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

by Jackie Wang

  That night we made sweet love in bed. The slow, sensual kind. The kind that involved hour-long foreplay and scented candles. And I decided to do something a little radical this time. I let Rob take me from behind. He was shocked but delighted by my proposition. Plunged deep inside me, over and over. Grunted like a sweaty animal on top of me…and I took everything he dished out. Even came up with a few naughty propositions.

  I wanted my mind to stay a blank slate, to just enjoy the act of making love, but…Kieran’s pesky face kept popping up, taunting me. Denying me my orgasm.

  I shuddered from frustration, digging my nails hard into the mattress. Sweaty tendrils of hair clung to my face and neck, itchy and hot. I just couldn’t get in the mood. Rob climaxed minutes later and I faked my orgasm so I could catch up on some much needed shut-eye. My fiancé’s face scrunched as he kissed me good night.

  Tomorrow would be a long day.

  It was always a long day when the in-laws came together under one roof.

  I needed to be prepared.

  Chapter Nine

  Kieran

  Someone stole my fucking bike. My baby. Halle.

  “Did you see who did it?” I asked Lolo, the homeless girl who lived outside Trombly. She was sleeping in a pile of old carpets that stank of piss and booze. Her matted hair covered most of her dark face as she looked up at me. Lolo crushed her cigarette on the pavement and said, “Hell if I know. I'm sleepin' most of the time.”

  “I've had that bike since I was eighteen,” I said, as if that would elicit some sympathy from her.

  “Sorry, man, you shoulda parked it somewhere else. This a rough hood here.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Thanks anyway.” I unlocked the front door and rushed into my room. As soon as I shut the door, I checked my stash to make sure it was still safe. Thank God it was. I could not afford to lose all my savings or my weapon. I removed the crumpled paper bag from my breast pocket and added $600 to my stash. $800 to go. Replacing the warped floorboard, I leaned back and rested my head against the wall.

  How could I have been such an idiot? Did I really think the ex-cons in this building would look out for me? Everyone was caught up in their own shit. Trying to readjust to life on the outside. Find some semblance of normal. Nobody would even think about calling the cops if they saw someone stealing my Harley. They didn’t want trouble with their POs. In fact, my baby might've been stolen and pawned by someone I pass by every day. Of course I couldn't go to the cops about it either. They had no sympathy for anyone living in this building. Turned a blind eye to all the abuse. Not just between ex-cons, but between the parolees and their POs as well. I had no choice but to accept the loss and move on. The last thing I needed was to draw more attention to myself. And I’d be damned if they called Mya about this. She didn’t even want to give me my license in the first place. The board only took pity on me when I explained that I needed my motorcycle to get to work halfway across town.

  Shitsticks.

  Halle was my one-way ticket out of this dump. She was an eighteenth birthday present from Cam. An unexpected and kind gesture from my estranged brother. I'd named her after one of my favorite actresses, Halle Berry. Halle had been with me through all that shit with Trish. Now she was gone.

  Without my wheels, my options were limited.

  I couldn't risk buying a Greyhound ticket; the station was right beside the police headquarters. It'd be suicide. I also didn't want to buy a used vehicle, which would dig into my already low funds. Renting one was out of the question; I had no credit card. I had no friends who could loan me a ride...I could hitchhike...but that would be my absolute last resort.

  Fuck.

  I needed to leave in five days.

  Which meant I had five days to figure out how to get to Seattle without the cops chasing after me.

  “Hey man, rough day?” Nate, my roommate asked. He was a short and stocky guy; all muscle, no nonsense. He threw his backpack on the ground and took off his jacket. The stench of his B.O. choked me and I stifled a cough. He worked for a small construction company, and always reeked by the end of the day. Poor guy did forty years at Maxfield. I couldn’t even imagine spending half my life in prison. I’d go crazy; probably kill myself after twenty years. Or at least try to.

  “Yeah mate, my bike got stolen,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose.

  “Shit. Any leads?”

  “Nothing. Nobody's seen it. At least, that's what they say.”

  “Was it worth a lot?”

  “Most valuable thing I owned. Plus, it was like my baby, you know?”

  “Fuck, man. I don't have much, but you can borrow my extra bike if you want.”

  “Serious?”

  “Yeah. I haven't used it in years, so the tires need some air, but otherwise, it's a good bike.”

  “Thanks, mate. That'd be great. Better than walking or taking the bus.”

  Nate sat down cross-legged on the floor and unzipped his backpack. “You want some dinner? I got a meatball hero we can share.”

  “No thanks, I'll grab something when I go out later.”

  Nate shot me a grin and unwrapped his sandwich. “Suit yourself.”

  A good old-fashioned bike. It was better than nothing. Thank God Nate was a good soul. His wheels would serve as a good back-up option until I could find something better.

  Nate peeled back some more crinkly tin foil. “Hey K?”

  “Yeah?”

  “So, what's your story? What'd you do?” Nate asked, taking a huge bite of his sandwich. “You know about mine.”

  It was true. The first day we met, this seemingly macho-ass man bawled his eyes out and confessed that he killed his wife's lover in a fit of rage. He'd regret it for the rest of his life, he said. Nate was a rare breed of man; one who actually repented for his sins, and tried his best to squeeze back into the cruel society that gave up on him when he was only twenty. He worked harder than anybody I knew, never said a bad word about anyone, kept his head down, and intended to make the most out of his life. I wished I could be like Nate. Sixty and still going strong. But I didn’t have Nate’s patience or fortitude. I was never good at swallowing my anger, and never good at thinking before acting. Did a decade of penance change me? Nope. The American penal system was fucked up. Prisons were criminal breeding grounds and recidivism rates were sky-high. Tax dollars well wasted. But people with a God-complex needed a job somewhere, right?

  I never told him what I did. In fact, I never told anyone at Trombly what I did.

  Even after ten years, I still didn't want to admit it out loud. Somehow, I knew if I told someone, it would become real. It didn’t seem real. All of it happened so bloody fast. Like a nightmare I couldn’t control. One I never woke up from.

  I wasn't ready for questions or judgment yet. Not even Cameron knew the truth. After our parents died in a car crash (five years into my sentence), I didn’t feel like burdening Cam with my problems. They were mine to shoulder, and mine alone. My only regret was that the warden refused to grant me furlough to attend the funeral. I never got to properly say goodbye. To tell them how much I hated and missed them at the same time. How I wished, prayed, they’d see me in prison, but they never did after that initial visit.

  After I got out of Maxfield…when I finally visited their grave, I didn’t know what to say to them. They hadn’t wanted anything to do with me. Always said I was the black sheep of the family. They didn’t want their reputation tainted by a convict, so they tried to forget about me. Pretend that they only had one son: Cameron, the golden boy. I was fine with that. I was hardly good enough to be a senator’s stepson. But rejection still stung like a bitch. My mother and I had moved from England to the U.S. when I was only five. She’d remarried a year later to an Irish-American senator, Patrick Mahoney, and proceeded to change all our last names. She wanted to forget about her former life of misery in London, and she wanted to erase all memories of my birth father. And she succeeded. In fact, she replaced every good memory
I had of my father, Charles, with memories of Patrick yelling at me and saying I’d never be good enough to fit into his picture-perfect family.

  Ever since I was a kid, I knew I was different. A daredevil who stayed just outside the lines. Always in the grey, never settling for a white picket fence kind of life. That boring shit was for brainwashed losers. The American Dream was a fat lie the government fed us to keep us enslaved by capitalism. Made us always want more; never satisfied with the life we had. My whole family ate that shit up. But me? I rejected all of it. I saw corruption and theft everywhere, masquerading as promise and hope. People needed to open up their fucking eyes. We were all slaves to materialism, couldn’t they see that?

  In some ways, I sort of always knew I’d end up in prison. One way or another, the system would’ve punished me for raising hell. Anarchy was in my veins, and I couldn’t rein it in. I didn’t want to rein it in. Society didn’t like that.

  In prison, I had a lot of time to read the classics, because that’s all they had. That’s where I met Machiavelli, Robespierre, Mill, Marx, Nietzsche and Hobbes. They enlightened me about the human condition, and taught me new ways of thought.

  Robespierre once said that the secret to tyranny was keeping the masses ignorant. I saw my parents turn a blind eye to senseless violence, racism, bigotry, fraud and crime. No one cared, so why should I? I saw my stepfather take bribes and shift policies in favor of the wealthy. He was their pawn and puppet. I didn’t want to be anyone’s puppet. When I turned seventeen, I left home. No note, no warning, nothing. They never bothered looking for me. The only person I called two months later was Cam, letting him know I was still alive.

  Trisha’s gang, the Sixteen Kings, took me in. I’d known them since junior high. They became my new family. And I loved my new family. We wanted to be different. Be revolutionary. Spark change and fuck up the gamed system. Press reset.

  But somehow…we lost our way.

  I looked at Nate, my eyes dry and irritated. “I’ll tell you my story some other time. Maybe next week,” I said, knowing full well I'd probably never see him again.

  “Sure,” Nate said. “No worries. I'm here to listen, whenever you want to share.”

  I shot him a weak grin and nodded.

  Chapter Ten

  Rachelle

  “You look drop-dead gorgeous.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” I said, giving my mother a hug. I was wearing something Rob had picked out for me: a conservative but eye-catching navy blue dress. I continued greeting other guests as they piled into the banquet hall. There were thirty-five guests in total, all family. Twenty-five of them were Rob's immediate and extended family. My parents came with my teenage brother, Chris, my aunts, uncles, cousins and my grandparents from both sides. Everyone took turns squeezing me and fussing over how gorgeous I looked.

  I hadn't seen most of my relatives in person for almost ten years because they lived in Hong Kong. They'd made the thirteen-hour flight across the ocean just for me. And that was no easy feat, considering my dad's parents were over eighty-five years old. I saw my parents and Chris every six months because they lived in Portland, which was only a two-hour flight. I should've felt touched and grateful that they were all here, but in reality, I was on the verge of a panic attack. Too many relatives crammed in the same room roused an all too familiar anxiety inside me.

  Count, Rachelle. Sixty-three, sixty, seventy-seven, seventy-four, seventy-one, sixty-eight…Huh, no wait, I messed up. Shit, even counting down wasn’t helping. I’d learned to count down by threes ever since I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder at thirteen. That, along with positive visualization and controlled breathing kept my anxiety in check on most days. Today felt like one of those days I’d lose control.

  “I can't believe little Ting Ting is getting married,” Auntie Xiang said, pinching my cheek. I hated that God-awful nickname. “Your uncle and I have prepared a huge red envelope for you.”

  “That's very kind of you, Auntie, thank you,” I said. It was tradition for Chinese relatives to give thick red envelopes full of cash as wedding gifts. But of course, I felt terrible, since my parents shouldered the cost of the wedding, and Rob and I were getting paid for it (well, sort of).

  So far, I'd smiled and talked so much the corners of my mouth were cracking. My throat was parched and I needed some bubbly to soothe my nerves. My thumbnail left crescent-shaped indents against my palm over and over. It was a nervous habit I'd picked up as a child. That and picking my lips. Always a bundle of nerves, as Mom would say. And this was just the rehearsal dinner.

  “You picked a good one,” my other aunt, Linda said. “Rob is so handsome and he has such a good, stable job! The perfect husband.”

  “Thanks Auntie Linda,” I said. I glanced over at my fiancé. Rob was wearing a bespoke Armani suit and his hair was gelled back and parted to the left. His spindly frame wove in and out of the crowd like a squirrel on crack. He was greeting his relatives, the ones who'd flown in from Shenzhen and Beijing, and conversing with them in fluent Mandarin.

  Rob's family came from old money. I swear, he once told me he descended from some Shang Dynasty emperor. His family manufactured industrial-grade plastics in Beijing and the Li empire had a combined net worth of over fifty million US dollars. A large portion of which Rob stood to inherit because he was the elite scion everyone put on a gilded pedestal. I had no doubt some of his relatives thought I was a gold digger.

  My family wasn’t poor. We were upper middle class. My mom was a nurse and my dad, a Chemistry professor. We grew up living a normal, but comfortable life. When I met Rob during my final year of university, he changed my life. He swept me off my feet with his lavish gestures and romantic getaways. I felt shallow for indulging in these superficial delights, but everyone told me to just have fun, so I went along with it. Somehow, six years flew by. I should've counted myself lucky. My entire family thought so. But as I looked at Rob, I couldn't help but feel apprehensive about our upcoming wedding. It wasn't that I didn't want to get married. I mean, I'd wanted him to pop the question for years now. It was just...

  I suddenly realized why I was feeling so nervous.

  Kieran.

  Somewhere in the back of my head, I was still hung up on him and his words and his spicy scent. His dark gray eyes and that unreadable face. He was an enigma I never had the chance to solve. A wildcard I’d never see again. A thousand-piece puzzle I unwrapped, but never got the chance to assemble.

  I felt a hand on the small of my back and flinched.

  “Relax, baby,” Rob said, guiding me towards the table. “You look nervous. Deep breaths, Rach.”

  We walked to the head of the table and Rob tapped his champagne glass. All eyes flew to him.

  As Rob delivered his welcome speech, I felt myself sweating from all the attention. Thirty-five pairs of eyes were trained on us. Thirty-five pairs of judgmental, unblinking eyes. What if I had lipstick between my teeth? Or crumbs on my face?

  A shoulder nudge. “Rach?”

  “Hm?”

  Rob smiled. “Would you like to say something?”

  “Oh right,” I said, reaching for my purse. I unfolded my crinkled speech. “Rob and I would like to sincerely thank you all for coming here tonight…” I read the entire thing without looking up at the audience once. I only paused to catch my breath twice, and by the end of it, I was literally gasping for air. My knees knocked together, and my ankles felt weak. If I had the jitters this bad now, what would happen on the actual wedding day? This audience was just family...while the real wedding included strangers I'd never met before. What would I do then?

  After we found our seats, Rob wrapped his hand around mine. “Are you okay, Rach? You seem pale.”

  “Just overwhelmed by all of it. Sorry—”

  “You don't need to apologize,” Rob said, squeezing my hand. “I'm a bit overwhelmed too. But we'll get through this together. Promise.”

  “Smile!” Mom said, holding out her smartphone.r />
  I plastered a smile on my face and leaned in closer to Rob. “Thanks for understanding, baby.”

  “What are husbands for?” Rob kissed me on the cheek and I heard Mom giggle. Mom slipped her phone back into her purse and said, “You two are just adorable.” Tonight, she’d curled her shoulder length hair and put on too much perfume. I didn’t like it.

  Dad and my future in-laws joined us moments later. My parents, Chris, and Rob's parents sat at our table. Rob’s parents, Lisa and Hang, were immaculate in their expensive, matching outfits. Teardrop diamond earrings hung from Lisa’s earlobes while Hang’s wrist sported a flashy Rolex. They were not ones to be modest about their wealth.

  “Excellent speech,” Hang said, beaming. “I can’t wait to call you my daughter.”

  “Thanks…” I paused. Should I start calling him “Dad”, or did I have to wait until after the wedding? I wasn’t sure. It was clearly rude to call him by his first name, so I just didn’t call him anything. “I really appreciate you saying that.”

  “So Hang…” Dad said. He proceeded to launch into an animated conversation with Hang about the stock market. Rob joined in. Mom began chastising Chris for using the wrong fork. Rob's mom, Lisa, turned and smiled at me. “It’s nice to see you again, Rachelle. You look wonderful.” She had a thick Chinese accent, and she was smiling so much her eyes were puffy slits. Her over-powdered face also did nothing to hide the deep grooves along her forehead.

  “Thanks. You too,” I said, faking a smile.

  “Robert, you look handsome as well.”

  “Thanks, Mom,” Rob said before turning his focus back on the stock market conversation.

  Lisa’s cold fingers brushed against mine. “Are all the wedding arrangements complete?” she asked. “Do you still need help with anything?”