I expect a bonfire, fishing poles, shitty beer, cowboy boots and hats. There’s a fire, but it’s a car. A car is burning in the middle of a field. No fishing poles and shitty beer. That’s replaced with liquor and a variety of beer along with pot smoke. There are a couple kids in cowboy boots, but mostly everyone is wearing swimming trunks and bikinis. They’re all a bunch of normal kids. And when we make our way toward the burning car, people are high-fiving Brandt while staring at me.
“That your girl, Brandt?” someone calls out.
“Damn right.” His arm drapes over my shoulders and he pulls me closer.
When I try to push out of his grasp he kisses my cheek and I almost throw myself to the ground to get away from him.
“What the fuck?” I blurt, creeped out that my step brother has the way wrong idea.
“Chill out, Jo.” He laughs at me. “That’s Gary and he tries to fuck anything female. If he thinks you’re with me, he’ll leave you alone.”
“I’m not with you,” I assure and move farther away from him.
“Am I that bad? Bet I’m better looking than your city friends.”
I ignore him and try to erase the feeling of him against me from when he put me down earlier. My body has the feel of him still pressed into it and I hate it. It's just not right.
I sit and watch Brandt grab a beer and start the evening off chugging it with a couple guys nearby, then he walks over and sits next to me on the tree bench.
"You just gonna sit there and be bored all night? We could be partying right now with those guys," he says, nodding toward a group that's closer to the fire.
"Do what you have to do," I grumble. "Partying when you're a recovering addict isn't really a thing. Way to make my night suck." I give him a shitty grin and roll my eyes, but I don't really mean it. It's actually kinda fun watching these idiots.
"Yeah, I mean... You're right." He glances around at everyone drinking and nods. "I'm so sorry, Jo. Next time we'll do the movies or dinner or somethin'. Just me and you." He rests his hand on my knee and I shove it off immediately.
This guy needs to back the fuck up and only because my neglected sex drive is being confused by my...stupid step brother. “You’re my step brother!” I blurt and he immediately whoops, jumping in the air.
“So you admit it!” he roars excitedly and tugs me to hug him. "Awe look at us, one big happy family, Jo!"
“Do you do drugs?” I whisper, legitimately concerned something’s wrong with this kid.
“Sometimes.” He shrugs and laughs. “Got an issue with it? I won't push any on ya. I'll be good, promise," he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.
I drop my head and groan. "I really don't care what you do. If you just left me back at your parents' place, we could have just gone on with our separate lives."
“Hey, cutie.” A blonde in a tank and cut off shorts snakes over to him, having no care I’m under his arm and held -against my will- at his side.
“Cutie.” I scowl and get the bitch glare.
“Who’s this?”
“Kinlee, this is Jo. Jo, this is Kinlee.” He lets me go to pick up the blonde and spins in a circle while kissing her cheek making loud, annoying noises.
I can’t with this shit. This is either the start of a horror movie or a Hallmark movie and I’m not down for either.
“Cutie,” I mock her and tug his arm. Cutting the shit I blandly say, “I want to leave.”
“Relax, Jo."
Goldilocks turns to me and blurts, "I'll be right back," and runs off.
"Your friends are awesome," I exaggerate while watching the country belle gallop away in her cowboy boots and short shorts.
"I know you're making fun of them, but they're really good people." He nudges me. "They'll grow on ya."
"Know what would be awesome? If you left me alone and enjoyed your really good people yourself," I grumble.
When Suzy Homemaker skips back over and tries to hand me a beer, I take it, figuring what the hell. It'll be better than staying sober. Brandt grabs it, opens it, and drinks it in like three gulps.
I’m pissed and impressed; I just stare with my mouth agape until he says, “Thanks, babe. Jo doesn’t drink. She’s on medication and if she drinks, she’ll die.” He gives me an evil smirk and I gasp.
“Oh no!” Suzy gasps.
“But, she’s always trying. She doesn’t want to live with this anymore, but dammit, I ain’t gonna let her go.” His grin lands on me before he looks at Goldilocks again, serious as ever.
“I’m not on meds,” I blurt.
“See. I wish she could drink, but I don’t want her to die.” Brandt wraps his arm over my shoulder and Suzy gives me an apologetic smile like she feels sorry for me.
“That’s sad.” A compassionate squeeze hits my shoulder and I grimace at her touch. “I’ll catch up with you guys later,” she says when someone calls her name, then she skips away.
“She’s got the biggest mouth in the county. Try picking up a drink.” He grins and I groan.
“Fuck this shit.” I pull away and try to head back for his truck.
“I know I’m a dick, but my dad would whoop my ass if I brought you back drunk tonight,” he says, steering me back toward our original destination.
“I’m telling your dad you drank,” I cattily snip and he laughs.
“No you won’t. Plus you gotta drive tonight.” He shoves his keys into my jeans pocket and I scowl at him. "Don't leave me here. Donna would be pissed if she found out you left me here to be eaten by the coyotes. No family left behind!" he boasts, pumping his fist in the air.
I pause as I watch that handsome smile spread his lips. He's too good looking for his own good and probably knows it.
"We're not family." I try to get away from his close proximity.
“And praise God for that. But either way, your mom's my step mom and I can't break her heart and let her daughter go back to that old lifestyle. We're gonna get ya clean and taken care of, Jo." He pats my back.
“Shit, Brandt. You’re a walking sappy movie.” I huff and pull away from him for the umpteenth time.
“Girls like sappy.” He grins at me and I stare at him, getting a terrible idea. “Don’t look at me like that, Jo.” He looks away with a smile on his face and shake of his head.
“What?” I play coy and grab the bulge of his bicep, not mad about it.
“Back up a little there, Jo. You aren’t gonna sleep with me to piss your mom off.”
I officially hate this kid. He’s one step ahead of me and I thought he was going to be some southern doofus with a peanut brain. He's a smooth-talking, good-looking cowboy and I'm not used to these types of men. I'm also not used to this type of man being my fucking step brother. And he's absolutely right. The bad idea to piss Donna off did enter my head. But on the other hand, it wouldn't be a chore.
“Why are you so smart?” I ask and that cowboy laugh roars from him as he tugs me to his side again.
“Definitely wasn’t the public education, but my dad’s pretty smart. And even though you probably don’t think it, your mom is too. They taught me everything I know.”
“That’s sad.” I give him a shove because I’m sick of being under his arm. The fleeting thought of ways to piss Donna off is long gone. The kid’s my step brother and somehow, somewhere, sleeping with him is wrong. Honestly, I wouldn’t care, but it’d cause some issues for him at home and I’m not trying to make his life hell. Just Donna’s. “Stop latching on like you’re my boyfriend.”
“I’m latching on like I’ll stomp some ass if anyone fucks with you. You’re the new girl. You’re a little different. People are gonna fuck with you until they get used to you.”
“Holy shit. I cannot believe you just said that.”
“What?”
“I’m a little different.” I scowl up at him.
“You’re a goth girl in the country. Don’t take offense.”
“No one’s going to fuck with me or get used to me. I don’t even know how I let you drag me out here. Oh wait...physical force.” I slap my arm where I feel a bite and he starts to walk me across the field. “I’m really, seriously, dead serious, Brandt. I want to go back to the house.”
“I just want to introduce you to one person. My friend Bo. I think you’ll like him.”
“No. No, no, Brandt. This ain’t gonna be like one of those, I’m gonna hook up with your best friend things and we’re all gonna be tight and hunt together and shit.” I plant my feet and he stops walking then spins to face me, wearing that smile.
“Bo’s sister is the local dealer. He can hook you up with some shit as good as cannabis but don’t get you addicted. I think he can help you out with anything you might need without you becoming dependent again.” He shrugs and I roll my eyes at his naivety.
“Can he help me out with sleep? Because I really need to get to sleep.”
“Are you dead?” Once again, he wraps his arm over my shoulders.
“Almost.” I nod and he laughs until the rumble and roar of what sounds like several motorcycles halt his steps. His grip on my shoulder becomes tight. “Let’s go.” We begin a march toward his truck but I duck out of his arm.
“I want to meet Bo,” I lie, wanting to stick around for whatever’s approaching. Whatever it is has him pissed and I think I see worry on his rugged baby face.
“Jo.” He tries to grab my arm but I start to hustle toward the fire. “Dammit,” he blurts and is on my heels in a second. “Just stick by me and…and.” He glances around. “Chase,” he calls out, pulling me toward Chase. “What the hell they doing here, man?”
“Amber.” Chase randomly points toward the water and Brandt cusses, dropping his head.
“Who’s Amber?” I ask.
“I’m Chase.” His southern drawl makes me stare at him like he’s speaking a foreign language.
“Jo,” I finally respond and take his hand.
When he kisses my knuckles Brandt yanks my hand away from him. “She's not interested, man. Step back,” he grumbles but his eyes shoot toward the increasing noise of motorcycles.
When I look, there are anywhere from fifteen to twenty pulling into this field. People are flocking toward them while others move farther away. When I hear a siren behind me I whip around to see it’s actually a group of girls squealing and running toward the motorcycles.
“Can you fill me in?” I say when Brandt cusses again.
“Just stay away from them,” he grumbles.
“That’s not filling me in.” I almost trip when he yanks my arm and we head toward the water, farther away from the motorcycles.
“Where you from, Jo?” Chase asks.
“New York.”
“So you know what a gang is. That’s a gang.” He gestures toward the motorcycles and snorting laughter rolling from me makes Brandt scowl at me.
“I’m sorry.” I wipe at my eyes. “I’m sorry. I just pictured them rolling up on horses and doing a drive by.”
“Don’t be stupid, Jo,” Brandt snarls and he’s seriously pissed. “Just because we’re from the south doesn’t mean we’re not fucking people. There are dangerous people all over the world and those are some of the scummiest.” He points toward the motorcycles and it makes my gaze linger.
I’m used to scummy, bad guys if you will. Sounds like these are more the type of people I belong around.
“Do they have southern drawls too?” I try to bite back laughter while Brandt scowls at me and Chase stares, studying me. “I’m sorry. Sorry, Brandt.” I tug his sleeve.
I don’t know him well, but he’s a good kid and genuinely seems to want to be friends, or family...or whatever with me. I don’t want to piss him off.
It takes him a second, but his face softens and he puts his arm over my shoulders. “Just stay away from them.”
“That won’t be a problem. As soon as you get me back to the house, I probably won’t leave my room.”
“Why not?” Chase asks with interest.
“She thinks my dad and Donna are gonna let her sleep her life away. I keep trying to tell her it ain’t gonna happen.”
“Shit, Garrison’s motto is sleep when you’re dead.” Chase chuckles. “And Donna…” He takes a minute until a grin creeps his face.
“Take it easy.” Brandt shoves his head. “That’s her mom.”
“Oh, gross,” I groan, realizing he has a thing for Donna.
“That’s a good-looking woman.” Chase nods still with that grin.
Brandt pulls me away and I’m thrust into a crowd of people. When someone tries to offer me a drink, Suzy Homemaker appears and saves the fucking day.
“She can’t drink!” The worry and gasp in her tone makes me groan. “She’s sick,” she whispers like she’s on a megaphone.
“Oh my god,” I grumble and Brandt laughs, patting me on the back. “I hate you,” I whisper, tugging my hood farther onto my head.
“Come on, Jo!” He yanks me to sit next to him, squeezing me against his side and I stare at his boots tucked into his jeans.
They’re having a great time while I’m wondering how comfortable those boots actually are. They look uncomfortable, especially for a man. Brandt’s massive feet look like he killed a whole herd for those boat boots. Suddenly the crowd gets quieter and I look up to see a few guys from the ‘motorcycle gang’ entering our circle. Brandt gets to his feet and I swear the kid just grew two inches taller. I look over three of the four guys and when my eyes land on the fourth I let out a quiet chuckle because the idiot is walking around the dark with his helmet on and the blacked-out faceplate still down. I know a tool when I see one.
Suddenly the three of them look at the one wearing the helmet and when he nods, one of the three steps forward and says, “Who’s the new guy.” He nods toward me.
Okay. I may not be feminine with curves, boobs, or anything else womanly about me, but I don’t look like a guy. At least I didn’t think I did. I stand up and of course offended, I shove my hood off and push my flat chest into this kid’s who has to be younger than me.
“I’m a chick,” I growl before being pulled back to stand next to Brandt. “What’s this Darth Vader shit?” I grumble looking at the guy wearing the helmet. There are a few chuckles, but mostly everyone stays quiet and people start to shuffle back.
“Jo, shut up,” Brandt stiffly says next to me.
“Fuck these guys, they called me a dude.” I try to step forward again because maybe causing some trouble might be fun tonight. Not only that, but maybe it’ll get Brandt to leave me alone and not want to do this bonding shit again.
“Fuck you doing over here, Fayer?” Brandt is staring at helmet face and I’m wondering why the fuck everyone is acting like this is normal. Why the fuck he’s communicating with these other three idiots who I now notice have weird earpieces in.
“We just came to see what Amber was up to. What kind of assholes she was hanging out with tonight.” The asshole that called me a guy looks around the group.
“Take her home if you don’t want her on our grounds.” Brandt is so pissed he’s shaking. And if he’s afraid right now, he has a hell of a poker face.
“They ain’t your grounds, Brandt,” another one of the guys says.
“They sure as hell aren’t yours. I’m pretty sure you guys are breaking a few laws right now.”
Helmet head starts to laugh, throwing his head back and even muffled through the helmet it’s deep and full of angered humor.
“Come on, Brandt,” Chase quietly says, taking another step away.
“Go on, Brandt,” the original asshole mocks. “Run away, pussy.”
I whip around to defend him 'cause for some reason I feel like only I can call him a pussy, but my arm is grabbed and I’m being tugged away. Fuck that!
“Who the fuck are these guys, Brandt?” I bark, shocked we’re actually retreating.
There are a hell of a lot more people here than this ‘motorcycle gang’.
“Run, little boy.”
When I look back, I notice the one I really fucking hate for calling me a dude was talking to me, calling me a little boy. I’m a weasel. I’ll fight if I have to. But let’s not kid ourselves, I’m not taking any dudes down. But this asshole has pissed me off on the wrong fucking day so I jerk out of Brandt’s grip and rush the fucker. Helmet head grabs the neck of my hoodie in his gloved hand and he yanks me to stand in front of him.
“Jo,” Brandt growls and is on my back, grabbing my arm but I’m still in helmet head’s grasp. “Let her go, Cash.”
“Stupid fucking name,” I say then swiftly smack the faceplate of his helmet up but it doesn’t budge and he just chuckles, shaking his head and releasing my collar.
“Who is she?” the other asshole asks.
"Donna's daughter,” Brandt growls and pulls me behind his back, having a stare-down with helmet head.
Helmet head lifts his faceplate but it’s too dark to see anything and he says, “I’ll see you around, Jo.”
“Fuck you.” I spit toward his feet and Brandt yanks me away.
“What the hell, Jo?” he quietly groans.
“You’re all a bunch of pussies. Take me home.” I realize I called it home, but I’m pissed they’re all intimidated by these idiots on motorcycles and probably only because they ride motorcycles.
“You don’t know anything about those guys. Stop trying to act so tough.”
“Let’s get something straight, I’m not intimidated by assholes. I’ve been through worse than them.”
The rev of motorcycle engines start to roar and helmet head leads the stupid pack away, looking in our direction so I put up my middle finger. When Brandt sees it, he yanks my arm down.
“You just caused a lot of trouble and all for nothing!” he growls at me.
“They called me a dude!”
“You had your hood up! They couldn’t see if you were a dog or a human!”
“They’re a bunch of kids! How old are you guys? Eighteen?”
“You’re not much older than us, Jo. And most of them are older than you.”
“Man, Jo.” Chase jogs our way looking at me like I’m crazy. “I know you’re new and all, but you can’t be doing that kind of stuff with those guys.”
“Why the fuck not? I’ve been punched in the face by dudes twice their size.”
“They won’t punch you in the face,” Brandt growls, jerking me to look at him. “They’re the type that’ll rape your dead body.”
“I’ve been around those types too.” I pull out of Brandt’s hands.
“They usually leave us alone. They’re just dangerous.” Chase shrugs and I scowl at him.
I don’t know what I’m so pissed about. I don’t plan on being around long enough for these people to be my friends, or this land to become my stomping grounds. I just hate pussies that won’t stick up for themselves. And I don’t want to admit it, but I don’t like Brandt being intimidated by people. Like I said, I don’t know the kid, and I didn’t plan on getting to know him, but he’s grown on me in these couple of weeks. I think if I ever wanted a friend around here, I’d want them to be like Brandt, until I saw his sissy display.
Before I can demand to go home we’re rushed by a beer bong and a shit ton of alcohol. As I reach for the whiskey bottle being passed to me, I catch Brandt’s eye and he’s not stopping me, but the look of utter disappointment on his face has me declining the bottle for some reason. I have to remain sober to drive this kid home. Surprisingly the night still turns out fun. Watching a bunch of southern kids get drunk is hilarious. They’re good people and I don’t fit in with them, but damn their proper upbringings and trying to make me feel at home.
As I kill the truck lights when we get close to the house I start panicking because I have to get a drunk Brandt into the guesthouse without his dad seeing us.
I open the passenger door and look at all the keys on this key ring. “Shit, I don’t know which key.”
He jumps out of the truck, stumbling and almost landing on his face but I grab him and almost get pummeled until he gets his footing. As he haphazardly grabs the keys from me, making way too much noise, I’m about to fight them out of his hands, but he holds one up and loudly tells me to “shhhh”.
When I head for the door he yanks me backward and I stumble.
“Brandt.” I shove him and he falls to his face, laughing the whole time. “Oh shit.” I grab him because I forgot how fucked up he is. He’s still laughing but he has blood coming from his nose. “Oh god. Dude, I’m so sorry.”
“Shh. Shhhh. Shh, shh.” His finger is over my lips and he leans in so close our lips almost touch until I pull back.
He starts to walk to the back of the house. I notice the back door is more isolated from Donna’s house and realize why he prefers this entrance. This is kind of cool. For him, I mean. Technically living with your parents but with your own privacy. I like that.
Know what I don’t like? Feeling obligated to tend to a puking nineteen year old. I looked out for my friends on the streets, but we were never so stupid we got too fucked up to look out for ourselves. I try to walk away five times but I feel too guilty when his groans fill the bathroom. I pop a squat next to him and he grabs my hand, still with his head hanging over the toilet. Anytime I try to leave the bathroom, he groans and grips my hand tighter. I sigh and lean against the bathtub. When he rests his head on the toilet seat I hesitantly reach out to touch his hair. His eyes are closed and he may be passed out so I slide my fingers through his locks and close my eyes. My hand yanks away when he shifts but he blindly reaches out and groans my name. His fingers curl around my wrist and he pulls my hand back to his hair. I shouldn’t be petting him like this but it seems to help with the sickness. That’s a good enough excuse.
When I finally get to sleep closer to four in the morning it doesn't seem like long before I’m woken up by knocking at my door.
“Hey, you decent?” Brandt’s strong voice carries through the door.
“Fuck!” I grunt covering my eyes because I just want to sleep! “Go away!”
“Coming in.” And the doors open.
“Fuck, Brandt. Fuck! Do you know what I haven’t done in years? Sleep. I haven’t slept. I want to sleep in until there’s no point in waking up!” I throw a pillow at him.
“It’s one in the afternoon, Jo.” Something is set on my stomach and I move my hands to see he brought some sort of breakfast peace offering thing. “I’m sorry about last night.” He smiles at me with that young, jovial smile. “And thanks. I thought you being here might kind of suck, but you’re awesome.”
“It’ll start to suck. Give it time. Thanks for breakfast,” I mutter and sit up.
“Take a shower then I’ll take you into town to look for a job.”
I start to laugh and place the plate on the dresser next to the bed before uncovering and heading for the bathroom.
“I’m not getting a job, Brandt. I’m not doing shit here. Donna and your dad can kick me out.” I shrug before closing the door.
“They won’t kick you out, but don’t you want money to…buy stuff?” he calls through the closed door.
Wiping, I roll my eyes and take my time washing my hands with this fancy soap.
“There’s nothing I want or need. I was homeless, Brandt. I haven’t bought stuff other than drugs for the past five years.”
“But that was before you showed up here. Now you’re turning your life around.” His positive smile makes me want to laugh in his face, but I get back in bed and grab the plate.
“Can I ask you something without sounding like a huge bitch?” I look from the plate to him.
“Shoot.”
“What the fuck do you care what I do with my life?”
“'Cause I feel like you could do way more with your life. Family shit... You know.”
“But I’m not your family. Not at all. And we don’t even know each other. You can’t possibly say that you really consider me family.” Because I certainly don't consider him family. Family doesn't check out family and let their horny brain dream about them. I don't want anything sexual with this kid, and the last thing I want is to have sex dreams about family.
“Hell, Jo," he huffs. "I don't know if I'd consider you family, but you showed up at my house. You’re my step mom’s daughter. My dad cares about you and your well-being because he loves your mom, so I feel some type of connection.”
“And what if I said I don’t want any of that? I want to be left alone?”
“I’d bother you until you accepted I'm not going away.” He grins and heads for the door. “Eat, shower, I’ll meet you in the living room in an hour. I’m gonna go feed the horses.”
“Oh my god.” I can’t believe this is my life. “I live on a fucking farm.”
“I heard city life is worse than this,” he says on his way out of my room.
“I’m not sure which is worse,” I grumble to myself and look down at the plate of eggs, bacon and a glop of peanut butter. “Certainly not breakfast in bed.” I look at the clock relieved because I thought it was like eight in the morning but he actually let me sleep until one.
It takes me a little longer than an hour and mainly because I haven’t showered in a shower that big until I showed up here. Not to mention I don’t have a time limit. I have limitless hot water. I have shit to shave with. Soap that smells good and actually washes away dirt. Shampoo that costs more than my entire wardrobe. It’s not surprising, seeing how most of my shit came from Goodwill, but my hair has never felt cleaner, which also means my blonde roots are showing enough I'm starting to look bald.
“Hey. Can you take me to get some hair dye?” I ask while walking into the living room. I don’t have money, but I usually get a five-finger discount.
When I’m confronted by my mom and not Brandt I huff.
“I told you I’ll take you to see Crystal,” she immediately says.
“I don’t want to go to your fancy hairdresser,” I groan heading into the kitchen. “Where’s Brandt? He was going to take me into town.”
“Garrison has a few things he needs Brandt to do. I’ll take you into town.” She’s like an excited kid right now and it makes me cringe.
“It’s cool. I’ll wait till Brandt can take me.” I grab the peanut butter.
“Come on, honey,” she whines and I turn around shocked that tone just came from her voice. “Let’s go do girl stuff! It’ll be fun! Just humor me, Jolene. I miss my baby girl.”
“Don’t call me that.” I prepare to wash the few dishes in the sink, but before I can soap up the sponge, she turns the water off.
“We’ll do some shopping, pick up whatever you need. Get our hair done. Maybe nails. Then dinner.”
I’m not generally a violent person unprovoked, but I want to slap the smile off her face. And yet, I don’t tell her no because I wonder what this feels like. Living with no limit. Maybe I can break Donna, and if not, I can try and break her bank.
Once Donna realized I wasn’t going to play house with her, she stopped trying to engage me in conversation and I got to listen to catty women gossip about other catty women while we got our hair done. I wasn’t going to get my nails done, but I was stuck there, so I got them cleaned up. No acrylic bullshit, but they were filed, cleaned up and painted deep red and I couldn’t stop admiring them. I’d never had my nails done and the last time they were polished was when I was around fifteen. They look pretty but are so out of place on my body I keep trying to hide them. I’m not pretty. This isn’t a ‘woe is me, I’m so ugly’ type of plea, I’m just not the pretty girl and I don’t want to be. I’ll admit I went out of my way to be exceptionally ugly at times because living on the street and running with the people I did, you don’t want to be the pretty girl. I learned my lesson on that when I first ran away. I continued to dress like a trashy sixteen-year-old girl and I tried to do my makeup for the first few months. It was all short lived after the attention I drew from some unfavorable people. Anyway, I’m just not the pretty girl and am totally okay with going unnoticed.
Unfortunately that didn’t last long.
“Jo!” The overly girly voice calling my name makes me hate Brandt right now because I know this is one of his friends. “Hey, Jo.” Suzy Homemaker pops up in front of me and I drop my head, planning Brandt's death. “Remember me? Kinlee?”
“No. I’m sorry. Do we know each other?”
“I’m Brandt's friend. I met you last night.” She’s giggling and her pink lips are glittery and…gag.
“Nope. I think you have me mistaken.”
“Oh my god. No! I’d recognize you. But you got your hair done. It’s pretty.” She’s pointing at my head and I quickly point my finger in her face.
“It’s not fucking pretty, okay,” I growl and she takes a step back as fear registers.
“Jo,” Donna comes out of nowhere and lowers my finger so I yank my hand out of hers. “Is there a problem, girls?”
“Hi, Mrs. Kenshaw.” Kinlee is smiling again.
“Hi, honey. Jo?” Donna says again.
“I met Kinlee last night.” I give a tight-lipped smile. “Later, Suzy.” I walk around her and head for the car.
“Honey.” Donna’s heels click as she hustles behind me. “Do you have a problem with Kinlee?”
“No,” I snicker because I doubt anyone has a problem with that bimbo.
“Okay.” She eyes me curiously. “Let’s get you some new clothes. Whad’ya say?”
I take a deep breath to bitch her out then remember breaking Donna’s bank is part of the game.
I’ve never actually shopped. I stole so I had to make hasty decisions when I needed something new, but we’ve been shopping for hours and she hasn’t stopped. I’ve tried on more shit than I’ve ever wanted to. She bought even more shit than I'd ever need. I won’t even wear this stuff. I have enough shit to wear that I’ll probably never need to wash clothes. I can wear something once and throw it out and still be set. This is ridiculous, but she’s still not stopping. The one good thing though, she picked up on my style fast. Not that I have style, but her country bumpkin bullshit wasn’t pushed. She’s sticking to the darker colors, plainer clothes, and I actually bought a couple dresses because it’s hot as hell in this hell.
“Let’s get some dinner.” When I see her frown after my eye roll, I huff. “We can head home.”
“I’m just tired, but we might as well eat because I’m hungry.” I cross my arms over my chest and follow her into a restaurant that seems like a burger would cost more than the wardrobe she just bought me. “Bathroom.” I head in the opposite direction as she’s being escorted to a table.
The thought to ditch her makes me smirk, but we headed to the city to shop so we’re about an hour away from home. Washing my hands, I admire my nails and when I smile I chastise myself. Hearing the bathroom door I quickly grab a towel and avert my gaze because I don’t want to exchange casualties with the likes of anyone that would be in this restaurant. As I’m heading for the door I’m shoved against the wall and a strong hand clamps over my mouth, slamming my head against the marbled wall. I look into the eyes of a man I’ve never seen as he stares down at me, all emotions clean from his face. As soon as my eyes follow the scar that’s badly maiming down the left side of his cheek, he clamps his fingers tighter and shakes my head so I look him in the eyes.
“Hi again, Jo,” he says and my brows furrow as I try to think back to the night before and who I met at the bonfire and who fucking hated me. That would be no one. I didn’t say much.
He’s just staring at me since he’s said that and I can’t talk, my face is on fire from his grasp and I think my head might be bleeding.
“You’re not scared,” he finally says, dropping his head. “I don’t like that. You need to be scared.”
I growl the words, “Fuck you,” but of course they didn’t sound like much around his hand.
“When they’re not scared is when I have to do something to make them scared.”
I roll my eyes at his psychobabble and the fact I can’t take him seriously with that southern accent. It’s not as heavy as Brandt’s, but it’s there.
“I’m just kind of wondering where the fuck you came from.”
I roll my eyes again because this conversation is really lame only one sided.
“You’re here with Donna Kenshaw and you were with Brandt Kenshaw last night.” He drops his hand and I wince, raising mine to the back of my head.
“God, you’re a dick.” I look at him again and now that I’m not restricted from movement I can get a better look.
He’s a younger guy, attractive but that scar really fucks him up. I don’t recognize him from last night but obviously we met.
“I’ve been called worse.”
I turn for the door, but he trips me and I go down, then his knee is in my back. “I said where’d you come from?”
“You didn’t say that, you cock sucker,” I groan through the pain in my chest.
“Why are you with the Kenshaws?” he growls, yanking my head back by my hair.
“Because,” I groan then mumble my response.
“What?” He gets closer to my mouth.
“Because fuck you,” I whisper when he’s close enough.
“Because fuck you.” He chuckles then suddenly flips me and slams me to my back hard enough my eyes close.
“Fuck,” I groan.
“I don’t like hurting pretty girls, Jo. Answer my questions,” he snarls and I see red.
So apparently I have a problem with being called pretty. I never realized it because I haven’t been called pretty for as long as I can remember. My knee meets his groin and my thumbnails gouge into his eyes, but he closed them before I could do any real damage.
“Fuck!” He groans while holding himself.
Rushing to my feet so I can get the fuck out of this bathroom, he grabs my ankle and yanks me back down to the ground.
“Goddammit,” he moans trying to crawl over me while I flail to get away.
He’s in pain, that much is clear, and he’s much weaker than he was when we started this, but I’m still no match because I need to eat a fucking cheeseburger. I’m one of those girls. The ones that curvy girls bash because I’m too skinny. Some girls can’t help it, and then there are girls like me that have drugs keeping them skinny coupled with the fact I rarely eat. And only because I can’t afford it. I actually looked forward to gaining some weight when Donna picked me up. I gained eight pounds while in rehab and I thought I actually had a tiny handful of tit.
“Shit,” he breathes once his weight is on top of my back and he has me pinned to the floor. “I should bash your face into this floor.”
“Fucking do it,” I pant, out of breath from my failed escape.
“Shit,” he huffs, still trying to fight through the pain. “Tell me how you know the Kenshaws.”
I’m about to retort with something along the lines of ‘fuck you’ but I feel a prick right under my ear. It’s a sensation I’m familiar with from living on the streets and I realize he has a knife to me.
“Donna is my mom,” I respond, envisioning getting stabbed right under the ear and wanting to avoid that at all costs.
The bathroom is silent except for our panting breaths and when his forehead lowers to the back of my shoulder I smirk that I hurt him that bad when I kneed him.
When there’s a knock at the bathroom door, my eyes flash to the heavy wood and I realize he locked it, which explains why all this went on uninterrupted.
“Stand up,” he quietly says, voice still filled with pain. “If you say a word, I will stab you.” He leads me to the end stall and ushers me inside then to stand on the toilet.
“What the fuck do you want, man?” I grumble because I’m super hungry.
“I need your help.” His blue eyes meet mine and I scowl at him.
“You think I’m going to fucking help you with anything?”
“No,” he responds simply and the second the bathroom door is unlocked, he puts one hand over my mouth and the other holds the knife to my neck.
“It’s empty,” a male’s voice says.
“How’s it locked?” a female asks.
“Someone else with a key must have accidentally locked it.”
They go on back and forth trying to figure out the mystery of the locked bathroom and I roll my eyes. When my gaze lands on scar face I see the small trace of a smirk. I’m now realizing scar face is helmet head from last night because there was no one else I met that had such a problem with me. When the woman comes in to use the toilet, I elbow scar face and he doubles, losing his footing and his grip. As one foot fumbles into the toilet, I bolt.
Running up to the table, I tell Donna, "I'm not feeling well, at all." I swipe at the nick on my neck from his knife blade. "Can we go?"
"Yeah, yes." She stands and the look on her face tells me she senses my discomfort.
The ride's quiet and when she tries to talk, I groan and put my hands to my stomach. The only feeling I have right now is I want to get back in bed. That fucking guy wanted to kill me. Fuck this hick town and the surrounding cities.
"Thanks, Donna. Night," I blurt and head for Brandt's entrance of his house. She's calling out about dinner, but I ignore her.
Getting through the door, I head for the kitchen and grab the jar of peanut butter and a spoon then haul my bags to the room I'm staying in. After tending to my hurt head and neck, it's peanut butter for dinner.