Fearless Page 7

  Full of good advice, I guess, but what a weirdo. It’s not even that bad here.

  Riley: I’m here. :)

  Lincoln: I’ll come out.

  I lock my phone and shove it in my bag, hiding my hands in my pockets in hopes I can make them stop shaking. Adrenaline pumps through my veins and I want to run, to hide. This is a mistake, somehow—I just know this is going to end horribly. It’s an inexplicable feeling; a breath on the back of my neck that I’m going to hurt someone by doing this.

  Dad will murder me when he finds out I came all the way out here. In the ‘bad’ part of town, doing the exact opposite of what he’s always explicitly told me never to do. I can hear him now, the hateful, fear-based words like acid off his tongue. I can feel the weight of his disappointment, the hurt and shame in his eyes.

  Lincoln steps into the vestibule at the front of the building, and then out into the street. His dark eyes find mine and he smiles at me. He’s brighter, more spellbinding than even my dreams remembered.

  “Hey, Trouble,” he says, his voice so deep and velvet, melting over me and tempering my nerves into submission. His presence calms me, even now, in broad daylight without a drop of liquor in my blood. He’s all broad shoulders and rough exterior, and then he smiles, and puts the sun to shame.

  “Hey yourself,” I say, taking my hands out of my pockets finally and settling them on my hips.

  He chuckles, shaking his head at my showboating. “Come on in. Your ice cream is gonna melt.”

  “You really have ice cream?” I ask.

  He laughs and reaches out for me, palm up, silently asking for mine. “I said I did, didn’t I?”

  We linger for a moment like that, my eyes trained on his hand like it’s the snake in the apple orchard. This is it, my mind whispers. Last chance to run, to be the good little daddy’s girl everyone pegs me to be. I could disappear once again, run back to the shadows of my sheltered little life and pretend this never happened. Pretend that I never, for even a second, dared myself to be fearless.

  Rage sparks through me at the thought—or maybe it’s at myself for worrying about what this means at all. I’m old enough to make my own decisions and associate with whoever the hell I please. I recognize my father’s racism, though I’ve never been brave enough to call him out for it. I know who—and what—I’m dealing with.

  My fear has nothing to do with this beautiful boy in front of me. It’s all about what my family would think if they knew I was here.

  I’m better than that, I know better.

  I know better.

  Grace, no matter how much of a stranger she may be, is one hundred percent right. Life is short, and maybe this is just a night. Or maybe it’s more. And either way, you can’t help who you fall in love with.

  I pull in a breath and slide my hand in Lincoln’s, marveling at the way his swallows mine whole. I’ve never felt small like this, like a puzzle piece made just for his touch. I meet his eyes and my mouth curls up in the faintest smile I can manage.

  Lincoln smiles, and for just a fleeting moment, I’m not afraid of anything.

  “Okay, okay,” Riley laughs, slamming her empty bowl down on the coffee table. She clutches her head, squinting through the pain of her brain freeze. “Truth or dare, jackass?”

  Tears stream down my face from laughing so hard at her display. After bringing her in and showing her around my little place, we made our way to the gray leather couch with two half gallons of frozen custard and a bottle of whiskey. One way or another, we got around to playing truth or dare. I promptly dared her to swallow the entire big, chocolatey scoop she had balancing on her spoon, that she promptly shoveled down her throat like a boss.

  “I can’t believe you actually did that,” I cackle.

  “Truth or dare?” she laughs furiously, louder now. “It better be fucking good after that. I’m pretty sure that was abuse.”

  “I’m not even sorry,” I say as I wipe the tears from my eyes. I press my hand against my chest, as if that will force air back into my lungs. “Truth.”

  “Oh, typical,” she jokes, and I’m laughing again. “Alright. What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done? Spare no details, I want to be flabbergasted.”

  I shake my head, trying to think of something to tell her. This is where she finds out just how boring I am. “I ate a whole bag of marshmallows once.”

  “Linc,” she hisses, unimpressed.

  “What?” I ask, beaming at her. “I don’t have any fun crazy shit. The craziest thing I’ve ever done is go to prison. I don’t want to be a wet blanket.”

  Trepidation washes over her, and my amusement fizzles out like a lit match in a puddle. “I... I’m not sure why I told you that,” I cough. Riley sits quietly, waiting for an explanation, and as much as I want to come up with a brilliant, sexy backstory, I can’t lie to her. I sigh. “Promise not to judge me?”

  “Did you kill somebody or something?” she says through a forced laugh. When I don’t immediately respond, she pushes away from me on the couch. “You... Did you kill somebody?”

  “It was self-defense,” I say quickly.

  “You don’t go to prison for self-defense, Lincoln, oh my god.”

  “Riley, wait a minute.” I stand up when she does and grab her wrist before she can run out the door. I don’t blame her for trying, hell, I’d be concerned if she didn’t. “Hear me out.”

  She doesn’t want to. I can see that clear as day on her face. She pulls away from my touch and crosses her arms over her chest, sitting carefully on the very edge of the couch. When I stay where I am, frozen, gaping, she nods her head for me to sit beside her. “I’m listening.”

  I sit down on the coffee table across from her, clasping my hands in front of me in the hopes I can hide the shaking from her. “He was there for someone my mom owed money to,” I say. “She was still at work, I was home by myself. He had a baseball bat...”

  “I’m gonna have you pass on a message to your mom,” Royce said. He raised the bat above his head, and I feebly threw my arms over my face like I could possibly defend myself. He was going to beat me to death, leave the house in ruins for my mother to dig through, only to find me a bloodied pulp in the corner.

  “No!” My mother’s scream echoed through the kitchen, followed shortly after by glass breaking over Royce’s wide shoulders. He screamed and stumbled forward, nearly tripping over me as he struggled to regain his balance.

  “Mom,” I gasped.

  “You stupid whore,” Royce howled. He turned away from me, grabbing my mother’s neck with both hands and throwing her back into the living room. Her body flew over the coffee table and collided with the rickety rocking chair, the remnants of the vase she shattered cutting through her hands before Royce was dragging her up by her thick dark hair.

  She screamed at the top of her voice, even as he punched her mouth and choked her. His eyes had grown so dark it was like he’d been possessed, the rage pulsing off him in waves.

  I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t form a single coherent thought. I knew pulling him off was out of the question, and the bat was out of my sight. I rushed into my mom’s bedroom and threw her nightstand drawer open, pulling the heavy glock out and running back to the living room.

  “Stop!” I screamed, hoping I looked intimidating enough to make him leave. I’d never fired a weapon before, hell I’d never even held this thing. Mom would kick my ass if I even suggested learning how to use it, and at that exact moment I hated her for it. Now was a time when I really needed to fight, to be the man of the house, and for all the protection I offered I might as well have not been present. “Get off her, right now!”

  Royce looked up at me, his hands still wrapped around my mother’s throat, and laughed. “Put that down, boy,” he said. “You’re too young to handle the big kid toys.”

  My mom thrashed under his hands until she managed to squirm off the couch and onto the floor. She rolled over onto her stomach, pushing up to all fours before she saw
me, arms locked in front of me, hands shaking so hard I rattled the gun.

  “Lincoln, baby,” she said. There was terror in her eyes, a warning in her voice. She nodded her head, just slightly towards the door, telling me to go. Run. Find help and don’t look back.

  I wasn’t about to do that.

  “Gimme the gun,” Royce said.

  “Fuck you,” I spat.

  “Lincoln,” Mom pleaded.

  Royce stepped towards me, all trepidation gone from his gaze. “I’m done with both of you,” he said. His hand shot out around my wrist and he yanked me forward, wrestling with me for the gun.

  I pulled backwards. His grip on me slipped.

  BANG.

  Mom screamed.

  It all happened so fast. I went from fighting off his hold, to on the ground, looking up at him, watching the blood pouring out of his mouth before he collapsed.

  I shot him.

  Oh, God, I shot him.

  I scrambled forward and put my hands over the wound in his side. It pierced him through the gut, tearing through his ribcage and lodging in the left side of his waist. The blood wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t slow. It spilled over my fingers and spouted against my shirt.

  Mom was still screaming. My name, for God, “what did you do?!” She got to a phone at some point, calling for an ambulance.

  Royce was cold before they arrived, but still I was over him, trying to bring him back to life.

  “Wait a minute,” Riley says, waving her hands in front of her to stop my recantation of the worst night of my life. “That really is self-defense.”

  “I know,” I say. “I’ve had enough therapy to know that.”

  “I don’t understand. You shot him in self-defense and in defense of your mom,” she continues. “There’s not even a case to pursue.”

  “Mom tried to fight them,” I say, “tell them Royce was trying to kill us both and I was just trying to save us. She tried to get them out of trying me as an adult, out of fighting for the death penalty, but it didn’t work out like that.

  “We couldn’t afford an attorney, so...I guess for having a public defender I could’ve gotten worse. The DA tried to charge me with first degree murder, saying I’d been plotting this for months.”

  “What the fuck?” she asks.

  “Amazing what one text to a friend, one little ‘I wish he were dead’ comment in writing will do to you on trial.”

  “So what happened?” she asks. She edges forward on the couch, grabbing my knees like she needs to touch me just to know I’m really there. “Why’d you go to jail?”

  “DA offered Man Two,” I say. “Six year sentence, got out in five. Moved to Denver to start over.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “She died,” I say. “Cancer.”

  Riley’s face falls. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You don’t have many black friends, do you?”

  She visibly startles at the abruptness of my question, and I cover her hands with mine to calm her down. “It’s alright,” I say. “I figured as much.”

  “Why is that?” she asks, her shaking voice barely above a whisper.

  “You can’t imagine a cop being that brutal to someone who thought their mom was going to be murdered,” I say, sober, but soft. I feel like I’m beating her over the head with accusations, and I don’t want to scare her away. It’s curiosity more than anything, my friend’s assumptions of her seeping into my mind. “You did ask to be flabbergasted, though, so, I’d say I accomplished my mission.”

  She gulps and pulls in a stuttering breath, fighting back tears. “I’m so sorry.”

  I frown at the tremor in her voice, her pain lancing through me. I let my hand come up, slow and unsure, like she’s a wounded deer I might spook, and settle against her soft cheek. I brush my fingertips against her jumping pulse, while the palm of my hand cups her jaw like glass. “I’m used to it, Trouble,” I answer softly.

  She closes her eyes and leans into my touch, reaching to hang on to my wrist and keep me against her. “I’m sorry for that, too.”

  My thumb trails down her cheek and to her mouth, tenderly brushing the skin just beneath. She parts her lips for me and her eyes flutter open as she squeezes my wrist. I bite my tongue as I watch her, running the pad of my thumb over her lower lip. Her lip gloss smears over my finger, the menthol tingling against the agitation and I catch my breath when she leans in closer.

  I want to kiss her again. I want to do so much more than kiss her. I want to touch her, explore every last inch of her body. I want to kiss her skin, lick my way from her neck to her toes, bury my face between her long legs until her nails are ripping out my hair and cutting through my head from the pleasure I give her.

  Fuck. I haven’t done for myself, haven’t taken what I want in so long I hardly remember what it feels like.

  I think tonight, I just might.

  Lincoln drives me wild with his midnight eyes. They scorch straight through me and light me aflame from the inside, my bones the kindling to his spark. I lean into the heat. I need him to consume me, until all I know is the fire of his touch.

  “Riley,” he growls, driving his fingers roughly through my hair. He pulls my face close to his, his nose bumping against my cheek, lips dragging over my chin. And then he’s gone, letting me go and pulling back. “Your drink is empty.”

  “What?” I ask, dazed and feeling the loss of his touch in the hollow of my chest.

  “Your drink,” he sputters, pushing himself further away from me to grab my empty tumbler off the table. “It’s...empty, I’ll get you s’more ice.”

  I grab his hand before he can run off to the kitchen. What just happened? Wasn’t he just about to kiss me? I didn’t just make that up. The look in his eyes said it all. Where the hell does he think he’s going? “Are you all right?” I ask aloud instead of the million other questions in my mind. Last thing I want to do is sound as desperate as my body feels right now.

  “Yeah, of course,” he says, schooling his voice back into that carefree, playful tone he introduced himself with. “Shit just got real heavy, y’know? We’re both too sober for that.”

  I squint at him, humming my acknowledgement, and he buckles.

  “That weak of an excuse?” he asks. “Seriously?”

  I giggle. “You’re kinda cute when you’re shy.”

  He coughs, forcing a laugh. “You keep talking like that and I’m gonna be forced to have my way with you.”

  My heart hiccups. “Why won’t you?”

  He swallows. “I would if you hadn’t been drinking.”

  “Ah, so we’re too sober for personal conversations, but too drunk for you to screw me,” I sigh. “I appreciate the chivalry, Linc, but...”

  He laughs, leaning toward me again, close enough I feel his words like a physical caress. “You trying to cause trouble again?” he growls.

  “Maybe,” I whisper. “Is it working?”

  “Every damn time.”

  A darkness passes through his eyes that makes my whole body tremble with want. He looks right through me, invading every corner of my mind with his black velvet gaze. With a hunger like he wants to devour every last one of my secrets. He clenches a fist, stopping himself, and I want to curse at him. I want his mouth, his hands on me. I want him to throw me to the floor and claim me as his.

  There is something wrong with me, to want him so bad when, not only do I hardly know him, but directly after he’s confessed he’s been to prison. For murder.

  But I believe his story.

  I believe he had no choice.

  I believe he was in a corner and had no way out, more than I believe my own father.

  What is wrong with me?

  “C’mere,” he prompts, his voice like gravel now. He sounds like he’s in physical pain from his restraint. Good. At least it’s not just me with the tension between my legs tonight.

  I give him my hands and he pulls me off the ground. My knees quake, and I can tell by the smirk o
n his face he knows it’s not from the Jack and Coke. “Maybe I am a little tipsy,” I admit, in spite of how badly I want to lie.

  “Right,” he says, all wide eyed and mocking. “A little.”

  “I should go.” I push my hair off my face and squeeze the back of my neck, feeling the sweat building there. Can’t blame the liquor for that either, I’m afraid.

  “Or...” he pauses. “I mean. You could stay, if you want. We could watch a movie. I’ll take you home in the morning.”

  “My dad will have the whole station out looking for me if I do that,” I tell him, another pathetic excuse. My dad is back on the overnights, I probably won’t see him ’til the weekend. At this point I’m more concerned I’m going to tear off my clothes and fling myself at Lincoln despite how hard he’s trying to be a good guy.

  Linc blushes and nods his head fast. “Right, yeah—wouldn’t want that.” He chuckles, his head falling suddenly to examine the carpet. “Well, um. Call me later?”

  “Definitely, definitely,” I say.

  I watch him take a step back, grab up the bottles and empty cartons of ice cream, then move toward the kitchen as I head for the door.

  My thighs tingle with every step, a pins and needles feeling like they’ve been asleep for hours. I don’t know what’s so special about this boy. I don’t understand the way my heart hammers whenever he smiles, or how I want to let him touch me in ways I’ve never truly craved before. This is insanity. It’s not like I haven’t had my fair share of boys in my life, and nothing has ever felt so intense as when he looks at me. But my soul recognizes his, and I won’t let the prejudices that plague my family name keep me from knowing him better.

  I’ve made up my mind. And there’s no changing it. “Lincoln?”

  Linc’s eyes move up from the sink, a flicker of hope and confusion crossing them when he sees me still standing there. “Trouble?”

  “Drive me home, Gorgeous,” I say. “I’m not ready to say goodnight yet.”

  Driving back to my house is a noisy adventure. Linc is surprised to find out I like rap music, and even more so that I know the words to some of the more popular songs. He hypes me up as I spit through the fastest lines my tongue can handle, and my giggles quickly become uncontrollable as he pinches his nose and squeaks his way through the queens.