4. Reeve
FOUR
reeve
TORIN: Celeste is looking for you. You comin’ out tonight?
REEVE: Busy, brother. Tell her I’ll see her Thursday.
TORIN: You might as well bail on that, too. Because she’s bitching about how you haven’t fucked her in three weeks.
REEVE: And she’s only making it worse for herself.
Pocketing my cell, I shove the pads of my fingers underneath the screen of Bay’s bedroom window and pray to fuck it doesn’t scare the shit out of her.
Not that my sneaking into her room isn’t going to do just that. That girl is on guard like she’s holding the Mona Lisa in her room and waiting to ship the thing out.
I’m treading a line where desperate meets frantic, and I can’t go another day without talking to Bay about what happened the other night.
How my hitting her was for reasons that I can’t explain because it’s not my place.
Which sounds like a douchebag excuse if I’ve ever heard one.
Regardless and, to prove my point, she hasn’t texted me back.
And I’m going crazy without being able to apologize about the sick performance I put on to save her life. How familiar it sounds to something I’ve done previously that did nothing at all to save her.
Guilt has been spiraling in my gut for the last three days, and I haven’t been able to sleep. Every inch of my body craves that woman and I have— had —my sights on her since the first moment I saw her. Those fucking ocean eyes put me on lock quicker than I could find the key for it. And I know we’re treading through dangerous territory, but she’s worth it.
It’s worth anything to find out if, what I felt in that tree house, could be my saving grace in my head. If I could finally have a relationship with a woman who wasn’t going to be filled with shame and my dick giving in to her every night.
Nostrils flared, I push back things I can’t change, the dark place in my head that sends me spiraling for purchase on regaining my reality. Bay may have not had the time to speak with me or simply doesn’t want to. And I won’t allow my brain to sit on the latter until I find out for myself.
My cell buzzes in my pocket again, alluding that Torin is bored as fuck at Hurricane , but he can just do the books real quick and leave. No one asked him to fraternize with everyone there, but it’s something he likes to do. Being a presence to show that he gives a fuck to all the hardworking women busting their ass all night in eight-inch heels and barely anything on.
We run a gentlemen’s club for extra cash because drugs and guns aren’t guaranteed when you got the Coast Guard up every inch of the ocean, thanks to Emilio. We found other ways to hustle and the last thing I want to is to be the reason some white thirty-year-old psycho decided to play target practice with a school with an assault rifle I sold to someone else.
I have enough blood on my hands. However, those motherfuckers were far from innocent and I was doing society a favor.
Popping the screen out of its tracks, I slowly lower it to the ground and lean it up against the white siding of the house. I back up to get a running start so I can get some air and drag myself inside until something hard plows into the side of my head next to my ear.
My body bows forward a bit from the blow but I quickly pivot and, fuck me.
This was a possibility.
A big one—literally.
After all, I did just sneak my ass into enemy territory to see my future wife, if she’ll still have me, and I just so happen to run into her guard dog; Levi Wallace.
When I expect something smartass to leave my throat—it’s probably from hanging out with Torin for too long—Levi lunges for me again.
I’m not so quick on my feet for that move, and his fingers grip onto my Nirvana t-shirt, already launching another blow to my face.
On my best day, I still wouldn’t go up against Levi Wallace in hand-to-hand combat. The dude’s like six feet tall, a million pounds of inked muscle and his punch feels like he took a sledgehammer and battered up with it. His attitude is semi-close to Torin’s, so that’s not at all petrifying; however, I’m not looking to have my pretty face smashed in either.
Levi is quick to parry my hit for how massive he is, swinging his arm like he’s stacked up on steroids because his next hit causes me to stumble back once and colors blur my vision.
I know what this is for, and I’m fully aware that I deserve it, but there’s a little sliver of what else was I supposed to fucking do that resides inside my head. I wasn’t left with many options and less bullets to wipe out Emilio’s men.
And, as much as I would love to explain that to Levi, he doesn’t look like he’s up for talking right now.
However, it doesn’t stop me from trying.
“Hold on, Hulk Hogan,” I surmise, holding both my hands out defensively to show him that I don’t want to fight. Not that it seems to matter. “There’s more to the story than what you know.”
“Did you touch Bay?”
Fuck.
“Wallace—”
“Did you touch what was mine?”
My brows mindlessly clench, because there’s no way. It’s not like I hang out or see Levi every day of my damn life, but there’s been no buzz about Bay and him being a thing. Though, why would you publicly announce that? It’d just mean she’s a target and a weak point.
Nevertheless, I don’t like it.
I don’t like it because he’s in my way. And moving Levi out of my way would be like rearranging all the numbers in Pi. A fucking pain in the ass and a lot to take into consideration if you don’t know it that well.
And all I know about Wallace is that he’s a fucking asshole. He hates us, and he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty.
“I saved her,” I offer up instead, and he rushes me again, but this time, I get out of his way and trip him like a middle school bitch.
Levi almost face plants in the ground but catches himself, and I’m forced to turn my back on the street. What’s in front of me is even more dangerous than who could be walking up behind me right now.
“You need to calm down,” I claim. “You’re gonna pop a blood vessel and that shit hurts.”
“You’re dead, Stanton. I don’t give a fuck if you put on a play for your sick fantasies. You hit my girl, and now I’m going to put my own spin on it.”
Yeah, I don’t know what that means, but I’m sure it’s not a trip to Disney World for free.
“Listen, man, I’m not here to hurt Bay. That’s the last thing I want to do.”
Levi straightens his spine, and he appears more like he’s seven foot now. The dude is like RoboCop or something. I don’t understand how he keeps looking bigger and bigger with each passing second but I’m beginning to think he’s an Avenger or something.
“Hurt her?” Levi repeats, his shoulders tense and heaving with each pissed-off breath he takes. “I should have her shove a dildo up your ass until you bleed.”
“Yeah, I’m bi,” I reply, even though I’m sure he knows that. “But the bleeding thing there isn’t my cup of tea.”
Levi lets out a silent chuckle, and I only notice because of the way his body moves. “You’re gonna be bleeding a lot, Stanton. I can promise you that. In fact”—he takes a step forward and something in the air between us shifts—“I hope you said goodbye to your little boyfriends because you’re goin’ on a little trip.”
Yeah, fuck that again.
“Relax, Wallace,” I try to reason. “We can talk about this.”
The asshole gives me a little smirk and not in a getting my dick hard kinda way. “I’ll be talkin’ about this. But you’re gonna be screamin’ through most of it.”
I’m suddenly seized up by two pair of hands on either side of me, and I instantly go into fight mode.
The dude to my right is the first one I get away from as I thrust my fist into the guy at my left, quickly realizing it’s Hot Shit—AKA Hot Rod.
Bucking my elbow back, Juice Box—cough, just plain Juice—walks right into my path to restrain me again, which is what I needed. Levi comes waltzing forward like the dude from the movie, 300, like he’s about to take a whole army down.
I’m flattered.
To think this douchebag believes I have the strength of a whole infantry boosts my ego. But, in reality, these three-against-one odds aren’t going to be working in my favor.
In fact, I think I’m fucked.
“I hope you have enough brain cells in your head for this.” Then Levi swings at me, clipping me in the jaw as I back away from him to miss the blow. Hot Rod stomps on my foot like a fucking girl as the back of my right knee is taken out by what feels like a metal pipe.
I’m down on one knee before I can exhale and stiff handcuffs lock one of my wrists. I reach for Hot Rod’s t-shirt, yanking him forward so that he at least bends over before head-butting him in the face.
Cheap shot.
But if I’m going down for this shit, I’m going to make sure they remember me while I do.
“That was easy,” Levi mocks, towering over me like he won fairly and one-on-one. “Now, let’s get you ready for your trip.”
“You motherfucker?—”
“Don’t get all bent out of shape about it,” Levi coos, crossing his bulky arms along his chest. “I hear that Mexico is nice this time of year.”
“ Mexico ,” I leer. “The fuck are you going to do?”
“Send you down there free of charge. In a shipping container.”
Oh, fuck.
No passport or money. I’m really going to make it back home in time for Christmas.
“Cute,” I deadpan, trying not to give away the worry coursing through my veins because it makes sense since Levi and his boys own the shipping yard. If they don’t feel like burying a body, the next best thing is just to dispose of me altogether without having to lift a finger.
“I thought so.” Levi leans forward to get into my face. “I hope you paid attention in Spanish. Because you’re about to buen viaje . But not before we have a little fun with you first.”
It doesn’t take a brain scientist to know that it kinda sounded like bon voyage .
And the thought of never saying goodbye to my boys sends a sharp pain through my gut. That they’re going to search for me and they’re not going to have any luck.
Because I’m going to be another country away with no way to contact me.
And, yep, I’m fucked.