Cage (6 page)

This hallway brought back fond memories. I was present for a number of
Mom’s art purchases, and could distinctly recall most of these pieces in small,
impromptu galleries – either thrown together on the boardwalk or in
rented, single-day accommodations. Chet usually didn’t come along – he
told anyone who would listen that he didn’t have the “eye” for that kind of
thing – but he never criticized any of her choices in design.

I mentally left myself a note to peruse all the art that sprawled across
the Beach House again…maybe after we were already settled in.

Lugging my suitcase with me, I plopped it down on the floor and turned
to face Sawyer. “Alright, thanks. There shouldn’t be more than a few…”

He paused in the doorway, staring strangely at my bed. I followed his
gaze and realized that I had carelessly left a suitcase open…the one filled
with my underwear. Countless bras and pairs of panties were sprawled around,
seemingly overflowing from the case.

“Oh! You
pervert!
” I shouted
at him, grabbing the suitcases from his hands and dragging them out of the way
of the door’s arc. “I can handle the rest of it myself! Get out of here!”

“Sis, it’s not my fault that you…I mean, I’m sorry.” He muttered
quickly, averting his eyes.

“Can it!” I told him off, slamming the door in his face.

I knew it wasn’t right to blame him. He had no idea that I had started
unpacking that stuff. In fact, it was
my
fault
that the case was even open. I had completely forgotten about it when he
offered to help. But I still had my pride…along with some seriously conflicting
feelings in my stomach.

I hated that I loved his stupid muscles so much. Even more than that…I
hated the elation I got from him seeing my exposed case of panties.

Off to a great start, Saffron.

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Chapter 6 – Sawyer

New Orleans, Five Years Ago

A few hours after the encounter outside Happy Pat’s, I dropped onto a
couch in the back of the bar. It had to have been three in the morning, and I
was exhausted after the pumping adrenaline had completely warmed off.

“Holy shit, bro, you’re fucking unreal.” My surprise recruiter told me.
He brought me a rag and some hydrogen peroxide for the cuts on my eyebrow and
cheek, along with some antiseptic. “I thought we were
fucked
. You came in for the fucking
clutch
, man!
Definitely
earned your share. Hell, Skippy’s a drunk fuck anyway. Probably a liability to
the team. If you wanna do this shit again, you are
in.
”

“What was your name again?” I mumbled, holding the rag to the bottle and
tipping it. “Didn’t they call you, what was it? Slippery Pete?”

“Fuckin’ A, they did!” He laughed. “Slippery Pete, that’s me. And you…oh
man, you have officially
graduated
from
Fucker. Hell, I don’t know
what
we’re
gonna call
you
…”

“The name’s Sawyer,” I muttered.

“No it ain’t. Sawyer’s weak. That’s a prissy little bullshit name. You
need something
hardcore
…let me think
on that one…”

“I need somewhere to sleep,” I told him. “Getting pretty tired of the
streets. Know a place?”

“Fuck, just crash right here. It’s what I do. “ There was the lumbering
sound of the other occupant as he passed a corner, coming towards us. “You
don’t mind, do ya, Gary?”

Slippery Pete turned to the bar owner, who apparently moonlighted an
illegal street fighting ring underneath the shelter around the back. Easily in
his mid-fifties, with an extra layer of flab over his bones, age had not been
kind to Gary. Grimy, graying hair puffed off of his head in a thick burst, and
he looked like the kind of slimy, dirty business owner who was probably
crawling with his own personal plague of fleas.

“New guy guaranteed a good turnout for next weekend,” Gary muttered,
casting an eye my way. His thick jowl hung in a grimace from his face, but he
still seemed pleased nevertheless. “You fight like that, you get a couch. You
drop the ball, and it’s back on the streets. Ya hear?”

“Yessir,” I nodded. It wasn’t the most pleasing arrangement, but it was
a compromise I could live with.

“Another thing,” Gary mumbled, wiping his face off with a stray rag,
“you fight good. You also fight
sloppy
.
You need skill. Training. You stick around here, you fight in my ring, and I’ll
see to it that you’re made all proper-like.”

Adjusting the pad against my brow, I listened intently.

“Buddy of mine, Chen…he runs a dojo nearby,” Gary continued. “His old
man’s a regular here. I’ll see about landing you some classes. You want a
trainer, you gotta pay. But you can do without in the beginning.”

“Thanks,” I nodded. “I’ll fight for you.”

“Good,” Gary replied, pointing around the corner in the back –
past the
Employees Only
sign. “Now,
go take a fucking shower. You smell like shit.”

The bar owner wandered towards the door. As he passed through, I spotted
a staircase behind it, likely leading up to his living accommodations above
Happy Pat’s.
Who DIDN’T live in this
piece of shit bar?

Slippery Pete chuckled. “Dad’s never been that friendly to the fresh
meat. I think the old fucker likes ya.”

Pensacola, Present Day

I quietly cursed at myself as I stared at the slammed, locked door.
Why did I freeze up so much?
The years I
had spent brawling in the cage, and all it apparently took was a suitcase of my
sister’s panties to throw me completely off my game. But I knew the answer
– I’d wondered about it while I grew up with her, masturbating to the
idea of her strip-teasing me down to those silky underclothes before dropping
them at the edge of my bed.

Oh well,
I thought to
myself.
So, we’re off to a bad start.
Whatever.

Leaving my stepsister to her devices, I wandered back towards my room.
With my hand on the door, it occurred to me to continue bringing her stuff
– the rest of her suitcases were going to be a fight for her to carry up
the stairs and across the wing alone – but indignity rose within me.

Nah, fuck it.

Hensley popped back into view. “Well, it looks like everything’s in
order here…do you need a hand with anything else?”

I was about to decline, but immediately realized that as long as he was
around, she’d have the work done for her.

“Well, there
is
one last
thing, actually. Would you follow me for a moment?”

“Sure!” Hensley smiled. “Anything you need, son.”

We strolled downstairs while he remarked on the state of things,
praising the cleaning crew for a job well done. “They’ll be in from time to
time to ensure the house stays up to snuff,” he mentioned offhandedly. “Once a
week, on Fridays. Around…1PM? 2PM? Somewhere around in that time frame. I’ll
have to consult my notes…if I can remember where I
put
the blasted things...”

“Oh, no need to worry about that,” I assured him. “We’ll figure it out.
Do they have their own key?”

“No, you’ll have to let them in,” Hensley explained. “Your parents
thought that it was fine to have strangers here, cleaning everything while the
house was unoccupied, but considered having them turn up unannounced while the
two of you were here a bit
much.
That,
and that little thing about the possible attack…”

I nodded. Made sense.

“Still, there’s an extra set of keys in the right-most kitchen cabinet,
close to the refrigerator. If you feel you can’t be bothered, just hand them
over when you see them next week. I’ve heard how you can be with your privacy,
but thought I’d offer the option regardless.”

Hensley paused, and I gave him a quick look.

“…Of course, I’m sure you can, that is…”

“It’s fine,” I told him, stepping onto the first floor. “It’s true. I do
care about my privacy. Very much so. I appreciate you keeping that in
consideration.”

“Right. Of course. Silly me,” he started to mumble as his voice trailed
off. “That is…what did you need my help with, again?”

I indicated outside, towards the car. “Saffron’s not feeling too well.
She asked me to bring her things in. After that, we’ll be happy to get out of
your hair.”

“I see,” he replied, glancing back up the stairs. “Shouldn’t I check on
her before she goes?”

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” I answered coolly as we walked outside.
“I’m here – and I’ll be just a few rooms away, too. It’ll be nothing for
me to keep an eye on her. She insisted on laying down on not being disturbed.”

“And we’re going to bring her things up to her room?” We moved around to
the backseat, grasping suitcases and containers.

“No, just there in the foyer will work.”

“Why not save her the trouble? These seem much too heavy for her…”

“You worry too much, Hensley!” I cracked a smile. “You know what she’s
like – wants to do everything herself. Besides, if she has trouble with
them, I’ll be right there to help.”

“Well…alright then. So long as you say so!” We both set down the heavy
cases on the foyer floor rug. “Your father
was
explicit that he wanted me to stick around until you’re both comfortable,
though.”

“Bah!” I remarked, leading him back to the car. “I think ‘Saffron
feeling under the weather’ exempts you from that clause. You have a life.
Really, we’ll be fine. You’ve already done more than enough for us.”

“I’m sure she’ll be in good hands,” he agreed, taking a large case from
my hands. “Very well then. If you’re confident, I’ll just help you get these
last few things in, and I’ll be on my way.”

We finished unloading the car and said our goodbyes at the front
doorway. Hensley dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. I offered him a
glass of water, but he declined.

“No, that’s quite alright. Listen, if either of you need anything
– anything at all – you have my number in your phone. My house is
only about a mile away from here, and I can be right over in an emergency.”

I shook his hand. For a slightly overweight fellow, his grip was
surprisingly tight. “I can’t thank you enough. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Pensacola’s a big place, but you might see me around from time to
time,” he smiled warmly. “The Beach House is yours. Enjoy it! It seems like a
long time now, but in a couple of months it’ll have flown by so quickly…”

“Ain’t it the truth.”

He tipped his hat and strolled down the landing before turning again. “Send
my best to your stepsister. I hope she’s feeling much better soon.”

“Of course.” I flashed a small, endearing half-grin, and he appeared
satisfied. Closing the doors around the car, he climbed into the driver’s seat
and was on his way back into the city within a minute.

I barely had time to dwell on my little victory before my sister’s voice
cut through the silence.

“What? Why are all my things down here?”

“Hensley had to run,” I lied, my eyes glued to his car as it disappeared
in the distance. “I helped him get your things out, but he was in such a hurry
that we just put it all down there.” I turned to glance up at her as she glared
down from the second floor. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

“That doesn’t sound like him…are you at least going to give me a hand
with this stuff?”

I savored the moment, recognizing how counterproductive it was to
alienate her. Still, I couldn’t help but put her in her place. “I already
was
, before you were so rude to me a few
minutes ago. Why don’t
you
figure it
out?”

“Seriously?” She groaned in disgust.

Throwing her head to the side, she looked absolutely beautiful. I loved
to see her bothered. She was so undeniably attractive when she was scornful.

“If you apologize for slamming the door in my face, I’ll consider it.”

“Sawyer, you’re the worst.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” I smirked as I wandered past the pile of
suitcases and towards the kitchen. “Good luck with all of that. At least you’ll
build up some muscle on that scrawny figure of yours.”

“You’re a total asshole. You know that, right?”

I chuckled to myself. “Hard to forget with you around.”

I hated to admit it, but it was way too fun to push her buttons. She
never played along with it, and that only made it that much more entertaining
to me. We could have the kind of relationship where we constantly tug-of-warred
against each other, just getting our kicks out of subtly pissing each other
off. Instead, she just took it and cursed at me from afar. It had been the case
before I left, and it was apparently going to be the case now that I was back.

While I heard her scuffle down the stairs to assess the level of
difficulty she’d face with the luggage, I rummaged in the refrigerator.
 
Fully stocked, as I’d expected.
 
Digging around in the crisper, I
withdrew a fresh, green apple, washed it under the sink, and took a crispy
first bite out of the flesh.

My thoughts wandered back to our relationship – and how I loved to
push her for my own amusement and satisfaction. There was more to it than that,
and I knew it.

With every slight barb, every last irritation I inflicted upon her, I
distanced myself from the thing that could tear us both apart.

I loved Saffron.

My teenage feelings
hadn’t
disappeared
with age, and it was time that I confronted that fact.
 
I’d been crazy about her while we lived
together – enough that I realized how much of a problem it was. I
couldn’t have her. I could
never
have
her.

But I was weak, and I needed her, because she was just so fucking
beautiful. Not just on the outside, though. With all the time we spent
together, I was constantly shown the way that she looked at the world, and my
cynical worldview was challenged by her insurmountable compassion and adoration.

But compassion and adoration aren’t happiness, and I knew that she was
still unhappy. Sure, her mom had let the past go, and had adapted well to the
new lifestyle offered by marrying my father. But Saffron carried around a deep
anxiety that our parents didn’t see.

Apparently, only I could.

It was subtle. Something in her eyes, sometimes. When she was feeling
particularly down, her fingers would drum in a certain pattern. It was easy to
hide it, because she was always drumming her fingers, but I had figured out
that she always did it in reverse when she was sincerely upset.

You’d never tell by just looking at her. She wasn’t as unstoppably
cheerful as her mother, and she usually kept herself in pretty high spirits on
the outside. But my little sister had figured out how to hide in plain sight
– a coping mechanism, maybe. I knew that she had some bad blood with her
father, and that she had to grow up quickly to try and help her mother. I
figured that she just learned how to put on a happy smile and radiate
warmth…even when she was empty to the core.

I admired the skill. Sometimes, you have to be brave for others. Other
times, you have to be relentlessly happy for them. There is a certain kind of
bravery in keeping up the charade, even when everything within you wants to
wilt you down to nothingness.

There had been a carousel of girls that I dragged home and ravaged in my
bed, but the only way I could ever get it up was to flick the lights off and
pretend that it was her.

It was always her, at least to me.

But I knew I could never have her, and it pained me to think on how
badly I wanted to hold her face in my hands and wipe away her depression. I
wanted nothing more than to pull her into my arms and stave away her anxiety,
her fear, all of it.

Saffron didn’t deserve to feel so empty all the time.

And she didn’t deserve me making things difficult.

But I was weak, and it was all I had. The only way that I could maintain
my willpower and keep my hands off of her, to prevent putting myself in a
position where hearts were devastated and relationships shattered. Of course,
that all presumed that she’d even entertain the thought for a
second
…and I strongly suspected that she
wouldn’t, and I’d fuck everything up by trying.

While I bit into my apple and watched her struggle with the luggage, I
wanted to cast it away and flock to her side. I fought the urge to apologize,
laugh at my own stupidity, and help her pull everything upstairs.

But I needed her to resent me.

If she didn’t – if we grew close – I wouldn’t be able to
hold myself back. It would come bubbling to the surface, out from the depths
where it was chained up and buried – a forgotten chest, lost within the
darkest depths of me. Within that chest was one irrefutable fact.

I loved Saffron Samuels with all my heart.

And the knife twisted inside that heart every fucking day.