Bottom Feeder Read online

  “So it was really my fault for staying in his room all night,” I declare, bringing my entreaty to a close. “I don’t know anything about the military or how all of this works, but this whole thing isn’t Jackson’s—Specialist Monroe’s—fault. I want to make right what I have caused to go wrong, sir. I’m begging you.”

  “Madelyn,” he says seriously. “I happen to work for a living. Calling me ‘sir’ is like drinking dark liquor and light liquor at the same time: the two don’t mix very well. I’m positive Monroe can attest to that fact.” The corners of his mouth turn up into an almost-smile. “I will take what you’ve said into consideration,” he goes on to say. “But I can’t guarantee anything. Monroe knew he shouldn’t drink and he knew he shouldn’t bring you to his room to stay overnight, underage or not. Drunk or not.”

  “I appreciate your consideration, Miles. Thank you.”

  I wait until he is out of the parking lot before jogging back to the building. The sun beams down in ferocity, bouncing off the dark pavement and making the North Carolina humidity seem like the gates to hell. I glide along the barracks’ wall for shade.

  My heart flutters stupidly when I spot the candy paint of a Hyundai Tiburon at the front of the parking lot. Ugh. I am absolutely tired of my heart reacting like this over cute guys. It’s disconcerting and really annoying. What bothers me most is the shame I feel for thinking he was actually interested. That's what I get for being gullible.

  Exhaustion washes over me. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep or the overwhelming combination of emotions and information overload, but my legs do not want to move any further. I slump against the wall and allow the tears to roll.

  After several minutes of controlled breathing, I push away from the building, silently hoping I do not see Dom. And fervently hoping that my first hope is shattered.

  Jackson

  I only wanted to sleep off this shitty hangover and even shittier day.

  It started with one knock. Two. Three. Six.

  After that, I left the door open to let the people file in. I dodge their questions about Maddy and lock myself in the bathroom.

  My only question is: Where the hell is Maddy?

  Maddy

  In light of this new information, one thing is certain: I need a plan and I need it quick. In a strange, macabre way, this newfound knowledge is going to save my life. I will be ready for an attack. And trust me, there will be one. All I can do now is wait and prepare.

  Cordell’s ruthlessness runs deeper than I thought. Now I’m his enemy. Maybe I have been all along.

  As much as I want to ditch New York City and live off the grid, anything Cordell can use to keep track of me—laptop, cell phone, car, bank account—needs to remain in use. I have to keep Jackson safe. Not to mention figure out a way to avenge what has happened to Chris, Jeremiah, and Lamont.

  Jackson’s room is packed with people who stop talking and openly stare when I enter. I slap on a smile and make my way through the small crowd. Trying to ignore the eyes burning holes into my back, I quickly gather my belongings.

  A hand lands on my arm. With my nerves on a roller coaster ride, my first instinct is to turn around swinging.

  “Let me help,” Jackson insists, his tone cautious.

  “No.” I turn to leave. Jackson blocks my exit and my view of the crowd.

  “I’ll contact you soon,” I whisper, bringing my eyes to meet his. He nods but doesn’t move. I glance around him to the curious sea of faces. I feel like a sideshow. A freak. Like every emotion I’m feeling and every secret I’ve ever held is exposed on the surface of my skin.

  I think of Emil’s party and Lamont’s words of how Jackson would not want to be seen with me. I think of the words he spoke earlier.

  Omen.

  A useless nobody.

  Disgusting.

  Idiot.

  Bottom feeder.

  That’s when it hits me to do something so spiteful, so shocking that I almost feel ashamed for thinking it. Almost. I look into Jackson’s eyes and motion for him to lean closer, as if I’m going to whisper in his ear. I gently grab the back of his head.

  And I kiss him.

  I slam the trunk of the BMW and settle in the driver’s seat. According to the GPS, a bookstore is located a quarter mile from the mall. This is where I will put my plan in writing.

  Adjusting the mirrors, I glimpse a piece of lacy fabric sticking between the seats in the back.

  Ew. Ew. Ew. I shudder at the vivid mental pictures.

  “Okay,” I say aloud, taking a deep, angry breath. “First phase of the plan is going to be cleaning the seats.”

  Yesterday I decided the most exciting part of today would be a latte and a cookie. But no. That would be too easy. Too enjoyable. The universe says I have to find out my sociopath father isn’t actually my father. I have to find out people I care for have been in a terrible car accident that probably has something to do with me. I have to hear that I’m a useless nobody.

  But the thing that I find the most exciting is digging someone else’s used panties out of my car seats. Yes, this is exactly how I wanted to spend my day.

  I pull into a self-serve car wash and roll down all the windows to air out the car. Who knows what kinds of smells are imbedded in the seats?

  “So much for getting away unnoticed,” a voice says to me.

  I slide a dollar into the change machine.

  “Hey, Dom.” I’m sure I attempted to mask the gloomy feeling. Pretty sure it didn’t work out. “What’s up?” I slide a second dollar into the machine. Siphon a smile. Turn around.

  “What happened with you and Monroe?” he asks, following me back to the car.

  Oh no. Did he see me kiss Jackson? Do I care? Ugh. Yes. Yes, I do. “Why?”

  “I came to his room looking for you, and saw the bump on his head.”

  I grab a teasing comb from the trunk and open the back door to begin excavating the lace out of the seat indentions. I pick up the scrap of fabric with the pointed end of the comb—like it’s a snake ready to strike—then pull the red and black g-string out of the car slowly.

  Dom takes two steps back while I toss them in the garbage. I probe the comb between the seats again, finding another pair stuffed underneath the passenger seat. Dom gives a look of disbelief when I bring those out and chuck them in the garbage.

  “They’re not mine,” I announce defensively. “My booty would never squeeze into an extra small.”

  Smooth, Carrington. Real smooth.

  “Is there something I can do for you?”

  Dom props a hip against the trunk. “What happened after I left? You seem, ah, upset.”

  I shrug. “I kept an eye on Jackson. I drifted to sleep about an hour before Miles came in the room screaming.”

  “Terrance said you owned Wotley.”

  I shrug again. Why is Dom trying to make small talk? I am leaving for good as soon as the panties are cleaned out of my car. I really want him to go away.

  No, Carrington, you really want to sit on his lap. I sigh. It’s true.

  I insert quarters into the upholstery cleaner. The machine whirs to life. I begin cleaning the backseat until the timer beeps a warning when I move to the front. Dom slides four carwash coins in the slot and leans against the door, gauging my every move.

  The North Carolina thermostat is obviously set to six degrees hotter than hell. Within minutes I am drenched in sweat. Streams of perspiration run down my face and back, soaking through my shirt. Sexy, Maddy is thy name.

  I finish and climb on top of the concrete to hang up the hose properly. Dom reaches for my hand to help me down. I let him.

  “You’re mad at me,” he states.

  “No.” I’m not mad. Not at him, anyway. “I had a nice time. It was the best birthday ever. Really.” I pause to make sure my emotions are in check. “It was nice meeting you.” I extend my hand.

  Instead of taking my hand, he places his palms on either side of my face, his long fingers gently gr
asping the back of my head. He pulls me closer.

  Definitely not good for the tears I’ve had barricaded since I turned around ten minutes ago to see him smiling at me. I cannot like him. I can’t. I. Can. Not. Do. This.

  Yes, you can.

  “You’re making it really hard for me to leave. Tell Jackson to stop sending you on these errands to check on me. You’re not his minion.”

  “Monroe didn’t send me.” Dom has the decency to look hurt. “Why did you leave without saying goodbye?”

  “Why do you care if I said goodbye?” I snap. Dom wipes runaway tears from my cheek.

  “You think I blew you off last night?” I give him a look that says Dern skippy! “Dominguez didn’t tell you why I couldn’t contact you?” I shake my head.

  He sighs and proceeds to tell me the story of how he ended up in the Cumberland County jail.

  “My idea was to make a shuttle service for everyone who couldn’t drive,” he begins. “On my third trip, there was a disagreement between myself and another guy. He was wasted and grabbed the wheel while I was driving. I swerved, cutting off another car. Thirty seconds later, I was pulled over.”

  The Tiburon belongs to Jackson’s roommate. He asked Dom to take care of it while he is overseas. Since the car isn’t registered to him, Dom could not produce the proper paperwork and ended up spending the night in a holding cell, waiting for a judge and confirmation from Jackson’s roommate that Dom is allowed to have the car.

  “When you called Wotley this morning, I was in his office explaining why I wasn’t at the DUI briefing. I heard parts of the conversation. I didn’t know it was you making him squirm like that, though.”

  I am incredibly selfish. I didn’t think of anything like that happening to him because I was too busy rolling in my own pity. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  “I know how it looked when I didn’t come back or call. When I came to Monroe’s room and everyone started asking about you—”

  “What? Why?”

  “Word travels fast. When Monroe said that you were his, I assumed—”

  “He said what?” I rub my palms over my eyes, feeling a massive headache coming on.

  “That you are . . . his?”

  I am livid. If you ever wondered if blood could boil, the answer is yes. Yes, it can. I should not have kissed him. I should have punched him in the throat.

  He is insane. Absolutely insane. The entire time he and I have known one another, I’ve done nothing but disgust him and mess up his life because I’m a bottom feeder, a nobody. But now I’m his? His what, exactly? The female version of a whipping boy?

  I take a few deep breaths to calm myself, but renegade tears continue flowing.

  “So you’re not with him?” Dom asks.

  “I’m not with anybody,” I answer bitterly. I sit in the car with my head on the steering wheel, questioning my weakness. Hating my weakness.

  Dom crouches beside the car. “Be with me.”

  Last night I would have jumped at this opportunity. Last night I would have thrown my arms around him. Kissed him. But last night isn’t today and today I am changed. I can feel the shift inside me, like glaciers running through my veins, hardening my heart, my emotions. Changing the very core of me.

  Not to mention I come with more baggage than a Southwest flight. Today is not the day to hold back, so I voice every single word of this to Dom without going into specifics. I end my speech by reminding him I will be in New York by this time tomorrow.

  He smiles. “Spend the rest of your time with me.”

  “I’m leaving Fayetteville in an hour. I’ve got one more stop.”

  His eyes are locked to mine. Brief flashbacks of the way he kissed me flip through my mind like a cartoon sketch. Warmth spreads in places it probably shouldn’t.

  The corners of his mouth twitch, probably noticing the blush staining my cheeks. “I’ll come with you.”

  A battle ensues between my head, my heart, and my hormones. I hate that I actually feel comfortable with Dom. I felt comfortable with Jackson and we all know how that turned out.

  Everything inside me is saying to stay another day. Common sense screams to leave without as much as a glance in the rearview.

  I will regret this tomorrow. “No,” I sigh.

  He frowns. “Why?”

  I swing my legs out of the car. “I don’t trust myself. Being alone with you right now? Not a good idea. I’m not going into details, but between the time you left this morning and an hour ago, I have learned some life-altering information. I am hurt beyond a simple repair job. I’m alone. More alone than I’ve ever been. If I’m alone with you, it will be a desperate, vulnerable time and I can’t risk that. I’m sick of regrets. I would like to spend more time with you, but I can’t drag you into my mess. I won’t. ”

  “What if I want to be dragged into it?”

  I shake my head. “I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”

  “But I want this. Maddy, you are so different than anyone I’ve ever met. Do you know how much of a breath of fresh air you were to me yesterday? Besides, I come with my own baggage.”

  I would like nothing more than to tell him I’d stay and take a chance with him, even if only for a few more hours. But I’ve only known him for one day. More than that, Cordell would know if I didn’t make it to New York City.

  “Here’s the thing.” I take his hands and sit them on my lap. “I’ve got too many secrets that can put you in the path of something . . . unsafe. When I leave here,” I pause, thinking about the car having some kind of Big Brother system. “Let’s stand by your car.”

  He grasps my hand as I lead him between the Tiburon and a towering wall that hides us from sight and sound.

  “When I leave here,” I continue, “I’m going to disappear in plain sight, be off the radar without anyone knowing.”

  “Why would you have to . . . ?”

  I put my hand up. “I don’t exactly know the details yet. I’m only telling you this because I don’t want you to think I’m blowing you off. I’m also going to ask you not to tell Jackson about this conversation. My ties to him will be cut as soon as I find out the extent of his punishment.”

  Dom drops my hands and grabs my waist, pulling me to close. “I’m a big boy, Maddy,” he says. “I can take care of myself. I have a feeling you are worth whatever might come my way.”

  We are in the parking lot of a car wash in the middle of one of the largest United States Army bases in the world, but everyone and everything else disappears except Dom. I reach around his neck and pull him down to me. I don’t kiss him. I stare into his mahogany eyes, run my fingers through his hair, and memorize the architecture of his face.

  “I’ll tell you what,” I whisper. “How about you come to New York in one month?” By that time, I should have a pretty solid plan.

  “I will request leave time first thing Monday.” He leans into me and rests his head on my shoulder. I shudder with delight as his lips lightly brush against the hollow of my neck.

  All my inhibitions are about to fly out the window on a unicorn with rainbows and cupcakes streaming from its bum. Under protest from the rest of my body, I bring my hands to Dom’s chest and, gently and unwillingly, push back.

  “Thirty days,” he says, kissing the tip of my nose. “I will be at your door in thirty days.”

  Mid-day traffic on Skibo Road is worse than Savannah’s rush hour. Once I’m finally inside my favorite chain bookstore, I pay cash for a scone and an iced caramel macchiato. I grab a stack of napkins and find an oversized chair in a back corner.

  My mission, if I choose to accept it—and I do accept it, obviously, because the other choice of giving up kind of sucks—is to slowly disappear from the grid. That way, no one can find. Not Cordell, Larry, or even Agent Mace.

  On a stack of napkins, I begin to outline the key points of my plan. The most crucial item I must remember is that everything needs to continue as normal. I have to pretend the pain in my che
st is not really my heart shattering into tiny shards. I have to pretend I’m not angry.

  Operation: Get the *#!% Out (OGTFO)

  -Assume all bags and suitcases have tracking devices. Donate luggage to thrift store(s).

  -Find Lawyer

  Cell phone:

  -Only use for casual calls

  -Purchase burner phones, different carriers

  --For Dixon, lawyer, research

  -Allow minutes to run out and change numbers each time

  Laptop:

  -School use and casual emails only

  -New email account

  -Use public computers for research

  iPod:

  -Check for broken seal

  -Purchase new ear buds

  -Do not use on Wi-Fi

  Car:

  -It has to go

  Apartment:

  -Bug sweeper.

  --Find tactical supply store between here and NYC

  -Door brace x2

  --Front door, bedroom

  Money:

  -Lawyer

  -Assume all card purchases are tracked

  -Keep current bank with Cordell’s name on the account for now

  --Use this account only for food and school necessities

  -Get cash back when making grocery and clothing purchases

  --Save and store this money

  -Open a new bank account at a different bank ASAP

  --Safety deposit box

  ---Different bank from new bank account

  School:

  -????

  One semester should be plenty of time to plan what I have to do as far as school is concerned. Maybe I can live in Europe. But that requires getting on a plane, and I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of commitment.

  My eyes feel heavy from lack of sleep.

  Taking a last glance at the inner workings of my plan to disappear, I rip the napkins into small pieces and toss half the bits in the garbage. I step outside and toss the second half in a garbage can and pour the remains of my macchiato on top.