The Lovely Reckless

by Kami Garcia

  Why is he doing this?

  “I don’t need your help, Marco. Just leave.”

  Cruz wedges herself between Deacon and his targets.

  “Five.” Marco keeps counting.

  “Shit.” Turk crushes his beer can and chucks it against the ground. “Turn her loose, Sung.”

  “Four.”

  The grip on my arm releases, and Sung backs away, holding up his hands so Marco will see that he isn’t touching me.

  Is it over?

  Deacon flips his baseball cap back around and points at Shawn. “You and me … we’ll dance another time.”

  “Enough.” Cruz shoves Deacon’s chest with both hands, but he doesn’t budge.

  “I love it when you crack the whip.” He swings his arms around her petite frame and traps her in a bear hug.

  I want to get farther away from Sung and his asshole friends, but my legs feel like rubber. Lex stumbles toward me like she read my mind.

  “Rich Boy still owes me money,” Turk tells Marco. “You know how this works. You lose, you pay. No one walks away without paying.”

  Marco’s eyes meet mine for a second, then his gaze drifts down to my arm. His hands curl into fists. “Quarter mile. You pick the driver.”

  Deacon cocks his head to the side.

  Marco gestures at the row of cars lined up near the racing strip. “Anyone from your crew. When I win, you let the rich boy go back to the Heights with his friends.”

  All eyes are on Turk. “And if you lose?”

  The corner of Marco’s mouth turns up for the first time. “I won’t lose.”

  CHAPTER 10

  QUARTER MILE

  Turk studies Marco for a minute before responding. “If you win, Rich Boy pays me the five hundred he lost on the race and he walks. But if you lose, I take your cut of whatever you make off your next race.”

  His cut? Who takes the rest of the money?

  Marco stiffens.

  “You in or out?” Turk asks.

  “In.”

  “You’re lucky I’m in a good mood tonight,” Turk says. “I made some money when Cruz smoked that Accord in the last race.”

  The Honda and the yellow Nissan … Cruz was driving the Nissan.

  “You’re up, Sung.” Turk gestures at the street. “Smoke his ass.”

  “I’ve got this. He can’t beat me in that piece-of-shit Fastback.” Sung taps his fist against Turk’s and heads for a silver car with a spoiler.

  Marco stops walking when he notices Turk isn’t behind him. “You coming to watch your boy lose or what?”

  “Why are you getting in the middle of this shit, Leone?” Turk asks.

  Good question. Since I never asked for his help.

  Marco looks right at me, and my stomach does a somersault even though I’m angry.

  “Is this some kind of macho pissing contest?” Lex whispers, sounding like herself again.

  Shawn laughs. “Leone’s doing a Royal.”

  My cheeks burn.

  Turk leers in our direction, then grins at Marco. “I feel you, bro. She’s a hot piece of ass. I wouldn’t mind getting in those jeans.”

  “That’s never happening,” I shoot back.

  The muscles in Marco’s arms tense, and he lowers his voice, stepping closer to Turk. “If you even look at her while I’m driving, you’ll be in a wheelchair tomorrow. Do we understand each other?”

  My heart jumps, but I ignore it. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”

  Marco heads for the cars. He slows down as he passes me, dipping his head close to my ear. “I’m trying to protect you.”

  “Maybe I don’t need protecting.”

  He jerks his head up and stares directly into my eyes. “Just don’t move until I get back.” The intensity of his gaze sends pinpricks up my arms, and I swallow hard, watching him walk away.

  “Holy shit,” Lex whispers.

  Deacon and Cruz stick close to Marco as he slides behind the wheel of his Mustang. It’s the car from the race that started right after Lex and I arrived tonight.

  Marco drives to the line, where Sung is waiting.

  “Keep your eye on them,” Turk tells Shawn.

  “What the hell just happened?” Abel whispers.

  “I have no idea.” It’s true.

  “Then why did Marco Leone threaten to disable a guy if he looked at you?” Lex put a hand on her hip, the first Lex-like thing she’s done since we got here.

  “Maybe he has an issue with these guys and he wanted to pick a fight?” The possibility makes me sick … and angry. “But he’s not using me as an excuse to do it.”

  Lex watches me. “I think it’s more than that.”

  “There’s no more. I work with his younger sister in the after-school program. He probably doesn’t want her to lose her tutor.”

  More like I don’t want to lose mine.

  “Nice try,” she says.

  “Actually, I’m secretly dating the most dangerous guy at Monroe after exactly one day there.” I lay on the sarcasm, but I’m also annoyed. “Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

  Abel grins. “He must really love his sister.”

  I glare at him. “Don’t say a word unless you have a better explanation for why you came down here than ‘I met a girl in class.’”

  Video Game Girl stands in front of the cars and raises her arms, and I wait for them to drop.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Tires squeal and exhaust fills the air. Lex grabs my hand, and I squeeze hers. Pissed off or not, I still want Marco to win. His Mustang is on the left. Within seconds, his taillights appear smaller than the ones on Sung’s car. Or were they always smaller? Why didn’t I pay closer attention?

  “Come on. Stay ahead of him…” Abel whispers.

  “Shit!” Turk shouts from the line.

  Is it over?

  From Turk’s tight-lipped expression, I’m guessing the answer is yes.

  Abel lets out a long breath. “I think your friend won.”

  “We’re not friends. I barely know him.”

  Marco stalks toward us with Cruz ahead of him. Deacon isn’t with them anymore. Marco stops in front of Shawn and holds out his hand. “Keys.”

  The tall guy fishes Abel’s keys out of his pocket and tosses them to Marco, who catches them in the air.

  Marco slaps the keys against Abel’s palm. “Get out of here before Turk changes his mind.” He gestures at Lex and me. “Take them with you.”

  “We came in my car,” Lex says. “I can’t leave it here.”

  Marco shakes his head and looks at me. “Let’s go.”

  “Thanks,” I snap. “But I don’t need help figuring out when it’s time to move.”

  He frowns and opens his mouth to say something, then stops. Lex rushes ahead with Cruz as if she can’t get away from this place fast enough.

  Marco points at Abel. “I told you to get out of here.”

  “Right.” Abel jogs off in the opposite direction.

  As we follow Lex and Cruz, the crowd parts for Marco, and people compliment him on his driving. He’s polite but never stops moving, like I’m a live grenade and he can’t wait to get rid of me.

  “Where did you park?” he asks.

  “Over there by the streetlight,” I say.

  The Fiat comes into view, and Lex exhales.

  “Where are your keys?” Cruz asks her.

  Lex searches through her bag. Dad would freak if I walked up to my car at night without the keys in my hand, ready to unlock the door. “Found them.” She holds up her Tiffany key chain.

  “Come on.” Cruz walks ahead of Lex like a bodyguard.

  Marco clears his throat. “Can we talk for a second?”

  “Fine.” I hang back and watch as Lex gets in the car. Cruz leans against the passenger side.

  Marco steps in front of me so I have no choice but to look at him. “I think you’re pissed at the wrong guy. Your boyfriend is an asshole
for asking you to come down here and bail him out.”

  My what?

  “Abel? He’s not my boyfriend. I’ve known him forever. And no one asked you to get involved and start World War III. I had it worked out.”

  “Which part? Sung dragging you around, or what could’ve happened if you got into a car alone with him?” My hands start shaking, and I jam them in my pockets so he won’t notice. “Things could’ve ended differently tonight. The guys who hang out at the races aren’t good guys.”

  “You hang out here,” I say.

  “Exactly.”

  Is he trying to scare me?

  Marco rubs the back of his neck. “I grew up in the Downs, so I know how to take care of myself. But a girl like you shouldn’t come here. Ever.”

  A girl like you. There it is.

  A rich girl from the Heights? A girl who doesn’t do anything when someone beats her boyfriend to death? A girl who can’t even remember who did it?

  Anger twists me into knots. Anger at Abel for getting himself into this mess. Anger at myself for coming here alone with Lex. Anger at Marco for acting like I can’t take care of myself.

  “A girl like what? A stupid girl? Is that what you were going to say?” I walk away. I’ve taken enough crap for one night.

  “Hold up a second. If I thought you were stupid, I’d say so.”

  I whip around. “Then what did you mean by ‘a girl like you’? What kind of girl am I, Marco?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” His voice sounds the way it did when he spoke to Sofia—gentle and sincere. But it doesn’t matter. It feels like I’m standing on a ledge with the wind blowing, and all it would take is a tiny push to make me fall. Marco could be that push.

  This time, I look him in the eye. “Let me know if you figure it out.”

  Turning my back on him, I walk to the Fiat, even though what I really want to do is run. Before I close the door I sneak one last glance at him.

  He’s staring right at me.

  * * *

  Lex doesn’t say a word until we hit the beltway. “What just happened?”

  “Which part?” I’m still trying to figure it out myself.

  “I don’t know … how about why Marco Leone put his ass on the line for us? Or why he was staring at you like something was going on, and threatening anyone who came near you?” She taps on her temple. “Pick one.” The edge in her voice feels like an accusation.

  “Why do you sound pissed off?”

  She pulls at the choppy ends of her hair. “So is there something going on between you two? Because he’s a total lunatic, in case you didn’t pick up on that after this morning and tonight.”

  “Nothing is going on. I don’t know why Marco did any of that stuff. I talked to him for two minutes when he picked up his sister from the rec center.” It’s all true, and pointing out how much I can’t explain just makes it more confusing.

  Lex’s cell phone chirps for the tenth time, signaling an incoming text. She ignores it. A second later, my phone vibrates.

  i screwed up. i’m sorry.

  ???

  u there?

  I hold up my phone so she can see the text. “It’s Abel.”

  Lex tightens her grip on the wheel and speeds up. “I don’t care.”

  “Will you tell me what’s going on with him?”

  “After we finish talking about you and Marco.”

  “There’s no me and Marco. Why are you acting so bitchy? Do you think I’m lying? What could possibly have happened since this morning?”

  Her phone chirps again, and she tosses it on the dash without looking at the message. “Marco Leone is trouble. Ask anyone at Monroe. He gets in fights constantly, and a he’s total manwhore.”

  “You did not just say manwhore.”

  She glares at me. “He has hooked up or slept with at least half the girls at Monroe, maybe more. Please stay away from him, Frankie. The way he was looking at you…”

  “What?”

  “He’s interested.” Lex passes a car that’s driving too slowly in the left lane.

  The idea of Marco hooking up with lots of girls bothers me more than it should. The only girl I’ve seen him with is Cruz.

  I never went through the bad-boy phase like most of my friends. Clean-cut was my type—ink-free jocks who spent their nights at lacrosse or ice hockey practice, not driving in illegal street races. Bad boys equaled risk, and the old Frankie didn’t take chances. Then again, there weren’t a lot of gorgeous, tattooed bad boys hanging around the Heights.

  Lex glances over at me. “Whatever you’re thinking … you should think about something else, or someone else. Anyone but Marco. You don’t need any more trouble.”

  Something snaps inside me, setting off a chain reaction of emotions. Frustration, anger, sadness, and shame—they fall one by one like dominoes.

  “You sound like my dad.” I’m sick of everyone telling me what to do and who I should be. I’m not a rebellious kid screwing up to get attention.

  “I don’t want to see you get hurt, Frankie.” Lex takes a deep breath. “I really missed you this summer. You would’ve known what to do about Abel.”

  “When did he start gambling?”

  “I’m not sure. I didn’t figure it out right away. At least I don’t think I did.” Lex talks fast, the way she always does when she’s nervous or upset. “I found sixty or seventy scratch-off lotto tickets crammed in the pockets of his jeans one night when I stayed over. Who buys sixty scratch-off tickets in one day?”

  “Back up. Why were you sleeping over? And where did you find his jeans?”

  “Hold on.” She turns into Dad’s complex. “Which one is it again? They all look the same at night.”

  From the outside, the garden apartments are identical—two-story brown buildings, with balconies that offer sweeping views of the parking lot. “Last building on the right. If he’s home from work, I’m dead.”

  I forget about Lex, Abel, and Marco and hold my breath.

  Dad’s Chevy Tahoe isn’t in the parking lot. Am I really this lucky?

  “He’s still at work.”

  Lex doesn’t bother to park. “Go. Before he gets home.”

  “We’ll finish talking about Abel later.” I jump out of the Fiat, praying Dad doesn’t show up before I make it inside.

  Cujo barks when I open the door and follows me to my room. “You won’t tell him what time I came home, will you, buddy?”

  I change into sweats and curl up on my bed so Dad will think I’ve been in here studying. It’s quiet now, and I finally have time to think. I replay the last few hours in my mind, but it feels surreal.

  Marco’s swoop-in-and-save-the-girl rescue mission annoyed the hell out of me, but he didn’t have to help us. So why did he do it? His reaction when he saw Sung holding my arm was even stranger.

  Was it really about me?

  I can’t stop picturing the way Marco stared into my eyes without a hint of self-consciousness.

  Fearless and unapologetic.

  Who did he see?

  The rich girl with a perfect life … or the broken girl who replaced her?

  CHAPTER 11

  RICH GIRL

  When I finally haul myself out of bed in the morning, the apartment smells like burnt toast and cheap instant coffee. I’m halfway down the hall when I hear Dad talking on his cell phone. “We’re not dealing with a couple of kids stealing cars with dent pullers and screwdrivers, Tyson. They’re driving these cars straight into shipping containers.”

  Great. Undercover-cop talk at seven o’clock, the only thing worse than Dad’s coffee.

  “Already ran him through the system,” Dad says. “He lives with his father, and he has a record.”

  Boring.

  In the kitchen, Dad stands in front of the toaster oven with his back to me. He finishes the call and drops his cell on the counter. “I wasn’t sure how you like your eggs these days, so I scrambled them,” he says without turning around. Sneaking up on a cop is
impossible.

  “I don’t eat eggs. Or breakfast.”

  “Why not?” He sounds offended, as if he invented the concept of breakfast.

  “Why? Is this a quiz?” It feels weird explaining basic stuff about myself to my father. When I only visited for a few days at a time, I never bothered.

  “Listen, I know you’ve been through a lot. You experienced the kind of trauma most people only see on TV, and you don’t have any closure. But the police are still investigating Noah’s death. No one is giving up.”

  Now he’s a shrink?

  I laugh, without caring how bitter it sounds. “The police have no leads. They won’t be able to find Noah’s killer until I remember what he looks like.”

  “The guys in homicide are good. They’ll find the bastard.” Dad opens the toaster oven and jabs at a charred slice of bread with his finger. He winces and yanks his hand back.

  “You okay?”

  “It’s nothing.” He shakes his wrist a few times, then scoops a pile of eggs onto a plate. “The toaster is new. I haven’t figured out the timing yet.” He puts the plate on the counter in front of me.

  What part of “I don’t eat breakfast” is he confused about?

  I push it aside, and he pours himself a cup of sludge. “So how did things go at the rec center?”

  “Fine. I’m working with middle school kids, helping them with their homework and keeping an eye on them. Miss Lorraine, the woman in charge, is hard-core. I’m surprised she didn’t have my mug shot hanging on the wall.”

  Dad’s back goes rigid. “That’s not funny, Frankie. You’re in serious trouble. I thought you understood that.”

  Is he starting this again?

  “I know exactly how much trouble I’m in, but thanks for reminding me. Getting kicked out of school and doing community service every day never would’ve tipped me off.”

  “Did anyone there give you a hard time?”

  “The kids are thirteen.” I don’t mention the basketball players hanging around out front.

  “I meant in general. There’s a lot of crime in the Downs—and the criminals and junkies who go along with it.”

  “Not everyone in the Downs is a criminal or a drug addict. Lex’s father grew up there, and now he’s a senator. All it took was hard work and a bigger bank account.” It’s a fact people forget all the time. Nobody around here cares where you came from once you have money.