Praying for Rain (Praying for Rain Trilogy, #1)(12)

“What makes you think I give a shit what you want?” Poof. Softness gone.

“Gah, Wes! You don’t have to be such a dick. You could just ask nicely, you know?”

Wes pulls my gun out of his holster and points it at my head with a smirk. “I don’t have to ask nicely. I’m the one with the gun.”

I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest.

“You know what I like about Glocks?” Wes’s smirk widens into a sneer. “The safety is right here.” He taps his index finger against the trigger. Tap, tap, tap. “You don’t even have to cock the hammer back before you shoot. You just … squeeze.”

“Ugh! Fine! I’ll help you!” I throw my arms in the air. “You don’t have to be so dramatic about it.”

Wes chuckles as he shoves the gun back into his holster. It reminds me of how he looked at the playground. Dark eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. Perfect smile. Rusty laugh. Only this time, it doesn’t hurt to look at him.

Because this time, he wants me to stay.

“I need gas,” Wes announces, giving his gunshot wound another quick glance. It must hurt like a bitch.

“Gas stations around here are all dry. Only way to get gas now is to siphon it.”

“Cool.” Wes climbs back onto the bike and looks over at me. “Know where we can find a hose?”

“And a bandage?” I glance down at the ruined sleeve of his Hawaiian shirt.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah”—I swallow, trying to push the tightness out of my throat—“I do.”





Wes


Rain leads me down the trail, back through the park, and all the way to a library across from good ole Burger Palace.

“I can’t believe that car is still on fire,” she shouts over the growl of the engine as we pass a smoking sedan in the parking lot. “It’s been burnin’ all day!”

She directs me to go around to the back of the library and points to the spot in the trees where the trail continues. I head toward it but notice movement out of the corner of my eye. I turn my head and reach for my gun but relax when I see that it’s just a dude … giving another dude a blow job.

“Sorry!” Rain shouts to the startled men with a giggle as we dive back into the pines.

This part of the trail isn’t as well traveled, so I slow down, and for the first time all day, I don’t feel like I’m running to or from anything. I suck in a deep breath, wishing I could smell the pines through my helmet, and feel Rain’s warm body shuddering against mine as she continues to laugh.

Then a sapling branch whips across my mangled shoulder, and I debate burning the entire fucking forest to the ground.

“There!” Rain’s finger shoots out in the direction of a clearing up ahead. “That’s my house!”

Her house? This should be interesting. I’m sure her parents are gonna be real excited about their precious Rainbow bringing a gun-toting homeless guy with a weeping flesh wound home for dinner.

The trail ends in the backyard of a small wooden two-story that looks like it hasn’t been painted since the South lost the Civil War. At one point, it might have been blue. Now, it’s just a weathered gray, spotted with mildew and peppered with woodpecker holes.

I pull around to the front of the house and park in the driveway next to a rust-colored ’90s-era Chevy pickup truck.

Any minute, I’m expecting a middle-aged guy with a beer gut and a shotgun to come bursting out the front door, chewing on tobacco and yelling at me to, Go on now! Git!

Maybe I should keep my helmet on a little longer …

Rain hops off the back of my bike and runs over to a spigot on the side of the house. She cranks the handle and lifts the end of a green garden hose to her mouth. Her eyes close in ecstasy as she drinks, making me realize how thirsty I am. I don’t know if I’ve had anything to drink all day.

I stride over and wait my turn, noticing that one side of her hair is getting wet. I want to reach out and tuck it behind her ear, but I don’t. That’s a boyfriend move, and the last thing I need is for this chick to get the wrong idea about us.

I don’t do us. All us does is get you hurt or killed, so I throw an E on the end of that bitch, and I use.

My foster parents used me to get money from the state. I used them to get food, water, and shelter. The girls at school used me to fill their needy little attention buckets and make each other jealous. I used them as a nice warm place to put my dick. The guys used me to score them drugs or guns or cool points or the answers to next week’s history exam. I charged them a shitload to do it. This is the way the world works, and watching Rain clutching that hose in her fist—sucking from the stream with her little pink tongue at the edge of her slightly open mouth—makes me think of a few new ways I could use her, too.

As if she could hear my inappropriate thoughts, Rain lifts her big blue eyes to mine.

I smirk down at her. “There something wrong with your sinks?”

Rain jerks the hose away from her mouth and coughs.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just …” She hacks some more, wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve. “I lost my keys, remember? I can’t get in.”

“Whose truck is that? Can’t they let you in?” I jerk my thumb in the direction of the rust bucket on wheels.