Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2)

by Lavender Parker

  A heavy hand landed on her shoulder and she jerked away on instinct, stepping to the side so that whoever was touching her lost their grip. The class had her on high alert and her instincts were sharpened. She swung her head around to look at who had touched her, but she didn't feel any relief when she saw who it was. In fact her heart sped up even faster.

  “I know you,” he said, breaking the silence bluntly. He was still in his T-shirt and track pants, like he hadn't bothered to put on a coat before he'd followed her out into the chilly night. “Don't I?”

  “I don't know,” she answered. “Do you?” He squinted down at her, his breath coming out in foggy clouds. He clicked his tongue like was impatient and she decided to have mercy on him, since he was probably freezing his ass off. “We've met before.”

  “Met where?” he shot back. She cocked her head, debating if she was going to give him the easy out. She didn't know if she should be pissed that he didn't seem to fully remember her, seeing as how she'd never been able to forget him.

  “Harlem,” she said after a minute of internal arguing.

  “That's what I thought,” he said, glancing out at the street as a cab drove by, breaking up the silence of the cold night. “You're a long way from 125th street.”

  “I needed a new gym,” she replied.

  “Out of all the gyms in the city, you come down to Soho? You show up at House of Pain?”

  “I needed a self-defense class,” she lied easily, shrugging. “Actually, I could've used one a long time ago.”

  “Why?” he asked, his voice lower. “Did somebody hurt you?” Like he actually cared.

  “They tried,” she said, memories of her first few weeks in prison coming back to her in a rush. She hadn't thought about those dark times in awhile, and she didn't like rehashing the memories now. Especially not in front of one of the men who'd helped put her in prison. He narrowed his eyes at her again and she wondered what was going through his head. She wondered if he'd put two and two together yet.

  “I don't put much stock in coincidence,” he said. “Even in this city,”

  “Me neither.” She shrugged. “The first time we met, maybe. The second time, not so much. This time?” She bit down on her lip and shook her head, letting the insinuation dangle in the air between them.

  “If it's not a coincidence, what is it?” He crossed his arms over his chest and she let her eyes run all over his broad shoulders and his big biceps, visible under the thin cotton of his T-shirt. She told herself that it didn't matter that he was attractive. Because he was. The years had been more than kind to him. The first time she'd met him, he'd been cute but a little bland, she remembered. A little too straight-laced and definitely too white, but still cute. Now? Now he was bigger, rougher, and angrier. Or frustrated, maybe? There was something unrestful about him. He didn't seem very relaxed or peaceful, that was for sure. She supposed she should be happy about that, but it hardly gave her any comfort, even though she wanted to make him suffer. “You can't be who I think you are. You're supposed to be in prison,” he said, his voice raspier.

  “Do the math.” She raised her eyebrows as she waited for him to count how many years had passed. She watched the realization come over him. “Who knew six years could fly by so fast?” He stared down at her for long moment and she wondered what he was thinking. She wondered if he was thinking about how long those years had really been.

  “What do you want,” he asked, finally.

  “I saw you the other day. Right down the street from where I work,” she said before she could stop herself. she trailed off and let out a foggy breath.

  “Where do you work?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. She could see the cop in him then. He was trying to get her to slip up and give him information, but she wasn't going to fall for it. She was angry and her heart was pounding, but she had to keep on her toes. She had to keep herself from saying something she would regret.

  “It doesn't matter,” she said, brushing off his question. “What matters is that I saw you.”

  “So?”

  “So I don't want to see you,” she shot back.

  “Let me get this straight,” he said, his flat tone pissing her off even more. “You don't want to see me in your hood but you go out of your way to come down here and see me?” Shay sighed and chewed on the inside of her cheek. When he said it like that, it sounded crazy. But the problem was she didn't know what she wanted, exactly. “What do you want? To start trouble?” he asked.

  “I want to know where my father is,” she blurted out. As soon as she said the words, she realized it was true. “Do you know?” He stared down at her, not answering right away. She ran her eyes all over his face, trying to read him but it was hard.

  “Go home,” he finally said. “I don't want to see you back here.”

  “I don't want to see you in my neighborhood either, but we can't always get what we want,” she murmured. He clicked his tongue and shook his head, his face pinching for a brief second. He was getting pissed off, she realized.

  “You don't want to start trouble with me, Shay,” he said, his voice calmer than his demeanor. The sound of her name crossing his lips was a shock to her system. It sounded too familiar, too close. For the second time that night, Tate Grayson intimidated her and she didn't like it.

  “Go to hell,” she said, taking a step closer to him as if to prove to him or to herself that she wasn't scared of him.

  “I tried to help you,” he said but she didn't back down.

  “Bullshit,” she said. “You were there the night they arrested me. I saw you.”

  “You still don't want to take responsibility.” He shook his head, like he was the only rational person in the whole world and she was completely nuts. “You think you didn't do anything wrong?” She scoffed, the disarming urge to punch him right in the face bubbling up in her. She wished that she had, when they were in the ring. If he hadn't moved just in time, she would've clocked him right in the nose. A missed opportunity if there'd ever been one.

  “I have to go,” she said, turning and hurrying away before she proved him right that she was nuts. She was so angry, like the years of repressing her emotions were finally catching up to her. When she'd first gotten to prison, she'd been angry. Scared, but mostly angry. The anger had slowly drained out of her the longer she was inside, though. For the last year, she'd been mostly numb. She'd gotten through every day by trying not to feel. She hadn't wanted to feel hope that she was finally going to get out, just in case something happened to prevent it. She hadn't wanted to laugh and make friends with the other women because then it would be like accepting that she deserved to be in Bedford. Now, it was over, but she was still holding on to all of the old shit. That's all she had, really—a lifetime of old shitty hang-ups.

  She realized he was following her as she jogged through a crosswalk to avoid a speeding cab. She glanced back over her shoulder as she hit the curb because the cabbie honked at her and she was going to throw him the finger. That was the mood she was in. That's when she saw Tate waiting on the opposite corner, patiently, for the cab to pass. He looked up and caught her eye. She was done with the conversation, but he obviously wasn't. Annoyed, she turned and kept going. She was the one who'd come after him and now he was the one chasing her. The irony wasn't lost on her.

  “What do you want with your father?” he said, his voice too close for comfort. She glanced back over her shoulder and he was right behind her. “You want to go back to stealing cars for him?”

  “Fuck you!” she hissed, quickening her pace.

  “How old are you? Twenty-three? Twenty-four?” he said but she ignored him and focused on keeping her feet moving. She sidestepped a couple walking hand in hand and kept going. But she could feel him behind her, moving with her like a shadow. “You're still young,” he continued, his voice carrying above the sound of the wind.“Are you going to school?” he asked.

  “Don't do that,” she said, shaking her head but keeping her eyes ahead. She
could see the bright green globes that signaled the train stop was on the corner. She was so close to making a clean getaway. “Stop pretending that you care.” She'd fallen for his nice-guy act once and she wasn't going to do it again.

  “I have a sister who's almost your age,” he said. “The deaf girl in the self-defense class. Her name is Tiny. She's a little bit younger than you.”

  “I don't care,” she responded.

  “She had a lot of shit happen to her, in her childhood. But she's in school now. She wants to be some kind of a scientist, of all fucking things.” He was almost side-by-side with her now. His legs were longer than hers and it took him no time to catch up with her.

  “Did she ever go to prison?”

  “Nope,” he responded.

  “Then I don't give a shit,” she said, slowing to a stop at the mouth of the train stop. The stairs stretched down into the ground, giving her an exit. But she couldn't quite leave him just yet. She pivoted on her heel to face him. “Don't act like you're so much older than me and you know so much more.”

  “I am older than you. I do know more.”

  “Well I'm not your goody-toe shoes sister and I'm not a fucking punk so don't pretend like I am,” she said, glaring up at him. “It's none of your damn business what I'm doing with myself.”

  “Hey, I didn't come looking for you. You came looking for me,” he said, his breath foggy in front of his face. She could hear the distant rumbling of the train below as it moved toward the station, but he was staring down at her intensely and for a minute, she forgot all about making her escape. She was too busy thinking about the time years ago, when he'd almost arrested her in the beauty shop. He'd looked down at her like he was looking at her now, like she was a puzzle he had to figure out. Back then, he'd figured her out really quick. Life hadn't been as difficult when she was sixteen and caught stealing a tube of lipstick.

  She didn't know why she'd come after him. She didn't know why she'd decided to go to House of Pain, or why she couldn't get her mind off of him. In the back of her mind, she knew that what he was saying was true—she should go to school, she should make something of herself. The fact that he was right only annoyed her more.

  “You're going to catch a cold,” she said because she noticed that he was shivering. He was holding himself tight so she wouldn't see it, but she did. She wasn't worried about him, exactly, but she hoped he was worried enough about himself to turn back and leave her alone. He didn't seem to care, though. He just stared down at her, like he was waiting for her to give him some kind of answer. But she didn't have any answers and she had a feeling he didn't either.

  “Shay,” he said and it almost sounded like a question but she had no idea what he was asking. The sound of her name coming out of his mouth did something to her, internally. It was cold outside, but a creeping heat was spreading through her stomach. Before, she would've said it was anger. But at that moment, she didn't know. There were so many feelings jumbled up inside of her that she had no idea what she was feeling at that very moment.

  She could hear the train coming, so she turned and ran down the stairs, fumbling in her coat pocket for her Metrocard. The train screeched loudly, braking hard as it reached the station. She swiped her card quickly and pushed her way past the turnstile. As she stepped onto the platform, she couldn't resist turning back and seeing if he'd followed her down. She wasn't surprised to see him through the bars that separated them, studying her. He wanted answers. Maybe he was pissed, as well. Good, she thought as the train's doors opened. She wanted him to be mad. She wanted him to be shaken up. Maybe that was all she wanted. Maybe that was good enough.

  She forced herself to look away from him as she boarded the train, but it didn't last. She grabbed the pole and glanced back over her shoulder, trying to be sly but failing. He was still standing there. He hadn't moved. His eyes were still on her, even as the doors slammed shut and the train lurched forward. She didn't stop looking for him either, until the train entered the tunnel and he faded from view. Then she slumped into a seat and took a deep breath and pressed her hand to her chest. She closed her eyes, telling herself to calm down. Tate Grayson was intimidating, there was no denying it. He was big and hard to read and too quiet. She wasn't used to quiet people. She was used to loud people who talked a mile a minute and laughed and said inappropriate things. She wasn't used to hard questions and deep stares. She wasn't used to him. The sad truth was, she didn't know what she wanted from Tate Grayson.

  All she knew was that it felt like she hadn't gotten it yet.

  ***

  The girl in the picture looked terrified. Her eyes were bright and wild. Her pretty face was calm, but her eyes gave her away. She was trying to be tough. She'd almost succeeded in fooling everybody, Tate thought as he ran his thumb over the edge of the mugshot. Everybody thought that she would crack, but she hadn't. But in the picture, it was plain to see. She was scared to death.

  Tate slammed Shay Spears's file shut and tossed it on his desk. He'd read through it three times and he didn't even know what he was looking for. The whole situation was so fucking frustrating. What was even stranger was that he was considering going to look for her. He knew where her aunt's beauty salon was. He knew Shay Spears's old stomping grounds like the back of his hand. They were his stomping grounds as well. He'd worked in Harlem his entire time on the force. He didn't know why she had suddenly appeared, but he didn't like surprises. He didn't like not knowing what was coming around the corner for him. And he definitely didn't like that she seemed determined to fuck with him.

  He leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his eyes. He could still see her on the subway platform, hopping into the train while he stood there on the other side of the gate like an idiot. He'd considered jumping the turnstile and grabbing her before she got on, but first, that would've been illegal, and second, that would've been crazy. So he'd just stood there and watched her get away scot-free, while he was left with a million questions. He'd gone back to House of Pain and grabbed his stuff and headed home, but he still couldn't shake whatever feelings she'd made bubble up in him.

  The truth of the matter was, he'd never forgotten Shay Spears. Her case was one of those cases that had stuck with him through the years and he wasn't exactly sure why. What had happened to her had been shitty, but it wasn't like she was innocent. Everybody on the sting force the night she'd gotten arrested had known that she hadn't stolen the car, but it didn't matter. She was driving stolen property without a license. When they'd finally sat her down in the interrogation room, she'd been uncooperative. The District Attorney made it clear that he wasn't going to go easy on her, despite it being her first offense, but it hadn't made a difference.

  Her eventual prison sentence hadn't come as a shock to anyone, except maybe her. It was shitty, but it was what it was. If police did their job, criminals went to prison. That's how the system worked, on a good day. He'd been a member of the NYPD long enough to know that sometimes criminals got away and sometimes innocent people had to suffer. Shay Spears's father was a prime example of that.

  They'd never caught the bastard. He'd fled the City after Shay was arrested and no one had laid eyes on him since. Sam Spears was underground somewhere, biding his time. No one knew where he was and if someone did know, they weren't talking. Tate was sure Sam would fuck up at some point and end up in prison sooner or later. It just hadn't happened yet. Not that it was any of Tate's concern. He was no longer on the case. He'd moved to homicide four years earlier. Since Sam Spears was very much alive, he was no longer Tate's problem.

  Neither was Shay Spears.

  It didn't matter that she'd been on his mind since early that morning, when he'd woken up from a fitful sleep and stared up the ceiling in the darkness and thought about her soft, curvy body pressed against his in the ring. He thought about the way she'd glared up at him on the street, her eyes flashing and angry. She was looking damn fine, not that it mattered. She was legally grown now, no longer a teenager, but she wa
s still young. She wasn't much older than Tiny, for fuck's sake. But when he looked at her, he didn't see someone as young and innocent as Tiny. Shay was hard, like she had steel in her bones. Her gaze was knowing and weary, like she'd seen and done some shit in her life. No, she wasn't innocent in the least.

  He wondered if she still wore bright red lipstick.

  Not that it mattered. Hopefully, he was never going to see Shay Spears again. He had a feeling it wasn't going to be that easy, but a part of him hoped it was. He had enough going on in his life. He had twenty open cases; he was busy. He was dating, or trying to date, and that was a hassle. And he had to stay in shape and keep up his skills in the ring. That was more than enough problems. He didn't need a crazy woman with a chip on her shoulder trying to distract him. As he shoved her file to the corner of his crowded desk, he told himself he wasn't going to think about Shay any more.

  Especially in the middle of the night.

  His phone vibrated beside his elbow and he grabbed it and answered it without checking the ID.

  “Grayson,” he said, grabbing another thick file and cracking it open.

  “Tate?” a familiar female voice said on the other line and he felt his heart squeeze in his chest in surprise. “It's, uh, it's Leah. From the other night?” He raked his teeth over his bottom lip as his heart sped up as quickly as it had seized.

  “Hi,” he said, drumming his fingers on the desk to try and distract himself from the slight panic that he was experiencing. The call was completely unexpected, but not unwelcome. He liked Leah—she was pretty, funny, and charming. She didn't seem to take any shit, which he always appreciated. He certainly didn't want to fuck up any chance he had with her. Especially since she seemed to like him too. If she didn't like him, why else would she be calling?