Lawbreaker (Unbreakable Book 3)

by Kat Bastion

  Hundreds of rainbows burst onto the walls and ceiling as the innocent offending diamonds caught the light.

  “Great,” Margaret huffed. “So, he spent a fortune on my least favorite color, and I’m stuck with it? I hate it. I’d wear long sleeves all the time to hide it” —she dropped her arm to her side— “but look how stupid. My sleeve catches on the settings.”

  “Maybe you could...lose it,” her friend suggested.

  Oh, how I would love to help you with that. “Or hock it.” I plucked a white rolled washcloth from a pyramid stacked on a shelf, then began to dry my hands. “Word on the street is you could get twenty-five cents on the dollar.”

  Two sets of widened eyes stared at me, unblinking, like I’d magically poofed beside them from thin air.

  Perfect. Shocking the entitled never failed to amuse me. I took advantage of their stunned imbalance and went for the kill.

  “Or...” I flicked a glance toward the oblivious women in the sitting area, then at all the unoccupied bathroom stalls. I leaned in closer to my aghast audience. “Say it was stolen,” I whispered, then shrugged. “It’d be believable. A jealous friend? Some new member masquerading as a manipulative opportunist?”

  Or a talented opportunistic eavesdropper in the bathroom. Thank you, universe.

  As I tossed the fluffy washcloth into a linen-lined basket, I glanced at Margaret with a final piece of Karmic advice. “I’d go for the insurance claim. Then donate the entire amount to charity. Franklin’ll be so impressed with your selfless act” —I made a point of staring at the aging socialite’s barren left hand— “he might spend another fortune on one stone and put a ring on it.”

  Margaret’s friend blinked, then glanced at her. “And this time, tell him what color diamond you like.”

  Annnd...my work here is done.

  I exited the bathroom ecstatic with how the fortuitous events had unfolded.

  Minutes ago, when I’d left Kiki and Ben in the ballroom, I’d intended to go deep-sea fishing.

  But I had no idea a great white shark would jump right into my lap.

  Fifteen minutes later, Trin and I stood near the end of the wide hallway, waiting for the inevitable main event.

  Ben still mingled in the ballroom, surrounded by his adoring fans.

  Then with a startling crash of wood slamming into wall, the french doors at the other end of the corridor had burst open, and a piercing female screech silenced everyone within earshot.

  An animated Margaret strode down the carpeted pathway, naked wrist held high, flaming hair flowing in her wake, fury in a wild-eyed gaze.

  “Someone stole my bracelet!” Her screamed accusation echoed from the rafters.

  Well, damn. Look who’s the wolf in sheep’s clothing now.

  A large portion of the crowd from the ballroom began to spill into the hall to investigate the commotion.

  Margaret’s gaze swept over the gathering witnesses to her outrage. Then she zeroed in on me for a split second before her eyes narrowed as she stared at Trin.

  Out of protective instinct, I stepped into her line of sight, lowered my chin, and shot a dangerous glare back at her. Oh, no, bitch. Not a chance in hell you’re going after my cub.

  She huffed out a breath, then moved on, scanning across the hushed gathering of her flock.

  “Whoever you are, you will pay for this.” She examined each face, acting as if one of them would have a big red GUILTY stamped on their forehead. “That bracelet was one-of-a-kind. And it was a gift from my Franklin.”

  Big fat tears began to roll down her cheeks.

  Whispers broke out amongst the flock.

  Then suddenly, the crowd parted and Ben strode through, gaze stern and locked on its target—me.

  I’d seen that focused intensity once before. Two weeks ago. From behind his bar.

  Wasn’t afraid then. Not cowering now.

  Here we go...

  I straightened my shoulders and stood my ground.

  Trin wisely bolted.

  No one else stood nearby.

  He stopped a good three feet from me.

  Distance.

  His breaths quickened, like he struggled to breathe.

  Anger.

  I cocked my head at him, surprised at how well everything had played out. Had he caught Margaret’s brief suspicious glance at me...or was that quick distrust all him?

  I arched my brows.

  His eyes narrowed, and he did that analyzing-stare thing again, something I hadn’t been subject to in days.

  Hardening my jaw, I folded my arms. Stubborn irritation. All you’ll get from me tonight.

  “Did you do it?” he finally whispered, tone riddled with uncertainty. “Did you take the bracelet?”

  And we’d arrived back to square one: Ben jumping to conclusions, not giving me the benefit of the doubt.

  But his encore worked out in everyone’s favor. How things needed to be.

  Playing my part, I let out a heavy sigh. “Does it really matter?”

  Pain and confusion glittered in his eyes as they searched mine. And he widened his stance, like he adjusted for steady footing in the middle of an earthquake.

  But we’d both been trying to find our solid ground, a place where we felt safe, hadn’t we? And all the while, we’d been struggling to figure out ourselves, let alone each other.

  After a few contemplative seconds, he gave a firm nod. “It’s Saturday. My day. So yeah.” He gusted out a labored breath. “It does.”

  No, it doesn’t. Because all that mattered in our chaotic, immoral, unfair world—in spite of what anyone tried to convince themselves of—was the substance of a person’s heart.

  And after the last solid week together, if he hadn’t discovered what made mine beat, he never would.

  But how it all went down in those few minutes was exactly how it needed to, for me, for Ben. But the reality of him ringing true to his elemental nature, quick to judge, against me on instinct—after I’d shared all of me with him—still cut...deeply.

  I clenched my jaw and shot him an unforgiving look, hardening my tender heart all the while. “Believe what you want.” He wouldn’t get a clear-cut answer and definitely not from me. “Life’s easier that way.” No second-guessing. Cut and dried. His gut instinct influenced by his perspective.

  Our twisted, broken society tried to force us to live by black-and-white rules. Yet nothing ever played out that simple. Most of us, the ones who suffered and scrounged and did more of the dying before they ever got a chance of fully living, existed in the shadowed expanse of the gray in between.

  The world belonged to the downtrodden, the misfortunate...the forgotten ones.

  And I belonged to them.

  His expression shifted from confusion to full-on hurt. Probably something to do with my tone, cold and final...decided.

  Exactly the way it needs to sound.

  The glaring heavy silence stretched into a death sentence for us. But I knew I had to end it. And him angry and hurt seemed for the best.

  “Well, been nice knowin’ ya.” I punched plenty of attitude into the statement. Even though I meant none of its subtext. Ben had changed me on a fundamental level, showed me for the first time what it felt like to be truly cherished, loved. That brief glimpse would have to be enough to get me through the time yet to come.

  But all that would have to wait until later.

  In that moment, I focused on his shocked expression over my obvious dismissal. Then I imprinted that evidence into my brain as I turned and walked away. And no matter how tortured my lungs felt with every breath of sucked-in air, I held on to that image along with the one of his distrust.

  Because it was safer to swim in that shallow end. Those destined to be heroes, the ones who risked everything to save others, didn’t get to allow themselves to be loved. Not for long. Because the inevitable pain it caused to the one who did the loving would never be worth it.

  “It’s better this way,” I muttered to myself. I
drew in a shaky breath, doing my damnedest to believe my own words. My chest burned at the instant loss, a deep and gaping wound I suspected would never heal.

  But when I stepped into the crisp night air, I didn’t turn an expected left toward Glenhaven, toward my park, my people, all I’d ever known.

  Instead, I hooked an unfamiliar right, prepared to fall on my sword.

  Ben…

  Stormy emerald eyes raged at me one last time.

  Dark lashes lowered in a heavy blink.

  A flash of black silk disappeared out a closing door.

  Feeling began to return. Agonizing pain followed. Sweet scathing medicine burned down my throat.

  My head blessedly spun again. The world tilted with it.

  Round and round, the whirlpool sucked me back down into numb oblivion...

  Off in the distance, an announcer blared. “...year’s tournament is none other than our very own Benjamin Bishop.”

  A bizarre distorted Kiki stepped into my hazed line of sight. “What did you say to her?”

  The broken record of events played again: voices muted yet echoed, images colored but faded.

  The gut-wrenching emotions? Sliced deeper, became more painful with every uncontrollable rerun of what had gone down.

  I stared over Fun-house Kiki’s shoulder—at the closed door. “It’s what I didn’t say. Or what I should’ve said.”

  The door loomed closer as I pushed past Kiki.

  Her superhero iron grip clamped onto my arm. “Where are you going?”

  “After her.” My voice sounded tinny, otherworldly.

  “No, you’re not. She wanted you to win for her, for the charity. You need to get up on stage and announce that. I’ll go.”

  War raged within me as I stood there. I didn’t give a fuck about the event.

  And it didn’t matter to me whether Shay had stolen the bracelet or not.

  I knew that in my heart. She needed to know that too.

  Emerald eyes raged.

  Dark lashes lowered.

  Black silk flashed.

  The door closed.

  Searing pain torched my heart, agonizing...devastating.

  Too much. Overwhelming.

  Medicine downed. Throat burned.

  Blackness returned...

  “Why so glum?” Whoosh asked, face strange and twisty. “You just won the tournament.”

  “Yeah, but I lost the girl.” My otherworldly voice had weakened, had grown thready.

  Emerald eyes glistened with tears.

  Dark lashes lowered to mask her emotion.

  Black silk flashed to hide a disappearing act.

  The door slammed shut.

  Consciousness returned in slow drips of awareness. The wrenching pain followed, merciless and absolute. But somehow the fucked-up dreamscape torture felt better than my empty reality. I deserved it. I’d sure as hell earned it.

  And so, I drank. Down, down, down into oblivion...

  A trippy-looking Trin stood in the hall, stared down at a pink sparkly phone.

  “Is that Shay’s?”

  Bulging eyes narrowed to slits. She clutched the phone to her chest. “Mine now.”

  “Where is she?” I rasped, voice barely registering.

  Trin shrugged with one shoulder. The action cartoonishly bounced her joint sky-high then snapped it back into the socket. “Gone.”

  Emerald eyes filled with emotion.

  Black silk caught in the door.

  A slice of light glimmered from in between.

  Loud coughing jarred me awake. I cleared my parched throat. My head throbbed. Which wake-up is this? The tenth? The hundredth?

  But I didn’t want the drunken dreams to end. They’d begun to evolve. Like my subconscious had discovered the end of an unraveling thread and decided to pull on it.

  I lifted my thousand-pound head, squinted at the bottle in my hand, and stared at the last inch of amber liquor. “Inch is for beer,” I groused. “I still got three-quarters left.” I tightened my hold on the neck of the bottle and began gulping.

  A hard jerk yanked the bottle from my grip. Narrowed blue eyes glared at me from a pissed-off face. Kiki. The real one.

  “Hey! I was drinking that.”

  “Already drunk. What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Hey, if it worked for my father.”

  “It didn’t. He’s in prison.”

  “Yeah, well, so is she.” News delivered courtesy of front-page headlines. I yanked the bottle back from her and took another healthy swallow. Then I laid my cheek on the cool cement and closed my eyes.

  Seconds later, I heard Kiki from over in the kitchen. “Code red.”

  Nails drummed on the counter in rhythmic clicks. “I dunno. Whatever color the highest level of alert is for your best friend hugging a bottle and kissing the floor.”

  A loud gasp sounded, followed by a heavy sigh. “No. He is not pushing your baby out of his vagina.”

  Keys clattered onto the marble. Her phone got tossed beside them. “Apparently, someone is. Any minute now. Out of her vagina. Ewww...now I just thought about Hannah’s vagina. Brain bleach! STAT!”

  “I don’t have a vagina,” I grumbled.

  “Suck it up and prove it, Bishop.” Something hard nailed my ribs.

  “Ow. Did you just literally kick a man when he’s down?”

  “Get up. You got five minutes.” Her voice trailed down the hall.

  “To do what?” I pushed myself up off the floor, ignoring my throbbing head, the spinning world. “And where you going?”

  “Grabbing Shay’s stuff.”

  Tapping a hand down the wall with every step for balance, I followed her into my bedroom just in time to catch her shoulder one of Shay’s bags, then the other.

  “What’re you gonna do with it?” I wanted to yank them away from her. Shay belonged here. So did her stuff.

  “She asked me to give the duffel to Trin. She wants the backpack thrown into the trash. And then we’re heading to the hospital. The first Michaelson of the next generation is about to be born.”

  My brain got stuck on the she asked part. “You talked to her,” I whispered. Then I blinked, shocked, trying to absorb that.

  Kiki scrunched her nose and pushed a hand between us as she stepped back. “Keep your distance. You stink.” She strode into my closet, yanked a shirt off a hanger, then threw it at me. “Change into that.”

  I attempted to catch it but missed. I left it on the floor and just stared at her.

  Kiki folded her arms and stared back at me a beat, then she sighed heavily and walked out of the room. “She left me a note,” she called out from down the hall.

  I did as she asked, scraped the sweaty shirt off my back, tossed it onto the bathroom floor, then scooped up the clean one and shrugged into it as I followed her down the hall.

  “I didn’t get a note.”

  Back in the kitchen, Kiki handed me a glass of water. “I know.”

  I gulped down the entire glass as I glared at the Sunday newspaper on the counter between us. Then I clunked the glass down and pinched my eyes shut to block the headline above the fold: ROBIN HOOD TURNS HERSELF IN FOR HACKING SCHEME. She’d also confessed to a handful of other petty theft crimes, like Mr. Financial District and Miss Louis Vuitton. The spotlight piece covered where the stolen Robin Hood dollars had gone, the unsuspecting victims of financial crimes, and the growing plight of the city’s homeless.

  No way you could’ve fed a reporter that info in a few hours Saturday night.

  The paper had to have known for days.

  Why the hell hadn’t she told me?

  Why didn’t I see the signs?

  But I had spotted them: her growing hesitance, the wistfulness. Only I’d brushed the symptoms off, believed we had time to fix it all. And her questions directed at me? Had been tests from her. That I’d failed, spectacularly. Fuck, I wish I could steal back time, our secret wish on the train.

  I let out a heavy sigh and scru
bbed a hand down my face.

  “She won’t talk to me.” I’d tried. The prison had explicit instructions from Shay: Deny all contact from Benjamin Bishop.

  “I know,” Kiki repeated. “She did it to save you. To try and save them all.”

  My heart damn near exploded right there in my chest.

  My superhero.

  Right then and there, I vowed she wouldn’t be the only one. Her sacrifice wouldn’t go to waste.

  “What day is it?”

  “Tuesday.”

  “Fuck me.” Three whole days wasted with me sunk at the bottom of bottles. I blinked out the window and stared at the setting sun.

  I grabbed my phone and keys, but pocketed both. “Drop me off somewhere?”

  She frowned. “You’re not coming to the hospital?”

  “I will. Got an important errand to run first.”

  To begin with, I gorged myself. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten. Had to have been Saturday.

  Then I walked down a lower-income residential street. Laundry still hung from clotheslines. The same chained dog barked. Beater cars along the curbs continued to rust.

  The same young kid with blond hair and blue eyes popped out from the alley, hair shaggy and wild again, clothing back to threadbare jeans and a faded tee.

  “No blue dress?” I teased.

  Trin narrowed her eyes at me. “One-time thing. Party’s over.”

  I held out the tray of Cokes, then gave a nod to the five Mickey D’s bags cradled in my arm.

  She leaned in, reached out, and swiped one of each without getting too close, then stepped back a good ten feet, eyeing me warily.

  “Not on your good side?” Not that I’d expected much. I got the drill. I remained a foreigner in their world. For now.

  She slurped a couple of swallows of Coke through the straw as she watched me. Then she gave a headshake. “You dance cool, but you’re a grown-up. And my loyalty’s ta Shay.”

  “Fair enough.”

  We kept up the staring contest for another dozen seconds or so.

  She remained motionless, unblinking, expression blanked.

  One more thing. “You got Friday covered?”