by Emilia Finn
I sprint toward my car, and thank the universe when it’s not parked in by our dozens of visitors, and though I don’t have my keys on hand, I break another rule my daddy set out for me years ago.
“Never leave your spare key in the wheel well. Everyone knows that’s where you search when you wanna jack a car.”
I snatch the spare out and wipe the dirt and crud on my pants, then diving into the front seat, I crank the engine over and slam my foot down just as Ben tries to follow me in. He’s my overprotective big brother, the one everyone knows doesn’t need a reason to blow up. He’ll fight someone just for the sake of it, and it won’t be until the carnage rests again that he asks questions.
I slam my hand down and lock my doors, jam the car into reverse, and speeding out of the gravel driveway, I head toward town.
Toward saying goodbye.
Because this is what needs to be done. It’s what Daddy works toward every single day. It’s the job he risks his life for, the one he loses sleep over. And no matter how much I love William, no matter how hard I wish we could be the exception to the rule, I can’t go on with him, knowing the things he does to earn money.
I speed across town and ignore my phone’s relentless chirp, and when I cross the railway tracks and gain a little too much air between my tires and the road, I swipe my eyes dry and try to focus. I can’t go out in a fiery car wreck now. Not after everything I’ve survived. Not as payment to my mother who risked her own life, time and time again, to make sure Ben and I were safe.
My heart races and aches, my stomach turns, and my head throbs. But it’s like pulling off the Band-Aid, right? Go to William now, tell him how it’s going to be, and then I can go home and…
Cry. A lot.
I race toward his apartment block, and slow as I come closer. The day has run away on me, so now that the sun is going down, it brings me full circle and reminds me of where I was when the sun was coming up this morning.
Hospital. Stitches in William’s knee. Then a quiet ride to his home. Sleeping, for the first and last time, in the same bed. The gentle press of his lips on the back of my neck. The soft stroke of his fingers on my hips.
“Stop it,” I choke out and wipe new tears from my eyes. “Just stop it.”
I skid into the parking lot and stop between William’s old truck and a newer Jeep, and pulling on the handbrake, I slide out and pocket my grimy key. I grab my phone and the torn letter from where I tossed them on the dash, and slamming the door shut, I storm across the blacktop and push through the glass front doors.
It’s funny to me, in hindsight, to know that William lives in the apartment building that once housed Libby Tate; friend of the family, and one of the cops that Brenten wanted to shit on.
I jog into the stairwell and make my way toward William’s floor.
I’m going in there to break it off with him. Tear the Band-Aid off. I’m going in there to tell him what he does isn’t okay. Tear the effing Band-Aid off! I’m going in there to tell him he has an hour to say goodbye to his sister, because after that, I’m making a report to the police chief, and William will be spending a little time behind bars.
Perhaps then, he’ll begin writing to me again.
I stop at the top of the stairs on William’s floor, and swallowing down my nerves, I make my way to his door.
Knock? Push in? Pound my fist on the door?
Run away and pray this was all a dream?
William, I can’t be with you — I say it in my head — and I don’t condone what you do in the quest for income. Do us both a favor, come quietly, and I’m certain the police will go easy on you.
I bring my fist up and pound it against the door, only for scuffling feet to bring my brows closer together. A moment later, the door creaks open, and my ‘You’re under citizen’s arrest’ speech goes out the window the moment our eyes meet.
“Why did you stop writing to me?” I thrust the torn paper into William’s face and shout, “Why, William? Why did you stop?”
“What?” Surprised, he closes the door most of the way so only his face and part of his chest is visible to me. “Olivia, what are you—”
“We were in a relationship!” I cry and try to shove the door open. “I was committed to you, to your letters, to your stupid words! So why did you stop?”
“Because I…” he hesitates and studies my blotchy face. “I had to.”
“You didn’t have to!” I screech. “You asked me to be with you, and you said you wanted to keep me.” I wave the paper between us as though it’s irrefutable proof. “You wanted me. But then you just stopped!”
“Because I was going away for a little while,” he reasons. He fucking reasons, like I give a shit about excuses. “You don’t tolerate liars, and where I was going…” he shakes his head. “I couldn’t lie to you. So I hit pause for a minute.”
“You don’t get to hit pause on me!” I roar. “You don’t get to pick me up and put me down like I’m some kind of fucking toy!”
“Olivia?” he grits out as he looks around for nosy neighbors. “Can we do this another time? I’m a little busy.”
“You’re busy?” There’s a ball inside my chest, a pulsing, powerful ball of electricity that grows and grows the longer William breaks my heart. But then that Conner temper explodes and screws us both over. “You’re busy?” I turn nuclear, bring one foot up, and slam it against the door with such force that, despite William being stronger than me, I still manage to get the wooden door out of my way. “Are you hitting pause on us again so you can spend a little time with a wo—”
I stop with a jolt and narrow my eyes when I’m met with a familiar face. “Troy?”
“Troy?” William spins and grabs me as I try to move into the kitchen. He throws his arm around my shoulders, not in a hug, but restraint. “Who the fuck is Troy?”
“Romeo.” I look at the man I was speaking to only hours ago inside the courthouse; military haircut, dark hair, dark eyes, Portuguese descent. “Are you friends?” I peek around the otherwise empty room. “Or did the chief already call you and send you over?”
“The chief?” William booms. “What the fuck, Rush?”
I have no clue who Rush is, but Troy “Romeo” Rosa stands on the opposite side of the room and makes cutting motions with his fingers over his throat. Wide eyes, gritted teeth, he fruitlessly tries to shut me up, but then William swings me around before anyone can speak.
I move with such speed that wind catches my hair and my eyes screw shut from fear, then William tosses me to Romeo so I slam against his chest with a breath-stealing oomph. Romeo tucks me up behind his back, and William steps between us, his back to me, his hands raised, while two men step forward with cruel grins.
“Larkin Pryor,” I murmur when the one from the club registers in my mind. “I saw you—”
Pryor looks to William and lifts both brows. “Well, if it ain’t the girl in leather. You claimed her, no? Even though she walked in with someone else.”
“He was a pussy,” William growls and angles his body around to remain between the two men and me.
His knee hurts, and he moves with a distinct stiffness and limp in his stride, but he’s also William Quinn. He’s protective and strong. He was the one who plucked a toddler from certain death, and raised her on his own, despite being a child himself.
“Livi, these are my friends, Pryor and Ripley.” He inclines his chin and angles his body around a little further. “I’m working right now, babe, so if you could just—”
“No,” the second guy – Ripley – takes another step to the left to try to catch a glimpse of me hidden behind these two men. “How about we discuss the bit about Rush protecting you?” Another step. “Why is my grunt standing between me and such… exquisite beauty?”
“Your grunt?” I question and frustrate Romeo when I try to step out to see these men.
It’s not that I have a death wish, nor am I some kind of Knievel hoping to make a dangerous scene more dangerous. Bu
t I am confused. I’m curious. And I’m still mad as hell.
“He’s not your grunt,” I snarl. “But you are a criminal. I’ve come to put William on notice about the statement I’ll be making to the police just as soon as I leave here. But since you’re all here, I’ll let you all know that this ends today. This is a good town, with good cops, and we don’t have room for the likes of—”
“Olivia,” William groans. “Shut. Up.”
“No,” Pryor takes another step. “Keep going, Olivia. Tell us all of your plans.”
William doesn’t know which way to go. Ripley on his right, Pryor on his left. Romeo yanks me back so I’m covered, and within a blink of an eye, he replaces his empty hand with one that now holds a gun. My phone continues to chirp, unending and demanding. Ben, Daddy, Uncle Alex, possibly even Aunt Jules. Every time one call ends and a new one begins, I hit the button on the side of my cell and silence it.
“Why do you call my grunt by another name?” Ripley stalks around in a slow arc. “Who is Troy, who is Romeo, and why the fuck is he standing between me and you?” Ripley’s eyes are for me. His words. “Undercover cop, perhaps?” He makes a fast move, a step that catches Romeo and William off guard, but he only slows again. Testing them. Taunting them. “What do we do to undercover cops trying to step into our circle, Lark?”
“We gullet them,” he grins and stalks around on the right. “We rip their intestines out and serve them to the dogs guarding the house.”
“Romeo isn’t a cop,” I argue. “He’s security. He works for Checkmate.”
“What?” Will tries to look over his shoulder, but without actually taking his eyes off his adversaries. “Rush!”
“Can you shut up?” Romeo growls. “Fuck, Conner.”
“What? They’re calling you a cop. I’m setting them straight before shit escalates and someone gets hurt.”
“Not a cop?” Ripley questions with a grin. “But security. So… a rent-a-cop with grand aspirations?”
“Side gig,” Romeo counters easily. “Gotta make money somehow. I’ve been good to you, Rip. I’ve worked hard.”
“Wait, you’re working for him… proudly?” I exclaim. “What the hell is wrong with the men in this town? Wannabe gangsters, illegal bullshit, hurting people to make a dollar. Does Sophia know you’re moonlighting like this?” I step further out of his shield and let my crazy fly.
I’m not a stupid woman, but I’ve already shoved my foot so far into my mouth, I’m going to suffocate. So now I choose: shut up, or blow it up?
“Soph trusts you to uphold the law! You’re not a cop, but you sure as hell should still be on the right side of the law!”
“Conner!” Romeo snaps when Ripley produces a tiny gun from a holster by his back. “Shut it!”
“You were at the courthouse today,” I shout. “Working with the police, working to help the police. And, what, on your lunchbreak, you sell pills to elementary students?”
“Olivia!” William roars. “Shut the fuck up!”
“No,” I shout right back. “You shut the fuck up, William Quinn. I thought we had something, I thought you were a good person.” I let my tears fall; why the hell not? “I was going to marry you! Everyone says that your infatuation is surface-level and dumb. You don’t know her, William. You only like her hips. But you do know me, don’t you? And I know you. We spent years talking about golden retrievers and the color yellow. We talked about butt stuff, and having kids.”
“Olivia!”
“But then you stopped writing me. So the wedding I was planning was completely ruined. The dress I was designing, the blue heels I selected for my something blue. I had a venue picked out, and I was going to choose the beef, since I know you love a perfectly cooked steak. But I can’t marry you if you’re not even gonna be there, you jackass!”
“Wait.” William forgets he’s supposed to stand between me and the wannabe thugs, and instead turns around. “You would have married me? For real?”
“Yes! And with your tanned skin, maybe our children wouldn’t be so fucking pale. But you’d rather help Troy and these wannabes make a few dollars. For what? To feel like a big man?” I throw my hands in the air, wave them around and draw far too much attention from the four men carrying guns. “My daddy is a cop, Will! He busts people like you, which means he’s not gonna give you his blessing to marry me. And ya know what?” I take a step closer to a slack-jawed Ripley. “I really want him to approve. My father is important to me, you sausage!”
“Sausage?” Troy questions on a murmur.
“Oz Franks annoys the shit out of me,” I exclaim. “But I love him with all of my heart. Which means he’s gonna need to approve of my husband. He’ll need to walk me down the aisle. He’ll need to hand me over without wanting to kill you.” I pass close by the counter and grab one of the mugs from William’s set of two, and fisting it like it’s full, I continue my show.
“Do you know what he said to Brenten today?” I spin to Pryor and give him the crazy eyes. “Do you know what my cop father said to my other boyfriend today?” I wave my hands and show them how crazy a Conner woman can be. “Something about tearing his spine out and eating it for breakfast. And I know it sounds weird and somewhat embellished, but he was so serious when he spoke.”
“Olivia!” Will roars when I come a little too close to Pryor and now find myself Will’s shield. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“He didn’t approve of Brenten!” I snap. “He hated that sumbitch, but I hoped that if you could just find a regular job down at the steel mill or something, he would approve of you. If I told him I loved you, he would come around, right?”
I watch from the corner of my eyes as Romeo inches closer to Ripley. William is clueless, caught up in my spiel and wondering how I got so crazy. He’s blind to everything around him, so Romeo is forced to do what William won’t.
I turn back to Pryor and look into his eyes with tears in mine. The tears, at least, are genuine, even if my speech is somewhat exaggerated, because no matter what happens, William is still going to prison when this is over. No matter how today ends, I don’t get to keep him.
“I was going to marry him,” I tell Pryor with a genuine shake in my voice. “That night I saw him in the club, I decided I wanted a do-over. A second chance that would lead to forever. But then he shook your hand, and you’re a bad person.”
“It’s a matter of perspective, no?” Larkin Pryor lets his gun hand drop, but brings the other up to roll his bottom lip between his fingers. He’s entertained by me, he thinks I’m cute, and because of that, he lets his guard down the way most do around babies and puppies. “Maybe your cop daddy says I’m bad. But I could be good for you.” His eyes actually twinkle as he bites his lip. “I could be real good for you.”
“Olivia!” William roars. “Absolutely no—”
I swing my mug-holding hand up so fast, so wide and telegraphed that every fighter I know would smack me for being so obvious. But I guess Larkin Pryor is still thinking about being my man, because his eyes don’t register my actions until a second before the mug explodes against the side of his head.
Pryor’s gun-hand doesn’t lift a single fraction of an inch from his side before gray ceramic shards burst around his head and fly through the kitchen. Sharp pieces nick my cheek, and in the space behind me, a single shot goes off before bodies fall.
I close my eyes while the bullet finds its target. I crouch lower and scream out when Larkin drops to my feet, and pieces of the mug continue to fly like shrapnel in a war field. Larkin’s nearly two hundred pounds slam against my shins and almost buckle me, but it’s the sound of thudding bodies behind me that makes my stomach roil.
I drop to the floor the way my brother has drilled into me a million times in my life. Drop until the shots end, then up and run. My chest slams to the floor while tears blind me, then pushing myself back up again, I find my feet and sprint toward a silver glint that skitters across the kitchen floor.
“Man down
!” William’s voice is panicked and loud, rushed and scared as he slams his broad chest over Ripley’s body and sinks his fist into his face. One, two, three heavy strikes while I sprint across the room, then grabbing a sparkling gun, I spin back with it poised in my shaking hands.
I look to Pryor first, as he lays sprawled across the floor with a line of blood trickling from his temple. Then to William, as his fists rain down over Ripley’s head, but between each swing, he shouts out.
To who? I don’t know.
“Rush is down!” he roars.
“William!”
“Send in backup!” he screeches and knocks Ripley out with one last thud on the jaw.
Ripley’s legs turn limp just as the apartment door swings open. It bounces off the wall and back again, and then Uncle Alex comes to a stop with his gun poised. His bright eyes lock onto mine and widen as I instinctively swing the gun in his direction.
My finger rests on the trigger, even though I know it’s not supposed to. My hands shake, my shoulders ache, my head throbs like it might split open, and when my eyes land on Romeo laid out on the floor with a line of blood seeping from beneath him, I drop the gun and run toward him.
I skid to the floor and stop with a crash against Romeo’s heavy frame, then I cry out when I try to turn his nearly three hundred pounds of muscle. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Will!”
I spin in place and frantically search for him. Our eyes meet across an unconscious Ripley, then he pops to his feet and races past Alex. He drops down beside me, and with seemingly no effort, flips Romeo, but while he does that, he speaks to someone else.
“Ripley and Pryor are down.” It takes me entirely too long to see the tiny device tucked into his ear. The miniscule flash of red. “I don’t know where the cousin is. Rush is injured and requires immediate medical evac. The chief is on site.” William’s hands slide over Romeo’s broad body in search of his injury. “He’s bleeding fast,” he says just as quickly. “Send EMTs in. The scene is secured.”