“You don't care about that,” he said.
“Oh I do,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest as a taxi honked loudly on the street next to them. “I'm sure you had an amazing time with your gigantic family and all your fucking holiday cheer.” He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, trying to figure out what she was trying to say. She snorted out an angry laugh and then turned and walked away. He jammed his hands in his pockets and followed her. He kept a short distance behind her, mulling over all the things he wanted to say. What he wanted most was to get her in his car and take her back to his bed and do dirty things to her until she admitted that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. “Stop following me,” she tossed back over her shoulder. “I don't want to talk to you.”
“Too bad,” he said, pulling his own hood over his head as the wind kicked up around them.
“Isn't this stalking or something? Couldn't I get you arrested?”
“Call 911,” he said. “See how far it'll get you.”
“You're such an asshole,” she snapped, stomping to the crosswalk and stepping out into the street. A big black SUV roared past and Tate snapped to action. He slid his hands around her waist and yanked her back, out of the way of the oncoming traffic. She stumbled into him and he pulled her in closer, his arms sinking into the puffiness of her coat.
“Careful,” he said, even though it was hard to talk with his heart pounding in his throat.
“It was nowhere near me,” she grumbled, but she didn't move away from his touch.
“It was close enough,” he responded. “Too close.”
The light changed and the signal flashed that it was okay to walk. He didn't let her go, though. He wanted to drag her back to the car and force her to ride with him. He was in the mood to drive. He didn't care where. He just wanted to get away from all the shit and he wanted her to warm up to him again and he wanted everything back to the way it used to be between them. But he had no idea what to say or do to make that happen.
“Tate,” she said, breaking through his thoughts. “Let me go.”
“Not until you tell me why your day was shitty,” he said. “Or say you'll let me drive you home.”
“I'm tired,” she said, but she still didn't attempt to break away from his hold on her. He took that as a good sign. “Besides, it's not like you care so stop pretending you do.” He furrowed his brow at her words, wondering why the hell she would think he didn't care. After everything that they'd done and everything that had happened, that fucking pissed him off. All he did was think about her all day and night and she still thought he didn't give a shit about her? He dropped his arms and took a step back. She glanced back over her shoulder at him, her eyes barely visible past the fur of her hood. She stared at him for what seemed like a long time but was probably only a second or two. “Sam tried to steal the money,” she said and it took him a minute to decipher what she was saying. Then it all came to him in a flash. The twenty grand. The money that Sam had left her. The money she was planning on using for culinary school. “On Christmas, he came over to Gina's and I caught him going through my stuff.”
Tate didn't say anything, just stared back at her. His anger, which had started as a tiny spark, suddenly was roaring at full flame. She had invited a shit-storm into her house and then was shocked when it made a mess. He'd warned her and she'd ignored him. She'd chosen that fucking criminal over him, in fact. And yet, somehow, she was still pissed at him and acting like he was the one that had fucked her over. Unbelievable.
“Where is he?” Tate said.
“What?” She turned to look at him fully.
“I said, where the fuck is he?” Tate said, clenching his fists at his sides. He had an itch to get the bastard off the street and she was acting like she had no idea what he was talking about. But she was going to find out real quick how serious he was. He had no intentions of going easy on Sam Spears. It didn't matter that it wasn't his case file anymore. It didn't matter that he in homicide and no longer on the beat. None of that shit mattered. He only had one thing on his mind.
Sam Spears was going to wish he'd never stepped foot back in New York City.
***
Shay should've just gotten in his car.
She should have just let Tate drive her home, she knew that now. If she'd let him drive her home, they wouldn't be in the middle of the sidewalk, yelling at each other like two idiots. But she was too angry. She'd been angry for two days. Angry at her father for being such a huge failure. Angry at herself for letting everything happen the way it had. But at that moment, she was most angry at Tate.
For the first time since she'd met him, she took one look at his huge frame and dead stare and actually felt afraid. Not afraid for herself, but afraid for the one person she knew she shouldn't love but she still did. She was afraid for the one person who didn't deserve any love or consideration from her. She hated herself for being so weak. And she hated Tate for threatening her in that way. She hated him because it was easy. She hated him because it was convenient.
And he was making it so easy.
"I'll find him. I'll turn this city upside down looking for him. Then I'll throw his ass in jail and do everything I can to get him denied bail,” he growled, leaning in close to her.
"You're not going to do a damn thing," she said, her teeth clenched so hard that she almost worried they would break. “You're going to go and get in your car and drive away and leave us alone.”
“No,” he said shaking his head. “I'm going to catch his stupid ass and them I'm going to testify at his trial. I'll make sure he gets a long sentence. I'll make sure he rots in prison."
"No," she hissed. "You're going to leave him alone."
"Sorry, baby," he stepped closer to her until his face was inches from hers. "I'm going to make him pay."
"Stay out of it. It's none of your fucking business!" She could hear the shrill panic in her voice but she couldn't stop herself. She knew Tate was serious. Deadly serious. He was a cop, through and through. He wasn't going to stop until he followed through with his words. A hatred for cops had been born and bred in her for that very reason. She was bound by the criminal code, even if she wasn't a criminal anymore. She was a criminal's daughter and that was a life sentence.
"You are my business," he said, his words cutting through her. "If he wants to fuck with that, I'll bring the fight to him. I'll make him wish to God that he never came back here."
"It has nothing to do with you," she spat out, knowing that it was useless. Tate was going to be like a dog with a bone. He would never let it go, and there was nothing she could do about it. She hated feeling helpless. She hated feeling like she wasn't at the driver's seat of her own life. All the fucking men around her kept trying to force her to go their way. When all she wanted was to be free of it. To be free of all the bullshit.
"No, it's about you!" he barked out. "Why can't you fucking see that?" He grabbed her arms and she didn't even think. She pulled away so fast she almost stumbled and when he tried to grab her again, she shoved him as hard as she could. She could barely budge him, but as soon as she did it, the world seemed to go silent. She lifted her eyes to his and he was staring down at her, his face in shadow.
"Go away," she said, forcing herself to breathe. The frigid air burned her nostrils and throat but she kept gulping in air anyway. Her chest was so tight and her lungs felt like they were too big for her chest. Her heart was pounding. For a brief second, she wondered if she was having a heart-attack. “I'm done.” The words were simple, but she watched the impact of them hit him. She saw the slight reaction in his eyes. He was a master at the art of hiding his emotions, but if she watched his eyes, sometimes she could catch a glimpse of the truth because she knew where to look. She could tell he didn't believe her, even though he'd heard her loud and clear. “Don't come around anymore,” she said, surprised at how strong her voice sounded. But then her breath hitched in her throat and she almost choked on it.
“Shay,” h
e said, his voice almost inaudible over the wind.
“I don't want anything to do with it anymore,” she said, when she could speak again. “The past is dust. It's buried.” She heard how sure she sounded, how absolute. She realized that it was for the best, but it still felt like someone was drilling a screw right into the center of her chest. “He's gone and now I want you gone, too,” she said. The coldness that surrounded her was slowly numbing her pain to a dull roar. She told herself that the pain didn't matter. She was used to it. She would get used to life without her father again. And she would get used to life without Tate.
They were both toxic.
She grabbed at her purse and dug around inside until she found her keys. She pulled the cold metal out and fumbled with the fob, trying to get the extra set of keys off of her ring. He stood next to her, unmoving, his silence infuriating. He wasn't fighting her; he wasn't screaming anymore. He wasn't telling her that she was wrong or being an idiot. She didn't know what she expected, but his silence shouldn't have been a surprise. It wasn't like she expected the man to get down on his knees and declare his love for her or something. That wasn't real life. That was a fantasy. She'd spent long enough wrapped up in the fantasy of Tate Grayson. It was time to get back to cold, hard reality.
“Here,” she said, holding up his set of keys. He made no move to take the keys. He just stared at her. She couldn't read his eyes because they were in shadow, but she supposed that was for the best. She didn't want to see what he was really thinking. Whether he was happy, or relieved, or pissed, or disgusted, she didn't want to know. Her mind was made up. “Take them,” she said, letting impatience creep into her voice. She had to get away from him. She had to get home to the safety of Gina's and slam her bedroom door and shut out the world for as long as she could.
“Hold out your hand,” she said, holding up the keys. Tate didn't move. He just stood there like a big dark statue. His hood was pulled over his blond hair, which made him look even more like a stranger. Good, she thought. It only made what she was about to do even easier.“Hold out your hand,” she demanded again.
“What are you doing?” he said, his voice hoarse. She felt the screw tighten in her chest and she bit down on her lip until the pain passed. It may hurt, she told herself, but it would hurt a hell of a lot more if she didn't end it as soon as possible. Tate was only one man; there were hundreds of thousands of men in the city. Decent men, men that were far removed from cops and criminals, men that she'd never met in her past life. There were other men for her out there, she knew. In her rational mind she knew it made sense. But in her heart, she couldn't imagine Tate being replaced with someone else. It just didn't seem possible.
“Take your keys,” she said, before she relented. She reminded herself that couldn't afford weakness anymore. The price was too high. “I don't need them anymore.”
“I gave you those. They're yours,” he said and she could hear his breathing quicken.
“I don't need them and I don't want them,” she murmured. He clicked his tongue and looked out toward the street. She watched him work his jaw, like he wanted to say something. She waited and waited, wanting him to say something despite everything, but he didn't. No words came. “Hold out your hand,” she repeated again. He didn't look at her. He looked everywhere but at her. But eventually, he held up his left hand and she dropped the keys into his gloved palm. She stared down at the small shining pieces of metal and told herself that even though it was the end of whatever she and Tate were, it was just the start of whatever she was going to be. She was going to be fine without him, she told herself. She was going to be fine no matter what.
But even as she told herself that, she still felt like she was about to die.
“I'm going to go now,” she said when she couldn't take being close to him for one more second. She turned and stepped into the street. A car rushed in front of her and she gasped in surprise. She suppressed the urge to look back at Tate and see his reaction. Instead, she checked that it was all clear and then she finally hurried across the cross walk. After that, she didn't stop. She kept on going until she made it back to Gina's.
It was only then that she let herself cry.
It was only then that she let herself fall apart.
Chapter Twenty
The vibrating cellphone on his nightstand jarred Tate out of his light sleep. Grumbling, he immediately grabbed it and accepted the call, not even bothering to open his eyes before he pressed the phone to his ear. “What?” he said, knowing automatically it was work. Something bad had happened, somewhere in the city. Whether or not it was his problem and he would have to get out of bed had yet to be seen.
“Hey bro,” the voice on the other line said. He recognized it immediately. It was an officer from the Harlem street beat, O'Malley.
“Better be good,” Tate said, annoyed that his sleep being interrupted. Thanks to a certain female, he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in weeks.
“Homicide on 129th. Guess who.” O'Malley sounded like he was busting at the seams to tell him about it, but Tate wasn't in the mood for games, especially not at two in the morning. Seemingly sensing Tate's annoyance, O'Malley didn't bother waiting for a guess. “Fucking Sam Spears. Took two to the chest. We're guessing a .38. Still waiting on the coroner to pronounce it.” Tate bolted upright, awake instantly. For a second he couldn't move as the news sunk in. Sam Spears. Shay's father. Dead.
“Fuck,” he said, only one thing on his mind. “You sure?”
“Yeah, bro,” O'Malley said, his voice cutting out as a siren rode by in the background. “Shot him down in the middle of the street like a dog.”
“Who did?”
“We don't know. Neighbors didn't see shit. Nobody's talking.”
“Just him?” Tate felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead, despite the chill in the air of his bedroom.
“What?” O'Malley said, his voice choppy again.
“What about his daughter?” Tate said, trying to keep his voice steady. His heart was a stone in his chest as a million fucked-up thoughts flashed in his brain. He almost threw the phone across the room when he had a vision of Shay, stiff and lifeless on the ground, her blood leaking out all over the street for everyone to gawk at.
“What daughter?”
“Spears has a daughter. Lives in the neighborhood. Was she there?” Tate cracked his knuckles as he waited what felt like a lifetime for O'Malley to answer, telling himself that she was fine. He was just being fucking paranoid. If Shay had been hurt, he would know it somehow. He would feel it in his bones.
“I don't know about any daughter. Spears has a definite date with a body bag tonight, though.” O'Malley's end of the line crackled, and Tate could hear other voices. He tossed the blanket off of him and stood, not even bothering to turn on the light. “I gotta go, bro.”
“Hey,” Tate barked out before O'Malley could disconnect. “Find out about the daughter for me, would you?”
“No problem,” O'Malley said, then the line went dead. Tate yanked open a drawer and grabbed a folded shirt off the top of the pile. He dressed quickly in the dark, only one thought on his mind. It had been three days since he'd seen or talked to her. He had no idea where she was, but all he knew was that wherever she was, he had to get to her. He didn't know whether she knew about her father yet or not, but either way, she was going to need someone to be there for her. She was going to need him. And there was no way in hell he was going to let her go through it alone, no matter how much she thought she hated him.
He slammed the door shut to his apartment and rushed down the stairs, taking two at a time. He tried calling her as he headed down, but she didn't answer. Her phone rang and rang and then went to voicemail.
“This is me,” her husky voice said into his ear. “If you can't be bothered to leave a message, I won't be bothered to call your ass back. Bye!” she chirped, her happy voice in contrast to the dry humor of her words. Hearing her voice was like a kick to the stomach. He wanted to talk
to her and make sure she was okay. He had to get to her, so he shrugged it off and kept going. He didn't know where she was, but he was going to find her. First off, he'd try Gina's and then the salon. Content with his plan, he pushed open the front door to his apartment and hurried out into the dark, cold night. When his phone vibrated in his hand, he almost jumped a foot.
“Hey,” O'Malley's voice said in his ear when he answered. He couldn't help feel a sense of disappointment that it wasn't Shay, but he wasn't totally disheartened.
“What?” Tate said, fumbling with his keys as he reached his car, parked a block from the apartment.
“The daughter. I asked around. Found out they took her down to the 50th precinct for questioning.” O'Malley said. Tate let out a low breath as relief passed through him.
“Did she witness the shooting?” Tate asked, his hands steadier as he unlocked the car door and wrenched it open.
“No idea. All I know is what I told you.”
“Which detectives?”
“Ramirez and Holder. You know 'em?”
“Yeah.” Tate sighed and slammed the car door shut behind him. He stuck the key in the ignition and the car roared to life. She was going to hate that, he knew. The last place she would want is to be in an interrogation room with a pair of New York's finest. Ramirez and Holder weren't assholes, but they weren't powder-puffs either. He was sure Shay was in fight or flight mode. With her back against the wall, who knew how she would react? He said a quick thanks to O'Malley and hung up the phone. He tossed it on the seat next to him and peeled away from the curb, heading south toward Harlem. As he slammed on his brakes at a red light, he cursed under his breath. He took his foot off the brake and inched forward, his eye on the light. When it finally changed to green, he gunned it again, speeding through the residential streets. It was then that a long forgotten memory began to surface in his brain. He hadn't thought about it in so long, but all of a sudden, it hit him like a ton of bricks.
Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) Page 32
