by Nikki Wild
Besides, I thought that there was a sick logic to all this. If I could afford to find out who was after me, it would make it clear that I had access to this imaginary money. And that would change the game all over again. This asshole was playing smart, and he was playing rich. In that way, at least, Rev and I could never compete.
“But,” Gino said. “I will say again, this guy is not so shy. Hard to believe everyone is quiet about it.”
“He’s got a lot of muscle, then,” Rev suggested. Gino barked out a laugh.
“More than American bodybuilding team.”
Great.
“Just tell me, how fucked am I?” I asked. Gino heard the despair in my voice, and his eyes were sympathetic as he looked into the mirror at my reflection.
“What they want, you should give it.”
“But I don’t have what they want,” I shouted. “How many times do I have to say it? I don’t have any money! I’m a fucking vet tech at a non-profit shelter! I don’t have any money!”
Gino studied me for a long moment. Rev was half-shaved, white foam covering one side of his jaw. He stared up at Gino, who stared in the mirror at me.
“It is there, though,” Gino said. “Ah…cazzo! You should know. Your father was a smart man. Too smart to leave you poor. There’s money, topalina.”
“Where?” I demanded, baffled. How could my father have money I didn’t know about? Wouldn’t he have told me? Especially once it became clear that someone was after it, and willing to kill to get it – he would have told me. Right?
“This, I don’t know,” Gino said, shrugging and drawing his attention back to Rev’s face. “But if you find it, I’d give it up. Better your money than your life.”
Fuck that. If there was money, it was mine. If there was money, maybe I could fight back. But where the hell was it? In my house? Buried in my yard? In my old house? Buried in my old yard? In the Bel Aire?
“You should talk to Leathers,” Gino said softly, quickly. His eyes darted up to mine and then away quickly. I got the sense that he was toeing a line he really didn’t want to toe.
“Leathers?” Rev nearly shouted. “Leathers doesn’t talk.”
“To me, he does,” Gino murmured. “That’s it. I’m sorry. I wish I could…”
“I know, Gino,” I said, rubbing my temples. “I know you would if you could. But if anything changes…if the price goes down…if anything else comes up…”
“Of course, topalina,” Gino said. “Anything. If I can tell, I will tell.”
He was almost done shaving Rev.
“But for me, you take care of each other, eh?” he mused aloud. “Two good kids. Even you…”
He whipped his razor down Rev’s face with one last time, adding some flourish. Then he pointed the razor at Rev, an act that would immediately call for war if anyone but Gino was doing it.
“…not so bad, for jailbird. So take care of each other.”
“Will do, Gino,” Rev said, rising with his hand out. We were done here. Nothing more to learn. At least we had something. Namely, the absurd suggestion that we talk to a man who hadn’t talked in a decade. And a new reason to be deathly afraid.
“You too,” Gino turned that razor on me, pointing as I rose. “You take care of stupid boy.”
“I will,” I said, my eyes drifting from Gino to Rev. Taking care of him wasn’t my job. But how was he going to keep me alive if I didn’t try to do the same for him?
And what was stopping him from leaving?
I needed him a lot more than he needed me.
I felt like I was going to throw up. It was too much to think about doing this alone. If he left…if he ran…
“Don’t worry, Gino,” Rev said, and though he was speaking to the barber he was looking straight at me. “Neither of us are going anywhere, unless the other one’s coming along for the ride. We’ll take care of each other. Trust me.”
There was that word again. And there were his eyes again. Black as the night sky and twice as deep. Asking me to trust him. Telling me I could. We were alone, caught in a channel that only existed when our eyes met. My heart beat dully in my chest, a hollow thud. I nodded, swallowed with a dry throat.
“Right,” I said. He blinked and the channel was broken, the sensations fading away. I turned to Gino with a smile that I couldn’t feel in my heart. “What he said.”
Chapter 17
Rev
The last stop of the day was a boring one. I had to meet with my parole officer. It was short and sweet. Don’t leave the state. Don’t associate with criminals. Don’t do it again.
Check. Prove it. Check.
We talked about stopping at the Piper to see if Leathers was there and feeling chatty, but both agreed that it might be better to digest everything at home before we took the next step. Misty angled the car towards home, and I settled down with my eyes closed, feeling the fresh shave on my jaw, trying to figure out what to do, and how to do it.
The flags were as red as a firetruck and big as a football field. We got back to the house just past dark; Misty slowed to a crawl before turning into the driveway. The front door was ajar, a window broken. For a second, we both just stared in silence.
“They knocked over Lynette,” she murmured, her knuckles white on the steering wheel.
“What?”
“Lynette,” she said, pointing to one of her lawn flamingos. “Never mind. Oh…oh…oh SHIT!”
Like a cramp letting go, reality came crashing down around us. And before I could react, Misty was diving across the seat, scrambling for the glovebox and unbuckling her seatbelt at the same time. The shine of metal gleamed in the dark car as she pulled out a gun and turned, one hand on the door.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I barked, grabbing her hand before she could unlatch the door and do something very stupid.
“Purrloin!”
Fuck. I wish I was too rough, too tough and too cold-hearted to give a damn about a housecat. I wished that I could force Misty into the passenger seat and drive us off into the night.
But dammit, the cat had grown on me.
“The door is…”
“She doesn’t go outside,” Misty hissed. “I’m not taking that chance. I’m getting my fucking cat, Rev.”
“No, you’re not,” I said, reaching out and taking the gun from her hand. “I am. I’m your bodyguard, remember?”
She said something, but I didn’t hear it because I was already out of the car and stalking up to the door. Stupid. Stupid. You’re stupid. You’re so. Fucking. Stupid. The smarter part of my brain was very, very angry at the dumber part. But the dumber part was at the door, pushing it open just enough to slip inside. The lights were off in the living room, but a yellow glow inched around the corner of the hallway. The living room itself was a mess, shattered glass on the floor, the couch cushions ripped apart, lamps overturned.
“Pick it up!”
It sounded like it came from the study, a low masculine voice, ripe with frustration.
“Man, I’m fuckin’ allergic to cats. You pick it up.”
A second voice, whining. I crept closer, carefully avoiding anything that might crunch under my shoes. A bead of sweat trickled down from my ear to my chin.
“I’m not getting scratched,” the first voice ordered, clearly belonging to the man in charge of this break-in. “Take a fucking Benadryl. We’ve still got half a house to search.”
Purrloin howled, loud and long.
“Maaaaaan, fuck it! Fuck it! Just shoot it! I’ll go into anaphylactic shock!”
“You shoot it, then, pussy.”
“Shootin’ a fuckin’ cat…maaaaan…I’m gonna have nightmares!”
A thug with a heart of gold. How sweet. But apparently, nightmares weren’t a big enough threat to stop him from doing the deed, because just as I was about to come blasting around the corner, a gunshot rocked through the house. My heart stopped.
God dammit. They shot Misty’s fucking cat.
&n
bsp; No, they didn’t.
Because a second later, a grey blur came screeching and yowling around the corner, sweeping through my legs and scrambling over the wood floor.
“Fucking shit!”
“Forget it, it’s just a fucking cat!”
“Tell that to the boss, stupid motherfucker. He wanted that cat dead or alive, remem…”
I was backing up as the voices drew near, both men in hot pursuit. I guess whoever was running this game knew that hurting Purrloin was a good way to get Misty’s attention. One of them turned the corner, his eyes going wide with shock as he saw my shadow in the dark room; the sudden stop had his partner running into him, pushing him forward. I fired one shot at his knee and spun backwards towards the door.
“Who the fuck are you?”
The one I’d shot was howling on the ground, his partner aiming his gun at me. He didn’t wait for me to answer his question. We fired at the same time. My shot went wide, but his blazed a trail of burning metal across my bicep. I was almost at the door, my heart racing, the smell of gunsmoke burning my nose, Misty’s screaming in my deafened ears, pain barely registering as adrenaline throbbed through my veins. Another step backwards and Purrloin screeched as I stepped on her tail; if only she knew that her momentary pain was saving her life.
Another bullet breezed over my head as I swooped down and caught the scruff of her neck before throwing myself out the door in a glorified crouch. I hit the ground running. Misty was jetting towards me, screaming something, then pointing; when we met in the middle, I tossed the scratching, screaming bundle of cat into her arms and grabbed her elbow, pulling her along behind me. A bullet hole scarred the Bel Aire’s baby blue paint job. Millions would be rolling in his grave over that little transgression, and I was in no mood to join him down there.
“Get in the car!” I shouted as another bullet seared past us to crack the backseat window. I leap into the open door happy to find the keys still hanging in the ignition. Misty might not want me behind the wheel of her father’s most prized possession, but in the heat of the moment, I was in no mood to argue over who was driving.
Everything screeched at once: the cat, the girl, the man in the doorway, the tires, and my own bloodied body. We were going to be okay; we were going to be fine. I was behind the wheel, and I was going to get us out. This was what I did. This was where I belonged. A car pulled into the street behind us, but it would never catch me. Four years couldn’t rob me of the muscle memory I needed to get us from the streets to the highway, from the highway to the country road, from the country road to the safe house.
C’mon, motherfuckers, I thought, a grin splitting my face, feeling like a madman and knowing I looked that way too. Misty was trying to manage Purrloin and fasten her seatbelt at the same time, a wise choice given my rapidly increasing speed and the sharp turns I took at every opportunity. There was no pain. No fear. Nothing. I was almost glad that they were matching my pace. I wanted to play. Gunning the engine, I saw high beams behind me, and that grin grew even wider. Let’s have some goddamn fun.
Chapter 18
Misty
Half of me wanted to tell him to slow down. The other half wanted him to speed up, to go so damn fast that the car actually took flight and we could soar over the highway.
All of me was too distracted trying to calm my insane cat to say anything. Purrloin scratched and screamed like she was still in imminent danger. Which, for all I knew, she still was.
How long had we been driving? At least twenty minutes, judging by the time on the dashboard. Long enough to have hit the interstate and leave Sorghum Bend behind. I kept a weather eye on the cars at our back – but at this point, none of them seemed to be following us. Rev was still driving like they were hot on our tails, and I guess I trusted him to know better than me. This was, after all, his job...
“Okay,” he finally said, and with this word I noticed the needle on the speedometer drift left for the first time since we took to the road. “Okay. I think…I think we’re alright.”
I sighed, releasing a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. The news didn’t make any difference to Purrloin, though, and she was still shouting and meowling and trying to get a paw free so she could drive another claw into my arm. She never cared much for car rides to begin with, and this one was no exception.
“Jesus, Rev,” I said as she finally began to calm down, perhaps picking up on my own easing tension. “Jesus…”
“Fuck,” he growled. We were having two different conversations. I looked at him from the corner of my eye and tried to figure out what to say to him. Hallmark sure didn’t make a card that said thanks for running into an active crime scene to save my cat.
“You alright?” he asked, turning his attention to Purrloin and I. I nodded.
“What about you?”
“I’ll be fine,” he grunted. Shit. So he wasn’t alright. But he was too damn macho to come out and tell me. He was gonna make me ask.
“Did you get shot?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, shit,” I said. “Pull over. Where? Where’s the wound? I’ve got a first aid kit…”
“No fucking way,” he said. “Not until we’ve got a good thirty miles between us and those fucks. You know, they tried to shoot her. Big fuckin’ men, shooting at a damn cat…”
“Well…you stopped them,” I said. “Thank you, Rev. Thanks for…”
“That’s what I’m here for,” he said. He glanced at me, face unreadable. “Right? Don’t thank me, Misty. I told you to trust me. Thank me by starting to trust me for real.”
My breath caught in my throat, my words dying on my lips. Alright. Alright. He’d earned it, now. My trust. He’d run into a house that might as well have been on fire, during a tornado, on the edge of a cliff, to save my cat. He wouldn’t take my gratitude. He just wanted my trust. The least I could do was give it to him.
“Right,” I said softly. “Rev…please. Pull over. Let me see where they shot you. You could pass out at the wheel, and what good would that do any of us?”
I scanned him for any signs of the wound, but it was too dark to see where blood might be staining his clothes. And he didn’t seem to be favoring any part of his body. I only saw him clearly in the fluid and infrequent splashes of light thrown across the front seat by other cars. Each of those momentary glimpses revealed less than the one before it. He was stone-faced and sturdy.
“Thirty minutes,” he said. “I just want another half hour…”
“There’s no way to convince you, is there?”
“Not really,” he said, and now he offered me a thin smile. “Misty, it feels good to be behind the wheel again. Good enough to keep me going. Give me thirty minutes.”
I wasn’t going to rip the steering wheel from his hands, and I didn’t have much leverage. I leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes and listening to the hum of the tires matching my own thrumming heart. Purrloin finally calmed to a manageable state. I had an extra carrier cage in the backseat, a helpful thing to have around if I ever spotted a stray. But for now, I wanted her warm and alive in my arms.
“Where are we going, Rev?” I asked. For all I knew, we were driving to Mexico. Wouldn’t that be nice. All the nachos and tequila I could possibly want in a place far from anyone who wanted to do me harm. I bet Rev looked great with a tan, in board shorts. The two of us living on the beach or something…
Um. What? I opened my eyes fast to dispel the dangerously seductive image my mind had cooked up. Stress was not my friend. I’d been acting and feeling weird ever since this whole mess started. It was making me seek shelter in a man. I was confusing adrenaline and affection. My body was confused, and my mind was just going along for the ride.
“…mountains. No one knows about it. We’ll be safe there,” he was saying. I missed the first part. He glanced at me and seemed to see how quickly my mind was working, trying to figure it out. “A safe house, Misty. My old man’s place.”
“Right,”
I said. Sure; my dad had one of those, too. But it was gone now, sold off when the cops found him there and it wasn’t a safe house anymore. All successful criminals have something like it. I guess I was lucky that Rev was going to let me into his.
The next thirty minutes rolled by without saying a word. We all needed the silence, even Purrloin. I turned to Rev when we passed a sign advertising a rest stop, but he was already signaling to move into the right lane, then pulling across to the exit ramp.
We sat in the mostly-empty parking lot, under a radiating halo of cold off-white light. The truck stop had a McDonalds, a Starbucks, and a Sheetz, but we parked far from any of them. I thought we could use some food, but not before I finally got a look at the wound Rev was hiding from me.
He blinked in my direction, then shoved his arm forward, towards me. The whole thing shook. His shirt was soaked in pink, the whole sleeve and down the side of his ribs. The wound carved into the muscle of his bicep. It was ugly and I knew it would scar, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the blood made it seem. The bullet had grazed him, cutting a deep line. I sighed in mixed relief and frustration. I could see how pale he was. He’d lost plenty of blood and it must hurt like hell. He had to be feeling weak. Why didn’t he just let me sew him up a half hour ago?
I took his shaking arm in my hands, marveling at its weight. Supporting it in my hands, I watched him wince as he let the muscles go slack. Blood trickled down into the spaces between my fingers.
“Not so bad,” I said, pulling the sleeve of his shirt up, careful not to touch the raw flesh. His tattoos were hidden now. The bullet had scraped right through one of them, a pin-up chick straddling a rocket. Her face was blown clear off. Better hers than his. Or mine. “Wait here.”
It wasn’t like he planned to go anywhere, but I found myself watching him as I went to the trunk and dug around for the first-aid kit I knew was stored back there. It was military-grade. A sensible option for men like my father. I kept it all these years out of respect more than anything. It was as much a part of this car as the driver’s seat. To my frustration, I watched the driver’s side door open, Rev hauling himself out of the car, his arm dangling now as he started to favor it and really feel the sting of his wound.