Valentine's Billionaire Bad Boys

by M. S. Parker

  Ridley tensed and I imagined plunging my hand into the old man’s face, pummeling until blood flowed.

  Dale’s gaze moved to mine, and I saw his eyes drift down, rest on my right hip.

  Shit.

  Then he looked back at his father, slid a casual glance toward the back door. He was trying to tell me something, and I had a feeling he knew about the gun.

  How, I didn’t know. I didn’t think he’d had a chance to chat with Ridley, and I was almost positive there was no way he’d seen me palm it. I might have been out of practice, but I was still pretty damn good.

  As Ridley and Mitchell continued to snarl and snap at each other, Dale gave a lazy nod to the back door. I looked at my bare feet and thought about hauling ass down the mountain. It wasn’t far and I’d made it through worse.

  But then I looked at Ridley. What happened if he messed up and–

  “I swear I should have just killed that cunt and the kid!” Mitchell said, shoving past Ridley and moving closer to the spot where his son and I waited.

  So much for that silent conversation we’d been sharing.

  “You.” Mitchell’s lip curled at me, while behind him, Ridley’s face went red and his eyes narrowed down to dangerous slits.

  With his temper, I’d known better than to turn my back on him, but I wasn’t the one standing that way right now.

  “You, your little cunt, that bitch kid–”

  Ridley’s nostrils flared, his jaw clenching shut.

  Dale lifted the gun he had yet to holster. “Dad.”

  “You ain’t shot me yet, you ain’t gonna do it now,” Mitchell said, mockery in his voice. “Told you that you was a pussy. Came from living with your mama all those years. Why don’t you just get on out of here now?”

  But Dale wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were focused behind his father and I knew he’d seen the true danger in the room.

  “Ridley. Don’t. Okay?”

  Mitchell glanced over his shoulder.

  The next moments were a blur of noise and screams and bellows of rage.

  Ridley grabbed Mitchell, one big arm snaking around his neck.

  Dale pulled the trigger on his gun. His father got a shot off too, and glass shattered somewhere in the cabin.

  Then, it was over and Ridley was on the ground. I grabbed the suede blanket from the back of the couch, and shoved it against his shoulder. His face was pale, his eyes glossy with pain.

  In front of me, father and son faced off, guns raised. They were just a few feet apart, so almost any shot fired would hit its target. The only difference was, Derrell Mitchell, Sr didn’t look at all disturbed by the idea of killing his son. Dale, however, looked more torn than anybody I’d ever seen in my life.

  “Kill the fucker,” Ridley whispered.

  I looked down at him.

  He reached up with his good hand, panting.

  I’d been thinking the same thing until the moment Ridley had spoken it out loud. If Dale hadn’t been there, maybe things would’ve been different, but I’d watched Dale save Carly and Haley’s life. He’d tried to save mine. I might have still wanted to kill Mitchell, but I wasn’t sure I could do that to Dale. Not again. I’d taken his brother from him. Could I take his father too? And right in front of him? Could I be that kind of monster?

  But...

  Haley’s face flashed into my mind. Carly’s.

  Then I looked down at Ridley.

  No, I didn’t like the son of a bitch, and if he hadn’t been bleeding out from a gunshot, I might’ve tried beating the shit out of him, but he hadn’t been the mastermind here. Mitchell had used him to get to my daughter. Mitchell had been ready to kill anybody he could just to get to me.

  Now it looked like anybody included his own son.

  The least I could do for Dale was save his life, no matter what it meant for me.

  Slowly, I slid my hand into the pocket of the borrowed pants, closed it around the grip of the gun. It felt heavier than I knew it was. I’d taken lives before and they each came with a weight.

  Like before, though, this was something I had to do.

  “Put that toy down, Dale, or use it. Because I ain’t gonna wait much longer.” As he threatened his son, he smiled.

  “Dad, don’t do this,” Dale pleaded.

  I had no doubt Dale could do it. He was a cop and if the man in front of him hadn’t been his father, he’d probably already be dead. But Dale didn’t have much family left. He was being forced to choose between his dad, and the man who’d killed his brother.

  I couldn’t let him make that choice.

  I took a step forward.

  “Why are you pointing that at him, Mitchell?” I said softly. “I’m the one you want dead.”

  “Bobby, shut up!” Dale shouted.

  “Come on, Mitchell,” I said, ignoring Dale as I continued to walk. They hadn’t looked away from the other, and I could see the tension they had on their respective triggers. “Put the guns down. Mitchell, you and I can leave here, get in my car and just leave. You get the keys, you decide where we go.”

  “I’m not looking to take you on a Sunday cruise, boy.”

  “The cops are going to be swarming this place soon.” I shrugged, layering on the bullshit as fast as I could. “They weren’t too concerned about sending an ex-con up here, but you had a kid. You had Carly. Once she gets to the cops and tells them that it’s just us, well, you screwed yourself right there.”

  He swung the gun in my direction. “You think I don’t know what’s going to happen? I’m a dead man already! I just plan on taking you with me!”

  Dale lunged.

  Mitchell swung the gun back and pulled the trigger.

  The impact stopped Dale in his tracks. He went to his knees, his hands going to his chest.

  Mitchell let out a sound that was part roar, part denial and then he spun around to face me. “You see what you made me do! You see!” He stormed toward me and grabbed my left arm. He half-dragged me toward Dale’s body as I struggled to keep my grip on the gun with my right hand.

  I stared down at Dale, at his slack face, his closed eyes – at his moving chest.

  There was no blood.

  No blood.

  My eyes caught the tear in his shirt and I almost choked, trying to keep quiet as I saw the dark fibers of a Kevlar vest.

  But Mitchell didn’t see any of that.

  He swung back to face me and I didn’t move in time to dodge the butt of his gun. Pain exploded across my face and I fell, unable to catch myself and still keep the gun hidden in my pocket.

  “You stupid, stupid...”

  Dully, I saw him move to kick Dale and I crawled, placing my body between them. “Don’t,” I muttered. Blood filled my mouth and I choked, gagged. I spit out a mouthful and then another.

  “Your fault.” Mitchell stumbled a few feet away. “I lost it all because of you. My wife. My boys. It’s all you.”

  He turned and stared at me.

  I saw the gun lifting.

  I dragged mine free, but I already knew I was too late.

  The crashing noise mingled with white-hot pain.

  The last thing I remembered was the look of surprise on his face, and then he was falling, right down on top of me.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  So that’s it. That’s my story.

  Eighteen months ago, I was shot, point-blank, in the head.

  I’ve gotten bits and pieces of what happened since there’s no memory of anything after Mitchell falling.

  The cops rushed in, apparently, and started CPR, but Mitchell died en route to the hospital. Dale survived the bullet he took in the chest with only a bruise.

  I found out he left the police department and took up working with troubled kids. He and his wife are expecting their first child in a couple months.

  Ridley lived too. He confessed everything, from what he’d told Mitchell to how Carly had ended up in the house. There had been some questionable involvement with the l
etters, but since Carly had spoken to the prosecutor on his behalf, he’d been let off with probation and a shitload of community service.

  Of course, Ryan fired his ass, so Ridley had to move out and find a new job.

  I didn’t know any of this for quite a while after it happened because I spent the next few months in a coma.

  Then I had to learn...well, pretty much everything all over again.

  I had to learn how to talk, walk, feed myself, take a fucking shower and tie my shoes. I was like some giant fucking toddler.

  The one thing I hadn’t needed to re-learn was her. The day I woke up, the first thing I saw was Carly, sitting at the side of my bed, reading to me.

  She had a copy of Harry Potter and The Sorcerer’s Stone. Harry had been sitting in Snape’s class for the first time.

  I don’t remember which line she’d been reading. Those memories of the first few days are still kind of weird. I do remember sitting there and staring at her and just...waiting.

  She looked up and didn’t even seem surprised to see that I was awake. It was like she’d been waiting too. Just waiting for me to wake up.

  I had to spend months in rehab, and then more months yet going to outpatient rehab, and I still have a few more appointments before everybody thinks I’ll be as good as new, or at least as good as I’ll ever be.

  I’ll never think I’m good enough to go back to guarding Carly. I couldn’t trust myself to be strong enough to save her. Ryan had immediately understood when I’d told him. Carly had taken a bit more convincing, but when she realized I wasn’t trying to quit us, just the job, she’d relented.

  Like I’d ever give her up.

  Even at my darkest moments, Carly had been the one thing that had kept me going. And there had been some pretty shitty moments.

  The walking part came pretty easy.

  Feeding myself? Even easier. I always liked to eat. Even if I did make a mess of myself for a while. Certain more personal things took a bit longer, and those were humiliating enough.

  The worst part though was not being able to talk.

  I couldn’t even say the simplest things. Hell, Dave’s daughter was talking better than I was. I’d go to say hello and the word just wouldn’t come out. It had taken weeks before I could make my mouth form words. It had been almost two months before I could even say Carly’s name.

  We’d both cried when it finally happened, and I hadn’t even cared that there were people around.

  The speech therapist told me all of this was normal.

  Even when I could say simple things, or when I could look at a comb and say, comb – and I could remember what to do with it – I couldn’t remember other things. Like my mom’s name. I could remember the way she’d looked when my father had been beating her. I could remember how she’d held me. And I could remember how she’d looked the officer in the eye as she’d lied and said he was gone, that he’d left and she didn’t know where he went

  But I couldn’t remember her name.

  Except…even when I couldn’t speak, I was able to write it down. It had been pure accident that I’d discovered it, in the middle of a therapy session. It wasn’t the speech therapist, though. It had been my shrink. I wouldn’t have gone, but Carly had asked. I couldn’t tell her no, so I went. And I ended up being glad I did.

  The therapist had been asking me to explain how I felt about something. I’d been talking fine that day, but then the words hadn’t wanted to come.

  Frustrated, I shoved off the couch and paced. Movement still didn’t want to come easy. Sometimes it felt like some puppet master was in control of my legs while I had to deal with the rest of me, and make sure everything still moved in tandem. I’d still been falling a lot then. I’d tripped, and couldn’t right myself. I’d fallen down, ended up on the floor for what had felt like the hundredth time.

  The doctor hadn’t offered to help. Some people did. Most people, really. But I’d fumbled my way up without a word from her. I’d also tried to fumble with the cuss words that filled my head. I could see them, I just couldn’t say them.

  When I’d fallen, I’d knocked a pen and a notepad from her desk so, without even thinking, I’d grabbed it and started to write.

  Every damn cuss word I could think of. Then I’d started writing all the words that had been trapped inside my head. The words seemed to tangle on my tongue, but if I wrote? They came out easier and once I wrote them, I was able to speak them...sometimes.

  I’d been almost laughing by the time I finished, and when the doctor had come to sit beside me, she’d been smiling.

  A week later, she gave me a journal.

  “Write down what you remember, Bobby.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re not dealing with everything like you want to think you are. You’re just hiding from it.”

  It took me a while to get around to accepting the fact that she was right, but in the end, I started to play around with it. I started and stopped probably half a dozen times, and I kept having to hide the thing from Carly. She kept finding it anyway.

  Finally, I just started writing it on the computer, and sometimes I left dirty stories for her in the journal. Sometimes, she wrote dirty suggestions back, but she seemed happy that I was working through things.

  I’m still not quite sure when it turned into a book.

  For the past six months, I’ve been able to speak just fine without having to resort to writing anything complicated out first. Right up until last night, that is.

  Last night, Carly stunned me speechless.

  I listen and my heart begins to beat faster.

  She’s coming up the stairs now. I can hear her, and I’m about to finish this up, but I need to get this down first.

  That bombshell she dropped on me last night? I’m still trying to wrap my mind around it, but I’m not quite so speechless anymore.

  A baby.

  Carly’s pregnant.

  I’m going to be a dad.

  And this time, I can actually be there.

  The door opens. I can see her in the mirror now, leaning against the door and smiling at me. “Eric is here with Haley, baby.”

  I nod at her as I finish wrapping things up.

  Haley is the other bright and beautiful spot in my life. Eric, the man who adopted my little girl all those years ago, is a great guy. He’s her dad and there’s no denying that. When, after I woke up, she asked if she could meet me, he told her absolutely. Now we see each other twice a month. One Saturday here, one Saturday up in Monterey. Yeah, some people might not think it’s a lot, but it’s more than I ever expected to have.

  She was there when Carly and I got married. Impatient as always, Carly asked me before I even got out of the hospital. I made her wait until I could stand up and watch her walk down the aisle.

  And Haley held the flowers for her.

  In a few minutes, we’re going to tell the kid about the baby we’ll be having in a few months.

  Haley is going to tease me again, about some stupid article or other that she cut out of the paper about me. It’s her thing. She collects them and teases me about being her hero. Sometimes I wonder just how long the media is going to milk it.

  I’m no hero.

  I’m just a lucky son of a bitch.

  “You coming, Bobby?”

  I study the screen a minute longer.

  Then I nod. “Yeah.”

  The past is recorded and it’s time for it to stay in the past. I’ve got the rest of my life to think about now. My life with Carly and our child. With my daughter. With all of the people who care about me.

  With the one thing I’d never thought I’d have.

  My family.

  Lacey’s Game

  Shiloh Walker

  Chapter One

  “I know you love him.”

  Seated in a little hole-in-the-wall diner known for its messy, amazing burgers and cold, cheap beer, Lacey Morgan propped her head against her upraised palm. She wasn’t in the
mood for this.

  She recognized the tone in Rocki’s voice. She already knew where the conversation was headed and she really didn’t want to go down this road again.

  “Rocki. Don’t. Okay? Just don’t. I don’t want to do this right now. Or…you know…ever.”

  Her best friend just stared at her. Without saying a word.

  Rocki wouldn’t let it go, not as easy as that. She was a bulldog when it came to her friends.

  Lacey sighed and leaned back in her seat. Could she get away with ordering a drink at eleven in the morning? Lips pursed, she debated it, but only for a minute. It was her day off. Why the hell not.

  After she’d ordered a rum and Coke, she looked back at Rocki, who continued to sit there, watching her with a patient look on her face. She’d wait forever too, if she had to. Rocki was good about that sort of thing.

  “Can’t you just let it go?” Lacey stared out the window, but she wasn’t seeing the bright autumn sunshine filtering down through the trees, she didn’t see the shoppers coming and going. No, she was remembering last night. The entire scene was like a fist in her heart—no, a knife, straight through the ribs and twisting around inside her, a perfect strike. It was a wonder she was still breathing.

  Why did she do this to herself?

  Why did she let him do it?

  “You know I can’t,” Rocki said, leaning forward and catching Lacey’s hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody look more heartbroken than you did last night. And that bastard doesn’t even see it. He won’t even look.”

  “Brogan doesn’t want to see it.” She fell silent as the waitress appeared with her drink and waited until the woman disappeared before she closed her hands around it. The food she’d ordered sat untouched in front of her. She knew she should eat, but she couldn’t.

  “I can tell that.” Rocki leaned back, the cheap vinyl seats squeaking beneath her. “Baby, why do you let him do this?”

  Good question.

  Staring into her drink, she wished she had some sort of answer to give her best friend. But she couldn’t even explain it to herself.