Gas or Ass (26 page)

I stuffed the letter into the envelope and snagged the Barracuda keys off his desk. I shoved the envelope in my purse alongside the letter to UNCC, making sure I had my phone.

I took the stairs to the basement, because the ‘Cuda was parked under the carport.

I passed the post office and went to the grocery store. I wasn’t in the mood to look at wallpaper. And I sure as hell wasn’t ready to mail that check, even though it was too late to take Converse up on their offer of a scholarship.

The list was fairly standard, but I searched the meat counter, unable to find anything labeled a standing rib roast. I spied a buzzer and pressed it.

A man came through the swinging doors in back of the counter. “Can I help you?”

He looked familiar, but there wasn’t anything special about him. Not hot, for sure. Maybe late twenties, possibly early thirties. I rarely came here, so I couldn’t figure out where I’d seen him. “Uh, my mom sent me to get a standing rib roast.”

To my surprise, he untied his stained apron. “C’mon, I’ll show you where those are.” He tossed the apron onto a table that held a slicer or some kind of grinder, then he pushed through a gate I hadn’t realized was a gate. I followed, cursing my buggy under my breath because, of course, I’d gotten one with a wheel that wanted to go sideways.

He led me to another swinging door and pushed it open. I glanced around. “W-where are you going?”

He gestured. “The roasts are back here in a cooler. I can bring a couple up, but it’s easier if you pick it out yourself.”

I hesitated. The room beyond barely had any lights on.

“Just leave your buggy. It’ll be fine.”

Leave it to Mom to need something weird. With a sigh, I grabbed my handbag and stepped through the door. The narrow space had a concrete floor and overhead, a long line of single fluorescent fixtures sporting two tubes. The majority of the lights flickered and the buzzing noise they made set my teeth on edge. We walked past empty bread racks and milk cartons. He paused at a door marked “Personnel Only’ and pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket. “These cuts are expensive.”

Whatever, dude, get on with it.
When he unlocked the door, he turned on a light and stepped to the side. I scurried past.

And skidded to a halt. A desk occupied the majority of the room. A four-drawer filing cabinet sat in one corner. I didn’t see anything that looked like a freezer, which was what I had pictured.

I turned. “What the hell?”

He stood between me and the door. Once he pulled the door closed, the space felt uncomfortably small. My heart began to pound. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

I shook my head.

“Oh, see, you and I raced in that little bullshit scam your brother’s got going. And, I lost. Not a big deal, since I was driving my wife’s fucking car and you were driving one I can only dream about. But I paid extra to fuck you, so after I went down on you, I went to the back of the line, just like he said. You bailed. No one ever gave me my money back, so someone owes me. And here you are.”

I backed up, but my thighs connected with the desk. I tried to recall what had been on the damn desk, in case I needed a weapon, but drew a blank. My searching fingers found nothing. I was afraid if I turned my head, he’d grab me. I was terrified he’d grab me anyway, but if he did, I wanted to see it coming.
Kick him in the balls and run.

I shook my head. “No. You’re lying. It’s just a race. That’s all. The rest is... spontaneous. Just kids having fun.” My stomach rolled into a tight ball.

He moved closer. “You don’t know, do ya? Racing’s just the window dressing. The brother with the dark hair? He recruits the real racers. The blond dude? He’s selling your ass and that other girl’s. I hear you’re both his sisters. How twisted is your family, anyway?”

I clutched my purse to my chest and swallowed the acidic saliva that filled my mouth. “You lay a finger on me and I’ll scream. I’ll keep screaming until someone calls a cop. You wanna explain that to your wife?”

He held his hands up. “Yeah. I figured. Heard he’s got the sheriff in on his little scam. Tell Colt I’m all out of patience. He needs to drop off my refund.” He jerked the door open. “Guess your mom will have to do without her roast.”

I rushed past, bouncing off a stack of cartons I didn’t see for the tears blinding me. The damn buggy was sitting there with everything on Mom’s list, except a roast. I wanted to scream. I wanted to find a hole and hide. I wanted to run Colt down with the ‘Cuda.

I pushed the buggy to the checkout.

This had to be a joke. The guy was just a sore loser.

The sour taste in my mouth said otherwise.

How many guys had I screwed in the last few months? Too many. Why had I never bothered to look at their faces?

Because Colt kept me from looking at them.
The only exception was that Chris Collins dude. I’d thought he... liked me, but he hadn’t come back for a rematch. Was he just another john or a competing pimp come to check out the competition?

“That’ll be eighty-four sixty.”

“Huh?”

The clerk rolled her eyes. “Shelby, right? Eighty-four sixty.”

I dug out the debit card. It took two tries to hit the slot. Three to get the PIN entered correctly.

I pushed the buggy to the car and loaded the bags into the back. Shoving the cart into the little carrel, I stared at the ‘Cuda. Was this about the car? No, he’d tried to get me to have sex after a race before Dale fixed up the Barracuda.

I made it to the driver’s seat. Maybe it was a joke. Or a misunderstanding.

He answered on the first ring.

“Hey. I don’t think you’ve ever called me. What’s up? Just passed you at the grocery store. Did you finally flood the engine?”

“There’s a guy here. Says you owe him a refund. Because I didn’t fuck him.”

“Shit.”

My heart lurched. “Colt, say it’s not true.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Shelby. Of course it’s true.”

I eyed the store windows. Pork loin was on sale for three-ninety-nine a pound. “What do they pay?”

“The full monte is five hundred bucks. That’s racing and losing, so they gotta do oral. Some guys like giving head, but their girls won’t let them. Can you believe it? A few do try to win. They want the blowjob. And then they come back around later to fuck. The ones who don’t race are the dudes who don’t eat cat, see? They pay two-fifty. For you. The going price for Caroline had dropped a bit by the time you showed up. Guys don’t wanna fuck the same whore any more than they wanna fuck their wives or girlfriends night after night.”

His casual tone was tearing me up. “Colt, she’s your sister.”

“Half-sister. And I don’t do her shit. The whole thing was Brandon’s idea. Once Dad married Macy and you turned out to be half-hot, I figured, why not?”

“Why not get your sister to turn tricks?” I screeched.

“You ain’t my sister. Look, Shelby, I told you from jump street, gas or ass. That’s how it is. Brandon uses his money on Caroline. He buys her shit like that damn car, and tells her the stuff’s from her dad. Makes her feel good. And, it wasn’t like I had to beg to get you to put out, now did I? Told you you were pretty once or twice. I didn’t have to lie about that. And I told you how it’d be if we hooked up. The only thing you didn’t know about was the money. That money bought gas. You used plenty of gas at the fairgrounds. I saw to it you had a full tank every Friday and I topped off your tank on Saturday, if you raced on Friday. If you’d asked, I’d have bought you gas to get to school and back. But, oh, that’s right. In addition to the fucking car, Dad went and gave you a credit card for gas, so I guess that’s somehow a damn strike against me, huh?”

“Why do I feel like I just found a condom under my pillow and you’re telling me I ordered a balloon bouquet?”

“Caine tried to stop me at first, but before you decide he’s a fucking saint, hear me out. Macy and Dad came by the house on Sunday after one of their little weekend getaways. Told us they were getting married. Macy shows us this picture of you, right? Then Dad explains to Caine that he’s gotta move out of the room he’s lived in for most of his goddamn life. So Caine’s fucking pissed. He leaves those speakers and he puts a camera in one. Takes pictures in the dark. But, every time you put your fingers in your pussy, it was my name on your lips, wasn’t it? Pissed him off, but he still had a thing for you. So that night you cried, he was ready to fight me if I made you stay. Then, Dad gave you his car. After that, he didn’t give a shit what I did to you.”

I dragged my tongue over my lips, but the motion had no effect. They were still dry. “So, you hid the letter from Converse to keep me here? So you could keep your little scam going?”

“Nah. I did that so Dad didn’t go fucking stupid and give up half his pay to keep you in some fancy private school. Macy’s against it and she’s talked him into backing her plan, but that bastard always wanted a girl. He used to threaten to take Caroline away from Robyn. But that would just put her fat, drunk ass on our doorstep, so thank God, we got him talked out of that. He blindsided us with you, but I’ll be goddamned if you’re gonna bat your eyelashes and have him cough up big bucks so you can go to Spartanburg and fuck rich guys. Then you’d either marry one, or graduate. Either way, you’d decide you’re too good to spit in his direction.”

I hung up. My first thought was to go talk to Caroline. But I strangled that idea before it took hold. Either she’d be hurt because she thought I was lying, or she’d be hurt because she’d sense I wasn’t. She’d been hurt enough. If she found out, it wouldn’t come from me. She’d already quit the drag racing anyway. What was done couldn’t be undone.

The worst part, as far as she was concerned, was hearing that her father hadn’t given her that car. I ached for her, whenever she found out. How many crushing disappointments could one person bear before they... “Turn into a drunk or worse?” The windshield had no response.

I couldn’t do that to her. I couldn’t fight all of her battles, not this one, for sure. I couldn’t even fight this one for myself.

I wanted to come out swinging. I wanted Colt to bleed. I wanted to crush him, to dance on the broken pieces of his body. Had I been stupid? Absolutely. I’d known everything happened too damn fast. But I’d felt flattered by his attention, so I convinced myself every word he said was true. Wasn’t that how every woman in the world got her heart broken? We were programmed practically from birth to believe in the fairy tale, when all we had to do was look around to see there were way more frogs than princes.

I’d known all along that he’d break my heart. I’d even picked him to be the first. I’d just underestimated how damn good he’d be at the job. Even though I fought my feelings for him and tried to walk away, he’d managed to grind me into dust. I had no idea how to fight back.

The last place I wanted to go was home. Not home—Dale’s house. I thought about telling Dale, or even Mom, but what would that accomplish? I’d have to be straight about my part in the mess, and once I did that, the outcome was a tossup.

Even if Dale beat him bloody, that wasn’t me hurting Colt. And the only thing I was certain of was that it had to come from me when he felt the burn.

I did the only thing left. I cranked the car. I put the top down. I broke every speed limit on the way back. After all, according to Caine, I’d never get a speeding ticket in this town, after I screwed the sheriff so he’d let them hold their illegal races. I shot past the turn that led to the house and roared past the school. I only turned back at the county line because—why else? I was almost out of gas.

The Corvette was gone when I pulled down the driveway, to my relief, and so was the Mustang. I swung into the carport and gathered up the bags. Cursing the person who invented the plastic ones because they hurt my wrists, I staggered up the basement steps.

Mom met me at the top. There was something about her eyes that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck, but she took half the bags without comment. I trailed her to the kitchen. “They were out of standing rib roast. Might want to try a different store.”

She didn’t respond and began to put the groceries away. For once, I hung out in the kitchen, because there was a spy camera in my room. When she went to her room for the night, I’d hunt the damn thing and flush it down the toilet.

She opened the cabinet over the refrigerator. I blinked when she pulled down a bottle of bourbon. She splashed a tea glass half full and took a sip. Setting the glass down, she turned to face me. “Now, let’s talk about the inappropriate things you’ve been saying to Colt.”

“Excuse me?”

She picked her iPhone off the counter and poked a few buttons. “If this wasn’t your voice, Shelby, I’d have slapped that boy’s face and called him a liar. But it is your voice.”

To my horror, my voice came from the speaker.

“I want my big brother to—”

Colt, you lowlife bastard.
“Turn it off.”

She pressed another button and the sound died, mid-word, but it was a dirty word. My cheeks ignited. She lifted the glass and took another sip. She didn’t even shudder, and I wondered how long she’d been drinking straight liquor.

“Explain. Tell me why I cannot hold my head up in my own house, Shelby. Please make me understand why I can’t look either of my stepsons in the eye, ever again. I mean, was moving in the middle of the year so damn hard on you that you had to go and ruin my life? Humiliate me?”

Maybe it was time to tell the truth. “Listen, don’t think for a minute that Colt’s the innocent here. I said those things, but what’s not on his little audio clip is him, saying them first and forcing me to repeat them.”

“Forcing you? How did he do that?”

I eyed the bottle of bourbon, wondering how much she’d had and if she’d mind if I took a drink. “He wouldn’t let me climax unless I said them.”  

She clapped a hand over her heart. “So, you admit you had sex with Colt?”

“And Caine.”

“Shelby how could you? They’re your brothers!”

“When Queen Elizabeth dies, that horsy woman, Camilla, will be the Queen of England. Except, not one soul believes that she should be the queen. The people of England want Diana, even though she’s dead. So, the Queen decided that if ever Prince Charles takes the throne, Camilla won’t get the title. She’ll be Princess something or other.” She and I used to talk about Princess Diana all the time. Another woman who found out that the fairy tale was bullshit.