by Jennifer Ann
“He’ll be gone as soon as his motorcycle is fixed,” I grumble, looking down at my feet. “He’s only someone to keep my bed warm for the night.”
“Next time your ass better ask permission before you invite strange men into my home.” Her cold finger pushes my chin upward so I’m forced to look into her callous glare. “I sent him into the guest room for the night.”
Angry tears prick the back of my eyes, threatening to spill and expose my weakness. “You have no right controlling my life like this.”
“As your mother I have every right.” She shakes her head, laughing in the snotty way that makes me want to wrap my fingers around her neck. “Go back to your apartment, Phoebe. Someone with secrets so big that he’s unwilling to give me a simple name is no good for anyone. I’m doing you a favor.”
An incessant beeping outside my bedroom window wakes me, doing nothing for the sudden headache pushing at the base of my skull. When the noise doesn’t stop after a few seconds, I grumble and reach for my phone to check the time. 8:08 a.m. It was after five by the time my paranoia over Ellen having her way with Jace finally let up enough so I could sleep.
Groaning when I feel a swell of nausea, I rise to my knees on the bed and pull the curtain aside. Jace must already be up because his motorcycle is being lifted with a cable onto the back of Doug Trainor’s tow truck. Then I see the sheriff’s SUV parked in front of it and my blood turns cold. Oh, shit. Would Ellen have called the cops, or was it Decker? Since Jace is nowhere to be seen, I pray that he’s either still in bed or already split town.
Jumping to my feet, I quickly throw on whatever clothes I can find in the pile strewn across my bedroom floor and hightail it outside. By no surprise, Doug lifts his wrinkled hand to wave as he was pretty chummy with my brother, but the sheriff’s upper lip curls up when he sees me approaching.
Known as a joke to everyone in town, Sheriff Mortensen is far too overweight to chase after criminals, too lazy to investigate any real crimes, and too crooked to give a shit. There have been two murders during his term, both of which are still unsolved. Considering his patchy copper hair is always visibly greasy and there’s a funky odor that follows him around, I’m convinced he’s also too slothful to shower.
He’s been a prick as long as I’ve known him, but he’s become an even bigger one since Decker convinced him that we broke up because I was screwing other guys. At least the lie was better than the truth, keeping me out of jail.
The sheriff’s dark eyes drag up and down my wrinkled Nine Inch Nails T-shirt, clearly disgusted by the suggestive lyrics printed across my chest.
“I’m sorry, did I interrupt a drinking binge?” he asks in a gravelly voice.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt, giving the enormous fat roll overlapping his belt the same look of discontent.
“Got a tip about a motorcycle tearing through town last night at dangerous speeds. The caller said it later pulled into your driveway.” He tips his chin down, giving me a stern look. “Turns out the license plates are stolen. You have any idea who parked it here? A visitor, maybe?”
Well that’s certainly an interesting twist. Could Jace be running simply because he’s a thief?
“Never seen it before in my life,” I say, shrugging casually. “I can’t imagine why someone would steal it, then leave it in my driveway and slash the tires. Seems like a moronic plan if you ask me. Makes a person wonder if there was something more involved.”
“Never said the motorcycle was stolen, just the plates. We’ll know more when I have the station run its VIN through the system.” Hiking up the hidden waistline of his pants, his eyes narrow suspiciously. “Why do I get the feeling you have something to do with this?”
“You mean aside from the fact that it’s parked in my driveway? Considering I don’t have a clue how to drive one, you can safely rule me out as the perpetrator. Maybe you should ask your son about this ‘anonymous' tip. While you’re at it, ask him if he knows anything about rumors of an attempted assault and property damage.”
His upper lip seems to be frozen with a permanent sneer. “You trying to suggest something about my boy?”
I shrug again. “Call it a hunch.”
His skeptical eyes cut over to the house. “Your momma home? Maybe she saw something last night. Hard to believe neither one of you heard it pulling in, though I’ve heard rumors you two have a revolving door of guests since your brother disappeared, so maybe you’re used to activity all night long.”
“Revolving door?” I challenge, crossing my arms over my chest. When he doesn’t explain, I roll my eyes. “She didn’t get in from work until a few hours ago. Unless it’s an emergency, I can have her call you when she’s up.”
Still glaring at me, he launches a long line of brown spit onto the ground. Never thought it’d be possible, but he may actually be just as disgusting as his son. “What kinda work is your momma doing that has her pulling that late of a shift?”
“Are you hoping I’ll say she’s a prostitute? Because I feel like you’re really hoping I’ll say she’s a prostitute.” I motion toward the house. “I mean, it’d explain that revolving door you heard about, right?”
Instead of replying, he shoots another line of spit to the ground by my feet. He turns his back to me, motioning for Doug to follow. “We’re done here.”
Sweet old Doug, wearing the same gray coveralls he’s donned for as long as I can remember, scratches his white hair and waves goodbye before shuffling back to the cab of his truck.
As the sheriff is getting into his vehicle and pulling away, movement in one of the house’s windows catches my eye. I look over to see a gloriously half-naked Jace watching from behind a partially open curtain in the room I had growing up. When our gazes meet, I’m struck with a violent shiver that’s only partly because of the sexual urges brought on by the sight of his body and the intensity of his beautiful eyes.
Whatever he’s running from is clearly dangerous. Losing his only mode of transportation means he’ll be forced to stick around. He has no other choice but to rely on me for help.
I doubt I’ve ever been this excited.
6
Jace
Once the sheriff’s gone for a full minute, I can finally breathe easy as I watch Phoebe heading for the back door of the house. That was too fucking close. What if he had insisted on coming inside to question her extensively about my bike? And what if Phoebe’s mom had been home? Would she have ratted me out?
There’s something off about Ellen that I don’t particularly trust. I pretended to be sleeping when I heard her check in on me first thing this morning. I have a bad feeling she’s seriously messing with Phoebe’s life the way she stormed into her apartment last night and demanded we come over to her house before forcing me to stay in her spare room. I wasn’t going to deal with her alone. Especially the way she was eye-fucking me while making crude comments in front of her daughter.
“Ellen?” Phoebe calls out.
I rush out to meet her in the hallway, surprised to see her without a trace of makeup. She’s even hotter by the light of day when her face is soft and clean, and her eyes aren’t so harsh without black lines around her eyes. Small sections of her hair stand up from her head, reminding me of how she looked after I made her come. The black concert T-shirt she’s wearing sticks to her curves like it was painted on, and her shorts are so tiny that I’m surprised I can’t see the sweet pussy that I was licking just a few hours before. As I’m buttoning my shirt, my morning wood grows to epic proportions the second her big eyes flicker to my exposed chest and her tongue appears to wet her lips.
I’m beyond delusional if I think there’s any way I can resist her any longer, even if I’m out of time.
“Your mom left about an hour ago,” I tell her. “What’d the sheriff say?”
“Someone made a call that led him here. He knows your plates were stolen and he’s running the VIN number through the system.”
I was prepared for that scen
ario and made damn sure the bike wouldn’t come back as stolen or that it would somehow lead back to me. It still sucks that I have to go after it now.
“I bought it with cash and paid the guy extra to let me use a bogus name,” I say, tugging my shirt into place before running both hands over my own wild hair. “Is that all he had to say?”
“Other than trying to get in a few personal digs on my character, yeah. I told him he should have a chat with his son to see if he knows anything.”
“You shouldn’t have mentioned his son,” I growl, scratching at an itch of irritation crawling up my neck. “It’ll only provoke your ex.”
“You mean after he slashed your tires? I don’t think we have to worry about that. He’s beyond ‘provoked’ at this point.” She studies me carefully for a beat. “By now I understand that you’re wanted for something more serious than a couple of stolen license plates. So what are you going to do now?”
My heart ricochets around in my chest like a jackhammer. She knows I’m on the run, and she doesn’t seem to give a shit. She really is too good to be real. “I paid honest money for that bike. I’m going to get it back using whatever means necessary.”
“You mean by breaking and entering?” Looking away, she chews on her lip. “Sounds like a terrible idea. Unless you want to get caught, you’re going to have to be smarter about it. Even if you cut a hole in the gates, Doug has cameras all over his yard.”
Mildly amused, I cross my arms over my chest and bite back a smile. “Okay, mastermind sleuth, let’s hear your ideas.”
“I just woke up like five minutes ago,” she replies, rolling her eyes. “Seriously, you at least need to give a girl some caffeine before she’s expected to pull a Veronica Mars.”
“I smelled coffee brewing before your mom left. How about I make a pot and we can work on a solution together?”
“Sounds like an excellent idea,” she agrees, starting for the kitchen with a bright smile that I want to kiss right off her face. “But I’ll make the coffee. I have this thing about adding just the right amount of grounds to the pot or it tastes totally off. It’s one of those things that makes me question if I have OCD or if I’m just really odd.”
Chuckling at her quirkiness, I follow her to the kitchen. For a flicker of a moment, I’m struck with the false notion that I could actually live a normal life once again. Wake up next to a beautiful woman. Make love to her. Go about our morning rituals. Together. Every single day.
Then I remember I pissed those chances away the night I tried to clear Bugsy’s name. My chest burns with rage for the fucked-up situation that led me down that path.
“What’s wrong?” Phoebe’s head tilts as I enter the kitchen.
“This is a bad idea. I shouldn’t get you involved in my shit.”
Shrugging, she stands on her tip-toes to pull a coffee filter from the cupboard. My eyes are naturally drawn to her tight little ass. “Too late. You got involved in my shit first. Now I’m getting involved in yours. It’s only fair.”
I reach over her head to grab the can of coffee grounds. As I set it on the counter, our eyes meet, and I feel more of the overwhelming attraction that had me throwing her on the couch to taste her pussy.
“My shit involves more than a pissed off ex,” I say.
“Don’t be so quick to assume that’s all it’s about,” she warns, shaking her head. “There’s more to the story that I don’t want to get into with you. At least not right now. All you need to know is that he thinks I took something of his, and that he’s dangerous. By defending me last night, you’ve placed yourself in serious harm’s way.”
“I’m not scared of him.” Before she can turn away, I lock my fingers around her wrist. “Did he hurt you before last night?”
She sucks in a deep breath. “That’s irrelevant.”
“Is it?” I ask, squaring up in front of her smoking hot body. “Because what you begged me to do to you up there in your apartment may have been hot as hell, but it also made me wonder what you’ve been through. Why does it take that kind of pain to make you come? What did that bastard do to you, Phoebe?”
Mouth open, her dark eyes shift back and forth between mine for a moment before she jerks out of my hold. Lips pressed into a white slash, her eyebrows pull down. “Just because you got me off with your magical mouth doesn’t give you the right to presume you know anything about me.” The angry look she casts before spinning around to the coffee pot is worse than taking a bullet.
“I’m—I…don’t,” I stutter, wishing I could form a solid apology instead of stumbling over my words like an idiot. “But I don’t think I’m wrong in guessing no one has ever treated you right. At least not your family or any men you may have thought you once loved.”
Though she doesn’t say anything in response, her back becomes rigid and she stops moving. She may as well be admitting out loud it’s true.
“I may not know much about you, but I can already tell that you’re incredibly brave and strong. Too strong to continue letting people like your mom and Decker dictate your future. You deserve better, Phoebe. You should get the hell out of the town while you’re young and still have a chance to start over.”
“Are you done?” she asks, glancing over her shoulder without looking at me. “Because I don’t need you or anyone else telling me how to live my life. I’ve made it this long without you. Once you’re gone, I’ll continue to survive just fine on my own.”
Grumbling to myself, I wipe a hand across my tired face. “I’m going to grab my things from your place and take a shower,” I say, slinking away.
I hear the coffee pot percolate behind me, but nothing more from Phoebe. She’s perfectly within her rights to be mad after what I said. What business do I have throwing the flaws of her life back in her face when I’ve made a perfectly good mess of my own?
Once I’ve had time alone to think during a scalding hot shower in Phoebe’s cramped bathroom, I feel a little better by the time I’m ready to head back for Ellen’s house. Trying to involve myself in Phoebe’s personal business was the biggest mistake I’ve made since coming here. At this point it’s best to focus on retrieving my bike, finding Bugsy’s family, and heading the hell out of town without ever looking back.
If Phoebe really was abused by someone at one point in her life, she deserves someone without a whole army of skeletons in his closet. She deserves someone who can give her a clean break from the kind of shit holding her back, not someone who would only drag her down more.
I nearly go into cardiac arrest when I open the door and Kory is right there. His features are expressionless and he hesitates before pushing his way inside.
“I saw your bike in Doug’s lot with two flat tires,” he says.
I close the door and turn to face him. “I’m guessing Decker had everything to do with the tires and the call telling the sheriff where he could find it. They hauled it away when the plates came back as stolen.”
His thick brows rise in question. “Was the bike stolen too?”
“I may be a lot of things, but I’m no thief. I believe in earning things the old-fashioned way.”
“I figured as much.” He bobs his head, then takes a sweeping glance of the apartment. I know what he’s thinking, and he wouldn’t be wrong if we hadn’t been interrupted by Ellen. “Where’s Phoebs?”
“At her mom’s making coffee.”
“Everything go all right last night?”
Narrowing my eyes, I set my jaw. “What’re you asking?”
“I’m asking if the dickhead left you two alone.”
“You mean other than slashing my tires?”
He taps his chin thoughtfully. “I think I know a way we can get your bike back, but Phoebe’s not going to like it.”
“Does your plan involve her?”
“Not directly.”
I dip my chin in agreement. “Then I’m in.”
The door swings open and Phoebe enters with two steaming mugs. Her expression seems a tad regr
etful until she sees Kory. Her eyes widen. “Hey! When’d you get here?”
“Just a minute ago,” Kory answers. “I’m taking Jace to get his bike back.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders fall as she sighs. Then she glances between the two of us. “Wait, how?”
Shaking his head, Kory starts for the door. “There’s no time to explain.”
When I swipe my backpack off the couch and start after him, Phoebe sets the cups on her end table before stepping in my way. “Hold on. Will you come back after you get your tires fixed or is this the last time I’ll see you?”
Kory stands in the doorway, seeming to wait until he catches Phoebe’s gaze. Then his eyes dart back to me and he says, “I’ll wait outside. My truck’s out in front of Ellen’s house.”
I watch him until he closes the door. Phoebe’s beautiful eyes fill with tears that she’s trying to blink away. The goodbye I prepared while in the shower gets lodged in my throat, replaced by a need to kiss her parted lips one last time and give her something phenomenal to remember me by. When I slip a hand behind her head and bring her closer, prepared to do just that, she slaps her fingers around my forearm and pleads in a breathy voice, “Don’t.”
My heart stops. Did I push her too hard? Bringing my other hand up to cradle her jaw, I run my thumb along its sharp edge. “Don’t kiss you, or don’t leave?”
With a quiet groan, her eyes close. “Don’t give me another reason to miss you next time I’m with a man who treats me like shit.”
My heart splinters off into a thousand pieces with her words. She doesn’t deserve this lifestyle. The light inside of her is desperate to shine bright under better circumstances. How can I walk away knowing she’ll likely never escape her mother and the wrath of whatever happened between her and Decker?
Closing my eyes, I press my lips to her forehead while massaging the back of her head. She clings onto the back of my shirt with a silent plea to stay.