Jackson Stiles, Road to Redemption

by Jo Richardson

  Unwilling to let her get inside my head again, I look back at Jimmy. “You got anything else to say, genius?”

  He shakes his head, trying not to smile. So I pull out onto the street.

  Truth is, though, if it wasn’t me they were laughing at, I’d probably be chiming in myself. It’s difficult to hide the amusement. I think Green notices the grin that spreads across my lips, but when I look over at her, she’s quick to turn and focus on what’s outside the window.

  I fight the urge to push the stray hair tangled around her ear out of the way. No sense in sending out the wrong signal.

  Right?

  Besides, I need to get her home.

  “Gonna need an address if you don’t want the boy-toy sending the troops out after you, Green.”

  She lets out a sigh as if she’s actually sad our little adventure is over. Then she nods and gives me the address.

  I recognize the part of town but I figure I better not pass judgement just yet. Maybe she’s on the outskirts.

  “I’m Stix, by the way.” The kids puts a hand out to her, and she takes it with a genuine smile.

  “Emma.”

  X X X

  “Nice place. You must be living the dream over at The Chronicle,” I tease her when we pull up to one of the swankiest apartment complexes in all of Redemption. I’m really only half teasing, though. I kinda wanna know how she can afford this place.

  Tabloids don’t pay that much.

  “Not as much as you’d think,” she mumbles as she gathers her things. “It’s Connor’s place.”

  “Connor?” She’s dating a guy named Connor?

  Green eyeballs me in a way that practically begs me not to give her any more shit about him tonight. For some reason, I’m inclined to give her a break.

  “We’ll get your car back,” I promise her.

  “Before or after they vandalize it?” She’s only semi-serious.

  “Before.” Hopefully.

  Green nods and gives me one of her cards. “My cell is on there. Call me when I need to get my battle gear ready.”

  I stifle a laugh. “Will do.”

  She leaves me sitting there, and instead of pulling away right off the bat, I watch her go. I’m not exactly sure what the fuck to think of the woman any more.

  Why is she so interested in this case? And how in the hell did she have the balls to pull a gun on Flint’s guy like that?

  When she gets to the front door of the building, she turns unexpectedly and catches me watching her. I feel her gaze from here and find myself wondering if the blush in her cheeks is back.

  I smile at the thought of it.

  She’s quick to break the connection between us, but instead of making a smooth getaway, she runs smack into the revolving door.

  The sides of my mouth tug into a much wider grin, and a chuckle escapes me. As much as I’d like to stay and see what else she can physically harm herself with, I throw the Chevelle into gear and take the lingering speculation of the mystery that is Emma Green with me.

  DON’T DO ME ANY FAVORS

  JIMMY STANDS at the counter inside my favorite sub shop. While he tries to make up his mind what the fuck kind of sandwich he’s in the mood for, I take a step back and give Green a call.

  It’s not that I want to. I have to.

  Something she said earlier has been nagging at the back of my brain.

  “Hey, can I get chips too?” I nod and wave off the kid. Why do I give a shit if he gets chips?

  “Emma Green.” She’s answers all bubbly like and whatnot. Like she wasn’t just almost killed by Redemption’s most notorious and unforgiving drug lord.

  “Green. It’s Stiles.”

  “Oh, good, now I can put you into my contacts. What’s up?”

  Awesome. I’m a contact now. That’s exactly what I need.

  “Hey, that interesting tidbit of info you got from Thomas’s guy earlier?”

  “Yeah?” Coy.

  “What was it about?”

  Hesitation, check.

  “Why should I tell you?”

  Flirtatious banter, check.

  Misguided assumption that she’s got one over on me, check.

  Clearly, she doesn’t know me well enough to know how much I enjoy the hell out of a challenge.

  Jimmy gets his food. I slide up next to him and give the cashier my card for our lunches. He points to the cookies in the glass case next to us.

  Why not? “Can we get a couple of those?” I ask the cashier. He wants to know which ones, so I nod to the kid, and he tells him what he wants.

  “Can we get a couple of what?” Green asks from the other end of the line, confused.

  “Not you. Listen, I was thinking.”

  “Might want to be careful how much you do that, Stiles.” She snorts and I shake my head at how she just laughed at her own damn joke. Amateur.

  “Anyway…”

  “I’m not sharing my intel with you.”

  “Why’s that?” I haven't even asked the fucking question yet.

  “Because you don’t think I can handle writing this article. But I’m going to prove to you, and everyone else in this God-forsaken town, that I can write a real story.”

  See? Even she can admit she’s been blowing smoke up this city’s ass.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Green.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Really. See, I know you can handle writing the fucking article.” Unfortunately. “What I don’t think you can handle is dealing with drug dealers who’ve killed a lot of people for a lot less than writing something up on them in a tabloid.”

  “Ha!”

  “That’s funny?”

  She’s quiet for a minute. Not good. Jimmy points to the large drink cup. I nod again.

  “Okay,” Green says finally. “I’ll tell you what my informant said, and you give me some details on Donnie Leary’s death.”

  Not happening.

  Must divert.

  “Informant, Green? Really? That guy was hardly an informant. He was barely a human being.” More like a primate on steroids.

  “Do we have a deal or not?”

  Should have known she was more of a tunnel vision kinda gal.

  “How about you tell me what you found out, and I give you some pointers on how to steer clear of Thomas’s crew in the future?” That’s fair. Right?

  “Goodbye, Stiles.”

  “Wait!”

  Shit. I jumped the gun.

  I can’t tell her what I know about Donnie. If I do, she’ll run the story. If she runs the story, she’s gonna exaggerate. Exaggerations will get her killed. More importantly, she’ll get me killed.

  And probably Jimmy.

  “I’m listening. But not for long.” I picture her standing there, doing her nails or fucking putting lipstick on or something, thinking she’s got this in the bag. But I still have an ace up my sleeve.

  “You still need your car back, right?”

  “I’ll get it myself.”

  She is so fucking stubborn.

  But so am I.

  “Okay then.”

  Silence grips the conversation.

  “Dammit,” she breathes from the other end. And I grin.

  Gotcha.

  “I’ll pick you up in a couple hours.”

  X X X

  Starving, apparently, Jimmy’s halfway through his sandwich by the time I’m off the phone with Green. I enter turkey and pickles heaven when I bite into mine. Partly because I just got a leg up on the smart ass of the year. Mostly because of the double meat they packed into my order.

  This day is turning around, and hopefully, whatever Green’s got in the form of information can help me in my investigation into Donnie’s death. If not, I’m risking my life to go get a car that’s most likely about two to five years past its life expectancy.

  Truth is, I have no idea if her car is still gonna be in one piece or not. For all I know, they’ve stripped it and sold the parts by now, but then
again, where’s he gonna sell Honda parts?

  “Thanks for lunch, man.” Jimmy’s mouth is stuffed with meatballs and cheese. I gotta laugh at the kid. He’s like one of those depraved, abandoned dogs you see running around the homeless parts of town.

  A lot like one of those dogs, actually.

  “You know you’re a…” A slow moving cruiser passes the food joint, and I watch it closely to make sure it’s not gonna come to a complete stop. If so, we’re outta here.

  “What?” he asks, taking another bite out of his sandwich.

  “Huh?” I try to blow it off.

  “You said I’m a… and then zoned out. What’s up?” The kid turns to see what I’m ogling. I don’t want him bolting on me because of a highly suspicious-looking cop.

  “Nothing. You gonna eat or what?” He faces me again to make sure I’m not stealing his grub and that’s that. Except for the fact that I have a funny fucking feeling about that cruiser.

  It’s difficult to see in through the tinted windows of the sub shop, though. Especially when it’s sunny out. I’m probably overreacting.

  Hell, even I know I’m full of shit on that one.

  I need to get the kid somewhere safe. Not that I have a whole lot of options. My circle of trust includes questionable suspects from over a dozen cases I’ve been involved in.

  Relax, I’m kidding. I have no circle of trust.

  Tricky was kind of my only choice, and with that opportunity being snuffed out like a cigarette under a church pew, I’m kinda screwed.

  Speaking of which.

  I pull the long, tobacco-filled paper out of my shirt pocket and set it down beside my food.

  “You can’t smoke that in here, Jackson.” One of the employees, Linda, tells me from behind the counter. Like I didn’t know that shit. I give her a friendly nod anyway. I don’t need to piss these people off. There aren’t many establishments that give me free double meat these days.

  Truth be told, I wasn’t gonna smoke it anyway.

  I just need to see it. So I can deny it the satisfaction of owning my ass.

  “Listen, I was thinking, kid.”

  “Yeah.” He shoves a handful of chips into his mouth.

  “You should probably stay at my place.”

  “Really?” His expression lightens about fifty fold.

  “For a few days. ’Til we can figure out the sitch.” I don’t want him to get all fucking giddy about it.

  Too late for that, though.

  “Dude, this is so awesome. I won’t be a pain, I swear, and that bathroom thing, don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.”

  The what?

  “What bathroom thing?” I dare to ask, and when he starts to explain, I stop him. “Never mind, I don’t wanna know.”

  He laughs, and I go back to eating my sub while scanning the street to make sure that cruiser didn’t double back.

  It’d be nice to take the next half hour or so to think some things through before I head off to Green’s apartment building. Unfortunately, my offer to let Stix have a place to sleep that doesn’t entail boxes or getting killed throws the kid into a rant that lasts roughly forty-five minutes.

  Once we’re done, I scope the streets one last time for any more marked or unmarked cars hanging around. I don’t see any, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t out there, and I don’t wanna think about whether or not they caught a glimpse of Stix. If they did, and the cops are part of some elaborate murder plot involving Donnie Leary, we’re screwed.

  X X X

  Back at my place, I pull the key off my ring and hand it to Jimmy. “You can sleep on the couch until we figure out a better deal for you.”

  He reaches for the key, and I snag it away. I need to lay down some ground rules before I leave him again.

  “Do not touch my fucking computer or anything in the seven-square-foot area that is my bedroom. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  He reaches for the key again.

  “And don’t fucking break any more of my locks.”

  “Okay.”

  “And I want a full report, in detail, on how you managed that fuckery.”

  He laughs. “Fine.”

  I hand him the key.

  “Where are you going anyway?”

  I breathe out heavily. “I gotta get Green’s car back for her.”

  The kid smiles.

  “What?”

  “Nothin’,” he insists before he bails out of the Chevelle. I watch him all the way to my door, making sure no one’s lurking around watching him. Or me.

  When I spot Lilah across the street, I realize I probably shouldn’t have waved to her earlier. This time, I don’t acknowledge that I see her. I simply drive off. She’ll get the hint, eventually. Hopefully. Poor kid needs a life.

  X X X

  Green’s waiting outside her apartment building when I arrive. Sorry, Connor’s building. What the fuck does this guy do for a living anyway? The Grand is one of Redemption’s most expensive places to live.

  When she slides into the car, I’m tempted to ask her how long she’s been seeing him. Then I remember, I don’t give a shit.

  “You’re late.” She slams the door—not too hard—just enough to send a message. She likes punctuality.

  “You’re welcome.” I send her my own message. As in, I’m doing this out of the kindness of my fucking heart.

  She gets comfortable. I divert my eyes from the way her legs rub up against each other and how her breasts rise and fall in a slow, seductive way with each breath she takes.

  I’m officially a hormone-induced teenager.

  “Like what you see, Stiles?”

  “What?”

  That’s what you call getting busted for fantasizing about taking off her clothes.

  My eyes snap to hers but I’m not embarrassed. She doesn’t seem to be either as she grins over at me. She wants it to come off like she’s screwing with me, I’m sure, but it’s not that fake shit she throws at my brother or the criminals she likes to hang out with. No. This one’s sincere. I can tell it’s different. It’s not forced, and is she blushing?

  “Trying to tempt me, Green?”

  She tilts her head and stares straight ahead.

  “Didn’t know that was even possible, Stiles. I was beginning to think you were a heartless terminator.”

  “Ouch.” I grab my chest. “That hurts.”

  I stop at the exit that leads out onto the highway and wait for some traffic to go by.

  “Sure it does,” she mumbles, annoyed probably, but she’s also smiling.

  “You’re in a good mood.” And no, I do not want to know why.

  “I’m always in a good mood.”

  “Bullshit. Nobody’s always in a good mood.”

  She reaches for the stereo, and I grab her hand before she can fuck with the stations.

  “Don’t touch my knobs, Green.”

  “I thought you wanted me to touch your knobs.”

  There’s a playful kind of tone to her voice. I’m surprised she’s going there, but hell, I’m game.

  With my foot on the brake and my hand still on hers, I turn and lean in toward her, close. So close I can smell the perfume she put on since the last time we saw each other. When I look her straight in those kill-me-now eyes, my chest tightens. The way she’s looking at me right now doesn’t exactly make me wanna tell her to fuck off.

  According to my dick, I’m actually having the exact opposite reaction.

  “Be careful what you wish for.”

  My voice is even. Calm. I’m not threatening her. I’m just letting her know. And when her mouth falls open, ever so slightly, she huffs out the tiniest bit of sexual frustration.

  Stiles: one. Green: zero.

  Truth is, I wouldn’t mind Green touching my knobs. But a) when I think about those hands, wrapped around my dick, I get distracted. Distractions are not acceptable this evening. B) it’s the after effects of said knob touching I’m not so keen on. ’Cause been there, done t
hat.

  It’s always the same. She wants me to call, I don’t. She starts harassing my ass. Next thing you know, I’ve got two stalkers.

  Still. Wouldn’t mind it. Just saying.

  X X X

  The car is dead quiet for a while once we’re on the highway, and I semi-regret not letting her touch my knobs. Could have been fun. I made the right call, though. I don’t get involved with women who are currently involved. Douchebag or not.

  The closer we get to Thomas’s turf the more fidgety Green gets. She’s nervous. Obviously. Probably having a bit of a flashback of guns and thugs and death and shit. So I distract her. I’m an excellent distractor.

  “You always wear tank tops in the middle of fucking winter, Green?”

  Shoot me. It’s still on my mind. I’m a guy; what do you expect?

  “It’s not winter yet, Stiles,” she tells me. “And what’s wrong with this top?” She adjusts and smooths it out.

  Jesus.

  “Nothing.” I clear my throat and pull off onto a side street. I don’t want anyone to see us coming.

  “It’s easier to move around in than a button-down.”

  She’s fucking badass, I gotta say. Dressing down in preparation for a fight. That’s smart thinking. I’m not telling her that, though.

  “The boy toy know you’re going into Flint’s territory tonight?”

  “The b…” She’s flustered but she reels it in. “Connor doesn’t need to know where I am at all hours of the day.”

  “Ha!” I point over at her.

  “What?”

  “You almost said the b-word.”

  “I did not.” She tucks some hair behind her ear.

  Ha, again! I point over at her with more vigor than before, triumphant.

  “Liar.”

  “What?”

  “That’s your tell. Right there.” Snap.

  Stiles: two. Green: zip.

  “What are you talking about?”

  I find a spot to park.

  “When you’re lying, you tuck your hair. You did it the other day when you were making that lame ass attempt at flirting with my brother, and I saw you doing it when you were talking to Thomas’s guy.”

  “I was not!” She tucks the same hair away.