Buy Me, Bad Boy - A Bad Boy Buys A Girl Romance

by Layla Valentine

  I only had a few minutes before the cops arrived. I could still see them barreling toward me in the distance. But I wanted to make my own mark, to ensure that Kraemer knew who’d brought about his downfall.

  In a perfect world, I’d have given Kraemer what he deserved and gotten the hell out of there. But now, with flashing lights in the rearview, it was clear that would mean me going down too. I guess you can’t win them all.

  Parking in the lot, I glanced at the fence I’d pushed in, smirking slightly as I placed a cigarette between my lips and lit it. Inhaling smoke once more, I strutted up the front steps, lifted my hand to the door, and then knocked properly, like my grandmother had taught me to.

  “We’re closed!” Hank called from inside, chuckling.

  I lifted my arm again, puffing away at my cigarette, feeling half-crazed. I knocked once more, knowing I was tapping the nails into my coffin.

  “I said we’re closed!”

  “Important business,” I said, standing stock still, my feet shoulder’s width apart. I could feel my pulse in my shoulders, ready to push forward, to attack.

  I listened to the gorgeous twinkling of someone unlocking the door’s many bolts. After ripping it open, Hank stood in his stubby glory, a beer sweating in his hand, his cheeks bright red from the fast ride back. The moment he saw me, his jaw nearly dropped from his face.

  “What—” he stuttered.

  I thrust myself forward, punching him square in the nose and causing blood to pour onto his lips and down to his chest for the second time that day. He howled in pain, falling against the wall, leaving me a clear path to Chester, who I punched first in the nose and then in the jaw before sidelining the tall man. He dropped his beer, causing it to spill all over the beige carpet.

  Wes stood frozen in the corner, the foam of his beer still atop his lips. I glared at him, cracking my knuckles, my cigarette half-smoked in my mouth. I puffed smoke toward him, sensing he felt the fear of God for the first time in years.

  “Don’t suppose you expected me?” I asked, wanting to play with him the same way he’d played with Luna and me.

  As I spoke, Hank attempted to barrel toward me, but I pushed my knee up, knocking him in the chest and hearing a mighty crack.

  “You’re stronger than I gave you credit for. I’ll say that,” Wes said, his eyes twinkling. “But don’t count your blessings quite yet, kid. This is a long road you’re on, and if you walk out that door right now, I think I’ll find a way to forgive you and let bygones be bygones.”

  “After lighting us on fire, you expect me to ‘let bygones be bygones?’” I yelled. “You’ve got another thing coming, asshole.”

  In a flash, I rushed forward, preparing to deliver a punch to his cheek. But, in the commotion, he grabbed his gun from his holster, lifted it, and smacked it across my face. My bones cracked, not breaking, but seeming to grow loose against my tongue.

  “Jesus,” I cried out, bringing my hand to my cheek.

  Without another lost moment, I shoved myself, bear-like, at Wes’s chest, slamming him against the wall and knocking the rusted-out safe to the ground. Money fell to the floor around us while we rolled wildly, beginning to tussle. He’d lost the gun. It glinted in the far corner as we flung our fists against one another. As he was a much older man, his muscles strained. He was no match for me.

  “You gangster—you fucking—” he began.

  But I punched his mouth again, finding my rage taking over. I couldn’t control it. In that moment, all my anger over Aaron’s murder, over being on the run, and all the horrible decisions I’d made in the past year rolled together, giving me a momentum I couldn’t comprehend.

  But just as I was sure I would punch Wes Kraemer into a bloody pile of pulp, the cops ripped through the doorway, drawing their weapons and pointing them at all four of us, forcing my hands into the air as I blinked with wild eyes.

  “What in the living Christ?” one of the cops boomed, glancing from the bleeding Chester, Hank, and Wes, to me, red-cheeked and crazed-looking, on top of the loan shark, poised to strike again.

  “You Wes Kraemer?” another cop demanded, pointing his gun at Wes.

  “This man is trying to kill me,” Wes mumbled, unable to speak correctly. I realized then, with a bit of sick satisfaction, that I’d busted his jaw.

  “And who are you?” one of the cops demanded, drawing closer to me. Another wrapped his hands around my biceps, lifting me from Wes’s crooked body and locking my wrists into handcuffs.

  “I know I don’t have to tell you anything until my lawyer’s around,” I said back, my heart still thumping against my ribcage. “But this man right here, he started the fire back at Luna’s place. He left us to die.”

  “And this monster’s been robbing people like me all over the state. Even his car’s stolen,” Wes stuttered, pointing wildly at me.

  The cops paid no attention to our words. They put us all in handcuffs and guided us toward the squad cars. Blue and red lights flashed in my eyes. I blinked quickly, sensing an onslaught of emotion.

  Everything was over. It was finished. I was going to go to jail for a long, long time—for stealing the car, for stealing the money, for being involved with the Detroit Seven.

  But at least I was alive. At least Luna was all right.

  They shoved me into the back of one of the squad cars, putting the other three men into a different car. I got the entire back seat to myself, a slice of quiet during an otherwise anxious and loud—almost ear-busting—day. The police officer in the front turned on the classical music station, allowing a calm twinkling of music to fold over me.

  “This here’s Mozart,” he said, putting the car in drive and easing toward the station. “My wife says it’ll calm me down after big events like this. She’s worried about my heart. Says if I don’t relieve my stress, I’ll be dead before I’m 55. And man, I still got so much to do.”

  I sniffed. Keeping my eyes out the window, I caught sight of the 24-hour diner off the highway and the big puff of smoke over Luna’s house. Remembering her quivering form on the sidewalk, I spoke.

  “The girl, Luna, is she all right?”

  “She sent us to Kraemer’s,” the cop said, cutting into the passing lane. “In essence, she saved your life. Those guys had guns, kid. I don’t know what you were thinking.”

  My hands grew into fists as the blood began to dry and crisp between my nails. “They tried to kill my girl, officer. Can you put yourself in my shoes for even a second?”

  The officer eyed me in the rearview mirror, blinking heavily. “If anyone laid a finger on my wife, I’d rip his head off.”

  I snorted softly, surprised at his raucous statement. He gave me a soft smile and then looked back at the road, turning up Mozart and allowing our minds to find peace and silence. Chaos, apparently, did have an end. Perhaps things would find order again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Luna

  Almost a week had gone by since my dad’s house burned down.

  I stood in my diner uniform, which was naturally spotted with coffee and dotted with crumbs from people’s toast, and waved as the last table of our breakfast rush left the premises. They waddled with full bellies to their vehicles and drove home for afternoon naps, leaving Marcia and me to deal with the cleanup.

  I stared out the window, lost in thought, a pile of plates still in my hands. Marcia crept up beside me, took the plates, placed them on the counter, and wrapped me in a firm, motherly hug. This was my first shift back at the diner, and I was noticeably shaken, a bit off—mistaking orders and looking generally panicked.

  “Oh, honey,” Marcia murmured into my ear. “I know this is going to be a rough time for you. Just stay strong, all right? Can you do that for me?”

  I stared blankly at her, feeling unfocused and far away. “Sure,” I responded, unsure if this was an appropriate answer to what she’d said. I’d already forgotten the words. “That was quite a rush, wasn’t it?”

  “Just make sur
e you’re taking care of yourself,” she whispered. “Let me order you some food, yeah? Something to put some meat on those bones. Always too skinny, little Luna.”

  No longer able to put on a brave face, I collapsed on a diner stool and placed my head in my hands, sensing another sob fest coming on. I’d spent the majority of the past week at my friend Donna’s, staring miserably at the wall as the image of that fire erupting around me continued to plague me.

  “You should probably look into therapy,” she’d told me more than once. “After my uncle lost his family, he needed it for a few years. But he says the nightmares have stopped.”

  In the cop car, before they’d dropped me at Donna’s, the police had asked me countless questions about Colt. But I’d sensed that the topic was delicate, and that as he raced toward Mexico, he didn’t need anyone else chasing after him. The Detroit Seven were enough.

  So, I’d refused to make an official statement, telling them that the man I’d been with had been a drifter, that he was probably halfway to California by that point. I didn’t mention he’d taken my car with him on his mad dash. I figured it didn’t matter.

  “What you need to know,” I’d told the police, looking wide-eyed and crazed, “is that Colt isn’t a bad guy. Not in the least.”

  “That doesn’t really help our investigation,” the officer had said.

  “I’m not here to make your day easier,” I’d retorted.

  Rolling their eyes, they’d dropped me off at Donna’s, saying they’d be in touch. But in the days that had followed, they hadn’t contacted me. Wes Kraemer and his henchmen had been arrested, but that’s all I knew. The police weren’t sharing anything with the media, as part of a “wider investigation,” they said.

  Marcia filled the space in front of me with a large burger, extra fries, and a milkshake—a two thousand calorie meal, if I’d ever seen one. The look of it made my stomach turn. I shoved it away from me, giving Marcia a sad smile.

  “I just don’t think I can,” I whispered.

  “Just sit with it a while,” Marcia ordered, giving me a ‘stern mom’ look.

  Rolling my eyes, feeling like an arrogant teenager, I reached to the side and grabbed the remote control, turning on the television in the corner of the diner. One of the cooks ambled out of the kitchen, swiping his hands across his apron. The news was on; it was always on, to give us weather information and our hearty dose of politics.

  But, as luck would have it, today I struck gold. The news was covering the recent events in the outskirts of Iowa City. And, wouldn’t you know, Wes Kraemer’s face flashed across the screen, sending a shiver down my spine.

  “That’s him,” I mumbled.

  “Who?” Marcia asked.

  Stabbing my finger against the volume button, I listened closely as the perky, white-toothed reporter told the story.

  “A bit of excitement in the past week in Iowa City, as a local businessman, Wes Kraemer, was taken in on charges of loansharking, bribery, and blackmail. At this time, he’s also being investigated for further criminal connections which link him to crime all around the Midwestern states, as well as a murder charge.”

  My heart hammered as I waited for any sign of Colt. I’d been hunting for him on the local news, in newspapers, even online, and I had come up dry. The station soon transitioned to a car crash on the other side of town, leaving me with the bittersweet idea that Colt might have actually gotten away.

  “What on earth happened to that boy you met here last week?” Marcia asked me, as if she could read my mind. “You said you were alone when the fire happened. Were you?”

  I gaped at her, unsure of how to answer. Shrugging slightly, I lifted the burger toward my lips and took a big, juicy bite. The flavor—burnt, yet covered with ketchup and mustard—activated my brain, and I shivered at the pleasure that came from fueling myself.

  Colt must be all right. They would have said so on the news if that weren’t true. I’d been frightened that he might have been at Kraemer’s when they arrested him. But, in reality, I’d been correct in thinking he had made his mad dash for Mexico, as far away as he could go.

  I supposed if I had that little paper in my pocket, claiming I was “next,” I would have run, too.

  “Good to see you eating again,” Marcia said, stroking her hand across my hair. “You should really get that burnt bit chopped off, honey. You could even get a cute bob for winter. Wouldn’t that be darling?”

  I took another bite of my burger, avoiding an answer. The news had now transitioned to rising college tuition rates, and I felt far away, in another world, thinking only of Colt. I’d spent less than 24 hours with him, and yet it seemed he was the brightest light of my adult life.

  The passion we’d felt for each other, it had been real, hadn’t it? The way he’d gazed into my eyes as we’d made love, touching noses, our tongues caressing one another’s. It hadn’t been just another fling. I couldn’t live with it if it was.

  I ate half the burger and then dipped a fry into the chocolate milkshake. Gazing at the calendar on the wall, I realized with a jump that it was November 2nd and I’d missed Halloween. Gaping, I pointed.

  “Marcia, I can’t believe I missed an entire week of my life,” I said, aghast.

  “Oh, you should have seen the little kids who swung by here to get some candy,” Marcia said, tittering lightly. “Some really silly costumes this year. They’re getting so creative. But anyway, now it’s about time for the weather to turn, don’t you think? I’m ready for some chill. It’s far too hot right now. I still have to mow my grass. That’s a travesty.”

  Leaping up from my stool, feeling suddenly driven to live again, as if that loss of time had kick-started my heart, I unlaced my apron from my waist and dropped it in my locker. It was the end of my shift, as Marcia would man the lunch hour and another girl would come later for dinner. I grabbed my jean jacket from the staff room wall, thrust my arms into it, and then hugged Marcia, grateful she’d encouraged me to eat.

  “You’re doing more for me than you know,” I whispered in her ear. She was the only person in Iowa City who knew Colt existed. She held my secret close.

  “You know I’m here for you whenever you need me,” she whispered back, cupping my head with her hand.

  We parted ways, and I headed out to the back lot, from which I would take the short walk back to my apartment. I’d call Donna when I arrived, telling her that I didn’t need to stay with her any longer. I needed to work on finding peace within myself. Besides, the only thing I’d really lost was the house. I still had my father. I still had my job, my sense of self. Colt had been nothing but a passing fancy, an outlaw whose route just happened to go through my town.

  But when I left the diner, I spotted a tall, muscular form leaning heavily against my little red Chevy. Shocked and overjoyed, I rushed toward him. His face stretched into a smile, his blue eyes twinkling. Stretching his hand forward, he placed his palm on my cheek, rubbing at it. We held one another’s gaze for a long time, as if neither of us had believed we would see the other again.

  After a long pause, I ducked into his embrace, inhaling the scent of him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He lifted me into him, pressing our chests tightly together so that I could feel his beating heart.

  Shuddering with pleasure, I finally spoke. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

  In my head, I made up the story, telling it to myself in a way that seemed romantic, beautiful. Colt had probably driven halfway to Mexico before realizing that he couldn’t go anywhere without me. Our love had been real. He couldn’t deny that. He’d returned and would take me away with him. He would help me create a new, vibrant life someplace else. All we needed was each other.

  But as Colt pulled away, I saw hesitance in his eyes. Placing my hands on his chest, I peered up at him, waiting.

  “You look like you have about a million things to say,” I whispered, chuckling slightly. “How far did you get before you came back? I imagined you already o
n a beach somewhere, a margarita in your hand, happy as could be…”

  I trailed off, becoming nervous. Around us, an early November sun streamed atop our shoulders. It was like the earth had given up on any kind of schedule. It was just as panicked as I was.

  “I went back to Kraemer’s after the fire,” he finally said.

  My lips parted in shock. When I hadn’t seen his name on the news, I’d thought, surely, that he’d high-tailed it straight to Mexico. But his eyes bled the truth. He had been through some serious shit in the past week, and he was still recovering from it.

  “Should we sit down?” I murmured, rubbing his back.

  Colt leaned heavily against my car, swiping his hands across his forehead. I massaged his strong biceps, his square shoulders, hoping to relieve some of the tension. He blinked several times, trying to regain his speech.

  “What happened?” I asked, coaxing him.

  “I went back to—I don’t know—teach them a lesson. But I saw the cops coming toward me, following me. I knew I didn’t have much time before they took all of us in, so I fought them.”

  “Jesus, Colt. They could have murdered you,” I gasped, drawing my hand over my mouth. “Why would you even give them the chance?”

  “Because I was pissed; that’s why,” he explained gruffly. “They tied you up and lit your house on fire. That’s worse than anything I’ve ever seen a gang do. Try to murder an innocent person like that.”

  “The Seven killed your best friend…” I said cautiously.

  “That asshole meddled with dangerous people, and so did I,” he muttered. A darkness passed over his eyes. “Anyway, the cops arrived shortly after and arrested all four of us—those goons, Chester and Hank, and then Wes and I. But once they realized I had a bit more information about the Wes Kraemer scandal—and stuff that could wrap up investigations in Detroit—they kept me even longer.”