Beautiful Rush

by Rose, Emery

  “I need to get back to my car.” I gestured for Tyler to move aside.

  Instead of moving aside, he did a full body scan, his eyes roaming over me from head to toe. He was wearing a BAPE T-shirt and Air Jordan’s. He looked like a rich kid who got his kicks from street racing. He reminded me of the guys I went to prep school with, except for Sasha who hadn’t fit into that world any more than I had.

  “Why do you race?” I asked, out of curiosity. Also, I wasn’t in a hurry to get back, now that I had no intention of racing him.

  “The same reason I do everything. To win.” With that, he smirked and held the door for me, pretending to be a gentleman. I slipped past him and he fell into step with me. The only good thing about having Tyler by my side was that he couldn’t mess with my car. I envisioned him keying the paintwork just to be an asshole.

  “I read about your father,” he said conversationally. “Tough break, huh? Bet you’re—”

  Shouts from the parking lot drowned out his words.

  “The fuck were you trying to do? Kill her?” he roared.

  I would know that voice anywhere. I jumped the curb and bolted across the parking lot toward the crowd gathered around my car. Shoving my way through the crowd, I got a visual of Deacon as he slammed the shifty-eyed guy against the side of my car.

  “How much did you bet, Eddie?”

  “You should have minded your own fucking business.”

  In one fluid motion, Deacon had Eddie turned around with his hands behind his back and his cheek pressed against my passenger side window.

  “Why did you fuck with her car?”

  Deacon twisted Eddie’s arm and Eddie let out a strangled cry.

  “Don’t make me snap your arm in two.” Deacon’s voice was low and steely and cut right through me, even though his words were aimed at Eddie, not me.

  “The guy in the Camaro. He put me up to it…ow, fuuuck.”

  “Keep talking, Eddie.”

  “It was supposed to be a slow leak in the tire—”

  A slow leak. I probably wouldn’t have noticed. When I drove on it, I would have had a blowout. Driving at high speeds like I did, I would have crashed, and it would not have been pretty.

  I scanned the parking lot, looking for Tyler. He was hurrying across the parking lot with another guy, headed back to his Camaro like the weasel he was. I left Deacon to deal with Eddie and sprinted across the lot.

  “You asshole!” I shouted, pummeling his back with my fists. “You couldn’t win on your own merit, so you screwed with my car?”

  “Back off, crazy bitch.” He spun around and shoved me away. I fell on my ass and he laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. Scrambling to my feet, I launched myself at him. I was crazy and I was a bitch. My fist slammed into his face. I was so riled up and had put so much force behind my punch, that his head snapped back, and blood spurted from his nose.

  An arm shot out, blocking me from going for round two with Tyler. The guy’s eyes were narrowed on me. “We ain’t looking for trouble.”

  “I’m not trouble.” I pointed at the offender—Tyler the asshole. “He got someone to mess with my car.”

  “You got no proof,” the guy said. His eyes were hard, flat as two stones. And that was when I realized that he was in on it too. I hadn’t gotten a good look from across the parking lot, but he must have been the other guy talking with Eddie and Tyler earlier. He was bigger and meaner-looking than Tyler with ear gages, a gold medallion around his neck, and a bandana around his head.

  I should have walked away, and I turned as if I was planning on doing just that. I cried out as a hand yanked me by the hair so hard that tears sprang to my eyes.

  “You’re gonna pay for this.” Tyler slammed me against his rear bumper and bent me over the trunk of his car. He shoved my head down, my cheek pressed against the metal, his body pinning me to the car. His hold on me was so tight I couldn’t move.

  Don’t panic. Don’t lose your shit, Keira.

  I tried to keep my wits about me, but my body was flooding with adrenaline, making my skin sweat and my body tremble. Tyler rubbed his erection between my ass cheeks, and I could feel it through my denim shorts. “Someone needs to be taught a lesson.”

  “When he’s done, I’ll take my turn,” the other guy said.

  A shudder of revulsion raced down my spine. “Fuck. You,” I gritted out.

  “That’s the plan.”

  A blood-curdling scream echoed across the parking lot and I came to my senses enough to realize the sound was coming from me. I kept screaming at the top of my lungs. Like a lunatic. Like a crazy bitch. Until a hand clamped over my mouth, stifling my screams. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

  “Get your fucking hands off her,” Deacon roared.

  He ripped Tyler’s body off me, and I pushed myself onto my elbows, taking deep breaths. Behind me, I heard a bone-crunching punch followed by a howl of pain. My body shivered violently, but I peeled myself off the trunk of Tyler’s car and turned around. Leaning against the car for support, I crossed my arms over my chest and dug my nails into my upper arms to try to stop my body from shaking.

  With one heavy, brutal punch, Deacon knocked Tyler to the ground. Deacon turned just as the bandana guy slammed his fist into his jaw. Deacon’s head snapped back which only seemed to incense him more. He delivered an uppercut to the jaw and slammed his fist into bandana guy’s solar plexus. Tyler lunged at Deacon, getting in a sucker punch to his face.

  Oh my god, what have I done?

  A blood-thirsty crowd gathered around, and a few girls chanted, “Fight. Fight. Fight.”

  A girl next to me cracked her gum and elbowed me in the ribs. “My money’s on the blond hottie.”

  The blond hottie was mine. The blond hottie was a badass who was kicking ass and taking names. But he was also taking his fair share of blows and nobody was doing anything to stop this.

  When Deacon sent Tyler flying across the parking lot and into a parked car, I saw my opportunity and I took it. Wrapping my hand around my keychain, I strode over to him as he straightened, wiping the blood off his nose with the back of his hand. Without giving him a chance to recover, I pointed my keychain at his face and pressed the button.

  He howled in pain and covered his bloody face with his hands, doubling over in front of me. Pepper spray was no joke.

  “Don’t you ever lay your hands on another woman or I swear, I will hunt you down and make you regret it.”

  It was an idle threat, but it felt good delivering the words.

  “Cops!” someone yelled from across the parking lot.

  The crowd scattered, the fight abandoned. A hand tagged mine and Deacon dragged me along with him across the parking lot to his Escalade. Opening the passenger door for me, he hustled me inside. “Give me your keys.”

  “But—”

  “You do not want to argue with me right now.”

  His jaw was clenched so tightly that I could almost hear his molars grinding. His face was a mess, his hair disheveled. Blood splattered his gray T-shirt. Yeah, I did not want to argue with him right now.

  He held out his hand. “Your keys, Keira.”

  I handed them over without questioning why he needed them.

  “Stay here. Keep the doors locked.” Without giving me a chance to respond, he shut the door and beeped the locks.

  I sagged against the seat and watched him through the window as he strode to my car and searched for something in the trunk. Seconds later, he came out with the pressure gauge.

  Cars peeled out of the parking lot, tires squealing, and the lot was mostly emptied out except for a few cars. The Camaro was gone, and I didn’t see Eddie or the other guy. By the time the police cruiser circled the parking lot, Deacon had pumped air into my tires and returned to the Escalade. We sat in silence. I couldn’t think of a single thing to say and he clearly wasn’t in the mood for a chat, so I kept my mouth shut.

  He flexed his hands and stared at the
blood on his knuckles. My eyes met his as the police cruiser drove away while we hid out in a gangbanger car with black-tinted windows. I saw the anger and the guilt in his eyes, the defeat in the slump of his shoulders before he turned his head and stared straight ahead. He ran his tongue over his split lip, catching the blood. He was bloody and battle-weary, trying to remind himself that he was a cop. Cops don’t beat the shit out of guys for messing with a girl’s car. They don’t get into parking lot brawls. They don’t hide out from their fellow officers.

  He was a good cop, and he was breaking the rules. Because of me.

  I had done this to him. I had dragged him into my mess.

  “You okay?” His voice was cool. Detached. Tension rolled off him, his shoulders rigid. He was furious with me.

  I nodded. “I’m fine. Are you—”

  He turned the key in the ignition and the music from his car stereo effectively cut off my words. He drove me to my car and pulled into the parking space next to my driver side. “You okay to drive?”

  “Yeah.”

  He handed back my keys and a small black rock. “What’s this?”

  “A souvenir. Found it in the plastic cap covering the air valve.”

  Oh. I opened my mouth to speak, to apologize, to thank him. Anything that would make this better. But no words came out, so I pushed the door open and climbed out of his SUV and into my Charger.

  * * *

  I stared at my bedroom ceiling, the small black rock clenched in my fist. The edges dug into the palm of my hand, piercing the flesh, a reminder of what had happened tonight. I checked the time on my phone. Two fifty-five a.m. Three minutes since I’d last checked. I knew Deacon wasn’t coming over tonight, but part of me still held out hope that he would.

  When I finally fell into a fitful sleep, I dreamt that Sasha was being eaten by crocodiles. My father was smiling.

  15

  Deacon

  “Hi honey, I’m home,” I said as Max ambled into the kitchen in boxers and a bleach-stained blue T-shirt he’d probably had since high school. He yawned loudly, trying to make a point. Subtlety wasn’t his strong suit.

  “I can see that,” he said dryly.

  I poured myself another cup of coffee and leaned against the kitchen counter to drink it. My tenth of the day? At this point, who was counting?

  “You mind telling me what you’re doing here at seven in the morning on my fucking day off?”

  It was now seven fifteen, but I didn’t point that out. Nor did I point out that this was my apartment. It was the first time I’d been back to my loft in Sunset Park since December. In the meantime, Max was living here until my assignment was over, paying my utilities and saving up to buy his own place.

  “They’re giving you days off now? What is this madness?”

  He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the butcher block island. He yawned. Again. “I just came off a fourteen-hour shift.”

  “Damn. I left my violin in the car or I would have played for your pity party.”

  He snorted. “Saw you skulking around Williamsburg. Nice Escalade. NYPD footing the bill?”

  “It’s coming out of your Christmas bonus.”

  Max laughed at my joke and eyed me over the rim of his mug as he drank his coffee. “You look like shit.”

  That’s what happens when you get into a street fight, hide out from the cops, then track down a fucking meth-head with a gambling addiction. Eddie, the stupid piece of shit, was the one who had tipped me off about last night’s race. To say my night had been a shit show was an understatement. Before I’d tracked down Keira, I did a job for Dmitri and had a run-in with Sergei.

  “How’d you get so tight with my cousin?”

  “Must be my charm and winning personality.”

  “Yeah? What’d you do? Let him fuck you up the ass?” He laughed like an idiot. Then he drew his gun and released the safety. “You think you can cut me out of my share, you got another thing coming. Watch your back.”

  “Put the gun away. You might shoot yourself in the foot.”

  He shot a hole in the wall behind me, crazy fucker. Guys like him were dangerous. He reeked of desperation and was petty enough to pull a stupid stunt without fully considering the consequences of his actions. “Won’t be my foot with a bullet in it.”

  “You might wanna think long and hard before you threaten me.”

  “Fuck. You.” He tucked his gun in his waistband and strode away.

  So much for my diplomatic skills. I was walking a tightrope between being a good guy and a bad guy and Sergei was clearly not Team Kosta. What a fucking clusterfuck.

  “You’re not looking too pretty yourself,” I pointed out as Max scrubbed a hand over his bedhead.

  “You almost done?”

  The precinct knew I’d gone UC, but not even Max knew what my assignment was. I set my mug on the counter and ran my hands through my hair. I needed a shower and sleep.

  “Almost there. You know the drill. Just trying to get enough so the charges stick.”

  Which meant hours and hours of surveillance and checking wiretaps. Did I have time to track down my girlfriend who was hell-bent on street racing to chase away her demons? Hell no. Had I done the right thing last night? Same answer.

  Keira. Why do you test me? Last night I’d been so angry with her I could barely trust myself to speak to her. More than that, I’d been angry with myself. I should have had those races shut down after the first time I saw her. And I should have done the right thing last night. I should have called the cops immediately. Let them deal with Eddie and those other two douchebags. Instead, I’d put Keira in a vulnerable position.

  What if I hadn’t shown up at the right time? It was just dumb luck that I’d pulled into the parking lot and saw Eddie messing with her car.

  The fucker could have killed her. For drug money. And the douchebag in the Camaro…what was his purpose? Bragging rights? Revenge for being made to look like a fool after the last time they raced?

  Fucking hell. I scrubbed my hand over my face and winced. I’d forgotten about the bruises and the pretty black eye I was sporting. I unfolded the sheet of notepaper that was in my pocket and set it in front of Max.

  “What’s this?” Max asked, reading the information I’d given him.

  “I need a favor. I need you to shut down these street races. That’s the license plate of the guy who organizes them and keeps the books. The URL is for the chat room. The races are in Queens. They move around.”

  “I’m not Vice. And Queens isn’t…why am I explaining this to you?” He pushed the paper aside and drank his coffee.

  “Isn’t your cousin on the Vice Squad? And remind me again which precinct he’s in?”

  Max scowled. He came from a long line of men in blue. His father had been a cop, his brother was a cop, two of his cousins, and probably a few uncles and grandparents I wasn’t aware of…all NYPD. In other words, he came from a closely-knit cop family and had never once questioned what his future would hold.

  “I’d owe you.”

  He exhaled loudly. “You got me out of bed for this? Because of a few punks street racing in Queens?” he asked incredulously.

  Admittedly, I would have reacted the same way if the shoe was on the other foot. “There’s more to it than that.”

  “This have something to do with your assignment?”

  I shook my head. “No. It has to do with a girl.”

  Max laughed. He was laughing so hard he was practically doubled over. I waited for him to pull himself together, regretting that I’d told him the truth.

  “Are you shittin’ me?” My face said I wasn’t shitting him. “Who is she?”

  “Keira Shaughnessy.” There I went again. Spewing honest answers.

  “Keira Shaughnessy,” he repeated. He laughed again. “Holy shit. Only you could go UC and end up with Ronan Shaughnessy’s daughter.”

  What could I say? Only me. Max knew about Keira. I had told him about her the first
time we met.

  “How’s she involved with this street racing?”

  I told him the story of how I’d first seen her doing it in June and what had happened last night.

  “Shit. Do you know who tampered with her car?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I took care of it.”

  “You took care of it.” Max had this habit of repeating the last line. It was an investigative detective thing and I’d been known to do the same thing, another habit I’d had to break for this assignment. He held up his hands when my answer was not forthcoming. “Never mind. I don’t need to know. Just tell me…does he look worse than you?”

  He looked a hell of a lot worse than me, and so did the other two guys, although I took no pride in my handiwork. It had felt like high school all over again.

  “So, you went all vigilante on these guys and took the law into your own hands.” Max rubbed his index fingers together and tskked like the smart-ass he was. “Miss you, man.”

  “You’d never know it. You’re not even wearing your friendship bracelet.”

  “Got myself a new BFF. Rodriguez stepped up to the plate.”

  “Sloppy seconds. I’ll be back soon to claim my title.”

  “Competition is stiff. He buys more rounds than you.”

  “He knows what a cheap bastard you are. So, you’ll take care of this for me?” It came out as a statement, not a question.

  He sighed loudly, letting me know what a pain in the ass I was. “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What’s the deal with you and Keira?”