Surviving Love (10 page)

Zoe
 

When we finally slow down enough to take a breather, Gavin gives me pointers on how to use the credit card machine. It tends to be a pain in the ass, according to him, but I think it’s his inability to use technology.
 

A loud noise grabs our attention when a fight erupts at the other end of the bar. The mysterious man has another guy in a choke hold, squeezing the life from his body. I am stunned where I stand, wanting to do something to help, yet I’m completely unable to move. The man’s face is turning purple, and he is clearly losing his battle with getting air in when Reggie intercedes, pushing the mystery man out of sight. Darcie runs to the man on the floor, helping him up, before Mike ushers him out the front door.
 

I turn to Gavin, who looks sick to his stomach. “What’s up with that dude anyway? It’s kind a creepy the way he sits and drinks by himself. Serial killer tendencies if you ask me.”
 

Gavin turns to me and shakes his head no. Curiosity peaks even more, and now I
need
to know his story more than I need food to nourish my body. Why would he just freak like that? Is he really a wannabe serial killer? Or is he a recently released psych ward patient?
 

“Seriously, Gavin, did you see him snap? I’m pretty sure I need to know what’s going on with him so
I
don’t piss him off.” I think about him pressing me against the wall with his hands wrapped around my neck, but it’s for an entirely different reason. What the fuck is wrong with me? I lust after psychotic mental patients now?
 

“Look, Zoe, that’s Darcie’s youngest brother and he’s…” Gavin trails off, searching to find the right words. He scratches his head, running his hand over his short, reddish-blonde hair. He’s in a deep debate with himself on how to approach the subject. “He’s had a hard life, okay? So just leave him alone. Just ignore him. Don’t try to talk to him or anything. Darcie and Reggie are the only ones allowed to wait on him since the whole
incident
…he’s just not right in the head these days.” He lifts his hands, using air quotes when he says the word
incident
.
 

Damn, my curiosity is slicing my mind apart. What could that incident be? What would lead a man to be free yet walk a very close line to killing a stranger? He’s got to be a serial killer or something. People only ever use the word
incident
when someone is killed. Fuck, who’d he kill?
 

Without another word, Gavin steps to the bar to help a customer, leaving me with my thoughts. That little tidbit of information hasn’t helped me; it makes my mind run wild with scenarios of why he’s so crazy. I want—actually, I
need
to know more. I’ve never been one to pry because I hate when people are in my business, however the details of this man’s past are killing me. I’ve gotta know! What the hell would cause someone to flip on a stranger for no reason? I mean, he almost killed that man. The very thought really bothers and intrigues me all in one.
 

Darcie instructs me to take a five minute break and to come back with two fresh bottles of vodka from the backroom. Damn, I could really use a cigarette. I haven’t smoked in a year, but I could really use one right now. Pulling a stick of gum from my pocket, I shake off the desire to pollute my lungs and head to the restroom.
 

When I come out of the bathroom, I round the corner and walk toward the backroom. The door opens abruptly, hitting the wall behind it as it flies open, and he’s standing right there—the mysterious, mentally unstable guy. He walks out of the back room so fast that he practically collides with me. I freeze mid-step, grabbing the wall to regain my balance. I become frozen where I stand, unsure of what to do or say.
 

My eyes are connected to his, just like the night we first met. I expel a deep breath in an
attempt to get a handle on my feelings. On one hand, I’m scared out of my mind because I just watched him almost choke a man to death, and let’s not forget the infamous
incident
clouding his past. On the other hand, I’ve never been so turned on. He’s very different and more dangerous from any man I’ve been around, and the combination is intoxicating. There’s an edge about him, and the longer I look at him, the more I feel myself inching closer to that edge.
 

He stands in front of me for what feels like an eternity, just staring at me. His eyes are black as coal and studying me with a puzzling glance. I notice his skin is slick with sweat, filling the air with his manly scent. That, too, is very intoxicating. I look down over his broad shoulders, trace my eyes down his large biceps, and stop my perusal when I see blood dripping from his knuckles. He has to feel the pain from his torn up knuckles, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. His chest is rapidly caving in and out with his deep breaths, though.
 

We are close, so close that, if I take a small step forward, we’d be touching. I feel lightheaded—drunk even—yet I haven’t had a single drop of alcohol. Then he speaks, and again I become high off him.
 

“Who are you?” His voice is a deep baritone, his words quiet yet laced with anger.
 

“I’m Zoe,” I respond just as quietly, starting to wonder if I will ever be able to break my gaze with his.
 

He lifts his hand, inching it closer to my face. Now I’m scared and my body starts to tremble. I know what those hands are capable of. He just almost killed a man, but I yearn for him to touch me. Oh, man, do I want him to touch me. My insides heat with desire, a pure lust for this enigmatic man.
 

He’s pulling me into his black abyss the longer I look into his eyes, and I can’t think of a single reason for stopping him. I’m hypnotized. My heart is pounding and there are butterflies rapidly fluttering inside my chest. I can feel a lump slowly finding its way to the top of my throat.
 

Then, just as his bloody hand gets dangerously close to my cheek, I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath, preparing to feel either his pleasure or my pain. However, he pulls his hand away quickly then steps back, retreating out the back door and into the night. The mystery man leaves me feeling scared, aching to know more about him.
 

Chapter 10
 

Drake
 

What just happened? Who is this girl? And why do I want to know more about her? Then there’s this fuck at the bar. I’ve never wanted to destroy someone so much in my life. Never mind the fact I almost killed the dude because I thought of my brother. I couldn’t shut off my anger; it’s constantly there just under the surface. This isn’t the only time since Presley’s death that I’ve come close to killing someone. The rage is always there—a living, breathing beast ready to escape at a moment’s notice.
 

Six months after her death, I was coping fairly well, but I still couldn’t talk to anyone. Much like tonight’s situation, a man approached me, trying to make small talk. I ignored him at first, then he started talking about getting into the drag racing scene, and that was all I needed to hear. My sanity snapped and I tackled the man to the ground, punching him as hard as I could. It felt good to hit him. I wanted to hit him more, but before too much damage could be done, Reggie broke up the fight. I was annoyed because he thought he could just talk to me, however the mere mention of drag racing brought me back to why I have so much hatred inside of me—my brother. I lost it and tried to kill the unsuspecting man.
 

I’m lucky he didn’t press charges, and until today, I’ve kept a pretty good handle on my rage. Anything reminding me of Jeremy, and then this girl—well, it’s all I can do to control myself. All of it is about to kill me. She’s causing feelings in me to surface, but the infuriation that’s always living inside me is the only emotion I want to let out.
 

I park my Chevelle in the driveway and walk to the garage. I’m not ready to go to bed—my head is too fucked up right now. I pull the shirt off my back and slip my hands into my boxing gloves. Slowly, I start hitting the bag. Controlled punches come from my hands as I land them against the hard leather of the punching bag. I need to come down from the raging high I felt when I was hurting that man, so I continue to hit the bag. Over and over and over—each time my hands strike a little faster and a lot harder. I’m burning through my adrenaline the best way I know how.
 

Just as the exhaustion starts to take over, I look over to the Challenger parked in the garage. It hasn’t been here in months, but Jake needed room in his garage and has stored it here. I hate this car. I hate everything it represents in my life.
 

I move forward, standing over the hood. The black paint is shining and flawless, in pristine condition for when Jeremy gets home.
 

I snap.
 

Fury once again surfaces when I think of my brother and the pain he’s caused me. I start pounding my fist into the hood of the car gorilla style, wildly swinging my fist into the metal, putting dents in it with every strike. Jeremy loves this car, and because he loves it so much, I will destroy it with my fists, just as he’s destroyed me.
 

As I obliterate the hood of the Challenger, I think about what Jeremy has done to me. For years, he worked with Carter, selling heroin to make a living. He was too big of a pussy to get a
real job and look what it’s done for him. Now he’s locked up for several years, rotting away in a cell and will never have a decent life again.
 

When I think about the night before he was arrested, it causes me to get even angrier. We sat in this garage and he allowed me to cry my eyes out to him, knowing how much I was hurting from her death, and said nothing. He acted like he cared what happened to her, but the truth is, he only cared that he got caught.
 

He doesn’t feel the consequence of what he’s done to me or my daughter or my dead girlfriend. He only feels the consequence of his arrested. He singlehandedly destroyed our family and my ability to trust someone again. He is the reason I’m so angry and set to kill whenever someone crosses me. He is the trigger for my rage, and until he’s in front of me to take out all the fury first hand, I will continue to destroy everything that means something to him. How could I not?
 

When I step back from the Challenger, the hood is completely dented in and a small twinge of pride surfaces. I’m glad it looks like shit because it’s the one and only thing he loved besides himself. If he really loved his family, Jeremy never would have started selling drugs—plain and simple.
 

Zoe
 

The sun is brightly shining through the window, waking me up. It’s far too early for this night owl. I raise my arms above my head and feel tension in my shoulders and biceps. My legs ache along with my feet. We were so busy at the bar the last two nights that my body is screaming at me. It’s been awhile since I’ve worked that hard—well, since Terrance asked me to move in with him and swore he’d take care of me. Unbeknownst to me, his idea of taking care of me is having a 1950s housewife, one who will wait on him hand and foot, then when she gets out of line, bash her head in. Screw that! I’m number one, and I won’t live like that.
 

Then I think about the only thing that’s been on my mind since I strolled through the front doors of
The Slab
—the dangerous stranger. I’ve been intrigued from the moment our eyes connected on the first night I saw him, but last night was completely different. I watched him almost take a life, saw the anger first hand, yet it did nothing to pull me away from him. In fact, it pushed me closer to him. All I want to do is know more about him.
 

As I roll off the bed and freshen up in the bathroom, my stomach is grumbling and my body is weary. I grab my keys and purse from the counter and head out to my car. I decide to visit a department store to get the darkest curtains possible then go to a drive-thru to silence my ravenous stomach.
 

I pull into the parking lot of a discount department store and exit my car. As I get closer to the building, a small, older woman is pushing a cart from the door and walking to her car. Is that…? No, that couldn’t be her. Could it?
 

I toss my keys in my purse then pull the strap over my head, securing my purse across my body. I quickly walk toward the woman. Her hair looks the same, but she’s a lot thinner from when I saw her last. Granted, it’s been over four years since I’ve seen anyone in my family, but I know it’s my aunt.
 

I cut her off as she crosses the aisle and our eyes connect. It’s her. “Aunt Connie?”
 

She gasps when her recollection of me surfaces to the front of her mind. “Zoe? Is that you, honey?”
 

I move around to the side of her cart as I nod my head. She doesn’t say a word, she just wraps me in a tight embrace. It’s then that I remember the familiarity of Sulfur Heights. When Aunt Connie would come to visit, she’d always talk about this place. I remember that, as a child, I never wanted to visit her here; it sounded scary and dangerous. It’s funny that all I’m thinking about right now is the scary and dangerous. Thinking about how much I want to be around it, to kiss it and feel it pressed against my body.
 

We release each other and Aunt Connie holds me at arm’s length. Her blue eyes are glistening with tears as we stand in the parking lot, staring at each other.
 

I look down at her cart and notice it is full of sacks. I lean down in the cart and start pulling bags out. “Where’s your car? I can help you with these.”
 

Aunt Connie points to a small four door sedan and pushes the button on her key ring, popping the trunk. I place the sacks in the trunk carefully. Before I close the trunk lid, I notice a sack is filled with child’s toys. It makes me wonder who she’s purchased the toys for, but I’m soon reminded of the life I left behind four years ago. I’m twenty-two and it’s very possible Sophia has had a kid. We are the same age and there was a time when she was my best friend, but when she chose to believe the lie, I knew our time as friends—as family—was over.