by Lane Hart
Hope is such a stupid fucking emotion. I should know by now that all it leads to is devastation.
I already have my house key out of my purse and in my hand to put in the front door. I forgot to leave the porch light on when I went to work, and it’s too dark to easily find the keyhole. I’m sure I’ve got it lined up straight; but no matter how I manipulate it, I can’t seem to get the key to slide all the way in.
Pulling out my cell phone to use as a flashlight, I shine it on the lock and try again.
Well, there is the problem. My key just doesn’t fit.
What the hell?
I look through the keys on my ring, one for my office at work, one for my car, one for my parents’ house, and finally my house. Just to make sure I’m not losing my mind, I try them all but get nowhere.
Deciding that the lock is jammed from the humidity or something, I start to turn around and go try the back door, when my phone light lands on a black box with a red ribbon sitting on the porch.
Since it’s not my birthday or any other holiday, my first thought is that someone left it here by mistake. Stepping closer, I see my name penned messily on a white tag that has to be a man’s handwriting.
If I had to guess, I would even say it’s from a man with a beard who wears leather and rides a Harley.
Too curious to resist, I bend down and pick it up, then fumble around in the dark, trying to unwrap it with my keys and phone in my one hand.
I pull off the lid and find a shiny gold key lying on a pillow of white cotton.
Seriously?
Of course, the key slides right into the lock on my front door. Both of the locks, I notice when the door doesn’t open after the first one.
A second later and I’m finally inside my house that now has two shiny gold deadbolts to match the key.
I can’t believe he broke into my house again and changed my locks!
It’s hard to feel safer when I know that Chase no doubt also has a key. Now he won’t even have to break in!
Turning on the lights as I walk through the house, making sure he’s not lurking around, I stop in the kitchen where I find another gift – a bottle of wine, just like the one I dropped yesterday with a bow tied around it too.
There’s a handwritten note on a torn-out sheet of notebook paper in front of it that says, “Next time I’ll call to tell you I’m coming.”
That…asshole!
Why did he have to go and do something sweet when I’m trying my best to keep hating him? I have to hate him. Otherwise, he’ll just hurt me again. I don’t know if my heart can be glued back together again. It’s already pretty weak as it is.
…
The next day at work, the station is buzzing, people running around frantically like when it’s a big news day as soon I walk through the door around four-thirty to start my hair and makeup. Since I spent the morning fishing with my dad, I haven’t had the news on.
“What’s going on around here?” I ask Chelsea, our hairstylist, when I sit down in her chair.
“You haven’t heard?” she asks with her eyes widening, and I shake my head. “There was a drowning.”
“And?” I ask, since drownings are, unfortunately, a pretty normal occurrence in a coastal town during the summer.
“And it was some Highway Patrol guy.”
“Really?” I ask as cold dread spreads through the blood in my veins. “Who? What was his name?”
“I can’t remember,” Chelsea says. “I wanna say Barrett or Bates or…”
“Barnes?” I ask as I swallow around the gigantic knot in my throat.
Snapping her fingers, she says, “Yep, that’s the one. How did you guess?”
“Just lucky that way,” I tell her as my stomach bottoms out and my fingers start to tremble.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “You look a little pale, Sash.”
“I-I’m not feeling well, actually.” As if saying the words were a call to action, I jump up and push Chelsea aside to heave and toss my cookies into her trash bin.
Oh my god, Chase! What did you do now?
“Jeez, girl. Are you okay?” she asks from behind me, then offers me some tissues that I appreciate, using them to wipe my mouth. Gasping, Chelsea says, “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“No. God, no,” I tell her with a shake of my head as I straighten and turn to face her. “What do they know…about the drowning? Was there…foul play?” I ask as I force down another lurch of my stomach.
“No,” she replies with her brow furrowed.
“There wasn’t?” I ask in disbelief.
It had to have been Chase! Did he follow me last night after he changed my locks? Did he kill Travis because he thought we were on a date? Oh God, what have I done?
“No, the guy hit his head or something,” she informs me. “Medical examiner said he must have gone for a night swim and smashed his head when he dived into the shallow end or whatever. It was a horrible accident.”
A horrible accident named Chase fucking Fury.
“There weren’t any other wounds on him?” I ask.
Chelsea stares at me like she’s starting to think I’m insane. “I don’t think so, but I didn’t memorize the entire article.”
“Sorry,” I tell her. “It’s just, well, I went on a date with Travis last night.”
“Oooh, who’s Travis?” she asks, her eyes sparkling with interest.
“Barnes. Travis is Travis Barnes, the guy who…”
“Ohhh!” she replies as her jaw drops. “God, Sasha. I’m so sorry.” She wraps me in a hug that I accept because I need someone to hold me together right now.
This is bad. Really bad.
There were a ton of people at Darren’s last night who saw us sitting together. I need to go to the police before they come to me wondering why I didn’t speak up and say something. And I want to hear all of the facts of his death straight from them.
Chapter Eleven
Chase
Once I made sure Sasha was safe and sound asleep in her bed last night, I got Reece, the MC’s tech guy, to find me an address for the trooper fucker. Then, I found him climbing out of the luxurious pool out behind his enormous house he couldn’t afford on a cop’s salary. All I wanted to do was have a little chat with him, but then he charged me. The two of us ended up grappling right before we fell into the pool and Howdy Doody busted his skull on the bottom. He was already floating face down when I climbed out of the pool soaking wet and made a run for it.
I didn’t want to kill him. I just wanted to make him tell me what Hector and Torin were up to before I kicked his ass and warned him to stay away from Sasha.
Still, I’m not sad that the asshole is gone. The dumbass could’ve gotten Sasha killed.
I got a few hours of sleep while Sasha was fishing with her dad, but I’m fucking beat. It’s almost nine o’clock at night, and she still hasn’t gone home yet. First, she went to the news station, then the police department. Since then, I’ve been a little on edge, worried that she might try and finger me for killing the trooper. But she wasn’t in there long before she was headed back to the news station only looking a little upset.
Finally, she finished up her night and drove back to her house.
I’m about to doze off when I see movement at the front of the house. Sasha struts toward her car in…I squint my eyes to look closer through the windshield, then grab the binoculars from the passenger seat to look through them.
Is she wearing leather pants? And I swear only two strings are holding up her thin top.
No fucking way.
Where in the hell is she going?
I’m on my phone calling her before I even think twice.
“Hello?” she answers from the driver's seat of her car.
“Where the hell are you going dressed like that?” I snap.
“So you are watching the house,” she says. “We need to talk.”
“Then why didn’t you just call me, sweetheart?” I ask, since my number'
s in her phone from forwarding the photos the other night.
“Don’t call me that,” she huffs. “I’m not your sweetheart, or anything else.”
“Sure, sweetheart,” I say, just to get her good and riled up.
“Chase!” she shouts. And then, in a hushed whisper, she asks, “Did you kill him?”
“You’ll have to be more specific. Who are we talking about?” I hedge.
“Chase.”
If she says my name whenever she’s pissed, then I’ll make sure she’s always mad at me.
“Did you?”
“That requires more than a yes or no answer,” I say as I watch her turning around to look over her shoulder. “It was an accident. But serves the fucker right. He was on Hector’s payroll.”
“You’re lying! Were you jealous? Is that why you did it?” she asks.
“He was on Hector’s payroll,” I say again slowly, rather than admit that I was jealous seeing them together. “And I overheard him telling Hector to use you to get to me. Sasha, they were gonna kidnap you and do no telling what if I didn’t show up in a few days.”
“What?” she gasps into the phone, searching over her shoulder again.
“There’s a black Mazda out your driveway and to the right parked in front of that brick house with the red mailbox,” I tell her. “They’ve been watching you all day.”
“Shit!” she exclaims.
“I’m over on the left, watching them watch you.”
“All day?” she asks.
“Yep.”
“What are we gonna do?” she asks. And I’ve never loved the word we more than I do right fucking now. It means she’s giving me an in with her, letting me take care of her.
“I’ve got an idea,” I tell her. “You’re not gonna like it.”
“I’m scared,” she whispers, and hearing the fear in her voice fucking guts me.
Squeezing my eyes shut to take a deep breath, I tell her, “It’s gonna be fine, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
“Okay,” she agrees, trusting me to keep her safe now even though I let her down before.
“You still remember how to shoot a gun?” I ask.
“Yes. But I don’t have –”
“There’s one under the top left of your mattress, loaded and ready. And another one in the pantry behind the sugar.”
“Why couldn’t you be romantic and leave flowers instead of firearms?” she jokes, even though I can still hear the fear behind her words.
“Because I’m trying to keep you safe,” I tell her. “And flowers never made your heart race or your panties wet.”
“Chase!” she chastises me, even though she knows it’s true.
“Get out of your car and go back inside. Leave the front door unlocked. Grab the gun from the mattress and hide in the bathroom until I say it’s safe to come out.”
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
“Don’t worry about that.”
“You’re going to walk right up to my door, aren’t you?”
“Told you that you wouldn’t like it,” I reply with a grin.
Her sigh is heavy through the phone line.
“It’s the fastest way to get this over with, sweetheart,” I tell her honestly. “And my nerves can’t take another day of them following you.”
“Are you…are you going to kill them?” she asks.
“They want to kidnap you and hurt you to get to me,” I remind her. “I’d kill them twice if I could.”
“What about Hector?” she asks, not even trying to talk me out of harming the men or convince me that I should go to the police. That’s why I fell in love with this woman. She may have been told to act like a good girl her whole life, but she was born to be a fucking outlaw.
“We’ll work our way up to Hector,” I tell her, using my new favorite word.
“Did you talk to Torin?” she asks.
“One problem at a time, sweetheart,” I reply.
“Okay, fine,” she agrees with a sigh. “I’m going inside.”
“Good. I’ll be right there,” I assure her. “Take your phone. And if anyone other than me comes to the bathroom door, fire through it aiming at chest level, then call nine-one-one.”
Ending the call, I pull out my nine and screw on the silencer, ready to get this shit done.
Chapter Twelve
Sasha
Holding the small Ruger in my hand feels strange. I don’t exactly enjoy handling guns, but I am familiar with them. My father took me to the gun range for the first time when I was sixteen to teach me how to shoot for protection. I liked trying to hit the bullseye on the paper sheets, but I don’t think I could ever fire it at another human being.
And I don’t think I’ll have to make that decision tonight either.
I know Chase will take care of whoever comes after him; I just can’t believe that they were going to use me to try and kill him.
When Travis started bringing up all those details about Chase and me, I should’ve realized that he had a reason, and it wasn’t that he was just curious about my ex-boyfriend.
Travis didn’t deserve to die for doing Hector’s dirty work for him, but how can I be upset with Chase when I know he did it to protect me? If he says it was an accident, then I believe him.
And if Travis was on Hector’s payroll, then half the local police department could be too. That means that calling them for help would only make things worse for us.
Chase made the tough decision, like he’s also doing tonight.
While I would like to think that he’s doing it all for me, I know he’s more concerned with his own self-preservation; and I happen to benefit from his actions.
I jump when my phone vibrates on the linoleum bathroom floor beside me. Thank God I knew better than to keep my finger on the trigger of the gun or I could’ve accidentally pulled it when I got startled.
Picking up the phone, I read the message on the screen.
I’m outside the bathroom door. Open up and don’t shoot.
I quickly type back,
How do I know someone didn’t steal your phone and type this message pretending to be you?
I wait for a response, seeing the three dots moving, telling me he’s typing a response.
The first time you fucked me was in the front seat of your Mustang when we were skipping third period. The first time I went down on you we were under the boardwalk. You swore it was the most religious experience you would ever have in this lifetime. Should I go on?
God, the memories that a few sentences can invoke is unreal. And my body is definitely not immune to the reminders. Even a decade later, it still remembers how good Chase made it feel and craves it again.
Replying to his message, I say,
Of course all you would remember is the sex stuff.
From the other side of the door, Chase says, “Sweetheart, I remember every fucking thing. Every day, every second. Right now you need to pack a bag so we can get the hell out of here; but if you want, I’ll spend the rest of the night proving that to you.”
Pack a bag and leave with him?
Jesus. I think I’m more terrified of doing that than I would’ve been if one of Hector’s goons was on the other side of the door.
“Open up!” Chase says.
“Always so bossy,” I mutter to myself.
Getting to my feet, I take a deep breath and crack open the door, leaving the gun on the linoleum.
Finding Chase sitting on the edge of my bed in his leather cut and tattered jeans like he belongs on it makes my hormones yawn and stretch their arms above their heads, like they’ve finally decided to wake up after a ten-year drought.
“You okay?” he asks. Standing up in front of me, he shoves his phone into his jean pocket. Then, his pale green eyes watch me with concern and worry filling them.
“Yeah,” I reply, acutely aware of how that one question was all that I wanted from him after the accident, and I never got it. “Thanks for not bailing on me this time.�
��
He lifts one of his thick reddish-blond eyebrows in question as he rubs his hand over his beard in thought. When he opens his mouth to say something, the doorbell rings.
“Who –” I start, my eyes bulging in worry.
“Calm down. It’s the prospects. I’ve had them following me around in case I needed backup.”
“What are they –”
“They’re gonna clean up and watch the house.”
“Clean up?” I ask, and then understanding dawns. “The, um, dead guys?”
“Yeah,” Chase replies before his eyes narrow. “Look, I needed to get you out of here like ten minutes ago. Pack your shit and meet me in the living room. You’ve got two minutes.”
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“The farmhouse,” he answers, not giving me a chance to question him further before I’m left looking at the bearded skull on his jacket when he strolls out of the room.
…
Chase
“I want this place spotless,” I tell Maddox and Holden, our two twenty-something prospects, when I open Sasha’s front door to let them in. These guys do all of our grunt work for a year or so until we vote on whether or not to patch them in.
“Did you park a few blocks over like I told you?” I ask when they come in and eye the two big bodies face down on the floor.
“Yes, sir,” they both answer.
“Important lesson here, gentlemen,” I say with a wave of my hand to the dead men. “These two idiots followed me into the house, just like I hoped they would. I left the door unlocked and was waiting for them behind it. One shot in the back of each head with a silencer. They never even knew they made a mistake. Make sure you never make the same one. Don’t get too confident and always double-check your entryways.”
“Yes, sir,” they agree.
“After they’re out of here and you clean up, come back and take the Mazda out front up to the salvage yard and have Eddie crush it. If they have cell phones, save them, just pull out the SIM cards. Then, I want you to lay low in the house until sunrise.”
“Got it,” Maddox agrees instantly, right before Holden shoots him a questioning look.
