Rules of Survival

by Jus Accardo

  “She didn’t steal that money,” I said. It was taking all my control not to reach across the table and strangle him. “And she didn’t kill anyone.”

  But the truth was, I couldn’t be sure anymore—and that nearly killed me. Mom hadn’t told me about Mick and Patrick. Both men had fairly large roles in her life—and mine—and she’d left out a lot of details. Important details. What else hadn’t she told me? Mom had always been my rock. My true north. The doubt seeped in like poison and hurt almost worse than losing her. My entire life—the one I’d lived in the shadows of the real world—had been based on a series of lies.

  Patrick’s smug smile was gone. “Mick wasn’t smart enough to do it on his own—but that’s not what matters right now. Bengali is dangerous with nearly unlimited resources. We have to find a way to deal with him. Soon.”

  “We?” I said, nearly choking on the words—and the idea. “What is this we shit?”

  “You’ve got a target painted on the back of your head, kid. You need my help.”

  “Your help? To what—push me off a cliff?” I pressed both palms flat against the surface, trying to keep calm. The shackles were showing, but I didn’t care. If I didn’t occupy my hands, I might have tested out the fighting lessons Shaun had given me. “You made my mom’s life a living hell. You’ve made my life a living hell. What makes you think I’d believe you want to help me all of a sudden?”

  “Because you’ve got no other choice.”

  “Cut me lose and leave me alone,” I said. “That’s a better choice than putting my trust in you.”

  The waitress arrived with our food, and mopped up what little coffee hadn’t dripped onto the floor before setting the plates down. Patrick waited for her to step away before he continued. “I wouldn’t be doing you any favors, kid. Trust me.”

  “That’s the point. I don’t trust you.” I glared at him. “You’re a hypocrite, Patrick. You spent all that time trying to drag my mom to the cops when you were just as guilty as she was.”

  “Both of you cool it for a sec,” Shaun snapped. He glanced out across the room. Several people were staring. “If this Bengali guy is so powerful, how are we supposed to deal with that?”

  “Maybe we could—”

  Whatever suggestion Patrick had been about to make was interrupted by a loud, obnoxious dinging. The room erupted in shouts and panicked screams as people jumped from their chairs and began racing toward the door.

  A quick scan of the room revealed Grayson Deeds standing in the corner with one hand on the fire alarm and a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. He winked and started to cut through the crowd in our direction.

  “Should have seen that coming,” Shaun mumbled, pushing me behind him.

  Patrick, in turn, stood and pushed Shaun behind him. “Didn’t we talk about this, Grayson?” he said as Deeds got closer.

  “Really, Pat? You thought I was going to let you walk away? Just like that? That little girl is the key to my financial future. Not only is Jaffe forking over a nice chunk of change, but that kid has Bengali’s money.”

  “Oops,” I said. “Yeah. I might have lied about that part…”

  “Sure you did, missy. Sure you did.” Deeds never lost his smile. “And I’m the pope.”

  “Not unless the pope is an oversize orange with bad breath,” Shaun said.

  I couldn’t help smiling. Awesome. Shaun was seriously awesome.

  Patrick stepped into the middle of the aisle. “Just walk away, Grayson. This is bigger than you realize.”

  Deeds didn’t answer right away. Instead he looked from Patrick to me, smiling. “Fine. We’ll split the take.”

  “There isn’t going to be a take. I’m not handing the kid in.”

  Whatever Deeds was expecting Patrick to say, that wasn’t it. His eyes grew impossibly large—which made the orange tone of his skin stand out even more—and his mouth fell open. “Not handing her in? Why the hell not?”

  Patrick hesitated for a moment. I didn’t know him well, but I could tell he was torn. “There is no Jaffe. It’s Bengali. He’s looking for payback for his kid’s murder.”

  “Oh, wow,” Shaun said. He was staring at the television mounted on the front wall above the register.

  There was a woman on-screen dressed in a navy-blue suit. Her hair was big and her skirt was incredibly short, and she was talking about a “tragic homicide.” As I was about to turn away, I noticed she was standing outside a familiar house.

  Gerald’s house.

  “Oh my God,” I breathed, pushing Shaun aside so I could get a better look. He reached across to the counter where the remote had been tossed by the cook in the chaos of the fire alarm, and turned up the volume.

  “Witnesses say the suspect, eighteen-year-old Mikayla Morgan, was seen leaving the property after having a heated argument with the victim on his front steps. It’s unclear at this time what her relationship is—if any—to the victim.” The woman stepped to the right and the camera followed her around the house and out to the barn. “The body was found yesterday, the cause of death believed to be the gunshot wound to the chest.”

  “This is not happening,” I whispered, unable to look away.

  The woman on-screen continued to talk, but the picture changed. A picture of my mom—one I’d never seen before—flashed across the screen. “Mikayla Morgan is also wanted in connection to another murder. The girl’s mother, Melissa Morgan, was found dead last year under the same circumstances.”

  The news channel panned back to the woman standing outside Gerald’s house, and she went on to talk about my mother’s “shady dealings,” but the sound of panic drowned her out.

  They’d killed Gerald. Granted, he’d tried to hand me over to Jaffe—aka Bengali—for a nice chunk of change, but still. He would have never been in that position if we hadn’t shown up on his doorstep. And for that, he’d gotten killed.

  Technically the newswoman was right: I’d killed Gerald.

  Shaun must have figured out where my thoughts were headed, because he grabbed my arm and spun me away from the television. “Don’t go there, Kayla. You didn’t pull the trigger. Bengali did.”

  “He’s trying to flush you out,” Patrick said. “But he’s going about it the wrong way. Exposure like this would only drive you deeper into hiding. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Ahem,” Deeds cleared his throat. For a minute I’d actually forgotten he was there. “I have an appointment in a few hours. Can we move this along?”

  Patrick inclined his head toward the door. “You’re free to move yourself along, Grayson. I’d love to say it was nice seeing you again, but…you know. It wasn’t.”

  But Deeds wouldn’t be deterred. I didn’t know what he was thinking—Shaun and Patrick were standing right there—but he reached around and made a swipe for my arm.

  “Go!” Patrick hissed, and threw himself forward at Deeds. They collapsed in a heap, Deeds screaming obscenities the entire way down.

  Shaun didn’t hesitate. He grabbed my hand and bolted for the back of the diner. Through the door marked employees only, and past the kitchen—which made me sort of glad I hadn’t had the chance to eat the pancakes I’d ordered—then out the back door.

  We ran for what felt like ten miles before Shaun let me stop to let me catch my breath. “I think we lost him,” I huffed.

  “I hope so.” He braced both hands against his knees and sucked in a deep breath. “But we shouldn’t stay put. My vote is hit someplace, figure out our next move, then get some rest.”

  Rest sounded good. Food sounded good, too. “We should head back to Dutchess County. That’s where Patrick said Mick was living.”

  …

  Shaun stretched across the king-size hotel bed a few feet from me. We’d each taken a shower the same way we had at the trailer, and were busy cramming pizza down our throats. I hadn’t known it was possible to be this hungry. “So what now?” he asked between bites. “Go back to find Pat—or forward to find Mick?”<
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  “We find Mick. Maybe he knows what really happened to Bengali’s son.” I kicked off my shoes and tucked my legs underneath me.

  “How will that help, though?”

  “Mick was the other partner—the one who was with her when it all went down. Patrick thinks Mom and Mick stole the money. I need to know what really happened. I need to know if my mom had anything to do with that kid’s death.”

  Shaun tossed a piece of crust onto the stand beside the bed and frowned. “Kayla, does it really matter right now? I mean, I get wanting to know the truth, but I think our priority needs to be living to see tomorrow. To do that, we need to deal with Bengali.”

  “He’s my dad,” I rushed on. I knew he couldn’t understand, not really, but I needed the truth. My world turned upside down when I found out all the things Mom had kept from me. No matter what, I’d always love her, but I needed to know. “You heard what Patrick said about him. He was the master of disappearing. He can get these cuffs off and help me drop out of sight. Bengali won’t be able to find me. If this guy has the reach Patrick says, then I think this is my best bet.”

  Shaun didn’t look convinced, but he nodded. “What was the name Pat said he was using? Do you remember?”

  “Hank Friedman.” I pointed to the nightstand. “Check the phone book. Bet there’s one in there.”

  He stretched and pulled open the drawer. Sure enough, I’d been right. After a few moments of page flipping, Shaun nodded. “There’s just one listing for a Hank Friedman in Dutchess County,” he said, ripping out a section of the phone book.

  I stood on my toes to peer over his shoulder. “Picker Street. Must be him.”

  He closed the phone book and kicked it to the floor. “Say it is. Say we find him. Then what?”

  I shrugged. “Then you can finally be rid of me.”

  Shaun didn’t look as excited about the idea as I would have thought. He tugged on the chain, sending me toppling off-balance and forward. I landed right beside him. “But what if I want to keep you?”

  “Aww,” I said, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. “Am I actually growing on you?” I made the mistake of looking up, and caught him watching me. No. Not watching. This was more than simply looking. “Devouring” was the word that came to mind.

  “It’s been an intense few days,” he said, eyes locked on mine. He shifted toward me and rose onto his knees.

  “Yeah,” I said. My heart skipped a beat.

  He came a little closer. “Kind of funny how it turned out.”

  “Yeah,” I said again, swallowing hard. I rose onto my knees as well. It was impossible to think of anything other than the way his lips looked, imagining what they’d feel like all over my skin, with his eyes on me like that.

  He hooked the pointer and middle fingers of his left hand into the waistband of my sweatpants and used it to tug me close. “I have a problem,” he said. The sound of his voice, low and just a little bit dangerous, made my heart race.

  “That’s not good,” I responded, inhaling sharply as he ran his fingers side to side. The warmth of them against my skin blazed, my stomach fluttering in anticipation, and I wanted nothing more than to feel more of that. To drown in it. “What’s the problem, exactly?”

  He widened his path, running his fingers from hip to hip, sliding the band of the pants down just a hair with each pass until they sat dangerously low on my hips. His breathing quickened as his gaze dropped to the hem of my T-shirt. “I really hate that shirt.”

  “Do you?” I asked. Somewhere along the line, this thing between us had become something. I had no idea what, but there were feelings here I wanted to explore. I’d been sure I would never connect with anyone. That all the things I’d been forced to be, and do, and sacrifice, would prevent me from having any type of relationship with another human.

  But it wasn’t true. I’d connected with Shaun. Connected in a very real, and very intense, way. I had no idea what waited for me tomorrow, or even three hours from now. I could end up in a cage or six feet under. The only thing that was certain, the only thing guaranteed, was right now. This moment.

  Decision made, I said, “I don’t like it, either.” I pulled the shirt over my head and, since I couldn’t take it off, tucked it behind my neck. Then I placed my hands on Shaun’s chest and slid his shirt up.

  I was about to pull it over his head, but he seized my hands. “Kayla…” He took a deep breath and held it for a moment before blowing out hard. I felt the weight of his gaze on me, lingering on my newly exposed skin. I’d never been semi-naked with a guy before. Being there in front of him in just a pair of sweatpants and my bra should have freaked me the hell out. But there it was again. That feeling of life. Of control. Shaun let go of my hands and started to reach for me, then cursed and backed away. “Doing that presents an entirely new set of problems.”

  My pulse soared another notch. If this kept up, it should short-circuit.

  I sucked in a breath and finished what I started with his shirt. Running my fingers lightly across the burn scars on his shoulder, I skimmed across to trace the outline of the ink on his other shoulder. Strength. “Problems?”

  He kept his hands to himself, but leaned across and brushed his lips to my neck. Skimming the skin, feather light, he whispered in my ear, “I’m having kind of a hard time keeping my hands to myself.” When he pulled away, his eyes roamed my body again, lingering on the sweatpants. He licked his lips, sighing like he’d just gotten a taste of the very best blueberry cobbler on the planet.

  “Control is overrated,” I said with a smile.

  He laughed. Not an amused chuckle, but a deep, dark sound that did amazing things to the nerves in my body, setting each and every one on fire. “Control? That’s what I’m afraid of. It seems I’ve got no control when it comes to you.”

  The words, his voice, the way he just kept staring… In that moment, I wanted this more than anything in the world. “Then what the hell are you waiting for?”

  He leaned in again, this time nipping at my earlobe. “I’m not a sweet guy, Kayla,” he murmured, breath hot against my neck. “I’m not Mr. Smooth and Calm.”

  I nodded. What had he said—he liked things “rough”? It should have scared me, but I found myself even more excited. “Impulse-control issues,” I said, gasping as he planted tiny kisses down my neck and across my throat. There was something hotter than hell about the fact that he still hadn’t touched me. His hands hadn’t moved. “I remember.”

  “For example, right now I’m having a hard time not tearing your clothes off…” He tugged the right strap of my bra down with his teeth, lightly grazing my shoulder.

  I nearly broke right then and there.

  Still, he didn’t raise a finger to me. “This could get outta control. We’ve been dancing around this for days. I’m not sure what my restraint level is. You sure you trust me?”

  Whatever it was between Shaun and me took over. It clouded my brain—in a good way—and made me feel free and alive. I wanted more of that. I needed it.

  I caught his gaze and held it. “I trust you.” The words left my mouth, and the weight of them, the sincerity, terrified me. I did trust him. He’d worked his way into my heart and onto a list that was exactly one name—now two—long.

  His resolve shattered. I saw it come crashing down, and after only a moment of hesitation, he pushed forward to claim my lips. My skin heated. There was something so raw about him. So primal. It fed the fluttery feeling in my belly and fanned into something warm—no, hot—that spread throughout my entire body.

  Every nerve was alive. It was our time in the trailer amped past ten, all-consuming and laced with a heady kind of possessive need. His tongue traced along my bottom lip, then the top, as a contented groan came from deep in his throat. This was new territory for me, so I couldn’t say much about what I did and didn’t like, but I was into the way he’d taken my bottom lip between his teeth and tugged, so I did the same to him.

  It must have been the ri
ght move. His arms tightened for a second before he thrust both hands down the back of my pants, nails lightly scraping my skin. I let my cuffed hand fall at my side, free to move where his did. It was a good call. He cupped my backside, fingers kneading the skin to pull me closer. We were pressed against each other, no room for even the slightest breath of air, and yet it was still too far away. There was still too much between us.

  We tumbled sideways, hitting the bed, and a shock of cold air assaulted my thighs. He’d dragged the pants down, along with my underwear, and that’s when things got real.

  “Say the word,” he growled between kisses. “Say the word and I’ll stop.”

  I bit my lip as he swung a leg over, pulling away to hover above me. He tilted his head back and ground his hips against me, letting me feel all of him, hard and ready.

  “Say it,” he tried again. The words were halfway between a plea and a curse. The words. The movement. The feel of him against me. I moaned and arched against him.

  That was the end of it. He threaded the fingers of his right hand through my left, and raised it above my head. With his free hand he undid the button of his jeans. It took a second, but a few moments later, his pants joined mine in a pile on the floor next to the bed.

  He was everywhere all at once. Hands running up my thighs, gripping the edge of my bra and yanking it down, fingers slipping inside me… I gasped as he moved, first a single finger, then two, slowly making tiny circles. The very air became electric.

  I couldn’t stop myself. I cried out as a tremor ran through me, and he chuckled. “You like it?”

  “Oh my God,” I breathed, trying to move with him to increase the friction. Something was building, deep inside. My body had a mind of its own. The only thing that mattered was holding on to this as long as I could.

  He brought his mouth to my left breast, tongue flicking the nipple twice before he took it lightly between his teeth. Tingles, so exquisite, washed over me, and I arched off the bed with a gasp.

  He chuckled again, and I nearly died when he stopped moving his fingers, pulling them out and placing his hand next to my head. “Don’t stop,” I whimpered, desperate. “Please…”