Chapter Seven 267

Chapter Seven

Swayze

I say my goodbyes to the night shift waitresses, Emily and Carmen, completely ignoring Caleb. He’s the cook and has been trying to get in my pants for months. He’s my dad’s age, but he doesn’t look like he cares about personal hygiene with the tartar buildup on his teeth or the pimple that seems to be growing two heads between his caterpillar eyebrows. Except for the icky come-ons, he’s nice for the most part.

“Are you good, Doll Baby?” Caleb asks as he gets into his Kia, which is parked around the back of the diner.

I hold up the trash. “Yep, I’ll be out of here in no time. Pulled the short straw.”

“Seems like it. Be safe. Watch out for those cat burgers,” he jokes, closing his driver’s door.

He’s got the dad jokes. I shake my head, giggling inwardly on my way to the dumpster. Boxes labeled with tomatoes and buns are stacked on the side of the diner. I knock one over as I get on my tiptoes to open the lid wide enough to throw in the trash bag before it closes on me. A loud bang sounds when the plastic covering slams against the metal.

Something black zips between my legs, and I scream, “Eeeeek!” I dance on my toes, expecting a few mice to follow. A stray cat rounds the end of the alleyway, settling my racing heart. It must’ve been hiding in the turned-over box.

“You get spooked easily,” the slimy snake states, slinking from the shadows.

Kyle Anderson. My mother’s drug dealer. His long shoulder-length hair looks as greasy as when I saw it last weekend. I don’t know if the stench is from him or the dumpster. Does he ever shower? I cross my arms over my chest as a shield. He’s like the layer of scum at the bottom of a gas station toilet that hasn’t been cleaned in years. He circles me with a leer that makes me feel naked. Disregarding personal space, he crowds me, but I don’t move. I don’t show how much he affects me or how much I want to vomit from the way his breath is like Snoop Dog’s bong water.

“Not by you,” I spit.

He trails his nose along the side of my neck and takes a large inhale. He sniffs me as if I’m his last meal. “We can change that,” he whispers. His moldy cigarette breath washes over me again, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to not gag.

“I’d rather fuck myself with a hot curling iron than stand here a moment longer with you. Can you give me the wicked witch’s order so I can go on with my life?” I snap, holding out my tips from the night. I’m hoping the show of cash will make him hurry the fuck up.

He doesn’t take the bait, though. Instead, he grabs me by the hip, turns me around, and shoves me forward until my cheek presses against the dumpster. This gives me a close-up of a red glob dripping down the side of the dumpster. Did it just wink at me? Acid claws at my throat, readying for evacuation, but I swallow hard past the lump.

Kyle runs his lips over the exposed flesh at the back of my neck. “You think you’re better than us? I think you need to be taken down a peg before I hand over—”

The pressure behind me disappears with a loud crack and a thud. What’s going on? An added layer of red joins my jiggly friend on the trash can. My muscles tense, preparing to bolt. Whoever took out Kyle can’t be much better than he is.

“What did Daddy teach you about boys?” The sound of his voice makes my heart race. I don’t remember much about what he told me when I was a kid, but this phrase sticks out the most.

“Don’t trust ’em,” I recite, pushing myself off the dumpster. I rub the side of my face with my forearm. Now the words are ringing in my mind and I know what he will ask next.

“And what do you do if they get too close?” he asks. It’s his warm breath that’s brushing against my neck now, and my nipples pebble at the action.

His words come to me like a nursery rhyme that was whispered to me before bedtime. “Kick ’em in the balls or stab ’em in the eye.”

Snaking a strong arm around my waist, he pulls me to him, holding me to his chest as he plants a soft kiss on the crown of my head. Kyle is holding the side of his face. When he pulls his hand away to stare at it, I would’ve thought he took my red flubber friend with him in the fall if I didn’t know any better.

“That’s my good girl.” Those words make me weak, so I lean into my Daddy. “Now,” he says, offering me the gun that’s dripping with blood. “Kill him.”

The order is lethal, and if he weren’t holding me up, I would’ve gotten on my knees for him right next to this dumpster. My brain is in a lust-filled haze as he presses the hard plastic into my hand. It takes me a second to realize this isn’t from a passion-infused dream I’m lost in. No. This is real, and my Daddy is built for all flavors of sin, not just the kind where he’s a raunchy X-rated pornstar that groans his daughter’s name while blowing his load.

I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life, but killing somebody is a limp dick too far. I whip around, pushing the handle of the gun into his chest. “What the fuck? You want me to go to jail like you did? Like father like a daughter or some shit?”

He grabs the weapon with a smirk playing on his lips. “I never went to jail for murder, Swayze. If you weren’t busy throwing your ass ets around and sat and had a chat with me, then you’d know better.”

My cheeks heat at the mention of him noticing me earlier, and my rage eases. I run my nails along the salt and pepper stubble of his beard. “So you were looking at my ass?”

“What the fuck, man? I just wanted my payment. Her mom owes me–” Kyle whines before a small hole appears in the middle of his forehead, cutting him off. His eyes cross, confused at the newfound pain before they roll back in his head.

I face Dad and see the tension in his jaw. His muscles flex as he looks at Kyle’s still form. “Grab his shit,” he orders, pulling out a phone and calling someone .

I step gingerly around the crime scene, and my steps crackle over the gravel of the parking lot. Kyle’s crumpled on his side, so I have to grab one of the loops in his belt and turn him over. I dig in his pockets, thinking drugs would be the safest thing I find. Removing the baggy of pills he was supposed to give me makes me think at least Mom will be happy. She still gets her goodies for the night. His other pocket holds a phone and a measly amount of cash for a drug dealer.

Dad’s off the call and hovering over me with his hand out. “Give it to me.”

I pass him the phone and wad of cash, and like an expert in the field of shady shit, he removes the sim card and battery before smashing it to pieces beneath his heel.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” I ask, mystified as to who this man is.

“I told you. I didn’t go to jail for murder,” he states, pocketing the cash before squatting and throwing Kyle over his shoulder like he’s a sack of potatoes. He nods at the dumpster. “Open that for me.”

“You know someone will find him, and we will definitely be handcuffed and taken in for murder,” I state matter-of-factly, lifting the lid anyway .

Daddy chuckles. “The right people will find him. Unless you have a better idea? Want filet of Kyle for dinner?” I turn my nose up because Kyle is the furthest thing I’d want near my mouth. “That’s what I thought.”

After ditching Kyle, he ushers me into mom’s old station wagon. I’m surprised mom let him take it considering she makes me walk everywhere.

I’m in the passenger seat, and if I thought he was all-consuming before, then I was fucking wrong. He dominates this car as if this space can’t contain him. I’m transfixed by the way he handles the wheel and how his muscles flex with every turn. My eyes devour him, tracking his every move, and I can’t help myself. I reach for his closest thigh. I see the outline of him, and my hand moves toward his thick length.

His objections can’t stop me. I won’t be denied.