by Regina Cole
Mia’s heart was in her throat. God, why was it so hard to let him walk out the door? She shouldn’t care this much. It was too soon. But she did care, somehow, and it was going to kill her to let him leave without trying. Her bare toes curled into the carpet as she straightened her spine and looked directly up into his blank face.
“Garrett, don’t leave. I might not ever see you again. Tonight…please stay here with me.”
He looked down at her then, and for a second she could see the naked pain in his beautiful clear eyes. She gasped, her heart seeming to rip in two at the vision of suffering there. Biting her lip, she glanced away, unable to take it.
“I have to.” He stepped close to her, resting his forehead atop her still-wet curls. She fisted her hands at her sides, waiting for the feeling to pass. It didn’t.
With a single finger, he raised her chin and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to her lips. A small half-smile twisted his lips as he looked down at her.
“It was nice to know you, Mia.”
She set her jaw. “Nice to know me? So I’m not allowed to ever see you again?”
He shook his head. “It’s much too dangerous. Ford—”
Without even thinking about it, she planted both palms on his chest. “You’re not Superman, Garrett. This fucker is a drug dealer, a crook and a murderer. I know you used to be a cop, but leave this guy to the police! It’s their job to arrest him, not yours. There’s something between us, and that deserves a chance. Don’t do this, don’t leave, don’t—”
“I have to. It’s for the best.”
And then, without another word or even a last look at her, he opened the door and walked out of her life.
“Garrett, wait!”
He didn’t stop, just continued down the hall and disappeared into the alcove that housed the elevators.
Ducking back into the room, she scrambled to find her keycard. Once she’d grabbed it and shoved her feet into some flip-flops, she barreled down the hall. But the elevator had already come and gone. She was too late.
“Fuck,” she said, glaring down at the see-through lace cups of her nightie. “Fuck, fuck and triple fuck.”
A large window lined the back wall of the alcove, the shining skyline of Atlanta glittering against the night sky. Mia walked toward it, drawn like a moth to a porch light. Pressing her palm against the cold glass, she let herself go.
The anger within her had masked the fear, just a little. But without it, her feelings came crashing forward.
He was going to die, she just knew it. He wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t admit that what had happened between them was something incredible. It was more than she’d ever felt before.
She wasn’t sure why she glanced downward. Being on the eleventh floor, she was much too high to be able to hear anything from the street below. But as she looked down, she was completely certain that the single taillight she saw moving down the street was him.
Once he was gone, she turned and walked back toward her room. Laughter came from somewhere down the hall and a door just past hers slammed shut. A short, skinny guy ogled her as he approached.
Mia crossed her arms over her chest and stalked straight ahead. God, why hadn’t she grabbed a robe or something?
In the safety and privacy of her hotel room, she began to pace, worry eating her insides. Tomorrow, she’d have to see if she still had a job. She had, after all, missed a whole day of Drama Tattoo’s biggest convention of the year. Should she try to track down Garrett afterward? Ford had taken so much from him. His girlfriend, his career, his whole life. But how could she stand by when he was in danger? He’d protected her. Didn’t she owe him?
She kicked off her flip-flops and padded into the bathroom to brush her teeth, but stopped at the threshold.
The mirror spread out in front of her, water all over the white-tiled floor.
A hot tear tracked down her cheek. That bastard. How dare he make her feel beautiful and then leave?
* * * * *
As the bike roared beneath him, Garrett tried really hard to pretend he didn’t feel like a shit-headed bastard.
He failed.
The night air rushed past his bare arms, seeming to accuse as it pummeled him. How could you, it shrieked in his ears, sounding just like Mia. That was special, and you just pissed all over it.
He kept his gaze locked on the open road in front of him, thankful that the lights of the city were far enough behind him now. Edging up the throttle, he shot forward.
He had to keep his mind on the mission. This was his life’s work, and he’d been wrong to get distracted, and to get Mia involved. She was probably pissed as hell, he mused as he reluctantly rolled to a stop at an intersection. He’d known she would be, but he hadn’t expected the hurt on her face. It had almost made him stop, try to figure out a way for them to explore what was beginning between them.
Almost. But not enough for him to forget the danger she’d be in. He had shit to do tonight, but tomorrow? He’d be skulking around that convention, making sure none of Ford’s buddies had discovered Mia. And as soon as the convention was done and she’d driven away, he’d be right back where he belonged—tracking down the bad guy.
When the light flipped to green, Garrett shoved off the pavement, the engine rumbling and vibrating through his body. Not far now.
When he arrived, he parked his bike between Trent’s black Harley and Quentin’s red custom chopper inside the small detached garage. The house was also small, a blue ranch with red shutters, soft golden light shining from one of the front windows. Nestled in a quiet suburb, it was located way off the road with no neighbors. Thankfully.
Gravel crunched under Garrett’s feet as he walked up the semi-lit path to the door. He glanced at the small, hand-carved cedar sign that dangled above the porch. Quentin had done it as a joke, not long after they had joined forces, four guys who’d all suffered and lost something dear to them.
Nameless, the sign declared in beautiful black script, the letters shining even through the dark of night. It meant nothing and everything.
Garrett’s wry grin went unseen as he mounted the steps to the porch. Their little group didn’t need a name. They each had a mission, a purpose to fulfill. And since Garrett’s was hopefully drawing to a close, he’d throw himself into helping with their problems as soon as he was able.
After all, he owed his life to the three men inside.
“Garrett!” Trent called as he came through the door. “I’m surprised to see you here tonight.”
“Didn’t want to go home,” Garrett said as he came through the darkened entryway. The house had been abandoned when Quentin bought it and they’d turned it into a headquarters of sorts. Now it was sparsely furnished, mostly used as a storage and research base. Filing cabinets lined the wall closest to the door, the kitchen beyond done in pale blues and brick reds. There were no comfy couches, no big TV, hell, they didn’t have much more than a large worktable, a handful of chairs and whatever they brought with them. Home, it wasn’t. But with the fern-patterned wallpaper still adorning the living room area, the scuffed wooden floors and the cheerful kitchen, it was easy to see this had once been a comfortable home for someone.
Trent was seated at one end of the wooden worktable, a camera pulled into seventeen different pieces spread out in front of him. Reg was on one side, reading glasses perched on his oft-broken nose as he stared intently at his MacBook screen. And Quentin stood by the window, large arms crossed over his chest, looking out into the night as if waiting for something.
Weren’t they all?
“I figured you’d be with Mia tonight.” Trent arched a dark brow at Garrett as he snapped a piece into place on the Nikon camera body. “Since the two of you were so friendly earlier.”
“What?” Reg’s crisp British accent always made him seem a bit too refined, but Garrett knew how vicious the guy really was. Behind that posh expat exterior was a brilliant computer hacker and a brutal fighter. “Who’s Mia? Odd for you to get d
istracted by a bit of fanny.”
Garrett glowered at Reg, gripping the edge of the table to keep from breaking the bastard’s nose. Again. “She’s just a girl I helped get away from the cops last night. She has nothing to do with this, or with us.” Garrett turned. “Quentin, any news?”
The tall African-American man shook his head as he looked away from the window. “Nothing concrete. After the raid on the drop today, he’s gone to ground. That deal has been postponed indefinitely, according to my contact.”
“Fuck.” Garrett’s fist landed on the table, making Trent’s camera pieces jump. “How could we have been so close?”
“We’ll get him,” Trent said calmly as he retrieved a lens that had fallen with Garrett’s display of temper. “I promised you a long time ago that we’d get him, and I meant it. Don’t doubt us, man.”
“Now this certainly is interesting,” Reg mused aloud, one hand rubbing his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully. His shaggy hair fell forward as he leaned closer to the screen. “Indeed.”
“What is it?” Garrett rounded the table to look at Reg’s computer screen.
“I seem to have stumbled upon Mr. Ford’s private email account. Oh dear me,” Reg said mildly as he took screen shots of the most recent message. “The street race may have been a setup.”
“For what?” Garrett crouched beside Reg’s chair, watching as he scanned through the rest of the message. Garrett read aloud from the screen. “Since the first try failed, I want insurance on the second race. Ramirez’s car won’t make the finish line, you get me? I’ll let you know when to move.”
Reg hummed deep in his throat. “Despite his crowing, he’s quite a clever little fuck.”
Quentin snorted, leaving his position by the window. “Smart enough to have his race opponent fucked over before the race. Won’t be much of a contest there.”
“No, it’s more than that.” Garrett stood, his brain racing as he tried to make sense of what Reg had just found. “There’s something here, I’m just not quite seeing the whole picture.”
Garrett’s fist thumped against his palm, the quick sting deliciously clarifying. Suddenly his synapses were firing faster and more calculating as he considered. “I need to find out who this Ramirez is. What are the stakes of this thing? Why does he care so much about a street race? Quentin, how fast can you get up with your contact?”
Quentin pulled his smartphone from his pocket. “Right now.”
“See if they know anything about this Ramirez guy, and what Ford stands to gain. What’s the prize? If I’m right, then this just might be our chance to finally put him away.”
As Garrett waited for Quentin to make the call, a nagging feeling dogged his steps. He was awfully afraid it might be hope.
Chapter Eleven
Mia dressed carefully for Sunday at the convention. It was the last day, and if she was going to come through it with her employment still intact, she’d have to really wow them.
Shimmying into a leopard-print wiggle dress, she smoothed it down her hips. Black fuck-me pumps completed the outfit, and she clicked her way into the bathroom to take advantage of the better light and large mirror. Too bad this time she was alone in here, she frowned. Her hair finally submitted to an intricate twist at the base of her neck. Large, ornate horn earrings added just the edge she was looking for. And as she put the last touches on her deep-red lipstick, she couldn’t help but wish Garrett was here to see her.
Her look wasn’t perfect, of course. Wispy curls struggled to escape their confinement and her belly wasn’t flat beneath the dress. Her arms jiggled too much and her nose wouldn’t ever be what she considered cute. But just for a moment, Mia closed her eyes and imagined herself as Garrett would see her.
Drop-dead gorgeous.
Her lids popped open and she glared at the girl in the mirror. “Bitch. Forget about him. He doesn’t want to see you again.”
With purpose, she strode from the bathroom and grabbed her gear. She wasn’t exactly sure what to say to Jules to apologize for missing a whole day of the convention, but she was confident the answer would come to her. After all, she’d been good at talking herself out of trouble her whole life, except with Abuela. And Mia’s bullshit gene had come straight from that great woman, so that was unsurprising.
The elevator was crowded this morning as people left their rooms to head to breakfast or the convention. It was easy to see who belonged to which group. The BodModCon crowd was yawning and hung over, not to mention adorned with numerous tattoos and black clothing. The straitlaced breakfast folks crammed themselves into the corners of the elevator, eyes wide and kids pressed against their sides.
Mia waved at a little girl, her pigtails chocolate poofs atop her head. She smiled shyly back at Mia, her finger never leaving her mouth.
As the elevator dinged in announcement that they’d arrived on the conference level, Mia exited with a sigh. She’d probably never have kids. Hadn’t really met anyone she’d like to have kids with.
Except, her bitch of a subconscious slyly suggested.
“Shut the fuck up,” Mia muttered beneath her breath as she approached the convention staffer who guarded the exhibitor entrance. The burly guy started to scowl.
“Not you,” Mia flashed him a smile. “Thinking out loud.”
He examined her badge and let her through, but not without ogling her rack first. Mia rolled her eyes as her heels clicked on the concrete floor of the exhibit hall. Not smiling at that asshole again.
It was early, but there were plenty of exhibitors getting prepped for the day. There was lots of ink to finish, piercings to do and money to be made before this convention shut down. Mia waved at a couple of familiar faces as she rounded the corner to the aisle that Drama Tattoo was set up on.
Butterflies banged against her rib cage, and she took a steadying breath. She could do this. She’d just have to tell Jules the truth, at least part of it. She’d been abandoned and stranded. Not her fault. Back as soon as she could.
Fortunately, Jules was already there, and there was no sign of that skinny-jeaned asshole Matt. Mia smiled tentatively as she entered the booth.
“Hey, Jules.”
Her boss turned quickly, a sour smirk on her face. “Well, look who the fuck decided to show up to work today.”
“Listen, I’m so sorry about yesterday. You wouldn’t believe what hap—”
“I don’t give a shit where you were or who you were with.” Jules pointed a finger directly at Mia’s chest, moving closer, mere inches away. “You hung us out to dry. Do you have any idea how it looked? We have ‘piercing’ right there on the goddamn sign, Mia. Drama Tattoo and Piercing. I had to turn away about seventeen customers yesterday and they won’t be back.”
Smothering the instinct to fire back at Jules, Mia set her jaw and stood her ground.
“Matt told me you were a mistake after you’d been with us a month. I should have listened.”
“He said I was a mistake because I refused to suck his skinny cock.” Mia couldn’t shove down the angry retort anymore. “I’m sorry about yesterday, and if you’ll give me the chance to explain and apologize, I will. I’m doing my damnedest to fit in here and have you guys like me, but I’m not going to fuck Matt to keep this job.”
“What job?” Jules delivered that bomb with a cruel smile. She crossed her thick arms under her corseted chest. “There’s a convention full of people who can do this better than you. And I think today I’ll hire your replacement. You’re fired, Mia. Get your shit and get out.”
There wasn’t any sadness, only a huge sense of relief. Mia nodded and grabbed her rolling case and bag. She left the booth and walked down the long convention aisle. God, she’d never been so happy to be fired in her life. Drama Tattoo could keep its issues. She was tired of trying to get along with them. Jules was blind and Matt was a tool. Mia would rather join the line at the unemployment office and beg for food stamps than spend another day in that toxic environment. Yesterday was her fault, in a
roundabout way, but it was a mistake she couldn’t bring herself to regret.
Several aisles down, the back wall of the room was blank. A few high tables stood there, empty now. They’d be crowded with convention goers in just a few hours. Leaning her stuff against one of them, Mia propped her elbows on the blue-covered surface.
“Shit,” she said aloud as reality washed over her. A crackling above her head signaled the loudspeaker’s activation.
“Welcome to the final day of BodModCon! Get your needles ready, because here comes your audience.”
A loud cheer greeted his words, and Mia looked despondently down at her case.
Maybe she should rethink her life. There were a lot of prima donnas and dicks in this business, but there were good people too. She’d just had a bad run of luck in her coworkers.
She snorted as the aisles started to clog just beyond her little sanctuary. Coworkers, hell. Boyfriends. Friends. She’d been alone since Abuela died.
Until you met Garrett, her subconscious whispered.
The thought made her pause. She bit her lip, glancing at her black purse. That morning, before dressing, she’d pulled the little slip of paper that Trent had given her from her pocket, flattening out the wrinkles and reading it for the first time.
There was a phone number on it. Trent’s or Garrett’s, she wasn’t sure. But she did know it was the link she needed to find him again. She’d tucked the paper into the front pouch of her bag, uncertain at the time if she’d ever use it.
Garrett.
He’d promised to look out for her during the convention. Was he somewhere nearby now? How would he know that she wasn’t working at the booth?
He didn’t want to see her again. The stuff he was involved in was dangerous.
It would be stupid to try to track him down.
She grinned, picked up her shit and booked it for the door. Bad ideas were the most fun, and finding Garrett was, most definitely, a bad idea.
* * * * *
“I really appreciate you doing this.” Garrett tucked the phone against his shoulder as he pulled his leather jacket from the large walk-in closet in his bedroom. “Someone needs to keep an eye on her and it shouldn’t be me. For a lot of reasons.”