Page 108 of A Stop in Time
She doesn’t turn to face me, and it’s spineless as hell, but I’m grateful she doesn’t. I’m all sorts of fucked up right now.
Our ragged breaths mingle, and it takes extreme effort to pull my hands off her and step back. “I’m gonna be gone for the rest of the day. Got stuff to do.”
She drops her hands from the wall without looking at me.
“Okay,” is all she says before stepping into the spray. Water sluices over her face, her eyes closed, and I’m conflicted as hell.
I don’t know whether to be relieved she’s letting me off easy…or pissed as hell that she is.
51
MAC
Daniel’s been gone since earlier this morning, and I haven’t decided whether it’s an odd loneliness that lingers or if I’d just gotten accustomed to having him haunt my days.
Yesterday, we worked well together, disassembling the Malibu’s engine. We’d had the radio on, and he’d surprised me by knowing the lyrics to nearly every '80s song. There was an easy camaraderie between us the entire time.
The sexual tension was still present, sure, and he’d cop a feel of my ass from time to time, but otherwise he was right there with me, watching me and paying close attention to the work I did. Helping and offering his added strength when I needed it.
It was…nice. Different. Something I’m not used to.
Something I can’t get used to.
I’m not fit for a relationship. I’m certainly not fit for being involved with a gang member who kills people. It’s been easy to forget that about him and shove that fact to the recesses of my mind.
It doesn’t change the facts, though. I can’t see myself being with someone like that. A person who kills others. It’s one thing for a person to take the life of their abuser, but to continue killing? I can’t wrap my mind around that.
Still...it felt like a seismic shift had happened earlier between us in the shower. I’d let him see my back. Maybe it’s stupid, but once I’d finished the tattoos along the left side of my body, I’d just said fuck it. I decided I was done trying to cover shit up.
He didn’t push me to answer what caused them. He’d wrapped his arms around me, and hell if that didn’t feel like an acceptance all its own.
Then he gave me an escape, helping me to temporarily blot out the shit threatening to drag me down. And I can’t pinpoint it, but it felt like more. More than just sex.
Stop it! I internally scold myself. For fuck’s sake, the next thing I know, I’ll be joining the other weirdos afflicted with hybristophilia and commiserate over being sexually attracted to a person who commits crimes.
Using my arm to swipe at my sweaty forehead, I force myself to regain my focus and inspect the set of rims I’ve just removed from the other vehicle in my bay. They’re in good shape still, so they can be added to my inventory.
I heft the weight of one in my hold and carry it over to the side to stack it there for now just as the song ends on the radio and segues into the jingle for their news updates.
A moment later, the radio host announces:
“In local news, the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office held a press conference earlier this morning to address concerns about whether a serial killer is responsible for the alarming number of bodies turning up in the city.
“The death count is currently at eight for at least the past two months, with the latest body discovered earlier this morning.
“Most of the bodies have washed up along the banks of the St. Johns River in the vicinity of the Acosta Bridge. Anonymous sources have claimed The Scorpions, a well-known gang led by Bronson Cortez, are to blame.
“Police have not confirmed nor denied this claim, and The Scorpions have not denied their involvement.
“The most recent victim’s identity has not been shared as authorities wish to notify family members first. Stay tuned to FM 95 for more…”
A shiver passes through me as I add another rim to the stack. A serial killer in Jacksonville? It makes me grateful as hell I don’t live in the city.
The side door leading to the office opens, drawing my attention. Annalee steps into the garage, pulling the door closed behind her to keep the air-conditioning contained inside. Her movements are stilted, as if she’s nervous and uncomfortable. “Hey, Mac.”
“Hey.” I study her carefully. “Everything okay in there?”
Her expression perks up. “Oh, sure. Everythin’s great.” Her smile drops, and she worries her bottom lip before rushing on awkwardly. “I, uh, know it’s none of my business, but I wanted to let you know that, um, I’m here if you need somebody to talk to. And I really hope that guy’s gone and won’t be hurtin’ you anymore.”