First Time Lucky

by Chance Carter

  My eyes shot to Wes. If he’d looked a little bit less smug about the whole situation, I could have felt something akin to gratitude for him.

  I jutted out my chin. Now was the time for me to be strong. I’d been trying it on for weeks like a rented costume, but it was the skin I needed to wear as my own now.

  “And? Do you see what all the fuss is about?”

  Preston sneered. “I’m not sure I do. You’re hot, but so is she.” He pointed down to Sasha. “Maybe it’s just the virgin blood that calls out to him. It would probably be easier for everyone if we did something about that.”

  I blanched but forced my features to remain composed, even though I was sure my hands were starting to shake.

  “If you touch me, I’ll make you regret it.”

  Preston chuckled. “Darling, that just makes me want to touch you more. I think you’re full of shit.”

  “And I think you’re a piece of shit. Only one of us can be right.”

  His jaw tightened. “I suggest you maintain a little more decorum when you speak to me. I’m not some teacher at your high school, and you won’t be sent to the principal’s office. I deal with insults personally.”

  I was feeling bold now, adrenaline spiking through me and pushing away all traces of fear. It was probably my fight or flight reflex kicking in. Flight wasn’t an option, and if it were, I would be halfway to Mexico by now. Fighting was all I had left.

  “You think just because you’ve got some money and you call me ‘dearest’ and use words like ‘decorum’ that you’re some high class gangster or something?” I rose to my feet, pointing at him viciously. “This is Sitka Valley, not Boston, and you’re just as trashy as everyone else at this disgusting party, except you’re worse because you’re nothing more than an overinflated bully.”

  The room fell silent. Gromley’s features were impossible to read, and I gulped hard, wondering if I’d taken it too far.

  “Hold her,” he instructed.

  The men at my sides each grabbed one of my arms. I struggled back instinctively, but their grip was painfully tight.

  Preston walked calmly around the side of his desk, trailing his fingers along Sasha’s prone body as he did. He kept his eyes on me. They glinted like hard chunks of glass in the low light, and I refused to look away.

  “Little Miss Virgin, trying to play tough,” he mused. “Let’s see how tough you are after I put some color on those pretty little cheeks of yours.”

  Wes stepped forward. “Dad—“

  Preston turned and glared at his son. “Let me deal with her.”

  Wes dropped his gaze and stepped back.

  I should’ve kept my mouth shut. It didn’t matter how good it felt. What Preston was going to do to me was going to feel a whole lot worse.

  Preston rolled up the sleeve on his right arm, revealing a heavily tattooed forearm. He clenched his fist.

  “I’m only going to hit you once this time,” Preston said. “Consider it a warning. With any luck, I won’t break that cute little nose of yours.”

  Okay, one punch. I could handle one punch, right? It could be much worse. I tried to feel relieved, even as my heart lurched at the sight of him drawing back his fist and aiming for my face. It was going to be one punch, sure, but it was going to hurt a lot.

  “Stop!”

  Preston’s brows knitted together in confusion and he looked around me. I craned my neck and was amazed to see Shane in the half-open doorway. He must’ve been sneaking in. What was he doing here?

  “Who the fuck is this?” Preston asked, looking at his son.

  Wes glowered at Shane. “It’s the fighting Irish. The dickhead who broke Rob’s jaw.”

  Preston waved a dismissive hand at me, and my holders dragged me off to the side of the room, leaving space between Preston and Shane.

  “Shane, get out of here,” I pleaded.

  He didn’t even look at me. “You’re going to hit a seventeen-year-old girl? That’s low.”

  “She’s a seventeen-year-old girl with a sharp tongue,” Preston said, shrugging. “Besides, I don’t discriminate. Why don’t you come inside and find out.”

  “The police are already on their way here,” Shane said.

  Preston tipped his head back and laughed. The other men laughed too, and as Shane looked around in surprise, Wes grabbed Shane and pushed him further into the room, slamming the door.

  “You’re a horrible liar, kid,” said Preston. And then he arced the fist that was meant for me toward Shane’s face.

  I screamed and tried to dive for him, but Preston’s goons held me back. Shane ducked the hit and came up under Preston, slamming his fist into the older man’s stomach.

  Then all hell broke loose. The men at my sides released me, charging forward to defend their boss. Wes dove into the fray too, and soon all three of Preston’s goons and Wes piled on Shane, beating the crap out of him. I shrieked at them to stop and tried pulling them away, but Preston roughly shoved me back. I landed on my tailbone painfully and tried to get up again. Preston grabbed me by the hair and dragged me away, hissing into my ear.

  “How sweet. It looks like you’ve got an admirer.”

  “Please let him go,” I sobbed. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

  “He doesn’t, does he? That’s his loss, I’m afraid, dearest.” Preston shoved me back down into the chair and gave a hand signal to his men. They stepped back from Shane, who was groaning on the floor. Wes gave him another kick in the gut for good measure, smiling like the cat who got the cream.

  “Had enough?” Wes taunted.

  “Yes! He’s had enough!” At this point, I was desperate to get Shane out of there. I would’ve done anything to help him. It was a minor miracle that Preston and Wes didn’t capitalize on this vulnerability.

  Shane barely looked like himself. He was beaten and bloodied, one eye already swelling shut. Blood stained the carpet underneath him, and if he weren’t taking wheezing breaths, I might have thought him dead.

  “Get him to the hospital,” Preston said, disgust lacing his tone. “The last thing I need is to have to cover up some baby hero’s death right now. I’ve got enough on my plate.”

  Two of his men picked up Shane between them. They were rough, and Shane moaned in pain. My heart broke for him, and it was all I could do not to break out into tears. I hung my head in my lap, unable to watch as they dragged him from the room.

  “Yeah, it’s Preston.”

  I looked up. Preston was sitting across from me again, his phone pressed to his ear. He looked up at Wes. “What’d you say his name was?”

  “Shane Kelly,” Wes answered.

  “There’s a kid named Shane Kelly that’s been causing me some problems. I want him gone.”

  Preston hung up the phone and sat back in his chair as calmly as if none of this had ever happened. Tears stung my eyes, and my nose was running like a faucet. It was hard to stay strong now. I felt like any strength I’d ever accumulated had been squeezed out of me, and now I was just a deflated sack. What was going to happen to me now?

  Preston stared at me, long and hard. A trickle of sweat crept down my neck, leaving a trail of coolness on my otherwise hot skin. I held his gaze, even though every instinct I had was screaming at me to back down. To submit. I didn’t even know what that would look like at this point, but my shattered nerves demanded it.

  Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, Preston sighed. “Okay, Miss Keane. You can go home.”

  I blinked. Was he serious?

  Preston frowned. “What are you waiting for? Get out of here.”

  I clambered out of my chair and tried to walk as calmly as possible toward the door, avoiding Wes when he tried to catch my eye as I walked past.

  “Oh, Miss Keane?” Preston called.

  I stilled but didn’t turn.

  “Your father’s debt is nowhere near paid, so I expect we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,” he said, voice laden with frost. “Take care t
o be a little more polite in the future.”

  I reached the door and turned the handle, half expecting it to be locked, for all of this to just be a cruel joke. It turned easily and I let myself out. I didn’t look back.

  Chapter 16

  Shane

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  I swam into consciousness, pulled toward a bright light and a relentless, steady beeping.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  My whole body ached. I’d never been hit by a car, but I had to imagine that this is what it would be like. I thought getting beat up before was bad, but this time it was worse. One of my ribs was cracked. Every time I pulled in a ragged breath a sharp pain exploded in my left side. The skin around my eyes felt tight. They were swollen, possibly too swollen even to open them.

  “Alright, son, time to wake up,” a gruff male voice announced.

  Was he talking to me?

  I got my answer a second later when someone’s rough hands yanked the heart rate monitor off my thumb. The beeping flatlined, but that noise died a second later. I struggled to open my eyes and managed to crack them just in time to see a police officer leaning over my IV and pulling back the tape. A second later the IV was out, and he wrapped a hand around my bicep and hauled me upright.

  I groaned in complaint, but the officer didn’t care. It annoyed him, more than anything else.

  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” he muttered. “Don’t be a pussy. You won’t make it through the day if you can’t handle this.”

  What did he mean? Why was he making me get up? Was I being arrested?

  I tried to ask him. My voice came out thick and broken.

  “Wha—What’s going on?”

  He didn’t answer me. The only indication that he’d even heard me was the twitching of his handlebar mustache impatiently. I felt him yank on the strings of my hospital gown and then he pulled it down. A second police officer stepped into the room with a bag in hand. He pulled out a pair of pants and a t-shirt and tossed them at me.

  “Put these on.”

  “These aren’t my clothes.”

  “Yours were too bloody. Put these on now before I put them on for you.”

  I obliged, shaking from the pain it took just to move. To distract myself, I tried to ask them questions.

  “Are you taking me home?”

  No answer.

  “Am I under arrest?”

  No answer.

  As I opened my mouth to ask a third question, the one with the mustache jabbed me in the arm. “No more questions or I’ll take a shot at that cracked rib next.”

  I recoiled in pain. He’d landed his blow right on top of a tender bruise. I didn’t ask any more questions.

  The two police officers led me out of the hospital. One had a hand on me at all times, part to help support my weight and part to stop me from running. The joke was on them. I wouldn’t be running anywhere.

  They led me to a police cruiser parked out front and manhandled me into the backseat. They took the front seats and turned up the radio. Heavy rock blasted into my eardrums, and I closed my eyes, desperate to block out any stimulus I could and save my throbbing skull the pain. They obviously didn’t want me asking any more questions.

  We drove straight past the police department. Anxiety coated my throat and made it even harder to breathe.

  When we turned off onto a forested road at the north end of town, I realized where we were going. Back to Gromley’s.

  Dallas. Was she okay? I would have asked the police officers, but they kiboshed that already, not that they would have answered anyway. I supposed I would be able to ask Gromley soon enough unless they were just taking me out here to shoot and bury me.

  The police left the car idling when we reached the top of the drive, and a burly guy that I recognized from last night as one of the guys holding Dallas back approached, nodded to the cops and opened the back door. He didn’t wait for me to exit of my own accord, but grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out onto the pavement. He slammed the door closed, and the cops left, nearly running over my foot as they did.

  “Boss wants to see you,” the guy said. “Get up.”

  Pain shot out from every nerve ending as I tried to pull myself up. I was too weak, too bruised. I managed to make it onto my knees before the man grabbed me by the back of the shirt and lifted me the rest of the way. I groaned in pain but steadied myself so that when he let me go, I could stand on my own.

  That turned out to be a good call since he released me a second later and I stumbled forward.

  Despite the fact that there was nowhere I wouldn’t rather be than in Gromley’s house, I let his grunt lead me in because I knew trying to make a run for it wouldn’t do me any good. I was too injured, and we were too far away from civilization to do any good. Not to mention the fact that apparently the cops were on his payroll so I’d easily get caught again, and I didn’t feel like getting manhandled by any more dirty cops.

  A whole team of maids was busy at work on the house, cleaning up from last night’s revelry. I watched with a hint of amusement as two of them struggled to drag a passed out man off the carpet so they could vacuum underneath.

  Then I was back at Gromley’s office door. My guide knocked.

  “Come in,” Gromley called.

  We entered, and I took a spot in the middle of the floor. There was still blood there from where I’d been beaten unconscious the night before.

  “You look like shit,” Gromley commented wryly.

  He was seated behind his desk, hands folded in front of him and his lips drawn back into a cruel sneer.

  “Didn’t sleep well.”

  Gromley’s jaw flexed. I had the feeling he didn’t like it when anyone other than him made jokes.

  “We have a problem, you and I,” Gromley drawled. “I’ve got something you want, and I’m not willing to give it up. And you don’t seem like you’re the type to give up.”

  “I’m not.”

  Gromley nodded to the man next to me, who sucker punched me right in the gut. I keeled over, wheezing. The man grabbed my shirt to stop me from falling.

  “Therein lies the problem.” Gromley rose from the desk and walked around, his designer shoes appearing in my vision a second later. I managed to force myself upright. He was shorter than me, and I took great pleasure in staring down at him.

  “You’re going to leave Sitka Valley for good,” Gromley said. “You’re never going to speak to Dallas Keane again. I don’t even want you to whisper her name to the wind. If you don’t cut off all ties...”

  He cocked his head to the side as if looking to see where he could hurt me most. Having made his decision, Preston delivered an uppercut to my jaw. My teeth clacked together and I stumbled backward, lost my footing and fell.

  “And in case that isn’t enough motivation for you,” Gromley continued, kicking me in the side.

  I screamed from the pain in my ribs, spit flying everywhere. At this point, I half-wished he would just kill me.

  “I’ll kill your mother,” he finished. Gromley squatted down next to my face, meeting my eye. “I’ll kill her in the most painful way I know. Maybe I’ll even make you watch.” He patted my cheek. “Best not to risk it, eh?”

  I struggled to breathe, agony ripping through me every time I inhaled.

  “Got it?” Preston asked.

  I nodded bitterly.

  “Good.” He rose, waving at his man, who lifted me back to my feet. “Take him to a bus station. Get him a one-way ticket across the country.”

  With that, I was ushered out of Gromley’s office and out into a waiting car. The driver was silent the whole way to the bus station. Gromley’s guys were good at being silent.

  Once we got there, they didn’t waste time in getting me set up. I’d barely settled onto a bench before there was a one-way ticket to New York in my hand and the car was ripping off back toward the mansion.

  People gave me funny looks at the station, but nobody approached m
e. I wouldn’t approach me either. I looked like shit, and I felt even worse. I was starving, too. And, to cap it all off, it soon started to rain.

  This trip was going to be the longest of my life, but at least I still had a life.

  I managed to get some sleep on the bus, but mostly I stayed awake and stewed. I planned my revenge on Gromley—revenge I knew I was unlikely ever to get. I worried about Dallas, wished I could have done something for her. Anything. I worried about my mom. The only person I didn’t worry about was myself, which I probably should have since I didn’t have a job, a place to stay, or a fucking clue. I’d never been to New York before. Hell, I’d never been out of Washington before. Being so far away from home hurt almost as much as the ache in my bones, and my first port of call once I got off the bus would be the nearest payphone.

  I stared blankly out the window. My life was in ruins. Everything I’d once known, once loved, was gone. Worse, not gone—just gone from me. I couldn’t return to Sitka Valley, and I could never talk to Dallas again. I couldn’t even imagine what kind of horror show my girl was living through right now. Why was she at that party? Why would she let herself get caught up in Gromley’s bullshit? It didn’t make any sense.

  The bus passed a recruitment office. The sign on the front window read “CHANGE YOUR LIFE” in block letters, and the image stuck with me.

  Change your life.

  My life had already changed. It had changed so much I no longer recognized it, but maybe that was just what I needed—a new life. I could start fresh, work hard and make something of myself. I might not be a formidable enough opponent for Gromley now, but who was to say that I couldn’t be one day?

  It was decided, then. I’d start anew. No matter what, however, I would keep Dallas in mind. Hell, I doubted I could forget that sweet girl, with her honeyed lips and big bright eyes, even if I wanted to.