Chasing Allie (Breaking Away Series #2)

by Meli Raine

  One heart.

  The wind begins to whip my hair in pinwheels around us, the sky dark enough that the lights of the pier’s amusements shine brightly. The music fades and then gets louder as we pass closer to the ground in our car. Chase’s hands are all over me now, his mouth insistent and demanding, the connection between us no longer one that binds.

  Now it’s one that needs. He needs me, and the urgency of his caresses, his groans, his hands and lips and tongue make me hot and wet.

  I want more. More than I’ve ever had in my entire life.

  And it’s all happening because I chose to break away from an oppression I didn’t really understand.

  “You are so...oh, man, Allie,” Chase says as he clears his throat. We fly past the roller coaster again and we’re pitched toward the ocean, red lights from a huge ship way off in the distance catching my eye. I’m panting now and so is Chase. His thick, muscled leg is between my knees, his torso pressed into me. We’re about as close to each other as you can get in public.

  We’re also perched a few stories above the ground and falling, fast.

  Falling in love.

  “I don’t have the words to say how I feel, Chase,” I admit. My skin is on fire and every part of me feels itchy with compulsion. I need to touch him, need to taste him, need to feel naked and alive against his body.

  He moves my hand to his lap and—oh, yeah. He feels the same, all right.

  “How close is Marissa’s place?” he murmurs against my earlobe before he nips it with his teeth, making me yip.

  “I don’t know,” I confess. “She said it’s maybe twenty minutes from here?”

  He sighs and sits down all the way, pulling me to him tightly. The loss of his heat against mine makes me want him even more.

  “I can wait.” He growls and licks my neck.

  I can’t stop giggling. “What’s that for?”

  “For being so tasty.”

  “I taste like sweat and dirt.”

  “Mmmmm.”

  I reach over and lick his neck, too.

  “Lower,” he says in a dark voice.

  I pull back and give him an impish look. “Later.”

  The wheel in the sky keeps looping and we laugh and cuddle until the machine stops, tumbling us out into the beautiful California night.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “ALLLIIIIEEEE!” Marissa screams as she runs down the stairs to the entrance of her apartment building. The sound is so high-pitched it could shatter glass. She thumps down the stairs and hugs me so hard I fall backward a bit, into Chase’s front, and he has to hold us both up.

  Marissa looks more like our dad. Not that I’d know; I only remember him from pictures. He took off when we were five and two years old, and we haven’t seen him since. For all we know he’s dead. He left a bit of his DNA around, though, and that’s all that matters. While I look like my mother’s mini-me, Marissa is half a foot taller, with short honey-brown hair and almond-shaped green eyes.

  She hugs me, shaking me from side to side, like a favorite stuffed animal you hug until they pop a stitch.

  “I can’t believe you’re here!” she screams. Marissa pauses and looks me up and down. “You’ve been to the ocean already,” she declares.

  “Yes!” I say, breathless from having half my ribs crushed. I’m still aching from my bicycle accident, and her hug takes more out of me than I expected. “Chase took me to the Santa Monica Pier.”

  “Chase!” she shouts, grabbing him for a hug. He looks completely nonplussed and just stands there, arms pinned at his sides as my sister mauls him in a completely platonic way. She’d never try to steal a boyfriend from me. She’s just a hugger.

  Chase clearly isn’t. She can feel him freeze and she gives me a wide-eyed, questioning look.

  “Nice to meet you,” he says stiffly.

  Marissa pulls away and sort of pats his chest, like she’s smoothing an angry cat’s fur. “So nice to meet you, Chase,” she says as she backs away. Her eyes move back to me and she beckons. “Come on up, both of you!”

  The building is run-down and shabby, with a wrought iron railing for the outdoor walkway along the front doors of a bunch of apartments. Salt in the air has corroded the railings and the stucco outside of the building is flaking everywhere. The exterior is painted flamingo pink, but the chipped chunks have grey underneath.

  It looks like a piece of rotting salmon.

  I don’t care, as long as there’s a bed, a sister, and some peace inside.

  Chase’s phone buzzes as we walk up the stairs.

  “You need to answer that?” I ask.

  “Nope.”

  “Who keeps calling?”

  “No one important.” He shuts down whenever the phone buzzes and I begin my questions. I shut up. Obviously he doesn’t want to talk about it. And that’s fine. I hate having our happy bubble invaded by real life. Jeff kept tight control over the phone he let me use, so I don’t have one on me. He has it, back home. Along with my ballerina music box.

  A pang of longing hits me. Not for Jeff. Not for home.

  For my mom.

  I make a mental note to tell Marissa about how I felt her presence back at the beach. For now, though, time is taken up with Chase’s awkwardness, the newness of seeing Marissa again after such a long stretch, and settling in for some rest and talk as we visit.

  “Arlen’s out of town on a shoot,” Marissa explains as she takes us down the hallway and opens one of the doors. The room is super simple. Double futon on the floor, tie-dyed comforter, two pillows with bright red pillowcases on them. A set of speakers on a small end table. A dresser.

  It’s like a minimalist’s refuge.

  And it’s perfect.

  “He said it was fine if you have his room,” Marissa adds. My heart skips a beat. Chase’s eyes comb over the space but he says nothing. His nostrils move a little and his lip twitches. Is that a slight flush I see at his neck?

  “Just don’t stain the sheets!” a man’s deep, joking voice calls out from a long hallway.

  Marissa blushes and sighs. Chase’s jaw goes tight with anger. The owner of the voice appears and is wearing...a dress.

  No—a kilt. A Scottish kilt.

  “Hi,” says the man. He’s nearly seven feet tall and has longer hair than I do, but his is a bright, coppery orange. It’s pulled back in a braid at the nape of his neck and tied with a royal-blue ribbon. Thick auburn eyebrows frame bright blue eyes, and he’s wearing a loose beard that looks a little too manicured to be wild.

  He’s slick, like his chest is covered in oil, and he’s wearing a plaid kilt. Nothing else.

  “Angus McMurphy,” Marissa says by way of introduction, but she’s practically gagging with laughter.

  The man bursts out laughing, deep, low belly laughs that I can’t help but imitate. “Actually,” he says, giving Marissa a snarky glance, “that’s my stage name. My real name is Morty Cohen.”

  Mine and Chase’s eyebrows shoot up.

  “You look like a Highlander,” I retort.

  “If there were Jewish Highlanders back in the day, I’m descended from them.”

  “And in case you’re wondering,” Marissa adds, “the carpet matches the drapes.”

  I look around at the windows in the apartment, then the threadbare carpet. The drapes are off-white and the carpet’s a mixture of beige and red. “No, they don’t.”

  Chase, Marissa and Angus...er, Morty, all erupt into laughter.

  “What did I say that’s so funny?” I ask, confused as all get-out.

  Marissa puts an arm around my shoulder and gently steers me away from the men, who are now shaking hands and introducing themselves. “I mean his pubic hair is bright red, too.”

  My turn to blush. “How do you know that?”

  Marissa gives me a wide smile. “He’s my friend with benefits.”

  “Boy, have you changed.”

  “I didn’t change,” she says, shaking her head. “L.A. changed me. Where w
e come from is the armpit of the world, Allie. Now that you’ve escaped, you get to see how real people live.”

  “They live by talking about their private parts all the time?”

  “No,” says Morty from behind, making me jump. “Some of us live by displaying our private parts all the time.” He goes to lift the kilt, but Chase’s hand shoots out fast, gripping Morty’s wrist in a vise.

  “Cool it, man,” Chase says, teeth clenched. He’s completely unfazed that Morty is a foot taller and outweighs Chase by a solid fifty pounds.

  “It’s all good,” Morty explains, gently lifting the kilt. Chase inserts himself between me and Morty, obviously blocking my view. “G-string. For the parties.”

  “Parties?” I squeak.

  “Bachelorette parties. I strip at them.” He does a grinding motion with his pelvis. Chase shakes his head slowly, washing his mouth with his hand, trying to cover up a grin. It’s like he can’t decide whether to be pissed or amused.

  “Got a lot of bad wee lassies out there?” Chase asks him. I think amusement is winning.

  “Aye,” Morty says in a Scottish accent. “They need their wee asses spanked for being so bad.”

  I sigh and look at Marissa. “And are you a stripper, too? Is this the kind of work I’m going to get out here?”

  Morty gives me an obvious once-over. “You’ve got the bod for it—”

  Chase literally growls at him. It’s like my boyfriend has become a wolf. Now he’s back to being pissed.

  “Down, boy,” Marissa murmurs. Fortunately, Chase doesn’t hear her, because he’s moved closer to the highlander and looks like he’s about to wrestle him to the ground and beat the shit out of him.

  Chase is not making a good first impression.

  “Dude,” Morty says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I don’t want your girlfriend.” He looks at me with a sad smile. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” I reply.

  “I’m just saying that if she wanted to work as a stripper, she’s got the—”

  “She doesn’t.” Chase’s hands are fisted and ready to fly. I reach out for his arm. It’s corded steel covered in skin.

  “Morty was just trying to help,” Marissa says. She looks at Chase like he’s an alien. “You can tone down the whole overprotective boyfriend act.”

  “It’s not an act,” Chase and I say in unison. He glares at me but puts his arm around my waist.

  Morty makes a derisive sound in the back of his throat. “No shit.”

  “Look,” I say, wondering how everything could become so tense so quickly. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. Chase is just really worried about me because—” He shoots me a look of warning, then cuts his eyes over to Marissa. Then Morty.

  Oh. Right. It’s not like I can try to explain that my stepdad sold my virginity to a Mexican drug lord and make it sound remotely sane, can I? And especially when we’ve only been here for ten minutes.

  “What happened to your face!” Marissa shouts as she turns on a light in the room and gets a good look at me.

  Morty gives Chase a look that could kill. “Overprotective boyfriend, huh? Just what kind of ‘overprotective’ are you, you slimy piece of—”

  “Hold on!” Chase bellows back. “I didn’t do that to her! I would never lay a hand on Allie!”

  Everyone starts shouting at each other, someone in the apartment below starts thumping on the ceiling, Chase’s cell phone is buzzing in his pocket and I realize I’m pretty damn tired suddenly.

  “HEY!” I shout. I’m not the type to yell, and it hurts my aching ribs a little, but I do it anyway. Marissa stops talking, but Morty looks like he wants to wipe the floor with Chase as he assumes Chase caused my injuries.

  “HEY! CHASE! MORTY! SHUT UP!” I shout again. They both stop.

  “I fell off my bicycle the other day. Hard. That’s what all the injuries are from. Chase helped me. Bandaged them all. Sterilized and treated them. And then he rescued me from Jeff—”

  Marissa interrupts me. “Rescued? Did Jeff finally make a play for you?”

  You can hear a pin drop.

  “No.” I glance at Morty, who happens to be staring right at me. He’s so enormous and red.

  “I’ll, um...I have something to do in my room here and I’ll just get lost,” he stammers, taking the hint. His eyebrows drop down in a frown and he and Marissa have a silent conversation with expressions and gestures. Within seconds I hear a door shut.

  Marissa stares at Chase, who finally gets the message. “You want to talk to Allie alone. Without me. To make sure she’s really not being hurt by me,” he declares. There’s no challenge in his words. He’s just confirming.

  She crosses her arms over her flat, athletic chest. I got all the cups and curves. She got the muscles and the height. “That about sums it up.”

  Chase nods, eyes serious. “Good. I’m glad you’re doing that. I’d do it, too, if Allie were my sister.” He frowns. “If I had a sister.”

  It occurs to me that I have no idea if Chase has siblings. “Do you have a brother?” He’s never mentioned one before. Then again, I never asked.

  He pauses. “I have a half brother. Mark.”

  “Is he in Atlas?” I ask.

  Chase’s eyes ping from me to Marissa. “We can talk later about that. Right now, you two have some business to discuss.” He gently touches my arm, then gives my cheek a kiss. “Tell her everything you know,” he adds. “You need someone other than me to trust.”

  Marissa’s eyes flicker with emotion after he says that. “She has me. She’s always had me.”

  Chase gives her a hard look. “You’re a couple hundred miles away. She needs your ear and your support, but you haven’t been around.”

  “But I—”

  He holds up his hands. “Not accusing you. Not blaming. You got out. Built your own life.” He frowns. It’s not a look of anger, but more like he’s thinking about something personal. “My own brother did the same thing. You were smart to do it while you could. Just saying the truth. And the truth is, Allie’s been in a hell of a lot more danger with Wakefield than any of you ever imagined.”

  I want to ask him what he means about his brother. I hold off, though. Right now isn’t the time. I can tell.

  “Is that why you’re here?” Marissa asks me as Chase steps outside. “Because Jeff put you in danger?”

  “Sort of.” I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to answer her questions. The bliss of our time at the Santa Monica Pier is fading already and I’m back to feeling overwhelmed. Angry. Cheated.

  Used.

  “How did Jeff put you in danger?”

  “You might want to sit down.”

  She sits, then stands abruptly. “You must be thirsty. Want coffee?”

  It’s nine p.m. I’ll be up all night anyhow, one way or another. I’d hoped it would be a certain way, with Chase in bed with me, but it’s quickly looking like it’ll be a different way, talking through the night with Marissa.

  “Sure.” She walks into the kitchen and I follow her.

  “Morty? You’re dating?” I ask. The kitchen is tiny but the basics are all there. Small, old fridge. Stove. Oven. Coffee maker. Microwave. Nothing matches and there are cigarette burns on the edge of the counter, dark brown grooves where someone left a cigarette cherry too close to the plastic. But the kitchen is clean. Marissa and her roommates aren’t slobs.

  “Nah.” She pulls out a large can of cheap coffee and scoops a bunch out into an old drip coffeemaker. “Just...you know. Friends with benefits.”

  “That means you’re sleeping together but without labels.” I can feel some part of me inside start to tremor, like it needs to escape. Too much has happened today. I’m wired and tired, and now Chase is outside somewhere, angry and defensive.

  “Something like that.” Her smile says it’s more than something like that.

  “He seems...nice.”

  She laughs and laughs. “You have a way with words. No
w quit stalling and tell me the truth, Allie. I can handle it.”

  “You want the truth?”

  “Duh.”

  “Jeff sold off my virginity to El Brujo in exchange for a six-figure debt.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  A weird hissing sound comes out of her mouth, like she’s having an asthma attack. Marissa’s eyes go impossibly wide, bulging out of their sockets. Her hands creep up to her face, palms on her cheeks, and she looks a little like that kid in the old Christmas movie from the 1980s.

  “WHAT?” she screams.

  Footsteps fill the hallway and Morty bursts into the room.

  “What happened? Did he hurt you?”

  Just then, the front door bursts open and Chase walks in. “You okay? Did he hurt you?”

  “Oh, Christ,” I mutter.

  “JEFF SOLD YOUR VIRGINITY TO A DRUG LORD?” Marissa screams.

  “Ah,” Chase says in a clipped voice. “You told her.” His phone buzzes yet again.

  “You gonna answer that?” I ask.

  “Nope.”

  I sigh.

  “How can you be so calm when Jeff just sold you into sex slavery to the biggest drug lord in North America?” Marissa moans, looking at me with pity.

  Morty’s bushy red eyebrows disappear into his red hairline. “This is a fascinating conversation to walk in on.”

  I look up at him. Way up. “We’re a fascinating kind of family,” I reply.

  “No, we’re not,” Marissa says with disgust. “We’re a normal family. At least, we were until our stepfather killed our mother and sold off your virginity.”

  “A regular Brady Bunch,” Morty says. Chase snickers.

  At least the guys are bonding.

  Marissa shoves her hands in her hair and pulls at it. She’s frustrated. The coffee gurgles and we hear a hissing sound.

  “Coffee?” Morty walks over to Marissa and leans down to give her a gentle kiss on the cheek. “You are the best not-girlfriend ever.” He walks into the kitchen, motioning for Chase to follow. I nod to Chase and he ambles into the kitchen. Low baritone voices speak in hushed tones.