Make Me Bad

by Grey, R. S.

  It’s darker outside than it usually is during my walk home. I probably shouldn’t have stayed so late, but it’s not like there’s much to worry about. Our beach town has been growing fast in the last few years, but it’s still small enough to feel safe even at times like this.

  A car passes by and honks twice. I don’t get a good look at who’s driving, but chances are, we know each other. In Clifton Cove, everyone knows everyone. I’m about to wave when I realize I don’t have a free arm to do it. I’m really loaded down.

  Downtown is beautiful even at this time. It looks like something straight out of a Disney theme park. All the shops are styled in a similar way: shutters, flower boxes, and striped awnings. Each is painted in a coordinating bright shade that pops in contrast to their white front doors. The cobblestone street is lined with antique lamps that dimly light my way from one to another. I pass the candy shop and the post office, a fancy butcher shop I’ve never been into, and a toy store. All of them are closed at this hour, but I almost prefer it that way—no having to contend with milling tourists licking ice cream cones and posing for photos. I have the street to myself.

  Another car passes and the wind picks up. My teeth chatter and a strange feeling winds its way up my spine. It almost feels as if I’m being followed. I glance over my shoulder, but the sidewalk is empty. Then I face forward once again and emit an ear-splitting scream as a man dressed in all black blocks my path. I have no time to react before he shoves me hard against the wall. Everything in my arms clatters to the ground. My early edition of Pride and Prejudice falls out of its gift bag and lands smack dab in a mud puddle. I guess I’m truly a book lover because that’s the thing that is most concerning to me, not the fact that I’m now being held up at gunpoint.

  “Turn around,” the man growls gruffly before taking my arm and twisting it at a painful angle. I have no choice but to turn toward the toy store and let him crush my face against the pastel pink shutter. A teddy bear stares back at me through the window.

  “Please let me go!” I scream in a panic.

  “Scream again and I’ll pull the trigger.”

  I know it’s absolutely insane, but the thought that hits me right then is that I should have been much more specific with my birthday wish. Because, okay, yes, while this is technically “exciting”, I was sort of hoping for something a little less dangerous. Oh, wait! I kick myself. I see what’s happening now. This man isn’t going to kill me. No, this is all a misunderstanding. Perhaps he’s struggling to make ends meet and he needs money to buy food for his puppy or beloved box turtle. He only wants a few dollars, I’m sure.

  “If you look in my wallet—”

  “Shut up,” he snaps, twisting my arm so hard I wince.

  In the romance novels I read, this guy would be handsome. I’d convince him to leave his life of crime behind and we’d live together in perfect harmony. I chance a quick glance over my shoulder and see he’s wearing a ski mask. The bone structure underneath doesn’t look all that promising. Also, his black attire—which should be slimming—doesn’t conceal the hefty paunch jutting out over his jeans. Oh dear. I really don’t think he’s a hunky criminal I’ll be able to sway toward living a life of honor and integrity. This isn’t going to turn out the way I want it to. As such, I have no choice but to try a different tactic.

  “I have a lot of money in my purse. You can have it all! Also, that book on the ground is a priceless early edition of one of Jane Austen’s most famous works. I think you’ll really enjoy it. It’s a little muddy now, but I can clean it for you and—”

  He steps closer, and his breath is really atrocious as he spits out his next words. “I don’t want your goddamn money or your book. Now shut up.”

  The only thing I can focus on now is the cold sharp pain from his gun digging into the side of my head.

  3

  Ben

  The cop hands me back my phone and wallet, my watch, and my suit jacket. He’s looking at me with annoyance and disdain, but I plaster on a fuck-you smile and make sure to thank him.

  I’ve never been handcuffed before tonight. I’ve never sat in the back of a police cruiser and had my Miranda rights read to me. I’ve never stepped into a police station and been stripped of my belongings, shoved in front of a camera, and told to look up for a mug shot.

  It’s been an interesting evening to say the least.

  Out of everyone involved in the fight, I was the only one to get arrested. Apparently, there were quite a few witnesses in the bar who claimed I was the only one to throw a punch, and while that technically isn’t true seeing as I have the black eye to show for it, I was the first one to make a move by kicking that chair.

  Andy tried to talk reason into the cops, but the moment they pulled up and saw me there in the middle of the chaos, I knew I was getting dragged down to the station. Just like with Mac, I’d handed the cops a gift by stepping out of line. The chief of police in Clifton Cove and my father don’t get along. They haven’t for years. It’s more of the blue collar, white collar bullshit that divides our town. That’s what happens when there’s a wealth gap so wide there’s no real middle ground between the haves and the have-nots. I don’t even think there was an inciting incident, just years and years of prejudice on both sides muddying the waters.

  I could have stopped the whole charade from the very beginning, but I went through the motions of letting them jerk me around. I didn’t put up a fight when they shoved me into the back of the cruiser. I waited until they gave me my one phone call and instead of calling my dad, I called Judge Mathers. He was in bed, close to nodding off, but within the hour, I was a free man. Well, almost—I still have a shiny new misdemeanor on my record thanks to my plea of guilty.

  That surprised everyone, including the judge. I could have easily had the charges dropped. My specialty might not be criminal law, but there is no way the assault charges against me would hold up in court.

  I didn’t try to get the charges dropped because I know that’s what they all want—Mac, the police, the chief. I know they expect me to call in a few favors and weasel my way out of any real consequences, so instead, I’ll suffer them. Gladly.

  Outside the station, I start my walk home since my car’s back at the bar. Andy’s calling nonstop, trying to figure out what’s going on. He must have alerted my dad as well, or maybe it was Judge Mathers, because he’s calling too. I turn off my phone and pocket it, glad for the quiet.

  Main Street is deserted, which is the way I prefer it. I shove my hands into my pockets and keep walking, wondering how long it’ll take me to get home. My dad’s house is closer, only a few blocks away. I could stop there for the night, but I’d have rather just slept in jail. He means well, but I just don’t have the energy tonight. I turn left onto a side street so I can take a shortcut to my house then stop short when I hear a woman scream. At first, I think my mind is playing tricks on me, turning the howling wind into something more sinister, but there it is again, a muffled scream.

  I jerk around and stand stock-still as I listen.

  There’s the sound of a car a few blocks away, a barking dog in the distance, the wind picking up again, but no more screams.

  I shake my head, about to turn around and keep walking when I catch movement down near the toy store. I squint and try to make out what it is, but it’s impossible to tell from this distance. It almost looks like two people, a taller man in black and someone else, mostly hidden.

  “Hey!” I shout on a whim, no real plan in place.

  I’m unarmed and my eye is swollen enough that I can’t really see well out of it. I grab for my phone and shout that I’m calling the cops. Real macho stuff, I know.

  The man in black shifts a little to the left and I see a small girl cowering there with a gun aimed at her head.

  Fuck.

  I take off toward them, sprinting. The man sees me and whips the gun around so it’s aimed my way. He shoots and a bullet pings off a lamppost near my head. Oh Jesus. A smart man wo
uld run in the exact opposite direction. I’m not sure what that makes me.

  “Get the fuck away from her!” I shout, adrenaline coursing through my body.

  I have no idea what I’m going to do, but I don’t think this guy does either because the closer I get to them, the more erratic his movements become. He tries to shove the girl down onto the ground and shouts at her not to move. She puts up a little fight, but he kicks her legs out from under her and she crashes down onto the sidewalk. I yell at him to get away from her again, and now I’m only a few feet away. He glances over his shoulder, looking for an escape route.

  His gun fires again and the bullet whizzes past my ear.

  He’s got piss-poor aim.

  He realizes there are only two options: fight or flight. I’m going to wrestle that gun out of his hand even if I get shot in the process, and maybe he can tell from my pace or my tattered appearance that I’m not really someone he wants to mess with at the moment because at the very last minute, he shoves away from her and takes off running.

  I skid to a stop near the girl and watch him, debating what to do. I’m fast and I could probably catch him, but then the girl moans. I glance down and realize I shouldn’t leave her. She’s a child. What the hell was he going to do to her? And why was she out here alone at night?

  “My back,” she whimpers, and I jump into action, leaning down to gently pat down her spine, checking for injuries. The streetlamp doesn’t offer much light, but it’s enough to see that there’s not any blood on her blue pea coat.

  “Is your back hurt?”

  She pushes my hand away and sits up, shaking her head. “No, not my back—my book.”

  “What?”

  She swipes her brown hair out of her face and points at something behind me. I turn and spot an old book lying in the mud.

  This girl was just held up at gunpoint and her first concern is a book?

  “I bet it’s ruined,” she cries, sounding heartbroken at the prospect.

  I’m completely confused. “Was he trying to rob you? Or…” I can’t quite bring myself to say the other R word, but maybe I don’t have to because she’s still fully clothed, thank God.

  “No,” she says, getting to her feet so she can go retrieve the book. “I don’t think so. I kept offering him money, but he didn’t want it. He was mumbling a lot just before you ran over, saying stuff about ‘teaching him a lesson’.” She crouches down and cradles the book, trying to wipe off some of the dirt. “He must have been confused. He was probably on drugs or something.”

  I frown, aware that she hasn’t really looked at me yet. She’s so concerned with that damn book, and I think she must be in shock.

  “Are you hurt?” I ask, pushing to my feet and hesitantly stepping toward her with my hands outstretched. I don’t want to spook her.

  She finally turns and looks up, the lamplight casting a hazy glow over half of her face and leaving the rest in shadow. There are tears staining her cheeks. At first, her small stature and long hair made her seem younger than she is, but now I see she’s not a child at all.

  For a few seconds, we stare at each other as she takes in my appearance, dragging her gaze down my rumpled suit and then back up to my face. She blinks and recognition settles into her bright hazel eyes, framed by thick black lashes and a few unshed tears. A deep frown settles on her lips just before her hand flies up to cover her mouth. “Oh my god, did he do that to your eye?”

  Right, my eye—the one that’s halfway swollen shut.

  I actually chuckle. At this point, it’s the only thing I can do. “No. If you can believe it, this happened in a different fight earlier tonight.”

  “Wow.” Her brows arch in disbelief. “Ben Rosenberg, hardened street fighter. Who would have thought?”

  I frown. “Sorry, I think you have the advantage. Do we know each other?”

  She pushes to her feet and starts to gather up her things, which are scattered across the ground. I help her by picking up a crumpled gift bag and a Tupperware. Inside, there’s some brown sludge that hardly looks fit for human consumption. Maybe it’s not.

  “Oh, no. We’ve never officially met. I’m pretty sure I would remember that.” I glance back at her as I hand off the plastic container, trying to place her features, but the light is too low and she’s too busy gathering her stuff to look at me. “Though there was a time last year when you were in front of me in the grocery store checkout line. I remember you bought roast beef. Is that weird?” She shakes her head and turns to me with a shrug. Then she holds out her hand, a small thing, and makes it clear she wants me to shake it. “I’m Madison.”

  “Madison,” I repeat, a little dumbstruck. I wasn’t expecting her to be attractive. Sure, her dark brown hair is kind of wild and her cheeks are bright red from the biting wind, but she has high cheekbones and beautiful eyes, even if they’re a little sad. I realize I’ve said her name aloud two more times, and now I’m the one who looks like a weirdo even though she just admitted to stalking me at the grocery store.

  “Yes,” she says, nodding as she takes her bottom lip between her teeth. I think she’s trying to keep from openly smiling at me, but I wish she’d just do it. I want to see her smile, even if it’s at my expense. “Mad-i-son. Just like that. You’ve got the hang of it.”

  She’s funny.

  Her hand is still outstretched, hanging awkwardly between us, so I belatedly step forward to take it. My hand engulfs hers. She’s ice cold and trembling. Of course, three minutes ago she was being held at gunpoint.

  I only have her hand in mine for a brief moment before she jerks away and scans the ground again, confirming she has all her stuff.

  “You’re not hurt. Are you?” I ask. “You never answered me earlier.”

  She shakes her head even as her free hand reaches up to touch her hair. When she pulls it away, there’s blood on her fingers. She sees me staring and clears her throat. “It’s nothing, just a little cut from where he was holding the…”

  Her sentence trails off, her gaze still on her bloody fingers, and I think she’s going to pass out or throw up. Clearly, the shock is starting to wear off.

  “We should call the cops.” I got a decent enough look at the guy even with his mask on. I can recall his height and build and the direction he ran, at the very least.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll just tell my dad when I get home. Thank you for your help.”

  “You still live with your dad?” Jesus, I didn’t think she was a kid, but maybe I’m wrong.

  She must take my surprise for judgment because she lifts her chin proudly. “Yeah, it’s just easier with rent and all that.”

  I feel like a jerk.

  “Of course. Yeah, I get it. Is your dad’s house close by?” I say, stuffing my hands in the pockets of my suit pants. Even with the residual adrenaline in my veins, the cold air is starting to get harder to ignore.

  “Just a few blocks. Listen, I can’t thank you enough for stepping in when you did. I’m not sure that guy would have hurt me, but still…” She shakes away the thought and glances up, her gaze meeting mine a bit unsteadily. “You probably saved my life, and for that, I’m eternally grateful.”

  With that, she nods just once then turns to walk away.

  I scowl.

  She’s leaving? She thinks I’m going to let her walk home alone after all this? There’s a good chance that guy is still in the area.

  I watch her until she reaches the end of the block and is about to cross the street. Then she suddenly stops, turns, and glances back at me, worrying her lip between her teeth before she speaks. “Actually…I know you’re probably busy what with all the street fighting and heroic deeds you have going on, but would you mind…maybe…walking me home?” Her brows scrunch together with her request and she speeds up her words, trying to rush out her reassurances. “It’s really not that far, I promise. I could just call my dad to come pick me up, but—”

  “Yes, of course.”

  I start
to walk toward her, but then something catches my attention on the ground, and I squint, trying to discern if it’s something she left behind on accident or if it’s just a piece of trash.

  “Oh,” she says, seeing it.

  “It’s a birthday candle,” I say quietly.

  Huh. I bend down to retrieve it and when I glance back over, I see her cheeks burning bright red as she turns and pins her gaze across the street.

  Of course, I should have thought of it earlier when I saw the crumpled gift bag.

  “It’s your birthday?”

  She keeps her attention elsewhere, almost like she’s embarrassed to admit it. “My twenty-fifth.”

  “What a way to spend a birthday…” I mumble under my breath.

  I catch up to her and hold out the candle. She takes it and shoves it into her coat pocket like she wants to be rid of it.

  “For what it’s worth, happy birthday.”

  She laughs like it’s the most preposterous thing I could have said, and we start to walk. I offer to carry some of her things, but she insists she doesn’t need the help.

  “So you’ll have your dad call the police when you get home?”

  For some reason, that question makes her smirk. “Sure, I’ll have him call right away.”

  I don’t know why she’s being cavalier about this. Her life was just at stake. There’s a criminal on the loose, and she’s not calling the cops. Why isn’t she calling the cops?

  We turn a corner and keep walking past the manicured lawns and old Victorian mansions renowned around Clifton Cove. Real estate here is extremely expensive. Everyone wants to be within walking distance of the shops and restaurants, not to mention all the wealthy tourists who visit once and then decide they want to purchase a vacation home here. More than anything, they’re the ones driving up demand.

  If Madison grew up around here, she likely went to the same private school I did, which would explain why she knows who I am.