13. Cassius
thirteen
“So, you gonna tell me what happened last week or what?” Garrett asks me, reaching for his glass on the table. We’re sitting in my VIP booth at the bar. It sits a few feet above and to the right of the DJ booth, providing a fantastic view of the dance floor and bar.
Flashes of color illuminate the bodies on the dance floor. People of all shapes and ethnicities move to the music. The DJ has them fired up, their skin glistening with sweat beneath the lights.
The bartenders are hustling, throwing bottles in the air and catching them with ease. Cocktail servers deliver drinks with a soft touch for a customer here, a caress there. The tips they will pull in tonight alone will cover their rent for the month, if not two. The different games in progress downstairs stay visible via the tablet on the table in front of me.
I slowly lean back into the soft booth, careful not to tear my stitches, and take in Garrett sitting a few feet away from me.
“You remember when we were kids, and we would ride our bikes in that neighborhood with the flowers?”
“You mean the bikes we stole?”
I can’t help but laugh. “Yes, those bikes. Do you remember the neighborhood?”
“The one with the um…” He huffs. “What the fuck were those flowers called, they were purple, right?”
“Yeah, but the flowers aren’t the point. You remember the neighborhood?”
“We used to pop those suckers.” Garrett smiles, his own train of thought not yet on course with mine.
“Fucking hostas G.” I glare at him. “Again, not the point. Anyway, you know how there was that huge ass hill, and we would ride down it with our eyes closed?”
“Those were the fucking days, Cass. Man, I miss that shit.”
“And sometimes,” I continue, “we would take our hands off the handlebars? Scared shitless that we would crash, but also seeking the high of it?”
“Yeah, man.”
“That feeling? I haven’t felt that way in a long time. Even when I’m torturing some poor sap that got in over his head. Or killing that guy the other night? It was just work. Same shit, different day. And the worst part is, I didn’t even realize that’s what was missing until her.” I signal to the bar for a refill and finish the drink I’ve been babysitting for the last half hour in three sips. “Because Ruby? She’s like an active bomb, and I just want to be the one to cut the right wire, but I’m also feeding off the fact that she could blow.”
Garrett’s head tilts to the side, his brows furrowed. “Can’t you just go skydiving or swim with sharks like a normal person?”
“Only you would think that shit was normal.”
He shrugs his shoulders. We both know he craves that shit too. It’s why he’s constantly getting his dick wet. In his case though, it’s about the one who got away. The one he couldn’t have, and the one he couldn’t save. He won’t admit it, but I see through him. He looks for her everywhere, but she’s gone, and she can never come back. You don’t come back from death, but it doesn’t stop her ghost from haunting him. Hannah’s been haunting him since we were sixteen years old.
I think a part of him will always blame himself. He watches the crowd grinding on the dance floor, a smile plastered on his face, but it’s just a prop. It doesn’t reach his eyes. It never does.
That tired old story, the one about the girl from the suburbs falling for the guy on the wrong side of the tracks? That shit was Garrett’s real life until it was his very real nightmare. Her dad forbade Hannah from seeing Garrett. He took her car so she couldn’t go to him, but that brave ass girl got herself on the bus. It would be her first and last time. Her broken, bloodied body waited for us on the front porch of my house. Garrett and I were both arrested for her rape and murder but were eventually released when a video of us shoplifting at a local store confirmed our alibi. If we had gotten home sooner, maybe she would still be alive. If she and Garrett had never met, maybe she would still be alive. If I had made a different choice, maybe she wouldn’t haunt us both.
Garrett’s eyes widen slightly, the only tell that something is off. I follow his gaze and see two detectives flanking my empty-handed waitress. Their worn, ill-fitting suit jackets giving them away. Not only is she bringing cops to my fucking table, but she’s doing it empty-handed. I make a mental note to fire her after I get rid of the pigs.
The detective to her right sees me and slows. He’s an older guy, with graying hair and a little weight around his middle. He puts out an arm in front of the waitress to stop her and turns to say something in her ear. Her momentum slows and then stops. She glances up at me, and I nod her my permission. She scurries back to the bar.
The other guy is a rookie, but it’s not only his young face that gives it away. It’s his bravado. The guy has no idea that he walked into the wolf’s den. The moment he sees me, his chest puffs and his movements quicken. I bet he creams his pants before he even gets his dick out. In his mind, he’s big and bad. In everyone else’s, he’s earnest and asking for a fight he cannot win.
He’s the first to arrive at the booth, his eyebrows stand at attention over his dark eyes, and he widens his stance in an attempt to look larger. Garrett and I make eye contact across the table, rolling our eyes in tandem. Is this guy for real?
“Cassius Cross?” he asks, his voice barely audible over the music.
I tap an index finger to my ear and lean forward, my face screwed up in confusion.
“Cassius Cross,” he says louder this time.
I strain my head closer, pulling my large body out of the booth just enough that the rookie takes a startled step back.
“Cassius Cross,” he screams this time.
“Jesus Christ,” the seasoned detective yells, finally joining the circus. “He’s sitting right fucking there.”
He gives the rookie a pointed look that reads, shut your damn trap .
A laugh escapes me, and I nod my head in greeting to the two men.
“Cassius Cross,” the rookie begins, and the older one actually slaps him upside the head.
“Collins, shut the fuck up and let me do my job.” The older detective pulls a badge out of his coat pocket, and the rookie follows suit. “I’m Detective Larson and this is my idiot partner, Detective Collins. Mr. Cross, could you come with us down to the station? There’s a matter we would like to discuss.”
“There’s a matter you’d like to discuss. At midnight?” I scoff, my eyes narrowed.
“Mr. Cross, we really would prefer to not make a scene, so if you could just come with us,” Larson pleads, his voice weary with years of long hours. Collins shifts his weight side to side, his anticipation palpable.
“What’s this regarding?” Garrett asks, and both men look at him as though they only now notice he’s there.
Larson sighs. “It's a private matter.”
I slide my body out of the booth, if only to see Collins shit himself. I stand, my tall frame towering over both detectives.
“C-Cassius Cross,” Larson stammers. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back. You are under arrest for the kidnapping of Isabella Diaz.”
“I will not,” I say. “You said you didn’t want to cause a scene. Don’t cause one. I’ll come with you, no cuffs.”
Larson grazes his eyes up and down, sizing me up. “I don’t think so, Mr. Cross. Just turn around and let’s be done with this.”
Collins fidgets beside Larson, his hand ready on his gun. If he pulls that out, it’s going to be chaos. Innocent people will die from mass hysteria, so I concede. When I turn around, Garrett has already pulled his laptop out of his bag and his fingers are tapping at the keys, working his magic. He doesn’t look up once, not even when Larson slaps the cuffs on my wrists.
“You have the right to remain silent…”
Fucking Ruby.