by JA Huss
“I didn’t. I don’t know how to do that shit. Vivi did.”
“Vivi did,” he says. “So she’s a hacker, she’s a tattoo artist. Any other special skills I should know about Vivi Vaughn, Oaklee?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Hanna told me all about her family.”
“Hanna told you,” I scoff. “What exactly did she say?”
“That she comes from dangerous people, that’s what she said.”
“Well…”
“I looked her up, so don’t bother. Everything Hanna said seems to be true. Her cousin is some infamous rapist—”
“Bullshit!” I yell. “He is not! That’s all bullshit!”
“Her uncle killed a guy back in the day. And pretty much every newspaper in Colorado—not to mention several national and international publications as well—has done extensive exposés on the crime syndicate she’s connected to.”
“Crime syndicate?” I laugh. “Come on. And you believe her?”
“All I know is that you and Vivi broke into Hanna’s apartment—while I was there—and… and… what the fuck, Oaklee?”
“Calm down,” I say. But I have a very sick feeling in my stomach. “What exactly did she say tonight? Because you didn’t answer my texts and now you’re angry with me.”
“Damn fucking right I’m angry.”
“I saw the proof, Lawton. She has stolen everything from me! And she’s gonna continue to take, and take, and take until I have nothing left.”
“You know”—he sighs again—“she told me quite a story tonight.”
“What story?”
“A bunch of shit you left out.”
“Like what?”
“And it would be nice,” he continues, like I’m not even talking, “if you’d tell me all that stuff yourself so I don’t have to play the game with you anymore.”
“All what stuff? What exactly did she tell you?”
He’s silent on the other end of the phone. I can see his shadow through the sheer curtains covering his terrace window. He’s pacing back and forth.
“Lawton,” I say, my tone irritable now. “Tell me what the fuck happened tonight.”
“Ya know, I’m tired, Oaklee. It’s been a long day. Hell, it’s been a long weekend. And I have work tomorrow and the meeting with Home TV was pushed up to Wednesday for some reason, so I’m just gonna go to bed and I’ll stop by your place tomorrow after work and we’ll discuss where things go next.”
“‘We’ll discuss where things go next?’ What’s that even mean?”
“I mean this game. I mean this TV show. I just don’t know. You’re wild, Oaklee. You broke into her fucking apartment tonight!”
“So what are you saying? That you believe whatever that lying bitch Hanna told you? That you’re not going to help me? That I’m not going to that meeting with the Home TV people with you?”
One more long sigh from Lawton. And I know what he’s going to say before he says it. “Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. We’ll talk about it tomorrow night. OK? I gotta go.”
And then he hangs up because I get three quick beeps letting me know the call was dropped.
I just stand there. The air cold now, not just cool. The wind wild now, not soothing. And look at my phone.
She did it again. She’s gonna take him away from me now too. All because I told him to go have dinner with her.
So it’s my fault, isn’t it? I practically gave him to her. Practically pushed them together. Made him dress up like… like the kind of guy he isn’t. The kind of guy I like, which is the kind of guy Hanna likes too.
Isn’t it?
And even though I’m not one of those girls who cries over a man… I want to cry. The tears sting in my eyes. The wind whipping across my face, trying to erase them.
But when I go back inside there is no wind.
So my tears fall freely as I crawl into bed and hide my face in the pillow.
And pretty soon I’m sobbing. Full-on ugly cry. Because no matter what I do, I can’t compete with her.
She’s always one step ahead.
Always there, ready to kick me when I’m down.
I can practically feel her boot connecting with my stomach as I lie in bed feeling like…
Like I just lost something a whole lot more important than a stupid beer recipe.
CHAPTER THIRTY - LAWTON
I hang up on her and I feel bad immediately because I want to believe her. I want to be on her side. I like her, for fuck’s sake. Was… was what? Falling in love with her just yesterday. Which is ridiculous, but that’s what people think when they first meet.
And don’t know each other, I tell myself in my head.
Because we don’t know each other. She doesn’t know anything about me and what I think I know about her might not be true.
But that Hanna… she sure can spin a tale. And if she’s lying she is a sociopath. Because it came across so… so authentic. No one is that good of a liar. No sane person, anyway.
She didn’t come off as insane. Sorry to say.
I hold my phone in my hand and look out the window. Out at Oaklee’s apartment. I see her walking inside. Like she was out there looking at me while we were talking.
My thumb is on her contact. Ready to press it and try to explain how I’m feeling… but I don’t know how I’m feeling. That’s the problem. And I really am too tired to get into it tonight.
Tomorrow, I decide. Tomorrow I’ll make a date with her at lunch and we’ll go over all this. I’ll tell her everything Hanna said and see how she reacts.
I take one last look at her apartment and then the lights go out.
I turn away from the window, flick my lights out too, and get in bed.
When I wake to my alarm in the morning it feels like I spent the entire night thinking and didn’t get a moment of sleep. But it’s not true. I did sleep because I just woke up. I just feel like I didn’t.
I go through the motions of getting ready for work, utterly dead inside. And it’s not just Oaklee and Hanna, either. It’s everything. I don’t want to go to work. I don’t want to sell real estate anymore. I’m not even sure I want this TV show. Something feels off there too. Like… that phone call yesterday. Changing the date. Kinda hanging up on me.
Something’s wrong.
But I don’t have any options right now. Not good ones. So I put on the suit, careful of the tattoo, because I removed the clear antibacterial barrier in the shower and now it’s touching the starched fabric of my shirt.
And even that is bugging me. Like… what the hell was I thinking? Getting a tattoo? Jesus Christ, I really am having a mid-life crisis at thirty. It’s pathetic.
My phone rings just as I’m gathering up my wallet, ready to leave for work. I check the incoming call and see ‘unknown number’ on the screen.
Afraid it might be Home TV, I tab accept and say, “Lawton Ayers,” with as much enthusiasm as I can manage. Which isn’t much.
“Lawton, it’s Hanna.”
Jesus. That’s all I need.
“Hey, Hanna,” I say, reaching for the front door with my one free hand. “I’m on my way out to work right now. Can I call you later?”
“I’m afraid this can’t wait.” Her tone is clipped. Almost angry.
So I pause in front of my door and say, “What’s up?” knowing in my gut that I’m not going to like what’s up one bit.
“I don’t know if you’re aware, but I have a rather sophisticated security system in my home.”
“Nope. Didn’t know that.” I say it calmly, but I already know where this going.
“Well, I do. Or I did. Because as it turns out, my contract with the security company was cancelled last night.”
“Hmmm, that’s weird,” I say, rolling my eyes. Fucking Oaklee.
“Very strange, yes. Especially when I do a little digging—digging I probably should’ve done before I hired them—and do you know what I found?”
“Ha
nna, I don’t have time for guessing games. So just get to the point, please. I’m on my way to work.”
“That my company was really a shell for Shrike Security.”
“The mobster-slash-royal family of Colorado?”
“That’s the one.”
“OK?” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“And someone was in my apartment last night.”
“If you’re alluding to me being there, then yeah, that’s no mystery.”
“That is not who I’m alluding to, Lawton. As you well know. Because I have my own private security, aside from the one I contract with. So not all the cameras were turned off last night. And guess who was in my apartment while we were out for dinner?”
I don’t bother answering this time. It’s rhetorical anyway.
“Your girlfriend.”
“Well, that’s super weird.”
“She sent you to keep me busy, didn’t she?”
“No, Hanna. You invited me over, remember?”
“I don’t know what you two are up to, but I told you what was going on last night. And I’m going to give you five seconds to make a choice, Lawton. And if you make the wrong choice I will be forced to escalate matters. Because someone was on my hard drive and deleted all my beer recipes. So choose.”
“Choose what?” I ask, thoroughly annoyed now.
“Her. Or me.”
I laugh. I just can’t deal. “How about I choose neither of you? Huh? How about I pretend I never met you or her? And the two of you can both just fuck off and fight your little war without this soldier, How about that?”
Hanna sucks in a breath on the other end of the phone. Lets it out. “I wish it were that simple, Lawton. But it’s not. So if that’s your choice—if you’re not on my side—then I’m afraid we’re done here.”
“Great,” I say. “We’re done.”
I press end on the phone, open my front door, and take the stairs down to the parking garage because I’m so pissed off right now, I need to expend the energy.
I’m clicking the key fob to unlock my car when a blow to my head knocks me down to the hard concrete.
When I look up, stunned and confused at what just happened, I see two men in cheap suits standing over me. Late thirties, maybe. One has close-cropped brown hair and a neck tattoo. The other one has a pony tail and long face that makes me think of a horse.
“We were hoping we’d all be friends,” Neck Tattoo says, cracking his knuckles for effect. He glares down at me as his leg swings back, and then the kick to the stomach has me doubled over again.
“But it’s not turning out that way,” Horse Face says, swinging his foot to deliver the third blow.
But here’s the thing no one gets about me. They see me in this suit. They comment on my nice manners. But I’m built like an MMA fighter for a fucking reason. So just as that foot is coming towards me, ready to connect, I grab it, twist, and stand up at the same time. This makes Horse Face’s whole body twist, and now he’s off his feet, in mid-air, hands out trying to break his fall so he doesn’t crush that horse face of his on the goddamned concrete.
He doesn’t quite make it and there’s a sickening crunch as his mouth connects with the ground and blood puddles under him like a newly forming lake.
I look at Neck Tattoo, do one of those let’s-go-motherfucker motions with my fingers, and say, “No, it’s not turning out that way.”
He attacks. And he knows two things as he does this. One. I am trained. Two. So is he. Because he goes for my leg, lifts it up high, like he’s gonna trip me backwards. But whatever he thinks he knows about me, he’s wrong. Because this is my signature defense. The second he tips me off my center of balance, I flip my body around, plant both hands on the concrete, and kick him in the face with the free foot.
He goes reeling backward while I’m getting to my feet and then we attack each other. He goes high, because he’s taller than me, and reaches for my head, going for a snap down.
I deflect both hands, ram my head into his gut, and do a double-leg takedown. He’s on his back, I’m on top of him, and even though I know I’ve got him now, this motherfucker jumped me like a pussy. So I don’t take the high road and let him off easy. I ram my knee into his mouth, his fists flailing at my face. One connects with my eye so hard I almost black out, but now I’m pissed.
I double-punch him. Cheekbone, forehead, cheekbone, forehead. Over and over until he’s choking on his own blood.
I get up, breathing heavy, and look around for Horse Face. He’s running for a car, gets in, starts it up, and then squeals the tires as he aims the vehicle straight at me.
This is my cue that it’s over. I need to bail, and because the door to the stairwell has a security lock on it, I go for that. I reach into my pocket for the keycard as I run, and swipe it.
I look over my shoulder as I enter the stairs, but they’re done with me. Neck Tattoo is stumbling towards the car, and two seconds later he’s inside and they disappear up the parking garage ramp.
“Motherfuckers,” I say, still out of breath.
I look down at my shirt and find it bloody from the blow to the face I took. So I take the stairs two at a time, all the way up to my floor, then go back inside my apartment and scream it again.
“Motherfuckers!”
It’s fucking Hanna, I know it. That’s what her little phone call was about. That fucking bitch sent thugs to rough me up.
This shit is crazy. These girls are crazy.
I take off my suit, wash the blood off my face and hands, pull on yesterday’s clothes because they’re lying in a heap on the floor, and then go back out. Heading straight to Bronco Brews to tell Oaklee this fucking game is over.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - OAKLEE
It was a sleepless night. Tossing and turning doesn’t even begin to cover how I spent the last eight hours. It was more like… I wanted to throw up. I wanted to turn back time. Stop Law from going over to see Hanna. Stop this stupid game before it started and just tell him… I like him. We should give it a real go.
Because I knew. That’s the worst part. I knew Hanna would ruin things and I sent him over there anyway.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I get out of bed early, stand in front of my terrace window as the sun comes up, and focus on his terrace down the alley.
Did he sleep?
Is he thinking about me?
But then I make myself take a shower, get ready for work and go through the motions of making coffee. But it just sits in front of me. Untouched.
I have to fix this. I don’t know how I’m going to do that, because I don’t know what Hanna told him. And even though he said he’d call me after work and we could talk about it then, I don’t think he meant it.
My phone rings in my office. So I walk in there, pick it up, and say, “Oaklee.” It comes out sad and pathetic.
“Oaklee, this is Janice downstairs.”
Janice. Great. She’s one of the brewmasters, which means this call is not what I need right now. “What can I do for you, Janice?”
“Well, there’s people outside and I don’t know what to do.”
“People? What people?”
“I didn’t open the door, don’t worry. But they said something about an appointment with you this morning.”
“Appointment?”
“Do you want me to let them in and send them up?”
“No,” I say. With all this crazy drama going on and Lawton getting me thinking about security—“No. I’ll come down and take care of it myself. Thanks.”
“No problem,” Janice says before hanging up.
Who the fuck? This had better not be Hanna. I’m really not in the mood for that kind of confrontation right now.
I get in the elevator, take it downstairs, and as soon as I step out I can see a group of people standing out at the front doors. We don’t open until lunch, so I have no clue what this is about.
I unlock the door and open it up to find two sm
artly-dressed women and two equally well-dressed men. “Can I help you?”
“Oaklee?” the woman with the blonde bob says.
“Yes,” I say.
She offers her hand and I reach for it out of instinct. “It’s Michaela!” she says. Like I’m supposed to know who she is.
“OK,” I say.
She tilts her head at me, strange expression on her face. Something in between confusion and curiosity. “We talked on the phone yesterday?”
“We did?” I say. “I’m sorry, I’m confused. What’s this about?”
Michaela looks over her shoulder at her entourage, then back at me. “What do you mean? We talked yesterday. You pitched the show to me because you knew I was coming to town for a meeting. And we made arrangements to go over things.”
“Things?” I say.
“The Brewery Smackdown show?” she says. Like this should ring my bell.
“I… I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Home TV,” Michaela says. And now she’s irritated. “I was very excited about this concept and that’s why we flew in this morning to meet with you and your partner.”
“With Lawton?” I say, still confused. “And what do you mean Brewery Smackdown? The show is about mountain homes, not a brewery. And certainly not my brewery.”
Michaela laughs nervously. “Lawton Ayers?”
“Yeah, he and I have a meeting with guys this week about the Rocky Mountain Millionaires show. I have no clue where you got the idea I was doing a show on the brewery.”
“You called me,” Michaela says. “Can we go inside?” She looks over her shoulder again.
“OK,” I say, opening the door. “My office is upstairs, so… would you like to go up there and sort things out?”
“That would be great,” one of the men says. He looks very annoyed. But I can’t tell if it’s with me for not understanding, or with Michaela for fucking this whole thing up so bad.
I take them up the elevator, feeling nervous and self-conscious because everyone is on the wrong page, and then lead them into my apartment. “Can I get you anything?” I ask. I want to play good host because if I fuck up Lawton’s deal, he’ll probably never talk to me again. “Something to drink?” I offer.
