The splatter of breaking glass and drunken laughter filtered through the closed windows.
Viv jerked away and stashed her phone in her purse. “I need to hurry. She hasn’t texted me in over fifteen minutes.” Fumbling with the lever, she pushed open the door and jumped to the ground. At least Callie had texted an apartment number before she’d stopped answering.
Jace strode up beside her as her door slammed shut and gripped her upper arm as though braced to push or pull her to safety at a moment’s notice. He steered her across the mostly dirt-covered courtyard with its random patches of dead grass. “What’s the apartment number?”
“Twenty-seven.” After staring at the screen and waiting for Callie to text something else, the number was practically burned into her retina.
They hurried through a breezeway, and a fierce gust slapped her square in the face, the scent it carried something straight from the bottom of a long-unattended litter box. “What’s that smell?”
Jace paused and scanned the long row of apartments with their hit and miss functioning porch lights by each door. If it hadn’t been for his tight grimace, she’d have thought the smell was her imagination. “My guess? Meth.” He motioned to the building on her left. “That way, ground floor.”
Meth? Was he kidding? She twisted as best she could for eye contact while still keeping pace with his too-long, agitated strides. Her breath huffed heavy with each step. “You mean cooking it? Or smoking it?”
“Does it matter?”
Good question. A better one was how he knew what it was to start with. Yeah, his club had earned some bad press because of some big-name drug dealer, but she’d never considered he might actually have enough experience with drugs to pinpoint a variety on smell alone. What was that guy’s name? Something Moreno. Henry? Howard?
Ahead, the steady drone of cheap bass speakers rattled. They got to the unit marked twenty-seven in cheap tin numbers, and Viv raised her hand to knock.
Jace opened the door and pushed it wide before her knuckles made contact.
Hovel was too positive of a word for the dingy space. Sty might have been a good choice. A recliner that was probably olive green at one point in its life sat closest to the door and the beat-up TV, and a ratty couch from the seventies stretched along the far wall. Both housed passed out men with beer bellies and seriously dirty clothes.
Gripping her forearm, Jace pulled her behind him and murmured over his shoulder. “Stay close. I don’t want you out of reaching distance, we clear?”
She pumped an enthusiastic nod, entirely on board with letting him take front and center.
In front of the couch was an old, cheap coffee table she could probably break with one sharp kick. On top of it were a few small pipes and several twisted cellophane bags with some kind of off-white, almost tan powder inside.
She grabbed Jace’s shoulder, pulled him closer and whispered. “Is that meth?”
He shook his head, but he was clearly distracted, his attention darting in all directions for anyone else in the apartment. “I’d guess H.” He jerked his head to the sleeping men in the living room. “If it was meth, they wouldn’t be sleeping.”
He crept down the dark hallway. At the end were three closed doors, one dead ahead and two on either side.
Muffled grunts issued from behind one door.
Jace eased it open then jerked back, pulling the door shut with him and shielding Viv from the view.
“What’s going on? Who was it?” Viv said.
“Nothing you’re gonna see, but it’s definitely not Callie.”
Before she could analyze his deadpan retort, he opened the second bedroom door and flipped on the light. The dirty bulb flickered to life over three women passed out on a bare mattress, none of them Callie.
“I don’t know them,” Viv said. “Maybe we’ve got the wrong place.”
A nice effort, but it was too late. The lamp light had all too clearly shone a lanky man rutting a brunette splayed on her belly, passed out in the middle of the bed.
Viv let out a jagged breath. “Well, at least she wasn’t Callie.”
“Nope.” Before she could analyze his deadpan retort, he opened the second bedroom door and flipped on the light. The dirty bulb flickered to life over three women passed out on a bare mattress, none of them Callie.
“I don’t know them,” Viv said. “Maybe we’ve got the wrong place.”
“Maybe.” Jace turned off the light and closed the door, aiming for the last one. “We’re about to find out.”
The door met resistance at only a foot wide. A dirty linoleum floor showed through the gap along with a vanity covered in everything from beer cans to uncapped toothpaste. The mirror looked like it’d never seen a bottle of Windex in its life. Near the edge of the tub were a pair of tan boots with turquoise inlay, and they were attached to someone sprawled near the toilet.
Viv’s boots. The ones she’d loaned her sister over a month ago. “Callie.”
She tried to shove past Jace, but he held her back. “Hold up.” He maneuvered the door open enough to squeeze by and leaned over to pull Callie’s torso out of the way. “Jesus.”
Viv slipped in behind him a second later and nearly retched at the acidic stench. “Oh my God.” On the downside, Callie had puked her brains out and mostly missed the toilet. On the upside, she’d passed out away from the mess and kept most of it off herself.
Before Viv could do more than hunch down beside Callie and smooth her hair away from her face, Jace shrugged out of his jacket and lifted her up to wrap her in it.
Viv gripped Callie at both shoulders to hold her steady while Jace worked—and froze. “Is that a gun?”
Jace finished the job without stopping and draped one of Callie’s limp arms around his neck. “It ain’t a toothpick. Wished like hell it was.” He cradled Callie in his arms and stood. “Go.”
She couldn’t take her eyes off of the gun. Even with Callie’s dead weight in his arms, the butt of the big, black weapon showed big as Texas.
“Viv, go.”
Right. Bad time to freak out. She lurched upright and darted out of the horrid bathroom without a backward look. All the details she’d noted on the way in swished by in a hurried blur, Jace’s heavy footsteps tight behind her. She needed air. Cool, crisp, untainted air, and she needed it now.
A gun. Yeah, this was clearly a good part of town to have one in, but he’d known to bring one with him. So, what did that say about him?
Slinging Callie’s weight to mostly one shoulder, he jerked the back cab door open on Viv’s side of the truck and heaved himself up. He laid Callie out along the bench seat like she weighed no more than a three-year-old, hopped down beside Viv, and slammed the door shut with way too much force.
His nearly black eyes sparked with enough anger Viv inched backward.
Jace noted the reaction, gaze shifting as though he measured the newly gained distance. The muscles at the back of his jaws twitched. He opened her door nice and slow. “Get in.”
Her mouth ran dry, and all the analytical thoughts in her head scattered. Part of her wanted to run, or maybe sprint, to safety. Someplace neat and tidy that fit her quiet, well-organized life. Something else held her still, the need to comfort and soothe whatever it was that had him so damned angry as tangible as a tether knotted around her waist.
She ducked her head instead and stepped up on the running board, checking Callie over the seat back before she settled in her seat.
You got a death wish comin’ in here tonight, Hugo.
Jace’s altercation with the guy in the suit that first night she’d been to Crossroads flashed bold and bright in her memory. That was the drug dealer’s name she’d heard referenced on television. Hugo Moreno.
Thought we’d made it clear. You’re out. Otto’s in.
What the hell had he meant? More importan
tly, what kind of man had one-on-one, first-name-basis conversations with drug dealers? Although, that went a long way to explaining his ability to identify drugs by scent. Not to mention a comfort level with guns that scared the shit out of her. Was that how he managed to afford such a huge house in an elite part of Dallas?
The truck’s engine roared to life, vibrating the floorboards beneath her frozen feet. Outside her window, the scenery slowly shifted from dark and ominous, to bright and well-populated. The colorful signs along Lemmon Avenue and late-night partiers filtered through her shell-shocked psyche until she could finally draw in a steady breath.
Behind her, Callie moaned and rolled to her back, slinging one arm over her forehead.
Viv swallowed as much as her fear-coated tongue would allow. “All those drugs...should we take her somewhere? Make sure she’s okay?”
Jace made a sharp turn onto Turtle Creek and checked his rearview mirror. “If that’s what you want.” The words were right, but they felt more for show than anything.
“What do you think?”
He kept his eyes straight ahead for long, drawn-out seconds before he slid his gaze to her. “I think your sister’s straying into territory she won’t live long playing in.” He stared back out at the road. “But for tonight, I think she’s fine sleepin’ it off.”
There it was again. More knowledge of this lifestyle than made her comfortable. Yet some underlying current warned she wasn’t getting the whole picture. Did she really want this kind of person in her life? Out of all the men she’d ever met, she’d never had such a connection like what she had with Jace. Someone who made her come alive not just physically, but mentally. Not once had she been bored with him, her mind nimble beside his as they’d lazed away the afternoon. Back and forth, the thoughts pummeled her emotions, the tug-of-war leaving her insides taut and shaky.
Jace pulled in front of her townhouse stoop, and Viv hopped out, key in hand. Just like New Year’s Eve, a big man with long hair and a black leather jacket was hauling her unconscious sister up the stairs. Although this time, Callie got far more detailed treatment. Before Viv could get her own jacket off and let Ruger out in the side yard, Jace had already pulled off Callie’s boots, the jacket he’d wrapped her in and tucked her under the covers.
Viv sat beside her and smoothed her hair off her face. A flush dotted Callie’s cheeks and her breath came in sharp, shallow pants. Whatever Jace might be into, he’d taken care of Callie tonight. Of both of them. “Thank you.”
“You want to thank me, you swear to me you’ll never go off to someplace like that alone.”
She nodded, agreement all too easy after everything she’d seen. “I had no idea. I’ve never seen her this bad before. Never been anyplace like that.”
He curled his hand around her arm and pulled her to her feet. “You don’t belong there. No woman does.”
An odd statement, one that counterbalanced all the negative evidence she’d seen tonight.
Pulling her out into the hallway, he shut the door behind them and faced her, backing her against the opposite wall. He scrutinized her, his eyes locked in such an unrelenting and shrewd stare she swore he was categorizing all the warring thoughts shuttling through her mind. “You gonna be able to deal with her?”
She nodded. “Just another night. I’ve got the routine down.”
His mouth tightened in a way that said he didn’t care for her answer. “You got a clear head?”
“Trust me. The last trace of wine left my system the minute we pulled into that parking lot.”
“Good. Then you’ll be clear on this. Our next date is Friday night at eight o’clock. It’ll be a long night, so make sure Callie understands you’re not on call. If you’re smart, you’ll leave time to recover on Saturday.”
She’d never make it through another date. No matter what she’d agreed to before, tonight she’d almost stepped across a very dangerous line. One she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to come back from.
His eyes locked onto her lips for long, tense seconds before he stepped back and jogged down the stairs.
“Jace.”
He stopped at the landing and looked back, the scowl on his face intense enough to stop the devil in his tracks.
“I don’t think another date’s—”
“Next Friday, Viv. Eight o’clock. Non-negotiable. You made a deal, you’ll pay it.” He turned for the door and pulled it wide, but glanced back before he left. “Trust me. You need this.”
Chapter 14
Viv tossed the new event flyer she’d printed on top of all the others and buried her fingers in her loose hair, elbows braced on the desk. Midmorning sunlight slanted over her desk in the office Axel had set up for her at Crossroads, a second-story corner space with probably the only window to the outside world. Every other place in the club was dark, dark and darker.
Four days since her carefree Saturday afternoon had gone to hell and not once had she heard from Jace. Her hair tickled her cheek, a taunting reminder of how she’d stupidly left it down in some twisted maneuver to prove herself. At least that was the bullshit line she was feeding herself, even if deep down a part of her wished he’d see her and be pleased with the effort.
Why do you care? He’s dangerous. Clearly, he’s into bad things and bad people.
Yeah, but he also is thoughtful, smart and has a protective streak a mile wide.
Sounds like an ax murderer to me.
He might be an ax murderer, but he kisses like a God.
She fisted her hands on the desk and shook her head, so tired of the nonstop back and forth bickering in her head, she thought she’d scream.
“Did they say somethin’ nasty to you, lass?”
Axel’s voice cut into her thoughts and she whipped upright, tidying the disarrayed stack of draft printouts. “What?”
He motioned to her desk. “The papers. You look like you’re ready to commit murder, so I thought sure they’d somehow broken you.”
God, it was hard not to be happy around Axel. He had such a carefree way to him, as if he lived one hundred percent in the moment and never dared venture any further for fear he’d miss something. “I’m fine.” She set her tidied stack aside and pulled her calendar up on the monitor. “Just a little out of it today.”
“You sure? I’ve got a shredder and I’m not afraid to use it.”
She giggled despite her off-kilter mood.
“Jace got you busy?”
That was an understatement. “I’m booked for the next six months, and I’ve still got a dozen or more emails he sent me yesterday to go through.”
Surprisingly, none were like the Crossroads gig. The rest were all corporate engagements, ranging from software development to real estate, and the people were fantastic to work with. Not stodgy like the people who normally hired her. She should be thrilled and working every angle to the max, but her usual drive just wouldn’t engage.
Axel leaned one hip on the desk and towered over her, his big, burly physique and wild hair well inside her personal space. It’d driven her nuts the first few days, but she’d quickly learned that was the norm for him. “I think the sensitive man thing here is to ask if you want to talk about it.”
Another laugh slipped out, though it sounded as tired as she felt. Reasonable given how light her sleep had been lately. Even Ruger looked like he was ready to find a new bed partner. “Sensitive? Are we talking about you, Axel?”
“Ah.” He pressed his hand above his heart and closed his eyes. “Ye wound me, lass. Never has a more compassionate man walked the Earth.” He winked and crossed his arms, scootching back until he half sat on the desktop. His voice dropped to a dirty rumble. “Now tell Uncle Axel what’s got you so vexed.”
God, she’d read this man wrong at the start. All she’d seen was the long hair, the gruff exterior and the sin haven where he worked. In real
ity, he was all heart with so much more beyond the surface.
Just like Jace.
“Where are you from?” The question jumped out on the heels of her realization. Her heart pumped with the first decent inspiration she’d had in days.
His lighthearted smile slipped and a bone-chilling scrutiny swept in. “You askin’ where I’m from, or Jace?”
Her cheeks fired hot, and for once she wished she didn’t have a window spotlighting her embarrassment. So much for the subtle approach.
“We both grew up in Dallas,” he said before she could come up with a lame excuse. “But if you want to know about the man, I suggest you ask him.” He leaned in, a mix of troublemaker and flirt coloring his expression. “Gets a man all caveman when a woman starts wantin’ to dig deep. When it’s a woman he’s after, anyway.”
He sat upright again and slid one of the flyers she’d tidied where he could better see it.
Viv cleared her throat and fiddled with her pen. As nonchalance went, it was a total bust, but she’d be damned if she didn’t protect her pride at least a little. “Is he after me?”
Axel’s gaze shifted, not enough to make him lift his head from his perusal of the flier, but enough to register his wariness. “I’m thinking that’s another thing you’ll need to ask him.”
Tossing the pen to the desk, Viv plunked against the seat back and crossed her arms. “I couldn’t ask him if I wanted. He’s never here.”
“You want that?”
Wasn’t that the million-dollar question of the week. One she’d agonized over nearly nonstop since he’d walked out her front door Saturday night. A shaky certainty settled in the bottom of her gut. “I’d like to at least talk to him. To know him a little more.” And wouldn’t a shrink have a heyday with that statement?
Axel’s devious chuckle rumbled through the room and he pushed away from the desk. “Got a funny feeling you’ll get what you wish for...whether you like it or not.” He ambled toward the door. “Make sure you leave the afternoon open. Misty from Transcendental Software will be here at two.”
Rough & Tumble (The Haven Brotherhood) Page 12
