Insidious
Page 104
I knew that what he was saying was true. I didn’t want to believe it, but deep down I knew it. My body shuddered with the truth that was on the tip of my tongue. With Travis still holding my shoulders, I whispered, “He was Peppermint Man.”
“Peppermint Man? What do you mean?” Travis asked, puzzled, as he released me.
I sat up. Realizing that I was still wearing my blouse and panties, I pulled the sheet around my waist and tried to explain, “There were some of the friends—I fucking hate that goddamned term—some who I identified by scents. One of them was kind…” My shoulders shuddered as I wiped my eyes with the sheet. “…or seemed comparatively kind. I named him Peppermint Man. He was the one I was with the day Stewart died.”
“Yes.”
“That was him… Brody.”
Travis nodded.
I shook my head in disbelief. “But he never told me he was there. He led me to believe…” I couldn’t stop the pain in my chest or the tears. I hated tears. Tears were weak. I wasn’t weak. I didn’t want to be weak, but the pain was unbearable.
“Victoria?” Travis said, gently wiping my tears with his thumb. “He was one of them. He worked with the Durantes, just like others at Craven and Knowles. He’s so fucking entrenched in their shit. I’m not saying he didn’t help you. Hell, he may have even had feelings, but you’re a fucking wealthy woman. There are assholes out there who’ll say and do anything. You weren’t the one to tell him about what happened at the warehouse: he knew what you were doing. He was fucking doing it to you.”
“How Travis, how? How did he get ill?”
The bed moved as he shifted. “I don’t know. The only thing I can figure is that he went to the warehouse after we left. I can go check it in the morning and see if anyone has been there. I’ll be able to tell if anyone’s used their code. If he did… if he went to the warehouse, maybe he found the gloves and shit.”
“And shit? Like the crop and Parker’s fucking come when he jacked off?” If he did, he knew I lied.
“Victoria,” Travis said. “I didn’t clean up anything. If he went down there and started handling things, hell, even the crop, I don’t know. He could have exposed himself to it.”
“You said I can’t trust assholes, they’ll do or say anything. You’re an asshole. Can I trust you?”
A large hand found my face and smoothed back my hair. “Have I ever claimed not to be an asshole?”
“No,” I replied, relishing the warmth of his hand as well as his honesty.
“I don’t know if you can trust me, but I can tell you, I’ve always been straight with you.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“What?” Travis asked, “When wasn’t I?”
“In the car, when I accused you of being nice.”
He leaned closer. “Oh.” His tone dropped an octave. “I wasn’t lying. I’m not nice, and I do want to fuck you.”
Oh fuck!
“BUT YOU’RE NOT allowed to touch me,” I whispered. “Ever,” I added, unsure of my own voice.
“I told you…” Travis’ large hands caressed my arms sending trails of fire and desire straight to my core. “…I’m not honorable.” He lowered his voice: it was the tone I used to find intimidating. “I want to touch you, and I fucking want you to touch me. However, if I’m going to be straight with you, I did lie about one thing.”
“What?” I asked breathily.
“I’m not into biting and getting kicked in the balls.”
A small grin came to my lips.
“So…” His hands continued roaming the length of my arms. Finding my hands, his fingers intertwined with mine. “…I want you to see me…” He brought my hand to his lips and sucked the tip of each finger. “…and I want you to want me, as much as I fucking want you.”
I bit my lower lip. “Travis, I-I don’t know.”
“I understand.” He moved toward me slowly, pushing me against my pillows. Inhaling deeply, he nuzzled my neck. “You talk about scent,” he whispered, his warm breath on my collarbone. “You said it was the way you could identify people.”
I nodded.
“Do you know how you fucking smell?”
I shook my head.
“You fucking smell like freedom, like sunshine and wind on the goddamned beach.”
I looked up at his dark eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“For years you’ve smelled like a prisoner in a fucking dungeon.” He inhaled again. “Not that you haven’t had all your fancy-assed perfumes and lotions, but that place hung around you like a cloud. It’s gone, all of it. You’re fucking free and I can smell it.”
I felt my cheeks rise.
“When you’re ready, if you’re ready—because, Victoria, it’s your choice—I want to taste it.”
“It?”
“Your freedom. I know everything. I know things you thought you’d kept hidden from Phillips. This is freedom. When someone knows everything and wants you for you, for your fucking strength, for the way you faced Albini, for the way you screwed Craven, for everything you are and despite everything you’ve been through. I want to taste that freedom, to drink it from your sexy as hell lips, from your perfectly round tits, and your fucking inviting pussy.”
“Peppermint Man? What do you mean?” Travis asked, puzzled, as he released me.
I sat up. Realizing that I was still wearing my blouse and panties, I pulled the sheet around my waist and tried to explain, “There were some of the friends—I fucking hate that goddamned term—some who I identified by scents. One of them was kind…” My shoulders shuddered as I wiped my eyes with the sheet. “…or seemed comparatively kind. I named him Peppermint Man. He was the one I was with the day Stewart died.”
“Yes.”
“That was him… Brody.”
Travis nodded.
I shook my head in disbelief. “But he never told me he was there. He led me to believe…” I couldn’t stop the pain in my chest or the tears. I hated tears. Tears were weak. I wasn’t weak. I didn’t want to be weak, but the pain was unbearable.
“Victoria?” Travis said, gently wiping my tears with his thumb. “He was one of them. He worked with the Durantes, just like others at Craven and Knowles. He’s so fucking entrenched in their shit. I’m not saying he didn’t help you. Hell, he may have even had feelings, but you’re a fucking wealthy woman. There are assholes out there who’ll say and do anything. You weren’t the one to tell him about what happened at the warehouse: he knew what you were doing. He was fucking doing it to you.”
“How Travis, how? How did he get ill?”
The bed moved as he shifted. “I don’t know. The only thing I can figure is that he went to the warehouse after we left. I can go check it in the morning and see if anyone has been there. I’ll be able to tell if anyone’s used their code. If he did… if he went to the warehouse, maybe he found the gloves and shit.”
“And shit? Like the crop and Parker’s fucking come when he jacked off?” If he did, he knew I lied.
“Victoria,” Travis said. “I didn’t clean up anything. If he went down there and started handling things, hell, even the crop, I don’t know. He could have exposed himself to it.”
“You said I can’t trust assholes, they’ll do or say anything. You’re an asshole. Can I trust you?”
A large hand found my face and smoothed back my hair. “Have I ever claimed not to be an asshole?”
“No,” I replied, relishing the warmth of his hand as well as his honesty.
“I don’t know if you can trust me, but I can tell you, I’ve always been straight with you.”
“No, you haven’t.”
“What?” Travis asked, “When wasn’t I?”
“In the car, when I accused you of being nice.”
He leaned closer. “Oh.” His tone dropped an octave. “I wasn’t lying. I’m not nice, and I do want to fuck you.”
Oh fuck!
“BUT YOU’RE NOT allowed to touch me,” I whispered. “Ever,” I added, unsure of my own voice.
“I told you…” Travis’ large hands caressed my arms sending trails of fire and desire straight to my core. “…I’m not honorable.” He lowered his voice: it was the tone I used to find intimidating. “I want to touch you, and I fucking want you to touch me. However, if I’m going to be straight with you, I did lie about one thing.”
“What?” I asked breathily.
“I’m not into biting and getting kicked in the balls.”
A small grin came to my lips.
“So…” His hands continued roaming the length of my arms. Finding my hands, his fingers intertwined with mine. “…I want you to see me…” He brought my hand to his lips and sucked the tip of each finger. “…and I want you to want me, as much as I fucking want you.”
I bit my lower lip. “Travis, I-I don’t know.”
“I understand.” He moved toward me slowly, pushing me against my pillows. Inhaling deeply, he nuzzled my neck. “You talk about scent,” he whispered, his warm breath on my collarbone. “You said it was the way you could identify people.”
I nodded.
“Do you know how you fucking smell?”
I shook my head.
“You fucking smell like freedom, like sunshine and wind on the goddamned beach.”
I looked up at his dark eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“For years you’ve smelled like a prisoner in a fucking dungeon.” He inhaled again. “Not that you haven’t had all your fancy-assed perfumes and lotions, but that place hung around you like a cloud. It’s gone, all of it. You’re fucking free and I can smell it.”
I felt my cheeks rise.
“When you’re ready, if you’re ready—because, Victoria, it’s your choice—I want to taste it.”
“It?”
“Your freedom. I know everything. I know things you thought you’d kept hidden from Phillips. This is freedom. When someone knows everything and wants you for you, for your fucking strength, for the way you faced Albini, for the way you screwed Craven, for everything you are and despite everything you’ve been through. I want to taste that freedom, to drink it from your sexy as hell lips, from your perfectly round tits, and your fucking inviting pussy.”
