Only Trick Page 12

  “Yes, we are.” I sip my water. “Why did Grady beat the shit out of you?”

  Trick smirks, staring at his silverware he’s adjusting. “It was a misunderstanding.”

  “About?”

  “He found something.” His eyes look up to meet mine, as if he’s daring me to go any further.

  Drumming my fingers on the table, I sigh. “What did he find?”

  His gaze falters in chagrin. “A couple grams of coke under a Buddha statue of mine.”

  Don’t react. Don’t react. Don’t react. Oh shit, he’s still doing drugs!

  “And?” I question in a neutral voice with just a hint of nervous tremble.

  “And what?” He shrugs.

  I could scream; he’s baiting me, waiting for my reaction as if there’s a right one versus a wrong one. I’m too old to play games, and I’m too young to get involved in this messed up shit. “And nothing, Trick. If you’re using again and want help, I’ll help you. If you don’t want help then I’m out of here. If you have an explanation outside of those two scenarios then now would be the right time to share it. If this is some test of my trust for you, then here’s the deal: I’ll trust you until you give me a reason not to.”

  His head moves; it’s slight but I see him nod. “I’ve had it since I stopped going to NA. It’s just a reminder.” His lips twist into a smirk and then he lets out a small laugh. “I’ve had it for eight years and have never once been tempted to use it.”

  “So Grady thought you were going to use it?”

  He points to his now yellowish-brown bruises on his face. “I think the answer to that is yes.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell him that you’ve had it all this time?”

  “He knows.”

  I lean forward, resting my arms on the table. “Then why did he think you were going to use it?”

  He averts his eyes, scanning the restaurant as if he’s looking for the answer. “Because I had the bag on the counter just … staring at it when he came home.”

  A pang of guilt mixed with pain hits me. “When?”

  “When what?”

  “When did this happen?”

  “The morning after the party.” His eyes make a slow shift to mine.

  I suck in my lips to contain the anger. “You mean the morning after we had sex for the first time—the morning you left me.” I laugh, closing my eyes for a brief moment. “Unbelievable. You considered reverting back to a life-threatening addiction after one night with me. God! That makes me feel …” I shrug my shoulders and blink back the tears.

  “Special.” He reaches across the table, taking both of my hands.

  “Yeah, Trick. That’s some real special stuff!”

  “I was getting rid of it.”

  I try to pull away. “Sure, up your fucking nose because of your aversion to women.”

  He grips me tighter, not caring if anyone around us is watching. “No!” He grits his teeth. “Because I no longer need a reminder of where I’ve been … I have you to remind me of where I’m going, and when I’m with you I don’t ever want to look back.”

  I glare at him, feeling overwhelmed by his confession and still a little pissed off about something. “Then why did you let him make such a mess of your face?”

  Trick releases my hands and sits back with an indifferent grin smeared across his face. “I felt like shit for the lie I let you believe and for leaving you that morning while I sorted myself out. So I figured I deserved it, even if not for the drugs.”

  Our waitress brings our food; kudos to her, everything’s right. I place my napkin on my lap and look at Trick with my face scrunched in disbelief. “That’s so messed up. You should have told him.”

  Trick cuts into his food. “No need to make him feel bad.”

  We eat our dinner, exchanging very few words. My mind reels trying to process Trick’s feelings for me and his unusual sense of self-worth. One minute he’s emotionally closed off as if he’s protecting himself, and the next he’s letting Grady beat the crap out of him because he feels deserving of it. There’s such an ambiguity about his actions that leaves me feeling perplexed.

  *

  I let Trick secure my helmet to his liking, and his admiring eyes don’t go unnoticed by me. “You like the jacket, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” He grazes his teeth along his bottom lip. “Leather pants would send the package over the edge.” He gets on then I hop on the back, eager to wrap my arms around him.

  “So that’s what I am to you? A package.”

  He reaches around cupping my ass and scoots me closer. “You’re the package.”

  The engine roars to life; he revs it a few times before we shoot off into the busy stream of traffic.

  Nana is going to lose her teeth with grin-baring excitement when she finds out about me and Trick. And when I tell her that I have my own leather riding jacket and helmet it’ll probably send her to her grave. Not that she’ll worry, just the opposite. She’s been telling me my whole life to live it up, take a chance, and fall for a guy that would make my father shudder with disapproval. Done. Done. And SO. VERY. DONE!

  We pull into his garage, if you can call it that. The lower level of this warehouse has to be fairly large, but it’s always too dark for me to see beyond his bike and a few other covered things which I know have to be warmer, safer automobiles.

  “Wait!” I call as the door starts to go down. “I can’t stay. I have to work tomorrow.”

  He pulls off my helmet and sets it on the shelf next to his, then unzips my jacket. When he looks at me with the dark intensity that is only Trick, my breath quickens as a jolt of anticipation zips through me in anticipation of his touch.

  “I need my Darby fix first.” He slides my jacket off and drapes it over the seat of his motorcycle. That voice is so damn sexy, I swear he could talk me to an orgasm without ever touching me. His hands slide into my hair, fisting it, and bringing me closer until his lips find my neck.

  “Trick—”

  “Darby,” he whispers, sucking my earlobe into his mouth.

  “I thought you got your Darby fix in the supply closet earlier.” My breathy voice makes a weak protest.

  Brushing his stubble along my jaw, he seduces me with a feathery touch that elicits a gripping wave of shivers. His lips, pulled into a grin, brush against mine; he knows exactly what he does to me. “I hadn’t seen you in two days … touched you in two days … and so I had to devour you. But now…” his tongue teases my upper lip “…I want to savor you.”

  “But Grady and Tamsen—”

  “Won’t be back for hours … if at all tonight.”

  Any attempt to deny him would be futile and all in my head—like right now. My thoughts hold strong to my early morning job responsibility; but my hands have already unfastened his jeans, guaranteeing his bike will not be the last thing I ride tonight. I’m such a sex fiend with him.

  *

  The supply closet was lust, sex … a raw need. This—this is love. Trick loves me like it’s his sole purpose in life, and being on the receiving end of such a serendipitous love is … life-changing bliss.

  “I have to go,” I whisper into his neck.

  Trick makes a slight noise, but I’m not sure he’s awake so I ease off his arm and slide out of our tangled mess of sheets. My God, he’s beautiful. I don’t know what this is … what we are, but it’s unexpected—a gift. The light fluttering in my chest and the tingling that buzzes along the surface of my skin from his nearness stirring all my nerve endings, it’s life. When I’m with Trick I feel everything … I feel completely alive.

  I sigh with a pouty frown and get dressed without waking him. It’s a little after midnight by the time I get on the elevator. Unfortunately it’s a noisy beast, so I’m sure my descent wakes him; but he knows I can’t stay so hopefully he’ll fall right back to sleep with the same satisfied smile I’m still wearing. As I round the corner of his building, I hear voices. Two guys stand by my car, puffing their cigare
ttes.

  Shit!

  I unlock my car, hoping the beeping noise will convince them to step aside. No such luck, instead they’re now watching my approach. It’s time to make a decision: continue to my car with confidence showing no fear or retreat back to Trick’s and hope they don’t follow me.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” I say with a polite smile as I approach my driver’s door which they’re blocking. I leave my thumb hovering over the panic button on my key fob. In this part of town it won’t draw that much attention, but it might get Trick’s if he did in fact wake as I was leaving.

  “This your car, Red?” The younger black kid says as the older white guy, maybe my age, smirks like he’s letting his protégé handle me.

  “It is. Excuse me please.”

  “What’s a fine thing like you doing in these parts so late?”

  Just as I turn to go back to Trick’s, the younger kid grabs my arm knocking my key fob from my hand. My blood runs cold.

  “Where you going, Red?”

  I try to wriggle out, but he grabs my other arm too.

  “Darren … uh, let’s go.” The other guy starts to step away from my car.

  “Go is right. I’m going to have a go here at this fine piece of ass.”

  I grit my teeth. “Get your fucking hands off me!”

  “Darren! I’m serious, man, let’s get out of here. Just let her go.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” Darren grips me tighter as he looks over my shoulder.

  “I’m the Grim Reaper if you don’t do as the lady asks and take your fucking hands off her.”

  “Trick!” I scream at the sound of his voice behind me.

  Darren pulls me into his body, hugging me tight, and that’s when I feel the sharp tip of a knife at my back. “What are you gonna do? Shoot me before I cut her?”

  I squirm to try and see Trick behind me, but the knife presses harder against me. What the hell is Darren talking about? Does Trick have a gun?

  “What if you miss?” Darren’s face contorts into an ugly smug grin.

  “I never miss.”

  What. The. Fuck?

  Darren keeps looking over at his friend.

  “Let her go, now!”

  Darren relaxes his grip on me and holds up his hands, the knife still in his right one, like he’s surrendering.

  “Trick!” I cry as I turn and run to him.

  He places one hand on the back of my head and kisses the top of it while his other hand keeps the gun pointed at Darren. “Stay right here,” he whispers to me.

  I let him go and hug my arms around myself as he takes slow calculated steps toward Darren. “If I see you around here again, it’ll be the last time you’re ever seen.”

  I gasp a jerky breath, covering my mouth with my hand as Trick pistol whips Darren, knocking him to the ground and completely out. In spite of Darren having just threatened me two seconds ago, my instinct is to run and assess his injuries, call for an ambulance, piece him back together.

  “Don’t.” Trick grabs my arm, pulling me away from Darren as Darren’s friend drags him to the sidewalk and hoists him over his shoulder. “Are you okay?” He slips the gun into the back waistband of his jeans. “Are you okay?” he repeats, framing my face in his hands.

  I nod with slow confusion.

  “What were you thinking? Why did you leave?” His words carry a sharp edge.

  “I-I have to work early.”

  “I would have taken you or at least walked you to your car. Jesus! Don’t ever come out here at night by yourself. Do you understand?” His eyes tense with anger as he grips my face tighter.

  My wide eyes fix on his in an unsettling mix of fear and confusion. “Why do you have a gun?” I whisper.

  He kisses my forehead and sighs. “Because I didn’t grow up in Barrington Hills.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’ve hit the point of no fucking return. There’s nothing I resent more than the voice in my head saying I don’t deserve her. And maybe I don’t, but she’s color and light, music and laughter, warmth and air. She’s breath … she’s life.

  There’s nothing as fierce as my instinct to protect her. I would kill for her … I would die for her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I have twenty-twenty vision, so it’s impossible for me to turn a blind eye to the gun that Trick has. Too many unnecessary casualties cross my path on a daily basis for me to feel that guns are necessary and provide safety in the hands of the average citizen. However, Trick with his gun saved me from being raped or worse. That realization alone gives me pause to re-evaluate the strong beliefs I’ve held for so long.

  We haven’t talked about that night since he took me home and held me in his arms until sleep claimed me, settling my shaky nerves. For me, I don’t know what I would say about it. Should I apologize for leaving without him escorting me? Should I thank him for owning a gun?

  “Tell me about Tamsen,” I say, sitting cross-legged on my vanity as Trick applies my makeup for tonight’s fundraising gala.

  His lip twitches. “Look up,” he commands with complete focus.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  Another twitch. “Don’t blink.”

  “I talked to Grady about her yesterday while you were in the shower, but he was on his way out again so I didn’t get much from him. He said she’s a paramedic in New York City and she’s not gay nor does she pretend to be.”

  Trick chuckles which is very uncharacteristic of him when he’s working.

  “Are she and Grady originally from Chicago?”

  Trick pauses and looks into my eyes for a moment as if my question is … odd? He shakes his head and continues.

  “Does she have a boyfriend?”

  He lifts his shoulders. Typical man, of course he doesn’t know.

  I test the next question in my head a few times and decide it’s appropriate if I can keep a nonchalant tone to my voice. “Have you two … been together?”

  Trick raises one brow.

  I sigh. “Have you … made love?”

  He bites my lower lip, dragging it between his teeth for a slow release. “I’ve made love to you.”

  I roll my eyes at his semantics. “Have you had sex with her, fucked her?” So much for my attempt to use tact.

  He blots along my lips that are wet from him and starts to line them. “No. Would it matter?”

  “Of course not. It’s just you have such an unhealthy attitude toward women, you know … the despising them and everything … so I’m curious how she ranks so high with you.”

  “I don’t despise you.” He glosses my lips.

  “Well that’s a relief.” I grab his waistband and start to unfasten his pants.

  “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

  “Who says I can’t finish?”

  “I’ll ruin your hair and then Gemmie will be pissed. And then there’s your makeup …” He steps back and puts all the makeup and supplies away.

  I hop off the vanity and shrug, wearing nothing but my nude strapless bra and panties. “Are you telling me no, Mr. Roth?”

  He fastens his pants and leans against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest. “You are truly beautiful.”

  I look in the mirror. Gemmie has a knack for creating the impossible with my natural waves making them look tamed and free at the same time. And Trick always finds the right shades of eye shadow and liner to bring out a hint of vibrant blue in my eyes. “I’m just a product of some very talented people.”

  Trick moves behind me so he’s looking over my shoulder at our reflection in the mirror. “Darby Carmichael, you are beautiful. Gemmie gets a gorgeous head of hair to play with, and I get a perfect canvas.” He kisses my neck and my eyelids grow heavy from his touch. “But honestly, my alluring beauty, marking your perfect skin feels sacrilegious.”

  “Trick … touch me,” I whisper with my eyes closed and a fog enveloping my brain.

  “If I touch you, neither one of us will be m
aking it to our respective engagements tonight.”

  My eyes flutter open. “I’m fine with that.” I reach behind and grab his hands, placing them on my bare stomach.

  He pinches my sides eliciting a squeal and a jump. “That’s because your gala is going to be stuffy and boring.”

  I grab my newest Rachel Hart green dress and step into it. “That’s because you’re not coming with me.”

  He zips my dress. “If Tamsen weren’t leaving tomorrow, I would be going with you.”

  “Who’s going to sneak off with me to some private corner and remind me how sexy I look tonight?”

  He kisses the skin exposed from the plunging back of my dress. “Only someone with a death wish.”

  I close my eyes, trying to shake the memory of Trick holding that gun like it was an extension of himself—confident, controlled, and deadly serious.

  “My driver is probably here.” I open my eyes and slip into my heels.

  After grabbing my wrap and clutch, Trick escorts me to the car my father sent for me.

  He kisses my neck, being careful not to mess up my makeup. “Call me if you need help getting out of your dress later,” he whispers in my ear as the driver holds the door open.

  He’s so mean. “Tell Tamsen goodbye for me.”

  He nods as I duck into the back of the car.

  *

  Entering the grand ball room, I recognize the same wealthy crowd. Everything reeks of money and greed. The team of young wannabe politicians that my father sends door to door asking for votes aren’t instructed to invite the average citizens of Illinois to these galas and fundraisers. Why is that?

  Senator Calvin Carmichael flaunts his “relatable” qualities on TV ads, reminding the public that he grew up the son of a hotel parking attendant and social worker. The ads don’t mention that he basically disowned his parents after he married my mom and started his first company. My grandma Carmichael died of lung cancer a few years ago, and I love that the decor at Rogue Seduction reminds me of her attic and the many hours I spent listening to her stories of each “collector’s” piece she owned. But my grandpa is still alive. Just after my grandma died, he moved to a small house in Watseka, Illinois where he grew up. We weren’t that close because he was always working, but I still visit him several times a year.