Page 14 of They Call Me Wicked
“Foot up. There’s a step.” I flounder around for a second as I try to find the step with my foot, no doubt looking like a complete dumbass before the poor man takes pity on me and his hands–yes, just his large gorilla sized hands–circle my waist. He easily lifts my form up and deposits me on a soft leather seat before promptly shutting the door and leaving me to find my seatbelt. Gizmo and Snitch quickly scamper over my lap offering silent reassurance before moving away and settling somewhere else in the obviously large fucking truck we’re in.
Could I have used them to find my way in? Probably. Was it more fun to get felt up by thehunka-junkwith gorilla hands? Abso-fucking-lutely.
The sound of the driver’s side door opening and closing moments later, followed by the engine starting, reaches my ears before we’re off down the road.
“Soooo…big ass truck, huh? Compensating for something?” I comment dryly, unable to keep my mouth shut.
“No.” Yup, he’s being honest. If Nic and Kai have dicks thicker than my forearm, Ezra’s has to be broader than my bicep. Okay, so maybe not that big. Can someone say ouch? But wait, what if he is? There isn’t enough prep in the world to fit that in me! I’ve got fat arms, dammit!
“So, like, what’s with the…” I trail off, my hands waving around in the air as I scramble to try and think of the word. “Stony character stuff.”
“What?” His deep, gravelly voice seems to caress my lady parts. The man could pull any woman in the world without even trying.
“Nevermind.” I let out a large yawn, realizing I haven’t had even a lick of caffeine after only a few hours of sleep. “So, why aren’t you married?”
Foot meet mouth. Seriously. One would think I don’t have any tact at all. To be honest, though, I mostly don’t. I’m blind. I can get away with anything.
“You don’t have to answer that,” I say quickly, not really understanding why I care about his comfort level at all. I never care what people think. It’s like…my thing.
“Wasn’t going to.”
Right. Okay. Good to know.
I let the rest of the drive, to wherever we’re going, play out in silence. I think I’ve embarrassed myself far more than I could ever even potentially embarrass Ezra.Ifhe can even get embarrassed at all.
When the truck stops and the engine cuts off, I open the door and jump out like my ass was just zapped by one of Zeus’s lightning bolts. And the award for most awkward drive in history goes to…probably not me, but whatever.
On getting out, the first thing that registers is the overwhelming stench of stale beer and my first thought is to wonder if I forgot to take a shower sometime in the last couple days. I press a lock of my hair against my nose and sniff. Nope, not me.
Tuning into the large crowd of auras–so many, I can’t even begin to pick out one person or another–I’m stuck in place wondering where the fuck Ezra went. The damn bastard abandoned me!
Gizmo and Snitch pick up on my hesitancy and squeak at me, allowing me to follow them like a beacon as they make their way through the crowd. One in front, and the other pressing against the side of my leg.
I get echoes of the area thanks to my little trash pandas, but everything is far too busy to really make anything out other than vague shapes to avoid walking into. It takes practice to do what I do, but, thankfully, I’ve gotten quite a bit of it these past couple years with my little partners in crime.
“Wicked, over here.” Alan’s voice eases my frantic pulse slightly as we make our way to him.
“What’s going on, Skittle?” I might be running out of embarrassing pet names for him at this point. Maybe it’s time to start getting creative?
“Uh, well, it’s uh…” He hesitates, his fear covering any of his fleeting thoughts like a blanket hiding a child from the monsters in their closet.
“Spit it out, Chief.” My heart rate picks up once more. If there’s one thing about Alan, it’s that I can always count on him to tell it like it is. He just lays it out there and then deals with the aftermath of whatever the news brought. It definitely doesn’t make him the world’s best bad news giver. Let’s just say, if I’m the worst person to speak to a victim’s family, then Alan is right behind me.
So, the fact that he’s as scared and hesitant about telling me as he is right now is kind of terrifying.
Alan clears his throat and I can clearly picture him rubbing at the salt and pepper hair on his face and head–something he does when he’s stressed–as he contemplates where to begin.
“Female, mid-twenties, approximately five foot eight, with reddish-blonde hair. Legal name, Tammie Andrews. Though she has a multitude of injuries, the probable cause of death is…asphyxia due to submersion.” His tone grows more and more detached with each word, like he’s separating himself from the news. Yet, it still feels like he’s withholding something.
“Drowning? Here?” I tune into his mental vibrations as I ask, getting flashes of an extremely graphic scene before the strength of all the auras from the people around us quickly smothers the connection. Trepidation, fear, and suspicion amalgamate together and coalesce around me, threatening to drag me under as my head starts pounding. Gizmo and Snitch frantically claw at my legs, their squeaks of worry only seeming to heighten the panic I feel edging in. “Clear the scene, please! I need fucking quiet!”
“Wicked…”
“Now!” I press my fingers against my temples, breathing deeply to try and dispel the strength of the overcrowded air around me.
In through my nose, out through my mouth. In, out. In, out.
“You heard her! Clear the scene, people! Nic, Ezra, Kai, you stay.” Alan barks the words out, getting straight down to business, probably happy as hell to be off the hook on explaining things to me.