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“Are you off the road? I don’t hear you moving.”
The gravel shifted beneath my feet as I stood and started walking. “Why are you calling?”
“You’re lying on the road. Of course, I’d call. No risks, remember.”
“Side of the road. Like the shoulder. And if it was a risk, I’m sure the badger you put on me would have something to say about it. He’s currently”—I cranked my neck to glance in Luke’s direction—“leaning against a tree not looking at me, but I’m betting he has supersonic eyes and ears and knows exactly what I’m saying and doing.”
“Luke was part of the deal. And he does.”
“He does what?”
“Have supersonic everything. He owns Shield Security and is the best.”
“I understood Deck was the best.”
He chuckled. “Deck and his men are the best, but they don’t do celebrity protection. They are a whole other facet.” He quieted and I heard him take a breath before he said, “You doing okay, Haven?”
“I’m fine.”
“You sound pissed I called.”
Was I? Not exactly pissed, more like defensive because I was unsettled by the fact that I liked that he called. “Out of breath.”
“Bullshit. If I heard you panting in the phone, I’d be hard right now.”
I couldn’t believe he said that. Yes, I could. “Do you want me to pant, so your nightly chick has something to ride?”
Despite what I went through, I wasn’t afraid of the sexual references. It was freeing to be able to casually text about whatever—even sex. He didn’t know my past, but he knew it was ugly and yet there was no tiptoeing around me.
The band was in Vancouver and with the time difference, it was the middle of the night there, so according to what the media published, Crisis should have a chick with him after the concert.
Crisis never hid his playboy status and I was sure that was what made me feel comfortable with him because there was no pressure to pretend between us. No expectations. He flirted sometimes because that was just what he did, but that was all.
“Not doing that shit.”
“Girls are shit now?”
He laughed. “Nah, you’re not.” The phone crackled as if he was moving and then he grunted. “Owe. Fuck.”
“What happened?”
“Banged into the ice machine. Fuckin’ thing is in the middle of the hallway.” I huffed because I knew it wasn’t and he obviously hadn’t been watching where he was going. “I’m going to my suite so I can lie down and talk to you. Been one fuck of a long night.”
“Was the concert good?”
“Babe, I told you, a concert to me is like an orgasm for two hours.”
I smiled. Whenever he or Ream talked about music, it was as if a spark of energy came alive in them. I suspected all the guys in the band were like that, although Kite, the drummer, I had trouble reading.
“Haven?”
“Yeah?”
He sighed. “Thought you hung up on me.” I heard a beep. “Fuck. Kite. Seriously, man? Use your room.”
“What?” I heard Kite say.
“Haven, one sec.” His voice sounded further away as he spoke to Kite.
Then Kite shouted in his faint Irish accent, “You into two guys, Missy?”
Jolted, my hand tightened around the phone.
“Sure,” a faint muffled girl’s voice yelled. “Is it Crisis?”
The phone crackled and I heard muted voices, but was unable to decipher what was being said. A door slammed.
“Fuck, Ice. Sorry. Kite’s being an ass.”
“Or generous.” I hadn’t expected to hear that Kite and Crisis shared chicks.
“Fuck no. We don’t do that shit. He’s into . . . well, we just don’t.” He paused and I stayed silent. “He knew I was talking to you and was fucking with me. He knows we text.”
“Oh.” I was uncertain how I felt about that. I didn’t know Kite that well, but he was always courteous and a gentleman. He was kind of mysterious and kept his personal life out of the media. A little dark maybe, with an overabundance of confidence as if nothing could unsettle him. From what my brother told me, he handled all business aspects of the band with the manager.
“Give me ten and I’ll call you back.”
It was Saturday and I had no plans except homework and maybe go to the barn to groom one of the horses. But chatting on the phone with Crisis . . . it wasn’t part of the deal and hearing his voice was far different than reading words. “I don’t think—”
“Answer your phone.”
I heard the dial tone and sighed as I shoved it back in my pocket. One thing I was getting about Crisis is he did what he said and he’d call me. Except it wouldn’t be in ten minutes because I was also getting that he was characteristically late.
I climbed through the fence, picked up a light jog and made my way back to the house, hearing Luke’s feet trailing behind. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge like I always did, tossed one to Luke like I always did, then went outside and sat on the porch swing. Twenty minutes later, Crisis called.
16 years old
Take my hand. Tonight you will believe. Believe in me.
The warmth of your touch. The taste of your lips.
Keeps me coming back to you.
So believe. Believe in me and take my hand.
I’m here to love you forever.
Forever you’re mine.
I ROCKED BACK and forth on the floor as I sang quietly to myself with my arms curled tightly around my legs, cheek resting on the knobby bone of my knee. My tattered nightgown barely covered my slim thighs, but it had flimsy sleeves to keep the bruises on my arms concealed.
Chills ran through me as I quivered and trembled, while beads of sweat trickled from my hairline to slide down my face. Sleep eluded me, my stomach and limbs cramped so badly that I had trouble moving. I even bailed on going to school. My body no longer belonged to me as the uncontrollable need for the drug held me in its vicious grip.
A need I hated.
A need forced upon me.
A need that allowed me to escape and yet kept me trapped.
