Page 48 of Tied to You

“Fucking, Christ,” I mutter to myself, fumbling to catch up to him. “Dean!”

My shout has Sparky’s head turning to us, as he and whoever the fuck he decided to bring along with him on our veryincon-fucking-spicuoustrip, both climb out of their vehicle.

Dean squares up to both of them, and they both look wide eyed at me.

Honestly? I have no idea what Dean’s thinking, either. But they sure as shit don’t need to know that. “You gonna tell us who this is?” My deadly stare is locked on the newcomer. He’s shitting himself. I see his hand shaking as he looks at Sparky for reassurance. “Or does he have to drag it out of you. Because I know which one he’d fucking prefer.”

They both look scared. “Travis, my guy,” Sparky holds up his hands, “this is Elvis. He’s helping me this weekend.” I don’t say anything as Sparky steps closer.

Dean and I are standing stock still, both of us taller than these punks. I try to gauge why Sparky would be so careless when he knows the importance of what we’ve got to do. I look the man standing to his left, up and down. He’s scruffy, sporting a black eye. His hat’s on wonky. He certainly doesn’t look like anyone who could be a threat.

“Elvis. Like the singer?” I ask seriously, warranting no answer, just a few confused looks. I see Dean smirk. Pulling out my own knife, moving slowly, I hold it up in Elvis’ face. “Then sing for me, King,” I say darkly.

He laughs, looking at Sparky.

Sparky knows better.

“He said, sing, Elvis,” Dean says, reinforcing my desire to know what this bastard’s intentions are. There’s no reason for him to be here. So, either Sparky is actually dumber than he looks, or this clown is here for another reason.

“Sing,” I repeat one last time.

Elvis takes an unsteady step, then his lips part. He sucks in a shaky breath, humming his first note.

Dean and I exchange a look, seeing the fucker sweating and hearing his voice quake. I swear I hear him stammer like he’s about to cry. We let him go on for a whole song and as much as this will teach him for showing up unannounced, we’re now wasting time.

Plus, I have someone waiting for me.

“Enough,” I shout over Elvis, who’s slipping into his stride.

He stops, wiping his presumably sweaty hands on his trousers.

“Why the fuck are you here?” I aim my knife at him again before turning it to Sparky. “And why the fuck did you bring him?”

“He’s got some gear I thought you might want to see,” Sparky answers, his own voice shaky. Now I get it. He’s not much younger than me, still, the little shit shouldn’t have assumed we’d be interested in this. Not tonight.

“You should have called. You know why we’re here. This aint no place for an outsider.”

“Do you trust him?” Dean asks before I can tell him to get the fuck out of here. No way we should go any further with someone who’s not even involved.

I quickly shut my mouth, not looking at him.

Sparky takes a few steps toward Dean. “With my life.” He nods his head, his eyes wide, hoping Dean buys it. He’s wondering whether we’re going to kill him and his friend for being so fucking careless.

“Then he can come. Might be good to look at the gear later.”

I turn my head, my teeth grinding. “Dean,” I say calmly. I’m anything but. Yeah, we need new drugs, but fromrealdealers. Not amateurs.

Sparky and Elvis can’t believe their luck. They advance on us, both nodding and thanking Dean for being so understanding.

“It’s all good,” he says hushed before he turns, making his way toward the path we’ve to walk down. I watch him open a packet of cigarettes, slipping one between his lips and lighting it. He’s smoked a lot in the past few weeks. Adjusting to life back here must be harder than he’s letting on.

Lifting my hand still holding the knife, I silently instruct the two muppets to go first. I’ll go at the back where I can see them. Keep an eye on them.

The walk down the path is quiet. Tense. The tall overhanging trees make it pitch black. I can’t see shit. It’s only because the moon’s shining brightly, that I don’t need the torch I brought with me. The only sound that can beheard are our boots against the gravel. Constantly checking my watch, it takes five minutes to walk the path to the house. Once there, we stay in the shadows, our watchful eyes scanning the area. The path we came down appears to be the only way in and out. “I’ll go around the back.”

“Okay,” Elvis replies.

I slowly look at him. “I was talking to him.”