A sharp thrill runs through my body, and I recognize it as arousal even though I haven’t been seriously turned on for ages. I felt a hint of it the other night dancing with TJ, but the coke overpowered the ecstasy and just kept me mostly numb. Just the thought of being high and the fun I had dancing at that shitty bar in Worcester makes me crave another night like that, but leaving the house in my condition isn’t going to happen.
Even the shithead guys who want to hurt me don’t want to be seen dancing with or hitting on a girl with cuts and bruises on her face, and the idea of climbing out of bed to find some trouble to get into just exhausts me more. It took all the energy I could manage just to answer the damn door when the delivery guy showed up with my pizza.
Sleep is about the only thing I can handle right now, but the prospect that I may dream of TJ brings a smile to my battered face as I close my eyes.Chapter 14TJ
“That was brutal,” Virus mutters as we exit church and head back into the living room.
“I need your help.” I tilt my head in the direction of his and Boston’s office.
He follows me inside, but I’m already changing my mind about asking him for background information on Kaci. I hate people being in my business or giving them anything that can be held against me at a later date. The memory of her face after the beating she took last night forces my mouth to open.
“I want you to find out everything you can on Kaci Stewart.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t move, merely stands beside me as if he’s waiting for more information or has something better to do and plans to work on this later.
“Like now.”
“Okay.” He drops down in his desk chair and stares at me over the top of his laptop. “Got anything to get me started?”
I relay the information I’ve memorized from her driver’s license, along with her phone number.
My eyes narrow when Virus snorts at whatever he’s looking at on his computer screen.
“What?” I spit. I normally fuck with people, and some tease me as well, but there isn’t a damn thing comical about what I’m asking from him right now.
“She just doesn’t seem your type, is all.” He doesn’t lift his eyes from his computer screen as his fingers continue to fly over the keys.
“What the fuck do you know about my type?”
Why wouldn’t a broken girl with a death wish be my type? As far as I can see, we’re as close to The Joker and Harley Quinn as two people can get.
“A little prim and proper is all.”
“What?” Not giving a damn about his personal space, I round the desk and look at his computer. “Take that fucking privacy screen off.”
If it were humanly possible, my jaw would unhinge and hit the floor. The dark screen transforms, and in front of me are dozens of pictures of a girl I hardly recognize. Gone are the low-cut tops and skirts that barely cover her ass. The girl smiling back at me from the screen is jubilant and wearing pastels and fucking cardigans for Christ’s sake.
Oddly, seeing her this way still makes my dick twitch in my jeans as fantasies of her in knee-high socks, plaid skirts, and pigtails infiltrate my brain. She’s a knock-out in her private school getup.
I cough, clearing my mind of Britney Spears and all things resembling Oops, I did it again. I’ll save that shit for later, right after kicking my own ass for not googling her earlier. I don’t focus on my regret of refusing to be concerned about her past right now.
“Who the fuck is that?” Pointing at the screen, I wait for Virus to click on the image.
“Her parents. Former mayor of Newbury, Royce Stewart and wife Victoria.”
“I can find all of this shit myself,” I mutter. “Dig deeper.”
Walking across the room, I fall into Boston’s office chair and let Virus get to work.
Of course she’s from a political family. Why would she make this any easier for me? Disappointment settles in my gut at the realization that she’s just another girl with daddy issues. Granted, she’s destroying her life to get her family’s attention, but a spoiled brat seeking validation from her most likely neglectful parents does nothing for me.
“Holy shit,” Virus hisses.
He has my attention, but my discontent keeps me rooted in the chair. “What?”
“Her baby brother died when she was a teenager.”
“That sucks.” And it does, but we all suffer loss along the way. It still doesn’t explain her self-destructive behavior.
“She was the one watching him when it happened.” I continue to watch his lowered head, but he doesn’t look up from his computer. “Reports claim she valiantly tried to resuscitate him and failed.”