Touch (Denazen #1)(55)

Tommy, eagle-eyed as usual, saw me first. He rushed to my side. “Dez, baby, you okay?”

I never got the chance to answer. Alex pushed Tommy aside and dragged me into the back room before I could blink. “What happened? What’s wrong?” He peeled back the soggy layer of hair from my face. “Are you hurt?”

I opened my mouth to talk, but the only things that came out were long, drawn-out sobs. He had his keys in hand and ushered us out the door before I knew what was happening, which was fine. My brain had officially stopped working.

§

An hour later I finally calmed down enough to speak. And think. I told Alex everything, including the fact I believed my dad had something to do with Brandt’s death. Alex wasn’t surprised.

“He was digging,” I whispered. My throat was sore and my eyes were raw and the fading headache from all the mimicking was back in force. “To find shit on Denazen. I told him to stop, but really, I was the reason he started. I asked him to do it and I should have known better. Should have known he’d take it too far. I got him killed.”

I remembered what Dad said the police thought. A connection to a story Uncle Mark was working on. Jesus. He was really going to let his own brother think himself responsible for the death of his son? I didn’t know why it surprised me. It was another notch in the belt of heartless that was Dad.

Alex was in my face in an instant. “You had nothing to do with it. Do you understand me? This was all Cross.”

I stared at him. “Brandt was his nephew. His brother’s son. How could he—”

“That’s the kind of people Denazen are. Family means nothing to them. We have to do this now.”

“Do what?”

“Bring me in. There’s no way you’re going back in there by yourself.”

“We haven’t even talked about how we’re going to get you in. And even if we do manage it, who says you’re going to even see me, let alone be allowed to get anywhere near me. It’s pointless to rush.”

“We’ll figure something out,” he said, leaning back.

“This is hopeless. It’s all so—I’m numb.”

One minute I was sitting next to him on the couch, the next his arms were around me and I was in his lap kissing him. It was seamless. Not happening one second, then happening another. I knew I should pull away, but didn’t. Greedy hands were everywhere, unable to get enough. Feeling. I had some feeling now. I slid my hands under the front of his thin T-shirt, fingers skimming the skin. He was more defined than I remembered. Harder.

I pulled the shirt up, but it caught on his neck. I struggled with it for a moment before he intervened, knocking my hands aside. With a low growl, he tore it off and threw it across the room. Broad shoulders. Hungry hazel eyes. Yes. That’s right. It was all coming back. They changed from brown to hazel depending on his mood. Pale skin, flawless except for the rough, discolored patch on his right shoulder—the lone reminder of a dirt bike accident when he was fourteen. This was the Alex I remembered. Sharper and more vivid than the one from last night.

Every nerve ending in my body alive and urging me on, I pushed for a thrill of sensation that would deaden the pain. It worked, so I chased it further. I’d chase it all the way if that’s what I needed to do to stay whole. Because I wasn’t anymore. I’d lost Brandt. I’d lost Kale. I’d lost Mom.

Leaning into him, I tangled my fingers through his blond hair and pulled him closer. The scent of cigarettes mixed with mint Tic-Tacs—surrounded me. Something in the back of my mind chastised me for letting him take advantage of my pain, but my body didn’t care. I needed this. Needed to feel. I’d shot him down last night—somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered this, but I’d officially shut down. Now wasn’t the time to think. It was the time to act.

His fingers lingered on the button of my jeans, waiting for me to protest.

My body wouldn’t let me.

My soul, however, was screaming stop! Flashing neon signs and warning bells—it was pulling up on the emergency brake—repeatedly—but that brake was temporarily out of order.

Expertly, he flicked the button open and drew down the zipper.

Kale. I wanted to think of Kale.

Alex slid his hands under the material of my jeans, gripping my bare hips with an almost painful force. I shivered at his touch. Kale’s fingers were warm, soft. Alex’s were calloused and hard. Like ice. It was a jolt to the system.

Kale. At that moment, I’d do anything to keep my mind off him. Like Brandt, he was beyond my reach. I was beginning to think he might be beyond my reach forever, and that hurt more than I could stand.

I’d kidded myself into thinking I could do this. Kale and Denazen. I’d sworn off relationships when I ended things with Alex—and with good reason. You could have a good time, no strings attached. Without the strings, nothing could come back and choke you later when it didn’t work out. What if I couldn’t get Kale away from Denazen? Chances were good that if I failed, it would be due to exposure. They’d have Kale, and they’d have me. They’d still have Mom.

Alex’s hands were now at the hem of my shirt, tugging upward. I almost stopped him.

Someone like me had no hope of going head to head with someone like my dad. Sure, I’d done it a million times—when I’d thought he was nothing more than a simple, arrogant lawyer. But after seeing what Denazen could do—what Dad would do—my second guesses had turned to the sick gum of denial stuck to the bottom of a desk. Sure, you could peel it off and force it into your mouth, but what good did that do? The flavor was lost.