Right Kind of Wrong

by Chelsea Fine

  I wait for fear to grip me, but none comes. At least none derived of Jack’s transformation. I still feel safe with him. Secure. I might not fully know the Jack standing beside me—the one with small scars on his knuckles and burdened eyes when he smokes—but that doesn’t seem to change the fact that I absolutely trust him. Which is good, since it looks like having an ally in this place is a must.

  “You say that, but you know it wasn’t the same after you left,” Jonesy says. “We missed your sorry ass. I missed you.”

  Beneath the teasing tone in Jonesy’s voice is a thread of sincerity, and for a brief moment, Jack’s eyes crinkle with a sad smile.

  “I had to get out, Jonesy,” he says. “It was the only way.”

  “I know.” He pulls at his ear. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.”

  “No.” Jack shifts. “I guess not.”

  Jonesy slides his eyes to me. “And who’s this pretty young thing?” He looks me over in a way that isn’t disgusting but isn’t flattering either.

  Straightening my shoulders, I wait until his eyes finally make their way back up to my face before smiling sharply. “Did you get a good enough look, or should I strip off my clothes and turn around in circles for you?”

  Jack cuts his eyes to me.

  Jonesy barks out a loud laugh from the depths of his gut. It’s a raking sound, like tumbling stones in a wheel of scrap metal, and heads that weren’t already staring turn in our direction.

  “Holy hell on ice!” Jonesy chokes out as his laughter wanes. “I like this one, Jack. Pretty and mean. I’ll bet she keeps you running.” He looks me over again, but this time in a more… admiring way.

  “You have no idea,” Jack mutters.

  Jonesy nods at me. “This is your girl, I take it?”

  “Yeah,” Jack says with a single nod. I whip my gaze to him, but he blatantly ignores me and goes on. “Jonesy this is Jenna. Jenna, meet Jonesy.”

  “Hey, darling.” He smiles at me.

  “Hey,” I say, not sure what to make of this guy. Does he like Jack? Does he hate him?

  Jack answers my unasked questions by explaining, “Jonesy is like the grandfather I never wanted.”

  Jonesy grins at him. “Bullshit. You like me.”

  “I like you compared to everyone else in this hellhole,” he corrects. “But I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.”

  He winks at me. “And with good reason.”

  “Case in point,” Jack says, then shakes his head at Jonesy. “Sorry about Samson, by the way. I’ll pay his tab and get him out of here. Is it cool if we head to the back?”

  Jonesy nods. “Go on back. But don’t worry about his tab. He’s all paid up.”

  Jack shoves off the bar with a nod of thanks and walks toward the dark hallway. I follow behind him trying to decide on how best to let him know I’m not thrilled with his insta-reply back there about me being his girl.

  I finally settle for, “What the fuck was that?” as I come up beside him in the hallway.

  He barely glances at me. “I’ll explain later.”

  “I’m sorry, you’ll explain?”

  “Yes. I’ll explain,” he bites out then stops in the middle of the corridor. “Now hurry so we can get out of here.”

  He points across the hall to a restroom door and I suddenly remember that I have to pee. With one last scowl angled at him, I turn and head for the bathroom.

  When I’m finished washing my hands, I exit the bathroom to find Jack standing just outside the door, facing outward with his arms crossed and blocking the entrance, like he’s some kind of bathroom sentry.

  I tilt my head. “You’re on Potty Patrol now? Wow.”

  He cocks his head. “Would you rather I ditch you?”

  “Well… no.”

  “Exactly.” He says nothing else as we head to the back of the hallway. Following behind him through the darkness, I watch one of his scarred hands push open the red door while the other reaches back for me, and can’t help but feel like we’re walking into something far more ominous than the storage room of a local bar. Something I should probably fear.

  But my eyes trail down the sure lines of the familiar tattoo on the arm reaching back for me—where a large hawk proudly mangles a snake in its deadly talons—and any fear I might have dredged up instantly takes a backseat to the trust I have in Jack. He would never let anything happen to me. To us. I know this in an instinctive and undeniable way. Like it’s a built-in truth.

  So I slip my hand into his and let the warmth from his grasp wrap around my cold fingers as we enter through the scarlet door, together.

  12

  Jack

  I’m going to kill Samson.

  I spy my younger brother the moment I step into the back room, and the sight of his drunk ass sprawled out on the concrete floor has me swallowing curse words as fast as I can conceive them.

  I’m going to kill him for putting me in this situation. Jenna wasn’t supposed to be exposed to anything regarding my “real” life, aside from my house when she dropped me off, and now she’s right in the middle of it. Thanks to Samson.

  Vipers? Seriously? Goddamn. What was he thinking coming here?

  We’re not alone in the back room. Seated at a round table between me and Samson are the “poker players.” I know them each by name and contraband, and they know me just the same.

  The poker faces eye Jenna, and I can almost hear the wheels turning in their heads. I grip her hand more tightly, feeling like I just walked a gazelle straight into a den of lions.

  She’s going to bitch at me from here to hell for treating her like she’s mine in here, but I had no choice. If she’d just stayed in the car like I said, things would have been fine. But no, the diva had to pee.

  All the eyes in the room drift away from Jenna and fall back on me and I relax a bit.

  I wasn’t sure what was going to meet us on the other side of the red door—I’ve had such varying experiences it’s hard to make an educated guess anymore—but it looks like everyone is playing nice tonight. I glance at a guy seated at the table with a fresh black eye, a bloody lip, and two missing fingers. Nice enough, at least.

  “Jack…” says a familiar voice.

  I lock eyes with the owner of Vipers. Alec’s never been good at greeting others with any kind of finality to his tone. It’s one of the things that make him so unsettling.

  I glance at the missing digits on the bloody guy’s left hand.

  And unpredictable.

  Loosening my hold on Jenna, I straighten my shoulders and nod once. “Alec.”

  Memories I’ve stuffed in deep dark pockets of my soul start to pull themselves out and slowly unfold within my chest as we eye one another.

  He lights a cigarette and takes a painfully slow drag as he watches me. His blue eyes are ice-cold and calculating. The kind of eyes you want on your side, if only to keep from having them against you. He exhales just as slowly as he pulls the smoke into his lungs, and a long wisp of white glides above the table like a sickly cloud.

  “Haven’t seen you for a while,” Alec says. He slowly scratches at the black whiskers on his chin. “I didn’t think you’d ever come back. You sticking around this time?”

  “Not likely.” I look around, my gut crawling with nerves and anxiety. I need to get Samson and Jenna out of here. Fast.

  Keeping my composure stern and steady, I gesture to my brother, facedown on the floor behind the poker table. “Did he break anything?”

  The poker faces shake their heads in unison. Alec says nothing.

  I look at each pair of eyes, one by one. “Does he owe money—or any other type of payment—to anyone here?”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Jenna glance at me, but I don’t look at her. I can’t. I can’t believe I let her walk into this. I need to get her out. Now.

  More heads shake in response. Still Alec is silent, but his light-blue eyes darken and tension fills the room.

  Holy s
hit. Holy shit.

  My eyes dart around, noting the exit door in the back, the rickety wall ladder leading to the roof, and the heavy red door behind me. I’m more familiar with this building than I care to admit, so I know just how cornered we are right now.

  Jenna. Oh God. I need to get her out of here.

  As if she can sense my thoughts, Jenna steps closer to me, her shoulder pressing into my back like she knows she needs a shield, and lets out a shaky exhale.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  “No payment is required…” Alec finally says, breaking the silence. His voice is quiet and unresolved. Eerie. “But you know how I feel about… drop-ins.”

  My pulse rises. “Samson has nothing to do with the business. You know that. He was just…” I glance at my brother’s drunk body. So ignorant. So breakable. “Hell, I don’t know what he was doing. But he wasn’t here to stir shit up.”

  “Oh, I assure you he was.” Alec leans back and gives a subtle nod to the poker faces.

  Three guns are immediately pointed at my face, and Jenna sucks in a sharp breath.

  Unpredictable Alec.

  I know he won’t kill me. I know this is just a show. But Jenna doesn’t know that. And the trembling hand she has braced against my back certainly doesn’t know that.

  Goddamn it.

  “He was asking a lot of questions this evening,” Alec continues, casually. “Probing questions.”

  Shit. Samson was probably asking around about Drew. The dumbass doesn’t know any better, but sniffing around a bar like this—a bar with business outside of just booze—can get a guy killed. It usually does.

  I choose my next words carefully. “Samson’s intentions were innocent, Alec. He wasn’t trying to pry into your business shit. I promise.”

  “Do you know”—Alec takes another slow drag of his cigarette—“that you’re the only person in this…”—he lets out another slow exhale as he gestures around—“industry… whose promises mean anything to me?”

  I say nothing.

  “And because of that, I have a tendency to trust you.” He nods again at his gunmen and they lower their weapons. Alec looks up at me from his seat at the table with a sharp warning in his eyes. “Don’t make me regret it, Jack.” He stubs out his cigarette, eyes never leaving mine. “I’m serious.”

  Relief floods my veins and fills my lungs, but holy hell. How am I going to explain all this to Jenna?

  Nodding once, I let out a rough exhale. “Are we done here?”

  Alec inhales. “I suppose so.” He flicks a hand at the dealer and they return to their card game.

  Wasting no time, I race toward my brother, directing Jenna along beside me by the small of her back. Samson is several yards behind the poker table, and when we reach him, his head lolls to the side and his hair—the same almost-black shade as mine but slightly shorter and wavier—flops into his bloodshot green eyes as he stares up at me.

  “Heh, bro,” he slurs. “Please don’t punch me.”

  I hoist him up from the floor and steady his body against mine. He might be my little brother, but he’s only an inch shorter and nearly as muscular as I am, so hauling his weight up is no small task.

  “You better figure out how to walk on your own, Sam.” I prop him upright beside me. “Or I will punch you.”

  Samson rolls his head in a pathetic attempt to nod. “That seems fair.”

  Jenna steps to Samson’s other side and helps steady him until he’s on his feet. He’s wobbling like a newborn lamb, but standing nonetheless. I point to an exit door in the far corner, where I know just beyond is almost exactly where I parked, and Jenna nods.

  “It was good to see you again, Jack,” Alec says without looking back at me. “Perhaps we’ll meet again soon…”

  I try to ignore the sick feeling his words bring to my gut and focus on keeping Samson upright as Jenna and I direct him toward the exit door. Then, pushing it open with more force than necessary, I lead the lamb and gazelle out of the lions’ den and into the parking lot.

  I unlock the doors of Jenna’s car, stuff Samson in the backseat, and slam the door before climbing into the front. Jenna gets in without a word and clicks her seat belt into place.

  She glances at me, fear in her expression, a worry line between her brows, and an angry fleck in her eyes. I’ve got nothing to say to her, though. Not yet.

  Throwing the car in gear, I drive away and wait until there’s a few miles between us and the bar before pinning Samson with my eyes in the rearview mirror and biting out, “What the fuck, Sam?”

  He rubs both hands down his face and groans. “I know, Jack.”

  “No, you don’t know. You could have gotten yourself killed back there! Or worse.”

  My eyes flit to Jenna and guilt wrings my stomach. She’s probably terrified.

  “I’m sorry. But it’s bad.” He shakes his head. “It’s so bad.”

  “You’re damn right, it’s bad.” I flex my jaw. “You can’t just poke around Alec’s business, Sam! The guy thought you were trying to spy on him or some shit. Just because he’s not your enemy does not mean he’s your friend. Understand?” I grimace, my nerves fried from the nonstop adrenaline spiking my veins during that whole encounter. “And what the hell is up with you getting wasted? You’re twenty-one, man. Not fifteen. I shouldn’t be dragging your ass out of bars.”

  Samson just keeps shaking his head. “No, Jack. I mean this thing with Drew is bad.”

  “No shit.” I purse my lips. “But getting trashed certainly isn’t going to make it better.”

  “No, man. You don’t understand,” he says, slurring a bit as he hangs his face between the front seats, seemingly oblivious to Jenna’s presence. “I got a call tonight. From one of the Royals. They…” His voice cracks. “They put a bounty out on Drew.”

  My grip tightens around the steering wheel as I stare ahead, my stomach suddenly feeling hollow and cold.

  No.

  This can’t be happening.

  A bounty? My blood ices over with cold black dread.

  From the corner of my eye, I see Jenna’s mouth fall open and my dread reroutes to other areas of impossible fear. Shit.

  Shit, shit, shit. This is not how things were supposed to go down. Not with Jenna. Not with Samson. Not with Drew… oh, God.

  I draw in a deep breath and glance at Samson. “And the Royals told you that?”

  He nods heavily. “That’s why I got all messed up tonight. I went to Alec thinking maybe he could help—”

  “Dammit, Sam,” I mutter.

  “But he was just as surprised as me,” Samson continues. “He knew nothing about Drew being mixed up with the Royals—or about the Royals putting a price on Drew’s head—and I… I just panicked. Jonesy felt bad and poured me a few drinks, and I just kept drinking until it wasn’t real anymore.” He shakes his head and slurs, “It can’t be real.”

  Angry fear spills into the hollow of my stomach. “I thought you guys were staying out of things, dammit. You said this wouldn’t be an issue if I left. You promised you wouldn’t get involved in Dad’s shit—”

  “I didn’t! I swear,” Samson says. “And I didn’t know Drew was up to something of this caliber until I got that call tonight.” His eyes turn desperate. “The Royals think I know where Drew is—but I don’t! I have no fucking clue. And…” He grabs at his hair. “And if they find him, they’re going to—”

  “I know!” I bark. “Just shut up for a second and let me think.”

  Samson pulls back and slouches against the seat and I sneak a glimpse at Jenna. I can’t risk Samson’s drunk mouth spilling any more information about my family’s fucked-up situation. Jenna’s freaked-out enough as it is.

  My drumming pulse roars in my ears as silence fills the car. If Drew’s mixed up with the Royals then all of this really is my fault. But how the hell did he manage to contact them without me? The Royals aren’t even based in Little Vail.

  I slip my eyes to Jenna, who’s doing a dece
nt job of pretending like she’s totally cool with everything that’s happened in the last thirty minutes by picking the purple polish off her fingernails, but I know better. She’s scared and she’ll surely have a lot of questions for me. I’m just afraid I’m not going to have any answers for her. At least none that she’ll like.

  “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” I say evenly as my gaze shifts to Samson in the rearview mirror. “I’m going to drop you off at Mom’s so you can crash and sober up. Then Jenna can take her car and head home”—I nod in her direction and Samson tips his chin at her in greeting—“while I go find out more about Drew’s business with the Royals.” I stretch my neck. “Then we can get this all sorted out.”

  Maybe. The Royals putting a price on Drew’s head is basically an act of war, so the odds of this turning out well for Drew, or anyone else in my family, aren’t very good. But at least Jenna will be safe. She’ll be long gone before morning, happily at home with her family, where my troubles can’t reach her.

  Glancing across the dark car at her profile, fear pricks the back of my neck.

  “Are you okay?” I ask quietly.

  She thinks for a moment. “Oddly, yes. Considering multiple guns were pointed in our direction just five minutes ago, I think I’m doing pretty damn good.”

  I scrub a hand down my face. “God, I’m sorry. What happened back there… that wasn’t… I shouldn’t have—”

  Samson groans. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  I snap my eyes to him. “Don’t you dare vomit in the car.”

  “Then quit taking turns at high speeds,” he complains. “Being drunk is hard.”

  Jenna shakes her head and looks at me. “Let’s talk after we drop him off, okay?”

  I press my lips together, both grateful and worried that she’s taking the night’s events so well.

  Across the car, she sits cross-legged, with her graceful arms resting against her thighs and her hands tucked in her lap, and the soft glow from the dashboard instruments highlighting the curve of her cheekbone and the length of her neck. She reminds me of good things, happy things.