“Where are you from?”
“Originally, Nebraska,” he says. “But I live in California now.”
“Nebraska? I’ve never been there,” I say.
He chuckles. “Why would you want to go?”
“I always thought the name sounded so dreamlike, like a place from some fantasy world where life was easy and slow and simple.”
“It’s mostly just boring,” he says and chuckles. “Though I suppose it can be pretty, with all that sky and nothing but wide open roads.”
“I’d like to visit,” I say. “Will you take me?”
“We can go anywhere you like,” he says, and I sure as hell like hearing that. “Just as soon as I’m done with this thing, I gotta do.”
I like hearing that less, but I’ll take it. I’ll take anything that transports to this dreamy state of endless possibility that his voice and his promises, and his touch even more so, take me to. And keep me in.
“I’m gonna have to let you go now,” he whispers. “Sleep well.”
I want to argue, I want to keep him on the line, but he hangs up before I even come up with the words.
I feared the sleepy perfectness he took me to would fade once his voice was gone, but it’s not so. It’s still all around me as I drift off into a real dream, which I bet won’t be better than the dreamy reality only the two of us share.
13
Brenda
The receptionist kid admitted he lied about the room not being paid for and I put enough fear in him over that to get five more meals out of him for free, but I think even his sorry ass is gonna start rebelling against that arrangement soon.
It’s been four days since I’ve seen Colt.
We speak on the phone every day and my head is full of images of what he’d like to do with me. Images so clear they bring soft, tingling sensations to all the spots I wish he were here to touch and caress. The pleasure they give when I help them along is very real too. As I know it is for him too. I know it from his jagged breathing and hoarse groans when I paint images in his head with my words describing what I’d like to do to him. I was at it at first, but I’m a damn near pro by now.
In the beginning, I thought the phone sex was pointless. What kind of purpose does talking about sex serve? A tiny bit of instant gratification that’s still miles away from the real thing.
But then something magical happened. At right about the third time we spoke, I started feeling wanted in the way I’ve never felt wanted before. And I’ve been feeling like that ever since.
Like I’m floating on a soft, fluffy cloud that’s actually his need and want and desire for me and only me. If he just wanted to get his dick wet, he’d be doing that with someone closer to him. Someone he doesn’t need to work so hard for.
My anticipation of the day, or night that we’ll be together again is so great and so thick, it’s exploding out of me all the time. I hardly think about anything else, just how much I need him, how much I want him to come here and make all those words we spoke into each other's ears reality.
A schoolgirl crush, that’s what this is. I think. I never got the chance to have one of those.
I just hope it’s not all only in my mind and as flimsy and insubstantial as the soft white clouds I’m floating on.
Colt
Cross has been sending guys out to try and gather info on what’s happening for the past four days. I am not one of them.
“He’s only sending those he knows can handle themselves,” Blaze informs me smugly as we’re smoking near the space where we park our bikes. He was sent out this afternoon, and I waited here for him to get back like a damn little kid. Then I had to wait some more while he went to make his report to Cross.
All that’s left of today’s sun is a bright yellow swipe across the horizon, and it’s growing colder by the second. Cicadas are making a goddam racket and I have no idea how enough of them can live in the sparse, dried-up bushes around here to make this much noise.
“I know I fucked up, you don’t have to keep reminding me,” I snap at him. “And for your information, I’d do exactly the same thing all over again.”
It’s not even a lie. Even just talking on the phone with Brenda—sometimes five times a day—feels more real than anything I’ve ever shared with a woman. Not that I’m not fucking aching to do all those things we just talk about to her for real.
It’s not just the sex talk either. I can tell her things, things even Blaze doesn’t know about me. And she was just telling me about her mom and her stepdad last night. I got the feeling she never told anyone that story yet, which includes me, since we were rudely interrupted by Blaze coming back from another VIP mission Cross sent me on. She didn’t take it up again today, saying it’s best left in the past, anyway. Everything I told her was best left in the past too, but I didn’t say that. Didn’t want to make her feel bad. I can’t even remember the last time I cared enough about a woman to care about how my words made her feel.
“So can you tell me anything about what’s happening?” I ask, not expecting a good answer, or even an answer of any kind, since he’s been very hush-hush about it. “Or when we’ll finally be free again?”
I’m not the only one wondering this. Most of the brothers who are locked in here day after day and told nothing are starting to ask it too. Not too loudly though, since no one really believes Cross isn’t looking out for all of us with his order to stay put.
Predictably, Blaze is just looking at me and shaking his head instead of answering. He shrugs and I shrug and then we go back to smoking in silence.
“You might use this downtime to reflect on things,” Blaze suggests with a smirk. “You’ve made a bunch of mistakes lately.”
“Hey, Colt!” Ace shouts, sticking his head out the main door of the bunker. “Come. Cross wants a word.”
I basically snap to attention and turn to start walking.
Blaze flashes me a worried look, the mocking smirk on his face replaced by what can only be described as a pained expression.
“Good luck,” he whispers to my back, making me wonder if I’ll need it, which is something I don’t need.
I was sure I had everything squared away with Cross. Sure, he kinda had me on some sort of probation, but now, as I make my way into the bunker on legs that feel like they’re made of stone, I’m not so sure I was right about that. Maybe he just didn’t have the time to deal with me and my transgressions until now.
“What’s this about?” I ask Ace once I catch up with him.
He gives me a sideways glance but keeps walking towards Cross’ office.
“I’ll let Cross tell you,” he says, and now I really don’t feel good.
But there’s nothing for it. There’s a time when the music must be faced and for me, it’s right now.
The door to Cross’ office is open and as I follow Ace inside, I see both Cross and Hawk, who is sitting on the edge of Cross’ desk look at me piercingly. I try not to swallow hard, but by now my paranoia about this summons has reached fever pitch and I think I know what men facing a firing squad feels like.