Made for Breaking (The Russells Book 1)

by Lauren Gilley

  “Oh, baby, you hardly ate anything,” Cheryl said.

  Lisa plucked her beer off the table and forced a smile across her lips before she turned. “I’m fine.”

  “Oh, I hope I didn’t upset her.”

  “No, no, she’s just working too hard.”

  Drew listened to Cheryl reassure Ellen while he shoveled the rest of his pork roast – which was heaven on a plate – and green beans into his mouth in a haste so he’d be ready to follow Lisa out the door when she came back downstairs. Johnny continued to regale him with tales of his Trans Am, but otherwise, no one spoke to him, and as soon as it looked like it wouldn’t be terrible manners to excuse himself, he did so, heading out the back door to grab his wallet off the nightstand in the carriage house.

  He didn’t realize he’d been followed until he was halfway across the drive and heard the door off the screened-in porch slam shut on its hinges. He paused and turned to find Ray coming after him, not in an angry haste, but not with a friendly smile either.

  “You’re not hard to sneak up on,” Ray said as he drew to a halt in front of him, hands in his jeans pockets giving him a false projection of casualness.

  Drew knew he was being baited – he’d been baited his whole life in some form or other – and shrugged. “People don’t usually sneak up on me,” he countered. “They come right at my face. And I put ‘em down.”

  Ray’s sideways smile was full of unspoken threats. “You’re not fighting for me. Out in the big ugly world, people don’t ‘come at your face.’”

  He glanced down at the blue cast over his right wrist, his fingers protruding lamely from the plaster. “It’s an adjustment,” he said. “But I’ll get there.”

  Ray snorted. “I don’t have time for that.” Drew opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off. “I’m sending Sly with Lis tonight. Somehow I don’t think they’ll end up in the ER at the end of the night.”

  It was a fair jab: Drew had screwed up. He’d let his guard down, forgotten that his own past transgressions might be the thing that put Lisa in danger. But as he took in his new employer from head-to-toe, he couldn’t help but frown. Lisa wouldn’t need a bodyguard if it weren’t for whatever her father had done. Drew’s poor decisions had shit-all to do with bizarre flower deliveries and potential stalkers. He felt his resolve harden. “Josh wouldn’t have hurt her,” he said and wanted to think it was true. “But last night, that was my bad, and I get it.” He leveled a sharp look at the other man. “But you wouldn’t have me tailing her if you didn’t have some skeletons tryin’ to bite you in the ass. Am I right?”

  Ray was silent, returning his stare with so much anger shining in his eyes it was a miracle they didn’t catch fire.

  A foreign thrill licked through Drew’s system and he finally knew what it felt like to tell the man pulling his puppet strings “no.” Well…if not “no,” then at least “back the hell off.”

  “You didn’t hire me because you think I suck,” he said. “Call Sly if you want, but I’m going. I don’t back out of a job.”

  And because he wasn’t entirely comfortable with this whole insubordination thing, he turned and kept moving toward the carriage house. Ray didn’t follow.

  The drone of the vacuums was the sweetest sound at the end of every shift. When her knees and feet and the small of her back felt full of needles and she swore she’d dump the next customer’s beer in his lap, the static hymn of the old Hoovers up on the carpeted catwalk was downright magical.

  Lisa stowed her apron in its cubby beneath the bar and sighed, all her usual pent-up frustration with her job exiting between her teeth. Drew was watching her from his perch on the other side of the bar top, as was now customary, and she had to admit that his eyes didn’t bother her anymore. With his cast and his head trauma, after he’d survived family dinner and insisted that he be the one to escort her again – which she knew he must have done – it was hard to find fault with him. She knew she would have been able to if she’d tried, but she didn’t want to. And when her eyes had found his throughout the night, she’d almost felt like smiling.

  “I’m gonna take the trash around back and then I’ll be done,” she told him as she pulled the cinch ties on the bag that lined the big can behind the bar where they tossed empties and squeezed lime wedges.

  He started to stand. “Should I come?”

  “No.” She had to grin – he really was a good dog. “I’ll just be a sec.”

  Trying not to stagger against its weight as she hefted the bag up over her shoulder, she gave him a mock-salute and left the bar area via the swinging half-door in the rear. Her ankles threatened to buckle and she cursed her shoes for it as she crossed to the entrance of the short hall that led to the back door. She traded greetings with Miguel and stepped lightly over his just-mopped floor; and rolled her eyes at Holly’s glare. Maybe, at some point in her life, she’d work with people she could get along with.

  She startled a rat the size of a toy poodle when she pushed through the back door and it scurried, screaming, around behind the dumpster. “Oh, God.” Lisa jumped as she felt the thing dart across her feet and caught her breath, feeling stupid, as she watched its silhouette disappear into an even deeper darkness that the one she stood in.

  “Dumbass,” she cursed herself for being jumpy. She was filled to the brim with fatigue, the beer she’d had with dinner not helping the situation at all; couple that with the straight-out-of-a-horror-movie rear exterior of the bar, she was downright girlish in her jumpiness.

  She tried to tell herself it couldn’t be helped. Mysterious flowers. Drew getting jumped. The flickering streetlamp at the edge of the parking lot that couldn’t make up for the fact that the security light above the back door was missing its bulb. She stood in a pool of oily, rank shadows, the dumpster a hulking monolith of even purer black to her left along the brick façade of the building. The air was ripe with the smell of garbage and stale vomit. The pavement was slippery beneath her feet. And, Lisa noted with a grimace as she heard the latch click into place, she’d forgotten to wedge the loose brick into the door, thanks to the rat’s appearance, and now she’d have to walk all the way around to the front of the building and back in through the main doors.

  “My life…so charmed,” she muttered as she lifted the lid of the dumpster and then nearly gagged as the stench of rotting…everything…came pouring out of it. She chucked the bag and backed away, waving her left hand, hoping the wet glob of whatever she’d just touched wasn’t as gross as she worried it was. “For Christ’s sakes, this is just – ”

  The air left her in a rush as she collided with something behind her. Her shoulders ran into something hard and her breath left her lungs in a loud burst. “What – ”

  A hand, its palm clammy and big and smelling of sweat, clamped over her mouth. She hadn’t backed into something, but someone. She felt his chin on top of her head; his arms came around hers and she knew he far outsized her.

  Panic surged in her chest, a stiff wave of terrified nausea hurtled up her throat. “You won’t ever be able to physically overpower a man,” her father’s voice rang in her head. And her gun was in the glove box of her truck. And her favorite little switchblade was in the bottom of her left boot. Also in her truck.

  Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God…

  His other hand held both her wrists clamped together, the bones feeling like they might snap at any moment, and he crushed her between his arms, his big fingers digging into her face as he sought to suffocate her. He lurched to the side, and kept going, and Lisa knew he meant to drag her off.

  It took half a heartbeat for her to come to the unbelievable conclusion that he was kidnapping her, and then another half for her to push down the debilitating swell of emotions rolling through her to decide that, gun or no, she was not going quietly.

  She lifted both feet clear of the ground and kicked him as well as she could, driving the hard, plastic heels of her sandals into his shins. He grunted, but didn’t loosen his grip.
Lisa arched her spine and tried in vain to throw herself out of his arms.

  His hands were damp and she rubbed her wrists together, struggling to –

  One of her hands came free and she struck blindly in the dark, reaching behind her, thumping her fist between his legs, but not with the force she’d wanted.

  “Bitch!” he hissed in her ear. He released her other hand and she lunged against him. She raked her nails up his arm, clawed at him.

  And then he punched her. Stars exploded behind her eyes. Her racing pulse blurred to a steady drumroll that thundered in her ears. Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest and he squeezed her so tight she couldn’t draw in another breath. Warm, wet tears slid down her cheeks unbidden because her vision wouldn’t clear and she couldn’t get her bearings and he was taking her.

  This sort of thing didn’t happen to girls like her. She wasn’t a victim, wasn’t careless. But still, her mind was flooded with all the horrific possibilities of what this meant, what he would do to her once he took her wherever he was taking her.

  Lisa kicked and struggled, and tried to scream at him, fighting her own uncooperative body as much as she did his.

  I don’t wanna die, I don’t wanna die…

  And then she was loose, falling, hitting the pavement in a tangle of flailing limbs. Air crashed down into her lungs and she gasped and coughed and levered herself up to a crouch, head spinning, world reeling, as she tried to find some reason that her attacker would have released her.

  A dark shadow in the shape of a man was sprinting off into the night across the parking lot, soles of his shoes slapping loudly against the pavement. And Lisa could barely make out someone standing above her, just a shift in the pattern of shadows around her. She gasped, and then covered her mouth, half afraid she’d throw up.

  “You okay?”

  It was Drew, and as he knelt in front of her, all the adrenaline bled out of her on a trembling exhale. The sense of urgency, the need to escape, left her, and in its place, the frantic notion of what-might-have-been left her shaking and clammy with cold sweat.

  “Yeah,” she managed, and reached to touch the knot forming on the side of her head where the attacker had hit her. “Holy shit.”

  Drew made an angry, grunting sort of sound. “When you didn’t come back in I got worried.”

  She’d never been so glad of a man’s worry as she was now. She swallowed the compulsion to gag. “Did – did you get a look at him?”

  “No. Too dark. You?”

  She shook her head, then winced when the motion sent fresh stabs of pain radiating through her skull.

  “Here.”

  “I’m fine.” But the protest was lame, and she didn’t fight him when he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her gently to her feet. She staggered a step and leaned into his side for support. He felt sturdy and strong beside her, and though in a different moment she might have called herself weak, now, she just wanted to grab a handful of the back of his shirt and let him lead her around to the front of the bar.

  So that’s what she did.

  22

  Ray was scared. Drew could see the unmistakable glimmer of fear in the man’s eyes as he braced his hands on his kitchen table beneath the glow of the overhead lamp. “You get a look at him?” he asked, his voice clipped.

  Drew shook his head and then his eyes slid back to Lisa who sat beside him, staring blankly into near space, her fingertips at her temples looking like all that held her head up on her neck. Recalling the attack as he’d seen it, bringing the image back to the forefront of his mind, filled Drew with his own share of fright, and the knowledge of such worried him. It hadn’t been adrenaline or duty or obligation that had sent him catapulting out the back door of the bar. No – as he’d watched the shadow of a man crush the shadow of Lisa back against his chest, prepared to drag her away into the night, a cold blast of terror had rushed through his system. He wasn’t easily scared, but he’d been scared for her, and though he accepted the truth of it, it wasn’t reassuring. You didn’t get frightened for your charge, for your boss’s kid.

  “He didn’t hear me come out and I had a clear shot at his face,” he explained. A humorless grin touched his lips before he could stop it. “Hit the asshole across the mouth with the back of my cast and he took off. Guess this thing’s good for something.”

  Ray’s brows drew even tighter together, if that was possible. “And you didn’t see him at all?”

  “It was dark, Dad,” Lisa defended. “He was just a shadow.”

  “And I’m pretty sure he was wearing a ski mask.” Drew held up his right arm so the dark, knit fibers that had scratched off on his cast were visible under the lamp. He recalled at least a half a dozen episodes of CSI he’d watched over the mountain of empty beer bottles in Josh’s living room once upon a time. “Should we, you know, call the cops or something? Maybe they could take a sample and they could get the…what do ya call it…the DNA, and…”

  He trailed off as Ray’s glare threatened to cut him. Lisa shot him a very disapproving look.

  “This isn’t TV,” Ray said with disgust. “What, we let city of Acworth,” he spat the name, “PD put out a BOLO for a ‘man of unknown age, description or race who might have a ski mask in his back pocket’?” He shoved away from the table with a sneer and began to pace around it.

  Cheryl was leaning back against the counter in front of the sink, looking shocked and nauseous, her arms folded over her middle. Without makeup, the grooves around her mouth and eyes were more pronounced, and terror for her daughter had widened her eyes to tear-filled saucers. She met his glance and gave him the tiniest of trembling smiles, though, as reassurance that maybe he wasn’t so stupid as Ray thought. A thankful smile. If not for him, Lisa would be…It was heavy stuff, that thought. He felt its weight all the way down to his bones.

  Ray reached the threshold between kitchen and back porch and he spun, a dictatorial finger stabbing through the air toward his daughter. “You’re done there, you hear me? You do not work at Double Vision one more night!”

  Cheryl put a shaky hand to her mouth, taking the end of one nail between her teeth in the same way Drew had watched Lisa do.

  Lisa lifted her head; her hands fell palm-down on the table, and it was such a rallying gesture, the way her shoulders heaved as she pulled in a breath, that Drew thought she meant to defy her dad. But then she swallowed, the muscles in her slim throat moving, and the last, clinging bits of fire in her green eyes died down. She looked exhausted. Defeated. And she nodded before her gaze swept down to her hands. “Okay.”

  If this was the first time Drew had ever laid eyes on the girl, he might have called her meek. As much as she hated the bar, as much as he thought it was the worst place for her – save maybe a strip club – it was her independence. If she was giving it up, then she was shaken. Badly shaken.

  Ray must have expected an argument, because then he didn’t seem to know what to do, running his hands back over his thin hair, exhaling in a loud rush. He nodded.

  “Babe,” Cheryl ventured, “I think we really ought to call the police.” Her husband’s betrayed look didn’t sway her. “This is getting to be more than you can handle.”

  Which was clearly the wrong thing to stay. The storm clouds that had dissipated reformed over his face. “We have jack shit to tell the cops,” he argued in a nasty voice. “We – ”

  She raised a hand, palm facing him, and shook her head. “I’m not fighting with you tonight.” Her voice shook. “I’m just not. We all need some sleep.”

  Drew glanced over her shoulder and through the window above the sink, noting that the deep indigo of midnight had faded to the pinkish gray of dawn. This would be the second day in a row that had bled into morning. His right hand was throbbing insistently, reminding him that he’d been over twelve hours without a prescription pain pill, and that he needed sleep. He’d been so hyped up with worry over Lisa, and then Ray’s reaction to Lisa, that he’d almost forgotten that h
e felt like dog shit.

  “All of us,” Cheryl said. “It’s Sunday, we don’t have to go anywhere. And we’re probably waking up Mark and Johnny.”

  “Mark and Johnny can go to hell,” Ray snapped, but he took a step anyway, toward the door, toward the stairs, toward bed, as his wife wanted.

  “We’ll sort this out when our heads are clear,” Cheryl pressed. She pushed away from the counter and set a gentle, motherly hand on her daughter’s head. “Come on, sweetie. We’ll get some aspirin.”

  When Lisa didn’t jump at the idea, but remained staring at the table, Drew offered, “You want a Vicodin? The doc gave me plenty.” He left out the part about already having a stash of his own.

  To his surprise, Lisa turned grateful eyes to him and nodded.

  He walked through a balmy dawn that had been pinpricked with coolness and drizzled with dew to the carriage house. The prescription bottle waited on the antique-looking nightstand. He paused in the bathroom to cup water in his hand and swallow one of the two pills he’d shaken out, then he returned to the house among the singing of early rising birds.

  Ray was gone when he reentered the kitchen, and Cheryl stood behind Lisa’s chair, stroking her hair. He didn’t really know what a mother’s concern looked like, but still, he knew this was what he was watching as he approached the table. He set the white, oblong pill on the table in front of Lisa and Cheryl already had a glass of water in her free hand.

  Once Lisa swallowed it down, she said, “I’m fine, Mom,” not unkindly. She was the one who’d been attacked, but she was trying to be the brave one. Which, judging by the pained look that flickered across Cheryl’s face, her mom thought that was ridiculous.

  “Don’t stay up,” she admonished, then, reluctantly, with slow, lingering steps, she left the room.

  The sound of her slippered feet was just fading up the stairs when an electronic chime echoed throughout the room and Lisa groaned. “The alarm,” she explained with a slow shake of her head. “Dad’s burglar alarmed you into the house and probably not on purpose.” The chuckle she forced had not a trace of humor.