I didn’t look ahead. I didn’t know Rocky would mean so much to me. I didn’t think…
I just didn’t know.
At the time, it was worth the cost.
Now though…
My time with Aaron Woods flashes through my mind. What he did to Livie. What I did to him in return. He was the first of the four men I found, and he suffered the brunt of my anger for it.
I beat him, kidnapped him, locked him in my basement, starved him, broke his fingers, and ultimately, I poisoned him. I laced his whiskey with enough sleeping pills to put a horse down, and I encouraged him to drink it until the life seeped out of his body.
Then I took his battered, lifeless shell, shoved it into a trunk, and tossed it into the river.
What I did was horrible.
What I did was justified. Because of what he did to Livie. I still think it is.
But it haunts me, because I’m not like he was. Taking a life meant something to me, justified or not. And it always will.
“That’s a fret,” Augie breathes, his Irish accent thick with his shock. “That’s all the manky bastards now, yeah?”
I nod. That’s all of them. But I already knew that.
“That’s a relief, my friend,” he says, gripping my shoulder. He gives me a hard shake. “Smile. You can rest assured now. They’ve all paid their price.”
“Not Bates,” I correct.
“It will happen. It’s taking donkey’s years, but it will happen.”
I’ve known Augie since freshman year of college and he’s been my friend for just as long. I’m used to his occasional inherent statements—typically they come out when he’s angry, drunk, or surprised—and have picked up the meaning of most. But I’ve never really understood that one.
“How long is donkey’s years, exactly?”
He shrugs. “A very long time.”
Yes. It’s taking a very long time. Too long.
I scratch my head, irritated. And now that Woods’ body has been discovered, who knows what’s going to happen?
I could be joining Bates in jail.
Twenty
Rocky
“What does this mean?” I ask, clicking off the TV. The discovery of Woods’ body has been the highlight every hour. We’ve been watching it off and on since the story broke. Link told me when he killed him, but he didn’t give me the details. I’m not sure I could have handled hearing them.
I have no idea how careful he was. I need to know if the police will be knocking on my door. I can’t lose him.
Link drops onto the couch beside me, his elbows on his knees. His head falls forward, both hands sinking into his hair. “I don’t know.” We’re quiet for several minutes, contemplating all the possible outcomes.
“Fuck,” Link rasps. “Maybe I should just turn myself in. Get it over with.”
“No,” I say adamantly. “You said Byers thought Bates was involved. Let him keep thinking it. Did you leave any evidence that could come back on you?”
“Everything I used belonged to him. I showered him before…before I killed him. I’ve bleached down every inch of my basement. I even cleaned out the drain. I burned his clothes and the tape I used to bind him.” He shakes his head. “I was as careful as I could be, but…”
“But?”
“It’s the little mistakes that cost so much.”
My eyes well with moisture. I refuse to allow the tears to spill over, blinking them away quickly.
“I’m sorry,” he croaks.
“Don’t be sorry. I understood at the time—I envied you. You did what you needed to do to keep your sanity. I still have days when I think about going after Garrett.” His eyes flash with a mix of fear and anger. “I won’t,” I add. “Because of the baby. But I still think about it. Those men tortured Olivia. They hurt her right in front of you. Killed her. And they tried to kill you. It makes me want to murder them, and I didn’t live through it.” I grab his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You did what you needed to,” I repeat. “Don’t be sorry for that.”
“But I am. And the police will not look at it that way. I took the law into my own hands. Two wrongs and all that.”
“If they come for you, don’t say a word. I’ll find a lawyer—you can plead temporary insanity—”
“I held him in my house for multiple days. I tortured him. That’s not temporary insanity.” His lashes rest on his cheeks as he closes his eyes.
“We’ll think of something. Just, please, don’t turn yourself in. I’m begging you. I don’t want to do this alone. Don’t make me.”
He tugs me into his side, arms wrapping around my waist. “No matter what, I’ll make sure you aren’t alone.”
I don’t miss the lack of agreement. Not for a second. “If you go to prison, who will protect us the way you can? I need you.”
His lips brush my hairline. “Okay” is all he says.
~*~
I flush the toilet and wash my hands and face. This is the second bout of sickness I’ve had today. As I brush my teeth, I wonder if it’s because I’m pregnant or because I’m visiting Bates tomorrow—which I’m hiding from Link—or because Link could ultimately go to prison for murder.
“You okay?” Link asks as soon as I step into the bedroom. I nod and he lifts the blanket, inviting me to join him. I crawl in, snuggling into his chest.
“I made a doctor’s appointment.”
“When? I’d like to go.”
“Wednesday, but you don’t have to go. The nurse said there will be a pelvic exam.”
His fingertips slide up and down my back, giving me goose bumps. “I’d still like to go, unless you don’t want me there.”
I lift my head, my eyes meeting his. “I want you there,” I say. “Besides,” I add as I nestle back into place, “you’ve examined my pelvis so many times, you can give the doctor tips.”
He laughs and I glance up, needing to see his smile. I don’t know how I ever thought Link was average looking. He’s so beautiful to me now. My tummy flips. I hope the baby looks just like him. Those eyes and that smile at the very least. And I hope he or she inherits his determination, loyalty, and protectiveness.
“I love you.” It tumbles out of my mouth, from brain to lips with no filter.
Link’s body stiffens. His hand freezes its path on my spine. We’re both silent, both still. And then he cups my face in his palms, eyes piercing mine with their intensity. He leans in slowly, his tongue and teeth skimming my lips. He nibbles his way in, kissing me deeply. He doesn’t say it back, but it feels like he does.
Twenty-One
Link
Rocky wasn’t feeling well this morning. I made her breakfast and sent her back to bed before coming into the gym alone. I’m glad we’re going to the doctor tomorrow. I know morning sickness is normal, but I also know stress isn’t good for the baby—for either of them. I just want to know they’re both doing well. If I could alleviate that worry, that’d be one less weight to carry on my shoulders.
As soon as I think it, I realize that will never happen. I will always worry about her—them. That comes with caring.
I sit down at my desk and switch on the computer. It’s old, so it takes donkey’s years to load. Once I’m able to log on to the Internet, I pull up the information about the house on Willard Street. It’s a good neighborhood, better than where we are now. There’s a park just down the road and though it’s a little farther from the gym, it’s still within walking distance.
It’s a three-bedroom bungalow. Bigger than my house, and a hell of a lot larger than Rocky’s apartment. I figure the extra room can be used as an office/studio, allowing Rocky to work from home after the baby is born.
At least until the baby is old enough to come to the gym with us. I’m getting this kid started early—as soon as it learns to walk it’s learning to box. I think Rocky’s dad will back me up on that—once he knows there’s a baby on the way. I guess it’s custom to wait until the second trimester to tell people—t
hat’s what I’ve read. We don’t know how far along she is, but I think it’s safe to say we have a couple months before we’ll be making announcements.
I call the number, setting up an appointment to see the home tomorrow afternoon. We can take the day off—go to the doctor, have some lunch, and then hopefully put a bid in on this house. I know everything is moving quickly right now, but it has to. I have no idea where I’ll be in nine months. Hell, I don’t even know where I’ll be a week from now. For all I know, I could be in jail this time tomorrow.
Just to be safe, I should add Rocky to my bank account. That way she can take over payroll. I know between her, Joe, and Augie, they can keep everything going here at the gym.
My biggest concern, though, is who will be by her side if I can’t be. Who’s going to take her to doctor appointments? Her car is a piece of shit. It breaks down every other week. Fuck. What about once the baby is born? She can’t drive an infant around in that thing.
I have to be here.
I stare at the computer screen, eyes trained on the house I hope to call home soon. It’s strange, the image that plays through my mind. I can see us there. Me, Rocky, our child. I envision chalk sketches filling the driveway. Tire swing in the large tree out front. Basketball hoop over the garage. Cookouts, birthday celebrations, holidays, all spent there. It’s so normal and extraordinary. And extremely complicated. After four years playing vigilante, this is what I want.
I want what I longed for once upon a time with Olivia. But back then, it didn’t seem extraordinary. It seemed simple. Easy. It was just the common path our lives were supposed to take.
With Rocky, it’s a life-changing choice. A conscious decision to let go of the past and select a new life.
There was a time I was bitterly angry with Gregory Anthony because he took Liv away and because he had everything that should have been mine. I recall the house, the little girl who jumped into his arms, the wife—stomach round with child—the dog, the magnets securing the drawings to the refrigerator. It was this perfect little life that I felt belonged to me, that he stole from me.
And it was supposed to be mine. He did steal it.
I am angry.
But I have another opportunity at that life, one I never would have known had anything happened differently. That will always be my greatest mind fuck.
There is no going back. No changing anything. What’s done is done. I have no say over the past, but I sure as shit can have some say over the future.
Opening a new tab, I do a quick search on the best and safest family cars.
I check the time. I have an hour before my next scheduled client. Grabbing my keys and checkbook, I stride out of the office, through the double doors leading outside, and jog down the street to the car dealership.
Twenty-Two
Rocky
My palms are sweaty. I’m nervous though I carefully mask my unease behind a well-practiced scowl. I feel like a sheep walking into the wolf’s den, but I want the wolf to know he can’t scare me. My legs are unsteady, yet I keep moving forward, following the small group of people through security.
When I’m asked whom I’m here for, it’s hard to say Carter Bates’ name. I manage, though. My ID is checked. I’m handed a visitor’s badge that I clip onto my shirt. And then that’s it. I’m told to have a seat and wait. I thought the process would take longer. It should take longer.
I don’t know if I’m ready for this.
I lied to Link in order to get here and I feel guilty for that. If he had any idea where I was right now, he’d flip his shit. I’m doing this for him, though.
A middle-aged woman, tall and willowy, stands at the edge of the room, leather briefcase in hand. She’s dressed in black and white pinstriped pants with a matching fitted jacket. Professional and feminine. It’s a don’t-give-me-any-bullshit-just-because-I’m-a-woman kind of look. Her eyes meet mine and I know before she heads my way that she’s Bates’ attorney.
“Miss Cutrone?”
I nod, getting to my feet.
“Jennifer Mosley. We spoke yesterday.”
“I remember.” Obviously, or I wouldn’t be here.
She gives me a tight smile as she tucks a chunk of light brown hair behind her ear. “I informed him you only agreed to five minutes, but you can take up to thirty. That’s his allotted time. Once you sit down with him, I’ll leave you to it. You leave the same way you came in. You can pick up your personal items when you return your badge.”
I nod again. All that’s easy. I just want to get the hard part over with. Five minutes and I’ll be done with this asshole forever.
“Are you ready?”
Everything about this feels like a setup, I need tangible proof of his intentions before I can go through with it. “I want to see the document for the plea change first.”
“Of course.” She slips the briefcase open, removing a file, holding it out to me. My hands are shaky as I read over it. I’m not a lawyer. Honestly, this could be a load of shit, I wouldn’t know. But I see all the right words, along with Bates’ name and a scrawled signature I can only assume belongs to him.
I give it back and she smiles, tight-lipped. “Ready?” she asks again.
“As I’ll ever be.”
“This way.” She turns, walking through a set of doors leading into a narrow room filled with glass partitions.
“There was a development yesterday,” Jennifer says, glancing at me over her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ve heard. Mr. Bates is a suspect in the homicide of Aaron Woods. His agreement to change his plea to guilty does not include that case. He has not been charged with that crime as of yet, so it is not part of the bargain.”
“Okay,” I utter, wishing it were. It would solve one very big problem. My mind flips through possible ways I could persuade him into taking the fall, but there’s nothing I could say that wouldn’t incriminate Link. Bates is the last person I want to know Link is guilty.
Besides, I don’t know what I could possibly offer him in trade anyway.
Jennifer slows, coming to a stop in front of one of the windows. I peer around her, but Bates isn’t there yet.
“Have a seat. He’ll be here shortly.”
Part of me doesn’t want to sit. There’s something vulnerable about lowering myself into a chair. But my legs are trembling. I have little choice. The last time I saw this man, he tried to kill me—and Link. I shove the memory away, not wanting it fresh in my mind when I see him again.
My hands are damp. I hide them in my lap, sitting as tall as possible. In the movies, there are always phones, but I don’t see anything like that as I glance around. There are small holes in the glass, and I presume that’s how we are going to hear one another.
Or I’ll hear him, because I don’t plan on doing any talking.
There’s a noise—a buzzing—and then men in pale yellow scrubs trail through a door accompanied by guards.
The moment I see Bates, the hairs on my arms stand on end. His gaze finds me immediately, locking onto my eyes. I look away, shivering, and curse myself as I do.
He takes a seat in front of me, arms resting on the small countertop. Though I don’t look up, I can see his full attention is on me in my peripheral vision.
“Okay, well,” Jennifer says, “I’ll be on my way.” She pats her briefcase twice. “I’m going to drop this off to the prosecutor’s office. Miss Cutrone, it was nice meeting you.”
I shift my head, looking up at her. Seriously? It was nice meeting me? I don’t return the sentiment. That’s one of the stupidest things she could say to me at the moment. In all honesty, I wish I never would have had to meet her.
I watch her walk away, and though I can’t say I’m a big fan of Jennifer Mosley, I really don’t want to be alone with Bates.
He hasn’t spoken a word. I don’t know what he’s waiting for. I only agreed to five minutes and he’s letting the seconds tick by.
Not wanting to come off like a doe in headlights, I force myself to tur
n to him. To meet his eyes once again. He smiles, and though I loathe him, I see what initially attracted me to him. Carter Bates is ruggedly handsome and he has a smile that could drop just about any pair of panties.
But I know what hides beneath the pretty outer shell, and it’s ugly, horrific, evil.
He leans forward, his finger sliding back and forth over the glass as if he’s trying to caress me. “Don’t you dare fucking stop,” he says, enunciating each word clearly, piercing eyes intent on mine. “That’s what you said to me while I licked your pussy.”
Bile rises into my throat. I nearly gag on it. My face burns in shame and embarrassment and anger. At myself for ever allowing that night to happen and at him, for…everything. I might throw up right here in front of him.
“Do you remember that? The way you rode my face? Because I do. I think about it all the time, Rocky.”
Hearing him say my name is a bigger shock than the crude statements that just left his mouth. This was a mistake. He doesn’t want closure. He wants to fuck with me. I should have known. I did know, I just hoped…
I can’t do this.
My stomach churns. I really think I’m going to puke.
“If you get up from that chair a single second before your five minutes is over, I won’t go through with it. I’ll retract my guilty plea before the file has even been opened.”
I feel my eyes widen. Can he do that? Is that possible? Can he change his plea again?
“You need to listen to what I have to say,” he hisses. “I have a message for your boyfriend, and you’re going to deliver it for me.”
“Fuck you,” I spit. “I’m not telling Link anything for you.”
He grins, settling back into his seat. “I find it…ironic, how Aaron Woods went missing after a lineup the detective on Link’s case set up. What about you? Do you think that’s a little suspicious?”
Grit (Dirty #6) Page 9
