to run out onto the front lawn, coughing the smoke from his lungs, but there’s nothing, only the flames licking the siding. Richard starts the car and I press my face against the glass as we drive, fighting for my final glimpse of the house, until it’s only a crackling orange glow in darkness. I slump down. I don’t feel fear anymore, only cold numbness.

  “I know it may seem extreme of me to have you watch that,” Richard says, “But I think it was necessary. Your past is gone now. Over. Ideally, West would have been in that house, too, but maybe still...” he trails off. His words barely penetrate my brain, which feels like it’s full of fog.

  “You know I lost my job because of you?” I hear him slam his hand down on the steering wheel as I stare at the back of the driver’s seat. “I mean, fuck, Olive. You really had to go and file a fucking complaint? You destroyed a good cop’s career. I mean, how many drug dealers did I put away? I had a woman send me a Christmas card every year since I caught the man killed her son. Seven years I got that card, and now I’m a fucking civilian again. Can’t help anyone. Except maybe you.”

  We drive in silence for a while. How fast do you die of smoke inhalation? Fast, right? You would die of smoke inhalation before the fire would burn you to death right? Couldn’t my brother have maybe died painlessly in his sleep from the smoke? My thoughts run in a frantic loop.

  “We’re here,” Richard announces. The car stops with a jerk and he gets out. A second later he’s cutting the tape from around my legs and pulling me out of the car. When I look up, his gun is out again. All I can tell is that we’re on a street in a bad area, judging from the decrepit house that we’re standing outside of. He grabs my arm and pulls me with him toward the side of the house, then down an exterior set of cement stairs toward a basement door.

  He opens the door and pushes me in, then pulls the door shut behind us. The room is pitch black. I hear him move around for a second and then a match flickers to life. He walks around the room setting candles alight, allowing me to see the place he’s brought me to. It’s a damp, dingy room. I spot a mattress in the corner and my stomach rolls. The only other furniture is a single chair. He gestures me toward the mattress and I reluctantly cross to it. I don’t know if I even care what he does to me now. I awkwardly sit on it, dropping the last foot without the use of my hands. He pulls the chair toward me and sits on it, facing me.

  “I’m going to take the tape off your mouth. This house is abandoned, as are most of the houses on this block. I still would rather you didn’t scream, though, and if you do, I will punish you.” With a nod, he takes a corner of the tape and slowly peels it off. I feel it rip skin and clotting blood from my lip with it.

  I stare up at him. He looks at me expectantly, as though I’m su
pposed to say something. What is there to say? He looks me over, considering.

  “I understand you’re angry with me right now, and it’s mutual,” he says, “When I first got out here, all I wanted to do was hurt you, to be honest. But then I saw what you were doing, hanging out with bikers, fucking that big dumb one…Olive, that’s no kind of life. What the fuck were you thinking? I can’t have you doing that. So I’ve pulled you out of it, alright? That life is gone, you can’t return to it. I’ve rescued you from it. The least you could do is thank me.”

  I stare back at him, uncomprehending. What does he want me to do?

  “Say thank you, Olive. Say thank you,” he growls. He raises his hand and hits me. The other half of my lip splits open. I keel over, my head landing on the mattress.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, and slowly right myself.

  “For?” he prompts me.

  “For...rescuing me?” I guess. I can’t follow his twisted logic.

  “Good,” he nods, pacified, and a hint of a smile even reaches his lips. “Now, I know this isn’t the nicest place to stay, but it’ll have to do for now.”

  He looks down at me pityingly, then kneels and spreads my knees apart, pushing himself between them and grabbing me tightly around my waist.

  “I get it, you’re mad about your brother. But don’t worry. Soon that’ll fade, and you’ll love me again,” he whispers. His breath against my face feels like poison.

  I feel his hand slide up my back toward my neck, pulling me toward him as he leans forward to kiss me. Without a thought, I launch myself straight back onto the mattress and bring my legs up to his face and kick him as hard as I can. I catch him by surprise, and he falls backward. I struggle to get to my feet without the use of my arms so I can get him again before he recovers.

  He’s on the ground, his hand by his face, looking in surprise at the blood trickling down his fingers. When he sees me over him, he tries to jump up, but I kick him in the crotch. He yells out in pain and curls protectively around himself. Now that his hands are away from his face again, I kick him square in the nose and hear a satisfying crack. I have to take my chance now. I run toward the door, leaving him prone on the floor. As I reach the door, I turn around, backing my still-cuffed hands up to it, awkwardly trying to twist the handle open.