The Middle Man

  Copyright © 2017 K.S. ADKINS

  Published by K.S. Adkins

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: K.S. Adkins 2017

  Formatted by: Brenda Wright – Formatting Done Wright

  The Detroit After Dark Series

  Brutal

  Brawler

  Berserk

  Ballistic

  8 Mile & Rion

  Convincing Bet

  Mercy F*ck

  Liquid Courage

  When Time Stood Still

  Juggernaut

  Motown Throwdown (Motown Down #1)

  Motown Showdown (Motown Down #2)

  Motown Takedown (Motown Down #3)

  Motown Breakdown (Motown Down #4 & 5)

  Movies and music, I can't imagine a life without either.

  My previous works are music heavy where I let sound take control.

  But for this story I let my imagination lead me in a different direction.

  The Middle Man is a tribute to a few of my big screen heroes.

  Because let's face it; I can't act or sing so, I write.

  Enjoy!

  KS

  Table of Contents

  Other Works by KS Adkins

  The Middle Man

  Playlist

  About KS Adkins

  You always have two choices: your commitment versus your fear.

  ~Sammy Davis, Jr.

  Just like in the movies I work on, I kicked in the door and was pleased when I didn’t break my foot in real life.

  Granted, it took a few tries, but once that sucker finally flew open, I felt like a bad ass.

  Of course, the doors on set aren't solid wood like this one was but that just goes to show you when you're pissed, you really do have super strength.

  Upon stepping inside, I saw the betrayal with my own eyes and no longer felt like a bad ass.

  No. I felt like a dumb ass.

  Without thought, I started scratching and slapping.

  I wanted blood and skin under my nails as a souvenir.

  God, I was stupid.

  Stupid.

  Stupid.

  Stupid.

  And apparently, I was also asking questions; though for the life of me, I don’t know what they were.

  But his voice breaks through enough that I slowed my assault to listen.

  “If I explain, will you please stop hitting me?”

  “Maybe,” was all I had to offer. Since walking in on this nightmare, I was using my subpar acting skills pretending to be far more upset than I actually was. “Start talking and if I were you, I would do so out of swinging distance.”

  “Dammit, Finn,” he groaned but did, in fact, step back because, for all of his faults, he cared about preserving his face. “I never see you anymore. You’re always traveling –”

  “Working,” I interrupted. “It’s called working.”

  “Fine, working. We haven’t been you know –”

  “Fucking,” Just as I supplied the words, I also supplied the money and all the comfort this asshole has known for five years.

  “Okay yes, if you want to be crude about it, we haven’t fucked in weeks.”

  “Months.” Which was on him, not me, just saying. I was always down for a fake orgasm. It was the only realistic acting I was capable of.

  “See?”

  “So, fucking her,” I pointed to the woman who I’m certain peed herself on the sheets I bought in Italy for his birthday. “Is my punishment for being career-driven? For taking the jobs you scheduled on my behalf?”

  “Oh my God, you’re –” the woman started but zipped it when Talon growled at her.

  A woman who was my polar opposite in every way. Her hair (when she wasn’t being screwed, I imagined looked nice) was curled, heavy eye makeup and gigantic tits were a package I wouldn’t purchase. Because it took this woman time to look like this whereas I, never bothered.

  Because I was gorgeous just as I was and I knew it.

  “I’m not punishing you,” he sighed as if I’m the one being unreasonable. “It’s just…men have needs.”

  No sooner did those words leave his mouth; three things happened.

  1. I Hail-Mary kicked him in the dick

  2. I dumped him and

  3. I fired him

  I also left him on the floor, which I thought was the savvy choice since it put him that much closer to hell.

  Truly, he’d thank me later.

  Then I wished his freak of the week a good fuck on my way out and boosted his wallet too.

  Climbing into my 1970 Chevelle, (I call her Jolene, like the song) I blew down his street leaving nothing but dust and car alarms behind me. Merging onto I-75, I gunned it likely scaring the absolute shit out of every driver I cut off. Cursing, swerving, and wishing I was a smoker, I was caught off-guard when a pickup nearly side-swiped me. Having had just about a -fucking-nuff, I sped up, cutting the driver right back off. Pissed about that, he tried going around me but I blocked him. Thus, began our chicken fight. See, I was the last person you wanted to battle out your road rage with on a good day. And today was not a good day.

  Not only was I one hell of a driver, I happened to love the high of a high-speed car chase. So that’s what we did.

  And it was clear the guy wasn’t going to give up.

  Distantly, I heard sirens but didn’t care. This asshole’s day was nowhere near as shitty as mine and I wasn’t letting him by me. By far the superior driver, I made certain I stayed in the lead in an effort to protect the few poor suckers stuck on the freeway with us.

  For fuck’s sake, I just wanted to go to the bar! But instead of drinking my problems away, I was reenacting a scene from The Fast & The Furious. PS: I loved that franchise and am still a little pouty that I never worked on set.

  And fuck me, was that a helicopter? Peeking out my window, I see it was in fact, a helicopter.

  Media exposure never boded well for me but this was some next level shit.

  Now that we were racing side by side, I looked over to see the pure determination in his eyes. This prick was going to kill me and anyone else in his path with a smile on his face. This guy, it seemed, had nothing to lose.

  Which meant it was time to stop playing around.

  “Oh, fuck it,” I sighed and quickly checked the lanes surrounding me before yanking my wheel to the right sending him into the concrete wall.

  And let me just say, he didn’t just crash. He crashed hard. I counted four complete rolls before the show was over.

  Oops.

  Unfortunately, I had clipped something just hard enough to smack my head and for a split second, saw stars. And yes, they were pretty.

  Slowing down and finally at a stop, I eased out of my car placing my hands on the hood. My head was not exempt from impact and the dots I was seeing were proof of that. Police cars, the men and women who occupied them
all around me, guns drawn, all screaming at us to get on the ground. With a roll of the eyes, I was making my way to my knees when an officer, clearly tired of waiting, tackled me and wasted no time flipping me onto my stomach. He was such a gentleman about it, I nearly forgave him for the knee in my spine. Glancing to my right, I see the Dominic Turetto wannabe being cuffed and hauled up.

  Seeing blood pouring from his face gave me immense satisfaction too. Because, I won.

  And just as I was acclimating to the pain in my back, it was gone.

  Dazed, confused, and ready to slap someone, I listen as police all yell over each other but what stood out was my name. The handcuffs were removed, a man was trying to placate me, offering his apologies… blah blah blah.

  All I knew was my fucking head hurt.

  And when I was coherent enough to seek Jolene out, I realized I had wrecked too.

  That hurt worse than my head.

  Because there was no saving her. She was toast.

  Leading me over to the ambulance, a medic took over my care and closing my eyes, I answered his questions wishing I was anyone except who I was.

  The woman who only had to think of trouble to find it…

  When the helicopter hovered above I knew the very image my cheating ex was pretending to save was completely blown to hell. Add to that the news vans, citizens on the side of the road taking photos, and my raging headache it was safe to say I was in a mood.

  “—allergies?” Opening my eyes, I looked up at the man ministering to me and blinked. “I asked if you have any allergies?”

  “No?”

  “You’re not sure?”

  “No allergies,” I managed to say.

  “I’m going to give you something for the –”

  “No need,” I mumbled. “I just need to get out of here.”

  “Hell of a thing you did today,” he said jabbing me in the arm anyway. “You’re lucky all you got was a bump on the head.”

  “You should see the other guy.”

  “I did, which is why I’d rather tend to you.”

  “My phone,” I suddenly remembered it and where I was supposed to be. “I need my phone.”

  “I’ll have one of the guys check your car,” he said with a wink. “What’s left of it.”

  Then I heard my name being called at every turn and the only place I could hide was underneath the scratchy state-issued blanket. That’s the thing about televised car chases. Letting you leave took time you didn’t have.

  Because dammit, I had someplace else to be. I needed to fulfill a promise I had made.

  But time was funny like that. Racing down the freeway time didn’t register, didn’t exist.

  I was in a selfish place doing what I wanted, uncaring of how fast or slow it passed. Now though, in this moment, it came to a crashing halt. It literally fucking stopped. I knew it the second an officer knelt in front of me and said, “You are listed as Ryan Williams’ emergency contact,” followed by, “I’m sorry, but I regret to inform you…”

  That my image was the least of my concerns. Because the one person who meant everything to me was gone.

  And the fault lied solely with me.

  No second chances, no do-overs.

  No director yelling cut.

  Not with this.

  From the moment I had opened my eyes, my entire world had felt off balance that morning.

  And because I had wanted answers, because I had to be right, had needed the last word…

  I had chosen revenge over friendship.

  And Ryan had paid the ultimate price.

  One year later…

  I always dreamt of us when I slept. Fortunately, my subconscious tended to lean toward fond memories and for that I was grateful. I punished myself enough when I was awake that I took the reprieve when it was offered.

  “What is that supposed to be?” Ryan asked pointing at his screen.

  “Boobs,” I snorted. “See, I used two parentheses with a period in the middle and now you’ve got boobs.”

  “Speaking of boobs,” Ryan said subtly. “You’ve got a nip slip.”

  “What?” Looking down I saw that I did, in fact, have a nip peeking out. “Shit.”

  Tucking myself in, I watched him roll his eyes muttering, “Your tits need a personal assistant.”

  Since the tits in question hated being bolstered, I couldn’t argue. When my phone pinged, I checked the message and laughed so hard I fell over. Because Ryan was as competitive as I was.

  “Really?”

  “What?” he asked innocently. “You sent me A cups, those are DDs.”

  I’ve been sending texts to this number since the feature became available on cell phones. Ryan and I had saved our money for months so we could buy them at the same time. We even had matching numbers where his ended with a two and mine with a one. See, being apart wasn’t our thing. We liked being attached at the hip. Which included calling, text messaging, and sending videos if we weren't together. Who am I kidding? We messaged each other even if we sat side by side on a couch.

  My person since first grade, we lived the life together.

  Without him, I was forced to go on alone and still wasn’t sure how to manage it or if I even was. Most days I was numb and felt next to nothing unless I was plummeting toward earth risking potential death for a rush.

  Aside from him, I had no one I wanted to share life with, no one to play with. Replacing him wasn’t an option. Because Ryan was irreplaceable.

  So, keeping up with tradition helped me grieve in the only way available to me. These messages kept him alive even if it was just in my phone’s memory and my guilty-broken-heart.

  In my texts to him, I never discuss the past. Though, I do tell him how much I miss and love him, I prefer to keep him up-to-date on work, my next adventure and most recently, the idea of dating.

  I hadn't been laid in ages and I was too young and flexible to be celibate.

  Ryan was the one who knew all my secrets and loved me unconditionally.

  He’d taken the very best part of me with him when he died too.

  I was lucky though. I’ve led a charmed life filled with crazy adventures and happy memories most people never get to experience. Sometimes that reminder hurts just as much as missing him.

  Since losing Ryan, I was introduced to the depths of sadness, struggling to breathe on my own because half of myself was missing. I still couldn’t speak his name out loud without crying and it didn’t take long for those around me to stop saying his name too. For them, Ryan died and life moved on.

  Even now, I haven’t found my voice. Grief, it seems, was forever holding it captive.

  Anniversaries, holidays, milestones. Since losing him, I lost interest in any type of tradition except these messages. So, when my phone buzzed to alert me I had a reply, all I could do was blink.

  Because there shouldn’t be a reply.

  Never walking away from a challenge, I swiped it open, blinked some more trying to make sense of it.

  —We should meet—

  Twice in my life I have found myself speechless.

  The day sitting in an ambulance on the side of the highway hearing Ryan died and right now, one year later, staring at the message on my phone.

  The screen shows Ryan’s name and his picture but, the words didn’t belong to him.

  They belonged to the new owner.

  Whoever it was probably felt really sorry for me. The girl who sends selfies and endless messages about love and loss. Whoever this is probably wants to let me down easy. My messages are probably driving this person crazy. I knew one day his number would be recycled. I even begged his dad to let me pay the bill to avoid it. No such luck there. Like everyone else, he told me letting him go was best. Only, I wasn’t ready. Might never be ready and I refused to put an expiration date on his memory.

  However, the new owner of Ryan’s number unintentionally took that last piece of him away from me.

  But the reality was, my last tie to
him was officially gone.

  And I wasn’t sure how I was going to cope with that loss.

  So, with wet eyes I just stare at the message.

  —We should meet—

  While I should be freaking out wondering who wants to meet me and why, I ignored any chance of foul play and focused on the thrill of the unknown firing back,

  —Okay—

  I did shit like this. Leapt before I looked.

  Sure, I could blame it on curiosity but I liked calling a spade a spade.

  Because loneliness had a face.

  I saw it in the mirror every day.

  And so, our messages went like this:

  Ryan: Tomorrow

  Me: Tomorrow is fine, depending on where you are coming from?

  Ryan: Already here

  Me: Where’s here?

  Ryan: Detroit

  While this should have made me scream, it didn’t so, I forged on.

  Me: Lobby bar at the Atheneum

  Ryan: 8pm

  Me: How will I find you?

  Ryan: I’ll find u, I’ll always find u

  And he hasn’t responded since. How do I know he’s male? I don’t, I’m just assuming. Us females are way better at texting. We use emojis, memes and rarely abbreviate. Plus, any female worth her salt would ask me what I was wearing and what I liked to drink.

  Therefore, I deduced that I was meeting a ‘him’ tomorrow.

  Was I crazy?

  Clearly, yes.

  But anyone who knew me would tell you, this isn’t news.

  For just those few moments, seeing words with Ryan’s name next to them even knowing they weren’t his…

  I could breathe again.

  So, whoever this person was, for whatever reason they wanted to meet, I was glad I’d at least have the chance to say thank you in person. And once that was done, I would have to find another way to keep Ryan’s memory alive.