by A. J. Summer
I lift the sheet covering Talon’s body to reveal her still wearing her red dress of last night. “Okay, I’ll just leave you guys, but it’s almost 9 a.m. Mike wants to go in to work,” she says, as she slowly pulls the door closed. I shift out from under Talon, and she moves sleepily onto my pillow while mumbling in her sleep. Too many vodkas for the lady. I’m glad she’s still asleep. I can’t explain my behavior earlier, and I’d rather just avoid it for now. I just couldn’t take that hurt look on her face anymore. I had to make her feel better somehow. And I did it by holding her. Every human being craves comfort. The reminder that they aren’t alone in this big, fucked-up world.
I grab my clothes for the day and leave Talon sleeping. I don’t say goodbye, I don’t linger. It’s better to leave her without expectations I can’t meet.
After my shower, I meet Mike in the living room. He tells me that Jonah will stay with the women today, because he might result to extreme measures if he has to listen to them bitching about not being able to leave. I grab my car keys and lock the door behind us, glad that I’m not the one staying behind. Jonah is going to have his hands full, but the girls might actually be more accommodating to him. I’ve seen Jonah turn girls into blushing, giggling freaks with a simple wink of an eye. That comes in real handy when a girl won’t give up the location to her seriously indebted boyfriend.
I drop Mike off at the loan house and drive back to the Indigo. I’ll only be a few meters away from the hotel all day. I park my car in my usual spot and step into the morning sunshine. I feel better today. Light as a fucking feather. Maybe because I just had the best four hours sleep since this whole mess started. Or maybe it’s because Talon’s peaceful breathing lulled me to sleep.
The big guy with his skull bandana almost runs me over as I step off the sidewalk in front of him. I didn’t even hear the heavy rumble of the motorcycle, I’m that lost in my head. The guy stops his motorcycle and looks at me with a heavy scowl on his sunburnt face. His travel bags hang heavy on the side of his bike. I envy that kind of freedom. I step around the beautiful black and chrome machine, admiring the view. “Sorry,” I say, when I come full circle. “No problem,” the guy says looking at me like I’m mad. He has no idea.
I stick my hands into my pockets and continue to my office. But the image of the motorcycle and the thought of the freedom it represents stays. Somewhere in there, Talon’s heels of last night enter the day dream. I can just imagine her on something like that. Talon, in heels, on a motorcycle—the perfect fucking fantasy. Talon wearing nothing on a motorcycle—the perfect fucking situation to get me screwed over. I shouldn’t be thinking of this shit!
When I finally make it up to my office on the second floor, the first thing I do is pull up the employee records. I want to check out the security guard on duty this morning. Of course I don’t find anything. The old man has never even been late for work. I search for any connection to Daniel Migelli or the LaVaas brothers, but I find nothing. Seems he was just a random drop off. It’s not an uncommon thing. I’ve seen it happen plenty of times when we were still dealing.
I phone an old friend of mine and ask him to check for any business deals between LaVaas and Daniel Migelli. This friend of mine owes me a favor. After some guys conned him out of a lot of money, the boys went to set them straight. They even managed to get him some interest on his lost profit also. My friend is also the genius behind the security system and the slot system that runs the machines in the casino. If it’s computer-run, then his program is doing it. We’ve actually got a good relationship for two people that have never met. Or so Mark thinks. He doesn’t know it’s me. He only knows Runner or the name Runner. All face-to-face business is done through Mike and Jonah. So much of my old life stayed intact, yet it’s so unreachable.
I open my search engine and look up Reno’s son Xavier Parker. No social media accounts, no criminal records, nothing. I sigh and run my hands down my face. I don’t know if Parker can be trusted with what he saw during the time we were at Reno’s house. Xavier’s house. If he goes digging, and I mean really deep, he’ll see my record is just as sparkling clean as his. And with him seeing what he saw, he’ll know it’s bullshit. Fake name, fake record. Xavier will find out I’m his brother. I’m not looking forward to the little family reunion, even if it’s just a load of bull Reno created to phase me into his little family.
I sag in my chair and run my hand through my hair. I don’t even bother to style it anymore. What’s the use, it always ends up sticking out all over my head. Mike once told me I always look like I had a girl yanking at it only a second ago. I wish. I’m not Parker’s brother, but he won’t know that. See, I’m registered as Runner Parker, long-lost son of Reno Parker. According to my birth records, my mother died six years ago, and my father was granted legal guardianship. I’m not that person. How Reno cooked the story I don’t know. All I know is, that’s what my records say. Kyle Andrews, son of John and Catherine Andrews, older twin of Mia Andrews, no longer exists. But Xavier Parker can never know that.
I send a text to Jonah and ask him how it’s going back at the hotel. His reply is instant and straight to the point. “No problems.” Jonah isn’t a big talker, unless your name is Mary, I suppose.
“Runner,” I answer the landline on my desk. “I just wanted to remind you of the Deux payment, they need it done today,” Amanda at reception says. Good, for once she’s doing her job. “Okay, thanks,” I say and put the phone down. I look through the folders and find the invoice she was talking about. I log into the bank account. Three hundred dollars for a broken toilet bowl. How does that even happen? How do you break a toilet bowl? There’s a knock at the door, and I mumble an irritated, “Come in.” I’m not in the mood for people today. And so far I haven’t heard back from Mark or Daniel, and I can’t even start to believe that I’m done with Daniel just by having Talon steal a cell phone.
TALON
I watch Jonah closely. I’m trying not to be too obvious, but my legs twitch with anticipation. If I can just get a small gap when he is out of this room, I’m making a run for it. I’m wearing some cut off denims, a tight shirt, and my favorite sneakers. Comfy clothes in case everything doesn’t go as planned.
Jonah turns the knob on his and Mary’s room door, and my muscles bunch up and get ready to sprint. Jonah pushes the door open slowly and disappears inside; a second later I hear the lock click in place. I stuff my cell into my pocket (I stole it off the fridge this morning) and walk quickly toward the front door. I twist the lock slowly and hold my breath when it creaks once as I pull it open. For a moment, I’m frozen with panic. I squeeze my eyes shut tight and breath through the horrible sense of déjà vu. You’re not there anymore more, move!
Luckily, Jonah is still in his room, and I slip through and softly close the door behind me. When my foot hits the plush carpeting in the corridor of the Indigo Hotel, I start running for the stairs. I don’t bother with the elevator. I run down the stairs two at a time. When I get outside, I slip around the corner and take several deep breaths. I pull out my phone to check the codes. The codes that put blood on my hands. With the Migelli mess and Ana and that damn party, I never had a chance to check them. I enter them twice, and both times the system rejects it.
“Shit!” I curse out loud, tapping my chipped red fingernail against the screen. I try it one more time, and this time I get a computerized warning message that the account will be blocked. I get even angrier when my eyes start to water and I can feel the sting of tears burn in my throat.
What do I do now? Why would he give me the wrong codes! They were supposed to work. I can’t go back up to the room without an excuse for where I was or why I have my phone. I was supposed to leave right now! I look up at the sky, down at the tarmac, all around me, as if the answer will be written on the walls. I’m grasping at straws, any sign that there’s still hope for me to get out alive. And then there it is, all shiny and black in the sunlight. Runner’s car. Parked in front of the Indigo. I’ll
go see Runner. Everyone already knows we slept in the same bed last night, or at least this morning. If I can make him believe I wanted to go see him, I’m in the clear, I’ll have the excuse I need to prove why I slipped out. And I’ll say I took my phone in case they tried to phone me.
The old security guard startles in his chair and starts to stand when I skid on the shiny tile floor. My sneakers whine and leave a black scuff mark on their clean white tile. I just need to get to Runner before Jonah phones and tells him I’m gone. I smile a big smile at the security guard, but then I tone it down because I might look like a circus clown on a power puff high.
“Hey, where can I find Runner?” I ask, trying for a sweeter smile this time. “Are you okay, girly? You almost gave me a heart attack,” the old man says, rubbing at his shoulder. “I’m fine, sorry for scaring you. So is Runner around?” I ask again. I’m not sure how long it will take for Jonah to find me. “Just go over there to Lucille at reception, and she’ll let Amanda know to tell him you are here,” he says, pointing over to reception area and a blonde with a bun so tight that it makes my scalp itch. I clear my throat and fidget with the ruffled edge of my shorts. He’s not making this easy. Runner will be so pissed if they call him down here and he sees me. I glance around the room, looking for something, anything, to get him to let me go up to Runner’s office. Then my eyes catch the diaper commercial showing on one of the TVs, and I smile. “I want to surprise him. I’ve got something to tell him,” I say, lifting my hand to my stomach and smiling all soft and dreamy. The old security guard’s eyebrows bunch together as he looks at my belly and then back up to my face. He doesn’t look convinced.
“Please?” I beg, looking down to the floor. “Oh, all right. His office is on the second floor, left out the elevator. Don’t you go wandering around looking for trouble now. I’ll be watching on my screen,” he says, pointing at his little monitor on his desk. I nod and almost start running again, but I don’t think women in my pretend condition run, so I walk over to the elevator really fast and press the button for the second floor.
Soft elevator music filters through the speakers, and I smooth my hair with my shaky hand. The door dings open, and it’s only a couple of feet to the first door on the left. I hope it’s the right one. There’s no name on the door. I look up at the camera in the corner like the old security guard can actually tell me its okay to go in. I rap my knuckles on the door three times quickly and wince at how hard it sounds. “Come in.” His voice sounds irritated from the other side of the door. I open it slowly and peer inside.
I take a step towards his desk, and his eyes go wide and then narrow on me in a death glare. He reaches for his phone, checking something before looking back at me. I know he texted Jonah before I left.
“I slipped out while he went to change his bandages. His leg is giving him some problems,” I say, before he can ask. He sits up straighter and my whole body shivers. He looks good behind his desk, powerful. But I know Runner doesn’t need a desk to prove what he is capable of. I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, still looking him in the eye. I don’t know what I’m going to say, what my excuse is for showing up here, but I fight the urge to run in the other direction even as my body spurs me forward. Straight into the danger zone, yet a strange calm fills me as I get closer to him, and just like that, I know what I’m going to say.
I walk toward his desk, and I don’t stop until I’m straddled across his lap. Runner lifts his hands as if to lift me off, but I hold my own hands up, hoping he’ll give me a second to explain myself. “I’m not a stupid, naïve little girl, Runner. I’m not delusional enough to think that what happened this morning means you love me. I couldn’t give a crap about love. But I have fun with you, you make me feel better. You make me feel safe. I want to return the favor. I want to make you feel better. I know you don’t want a relationship with me, and I’m good with that…” Did I just offer to be his fuck buddy? Why would I do that? He already thinks I’m a slut.
Runner shifts uncomfortably under my thighs. I run my index finger down his shirt-covered chest. My eyes following the trail of my red chipped fingernail. I like red, the color of passion, the color of danger. I look back up and straight into his eyes. Something shifts, just a little bit; his walls give way, and I get a glimpse of the guy behind all the chaos. The real Runner, the one who craves someone to care for him just as much as I do. Or maybe it’s just me; maybe I’m already screwed, and I just won’t admit it to myself. Maybe I’m just hoping he is capable of love.
“Thank you,” I say, because my thoughts are just turning depressing and I need to get out of my own head. I didn’t plan on doing this when I came over, but now that I’m here, I really want to do it. Just a little comfort, I just want him to relax.
I lower my hands to the button of his slacks slowly. Still watching him, watching me. His breathing is slightly heavier and his eyes are darker. I know he wants what I’m offering. I slip the button through the hole and lower his zipper. I’m greeted by taut stomach muscles and the white waistband of his boxers. The white against his beautifully tanned skin makes my mouth water and my skin tingle. I slip my finger inside his waistband and trace his skin from hip bone to hip bone. His skin is soft as silk and warm to the touch. I reach inside to finally free him from his boxers, eager to have him in my hands, but two powerful hands lock around my wrists.
“Stop!” he growls. His breathing is ragged and his eyes blaze. And in the silence that follows, I swear I hear my heart break free from my chest, fall to the floor, and shatter at his feet. I’m in love with Runner and he doesn’t want me.
Tears well up behind my tightly closed eyes, and I slip off his lap. I knew he wasn’t the relationship type, but what kind of guy runs hot and cold like this. You knew this was going to happen! He’s done it before, remember?
“Talon, I’m sor—” He shakes his head, he can’t even say the words. “You should go back to the hotel room.” He leaves through another door in the back, still buckling up his pants. Hot wet tears slip down my cheeks, and I lean forward, supporting myself on his desk. A big sloppy tear plops down onto the keyboard of his laptop, and I wipe at it with my finger. I must’ve pressed something because, all of a sudden, all Indigo’s bank accounts are open in front of me.
I take a hurried look over my shoulder to make sure the door is still closed, and then I pull my phone out and snap a picture of the different spreadsheets. Then I click the back button and get the hell out of there. A favor for a favor, and this bitch is here to collect.
I ignore Ana’s annoying questions about where I’ve been, and even Jonah’s death glares don’t affect me. I slam my door closed, muting the fire squad outside. I climb into bed and pull the covers over my head. Let Runner tell them I went over there looking for something he wasn’t willing to give. I know I somehow developed feelings for him. I wasn’t looking for Prince Charming, I wasn’t even looking for love when all this started. Instead I got…something dangerous, and something very off limits, and now my heart will pay the price. But I won’t walk away empty-handed. I can’t even think about what will happen when he finds out what I did. I spill my tears into my pillow. I cry for Runner, I cry for myself. I cry for retribution until sleep finally drags my swollen eyes shut.
RUNNER
“What are you doing?” Jonah asks when he walks up behind me. I bare my teeth at him and refuse to answer him. If he patronizes me, I’m breaking his other leg; he can crawl back to his room.
I’m sitting in the bar on the casino’s floor, slot machines dinging all around me. For once, I don’t have a headache. I’m successfully and damn comfortably numb. Jonah should mind his own business. I stare at the whirlwind in my glass as I swirl the amber liquid around and around. I don’t normally drink. He drinks. He was a fuck up. I’m not. I’m trying to be a better man. The kind of man my father would be proud of. I was doing good, got out of the drug game. Kept my nose clean for six years, until now. Now, I don’t even know what
I’m doing. Falling in love? Falling apart? Stupid woman and her shit. I should go over there and kick her ass out. But the truth is, I’m not that guy. My father taught me better than that. I saw my mother suffer for years by the hands of a man who didn’t appreciate her.
Jonah pulls the chair out next to me and sits down uncomfortably. I watch him in the mirror of the bar. His brows pinch together as he tries to straighten his leg to sit more comfortably. Then he calls the bartender over and orders whatever I’m having.
I lower my eyes to the tumbler in my hands and smell the brandy. It’s got a rich aroma, much the same as the deep amber color filling the glass. I look back up to the mirror and swallow the contents. It burns my throat but with it comes a sense of freedom. I won’t turn into a monster from one drink, ten drinks; a falling idiot or someone who bangs random girls maybe…but not a monster. I shake my head and push my glass towards the young bartender again. I’m not drunk enough, if I can still remember that night with Talon. The bartender takes my glass, but I don’t miss the way he looks at me before he decides to go refill it anyway. He is a smart man. I’m not in the mood to be fucked with.
“What are you doing, Runner?” Jonah asks again, this time sipping on his drink. I turn to him, and for a moment I want to knock him down. I want to hurt someone, make them hurt me back, the way I hurt Talon. But honestly, that girl has taken up way to much space in my head, and if I’m not careful, someone might get hurt, or die. I’m not a good person to be around.
“What the fuck’s it to you?” I say. He smiles, swallows his drink, and orders another when the bartender puts mine down. The young guy looks between the two of us, nervous; maybe he thinks we are going to start a fight. “Get the drink,” I say, careful not to raise my voice, when all I want to do is scream. “Yes, sir,” he mumbles, hurrying away.
