Joker by Andi Rhodes
Chapter Ten
I need to lose myself for a few minutes and let my demons be washed away by something good, something primal.
Joker
“Warn a girl, will ya?”
I glance up at Riley, sitting on her perch on the closed toilet lid, and can’t stop my lips from tipping up when I see her eyes narrow. I know the antiseptic stings, but I’m not even a little bit sorry. It’s what she gets for running from me.
“Quit being such a baby.”
I dab more antiseptic onto her knee with the cotton ball and blow on it right away to help with the sting. This time, she tries to pull her calf out of my grip, but I tighten my fingers.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“I was trying to be nice,” I growl, frustration clear in my tone. I’m not nice and the fact that she made me want to be, even if for a split second, pisses me the fuck off.
After several more minutes, I’m done cleaning and bandaging her up, so I rise from my knees on the floor and toss everything back into the drawer. I turn on the water to wash my hands and watch her out of the corner of my eye. Riley doesn’t move, other than to straighten and bend her leg.
As I’m drying my hands, she stands and stares at me. Her head tilts to the side and it’s on the tip of my tongue to lash out and tell her to take a picture because it lasts longer, but I hold the comment in. When she says nothing, I pivot and walk out of the bathroom, not giving a damn if she follows.
When I reach the kitchen, the sound of the bathroom door shutting reaches my ears. It’s a small house so I also hear the lock click into place. I shake my head and let out a chuckle. As if that lock would stop me if I wanted to get in.
I rummage through my spice cabinet and pull out what I need to cook the chicken breasts I set out earlier. It’s not often I eat at home, but when I do, I like to cook. My father taught me at a young age that you can’t count on a woman to cook for you so he made sure I knew the basics. Imagine my surprise when I realized I actually enjoy cooking.
“What are you doing?”
I look over my shoulder to see Riley standing in the doorway. Her face looks freshly scrubbed, and the edges of her hair are damp. The nearly healed bruises she showed up with are no longer visible. My dick twitches behind my zipper, and I adjust myself, making no effort to conceal the action. Her cheeks redden and I know she noticed.
“Making dinner.” I return my attention to what’s in front of me. “You hungry?”
Riley’s footsteps are light, but I know she’s not retreating because they’re getting closer to me. She steps up next to me in front of the counter, and I see her look down.
“I asked you a fucking question,” I snap, frustrated that she’s ignoring me and simultaneously scrambling my brain with her nearness.
“I could eat.” Her response is flippant.
“Either you’re hungry or not. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I don’t like—”
“Yes.” My head whips in her direction, and I feel my shoulders tense at having been interrupted. “I’m hungry.” I give a curt nod and return to the chicken. “Is there anything I can help with?”
“Can you cook?” I ask.
“Can you?” she retorts.
“I’m fucking doing it, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, but are you any good at it?”
“I guess you’ll just have to wait and find out.”
I step around her and open the fridge to pull out a head of lettuce and some vegetables. Next is a knife and cutting board. I also set out the potatoes to throw in the microwave when it’s time. I could cook them in the oven but it’s quicker this way.
“Can you get everything ready for a salad?” I ask her.
“Sure.”
When she starts chopping all the ingredients, I pick up the platter of chicken and head outside to the grill in my backyard. Okay, so maybe most wouldn’t classify it as a yard but it’s a little patch of grass under a couple of old pallets that act as a deck for my grill and smoker.
My thoughts stray to the woman in my kitchen. She’s a puzzle, and the more I’m around her, the more I realize she’s a puzzle that I want to figure out… and not just because she potentially poses a threat to the Soulless Kings. When I started thinking of her as a potential threat and not a straight up threat, I have no idea.
How about when you were cleaning off her knee and your hand was on her smooth skin?
The fear in her eyes when she saw the boxing gloves dangling from the mirror on the truck flashes through my mind. Boxing gloves in and of themselves are not scary, so what the fuck was she afraid of? The story she gave me in the woods about just being paranoid isn’t adding up for me.
If I go back over every interaction with her, a lot of things don’t add up. I suppose there really could be an abusive husband somewhere and she could be on the run, but why not just go to the cops? Within seconds I answer my own question: because the cops likely wouldn’t do shit.
“Do you want me to throw the potatoes in the microwave?”
I whip my head around at the sound of Riley’s voice. “If you’re sure you won’t fuck ‘em up.”
She huffs out a breath and retreats back inside. If she really is an abuse victim, I’m gonna feel really fucking terrible for the way I treat her. With that thought in mind, and as I still try to make the pieces fit, I finish the chicken and shut off the grill.
When I enter the kitchen, Riley glares at me but I ignore it. I see that she’s already got plates and silverware out, as well as everything else ready, so I set the platter on the small table and pull a chair out to sit down. I hear a faint chuckle behind me, and then Riley appears to sit in the chair across from me.
I don’t wait for her as I shovel food into my mouth. I’m halfway through my meal when she finally starts loading her plate. By the time she actually begins to eat, I’m finished and taking my plate to the sink. I turn around and lean back to cross my arms over my chest, and then I stand there and watch her.
“So,” she begins after she swallows a bite of her salad. “You guys really don’t have any idea who left the package?”
“Why do you care so much?”
She lifts a shoulder. “I don’t. Not really. But if it’s not safe for me here, if you’ve got the enemies you say you have, maybe I should move on.”
This is my chance, my excuse to make her get the hell out. Why, then, is every cell in my body screaming at me to ensure she stays?
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” I shove off the counter and stalk past her, stopping when I reach the doorway. “Be sure to clean up when you’re done,” I say over my shoulder and walk away.
Just as I reach my bedroom door, my cell phone rings, and when I see that it’s Greaser, I answer it.
“You fuck her yet?” he asks immediately.
“Hell no.”
“What’s wrong? Can’t get the motor running?”
“There’s nothing wrong with my motor, asshole. I told you, I don’t wanna hit that.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“Did you need something?” I snarl.
“Yeah, I’m on gate duty and there’s someone here to see you.”
“Well, who the fuck is it?”
“I dunno. Bitch can barely put one foot in front of the other, but she keeps asking for Brian. You know any other Brians around here?”
Fuck!
“I’ll be there in a few.”
“Ya want me to come up to your place and stay with the girl?”
“Goddammit!” I shove the fingers of my free hand through my hair. For a split second, I’d forgotten about the chick at my table. “I’ll bring her with me. Whatever you do, don’t let that bitch at the gate out of your site. Ya got me?”
“Sure thing.” There’s a pause and Greaser inhales a deep breath. Knowing him like I do, he’s probably trying to figure things out and not quite doing so. “Should I call backup?”
“No. I’ll handle it.”
I end the call and stalk back to the kitchen. Riley is at the sink, and the water is running. Apparently she does have the ability to listen.
“You can finish that later.” She jumps and whirls around at my voice. “We gotta go.” Riley simply stands there, making no move to put the dripping wet plate down. “Jesus fucking Christ, let’s go.”
She slowly turns back toward the sink and lowers the plate into the water. When she returns her attention to me, she’s wiping her hands dry on a towel. I stalk toward her and grip her bicep, dragging her along behind me as I walk through the house and out the front door.
“Where are we going?” she asks when we clear the porch.
“I’ve got shit to handle.”
“And you need me to help with that?”
“Fuck no I don’t need your help. I need you to not be alone in my house.” I stop walking and force her to stop too. “I don’t trust you. We’ve established that. So walk with me, keep your goddamn mouth shut, and forget everything you hear or see when we’re done.”
She must sense my fury because instead of answering, she starts walking in the direction we were headed. I drop my head back and stare at the sky. The sun has fully set, but the clouds make it hard to see the moon and the stars. I take a few deep breaths and then jog to catch up to Riley. Chick walks too damn fast.
When we reach the gate, I see Greaser standing on the inside of the fence with his feet braced apart and his arms crossed over his chest. Cheryl is on the other side, pacing back and forth, muttering incoherently. When she sees me she grasps the wire with her hands and her face lights up.
“Brian!” She looks nothing like the woman I remember. In the glow of the security light, I see the pock marks on her face. I make note of the way her skimpy clothes hang off her bony frame. Her hair used to be black, but it’s turning gray, and it looks wild. “Come give your mom a hug,” she cries as she stretches her arms through the gate, reaching for me.
I cringe at her whiny tone. I can feel Greaser staring at me, demanding answers with his glare, but I refuse to look at him. Instead, I step up to the fence and that’s when I notice the track marks on her arm. Fan-fucking-tastic. Not only is she a deadbeat parent, she’s also still a junkie.
“You’ve got sixty seconds to get the fuck away from this property,” I growl.
“Is that any way to talk to your mother?” she pouts.
“No. My father raised me better than that. Lucky for me, you’re no fucking mother of mine.”
“I need help, Brian,” she pleads.
“I don’t give a good goddamn what you need. And the name’s Joker. I’m not going to tell you again.” I pretend to look at an invisible watch on my wrist. “Thirty seconds.”
Cheryl’s face morphs from an oh-poor-me look to bitter rage real quick. She takes a step back and stretches her arms wide at her sides.
“What do you want from me, huh?” she shouts. Her hands go to the hem of her ratty T-shirt. Before I can even guess what she’s going to do, she yanks it over her head and throws it to the ground. “Do I need to earn the money?”
“Jesus, lady, put your fucking clothes on,” Greaser barks. “No one wants to see your tired and droopy tits.”
“You are a disgusting bitch.” There’s no heat in my voice, just resignation. I can’t fight crazy, and I can’t win when she’s chasing a high. I finally turn and look at Greaser. “Get her the fuck outta here.”
Greaser unlocks the gate and Cheryl takes off running, leaving her shirt behind. He snatches it up off the ground and tosses it back to me so he can go after her.
“Let her go,” I say before he gets too far.
He stops in his tracks and pivots to face me. “Seriously?”
“She’s not fucking worth the energy.”
He shakes his head and returns to my side, locking the gate back up behind him. When he’s done, he stands there with his hands shoved into his pockets and rocks back and forth on the heels of his boots.
“I’m gonna need an explanation,” he says when the silence stretches on.
“I know.” My anger flares when I think about telling him anything. He’s my best friend, but this isn’t something I like to talk about. “Tomorrow.”
“I, uh… maybe I should stay with Widow tonight.”
My gaze darts to Riley, and what I see on her face fuels my rage. There’s no mistaking the look of pity.
“The hell you will,” I snap.
I grab her hand and start dragging her back to the house. I hear Greaser mumble something under his breath, but I can’t make out the words. With Cheryl’s T-shirt dangling in my vice-like grip, I have to swallow several times to stop the bile that rises in my throat. I’m far from fucking perfect, but at least I’m nothing like the woman who birthed me.
“So,” Riley mutters when we walk through my front door. “That was your mom.”
“No.”
I spin her around so she’s facing me and pin her with my stare. Her gaze darts around the room, as if trying to determine if we’re alone. Her eyes return to mine.
“But she said—”
“I told you to forget what you heard.”
Riley rests her hand on my arm, and I glare at the spot where we’re connected by touch. I don’t want her comfort or her pity or whatever the fuck this is. I don’t want anything from her. But I need something. I need to lose myself for a few minutes and let my demons be washed away by something good, something primal.
I lift my head and see that her eyes are bright orbs of feeling, and I make a split-second decision, damning the consequences.
My lips crash down on hers in a moment of weakness that’s fueled by the events of the evening and nothing more. Her mouth is rigid against mine until I let my tongue trace their shape, urging them open. When she grants me access, I lose myself in the sensation.
Riley moans and I swallow it down, letting the eager little noise travel through my bloodstream and tease my cock. I lift her up and press her against the wall, the space between our bodies vanishing.
I will look back on this moment and remember the way her body stiffens and her lips press together to deny me what I was already taking. I will look back and regret that I didn’t react to the cues her body was screaming at me. I will look back and feel shame for pushing her too far.
But right now, in this place and time, I recognize none of those things. I kiss and nibble and push until her struggling takes away all of the pleasure. When she bites my tongue, the animalistic haze lifts and I rear back, letting her feet drop to the floor.
“What the fuck was that for?” A metallic taste coats my tongue.
“You weren’t stopping.”
“You weren’t telling me to stop!” I shout.
“Not with words. Your tongue was too far down my throat for that. But I was struggling against you, and you didn’t stop.”
“What the fuck ever. You’re a goddamn tease, and I don’t need this shit.”
I throw the front door open and slam it behind me when I step out onto the porch. Screw her and every other woman on the face of the fucking planet.
I spit the blood over the railing and fume. I sit on the steps and fume. I lay back on the wood and fume. I slam my fists and fume.
Motherfucker!
I stay outside, staring at the sky and wondering how I got myself into this mess with Cheryl and Riley. I think about my father and the values he instilled in me about not trusting women but not abusing them either. Sure, it’s fine to fuck and run, but it’s never okay to force it. I think about the boxing gloves and the package.
I think about how the fuck I’m going to apologize to Riley for pushing her without giving up any of the power I hold over her because I still need answers and I still don’t trust her. Hours later, with the sun coming up and zero fucking clarity, I rise to my feet and brace myself to enter my own goddamn house.
“Good fucking morning,” I mutter to myself and open the door.
