Slow Twitch - Реинхардт Лиз (читать книги онлайн без сокращений TXT) 📗
He shadowed me footstep for footstep, only stopping when I’d been cornered against a side table. He was so close I could feel his heart whirring hard and fast like an engine about to overheat. His hands, usually so still and calm, shook, and there was a big knot on one side of his jaw because he was clenching his teeth so hard, I was sure he’d crack a few.
“What did she mean?” I lifted my hand to his face and touched the bulge on the side of his jaw. He unclenched his teeth and let out a shuddery breath, then turned his lips to my palm and pressed them to my skin in a long, sorry kiss.
He hung his head, closed his eyes, and said, “Sit down. There’s some stuff I want to tell you,” while chills crept up and down my spine.
Chapter Five
Saxon
I woke up and groaned because I felt like an old, crippled man. Work was doing things to my body that just weren’t cool. I’d been pretty in-shape before, but now I was completely cut from lifting thousand-pound bus-pans all day at the diner, and that was after I worked myself into a fucking frenzy doing the million things that needed to be done to Aunt Helene’s house just to make it livable.
Fuck my relatives for leaving her in this dump. I had painted her exterior, weeded and planted enough to start a damn hippie commune garden, fixed her steps and porch, painted every room in the interior -- the kitchen three fucking times because yellow is a little bitch and it never look a thing like the damn little sample once I got it up on the wall -- retiled the kitchen and bathroom floors, and was starting in on the basement, which was a dump. And she had to go down there every day to do her laundry. And mine, since I didn’t know how to use a washing machine, and I didn’t want to break hers.
At least my Aunt Helene was a goddamn saint and could cook like you wouldn’t believe.
It kept me from my natural inclination, which was to bitch about my shitty lot in life and whine about all of the work I did. There was no need for my usual little hissy fits. Aunt Helene really thought I was a godsend, which was about as ironic as shit can get. I mean, I was sent to her for having such an assload of coke in the house that even my dipshit drug-tolerant mother freaked.
Anyway, we got along perfectly. She was really happy and liked having me there. That was a nice change from the way things usually went when I was living with someone.
Work at the diner was a little less clear-cut. I had to mentally rewind a little bit, to where the real scariness began. The Erikson siblings weren’t bullshitting about their mom.
Rosalie Erikson clocked in at maybe 5’2” and 110 pounds. She had long black hair and big doe eyes and looked in no way like she could be the mother of a kid old enough to be in high school, with her little curvy/pert figure that absolutely answered the question of where Cadence got that body from. The three Eriksons I met were actually only three of four. The last was baby Sullivan, always on Rosalie’s hip. It made her angry to have to come into work and expose Sullie to hot oil and death metal and idiot workers (her words, more or less). So anytime she busted in, this woman, who might usually be just your average scary bitch, was a raging, blood-thirsty creature of the underworld. Accessorized with the world’s cutest little kid.
My one and only saving grace was Sullie’s decision that I was cool enough to hang with, and I have to thank whatever deity is up there for that little piece of good luck. The first day Rosalie came in there was fire shooting out of her eyes. It was directed at Brian, the half-witted burger flipper. She came in the double doors, her hair flying around from the anti-fly blower at the door. Everything went silent except for the screaming from the stereo.
Waitresses made themselves scarce, cooks were suddenly totally intrigued by the bubbling oils and vats of relish, and big ol’ Sir Erikson himself came almost into the kitchen, caught sight of his woman on a mission, and high-tailed it back to the safety of his office.
“I need to speak to you,” Rosalie hissed, pointing a finger at Brian. Sullie toddled over to the sink.
“Hi.” He looked at me with huge, brown baby eyes.
“Hey, little man.” I smiled at him.
“Water,” he said clearly and pointed at the sprayer that gets the crusted-on shit off of pans and utensils.
“Yeah.” I crouched down next to him. “Smart, kid. You want to spray it?”
“Yes.” He gave me a long, quiet look.
I didn’t know a lot about kids and how to determine how old they might be. Sullie was little enough that his mom carried him on her hip. He drank a bottle sometimes. He could walk and say a few things. He looked like a baby to me. Anyway, he was no dummy.
I got a crate for him, pulled the water thing down, lined up some metal containers for him to squirt, and he went to town, giggling and screeching while his mother made some noise of her own.
I came in late, but what I heard was bad enough.
“…then I hear you say the word ‘ punta’ about me behind my back, you little prick? You think you’re so hot, you say that word to my face! After my family gives you a good job, a good salary, hires your brother, that’s what I have to hear my innocent children repeat that they heard? What do you have to say for yourself? Don’t cry now, you little shit. I’m the one who should be crying! All the good I do for you, and that’s what you think is appropriate?”
It was fascinating. He really was crying. Poor douche bag. It was probably one of those passing remarks he made when he was pissed. Oh well, that shit did not fly here, and we got warned all the time. You did not talk about the owners or their kids unless you wanted your ass spanked in front of the whole kitchen.
Brian was apologizing, and Rosalie was accepting as if it were beneath her to even consider doing it. Then it was over, and she realized Sullie wasn’t at her feet.
The look of terror on her face made me fear for my life a little. I was the one with the kid. Maybe she didn’t want him mucking in the sink. I waved a little, and she saw me and raced over.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly, sweeping Sullie up. He was still laughing and kissed her.
“Water!” he told her.
“I see that, Sullie boy.” She smiled at him. Holy shit, she was gorgeous when she smiled. Was this woman really the demon who had Brian pulling his ball cap low over his eyes so we couldn’t see the residual tears?
“Thanks, Saxon.” She pursed her lips and looked me up and down, assessing my worth. “Listen, we’re going to be short a waiter on Saturday. I hate to throw you in on such a busy shift, but the kids say you’re smart and hard-working. And you’re pretty cute. You’ll get plenty of tips. Cadence will set you up with your gear before you leave tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She smiled at me, regally, then gave Brian a final glare before she headed to the back office to see Tony.
So she thought I was cute? I grinned. Moms usually loved me. I was cougar bait, and I knew it. My smile was gone pretty fast when I thought about meeting up with Cadence. That wasn’t exactly something I was looking forward to.
Cadence had presented a semi-unique problem in the few weeks I’d been confined in diner hell. So she was beautiful. Big deal. I’d slept with girls just as pretty, if not prettier, more times than I could count. I’d been with smarter, more athletic, more stylish, sweeter, more dangerous, bitchier; you name the type or subtype and I’d been with her.
So what was it about Cadence that had me all shook up?
At first I thought that my recent infatuation run was just something I was going to get through and get over. Because I had been a little crazy about Brenna. But that was different. Brenna had been pretty much instantly unattainable, and somewhere in my subconscious, I had always known that she was in love with Jake. That didn’t mean she wasn’t attracted to me too. But I knew attraction; it fizzled. Once Brenna had some concentrated one-on-one time, she’d realized that I was basically an asshole and had gone running back to Jake. Where she always belonged in the first place.
