by Hamel, B. B.
“Why?”
I grunted and shook my head. “That’s an odd question to ask.”
“But it’s a good one. I mean, why steal from people, why not get a real job?”
I took a second to think about that. It was both an easy question and a hard one. I wasn’t proud of the answer, wasn’t proud of a lot of the shit that took me from back then to today, but I wasn’t ashamed of myself, either.
“You went to high school,” I said.
She nodded. “And college. I mean, it was a local state school, but still.”
“Right, well, I didn’t finish high school. I didn’t have what you’d call a loving, nuclear family.”
“What were you parents like?”
“Mom was a meth addict until she joined NA. Then she turned into an alcoholic.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, well, don’t be. My father died when I was young. I hear he got murdered in a drug deal, but I don’t know if that’s true. Story goes, he paid for drugs with fake bills, then the dealer ran him off the road while he was riding a motorcycle, and he died in the crash. Don’t know how true that is, but it’s what I was told, and it’s bad enough that it might be real.”
“That’s horrible. How old were you?”
“Eight when it happened.”
“And your mom told you that’s how he died?”
I smiled a little. “She loved it. She hated my old man and I couldn’t blame her.”
“So you got into crime because, what, you had a rough childhood? That’s kind of a cliché.”
“It’s a cliché for a reason. When you grew up in a neighborhood where there’s no money and no jobs and everyone around you is either selling drugs or taking drugs, and the only people with money are the people selling them, you tend to gravitate toward that profession. I didn’t get into the drug trade, and that was purely by accident.”
“Accident?”
“Met a guy that stole cars and found my true calling.”
“What a beautiful story.”
I laughed and stopped walking. I sat down on an old wood and iron bench at the edge of the busiest part of downtown and stretched my legs out. She hesitated then sat with me.
“Fact is, being a thief isn’t the worst thing I could’ve become.”
“What’s that then?”
“Dealers are worse. The fucking mob’s worse.” I made a face, thinking back to all those guys I knew from back in the day, half of them dead now, none of them rich. “Back when we were young, you know, a lot of us thought we’d make it by now.”
“You know a lot of guys that joined the family?”
“Shit, half the guys I grew up with. They all thought they’d be rich, fat capos, running big crews and owning the world. That didn’t happen.”
“What’d you think?”
I tilted my head and sat closer to her. “I never thought I’d end up babysitting a pretty girl like you, that’s for sure.”
She rolled her eyes. “I think you’re full of shit, you know that?”
“Sounds about right, but I’ll bite. Why do you think so?”
“You talk like you had no choice but to end up the way you did. I think that’s garbage.”
“Says the girl with a rich father.”
She glared at me and pushed me away. “My dad was rich, but he’s a piece-of-shit gangster that almost got me killed.”
I sat there, looking at her with surprise. “Killed?”
She pulled away instantly. I saw it happen, almost as if in slow motion: her face shut down, her body language closed up, and she moved as far from me as she could.
“Figure of speech,” she said.
“Bullshit. What happened to you?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Amber,” I said softly. “You can tell me. I don’t know what you’re hiding, but I understand.”
She stood up abruptly. “No, you don’t.” She stared at me. “I want to go back now.”
I nodded and stood. “All right, we can go back.”
We walked in silence and she stared at the pavement like she wanted to kick it into submission. I knew something bad happened to her, and I could guess at the details, but I wanted to hear it from her. I couldn’t push her though—that was a surefire way to piss her off even more.
I slowed before we reached the house. She hesitated then turned back to me, an annoyed look on her face.
“What?” she asked. “Can we just go back in?”
I held up my hands. “You don’t have to be in attack mode all the time.”
“I’m not attacking anything.” She stepped forward, and I knew she was angry.
“I’m just saying, if you don’t want to talk about what happened, that’s okay. I won’t push you.”
“Great. Can we go inside?”
I walked closer to her. “I’m not your enemy.”
“I know that.”
“Then stop pretending like you hate me. I’m not the one that landed you here. In fact, I’m trying my best to keep you safe.”
“And you’re doing a great job.”
I stopped right in front of her. She glared up at me, but I saw some of the anger starting to fade. She must’ve realized that she’d gone too far, or at least that her anger was misplaced. I truly wasn’t her enemy, and she didn’t need to act like I was some kind of monster for being curious about her.
She hated guys like me, that was obvious. But I wasn’t the piece-of-shit mafia dick she pretended I was.
I reached out, fingers brushing her shoulder, then up to her cheek. She blinked, surprised, and I moved closer. Goddamn, she was beautiful—those full lips begged to get bitten, those wide eyes were easy to fall deep into.
“What are you doing?” she asked, but didn’t pull away.
“I notice the way you look at me,” I said, voice low. “You hate me, but I think you want me, too. And I think your hate’s a little misplaced.”
She softened a touch. “Maybe it’s a little misplaced.”
“I know you’ve seen the way I look at you, too.”
“You’re not subtle about it.”
“No,” I said, tilting my head. “I’m really not. I want you to notice.”
I held her gaze like that, inches apart, my hand on her cheek, and she didn’t move. I leaned forward and brushed my lips against hers, testing her, tasting her, for the briefest of moments—
Before kissing her deep and slow.
She didn’t return it immediately. She felt stiff in my arms, before relaxing, like all that tension she’d been carrying inside melted away from her, and her tongue slid against mine, her lips hungrily kissing me back, her fingers digging into my shoulder blades. She tasted like coffee and the attic and paint and fresh grass, and I couldn’t get enough of it as we lingered there, bodies pressed together. It was a rush, a relief, but it only sparked something stronger inside of me as I pulled away and met her gaze.
Her cheeks were pink and flushed. “We shouldn’t do that,” she said.
“You’re right. We probably shouldn’t.”
“I bet you’d get in trouble.”
“I know I would.”
She chewed on her lip. “Then why risk it?”
I touched her cheek again. “You know why.”
We stayed there on the sidewalk and I wanted more from her, wanted every inch of her, but I knew that had to wait. She was barely ready to kiss me, let alone undress for me. She stepped back and turned, and our hands touched, our fingers trailing. She pulled away and walked up the steps, then disappeared inside.
I watched her go with a smile on my face.
Fucking hell. I’d had a few good kisses in my time, but that one took them all by far.
Maybe it was the chase I liked, or the fact that she acted like she hated me when she really wanted me as bad as I wanted her, or maybe it was just her, pure and simple. I wasn’t sure, but I felt like my lips tingled and as I followed her inside, I knew I wasn’t going t
o stop until I got more, so much more.
6
Amber
Kissing Ren was a very, very bad idea.
But I loved every second of it.
He drove me crazy. Somehow, he managed to make me laugh one second, then ask about the one thing I never wanted to talk about. He made me feel almost sorry for him by talking about his messed-up past, but then seemed to revel in stealing from people. He represented everything I hated, all those guys I’d grown up with that fawned all over me because of my father and were total bastards, and yet it didn’t seem to matter. As much as I wanted to hate him, I couldn’t quite do it.
For a few days after that, I spent most of my time up in the attic, daydreaming about him. I’d alternate between having these insanely detailed and hyper-specific sexual fantasies about him and painting calming landscapes to the sound of Bob Ross’s voice, and for a little while all my pent-up sexual energy and frustration got mixed up with that voice, and I couldn’t look at his afro without having the sudden urge to take off all my clothes.
It was a weird few days.
One afternoon, I lounged on a nest of blankets I’d taken up into the attic, when I heard Ren’s voice from down below. “You busy up there?”
“Not too busy,” I said, moving over to peer down through the hatch.
He stared up at me. “I’m bored. Paint me something nice.”
“Paint you something?”
“Sure, how about you start with a nude? I’ll pose, if you want.”
“I don’t have any canvas small enough for that.”
He laughed. “Please, princess. I think you’d love to get a peek.”
He was right. I would never admit that though.
“No thanks.”
“How about some mountains? You’re getting good at mountains.”
I stared at him. “You’ve been coming up here and looking at my paintings.”
“Of course. I’m bored.”
“Ren. You can’t do that.”
“Explain to me why not.”
“Because they’re private.”
“And yet you don’t lock the hatch.”
“Like that would stop you.”
He laughed and held out his hands. “Fair enough. Come on, princess. Draw me some mountains.”
I let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine, you can have some mountains. But they won’t be big.”
“Make them big.” He grinned at me. “Make them huge.”
I rolled my eyes and shut the hatch before shuffling over to my easel again. I planned on painting something silly and stupid, like a snowman parched on the side of a hill or something like that, but as soon as I picked up my brushes, I fell into that trance I’d been getting, a calming sort of zone where nothing else in the world existed or mattered except for the painting.
It took me a few hours. Time slipped past when I got into the zone. I could ride that feeling forever if I wanted, but eventually I had to leave to tend to my body’s needs. Still, in the moment, as I made my brush strokes and tried to remember what Bob Ross said about making the peaks and using different colors, and also trying not to feel weirdly sexually aroused, because all of this had gotten very mixed up and confused in my head when really I wanted Ren to come up here and strip me down and fuck me rough against the rafter, to fuck me deep and hard and make me scream so loud the neighbors could hear, but I wasn’t going to give in to that temptation, so instead I painted mountains and felt confused.
The mountains came out great. When I finished, I shuffled back and stared at the easel, letting out a breath of excitement. For the first time in a while, I felt like I had something good.
I was smiling when I pulled up the hatch. “Ren!” I yelled. “Come over here. I have something for you.” I lowered down the ladder and waited for him to come over.
He appeared, but he wasn’t smiling. “Stay up there,” he said. “And pull that up.” He tried to push the ladder away.
“What’s going on?” The tone of his voice had the small hairs on my neck standing up straight.
“I don’t know, maybe nothing. But stay up there, okay?”
“Ren—”
“I’m not fucking around, Amber.” His eyes were fierce and he pulled a gun from his waistband. I sucked in a breath. I had no clue he had a fucking gun in the house. The sight of it made me panic, my heart racing, my hands sweating. “Stay up there and don’t move, no matter what you hear.”
“Where’s Mona?” The question came out strangled.
“Went to the city a few hours ago.” He looked away, face serious. “Thank fucking god. Now stay up there.”
He stalked off without another word.
I leaned back, heart racing, breathing hard. I crawled over to the attic vent but couldn’t see anything outside. I heard nothing downstairs, and I didn’t know what was going on, but Ren sounded intense, and he was holding a gun—which meant something very, very bad was happening. I didn’t think he’d pull a gun around me unless he felt like he absolutely needed to.
Time slipped past. It was almost the opposite of my painting zone. When I was making something, time began elastic and sort of slipped past like a river. I could float in that zone and nothing mattered to me as whatever I was making came out in gushes and fits and starts. But waiting around for something horrible to happen, that made time contract, and every second, every heartbeat felt like an eternity.
No sounds, no movement, nothing at all.
I crawled back to the hatch and opened it. “Ren?” I whispered. My voice sounded harsh, like I might cry. I realized I had a lump in my throat. “Ren, where—”
He appeared down below and I had to put a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. His face was serious as he put a finger to his lips, shushing me. I stared at him, on the verge of freaking out. He gestured for me to lower the ladder, and I did, nice and slow. He pulled it down the rest of the way, then helped me climb out.
“Why do you have the gun?” I whispered when I was practically in his arms.
“Someone’s here,” he whispered back, his lips against my ear. His stubble tickled my neck and god, I wanted to put my hands on his chest, but I thought I might pass out from how hard my heart was racing.
“Who? What’s happening?”
He held up a hand, listening. “Cars pulled up. Three guys got out. I don’t know who they are.”
“Where are they?”
“Downstairs, looking around. They came in the back.”
“Maybe they’re with Vincent.”
“Maybe.” He didn’t sound convinced. “I want to make a break for it.”
“How?”
He shook his head and put a finger to his lips then crept to the stairway. I heard voices downstairs, distant and muffled, then footsteps. Ren cursed and came back to me, grabbing my hand and pulling me along behind him. We ducked into Mona’s room and he closed the door, leaving a small crack to see through. I pressed my eye against it while he loomed above me, watching.
A guy walked into view. For an instant, I thought everyone was fine—until I saw the gun he held in his hands. It was a long rifle, one of those things you see on TV.
Ren pulled me from the door and gave me a look.
I sank down and sat on the floor, knees pulled to my chest. I couldn’t handle this, couldn’t handle it one bit, and I felt like I was having a flashback to that day when the bullets ripped into my body, flinging me to the ground—the day I almost died, but came away from irrevocably changed.
“Don’t move,” he whispered.
“Ren,” I gasped, but he slipped out of the door.
I climbed to my feet, freaking out. I poked my head out into the hall and watched him sneak almost perfectly silent up behind the guy with the long rifle. He bashed his gun down on the back of the gun’s head, knocking him forward, he did it a second time. The man’s scalp broke and blood dropped onto the floor as he stumbled and fell to the ground.
Ren crouched, listening. I held my breath. Nobody ca
lled the alarm.
He quickly took the man’s big gun. The guy wore black clothes, a long-sleeve t-shirt and dark jeans, and had a scraggly, ugly beard. I guessed motorcycle gang, based on his leather boots and the black wristbands, but I couldn’t be sure. Ren came back to me, opened the door, and offered his hand.
“Come on,” he said.
I nodded and let him lead me back to the steps. We headed down, trying not to make any noise, but I wasn’t as quiet as he was. He somehow managed to step over every spot where the wood creaked, and I somehow found it all.
The voices got louder. “… finish the bitch and go.”
“Where the hell did Grayson get to?”
“Don’t know, man, but come on. Let’s shoot the place up, kill them, and get the hell out.”
“It’s Vincent Leone’s fucking wife we’re after. This isn’t some fast job. We gotta do it right or we’re dead.”
“I know that, but—”
He didn’t get to finish. Ren gave me a look, then made a break for the door. He ripped it open and turned to face the guys, gun out and pointed.
I knew what he wanted me to do, but I couldn’t move.
He opened fire. The sound was so loud, I thought I might scream. It pulsed into my skull, reminding me of that moment, again and again and again, each bullet he fired was the same bullet that ripped into my body. His eyes moved to mine, and I knew I had to move, I had to run out that door, but—
He stepped forward, still shooting, and I threw myself forward. I screamed and flew out the door, stumbling on the porch. He moved back after me, and the other guys inside returned fire. Bullets slammed all around me as I screamed again, stumbling down the front steps. Ren came up behind me, sprinting hard, and pulled me behind him. He was fast and strong, and my old bullet wounds hurt like hell. I couldn’t run fast anymore, and I was mid-panic, and I knew those guys would appear at any second and kill us.
He half turned, barely slowing down, and scooped me up into his arms like I weighed nothing, dropping the gun onto the ground.
I bounced in his arms but hugged him tight as he sprinted faster than I could’ve ran on my own. There were gunshots behind us and some yelling, but he didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. I hugged myself against him, squeezing my eyes shut tight, and tried not to scream.