Cruel Infatuation: A Dark Romance (Underground Kings Book 3) Page 6

  Yes.

  Horses.

  Apparently, this is a ranch town according to the men wearing cowboy hats and the feed stores on every corner.

  I stick out like a sore thumb too. I’m in leggings and a tank top, and I have the word ‘lost’ stamped on my forehead. Wiping my forehead on my arm to get the sweat off, I peer into every direction to decide which way to go, but it all looks like the same. So I head straight.

  My tennis shoes aren’t nearly as loud as the boots stomping along the wooden planks as I pass the cowboys and girls. They all stare at me, lifting a curious brow or the guys’ eyes wander down my body, even with a girl on their arm.

  Men are disgusting, and it doesn’t matter what part of the country they’re from; it seems they are all the same.

  Is Isaac like that? I want to hope for the best, but I don’t know him well enough to judge him. Yet, I’m traveling across country to a place I’ve never been before, to see a man I’ve never met. And I’m missing school.

  My final year of school.

  I stop in the middle of the sidewalk and debate going back home. I’m only a few months away from graduating high school. All I have to do is deal with Trevor, if he survived the beating I gave him. He couldn’t have survived that. Then I’m reminded of the bruises on my face where he hit me, my arms where he grabbed me, the stinging scratches on my inner thighs where he tried to get between them.

  Maybe the bruises are the reason why everyone is staring.

  If I go back, I won’t survive a few more months with Trevor, but if I go to California, who says Isaac will even let me stay? He might send me back home when he realizes that I’m too young and lied to him.

  Where else would I go?

  I have no other choice. I’m going to have to live on a prayer in hopes that when I show up at Isaac’s door, he accepts me. By the time I get there I’ll be eighteen, and everything will be alright.

  Right?

  I can’t stop the doubt. My reasoning is young, naïve, and irrational. I’m hoping a grown man just takes me in. I know how stupid that sounds, but I don’t have much else to go on. He thinks I’m traveling, but I’m on a journey to him.

  If he only knew…

  A classic rock song blares from a few doors down. There’s a sign hanging from the ceiling just above the door, and the edges are rusted, the paint is chipped, and it has seen much better days. I can’t read the title on the sign; I’m too far away. I pick up my tired feet and hurry across the dirt road, nearly getting hit by a horse.

  “Watch wer’ ya goin’ lady!” the man yells from the top of his beast as it neighs.

  “Sorry!” I call out over my shoulder and sigh a breath of relief when the trampling hooves get further away.

  The closer I get to the music, the faster I walk. I can smell food, burgers and fries, and I bet they have something to drink. My stomach rumbles reminding me I haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours, and I could eat an entire cow.

  I give a tight smile to a few people who look at me with caution and curiosity. I don’t care about them. I’m not here to make friends on my journey. I’m trying to run away and start a new life. Fuck everyone else along the way.

  When I get to the door, I tilt my head back and look at the sign. It creaks as it swings back and forth from the wind, and written in white cartoon cursive it says, ‘Rock Jollies.’ The cheap screen door is open to allow people in. When I step inside, air conditioning kisses over my skin, and I groan with relief.

  Not going to lie, I was worried they wouldn’t have A/C.

  I take the space in and immediately like the place. I eye the screen door, which has no screen now that I look at it. It’s just a wooden frame with a bunch of signatures on it, probably from people who have come through this tiny town. I run a hand over it, loving the history and wish I could feel the moments that took place as the people signed their names.

  There’s a jukebox on the far side wall, lit up like a Christmas tree and playing a sound by Queen. The floors groan as I step forward, and the pops and crackles of bacon sizzling behind the counter has my nose leading the way to the bar, which is just as worn down as the door.

  The woman behind the counter knows I’m not of age by how she’s looking at me, but she doesn’t say a word. She studies the bruises, the busted lip, the marks on my arms, everywhere. My entire body still hurts from that fight, but I have to keep moving along. I have to get to Isaac.

  “You look like you’ve been through it, darlin’,” she says, drying off a pint glass in her hand with a white rag.

  “Yeah, it’s been a rough few days.”

  She leans over, and her lowcut shirt plunges to the middle of her bra, showing a lot of tan, wrinkled cleavage. She’s pretty. Has all her teeth. Her long brown hair is a bit dry, and she’s been out in the sun too much. She has on red lipstick and mascara, making her blue eyes pop. They aren’t innocent eyes. By the way she’s looking at me, I bet she has seen a lot of shit in her life. “What do you want to drink, darlin’?” her Southern accents drawls on.

  “I’ll take anything you have on tap.”

  “Sweetie, I might have been born, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Let me see some I.D.” Her fake red nails cut through the air as she turns her hand over, palm up, waiting for me to give her my license.

  “Sure. I get that all the time.” I slug off my backpack and set it on the barstool next to me. I unzip the top pocket where I keep my fake I.D. and hand it to her. I only have it because Trevor and Mom get too fucked up to go get booze themselves half the time, so Trevor got me this I.D. It’s a good one too. No one has ever denied it.

  She studies it, flashing her gaze from me to the license. It’s says that my name is Crystal Montgomery from Maine, born July 23rd, 1997. She hands the card back to me and then slaps her hand on the counter. “Damn, I wish I had your youth. I’d look like I was in my twenties instead of my damn fifties. Sorry bout that, little lady. I’ll get that draft to you right now. Do you want a menu?”

  “Please,” I say, and my stomach grumbles a reply too.

  “Sure thing. My name’s Dixie. Holler if you need me.” She sets the menu down and places the pint of beer in front of me. My mouth waters. I know what I’m doing is wrong, but I’ve had a hell of a time, and you know what? If men and women can vote at eighteen, smoke at eighteen, go to war at eighteen, then I’m going to have a fucking beer.

  Rules can damn themselves to hell. I was never good at following them anyway.

  The beer is ice cold when I wrap my hand around the frosted glass. I bring it to my lips and guzzle it down, almost weeping with how good it tastes and how refreshing it is.

  “Damn, darlin’. Slow down, I have more.” Dixie chuckles.

  “Sorry, so thirsty. I know I should drink water, but—”

  “Honey, you take a hit like that, you deserve a goddamn beer. How about an order of fried pickles, on the house, while you look at the menu?”

  I wipe the foam mustache at the top of my mouth and the pint glass thuds against the aged countertop. Tears prickle my eyes from her kindness. It’s been so long since someone has gone out of their way for me, it’s hard to think kindness still exists.

  “If it doesn’t put you out… I’d hate to inconvenience you.”

  She waves a hand at me and scoffs, “Darlin’, you’re the first in a long while I’ve gotten to help. It ain’t no thing,” she says. “I’ll go put in that order. You go ahead and see what you want.”

  I pick up the menu and beam a smile at her. As I’m reading, I can’t decide what I want. It all sounds good, but I think I’m going to go with the Rock Jollies burger. It’s a half-pound of angus beef with everything on it. I love food slopped through the kitchen sink. I love it all.

  When she comes back, she has an order of fried pickles and sets them down in front of me. There’s a side of ranch dipping sauce, and the pickles are still sizzling from the fryer. “Here you go, honey.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her. I pluck one off the plate and roll it around in my mouth because it’s too hot. I don’t care. I’m too hungry to give a damn.

  Her smiles fades when her eyes land on the door. Her red lips squeeze together in discontent. There’s a few hard pounds of boots behind me, and whoever it is, she’s watching them like a hawk.

  “Darryl, Hank, Bobby, I told you lot you ain’t welcome here no more.” She throws her hands on her hips and stares them down.

  I pop another pickle in my mouth and turn around to see what the fuss is about. Three men, and all of them look like they’ve had a rough day on the farm with their dirty jeans and sweaty faces.

  “Aw, come on, Dixie. Don’t be like that. We ain’t going to wreck another table. You know you got the best booze in town.”

  “It ain’t just the table that got wrecked, Darryl. Get out before I call the sheriff.” She points to the door.

  Damn, why is it wherever I go, there is drama?

  “Who’s this, Dixie?” The one who calls himself Darryl takes a seat next to me, giving me a flirtatious grin. “She’s pretty.”

  “She’s my cousin, and you ain’t allowed to touch her.”

  That takes me by surprise, but I know how to go along with a lie.

  “She’s from out of town. She stopped to say hello on her way to Vegas. Ain’t that right, Crystal?”

  “Yeah, Dixie. I’ve missed you so much. Sorry, I can’t stay longer.”

  “It’s okay. Maybe next time. You all ain’t to put your fucking hands on her; do you understand me?”

  Darryl stands up from the stool and invades my space, his shirt brushing against my cheek as he lingers. He reeks of sweat.

  “Your cousin looks like she’s been through hell.”

  “She has, and she doesn’t need a r
epeat. So you three get on,” she seethes, pointing her finger toward the door again.

  “I’ll be seein’ you around, doll face,” Darryl whispers in my ear, sending goose bumps along my skin.

  The other two men laugh, and Darryl doesn’t leave without saying the last word to Dixie, “That’s alright. Plenty other bars around here that will take my money.”

  “Idiots they are,” Dixie shouts to them as they stroll out the door.

  I pop another pickle in my mouth and swallow it down with some beer. “They seem nice.”

  “Nice as a damn deadly scorpion. Listen, sweetie, I don’t know how long you’re here for, and I don’t know what brought you to this town, but you need to be careful. Girls like you don’t show up here and just leave.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. Girls like me always leave, Dixie.” I point to the plate I want on the menu and grin. “I’ll take the Rock Jollies burger.”

  “You got it.”

  A about a half-hour later, I’m full off two-beers, pickles, and a burger and fries. I get myself a to-go cup of Coke and give Dixie a good tip. “Thanks, Dixie. Best burger I’ve had.”

  “Anytime! Stay safe, you hear me?” She bites her lip and then takes a pen from the brush of her hair. “Here, this is my number. Whatever fucked up shit you get into, call me. I’ll help.”

  “Why?” I stare at the piece of paper in my hand, perplexed.

  “Us girls got to stick together.”

  “Thanks, Dixie.” I stuff the number in my back pocket and head out the door, sipping on my Coke just as a Kansas song comes on. I give her one last wave and vanish down the sidewalk in search of the nearest hotel.

  All the buildings look alike, and the horses are fewer as the day gets later. No one seems to be giving me strange looks anymore since I’m carrying a ‘Rock Jollies’ cup.

  Doesn’t take long to find the hotel. There’s a small inn at the end of the street, and it looks more like an odd saloon than a place to lay my head. There’s no way this town is real. It’s out of a movie or something. I have to be getting pranked.

  I head through the door and see an old man with a mustache that curls up on each side standing behind the counter in a white shirt, black vest, with a watch hanging from his pocket. I’ve entered a time warp.

  “Well, hi there, little lady. What can I do ya for?”

  Oh, wow. His happy attitude is too much for me to handle.

  I want to punch happy people. Sometimes.

  “Just a room for the night if you have it?” I ask.

  “Sure thing.”

  I give him my fake I.D. and forty bucks for a room with a twin-size bed. He places the key in my hand, and it’s an actual key—iron-made and heavy, more like a prison key than a room key.

  “Up the stairs, first door on your right, sweetie. Have a good night.” He smiles, twisting the curled mustache up even further.

  I muster up the best fake grin I can, but I know it makes me look confused. “Thanks.” I head up the wooden steps, putting as much distance as I can between me and the world outside. The stairs are covered in old red velvet, something classier than I imagined, and lamps are on each side of the wall, ignited by a candle.

  I’m not in the future anymore. I’m living in the past.

  Sliding the key into the lock, I inspect it and then decide it’s safe to go inside. The silver door handle jiggles as I turn the key. I step into the room and search for the light. When I feel it, I flip the switch and a simple clean room greets me. The floors are wooden, the bed is small with a red comforter, and a dresser sits in the corner with a mirror above it. To the left, there’s the bathroom. Shower, toilet, and sink; nothing special.

  I throw my backpack on the floor, take my phone out for the first time today, and strip off my clothes. I can’t wait to get in a hot shower.

  I click the power button to turn on my cell as I walk to the bathroom. I turn on the steaming hot shower and wait to see if I have a message from Isaac. It doesn’t take long. My phone buzzes a few times, but none of them are from Isaac.

  They are all from my mom and Alicia.

  I frown, and a pang grows in my heart. I don’t understand why he wouldn’t talk to me unless something bad happened. I don’t want to bother him and be that annoying, clingy girl.

  Minus the fact that I’m already that crazy girl going to see him…

  I don’t want to factor that in.

  My phone buzzes one last time, and it’s from him. I let out a breath of relief and smile when I see his message.

  IsaacGray88: I can’t talk much today. I had something pretty personal happen, but I’m thinking of you. Travel safe. I’ve missed talking to you. Feel free to send a bunch of pictures of your travels. I’ll do my best to reach out when I can. XOXO.

  Hugs and kisses?

  I squeal with excitement. “Okay, keep cool. Don’t read into it because he will hate you for a day or so when he sees you’re eighteen and at his doorstep,” I say to myself. It doesn’t take the wind out of my sails like I thought it would.

  I take a picture of the bathroom and see that my body is fogged in the mirror. It’s sexy but isn’t revealing, just enough to tease the imagination. He can’t see my face or boobs, which I would never send to him until I’m eighteen.

  I chew on my fingernail and debate if I want to send it.

  I do.

  FinleyPark: Washing off the hot, sweaty day here in Kentucky. Miss talking to you too. XOXOXO.

  I grin and set the phone down on the counter and step into the shower, moaning when the hot water flows down my back. The water turns a very light beige color, the dirt and sweat finally spinning down the drain. I stand there for a minute and lean against the wall. I stare at my arms and legs, check out the nail marks on my thighs, and they look worse than they did yesterday.

  I want to cry. I want to fall to my knees from fear, but I can’t.

  I can’t let fear win, not yet because it’s the only thing that can stop me from running, and then I’ll just be a victim to its trigger finger.

  After washing my hair with the hotel shampoo and conditioner, then my body with a plain bar of soap, I get out of the shower and wrap myself up in a cotton towel. I reach for my phone and grab nothing but air.

  That’s impossible. I put it there, right?

  Am I that tired?

  I shrug. Probably left it on the bed. My eyes sag with exhaustion, and my bones ache for sleep. I open the bathroom door and walk out into the small hallway, turn left, and stop in my tracks when I see two men beside my bed.

  Darryl.

  I don’t know who the other one is.

  I glance to my backpack where all the money is that I stole from Trevor and my mom. If I can get to my bag, I can grab the small handgun I purchased at a pawn shop. It was one of the first things I did before I traveled too far.

  “Well, look who it is. Dixie said she didn’t know where you were, but we told that kind man downstairs that we were your uncles, and he was so damn happy to show us the way.”

  “What the hell do you want?” I ask, clutching the towel tighter. I’m having deja vu. This is how it happened with Trevor.

  “We hate that bitch Dixie, and we want to prove to her that no one can fuck the Harden boys and get away with it.” Darryl licks his lips and closes the space between us. His finger traces over my collarbone. “A girl like you shouldn’t travel alone. Anything could happen,” he whispers against my skin before kissing my chin. He hums in delight. “You smell good.” He wraps his hand around mine and tries to get me to drop the towel, but I hold on tight. “I wonder if that cunt smells just as good.”

  I kick the bastard between the knees and dive for my backpack, but the other guy is on me just as fast. He rips the towel off me, and I scream when my wet body is exposed to the air. He squeezes my tits too hard, and tears prickle my eyes.

  I refuse to be a victim.

  Lifting my leg, I kick him in the face and his head snaps back, and blood leaves his mouth. Looks like he bit his tongue. Good.

  Darryl drags my body toward him and fumbles with his belt and zipper while his friend sways from the hit he just received. “You bitch. I’ll show you. I’ll show Dixie. No one can take from me.”