Barbed Boys

Chapter 11

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I was waiting outside on my porch swing the next night for Bomber to show up and take me to see his bother. It was a cloudy summer evening, grey heavy rain clouds hung over the setting sun like smokey omen. At breakfast my mother had made a comment about how the Heavens were bound to open up later but they'd held out all day. I couldn't help but think that it was a bad sign. The air was sticky and humid and my tank top was already sticking to my back despite the shower I'd taken less than an hour ago. I wiped my sweaty palms my on yellow Nike shorts for the third time since I'd stepped outside. 

My heart was pounding in my chest. I'd gotten somewhat  used to conversing with Bomber, as fucked up as that sounded even in my own head. His navy eyes and teasing comments were irritating but disarming and sometimes I was able to push the reason I knew him back somewhere deep and dark in my mind and ignore it. At least, I could ignore it for a little while. 

Lethal was different though. I didn't know him beyond his darkness. He was the one who had looked me in the eye that night Randy was shot. He was the face that I pictured in the dark corner of my room when I woke in a cold sweat, feeling like I couldn't breathe with the coppery bitter taste of blood on my tongue. I felt his dark phantom gaze linger like the humidity of the impending summer storm while I took showers at 3 am to try and rid myself of the crimson spots that I felt on skin. 

In complete honesty, the thought of seeing him again, in the flesh, it terrified me. I tried to assure myself that Bomber would be there, and then I worried again because I shouldn't feel safe with Bomber either. I didn't feel safe with him, not always. 

The sound of a car pulling on the street pulled my from my anxious thoughts. I didn't feel anymore relaxed when a dark, tinted car finally pulled up at the end of my driveway. It looked monstrous and menacing next to my little Mini Cooper. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment to try and gather myself. When I opened them a women was coming towards me. 

She was intimidating. That was my first though as I saw her. In looks, but also in the presence she exuded. She had deep, glowing dark skin. Her hair was a wine red, braided and up in a messy bun up on the top of her head. It looked as if she'd just thrown it up there to get it out of the way for sex, or to kick some ass, I couldn't tell which it was but either way I envied her. I wasn't doing either of those anytime soon. 

"Annie Oakley?" she asked and as if she couldn't get anymore intimidating, she had an accent. It sounded French.

"Ainsley, actually." I corrected too quietly for her to hear.

I had held my own against the six-foot-four Vinny, and two formidable assassins, guns pressed against my spine and knives at my throat. Yet this woman made my voice squeaky as she was nothing short of a goddess. A goddess of darkness and war, or lust and chaos, but a goddess none the less. 

"Pardon?" she said that one word in a way that made me wonder wether I was correcting her or she was correcting me.

"It's Ainsley, not Annie." My voice was a little louder and I was sure she heard me the second time, but she didn't respond.

The woman pursed her plush lips, "I'm here to pick you up."

"Sorry, I think there is some mistake. I'm waiting for someone else."

"There is no mistake." 

When I made no move or any kind of response she narrowed her eyes, "Boss sent me, he obviously had something better to do. As do I so if you don't mind," she gestured to the sleek black vehicle behind her. The windows were tinted. I swallowed hard and tried to bottle up the panic boiling over deep in my stomach.