Phantom Wheel

by Tracy Deebs

  Which makes me think. More, it makes me cautious—when from the moment this thing began, I’ve been nothing but impulsive. Ruled by my gut and my heart instead of my head.

  And look where that’s gotten me.

  On the run from Jacento, from the cops, from my life. I pointed a gun at someone today, something I would never have thought in a million years I’d do. Something I never want to do again.

  Still gazing at the house—afraid to take my eyes off it in case it disappears—I say, “I can’t go to prison, Ezra.”

  “We’re not going to prison.”

  “No,” I tell him as I stare up at the house—at the life—that I’ve spent the last two years working to achieve someday, for myself and for my family. “You’re not going to prison. Owen’s not going to prison. Alika’s not going to prison, and probably neither is Seth. But Harper and me? We don’t have the same luxury you guys do. We don’t have a safety net. So when this goes bad, we’re the ones who are going down while the rest of you are bailed out by your parents’ spare change.”

  “Do you really think I’d let that happen to you? That any of us would?”

  “I don’t think Mommy or Daddy is going to give you a choice, Ezra.”

  “It’s not up to them.”

  “Yes, it is. The fact that you think it’s not shows just how naïve you are. Your parents are not going to let you risk your future just to defend some riffraff from San Antonio.”

  He gets close and puts his face right next to mine, in an effort to make me look at him. But I keep my eyes on the prize. On the house that is everything I want my brothers and sisters to grow up in. To have a normal life in.

  “If you believe that’s how I think of you, you don’t know me very well.” He doesn’t sound angry so much as hurt.

  “I don’t know you very well,” I answer. “And you don’t know me either. So why would I think, even for a second, that you would pay to get me out of trouble? I may not be a fan of old movies, but this?” I gesture between the two of us. “This I’ve seen a million times, and it never ends well for the regular girl with all the baggage.”

  “Pretty Woman,” he tells me.

  “Excuse me?”

  “That old movie with Julia Roberts and Richard Gere? Where he climbs up the fire escape? It ended pretty well for her.”

  “She was a hooker. He bought her.”

  “So you did see it.”

  “I’m old movie challenged, not completely illiterate.” I shake my head. “I can’t believe you used a movie with a hooker in it to make your point. That says everything about how you see me.”

  “Oh, no, you’re not going to throw that on me. If that’s what you got out of that movie, it says more about how you think of yourself than it says about my feelings on the matter.”

  “Ugh. That’s another rich-boy maneuver if I’ve ever heard one. All I did was put words to how the world sees me.”

  “That’s not what I see,” he says as he somehow moves even closer.

  “Oh yeah?” I try to sound like I don’t care at all, when the truth is, I care way more than I should about what he thinks of me.

  He’s not falling for the attitude, though. “Yeah,” he murmurs as he turns me to face him. Then he slides a finger under my chin and tilts my face up until I have no choice but to punk out or meet his gaze. And since there’s no way I’m going to punk out…

  I’m not ready, though. Not ready for the compassion I see in his eyes as we look at each other, and definitely not ready for everything else I see there. It makes me feel vulnerable, when I never let myself feel that way. Never let myself be put in a position to feel that way.

  “We should get moving,” I tell him, grasping at straws at this point. Anything to protect myself. Anything to make what I’m feeling right now less intense, less real.

  Because I know better. God, do I know better. Ezra Hernandez stands for absolutely everything I don’t want in a guy, and yet here I am. Letting him cup my cheek. Letting him rest his long, lean body against mine. Letting him whisper in my ear.

  “Everything about you is beautiful, Issa.”

  I start to brush the compliment away—his view of what I look like is the last thing I want to talk about—but Ezra won’t be swept aside. Instead, he stays where he is, so close that I can’t take a breath without my chest pressing against his. “The way you think, the way you move, the way you code.”

  “The way I code? That’s a new one.”

  “Maybe, but it’s true. Usually, other people’s code makes me nuts, but yours is really beautiful. Streamlined and supple and secretly complicated under all the clean lines. Oh, and intriguing. It’s very, very intriguing.”

  I feel myself starting to thaw, my defenses melting away at his words, his touch, the way his body is so warm and strong and perfect next to mine.

  Alarm bells are going off, warning me that this is the surest way to mess things up—the surest way to get myself into even more trouble.

  And yet, when his thumb comes up and rubs back and forth against my lips, I don’t pull away. I don’t even protest. I just stand here and watch his dark eyes burn with the same heat I feel deep inside.

  He does it again, a little harder this time, like he’s actually trying to rub something away. “What—?” I ask, and it’s not the most coherent thing in the world, but having him this close—this intense—is giving me all the feels, whether I want them or not.

  “I don’t like that Seth kissed you,” he admits.

  I look at him like he’s crazy. “That was just a cover, to keep the guards from getting suspicious.”

  “I know.” He rubs his thumb across my lips one more time. “I still don’t like it.”

  “That’s ridic—” I break off because he’s leaning forward now and slowly, carefully, pressing his lips to mine. And nothing has ever felt so good. Not hacking the College Board, not flying on an airplane, not even getting off that train alive today.

  Because, despite everything—despite his arrogance and his brilliance, his ridiculous wealth, and his even more ridiculous propensity for spending it with abandon—kissing Ezra feels like home. If it’s the middle of summer and the air-conditioning is broken and every wall in the place is on fire. But still, home.

  I bring my hands up to his neck, burrow my fingers in his silky, too-long hair. I should stop him, I know I should. But I can’t, not when every nerve ending—every cell in my body—is screaming for him. If this is it, if this is the only chance I have of ever feeling this way in my life, then I’m going to take it. I’m going to stand here and let him kiss me, and I’m going to kiss him back, with all the heat and fear and power I have inside me.

  Ezra breaks first, abruptly pulling away to suck shuddering gulps of air into his lungs. “Issa, you—” And then he dives in again, both hands cupping my face as he slams his mouth back down onto mine.

  I don’t know how long we stand here like this—mouths fused, bodies wrapped around each other. But it’s long enough for a few cars to pass by and honk, long enough for my fingers—and my lips—to go numb. More than long enough for me to forget what it feels like to breathe without the musky, slightly spicy scent of him wrapped around me.

  And when it’s over—when we finally manage to untangle our mouths and bodies and hands so that we can get make our way back to Ezra’s condo—it’s still not over. Because all that heat, all that emotion, woke up something inside me. Some dormant part that I didn’t know existed and don’t have a clue what to do with. All I know is that things just got a lot more complicated… and a lot harder to walk away from than I ever anticipated.

  25

  Harper

  (5p3ct3r)

  “You made it!” Silver Spoon says as we drag ourselves through the door to his condo. “We were about to send up a flare.”

  “Yeah, well, it’s been an experience,” Mad Max responds.

  I roll my eyes. “Turns out Mad Max here doesn’t know how to ride a bike nearly as well as
he claims to.”

  “I can ride in a normal city, thank you very much, but this place is really hilly. There are almost no hills in Austin, and it’s very different riding a bike there.”

  “Awwwww,” Buffy coos as she looks him over. “Did you get a boo-boo?”

  “He did. He fell off and banged his knee. Twice.”

  “You really had to tell them about the second time?” Mad Max complains.

  I nod solemnly. “I really did. At least I didn’t tell them how you almost fell in the pond and got bitten by a duck.… Oops.”

  “You actually rode bikes to get back here?” Snow White asks. “Where did you—”

  “Wait a minute!” Mad Max interrupts, eyes wide. “It just hit me. That’s my nickname? Mad Max?”

  I crack up. I can’t help it—he’s just sooooo excited to finally know the secret. “Yes,” I tell him, shaking my head. “That’s your nickname.”

  “It’s so much better than Porcupine. So much more badass. I love it, Harper!” He looks so excited that I don’t even know how to respond. I take a cautious step back, just in case he decides to hug me.

  The Lone Ranger, however, doesn’t have any shortage of responses. “She’s got a nickname for you, huh?” He wiggles his brows up and down in the most ridiculous way. “Sexy.”

  Mad Max blushes, and it is totally adorable how this kid can still blush after the day we’ve had. “It’s not like that. She’s got one for all of us.”

  “And they’re not sexy,” I interject. “I don’t do sexy.”

  “What does that mean?” Silver Spoon asks from where he’s sprawled on one of the couches. “You’re totally hot.”

  “I’m really not.” Unsure of what to say because I never really expected this to come up, I walk over to the bar and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. Then I decide, Screw it. I’ve never said this out loud to anyone before—never had anyone to say it out loud to—but I nearly died with these people today. If I can’t trust them with the truth about who I am, than who can I tell? “But that’s not what I meant when I said I don’t do sexy.” I twist off the bottle’s cap, take a long, slow sip as I try to get my thoughts in order. Then I decide simple really is best. “I’m asexual.”

  “Asexual?” Mad Max asks. “Really?”

  I nod. “Really.” I look down at the water bottle, start peeling nervously at the label as I wait to hear what they think. Not that it should matter—I barely know these people. And yet, somehow, it does.

  “Well, thank God,” the Lone Ranger says as he walks over and grabs a bottle of water too. Then he slings an arm around my shoulder and pulls me in close so he can stage whisper, “Ezra and Issa have been drooling over each other since they got back here half an hour ago, and I’m about to puke. At least we know you’re still sane.”

  “Whatever.” Buffy makes a face. “Like you and Alika are any better?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Snow White exclaims, except suddenly her cheeks are even redder than Mad Max’s. “I don’t drool, thank you very much, let alone at Owen.”

  “Sure you do,” Silver Spoon teases. “You’ve been doing it all night.”

  “I’ve been in the shower, alone, since you got back. No one to drool over, thank you very much! Don’t try to put me on the hot seat just because you can’t keep your hormones under control.”

  “So are you aromantic?” Mad Max asks in the middle of all the chaos. “Or just asexual?”

  “I think just asexual,” I answer cautiously. “Why, does it matter?”

  “Of course not! I’m just trying to get the terms right. This is so cool.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “It is?”

  “Sure. I’ve never had a friend who was asexual before. Diversity is good. I like it.”

  “Well, as long as I can be helpful…” I can’t seem to stop laughing, and as I look around at this mismatched group that I somehow fit into perfectly, I can’t believe I was ever nervous. If I was a lousy hacker, they’d boot me out in a heartbeat, but the fact that I’m asexual is barely a blip on the radar. I kind of love it.

  The doorbell rings, and Silver Spoon jumps up. “Dinner’s here. Hope you like Chinese.”

  “I got it, dude,” the Lone Ranger says as he climbs to his feet. “It’s my turn.”

  As he moves to grab his wallet off the bar, Buffy sidles up to me. “So, let’s get down to the really important stuff.…” She gets quiet for a second, and at first I think it’s because she’s going to ask some personal question about my asexuality, so I brace myself. “You have to tell me. What’s my nickname?”

  It’s so not what I was expecting that I just stare at her for a second. “Really? That’s what you want to know?”

  “Well, yeah. You said we all have one. And Seth’s is really cool. So what’s mine? Wonder Woman?”

  “Umm, no.”

  “Oh.” She looks disgruntled for a second, but then she brightens. “Black Widow?”

  “That’s a good one,” I tell her. “But no.” And I’ve obviously got a mean streak because instead of telling her the truth, I say, “Tinker Bell,” just to hear her whine.

  She doesn’t disappoint. “Tinker Bell? Tinker Bell? Seth gets Mad freaking Max, and I get Tinker Bell? Are you serious? Why on earth do I remind you of Tinker Bell? Is it because I’m short compared to you? Because I’m actually not short, you know!”

  “It’s totally because of your height,” I deadpan. Before I can tell her I’m just joking, the Lone Ranger calls out, “Look at it this way. At least she didn’t call you Maleficent. She’s a fairy too, isn’t she?” he asks, hand on the doorknob. “Or Fairy Godmother. Or—”

  And that’s when all hell breaks loose.

  26

  Owen

  (1nf1n173 5h4d3)

  One second I’m messing with Issa, and the next there’s a searing pain in my side. It takes me a beat to register what it is, and that beat almost gets me killed as another gun goes off.

  “Look out!” I shout, slamming the door shut as hard as I can. I lock it and slide the chain in place before diving to the side. Considering the kinds of weapons these guys are packing, it will only buy us a minute or so, but that’s a minute we wouldn’t have otherwise.

  “What the hell is happening?” Ezra yells as he comes running.

  “Don’t!” I scream. “Get down!”

  Bullets pound the door, plowing through the wood and heavy beveled glass like it’s not even there. I scramble across the floor, trying to get to Alika, while Ezra changes course and heads toward Issa.

  “What’s going on?” Alika screams.

  “Get down!” I yell again, but she’s frozen in place, eyes wide and hands over her mouth.

  Thank God the others don’t have that problem. Ezra throws himself at Issa, taking her down hard while Harper dives behind the bar and Seth rolls over the back of the couch.

  I make it to Alika just as another hail of bullets starts up. They go through the holes the first ones made in the door and start tearing up the penthouse. I pull Alika down a second or two before bullets slam into the wall right where she was standing. Others hit tables and picture frames and chandeliers, and glass goes flying everywhere.

  Alika keeps screaming, and I shake her, hard, to get her attention. “You’ve got to calm down,” I tell her. “We’ve got to move. Now!”

  The only problem is I don’t know where to go. We’re forty-two stories in the sky, and the only way out is the door these assholes are currently shooting through.

  I’m wracking my brain, trying to figure out what the hell to do, when Ezra shouts, “Upstairs.”

  “Are you kidding me? You want to go higher?” I yell over the gunfire.

  “There’s a private elevator in one of the master closets,” he answers. “It goes all the way down.”

  “Up it is, then,” Harper says as she peers around the edge of the bar. “As soon as they stop shooting at us, that is.”

  As if they heard her, the g
unfire ceases, leaving an eerie silence in its place. One that lasts only long enough for the front door to swing open.

  As three men with very large guns walk through the door, I grab Alika and drag her the last few feet to the nearest chair—a huge overstuffed thing that is, thankfully, just big enough for us to fit behind.

  Ezra and Issa are directly across from us, lying facedown behind one of the large sofas. He points to the staircase again, and I nod. But it’s all the way across the room. How are we supposed to get there?

  “Where you hiding?” one of the men asks in a heavy Scandinavian accent. “You don’t actually think you’re going to get out of this, do you?”

  I slap a hand over Alika’s mouth, just in case.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” the second man taunts, his shoes crunching on broken glass as he makes his way deeper into the apartment. I listen hard, trying to judge where they are, but the whole downstairs is one huge open floor plan, and the acoustics are terrible. Sound rises with the high ceilings, and it’s almost impossible to tell where the noise is coming from. I think about sticking my head out to check, but if they see me, Alika and I are both dead.

  Especially since the third man hasn’t said a word, and I can’t even begin to estimate what side of the apartment he’s on.

  I fight the urge to freak the hell out, but come on. Stuff like this only happens in movies, right? I mean, how are we in the middle of an actual shoot-out right now?

  Then again, it’s not actually a shoot-out if only one side has guns, is it?

  Desperate, I fumble in my pocket for my Swiss Army knife. It’s not much, but it’s the only weapon I’ve got. I open the biggest blade, then clutch the handle in my fist as I wait, breath held.

  “Haven’t you all caused enough trouble?” the first man says. “Why don’t you just come out and get it over with? You have to know you can’t hack your way out of this one.”

  His voice is over near the bar, and I freak out, thinking of Harper back there alone, with no weapon at all. I scooch around a little, so that I can get a look at the bar, which is crosswise from where Alika and I are hiding. I get in position just in time to see the guy get to the edge of the bar.