There’s a soft exhalation of a chuckle before he asks, “What’s in it for me?”
I flush, not sure the tone of his inquiry is entirely innocent. “I don’t have a lot of money…”
“Not interested in your money,” he inserts dismissively.
“Okay. I can tutor you. I’m assuming with all the class you’ve missed out on so far you probably have a lot of catching up to do. I can help.”
He gives a shake of his dark head. “That’ll just end up wasting not only your time but mine too. My time is pretty fucking valuable right now.”
It doesn’t take a genius to surmise exactly where that valuable time is spent. Without warning, my mind conjures the image of his lean, muscular body adorned with all those beautiful tattoos. It’s emblazon across my mind like a billboard pictorial off the interstate. Nine inches. Circumcised. That sudden thought is plucked from my memory bank. My eyes widen and I can feel the palpable heat in my face, mortified that I even know that. “What do you want then?” An alarming sense of dread tiptoes down my spine the instant those words leave my mouth. That sensation is made worse by the sight of the Grinch-like smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.
I open my mouth to ask him the reason behind the grin but I’m interrupted by our waitress’ return. I’m partially grateful to her for saving me from making a complete fool out of myself. Again. Though another part of me is still somewhat curious to hear his response.
“Here you are, kiddos. A Sudsy bacon double cheeseburger with the works and a side of loaded curly fries for you.” She sets the massive burger and fries in front of him. “And here’s your basket of fries. I had Sudsy add a bit more for you, honey, you look like you need to eat more. Flag me down if you need anything else.” With that she waddles away to another table, leaving me to wonder whether I was just insulted.
“She’s a real pro in the subtlety department,” he remarks dryly, taking a big bite of his burger. In the time it takes him to polish off his food, there’s little to no conversation between us. While mindlessly nibbling on my basket of fries, I occasionally glance his way. It’s odd that I find him eating something so simple, so utterly appealing. He eats like he hasn’t eaten in days, with a strong, voracious appetite that seems insatiable. I catch his gaze while he licks his fingers of the ketchup on his fries. There’s an irreverent glint in gun-metal eyes that suddenly speaks of so much more than just his literal appetite.
In that instant, despite that we are in a crowded place, I feel every inch a prey. His prey. How quickly and how thoroughly will he subdue me? I continue to wonder. What would it feel like to be subdued by someone like him? He can very well leap over the table separating us right now to gobble me up and…and I don’t think I would mind it at all. The part of me that reigns over my inner kingdom of insanity would douse herself in a vat of ketchup if it meant being licked clean by Maddox’s tongue. That thought is accompanied by a very lurid, very graphic image that unnerves me so much that I’m not even sure how to process it.
“Why are you in group therapy?” The question comes a little while after leaving the diner. We’re once again back inside his truck. He’s at the wheel as he slowly rolls through the four-way stop sign. The blast of a horn from another driver calls attention to his reckless driving. He simply flips the other driver off before continuing.
It’s a question that comes completely out of left field. It takes me off guard, as I’m sure it’s meant to. Idly, I tug on a loose black string that’s unraveling from the black decorative button on the cuff of my long-sleeved shirt. I don’t know how to immediately answer. So instead I ask, “Why are you?”
It’s not a question I expect an answer to. Not from him. Remembering his reaction earlier when the waitress talked about his mother, I can safely assume Maddox isn’t much for sharing personal history. The unexpected blare of a car horn causes me to jump slightly as I quickly look into the side mirror to see the same car from earlier behind us at a red light. It’s a nice car. A sleek, navy blue Infiniti that looks like it just rolled out of a showroom. He’s high-beaming us, flooding the interior of the truck with overly bright bluish-white LED lights. That alone is irritating enough, but the driver kicks the annoy factor up a notch by polluting our ears with the incessant blare of his horn.
“What’s his prob—” Maddox jumping out of truck stops me from finishing my question. The next few minutes are a blurry descend into chaos. I push open the passenger door and hop out in time to see him grab a sledgehammer from the bed of the truck. He carries it with relative ease as he makes his way to the other car. A swift raise of the sledgehammer over his head is the only warning the other driver gets before the heavy metal crashes down on the navy blue hood of his Infiniti. It leaves behind a crater-sized dent. But it looks like Maddox is just beginning. As he circles to the front of the car, he swings and smashes first the right headlight and then moves to the left. This all happens in the span of a few short minutes and while he’s on this path of destruction, I stand gobsmacked at the rear side of his pickup. Eyes wide and my mouth hanging open to the asphalt, I silently bear witness to Maddox’s violence.
“You son of a bitch!” The driver finally leaps out of the car like a bat out of hell, and his rage-filled screech can be heard over the tinkling of fiberglass shattering across the ground and the crunching of aluminum every time the sledgehammer makes contact. “You’re going to pay for this, you little fucker!” He charges for Maddox; a Brahman bull looking to skewer his enemy with his horns. He’s a heavy guy, tall with enough muscle fat working for him to tackle Maddox to the ground and pulverize him. But Maddox has agility, using the other man’s own weight against him, he’s able to quickly move out of the way. He doesn’t allow the other man a second to recover as he drives the wooden handle of the sledgehammer into his side with enough force that he instantly crumbles to his knees and falls on his side with an agonized groan. A set of headlights a short distance down the street signals the inevitable approach of another car. The immediate thought that someone could be watching this right now and calling the police prompts me to finally move. I run to Maddox’s side.
“We need to go.”
He says nothing, only stands over the driver who’s curled up on the ground in a fetal position nursing his side. He raises a booted foot, and a hard nudge brings the other man to his back. The heavy metal head of the sledgehammer descends to the other man’s throat, and though he brings his hands up to frantically remove it, Maddox only presses down more. My eyes I’m sure are just as wide as the man on the ground. He’s choking as oxygen is slowly bleeding from his wide-open mouth, his face contorting in agony, the panic and fear watering his beady, brown eyes. He flails like a fish out of water, limbs flopping around in an attempt to escape.
A look to my left reveals an image that would’ve frightened a smarter, saner girl. It’s been proven however that I possess neither of those traits. If I did, I wouldn’t be here, standing next to a guy who looks rabid enough to commit murder. What’s more disturbing is that he appears completely in his element here. Comfortable, unfazed in the act of slowly robbing a man of his life.
His cold rage is palpable. It whips out at me with all the subtlety of a typhoon. It’s a tumultuous thing that clouds his face and makes him look far too sinister. His body is drawn tight from coiled tension, like a rattlesnake waiting to strike. He keeps the weight of the sledgehammer steady and firm as he pushes further down. There’s no end in sight. He won’t stop.
He’ll kill him.
Help me! The man’s eyes seem to wail out to me when they momentarily catch mine. Without thought, I set my hand on Maddox’s forearm. There’s just the slightest jerk of muscles tightening reflexively from the unexpected touch. But it’s the lightning-quick electric heat beneath my fingertips the instant my hand lands on his bare, tattooed forearm that rattles me to the core.