Unfiltered & Unlawful (The Unfiltered Series)

by Galvin, Payge

  We stood in a tight embrace for another minute.

  “I was terrified that they’d found out where I was staying and come here too. He said he was alone, but I don’t know if he was lying.” Adam let go of me then. “We need to pack and get gone. Leave the groceries.”

  “How long?”

  “I’m going to hook up the bike trailer, load the Harley, and grab the things we stored in the garage. When that’s done, we’re on the move.”

  It didn’t take long to gather up the bits of things I’d left scattered around the house. Aside from a shirt still draped over the arm of the sofa, I’d put everything away already. I scooped everything out the drawers, dumped it into suitcases, and did a quick check under the bed and throughout the three rooms of the house.

  Glancing down, I realized that my clothes were entangled with some of Adam’s things in my suitcases, and despite everything, that made me smile. I started to carry all of the bags to the side of the truck.

  “We didn’t have a lot of things to pack. I gathered all of our clothes—clean and dirty—and our toiletries.”

  “Almost ready,” he said.

  Since Adam was still packing the Explorer, I snatched up a few grocery bags and shoved what I could of the food into them too. I couldn’t stand around waiting and wringing my hands, and if we had time, I could salvage some of the food.

  By then, Adam was in the doorway. “We’re loaded.”

  “All that we’ve left is some of the stuff in the fridge,” I said. I held up the bag in my hand. “This and that one on the left can go in the cooler though.”

  “Leave the key on the table. Drunk Dave is going to tell them we left early.”

  A couple of minutes later, we’d tossed the few bags into the back, shoved the one with the ice packs and cold goods in the cooler, and were headed further west.

  “We’re good together,” Adam said.

  “I thought we figured that out about a week ago.”

  He flashed me a smile. “In a crisis we do well too. Teamwork or whatever.”

  “Figured that out in Rio Verde when we overturned Tommy’s place,” I pointed out. “And before that when I was trying to get clean.”

  “I like it.” He reached over and caught my hand in his. “Whatever we find out there, we can handle it together.”

  And that was something I’d never really felt before, the way he treated me like someone he could trust and talk to. My parents had always acted like I was the biggest disappointment in the world. I hadn’t talked to them in years. My friends were the casual sort, so there were no great secrets or adventures there. Tommy had alternated between deciding I was a possession and treating me like a child who would get into trouble without supervision. Only Adam had treated me like a partner.

  “I love you,” I told him. “I’m sorry I screwed up—”

  He cut me off, saying, “We both did.”

  ‡

  I finally got my nap as he drove, but I woke when we stopped along the I-5 somewhere a few hours later. The drive from Joshua Tree over to Los Angeles isn’t that long, and we thought about staying there. The city is huge, so losing ourselves there would be easy. It would also be expensive… and in L.A. A lot of people seemed to love it, but I wasn’t a fan of Southern California. It had the sun we had in the desert, but it had smog and noise and traffic. I hated all of those things.

  “You dozed through L.A.,” Adam said when we stopped. He shook his head. “It’s not that late in the day, Sash. How are you even tired?”

  I lifted both brows as I stared at him silently for a moment. “Are you seriously asking that? Did you miss the fact that we’ve been spending a lot of the night having sex—”

  “Making love,” he interjected.

  “Right, but whether you call it making love or having sex, we’ve been doing that, and I’ve worked the breakfast shift the past three days.”

  “I get up,” he said.

  “And then drive back to the house and crawl into bed to sleep,” I pointed out. “I nap when you work in the afternoon or evening, but today… no nap.”

  “You napped.”

  “I did,” I agreed, looking out at the chain coffee shop where he had stopped. “And I got to miss L.A. because of it. Win, win.”

  Adam shook his head. “It’s not an awful place.”

  “I’ve never been to the Pacific Northwest,” I reminded him.

  “Me either.”

  “So?”

  “We already passed L.A., Sash. Let me get some coffee and stretch, and then we’ll keep going.” He held out a hand to me, as if I needed help getting out of the Explorer. He did that a lot, chivalrous hand-taking and door opening. It was an oddly sweet gesture he’d made from time to time when we were going somewhere, and now that we were an “us,” he did it constantly.

  He was silent as we went inside and ordered, but he was smiling. That smile made everything in my life better. I’d already admitted to myself that I’d do a lot to keep getting those smiles from him, and luckily, he seemed to want to give them all to me.

  A little while later, we were on the road again. I didn’t know how far we’d drive tonight. I wasn’t even sure where we were going.

  “Do we have a plan?” I asked finally when we were somewhere near a little town called Coalinga. We’d left Joshua Tree about six hours ago, and although I knew California was a big state, it seemed crazy that we were still in it after that many hours of driving.

  “Follow the interstate until we decide to stop,” Adam said with a shrug.

  “In Oregon or Washington?” I asked.

  “Unless you want to keep going up into Canada. Vancouver’s supposed to be amazing.”

  I laughed and pointed out, “So are Portland and Seattle. Do you have any preference?”

  “Not yet.” He reached over and took my hand in his. “Wherever you’re safe and in my arms sounds perfect to me. We can pick which city once we’re there.”

  I squeezed his hand. “That works for me.”

  “I have almost everything I’ve made the past six years saved up. Once we’re sure we’re clear all of the trouble back in Rio Verde, I was thinking of opening up a shop of my own, settling down somewhere,” he said in a voice that was lighter than his words. “For now though, we could just travel. You said you wanted to do that.”

  “I love you,” I said.

  He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “I love you too, Sash.”

  “So can we stop at a hotel for the night, get a room for you, me, and the Harley?” I said, remembering what he’d told me last month about keeping his bike in the house with us.

  He grinned. “Definitely.”

  All I’d wanted was a good man, a little house, and some travel. In the past few weeks, I’d found two of them, and once we were able to settle down somewhere, I knew I could have the third one. Everything might have started with ugliness, but it had changed.

  In the beginning was death and drugs, but in the end was love and adventure.

  —◊—

  A Note From Payge:

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for reading Unfiltered & Unlawful! I hope you love what you’ve seen so far. There’s so much more to come! Next is Unfiltered & Unknown on February 14, 2014 followed quickly by Unfiltered & Unsaved on March 14, 2014.

  Already in love with UNFILTERED? Drop by our website and sign up for our newsletter to keep up on all things Rio Verde. We promise not to spam you, but there just might be some sneak peeks and bonus content!

  If you swooned for this book, the best way to help us keep our series alive is to review it. Anywhere! Even a few words are so appreciated! It makes a bigger difference than you think.

  Lastly, with so many co-authors, there’s always something fun to read online! Please go to our website, www.UnfilteredBooks.com, to find our Twitter handles, Tumblrs, and personal websites.

  Thanks Again!

  Payge

  —◊—

&nbs
p; Keep reading for a preview of Unfiltered & Unknown by Payge Galvin & Lynne Jaymes, the second installment of the UNFILTERED series. For more on the Unfiltered Books, the rest of the series authors, or on Payge Galvin and Ronnie Douglas, please visit us online:

  www.UnfilteredBooks.com | RonnieDouglas.com | Twitter: @PaygeGalvin, @RonnieDouglas.

  A SNEAK PEEK OF

  UNFILTERED & UNKNOWN

  Book Two of

  the Unfiltered Series

  ~ Payge Galvin & Lynne Jaymes ~

  COMING FEBRUARY 14, 2014

  —◊—

  From the back cover of UNFILTERED & UNKNOWN

  After a night-shift shooting of a drug dealer in The Coffee Cave, twelve strangers each walk out with more than $100,000 in dirty money, a pact never to meet again, and the chance to start over…

  Dillon Varga has always craved the spotlight. Now, with his newfound riches, he jumps at the chance to leave his troubled past behind and take a shot at his future. With his best friend Savanah Miller by his side, Dillon hits the neon lights of Las Vegas for a chance at a spot on the hit TV show American Voice. As they both move up in the singing competition, feelings surface between them that make both singers wonder if there might be more to life than just fame and fortune.

  Together they'll have to dodge the perils of celebrity judges, sexy competitors, and the truth about the past to find the one thing they desire most— each other.

  —◊—

  Dillon

  I blink at the clock beside my bed as the numbers come into focus. Nine-thirty. I have a little more than fourteen hours until the bus pulls away from the station, and I need to be on it. Kicking the covers away, I flop down on the end of the bed and reach over to open the zipper on the duffle bag. It’s still a thrill to pull the metal tab and see the stacks and stacks of bills that fill the canvas interior. There’s a certain smell that comes from that much cash, a thick, inky smell that’s found nowhere else in nature. One hundred and ten thousand dollars, minus the six hundred that I put into my wallet already. I’m sure that nobody in my entire family has ever seen this much money at one time, and I involuntarily wonder what Dad would say if he could see me now.

  I don’t like where those thoughts lead, so I zip the bag back up and pull myself off the bed, grabbing some sweats from the floor on my way to the kitchen across the room. Lifting the glass pot from the coffee maker, I go through the ritual of filling it with water and measuring the coffee into the filter. This is the one time I wouldn’t mind living with someone else—it would be magic to have coffee ready and waiting when I got out of bed in the morning. Of course, now I can afford to get one of those fancy coffee makers with a timer on it—maybe I’ll buy one when I get a new place.

  While the water hisses and drips into the heating pot, I turn and survey my surroundings. The guys in the band give me shit for living in such a small space, but I can stand in one spot and see everything I own, and that’s exactly the way I like it. As I scan the room I realize that there really isn’t much I want to take with me. The acoustic Martin guitar of course—leaving that behind would be like dropping a limb—some clothes, my phone, and the money. That’s basically it. I don’t own any childhood photos or memorabilia, and if I did, I’d probably leave them behind anyway. This is my chance for a clean break, the start to everything I’ve always wanted to do, the chance to become the person I’ve always wanted to be. I don’t want anything dragging me back.

  The smell of coffee surrounds me in the small space, so I fill my oversized mug and take it into the bathroom with me, sipping the scalding black coffee as I shed my sweats and step into the shower.

  I wash my hair, the suds dripping down and stinging the tender skin on my forearm. The letters Adam tattooed there last night are a little less raised now, and I run my hand over the words. First there was sex, and then came death.

  What a crazy fucking night that was. It started as a regular Saturday, me picking up some coin singing at The Cave, a few stragglers in the café either working off their future hangovers or lurking around with nowhere else to go. Then that guy walked in and changed everything when he pulled Sugar over the counter and nailed her right in the face with his meaty fist. At first I didn’t even know who shot him in the confusion that followed, but I helped with the rest of it—cleaning up and disposing the body, giving Sugar the coke the guy had stashed in the trunk of his car and taking my share of the money. We were all in on it, and now we all have something to lose.

  But the money’s going to give me more than it’s going to take away. I don’t owe this town anything anymore, so never coming back here isn’t that much of a loss. I’m going to miss the guys, but the band hasn’t been doing much lately, having exhausted the campus circuit and the frat parties. It’s time to go out on my own.

  I’ve had the American Voice audition info bookmarked on my phone for years, watching as they travelled all over the country, never having the money or the means get there myself. Until now. This year, American Voice is filming in Vegas – 265 miles and 8 hours away on the Greyhound Bus. And this year, I’m taking my shot, packing up what little I have left and throwing it all out there. This time tomorrow, I’ll be standing on the strip watching the tourists throw down their money at the tables and getting ready for the biggest break of my life. My only job is to not fuck it up.

  The water’s growing lukewarm, so I shut off the shower and step out into the bathroom to the sound of my phone ringing. Still dripping, I fumble through the clothes on the floor and find it in the back pocket of my jeans. I know who it’s going to be even before I turn it over and I also know that I’m not going to answer it. There’s no point in explaining to Mr. Renfrow why I’m not coming in today. Why I’m not coming back any day. Training to be an electrician seemed like a good idea when I was a high school senior, but six years and four very large electrical shocks later, I’m over it. The money’s okay, and I feel a little guilty just bailing on him like this, but if I’m ever going to make a break for it, it’s got to be today.

  An hour later, I have all of my worldly belongings packed into a large backpack and the duffle bag, splitting the money between the two bags, with a few of the bundles tucked up into my guitar case for safe keeping. There are a few wire hangers still in the closet, three of them holding the hated khaki Renfrow Electrical shirts with my name embroidered over the left pocket. I don’t take any of the kitchen crap or the stuff in a lot of the drawers. My records and the ancient record player I inherited from my uncle are already at the studio, locked in the storage closet. The rent on the apartment’s paid until the end of the month, and I figure it’ll be another couple of weeks before the landlord figures out I’m gone. I’m not leaving myself any outs though—no job to come back to, no apartment in a rent-controlled stucco building. Having an out means that you don’t really believe you can make it, and I can’t afford to think that way.

  I set the two bags by the door—everything I own in the world in a size I can carry. I only have one last thing I need to do. Savannah usually works on Sundays, so I run a comb through my hair and grab the Gibson case. Triple-checking the deadbolt, I close the door behind me on over $100k and all of my worldly possessions.

  Aunt Mike’s is hopping at two o’clock on a Sunday afternoon because most college students don’t get around to breakfast until at least one o’clock on a Sunday afternoon. There’s a crowd near the patio entrance and a line leading out the door and halfway down the block.

  “Hey Dillon,” Alicia says as I approach, turning to give me a megawatt smile. Alicia’s always been more than nice to me, but I’ve never done anything about it because she’s too close to Savannah, and Savannah would kill me.

  “Hey,” I say, squeezing myself in past the throngs of sweaty, cargo-short wearing students.

  “Savannah’s working,” she says, not even waiting for my question. “But we’re awfully busy. She has a break in about ten minutes—want me to tell her to meet you out back?”

 
“Yeah. Thanks.”

  It’s way too tough to push my way through the restaurant with a guitar on my back, so I walk around the bright yellow building to the alley that faces the tall adobe wall that separates the strip mall from the desert. There isn’t much shade out here, but the sun feels nice on my face as I lean against the wall.

  I’m starting to get antsy when the back screen door screeches open and Savannah walks out into the sunlight. Even in an Aunt Mike’s t-shirt and dirty black apron, Savannah is so pretty. I remember the first time I saw her singing on stage at The Hub at ASU Rio Verde. Some kind of open mic night, which is really just glorified karaoke, and out of all of the other people who got up there that night, Savannah killed it. I even remember what she was wearing—a blue and white striped sweater and a worn jean jacket that was covered by her long, wavy brown hair as she leaned over her guitar. Her voice isn’t maybe as strong as some of the divas who can belt out a ballad so loud that the nosebleed seats feel like they’re right there on stage, but it has a clarity and a purity that I haven’t heard before or since. Such a shame to see her waste it here, taking orders for eggs and bacon. I wanted Savannah bad that night, and many nights since then, but she’s made it perfectly clear that I’m not her type, and I’ve been put squarely in the friend-zone since that first night. After all this time, I’m not exactly sure what her type is, but at least I got her to sit in with the band a few times.

  Savannah walks over and gives me a quick hug before sliding down the wall to sit on the dusty asphalt, her black Docs peeking out from her green khaki pants. Nobody in the history of the world does casual as sexy as she can. “God, I hate weekends,” she says, a strand of hair escaping from the loose knot on top of her head and trailing across her face. I want to reach out and touch it, tuck it behind her ear and run one finger down her cheek. But I don’t. Because that would wreck the carefully cultivated friendship it’s taken all this time to cement.