Shallow River

oing to hate me, I already know it. He’s put so much time and energy into finding him, and I’ve known from the moment he told me about the killings, and I haven’t said a damn thing.

But now, Mako wants to come. So, the only thing I can do is collect the much needed rent and find another time to talk to Barbie. If anyone would know anything, it’s her. She didn’t know about Billy’s killings before, but now that it’s been brought to her attention, she’s going to weasel any information she can get. If Barbie is good for anything besides selling her body, it’s getting information.

Dread settles in my chest as Mako opens his car door for me, waiting for me to slide in. Bringing Mako here is such a bad idea.

“Maybe we should just not go,” I say, cringing as the words come out of my mouth, awkward and very fucking suspicious. His eyes narrow on me. I shift, uncomfortable with the way he’s scrutinizing me.

“I’d feel better doing this while I’m with you,” he says finally. Goddamn it. He knows me too well. Well enough to know that I want to go by myself. And there’s no way Mako’s going to let that happen. Not after I already opened my big mouth and divulged some of the things Billy put me through, and especially not after Billy nearly beat me to death.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. There’s no getting out of this and the only person I can be angry with is myself. Stupid sex-induced brain. Sex with Mako is dangerous if it completely halts the ability to think properly.

Don’t freak, River. Just go in, get the money, and leave. Simple.

Nothing with Shallow Hill is ever simple.

The entire time I’m giving Mako directions, I’m tempted to just make him drive to a random, empty house and claim she’s not home. There are plenty of abandoned houses in Shallow Hill. It would be easy. But something feels wrong about lying to Mako even more than I already am.

He pulls into the driveway of my decrepit childhood home. Just like every other house in this sad town, the white panels are hardly white and hanging on by a thread. Boarded up windows from explosive fights between Barbie and her clients. A rickety wooden porch with a collapsed step and a hole in it from when someone fell through.

It’s fucking embarrassing to say the least.

“You don’t have to come in, Mako.”

He’s already opening the door and rounding the car to open mine for me. My heart drops when I see Barbie’s beady little eyes peeking through the tattered curtains.

The dread cements inside my chest. I’m going to need a jackhammer to clear it out when this is all said and done.

I drag my feet walking into the house, Mako on my heels. His presence is overpowering and suffocating when all I want to do is remove him from this house.

“Well who the fuck do we have here?” Barbie says from the kitchen entrance, her arms crossed across her frail body. Her eyes are eating Mako up, clearly enjoying the view based off the unfiltered excitement in her eyes. “Oh, this is an upgrade, dear. Much better than the last one you brought home. That one looked like he fucked himself with a stick for pleasure.”

I can’t help it. I snort in response. Sometimes I can appreciate the honestly from Barbie’s mouth, even if the venom she spews is mostly directed towards me.

“Barbie, this is Mako. Don’t scare him away,” I warn.

A sinful smirk stretches across her face. This is Barbie in action, even though she knows Mako will never give her the time of day. Mako, ever the gentleman, gives a curt, “Hello, Barbie.” Her eyes widen when she gets a taste of his voice. Deep—so fucking deep, especially when he’s saying the dirtiest things in your ear while at least nine inches deep inside you. I shiver at the memory.

Even when Mako realizes that he’s going to hate me instead of love me, I will cherish that memory until the day I die.

“What do you want?” Barbie says, forcing her eyes away from the magnetic man behind me. It takes serious effort on her part, I know this from experience. The usual venom in her voice is absent. Probably too enthralled by Mako.

“Rent time,” I chirp. Her face falls, rolling her eyes dramatically and turning to walk in the kitchen. When Barbie isn’t in her room fucking, she’s in the kitchen smoking, injecting, or snorting. It took four cigarettes to keep me in that kitchen—the same place Billy granted me with new nightmares—last time I was here. Smoking in front of Mako just feels wrong.

The only thing that unsticks my feet from the ground is the reminder that I have Mako here with me. His strength silently bleeds into me, giving me the courage I need to revisit my personal Hell.

The kitchen is in the same state it was last time I was here. And every time before that since I can remember. I watch Mako’s eyes take in every detail. The overwhelming urge to blindfold him is almost too much to bear. I hate him seeing the place I grew up in. I didn’t like Ryan seeing it, either, but something about Mako discovering where I came from feels different.

With Ryan, I felt like I had to impress him. Prove something to him. And this dingy house doesn’t exist on any lists to impress your boyfriend with. Ryan sneered and looked down on this house and Barbie. The whole experience left me embarrassed and with a bad taste in my mouth, and I’m almost sure it made Ryan look at me with a little less awe.

With Mako, I just want to protect him from this life. Not because I feel the need to impress him, but because I’m terrified that he’ll pity me. The last thing I need is pity.

But of course, Mako always surprises me. The very thing that diminished in Ryan’s eyes is the same thing shining from Mako’s as he stares down at me. Awe. He doesn’t need to say the words now, he’s already said them before. He’s… proud that I came from a hellhole like this and became the woman I am today. Even if I am a murderer. It doesn’t matter to Mako. Not when the person I killed deserved every single thing I did to him.

“Do you have the money?” I ask impatiently. Barbie’s sitting in her usual chair, puffing on a cigarette.

“Can’t you come here to visit your mother for once? You only come here for money. You’re starting to make me feel used.”

I give her a dry look. “Cute, Barbie. Real cute.”