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“Take the hint, Law,” I said, surprised at how breathy my voice was. There was a brief pause wherein neither of us said anything, but I swore I heard the air crackle, as if the mere tension between us lit the oxygen in the room on fire. On my exhale, Law bounded toward me and pushed me against the wall that separated the kitchen from my living room.
I elbowed him in the stomach and he barely flinched. The only way I knew my blow landed was from his short, low grunt. Law grappled with my hands and the gun, pushing them between us so I couldn’t move. We were so close I could see the sweat on his brow.
“It’s not smart to wrestle with guns, Law,” I said. I wasn’t looking at him when I spoke, my eyes trained on his bottom lip instead. I wanted to bite it.
“I could see the safety was on,” Law replied. His voice was low, almost a rumble. I felt it all over. “You should probably make sure that’s off before threatening people.” I barely registered his reply. I couldn’t tell if the thick, hard thing pressing into my stomach was him or the gun. At that point I didn’t care. All I could focus on was the heady, spicy scent surrounding me and the feel of his hot skin keeping me pressed against the wall.
“Maybe it isn’t the gun you should be worried about,” I whispered, lips nearly touching.
“Are you sure you’re talking to me when you say that?” Law asked, inching closer. I watched in fascination as he closed his eyes and his tongue slid across the seam of his lips. I felt the charge in the air again. I could do it. I could close the tiny, minuscule, practically nonexistent gap between us.
Or, I could do this.
I lifted my knee and jammed it between Law’s legs. Coughing, Law stumbled back and fell on his ass. At the sound of Law crashing to the ground, Raskol woke and started running around in circles, barking. Eyes watering, Law glowered up at me. Slowly he stood to his feet. With cool, careful motions, he studied me. Then he turned around and walked away. He opened the door and I nearly opened my mouth to say something.
What would I say? Stay? Did I want him to stay? I’d just kneed him in the balls; talk about mixed messages. My inner ramblings were cut short, though. With his back turned, Law spoke and interrupted my swirling mind.
“See you soon, Nami.” With that cryptic remark, Law closed the door.
Twelve
Is it crazy that sometimes I want the darkness? I stare into the abyss that has become my soul and instead of searching for a flashlight, I want to take a nosedive into the inky black waters. I’ve dipped my toe, feeling the cool rush of sublime apathy and blue cruelty overcome me. The only thing stopping me was him. I never wanted to become like him.
Maybe he was sick in the head.
Maybe he needed help.
Maybe he had been hurt as a child and was riding around on the terrible carousel that is a vicious cycle.
Maybe I should have had sympathy for him. Maybe he was tortured and in more pain than I could imagine.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
Maybe his pecker should be ripped off and fed to him while he bleeds out.
It had been just a day since my botched burglary on Becca Riley. I’d stayed inside to recoup, reformulate, and rewhiskey. There hadn’t been many wins in my camp—strike that, there had been zero wins. Sunday was almost over and I hadn’t come up with any new ideas on how to destroy Morris. Depression was sinking in.
Curled up on the couch, I posted a picture of shibari on Secrets. I didn’t say anything, just posted the picture. That was my secret for the day. I wanted to be tied up. I was a former rape victim who wanted be tied up during sex. I hated that everything I did now was defined by that goddamn event.
I was no longer Nami DeGrace. I was Nami DeGrace, rape victim. The label followed me wherever I went, except on Secrets. I knew when I posted the image I would get sexts. It was a naked woman tied up, hanging from a ceiling. Of course people would send me images and nasty texts. They sent them to me when I posted innocuous messages, so now that I’d practically given them an opening, why wouldn’t they respond?
Not five minutes after I’d shut off notifications for Secrets, I received a text message from Huck.
“Too afraid to call but not too afraid to be tied up?” he asked. “You’re a mystery Dandelion.”
I typed my response. “No mystery. Just not into talking to random dudes off the internet.”
His response was immediate. “Not random. Do random ‘dudes’ know that you miss your stepdad Tony?”
I stared at the words for longer than I liked, wondering how to respond. Huck was right; I did miss Tony. I missed his thick Boston accent and the way he ate meat out of a can. I made fun of him for it, but you don’t realize how much you miss those quirks until you no longer get to see them.
“I didn’t tell you that,” I eventually sent.
“I read between the lines,” Huck sent back almost instantly. “I’m going to call you now.”
“I’m not going to answer,” I replied just as quickly.
“What are you so afraid of, Dandelion?” His response maddened me at first. Huck didn’t know me, didn’t know what I’d been through. He didn’t know the life I led, so how dare he accuse me of fear? My finger hovered above the block button for a good thirty seconds before I calmed down.
