Her Forbidden Threeway

“This was a bad idea,” she thought as she exited the store, the muggy air hitting her face and causing her nose to wrinkle.

*****

On the bus ride back home, it was there that Reade spotted her father’s truck. She took it upon herself to grab her bag and rush down the aisle, urging the bus driver to stop, much to his annoyance. She leapt off the stairs and began running towards the lot the vehicle had been left in. The paint was thoroughly chipped, and both of the back tires had popped and were run down the metal that supported them.

Reade’s heart was beating erratically and her skin was sweating to a thin sheen. She checked the front for any sign of her father, though he wasn’t there and her heart sank.

Across the road, there was a small, run down diner and Reade charged her way across the street. From the outside, she could see a man with a dark cloak and a hat. He was hunched over a table, conversing with her father. He didn’t look like his usual protective, fatherly concerned self. He looked strong. He looked cocky and boyish with the sense that he had both the confidence to be a singular man or one with an army behind him.

The sight shocked Reade. Though it didn’t stop her from moving forwards. She entered the diner and moved hesitantly to the stools at the bar. She sat on one of them, a rainstorm beginning outside and causing the public to swarm in for shelter, hiding her from plain sight.

Reade ordered herself a milkshake and scavenged for the dollars that sat lonely in the bottom of her purse; paying and drinking. Her father’s laughter brought her back to the reality that she was in and she snapped her head to the left, watching him slam his fist on the table. It wasn’t happiness, but a sign of frustration and irritation. She wanted to walk over to him. She wanted to first make sure that he was okay and then demand that he tell her where he’s been. But it didn’t look like any ordinary conversation her father was having. It looked sinister.

The man with the hat and cloak leaned away, his hands up in a gesture that said he didn’t mean any harm. Her father didn’t seem to care. He pulled out a briefcase and unfolded it’s lid, prying out a shimmering gold sack that was small enough to fit in a pocket.

The stranger reached into his own briefcase and pulled out something disguised in a black box and the trade commenced when both men had their gifts. Reade pushed from the stool in that instant, one foot on the floor, making her father a destination to walk to. To interrogate.

“How could he be so foolish as to go radio silent?” Reade asked herself. “Especially after what happened to my mother, his wife, our everything?”

As Reade approached her father, someone grasped onto her upper arm, straying her back to her chair harshly. Reade whipped around, her waves of fiery red lashing into the air, bright and outstanding against the dreariness of the rainy day.

Scott Moffatt. The other brother that co-owned Drakon, was leering over her. His buzzed hair of blonde made him appear older than what she assumed he was, whereas Jackson’s long hair made him youthful.

She was stunned for words.

“And here’s me hoping you’d lead me to your house,” Scott said with an almost longing, sitting down next her.

She frowned. “You followed me?” She asked, astonishment lacing her tone. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

Scott shrugged without a care and released her upper body; the strength of his hand leaving an impending bruise that she could already feel.

“I’m here because I overheard you speaking to my brother. You see, we never usually go anywhere without each other, so I’m usually… lurking… wherever he is,” Scott said as he tilted his head to get a better angle of Reade’s mixed expression of anger and terror. “You look a little shocked, Reade.”

Her name sounded weird in his mouth where his Scottish accent disfigured it.

“A little, yes,” Reade admitted, coughing to clear away the lump of confusion in her throat. “Care to tell me why you’re stalking me?”

Scott looked amused and he nestled his elbows on the diner counter, thinking before answering. “You have something that I want.”

Reade’s cheeks flared with an obvious blush that she had no hope of hiding. Much to her dismay, he quickly dismissed her gutter-based mind and continued on. “The book.”

“OH!” She thought.

Beyond Reade’s embarrassment, there was fear circulating through her veins. Fear from the eagerness she had seen in Jackson’s eyes when he spoke of the book, the hunger, the need to feed from its papery innards. She didn’t want anyone else to come into contact with it, especially since Jackson had told her not to let anyone see her with it. It had importance, that much she knew, but she couldn’t risk losing it, primarily because of the fact that it wasn’t hers to give away in the first place. It was her father’s.

Reade turned to look over to the table where he sat, as if his name was some type of trigger, though the overflowing crowd was beginning to bubble over.

“Reade,” Scott stated, trying to get her attention.

Reade turned back too suddenly and Scott’s face was inches before hers, his breath fanning across her lips. She didn’t flinch away from him, though her instincts told her that she should and it was one of the first times she ignored them.

“Reade, I’d highly appreciate it if you hand the book over,” Scott whispered, the sound barely audible through the chatter in the diner.

“And I’d appreciate if you get out of my personal space,” she countered, donning a twitch of her own smile.

Reade expected a comment of disgust, a dash to grab the bag she was squeezing so tightly, though Scott simply grinned. His mannish smile sent a jolt to her heart that caught her off guard. She wondered how it was possible for Jackson and Scott to look so identical, yet act so different. She found herself getting lost in the feelings she had for the both of them.

Scott relaxed back, seeming more at ease despite the attitude she had given him. He had liked it.

“I’ll fight you for it,” he said suddenly, causing her to laugh. His smile dropped and a more deadly apparition took his eyes.

Reade didn’t know whether he was serious or not.

“It’s not mine to give away, Scott,” she finally spoke, her fingers moving to grip the bottom of the glass. Her milkshake had descended from a sweet froth to an almost watery cream, though she sipped anyway. “Sorry.”

“I’ll pay you mightily in return,” he offered, his head tilting to the side to imply that his thoughts were elsewhere.

“I’m not interested,” Reade answered, staring ahead to where the waitress was overwhelmed with coffee and pancake orders, the bell chiming every ten seconds. “You can keep your money.”

“I’m not offering money,” he informed, his brow crooking. “You don’t need it.”

“Then what are you offering?”