N9ne: The Tale of Kevin Clearwater (King, #9)(54)

I pet the bottle. “We don’t like to be separated.”

Pike leans over me with one hand on the wheel and searches through his glove compartment. He finds what he’s looking for and clicks it shut, handing me a black leather flask with silver initials on the front that read PLV. “Here, you can keep it.”

“Thanks,” I say, trying to keep a steady hand while pouring vodka from the bottle into the tiny hole in the flask while Pike drives.

Pike sighs. “I want you to know that giving you the job isn’t my call, but if it was, no lie? I’d hire you in a heartbeat. You’d be great at it. Better than Trina, but then again, anyone would be better than Trina.”

“Then why does she work there?” I ask, screwing the top on the flask.

“She’s my cousin. Parents died a while back and I didn’t want her to be in the system so when I got out I got her out gave her a place to stay and a job. She’s…a unique individual. Only seventeen even though she’s been through more shit than most people twice her age.”

I think about my call with Lori when I asked her for a temporary place to stay. I wish she’d been half as generous as Pike is being with his cousin.

We pull up to a three-story house on stilts hidden behind a wall of brush lining the street. We pass a large garage to the left and keep rolling on the shell driveway until we stop next to the open parking area on the bottom level of the house.

“He’s back there,” Pike says, pointing straight ahead. I spot Nine sitting on the seawall behind the house overlooking the bay.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say sarcastically.

I take my flask and hop from the van. I eye Baby Vodka on the floor and contemplate bringing it with me.

Pike chuckles. “It’ll be in the RV when you get back.”

I nod and head toward Nine.

“Whose house is this?” I ask.

He turns around and shoves his hands in his pockets. “King and Ray’s,” he says, looking up at the house and shielding his eyes from the sun.

I join him on the seawall and look out over the bay. It’s surrounded on all sides by mangroves. In the very center is a small overgrown island. The sun is setting. It’s eerily quiet. The only sound is the occasional burping frog or squawking bird. Unlike me, it’s so calm. Peaceful even.

“What exactly are we doing out here?” I ask Nine. “Won’t King and Ray mind that we’re trespassing on their property?”

“Trust me. King won’t mind. They aren’t home anyway.”

He glances at the flask in my hand. “Nice flask.”

“It’s Pikes. He gave it to me,” I tell him, tucking it into the elastic waistband of my shorts.

“Did he now…” His eyes linger on my exposed skin for a beat too long before he looks away. “What you said the other day, about Jared. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“What did I say exactly?” I ask raising my shoulders to my chin. “I remember hanging out with my friend Vodka, and she has a tendency to make things a wee bit fuzzy.”

Nine tilts his head to the side. The fading sun shining the day’s last light on his smooth, yet sharp jaw. “You were talking about how he left you alone. How you hated being left, and you were upset that he didn’t tell you that he was leaving.”

I remain silent. How he’s managed to come to know me so well confuses me but makes my heart swell. “I don’t care about Jared. I never did.”

“I didn’t say you did care. I said you were upset about being left alone, and it made me think that your buddy Vodka brought up some shit that you’re otherwise pushing down, but you should be able to feel however you need to feel to come out on the other side without visible scars. I don’t want the thought of Jared and what he did to stand between you and the rest of the fucking world.”

“He’s not between anything,” I insist. “The only things standing between me and the rest of the world is you. And not being able to leave the RV….” I think for a second. “Oh, and Ricci’s men.”

“Look, I read this book on anxiety,” he begins to say.

“When?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

“Last night, when you were snoring away,” he smiles.

I roll my eyes. “I don’t snore.”

“Okay, we’ll call it an adorable purr, then. If it makes you feel better about it.”

I stick out my tongue like a child.

His voice depends. “Careful with that tongue, little bird, or I’ll put it to good use.”

My lips part at the suggestive nature of his words. I clear my throat and turn away from him to look back over the bay. “So, this book you read?” I press, pretending that his words didn’t just send shivers down my spine in the most delicious way.

“Basically, it said that when people pretend a problem or something from their pasts don’t exist, and they shove it down deep inside, it’s like packing ammo into a heated storage room. Eventually, it’s all going to explode. Trust me, I’ve been there, and now, I have nightmares because of it. With your anxiety, it might be worse for you. Maybe not now, but a week or a year down the line, and I don’t want you to have to go through that.”

My heart warms. He read a book on anxiety because of me. For me. My mom was the only one who ever attempted to understand me and the way I function because of anxiety. I’m...shocked. Confused. But also surprised, in a way that makes me eager to find out more about why exactly we are here right now.