Текст книги "Devil Smoke"
Автор книги: Max Henry
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 16 страниц)
He brings both hands to my jaw, cupping my face and running his thumbs over my cheekbones. “Which one’s your car, darlin’?”
I smile, snapping out of the daze he had me in. Ask me how I feel about myself, and I choke, but ask me about my car and I could chew your ear off for hours. I can do this. He resumes walking beside me as I lead us down the row. We come to a stop beside my ride, and I hold a hand out. “Here she is.”
His eyes widen as he takes her in. “Fuck, woman, I think I just fell in love.”
“She is a great-looking classic.” I look at my Camaro with the same adoration I did the first time I spied her glossy black paintwork in the flesh. Dark, dangerous and all muscle—my weaknesses in men and cars.
“I wasn’t just talkin’ about the ride.” Bronson’s eyes move to rove me in the same way he did the car. “You ownin’ that? It’s fuckin’ sexy as hell.”
I fidget under the scrutiny, unsettled with how affected his words alone make me. Shyness is a weakness I’m not accustomed to. It’s crippling. I don’t like being vulnerable like that.
“Anyway,” I say a little too briskly, dipping my head to search for my keys, “how about I show you under the—”
My ass smacks into the side of the trunk, my bag falling to the ground as two strong hands pin my hips to the bodywork of my car. “You can stop me any time you want”—a whimper slips from my mouth as he fists my hair, yanking hard to offer my throat to him—“but I’m gettin’ tired of holding back.” Warm lips caress the points of my jugular, grumbles of appreciation dotting their way up to my jaw, which I reciprocate tenfold. His lips crash over mine, and I soften to him, teasing, pulling. “Everythin’ about you,” he murmurs close to my face after pulling away. “Your eyes, your smile, that curvy fuckin’ ass of yours—it’s all I can think about. I want more, Ryan. I want to get to know you.”
I panic. He can’t. We can’t. Not when I’ve been working on getting the truth for so many years. It would all have been for nothing if I blew it before I got to Eddie.
His smell fills my nose as I rub my cheek over his jaw. Skin on skin, the intimacy of touch—the things I’ve always had, but never wanted like I do now. I shouldn’t indulge like this, I should pull away, but it’s addicting, consuming. His gaze tracks me as I explore his face with my fingertips, the roughness of his stubble and the contrasting softness of the skin under his jaw. I catch him staring, questioning me. Impatient for the answer, I press forward, ignoring the searing pain from his firm grip still in my hair, and seek out his mouth again. All my hesitations, my worries, and concerns—they’ve all been shot to hell. I’m lost in what real attraction feels like, devouring it like a starved animal. He matches my kiss, pull for tug, bringing my bottom lip between his as I do the same to his top.
We pause, breaking free for a moment and staring into each other’s eyes, just to be sure. It’s what I want, I silently tell him, pushing forward again as his hold in my hair loosens. We kiss again, starting the same, but soon pushing harder. He tilts his head ever so slightly, and I mirror him, widening my mouth to allow his tongue entrance. Nothing I imagined compares to this—the real thing. My hands wander his torso, running over the ridges of his stomach, feeling them deepen as he sucks in a breath, stealing mine. His fingers flex and the grip on my hip borders on painful. I flinch, breaking the moment between us. He pulls back, his hands dropping away.
“I’m sorry.” His breathing comes short and fast. “I . . . kind of lost control.”
With my chest heaving, I grab hold of his shirt, swinging him off balance and against the car, swapping our positions. My gaze fixes on his lips, red and puffy from my assault. The sight only makes me want more—so I take it while I can, a war waging inside of me. “We . . . can’t . . . do this . . . here,” I murmur between kisses, groaning as he drags his mouth over my chin, licking the sensitive point of my throat. “It’s too risky.”
“Fuck, darlin’.” He lifts his head, working his way back up to drag my bottom lip into his mouth one last time. “You meanin’ to make me wait?”
A shiver jolts his body as my tongue traces a line along the shell of his ear. “Patience,” I whisper.
He groans, capturing my mouth again for a brief yet passionate exchange. “I’ve never had much of that.”
My hands on his chest, I give a push to back myself up. “There are men here who’d gut you for touching me. It’s fucking suicide to carry on like we are.”
“So let’s go somewhere else.” His eyes are lazy and lust-filled. He’s clearly not thinking with his brain.
“Can you just focus?” I snap.
He frowns, scrubbing a hand over his face, and hooking his finger in the neck of his T-shirt. “Sorry, girl, but you’ve got me fuckin’ worked up.”
“You’re not the only one,” I say with a crooked eyebrow, shifting between my feet to rub my thighs together. “But I’d kind of like to keep you alive long enough to have more than one go at you.” I steal a look at him as he frowns down at the grass under our feet. “What?”
“Probably was a bad idea anyway,” he mutters. “I wasn’t really thinking about the long term.”
You idiot, Ryan. He probably only wanted the one ride on my merry-go-round. “I’m reading too much into things, aren’t I? I’m making assumptions about what you want from me. Fuck.” I step back, putting air between us. “I feel like a moron. You probably just wanted a quickie, and here I am acting like I’m your damn missus already.”
“Be nice.”
“What?” I snap my gaze back to where he’s still leaning on my car, adjusting his jeans.
“To have you as my missus,” he says quietly. “I want it all. You, the quickie, the stuff afterward.” He lifts his head, a wicked grin twisting his lips. “I’m just not used to someone bein’ interested in that with me . . . or there bein’ another guy involved.” He chuckles, sardonically. “I don’t have the first clue what I’m supposed to do to make you want to stay.”
Fucking Gunter ruining everything. I turn and lean on the car beside him, dropping my head back to face the fading blue sky. “I might be with the guy, but I’ve never wanted him.”
“Doesn’t stop it being complicated if you try to leave, does it?”
I sigh, and look across at Bronson. His face is so . . . disappointed. “If I knew somebody who makes me feel like you do existed, I would never have started anything with him.” Not that I would have had much choice. It was basically accept Gunter’s advances and learn to live with him, or sleep every night with one eye open, waiting for him to get frustrated enough to just take what he wanted anyway.
“I feel like we’ve known each other before, you know?” His gaze searches mine for understanding. “I only met you a few weeks ago, but you’re familiar.”
I nod. “I know what you mean, but it’s not possible, is it?” I give him a small smile, pained and sad. “We don’t even know a thing about each other besides our names.”
He flinches, and I can’t figure out why. “So let’s do it,” he challenges. “Spend time with me, and we’ll get to know each other.”
“How?” I ask. “I’ve got the whole English mafia over there watching my every move. They’ve probably sent somebody to see what’s taking you so long.”
He holds his hands out, wriggling his fingers. “Hand over your phone.”
“I can’t have your number in there.”
He frowns. “You’re kiddin’, right?”
I shake my head. “Unfortunately not. Gunter goes through it every chance he gets.”
“You get paper bills?”
My turn to frown. “No. Why?”
“So he won’t see your record, just what’s on your phone?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
He wiggles his fingers again with his hand held out. “Pass it over.”
After cursing at the black hole that is my purse, I locate the damn phone and hand it over. “What are you going to do?”
His fingers fly across the screen and a buzz sounds from his pocket. “I’m sending myself a message so I have your number, and”—he bites his top lip in concentration—“removing the message from your folders.” He waves the phone in the air before handing it back. “No trace.”
I laugh softly, shaking my head as I put it back in my purse. “Sneaky.”
“When it matters.” He smiles, making me hate the thought of returning to Eddie’s gazebo that much more.
“We better get back before someone finds where we’ve gone.”
“I guess.”
“It’s impossible, isn’t it,” I ask. “It’d never work.”
“Impossible is only a state of mind,” he teases, nudging my arm. “Live a little and take a risk.”
Take a risk. I feel like that’s all I’ve done since I ran away from my burning house—taken risks. I screw this one up, though, and I lose any chance at getting a square answer on what the hell my parents did to warrant Harris taking their lives. I look over and catch Bronson’s watchful eye. “Fine. Meet me tonight,” I say. “Just know that this is a bigger risk than you’ll ever realize for me.”
“It’s no light decision for me either, darlin’.” He stares ahead, worry clear in his furrowed brow.
Seeing my fears echoed in his expression remind me I’m not the only person who could stand to loose something here. I don’t know the first thing about Bronson, let alone where he’s come from. It could be just as risky for him to be seen pursuing me. The sooner we get time alone, the better. I want to know all there is to know about this handsome stranger. “If I give you a location, can you meet me there? Pick me up?”
“What you goin’ to do?” he asks, eyebrows raised. “Sneak out your bedroom window?”
I look him square in the eye and smile. “Yeah, I am.”
THE DEAL
Bronx
I try to keep my eyes off her on the walk back to Eddie, but I fail . . . miserably. Can I be blamed though when I have a woman as striking as her by my side? I’m done for when she stumbles as her heel sinks to heavily into the grass, causing her to instinctively reach out for something to steady her. Ryan’s tattooed hand wraps around my forearm as she rights herself, and a bashful smile creeps across her lips.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
I miss the contact the second she pulls her hand away and walks on, albeit a little slower. I hang back for a few seconds before catching up, watching the way her jet-black hair shines like a raven’s feather in the sunlight, and wondering if this whole thing was a part of Eddie’s test.
It couldn’t be. Why? Because she seems so genuinely attracted? I’ve learnt the hard way over the years that women can be pretty fucking convincing when they want to be. Several grand lost to opportunistic whores would back that theory up. Who’s to say she isn’t just faking it as well, playing a part given to her by Eddie?
Maybe the rat is being played by another rat?
I shake my head as I jog to catch up to her, refusing to believe it could be the case. Ryan turns her head as I fall in to line beside her again, smiling, and it’s fucking genuine; the soft curl of her lips to the light in her eyes. There’s no way somebody could fake something so beautiful.
By the time we make it back to the gazebo, the sun has started its mid-afternoon decline. Raised voices drift toward us as we approach, and parents usher their children away from the direction of Eddie’s site with concerned looks on their faces.
Ryan’s pace increases, worry clear in her bright blue eyes. “Shit, this isn’t good.”
Gunter and Taylor are either side of a man who’s fighting their hold, trying to get at the old Pommy bastard where he sits on his throne. The man’s neck is corded with his rage, his arms flexing as he tries to pull free, screaming accusations about chalked product and being burned.
Eddie pushes from his seat as we arrive on the scene, marching towards the man. He punches the guy square in the nose, sending blood over his shirt. “Tommy, I want you to take a note of this man’s name. He’s being cut.” Eddie leans down in the now quiet man’s face and sneers. “You fuckin’ show ya ugly mug around here again tellin’ me how it is, you little dippin’ bastard, and I’ll fuckin’ pay your children a visit. You hear?”
“Yeah,” the man mutters.
Eddie rips the guy’s head upward, holding him in position with a fistful of hair. “I didn’t quite hear you, sunshine.”
“I said, yeah, I hear you.”
“Let ’im go, boys,” Eddie instructs turning away. “Taylor, show ’im off the property.” The men let go of the subdued, yet still angry man, and Eddie’s right-hand man gives him a shove toward the gate.
The dealer spins, taking one last snipe at the drug boss. “Your days are numbered, old man. Keep fucking us over like you do, and we’ll bring you down.”
Taylor grips the guy about the upper arm, pulling him away. “Get your hands off me,” the dealer hollers, shrugging the skinner off. “I know my way.”
Taylor escorts him anyway.
Seems King’s plan at stealing unhappy dealers from underneath Eddie’s nose isn’t so far-fetched after all. It sure appears that the man’s already burning his bridges.
“What the fuck took you so long?”
I swing my gaze back to Eddie as he takes a seat, his chest heaving with exertion. When a guy has a crew of thugs to do the dirty work for him, he’s bound to get unfit. Noted.
“I had to freshen up,” Ryan lies with the precision of a seasoned pro, flaring my suspicion again. “He tried to hurry me up, but you know I hate listening to your pet dogs.”
Eddie chuckles, his hand to his chest. “Love, if ya weren’t a fuckin’ American, I’d swear you were me own daughter.”
She smiles sweetly at the fuck and wanders over to have a seat beside him. “Sorted the lists for you while I had some peace and quiet.” She lifts off the top two sheets from that damn clipboard she had in her hands when I found her. I should have asked her what it was. “The ones with a mark are the guys you need to follow up on.”
“Ah, you’re a good girl.” He gives her a doting tap on the cheek before taking the paper from her grasp. “Go and get that fuckin’ boy of yours, would ya? Sooner ’im and Tommy get started on this, sooner you can have him home tonight, yeah?”
Again, with the sickly sweet smile. My pulse thrums in my neck. I turn to walk away, over this fucking charade and certain I’ve fucked the whole plan up, when Eddie calls me back.
“Where you runnin’ off to so soon?”
I sweep my hand around, indicating the rapidly emptying field. “Looked like it was time to head off.”
“It ain’t. Come ’ere.” He beckons me with two fingers, nodding to an empty seat.
I oblige, as much as it pains me to.
“What exactly is it a man like you does for a bit of crust?”
“I’ve been told I’m good with my hands,” I say, watching Ryan approach Gunter’s car.
“Brawler?”
“Guess that’s what you call it where you come from.”
Eddie nods, eyeing Gunter and Tommy as they head our way. “I’ve got quite the list of people who ain’t wantin’ to play by my generous—if I may say so myself—rules. What would you say to accompanying these two and givin’ them a hand?”
I catch Gunter eyeballing my proximity to Eddie, and smile. “I’d say you’re the boss.”
“You’re a smart man, Bronson. A clever man indeed.”
***
Almost two hours later and Eddie’s mob have finally packed up the fucking Taj Mahal. I haven’t been able to keep my eyes off her, which in itself has been a hard task given I’m being watched by her fucking boyfriend.
Ryan spends the majority of the time on her phone, looking insanely bored, yet refusing to acknowledge anybody around her. The late afternoon breeze picks up for a time, blowing strands of her black hair about her face. Watching her bat them away, growing increasingly frustrated as they tangle about her nose and mouth amuses me no end.
“Give us a hand to tie this down, would you?” Tommy thrusts a rope at me and walks towards the trailer with the sofas.
“It’s a bit excessive, isn’t it?”
“You rather we lost one on the way home?” He holds his hand out to catch the rope.
I tie one end on and toss the rest over top of the furniture to him. “I meant having all this brought out here.”
“Not my place to question it. He feels the need to be comfortable; that’s his deal. We just do as we’re told.” He loops the rope around and tosses it back.
I glance across to where Eddie’s talking with Taylor. Easy leans on the front fender of a truck, eyeing the two of them while he rubs powder from a small bag over his gums. “How did you get mixed up with him?”
Tommy follows my gaze, checking the opposite direction before he speaks. “Gunter. He wanted to work with Eddie, so I went with him. Just what you do with family, you know?”
“You’re family?”
Tommy catches the rope, looping and returning it again. “Yeah, Gunter’s my brother.”
I pull my bottom lip in, nodding. “I guess you do look similar when I think about it. Didn’t make the connection since you skinheads all look alike anyway with the same bald heads.” I catch him eyeing me over the load. “No offence.”
“None taken. The two of us have always stuck together, so I never gave doing the same as what he was a second thought. Always figured since I was real little if it was good enough for him, it was more than okay for me.” He rubs a hand over his stubbly hair. “When my dad went to the box, my mom walked out. Said she’d had enough of trying to set us all straight—that if she couldn’t do anything by now, she didn’t have a hope in hell.” He rounds the back end of the trailer to stand beside me while I tie the rope off. “Kind of have to agree with her, you know? She has a point.”
I glance over at Gunter, walking across to where Ryan sits on the grass. “It sure looks like she was right.”
Tommy follows my line of sight, nodding. “He’s a good guy under it all. Has a real big heart for the right people.”
“I’ll take your word on it.”
Tommy smiles and walks away, crossing over to where the last young wannabe is milling about. I lean a hip into the side of the trailer, crossing my arms and watching Gunter interact with Ryan. She’s stand-offish, turning her body side on to his, not fully settling in when he tries to hold her.
The fuckwit’s oblivious.
A piercing whistle rents the air, doing a fucking fine job of turning all our heads toward where Eddie stands. “Break time’s over, children. Some of ya have work to do.”
I drag a deep breath in and nod to Tommy when he thumbs towards Gunter’s car. Sparing a last look at Ryan, I immediately wish I hadn’t. Her blue eyes are focused on me as Gunter gathers up her bag and holds it out to her. She whips her gaze back to him, taking the mini-suitcase from his grasp and turns to leave, but that split second was enough for me to know—she’s as conflicted as I am. I could damn near feel it from where I stood.
“You follow me. I’m going to drop the Fairlane home and swap over to Gunter’s other car so we’ll all fit,” Tommy explains when I catch up to him.
“How’s Gunter getting there?”
“Ryan will take him.”
Tommy walks ahead while I hesitate, dropping back a few paces so I can steal another look at where she’s fading into the creeping dark, shadowed by the skinhead’s huge frame as he pulls her to his side.
She thinks she can get away, leave him behind. She said it herself, that he was a convenience. What I don’t think she quite realizes is how intensely he clearly thinks the opposite.
That girl doesn’t have a hope in hell of escape.
PUNISHMENT
Ryan
“I’m not happy we have to babysit that fucker, but it does mean one good thing,” Gunter comments as we walk toward my car.
“What would that be, baby?”
“I can get home sooner to fuck around with you if he’s helping us get house visits done.” He stops and bends his knees, scooping me into his chest and picking me up in one fluid motion.
I’m forced to wrap my legs around his waist if I don’t want to slide ungracefully to the grass, which means I’m also forced to feel the shifting shape of his jeans digging into my backside, thanks to his growing erection.
“You think they’d care if we took a bit longer?” he asks. “Nobody’s parked out here but you.”
“You’ve got work to do,” I tell Gunter as he walks.
“Don’t care. I’ve got a woman in my arms who needs some attention, too.”
I crinkle my nose. “I’ve been sweating in these clothes all afternoon, baby. Take me home, and I can have a shower while you’re out.”
His eyes hood, his hands squeezing my butt before he pops me down beside my car. “What if I wanted to shower with you?”
“We can do it again after,” I say, placing a hand on his chest and tipping my chin up to face him.
“Sounds good.”
Yeah, it does, considering there’s no way I’d go see Bronson while smelling like you.
His tongue traces the seam of his lips. “I want you to do me a favor.”
“What would that be?” I drop my hand away to rifle through my bag for the car keys.
He dangles them before me. “Put on that outfit I bought you for Christmas after your first shower.”
My lips are curled into a smile, but my dignity is curled into a ball in the corner of my mind, rocking back and forth while my guilt tries to tell it things will be okay. I hate that outfit. “I’ll see what I can do.” I’ve managed to avoid that fucking gift for the better part of a year.
“Yes or no, Ryan?” He jingles the key ring. “Or I might just fuck you now anyway . . . and again when I get home.”
“Yes,” I blurt out before he acts on that damn rigid member in his pants. “I’ll wear the outfit for you.”
“You don’t sound like you want to.”
“Doesn’t matter if I do or not. I’ll wear it because I want you happy,” I say truthfully. A happy Gunter is a safe Gunter.
“I’m going to be hard all fucking night, now.” He grabs the crotch of his jeans, adjusting himself roughly.
Your problem, not mine. I wait for Gunter to unlock the car, and slide in to the passenger seat while he gets in behind the wheel.
His large hand envelops my knee, and he gives the flesh a firm squeeze before starting the car. “I know you don’t like the brotherhood or what it represents, Ryan, but you need to remember one important thing.”
I swallow thickly, stealing a look at him from the corner of my eye. “Which is?”
Gunter’s dark eyes light up as he spreads his lips into a cruel smile. “You belong to me, woman, so you do as I fucking tell you to.”
***
My nose feels like ice by the time we pull up the driveway of Gunter’s house, cold from being pressed against the glass the whole way here. Anything to avoid talking to him.
He cuts the engine, severing the last bridge we had between complete and utter silence and us. “I know I can be an asshole sometimes, Ryan, but I only do it because I love you.”
“I know.”
“I’d do everything to keep you.”
“I know,” I repeat a little quieter.
“I’d take you to the grave with me before I let anyone else have you.”
“You’re making me feel uncomfortable,” I tell him, watching my breath make clouds on the glass.
“I was trying to.” The car jolts with the slam of his door.
I suck a sharp breath in as Tommy and Bronson descend the front steps to meet Gunter, standing beside what must be Bronson’s sports bike. They chat briefly, all hand gestures and sharp nods between the three of them. He’s beautiful to watch, Bronson. Just the way he moves. That body is so sculpted, so perfect in every way as all his muscles work in harmony. It’s music in motion, a song I could bear having on endless repeat.
What I’d give to make him my boyfriend, and not the man staring at me through the glass.
“You getting out, or what?” Gunter asks from the other side of my window.
I nod, reaching for the handle as he backs away to let me open the door. All eyes remain on me as I stand, pulling my bag out behind me. “I’m tired. I think I’ll head straight to the shower.”
“Wait up, remember?” Gunter instructs, watching me like a hawk as I make my way indoors.
Taking a final look at the three of them, I close the door behind me and sink to the floor in the dark. I wallow in a crumpled mess, feeling defeated at the starting line as I stare out at the slip of light spilling from the kitchen. What the fuck was I thinking when I started sleeping with Gunter? I’m no idiot; I knew he was the jealous type. Possessive shouldn’t then come as a surprise.
The rumble of his Dodge disturbs the quiet of the house as the car rolls out of the driveway. I drag my languid body to stand, dumping my tote behind the sofa before I make my way down the hallway to our bedroom. Throwing my hand around the doorframe as I pass, I flick the bathroom light on, spilling yellow hues across the carpet and lighting the remainder of my path.
Everything hurts: my legs, my chest, and my fucking heart. I’m tired of this game, frustrated at the lack of progress. The moment Eddie gave away that he knew about my past, I latched on to that with frantic fingers, hoping he’d uncover the truth. But as time passed and Hank left us alone and unguided, I slowly uncovered the truth about Eddie—that he’d never do a single thing to benefit somebody other than himself without there being a kickback in the long run.
I don’t offer any returns, and therefore he’s never going to help me.
I deluded myself with the idea that I could find a way to extort the information from him, blackmail him. But years have passed and the road to travel just keeps growing and fucking growing. The end is so far away that success seems impossible. But it’s all I have left to hold on to; the alternative is certain death for my soul. I can’t bring myself to admit that my crazy plan might have been just that—crazy. I can’t bring myself to admit that I’ve already failed, and that every day from here on out is some sort of living hell. I’ve buried myself too deep.
I don’t bother turning the light on in our room, choosing to flop on my back on the bed in the dark and stare up at the pale shadows cast over the ceiling. What happened to the iron will I had, pushing me towards my goal? Where did that stubborn drive go? What took it away?
A six-foot skinhead did.
Without anybody to love, to care for, or desire, life with Gunter was so much more straightforward. I was a girl with a mission, an objective, and nothing would distract me from that. But meeting Bronson changed everything because for once in my cold, shut-off adulthood, I felt something. And now I don’t know if what I’ve been doing—lying amongst the snakes—has been worth it. I feel like a stupid girl playing pretend, a stupid girl who’s bound to get hurt.
What if Eddie never tells me why Harris killed my parents? What if I never find out what it was they did that led a friendly assassin to their door? What then? What reason do I have to get up in the morning? I’ve made this stupid mission my life, to the point where I don’t have a life.
Outside of Gunter, anyway.
Is the risk worth the reward anymore? Maybe I should just go; jump out that fucking window tonight and beg Bronson to take me away from this. Perhaps it’s time to cut my losses, admit I failed, that I never had a chance at winning, and start again.
Perhaps it’s time to remember who the real Ryan is.
Dragging my sorry ass from the bed, I head over and smack the light switch on, bathing our room in the stark white light of the central bulb. My feet scuff the carpet, hesitant to carry me across to the wardrobe. I throw the doors open, staring in at the mess of clothes. If I’m going to have a chance at breaking free tonight I need Gunter sated and unsuspicious. I have to do the thing I loathe most and give him that favor.
Shaking, and fighting the quiver of my chin, I reach out and tug my dresses to the side to reveal the damn outfit he wants me to wear. My stomach sinks as I pull the hanger off the rail and bring the ensemble out into the light. My chest is tight, my lungs starving for enough air while I carry the damn outfit to the bed so I can lay it out. The design is impeccable, the tailoring something to behold. I can see as I spread it out why Gunter paid so much for this genuine collector’s item.
Regardless of how beautifully classic the style is, I could never stomach wearing it. Somehow I managed to hide the damn clothing before he realized, stashing it away for two clear months before he asked me why he’d never seen me in it.
Because I feel her evil in me when the fabric touches my skin. Wearing the dress makes me every part the narrow-minded assholes they are, and I’m not one of them. I refuse to be a damn Nazi. I live with two of them, but that’s as far as my involvement in their racist exercises goes.
I run my fingers over the fabric, a chill spreading over my skin as I flatten the gray ensemble made for and worn by Ilse Koch, wife of SS member Karl Koch. I Googled her after Gunter gave me the gift. He was so damn excited about it, telling me the elaborate story of how long he’d been searching for something so ‘special’ for me. All I’d been able to do was stare at what I was reading, vowing never to wear the damn thing.
Ilse Koch was notorious for having the Jews who came in to her husband’s concentration camp skinned, and taking the segments of flesh with intricate tattoos on them in order to create book covers and lampshades from the tanned hide. Although it was never proven to be true, it was instrumental in her trial, which tells me it’s real enough.
The woman was a damn monster, and Gunter wants me to wear her dress because the thought of being that close to such an evil Nazi woman turns him on.
I can’t do it. I have to. I have no choice. My fingertips trail over the buttons, each plastic disc burning my flesh when I think of her putting this on. What disgusting things did she do while wearing this? Whose blood was spilled on this dress?
I sink to my knees where I stand, sitting back on my heels as I stare at the garment with glazed eyes. This is my life, this is what I’ve made it, and the fact I’ve decided that I should wear this dress to make Gunter happy rather than starting an argument shows me how unaffected with this life I’ve become. I’m willing to place aside my morals and sell myself for an easy exit. I’m content to live with the knowledge I did this, just to save myself the grief of fighting for my freedom.
A sole tear breaks free and runs over my cheek as I stare at my life condensed into a gray dress. No matter how badly I want to convince myself the ride from hell is almost over, I can still see the truth for what it is—I’ve been given the wheel on this speed trap and I’m only getting faster.
