Unmask (Adrenaline Series (Stand Alone) Book 4) (6 page)

Drew

While chewing I keep my eyes alert to everything possible.

Just because I'm trapped like a lab rat doesn't mean I can't be aware of my surroundings. While I was outside having a smoke I did a small scan of the yard, but I'll admit, it was hard to stare at anything other than the gorgeous girl making me breakfast. Melody. Even her name sounds fucking sweet. Imagine how beautiful she'll sound falling apart for me. How her orgasmic cries will be my new lullaby.

Spotting another one, I lean back in my chair and ask, “What's with all the cameras? They're fucking everywhere.”

“You learn to get used to them,” Melody hums before sucking syrup off her pinky.

Just because my dick is way bigger than that doesn't mean her mouth wouldn't make similar motions. It just means her perfect lips would be parted wider and the pleased hum would be louder. Oh, don't give me lectures about how wrong it is to be concerned with getting my dick touched while I'm being held captive. Trust me. I know. But a woman this beautiful plays tricks with the mind.

I adjust my growing hard on. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Suddenly she scoots her chair closer to me, hunches forward, and insists by eyebrow movements that I repeat her action. As soon as I do, she whispers, “It's all about angles. The cameras are more for show than for tell. No audio. More like a reminder put in place that you are being watched rather than to actually watch you. For most people that thought alone is enough.”

Not being able to help myself, I smile. “Not for you?”

“It stopped being enough years ago,” she answers.

Concerned I ask, “How long have you lived here?”

“Under The Devil's thumb or the cottage?”

“Both.”

“About four years.”

“That's a long time not to know freedom,” I reply softly grabbing one of the sausage links.

“You would know.”

The comment causes me to nod.

We weren't even legal when we started assisting Madden with The Devil's work. Being so young we were easy to manipulate and buy every bullshit illusion he promised us. He delivered the miles of women, the mountains of money, and the endless jobs that pushed the envelope, but eventually all good things have to come to an end and blood started being spilled. Sadly, I don't think it's done being spilled.

Slyly I compliment, “Those pancakes were amazing by the way.”

Melody reaches for her orange juice. “Thanks.”

“Growing up, big breakfasts like this were a rare thing. We were kinda poor, but Mom could make pancakes stretch on a budget. She used to put a dash of cinnamon and a pinch of sugar.” Recalling the mornings of stuffing as many of those thin objects I could in my mouth causes me to smile wider. “We didn't always have syrup, so when we didn't, she would just add more sugar.”

There's a brush of her leg against mine, dragging my eyes to hers. “I add a drizzle of chocolate syrup. Helps kill the need to wanna add more syrup than necessary.”

“Smart woman.”

“Not really,” she sighs. “It's just science.”

Baffled by the left field comment I grab my milk glass. “Oh yeah? What makes you say that?”

“Because it's science,” she repeats. “It's just the simple action of balancing the body's sugar levels.

“How would you know? You're not a chemist. A hell of a chef, but not a chemist.”

Melody toys with the end of her braid but doesn't argue.

No...no fucking way.

“You're a fucking chemist?”

“Not exactly...”

“What do you mean not exactly?”

“I mean my lab isn't in a building where people need a badge to enter and exit. I don't get to wear a white lab coat and have people see my accomplishments plastered on my wall. I mix compounds that yield necessary and desired results for a man who proves the line between genius and sociopath is indeed a thin one.”

For a moment I don't respond. I simply stare at the saddened expression on her face, the way her cheeks that were heated by our casual touch seconds before are now pale, proving to me, this is no more her home than it is mine. Her jail sentence here is just longer than mine.

We'll see about that.

“Your ass wouldn't look good covered in a coat.”

Immediately taken off guard by my words her face flushes again.

“However, I would be okay with fucking you on one of those counters.” The color deepens and I add, “As long as there are no lab rats around. Those would kinda kill the mood.”

Melody starts giggling covering her mouth to keep the incredible sound from being exposed.  Casually I brush my leg against hers.

A little flirting never hurt. I'm not dumb enough to think fucking her would allow me to escape any faster...Doesn't mean I can't enjoy my cell mate.

“You have a beautiful laugh.”

She turns to look at me. “I don't get many chances for other people to hear it to know if that's true or not.” As if some realization has hit her, she stands, keeping her face down. Melody grabs her dishes. “Are you done?”

“Yeah,” I answer unsure how I screwed that up. “I can help with-”

“No.” Her voice coldly states. “It would be best if you started on your task.” My mouth twitches to object when she informs, “I will clear the table and give you a clean work space. Feel free to take a moment and get washed up. You will be able to start momentarily.”

And just like that, the brief warmness that was appearing has faded away behind dark clouds again.

This is going to be the longest two weeks of my life. I just pray at the end of it all, I can free more than just myself.

Melody

It's weird the way he keeps staring at me, right? Look at him! Look at the way the end of that pencil is tucked between his teeth while his eyes glance at me! That's weird. I know I haven't been around men who would find me sexually appealing in years, but that doesn't mean that that's what that look has to be.

I check the clock on my phone once more knowing there's about another hour before I have to start The Devil's latest request.

Drew's voice invades my thoughts. “So how did The Devil know I could sculpt?”

“It's in your file.”

“Just a note like 'Oh hey he can sculpt if necessary'? Or something like a list of the classes I took in high school?”

The question rubs me the wrong way, so I don't reply.

Ya know, I'm not the secretary. It's not my job to keep the records. That's someone else's doing. How the hell am I supposed to know? To be fair I've wondered the same thing. I'm dying to know what little tidbits about myself are just waiting to be used against me again.

Suddenly Drew stands, pencil and paper still in his hand, as he heads towards me. “Does it have the story about Clarissa Walkins?”

Confused, but curious, I look up from book I was trying to read. “Who?”

With a soft smirk he flops down on the off white couch beside me. He crosses his leg to continue to use it as a table, his knee grazing mine once more. The sensation, which shouldn't send so much as a second thought to my brain breaks my skin out in goosebumps again.

It's been a really long time since I've had contact like that. Well, real contact. I've  had the touch of the dead, the close to it, and the unconscious more times than I can count, but the last time someone with a pulse, someone with their eyes open, touched me is lost with so many other memories. Omar is protective and father like, but he doesn't touch me in any way. No hugs. Nothing. Do you know what lack of touch can do to the human mind? Trust me. You don't wanna find out.

“She was this girl in my Math class,” he starts to explain, pencil still moving across the sheet of paper.

Instead of watching the drawing, I watch Drew. There's something so striking about him, it's hard not to.

Shh. It could be that I haven't been around a male like this in quite some time or it could be the way all the features on his face are dark, while his skin is an enticing shade lighter creating a contrast. Part of me thinks it's the light brown eyes that seem to be twinkling even now. Even in this hell hole. How is that possible?

“Clarissa had a thing for jocks. Believe it or not, I wasn't a huge fan.” His light chuckle lets the one that leaves me feel safe. “However, she did have a thing for custom jewelry. One of a kind shit. So in sculpting class, I carved her out this little tear drop shape, found a shiny rock and put it inside. Created her this amazing piece, had one of my brothers cop me a chain for it and gave it to her.”

“She like it?”

There's a smug smirk on his face. “She fucking loved it.”

Wouldn't you?

“Her boyfriend however...not so much.”

A gasp comes out of my mouth that forces his face upward.

“Did I forget to mention that at the beginning of the story?”

“A little,” I whisper.

He shrugs in the way that I'm seeing is signature for him. One shoulder and a head tilt. “Wasn't a big deal to me.”

“Because you like a challenge?”

“You know, easy girls are just that. Easy. Challenges, are never about the person involved, but the struggle of power.” His eyes latch onto mine refusing to let them go. “I prefer mutual attraction.” My legs unconsciously move closer together. Drew's leg jumps on the idea of gravitating towards them. “Call me old fashion.”

Trying to hide my blush, I simply fiddle with my braid. The river of heat scorching its way through my veins causes me to rub my chest a little in hopes of clearing the passage way for air to cool down my body.

It's just his fucking leg! I'm crazy...

“What um...what happened between you and the girl?”

“She left him for me.” He smiles widely. “Did you really see that story ending differently?”

I chuckle and shake my head. “You're arrogant.”

His tongue moistens his lips. “I'm accurate.”

Only a little bit of me wonders what he tastes like. Not enough for you to bring it up.

“If it makes up for it, he started to trash her around school, so I sculpted a tiny dick statue and engraved underneath it 'Christopher Dallas' Dick. Object is a replica of actual size.'” My eyes widen. “I then had Clarissa leave it in the girls locker room where it remained until he graduated.” In disbelief I start giggling and shaking my head. “We didn't actually date that long. Turns out she had her own agenda too. She wanted to know what made the McCoys so legendary. It didn't take long before I lost interest. There's something about dating chicks that want you just for your name.”

“Um...don't all the girls you hook up with want you because of that?”

“Yeah. That's why we hook up.” He points his pencil at me matter-of-factly. “Not date.”

“You don't date?”

Drew shakes his head. “Not in years.”

The direction of the conversation is one I want to push, but know I shouldn't.

It's none of my business. None of this is. Yeah, I'm curious too, but there's a saying about that. Remember what happened to the cat?

“I haven't sculpted in almost just as long.”

“You've got just a little time to practice.”

“Yeah...” He adjusts the paper tablet, which knocks his leg against me, and ignites the goosebumps all over again. “What about you? Can you sculpt?”

Sheepishly I shake my head. “I can't even draw stick figures.”

He chuckles. “Everyone can draw stick figure people.”

“No. Not everyone.”

“Everyone.”

“I swear. They either look like anorexic snowflakes or mini Michelin men.”

Drew holds the pencil out for me. I give him a sarcastic look before shaking my head. “Oh come on. You can't say shit like that and not expect me to ask you to deliver.”

Don't agree with him!

Giggling I shake my head again. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, which means no.”

“No is just a substitute for those waiting for a reason to say yes.”

The description causes my jaw to drop. “What am I waiting for?”

Drew leans over so his lips are feathering my ear. “Me.” Without pausing for my permission my body melts against him. “Do it for me Mel.”

Instinctively I prepare to deny one last time.

Softly he adds, “Please.”

His words roll around in my brain doing their best to separate the actual meaning from the innuendo I wish he was referring to. On a soft sigh, I snatch the pencil. “Fine. But you asked for this monstrosity.”

He nods as I lean over, so my body is pressed tightly against his. Unsure if the closeness is necessary or not, I take it for what it is. Happening. I do my best to focus on the request, my hand shaking while the creation falls in the empty corner on the page. When I'm finally finished there's a sense of pride sitting on my shoulders.

Not too bad, huh?

“That's....that's...” Drew seems to struggle to find the words. “That's awful.”

I hate him.

“Well,” I snap and shove the pencil back at him. “I tried to warn you.”

“Is that supposed to be a snowman on a diet?”

“Shut up.”

“Did he confuse cocaine for snow?” The teasing continues until I start to smile. “Should we all be on this diet?”

“Very funny.” Rolling my eyes, I make the motion to move away when Drew's body tenses as if indicating it wants me to stay right where I am. Nervously I swallow. “I tried to tell you.”

His arm extends around the back of the couch.

It makes me wonder if he could wrap his arm around me right now would he. What do you mean of course he would?

“Can you draw a heart?”

“So you can tell me that it looks like a pumpkin exploded or something. No.”

“I won't say that.”

A sarcastic scowl comes from me.

“Swear.” He surrenders his left hand. “I won't say that. Draw me a heart.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me?”

I shake my head.

I learned my lesson trusting a gorgeous smile and a smooth talker a very long time ago.

“I wanna show you something. Draw the heart.”

A deep sigh escapes me. I snatch the pencil back from him. I concentrate with everything in me on drawing the simple curves and trying to connect them at a point. Once I'm fairly certain I've done an alright job, I offer him back the pencil. I expect him to take it with his right, but he uses his left. He proceeds to shade my heart, turning it from a simple doodle into something remarkable. Suddenly it has veins and valves like an actual beating organ. Next thing I know there are pulse lines coming out of it to make the letter M.  

“This is a tattoo all of Triple D has,” he announces as he finishes. “Destin designed it. He designed most of the tattoos we have, but this one was to represent our mom. She was the heartbeat of the McCoys. She uh...she never hesitated to do what it took to keep us safe.”

I look over with just enough time to see a sadness I can relate to. Wanting to go where I know I don't need to, I once again redirect our attention, fighting the instinct to attach myself to the first new object in my fishbowl of a life. “You drew that with your left hand.”

A little smirk returns to his hardened face. “Yeah. Daniel's fucking left handed, so it became a skill I had to learn. That's the thing when you're always switching places. Smarter people pay attention to little details like that.”

“So you can sculpt...and Destin can draw?”

“He can. He rarely does it anymore,” he mumbles more to himself than me, the pencil still darkening the lines. “Merrick could paint.”

My body nestles a little closer. His fingers drop to my shoulder where he lightly strokes. “So, you're all slightly artistic?”