Page 105 of American Hellhound
Unfazed, Duane settled back in his chair, legs spread, relaxed, and a blonde groupie appeared at his elbow as if by magic, handing him a drink. She made as if to sit on the arm of the chair and he waved her away.
“Come back in five,” he instructed, and she retreated, head bowed.
Maggie felt panic welling in her throat. She was in so far over her head, she couldn’t see the surface anymore.
Duane took a long sip of his drink, savoring it in his mouth a moment. “Maggie.” His dark eyes had never left her, black and sharp. “How’d you end up with this dipshit?”
“Duane,” Ghost started, shifting forward. She felt the thud of his heart against her shoulder blade.
Maggie silenced him with a hand against his wrist. This was supposed to be about making a good impression. Duane’s insults were something she could handle right now – maybe the only thing. Small talk had never been her forte – just ask her elocution instructor – but she’d had a lifetime of sidestepping put-downs at home.
She met Duane stare-for-stare and prayed she didn’t wind up dead by the end of the night. “If we want to talk ‘dipshit,’ I was the moron who asked him to buy me beer. We met outside Hiram’s.”
His smile widened, delighted. “That right? What’d you ask for?”
It wasn’t the question she’d expected. “Whatever he could get for twenty bucks. Whatever he thought was best.”
He chuckled. “A lady without a preference. Now that’s a sweet thing.”
She had the sense there was no way to gain traction here; a sensation of sliding sideways on ice.
“Couldn’t buy your own beer, huh?” he asked. “How old are you?”
She swallowed hard. Ghost’s fingers tapped out a rhythm on her hipbone. She started to turn her head, but realized she couldn’t be seen looking to him for answers. She swallowed again; her throat was sticking. “Old enough.”
He was enjoying this. “Ah. Okay. Old enough. Old enough to do what? Get my nephew arrested?” Still smiling. “Old enough for your record to be sealed up nice and tight?”
“I don’t have a record.”
“Right. ‘Cause he bought the beer for you.”
“Duane,” Ghost said again.
His uncle shrugged. “Hey, he gets locked up for rape, that’s his own business.” His eyes raked her up and down, lingering on her chest. “Guys have gone away for stupider shit, sure. But Ghost has a habit of getting distracted. That I don’t like.”
“I’m not trying to be a distraction.”
“Yeah, neither was the last one.”
Ghost’s arm wrapped around her waist. If Duane’s smirk was any indication, he was shooting his uncle a lethal glare over her shoulder. “I amnotdistracted,” he growled. “Maggie isnota distraction.”
Duane nodded. “Sure, sure. I hear ya.” His gaze moved across the room, taking in the spectacle with a wry smile. “You enjoying the party, Maggie?”
“I was before the interrogation started,” she said.
He glanced back, showing white, straight teeth as he grinned. “Oh, Ilikeyou.”
Maggie shivered.
Duane grew serious. “Leave her here, Ghost, and come have a walk with me.”
Maggie felt him gathering breath to refuse, his arm so tight she thought he might crush her. He’d said to hold onto him, and he didn’t want to let go of her. She didn’t want that either, but she could feel the charge in the air. Refusing his uncle right now wasn’t going to be an option.
She closed her hand around his wrist. As if my some miracle, she spotted a familiar auburn head moving toward them. “There’s Jackie,” she said, and a moment later Jackie emerged from the crowd, waving. Maggie waved back. “You go, I’ll be fine.”
“See?” Duane said. “Listen to your old lady, son. She don’t need you holding her hand.”
~*~
