“If I wasn’t committing crimes, you wouldn’t be in business.”
“You got a point there.” He scrunches up his nose and shakes his head.
“What are you working on?” I arch an eyebrow.
“I’m defending a sixteen-year-old boy being charged with first-degree murder for killing his parents with a butcher knife because they took his car away.” He rubs his chin.
“Really? Holy shit. You still get murder cases?” I don’t see how he can work around this shit, it seems like a very stressful job. He never talks about what’s going on at work.
“Yeah, just the other day, I had to defend a guy for killing his wife and her boyfriend because he caught them in the act. It used to fuck with me in the beginning, but after working almost seven years at this job, I’ve gotten used to hearing shit like this. The world is one fucked-up place.”
We are quiet for a few moments. I’ll take running a bank over doing this type of shit.
“You remember some guy named Ryan from college?” I cross my right leg over my left and rub my hands together.
“The fucker who was on the wrestling team with me, Ryan Jackson?”
I nod. “He used to date Gia.”
“That shitface was mean and a bully. He broke Alfred’s nose because he said he looked at him wrong. Darien and Matt told me you’re dating her when we went to Ocean Prime last week. What the fuck are you up to, Gunz?”
“He hurt her.” I’m not going to blab to Logan about Gia’s past. Those are not my secrets to tell. But I feel responsible for what happened to her all those years ago. The helplessness I feel over not helping her is eating away at me.
“In what way did he hurt her? And what are you going to do to him?”
I ignore his questions. “Look him up and give me his contact info.”
He wiggles the mouse and the monitor flickers to life. He starts typing on the black keyboard. “The bastard lives in DC. He was in and out of juvie but got his shit together before college. He graduated from NYU with a degree in communications and has five domestic charges and an out-of-date restraining order.” Logan scribbles his address on a notepad and hands it to me.
“Be careful and call me if some shit goes down,” he says, and I get up from the chair and exit his office.
Gia
Please, like my cake.
Please, like my cake.
Please, like my cake.
I chant this to myself as I rest the Oreo cake on the white countertop and my hand shakes excessively.
I stayed up all night baking different types of cake until I found the right one. Everyone loves Oreos. Baking is like sculpting; you bake until you get a shape and form that you will like and if you don’t have all the tools and ingredients, then it won’t turn out right.
Just like any masterpiece, it takes a lot of work to get perfection.
I have an interview with two sisters, London and Paris. Both of them are in their late sixties or early seventies with thinning white hair and wrinkled, reddish skin. They opened up Sandi’s Cupcakes thirty years back in honor of their mom, who used to love to bake. I could live in this place. Different varieties of sweet treats decorate the countertops and pictures of cupcakes decorate the pale yellow wall. This place is as peaceful as watching a sunset.
Butterflies swim in my stomach. My gaze clings to them as they cut a slice and bite into it. I’ve never been so excited and nervous at the same time. I bite down on my lip just to keep from saying the stupid fact.
Paris, who has her hair in a neat bun, eats a whole slice before she beams at her sister.
“Congratulations, you’re hired.”
“Thank you so much!” I say, clapping excitedly.
London clears her voice. “Now, let’s get to business.”
Paris rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “My sister has always been so serious about everything.”
“This business is important, Paris. That’s your problem, you never take anything seriously.”
Paris straightens her spine. London’s hair flows down her shoulders. Both of them have eyes of a faded, dull brown.
“And you don’t know how to have any fun. I don’t know how David stayed married to you for forty-five years,” Paris shoots back, then she leans toward me. “If I were him, I would have run for the hills.”
London ignores her and says, “We have a baking event this week. It’s the biggest event of the year. I have three thousand cupcakes to bake. Different varieties. Can you make these Oreo cakes as cupcakes but add vanilla in the center?”
“Of course,” I say with a smile.
“I knew she could,” Paris says, delight lacing her tone.
“We’ll need them by Saturday at six thirty a.m. We also have to set up our table, but don’t worry about that, I have two big husky boys to do it,” London chimes in. “We open at ten thirty a.m., and we close at eight thirty p.m.” London hands me the orientation package, a contract, and work schedule for the next two weeks.
When I get in my car, I dial Gunner’s number, but he doesn’t pick up, so I drive to the mansion. He’s probably there with Cora.
When I get to his bedroom, he’s in his walk-in closet, throwing clothes in his Louis Vuitton duffle bag. He has so many clothes. Designer ties are folded neatly in a bin and designer suits hang up on the right side with expensive loafers and sneakers on the left.
“Where are you going?” I ask, standing in the doorway. He stops what he’s doing, engulfs me with a hug, and gives me a quick peck on the lips. He’s so hot with his dress shirt untucked and his gray tie hanging loosely around his neck. I want him to screw me on this wooden floor. My panties become so soaked with my wayward thoughts that I might have to change them. We’re not having sex as much as we want to because we have Cora, so we have quickies in his office or in the shower or when we go to bed.
“DC. I have a business meeting. How’d your interview go?” He moves away and zips up his bag.
“I got the job!”
“Congrats, we’ll celebrate when I get back. I’ll take you anywhere you want.”
“Hmmm.” I tap my finger on my cheek. “There is this cooking class I’ve been dying to try out. Will you be back before Saturday? I have my first baking event, and I want you to be there. And sober.”
I know this week hasn’t been a walk in the park, but I really need his support. This is a highlight, the start of my baking career, and I’ve dreamed of this day since I was little.
“Aww. My little Rainbow cares about me.” He slings his duffle bag over his shoulder.
“I’m serious, Wolf. You don’t need to be drinking, it isn’t healthy. I worry about you.”
“All right, I won’t. I promise.”
Then I blurt out what I wanted to say to him before all that stuff happened with Rylee and Cora. “Did you know I love you?”
He looks at me like I told him I saw a ghost. Not the response I was hoping for.
It feels like a million bees sting my heart, but I can’t let it show. I was stupid to think he actually loves me. He’s an asshole, a broken, alcoholic asshole, but he’s my asshole. And I’m a wilting rose, dying for a drop of his water.
We’re both a disaster, trying to make our relationship work.
He gives me one last kiss on my cheek, and we walk in silence to his car.
“Cora is spending the night at Alana’s. She’s picking her up after ballet lessons,” he says.
Does he realize I’m on the verge of tears? If he does, he doesn’t seem to care.
Then he shuts the door in my face, leaving my heart on the cold ground.
Gunner
Q: What is love?
A: Attraction based on sexual desire: affection and tenderness felt by lovers -Webster Dictionary-
I sit in the chair on my private jet as I wait for the pilot to take off for DC. I haven’t been there in five years, ever since Matt’s grandma’s funeral.
Love is like flying on a jet. It lifts you off the fucki
ng ground to an unknown destination.
When did I know I was head over heels in love with Rainbow?
I think a part of me has always known, even back when I used to stalk her in college.
For most of my senior year, I sat at the table across from her while she’d do her homework, and I’d say whatever popped in my head. And when she thought I said something funny she would smile without uttering a word. But I wanted her words so bad.
So fucking bad.
So I asked her out on a date.
She stared at me, grabbed her stuff from the table, and shook her head no, on the verge of tears. Her rejection stung so much I went out to a bar and got fucking plastered to the point I missed my classes the next day.
Then one day she didn’t show up to work. I asked one of her coworkers if she was off, but she told me Gia quit out of the blue. It felt like an arrow was shot through my heart. As the years progressed, I fucked my way through New York City in the hopes of getting Gia off my brain. I had a sick obsession with her. I loved Gia even when I didn’t know what love was.
My love for Gia intensified when I moved her in with me. It made me fall more in love with her without me realizing. She’s like my personal brand of whiskey, I can’t get enough of her no matter how much I drink her. And I get drunk off her love until I pass out. I love the way she’s quiet, but when she speaks, she’s sassy. She talks back. I love her weird quirks, like the way she says random facts when she’s nervous, or the way she has a big heart even though she has been through a grinder.
I’m the bluntest motherfucker on the planet—if I think you’re a piece of shit, I’ll let you know—but when Rainbow told me she loved me earlier, I got tongue-tied. The words wouldn’t come. The sadness that I saw on her face when I didn’t say it back pierced my heart.
I have never uttered the words to any other woman besides Ma or Alana. The L word scares the shit out of me. But I want to take this flight of love with Gia. When I get back from fucking Ryan up, I’ll tell her.
Right before the pilot announces that we’re about to take off, I send Hannah a message.
Me: Gia is love.
Hannah: At last you figured out you love her. Congratulations on your breakthrough.
This motherfucker lives in the suburban area in a quiet neighborhood. The roof of his Spanish-style bungalow is dull red, and the house is made out of beige cement with a white picket fence surrounding the property. A pole with an American flag sways back and forth, planted in the fresh-cut lawn. I hate DC, it’s a dump. People here like to shove their views on politics down your throat.
I’ve been sitting in this rented BMW for thirty minutes, waiting for this bastard to show up. A teenager who looks like a Green Day reject wearing black clothing and heavy black eyeliner skates past me. I open my door.
“Hey, you, come here.” I wave my hand at him, and he turns around, staring me down.
“What, dude?” His nose ring glints in the sunlight. Fat white clouds float in the crystal-clear sky.
“You know the guy who lives there?”
His eyes follow my finger as I point to Ryan’s house. “No, they stay to themselves.”
“They?” I arch an eyebrow.
“Yeah, dude. Him and his girlfriend or whatever. She barely leaves the house. He owns an Italian restaurant in Dupont Circle.”
“I was never here,” I say, reaching back into my back pocket, grabbing my wallet, handing him a hundred-dollar bill.
“Sure.” His eyes widen and he stuffs the money in his front pocket. He gets on his skateboard and heads down the hill. I get back in my car and tap my fingers on the leather steering wheel. After sitting here for an hour, I gather my wits, get out of the car, and walk across the street.
I knock on the door five times until a short woman with chestnut hair down to her shoulders cracks the door open. She’s the spitting image of Gia, and I do a double-take. Her hands shake like leaves and faint black and blue marks cover her eyes. She bows her head in a submissive stance.
“Can I help you, sir?” Blood seeps between the cracks of her lips. her skin is white as a piece of paper, and she’s thinner than a supermodel, like she hasn’t had a nourishing meal in years. Her cheekbones are sunken in. Ryan needs to pay for what he does to women. There’s a special place in hell for him.
“Where’s Ryan Jackson?” I ask.
Instead of responding, she begins to close the door, so I shove my foot in the crack, and she slams it on my foot. I bite down hard on my bottom lip as I grunt.
“I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to speak to men.” Her voice is hoarse and meek.
“He’s beating you, isn’t he?” I say, through clenched teeth.
She flinches at my words but doesn’t answer my question. Instead, her eyes bounce between the door and the driveway.
“Did Ryan send you here to test me?” She rubs her nose. “Please, tell him that I didn’t speak to you.”
I shove the door open, and she takes a step back. Eyes filling with horror, she studies my hand closely as I grab my wallet slowly and shove a wad of cash into her hand.
“That’s three grand. Do you have a car?”
She shakes her head as her eyes narrow on the Benjamins, examining them like foreign objects she’s never seen before.
I grab my phone from my front pocket and call her a taxi. I text my pilot to have my private plane ready, then text Logan telling him that I’m sending a woman to him and the details of the flight and to get her set up in an apartment in my building.
“The taxi will take you to a private airport and a guy named Logan will pick you up after the flight. He’ll set you up with an apartment and give you what you need.”
“He’ll find me,” she whispers.
“No, he won’t. My girlfriend used to date him. She got out, you can too. I promise he won’t hurt you anymore.” Yeah, that’s what Gia is. My girlfriend, my one and only. It sounds weird saying it out loud.
“Is her name Gia?”
I nod.
“He talks about her all the time, compares me to her. My hair is not even brown, it’s blond—it looks almost white. He made me dye it this color, so I can look like her. I hate the color brown.”
She studies my face, then tears well in her eyes and trickle down her pale cheeks.
“I worked at his restaurant as a waitress a few years ago, saving up money to go to Hollywood to become an actress, to get out of the dumpy apartment I was living in. Ryan convinced me to stay here with him because he loved me, but he was making me a carbon copy of Gia, making me cook and bake like her.” She wipes the tears from her eyes. “Calling her name while we have sex. He wanted me quiet like her, but I’m not. I’m a chatterbox. And I hate cooking. I hate wearing bright colors. My favorite color is tan. And, I’m not a homebody either. I like to party and barhop. I like to sew dresses. You see that, right? That I’m not her. That we’re different?”
I nod my head, and she smiles sadly.
“I don’t have any anger toward Gia, by the way. It’s just he puts her on a pedestal, that she’s so great and I can’t measure up to her.”
The taxi pulls up the driveway and honks.
She wraps her arms around my waist, and I pat her head like she was a cute puppy.
“Thank you so much! I feel so free.” She lets me go and pushes me out of the way.
“You’re not going to grab a few things?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t want anything that will remind me of him.”
She rushes to the cab like she’s running for dear life. She takes one last look at me, waving at me before getting in the car. I nod my head, then I move to the living room, sit into the pale blue recliner, and wait for this motherfucker to show up.
This place makes me fucking sick. It smells like fresh air, and it feels homey enough to make my skin crawl. If I didn’t know the history of what goes on in here, I wouldn’t know that abuse and nightmares filled this home.
Different sizes of pictu
res of that girl and Ryan hang on the eggshell walls. That’s the thing about pictures—they can paint illusions of happiness while there’s a shit show happening behind the scenes. The house looks like any traditional home with an upstairs that I didn’t bother lurking in. I go into the kitchen. It’s small with a white fridge and flat top stove. Repulsive-ass place. Then after I finish looking around, I head back to the recliner in the living room.
Several minutes later, I hear the key jingle in the lock before the front door opens, and feet pad against the pale wooden floors.
“Nova, you goddamn bitch. You better have my dinner ready. I had a horrible day, and I’m not in the mood to wait. For every minute I have to wait, you’ll get slapped.” He throws his keys on a wooden stand next to a bowl filled with fake fruit.
He has a bushy beard and freckles sprinkled across his tan face. He’s built like a bodybuilder. But he’s a good three inches shorter than me.
“She isn’t here, dipshit,” I say. His dark brown eyes snap to me and widen in surprise.
“Gunner Underwood. Why the fuck are you in my house? Where’s Nova?”
I push myself off the recliner and stomp up to him, and his chest brushes against mine. “She left you and won’t be coming back.”
“Get the fuck out. I’m calling the police.” He takes out his phone from his breast pocket.
“Go right ahead, call them. You can tell them how you use Nova as a punching bag.”
I fold my arms across my chest. I planned everything in my head before this motherfucker showed up. I’m going to beat him so bad no one will be able to recognize his face.
“You come here to steal Nova like you did Gia? You really take sloppy seconds to another level, don’t you?”
“I didn’t steal her from you.” I never wanted to beat someone’s ass as much as I want to now.
“You didn’t, huh? That’s why you showed up to the library all the time and sat with her. She left me to be with you.”
Chasing Gunner (Chasing Series Book 2) Page 16