“Chief, I can be her private driver, if you know what I mean,” Brody says, waggling his eyebrows. Grabbing him by the ear, Travis drags Brody from my room. He winces, but goes along willingly. “See you tomorrow,” he calls out as he leaves.
Shutting the door and sliding the chain across the lock, I walk to the couch and collapse. Kicking off my shoes, I place my feet on the coffee table just as Brody had moments before and close my eyes, pressing hard on my temples. I’m so out of my depth here, I feel like I’m drowning. I need some familiarity or I’m going to go crazy. Sliding my duffel bag toward me, I search through the bottomless pit for my phone. I need to call Taryn.
Making sure to block my number, I dial.
“Delani!” she screams into the phone, answering on the second ring. Hearing her voice brings me back to New York and my eyes start to well up.
“Hey, Taryn,” I say, holding back a sob. Looking out the window makes me miss home even more.
“Ohmigod, how are you?”
“I’m miserable. I haven’t even been here a day and I hate it already.” I swing my legs onto the couch and curl up into a ball.
“Oh, no. What happened?”
“I just miss home,” I say, tears now freefalling down my cheeks.
“Sweetie, we miss you too.” Her voice cracks and she sniffs.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I whisper.
“Yes you can. You have to . . .” she trails off, her voice hesitant. Her tone is evasive; she’s hiding something.
“Taryn, what are you not telling me?” I ask.
“Dominic heard from Cole.” I sit up on the couch, pressing the phone closer to my face.
“Is he okay?”
“On the outside, but on the inside, he’s dying. He knows this is all his fault.” My concern for his well-being changes to anger. I’m angry he didn’t protect me, angry it was his dealing in drugs that punished me to this prison.
“Good! I hope he’s miserable.”
“He’s gone.”
“What do you mean, he’s gone? Gone where?”
“The last thing he told Dominic is he needs to hide out until he can pay Armond. Delani, not only are they looking for him, but they’ll be looking for you as well. As a way to get to Cole.” The thought of Armond coming anywhere near me . . . I shudder. “You need to stay there, until it’s safe.”
“What if it’s never safe?” I say, muttering my thoughts aloud. I shiver, thinking about all the things that happened to me . . . all the things that could happen.
“Stop it!” Taryn yells. “My cousin promised he won’t let anything happen to you. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
“Okay,” I whisper, but there’s no conviction in my tone.
“Delani, I love you and miss you.” The sound of her voice cracking has me tearing up.
“I love you too,” I murmur, my heart rate accelerating with every syllable. “I’ve gotta go.” Before she can reply, I press end and throw the phone across the room, hitting the wall. Propelling myself through the air, I land on the bed and scream into the pillow. Frustration and fear overwhelms me, knowing I’m trapped here until either Cole pays Armond or they find me—and finding me is not an option.
AFTER I CALM down from my fit, I roll over. Sitting with my legs crisscrossed on the bed, I stare out the window, watching the cars whiz down the highway, trying to blank my mind and come to terms with my new reality. I may never see home again. Taryn, Dominic, the city I love . . . I need to relax and think about something else for a little while. I get up, bringing my smaller duffel to the bathroom. As I search through my bag, I find the envelope Dominic gave me and gasp as I open it. I pull the thick stack of hundred dollar bills out and whistle low while I count it out. Five thousand dollars. My eyes nearly bulge and I sigh, shaking my head. Fucking Dominic.
After I unpack a few necessities, I jump in the shower, wanting nothing more than to wash away the day and climb into bed. Maybe I can survive if I just sleep forever while in this hellhole of a town.
A KNOCK AT my door stirs me, but I don’t move. Nightmares continue to plague me, keeping me up throughout most of the night, and I’m exhausted. It isn’t until whoever it is bangs a little harder that I groan and throw back the comforter. Rolling out of bed, I pull my wife beater down and try to situate my sweats that seemed to wrap around me in my sleep. Peering through the peephole, I bang my head against the door and sigh before opening it.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” Brody says, handing me a coffee.
“What’s so good about it?” I mutter, bending to pick up the phone I tossed at the wall. Walking past me, he sits on the chair I evicted him from last night. “What time is it?” I ask, squinting.
“Seven-thirty,” he answers with a grin.
“It’s so early,” I moan, sipping my coffee and instantly cringing. I swallow hard, resisting the urge to spit it across the room. “What the hell is this?” I ask, my sour expression still evident as I hold the beverage in question away from me.
“Coffee.”
“This is not coffee. I don’t know what this is. It’s disgusting.” Placing it on the table, I rub my eyes, trying to wake up. “Where’s the closest Starbucks?” Brody bursts out laughing and I narrow my eyes. “What?”
“Starbucks? Darlin’, you’re a long way from New York City,” he says, still laughing. “Best you can do if you don’t like Dayton Donuts is get a coffee from McDonalds.”
“Wait. No Dunkin Donuts, no 7-Eleven?” He shakes his head, the motions exaggerated. “I’m going to die. A slow, painful death,” I mutter, throwing myself back down on the bed.
“Dramatic, aren’t we?” he asks, clicking his tongue.
“No, I can’t survive without coffee,” I say, exasperated.
“I guess you best invest in a coffee maker.”
“Why are you here? Where’s Travis?” I ask, rolling my eyes.
“Sorry, sugar.” He smiles, not sorry at all. Jerk. “You’re stuck with me today. C’mon. Get dressed, we have things to do before my tour.” Standing, he moves toward me.
“Tour? Are you going on a trip?”
“No,” he says, rolling his eyes. “A tour is what we call the hours a cop works.”
“Oh. So, what things do we need to do before your tour?” I ask, turning my head to bury my face in the pillow. I’m really not interested in going anywhere. The end of the bed dips where he sits.
“Get you a mattress. We need to go toward Houston, you can get a coffee then.”
“Coffee?” Visions of caramel macchiatos dancing in my head, I jump up and run to the bathroom to change. The only thing better than sleep is a good espresso.
Getting a feel for what the temperature is like here, I put on a short pair of denim shorts and a tight white tank top. I exit the bathroom to find Brody standing by the front door.
As I approach him, his demeanor changes. His impassive look turns amused. Leaning on the doorjamb, his eyes follow my every move. “So, where is this place you’re taking me for a mattress?” I ask. Brody remains quiet, his focus moving down my body. “Brody,” I ask again. Nothing. His eyes are fixated on my breasts and I’m growing impatient. “Hey,” I say, snapping my fingers inches from his face. “Eyes up here.” Slowly, he brings his gaze to mine. “This,” I say, motioning to my body, “is not for you. I’m high maintenance. You can’t afford me.”
His lips twist into a smile. “You keep tellin’ yourself that, darlin’.”
“You’re a cocky prick, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says with a wink.
Shaking my head, I walk past him into the hall. “So, really, where’s Travis?” I ask as he catches up to me.
“He had a slew of paperwork to catch up on today, so I volunteered to be your chauffer. I told him I’d behave.”
“And he believed you?”
“No, but here we are.”
“Whatever. Just take me to the closest Starbucks. I need my caffeine fix and can’t d
eal with shit coffee.” Chuckling, Brody leads me to his vehicle. I was expecting a police car, but that’s not what he’s getting into. It’s a huge Dodge Ram. Of course, we’re in Texas; they all drive pick-up trucks. I’ll need a stepladder to get into this thing. “Whose truck?” I ask as I try to climb into the passenger seat.
“Mine.”
“Isn’t it a little big?” I say, hoisting myself up, my calves burning from the effort.
“Haven’t you heard? Everything’s bigger in Texas,” he says with a mischievous smile. Cocky bastard. Putting the truck in drive, he tears out of the parking lot, pressing me back in my seat. “Good Lord,” I mutter, throwing my hands out in front of me.
Brody drives down the highway at speeds only a cop can get away with, weaving in and out of traffic. I grip the bottom of my seat, fearing for my life—and I’m used to New York taxis. He looks over and laughs. “Relax. You’re drivin’ with a pro.”
“Yeah, pro what? Pro jackass?”
I catch him rolling his eyes as he continues to our destination, and within minutes, the tall buildings making up downtown Houston come into view. The weight on my shoulders lessens at the familiarity of being in a city. Taking an exit, he steers through numerous back roads before reaching the mattress store.
“I was thinking,” I say as I fall out of the truck, “maybe a fresh coat of paint would help my anxiety.”
“I don’t see why not. I’m sure the owner won’t object. I’ll have Travis ask him. He knows him real well.”
“Nothing extreme, just clean.” I don’t know if I can stare at those nasty walls every day, and God knows how long I’ll be stuck down here. Might as well make myself comfortable.
“Sure,” he answers, holding the door to the store open for me. “So, what size mattress are you lookin’ for? Should probably get a king for those nights I stay over.”
“You are truly delusional,” I throw back.
“It’s inevitable. You’ll see,” he says, grinning like an idiot. Shaking my head, I walk farther into the store. A salesman comes from somewhere in the back.
“Can I help you?” he asks with a smile.
“Yes, I need a mattress,” I answer.
“What kind are you looking for?”
“Do you have memory foam?”
“Good choice, they don’t make noise when you’re fuckin’,” Brody whispers under his breath from behind me. I throw an elbow back toward his abdomen and a feeling of victory washes over me with the “oof” that leaves his lips. Still not looking back, I plaster on a smile for the salesman.
“What size were you thinking?”
“King,” Brody interjects on a wheeze.
“A queen is good,” I say, sweet as pie, before turning my head and narrowing my eyes at Brody.
“You really should get a king,” Brody insists.
“I don’t need a king,” I say low through gritted teeth.
“Yes, you do,” he says with an exaggerated nod.
“Lover’s quarrel?” the salesman asks, his expression dulling.
“No,” I insist.
“Yes,” Brody answers at the same time. I spin around and shoot him a death glare before turning back to the salesman. “I want a queen. Please ignore the jackass behind me.”
The salesman looks at me, then Brody. “Um, when you decide, I’ll be over here,” he says as he backs away. My jaw clenches and I spin to face Brody.
“What the fuck?”
“What?” he asks, placing his hands up as he shrugs. “I’m just sayin’, I think you should get a king.”
“Good fucking lord.” Running my hands through my hair, I silently count to ten. By the time I hit one, I’ve calmed down enough to speak.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” I ask on a sigh.
“No, ma’am.”
“Will you shut the fuck up if I get a king?” He nods, his lips twisting into a giant smile. Looking up, I take a deep breath and release it. “Fine. Now, go get the poor bastard you chased away so I can buy the fucking king.”
“No problem,” he says, walking toward the back of the store and returning with the salesman a few moments later.
“I’m so sorry about that,” I say as soon as he approaches, cringing.
“Not a problem. Your boyfriend says you’ve decided on a king?”
Biting my lip, I quell the urge to choke the life out of Brody. I’ll deal with him later. Planting the smile back on my face, I say, “Yes, can you show me the different kinds of memory foam?”
“Sure, right this way,” he says, leading us toward the opposite side of the store. As he walks ahead, I turn and punch Brody in the arm. Hard.
“Ow, what the hell was that for?”
“You know why,” I say, storming off to follow the salesman.
I SETTLE ON a twelve-inch memory foam mattress with a gel top and Brody informs me it’s already paid for. Apparently, Travis talked the landlord into purchasing it since the place needed a new mattress anyway. It’ll be delivered on Thursday—three days from now. Guess I’ll be living the motel life a little longer than anticipated.
On the drive back, Brody is quiet. Wanting to break the silence, I turn on the radio and search through the stations. “Isn’t there a top forty station around here?” I ask, casting a glance in his direction as I continue through nothing but rock and country.
“Why, don’t you like country?” he asks, furrowing his brow.
“They don’t play country at the clubs I frequent.”
“Oh, girl, I need to introduce you to line dancin’,” he says, chuckling. Taking control of the radio, he pushes my arm to the side and presses his station buttons.
“Line what?”
“Line dancin’.”
Finding a station he likes, he turns his attention back to the road. Guitar strings strum a catchy beat. “Who is this?”
“Clint Black.”
“Are all the radio stations here filled with this drivel?” I ask, staring at the dial.
“Whatcha mean? This song’s pretty catchy.”
“Yeah, so is chlamydia, but no one likes it.”
“Fine,” he says on a laugh. Reaching over, he hits search on the stereo. After a few stations, I hear something other than country and slap at the button to stop the search. “Who’s this?” I ask, honing in on the lyrics about drowning her sorrows with shots and music.
“Lady Antebellum. You like it?”
“It’s not bad,” I admit.
“Do you have plans later?” he asks out of nowhere.
“Yeah, I’m going to jump in my car and go bar hopping. What do you think?” I ask, deadpan.
“Right,” he murmurs. “My tour ends at eight. Let me take you out for drinks and introduce you to some real southern hospitality.” He fidgets with the leather covering the steering wheel.
“I don’t know,” I murmur, hesitant.
“What are you afraid of, darlin’?” he asks, a challenge in his voice. Looking over, he lifts a brow.
“Nothing,” I snap.
“So, what’s the problem then?”
You’re an arrogant prick who wants nothing more than to get in my pants, I think. Shit, I can control the douchebags in the city, I can definitely control this horndog. Besides, I really don’t want to be stuck in my motel room all night by myself. At least I can get a decent drink.
“No problem, sounds like fun,” I say, smiling.
“What shoe size are you?” he asks, changing the subject again.
“Why?” I ask on a small laugh, my face portraying just how random the question is.
“You can’t go to a Texan bar and line dance without a good pair of cowboy boots.”
Christ, now I need new shoes just to do this line dance thing? Wait. New shoes. “I can shop for my own boots, you know,” I sass before really thinking about it. Looks like Dominic’s buying me boots . . . though I have no idea where to actually get said boots. Is there even a store in this crappy town?
> “Suit yourself.”
Crap. “Is there anywhere local, you know, within walking distance from the motel, I can go?” I ask, backpedaling.
He runs his hand through his short hair, breathing out hard. After a beat, he murmurs, “You can use my truck, as long as you promise to be careful.”
“Really?” I squeal.
Brody takes a deeper breath, then sighs. “I’ve never let anyone drive my baby,” he says, stroking the dashboard.
“Guess you won’t be able to say that again,” I tease.
“No, I guess not.” He looks less than pleased, his discomfort evident from the scowl on his face.
“Don’t worry, I don’t drive nearly as reckless as you do,” I giggle.
“That’s comfortin’,” he mutters, pulling in front of the police station. As he places the truck in park, Travis strolls out the front doors. I wave as I jump to the pavement.
“Did you buy a mattress today?” Travis asks me.
“Yup, delivering on Thursday,” I say, nodding my head.
“Thursday, huh?” he questions.
“It’s okay. The motel isn’t that bad,” I lie, forcing a smile.
“Lani wants to paint the walls,” Brody says to Travis.
“Lani?” I ask, stunned.
“Yeah, it’s short for Delani, isn’t it?”
“No one’s ever called me Lani before.” I test it out in my head. When I say it, it sounds wrong, but when Brody says it . . .
“I don’t see a problem with painting. Let me check with the owner before you go buyin’ paint,” Travis says.
“Sure,” I murmur, shuffling my feet.
“Here are my keys,” Brody says, turning to me and dropping them in my hand.
“Wow, really?” Travis says, laughing at Brody.
“Yeah, well—”
“I need to buy cowboy boots, apparently,” I say as an explanation.
“Oh. Um, Brody, we’ve got a call about a domestic dispute, and it’s been crazy all morning. I’ve been busier than a two-dollar whore on nickel night.”
“Yeah, okay,” Brody says to Travis, then turns to me. “Please, be careful,” he says, his eyes pleading with me.
Rolling my eyes, I say, “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.”
When the Storm Ends Page 6
