Page 36 of Jensen
She shakes her head, hard. “No, I don’t feel like going anywhere formal. I just want to be in a crowd so I don’t have to think.”
It’s been a very long time since I went out on a date. My knee jerk reaction is to shy away—at least it was. But looking down at her, I don’t think I want to fuck this up. No, I’d like to learn what it feels like to pursue her properly, not like my catastrophic or very short relationships of the past.
Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not sure I’ve been on a real date ever.
“The fights usually start around seven,” I say.
“Seven is fine,” she sighs, sinking into my chest. “We should nap. We were up all night.”
“I’m pretty tired,” I admit.
We both slide beneath the sheets. Our mouths meet, and I’m lost, tripping, sliding all the way down to a place it took me agesto get out of. I think it’s alright this time. There are no obvious red flags with her, the way there wasback then. She’s younger than me, clearly in her twenties at least. And odds are, she’s not involved in organized crime. That last time was a fluke.
No, she’s aperfect. Like somebody plucked my dream girl out of thin air and dropped her into my lap. No strings attached this time.
Our kisses slow until we’re both too tired to keep going. Her eyes close,and I stare at the feathery lines against her cheek until I can’t stay awake any longer.
My eyes close, but my brain doesn’t rest. For the first time in nineteen years, I dream, and it takes me back to the worst day of my life—the one that makes no sense because I still can’t remember how I got into that trailer.
BEFORE
The day after my twentieth birthday, I wake up in the aftermath of the end times.
Or at least, it looks like it.
I shake my head. There’s a pounding between my eyes and a taste like engine oil in my mouth.
The room spins. A naked woman is laid out on the couch, a blanket over her lower half. One of Pat Pretty’s guys is out cold on the floor, hands draped above his head. It takes me a moment before I remember who Pat Pretty is anyway—notorious drug dealer, the right arm of the Caudill family. Two more women in their underwearare curled in the armchair. Another Pat Pretty guy is slumped on the other couch.
I stand shakily, walking on the sides of my boots to the kitchen. My AK sits on the round kitchen table. I remember now—I put it there when I walked into the trailer around ten last night.
Shattered pieces of last night start to come together,Brothers’ face swimming before my eyes as we talked. I think we argued. I drank or took something.
Then, my foot was on the gas, the road bouncing the truck hard as I sped over the gravel. The creek rushing to my left. The clouds rolling in, covering the stars as they came out. My boots crunching over rusted beer cans walking up to the door of Pat Pretty’s trailer.
Itwas a job, adeal I’d been working on for a while. A momentary truce between Brothers and the Caudill family.
There was something I was supposed to collect—maybe money, maybe drugs. I remember the smell of body odor when I stepped into the singlewide. After living in luxury with Brothers, it was a shock.
Now, I’m wide awake in a nightmare,and I can’t recall how I got here. My stomach churns, but I keep it together. Slowly, walking over broken bottles and clothes, I move through the kitchen.
The hallway opens, and there’s a woman on the floor, naked. Silently, I roll her over with my boot, checking her for injury. She looks fine—at least she’s breathing.
I keep going to the bedroom at the end. The door is ajar, and it smells inside, like…gutting an animal, raw as open muscle hanging in a butcher’s shed. I shift the AK and bring my hand up over my nose, like that’ll do anything.
Then, I kick open the door.
Jesus fucking Christ.
There’s a body on the bed, cut in two. Not across the middle, but up and down, like the giant deli meat slicer of God took him out.
Fuck, I need to get out of here. I know Brothers and I are on the outs, but I’m not staying in this trailer with a body cut down the center, like he’s about to be laid on ice behind glass. I need to get myass back to the Boyd Mansion before this whole thing blows up in my face.
I stumble into the hall and step over the woman. She moans, rolling her head. I stop, turning as her eyes flutter open.
“Help,” she whispers.
I need to go…but I can’t leave her. She’s pushing herself up on her elbows, terror in her eyes. I raise my finger to my lips, hunkering down to offer her my arm. She stands with my help, and I start hauling her down the hallway to the back door.
