Page 33 of Deviant
I’ve been so good, it fucking hurts.
Everything has been normal on the surface, boring even. I’ve been good playing Rhett’s stupid fucking game of waiting, but I’m tired of waiting—of toeing a bullshit line as if we’re just two strangers who share the same workspace. Not two people who could be more.
He’s mine.
I push out in front of Cash, and cause a major gap between us.
Cash’s voice rings around my head. “Hey, can you slow down for a second so we can ride together? Damn, man, what’s got you wound so tight?”
Your pussy-ass brother.
I almost tell him every fucking detail, Rhett’s feelings be damned. Maybe Cash could tell him how fucking stupid thisgame of pretend he’s playing with me is. Instead, I gun it, arms out, wind ripping past me, teeth gritted, heart pumping.
Cash speeds up to keep pace with me, the dark stretching ahead, headlights the only light for miles. No words, just the roar of engines.
Back and forth our bikes hedge past each other, until I take the lead, letting the thrill edge me into recklessness. I drift into the center line, let the tires fight, and let the night feel like it could swallow me whole.
After a while, I glance back. Cash is several car-lengths behind me, phone glowing in his hand.
“Hey, dumbass, don’t you know you’re not supposed to text and drive? Catch up.” I slow my pace just enough to keep us together, itching to gun it again.
Ignoring my care for his safety, he asks, “Do you wanna go to a party? Bonfire and beer provided. I just want to go check it out and see who’s there. We aren’t too far out.”
“Lead the way.”
Cash flies past me, and I follow down a dirt road that seems endless. One more turn, then the field appears, swallowed by the woods. There’s trucks, cars, and scattered lights.
Where the actual fuck are we going?
Stripping my helmet off, I set it on my seat. “So…Where to now?”
Cash gestures toward the trees. “Through here. We all got tired of farmers complaining and cops showing up, so we found this place. Creepy, but cool as shit. You’ll see.”
Trailing after him, the forest closes in, branches snagging my jacket. The dark swallows every sound, like it’s holding its breath—waiting for something.
Join the club.
Cash walks with purpose, knowing the exact way as if he’s done it a thousand times before. I scan the ground for anything hidden, like a hole for a body, or a shovel.
“I swear to fucking god, Benjamin Cash, if you brought me out here to murder my ass I will come back and haunt you for forever because what the fuck, man.”
Cash full belly laughs. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d never bring you somewhere people go with your bike or phone. That’s basic serial killer one-oh-one.”
“You’ve thought about that before?” I ask.
“Everyone has.”
“Normal people don’t, Cash.”
The trees thin suddenly, firelight and smoke slicing through the once dark, empty spaces. The bonfire roars at the center of the field, cinderblocks stacked around it to keep the flames from spreading. Four-wheelers and coolers are scattered all around, music pounding like a heartbeat.
We head to the nearest coolers for a beer. Cash greets friends left and right, flashing a smile at a couple of girls by the fire, and I ignore the whispers that follow us, because they would never have the nerve to say it to my face, especially not with Cash beside me.
And then I see her—Molly—wearing a pale yellow dress, laughter spilling from her cherry red lips. Sweet, innocent, and most importantly,Rhett’s.
An idea sparks in my head as I watch her with her friends, taking photos and videos for social media. Half a dozen people have phones out, and I wonder if he could still ignore me when I’ve got my hands on something that’s his.
She won’t be his for long, though.
