“I know what you did,” she said, inhaling and exhaling in quick bursts. Flipping her hair behind her shoulder, she continued. “The money you gave me was Wes Kraemer’s money, wasn’t it. You stole it. And now I’ve given it back to him by way of my father.”
As I heard the truth of it from her gorgeous lips, I turned and brought my hands to my hips, sighing. “Seems you’ve figured it out,” I said. I gave her a slight smirk, hoping to make her fall into giggles once more.
But she gave me only a grim expression, a flat line across her face. “I can’t believe you’ve helped me put my father in danger.”
“How was I supposed to know your dad was involved with Kraemer?” I protested, raising my hands into the air. “It’s not like you had pure intentions when you asked for the money. Your dad was in way over his head. I thought I was doing you a favor. And I thought you were doing me one in return.”
My voice was low, growing gruffer. Our voices bounced against the walls, making me sound bear-like. My heart pounded in my throat, reminding me that I hadn’t been completely honest with Luna, either. I still had so much under wraps, but since I hadn’t yet voiced my story to anyone on the planet, I wasn’t sure how to form the words. I wasn’t sure how to face their reality.
The reality of Aaron’s death, of my impending one. “You’re next,” the note had read. Jesus Christ.
“I have to go back and make sure my father’s all right,” Luna said, her eyes filling with tears. “I can’t just traipse off to Mexico with you while my father gets eaten alive by some asshole loan shark. Jesus, Colt, you really know how to ruin a girl’s life.”
I turned toward the wall and rammed my fist into it, making a big, horrible tear in the large board, right between numbers 16 and 36 on the Billboard Hot 100. I heard Luna’s sharp cry of alarm as she backed up, suddenly fearful of my strength. I didn’t feel the pain of the strike, only sensed a tingling at the edges of my knuckles.
In the silence that followed, Luna crept backward, eyeing me darkly. “I need to go,” she whispered. “Don’t think I won’t leave you here, Colt, because I will if you can’t control your temper.”
My nostrils flared, and I finally caved. It was time to tell her.
“There are bigger things at play here than an Iowa City loan shark, Luna. There are bigger things at play than whatever Wes Kraemer might do to your father. Just trust me on this.”
“What do you mean?” Her voice was small.
“I mean what I’m running from in the first place,” I said, my hands beginning to shake. When was the last time I’d had any food? Anxiety seemed to fill every cell of my body. I needed a fresh breath of air; I needed relief. But I continued, sensing Luna’s eyes on me—bright, like moons. “Back in Detroit, I didn’t have much. My granny died when I was young, and I hopped in and out of the foster system for a long while. Lived on the streets for a lot of it. My only friend was a kid named Aaron Lee.”
That was it, the first time I’d said his name out loud since his murder. I hadn’t had the strength to look up whether or not they’d had a proper funeral for him. I hadn’t had the heart to contact his mother, to tell her that Aaron had still been a good person despite the people he’d dealt with. “We aren’t like the rest of them,” we’d always told one another while counting the bills on our bedspreads, plotting our next job. There was always another corner, another neighborhood to hit, another stack of bills to count.
Luna crossed her arms over her chest, waiting.
“Aaron and I were basically inseparable, and when he suggested we start selling weed, I thought it was a fine idea. I mean, we were both broke as shit, could hardly pay the bills. I was working as a fry cook and he was driving cabs. It wasn’t a good life, Luna. And I know you struggle, with your waitress job and your dad who can’t keep his hands off the gambling table. I know. But we had nobody else but each other, so when he went off the deep end, I followed him. I became his partner. And that’s around when we started getting involved with a gang called the Detroit Seven.”
“The Detroit Seven,” she echoed back, her eyes glittering. “It sounds like a sports team.”
“It was a bit more fucked up than that. Quite a few more guns,” I said. “And I’m sorry if this knowledge makes me ugly in your eyes, Luna. I’m so sorry for all of it.”
Luna made no move to speak. She seemed filled with urgency, wanting me to continue.
“Aaron started to take a bit too much from the gang for the jobs we did for them. He didn’t think they’d notice, you know? He thought he could cream off a little bit here and there and pay off his debts. He started seeing a girl and taking her on all these fancy dates. Sharon, her name was. I teased her, told her she had an old lady’s name.
“It went on like that for a while, with things slowly getting more and more out of hand. The gang didn’t threaten him. They didn’t warn him. I simply came back to the place where we were crashing at the time, and found him dead.”
Luna’s lips parted in shock.
Needing to make sure she believed me, I reached into my back pocket and drew the note out of my wallet. I’d looked at it countless times, tracing the words and wishing I’d known who’d written it.
I passed the note to Luna, watching as she unfolded it and stared down at it, incredulous. Giving tentative shakes of her head, she seemed dumbfounded, finally realizing that I was a fuckup. Nobody she should be involved with.
“So, if you want to leave me here, you can,” I said. “But I’m going to keep moving, keep fighting. I keep that note with me to remind myself to run. Because the Sevens, they don’t stop for anything. They think I wronged them, and that action is returned with death. That’s it.”
Luna leaned heavily against the wall, her legs quivering beneath her. She held the paper against her chest, processing the information. I waited, my hands pressed tightly across my chest, as she formed one word after another without emitting any sound. She looked like a puppet whose ventriloquist had gone off duty.
“So yes, what you said is true,” I said, my panic rising. “I stole the money from Kraemer. I put your father in danger. But had I known what you were planning to do with the money, I would have warned you. And as far as that bald goon tracking us down back there at the motel, I’m not sure how he could have found me so quickly, unless maybe there was a camera at Kraemer’s office. I’m guessing once he realized the money was gone, he found the footage and sent one of his goons out looking for a blue Mustang. My guess is he’s looking for me, and me alone.”
Luna hesitated. Licking her lips, she eyed me with suspicion. “So you really don’t think my dad’s in danger, even if he’s already turned in the money? I mean, Wes Kraemer’s no idiot. He’s probably put a few of those pieces together.”
“I’m saying that it’s probable that Wes doesn’t care, that he knows your father had nothing to do with it,” I said. Even as I spoke, I sensed that what I was saying was unfounded, that it would do nothing to quell Luna’s fears. She was a sharp woman, sharp-tongued as well, and wouldn’t allow me to talk her down.
Luna’s breaths staggered, her eyes nearly bugging out from her face. “If what you’re saying is right, then nobody will spot us in my car. We can drive back to my dad’s place and check to make sure he’s okay—warn him. Because if Wes can’t find you, then I’m sure he’ll go after my dad next. And, Colt, I don’t care about what’s happened between us. If anything happens to him…”
I swiped my hand between us, halting her words. “Don’t say anything you’ll regret,” I said, but we both knew I was powerless to change her mind. “Fine. I’ll go with you to warn your father. That’s no more than thirty or forty minutes of our time. Then, after that, I’m going to fuckin’ floor it down the highway, straight to Mexico. And you’re coming with me, Luna. Like it or not, we had a deal.” I pushed toward her, pressing her against the wall, my lips mere inches from hers. Our aggravation at one another made the air tense, thick with lust. “I’m not prepared to le
t you go quite yet.”
Lifting her hands to my chest, Luna gripped my shirt, bringing me toward her. She kissed me deeply, angrily, biting slightly at my lower lip. My cock pressed up against my jeans, my whole body filled with yearning. Beside us, the bulletin board creaked on the wall, falling slightly after my volatile punch.
Breaking the kiss, Luna looked up at me. “I swear, just as soon as we’ve checked up on him, we’ll get out of this country, off the continent if we have to. The Detroit Seven can have you over my dead body.”
Exhaling raggedly, I brought my hand to her hair and tucked a loose strand behind her ear. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” I murmured.
Suddenly, we were racing back to the car. Luna passed me the keys, telling me she felt too volatile to drive back. I ducked into the car and yanked the door closed, watching as Luna buckled herself in beside me. Her dress had yanked far down her chest, revealing pale, cresting cleavage. Her face held a hardness I hadn’t seen before.
Pointing toward the back road, she said, “Okay, drive fast, but not ten over. We don’t want to get pulled over at a time like this. Loan sharks. Gangs. Gambling. Jesus, what happened to simpler times?”
“Everything dies, baby,” I said, blasting down the country road and finding traction, glancing across the green fields and ramming my foot on the pedal with more ferocity. With a quick motion, I reached for the cigarettes in my pocket and lit one between my lips, needing the spike of nicotine in my blood. “But not us. Not today.”
Chapter Twelve
Luna
As Colt drove us back to my father’s house, I rolled down the window, relishing the feel of the autumn air across my face. Easing my fingers out the window, I felt the air whizz between them. This was something I’d done when I’d been a little girl, safe in my daddy’s truck with the radio up too loud and the gravel kicking behind us.
I knew we didn’t have long. Colt’s horrendous story chilled my blood, making me unsure if I had the heart to leave him. He’d been alone for much of his life, the only “family” being his position in a gang. Imagining him running to Mexico by himself, with no one to kiss him, to hold him, nearly shook me to my core.
What was I staying in this crummy town for, anyway?
“You remember the way back, don’t you?” I asked him after about twenty minutes of driving.
He grunted in return, safe within the boundaries of his own making. We’d conversed enough about our problems. It was time to stamp them out. Reaching forward, I blared the radio still louder and began to hum along, pushing the racing thoughts—of fear, of panic—from my mind.
If my father was there, we would warn him, perhaps drive him to a safe location and tell him to remain there, to lie low. I’d tell him that I’d take care of getting the money a different way. If I had to rob a fucking bank, I would do it at this point. Anything to get Wes Kraemer off my father’s back.
I tried to imagine Colt back in Detroit, growing up on the street, getting by on that wry smile, the one that made me weak in the knees.
I glanced at him, suddenly realizing he was similar to my father in some ways: eager, wide-eyed, bouncing from one mistake to the next, just trying to cover his tracks.
In a moment of pure, unadulterated compassion, I reached across the middle of the car and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight. He had to know he wasn’t alone in this. I was dirty with his money, with the scent of his body, with his stories. I would carry them too, now.
Colt pulled into the driveway of the little yellow house and cut the engine. I glanced around, checking to see if anything was out of the ordinary. The same busted potted plant leaned against the bricks near the garage. The same crooked porch swing was about to fall to the floor. Bits of paint still littered the grass. I sighed evenly, feeling a stab of hope. This was home, whole and complete in all its dilapidation. Wes Kraemer couldn’t have tainted it yet.
“Let’s go,” I said, racing from the passenger seat and bringing my keys into the air with a jangle. Colt ran behind me as I unlocked the door, already calling out for my father. “Dad? Daddy?”
The foyer was quiet, and the television was off—which was uncharacteristic. Glancing around, I rushed through the house, checking his bed—unmade but recently slept in—the kitchen, and even the basement, where a pile of laundry sat. Quivering, I went back upstairs, gazing into Colt’s eyes.
“He’s not here. Where—where is he?”
Colt rubbed at the back of his neck, showing off his thick bicep.
“You don’t think Wes already took him?” I asked, my panic rising. “It doesn’t look like there was a forced entry. Maybe—”
“Don’t panic yet. Don’t make things up in your head,” Colt said. “Call him, Luna. He could be at the store. He could be at the casino. You don’t know.”
Realizing he was right, I reached for the home phone and dialed my dad’s cell phone, waiting as it rang and rang. I cradled the old phone against my cheek, then switched sides after the third ring, sensing doom.
But just when I was about to smash the phone back into its cradle, I heard a voice on the other end. It was gravelly and deep. It was my father’s.
“Luna? Is that you, honey?”
Tears sprang to my eyes. Dabbing at them, I gave Colt a firm nod and a half smile, telling him wordlessly that my father was all right. He was safe.
“Dad, I’m at home. Where are you?”
“Luna, I’m so sorry. Baby, I’m so sorry,” my dad said.
“Why are you sorry?” I whispered. “Are you safe? Did you get into an accident? Dad?”
“No, no. Nothing like that,” he murmured, sighing heavily. “I just realized a few things this morning, is all. After I dropped off the money at Kraemer’s, I knew this couldn’t go on forever. I mean, Jesus, now I’ve gotten you involved in something, something dangerous. I could smell it on you last night.”
“Dad, I’m fine. Where are you?” I demanded, hating the haze of his answers.
“I checked myself into a clinic in Des Moines,” he finally said, stuttering into it. “An addiction rehab clinic, of all places. I can’t rack up that debt again. I can’t get involved with people like Wes Kraemer again. And you, Luna, I can’t put you in danger like that again.”
The relief hit me like a tsunami. My head knocked back, giving me a bright view of the garden outside—one we hadn’t kept up since before I’d been 13 or 14. It was overgrown, wild, lined with bushes that poked and sliced you if you got too close. Tears trailed down my cheeks as I took in the truth: my father was safe. He was actually locked away somewhere, out of danger. He’d gotten out of town before Wes Kraemer had had the chance to get his grubby hands on him.
“Jesus, Dad,” I whispered, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “You’re in Des Moines.”
“I didn’t want to tell you right away. Too ashamed, baby,” he said. “I’ll be here for a few weeks, and then, hopefully, I’ll get everything out of my system. It can go back to how things were before, and I can focus on my health.”
“We’ll get you healthy, Daddy,” I whispered. “You deserve it. You’ve got the biggest heart of all.”
He chuckled into the phone then, trying to cover the fact that he, too, was crying. I imagined his tears dripping onto the deep wrinkles lining his eyes. “I have to go back now, baby. They’re going to be taking my phone for a few weeks. They’ll let me check in with you every couple days. Okay?”
“Okay, Dad. Focus on yourself. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he said.
Seconds after I clicked the phone back into its cradle, I burst forward, wrapping my arms around Colt’s neck and kissing him with a zeal and a passion that seemed to leap out of my gut. Quaking, I held him close, falling into his embrace, still unable to translate just how happy I was into words. In the silence, Colt brought his hand along the small of my back, cradling my ass. My cheeks felt warm; my heart pumped in my chest.
After a short eternity, I pulled my head b
ack, allowing myself to gaze into his eyes. I couldn’t deny now that my feelings for him were entrenched. I was growing accustomed to his smell, to the twinkle in his blue eyes. I toyed with his blond hair, swirling it around his ears, and giggled slightly, like a teenage girl.
“He’s all right,” I whispered, incredulous. “He’s far away, and safe.”
Colt’s eyes closed. “That’s amazing,” he said.
“Do we have time?” I asked him, tilting my shoulders toward him. My eyebrows rose high, showing my temptation. My lust.
“We need to leave, baby,” Colt returned, not unkindly. With a firm squeeze of my ass, he tipped his nose into mine. “But the minute we cross that state border, I’m going to make you forget your name.”
“I almost don’t remember it now,” I said, my heart jumping into my throat.
We turned to leave, our hands clinging tightly to each other’s. As I shuddered with pleasure, I watched as the door in front of us burst inward, revealing a stumpy, bald man wearing a baseball cap, another lankier man with a gray goatee, and Wes Kraemer himself, who smoked a half cigarette between chapped lips and looked at us with eager, hungry eyes.
“Well, well, look what we have here,” he said, his voice a drawl. “Don’t think I’ve been this happy since the Fourth of July.”
Chapter Thirteen
Colt
It all happened at once. Wes Kraemer and his ghoulish henchmen entered the little house like a pack of hyenas. Wes, being a bit too tall for the doorframe, had to tip his head down so that his cowboy hat could make it through. With a flash of his hand, he removed his gun from its holster, and the other two followed suit. As Wes kicked the door behind him, closing us in, he pointed his gun directly at my face, and then at Luna’s, snickering.
“You know, my men have been out looking for you all day. Had poor old Hank waiting for you guys to leave the motel for about an hour before he found out you’d jumped out the window,” he chortled.
Buy Me, Bad Boy - A Bad Boy Buys A Girl Romance Page 6
