The Probability of Violet and Luke

Chapter 4

Luke

I’m in deep shit but I’m still trying to figure out if I care. Some pop song plays from the surround sound, empty glasses cover the table, and I’ve doubled my money, mainly because I’m cheating and very carelessly too. I should probably be more cautious, but I continue to ride high, drinking shot after shot with a curvy brunette on my lap. I’ve gotten everything I was looking for when I came here and I feel good for the most part, except for that goddamn spot in my heart that’s screaming at me to stop. That there’s something better than this out there for me. But what my fucking heart doesn’t get is that she doesn’t want me.

There are three other guys sitting at the table—Geraldson, the owner of the house, a big bulky dude—and the other two about the same height and weight as me—Carson and I think Dougford, who doesn’t trust me. They’re older and rougher than the usual crowd I play with. I think I even saw a gun tucked into the back of Geraldson’s pants when I walked up to the table. Toverson is out on the back deck, talking to someone on the cellphone, but keeps glancing through the door in my direction, giving me a look of warning.

“You in or out?” Carson asks, fanning through his chips as he tries to read my bluff.

I glance down at the eight of hearts and queen of spades in my hand and then at the four cards on the table; a five, seven, nine, and a jack. I’m about to fold, but then the brunette slants forward and presses her tits against my chin, giving me a face full of cleavage.

“Just go for it,” she whispers in my ear, tickling her finger up and down the back of my neck. “It’s so hot when guys are risky like that.”

I’m about to tell her to fuck off, reach into my pocket and take out one of the cards I have hidden in there, but Dougford is watching my every move from across the table, so I toss the chips in, figuring I’ll lose one hand to make my wins look more legit. “I’m in.” I say, being cocky for no goddamn reason.

Carson gives me an arrogant grin in return, but I think he’s pretending he’s got something when he doesn’t. I relax back in the chair and grope the brunette’s hips while the dealer flips over the river card. It’s a two. Shit. I have absolutely nothing. Normally, I’d fold or switch my cards, but I remind myself to lose a hand and match the bet.

He grins like a prick as he lays his cards down and reveals that he has a pair of queens. I know the odds of that are pretty low, making me think that he might be cheating so I decide no more cautious playing—I’m cheating with every hand that I can from now on.

It takes a lot not to shove the brunette off my lap and lean over and punch the grin off his face. To calm myself down, I pour myself another shot from the Tequila bottle on the table. I barely feel the burn anymore—barely feel anything at all.

It’s Geraldson’s turn to deal so he collects the cards while Dougford takes out a couple of cigars from a wooden box that’s beside him. He smells one of them, then gives Geraldson and Carson each one.

“You smoke?” he asks me in his raspy voice.

I shrug and take the cigar he’s offering, figuring it might keep me content until I can step outside to have a smoke. People are so weird sometimes. No smoking cigarettes in the house, but cigars are perfectly okay.

I light up and inhale, but it’s not enough to soothe the hunger inside me, so I end up putting it out in the ashtray after three puffs.

“What? Not good enough for you?” Carson asks, separating his chips in to color coordinated piles.

I reach for the cards Gerard dealt me. “No, it’s just not what I usually smoke.” My tension starts to unravel when I see the ace in my hand. I’ve been waiting for the damn ace to show up so I could use the one I have up my sleeve. Pocket aces.

I’m trying not to grin as I get ready for the game to get going, when the front door swings open and a guy around my age wearing preppy clothes and a cocky smile walks into the room.

“Roy, man. What’s up?” Geraldson says, setting his cards face down on the table as he gets up from his chair to give the guy a one-handed hug.

“Not much,” Roy says as he steps aside to let someone else in that’s behind him and suddenly every single movement and noise around me fades.

Violet, fucking, Hayes.

She looks way too amazing, dressed in a short black dress that shows off her endless legs and the heels… god damn what I would do to fuck her with just those heels on. I’m seriously getting a hard on just thinking about it, which would be fine except the brunette on my lap must feel it pressing against her ass and she gets this look in her eyes like she thinks it’s from her and is considering acting on it. Suddenly I’m very aware that she’s on my lap. Through the fogginess in my mind, I debate whether I care or not. Violet and I are over. I shouldn’t care, but I do. I care so much that I hurry and push the brunette off of my lap, before Violet sees me.

But I move to late and her eyes find me like magnets and I’m metal just as I’m shoving the woman off. There’s a flash of jealousy in Violet’s eyes as she glares at the woman who’s gripping my shoulders to get her balance, and as disturbing as it is, I fucking love the sight of it in her eyes. That she still cares enough to get jealous.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Violet tears her gaze off me as Roy says something to her and the woman that was on my lap gives me a nasty look before heading into the kitchen to get a drink. Violet sticks out her hand to shake Geraldson’s hand, flashing him a fake smile—I know her well enough to know that’s not her real smile. Geraldson doesn’t stand a chance against whatever she’s got up her sleeve—whatever the reason is that she’s here. They say something to each other in low voices and I become very aware of why she’s here. Dealing. Motherfucking hell, this isn’t good. Not here with these guys. This isn’t the same as her little deals with college frat boys. These are hardcore bookies and I’m guessing hardcore dealers.

“Sit. Have a drink and play with us,” Geraldson says to Roy, gesturing at the table. Then he turns to Violet and arches his brow. “You like watching men play Texas Hold’em, sweet thing?”

She discretely glances at me from the corner of her eye with a look on her face that I can tell means she’s biting back a snide retort over Geraldson’s sexist remark. “Sure,” she says tightly.

“Good, then sit down, have a drink, and we’ll chat.” Geraldson grins and motions for her to sit down in an empty seat, the one beside me of all places. Violet looks tense, but still comes over and while she’s walking, Geraldson’s checking out her ass the entire way.

I expect Violet to waver before sitting but being the pro that she is, she manages to take a seat without so much as a flash of hesitation. She doesn’t look at me though, even when her leg brushes against mine from under the table, but it causes my breath to catch in my throat. Guess I’m losing on the who wants who more hand.

“Violet, this is Dougford, Carson,” Gerald starts with introductions as he sits down at the table and then each guy reaches across the table to shake Violet’s hand. Then he goes to me. “And this is Luke.”

Violet turns her head in my direction, her eyes sparkling. If I didn’t know better, I’d guess she was enjoying this. But how could she be when she can barely look at me in class? “It’s nice to meet you, Luke.” She raises her eyebrows slightly then sticks out her hand for me to shake.

Okay, so I guess we’re pretending like we don’t know each other then. “And it’s nice to meet you, Violet.” I exhale as I take her hand. Our skin comes into contact, the first time in two months. I think I’m going deaf. Blind. Or maybe it’s that she’s taking over all of my senses. My thoughts are swirling so fast that my pulse starts to pound and between that and the amount of alcohol in me, I think I might blackout.

“Breathe.” I swear to God she whispers this under her lips, but I’m not sure if it’s to herself or me. Then she flinches, blinking her attention away from me, and calmly pulls her hand away from mine.

Roy goes over to the bar area and pours Violet a drink. Whiskey I think by the amber liquid in the cup, then takes a seat himself. Violet casually gives the drink a sniff, then takes a large swallow, forcing back a gag before setting the glass down on a coaster. Then she sits back without so much as a glance in my direction as the cards are dealt, talking to Geraldson about quantities and other shit that makes me so infuriated I get distracted and more sloppy with each hand. I’m not being as careful as I should.

Get your act together. But it’s difficult when she’s chatting to a man with a gun tucked in the back of his pants about drugs.

“So you think you’d want how much on a regular basis?” Violet asks Geraldson. I wonder if Violet’s planning on screwing him over like she does with some of her clients. If so, I need to stop her. These are not the kind of people to be doing that to.

“An ounce to a quarter,” Geraldson says as he studies the cards in his hand intently.

Violet’s jaw tightens while I tense myself. It’s a big amount, definitely not those little dime bags she usually deals. She quickly reaches for the glass of whiskey and finishes it off to hide her nervousness and I have to wonder is she even knows what she’s getting into.

After a few large swallows, Violet sets the glass down on the coaster and collects herself. “Did you mention the amount to Preston?” she asks coolly.

Geraldson nods, nodding at the dealer to turn over the river card. “Yeah, he said you’d bring some samples with you today that we could test out.”

Violets nod, appearing composed on the outside, but I know her better than that. She’s uneasy, out of her element, as she reaches into her bra, pulls out a bag of weed, and tosses it onto the table on top of the chip pile.

“Nice,” Roy says, eyeing her breasts and the weed while Dougford nods in agreement.

Geraldson sets his cards face down, picks up the bag, opens it up, and smells the inside of it with an approving look on his face. “Mind if I light a bowl?” he asks Violet. “Just to taste for quality?”

“That’s what it’s for,” she replies, starting to fidget with her hands below the table.

Geraldson gets up to get a pipe and Violet glances around the room as if she’s searching for an escape route. “Could one of you boys point me to the ladies restroom?”

Nodding, Roy eagerly gets to his feet. “Yeah, let me show you.” There’s an excited look on his face, like a guy going to get a blowjob as they walk out of the room together and that stupid fire erupts inside my chest again and I’m unsure how to put it out. Or whether I even should.

Violet

I want to bang my head against the wall. “God dammit, Preston. That’s too much weed to deal without some heavy consequences.” It makes me wonder who the fuck these guys are exactly that they’d need that much weed. One of them is carrying a gun for hells sakes. Yeah, I’m a tough ass and have seen it all and it’s not like I’m terrified. In fact, the danger adds adrenaline. But the idea of going to jail is not appealing, even for an adrenaline junkie.

After I get into the bathroom, blowing off Roy’s remark of how perfect my mouth would look on his cock, I lock myself in and try to decide what to do. I want to bail, not just from this place, but from this lifestyle, but how do I escape the only thing I know?

“Things were so much easier when I was with Luke,” I mutter under my breath, grasping onto the edge of the bathroom counter as the truth nearly sends me to the floor. “Dammit, this is bad.” I rest my head against the mirror behind me, thinking about how Luke is here and how destiny is a real bitch, putting us together like this again. But deep down I know it’s not destiny. The probability of us ending up together like this, under the same roof, has always been high, since we both live the same risky lifestyles in the same damn town. I just wish the probability of us working out was higher. “What the hell am I going to do?” I mumble.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Go away, Roy!” I shout, knowing I’m being unprofessional, but not caring at the moment. “I’m not giving you a blowjob.”

There’s a pause. “Violet open up.” Luke’s voice floats through from the other side of the door. “It’s me… Luke.” Like he has to say his name—his damn gorgeous voice is branded into my mind for all eternity.

I raise my head up and scowl at the door. “Go away Luke.”

“No… Look, I get that you don’t want to have anything to do with me—I really do—but you’re in over your head here.”

I inch over to the door and place my hand on it, closing my eyes and picturing him on the other side doing the same thing, even though I’m sure that’s not true. But I can see him in my mind, the most intense brown eyes I’ve ever seen. His lips that I know are the softest and gentlest I’ve ever kissed. His lean arms that made me feel safe once. And it’s okay for me to picture this as long as we have a barrier between us like the door. “You don’t think I know that? I know I’m in deep shit. Trust me. I knew it the moment I walked in.”

It takes a second for him to answer. “I think you might think you know that, but you’re not walking away so… I want to help you.”

“I don’t want your help.” I open my eyes when he doesn’t respond and reach for the doorknob, figuring he did what I asked and decided to leave me alone, since he’s been good about giving me space. But when I open the door, he’s still standing on the other side and he comes barreling in without warning, forcing me back into the bathroom and then slamming the door behind us and locking it.

He’s panting, as if all worked up as he leans back against the door and just stares at me in the most unnerving way that makes me all fidgety. There’s too little space between us… too little breathing room… I need to breathe… I need to rip his clothes off… I think the whiskey I drank earlier has burnt away my rationality.

I shake the last thought from my head. “What do you want?” I finally ask in a clipped tone, crossing my arms and refusing to look away from him, even though I desperately want to. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He gives his head a little shake, muttering something under his breath before standing up straight. “Why are you here?”

I gape at him. “I was here first. You’re the one that followed me back here and then forced your way in here.”

He dithers then takes a tentative step toward me, forcing me to take a step back toward the towel rack. “I mean here at Geraldson’s house?” he asks. “You don’t want to be messing around with these people, Violet.” He glances at the shut door then his concerned gaze lands on me. “This isn’t the same as those frat guys you fuck over.”

“You don’t think I know that?” I hiss. “But I don’t have a choice, do I? I live with Preston and this is how I pay him for that.”

“Pay him?” He lets out a flabbergasted laugh as he spans his hands to the side and takes another step toward me, slightly unstable on his feet, which means he’s probably drunk. “The guy is a fucking asshole. You don’t owe him anything… you shouldn’t even be with him.”

I take a step back and then another until I’m bumping into the wall and the towel rack is pressed against my side. I have nowhere else to go besides the shower or out the window. Being in the confined space with whiskey soaring in my system is making the air buzz electrically and my brain foggy. I need to get out… but I kind of don’t want to. “Well, I don’t really have a choice, do I?” I say. “Since I have nowhere else to live at the moment besides the streets.”

His face drains of color and then he reaches out to touch me, as if to soothe me, but I lean my head away as far as it will go. He freezes, appearing horrified. “Why are you so afraid of me?” he asks, his hand lifelessly falling to his side. “I would never hurt you. Not on purpose anyway.”

“I know you wouldn’t, but it still hurts.” We’re talking in code and I want to cry, but I make those damn traitor tears to stay in my eyes. I never cry. Only once, when I found out about Luke’s mother and I promised myself never again—I’m stronger than that. “And besides, I’m afraid of myself being near you, not the other way around.” And I’d like to thank the booze for the last comment.

He swallows hard. “I’m sorry.” His voice is barely audible, so much agony emitting from his eyes that it submerges me. He looks just like I feel and I want to make both of us feel better.

I’m not even sure what overcomes me, if it’s him, me, the powerful, lustful emotions blazing between us, the need to rip his clothes off, or the alcohol searing my veins, but I find myself stepping toward him. I haven’t forgotten or moved past what happened, but I let myself stop caring for a brief second, letting my walls down just enough that I can put my hand on his chest. He sucks in I sharp breath from the contact, his heart rate instantly quickening beneath my palm.

“Fuck,” he utters, then he’s leaning forward and I think he’s going to kiss me, but instead he just rests his forehead against mine. He breathes raggedly, in and out, in and out, his solid chest crashing into my breasts. I wait for him to touch me, but he doesn’t. Wait for him to do something, but he doesn’t. He’s motionless, like he’s giving me the chance to leave. I should. Just walk around him and go out the door. Never look back. But having him this close to me causes intense memories to flood my body, reminds me that being touched by a guy doesn’t have to feel wrong or dirty. That it can feel right. It did once with Luke and I selfishly want it again.

Suppressed emotions, alcohol, and a hunger I’ve never felt before possess me and suddenly I’m crashing my lips against his. He sucks in a startled breath, slanting back slightly as if to pull away, but then in a snap of a finger he’s grabbing me by the hips and yanking me against him as he seals his mouth to mine. The heat of him… the taste of him… it’s so potent… so wrong… so right… so confusing.

“I can stop,” he whispers against my mouth, his tongue parting my lips, his hand cupping the back of my head and tangling through my hair. He taste like Vodka and cherries and smells like cigarettes and cologne. Delicious and dangerous, for many different reasons.

I wonder if he actually would stop if I told him to. I don’t want to find out though. Not right now. So I arch my back into him and press my chest to his, while I delve deeper into the kiss, running my fingers along his scruffy jawline, being gentle where the bruise is. I’m remembering everything that went on between us… God, do I remember… and it feels so amazingly, blissfully good. Each graze of his lips and brush of his fingers feels like it’s erasing every unwanted touch over the last couple of months as if Luke has erasing super abilities.

His hands find my hips, his fingernails digging into my flesh as he forces me closer while he backs up, without breaking the kiss. He’s moving us somewhere… to the countertop. He leans me back, the edge digging into my back, before he picks me up and sets me down on it, positioning himself between my legs and our hips grind together.

“Oh my God….” I let out a porn star moan, but am completely unashamed as I try to rip off his shirt, but it doesn’t work like it does in the movies and I end up just stretching it out.

He lets out a soft chuckle at my failed attempt, but the noise gets caught in his throat. “You taste so much better than I remember,” he says in a husky voice before sucking my bottom lip into his mouth, deliberately, causing a slow burn to build inside me that only amplifies when his hands wander up the front of my thighs and underneath my dress. Needing to touch more of him, I sneak my fingers up the front of his shirt and feel the lean muscles flex beneath my hands. His breath falters as if I’m driving him mad. It’s different, somehow, from the last time we were together, like he’s gotten more vulnerable.

“I don’t want to let you go,” he says, between kisses as his fingers graze the edge of my panties, his movements rough and sloppy, built by desperation.

Suddenly I’m reminded why we haven’t touched each other in two months, and what I’ve been doing with Preston for two months, and why I should pull back. If I was a good person, I would. I’d put my parents above my horniness and just tell Luke what I let Preston do to me, how I let him touch me. I know it would get him to stop, but I guess I’m not a good person. Never really have been. And the adrenaline pulsating through my body, instilled by Luke’s touch and kisses, isn’t helping either.

Keeping my thoughts to myself, I slant against the mirror behind me, surprising him at first as out lips disconnect. His eyelids lift open and he’s worried that I’m stopping this, but I grab the front of his shirt and draw him to me until our lips reunite. Then we kiss each other deeply, our tongues entangled, his fingers slipping into my panties and inside me and I bite down on his lip as his touch brings me pleasure not pain and shame like I thought it would, like Preston’s does.

At one point, Luke leans back slightly, watching me as I get lost, drifting away from the reality that I wake up hating every day, while holding onto him, moments later falling apart in his arms. There’s a pause as the haze and heat leave my body and mind and I can tell he thinks I’m going to bail—I can see it in his eyes. I have no intentions on doing so and I slant forward to kiss him again. But right as our lips brush, we’re interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Luke, get the fuck out here.” Another loud bang and the whole door rattles. “We have a huge fucking problem we need to discuss.”

I feel Luke’s muscles go rigid as he moves away and stares at the door, trying to figure something out as he scratches his head. Recollection slowly clicks across his face and he staggers away from the door, patting the back pockets of his jeans before rummaging around in all of them. “Fuck, I’m screwed.” He pats his plaid shirt pocket and lets out a frustrated breath.

I hop off the counter and readjust my dress over my legs. “What’s wrong?”

He swiftly shakes his head. “It’s nothing.” Without looking at me, he blows out a breath. “You need to go.” His gaze finally resides on me and through the drunken dazedness I detect a hint of fear. “Walk out of here, leave this fucking house, and don’t come back.”

Someone knocks against the door again. “Luke, if you don’t get out here now, I’m going to have to bust the fucking door down and that’s just going to piss Geraldson off more.”

I shake my head, tucking wilds strands of my hair behind my ears. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what you did,” I tell Luke, but then seconds later I put two and two together “Did you cheat?”

He puts his finger to his lips, urging me to be quiet. “I always do,” he whispers.

“We found the fucking ace that fell out of your pocket!” The guy shouts from the other side. There’s a deafening bang as he probably rams himself into the door. “I warned you not to do this man!”

“Shit, we have to get you out of here…” He scans the bathroom for another way besides out the door and into the wrath of a very angry, very big guy who probably has a gun.

It seems like I should be more worried than I am, but this is nothing new to me. I’ve been chased down by people I’ve ripped off before, on more than one occasion—it’s how I met Luke. I know there’s more danger considering who the people are, but at the same time that sick addiction of mine is manifesting and telling me to bask in it because it’ll erase the emotions trying to shove up inside me, emotions Luke’s fingers and lips just brought out in me.

Still, I search for another way out of the bathroom and then remember that there’s a window near the shower. “Jackpot,” I say as I walk over to the shower, step inside, and lift the window up. A gentle breeze blows in as I stare down the three-story drop. Not too bad. Doable maybe.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Luke gapes at me as I pop out the screen, letting it fall to the ground below then stick my head out to calculate what I’m up against. No fences. There are cars down there, but hey it wouldn’t be the first time I had to land on a car before. “We’re on the third floor for God sakes.”

“Yeah but that… could be… doable…” I glance over my shoulder at him and am alarmed by the fear in his eyes. But then I think of his sister and how she committed suicide in an act similar to this and feel sort of bad. But still, the other alternative isn’t that great. “I’ll go first if you want me to.”

Shaking his head, he snatches ahold of my wrist. “I don’t want you going anywhere outside the window. I fucking mean it Violet.”

Sighing, I stick my head out, ignoring how tight his grip gets on my arm as I look for other options and moments later find one. “There’s a fire escape just at the corner… and the ledge is pretty thick. We can walk on it and then climb down the fire escape.”

“No.” His voice is firm and so is his hold. “I won’t—”

He’s cut off by the sound of the door being crashed into again, this time to the point where the hinges start to give in. While he’s distracted, I slip my arm out of his hand and hurry and climb out. Whoa, head rush. I brace my hands and back against the wall as the wind slams against my cheeks and hair.

Luke curses under his breath, reaching for my ankle as I balance up on the ledge. My heart thrashes, excited, nervous, terrified. This is everything I need at the moment and I calmly crouch down and extend my hand to Luke.

“Come on,” I say, so calm it’s terrifying, how terror can settle me. “It’s not so bad. I promise.”

He starts to protest but the banging grows louder and without any more hesitation, he’s grabbing my hand and ducking out, his body shivering either from the fear of heights or the fact that there’s a guy with a gun about to break down the door.

Luke works to catch his breath as he stands beside me, staring down at the three-story fall, his eyes wide. “Shit, this is intense… I seriously hate heights.”

Still holding onto his hand, I inch my way across the ledge with my back pressed against the side of the building, guiding him with me. “You act like you’ve never had to escape out a window before.” I cast him an amused glance in his direction, feeling way to at peace with the situation, but I can’t help it. This is what calms me, what distracts me, what makes the pain of being near him, quiet.

He has a tight grip on my hand as he moves with me, continuously keeping an eye on the ground below as his palms become sweaty. “You seem way too calm about this,” he notes, his gaze flicking to me. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d guess you were enjoying it.”

I shrug, not able to deny it. “I think you know me enough to know I’m not afraid of heights.”

He pauses, searching my eyes, and suddenly I feel like I’m a freak on display because I swear to God he sees my dirty little secret hidden inside me. “No, it’s not the lack of fear… but the presence of excitement that seems a little off for the situation.”

I try to think of something to say, but come up blank. Thankfully we reach the fire escape and I put all my attention onto getting down it. I release his hand and duck beneath the bar and jump down onto the grated stairway. Right as Luke joins me, a large guy sticks his head out the window, looking as angry as one of my more abusive foster father’s I had for a brief two weeks when I was twelve.

“God dammit, Luke!” He rams his fist against the windowsill, debating whether to climb out and chase us or attempt to intercept us at the bottom.

“Go, go, go,” Luke urges me with a gentle push as the guy ducks his head back inside.

We race down the stairway, which shakes with our weight. Deep down, I understand just how serious of trouble we’re in, but the messed up side of me is thriving, fueled by the danger. By the time we reach the bottom, I’m nearly dizzy off the adrenaline high. It seems as if Luke can see it on my face, because he grabs my arm and helps me keep my balance as we race across the parking lot toward a subdivision near the condo complex.

“Where’s your truck?” I ask, breathless as we round the corner, glancing back at the condos.

Sweat drips down his forehead, even though it’s not hot outside, the clouds rolling in and thunder booming. “I walked here.” He pauses near the curb, glancing left and right then behind us. “I need to get you somewhere safe... away from them… and then I’ll go… lead them away…”

“I’ll go with you.” What the hell am I doing?

He looks like he has the exact same thought. “You want to go with me?”

I nod, knowing it’s so wrong because the main reason I’m agreeing to this is because I want the numbing high inside me to stay, at least that’s what I tell myself, not wanting to admit the real reason yet. “Yes.”

“I can’t… I can’t get you mixed up in this… it’s not right.”

“Too late. I already am. And I did this to myself.”

He frowns and I think he’s going to argue more, even though he should already know by now that he won’t win, but then he gives in and we jog up the street together, heading into the unknown.