Fugitive: A Bad Boy Romance (Northbridge Nights Book 2)

by Jackie Wang

  One night of crazy with him was more than enough.

  “Thanks for bringing me back,” I said, already hopping up the stairs to my place.

  “See you around, Rachelle.”

  “Mmhm,” I said, avoiding his gaze.

  He was gone moments later and I finally let out the sigh I'd been holding all night.

  I'd survived one hell of a night, and I never wanted to go through something like that again.

  I liked normal. Nothing wrong with having a normal life, normal job and a normal partner. I wouldn't want it any other way.

  I bent down, retrieved my back-up key from underneath the flowerpot, and let myself inside.

  I was home now. And I was safe.

  Chapter Seven

  Kieran

  “You don’t like me, I don't like you.” Those were the first words Mya Alvarez ever said to me. And she'd meant them. She was a 5'5”, forty-something, curvy Hispanic woman who bossed around 6'2” me like she owned me. And in a way, I guess she did. “You report to me every Friday at noon. If you can't make it, call me beforehand to reschedule. If you don't show up, I'll be paying you a visit.”

  All I could do was nod while she filled out the papers. Her black hair was done up in a no-nonsense bun and she wore a too-tight white blouse. Most importantly, she definitely had a stick or two shoved up her ass.

  “I don't enjoy dealing with people like you, but I will fuck you up and send you packing if you ever cross the line with me. Got it?”

  “Yes ma'am,” I said, staring into her beady eyes. She looked like a goddamn hawk. And people like me were her prey.

  That had been over six months ago.

  She lived up to her word. Our visits never got friendlier than the first one. She didn't ask about how I was doing because she didn't care. Our relationship was strictly professional, and we both hated each other.

  I was fine with that.

  I looked over at Mya, who was scribbling something on a piece of paper. Tonight, she was wearing a heavy black trench coat and combat boots. Her hair was braided and pinned up, and as usual, she had a scowl on her face. Once in a while, she'd chew on her pen cap. The thing was filthy and covered in teeth marks. Mya had decided to pay a surprise visit to my place tonight. It was almost ten p.m. and I was exhausted from staying up with Rachelle the night before. Dark rings circled my hollow, bloodshot eyes. My tongue felt like sandpaper in my mouth. Thank God Mya didn't come over last night, or else I would've been fucked. A curfew violation would've sent me, as Mya would say, “back to the shit hole”.

  “Anything you want to tell me, Kieran?” she asked, eyeballing my barren bedroom before her gaze finally rested on my bunk bed.

  I shook my head and dug my thumbs into my jean pockets. “No.”

  My room was so tiny, the two of us barely had any standing room. One grimy window behind me let in absolutely no natural light because it was covered in so much mold and dust. I had no furniture of my own, not even a rug beneath my feet.

  The radiator in the corner was acting up again, churning the stale air into a sweltering inferno. Beads of sweat rolled down the sides of my face, slithering under my damp collar. I coughed.

  Mya’s face betrayed nothing; she was an enigma I’d never figure out. “I'll need to do a quick search,” she said. “Hands up against the wall.”

  “Of course.” I turned to the wall and pressed my palms against the rough plaster.

  Mya did a thorough pat-down, lingering between my legs for an extra millisecond before moving on to my bed. Lifting up the mattresses and rifling through my drawers, she sent plumes of dust flying. Mya was a woman on a mission. What did she expect to find? She shook my pillow out from its yellowed case. As if I'd be dumb enough to hide anything in here. As the raid continued, I didn't dare make a sound. Let her search. She won’t find anything. After a few minutes, Mya said, “Looks good, Mahoney. You been going to work?”

  “Yes,” I lied.

  “I'll be calling your employers next week to check on your progress.”

  I swallowed hard. “Okay.”

  “'Night, Mahoney,” Mya said, opening the door.

  “Night, Ma'am.”

  Then, just like that, she was gone.

  Her weekly visits were unexpected cyclones that left bunched up sheets, wrinkled clothes and scattered papers in its wake. I didn’t mind. As long as she was happy, I was safe. I'd made it through another week. But just barely. I'd taken more risks this week. Broke almost all the rules. I went to a club. Then a casino. Bought a fucking unlicensed gun. And I even called Bianca. I was walking on a tightrope with no harness. If I fell this time, I'd score a one-way ticket back to hell.

  Rachelle was right. I was an adrenaline junkie. Always have been. I once broke my leg falling out of a tree. I’d been trying to whack a hornet’s nest with a baseball bat…treating it like a fucking piñata. Hell, my impulsive behavior was what got me in deep shit in the first place. Sadly, ten years couldn’t teach this old dog any new tricks.

  Mya said I couldn’t leave Northbridge.

  Fuck Mya.

  I was still going to risk anything and everything, including my life, to see Kara.

  I made $1600 net last night, which brought my total up to $10,600. Not bad. As soon as I hit my goal of $12,000, I was high-tailing it out of here, Mya be damned. I didn't give a fuck about the consequences.

  Kara was waiting for me.

  She needed me.

  I'd give her the best goddamn surprise of her life...

  Then of course, there was Rachelle.

  Fuck me, she was something else. 5’10” at least, likely a C-cup, silky, long black hair, chestnut eyes and legs that went on forever. Feisty, sassy, gorgeous...and engaged. I'd definitely missed the boat on that one. I had a feeling she’d be the object of my fantasies for a long time. Rachelle was the first woman I'd touched in almost ten years. Ten! And damn it, I wanted to kiss that soft skin everywhere. Show her what it felt like to be with a real man. Show her what ecstasy really felt like. Tease her until she begged for my cock, and then tease her some more.

  The first time I felt her curves on the dance floor, I was a goner. The minute I pressed up against her body, I was fucking sprung and hard as a rock. No one had ever intoxicated me so hard so fast. In the river, I wanted to push her down on the beach and tongue-fuck her until she came in my mouth. At the motel, I wanted to strip off her clothes and her inhibitions and feel her juicy lips wrapped around my cock. When she was riding with me, I wanted her to ride on top of me. I wanted her to fucking melt against me.

  I had it bad.

  She was a drug. A highly desirable, very addictive, 100% off-limits drug. And I was head-over-heels in lust with her.

  I'd never been good at staying away from forbidden fruit. And it wasn’t as if ‘off-limits’ ever stopped me from trying before.

  But of course, I wasn't a savage.

  I might've done plenty of things I wasn't proud of in my life, but I'd always been a gentleman when it mattered. Except at Dalton River. I wanted so desperately for her to come swimming that I pushed her into the water. I’d been a fucking arrogant bastard. Later, at the motel, I carried my flirting a tad too far as well. But, I didn't take advantage of her, though I probably could have. I could tell by her body language that she wanted me, even though her words indicated otherwise. If she wasn’t engaged, the other night would’ve ended up with me balls-deep inside her. No doubt about it. I would’ve given her triple-Os before I finished inside her.

  I was so just so fucking hungry.

  Ten years of just me and my hand.

  Beating off to Playboy and Baywatch.

  It had been too fucking long. A sex-starved man made poor life choices.

  But Rachelle? She was too innocent for me—too pure to be my first after a decade of abstinence anyway. She deserved better than someone like me. I tried to coax her into living her life to the fullest, but she just withdrew into herself. She and I obviously shared polar oppos
ite life philosophies. She avoided danger, whereas danger was my middle name…

  I wished I could see her again, spend more time with her...but judging by the way she looked when we parted ways, that was probably never going to happen again.

  I didn't have time to dwell on any of that. I really didn't. I wished I could pursue her, but the timing was all wrong. We could never be; it just wasn't in the stars.

  I had one week left before Mya found out I was unemployed. The Lucky Dragon fired me last week when they found out the truth about me. I was almost glad; the hours were shit, the pay was shit and the boss was a screeching, racist lunatic.

  Terri Hanover's offer had been a godsend. Cameron had set it up. Of course, he had no idea why I needed this money. As half-brothers, we were never close. During the last ten years, Cam visited me only a handful of times. Maybe he was ashamed to call me his brother. Or just too busy with life. Whatever the reason, I was still glad he gave me a ride from Maxfield to Trombly House, Northbridge’s ‘finest’ halfway house. Six months ago, Cameron had offered me some emergency cash for food and shelter, and I took it, even though the handout bruised my ego. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. Since then, I’d seen him three more times. Twice to ask for more money (I didn’t want to use any of my savings if I could help it), and once to eat at a fancy restaurant owned by Cameron’s new girlfriend, Serenity. When Cam told me that Terri was looking for someone to entertain her best friend…I immediately volunteered. The thousand bucks Terri paid me was the easiest thousand bucks I'd ever made. Valuable cash to add to my stockpile.

  Only one week left.

  I needed to get my shit together and head to Seattle. Kara and Bianca were waiting for me.

  That meant no fantasizing about the lush, Asian goddess I'd spent one hell of a night with. I was on a mission, and I couldn't afford to get side-tracked. Not even for someone as tempting as Rachelle.

  Besides, Rachelle was getting married in a week. Probably to some stuck-up suit who only wanted to use her as arm candy. Robert what's-his-face. He seemed controlling and manipulative, and not nearly good enough to be Rachelle’s husband. I hoped they'd be happy together. Build a great life together. Rachelle deserved nothing less.

  Flattening to the ground, I pulled up the loose floorboard under my bed. A plume of dust rose as I tossed the plank aside. Groping around, I pulled out the large black garbage bag and set it down by my feet. It landed with a dull thud. I unwrapped the twist-tie cinching the package together and pulled the bag open. Inside was a misshapen tupperware container holding over ten grand in cash. On top of it rested a Glock 22.

  I had cash, a gun, and a bike.

  Try to stop me, Mya.

  Chapter Eight

  Rachelle

  “Terri Hanover, I’m going to kill you!” I screamed through the phone.

  “Admit it, Rach, it was fun,” Terri replied.

  “Do you have any idea how awful the whole thing was?” I cried. My throat burned and I walked to the kitchen and cracked open a bottle of water. “He dragged me skinny dipping in the Dalton! Took me gambling! And he drove his motorcycle like he was on crack—he must've been going 120 miles an hour!”

  “So in short, it was the most exciting night of your life,” Terri said. I could almost see her grinning.

  “Did you hear what I just said?”

  “Loud and clear, babe. You had an adventure.”

  “More like a joyride through hell,” I said. “Now get your ass over here and bring me my stuff.”

  “I'm at work, Rach. Not everyone played hooky today you know? I'll swing by later.”

  I groaned when I realized I never even told Asher I wouldn't be coming in today. After downing an entire bottle of Evian, I dialed Sierra’s number. It’d be easier to explain the situation to her.

  As soon as Sierra picked up she said, “No need to explain, Terri already told me everything.”

  “You were in on it too?”

  “Not exactly. Terri asked me to pitch in two-hundred bucks to make your night extra special, so I did. I didn't know about Kieran.”

  “He was a maniac, Sierra. I was terrified.”

  “Well, it'll be something to tell your grandkids one day,” Sierra said. “Anyway, gotta go. Someone has to file papers here since the paralegal here decided to play hooky today.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I said before hanging up. At least my boss wouldn’t be mad at me. I knew Sierra would cover for me. But still.

  Had the night really just been something I’d tell my grandkids one day? One last reckless adventure before I got hitched? Yes, that was probably it. I strode toward the bathroom, shedding clothes along the way. A long, hot shower had my name on it.

  After scrubbing every inch of my skin twice, I settled into bed and tried to delve into my new Nora Roberts paperback. But every time I turned the page, I kept hearing Kieran's voice, telling me to have a little fun in my life. Reading about sex with a bad boy isn’t nearly as fun as fucking a real one. Is that what he’d said?

  I wasn't a boring person. I had fun. Just not the kind of fun he was used to. I mean, when I was sixteen, I went diving off a twenty-foot cliff and nearly smashed my skull. And when I was seventeen, I snuck into a frat party and got wasted.

  But I was twenty-five now. Women my age didn't go around raising hell anymore. Women my age were settling down, getting hitched and popping out babies. Advancing their careers and buying houses. Saving for retirement. That's what my parents wanted for me and it was what I'd always wanted for me. Just to lead a happy, content life with my husband.

  Robert Li was a compatible match for me in every way. We were both ambitious, educated and career-minded ABCs (American-Born Chinese). Intellectuals who loved to read and debate over politics as well as celebrity gossip...and besides, we were on the same page about our future. Robert was a golden boy who crossed his t’s and dotted his i’s. He was my parents’ ideal son-in-law: a dentist with a promising career ahead of him. My perfect fiancé. We'd been dating for six years now and living together for the last three. Our upscale apartment was the envy of all my friends, and at 1,250 square feet, it was very spacious and tastefully designed with a modern, open-concept framework.

  Most importantly of all, Rob knew me better than anybody. I trusted him with my everything.

  Which made me feel all the shittier for lying to him about where I was earlier.

  Kieran Mahoney was just an unruly hiccup thrown in my path to test me. It was God's way of seeing if I'd stay true to my fiancé and true to my wedding vows: the ones I'd written almost two years ago in anticipation for my wedding day. The ones that promised fidelity, honesty and unconditional love. I would never cheat on Rob. Robert and I were soulmates, and soulmates couldn't possibly be separated by something so trivial as an encounter with a rugged egomaniac. I resolved to tell Rob the truth about Kieran when he got home later.

  “So, how was your party?” Rob asked me over dinner.

  “I thought we agreed not to talk about each other's stag nights,” I said, offering him a coy look.

  Okay, so I thought about it and decided Rob was better off not knowing what really happened last night. The last thing I wanted was for him to be hurt. He was a sensitive man.

  “I don't mind sharing. My buddies took me to a strip club but all the girls there paled in comparison to you. I couldn't stop counting the minutes until I could come home to you. It was a pretty lousy time.”

  Rob's confession only made my stomach coil tighter. “Yeah, mine wasn't too great either. We went clubbing.”

  It wasn't a complete lie. Just not the full truth.

  Rob arched a brow. “That's it? I expected the girls to pull off something a bit wilder.”

  “They're not nearly as creative as you give them credit for,” I said. “Next time one of them gets married, I'll show them how to throw a real bachelorette party.”

  I shot Rob a smile and he laughed. “Rach, you're the most straight-laced girl
I've ever met. I doubt you could do better.”

  I knew Rob meant it as a joke but his remark stung like an insult. I could be wild if I wanted to be. “I have a pretty good imagination,” I said. “I could plan something crazy if I wanted to.”

  “Babe, I love you to death but we've never even tried anything other than missionary in bed before,” Rob said. “You’re as conservative as they come.”

  And he was right.

  I really was a Plain Jane. A boring, stuck-up priss.

  I would not have any good stories to tell my grandkids.

  I put down my fork and looked at my fiancé. Rob, with his tapered face, shiny black hair, thin nose and large, hipster glasses. My Rob. “Am I a loser, Rob?”

  “No, baby, I love you just the way you are,” Rob said, feeding me a piece of steak. “I wouldn't change a thing about you.”

  My face lit up as I chewed on the steak. “That means a lot to me, sweetie. Thank you.” I washed down the meat with some wine.

  See? Rob and I were a match made in heaven. If I was boring, well, at least I was getting married to someone who loved me as I was, and didn't want to shape me into someone else entirely. I was comfortable in my own skin, and I had nothing to prove.

  “Rehearsal dinner tomorrow night. Did you finish your speech?” Rob asked. He removed his glasses and wiped the lenses with the bottom of his shirt.

  “Of course. Wrote it two years ago,” I said, leaning in and giving him a kiss. “I've been waiting to get married to you since the day we met.”

  It was a very cheesy line but felt right at the time.

  “And I've been waiting to call you my wife all my life,” Rob said.

  Cheese alert! I laughed out loud. “I love you. God I love you so much.” I leaned over and planted another kiss on his cheek. Rob wasn’t the handsomest man around, but he knew my heart as well as his own. And that was what I looked for in a husband. Someone who knew me intimately and accepted me, warts and all. Rob was a crowd-pleaser, and my entire family adored him. I had no doubt we’d have a long, happy life together.