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But a tiny, soft voice – what little logical thought still remained in my brain – called out from the depths of my consciousness.
No.
You’re not here for this.
You’re here for Ali.
I wasn’t sure if it was the wine, or the moonlight, or just his overwhelming sexual presence… probably all three. But I felt like I had been sinking into desire like some opium trance. My head wasn’t clear, and I needed it to be.
I pushed away from him – gently at first, but when that didn’t stop him, I pressed more forcefully until he let go.
He stared at me with a questioning frown.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped. “I can’t. Not… not yet.”
“I think you can,” he said, and moved back in, his arms encircling me. “I think you want to.”
He was right; I could, and I wanted to.
I almost gave in. I even raised my mouth to his.
But the image of Ali, seven years old and full of life, swam up in front of my eyes – and I turned away at the last minute.
“No, I can’t,” I whispered.
He didn’t listen. He pressed harder, kissing my neck, biting my ear, wrapping me hard in his arms.
I wanted him – I wanted him so bad – I wanted him to fuck me, to make me forget the pain –
But the pain was why I was here.
I struggled and pushed away. “No!”
He stood there in the moonlight, frustrated, bewildered. “Is it something I said? The prison shit?”
I shook my head ‘no.’ And it wasn’t that specifically – although it was a reminder that if the supposed ‘good guy’ in this scenario had been in prison, what the hell had the bad guy done? Besides murdering my cousin?
“Well…” he said, exhaling, “we could have another drink. We don’t have to… do anything.”
But I knew that if I stayed, I would absolutely be doing something.
And if I had another drink, it was going to happen sooner rather than later.
“I need to get back,” I whispered.
He stared at me, then nodded. “Okay… okay. Come on, I’ll take you home.”
He led the way back into the house and then out front. He kept looking at me for some sign as he we got on his bike, but I couldn’t meet his eyes…
…because I was afraid he might see how much I wanted him, and that I might not be able to say ‘no’ a third time.
17
Jack
Iwas horny and frustrated as hell, but I was a gentleman nonetheless.
She claimed she was too buzzed to drive her car, which was back at the Seven Veils, so I dropped her off in front of the Ridgeway Motor Inn – a terrible little hot-sheet motel out on Highway 19. The Midnight Riders used to run prostitution and drugs out of it for years, back when we were outlaws. I never participated in that end of the business, though, and it had been one of the first places I axed when I became president.
