Cruel Love

by Drake, Tabatha

  I turn and plant my feet on the floor.

  He’d stand up. He’d pack a bag.

  I stand and head toward the closet. My belongings stare back at me, a huge assortment of designer dresses and bright-colored blouses and kitschy handbags and shoes. Why do I have so many shoes?

  They feel less important every day. I can’t even remember why I thought they were in the first place.

  I grab a plain black shirt. A gray one. Another black one. Colors to get lost in.

  I reach for the large suitcase I usually travel with and pause, thinking twice about it. I grab the carry-on instead. It’s much easier to move with the smaller one.

  That’s my girl, I hear in the back of my head.

  My fiancé’s voice.

  I smile at the thought before getting back to work.

  I move faster, grabbing only what I know I’ll need and abandoning the rest. A few pairs of clean undies. A comfortable sports bra. My toothbrush.

  A hat. Fox said to wear a hat. I return to the closet to fetch a beanie from the drawer of winter hats and gloves but again, I pause. Beanies are great for keeping warm, but they don’t obscure — not as much as a movie star like Roxie Roberts needs to be obscured.

  I turn around to look at the back of the door, finding Fox’s baseball cap hanging from a hook. I slide it off slowly. It’s old and worn, fabric coming loose in a few spots, but it will still do its job.

  I bring it to my nose. His scent still clings to the fibers. My eyes moisten, ready to spill over as soon as I start to fall apart, but I hold it all back. That’s not what he’d do right now.

  He’d keep his shit together and move his ass.

  I close the closet behind me. I’ve taken all I need from it now. I stuff the little bag full of money and IDs inside the suitcase. I shove the phone in my jeans pocket. I tie my hair back in a loose ponytail and pull it through the back of the baseball cap as I fit it onto my much smaller head.

  It’s time to go.

  One last look. One last walk through the hallway of the home we shared. The life we tried to start but even Fox knew it wouldn’t last. Not forever.

  One last goodbye.

  I reach the front door and stop. Two police cruisers sit outside. Three officers linger at the gates, another one standing in front of the terminal, ready to hit the call button. They must be here to question me after that massacre at the theater last night. My heart aches for Lena. You shouldn’t have gotten mixed up in this.

  I’m so sorry...

  The terminal next to my head chimes. I bite down, thinking carefully. Would Fox stick around and answer their questions? Would Fox risk our enemies catching wind of where I am?

  Not a chance.

  I spin around and grab a hooded sweater from the closet. I throw it on, along with a pair of dark sunglasses, and march toward the back door. I should be able to pass through the yard, hop over the fence, and escape down the block without getting caught.

  Escaping my own house. Oh, how life can change so fast...

  I rush outside and cross the lawn. There’s no way I’m going to be able to hike myself over the fence, so I grab a lawn chair as I pass by the patio set beside the grill, trying desperately not to picture those nights in with Fox. Grilling food outside and having dinner by candlelight and forgetting the rest of the world exists for just a few hours...

  I toss my bag over the fence and climb up onto the chair, quickly lifting myself up to scale the gate. I pause to scan for witnesses before dropping onto the sidewalk below and bolting in the opposite direction.

  Take the subway downtown.

  I walk with my head down for blocks, pretending to text so the act doesn’t seem too suspicious. I round the corner to descend the stairs into the subway and check over my shoulder to confirm that I’m not being followed. The police didn’t see me run off. That’s good.

  But we’re not out of the woods yet. I still need to find the impound lot. I’m not even sure where that is, to be honest, but I’ll rely on my new mantra. Would Fox ask for directions? Or would Fox look at a map?

  I glance up from my seat on the train, eying the route map on the wall. Okay, if I get off at the next stop and take a left...

  I still won’t know exactly where I’m going but I’ll be okay. I can do this.

  I lean back and close my eyes, taking one more deep breath to calm my rattling nerves. I’ll be okay. Fox has faith in me. So should I.

  I take a left out of the subway station and ease into the passing crowd as I make my way toward Olympic Boulevard. I remember what Fox told me about how to check for tails. Only use reflective surfaces to look behind you. Never turn around or else they’ll know you know. Cross the street at random. Never alter your pace until you know you’ve lost them. Take advantage of alleyways — but only if you’re sure there’s no dead end.

  I study the windows as I pass, seeing nothing and no one suspicious. Maybe I’m being too paranoid but at least I’m getting in some good practice.

  I reach Olympic Boulevard and smile. Apparently, Fox would choose the impound lot with the largest sign to make sure that even a silly girl like me would see it.

  I walk inside, happy to get off the street but the lack of air conditioning here provides little comfort to my sweat-glazed forehead. It’s also cramped inside. Just one employee working the desk, which itself looks about ready to fall apart beneath the man’s leaning weight. Three empty chairs line the wall. A water fountain with an out of order sign.

  “Can I help you?” the man asks, barely looking up.

  “Yes.” I pause in front of the desk, a name on my lips. “I’m here to see Pliskin,” I say.

  He instantly looks up. “Pliskin?” he repeats.

  I nod. “Yes, sir.”

  He stands a bit taller and lowers his pen. “I’ll go get him,” he says.

  “Thank you.” I swallow hard, my head at a permanent tilt to keep my face hidden.

  He disappears into the back. I lean forward, listening to the gentle hum of voices inside but it’s hard to make out any words.

  The entrance opens and I put my back to the sound of the entry bell. I step to the side to make room, once again pretending to fiddle with my phone as they take several strides toward the counter.

  The man pokes his head out of the room to see who came in and nods. “I’ll be right with you, ma’am,” he says.

  “It’s all right. I’m with her.”

  I spin around, drawn to the friendly, familiar voice behind me.

  “Caleb,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief. “What are you doing here?”

  She smiles and adjusts the duffel bag strap on my shoulder. “Fox told me to meet you here. Didn’t say why but I figured...” She looks around. “We’re getting out of here, right?”

  “Yeah,” I answer. “He told me to give them a name and they’d give me a car.”

  “What name?”

  “Pliskin.”

  She snorts. “Fox would see himself as Kurt Russell.”

  “Huh?”

  “Kids these days...” She kisses her teeth. “No knowledge of the classics.”

  I chuckle as I throw my arms around her. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Aww.” She pats my back. “Feels good to be loved.”

  I linger in the safe embrace for a bit longer before pulling back. “But really, what are you doing here? I thought you were going with Fox and Boxcar?”

  “Ehh...” She blows out, making horse lips. “It’s a short story but I’ll tell you about it later.”

  I nod. Good enough for me. I’m just happy I don’t have to do this alone anymore.

  “Ladies.” The man emerges from the back and jiggles a set of keys. “Right this way.”

  I look at Caleb, so-very-thankful to have her with me. We step forward together and the man leads us through the back hallway and outside onto the lot. He says nothing as we walk the long line of cars, some in pristine condition, some not-so-much. If I know Fox, he chose some
thing common that won’t stand out and if I knew anything at all about cars, I imagine I would be thinking of a few examples, but…

  “Here we are,” the man says, stalling out in front of a dark blue sedan. It’s not old, or particularly new either. It’s just a common car.

  Maybe I know more about Fox than I think I do.

  “Lot 2-1-4.” He offers me the keys and I palm them. “Fully-gassed and in working condition. Good luck, ladies.”

  “Thank you,” Caleb says.

  I turn the key fob in my hand to push unlock for Caleb so she can open the backseat. She tosses her duffel bag inside and I step toward the trunk.

  I open it to find a stack of about a dozen license plates wrapped together, each one from a different state with up-to-date tags. Not going to question how Fox pulled this one off…

  Beside them sits a sturdy, black case, not unlike the one he used to have shoved beneath his bed in his cabin back in Iowa. I scan the lot once before leaning down and popping it open.

  There’s a 9mm Glock inside, encased in a deep gray foam. A few extra clips, too.

  Caleb joins me at the trunk, and she blinks. “Hello, gorgeous,” she says.

  I chuckle. “Fox did say there would be extra plates in the trunk and… other stuff.”

  “Do I get a gun?” she asks.

  “You didn’t bring one?”

  “No, I did. I just like gifts.” She nudges my ribs. “That one’s your favorite, right?”

  I nod at the Glock, slowly smiling. “Yeah.”

  She sighs. “Don’t ya just love it when guys remember that kind of stuff?”

  I close the case. “I do,” I say.

  “Well, let’s get going… wherever it is we’re going. Where are we going?”

  That is the question.

  Where do you go when you have to get away? Where do you hide when the whole world knows your face?

  Where would Fox go?

  “To see an old friend,” I say.

  I stand up and close the trunk.

  Chapter 13

  Dante

  “He’s not coming.”

  I glower at Lilah. “Yes, he is.”

  I sense it as her eyes roll behind her sunglasses. She collapses to lie on along the hood of my car. My tongue twitches with the urge to tell her to get off. Don’t scratch the paint. But it’s just a car. I may never even see it again after today.

  I lived so long in Snake Eyes. I went day-to-day with nothing but the clothes on my back and a bag hanging over my shoulder, usually stuffed with a bit of wire, a knife, and an extra pair of socks. Stuff was just stuff. This thing meant no more to me than that thing.

  I haven’t felt this since the day I fled Chicago. I turned back for Lucy but before then, I left with nothing. I needed nothing.

  I walk off to take another calming stroll around the parking lot.

  It’s still early. I have no reason to think that Fox ran off, except for the seemingly obvious reason being that he’s Fox Fitzpatrick and he’s very fucking good at it. I let a little bit of doubt seep inside, a little bit of darkness to cloud even the bright blue morning sky of Los Angeles.

  As I pass by Archer’s trailer, the door swings open and he sticks his head out. He holds a toothbrush in his mouth with one hand and a little cup in the other.

  “Morning, mate,” he says, barely opening his mouth.

  I nod. “Hey.”

  “Lilah?” he asks.

  I point across the lot and he follows the direction to see her still lying across my car.

  “Christ,” he says to me, “you look like hell.”

  “I’ve had a long week,” I say.

  “Yeah, tell me about it. Any sign of them yet?”

  “No.”

  “Well, they’ll show. Sparky will do the right thing.”

  He shoves the brush back into his mouth and rubs it along his bottom gum-line.

  I’ve seen my sister stumble over plenty of losers in my life. I never thought for a second she’d bother with the blond-haired blue-eyed good old boy from England. Usually, I don’t like to be surprised but I’m glad I am this time.

  It doesn’t mean I can’t give him a hard time. I am her big brother.

  I gesture downward. “Your fly is open, bud.”

  Archer flinches and reaches down to fix it. “Thanks,” he sputters with that toothbrush pinched between his cheek.

  I move on around the building until I arrive at mine and Lucy’s room. I shove the door open and step inside to find her bent over with one leg raised back behind her. She balances on her right knee, an act that instantly makes me nervous.

  Her concentration doesn’t break. Her face stays stoic and expressionless. She inhales slowly through her nose and exhales out her mouth. Complete concentration.

  I close the door silently and wait until she lowers her leg and opens her eyes.

  “Hey,” she says. It’s like a switch got flicked inside. Her posture sags and she twists her neck to one side until it pops. “You keep gawking like that, and I’ll have to start charging.”

  I laugh. “I hoped to catch the end of your morning routine.”

  She reaches for a plastic cup of water on the table beside her. “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  She smiles and takes a quick sip. “Well, if you’re gonna watch, be useful. Come here.”

  I step forward and she sets the cup down.

  “Stand in front of me.”

  I do as she asks, and she guides me by the shoulders until I’m right where she wants me.

  “Put your hands on my hips and don’t move,” she says.

  I rest my palms on her sides, studying her carefully. “Luce…”

  “Shh.”

  She raises her right knee and extends her leg up to rest her ankle on my shoulder.

  “Whoa…” I murmur.

  Lucy leans into the stretch and exhales a soft moan. “That’s it…”

  “What is?”

  “Shh.”

  I smile and stay quiet. I look from her big, closed eyes and down her throat to her neckline. Her cleavage is just barely visible over her shirt. My left hand wanders from her hip to her outer thigh and I feel the toned muscle just beneath the skin. She smiles as my hand drifts.

  “Think you can get the other leg up, too?” I ask, joking.

  She chuckles. “You already know I can.”

  I laugh as she slides her leg down to the floor. “You’re getting stronger.”

  “I’m getting back to what I was before,” she says, reaching for her cup again.

  “Still stronger,” I say.

  “Still not strong enough to be useful.”

  I frown and sit on the edge of the bed. “Who told you that?”

  “You did,” she says, pulling her leg back to stretch her thigh.

  “I did?”

  “You’re too green,” she quotes me. “We have two assassins, a bounty hunter…”

  I sigh. “Lucy.”

  “And a ballerina.”

  “You know what I meant. Just because you’re not a fighter doesn’t mean you’re not useful. You serve another purpose.”

  “Like what?” she asks. “Keeping your bed warm?”

  “You know,” I lean back, “in some cultures, the lovers of warriors are treated like queens.”

  “You gonna buy me a tiara?”

  “If you want one.”

  She chews on her lip. “Hrmm.”

  “Lucy, I’m all muscle,” I say. “I shoot first and ask questions later. I don’t think more than one move ahead. You do. You’re smart, level-headed, and quick. And we need more of that.”

  “So, I’m the brain of the Hart family?”

  “You definitely are.”

  “Guess that’s not so bad.” She shrugs. “Okay. Apology accepted.”

  “What apology?”

  “Quit while you’re ahead, Mr. Hart.”

  I hold up my hands. “All right.”

  The door swings
open and Lilah barges into the room. “They’re here,” she says. “Fitzpatrick grew a pair after all.”

  “We’ll be out in a minute,” I tell her, slightly annoyed by the lack of knocking.

  She leans against the door frame and smirks. “You guys doing something dirty in here?”

  I exhale hard.

  She winks over the top of her sunglasses. “Hint detected, big brother.”

  She slides back and pulls the door closed behind her.

  Lucy’s brow rises. “She’s laughing,” she says, hopeful.

  “She’s compartmentalizing.”

  “That’s a big word for the muscle to say.”

  My lips twitch. “Don’t fall for it. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Her eyes darken slowly. “You’re laughing, too.”

  I look up at her as a heavy weight pushes on my chest. “Yeah,” I say.

  Lucy steps closer to me and I let her fingers roam from my cheeks to my neck. A soft, warm touch to bring me back to the moment before I spiral back in time to that elevator.

  My little brother, bleeding and dying, thinking of us over himself.

  Get her out.

  Lucy kisses my forehead, sending a line of goosebumps down my back. I cling to her small body the same way she clung to mine in the days after her father was murdered in front of her.

  I hold it all in.

  I’ll mourn my brother when this is over.

  I stand up, guiding Lucy a step back. “You ready to go?” I ask her.

  “Uh…” She scans the room. “Yeah. Just gotta brush my hair and change my shirt and pack up my—”

  “So, not ready, then?” I grin.

  “Gonna need five.”

  “I’ll meet you outside.”

  She pops up onto her toes and I kiss her cheek before heading to the door.

  I step out and there he is. Fox Fitzpatrick. He stands next to my car, silently observing while Archer and Boxcar have a friendly chat and Lilah glares at them. He carries a small duffel bag in one hand and the weight of the world in the other.

  I give him a nod and he does the same as he steps toward me.

  “What’s the plan?” he asks.

  “We have a private flight ready to take us to Boston,” I say. “After that, we’re on our own.”

  “How private?”