Page 11 of I Stop Somewhere Waiting For You

At least for another two weeks.

I chuckle. She would be born on Halloween, fucking mystical temptress that she is. Swiping my hair back out of my eyes, I keep reading.

Senior at Dutchess Day Prep

GPA: 3.8

Extracurriculars: Theater set design, Art club

Hobbies/Favorite Activities: Reading, Painting, Photography, Motocross

Chick fucking rides. Of course she does. Don’t know why that surprised me, considering who her brother is. If they’re even half as close as Bentley claims they are, then I’m sure he had her on a bike as soon as mommy and daddy dearest gave the go-ahead.

It’s all laid out here. Every detail I could possibly ask for. And trust me, I asked for it all. Paid a pretty penny for it, too.

Favorite Color: Black

Favorite Flower: Peony

Favorite Movie: Fight Club

Favorite Band: Papa Roach

I smirk at the memory of her rocking out last weekend in that ridiculous over-the-top SUV Nicky undoubtedly makes her drive.

White. The color of innocence. Of purity.

It doesn’t suit her.

My monster recognizes a darkness inside of her. It calls to me, fueling my desire.

I continue scanning the details. I have it all. Everything from the kind of tampons she buys right down to the location of her bedroom in that obnoxiously massive house they call a home.

After our little bathroom encounter on Sunday, I was on the phone with my contact before I was even back in Hydetown. The file was in my hands by Monday afternoon. And I took a massive amount of shit from Bentley for it. So much so that I didn’t even open it until today.

“What the fuck are you doing, Mav?” Bentley slammed a thick manila folder down in front of me, effectively halting my work. He leaned forward, knuckles pressing into the oversized slab of raw wood that rests atop two kegs in my office, serving as my makeshift desk.

I glanced up at him. Bentley was literally the only motherfucker I’d ever let talk to me like this, and only in private. Homeboy’s my fucking brother, but something about even him broaching this topic had my hackles raised.

“Right now? I’m doing the books,” I responded, before shifting the folder off to the side and resuming my work.

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

I sighed. Dropping my pen onto the desk, I leaned back in my chair. “If you have a question, then ask it, Bentley. I’ve got shit to do.”

“What’s the fascination with this chick, Mav? You’re not short on pussy. You could have anyone. Literally anyone else. Why you got a hard-on for the one chick that could start a fucking war?”

I snorted, tossing my feet up to rest on the ledge of my workspace. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m really not, dude. Jonsie Hunter is Queen City royalty. They may be the Dukes, but she’s their fucking Duchess. Nicky C. is so psychotically protective of her, rumor has it some fucker put hands on her a couple years ago and Nicky straight-up ended him, no questions asked.”

My head snapped up, unfiltered rage swelling within at the thought of anyone laying hands on her. “What the fuck you mean someone put hands on her?”

Bentley shook his head. “No one knows the full story, man. Word on the street is she was at a party and shit went sideways. Next thing you know, she’s in the ER with a busted jaw and some broken ribs, and Nicky and the Dukes were on a tear. Don’t need the whole story to know bodies went in the fucking ground that night.”

I struggled to swallow back the pure uninhibited wrath I wanted to rain down at the thought of anyone marking up that flawless body. My jaw ticked in annoyance. My teeth clenched so tight I thought they would shatter. I shut my eyes, taking a quick beat to level out my breathing. After a minute, I looked up to find Bent staring down at me, studying my reaction.

“Your concern is noted.” I dropped my feet to the floor, sitting up to return to my work.

---