I Can't Own You? (BOOK 1)

59 (NEW)

SAM

Of course he's gone, why didn't I expect this? I stare at the empty garage, debating if I should go to the reservation or not. Chris has had enough space and time to reflect. I bet he's there yelling instead of accepting Naka's choice for what it is. People change...they grow. Well, most people anyway. My family would love if I up and married a woman and put what they called a "condition" to rest.

Chris's parents are gems to me, how they support him in a non-fake way. I revisit a black and red bedroom, to a twin bed holding a teenage boy. Hearing shouts through the walls and making out the words of my father: "this is your fault...your side of the family has nothing but mental issues!"

"I DID NOTHING!!" My mother bellows.

"You did...you catered to him too much; he needed a firmer mother, not a weak bitch!!"

"Take that back!" A crash of glass booms from below my room.

My eyes widen, teared up, and frightened. I cover my ears, not wanting to hear the sound of a slap and a yelp from my mother. I didn't want to fathom the noise of whimpering as he grips her wrists so hard. My breaths magnify with my clogged ears, heavy and fast. My chest flinches. I jump at this odd sensation, dropping my arms and placing a hand to my chest as if experiencing a heart attack.

"Control yourself or I'll do it..." My father's bitter, abusive voice rings the quiet house. "Now...we need to deal with this; Sam needs therapy."

"That'll scare him."

"Good, he needs to be scared straight!"

"It's not that bad...it's just a phase. We just have to get through it. That's all. But until then, look at the bright side, at least he still likes women."

I end the memory and head to the front door.

Upstairs, I pick out the noise of a TV. Reba and Phil had been avoiding Chris, giving him space? Or being reluctant? Protective? Either way, whichever is the case, it was something I wish I had at the beginning.

Outside, the rental car is gone. Oh...right, fuck...I would call Uber, but I don't have the address. Chris needs a phone...he's a dead wire walking right now. Anything can happen to him. I look up and down the street, my soul turning gray like hair. If he gets caught, I'll be useless to help. A chilling trickle pours down my chest. Great...now I'm thinking the worse.

A surveillanced presence zeros in on me. The feeling of someone watching my movements closely. Instantly, I gaze at the cars parked around. Most are in driveways....all except for one. An old model with no brand title, dark green. The vehicle sits a few houses away yet close enough to make out a red-haired man with a beard-a man who shares a sinister vibe. Who observes me.

I don't let terror show as my mind puts two into together. This must be one of James's guys. I take a hand to my back, expecting to feel a gun. Fuck...my 45 is upstairs packed away. I guess I'll have to show force without it.

I step up the driveway, letting the posture of my body go fierce. My chest puffs out, my fists ball, as I stand in the middle of the street. This guy needs a message to not come around here anymore...or else. Most of the shirts I have show off muscles, this one, a blue tank, had no choice but to use them as bullets. A challenging glare bursts from my eyes, connecting through the air all the way to the driver, who revs the car...rumbling it like a lion.

At this, I walk forward, continuing to measure dicks and manifesting ownership over the street, the house. A place my baby felt safe, somewhere I was beginning to belong to, a home of caring parents...possible in-laws. SO FUCK THIS GUY!!

I would've said this out loud, but I allow silence to eat at the guy, to catch him off guard, to match his quiet rage. The tires of the car screech and rubber ripples onto the concrete. I watch a patch of smoke radiate from the tires which heat up. The engine of the car revs louder now, more gas pumped. I stay standing where I am, feeling my veins pulsate with dominance and cockiness.

This guy mustn't have a gun, with how he's using the car...small balls. From the front windows, he glowers at me with dark eyes. A testing grimace cuts through the glass like an invitation to die. If he thinks taunting is a good play, he has no clue.

Let's play chess.

I give an air kiss and watch it hit him like a gun, rubbing the hitman the wrong way, like a bull seeing red, he steams. The car stops revving and now screeches towards me at high speed, rolling the streets, a metal machine out for blood. I don't flinch; I don't retreat, I don't even think to run. No fear...show no fright.

I stand and wait, knowing that he wouldn't hit, it's all just air. I assume this guy has been here for days without interfering, most likely due to awaiting for orders. My bulging arms electrify in a thrill. This red guy wiped away the chance to get out of the car and faceoff fairly. A bitch move.

I know easy men; I know when they're gutless. This guy isn't a killer, only a stakeout for James.

The metal, green beast continues at me, seeming to build up speed. A little self-denial creeps at my mind. Maybe I'm wrong...but I doubt it. I know pussy language.

The visual of the car charging my way burns into my mind. Into my memory, saving like data, as if it's my last moment. Stand your ground, my mind shouts. The driver is now a few feet away, a murderous glint lighting his soul-a disgusted, scolding masculinity.

Here it comes.

The car is inches away now. Before the full body of it could hit me, the driver swerves sideways. This I expected...what I didn't expect was a fiery throb...or that I would be knocked down.