When he pulled her off the third girl spotted her chance, licking him clean until the ache of jealousy meant I couldn’t watch any longer. I’d walked away from the scene with my panties dripping, pulse racing, and avoided him ever since.
What a fun time to break that streak.
“You know, Zach offered you to us.” He doesn’t need to add Trent’s name for me to know who he’s referring to; the three of them are such a tight unit it’s hard to picture them apart. “After that little stunt with Lily’s underwear.”
Caylon steps closer, crowding me. Setting off alarm bells to add to the cacophony of signals my body is already failing to handle.
“We turned him down, of course, but looking at you now”—his eyes move with excruciating slowness over my face, my tits, my legs—“I might’ve been too hasty.”
The barb lands and my frustrations boil over; my confiscated car, my monetary situation, the men who seem to think I’m a piece of meat sent to please them.
My rage explodes out in a fist to punch him, but he grabs my hand in mid-air and pushes me back, the unexpected action catching me off balance, so I sprawl onto the floor.
I scramble to my knees, using one hand to pick up the scattered bangles and the other to tug down my dress so the world doesn’t get a first-row seat to Em’s Underwear Show.
“That’s enough,” the clerk says, flipping over the counter to walk through, pulling a bat from beneath the till as he does so. “Both of you, out.”
“But I still want—”
“I’m not cashing in your jewellery, lady. We’ve got enough shit like that to last the next ten years.” He points the bat at Caylon’s chest, then the door. “Out.”
He walks with us, flicking the lock on the door once we’re through, and gesturing for us to continue beyond the store.
“Thanks,” I say to Caylon, the words dripping with sarcasm. “You were a great help.”
“I tried to be. Don’t know what your problem is.” As I put the jewellery back on, he reaches into his back pocket and tugs out a hundred-dollar bill. “You still need money, don’t you?”
My eyes lower to the ground. Yes, I need money, but I’ve already learned to my detriment not to take anything unless I understand exactly what will be demanded in return. Knowing Caylon, he won’t even have an idea in mind. Some dire favour will spring into his warped mind down the track, and he’ll come to collect, leaving me with no option but to comply.
Maybe he’ll get rid of that itch you have. The one you pretend didn’t start the moment you saw him come.
And that’s even more reason not to fall into this trap. I’m already half-crushed to death under the weight of a debt I owe a man in this town. I’m not about to add another to the list.
I can imagine him running back to Zach, to Lily, telling them the story of how poor Em is, what desperate straits she’s in, how she can’t even afford petrol, she probably sucks old men off inside their palatial estates for money, that’s how bad she is.
Furious with the idea, with the reaction my body has to him even though I’m trying my hardest to stifle it, I advance a step, eyes blazing. “What I need is for you to fuck off. Now get out of my way.”
The shoulder bump doesn’t work, instead bouncing me back towards the building, trapped until he lets me pass.
CHAPTERTHREE
CAYLON
To do her credit, even though Em obviously needs the money for something, she doesn’t reach for it. Instead, she tucks her hands away, folding her arms so tightly that her boobs grow a size and turn extra perky.
After cussing at me, her eyes glare until I retreat a step. The fury in her is so palpable I feel a smidgeon of respect. Who knew Zach’s little cardboard cut-out had a temper? I wonder if she hid this the whole time she was with him. Hid it while she hung out with all of us.
Somehow, the thought delights me. That Zach was holding a lit firecracker in his hand the last few months and never noticed.
Or perhaps it’s just me that never noticed. I’d tossed her a few interested glances the first day we met, then Zach made his move within hours, and she got tossed in a box labelled ‘off-limits.’ I never felt the need to look again. Well… apart from one time at a party but it wasn’t like I laid a finger on her. I don’t even know why I remember it; the occasion was nothing special.
Just another pit-stop on the way to feeling nothing at all.
“If you don’t want a loan, then I’m sure we can figure out a suitable swap.” I lick my lips slowly, homing in on her mouth, wanting her to draw the exact right conclusion.
It’s especially sweet because I suspect the clerk in the pawn shop proposed the same thing. My deal’s better. First off, it’s more money and she can keep whatever raggedy jewellery Zach had the poor taste to buy her. Second, the offer comes from me, and I don’t want to brag but I’m far easier on the eye than the slob behind the counter.
There’s something about the perfection of her makeup that makes me want to see it spilling down her cheeks, her crystalline tears staining midnight black with mascara, matching her hair. Matching her heart.
