Camouflage (Predator and Prey #1) (7 page)

I didn’t know if I expected to find him there and now I had my answer.

The man was a ghost.

And now I knew they existed.

The purple bruise on my breast and the soreness between my thighs told me so.

Days later, I was in my office scrolling through my emails. I’d been debating on whether or not to take the time off Nina had urged me to, but I had no idea what I’d do with it. I’d tried to keep my mind off Daniello, but found my hand beneath the sheets every night to the memory of him.

It was that good.

I went through my day as I always did: with precision and without distraction. I had a company to run and being in a dick daze was not an option.

A delivery of solid white roses arrived toward the end of my day, and I immediately threw them out. Before anyone—including my assistant, Ross—had a chance to ask, I made an excuse that they were a thank you from a client.

Irritated, I left work that night looking for an SUV, and finding nothing.

It was clear to me then I didn’t like the situation. I needed order and some control. I had none and I was longing for him. I went to bed that night with my hands firmly planted beneath my pillow.

The sun was unforgiving as I sat on the curb in front of the five and dime, waiting on my father to gather his weekly list at the tractor supply store across the street. I was filthy from head to toe from a day’s worth of cleaning and could feel my throat closing from thirst. I spotted the shiny metal underneath a small patch of grass growing in the crack of the sidewalk and lunged for it. I was met by what felt like a brick wall as my fingers grazed the quarter.

“I saw it first,” the wall replied. “Too slow.”

I shielded my eyes from the sun and audibly whimpered at the loss as I tried to get a good look at the boy who had just barreled over me.

“Give it back,” I shrieked as my thirst outweighed my fear. He was taller than me and I assumed a couple years older. His dark brown hair stuck to the sides of his head in a sweaty heap. I noticed his clothing was tattered, torn, and way too small for him. It was nothing out of the ordinary here. Very few of us sported new clothes, even at the beginning of the school year. I didn’t recognize this boy, though.

“Please,” I pleaded. “I’m thirsty. I’ll buy you a soda, too. They are only fifteen cents. I have five more in my pocket.” The only soda the Lil’ General sold were old, flat cans of Shasta. Even as cheap as they were, it was a rip off.

He shook his head as he stood above me. “Sorry, kid, I have plans for this.”

“It’s just a quarter,” I said, standing in front of him.

“But it’s my quarter now,” he said, taunting me.

“Fine, take it,” I said, dusting off my shorts. He leaned in and I could see the large amount of freckles covering his nose.

“What are you willing to do for it?” he asked playfully, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “Maybe if you wash my bike I’ll consider it.”

I looked around with a small amount of excitement, but saw no bike. None of my friends had one and I’d never learned how to ride. I don’t know why I thought this boy would be willing to teach me.

“You don’t have a bike,” I said, clearly irritated. “And I wouldn’t wash a thing for you.”

“Sure you would. And if I give you this quarter, it won’t be helping my chances of owning one.” He put the quarter in his pocket and tilted his head sideways. “I’ve never seen hair as red as yours. You look like a circus clown.”

I huffed as I looked up at him. “And you are the ugliest boy I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

He laughed as if my statement was ridiculous. “How old are you?”

“None of your business,” I said testily as I scanned the street for my father. His old, beat up Chevy was still parked at the supply store. I suddenly wished he’d hurry up so I could get away.

“Look, Red, I’ll make you a deal.”

I looked up at him with anger. “Don’t call me Red ever again.”

“Anyway, Red, I’ll buy you a soda if you agree to wash my bike.”

“You don’t have a bike. And do you really think fifteen cents is worth it?” I rolled my eyes as he smiled at me.

“I will own a bike and you sure look thirsty.”

I was covered in sweat at that point and knew my time was running out. “Fine, but only once, and I doubt you’ll ever get one, anyway.”

He didn’t say another word as he walked into the store and came back minutes later with a grape soda. I looked at him curiously. “I could give you my money and you could get yourself one.”

“Good idea,” he said, holding out his hand as I popped the top on the ice cold can and swallowed half of it while digging in my pocket and handing him my money. He took it and slipped it into his pocket as he remained standing in front of me.

“Well, aren’t you going to buy one?” I asked, giving him an odd look.

“Taylor,” I heard my father call from across the street. I looked to see him hoisting up two bags of fertilizer and throwing it in the back of the truck.

“Coming, Daddy,” I shouted, taking my eyes back to the strange boy on the street.

“Taylor,” he said grinning. “I’m Lazarus, but you can call me Laz.”

“Okay,” I said quickly. “I have to go, bye.” I handed him my remaining soda, which had only a sip left, and he smiled at me.

“See ya,” he said a few beats after I started to walk away. I looked back over my shoulder and saw he was still smiling, so I gave him a small smile back. Deep down, I hoped he really didn’t think I look like a circus clown, because I lied when I said he was the ugliest boy I’d ever seen.

I got back into the truck with my father and slammed the door hard like he taught me so it didn’t open suddenly like it had the last few times I’d ridden in it.

“See you met our new neighbor’s kid.” I looked up at him curiously. My father and I rarely spoke. My new neighbors were news in this town. No one ever chose to live in Dyer. The nearest house to ours was nearly half a mile away and was a little more run down than our farmhouse.

“Yeah, his name is Laz. He bought me a soda.”

“Laz, huh? Odd name.” I nodded, not knowing if he saw me. That was the last we spoke as we made the fifteen minute drive home.

The following week, I saw Laz with a brand new Huffy riding down the dirt road toward my house. The moment I saw him, I couldn’t explain the amount of pride I felt for him. He was the first person I’d ever met that actually did what he said he was going to. I ran to meet him just as he cornered my driveway.

“You got one!” I said in sheer delight as he smiled at me proudly.

“Told you I would,” he said, catching his breath.

“You want me to wash it now?” I asked as he put down the kickstand.

“Nah, some other time.” He studied me for a long minute before he looked back at the bike.

“No one in our school has one,” I said, “except for Lucy Hardin. She has everything.” I snorted in disgust. “Her parents own half the town. I can’t stand her.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to beg him to let me try to ride it, but I knew better.

Laz studied me for a moment before piping up. “You going to let me come in and see your room?”

I took a step back and shook my head. I hadn’t even thought of the fact that he shouldn’t be here. I was reminded when my mother’s shriek interrupted my thoughts.

“Taylor, get your ass back into this house!” I jumped when the screen slammed shut and winced when I saw the shock on Laz’s face. My mother weighed less than a hundred pounds and was a horrific sight with deep etched pock marks covering her face and her signature out of control dark red hair. She had once been a beautiful and voluptuous woman from what I gathered from my father, who to this day still bowed down to her every whim.

“Who the hell is this?” she seethed as she took a step down from the porch. “You the new neighbor?”

Laz nodded, still assessing my mother’s looks, and remaining silent. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous to be here, boy? Didn’t anyone warn you away? Go on ...get.”

Laz nodded again and turned to me, a deep sadness in his features. Somehow, he knew then that my mother was the bane of my existence, and I nodded in reply. He simply replied, “I’m going,” then got on his bike and left.

I turned to my mother just as she lifted the glass pipe to her mouth and sat down on the top step. She’d never made any effort to hide her addiction and I prayed Laz wouldn’t look back to witness her taking a hit.

“That boy is trouble for you, and I better not see him again, got me?” She exhaled a steady stream of chemicals as Amber screamed from the kitchen.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said grudgingly.

“Get inside. You know we have things to do.”

I nodded, picked a rag out of the bucket then I stepped into the house. The house we lived in was spotless, but on a daily basis, she made it her mission to soil every single rag we had with cleaning. Her addiction drove her to madness as my father kept to the fields, ignoring her and us as we were made to work day and night, sometimes to the early hours of morning cleaning a spotless house.

“You’d think you’d know better than to bring a friend here,” she hissed as she followed me inside. I pulled a piece of ice out of the freezer and handed it to my sister who was still howling from thirst. After she’d wet the bed last night, my mother swore she wouldn’t have another thing to drink. Amber, who was only three years old, took the ice greedily and sucked it while choking on her subsiding sobs.

“What the fuck are you doing?” my mother hissed, taking the ice from her and fueling her cries.

“Momma, it’s hot. She hasn’t drank anything today,” I said in her defense as Amber threw herself on the cheap, chipped laminate floor.

I felt the slap on Amber’s thighs as she screamed louder and looked up to me for help. My mother hit her again and again as I began to scream with my sister.

“Stop, please, Mama, stop!” I begged as Amber’s voice went hoarse before she let out another loud cry.

When she refused to let up, I dropped the rag I was using to clean the staircase and walked up to my mother as she continued to redden my sister’s thighs with vicious slaps. I reared back, struck her across the jaw with my open hand, and heard her surprised “oh” as she stumbled back. I was only eleven years old, but I knew then that I might be taking my last breaths. Still, I’d resigned myself to punishment of the worst kind. Anything was better than hearing my sister cry. My mother stood to her full height as I braced myself for her wrath. Thinking fast, I grabbed Amber and ran out of the house into the field, flagging my father down. Looking annoyed, he stopped his sad excuse for a tractor as he saw me rushing to him.

“Daddy, she’s doing it again. She’s hitting Amber over and over. You’ve got to stop her!”

“Taylor Jean,” he barked with an eye roll, “what have I told you about getting in your mother’s way!”

“She was hurting her, Daddy!”

He wiped the sweat off his brow as my mother screamed for me from the house, hell and fury in her voice.

“Get back inside and take your punishment,” he said, irritated.

Feeling the frustration roll inside of me, I couldn’t stop myself. “You ain’t no real daddy! You are chicken shit. A real daddy wouldn’t let her hurt us!”

My father’s shocked face didn’t stop me. “She’s a crack whore just like Aunt Stephanie said,” I unleashed as Amber cried in my arms. My father dismounted the tractor and stood above me as my sister trembled in my arms.

“You don’t like the way things are around here, missy, you can get.” I shook my head as he gripped my upper arm and pulled me toward the house.