Bottom Feeder Page 24

  I bite my lip to keep from crying. Stupid tears.

  “You are beautiful.” He kisses me softly. “I mean that. It’s not some bullshit line. You don’t ever have to hide your body, or anything else, from me.” He kisses me again. “I want to explore every part of you, memorize every inch of you with my eyes.” He tilts my chin until I meet his gaze. “My lips.” He kisses both corners of my mouth. “And my tongue.” Dom trails the tip of his tongue from my neck to the sensitive spot behind my ear.

  “Maddy,” he whispers, “I want to learn the architecture of your mind, the curves of your body, and the very foundation of everything that has ever caused you heartache. Because I never want to do anything to hurt you.”

  Dom begins an expedition of my body by tracing slow kisses along my neck, across the swell of my breasts, and down to my midsection.

  I shut out the feeling of panic that attempts to rise as he drops to his knees.

  His hands move to the drawstring on my sweatpants. “Is that okay?” he asks, looking up at me.

  My brain is unable to form a sentence. I nod. Continuing to kiss just below my belly button, Dom gently lowers and slips off the bottoms.

  He releases a loud sigh as he takes in my almost-naked form.

  I drop to my knees in order to be face-to-face with him. I glide my fingers down his smooth back, into the waistband of his jeans and around the front to unbutton them.

  “Are you sure?” He whispers and kisses my earlobe. My heart is racing. Am I really about to do this? Can I do this?

  Again, I nod. He guides me onto the bed.

  “I love you, Maddy. Would it scare you if—” He pauses to look into my eyes. “If I told you I might be falling so far that I can’t see the bottom or the top anymore? But I don’t care as long you are with me.”

  “That doesn’t scare me,” I reply with conviction, then quote a song I heard a long time ago. “Love is kind of like quicksand; the more you are in, the deeper you sink. And when it hits you, you've just got to fall.”

  “You are sure you want this? With me?” He searches my face, my eyes for any uncertainty.

  “Positive,” I murmur. “But . . . I might be bad at it.”

  Dom laughs. “Why would you be—” His eyebrows shoot up, a look of acknowledgement crossing his face. “You’re a—I mean . . . not with . . .”

  “Look, I don’t know if I’m a virgin.” Suddenly I can’t look at him. I just can’t. “I don’t know if consent counts for something like that.”

  “I know technically . . . I thought . . . Oh.” He shakes his head and then himself. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I trust you.”

  He sighs. “We should stop.”

  My heart sinks at his rejection.

  “You deserve better than this.” Dom turns on his back and rubs his face. “Better than me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Before I joined the army, I spent a lot of time getting into trouble. Someday everything is going to come back and bite me on the ass. I don’t have money. All the extra money I have goes to my family. I can’t give you the things you’re used to having.”

  “Stop,” I say, proud my voice doesn’t crack.

  When Dom tries to speak, I ignore the protests in my sore legs and straddle his waist. The fact that I am only in my skivvies does not deter me from getting what I have to say out in the open.

  “I hope you don’t think that I’m so superficial I need things to be happy. I have this,” I gesture around the apartment, “Because the man who raised me wanted me out of his life to be with his secret family. In the past I paraded around in what he wanted me to wear, flaunted the jewelry, the purses, and anything else he wanted me to do or wear in order to show everyone his status. Now those state-of-the-art electronics he always insisted on me showing off are only in use because he is tracking everything I do. I don’t care if your past is bad, Dom. Mine is, too. I’ve seen things that I don’t tell anyone about. The foundation of my existence is built on secrets and lies. You had a glimpse of those secrets last night.”

  “Maddy, I . . .”

  “I want you to understand something. I want you. I want all of you. The good, bad, ugly, poor, rich, and everything in between, up above and down below. As scared as I am right now, I’m equally sure that I want to take this wherever it leads. For once I am jumping without looking to see where I’ll land. Because in the middle of those ridiculously long conversations and corny lines, I have fallen for you. I trust you. I love you, Dom. You live six hundred miles away, yet you are the center of my day, every day. You are the best thing that has happened in my life in a long time, so don’t ever think you’re not good enough for me.”

  The smile on his face shows relief and surrender.

  “Now that the mood is killed,” I say and gently slap both hands on his chest. “Let’s get out of this apartment.”

  He chuckles. “Okay.”

  “By the way, where are your bags?”

  “Since you show signs of a serious anal retentive, obsessive-compulsive nature,” he says matter-of-factly. “I put them in the corner of the closet before you saw them on the floor and had a stroke.”

  “Funny.”

  I dress in jeans, a long-sleeved button-up shirt, and layer on my usual blend of face makeup.

  “That’s amazing,” Dom says. “The swelling is there, but I can’t see any discoloration.”

  I’ve had years of practice, I want to say.

  Instead I ask, “How did you get in the apartment last night?”

  “Let’s just say that a credit card has more uses than charging interest.”

  Since this is not Dom’s first trip to New York, he insists we visit the youth center where I volunteer. With six brothers and sisters, the Center appears to be right in his comfort zone. He plays basketball with the older kids and colors or reads with the younger ones. Once, I glanced over to see him changing a diaper in the daycare area. It was turning out to be the best non-date date ever. I was introduced, once again, to the person I had fallen for over the phone. Realizing the feelings have not been futile feels good. Being in love feels even better.

  Cecilia, my Little Sister, adores him. At least until he admits to kissing me on the lips.

  “Ewwwww, Maddy!” she shouts, sticking her finger in her mouth for the universal signal of that’s nasty. “Boys have germs. Maybe if someone invents antibacterial soap for the mouth, I will kiss a boy. But until then, nuh-uh!”

  I thought Dom was going to choke from laughing so hard.

  Cecilia rolls her eyes. “Boys.”

  Dom hops in the shower while I work on a few makeup touchups before dinner. I am on immediate alert once again when there is a knock at my door. I open the door cautiously, the Taser at the ready in my left hand.

  The messenger presents a certified letter, postmarked South Korea six days ago. From the unreturned phone calls and deleted email address, I assumed Cordell never wanted contact with me again. I was more than happy to oblige his request.

  My stomach flips as I slowly open the envelope.

  Dear Madelyn,

  I know you must hate me. The package containing the disks was a plea for help. For the sake of my daughter, I could not turn the package over myself. I knew you would do the right thing. The man sitting in the chair on the first disk was my husband. The man on the second is your Granddaddy. The third is your real daddy. He had my first husband killed. He covered up the murder by placing him on a boat and setting fire to it. Your daddy and granddaddy were also killed. The details are sketchy. I am writing this letter as a warning. At the very least, I owe you that. He knows about the break-in.

  LD will visit Thursday. His orders are to get rid of you by any means necessary. If LD fails, he will come for you himself.

  Thank you for the extra tips. The money is aiding in my attempt to escape here.

  CC

  CC?

  I slump against the counter and think of my short, barely
-there history with the waitress from Hettie’s.

  CC was friendly to everyone who came through the doors of Hettie’s, including the people who did not return the kindness. She began working there at nineteen, a few months before Mama died. I remember this because she stopped going with Cordell and me on our weekly trips to Hettie's

  He and I continued to go like clockwork twice each week until shortly after Mama died.

  One night a few years ago, CC stopped a group of seniors from jumping Dixon. We stepped outside after closing to find a guy sitting on Dixon’s bicycle. As we approached, a few of the guy’s friends came into view, throwing a string of profanities at a shocked and pissed off Dixon.

  Mama taught me to stand up for others and what I believe in. She lived by this rule faithfully.

  “Mind your religion, Madelyn Faith,” she would say, “But help those you can help and fight for those who need to be fought for.”

  I prepared myself to fight with Dixon that night. By that time I was so used to taking punches, a few more were not going to matter.

  In two fell swoops, I slipped off my earrings and began pulling my ponytail into a twist. Before I could kick off my flip flops—trust me, they do not have good traction for a fight—CC came out and ran them off with her purse swinging and threats to call their mothers. At the mention of getting their mothers involved, the guys fled in every direction.

  I’m not going to say that the next day I purchased thinly sliced raw salmon and stuck it between the pages of magazines and snuck said magazines into each of their cars and the bottom of their lockers. However, if they happened to start smelling something foul in their vehicles and lockers, then that was probably the reason. The stench never wavered. I still give myself a pat on the back for that one. They were all douche nozzles.

  Anyway, I owed CC. I was unsure how, but I had to find a way to repay her for saving us from a fight—one in which we would have lost, I’m sure. I received my answer a few weeks later when I was alone at Hettie’s, eating a bowl of fried okra and working on homework.

  I overheard a conversation between CC and an older lady in a snazzy business suit. The woman asked her endless questions about her childhood, her family and why she came to Tybee Island.

  I learned that her husband, a tug boat captain, had been killed in a boating accident the same year Mama died. His death was a mystery because he was not supposed to be on the water that day. The police did not investigate.

  I also learned that CC was pregnant at the time he died. She talked to the lady about working three jobs in order to keep up with the mounting bills.

  I thought about asking Cordell to help CC, but decided against it. Even back then I knew he was calculating and vindictive. After that night I began leaving larger than appropriate tips, hoping the money would help in some way.

  I guess now I know the baby she was pregnant with was Cordell’s and she was one of the other women that Mama cried over in her room at night.

  I file that away for another time.

  On to CC’s warning about “LD” coming here and not succeeding in his assignment.

  So this really is the reason why Cordell sent me to New York. If I disappeared in Georgia, people would have pointed fingers, asked too many questions. Violet would have initiated her own investigation. At least now if Cordell comes after me, no one else will be involved.

  I should be shocked by the content of this letter. I’m not.

  I’ve been preparing for this. This is why I took a chunk of the money Mama left and hired a lawyer who will handle my bank accounts and safety deposit box if I were to ever disappear. Part of our agreement was that I will check in with her by noon on Wednesday of every week. If I do not, she knows to wait six months and then discreetly transfer everything to Violet without further examination of why I disappeared.

  “What’s that?” Dom walks into the living room with a towel wrapped around his waist.

  If I weren’t so stunned from the letter, I would be gawking at the water droplets on his chest and the way his damp hair curls on the ends. Okay okay, I’m stunned and gawking. Multi-tasking is obviously my strong point.

  “Oh, uh, nothing. Just a letter from . . . just a letter.”

  “You look sick.” His eyes cut to the envelope. “South Korea? Who do you know in Korea?”

  I force a smile and cup my hand over his cheek. “Family. You about ready to go?”

  He leans in for a kiss; a distraction to playfully snatch the letter from my hands.

  “You really don’t want me to know?”

  I shrug. “Go ahead.”

  He reads through the letter. Twice. “Who is Cordell? I thought the guy’s name is Larry.” This conversation is not happening. Not now. Not ever. “Maddy? No more secrets.”

  “Cordell is my father. Sort of.”

  “Your ‘sort of’ father will come for you himself? I don’t understand what that means.”

  “It’s not about understanding. Anyone that knows anything about this is in danger. I’m not shoving you any further into that position. Last night was enough.”

  “Tell me.”

  “No.”

  “Tell me.”

  “No.” I stand to look out the window. “None of this is a coincidence. Everything Cordell does is strategically planned. A messenger brought the letter to me, Dom. There are two problems here that lead to one conclusion. The first: no one is allowed up here without someone letting them inside. Two: since this letter was certified and given to me by a bike messenger who did not ask me to sign, it was first intercepted by someone here. This means that someone in the building is working for Cordell. That same someone knew you were coming yesterday. Larry wanted you to be here. He wanted you to see me hurt. Last night was part of his show.”

  “Cordell has connections here, in New York?” Dom shakes his head. “Who is he? Don Corleone or some shit?”

  I turn to him, but remain silent.

  Comprehension crosses his face. “Please tell me what else is going on. You trust me, remember?”

  “It’s not about trusting you. It’s about sparing your life.” I study his beautiful face, a face full of concern and confusion. Guilt washes over me. He left one lifestyle to better himself and his family, and here I am handing him my crap life on a silver platter.

  “As of two months ago, Maddy, you are my life. Please?”

  I’m sick of the secrets. The constant lying to cover up for everyone else, then lying to cover up those lies. It is a vicious, infinite cycle.

  So I tell him everything from Mama’s death/suicide, the DVDs, the FBI, and the whole scene that went down in Jackson’s room. Within a twenty-four hour period, I have told every secret I’ve kept hidden all these years. I feel sick and oddly lighter.

  After a long silence, Dom raises his eyes to mine. “You have to leave.”

  “I plan on it.”

  “I mean soon. I mean now.”

  “Do you have any special plans for tomorrow?” The plan formulating in my head is stupid and reckless. Foolproof.

  “No?” he slowly answers with a question.

  “Good.” Before entering the bedroom I say, “I have someone that wants to meet you.”

  “Army strong, Sergeant Davis speaking,” he answers after the first ring.

  “Sergeant Davis, this is Maddy Carrington.”

  “Hey, G-A! You havin’ a good time with the boyfriend?”

  “Loads of fun, Sergeant. Are you working tomorrow morning?”

  “I work every day.” Pause. “You okay, G-A? You don’t sound so good.”

  “Do I need to make an appointment?”

  He laughs. “Only if you’re trying to join the army.”

  “Good. What time do you have available?”

  Silence.

  “Have you taken the ASVAB?”

  “I took the ASVAB in March; they offered food and a day out of class. I don’t remember my score, but can you look it up? What should I bring with me? How soon can I le
ave? How quietly can we do this?”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Very.”

  “We’ll answer everything tomorrow. Eight a.m.”

  Jackson

  The email was a stupid idea. I know she knows I know Beraz was with her this weekend.

  I’m sorry. Please forgive me.

  The only words that sum up everything. Can they fix what I broke?

  My mind is wandering so much that I can’t get the patches on my uniform straight. I rip them off for the fourth time and start again from the beginning.

  Knock knock knock

  Who is at my door at midnight on a Sunday? I toss the patches aside.

  “Bring me back a souvenir, Beraz?”

  I’m thinking he’s about to tear into me for sending his girlfriend an email. “Can I come in for a minute?”

  I open the door wider. He slithers past me to sit on the desk chair.

  “Make yourself at home. Would you like a beverage?”

  “You’ve known Maddy for a long time?”

  No. “Yes.”

  “I’ve got a name.” Beraz places his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. “I want you to tell me if it means anything to you. If it doesn’t, we drop it. If it does, I want you to tell me everything you know.”

  I shrug and start working on my uniform again.

  “Larry Duvall.”

  I shudder in disgust. “She told you?”

  “What do you know?”

  “She doesn’t tell anyone.”

  “I had the pleasure of meeting him before she told me.”

  “What happened?”

  Snapshots of the creepy bastard flow through my head like a slideshow as Beraz recounts a story of having to break into the apartment, where he found Larry straddled on top of Maddy, punching and slapping her.