Page 45 of Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

13.

Livvy

My eyes blink open and close several times before they finally stay open—only I have to squint. The brownish-orange light, what there is of it, is dim, filling in around the seam of the door. My head hurts so badly. As I bring my hand up to rub the spot where the pain seems to radiate from, my fingers rub against grit. I pick at the grit and bring it back to look at. Dark red and crusty. No, not grit. Scab. The whole back right lobe of my head is covered in a scab.

No wonder my head hurts. It’s probably a concussion. All my joints ache terribly. How long have I been out? I stand to stretch and get my bearings. Long side walls, short at the endcaps. Corrugated metal. A semi-truck bed? I don’t think so. A heavy sliding door lines the long right wall. So railroad car? Either way, the space is only wide enough to accommodate the dirty full-size mattress I’d woken up on.

I shudder to think what those large brown stains are actually from. He’d left me without a blanket and with no heat, so it’s chilly inside. So best guess, it’s nighttime out. Two buckets sit side by side, butted up against the left wall. When I walk over to peek inside, one is empty and one has water. Well, I figure I know what the empty bucket is for.

Not that it’ll do any good; I already know it won’t. But still, what kind of kidnap victim would I be if I didn’t at least try to escape? A few good tugs on the door, it doesn’t so much as creak or groan, let alone budge. It was worth a try. Surprisingly, unlike the first time I’d been taken, a calmness washes over me.

The first time I’d freaked when I woke up in that dark box filling with water. Freaked out until I realized if I didn’t conserve air, I’d screw myself even faster than he could by putting me there in the first place.

Maybe, maybe I’m just done being scared.

I don’t know, who knows?

What I do know is when I move back over to the mattress, I stumble over a horseshoe-shaped piece of metal welded to the floor of the car. It’s oddly jutting out for no apparent reason. I pull on the horseshoe thing, hoping for a weak spot in the floor. There isn’t one.

Palms to eyes, I press and force myself to breathe slowly in and out.Think, think, think,Liv…

Okay. Gage will be looking for me. This, I know. The one person in my life I can always count on. Missing him, I roll myself up into a ball, continuing to breathe in and out to hold the calm and close my eyes without the pressure this time. The phantom smell of his cologne fills my nose.

“We’re going to St. Louis?” I ask, clasping my hands together. I’ve never been to St. Louis. The arch, it’s iconic. My dad has never taken us on a trip before. He’s gone on plenty, but this’ll be a first for me and Raif. “I can’t believe we’re going on a trip.”

My brother has a strange look to his face, and he opens his mouth to say something when the old man lumbers in smelling strongly of whiskey and perfume. Not his wife’s brand. My stepmom Misti’s scent smells smoky and flowery. I can’t describe it. But if I had to, I’d call it biker class. This perfume reeks of cheap. Biker cheap.

“Who’s goin’ on a trip?” my father asks.

Regressing to the nervous habit I’ve had since I was a kid, I twist and untwist the ends of a rope of my hair around my finger. He has this way of making me feel so small and stupid without ever calling me a name; just the way he says all the other words.

“Speak up,” my father chides. The asshole gets off on making me uncomfortable.

“I…uh…” I stumble and stutter.

“I… uh…” he teases me, changing his voice to a lower, derogatory, what he always calls “country bumpkin.” “Come on, girl. You dumb like your mother?”

Talking cruel about my mother, that’s a punch to the gut that I feel deep. She wasn’t dumb—she was addicted and now she’s gone and it’shisfault. Tears begin to flood my eyes. “R-Raif said we were going to St. Louis.”

“No,we”—he gestures between himself and Raif—“are goin’ to St. Louis. You’re stayin’ here with Misti.”

“No,” I say before I think. “Misti hates me.” And she does. She absolutely hates me because I’m a constant reminder of her husband’s cheating ways.

“You think we want a fucking bitch hangin’ around? Hard to get pussy that way, eh, boy?” He looks to my brother, like they’re having some kind of bonding moment. They probably are. Raif has been spending more time with our father and the club than me lately. My brother laughs, but from the look on his face, it’s because he doesn’t want to piss off Dad, not at my expense, at least. “Get your bag,” our dad orders. “We gotta roll.”

A few moments later Raif walks back into the front room carrying a small duffle over his shoulder. The front door pops open and Gage sticks his head inside. “Knock, knock,” he says.

“Hey, man,” my brother greets his lifelong best friend.

Cue the asshole, my father walks back into the room with his duffle. “Hey, boy.” He greets Gage with a chin lift. “Goin’ to St. Louis this weekend. Welcome to come. Lots of easy pussy to wet your dick.”

I flinch. The thought of Gage and easy pussy turns my stomach. “Nah, no thanks, Ripper. I got something I need to see to. Maybe next time.”

Raif and the old man offer back pats for Gage as they leave, a glance for me from my brother only. Nothing from my father. I don’t exist for him unless he’s cutting me down. Once we hear the rumble of Harleys out front, Gage walks the two steps over to me and takes my hand in his, pulling me toward the front door.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Seeing to what I need to see to.” His smile is glorious and only for me.

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