Clarissa lifted her head and I saw the look in her eyes. The anger that had flared when I told her my story hadn’t abated—if anything, it was even fiercer, now. She looked as if she wanted to personally disembowel everyone who’d hurt me. “Neil?” she said. “Don’t you have some friends who can protect people on the roads?”
Neil normally would have made some crack about aren’t those the friends you disapprove of? Instead, he just nodded solemnly. That spoke volumes about how upset everyone was.
“Okay then,” said Ryan. He looked deep into my eyes. “The next part’s up to you. If you’re sure you want to go through with this?”
I wavered for a second...but I knew I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t finish this. It was time to fight back.
And I knew now that I didn’t have to do it on my own.
The others watched as I dug the business card out of my pocket and dialed the number. “Detective Banks?” I said. “I need to talk.”
Chapter 67
Ryan
The state had been trying to build a case against Jasmine’s dad for years and they’d moved into high gear when they found the body. When Detective Banks received her call, everything happened very fast. Jasmine was given a lawyer who quickly bargained for immunity for her in return for testifying. That was a relief—technically, even though she’d been in the woods under duress, they could have attempted to try her as an accessory to the murder.
Even with an eager prosecutor, though, it would be two more weeks before the case came to trial.
Darrell’s mansion took some getting used to. Entering the main hallway, with its huge staircase and galleried landing, was like walking onto a movie set. At least with six extra people staying there, it felt full. I couldn’t imagine how Natasha and Darrell lived there by themselves, with all the empty rooms.
Jasmine told me she wanted to attend the whole trial, not just show up for her testimony. That would mean coming face-to-face with her dad, day after day. I’d been to enough trials to know it was going to be a gut-wrenching experience for Jasmine, but I knew it was her only shot at closure.
Luckily, the new Fenbrook semester hadn’t started yet and we were still waiting to get word back from Dixon on how the pilot went down with test audiences, so there was nowhere she had to be. Nat, Clarissa, and Karen huddled with her in the mansion, taking over a different bedroom each day and turning it into a girly paradise of ice cream and hot chocolate and romcom movie marathons. I knew it was all an attempt to stop Jasmine thinking about the trial and I loved them for it.
***
A few days before the trial, the media frenzy started. Corrupt cops, murder, grisly beatings...the story had it all. I tried to keep the newspapers away from Jasmine, but she wanted to know how it was shaping up, so that she’d know what to expect.
The answer was: it was bad. There wasn’t much evidence tying her dad to the murder. Her testimony was going to be crucial to the prosecution, which meant the defense was going to try to destroy her. She’d spend hours sitting at the kitchen counter, poring over newspapers or browsing news sites, and I’d see her eyes glaze over as the past crept in. I’d wrap my arms around her from behind and pull her into my chest, and that would work for a while...but as time went on, it got worse and worse.
At noon on the day before the trial, she stood up from the counter and put her hands to her head. “That’s it,” she said. “I can’t stay here anymore.”
I shook my head. “This is the safest place.”
“I’ve barely left in two weeks! I’m going stir crazy!” She turned to me. “Please. I have to get outside. Feel some air on my face. Hear some traffic. This place is so quiet!”
I nodded slowly. Taking her out of the mansion scared the hell out of me, but I could see the memories threatening to take hold. I had to keep her safe, but that meant keeping her safe from her demons, as well.
Chapter 68
Ryan
Neil was organizing the biker protection for the journey to the trial and I left Darrell in the mansion to guard the other women, so it was just Connor and me who escorted Jasmine into the city. We took my car. Jasmine directed us to an ice cream parlor.
“You know, they probably had ice cream at the mansion, in one of those fuck-off fridges. They’ve got everything else,” said Connor. Like me, he was nervous at taking her out in the open, so close to the trial.
“It’s not about that,” said Jasmine. “I just want to get out. Plus, it’s the end of summer.” Her smile tightened. “Might be the last chance.”
The weather seemed to match her mood. The summer sun had given way to a chill wind and a sky that was an ugly shade of gray.
As Jasmine led the way inside, Connor grabbed my arm. “We’re just being paranoid, though, right?” he asked. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
I looked around at the street. No one knew we were there. We’d be gone again in a half hour. There was no way Jasmine’s dad could send people after us.
Not unless they were already watching us, waiting for an opportunity.
“Keep your eyes open,” I told Connor, and we went inside.
Jasmine ordered coffee and then spent an age going over the different ice cream flavors. When I came to stand beside her, she looked up at me helplessly. “I don’t know what I like,” she whispered.
I blinked at her.
“I know what Jasmine likes. I know what a character like her would like: bubblegum and pistachio and rum raisin. But I chose those as her favorites because they fitted. I never thought about what they actually tasted like.”
“You don’t remember what you used to eat, before Jasmine?” I asked.
Her face grew grim. “We didn’t have a whole lot of money for ice cream.”
I put my arm around her waist and pulled her tight in to my side. Then I said to the guy serving, “Better get some extra bowls. We’re going to be needing a scoop of everything.”
A half hour later, Jasmine sat back in her seat. “Peach,” she said with huge satisfaction.
“Peach?”
“Peach. Watermelon is okay and toffee fudge is good with coffee, but my favorite is...yep, peach.”
I stroked her hair with one hand, feeling the silken strands caress my palm, and I’d never felt anything so good in my life. I leaned in and kissed her, slow and deep, and she groaned with pleasure. It was the most relaxed I’d seen her in days.
It was only as the kiss ended that I realized something was wrong. Her whole body had suddenly gone stiff. I opened my eyes and saw that she was staring out of the window. I followed her gaze. There was a beat-up car out there and, sitting in the driver’s seat, a man in his forties with close-cropped gray hair.
Connor had been leaning against the edge of the booth, keeping watch. He straightened up when he saw Jasmine’s expression.
My mind was already working. Her dad was still safely in jail, but she clearly recognized this guy—
I put my hands on her shoulders. She’d gone into something approaching shock, as frozen as if caught in the headlights of an approaching train. I swallowed. “Is he—is he one of the ones—”
She didn’t answer. She just began to shake under my hands, her whole body quaking.
I’d given Neil a radio. I pulled mine off my belt and thumbed the button. “Trouble,” I rasped, and I could hear the anger in my voice.
I’d conquered my rage. It didn’t control me, anymore; I controlled it. But I could still let it out, when I needed to. And right then, I needed to very badly indeed.
I pressed Jasmine into her seat with one hand and stood up. My first step toward the door was slow and deliberate. My second was faster. The guy outside was staring at me and I stared right back at him.
I wanted him to know I was coming for him.
“I’m coming with you,” said Connor beside me. I barely heard him.
Each step was quicker until, as I reached the door, I was in a dead sprint. I hauled open the glass door and pounded across
the sidewalk.
A voice in my head said, why would he only send one guy?
Connor was right behind me. The guy opened his door and stepped out, his movements lazy and relaxed. There was something weirdly familiar about him, something in the way he carried himself….
The cop, I realized. She said one of them was a cop, on her dad’s payroll. My stomach tightened as I thought of that night she’d described. I felt my hands curl into fists.
I hit the guy like a freight train, slamming him back into the open car door. As he rocked forward again, my fist caught him across the face. He staggered, but took it. He was tough, the sort of guy who’s lost count of how many bar room brawls he’s been in.
“You’re the boyfriend,” he said with great satisfaction. “The cop.”
My fist sank into his belly, doubling him up. He staggered into me, grasping my shoulders so that I couldn’t back off and hit him again. “You fucking her?” he gasped in my ear. “She’s a good fuck.”
That was it. The rage changed from red to black, the blood roaring in my ears. I shoved him back into the car again and began punching him. I got in three good shots across the face before he kicked the inside of my leg, making it fold under me.
Connor was watching my fight intently, waiting to see if I’d need help. So when the second guy grabbed him around the throat from behind, he was taken completely by surprise. His body thumped onto the sidewalk and he grunted, the air knocked out of him. Then a boot caught him in the side of the head. I looked up to see a much younger guy, all muscle and attitude. “Stay down!” he snapped in a heavy Scottish accent and spat in Connor’s face.
Thomas. Another of the guys from that night. He hadn’t just sent one guy. And Scotsmen are tough, iron-hard fighters with a vicious streak few can match.
Except maybe the Irish.
With a yell of rage, Connor grabbed Thomas’s leg and twisted him down to the ground. They started rolling over and over, trading punches. Connor was brutal, his lips drawn back over his teeth as he snarled and spat blood. I could see the shock in Thomas’s eyes. He hadn’t been expecting that, I thought with satisfaction. He’d been told Connor was some rich girl’s boyfriend. He’d been expecting Ivy League, not an Irishman who’d learned to fight in prison.
I’d been distracted by Connor’s fight and the cop—Brady, Jasmine had said his name was—caught me across the face. But the rage meant I barely felt it. I picked him up one-handed, the fabric of his shirt creaking and protesting, and hurled him onto his car. The windscreen cracked into a spider’s web and the roof caved in a little.
He lay there panting, about to get up and come at me again. And then I noticed something, something tiny. The sort of thing I’d been blind to, when I’d used to let the anger control me.
The guy kept his eyes on me all the time. All the time. He didn’t even glance at his buddy, fighting Connor. It was unnatural. Unless...there was something else going on, and he didn’t want to glance at it and tip me off.
It’s a diversion.
I snapped my head to the side. There was a guy inside the ice cream parlor, standing next to Jasmine. An older guy with his hair in a ponytail, his eyes wild. Earl. He had his hand on Jasmine’s arm.
He had his hand on Jasmine’s arm—
He looked up and saw me looking at him and his eyes went wide with fear. He dragged Jasmine to her feet and started hauling her across the floor toward the rear of the ice cream store. Toward a door none of us had thought to watch, the door he must have sneaked in through while we’d been distracted.
Connor and Thomas were up on their feet now and fighting, and they were between me and the door. There was no time to get past them. The old guy was going to get Jasmine outside, into the alley. I could see the whole plan unfolding in my mind. They’d have a car waiting. They’d take her and—
Jasmine looked up at me as she struggled with the guy, her face contorted with fear.
I left her. I left her and now I’m not going to get there in time and—
I twisted, picked Brady up from the hood of his car, and hurled him through the ice cream parlor’s plate glass window. The glass shattered into a thousand jagged pieces, falling like rain, and I was through the hole so fast that some of it was still falling, hitting my shoulders. I was just in time to see the trailing edges of Jasmine’s auburn hair disappear through the rear door.
I sprinted across the room, jumping over Brady’s groaning body. When I emerged into the alley, the old guy was halfway to his car, pulling Jasmine along by the wrist. He was old but wiry, and sped up by whatever cocktail of drugs he’d taken. He was going to make it to the car before I could stop him.
And then the thunder of a two stroke filled the alley. A motorcycle roared in from the far end, heading straight for the guy. The rider extended his arm and it caught the guy like he’d run into a washing line. His grip was torn from Jasmine and he went end-over-end through the air before crashing to the ground.
Neil dismounted, took off his helmet, and was just in time to whack the guy across the face with it as he tried to get up. He slumped to the ground, out cold.
I grabbed Jasmine. “Help Connor,” I yelled to Neil, pointing to the front of the store. He nodded and ran off.
Jasmine was hysterical and white-faced, panic-breathing but not getting any air into her lungs. I hugged her close, wrapping my arms around her protectively. “It’s okay,” I told her again and again. “It’s okay. It’s over.”
She was like a block of ice in my arms, every muscle rigid. They’d put her right back into the paralyzing state of dread she must have been in right after it happened, three years before. I knew it could happen again, she’d said.
I closed my eyes and just held her while I cursed her dad and these three and every man alive, me included.
Neil and Connor came out of the rear door a moment later. Connor was bleeding from his lip and had a black eye, but they were both walking.
I looked at the unconscious guy on the ground. “How are the other two?” I asked.
“Sleeping,” said Neil with great satisfaction.
“Give me your gun,” I said in a voice that didn’t sound like my own. I knew he’d carry one.
Neil looked at Connor just once, then pulled a handgun from under his jacket and handed it to me. I moved away from Jasmine to take it and that’s when she realized what I was about to do.
“No!” she said immediately, grabbing for my hand. “No!”
I stared at her, determined. Thick, black rage was pumping through my veins. “They could come back.”
“He’ll send someone else! You can’t protect me if you’re in jail!”
I turned to the old guy and worked the handgun’s slide, putting a bullet in the chamber.
“Ryan!” she screamed. “No!”
Neil put his hand on my shoulder. I didn’t turn around to look at him but I could hear his long hair sweeping across his jacket as he shook his head. “That ain’t the way, man.”
“They’re the ones,” I said, my voice shaking.
Connor pushed forward on my other side. “They’re the ones who—” He drew in his breath. “Do it,” he said quietly.
It could feel him willing me on and Neil willing me to hold back.
They don’t deserve to live.
“Ryan!” Jasmine screamed. She was clutching at my arm. “I don’t want you to be like him. I don’t want you to be like him!”
I took three shuddering breaths and lowered the gun, then handed it back to Neil. We took off before the cops arrived.
Chapter 69
Jasmine
Back at the mansion, I took a long, hot shower and that helped. When I emerged I was still shaky, but I didn’t feel quite so cold inside. I’ll be okay. Everything’s okay—
Then I looked at my wrist and saw Earl’s hand there, his bony fingers curled around it, and felt like I was going to throw up. I sat down on the floor and breathed until the nausea passed.
I’d thou
ght, on some level, that the world I’d left behind in Chicago had ceased to exist when I buried Emma underneath Jasmine. But it hadn’t, of course. It had been right there waiting for me this whole time. Jasmine hadn’t been an escape route. She’d been a temporary reprieve.
I knew now that running away had been the wrong thing to do. You can’t hide from a monster like my dad. You either find a way to stop him, or you have to accept that he’s out there, waiting for you. The tears came, then, and I crawled on all fours back into the shower stall, turned the water on again and let it soak me, winding up slumped against the wall.
After a long time, there was a knock on the door. “Jasmine?” Ryan’s voice.
Jasmine’s dead, I thought bitterly.
“Emma?”
I turned off the water so that I could hear him better, but I didn’t get out of the shower. I couldn’t face him. I sat there naked, my arms wrapped around myself. “I should have stopped him,” I said. “I should have stopped him three years ago.”
“You couldn’t.” His voice was close. I imagined his massive frame right outside the door, leaning into it, his mouth almost against the wood.
“I wasted three years,” I said. “I’m right back where I started.”
“Don’t say that,” he said, his voice so firm that it cut through the dark cloud in my head. “Don’t ever say that. Look at what you’ve done. Look at the friends you’ve made.” I heard him take a deep breath. “Maybe that’s what you needed. Maybe that’s what these three years were all about. Growing. Getting strong enough. You weren’t strong enough then. You are now. You can do this.”
My voice broke and caught. “You really believe that?”
“Yes!”
I slowly stood up. My body was still wet and I shivered a little. I got out of the shower stall, found a toweling robe and wrapped myself in it, then opened the door.
He was standing there, just as I’d imagined him. I could see the pain in his eyes from worrying about me and my heart melted. He stepped forward but, as he came closer, my hand went up to the neck of my robe and pulled it further closed.
Acting Brave (Fenbrook Academy #3 - New Adult Romance) Page 39
