“It’s of a crocodile,” he spews. “Wrapped around a—a clock. It’s… it’s the mark you get when you join his ranks.”
Shock punches me in the gut, my insides cramping from the vision his words create.
“What else?” I hiss, pressing the knife in deeper.
“That’s it, man. I swear.”
My fingers twitch. “Starkey, bring the salt please.”
“They call him Croc!” Tommy yells. “Please, stop, I—”
My hand slips from the handle, but I regain the hold, fury racing through my blood, darkness blowing through me like a windstorm. I pull the blade from his skin and strike again, this time higher, dragging it through the flesh in sharp, jagged motions while he screams in agony.
“Liar,” I hiss. “How do you know this name?”
“I’m te-telling you the truth. I swear.” His face is white, blood pooling on the floor underneath us. “He goes by Croc. I-I’ve never met him, but the woman’s name is—”
Boom.
37
Wendy
My heart is heavy as I sit in the cold, damp office of a strip club, and wait on Hook to do whatever business he has to do.
This sucks.
Curly sits behind the office desk, scrolling on his phone, and Moira, for some reason, has taken it upon herself to keep us company. Her glare is hot as it rakes down my insides, and I smile wide at her, hoping that it’s tearing her apart to know that Hook has me here. She brought clothes, but I declined them, not able to help the spark of pleasure that simmered in my chest when she took in what I was wearing.
I’ve had the past couple of hours to come to terms with the fact that I’m emotionally screwed up. Allowing a man like Hook to touch me, and to revel in the way it feels when he does, seems unhealthy to say the least. He’s made it abundantly clear that he’s not an upstanding citizen. He does horrible things, most of which I hope I never see.
But despite what he’s done both to me, and I’m sure to others, I can’t change the fact that when I’m with him—when I’m truly with him—I discover more of who I am. Who I can be.
Ironic, how losing my free will helped me find my voice.
And maybe that makes me more like my father than I’d care to admit.
But we’re all a little twisted, and there’s no such thing as good and evil. There are only perspectives, and perceptions change depending on the angle.
People aren’t static. Our morals aren’t constant. They’re variables, ever changing and molding into different versions of themselves; energy that can be re-shifted and realigned.
“Can I borrow your phone?” I ask Curly.
His eyes roll. “Sunshine, the answer now is the same as it’s been the last twenty times you’ve asked me. No.”
“I just want to check in on my friends. On my brother.”
Moira glances up from where she’s been picking at her nails, her curious gaze settling on me. “Why don’t you have your own phone again?”
Curly’s spine straightens, casting me a warning glare.
“I lost it,” I say, trying to cover up for my mistake.
“Oh.” She nods. “That’s a shame.” A gleam passes through her eyes as she looks me up and down, her lips curling. “You know… I understand, though. I was actually worried I lost my phone last night too, but realized I left in such a rush to meet Hook, I didn’t even take it with me.”
My stomach clenches. She’s lying. “Last night?”
Moira reminds me a lot of Maria, and I never got the chance to stand up for myself with her, too worried about being accepted. But I’m done with being the docile girl who took people’s insults and wore them as a burden. “That’s interesting, because Hook was with me last night.”
Her grin widens, her head cocking to the side. “You sure about that?”
“I—” I pause as I realize I’m not actually sure where he went after I fell asleep. I assumed he just woke earlier than me, but there’s a niggle of doubt curling through me, making my insides turn green.
“Moira, shut the fuck up,” Curly snaps. “Nobody cares about your extracurricular activities with the boss. Leave.”
“But I—”
He stands from the desk. “I said get the fuck out.”
She shoots to her feet, stomping out the door. Good Riddance.
“So, he was here?” I ask after she leaves, my head snapping to Curly.
He looks at me, his jaw clenching, eyes drooping slightly in the corners, as if he pities me and doesn’t want to answer.
I huff out a breath, crossing my arms. I don’t care. It’s not like it matters who he spends his time with. I am just absolutely disgusted with the fact that he may have been with her, and then came home and put those same fingers inside of me.
And I let him without a fight. I practically begged for it.
The door slams open, Hook storming through like a hurricane, immediately sucking up all the energy in the room. The guy from the first night at the bar—the one who let us in—follows close behind. “Hook, I—”
Hook spins around. “Starkey, do not speak unless you want to lose your life.”
My stomach clenches tight. My eyes widen as they take in Hook’s appearance. He has those black leather gloves on, and his button-up shirt is rolled to his elbows. There’s red splattered along his skin, and his hair is mussed and disheveled, like he’s been tugging at the roots.
Starkey swallows, his face pinching as he drops his head. Hook cracks his neck, and while, despite his appearance, he looks relatively composed, I can see the slight tremble in his hand, and the way his features pull tight. And the air—it feels different. I don’t know how to explain it, but whenever his mood shifts from one extreme to the other, I can sense it. Like it reaches out to touch me, wanting to drag me in and help save him from drowning.
I can feel in my bones that he’s seconds away from snapping.
And when Hook snaps, I imagine it won’t be good for anyone involved.
I’m not sure what makes me do what I do next. Maybe I have a death wish, or maybe I’ve resigned myself to the fact that if he wanted to kill me, he would have. But I rise from where I’m sitting on the couch, and walk slowly toward him, not stopping until I’m right in front of his face.
He blows out a breath, dropping his hand from his hair, his nostrils flaring as they look down at me.
“Hi,” I say.
His eyes darken. “Hi.”
“I know this might not be a good time,” I attempt to joke.
The corners of his mouth twitch.
I step in closer, hoping he keeps his gaze on me, worried that if he looks away, I’ll lose him for good, and the little bit of James sneaking through will disappear completely.
Pressing my hands to his chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing makes my palms rise and fall, and I lean up on my tiptoes. “Can I speak to you alone?”
He grabs my sides, his eyes boring holes into me, his stare wrapping around my chest and tugging. His fingers twitch against my waist.
“Please,” I whisper, looking at him from under my lashes.
“Leave,” he barks.
My senses are fuzzy, my focus lasered on him, but I hear the door as it clicks shut behind us.