The Broken Pieces of Us (The Devil's Dust #2.1)

I look back at the carrots I’m chopping, my cheeks hurling a shade of red that has me annoyed. Do I want Bull? Yes. It’s been months since I had sex, but I know having sex with him would be crossing a line. But I can’t help but yearn for Bull. He is tall, dark, and handsome. His hair is just starting to shows some flecks of grey, which make him look distinguished and sexy. His body is in great shape. He must still work out ‘cause there is no flab to speak of. The few nights I have spent here, I have woken up before him and have seen his morning wood, which is mighty impressive.

“Well, you’re about to take a day off. Let’s go,” Bull states. I drop my knife and look over my shoulder at him, wondering who he is talking to.

“What?” I ask, confused. Before I can ask anything else, he grabs my forearm and pulls me out of the kitchen and toward the front doors of the club. We are leaving? Together?

“I can’t. What if Locks—”

“He ain’t getting up for a while; he just went to bed with…” He stops himself. “He just went to bed and won’t be up for a while,” he states again.

I bite my bottom lip, looking down the hall where Locks is staying in an adjacent room.

I look back up at Bull, his bright green eyes looking at me, waiting for my answer.

“Okay,” I mutter. Why not?

***

I look down the road and notice the Santa Monica Pier coming into view as I ride on the back of Bull’s bike. As long as I have lived here, I have never been there, and don’t plan to go anytime soon. I’m afraid of heights. Bull pulls back on the throttle and we fly forward, racing down the road. The hot sun makes the breeze feel cool and refreshing mixed with Bull’s smell of aftershave and leather. I inhale deeply; I can’t get enough of the scent. I notice the big Ferris wheel, which the pier is famous for, coming closer as we go forward, making my eyes furrow in confusion.

“Where are we going?” I yell, trying to shout over the wind and loud motor. Bull doesn’t reply; he takes his hand off the handlebar and points toward the Ferris wheel.

“No way! You better turn around now!” I yell, my grip on his hips tightening. I feel his back rise and fall rapidly. He’s laughing at me, that fucker.

We pull up to the pier and Bull turns the motorcycle off.

“I am not going on any of those rides,” I inform stubbornly, not budging from my spot.

Bull throws his leg off the bike and places his helmet on the handlebars.

“Suit yourself, darlin’,” he replies casually. I roll my eyes, defeated. I don’t want to sit here all by myself. I throw my leg off the bike, toss my helmet on the handlebar, and place my hand on my hip, annoyed.

Bull chuckles and runs his hands through his hair.

“You’re a mess, Babs. You know that?” he says, his voice high in humor.

I purse my lips and nod, looking off at all the rides. Just the site of them makes my stomach fall.

“When is the last time you just had fun?” Bull questions. I flinch, his question like a slap to the face.

“I, well, I m-mean…” I stutter. I can’t think of the last time I did anything for fun, or anything else for myself for that matter.

“Exactly, now come on. We’ll go on one ride, and I’ll even buy one of those damn funnel cake things,” Bull bargains, grabbing my hand. His touch shoots flames up my arm, causing my palm to sweat. Such a simple gesture, yet my body reacts critically to it.

He pulls me down the wooden boardwalk, the smell of salt water and food lingering in the air. The closer we get, the louder the screaming and laughing. His large hand still holding mine has my whole body catching on fire, causing me to sweat uncontrollably. I inhale. Get a grip, Delilah.

Bull steps up to the long line behind the ticket booth and grabs our tickets.

“Shall we?” he asks, his hand pointed out toward the Ferris wheel. I smile and lead the way.

We stand in line behind several couples, some with children. Locks and I tried for children the first year and half we were together, but we never succeeded. Maybe that’s why our relationship failed.

“So you’ve never been here?” Bull asks, tilting his head to look at me, breaking my train of thought.

“Nope,” I reply. Bull pulls his lips tight, like he can’t believe it.

“Been here a few times, but not for a while,” he says, looking out at the games lining the way, his black and silver hair slightly shifting with the breeze. The line finally moves forward and allows a few people at a time to get on the ride.

“Watch your step,” the carnie warns, as we are up next to get in our death contraption. It’s yellow with a little blue umbrella hanging above it. I take a step in and it sways from my weight.

“Uh…” I remark, my voice shaky.