Secrets She Keeps

by Amarie Avant

  “You reminded me of Milo.” I murmur.

  His eyebrow rises, yet curiosity and jealousy are equally weighed.

  Like a child, my throat sinks so heavily that I barely croak out, “Milo was my father.”

  And because Evan has always taken an open stance with me, I decide to be real with him too… as real as I can be. I tell Evan all of the bad stuff. Like being five years old and understanding that you don't touch pa’s fairy dust. Even Lolita hated when he sniffed it. Furthermore, you go hide under your twenty-thousand-dollar canopy bed because once he's loaded, he's fucking gone. He's no longer dad.

  I didn't tell Evan the super bad stuff. Like how Milo got a taste for kilos of cocaine during many drug busts. Or how after the "good" guys, with their badges came by and left, the bad guys who goof around and speak Italian would come by and they'd rehash some of the stuff pa went over with his cop buddies.

  It's not that I didn't want Evan to know. I just wanted to continue to see the look of love in my stepbrother’s eyes afterwards. Besides, Milo is dead.

  Somehow, we’ve ended up spooning. It’s comforting being in the safe haven of his arms, and not having to look in Evan’s face as I purge is truly a stress reliever. For some reason, I tell Evan about growing up with guns all over the house. And even show him the snub-nose in my top drawer.

  “There’s more where that came from.”

  Evan smiles, as I glance back at him. He rubs the hair from my forehead and bestows it with a kiss. “That’s good. I want you to be safe.”

  “If there was one thing my dad taught me, I know how to pull the trigger.”

  Instead of asking more, we’re comfortable in the silence, entwined in each other. Evan’s bulging biceps become my comforter, my anchor to sanity as I rationalize the love I have for my father.

  “One day, Milo, mom and I are taking a road trip up Pacific Coast Highway, sightseeing, stopping at every beach and determining which ice cream stand was the best. The next day, Milo’s high as a fucking kite or… gone. He probably was gone for a few months at a time, but as a kid, just a day away lasted for a lifetime. I don’t know what I hated more: the length of time or not knowing the next time I’d see my father.” I pause to lick my lips. “People hated the air he breathed, Evan. I was ten years old, worried that someone might act on their personal vendetta. Or,” I shiver in Evan’s arms, “Or watching him beat a guy to a bloody pulp for no reason at all scared the shit outta me.” I sigh, my feelings about Milo running hot and cold. “He probably was the worst dad anybody could ever have… Maybe not the worst.”

  “I'm sure Milo loved you in his own way,” Evans deep voice ribbons out, embracing me. A part of me wants to observe what he sees. “Some men love only the best way they know how.”

  I turn to face him. Evan’s rough fingertips softly graze my forehead as he pushes away tendrils of hair. He has this fetish with kissing places that aren’t even sexy, which make my entire body melt. His lips land against my fluttery eyelashes.

  “Oh? You don't believe me, Reese's Pieces,” Evan says since I hadn’t responded to his theory. “My dad raised me right. How do I treat you?”

  “You love me selfishly,” I say giving a wry smile, while hoping to God he can’t read me right now.

  “Indeed, I am in love with you.”

  My heart ceases to beat for a moment. He said… Oh God, he said those very bad, bad words. But I DID say…

  “Reese, I’m in love with you.”

  I lick my lips in thought. “It’s just a dumb word, Evan. I love baking, I love the Canadian singer, Feist, who the entire world should know but doesn’t…”

  Evan’s hands push the hair from my forehead once more. He has this innate ability, almost hypnotic really, which brings my eyes to his. I can’t look away when he declares, “And I am in love with you, Reese.”

  The pearls of my heart lock within a shell. I shake my head, despite the realness. The flesh and blood before me saying the words I've always dreaded.

  “It is true, Reese. I love you. And you love me too. So what do you mean by selfishly? You said, I loved you selfishly.”

  This is my way out, I see. I mentally thank him for not inquiring why I refuse to say that stupid word back. “Hello? You bombarded me in the bathroom less than two hours ago!” I scoff, face silly with a grin.

  “Fiddlesticks. That's an isolated incident in our rather… short relationship.”

  “Fiddlesticks?” I glance at him sideways. And that silky, baritone chuckle takes over.

  “Yes, poppycock.”

  “Shuddup. Evan. Just because I said you reminded me of my dad, it was just that moment. You don't have to go rated PG on me with your words. Shit, even I cuss more than that.”

  “Gosh, I do believe you're right. Young lady, you've got a potty mouth.” Evan reaches over and kisses the wetness of my cheek.

  Though routine, we don’t have sex next. We fall asleep touching, even in dreams, I must be near him.

  Chapter 23

  Evan

  The Black Dahlia is full of old and young horny toads alike. Slender legs fly open and money follows. The place is set up with a trifecta of stages, each one is a beacon for eye candy. Around the perimeter are red velvet curtains.

  It’s Friday, yet barely touching lunch hour, and each one of the private sections is closed with customers. So there is no time to conduct our business in one of the private sections, since the chick who called the station said to be here at twelve sharp. The caller said she’d be the one in a long, rainbow colored wig.

  The only woman who fits the description has one slender leg locked around the pole, front and center. That colorful hair of her’s, spirals downwards over porcelain skin as she slides upside down the pole, eye-fucking me.

  “I’m gonna be in trouble,” Tyrone barely gets the words out as her sultry gaze roams over to him too.

  The stripper twists her body over, and rolls onto the floor. She’s on the largest of the three stages, so my partner and I take a seat away from the other patrons. Rainbow rolls over, in just a disappearing thong. She comes into a forward split right before our eyes. The thin barrier covering the mound of her pussy is inches away. She says, “Well don’t the two of you look like hot shit?”

  “Where’s Riker?” I ask. Deciding that imagining Reese as my own personal fuck slave will have to wait for later.

  “Humph, that douche?” Her eyes roll, and then the stripper has pressed back on her heels before flipping over to her stomach. “You boys could at least pay for it,” she slaps her own ass, before twirling around on the ground like an exotic cobra.

  We make no move to offer money.

  “Okay, a girl can try, can’t she? Riker slipped my bitch a fucking roofie when her legs had no problem falling open to him for free.”

  This information fits Riker’s MO to a T.

  “And because I know men, you all are so damn predictable,” she says, sultry, red lips set in a sneer while lumping every man on the greater hemisphere into one category. “Leave it to a piece of tail to get you-all’s asses caught up. The fucker will be in here in oh, maybe two minutes. Now pay me. People keep their eyes peeled around here. And I don’t wanna look like a fucking snitch.”

  I pull out my clip, and press a few bills into her thong. She winks.

  Right on time, Jackals prospects begin to hoot and holler as they step into the bar. They’re rolling twenty deep.

  Riker and the rest of the top dogs have disassociated themselves with their little minions so my faith in little Miss Rainbow has yet to be justified. Then through a sea of prospects, Riker’s ace, Cash, slinks inside of the building. On his heels is Riker. Not sure why Riker chose such a fucking lanky noodle to be his bodyguard, but for every move Cash takes, that big bastard is one step behind.

  Tyrone and I start our way toward the entrance.

  Cash’s beady, gray gaze widens. He’s made us. He turns on his heels. Cash and Riker, along with their crew hightail it right back
out the door. The sound of guns going off is almost instant. Tyrone and I glare at each other for a nanosecond. The SWAT team’s protocol isn’t to shoot without the order.

  The entire club becomes a frenzy as men and women scatter like roaches in the middle of the night when you turn the kitchen light on, half-naked hoes screaming in fear of not wanting to die at such a low point in their life, bullets flying from every direction. Curtains are snatched open from the private dance area. The sounds of machine guns fly through the air. From the blacked out windows, it doesn’t appear that Riker’s men are prepared.

  Instead of SWAT right on their asses, it’s the Russians. The tactical unit is flanked behind them. The Russians’ begin to advance on them, while Tyrone and I push through the patrons and strippers running toward us, to get out the back door.

  Just as we make it to the front, Kosyak is stepping inside with three of his most trusted. I quickly assume that Kosyak has a small army outside at war with SWAT. Their Uzis lower. Kosyak asks, “Where is he?”

  “Riker was spotted running back in here, boss,” one of his men says. His face is fleshy and all but swallows pale-blue eyes.

  “Put your fucking hands up!” I shout.

  “We aren’t here for you!” Kosyak says, in a thick accent.

  “C’mon, Kosyak, this here isn’t what you want. You’ve got friends in high places, shooting at cops is a whole ‘nother story though.” Tyrone’s gun is trained on him as is mine.

  Kosyak begins to point his gun, and Tyrone shoots. I then pull the trigger on the two at either side of him. The first one takes a bullet straight through the center of the chest. The second begins to aim toward me, and I target his skull.

  Just as the bullet pierces through the man’s forehead, the fourth guy charges into me. His bald head rams into my stomach. All the air is expelled from my ribcage. A searing pain shoots through my back as I’m forced against the center stage. The man’s hands tighten around my neck.

  I dig my fingers into his eyes and his grip loosens. I give a right knee to his mid-section and throw a right hook at the side of his head. His eyes are black, shiny dots as if I just made him angrier than he already was, and I continue to punch at his face. Trying to break his jaw. My already battered knuckles focus on a crooked nose that has been previously broken. And then take one swift knee to his nuts. BANG! Tyrone has taken the shot.

  Those soulless eyes widen. His hands loosen from around my neck, and he slumps down dead.

  Tyrone puts his gun down and takes a deep breath.

  “Feels like I've been run over by a semi-truck. No thanks to my partner,” I say, giving a long stretch to ease the aching in my back.

  Tyrone huffs as we walk through the parking lot toward the precinct. “Shit, the two of you were doing the damn tango. I took the shot as soon as I could. I say we’re almost even.”

  “Nah, I won’t count this as you saving my life, Ty, we’ve got a ways to go to be even.”

  “I know those are just emotions talking, Evan. You love me. But you should’ve had that sexy EMT take a look.”

  “Yeah right,” I grumble, pressing against the door jamb. The double doors open wide.

  There's a round of clapping. “Look Dumb and Dumber have finally done something right!” The captain says.

  “Oh besides tag teaming your old lady,” Tyrone chuckles. There are only a select few things off limits for the old fart. His job. The bottle of whiskey he keeps in his bottom drawer. Sadly, the wife didn't make the cut. Captain Raynor’s laughter is the loudest.

  Raynor cocks his head to his office.

  We pass by the celebration, complete with a full sheet cake from our local grocery store. Every officer we pass, pats our backs and promises a round at the bar across the street, on him or her. The celebration is semi-bittersweet. The goons, who murdered two of our own before they even got a chance to make something of their name, are either dead or being booked. All of the Russians’ from the La Brea shootout have been accounted for. Ty glances toward the conference room where our drawing board is. “Riker? Tomorrow?”

  “Bright and fucking early.” I frown. Though it’s best that I’m not the one to apprehend Riker, he’s still at large. SWAT was setting a perimeter about the Black Daliah and waiting for the order when Kosyak’s men surrounded them. The fucking Russians had AR riffles, AK47s and other Army issued guns, and their own tactical defense system. While over forty of Kosyak’s men assaulted our unit, Kosyak and his right-arm pushed their way inside for Riker.

  That motherfucker, Kosyak’s vendetta against Riker was parallel with mine. After assessing the scene, the biker rat was nowhere to be found.

  Tomorrow is another day, I tell myself as we follow the captain into his room and close the door.

  “Think fast, dummy,” Raynor tosses a tiny bottle of Wild Turkey to Tyrone and then me.

  “Aw, what do I owe the pleasure?” I say, unscrewing mine for a taste.

  “Did I ever tell ya, you two are my favorite fucktards?”

  “That's real love right there,” Tyrone points. “But why couldn't you say so in front of the squad?”

  “You all know I'm not one for schmoozing. And the both of ya disappear soon as it's time to celebrate these days.”

  My eyebrow cocks. So Tyrone hasn’t headed across the street to the cop bar in a while either?

  Tyrone shrugs. “You’re settling down. I am too.” He mentions the woman that he argues about the most, they break up, and then they’re always back together.

  “Figures,” I mumble.

  “Yeah, the dummy is in love but what can I say. We're the kinda guys that don't mention the good shit. Now, who’s the lady sniffing after Evan. I want to meet her soon.” The captain smiles. Contrary to his detached demeanor, he is a family man. “Do a background check?”

  “Yeah,” I chuckle.

  “What's her name?”

  “Reese. Reese Dunham.”

  “Reese you say?” Raynor scratches at the scruff along his puffy jaw.

  I nod as his gaze takes on a faraway look. Then the captain chuckles, “Reese. How cutesy is that!”

  On my long drive home, I dial Reese. A backrub is just what the doctor prescribes, but selfishness won’t allow Reese to see me all bruised up. She has no problem running away from our love, and the scraped-up man before her is just another reason to flee.

  When the call connects, I hear Jamie in the background.

  “Hey, you,” Reese’s voice is playful.

  “Hi, babe. Just got off work.”

  “Sheesh, I was asleep when you went to work, had fun designing a wedding cake and then I took an afternoon nap. Now,” she yawns, “I’m probably going to fall asleep as I watch TV with Jamie. Unless you wanna come over. I’ll sneak you in.”

  I chuckle. “You having a sleepover?”

  “Sort of. But I’m in the tub right now,” her delicious tone is rather persuasive. But seeing me now is a good enough reason for her not to carry on with a cop.

  “Okay, Reese. Do me a favor.”

  “Anything,” her tone is light with laughter.

  “Stay in the house with your doors locked. Riker is still out there. I just spoke with dispatch about having a cruiser keep an eye on your street. I’m gonna hit the sack. But I can only rest with the assurance that the most gorgeous woman on earth is safe too.”

  “Aw, Evan, I…”

  I turn down the street leading toward my apartment building. My jaw gets heavy. Is Reese about to say the words I’ve been dreaming of? That she loves me just as much as I love her. She lingers.

  “You okay?” I ask, pressing the button to the building parking garage.

  “Yeah, Evan.”

  “Talk to me,” I implore, while the cage gate opens up, and my sports car zooms down the passageway. My first thought is to drive straight to her house but she's got company over.

  “You know how we talked about my dad last night... There's more.”

  Yeah, I knew there was a lo
t more to the story. But this isn’t an investigation, this is the woman I hope won’t try out for the fifty-yard dash. So I’ve decided to allow it all in her timing. “More like how?”

  She begins to speak but the phone is muffled. Usually the reception is adequate in the underground parking, so I think nothing of it, and search for a parking spot. “Reese. Babe, I can’t hear you.”

  “M… da…”

  “What was Milo’s full name?” Instinct forces me to ask that question. “I love you, beautiful, you can tell me anything...”

  “Mi… lo G–”

  The call goes dead.

  Instincts take into effect. The back tires scream against the cement walls as I turn the car around. Before I can call Reese back, my phone rings. It’s not Reese. It’s a Los Angeles area code. Maybe she's calling on Jamie’s phone.

  I answer.

  “You know, Evan. You were right. That cunt of yours does have a potty mouth.”

  Riker! His detached voice blares through the speaker phone. “There's a cell phone blocker inside your ol’ lady’s place. It just got turned on. The Reese's Pieces is calling you back, at least that's how it looks through my lil’ iPad.”

  He's watching her. The rear bumper slams into the ground as the car zooms up the ramp of the passageway at an accelerated speed. I toggle the shift, when turning onto the ground level, and collide with a Volkswagen driving down Main Street.

  “Man, how I wanted some action last night. You had me going with fiddlesticks and poppycock,” he taunts just so I know that he heard our entire conversation too. “Man, poppycock. I’d like to ram my cock so far down her throat–”

  “Touch one hair on Reese’s head, I’ll carve your fucking heart out!” I shout. Tunnel vision takes over. My foot smashes the gas while speeding through a just-turned red light.

  “All I’m saying is you two could’ve done less talking and more boning last night. Now, I must be off. I'm going to see your ol’ lady as we speak. You do know that, Evan. Don't you? You've been on my ass for a while now. Hounding me like the annoying asshole that you are. Time to turn these shitty tables.”