Straight Up

by Charity Ferrell

  I shift in my seat. “What would you do if someone did that to Georgia?”

  He delivers a dark look at the thought. “Rip their head off and feed it to them through a straw.”

  That’s how my brother understands feelings. You ask how he’d feel if it happened to someone he loved. Otherwise, the dude is cold as the Arctic.

  “Exactly,” I deadpan. “You can’t expect me to sit back and forget about it. I want to rip his head off and feed it to him through a spoon … it’d be more hands-on.”

  Archer holds up a finger. “A. I don’t have a criminal record.” He holds up another. “B. I’m in love with Georgia. Are you in love with Cassidy?”

  I stay quiet.

  Am I in love with Cassidy?

  It’s an internal battle.

  I’ve never been in love with anyone. Or so I thought.

  But what is love? Is there a specific destination, a specific rhythm your heart follows until a light dings inside your head that says, Hey dumbass, you love this person?

  How do you know you love someone when love is an invisible thing?

  “Think about it,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “Think about the risk and your feelings for her. And then do whatever you need to do to protect her.”

  What I’m about to do will create the opposite of convincing Cassidy not to hate me.

  But hey, if I already started off by disappointing her in this situation, might as well keep adding to the list that’ll only lead me deeper into the hole of her possibly never speaking to me again.

  “I have some information,” I tell Maliki and Rex.

  Not only did sleep evade me last night, but I also spent most of the time looking up Quinton. From what it appears on his Instagram, dude is a prick who regularly uses hashtags like #richkids, #getlikeme, #bejealous. His feed is full of photos of him and his frat brothers in their loafers and button-ups, lined up with beers in their hands, and sporting Gucci belts. I had to pour myself a drink out of embarrassment for him.

  Hopefully, it’ll change to #iscurrentlyincarcerated next.

  Before leaving Cassidy’s, I put Rex’s and Kyle’s numbers into my phone. We’ve shared a few texts here and there, but I asked to get together, so I could give them everything I know about Quinton. Kyle is a police officer, and from what I’ve heard, Rex is our generation’s Kevin Mitnick—only without the criminal charges.

  That’s what led me to Rex’s kick-ass house, and I’m not that easily impressed when it comes to real estate. The guy has everything teched out. I could spend all day asking him questions.

  “Whatcha got, bro?” Rex asks.

  “The guy who hit her is Quinton Landing. He’s also the guy who was in her car the night she was arrested. He got to walk free. She obviously didn’t.” I suck in a deep breath. “A while back, she told me her ex was the biggest drug dealer on campus, to which she didn’t know, and he borrowed her car. That’s why there were drugs in it. If you put two and two together, Quinton’s face lights up in guilt every damn time.”

  “Landing.” Rex snaps his fingers, searching for words. “Name sounds familiar.”

  “From Landing Holdings?” Kyle asks.

  I nod. “I’m going to pay him a visit. Is Cassidy still at Sierra’s?”

  Maliki texted me last night, letting me know that Cassidy was crashing with them.

  “She is, but last I heard, she plans to stay at her place tonight,” Rex replies with a hint of disapproval. “We’re going to make sure one of us is there with her at all times.”

  Oh boy, Cass will love that.

  “Let’s rewind back to your previous statement,” Kyle says. “It’s not smart for you to pay him a visit. You’re fresh out of prison, and the last thing you need is to go back.”

  It’s a struggle not to smile at his comment. His concern over me returning to prison means he doesn’t see me as a threat to his sister. If he did, he wouldn’t give two shits about me being locked up again because it’d mean I’d be away from Cassidy.

  “And here we thought you didn’t like him,” Rex says to his brother with a smirk.

  Kyle shoots me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, dude. I was worried about my sister.”

  “Nah, it’s cool,” I reply. “I’d probably do the same if I had a sister.”

  “Do you know this Quinton guy?” Rex asks.

  “Not personally,” I reply. “I looked at his social media, know his brother and family, but that’s it. I wanted to make sure I gave you guys his name, so you’re as updated as I am.” I turn my attention to Kyle. “You have connections to look into him, to possibly get him arrested even if Cass doesn’t go to the cops. That’s your job.” I direct my gaze to Rex. “Your job is to try to find whatever shit you can on him … and to get me an address.”

  Rex scored me the address I was looking for in ten minutes. They weren’t lying. Dude has skills. Without waiting for them, I got in my car, plugged the address into my GPS, and was on my way.

  Thirty minutes later, I’m pulling into a neighborhood I’ve frequented enough that I know the gate code. Apparently, they don’t change that shit for years. I drive past million-dollar house after million-dollar house and cut a right before parking across the street from a two-story red-brick home.

  It seems too expensive for a college student, so it might be his family’s home, or he could live off-campus. I’m sure the guy would rather be in a home like this than some stinky frat house. Not sure if this is where he’s at, and wanting more information, I snatch my phone from the cupholder to call Rex and confirm this is Quinton’s current address. I stop after unlocking my screen when a silver Benz pulls into the drive.

  The driver’s door opens, and a man in a fitted black suit steps out.

  A man I recognize.

  I do the same, slamming my door shut behind me, and unlike him, I’m in a black jacket and jeans when I move toward him.

  The guy, as if sensing my presence, turns around, squinting in my direction. “Lincoln Callahan?” He cocks his head to the side, attempting to appear casual, but there’s no missing the way his shoulders straighten. “What’s up, man?”

  That’s right.

  Be nervous because your family shit-talked mine to death.

  Without bothering with small talk, I say, “Where’s Quinton, Christopher?”

  He sniffs, his face overconfident. “What do you want with my brother?”

  I clench my hands. “I want him to stop putting his hands on women.”

  The air goes quiet, leaves blowing across the drive and over our feet.

  “The fuck are you talking about?” Christopher asks, that overconfidence slipping away like the clients he poached from us.

  “He hurt a woman, choked her, and she has the evidence.” A tone of certainty and warning is clear with my response.

  “What?” he hisses. “Is she going to the cops?”

  “She’s considering it.”

  “What’s her name?” he stutters, his Ivy League education not strong enough to have trained him for this conversation.

  “You’ll find out when she files the police report against him.”

  I stop myself from disclosing Quinton’s drug dealing. It’d be stupid to talk to Christopher because he’ll call his brother to give him a heads-up as soon as I leave here.

  Before I turn around to leave, Christopher, with a voice brimming with snark, says, “Might want to be careful. You wouldn’t want to go back to prison, would you?”

  This smug motherfucker.

  “I’ve already been there once,” I sneer at him, my lips curling into a cold smile. “What’s another sentence? Especially if it’s punishment for beating the shit out of the guy who put his hands on my girlfriend.”

  That smugness falls to the ground along with the leaves. “I’ll talk to my brother.”

  Without a word, I turn around and return to my car. He stands in his drive, watching me, before hastily shoving his hand into his pocket and dragging out his phone.
>
  I do the same and dial Rex’s number as soon as I return to my car. “That’s his brother’s address. I need Quinton’s campus addy.”

  “On it.”

  Just in case Christopher gets slick and calls the police for my trespassing, I drive off, and Rex has a new address for me as I’m pulling out of the neighborhood.

  “Text it to me,” I demand.

  “You’re not doing this alone,” Rex argues. “We don’t want you to get in any more trouble.”

  “I got this. You just go to Cassidy in case Quinton tries to get to her.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Cassidy

  “Hey, sis,” Rex says over the phone. “I need to come over. My Wi-Fi is down, and I have some work to do.”

  Even though he can’t see me, I roll my eyes. “You’re going to make a thirty-minute drive to my house to use Wi-Fi when you can go to any coffee shop or to another sibling’s—who all live much closer to you, by the way? Seems legit and not at all suspicious.”

  He chuckles. “Someone needs to be there with you. Maliki has to go into work, so I’m clocking in.”

  Clocking in.

  I hate that I’m like a job to them.

  “Look, I’m fine here on my own,” I say, chugging the rest of my water. “Plus, Grace is here, so I won’t be alone when Maliki and Sierra leave. Problem solved. Go fake need Wi-Fi somewhere else.”

  “The Wi-Fi is down everywhere else.”

  He hangs up, and ten minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. I answer it to find Carolina and Rex standing in the doorway. Since he lives a good half hour away, no way was he sitting at home, struggling to connect to Wi-Fi.

  “Oh, look,” Sierra says, gasping dramatically. “What a surprise.”

  “Shush,” I grumble, shooting her a dirty look. “You knew the surprise was coming.”

  Carolina gives me a hug hello, and then Sierra gives me a hug good-bye. She tells me to call or text if I need anything.

  “If you’re going to play babysitter, at least order some pizza,” I tell Rex as we make our way into the living room.

  He chuckles. “I can do that in exchange for the Wi-Fi.”

  “Oh, yes, the Wi-Fi.”

  “Can I say something without you being pissed at me?” Rex asks.

  Grace, Carolina, and he are all in the living room with me as we watch TV and devouring slices of greasy, cheesy pizza.

  “Depends on what it is you say.” I pop a pepperoni into my mouth.

  “You shouldn’t be mad at Lincoln,” he says matter-of-factly. “You know that, right?”

  I point at him with my slice of pizza. “Yep, that definitely pisses me off.”

  It’s a topic I’ve battled with myself over. Since I kicked Lincoln out, I’ve done nothing but think about our argument, think about how I asked him to leave with such sorrow filling my heart. I’ve thought about what I’d do in a situation like that, whether it be the person I’m falling in love with, a close friend, or a sibling.

  How hard would it be to keep something like that from others?

  To know they could be in trouble but wouldn’t do anything about it?

  To know that something worse could happen?

  “Come on,” he says with a chuckle. “Hear me out first.”

  My brother is brilliant, one of the smartest men I know, and his problem-solving skills are out of this world. He also has a heart of gold. At the beginning, his and Carolina’s relationship had some bumps in the road because she was keeping secrets from him—the same way I did with Lincoln.

  “Fine,” I mutter. “Let me hear it.”

  “Our situation was similar but not similar.”

  I scoff, “Uh, that’s not a great way to start because it doesn’t make any sense.”

  He sets his plate to the side, scoots to the edge of the couch, and rests his elbows on his knees, pinning his attention on me. “I was worried about Carolina and looked through her phone … and hacked into her ex’s shit … all to protect her.” A glimpse of frustration flashes along his face at the memory, and Carolina scoots in closer to him, squeezing his knee. “When you care about someone that much, you care about their safety more than them possibly being mad at you. Had Lincoln not gone to someone, had he not wanted you to go to the cops, I’d be questioning his feelings for you. At least talk to him, and please, for the love of God, go to the cops.”

  His words are another punch in the reality face for me.

  Would I have questioned Lincoln’s actions later if Quinton were to come back and do more damage or if he decided he wanted me to permanently go away, so he wouldn’t worry about me tattling on him?

  And had I forced Lincoln to keep that secret, how bad would it have torn him up inside if Quinton were to take things more serious?

  I sigh. “I know … I’m just coming to terms with everything.”

  “Have you thought any more about going to the cops?” Rex asks, an expectant look on his face.

  I stay quiet and slowly shake my head.

  “When my ex threatened me with a sex tape, I was terrified to go to the cops,” Carolina starts but then hesitates when all eyes fall on her. “I was scared of retribution from him, but I knew it was what I had to do. I had to do it for me, so I’d no longer live in fear and also to protect other women he might hurt in the future.” Her eyes are wide as she focuses on me. “It’s scary, I know, but you’ll feel better. I had a longer timeframe to do it since most of my proof was digital, but it’s not that easy with you. When your bruises fade, the chances of him getting the punishment he deserves will also fade. I’ll go with you. I’ll be by your side if you want someone who’s experienced it.”

  Carolina, my brother’s sweet best friend turned girlfriend. They’re opposites of each other—her quiet and reserved, him loud and outgoing.

  “Me too,” Grace says. “Whatever you need from me, I’m there.”

  Their support means everything to me.

  It’s a comfort to know I have women at my side who understand what I’m going through and are offering to help. And Carolina and Lincoln are right about Quinton having the power to hurt another woman if he gets away with what he did to me. Or what if he sells drugs to someone and they OD?

  I play with my hands in my lap. “I’ll think about it.” Standing, I force a smile. “I need to use the bathroom.”

  Moving toward my bedroom, I dig my phone from my pocket and call Lincoln.

  He doesn’t answer.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Lincoln

  “You touch her again, and I’ll kill you.”

  Growing up, I got along with most people, so I wasn’t involved in many fights. That changed when I went to prison. There, you have to prove yourself, prove you can’t be messed with. Prison is where I established my fight experience.

  Tonight’s fight isn’t to prove myself.

  It’s to prove that Cassidy can’t be messed with. Quinton needs to know that if he pays Cass another visit, there will be hell to pay.

  On the drive to Quinton’s campus apartment, my mind raced with reminders of Rex and Kyle telling me to wait for them and Archer warning me to stay out of trouble. Going back to prison isn’t something I want, but if it’s for Cassidy, I’ll do it.

  The new address Rex provided was correct. No one spared me a look as I took the stairs to the fifth floor, knocked on the apartment door, and asked if he was Quinton. The moment he said yes, I gripped him around his scrawny throat, dragged him through the entryway, and threw him against the wall—similar to what it appeared he’d done with Cassidy.

  He yelled, “What the hell?” at the same time I kicked the door shut with my shoe, blocking out as much noise as I could.

  He cries out when I draw back my fist and punch him. My fist stings when it connects with his jawbone, a throb shooting up my veins. He slides down the wall and slumps to the tiled floor like a crumpled pile of laundry.

  I kneel down to his level, inches from him, spit flying fro
m my lips as I snarl, “Go near her again, and I’ll kill you.”

  It’s not an empty threat.

  Cassidy’s bruise will haunt me until the day I die. I’d do anything in my power to prevent any harm or hurt to Cassidy.

  “Fine, whatever,” he groans, his head falling against the floor, small sprinkles of blood next to him. “She isn’t worth this shit.” He nearly rolls into the fetal position, in fear of another strike from me. Sweat lines his forehead. Blood, alongside slobber, drips from his mouth.

  I bend my knee back, gearing to give him a swift kick to the ribs, but he cowers, staring up at me in alarm.

  “Hurt me any worse, and I’ll make sure you go back to prison.” His eyes are panicked, his words sputtered. “Don’t think I don’t know who you are, Lincoln Callahan.”

  I scoff, my hand sore and shaking. “Go to the cops? How about we go now, huh? We can explain why I beat the shit out of you.” I deliver a mocking smile. “It’ll be fun.”

  He spits at my feet.

  “Stay away from her.” I bend at the knee, my face in his. “Her brother is a cop. I have connections from being locked up, and we’ve hacked into your shit. Mess with her again, and you’ll regret it. Your daddy won’t be able to get you out of that mess with your drug-dealing ways.”

  I shoot him a cold smile full of warning before nudging his knee with the toe of my shoe. I spent less than ten minutes with the asshole, but hopefully, I’ve knocked some sense into him. As I’m walking out, I rub my hand down the outside of my pants, wiping away Quinton’s blood.

  I’m practically bouncing on my toes from the adrenaline while returning to my car. Quinton didn’t put up much of a fight and backed down in seconds. If he’s scared of me, then he’ll stay away from Cass.

  As I slide into the driver’s seat and pluck my phone from my pocket, I find a missed call from Cassidy. My palms sweat as I stare at her name, my heart pounding harder than it did when I was punching Quinton, and I don’t waste a second before calling her back.