Read Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 04 - Strings of Glass for Free Online Page A

circle and I made it back onto the open road, hurtling toward the sea.
The scent of the Arabian Sea filled my nostrils before I realized where I’d
driven myself. A deserted beach Dan and I liked to go to. Just one bar, a few
old and rusty sun beds. I stopped the Bullet, cut the engine, and listened to
the thundering of the waves against the shore.
    Pulling
the Bullet onto her kickstand I walked toward the beach, slipping off my shoes
and letting my toes feel the cool sand between them. A grove of palm
trees
skirted the beach. I sat next to one, leaning my back against its solid trunk.
The wind whistled through the palms above my head. Not far a coconut fell to
the ground with a solid, dangerous thunk.
    I stared
out at the sea, brown and rough, with white foam spilling off the top of each
wave as it crashed into a frothy mess, rushing up the sand then back again,
comforting in its violence and consistency. I thought about the gentle caress
of Mulberry’s lips and reached up to touch my own, wondering what I felt. I’d
never experienced that between us before. Comfort, camaraderie, friendship,
yes, all those things but never electricity. With Dan, I felt sizzling between
us from the moment we met. I’d thought he understood me, what I was capable of
giving. But it was my fault really, I forgot to keep him at arm’s length;
I let him feel safe with me, like I was a person you could love and live with.
    Mulberry
knew that wasn’t true. He knew me and how dangerous I was. Maybe I’d
underestimated how dangerous he might be to me.
    Voices
distracted me from my thoughts.

THE
FIGHT IN THE DOG
    M en’s
voices floated through the trees;
laughter that sounded mean, I thought. Then I heard the muffled cries of a
woman. The hairs on the back of my neck spiked. A scream ripped through the air
and I jumped up. Slipping back into my shoes I moved toward the sounds - men
laughing, a woman crying.
    At the
end of the grove of trees the beach opened up. Inland was a garbage-
strewn parking lot used during the day by beach-goers.
The sounds were coming from there. I peeked around a tree and saw a van and
several scooters. The headlights of the van backlit a group of maybe six or
seven guys. A figure broke free and stumbled toward the sea.
    The men
laughed and one ran after her. Hidden in the trees I held my breath. Their
laughter sounded like the cackles of a pack of hyenas feasting on carrion.
    The
woman struggled through the sand, her body jerking violently as she ran
desperately away. Long black hair flowed out behind her, a thigh-length
kurta hung in tatters off her shoulders, one breast exposed, swinging in the
moonlight. When the man, young, slight and gangly, caught her she fell forward
onto her hands and knees. He kicked her and as she flew onto her back I saw her
bare ass.
    I licked
my lips. Looking again at the group that laughed and cheered,
I pulled my lead pipe out of the folds of my jacket. I had surprise on my side
but I had a feeling those jackasses would be on me quick. The woman was a
fighter,
though. She was pushing herself through the sand away from the man as he
unbuttoned his pants. I waited until he grabbed her and was down on his knees,
trying to control the woman who was sobbing and fighting him off with all her
strength before sprinting out onto the beach.
    The men
up the hill stopped laughing as I crossed into their view. Raising the pipe
behind me I brought it up sure and quick onto the kid’s chin, following through
so that his blood sprayed in an arc out into the night. Not even waiting for
his body to hit the sand I turned to the woman laying prone on the ground.
    I
offered her my hand. “We need to go now,” I said. She blinked up at
me, sand stuck in her eyelashes. Sobs still racked her body, her face wet with
tears and swollen from a beating. “Now!” I yelled,
seeing the movement of men up the hill. She jumped into action then, grabbing
my hand and leaping to her feet. I pulled her behind me