“I just know that wherever you go, Mom and Dad aren’t far behind, and I want nothing to do with them.”
Most parents, he imagined, would be concerned about their sons. Most parents would have a decent house, settle in the suburbs, and work normal jobs so their kids could go to school and have a nice, normal life.
Not the Lozadas. For as long as Rome could remember they had lived like hippies, skipping from town to town and going wherever the wind drove them . . . or the need for the next big score did. Edna and John had met during a drug-fueled bender and decided that they were perfect for each other. They didn’t marry—no need—and lived the nomadic lifestyle of two bikers who had not a care in the world.
Their two boys, Rome and Jericho, weren’t really children to them as much as they were tools. Need to run a scam to pick up some money? Stick one of the boys on a street corner with a sign and watch the dollars roll in. Need someone to distract a cop while Edna and John raided a nearby house for stuff that was easy to pawn? Have Jericho cause a diversion a block away.
Hell, Rome and Jericho weren’t even their real names. Jericho was John Lozada . . . and so was Rome. His father had given them the same name as him because he said he couldn’t decide their names at the spur of the moment. As it turned out, having the same name as his father just made it easier for him to steal their identities and rack up thousands of dollars in debt. By the time Rome turned eighteen, his credit rating was shit, his juvie rap sheet was a mile long, and he was a high school dropout (hard to graduate when your toker parents are homeschooling you).
It was a shit lifestyle, but it was all Rome knew.
J was two years older, though, and even though J made it seem like he didn’t care about a thing, it must have bothered him, because one day Rome woke up and J had left. Just up and left Rome with Edna and John. He’d expected his parents to be mad, but they didn’t seem to care much at all. They just smoked a bit more weed, took J’s share of the drug money, and leaned on Rome to pick up the slack.
And Rome found himself realizing that he could escape, too. That he didn’t have to be locked into a lifestyle of crashing on people’s couches and switching IDs until he found one that someone would take. A lifestyle of avoiding particular counties because of outstanding warrants for his arrest. Of taking off in the middle of the night and switching plates at the junkyard to avoid being caught.
So when he was old enough, Rome left, too. He got minimum-wage jobs, and he worked. He lived with a girlfriend, or a buddy, and paid rent, and planted roots in Houston. He was normal.
Of course, planting roots meant that people caught up with you. It wasn’t long before Edna and John showed up, wanting to borrow money. And when he felt guilty and gave them a few dollars, they’d come back from time to time, because they knew that he’d be good for it. Rome built himself a decent life, meanwhile. He worked at an auto-body shop, and when he broke up with his girlfriend, he got his own apartment. Bought his own bike.
Life was all right.
Then one day Edna showed up by herself. She needed bail money to get John out of jail. Or at least, that was her story. Turned out that what she really needed was a place to stash all the crack she was selling, and she hid it in Rome’s bathroom, under the counter.
Two days later, the cops showed up at his place and he was off to jail.
Edna came to visit him, too. Begged for him to take the fall instead of her. It wouldn’t be her first offense, and she was older and in poor health. If the hammer came down, she’d go to prison for years on end. But it would be adult Rome’s first offense. They wouldn’t throw the book at him, not for a first offense. Could he take the rap for his mother just this once?
And Rome wanted to say no, but looking at his mother shaking and trembling in front of him, weeping with fear, he hadn’t had the heart to send her to prison.
He was always a fucking sucker for tears.
So he took the fall, and sure enough, they didn’t throw the book at him. They took one look at him, at his tats, and at the amount of drugs, and his lawyer suggested they plead out. So he did.
He only got six years in prison.
Thanks to good behavior, though, Rome got out in four years. That was eighteen months ago, and he was learning that life was even harder after being a convict. No one wanted to hire an ex-con who was covered in tattoos, no matter how much he smiled or how hard he promised to work. If he did get a job, it was always for minimum wage, and they ended up letting him go for spurious reasons half the time. He went from job to job, unable to make decent money. And each time a job ended, he packed up his small bag of possessions, moved to a new town, and tried again.If he was on the move, John and Edna wouldn’t be able to find him.
He did keep in contact with Jericho, though. Last he’d heard from his brother, J was working in west Texas. Plumbing or carpentry or some shit. Jericho wasn’t a bad guy.
But wherever Jericho went, he suspected Edna and John wouldn’t be far behind. If one Lozada was looking for him, the others would be, too.
Jericho was currently smiling at him over a cup of black coffee, like he was enjoying himself. Not Rome. He was pretty fucking miserable at the moment. He’d gone from a state of pleasure to misery in no time flat this morning, it seemed.
“So what do you want?” Rome asked again.
“Just wanted to see how my baby brother was doing.” He shrugged. “And I’m actually in the area, myself. Had a job that was in this part of the state, and stuck around for a relationship. Neither one worked out, so I’m currently trying to find my feet again.” He shrugged.
“And John?”
“Just got out of prison, I’m told. Sixteen months.”
Disgust threatened to choke him. Sixteen damn months? Rome had done twice that for drugs that weren’t even his. “Where are they at?”
“Last I heard, they were in Lufkin. But if they catch wind that you’re over here and you’ve got a cushy little setup, don’t think that they won’t be heading over to say hello. The last thing you want is to find out that good old Mom and Dad parked their newest pot trailer in your neck of the woods.”
And wouldn’t Grant just fucking love that? Rome groaned and rubbed his face, trying to think. If John and Edna showed up, he’d have to get rid of them quietly without them raising a stink. The easiest way to do that was to pay them to leave, of course . . . but he was broke. Hell, he didn’t have more than ten dollars to his name at the moment. If they showed up, Grant would be suspicious of what Rome was up to—with good reason.
And all he’d need to do was run a background check and see Rome’s totally shot-to-shit credit, his prison record, and his felony rap sheet. Rome would get the boot, and he’d be on his way once more. No cozy little cabin in the woods, no job running a paintball course.
No beautiful Elise to cling to him while she slept. No soft, sweet, shy girl to look at him as if he’d hung the moon.
No one ever looked at Rome Lozada like that. He was addicted to it already.
“I like it here, J,” Rome warned him. “I’m just getting back on track after doing time.”
His brother sighed. “I know, man. That’s why I’m here to warn you. Lie low. Get rid of the bike if you have to. People remember a guy like you driving something like that through.”
He nodded, though there wasn’t much he could do about the bike. He didn’t have the money to rent a car. “They asking about me?”
“Of course. You’re their baby boy.” Jericho’s mouth twisted ruefully. “And I’m guessing they need help with another scam of some kind. With our luck, Dad watched too much Breaking Bad in prison and now wants to set up a meth lab or something.”
Rome snorted. That did sound like something John Lozada Senior would do. “I don’t want them to find me.”
“Then it’s a good thing I told them I heard you were in Austin.”
He looked at J in surprise. “You did?”
“Sure. You’re my little brother, and despite things
, we’re family.”
He gave Jericho a skeptical look. “Family doesn’t have a lot of pull where I’m concerned.”
“Can’t say I blame you. It’s your own fault, though. Mom uses those tears on everyone she knows will fall for ’em. If they show up again, you gotta be strong . . . and then check your shit thoroughly. And this time? Don’t take the fall for them. Swear to god. That was fucking stupid of you last time.”
“I know it. I know.” He’d ruined his life for someone who didn’t give two shits about the fact. It ate at him every damn day.
“Anyhow, I’m kicking around the area.” J shrugged. “Wanted to make sure you were doing okay, was all. Ask if you needed anything.”
Rome gave his brother a questioning look. “I’m good, thanks.”
“But even if you weren’t, you wouldn’t tell me, right?”
Rome pointed, as if to say “bingo.” “Learned my lesson already.”
Jericho grinned and chugged his coffee, then put the mug down. “Well, I’ll buy you breakfast at least. No strings attached. And you can tell me all about why you’re so attached to this place. You working with a hot girl?”
“Even if I was, I wouldn’t tell you,” Rome told him. The last thing he wanted was anyone in his family finding out about Elise.
“Huh. Well, maybe I’ll stick around for a bit. Was thinking about heading back out to Marfa, but this place is kinda growing on me. There’s a bed-and-breakfast in town, too. I hear it’s pretty reasonable.” He flipped the menu over, studying it.
Rome stiffened, picturing Elise bounding down the steps of the Peppermint House once she saw a Harley pull up, assuming it was him. “Stay away from that place.”
“Uh oh, the plot thickens.” Jericho shook his head and waved the waitress over. “Sounds like I found out why my little brother’s so interested in sticking around all of a sudden.”
Rome glared at his brother as he ordered his food. He waved off the waitress when she looked to him for his order, and then she disappeared again.
J shook his head, as always, amused at Rome’s bad attitude. “Don’t be so angry. I’m not the one who turned you in last time.”
Yeah, but he was family, and Rome had learned the hard way not to trust those. Behind Jericho’s smiling, familiar eyes was the same con artist Rome had grown up to be.
• • •
“So what are your plans?” Grant flipped through Elise’s photos as she toyed with layouts on her computer. She’d showered, taken a nap, and then woken up in time to go to lunch with her brother and Brenna that afternoon. They’d returned to the lodge and Grant had invited her to borrow Dane’s desk so she could work on the brochure he wanted for the paintball course. So she’d set up her MacBook atop a mountain of papers on Dane’s desk, between old chip bags and who knew what else, and tried not to watch the door in case Rome came in.
“Hmm?” Elise asked, glancing over at her brother.
“Once we have the brochures done, are you heading back home? Or are you going to stick around?” He picked through the printouts she’d made for him, casting one aside and then picking up another and scrutinizing it. “Do you think we should have some action shots?”
“We can do some action shots,” she agreed, getting up from the borrowed desk to peek over his shoulder at the photos he was discarding. “And I’m not sure I’m ready to return home yet.” Home was living with Mom and Dad like she was a twelve-year-old girl. It was past time for her to move out, but there’d been no hurry, really, and her mother panicked at the thought of Elise being on her own, as if she couldn’t take care of herself for some reason.
“Well, if you’re not going back anytime soon, you can go thrift store shopping with me,” Brenna said from her desk. Elise looked over and Brenna was playing Minesweeper instead of working, her puppy on her lap. Typical. “I wanted to get some ideas for the wedding. I bet we could find some cute dresses at Goodwill.”
“No,” Grant said in a warning voice. “You are not having a Goodwill wedding.”
“Why not?”
“Because my mother will die of a heart attack at the thought.”
Brenna snorted. “Oh, she will not. Elise?”
Elise grimaced and raised her hands. She knew her mother’s thoughts on used clothing, but she wasn’t about to get in between these two. “I’m staying out of it.”
“We could always get married in Bride and Groom T-shirts.”
“Still no,” Grant said, then pointed at one of Elise’s photos. “I like this one. We should put it on the cover.”
She picked up the photo. It was a long-distance shot from up the hill of the valley, showing the landscape and the built-up forts and the castle in the distance. “I like that one, too, but if you want an action shot, we should probably put it on the cover. It’ll be more dynamic.”
He nodded. “So how do we get action shots?”
“Invite some townspeople in for a dry run of the course?”
“Invite the Waggoners,” Brenna advised. “Colt’s brothers would probably love the chance to shoot some guns, and they won’t care that it’s nothing but paint coming out of them.”
Grant chuckled. “You have a point there. I’ll talk to Pop and see when he can get them over here.”
“Not tomorrow night,” Elise said quickly. “I’m meeting a friend in Houston.” Her face blushed bright red, and she hoped Grant wouldn’t notice.
He didn’t, though. Instead, he turned back to his fiancée. “Why the thrift store clothing idea for the wedding?”
“It’s brilliant,” Brenna told him. “We can get some dresses on the cheap, and sell them back. Don’t you think weddings are ridiculously overpriced anyhow?”
“It’s supposed to be a special day,” Grant argued, picking up his coffee mug.
Brenna rolled her eyes, adjusting her sleeping puppy on her lap. “If I want a special day, I’ll bring home a big purple dildo.”
Grant choked on the coffee he was raising to his lips.
Elise’s eyes widened and she discreetly returned to her desk so she could clean up the photos on her computer. The good thing about Brenna was that she kept Grant distracted from what was going on with Elise.
For that, Elise loved her unconventional soon-to-be sister-in-law.
She opened up one of the paintball course photos in Photoshop, pretended to work, and daydreamed about Rome’s blue eyes instead.
EIGHT
The next day, Elise went to Beth Ann’s salon early so she could set up everything for the photo shoot. She toyed with the draping cloths, placed the stool and props, did sample shots, and then moved things over and over again until she was satisfied with the angles. Then she adjusted the lighting.
When there was nothing else left to fiddle with, she went out, grabbed a pizza and brought it back to the salon, got a six-pack of sodas—not beer this time—and waited for him to arrive.
Her body tensed when she heard the sound of his motorcycle purring behind the building. Excitement shot through her—and arousal. Just knowing that he was showing up for her was a turn-on, and she had been mentally picturing things for hours on end. How she’d set up the shot. What he’d wear in the shot. The expression on his face she wanted.
The last time they’d done photos together, Beth Ann, Miranda, and Brenna had all been standing around, watching and making comments. He’d been stiff and uncomfortable, and she saw that in his face when she looked at the photos now. That wasn’t the Rome she knew—closed off, wary, and a little too alert. She wanted the carnal man who looked at her with melting blue eyes, whose long lashes made her think of sensual things, whose jaw seemed to be chiseled from marble. Whose abs were painted in symmetrical tattoos that couldn’t mask the tight body underneath. The tanned skin mixed with the silver piercings. The look in his eyes when he was aroused.
That was what she wanted to capture on film.
And it wasn’t so she could sell the photos or try pitching another layout to Crissy. This? This
was for her. She wanted to see if she could capture Rome the way she saw him in her mind. She wanted to see that on film, and she wanted to prove that it wasn’t in her imagination.
She just hoped he wouldn’t chicken out on her or find things weird.
Elise headed to the back door and opened it to welcome him with a smile, just as he pulled off his helmet and swung his leg over his bike. “Hi.”
“Hey, baby,” he said, his voice so casual and sensual that it felt natural to hear the affectionate nickname come out of his mouth. “You look good.”
She glanced down at her old, faded T-shirt and jeans, and gave him a wry look. “I dressed up just for you,” she teased.
He chuckled and headed inside. “You always look good. I suppose I should have prefaced with that.” And he leaned in and gave her a kiss of greeting, his hand moving to touch her neck in a possessive gesture, as if to pull her in closer.
She went happily, anticipating his kiss, and it was just as wonderful as she remembered. His mouth on hers was firm, delicious, and hinted of incredible things to come, and for a moment she wanted to be back in his cabin, back in his bed. But he’d agreed to come for photos, so she couldn’t get distracted. With a small sigh, she eventually pulled away and gave him a little smile. “I brought pizza.”
“You’re always feeding me, aren’t you?” He grinned and gave her another quick kiss. “Do I owe you anything for it?”
“Of course not,” she said, shutting the door to the salon behind her and locking it. “Just consider it payment for the modeling job you’re going to do for me.”
He stepped into the main part of the salon, which was still draped with the neutral beige fabric, and examined it. She’d set up tables underneath the cloth in a few strategic spots and had added candles of varying heights and sizes. They were all the same bland color as the fabric, because she didn’t want them to be the focus of the photo. Dozens of them sat on each table. Rome studied them, then looked back at her. “Should I be on the lookout for rose petals and a bubble bath?”
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