Chapter 34
REED
Cincinnati, Ohio
Age Twenty-Five
Reed and Lacey pulled up to the curb outside of Ironwood Commons.
The redeveloped industrial complex was home to several boutique businesses, including a coffee shop and a vegan café.
Lacey’s brand-new franchise, Soul Fitness, clung to the corner of the property which overlooked an abandoned auto shop across the street.
It was an ugly structure full of rust and busted cars, surrounded by a ring of oil-stained pavement, and a sagging chain-link fence.
The body shop was an eyesore. It was also the only reason Reed could afford to pay the first month’s rent on the three-thousand square foot Soul Fitness lease.
The location was just close enough to Walnut Hills for him to cultivate the soon-this-neighborhood-will-be-booming vision Lacey needed to believe.
Lacey straightened in her seat with a groan. “Oh my god, he’s here again.”
Reed followed her gaze toward the homeless man sleeping in the recessed entryway near the Soul Fitness door. From here, he looked more like a pile of rags with a face than a human.
“I’ve had to shoo him away three times now,” Lacey said. “I don’t know why he keeps coming back. Do you think we picked the wrong location?” Her eyes crimped with worry as she said it, and Reed knew if he didn’t soothe her quickly, she’d burst into tears.
“No, not at all, babe,” Reed said. “They’re developing the entire area. This is exactly the right spot. Just wait until you see what the painters did inside. Come on.”
They got out of the car, and Reed moved to wrap Lacey in his arms, but she was already gone, marching toward the man.
“Sir, you can’t sleep here,” she said the second she reached him.
The man didn’t move. “Sir,” she said again, prodding him with her toe. “Hey, wake up.”
She toed him harder, and the guy groaned and looked up at her with a pair of bloodshot eyes set deep within a pile of wrinkles. A mostly white beard framed his gaunt chin, and his joints crackled like popcorn as he pulled himself into a sitting position.
“Come again?” he said, blinking hard, trying to get his bearings.
Lacey planted her hands on her hips. “I said, you need to leave. You can’t keep sleeping here. This isn’t a hotel.”
“This place ain’t even open yet. I ain’t botherin’ anyone.”
“Not yet,” Lacey said with a voice that dripped from her mouth like a melting popsicle, sweet and cold.
“But this place is my place, and it’s opening a week from now.
So you’re going to need to find somewhere else to go, okay?
There are plenty of shelters downtown. I’d hate to have to call the police. ”
The man heaved a sigh and slowly, painfully, pulled himself to his feet and tottered away. The stale scent of cigarettes hung in his wake. Reed turned to Lacey to ask if they should at least offer him a bottle of water, but she’d already breezed into the gym.
He followed her inside and found her staring wide-eyed at the exposed red brick walls and polished concrete floors.
It was the first time she’d seen it like this.
The space was bare but honest, crackling with potential.
A single squat rack sat in the corner near the group exercise room.
Several sets of pull-up bars were mounted on the wall directly across from the entrance, centered beneath an artfully stenciled passage from Philippians.
It was Lacey’s favorite verse—a surprise Reed hoped would hit home.
I can do all things through Christ, who gives me strength.
They’d shared that message many times, both in text and in conversation. It was their creed. A code to live by. Their pillar in the storm. When things got tough, they turned to the Bible.
Lacey’s gaze remained locked on the words, and she took in a sharp breath.
“What do you think?” Reed asked.
“Oh my god, Luke, it’s perfect.”
Reed knew it was. He’d crafted every inch of the space around her.
From the natural light spilling through the skylights above to the pops of color everywhere you looked: A purple Soul Fitness logo hung over the entrance.
A pair of mint green and white battle ropes were secured to the floor.
Powder blue foam rollers and purple exercise balls sat on a shelving unit placed against the wall.
A cream-colored reception desk rested near the front along with a jade area rug and a furniture set—a place for members to relax while waiting for their next class.
Outside of that, the gym was empty, although Reed had marked the floor with locations for all of the cardio equipment along with the weight racks and exercise equipment that would remain permanently on backorder.
There wouldn’t be any dumbbells delivered, no benches or machines to offload from a truck.
Everything would remain as it was now—nothing more than a dream.
Lacey Grayson’s dream.
Rachel Dawson had been the perfect con. Stealing from her had been a piece of cake.
The woman was oblivious; she had no idea he’d been casing from the start.
The moment he’d stepped foot in her house, he knew he’d hit the lottery.
She had jewelry everywhere. On the shelves of her closet, piled in the back of her dresser, scattered throughout a bathroom drawer, jammed into a jewelry case on the kitchen counter.
Rachel didn’t even have a safe. Reed couldn’t believe it.
But why would she need one? She lived in Summerlin, after all, fifteen miles from Las Vegas. And no one got robbed in Summerlin.
A month into their relationship, Rachel flew to Phoenix for a craft convention.
She’d begged Reed to come with her, had talked about it for weeks.
He’d told her he wanted to, really he did, but he had to work.
Too bad. So sad. Then, he’d slipped into her house at two a.m. using the door code she’d been dumb enough to give him and cleaned her out. Thirty grand just like that.
It would have been more—a lot more—but he had to pay Rhonda, his contact at Hidden Gems Pawn who had the face of a truck driver and the voice of a two-pack-a-day smoker.
Reed didn’t care that she smelled like an ashtray or talked his ear off anytime he came by.
All he cared about was that she sold the shit he stole.
And she did every time. The only problem was she took a sixty percent cut.
“You try and offload it if you don’t like the terms,” Rhonda had told him with a rasping laugh when he’d complained.
Reed took the money. It was more cash than he’d ever made by a long shot.
He’d pulled more jobs after that. Started dressing better and refined his approach.
What he said initially didn’t really matter as much as identifying the right mark: Women with average looks starved for attention.
Women with spray-on tans who wore obnoxious dresses and brightened at the approach of a good-looking man.
In a city like Las Vegas, it was like fishing with dynamite—the marks floated up everywhere.
All he had to do was drop a quick line, and he was in:
Excuse me, I’m afraid I’m lost. Are you from around here?
Wow, I love your shoes. My sister’s birthday is next week. Can I ask where you bought them? I’d like to get her a pair.
Hey, didn’t I see you at Cirque last night? What a show, right?
Unfortunately, most of the marks weren’t as careless as Rachel; even the dumb ones kept their valuables locked up.
But Reed still managed to do well enough.
All he had to do was wait for an opportunity to present itself.
And it always did. Credit cards. Watches.
Necklaces. Rings. High-end handbags. Furs.
It didn’t matter. If he could sell it, he stole it.
And he stole a lot. Then he’d disappear for a couple of weeks before doing it again.
All in, he’d cleared nearly eighty grand before Rhonda shut him down.
“I’m done, kid. The cops are asking around. You gotta find someone else.”
Reed didn’t know anyone else. He’d come back anyway.
He’d parked nearby and was about to get out of his car when the front door to Hidden Gems slammed open to a pair of burly cops shoving Rhonda outside in handcuffs.
The sight froze him, memories of that fateful day with his dad in Texas crashing through his head like shotgun fire.
Bang! “Wake up! Wake up! Oh god, Lloyd, please wake up!” The woman’s cries mixing with all the wailing sirens as she knelt next to her dead husband and cradled his head.
Bang! The police as they arrived, guns drawn, shouting at his father to, “Get the fuck down, get on the ground!”
Bang! His father’s ashen face and bloodshot eyes aimed at Reed, his cheek smashed against the pavement. He looked so pathetic in that moment, so hopeless and broken.
Reed had promised himself right then and there he’d never go to jail, never get arrested. No fucking way. And this—what had just happened with Rhonda—was way too close. Two days later, he packed his bags and moved to Ohio.
He’d buzzed his hair by then and started working out at a local gym.
That’s when he’d spotted Lacey Grayson—a slice of blonde heaven clad in tight blue yoga pants and a white halter top.
Every guy in the gym ogled her. They had good reason to.
She was beyond gorgeous. Worse, she knew it—and she drank it up.
Reed hated her immediately.