Page 10 of Broken Highway (Cult Boys #1)

NOAH

It’s a familiar scene. One that’s played out countless times, either in my mind when I’m driving or when I’m on the other side of being awake.

Swinging and slamming doors are nothing new to me.

So when the door slams behind me, I think nothing of it.

But when the door swings back open, I know it’s Kevin.

No chance he’d let me out of his sight in the middle of a fight.

The path ahead is ten-or-so flights of stairs.

It’s a concrete jungle of an obstacle course, with each landing twisting into the next.

“The hint you failed to catch is that I took the stairs because I figured your tired old knees couldn’t make the trek.

” I turn to him, and the two of us couldn’t look more different.

He’s older. I’m younger. He’s dressed in black tie regalia after coming home from another event I skipped out on and I’m dressed like a blue-collar worker in my normal attire—blue jeans and a plaid shirt.

“My mistake was forgetting your cruelty is only matched by your stubbornness. You’d risk your legs giving out and taking a tumble down the stairs. And for what, to put me in my place?”

He’s cold and rigid. Always is. “I’m not letting you walk out that door.”

“I’ve already walked through three and only have two more to go. I’m done with this.”

“You take and take, and then take some more until there’s nothing left.

I’ve given you everything. I’ve given you my heart.

I’ve given you my love. I’ve given you the whole fucking world.

Millions of boys would kill to be in your shoes.

” He pinches at his forehead. “And you’d give it all up because you’re bored? ”

“Because I’m lonely.”

He throws both hands outward. “How in the fuck are you lonely?”

There’s no point in answering. I’ve answered his question a thousand times and it never sticks.

He takes a measured step toward me. Demanding. Commanding. In control, because he’s always in fucking control. I’m tall, but he’s somehow taller. He’d be a giant if the cancer hadn’t worn away at his physique.

“Swing at me. For old times sake,” I seethe. “I dare you.”

But he doesn’t take the bait, instead he remains frozen in place. His glare pulling the weight of what his fists used to.

“You’re a coward,” I say, gravel in my throat. It took years to find my voice, and every time I use it, I have to find it again.

That does the trick. He balls one hand into a fist.

“Fucking hit me. Hit me like you used to. Hit me like you did before I got strong. Before I learned to fight back. Before you got weak.”

He shakes his head. “Do you know what your mother’s last words were?”

“I can’t imagine she had the wherewithal to say much between her final breaths.”

“That her son was a whore. Always had been. Learned to spread his legs young.”

He knows he can no longer win a battle of brawn and resorts to the same tired manipulation tactics. He wants to make sure I know it’s me against the world, and without him, I’m nothing. Hits me where it hurts, over and over and over again.

“She did that to me,” I say lowly.

“She said I was the best thing to happen to you.” He places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes.

“She was fucking right. I’m the only good thing about you.

You’re a soulless, ungrateful whore.” He places his other hand on my other shoulder.

“That little boyfriend of yours? He’s gone.

I offered him a million dollars to disappear. ”

“You son of a bitch.”

“That’s where you’re heading, right? Packed what you could in that bag of yours and you’re going to ride off into the sunset to find your happily ever after? There’s no light at the end of this tunnel, Noah. You’re stuck with me.”

I shrug free from his grasp. “I’ll find him.”

“He didn’t accept my offer.”

I hit him with a smirk. “I guess money doesn’t buy everything.”

“It would have bought his life.”

My smirk disappears as I take a step back from him. “I don’t believe you.”

“I’d show you the evidence if I trusted you to not tell.” He raises a finger to his lip. “But boys like you are always squealing.”

And just like that, he knows he has me right where he wants me. Right where he needs me. I’ve never been someone to walk this life along. I’ve always needed someone or something to hold on to, someone or something to anchor me.

He reaches for my hand, and a chill passes over me.

Alone in the world.

Stuck in motion.

I take his hand and take a step up to meet him at the top of the landing.

We’ve danced this dance a thousand times before.

We argue with our words. Fight with our fists.

Find our way back into the arms of the other, and in silence, I pray for the dance to end.

I curl into his body, my head draped against his bony shoulder.

The cancer will take him soon. Take him like it took Mama. A long, drawn out death is what he deserves. But what can I say? I’m impatient.

I slip from his embrace and stare into his eyes.

He watches me too.

Watches as I give him a shove.

And as he stumbles, the heels of his foot slipping off the sharp corner of the top step, I feel my own body falling backward. He stretches out his arms, a desperate attempt to reach me. And I reach out to grab him, but the exertion of him being ripped backward is too much to overcome.

The first thing I see when I awake in bed is Seven.

He stands by the window with the curtains drawn with one hand. It’s as if he’s keeping watch, waiting for someone or something.

He turns to me, an inquisitive look on his face that’s more red than when I went to sleep.. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Can’t argue with that. See that same ghost all too often when I sleep. And now there’s another ghost standing in front of me. “Wasn’t having the best dream.”

“Never would have guessed. You looked like an angel the entire time you’ve been sleeping.”

“That’s because nothing scares me anymore. What time is it, anyway?”

“It’s bad enough you don’t have a phone, but you don’t even have a watch? ”

I kick my feet off the side of the bed and reach for the alarm clock on the nightstand. A quarter till eight. “Fuck. I’m usually on the road by now.”

“Do you drive every night?”

“Like clockwork.” I throw the blankets to the side and let out an obnoxious yawn. Almost eleven hours of sleep and I could use another ten.

“Why do you drive so much?”

“It’s a hobby.”

“How long have you been driving?”

“Six months.”

“Then how in the holy hell haven’t you reached your destination?”

“Because I’m driving in circles.”

“Since you don’t have anywhere to be, why don’t we just spend the night?”

I pass him a side eye. “We just did.”

“That’s not what I mean.” He approaches with a hand in separate pockets of his jeans. “There’s a bar down the road. Really run down.”

“Well that sounds like a hootenanny.”

His eyes narrow on me. “I have no idea what you just said, but what’s the harm in having a little fun? It’s already getting late and besides, you haven’t gotten your money’s worth yet.”

He has a point, but he doesn’t know my past. “I have a bad habit of leaving bars with a black eye.”

“Black eyes are so hot.”

“I’m leaving in twenty minutes. If you want to come with me, I’m heading…” I point in a random direction. “That way.”

He points to the right. “How about we go that way?”

That way we went. Not in my car, but on foot.

Whiskey burns at the back of my throat as we slam our shot glasses onto the wet counter in unison. Seven turns his head to the side, cups his fingers over the lip of his mouth, and exhales sharply. Clearly, he’s not used to the stronger shit.

I run my fingers through my hair, shifting the weight of it away from my forehead.

It’s still damp from the shower I took before we headed out.

I search the room with my eyes, always on alert.

There’s a small group of bikers in the back, three men and two women.

They’re gathered around a pool table with a dingy yellow light swaying above the green felt.

The nameless bartender stands at the opposite end of the bar, texting on her phone.

She’s tall, thin, and covered in colorful tattoos that contrast sharply against her long black hair.

I think I’ll call her Staci. I gesture for another round of shots with a flick of my finger.

She lets out a sigh, places her phone into her back pocket, and makes her way down the length of the bar.

Seven takes a seat on an empty stool beside me. He places an elbow on the bar and glances longingly in my direction. “What’s your biggest fantasy?”

“Fuck off,” I scoff.

He places a hand on my thigh. “I’m being serious.”

I swivel on the stool, pulling away from his touch, as Staci pours another two shots. I grab one glass and hand the other to Seven. “Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just like sucking dick.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

I clink my glass against his, throw my head back, and swallow another load of sweet fire. I slam the glass down and meet Seven’s gaze that’s once again fixated on me. To the left, he has placed his shot on the counter, untouched.

“No, I mean like… I love it.” He leans in closer. “Sometimes, I even come without touching myself when I’m doing it.”

“Bullshit.”

“Last night, I came when I was blowing you. Made a mess in my pants.”

I furrow my brow, playfully. “So getting pissed on isn’t your dream?”

“I told you mine. Now tell me yours.”

I reach for his stool and pull him closer to me. The metal feet scrape over the tiled floor. I lean in to whisper, “Nothing makes me harder than a man in a thong.”

“You’re joking. That’s your biggest fantasy?” He leans back and laughs. “Most men would choose something like a threesome, or being watched, or hell, even spanking.”

I shrug again. “Most men aren’t me. Everyone has something that makes them go absolutely feral. Mine just happens to be seeing a man in a string thong with his ass in the air.”

He eyes me suspiciously. “I’ve never owned a pair of those.”

“You would look fucking hot in one.” I reach for the abandoned shot of his and grab it without asking.

Throw it back. Slam it down. “You have the perfect ass for it.” I dig the cigarette pack out of my pocket and slip one between my lips.

Don’t light it though. Never light it. Not going out like Mama did. “I’d pay big money?—”

He rips the cigarette from my mouth and breaks it in half. “That’s disgusting.”

If looks could kill.

If only he reacted to the look on my face that could kill.

He sits there unaffected as I scowl at him. “Have you lost your damn mind?”

“Every time you smoke one of those things, it knocks seven minutes off of your life. Do you know what you could do in seven minutes?”

I start counting on my fingers as I speak, “I could break someone’s jaw, I could come once or twice, I could drive my car off a cliff, I could hang myself from the ceiling, I could give some ballsy twink a six-minute and fifty-nine second lecture on keeping their paws off things that don’t belong to them.

” I wave the pack of cigarettes in his face.

“I know exactly what these things can do to the human body. That’s why I never actually light them, not anymore.

But it’s not because I’m afraid of dying.

In fact, I think about just that all the time.

Think about driving my car off a cliff, but have completely nixed the idea of hanging myself with a noose because I want to scream as I’m going out.

But I’m warning you, don’t do that again. ”

His gaze drops, almost as if he’s cowering in shame, or fear. In our twenty-four hours together, I’ve never seen him like this. A wounded puppy with no sarcastic comeback or an irritating game of twenty questions.

I let out a defeated sigh, hating I’ve made someone feel the way I felt for years. I reach across the space between us and place a hand on his thigh. Give him a little squeeze.

He cocks his head upward, eyes still heavy. “Why do you want to die?”

And I lie through my teeth when I assure him, “I don’t.”