Lightning Boy: A Taboo Love Story Read online

  Contents

  Title

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Thank You!

  About Lightning Boy

  About the Author

  Copyright

  LIGHTNING BOY

  A Taboo Love Story

  AMY J HEART

  ONE

  Eden

  BEFORE SAM DIED, he passed on two pieces of advice. One good and the other just plain weird.

  The good: if your heart aches every single time you look at someone—run and run fast—because it probably won’t end well. It sounded fair enough at the time, considering what he’d gone through with my mother. She left when I was three.

  And the weird: lightning never strikes the same place twice. Sorry? Was that even true? I suspected a little Googling would shoot that one down fast, but I didn’t pull out my cell to check. That would be a waste of time. And Dad didn’t have much of that left.

  Out of all the corny lines he could’ve chosen to pass on to his teenage daughter, those two were kind of lame. I longed for precious words I could hold close to my heart, pretty words that I could cling to over the years. So to be honest, I was disappointed.

  “Remember those two things, Edie,” he’d said, his bony fingers pinching my arm.

  I nodded obediently and kissed his gaunt cheek. Then in the rundown cottage on our ramshackle lavender farm, I slumped over the bed, watching the cancer chomp away at his body, and decided that the disease must have finally reached his brain.

  Why else would he waste his precious breath spouting mad theories about lightning?

  After he’d fallen asleep, I called his oncologist. And within the fortnight, Dad was dead.

  Then a whole six years later, it only took one meeting with a boy called L for me to realize that my father had been dead right, no pun intended, about the heartache bit. One look at that guy and he got under my skin, tore my heart out.

  And not long after making L’s acquaintance, I knew for sure that Dad had been wrong about the second thing—about lightning.

  It could strike the same place twice. And the same person, too.

  Repeatedly.

  I was hard evidence, because that boy was Lightning with a capital L. And he blew me into pieces several times over.

  And one horrible day, when I knew L a little better, I stared into his furious neon eyes that were way too close to mine, and all I could think was—why? Why the hell hadn’t I run and run fast?

  Just like Sam had told me to.

  TWO

  Eden

  I HATE COOP.

  The sweaty, dead-eyed, sleazy-pig bastard. And this might seem a little over the top, but I wouldn’t mind killing him one day.

  I don’t know when. Or how. He’s an ex-cop, and a dirty one, too, so it won’t be easy to achieve. But as I watch his name—appropriately saved as The Devil—flash across my phone screen, I fantasize the hell out of it. Picture wrapping my fingers around his filthy throat, wishing my hands would miraculously morph into giant, stronger ones.

  But who am I kidding? When I watch bank commercials on TV, I cry.

  So it probably won’t be me who kills Coop, but one day he’ll get what’s coming to him. He makes life difficult for enough people. It’s only a matter of time.

  I’ve just finished swimming laps at the local pool and I’m tired. The last thing I want is his dreaded summoning call. It’s been almost five months since he’s asked me to do something vile, but even before I answer my cell, I know. I know it will be bad. I pick up anyway.

  His gruff voice barks out instructions. I hang up before he’s finished speaking, because small victories are better than none.

  The gray walls close in on me as I stand limp in the middle of the change room with my heart thumping, the smell of chlorine burning my nose and the thought of what Coop wants me to do stinging my eyes.

  Wake up Edie. Think of it as one more step closer to getting Sam’s farm back. Your farm back.

  A home—it’s all I want.

  So, I haul major ass across town to be there within the hour. Because that’s what my Lord and Master wants.

  Be there by four-thirty, Edie. Or else.

  Since I have no intention of finding out what ‘or else’ means, at exactly 4.30 p.m. on a sunny Friday afternoon, I find myself in the marble bathroom of a soulless city apartment, stripping down to my underwear with Coop’s beady eyes running over me.

  “Get a move on, Edie. He’s like a fucking wild thing. Likely to bolt any minute. So I don’t know how long he’ll stick around for. And I really, really need to pull this one off.” He gives me a foul wink and adds, “So to speak.”

  Once upon a time, Coop was handsome. You can see it there in his bone structure. But his broad, princely features have long been ruined, puffed out by excess booze and depraved living. I’m sure the black heart pounding in his chest doesn’t do much for his complexion, either.

  Eyes rolling, I shimmy out of my stockings and slip off a black stiletto heel, leaning a sweaty palm against the green-tiled wall. “Why are you so worried? The word going around is that you’ve got this guy on a very tight leash,” I mutter, reaching for my second shoe.

  I hate the things, love my biker boots and any item of clothing that adds a protective layer. Today, I’ve worn the come-fuck-me shoes because Coop believes that they help get the job done. Make it easier. Like a tool belt on a carpenter. But I can’t stand them a second longer, so I try to sneak them off.

  “Not entirely. He’s a loose cannon this one.” Coop’s laugh echoes around the room. “Hey, leave those shoes on. He just might like ‘em. Fuck knows what will get the bastard jacked up. You know, I don’t think he even can get it up for a girl. He probably never has before.”

  “Shit, Cooper! What if he can’t? You promised this would be one of the last times you’d make me do this. No matter what happens today, please tell me that you’ll count this.”

  I reef paper towel from the dispenser and pretend to work on my smoky eyeliner in the mirror. No way I’m crying in front of this asshole. “It won’t be my fault if he can’t do it. I showed up here just like you asked me, wearing these stupid clothes.”

  In a flash Coop has me squashed against the wall, his beer gut pushing into my stomach, stale breath hot in my face.

  Beefy fingers squeeze my windpipe. “Mind your manners, you stupid little bitch, or you’ll find out what the extremely unpleasant alternative to ‘helping me out’ like this is. I don’t think you’ll like it.”

  Suppressing a smug grin, he drops his hand and steps back. “If you fuck this up, we’re all in trouble here, so shut up and listen to the deal.”

  He folds thick arms over his navy sports coat, leaning on the door behind which his kinky buddies wait. “Out there in the living room are three suits and my boy L. Now when you get in that room, ignore the suits, don’t even look at them. Just do whatever the fuck L says. He’ll be ready for you. Mentally at least. And you’d better fucking hope you can inspire him physically. When you’re done, come back in here. I’ll be waiting.”

  “You’re not watching?”

  “Not today.”

  Praise be!
>
  “Stop looking at me like I’ve kicked your frigging dog and get a move on, Edie.”

  Right. Wonderful. So, I simply have to turn on a guy who, according to Coop, bats exclusively for the other team. Shit. With my overly-abundant female attributes, I think I’m going to be at a distinct disadvantage.

  Coop strokes a lock of my long hair, making sure to press his thumb over my nipple through the red bra as he pushes dark strands over my shoulder. “You’re looking good, Edie.”

  I repress the urge to smack him. “Only my friends call me that. I’d prefer all you other assholes to call me Eden.”

  “Feisty today, aren’t ya?”

  Coop smirks as I shrug him off. I don’t want to speak to him any more than I have to, but curiosity gets the better of me. “So what’s he like, anyway?”

  “Who? L?” Coop snickers. “He’s broken. Angry. And a completely ruthless prick.”

  I snatch my brush from the vanity and drag it through my hair briskly so Coop can’t see the terror in my eyes. Hopefully, he’s just trying to scare me.

  “Do you mean the letter L? Now that’s a stupid name. No mother calls a baby that.”

  “True. When he was a kid, he was called something else. But living out on the streets, he earned a different name.” Raising a bushy, gray eyebrow, he pauses for dramatic effect. “You wanna know what he’s called?”

  I puff a loud breath through copious layers of lipstick. “I asked, didn’t I?”

  “Well, that boy out there answers to the name of Lightning.”

  I freeze, skin prickling as an image of Dad’s face strobes over my brain. Shit. I don’t want his memory polluted by Coop and his filth. The hairbrush feels like a brick in my palm as I set it down on the counter. “Lightning? Really?”

  “Yep. But mostly, he just goes by L.”

  “Why is he called Lightning? I mean it’s a pretty weird—”

  “He got the name because the little cunt was flash-fast. At everything. Stealing your wallet. Running away. And most impressively at getting people off. He could make a guy come in his pants within seconds. And he doesn’t mind making them suffer, either, which they love. Made him famous in our little circle of twisted money makers. Speaking of which, those suits out there have paid a great deal of money to watch L try to fuck you, so quit stalling and go make it happen.”

  Try?

  God, these little sex-party setups of Coop’s are disgusting, but this has to be the sickest yet. And the most dangerous.

  What kind of a person pays money to watch a guy attempt the impossible anyway?

  Well, I won’t have to wonder about the brains behind this sick scheme for much longer. I’m about to walk through the door and meet him.

  And this L person. The guy sounds like he’d rather have sex with a pillow than a girl trussed up in red lace. But he might enjoy making me cry. So that’s awesome for him. Me? Not so much.

  Hopefully, L has a first-class imagination. It might help him get the job done.

  Luckily for me, my body responds even when my brain doesn’t want it to, and that’s both a curse and a saving grace. It certainly reduces the pain factor.

  “Want a hit of coke?” says Coop. “Something stronger? Might help if this goes badly. I know exactly what L’s capable of. How far he’s prepared to go. And believe me, Eden, it could hurt.”

  “No, thanks.” Not even the fear of what’s waiting for me out there is enough to make me go down that path. In a couple of hours this will be over. And I’ll be that much closer to freedom.

  That is if Lightning can play his part.

  Picturing the psychotic dandy that I’m about to go and rub myself against like a sad cat on heat—wiry, slim, maybe wearing a cape with the letter L on it—I take a big breath and push through the door. Then nearly fall flat on my barely-covered butt.

  Hells bells!

  Completely naked, a scowling blond god stands next to a padded bench, hands on his lean hips, inked biceps flexing, and his impressive package looking far from fired up.

  He’s the polar opposite of a foppish dude in a superhero getup and about the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. And shit he looks strong.

  Well, if I die today, at least I’ll have a spectacular view as he squeezes the life out of me.

  That’s something, I suppose.

  THREE

  L

  THE GIRL WOBBLES toward me like a tipsy geisha on stupid shoes. A snail could go faster. “Do you think you can move a bit quicker? I turn into a pumpkin at midnight.”

  She stumbles slightly, then keeps limping forward.

  For the first time in our long and completely fucked up association, Coop has surprised me. To make this a sure thing, today of all days, I thought he’d serve up a chick who looks the part. Beautiful and kind of androgynous.

  Or at the very least—one who can walk properly.

  It’s not that she’s ugly or anything. She just looks… fucking scared. Not what I was expecting at all.

  Tilting her head at the sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind me, she says, “Don’t worry. I should make it over to you by about eleven o’clock. There’ll be plenty of time for you to spank me or whatever. You can relax.”

  A puff of air parts my lips. It’s almost a laugh.

  She comes closer. Dust motes swirl in the golden light between us, the air thrumming with tension. The pricks in suits have even stopped talking about stocks and market forces, their attention focused on each unsteady step she takes.

  I stare too, my eyes tracking slowly from the creamy skin of her forehead all the way down to those dumbass shoes, and back again. Something fizzes in the back of my brain—a feeling like déjà vu.

  Red lace. Long, brown hair. Wide-set dark eyes. Big tits. The whole package hourglass shaped and, strangely, kinda clean looking. No that isn’t the right word… innocent maybe.

  Or sweet.

  Funny that—considering the fucked-up event she’s about to participate in.

  Again, what the hell is Coop playing at?

  Given what he thinks I like to fuck, it’s hard to believe he hasn’t found the scrawniest girl in town, hoping she’ll confuse my dick into putting on a worthy show for these dirtbags.

  That makes me smile, because Coop doesn’t know. He has no fucking clue that sometimes when I look at a well-stacked female, my brain yells ‘hell yeah’ while my body—dumb fuck that it is—grumbles ‘hell no’.

  When that happens, I tell my brain to be sensible and listen to my dick. Because the sad fact is, that after all these years of shooting load after load with nothing to inspire me but a guy’s sharp angles and the thrill of causing pain, soft-fleshy curves won’t get me off.

  Not that I’ve properly tested that theory before. But, against my will, for years now I’ve been programmed to get hard for the exact opposite.

  And there is no way I want soft and breakable. I need something I can hurt. Someone who can take a whole universe of pain—swallow down all my blackness in one greedy gulp, laughing the entire time. And, honestly, this girl doesn’t look very hungry.

  She stops a foot away, her dark nipples covered in red lace, rising and falling with each shallow breath. Oh, yeah. She’s scared alright.

  With great effort, I haul my eyes from her tits up to her face so I can check her out properly. Recognition hits like a wrecking ball.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  I’ve seen this girl before. With Coop. Years ago—four years ago to be exact.

  The night I met, Ariana, the lady who ended my homelessness for good, this girl stood on a rainy street smiling up at Coop, looking haunted every time he glanced away. And later that same night, when I bedded down on Angelo’s couch—safe for the first time in thirteen months—I thought about her. Her sad eyes. That sweet smile. And back then, I did something I rarely do. In my mind, I rode the twists and turns of her miraculous curves and brought myself off like the mother of a
ll Fourth of Julys.

  Again, fuck.

  My insides are jelly. I can’t believe she’s standing in front of me. My sad-eyed girl.

  Coop has no idea what he’s unleashed, how much I want this. And how in an instant I’ve gone from not giving a crap to fucking terrified that I might fail. Not get to experience what I’d pictured all those years ago—back when I was eighteen and one girl’s suffering had whipped through the night air, slashing up my insides and setting me on fire.

  I’m shit scared, but I want this so badly. I want to feel normal for once in my life, silence the voices that fuck with my head—get turned on and touch a girl. It’s everything I’ve fantasized about since that rainy night when I fixed my twisted, futile longings on a pair of sad eyes. And a pair of killer tits. Just once I’d like to know what normal feels like—tastes like—sounds like.

  But I’m too afraid to move.

  The weasel hovering on my left speaks. It’s the nasal-voiced little fucker who gets his kicks out of these stupid scenes. Pays for it all.

  It seems that having my cock rammed up his ass isn’t enough to get him hot these days. He needs to see me fail at something. Well, someday I’ll knock the head off his fucked-up shoulders—success guaranteed.

  I wonder if he’ll get off on that?

  But, sadly, it’s not gonna happen today. Today I aim to please. I will do exactly what he wants and try to fuck a girl for the first time in my sob-story of a life.

  And like I said, the brain is very willing, but I don’t know if my body will get on board. It’s not trained for this.

  “It’s still not too late to take something, L,” says the sick fuck, holding out a packet of pills. “You don’t seem inspired by this pretty little filly. And we’ve paid a bundle to see you service her. I’ll speak frankly. There’s no room for pride today. If you require a little assistance, we won’t think any less of your prowess, will we gentlemen?” He points to his two anemic cronies, and they nod like sickly servants. “So come over here. I have a wonderful treat that will help you.”