by Jus Accardo
He chuckled again, and I nearly died when he stopped moving his fingers, pulling them out and placing his hand next to my head. “Don’t stop,” I whimpered, desperate. “Please…”
He made a sound—a low noise close to a growl that stole away the last bits of my control. “No way,” he said, breathing heavy. He brought his lips to my ear and took the tip between his teeth, giving a pull. “Not like that.”
A moment later, I felt the tip of him pressed against me. The pressure was frightening and exciting. A maddening need came over me, and I tried to push up against him, but he held me in place. Frustratingly slow, he moved forward. I envied his control. Mine had dissolved.
I wrapped my legs around his back, urging him closer, but he resisted, still determined to work slowly. He was afraid to hurt me, I realized. Scare me. But I didn’t want him to treat me gently. Not really. I wanted something real. Something raw. Bringing my free hand up, I tangled my fingers into a chunk of his hair and pulled hard. He liked things on the rough side. That’s what I’d give him.
He inhaled sharply and jerked forward. We both gasped, and a part of me thrilled. Me. I’d done that. Destroyed his control. The feeling of power was intoxicating, and it spurred me on. I raked my nails down the back of his neck, grabbing his shoulders and digging into the skin.
“Fuck,” he panted, pushing just a little harder. Grabbing my cuffed hand, he brought it to his chest, placing it over his heart and covering it with his own. For a second he stayed like that, looking into my eyes. In that moment there were no walls separating us. The outside world was gone—our pasts, who we were—all of it never existed. Raw connection and brutal honesty, something that made me feel unencumbered, shone in his eyes. It lasted seconds. Maybe even less. But it’d been the most real thing I’d ever experienced.
His lip twitched, the right-hand corner tipping up just a hair. In a single, swift motion, he was buried inside me. There was an instant of intense pain that gave way to something amazing. A sensation that lit me up from the inside out, bringing all the dead and sleeping parts to life.
He began to move, slowly at first, then faster. His kisses grew savage and all-consuming. With his cuffed hand still on mine, he braced himself against the bed and buried his face in my neck, shuddering at the release.
Wave after wave of euphoria rolled over me, turning my entire body into one live wire. The universe exploded, and for the first time in my life, I was at peace.
Chapter Twenty-One
Twelve Picker Street was a collection of tall evergreens and sprawling pine trees. There was a mailbox marking the street number, but no house in sight. Next to it, a narrow dirt driveway stretched out before us and tilted upward at a disturbing angle. Mom hadn’t taught me to drive—she’d promised to do it this past year—but I couldn’t imagine trying to get up something like this in the snow.
“So, um, about last night,” I said, as we started up the driveway. We’d “borrowed” a car and left it three blocks away, walking the entire way in silence. It was driving me nuts.
Shaun slowed but didn’t stop. He wouldn’t look at me. “If I hurt you, I’m—”
I pulled him to a stop as we came to the steepest part of the hill and stepped in front of him. I smiled and said, “You didn’t hurt me.”
The relief in his eyes was instant, and I realized it was why he’d been so quiet. He was worried. He grinned. “Wait ’til I can use both my hands freely…”
I shivered, not only at his words, but at the thought that there would be a next time. I didn’t say anything, but took his hand and started walking again. It took a few minutes, but when we finally got to the top of the hill, there was a modest-looking blue Cape Cod with black shutters and a fake deer on the lawn tucked inside a chain-link fence.
On the other side of the fence there was a man. Somewhere in his late thirties, or early forties—I was a horrible judge. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a mop of chocolate-brown hair the exact shade of mine. It had to be Mick.
“That’s him,” I whispered.
“Probably.” Shaun was beside me. He’d been beside me this entire time. I grew up watching Mom lie to everyone else and thought I was the one person exempt from that. It turned out I wasn’t and that hurt. But Shaun—Shaun had never been anything other than truthful. Even when it was ugly and harsh, he’d been straight with me.
“Thank you.” I turned to him. Hazel eyes met mine with a genuine spark. It was something I never expected to find. Friendship—and more. He’d said he wanted to keep me, and the truth was, I was starting to think I wanted to keep him, too, even though I knew it was likely impossible. “You said you’d help me and you did.”
“You don’t have to do this, you know. You can come back with me. Pat and I can keep you safe. We can deal with Bengali. You said you wanted out, but if you do this, you’ll still be running.”
“Yeah, but if what Patrick said about Mick was true, I can still start over somewhere—sort of. Besides, you’ve seen what Bengali is willing to do to get to me. If I stick around, eventually you would get caught in the cross fire, and I don’t think I could live with that.” I lifted my hand to his face. His skin was so warm. I let myself drown in the sensation for just a moment.
Leaning forward, I kissed him. When I pulled away, Shaun was watching me with wide eyes. “Kayla—”
“This is the best way to go.” If I let him continue, there was a very real chance he’d be able to talk me out of it. That I would allow him to lead me back down the driveway and to a phone to call Patrick.
We’d only spent a few days together, but they’d been a hell of a few days. In some ways Shaun knew more about me—the real me—than even Mom had. “Ready?” He took my hand and squeezed.
I squeezed back. “No—but let’s go anyway.”
Answers. This is what I’d been waiting for. A year’s worth of sleepless nights and insane theories, and the end could very well be standing a few yards away. Mom had been purposefully vague about her past. I understood why now. There was this thing… This horrible thing that had followed her. Followed us. I needed to know the truth. About what she’d done. About what she might have done.
I took a deep breath and started to move.
A thin layer of sweat broke out on the nape of my neck. The wind kicked up a strong breeze, and the moisture sent chills down my back. With each step, my heartbeat quickened and suddenly it seemed I’d forgotten how to breathe.
“You okay?” Shaun asked.
I nodded. Speech was impossible at that moment. I was terrified of what I might find out, yet I’d never been so excited. Right. Left. Right. Left. Each step brought me closer to what I hoped was the end.
“What can I do for you guys?” the man asked as he stepped to the edge of the gate at the top of the driveway. He ran his hands down the length of his jeans to brush away the dirt as his eyes fell to the shackles. The hoodie had been in tatters, so we’d left it behind. “And why exactly are you chained together?”
He had on an old Metallica T-shirt and worn jeans and greeted us with a friendly smile. I couldn’t remember Mom ever showing interest in a guy before—was this her type? The tall sort of rugged casual?
“If this is another fund-raiser for the varsity football team, do I need to remind you how badly the bring-a-pet-to-prom thing went last year? From what I understand, they’re still pulling feathers from the bleachers.” He rolled his eyes. “Why can’t you guys just do a bake sale like everyone else?”
Deep breath. “We’re not from the local school. My name is Kayla.” I hitched a thumb toward Shaun. “And this is Shaun. We think you knew my mom? Melissa Morgan?”
For a moment none of us moved. Not even a twitch. I stood there with my breath held as Hank Friedman—aka Mick Shultz—simply stared at me like I was an alien. I started thinking maybe we’d found the wrong guy. A part of me was both thrilled and crushed by the possibility.
“You’re Melissa’s daughter?” It wasn’t exactly skepticism i
n his voice, but there was definitely caution. I needed help, but that didn’t mean I trusted this guy. Apparently, the feeling was mutual.
“You know who I am?” I asked, watching for signs of trouble. A flinch here, a twitch there. But Mick Shultz was as cool as a cucumber.
“Yep,” was all he said.
“Do you know why I’m here?”
His eyes narrowed. “Should I?” He turned away from me to scan the area. “Melissa with you?”
“She died last year.”
“Died or got herself killed?”
My jaw tightened, and I bit down on my tongue to keep from saying something I’d regret. His callous attitude pissed me off, but I needed his help. “She was killed,” I managed evenly.
He picked up the garden hose at his feet and started rolling it up. “Doesn’t surprise me. That woman had more enemies than Hitler.”
I bit down hard on the inside of my lip. That one I couldn’t let slide. “Excuse me?”
He chuckled, but his expression softened just a smidge. “You didn’t really think she was a saint, did you? Melissa Morgan used anyone and everyone she could to get what she wanted. If you had what she needed, you were the most important person in the world. As soon as she got it? You were no one.”
I didn’t know what I’d hoped to find in Mick Shultz. A parent? A savior? I was starting to get the feeling he was none of the above. “She was killed by Bengali.”
I waited for some kind of response, but Mick only stared.
“Now he’s after me,” I added.
“And you’re telling me this because…?”
“Because I need your help?”
He laughed. “Why should I help you?”
I stared, openmouthed. Patrick said Mick knew I was his daughter. What kind of bastard threw his own kid to the wolves? “Because I’m your daughter?”
And just like that, Mick’s expression changed. “She told you?”
“Not her. Someone else.” I glanced behind me. The coast was still clear, but I couldn’t be sure for how long. If I’d found Mick, and Bengali’s resources were as vast as Patrick said, he could find him, too. “Look, is there someplace else we can talk?”
Shaun grabbed my arm and nodded to the house. “Agreed. We should take this inside.” He turned to Mick. “Give us ten minutes of your time. If you still have no desire to help her, we’ll be on our way and you’ll never see us again.”
Mick considered it for a minute. I was sure he’d kick us out, but instead, he nodded toward the house. “Fine. Come inside.”
We followed him through the perfectly maintained yard and around to the back door. The moment I stepped inside, I knew we shared the same genes. “The house smells like blueberries.”
“Had blueberry pancakes for breakfast. There’s still some batter left. I suppose I should offer you food or something,” he grumbled. “You hungry?”
“Starved,” Shaun said, practically drooling. I was right there with him.
Mick gestured to the chairs at the kitchen table with a flick of his wrist. “Sit. I’ll make you something to eat, and you tell me exactly what you want from me.”
I gnawed on my bottom lip as Mick started pulling containers from the fridge. A small container of blueberries. A larger clear tub that looked like it was filled with batter. A spatula. A flat pan. Milk. Butter. Syrup…
My stomach growled and I looked away.
“So you think I’m your father,” he said as he went to work.
That took me by surprise. “Are you saying you’re not?”
“No,” he said simply. “I’m not saying that.” But his tone made me wonder.
“You never kept in contact with her. Why?”
After setting two glasses on the counter, he poured the milk and stepped to the right, shoulders slumping. “You’re asking why I never came to find you, right?”
I didn’t mean to come across as needy, but he was right. That’s what I’d been asking. “The thought crossed my mind.”
“Melissa and I had sort of a large falling out. We decide it was best to stay apart.”
“Did this falling out have to do with that last job you pulled?”
Mick froze, the two glasses of milk in hand. “You know about what happened?”
“Mr. Shultz,” Shaun said, taking one of the glasses of milk from him, “Kayla and her mom have been bouncing around from one place to another since she was born. Melissa raised Kayla on the run. We think it was because of the murder.”
Mick sank into the chair across from mine as I took a sip of my own milk. The stove top dinged to signal that our pancakes were ready to cook, but Mick didn’t move. “You mean Bengali’s kid.”
I swallowed the lump that was creeping up my throat and took a long pull from the glass. “Yeah.”
“You said Bengali killed her. You think it was payback for the kid?”
I looked to Shaun, and he nodded for me to continue. “It had to be.”
Mick leaned back in the chair, eyes darting between Shaun and me. “How do you know, though?”
“He’s got the resources,” Shaun said. “And the motivation.”
Mick chuckled. Not an amused laugh but something dark. Almost angry. “A lot of people had the motivation.”
“She’s been hiding from someone my entire life. Someone she believed wanted to hurt her. At first I had no idea what was going on, but Patrick—”
“Patrick?” That brought the life back to his eyes. His expression twisted and his eyes went dark. Clearly there was a serious issue between Mick and Patrick. He seethed. “As in Patrick Tanner? You’ve spoken to him?”
“It’s a painfully long story, but he’s a bounty hunter now. He’s been on Mom’s tail from day one.” I turned to Shaun. “But Shaun knows him, and Patrick’s the one who told me about Bengali—and you.”
“You’re telling me Patrick Tanner sent you to me?” Patrick hadn’t spoken fondly of Mick, and it seemed that Mick felt the same way. “I find that incredibly hard to believe.”
“He didn’t tell me to find you. He just said your specialty was covering your tracks. Making people disappear. I decided to come on my own.”
“You want me to help you disappear. Is that it?”
“I need to get off Bengali’s radar. I—” A yawn slipped past my lips. I shouldn’t have sat down. The constant running was catching up to me, and it wasn’t like Shaun and I slept much last night… Sitting still was only making it worse. “I found a letter recently—”
“A letter?” His body went rigid in the chair. “What else did it say?”
“Not sure, to be honest. I only had the chance to skim bits and pieces before I lost it. I saw your name and Patrick’s—and something about her last job going badly and that someone had gotten hurt. Also, something about…”
About what? There was more. What was it? I was so damn tired all of a sudden.
“Something about information… Information that needed to get to the right people. Do you have any idea what that might mean? Is it possible she had information to prove she didn’t commit the murder?”
I glanced around the room, letting go of another yawn. On the counter by the sink was something silver and blue. A ring. I dug deep into my pocket and pulled out the ring I’d taken from Mom’s safe-deposit box. It was almost identical.
Mick caught me looking and stood. He crossed the room and grabbed the ring, setting it down on the table in front of me. It was a large blue gem set in a thick silver band with the year etched into either side. “My class ring.”
I set hers down next to it. “It’s the same as Mom’s.”
Mick sank back into his chair with a smile. “That’s because we went to school together.”
Another part of Mom’s past I hadn’t known about. But that wasn’t what bugged me. What bugged me was how familiar the ring looked. It was the same feeling I got when I’d first seen Mom’s at the bank. “I’ve seen this before.”
“Of course you did,” Mick said.
He tapped the table. Both rings wobbled and clacked. “You just said it’s the same as Melissa’s.”
“No,” I said. I shook my head and the room swam a little. “Somewhere else…”
There was a loud clink bedside me as Shaun set his glass down and took my hand. He stood, wobbling just a bit, before trying—and failing—to pull me up. “Kayla…”
I blinked. That was it. Just a flutter of my eyelids. When I looked at Shaun again, he was on the floor. Even more disturbing than that was that I was there with him and couldn’t remember falling. I nudged him with my knee. “Shaun?”
Shit. The milk. He’d put something in the milk. On the other side of the table, Mick’s chair scraped against the tile. There were footsteps, and a moment later, a dark figure loomed above me. I looked up and everything was kind of watery. In and out. Like opening your eyes after a long night of NyQuil-induced sleep. When it cleared, there was Mick’s face. Larger than life and right in front of mine.
That’s when I remembered where I’d seen the ring. The hooded man in the window.
Bengali wasn’t Jaffe. It was Mick.
His laughed echoed in my head. “You probably should have read the entire letter…”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dripping water. It was the only thing I heard.
Drip-drip-drip-drip-drip.
At first it was comforting. Noise to banish the silence and make the dark a little less scary—but after a few minutes, I wanted to scream. The constant, methodical sound was like an annoying nature CD on skip. I almost would have preferred the quiet.
Almost.
I tried to move my arms and, of course, failed. I did manage to flex my fingers around and figured out my wrists—and Shaun’s—were wrapped with about two inches of smooth surface. Duct tape.
I shouldered him. “Shaun?”
No answer. Not so much as a twitch. He had drunk more of the milk than me.
I squinted in the darkness but couldn’t make out anything other than a large, nondescript shape on the other side of the room. We were in some kind of basement. At least, that’s what it smelled like. There was dampness in the air and the strong stench of mothballs and mildew that made my nose itch and my eyes water.
