Release Me If You Can

by Christina C Jones

  She relaxed — but only a little — giving Quentin an affirmative nod when he asked if she’d gotten him. The other vehicle was still approaching —fast — so there was no room to lose focus. Especially when there was another gunman sticking his head out of the car. Before she could think about it too hard, she’d already aimed and shot again, putting a bullet through his forehead before he could point the menacing automatic weapon in his hands.

  “Good aim,” Quentin said, gifting her a brief, but grateful smile as he swerved to avoid a slow-moving Mercedes. Renata started to smile back, comforted by his slight softening toward her, but that relief quickly shifted to fear. She lifted the Glock again, aiming it in Quentin’s direction.

  Quentin’s face dropped into a glower as he looked down the barrel of the gun. “What the fuck, Renata, why are you—”

  “Don’t move,” Renata commanded, cutting him off as she pulled the trigger.

  Around her, the air exploded with the deafening crack of a gunshot. The bullet shattered his window and kept moving, striking the gun-wielding driver of the Mercedes in the neck, which sent the car swerving as it suddenly decelerated.

  “Hell yes!” she exclaimed, as the Mercedes swung into the front of the Escalade, incapacitating both vehicles. She turned her gaze back to Quentin with a huge smile.

  Oh my God.

  Horror gripped her heart like a vice when she saw the blood splattered across Quentin’s face. She dropped the gun to reach for him, to see where he was shot, but… she couldn’t feel her fingers… couldn’t make herself move. Dizziness swept over her, and she briefly closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she realized he was talking to her, saying something, but… her eyes were just so heavy. So, so heavy. So she closed them again.

  She could hear sirens. They were in the distance, but she could hear them, and she knew that wasn’t good. She had to warn — had to tell Quentin, sirens wasn’t good. Sirens meant police, and police meant questions, and questions meant answers, and answers meant… she couldn’t remember where she was going with that. She was going somewhere with that, if only she could remember. But sirens weren’t good. They were bad.

  When Renata wrenched her eyes open again, she was being pulled from the car, and the voices around her were frantic. Faintly, she registered that she was in Quentin’s arms. He was talking to someone, and even though his tone was measured and calm, it still held a slight edge of anxiety as he carefully lowered her onto something… maybe a bed.

  She groaned as he pulled away, and an unfamiliar face came into view. The woman was pretty, but she had a needle in one hand.

  Get away from me.

  Her thoughts drifted to Taylor, wondering if she were safe, and if she knew an attempt had been made on her mother’s life. If she knew her father had made an attempt on her mother’s life.

  It was the only thing that made sense. Other than Wolfe, Renata didn’t have the kind of enemies that sent armored vehicles to kill you in the middle of the night.

  Only Wolfe.

  Her eyes shot open again, bulging wide as pain burst suddenly through her shoulder and head. A vicious wave of nausea swept over her, and somebody, she wasn’t sure who, held up a bucket as she pitched her head over the bed to relieve herself of her stomach contents.

  “Ren, lay back, please.”

  She wanted to follow that instruction, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. Another round of sickness struck her stomach as she began to shake uncontrollably. A few moments later, as the voices around her grew frantic again, her consciousness slipped away, and she descended into obscurity .

  two.

  painted_pixel: g2g. Friend’s annoying big sister is making us go 2 some party with her.

  CrawDaddy: u can at least TRY 2 have fun, u know that right? Don’t be a lame all your life p.

  Painted_pixel: blah. Rowdy parties are totally not my scene.

  CrawDaddy: is ANYTHING?

  Painted_pixel: not really, lol. I’d much rather stay here and talk 2 u.

  CrawDaddy: Same here.

  Renata sucked in a deep breath as heat rushed to her cheeks. Most sixteen-year-old girls would probably be embarrassed that someone whose face they’d never seen, let alone met in person, could make them blush.

  Not her.

  She much preferred the safety of her just slightly flirtatious friendship with CD to the unavoidably awkward interaction with boys her age in real life.

  Of course it crossed her mind that he could be some creepy old man, hanging around in chat rooms for teenage hackers to pick his next victim. But she pushed the possibility — probability — away. He’d passed every little “test” she’d thrown his way. Casual mentions of pop culture, questions of birthday, maturity level when she mentioned boobs — if he wasn’t really seventeen, he was damn sure good at pretending. If he was… well, Renata had no plans on meeting him in person anyway.

  Ever.

  “Prettiness” was something Renata had never lacked, and her teenage body had developed to grown woman proportions early — and fast. Nothing she could really do about it, since… you know, biology, and all of that, but her mother certainly acted as if Renata had stood in the mirror and telepathically given herself the womanly curves she hid under baggy hoodies and sweats. “Fast ass” this, and “think you’re grown that”… one would think that Renata spent her time hanging at the mall in short-shorts with her adolescent peers, drinking at the lake, getting caught under the bleachers… anything that would warrant such accusations, instead of locked in her room with a book or her computer. But that made more sense than her mother actually had.

  So, Renata kept to herself. The less interaction with people her age, especially boys, the less chance there was for a rumor to start about her, and the less chance there was for something to get back to her mother. Which meant less chance of hell at home. The only exception was Stacy, her equally awkward, but much more outgoing friend — the only person in the “real world” that Renata considered such. And, the only person who didn’t fall outside of her mother’s arbitrary standards of a “bad influence”.

  As such, it was Stacy’s house that Renata went to whenever her mother was out of town, since she didn’t trust Renata to be home alone. Thing was, this time Stacy’s parents had to leave at the last minute, and were leaving the two younger teenagers with Stacy’s older sister Samantha, who was home for the weekend from college.

  Samantha wasn’t very fond of the idea of “babysitting” two teenagers who were more than capable of watching themselves, so she made an executive decision for the group. She was going to a party in nearby Houston, and since she’d been told not to leave them alone… they were going with her. A smoke filled, liquor filled, — probably drug filled — celebrity party was the last place Renata wanted to go, and she doubted she was old enough to get in anyway. But that wasn’t her problem, it was Samantha’s.

  In any case, all Renata wanted to do was stay at the house, with her face glued to the computer screen so she could talk to CD. With him, none of the awkwardness, none of the presumptions about her sex habits based on her body, none of the overpowering boredom of other boys her age existed. He was funny, smart, knew his way around malicious code, and didn’t treat her as inferior simply because she was a girl, as some of the other hackers did. So maybe… she crushed on him, just a little. His physical appearance was a mystery, but the way he affected her intellectually was the kind of thing her teenage fantasies were made of, and he certainly didn’t help matters by claiming he would rather spend his Friday night talking to her.

  Painted_pixel: srsly? U don’t have a party or a girlfriend or something 2 keep u busy on a Friday?

  CrawDaddy: nope. Girl who is a friend tried 2 get me 2 go spying w/her, but I’m on caregiver duty for my mom.

  Damn.

  Renata knew his mother was sick, but she wasn’t sure with what. He’d mentioned good days and bad ones before. Today must have been bad.

  Painted_pixel: go spying?

>   CrawDaddy: yeah, she’s always n2 something. Was hoping u would be keeping me company.

  Whew.

  Painted_pixel: sowwy. Loud music and underage drinking await.]

  Renata closed the chat after that, because she’d read in some trashy teenage magazine that she should always end conversations first, to “keep a man guessing.” Why exactly she wanted to keep a boy who lived God knows where “guessing”… she had no idea.

  “Hey nerd.”

  Renata rolled her eyes at the way Samantha chose to address her and turned her back to the computer screen to look up. At twenty years old, Sam was already a bombshell of a young girl, with honey-toned skin and hazel eyes. A “red bone” as they called them, and she had no qualms about flaunting her light skin and “good” hair around as more valuable than Renata’s copper hue and kinkier textured coils.

  Renata had no idea why Sam seemed to pick with her. She was four years her junior, and could only dream of the tall, slim body Samantha had poured into a tiny hot pink dress better suited for dancing on a stage than dancing in a crowd.

  “Put this on,” the older girl snapped, tossing a bundle of shimmery blue fabric into Renata’s face. “I borrowed it from my chubby roommate before I left the dorm.”

  Biting her tongue, Renata shot a scathing look at Stacy, who gave her a sheepish smile as she pulled a silver dress onto her slender body.

  Lucky them, Renata thought bitterly as she stood, pulling her hoodie over her head. Stacy and Samantha were the slim beauties — they would get all the attention. Renata was used to fading into the crowd with her baggy clothes and somber facial expressions.

  She’d showered before she left home, so all she had to do was strip down to her bra and panties. Her stomach was flat, but she had breasts, hips, and butt spilling from everywhere, it seemed. Self-conscious, she hurriedly yanked the dress on, smoothing it over her hips before she looked at herself in the mirror.

  “Holy crap,” Stacy whispered, staring at her friend. “You look super-hot, Ren!”

  Samantha sucked her teeth. “She looks like a teenager in grown-up clothes.”

  “I am a teenager in grown up clothes.” Indignation swept over Renata as Samantha circled her, scrutinizing her as if she were judging livestock.

  “How is your body all… bootylicious,” she continued, as if she hadn’t heard Renata speak, “when you have the face of a twelve year old?”

  “I can’t help what my face looks like.”

  Samantha’s mouth spread into a sly grin. “Oh… but I can.”

  — & —

  Renata took a deep breath as she exited the backseat of the car, after giving herself one last nervous glance in the mirror. Her heart raced as she fell into step behind Samantha and Stacy. Stacy had gone to enough parties with Samantha that she knew how to walk in the scary-high heels she’d been presented. Renata had to concentrate, so she didn’t look like a freshly-born foal, wobbly kneed and awkward as they headed for the front of the club.

  Their small group got first, second, and third looks as they walked past the line, and right up to the door. Samantha approached the bouncer first, slinking into him with a sexy smirk as she whispered something in his ear.

  He didn’t appear to be moved.

  The bouncer was a big man, the kind of big that tended to get nicknamed “Tiny”, with heavy fists that looked capable of easily smashing a skull. If that didn’t work, the visible gun at his waist would. He looked at Sam, and for a moment it seemed as if he might use one of those meaty hands to shove her out of the way, but then he looked over her shoulder at Stacy and Renata.

  Renata shifted uncomfortably on her aching feet as his eyes swept up her body, lingering at her hips and chest before finally settling on her face. She still felt like her awkward sixteen-year-old self, but knew she didn’t look it, after the way Samantha had applied makeup to her face. The blush created cheekbones, eliminating the plushness, and the dark, heavy eyeliner and shadow took away the wide-eyed innocence from her face. A thick layer of deep red lipstick turned her already full lips into a sexy pout that she’d barely recognized when Samantha was done with her “makeover”.

  She’d endured her share of unwelcome attention from men and boys before, but this was a whole other level of blatant lust. Renata much preferred “hey, hey, sexy, where you goin’ wit all dat ass?” to the searing, almost palpable touch of the bodyguard’s stare. She looked away, enduring it in silence before letting out a breath of relief when he finally turned his attention to Stacy instead.

  Without a word, he nodded at Samantha, then unhooked the rope to let them in. Samantha grinned, running a hand over his beefy chest as she passed, leading Stacy and Renata behind her.

  Inside, Renata’s face pulled into a scowl. The air was thick with smoke, from cigarettes and something a little less legal, and the crowd was heavy. It was hot, and loud, and… Renata really wished she could go home.

  All she’d wanted to do tonight was talk to CD.

  They weren’t on the main floor of the club very long before Samantha talked their way into VIP, and onto the lap of one of Houston’s well- known underground rappers. A cheer went around the section as one of his “chopped and screwed” style songs came blasting through the speakers, and Renata took advantage of the distraction, using the time to find a semi-quiet spot with a seat.

  She sat down, rubbing her temples as she looked over the balcony at the crowd. The VIP area was basically a sky box, where they could see out, but no one could see in. Renata wasn’t concerned about that. She was just glad for a separation — however slight — from the noise, and grateful that they were no longer among the sweaty, rowdy throngs of people on the main floor.

  Behind her, a low masculine voice spoke in a semi-hushed tone. She didn’t mean to intrude on a private conversation, so she tuned it out, turning to glance at Samantha and Stacy, who both seemed to be enjoying the attention of the up-and-comings surrounding the stars of the night, a rap duo who’d just been featured on a big rappers song and video, which played on a big screen. Renata shook her head at the image on the screen, a party full of skimpy women frolicking on a yacht, while the men rapped about pimping.

  Totally not my scene, she thought with a sigh. But she was here now, and the only thing to do was tough it out until they were ready to go — and hope Samantha didn’t plan to bag herself a rapper.

  “Excuse me…”

  Renata nearly jumped out of her skin at the deep, rich sound of a masculine voice right next to her ear. She turned, and her gaze was immediately snared by deep, cinnamon-toned skin and golden-brown eyes. His gaze raked over her much like the bodyguard, but instead of disgust, his slow perusal elicited heat in her cheeks and between her thighs, which she squeezed closed.

  The man was stupid-fine, but very obviously much older than she was. His soulful eyes held wisdom, intelligence, and… something else… danger, which made a slight chill run down her spine. But she remained rooted to her seat anyway, staring.

  His lush, full lips spread into a smile, showcasing two perfect rows of white teeth. “Are you alright?” he asked, placing a hand on her bare thigh.

  In her mind, the heat of his touch nearly seared her skin, and she swallowed hard. “Yes.” Her eyes flicked down to where his hand was still on her leg, and his gaze followed, but he made no effort to move it.

  “What’s your name, beautiful?”

  “Renata.”

  Why are you telling a stranger your name, crazy!

  “You have a last name?”

  “Parker.”

  He smiled then, a smile that made her skin crawl, but somehow made her want to move closer as well. She glanced up, feeling another set of eyes on her, and found Samantha looking in her direction. Sam smirked, and then her gaze slipped away, and she nodded.

  What is that about?

  Renata shook her head. Sam hated her, for whatever reason. It didn’t make sense to try to figure it out now.

  When she looked back at th
e man, he ran his tongue ran over his lips. “Renata,” he repeated, dragging the syllables in a sensual tone. “Nice name. Do you know who I am?”

  She shook her head, feeling stupid. She got the distinct feeling that she should know him, that he was important around here. Instead of the baggy jeans, fresh tennis shoes, and oversized tee shirts that most of the other men wore, he was dressed in charcoal- grey suit pants, a deep teal oxford, and a patterned tie that matched his other attire. Everything looked… new. Even his low haircut had impossibly sharp lines, defining his wavy hair from his blemish-free skin.

  His hand inched a little higher on her leg.

  “Would you like a drink?”

  When Renata shook her head, delivering an emphatic “no”, he chuckled.

  “What… you one of those “good Christian girls” that come to the club, and don’t drink?”

  Swallowing hard, she shook her head again. “No… it’s just… I… I’m only 19,” she lied, trying her best to keep a straight face. He frowned a little, and Renata wondered if she should have maybe gone younger. Eighteen was old enough to be in the club, and maybe she didn’t look as old as she thought. If he called security, Samantha would kill her, and probably get her in trouble with her mom. Ah, damn.

  “Don’t worry about it, baby girl. Nobody is gonna ask you for ID.”

  “How do you know?”

  He smiled, and that dangerous glint crossed his eyes again. “Because the owner of this club works for me… so I own this club. And because I said so.”

  So maybe that explained why he looked so… shiny, and out of place, compared to everyone else. “Seriously?” she asked, feeling a hot, unfamiliar sensation rake over her as he swept her with his eyes again. “What are you doing here, at this… hood club?”

  Chuckling, he shrugged a little. “I needed to meet with a certain… element tonight, to conduct some business. I don’t want them on my usual turf, so… I come to theirs. And I come prepared.”