“You ever meet the ink?” another woman, Brenda, asked me. She looked at me a little too closely in the light from the barrel fire. McMurphy’s paranoia had spread through the entire club, much of it focused on me, which was one of the reasons I needed
so badly to escape. It was bad enough having one monster suspecting my every move; having the entire club of them, plus their women, was becoming unbearable.
“Today was the first time,” I answered Brenda, looking her calmly in the eye. “He inked me this afternoon. McMurphy took me.”
That made me remember the feel of Cavan’s fingertips on my skin, his deft hands taking such care with me, his knuckle brushing the side of my breast. I tried not to shiver, tried not to get wet. The drinks were slowly going to my head.
The women made a bit of a fuss over my getting my first ink, which I couldn’t show them because of the spot it was in and the bandage over it. Secretly, I was glad. The birds were mine alone—well, now they were mine and Cavan’s, since he’d created them on my body. His mark, and mine. Not that he’d think of it like that.
Five
Dani
The night got louder; more girls showed up, dancing and hollering, flirting with the men. McMurphy got his share of attention, like he always did, and as always he reveled in it. I wasn’t allowed to breathe too close to another man, but he screwed other girls regularly, a fact I simply didn’t care about. I just made sure we used protection religiously and hoped against hope that one of the girls who were trying to steal him from me would succeed.
Cavan also got female attention, even though he didn’t wear a club cut. It was just him, that quietly sexy body, that perfect face. He didn’t put himself forward but he still attracted them like a magnet, nodding and smiling politely as they flirted with him. The women said he did party girls from time to time, but I’d never seen it. I felt myself weakening, looking at him too often, and I tried to make myself stop. For his part, he never once looked in my direction. He was better at this than I was.
At two, I caught a break. One minute McMurphy was talking to a woman I’d never seen before, and the next both of them were gone, probably into the club house. I hope you fuck him senseless, I thought bitterly at the woman. He’s all yours now. And on top of the bottomless, black pit of fear, I felt a momentary surge of… excitement. In a few hours, I wouldn’t have to deal with any of this anymore. The pain, the humiliation, the constant walking on glass. In a few hours, I would be free.
I let myself look around again, and saw that Cavan Wilder was gone.
My excitement was replaced by a quick surge of panic. Had he found a woman, too? Was he off having sex with her somewhere, our agreement completely forgotten? That thought hurt, more than the thought of McMurphy had. I was in trouble, already hanging too many feelings on a man I barely knew and probably shouldn’t trust. I had to get a grip.
When he didn’t reappear after half an hour, I felt exhaustion weighing on me. I drank two more shots, and one of the other women gripped my arm when I almost lost my balance. “Don’t worry, hon,” she said sympathetically. “They all do it, but they always come back. You gotta try and be tougher, or he’ll just do it more.”
McMurphy. She was talking about McMurphy going to his room in the club with that woman. She thought I was torn up about it. I nearly laughed, but then I remembered it was better if she made the assumption. “It’s just… right in front of my face,” I said, my words slurring, an effect I hadn’t intended but came out just right.
She nodded. “He isn’t gonna change, honey. But I’ve seen how he looks at you. You’re his old lady, always will be.”
For another ninety minutes, anyway. God, I was so tired of lying, of pretending.
Cavan Wilder never reappeared. The party got sloppy at three, like they always did, and at three thirty—McMurphy still hadn’t come back—I excused myself, saying I was going to go home and pass out. The women didn’t question it, since obviously I couldn’t pass out in McMurphy’s room in the club house.
I took a taxi home. After hours of crushing fear, I was numb now, exhausted, half drunk, on autopilot. I grabbed my suitcase from the closet I’d stashed it in and locked McMurphy’s apartment door behind me one last time. I walked away, and then I remembered that it was a twenty-minute walk at least to the Sav-Mart, and I was still in my high heels. I couldn’t call a taxi, since I wanted no one to be able to trace me, even through a driver. So I hurried around the corner of the building, popped open the suitcase—and realized I’d forgotten to pack shoes.
Panic made me sick for a minute. It was overwhelming and completely unreasonable. They were just shoes. There were shoes for sale everywhere, ready to buy to replace the ones I’d left. Shoes were hardly a rare item. But for a dizzy second, it felt like a bad omen. The end of the world. I managed to latch the suitcase again and get moving, nearly running as fast as I could in my pinching high heels.
There was no one on the streets at this hour. Any insomniac, lying in bed and listening to my heels on the sidewalk, would think I was a hooker coming home from a gig. But I didn’t think anyone was listening. As always I was alone in a world of cotton wool, unable to hear or speak or breathe. This was my last chance—I had to get out now, or I would give up, give in, go down forever.
The parking lot of the boarded-up Sav-Mart was empty. A cool wind blew in from the desert, and I set my suitcase down and hugged myself, trying to keep warm. I smelled old piss and gasoline. In the corner of the lot, used needles littered the pavement. There were no lights, and nothing moved.
Minutes ticked by. He’d forgotten about me. He didn’t care. That’s not something I do, he’d warned me, and he was right. He was off with some woman, getting his dick sucked right now, my problems the furthest thing from his mind.
If McMurphy woke up and found out I was gone, there was nowhere I could hide. I had no car and exactly two hundred dollars in my wallet. I had a maxed-out credit card, no job, no skills. I had gambled everything on Cavan Wilder. I had him—or nothing.
I waited.
There was the sound of a motor in the distance, and then closer. I tried to keep control, tried not to hope.
But headlights swept into the parking lot, and a car pulled up next to me, jerking to a stop. I could only see shadows against the powerful lights, but a car door slammed and a figure came toward me, and then a hand took my arm while another hand picked up the suitcase at my feet.
I knew that hand. Strong, warm, gentle. His grip was firm, but it didn’t hurt.
I smelled laundry and something spicy, mixed now with the tang of sweat, smoke, and beer.
He led me to the car, opened the back door, and tossed my suitcase inside. He opened the passenger door and looked down into my face.
Cavan Wilder. He was here.