The silence around the table was chilling. Everyone absorbed the information and implications.
Toni was the most serious she had been. “The Bishops keep to themselves and mind their business...a lot. We need them so we name our kids Spike Lee and Tina Turner to get their sympathy, but they don’t trust us. We use them, and we expect them to keep us alive, but the reality is, we’ve hurt them and we can’t repay them. That’s what all the ass-kissing is. Shame and gratitude. But, they see through it, anyway.”
Now, it was Maya’s turn. “They have been under investigation for a long time. Some people think it’s because they have something to hide. But the truth is, the government wants to know how they are keeping us alive so they can harness it.” She dead-eyed them: Sonny, then Dylan, then Jake. “Rain is a mistake they can’t erase so they want to capitalize on it.”
Chapter Twenty
Nile thought about sneaking out the back door. But, she wasn’t a coward. She wanted to be, but she wasn’t. She made it her business not to care about the dark side of Rain. But, this was different. She couldn’t help herself. She did care. She cared about Dylan. She didn’t know why, and that scared her.
Her choices were to continue to cower in the kitchen, sneak out the back, or remember she was Nile Bishop. She owned the damned place. She didn’t owe anyone anything, and she didn’t have to hide. It sounded good in her head, but the back door was right there.
Tigris pushed through the swinging doors, noticed Nile lingering in the corner and assessed. “Go.” She nodded toward the back door. “No one is going to judge you.”
That made up Nile’s mind. “I will. I’m acting like an eighth-grader. I’m judging me for that.” She brushed some imaginary dirt from her sweater. “Besides, my raincoat is out front.” She inhaled and went into the dining area.
“God-forbid you melt.” Tigris went about her business.
Nile’s subconscious plan was to ignore Dylan. It failed. He pierced her with intensity. She caught his look and held it. She committed him to memory and let the promise of pain move her. She didn’t wave, she didn’t speak, she didn’t stop. She tuned out the room—she tuned out Dylan, the room was a bonus— and left the Bakery. She needed some peace, some stillness. She needed to figure out what was happening her head...in her heart, but two days was way too soon and much too complicated for all that.
Dylan absorbed her rejection like a gut-punch. He took a minute to contemplate. They had an attraction—at least, he thought so. He and Jake and Sonny were at the top of her family’s shit-list. And, death was probable—or, so they said. He could see why she’d be conflicted. But, it wasn’t that hard. They had an attraction. It needed to be explored.
Dylan got up. “I’ll see you guys later. I have something to do.”
Maya’s frown deepened. She hadn’t been so engrossed in the conversation she missed the exchange. But, she couldn’t see any outcome that worked in her favor.
NILE WANTED SOME WINE...or beer...or whiskey...or anything that might make her forgetful. She wished she could ask Macy which is the appropriate drink for letting somebody burn in hell. Rum and coke? Brandy? Tequila? Nile wasn’t a drinker, she didn’t know about these things. Peddling around Grandpa Will’s kitchen, she settled for making lemonade.
She heard his bike and debated running out the back door. Apparently, he was attuned to her need for flight, as he rode around back, parked, and removed his helmet. Nothing to do but pour him a glass and wait. Should have gone for the alcohol.
She met him at the door, glass in hand, and laughed. “Are you bringing me my own flowers?”
Hearing it worded that way made Dylan wonder at the wisdom of listening to a twelve-year-old. He offered her the wet Cali Lillies - root, dirt and all. “Short notice. You should at least like them.” He shook the water out of his hair.
“They’re my favorite. Here.” She traded him the lemonade for the bouquet. She went about locating a vase, filling it with water, clipping the stems, and arranging the flowers.
He followed her in, removed his jacket, drank his lemonade, and watched her work.
She searched for something to say. “I guess enduring rainstorms is a side-effect of being a biker.”
“I hardly notice it anymore.”
She couldn’t help noticing him. He was handsome and virile. He filled the space and made her insides do things. “You don’t look too wet.” She tried not to stare. He looked just wet enough.
“I caught a break, a few drops.”
Struggling for something to say, she touched the blooms. “Mine or not, I feel obligated to say, thank you. They’re beautiful.”
“So are you.” He came up behind her and wrapped her in his arms. “Will you let me kiss you?”
Turning to him, she pretended to think about it. “Yes.”
His mouth found hers and the world faded away. She pressed into him and he drew back. “I decline to be our conscience today because I have every intention of making love to you after we talk.”
His declaration gave her a reaction. She liked that idea. “I told you. I’ve never been with anyone.”
“Me. I want you to be with me.” He kissed her again. It was tender and full of yearning.
Her heart beat fast. She felt the truth; she wanted him to be her first. She wanted to give him everything. He was already taking it: her permission, her essence, her everything. He possessed her, and she allowed it.
Dylan soared. He wanted to beat his chest in triumph, but calmed his adrenaline and settled for the anticipation. “Let’s get the talking out of the way.” He released her and took a seat.
Nile pushed her hair behind her ear and took a calming breath. “We need something stronger than lemonade.” She left the kitchen and returned with a bottle of White Zinfandel and two wineglasses.
“Where do we start?”
They both started with a drink.
“Everything is toxic within an eight-to-ten-mile radius around Rain. It’s in the water, the plants, the food...it’s in the air. It’s been in our systems for four generations. Sometime before I was born, the EPA declared the land uninhabitable and tried to get people to leave. But, the people who left died quicker than the ones who stayed. The toxicity is part of our genetic makeup.”
He tried not to react.
“They can’t own that they poisoned us and they can’t own that we need the poison to survive. But they marvel at our resilience. They want to find out what our wonder drug can do so they can bottle and sell it.”
“That’s what those FBI agents were about?”
“They’re not with the FBI. The people snooping around here are with an agency called Limetech.”
“Secret spy shit?”
She shook her head. “Not quite. The founders were involved with the original government research. That’s how they know about us. But, these guys are all about marketing. They are tasked with figuring out how we survive, and harnessing it.”
“Vultures.”
“What’s worse, Limetech talks a big game, presenting themselves as do-gooders. But, they still employ abominable tactics. Their research is inhumane, grossly unregulated, and Jim-Crow era racist. Caucasians give samples and get questionnaires for ridiculous amounts of money. People of color get sliced, diced, and tortured for pennies and certificates. Limetech almost singlehandedly populated our graveyard.”