21. Olive

21

OLIVE

T he pharmacy lights feel too bright.

I have a hoodie pulled over my head and sunglasses shielding my eyes, but still, a spotlight blinds me as I wait in line behind the other patrons, my foot tapping, my hands raking up and down my arms.

I’m pretending to study a display of toothpaste when the woman in front of me turns to give me a judgmental stare. When she faces forward, I force my hands to lower to my sides and focus on pulling even breaths into my lungs.

Breathe. Just breathe, Olive.

There are no criminals out to get you here. No one at the pharmacy wants you dead.

Just … chill. You’re safe. You need to be here. It’s worth it.

It is .

Once Alik left, I spent the next few hours drawing in my sketchbook. First, I focused on a sketch of a mountainous terrain and a bear standing atop a cliff. It was nice… Kind of boring.

But then my mind drifted, and my creativity took me someplace dark.

I was barely conscious as I took to the page, and by the time I was finished with the graphic depiction of my worst nightmare, it was mid-afternoon. I’d covered my mouth, staring at the pool of blood my black and white self was drowning in, only half my arm visible, reaching for a helping hand that would never come. My mom, dad, brother, and sister hung from a clothesline above the pool. Their eyes had been pulled out. Most were gone from the page, but my sister’s dangled from her sockets, and their legs had been sawed off at the knees. Someone had dug beneath their skin and pulled out their veins one by one, letting them dangle over the pool to fill it up with their blood, as if their sawed legs weren’t producing enough.

Alik stood off to the side with his arms crossed and his lips thinned in disapproval, and I stood next to him with a smirk on my face. Except, of course, it wasn’t really me. It was her . I was the one drowning.

I tore the paper to pieces and stuffed the evidence in the garbage disposal before throwing up in the sink.

It isn’t that it’s uncommon for me to have dark thoughts. But it feels almost as if she’s speaking to me. Warning me of what’s to come.

I need help. I need her gone.

Now .

So I made an emergency appointment with my psychiatrist, and I just have to hope this time the medication works.

My feet shuffle as the line moves, and when it’s my turn, I have to repeat myself twice before the technician makes out my mumble. I snatch my prescription from his hand then hurry out of the pharmacy.

It takes me a half hour to make it through Vegas’s five o’clock traffic, but when I’m finally on the main road headed to the lake house, I relax in my seat and let out a long sigh.

I rip off my hood and push back the sweaty hair on my forehead before clicking on the radio and turning the dial in search of a station I like. Something calm. No rock, no rap.

Country music blares with my finger still on the dial when something bumps my green Explorer, making the vehicle lurch. I slap the steering wheel as my body jerks and eyes dart to the rearview.

It takes me a millisecond to recognize the tall diesel pickup with spotlights perched on the roof and large exhaust pipes mounted one either side.

Creeper .

He bumps me again, and I gasp while gripping the wheel tighter. My eyes flick between the rearview and the road as I stomp on the gas, even though I know it won’t do any good. I’ve ridden in that truck and remember the pride Creeper takes in the souped-up engine.

When he rear ends me hard enough that I hear metal bending, I let out a whine and slap the button for my hazards. He flies around me and turns onto a back road while my chest heaves.

My hands clutching the steering wheel, I slow and turn onto the same road, driving a ways down before coming to a stop behind him.

It’s been only a few weeks since I saw his face. I hadn’t been scared of him then. I don’t know that I’ve ever been truly scared of him.

But now, when his angry, six-four bulky form jumps out of his pickup and slams the door, I’m terrified.

I leave the doors locked but roll the window down as he comes up, my feet itching to hit the gas. It’s hard to look at him, so I face forward instead.

He reaches over me to click off the radio.

“I didn’t know you were a country fan,” he says, his raspy voice a slimy tongue gliding up my neck. I struggle to swallow, my mouth as dry as the Sahara.

“Well? Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

I hate you.

I really fucking hate you.

I hope your truck blows up with you in it.

“I know you narced on me, you cunt .” Now his voice bites. I don’t know what he’s thinking or planning. But I know it isn’t good.

“Well?” He grips my hair and yanks me toward him, pulling me halfway out the window. “You gonna say sorry?”

I’m not sorry .

Creeper growls when I still don’t say anything and stabs the unlock button before opening my door and dragging me out by my hair. My scalp protests, but I clamp my lips shut and only cringe when he hurls me to the gravel, sending me rolling twice before my body comes to a stop.

He stomps to me and grabs my hair again while I reach for his hands to try to stop him, but he yanks me to my knees before I have a chance. “You little fucking bitch. Say something !”

When seconds pass, he rears his hand back and slaps me, knocking me back to the ground. Gravel presses against one cheek while the other swells, pain throbbing along my jaw. My eyes clench from the pain, and when he lands a kick to my ribcage, it rips a cry from my throat.

“Still got nothing to say?” He kicks me again, shifting my body a couple inches. “Huh?” Another kick. Another cry.

“I’m sorry,” I whimper, tears clogging my throat. I can feel his satisfied grin. I don’t know how, but it fills the air around me. “I’m so sorry.”

My face twists with pain as I slowly lift onto my knees to face him. “Creeper, please, you have to understand,” I beg, taking in the lust forming in his eyes.

Lust.

Even after I turn him in, he feels lust for me. Maybe it was always that way. At the time, I thought it was Damian who manipulated me into doing what he wanted by sleeping with Creeper for free scores. But now, looking into his wanting eyes, I wonder if it was Creeper manipulating Damian all along. I wonder if it was his idea.

I wonder what it is about me that he likes so much. That I’m pathetic? Weak? Does he like me like this, on my knees, begging him?

I let out a sob, digging my hands into the gravel to fill them with rocks. “I was a coward. She told me not to do it, and I didn’t listen.”

He has to die. That’s the only way.

That’s what she’d said.

She was right.

He scoffs. “I should kill you right now . You’re so fucking lucky the Irish want you alive.”

I narrow my eyes. “What?”

“You deserve it.” He shakes his head at me but picks up a lock of my hair to run his fingers through. “Don’t you agree?”

“What do you mean the Irish want me alive?”

Creeper laughs and pulls his hand from my hair. His crooked side teeth show when he smiles wide. “Daddy didn’t tell you?”

I shake my head.

Creeper laughs again, his square head falling back with his amusement. I hate his laugh. It’s too loud. Too obnoxious.

The gravel in my hand digs into my palm, but I keep my clenched fists at my sides.

When Creeper looks at me, he holds sadistic pleasure in his smile. “Your dad has been in bed with the Irish for months now. No one was even concerned about your little video. Honestly, it was just confusing as to how you could be so stupid to think that would go anywhere. Your dad went crawling to the boss to beg his forgiveness and to spare you.” Creeper taps my nose, and I jerk from his touch. “I can’t believe you don’t know this.”

Numb.

I wish I were numb.

Instead, nausea forms a ball in my stomach and grows until it pushes bile up my throat. My hold on the gravel loosens, but it doesn’t fall from my grasp.

It makes sense.

I couldn’t understand why my dad didn’t want me to turn Creeper in, but now… It was more than fear for my life. It was selfish.

He destroyed that evidence not for me, but for them.

He…

This can’t be real.

But it is.

My dad, my hero… Is a criminal.

Fucking hypocrite .

“What else don’t I know?” I ask, my voice low and weak.

“Probably a lot, princess. But I don’t really owe you a god damn thing, now do I? Figure it the fuck out.”

“Creeper.” I let the rocks fall from my hands. “I know I hurt you, but we were friends once upon a time. Just tell me… Does my dad have any enemies? A specific organization that may want to hurt me in order to get to him?”

With his deadly eyes pinned to me, he slowly crouches. Goosebumps spread over my arms, and I yelp when he snatches my jaw and squeezes until it feels like it’ll crack. I scratch at his hands until it’s clear he has no intention of letting go, then I put them at my sides and try to breathe. His wide eyes look like they could strangle me without needing hands.

“I don’t think you understand,” he whispers. “You owe me. I don’t help you. You do what I say when I say until I decide I don’t want your used up pussy anymore. This isn’t going to be like the old days, bitch.”

He pulls a baggy from his back pocket and holds it up for me. The needle shifts when he waves it. “This is your gift when I finish in your mouth.”

He goes to stand but pauses when I speak.

“I don’t use anymore.” I drag my eyes away from the needle, my skin itching.

I don’t want it. I genuinely don’t want it. My ‘evil twin,’ as Alik calls her, doesn’t agree with drugs, and I mean it when I say I’ll do anything to get her out of my life. I’ll scratch my fucking skin away before sticking that needle in my arm.

“Oh,” Creeper says, sounding unbothered. When he opens the baggy, I move my gaze to him, my brow furrowing. “Well then, I guess this is yours now.”

My eyes widen, but it’s too late to get away by the time I realize what he plans to do.

He shoves me onto my back when I try to scramble then presses my wrists above my head while straddling me.

“No!” I scream, whipping my head side to side. I lift up to look at the main road, but the cars are just specks in the distance. Even if anyone sees us, no one knows what’s happening. No one is calling for help.

“Creeper, please,” I beg, this time for real as he pinches the needle between his teeth and prepares the heroin. “Please, don’t do this. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Creeper!” I sob when he continues to ignore me. “Creeper, please !”

He uses the needle to suck up the heroin then flicks out the bubbles. I slam my head onto the gravel out of pure frustration while sobs wrack my body, but when he puts the needle to the vein on my arm, my crying ceases.

I can feel resolve entering my body as the fight exits. The begging is useless. He doesn’t care.

I just have one last move to play.

“Do it after,” I whisper, my eyes clenched shut. “Drugged up whores aren’t as good unless you’re also high. You told me that yourself. And you can’t get high out here.”

The needle doesn’t break my skin.

“What do you get out of it?” he asks skeptically.

“I just need some time to accept it.”

A couple seconds pass, but I know I’ve got him when he doesn’t laugh at my attempt or press the needle in. When it leaves my skin, I arch my chin but hold in the sigh of relief my lungs beg to expel.

Creeper drags me up by my arm and around the Explorer to offer more privacy. Without missing a beat, he pulls himself from his blue sweats and brings my mouth to his rancid junk.

I close my eyes and try not to gag. Try not to remember the times I did this willingly with this man. I don’t know how I was ever attracted to him. I don’t know how I was ever attracted to anyone before Alik.

Alik .

What would he think if I went missing? Would he know it wasn’t by choice? Would he know I didn’t leave him?

Would he kill Creeper?

Would I want him to?

Yes, he would do it. I’m confident. Alik is a killer, and he’s killed for me once before.

But no … I wouldn’t want him to. Creeper is associated with the Irish mob. Killing one of them has consequences. I’m not prepared to risk Alik. I can’t have him paying for Creeper’s death.

Besides, Alik has done enough for me. Creeper isn’t his problem. He’s mine.

Opening my eyes, I look up at Creeper and take him in my mouth. My stomach lurches at the taste and smell, but I try to ignore it as I wrap one hand around his shaft while taking as much of him as I can in.

When he grunts, I know he’s distracted. I swipe up gravel in my free hand and bob my head a few more times until his grip in my hair relaxes.

I know he thinks I’m weak, too pathetic to fight back. Too scared to take a chance. I get it. Once upon a time, maybe I was weak. Maybe I still am.

But I’m no one’s whore.

I bite. Hard .

Teeth clenching.

Mouth filling with blood.

Ears piercing with the train whistle that comes from Creeper’s mouth.

I stay latched onto him to a count of two before letting go and shooting to my feet, flinging the gravel in his eyes, which was completely unnecessary because he falls to the ground in agony, cupping his privates. I hurry to my Explorer then speed away, gravel flying up and clouding Creeper’s image in my rearview.

After today, hopefully I'll never see him again.

If I do… I am so fucked.