Whatever that means, I’ll figure it out, dealing with the consequences as we go.
I can’t express this to her without sounding like a total loser. I clench one hand in and out of a fist, flexing the small muscles. I’m smoking a cigarette but I need a damn stress ball.
I lick my lips. Turning toward her, I look her straight in the eyes. Let her see me. Really see me. Past the prison facade, the Prospect vest. I just have to hope she doesn’t see the monster.
"I don’t want to stop," I tell her, my voice thick.
Something in her eyes flare, hopes fulfilled. She grabs the back of my neck and pulls me toward her, her lips crushing against mine. "I don’t want to, either," she whispers into my mouth.
Then she releases me, just as quickly as the kiss was ignited. I’m left panting in the driver’s seat, hard and ready, heart thrumming. "Christ, Olivia," I growl.
She smirks at me. "I have to be at school early in the morning. I have a meeting with my professor to set up my field work." She rolls her eyes. "I’m a little behind."
I close my eyes. "Because of Lewisburg?" I can’t be fucking up her life already.
"No." She scoffs. "Because I was too busy getting laid and not making phone calls like I was supposed to."
Fuckin’ A. My girl is a hundred times more experienced than me. The realization should make me jealous, but it only turns me on. I want her dominating me, teacher to student. I lean forward, eager to capture those lips in mine again.
She twirls a finger at me. "Uh-uh. Take me home, please."
"Tomorrow night?" I ask, grinning. I’m so hooked on this girl, we could read The Babysitter’s Club books to each other for all I care. As long as we end up naked somewhere in between. I want to know everything about her, to learn what she likes and hates.
She taps her lips. "Maybe."
But I catch the smile underneath the pad of her finger, and I know she’s just as hooked on me as I am on her.
12
Olivia
Cliff’s lips press to mine, an exchange of warmth. His smiles against me. I can’t help but smile back. I step away, though, the late night tugging me toward bed. I really do have an early morning ahead of me, but it helps to play hard to get. If I’m going to do this—really do this—I’m going to do it right.
As right as I can, anyway.
Sliding him one last smile, I unlock my door and step inside. Cliff drives away as I close the door behind me. I lock it and lean against it, still smiling. If someone ever figures out how to bottle this feeling, they’re going to be rich.
The apartment is mostly dark, lit only by a lamp in the living room area. Esther is either still at work, or out with her new boyfriend Donny. He picked her up earlier, since she still has no tires. He’s nice—I get why she likes him. Tall with deep bronzed skin, he has a kind smile, but there’s a bad boy edge to him. Something in those eyes. The guy could be a model.
I hum to myself as I make my way through the apartment. Esther and me, the two most unlikely people to ever fall in love. I stop in my tracks, shaking my head.
No, no. Not love.
“Damn it, Olivia," I mutter.
I correct myself as I push open my bedroom door. We’re the two most unlikely women to ever settle down into actual relationships.
There.
The smile slides from my face as I flick on the switch.
Bright light floods my bedroom, but the only thing I can see is
blood
so much blood
on my bed
and a tiny, matted form underneath all of it.
I rush over to Dio, but hesitate over him. Mumbles of protest tumble from my lips, tears blurring my vision. Mascara and eyeliner sting into my eyes. I cup my hands, bending over the kitten. My fingers and palms shake on my wrists like loose leaves on a tree branch.
"No, no, no," I whisper in a strangled, breathy voice that isn’t mine.
I don’t know the first thing about first aid for a human, never mind a tiny ball of life and laughter. I’m afraid to move him, but I don’t know what else to do.
My mind whirls. I can’t breathe. Sinking to my knees, I can’t look away from Dio. I rock back and forth on the floor, panting and grunting.
One of Dio’s eyes cracks open. He utters a short, plaintive mewl. Then his eye closes again.
My heart shatters into pieces, the sensation jerking me into action. I pull my phone out of my bag and dial the first number that comes to mind.
"911, what’s your emergency?" a calm, bored sounding woman asks.
"My cat," I sputter. "Someone broke into my house and—"
The phone drops from my hands.
A chill crawls down my spine, traveling through my legs.
Eli.
I glance around, checking the window in my bedroom. It’s intact, still locked, even. I start to move toward the living room, to check the other windows, when the dispatcher’s sharp voice brings me back to what’s important.
Dio.
I grab the phone and press it to my ear, and pace the room.
"Ma’am, is there someone in your house?" the dispatcher asks.
"I don’t think so. Not anymore,” I stammer. "But my cat, he’s hurt, he’s been attacked—"
"Okay, ma’am, you need to take your animal to a vet." Through the phone, I hear her typing on a computer. "I can give you the phone number to the closest twenty-four-hour emergency animal hospital."
"Okay." I swallow several times to coat my dry throat. Then I grab a pen off my dresser, poising it over the palm of my hand.
The dispatcher rattles off the phone number. "Ma’am, if you’re more comfortable with me sending a patrol car over, I can certainly—"
"I need to get him to the hospital," I sob, and hang up.
I call the emergency vet, who sounds like a grandfather who was dead asleep. Small wonder, since it’s just about four in the morning. He walks me through picking up Dio, telling me I probably don’t need to put him in his carrier.
"But Olivia?" The vet says my name hesitantly.
"Yes?" I choke out, searching for a clean T-shirt to wrap Dio in.
"I wouldn’t rush, sweetheart. It’s probably too late." His voice is too kind.
"Don’t say that," I snarl through a fresh stream of tears. "I’ll be there in ten minutes. Get dressed and do your fucking job." I hang up on him and throw my phone into my bag.
Then I turn to Dio.
My stomach clenches. Moving him could be the last straw. Tears continue gushing down my cheeks. I choke back another sob and get to it. Being a baby about it isn’t going to save him.
I place a thick, soft sweater on a shoebox lid. The sweater was his favorite. He loved kneading on it.
I scrunch up my face.
Is.
Loves.
He’s not gone yet.
Gently, I slide the lid underneath him inch by inch. He doesn’t even protest. His tiny body rises and falls in rapid jerks. My heart breaks again and again.
"I’m sorry," I soothe. "You’re gonna be okay, Dio. Just hang on. I’m here. I’m here."
When I finally have the lid all the way underneath him, I tuck the sweater around him. Then, grabbing my bag, I pick him up as carefully as possible.
I hurry outside, the blast of cold air clarifying my thoughts. As I stand on the front walk, I realize I have no car.
My eyes close in despair.
A war wages within me. There’s no time to call an Uber. And there’s no one I can call. No one, I realize, except Cliff. But he’s at least ten minutes away, which tacks on twenty minutes to the veterinary hospital. I glance up and down the street in desperation. I can jack a car. It can’t be that hard.
I start toward one. As I’m crossing the street, headlights flood my vision. I stop dead on the double yellow line, wondering if Eli’s come to finish the job.
"Olivia?" Esther calls out the passenger window. "What’s wrong? What are you—? Oh god."
Donny hi
ts the brakes, but Esther’s out before the car is even fully stopped.
"Get in," she says, shooing me into the back seat, her eyes filling with tears.
I hug Dio in my lap the entire way over. Everything in me wants to rock back and forth, to sooth myself. But it’s all I can to do keep him stable as Donny attempts to navigate the potholes that pock every inch of the Naugatuck streets. He pushes the car until he’s doing sixty, in an attempt to get us to the Waterbury address in under ten minutes. None of us speak.
Somehow Dio holds on. I fling open the door and rush him inside.
"Please save him," I whimper as I hand him over to the veterinarian’s assistant.
She gives me a sympathetic look. "We’ll do our best," she says, but I know that face. I press a stack of crisp twenty-dollar bills into another staff member’s hands—everything I have. Fuck Esther’s tires. I’ve got to save my cat.
Donny, Esther, and I huddle in the parking lot, chainsmoking and glancing through the window every ten seconds, as if we can see straight through the walls into the operating room.
"Olivia, what happened?" Esther asks after I’ve smoked my way through my pack.
I tell her everything, filling her in on how I figured out that Eli was the one who slit her tires. I’d texted her earlier to tell her that Donny wasn’t the problem, that I had my own stalker. But I hadn’t had the chance to catch her up.
When I’m done, I’m exhausted. I sag against Donny’s car, limp. My mind keeps flashing to Dio, crumpled on my bed.
"Who the fuck would do this to a little cat?" Donny seethes, echoing my thoughts.
I glance up at him. For the first time, I notice that he’s wearing a River Reapers cut. His badge reads ENFORCER. I really look at his face. Then I recognize him.
I don’t see him often. He’s usually out on club business. Or, apparently, working with my roommate. Every once in a while he stops in to The Wet Mermaid, mostly for Church. When he does order a drink, which is rare, he tips me excessively well.
"Donny," I ask slowly, "what is it that you do for the club?"
His jaw tightens, his lips clamping shut.
Pushing off the car, I stride up to him. I clasp my hands together. "Donny, please. I need to talk to Mark. I know," I tell him.
"Christ," he swears, rubbing his temples. He lights a cigarette, glances at my empty hands, then tosses me his pack.
Esther reaches for it, too, her eyes wide and haunted. Guilt scrapes at my stomach. Because of me, my mousey roommate’s sense of safety has been rattled. I wrap an arm around her waist, and she rests her head on my shoulder.
"Donny," I say, my eyes burning into him. "I know about the guns." I don’t know what’s on my face. If it’s anything like what I’m feeling, it’s raw desperation. I lift my chin. "I need one, Donny. I need a gun. I need to talk to Mark—"
"Okay," he hisses, glancing around. "Hush, woman." He gives his head a shake.
Still wrapped in one of my arms, Esther hugs herself. Her forehead creases, and she chews on the inside of her cheek.
Donny presses a flip phone to his ear—a burner. "Mark," he says. "I’ve got a situation." He shoots us a look that tells us to stay put, then steps several paces out of earshot.
I’m too pumped up with adrenaline to realize that he barely put up an argument. The club has always given me special treatment, so I’m pretty used to it. Still, Donny’s fast yes is almost unnerving.
I hug Esther tighter.
"I hope he isn’t going to tell Cliff," I mutter.
"Why the fuck not, pendeja?" She curls her lip. "If I were you, I’d have him stomp in that motherfucker’s head." Her face pales. "How the fuck did he get in, anyway?"
I move my head back and forth. I don’t know. I just know one thing: I’m going to kill him. I don’t know where or when, but I am. It’s one thing to follow me to class or key my roommate’s car. Those are the oldest tricks in the stalkers’ guide for dummies. But now he’s overstepped his bounds.
My blood boils as I move away from Esther. I exhale a cloud of smoke and walk through it toward Donny. He leans against his car, arms crossed. Watching me, a look of awe on his face.
"How come you’re not on your bike?" I ask him.
He blinks, surprised by my question. "Because the roads are shit right now."
"But the rest of the club rides year-round." I hug myself against the cold. The shock is wearing off.
"No, they don’t, babygirl." He glances at Esther, who’s playing on her phone. He nods to me. "Come around to the trunk."
When he flips open the lid, at first I only see a neatly folded blanket and some random tools. He lifts the rug-covered cardboard divider that ordinarily separates the storage space from the spare tire well. Fitted into the hole where his donut should be is a circular wooden crate.
I lift an eyebrow. "I’m already impressed."
He rolls his eyes and opens the crate, exposing rows of carefully packed handguns. "Glock 34. It’s a nine millimeter,” he says, lifting one from its foam padding and handing it to me.
Its weight presses into more than just my hands.
"Serial number’s been filed off," Donny continues. "The kick isn’t too violent, so you should be able to shoot it." His eyebrows furrow as he looks down at me. "You do know how to shoot one, right?"
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. "Of course I do."
He hands me a threaded barrel. "Silencer."
"I know what it is," I say, threading it in.
"You’ll need a holster. Connecticut ain’t open carry."
I sigh, exasperated. "Look, Donny, I’m not brand new."
"You’re so much like him," he mutters.
"Who?" I twist off the silencer.
Donny hands me several boxes of rounds. "Nobody, little one." But this time his head shake is affectionate. "This is between you, me, and Mark. And Esther." The corner of his lips twitches in a half grimace. "Please don’t shoot yourself in the foot or anything like that."
My hands are too full to put on my hips. I tilt my head instead. "Donny, my father taught me how to shoot." My brow furrows. I don’t remember our dad ever even owning a gun, never mind taking Lucy or I to a shooting range. I hadn’t thought I remembered anything about my biological parents, but maybe I do.
Putting muscle memory to test, I dam my thoughts behind a wall. My fingers do the work, loading the clip and turning a round into the chamber. I screw the silencer back on and take aim.
"See that beer can on that concrete block?" I ask Donny.
He follows my gaze.
"I’m putting one right in it."
“Right here? Out in the open, huh?” Donny crosses his arms.
I take a deep breath. Lick my lips. Then I squeeze the trigger.
The bullet flies into the can, knocking it off the construction block. The sound is so low, it’s undetectable to the veterinarians working on my cat. My heart squeezes at the thought of Dio. I turn to face Donny, an eyebrow lifted.
"You just got lucky," he says, but he’s smiling, almost proudly.
"Fine," I say, and scan the parking lot for something else to shoot. A tag sale poster hangs on a telephone pole. I pivot my body toward it.
“That’s too easy.” Donny points to a banner hanging across the street, announcing the city’s message of love and hope to all who drive by. "Put a hole in the R," he says.
So I do. Every letter that he calls out.
Donny finally relents. "All right, all right. I’m impressed." He squeezes my arm gently. "But Olivia, you know all you gotta do is say the word."
My eyes snap to his. "I knew it," I say sadly.
He moves his head slightly to the side in a sort of shrug. "But you’re like your daddy," he continues. "You’ve gotta take care of everything yourself."
I blink in response. Then I take apart my gun, put the safety on, and put it in my purse. Nestled among pens, packs of gum, and spare lighters, it fits right in.
The realization doesn’t scare
me at all.
In fact, it feels like I’ve come home.
13
Cliff
When I wake up the next morning, the house around me is quiet. Rolling onto my side, sheets sliding against my naked body, I pat around on the nightstand for my phone. It’s after ten. I haven’t slept in this long in ages.
There are no missed texts or calls, but that’s no surprise. Only a handful of people have my phone number. One of them is at work, another is in class, and the rest of them are probably sleeping off hangovers. I smirk, thinking of my brothers’ somber faces as they headed into Church last night, drinks clutched in their hands. Someday I’ll be a part of that, too.
It feels good to belong to something again.
It feels even better to belong to someone.
Even if Olivia and I haven’t exactly called it, I feel it. Maybe it sounds sappy, but there’s a connection between us that I’ve never felt with anyone before.
I force myself out of bed, bare feet padding across the floor. Lucy should be at work, but I pull on clothes before I leave the guest bedroom—just in case. The weather is calling for snow, so it isn’t a riding lesson day. And I don’t have to be at The Wet Mermaid until later. I make coffee, feeling untethered. For the first time in twenty years, there’s nowhere I have to be.
While I wait for the coffee pot to get going, I consider my options. I can surprise Olivia at school . . . but that would make me seem clingy. It’s better to wait ’til we’re at work. Since Lucy showed me how to download apps, I decide to camp out on the couch catching up on TV and apartment hunting. I know I’m going to break Lucy’s heart the day I move out, but I need my own place—especially if Olivia and I are going to continue seeing each other.
I don’t exactly smile as I carry my coffee into the living room, but it’s close. Just as I go to sit down, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I tug it out and frown as I read the display. Right. There’s one more person who has my phone number: Govender, my P.O.
"Yeah," I say, slumping into the couch. This whole thing is just a pain in the ass. "Missing me already?"
"I miss you like a hemorrhoid," he says, "especially since you blew me off this morning."
A Disturbing Prospect (River Reapers Motorcycle Club Book 1) Page 12
