Tainted Desire (Desire Series, #1) (2 page)

     About a week ago, Courtney called to let me know that Cameron had purchased a ticket for me. She gave me the date and time to be at the airport. The last time we spoke, she warned me to be careful. If I got careles
s or caught leaving him, there’s no telling what he would do to me.

     As I approach the gas station, I glance around searching for the taxicab. Not seeing one
, I decide to go in and purchase a few items for my flight. Being inside the gas station makes me feel safer and less exposed. I grab a bottle of water, pack of gum, and a magazine to read on the airplane. I patiently wait at the register for the balding middle-aged man in front of me to complete his purchase of what seems like three hundred scratch-off lottery tickets.

    
“Kylie Jenkins? Is that you?” I hear a somewhat familiar voice ask.

    
Shit, shit, shit!
I mentally say to myself, as I turn around and come face to face with Patricia, the wife of one of Dylan’s coworkers. 

     “Well good morning Patricia, aren’t we out and about early this morning?” I say in a sickly sweet tone.

     “I was about to say the same to you,” she states with a questioning look.

     “
I’m just hitting the gym extra early today. I have a lot of other things to get done today as well,” patting my duffel bag for effect.

    “I’m here grabbing my morning cup of java before going to the office
. I’m meeting Jimmy for lunch. I will have to mention to Dylan that I ran into you,” Patricia says.

    
Double shit!
Well, I will be long gone by lunchtime. “You do that and tell Dylan I will be home with dinner waiting on the table. I don’t want to hold you up, have a good day at work,” I blurt out, turning to pay for my items. “On second thought, seeing how I don’t have anywhere important to be, why don’t you pay first so you can get to work on time,” I suggest, trying desperately to get rid of her as I see the taxi pulling into the parking lot.

     “Why thank
you and you enjoy your workout, or whatever else you do all day long,” Patricia hisses sarcastically.

     I’
m sure Dylan has everyone thinking I’m some Prima Donna, too good or too lazy to work. I was employed as a cocktail waitress at the Potawatomi Casino when we met, but he didn’t like the skimpy outfits, late hours, and the idea of someone else gawking at me. He insisted I quit and stay home to cater to him, only months after I moved in. That should have been my first red flag as to his domineering ways, but truthfully, the idea of not working and playing homemaker appealed to me for a while.

       With little, miss snooty thing gone
, I quickly pay for my purchases and rush outside; fearful the taxicab will leave when he can’t find his fare. He was patiently waiting as I leapt into the back seat.

     “Where to ma’am?” he asks
.

     “General Mitchell International Airport, shortest route please,” I state rather brusquely.

   “Sure thing ma’am, I will take I-94 and avoid the city streets. We should arrive there in about ten to fifteen minutes depending on traffic.”

     As I sit silently
in the back of the taxicab and watch the city I have lived in and loved my entire life go by, I start to ponder what I’ll be giving up and where it all went wrong. As we are traveling south on I-94, I see so many familiar sites whiz by me. On the right is downtown Milwaukee, where I spent countless hours at the Grand Avenue Mall with my friends when we were teenagers. A few minutes later, I can just make out the faux flames atop the casino building, where I’ll truly miss my coworkers and the friends I made while employed there. 

     Just beyond the casino is the Milwaukee Stadium, home of the Milwaukee Brewers, where I was able to spend alone time with my father at the ballgames. If I close my eyes, I can still hear the stadium noises, smell the stale beer, and remember the taste of those wonderful hotdogs. Was it just being a child, or would those hotdogs taste just as good today? Probably not, things seem different, almost harsher, as an adult.

     I crane my neck around to peer behind me out the back window as we pass the massive Allen-Bradley clock. My father, the history buff, once told me this clock is the only four-sided clock of its stature and can be seen from many miles away. In comparison, the faces of the Allen-Bradley are nearly twice the size of the two-sided Big Ben in London. My heart feels heavy with dread, not knowing if I will ever see the sites that I love ever again.

     My mind wanders to thoughts of my wonderful parents. Two of the most loving openhearted people anyone could ever want to meet. My father, Jim Jenkins, is ruggedly handsome, stays in shape by running, and loves to watch the History channel or NASCAR in his spare time. He’
s employed at Harley Davidson and has been working there for over twenty-five years. This explains his impressive collection of Harleys in his garage. He has accumulated six, only two of which he will actually take out on the road. The other four are just too pricey for him to risk damaging. I never understood the theory of collecting items you are never going to use, but he seems rather content just washing and waxing them every Sunday. My mother, Cassandra Jenkins, is a very petite, spunky spitfire who has never worked a day outside the home, with the exception of helping with a few charities and fundraisers. Her prized possession is her garden and the love for cooking and canning. She’s one of the few people I know that actually grew up on a farm in Wisconsin.

     They met each other in Algebra their freshman year in high school and have been inseparable ever since. Dad claims that she couldn’t resist his good looks and charm. My mom maintains he followed her around like a lost puppy before she finally took pity on him and gave in, agreeing to go out with him. I personally think they are both giving me a line of bullshit, but whatever the case; it has been working for thirty years. While dad has his expensive indulgences, my mother is his polar opposite and can pinch a penny with the best of them.

     I love to sit back and watch them playfully bicker over something inconsequential, seeing the love they have for one another, dad is always the first to back down, knowing he won’t win an argument with mom. Normally, she is right. He usually gives her a love pat to the butt and a brisk smack on the lips. I can’t imagine the pain that I’m going to cause them when I call to tell them I have left. It has only been a few days since I last saw them but it already feels like a lifetime ago. I know they sensed something was wrong when I held onto each one of them a little longer than normal during our goodbye hugs.

     “Ma’am,” the cabbie says, bringing me back to reality
.

     “Yes,” I reply.

     “Are you okay?” he asks.

     “Of course, why wouldn’t I be okay,” I answer, somewhat standoffish.

     “Well, I usually don’t get pretty young ladies in my cab with tears rolling down their faces this early in the morning,” he states with a questioning look.

     Wiping my tears away I respond, “I will be fine! Thank you for asking.” Wishing he would pay more attention to the road and less time studying me in the rearview mirror.

     “It just seems you may be making a hasty decision if leaving has you this upset. Maybe you need to reconsider your options,” the cabbie suggests.

      “Look mister, unless you can personally guarantee that my crazy ass psycho boyfriend won’t put me in a body bag, then NO! I don’t think there are any other options. Now could you just drive and let me decide what is best for my life?”
I mean really?  What is with this guy?

     “Sorry ma’am, just trying to help. We should be at the airport in approximately five minutes,” he mumbles with downcast eyes.

     Oh geez! Could I be any more of a bitch!
The stress of this whole situation has me acting just as crazy as Dylan. I look up at the mirror ready to apologize but decide to let it go. Besides, he stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. In a few short minutes, I will be out of his cab and I will never see this man again, so what does it matter.

     Dylan is going to go berserk when he can’t find me and no one has seen me since my run in with Patricia at the gas station this morning. To tell you the truth, it serves him right for all the anguish he has put me through for so long. I certainly have to remember to call my parents before he goes over there looking for me. I don’t want him to cause them anymore stress than possible. I definitely have to tell them not to mention to Dylan that I left or he’ll harass them to no end. I know firsthand how crazed Dylan can get and don’t want him to cause them any harm when he realizes I’m gone for good.

     I can’t say our relationship was always bad. In fact, things were good when he was pursuing me. He was considerate, would take me out to restaurants, movies, and nightclubs quite often. He would even surprise me with gifts from time to time. However, once I moved in and he had me under his reign, it all changed so suddenly.

**********

     I met Dylan when I was working at the casino. I usually worked the evening shift, from three to eleven. On that particular night, I was working from eleven at night to seven in the morning, filling in for a coworker who decided to get married and was off on her honeymoon. As she promised, this shift was much more profitable in tips. The more the patrons drank and gambled, the better the tips. I decided I might try to inquire about changing shifts.

     It
was a busy Friday night around the Black Jack and Poker tables. This was the area where Nichole and I worked. About an hour into our shift, she came rushing up to me and asked, “Do you know that incredibly sexy guy with the sparkling blue eyes and the body to die for, sitting at the twenty dollar Black Jack table?” I peered around and caught the person in question staring right at us. 

      “No, why?”

     “Well, I tried to take their drink orders and Mr. Hot Stuff there politely requested you to be their waitress for the evening. I assumed you knew each other,” Nichole said.

     “Umm, no
. I have never seen him before. Doesn’t it seem a little strange that they would request a certain waitress?”  I asked a bit freaked out.

     “No, it happens quite often, men sometimes prefer a certain type or look. Tonight you are the chosen one. Can I just say I so hate you right now. I would have liked to get to know that one real well, if you know what I mean. Go get ‘em tiger,” she said with a little pouty look.

     I remembered feeling a little awkward while making my way over to their table. I could feel his eyes on me the whole way. He really was hot stuff, with sandy blonde hair worn a little too long and crystal-clear blue eyes, that seemed to pierce right through you. He had on a well-worn faded pair of blue jeans, bulging in the right spots, and a button down, dark blue shirt that looked as though the sleeves would spontaneously rip with the slightest movement of his well-defined, perfectly tanned arms. As I approached the table, he gave me an award winning, devilish smile with the straightest, whitest teeth I have ever seen. Nichole was right, just the sight of him made your mind start thinking X-rated thoughts.

     “Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?”  I asked.

     “My name is Dylan McCain. This is my friend Tyler, and we are anything but gentleman,” he admitted, pointing a finger between the two of them. His friend Tyler let out a chuckle.

     “Oh shit,” I said before realizing the words had even came out of my mouth. He smirked and gave me his drink order and I quickly went running from his table to the bar. I get his order completed and bring the drinks to them. He was engrossed in his card game as I pass the drinks around the table. I stand there a moment longer, waiting on a tip, but nothing. Cheap ass, I thought to myself. This goes on several times over the course of the night
, until I saw him start to rise from the card table. He looked around and locked eyes with me, and then gave me the come here motion with his pointer finger. I made my way over to him and we stood face to face for a moment without speaking.

    “I have really enjoyed you taking care of me and my friends the entire night. I would like to take you out on your next night off. Think about it. Here’s my number and your tip,” he said, placing a piece of paper and a couple poker chips on my tray. With a wink, he turned and walked away. 

     Nichole rushed over to find out what just happened, because I was sure I had a shocked look on my face. Guess I shouldn’t have called him a cheap ass earlier in the night. 

     “Well, what did he say?” she demanded to know.

     “He told me to call him and left me his phone number and a tip on my tray.”  She looked at my tray then at me. “What?” I asked.

     “He didn’t leave you a tip; he left you a whole shopping excursion.” Confused
, I finally looked at my tray and see two pink poker chips.

     “Holy shit, he just left me a five hundred dollar tip!” I hollered, extremely shocked.