Page 26 of Stone’s Cage

I shake my head. "You have no idea of the shit storm I've left. Of what I've really done." I hold up a hand. "I don't even want to talk about it, and I'll never tell you, so don’t ask."

"I won't have to. One day, you just will," she says and leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek.

She's dead wrong. I will never tell her what I've done. And I'll never tell her what I do.

Chapter Thirteen

Lily

Carson Stone is an enigma.

Which means basically, he's a mystery wrapped in a mystery. I cannot forget this guy. He wants to help me. He basically puts his life on the line for me, to save me from being raped. He takes me in, feeds me, makes me feel incredibly sexy and so, so loved. And then says that he's a terrible person. I don't understand it. I don't see it.

Before he left for work, he jammed a piece of foil as a book mark in the middle of West with the Night, which he read while I took another shower. When I came out of the bathroom, he was still leaning against the island countertop, book in hand.

The moment Stone closed the door, I stood there in the center of the room, holding Tig in my arms, waiting to feel alone. I think it's because Sam's loss is so profound, and left such a hole in my heart, that any time someone is absent it feels overwhelming.

But this didn't. It is as if I am carrying Stone with me, like he's never gone, he's always around me.

Now, I sit on the sofa and contemplate next steps as Tig curls up in a ball and watches me lazily. In a few minutes he loses the battle and his little eyes close. I lean over and kiss him once.

As far as Shreves is concerned, I'm with the Hooks. Now I've got to gather some facts. That means going back to the bar. Going back to the very place Stone saved me from.

There's a lot of yelling and screaming at Jimmi's. I see other girls looking like strung out heroin addicts: wrinkled, twitchy, sallow skinned, eyes darting like someone is holding a flame to them. Some short guy in a mesh shirt offers me a line of coke. I say, "Fuck off man. Did a line already." I don't know if that's even possible but then he offers me "Jellys," which I also decline.

Wriggling my way between three different guys, all of them huge, I try to order something at the bar. Someone shoves another guy from behind and he nudges into me and I land on one of the guys, a big Italian twenty-something with black hair and tattooed sleeves on both arms. In my periphery, like a shark, sits Shreves in a corner booth. I take a big breath as I right myself.

"Fuck off," I say loudly to the guy who tries to grope me as I right myself.

That gets Shreve's attention. He nods and I walk over, jut my jaw out and level a gaze at him. He knows who killed Sam, is what I'm telling myself to make certain my legs don’t give out.

Shreves grins, a horrible expression that splits that lower lip in half where someone sliced it long ago, and waves me to his booth. Gold outlines several teeth and he smells astringently sour, like body odor and moth balls.

As I gingerly slip beside him in the booth, he asks, "He made you one of us, bitch. How many times he take you? Pussy sore?"

I start to deflect the question when Juice shows up and slides in on the other side of me, pinning me between the two of them. With a toothpick between his lips, skinny boy starts to reach for my chest, and I slap him. Hard.

"Not touching this."

Juice sits back and laughs, his head swiveling, and I can tell he's jacked up on something. Twitching and grinning, he turns to Shreves for permission.

"Come on, let me have a turn with some suga'."

"Get out, Juice."

"What the fuck?"

Shreves just gives him a look and the guy shrugs, unfolds himself from the booth, disappearing in the smoky crowd as it stretches and absorbs him like an organism. Now, Shreves looks at me, very coolly, his black eyes glittering like obsidian.

"The only ones who get to fuck you up is me. Me and Stone."

Something about Stone's name coming out of Shreves's mouth made me want to gag.

Shreves stretches back and leans his head against the wall. Those eyes narrow. "Why did he show up for you?"

I can’t think and I look away.

"You vice? You cop? They recruit babies now?" Again, there is that horrible, raspy laugh.