Crazy Eights (Stacked Deck Book 8)

by Emilia Finn

  I look into his chocolate eyes and curse the universe for bringing him into my life. It knew I couldn’t keep him, everyone knew I couldn’t keep him. But now, ‘Let’s hurt Quinn again, because it’s fun to fuck with her’.

  Sliding out of the SUV and dropping to my feet, I hold my breath when Jamie doesn’t step away. Instead, he moves closer so our chests touch, and his warm breath flutters across my forehead.

  For just a moment, we stand together and breathe. Our stomachs touch. Our toes. Our hands. I stare through the long strands of hair that settle over my face after my trek through the car, but then Jamie puffs a heavy breath, and clears my vision.

  “I’m glad you never grew bangs,” he murmurs. “Your eyes are too pretty to hide behind your hair.”

  “Don’t do that.” I glance away to preserve what I have left of my heart. “Don’t be that guy.”

  “What guy?” He turns away and begins leading me toward the shop. “I was making an observation. I like your eyes. But you already knew that.”

  “You like my chin too. Doesn’t mean you’re allowed to touch it.”

  “Shame,” he mutters. “I’ve been waiting so long, I almost asked to touched Will’s before we left yesterday.”

  Laughter bubbles up inside my chest, but I tamp it down… extinguish that flame before I expose myself as a non-robot. “You should ask him next time. Let me know how that works out for you.”

  “Ha.” He chuckles in the back of his throat as we step up onto the curb and stop by a bench seat. “I’ll ask him. There’s no way in hell both of you are gonna kick me in the face in the same week.”

  “Don’t bet on it.” I turn so we stand toe to toe, and lift my hand between us. “Undo me, please.” I smile my most innocent smile, and try to be discreet while I study the area surrounding us.

  We’re in a small-ass town that warrants a fire station, but seemingly no police station. A sandwich shop stands open, but without a crowd, meaning the bologna was probably opened a week ago. Not a single car has ambled past us since we’ve been stopped, which means when I run, it’ll be straight back to the freeway, because the chances of hitching a ride in town are slim to non-fucking-existent.

  Without a single ounce of suspicion in his eyes, Jamie produces a key from his pocket, and begins working it into the lock on the cuffs. “You know, if you’d just cooperate, this wouldn’t be necessary.”

  “I feel like we’ve had this discussion before. Thanks.”

  He leaves the cuff on my wrist and frees his own, but beggars can’t be choosers, so I don’t complain and ask him to remove mine. That would probably sound suspicious.

  “Can you see if they have grilled chicken?” I ask. “And then just go nuts with the salad. Ask for extra, because I need something to unclog the cheese and fried meat from my digestive system.”

  “You’re sounding a little fancier these days, huh?” He backs away and digs his hands into his pockets. “The chick I knew ate baked beans on her hotel bed, and stole crackers from the local store.”

  “I didn’t steal them,” I counter with a frown. “You paid for them.”

  “Did I?” He tilts his head and grins. “Ballsy assumption for you to make. My family has beef with the family that owns that store, so what makes you think I paid for them? In fact, how do you know there isn’t a wanted poster in the window of Jonah’s store right now, searching for the cracker thief?”

  “Doesn’t your family also have beef with the ice cream parlor lady? Have you stopped to think that maybe you’re the problem, and not them?”

  He shrugs and stops moving backward. Instead, he tracks forward until he stops right in front of me.

  Just go inside, already! Go away so I can run away.

  “There’s a wanted poster inside that parlor, too. Can I see your…”

  He lets his words trail off, but reaches down to take my hand. Bringing it up between us, he fingers the cuff like he might be considering taking it off.

  He moves the silver aside, and frowns at the slight reddening of my skin where it keeps rubbing. “Does that hurt?”

  “Yeah.” Turn it up. Pout, on. Puppy-dog eyes, engaged. “It hurts really bad. I think you might have chipped my wrist bone or something.” Go away!

  “Really?” He brings my hand higher, bends his neck, and then crushes my heart just a little more when he presses his lips to the sensitive, reddened skin. “I’m sorry for hurting you. It’s never my intention.”

  “Can you undo it?” I bring my bottom lip between my teeth, and draw his eyes down. “Please?”

  “Do you promise not to run?” His eyes come back up to mine. “It’s really important you behave yourself, Q. I know you’re stubborn, and I know you don’t want this, but I’m doing the right thing. If you want me to trust you, then you have to promise that you’re not gonna run.”

  “I promise.” I don’t promise! God, it hurts my soul to lie so blatantly to someone’s face. “I won’t run. You have my word.”

  “Your word?”

  I pause for a moment and swallow down the disgust I feel for my lying ass. “My word. I won’t run.”

  “Damn.” Chuckling and shaking his head, Jamie pushes me down until my ass slams against the bench seat, and within a second, the spare cuff wraps around the steel handle to my left. “You suck at lying, Q. Jesus. For a street kid, you fucking suck at it.”

  “Jamie!” I shake my arm and test my new restraints. “Dammit, Secretary!”

  “You were gonna run. And though I’m not opposed to chasing you through dark streets just for the fun of it, I still think it would be in your best interest not to run into a strange area in the dark.”

  “Jamie!”

  “Grilled chicken, lots of salad. No jalapenos, right?”

  “I hate you.” I turn away from his smiling face and fold my legs. “I can’t believe I ever liked you.”

  “You more than liked me, Quinn. You fuckin’ loved me. Now, I’ll be back in a sec. Stay put.”

  And with a whistle on his breath, he turns away and heads into the deserted shop to order our dinner.

  Jamie

  Not A One-Hit Wonder

  I walk out of Geraldine’s Sandwich Bar barely more than fifteen minutes after walking in – with a hefty serving of Geraldine’s grilled fresh chicken – only to stop on a skid when I find Quinn standing in a little huddle of firemen with electrical tools and bad attitudes.

  “Oh no!” Q puts on a loud, dramatic act and cuddles into one of the guys. “That’s him! He’s the one who kidnapped me. Please help me.”

  Four dudes in half uniforms – the pants, but with regular muscle shirts that prove that, while this may be a small town, these dudes still work out – step into formation around their little damsel, and fold their arms. Quinn stands behind them, with her hand still cuffed to the bench armrest, but with the steel no longer attached to the chair.

  “We’re gonna need you to put that bag on the ground, sir.” One of the dudes, the boss, I suppose, steps forward with a ticking jaw. “The police have been dispatched and are on their way, which means you’re gonna spend the night somewhere far away from this young lady.”

  “Get him,” Quinn eggs the dude on. “Get him away from me. I’m so scared.”

  “Sir?” The guy takes another step forward. “Bag down, hands up. Do you have any weapons on your person?”

  “No.” I shake my head and glare at Quinn. “I’m gonna reach into my pocket for identification.” I study the guy’s eyes and reach across my body until I grab the wallet and flash the ID Sophia had delivered. “I’m Special Agent Andy Cruz. This young lady you’re so intent on keeping safe is a man-killer.”

  I keep my smile on lock when Q’s mouth drops open in shock. “Her last victim was a nice, middle-aged man who was walking his Dalmatian only three mornings ago. She lured him off the jogging path, into the brush, and then she removed his testicles and baked them into a pie.”

  Quinn’s rescuers abruptly leave her side and
study her with pale faces.

  “That’s not true!” she cries out. “This man kidnapped me!”

  “I’m transporting her across the country to be sentenced in the state that poor man died in. They have capital punishment there, so that’s what the prosecutors are aiming for.” I step forward now, and take Quinn’s wrist in my hand. “I appreciate that you guys wanted to help this lady, but had you let her free, you’d be responsible for the dozens more men she would have taken out in her travels. And there’s no guarantee she would have let you all live. Especially you.” I zoom in on one guy with a tattoo of his dog on his forearm. “You don’t wanna know what she did to the Dalmatian.” I shake my head and lead Quinn back to the car. “That poor pup never stood a chance.”

  I open the car door, toss the sandwiches inside, then I remove the bench armrest from Q’s cuff, and slam her restraints around the door handle. “Thanks boys, but you should probably call home and tell your mothers you love them. You flirted with death tonight.”

  I push the car door closed as soon as Quinn is settled on the seat inside, and move around to my side. Sliding in, I merely turn to her and glare.

  Instead of screaming at me or shouting about how much she hates me, Quinn bends forward and giggles like a schoolgirl. “Why’d you have to say I’m a dog-killer, huh? That was unnecessary.”

  “So the man-killer thing is fine?” I push the keys into the ignition and turn the engine on, then, because the men stand outside in shock, I pull away from the curb and toss the bag of sandwiches into Quinn’s lap. “The murderer thing is fine, just leave the dogs alone?”

  “Men often deserve to die.” She rifles through the bag with her right hand; she now has to fold her cuffed arm across her body to reach the door handle. “But not the dogs. What the hell is wrong with you? And where’d you get that badge?” She stops fussing with the bag, and turns to me with an angry scowl. “What kinda game are you playing?”

  “You would have had me arrested and sent to supermax with that bullshit, Q. Don’t you dare sit there like you have a right to question me.”

  I pull around the corner, then another, and circle back to the freeway, since Quinn’s stunt is going to result in cops crawling all over town within minutes. We move through dark streets, along treelined roads, and then, speeding up at the merge lane, we move back onto the freeway and continue our trek back home.

  “That could have ended really badly for me. Like, hard time in the penitentiary, and you were willing to toss me to the wolves that easily?” It’s shameful how much that hurts me. “I get it, okay?” I glance to my right for a second. “You don’t like me, you don’t love me, you don’t wanna be here. I get it. But, fuck. You’d have me sent away that easily?”

  Ashamed, she looks to the road outside and loses her anger to something much more thoughtful. “I wouldn’t have had you sent away for life or anything. Just… you know… overnight in the local police station.”

  “Kidnapping isn’t an overnight, ‘sleep-it-off’ offense, Q. It’s ‘say-goodbye-to-your-momma’ kinda time. And then what? You’d have hitchhiked back to Will and McGrady?”

  I pull off to the side of the road a few miles away from the podunk town, drive into a small space surrounded by trees, and, cutting the engine, I grip my steering wheel for a long moment.

  It’s proof of my ridiculous priorities that I’m madder about her going back to Evan than I am about potential time in prison.

  “You’d risk being actually kidnapped while hitchhiking, all so you could run back to that club, and let McGrady take his anger out on you?” I shake my head and look anywhere but at her. “He knows you’re gone, Q. He knows something is up. And soon, he’ll know Will has relocated. It’s too late for you to go back now.”

  Exhaling the rage that bubbles in my blood, I finally turn and take the bag of sandwiches from her lap. “I know you’re pissed about all this, but your goal is to keep Will safe, right? Well, his is to keep you safe, and he’ll be better able to get his shit straightened out now that you’re not underfoot.”

  “I’m not a fucking toddler,” she seethes, though she accepts the sandwich I offer. “I’m a contributing member of our family. I’m doing my part to keep us safe.”

  “You were dancing on a pole, and gathering intel from a man who was planting the shit in the first place! Everything McGrady told you was a manipulation. He’s the big hero, he found Nate Hardy’s remains. Oh wow, he’s so awesome. Except for the fact he was the one who put those remains there in the first fucking place.”

  “That’s just…” One-handed, she opens the paper wrapping of her sandwich, and sighs. “That’s crazy. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Sure it does. How do you think he found the bones so quickly, huh? This beautiful damsel asks him a favor, he says sure, Prima—”

  “Don’t call me Prima,” she growls. “Never call me that. It gives me the creeps.”

  “The dude gives you the creeps!” I roll my eyes. “That’s not random, Q. That’s intuition. How is it possible that name creeps you out, but you don’t realize he’s your villain? Use your fucking brain!”

  “I mean… objectively…” She starts picking at her sandwich – cucumber, tomato, lettuce, and a little onion. The sandwich is long, a job for two hands, so I take pity on her and reach across to unsnap the cuff.

  Quinn’s surprised eyes whip to mine. We’re close, I’m still leaning over her, so our faces are a mere inch apart, and her breath is on my chin.

  “You were saying?”

  “Um…” She breathes hard, heavy, so her chest expands and touches mine. “Huh?”

  I grin. “You were saying something about McGrady. Something about objectivity.”

  “Oh…” She blinks, slow and mesmerizing, so her lashes come down and kiss her cheeks. “Um… objectively, I can see this all looks bad. But I… uh…”

  “Can’t concentrate?” I look down to her chin, to that butt dimple that has sent me wild for five long years. “Do you remember the deal we made?”

  She blinks, owlishly and dazed. “Hm?”

  “We gave ourselves a week to fall in love,” I explain. “To fall hard, to make it so we’d never surface again.”

  “Jamie, I…” She exhales a shuddering breath. “I loved you.” She shakes her head. “But I don’t anymore. It was dumb, impulsive, wild–”

  “Easy,” I whisper. “It was easy.”

  “It was dangerous,” she counters desperately. “Thoughtless. Stupid.”

  “Passionate,” I return. “Hot, intense, and so much fucking fun. Do you remember that day in Soph’s studio?”

  “Don’t…” She tries to pull back and put space between us, but there’s nowhere for her to go. “Don’t do that, Jamie. Don’t make me hurt for something that isn’t real.”

  “You got to teach the kids, you got to dance with Soph and Bean.” I lean closer, until my nose touches her cheek, and her breath comes out on a whimper. “You got to help choreograph.”

  “Jamie, st—”

  “You said it was the best experience of your life.”

  “Stop—”

  “You still carry your Ellie Solomon bag around.”

  “Jamie!” She shoves me way. “I said stop! Jesus, just quit it already. You still can’t take no for an answer, huh?”

  She tosses her sandwich to the dashboard, whips her seatbelt off, and pushes the car door open. “You still think you’re that fucking desirable that it’s crazy I don’t trip over my own feet to get to you.” Sliding into the darkness outside, she slams the door again and leaves me inside. All alone. Heart pounding, stomach churning… alone. “Back the fuck off, Jamie Kincaid!”

  I sit back in my seat and look up to the ceiling of the car. There are no streetlights out here, no passing cars. There’s just us, a bunch of trees, and repressive memories that batter at us both.

  We have the same memories. The difference is, I want to revisit that time, and Quinn wants to run far, far away.

&nb
sp; I don’t see her outside the car. I don’t see her shadow pacing back and forth. No doubt, now that she’s free of her cuff, she’s probably already darting for the road and heading back to Will.

  She’s the martyr; though she may be mad at him, she’d still die trying to get back to him.

  I push my door open and prepare for the chase.

  I’m exhausted. Weary. Unloved. But although she might not love me, I love her enough that I’ll continue to come back time and time again and endure her declarations of hate.

  “Quinn?”

  I slam my door and work on listening – for the sound of leaves crunching under running feet, for the sound of her racing breath as she bolts away, for the sound of something, anything. But then I’m slammed against the SUV with a back-crunching boom.

  Quinn’s chest plasters to mine. Her legs wrap around my hips. And when I instinctually reach around to hold her ass, she steals my breath and slams her lips to mine. She cries, deep, sobbing breaths and torrential tears, and I taste the salt on her lips. But she kisses me. Fast and desperate. Pained and terrified.

  I wasn’t coming here for this, and I sure as hell wasn’t planning on taking or asking before we even got home, but my body has different plans.

  From an unsure grip to a demanding hold, I spin us, and slam her tight body against the car until her head whips back, and her chest is open, exposed. I press a kiss to her throat, her collarbone, her chest, and make my way to her peaked nipples.

  We were children last time I had her in my arms. But now we’re grown, we’re warier, we’re less inclined to believe in fairytales.

  I hold her hips so tight that I know I bruise her delicate skin. I slide a hand under her shirt, over her flat stomach, and under her bra, because fuck, I can’t control my hands. I move my tongue along her heated flesh, over her racing pulse, and then up to her lips until I taste the salt again.

  “I’m sorry for running away,” she cries. She reaches under my shirt and memorizes my shape by touch. Her legs are tight around my hips, her core burning hot and needy. “I’m sorry I left you.”