by Jo Raven
But I’m already rushing in the direction of the park and gaining speed, loping across the parking lot, Josie by my side. “Show me where he is, Jos.”
“What are you gonna do?”
I don’t reply as we exit onto the street and jog up. I haven’t thought beyond reaching Raine, and that right there tells you in just how much trouble I’m in.
“You stay away, you hear me, Jos?” There’s a stitch in my side, and the cold wind feels good on my hot face as we race toward the park. “Show me the alley and scram.”
Because even if I’m fucked up in a thousand different ways, at least I’ll keep her safe tonight.
Somewhere in my mind, I guess I thought Josie was wrong. That she’s mistaken someone else for Raine, that she’d mistaken some guys for Simon’s thugs, and assumed things had gone wrong. Truth is, I’d kinda expected to find Raine strolling around the park, talking on his phone, maybe in the company of his brother or one of his friends.
Or not to find him at all, if he’d only been passing through.
But the sounds of a fight reach my ears as we run full out along the park and up a big street.
“There!” Josie stops and points at the dark mouth of an alley beside a shuttered pharmacy. “Jason—”
I slow down just enough to grab her arm and drag her to a stop. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
“But Jason—”
“Now, Jos.”
She shakes her head but stays put as I break again into a run. I know because I glance over my shoulder, and there she is, a small form, one side gilded by a street light, the other lost in darkness.
Like all of us.
A shout splits the air, and I stumble, recognizing Raine’s voice. Fuck, fuck! I still hadn’t expected to find him here. This is insane.
I careen into a dumpster as I take the corner into the alley, my heart banging about in my chest, and the crash doesn’t help.
But it does seem to put a halt to whatever is happening in the dimness.
I barely make out four or five guys, big and square like goddamn fridges, and the gleam of a knife catches my eye.
One of them has an arm over Raine’s throat, and pressing the blade against his side.
Motherfucking hell. Cold sweat breaks over my skin, and my breath stutters.
“Hi, guys.” I have to clear my voice, and inject it with false cheer. All those years of faking it are paying off. “The boss was wondering where you’d gone to. May I join the party?”
Raine struggles against the man’s hold, and fear turns my throat bone dry. A muffled yell reaches me and fuck, I hope the guy didn’t stab him.
Under their suspicious looks, I lift my hands. “You know me. I’m Jason Vega, I stay over at the Club sometimes.”
“Yeah, I know you.” A guy built like a shit brickhouse steps toward me, and it’s all I can do not to turn tail and run. “You’re the whore Simon likes to toy with.”
The guy also toyed with me a few times, and wasn’t it so much fucking fun, but I swallow down the words. “Right. Look, why don’t you let that guy go and we head back to the Club?”
“You little shit, what are you doing here?” The brickhouse advances on me and grabs my arm, his face like a storm cloud. “What game are you playing?”
I jerk my arm but almost dislocate my shoulder and don’t manage to break his hold. “Just passing by.”
“Bullshit.”
Hey, it was worth a try.
I prepare to kick at the guy’s knee and start working my way to Raine. I’ve got some street moves Adam taught me, for when the johns get too rough, or someone tries to mug me.
The guy turns to nod at the others, some sign or other—to finish Raine off? Or me?
Another muffled yell, and dammit, why doesn’t Raine shut the fuck up? If they’re focused on me, they’ll hopefully pay less attention to him, giving him a chance to escape.
No more time to waste. I kick at the guy’s knee, and it’s like kicking a lump of concrete. Fuck, I hope my toes aren’t broken.
He grunts and shakes me like a rag doll until my teeth rattle. “You piece of shit.”
I kick him again, and again, even as he’s shaking me, finally managing to land a good one at the side of his knee, and he curses, dropping me.
My ankle twists slightly, and my knees buckle so that I stumble, then fall, but I roll up again and take off toward Raine.
Motherfuckers. If they hurt him… I bowl into a guy who’s coming for me, throwing him off balance, and keep going. I lift my arm in a protective gesture when I catch the glint of another knife, and a burning sting tells me the blade caught me.
Raine. Where is he?
The guy with the knife comes at me again, and I glance around, searching. Raine is nowhere to be seen. He left?
Shit. Relief wars with anger and a deep-seated sadness, but it all fades in the face of imminent danger. I jump away from the blade-wielding guy, and fall against another who tries to grab me around the waist. I wiggle and elbow him in the gut, duck under the other’s arm, and stagger right before colliding with the one I’d kicked at before.
He grabs my arm and starts dragging me toward the deep end of the alley. Digging my heels in doesn’t seem to be making any difference.
Fucking joy.
“Jason!” Something hits the guy from behind, and we both stumble. His hold on my arm slackens and I free myself, then turn to see Raine. “Come on, let’s go!”
He didn’t leave me here.
The thought is all I manage before he grabs my hand and we start running, the other thugs after us.
He didn’t leave. He’s here. And he’s okay.
That’s all I need to know.
Chapter Nineteen
Raine
Running through the streets with the sting of cold wind on my face and fear riding at my heels feels too much like one of my nightmares, those where I’m trying to save Livvy, save myself, but can never stop the crash from happening, the impact, the pain, Livvy’s death.
I mean, what the fuck was that? I remember the press of the knife into my ribs and wonder if dear old dad only wanted to scare me or decided to get rid of me for good.
Then Jason’s hand tightens around mine, and my mind enters another loop as we run. He came for me? To save me? Or he just happened by? Those thugs knew him, and what was all that talk about a certain Simon and a club?
“Raine. Stop.” Jason pulls on my hand, his fingers slipping away from mine, and I turn to face him. “Shit.”
He bends over, hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath. A cut on his arm is seeping blood. It’s running down to his hand, a shiny red line that has my stomach roiling.
“You’re hurt,” I whisper. I’m so worried about him, I barely feel the burning pain in my side.
He shakes his head, staggers back. “I’m fine.”
“Your arm.”
“Jesus, listen.” He glances down at his arm, sighs. “Why did Simon’s men have you? What the hell, Raine? What’s their beef with you?”
“My dad set me up. And how the hell do you know them? They your buddies?” I shake my head. “Do you bend over for them, too?”
He flinches but doesn’t reply, which is a reply all by itself.
Christ. “Did they invite you in on the fun? Is that why you showed up right on time? I thought…” Fuck, I don’t know what I thought. “Who is Simon? What’s the Club?”
Jason is staring at me, his jaw working, his mouth pressed in a thin line. He doesn’t look like he’s about to answer.
Dammit.
“Why were you there?” I take a step toward him, and he lifts a hand, taking a step back. “Jason. Just answer this one question. How did you know?”
A street lamp is behind him, casting his face in shadow. “What’s the use? You’ve already made your mind up about me. I’m a scammer, a dirty whore, a junkie and a liar. Am I forgetting anything?”
He’s messing with my mind. Or maybe my mind’s messed up anyway. �
��I didn’t say that.”
“Oh fuck you, Raine Storm.”
He turns around and starts walking away, and I’m frozen in place, feeling cold all the way to the marrow of my bones.
Hell. I kick at a piece of trash and rub a hand over my face. I did accuse him of all those things. Was I wrong? The things he said to the thugs in the alley… and he did show up out of nowhere. I need the truth.
But maybe I was too harsh. He gets under my skin, that much is true, but that’s no excuse, especially for a guy who fought off those guys to save my ass.
“Jason!” I finally get moving, going after him, still unsure what to do or say. Should I apologize? “Jason!”
But the whistling wind is my only reply. He’s disappeared in the shadows of the small park. I keep looking, worried that the thugs will catch up with me—with him—but it’s all quiet apart from the random passing car.
He’s gone.
I keep seeing the blood running down his arm. Hearing his words, the slight crack in them I hadn’t paid much attention to. Fear. And sadness. Pain.
Pain that echoes through me. Shit, my side really burns. Bringing a hand up, under my jacket, I find blood soaking through my sweater, and remember the knife in the thug’s hand.
Fuck.
And still I’m not worried about myself. I’m more concerned about Jason.
What if he has a good explanation for everything? What if he has his reasons for not talking? He’s pissed with me, and scared.
I shove my scraped hands into my pockets, the sting in my knuckles joining the burning pain in my side, reminders of what went down in the alley, of Jason distracting the thugs, giving me a fighting chance, then joining the fight himself.
He fought them. They sure didn’t look like they were his buddies as he kicked and punched them. He got hurt trying to help me, and like always I was an ass to him.
Goddammit. What have I done?
Various more aches wake up all over my body as my muscles cool down. I trudge to where I left my truck, an itch between my shoulder blades. Nobody’s there whenever I turn around, though. Good, because I don’t think I can run anymore.
My truck is where I left it. No smashed windows. No flat tires. Nobody waiting to assault me.
Still, my hand shakes as I fish the key out of my pocket, unlock and climb inside. I rev up the engine and drive away from the curb, my movements jerky and uncoordinated.
My hand’s covered in blood from where I pressed it to the cut in my side.
It finally hits me as I make my slow way through town, my teeth chattering with cold and reaction, that my father had me beaten. Roughed up to ensure I’ll comply with his demands. Maybe he thought to kidnap me and extort money from Ocean.
Fuck. I can’t keep this to myself. I could be putting my brother, his family and our friends in danger. Dad is more dangerous than I’d ever imagined. How is it possible that he has thugs at his disposal, like a mafia overlord?
And who’s this Simon guy that Jason mentioned? What’s the Club? I have names, and faces.
Now all I need is answers. Always the hardest part.
My own father. I grip the wheel until my knuckles turn white. How fucked-up is that? Extorting me is one thing, but trying to kill me and threatening all the people I love… Jesus. And here I was thinking I had a grip on the situation. Just goes to show how out of my depth I am in this.
I’m shaking, the adrenaline seeping out of my system, the confusion over Jason’s role in all this making me feel even colder as I drive on home. Why was he there? How did he know those thugs?
Why did he put himself in danger to help me?
Once I inside the apartment, I deadbolt the door and jump into the shower to warm up and wash the grime and blood off me. I wince as the hot water hits various sore spots. The cut in my side is shallow, bleeding sluggishly, turning the water swirling down the drain into rust.
It reminds me of the cut on Jason’s arm.
My throat is bruised—and it reminds me of Jason, too. His throat had been bruised, too, a few times. My ribs are mottled, my arms have rings of dark fingerprints where I was manhandled.
Like Jason regularly is.
Jason, Jason… I slam my fist into the tiles, bow my head. He said he enjoys it. But is it true? Is that really what he said? Was he taunting me? What is true, and what is a lie?
This is driving me up the wall—knowing he’s out there, bleeding and probably more bruised than I am, in the cold, thinking I don’t give a damn about him.
I step out of the shower, throw on some old jeans, and shoot a text to Ocean, letting him know we need to talk. Tomorrow.
And I head back out.
Of course Jason is nowhere to be found. What did I expect, that things would be easy for a change? That I decide to fix what I did wrong and things would go my way?
Nah.
I cruise the streets for hours in the rain, up and down through town, before I give up and return home. Memories of Jason won’t let me rest—in the alley, at my feet, his dark eyes watching me.
I find my bottle of Jack and take it to bed with me.
And I wake up with a shout dying on my lips, my throat raw, my body stiff and drenched in cold sweat. Livvy. Oh fuck, that nightmare again, with Livvy—
No, it was Jason. In my dream, it was Jason in the car with me, covered in blood. Dead. And it was all my fault.
Livvy had been there, too. I grasp at the fading images from the dream. She was standing outside, on the street, staring at me, dressed in the yellow shorts and flowery blouse she’d had on that day.
Waving, and smiling.
I hunch over, feeling sick. What the fuck, mind? Is this some sick joke? And it’s almost time…
Ah fuck. I grab my phone, check the date. Yeah. The anniversary of her death is coming up.
Bile rises in my throat, and I don’t know if it was my drinking binge last night, the worry, or the memory, the real one, of the accident. Not this fake, distorted one that has Jason in the seat beside me.
Dead because of me, like Livvy is. Fuck, no. I shove my hands into my hair and fight the urge to go rock in a corner. Or throw up. In fact…
Bile rises in my throat, and I scramble out of bed. I stumble into the bathroom just in time to hug the toilet and empty my stomach.
Fucking dream.
I slide down until my back hits the wall and I try to catch my breath. My throat burns with acid.
Times like this, with my defenses down, the bad memories hit me hard. The trailer park, the hunger, the cold, the misery. Mom who never even looked at me. Dad who was never there except to beat the shit out of me and Ocean. The sadness and dejection. The teasing of the other kids about our filthy, ratty clothes and lack of shoes.
The anger. Is that where it’s coming from? Is it the flip side of sorrow?
My cell phone is ringing, and I make myself get up and rinse my mouth, then splash cold water on my face until I’m shivering.
Mostly awake, the dream shoved as deep in my mind as it can possibly go, I trudge back to my bedroom and pick up my phone from the nightstand.
“R, hey.”
My brother. Figures, after the disjointed message I sent him last night. “Hey, Shun.”
“Oh, man, did I wake you up?”
Guess my voice is more of a croak this morning. Puking can’t have helped. “Nah, I was awake.”
“That text you sent me…”
I sink down on the bed and rub at the ache spiking behind my eyes. “Yeah, about that. We need to talk.”
“About a Simon? That a friend of yours?”
Fuck, what did I write in that text? Granted, I was drunk by then, but still. “We should talk about Simon, yeah. We also need to talk about our parents.”
“Our parents.” His voice drops an octave. “What about them?”
“Thing is, Dad contacted me, and he wants—”
“The hell you say? When?”
Shit. “A couple of weeks ago. He—”
“Jesus Christ, R. When were you gonna tell me about it? What did he say? Don’t let that guy come near you.”
Um, too late. “I met him last night. He wanted—”
“You met him? Where? Why?”
“Fucking shit, Shun, can I finish one fucking sentence?”
Hell.
We’re both breathing hard by now, and the headache is pounding against the inside of my skull like a sledgehammer.
“Fine,” he says, voice clipped. “Talk.”
Looks like I managed to piss off all the men in my life, from dad to Ocean to Jason—and no idea why it should matter now, or why I put these men side by side in my thoughts, as if they have anything in common.
Dad is a fucking bastard.
Ocean is my caring, good older brother.
And Jason… I don’t know where I stand with him. From the start, he was a wild card, and now, after everything that’s gone down, the picture is even murkier than before.
I need to talk to Jesse Lee. He’s known the guy for a long time. But Jesse Lee is in Chicago this week, Micah with him, meeting up with Soul Stain and preparing the upcoming event.