There was a Dunkin Donuts down the street so I parked in the lot and went inside, getting in line. There was a kid who looked to be about college age running the register, and he looked like he really loved his job (not). When it was my turn, I walked up to the counter and ordered two dozen donuts, several coffees, and a large latte with caramel in it.
I handed over cash for the order and then dropped a ten-dollar bill in the tip jar right in front of the kid.
“Thanks,” he said, his eyes lighting up at the cash.
“You happen to have a pay phone in here?” I asked while I waited for him to fill up two flat boxes with the donuts. “My cell phone died, and if I don’t call my girlfriend and tell her when I’ll be home, she’ll give me a two-hour lecture when I get there.”
The guy snorted. “Women.” Then, he said, “Nah, we don’t have a payphone. Do they even make those anymore?”
God, how old was this kid? He’d probably never even seen a payphone before.
“Lecture it is,” I said ruefully.
The kid glanced around. “Here, you can use my cell real quick. Take it over there so my supervisor doesn’t see. I’m not supposed to have it in my pocket.”
“Sweet,” I said, taking it as he slid it across the counter.
He went off to make the coffees, and I stepped over to the corner of the restaurant, dialing Mac’s private cell phone.
Mac was the chief at the PD and I knew he was probably waiting for my call.
“Who the hell is this?” he demanded when he answered.
“It’s West,” I replied, keeping my voice muted.
“What the hell have you gotten yourself into now, West?” he growled into the phone.
“Just a normal day at the office,” I replied, leaning against the large window and scanning the room for anyone overly interested in my conversation.
The place wasn’t very busy. It was late afternoon and most people already got their caffeine fix for the day.
“Where are you?” he asked, his tone turning serious.
“The snake we chopped the head off of is growing a new head.”
He was silent a moment. I knew he would understand what I was telling him. “That’s what the heist was about? Startup funds?”
“Yes.”
“Did they force you and the girl out with them?”
“I went willingly,”
“Why the hell would you do that, West?” he demanded.
“Did you take your blood pressure pill today?” I asked.
He made a choking sound.
As much as I enjoyed ribbing him, I didn’t have time right now. “They saw the mark. They brought me into the fold. They assume the girl is with me. She needs medical attention.” I turned and lowered my voice. “About two miles outside of Garner there is an old abandoned gas station. You’ll find what you’re looking for beneath it.”
“Can you hold out a few more hours, until we get a team in place and we have the cover of night?”
“Yeah. Make sure you have an ambulance on standby.”
“Are you hit, West?” he asked, concerned.
“No. She is.”
Mac swore. “Keep her alive, West. She—”
I cut him off. The kid behind the counter was setting my complete order on the counter and glancing my way.
“I will. See you in a few.” I disconnected the line and then quickly erased the call from the phone’s history.
I lifted my chin to the kid behind the counter and slid it across to him as I lifted the two boxes of donuts. I balanced them with one arm and reached for the beverage holder full of coffee.
“Thanks, man,” I told him.
“Have a good one,” he said.
I highly doubted the rest of my day was going to be very good. But at least by tonight, all this shit would be over. With my testimony, the presence of the stolen money, and Taylor’s bullet wound, the case against these clump nuggets would be airtight.
Taylor would go to the hospital, and I could go fishing.
I wasn’t sure why, but suddenly, fishing wasn’t as appealing as it seemed this morning.
8
Taylor
I forced myself up into a sitting position, the long-lost adrenaline finally finding its way into my system.
If this guy wanted to kill me, I wasn’t going to make it easy for him.
I glanced around for a weapon, but of course there wasn’t one. I eyed the two-by-fours nailed between the spaces and wondered if they were fragile enough to dislodge one so I could wield it.
My stomach roiled, the meager contents of the latte and croissant I ate this morning threatening to make a reappearance. I leaned back against the wall, using it as a support for my broken body. Using my uninjured arm, I tried to pull the flannel around me a little more, needing more warmth and unable to find it.
I knew I was running a fever. The way my body ached and shook was proof. I also knew a fever wasn’t a good sign. I wondered how much longer I could sit down here without treatment before I became too sick to function.
“Seems your boy Slater has quite the reputation,” Snake said, stopping in front of the cot to stare down at me.
I didn’t bother to answer because I wasn’t sure what kind of reputation he was referring to. I prayed it wasn’t the reputation of a cop.
He smirked. “You didn’t know, did you?”
“Know what?” I asked, my voice weak.
“Slater is quite a ladies’ man. A player. You know you’re probably not the only girl he keeps around.”
So that’s what this was about? Brody was a player? This wasn’t about his real identity coming to light. This wasn’t about me being killed as a message to the nark. This was about mental abuse. Snake thought he would have some fun at the expense of the bleeding girl on the cot.
“I never asked him for a commitment,” I said, lifting my chin.
He grinned. “He wouldn’t give you one anyway. I heard all about how he has a lady in every crew, a girl in every bar. In fact, he only did the bare minimum of work in Jacksonville because he was too busy burying his face in some girl’s cleavage.”
What a lovely picture that painted. My stomach soured just a little bit more.
“What’s your point?” I spat.
Snake leaned down in from of me, his body brushing up against my knees. He was a tall guy, a little on the thin side, with a buzzed head, dark eyes, and eyebrows that seriously needed a wax. His nose was crooked like it had been broken and his teeth were yellowed likely from smoking the cigarettes of which he reeked.
He had a greasy look about him and I really wasn’t surprised. He probably was around my age, and he was definitely not my type.
He pulled a gun out of the waistband of the back of his pants and laid it beside me on the cot, the muzzle pointing at my thigh.
You know, it pissed me off. I wasn’t in the mood to look at guns. I wasn’t in the mood to get shot again.
“What the hell do you want?” I breathed.
He reached out and touched a strand of hair. “I’ve always had a thing for gingers.” he replied, smiling.
I forced back a gag.
“Since you don’t seem to mind sharing Slater, maybe he wouldn’t mind sharing you.”
“I’d mind,” I said, looking him straight in the eye.
“Why roll with a beta when you could belong to an alpha?” he said.
Was I supposed to swoon? That wasn’t going to happen. Ever.
“I don’t belong to anyone but myself.”
He reached around the back of my neck and yanked me forward. I felt some of the gauze wrapped around my arm yank free and a gush of warmth under my arm.
“I like a woman that knows how to use her mouth.”
Really? I swear this loser could write a book on the worst pickup lines in history.
He brought his face closer and I readied my teeth. I’d bite him if he came any closer. Yeah, it would get me shot again, but I’d rather take another bu
llet than let his smarmy mouth touch me.
The heavy sound of footfalls overhead sent relief collapsing over me. Brody was back. Snake looked up at the ceiling and then back at me, giving me a smirk. The door to the basement opened with a creak, and I saw Brody’s jean-clad legs come into view.
Snake was looking in his direction so I took advantage of his stupidity and grabbed up the gun, pointing it right at his temple. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.
“Get your hands off me,” I said low, enjoying the heavy weight of the metal in my palm.
Snake removed his hand from the back of my neck and backed up a little. Brody stopped in the center of the room, watching the situation unfold.
The other guys in the room all pulled out their guns, aiming them in my direction. Still, I didn’t lower mine. I didn’t feel good, I was thirsty, and I was pissed.
“What the hell is going on?” Brody asked.
“Your woman is whacked,” Snake said, backing away from me.
“I like my bitches crazy,” Brody said. I considered turning the gun on him.
Before I could make up my mind, he crossed the room, stepped in the path of the gun, and wrapped his hand around the barrel. His eyes met mine. I saw the concern shading the espresso color and the toughness inside me seemed to fizzle out.
He took the gun and tucked it in the waistband of his jeans.
“That’s my gun,” Snake said, stepping forward.
“I know you got more than one,” Brody reasoned.
Shit. I hadn’t even thought of that.
Snake shrugged.
“I brought some donuts and coffee,” he gestured, and for the first time since he walked in I smelled the sweet pastry and the warm rich scent of coffee.
“That’s decent of ya,” Tommy said, already shoving a glazed donut into his mouth.
Brody didn’t even glance at me when he walked across the room, picked up a Styrofoam cup, a couple bags, and came back. He set everything on the edge of the cot and extended the cup to me.
“Drink this,” he said. “It’s warm.”
My stomach revolted at the thought of putting anything in it, but my fingers practically shouted Amen! when the heat seeped into my stiff joints.
Brody glanced back at the others, who were all involved in the food and coffee he brought, laughing over something on someone’s phone. He glanced back at me. “Did he hurt you?”
I shook my head, taking in the presence of his shirt and the way it stretched across his shoulders.
“Thanks for getting me a gun.”
“I didn’t get it for you. I got it for me.” I gave him a look, hoping he would get the point and hand it over.
He grinned. “I’m a better shot than you.”
“How do you know?” I asked, lifting an eyebrow.
“‘Cause you’re a girl.”
“You did not just play the ‘I’m the man’ card, did you?”
He grinned again. He had one of those naughty grins that probably charmed the panties off all those women Snake said he had.
That thought made me a lot less charmed.
Brody gave me a curious glance. “What is it?” He frowned. “Are you feeling worse?” He laid the back of his hand against my forehead and glanced at my arm.
“Please tell me you got some Tylenol.”
With one hand, he dumped out the contents of the bag on the end of the cot. I turned my head to look at it all, but another wave of dizziness had me pressing more firmly against the wall.
“Drink that,” he ordered, sifting through the items.
My hand shook as I lifted the heavy cup to my lips and tilted it so the warm liquid spilled onto my tongue. It was a latte and it was really sweet… It tasted like caramel and whipped cream.
I swallowed the sweet concoction, which made a path all the way down into my stomach. It was good so I took another sip.
Using his teeth, he ripped open a pack of what looked like Advil and dumped several pills into his palm. “I wasn’t sure what kind of Gatorade you like.” The look on his face was sheepish.
I looked down to see five bottles of the stuff lying across the cot. A small smile curved my lips. “You got one of every color?”
How sweet was he?
“Which one do you want?” he asked, gruff, like he was embarrassed he’d done something so sweet.
“Purple.”
“Figures,” he muttered and grabbed it up, uncapped the lid, and then traded me the latte. “Open,” he ordered, holding the pills against my mouth. I told myself the sudden chill was just another side effect of the fever and not because his fingers brushed my lips.
I did as he asked and he dropped the pills on my tongue. I swallowed them down with a few great gulps of the drink. I felt the cool liquid slosh around in my belly and it made me squirm uncomfortably. I willed myself not to throw up. I needed those meds and I had to keep them down.
I dropped the Gatorade in my lap and he moved it. Before handing the coffee back to me, he raised it to his lips and I watched his throat work as he swallowed.
One of his tattoos stretched up a little above the neckline of his T-shirt, and I stared at the way it practically caressed the side of his throat. Brody lowered the drink, catching my stare, and we sat there for long moments, studying one another… like we weren’t in a serious situation, like this was some casual meeting.
“Here,” he said finally, his voice for my ears only, surrendering the cup to my cold hands.
He reached for the buttons on my shirt and I froze. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, rocking back on his heels. “I thought that moment we just had counted as foreplay… That wasn’t an invitation to second base?”
I snorted. “You would think that.”
His eyes narrowed and a little chill raced up my spine. How he went from playful to intimidating in a matter of seconds was unsettling. “What the hell does that mean?”
I motioned with my chin toward Snake and his fellow thugs. “He had you checked out,” I whispered.
Brody grunted, not seeming surprised at all. He began to rifle through the stuff on the bed, lining up what looked like legit medical supplies. “Where did you get all that?”
“I stole it.”
“You stole medicine for me?” I asked, oddly touched by his criminal activity.
The next thing I knew I was going to be a guest on the Dr. Phil show titled: “When Bad Boys Happen to Good Girls.”
“You needed it.” He shrugged. Then he reached for the buttons again. This time I didn’t stop him as he began to unfasten the flannel around me.
“What did he find out?” Brody asked low as he leaned forward to peel the shirt away from my body.
“Apparently you have quite a reputation with the ladies.”
His teeth flashed white when he pulled back. “When a guy spends eighty percent of his time making out with a girl in a corner, no one ever thinks he’s listening to their conversation.”
Eighty percent of his time? “Holy crap, that’s a lot of girls.”
He sat back, abandoning his first aid efforts. “I find it interesting that I just told you my secret to recon and all you heard was the amount of time I spent making out.”
I blushed.
He smiled and leaned close. “Be a good girl and let me fix you up, and then maybe I’ll give you one of my famous kisses.”
“Your kisses are famous?” I whispered, silently cursing my sudden one-track mind. Damn if my lower belly wasn’t tightening with the thought of his lips caressing mine.
He didn’t seem fazed at all about the thought of kissing me. Meanwhile, I was sitting here melting into a little puddle, trying not to drool.
Get ahold of yourself, Taylor! I demanded and averted my attention to the many vials of liquid next to me. And beside those were needles.
“What the hell is all that?” I asked.
“Antibiotics, a local numbing agent,” he said
, searching through it all. “And real bandages.”
“You’re not sticking me with a needle.” I refused, shaking my head and shrinking against the wall. “Just give me another pill.”
He seemed amused. “You need the antibiotics.”
“How about just a Band-Aid?”
He nodded and I sighed. “You can have one of those too. After you get a shot.”
I scowled and held the coffee between us like a shield. “Stay where you are,” I ordered.
Gently, he took the cup from my grasp and pulled it away, sitting it off to the side on the floor. “Are you afraid of a little needle, Taylor?” he murmured.
“Maybe.” I hedged.
He picked up some kind of wipe and ripped it open, cleaning his hands. Then he reached for another white, wrapped item labeled STERILE SYRINGE and ripped it open.
I shook my head as my knees began to shake. “Get that thing away from me.”
He ignored me and picked up one of the vials and inserted the very pointy needle into the top, slowly drawing some of the liquid into the body of the syringe. “And here I was thinking what a tough girl you were for taking a bullet and barely even complaining.”
“Needles hurt,” I squeaked.
He smiled a smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “They don’t hurt that bad.”
I disagreed.
Holding the injection in one hand, he opened another wipe and swiped down the side of my good arm.
“You are not giving me a shot.”
“You’re a terrible patient,” he scolded, setting aside the wipe and leaning close to me. I never noticed how full his lips were until he pursed them, blowing out a stream of oxygen over the damp area the wipe left behind. The breath in my own throat caught. The sensation of his breath moving over my skin heightened my senses. In that moment, I felt hyper aware of him.
“I am not,” I argued, but it was a halfhearted attempt.
“Your breath smells like coffee,” he whispered, dropping his chocolate gaze to my lips.
Just his stare made them tingle. Automatically, I pressed them together, trying to make the sensation stop (or maybe cause it to last longer).
“Have you ever been kissed so good that everything else in the room falls away?” he murmured, brushing the soft pad of his thumb along the edge of my lower lip. “Has a man ever wrapped himself around you so completely that you forgot to think?”
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