Page 11 of Broken Highway (Cult Boys #1)

SEVEN

I learned a long time ago to listen to people the first time they talk.

Learned to believe them when they say certain things.

Magnus, Silas, and everyone back home weren’t liars in the traditional sense.

They said what they meant and believed what they said.

The lies they wore on their hearts defined the way they viewed the world.

People don’t talk about dying in such certain terms without at least pondering the idea of it.

Noah’s words say one thing, but his eyes say another.

The windows to the soul. The windows to the truth.

The windows of which the curtains are only drawn milliseconds at a time.

The average person blinks fifteen times per minute, but when they’re lying, they blink even more.

I’ve counted at least twenty blinks since Noah lied to me about not wanting to die.

We don’t know each other. Not really. Don’t know each other well enough to talk about such matters.

I have no doubts that somewhere, at some point in time, a man has been saved from jumping off a bridge by some kind stranger.

I’m in no position to negotiate, not when I’m living on borrowed time myself.

I jump to my feet and grab him by his hand.

He pulls away from me and passes me a sideways glance as if to ask, what the hell are you doing?

I’m not in the mood to take no for an answer and grab him again, this time with enough force to pull him from his stool.

He groans as I lead him away from the bar and to the dance floor.

We stand in front of each other, but his eyes are anywhere else. He searches the bar with his eyes and brushes a thumb over his lower lip. “I don’t think this is the best idea.”

“You said you’re not afraid of no bitches, remember?” I question, unable to resist the urge to prod him. “Besides, I saw what you did to that trucker. I honestly have no idea what you’re so worried about. Seems to me you can handle yourself quite well.”

“I’m not afraid of anyone, but that doesn’t mean I’m in the mood to fight a bunch of drunks.”

I purse my lips into a frown. “I’ve never danced before.”

“How is that possible?”

“Where I’m from, people don’t dance.” I shrug. “Fun isn’t really a thing people have.”

He arches a brow. “Like Footloose? ”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I grab him by the hand and give him a little tug. I’m not strong enough to drag him, so the fact that he’s moving at all, tells me he’s doing so of his own free will. “And I don’t know what it’s like to dance with someone.”

“There are much better places to dance, I promise you. Clubs in the city. Beaches. Underneath the stars. Say the word, and I’ll take you back to the room and we’ll dance there.”

“No.” I move his hand to my waist. “We dance here.”

His fingers tap over the side of my denim jeans while he stares at me with eyes that want to dance and want to run at the same time.

I place a shaking hand over his hip and catch myself drowning in cold feet.

I glare at the bartender, but she’s too lost in her phone to care what’s happening on the dance floor.

I look to the right to catch one of the bikers staring, but he averts his gaze quickly.

The rest of his friends converse on the other side of the pool table, either uncaring or unaware.

Sweat pools at my back and on my hands, and I release my grip on Noah’s side.

But when I look back to Noah, he swallows nervously before pulling me in closer. One hand holds me firmly at the small of my back while the other brushes against my free hand. His fingers trace over my own and it feels like electric currents swimming through me.

“The key to dancing is realizing nobody actually knows how to do it,” he says. “There are no rules. You just go with the flow and hope you don’t trip over your own feet.”

I clear my throat. “Seems easy enough to me.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” The side of his mouth hitches into a half-smile. “Something tells me you’re a klutz.”

It’s maybe the second time I’ve seen him smile.

He doesn’t do it enough. The lighting above isn’t sufficient enough to avoid half his face being hidden by shadows, but there’s something breathtaking about the way his face lights up when he smiles.

I’ve seen the look before. Seen it in my own reflection when standing in front of a mirror.

In those rare moments I found myself smiling through the darkness, it was as if the weight of the world had been lifted from my soul.

I don’t know what ills him. Can’t even begin to guess, but happy people don’t spend months on the road driving in circles.

Happy people smile more than once a day.

Happy people don’t talk about running their car off a cliff.

I wonder who he was before the happiness was scrubbed from him.

“We’re going to get a little more technical now,” he says.

“Is this the part where we start spinning in circles?”

He tilts his head slightly. “Spinning is a little aggressive. We’re going to turn in a slow circle. Remember, don’t trip over your own feet. We’re already making a scene and I don’t want to add embarrassment to the menu of programming for our biker friends in the back.”

I cock my head over my shoulder to get an update on our audience. One of them, dressed in a cut-off leather vest with a beard fit for a dwarf, stands with his back against the wall and his arms folded over his chest.

When I turn back to Noah, I force a smile because I want to be brave like him. I thought when I killed Magnus that it irrevocably changed me. I thought I’d become a badass who wasn’t scared of anything. Turns out I was wrong. Turns out I wish I hadn’t left my gun in my bag back at the motel.

Noah shakes his head at me. “Stop looking at them. You’re only giving them a reason to react.”

That doesn’t sound fair, but I’m not going to argue the pitfalls of homophobia. Lord knows I’ve been in attendance for that sermon far too many times to count.

We turn in slow circles, and every time it’s my turn to face the group of strangers in the back, they become noticeably more uncomfortable.

I lean back with an arch in my back. “This dancing thing isn’t as fun as I thought it’d be.”

He bows his head, his gaze feasting upon me. “There are much more fun ways to dance.”

“Enlighten me.”

He stops in place, and my head continues to float. He untangles his fingers with mine, unhooks his hand from the small of my back, and turns me in a quick circle. I trip over my own feet, but he catches me with a strong hand on my stomach. Pulls me backward so that our bodies meet flush together.

He chuckles into my ear. “I knew you were a klutz.”

A nervous smile flashes across my face, bearing every possible tooth that can be seen from behind my lips.

I catch Noah out of the corner of my eye and he’s staring at the bikers as he grinds against me.

He chews into his lower lip as he forces them to watch him do it.

Playing with them. Taunting them. Guess he’s changed his mind about not wanting to fight because let me tell you, these are not the actions of a pacifist. I suddenly regret letting him finish my last shot for me because he’s become far too brave for my liking.

“I think we should go,” I say, and try to break away from him, but he’s too strong. Remember that thing about free will earlier? I can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to do.

He tightens his grip on me, and I can feel his hard cock pressing against me, throbbing with every swivel of his hips. He lowers his mouth and breathes hot fire over the side of my neck, and then his tongue flicks the lobe of my ear. My cock jumps.

A pool stick lands on the pool table with a thud. Biker man number one has clearly had enough of the gay shit. He begins to approach with biker man number two in tow, a mere few steps behind him.

“Yeah,” Noah purrs against my ear. “Time to go.”

The iron gate swings to a close behind us with a loud clang. I waste no time ripping my shirt over my head and tossing it to the side. My jeans and underwear follow suit, pooling on the cement deck. I cannonball into the water, disappearing beneath the surface.

It’s dark at the bottom, with the dimmest of light filtering through the water.

The water above glistens in ripples of neon red.

Noah’s silhouette remains stationary, standing at the edge of the pool.

When I break through the surface, kicking and swaying, I take a good look at him.

Tall and rigid, with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

He stares at me like a disapproving father would, with eyes that scold without the lips needing to say a word.

Half the time, he’s hellbent on avoiding anything that would draw attention to himself.

The other half of the time, he’s egging on a bar fight in a run-down bar.

He’s a puzzle, but the pieces are so scattered and jagged that I can’t begin to assemble him.

“Come on, big boy,” I say. “I’m not a great swimmer, so you might need to come save me.”

He squats down, a hand dangling between his legs. “Kids swim in that pool. Probably piss and shit in it.”

“Are you always this uptight? ”

“Wound tight, maybe. Uptight?” He shakes his head in disgust. “I’ve been surrounded by uptight bastards and bitches for almost a decade. I’m nothing like them.”

I taunt him with a roll of my eyes. “Prove it, then.”