by Tracy Wolff
At the sound of my car starting up, Jace knocks on my window, mouths, What’s up?
I roll it down. “Something’s up with Benji. I’m going home.”
“I’m coming with you.”
It’s no less than I figured he’d say, considering he’s had a thing for my sister for years. Of course, I’m not supposed to know about that but it’s not like subtle is his middle name.
“I got this,” I tell him. “Finish your race and then I’ll meet you back at my place.”
He starts to protest, but the look I shoot him doesn’t brook argument. And then I’m pulling through the crowd, trying to get Joe to chill out enough to tell me exactly what happened. But he’s too busy telling me what a dick I am to impart any facts.
“Put Lena back on,” I order after I’ve taken all of his shit that I can handle for a little while. “I want to talk to her.”
“You don’t tell me what to do,” Joe says. “Besides, she doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”
My patience snaps. “Put her on the fucking phone, Joe! Now!”
“Or wh— Hey!”
“I’m here,” Lena says, sounding as bad as I’ve ever heard her. “What are we going to do, Nic? He can’t take Benji.”
“He’s not going to take Benji,” I promise her as I continue to weave between cars and bodies that need to get the fuck out of my way. “The kid’s a skateboarder. He gets hurt.”
“I told him that. He said that’s what everyone says. He tried to make it sound like—” She breaks off.
“Like I’m the one who hurt Benji.”
“Yes.” The word catches on another quiet sob. “I can’t lose him, Nic. I can’t—”
“You won’t. I promise, Lena.” I finally make it past all the grandstanding and onto the main road that leads back to the highway that’s pretty much the only thing running through this stretch of desert. I’m about an hour and a half out of San Diego—less if I book it.
I slam into third gear, listen to the whine of the engine as I accelerate fast. “I’m on my way home,” I tell her. “We’ll figure out what to do when I get there. It’s going to be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Okay.” For the first time since she called, Lena sounds okay. Not great, but okay, and I know it’s because—unlike Joe—she trusts me. If I tell her I’m going to fix something, she knows I’m damn well going to fix it.
I end the call, then tear up the last of the road before the highway, slowing down just enough at the end of it to slip between the wide open gates and make the super tight turn onto the shoulder. Then I’m racing down the highway, foot heavy on the accelerator and car eating up the miles.
I’m ten miles closer to home when I see the cop behind me, lights and sirens going full-tilt even though he’s in an unmarked car. For a moment—just a moment—I think about outrunning him. My car could do it in a heartbeat and I know I can outdrive him. But then I think about Lena back at home, about Benji and the fact that she’s scared to death right now. And I pull the fuck over.
I pull my wallet out of my back pocket, then keep my hands in plain sight on the steering wheel. The last thing I need to deal with tonight is a nervous cop.
I expect it to take a couple minutes while he runs my plates, but as soon as he turns the sirens off he’s getting out of the car and walking toward me, his flashlight directed straight at my side mirror. Not like he doesn’t know where I’m coming from, I guess. There isn’t much call for muscle cars out here unless you’re racing at the Ranch.
When he gets to my window, he shines the flashlight directly in my eyes, blinding me for long seconds that have me cursing under my breath even as I duck my head, try to shield my eyes.
He steps back after he’s all but burst my retinas. “Get out of the car, Medina. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
I freeze at the sound of his voice, rage exploding through me as it takes me back ten years to when I was first arrested. I shove that shit back down—no way it’s going to help me right now—and do exactly what he says. No use giving him any excuse to do what he’s clearly dying to do.
It all clicks into place as I climb out of the car to face him. The cop visiting Lena, threatening her and Benji. The fact that a San Diego city cop is way out here in the desert—and just happened to be at the entrance to the Ranch as I was leaving.
People may think I’m stupid because I’m an ex-con and a grease monkey, but that’s their mistake…
“What do you want, Anderson?” I keep my voice and my face devoid of emotion. No way I’m letting this bastard wind me up. He lost his power over me a long time ago—the minute that parole board let me out of prison, I was done with him and his bullshit.
“You’re the one speeding, Medina.”
“And you’re the one who’s over a hundred miles outside his jurisdiction. So whether or not I’m speeding doesn’t matter for shit.”
“Maybe not. But one call and I can have half a dozen cops here that it does matter to.”
“I guess we wait, then.” I lean back against my car, crossing my ankles and my arms as I wait to see what he’s going to do next. He’s the one who came for me, after all. If he’s threatening my sister and my nephew, and driving all the way out here to fuck with me, then he wants something.
And whatever it is, I’m not going to make it easy for him. Not after the shit he pulled ten years ago to make sure his arrest stuck.
For long seconds, he doesn’t say anything and neither do I. I don’t take my eyes off him, though. I watch every twitch of his hands, every blink of his eyes, every rise and fall of his chest. I don’t trust this fucker not to lash out just to prove he’s a bigger badass than I am.
“That what you really want, Medina?” he asks after too many seconds have gone by. “For me to call someone out here to arrest you?”
“Not sure what I’d be arrested for.”
“Reckless driving. Driving while intoxicated.” He ticks them off on his fingers like a fucking to-do list. “Assaulting the officer who pulled you over because of your erratic driving. Possession. I’m certain a few of the charges will stick.”
“Because you’d make sure of it, no matter how untrue they are. That’s what you do, isn’t it?”
It’s dark out, the only lights those from my headlights and his. It’s enough that I can see the smirk on his face, the satisfaction that says he thinks he’s got me right where he wants me.
I don’t bother telling him that I haven’t been drinking, don’t bother suggesting that he search my car. Not when he’s probably got something on him that he can plant on me. Cops as corrupt as he is always do.
He inclines his head. “There’s a lot of bad guys out there. I like to make sure that justice gets served.”
“Is that what you were doing at my house earlier? Hassling my sister about some make-believe bullshit to make sure that justice gets served?”
“I was just investigating. Two trips to the emergency room in two months is a lot for a kid. Especially when the uncle he lives with has a notorious temper.”
That notorious temper is riding me pretty hard right now and I want nothing more than to plunge my fist into this bastard’s face. I don’t, though it costs me. Just like it costs me to stay silent. But I’m not defending myself to this prick—it’s not like it would matter if I tried.
And so I wait him out, face expressionless and fists clenched against my chest.
It doesn’t take long.
“You want me to back off your sister, maybe look the other way the next time the kid ‘falls off a skateboard’? You need to do something for me.”
“I don’t need to do anything for you. No one’s ever hurt Benji in his life.”
“So you say. But I’ve been a cop for a long time. I know a few social workers over at CPS. I pick up the phone, tell them a few things, and your word won’t mean jack shit.” He pauses, gives the threat a few seconds to sink in. “Your sister will lose her little boy and the kid will end up
in the system. You know a little bit about that, don’t you, Medina? It’s been a while, but I’m sure you remember. I know your sister does.”
I want to end him.
Want to wrap my hands around this fucking cop’s throat and watch that bitch-ass smirk fade from his face as he realizes he doesn’t have the power anymore.
Want to squeeze until his fucking windpipe collapses beneath my fingers and he’s gasping for air he’ll never get again.
Want to fuck him up the way he’s fucked me up. The way he’s fucked my family up. Until he’s as unrecognizable as we are.
He takes my silence for fear and presses what he thinks is his advantage. “How long you think that nephew of yours will last in the system? I met him today. He’s a cute kid—got a pretty face like his mama. She didn’t last too long, did she?”
“Fuck you. You don’t know shit about my sister.”
“I know more than you think.” He steps back, holds his arms out in a come-and-get-me gesture. “What’s wrong, Medina? You want to go around?”
I want to go around so bad I can taste it. So bad that it takes every ounce of willpower I have, every ounce of caution I’ve had pounded into me these last ten years, not to slam his head through my car’s driver side window. But that’ll just land me back in jail and leave Lena and Joe and Benji unprotected.
And that’s not going to happen. Not now, not ever again.
So I grit my teeth, swallow down my fury. And ask, “What do you want me to do?”
“Good choice, Medina.” When he grins, he looks even more like the rat he is. “You’re a smart guy. A lot smarter than when I locked your sorry ass up a decade ago.”
That’s the first true thing he’s said all night. Because I am a hell of a lot smarter now than I was at eighteen. Which means I know exactly how this is going to end in his mind. With me dead and him riding high from some illegal payoff my blood and sweat helped him claim.
That’s not an endgame I’m okay with.
He holds an envelope out to me, waits for me to take it.
“What’s in it?” I ask, my arms still folded across my chest. I’m not putting my fingerprints on anything until I know exactly what it is.
“It’s just an address. It’s an easy job, nothing for you to get your panties in a twist over.”
“I’m going to need you to be more specific than that.”
“More specific, huh?” He grins. “Okay, I’ll play. I need you to steal a car for me.”
I lift a brow at him. “Isn’t that what you sent me to prison for in the first place? What happened to serving justice?”
“If you’re not careful, I’ll see it gets served again by sending you back to prison.” He waves the envelope at me. “Take the damn thing and do what you’re told.”
I may have gotten smarter in the last decade, but he sure as fuck hasn’t. I don’t like orders—never have, never will. But I take the envelope anyway, just like I take his attitude.
For now.
“When do you want it?”
“Tomorrow by three. The address I want it delivered to is in there, too. Don’t be late.”
“Fifteen hours isn’t much time to scope things out. What happens if I get caught?”
“Don’t,” he says sharply. “Or I’ll send you back to Pelican Bay for a lot longer than seven years this time.”
The threat hangs in the air between us—as do the seven years I spent in prison because he falsified the evidence that put me there.
Anderson breaks eye contact first, looking away like something caught his eye. But I know better. He was a coward ten years ago and he’s a coward now. Dirty cops don’t change their spots.
“Tomorrow by three, it is,” I tell him, shoving the envelope in my back pocket. “Anything else I should know?”
“Don’t fuck up.”
“I never fuck up, not on this.”
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure you were singing that same song ten years ago right before I put you away.”
“And yet here you are.”
He stiffens and for a second I think he’s going to take a swing at me. I brace for it, even welcome it. But in the end, he just shrugs. “You may be an asshole, Medina, but you’re a hell of a boost. Now go get my fucking car.”
He turns and starts walking back to the unmarked car he pulled me over in.
“Your car?” I call after him.
“By three tomorrow. Play the game my way or I’ll make it my mission to ensure your nephew disappears into the system so completely it’ll take you a decade to find him, let alone get him back.”
He slams his door on that parting threat.
I stay where I am, leaning against my car, until I watch him drive away. Then I slide into the driver’s seat, turn the interior light on. And tear open the envelope he handed me.
As I stare at the picture inside, memorizing the car—and the two addresses where it will be parked for the next seventeen hours—I promise myself this will be the last time Anderson gets in my face. The last time he fucks around with me or my family. He nearly destroyed us ten years ago. I’ll be damned if I let that happen again.
He wants me to play his game, I’ll play it. He wants me to take his shit, I’ll take it. I’ll do whatever he wants me to do. Right up until I figure out how to burn him and his whole fucking world to the ground.
Yeah, game on, asswipe.
Game fucking on.
Chapter 3
Jordan
Going to the drag races last night was a big mistake. Oh, it was surprisingly fun and surprisingly successful—I’m supposed to drop my car by Raul’s place on Tuesday and he’ll get the repairs done as quickly as possible—but still a mistake. I’m dragging today. I mean, really dragging. Probably because I didn’t get home until nearly three in the morning and had to be out the door for work by four-thirty. We stayed later than we should because Vi was busy bonding with her new soulmate, Cris, and I—I was waiting around hoping to get another glimpse of Nic Medina.
It didn’t happen.
Despite everyone saying that he was going to race a second time last night, he never did. Instead, he took off not long after the first race and I never saw him again. Which bummed me out way more than I anticipated it would, especially considering I don’t know the guy at all. I don’t even know anything about him—except for the fact that he’s a damn fast racer. And he’s hot. Really, really hot.
“Order up, Jordan.”
The reminder from the kitchen has me spinning around and grabbing the three plates that are currently sitting in the window. “Sorry, Doreen,” I tell my current line cook, who also happens to be the crusty but sweet old lady who owns the place. It’s the third time I’ve forgotten to watch the window in the last twenty minutes.
Because I’m tired, I tell myself as I hustle the plates to the right table. Not because I’m daydreaming about Nic Medina. Because that absolutely, positively, is not happening. Not now. Not ever.
And to prove it, I’m banishing him from my mind. Forever.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” I ask the couple currently tucking into the stacks of pancakes and double order of bacon I just delivered.
“Just coffee,” the wife tells me with a smile.
“Of course,” I say, shooting her an answering grin. “I’ll be right back with a warm-up and some more cream.”
By the time I’ve done that—and topped off my other customers, as well—my next order is up.
“You wearing cement shoes this morning?” Doreen asks as I slide two more plates out of the pick-up window and onto a serving tray. It’s a big order this time and since Doreen likes all the food delivered at one time, that means I’ve got to break out the tray no matter how much I hate the stupid thing. It’s unwieldy and hard to carry at the best of times. When it’s fully loaded, I swear it weighs almost as much as I do.
“More like cement everything,” I answer with a roll of my eyes. “Sorry I’m dragging, Doreen. I’ll pick u
p the pace.”
“You’re doing a good job, girl. You always do. Besides, it’s not the orders I’m worried about. It’s you. You need to get more sleep. I know you’re going to school, but you keep up this crazy schedule and you’re going to make yourself sick.” Her voice is gruff, her eyes on the stove where she’s flipping pancakes, but her concern is genuine. And it means more to me than I can say. There aren’t many people in my life who care about me—haven’t been for a long time—and the fact that she does matters. A lot.
“No studying last night,” I tell her. “I went out.”
“Out? As in on a date?” She sounds as incredulous as if I had told her I’d spent last night being abducted by aliens. Then again, knowing Doreen, she’d probably have an easier time believing that. To be fair, I have worked here for almost a year and a half and I’ve never gone on a date. Never even flirted with one of the customers who tried to flirt with me. It’s no wonder she sounds so shocked. And excited.
I feel a little bad bursting her bubble with the truth, but it can’t be helped. “Out, as in with a friend.”
She snorts. “Yeah, that sounds more your speed.”
“Hey!”
“Don’t hey me, girl. You’re a turtle when it comes to the dating game. It’s good that you have friends, but you need to step up, Jordan. Need to find yourself a man. Someone who can keep you warm in the middle of the night.”
“I’ve got an electric blanket to do that job, Doreen. It works just fine.”
It’s her turn to roll her eyes. “Yeah. And doesn’t that sound like fun?”
“I don’t need fun.”
She slides another set of plates on the window. “Everyone needs fun.”
“Oh, really? And who are you having fun with these days?” I ask, sliding the last plate onto the tray.