Tainted Love Page 5

  “Now, now,” he chuckles, “I’m not entirely worried, I have connections. I’ve got money too, and over the last couple of weeks, I do believe I’ve managed to tame some of her demonic spirit if you haven’t noticed.”

  “Sure, you have,” I laugh. “If you are referring to the plastic cup you gave her to drink from that she shoved in the garburator, I wouldn’t call that helpful.”

  “No… I am referring to the two times I stood in front of her so you could get away unscathed.”

  He lifts his brows twice as if he’s some kind of hero, and I sigh.

  “Oh, those times… well don’t get used to trying to defend me, that’s what Pax is for. And if he sees you doing it while he’s around, he will take it as an act of war.”

  “Take what as an act of war?”

  My heart pounds to the sound of Pax’s voice behind me and I glance quickly at Gabe before I turn in my chair to see Pax’s venomous expression.

  “I think I should leave,” Gabe states, standing up.

  “Sit the fuck down,” Pax growls. “Answer the question, Vixen. What will I take as an act of war?”

  His eyes are cold, like blue ice as he stands there with his arms crossed, his tattoos practically moving with how tense his muscles are.

  “It’s nice to see you too,” I say dryly. “We were discussing Satan’s attempts to send me to the underworld if you must know. You were gone, so, Gabe stepped in twice and botched her plan. That’s all Pax, it’s not a big deal.”

  “I suppose not,” he says, still unhappy in his tone. “But what the fuck is the lawyer doing here now? Not saving you, I’m assuming.”

  I can tell by his tone he’s gritting his teeth, growling, which makes me nervous. He only does that when he’s holding back his desire to either fuck me or kill something.

  “No… Gabe came by because I asked him to. I had some questions and I wanted to avoid the bitch at all costs. Now can you please drop the angry man attitude, Gabe was just leaving.”

  Pax eyes him over wearily, and then juts his head toward the door.

  “Go then, you fucking weasel, and learn to talk on the Goddamn phone!”

  I watch Gabe make his way to the door swiftly, stopping once he’s there.

  “Thanks for the drink, Kirsten. You know how to reach me if you need anything.”

  “Stop talking and get the fuck out!” Pax growls before I can say anything.

  The sound of the door slamming startles me as I stand and shake my head with an exaggerated sigh.

  “You are a lunatic sometimes, Whiskey, you know that? The guy is half descent.” I say it feeling slightly guilty and then add; “He actually has good intentions when it comes to Satan.”

  “Yeah right,” he snarls, “I’ll be the judge of that, Vixen.”

  “No, I’ll be the fucking judge of it. What is with you? You can’t just show up here after four days of radio silence and behave like a complete barbarian because you’re in a mood.”

  “A mood?” he mocks, “I just came home to that smug bastard sitting in our kitchen, drinking with my girl.”

  “Oh, so, now this is your home? Because the last four days it didn’t seem to be when I woke up to you being AWOL. And since when am I your girl?”

  “Since fucking always, Kirsten! And don’t pretend you didn’t know who I was when you asked me to stay here with you. I’ve always hated lawyers, and so what if I take off sometimes? I always come back, Vix, always.”

  I hate that he’s so damn gorgeous and that he’s right. It makes me feel guilty, but it’s not like I know where he goes or what he does on these stupid trips, never mind with who.

  “Fine, Whiskey, let’s just drop it. Gabe won’t be a problem, I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Yeah, you’d better or else I will,” he warns. “Now close your eyes… I have something for you.”

  “What?” I ask, shocked.

  “You heard me. Close them, please.”

  I shut my eyes, listening to the sound of him rummaging through his duffel, wondering what the fuck? Pax isn’t a romancer, and he’s never surprised me before. Maybe with some fresh wildflowers while we were laying in a field drunk once or twice, but he’s not the kind of guy who shows a soft side. Shit, I don’t think he even has one, and if he does, I’ve never seen it, except when my father died. But that was an exception.

  “Lift your hair, Vixen.”

  I lift it and feel him slip something cool to the touch around my neck; I can tell it’s a necklace and my heart begins to beat rapidly.

  “Okay, you can open your eyes.”

  I open them and look down as Pax moves in front of me to check out my expression.

  “A cross?” I question, studying the pendant that is embedded with diamonds.

  “Uh-huh, it’s to protect you when I’m not around.”

  “It’s beautiful, Pax, but you know I’m not religious right?”

  “No kidding,” he laughs. “You live with Satan.”

  “Then why the cross? I don’t get it.”

  “Come,” he says, dragging me to the sofa.

  Pulling me onto his lap, he runs his thumb over the pendant and smiles as he flips it over. Engraved on the back are the words, ‘For my Saint, -Pax.’

  Then he rolls up his sleeve and lifts the edge of a bandage so that I can see his freshly inked inner forearm. There are two snakes tangled together on his arm with some writing that says, ‘Kirsten’s Sinner.’ I’m unsure whether to smile or cry at the gesture as a loose tear escapes my eye without warning.

  “What’s wrong, Vix? I’m not asking for a commitment, just wanted to show you that you will always be a part of me.”

  “It’s not that,” I mumble. “I love it, Pax, I really do. I just don’t understand why you called me your saint, yet you always call me, Vixen.”

  “Because you’re both. The bratty little badass I met three years ago who needed me to keep her out of trouble, and you’re also my savior. My home, Kirsten. The place I can just be myself and not have to worry about you judging me or asking questions.”

  “That’s because you wouldn’t answer them if I did, and I don’t judge you because, seriously, have you seen my life?”

  “Well it won’t be like this forever, Vix. As soon as you turn twenty-four, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

  “Sure, you will,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “What the fuck is up with that attitude? Haven’t I proven myself? What do I need to do to prove it’s always going to be you and me no matter what?”

  “It’s not that, Pax. I know I whine sometimes about the way you screw off on me, but I get it, it’s your thing.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  He jerks my face closer to his and kisses me roughly, the way he always does when he wants to get me going.

  I place my fingers over his lips and stop him.

  “The problem, Whiskey, is still the same one it has been since we met. I can’t give my heart to you until we get out of this place. If I say the three stupid little words out loud and commit to a relationship with you, then that makes us real. And being real terrifies me, because the minute I find you in bed with her… fuck, I swear, Pax, it will kill me.”

  He growls angrily under his breath.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Kirsten, don’t you know me at all? For three years we’ve been going over this shit. I would never do that to you. Don’t you get it? I never even liked sex until I met you!”

  I instantly feel shameful seeing his face now flooded with the pain of his past, the things he never wants to talk about, not that I blame him. My chest hurts as I work to hold in the tears that want to come.

  “I’m sorry, Whiskey, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Just save it,” he whispers, “I’m going to go for a ride… and yes, I will be back tonight,” he adds, noticing my concerned expression.

  I say nothing and watch him grab his helmet and leave, feeling the ache in my chest grow and I can’t h
old back anymore.

  I wipe the tears as they fall, struggling to think of anything other than what he must have gone through for all of those years, but my vivid imagination won’t stop torturing me with evil thoughts. My only resolve is to drink them down and I know it, so I swig from the bottle of whiskey, trying to embrace the burn as I swallow.

  Image after image of a young boy’s soul being shattered just keep flashing through my mind and I keep downing the numbing agent with no resolve.

  I slam my fists on my thighs as hard as I can, hating the way I just fucked up his romantic gesture, hating myself for being such a loser, wishing I could take it back and just tell him I love him. But I am what I am, a Vixen, a stupid rich girl who has no clue what hell really is and no clue what love should be.

  All I seem to know is revenge, and how to mess shit up.

  I take the bottle with me and wobble my way to the bed; the world is finally spinning as I lay down thinking about Pax’s last statement. I am the only girl he’s ever liked having sex with. I smile thinking about it and begin to laugh, because it’s not like we make love. If anything, we make hate, deep, dirty, angry sex with the purpose of letting off steam. Hate-fucking as Pax calls it. It’s the one connection we both seem to thrive off of, me and my Whiskey. We are soulmates whether I say it out loud or not.

  Five

  High Expectations

  Pax ended up coming in the door late last night. I can’t be sure what time because I’d already passed out. I felt better when I woke up with him beside me but left him sleeping because he looked far too comfortable to wake. I get that he loves me, I get that he wants me to trust him, but he doesn’t know my mother the way I do. He doesn’t know the lengths she’s gone through to get what she wants.

  I knew about the affairs she was having while Dad was away on business, and I kept her secrets for years because I knew it would destroy Dad. Eventually it did. I remember the exact look on Dad’s face when he found out I knew about it and never said anything. It was the same week Pax took off on one of his glory rides, and I will never forget the sound of Natasha’s blood-curdling screams when she found him dead in the garage, hanging from the rafters.

  The Marron brothers’ parents were driving by just as I was walking home from the Club before sunrise that morning. We all heard Natasha’s screams and the garage door was wide open. If Jack and Jimmy hadn’t jumped out of the vehicle to stop me… I’m just glad they did.

  “Good morning,” Pax says, taking a seat at the table. “You were snoring by the time I got in last night, so I decided to watch you sleep for a bit… and I guess I dozed off.”

  I turn with my mug of coffee and take in his annoyingly perfect morning face.

  “I don’t mind if you sleep in my bed, Pax. Do you want a cup of coffee?”

  “No, I’m good thanks, and since when? You made it clear that we are roommates to the schmuck next door… doesn’t that mean I should take the sofa?”

  The bad boy smirk on his face almost makes me crack a smile.

  “I know what you’re doing right now, so you can cut it out.”

  “What am I doing?”

  Now laughing at his stupid dimpled proud smile, I take a seat.

  “You’re trying to cause an argument so we can hate-fuck, and it’s not happening.”

  “Is that what I’m doing?” he shrugs, acting innocent.

  “Yes… but it won’t work because I’m not mad at you. I feel like I owe you an apology and an explanation.”

  His brows furrow and he crosses his arms, seemingly intrigued.

  “An apology and explanation for what?”

  “Last night,” I sigh, trying not to look too long at his blessedly ripped body and all of his ink. “I love that you got a tattoo with my name, I really do, and I love the necklace, Pax. I wasn’t trying to be ungrateful.”

  “I know,” he smiles. “I have a knack for being able to read you, Vix, and I threw you for a minute I’m sure.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  He leans forward and traces the pendant with his finger.

  “You know I love you don’t you? Even when we are visiting the dark city of Hate-Fuck, right?”

  I nod.

  “Yeah, I know… but last night when I mentioned Satan—”

  “Shhh,” he hums, placing his fingers over my lips. “We don’t need to rehash last night. What we need to do is correct the situation growing in my pants.”

  His wicked smile makes my heart pick up before I glance down at the swelling erection pressing against the crotch of his jeans.

  “I have to go up to the house. I promised Natasha a couple of days ago that I would go through my closet with her and start sorting what clothing I want to bring out here,” I white lie.

  Truthfully, there’s nothing I want to do more than fuck him right now, but I can’t. Not while knowing I gave Wallstreet a B.J. yesterday and how much that would destroy Pax. The whole “he hates lawyers” shit is really messing with me, because I know if Gabe were in any other profession, my transgression wouldn’t matter. It’s the fact I did it to one of his arch nemesis’s that has me guilt ridden.

  “Alright,” Pax sighs, “then I’ll head over with you, just let me shower quickly.”

  I lift a shoulder and cringe.

  “Why don’t you just meet me there when you’re done showering?”

  “Because you might get nailed with a flying statue. Fuck, Vix, we’ve been over this and I don’t give a shit if the hotshot lawyer is there or not. I’m going with you.”

  “It isn’t even nine yet. Satan doesn’t rise before noon, I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you seriously going to debate this with me?”

  The growl in his tone is setting us right back into hate-fuck territory, so I back down.

  “Nope, I’ll wait for you, shower away bodyguard.”

  “There’s my saint,” he says mockingly. “I won’t be long, I promise.”

  I smile, aggravated, as he kisses my cheek and heads to the washroom.

  My heart is pounding to the knowledge that I will likely come face to face with Gabe in front of Pax again and its freaking me out.

  God, I really am a Vixen, but if Gabe isn’t able to get my mother into rehab, then at least I have some leverage on him that should keep him motivated to keep trying. Either that or I may have to blackmail him into making her sign everything over to me. I don’t care either way. I just want her out of my life and away from Whiskey. No pun intended.

  I pour myself a glass of orange juice and add a splash of vodka in hopes to kill my nerves.

  “I don’t think so,” Pax declares, taking the glass from my hand. “You are not turning into your mother on my watch.”

  There are a ton of things I could say back, but the truth is, he’s probably right and I can’t afford to argue with him right now.

  “Fine, have it your way” I smile.

  I take in the way his damp hair drips from the loose ends he missed when he tied it back and how his muscles make his torn, almost see-through t-shirt look way to small. He’s gorgeous, and I can’t help but stare at his ass in his jeans while he crouches to tuck his laces into his shoes.

  “Are you ready?” he laughs. “Or are you just gonna stand there staring at me like usual?”

  “I can’t help it; you are way to fucking hot for your own good… no wonder Satan wants you so badly.”

  “Well that’s too bad,” he emphasises, his eyes glistening. “Satan can’t possibly hate-fuck me the way I know you can, so she’s shit out of luck. Now, if I were you, I’d get that sexy ass moving before it ends up bent over the sofa and at the mercy of this dick.”

  I take that as a solid warning, slip on my sandals, and make my way out the door.

  Passing one of the Azalea bushes, Pax stops and picks one of the flowers, and I shake my head at him.

  “Are you trying to get murdered? You know she’ll kill you if she catches you messing with her prized Azalea’s.” />
  “No,” he laughs, “she only chucks shit at your head, not mine… but don’t worry, I’ll protect you!”

  I roll my eyes as he tucks my hair behind my ear and places the flower in the fold.

  “You know, Whiskey, if you weren’t so easy to love, I’d slap you right now,” I mutter. “Now get in there and check if the coast is clear please.”

  He smiles his you said you love me smile, all proud as he enters through the kitchen and waves me in.

  “It’s clear, there’s no sign of the demon or her hellhound,” he teases.

  I scan the kitchen, tell him to keep quiet, and grab his hand, dragging him behind me through the sitting room, past the front foyer, and up the stairs to my room.

  Not seeing Natasha along the way, I shut the door behind us and open the closet. There is literally over five hundred outfits, plus my shoe collection, belt collection, and purse collection. I feel like an idiot for having all of this crap, knowing I haven’t worn even a quarter of it.

  “Grab that backpack from the coat hook,” I tell Pax, pointing to it.

  He does and holds it open as I pull a few things off of the hangars and shove them inside.

  “Remember the night you snuck me in, and I slept in this closet?” he whispers.

  “I do… and we weren’t sleeping,” I retell, “and my dad busted us because you kept pounding me so hard, I ripped the shelf down.”

  “I know,” he says, all pleased with himself. “Want to do it again?”

  “No… we need to get my stuff and get out of here.”

  “That would be a good plan,” Mother interrupts. “I’ll be turning this room into a gym. Good morning, Pax. I’d say it’s nice to see you with your clothes on, but I’d be lying.”

  I shove the bag into his arms and push him out of the closet.

  “Just take it downstairs while I talk with her.”

  He looks at me and then at her, presumably noting she doesn’t have a glass in her hand.

  “I’ll wait in the hall.”

  Satan checks out his ass as he leaves, and she shuts the door behind him.

  “So, dear, I have news,” she’s states. “Gabe is planning to take me on a little trip next week. I think he might propose.”