Cracked Kingdom

by Erin Watt

  I watch as she bends down, her round ass waving like a red flag in front of me. I turn away. Whenever I wanted to feel alive, I’d fight, so I know what it’s like to be punched in the gut and how your ribs can ache for hours—even days—after. I enjoyed the pain, but nothing lights me up like being with Hartley. Past me was an idiot.

  “I’m done,” she announces. “It’s safe to look again.”

  I swing around to find her lying on the bed. She stretches her arm across the mattress. “This is a big bed,” she says, looking at me under her eyelashes.

  My blood heats up. It’s hard keeping my hands off her, especially when she looks like she’d like to sink her teeth into my chest.

  “I like a lot of space.” I struggle to get under control. She’s injured, I remind myself and toss a blanket over her. Her Astor Park skirt is riding up and the flash of thigh is making me sweat. As I lower myself onto the mattress, I bite my inner cheek and hope the pain keeps my dick under control.

  “You’re still staying home tonight,” I whisper into her hair, drawing her into my arms.

  “We’ll see.”

  I doubt this is a battle I’m going to win, so I content myself with holding her tight, digging my thumbs into her tense back, rubbing a gentle hand over her sides, tangling my legs with hers. She presses her sock-covered feet against my shins and tucks her head against my shoulder. I rub her from neck to butt and back again until her breathing evens out and her body slackens against me.

  My pants are tight, the arm tucked under her frame is going numb and it’s becoming uncomfortably hot, but I wouldn’t move for all the money, planes, and booze in the world.

  * * *

  At nine, Ella shows up at the apartment in my truck, which is big enough to fit all three of us. Her Audi convertible is a two-seater, so it’ll have to stay out on the curb. I make a mental note to toss Jose a hundie to keep an eye on the car, make sure no street punks try to mess with it.

  “You’re in a bad mood,” Ella remarks when I let her in.

  “No. I’m…” I don’t know how to describe it. Ever since I saw Hart get punched by Kyle, I haven’t felt right. Cuddling with her all day, as nice as it was, didn’t succeed in easing my nerves. I want to call tonight off, but this might be our best—and last—chance to nail Hartley’s dad and save the case against Steve.

  I can’t let either of these girls down. Especially Hart. Last night she handed her trust over to me. Fully and completely. But that comes with a lot of responsibility. The urge to protect her at all costs was strong before, but now it’s a mantra that repeats itself on every beat of my heart.

  “I’m worried,” I finally say.

  “We’re just taking pictures.”

  “Right.” But her words don’t reassure me.

  Upstairs, Hart stands inside the door, wringing her fingers together. Ella, dressed in black from head to toe, her bright golden hair tucked inside a black beanie, surveys the place slowly. Hart’s braced for insults over the size, the condition, the mattress still sitting on the floor and not in a bed frame.

  Hart’s anxious because she doesn’t want Ella to insult our apartment. I realize she doesn’t know Ella’s past.

  “This is dope,” Ella says and drops onto the sofa. “But why are you living here and not with your parents?”

  “They kicked me out,” Hart answers stiffly.

  “Damn.” Ella whistles. “I didn’t know parents did that. Was it because you were dating Easton? I mean, he is offensive and all, but I figured parents liked him.”

  “Thanks a lot, little sis.” I cuff her lightly on the top of her head before making my way to the fridge, appreciating her attempts to make Hartley comfortable. I grab two sodas and pop one open for Hart and another for Ella.

  Hart’s still standing just inside the door, all wide-eyed and amazed.

  “She doesn’t know where you came from,” I explain to Ella. “She’s been too busy researching her past to bother with yours.”

  Ella takes a sip of her soda before replying. “That’s kind of nice, though. Can I keep her in the dark?”

  I level her a look.

  She sighs. “Fine. I came here a year ago. Gosh, has it only been a year, East?”

  “A long, terrible year, Ella,” I tease.

  She gives me the finger in return. “A year ago, Callum found me stripping at a nightclub and brought me here. They hated me at first.” She points at me. “They were mean to me. Kicked me out of their car in the middle of the night and made me walk home.”

  “We followed you,” I growl as Hart’s wide eyes swing to me.

  “You left her and made her walk home? In the dark?”

  I clear my throat. “We made it look like we abandoned her, but we had eyes on her the whole time.”

  “Easton Royal, I can’t believe you’d do that.”

  “It was my brother’s idea!” I argue.

  “You should’ve stopped him,” she counters, looking adorably outraged. At least she’s not hiding nervously in the corner.

  “You’re right.” I reach over and grab her wrist and haul her over to sit on my knee. She perches on the end of it like she’s afraid contact with my groin is the same as putting on a porn show for Ella. “Good news is that Ella forgave everyone and is now playing hide-the-salami on the regular with my older brother.”

  Hart snickers. “Really?”

  Ella reaches over and punches me in the arm—hard. “I forgave you for past sins, but not the ones you’re currently committing.” She turns to Hart. “Yes, really. Reed and I overcame a lot of bullshit, but we’re together now. The problem is that my sperm donor keeps popping up like one of those whack-a-moles or villains at the end of a scary movie who you think you kill but don’t. It’s not just that he tried to kill me, but that he blamed a murder on Reed, and that he’s trying to get away with it. The man’s dangerous. He can’t get off.” Ella’s chin juts out, readying more arguments in case Hartley objects.

  “I agree,” is Hart’s response. Her lips tilt up a tiny bit at the corners. “And I thought my dad was bad.”

  Ella is relieved. “So when do we leave?”

  I pull out a piece of paper and hand it to Hart. “After Hart does these.”

  She jumps up. “What’s this?”

  “What is it?” Ella slides over to peer at the list of exercises.

  “It’s a physical readiness test. You can go when you pass all of these elements.” Hart and I spent an hour arguing over whether she was going with us tonight.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” she squawks.

  I fold my arms across my chest. “Not even a little. If you want to crawl around in the forest and spy on your dad, then this is the price of admission.”

  “I told you I don’t hurt anymore.”

  “And I told you I didn’t believe you.”

  We glare at each other.

  “Ten burpees?” Ella says, plucking the list from Hartley’s fingers. “When would she be doing burpees tonight?”

  “She might have to jump up and run. She might have to hop a fence. She might have to leap over a log. These are all exercises designed to simulate duck-and-cover and escape maneuvers.”

  “I’m going even if you don’t take me with you, so short of tying me up and stuffing me in a closet, I’ll be lying on the pine needles right next to you in less than an hour.”

  I throw up my hands. I knew this was a losing argument but I had to try. I stomp off to the front door where Ella left a bag. How did I fall for someone twice as stubborn as Ella? I grab a few items and return to Hart, thrusting them into her hands. “Ella brought these for you. Why don’t you change and we’ll go case the joint.”

  She hops into the bathroom to change.

  “You’re going to burn a hole through the door if you stare harder,” Ella says.

  “You didn’t see her get punched in the stomach.” That image is going to stick in my memory for a long time.

  “We women are hardier th
an we look.” Ella flexes a non-existent muscle in her arm.

  I don’t want to get into an argument so I keep my grumbles to myself. Hart exits the bathroom, pulling the hat over her head.

  She stops short, registers my concern and comes over to pat me on the shoulder like I’m a five-year-old who lost his toy down a storm sewer.

  “I’m going to be okay,” she reassures me.

  My eyes fall to her wrist. “Don’t do anything dangerous. We’re only there to take pictures to add to the audio we recorded and the text message you received. Nothing more.”

  She gives me a smart-ass salute.

  “You, too,” I remind Ella, who jumps up to stand beside Hart.

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  “You two are real clowns, aren’t you?” I sigh. I should’ve never introduced them. “Let’s go, Thing One and Thing Two.”

  “Does that make you the Cat in the Hat?” Hart mocks.

  My response is to swat her ass as she passes by on her way out. She finds this hilarious and so does Ella. They crack sillier and sillier jokes, quoting lines from Dr. Seuss books, which somehow Hart recalls.

  But as each mile passes, their laughter gets quieter and less frequent until it’s way too quiet in the cab of the truck. I glance over and see the two girls gripping each other’s hands. Nah, I don’t regret introducing them. I wish they’d found each other sooner. They have a lot in common and, after tonight, I think they’ll need each other more than ever.

  “Ready, Things?”

  Hart gives a nervous bob of her head while Ella’s jaw hardens. I wish the two could forget what happens tonight. Whatever the outcome, they’re both going to be hurt by the actions of their dads, and that sucks hard.

  "I'm going to drive down the road a bit. Are you two okay with walking?"

  "Yes," Ella replies and immediately jumps out when the vehicle stops. Hart tumbles out after her.

  I grab the camera from the glove compartment.

  Outside, Ella’s hopping from one foot to another. "Come on," she hisses and gestures for us to hurry.

  As soon as I clear the door, she's jogging down the road. Hart and I hustle to catch up.

  "Let's go this way," Ella says, pointing to a low wooden fence that surrounds the entrance to the park that sits about a city block ahead of us.

  Concern for Hartley tugs at my gut, but she climbs over the fence without so much as a wince. I relax. Maybe she wasn’t lying about not being sore, after all.

  We skulk into the woods, careful to avoid stepping on branches that might give us away. Thankfully, the ground is mostly grass and weeds. It's dark, with the canopy of trees blocking the half moon. Out in the parking lot, a few lamps light up the paved space. There are no cars here at all.

  Did we miss them? Did we come on the wrong day?

  "Hart—" I start.

  She waves her hand furiously. "Shh. Get down. Someone's coming."

  Headlights flood the entrance to the park. Ella and I drop to the ground. The camera digs into my breastbone. I hope our dark clothes hide us well enough. The first car is a familiar silver one. It’s the perfect car for a clandestine meeting. Electric cars make almost no noise. If it weren’t for the lights, we would’ve missed it. Steve parks his Tesla on the far end of the lot, just beyond the last pool of light.

  "We need to get closer,” I whisper.

  The girls nod in agreement. We all get to our feet and make our way through the woods until we're just off the edge of the parking lot. We drop to our knees just in time to see another car drive in.

  “That’s my dad,” Hart says.

  “Where’s Callum? Or the guys he hired?” Ella hisses.

  “No clue.” I look around. “Maybe over there.” I point to the other side of the lot where a concession stand and a bathroom sit in near darkness. I can’t make anyone out. My attention veers back to the cars.

  The two men climb out and then stand about twenty feet apart. It reminds me of a bad Western movie. Maybe they’ll shoot each other. That’d solve a lot of problems.

  I give myself an internal slap. Neither of these girls need to see their fathers die. Get it together, East.

  "We need to get closer,” Hart says in a hushed tone.

  She starts to move, but I drag her back. "You can't. They'll see you."

  “I want to hear what they’re saying.”

  “Wait. Something is happening. East, get the camera.”

  I pull it out and point it toward the men. Too bad I don’t have a mic. It’s hard to see much detail in the green wash of the night vision lens. I begin to have second and third thoughts that pictures and audio and messages are actually going to do anything. Hartley’s dad has obviously been selling his services for years. At least three times, if not more. Even if we get this evidence, won’t he get free? Won’t he conveniently lose it?

  I shift the lens back to Steve, who walks to the back of the Tesla and pops the trunk. Shortly after, Hart’s father appears in the frame. They both lean in.

  “Are you getting this?” Ella tugs on my sleeve.

  “Yes.”

  I crawl forward on my elbows to get a better shot. I snap a few pictures of them peering into the trunk. This is shit evidence, I decide. Pictures of people looking into vehicles are not going to carry an ounce of weight. We need something more. I need a photo of the bag and the men in the same frame. I inch closer.

  “Gold bars?" Hart’s dad half-shouts, or at least he’s loud enough that his voice carries to us. "I can't convert this. I told you I wanted cash."

  "My accounts ... frozen ... case is over," Steve replies. He points to the gold as if it’s normal to be storing gold bars in the back of a Tesla.

  Mr. Wright curses and then stomps off. I hold my breath. Is the deal falling apart over this? How stupid is Hartley’s father? He could easily take those bars to a broker and exchange them for cash if that’s what he wants. My earlier feelings of dread come roaring back.

  “I have cash,” a third man announces.

  Everyone startles.

  Steve digs into his coat pocket. Mr. Wright stumbles backward in surprise. Behind me, I hear two shocked gasps. I’m too stunned to move or make a noise.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Steve exclaims.

  My own father steps forward. He holds out his arms, a black bag in each of them.

  “I’m here to offer you a deal, Steve. You don’t want to go to prison, but if you’re free, Ella isn’t going to be able to sleep one solid night on her own. I can’t have that.” There’s a pause. “I owe you a lot. You’re my best friend…but my kids are more important.” Callum sets one of the bags down and then walks across the lot and drops another bag. Raising his voice so everyone can hear him, he says, “In that bag is a new identity and enough cash to set you up nicely. I’ll wire you money once a month so that you can live however you want, as long as it is far away from Ella. All I want in exchange is the recordings I know you have of each and every conversation you had with Wright.”

  Hart’s dad makes an angry noise in his throat. No one pays him any attention.

  Callum points to his feet. “This one is just cash. This is for you, Wright. It’s a down payment on the five-million-dollar bonus you will be paid for successfully prosecuting Steve O’Halloran.”

  During my dad’s show, the two girls have crawled up to join me at the edge of the lot.

  “What the hell is he doing?” Ella hisses.

  Dad’s pitting the two men against each other, but I don’t know what option he wants. Me, I want them both to suffer. Where’s that solution? I want bag number three.

  Time slows as two terrible people consider their options. I count my heartbeats as the seconds tick by. Beside me, Ella becomes motionless. I don’t think she’s even breathing. Hart grips my shoulder. It’s like a scene out of a bad Western. A semi-hysterical laugh catches in my throat. This is ridiculous. I half expect a banjo to start playing in the background.

  Mr. Wright clear
s his throat. “I’ll take the money.”

  “The hell you will.” Steve dips his hand into his coat pocket and out comes the gun.

  One of the girls gasps. I push their heads down, but it’s too late. All three men’s heads swivel toward us.

  “Goddammit, Callum. What have you done?” Steve growls. The barrel comes up and I jump out of the hiding spot.

  Bone-deep fear spurs me forward. Steve took my mom. He’s not taking my dad, too.

  Chapter 32

  Hartley

  I never hear the shot, only its echo in the park. I don’t see my father fall, because my attention is focused on Easton sprinting toward his dad. I don’t register that it’s my dad who cries out in surprise and not East or Callum or Ella, until Ella’s high-pitched “Mr. Wright!” jerks me out of my trance.

  “Dad…” I stumble toward him where he’s lying on the ground.

  He hasn’t moved since the gunshot. His hand is flung over his head, reaching for that bag of money.

  “Dad.” I fall to my knees beside his body.

  Relief hits me. He’s still breathing. His chest is rising and falling. But he’s grimacing in pain, and there’s blood around his mouth. I never wanted this. I never imagined that this is how it would turn out. I thought I’d get evidence. I thought there would be newspaper articles and lawsuits and legal filings. I did not believe there would be guns and violence and blood. I tug my sleeve over my fingers and try to wipe it off.

  “You’re going to be okay,” I whisper. I fumble inside his coat pocket, looking for a phone. Blood pulses up with every breath he struggles to take, slicking my fingers. “I’m going to call the ambulance. They’ll save you.”

  His hand clamps over my wrist in a surprisingly strong grip. His fingernails dig into the scar. “You got me killed,” he spits at me.

  My heart lurches. “You don’t mean that.” I twist out of his grip and press down on the wound.

  He gasps in pain. “If you had kept your mouth shut…I wouldn’t be here. I should’ve broken…more than your wrist…Should’ve pushed you harder at the hospital.”