Blood to Dust

His palm leaves my neck and a sense of loss grips me, the kind I hadn’t felt since the last time I’d been hugged. Really hugged. It was by Preston, who told me to take care of myself before he’d disappeared.

Nate mulls over my offer wordlessly. I can almost hear the wheels in his brain rolling as he processes my words. But even I know it’s farfetched for him to put his trust and life in the uncalloused hands of a blonde girl of pedigree and designer mini dresses. Pussy is always a disadvantage in the street business. And rich pussy? That’s practically a weakness in Stockton.

“You’re a wild card,” he says.

“Does that scare you?” I breathe.

“Not if I’m about to burn down the whole motherfucking table.”

More silence.

“Godfrey will try and kill us,” he booms, his warm breath crawling up my face. Am I imagining it, or are his lips hovering over mine? My fingertips tingle and I wet my lips again. I’ve been doing it a lot since he threw me in his basement.

“That’s okay, I’m not planning on keeping him alive, either.”

“Mmmm.” His voice is closer, his nose brushing against mine. Hotness caresses my body. “Are you planning a bloodbath, little Pea?”

He’s mocking me, and a shiver of rage jolts down my spine, making me tighten my fists.

“I’m going to kill them.”

“You think you’re going to kill them,” he says dryly. “But when it’s show time, when you’re in front of your victim, no matter how much you hate them, no matter what they did to you, most people chicken out. That’s what separates the monsters from the throng. Monsters switch the human button off.”

“Are you a switcher?” The air’s stuck in my throat, tangling into a suffocating ball of thrill.

“I’m a switcher,” he confirms with a small nod that makes our lips connect.

I need him. I need a switcher. Someone to help me out with Godfrey, Sebastian and Camden. He is perfect.

“I’m taking down these men, Beat. With or without you. Now, are you in or are you out?” My brazen question skulks into his lips. That’s how close we are. He laughs hard, a bad laugh, a villain’s laugh, a laugh that doesn’t belong in his mouth, and pulls away. Then I hear him standing up on his feet, stretching.

“Out.” He tucks the book he brought for me under my arm and pulls my blindfold off in one go. I can still feel the burn of his fingers wrapped around my neck and want them to make me gasp for oxygen again. No one’s ever done that to me before, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Nate’s face is covered by his black shirt, his abs sticking out under the dense black and blue ink. A faint trail of short, dark hair leads into his pants and I want to yank his jeans down and find out where it ends.

Never happened to me before. Not even with Camden.

“Sleep tight, little Pea.”

I feel tight, all right. With nerves, fears…between my legs.

I look down to the book he brought for me. The Perfume by Patrick Suskind. About a serial killer who murdered women for their scents.

Time.

If Nate gives me three weeks of his time, I’ll be able to kill the bastards and get my life back. Now I just need to make sure he’s just business.

That’ll be easy. . .right?

“What did the scumbag do?” I ask, my hands tucked under my head as I lie in bed. I shouldn’t wanna know what Pea’s deal is, shouldn’t favor listening to her story over diving into a book. But I do. Godfrey had said that she’s from Blackhawk. That she’s the daughter of a loaded politician. How did she end up as a low-class drug dealer who managed to piss off some of the most dangerous men in the United States?

I shouldn’t listen to her ramblings, and I definitely shouldn’t have let her rest her head against my shoulder. Toss into this list a few more shouldn’t haves: I shouldn’t have almost kissed those pinks when my cock ached so bad to dig into that tight dress, and I shouldn’t have almost choked her with my lust for her. But I did all of those things, because she’s the center of my social life. Whatever fucked up relationship I’m forming with my hostage, she’s the closest person to me right now. Pathetic? Sure. But it’s the truth nonetheless.

“I dropped out of UCLA and moved to London to live with Camden.” I hear her voice seeping from my cracked floor. The fact that Irv’s always at work when we talk is a god-fucking-send. “I thought I loved him. And as you may know, in love, logic is almost always the first casualty. My parents weren’t happy about me dropping out, but they didn’t try to stop me either. My dad was too wrapped up in his campaign, too smitten with the idea of the Archers and Burlington-Smyths strengthening their ties. And my mother. . .” She drifts off with a bitter chuckle. “Who knows where she was at the time. She battled depression and a herd of demons that seemed to have followed her into every rehab facility she checked in to. I remember the first time I realized my mom wasn’t coming back. It was on my sixteenth birthday. All I got from her was a letter. Not even a phone call. I think she lives in North Carolina now. She sometimes sends Christmas cards, and I hate it. It makes me remember her. Christmas is my least favorite time of the year.”