Once done, I turn back around, and he stands there staring at me. His impatience evident in his narrowed eyes and sharp jaw. “We got together my freshman year. He was a senior.”
“And?”
“And what?” I ask, not knowing what all he wants to know.
“What else?” he demands.
I place my hands on my hips and tilt my head. If he wants to know, then I’ll tell him. Because it’s just gonna piss him off anyway. And I love to piss this guy off. “At the time, I was fourteen, and he was seventeen. He asked me out, and I said yes. We dated for a few weeks, then I gave it up.” His jaw sharpens. “After that, we were together. His uncle owned a tattoo and body piercing shop. After Martin graduated high school, he went to work with him.”
His eyes go to my side, and he demands, “He gave you that tattoo?”
“Yep.”
His eyes snap back up to mine, and I can see the rage behind them. He hates that another man marked me. Too bad. It’s not like I let Martin write his name across my ass. “And then I had to move here. End of story.”
“Do you still talk to him?” he asks, pressing.
I hate that the truth is no. That what I thought meant something was really nothing to Martin. He was there for me in a lot of ways. He never asked what went on in my house, but he knew. He kept me busy. Always wanted to hang out. He was a major pot head, and we spent most of our time high or drunk, but he still always made sure to come and get me to do things. He even taught me how to drive. He did the things that my mother and father should have shown me.
“Yes,” I lie, looking down at the drain. Because I’m not gonna tell a man who wants to break me that a guy I thought I loved no longer speaks to me.
He grabs my chin and lifts my head to where I have to look up at him. “Delete the pictures, Austin. You’re mine now. Not his.” Then he lets go of me and steps out of the shower.
_________________________________
After the shower, I walk out to find Cole on his cell already dressed in a fresh pair of jeans and a clean black t-shirt. I’m not sure where they came from because I never saw him with a bag last night. I dig through my overnight bag and put on a new pair of jean shorts and t-shirt that says CALI across it in red letters. After I throw on my tennis shoes, I then dry my hair.
I didn’t bring any makeup or a straightener, so I threw my hair up in a messy bun once dry and called it good. This’ll have to do for lunch.
I’m coming down the stairs when I spot him sitting on the couch. He’s got his legs crossed at the ankles and his head down staring at his phone as he types away.
He looks up at me and stands. We haven’t spoken since he told me to delete those pictures and that I belonged to him now.
I really didn’t have much to say on that matter. He thinks he’s got me where he wants me. I’m not gonna say otherwise.
He takes my bag from my hand and opens the door for me. I mumble a thank you and fall into his passenger seat while he places my bag in the trunk. I look around for Deke’s Range Rover but don’t see where Cole parked it last night. He must have already come and got it.
“Where is your phone?” he asks.
“Why?”
He blows out a long breath, hating when I don’t just answer his questions. “Because Celeste called me saying she’s been trying to get a hold of you. But it goes straight to voicemail.”
“It died last night while at the beach, and I forgot my charger.”
“I’ll plug it in,” he says, opening his center console to grab his charger. I see his gun and knife in there before he shuts it.
I remove it from my back pocket and hand it to him. “What did she want?” I ask after he plugs it in.
“She wanted to know if you were going to be home tonight.”
I nod my head. “Of course—”
“I told her no,” he interrupts me.
“What?” I demand.
“You’ll be with me.”
I laugh like he’s lost his mind. “And where will we be?”
He doesn’t answer, just like always, and I fall back into my seat, crossing my arms over my chest.
I hate that he brings out every emotion in me. I hate how I told him secrets about me to get him to open up, but it didn’t work. He didn’t tell me anything that I hadn’t already figured out about his friends dying. I stood there and told him things that no one else knows. And although he looked pissed, like he cared about what Phillip had done, he didn’t give me what I really wanted. His story. His hate. His secrets. It’s not fair.