by Lyssa Layne
“God, that idiot,” Sketch snarls, wiping her nose with the back of her hand as she sniffs loudly. “Why does he always have to be such a fucking gentleman?”
“Someone has to offset all the assholes out there.” Princess makes a ballsy move and hugs her. “I’m just glad we’ve got two knights in our midst now.”
“Yeah. Two knights and one dud.” Mouth tips her head in the direction of her room. “Think it’s safe to leave him?”
“You’re the medical personnel around here,” I remind her. “If you say he’s good, I’m good.”
“He’s good. Let’s go.” And she spearheads our little formation straight out of the apartment.
Lucas
I don’t know which is worse; the call I had to make to let Juli know about Memphis, or sitting here now, watching her from the hallway while she cries silent tears and holds onto his limp hand with all her might. He came through the surgery alright. I knew he would. No, I hoped he would. Depended on it, actually. And he did. He pulled through. Still looks like total shit though. His face is smashed in pretty good and he’s got enough bandages wrapped around his limbs to make a solid mummy costume come Halloween. I can see why Juli’s in the shape she’s in. Doesn’t help any she had no idea what we were up to, and still doesn’t understand.
But I do. I finally get it. This thing between them, it’s legit. Annoying as I may find her a lot of the time, she cares about him, a lot. More than I would have pegged her capable of. And she’s stronger too. She could have shown up here, wailing and causing a scene, but she didn’t. Hasn’t made a sound since she got here, outside of polite small talk with the nurses. She’s not speaking to me, not that I blame her. I’m not my favorite person right now either, but she backed me up when she arrived, no questions asked, no hesitation.
It was Memphis’s idea. Rambled it off to me on the ride over while he was still in and out of consciousness. Wanted me to tell the hospital he was trampled by a bull, that he was messing around after dark and wound up in a bad situation. I don’t know shit about riding bulls, but I went with it. Wasn’t hard to tell no one was going for it. Then Juli showed, confirmed my story. No flinching. Just total conviction as she stared the cop square in the eyes and laid out the scene for him. She made a far more credible witness than I did. Even had a reasonable account of how I wound up with a black eye and busted lip in the whole ordeal. After she was done, no one questioned anything. And Juli, she just turned away and marched straight for his room.
The sound of high heels and combat boots coming down the hall catches my attention and I lift my head to search for them. Liv doesn’t say any real words for a long time, just keeps running her hands all over my body, checking to make sure everything is still attached, my heart is still beating, my lungs still doing their thing. She gets hung up repeatedly in the places that are bleeding and bruised, but I continue to assure her that I’m alright. It takes time, but she believes me eventually.
“Rediger’s gone?” she whispers.
“Yeah.”
“And Memphis is going to be okay?”
We both stare across the wide hall into his room. Juli’s still inside. Sketch is hovering in the doorway. Hasn’t moved since she got here.
“Yeah. Memphis is going to be fine, at least until he gets better. After Juli and Sketch have their turn with him, I don’t know.” I crack a small smile, hoping to diffuse the tension. We’re not out of the woods yet, but we’re alive and that needs to count for something. Needs to be enough right now. Even if it doesn’t feel like it just yet.
“Here.” Mouth shows up in front of us, hands stretched out, each holding a cup of coffee. Princess is heading for Sketch with a coffee delivery for her as well.
“Thanks.” Liv takes the paper cup and I follow suit. I’m too tired, too drained to put much thought into anything anymore. I’ll just match her movements for the time being. Coffee is probably a good idea.
“Well, this will definitely make for a good story at the shop for months to come,” Mouth remarks dryly, taking her seat beside us.
“You mean the time our shop was attacked by the mob and we all almost came within an inch of our lives trying to take down their illegal fight club? Yeah. Great conversation piece.” Liv sounds incredulous.
“Oh, no. I meant the time you turned cougar and hooked up with a guy nearly ten years your junior, but whatever. I’m flexible. If you think the mob story will get more traction.”
Liv actually laughs. Loudly, the vibration of it hums in my chest as I pull her closer, and it’s the best damn feeling. It’s almost enough to make me believe we’ve made it to the other side of this mess. Waking up. That’s what this feels like. Waking up.
We stay camped out in the sterile, cold waiting room for hours. Not until after Memphis swears at all of us for being drama queens do we walk out of the hospital and back to reality. All night while we were holed up in here, cut off from the world and any sense of night or daylight, it felt like time stood still. Now, with the high noon sun shining straight in my eyes, it seems to be racing by.
My phone’s been dead for hours. As soon as I plug it in inside the truck, the screen screams at me with a long list of messages, text and voicemail alike. My sisters. Madi. Even my mother texted me. The calls are all from my father; every message, short and clipped and lacking in every emotion except one. Anger.
“What’s wrong?” Concern shadows her beautiful face. It’s too soon. We needed more time. More rest. More deep breaths. More laughs.
“My dad.”
“Do you think he knows?” It’s a loaded question. Any number of things I’ve been keeping from him could be the reason he’s pissed off, and I’m thinking he definitely caught wind of one of them. If not more.
“Yeah.” I hit call and wait. One ring and he answers.
“It’s about damn time,” he snarls into my ear. “I don’t know where the hell you are, or what the hell you had to do with that disaster in Olivia’s old warehouse, but I know for damn sure you were there.”
“How?” That’s the only fucking thing that matters right now.
“After thirty years in politics, nothing happens in this town that I’m not privy to! For Christ’s sake, some lowlife could sneeze under the overpass and I’d be told about it. You really think my only son can walk into an illegal fight club and I won’t have at least five different sources telling me about it within seconds?! Think, Lucas! You’re a McNealy. People know you, and those who don’t sure as hell know of you. You can’t keep secrets. Not here. Not from me.”
“So what now, huh? Is the place under investigation? Are we all under arrest? What?!” I turn away from Liv. I can’t believe I let this happen. Can’t believe that after everything I did to protect her from her own blood, it could wind up being my family that tears her life to pieces.
“Now, you’ll do what you should have done from the start. You’ll listen to me.” His previous roars of self-righteousness have dimmed down to arrogant sneers. It’s all the same to me though. He’s the all-powerful Oz and I am merely the scarecrow in search of a brain. At least, that’s what I used to believe. I know better now.
“I’ll hear you out, Dad, but whether or not I listen depends entirely on the content of your words.”
I hear an indignant huff over the phone, but it only sways him briefly. Then he’s back to his usual cold and demeaning tone. “Your lack of respect for this family never ceases to amaze me. Maybe you don’t mind screwing around with your own life, but you sure as shit won’t be screwing around with mine. Stay away from the club. Stay away from that seedy tattoo parlor. I’d tell you to stay away from that trashy woman as well, but I don’t enjoy wasting my time. Don’t ask questions. Don’t talk to anyone. This is bigger than you could possibly imagine and it’s being cleaned up as we speak. Keep your damn head down and you won’t get swept away with it.”
Then the line goes dead. That’s it. My father just saved my ass. Saved Olivia. Maybe if I didn’t know he’d b
een forced into it by sheer survival instinct and a drive to save his own good name, I could decide between feeling grateful and remembering what it means to be the world’s most disappointing son. The emotions drag me in opposite directions, ripping me apart internally until a soft hand slides over my arm and I remember I’m not alone. Not everyone thinks every decision I make is wrong.
I twine my fingers with hers, squeezing gently. “It’s over.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Heartbreaker
Exhausted from the longest day of my entire fucking life, I practically fall in through my front door, stumbling sloppily and nearly crashing to the floor, were it not for Lucas who continually insists on catching me.
“Thanks,” I mumble sheepishly. That time really did seem unnecessary. “You could have let my dumb ass drop, you know? Every now and again, I deserve to trip and land on my ass. It’s humbling.”
“Forget it.” He wraps me up in a gigantic bear hug, nuzzling the side of my head and moving down until his face is buried in the crook of my neck, not to mention, a fluffy wave of my curly hair. “There will be no landing on your ass on my watch,” he murmurs tenderly and all initial intention of making a joke gets lost in the delivery.
“You need sleep.”
“I need you.”
“You have me.” Together we start our tumultuous walk down the endless hall to my room, both of us dragging our feet and barely keeping our eyes open to see where we’re going, all while holding onto one another in a way that is more risk than caution, but neither of us cares because we’re in it together.
Taking turns undressing each other in slow motion, dropping whatever we take off the other haphazardly around my room, I can feel myself begin to perk up at the site of Lucas getting increasingly more naked. I’m about to act on this pleasant burst of energy when I hear my phone ring from some unknown location in my bedroom.
“Where is that coming from?” Lucas turns around, searching the floor for the source of the noise.
“My pants.” No sooner have I said the words than I spot the worn and ripped pair of skinny jeans I was wearing up until two minutes ago. Now they’re dangling precariously from the back of a chair near the door.
I make a halfhearted attempt to grasp for the phone, but being as I’m no longer motivated by Lucas’s naked body, I’m not remotely close to reaching it, nor am I putting forth much effort to rectify said problem.
I’m still waving my hand around in midair pretending to attempt to reach my phone when the ringing stops again.
“Shit.” I groan. “What are the odds that call wasn’t important?”
Lucas tips his head sideways and grimaces. “I don’t know. Memphis is in the hospital. Your brother is recovering from a bullet wound in Mouth’s bed, and chances are good your business is currently crawling with FBI agents. I’d say not good.” It takes two long strides of his to reach the chair and retrieve my pants. His hand slides into my back pocket and resurfaces with my phone. He didn’t even have to check them all. He already knew which pocket it was in. Someday really soon, I’m going to take the time to appreciate all these little things that make him so amazing.
“Thanks.” I swipe the screen to see who it was when it starts to ring again. It’s Mouth. “What’s wrong?”
“He’s gone.”
Damn it. “What do you mean he’s gone? How could you let him leave?”
“I didn’t, Heartbreaker!” She sounds exasperated. Given the circumstances and my accusation, I suppose that’s fair. “Place was empty when I got back. Bed was made. All his shit was gone. There’s no evidence left to suggest he was ever even here.”
“That’s not possible.” I shake my head because it can’t be true. Something doesn’t fit. Something isn’t adding up. “He was barely strong enough to get to the bathroom and back. How in the hell would he have been able to dress himself, make the bed and clean up and the march out the door without collapsing halfway down the stairs? Check again. Maybe he fell. Maybe he – “
“Stop it.” Her words are final. “He’s gone, Heartbreaker. He’s gone and he’s not coming back.”
“Oh God.” I gasp, my hand covering my mouth to try and suppress the words about to come out. “Did he die? Is that what you’re not saying?”
I can hear her exhale over the phone. “He’s not dead. I would tell you if he was dead. You’re not five and I’m not selling you some tale of goldfish being free and swimming the open seas when they really just got flushed down the damn toilet. Marcus is alive. I don’t know how; maybe he’s been faking how bad he was. Maybe he was getting a lot stronger a lot faster and was just waiting for a moment to slip out when no one was looking. Whatever it was, I promise you, he was well enough to survive a few hours without us when we left. He didn’t die. He left.”
I slump down onto my mattress. Lucas is beside me in an instant. He can’t even let me fall on something soft and springy. I feel myself smirk at the thought. Maybe I’m okay with this after all. Hell, maybe I knew all along that it would come to this.
I say goodbye to Mouth and let the phone drop to the floor. I almost hope it breaks. I don’t want any more news. I haven’t been subjected to a pleasant phone call in I don’t know how long.
“Bed,” I state simply, pointing toward the pillows.
Lucas nods, snaking his arm around my waist and scooting us both up the mattress until we’re high enough to lie back and stretch out. Except we don’t stretch out. We stay curled up, legs and arms tangled up in one another, faces so close to one another our noses touch and we breathe the same breath. We don’t talk. We don’t move. We just stare at one another for the longest time and I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone say so much without ever uttering word.
When sleep finally comes for us, it’s deep and long-lasting. When Monday morning comes around to rear its ugly head, I’m tempted to hit snooze and doze back off. Even the worst mid-morning dream is bound to be better than whatever nightmare awaits back at the shop.
After much moaning and whining, and reminding Lucas that his father warned him to stay away from Pink for the foreseeable future, I finally make it to work.
Sketch pulls in right as I’m unlocking the door and I wait for her to get out of the car and reach me before I open it and go inside.
“Think anyone’s been in here?” She asks, casually scanning the area and exchanging a glance with me, letting me know we’re both aware of the unmarked van parked nearly out of sight on the side of the warehouse.
“Probably.” Then I take a deep breath and go for it. The buzz of the security system goes off as soon as we’re in. “Alarm is still set,” I point out, hurrying to shut it off.
“I don’t think that counts for much,” Sketch says dryly, standing in front of me, a large manila envelope in her hands. “Unless you left this lying on your desk.”
I didn’t. We both know that.
With shaky hands, and shaky everything, I take the envelope from her. “God, I’m so over surprises like this.” I close my eyes and count to four. I’d planned on ten, but realized by the time I reached two that was never going to happen. Then, opening my eyes and the envelope simultaneously, I brace myself for whatever is inside.
“And?” Sketch is craning her neck to try and see what’s written on the papers in my hand.
I start counting again. This time I make it to seven. “It’s a death certificate.” I lock eyes with her. “For Marcus.”
“What?” She practically yanks the sheet of paper from my hand leaving me to stare at the newspaper pages still left in my grasp.
“This is from today,” I say, reading the date. “Who would send - “Then I see it. The headline. “Sketch, listen. Deceased male found early Friday morning lying face down in the brush along State Road 44 has been identified as Marcus Mateo Badilla. Mr. Badilla died from a fatal gunshot to the chest. It is as of yet unknown who is responsible for his death or what motivated the attack against him. Mr. Badilla has a history of crimi
nal activity. Authorities do not believe the attack was random.” My voice is barely audible by the time I finish.
“Wow.” Sketch stares back at me wide eyed. “I did not see that coming.”
I glance back down at the article, reading it again, searching for some secret clues I might have missed. “Where do you think he really is? Witness protection or prison?”
She takes the envelope I have pinched between my pinky and ring finger and proceeds to place the death certificate back inside. “Let’s go with witness protection while the image of him bleeding to death is still fresh in our minds. We can always switch to prison later when the shock wears off and our sympathies along with it.”
“Always so practical.” I force a smile. Sooner or later it will happen automatically again. For the time being, I’m okay with reminding my face it’s capable of more than one sour expression.
“Do we tell anyone?” Sketch hands back the slender package so I can hide away the newspaper as well.
“I think Mouth suspects. And Lucas got a call from his dad, more or less implying shit like this was going down. I’ll tell him. I’ll let Mouth believe what she wants. The others we spare for once.”
She nods. Minutes pass while we stand here, waiting for the last piece of the puzzle to fully blend in with the big picture. It’s still not pretty to look at, but at least it’s less overwhelming when it all fits. When it’s complete. There are no more questions. No more surprise left.
“I’ll call Cherry. Tell her she’s back on the schedule,” Sketch announces suddenly.
“Sounds good.”
Then neither of us says anything else. We simply get to work. It’s Monday. And for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s business as usual.
***