Make You Mine by K.T. Quinn

24

Charlotte

I wouldn’t have noticed the Copperhead except that Flop’s entire demeanor changed. He looked past me at the door and immediately tensed, like he’d seen a ghost. Then he rushed to find a nice bottle of whiskey from the bar, something on the higher shelf with a lot of dust collecting on it, and quickly filled a double shot glass.

“Hey there, Carl,” he said in an overly-casual tone that was spoiled by his shaking hand. “What brings you to Flop’s tonight? There, uh, wasn’t a problem with my payment, was there? ‘Cause like I told Sid, any time there’s a problem he only has to let me know and I’ll do my best to fix it…”

Carl stepped up to the bar next to me. Out of the two kinds of Copperheads I’d seen, he was of the way-too-skinny variety. A tweaker with stringy hair running halfway down his back, and skin hanging loose on his bones.

“Relax, bro,” he said in an amused tone. “Just here for a drink.” He knocked back the shot and looked sideways at me. “And to see this fine little thing.”

I didn’t engage—I just focused on my beer. I’d been planning on having a couple more while listening to another long-winded Flop story or two, but now it seemed like a better idea to call it a night soon. In the corner, Jayce sat very still.

The Copperhead, Carl, fidgeted while Flop poured him another shot. He tapped his boot on the ground and picked at his fingernail. Jonesin’ for a fix, probably.

And he kept leering at me, waiting for me to acknowledge his presence.

All women dealt with unwanted advances. At the bar, at work, even at the frigging grocery store. It was just how things were. We got used to the annoying aspect of it, and we learned to gauge men based on how much of a threat they were. Whether they would only say a few flirty lines, or whether they would follow you to your car and force the issue.

Carl was a tweaker who looked like he’d gone two days without a fix, and he was a Copperhead wearing a gun on his hip, making him essentially above the law in Eastland. Jayce stayed sitting in the corner of the room, doing a bad job of pretending that he wasn’t watching everything. I didn’t want to get into a situation where he decided to defend my honor. If anything tipped off the Copperheads that we were close, it would be that.

“Yeah,” Carl said while looking me up and down. “You’re a fine little piece of ass. Need more of you around this town, if you know what I mean.”

I sipped on my beer and tried to stay relaxed, which was tough since it felt like a bomb was ticking next to me. I needed to leave the bar before things got bad. But I wanted it to look natural, too. If I just got up and left he was likely to get pissed off and follow me outside. Better to suffer his comments for a few minutes first. No harm in that.

Thunder boomed outside, loud enough to rattle the glasses stacked behind the bar.

“How long you stayin’ in Eastland?” Carl asked me. This time he put his elbow on the bar and leaned forward into my field of view so I couldn’t just ignore him. His breath was sour and foul.

“Long as it takes,” I said simply.

“You should stay longer than that. Meet some people. Make friends.” He frowned. “Don’t you wanna make friends? Or are you a stuck up bitch?”

I ignored the sting from the word. “Got plenty of friends already.”

“Naw,” he said, drawing the word out. “You ain’t got friends like me.”

“Come on, Carl,” Flop said. “Leave the girl alone.”

Carl whirled on the man, anger flashing in his beady eyes. For a heartbeat I expected him to draw his pistol.

Instead, a big smile split Carl’s face. “Right, right. Thanks for lookin’ out, Flop. I wouldn’t want to piss off her boyfriend.”

I snorted, because I thought he was just fishing to see if I was single. Then I realized he was looking over at Jayce seated in the corner.

Crap. My mind raced.

“That loser?” I made myself say. “Wish I had a real partner to pick up trash on the side of the road. He just cries about his dead sister all day.”

I winced at having to say it, but it was better than letting Carl think we had any sort of connection. Now I really understood why Jayce had insisted on calling me the c-word the other day. It had to be convincing.

Carl chuckled. “You heard what happened to his sister?”

“Nope,” I replied. “And I don’t care, either.”

Carl laughed even harder. I thought I’d convinced him.

I was wrong.

“That,” Carl said, leaning so close I could smell the liquor on his breath, “ain’t what I think.”

What does he know?

I shrugged. “Don’t care what you think. It’s the truth. You want to replace his lazy butt, come help us fill potholes tomorrow.”

Carl waved for another drink. Flop rushed to fill the shot glass with expensive brown liquid, spilling some down the side in his haste. Carl picked it up, licked the side of the glass provocatively, then downed the rest.

“You want me to think Jayce don’t care about you,” he whispered. “But that ain’t what I saw at the graveyard the other night.”

Icy fingers wrapped around my heart and squeezed. Oh no.

Carl roared with hysterical laughter. “There it is! That look. Like a possum in the headlights before it gets run over.”

I glanced at Jayce. He was gone, his glass empty on the table. The front door was closing shut. He’d just left. So had the other patrons in the bar.

Now what?

Carl cleared his throat. He was leaning on the counter, a switchblade twirling in his fingers.

“I’m, uh, gonna…” Flop said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

“Here’s the thing,” Carl said in a dangerously-quiet voice. “Sid’s lookin’ for any leverage he can find over Jayce. He wants that money real bad.”

“Jayce doesn’t have it,” I said, fumbling for a way out of the situation.

“You’re a pretty little piece of ass, so I’m gonna tell you a secret. It don’t matter if Jayce’s got the money or not,” Carl explained. “All that matters is Sid thinks he does. He ain’t gonna be dissuaded. Sid’s like a dog chasing a tennis ball. He ain’t gonna stop ‘til it’s in his mouth.”

“I don’t know what you saw in the graveyard,” I said in a shaky voice, “but you’re mistaken.”

“Here’s what I’m gonna do for you,” he said as if I hadn’t spoken. “Got a deal that’ll make you happier than a raccoon at the dump. You got a boyfriend? A real boyfriend, not that artsy motherfucker.”

Artsy motherfucker? I didn’t know what he meant, and I was too terrified to choose my words carefully, so I blurted out, “No. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Carl nodded with satisfaction. “You do now. I hear you got about two more weeks in town, right? Until then, you’ll be mine. Ridin’ around with me and the Copperheads. Comin’ home with me at night. Doing whatever I want. That’s all you gotta do and I won’t say nothin’ about you and Jayce to Sid. Mum’s the word. Do we got a deal?”

The proposition was so ridiculous I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It would have been insane in any circumstance with any person, let alone this skinny tweaker.

But he knew about me and Jayce. The embrace we shared, and holding hands as we left the graveyard. If Sid learned about that…

“No,” I said. There was no other answer I could possibly give. “I’m not for sale.”

He made a face. “Aww, come on now. You know you want to wrap those pretty red lips around my cock and suck down what I feed you—”

I slapped him without thinking, catching him across his cheek with a whip-like crack. My palm burned, but Carl only seemed amused by it. Like he was the kind of man who got slapped by women all the time.

And then he backhanded me, knuckles striking the bones of my cheek. I cried out and put a hand to my face, wincing with both shock and pain.

“I like ‘em feisty,” he said with a humorless grin. “Slap me again.”

The sound of a shotgun being pumped made him freeze.

Jayce stood in the doorway with his shotgun aimed directly at Carl’s face. Lightning flashed in the sky behind, silhouetting him against the darkness.

“Touch her again and I’ll blow your hand off,” Jayce rumbled. Not the tone of a threat—just a man stating a fact.

I scrambled off my barstool and moved to the side of the room. Carl glanced at me, then at Jayce, then at the shotgun. The switchblade still twirled in his fingers, its blade now catching the dim light of the bar. He abruptly stopped the twirling, snatched the grip of the blade out of mid-air, and slammed the sharp point into the wood bartop.

“That’s not very nice,” he said as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Jayce remained motionless, shotgun still aimed pointedly, while Carl lit a match and held it to the end of the cigarette. A puff of smoke went up in the bar.

Flop’s ex-wife came barging out from the kitchen. “Ain’t no smoking allowed in—” She cut off when she saw Jayce. “Oh. Uh. Fuck.” She disappeared back in the kitchen and began berating Flop.

“Turn around,” Jayce commanded. “Put your hands behind your back.”

Carl chuckled as he obeyed, cigarette balanced in the corner of his mouth. “Wait ‘til I spill the beans about you two. Sid’ll be so happy he’ll give me that plump little pussy as a reward.” His tongue flicked out between his lips.

Jayce approached slowly while keeping the shotgun trained on the Copperhead. “Hey, Flop? Need your help out here,” he called as he got close enough to touch the biker. “Bring something I can use to tie him up. Hey, Peaches?”

He didn’t take his eyes off Carl. I blinked and realized he was talking to me. “Yeah?”

“Time for you to get the hell out of here.” When I didn’t move, he raised his voice. “Go to the diner! Mindy’ll give you a ride back to the motel. Go, now.”

Unsure what else to do, I fled out into the thundering night.