“Wait. What happens now?”
“You’ll hear from him.” He slings the backpack over his shoulder and stands.
I have to clamp my mouth on the scream that builds in my throat. Burning tears form and I blink them away, knowing crying won’t get me anywhere, wondering if Nolan is crying out for me now.
Hate and rage fuel my actions.
I grab the guy’s arm, my nails digging into his flesh. “I have to talk to Farkas. Or to my mom. Please. If you have their number–”
“Even if I had a number, I’m not suicidal. Listen.” He leans down, close enough that I can see the pockmarks on his cheek. “You want some advice? Just get the money. Your kid is safe as long as you keep the cops out of this.”
“You saw him?”
His mouth twists, and I can tell he’s debating whether to tell me more. Finally, he curses under his breath. “He was with Gretchen, playing video games and eating ice cream. She’s your mom, right?”
I nod, wondering how this guy, who looks like he should be studying for exams and not doing the dirty work for a mobster, knows who my mother is.
“The kid is safe with his grandma. Just get the money.”
I don’t correct him, even though I want to say that sharing the same DNA doesn’t make a person a grandmother...or a mother. And she didn’t keep me safe, so why would she do any better by my son?
She knew what Farkas had planned for me.
I shudder as memories flood back, but I push them away, focusing on one thing–my son.
“Tell me where they are,” I beg. If I can talk to Farkas, maybe I can make some deal with him. At this point, I’m ready to do anything to protect my child. Even give him the one thing he always wanted–me. “Please.”
“And sign my death certificate? No chance in hell.” He yanks his arm from my grip, scurrying out of the restaurant without looking back.
Alone again, and no closer to getting Nolan back, I’m left sitting here with a gaping hole in my chest and no idea what I’m going to do next.
Burying my face in my hands, I try not to hyperventilate, try not to let my panic overtake all rational thought. But it’s impossible.
I need to get that money–now.
The guy was wrong; Nolan isn’t safe. Farkas may not follow through with his threat to kill my son, but there are worse things than death. And as much as I’d like to think my mother will protect my boy, she’d done a shit job at keeping her own kid safe.
The woman had bounced from relationship to relationship, unable to hold a steady job. So, when Farkas took us in, she’d jumped at the chance for another free meal ticket.
Only Farkas wanted more than just her. He’d wanted me. We’d only been with him two years when I’d heard him arguing about auctioning off my virginity.
He’d planned on selling me the day I turned fifteen. My mom had convinced him to wait until I was seventeen.
She’d at least done that for me.
So, he waited. Threatened any boy who ever got close to me.
And then, the bidding had begun. The money had been paid in full. Fifty thousand dollars for one night.
For my body.
My innocence.
The joke was on him, though, because I’d already given that part of myself to Damon Savage.
“Ten percent is yours, sugar,” Farkas had said, making the mistake of showing me the briefcase full of money, one hand tight around my upper arm. “You just have to be a good girl and do what I say.”
“I won’t do it.” I’d jerked away, causing him to grab a fistful of my hair and yank me down to my knees.
“You should be thanking me. I could have sold you the day I took you and your mother in.” His fists tightened in my hair, and he dragged a callused palm over my cheek, down my chest, cupping one of my breasts and squeezing painfully. “Think of it as payment for letting you stay here.”
I’d whimpered, closing my eyes, already forming a plan to get away, and knowing it would be impossible to leave Damon.
Until I’d heard his words.
She’s a good lay. It’s not like I’m dating the chick.
I should have known better than to think he was different from any other man in my life.
I could have let those words crush me, but instead I used them to strengthen my resolve. While Farkas and my mom slept, I’d emptied the briefcase, snuck down to where Mike St. James kept his old boat, and did what I should have done years before–I ran.
The plan had been to cross over to Canada. It was the one place I could go that Farkas couldn’t follow, not with his criminal record.
And it was a good plan. It would have worked if God didn’t have some vindictive vendetta against me. I’d barely made it to Gull’s Island when the storm hit.
Waves thrashed and beat at me, trying to drown me in its cold, merciless depths. And for a moment, I’d thought about letting it. But something stopped me from giving in. A small spark that made me fight. And even though I hadn’t known it at the time, I wonder now if it was the life that had unknowingly already been growing inside of me.
I’d survived. And I would damn well survive this as well. The money I’d stolen had sunk to the bottom of the lake that day, but I’d found another way to get by. And I’d find a way to save my son now.
Grabbing the Polaroids, I shove them in my bag. Then, I place my last two one-dollar bills on the table. I leave the diner, knowing there’s only one place I can get the kind of money I owe.
But as I move purposefully down Main Street towards the city bank, the same heaviness I’d felt in the restaurant follows me, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being followed. But when I look over my shoulder, I don’t see anyone.
Dark clouds rumble overhead, and I hesitate in front of the old building, palming the weapon at my hip.
Can I do this? God, do I have any other choice? No.
Pushing the bill of my hat down, I take a few steadying breaths, then start up the steps.
A deep, familiar voice rumbles behind me. A voice filled with anger and warning. “Whatever you’re thinking about doing, it’s not worth it.”
I turn, slowly, my gaze skating up the large, inked forearms, across the muscles that strain against the plain black t-shirt, and up to the bearded face and black eyes that pierce me with accusation.
I recognize him as the man from the diner.
Then, his face had been hidden in shadows.
But now I see...him.
Him.
Him.
Him.
Heat spreads from my core throughout my body, an involuntary reaction to the boy I once knew, and the man that stands before me now.
Hovering a good foot above me, arms covered in tattoos, the man reeks of power and danger. But those eyes, they hold me, burning with an intensity that leaves me gasping for breath. He always had the ability to unravel me, to make me forget the world around us, to make me believe that he could protect me...that he would protect me.
A lie I’d let myself believe.
“Damon,” I manage to whisper, but it comes out sounding more like a whimper.
Run, my mind cries. But the look in his eyes tells me I wouldn’t get far.
Chapter 3
Damon
It is her.
If I had any doubt before, I know the truth now. Wide hazel eyes stare up at me under the bill of her hat, her expression tormented, and I can tell she wants to run.
No chance in hell I’m letting you get away this time, sweetheart.
Especially not when she’s clearly in some kind of danger. I saw the money exchange between her and the pock-faced kid at the restaurant. Saw the purpose in her movements as she walked towards the bank. Saw her palm the damn gun under her hoodie.
“You have a permit for that gun?” Of the million and one things I could say, I’m not sure why those are my first words to her, but I have a feeling I just stopped her from doing something incredibly stupid. Something not even my badge could protect
her from.
“I...” Her breathing is rapid, her bottom lip trembling, but what sends out warning bells is the desperation that tightens her features and rolls off her in waves, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. “That’s none of your business.”
She has no idea how much it is my business. I may not be the sheriff in this town, but I’m still a cop. Not that I have any intention of telling her that right now. I have a feeling that little revelation wouldn’t go over too well, especially since it seems like she followed her mother and stepfather down the rabbit hole of delinquency.
Even as I think it, I don’t believe it. The woman standing in front of me is no criminal.
But she is terrified.
“Lorelei–”
“I...I can’t do this right now.” She starts to turn, but I move quickly, placing myself in front of her again.
My right eye twitches, and I fight the need to wrap my arms around her, feel her body against mine, to touch her and know she’s real. Instead, I allow eleven years of pain, frustration, guilt, and anger to fuel my actions and words.
“If you think I’m letting you walk away–”
She tries to move past me.
This time, I grab her forearm and turn her toward me. A live current races through my fingers, the warmth of her skin under my palm messing with my head and body.
Every part of me aches with a strange mixture of pain and relief, and the need that wells inside me is so intense I swear my chest might explode with it. It’s more than just physical. Hell, I’m not sure there’s even a word for what I’m feeling.
“Every day...” The words get stuck in my throat. “I thought you...God, Lorelei, I can’t believe you’re here.”
The world around us fades. And I know she feels it, too. It’s like every one of the last eleven years melts away. I remember every touch, every kiss, every tender caress.
She was mine. And I would have done anything to protect her.
Except I hadn’t. I’d fucked up. And I’ve regretted it every day since.
But now, she’s back.
I can make things right.
Have to make them right.
I lean closer, breathing her in. “It’s so damn good to see you.”
“Damon, please...” There are tears in her eyes, tenderness and hope. But then it’s gone, replaced by a stubborn resolve and that same look I’d seen moments before–fear-based purpose.
“Let me help you. Whatever trouble you’re in–”
She yanks her arm back, but I refuse to release her. “Let me go.”
Not happening. I’ll lock her up myself if I have to.
“You’re going to tell me what’s going on. Where you’ve been. And why you’re back.”
“I...” For a brief moment, I can see the need to unleash whatever burdens she’s carrying. Instead, she shakes her head. “I can’t.”
“Would you rather me call the local sheriff and tell him there’s a woman carrying an unlicensed weapon stalking the bank?” I hate myself for the threat, but right now I’m desperate for answers.
Her eyes widen. “You wouldn’t.”
She has no idea the things I would do. Have done. For her.
“Try me.”
“You don’t understand. I have to...” A tear slips down her cheek, and she glances at the bank, then back at me.
“Whatever you’re involved in, I can help you.”
A small, hysterical laugh falls from her lips. “Unless you have forty-seven thousand dollars just lying around, I doubt it.”
My fears are confirmed with her words. She had every intention of walking into that bank and holding it up at gunpoint.
Jesus.
“What do you need that kind of money for?”
She shakes her head. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“But you did.”
And I have more than that amount of money just lying around. Money that’s really hers. For years, I’d sat on the cash I found in that coffee can. But when it was clear she wasn’t coming back, I’d invested it. After only a few years, I’d more than quadrupled the amount.
I never told anyone about the money. Not even my brothers, who I’m sure think I’m involved in some shady dealings every time I buy a new toy. So, I’ve kept my purchases to a minimum, sitting on the money in hopes that by some miracle she might return.
I stare down at my miracle now. But I know it’s going to come at a cost. Sure, I’d empty my bank account for her in a heartbeat. But I don't doubt that if I give it to her, she’ll disappear once again from my life.
“Let’s go.” I take her elbow and start leading her down the street towards the marina where my boat is docked.
She struggles against my grip, but there’s nothing to her. And despite her protests, I sense there’s a part of her that wants my help.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere we can talk.”
“I don’t have time–”
I stop and spin towards her, leaning down so we’re almost nose to nose. “Eleven fucking years, Lor. You can spare an hour now.”
My emotions are unravelling, and I feel slightly out of control, which is something I try to avoid at all costs. But this–her–it’s all too much.
I hold her gaze, ready to fight her on any excuse she has.
“Okay,” she half whispers, half sighs. “One hour.”
I give a hard nod before turning and leading her through the Sunday morning crowd on Main Street, towards the marina.
No other words are exchanged as I help her onto my boat, untie it, and make my way through the wake-free zone of the channel before heading out into the choppy waters of Lake Erie.
When we’re far enough from land that we can’t see the shore in any direction, I cut the motor.
More silence.
I stare out at the open water. Deep, dark, and until today, a reminder of everything I lost, of the girl I loved.
“I was there when they found the boat,” I say, my voice unnaturally calm despite the turmoil that rages inside me.
From my peripheral view, I see her glance over at me, but she says nothing.
“I thought...” I swallow over the lump of emotion that blocks my airway, then pull off my hat and drag my fingers through my hair. “Jesus, Lor, we all thought you drowned.”
Time ticks by, before she whispers, “I’m sorry.”
I look over at her and see my own grief reflected in her eyes.
“I’m not asking for an apology. I don’t deserve one. I know it’s my fault you ran. What I said that night–”
“No.” She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. “I would have left anyway. I had to get out...get away.”
Silence and regret trickle between us, the only sound the crashing of waves against the side of the boat, and a lonely seagull’s cry above us.
“I could have helped you.”
She laughs, but there’s no humor in it, and pins me with a hard gaze. “You were a seventeen-year-old boy with one objective, to get laid–”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I? You said it yourself. We weren’t dating. I was just a good–”
“I know what I said.”
Silence.
Regret.
Guilt.
“What do you want, Damon?” Her voice is filled with exhaustion. When she tilts her head, the sun touching her pale cheek, I see the dark circles under eyes. “Why bring me out here?”
Because you can’t run away from me here.
“Tell me what trouble you’re in.”
“I already did. I need money.”
“For what?”
She glances away. “I owe someone–”
“Farkas?”
There’s a slight hesitation before she says, “Yes.”
“The money you stole the night you left.”
Her head jerks to me, and she squints. “How do you know that?”
“Because I found
it.”
“What?” She sits up, blinking at me. The wind catches her hat and it flies off her head, causing her long dark hair to tumble free of the ponytail. She reaches for it, but it does a small dance in the breeze before landing in the lake.
She ignores it, her attention only on me, and there’s a spark in her eyes resembling hope.
God, those eyes. The lightest shade of gray, with flecks of blue, rimmed with dark lashes that blink at me now.
So damn beautiful. The ache returns. That primal need to protect, to consume, to be absorbed in everything that she is.
She says something, but I don’t hear her.
I clear my throat. “What?”
“The money? You said you have it?”
I clench my back teeth, before admitting it. “It was in a coffee can, floating near Gull’s Island.”
“Please...” She shifts in her chair. “Oh God, please tell me you have some left. That you didn’t spend it all.”
“Yeah, I have some.” A small lie. I have more than some. And I’ll give her every penny I have. But only after I know she’s safe. And there’s no way in hell I’m letting her give it to Farkas.
A plan is already forming in my mind, one that will finally put an end to the bastard.
“I need it.” She leans towards me, hands clasped in front of her, and she begs, “Please, I’ll do anything you want. I’ll find a way to pay you back, but–”
“Even if you give him the money, he won’t be done with you. There are other ways to fix this. If you know where he is, we can bring him down. I have a warrant out for his arrest. I don’t have jurisdiction in Harristown, but–”
“Wait.” The fear is back in her eyes, and this time it’s directed at me. “You’re...” She swallows hard. “You’re a cop?”
“I can help–”
“No.” She shakes her head and stands, having to catch her balance on the window when a wave rocks the boat. She looks ready to jump overboard and swim to the shore. Her voice is strained, raising an octave when she says, “I can’t be talking to you. You need to take me back...now. If one of Farkas’ men saw me with you...”
“He can’t do anything to you when you’re with me.”
Salvage (Savages and Saints Book 3) Page 3
