With any luck, he’ll walk with a severe limp for the rest of his life. Perhaps that’ll keep him from molesting any other women.
I jog back around the house to the tow truck and pass Ralph his clipboard and hat, along with a hundred bucks. “Thanks, man. I’d get outta here before he finds his car. I kinda took a baseball bat to it,” I lie.
He grins, nods, and rolls down the street.
I jog to the car and pull away. I glance in the rearview mirror. The front door of the frat house opens, and someone walks out, looking around. Seeing nothing, they go back inside.
I smile and focus on the road. What I did may not mean shit to anyone, but I’m an eye-for-an-eye kind of guy. He touched what was not his, and in my mind, that had to be dealt with the only way some men understand—with violence.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Reno—
I pull up at the RV. The woods are quiet as I step from the car. Rusty’s been busy while I was gone. Camo netting now drapes the RV. If I hadn’t known it was there, I never would have seen it. Lights are on inside, but the shades are pulled and just the barest sliver shows.
I call Rusty on my cell to let him know it’s me out here. Last thing I want is to be met with the business end of his Glock when I walk in the door.
“That you?” he asks with no preamble.
“Yeah. Don’t shoot me, asshole.”
“Don’t tempt me.” He chuckles low and disconnects. I grab the backpack and head inside. He’s sitting at the dining table across from the door. It’s a small booth, but he fits. He’s drinking a bottle of Jack, shuffling an old deck of cards and watching TV.
I glance at the screen. A rerun of Breaking Bad is playing. “Learn anything?”
He flips me off, and I toss the backpack down on the couch across from him. “Where’s Kara?”
“In the bathroom.”
“You secure the skylight?”
“Yeah. She ain’t gonna try that again.”
I walk to the fridge and pull out a beer, twisting the top off and taking a long drink.
“Did you get her clothes?”
I nod and lean a hand on the counter. The door in the tiny hall behind me opens, and Kara steps out. My eyes sweep down her, and my breath catches. She’s wearing one of Rusty’s flannel shirts. Her legs and feet are bare. The hem hangs to mid-thigh on her. It shouldn’t be, but it’s sexy as hell. I step over, pick up the backpack, and hold it out to her. “Grabbed what I could fit in here.”
She takes it and clutches it to her chest. “You went to my apartment?”
She sounds a little pissed. I nod. Her mouth falls open, and she looks like she’s at a loss for words.
“Think the word you’re lookin’ for is thank you.”
She lifts her chin. “Thank you.”
I nod toward the back bedroom that we’ve given her. “Put something on.”
She disappears into the other room, sliding the pocket door shut, and I take the seat opposite Rusty in the booth. “Where are her pants, dickhead?”
He grins. “Figured she couldn’t run away if she had no pants.”
“And the shirt?”
“She was cold.” He tips his beer up, finishing it off. “I’m nothing if not chivalrous.”
“Sure. The boys say that about you all the time.”
He sets the deck of cards down and stands. “I’m headed out. You got this?”
“Where you goin’?”
“Find me a bed somewhere and a willin’ woman. Shouldn’t be too hard in this town.”
I roll my eyes. His twinkle, and I wonder how much whiskey he’s had. I’m glad he’s leaving me alone with her, but on the other hand, I don’t need the temptation. “You okay to drive?”
“I’m fine. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Call before you head out here. We may need supplies.”
He moves down the two steps, opens the door, and winks at me. “Don’t do anything I would do.”
“Fuck off.”
He blows me a kiss, and the door slams behind him. I pick up the remote and start flipping through channels. I’m surprised we’ve got reception out here in the woods, but Rusty said the old antenna had about a twenty-five-mile range, which gives us the choice of a few Tuscaloosa channels.
A moment later, Kara comes out. She’s dressed in a pair of black yoga pants and a slouchy pink shirt that’s got one of those wide necklines that hangs off one shoulder. I vaguely remember shoving it in the backpack. Her lavender bra strap shows.
She slides in the booth across from me and looks at the door, frowning.
I answer her unspoken question. “Rusty’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Oh.” She rubs her upper arms. “Um, thank you for bringing my things. The soaps and especially my glasses and journal.”
I nod.
She glances over her shoulder at the TV screen as I keep flipping. “Oh wait. Go back.”
I flip back. “What is this?”
“The Bachelorette. Haven’t you ever seen it?”
“Nope. What’s it about?”
She explains the premise to me, and I frown. “So, this chick’s dating all these guys at once, and they’re okay with it?”
“Yep.”
“Right.”
“They are.”
“Uh, no, they’re not.”
“How would you know?”
“’Cause I’m a guy. We don’t like to share.”
She rolls her eyes.
I lift the remote.
“Wait. Can I watch it? Please?”
I tilt my head, pretending to contemplate her request.
“Come on. I have to know if she dumps Josh.”
“Who’s Josh?”
“The one all the guys hate.”
“Make you a deal. We’ll cut the cards for it. Black I pick. Red you pick.” I take the deck and shuffle.
Her eyes drop to the cards. “Okay, fine.”
I lay the deck face down on the table. “Go ahead, babe.”
She lifts half the deck and turns it face up. Red. The Queen of Hearts—how appropriate. She throws her arms up in the air. “Yes! I win!”
I grin at her happiness. It’s the first smile I’ve seen since we took her. If allowing her to watch her favorite show gives her an hour of happiness after days of being scared, I’ll do it. It wasn’t until yesterday that she finally appeared to resign herself to the situation. The fact that neither of us have touched her, except for when she came on to Rusty, I’m sure eased her mind some.
I sit back and watch the show with her, and she happily explains who everyone is and all about them and their chances to win the lovely Lauren.
I take the bottle of Jack and pour some in a cola for her. We drink through one group date and two one-on-ones while laughingly predicting if the next commercial will be for cat food or a feminine hygiene product.
Three drinks in, and she’s laughing so hard, she snorts.
“Okay, babe. I’m cutting you off,” I say and take her glass.
“Aw, come on; it’s almost over.”
I give it back. “Okay, fine.” I watch a few more minutes and comment. “What a bunch of losers. The saying, who will win the final rose should be replaced by who will Lauren settle for.”
“Stop.” She slaps my arm, laughing.
“I mean I know it’s a hard choice between the washed-up football player and the non-competing, competitive swimmer.”
She chuckles and then we both burst out laughing when another cat food commercial comes on.
After another round of commercials, the lovely Lauren kicks Josh to the curb, and Kara cheers and does a little circle dance before sitting down and polishing off her drink. When the show ends, she suddenly looks at me. “I’m sorry. I know this was boring for you. I know I annoy people with my excitement over stuff like this. Sorry.”
It makes me sad to watch her talk about this show she’s obviously passionate about, and all of sudden she feels the need to apologize for
it. I hate that somewhere in her life, someone made her feel this way, and she can’t talk about her favorite things without apologizing.
I grasp her chin and turn her to face me. “Hey, the things you love, they’re your passion; they’re what lights your fire. Don’t ever apologize for that.”
“You really feel that way? You?”
“Why not me? I enjoy riding my bike. Think I’m gonna apologize for it? I like to watch football. Think I’m gonna apologize for that?”
“I guess not.”
“So why should you apologize for the things you like, as if they’re somehow less than what other people find important?”
She shrugs. “I never thought of it that way.”
“Well, start.”
She tilts her head to the side. “You’re not what I expected.”
I take a sip of beer. “Yeah? How’s that?”
“You’re like that quote from Shrek. You’re like an onion, Dante.”
I frown. “You sayin’ I look like that big green ogre?”
“No, I’m saying you have lots of layers.”
I huff. “I’m just a man, like any other.”
She makes a face. “You’re not like any man I’ve ever met.”
“You don’t even know me, babe.”
“You’re right. I don’t. I thought I did, but it was all lies, wasn’t it?”
“Not all of it.”
“Which part was true?”
“You and me. That was true.”
Her jaw tightens, and she huffs. “Is your real name even Dante?”
“Yes.”
“Then why does Rusty call you Reno?”
“That’s what the club calls me. Dante is what my mama calls me—the name I was born with.”
“But why would you tell me your real name?” Little lines form between her brows, and I long to smooth them away. She pulls back suddenly, her arms dropping from the table and her face paling. “Is it because I won’t live to tell anyone?”
I shake my head. “Like I told you before, your father is going to do what we want, and then you’re going to go back home. Okay? And that’s not why I told you my name.”
“Then why?”
I shrug and look away, not sure I want to admit it, but she needs to understand it wasn’t because she’ll be dead. “I guess I wanted to know if I could be me, not Reno, not a Devil King. Just me, and have a woman look at me like you looked at me that night.”
“And how did I look at you?”
“Like you were interested.”
“I was.”
“And now?”
“Now I want to know the real you. Not Reno, not the patch you wear, just you.”
“That’s the problem, babe. Reno is me. That patch is me. I thought I could separate them, but I can’t. That’s who I am. Dante? He’s gone. I’m just Reno now.”
She shakes her head. “That’s not true.”
“Yeah. It is, babe.”
“If that’s true, then tell me about Dante. Tell me who he was.”
That’s not going to happen. I had no problem reading her journal, but sharing my shit? No way.
After the credits and commercials roll, the news comes on and an anchorwoman begins with the first story.
“We have breaking news to report tonight. Deputies are investigating after a man was found severely beaten near one of the fraternity houses on campus earlier this evening. Michelle Rogers is on the scene now. Michelle, what can you tell us?”
I immediately recognize the building the reporter is standing in front of by the Greek letters above the front door. Aw, fuck. Kara straightens in her seat, her focus on the screen.
“Yes, Amanda. Deputies in Tuscaloosa are looking for answers after a man was discovered in the bushes beside a fraternity house hours ago, the apparent victim of a vicious assault.
“The Tuscaloosa County Sheriff's Office says they were dispatched to the scene around 8 p.m. It was discovered that the twenty-year-old man had been badly beaten. He was transported to an area hospital. Deputies say he remains in critical condition.
“I spoke with members of the fraternity behind me just moments ago who identified the victim as Brett Cavendish, a member of their fraternity, but had no information on who attacked Mr. Cavendish or why.
“Due to the victim's condition, deputies say they're having a hard time learning information on the crime itself. Anyone who has information on the incident is asked to contact Crime Stoppers. Michelle Rogers, reporting live for WTLS Channel 6.”
I sit quietly, observing Kara’s response. Her eyes glaze over, but her jaw tightens. I flip the TV off. She won’t meet my gaze. I wait while she puts the pieces together.
She plucks at her sleeve. “You read my journal, didn’t you?”
I won’t lie to her. “Yes, but just two pages of it.”
“Which two pages?” She finally meets my eyes.
“The night we met and the last entry.”
She huffs out a breath and looks away, shaking her head. “It’s not bad enough that you lied to me, you played me, you fucked me, and now, even my most private thoughts aren’t off limits.”
“Babe.”
“You did that, didn’t you? You beat Brett up.”
“I did.”
“Because of what you read in my journal.”
“Yup.”
Her eyes move over the table surface.
I break the silence. “I’m not going to apologize for it, if that’s what you’re waiting for.”
She huffs out a laugh. “You? Apologize? I doubt you even know how.”
I chug my beer and stand. Her words piss me off. I toss the empty bottle in the trash. The glass breaks against another bottle, and the sound is loud inside the RV. I yank open the refrigerator and stare inside, unseeing as the anger flares through me.
“Thank you.” Her words are softly spoken.
I glance over. She’s looking at me with glassy eyes but can’t hold my gaze and turns away. Her hands fidget on the table, her fingers pulling at each other.
“He hurt me. I was never so scared… Well, until you.”
I shut the door to the fridge and stand frozen in place. I want to punch a hole in the nearest cabinet at the thought of him hurting her. At the same time I want to go to her, to make her understand I don’t want her to see me the same way. The latter wins out, and I’m drawn to her. I squat at her side.
Her lower lip trembles, and she keeps her eyes on the table, but I won’t let her stay immune to my presence.
“Babe, look at me.”
She shakes her head.
“Yes.” I reach for her hand and tug until she obeys. Her eyes are glistening, and tears spill over her cheeks. She dashes them away with her free hand.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Kara, and I’d never fucking do what Brett did to you.” She’s hanging on every word, and I hope she really hears this and understands. “This job—you—I didn’t want anything to do with it. I’ve done some bad shit for the club, but this?” I shake my head. “This ain’t the kind of shit I signed up for.”
“But here you are.”
I nod. “Here I am. And maybe that’s a good thing. Better me than one of the other guys in my club—ones who wouldn’t give a damn. Funny how things happen; I’m only here because of the point of a finger. Coulda been another guy he gestured to, coulda been a whole different scenario. Maybe it’s fate, I don’t know. Maybe it was always supposed to be me. My test, my fork in the road… Hell, I don’t know. But I’ve made my decision about this. I’m not going to hurt you. Got my word. And I’ll fuck up any man who tries. That’s why I did what I did. Do you understand?”
She nods.
I cup her cheek and brush my thumb across, taking the wetness away. “I know it’s asking a lot, but I need you to trust me, Kara.”
“How can I do that, Dante? Or should I call you Reno?”
“Reno.”
“Fine. Reno. How, when you’ve done nothing but lie to
me? How do I know you’re not lying to me now?”
I search her eyes. “I don’t know. I just need you to trust me. Your father is gonna do what we need him to do for the club, then you’re going to go back to your safe little life. I promise.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever feel safe again.”
Her words tear me up; I want more than anything to keep Kara safe. And I hate that I’m the reason she’ll never feel that way again. “You gotta try, Kara.”
“I’m tired, Reno. So tired, and I want this to be over.”
“It will be. Soon. Until then, can we make the best of this?”
“The best of this?”
“We stop fighting like cats and dogs. Tonight was nice. I liked seeing your smile again. I missed it.”
“It was nice, wasn’t it?”
I stand, my knees cracking, and I feel every one of my thirty-one years. “You need some sleep. Come on.”
I pull her to her feet. I can’t stop myself from brushing her hair off her shoulder. The soft bare skin there is revealed, and I stroke along it with my knuckles before dropping my hand away.
She stares up at me, and I think I see a flash of something in their depths. Is it desire? Trust? The longing to be held? I want to pull her into my arms and find out, but that’s not a road I need to go down.
She swallows and retreats to the bedroom. I follow, my eyes dropping to her phenomenal ass. It’s amazing what a pair of yoga pants can do for the female body. My dick hardens.
I close my eyes and clench my jaw, willing my erection to go down.
She lies on the bed, and I cuff one wrist to a chain Rusty has rigged up to the bedframe.
“Must you do this?”
“I hate doing it, but it’s the only way I can trust you won’t take off while I get some sleep.”
Dirty Deeds Page 11
