THIEF: Part 2 (6 page)

              “Fortunately, Erin, we’ve got the edge in both of these cases.”  Kyle’s confidence seems genuine, but only relaxes me a little.  He must sense this, too, because he starts directing all his strategy at Silas, who seems equally sure I’ll win both cases.

              “No one has anything on you, babe,” he said last night, as I sipped a rum and Coke.  My no-alcohol resolution shattered with Gordon’s summons, and I was thankful Silas didn’t make a big deal out of it.  By the time we’d finally heard back from Kyle and scheduled a meeting, I’d put away at least four drinks to calm my nerves.

              “Sure,” I’d muttered, but as the drinks took effect, I started to catch his cavalier attitude.  I knew I was innocent; surely, the courts would see it, too.  And as for Gordon, I didn’t care if I had to pay him for the now-donated car or not.  I could even face him in court, if I had to—even if the thought of a courtroom with Gordon, under different circumstances, had once terrified me.

              “I’m sorry I bought alcohol,” I slurred into Silas’s shoulder, as he helped me to bed.  “It was stupid.  I didn’t need it.”  Stumbling out of my clothes, I watched him light some candles on the bureau.  He smiled and looked at me in the mirror.

              “Don’t apologize, Erin,” he said, turning down the bed.  “I told you, I don’t mind if you drink.  You don’t get blackout wasted every night, like I used to, and besides—you’ve had the official shittiest summer ever.  Unwinding with a few drinks is totally justified, in your case.”

              “Well…thanks.”  I smiled a little, shivering and naked, suddenly dizzy as he peeled off his shirt.  We’d fooled around quite a bit the last few weeks, but hadn’t had a romantic night since my mom died.  Now, in the candlelight, I stared at his muscles and smooth, tan skin, the slightly crooked smile I already knew better than my own, and wanted nothing more than to forget every piece of this summer, except him.  Except this, the weight of his body against mine, pulling me into the bed and down to a world where nothing else mattered.

              “I love you,” he whispered, tucking my hair behind my ear.  “Everything’s going to be okay.”

              “I know.”  I shut my eyes and pulled his face closer to mine.  My head felt thick and stupid, swimming in liquor, but my hands were fast.  His underwear came off easily; my fingers traced the muscles of his back, up to his neck and down his chest, then back again, endless.  Whether it was liquor or Silas or both, I didn’t care.  Everything fell away.

              My orgasm happened quickly, intense, but brief.  Still, I tried not to be greedy as Silas pulled out of me.  “Your turn,” I grinned, still catching my breath, and slid my hand towards his cock.  In the dim light, I saw it glistening with my juices.

              “No,” he protested, and started to pump it himself, the veins in his arm pushed up against his skin as he flexed.

              I was taken aback, to say the least.  I've never had a guy refuse a hand job in preference of himself, even if he
did
actually prefer himself, because hey, somebody new, right?  But Silas shut his eyes and kept masturbating, like I wasn't even there.  My post-orgasm glow started fading, though I felt a little horny again, watching him.

              Then, Silas opened his eyes.  “I'm sorry,” he apologized, “it's just, I was really close to coming, and I'm not ready yet.  And your hand doing it would
definitely
send me over the edge—I want to make it last.  Besides,” he said, “if you're doing me, I can't do this.”  Before I could react, he pushed two fingers inside me, locating my G-spot.  He slid towards the foot of the bed, his mouth hovering over my pussy,  breath hot and quick against my skin.

              “Come for me again, Erin,” he commanded, voice low and just a little mischievous.

              It felt so good—he fingered me perfectly, sucked and nibbled gently at my clit—and I wanted to let go and do as he said.  “But I've never had a multiple orgasm,” I protested.  “I don't think I.... Oh, my God, that feels good—faster, deeper, Si....”  I paused, recollecting my thoughts.  “I don't think I can.”

              “Sounds like a challenge, to me,” he smirked.  His speed became preternatural; I couldn't think straight.  I wasn't sure there were even real words leaving my mouth.  All I could focus on was his tongue, moving in fast, steady circles.

              “Wait, Silas, wait,” I stammered.  Obediently, he stopped.

              “You okay?” he asked.  “Am I hurting you?”

              “No,” I said hurriedly.  “God, no.  Not at all.”  I pointed to his rock hard cock, still getting half-hearted attention in his left hand.  “It's...I want to make you come too, Silas.  Please let me.”

              He smiled.  “All right.  If you really want to.”

              I nodded eagerly, and Silas lay on the bed beside me.  I positioned myself overtop of him, into the sixty-nine position.  It wasn't something that had worked in my favor in the past—most guys used it as an excuse to slack off, honestly.  But Silas immediately set to work, picking up right where he'd left off.  His fingers and tongue moved quickly, and my orgasm surprised me again.  I felt his cock swell inside my throat as I came on his fingers, and knew the feeling of my orgasm excited him.

              “Again,” he said firmly, and kept his pace steady as ever.

              “No, Silas, I
know
I can't orgasm three times—”

              “You let me worry about that,” he said, and somehow worked even faster.  Within seconds, I felt  another orgasm mounting.

              “Oh, my God,” I sighed, “Silas...another one....”

              “I know, baby,” he said knowingly, a little arrogant.  This time, when I whimpered his name, my orgasm quaking around his fingers, his cock didn't just swell.

              “Erin, I'm gonna come,” he moaned, half asking.  My response was to slide his cock even deeper, and within seconds, I could feel his milk pouring into my throat.  Our orgasms overlapped by a split-second.

              Even as Silas pulled me up to lie beside him, and even as we drifted to sleep, his arms around me with my head on his chest, my worries didn't return.  It wasn't until I awoke the next morning, eyes adjusting to a shaft of white sunlight, that I remembered.  My skull recognized the pressure of dehydration.  My brain booted up and brought it all back.

              I had a record.  Mom was dead.  I was being accused of theft I didn’t commit, for once.  Gordon Williams was suing me over a stupid car I hadn’t even wanted.

              The hangover hit hard.  Drinking rarely affects me the next morning, but this one was bad.  So now, here I was, trying to remember the night before and nothing else—if I could think about how weightless I’d felt with Silas, how nothing mattered but him and the candlelight and the spinning room as he fit his body to mine.  But the feeling of Kyle Meegan’s leather office chair against my sweaty skin, and the throbbing headache building behind my eyes, were too much to ignore.

              “Erin?”

              I blinked at Kyle.  “Hmm?”

              “I was asking if you’d like to take Mr. Williams to court over this, or settle instead.”

              “Settle?”

              “Pay him off.”

              As if I didn’t feel sick enough.

              “No,” I managed, firm, if not harsh.  “Definitely not.”

              Kyle gives Silas a look, then slowly turns his attention back to me.  “You’re sure?”

              “You said he doesn’t have anything against me, right?” I ask.  “So why not go to court?”

              Kyle spreads his hands.  “There’s always a chance of losing,” he says.  “And sometimes, people settle just to avoid the hassle of court.  But if you don’t want to settle…”

              “I don’t.”

              “…then court it is.”  He picks up some notes.  “Now, on the Fox Ridge matter—”

              Silas holds up his hand, smiling, and stands.  “Actually,” he says, and helps me up, “I think we’re going to have to practice testimony another day this week, Kyle.  Erin’s not feeling well.”

              I squeeze his hand, a silent thank-you.  Paying Kyle for the full hour is worth it, when I feel like this.

              Our apartment’s spot is taken when we arrive.  “Shit,” Silas breathes.  “That’s Abby’s car.”

              I groan.  “What does she want?”

              “Her alimony, I’m guessing.”  He runs his hands through his hair, cursing, and parks in a visitor spot.  For a long time, he just stares, like Abby’s car might vanish if he tries hard enough.  Finally, he takes a breath and opens his door.  “Let me go talk to her—you mind waiting here?  I promise, it won’t take long.”

              “Go ahead.”  I recline my seat to lie down and pull a blanket from the backseat over my eyes.  “I just want to sleep, anyway.  I don’t care where.”

              “All right.  I’ll be back soon and give you the green light to come inside.”  His laugh is sarcastic.

              I fall asleep quickly, but it’s a light, dreamless sleep, stuttering back into consciousness every few minutes.  My heart races with dehydration, and every burst of sunlight when the clouds shift pierces my eyes.

              At some point, I’m not sure how much later, I hear a woman’s voice.  Then a little girl’s.

              I push up on my elbow.  Across the lot, I see Abby climbing into her car.  She looks so different from that night at the bar: hair combed and straightened, a smart skirt-and-jacket combo, and crimson lipstick.  As much as I hate to admit it, she looks hot—like a sexy lawyer or professor.

              Then, I look at the little girl.  She’s in a cute pink dress, and she’s holding a doll.  Stamping her feet, she whines, “Mommy, I want to stay!”

              Abby gets back out, opens the door to the backseat, and barks, “Get in
now.
  I’m serious.”

              And as the little girl turns, I see two things.  First is the locket—the one I left in my locker at Fox Ridge, the one that’s been sitting on Silas’s dresser the last few days, taunting me.  It glints in the afternoon sun, winking at me, just like the day I found it.  The second thing I notice: she’s missing one eye.  No socket, just a concave section of skin.  Smooth as stone.

              “
Now
, Emma,” Abby says sharply, and Emma gets into the backseat dutifully, but still pouting.  I don’t even wait for them to leave before I rush past, up the stairs to the apartment.

              Silas opens the door before my hand touches the knob.  It takes him a millisecond to register who I am, and he jumps back, gasping, “Jesus, Erin, you scared the shit out of me!”

              I’m panting, sweat streaming down my face.  At first, I don’t know what to say: a thousand possibilities enter my head at once.

              “You…okay?” he asks, slowly.

              My anger has reached its breaking point; incapable of screaming, my mouth whispers, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

              He stares at me a few seconds, then swallows, flicking his eyes away from mine.  “I…I’m sorry, Erin.”

              I step towards him.  He backs up and winces as I kick the door shut behind me.  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask again.  It’s amazing how calm I might sound to a stranger, but to Silas, I must look terrifying.  He keeps backing up, inch by inch, even when I stop moving.

              “Okay,” he sighs, finally, “you got me.  Emma’s my daughter.”  He glances at the window, like he can see them now, merging onto the highway.  “Abby and I…we’ve got a kid.”

              “No shit!”  At last, I can scream.  The echo of my words, useless as they might be, make me feel a little better.  I stalk across the apartment, into the kitchen, and grab my half-empty rum bottle from under the sink.  Silas follows me.

              “Don’t do this,” he says, in a tired voice.  Like I’m such a ridiculous burden.

              I plunk the bottle onto the counter, about to reach for a glass.  Instead, I unscrew the cap and take a swig, then another.  My eyes don’t break from his the entire time.

              “Thought you didn’t mind me drinking,” I snap, my voice so sarcastic, even I can’t stand it.

              “I don’t,” he says.  He looks like he’s about to grab the bottle from me, then decides against it.  “I mind people drinking out of anger, though.”  He pauses.  “To cope with their emotions, instead of talking.”

              “Oh, excuse me, Mr. AA—I forgot I’m talking to an expert here.”  I take another swig, then it hits me.  I lower the bottle, and for a brief instant, my anger gives way to curiosity.  “Why is it that Abby gets custody when she’s still an alcoholic?  When she's….”  I think back, to the day Silas told me about Emma’s eye.  “…when she’s the one who started that fire, who almost got Emma killed?”  Curiosity lets in a little sympathy, for that poor little girl, caught in the middle of it all.

              Silas doesn’t answer.  He starts to turn away, but I grab his shoulder and turn him back.  There are tears in his eyes, and my stomach drops.