Lawless Page 4

  The big one on the left has a pistol shoved into the back of his pants. I remove it, shove it down the back of my own while holding the shotgun high.

  I stand in front of them. “It’s a long hike from the highway for a robbery, isn’t it, boys?”

  The one on the right, the uglier of the two, though that’s hardly saying much, speaks. “We weren’t sent here to rob you.”

  So they were sent—lackies.

  He makes a start forward. I place my finger on the trigger, aiming for his crotch. “You’ve got one dick, but I’ve got two barrels and plenty of shells. How long do you think it will take to bleed out, here in the rain?”

  He backs off.

  “Now,” I continue, “what the fuck are you here for?”

  “To deliver a message,” says the other.

  I shift the shotgun to him. “And what would that be?”

  He looks down at the crowbar.

  Makes sense.

  “Who sent you?” I ask.

  “Tommy,” the right one answers.

  Fucking Tommy. “Tommy and I are square.”

  “That’s not his understanding,” says the right one.

  I keep my voice as firm as I can. “You tell Tommy if he wants to deliver me a message, he can fucking do it himself, because if I see you two here again, I don’t care if you’re picking fucking berries, you better bring two body bags with you.” I jerk the gun towards where they parked their truck. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

  They back up with arms raised before breaking into a slow sprint.

  I watch the truck reverse. They almost drive into a tree they’re in such a rush.

  Once I’m sure they’re gone, I lower the shotgun, water running into my mouth, my eyes, my boxers soaked through.

  I might be on the outside now, but I’m a long fucking way from freedom.

  I’m not surprised by my next visitor early the following morning.

  I hear the car approaching before I see it—a patrol car.

  I walk outside and wait.

  It pulls to a halt, Sherriff Lawson stepping out. His composition is a lot more donut-like than I remember, his gut sitting on top of his belt.

  He tips his hat at me, keeping his distance, one hand resting on his revolver. “Carter,” he says.

  “Sherriff.”

  He spits to the ground, rubbing it in with his boot until it’s a dirty paste. “I’m not one for making house calls, my friend.”

  “I remember. Did my father give you the heads up I was here? I know you guys were bum chums back in the day.”

  The Sheriff smiles. “None of your god-damn business.” He pushes his cheek out with his tongue, still thinks he’s king shit around here, his tiny little kingdom of country bumpkins. “Bob up the road tells me he saw a suspicious truck around these parts last night.”

  “Did he?”

  “Don’t suppose you’d know anything about that?”

  I shake my head. “No, sir.”

  The Sheriff takes another step forward. “Look, Crusher. I’m going to make this real simple,” he says drawing out the ‘l’ in real. “You’re not welcome around these parts. Never were.”

  “It’s a free country last time I checked.”

  He nods, taking it in. “You’re right.”

  He whistles, looking into the woods. “A lot of land here, plenty of undesirable characters — the sort of people you wouldn’t want to bump into in the middle of the night if you know what I’m saying.”

  I give him my best pearly whites. “I can handle myself.”

  The Sheriff puts a hand up, nodding. “I have no doubt, but should you come into any… trouble… Well, it’s a long way to come out. That’s all I’m saying.”

  I keep smiling. “I hear you.”

  He tips his hat again and turns to walk back to his car, pausing. “Oh, and one more thing, Crusher.”

  “What’s that?” I call.

  “Stay away from the girl.”

  I busy myself with menial tasks. I chop firewood and fix the roof. I clean, straighten my bed—a hard habit to break coming from incarceration.

  I’m outside in the drizzle when a broken twig sends me spinning around, my fists up ready for anything, but it’s only a deer, darting away back into the woods.

  When I’m entirely sure I’ve run out of things to do, I sit inside at the dining table tossing my cell from hand to hand.

  She’s not going to call again.

  If I’m truthful, I would have given anything to have her stay over, to finally be with the woman I’ve been dreaming about.

  Fuck David. He didn’t deserve that kind of perfection.

  There was a moment last night, just after dessert, where I reached forward to swipe a spot of ice cream from her top lip. It was natural, a reflex, but I let the touch linger, my eyes boring into hers, the whole fucking universe compelling us together.

  I started to move forward, her lips parting for me, the faintest hint of arousal hardening my cock to concrete, but I pulled away. I fucking drew back and looked to the roof like a fucking choir boy fresh from puberty who doesn’t know his dick from a doorbell.

  I used to crush it. Back in the day I barely had to speak I was so deep in pussy. I’d slay them in the sack and send them packing with a story to tell.

  And tell the tabloids they did.

  You know she’s different.

  You can say that again. The Wren I knew wasn’t like the girls that warmed my bed. She wouldn’t fuss over make-up or what happened on Glee the night before. She was sexy as fuck, but she never flaunted it, probably never noticed the way guys would wood up the moment she strolled past.

  But David did.

  And look what happened.

  She was so close last night. Right. Fucking. There.

  I could have shown her a good time, proved my worth between the sheets, that my fingers and mouth haven’t lost their Midas touch, that my python of a cock still knows how to get the space between a girl’s legs hot and wet before it’s even inside, but no.

  One day, I tell myself. This is all going to be right. One day, and soon, Wren is going to be mine.

  Wren

  I’m packing things into my suitcase. If nothing, this trip has yielded its share of surprises, but I’ve got my entire life in New York, my work, sick kids who are counting on me to make their dreams come true.

  I smile at the thought of Carter showing David his slapshot. I hope I can make it happen. Carter seemed keen enough.

  Keen for other things, perhaps…

  As much as I want to let that daydream play out, I know it’s not going to happen. It shouldn’t. At least by heading to New York I can put some distance between us, stop any progression—warranted or otherwise.

  I finish zipping up my suitcase and take one final look at the fifties room, quoting my favorite line from Grease. “A hickie from Kenickie is like a Hallmark card, when you only care enough to send the very best.”

  Downstairs, the hotel manager surveys me over his spectacles. “How was your stay, ma’am?”

  I hand over my credit card. “Refreshing,” I tell him, not exactly sure why I didn’t go with one of the classics.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Good to hear.”

  The credit card machine beeps. He looks down before handing back the card. “I’m afraid the card’s been declined.”

  I pass it back. “There must be some mistake. Can you run it again?”

  He puts the card back in, but it’s the same result.

  I start to sweat. What’s going on?

  I find another in my purse, our joint Visa, but it’s also declined.

  Shit.

  I point outside. “I’m just going to call the bank. Is it okay if I leave my luggage here?”

  The manager nods. “Sure thing. Take your time.”

  If this was New York the cops would be here by now.

  Outside, I’m about to call the bank when my screen lights up with an incoming call.


  “Hello,” I answer, not immediately familiar with the number.

  A man’s voice. “Wren, I’m glad I caught you. It’s Richard Abel.”

  Our lawyer? Why’s he calling? “If this is about David’s will, I’m afraid it will have to wait, Mr. Abel.”

  “Actually,” he starts, “it’s concerns another matter. I have some bad news.”

  I see Carter’s Jeep swing into the parking lot. He jumps out looking like a lumberjack, walking through the doors of the hotel.

  I stand to greet him. “God, thank you so much for coming. I had no one else to call.”

  “It’s no problem.” He takes out his wallet and approaches the front desk. “How much is it?”

  The hotel manager, a picture of patience, replies, “One thousand and forty-five dollars, sir.”

  Carter doesn’t even blink, shuffling out bills from his wallet and handing them down in a pile. “A thousand-fifty. Keep the change.”

  The hotel manager smiles. “Thank you. Say, you didn’t used to play for the Canucks, did you?”

  Carter nods. “Once upon a time.”

  The manager smiles, happy no doubt to be paid. “You two have a great day now.”

  Carter gestures for us to go. I come to his side mortally embarrassed but thankful all the same.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” I tell him as we head to the Jeep.

  He wheels my luggage behind him. “Like I said, it’s no problem.”

  “I’ll pay you back. I promise. Every cent.”

  Carter smiles and opens the passenger door, helping me up into the Jeep. It’s just as well. The damn thing needs a ladder it’s so high.

  Carter jumps in and starts it up, the engine cha-chunking away in front of us. He lets the handbrake off and begins to drive. “Run me through it again.”

  I breathe in. “Our lawyer said David was defrauding the company, embezzling money… more. The authorities have already taken our assets, locked up the house. Our accounts are frozen, unlikely to be thawed any time soon given the talking to I got. To put it simply, I’m screwed. David’s dead and he’s still messing up my life.”

  Carter keeps his eyes on the road, calm. “It’s not the end of the world. You have your job, employment. You can find another place, but in the meantime, like I said, you’re welcome to stay at the cabin. Stay as long as you want.”

  “That’s generous, Carter, but…” I realize I can’t actually summon a good excuse. I do need somewhere to stay. The first thing I did after the lawyer rang was to call Dad, but it went straight to voicemail. Even then, his own funds dried up a long time ago—the whole reason he’s been on the hunt for a sugar momma these last ten years. I called June, but that too went to voicemail. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to crash in on her, not with the in-laws around and the kids… I don’t want a thing from David’s parents, which left only Carter. He picked up on the first ring.

  I hang my head in my hands as we come onto the highway. “What the hell am I going to do?”

  “First, you’re going to relax. I’ve got plenty of food, firewood… We’re fine.”

  “You’re not one of those doomsday preppers, are you?”

  He laughs, hands on the wheel. “No, but one thing prison did teach me is that it pays to be prepared.”

  I’m not about to argue. “Why?” I ask.

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you helping me?”

  He takes a moment to consider it, before looking across at me, his eyes iridescent. “Why not?”

  “I don’t want you to feel obligated, like you somehow have to make up for your brother’s mistakes.”

  He nods. “I know. I’m simply helping you out in your time of need—truly. Nothing more.”

  I should feel placated by that statement, so the disappointment that springs up comes as a surprise.

  You do want more, don’t you? I ask myself.

  But I’m not ready to head down that road yet, however delightful it might be.

  “Have you seen the news, read any papers?” Carter asks.

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “It’s already showing up.”

  “What David did?”

  “Yeah. The press is going to come after you, for your side of the story, especially if they find out about…”

  He’s talking about David’s wee ‘infidelity.’

  I hadn’t even considered this. “That’s the last thing I need.”

  “Which is another excellent reason for staying low at the cabin for a while, waiting until this all dies down. You said work was happy to let you have some time off, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “So, that’s what you’re going to do.”

  I don’t like being told what to do full stop, but when Carter says it, I don’t mind. He’s speaking so much sense it’s like prison has turned him into some kind of beefcakey, woodsman Yoda.

  And you’re dying for a look at his lightsaber, aren’t you?

  Shut up, Head.

  David was pretty average on the penis front, not that I’m any anaconda aficionado, but I remember spotting Carter getting changed through his bedroom door once. It was a split second, but I got enough of a look-in to know he was significantly larger than his brother on that front.

  Man, the experimentation that led to, my awkward teenage fingers exploring the newfound wetness below, thinking about that exact moment, the size and shape of that thing, wondering what it would be like to touch… or taste.

  I cross my arms over myself, even though Carter’s got the heater on, even though I’m wearing fifty layers. I don’t know why, but I feel exposed sitting here beside him, his big hand on the stick shift. I attempt to turn the subject to him, to stop the panic tipping me over the edge. “What are you going to do, now you’re back? Are you going to become one of those bearded hermits who shun technology and own a dog named Boxer?”

  Carter laughs, his other hand moving up to squeeze the steering wheel. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m still not big on the beard thing. They just… get in the way.” He looks across to me, his dark eyes gleaming with the knowledge they’d know exactly what to do between a girl’s legs. “And as for the dog, you were the canine owner last I recalled.”

  I shake my head. “David made me give Zeus up, thought he was destroying our apartment.”

  “Wasn’t he a tiny Jack Russell?”

  “With a big appetite. You should have seen how pissed David was when he came home to find his favorite Stefano Ricci tie torn to pieces.”

  I take out my cell. “I’m going to call the lawyer again.”

  Carter places his hand on mine.

  I’m surprised how hot it is, molten metal on my skin. “It can wait. Just relax.”

  Easier said than done, but I nod.

  “Breathe,” he says, “in and out.” The rhythm of his voice is sexual in the extreme.

  I give it a go, feeling ridiculous.

  “That’s it—in and out.”

  I pant harder than I should.

  “Not so hard,” he laughs. “You’re not trying to give birth here.”

  “I bet it’s going to be as painful, though.”

  “Wren, I know this situation seems dire, but trust me, you’re not alone here. I’m going to help you get through it, whatever it takes.”

  “Thanks, Carter.” I smile. “I really appreciate it. I’m serious.”

  He smiles back, before his expression turns neutral. “There is one thing I have to tell you, however.”

  Uh-oh. “And what’s that?”

  “I’m all out of Nutella.”

  Carter places my luggage on the floor of the cabin. “Boy, you don’t pack as light as you used to.”

  He’s right. I’ve changed, standing here in my Dior cardigan and D&G jeans. I’ve become the good wife, the social butterfly-slash-accessory David wanted me to be. Here, in the middle of nowhere, I look straight up ridiculous. “I suppose my wardrobe has expanded from various shades of angst
and teenage trauma.”

  “You mean violet, magenta and mauve?”

  I laugh. “I really was obsessed with purple, wasn’t I?”

  He jerks his head towards my cleavage. “You’ve still got it.”

  I freeze. Is he talking about my breasts? I reach up to hold them before thinking better of it. “Sorry?”

  “The necklace, the one I made you in shop class.”

  “Oh.” I take the pendant out, holding it in front of myself. It’s a metal pendant shaped like a wren Carter gave me back when we were sixteen. David never knew he gave it to me, never asked about it. “I’ve had to replace the chain, and the poor guy’s been smoothed a little over the years, but yeah, I still have it.”

  Carter smiles, nodding to himself. “I thought for sure you would have trashed it, upgraded to something a little more… fitting of your status.”

  I laugh, but really I’m ashamed, holding the small wren between my fingers, the metal warm from sitting against my skin, right above my heart where I’ve always liked it. “I have more than enough junk from Tiffany & Co, though I guess that’s all gone now.”

  Carter takes the hint. “Look, there’s only one bedroom here, so I’ll take the couch.”

  I take out my cell. “Oh, I’m going to call the lawyer again, get this sorted out. I’m sure it’s just a big misunderstanding. I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

  “Wren…”

  “If not, I’ll call June. She’ll be able to sort something out.”

  “What about Dad?”

  “Magnus?” I question, shaking my head. “Absolutely not. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

  “I’d say he owes you. The least he can do is look after you given his perfect son went and fucked up your life.”

  “Carter,” I begin, “it’s okay. I’ll figure it out, and as for sleeping arrangements, I won’t be staying long. I need to get back to New York.”

  He nods, seeming somewhat disappointed. “Alright.” He points behind himself. “I’m going to take a bath. You’ll be okay?”

  I hold up my cell. “Time to give this thing a workout.”

  I step outside and pace around the front of the cabin. This is what I do best, my cell, my magic wand, my Excalibur, but not today. The lawyer can’t provide much more advice than ‘hang low’ and calls to various state enforcement agencies lead to dead ends or voicemails. An hour in and things aren’t looking good.