by K. A. Tucker
And that’s when I explode. “What the fuck was that?” I spin around and settle a deadly glare on China, who has the decency to keep her eyes on the ground as she bites her lip. “What made you think that would be okay?” Picking up my glass from my desk, I swig back the last mouthful, those few seconds of emotion on Charlie’s face replaying in my mind. “Dammit, China!” The empty glass is sailing out of my hand and toward a far wall before I realize that I threw it. It detonates into countless shards.
I’ve never lost my temper like this with an employee, but, tonight, I can’t help it. I look like a more polished but equally slimy Rick Cassidy.
It takes me a moment to stop my shaking, and then I finally make myself turn around to face China again.
And my heart sinks.
There she is, backed into a corner behind my desk, trembling, her shoulders pulled in tight as she cowers. All color from her face has vanished. The China who works the crowd like she’s got puppet strings affixed to their backs is gone, replaced with a pitiful young girl whose father used to scream and throw dishes at her. Right before he raped her.
My hand flies over my mouth as I realize what I’ve done.
Shit.
“Christ . . .” I start to rush over but when she shrinks farther, I slow my steps, holding my hands up in surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you.” I approach her with extreme caution, until I’m close enough that I can wrap my arms around her shaking body and pull her against me, all while the thickness in my throat grows. I smooth her sleek black hair back with my hand as her tears start to flow, dampening my shirt.
“I’m sorry,” she offers between sobs, her voice so pitiful, so weak, so childlike. “I’ve only ever wanted to make you happy.”
“I know.” She needs to get back into therapy. She was doing so well. Then she started focusing on beating her learning disorder and she let the therapy part slip. She shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have let that happen. China still needs professional help. And lots of it.
When she quiets but stays pressed against my chest, I ask, in as gentle a voice as possible, “What made you do that? We’ve already talked about this. I thought you understood.”
There’s a long pause, during which she reaches up to wipe away some tears. “I don’t know.”
“China.” Playing clueless has never suited her.
“I just thought you needed it.”
I heave a sigh and curse my fucking dick for starting this. The girl makes her money sniffing out hard-up guys with cash to burn. Hell, she’s got erection radar.
“What I need, ” I say as I pull China away from me to look directly into her pleading green eyes, “is for you to accept that I will never use you like that.”
She drops her gaze to my chest and nods. With pursed lips, she whispers, “Do you love her?”
Of course. I should have known that this is what it was about. I don’t avert my gaze as I say very slowly, “I don’t know yet. Maybe.”
She can’t keep the tears from welling in her eyes. “Why her, Cain? Why not me?”
Ahh . . . fuck me . . . I’m still angry with her but my pity trumps it. “I don’t know. These things are beyond our control, sometimes.” Pulling her to my body as she starts crying again, I mutter to myself, “I’m not sure it’s going to matter either way, now.”
I give her ten more minutes of my time.
And then I hand her off to Nate—who is not too happy about the prospect of a sobbing China on him—and I go after Charlie.
chapter thirty-four
* * *
CHARLIE
I so badly want to pick up that phone.
My hand falters, picturing the other end pressed up against Cain’s stubble.
The slow but heavy rhythmic beat of my heart speeds up with thoughts of him, of what happened between us, of seeing him with China. He claimed it wasn’t what it looked like—and it looked like China was giving him a lap dance while her tongue was down his throat. I almost buckled, the sight like a punch to my stomach.
I feel like a fool.
Has that happened before, between them? Has that happened since he’s been with me? My arms curl tightly around my body at the crushing thought. Has he been lying to me this entire time?
Do I have a right to be angry with him, given all the ways in which I’ve lied to him?
Maybe Cain would be better off with China. Or a woman like China. Or anyone other than me, really. Anyone who wouldn’t be putting him in danger as I have, by being so selfish, and so stupid as to believe I could have a future with him. My cluster-fuck of a life feels ready to explode, right here in this gas-station parking lot.
I didn’t go home. I couldn’t. Cain would track me down and then I’d fall apart into a mess of sobs. Maybe I’d even be brainless enough to tell him everything.
And that would put him in real danger.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
chapter thirty-five
* * *
CAIN
“I hope you enjoy it,” the young woman behind the counter offers, flashing me a teasing smile as she hands the key lime pie to me, intentionally grazing my fingers. She’s pretty, but she can’t be more than eighteen years old and that’s way too young for me. Plus, I highly doubt I’m what she’s looking for, unless she has daddy issues.
“Thank you,” I offer politely. I don’t recognize her, but I haven’t been to this café in months. It has the best key lime pie in the city and I’m on my way to see Storm. I don’t know what to do. Charlie’s not at her apartment, she’s not at my condo. She’s not answering her phone. I’m going out of my fucking mind.
As I walk out the front door and pass by the patio, I note the newly occupied tables.
A pretty doll face catches my eyes.
It’s Charlie’s twin.
She has the same nose, the same big brown eyes, the same wide mouth. Only her hair isn’t blond and curly, it’s jet black and long, like China’s. My feet slow of their own accord as I blink several times. I’ve finally lost it. I’ve finally become so obsessed with Charlie that I’m seeing her everywhere.
She’s hunched over at a table, sipping a lemonade, opposite a large graying man in a red golf shirt. I can’t see his face, but whatever he said must be funny because she tips her head back and laughs.
Just like Charlie does.
I know I should move on, but I stand there and watch as she slides that straw into her mouth for another drink, letting her eyes skitter over the tables around her, to a television up in the corner, to the walkway.
To me.
All the color drains from her face. Her jaw drops as recognition flashes in her eyes.
And I instantly know that I’m staring at Charlie.
chapter thirty-six
* * *
CHARLIE
This can’t be happening.
Of all the places in the world for Cain to be right now, the goddamn café where I’m meeting Jimmy should not be one of them. This is beyond bad. The only thing that could make this worse is . . .
This.
My pulse begins pounding in my ears as I watch Cain step onto the covered patio. It takes everything in my willpower not to squeeze my eyes shut and pray. Pray that he’ll keep walking. That this is all an illusion. That Cain’s not really here. That I’ve finally gone crazy.
“Charlie, how are you?” His tone is so smooth, as if there’s nothing at all unusual about this situation. That I’m not at a café, wearing a wig, clearly trying to disguise myself, instead of at home with a hot water bag and a bottle of Midol. He’s used my name and there’s no inflection, so there’s no question. He recognizes me.
“Hi,” I manage to get out, unable to pull myself together to act blasé about this entire situation. There’s nothing blasé about this situation.
This could blow everything apart.
There’s a pause and then Cain shifts his attention to Jimmy, who, though I can tell by his sudden shifting in hi
s chair and his sidelong glance at me is uneasy, is not downright disturbed, as I am. Sticking his hand out, he gives Cain a toothy grin. “Hi, I’m Jimmy. Charlie’s uncle.”
Cain’s eyebrows shoot up. “Uncle . . .” It’s a moment before he accepts Jimmy’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m—”
“Dylan.” It comes out in a shout. When I speak again, I make sure that I adjust my tone. “Uncle Jimmy, this is Dylan.” I hazard a glance up at Cain to see steely eyes on me.
Please go along with it.
“Yes . . .” Cain says, the word drifting off as his mouth twists slightly, his eyes never leaving my face. “Though some people call me Cain.”
My heart spasms in my chest. I should have known. Cain is not afraid to give his name out. He’s not afraid of anyone.
I wonder if he would be afraid of Sam.
Without prompting, Cain leans back to grab a chair from the table next to us. Swinging it around, he takes a seat. I finally notice the key lime pie in his hand as he sets it down on the table. It makes me think of Storm. He must be going to see her tonight.
“Do you live around here, Jimmy? Or are you in town for a visit?” Cain’s voice is so smooth. He doesn’t seem at all awkward and I don’t know why, seeing as I want to peel my own skin off and run away right now.
Jimmy gives that jovial chuckle of his. “Oh, just in from New York for the week on business.”
Nodding, Cain asks, “And what is it you do?”
“I own a construction company down here. Focused mainly on commercial sites.”
I watch as the two of them casually chitchat back and forth, Jimmy fluidly lying to Cain and Cain accepting each lie without any expression at all, though I know he doesn’t believe a word. I wonder if the real Charlie Rourke even had an uncle. I have no clue. But I’ll bet Cain will find out, if he doesn’t already know.
All I know is that this conversation needs to end now. I just don’t know how to end it. Lying just isn’t coming as easily to me as it used to. Not since I met Cain.
Jimmy is as aware of the clock as I am. The hotel drop site is ten minutes away and I need to be there in twenty minutes. There can be no delays. I don’t want to give Bob another reason to be angry with me. He slurps the last of his lemonade rather rudely and then announces, “Well, it was nice to meet you, Cain.”
Yes, Uncle Jimmy knows I was lying about the name. He’s mentally sizing Cain up right now, noting his height, his weight, his hair color, eye color, the scar on his brow, the tribal tattoo on his bicep peeking out beneath the gray golf shirt.
Maybe even the one on his neck. If Jimmy tells Sam about that one . . .
That was a farewell from Uncle Jimmy if I ever did hear one. The problem is, Cain isn’t accepting it. He slings his arm over the back of my chair and stretches his legs out, as if getting comfortable. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was fully aware of the attempted dismissal and is politely giving Jimmy a “fuck off.” I’m surprised he hasn’t handed him a business card.
“Yes, it was nice to meet you too, Jimmy.” He turns to look at me, his eyes rolling over my wig for a moment before settling on mine. As if he’s letting me know that, yes, he’s noticed my wig. In case there was any doubt. “Let me give you a ride back home?”
I’m going to be sick. I feel the blood draining from my face. “No, I’m good, I drove here,” I answer in clipped tone. I’m not even allowing myself to feel the sting of the China incident right now. I just need Cain to be gone. Him being here, talking to Jimmy, is enough to cause me a seizure.
“So, how do you two know each other, again?” Jimmy asks, cold, flinty eyes drifting between me and Cain’s arm on my chair.
I clear my throat, scrambling to think of something. I can’t give Cain a chance to answer. All Sam has right now is a name. He can’t find out about Penny’s.
“We have a mutual friend,” Cain answers before I can cough up a lie. It’s not a lie, but it’s such an intentionally vague answer. Thankfully, Cain has no more interest in Jimmy knowing about him than I do.
“Oh, really . . .” Jimmy scratches his wiry beard as if in thought. “What’s this friend’s name? Have I met him? Her?”
And here we go. Jimmy is gathering information.
“No, you wouldn’t have. Just a girl who lives in my building.” To try and steer him away from any assumptions about Cain and me being a couple, I add with hesitation, “She’s his girlfriend.”
I feel Cain’s cutting glare but I don’t turn to meet it.
Jimmy’s cheek puffs out as he presses against it with his tongue, taking the two of us in as he nods slowly. Deciding something, he glances at his watch and announces, “Well, my dear Charlie. I think we have somewhere we need to be.” Making a point of standing up, Jimmy sticks his hand out. “Pleasure to meet you. Now if you’ll excuse us.”
Cain takes it. “Likewise, Jimmy.” He doesn’t hide the iciness in his glare.
I follow suit, standing and collecting my purse and keys—the rental car keys—from the table.
“Charlie, a moment please?” Cain’s tone is clipped.
I can see annoyance flash in Jimmy’s eyes but he doesn’t want to make a scene . . . yet. He pulls on the jovial voice and chuckle. “I’ll be just over here, Charlie,” he says, moving off no more than ten feet away, pretending to check his messages.
I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to get a picture of Cain.
No doubt, for Sam.
I grab Cain’s arms and swivel them so his back is to Jimmy. “What?” I whisper harshly. My level of panic has reached new highs.
“Charlie . . .” Cain’s eyes roam over my face and hair again. I’ve experienced so many intimate moments with this man, and yet right now I couldn’t possibly feel farther away from him. “Please don’t do whatever you’re about to do. I can’t—” He cuts off abruptly, that jaw that I’ve had my mouth on countless times growing taut.
A painful lump fills my throat. He’s figured it out. Maybe not entirely, but he knows it’s something bad. “Can we talk about this later?”
I can see the internal struggle inside him. Will he even want anything to do with me later? Cain could do a lot of things right now. He could put up a fight. He could pull me into his car.
Or he could just walk away.
Finally, with narrowed eyes, he asks, “Are you in danger?”
“No,” I lie quickly, my eyes flickering to where Jimmy stands, his head turned and tilted as if he’s trying to catch the conversation.
“Charlie! We have to go. Your father is waiting for you,” Jimmy calls out in a sterner voice than I’ve ever heard him use with me. Maybe that’s his normal tone. I don’t know anything about Jimmy. He could be a cold-blooded killer. He could be planning Cain’s death right now.
I don’t have to look up at Cain’s face to know that there’s a cyclic storm of unanswered questions brewing in his head. Is he wondering about the father that’s in jail? Or the one who called today?
I don’t need to look, and yet I do. My heart stops.
I don’t miss the subtle shake of his head, the clenched teeth.
The disappointment.
The anger, as he realizes that the woman he’s been nothing but kind and generous and loving to is a liar.
I hear the agony in my voice as I whisper, “You need to let me go.” For good. I’m no good for him.
“You want me to let you go? Fine.” I see him swallow hard and then his face turns stony. “Consider yourself gone.”
* * *
“What is this?” The guy flips a few strands of my black hair through his fingers. “A wig?”
“You want to borrow it?” I ask smoothly, letting my eyes shift pointedly to his receding hairline.
I get a cold, flinty glare in return. “You’ve got a smart mouth, don’t ya?”
It’s the only thing keeping me from pissing my pants right now. I bite down on my tongue to keep quiet and scan the small hotel room for anything important to
note. It’s a different hotel than before, but just as high end. Eddie and Bob are here—without any family as cover—but so is this new guy. He’s on the heavier side, with beady eyes and a couple of days of dark scruff that camouflage the pockmarks on his cheeks. He calls himself Manny. Apparently he’s Eddie’s new partner. Maybe he is, but there’s standard protocol and Eddie has clearly broken it.
Manny is not supposed to be here. The second I saw him sitting on the bed, I made a move to leave but Bob was there, blocking my exit, grabbing my purse before I could think to pull out my gun.
I knew I was trapped.
The pain in my chest instantly blossomed. There’s nothing I can do except pray this isn’t a setup, try not to lose control of my bladder, and get the hell out of here the second I have the chance.
Bob goes about his body search again. Thankfully it’s silent and quick this time—with less groping involved—and I let myself breathe a tiny sigh of relief. I’ve received not a glare, not a word, not a flicker of an eye to do with “the incident.” I can’t help but notice that his nose looks somehow different. A bit swollen. And there’s a lump on the bridge. I wonder if that was courtesy of Nate.
I remind myself that this is a business. A disgusting, illegal business but, as Sam rationalized before, everyone in this room just wants to make a lot of money. I just need to chill out and—
The sound of a small click is the only warning I get before the cool metal of a gun presses against my temple.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Three.
Each one slower, louder, harder. A strange wave of calm washes over me for a moment. And then my stomach drops out from my body, taking with it my ability to speak, to think, to breathe.
“So, what kind of fucking moron is this Sam guy, anyway? I mean, who sends a little bitch in for this kind of deal? You’re good for shoving eight balls up your snatch and driving across the border. Did he really think we wouldn’t put a bullet in you and walk away with the money and the goods? He’s not the only one who can bring this in for us.”
