Objective: (Bloodlines Book 2) (10 page)

“I know. Thanks, Brock.” I make my way to the parking lot out back. I inspect the bill again and a chill runs through me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my breath falters. My paranoia overwhelms me, like always. I look around me slowly and continue to move towards my piece-of-shit car. It’s a Buick land yacht older than I am with no keyless entry but lots of rust. It gets me from point A to B though, and that’s all that really matters. There is no one out here. I’m safe. I pull the pistol from my purse anyways, check to make sure it’s loaded, and take the safety off. A girl can never be too safe these days, right?

I slide the key into the door lock and toss my bag across to the passenger seat before sliding into the car. Pulling the door shut and locking it, I switch the safety back on the pistol and tuck it under my seat before starting the car. Ten miles outside the city just across the rail tracks I take a left onto a quiet little dirt road that leads to a shitty trailer park where everyone leads a shitty existence. Dull and trashy with no hope of escaping their lives. It’s depressing as hell. I never thought I’d live in a crap hole like this but here I am. Quite frankly it suits me, now. I find it comforting and safe. People leave me alone for the most part and mind their own, which is exactly why I picked it as my new home. I bounce past the rusty rotten trailers until I arrive at mine. I pull up next to my door, toss the land yacht in park and shut her down. After retrieving my gun and bag I quickly move from the safety of the car to the safety of my trailer.

From the outside it looks no different than all the other dingy beat up trailers in this park, but inside is a different story. My windows have all been replaced with bulletproof glass, as well as the front and rear doors, and I’d had all the walls reinforced from the inside when I moved in. The security system is what I’m really most fond of, though. Tiny cameras are mounted on all corners of the trailer and from my bed I can watch the wall-mounted flat screen panels and see everything that goes on from every angle outside my trailer. There are no blind spots. The cameras are not visible from the outside; even if you knew to look for them you’d still have a hard time spotting them. I’d had them all camouflaged in cheap tasteless decoration that fits right in with all the other tacky lawn and trailer decorations in the park. My trailer is my fortress, safe and secure. I toss my bag onto the slouchy Crate and Barrel couch that I just simply
had
to have and quickly do a walk-through of the tiny space.

The living room and eat-in kitchen are all open when you enter, making it easy to see anything out of place. All lights in my trailer are motion-sensitive, so when you enter a room they come on automatically. I can override that feature from my phone on some app, so that if I ever need it to be pitch-black, I can make it happen quickly. The lamp to my left switches on as I pass into the small hall that leads to the bathroom and then the bedroom. My furniture, although sparse, is all nice and modern. Shabby chic meets Ikea. I love it. I love how the modern clean lines blend with the distressed country cottage look. I tuck my gun under the pillow opposite mine on the bed and head back to the kitchen to pour myself some bourbon before bed. I like the way the ice clinks against the glass. It soothes me.

Drink in hand I unlock the three deadbolts on the side door and exit the trailer to sit on my little slice of AstroTurf that I pretend is a deck. No one is up and milling about at this hour so it’s peaceful and quiet. I plop down in my Adirondack chair and take a deep breath before taking a swig of my drink. I don’t need to live like this. I have money. So much that I don’t know what to do with it all other than stare at it sometimes. But I don’t often look at it. I don’t touch it unless I need to. It reminds me of what happened. Of what I did. So I work instead, and live off that money as much as possible. That money isn’t tainted.

“Nice night out, huh?” a deep voice rumbles to the left of me in the darkness. It startles me from my thoughts. Bentley. He once told me that he was born in his trailer, it was his parents’ until they passed and left it to him. I’d asked why they named him Bentley, and his reply had been that they thought if he had an expensive sounding name that he’d make it in life…that he’d make it out of this trailer park and do great things.
So much for that,
I think as his chiseled jaw peeks out from the shadows. Damn, that man looks good with stubble. His rough good looks really should be kept in check.

“I hate it when you do that, Bent,” I squawk at him. He chuckles lightly before emerging from the shadows and sitting next to me in the vacant Adirondack chair to my left.

“Got any more?” he nods to my glass. “I could really use a drink tonight.” He smirks. I sigh and nod before getting up and quickly fixing him one. When I reach out to hand him his drink our fingers brush lightly against each other, causing me to quickly pull my hand away. There’s something there but I ignore it like always. He notices, but says nothing, knowing better than to bring it up. We aren’t friends per se but we aren’t strangers either. He has somehow bullied his way into my life. He shows up at odd times and just sits with me. Sometimes he rambles on about his life and other times we sit in amicable silence together. He never asks about me anymore. He knows I work slinging drinks and he knows that I prefer to be left alone but that’s about it.

He tilts his head back and takes a sip, and I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. He’s a very,
very
good looking man. The rough and ready type. Probably a few years older than I am, if I had to guess. He clearly works out because every muscle that I’ve seen on him is impressive, and I’ve seen a lot of them since as he prefers to run topless most mornings. His eyes are a blue-hazel color that sucks you in and that makes him look warm and friendly, and he keeps his chestnut hair trimmed short. Aster would just about die if she ever met him. “Quiet tonight, hun,” he says and winks at me, full well knowing that I’m always quiet, unless I’m irritated. He always seems amused by the fact that I keep to myself.

“Just tired,” I lie. I’m far from tired. I barely sleep in general but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Tough night at work?” he asks hesitantly. I nod my response and give him a half smile.

“You’re late on your electric bill,” he says. I snap my head to him.

“What?”

He pulls a stack of my mail out and sets it on the table between us, the electric bill already open. “Wait, you read my mail?!” I shriek.

“Well what's the point of getting it if I'm not going to open it?” He chuckles. I snatch the mail and tuck it under my rear glaring at him. He takes three more slugs of his drink, finishing it off before setting the glass on the arm rest and standing. I watch his forearms flex as he pushes up and have to stifle my groan. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone in any sort of way and Bentley’s visits only remind my hormones of what they’re missing.

“Thanks for the drink, Princess. Maybe we’ll chat tomorrow.” He winks and grins at me, knowing we most likely won’t talk or it will be him talking, before disappearing into the shadows again leaving me alone.

“Night, Bent,” I call out into the darkness, and smile. He’s so strange, not that I’m one to talk. I pull the elastic from my hair and let it cascade down around my shoulders. Running my hands through it I try and massage my scalp a bit to relieve the pressure in my head, before downing the rest of my drink and carrying two empty glasses back into the trailer and locking up for the night. At three-thirty am I take my prescription sleeping pill. The pills keep me from dreaming. Most nights I don't take them because at least in my dreams I’m happy. I’m where I want to be. After a few months of waking up alone and depressed I’d sought out help from Penny. She had referred me to a free clinic in the area. She was overly concerned about the bags and dark circles under my eyes and seemed pleased that I’d sought her out for help. Not tonight, though. Tonight I have no past. I only have now. At four am I crawl into bed and slide my hand under the opposite pillow. Gun, still there. I heave a sigh of relief and fall into a dreamless sleep for a couple of hours.

Chapter 9

Ever feel that you’re the only sane one swimming against the current in a sea of stupid? I feel that way every single day. People mill about smiling and living happy lives not ever knowing or thinking about all the bad shit that happens in life. They walk right past me and they have no idea that they’re smiling at a terrible person. No idea that they’re right next to a dangerous person. It never even crosses their minds to question me. I look normal. I look nice. I look sweet and innocent. Mostly I look beautiful and beautiful people are charmed in life. If you are stunning you can get away with murder.

I push through the throng of people at the mall and into Tempo. I have today and tomorrow off and I really have an itch to kick back and relax. I mill about the store looking for some slouchy, comfortable wear that won’t draw attention to me. I get enough attention at work. It’s great for tips but goes against every grain of who I am. I hate being the center of attention. I hate drawing men’s gazes and I hate being touched. After an hour I settle on three new hoodies, two pairs of yoga pants and a new pair of low slung jeans that look great and are still comfortable. I always was a t-shirt and jeans kind of girl and some habits die hard.

I stop for a Jamba Juice in the food court and watch people as they pass me by. I watch as they half-smile when they cut in line or hold a door to be polite. They don’t know the day each other has had or where the other’s head is at. They’re not friends. It’s interesting to watch the interactions from afar. I was always intrigued by sociology and psychology. I shake my head from that train of thought and take a deep breath. My life now is fine. I make decent money, I have what I need in life to survive and I wake up every morning still breathing. That’s all that matters. I don’t let myself think about my old life or where I might be right now had things been different. It’s pointless, it is what it is and I’ve come to accept that.

On my way out of the mall I stop at the Best Buy and buy a
GoPhone
. I pay the clerk for the phone and for a fifty dollar wireless airtime card and head back to the parking lot. Every time I see my car I have to laugh just a little bit. He would have
hated
this car. Hell, I would have hated it then, but now there is something comforting about the big old beast. No pretenses. No promises of being anything that it’s not. Just an old, huge, reliable car. I slide into the car and toss my bags towards the passenger side. I feel under the driver’s seat for my pistol and breathe a little sigh of relief when I feel it safely tucked away.

By the end of April, Cane and I were an exclusive couple. We were almost inseparable. Aster constantly made gagging noises whenever she caught us together, and getting a rise out of Aster seemed to be Cane’s favorite game to play. Every touch, every word that came from Cane set my soul on fire. I felt like he was my missing puzzle piece. I’d never felt anything so intense and awe-inspiring before. We were still taking it easy on the physical portion of our relationship, or rather he kept insisting we didn’t ‘go too far’. I was dying to be with him. I knew without a doubt that I was ready and that I wanted him to be my first but for some reason he still thought he wasn't good enough for me. I knew it was hard for him to put on the breaks in the middle of me grinding all over him in the heat of the moment, and it infuriated me when he finally pushed me away, but I trusted him and his intentions. I knew that when he let it happen it would be perfect in every way.

Yesterday he’d officially asked me to prom. It was the most ridiculous grand gesture I’ve ever been witness to. He gotten on top of the lunch table in the cafeteria and proposed we go to prom together - in front of everyone. I must have turned seven shades of red that day. He’d handed me half a dozen red roses
 and laughed when I said, ‘Yes, now please get down off the table,’ and ducked my head as the cafeteria erupted in cheers and applause. However embarrassing it was, it was also equal parts the most romantic thing that ever happened to me. He’s become an addiction that I can’t seem to help. I crave the time of day when we can finally be together. Watching movies, going on bike rides or just taking a walk together, it doesn’t matter as long as we’re side by side. I hate spending time away from him. I hate knowing that he goes to his crappy house to his weird uncle when he’s not with me.

“
Helloooo, Cypressss...” Aster sang, snapping me from my thoughts.

“Huh?” I blurted.

“I asked your opinion about the dress, you turd.” She looked completely irritated at my lack of attention towards her. She tapped her foot in a floor length ball gown. The deep navy color made her pale skin look like porcelain. Her blonde hair cascaded down her back and the slim fit through the waist showed off her curves. She looked stunning.

“That’s the one!” I shouted excitedly. “You look amazing, Aster. Really. It’s perfect.”

“Yeah?” she asked, looking down at herself and then doing a three-sixty in the mirror of the changing room.

“Yup,” I confirmed. She smiled her beautiful bright smile at me before disappearing into the fitting room and changing back into her clothes. We brought the dress to the register, paid for it with her dad’s credit card and headed out in search of the perfect
shoes.