She rears back and slaps me hard across the face. The force of the impact throws my head to the side, and I blink dazedly down at the floor, my cheek throbbing at the point of contact. If I hadn't been fully awake before, I am now.
"Don't you ever say that I'd manipulate a client to get what I want from them." Her voice is shaking with a quiet yet lethal sort of rage. "I fucking care about you, Drake, or I wouldn't be here, job or no job. I've been fighting my feelings for you ever since the first night we met, knowing how much I could hinder your recovery if you knew how I really felt about you. And if I'm sacrificing anything, I'm sacrificing my own chance at happiness, not yours."
She moves to push past me, but I reach for her shoulders before she can get out the door.
"Let me go!" she cries, struggling against me, but I hold firm, waiting for her to calm down.
"I don't know what's going to happen when we go into that holler."
Her eyes snap to mine because I'm finally agreeing to let her go with me.
I take a deep breath, not liking it but knowing she needs this from me. "But I do know we have a lot of stuff we need to talk about once we get out of there."
She looks up at me, her face stricken. She sniffles before taking a shaky breath. "You're damn right we do."
I nod at her, my heart drumming in my chest, still not fully wrapping my head around her admission that she has feelings for me. But I have to stay focused until this is over. "It's going to be rough riding till we get to Mama's homestead, and you need to be prepared in case we have to make a run for it. I'm going to need you to hold on tight and follow my lead."
"But what about him?" She juts her chin at Jerry Lee, who's been watching our little tirade attentively through the window.
"That's my cousin, Jerry Lee." I frown at his approach. "Don't worry. I'll handle him." I reach down and take her hand to give her courage—and to bolster my own. "Are you ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," she replies, her eyes shining up at me. "But who do you want me to say that I am?" she asks, her gaze locking on the size of the knife strapped to Jerry Lee's belt.
"Willa and Coco thought you were my girlfriend. So…would that work…for now?" I give her a shy smile, probably the first I've given a girl since I was known as the boy from Gander Hollow who could hit the tar out of the ball over the broken fence and into Otter Creek.
She squeezes my hand, the faintest hint of a blush dusting across her olive skin. "Okay."
I clear my throat and throw my shoulders back. That one word is all I needed to hear, and it was well worth the slap to get it. I push the door open to meet Jerry Lee head on, striding forward with the same level of confidence I saw her stride into that conference room at Kings Stadium with, feeling sure of myself for the first time in a long time.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Eva
My culture shock is complete when Jerry Lee steps forward with a grin that's missing most of its teeth. I try not to stare, but he looks more like a rough-and-tumble hockey player than a successful drug dealer. However, I'm more put out by his good-ol'-boy attitude, ranging from the Confederate flag in the back of his pickup to the derogatory slurs that fly out of his mouth.
"Drake, you're not steppin' out with another one of those Spanglish girls, are you? Jeez, didn't you get your fill of them hot tamales after your ex left you? Ooo whee, Mama ain't gonna like this." He slaps his thigh, causing the raccoon's tail sticking out of his back pocket to sway back and forth.
When Drake glares at him, Jerry Lee fumbles with his hands.
"I didn't mean anything by it, Drake. You can do-si-do with whoever you want as far as I'm concerned. You're a full-blown New Yorker now, and I guess anything goes in a place like that. Ain't that right?" He scratches the side of his beard, unsure if his apology was accepted or not based on Drake's non-reaction. He grins at me, showing off his crooked smile. "After getting a good look at her, this one's a right pretty gal. Real fine, if I do say so myself."
"Shut it, Jerry Lee," Drake growls, his voice slicing through the air with a sinister edge. "Unless you feel like getting down on your knees and begging for this lady's forgiveness."
"Well, I don't—" Jerry Lee starts before Drake takes his legs out from under him with one sharp kick. "Now, Drake!" he yelps after falling hard to the ground. "You didn't have to go and do that."
"We're waiting," Drake says so calmly that it makes the hair on the back of my arms stand on end.
Jerry Lee drags himself over the gravel, the jagged stones cutting into his knees as he crawls toward us. "Miss, I'm ever so sorry if I offended you. My compliment on your beauty was kindly meant."
Drake turns his head to me, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Do you accept this worthless piece of shit's apology, Eva?"
I hate to see anyone in any unnecessary pain, but I never expected Drake to stand up for me like that. He's been known to hurl these kinds of verbal jabs, not defend people from them. And I have to admit that there's something about seeing him take his unenlightened relative down that makes me feel really good inside. I'm all for fighting my own battles, but I'm not going to deny how nice it feels to have a big, strong man defend my honor too.
I try not to laugh as Jerry Lee struggles to his feet, his paunch of a stomach limiting any rapid movements. "I accept your apology, Jerry Lee," I respond to put him out of his misery.
"Thank you, Miss Eva," he says a lot more politely than his initial greeting was.
He's winded as he slowly saunters over to his truck and opens the back door. Drake stiffens next to me, probably thinking he's going to pull out a shotgun or something, but Jerry Lee just gestures toward the seat.
"Now, if y'all would get in, we'll be on our way."
"I don't think so." Drake glowers, not moving a muscle. "We'll follow you on my bike."
"But Mama said—"
"I don't care what Mama said."
"Suit yourself. It's your funeral." Jerry Lee shrugs before closing the door and getting behind the wheel.
I peer up at Drake and sigh. "It's just like you said it would be."
"Oh, and it's about to get even worse," he groans while leading me over to his Harley. "Jerry Lee's just ignorant. Mama's downright mean."
"Why does everyone call her Mama?" I inquire, listening to the ridiculously souped-up engine in Jerry Lee's truck idle while he waits for us.
"Because she takes care of this whole holler. Half the men in this town would be unemployed if not for her. She's mother to them all…way more than she ever was to me."
"Thank God for small favors," I say with a wry grin, getting him to smile back at me.
"No, thank God for you." He places a featherlight kiss on my forehead before strapping my helmet under my chin.
I mount the bike after him, and he takes my hand and pulls me in even closer against his body. Before I can even blink, he tears away full throttle and dips down a nearby embankment. My stomach pitches at the suddenness of the drop. On the road above us, Jerry Lee lays on the horn, shouting obscenities out the window at us. But his truck is too big to follow us down the dirt path. He's stuck taking the long way around.
The wind whips by my face as random tree branches scrape my arms. Once we're clear of Jerry Lee, Drake begins to slow down a little, but not much. It's not until he pulls up next to a pond hidden deep in the woods that I begin to breathe a little easier.
He cuts the engine and leans back into me, lifting the visor on his helmet. "If we're being summoned to Mama's, then I intend on taking the scenic route," he tells me over his shoulder. "So you can see some of the good parts of my childhood, like my favorite swimming hole."
I glance into the rock-cut basin that's catching the crystal-clear water tumbling into it from the mountain-fed stream, spilling over the side and forming a picturesque waterfall. The sound is so soothing after having had the roar of the bike ringing in my ears. Its beauty catches me off guard, hidden away back here in the woods. I can see why Drake liked to c
ome here. It was his means of escape—before the cocaine.
I fight against the tightening in my throat at how hard his childhood must have been that he had to retreat to the farthest corner of the forest in order to find some peace. He'll be furious if he detects the slightest amount of pity in my voice, so I have to keep things light—even if my heart is breaking for him.
"It's a lot less crowded than the pool at the YMCA I used to go to." I drum my fingers against his stomach until I feel him laugh. "I'd take it over the potty-training toddlers I had to share the water with any day."
"You wouldn't be saying that if you stubbed your toe on the bottom as often as I did," he chuckles. "Man, I remember swinging over the water on that tire swing over there like it was yesterday. I used to come here with my cousin, Dwight."
"Is he one of your 'good' cousins?"
"He was. Until Mama got her hooks in him." Drake bends his head, glancing away from the sight where he spent more of his carefree days.
"So, you weren't out here all by yourself?" I ask, feeling somewhat relieved.
"Dwight taught me everything he knew—how to hunt, how to shoot, how to track," he replies offhandedly. "The adults in my life weren't exactly concerned about my welfare. So these woods became more of a home than those four walls and a roof ever could."
"It must've been tough leaving Dwight behind."
"It was." He drops his head. "I knew what was going to happen, but I couldn't do anything about it. He got pulled in, and so did I. We just ended up going in different directions. But let's face it—I'm ruined just as much as he is."
I give him a quick squeeze. "But you're working your way out. That's why you're here."
"I just don't know if I can face him. We used to dream about getting out of here together. How I'd make it to the majors one day, how things would be different for us. But all I ended up doing was leaving him behind."
"It's not your fault, Drake," I say encouragingly. "You were an eighteen-year-old kid then. What could you have done?"
He turns to look at me over his shoulder. "I could have kept my promise."
Bringing the bike to life, Drake abruptly ends the trip down memory lane and continues to travel off-road. We drive over the rocky terrain, bouncing all the way, making my stomach riot. He seems to know these paths like the back of his hand. A little farther in, he comes to a halt and points at the tree line.
"See those wooden boards nailed together up there?"
"Yeah," I respond when I get a glimpse of what he's pointing at.
"That was my tree stand when I was the cut-off man on Mama's supply line. Everyone who bought from her or sold for her had to come through me first."
There's a certain amount of pride in his tone I'm not surprised to hear. It's that trademark sense of superiority that's common among addicts. He pulled one over on the law plenty of times and got away with it. It must've made him feel powerful when he was just a scared little boy all alone out here, ready to face all kinds of nefarious characters who were coming to see his mama. To avoid the cops, they didn't take the road. Instead, they came through the woods to meet him.
"See those marks on the trunk?" he asks. "I used to have a bucket nailed there sideways, and I'd throw a baseball in it, pretending I was fielding plays and connecting with the first baseman from across the diamond. It was a good way to stave off the boredom when I didn't have anyone to play catch with."
"Your dad didn't…?"
"Nah," he replies sullenly. "He wasn't allowed to come down here. Mama didn't want him sampling anything before she could get her hands on it."
"So, we're close to the house?"
"It's right up that hill yonder." He motions with his chin at the seemingly innocent footpath that's the portal to his personal hell, and for the first time, I notice the glint of sun reflecting off the pickup trucks parked on top.
His speech pattern is even changing the closer we get to his mother's corrupting influence. It's like he's falling back into his old habits the closer we get to the source of her magnetic pull. And I have to admit that I'm scared. There's undoubtedly going to be some coke within easy reach of him. She could very well pressure him into taking some, and he may not be able to resist. His recovery has been tenuous at best so far, and numerous times, I've felt he's been hanging on by a thread. If not for the promise he made to me to fight against his incessant urgings, I have no doubt he would've gotten high by now.
He pats the seat of his bike. "Baseball and Harleys were the only good things my daddy taught me about. He'd come to my Little League games when he was sober, and after watching me play, he'd give me tips on how I could improve. How to throw better, how to slide harder, stuff like that. Otherwise, we'd fix up old Harleys that he'd buy for cheap and make them run again. It's what we did together when he didn't need any drugs to feel good, when he just needed me."
"How often was that?" I question gently.
"Not often enough."
He starts to shake, and I just hold on to him, rubbing his back, letting him know I'm here for him.
"I really don't want to do this, Eva," he whispers over the birdsong in the trees above us. "Can't we just leave and pretend like none of this ever happened?"
"No," I reply firmly. "Because that's what you've been doing, and it hasn't worked for you."
He rests his head on the handlebars, and I need him to summon every last bit of courage he possesses.
"You need to tell her this hold she has on you is over. It ends today."
When he still doesn't lift his head, I go on.
"You're not going to end up like your father. She's not going to do that to you."
He raises his head and looks back at me. "I refuse to let that happen."
"Good."
I stare into his troubled eyes, which are slowly gaining focus, changing from a cloudy blue to that piercing shade of green that's frightening in its intensity.
He slips off the bike before sliding his hands around my waist and helping me down. We walk side by side toward the path. I leave my hand out just in case he wants to take it, but he doesn't. My fingers brush against his leg a few times, and I feel like he's already distancing himself from me to prepare for the battle ahead. But then he stops and whistles a peculiar set of notes.
An answering call soon follows, echoing his notes perfectly from somewhere close by. A shiver runs through me when, a second later, a camouflaged man emerges from beneath a cluster of pines, the scope of a sniper rifle pointed directly at us.
"Is that how you greet your cousin?" Drake heckles him, not sounding the least bit scared.
"No cousin of mine would destroy a whole locker full of HGH," the man answers, not lowering his gun. "I saw the security footage. Now how am I supposed to do my job for your mama with you causing problems for me like that?"
This wiry figure must be Dwight, the childhood friend lured under Mama's spell of violence and tainted money. His movements are jerky, and I don't feel as comfortable as Drake does, knowing he's probably been using and holding a loaded weapon on us.
In fact, Drake kicks the dirt by his feet like he's just shooting the breeze. "Word travels fast."
"We were surveilling you on the island. Mama has cameras all up inside that warehouse of yours. She just about went off her rocker when she saw what you were doing, knowing there was no way she could stop it."
"Fuck." And for the first time, Drake's smile falters a little. Then his worried gaze immediately shifts to me.
If Mama saw Drake on that video feed, that means she saw me too.
Dwight sighs loudly. "Leave it to you to keep on pulling this crazy, messed-up shit."
They stare at each other for a minute before Dwight rests the barrel of the gun on his shoulder and grabs Drake by the arm, bringing him in for a hug. Drake chuckles loudly, smacking Dwight on the back. I don't know quite what to make of their behavior, but it seems like we're no longer in any danger—at least, not for now.
Drake holds his side, bend
ing forward while clutching Dwight's shoulder. "God, I should've known she'd have eyes on me."
"Well, you almost gave her a coronary and sent her off with your daddy. Would've served the old bat right!" Dwight exclaims, his face just as red as Drake's.
"She plans on outliving us all," Drake groans. "Don't you know that by now?"
Dwight takes a step closer, examining his cousin. "Yeah, but it looks like you got yourself clean. You stand a better chance of making it than I do."
"Thanks to this little lady here," Drake says, tipping his head at me.
"Nice to meet you, ma'am." Dwight extends his grubby hand, and I shake it reluctantly. "Welcome to Crazy Town."
Drake, sensing my discomfort, smiles over at me. I don't like the idea of Drake being around another addict, especially one he's this close to. All it would take would be a moment when my back is turned and Dwight could easily slip him something. And if last night is any indication, Drake would most certainly take it.
"None too friendly, is she?" Dwight remarks.
"Not when I've had a gun pointed at me. No." I level my gaze at him.
"Oooo, she's a feisty one!" Dwight nods at me approvingly. "Well, she'd have to be to put up with the likes of you. But, Drake, you shouldn't have brought her here."
At that, I fall back to Drake's side, not liking his cousin's tone.
"Oh, you have nothing to fear from me, sweet thing. It's Mama Bear you need to watch out for," Dwight says. "She don't go for any young females like yourself sniffing around her boy."
"Well, she'd better learn," I respond, ready to go toe-to-toe with her if she dares to stand in the way of Drake's recovery.
Drake bites his lip, fighting his smile, but Dwight catches it all the same.
"We've got a stick of dynamite here. Go on and blow this whole holler to smithereens, girl. Hell if I care." Dwight beckons with his hand, urging us to follow him as he carefully steps over a trip wire and waits until we're safely across.
Inside Game Page 17