Long time no see! I left a longer message in my reader group on Facebook about why I've been awol for so long, so here I'll
just say I'm so excited to be back with a new story, and I hope you'll jump on this train with me. This started out as a snippet in response to a prompt in The Fic Lab, and snowballed FAST, so we have them to thank for this one.
Also, massive thank yous to annaharding, hotteaforme, and maplestyle for all their love and help with this one!
**TRIGGER WARNING** This story isn't for the faint hearted. There are mentions of violence, abuse in many forms,
and cussing. Lots of cussing. You can blame Edward's potty mouth for that. If you want to check if this is something for you before you
dive in, my dms are open here and on FB.
With that all said...fasten your seatbelts.
banks
1
The sun is setting by the time I grab a rag from the workbench to wipe it over my face, probably smearing grease and oil all over, just wanting to get rid of the sweat sticking my hair to my forehead.
"You can get outta here, man," Boss hollers from across the lot, swiping the hand not holding his cell on black-smeared overalls tied at his waist like mine. "Light's fadin', anyway."
Dog-tired and desperate for one or six of the beers I've got waiting in the cooler at home, I'm not arguing.
After putting all my shit back in the garage and rolling the beat-up Corolla inside for the night, I glance over at Boss on my way out to my truck; only his legs stick out from under the Buick he's working on, a flashlight propped on some rags to give him some light. Shaking my head, I grin at the stubborn old fool as I climb into the cab, barely pulling out of the lot before my cell is ringing. My grin turns into a smirk when I see that it's Tanya calling.
"Hey, sugar. You want somethin'?" I drawl.
"You know I do," she laughs lightly. "When will you be home? Daddy said you were just leaving when I called."
So that's who Boss was on the phone to. Shaking my head with a chuckle, I realize Tan is the reason he said I could go early.
"So you're the reason my paycheck will be a li'l short this week, huh," I tease, hanging my arm out of the window, knee holding the wheel in place as I reach for my shades on the dash. The dirt road to the trailer park I call home is straighter than an arrow; I could shut my eyes and let go of the wheel completely and still make it there just fine. Hell, I've made it drunk more times than I can count and the bar is further than the garage. Orange dirt and more cactuses than I can count are spread out in front of me through the windshield, two rickety trailers finally coming into view after a few minutes. It's not much, but it's home, I guess.
"I've got you, babe."
Promising to pick up beer on her way over, she tells me Mike and Irina are with her so she'll bring them, too, and there goes my quiet evening.
I beat them all back to the trailer, though.
Dirt clouds around my feet when I hop out of the truck, dragging my backpack off the bench with me. There's a big circle of dirt that kind of acts like a driveway and I'm standing right in the middle of it, my truck taking up most of the space since it's the only vehicle here. My single neighbor waves from his spot on his crooked porch, smoke in one hand, can of beer in the other. I think his name's Evan or something. He was here before me, his trailer looking more lopsided by the day. I'm convinced I'm gonna come out here one morning and it'll have collapsed on one end. "Evenin', son."
"Uh-huh." I nod, my sister's parting words after her last visit popping into my head.
"Do you really want to end up like him? Smelly, drunk off your ass, alone?"
She hadn't been that impressed when I pulled her into my side, tucked her head in my armpit and rubbed my knuckles over her head as I reminded her I won't be alone. I have her.
Still, when my eyes land on the cooler by the couch, I shake off the craving and turn toward my crappy little bathroom instead. I skip jerking off, knowing Tanya will take care of it later, and shower quickly.
By the time I'm pulling shorts up my legs with a damp towel draped around my neck, I hear the crunch of tires on dirt and gravel through my taped-up bedroom window. Gotta fix that at some point this week, but first…
Party time.
- banks -
"Edward, baby, let me take care of you."
Tanya's hand creeps up my thigh as she sinks to her knees in front of me, long nails scratching over my skin until she slides her fingers just under the hem of my shorts.
Fuck, yeah.
The party rages on around us, sensory overload; loud music, the smell of beer and a cloud of weed making everything hazy, the frenzied thumps of two people fucking in the bathroom. The trailer walls aren't that thick. When the song playing through the speakers changes to something else, we all hear Irina screeching "Fuck me harder."
Smirking, I press my thumb against Tanya's lips to part them, the wicked glint in her glazed eyes as she reaches for the waistband of my sweatshorts telling me she knows she'll be screaming the same thing soon.
It won't be the first time a party has ended with her in my bed. Or the last, I'm sure.
Dropping my head back against the couch, I close my eyes and let the party swallow me whole, drowning out all the bullshit, waiting for the warmth of Tan's mouth around my—
"Cops!"
Everything goes to shit before she gets there.
People trip over themselves to hide the weed on my three-legged coffee table propped up by a pyramid of empty beer bottles. Grabbing two cans of Febreze, I spray them around with the vague hope it'll cover at least some of the smell. Weed is legal here in Nevada but the coke in the Bart Simpson cookie jar on my bookshelf isn't. I don't need any nosy cops getting suspicious enough to take a closer look around.
Someone thumps on the bathroom door, and Irina stumbles out with...huh, Mike, just about managing to tuck her tits into her tank top before I make it to the door and rip it open, tossing the Febreze at some guy I don't recognize.
"Turn that shit down," I tell him, music lower when I step out in time to watch two narrow-eyed cops stopping at the bottom of the metal steps, dust kicked up by their boots. My skin crawls at the sight of their badges catching the light. I'll never feel safe around those uniforms.
"Edward Masen?"
"What do you want with him?"
"Are you Mr. Masen?" Cop numero uno presses, apparently deciding not to waste time with any bullshit. "We need to speak with him about a recent homicide."
My stomach fucking falls to my feet.
With a jerk of my chin, I step out and slam the door so it's just me and them in the dim-as-balls glow of the lantern on the wall. The door being shut doesn't totally block out the noise from inside but it's easier to ignore.
Homicide? The fuck's that's gotta do with me?
The old, bald one sighs, and my beer buzz fizzles out when the pair of them drop the shitty act and share a grim look.
"We need you to come with us to the station, Mr. Masen, regarding a Miss Bree Tanner."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," I growl, hand in my hair, pulling hard. "The fuck's she gotten herself into this time?"
Mentally calculating how much cash is stashed in the back of the toilet tank and what my wages should be on Friday, I remind myself that I told Bree I wouldn't bail her out again.
She probably knew it was bullshit just as much as I did, but if she's mixed up in some fucking murder case, I doubt I'll be able to afford it anyway. I'm not made of money. Wouldn't be living in this shitty trailer if I was.
I swear, if it's that prick Riley again...I told her to stay away from him and his shady crap. If he's set her up for this, for goddamn murder—
"She's dead."
She… "The fuck did you just say?"
"We need you to formally identify the body, Sir. She has you listed as her next of kin. DCFS will meet us there, of course."
I don't realize I'm sitting now until one of the officers is crouching at the bottom of the steps. My beer goggles are gone along with the pleasant warmth of the weed I smoked earlier.
Dead? Bree's…dead?
"She's dead?"
"We're very sorry for your loss, Mr. Masen. But we need your help, and DCFS are keen to get things moving."
"Wait, wait...DCFS? What do they have to do with anything? Bree's twenty-four." Was. Was twenty-four. Fuck.
I'm cold as I consider… "Was it...the homicide…"
Is it a kid that's been killed?
Old and bald squints, like he's confused. I feel a jolt of hope—they must have the wrong person since Bree is, was, an adult—before he fucks it all up.
"We have to call them in when there are children involved, sir. Bree's children are in their temporary custody until we can get them set up in a safe place."
I'm stuck on the words 'Bree's children' and the growing hope that they're talking about someone else, 'cause Bree doesn't have children.
But he's not done.
"We were hoping you could help with that, being their father and all."
And that's when I vomit all over our feet.
- banks -
I fucking hate police stations.
My dad was a crooked cop way back, and he used to take me and my sister to work with him sometimes. Shut us in a cell with some fast food, paper and pencils, and a reminder to keep fucking quiet.
As an adult, I've spent more time than I should on hard cots looking out through metal bars.
The cops who picked me up drop me off in a small interrogation room that makes my skin itch. The plastic cup of water one of them brings me a little bit later splashes over the table, my hands shaking too hard to hold it properly.
The sympathetic look he shoots me does fuck-all to make me feel better.
"Look, this is a mistake. It's gotta be. Bree doesn't have kids, okay? I've known her since she was seventeen, don't you think I'd know if she had kids for fuck's sake?"
And they sure as fuck wouldn't be mine, for crying out loud. I mean, yeah, we've slept together before when we've been fucked up or drunk. But I always use protection. Always.
"We'll be right with you, Mr. Masen. Sit tight."
'Right with you' turns into almost an hour of me pacing in the small square box, trying to piece together how my great night has turned into this.
I want to call Bree, but I didn't go back inside for my cell before the cops led me to their car. As soon as I put this right I'm driving straight to her fucking house and bringing her back to my place. This shit is over, I'm done letting Riley ruin her life.
When I finally give up waiting and stride toward the door to get out of there, it flies open before I can, the same two cops from earlier stepping in.
I notice their names for the first time. Old and bald is Hodges, the other one is Taylor.
"Sorry about that, we wanted to check a few things before we came back to you."
My skin fucking crawls, the chair legs scraping concrete as Taylor sits at the table.
"Whatever. Talk."
I sit heavily in the plastic chair opposite them, drumming my sneaker against the floor when they slap a folder down onto the peeling tabletop between us.
"We believe the victim is Bree Tanner, but we need you to identify her, if it is her. Do you understand?"
"Hardly fuckin' rocket science, is it?" I snap, throat thick, mouth dry.
It's not Bree, can't be, but that means I'm about to see some other dead girl. I shove down memories of the last time, the first and only other time I've been forced to see…that.
Taylor hesitates for a second before opening the folder to reveal a photo. He might as well be cracking open my chest.
No. Fuck, no.
That sick fuck.
All the breath wheezes from my chest in a strangled sound I don't recognize. My trembling fingers reach for the six-by-four, tracing the pale cheek of a girl who's always been too good for the fucked up life she was dealt.
I haven't seen her for...two months? Three, maybe. Something like that. Her hair is shorter. She got a new piercing, too; her nose.
She definitely didn't have a bullet hole in her head the last time I saw her, either.
"Mr. Masen? I'm sorry…"
"Th-that's her," I stammer, squeezing my eyes shut as my throat burns. I'm gonna be sick. Fuck. "That's Bree."
I'll kill him. I'm gonna wring his goddamn neck with my bare hands.
"Riley did this. Riley Biers." When I open my eyes, I see both cops staring wide-eyed at me. "Her boyfriend," I supply, venom dripping from my words. "Or, sometimes, anyway. They were on and off. He treated her like shit, got her into drugs and gambling." Swallowing hard and blinking away the sting of tears, I admit, "I warned her he'd get her killed. Fuck."
Standing quickly, the chair clatters against the wall behind me. There isn't enough air in this room. I need...I need to get out.
"I need to clear my head."
"This way." Old and bald—Hodges—leads me out of the room, squeezing my shoulder as he points me toward the door at the end of the hall. "We'll be right here if you need anything."
Bree not to be dead? This whole fucked up mess to not be happening?
"Uh-huh."
I don't make it to the door before another one opens. My steps slow as a female officer and a woman in a suit step out into the hall.
It feels like everything slows down.
I glance at the kid holding the suit's hand and do a double-take, feet skidding to a stop on squeaky linoleum.
A mop of black hair falls over the boy's eyes as he sniffles and rubs his nose with a balled-up fist. The baby in the officer's arms is wailing its—uh, her—head off. I'm guessing 'its' a 'she' anyway, since the blanket wrapped around it is pink and flowery.
My stomach churns as they walk toward me, and it's like someone has punched the breath from my lungs a second time in as many minutes when the boy looks up, a few feet away now, red-rimmed green eyes meeting mine.
Bree...what the fuck have you done?
How are we?
Come find me in CiaraShayee's Dreamers on FB for hugs and images to go along with this one.