by Hawk, Maya
Shit, maybe I’ll be able to go back to school. I’m sure I could at least pay for an associate’s degree since my father so nobly cut me off.
I leave Rasmussen Auto with a tiny sliver of hope for the future. For the first time in a long time, it feels like things might actually work out for once.
CHAPTER FIVE – JORDANA
The glaring red numbers of my alarm clock tell me I’ve been lying in bed for three hours now.
I’m not even remotely tired, and I didn’t drink an ounce of caffeine all day. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, especially if I have to fend off advances from Thad all day.
Hopefully we won’t cross paths. I’ll just stick close to Kent and hope I avoid Thad.
I smile into the pillow, thinking of how shameless and forthright Thad was. He wants me. He really wants me. I’ll admit it feels good. My ego certainly isn’t complaining. What girl wouldn’t want a handsome man telling her she’s beautiful and dying to take her out on a date?
I resolve to allow myself to enjoy it, but I refuse to let myself act on it.
Footsteps shuffle outside my door, startling me into an upright position. My bedroom is on the opposite end of the hall from my mother and Lewis, and they’re definitely sound asleep by now.
“Shit. Titan.” He’s only been here a little over a day, but I keep forgetting he’s back. He was missing at dinner tonight. Lewis said he was out all day job-searching and never came home, though the way he said it, between slivered bites of filet mignon and sips of red wine, gave me the impression he didn’t care if Titan ever came back.
I climb out of bed and rush to my door, flinging it open to see my future stepbrother standing in the hall bathroom across from me washing his hands with the door wide open. My eyes adjust against the dark hall and the bright light of the bathroom until they focus on the cuts and bloody crusts covering his knuckles.
“What happened to you?” I fold my arms and lean against the doorway.
His eyes dart my way. “Fuck, you shouldn’t come up on people like that. I didn’t see you there.”
“Did I scare you?”
“Nothing scares me.”
“Right.” I press the side of my head against the doorframe. “You going to tell me where you were all night?”
“What are you, my parole officer?”
I resist the obvious comeback in lieu of, “We were all just worried about you, that’s all.”
There’s no way I’m telling him that his dad didn’t seem to care.
“I worked out at the gym tonight. Hit the bags a little too hard.”
“Liar.” I shake my head.
“God’s honest truth,” he snorts, drying his hands on one of the white hand towels. It’s going to have to be bleached now. He may as well throw it away unless he wants my mother asking questions. “Not that I give two shits if you believe me or not.”
His forearms flex and bulge as he moves and my eyes follow the round curve of his shoulders down the deep arch of his lower back and then slide down the length of his long, muscled legs. Every muscle in his body is ripped to shreds, and his body is fifty tons of solid dynamite.
I’ve never been with a guy like him, not that I’m entertaining this, but for comparison’s sake, he’s everything I’ve always steered clear of.
He’s dangerous.
Alluring.
A big, red warning sign wrapped up in a package of masculinity and unapologetic brawn.
“Where’d you go to school? Before…” I start to ask, trying to break the awkward tension with a generic question.
“It’s too damn late for small talk, Jordana.”
He seems annoyed with me, like I’m some pesky little sister.
At least he got my name right.
And then his eyes land directly on my cleavage. He doesn’t even try to hide it.
Shameless.
“If you’re going to stand there with your tits half hanging out your shirt, the least you can do is wiggle you ass a little too.”
“You’re an asshole, Titan.”
CHAPTER SIX – TITAN
“Man, how’d you get home last night? You were so fucked up.” KJ pushes Kyle, shoving him into the wall with minimal force. Kyle swings back, his reflexes clearly delayed as a result of his massive hangover. They remind me of a couple of bear cubs rolling around and roughhousing.
“Couldn’t even tell you,” Kyle moans, adjusting his hat. He motions for a customer to pull a car into bay number three. The morning sun sears through the glass garage doors, and he rubs his temples hard.
“You stay out drinking after the fights?” I grab my drill. The fights ended pretty late, but I didn’t stick around to babysit fucking Kyle afterward. I had to haul ass to get out of there, not wanting to be seen covered in blood.
“Always,” KJ huffs. “That’s what he does.”
Kyle is quiet.
“So you win last night?” KJ asks, his eyes trailing down my arms and landing on my bruised knuckles.
“Of course.” I smirk. “What kind of question is that?”
Kyle walks away, disappearing into his dad’s office. I’m almost positive he’s going to try to sneak in a quick nap before Terry arrives.
KJ shakes his head. “He’s going to get caught one of these days. You know that, right?”
“Caught? Fighting?”
I’m not following.
“Driving like a drunk idiot,” KJ says. “He’s stupid lucky is what he is.”
I fully knew Kyle Rasmussen was a smug, entitled pencil dick, but now I want to smash his head into the cinder block walls of this garage.
Another car pulls up to an empty bay and honks for service.
But the conversation isn’t over.
Not yet.
For the rest of the day, it’s all I can think about. Every time I look at that asshole, I want to fucking murder him.
There’s a wad of $2,000 cash stuffed in my sock drawer from the night before. It’s enough to get me settled in a new apartment and out from under my father’s roof.
I refuse to work here any longer than I have to, and it’s only a matter of time before I have to deal with Kyle Rasmussen…
In my own way.
***
Dinner is silent.
I almost miss the clink and noise and hustle and bustle of the prison dining hall. At least that experience wasn’t painfully awkward.
I inhale the meatloaf and macaroni and cheese Laticia has prepared and watch as she flashes me a drunken, slow smile. Her wine glass was full a moment ago and now it’s almost empty.
The woman likes her wine, that’s for sure.
Jordana hasn’t said two words to me all day. Not since last night when she was giving me the Spanish fucking Inquisition.
“How was your first day at work?” Laticia asks, though her words slur together into one, long word.
“It’s a job,” I say, shoving a bite of macaroni noodles onto my fork. “Definitely not a career. Going to look for something else.”
“Now you’ll keep this job, son.” My father’s voice booms. “A job is a job. You don’t just walk away because you don’t like it.”
I lower my fork slowly, gathering every ounce of calm I can muster. “Never said I was quitting, Pops. Going to continue looking until I find something I’m better suited for.”
“Think you’re too good to be changing oil?” He puffs out his chest and fluffs his napkin. The air is thick with contention tonight. He balls his cool-handed surgeon mitt into a fist.
“Making ten bucks an hour won’t allow me to return to school.” I finish my food as quickly as possible. The sooner I’m done, the sooner I can head upstairs for the night and pretend I’m anywhere but here for a few hours. “Unless, you know, you wanted to help me out with that.”
Laticia turns to my father, placing her hand over his. “You’d be surprised to learn how much tuition has spiked in the last five years.”
“You’re a Blackstone.” He si
ts up straight, clearing his throat and ignoring her. “We pull ourselves up by our own bootstraps. That’s what we do. No sympathy. No favors. No excuses.”
It’s exactly the kind of response I expected from him.
I shove my empty plate away, the food filling my belly with a pleasant ache. The only pleasant thing I’ve experienced in far too long.
“So, since I don’t have wheels yet, and taking the bus to work is a bit of an inconvenience,” I say, “was going to ask if I could fix up that old Mustang in the garage? I should be getting my license renewed this week.”
I’m not sure where it came from, but I’m betting it was something my father bought on a whim. Something to make himself feel better after losing his wife and daughter. It’s the color of cobalt with white racing stripes down the front. Chrome wheels. Flashy, even for my father.
I tried starting it the other day after I saw the keys in the ignition. The thing sounded like it hadn’t seen the light of day in years.
Jordana shoots her mother a look and the room suddenly feels stiff. Laticia’s eyes water, and she brings her hand over her mouth, fighting tears for a moment before giving up. Her head hangs.
I’ve just made the only person in this house who gives half a shit about me upset.
My father shoots me a disgusted look.
“What?” My brows arch, my gaze jerking from person to person to person as I try to comprehend what’s going on.
“Please excuse me.” Latisha throws her napkin across her plate and runs upstairs.
I glance at Jordana, silently pleading for someone to fucking give me an explanation.
“That was Jerome’s car.” She says it like I should’ve known.
“Fuck, I didn’t know.” I place my hands in the air in protest.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My father finishes his wine in one gulp, his beady eyes honing in on me from his perch at the head of the table. “I know you didn’t know, son.”
I’m dumbfounded by my father’s temporary moment of mercy. It’s unlike him.
“She’ll get over it.” And just like that, he returns to his usual self.
I watch as he slides out from the table and leaves the room.
All those years, I never thought freedom would be swift kick to the teeth with steel-toed boots.
No family.
Shitty job.
No purpose.
What’s the point?
My phone buzzes in my pocket, reminding me that I have a phone now. How easy it was to forget that. I’d slipped out of the shop on my lunch break that day and signed up. I can’t have prospective employer’s calling the home phone looking for me like I’m some technology-phobic moron.
TONIGHT. 10:00. THE BASEMENT. YOU IN?
Of course it would be Kyle.
I rake my hand through my hair, tugging at the ends and sinking back into my seat. My body’s still a little tight from the last one, but I know I still have plenty of fight left in me.
Shit.
Especially after tonight.
That outlet would feel damn good.
I fire off a response. I WANT $1500.
YOU’RE DELUSIONAL.
I chuckle. He’s an idiot if he thinks he has any semblance of an upper hand in this discussion.
FIND SOMEONE ELSE THEN.
I shove the phone back in my pocket and head upstairs. Faint sobs trailing from my father’s bedroom serve to make me feel like an even bigger piece of shit for making Laticia cry like that.
The second I pass the threshold into my room, I slam the door and flop back onto the mattress. My phone buzzes one more time.
FINE. $1500. IF YOU WIN.
My lips curl up at the sides. ALWAYS DO.
CHAPTER SEVEN – JORDANA
“I bet he can fix it up and sell it.” I’m sitting on the bed next to my mother, who’s face is buried deep in the center of a goose down pillow. Her shoulders heave and shake as soft, muffled cries fill the space around us. I place my hand on her back, holding it steady as if I possibly had the power to calm her.
Nothing seems to calm her besides wine these days, and if anyone brings up Jerome, it sends her into an emotional tailspin and the rest of the night is as good as ruined.
Not a single day has passed over the last three years where I haven’t thought of my big brother. He was my protector. My best friend. My role model. I would trade anything to have him back again, but I’ve accepted that it’s not a possibility. I’ve chosen to keep him in my heart for the rest of my days, but I refuse to dwell on the tragedy of his passing.
Dwelling on senseless crimes does no one any good.
That’s why I want to work in probation and parole. I want to change lives for the better. I want to help convicted criminals turn their lives around so that other families can be spared the kind of pain and suffering we’ve known.
“Mama,” I say, rubbing my hand across the back of her silk blouse. “Let Titan drive it. Let him fix it up. Maybe he can sell it and you can do something fun with the money? You’ve always wanted to go to Jamaica. Maybe we can do a girls’ trip?”
I’m injecting as much hope and positivity into the situation as I possibly can, but she’s not responding. The cries haven’t stopped.
She misses her son.
I can’t pretend to know what that feels like. I can only lend my strength.
I lean down, pressing the side of my cheek against her shoulder and breathing in her soft, jasmine perfume. “I love you, Mama.”
Her crying stops, and I sit up. Mom pulls herself up, wiping her tear-stained cheeks on the backs of her hands and pulling in deep breath after deep breath. Our eyes lock, and I can feel the pain radiating from her beautiful face. It’s the realest pain I’ve ever known, and it’s defined my mother and our lives for the last three years.
“Do you feel like I’ve abandoned you, baby?” she asks, her brows lifted. “Emotionally speaking?”
I glance away, not wanting to upset the fragile ecosystem of her emotional state.
“You can be honest.” She places her hand atop mine.
My shoulders shrug. “I mean, yeah, but I understand. You’re grieving.”
“I’m going to work on it, Jordana. I’m going to get better.”
I gaze up at her, detecting the tiniest sliver of hope in her façade. Her lips are straight, but features have softened.
“Sometimes I forget you lost a brother. I don’t want you to feel like you’ve lost your mother too.” Mom leans in to hug me, squeezing me tight. “I say it’s time we start moving forward.”
“I agree.”
“Little by little, we can get there.”
“We will.”
She rises up, as if she’s just had some sort of epiphany, and ambles to her bathroom. The sink runs, and I watch from the edge of her bed as she splashes cold water on her face and dries it with a hand towel.
“Tell Titan he can drive the car for now. We’ll worry about everything else later.” She offers a bittersweet smile, her hand running the length of the doorframe.
I nod and leave to find him.
“You in there?” I rap on his door a moment later.
No response.
“Titan.”
No response.
I twist the doorknob, take a deep breath, and show myself in.
His room is empty. An indentation is carved out in the center of his bed. A loud rumble pulls my attention outside his window, where I’m barely able to catch a peek of him hopping inside someone’s pickup truck and pulling away.
He better not be getting into any trouble.
As much as I find him utterly obnoxious and impossible to be around, and as much as I detest him for the crudeness of his comments last night, I don’t want him to become another statistic.
Not on my watch.
I sigh, recalling how my old corrections professor used to tell us that seventy-eight percent of all violent offenders re-offend within five years, most o
f them within the first ninety days of being released.
My arms fold and I stare around at his empty room.
I should go find him.
Then again, he’s not my problem.
But he kind of is.
I throw myself down in the center of his bed, digging my fingers into my scalp and groaning as my thoughts tangle and brawl.
Titan Blackstone is insufferable in every sense of the word. He’s been nothing but rude to me since the day we met. I’m not entirely sure he deserves my kindness or sympathy.
And then I think of all the reasons offenders reoffend, and often times, it’s due to socioeconomic conditions.
Lewis won’t help his son out. He needs a car. He needs a better job.
Someone needs to throw him a bone.
Pulling myself up, I trudge back to my room to grab the spare keys to the Mustang I’d been keeping in my jewelry box for the last three years. I tiptoe back to his room and place them on his dresser before calling it a night.
***
My fingers tremble as they hover over the mouse of Kent’s computer the following morning. I point the cursor at the NCIC icon on his desktop, peer outside the doorway to make sure the coast is clear, and then double click.
I know the gist of what happened.
I know he beat up the drunk driver who killed his mother and sister.
But I want to know more.
I want to read his psych eval. See what makes him tick. Know him on a deeper level.
Titan’s nothing but a closed book. He’s standoffish and rude. Maybe if I could understand him better, I could get through to him.
I glance outside the door one more time before typing his name into the search bar. I could get into so much trouble for this if I were to get caught.
A list of his charges populates in the left field along with dates and a photo of his mug shot. Below that is a link to his initial intake form and another link to his psychological evaluation.