Um, what?
Evan doesn’t give me even a second to digest that. As the elderly man launches himself at us, Evan yanks my arm and rockets us forward.
“Run!” he orders.
I’m struggling to keep my balance as Evan drags me behind him, hurtling down the boardwalk. I turn toward the wheezing exclamations at our backs to see Lloyd barreling after us. Unusually spry for a man his age, he’s at a dead sprint, dodging food carts and tourists. He’s got the devil in his eyes.
“This way,” Evan says, pulling me to the left.
We cut down an alley between a couple of bars that leads behind the boardwalk carnival that is set up through much of the summer. We dart between a couple of midway games and through a back door, where we’re promptly bombarded by a soundtrack of something I can only describe as trance music overlaid on nursery rhyme melodies with the disconcerting laughter of clowns. It’s pitch-black, save for an occasional strobe light that reveals a maze of hanging painted mannequins.
“I always knew this is what I’d see before I died,” I say in resignation.
Evan nods solemnly. “There are definitely dead kids walled up in here somewhere.”
Catching my breath, I run a hand through my disheveled hair. “So. You killed a man’s bird?”
“No, Cooper’s Satan dog killed the bird. I strenuously object to any guilt by association.”
“Uh-huh. And this happened how?”
Before he can answer, a shard of daylight enters the room from somewhere unseen. We both crouch, hugging the wall to avoid getting caught.
“Who’s in here?” a voice shouts from the other side of the room. “We ain’t open yet.”
Evan puts his finger over his lips.
“You get out here, you hear me?” The angry man’s demand is followed by a loud, startling crack of noise. Like a bat hitting a wall or something. “If I gotta hunt you down, I’m gonna turn your insides out.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “We have to get the hell out of here.”
We feel around for the door we came through, but it’s still dark and disorienting, the music and haunting laughter, and the strobe lights make the whole room appear to stutter. Practically crawling, we creep off in another direction until we find a small alcove. We stop there, listening to our pursuer’s heavy footfalls.
Confined, hunted, not making a sound, Evan presses us into the shadows of the tight corner. With his hands on my hips and his body warm against mine, I almost don’t hear the nightmare soundtrack anymore. Just the sound of my own breathing in my ears. My mind trips over random thoughts and sensations. The scent of his shampoo and motorcycle exhaust. His skin. Memories of it on my tongue. His fingers.
“Don’t do that,” he rasps in my ear.
“What?”
“Remember.”
It’d be so easy to grab handfuls of his hair and pull his lips to mine. Let him have me in this funhouse of horrors while we brace to be hacked up by Crazy Willy out there.
“We said we wouldn’t,” Evan reminds me, reading my mind because we’ve never needed words to speak to each other. “I’m trying to be a good boy, Fred.”
I lick my dry lips. “Just out of curiosity, what would Bad Boy Evan do?” I ask, because apparently I’m into self-torture.
He licks his lips too. “You really want me to answer that?”
No.
Yes.
“Yes,” I tell him.
Evan’s palms lightly caress my hips, sending a shiver up my spine. “Bad Boy Evan would take his hand and slide it under your skirt.”
To punctuate that, one big palm travels south to capture the hem of my pale-green skirt between his fingertips. He doesn’t pull it up, though. Just plays with the filmy fabric, while a slight smile lifts the corners of his mouth.
“Yeah?” My voice is hoarse. “And why would he do that?”
“Because he’d want to find out how hot you were for him. How wet.” He bunches the fabric between his fingers, giving a teasing tug. “And then, when he felt how bad you wanted it, he’d put his fingers inside you. Wouldn’t even need to take your panties off, because Bad Girl Gen doesn’t wear ’em.”
I almost moan out loud.
“Then, after he made you come, he’d spin you around. Tell you to put your palms flat against the wall.” Evan brings his lips close to my ear, eliciting another shiver, a flurry of them this time. “And he’d fuck you from behind until we both forgot our names.”
Still smiling, he releases my skirt, which flutters down to my knees. That teasing hand glides back north, this time to cup my chin.
I stare up at him, unable to breathe. Crazy Willy’s footsteps have dissipated. And the clown music has all but receded into the background of my brain. All I hear now is the pounding of my heart. My gaze is stuck on Evan’s lips. The need to kiss him is powerful enough to make my knees wobble.
Feeling how unsteady I am, he lets out a husky laugh. “But we’re not going to do any of that, are we?”
Despite my body screaming please, please, please at me, I exhale a slow breath and manage a nod. “No,” I agree. “We’re not going to do that.”
Instead, we check that the coast is clear and then double back the way we came until we find the broken exit sign above the door. We emerge unscathed, but I can’t say the same for my libido. My body is throbbing with need that borders on pain. Not putting my hands all over Evan is much, much harder than I thought it would be.
I honestly have no idea how long I’ll be able to resist.
CHAPTER 23
EVAN
Come sunrise, I’m on Riley’s porch with my phone to my ear. It’s the fourth time in ten minutes it’s gone to voicemail. I told the kid, when I say early, I mean it. So I jump down the steps and round the side of the tiny, pale-blue clapboard house to his bedroom window. I knock on the glass until the groggy teen pushes the blinds aside to rub his eyes at me.
I flash a grin. “Shake a leg, sunshine.”
“Time is it?” His voice is muffled behind the window.
“Hurry-up time. Let’s go.”
When Riley had asked me to take him surfing, I’d warned him that we weren’t going to mess around with crowded afternoon beaches. If he wanted to get on the water, he’d have to paddle out with the big boys. That means hitting the waves before breakfast.
I hop in Cooper’s truck out front to wait for the kid. A few minutes later, I’m thinking about climbing through his window to drag him out when his aunt knocks on the passenger window.
“Morning,” I greet her, turning off the radio. “I didn’t wake you, did I? I’m supposed to take Riley surfing.”
Wearing a zippered hoodie over a pair of scrubs, Liz glances at my surfboard in the bed of the truck. “Right, he mentioned it last night. You didn’t wake me, though. I’ve got an early shift. He should be out in a minute.” She holds up a large tray wrapped in tinfoil. “This is for you. Since we never had that dinner.”
“Sorry about that.” I slide across the bench seat to take the tray from her and lift up the foil. The homemade pie inside smells terrific. “I’ve been slammed at work.”
“Hope you’re not allergic to cherry.”