The Destiny Of Violet And Luke Part 8

"Would you guys knock it off?" I ask Callie and Kayden as I stuff the last of my shirts into the boxes. Callie and Kayden are rolling around on the bed together and I swear I'm about two seconds away from getting a live p.o.r.n show.

They barely hear me as Kayden lies down on top of Callie and starts sucking on her neck. I give up on making them stop, scooping up the last of my packed boxes. I still have a few more things to box up but I need a break from all the PDA so I head out of the dorm room and carry the last box down to Preston's car. He let me borrow it this morning so I could get my stuff to the house a little easier and thankfully my ankle's healed enough that I'm not walking like I need a cane.

It's mid-May and the temperature is pushing ninety-something. As I toss the last box into the trunk, I pull my hair up into messy ponytail and then tie the bottom of my T-shirt so that it sits above my waist. I have cut-offs on and my combat boots, the one's with the broken buckle. It's hot and I seriously wish that someone would create a law that we could be allowed to walk around naked when it's this hot.

Unfortunately if I stripped down and paraded around the campus naked, I'd probably get arrested. Given the right time and my mood, though, and I'd probably be glad to be handcuffed and thrown into a police car. Plus, it might get me out of going down to the police department on Monday.

When I pull up to Preston's trailer house, there's a party going on. I'm a little irked because he knew I was moving back today and it's going to be a pain in the a.s.s trying to get my stuff in the house with a bunch of annoying drunk dumb-a.s.ses hanging out in the living room.

I park the car as close to the front door as possible, but there's a line of cars blocking the driveway. People are standing all over the front yard, on the driveway, and on the steps leading to the front door. Most of them are older, but some are about my age. Plastic cups and cigarettes in their hands. I haven't lived here for nine months and apparently I've forgotten what it was like and why I decided to live in the dorms. Living here is like having to deal at parties all the time.

Sighing, I get out of the car and adjust my hair into a more secure ponytail as I b.u.mp the door shut with my hip. Some guy wearing an oversize hoodie whistles at me and I shake my head and disregard him as I weave around the people toward the front door.

"What's up, baby? You come here to give me another show," a douche named Trey calls out as I walk by him and through the front door. He's in his midtwenties and when I was staying here he used to walk into my room all the time pretending to be lost when really he was trying to catch me changing, which he did once. I'd have locked the doors but there aren't any locks on any of them, except for the bathroom.

"I'll give you another show," I say, shutting the screen door. "Just as long as I can give you that painful knee-to-the-nuts reminder of what happens after you steal a show?"

His eyelids lower as he puckers a kiss at me and then laughs like he's the most hilarious person on earth. "It's a deal."

I let the screen door slam shut in his face. Cigarette smoke and the pungent scent of weed engulfs me as I squeeze through the crowded room. "Kryptonite" by 3 Doors Down blares from the stereo and some weirdo tripping in the corner is pretending to play air guitar. When I first moved in with Preston things weren't like this, but that was because of Kelley. Yeah, they were dealers and sometimes I think that was part of the reason they adopted me, so I could go to all the high school parties and sell stuff for them. I wasn't a fan of it, but I didn't care, either, so I did what they asked because they gave me a home. But they never brought their dealing or their clients home like this, Kelley would never have allowed it.

I head down the hall toward Preston's room, knowing he's probably in there doing something highly illegal. I pause at the door and knock, but the music playing in his bedroom is even louder than the music in the living room. After the third knock I turn the k.n.o.b and open the door, hoping he's not having s.e.x or anything. He's not but there are four guys on the bed with him and they're circled around a blue bong shaped like a vase and there's a guy and a girl on the television screen, the guy ramming her from behind as she moans and whimpers. I've seen p.o.r.n videos here and there, but not under circ.u.mstances where I paid attention to it. But right now, I can't seem to take my eyes off it. The guy looks so content in this really intense way and so does the girl, but there's no emotion toward each other. They're just there in the moment. I wonder if that's what I look like all the time. Just there in my life.

Finally I blink my eyes away from the screen and fix my attention on the bed. One of the guys has his mouth to the mouthpiece of the tall, slender gla.s.s bong and a lighter in his hand, about ready to light up. He says something to Preston and then Preston looks over at the television with this euphoric look on his face.

I'm deciding if I really want to stick around just so I get high off secondhand smoke tonight and sit around watching p.o.r.n with a bunch of guys, when Preston notices me lingering in the doorway. His bloodshot blue eyes light up as they scale my body and then he says something as a languid smile spreads on his face, but the music's too loud for me to make out his words.

"What?" I shout, cupping my hand around my ear.

He turns the music down that's playing from an old stereo, the smile still on his face as he waves me over to him. The other four guys suddenly notice me, and their undivided attention is unwelcomed on my part. I know there's something wrong about the situation, but it's hard to determine what exactly the wrong part is because I've seen so much wrong that sometimes it starts to seem right.

I let out a breath, knowing I'm going to have my hands full with five stoned, h.o.r.n.y guys in the room. I walk over to the bed and when I reach the edge Preston's fingers spread around my waist. Pressing his fingertips into me, he guides me to his lap and sits me down on it. I still have my shirt tied up so his hands are on my bare skin and I'm pretty sure I feel his hard-on pressing against my a.s.s. I'm not enthusiastic about the situation so I casually start to slide off his lap, but he only constricts his grip and secures me in place. It stings and I wouldn't be surprised if he leaves red marks on my skin. It doesn't feel like he's being friendly at all, but territorial. Pins and needles p.r.i.c.k at my skin as I feel the confusing, indecipherable emotions tied to the moment, to Preston. He means something to me-this means something. I tap my fingers on my leg, trying to figure out what to do.

He leans closer and puts his scruffy chin on my shoulder. "Why are you so tense? Is it the weed or the video?"

I force one of my infamous plastic smiles as I rotate my head toward him. "I'm just tired. I spent all day packing and I still have to go back and finish up." I don't mention the thing about the detective because I don't want to talk about it at the moment.

"Well, I'll help you unpack the car," he says, his hands wandering from my waist to the top of my thighs as he glances at the television screen. "That should help, right?"

One of the guys across from me, wearing this really grungy beanie, elbows the blond guy to the side. They exchange an underlying look, then the blond one's eyes drink me in. I'm getting a little nervous, but also the thrill of what could happen arises and the two painfully mix. The pins and needles fizzle but I'm not sure whether I'm relieved or terrified anymore.

I nod, without taking my eyes off the blond guy. "Yeah... that should help." My adrenaline's speeding, soothing and pulling at my emotions, an internal tug-of-war. Do I like it? Hate it? Do I want the danger to accelerate? Or do I want to run? Be weak. Let the pins and needles win.

After the argument goes on and on in my head, I finally give up and maneuver my legs to the side, lowering my feet onto the floor. I'm still uncertain how I feel about my emotions at the moment, but a break from the smoke, Preston's hands, and the p.o.r.no movie might clear my head.

"I'm going to go start getting boxes out of the trunk," I tell him as I slip out of his arms. Thankfully he easily lets me go and then follows me out of the room, one of the guys shouting out for him to take it easy on me. I don't say anything as I wind back through the living room and then go outside, ignoring Trey when he asks me for a show again. I put one foot in front of the other, shoving people out of my way as I walk swiftly down the driveway to Preston's Cadillac. I pop the trunk, go around to the back, and then stare down in it with my hands on my hips wondering what to take out first, instead of focusing on what just happened, the way Preston touched me, and my confusion over it.

"Hey, what's up with the power walk?" Preston weaves to the car and then his feet scuff against the dirt as he moves up behind me. "You took off like the house was on fire."

"No, I took off like a person who wasn't comfortable watching p.o.r.n with a bunch of dudes stoned out of their minds." I keep my tone light and my chin tucked down, avoiding eye contact.

His arms wrap around my midsection and he presses himself against me, lining his body with mine. "Let's unload the trunk later." He rubs against me and I go stiff as board.

"I need to unload it now," I tell him, leaning into the trunk to grab a box.

His arms leave my waist and his hands cover the top of mine. He presses them roughly to the edge of the open trunk and pins me down with my back slightly bent over. Anxiety surges in my body, but I'm still managing to get p.i.s.sed off through the storm of needles. It's one thing to cop a quick feel, but this is too much.

"I need help with a problem," he whispers in my ear as he thrusts his hips forward, pressing his hard-on against my a.s.s.

"Go jerk off in the bathroom then." My voice comes out uneven and I cringe.

One of his hands slides up my arm and he cups my breast. "I took some E, Violet, and it's so f.u.c.king amazing... everything feels so amazing... you feel f.u.c.king amazing." He starts palming my breast like it's some kind of stress ball.

"Well, that seems like a dumb-a.s.s move, especially if you mixed it with weed, too." I'm a little uneasy but don't show it. I've seen what mixing drugs can do to people and it's unpredictable, which makes Preston at the moment unpredictable. And when he gets that way, I've seen him get violent.

"I did though... couldn't help it... and G.o.d it feels so good." He moans, grabbing my breast so hard it hurts.

I use my free arm to jam him in the ribs and nudge him away from me. His hand leaves my breast as he wobbles backward and I seize the opportunity to turn around. "Look, I'm sorry you popped a pill that makes you want to screw everything that moves. But that's not my problem. It's yours. I'm not going to help you."

He crosses his arms, the sun is shining behind him and casting a shadow over his face as his jaw clenches. "What if I'd said that to you four years ago when social services asked us to take you in? What if Kelley and I had turned her away because you were bad... what if we wouldn't have helped you?... You're acting really ungrateful."

"I'm not ungrateful. I'm really grateful that you and Kelley gave me a home when no one else wanted to, but..." I shift my shoulders uncomfortably as I release an uneven breath from my lips. "But I can't have s.e.x with you."

"Why? We could be f.u.c.king amazing together." He reaches for me, but I protest, stepping back. He sighs and brushes his hair out of his eyes. "What's your problem? And don't try to feed me that no-one-ever-loved-me-so-I-can't-stand-being-touched-by-someone-I-know bulls.h.i.t. I know you want to be with me, you just won't admit it."

"That's not what it's about and you know it," I say through gritted teeth, my pulse hammering. I was barely in the mood to be around people after the call from the detective and now I have to deal with the h.o.r.n.y a.s.shole version of Preston, the one that wants to touch me, feel me, make me feel things I'm not comfortable with.

"How do I know it? I don't know anything about you," he replies, adjusting his man part with his hand, wincing. "Everything that's come out of that mouth of yours is a d.a.m.n lie."

I walk backward, making my way to the driver's seat. "Go f.u.c.k yourself. You're acting like a jerk."

He storms for me like he's going to tackle me. "I'm acting like someone who just took some E and wants to get laid." His hand drifts for me again and he grabs my hip. "Come on, Violet, let me f.u.c.k the s.h.i.t out of you. You won't have to feel a thing. I promise." He looks like he's about to o.r.g.a.s.m, sheer ecstasy on his face.

"I have no idea what that means," I say, squirming from his grip, my skin burning as he digs his fingers into my skin. But I manage to get my arm loose, reach for the door, and yank it open. "But I'm leaving."

He shakes his head and then moves for me with his arms open, like he's going to hug me. I jump out of the way and bang my hip on the door. My eyes pool with tears from the pain as his hands miss me and he loses his balance and falls into the driver's seat. He reaches for the keys, chuckling under his breath, and I realize that he was never going for me in the first place. He removes them from the ignition and slides out of the seat, twirling the key chain around his finger as he gets to his feet.

"Have fun walking wherever it is you were heading." He backs down the driveway, with his hand stuffed in the pocket of his low-riding jeans, grinning like an a.s.shole. "Face it, Violet, you have nowhere else to go, so you might as well come with me, baby."

I curl my fingers inward, and then flex them, telling myself not to open my mouth, but he's worked his way under my skin way too much and my control over my mouth snaps like a thin rubber band. "Have fun beating yourself off because face it, no one wants to be with you."

It's the wrong thing to say, but either I'm too p.i.s.sed off to care or I'm seeking the danger of the moment to stop feeling the hurt that I'm feeling-I'm conflicted over my reason. As Preston rushes toward me, I calculate how much strength it's going to take to bring him down and if I have the guts to do it to him. Even though he's jacked up on s.e.x pills and pot, a bad combination, and isn't thinking clearly, doesn't mean he's going to see this my way when he's sober.

His hands move for my shoulders and I prepare to lift my foot to kick him in the b.a.l.l.s, when his arm suddenly veers to the right and seconds later his fist collides with my jaw.

It lets out a loud pop and my ears start to ring. "Ow... f.u.c.k," I groan, clutching my jaw as my head falls forward and my shoulders slump.

"G.o.d d.a.m.n it, Violet, why couldn't just give me what I want for once!" he shouts, his voice cracking. "I gave you everything when no one else would and yet all you are is a pain in my a.s.s!"

The blinding pain spreads through my cheek and I can already feel it swelling. Even though tears sting at my eyes, I feel alarmingly content, my heart beating at a consistent rate.

I raise my head up with dispa.s.sion on my face and slowly lower my hand from my cheek. He's breathing ravenously as he takes me in, his chest puffing out and then sinking in, his eyes wide, his pupils dilated, his face red and damp with sweat. I don't say anything because there'd be no point. I just turn around and walk down the driveway. He doesn't say anything, but I glance over my shoulder when I reach the street at the end of the driveway, and he's still standing by the car watching me.

I turn to the left and walk down the highway, not bothering to move over when cars zoom by at sixty-five miles an hour. The breeze that gusts over me as vehicles pa.s.s by calms the panic in my chest that's been there since I got the call from the detective. Just the idea that they could swerve to the side and take me out, throw me out of this world, is enough to distract my body from what it's feeling and my mind from what it's thinking. When I arrive at the edge of town, which is just a bunch of farmhouses, I retrieve my cell phone from my pocket. It's getting dark, and I'm getting tired of walking but my list of contacts consists of Preston and a few guys I frequently deal to.

I'm about to stuff my phone into my pocket, when it starts singing the ringtone that belongs to any unknown number. I hate that I'm slightly disappointed that it's not Preston's ringtone and when I answer it I sound grumpier that I want to.

"h.e.l.lo."

There's a long pause.

"Seriously, again." I shake my head, about to hang up.

"Violet Hayes?" he asks in the somewhat familiar deep voice.

"I think we've already established that that's who I am." I glance around at the flourishing trees around me, the tall gra.s.s in the fields, the ditch to the side of the road. All places where a creeper can hide.

He laughs softly in the phone. "Yeah, I guess."

"But what we haven't established is who you are," I say, picking up my pace.

He draws out the silence forever. "Can we just call me a friend for now?"

"Can't do that," I say, trying to shake the uneasiness of the situation off. "I don't have friends."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he replies, sounding genuine. "It's no fun not having any friends."

"It sucks about as much as everything else." I veer down into the gra.s.s as a car whizzes by, more nervous than I prefer.

"Does your life suck... do you not like it?"

"Okay, this conversation is getting a little too personal for me," I say. "So please stop calling."

"Violet, I want to talk to you," he says, quickly. "I need to. Please, it's important. Can we meet somewhere? Just you and I? Just talk?"

I laugh insultingly. "You seriously think I'm going to meet some creeper who randomly called me and knows my last name all by myself?"

"You're not afraid, are you?" he asks, his voice lowering. "You don't seem like the type that's afraid. You seem like the type that doesn't give a c.r.a.p, at least from what I've seen."

I stop walking, glancing around up and down the road. "What did you just say?"

"I just said you seem tough."

"No, you said 'seen'... who are you?"

There's a pause and then the line goes dead.

"s.h.i.t." I hammer my finger against the end b.u.t.ton and hurry up the side of the road. It's too far to turn back to Preston's but it's also a fairly long walk back to town. I start running and I'm not ever sure why. It was just some creepy guy... some creepy guy who's been watching me.

I try not to think about the fact that the case is reopening and that the calls started coming in around that time. There can't be a connection. It's too random. Then again, my whole life has been based on random events.

I keep walking, trying not to think too much, knowing I'll only get worked up and there's nothing I can do about it at the moment. I know there's supposed to be a bar somewhere on this road where a lot of college kids hang out because the owner doesn't card very often, but I'm not sure where exactly. After about an hour of walking, my dorm is still about five or so miles away and I'm exhausted, hot, and my cheek is starting to hurt pretty bad.

"Stupid a.s.shole." I place my hand over my cheek, not really sure if I'm referring to Preston or the guy on the phone. My steps are beginning to lag along with the high of being so close to the traffic. Finally, I arrive at civilization in the form of a rundown bar called Larry's Palace, the one I've heard people talk about. I'm sure they'll have ice and a place for me to sit down for a minute and if rumors are correct, I won't get carded.

I open the door and instantly get overwhelmed by the musty scent of beer and peanuts. There's loud music playing from a jukebox, neon lights glowing from the signs flashing in the windows and some girl, probably barely eighteen, is dancing around a pole on a stage wearing a bikini that hardly covers anything.

I note that almost everyone in the place is male and that this bar is actually a strip club. I sigh, disheartened.

I decide to make it quick and walk straight up to the bar. The bartender is one of the few females in the place. She's also the most dressed one, wearing a white T-shirt that's a little too small for her.

"Can I get some ice?" I ask politely, crossing my arms on the counter.

She eyeb.a.l.l.s my swollen cheek. "How old are you?"

I sink into a barstool and point over my shoulder at the stripper on the stage. "Probably older than that girl you have on stage."

She narrows her eyes as she reaches for a gla.s.s cup under the counter. "Do you want water with your ice?"

My fake smile is shining on my face. "Just ice straight up."

She rolls her eyes at me as she retreats to the back of the bar. She scoops some ice out of a bucket and then drops the gla.s.s down in front of me, before heading to an older guy with salt-and-pepper hair sitting down at the end of the bar.

I pick up the gla.s.s and press it to my cheek, wincing at first from the sting but then letting out a relieved breath as the cold begins to soothe the heat. I prop my elbow on the counter and rest my head against my hand as I listen to some guys cheer from behind me. There's a mirror behind the counter, giving me a good glimpse of how bad I look at the moment. My mascara is running down my flushed skin and my hair is a little frizzier than normal because of the heat. My cheek is so puffy it looks like I'm carrying a giant jawbreaker in it and the skin is tinting purplish blue.

The song switches to a more upbeat one and if it's possible the guys in the bar get even noisier, cheering for more. I decide it's time to take the gla.s.s and bail because I have a long walk ahead of me and very little patience left. I hop off the barstool while the bartender's distracted by the old dude at the end of the bar. I'm headed to the door when I notice that the cheering has shifted to shouting. I glance over my shoulder just in time to see a chair flying through the air and then it smashes into the stage. It causes a domino effect and suddenly everyone's shoving up from the seats and the stripper takes off running from the stage. I've never actually seen a bar fight... or a strip club fight, but the idea of jumping in makes my pulse beat faster. It speeds up even more when I spot the guy in the middle of the room getting held back by two guys that look large enough to be bouncers.

Luke Price. He's wearing a long-sleeved gray shirt with the sleeves pushed up and there's blood staining the front from a trail dripping from his cut lip. His jeans also have blood on them and his boots are untied. His arms are being held back as a thinner, but taller guy stands in front of him rolling up his sleeve. Luke looks like he's relishing the fact that he's getting his a.s.s kicked. I kind of understand it, although I usually try to avoid the actually physical part of a fight, just letting it work up to almost getting there then bailing.

There's a thin guy wearing a tight black shirt and steel-toed boots standing in front of Luke and he says something to him. Luke laughs as he slams his head back, crashing it into one of the bouncers faces, the taller one with a more rounder gut. Blood gushes from the guy's nose as he releases Luke. He starts cursing as he clutches his nose, blood dripping down his hands and arms. The bouncer begins to raise one of his arms to punch Luke.

I feel this wave of something, not adrenaline, but close to it, and suddenly I'm shoving through the crowd toward Luke, carrying so much energy in me it's hard to know what to do with it. I don't help people out. Ever. But with Luke I feel obligated because he's helped me out more than once.

A few guys give me a look like I'm insane as I squeeze by them, but I'm too amped up on shock and adrenaline to care. With each step, the emotional aspects of tonight slowly erase, the confusion Preston put in me. The way he hurt me, the feelings that surfaced from his words and his inappropriate touching. By the time I reach Luke and the bouncers, I'm so silent inside I feel like I could do anything.

Luke's attention darts to me as I step through the last of the bodies and out between him and the thinner guy standing in front of him. The taller and rounder bouncer is hunched over, his nose bleeding all over the floor and the other one has wrapped his arm around the skinny guy's neck. The thin guy has a puffy nose and a swollen eye, which I'm guessing is why Luke's knuckles are sc.r.a.ped.

Luke looks at me curiously, his gaze lingering on my cheek, before gliding up to my eyes. I can tell he's having a hard time focusing and standing, probably because he's beyond drunk.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you?" the thin guy asks then spits blood on the floor, his boots crunching against the gla.s.s and peanut sh.e.l.ls as he turns toward me.

I glance from him to the big guys and then at the thinner one, realizing I should have created a plan before I walked into this mess. Thankfully, being in the middle of guys pumped up on alcohol and testosterone is giving me even more silence from the earlier emotions Preston-the entire s.h.i.tty day-put in me. I feel high, like I'm flying and could fall at any time. Blood is pouring through my veins and roaring in my ears. It's like I'm invincible and it feels like I could do anything.

I fix my attention back to the thin guy with barbed wire tattoos on his arm. "I'm here for him." I hitch my finger over my shoulder at Luke and give the skinny guy one of my best charming smiles.

The skinny one frowns, unimpressed, and crosses his arms. "Your friend broke the rules and he's got to pay for it." He leans to the side to look at Luke. "No touching the dancers." He points to a sign hanging on the wall to my right that matches what he just said.