Praying for Rain (Praying for Rain Trilogy, #1)(16)

Rain cackles at the memory. The sound is manic. Pressured.

“I would have gotten you some warmer clothes too, but mine won’t fit you and my dad’s are in his room and”—she goes back to digging in the backpack even though it’s empty now, her left knee bouncing so hard and so fast that it begins to shake the tree house—“I don’t wanna go in there.”

Abandoning the backpack, Rain grabs the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and takes a swig, wincing and hissing in agony as it goes down. Then, another. And another.

“Hey”—I reach over and pull the bottle from her hand, and she releases it without a fight—“you okay?”

“I’m fine!” She cuts her eyes away and shoves her hands into her hair.

I know she’s a pill head, but Hydro doesn’t do this. Whatever this is, it happened inside that house.

Now she’s rocking back and forth again.

Awesome.

“Rain.”

Her eyes lift to mine, partially illuminated from my flashlight, and there’s a wild desperation in them that makes me realize I read this entire situation wrong.

Rain doesn’t live alone.

Rain lives with a fucking monster.

“You’re scared of him, aren’t you?”

“Who? I’m not scared.” Rain glances over at the house as if he can hear her, knee bouncing, breaths shallow.

“Yes, you are. Look at you.”

She swallows and looks down at her knee. As she stills her leg, Rain’s chin buckles and begins to wobble instead.

My teeth clench so hard I feel like they might shatter. Jerking my chin toward the house, I manage to grind out, “That motherfucker hurt you?”

She claps her hands, completely covered by her hoodie sleeves, over her mouth and nose. Then, she closes her eyes and shakes her head. I can’t tell if she’s answering my question or trying to rid herself of some unwanted memory, but I don’t care.

“Stay out here tonight.”

Rain opens her eyes but doesn’t take her hands away from her face.

“Let me rephrase that.” I sit up and jam my finger into the plywood floor. “You’re staying out here tonight.”

When Rain doesn’t argue, I lean back and take a long pull from the bottle in my hand.

Damn, that’s good.

I toss the bag of trail mix into her lap. “Eat. I got shit to do tomorrow, and you’re gonna be worthless if you’re starving.”

“You want me to come?” Rain mumbles into her hands.

Even with her face partially covered and the only light in the tree house coming from a pocket flashlight aimed at the wall, I can see the hope in her big blue eyes.

Fuck. Why did I say that? I don’t need her anymore.

Because she’s useful, I tell myself. She’s a resource—that’s all—and she’s the best one you’ve got.

I tip the neck of my bottle at her. “You can come—as long as you promise not to eat all the fucking M&M’s outta there.”

Rain lowers her hands, revealing a smile that she’s trying to hide by biting her lip, and uses them to dig through the bag of trail mix in her lap. Pulling her hand out, she holds up one perfectly round piece of red candy between her fingers. Then, she fucking flicks it at me. It’s so dark on my side of the tree house that I can’t see where it went, but I hear it bounce off the plywood wall somewhere to my right.

“Bitch.” I chuckle, taking another swig of whiskey.

That little comment earns me two more M&M’s to the head.

“Oh, it’s on now!” I grab the stick of beef jerky and lunge forward, swatting her with it until she’s nothing but a giggling, hoodie-covered heap on the plywood floor. Then, I sit back, smug in my victory, and survey my spoils for the day.

Supplies? Check.

Shelter? Check.

Self-defense? Check.

Slightly psychotic teenager with a pill habit, daddy issues, and impulse control problems?

I smirk at the hiccupping heap of girl in the fetal position across from me.

Jackpot.





Wes


I take a deep breath and exhale as I shift into second gear. I don’t even care that I probably just sucked up two lungfuls of pollen. The woods here have been calling me home ever since I left thirteen years ago. Everything is just the way I remember, except greener. Taller. And, now that I’m exploring them on a Yamaha instead of some busted, old thrift-store sneakers … faster.

We managed to shove all the food and supplies into Rain’s backpack, but since there was no way she could wear that big-ass thing and not fall off the back of my bike, I decided to wear it and let her sit in front of me.

Worst. Decision. Ever.

Rain’s ass rubbing against my dick is making it fucking impossible to keep my raging hard-on down. I’ve tried thinking about politics. About baseball. About Will Ferrell’s naked, hairy ball sack. But nothing’s working. My mind keeps going back to how easy it would be to just pull those little pajama bottoms down and let Rain bounce on my dick for real.

We drive over a patch of tree roots in the path, and I swear to God, that bitch arches her back and presses against me even harder through the bumps.

I can’t fucking take it anymore.

“Throttle,” I growl into her ear as I release the right handlebar.