by K. Ryan
"Do you think that..."
He doesn't need me to finish that thought and lifts a shoulder instead. "We'll never know if you don't try."
New determination breathes through me, kicking that defeat and that disappointment out of the way to make room for something that feels a little bit like victory. So, without hesitation, my fingertips find the keypad—the exact same one I'd just used only minutes before, albeit in a different location—and I type in that miserable combination: 03-19-89.
And just like that, boom. It's open.
"Holy shit," Jack breathes out next to me and then it's on. He dives down into the depths of the safe and after a little fishing, pulls out our Holy Grail: a laptop.
When we first sat down and outlined our plan for this night, Jack had been firm in his belief that the mayor kept a computer, or at the very least, some sort of ledger, in his office. He'd been so confident he was right, he'd come fully prepared with a 64G flash drive, which he now slipped out of his pocket and right into the closest USB port he could find.
Needless to say, the second we boot up the computer, we find ourselves facing down yet another roadblock. We need a password. Of course. Why keep a laptop in a safe underneath the floorboards in your home office and not have a last line of defense? Without a word, Jack gestures to the keyboard and I know what I have to do. There's only one word that pops into my head as a possibility. If the combination of both his safes is the day she died, it only makes sense if...
"Let's see just how arrogant that piece of shit really is," I mutter and Jack huffs out a laugh as I type in the letters of my mom's name. Nothing. I narrow my eyes at the screen, determined to beat the mayor at his own game, and then I try one more option, capitalizing the first letter and then typing in the rest of my mom's name.
Bingo. Game over, Mr. Moretti.
"Oh, we got yah," Jack rubs his hands together as the computer springs to life. "We got yah good and hard. All we gotta do is follow the money."
Of course, just as Jack begins copying the hard drive, my phone would buzz in my clutch to rain on our parade. Bennett's calling me and unfortunately, he's already called me twice. Jack and I lock eyes as I swipe across my screen to answer.
I don't even have a chance to get a word in because Bennett's already frantically firing off a flurry of information I can barely understand: "Oh my God, Rae! I'm so glad you answered! Why in the name of Stefani Germanotta did you not answer your goddamn phone before? Ah! Nevermind! Listen, you guys need to get out of there. Now. I'm serious."
"What?"
"A car just pulled into the driveway and some guy in a suit is getting out of the car right now."
"Oh my God," I gasp and grab Jack's arm. "We have to go."
He nods, but files are still copying onto the flash drive. We need more time. We need all those files or this was all for nothing.
"Okay, Benn. Just...oh my God, I don't know. I don't know."
"Calm down, Rae," Jack tells me over his shoulder as he unplugs the flash drive and slips it back into his pocket. "We're gonna be fine."
"Oh, Christ on a cracker, the guy in the suit is unlocking the front door."
Bennett's commentary isn't helping. In fact, it's just making it worse.
"Did you get everything?" I ask frantically even as Jack clicks through a few screens on the laptop, slides it back into its place, and shuts the safe's door.
He's already moved the desk back when he tells me: "I got enough. Don't worry about it, Rae. We just need to focus on getting the hell out of here. You locked the door, right?"
I just nod as he grabs my hand and pulls me toward the French doors leading out into the terrace. Crisp night air whips around my face and I'm standing on the terrace of the mayor's office as Jack swings his legs over the edge like he's actually prepping to jump.
"What are you—"
"You got any better ideas?" Jack cuts in with a huff.
He digs the chain out from around his neck, kisses the cross, and then jumps off the terrace sitting two-stories above the ground. He springs up to his feet like nothing happened and holds his arms out to me.
"Rae!" he whispers loudly. "You gotta do it. You have to."
My heart stutters in my chest and somehow underneath my mind screaming at me to do otherwise, my limbs find a mind of their own. My hands grip the edges of the railing and I know we don't have much time left.
"I'll catch you, Rae," Jack waves his hands to me from the ground. "I promise."
Heaven help me. I believe him.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Then I free fall into his arms.
He catches me just like he said he would, but we still tumble backward with my weight collapsing on top of him as we land on the wet grass. All the air knocks out of my lungs when my bad knee connects with the ground and slivers of pain shoot up and down my thigh.
"Shit! Ow!"
Jack's hands snake around my waist and he whips me around, hauls me up, and heaves me over his shoulder before he takes off running.
"Jack, my—"
"I know, I know," he cuts me off breathlessly. "Just hang on."
My trust in him is boundless in this moment. He'll keep me safe. He'll get me to where Bennett's hiding. I feel like my life is in his hands right now and maybe it's been this way the whole time—I just never really knew it until right now, with my body slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes as he sprints off the mayor's property and through the neighbors' backyards. When we finally reach our getaway car, Bennett hops out of the driver's side and holds the back door open so Jack can slide me into the back seat.
Then he follows me inside the car, gripping tight hold of my injured knee and shouts, "Drive, Benn!"
Short of the tires squealing in our wake, Bennett follows his orders and gets us the hell out of there. When we're a safe distance away, he whips around in his seat, surveys the scene in front of him—namely, both my legs splayed out over Jack's lap and my dress practically hiked up to my knees—and he waggles his eyebrows at me.
"So where to, milady?" he asks with an evil grin. "Your place or his?"
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jack
If someone had told me a month ago that I'd be carrying Raena Moretti into her apartment without a hint of irony or ill intentions, I think I might've found myself finally getting into some trouble outside of the ring. Of course, she's fought me every step of the way, pounding on my shoulder and everything, in a vain attempt at convincing she really can walk into her apartment on her own, but I'm not giving in.
"I'm serious, Jack. Put me down," Rae tugs on my sleeve even as Bennett steals her keys out of her purse to let us in the front door. "I can walk. I swear."
"Famous last words," I just smirk down at her. My arms tighten around her on reflex.
Maybe I spoke too soon because the second I pass the threshold, a black fur ball of claws and fangs opens its mouth and hisses at me like a snake.
"Jesus Christ!" I skid to a stop and Rae tumbles to the ground.
"Ow!" she cries out, both hands latched onto her injured knee. She glares up at me indignantly, but I can't keep my eyes off the demon in the kitchen.
I jerk a finger at it because I just don't know what else to do. "What the hell is that thing?"
Rae rolls her eyes as she shoves up to her feet and Bennett chuckles behind me. When she finally stands with her weight on both feet, her falters for just a second and catches her balance just as quickly before I have a chance to steady her.
"That thing," she gestures to it with her lips drawn into a tight, grim line, "is my cat. Her name's Freya and I would appreciate it if you'd address her by her name, and not refer to her as an it."
My hands fly up in the air in defense. Then they fall right back down to her hips, in a weak attempt at trying to keep her on her feet, but she slips out of my grip to scoop her monster of a cat up in her arms. I watch her limp down the hallway, deposit that thing into a room, murmur something lowly to it, and then shut the behind h
er.
It should be awkward—standing in the middle of her kitchen like this, in her personal space, her natural habitat. But as my gaze sweeps around the room, taking careful inventory of the bright blue and green rug on the floor, the framed picture that reads, Home Is Where Your Cat Is, the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air like she'd lit a candle the night before, the Keurig machine resting on the counter, the fluffy, slightly worn tan couch in the living room, the tall bookshelf filled to the brim with paperbacks...I'm not surprised. Or uncomfortable. Not at all.
She glides past me in spite of the hitch in her step, grabs a bag of frozen vegetables from her freezer, and plops down on a stool behind the island before holding the bag to her injured knee. Now, all eyes are on me and that's when I remember I've got the flash drive. I have what we've been looking for.
So I pull that flash drive out of my pocket and set it down on the counter.
Nobody moves. Nobody speaks.
All we do is stare at that ominous tiny rectangle of metal and plastic.
That moment to reach out and take the evidence we need...it's here. The weight of it hangs in the air, tightening around us like a vice. It's almost too much to take in all at once. No, it is too much. And it's terrifying. I can't believe I'm actually standing here, staring down at the first real piece of dirt we might actually be able to use, and I can't touch it.
It's like that moment in life when you finally get everything you thought you ever wanted. You've wanted it for so long that you never took the time to think about what would actually happen once you had it right in your hands. How much everything would change. How you might be setting yourself up for the biggest disappointment of your life.
"Hey," Bennett's voice slices through the silence and he jerks his head toward the living room. "You know what we should do right now?" He doesn't wait for either of us to answer. "We should freaking celebrate."
"What?" Rae frowns.
"Yeah," that familiar Cheshire-cat grin spreads across his face. "You two actually found something tonight and the mayor didn't string us up by our ankles. We didn't die. That's cause for a celebration right there. Now, we don't know exactly what you found just yet, but maybe we should all take a breather here, blow off a little steam, and in the morning, we'll find out what that son of a bitch is hiding on his computer."
My eyes flick across the island to find Rae's gaze already trained on me. Judging from the tight creases lining her forehead, her thoughts can't be that far from mine. It's not a bad idea. A little deflection never hurt anyone, right?
"What do you have in mind, Benn?" Rae's wary voice floats around the room.
Just when I thought his smile couldn't get any wider...
"COME ON!" BENNETT cries out, throwing both arms toward the TV.
I don't exactly see how this constitutes blowing off steam. Sure, I've got a beer in my hand. I'm comfortable on the floor across from the couch. But I can't even begin to wrap my head around how I let this happen. Someone needs to confiscate my man card because I've officially reached a new low.
"This is your idea of 'blowing off steam'?" I cock an eyebrow their way, but all I get is a shrug from Rae, who's long since changed out of her pretty green dress and is lounging on the couch with her injured knee propped up on Bennett's lap.
"Ah!" she yells, nearly jostling her ice right off her knee. "Why does she always look so constipated? Take a poop, Kristen Stewart! For God's sake, take a damn poop! Or a laxative!"
"Aw shit!" Bennett practically leaps off the couch. "There goes Carlisle's head!"
Some pale-ass vampires bare their fangs that, honestly, don't look like they pack much of a punch. Then these cartoonish wolves snarl, claw, and pounce on the vampires. Then some more vampires attack—I'm pretty sure these are the 'bad' ones, judging by the flashy costumes, even more horrific white pancake, and cheesy red eyes.
"This is probably the worst fight I've ever seen in a movie," I comment drily and shake my head at the screen. "It's like they're trying too hard to make it look wicked cool and epic. I've seen better fights in The Phantom Menace and everyone knows how weak that shit was."
"Oh, don't even get me started on this nonsense," Bennett waves a hand at the screen before taking a healthy sip from his wine glass. "This isn't even in the book."
"What?"
"Yeah," Rae chimes in. "Just you wait. It's terrible."
I don't really want to wait, but it looks like there's not much I can do about that right now. Somewhere, a little voice is whispering that I don't really have to sit here and watch this crap. I could just call myself a cab and leave. I just don't really want to.
So I sit out the rest of this overly-long and decidedly unepic battle between the good vampires, the bad vampires, and the wolves.
"What the hell is a little kid doing there? Why is she riding that wolf?"
"That's Bella and Edward's kid," Rae informs me flippantly with a sly grin. "And that's not a wolf. That's a werewolf."
"What the hell."
"Yep."
I grimace up at the screen. "I thought they were vampires. How do they have a kid?"
"Yes," Rae jabs a pointed finger as the battle sort of rages on. "How is that possible? How? I want answers, Stephenie Meyer. Tell me how a vampire, who's supposedly dead, knocks up a human. If he's dead, how does he have bodily fluids? How?"
I need to stop myself here. In no way, shape or form, do I want to engage in further discussion of this movie.
"Ugh," Bennett grumbles. "Don't talk about bodily fluids, Clamato. Ever."
"It's a fair question."
"Fair my ass. Let's not talk about the imprinting fiasco either—oh! Oh! Here it comes and...it was all a dream."
That grabs my attention and whether I like it or not, my eyes fly back to the screen to see that the battle didn't actually happen. Like Bennett said, it was literally all a dream. Or some other cop-out like that.
"This makes me mad every single time," Rae shakes her head. "This story was finally interesting again. There were people dying! Consequences for actions! Real struggle and drama! They'd actually fixed what sucked so horribly about that last book when absolutely nothing happened. It was all just a big build-up to a fight that they backed away from at the last second. But no, what do they do? They wave it in our faces like a dirty tease, rip it away, and then go, Ha! Fooled ya, suckers."
While I understand her frustration—I'm right there with her—there's still a piece of this I don't understand.
"So if you two hate this movie—"
"Movies," Bennett corrects me.
"Sorry," my hands shoot up in the air. "Movies. If you hate these movies so much, why are we watching this right now? Seems like a waste of time."
"Haven't you ever hate-watched anything before?" Bennett muses, regarding me carefully like he would an animal in a zoo. "There's nothing more enjoyable than making fun of something you hate."
"Wow."
"I don't know why I ever really liked them in the first place," Rae stretches back against her pillow and hits pause on the movie. "Remember when we waited in line for, like, an hour just to see the first one? What were we thinking?"
Bennett just lifts an eyebrow. "We were both in love with Edward Cullen. That's what we were thinking."
"Ew," she crinkles her nose up. "He kinda looks like an owl now, doesn't he? Ah, well. You live and you learn."
And somewhere along the way, I can't believe it's come to this: I'm sitting here in Raena Moretti's living room, hanging out with her and her best friend like I've done it for years. The most bizarre part of all? I kind of don't mind it. Minus having to sit through the last half of CGI-infested awfulness.
My patience even withstands Bennett turning on some music—definitely a boy band—before he sings along and trots around the living room like he owns the place. He's shaking his hips a little as he refills his wine glass and waves the bottle in Rae's face, but she just bats him away. I glance down at the beer bottle in my hand
and some awareness prickles down my arms. She isn't drinking—Bennett had to run to a gas station to grab some beer for me after we got here and even though he's poured himself a couple glasses already, she hasn't touched it.
"I don't drink hard alcohol," she'd told me once. God, it seems like we'd stood in that dark alley together a lifetime ago. I'd had no idea what I was about to get myself into, but in that moment, all I could see was her.
Now all I can see is that she's nothing like I thought she was. That image I'd had of her all this time—the spoiled rich girl who bounced from rehab to rehab—doesn't exist. I knew it the moment I sat behind her at St. Anthony's and listened to her confess all her sins and her regrets. And, against my better judgment, I set out looking for that confirmation.
"Hey, Benn," I call out to him and he cocks an eyebrow my way in response. "What's with the nickname anyway?"
When his forehead crinkles up into a frown, I point the neck of my beer bottle at Rae. It takes a moment, but when recognition dawns, it spreads all over Bennett's face like wicked wildfire.
"Oh...that," he grins and waggles his eyebrows at Rae, who's gone pale and motionless on the couch. "You know how some people—crazy people—like Bloody Marys?"
"Sure, I've made plenty of Bloodys at the bar," I shrug and then my eyes gravitate back to Rae. "That's your favorite, isn't it?"
"What?" she frowns.
"Your favorite drink. I told yah I could guess people's favorite and my guess is that's yours."
Bennett crosses his arms across his chest, wine glass and all, and his lips twitch with amusement. "And what makes you say that about our little Clamato here?"
Rae shoots him a vicious glare and despite her best efforts, just can't manage to get off grab him before he makes a beeline for the kitchen. "Benn, I swear to God, if you tell him—"
"You'll what? Hit me? Bring it on 'cause you'll never catch me!"
As Bennett swings the refrigerator door open and starts rummaging through it, Rae launches off the couch, hobbling onto the carpet before hurling her bag of frozen vegetables at Bennett's back. She's already halfway into the kitchen, but my voice stops her.