Chapter 6
With one last slurp of my iced coffee, I put Triss’s car into park. According to her, it will take some time to get my bike out of impound. But since time is something I don’t have, I’m resorting to other strategies.
My old neighbourhood hasn’t changed. Same graffiti painted on the mailboxes. Same aging, rusted park next to the convenience store.
The suburban side of South Bay’s west end might not be as upscale as the newer subdivisions we drove past on the way to Triss and Jack’s place last night, but I’ve always liked this side of town.
It has character. A-line roofs, colourful siding, peeling paint.
The gardens are always a little overgrown, the lawns covered with wildflowers and dandelions.
Perfectly manicured lawns are too unnatural for me. I don’t like the idea of taming something that’s supposed to be wild, even in Suburbia Land.
Decker’s lawn is very green. Too perfect. As I walk up the gravel driveway leading to his front door, I take extra care not to step on the grass. It’s the kind of lawn that would tell you if someone had walked on it. I don’t want it telling any stories about me. It’s best no one sees me here.
With a deep breath in, I rap on the door. Then I step back and wait. When the knock goes unanswered, I try again. And then a third time. Nothing.
I’m peering into the frosted pane of glass of the door when it’s yanked open and I’m met with a very shirtless Officer Lincoln Decker.
I swallow, my cheeks flushing with heat, and stagger back. Jesus fucking Christ.
Apparently Decker takes just as much care with his body as he does his front lawn.
Broad, muscular shoulders taper into a lean, defined waist. Deep grooves perfectly contour his stomach and slice down his lower abdomen into a V that disappears into the jeans hanging lazily on his hips.
Along with the faint trail of hair leading from his belly button to his waistband.
And his skin is a beautiful shade of sun-kissed bronze, like maybe when he mows his lawn, he does it without his shirt on.
God. I hope he does everything without his shirt on.
It’s his chest, though, that I can’t stop staring at.
Like the rest of him, it’s all hard muscle, but his skin is marked with a thick scar that carves a path from the spot where his collarbones meet to where his sternum ends.
From the accident, I assume. And I don’t miss the small tattoo on his left rib that reads Emily .
“Uh. H-hey Linc,” I stammer. Never let ’em see you sweat. But I think I am sweating. I can’t help it. Decker is fucking hot. Like. Stupid hot.
His eyes immediately narrow. “What the hell you doing here, Grace?”
“Um,” I say, desperately trying to drag my attention back up to his face. Focus.
“Gracie?”
“Yes? Oh. Right.” I give my head a shake, snapping out of it, and step inside without being invited. “I was hoping we could have a little chat.”
“Sure, yeah,” he bites as he backs away. “Make yourself at home.”
“Thanks,” I call over my shoulder as I show myself into his kitchen. It’s nice. Clean and masculine. A lot of black and greys and sleek lines. “Didn’t expect you to be living at your dad’s old place.”
He slams the door. “Didn’t expect you here at all.”
Spinning, I take in his disheveled hair, the sleep still clinging to his face. “Didn’t wake you, did I?”
“Yes, actually. So you better have a damn good reason for barging into my house at”—he pats his pants pockets and lets out an exasperated sigh—“what fucking time is it?”
“Just after eleven.” I give him my most winning smile.
“I worked night shift last night.”
“I know.” I cross my arms over my chest. “We spent some time together. Forget about me already?”
“How you doing with all that?” He surveys my cheek. It’s tinged purple despite the pile of makeup I slathered over it this morning. “The thing with Murphy was?—”
“Already forgotten,” I say with enough force to hopefully end the conversation. I don’t want to think about what could have happened. The hands on me. The cuffs grinding against my bones. My complete helplessness. Helpless isn’t a feeling I’m comfortable with.
Decker rubs his hand down his face. “Right. Well, what I meant, is I only just got to bed. So much as I appreciate the visit?—”
“Can you make coffee?” I ask as I step deeper into the house.
Axe’s late-night questioning might not have been as violent as the interrogation at the police station, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either. And it was exhausting. It was close to five a.m. by the time I got to bed, and sleep didn’t come easy once my head hit the pillow.
When Decker doesn’t move, I say, “I like it on the stronger side.”
He closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath. When he opens them, he gives me a very tight, forced smile. Then he turns and pulls open a cupboard.
While he’s fixing the coffee, I tread into his living room, where I find more of those deep greys and charcoals mixed with dark wood furniture and brass finishings.
A large flat screen is mounted to the back wall across from a big green sofa.
There are no photos of family or friends, but there’s a framed retro-looking baseball jersey hanging from the wall next to his TV.
It’s very… clean. And tidy. Like Decker, I guess.
“You renovate after your dad passed?” I ask.
“Gutted it to the studs,” he says. His voice is accompanied by clings and clangs, the sound of water boiling, of coffee beans grinding. “You gonna tell me what you’ve been up to the last decade?”
“Not much to tell,” I call over the grinder. “Just this and that.”
The grinder shuts off and the house falls silent. “You work?”
“Bartending, mostly. Been out west for the last couple years.”
“Yeah? What brought you back here?”
I clench my jaw and rein in my annoyance. He’s starting to sound a lot like Axe did last night. I don’t have the energy for another interrogation or the time to get all friendly with the guy I’m about to extort. “Just passing through,” I say.
He sighs. “What do you want in this?”
“Three sugars.”
I peer out the large window overlooking the backyard, and the sight instantly makes me smile. “You kept the treehouse.”
“Yeah. I uh, guess I didn’t have the heart to tear it down. Emily loved that thing.”
“I remember.”
Jack’s dad— Linc’s dad, I guess—had a bad temper.
And I wouldn’t exactly describe my mother as a woman with a steady disposition.
The two of them together were a fucking disaster.
They drank, they yelled, they fought. He’d bruise up her face and she’d threaten him with a kitchen knife. It was a hell of lot to listen to.
From my bedroom window, I had the perfect view of the old wooden roof of the Decker family treehouse.
Life looked so peaceful on that side of the fence.
One night, while the screaming match on the floor below me persisted, I grabbed a blanket, flashlight, and Jack’s old Gameboy, and took asylum within its weathered walls.
I was nine the first time Linc and Emily found me there.
Instead of tossing me out, Linc barked at me to turn my flashlight off so his dad wouldn’t see.
Then he left. By then, he had to have known how dangerous Rick McKenna could be.
Maybe he could hear the yelling, see the bruises on my mom’s face. Maybe he wondered if I had bruises too.
Emily was always kind to me. Sometimes she’d leave magazines up there for me to flip through.
It was easy to like her. And Decker too, back then.
Before I understood our differences and why our families couldn’t be friendly.
His father was the chief of police. The enemy. Which made him the enemy too.
With a slow exhale, I turn away from the window. Decker is leaning against the countertop, mug in hand, studying me. Staring at me just as hard as he did last night.
I swallow past the apprehension clogging my throat. “I’m sorry, Linc. About what happened to her. Really. Emily was…” I sigh. “I really liked her.”
That accident shook this town to its core. Drunk driver crossed the centre lane, Decker swerved and lost control. It killed her on impact. The guy in the other car had a good lawyer. From what I remember, he barely got a slap on the wrist.
Decker takes a sip of his coffee, expression shuttered. “There a reason you’re here?”
“Oh. Yes.” Pulling my shoulders back, I make my way into the kitchen. I pick up the mug he set on the counter for me and take a long, deep swig of piping-hot coffee. My eyes fall shut and I have to hold back a moan. He made it strong, like I asked. “I’m here to blackmail you.”
He blinks. “You wanna… run that by me again?”
“You know…” I take another sip. “Like, I tell you to do something for me, and if you don’t, I ruin your entire existence. Blackmail.”
“I’m familiar with the concept, Grace,” he says, setting down his mug and pushing up to his full height.
Unlike last night, I’m not wearing my high-heeled leather boots. Without the extra inches to add to my five-foot-three frame, Decker towers over me. If I didn’t have the upper hand here, I might actually be intimidated.
“What I’m confused about…” he says, stepping forward.
Without my permission, my focus falls to his torso again. The scar. The muscles. The tattoo. That little line of hair.
“Is why you think you’re in any position to blackmail me.”
There’s no stopping my smile. “How do you think the chief of police would react if I told him you were tangled up with the Soldiers of Sin?”
The distance between us closes very quickly, and when I try to back up, I’m met with the edge of his marble countertop.
Like last night, we’re pressed together.
This time, though, he’s not wearing a look of remorse.
That little bit of kindness he’s always carried with him is nowhere to be seen.
This is a different Decker. An angry one. Maybe even a dangerous one.
“I’d be very careful saying shit like that. Those are the kind of words that could get someone killed.”