by Nora Flite
He ducked his chin into the tall collar of his coat. “She’s fine. Just a little shaken up.”
I waved at him. “Come inside our room.”
“No. Let’s talk out here.”
He doesn’t want her to listen. “Here,” I said, handing her the key. She clutched it, her thumbs rubbing over the well-worn surface. “Get in there and warm up. We won’t be long.”
With some reluctance she backed toward the doorway. It was one of several on the open second-floor landing. Her nervous eyes lingered on me. Then she was through the door, gone.
The motel was a ghost town as far as I could see, but we still walked toward the far corner of the shadowed railing. Thorne faced me, his hands deep in his peacoat. “What the fuck happened back there?” he asked sharply.
“First, tell me what the doctor said about Darien.”
He dug his fingernails through his hair vigorously. “He’s still unconscious, no clue when that will change, but Doc thinks he’ll live. We’re lucky she didn’t kill him.”
“She didn’t shoot him, Thorne.”
“Like hell she didn’t. Look, I like Scotch. She’s worked at the Dirty Dolls forever. I’m sure she did it because he was messing with Gina, but we both saw the same thing. She was literally red-handed.”
I was shaking my head. I couldn’t stop. “He shot himself while they were wrestling for the gun.”
He laughed so loud it made clouds in the air. “Come on! What are the chances of that?”
“Thorne.”
“She was holding the gun.”
“Thorne!” I snapped. “She didn’t do it.”
With a low groan he leaned against the railing. “Doesn’t matter. Word is at least two people saw her go into that champagne room.”
It felt as if centipedes were marathoning up my back. “What?”
“She was spotted.” A car engine snarled in the distance; he stared out at the road, waiting for it to pass, before he kept talking. “The Deep Shots know a blonde waitress with a nose piercing went into the room where Darien was. By morning, everyone in this city who’s friendly with our brand-new buddy-buddy gang is going to be looking for her.”
I could barely breathe; I blamed it on the painfully cold night air. Fuck, why hadn’t I worn my jacket? Because she has it. I gave it to her. Just as I’d given my word. I’d promised a dead girl I could keep her alive.
Swallowing, I said, “They know her face, do they—”
“Know her name is Scotch?” He squinted at me. “She introduced herself in front of them all.”
I remembered that moment clearly. I’d burned with disgust at how Darien was treating her, and in spite of the risk, I’d stepped in and gotten involved.
And now I’m more involved than ever.
“Shit,” I whispered.
“Yeah, shit.” His chuckle was empty of any real humor. Thorne was the master of cynicism. “So even if I believe that she didn’t do this—and I don’t know that I do—it won’t matter. No one is going to wait around for her to share her side of the story.”
Right, there were always two. Scotch might be a suspect, but that could be fixed. “When Darien wakes up, he’ll be able to explain everything,” I said quickly. “If I can hide her until then . . . we can wait this out.”
My brother leaned away as if I’d struck him. His expression was grimmer than the boiling sky that threatened to snow on us. “We?” He pointed over my shoulder at the motel door. “This girl fucks up our meeting tonight, the one our not-so-understanding father trusted us to handle because he’s in frigging Vermont, and your response is to protect her? This isn’t like you.”
He was right. This wasn’t like me.
Scotch’s pale face and pleading words sank into the grooves of my memory. Thorne grabbed my shoulders, startling me. “Make a plan. You always have a plan!” His smile went crooked, manic. Thorne was freaking out, and I knew we were thinking the same thing.
Our dad is going to string us up for this.
“It’s only going to get crazier,” he mumbled, hardly talking to me. “It’s a miracle Dad hasn’t called us yet to check in. Fuck, maybe the horse farm has no cell reception and no one from the Deep Shots or the club can reach him. Wouldn’t that be fucking lucky for us, huh?”
I gnarled my fists in the front of his coat. “That’s perfect!”
“Wh-what’s perfect? What are you talking about?”
My heart was expanding and shrinking so rapidly that I couldn’t feel the winter air any longer. “The horse farm, the whole damn wedding. You said everyone here will be looking for Scotch.”
My brother’s mouth went slack. “You want to bring her with us to Kain’s wedding?”
Our youngest brother’s wedding would be the perfect escape. “Mom and Francesca expect us to fly out with them in the morning, right? I’ll bring her with me.”
He shoved me; I let him go, my smile clearly infuriating him. “Yup. You’re definitely insane. Costello, you can’t bring some rando to Kain’s wedding. Don’t you think that will look strange? You aren’t exactly Mr. Relationship, no offense.”
I wasn’t offended. I couldn’t be when he was only being honest. I’d never dated anyone seriously, never brought anyone home to our family. Taking Scotch to the wedding and pretending she was my girlfriend would be risky, but . . . “Mom will be thrilled,” I said with a soft chuckle.
“Uh-huh. And Dad will do a damn jig at the idea of his son dating the woman who shot a member of his shiny new gang.”
“He won’t know who she is. Trust me, this will work.”
Thorne started to sputter. “I don’t know who you are anymore. Jeez, does she have a pussy made of diamonds or something?”
I’d been moving toward my room. Thorne was following closely, so it was easy to spin around, ball my fists in his coat, and slam him against the side of the motel. “What was that?”
His eyebrows vanished into his hairline. “Whoa! Chill out, man! I was just making a joke.”
My hold on him tightened; we both heard my joints pop. “Never make that kind of joke about her again. Understand?”
“Yes, yeah, okay! Fuck, man.” Thorne stayed where he was when I released him, dusting himself off. “You’re really doing this. You’re going to flaunt her right in front of our family and pretend nothing went sour tonight?”
A car drove by; both of us froze, watching the lights on the road until they’d vanished. Now that I knew people were looking for Scotch, I was incredibly paranoid. Ignoring his question, I said, “Check in with Ox. Tell him to say nothing, and if anyone presses for details, remind him that Darien ran off with one of the girls for the night. That he’s asleep between their legs somewhere.” If we can breed confusion, it’ll help keep Scotch out of the spotlight. It was probably too late for that, but . . .
“And the gunshot?” he asked incredulously. “Everyone in the Dirty Dolls heard it.”
That was a problem . . . but something Scotch had said during the drive gave me an idea. It was such a good excuse I started to laugh.
My brother groaned in exasperation. “What’s so funny?”
“I was just thinking about how crazy club music is these days.” The motel room’s doorknob had gone ice cold. Twisting it, I cast one final look at my brother. “It can sound just like gunshots.”
- CHAPTER FIVE -
SCOTCH
The window was too greasy to allow me to see Costello and Thorne outside. Even if it had been clear, I didn’t have a good enough angle, and it wasn’t like I could read lips. I cursed all the times I’d turned down my uncle when he’d suggested teaching me for fun.
This isn’t fun, I reminded myself. This is life or death. If someone had told me I might be killed because of a thwarted blow job, I’d have told them they were nuts. Life is too fond of its little curveballs.
The door rattled; I jumped back onto the bed, settling on the rock-hard mattress as Costello entered. He fixed his eyes on me, shutting the door behi
nd him. “Is Thorne not coming in?” I asked, doing my best to act casual and not like I had been trying to spy on them.
His long index finger pressed to his lips. He wants me to be quiet? I wondered, reading the universal sign for shut up. Like a great cat he prowled around the room. It wasn’t a big space, but with him in it, it became smaller.
The browned bulbs over the stained bathroom mirror cast a halo around the door, allowing me to watch as Costello meticulously squinted into every cobwebbed corner.
He stepped onto the bed, forcing me to lean away so he had enough room to stand and reach the ceiling’s light fixture. When he unscrewed the cap, peered at the wires, then efficiently put it back together, I realized what he was doing.
He’s making sure the room isn’t bugged. I doubted it was, but that was just the kind of person Costello Badd was.
Meticulous.
Sharp.
Someone who made no mistakes.
Until me, I thought morbidly. He should never have rescued me from the club tonight. I was sure he had to know that, and yet . . . so far . . . all he’d done was take more measures to keep me safe.
That could change at any moment. I don’t know what he talked about with his brother. His slinking around—soundless as the night—put him in a less positive light. What if he’s decided to get rid of me? My eyes shot around at the barren walls that were the color of old coffee. Could this be the last place I’d ever see?
Holy shit, stop being so morbid! I told myself with disgust.
He’d gone into the bathroom; I heard him fiddling with the lights and the showerhead, and then he came back toward me. He sat on the mattress, the springs squeaking like he was as heavy as the incessant weight crushing down on my heart.
“Sometimes the cops use these places for drug stings,” he explained. “We don’t need anyone catching us chatting about a gunshot victim.” He spoke as if his mouth were full of warm syrup. I wanted to roll around in it like a sugar glutton.
I cleared my throat. “Okay, good to know.” After I’d been quiet for so long, my voice sounded strange to me. “Are you going to tell me what Thorne didn’t want me to hear?”
Costello bent his head nearer, getting a better angle to . . . smell me, or something. But that was a crazy idea. Even when he breathed in loud enough for me to hear it, I knew I was imagining things. “How do you feel about Vermont?”
An awkward snort escaped me—I hadn’t been expecting such a weird question. “Come again?”
“We’re going to head there in the morning.”
“Are you being obtuse on purpose? Why the hell are we going to Vermont?”
His gaze rolled from my eyes to my collarbone. The jacket had fallen open; the zipper could do only so much, it was huge on me. “Someone saw you go into the champagne room at the club.”
My ribs became too tiny for my lungs. “I—someone saw me? Who?”
“Doesn’t matter who. What matters is that we get you out of the city until Darien wakes up and calls off the dogs.”
It sounded good . . . but really, this man could make anything sound good when he spoke just above a whisper. “But why Vermont?”
“There’s a wedding I need to attend. If I bring a date . . .” He trailed off, bouncing his dark eyes from my cleavage to my face. I was sure I was making a very stupid expression; he’d just told me I was supposed to be his date. Tightening his jaw, he turned away, pretending to see out the blinds covering the window. “It won’t look suspicious. You’ll be safe.”
I’d stopped listening when I noticed the cherry-red color of his earlobes. “I’m such an idiot,” I scoffed. “I can’t believe I let you stay outside without giving you your jacket back!” I was very familiar with winter chills. “My nose looks like Rudolph’s after a mere minute of exposure.”
“It’s fine,” he said, and if he’d had more planned, it ended on the tip of his tongue. Without thinking it through I’d lifted my hand up to feel his nearest earlobe. I’d done it partially out of compassion . . . but mostly because of stupid curiosity.
His skin was silky—a hard man like him should not have felt so soft. But he did. And now I knew that intoxicating fact. A very silly “Oh” tumbled out of my open mouth. I yanked my hand back and buried it in my lap like it had a mind of its own and might jump on him again. “S-sorry, uh, that was weird and I know it was weird and . . . and . . . I’m going to go use the restroom!” After tumbling sideways and nearly landing on my ass, I sprinted the short distance into the only privacy-offering space in the motel room. Once I was inside, I twisted the tiny lock and fell back onto the toilet seat cover.
Holy. Fuck.
Pushing my hair off my forehead, I caught a glimpse of myself in the worn-out mirror. I was red and shiny, like someone who’d done something very, very wrong. Why is he getting me so worked up? I asked myself in frustration.
Mirror-Me looked back in disbelief.
“Okay,” I whispered with a tiny laugh. “You’re right, he’s smoldering and sexy and I’ve got a thing about guys with badass written all over them.”
Gina had warned me about this several times. I don’t know why she got to judge me, though; she’d fallen for a few “rough” dudes in her time, to put it mildly.
I heard the mattress rustle outside the door. My heart jolted, but it was my cell phone in my skirt pocket that tore my insides in two. “Son of a!” I gasped, looking at the buzzing screen.
Gina: Are you okay?
Her text filled me with joy. I hunched on the toilet, and my thumbs were a blur.
Me: Sort of! But who cares! Are YOU okay??
Her message came fast.
Gina: I think I’m going to sue that damn club.
That made me grin. Her next text wiped the grin away.
Gina: Where are you?
Glancing at the door, I pictured Costello on the other side. Was he waiting for me? I typed a quick message back: A motel.
Gina: Um. With who?
I stared up at the ceiling and bit the inside of my cheek.
Me: Costello.
Instantly my phone blew up with tons of What? WHAT? WTF? and other such things. I watched her fill my screen, and when she finally stopped, I hesitated with a response. Before I could type, she was at it again.
Gina: So I didn’t dream all that. Scotch, just because he saved you doesn’t mean you had to sleep with him.
Blushing furiously, I came close to throwing my phone in the tub. A gentle rap on the door startled me. Costello asked, “Are you okay in there?”
“I’m fine!” I shot back. “Just . . . cleaning up for bed.” Oh, good, just make it clear you’re assuming you’re spending the night here with him.
He went silent. When I was sure he was gone, I typed into my phone.
Me: I didn’t sleep with him! Nothing happened!
Gina: Okay, well, if you do, tell me how he is. I want all the details. As in get a tuning fork and tell me how his moans vibrate. Quiet types make me wonder.
I crushed the device in my palm and breathed out. The thing is, I was wondering, too. Giving the door a sidelong look, I moved my thumbs.
Me: Are you really okay? You looked so roughed up.
Gina: Doctor says I’m fine and I feel fine. They gave me a ton of drugs . . . I don’t think this place is legal, to put it nicely.
Me: Is Darien there, too?
Gina: Not sure. Haven’t seen anyone I know but Thorne. Gave him a piece of my mind—said I’d sue him, don’t think he believed me. Asshole, as if this isn’t partly his fault for letting that dick in the club . . . I doubt I need to say it, but thanks for helping out. I’m not sure I’d be as pretty as a corpse.
She sent a little heart. My belly was flipping too much to let her take the seriousness out of her message with emoji.
Me: I shouldn’t have let you go off with him.
Gina: Please. Like you could have stopped me. Besides, I’m fine. You’ve always been my guardian angel.
She’d call
ed me that before, back when I could pretend the club was just a phase in Gina’s life.
She’d had a lot of regulars when she began. The customers loved her energy, the way she seemed to love her job. But one of them turned out to be unhinged. One night he’d cornered her in the parking lot, demanding she see him outside of work. I’d spotted him trying to pull her into his car—and I’d jumped into action.
Luckily, the guy was a coward. With me and Gina both shouting at him, he’d given up and driven off. I could still recall the way my heart had pounded . . . how I’d been convinced that this was it, Gina would see the light and quit the club. We’d both get our lives back on track.
Sitting in her car as we recovered, I’d asked her if she was okay. “Of course,” she’d laughed. “I have to be. That guy won’t be the worst person I meet here.”
“Gina, if you quit dancing, you won’t have to meet men like that at all.”
She’d smiled at me. “Why would I quit? I get to be onstage, people treat me like a star, and I get to spend time with you. You’re my best friend, my guardian angel. What more could I want than this?”
Remembering that night, I shivered in the present and clutched the phone. Gina was the sister I’d never had. She’d struggled with a rough home, and my mother and father and I had welcomed her into ours anytime she needed it. I couldn’t count all the nights she’d slept over. We weren’t blood, but we were as good as you could get otherwise.
Gina had been through enough pain in her life. I’d promised myself I’d never let her be hurt again. But she did get hurt, I reminded myself. I let it happen. And now we were both in danger.
Me: Listen, you need to stay low and not tell anyone about tonight.
Gina: As if I would. I’m not that stupid.
Me: I’m going to have to vanish for a little while, too. It looks bad for me. Real bad.
Gina: You’ll come out of this sparkling.
That made me swell up with more memories. When we were in the fifth grade, Gina and I had to do a project on the solar system. We’d spent all night on it, thinking we were super clever for making the planets out of day-old doughnuts my mom had left over from the bakery.