Getting to understand how she came to be how she was? That was incredibly important. I needed to know. I needed to see how to look out for her in the future.
The story about her mother was fucked. Having come from a family that, while their methods of parenting weren't exactly traditional, they were all done in love, in the interest of raising good, strong, respectful men, I couldn't imagine what it was like to not have that. To be treated like a pest, to be put in potentially dangerous situations.
If what Bry said was true, I was glad she wasn't in touch with that piece of work. She was probably better off without her.
Speaking of Bry, I had heard from him twice, just updates saying he hadn't made any headway yet. Which, frankly, meant he probably never would. The product was likely gone and he and Dusty and therefore me, were all likely fucked.
My phone rang, Mark's name flashing on the screen. "What's up, Mark?" I asked, grabbing my keys, giving Dusty a quick kiss to the temple, having already told her as I dressed that I needed to run into Chaz's to check the log for the night before, and headed into the hall.
"So, couldn't find shit out myself so I reached out to Sawyer's little brother..."
"Barrett?" I asked, having a vague memory of him back from when we used to hang with Sawyer in high school. Barrett hadn't been the shit-starting, rough and tumble type like me and my brothers and Sawyer were so we didn't see him much, always glued to his computers, video games, or books. I'd heard that he had a knack with some investigating shit and that Sawyer used him occasionally on cases, but didn't realize he did anything for himself.
"Yeah, he's a whiz at this shit now apparently. Anyway, he did some digging and traced Bry to some guy in Camden named Dom Donovan."
He paused at that and I knew him well enough to know that that was a bad thing. Mark never had an issue talking your fucking ear off when he felt like it, which was most of the fucking time. "Not getting any younger here, Mark."
"He's bad. The kind of bad we don't fuck with. The kind of bad that no one fucks with. He's got a rap sheet that makes Atlas Shrugged seem short," he said with real disgust in his tone. He'd needed to read that book in his final year of high school and got sick of it all of three pages in and decided to charm one of the cute nerdy girls in class to write his paper for him. Which she did, happily. And he got an A without ever having read the book I found him using as a doorstop in his apartment.
"For?"
"Mostly violent shit. Aggravated assault, guns charges, drunk and disorderly."
"Not possession?" I asked, bleeping the locks to my car.
"Never been caught with even a joint on him. He keeps himself clean of that, only dirtying himself up, it seems, to protect his rep. And aside from the shit that's on the books, there is a lot that's not that he has attributed to him. Including six rapes and nine murders."
Fucking wonderful.
"And that doesn't even scratch the surface of the shit his men have gotten away with either."
I stiffened in the seat of my car, not bothering to turn it over because something occurred to me right then, something I really didn't want to consider, something that meant a world of bad.
"What is it?" he asked, obviously picking up on the heaviness even across the line.
"Ever stop to consider that maybe this was an inside thing. Maybe Dom got a whiff of something he doesn't like about Bry and took his shit back?" Which would make sense why they were so merciless with Dusty. If Dom and his men were big on rape, then it was a fucking miracle I got there in time."
"Then that means that Bry..."
"Fuck," I said, hanging up and bringing up my contacts, finding the call from Bry and hitting call.
"I don't have any update..."
"Wherever the fuck you are, you need to leave. You need to find somewhere no one will look for you and lay the fuck low."
There was a long pause. "Why?"
"Because it seems more likely that Dom's guys were the ones in Dusty's apartment, taking back the product. That's why you can't find it on the street. That's why no one is recognizing these fucks."
"Jesus Christ," he said and I could actually hear him booking it, the whizz of cars as they passed, the huff of his breath. "Why the fuck would he come after me?" he asked after I heard something slam.
"Only you can tell me that. Maybe it's as simple as him not liking you keeping the product in Dusty's place. Maybe it's someone you're connected to that he doesn't trust. Maybe he thinks you're skimming. Who the fuck knows. Guys in positions like his get paranoid and do stupid shit. To them, better to take you out than have to worry about you."
And then he said something that proved just how much the poor fuck cared about her. "Dusty. You need to..."
"Don't worry about Dusty. I will take care of her," I said.
"I get that maybe she's more yours than mine now, man. But you listen to me, you better fucking make sure that..."
"I like that you care about her this much and want to make sure she is safe, but you don't need to tell me how to handle my shit. I can protect my people. You worry about yourself."
Again, a pause, likely not liking having to take back seat with Dusty, but knowing there was nothing he could do about it. "So what the hell am I supposed to be doing? Laying low and sitting on my hands for the rest of my life?"
That wasn't a bad point.
Getting him and Dusty to safer places didn't solve the problem. It was a temporary bandaid over a giant, gaping wound.
"Do it until I can think of another way around this," I said, hanging up.
Fact of the matter was, Bry's problems were not my problems. That being said, if they had been watching him, they watched her. If they watched her, they knew she and Bry were at least somewhat close. Then they would figure that if they got to her, they could maybe get the whereabouts of Bry.
There was no way I was going to let that happen.
But to make sure of that, I was going to have to do something I knew she wasn't going to like, would hate in fact.
If I could think of any other solution, I would.
But safe was what she needed to be, even if it meant she hated me for it.
I sighed, picking my cell back up and dialing my father's number. "Mallick," his voice clipped, being someone who never checked the ID before picking up.
"Pops, got a problem," I started, exhaling hard.
"On New Years Day?" he scoffed then let out a humorless laugh. "Only my boys would ring in the new year with a problem. What is it?"
"Yeah, no this is something we all need to get together and talk about."
There was a short pause then, proving once again that he had some kind of sixth sense, "This has to do with your girl, doesn't it?"
"Yeah."
"And, again, only one of my fucking sons would find themselves a sweet, nice little shut-in who brings heaps of trouble along with her from the privacy of her apartment." That was Charlie Mallick- used to a life of uncertainty, of chaos, of accepting shit and dealing with it and moving on. "Alright. When do you need to talk to us?"
"I need to get Dusty somewhere safe first and then I will be in touch. No later than tomorrow. This needs to be handled before it escalates."
"Alright. Text one of your brothers about it and we will set it up. Get your girl safe."
He ended the call and I climbed back out of my car, locking the doors, and hitting the remote start so it warmed up. It looked like I wouldn't be going into work after all.
"Hey, what are you doing back so soon?" Dusty asked, giving me a smile from the couch where she had propped herself up after I left with two bottles of water, an icepack, and Tums. Apparently, she wasn't at the point with us where she was willing to admit she had a wicked hangover because she had been making breakfast when I left like nothing was wrong. A breakfast that was still sitting on the counter, uneaten.
I moved across the room, sitting down by her feet and pulling her legs over mine.
"So serious," she said, brows dr
awing together. Then, when I didn't immediately say anything, she curled up, her perfect green eyes looking worried. "Is something wrong?"
This was the part I was most worried about, not the follow through, the part I knew would be hardest for her, but the having to break the news to her, to ruin her day. That part sucked for me.
"Yes and no," I said, putting my hand on her ankle and squeezing.
"Let's start with the no," she said, her breathing already going a lot more shallow than it should, her hand resting below her throat like she knew what was coming was going to make her freak.
"After some digging, Bry and my brothers and I have concluded that the guys who attacked you actually work for Bry's boss."
"Okay," she said, the hand inching a little higher.
"And that's bad news. He's someone from Camden with a bad reputation of rape and murder," I said, giving her ankle another squeeze as her body started tightening. "So, I am setting up a meeting with my family to see what we can do about a long-term solution. Until then, I told Bry to lay low somewhere no one can look for him. And that means..."
"No," she said, already shaking her head, already understanding.
"I'm afraid it's not really much of a choice here, honey. We can't stay here. We're right across the hall from your apartment. The guys saw me and they are eventually going to start watching me."
"But they won't see me!" she objected, her voice an airy squeak, likely because I hadn't seen her take a breath in far too long.
"Can't guarantee that. Maybe they won't know you're here. But that doesn't mean they won't break in if I leave and happen upon you. Then, Dusty, I don't even want to fucking think about what can happen. I understand this is huge for you. And I'm sorry I can't think of any solution better than this, but we have to go."
She yanked her legs off of mine, putting her feet down on the floor and lowering herself down until her elbows were on her knees, her head cradled in her hands. I watched for an almost alarming time before I finally saw her take a breath, slow and a bit shaky, but deep, like she was trying to keep calm.
"Where?" she croaked out, refusing to look at me.
"Not far. I have someplace we can go that's safe. Even if I wasn't there, it would be safe. And we've already concluded that my car is okay for you."
Even if we had only concluded that it was okay in a stationary position while parked only a couple yards away from the door that lead up to her safe place.
"When?"
"Honestly? As soon as we can pack some shit and go."
"Rocky..."
"Can come," I said, knowing he probably shouldn't but not giving a fuck. They'd have to make an exception.
She looked at me then, her eyes huge, her lip a little trembly. When she spoke, her voice shook. But it said what I needed to hear. "Okay."
I mean, it wasn't like she had an option. I had tried to gloss over that. But even if she freaked the fuck out and I had to carry her over my shoulder again, I would. I wasn't going to let her stay and allow fuck-knew-what to happen to her.
"Would it be better for me to pack and you just try to..."
"No. I'm better if I'm doing something," she said, jumping up, grabbing all the items she had around her and moving to put them back into place.
She went on a search for Rocky and I moved to the bedroom, grabbing a suitcase and throwing what shit I had for her in it along with several of my own things before zipping it shut and walking back into the main room.
I found her in the kitchen, the cat carrier on the island, shaking violently as Rocky fought his confinement. But I also found Dusty standing there, one hand slammed down on the counter, the other pressed to her forehead.
"You okay?"
"Lightheaded," she admitted, not moving.
"Alright," I said, putting the suitcase down and moving behind her, wrapping one arm across the very lowest part of her stomach, placing my other right in the center of it like I had seen her do many times. "Breathe."
She did, the air making her belly shake at first. But she leaned back into me, eyes closed, and kept deep-breathing until most of the tension left her body.
"Sorry."
"Don't," I said, turning my head to kiss her temple.
"Don't what?"
"Don't apologize for being anxious. Anyone would be anxious in this situation."
"You're not," she observed, a question in her voice.
She was right. I wasn't. In fact, I hardly even knew what the sensation of panic was anymore. First, because I just wasn't a person prone to it. I was calm and rational and handled shit before it got out of hand. Second, because my life was too fucking crazy to allow me to freak over every thing.
"Promise I will explain that, honey. But now is not the time."
"Okay," she agreed, understanding there was at least a small amount of urgency right then. "Can we get this part over with?" she asked, and I took it to mean the move.
"Yeah," I agreed, pressing her forward, dropping my hands, and moving away. "Just let me grab both our laptops and then we can hit it."
I packed them up, along with other random items I saw lying around, including three of her books that I could fit in the bag with the electronics.
"Don't," I said when I saw her eyes land on the litter box. "I'll pick up new shit when we get where we're going," I said and she nodded tightly and reached for the cat carrier. I moved to the door, pulling it open, and flying backward on a hiss. "Mother fucker," I growled, exhaling hard.
"That's what a lot of people call me. Usually women," Mark said, completely ignoring me and looking over to Dusty who he winked at.
"The fuck you doing just standing outside my apartment like a goddamn peeping tom?"
"Dusty," he said, holding a hand to his heart and completely fucking ignoring me. "My love, I called dibs before him, you know."
Caught off-guard, she let out a surprised laugh. "What? You don't even know me."
"Piqued this Eunuch's interest, that's all I needed to know," he said, jerking his head toward me.
Dusty's gaze followed and she gave me what I could only call a wicked smile before looking back at my brother. "You must be Mark. The cheerleader."
Completely not expecting that, I threw my head back and laughed, a deep, rolling one that I hadn't done in a long ass time.
Mark, unphased as usual, gave her a smile too. "Angel, do you have any idea how many of those cheerleaders I got beneath me or above me... or in front of me?" he asked.
"Let me guess, all of them," she said, still deadpan, but she was smiling.
"All except pretty little Jenny Anderson," he admitted. "But only because she fractured her pelvis when one of the other guys didn't catch her after a tuck jump. Shame really."
"Yes, I'm sure she was sorely disappointed," Dusty added dryly.
"That's good, sugar plum," he said with a nod. "You're going to need that sense of humor to survive in this family."
"If you're done flirting with my fucking woman," I said, no malice in my voice because Mark flirted with everyone. We were all pretty much convinced he couldn't help it. Though he had laid off Fee and Lea once they got serious with Hunt and Shane. "How about you tell me what you're doing here?"
"Oh me? I'm the security caravan. Pops thought you would want someone else looking out for you."
"Pops should have asked," I corrected, but knew that our father was not the kind to ask any goddamn thing. "Well, right now," I said, tossing the electronic bag at him along with the suitcase, "you're a pack mule. Get a move on. We need to get her out of here," I supplied as he gave me a knowing look, took the items I gave him, along with the goddamn cat, and moved out.
"Your brothers are..." she trailed off, thinking.
"Intrusive?" I offered, being as true as anything else.
"I was going to say interesting characters. Are the others like Eli and Mark?"
"There's only one Eli and one Mark. Shane is loud and opinionated. He doesn't have much of a filter. Hunter is a bit cal
mer. He's got kids and a woman and a business that keep him grounded."
She gave me a bit of a shy smile and admitted, "Well, I like Eli and Mark so far. I think I'll like Shane and Hunter too."
I liked that.
And I liked that she was thinking ahead enough to plan for that eventuality.
"If you can handle Mark, you can handle the others," I assured her. "You about ready?" I asked as her gaze went to the open door.
"Did you get my cell?" she asked, feeling in her pockets.
"With the laptops."
"Okay," she said, going toward the door and stepping into the flats I brought over from her place for her. "Then, well, I guess I'm as ready as I can be," she agreed, giving me a wobbly smile.
But she didn't move toward the open door. She froze on the spot, her hands down at her sides clenching and un-clenching over and over.
"Just going to the car," I told her, moving up and wrapping her hand in mine and giving it a squeeze. She didn't look up at me. She didn't relax. There was no remedy attached to my touch. But she nodded her head and we moved into the hall, pausing just so I could lock the door and then making our way down the hall.
"No," she said, her voice a little frantic when I moved toward the elevator.
"No?" I repeated, brows drawn together.
"Stairs," she demanded, nodding her head toward them.
I could feel it then, just a small vibration coming from her hand and moving up my arm. And when I looked down, I could visibly see her trembling.
"Stairs it is. Think you can keep up with me?" I added as we pushed out the door to the first landing.
"I think I could outrun a cheetah right now," she said, taking off down the stairs, nearly crushing my hand in hers as we made our way to the next spot she knew she could breathe in.
Mark watched us coming from where he was locked out of my car. I bleeped the locks and he turned to put the shit in the trunk. Except the cat who he left on the hood as he gave us a big smile. "Did he ever tell you about how he once tried to quit track?" he asked as we ran over and Dusty grabbed desperately for the door handle and went inside, shutting it with a slam and resting her head back on the headrest, taking deep breaths.
"Wow," Mark said, the smile falling as he watched her struggling to even out her breathing.
Ryan (The Mallick Brothers #2) Page 12
