Blood to Dust(34)

Nate takes a step into the room. A sliver of a chill breaks down my skull, moving down my spine and tickling my toes.

“Turn around. I’m blindfolding you.”

“What have I done now?” I throw out my arms in despair, huffing a blonde lock away from my eyes.

“Sassed around way too much for my liking,” he answers with a teasing bite, clarifying. “I wanna hang out with you, Country Club. That means I’m taking off this mask. You can’t see my face. I wish you f*cking could, but God has a plan for me, and I don’t want it to be cutting my dick off and giving it to Seb as a souvenir,” he snickers. I’ve never seen Nate so buzzed. So intoxicated. So agreeable.

He hovers closer, grabs my hand and jerks me to his body. Then he spins me around and wraps the black cloth around my eyes tightly. I smell the beer and salty BBQ snacks as he exhales a charged breath on my skin, his lips brushing the nape of my back fleetingly. I roll my head backward as the sound of the plastic mask hitting the floor fills my ears.

“Better?” I purr, losing myself.

He leans into my body, his skin sticking to mine. “Much. I like you blindfolded.”

“You like me regardless.” I bite my lip, not sure if I’m trying to convince him or myself. I need him to crack if I want to be out of here soon. The good news is that whatever temptations Nate has upstairs, his focus is solely on the girl underground. “Help me take a sip?”

He grabs me by the waist and turns me around so that I face him. Nate leads us both to the corner of the room, where we sit down. The party is still alive, but I’ve learned a thing or two about Nate, and he doesn’t need people around him. He needs silence, and maybe a good story to listen to. Parties were meant for people who run away from their minds, not soak in them until drowned by their thoughts.

“Ink’s party, huh?” I elbow him, and the beer he placed in my hand sloshes over the rim of the bottle. A dash of cold liquid spills on my bare thighs, and I can’t see it, but I can feel his eyes drop to my wet skin, heating my flesh with desire.

“How’d you figure it out?”

“Beware of those who seek constant crowds, they’re nothing alone,” I quote Bukowski, and hear his breaths pick up speed. He gets hot on poetry. A freak who takes comfort in other people’s words. Just like me. “You don’t need cheap entertainment.”

“I told him he’s stupid as f*ck. You could be pounding this door down screaming bloody murder,” he says, testing me. I run my tongue over my front teeth.

“Well, I didn’t. Because, Beat, I know that I’m walking out of here before Camden and Godfrey get to me. Remember my offer yesterday?” My heart pounds faster. I’m still embarrassed about being victimized. I don’t want him to see me as weak. I want us to be equal.

“Are you a mother?” he slurs. I frown.

“What?”

“Are. You. A. Fucking. Mother?”

It feels like a punch straight to my chest, a painful memory that he’s slapped me with, and I’m glad he can’t see my eyes through the black fabric of my blindfold.

“I’m not. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” Hiccup. “So you don’t have a kid?”

“No.” I grit, trying not to fume. “Already told you, Beat. It’s just me in this world.”

“What they did to you. . .Jesus, Prescott. That’s so f*cked up.”

Nate is drunk. Oh-so drunk. A huge blessing, wrapped in a red sateen bow. I take a sip of my beer, the liquid washing over my throat and offering the kind of comfort only booze can, and lick my lips, knowing his predatory eyes are on me.

“That’s the ugly truth,” I nod.

“Then tell me something beautiful,” he croaks. “I have enough uglies for a lifetime.”

“There is nothing to fear except the power you give to your own demons. Sally Gardner said that.”

“Good quote.” His voice smiles. I smile back at it.

“Can I feel your face?”

He snorts another laugh from the shit-drunk variety. “No.”

“Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

“Nope.”

“I’ll scream.”

“I’ll gag you with the extra pieces of bondage and shove the rest of the cloth down every single hole in your body. Don’t tempt me, ‘cause Ima enjoy it.” His tone is flat, sincere, and not at all pissed off. Peaceful. Why is this a turn-on for me? I never had it too rough. But with Nate? I actually want him to hurt me. In the best, worst, most possible way.

“You’d never hurt me,” I retort.

“Never ever, Country Club,” he promises softly. “Unless it’s fun for you, then all bets are off.”

“And we’ve already established that you like me.”

“No. You said that.”

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine. Let me touch your face, and I’ll let you touch me. Everywhere.”

“I’m not like them.” His voice turns to steel. “I’m not the taking kind.”

“You’re not taking. I’m giving. Gladly.”

Silence.

Contemplation.

I part my lips and lick them.

Persuasion.

Nate sighs in return.