by Emilia Finn
Ripley is a wily motherfucker, and though he knows he has the cops sniffing close to his business activities, he’s smart and smooth enough to know that they don’t really have a lot to go on. They have a name, of course, but that’s only – according to Rip himself – because of a dirty fucking rat.
But snitch or not, having a name isn’t enough for a conviction, and no matter how hard the local cops try, they’re yet to catch Ripley do anything but hang out in the streets, or drive along back roads.
Shady behavior, perhaps. But far from illegal.
“What’s the name of the guy coming out here?”
Rush – short for ‘Russia,’ which I guess doesn’t appear all that obvious, when you look at the guy’s olive-toned skin, dark hair, and darker eyes – sits in the driver’s seat and watches me in the rearview mirror. He’s a hardened guy that stands at close to seven feet tall, and though I’m a broad dude – folks make mention of it often – Rush makes me feel small, and fuck if that doesn’t mess with my head when I’m working.
Rush knows how to fuck people up, and does it without flinching.
He watches me now with a lifted brow and enough room between his seat and mine that he could smack me down and ruin my day if I mess this up for Ripley. “Focus,” he orders again on a growling murmur. “If shit goes down and you choke, you won’t live to tell your momma.”
“Ugh. Why you gotta bring moms into it?” Ronan Webster, a wannabe thug, sits in the front passenger seat and whines.
Ronan is Ripley’s cousin – as in, literally, their moms are sisters. Good thing, too, because though he wouldn’t make it in anyone else’s little gang, I guess he gets special considerations due to the fact he and Ripley have been swinging their dicks at the same family dinners their whole lives.
Rush ignores the kid completely, which is easy to do when you recognize he’s nothing more than a scapegoat, and shakes his head as he stares into my eyes. “Put the fuckin’ phone away, Quinn. If you don’t, I’ll make you eat the damn thing.”
Scowling, I think on my options – telling him to fuck himself being one of them – and glance out the window into the darkness of nothing but trees.
We’re about twenty klicks outside town, and it’s closing in on midnight, which means Olivia’s date is either over and she’s alone, or… I’m going to break something.
“You got a girl, Rush?” I slide my dying phone into my pocket and sit back to zen the fuck out. “A full-time female you like to spend your time on?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t tell you about it.” He does much the same as I do, and sits back until his chair groans. “Stupid motherfucker. Do you make it a habit of getting personal with folks like us?”
“No.” I exhale and look out at the half moon. “But it’s only me and you in here, and, I dunno,” I shrug, “I guess I figure you ain’t gonna snitch me out.”
“Don’t count on it, corno.”
“I’m here too, bitches.” Ronan huffs in his chair and bristles about the fact he’s always ignored.
I doubt Ripley sends his cousin on these drops as a kind of security or family representative, but rather, someone to take the fall if the cops get us.
“So you’re seriously gonna sit here with me in the dark,” I speak only to Rush, and ignore the pissant, “the stars are out, the moon. We have three hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars in a bag on the floor, and enough white powder to have us all sent away, and you’re not gonna tell me about your girl? Where’s the fucking romance, huh?”
The monstrous fucker gives a soft chuckle and looks out at the star-lit sky. “You go first,” he bargains. “Tell me all your secrets, bud. Then maybe I’ll reciprocate.”
“I like a girl.” I let it out like a fart I’ve been holding for hours. “She’s not mine, though.”
“She’s not taking your calls?” He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t even turn his head. “I saw you dialing over and over earlier.”
“She was texting me for a bit, but then she stopped. Now it’s fuckin’ with my head.”
“You worried about her?”
I grunt out what I suppose could pass for an ‘I guess.’ “She’s on a date tonight.”
That gets his attention, and brings around the head of the guy I would feel more natural calling Portuguese rather than Russian. “The girl you like is on a date with someone else tonight? As in, with a guy, and not just a girls’ night out thing.”
“Yeah. And not just any guy. He’s the law.” I shrug. “Well, sorta.”
“Fuckin’ gross,” Ronan inserts, like I give a fuck about what he thinks. “Your girl is two-timing you with a goddamn pig? What kinda pansy-ass motherfucker are you?”
“Not a pig.” I look to Rush, I answer to Rush, because despite his chosen profession, he kind of commands respect. If he was a war general, I’d probably follow him across the line.
It’s too damn bad this is the life he chose.
“Not a pig,” I continue, “but close enough.”
“Makes you a pussy,” he declares, making Ronan grin. “If you want a girl, you don’t share her with someone else. That’s not how it works.”
“Heh.” I glance away and go back to looking at the stars. If only he knew that she was Brenten’s, and I was the one stepping on toes. “Well, that’s my drama. Now tell me yours.”
He scoffs and turns back to study the darkness outside. “I don’t have drama.” He shakes his head with a lazy movement. “I never do drama. It’s stupid.”
“Girls are drama, bruh. You can’t have one without the other.”
“Not true.”
He sits taller and looks out the windshield when car lights come into view a long way off. We’re on a winding road and surrounded by trees, which means we can see lights as they approach, but we won’t see who they are until they’re on top of us. It’s a calculated risk, where we have to hope the incoming person is the person we’re expecting. But if they’re not, we have the cover of trees and someplace to hide if shit gets dicey.
“I have never in my life fucked drama,” Rush adds. “Ever. So you’re choosing wrong.”
“But I don’t think I made this choice,” I counter and study the oncoming lights. The car coming our way is still a minute or two away, so we all focus, we all straighten out, but we know we have time. “That’s the difference, ain’t it? Maybe you fuck no-drama, but they aren’t your take-home girl.”
“You’re telling me your take-home girl is on a date with someone else tonight?” He looks to the clock in the dash, and lifts his brows in a way I know he’s thinking about what she might be doing at midnight with another man. “And you’re okay with that?”
“No,” I scowl and unsnap my seatbelt.
Rush does the same, as we prepare for whatever’s coming; either an exchange with enough felony power to put us all away for a long time, or, well, the cops, who will have enough evidence to put us away for a long time.
Pulling down a beanie from the top of my head, I use it to cover my identity, and in front of me, Rush and Ronan do the same. All three of us are fairly recognizable by our size and shapes – Rush is massive, Ronan is scrawny and long-limbed, and then there’s me, the guy in the middle, with broad shoulders and arms. We may be recognizable, but we’re not going to make it too easy on our enemy.
“Saddle up,” Rush murmurs when the oncoming car should be slowing, but instead, comes around a bend with too much speed. “This shit ain’t right.”
“Start the truck!” Ronan swings an arm out that smacks Rush’s chest. “Start the fuckin’ truck, man.”
“Bitch, sit the fuck down. I don’t take orders from you.”
“They’re not stopping!” Ronan squeals like a baby pig as the car barrels closer, but it’s like a game of chicken.
Rush and I remain seated, even as Ronan opens his door.
Seated.
As adrenaline and tunnel vision take over my system.
Seated.
As my every sense tu
rns more alert.
Seated…
But then red and blue lights flash, and we’re off.
I sweep the cash-filled backpack from the floor of the SUV and swing it over my shoulders; a second after that, I fly out of the truck and bolt across the road toward the trees.
Ronan runs in the opposite direction and provides the perfect distraction, but the cop car continues its way to me. It races closer and closer so tires scream, sirens wail, and the engine roars, then with a shudder and a thump, the car clips my leg as I dive toward the trees.
My knee screams out in pain, my kneecap is on fire, but then Rush’s hand claps down on my shoulder and helps pull me out of my roll, then we’re sprinting through the trees and dodging low-lying branches.
Big guys aren’t supposed to be able to run this fast, but adrenaline carries us over fallen logs and under thick branches that would knock us out if we didn’t pay attention. We sprint deeper into the trees, and when Rush pulls a little ahead of me, I see the other bag slung over his shoulder.
The bag with enough drugs to buy a decent home in an affluent New York City neighborhood.
“Drop the bag.” I run as hard as I can on a shoddy knee, and try to reach out. “Drop the bag, Rush, and get the fuck outta here.”
“Not dropping it.” He shoves my shoulder and pushes me under a fallen log, and when moist leaves shift beneath my weight, it’s like the ground opens up and swallows me whole.
I skid down an embankment and slam my elbow on a half-buried rock as I go. My hip slams against something sharp, and when branches scrape across my face, I find myself thanking the ski mask for saving my skin. The bag of money remains on my shoulder, but Rush doesn’t fall with me as I roll and bounce, roll and slam to the ground.
It feels like I fall for minutes, hours, but then the flat earth races toward me, and I crash between thick tree trunks, and slam to my back so my spine arches around the bag, and my arms splay wide and dangle away from my body.
“Fuckkkk.”
I remain lying on my back and stare up at the thick foliage above. My breath comes in pained pants, and with each inhale, my ribs ache and send licks of pain down into my gut.
There are no sirens, no shouting, no flashing blue and red lights.
No Ronan, who may or may not end up in a cage tonight.
And no Rush, who is now in possession of some really bad shit.
I bend my neck back just a little when running water catches my attention, and there, just half a foot from where my hand lays, a spring bubbles and churns and beckons me to slide my aching body in. But it’s dark down here, almost pitch-black when the stars and moon can’t penetrate the trees and lend a little light, which makes the spring look less and less inviting after a moment, and more like a deathtrap waiting to swallow me up.
I don’t move from where I lay; I don’t do anything except stretch one hand toward the water just so I can feel its warmth.
My brain continues to roll around inside my skull, and my ribs ache, but worse than all that is my knee. It burns hot like the fire of a thousand suns, and when I try to move it, pain radiates from my hip to my ankle. Groaning, I let my leg relax again and wonder how the actual fuck I’m supposed to climb my stupid ass out of this place. The way out is up, and my knee hurts when I’m laying down, let alone standing up.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, that consistent buzz-buzz-buzz that makes me want to weep, but instead, I reach down with a moan and pull it out, because ridiculously, it could be Olivia finally returning my texts, and I’ll be damned before I ignore her middle-of-the-night calls.
Swiping to answer, I bring the device to my ear and grunt, “Yeah?”
“You survived the fall?”
“Rush?” I grunt again. “You motherfucker. You pushed me.”
He snorts and breathes a little heavily, like he’s still coming down from our run. “I saved you from smacking into a log, dumbass. You just so happened to slide off the side of a hill after that. It was an oopsie.”
“An oopsie,” I huff. “You prick. Come and get me; I think my knee is fucked.”
“Nah,” he chuckles. “I have to get back to work, but I’m glad you lived. You got someone you can call to get out of there?”
“No,” I answer instinctively. My whole life, I’ve been the carer, the backup, the hero. “My sister will be in bed by now. I don’t wanna call her.”
“You could call the cops,” he teases. “Let them know where to find you.”
I scoff and turn a little to my right. I’m like an old turtle turned on its back. I rock a little, and huff in an effort to get myself up. “Not gonna call the cops. And you still have the product. You think I didn’t notice which bag you grabbed?”
“Oh, please,” he snorts. “Your hands ain’t clean, Quinn. You gonna hand that cash in to the cops tomorrow like a good little dog?”
If only he knew.
“Come and get me. I’m down by some kind of spring.”
“I already told you, I can’t come get you. I have a lot of shit to do tonight, but maybe you should call your take-home girl. Call her now while her cop daddy is writing up reports, and you’ll have a clear hour or two before he even comes looking.”
He hangs up without another word, even while my brain fixates on what he said.
My take-home girl… sure, I told him about her.
But I sure as shit didn’t tell him that she was a cop’s daughter.
Olivia
Incoming Call
“Hello?” I lay in my bed in the dark, but answer my phone when it rings in the silence. “Why are you calling me?”
“Olivia?” Will’s voice is a strange balm on a burn I can’t quite pinpoint when I got, but it’s there, and it stings so much more than I ever thought possible. “Did I wake you?”
“It’s…” I roll over and check my clock, “One-forty-five in the morning, William. Why wouldn’t I be asleep?”
“Did I wake you?” he repeats slowly, as though he knows the truth behind my words. “Or were you lying in bed awake, but you couldn’t sleep because you were thinking about me?”
Silence descends for a moment while I consider just how honest I’m going to be. I could tell him everything, and possibly make us both feel better, or I could tell him nothing, and remain the jerk in our scenario – I’m the cheat, I’m the liar, I’m the asshole in a pairing that no one else understands.
Or I could meet him somewhere in the middle, and pray it’s enough.
“I was awake,” I admit quietly. “I was thinking about lots of things.”
“Are you okay?” I was expecting a smile in his voice, a taunting sneer, but all I get is genuine concern. “Brenten wasn’t a prick tonight, was he?”
I laugh under my breath and turn all the way over in bed to snuggle into my covers. I rest the phone between my pillow and ear, and dig my hands under the pillow until my body relaxes into the soft mattress. “He was a bit of a prick,” I murmur, “but it wasn’t so bad. He’s an awkward guy, like his mom didn’t let him socialize much as a kid, which means he struggles now as an adult.” It’s almost not his fault. “Sometimes when he thinks something is a good idea, in his mind it’s fine, but to the rest of us, it’s stupid.”
“Okay…” William’s voice trails off for a moment. “What was his prickish idea?”
I sigh and let my eyes flutter closed.
I’ve been laying here for hours, tossing and turning and overthinking every little choice I’ve made this past year, which means I’ve been unable to drift off. But now things start falling into place. William’s gruff voice helps my pulse slow, and my stomach loses the sick roiling that’s been going for hours. My shoulders relax, and my lungs finally release the pent-up oxygen they’ve been holding on to, instead allowing me to breathe in fresh, new air.
“He’s frustrated at work,” I whisper, then squeeze my eyes closed, “which isn’t anything new, but he figures I can help him out. His idea, to him, makes perfect sense. But I sai
d no.”
“Why’s his frustration at work not something new?” William begins breathing a little harder. He should be in bed at this hour, but it almost sounds like he’s walking. “He hate his job?”
“No,” I consider. “I actually think he loves his job… usually. But he doesn’t like this town, and he doesn’t like the fact he was delegated here against his wishes. From what I was told, he messed up a big case a little while back, and as punishment, he was sent here. I guess he figures if he slam-dunks something high-profile, he’ll be able to go back to his big city office and live the good life once more.”
“And the high-profile case would be…?”
I sigh and wish I didn’t have to say the words out loud. Maybe I’m being more adventurous these days, braver, stronger. But I’m not one to let something so blaringly obvious go.
“William…” I start. “Why don’t you have a job yet? And before you do, don’t try to imply that you have one and I just don’t know about it. This is a small town, we tend to hear about new hires. You’re not out at the steel mill, and you’re not working at the store. You’re not delivering for anyone, and you’re not even in the gym all that often. You’re busy, and you’re making money; those two things, I’m sure of. But…” I hate the way my heart hurts. “I’m afraid you’re doing something bad.”
“Yeah? And if I am?” he asks gently. “A guy’s gotta make an income, Olivia. I was born for a life of…” he thinks about it for a moment. “Unconventional work. I don’t hurt anyone that doesn’t deserve it, and I don’t steal from anyone…” Then he chuckles. “Except Brenten Pierce.”
“I’ve gone to bed with you,” I whisper past the nerves in my throat. “I’ve been intimate with you, and you’re living a life that’s…” I shake my head. “Incompatible.”
“Why are we incompatible?” he asks. “Give me one good reason why we’re truly wrong for each other.”
“You mean apart from the fact I’m supposed to be committed to someone else? You’re a bad person, William. You don’t tell the truth, and you don’t honor promises. My daddy is a cop. His job is to lock people like you up, and if I were to become privy to such information that would help him do his job, then I would tell him.” I swallow, and move my head so I can use my pillow to absorb the single tear that escapes onto my temple. “I would have to tell him, William. My loyalty has to belong to him.”
