A Leap in the Dark (The Assassins of Youth MC Book 2)(13)

Levon wore a black leather jacket. Leather leggings as well, as though he’d just had a long bike ride. In the one second that I glanced away from my phone at him, I couldn’t help but note that the chaps caressed his thighs tightly all the way to the crotch, where they were open to the belt that held them up. His big cock and balls, cradled like this by the black leather, was even more pronounced. Did he f*cking do that on purpose? Was he just such a boy toy he dressed like a hooker even when he didn’t need to? He didn’t need to impress me.

“Sorry about earlier. Deloy said I could take a room and like an arrogant * I just assumed it’d be the master suite.”

Holy fudge bucket. It had been him. What do I say? “Oh, really? I didn’t notice anything.” Lord, what an asinine comeback. Now he can say whatever the hell he wants.

And he did. He crooked a seductive grin. “Guess not. You were too lost in your own world.”

My jaw dropped, but only a tiny squeak came out. Levon took advantage of one of the few times I’d ever been at a loss for words.

“Can’t say as I blame you. I’d love to be where those hands’ve been. Again, sorry about busting in. I thought this was my room.”

I had to say something. “What are you doing, staying here? Don’t you have an empire of sleaze to run?”

The smile vanished from his face. “I’ve got a score to settle. A matter of municipal politics.”

I frowned. “Municipal? What on earth could you have to settle with the town council of Avalanche?”

Levon snorted cynically. “Let’s just say I was familiar with the motherf*cker who’s the mayor from back in my Cornucopia days.”

“Ladell Pratt,” Deloy called from somewhere over Levon’s shoulder. “Of the gigantic Pratt family. I went to school with a couple of Pratts. Until school ended in the sixth grade, that is.”

There was my out. Shouldering my way past Levon at the bedroom door, I spoke to Deloy. “You’re kidding. School ends in the sixth grade in Cornucopia?” My own niece, Mahalia’s fifteen-year-old Vonda, was now living a couple of blocks away after a dramatic escape from the fundamentalist enclave. Mahalia had told me so little about it, I didn’t even know their education ended at the sixth grade.

But Levon answered for him. “Not like it matters. When they’re teaching you shit like Jesus came to America and the world’s only three thousand years old, what difference does it make?”

“Yes,” said Deloy, putting jam on some kind of toast. “Until I hit the streets in Bountiful, I thought that all Native Americans were a Lost Tribe of Israel. Blacks were beasts of the field descended from Cain, and to have sex with them meant death from above.”

“Yeah,” said Levon. “And men never went to the moon. See what we mean? Worthless. Much better to educate yourself with books from the outside world.”

“I’m really going to miss your library,” said Deloy wistfully. “The other men made fun of me, but I really loved some of your poets.”

A sick feeling sank its tentacles into my gut. Poetry? Swiping around on my phone frantically, I came to the strange text I’d received a couple days ago. As if to confirm my suspicions, Levon was saying playfully,

“Yeah. Wordsworth is one of the best.

Regrets, vexations, lassitudes interfused

Within my mind should e’er have borne a part—”

Reading from my phone, I joined my voice with Levon’s, aghast

“‘And that a needful part, in making up

The calm existence that is mine when I

Am worthy of myself!’”

Deloy clapped with delight. “How awesome! How do the two of you know the same obscure poem?”

I flashed Levon my worst, most hateful glare. I reserved that glare for Giovanni when he staggered in at sunrise smelling of cigarettes and booze, his nose stuffed up. “Oh, it’s not that frigging obscure, now, is it?”

That ingratiating grin was back on Levon’s insipid face. “I take it you’re not a lover of poetry.”

“I only read good poetry,” I seethed, and twirled around to grab my purse from the kitchen island.

“Don’t go away mad,” Levon called out as I stomped down the stairs to the front door.

“Just go away!” giggled Deloy.

I could practically hear the two men high fiving each other as I slammed the front door.

I slammed my car door, too. I was going to pay a visit to the urgent care facility we’d passed on our way into town. I wanted to introduce myself to my fellow health care practitioners. Also, as an RN, I couldn’t prescribe medication, but I was sure I could convince any MD or nurse practitioner to write a scrip for more anti-anxiety meds for me.

I was going to need them if I was going to be living with Levon Rockwell.





CHAPTER FOUR




LEVON


We walked the length and breadth of the former antique store, our boots sounding hollow in the empty space.

“An antique store is actually a good idea,” said Gideon. “That’s part of my vision for Avalanche, to attract tourists on their way up to Zion National Park.”

“Why not?” I said. “The tourists are there. Right now, they just drive on by, terrified some polygamy is gonna rub off on them. But for now, I’d like something sustainable without any tourists. Something the town can actually use. The martial arts studio fits the bill. I can teach Muay Thai and all the usual Brazilian jujitsu, but my main focus will be Krav Maga.”