by Debra Kayn
"You finish up, and I'll go pay the bill." He scooted his chair away from the table. "There's a gas station next door where we filled up before eating. I'm going to walk back over there and buy some snacks. Do you want anything special?"
"No, I don't need anything." She wiped her mouth on the napkin. "I'm going to use the restroom, and I'll meet you at the car."
He glanced around the restaurant. Everyone seemed to concentrate on their food, and he walked to the cashier. Roni would be okay, and the car was parked right outside the door.
After he had paid their check, he walked over to the gas station. Guessing Roni liked food that kept her busy going by the number of times she pushed her pancakes around the plate and in the car she ate the mints, he bought sunflower seeds in the shell, jerky, chips, and a six pack of Pepsi.
At the counter, he bought two rolls of wintergreen Lifesavers in case she got nervous the closer they got to Seattle. He needed her calm. He had no idea how temperamental her flight or fight response was to changes.
"Do you need any gas?" asked the female cashier.
"No, I'm good." He handed over fifty dollars. "Thanks."
"Have a good day, sir." The woman checked him out.
He walked out and headed toward the Cadillac he'd chopped before going to prison. A once in a lifetime chance at driving in class, he'd babied the car through every step and barely took it out of the parking garage to drive around the streets of Seattle.
Roni had slid into the passenger seat early this morning and never blinked at the kind of car he owned.
Her lifestyle before joining the Network centered around survival. Even the few clothes she brought with her fit in a regular sized suitcase. When he'd questioned her about how little she owned, she shrugged off the lack of possessions as if it was unimportant. She seemed to appreciate the little things. Designer clothes and fancy cars never even registered on her radar.
He looked ahead at his car and found two men standing with their backs facing him. He stepped off the sidewalk and cut between the parked cars when he realized it wasn't his ride they were admiring. Unable to see Roni, he hurried past three car spaces until he found her pressed against the passenger side door.
"Hey," he barked, coming up behind the two men. "Problem?"
"Just talkin' to the lady, man." A heavy-set man wearing a do-rag widened his stance. "Go make a hit with someone else."
The big guy's friend, a man wearing a baseball cap backward over his afro, turned his attention back to Roni. Dawson's hand curled into a fist. Roni stood staring at the ground. Her scared posture enough warning that she was uncomfortable and the men were up to no good.
"The lady belongs to me." He stepped between the two men, shielded Roni, and opened the door. "Take the sack and get inside, sweetheart."
Roni grabbed the groceries and practically fell into the Caddy seeking shelter. Dawson shut the door and turned to the two men. He looked them both in the eyes, judging if they'd jump him.
The man rotated the hat on his head around, pulling the bill down, and backed away. Dawson turned his gaze on the big guy. When the other man held his ground, Dawson walked around the car and slid behind the steering wheel.
"Put your seatbelt on." He started the car wanting to put some distance between the men and Roni.
He'd have no problem taking both of them out, but he wouldn't risk Roni looking at him as if she couldn't trust him. Unfortunately, he only had his hands to fight with while traveling because of being a felon. He wouldn't risk carrying a pistol if he got caught for speeding and the cops pulled him over and searched him and the car.
He was lucky enough he walked out of prison without any probation that held him to Washington state.
Down the block, he pulled over next to a vacant lot. He shut off the engine, turned in the seat, and hooked her neck, bringing her head forward.
He laid his forehead on hers. "You're safe."
"I didn't see them walk up to the car," she said. "Honest."
"Whoa, wait, sweetheart." He pulled his head back and held the back of her neck firmly. "Those two guys were assholes. You did nothing wrong."
"I should've waited inside the restaurant until you come back."
He shook his head. "No, you should've been safe outside. I'm only sorry that I wasn't there to stop them from talking to you."
"Vince hated when—"
"Fuck Vince." He kissed her forehead. "Listen to me, and listen closely. I don't give a shit about any rules Vince had set up for you or what he blamed you for doing. You could walk down the fucking street naked, and it would still be a man's fault if he touched you without permission. Just because you're a woman doesn't mean you need to put up with that shit. Do you hear me?"
She nodded.
"I will protect you, Roni." He let her go and watched her sag in her seat. "I never planned to take you back to Seattle and dump you out on your own. You're going to stay with me, and when you're comfortable, I'll take you anywhere you want to go or help you find a nice place to stay in a good area."
"I'll need to get a job eventually." She inhaled deeply. "Maybe I made a mistake. This all seems too hard and such an inconvenience to you."
He started the car, infuriated at what Vince had done to her. He'd made her scared of being alone, and her fears multiplied by the fuckheads outside the restaurant.
"First thing we're going to do is get you a gun," he muttered.
She gasped. "I'm not going to carry a gun."
"Then you're going to carry mace or a stun gun in your purse." He drove away from the curb and headed for the on-ramp. "You carry something with you at all times and when, or if you're ever in a situation where you're scared, you'll have something for protection."
"Is that legal?"
He glanced over at her. Her brows raised in interest. He grinned. "Yeah, it's legal. I'm also going to teach you how to fight back."
"I know how to kick someone in the balls."
He laughed, the comment a refreshing change than the fear he'd seen in her eyes. "That's a good start. When I'm done with you, you'll also learn how to break someone's nose."
He pressed the accelerator and drove onto the interstate. The faster he got her home, the sooner he'd build up her confidence and make her more comfortable living her new life. With a plan set in motion, he felt better about his job of helping her.
Maybe with his mind focused on something he was good at, he'd stop enjoying the way she looked at him for security, attention, and interest. The hardest part of fulfilling his promise to Jacqueline was the unexpected desire to be more than Roni's guardian angel.
Chapter Twenty
The two story, half brick, half wood building sat on the busy street with only a sidewalk between the traffic flying by constantly. Roni peered down the block at the people walking toward them on their way to the shops, bars, and even further away, the Pier, and grabbed Dawson's hand.
"I told you it wasn't much," said Dawson.
She held on tight. "It's fine."
Any home was better than living on the street. Her stay wouldn't be permanent, only temporary until she found a cheap place where her money wouldn't run out or a job.
Dawson looked down at her hand in his. "Are you okay?"
No. She wanted to run away from the people headed her way. Used to fighting her way through the dangers of the city and spending all her time trying to escape the attention of others pressed in on her.
She stepped closer. "C-can I hold your hand, so everyone believes we're together? Only when we're outside. I wouldn't do it inside the apartment."
He brought her hand up, kissed her knuckles, and squeezed her hand making her feel better. "You do what makes you feel more comfortable. If you want me to hold your hand, I will."
She turned to him as people walked past them on the sidewalk. By all outside appearances, she belonged to Dawson, and that brought her security. Pimps, gangs, and strange men wouldn't approach her if they believed she belonged to another man.
; She smiled up at Dawson. He'd proven he was a force that made other men, big men, back off and leave her alone.
"Let's get inside and you can check the place out." He led her to the street-side door and put his key in the lock.
She glanced behind her. Nobody watched them. Everyone concentrated on going about their day and not on where she would live for the unseeable future.
A narrow staircase led to the second floor. With only room for one person at a time, she followed Dawson and watched his butt, his legs, his swagger take each step. He never let go of her hand, and she held on comfortably with the arrangement. His confidence gave her a boost that she could make her time with him work to her advantage, and she'd be out on her own soon.
"I've got the end apartment down the hallway." He kept his voice low in the barren passageway.
Their footsteps echoed, and she'd need to remember to whisper inside the hallway so as not to disturb the other occupants of the apartment building. She looked at the door. Apartment Seven.
"Lucky," she whispered.
Dawson pushed open the door. "Huh?"
"The apartment number is seven. That's a lucky number," she said, following him inside.
The musty smell hit her first. She gazed around the living room. An older style couch sat in the middle of the room facing a flat-screen television on a makeshift stand built out of concrete blocks and shelf boards.
A picture frame lay face down on the shelf. She moved over and picked up the picture, holding the frame in her hand. Her chest pounded and her struggle to breathe deeply brought tears to her eyes.
In the photo, Jacqueline looked away from the camera laughing. Her gorgeous brown hair half whipped around her shoulders as if she was in motion. She stood by a picnic table. The kind you find in the public parks around town. The absolute joy and carefree attitude etched in Jacqueline's face shocked her.
Roni pressed her hand against her chest, holding in the mass feelings one picture brought her. In their time spent together with Vince, she'd never once seen the radiant happiness on her friend's face that she witnessed in the picture. This was the happy and innocent sister who Dawson loved.
Instead of putting the picture down the way she'd found it, she set it up. Jacqueline should be a reminder of how precious life was to everyone who met her, including Dawson. She'd draw strength from knowing, despite everything, Jacqueline wanted her to be strong and happy.
She turned and found Dawson studying her. Her stomach pitched. He held himself still, the emotions wiped clean from his face. The only sign that he was deeply affected by seeing a picture of his sister came from the way he clenched and unclenched his hand.
"I like seeing her," she whispered. "I can put the picture back down if you'd like."
"Leave it." He lifted his chin. "I'll show you where you'll be staying."
He walked down the short hallway and stayed outside the room. "You can have whatever is in there to use."
"I can't do that." She peered inside. "I have everything I need in my suitcase."
A twin bed with a plush yellow comforter stood beside the small window. Band posters decorated the wall. Only a few she recognized as groups that started underground in Seattle and never made it big. A desk, much like one a teenager used for homework sat in the corner covered in clothes that never made it to the closet. A dresser completed the room, and on the surface were more pictures in frames. Also, a few pieces of jewelry, a book, and an assortment of hair accessories littered the top.
"If you can get me a few boxes, I'd be happy to box her things up and put them in the closet." She looked back at Dawson standing in the hallway looking away from the room. "You don't have to deal with anything right now, but her things will be safe, and there's probably some belongings you'll be glad you kept."
He shook his head. "If you don't take them, I'll toss them in the dumpster in back. There's nothing there that means anything."
"Someday, you might—"
"I'm going out to grab us some food. Stay inside the apartment. I won't be long." He walked away.
She leaned out the doorway of the bedroom and watched him run from the memories of his sister. Unqualified and inadequate to help him or say the right thing, she let her head fall against the doorframe and flinched when the front door clicked shut.
"God, I hate the sound of doors," she whispered.
Mentally and physically exhausted from the road trip, she pushed off the doorframe and stopped. An open door across the hall piqued her curiosity. She stepped over and studied the inside of the room.
The male version of the same room she'd be staying in; Dawson's double bed was made. There were no clothes scattered around, and he had two pictures hanging on the wall. She quietly walked into the room, even though she was alone and there was no one around to hear her. Snooping was rude, but she wanted to find out more about him.
Who he loved, what he enjoyed doing, where he spent his time?
She leaned closer to study the larger picture. A woman, a boy, and a girl. She recognized Dawson first. He had the same lopsided grin she'd witnessed a couple of times. In the photo, Dawson's hair verged on shaggy and brushed the collar of his striped shirt. He had his hands in his pockets, and his head leaned against the side of the woman who had her arms around both children.
Jacqueline, probably two or three years old in the photo, stood on one foot. Her other leg bent as if itching her bare leg under her short summer dress. Her hair curled and pulled back with barrettes; she appeared solemn as if she had something else to do besides have her picture taken.
Dawson and Jacqueline's mother beamed at the camera. Roni smiled and ran her thumb over the picture. Their mom was beautiful.
Dressed in cutoff shorts and wearing a blouse, Dawson's mom squinted against the sun. The pride in her kids evident in the way she kept them close to her. Not to keep them in the camera's focus, but to shout to the world how much she loved them.
Roni turned away from the picture. Hit with regrets for not remembering to take her mom's picture out of her room when she ran away from her stepdad; she stopped herself from thinking about all she'd lost. The only memories she had were in her head and at times even those grew fuzzy. She couldn't remember what her mom's perfume smelled like, but knew she always sprayed the air and walked into the mist. Then she'd laugh as if sharing a secret only another woman would understand and shared her happiness with Roni.
She still remembered the warmth she gained from being with her mom.
The smaller picture had Dawson standing by the black car he drove today. His hair longer back then, she wondered what year the photo was taken. She looked closer and gasped.
There were members of Sparrows behind the car talking.
She knocked the picture down. The glass broke at her feet.
Her heart raced, glancing around for answers on what to do. She'd broken something special of his, and he'd find out she entered his room. Worried about what he'd do when he returned home and found the damage, she picked up the broken frame and brushed the tiny, jagged glass in a pile with her hand and picked every piece up.
Her hand stung. She looked down and found blood dotting her right hand.
"Shit," she mumbled, leaving the room and going inside her new room.
Opening the top dresser drawer, she set the broken picture frame inside. Holding her hand to her chest, she went searching for the bathroom and found one at the end of the short hallway. The blood ran down her forearm, and she shoved her whole arm in the sink and turned on the faucet.
The water ran pale red. Eyeing the wounds, she winced at the sting. The cuts weren't deep, but there were bits of glass still caught in her skin. She gritted her teeth and started pulling out the shards.
Maybe Dawson wouldn't notice the missing picture. He'd been gone four years in prison and barely had time at home before he left to search for her. If he came home and found out she'd not only ruined a beloved picture but snooped in his room, she'd be deep trouble.
Chapter Twenty One
Roni stood behind him silently nibbling on her thumbnail. Dawson closed the refrigerator after putting all the food away. He'd hurried through the grocery store afraid she'd run away when he was gone and ended up calling Scott, a Sparrows member who worked in the chop shop with him and escaped getting thrown in prison, to watch the apartment building to make sure Roni stayed inside.
His relief at returning and knowing she never attempted to leave was short lived. The air inside the apartment hummed with an awkwardness they hadn't experienced since his first week at Red Light when she doubted his story. After everything they'd been through until now, he never thought they'd have a problem communicating.
He turned around and grabbed one of the empty paper sacks and folded the bag flat. His movements jerky, he stayed aware of her watching him. She'd followed him back and forth from door to kitchen as he brought in the groceries and barely mumbled a greeting.
Setting down the last sack on the pile he'd created on the counter, he planted his hands on the Formica and looked at her. "It's okay to talk."
At least when she spoke to him, he could distract himself. As it was, he was glad for the counter separating him from Roni. Just having her in the apartment, walking around barefooted, and smelling every room up with wintergreen felt like foreplay to him.
She took her thumbnail out of her mouth. "Do you want me to cook your dinner?"
"Do you know how to cook?" he asked.
Her eyes widened. "Um, if I don't know how to cook something you want to eat, I can Google on the phone. I don't have a problem following directions."
He chuckled, relaxing a bit with her giving him attitude back. "Fair enough, sweetheart."
"So..." She walked around the end of the counter and stood in front of him. "Are you hungry?"
He inhaled deeply, breathing her in, and gazed at her partially opened mouth. "Starved."
Even answering her squeezed his balls, giving him a rush.
"What do you feel like eating?" She moved in front of him, opened the fridge, and bent over to peer at the lower shelves.
