by Violet Blaze
I have to say goodbye to Paris, for now, maybe forever.
Gone.
A split second decision made by a stuttering heart and it's all gone.
I sneer at him. It's a nasty expression, one that Gill's father used to call mon visage laid, my ugly face, but in this moment, it's beyond my control. Emotions are running too high, adrenaline is pumping too fast. Most days, I try to be pleasant. Today, it's not an option.
“Can you at least look like you give a crap?” I ask, but Gill isn't listening. His blue eyes are focused on the road ahead, his brow furrowed just so, just enough that I can tell he's buried deep in thought. Knowing him, he's probably going over the plan for the thousandth time in that thick skull of his, running through each possible scenario until he's picked it apart and prepared for virtually anything. It's one of the reasons I agreed to be a part of this, to take a chance on something that could easily end with me locked up in prison for life—or dead. It's also one of the reasons I fell in love with him—and then out of love with him.
Jesus, Regi, snap out of it! Reminiscing about the past never got me anywhere, not after Dad died, not after Mom died, not after Gill left … Can't help it though. Memories are my coping mechanism, my way of slogging through the humdrum dull of everyday life. Anything a steaming espresso or a warm baguette can't cure, a good daydream can. But right now, when I'm running from a serious case of larceny, not a good time.
“Gill.” I say his name slowly, calmly, firmly. Look at me, damn it. Thankfully he does, turning enough so that the soft light of morning limns his profile in gold. For the tiniest, briefest moment, he looks like a god.
“Don't worry, Regina,” he tells me, his voice steady and smooth but still somehow rough, like those few years he spent on the street as a kid left a permanent mark on his soul. Or maybe it's everything that happened after. How the hell should I know? The man's a virtual stranger to me now. “I told you I'd get you through this, and I will. Relax, take a deep breath, and leave everything else to me.”
I bite my lower lip and lean my head back against the black leather seat. I have some serious trust issues, most of which were caused by the asshole sitting next to me, so forgive me if I have trouble handing over the reigns, so to speak.
“Eight minutes,” Gill says as I close my eyes and struggle to slow my breathing. “Eight more minutes.” I open them back up and glance in the rearview mirror, looking for any sign of the police, any sign of flashing blue lights and the end of freedom as I know it. A dark chuckle cuts through the silence, drawing my attention back to Gill, to his strong jaw, the rough edge of stubble that grazes his chin. Even ten years apart couldn't dampen my desire for him. Shit. Well, at least I know there's no second chance for us, no way to rekindle the relationship we once had. This right here is a professional exchange and that is it. Period. End of sentence. “By this time tomorrow, you'll be lounging by the pool at the hotel.”
“In Seattle?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. A scrap of blonde hair escapes my bun and I tuck it back. “In October? I find that highly doubtful.”
“Maybe,” Gill begins, his voice that edgy purr that always set my nerves on edge, “it'll be an indoor pool? And heated? Or maybe you'll be immersed in the warm, warm waters of a jacuzzi?” The way my stepbrother says warm makes me question my own sanity. Shouldn't be legal to make a simple syllable sound so … dirty. “Wherever you find yourself,” he continues as the car slows and we make a left turn towards the airstrip, “I can promise you, it won't be behind bars. You have my word on it.”
x x x
“I've never flown on a private plane before,” I tell Gill after our flight, the two of us comfortably seated in a dull gray rental car, some sedan named after a horse or a deer or … a bull, maybe? Yeah, I think it's a Taurus or something. “And I don't ever want to repeat the experience.”
Gill smiles at me, but he doesn't laugh. Once again, he's too absorbed in the execution of his brilliant beyond brilliant plan to pay me much attention. Honestly, it's all sort of starting to get to me: his sudden reappearance, his lack of emotion, his too tempting offer. All I need is a key, a code, and a clue, Regi, that's what Gill told me when he came waltzing into his father's apartment in the trendy Parisian arrondissement known as Le Marais.
The area reminds me in the best of ways of New York's SoHo neighborhood: trendy boutiques, haute cuisine, and lots of high-end vintage shopping. Also, like SoHo, it's way above my pay grade as a jewelry store sales associate. So, every morning before work, I'd diligently walk my ass over to my stepdad's place and enjoy the views of the courtyard and the bustling Rue Amelot.
That particular morning, Cliff and I were sitting at his kitchen table, cups of coffee clutched in our hands, reminiscing about the States, my mom, life in general. We were laughing so hard about our first few weeks in France all those years ago, about being whiny expats, about Cliff's still admittedly terrible French, that we didn't hear the front door open. Like an ethereal memory, Gilleon was suddenly just there, drifting across the polished wood floors like a ghost. Cliff's adopted daughter, Solène, shouted some horrible French curse words that even I didn't know and snatched my pepper spray out of my purse before I could remind her that the dark haired, blue-eyed bad ass standing in the doorway was her … brother. Well, as much her brother as he was mine, really.
I felt all kinds of things in that moment—fear, hope, anger, the dying embers of a once requited love—but Gill? Shit. From the look on his face, from the dull, familial hug he shrugged over my shoulders, he didn't feel anything for me. I mean, not that I cared. I've long since moved on, to be honest with you. As Solène is proving to me, preteens might well be capable of holding onto some serious grudges and unrequited passions, but as an adult, I just can't do it. Takes too much energy, gives too much pain, and offers absolutely zilch when it comes to the future. Still … I'll just be glad when this is all over, I have my payout, and Cliff, Solène and I are cozied up in some sweet Seattle digs. Gill'll leave again and things can go back to normal.
“I'm gonna call home,” I say, not even bothering to think about the massive international phone charges I'll be racking up. From this point on, I am officially rich. Yup. That's right. Loaded. Regina Corbair is now capable of buying a house in Mount Baker, a vintage car like the one in Supernatural—holy crap, Sam and Dean are hot—and adopting some ugly mixed breed dog of questionable parentage. A friend of mine once picked up a short-legged, half-hairless beast more akin to a rat than an actual pooch from a Native American reservation in California. She paid eight dollars for the creature and loves it like the kids she doesn't have. Considering the amount of green that Gill promises I'll be swimming in, maybe I'll fly down to Cali—first class, of course—search out the sister I haven't seen in years and camp out at her place on the reservation until I find the right canine companion. Hell, I don't even have to work anymore, so why not?
I smile and search around inside my purse. The expression only lasts so long as it takes me to realize that my phone is missing.
“Gill.”
“You didn't really think you'd get to keep the phone, did you?” he asks, again letting that low, deep rumble of a laugh seep into his words. This time, I'm ready; my shields are up and the sound doesn't so much as scrape across that barrier I erected so long ago.
“Guess I'll call them when I get to the hotel then,” I say, sitting back with a sigh, letting the patter of Seattle rain soothe my nerves. As much as I fell in love with Paris, I missed the hell out of the Pac Northwest. I can't explain why but something about it says home to me. Must be the dreary weather, cheers me up somehow. It's like, how can I be upset when the sky's already weeping for me?
“Unfortunately, you'll have to wait until they land to see them. Right now, phone calls are too risky.” I give Gill another show of my 'ugly face' and stifle the urge to say something mean. It's not his fault, really, just nerves. No matter what happens from this point on, I have to take responsibility for my own actions. Gil
l might've made the proposal, but I'm the one that went along with it.
“So … how exactly does this all work?” I ask, wishing I was the kind of person that was okay with comfortable silence. To me, though, all silence is awkward, punishing. I have some sort of strange compulsion to fill it. “I mean, you deliver the diamonds to your client and poof, he hands over some cash?” Gill's full lips twitch, but he doesn't respond right away, probably mulling over what he can and can't say to me, what might break some rule of thievery that I'm not in the privilege of knowing. “Sorry,” I say, before he tries to placate me with some bullshit that I'm not likely to believe. I hold up both hands, palms out. “I don't even want to know.”
“I'll answer your question if you answer mine,” Gill says, a bit of wry humor sneaking into his words. I stare down at my bare toes, at my purple painted nails, and I try to remember when, exactly, it was that I lost my high heels. The day's a complete blur, a twisted snarl of shock and adrenaline, a fuzzy, blurry memory that I know won't come into full focus until I'm completely relaxed and at ease. Stressful situations are like that, you know? In the heat of the moment, they're just smears across your consciousness, a series of actions you take from muscle memory and reflex. Afterwards, when you're lying in the dark and the full force of your decisions comes crashing down, that's when things get high def.
“What's your question?” I ask, my stomach tightening with anticipation. I have no clue why. I mean, I trust Gill as a business partner, as a master of his trade, but otherwise, he means nothing to me. So why is my body trying to act otherwise? “If you tell me, I'll give it some serious consideration and then perhaps I'll take you up on the offer.” I turn and lift my chin, giving him my haughtiest facial expression; it only makes Gill laugh.
“Why didn't you tell me you had a boyfriend?”
Gill's question catches me completely off guard, and my cheeks go up in flames; my jaw clenches. Shit. Yes, Mathis caught me by surprise this morning, showing up at the jewelry store with brioche in one hand, coffee in the other. He practically ruined the entire gig with his romantic notions. Still … the gesture was kind, and I'm already starting to wonder if I'm going to miss him.
“Didn't seem relevant to the situation,” I say, knowing that's complete crap. I let my gaze fall on the window, on the water droplets clinging to the glass and then spinning away like leaves in a storm. Absently, I smooth my hands over my white pencil skirt, straightening out the wrinkles. As of now, this is the only outfit I have. For Gill's plan to go off without a hitch, I had to leave it all behind, everything I owned. Well, all except for my mother's things. I'd rather die than let go of those. I lean against the car door and let the comforting pressure of my purse dig into my side, just to make sure it's still there. “I'm sorry he tried to tackle you, but you did have a gun to my back.”
“He's a handsome guy,” Gill says, and I swear to God, it sounds like he's gritting his teeth.
“Gill, don't,” I say, glancing over and finding his usual calm expression sitting pretty on that rugged face. Son of a bitch. “We're not friends anymore.”
“We could be,” he says, his voice even, no hint of what he's really trying to say with those words.
“Oh?” I ask, more than a dollop of sarcasm creeping into my tone. “You planning to settle down in Seattle? Getting to know your sister, maybe?” My words have such a double meaning, one that I hope Gill doesn't notice, that I end up being the one clenching my teeth. Old anger rides over and through me, but I ignore it, letting it seep away into the sudden silence. Gill's lack of an answer is all I need to know that he's never going to change, never going to stop doing what he does best: stealing shit. He might call himself a thief, might be able to pull off jobs that nobody else can, but so what? In all reality, he's just a common criminal and that's it. Nothing—and I mean nothing—is more important than family. But my stepbrother apparently thinks so, so screw him. “If you want to tell me how I almost screwed everything up and got you arrested, go ahead, I deserve it.”
I slump back in my seat and run my hands over my face. Makeup smears across my skin as I drag my fingertips over my eyelids and down my cheeks, dropping my fists into my lap. I would've liked to tell Mathis goodbye, gauge his expression when I told him I was leaving and never coming back. This time though, it was my turn to run off and disappear without a word. Right now, shock's got a cold, white hold on my heart, and I can't seem to feel much of anything. I wonder if it'll hit me later, some sort of overwhelming grief. I mean, Mathis and I weren't head over heels in love or anything, but he made me smile. That's gotta count for something, doesn't it?
“I'm not angry with you, Regi,” Gill says, taking a waterlogged exit out of the flow of traffic, our tires splashing mud and leaves against the guardrails on either side. “And I'm sorry I dragged you into this, truly I am, but—”
“But the payoff was colossal, I get it.” I raise my hands up, copper bracelets jingling. The smell of my perfume drifts in the air between us, the scent of peonies suddenly cloying. I roll the window down a crack and let cool droplets of water splatter against my face. “Besides, my position at the store made it an easy gig and all that. Stop apologizing, Gill. It's not like you forced me into this, remember? I made my own choice.”
I don't let myself wonder why I made the choice to begin with. All that matters now is that I've got a chance at a fresh start, an easy life, an opportunity to sit back and figure out exactly what it is that I want from this spinning hunk of dirt. I want to prove to myself that I'm more than stardust, some cataclysmic chain reaction that started with the Big Bang and ended up with little ol' me. I want to feel again, really feel something like I did when I was a teenager, before everyone significant in my life died or left and drew open this gaping hole in my heart.
I grind my teeth again and roll the window down a little further, closing my eyes against the spray of cool autumn rain.
“We're here,” Gill says, not bothering to acknowledge my statements. Why should he? After today, we might see each other one, maybe two, more times. Me and him, we're just strangers now. “Reservation's under the name Mia Logan, credit card's in your bag.”
“I got it, Gill,” I tell him as he pulls the car up in front of the lobby, “I know the plan.”
I shut the door and step back, pausing to say something, anything to him before he leaves, but the window's being rolled up, and the gray Taurus is disappearing into the grainy gray of the storm.
Listen to this playlist for FREE on Spotify by clicking here or visiting: http://goo.gl/9stWEN
All That Remains – This Calling
All That Remains – This Probably Won't End Well
Ariana Grande – One Last Time
Atreyu – Do You Know Who You Are?
Avenged Sevenfold – Nightmare
Boys Like Girls – Love Drunk
Bring Me The Horizon – Empire (Let Them Sing)
Bullet For My Valentine – Fever
Chamillionaire – Ridin'
A Day To Remember – Better Off This Way
Devil You Know – Seven Years Alone
Disturbed – Fear
Egypt Central – Over and Under
Escape the Fate – This War Is Ours (The Guillotine II)
Eyes Set To Kill – Darling
Five Finger Death Punch – My Heart Lied
Godsmack – Voodoo
Godsmack – Awake
In This Moment – Dirty Pretty
In This Moment – Black Widow
In This Moment – The Fighter
Katy Perry – I Kissed a Girl
Killswitch Engage – My Curse
Linkin Park – No More Sorrow
Memphis May Fire – Prove Me Right
P!nk – Blow Me (One Last Kiss)
P!nk – Try
Paramore – Ain't It Fun
Rita Ora – How We Do (Party)
Rita Ora – Poison
Silverstein – Smile In Your Sleep
St
one Sour – Say You'll Haunt Me
Stone Sour – Absolute Zero
Three Days Grace – I Am Machine
Woe, Is Me – Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F.)
Woe, Is Me – Vengeance
You Me At Six – Underdog
You Me At Six – Bite My Tongue (feat. Oli Sykes)
Violet Blaze's Super Interesting Life Story (aka Her Biography)
Violet Blaze is the best friend you've always wanted, but still love to hate. She embarrasses you at dinner and flatters you at the club. And you're pretty sure her ugly little dog is a 'poochon', even if you have no idea what that means (it's a mix between a Bichon Frise and a Poodle, just in case you wanted to know).
A California native, Miss Blaze loves the good ol' US of A, and enjoys dressing up in its stars and stripes. She lives in a house with bright pink walls, a chair shaped like a shoe, and a cat named Miranda Rose. Violet's been reading all of her life (often while drinking brightly colored cocktails); her favorite thing about books is that she gets to watch people fall in love over and over again. Really, who doesn't? And if she wasn't a writer, it's likely Violet Blaze would be a pop star who wore too much make up and wore too little clothing.
This raging feminist likes writing books about strong women and strong men who aren't afraid to express themselves (oftentimes in the bedroom). She hopes you'll join her in reading her debut novel, Stepbrother Inked, and wants to hear your thoughts, questions, and favorite quotes @IAmVioletBlaze #stepbrotherinked.
(or you can be all old fashioned and stuff and email her at [email protected])
www.violetblazebooks.com
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