6
I can hear them chatting quietly downstairs in the kitchen as I organize my clothes in the closet of my newly assigned bedroom, which has a deck that opens out on the lakeside. I open the glass door and breathe in the cool air, wondering when the gauntlet will fall and hoping it doesn’t.
It’s been almost 12 hours since I shot Coach Lyons, yet it seems like a lifetime away. It's surreal, as if it didn’t happen in the first place.
There’s a gentle tap at my door, and Blake's warm, dimple smile greets me, holding up a key. “Your new car,” he announces.
“Oh? Where is it?” I ask. I don’t remember seeing a car when we arrived.
“We’ll go pick it up now while Cormac is making dinner,” he explains, stepping closer as my legs almost give way under me. A surge of emotions storms my body, weakening my thighs. He notices my stumble, and I turn away from his gaze. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I just…um,” I sigh, struggling to find the words. “Everything is catching up with me.”
“Are you starting to regret what you did?” he’s now only a foot away from me, and a large part of me wants to melt in his comforting arms, but instead, I pull myself together. I can’t be a stupid, weak fool when I have a job to do.
“No,” I answer honestly, as his hand brushes back a strand of my hair, and his distinctive scent of cologne and motor grease infiltrates my senses.
“You think I did the wrong thing, don’t you?” I say, encouraging him to be honest with me, not that it’ll make any difference to my plans.
He combs his fingers through that thick head of wavy black hair. “No,” he answers without hesitation. “I’ve seen that photograph, Rae, so what you’re doing is justified.”
I smile and rest my forehead on his shoulder. “Thank you,” I whisper as his warm hands caress my back.
“Is there anything I can say to stop you from moving on to the next guy on your list?” he adds, annoying me, and I move away from him in protest. “Now, now, Rae, I only said that because I don’t want you to get into trouble, nor do I want you to step inadvertently into the viper’s den.”
“I can look after myself,” I reason sharply.
“I know, and that’s why I got you a new car, so you can be independent and do your own thing,” he enlightens me. “But you do have to be careful, and that’s all I’m going to say about that for now because I can tell you’re getting annoyed.”
“Sorry,” I sigh, “and thanks for the car.”
“You might not thank me when you see it,” he turns toward the door and follows him.
I gasp, “Don’t tell me you stole it,” I dish out rudely.
“No, I bought it,” he says proudly. “Did a bit of work on it too.”
I rise onto the tips of my toes and press my lips against his unshaven cheek, drawing a gorgeous grin out of him. “I have to stop at my apartment to pick up some things if I’m going to stay for a while.”
“Sure thing,” he replies.
“Have you heard any more information about…” There’s no need to say it aloud, and he knows what I’m talking about.
“Word on the street is that he was shot,” he states, brushing his fingers lightly along my ribs and my skin tingles.
“No kidding,” I stab back at him.
“Gabe will know more,” he assures me. “But I reckon you won’t be on their list of suspects.”
“How do you know?” I enquire as we walk into the kitchen, where Cormac is chopping carrots into thin slices with great precision and artistry to make each stick the same size
“Because you haven’t declared to anyone that you wanted to kill him or that you have a motive to wanting him dead, right?” he eludes.
“Correct. But I don’t want anyone else to be imprisoned for my crimes,” I assert, biting a carrot stick.
“We’re picking up the car,” Blake tells Cormac.
“Yep, dinner will be served in about half an hour, but if you’re not back in time, I’ll stick it in the warmer,” Cormac continues to chop vegetables as he speaks.
“You have a knack with that knife,” I compliment, mesmerized by the fast-moving blade.
“I have a lot of experience with sharp objects,” he replies, slightly confusing me. I glance at Blake, who’s wearing a smile that hides a secret, I suspect. Maybe I don’t want to know what they hide, but I can’t help noticing the unspoken exchanges between them, which puts me on edge.
Blake’s truck sits high on large tires, and if it weren’t for the shaded windows, I’d feel a little exposed sitting in the cab. The sun is falling over the horizon as a flock of birds dot the orange sky, and for a moment, I have complete clarity and peace. That’s before Blake turns the sound system on, and I’m pulled out of my place of solace.
“Tomorrow, we’ll head back to the shooting range,” Blake suggests, “and I was thinking I should teach you how to use a rifle for long range.”
“Okay. Good idea,” I answer quietly. “The Pig is next, so I want to get too close to that man.”
“The Pig,” he repeats as he approaches a red light. “I’d hate to know what name you’d give me if I happen to have the misfortune of landing myself on your list.”
“Depends if you’re planning on hurting me or…” I pause to consider whether I should be open and honest about my concerns about the three men, and he turns to look at me expectantly to finish my sentence. “Or deceive me.”
His brow furrows in amusement, not in offense; I doubt Blake takes offense to anything. “Deceive you? Why would we do that?”
“I don’t know,” I answer nonchalantly, trying not to make this a big deal. “I killed someone. Maybe you have a hidden agenda that I don’t know about and will screw me over when I least expect it.”
He scratches his unshaven cheek, and I bite my bottom lip, surprised at how much that bristling sound makes me hot. Maybe it’s because Cormac didn’t finish me off earlier today when I gave him a hand job.
“That’s not going to happen, Rae,” he promises.
“That requires me to take your word for it, but sometimes a man’s word is not enough,” I reply, annoyed that I feel this way, but placing my life in the hands of these three men is unwise.
“If you don’t trust me on my word, then I’ll have to prove it to you through actions,” he resigns, pulling up to my apartment block, and the conversation ends. “Have you got your gun on you?”
“No, I left it in my bag at your…Gabe’s house,” I reply, assuming he’s asking if I left my apartment, although he saw me put it in my bag.
He turns sullen and gazes up and down the street, examining the parked cars. “I’m coming with you.”
“Okay,” I answer, glancing behind through the back window to see if he spotted something or someone to be wary of. I couldn’t see anyone, but maybe I was looking in the wrong place.
“Let’s go,” he states, opening his door. His usually relaxed demeanor tenses, and his eyes search the street.
Once inside the elevator, his arm hooks my waist and pulls me close to kiss my cheek. “Tell me who The Pig is,” his warm breath graces my cheek,
I shake my head. “The Pig is my business. Why do you want to know?”
“All I know is that he’s an ex-cop,” he probes, ignoring my question.
I repeat, sounding like a parrot, “Why do you want to know?”
“I have my reasons,” he replies as the elevator pings and the doors slide open.
“Do you want to know who he is so you can track him down to ransack his house? I have no problem turning a blind eye to you doing that, but it may impede my plans,” I explain, taking out my door and key and slotting it into the lock. “And plans supersede yours.”
“Ah, I never thought of tipping over his house,” he croons.
“He won’t have anything worth stealing anyway,” I add, wondering where he lives on the coast. My stomach turns thinking about him cozying up to my parents and brothers with a hidden agenda.
As I turn the lock to my door, a hand clamps over my mouth, and I’m dragged back hard against his body, which is pressed against the wall lined with my door. “Hush,” Blake whispers into my ear.
This is a weird game he’s playing, yet his body language is severe. “What are you playing-”
A gunshot fires through the door from inside my tiny apartment, and I gasp in horror as Blake drags me down the emergency exit. My feet barely touched the ground as his strong, solid body pulled me like a tidal wave down two flights of stairs, then stalled at a landing to let me go.
“I heard a click inside,” he states, gazing up the stairwell, expecting the shooter to come hurtling down the stairs. He pulls out a Glock handgun tucked that was into the back of his jeans and flicks the safety cap off. “Stay here.”
Blake runs up the stairs quietly on the balls of his feet as I listen out for squealing doors being opened and stomping footsteps coming my way. My gaze is fixated on Blake until I can’t see him anymore, and I assume he’s gone inside the hallway. My heart hammers against my ribcage, and I wish I brought my gun with me for protection. Is this a random person in my apartment or someone searching for something particular?
Outside, a siren bleeds out while someone shouts, and I can’t see what’s going on or whether that siren is meant for me. The distinctive squeal of the emergency exit door in the foyer alerts me, and I hold my key tightly to use it as a weapon. I should’ve brought my gun. Jeezus, why didn’t I bring my gun?
Running footsteps coming up from the foyer pound in time with the beat of my heart as sweat pours down my neck from my rising temperature, even though the air conditioner is sending cool air into the space.
I look down the stairwell and glimpse the forearm of someone in a hurry. “Rae,” a whisper swirls about my ears, and I look upward to where the voice seems to come from.
Blake is leaning against the stair rail, looking down at me. “Come up,” in an assuring voice that I trust. “They’re gone.”