Los Angeles Bad Boys: The Complete Series: Cold Hard Cash, Hollywood Holden, Saint Jude

by Frankie Love

  “It’s all my motherfucking fault.”

  “No,” Jude shakes his head. “It was the fucking men who stormed in on you both— who are currently behind bars, by the way.”

  “The cops found them?” I shake my head.

  “They didn’t get far,” Holden says. “And no one is blaming you.”

  “Maybe you don’t, but I can’t set foot in that hospital. I can’t look Evangeline’s father in the face.”

  “Right now, you can’t worry about that. Right now you need to just hope that Evangeline gets out of surgery okay.”

  “You know the most fucked-up thing, besides knowing my brother is behind all this shit? Finding out my mom is in this same hospital right now. Had surgery yesterday. And my fucking brother was keeping that from me.” I hold up my phone. “I just found out.”

  “Shit, man.” Holden shakes his head. “Listen, go see your mom. We’ll keep you posted on Evangeline.”

  We exchange numbers, and I take a long look at these two guys. If my life’s taught me anything, it’s to be leery of anyone willing to step out on limb for you.

  “Why are you helping me?”

  “I’ve known Evie my entire life,” Jude says. “Last night, at the club, I’ve never seen the girl so fucking sure. Like she knew exactly what she wanted. That girl may have lived a sheltered life, but she’s no fool. She trusts you, so I trust you.”

  Holden shrugs. “I just do what he says.” He points to Jude.

  “Why do you trust Jude so much?” I ask Holden, remembering what it was like not to question the boys whose backs I had.

  I haven’t had that in a long fucking time.

  “Jude can get you drugs, girls, clean piss, or a job, with a moments notice.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Aren’t you some Hollywood movie producer?”

  Holden laughs. “Jude may make movies, but they’re all low-budget, weird-ass shit. He wishes I’d star in his films. But that’s just his hobby. What he’s really known for is taking care of anyone he lets in his inner circle.”

  Jude listens to Holden, but I notice he doesn’t disagree. He looks at me, as if considering me carefully. I feel fucking exposed, but at this point, my face is against the fucking ground. The only people I have left are in this building, fighting for their lives.

  “We’ll call you, Cash, when we have word,” Jude says. “If I know Evangeline, and I think I do, she’d want you with your mother right now.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Evangeline

  I wake up with a start. My hands try to reach my abdomen, but the IVs keep me perfectly still.

  “Evangeline,” Dad says, standing from the chair by my bed. “Oh, thank God.”

  A nurse comes in, relief seeming to wash over her face, too.

  “Look at you, sweet thing. Now just lay back and let me check your pain meds then I’ll call the doctor.”

  I look around the room. No one else is here. “Where’s Cassius?” I ask, my mind only on him. “Where is he?”

  Dad’s face creases. “He hasn’t come,” he tells me.

  Confusion flashes over me, but before I can ask anything else the pain meds kick in. And then I’m asleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Cassius

  Mom looks horrible, propped in a hospital bed, a worn-out expression covering her face.

  But when I walk into the room, she isn’t the one I focus on.

  Chad and Gina are fucking here.

  You have got to be kidding me.

  “What the fuck are you here for?” I ask, storming over to him, ready to make him pay for getting Evangeline messed up with his shit.

  “Woah, bro, cool it,” he says, feigning innocence as he raises his hands.

  Gina’s standing, in defense mode.

  “You don’t fucking call me about Mom? You send Trey after my woman? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

  “Boys,” Mom whimpers. “Don’t fight. Please.”

  “It isn’t a fight. It’s finishing the business Chad wants to bring here,” I yell, pushing back on my brother.

  A nurse walks in, then backs out of the room.

  “We thought you were on tour, Cash. Right, Gina?” Chad asks, so fucking nonchalant.

  “Mm-hmm. And besides, we don’t have any money, so our phones were shut off. We couldn’t call.”

  “Do you know where your boy Trey is right now?”

  I know he doesn’t, because the self-assured look on his face is filled with a smugness he couldn’t possess if he knew how close he might be to being held responsible. He better hope Trey will take the fall the same way I did. Keep his mouth shut.

  But Trey is a fucking bastard, and I wouldn’t trust him. He isn’t loyal.

  He isn’t me.

  “You seen Trey lately?” Chad asks, his lips curling into a smile. “Good. We told that fucker where he could find you. You don’t want to give us money, fine. But we thought maybe Trey could get you to stop being so fucking greedy.”

  I could kill this bastard. “Thought you didn’t know I was back in town?”

  I’m tired of throwing punches, and I don’t have to, because as soon as I have Chad’s back against the wall, Mom is screaming at us to stop and Gina’s wailing about us always causing trouble.

  By then the hospital security is here.

  And I’m being led outside.

  They say I’m not allowed back in without a police escort.

  I shove off them the moment we’re outside.

  It’s time I figure out my next fucking move.

  I jump in a cab and head to my hotel, needing to get my shit, change my clothes, figure out a way to get back into the hospital so I can see Evangeline.

  “Hey,” I tell the driver. “I need to stop at the police precinct.”

  My head pounds. I have some fucking demons about police officers, about handcuffs and cop cars and Miranda rights. I have PTSD from walking in an orange jumpsuit and getting searched and getting stripped of any fucking dignity.

  But right now, it isn’t about me. Walking in here is about keeping other people safe.

  Keeping Evangeline safe.

  The truth is, Trey may have been caught, but my brother wasn’t.

  And I don’t trust that man to keep his hands off her if he thinks it might get him closer to what he wants.

  At the check-in desk, I tell the receptionist, “I need to make a statement.”

  I sit and wait to give my testimony about what my brother said in the hospital.

  Do I want to rat him out?

  Fuck no.

  But loyalty isn’t about family.

  It’s about right and wrong; it’s about honor.

  It’s about love.

  A text comes through right as I’m getting taken back by a police officer.

  Jude: Evie’s out of surgery. She did great. Breathe. Hope things are ok w your mom.

  Me: Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be there asap.

  Jude: No worries, she’s asleep now. I’ll take care of her dad when you show.

  Relief floods my chest. I know I’m not good enough for her, but the idea of her being gone is too much to bear.

  I squeeze my eyes shut as I walk back. Tears threaten to escape. All I want is to pull Evangeline into my arms and never let her go.

  Later, after I’ve said my piece to the officers, I head to the hotel. When I get to the front desk, I find that my room’s been cleared due to the criminal activity that took place there this morning, and all my shit is here.

  My head is a wreck, and when Jack Harris stops me as I’m walking away from the front desk, it takes me a minute to register that he’s talking to me and that I met him last night.

  “Cash Flow,” he says, nodding to me. “You okay, man?”

  “Yeah, uh, just, fuck,” I can’t speak in complete sentences, because my emotions are all fucked up.

  “Bro, you look like shit.” Jack puts a hand on my shoulder, steadying me. “Come have a drink with
me. You need to chill before you walk through those doors.”

  “I look that bad, huh?”

  “Worse, man.”

  We go to the hotel bar, and they seat us in a private booth in the very back.

  “What are you in town for?” I ask Jack, not feeling comfortable just spilling my guts.

  “I’m doing a show with Zac Turner tonight. Of course, we planned this show before he started dating Ashley Fast.”

  I smirk, remembering the headlines. “That’s your old girl, right?”

  “Very old. Like, I’d rather keep that shit buried.”

  A waitress brings us two whiskies on the rocks.

  “I know all about wanting to keep bones buried,” I tell him.

  “I’ve gathered that. I think the entire industry has, actually, considering you’re an ex-con, come from East Heights, and have a debut album that outsold mine. You’ve got a story, man.”

  When I don’t say anything, Jack raises an eye.

  “You know, when Elle mentioned your new stuff last night, I had to force myself not to beg you to show it to me.”

  “You wanna hear my shit?” I ask.

  “Hell, yeah. I love to collaborate; that’s why Zac and I are teaming up tonight. Cool shit happens when you put it all out there, you know, on the stage. But the real magic happens when you collaborate.”

  “I don’t know; it’s pretty intense stuff I’ve been working on.”

  “Listen, I’m game for anything. I like to fuck with people’s ideas about what good music is—and hell, you and I can do anything we want right now.”

  I shake my head, not feeling that powerful, not even a little. “Maybe you can, Jack—but me? I’m a pawn.”

  Jack snorts. “Dude, you read the newspaper today?”

  “What?” I shake my head.

  “No calls from KMG, from your people?”

  I know my assistant Jared has left me messages, but I haven’t listened to them. Kinda been consumed with my girl getting her fucking heart almost literally cut out.

  “You were nominated for a Grammy, man. Album of the year.”

  My head falls back against the booth. My chest tightens, because this is everything … and nothing.

  Evangeline is in a hospital and I’m here. She’s mine, but I don’t know if I can have her.

  And this. This is nothing I wanted, and maybe everything I dreamed about. The flood of emotions washes over me.

  “Dude, you’re killing it,” Jack says. “You got this. You do.”

  “I never wanted to lay half of the tracks on that album,” I tell him. “I feel like an ungrateful ass.”

  “This business is hard. You have to balance who you are as a creator with who you are to your fans. Hell, Zac Turner? His fans are fucking pissed with him because of who he’s dating. Should he lose Ashley to make a bunch of obsessed teenage girls happy?”

  Poor bastard. I shake my head. If my fans—if I have any—wanted me to get rid of Evangeline, I’d tell them to go fuck themselves.

  “And you, your fans—me included—love your music. But do you stop playing what makes fans happy, what makes you tons of cash and gets you fucking Grammy nominations, because you’d rather sing about something else?”

  “You’re telling me I should be okay with being a sellout?” I ask, more than a little surprised at Jack’s take on things.

  “Nah, man.” Jack shakes his head. “But when you make music for other people, you need to think about them as much as you think about yourself. It’s the same with love, right?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jack shrugs. “With love, you can’t play it safe all the time. Sometimes you have to take a risk. But sometimes, maybe even most of the time, you need to think about the other person. What they need. What they want. Even if it’s scary or fucking hard.”

  He raises his tumbler of whiskey. “To music.”

  I raise my glass to his. “To love.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Evangeline

  The next time I wake, Cassius is still not here.

  “Where is he?” I ask Jude. He’s been here with my dad all day. And Jude’s mom, Aunt Katy, is here, too.

  Before Jude can answer, Dad speaks. “If you hadn’t been with him, this would never have happened. You nearly died.”

  “If I hadn’t been with him, I would never know what true love is, Dad. And what kind of life is that?”

  Dad sighs, not understanding. I don’t hold it against him. Before I met Cash, I never would have believed love at first sight was real.

  But it is.

  “You’ve spent two days with him, Evangeline.”

  “I know, Dad,” I tell him softly. “And in only two days, I’ve known the purest love there is.”

  “You believe in love?” Cassius is in the doorway, a police officer standing behind him.

  It hurts to take a deep breath, but as soon as Cassius enters the room, it’s like my lungs expand, like my life expands. He makes room for me.

  “I believe in us,” I tell him. “I believe in you and me.”

  Dad looks pained at my words, and I think it’s because he knows Cassius is here to stay.

  But I’m wrong. He isn’t pained at all. He’s accepting. He walks to Cash, wraps his arms around him. Gives him the warmest hug I’ve ever seen my father give.

  “Oh, hell, is this like family therapy or some shit?” Jude asks. “If so, then I need to get the hell out of here.”

  Aunt Katy gives him a sour look, and I’m not surprised. Jude’s always making choices that push her limits.

  “I’m glad you’re okay, Son,” Dad tells Cash. Then, looking behind Cash at the officer, he asks, “Is there a problem here?”

  “I got thrown out of the hospital earlier.”

  “What happened?” I ask, wanting to reach out my arms out to Cash. Wanting him next to me.

  “There was a problem with my brother upstairs.”

  “Your brother was here?”

  Jude and Cash give one another nods.

  “My mom’s here, too.”

  “What happened?” my dad asks.

  Cash explains what’s going on with his mom.

  “I had no idea,” I tell him, my heart reaching out to him.

  “She’ll be okay, if I can convince her to go to rehab. But now that Chad and Gina are in police custody, I have more leverage to get Mom the help she needs.”

  “Your mom’s lucky to have you, Cash,” Dad tells him.

  “On that note,” Jude says, “I’m heading out. Gonna meet Holden tonight. We’ll have a celebratory shot for you Cash. Congratulations man.”

  “Congrats for what?” I ask, confused.

  Dad smiles; Cash shrugs.

  Jude grins. “Your boy here has a Grammy nomination.”

  “Really?” I bite my lip, tears in my eyes. “Oh, Cassius, that’s incredible.” I laugh, “And to think, you hated that album.”

  “Wait, you hate the album?” Dad asks.

  “I think I have a lot to learn, is all. About what making music is all about.”

  Dad, Jude, and Aunt Katy leave, giving me kisses and promising to return the next day.

  Then it’s just Cassius and me.

  “I meant what I said,” I tell him, as he sits on the bed, taking my hand in his. “About loving you.”

  He’s quiet, and his jaw is tense, as if he’s scared to speak.

  “I almost didn’t come back here for you,” he says. “This morning, after they brought you here, I thought, Fuck, I’m not good enough for this girl. I never will be. I’m always gonna be the boy from East Heights who has scars on his heart and blood on his hands.” He looks at me, his eyes pools of water. He blinks, and the tears spill across his cheeks. “The thought of you, Evangeline, in the cross fire of my past, is too fucking much. And I thought, I can’t fucking put you through that.”

  Tears streak my face, too. I squeeze his hand, my chest aching at his pain.

  “What chang
ed your mind?” I ask in a whisper.

  “I saw Jack Harris today, and he told me something that cut straight to my heart.”

  Cassius leans closer to me, kissing my lips softly. I whimper beneath him. My body is wrapped in gauze—stitched together, but whole. I whimper because him being here, with me, is all I want in the entire world.

  “He said that, with love, you need to think about what the other person wants. Even if it’s scary or fucking hard.”

  “And you know what I want?” I ask him.

  “I know what we both want,” he tells me.

  “What’s that, Cassius?” I whisper.

  “One another,” he tells me. “Even if it’s scary or fucking hard, I can give you that. God knows I can’t offer you much else. But my heart, girl—it’s yours. It’s been yours since the day we met.”

  “I love you, Cassius.”

  “And I love you, gentle Evangeline.”

  Epilogue

  Cash Flow

  Being at the Grammys is fucking surreal.

  Evangeline is by my side. She’s always by side—well, except for when she’s on my cock.

  But that’s for later. For now, she’s holding my hand.

  “You ready?” she asks. Her hair cascades over her shoulders, her face bright under the lights, and the entire hall before us is filled with LA’s finest.

  We’re performing tonight—together.

  It’s our first time performing for an audience. Which, yeah, I suppose we could have started small, but Jack Harris was right: I can do whatever the fuck I want right now.

  And, after Evangeline was discharged from the hospital, I showed her the stuff I’d been working on.

  At first she was hesitant.

  I’d written her into every song. Well, as my muse she was there, of course; my love for her was woven into every lyric, every beat.

  But there were also piano scores in every track, sections that only she could play.

  “I can’t do this,” she said, when I first asked.

  “You can,” I urged. “Because I can’t do it without you.”

  I’m glad she reconsidered.