Page 7 of Vicious Punks
I sit up and see Tillie standing behind Logan and Dalton looking like she’s seen a ghost. Her big brown eyes have a distant gaze to them as she stares at Nicky with her bottom lip slightly trembling, until she bites down hard on it to stop herself from showing any kind of weakness. I like that about her, too.
The guys stop talking and turn to glance at her in the archway. She’s changed into a white sundress with small sunflowers woven into the fabric, it fits her like a glove and stands out against her smooth tan skin. It’s the dress Nicky picked out by himself for her when we were at the mall.
“That’s all you found out about Rig?” She makes her way around the guys and comes to stand in front of Nicky with, dare I say, a glimmer of hope in her gaze.
Who is this Rig to her?
I’ll kill him.
“What’s it to you? Are you his old lady and missing being passed between the two brothers? I guess once a whore, always a whor-” Nicky sneers down at her but never expected her to slap him across the face.
“You shut the fuck up, Nicky. You have no idea. Absolutely no idea what you're talking about,” Tillie whispers, staring him in the eye, not noticing how still he became the moment she whipped her hand across his cheek.
I’d kill anyone who would even dare think about laying their hands on my friends, but I think I’m going to watch from a distance and see how this plays out. I lean back on my elbows with my ankles crossed to watch the show that could only end up in fireworks. Nicky’s hand lashes out, grabbing her wrist and roughly pulling her against his chest.
Her lips part in shock at the unexpected move as she stares up at him with huge brown eyes. Her body is plastered to his from the tip of their shoes to their chests pressed tightly together. Just the sight has my imagination running wild, the things we could do to her between us. The things I’d do to Nicky as she watched and was denied pleasure until I was ready to give it. I adjust my jeans, which are starting to feel uncomfortably tight.
“You ever touch me like that again and I’ll bury you so deep that no one will ever remember you existed in the first place,” Nicky whispers dangerously down at her, his face stone cold.
“Jesus,” Dalton whispers behind me.
Yeah, no one touches Nicky without his permission. Years of abuse by his father will do that to someone, make them fear the touch of another person that they resort to violence.
“Maybe that’s what I want,” Tillie says so quietly back to him that I almost missed it but Nicky hears it loud and clear as his jaw twitches, probably grinding his teeth again.
“That’s enough!” Logan demands and moves around the furniture to pull my honey bear away from Nicky, just as Franco makes an appearance in the archway.
Dressed from head to toe in his uniform with his badge a shiny reminder of the mockery. His Chief uniform, a dark navy blue suit and his briefcase under his arm give him an air of power, as if no one can touch him.
“What’s enough? And that’s no way to touch your stepsister, Logan,” Franco commands, nodding his head towards the grip Logan has on Tillie’s wrist, but no one sees what I do.
I don’t like the way he’s staring at her, how he’s not looking away from Tillie as she stares down at the ground with her body slightly trembling. He clears his throat and glances away from her, but catches my eye as I don’t blink, meeting his gaze that screams I’ll make sure he’s in the ground at an early age.
“You should all get to school. Logan, come to the warehouse after school. Make sure someone is watching her.” Franco addresses Logan without looking her way again, not daring to stare at what’s mine because he knows I’m watching.
I’m a loose cannon and he knows it.
With that, he leaves the room and the heels of his shoes echo until he goes through the garage door.
“Your dad is really a cop? You weren’t lying?” Tillie mumbles, her face twisting like she just swallowed something nasty as she stares with wide eyes full of shock.
Franco
“Helen,” I whisper with longing, her touch warm underneath my hand as it strokes down her spine and back up to slide through her long, silky brown hair.
“No, Franco. It’s me, D-” She trails off with a long, drawn out moan.
Her voice is different, not so soft and quiet. I stroke deep inside of her, making love to my beautiful wife. Her hair is shorter, just below her shoulders… Helen always wore her curls long and wavy because she knew how much I loved to slide my fingers through it. Her beauty knows no bounds, her smooth Italian skin that makes her light brown eyes shine and show every vulnerable emotion that crosses her face. The sun to calm my storm, my everything.
Something isn’t right. This is wrong. Her smiling face blurs around the edges when she turns her head to the side. Flashing blue and red lights reflect off her skin as her dull eyes stare off into the distance, not blinking. Gone. My heart speeds up and sweat drips down my naked back as my pace slows until I’m barely moving and having to shake my head to clear the image.
“Franco, what’s wrong?” Diana asks breathlessly, getting to her knees, trying to look over her shoulder at me.
Pain slithers into my heart every day. It hurts so much that I feel colder and colder inside, until I’m numb and lost. My memories of the past blend together with the present. Never being able to get the last image of her out of my head.
“Did I say you can move? Get back down on all fours.” My voice comes out harsh and drained of emotions.
I watch her swallow hard, a drip of sweat rolling down her temple from her fake blonde hair, her dark brown eyes wide as she slowly lowers back down onto her hands with her back arched.
