Rebelonging (Unbelonging, Book 2)

by Sabrina Stark

  It was still relatively early. If I knew Lawton, he'd be awake in an hour or two and ready to make up for lost time. Now was probably the perfect time to make a quick dash back to the house. I could grab my purse, maybe throw in some laundry, and be back before Lawton even noticed I was gone.

  A minute later, I was lacing up my tennis shoes and shrugging into my jacket. I grabbed Lawton's spare house key, along with my own small ring of keys, and shoved them into the front pocket of my jeans.

  I walked out Lawton's front door, feeling happier than I had in forever. My job stunk, and my career was going nowhere, not to mention my house sitting troubles. But somehow, I was having a hard time caring. All that stuff, I'd work it out somehow.

  Walking down the quiet street, I thought of how much had changed, not just today, but over the past few months. No matter what, I vowed, I was going to be myself from now on. If people didn't like it, well, then that was their problem, not mine.

  I was still smiling when I opened the front door and went inside the darkened house. I turned toward the side table and reached for the lamp.

  From somewhere in the darkness, an unfamiliar male voice said, "Touch that light, and you're dead."

  With a gasp, I whirled toward the sound and spotted what I should've seen earlier. The hulking figure of a man, standing near the far wall of the front room.

  I couldn't make out his features, just his clothing. Black pants, black jacket, black shoes. Or maybe it all just seemed black in the shadows. As my eyes grew accustomed to the dark, I noticed what I should've noticed earlier. Upended plants and bare walls where the shadows of framed artwork should have been.

  Slowly, I backed up until my backside hit the easy chair near the front window. I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

  "Where's our money?" he said.

  My heart raced, and my hands grew clammy. In a strangled voice, I said, "What money?"

  "The money you owe us, bitch."

  "I don't owe you any money."

  The hulking figure moved closer. I looked wildly around. I needed a weapon. A baseball bat, a lamp, something.

  And then I heard it, the click of a gun.

  Shit.

  Chapter 70

  From somewhere near the kitchen, I heard a crash and a thud.

  "Hey!" the man called over his shoulder. "You break anything good, and it's coming out of your ass!"

  Oh God, how many people were in here, anyway?

  "Whoever you are," I said in a far too shaky voice, "you've got the wrong house."

  "Well, Louise," he said, "that's where you're wrong."

  Louise? As in Louise Parker?

  "Because," he continued, "we have exactly the right house. And you have exactly one minute to start talking, or we're gonna break more than some vase or whatever the fuck that was."

  "But I'm not Louise," I said, "She's not here."

  "Sure." He chuckled, a deep, ominous sound that echoed oddly in the quiet house. "I believe you."

  "It's true," I stammered. "I can give her a message if—"

  "Shut the fuck up," the guy said.

  "But I’m not Louise. I don't even —"

  "I said shut up!"

  I clamped my lips shut and reached behind me. The Parkers kept a letter opener in the small drawer of the side table. If I could only reach it, maybe — shit, I didn't know. But I'd feel a lot better if I had something, anything, in my hands.

  Slowly, the man moved closer. His shoes made a faint, padded sound against the hardwood floors.

  My heart racing, I tried to make out his features. I looked wildly to the left and then to the right. I wanted to run, but I didn't know where.

  He had a gun. I had nothing.

  Maybe I could dive across the floor, and take cover under the coffee table. Yeah, right. Like the coffee table was bulletproof. Suddenly, my breath hitched, and my eyes felt too big for my face. Behind the stranger, something was moving – a shadow shaped like a person.

  Oh my God. I knew that shadow, because no one other than Lawton moved like that. As I watched, it crept silently toward the stranger with deadly purpose.

  If the stranger saw him, we were both in deep trouble. A flash of consequences went through my brain, ending with Lawton dead on the floor. I couldn't let that happen.

  I made my voice sound small and weak, not hard to do, given the circumstances. "Please," I said. "Don't hurt me."

  His laugh, low and deep, turned my insides to mud, but I forced myself to speak again. "I'll do anything you want. And I mean—" I swallowed. "Anything."

  "Oh yeah?" Slowly, his right arm lowered. "You bet your ass you will."

  Suddenly, the shadow behind him moved, barreling into the stranger at lightning speed. The man flew forward, and I jumped out of the way. The darkened forms slammed, hard, into the end table.

  The table tipped, sending the lamp crashing to the floor, and the stranger with it. I saw the shadows of fists, and the sound of their impact, along with grunts and curses.

  Desperately, I looked around for the gun. It had gone flying, right? But I didn't see it. I rushed toward stairway and dove for the light switch. I flicked it on.

  The shadows became people, and the destruction became obvious. Near the front window, the man on the floor was still, his face a bloody mess and his arms limp at his sides. The fingers on one of his hands looked twisty and mangled, like they'd been stepped on hard, or beaten with a sledgehammer.

  At last, I spotted the gun, a dull black thing with a short barrel, lying where the stranger had last been standing. I stepped toward it.

  "Wait," Lawton said in a low, urgent voice. "Don't touch it."

  I stopped and looked over at him. He got to his feet and gave the guy a final vicious kick. The guy didn't budge.

  He rushed toward me, and I fell into his arms, feeling his strong chest at my cheek and his hands clutch me close.

  "There's someone else here," I told him in a low whisper. "Toward the kitchen."

  When I tried to pull back, he gripped me tighter. "There was," he said, "but not anymore." He glanced toward the back of the house. "Now c'mon, we're leaving."

  On the way toward the door, he pulled the sleeve of his hoodie over his right hand and stooped down to pick up the gun. He thrust it into the hoodie's front pocket and reached for my hand.

  "Wait," I said. "My purse."

  "Screw the purse," he said, hustling me out the back door and into the Parker's back yard. Silently, we made our way through the back yard until we reached the tall iron fence that marked the beginning of Lawton's estate.

  He made a foothold with his hands. "Over the fence," he said. "And don't stop 'til you're inside the house."

  I looked down at his hands. "But how will you get over?"

  "I'll jump it," he said. "But not right now."

  "Why not?" I said.

  "Because I've got to take care of something."

  "What?"

  "Chloe," he said in a deadly serious voice, "I don't want to boss you around, but if you don't get your ass over that fence right now, I'll have to toss you over. And you could get hurt. I don't want that. So just listen to me, alright?" His eyes were pleading. "Please, baby. Just go. You need to do this, alright?"

  "But I want you to come too," I said.

  "I'll be there in a few minutes, a half hour tops. You know how to close the gate, right?"

  I nodded.

  "Good. Get in the house. Lock the doors, and hit the control for the gate. I'll see you in a little bit."

  "Wait," I said. "I should call the police, right?"

  "No."

  "What?"

  "Trust me." He flicked his head toward his hands. "Now c'mon. You've gotta go, alright?"

  Gingerly, I stepped up into the foothold, and a moment later, I was launched over the fence, landing hard on my ass on the mulchy surface. I glanced back and saw Lawton, watching me, his eyes fierce and his grip tight on the two closest fence spires.

  "Go," he said.


  And so I did.

  When I reached the patch of shrubbery that would hide me from his view, I turned back for one last look. He was still there, watching me in the shadows. Conscious that as long as he was watching me, he wouldn’t be able to watch his own back, I turned and plunged toward the house.

  Inside Lawton's house, I watched the minutes tick by – ten, then fifteen, then twenty. With every passing minute, I felt a fresh wave of guilt and uncertainty.

  I should have never left him there by himself. What was I thinking?

  But he'd been so insistent. And the way he talked, I had the distinct impression I'd be putting him in more danger if I stayed.

  But why did anyone have to stay? He should've returned with me. I should've made him, even if I had to drag over the fence myself. And why couldn’t I call the police?

  My head swimming, I vowed to give it five more minutes. And then, I was going back there. Or I was calling the police. Or both.

  Exactly forty-three minutes after I'd burst into the house, I heard the back door open. I flew toward it and met Lawton just as he entered. I plowed into him and threw my arms around him, hugging him close.

  "I was so worried," I said into his chest. "What were you doing?"

  "Well that," he said, "is complicated." He stepped back, holding both of my hands in his. "Do you trust me?" he said.

  Foolish or not, I did trust him. I hadn't always. But if I wanted us to have any chance at all, those days were over. I felt myself nod.

  "Say it," he said.

  "I trust you."

  "Good," he said, "because in about an hour, you're gonna have to lie like a rug."

  He was gripping my hands tighter now. If he squeezed any tighter, I was sure the bones in my fingers would shatter.

  "Why?" I said, giving a little tug at my hands. "I didn't do anything wrong."

  He looked down, and his fingers loosened, but he didn't let go. "Was I hurting you? Shit, I'm sorry."

  "Tell me why I have to lie," I said. "I didn't do anything."

  "Baby, I know. But these people, they don't think like you and I do."

  "What people?" I said. "Who are you talking about?"

  "People I used to know. That's who." He pulled me close, wrapping his arms around me. "And I won't let 'em hurt you, but you've gotta help."

  Chapter 71

  From what we pieced together after the fact, the Parkers owed everybody and their brother, including a certain unsavory businessman who specialized in high-interest loans of the leg-breaking variety.

  Apparently, the Parkers were fond of their legs, if not their pets, which over the last ten years had included a couple of Bengel cats in Baltimore, a parakeet in Tampa, and a Siberian Husky in upstate New York.

  When they ran out of money, they did what they always did – hired some sucker to keep up appearances while they set up shop in a new town under a new name.

  Their house was leased, their furniture was rented, and most of their portraits were totally fake, including every single one that included Mr. Parker, the so-called retired surgeon who had also posed as an architect, a hedge fund manager, and a personal injury lawyer.

  Although I didn't realize it at the time, I'd met Mr. Parker after all. Turns out, he was the flashy financial guy who'd shown up on that doorstep with a wad of cash. Why they paid me anything at all, I didn't understand, until Lawton put it in perspective.

  "They needed you to stick around," he said. "You were the fall girl, the one who'd pay the price when the bills came due."

  "But I didn't have any money," I said.

  "I'm not talking about money," he said. "Think about it. The Parkers give you this wad of cash, which they're probably planning to steal right back anyway. Then later, when someone comes looking for the big money, they're long gone. But you're not."

  "But that night," I said, "I told that guy I wasn't Mrs. Parker."

  "Yeah. Because nobody lies when they're about to get their legs broken."

  "But they would've found out eventually," I said. "I mean, let's consider the worst-case scenario. Let's say they killed me—"

  "No," he said. "We're not saying that, even as a what-if."

  "But the point is," I said, "those guys would've found out pretty quick that I was just someone staying there."

  "Yeah. But so what if it's the wrong person? You were living there, taking care of the dog, handling all their stuff. It would be easy for someone to get the idea the Parkers wouldn't want to see anything bad happen to you."

  Over the course of the next few days, I talked to the police, the FBI, and even a couple of guys from Homeland Security. I told them all the same thing, that I'd mostly quit the job a few weeks earlier, when the checks started bouncing.

  That's where the lie came in. If the neighbors were watching, they'd certainly know that I'd been in and out of the Parkers' house. But with my car dead in the driveway and a bunch of dead plants inside the house, thanks to whatever Lawton did that night, the lies made a weird sort of sense.

  But all this misinformation wasn't for the police or anyone else in law enforcement. It was for the boss of the two leg-breakers left half-dead in the Parkers' house.

  Officially, I wasn't there. And Lawton wasn't there. And Chucky, well, he'd supposedly run away the previous week. How sad.

  As for the Parkers, well let's just say that a certain businessman in downtown Detroit isn't too happy with them right about now. Unsurprisingly, he doesn't take kindly to someone not just stiffing him for a whole bunch of money, but also jumping the guys who came to collect.

  We were snuggling on our favorite sofa about a week after Thanksgiving when some other pieces started clicking into place. I turned to Lawton and said, "You know what? I know what your big secret is."

  "You do, huh?"

  "First," I said, "you've got to agree. If I guess right, will you tell me the truth?"

  "Maybe."

  I gave him a serious look. "No maybes. You won't lie to me, will you?"

  "Never."

  "Alright," I said. "You, and Bishop —" I narrowed my gaze "—is there anyone else?"

  "That sounds like a question," he said, "not a guess."

  "Hard-ass," I said. "Fine. Here's my guess. You fix things."

  He raised his eyebrows. "Like cars?"

  "Oh shut up. You know what I mean. You right wrongs."

  "Interesting theory."

  "It's more than a theory," I said. "Look what happened with me and those two guys in ski masks. You and Bishop, you did to them exactly what they were gonna do to me." I bit my lip. "Well, I guess not exactly, since you beat them up too, but I'm thinking that's mostly incidental."

  "Mostly incidental, huh? Where have I heard that before?"

  "Stop distracting me," I said. "Am I close?"

  "Keep going," he said.

  "Alright," I said. "So then with the Parkers, they were trying to get me in trouble for the things they did. But the way you worked it out, they're not just on the hook for all that money, but also for beating up a couple of their enforcers."

  "Since when," Lawton said with a grin, "do you talk about enforcers?"

  "Since I started hanging out with the likes of you."

  "So you're saying I'm a bad influence."

  "Definitely." I edged up to lean my forehead against his. "Am I right?"

  "Ask me in three months," he said.

  "Why? What happens in three months?"

  "You'll see."

  Chapter 72

  Until things settled down, Lawton insisted on driving me back and forth to work. Just as well, given the sorry state of my car, which now had its own place in Lawton's massive garage.

  He offered to buy me a new car, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit that the offer was tempting. But I still didn't want to be that girl, bought and paid for, no matter how crazy in love I was, or him with me.

  As for Chucky, he was my dog now, and no one was going to tell me differently. Somehow, Lawton had magicall
y acquired papers to prove it, even if he wouldn't say exactly how he'd made that possible.

  Chucky loved hanging out at Lawton's place, and Lawton seemed to love having him there. So that's where we were staying, except of course, for when I was visiting Grandma and Josh or waitressing.

  Work was getting crazier every day. The flu had passed, and we were once again fully staffed. For me, this meant shorter shifts on the worst nights. Shaggy was there practically every night, standing there with his stupid cell phone as if waiting to catch me and Lawton getting naked in a corner booth.

  When I confronted him about that story he told me – about producing that infamous sex tape – he said, "I didn't lie. You just assumed."

  "Yeah, I notice you didn't correct me," I said.

  He shrugged. "You can't blame a guy for trying."

  Oh yes I could. But still, he haunted my shifts like some kind of paparazzi poltergeist. After a while, I sort of got used to him, mostly because he irked the snot out of Keith, who hated to be filmed while pretending to work.

  Exactly ten days after Thanksgiving, I was nearing the end of a six-hour shift when I saw Amber near the waitress stand. Looking around, she was busily tapping her foot like she'd been kept waiting a lot longer than necessary.

  As usual, she looked like a million bucks. Her long blonde hair was loose and sleek over her shoulders, and she wore an expensive-looking silvery cocktail dress that fell in stylish folds just above her matching silver pumps. All in all, she looked way overdressed for dinner just about anywhere that didn't offer valet parking.

  I kept my head down and rushed past her, eager to avoid whatever it was that brought her here.

  "Chloe!" she called. "There you are!"

  I stopped in my tracks. Slowly, I turned to face her. "Amber," I said. "There you are too. What a coincidence."

  She smiled. "Yeah, I know, right?"

  Well, at least she was being friendly. The least I could do was try to be the same, if for no other reason than to make this interaction as short as possible. "So," I said, "you're here to see Brittney?"