Page 1 of Dark, Forbidden, & Taboo

Chapter

One

Ilight a cigarette and rest a foot firmly against the brick wall behind me. So far, whatever violence the town had been expecting hasn’t happened.

Either that, or it was moved to another time or place.

It’s strange how fate works.

I thought that we would have lived out or days happily in Salado with our parents, hiding our secret from them, and maybe even find a way to get married one day.

Instead, we’re down in Mexico trying to live away from everything we’ve ever known and hoping for the best.

Or at least, I am.

I don’t think Etta even knows where she is half the time, and while it pains me to see her like that, it’s just how it has to be until she seems me the way I see her without the drugs.

A plume of smoke escapes from my parted lips as I glance up the street, then down. Quickly, I stub out the cigarette on the wall beneath me, as I watch someone approaching.

“Hey man! Got a light?” I call out into the semi-darkness.

I watch tediously as the figure bobs and weaves through the light of the moon, making its way toward me, then take a deep breath when I can see him better.

Good,I think quietly as he smiles kindly.

He’s a tourist, which means he’ll be looking forsomething,and I hope that I’ll have what he needs.

“Don’t smoke, sorry,” he calls back to me as he walks over to where I’m standing.

I give him a grin and shrug.

The closer he gets, the more relaxed I become.

He looks like he’s about our age, maybe a little older.

Mercifully, he doesn’t look like one of the crazy bastards that wants anything kinky or demoralizing. But looks can be deceiving and I’ve been hurt a time or two before.

Physically and spiritually.

“Where ya from?” I ask when he stops a few feet away.

“Malibu.”

“Nice, down here with family?” I press, the grin still on my face.

He shakes his head as he slides his hands into his pockets, “Nope. Just wanted to get away for the weekend.”

Rich boy. Figures.

I nod again as I use my foot to push away from the wall and drop the stubbed cigarette onto the cobblestone street.

The silence is always the tricky part because there’s no good way to sayI need some cash, let me blow you.

“What are you doing out tonight?” he asks, his tone still friendly.

I begin to chew the inside of my mouth thoughtfully, committing everything I can about him to memory.

He’s about six-foot-two, has a toned body from what I can tell beneath his tight-fitting shirt, a scar on the side of his neck, light blue eyes, and ash-brown hair.

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