Rock Chick Regret

by Kristen Ashley

  He was probably right about that.

  I, of course, was not going to tell him that.

  “Even the Balduccis wouldn’t be fool enough to walk into Lee Nightingale’s office and nab me. Jerry’s fucked. Hector’s probably livid and the Nightingale Men are going to freak.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” he asked sharply. “I need Lee Nightingale breathing down my neck like I need a hole in my head. Sadie, you forced my hand, put me in a situation where I had to put one of my men at risk just so I could talk to my own goddamned daughter.”

  I steeled myself so his words wouldn’t affect me.

  “Are we done here?” I asked sounding like I was definitely done.

  “No. I need to give you the name of the bank, the account numbers –”

  “I think I already told you I don’t want your money and I’m fine where I am.”

  More silence, this stretched longer, became scarier then my father said in a low voice, a voice I knew very well, the voice he used when he meant to be listened to and obeyed.

  “We need to talk about Chavez.”

  I fought against my conditioning to listen and obey and said, fake-breezily, “Talk away.”

  “I don’t like you with him.”

  “Well, I didn’t suspect you’d be leaping for joy but I also don’t care. I like him. He taught me how to make s’mores.”

  Silence again, this time it wasn’t scary, it was something else.

  “S’mores?” he asked and I could swear my always unruffled father sounded confused.

  “Yes, those graham cracker sandwiches where you roast a marsh –”

  “I know what s’mores are, Sadie.”

  “Well, he taught me how to make them. He found out I’d never had them and always wanted to make some and he made sure I had them. And we sanded his floors. And his mother likes me. She’s going to teach me how to cook.”

  The scary was back. “He’s got you, my daughter, sanding his floors?”

  “I asked to do it. Hector wanted to watch a movie.”

  “Jesus Christ,” my father muttered.

  At this point, in order to speed things up and get the hell out of there, I channeled Hector and explained, “I know you don’t have a lot of time and you’re not getting this so I’ll give it to you. See, a good life is about sanding floors, making s’mores and laughing while you do the dishes. It’s about putting lip gloss on in the restroom with your girlfriends during a rock gig. It’s about being able to say things that aren’t smart or do things that are really stupid and people forgiving you. It’s about looking after each other. That’s a good life. Ralphie and Buddy, my friends, gave that to me. Then Hector came into my life and made it even better. I’ve had that life for…” I stopped, counted and then went on, “Five weeks and five days. I like it. I’m not giving it up. I’m not going to the Caymans and living the big life off your drug money, surrounded by pretty things, eating the finest foods, drinking champagne but being totally alone and utterly lonely. I’d rather paint Hector’s living room which is what I might do today, if he lets me. Now, can we stop talking so Jerry can take me home and good people can stop worrying about me?”

  Apparently, he didn’t listen to a word I said.

  “It’s my job to take care of you, I’m your father,” he told me.

  “Well, if it’s your job, you’re fired,” I replied calmly, proud of myself.

  Who would have known I had it in me?

  But there it was.

  Silence again, then, “This isn’t done, Sadie.”

  It was my turn to sigh. “I didn’t figure it would be. But can it be for now? I need a shower.”

  Then he surprised me again, he did this by giving in.

  My father never gave in.

  Ever!

  “Give the phone to Jerry,” he ordered.

  I smiled with saccharin sweetness (through my surprise) at Jerry and held out the phone.

  “Daddy wants to talk to you.” I told him.

  Jerry gave me a glare, took the phone, turned his back to me and walked out of the room.

  Minutes later, he came back, holding a funny looking gun.

  I stared in shock at the gun.

  “Lights out,” Jerry said and the last thing I saw were the Taser prongs coming at me.

  * * * * *

  I came to strapped into the front seat of Jerry’s BMW and he was driving. I didn’t know how long I’d been out but it took awhile for me to get my faculties together.

  I figured I’d chatted enough with Jerry, he wasn’t a great conversationalist so even when I had myself sorted, I kept my mouth shut.

  After awhile, Jerry, unfortunately, felt like talking.

  “I’m gonna stop for a second, you’re not clear of the car, I run you down. You try something smart, I go for payback. I’ll be nicer to you than Ricky, blood would put me off getting off. Who knows? Maybe you’d even enjoy it.”

  Seriously.

  What a jerk!

  “Swine,” I mumbled, breaking my vow not to speak to him.

  He kept on, clearly unhappy about me throwing him under the bus (or maybe he was swine). “Don’t mind sayin’, all the boys had a thing for you. Chavez wasn’t the only one; he just hid it better than the rest of us. You, Christ, all haughty, bitchy and ice cold. We spent a lot of time talkin’ about how you’d feel if we got a piece of you, if our cocks would freeze off or if you’d finally let loose and be a wildcat. Your Dad’s still got power but you try me, I figure it would be worth his retribution to have a crack at you and find out.”

  I turned to Jerry. “You do know I was raped, don’t you? You do know that every word out of your mouth makes you lower than low, slimier than slime, scumier than scum? Don’t you?”

  He didn’t answer.

  I saw we were getting close to the Nightingale Offices and I knew that was where he was going to let me off.

  I unbuckled my seatbelt, put my hand on the door handle and kept my mouth shut until I had just enough time to say exactly what I wanted to say.

  Then, when the time was right, I said it.

  “Just to appease your curiosity, Jerry, I like it fast, hot, hard and rough and I like it slow, gentle and sweet. I like it any way Hector wants to give it to me and he gives it to me loads. So, you can tell those assholes, being pansy-assed and afraid of my father, they missed out because I am a wildcat. And that’s why Hector’s getting it, because he’s not pansy-assed or afraid of anything.”

  And before he came to a full stop or could say a word, I threw open the door, put my feet to the pavement and ran.

  I didn’t look back. I went straight into the building, to the stairs not bothering with the elevator.

  I rounded the landing on the first flight and slammed right into Mace.

  Without a word, he took my hand and dragged me up to the third floor into the hall and directly into the offices.

  Shirleen was standing behind her desk, phone to her ear, eyes full of relief on me.

  “Hector?” Mace asked Shirleen, he didn’t break stride, he kept dragging me through the reception area.

  Shirleen put her hand over the mouthpiece nodding.

  “On his way,” Shirleen replied.

  Mace punched a code into the keypad by the inner door.

  “I’m okay,” I told Shirleen.

  “Thank God, child,” she said back.

  Mace dragged me through the door.

  “Call Detective Marker,” I shouted as the door closed behind me.

  Mace dragged me straight to Lee’s office and pulled me in.

  Tom Savage, Malcolm Nightingale and Monty were all at Lee’s desk. There was a mess of papers on it, papers that looked like maps and floor plans.

  Their heads came up and they stared at me.

  Then Tom broke away from the rest and came at me muttering, “Christ Jesus.”

  Before I knew it, he had me in his arms.

  “Christ. Jesus. Jesus Christ,” he whispered over my h
ead.

  So lightning wouldn’t strike him for taking the Lord’s name in vain (repeatedly), I said into his chest, “I’m okay. It was my father. He had one of his men kidnap me. He didn’t hurt me. My father just wanted to talk.”

  Tom leaned back and looked at me. “We know it was Jerry. Daisy recognized him. We just didn’t know what your father had planned.”

  I saw the relief written all over his face and, even though it was unhappy circumstances that gave him that look, for some reason somewhere deep it made me happy. So happy, I slid my arms around his waist, pressed my cheek against his chest and hugged him.

  I don’t remember hugging anyone like that of my own accord (and not in the middle of a major flip out) since my Mom was killed.

  “I’m okay,” I repeated.

  He hugged me back. “Thinkin’ about givin’ up Mexican food, girl. At least until we know you’re safe. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

  I pulled away and looked up at him.

  “That’s sayin’ a lot, Tom likes his Mexican food,” Monty called from his spot by the desk.

  “I wouldn’t want you to give up something you liked,” I told Tom.

  He smiled at me as Malcolm asked Mace, “Someone call Hector?”

  “Shirleen,” Mace replied.

  “The girls?” Tom asked.

  “Shirleen,” Mace repeated.

  “Prepare for a Rock Chick invasion,” Monty muttered.

  I looked at Monty then at Mace finally at Malcolm and Tom.

  “I’m sorry to worry you, I –”

  Malcolm cut me off, “Didn’t hear Kitty Sue, Indy or Ally say you waltzed out with Jerry, arms linked and laughin’, so stop apologizin’.”

  I nodded then, even though it probably sounded stupid, it was true, I said to Mace, “I really could use a cup of coffee. Do you guys have a kitchenette?”

  “I’ll get Brody to make a pot,” Mace told me.

  “Shit no!” Monty exclaimed, moving away from the desk. “Brody’s coffee’s thicker than custard. One cup’ll keep you awake a week. I’ll make it.”

  “Thanks Monty,” I said to his back. He didn’t turn around, he just lifted up a hand, flicked out his index and middle fingers and walked out.

  “Shit to do,” Mace mumbled, tagged me with a hand behind my head and brought me close, leaned low (Mace was really tall), kissed my forehead, then he was gone.

  Monty made coffee and Shirleen, who didn’t file but apparently did serve coffee or at least she did to recently returned kidnap victims, brought it in with milk, sugar and mugs.

  I had just taken my first fortifying sip (Monty made excellent coffee) when the door opened and Hector was there.

  He looked at me, his face as dark as thunder.

  I smiled at him.

  For some reason, his face stayed dark and his gaze moved to the room.

  “Get out,” he told everyone.

  My smile died.

  “Hector!” I snapped.

  No one seemed offended by this and everyone moved to leave. There were smiles and Monty even chuckled.

  I didn’t think this was funny.

  Hector was being rude!

  “You don’t have to leave,” I told them, putting my mug on the desk but they were gone, the door closing behind Tom, right before it did, I saw him turn then wink then he disappeared from sight.

  I glared at Hector.

  “That was rude,” I told him.

  He was three feet away from me.

  Then, without apparently moving, he was right there, his arms around me, crushingly tight. My body plastered against his, his mouth came down hard on mine.

  His kiss took my breath away. The only thing I could do was put my hands to either side of his neck and hold on.

  He tore his mouth from mine and touched our foreheads for a nanosecond before moving back an inch.

  His eyes were blazing hot, not with desire or anger but with something else that still made my knees go weak.

  “Scared the shit out of me,” he told me.

  At the depth of feeling in his voice, all my organs at once ceased working.

  “Hector,” I whispered.

  “Don’t remember the last time I was fuckin’ scared. I don’t fuckin’ get scared. That’s why I used to find trouble. Would do anything, try anything, fuckin’ fearless. Drove Mamá up the wall. Even undercover for the Agency. I fed off the danger. Loved every fuckin’ minute of it. Never felt fear. Not once. Not until last night.”

  Oh… my… God!

  Did he just say that?

  He went on, “I didn’t like it, Sadie.”

  Yes, he just said it.

  My fingers tightened on his neck.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

  “This has got to end,” he told me and I really didn’t like the tone of his voice. I didn’t like it so much my fingers went even tighter at his neck.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “That means Plan B.”

  “What’s Plan B?”

  “Plan B means this ends.”

  My heart started tripping over itself (but at least it was now beating).

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Was toyin’ with ‘em, the Balduccis, pittin’ them against each other. I wanted them to feel the fear. Trip up. Get angry. Turn their attention from you to each other so they’d implode. I wanted them to do stupid shit so we could get them and they’d go down. They took it beyond my expectations, poisoned their own fuckin’ brother. Then they branched back out your way, torched your gallery and in the meantime your father stepped in and if we don’t shut him down, he’s gonna fuck everything up.”

  I was stuck on his earlier point.

  “Do you think they poisoned Harvey?” I asked.

  “Poison isn’t Seth’s style. He doesn’t mind mess. He likes to make a statement.”

  He was talking about my father and his words made my blood run cold.

  Hector went on, “Marty has a chemistry set. We know he roofies girls he wants to fuck who won’t give him the time of day. Likes to do the same to adversaries, makes it easier to kick the shit out of them. Word is, he’s got an interest, he does research, plays around with pharmaceuticals just to see what they’d do. Eddie says there were two deaths by poison last year, both enemies of the Balduccis.”

  I stared at Hector.

  Veronica Mars had been “roofied”, in other words, slipped a date rape sedative so she’d go incoherent before she passed out and when she did, the creepy, weak, homicidal high school kid had his way with her (but also her cute, sweet high school ex-boyfriend did too but he had an excuse, he’d also been roofied, it wasn’t a good night for our plucky Veronica).

  “That’s gross,” I said to Hector.

  “That’s Marty,” Hector said back.

  “What’s Plan B?”

  “You don’t have to know what Plan B is but while it’s happenin’, you aren’t outside touching distance of me or one of the boys. Clear?”

  “Clear,” I agreed. “But I think I want to know what Plan B is.”

  He shook his head.

  “Hector –” I started.

  “You agreed I’d take care of you, I’m takin’ care of you. That’s all you need to know.”

  “Hector!”

  He gave me a squeeze, his eyes went narrow and then, obviously because this was important, for good measure, he gave me a shake.

  “Sadie, I’m askin’ you to trust me.”

  I pulled in my lips, bit them and stared at him.

  I’d made this bed, I’d tested that trust, I’d let him know it and now I was lying in said bed.

  Blooming heck!

  I had only one choice.

  “Oh, all right,” I gave in and watched his face start to relax. “But only if you let me paint your living room whatever color I want.”

  It was his turn to stare.

  And he did this for awhile.

  Finally, he said, “Mamita, yo
u’re a little crazy.”

  Maybe I was.

  But I was also on a mission.

  “Do I get to paint your living room?” I asked.

  He sighed then rested his forehead against mine. This time, he kept it there.

  Then it was his turn to give in. “Just not pink.”

  “I’m not going to paint your living room pink!” I yelled, pulling my head away. “I can’t believe you’d even think that.”

  At my outburst, his face went warm and, for some bizarre reason, he muttered, “Will of fuckin’ steel.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Shit keeps comin’ at you. Bad shit. Rape, your mother’s murder, arson, kidnapping and you’re standin’ here wantin’ to paint my living room. You got a will of fuckin’ steel.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that so I didn’t say anything but Hector did.

  “And before you ask, mi corazón, that’s good,” he told me quietly.

  My belly went into melt mode, he touched his lips to mine, soft, sweet and way too short.

  I decided to change the subject from my “will of steel” (even though I liked that he thought that about me, it felt good).

  “I need to talk to you about what Jerry and my father said.”

  “You had breakfast?”

  “Jerry gave me a bowl of cereal.”

  He let me go, stepped away but curled his arm around my neck and headed us to the door.

  “I’ll feed you, you tell me then we’ll go to Home Depot, get you some paint.”

  I smiled at him. I couldn’t help it because there it was again.

  I had a trauma.

  I survived it.

  Then Hector made life better again.

  I stopped our progress to the door by planting my feet, putting a hand to his stomach and pressing into his side. I leaned up on tiptoes and, this time, I touched my mouth to his.

  “Thanks, babe,” I said softly against his mouth.

  At my words, I watched, close up, as his eyes flared, he curled me fully to his front, his mouth came down on mine and he gave me a kiss that was so far from a touch on the lips, it wasn’t even funny.

  When he was done, he lifted his head. I was leaned into him, arms around him, unable to hold myself up and he had that possessive look in his eye.

  “There she is,” he whispered.