by Jo Raven
“Love you, Mom,” I whisper. “I think this is for the best.”
One last look, and I let myself out into the cold, clear night.
***
I unlock Joel’s apartment with the extra key he gave me and drag my bag inside. It’s dark and quiet. Nobody’s home. Joel has practice until late on Fridays, and the elusive Jethro is just never there.
I don’t know where to put my stuff, so I just place the bag in a corner and go take a shower and change into clean clothes. Feeling more human, I grab my tablet from my bag and connect to the Wi-Fi to check my emails and Facebook. I find a friend request from Cassie, which I accept, then find the site of the runaway board and re-read the page about the training. I jot down the numbers, so I can call them—which reminds me I was supposed to call Kayla about the apartment.
I check the time. It’s not too late. Barely nine PM.
The girl who answers, identifying herself as Kayla, is friendly and nice. She says my room would be small but that the apartment is refurbished and has lots of light. The most important thing: my share of the rent is quite low and affordable with my salary.
Excited, I ask when we could meet, and she says tomorrow is fine. Yeah! We agree on early afternoon, and as soon as I disconnect, I jump to my feet and do a little victory dance.
Finally, finally I’m changing my life around. Away from my parents, away from Joel, I can make decisions about the future on my own, do the things that are important to me.
Be with the people that matter to me.
Micah. I realize he’s the one person I want to share my news with first, so I calm enough to call his new cell, let him know about this new development.
He doesn’t answer. Well, he’s still at work. Maybe he’s in the middle of a tattoo.
The doorbell, rings and I frown. The door has no peephole, so I shout, “Who is it?”
“Jethro,” a muffled voice says. “Forgot my keys.”
The infamous Jethro? Curious in spite of myself, I crack the door open—and it flies into my face, throwing me backward. I barely catch myself not to fall.
Blake stands at the door, grinning. “Gotcha,” he says.
Oh shit. I look around for a weapon, anything, and I see a heavy ashtray on the coffee table. I stumble over and lift it, weighing it in my hand.
“Don’t come closer,” I warn. I raise the ashtray.
He starts laughing. “Don’t be such a stupid bitch, little Evie. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Anger and fear clog my throat. “Then go.”
“Why? I just came in. Won’t you offer me a drink?” He steps closer and my grip on the ashtray tightens. “Won’t you offer me hospitality? Don’t I deserve it more than the bums you call your friends?”
“Shut up.” I want to smash his hated face in. “Leave, Blake. Now.”
“This isn’t your apartment, and Joel isn’t here to tell me to go, so…” He shrugs.
What a douchebag. “I’m not staying here to listen to your bullshit. I’m calling Joel. He’ll tell you to leave me alone.”
“Will he now? Joel thinks the best of me, and why shouldn’t he? I’m only looking out for you.”
“Looking out? You had Seth beaten up. He’s lucky he’s alive. Did you take part in it, or did you send your buddies to keep your own hands clean?”
He tsks. “Seth. Who cares about him? I warned you, baby. Told you to stay away from those streetbums. My buddy Alex lent me a hand, but honestly? I enjoyed kicking the shit out of Seth. I hope he pisses blood for days.”
I gasp, a chill going up my spine. I expected it, but hearing it from his lips, seeing his satisfied face in front of me, is terrifying.
“Just go,” I plead.
“I look out for you,” he mutters, stepping closer still. “I even asked Alex to keep tabs on you when you work from across the street.”
Shit. “I don’t need your help.”
“You need it. You just can’t stop hanging out with these bums. I gave that stupid motherfucker a hands-on warning to keep away from you. He won’t be bothering you again.”
I shake my head, confused. “Seth? You talking about Seth?”
“Seth is out of the picture already.” He snorts as if he said something funny. “You think I don’t watch you? I don’t see you with him? That blond dickbag you hang out with. You’re probably convinced he’s your boyfriend and that he’ll take care of you. Well, he won’t.”
I don’t want to understand what he’s saying. “You make no sense.”
“Micah. That’s his name, isn’t it? Pansy-ass name. Pansy-face. Dirty streetbum.”
“What’s Micah got to do with this? He’s not—”
“Homeless. But he was a few months ago. You looked after him, didn’t you? Called the ambulance for him when he was sick.”
Oh no. Oh God. The ashtray drops from my hand and hits the thick carpet with a dull thump. It was him? All those times I thought he reminded me of someone, all those times I heard him cough and thought of the young man I lost… that I thought I lost.
It was him. Why didn’t he tell me?
Why would he? People like to put the dark days of their lives behind them, not talk about them. And today he was trying to tell me something over coffee…
“Blake.” I try to make my voice strong. “You can’t hurt Micah.”
“Can’t I?” He winks.
I feel sick. “I didn’t remember him from before. I didn’t know, and he didn’t know he shouldn’t be talking to me, either. Blake—”
“No, enough. Shut your fucking mouth.” He’s suddenly pushing me back, and I fall into the sofa, my breath knocked out of me. “This is all your fault. Fuck knows I tried to stop you from wandering around the town and talking to trash. My girlfriend isn’t talking to low-lives and that’s that.”
“I’m not your girlfriend, and keep your hands off me.” Then the meaning of his words hits me like a punch to the chest. “Tried… Tried to stop me? What do you mean?”
He shrugs, his mouth twisting. “I followed you on my bike all those months ago. I thought I’d scare you so you’d stop. But you’re a clumsy little bitch, so you fell, and you broke your leg, and I thought, even better. More time for you to be away from the streets and stop obsessing about every single homeless person. But no, you don’t give up, do you? You just don’t give the fuck up!”
I’m gasping for breath, horror making me light-headed. He did this. He hit me with his bike, and as I lay there unconscious, my leg broken, he called 9-1-1 and played the role of the savior. He slept with me, kissed me and pretended to care. All that and now he’s leaning over me, gloating, cornering me.
I think I’m going to puke.
Instead, I scramble sideways to get away from him. He laughs again and catches me as I reach the end of the sofa.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, a hand gripping my wrist, leaving bruises.
“Take your fucking hands off her,” another male voice says from behind us, and I see Blake’s face go still.
He releases me, and I twist to look at Joel, who is standing at his bedroom door in his PJs, his hands curled into fists.
Oh thank God. “I thought you were out,” I breathe, a sob caught in my throat.
“I was asleep. Missed practice because I wasn’t feeling too hot. Then I heard the voices. And then I heard Blake here confess he was behind the so-called accident.” Joel pushes off the doorframe and strides toward Blake who takes a step back. “You hurt my sister. And pretended to care for her. You stalked her, and hurt a guy on purpose.”
“You have no proof,” Blake bites out.
“Don’t I?” Joel lifts his cell phone. “I filmed every second of it.”
I want to grab Joel and plant sloppy kisses on his cheeks.
Then I remember what he said before confessing about the accident.
“You won’t touch Micah,” I say and jab a finger at Blake. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Blake sneers, and my
stomach takes another nosedive. “Too late for Micah.”
My stomach drops again. “What do you mean?”
“I sicced Alex on him. Told you not to hang around such men, Evie.” He clucks his tongue.
Oh no. I stand frozen, my muscles locked.
Joel’s face darkens with anger. He pulls his fist back and punches Blake in the face. Blood sprays. He broke Blake’s nose.
Good.
“Call the police,” Joel says. “Now, Evie.”
I nod, my eyes burning. “Yes. Okay. Then I’m going to find Micah.”
“Evie, stay here!” Joel is holding Blake by one arm, making sure he isn’t going anywhere.
Grabbing my jacket and cell phone, I head out. On the stairs down, I make a call to the police, directing them to the apartment, and then call Micah’s new cell. I call and call, but get no answer.
Dammit. I call a taxi and jump inside when it arrives a few minutes later. I keep calling Micah, refusing to read anything into his lack of response.
I need to find him, need to make sure he’s okay. Nothing else matters.
***
Damage Control is closed and dark. So I climb back into the cab and head for his apartment. I ring all the bells until someone lets me into the building, but when I go up, nobody answers the door at his apartment. I bang on it a few times, but I know it’s useless. He’s not here.
The reality of the situation hits me hard. Blake is seriously disturbed. He hurt Seth, and he said he hurt Micah.
I bend over, swallowing down nausea. Crap. Micah is lying somewhere, hurt, and I don’t even have the number of any of his friends to call.
Slowly I straighten. Think, Ev.
We were supposed to meet here, at his apartment, right after he finished work. If he was jumped, it must be on the way here. So what I need to do is walk back toward Damage Control and find him.
I hurry down the street, trying to orientate myself as cars roll by, headlights flashing. Cold rain is falling, the drops stinging my face like needles. Fear pumps my blood faster through my veins, lifting the exhaustion off me. What a day from hell.
I start to run. My knee sends warning twinges up my leg, but I ignore them as I turn the corner and start up another street, gauging it’s more or less in the right direction. Running helps me focus and keeps the tears at bay.
No time for crying now.
“Micah!” I yell as I run. “Micah, where are you?”
I don’t see him until I’m almost on top of him. He’s half-hidden in shadows, sitting on the sidewalk, legs stretched out, his back to the façade of a building.
I drop to my knees, but I have no voice to talk. I bend over, panting harshly, and look into his face.
His eyes are half-open, blue peeking through. “Ev?” he mumbles.
“How badly are you hurt?” His face is bruised, his upper lip split. Blood coats his chin and neck. “Shit.”
“I’m okay,” he says.
“Yeah? Is that why you’re sitting on the sidewalk on the frigging street? I—” My voice breaks and I swallow hard. Tears roll down my cheeks, mingling with the rain.
He gives me a crooked grin. “I’m just taking a breather.”
“A breather.” I laugh through the tears. “Holy crap, Micah.” I fumble for my cell. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
“No.” He puts his hand over mine. His knuckles are bleeding. “I’ll be fine.”
“Fine. Why you don’t answer your cell?”
“Broke it. New record.” He looks morose for a moment. “Will you just help me up?”
I nod, and the tears keep slipping down my cheeks. “I did this. Because of me, both you and Seth were hurt. I can’t—”
“You saved my life.” He strokes my wet cheek. “Then and now again.”
“It was you,” I say, because I want to hear it from him. “Back then, months ago. The guy with pneumonia.”
“Legionnaires’ Disease. An infection I got from the last facility. If not for you, I’d surely be dead by now.”
“But you still have a cough. Are you still sick?”
“It’s just an after effect. It will go away eventually.”
“It was you.” I shake my head. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were afraid of Seth, and I thought you’d be afraid of me, too.” He shifts and winces. “Didn’t want that to happen.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” I manage a shaky smile. “I love you. I’m so glad I didn’t lose you.”
He blinks at me, and I look away in a hurry. Oh God. I didn’t just say I loved him.
I did.
“Can we call someone to come pick us up?” I pull out my cell.
“I can walk.” He’s struggling to get up, a hand propped on the wall, his face scrunched up, lips white with pain.
“Micah, please.”
He sighs. “Rafe. Call him.” He rattles off a number, and I call.
Five minutes later, a black Mustang stops where we are, and Rafe steps out. The rain plasters his blond mane to his head and face. He peers at us through soaked bangs.
“You kids need to stop getting into trouble,” he grumbles, and it’s kinda funny because he seems to be our age. He crouches at Micah’s other side.
“Hey, Rafe,” Micah mutters. “Thanks for coming, man.”
“What happened?” He peels back Micah’s soaked jacket and prods his side, making Micah hiss and curse. “Bruised ribs, maybe one of them cracked, but it looks like you’ll live. Who did this?”
“Don’t know him.” Micah grimaces.
“Did he say anything to you?”
“The usual. From Blake, for Evie.” He looks down at me, his lips white with pain. “Like Seth.”
“He didn’t get you as bad,” Rafe says as he wraps an arm around Micah’s back and helps him up.
“I beat the shit out of him. He thought I was easy prey. He was fucking mistaken.” Micah’s face goes white when he straightens. “Besides, he didn’t catch me entirely by surprise.”
“How’s that?” I reach for him, steadying him, then drape his arm over my shoulders, and we move toward the car.
“You told me about Blake’s threats. I knew he might come after me.”
I let that sink in as Rafe opens the car door, and we bundle Micah in. I didn’t fail him completely. I kept him alive.
I turn my face up and smile in the rain.
Chapter Thirteen
Micah
Lying on my bed, finally warm and dry, the blood washed off my face, I convince myself I’m alive. Safe. I hurt all over, though, and as I wait for the painkillers to kick in, I gaze at Ev who’s on the phone, pacing right outside my bedroom.
Damn, I couldn’t believe my eyes when I found her kneeling by my side on the sidewalk. She keeps coming back for me, checking I’m all right.
Isn’t this what family does? What home is? This girl has a heart big as the world and for some reason she seems fond of me. She said…
She said she loves me. I poke the memory gently, afraid I’ll change it. She did say those words. My ears were ringing pretty badly at the time, but I’m sure she said it…
I think.
She’s talking to her brother, Joel. Her eyes flash with anger and then satisfaction, and she waves a hand in the air. Catching snatches of their conversation, I try to piece together what happened tonight and what else Blake The Asshole has done.
Fuck-ass bitch wronged my girl. He hurt her, staged an accident and broke her leg, landed her in hospital. Made her suffer.
Screw waiting for the painkillers to act. I sit up, and my ribs fucking burn. The pain blinds me for a moment, and I pant, waiting for my eyes to clear.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Rafe shoves me back unceremoniously, and I fall onto my pillow with a gasp. “What do you need?”
“To break Blake’s neck.”
Rafe grins at me. He’s still in his jacket. He didn’t even bother to take it off. “I see. Feeling better alrea
dy?”
“He hurt her.” The words are like nails in my mouth.
“He’ll get what he deserves. Don’t worry about it.” His eyes go cold. “Now rest. We didn’t get you home, so you could go chasing that bastard.”
Ev comes inside before I can try getting up a second time. Without a word, she comes and sits by my side. She takes my hand and studies my bandaged knuckles.
Anger chokes me but her touch is soothing, her skin warm on mine.
“Joel, my brother, taped Blake’s confession on his phone,” Ev says. “I’m pressing assault charges. He will go to jail.”
That sounds like a good plan, but Rafe chuckles.
“That fucker isn’t going to jail,” he says. “How rich did you say his parents are?”
“Pretty rich,” Ev says with a wince. “They own hotels and restaurants.”
“Right. Well, if they care at all about their business, they’ll pay good money to prove him innocent, and money can get you anything you need.”
My fingers curls into a fist under Ev’s hand. Her eyes are wide, and I fucking hate the fear flickering in their depths.
“One more reason for me to bust his chops,” I growl.
“Calm down, cowboy. I’ve got this.” Rafe’s gaze is distant. “Nobody fucks with the Damage Boyz. I’ll take care of it.”
“How?” Ev asks.
“I’ve got connections. The asshat won’t bother any of you again.”
“You’ll kill him?” Ev’s eyes have gone rounder than before.
Rafe goes pale. “I don’t kill people. I don’t…” He sucks a deep breath. I wonder why he looks so shaken. “I’ll only make sure the jury and judge aren’t paid off at his trial. Let justice do the rest.”
Doesn’t sound good enough to me. Bastard deserves to have his balls chopped off and fed to him, but Rafe sends me a warning look, and I curse under my breath. I won’t let him down. If Zane is my god, Rafe is my fucking commander.
But if Blake comes anywhere near Seth or Ev again…
“I’ll be on my way now.” Rafe glances at me and nods. “Will you be okay for now, man?”
“Yeah, fine,” I bite out.
“Evangeline says she’s staying in case you need anything.”