Draw (Gentry Boys #1)(79)

For a moment I stopped thinking about the Gentry brothers as grown men. They were boys who lingered on the playground long after dark because there was no one at home who cared where they were.

“Cord,” I whispered, thinking of the defiant little soul who was intent on clawing his way, somehow, to survival. For the first time I was really understanding what it must have taken for him to get there.

I also thought about what Millie had been trying to tell me. She hadn’t just been relating her own painful story. Our identities were defined in different ways. Ways that sometimes damaged us along the way.

There was the sound of a crash, like a bottle breaking, and a guttural male voice shouting something unintelligible. I glanced back at the car but Declan appeared to have dozed off in the front seat.

The high cackle of an insensible female chilled me to the bone. I stopped in my tracks and tried to guess what it must have meant to grow up here. My own parents were distant and self-absorbed but never cruel. I’d always had everything I needed to get a firm foothold in life. Cord, however, had truly come from nothing. I understood then the fear and anger of the brothers, the despair which came from believing that in the whole world they could only hope to cling to one another to avoid drowning.

There was another crash and a series of vile curses. Somewhere in there were people who neither knew nor cared that one of their sons had suffered a brush with death two days earlier. I closed my eyes, letting the soft heat of the night breeze sift through my hair as I felt the ghostly sadness of three little boys who had never known safety or a gentle hand. A tear rolled down my cheek as I whispered his name over and over.

Cordero.

The snap of the door brought me back to the moment. A big man crashed through it, cursing in a slurred voice. He threw something out into the yard where it missed me by only a few feet. I could see the thick outline of a body which once must have been muscled and impressive, just as his sons were. It wasn’t yet dark enough for me to blend in. Benton Gentry noticed me.

“What the f*ck you doin’ out there, girl?”

I was frozen. I swallowed, feeling a real surge of fear as he began to advance, moving more quickly that I would have expected. I could feel the ferocity of his thoughts as he raked me over. This was not a reasonable man. This was the beast of Cord’s nightmares. I needed to run, to scream, to do something other than stare dumbly at his malicious approach.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered, belatedly trying to backtrack.

He grabbed me by the arms and shook me a little. It was awful. It was like Devin, only worse. Cord’s father stunk of liquor and the rank haze of male sweat. He was terribly strong.

“Asked you a question, girl. Now we’re gonna go out back a while until you can f*ckin’ answer.”

Benton Gentry was yanked away by a shadow which happened to be stronger than him.

“The f*ck, Deck?” he grumbled.

Declan stood in front of me, keeping Benton Gentry an arm’s length away. “Go on, Uncle. My apologies; we didn’t mean to take up a piece of your night.”

Cord’s father seemed to shrink slightly. “She yours then?”

“Yeah,” answered Declan. He took a wad of bills out of his pocket and peeled a twenty off. “My treat,” he said, passing the bill over to his uncle’s greedy palm. “For any trouble we caused you tonight.”

Benton’s eyes narrowed. “You know how your Aunt Maggie gets the shakes when folks come up to the f*ckin’ place out of nowhere.”

Declan nodded smoothly and peeled off another twenty. “I know,” he said softly.

I cowered behind Declan until Benton began staggering back to his trailer. As he opened the door I looked up and saw the painfully thin silhouette of a woman standing in the doorway. She wore a shapeless shift which she seemed to be lost in. I couldn’t see her face. I was glad I couldn’t. I knew it would haunt me.

Declan prodded me. “Come on, Cord’s Girl. Before he gets riled up again.”

“Thanks,” I coughed. “And it’s Saylor.”

“Where is there a sailor?”

“That’s my name. Saylor.”

“Oh,” he shrugged with disinterest. “Well, thanks for the ride, Saylor. Why don’t you get out of this dark hole and head home to your man? I’ll bet he’s wanting you tonight.”

“I will,” I answered, biting my lip in thought. “Hey, uh, Declan? What do you charge for a tattoo?”

He sighed as if he were getting tired of me. “Now you want a tattoo?”

“I need a tattoo.”

“Well, that’s a new one. No one really claims to ‘need’ a tattoo.”

I sighed and described to him what I had in mind.

“Well,” he grumbled, seeming a little embarrassed. “That’s kind of the shit. Sure, it’s easy enough. I can get it done in twenty minutes when I’m sober but I’m not exactly sober. It might not look pretty, Miss Saylor.”

“It doesn’t need to look pretty. It only needs to exist.”

Ten minutes later I was sitting in a chair in Declan’s crummy trailer while he prepared a needle for my arm. He seemed sharper, more professional, and at least halfway sober with his tools in his hands.

“Tell me,” he said, staring down at my arm as he began to work. “Does Cordero love you as much as you love him?”