The Dirty Anthology (6 page)

2

I was nineteen years old when I graduated from alcohol to drugs. On the exact day that marked the one year anniversary of Lexi’s disappearance from my life. My binge only lasted six months; enough time to leave a lasting mark.

It took one car crash and the subsequent realizations that hit me to get my stupid ass to wake up.

I was causing my mother pain. Her teary eyes were the first thing I saw upon awakening in the hospital.

The all-body cast encasing my body was the second.

That’s when my next realization slid into place: I would never find Lexi if I ended up killing myself.

Her and my mother’s faces got me through the next year of therapy, when I had to wait for my body to heal, and had to relearn how to use my legs properly.

All while battling to break free from a heroin addiction and being forced to face the demons that caused them in therapy.

That’s how much that girl came to mean to my pathetic, egocentric, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen . . . and nineteen year old self.

I’m lying. She meant that much to me way before.

Since the beginning.

You’re not supposed to know what romantic love feels like as a child.

I’m pretty sure I knew.

And that’s how much she still means to the twenty-five year old man I’ve become. The man that’s about to use all his resources and break at least five federal laws, if not more, to locate her.

Step one: befriend the new head of the IT department so that she’ll make sure all the employees overlook what I plan to do with the systems.

Why am I thinking about this, even when I know I shouldn’t allow myself to, at least not until I’m closer to actually implementing the first step of my plan?

The elevator doors I’m standing in front of are a bluish-gray steel that’s messing with my head.

Reminding me of blue-gray eyes staring up at me, hazy with pleasure.

A bolt of heat slashes right through my nervous system, igniting my heart.

Ah, fuck. My dick is hard and I’m in an elevator, next to my uncle.

“The new head of our IT department is one of the best, Drew.”

Beautiful. My uncle decides to start speaking to my while I struggle to get my body back under control.

Trust me, the last thing you want to hear when your cock is pounding is a relative’s voice. Much less your
uncle’s
voice.

“Mmhm,” I mumble, staring down at the marble floor. I can’t keep staring at the steel in front of me.

Not if I want to meet this new super-nerd my uncle hired without my dick standing straight and tall before her face.

Mother of Shit. Even thinking the word “nerd” is too much for me to handle right now.

“We managed to steal her from Menahan Industries,” my uncle continues, voice brimming with pride.

Deservedly so. Menahan—that little bastard—is our direct competition. Luring one of his employees away had to have been expensive as hell, not to mention legally complicated.

An impressive feat.

I can’t formulate any type of response though.

Big blue-gray eyes, framed by those thick black glasses I’d loved, had locked on mine that night, showing me every emotion I’d caused in her.

Every emotion I’d
owned
.

Her brow had scrunched from the pleasure I gave her, her lips parted, begging me to take them.

To take everything.

“Andrew! Oh . . . you’re . . . I’m coming . . . uh!”

Fuck, her cries. As long as I live, I’ll never forget them. Those sweet little moans still have the power to make me come harder than any woman ever has, even though they only exist within my memories now.

Lexi came all over my thigh that night.

Then my fingers.

It hadn’t been enough. I’d attacked her again later that night, eating her out on the hood of my car, under the stars, and the experience fucked with me on a molecular level. Forcing her thighs open, I’d made her drench my tongue, her walls sucking me in deeper and deeper with each orgasm I gave her.

I still remember every freaking facet of her taste. What it felt like to have her swollen little clit in my mouth.

But she hadn’t come all over my dick. There hadn’t been a chance.

I lost her the very next morning.

“Andrew? Are you listening to me? Are you alright?”

No, I’m not. Haven’t been for so long now that I’m starting to wonder if I ever really was.

Do I even have a clue what “normal” feels like?

“I’m fine. Just a lot of my mind.”

My uncle nods as we exit the elevator on the lowest floor of the building; where the IT department is located. “It’s a lot to take in at once. I know. These introductions are necessary though.”

I don’t dispute that, because he’s right. At this point we’ve visited every department, made sure everyone has seen the face of their new boss. My uncle has been around much longer than me, obviously, so he’s well known.

Feared in his own right.

Respected.

Oddly enough, also well-liked despite all that.

His introducing me to everyone is a strategic business move. I’m the son of a man that wasn’t known for having been the best type of human being. If I’m going to keep the board under control, I have to make myself invaluable to the company.

I have to become everything my uncle is, and more. Employee fealty goes a long way to helping a CEO retain their position of power.

But as I follow my uncle down the marble and steel hallway, I’m having a moment of utter weakness. One of many throughout my adult life.

The latch in my mind is busted wide open, the door barely hanging on by its hinges. There is no barrier between my mind and the memories.

One in particular comes on strong. It’s the one that kills me the most. The full, amazing,
bitter
recollection of what happened the first night I tasted her.

The night that would lead to my losing her.

The night she’d been mine in every sense but the one that mattered most.

3

I think Stephen is starting to suspect what I’m really coming to his step-dad’s gym for.

Sure, it seems like he’s brought into my lie of just wanting to come here and practice on my own. It’s not like I haven’t done it before. For years, I’ve found random places—anywhere I can hang my punching bag from—and spent hours going at it by myself.

Practicing my uppercuts, jabs, haymakers, round house kicks. Tearing my body down physically so I won’t have to deal with any of the mental shit I’ve got going on.

Everyone at school sees me as some type of warrior. A prized fighter even though I don’t professionally fight.

I never will. My father would kill me if I even mentioned stepping into the ring.

At school, the “official” sport I play is football. After school, Stephen, Barnard, and I practice mixed martial arts. It’s our thing. Stephen’s uncle owns an MMA studio, and that’s where we all hang a lot of the time.

If I’m not practicing on my own, as I said.

My friends know I’ve got some kind of issues. They don’t have the details, but obviously something has to be wrong with me if I insist on spending large periods of time by myself.

Yeah, I’m aware. The irony isn’t lost on me. I hear the whispers. One of the most popular guys in school is actually a closet loner.

Bite me.

Father pisses me the fuck off on a daily basis. Sometimes two or three times a day.

I rather be by myself when I work through the anger. Pushing my body to the max, exhausting myself, is the only true outlet I have.

Breaking Father’s face would be lovely, but mother has already instilled in me how wrong that would look to everyone we knew.

Always keep up appearances and all that.

So when I’d told Stephen I wanted late night access—as in: “Get me the fucking keys”—to his step-dad’s gym, he’d seemed to have no problem saying yes.

That was three weeks ago and everything had seemed cool.

Until today. Earlier, when Stephen asked me if I was going to use the gym tonight, I could’ve sworn I’d seen an odd glint in his eyes.

Maybe it’s just my guilt superimposing shit, though. Because I
am
lying to him about why I come to the gym.

I’m sure you’ve guessed by now that it has nothing to do with working out.

Every night, after ten, I sneak out of my house, drive two miles to the gym, and meet up with a girl.

Not just any girl either.

A girl that used to be my best friend, back when we were kids.

A girl who lost her father and family stability because my father is sometimes the legend of Mephistopheles made manifest.

A girl that lights me up so hard, like nothing else in the world can.

A girl that
isn’t
my girlfriend.

This is all so fucked up.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not cheating on my girlfriend with Lexi.

Do I want to?

Hell no. What I really want to do is dump Kaylee so I can be with Lexi. That’s what I fucking want.

Can it happen?

Do humans have the ability to magically sprout wings and
fly
?

Apparently, I wasn’t born to have anything I want. Fuck my free will, or any possible desires born from it. It’s all about what my father wants for me.

He has my entire destiny mapped out.

I approached him last week, letting him know I planned to leave Kaylee.

And why.

I know. Stupid me, right?

His words . . . Man, they made me want to break shit.

“Kaylee is a Whittacker, boy. Clearly, you’re as stupid as I always figured you were. You want to leave a Whittacker for a Berkman? Did you forget what I did to her father when he thought he could get in my way? Do I have to get rid of her too? Or are you just doing this to prove to me what a disappointment you truly are?”

Ah. My father. King of the Assholes.

Here’s the thing: I’d leave Kaylee any way if Lexi showed me even a hint of interest. Like
that
.

I’ve seen small glimpses, little things here and there that make me believe . . . If I’m going to go up against my father, make Lexi his target, I need to know for sure.

There can be no doubt.

All I think about is her wanting me back. Being with her. It keeps me up at night, messes with my concentration at school.

A never-ending secret fantasy since the girl started developing into a woman.

I slide the key into the lock, opening the back door of the gym, all the while shaking my head at myself.