“Yes. Of course.”
He reaches for the door. “Do me a favor, questionhowyou can love him, and maybe you’ll see why you can trust me.”
The door slams shut and I’m left to self-reflect on the fact that, since the day I was born, I have found comfort in the arms of a murderer.
11
Max
The door closesbehind me and I turn, sliding both locks into place. I lean my forearm against the wood, rest my forehead against my arm, and stare at the ground. This is all part of it, as shitty as it is. But the most alarming thing to me is that I feel guilt with her. That woman makes me feel things I shouldn’t, but in life, a good many things that shouldn’t do.
Fuck, this early on and I’m already having issues. I drag in a deep breath and scratch my fingers over the rough door as I attempt to gather my thoughts. I swear I can hear her sobbing…or maybe I justthinkI can. Regardless of her tears, sheshouldn’taffect me the way she does, but at the end of the day—I’m a fucking man. She’s a beautiful—no—stunningwoman that radiates an air of innocence and rebellion, and I’m not even sure how it’s possible for one person to exude both of those things, but Ava does. I struggle with this as any man would. The key to successfully carrying out my job is viewing these girls as a blank canvas, not a person. And if I’m honest, I don’t know that there is any way tonotsee her as a person.
Taking one last breath, I push away from the door. Earl’s groaning on the floor as he attempts to get to his knees. If I’m honest, I want to kick him in the back of his head and not stop until his brains are leaking from his ears for doing that to her. It’s a rule that they don’t get raped, but fuck if rules don’t go out the window when this fucker starts drinking. He has little to no self-control.
“What the fuck’d you punch me for, Max?” he groans through several coughs.
“Because you’re a piece of shit. You’re not supposed to touch her.”
“Aw, I weren’t gonna really do nothing. Just give her a good scare.”
I walk over to him and grab him by the back of his shirt, yanking him to his feet before I place my face inches from his. “Don’t evenfuckaround like that.”
He starts laughing as he tries to steady his wobbly legs. “Act like you ain’t thought about it.” He clicks his mouth like he’s calling a dog. “She’s purdy.Realpurdy.”
I glare at him before I slap him the back of his head. “Get the fuck upstairs.” I follow Earl up to the kitchen. He goes to the pantry and pulls out a bottle of Maker’s.
“Y’ant some?” he asks, peeling the red wax from the neck of the bottle.
“No.” I walk to the fridge, open it, and grab a can of Miller Lite. The sound of the beer fizzing when I pop the top settles my nerves a touch, but nothing compares to the relief that unwinds my muscles when that cold brew hits the back of my throat. I pull a chair up to the metal kitchen table and point for Earl to have a seat. “Have you talked to her brother?” I ask.
“Yep. Told him I dumped the body in the Coosa River.” Earl tips the bottle back and I watch the bubbles float up the neck. “We ain’t gonna get caught. He don’t care so long as she’s outta the picture. And you know what I’s thinking ’bout?”
I cast an annoyed look in his direction.
“That if he goes on and kills their folks, well, we ain’t gots to worry much about Frank Donovan.” He laughs.
I take another gulp of beer before slamming the can down on the tabletop. “Guess not.” I stare at the can, tracing my finger against the dark blue lettering.
“Think she’ll take long to break?” he asks. “Got this one guy wants a new girl, she’ll do just right for him.”
“Anewgirl?”
“Yep. A new girl.” He takes another swig of whiskey.
“What happened to the one he had?” I ask.
Earl shrugs. “Don’t know. Don’t care. He’s a paying customer and ain’t no business of mine what the hell he does with them after he pays for ’em.”
Exhaling, I toss my head back. I hate this. I hate every-fucking-thing about this. Something about that girl gives me this unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. Call it intuition, a gut feeling—paranoia. But something very bad will happen as a result of her being here. I do believe that.
“Aw.” Earl sighs. “Come on now, Max. Don’t you got some fancy degree or some shit? What is it, psychic mumbo jumbo?”
My teeth grind against each other at this fucker’s ignorance. “Psychology. I got a degree in psychology when I had fucking ambitions.”
“Yeah, that. You know people’s fucked up in the mind then. People that’s right in the head don’t buy these girls. Just the sick-o’s and perverts.” Earl laughs, his eyes gleaming with something similar to pride because he’s one of those sick-o’s. “People like them, people like us”—he points at himself then at me—“we’re what makes people appreciate the good ’cause they gots to have something bad to compare it with.”
My stomach turns over like a dog playing dead. I don’t want to be one of those people, but the thing is, I’ve been in this game my entire life. Before I could walk, I was desensitized to most shit that would make people lose their damn lunch. I have no empathy, no capacity for it. To me, all this shit, well, it’s normal.
