Chapter 10 Hudson
HUDSON
It’s later that evening when I unpack the rest of the supplies and check the options for dinner.
“Spaghetti bolognaise or honey mustard chicken on rice?”
I hold up the packet of spaghetti in one hand and the rice in the other, and Willow points to the spaghetti.
“You know how to cook?” she asks, seemingly surprised.
I put a hand on my chest, mock offended. “You doubt my culinary skills?”
She leans on the kitchen counter, and her sweater falls off her shoulder, exposing a smooth orb of skin.
“I just didn’t expect it from a military guy. Don’t they cook all your meals for you?”
I grab a cutting board and line up my ingredients on the bench, an onion, two cloves of garlic, and the pot of fresh basil that I found at the convenience store.
“They do when you’re on deployment, but I’ve been out for three years.”
She nods, silent, then steps over to the couch, where she tucks her feet up underneath herself. With the fire crackling behind her, I’m half tempted to open a bottle of wine as if this were a romantic retreat. But this is a mission, and I didn’t bring any booze.
Instead, I pour two glasses of juice and open a jar of olives. I put them in a little dish and set it on the coffee table for her.
“You got olives? I thought you only went in for the essentials. I was expecting frozen pizza and a bag of apples.” She eyes my ingredients from where she sits. “Not olives and fresh herbs.”
We could’ve done this mission on the ration packs Marcus keeps on site at Bedrock Security, but I’ve gotten used to homemade food.
“I like to cook from scratch when I have the time,” I share.
“And we’ve got plenty of time up here.” She sighs and pulls her knees up to her chest. As I watch her, I can’t envision this woman doing the things she was accused of.
I scrape the skin off an onion and grab the sharpest knife I can find. “Why did you take a plea deal?”
She glances at me at the change of subject, and her expression is wary. I don’t blame her. Willow thinks I’m an uptight law-abiding citizen who’s jumping at the chance to judge her. But I’m wondering if the gang coerced her into confessing to something she didn’t do.
“Did you do what you were accused of?”
She looks down, and her nail scrapes at a piece of loose skin around her fingernails. “I did. I drove stolen goods across town. And I did it more than once.”
The confession is a blow to my chest. Somehow, I wanted it not to be true.
I can’t believe this woman, fierce and strong, who loves to paint, would do something like that.
Would break the law so flagrantly. But she’s also defiant and proud and seems to have a disregard for authority.
I can’t help but admire someone so complicated.
“More than once?”
“I was caught on the third time.” She puts her finger between her teeth and tugs on the loose skin. “I’m not proud of it. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
I pause chopping onions, trying to figure out if I’ve got her all wrong.
My instinct about her is that she’s in too deep, and she’s a good person at heart.
But maybe my instincts are getting clouded by the way she’s nibbling at her fingernails with sharp teeth and the way her full lips rest on her thumb as if she’s sucking it.
I wipe the back of my hand across my forehead, trying to think clearly. My instincts are never wrong about people.
“Why did you do it?” I ask, because I bet there’s a damn good reason.
She lets out a long sigh and releases the fingernail from her mouth. “Because my brother needed money.”
She shrugs like it’s that simple, and maybe it is. I understand how strong family ties can be.
“You did it for your brother?”
“He got an apprenticeship at a car repair shop, but I was too naive to realize who owned it.”
“The Street Kings?”
She nods. “It was fine for a while; he was learning his trade. But then they asked him to drive cars across town, cars with packages in them, or sometimes the cars themselves were stolen.”
She shifts on the couch. This is hard for her, but I need to hear it. I need to know what we’re dealing with.
“When I realized what was going on, it was too late. They said he knew too much to leave. Then there was trouble with one of the runs. A package went missing, and they said he owed them money. The only way to get him out was to pay them off and get him a one-way ticket out of town.”
I wipe my hands off and come to sit next to her. She’s tense, and her hands bunch into fists on her knees.
“I should’ve seen it coming.” She huffs out a frustrated breath.
Clearly, she blames herself for what happened to her brother. “It’s not your fault,” I say gently.
She hits her fists on the top of her knees. “I should have looked out for him.”
“Hey.” When I take her fists in my hands, she lifts her eyes to mine, and I can see the guilt and regret in her eyes. “He made his own choices.”
She laughs, but it’s brittle and bitter, not the carefree laugh I’ve heard the last few days. This is painful for her, and I long to take her in my arms and smooth away the hurt. But I have to know the rest of the story.
“And you tried to help?” I prompt.
She keeps her hands in mine, but the fists unclench.
“By that time, they were controlling his money and not paying him enough. There was no way he could pay that debt off without doing riskier and riskier jobs.”
“That’s how they get you.” It’s a mean tactic. Enticing young men into petty crime and then exploiting them.
“I said I’d do a few runs for them to pay off his debt. It was the only way. Tyler told me that they start off generous. The first runs he did he got paid good money. So, we made a plan. I’d do three runs, pay off his debt, and he’d use the remaining money to skip town.”
“Weren’t you worried they’d come after you?”
Her gaze meets mine. “It was a risk I was willing to take for my brother.”
The words hit hard. She’s either extremely brave or extremely stupid. But I’d do the same for Paige. Now I understand. She is a good person, forced to make a bad decision for the right reasons.
“And what happened?”
“On the last run, I got stopped. A random police check, and they found the stolen goods.” She shrugs. “And here I am.”
“But you managed to get Tyler away.”
She smiles, and some of the worry leaves her eyes.
“I did. They paid me half the money upfront, and I’d already transferred it to him and told him to get out of town. He left before I was caught, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“Why didn’t you tell the police?”
She gives me a look as if I’m the naive one.
“I tried. But there was no proof and no one willing to dig too deeply into it. The Kings must have people on the inside, because they didn’t want to listen.
I was advised to take the plea deal for a reduced sentence and leave it alone.
I got the message. You don’t mess with the Street Kings. ”
I sit back with my mind racing. Willow did all this for her brother. She risked herself, and she’s got a record for it. She risked jail time, and now she’s here hiding from people who would do her harm.
“I’d do it all again,” she says quietly. “Tyler got away. That’s all that matters.”
I think about what I gave up for my sister, and I understand. When I look at her, still nibbling on her fingernail, she seems different. Or maybe it’s my understanding of Willow that’s changed. Maybe we’re not too dissimilar after all.