Unfiltered & Undone

by Payge Galvin

  “Gotta run, huh?” She forced a smile. “No problem. I shouldn’t have dropped by without warning.”

  “No, no. I told you to.”

  “Well, next time I’ll call. Sorry if I made you late for your evening.”

  He nodded, saying nothing.

  She picked up the rifle. “I can put this away while you get ready. Your apartment is just in back, right?”

  “Yeah, but I’m all set for tonight. Come on and we’ll put this away.”

  As they walked to the gun locker, he said, “So this bar you’re going to, is it the campus one?”

  She nodded.

  “Isn’t that where Walker showed up last time?” he said, glancing over, his expression concerned.

  “It is, but only because the girls I was with told him I was there.” Especially since she wasn’t actually going to a bar. The remainder of her evening would be spent in The Coffee Cave on a hot date with her Immunochemistry textbook. Good times.

  “How about I swing by after? I’ll be done before one. I could come by the bar, have a beer, make sure Walker doesn’t show up.” He unlocked the gun-room door. “If you don’t mind me hanging with you and your friends. Or is it an all-girl thing?”

  Even if it was, she’d have been more than happy to have him swing by and hang out. It was almost enough to make her set up a spur-of-the-moment pub night with friends. Except that, well, since she’d jettisoned the friends she’d met through Chandler and Sami had moved across the country, there were only a couple of names left to call and both were busy tonight.

  “Girls’ night out,” she said, making a face, hoping it conveyed the right look of damn, I really wish it wasn’t so I could say yes. “But I appreciate the offer. It’s very sweet.”

  Now he was the one making a face. He stood there, gaze lowered, thumbs hooked in his belt loops as he mumbled, “Yeah, well…” He cleared his throat and looked up. “If Walker does show, text me, okay?”

  She nodded her thanks, then let him show her where the rifle went.

  Chapter 2

  Jess

  You did not strike out, Sami messaged. He’s pitching. You’re just not adjusting your swing to hit his balls. There was a noticeable pause before the next message appeared on the screen of her laptop. Bad metaphor. It started good, though.

  Jess laughed under her breath and took a sip of her caramel latte. Saturday night studying at The Coffee Cave. Kinda pathetic. At least she had the latte. And Sami, who’d spent the last ten minutes trying to convince Jess that the situation with Declan hadn’t gone as badly as she thought. For every point Jess made, she had a counterargument. For example, the woman on the other end of the phone?

  Sister. Or mother.

  Mom died 2 yrs ago, Jess typed. No sister. Just a brother. Ciaran, 10.

  The fact that you know all that? Proves D sees you as more than a student. Maybe aunt. Or an elderly former teacher. Trust me, I read romance novels. It’s never a girlfriend calling.

  Didn’t say GF. Said date.

  Elderly aunt. Which he wouldn’t admit because spending Saturday night with aunt? You’d be impressed; most girls would not. And everything you’ve said about D spells Nice Guy. Why would a nice guy offer to meet you after he finishes screwing his date?

  Double-dipping.

  Jess swore she heard Sami laugh at that. She sipped her latte again and looked around.

  It was busy in the coffee shop tonight. Her gaze settled on two drunk girls clearly in need of caffeine—and chaperones. Jess watched as they took off for the back hall. Then her eyes moved to a muscular guy walking to the counter. He stared back, and the look in his eyes made Jess shiver. Sugar—one of the regular staff—stepped up to take his order, and Jess turned back to her laptop.

  Call Lucy and Kate, Sami typed. Tell them to scuttle their plans, because this is an emergency. They’re to meet you at the bar pronto. On the way, you will text Declan.

  Can’t. All I have is his number at the club. Which proves he didn’t really mean for me to text him.

  Um, no. It proves he forgot you don’t have his cell, at which point you’re supposed to say so, and I bet you’d have had his number as fast as he could get it punched in. He wanted to hang with you tonight. He just had a prior engagement, which did not involve booty. Stop making excuses. Why else would he offer to come by?

  He said he was worried about Chandler.

  Which just proves he really is a Nice Guy.

  He might have been angling for work.

  Huh?

  He told me once he’s done bodyguard work. Maybe he was hoping I’d hire him.

  Seriously?!! For a freaking genius, you can be so utterly clueless. The typing stopped, then restarted. No, not clueless. Gun-shy. Because Asshole Chandler—

  Can we talk about something else?

  Okay. My sister called. She’s being a brat.

  Jess exhaled and typed, Yes, tell me about that.

  They talked about Sami’s family problems, which was actually one of Jess’s favorite topics of discussion. Sami’s family was as crazy as she was. Completely nuts in a wonderful, happy, loving, do-anything-for-you-baby kind of way. When Sami wanted to dye her hair, she’d e-mailed blue color swatches to her mom to get her advice. When Sami decided to switch to Rhode Island, her dad had sent first-class tickets for Sami and Jess to visit Providence and check it out.

  Jess’s family? Whole different story.

  Can you believe the nerve?

  Your sister wanting to come see you? Yeah, some nerve.

  Wanting to crash with me. That’s all she wants. A place to sleep and an alibi for Mom & Dad.

  She’s 17. What—

  Mugs crashed to the floor and Jess flinched, automatically looking toward the sound. The muscular guy was dragging Sugar over the counter. Jess leaped to her feet. The guy punched Sugar, who shouted for someone to get her purse, and Jess spun, looking for it even as a tiny voice in the back of her brain said, “Forget the damned purse. Help her!” But the purse was right there, and Jess snatched it up and when she did, she accidentally lifted it by the bottom, and a gun tumbled out.

  Jess dropped the purse and grabbed the gun. As she swung it up, the guy’s jacket opened and she saw he had one too.

  “Stop it!” Jess said, gun pointed at the man.

  He snarled, “Mind your own business,” and pulled his gun and then it was pointing at Sugar and then—

  A shot.

  Jess heard the shot and even as she stumbled backward with the recoil, she thought Sugar had been shot. Then the guy was falling and she realized what had happened. Realized what she’d done.

  Shot a man.

  Others rushed forward. Dimly she heard someone say the man was dead, but that’s all she heard as she fell into a chair, shock closing in, muffling thought and sight and sound. Sugar came over and said something comforting, but Jess barely caught it.

  The rest was… she would say chaos, because it must have been, but it was like watching a scene in a movie—through a telescope, with cotton stuffed in her ears. Nothing really penetrated. She caught something about the body, about hiding the body or cremating the body. And then there was money. They were dividing up money and trying to give her a share and all she could think was “I’m dreaming. I must be. This doesn’t make sense.”

  But it wasn’t a dream. Slowly, as she surfaced from the worst of her shock, she realized what had happened. The man was dead. They’d decided not to call the police. They’d taken the body. They’d found money and they’d split it and Jess tried to refuse, but they pushed it on her, saying everyone had to take some.

  Everyone had to take some.

  Some of the money. Some of the responsibility, Some of the blame.

  But that wasn’t right. It was her fault. Only hers. She tried to say that. She wasn’t even sure who she tried to tell—it was all a blur—but it was too late. The body was gone and the money was split and everything was cleaned up and they’d made a pact. A pact to tell no on
e. And that was it. No decisions to be made. No decisions she could made. They’d made them for her.

  ‡

  I killed a man.

  That was all Jess could think, lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She’d been there since she’d stumbled in the door. No, that wasn’t true. She’d spend the first ten minutes kneeling in front of the toilet, heaving up everything else she’d consumed in the last few hours.

  I killed a man.

  It couldn’t be true. Could. Not. Be. How did you go from sitting in a coffee shop, sipping a latte, messaging with a friend to cold-blooded murderer in sixty seconds flat?

  It wasn’t cold blooded. He had a gun. He was going to shoot Sugar and no one else was helping and…

  Was that her excuse? No one else was helping? Blame them?

  Of course not. But there’d been a threat—

  Was she sure of that? Absolutely sure that man had planned to shoot Sugar and hadn’t just been taking out his gun to warn Jess to stay out of it?

  Maybe he would have shot Sugar, if she didn’t do whatever he wanted, but it wasn’t like he’d had the barrel pressed to her head. And it wasn’t like Jess was some kind of hero, leaping to action when no one else did. Like him, she’d only meant to use the gun as a threat. To point it at him and make him leave Sugar alone, but then he’d pulled his gun, and in her mind, it might as well have been pointed at Sugar’s head. There’d been one split second to process the threat and react, and she didn’t even remember making a conscious decision to pull the trigger. She just had. And now a man was dead.

  Dead.

  She kept thinking of the man and his cold eyes and what he’d done to Sugar. She thought of the money and drugs they’d found on him afterward, which proved he was a bad man.

  A bad man? What was she? Five? He was a man. That was all the counted. A human being with a family and maybe a wife and maybe children, who’d never know what happened, never know that she’d shot him down, in cold blood—

  Jess raced into the bathroom and heaved into the toilet. There was nothing left to heave, though, and she only spit up strings of bile before slumping to the floor and pressing her forehead against the cool ceramic bowl.

  She should have gone to the police. Turned herself in.

  And gone to jail? Given up her life because she tried to help someone?

  Yes. If that’s what it came to, and that wasn’t martyrdom—it was acceptance. Acceptance of the fact that she’d made a mistake, and acceptance of the fact that she had to face the consequences. Of course she hoped she wouldn’t spend her life in jail. She was reasonably certain that wouldn’t happen. There had been an altercation and a gun and she had honestly feared for Sugar’s life. Involuntary manslaughter, a lawyer would argue. She could hope for probation. Years and years of probation, and all the public humiliation that would come with a trial and, almost certainly, the loss of her family, who would abandon her in shame, and maybe she’d even lose her school career. But it was the right thing to do. Accept the consequences. Deal with what she’d done.

  Except that wasn’t an option anymore.

  Except that wasn’t an option any more. There were… she wasn’t even sure how many people were involved in covering up her crime. At least ten. Ten good and decent people who would suffer if she came forward. Who would shame their own families, maybe lose their own hopes and dreams, all because they tried to help her, because no court was going to let them off easily, not after they’d taken the money.

  Now she could say nothing because everyone in that shop had been involved in covering up her crime. Good and decent people who would suffer if she came forward. Who would shame their own families, maybe lose their own hopes and dreams, all because they tried to help her. No court was going to let them off easily, not after they’d taken the money.

  Oh, God. The money.

  Jess gagged over the toilet again.

  She would donate it. That was a given. No way in hell was she keeping blood money. The problem would be figuring out how to donate it without anyone tracing it back to her. She would, though, and as she knelt in front of the toilet, she forced her brain to seize on that: how and where to donate the money. Then she got to her feet and went to her desk to start making plans.

  ‡

  Jess was back in bed, trying to sleep, knowing there wasn’t a chance in hell she would, but she’d made her plans for the money and there was nothing else she could do now. She couldn’t distribute it too quickly or, in her haste, she’d make a mistake. Mistakes endangered others. She could never forget that.

  She stared at the ceiling until her phone dinged with a text. She almost ignored it, then thought, “What if it’s one of them?” Jess was sure no one knew who she was beyond a first name, but there was always a chance. So she picked up the phone, saw Sami’s number and let out a curse.

  Damn it. She’d been talking to Sami when everything went wrong, and she’d never gotten back to her, just closed her laptop and forgotten they’d been messaging when It happened.

  She checked the text.

  Morning, sunshine! Seems we got disconnected last night, though I’m really hoping Declan tracked you to the coffee shop and is lying beside you right now.

  Jess squeezed her eyes shut and almost put the phone down.

  Wi-Fi went out. Sorry. Meant to call.

  But you got busy? And by getting busy, I mean…

  No, Jess texted back. I’m alone. It’s fine.

  Ah well. So am I. You’ll see him soon, though.

  Soon?

  Monday. For your weekly lesson.

  Jess thought of stepping into the gun club, and for the first time, the image didn’t come with that of a certain dimpled instructor. Instead she envisioned a gun in her hands. Her stomach lurched and if there had been anything left, she’d have thrown up right there. As it was, she just gagged and swallowed. Then she texted back. Right. I’m getting a call. Gotta run. Talk later?

  Hope it’s him! Call tonight. If you aren’t getting busy.

  Jess flipped to her contact list and scrolled down to the one she wanted. Then she hit the call button.

  Chapter 3

  Declan

  Declan was dreaming of Jess. Of last evening, before his damned fight organizer called to tell him to haul ass because he was five minutes late for his warm-up. Dreaming of Jess, coming in for her lesson, leaning over the table in her sexy little skirt. Dreaming of being pressed up against her, telling himself he was teaching her to shoot, and that his rock-hard cock really wasn’t interfering with that at all.

  “This okay, Jess?” he whispered.

  “Uh-huh.”

  He moved closer, inhaling the strawberry scent of her hair and felt himself stiffen even more. Well, strawberries were supposed to be an aphrodisiac, weren’t they? Except that the only thing strawberries reminded him of was Jess, and that was all the aphrodisiac he needed. Sweet, sweet Jess. So funny and so smart and so fucking gorgeous and so many miles out of his league. Normally, that last part would have been enough to squelch any interest. Declan didn’t fight above his weight-class. With Jess, he knew he didn’t have a shot, but he kept looking for an opening anyway. He couldn’t help it. He hadn’t wanted a girl this bad since he was sixteen. It was ridiculous. The other day someone had walked into the club chewing strawberry gum and he’d felt his cock twitch.

  Now it was doing a whole lot more than twitching, as he pushed against her and whispered, “If I do anything that’s not okay, you just say so, all right?”

  Uh-huh. That’s what she’d said earlier. In his dream, though, she said, “Don’t stop.”

  She looked over her shoulder, her blond hair tumbling down over her chest, the buttons on her shirt straining, giving him a glimpse of lace stretched over full, pale breasts.

  “Please,” she said, biting her lip in that way she did, looking up at him with honey-brown eyes, nearly black now, the pupils huge with desire.

  She turned away and moved the gun to her shoulder a
gain, shifting back as she did, pressing her ass against his cock, rubbing and moaning softly. Or maybe it was him moaning. Fuck, who cared. Jess was rubbing against him and his fingers slipped under the edge of her skirt to stroke bare, soft skin below.

  “Is this okay?” he said, his voice husky.

  “Uh-huh.”

  He pushed the skirt up over her hips and looked down to see her ass, that gorgeous, perfect ass with a band of lace across her lower back, the strap of her thong disappearing between those round cheeks and…

  Shit, oh shit. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, but it didn’t help. He could picture her ass and his jeans pushing up against it, the bulge of his cock nestled perfectly…

  He took a deep breath. She shifted again. He heard a faint whir and before his fogged brain could even figure out what it was, her fingers were on his cock, warm fingers wrapping firmly around him, and his cock sprang out very obligingly and pressed against her soft ass.

  He looked down to see she’d eased up further on the table, ass raised, the pink of her pussy opening for him below.

  Open and waiting.

  “Do you want…” He struggled for oxygen. “If you want to turn over…”

  “No.” She looked back, her eyes meeting his. “Like this. Please.”

  She pulled his cock toward her, but he didn’t need the encouragement. He plunged in and…

  And the phone rang. Declan surfaced from sleep just enough to realize it really was the phone. The land-line for the club, beside his bed. He was on his stomach, his engorged cock pressing into the mattress. The room shimmered and when he closed his eyes, he saw Jess beneath him, gasping, and then the answering machine clicked on and he heard, “Declan? It’s Jess.”

  Declan groaned and thrust his hips forward, his brain somewhere between reality and the dream, the sound of her voice fueling his fantasy, her words lost as he focused on her voice, rewinding to his name, her saying his name as he thrust, that lilting way she said it, “Declan. Oh, yes. Don’t stop. Please. Declan. Please.”