Page 54 of Race With The Devil

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Unity

“I want you to tell me what you were thinking.”

We were settled down in Room #7 of a motel in Williams, one of those with a neon horse and cowboy for a sign. We saw it from miles off and pointed eagerly at it while blazing down Route 66. In the lobby, I wondered if Tanner would get one or two rooms—after all, I was letting him pay, since I imagined he had more money than me. I would settle for whatever decision he made.

He got two rooms.

I zipped into mine so I could shower the disgusting sweat of dogfighting and fentanyl from my pores and tear into a bowl load of indica. When I shampooed my hair with the cheap shit the motel gave for free, my mind immediately went to the time Tanner shampooed me in the salon. My emotions clashed so ardently I was practically sobbing as my fingertips scrubbed my scalp. My heart clenched upon itself as I tried to suppress the howl that would lead to a complete and utter breakdown.

It was as though my extreme emotions were damaging my heart muscles. I’m in love with Tanner Principato did not mesh with he did ten years for rape. When my fingers tangled in the shaved strip of hair between my legs, they automatically strayed to my bulging labia. The first few flicks of my fingers and I knew it’d be over within a minute. I wanted my mouth all over Tanner’s chest, his jacked abdomen.

I forced myself to stop touching myself. I didn’t want to become a slave to my hormones. If I was going to proceed with Tanner, it was going to be in a logical and thoughtful manner. I wasn’t going to fling myself at him like a crazed hyena.

Besides, what did that mean, “proceed with Tanner”? He lives in St. Louis, you idiot. Sure, he’d mentioned Prospecting for the Bare Bones, and wasn’t there something about med school at the U of A? I knew I should find out his plans.

When I emerged wrapped in a towel, I saw Tanner had put a brand new T-shirt on the bed. He must have gone to a convenience store. Well, at least I got a clean shirt, if not bottoms. I pulled the T-shirt on my braless torso, admiring the way the camping and hiking kokopellis illustrated the “Rim to Rim” Grand Canyon tagline. I smoked a bowl but couldn’t stop thinking of Tanner. Once again, he’d shown incredible bravery at Tutti’s compound. I didn’t know how they’d tracked me down, but they’d obviously found that obscure barbed wire gate to enter the property. And then, of course, Tanner had manfully bashed the plate glass window with a hammer.

And shot two men clean through the forehead. All because I’d been stupid enough to attempt to confront Tutti about what I knew.

Tanner could’ve easily buried Tutti. I thought I understood the reasoning behind not doing so. They wanted him alive to take responsibility for everything he’d done, all the people he’d killed, whether directly or inadvertently through his poisonous drugs. Everyone wanted to see that fucktard pay. Without involving pigs, as that wasn’t the Bare Bones way, we needed to offer Tutti up for a very public reckoning for his sins. That he hadn’t yet been killed in his lab by a concoction gone wrong only seemed to attest to his vast chemistry skills, particularly for a guy who’d never gone to college. But while he may be a chemical genius, he was no perfect murderer. He’d made a bunch of moronic blunders, none of which would be good enough to convict him in a murder trial, especially without a body. But the Bare Bones didn’t deal with prosecutions or trials. They knew who was guilty, and they proceeded from there. Although Tutti Morgan had pushed one of my best friends off a cliff and grossly humped my butt, it was the Bare Bones’ business to take him out. We were only the investigators.

I tapped the ashes from my bowl onto the glass tabletop and stood. I put the pipe into my front T-shirt pocket, even though it ruined the tight, sexy lines of the shirt, my nipples poking out between the flutes of the fertility deities. Adding a baggie of weed only ruined the lines more, so I planned on taking them out first thing when I got inside Tanner’s room.

I then realized I’d mostly forgiven him for taking the rap for his brother.

Should I condemn a man just because he’d shared cells with rapists and pedos? The Innocence Project had gotten him released at least a couple of years early, and he’d endured grievous torture the first ten. By turning against him, I was just prolonging the dues he’d paid for his one real mistake, which was serving time in place of Sonny. Society had cleared him of all charges to the point where even the Air Force had taken him. Why couldn’t I?

I could. I can do this.

Tanner didn’t answer his door, so eventually I walked in. He was in the shower, steam rolling from the open door. First thing, I put the weed and pipe onto his glass table, where a plastic cup and a bottle of Jameson’s sat. It looked like he’d only taken a few sips before showering. I should talk. I can’t go a day without pot. I drifted to the bed and, without thinking, picked up the Paws-n-Gauze T-shirt he’d been wearing at Tutti’s. Smashing it to my face, I buried my nose in it and inhaled deeply. Tanner’s strong pheromones actually sent shivers down my arms, puckering my nipples.

I inhaled again. The manly, musky scent almost gave me true to God biological urges. I wanted to race into the bathroom and jump into the shower with Tanner, wrap my thighs around his muscular hips, allow him to him penetrate me, pin me to the cheap tiles. His stiff nipples would rasp against mine and he’d splash my womb with his fertile load. Smelling his aroma was filling me with real baby fever.

Bellamy and I’d discussed that issue many times. Being infertile, could we truly have these hormonal cravings? Or did we plain old just want to get thoroughly reamed by a macho guy? Tossing the shirt down, I yanked my phone from my back jeans pocket. I thumbed rapidly to the shirtless photo of Tanner I’d stolen from his website. Cradling that little white dog like that, his pecs were pumped, juicy. How I fucking wanted to rub my face over that muscular chest, nibble those nipples, drop to my feet and inhale his long, succulent pole down my throat.

“Oh!” I cried loudly, tossing my phone onto the table. Why the fuck had I downloaded that photo? Now it was driving me insane.

As if seeing the man in the flesh would help, I took a few long strides to the bathroom. Tanner’s fuzzy, tanned image floated in and out between puffs of steam. He was practically belting out a tune as he soaped his chest, socking his lathered hands into his pits, turning and letting the water and sweat stream down his body.

Could he not see me? I was an obvious dark silhouette in an otherwise all-white bathroom. I moved a little from side to side, but it didn’t stop him. His hands slid lower, over his taut abdomen, fingers forking through the triangle of brown hair at his pubic bone. He took his time reaching under to cup his ballsac, slithering it through his soapy fingers, wagging his half-erect prick from side to side. Even at half-mast it was a beautiful, impressive penis, the wide glans glossy, the meat weighty as it swung from the V of his fingers.

Then he grabbed the whole length of it and tossed his head back. Feet spread apart near the drain, he used both hands to wash his dick. He was clearly taking pleasure in making long strokes from his pubis all the way down to the wide cap. The other hand kneaded his full scrotum. When his palm closed over the bulging glans, I know I gasped. I know I did, although how could he have heard it over the sound of the splashing water?

He froze, and I could’ve swore I saw his eyes open behind the foggy glass.

Shit! Should I stay, or should I go? Maybe he didn’t see me. Maybe something else had just popped into his head. If I moved now, he’d definitely see me. But if I stayed, I just looked like a giant letch.

Luckily for me, he moved first. Turning his back to the spray, he almost pointedly spread his ass cheeks to allow the water to sluice between them. At that point I would’ve fallen to my knees and licked his gorgeous asshole clean. His penis stood out at a severe right angle to the flat plane of his body, and he didn’t seem to care. I backed up a few inches when he turned to rinse his front, fisting his meat to cleanse his balls. Last, he rinsed his dick by wiggling the heavy organ back and forth. His shapely form turned once more to spray his back, and he boldly opened the shower door.

I boldly played dumb.

“Oh, hey, darlin’,” he said casually, whipping a towel off the rack. Even when he wrapped his hips in it, his erection stood out like a pork chop in a synagogue. The material was so cheap the outline of his mushroom head straining against what might well have been Kleenex was clearly visible. Wiping the mirror off with his palm, he seemed much more interested in his own reflection than in me. Was I relieved or disappointed? His haunches beneath the flimsy towel moved like a show horse’s when he took a step to whip another one to dry his torso. I wished I was that towel. My bold move was to step toward him and take control of the towel from him. He allowed me to do that as he leaned on his palms on the sink, his head lolling as I simultaneously dried and massaged his shoulders with the towel.

I was grateful to him for saving my stupid ass at Tutti’s. And I needed to find out his intentions.

“It’s been a long day,” he said into the sink.