I fixed the hummingbird Stone carved for me.
You can see where I glued its little wing, but I don’t care. It’s beautiful to me. I keep it on my bedside table next to a tiny replica of the Eiffel Tower I got the first time we visited Paris and a turtle made of sapphire, my birthstone, and some coins from trips we took. Stone’s bird is my favorite of all my treasures.
I dream about the way he touched me on the ride we took. His hand between my legs. His other on the steering wheel. How free I felt for once. Flying.
Sometimes I think I see him out of the corner of my eye.
There’s one snowy Saturday in March when I’m shopping at the mall with Chelsea, and I’m sure I see the flash of his face on the level above—dark hair, green eyes blazing down at me.
I dropped my bags right there, told her to wait, and bounded up the escalator, practically knocking people over.
When I got up there, he was gone.
And what would I have done if I’d caught him, anyway? How could I face him, knowing my own father had a hand in what happened to him? Well, I don’t know for sure. I hope not.
I tell myself it’s for the best that we stay apart. I think he and I both know it. Stone and I don’t have to talk or be in the same room or even the same world to know people like us can’t be together.
But if I could say one thing to him, it would be to tell him he’s not a monster. I would tell him he’s beautiful. And the bravest person I ever met.
Chapter 17
Almost two years later
Stone
I’m sitting on the hood of my car at the entrance to the Sugarbeet Hills Campground, just another camper in the shade of the tall oaks, sneaking away to do phone shit.
But really waiting for Grayson.
Nervous.
Two years he was inside. I still can’t believe it worked. All those months of planning, all that money paid to Grayson’s rat. The whole prison breakout. And the way he got word to us through that ridiculous prison stories journal? Brilliant.
We fucking pulled it off. Knock me over with a feather.
But I won’t rest until I see him with my own eyes. And he could have a tail, so I’m armed to the teeth. Things got messy. He had to take a hostage.
I pull the ball cap low over my head and keep my focus on my phone, but my awareness is everywhere.
Soon enough, I catch sight of the blue Honda rambling up the shady gravel road. My heart is smashing near out of my chest. Wait and be sure. Don’t blow it now.
First thing I notice: it’s two people. Grayson’s still got that hostage with him. What the fuck? But my anger about the hostage disappears when he jumps out of the car, comes at me for a bear hug.
“Grayson. Fuck.” I pull him to me, hold him a long time. It’s not my style, but it’s Grayson, and there are no words for how incredible it feels to see him. I pull back and clap his shoulder. “Motherfucker, looking good.”
Actually, he looks older, harder.
That’s partly on me. I should’ve seen it coming, him getting framed like he did.
I tell him about being pulled over on the way here. Ten hours I drove from Franklin City. But I had a fake ID. They let me go.
“The guys cannot wait to see you. Two words: party central. Whatever you want.” I glance toward the girl in the car, sitting like a petrified deer, eyes staring ahead. Why does he still have her? He needs to get rid of her. “When are you going to do it?”
He shrugs. Mumbles. Grayson’s always had a soft heart, though he wouldn’t like me to know it. Not one for violence.
“I’ll do it,” I say. “Let me do this for you.”
“I got it,” he says.
I narrow my eyes, not liking this.
“She can still be useful,” he adds.
Useful. Such bullshit. He never could lie to me. I shake my head. Getting attached to some hostage is the last thing he needs to do. Every minute he keeps her doubles the danger—to all of us, now that she’s seen us together. “Grayson,” I warn.
“Fuck you,” he says. “It’s not like that. I got this.”
“Shoot her in the woods out there. No one’ll find her.”
He gives me a hard look. Yeah, it’s a harsh thing to say. Extreme.
It’s just that we don’t do captives, and we definitely don’t do relationships. We made that pact a long time ago. No women except to fuck. Allegiance to each other and nobody else. One blade to protect my brothers, one blade for vengeance.
I made myself stop seeing Brooke, and it feels like having my leg sawed off not to see her, touch her. Which just proves the point. That kind of connection? It’s a weakness.
“It’s under control,” he growls. “And then we’ll pick up where we left off. At the Bradford.”
“You’re not bringing her to the Bradford,” I warn. “I’ll tell you that right now.”
He holds up his hands like that’s the last thing he’d do.
“She’s a hostage,” I remind him. “She served her purpose. You keep her, and it endangers you and your brothers.” I give him a look. “Keeping her, it makes you like them.” Them meaning the ones who took us. Are my words penetrating? I can’t tell.
I grab the clothes I brought for him. His favorite old boots.
I watch the girl while he changes. She’s pale, brown hair in a messy bun. Delicate features. Pretty.
Maybe he can’t do it. Or maybe he’s waiting for a better spot. I’m not going to fight him on this. Unless he tries to keep her. Then I’ll deal with her myself—for his own good and hers.
I tell him we have leads on the governor. How we’re going to make him pay. How awesome it’ll be. He seems distracted by the girl. “You’re okay?” I ask.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” He gives me his classic grin.
We discuss logistics.
Ten minutes later, I watch him drive off with a bad feeling in my gut, like everything’s about to change. Maybe it’s a little hypocritical of me to warn him away from this girl when I’ve been taking Brooke hostage like it’s a goddamn hobby.
But like I said, I stopped. More than a year and a half since I’ve touched her.
Every so often I let myself follow her around for a couple hours. It’s past the point where I can pretend it’s about keeping her quiet. This is about needing to be close to her, even if it’s twenty yards away. I look at her and remind myself of what I can’t have.
It’s what Grayson can’t have either. He’s my brother, but he has to live by these rules. This is how I keep all of us focused. This is how I keep us alive.
And it’s working. Case in point: we’re closing in on the players.
Jimmy Brass turned out to be a retired cop who did all kinds of work for them. Signed off on patrols that never happened. Made evidence disappear the one time there was a bust.
He never touched one of us, that I know of, but that doesn’t matter. He’s plant food now. Fertilizer. Six feet under. He put his dumb kid through college with money we earned with our bodies. He deserved what I did to him.
Now we’re closing in on Keeper. There’s an old paper trail someone forgot to cover up. A shell company that bought and sold a house—not the house, but the one next door. How’s that for twisted? Can’t have the neighbors complaining about kids screaming in pain.
Keeper bought that house and kept it empty on purpose. They hide behind nicknames because they’re cowards, but I’m going to find him. I’m going to break him.
It’s times like this that I really miss Brooke, when I’m tense, when I’m getting close to a kill. She has a way of making these things bearable.
Chapter 18
Stone
There’s a place at the top of the Bradford where a greenhouse used to be. I never saw this place in its heyday, but I imagine it produced thick red roses to put on crisp white linens. Now it’s my lookout.
I have a room in the hotel, like the other guys. Bare walls and a clean mattress. More than I could have hoped for when I was
a kid, but the ruined greenhouse is where I spend most of my time. From here I can see all four corners of the Bradford. I can see the cross streets and the buildings beyond—abandoned, mostly, which is what makes this place perfect. Over the ridge of brick and metal, the city spreads out in front of us, bustling with headlights, with sound. The world spinning on without any idea that we’re here.
That’s the point, of course. If the cops knew about this place, they’d be on our asses. Some of our business interests are legal. Some of them aren’t.
And Grayson, well, he’s a fugitive since his prison break.
The Bradford is more than a place to sleep, more than our operational headquarters. It’s a safe haven. And it’s my job to keep it that way. That means keeping my finger on the pulse of the streets. I have a network of informants throughout Franklin City. A few cops on my payroll. There are a hundred ways I make sure this place stays secret, but I like to watch for myself. Sometimes it’s the only way I can take a deep breath—with my gaze on the empty streets around us, making sure the crew is safe.
Something is off today.
I lift my face to the breeze, clench my hand around the rusted wrought-iron banister. What the hell is it? I’m about to go downstairs, to make Knox run his scans or whatever the fuck he does on the computer to find a problem I can fucking solve, when I see it—a streak of red.
For half a second, there’s relief. Part of me always knows when one of the crew is away from the Bradford. I can feel it as surely as if I were a farmer sensing a goddamn storm rolling in. The red streak? That’s Knox. The cherry-striped Shelby is his favorite car, which is saying something. He has twenty in his personal inventory alone, not to mention the garage he keeps for the rest of us.
His favorite, which is why I know he’d never grind the gears so loud I can hear the crunching echo off the brick walls a block away. Tires bounce onto the broken curb. The bottom of the car scrapes concrete with an ear-splitting screech.
I have my cell phone out, a calm sense of purpose washing over me. This is what the crew needs me for. For times like this, when I can be cold as ice.
The Shelby cuts the corner too close, sending mortar and brick flying into the street.
“Get Nate here,” I say, knowing Cruz will be on the other end of the line, pinging the only brother who doesn’t live at the Bradford on our secure line. “Nine-one-one,” I say as the car comes to a haphazard halt in front of the hotel, where the old valet station would have been.
Fuck. I’m flying down the stairs, still talking.
“And find out what’s happening on the police scanners. Some shit went down, and I need to know what they know.”
I make a quick stop to grab Grayson.
“It’s Knox.”
Grayson doesn’t argue, but I feel his tension as he follows me down the steps. “On a Tuesday?”
Every single one of us has our demons. Whether it’s sex or blood or drugs. There’s something we use to numb the pain. Or, worse, something we use to relive it. What happened back then fucked us up so we’re not really human anymore. We’re animals with damn-near unlimited funds and access to the world’s worst vices. Knox’s demon is alcohol. At least it was until I sat him in a fucking room for a month, while he swore at me and called me every name in the book, and dried him out. He hasn’t touched a drop since.
“No,” I say on a growl, but the truth is, I don’t know.
I don’t know until I reach the car, its engine still running, and yank open the door.
The smell of rum doesn’t greet me. No, it’s metallic. It’s blood. Knox is bleeding from a hole in his chest, slumped against the black leather, eyes glazed with pain and delirium.
“Fuck,” Grayson mutters, and I hear the panic in his voice.
I hear the panic, but I don’t feel it. Because this is who I am. Cold. Hard. Steady as a rock. “I’ll pull him out. You grab his right side. We’ll take him upstairs and stabilize him.”
When you say words like that, that’s what makes them true. The fact that I could say it so strong and clear, that’s what Grayson needs to pull himself together. Maybe it’s what Knox needs to hear deep in his shock-numbed mind.
We’re in the main living room twenty minutes later, keeping the wound stanched, when Nate shows up, looking winded and pissed.
“If this is another one of your pranks—”
“It’s Knox,” I say flatly.
“Still? He needs an AA meeting, not a doctor.”
“It’s a gunshot,” I snap. “You got anything in your bag of tricks for that?”
That spurs him into action. Nate gets off on healing people, though they don’t let you near human bodies when you’re not actually a person on any government records. But vet schools, we faked enough documentation to get him through admissions. He earned his diploma, and that’s all he’s needed to practice ever since. It’s good, though. The animals. The farm. The fucking wholesomeness of it.
It’s another hour before Nate’s removed the bullet and sutured the wound.
Another two hours before Knox wakes up from the anesthetic. Those horse drugs don’t fuck around. Which means I’ve been in the dark about what actually happened for way too long. Cruz has checked around enough to know there aren’t any reports about someone matching Knox’s description or even gunfire on this side of town. There’s no disturbances on the perimeter. It seems like we’re safe, but I need to know for sure.
Knox blinks up at me, still groggy. “Stone?”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice hard. Like I don’t care that he just went through hell.
“It was the…” He pauses through a labored breath, pain bright on his features. “The detective.”
“Detective Rivera?” There’s a sharp sting of disappointment. I would never admit this to the crew, but I thought that guy was clean. I don’t usually trust cops, don’t usually trust anyone, but I at least thought he was clean.
“Yeah, but not…he must have been following me. When I tried to make the deal, he was there. They thought it was a setup. Shot…me. Rivera tried to pin us down. Barely got out.”
Jesus. Rivera may not have pulled the trigger, but he’s going to get us killed pulling a stunt like that. The men we do business with, they aren’t about cocktails and handshakes. More like guns and bloodshed.
They don’t care about those boys in a basement somewhere. All they care about is cold hard cash, which is what we were going to exchange for information.
“Did you get it?” I ask, my voice tight.
A different kind of pain flashes over Knox’s face. “I’m sorry.”
Fuck. We need that information. Those guys won’t come near us again after this.
We can’t protect ourselves long term without information about what happened to us. About who framed Grayson. Forces more powerful than us need us quiet. Dead, preferably.
I want to swear and kick something. Instead I force down my feelings. Force myself to look at the bandage stained red. At the sheen of sweat on my brother’s face. He’s hurting. If I were still in that basement, I would have told him to touch the hot rivet, to let the pain out that way, because I was dumb and desperate.
Now I nod to Nate from across the sofa, and he injects something into the bag. Morphine, probably. It will take a few minutes to kick in. I grasp Knox’s hand so he doesn’t feel alone between now and then. “You ever seen a Shelby Cobra with an automatic?”
He lets out a strangled sound. “Blasphemy.”
This is what we talked about that month I kept him locked up. Felt bad about it, like it was some grown-up version of the basement, but I didn’t have any other choice. Couldn’t let him drink his life away. Or endanger the rest of the crew. This was our grown-up rivet, talking about cars. I read all these books on pointless car facts just so I could keep him interested.
“There were only twenty ever made. Three-speed.”
“You’re shitting me.”
I shrug. “Probably easier to drive when you get
shot.”
His laugh turns into a groan, and I keep up the steady stream of useless car talk for fifteen minutes. By then his muscles have turned soft, his lids lowered. His hand is burning hot in mine, but he doesn’t let go. “You gonna stay?” he whispers.
He must know he’s going under. He’ll be asleep; what does he care if I’m here? But I can’t tell him no. “I’m not going anywhere,” I say, thinking that maybe I’m the rivet now. Taking all the hurt inside myself. Maybe I always was.
Chapter 19
Brooke
“Here.”
I stare at the small foil packet in between the eyeliner and lipstick. Even though I’ve never seen one in person, I know what it is. A condom. It says For Her Comfort on the label, which is almost sweet of my mother. Except that she’s not giving me a choice.
“I don’t need that,” I say, knowing that’s the wrong answer.
She doesn’t look surprised by my refusal. She doesn’t look accepting, either. “It’s normal to be nervous about this. That’s why I want you to be prepared.”
“Mom, I barely know Liam. And I don’t want to have sex with him.”
Disapproval flashes across her face, which is so like mine. The Botox has kept the wrinkles away. “He’s spending a lot of money on tonight. The limo, the dinner at Bel Canto.”
“So what? Does that mean he’s paying me for sex?”
She looks horrified. And angry. “Of course not. This is a completely normal thing that happens on prom night. There are girls who would love to go out with Liam McConnell.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. “Because his family’s rich?”
My bedroom turns ten degrees colder, and I shiver in my pale pink slip. My dress hangs on the back of the door, the perfect combination of sophisticated and sexy. I might even like it if I had chosen it myself. Instead it was planned for me, like everything else in my life. This is the first time Mom’s let me wear black.
Need you Now (Top Shelf Romance Book 2) Page 98
