Red (Black #2) (9 page)

“Enough, leave now.” He pushes her arm forward, and I step to the side. He then closes the door in her face, locking it, effectively trapping us both inside together.

“Umm… that was interesting,” I say. He looks to me, his green eyes staring right into mine. His hand runs through his dark hair, pushing it backward.

“Interesting bloody day! Had your friend here just before…” I look behind me, who? Obviously not that chick. “The heavily pregnant one… a bit crazy…”

“Shit, sorry, I told her where I was going, she wanted to know. I didn’t even think she would come around.”

He sits on his bed, watching me as I stand still near the door. “How many kids do you have?” he asks, and I remain there shocked.

“Three.”

“I knew you had three kids? And I still wanted to be around you?”

“What’s that meant to mean?” I’m defensive now. That was rude, and two of those kids are because of him.

“I don’t do kids. Fuck! I hardly do people.”

“I know.” I understand now, he still slightly the man I once knew. “You liked these kids if that counts?”

He nods his head, I know he doesn’t believe me. He just agrees for the sake of it. “Your name?”

“My name?”

“Yes, I still don’t know it. And as far as I’m concerned, I’ll call you Red.”

“I kind of like it,” I admit. I do. I kind of like it—it goes with his, Black.

“Name?” he questions again. He’s looking at me so intensely, the only way he can, the only way he does. And I have no choice but to answer.

“Rose,” I finally reply, watching him as he stares at me, his lips quirk when he responds.

“Perfect.”

“Can we go somewhere?” A simple head nod is all I get.

We come to a stop at a two-story home. It’s nothing special, though in some ways, it feels special. She climbs out of the truck, and stands in front, waiting for me. I walk up next to her and she reaches up and touches my face, then removes my glasses.

“I like to read you, your eyes tell me more than you do,” she explains, and I don’t stop her even as she walks toward the house and I follow blindly behind her. She stops at the bottom of the stairs, I see that there’s an open door and behind that is a spare room, her gaze lingers on it longer than necessary, before she walks up. I watch her ass as she sashays in front of me, knowing I shouldn’t. Her ass is perfect, the whole package of her is perfect actually, she shouldn’t be able to tease the male population with her looks because it’s a crime.

“Stop staring at my ass.” She doesn’t even turn around when she says that. It’s like she knew. I chuckle slightly not denying the fact that I was blatantly checking her ass out.

She opens the door and the inside of this house is the most colorful thing I’ve seen, the walls are lined with tags and graffiti covering the walls.
What an odd thing to see, or even decorate?
She walks straight past it all and goes to the back, opening a door. She stops and doesn’t flick on a light, I stand next to her and everything in this room is the complete opposite of the house. It’s all black, the walls are black, the bedding, even the bed. Not a sign of color anywhere.

“Whose room is this?”

She turns to look at me, her glasses now on top of her head. “Yours.” She smiles sadly, a tear leaking from one eye. I walk in, and touch things, hoping something or anything will come back to me. Nothing does.

“It took me ages to come back in here, I had to sleep in the living room or on the floor.” She smiles just barely.

“Why?”

“You had your demons.”

“Did you?”

“Did I have demons?” she asks raising her hand to her chest. I nod my head. “Yes, plenty. You saved me from them actually.”

“Really?” I question her, I’m not the type to save someone, I’m actually the complete opposite. I destroy, ruin, kill. Her ice blue eyes lift to mine. She steps closer, so our toes almost touch. Her hand shakes as she reaches up and touches my chest.

“Is she allowed to touch you whenever she pleases?” Her eyes won’t reach mine, even though I want them to.

“Yes.” I know who she’s talking about. I know it is ain the way she says
she.
Savannah. Her hand goes to drop but I catch it with mine and hold it there. “Why?” Our last conversation about touching, she broke down, I couldn’t get many words from her.

“It took me ages to be able to touch you, I thought I’d never be able to.”

“I didn’t allow you to touch me?”

Her cheeks blush. “Only in certain areas,” she says shyly.

She wants to take me somewhere, I don’t say no. If she can help me piece together my memory, I won't be saying no. A part of me wants to find a place, stay in it by myself, do my work, and escape into the darkness. I like the place it takes me to, it’s a place that’s peaceful. But it’s wrong, so people tell me.

I was surprised by her choice of car, it’s a truck. A black truck, it’s something I would own. She doesn’t look to me when she drives, her shades cover her face. Her fingers tap on the steering wheel, her fingernails are red. The name I once called her, still call her, matches her even more now I know her name.

“Where do you live?” she asks pulling to a stop.

I look around, it’s quiet, a train track, no one is here but us. I feel her stare on me, even with the glasses covering her eyes I can tell she’s looking directly at me.

“A few hours away, in a club.”

“In a club?”

“Yes, Vicious Vipers.”

Her hands fly to her mouth. “A bikie club?”

“Yes!” Her hands start to shake, then her body. She reaches for the door, trying to open it but she can’t, because her hands won’t stop shaking. I reach over, it shocks her and makes her jump backward in the seat. She looks to me, and I can just make out her wide eyes behind the glasses she wears. I open it and she jumps straight out, hands crashing to the ground while she breathes deep on all fours.

I don’t know what I’m meant to do. I don’t know this woman, I don’t comfort women. Hell, I don’t comfort anyone.

When I walk around to the side of the truck where she’s on the ground, she starts to stand. Her hands bracing herself on the truck.

“Sorry, it doesn’t happen often.” She wipes the front of her dress, straightening up.

“Why?”

She removes her glasses from her face, sadness is evident in her eyes. “Blackness…” is all she says before she starts to walk past me. I follow her, unsure of what we’re doing, or even what’s happening.

“This is one of
our
places,” she says. I look to the train, her hand slips into mine, then I remember… remember something.

Her hand slipped into mine, it was odd, I hadn’t gotten used to her hand. It was too soft, too tender, too innocent. She had done it often, though. Every day I saw her, she would sneak up on me and lace her fingers through mine. Like she knew I needed it, like she knew that she brought color with her. That when she was there, it wasn’t so dark, because fuck it was—fuck was it dark.

She squeezed my hand, nudging me with her shoulder. We were at one of our places, the train tracks. Trains were colored on one side, mainly from me, painting her name. Mainly in red, or any other color that was as vibrant as what she was. No black was needed when I was with her—all color.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered turning her head away from the train, looking up at me with her ice blue eyes. Tomorrow was what I always looked forward to, till I could gain the color back, gain it back by her hand, in her touch, in her. She raised her other hand, brushing the stubble that was now growing on my jaw, it wasn’t much, but I couldn’t afford to shave it.

“You should grow it, make me even weaker at the knees.” She winked, always at the most incidental things. She was random in some ways, I liked that about her.

My own hand went to touch it, I thought about it and decided I would. She could see my decision, she just knew me. Like no one had before.

“I’ll miss you when I can’t see you, and I’ll miss you even more until the minute I do.”

“I’ll miss the minutes, the seconds, the hours, until then.” I always retorted her odd way with words, sometimes they made no sense, but since that first night, when weird confessions were made on top of a lake, nothing seemed that odd anymore.

She leaned up, her lips brushed slightly against my lips, they were so soft, so full. I could never get enough of them. I released our joined hand, grabbed either side of her face and kissed her as hard as I could. She participated. Opening her mouth and giving me as much back. When we broke apart, our breaths were heavy and our eyes closed. She leaned in and kissed me one more time.

I watched as she walked away, her long blonde hair swaying as she left. And couldn’t wait for the next twelve hours to be over so I could see her again.

Then… I waited. She didn’t come the next day.

Or... the next.

The color was gone.

And in its place, was Black.

I look at the train, then back at her. I don’t remember anything but that memory and the pain she left with it. Her hand squeezes mine.

Was she the cause of the darkness that took me over? Was she the reason killing someone didn’t affect me. Was she the reason I didn’t care? Didn’t love? The train was still colored, the paint chipped in places, but her name in red writing stood out the most.

“Sixteen years old,” I whisper.

I hear her sharp intake of breath, then listen as she came to stand in front of me. Her eyes are large with hope. “I’ll miss you when I can’t see you, and I’ll miss you even more until the minute I do.” I look straight into her eyes when the words leave my mouth, her eyes growing so wide in surprise. She steps forward, reached her hand up to my face, touching my beard. “I knew I’d love it,” she says, touching it.

I watch her with interest. The thoughts consuming my mind mixed with anger and lust. I want to fuck her like I’ve never fucked anyone. Then I want to strangle her for making me this way. The cold-hearted bastard that I am. I grab her face with both hands, pull her to me and place my mouth on hers—it’s not soft, it’s hard. Her mouth automatically opens granting me access. I take it, planning to take it all from her tonight, then dish out her own punishment.

Her body rubbing against mine, I rub back wanting the friction to never end. I walk us backward, she keeps up with me, then, I pick her up by the back of her legs and slam her back into the train.
Punishment.

She squeaks but never says a word. I free my cock, hike up her skirt, then pull her panties to the side. She knows what I’m about to do, and doesn’t stop me. I break away, the kiss falling from my lips as I watch her. Her eyes are closed, her head slams back against the train in pleasure, and I’m not even inside of her yet. Has she not been touched for ages? The thought skips through me then vanishes just as fast. I position her, then slam into her. She screams my name—not Trace, but Liam. The one I just remembered. It’s beautiful coming from her lips, and it’s even sexier how she rides my cock, up and down.

Her nails dig into my shoulders, my fingers dig into her ass. She wants what I’m giving her, no, she fucking loves it.

“Tell me, Liam,” she screams.

I ignore her and push into her harder, fucking her harder. It’s pleasure unlike I’ve had with other women. She’s it, and I’m about to ruin it. Was it the darkness taking over? It has its way of doing that, though not with her. She keeps it at bay, something I never understood until tonight.