Chapter 14 Rafe #2
He doesn't argue. He climbs out with his hands raised, and I slide into the driver's seat.
Riley runs around to the passenger side and jumps in, slamming the door behind her while I throw the car into reverse, back out of the parking lot, and take off down the road.
The men from the other car are running now, trying to catch us, but we're already gone.
With them twenty yards from their car and me accelerating as fast as I can away from them, they won’t catch up.
I drive for twenty minutes, taking back roads and side streets, until I'm certain we're not being followed. Riley sits beside me, hugging herself, and she doesn't speak. I don't push her to, either.
By the time we reach the edge of town, the snow has turned the roads into a white blur, and I see the glow of a truck stop diner up ahead. I pull into the parking lot and kill the engine.
I climb out of the car and walk around to her side, opening the door. When she looks up at me, I can see how hesitant she is. I've given her no reason to trust me or feel safe around me today, but she has to see that I'm trying.
"Come on, let’s get some food." We're not very far from the safehouse, but if one of those bastards is following us, we'd lead them right there. I have to be sure.
Riley follows me inside where it's warm, and in under fifteen minutes we have stacks of pancakes, eggs, and a pile of bacon on plates between us and she's devouring it like she hasn't eaten in weeks.
I'm too pissed to gorge myself on food, so I send a few texts, follow up on some business, and when my supplier calls, I have to answer.
"Yeah, go…"
"Mr. Ferretti, I just thought you should know the drive is going as planned.
We have fifty-two barrels being filled today.
That's half of the full one hundred and four barrels we need total.
" His update is reassuring. While everything else in my business is falling apart, at least the toy drive is on track.
"And you've confirmed the stores will have only toys in those barrels?
We don't want anything else." I'm not picky, but I know how easily things can go awry.
If we say toys and there is clothing, it's a mismatch on the manifest and will trigger a search.
Those toys will be covering weapons. I can't have anyone empty a single barrel.
My eyes track up to watch Riley's eating slow. She's shivering now and it's obvious it's not because of adrenaline. She looks cold. So with the phone pinched between my shoulder and ear, I slide my coat off and stand, walking around the table to put it over her shoulders.
She scowls at me, but keeps eating, and when I sit back down I notice her pulling it tighter on her body.
"Yes, sir," he says, "we have fifty-two barrels ready with just toys. We'll have them ready in a week or so just as is planned. And our supplies will compliment your toy drive, and our shippers will move things in confidence."
I never talk openly about business in front of Riley or in public, for that matter, so I say, "Thanks for helping with the toy drive," and I hang up, just in time for Riley’s eyes to pop up and meet mine.
"Toy drive?" she asks with narrowed eyes of curiosity.
There's honesty and then there's transparency.
Honesty would be telling her Next Gen is doing a charity toy drive for Christmas.
Transparency would be telling her half the barrel will be toys that cover the other half of the barrel which is military-grade handguns.
I choose the latter because she's already seen the worst and at some point, a man has to stop running and hiding.
She's mine now, and I have to start trusting her.
"It's a front…" I say, keeping my head down. My eyes scan the diner's crowd to make sure no one is listening. "We'll move some items when we move the toys, but yes. It's a genuine drive for real toys, for real kids for Christmas."
Her face tenses and then she sighs. "Always some ulterior motive," she grumbles, and I feel insulted by that.
"Not always," I grumble, stealing a slice of bacon.
"When I was a kid I emptied my toy box before Christmas one year because I was certain if I gave away my used toys to children in need, Santa would bring me the new toys I wanted.
" That memory is a fond one for me, because I knew as a child what giving means.
It wasn't followed through because Santa isn’t real, but I learned a lot about myself because of it.
"So you got new toys?" she asks, one eyebrow raised.
"I got my first handgun, and two years later, I killed my first victim." I remember it like it was yesterday. It still stings. Reality is far worse than any fictional story spun up by Hollywood.
"Fuck," she says, half mumble, half grunt. "How old were you?" Riley has stopped eating now and watches me in shock and concern.
"I was ten that year, twelve when I killed the man.
I don't like to think about it, but doing a charity drive every year is something I never miss.
" Today has been exhausting, and remembering these memories only makes it worse.
My eyes are tired and I feel worn out. If I knew no one would harm her, I'd nap right here in this booth while she finishes her dinner.
"God, I’m sorry, Rafe."
"I just want kids to have what I didn't have." I don't need her to understand me, but it helps that she's trying.
"Except, you make sure to slip your guns into their story too…" She picks up a slice of bacon, and that comment feels like a low blow.
I can't even be angry with her. She's right. I'm pathetic. I do whatever Sal orders me to do without a fucking backbone to stand up for myself.
"I'm gonna hit the head. Stay there…" I stand before she can realize how much that hurt and walk away.
But I've made my decision. She may be snarky and bitchy and a bit out of control at times, but I want her. I really want her. And I'm not letting my uncle Sal tell me to get rid of her. We'll have to figure it out.
Because Christmas as a child means being helpless to do anything for yourself. You get what your parents decide Santa wants to bring you.
But I know what I want this Christmas and absolutely no one is going to take Riley Maddox from me. Not now, not ever.