NINE

The Tale of Kevin Clearwater

T.M. FRAZIER

Frazier Publishing

Copyright @ 2019 by T.M. Frazier

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, except brief quotes used for reviews and certain other non commercial uses, as per copyright laws.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Edited by: Karla Nellenbach, Last Word Editing

Ellie, My Brothers Editor

Cover design & formatting: T.M. Frazier

Cover Photo Credit: Wander Photography

CONTENTS

A Note from the author

Opening Quote

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue

Bonus Epilogue

King of The Causeway

ALSO BY T.M. FRAZIER

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

Dear Amazing Readers,

Although Nine, The Tale of Kevin Clearwater, is a spinoff of my King Series, it can be read as a standalone. However, if you’d like to know more about the characters who make cameos in this book and reach maximum reader enjoyment potential, I suggest starting with King and working your way through the subsequent books in the King Series, including Preppy’s trilogy, before you embark on Nine’s book. Also, this book contains spoilers from Preppy’s books. Consider yourself warned. ; )

Thank you for all of your love and support. I can’t say that enough, and I never will. It means the world to me. It’s because of you that I’m able to continue to write these stories, and that I’m able to go to work at my dream job each and every day.

I will be forever grateful for each and every one of you and all you do for me.

Happy Reading and lots of love, always.

WTYM,

T.M. FRAZIER

For my husband

“The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls.”

EDGAR ALLAN POE

PROLOGUE

TIME HAS NO MASTER.

It’s elusive, yet as real as greed.

It presses on when you need it to stand still and comes to a halt just as you’ve hit full speed.

No matter how fat your wallet is, you can’t buy more time. It won’t be bargained for or reasoned with.

Willing it to stop or fast-forward is of no use.

All-powerful. Godlike. Time does not require your love or devotion. It commands only respect, sans fanfare and misguided faith.

Time is the one thing we all have in common. Its roots are planted deep within everything. A constant reminder that although it is infinite…it isn’t for us.

Our breaths are limited.

Our days are numbered.

Save yourself…before time runs out.

Tick motherfucking tock.

CHAPTER ONE

KEVIN

SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD

SERIAL KILLER AND MASS MURDERER, Andrew Kehoe, once said, “Criminals are made, not born.”

Maybe, that was true for him, but it’s not for me.

I was born into chaos, with theft in my blood and rage boiling in my heart. Pushed out unceremoniously into the world, unwanted by everyone I crossed paths with, including my own piece of shit mother.

I’ve had to fight for anything I’ve ever had. Earn it by way of scars on my knuckles and hate in my soul.

My only family has been the streets. My only long-term home has been juvie.

A month ago, I was released from the latter of the two. Now, I find myself in one of the places I hate most, but the only place I could legally be released to according to the powers that be.

Yet another foster home.

My personal purgatory until I turn eighteen or get locked up again, whichever comes first.

I open the envelope given to me by my caseworker, Mrs. Peterson, at our most recent follow up meeting. Usually these transfer packages come with the standard stuff, copies of legal forms, release papers, wrap sheets, and is usually accompanied by a pamphlet Mrs. Peterson likes to toss in there about how to manage anger without violence. That particular literary treasure is my personal favorite. It features a diverse group of smiling children plastered on the front who look like they not only drank the Kool-Aid, but bathed in it twice.

Of course, those kids don’t use violence to deal with their anger. They’re heavily medicated—preparing for a suicide trip to Mars with their cult leader.

But this package isn’t like any of the others I’ve received. No pamphlets. No transfer papers. It’s a letter from my case worker.

DEAR KEVIN,

Since you’re aging out of state care soon and I know you don’t have any plans as to where you’re going after you turn eighteen, I wanted to help in any way I could. I did some digging. I think I found your brother. His name is Samuel Clearwater. His last known address is in Logan’s Beach.

Good luck, Kevin. I truly wish you all the best. You’re a very bright kid. I hope you use some of that intelligence to find your place in this world.

-Mrs. Peterson.

MY PLACE IN THE WORLD? I’m pretty sure that’s the tagline from one of those infamous pamphlets.

Mrs. Peterson has got to be losing it because I don’t have a brother.

I don’t have anyone.

I tuck the letter back into the envelope and pull out a picture, which turns out to be a mugshot of a guy who looks a lot like me but with lighter hair and a shit-ton of tattoos peeking out from underneath the collar of his dress shirt. My heart begins to race. I sit up and look closer at the picture. He’s wearing a bow tie and a matching pair of suspenders. His head is cocked to the side, and he’s making duck lips at the camera while holding a sign that reads LOGAN’S BEACH SHERIFF’S OFFICE INMATE with a date from two years ago listed below it. I look closer and realize that he’s holding the sign with only his two middle fingers.

I wonder if the sheriff’s office ever noticed that. I grin to myself.

A brother. My brother.

The concept is baffling, having grown up with no family to speak of and no one to rely on but myself and my friend Pike. That is, until Pike and I got separated, and we lost contact when he ended up in a detention center clear across the state.

My thoughts are interrupted when reality hisses at me like a snake about to be stepped on, courtesy of my foster father.

“Loretta, where is that boy?” Jameson shouts angrily above the Willie Nelson song blaring beyond my bedroom door. The tune is cheery. The situation is not. It’s like “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” blasting through the speakers of Hell.

“I don’t fucking know! You want him? You go look for him!” Loretta slurs.

I’ve been in great homes, and I’ve been in terrible ones. On a scale of one to ten—ten being the shittiest—Loretta and Jameson’s home ranks in the triple digits somewhere above the seventh circle of Hell.

My door is closed, but the unmistakable stench of crack cocaine and body odor wafts underneath the crack in my bedroom door. A few nights I’ve woken up to Jameson sitting at the end of my bed, watching me. That’s when I quickly discovered the attic access hidden in the closet. Most nights, I climb up into the muggy, dusty, attic and sleep crunched up in the tiny crawl space.

Loretta and Jameson don’t give a shit if I’m here or not. That’s why, when I hear that they are looking for me, it’s usually to go find them drugs or ask if I have any money.

I decide to make myself scarce. I climb up into the attic and make sure the scuttle hole is shut behind me.

After only a few seconds does my bedroom door opens.

“Shit. He ain’t in here,” Jameson says in his thick southern drawl. “I thought I saw him come in earlier.”

“I paid you good rock. He better show the fuck up,” says a stranger’s voice.

“He’ll be here, Henry. A deal is a deal,” Jameson snaps back. “I’ll tell you what I tell all the others. Don’t go leaving no marks on him. I don’t need DCF stopping’ my fuckin’ checks. I got another months’ worth on this kid. I ain’t gonna blow that now.”

“I know. I know. I’ll put the shit you gave me in his beer so he won’t know a damn thing, but if he ain’t here in the next few hours, you owe me for the rock.”

“Let’s check out back. Sometimes, he’s out smokin’ in the yard,” Jameson says before shutting the door.

My hands shake. My blood boils. The sweat dripping from my forehead isn’t just from the heat in the attic. I’m dripping pure, unadulterated rage.

I’ll tell you what I tell all the others

This fucker has been pimping me out…for crack.

It all hits me. Nights of waking up after what seemed like an endless sleep when I usually can’t sleep for shit. Pains in places I figured I just got too drunk to remember doing something stupid to myself or falling or…

It was never any of that.

I turn my head and release an endless stream of vomit between the rafters until there’s nothing left in me but an overwhelming feeling of disgust and a bloodlust like I’ve never felt before.

I wait for what seems like forever for the music to die off and the muffled voices to turn to silence. Slowly, silently, I leave the safety of my hiding spot and grab my backpack. I stuff the envelope with the letter and picture Mrs. Peterson gave me and my beat-up laptop. That’s it. I’ve got nothing else; it almost feels stupid to be bringing a backpack at all.

I creep into the other room. It’s littered with empty bottles and cans. Crumpled foil and overflowing ashtrays cover the couches where several people are passed out, including Loretta. Even though I know I couldn’t wake them from their drug induced comas even if I shouted in their ears, I don’t see Jameson so I creep outside onto the rickety porch where I don’t dare exhale until I reach the bottom step.

“There you are, boy,” Jameson says, standing off his rusted truck. He almost trips over an old tire in the overgrown yard. His beard is wet and dripping with whiskey, his shirt sweat-stained at the neck and armpits.

My blood runs cold. I clench and unclench my fists. Every muscle in my body stiffens. I’ve always fought with my fists but for the first time in my life I wish I had a gun.

Another equally drunk or high man stumbles up beside him with a wicked gleam in his eye. He adjusts his trucker cap. “How you doin’ tonight, boy? I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Hi,” I say through clenched teeth. You must be that piece of shit, Henry.

“You want a beer, kid?” Jameson asks, he holds out the full beer in his hand. The fucker has probably been walking around with that all night, waiting to drug me so the other piece of shit can rape me.

My rage intensifies with every zap of the mosquito zapper laying sideways on the porch. I could run…or I could revenge.

“Yeah, I’ll take a beer,” I say. I take it from his hands and pretend to take a swig.

They exchange a knowing look that makes me want to bash this bottle over their heads. “Hang on,” I say. “You guys ain’t got beers. Can’t drink alone. I’ll be right back.” I set down my backpack, so they know that I intend to come back.

“Nice,” Henry whispers to Jameson. “Very nice.”

Jameson grunts. “Told ya.”

My stomach rolls again as I make my way into the garage and get two beers from the cooler by the door. There’s nowhere to pour the drugged one without being obvious so I chug half from each of the two fresh ones and fill them with whatever is in mine. I grab a third clean beer and go back out to Henry and Jameson who are leaning on the hood of the truck.

I hand them the drugged beers, buying myself time.

“Mighty kind of you,” Henry says, taking a swig. His eyes gleam brightly from under the brim of his hat.

“Come on, kid. I want to show you something in the garage,” Jameson says. I hear Henry chuckle. They set their beers down on the open tailgate.

Shit. Time’s already up.

They move toward me. I have no choice but to back up into the garage. As much as I wish I can fight them off, I can’t. There’s two of them, plus they have the height and the crack strength advantage. I’m just a lanky kid with anger issues. I can hold my own, but I choose my fights wisely and this would be anything but wise.

But I do have an advantage, something I have that these fuckers don’t. A brain.

I step toward them, stopping them from backing me into the garage. “I wanted to show you something, too. I mean, since I’m aging out soon and I won’t be around anymore. It’s…it’s kind of a going away gift. It’s inside. I’ll go grab it and bring it out.”

Jameson scrunches his sunburnt forehead. “Boy, you’ve been nothin’ but a fucking thorn in my side since you got here, and suddenly, I’m supposed to believe you got me a gift?” He chuckles.

“Isn’t family supposed to annoy each other?” I ask, trying to deliver words that literally taste like bile in my mouth. “Besides, it’s not like a sentimental gift. It’s shit I know you’ll be into. Pike’s shit.”

Pike isn’t just a friend; he’s a high-end dope dealer, and Jameson knows this. At the mention of his name, Jameson practically starts salivating for a taste of whatever it is he thinks I might have for him. He waves his hand toward the house. “Well, then by all means, go fuckin’ get it.”

Henry looks annoyed and rolls his eyes, but I’ve got Jameson onboard and have bought myself the time I need.

I duck back into the darkened garage and open the door to the house. When I’m sure they aren’t looking, I shut it again and crawl on my knees to the far wall. I grab an oily rag and shove it into the gas tank of Loretta’s wood paneled station wagon. I dart back to the door and pretend to be coming back out, locking it from the inside before slamming it shut to get their attention.

“Well, where is this gift?” Jameson asks, peering into the darkness.

“Come on in here. It’s in the front seat of Loretta’s car, on the dash. Didn’t want to bring it outside, considering the law’s been on this street every few hours since the meth-heads on the corner got busted. I figured the three of us could do it in here.”

“Smart, kid,” Henry mutters as they both enter the garage.

You have no fucking idea.

Jameson gets in the driver’s seat and Henry the passenger’s.

I pretend to be getting into the backseat, opening the door, but what I really do is light the rag in the gas tank with my Zippo.

“It ain’t in here,” Jameson says, looking around the dash with irritation.

“What the fuck, boy?” Henry barks, turning back to me. I stand in front of the lit rag.

“Sorry, I meant it’s in the trunk. Hang on just a sec.” When he turns back to Jameson, I jog over to the trunk and pop it. With it open, they can’t see me as I step out onto the driveway and jump up to grab the rope attached to the garage door, but it’s high and I miss.

“Wait, I didn’t see you open the fucking trunk. What the fuck are you up to?” Jameson grates, but he can’t see me. He opens the car door.

Shit. I jump for the rope again, and this time I don’t miss. As soon as my hand is around it, I pull it down to the ground as hard as I can. The door closes with a bang, just as Jameson and Henry emerge from the station wagon. Thankfully, it’s one of those old school garage doors with a key in the handle, and even more thankfully, Jameson always stupidly leaves the key inside. I turn the handle to click the garage in place and then the key to keep it that way.

“Open this fucking door!” Jameson roars from the other side.

“This one’s locked, too,” Henry adds.

“What the fuck are you up to?”

I can’t resist answering. “This is my gift. The gift of travel.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? Travel? We’re locked in. Let us the fuck out now!” His panicked screams only cause me to chuckle.

“Enjoy your one-way ticket to Hell, motherfuckers.”

“Shit, the gas tank!” one of them announces. The terror in their voices doesn’t make me feel sorry for them. It makes me want to pound on my chest with my fists like a triumphant fucking Gorilla, but there’s no time. I turn, grab my backpack, and run as fast as I can from the house. I vaguely register a few more frantic “what the fucks” before the deafening boom of the explosion and billowing roar of the flames fills the night air.

The voices are silenced at last.

I look over my shoulder and watch as the entire house catches fire, the roof collapsing within seconds.

The smell of oil, burning wood and melting plastic is so strong it singes my nose hairs.

It smells like…revenge.

Freedom.

I inhale deeply.

It’s the best that fucking house has ever smelled.

CHAPTER TWO

KEVIN

MY BROTHER IS DEAD.

I found this out within five minutes of arriving in Logan’s Beach.

“What you need, kid? Beer? Smokes?” The gas station clerk asks in an accent I can’t quite determine.

“No, I would, but I don’t have any money,” I answer. My stomach growls as if emphasizing my point.

I haven’t eaten in the three days it took me to hitchhike here to Logan’s Beach.

“Then, what you want?” she asks, turning her attention to the clip board resting on top of her register.

“I just want to know if you know him,” I say. I press his mug shot to the bullet proof glass. “Samuel Clearwater is his name.”

She peers over at the picture. Her eyes light up with recognition. She smiles and points to my brother. “Yeah. yeah. Everyone knows him. Samuel Clearwater, but he goes by Preppy.”

Excited by her answer, I press further. “Shit, great. Um…so, do you know where he lives or where he works? I’m trying to find him.”

She shrugs. “Sorry, kid. He gone.”

“Gone where?”

She yells at someone in the back in a language I don’t understand then turns back to me. “Almost one year he be gone now.”

My voice rises with my frustration. “What’s one year? Gone where? Where did he go?”

Her shoulders fall. My empty stomach fills with dread.

“Almost one year. That how long Preppy be dead.”

I don’t know what happened after I left the gas station, but I know it was a while ago. Two days? Two weeks?

I’m not sure because I’m in a heavy fog that won’t clear, not around me, within me.

My head throbs, but I can’t remember why. I let out a hiss from the sting of pain when I touch my right eye to inspect it and find it almost swollen shut.

“What the fuck?” I mutter, then slowly although still vaguely, I recall the beating I took at the truck stop earlier. But where am I now?

A car horn honks in the distance. It grows louder and louder until it breaks through my dream-like trance. I turn toward the noise and groan, shielding my eyes as I’m assaulted with blinding headlights from the sedan only a few feet away.

“Get out of the fucking road, kid!” an angry voice yells.

The road? I look around. I’m standing in directly in the center of a road. No, not just a road. I’m on a high bridge. How the fuck did I get here?

The pavement scratches my bare feet as I limp to the side, allowing the car to pass, and I remember that I lost my shoes when the truckers dragged me across the parking lot.

The driver of the passing car speeds by with a wave of his middle finger.

I lean on the railing when something in my back pocket clinks against the metal.

I reach around with a groan as my muscles protest and pull a half-empty bottle of vodka that was hanging from my back pocket.

“There is a God,” I mutter, taking two long swigs. I look to the sky. “Where were you when I still had shoes?”

The fog takes over again. When I come to, I find myself sitting on a small ledge as cars pass on the other side of the guard rail. The only thing separating me from the water below is the night air. I look down into the shallow waters below. The pointed peaks of sharp rocks spear through the top of the softly rolling waves.

“Way to find somewhere to take a rest,” I tell myself. I lift the bottle to my mouth once again and take a long pull.

The night is humid and beyond hot, but the air is cooler up here on the bridge, the breeze drying my sweat as quickly as it beads on my skin.

I’m not going to jump. Or at least, I don’t think I’m going to jump. That’s not why I’m up here, but I’m not leaving this spot. Not yet. I just want to sit. I don’t want to die, even though it feels like I’m dead to the rest of the world. Regardless, I keep my eyes closed for a beat longer, long enough not to notice the headlights of the parked car or the person getting out of it until I hear a scraping on the railing above my head.

I look over and there’s a girl. She’s about my age with short, platinum blonde hair that is chin length on one side and slightly shorter on the other. She’s climbing over the railing. Her eyes are wide on her heart-shaped face, but I can’t tell the color because her pupils are huge as she looks down at the water below. Her chest is heaving. Her expensive looking white cut off shorts and light blue off the shoulder top are quickly streaked with grease and grime from the bridge. Slowly, she lowers herself down to sit, her arms above her head, pushing out her chest as she clings to the metal wires running alongside the bridge. She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply through her nose.

“Welcome. Want a drink?” I ask.

Her head whips toward me, a startled expression on her face. “What are you doing up here? Who are you?”

I raise the bottle. “You know, just having a drink. Enjoying the breeze.” I hold out my arms. “The usual thing one does on a bridge.”

I can’t see her face, but I can practically hear her roll her eyes. “Sure, I always climb to the top of the highest bridge in town and teeter over the edge of the railing just to feel the wind and have a nightcap.” Her voice drips sarcasm.

“You got a better reason for being up here?” I ask, taking another swig.

“Maybe not better,” she says, her voice losing some of its edge. “I just wanted to be alone.”

“Ditto.”

After a few seconds of silence, with only the sound of the occasional car passing behind us and the soft waves crashing into the mangroves below, she speaks again. “What happened to your face?”

I shrug. “I fell.”

“You fell?” she asks, not buying it. “Let me guess, down a flight of stairs?”

“Nope, upon the fists of angry truckers,” I grate, remembering the night’s events more and more clearly with each passing moment. The trucker I tried to rob. The beating I got in exchange.

Her hair floats around her face as she looks down below her swaying feet. Almost as if she’s contemplating the distance.

“Where are you from?” I ask.

“There.” She points to the other side of the bridge. “You?”

“Here. There. Everywhere. Mostly just the streets.”

She doesn’t reply. She’s too focused on her feet, or more accurately, what’s beyond her feet.

“You going to jump?” I ask, casually.

“I’m not sure,” she whispers. “I don’t think so, but also, I’m just…not sure.” She’s still looking below when she adds, “The boundaries which divide life and death are, at best, shadowy and vague.”

I huff. “Ah, good ole, EAP,” I say, then reply with a quote of my own. “’I was never insane except upon occasions where my heart was touched.’”

“Very good, you know Edgar Allan Poe?” she asks, finally looking up. I can almost see the surprised look on her face even in the darkness. The tone of her voice is…cute? I don’t remember ever thinking anything or anyone was cute before.

“What reasons could you possibly have to be up here?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “You first.”

I try to take a deep breath, but I can’t. Not yet. It’s like both my brain and my lungs don’t think I’m ready for that kind of effort. “I’m just trying to catch my fucking breath and figure shit out.”

“Okay, but WHY?” she presses.

“You don’t want to know, but trust me, my reasons would make your fucking skin crawl. Why are you up here? Trust-fund not as much as you thought? Oh, no, let me guess, you got a Mercedes instead of the Tesla you wanted for your birthday,” I say.

“If only any of those were the real issue. Let’s just say that if I were to jump right here and now that I have reasons, and that nobody would be surprised,” she says. She inhales deeply. “It really is beautiful up here isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it kind of is,” I agree.

“Can you tell me why? I don’t care if my skin crawls,” she says, her voice pleading almost like she isn’t just curious, but for some reason, she NEEDS to know. “Does it have to do with why you look like you have a peanut allergy, but just smeared peanut butter all over your face anyway?”

I didn’t realize she can see me that well since she’s covered in shadows. “What does it matter?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “I’m not sure, but it does.”

“Fine. It’s drugs,” I lie. I’m not spilling my guts to a stranger, no matter how beautiful this one might be.

“That’s a lie. Try again.” She lifts her bare foot off the ledge and dangles it in the air like she’s testing the wind on her skin. She’s only holding on to one of the wires now.

I growl at her new boldness, but what do I care if she jumps? But I do care, even if I don’t want to.

I give her a very shortened version of my story. “Fine, the truth is that I live on the streets. I was in the system my whole life and recently found out I have a brother. I ran away and went looking for him. Found out he’s dead. Needing some cash for a place to stay I stole from a trucker tonight, who retaliated with several of his bigger and badder buddies who beat the living shit out of me.” Amongst other things.

I feel the burn of regret and the pleasure of relief all at once.

“Makes sense,” she says without a trace of pity in her voice.

“Your turn,” I say. “You said no one would be surprised if you killed yourself. Why?” What I mean is, what issues could a beautiful rich girl like you have to be up here right now?

She sighs deeply. “My parents…they died. Today. They died today.” She says the words as if she’s both in pain and disbelief.

My chest tightens for her.

I take another swig and try to answer her logically and like my own heart isn’t hurting for her. “But you’ve got to be my age, right? Seventeen? Eighteen? You can handle shit on your own.”

“Eighteen,” she says. “I’m eighteen.”

Several seconds of silence pass between us.

“Thank you for not apologizing. Everyone who knows that happened keeps calling and apologizing to me. I hate it.”

I laugh. “Why the fuck would I apologize? It’s not like I killed them.”

To my surprise, she laughs with me, and the sound is the best thing I’ve heard tonight, if not ever.

“You know, that’s the greatest thing anyone has said to me so far.” The shadow moves, allowing me to see more of her face. Her eyes are wild, her pupils huge like she’s high, but I know high and this is something else, more like she’s high on crazy. And as I look over her pale, pristine skin and dark rose lips, I decide that crazy doesn’t suit her because she’s more than that. She’s breathtakingly beautiful, but in a really different kind of way.

“Tell me, girl who hath no parents, what did you want to do with your life before you decided to climb up here and contemplate ending it?” I ask.

She looks me over, with confusion, a small smile plays at her lips. “I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re blunt. It’s…refreshing? If that’s the right word.”

“I don’t know if it would be the wrong word, but it’s sure as shit the first time someone has said I was refreshing.”

She bites her bottom lip and thinks. “I’ve always wanted to be one of those guardians. You know, the ones who go to court on behalf of kids who either can’t or are too afraid to speak for themselves. To me, I think if I could make just one kid not feel alone in this world….it’s stupid, huh?”

“No,” I say, finally able to speak. My heart’s in my fucking throat. I needed someone like that, and there’s so many kids out there who need someone like that now. “I think it might just be the best fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

She blushes. “There’s also something else I’ve always wanted to do, but I never have before. Too scared I guess.”

“What?” I ask, hanging on her every word, intrigued by what she will say next.

However, I’m not at all prepared for what’s about to happen.

She shuffles over to me, pressing her thigh against my torn jeans. She takes the bottle from my hands and takes a swig, coughing and handing it back. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and clears her throat.

I take a swig and there’s no burn no cough. I think this vodka’s broken.

“I’ve…I’ve always wanted to…” She blows out a frustrated breath and musses her hair. “Okay, I mean I’ve…Ugh! I’ll just say it. I’ve never been kissed before!” she blurts.

How is that even possible? I’ll kiss you.

“You will?” she asks, her face lighting up.

I’m surprised by her answer since I didn’t realize I’d spoken my thought out loud.

“Yeah, I mean, sure,” I say with a shrug, trying to appear cool and casual.

Cool and casual with a swollen face and no fucking shoes.

“Only if you don’t jump,” I add, suddenly needing to know this girl is going to live.

She bites her lip and nods. “Same goes for you.”

“Deal.”

We shake on it. I like the feeling of her small hand in mine. The energy that courses between us shoots up my arm, and she gasps, feeling it, too. Her lips turn upward into a smile, and I swear to God, for the first time in my life, my heart actually skips a beat.

“So, how do we do this?” she asks, sheepishly. “On the count of ten?”

She’s cute. Eighteen and acting like a kid on the schoolyard about to play spin the bottle. It’s making my heart beat faster and faster.

“Ten?” I ask. “Why ten?”

She turns her head so her cheek is on her shoulder and she’s staring up at me sideways. “I may not be ready by three,” she explains.

“Ten, it is,” I say, feeling my pulse pounding my chest, a welcome change from feeling it hammering behind my swollen eye.

She leans in closer, and I do the same. We’re only inches apart. I can smell her perfume, something floral mixed with fresh laundry. She counts slowly. Agonizingly slow. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight—”

“Nine,” I interrupt, and press my lips to hers. I snake my free hand around the back of her neck, pulling her closer, while keeping us pressed as close as possible to the bridge. Her peach lips are softer than I imagined. Her tongue tastes of mint and sweet tea. I’m consumed with thoughts of her. Her lips. Her skin. Her warmth.

Every time I’ve ever kissed a girl, it’s brought back unwanted memories of the past. Not now. Not with her. I’m only thinking of this moment and this kiss. The way she smells. Her taste. Her soft tongue.

How she would look naked beneath me.

If I ever needed a reason to live, I’ve found it, because I’ve never before felt so fucking alive.

She pulls away, and I immediately feel the loss of her lips on mine. I open my eyes to find her smiling slyly up at me, a small dimple playing on her cheek. “I think you might be just what I need right now,” she whispers, as if she can’t believe what just happened. “Do you believe in fate?”

“Never have before.” I register the slight fall of her shoulders with disappointment before adding, “but I do now.”

“What do you say we get off this ledge and keep ummmm…talking and stuff on the other side.”

Done. Talking and stuff. I want to do all the talking and stuff with her.

I nod.

She presses her fingertips to her swollen lips as if she’s already recalling the memory of a kiss that only ended seconds ago. When she traces her bottom lip with her tongue, my cock jumps at attention like the good soldier he is.

“You go first, then you can help me back over?” she suggests.

I climb over the rail, ignoring the pain it brings because I’m still high on the pleasure and the promise of more of her lips on mine.

She stands and faces me, holding onto the wires. “I said ten. You only waited until nine,” she teases as she shuffles her feet on the ledge.

“You said you wouldn’t be ready by three, but ten was too damned long,” I reply. I’m watching her feet, and with each movement, I’m dying a thousand deaths.

She chuckles, and the sound shoots right through me. To my heart. My cock. Who is this girl?

I can’t wait to find out.

“Take my hand,” I command when she’s close enough to reach me.

She raises her arm, at the same time the clasp of her necklace breaks and catches on another wire a few inches below her feet. “My necklace!”

“Don’t worry about your necklace. I’ll get it for you after you’re on this side, just take my hand,” I stretch my arm until I’m sure it’s going to pop from the socket.

For a second, I think she’s going to put her hand in mine, but instead, she bends down to retrieve her necklace. It’s got a pendant hanging from it. A black bird with outstretched wings and red stones for eyes that shine under the full moon. “I need to get it. My mother gave it to me.”

I don’t even know her name, but in my frustration, I give her a nickname. “Poe, forget the necklace. Just take my fucking hand!”

“Poe.” She smiles brightly. “I like that.” She splays her fingers and bends her knees, stretching her arm out as far as it can go. “You know my mother used to say…” she trails off, distracted by her own thoughts and remembering for probably the thousandth time today that her mother is dead.

Everything slows down. Time. The air. The sound of cars passing. My own heartbeat.

Her foot slipping. Her arms flailing wildly in the air, trying to grab onto something, but there’s nothing, only the night air.

Her other foot lifting off the railing. The horror that spreads across her face when she realizes there’s no coming back from this.

“Nooooo!” I shout, but it’s too late.

She’s already falling.

There’s nothing I can do.

The faint sound of a splash below.

It’s done.

I don’t know how long I stand there, staring out at the darkness until I hear the commotion behind me.

I turn to find several parked cars with people standing outside of them looking horrified. “I saw her jump,” a lady says.

“The police and ambulance are on the way,” another voice.

“She didn’t jump. HE pushed her. I saw it!” A rougher voice shouts. A dozen accusing glares and pointed fingers shoot my way.

They think I fucking pushed her?

Blue and red flashing lights and sirens pierce through the mob’s cries.

A police officer jumps from his cruiser and heads straight for me. I’m trapped and injured.

From the side of my eye, I see the gleaming eyes of the bird pendant.

I climb back over to the other side of the railing and retrieve it, shoving it deep into my pocket. The officer blinds me with his flashlight from above. “Come on over here, son. You don’t want to do this.”

“You’re right. You’ve saved me. Well, done,” I say with an added golf clap. I climb back over the railing and am immediately thrown down onto the pavement and cuffed.

“Why are you arresting me?”

“The people say they saw you push her.”

“I didn’t fucking push her. She fell. Check the fucking cameras,” I say, looking up to the blinking red light above the bridge and hoping to fuck it caught what actually happened.

“We will. Until then, you’re coming with us,” he says.

I struggle from his grip as he pulls me upright and pushes me toward the car. “Why are you worried about me? You should be sending someone to search for her. See if she’s alive.”

Please be alive. Please be alive.

“I assure you that the Recovery Unit is already headed down there, kid.”

“Recovery? What the fuck is recovery?” I ask.

He shoves me inside the car and gets in, maneuvering through the parked cars before he answers. “This ain’t no search and rescue operation, boy. This is recovery. Dozen people each year jump from that bridge since the day construction was finished and even a few before. Wanna know how many regret that decision?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Don’t know. We can’t ask them.” His eyes meet mine in the rearview. “They’re all dead.”

“I didn’t push her,” I say over the pain of hope being crushed like a garbage compactor on my heart.

“Then, what did happen?”

As much as I told myself I wasn’t up there to kill myself, the truth I’ve been ignoring since I wandered onto the bridge hits me and hits me hard.

I was going to jump.

I look up at the bridge, now in the distance, a million miles away.

“She…she saved my life,” I say out loud.

“Then, make the best of it, kid,” the cop says. “After you get out of jail.”

Make the best of it.

I have a second chance, and she doesn’t. And it’s only because she’d awakened something inside of me that was either dead or lying dormant.

A will to live.

I make a vow to myself. I’m not going to go through the motions of life anymore.

I’m going to live enough for the both of us.

Or die fuckin’ trying.

CHAPTER THREE

KEVIN

ONE YEAR LATER…

I COULD LIVE the rest of my life without remembering what the fuck happened to me while I was unconscious and being raped or molested, but the shitty thing about the human mind is that it almost never does what you want it to do. In fact, when you purposely beg it to suppress shit, it has a way of telling you to go fuck yourself while randomly showing you flashes of things you never wanted to see. Usually, it’s the most horrible shit at the most inconvenient time.

For example, when you’re fucking a girl.

Or, at least, when you’re trying to fuck a girl.

Sex, of all motherfucking things, seems to be the one and only trigger for these memories to come charging through my brain. Every time I’m about to come, it fires off round after round of unwanted memory bullets into my fucking skull.

Which is what it’s doing right now.

I’m with a girl. She’s a few years older than me and pretty enough. Her hips are curvy, and her tits are full and bouncy as she breathes deeply with desire and anticipation.

She spreads her legs, opening herself to let me in. I sit back on my legs and freeze as my chest begins to tighten. Hard as concrete, I stare at her pussy, both wanting to be inside, and despising what I know will come when I do.

She looks up at me and smiles, mistaking my hesitation for nerves. She reaches for my cock and pulls me by my dick. I fall on my forearms and hover above her. She strokes my shaft up and down. My body becomes impossibly hot. Not with desire. With fear. Sweat.

Repulsion.

I’m dizzy and trembling, but I want this.

Get a fucking grip, Kevin.

“Fuck me,” she whispers, and I cringe as the tip of my cock slips over the entrance to her soaked pussy. It feels good. So good, but it hurts all the same. My chest. My muscles. I’m locked in a war between body and mind, and all I want to do is stick a fucking knife through my ear. She groans with exaggerated pleasure. “Your cock is so huge.”

Yeah, blessed with a huge cock and the inability to come without vomiting after. The universe’s idea of a sick fucking joke.

Her words are meant as a seduction, but they feel like anything but. My stomach rolls, and I turn my face to the side, shutting my eyes as hard as I can while swallowing down the bile rising in my throat.

You can do this, I tell myself. Don’t be a pussy. Just fucking do it. It’s normal. YOU are normal. Snap the fuck out of it. Push all thoughts out. Don’t let them in. Don’t let them…

Too late.

The resounding answer from the universe is an assault of the many different voices from my past.

“Just do what I want, and I won’t hurt you. He just likes to watch,” a scratchy feminine voice warns.

“I’ll pay you. Let me watch as you make yourself come,” a man’s eager voice snakes into my ears.

“See, you came. I told you I’d make you feel good,” a deep baritone booms while I heave onto the carpet.

“See? He’s out. We can do whatever the fuck we want. Take off his pants.”

“Don’t clench up, boy. Or do. I like it when your asshole puckers. Makes it so tight for me,” a man’s deep voice rumbles in my ear from behind as he surges inside of me.

That’s it. I can’t take it anymore. I’ve had enough. Of the memories. Of this. Of everything.

The heat of the night air through the window does nothing to cool my hot body.

And then, out of nowhere, I remember Poe and her sad eyes, and falling, falling, falling.

Apparently, the horrible memories aren’t limited to sex.

My throat dries, and I feel as if I’m choking on sand. I can’t catch my fucking breath.

I leap off the bed and tug on my pants. I didn’t even come before I freaked out this time.

This is a new low, even for me.

“Where are you going?” she asks, but I don’t answer. I can’t.

It isn’t until I’m in the courtyard of the shitty apartment I share with Pike that I rest my hands on my knees and can finally take a much-needed deep breath, the humidity opening my lungs until I’m calm enough to think straight.

“You okay?” Pike asks, stepping out into the courtyard. When the cops viewed the surveillance video and cleared me of any wrongdoing that night on the bridge, I was on my way out of the station just as they were dragging Pike in on some small narcotics charge. I’ve been crashing with him here in Logan’s Beach ever since he made bail.

“I’m fine,” I answer, pushing off my knees to stand. I fish my smokes from the back pocket of my jeans.

“What did you do to piss off that girl?” he asks, with a smile. “She didn’t seem happy.”

“The usual, I guess,” I answer, trying to play it off with a shrug.

My phone buzzes.

It’s a text from Fred.

Fred and Meryl are the closest thing I have to friends, besides Pike. Meryl is a grey-haired, proper-sounding, southern man who does something involving politics down in Miami. His boyfriend, Fred, who is at least a decade younger, does…well, Meryl.

The text says to come over. They’ve got food on the grill. He asks me to pick up smokes on the way and bring some weed. I don’t hesitate. I need the distraction, and those two are good at providing it. Plus, they party harder than guys my age, and they can afford the better drugs and always have a decent supply on hand.

“It’s Fred,” I tell Pike. “You wanna come with?”

“Got a meeting with a new supplier. I’ll text you when I’m done and see where you’re at.” He raises an eyebrow. “You sure you’re okay, brother?”

“Yeah, man.”

Pike gives me a slap on the back and heads out.

Fred and Meryl’s contemporary, modern home is completely out of place amongst the many rows of small dilapidated shacks. As I always do, I let myself in without knocking. They wouldn’t hear me anyway. They’re always out on the back deck, smokin’, drinking’, or eatin’. Which is probably the only three things we have in common, but it’s enough. They’re good guys, and I could use a distraction right about now.

From the kitchen, I see the steam from the hot tub outside rising past the window. I push open the sliders and step out onto the deck, rummaging through the shopping bag from the Quick Stop. I don’t have to look up to know they’re in the hot tub, the sound of the bubbles and the smell of the chlorine has already given that away.

“Pops,” I say, because that’s what I call Meryl. I pull the pack of smokes from the bag, “they didn’t have the kind you wanted. But they had this other brand with the state of Florida on it. It’s slim pickings in the stores in this po-dunk town, so you’ll have to deal with the cigarettes I could find. Fred, do you guys have any...” I trail off when I look up to see that Fred and Meryl are, in fact, in the hot tub as predicted, but they aren’t alone. Two strangers are in there with them. A very hot brunette woman in her twenties with bright red lips and there is a guy next to her, but I can’t make out his face through the steam.

I don’t notice the uniformed police officer until he steps up onto the deck and clears his throat.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.

“Hey kid,” the officer calls to me. My head snaps to his.

“Fuck,” I hear Fred mutter.

The officer puffs out his chest. “You been here all day?”

“Fuck,” the guy I don’t know echoes Fred.

I glance to Fred for a quick second, hoping I can read his eyes, and I hope the look he’s giving me right now is go with it because that’s what I do.

“Yeah, sure have,” I answer, hoping that it was the right answer. I play it off cool and light a smoke.

“Those two been here all day?” he asks, looking like he’s already won whatever game he’s playing. He points to the two strangers in the hot tub, and I must be seeing things because I swear that the guy looks a lot like the picture of my brother, but it’s not possible, so I shake off the thought.

“Uh, yeah, man. It’s been a party up in here,” I respond with a laugh. I hold up my cigarette. “I just made a smoke run.”

The officer raises his eyebrows in suspicion. “Tell me. If they’ve been here all day, then what are their names?”

I smile and tap on my head with my open palm, trying to delay my words. I glance back over at the guy in the hot tub. I can see his face perfectly now as the breeze blows the steam away, and I’m about to gasp or collapse, but I gotta keep my shit together. It’s him. Holy fucking shit. It’s him. My brother is in that fucking hot tub right now.

Breathe. Breathe.

“Ah, man. I didn’t catch the girl’s name. First time I met her was tonight, and we had a lot of beers.”

Great, Kevin. You just admitted that you’ve been underage drinking to a fucking cop. Hope he doesn’t ask for my ID. Get it the fuck together.

I turn to the girl and continue, “Sorry, I’m not real good with names.”

She offers me an understanding smile for the error I never made.

“Alright then. What’s his name?” The officer asks, standing above the guy on the deck.

Fred sits straight in the hot tub, and Meryl looks like he’s about to say something.

I scratch my head and yawn, pretending like I’m bored with this shit when my heart is actually racing. I want this to be over and now. Because I have so many questions. “Oh him?” I ask. “That’s Preppy, but don’t fucking ask me what his real name is because I don’t fucking know.” Yes, I do. “Everyone just calls him Preppy or Prep. Is this some sort of weird test?” I take a seat at the patio table. “Am I on a hidden camera show?” I look under the table as if I’m checking for cameras. By the time I lift my head, the officer is gone. The back gate slams shut.

“Holy fuck,” Fred exclaims, “That was fucking great!”

“Why was he so afraid of you?” The girl asks Meryl. Obviously, referring to whatever went on before I came out here.

Meryl takes a drag of his smoke and smiles. “Because I’m the fucking state attorney!” Everyone except me bursts out into a fit of laughter. I already knew he was the state attorney. It’s not news. What is news is Preppy, who I look over to and realize he’s the only other person not laughing. He looks as confused as I feel as the others in the hot tub cheers and clink their wine glasses.

“Our newest accomplice here is Kevin,” Fred says, introducing me.

“How do you know my name?” Preppy asks. He’s looking at me like he’s searching for recognition he can’t and won’t be able to find.

I take a slow drag off my cigarette and realize that anything I tell him is going to sound bizarre as fuck so I go with the truth. “I just know it,” I say with a shrug, still trying to act casual and cool when inside I’m about to fucking explode. All eyes turn to me, and the girl gasps like she’s seeing what Preppy can’t. I look him in the eyes for the very first time. Something I never thought I’d get the chance to do. “Maybe, it’s on the account of you being my brother and all.”

Preppy stiffens.

Meryl and Fred freeze with their wine glasses on their lips.

Preppy scrunches his nose and I don’t blame him. I’d be confused as fuck if I were him. I’m confused, and I’m the one who just got here. “There’s no fucking way you can be my brother. I don’t even know who my old man is.”

“Neither the fuck do I,” I reply. “But you know that cunt of a mother you got?”

“Unfortunately.”

I stub out my smoke in the ashtray. “Well, it’s the same cunt of a mother I got.”

“I THINK we should go inside and let these boys talk,” Meryl says. He gets out of the hot tub and grabs another bottle of wine from the cooler. He wraps a towel around his waist and hands one to Meryl who does the same. He grabs a third and holds it up to the girl. “You coming, gorgeous? I’ve been dying to show someone besides this old fuddy-duddy the new kitchen renovation.”

She looks to Preppy who nods, then takes the towel and steps out. It’s only now I realize that I’m staring because the chick has a banging body. Her long black hair is wet and clinging to the curve of her tits. She sweeps it over her shoulder.

Fred and Meryl go inside. The girl is about to follow when Preppy reaches out and grabs her arm. “Kevin, this is my wife, Andrea.”

“You can call me Dre,” she says with a big, genuine smile. She turns to Preppy and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Take your time. I’ll be right inside.”

He watches her as she slides the door shut and joins Fred in the kitchen. Meryl hands her a wine glass and the three of them start chatting and laughing like old friends. The way Preppy is watching her is possessive. “I love that woman,” he says out loud.

“I mean, aren’t you supposed to love your wife?” I ask. Which is why I’ll never marry. I’m not capable of love. I’m barely capable of friendship, which only consists of two gay dudes and Pike.

Preppy doesn’t answer. He’s too busy watching Dre, and when she laughs at something Meryl says, Preppy smiles right along with her. Which brings me to one of my questions. “How do you guys know Fred and Meryl?”

“Really?” he asks, turning back to me. “That’s what you want to lead with?”

He stands out of the hot tub, and I toss him a towel. He quickly dries himself off and wraps it around his waist. He picks up a discarded dress shirt from the ground and pulls it over his head before taking the seat beside me at the patio table.

“Figured it would be a start,” I say, lighting another smoke.

“Well, brother from possibly the same mother, we don’t know Fred and Meryl. We were being chased by a cop after we allegedly egged the convenience store due to the little bitch that works there being a waste of human life.”

“So, you didn’t egg the convenience store?” I ask.

Preppy purses his lips. “No, we totally did, I just forgot what allegedly meant for a second.” He takes another drag.

“I have so many questions,” I say.

“Me, too. So, let’s just do quick questions and answers for now. We will get to all the details later. That way we can get as many things out of the way as possible, and I won’t be too distracted to perform my husbandly duties when I get home. Deal?”

I smile. “Okay, deal. You start.”

“Why do you think I’m your brother?” He asks.

I take out my wallet and hand him the folded picture I’d been carrying in my wallet for over two years. “A year ago, my social worker gave me this and told me about you. I came to find you, but you were dead.”

He nods and inspects the picture. “Your turn.”

“Why did everyone think you were dead?” I ask.

Preppy takes a deep breath and fires his answer off in one breath. “I took a bullet and then got kidnapped from the hospital. The person who kidnapped me made sure that everyone thought I was dead. Was actually trapped in an underground cavern being tortured by a psychopath biker. He had some mixed-up notion about torturing me being some kind of revenge for his son hating him, or wanting to be biker royalty like his old man or some shit. Anywhose it, he was killed by what would be his now daughter in law. Many moons later, they found me, and here we are, hot-tubbing it in a stranger’s back yard with my wife and a kid who claims to be my brother.”

“Holy shit,” I say.

“Holy shit, indeed,” Preppy agrees.

I stand and reach into the cooler. I grab two beers and toss one to Preppy. My brother.

“I…I just can’t fucking believe that you’re alive. And that you’re here.” I can see the skepticism in my brother’s eyes, and I don’t even fucking care. Of course, he’s skeptical. He’s been through a ton of shit. I would be if I were him. But now that he’s alive, we’ve got time for him to trust me. And even though I just met him, I trust the motherfucker.

Shit, I trusted him before I ever met him.

“You and me both, kid.” Preppy opens his beer bottle using the edge of the table and takes a sip. “Speaking of people who are alive and shouldn’t be, any clue where dear old mama is? Crack den? Whorehouse? On tour with the Backstreet Boys?”

“Don’t know. Don’t fucking care.”

Preppy clinks his bottle to mine. “I’ll cheers to that, brother.”

Preppy stands. “I’m gonna take my wife home and service her,” he says. “Shall we continue this another time?”

“Yeah, man. I’d like that. Let me get your number,” I say pulling out my phone.

Before the screen is even up, Preppy is spewing his number. Five. Five. Five. Seven. Three. Nine. Seven. Seven. Three. Seven.

“Wait, hold on. I didn’t get it,” I say, finally pulling up the screen. “You said Five. Five. Five. Seven. Three. Nine. Seven. Seven. Three. Seven. Right?” I enter in the numbers in, and I realize something about the them or rather, what they spell. I look up to Preppy. “Wait, your number is 555-SEX-PREP?”

Preppy’s jaw drops. “No fucking way! You got that? No one EVER gets that, and it’s totally no fun when I have to point it out to people.” He opens the sliding glass door.

“Now, that’s a number I can remember.”

“They always do.” He winks. “They always motherfucking do.”

CHAPTER FOUR

LENNY

THREE YEARS LATER…

JARED NEVER TELLS me I drink too much even though it’s the truth.

There’s never a disapproving glance at my seven-a.m. screwdriver (sans orange juice). He doesn’t say no when I ask him to stop and pick up yet another bottle of vodka from the liquor store, and he’s the first one to refill my drink at a party.

I’m drowning. Not in vodka, but in a vast ocean of indifference.

Jared doesn’t say anything about your drinking because he doesn’t care.

My anxiety has a voice of its own, and it’s almost as much of an asshole as I am these days. The problem with having the voice of said anxiety chirping in your brain twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week is that it’s tough to differentiate between a real problem and one of my mind’s own making.

Is Jared really indifferent, or am I just creating this issue out of nothing? I mean, the man gives me what I ask for and doesn’t give me shit about it.

Well, not when it comes to drinking. My anxiety disorder is another animal entirely. He gives me plenty of shit about that.

“I don’t understand why you won’t talk to someone about all this,” Jared huffs with frustration as he steps out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, hands on his hips. Steam billows behind him through the open door. He motions with a wave of his hand to me and my current situation. I make a mental note that he doesn’t mention that I should talk to him about this, but someone else. But why would he? I’ve tried to explain anxiety to him before, and he only gets angry and frustrated because he doesn’t understand.

I don’t blame him. Some days, I don’t understand myself.

Maybe, he doesn’t give me crap about my drinking because it’s the lesser of two evils.

Before I answer Jared, I dig in. Literally. I push my nails into my palms and reopen the crescent-shaped scabs and scars until I bleed. It’s a little Morticia Adams, but I’ve established that coping isn’t my strong suit.

“What shit?” I groan as if I have no idea what he’s talking about.

The current shit is that I’m lying in our bed, cocooned between three thick comforters at eight o’clock in the morning when it’s already eighty degrees outside. Jared knows I haven’t just woken up; there’s an empty glass with ice still intact on my nightstand with barely a sweat around it.

“Lenny, you know what I’m saying. You need to see a professional about this crazy stuff. Or get on some meds.”

He’s not saying that because he cares. He’s saying it because your antics annoy him.

And when it comes to therapy? Been there. Done that. If they sold t-shirts at Dr. Farley’s office, there’s no doubt that I’d own one that would read “I WENT TO THERAPY AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT.” Oh yeah, and a shit-ton of bills.

But I don’t say any of that because Jared doesn’t understand.

He doesn’t try to.

“You know I can’t. My insurance was through work, so it got canceled when the company folded. And you know that the meds zombie me out, and I don’t want to live my life that way.”

“And what you’re doing right now is somehow better?”

“Yes, and it’s temporary. I’ll be up and about soon. I just need a minute.”

“What you need is new insurance and new meds,” he says, stepping out from his closet, wearing navy blue slacks and a white dress shirt. He straightens his tie and plops down in one of the sitting area chairs to tie on his shiny brown shoes.

“I can’t afford new insurance,” I argue. I’ve spent every last dollar I had trying to bring back to life a company that couldn’t be saved. As of one week ago, Leary Real Estate was no more.

“It can’t be that much,” he says.

“I didn’t think so either, but it’s a lot. It’s even more when you don’t have any money coming in,” I answer, rolling myself tighter in the blankets. I have savings, but only enough to last me for about a year more, although I hope to find another job before then. Twelve hundred dollars a month for health insurance isn’t exactly in my budget. “Apparently, being a woman of breeding age makes the powers that be at the insurance company think that you’re going to shoot expensive to birth babies out of your vagina like a t-shirt gun during halftime at a basketball game.”

He doesn’t laugh at my joke, but he does cringe at the mention of babies, which is no surprise. He’s not a fan of them, never has been. He stands and grabs his jacket off the back of the chair, draping it over his arm. He heads to the door then pauses. “That’s what I don’t get, Lenny. If you are so…crazy, then how can you still make jokes and be funny?”

I cringe at his use of the word crazy. “I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity,” I mutter to myself. It’s one of my favorite EAP quotes.

“What was that?” Jared asks.

“I was just saying that I’m not crazy. And apparently, I’m not funny either, because you didn’t even laugh. Besides, I’m not dead. I’m just not functioning at a hundred percent right now. Go to work. I’ll be fine by the time you get home. Better than fine. I promise.”

He glances to the comforters, which are now halfway up my cheeks as if to argue his point.

“I know what you’re thinking, but what I have going on here isn’t crazy,” I explain. “This is called coping. I read something about gravity blankets, but they cost a ton, so this is plan B. Plus, anxiety doesn’t strip me of all my funny, it just makes me feel all the things, and this cocoon is supposed to keep all the things at bay. It’s a barrier. A warm comfy wall of fluff.”

Jared sighs and shifts his jacket from one arm to the other. “Only you can crack jokes while having a meltdown.”

“I can be more and do more than one thing at a time.” I lower my voice and mutter, “Don’t put Baby in a corner.”

Jared rolls his eyes. “You just need help.”

And you need a sense of humor.

I roll over to face him once more. “Fine, if you think I need to go back to therapy, then put me on your company policy, and I promise I’ll go see another headshrinker.”

“We’ve talked about it. You know I can’t do that.” Jared looks down to his crocodile or alligator or pterodactyl skin shoes.

I push part of the blanket down that’s covering my lips. “You own the company, Jared. You can do whatever you want. In fact, you’re the one who tells me that all the time.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Lenny.” He says as if his hands are tied on the matter.

Actually, it does work that way, Jared.

Jared seems to forget that before my family’s real estate company came crashing to the ground, and I became painfully unemployed, that I was the CEO and in charge of over a hundred employees. I’m familiar with how health insurance works. I’m the one who decided on our company’s policy but only after interviewing and grilling dozens of agents in various companies. But my relationship with Jared has always been a separation of church and state. No business with personal lives. And I get it.

Sometimes.

“When I can afford it, or when I get a new job, I’ll get new insurance,” I offer, “I promise.”

Or he can offer to pay for your insurance, or therapy, since he owns an investment firm, and makes millions of dollars a year. Meanwhile, you’re broke, slightly intoxicated, and wrapped up in three hundred fucking blankets, trying to cope with crippling anxiety while cracking jokes to lighten the mood all to make HIM feel better about your problems.

Not that I’d accept his help. I’m too independent for that. Half of the reason I can’t afford insurance is that Jared insisted on this mansion we live in, and I insist on paying half of all the bills.

But an offer would be nice.

“Good,” he says with a curt nod. “I gotta go. I’ve got a meeting.” There is no emotion in his voice — no kiss good-bye. “I’ll be back around six, and then I’ll spend the rest of the week up in Orlando. I’m meeting with the German investors Sheff has on the line.”

“Okay, good luck,” I say, trying to sound cheery. Jared is away more than he is home these days. With the market the way it is, he needs every investor he can get to make his projects come to fruition, and he’s been working around the clock to make that happen. “I’ll be right here when you get back.”

“I hope you don’t mean that,” he calls over his shoulder. It’s not Jared’s fault he doesn’t get it. It’s like trying to explain the wind to someone who can’t feel it on their skin or in their hair. I gave up on trying to make him understand it a long time ago.

“Not here here! You know what I meant!” I shout after him.

A few seconds later, I hear the roar of his super expensive new sports car that I’ve haven’t bothered to learn the name of the make or model yet. I call it the ninja turtle car because of it reminds me of Michael Angelo from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Bright orange, shaped like a weird, pointed turtle shell, and completely lacking any sign of a penis.

I roll back to face the window. The sun pushes through like a stampede of unwanted light. A reminder that outside everything is okay while inside, it’s anything but. I have things to do today. Important things. And I will do them.

In a little while.

I close my eyes and shut out the light. I think about the boy from the bridge that night. The one who made me realize I wanted to live even though I’m not really living. The one whose kiss made my stomach flip for the first time. I wonder what he’s doing with his life or even if he’s still alive. I imagine he’s in grad school and spends his weekends with friends going to football games. Maybe, he has a girlfriend or even a wife? I wrinkle my nose. No, none of that seems right for some reason.

It’s a miracle, if you believe in that sort of thing, that I survived the fall. Waking up on the shore was like rising from the dead.

I chuckle to myself.

I almost died. I sort of rose up from the dead.

And all I have to show for it is a bottle-a-day vodka problem and crippling anxiety.

Your parents died, but you didn’t. You’re still alive.

This time that old bitch Anxiety might actually be right about something.

I tear off my blanket cocoon and sit up.

I begin to count to ten, but stop and get out of bed at nine, like always.

I am alive.

Today, I’ll even attempt to act like it.

CHAPTER FIVE

KEVIN AKA NINE

“SHIT, I haven’t seen you in a month, and you’ve got almost as many tattoos as Preppy and are starting to look as big as King,” Pike says, getting in the passenger seat of the van.

I shrug. “Been working out. Been getting some ink.” I haven’t seen Pike that much since he bought the pawn shop and moved into the back room there. I moved out of his place a while back and in with Preppy and his family. More recently I moved into an RV to be closer to the family business, our medical marijuana field. Or as Preppy calls it, “The field of glory.”

“Been feeding off the blood of newborns or something? Because it sure looks that way.”

My phone buzzes with a text. “I gotta go to court Tuesday,” I tell Pike. I pull up the calendar and set an alert, so I don’t forget, then tuck it back into my back pocket.

“You catch another case?” Pike asks with a smirk.

“Not recently,” I reply. Putting the truck in drive and reversing out of Pike’s driveway.

“You mean to tell me that they let you walk into court, all muscles and tattoos, without slapping the cuffs on you right away? ‘Cause no offense, but you look like you’ve broken some laws.”

“None that they know about, anyway.”

Pike doesn’t exactly look innocent either. Blond hair a little too long to be stylish, matching goatee, and tattoos from a mixture of prison and juvie on his neck and knuckles. Not to mention the broken set of handcuffs he wears like bracelets on each wrist.

Everything has changed since that night on the bridge, and I do mean everything, including the way I look. Gone is the skinny kid with a target on his back. I’m bigger and stronger, in both mind and body. The only targets in my life now are the one I put on those who fuck with me and mine.

Pike’s dark eyes light up as we cross over the causeway bridge. “Hey, remember that time when I came to get you at the Sheriff’s station? When they detained you because they thought you pushed that girl from the causeway?”

Yes, I remember. Every damn day, I remember.

I give Pike a hard stare.

He raises his hands in surrender. “Sorry, but it’s been years, man. Didn’t realize you were still all sensitive about it.”

“Yeah, it has been years.” Years since she died. Years that I could’ve gotten to know her.

“So, are you gonna tell me why you’re dragging me to the uppity side of the causeway today when I could be cock deep in the three bitches I left sleeping in my bed this morning?” Pike asks.

My blood boils just thinking about the reason we’re crossing the causeway. I grip the steering wheel tightly and gnash my teeth together.

“Today, you’re additional muscle,” I tell Pike. “Gonna need you to stay sharp while I try and not strangle this motherfucker the second I see him.”

“Is this because of the investment guy?” He asks, lighting a cigarette.

I nod and clench my fists. It took me a long time to convince Bear, King, and Preppy that they needed to take some of their stored cash and invest some of it in a legit way so they could start growing something for their kids that they won’t be questioned about when it came time. I researched the shit out of investment brokers and went with the owner of Cox Funds because he was also in charge of the money laundering and accounts for the Ricci family. Ripping off Bear, King, or Preppy means certain death. Ripping off Tico Ricci means certain and painful death to you but not before you witness the limb by limb dismemberment of your entire family in front of your eyes. Using that logic, I figured our cash was safe.

I was wrong. So fucking wrong.

Not only did our account have a zero balance, but I hacked into Cox Funds servers and discovered that as of this morning, the Ricci families accounts were also empty.

“The plan is to get him to talk and to find the money before Tico Ricci does and decides he wants it all for himself.”

“And to get it back before the troublesome trio knows it’s gone?” Pike asks.

“They know,” I say. I’ve spent years trying to prove myself to the three people who run this town. I was doing a good fucking job of it, too, until this motherfucker ruined everything I’ve worked so hard for.

“Duly noted. You don’t kill him. I don’t kill him, at least until you tell me to. Gotcha. Gun is loaded. Ready for battle.”

There’s a motorcycle approaching from behind us. I recognize the bike and the rider and immediately pull to the side of the road.

Pike and I get out as Bear pulls in behind us. We wait at the back of my truck as he gets off his bike. He’s shirtless, like always, wearing only his leather Lawless MC cut. The patch that says PRESIDENT on the front is the one that gives him the most respect. Both in the MC and in Logan’s Beach.

“Thought you could use some help since I heard you decided to only take your girlfriend here with you,” Bear says lighting a smoke.

“I know I should be offended, but that was actually pretty funny,” Pike says. “Well played, sir. Well played.”

“Could always use an extra gun,” I admit.

“You know, kid, you don’t gotta do this to prove shit to me or to your brother or to King. You’ve done that already. Many fucking times over. You’re good with the MC. You’re good with King. I don’t care what your brother thinks, to be honest, but I’m pretty sure you could cut him from throat to dick, and the fucker would still love you for it, since you helped save his wife’s life and all.”

“I know, but this was my decision. My play. I’m the one who needs to see it through. Make it right.”

“Fresh air, fresh blood? Sounds like a fucking Tuesday,” Bear says. “You two ready?”

I check my own gun and nod, feeling my adrenaline spike. It’s a high like no drug I’ve ever tried. I’m feeding off every quickened beat of my heart. Every surge of blood in my veins. “Fuck, yeah I’m ready.”

The house is a seven thousand square foot, modern mansion directly on the beach. I got a laptop trace a few minutes ago, so I know the fucker is here. I disarm the alarm from the outside in case he decides to press the emergency button when we arrive. All it takes is one quick snip of a wire. They really need to work on making security systems actually secure. A toddler could disarm these things with rounded play scissors.

Bear breaks the glass on the front door with a tool that renders the breaking silent. He turns the lock and we’re in. Since Bear is here now, Pike stays with the truck in case we need to get out in a hurry. Bear’s bike is parked under a tree in a vacant construction site a few lots down.

The house is silent except for the light sound of footsteps from upstairs. Back and forth, back and forth, as if someone is pacing…or in a hurry.

We make our way up the stairs as quietly as we can, guns drawn. Bear pushes open the door and we watch as Jared, dressed in a suit with his tie hanging haphazardly around his neck paces the room, packing all his belongings into several large suitcases. The door hits the wall and Jared looks up.

“Oh shit,” he says, making a run toward the bathroom. Bear is hot on his heels and drags him back into the room, throwing him on top of the full suitcases on the bed.

“Where’s the fucking money?” Bear demands while I search the room for a computer or laptop. Hacking used to be a hobby of mine, but now, it’s part of my life. If there’s money that he’s hiding, I’ll find it on his laptop. I could have done it from the comfort of my own home, but Jared has a closed-circuit server more secure than most black markets on the deep dark web.

“I…I have it. I’ll get it to you.” Jared cries with his hands in the air. He makes a move to sit up. Bear presses down on his chest with his foot, leaving a large boot mark on his white dress shirt.

“No computer up here,” I tell Bear.

“Search downstairs,” Bear says.

“Wait, my laptop. It’s in my safe. The money’s in there. In an offshore account. I swear,” Jared announces, his voice shaking with fear.

“It better be,” I warn.

“It is, I just got it back. I didn’t do anything. It was my girlfriend. She organized the entire thing. It was her idea. Not mine!”

“Way to take your punishment like a man. Blame your woman,” I growl. “Even if she did set this entire scam up, you just showed us what a fucking coward you are.”

Bear waves his gun and allows Jared to stand. Jared walks over to a painting, hanging above the dresser and pulls it down. There’s a large wet spot on the front of his pants. He literally pissed himself. Behind the painting is an in-wall safe. He cracks the code with shaking hands and opens the door. Jared reaches inside and feels around, but when he pulls his hand back out, it’s not a laptop he’s holding.

It’s a gun.

Jared doesn’t hesitate, firing two rounds at Bear, one hits him in the arm, knocking his gun out of his hand. The other lands in his thigh, sending a gush of blood surging out like the fountain in the front of this house.

Jared’s quick, but he’s not quick enough.

By the time he turns his gun on me, I’ve already fired off three rounds into his chest until he falls down dead. The gun drops to the wood floor with a hard echo.

I rush over to Bear, who is cursing under his breath. “I’m fine,” he grates through his teeth. “Get me the fucker’s tie.”

I pull the tie from around Jared’s fresh corpse and hand it to Bear, who ties it around his wound as tight as he can. His face reddens with pain.

He stands, holding himself up by using one of the bed posts as an anchor. I know better than to try and help him. Bear isn’t one to accept help from anyone. I walk back over to the safe and pull out Jared’s laptop. “I’ll take it with us. What do you want to do here?” I ask.

“I’ll call for cleanup. Let them handle it while I get patched up.”

I notice the other closet on the other side of the hall. This one is filled with women’s clothes. Bear notices it, too. “Jared doesn’t live alone. He said the girlfriend was involved. Should we wait for her to get home?”

“Her shit’s still here,” I say. “You heard him. He wasn’t just leaving. He was leaving her. If we bring her in, she might not tell us shit. I’ll keep an eye on her. Check her files. If she’s got shit to do with this, she’ll lead me right to the money.”

Bear grimaces as we head for the stairs. “Just get to her before Tico does.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “And there’s nothing left of her to question.”

CHAPTER SIX

LENNY

WHEN I WAS YOUNGER, I used to call for my mom in the middle of the night. She’d race up my room, and I’d complain to her that my stomach hurt. She knew that it was my way of telling her I was worrying about something, even if I didn’t understand it yet myself.

Mom would make me soup or hot chocolate no matter what time or day or night it was. She’d hold me close and tell me everything was going to be okay. She never brushed me off. She never told me that it was pointless to worry, just that the feeling would pass, and that everything was going to be okay, even if it didn’t feel like it would be.

Until they both died, and it wasn’t okay anymore.

It never would be.

“I can’t believe it’s been almost four years,” I say. “And I can’t believe I’m talking to you as if you guys are still here.” I wipe the tear from my eye and sniffle. I crouch down and lay a bouquet of tulips in front of the simply marked headstone with my parent’s names, Michelle and Michael Leary, and the date that their plane went down over the Gulf of Mexico.

I brush my fingers over the soft grass, and stand. I look down at the headstone once more and find myself smiling. Even in death, my parents were romantic. Their will insisted that if they died together that they be buried together in a single coffin in one shared grave.

Together for eternity.

A love like theirs was the stuff of fairytales when happy marriages like theirs didn’t exist anymore. Growing up, I didn’t have a single friend whose parents weren’t divorced or whose step-parent wasn’t the first one to be awarded that title. Nope, my parents were the odd ones. Neighbors since the day they were born, elementary school best friends, high school sweethearts, married in college and stayed that way for over twenty-years while running a successful business together.

A business I tried and tried to save after they died. But when their single-engine plane crashed, so did the South Florida real estate market. I did everything I could, including using every penny from their life insurance payout, but it wasn’t enough. I was young and naive and wasted a truck-full of money on something that couldn’t be saved. I take some small comfort that, at least, they weren’t around to see it go down in flames.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save the business,” I tell them. I know that my apologies aren’t necessary. My parents were understanding people, especially when it came to me, and if they were watching me over the past few years, then, they know I sacrificed finishing high school, going to college, and generally everything else a teenage girl normally does to keep Leary Real Estate afloat. Hopefully, the little bit of money I have left will float me until I can find a job. One where the company is willing to hire someone with no high school diploma and only ‘worked for my dead parents’ company’ on their resume.

I kiss my fingertips and press them to the top of the headstone. “I love you both. So much. I miss you. Every day. I wish you were here. I could really use one of your hugs, Mom. And Dad, I could go for a cheesy dad joke right about now, and I promise I wouldn’t make fun of you for it.” I sniffle. “Okay, you and I both know that’s a lie.” I set down the bouquet of purple tulips on the base of the headstone. “Until next time.”

The air in the cemetery is muggy and warm. Too warm for the black pencil skirt with matching blazer I’m wearing, but I’m dressed this way for a reason. Because today, I have one more official stop to make as a representative of Leary Real Estate. My heels sink into the soft earth as I make my way back to my waiting Uber because I’m a responsible day drinker.

Bring the vodka. Leave the car.

The driver starts the car. Our next stop is the now empty Leary Real Estate office so I can drop off the keys and the final payment to the landlord.

I press my forehead to the window, looking out over the cemetery as we pass through the sea of headstones on the way back to the main gate.

“Even in the grave, all is not lost,” I mutter, but even an EAP quote doesn’t give me any comfort today, because Edgar Allan Poe may not feel like all is not lost, even in the grave, but then again, he isn’t leaving the cemetery where his parents are buried.

I pull my flask from my purse and tip it up. I catch the Uber driver’s concerned look in the rearview.

At least, someone cares.

AFTER THE VISIT to the cemetery, lamenting about the past, and dropping off the keys, I’m emotionally spent. I make one last stop at the liquor store before the Uber takes me home.

He drops me off at the gate, and I hit the clicker on my keychain. It swings open, and with vodka in one hand and my muddy heels in the other, I walk up the long drive. I hit another button on my clicker, and the doors of all three garage bays slowly open, but they’re empty, save for my car in the bay on the far right.

I expect Jared to be home, since his office closed hours ago, but his Bentley isn’t here. His trip is tomorrow. I check my watch. It’s only seven. He’s probably just running a little late.

Inside, the house is completely dark. I click on the light and toss my shoes to the floor.

I hear a board creak upstairs. There’s a light on in our bedroom. “Jared? Is that you? Where’s your car?” I call out. Maybe, he had drinks with some of his employees and Ubered home. Maybe, I’m rubbing off on him, after all.

Another creak.

“The company is officially closed, and years of hard work are now officially all for nothing. My calendar is clear until I get another job, so get down here and help me drown my sorrows, or at least, keep me company while I drown them myself.” I wave the bottle of vodka around in the air, expecting Jared’s head to pop out of our bedroom at any moment.

“Jared?” I ask again, when said head doesn’t appear.

Still, no answer.

I take my phone out of my pocket and remove my blazer, tossing it over one of the dining room chairs, and head up the stairs. All of our bedroom lights are on, but there’s no Jared. It smells like a hospital, like cleaning supplies and bleach. Either Jared cleaned for the first time ever, or the more likely explanation, the maid came early this week.

“Stupid creaky, wood floors,” I mutter to myself. For someone who watched entirely way too many horror movies as a child, these noisy floors have caused me at least a few dozen sleepless nights. Well, I choose to blame them for my sleepless nights, they may not have always been the reason.

I turn the lights off in the bedroom and notice that Jared’s closet light is still on. I dial Jared on my phone and immediately get the three-toned sound you get when a line has been disconnected. I must have hit the wrong speed-dial button, or there’s an issue with his cell service. I pad across the room and reach behind his closet door feeling for the light switch. I try calling him again. Same tones. Weird.

I click off the light and turn to leave, then freeze with one foot raised mid-step. Panic chokes me, and I try and swallow it down, but my throat feels like sandpaper.

I’m going to turn back around, and I’m going to laugh at myself when I realize it’s all in my head. I didn’t really see what I think I did. I didn’t. I DIDN’T! Jared’s right, I am crazy, because it’s not possible. It’s just not possible.

I turn slowly back toward the closet and take a deep breath before flipping the switch back on. I gasp and cover my mouth with both hands.

It’s more than possible. It’s very real.

With the exception of the dozens of clothes-less hangers, Jared’s closet, which as of this morning was full of his things, is now completely empty.

CHAPTER SEVEN

NINE

STALKING IS SUCH SWEET SORROW.

It can also be boring as fuck.

At least, it is in this case. Screw all those movies that make it look like the guys are totally getting off on watching the unknowing girl. If I hadn’t found half an Adderall in my jeans pocket earlier, I’d be fucking snoozing.

Jared’s computer is clean. There’s nothing on it but his search history, which includes a lot of Asian porn sites with women of questionable legal age and little else.

Jared Cox’s girlfriend, the one he was obviously about to leave high and dry, Lenore Leary is smart. I know this because when I hacked into the computer the day after Jared became a corpse, I discovered that her mic is disabled and that she’s got a piece of tape over the camera. She’s either a paranoid conspiracy theorist and thinks that the government or big brother is watching her, or paranoid that someone else might be.

And she’d be right on at least one of those accounts.

I mean, I’ve got a piece of tape over my own as well, but that’s because I’ve got shit to hide, which means she could, too. And that something is hopefully our money.

The other thing she’s hiding is her face. Not only can I not see her on the camera, but there’s not a single picture of her anywhere, which is odd because there are pictures of her now deceased douche of an ex everywhere. Even pictures at events where it states their names together in the caption as attending together only shows pictures of Dead Jared, pre-death of course, smiling and raising his glass with a bunch of other men who could be auditioning for Jared’s stunt double. It makes me wonder if those kinds of guys get a group discount on suits, watches and haircuts, because they’re all wearing the same sad-looking grey suit and flashing the same gold Cartier watches, and have the same all-American boy-next-door, dye my grey hairs with shoe polish and hope nobody notices, but everyone notices hairstyles.

I re enabled her microphone on her camera, but since that only works when it’s powered on and she’s one of those people who actually turns it off when she’s done using it, I hacked into her cell phone for good measure. So far, I’ve found no proof that she’s got any involvement in Jared’s scam. Her computer is clean. Her texts are just a lot of her asking random people if they’ve talked to Jared or if they know where he is. There are no encrypted files that I can find, but that doesn’t mean she’s innocent. It could just mean she’s crafty and keeps her laptop clean.

Today, her laptop is on, and I hear her crying.

“What’s got you so upset?” I ask out loud to myself. I log onto the mirror program which shows me everything on her screen. It’s her bank records. It seems she’s in the red after a recent transaction made by Jared, who withdrew all sixty-thousand something dollars from their joint account the day he was planning to make a run for it.

“So, the plot fucking thickens,” I say.

On a hunch, I pull up the County Clerk’s office’s public records and do a deed search. The house that Lenny and Jared share is longer co-owned by Lenny and Jared. It’s owned by the Bank of Lee County who just today filed an eviction notice with the Sheriff’s department to schedule a formal eviction. In two days’ time, they’ll show up at her house and remove her and her things by force. The mailing address on record is Jared’s office. Lenny might not even know she’ll be homeless in two days’ time.

I can use that to my advantage. She’ll have to tap into the stolen money to save the house, or she’ll be out on the street.

“What’s it gonna be, Lenny? Your move,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Show me where it is.”

My computer dings with an alert. Lenny’s making a phone call. I click the alert and the audio screen appears, the horizontal line moving across the screen jumps up as she speaks. “Hey, Lori? It’s Lenny.” She sniffles.

“Lenny, I heard about Jared. Are you okay?” Lori asks in her high-pitched nasal voice. Her question is one of concern, but there isn’t actually any concern behind it. I cringe, disliking this Lori person already.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Do you have any idea where he could have went?” she asks. “I really need to talk to him, and his phone is disconnected. It’s an emergency.”

“I’m sure it is, Lenny, but do you think looking for him is a good idea? After the way he left you?”

“It’s not about us,” Lenny assures her. I can hear her getting angry, like she’s talking through her teeth. “I need to talk to him about other things…some loose ends that need tying up right away.”

“Here we go. Come on. Say something, anything I can use,” I whisper, raising the volume.

“No, the flowers should be white, not purple, it’s summer for fuck sake!” Lori shouts to someone in the background. She sighs deeply. “I swear these charity events never gets easier, and the help gets worse with each one. Speaking of the charity event, will you be coming Saturday? Jared never prepaid for your tickets, so you’ll have to bring a check, but personally, I think it might be better if you let things die down a bit before you re-enter social circles, don’t you?”

“Lori, I’m not coming. I can’t. I don’t have the money. It’s all gone. I really need you to think. Jared and Pen are best friends. Pen didn’t tell you anything about where he could be? Has he spoken to him?”

“No, I said in the center of the table! Does that look like the center to you?” Lori scolds again before coming back on the line.

“Lori!” Lenny shouts to get her friends attention. But is this really her friend? Shit, I hate to hear how her enemies talk to her. I’ve been spoken to with more respect from someone I’d just stabbed in County.

Lori huffs in frustration. “No, Lenny. When I asked Pen, he said he didn’t know where Jared might have went, and when he tried to call him, the line was disconnected, just as you said. Pen needs to talk to him, too. You’re not the only one he walked out on. Pen and Jared have been best friends for over twenty years, and they’re invested in the club’s membership together. I mean to not even show up to the meetings? Can you believe it?” There’s a pause. “But I’m sure he’ll turn up, sweetie. He probably just wanted to get away for a while. Men do that. Sometimes, they need a vacay from life. It’s not easy being a successful man these days.”

“Men don’t empty their closets when they’re going on vacay or turn off their phones,” I argue. “He left me. I’m okay with that, or at least, I will be. I just need to find him so I can talk to him.”

“Lenny, I don’t know what to tell you. Jared left you. I’m sorry, but I have important things going on over here, too,” Lori scoffs.

What a fucking bitch. I almost feel bad for her. Almost.

“I know you’re busy, but he didn’t just leave, Lori. He stole every penny I had. Emptied out my bank account. I don’t know what bills he’s paid or hasn’t paid. I don’t have the passwords to get into the mortgage or any of the other bills because I’ve always just put my share of the money into our account. I’ve got nothing left.” There is a despair in her voice that wouldn’t be there if she had wads of cash laying around, but she could just be an incredible actor.

“I tried Lenny. I did. But I don’t know anything, and neither does Pen.” Someone drops a plate in the background, and it sounds like Lori attempts to cover the phone, but it does nothing to conceal her rant of wrath. “What the fuck did I just…No, the outside tables. God damn it!”

Lenny sighs, and there’s pain in her every word although she’s trying to conceal it. “Lori, I hate to even ask you this, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay here. If Jared hasn’t been paying the mortgage, and I can’t continue to pay it. I don’t know how long I have left here until I can get to the bank when it reopens on Monday. So…do you think that maybe I could stay in your guest house for a while if that happens? Just until I figure things out? I’ve literally got fourteen bucks in my wallet and…”

“Sorry, Lenny. No can do. I’ve got new tile going into the bathroom in there on Monday, and I can’t reschedule because I flew the workers in from Italy and they are very selective about what jobs they take. You know how it is. If I pass this up now, their schedule will fill up, and I’ll have to wait until Christmas to get it done. I’d help if I could, but as you can see, my hands are tied. Have you asked Yuli?”

Lenny groans. “You know I can’t do that. She’s leaving for Africa in a week.”

“Oh, that’s right, that nurses without personal space thingy.”

“Nurses without Borders,” Lenny corrects her. “And you know that if I tell Yuli what’s going on, she’ll stay, and she’s already given up her lease and packed her stuff in storage. I can’t do that to her. It’s her dream.”

“But you can do that to me?” Lori asks, sounding shocked. “I have to say, that’s awfully selfish of you, Lenny.”

“How is me asking you for a place to stay in any way selfish?”

“Because Italian tile in the guest house bathroom is my dream,” Lori argues, as if she truly believes that her tile and Yuli’s helping kids in Africa measure equally.

I can practically hear her face fall with disappointment.

Lori obviously doesn’t hear the same thing and starts complaining about the charity dinner she’s putting on that night, but Lenny stops listening. Without saying another word, she hangs up the phone. I click back to her computer mic just in time to hear her shout, “I hope all of your fucking tile is crooked and falls off the god damned wall!” Followed by the sound of a glass shattering.

I chuckle because her rant isn’t like Lori’s. It’s kind of…adorable in a way.

Whether Lenny is involved in Jared’s scheme or not, her friend is a fucking cunt. I make a mental note to hack her computer and fill it with illegal pictures of a serious nature from the dark web, followed by an anonymous alert to our friendly, neighborhood FBI agents regarding Lori’s child porn problem.

I pick up the phone and dial Bear. He answers on the first ring with a “Yeah.”

“Jared’s girl is losing the house to the bank. He emptied their accounts before he planned to skip town.”

“That’s not good, brother. It means she’s got to go somewhere else. It’ll be hard to keep an eye on her if she skips town.”

“I’ll handle it,” I assure him as an idea unfolds in my brain.

“Good, keep me posted. I’ll be back up and mobile, but I’m not sure if I’ll make it to the party tonight. Oh, and if you see your brother, tell that motherfucker to stop sending me the fuckin’ balloon bouquets. I was shot; I’m not a fuckin’ kid having a tenth birthday. The last one was a mix of Spiderman balloons and Tonka trucks, and my kids keep beatin’ the shit out of each other with ‘em.”

I laugh because that’s so my brother.

“I’ll try, but you know Preppy,” I tell him. “It’s hard to make him stop doing anything, especially if he knows it’s irritating you. That’s how he gets his rocks off. You should know this by now.”

I hear a doorbell ring on Bear’s side, and then his wife, Thia’s voice in the background, sounding very amused. “Babe, you got another one.”

“Quinceañera? Are you fuckin’ serious?” Bear shouts.

Thia answers. “Oh, it’s all in good fun. Don’t be so serious,”

“Darlin’, if you lean over the couch with them things on display to your man one more time, bullet wounds or not, I’m gonna—”

The line, thankfully, goes dead.

I go back to Lenny’s computer and check her recent search history. The last one was only a few minutes prior to her call to Lori. PAWN SHOPS NEAR ME HOURS OF OPERATION TODAY.

The one she clicked on is Pike’s Pawn.

Perfect, since I know the owner and all.

I look at the clock. It’s already six-thirty. They close at eight on Saturdays.

I close my laptop.

With her having to find a new place and me having to keep her close, it’s time for me to step out from behind the computer and do some field work.

If Lenny’s hiding the money, I’m going to find it.

And when I do, she won’t have to worry about where Jared is anymore.

I check my gun to make sure it’s loaded.

Because she’ll be seeing him again real soon.

CHAPTER EIGHT

LENNY

I’M BEING FOLLOWED. At least, I feel like I’m being followed.

There’s an eerie sense of awareness traveling down my spine like I’m being watched. I’ve felt it a few times over the last week, but right now it’s crawling all over my back like a thousand tiny spiders.

I glance in my rearview mirror for the thousandth time and just like the other nine hundred and ninety-nine times I’ve looked in the last few minutes, there’s no one there.

You’re being stupid, Lenny. There’s no one there. It’s your stupid anxiety and the fact that you’re somewhat sober because you have to drive. Concentrate on the task at hand. Pawning everything of value to scrape a few bucks together so you don’t have to break into the hurricane supplies like a rat scurrying for food until you can find a new job.

Anxiety is here. Maybe, that’s who's following me. Although, when is she not following me?

I do understand her presence, though, because going somewhere new is always a trigger for me, but I’m discovering that desperation has a way of keeping the full-on panic attacks at bay.

However, I seriously doubt that long-term poverty and homelessness is any sort of miracle cure.

“Guess I’ll have to wait and see on that one,” I say to myself.

Pike’s Pawn is in a seedy little strip mall next to a one-pump gas station and a dive bar called Hansen’s. The parking lot of the bar is full of shiny black motorcycles and custom choppers that overflow to the pawn shop. I park in the grass at the end because it’s the only space available. It’s not even seven p.m. and the music and laughter are already loud enough to hear before I’ve even opened my car door. I sigh, and with nothing left to lose I start my count. When I get to nine, I open the door and retrieve the garbage bag of my belongings from the trunk containing everything of value (I hope) I’ve ever owned.

Several bikers dressed in leather cuts leer at me as I enter the pawn shop. My skin breaks out in a sheen of nerves and sweat. The door closes on their gazes and a few whistles. I take a deep breath to calm myself, but I’m losing my nerve. I’m about to turn back around when a young blonde man appears behind the glass display case.

My nerves and my sanity don’t matter. Right now, only money does.

“What can I do you for?” The man asks, appraising me with bright golden eyes. He cracks his knuckles, and the rippling muscles underneath his tight black tank top ripple. He pushes his shoulder-length hair behind his ear and moves the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other. His smile is crooked and cocky, but it suits him. He leans his elbows on the counter. “You gonna show me what you got in that bag, or you just looking for the nearest dumpster? ‘Cause there’s one out back of Hansen’s, but if I were you, I’d steer clear of that place. Not the classiest of joints.” He scratches his scruffy jaw, and I realize I haven’t said a word.

Slowly, I take a few steps toward the counter. On my way, I take in an aisle of musical instruments, a few lamps on a high shelf, a display case filled to the brim with gold and silver belt buckles, and hanging on the back wall, an arsenal of firearms. “No, I don’t need the nearest dumpster. I have some things to sell. Thought you could take a look for me and see if you’re interested.”

“Let me see what you got here…” He pauses and waits for me to introduce myself.

“Lenny, my name is Lenny.”

“They call me Pike. Very nice to meet you,” he says, taking my garbage bag and dumping the contents between us on the counter. He whistles. “You got a lot of nice stuff here, Lenny. Expensive shit, too.” He opens a few of the handbags and checks the linings. “Authentic, too. Don’t see a lot of that around here. Someone’s always trying to pawn off their fake shit. Pun intended.”

He said expensive. A wave of relief washes over me. “So, how much are you thinking?” I ask. “For all of it?”

He looks at my belongings on counter and tilts his head from one side to the other. “Unfortunately, not a damn thing.”

“What?” I ask, confused. “I thought you said—”

“What you got here is valuable, sure, but not to the people of Logan’s Beach. Frankly, people on the other side of the causeway don’t buy used shit, no matter how high-end. They buy new, but something tells me from your fancy outfit and pretty-smelling perfume that you already know that.”

He’s right, I do know that. Shit.

He continues, “And the people on this side are just struggling to make ends meet.” There is a crashing sound from the bar next door, followed by a roar of raucous laughter. Pike chuckles. “Well, and trying to have a good time, of course. Most people in these parts got cars that cost less than…” he sorts through the pile and lifts up one of my most expensive bags. It’s vintage. A gift from my mother. “This one bag.”

“You know your stuff,” I say, trying to hide my disappointment with words. It doesn’t work.

“Enough to know that I can’t help you. But if you’ve got any gold, silver, diamonds, guns, instruments or blow? I’m your man.”

My thoughts go to my jewelry box. My empty jewelry box that I just discovered this morning. Jared had stolen my diamond tennis bracelet and my mother’s silver rosary. Suddenly, I feel sick all over again. “I don’t have any of that. At least, I don’t anymore.”

“What’s got you all twisted up?” Pike asks, looking concerned. “You look like you’ve got something sour in your mouth or like someone skinned your cat and tacked his hide to your door.”

“The only taste I have in my mouth is the taste of my life in shambles,” I reply. I grab the bag and start shoving things in. “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

“Well, now hang on a second there. Let me see if Trina can help you. She sells a lot of her shit online and she ain’t doing nothing back there but painting her nails and getting high so put the brakes on for just a second, all right?”

I nod.

“Trina!” Pike shouts.

A woman steps out from the back. She’s in her twenties with long curly brown hair shaved on one side. She’s holding one arm across her bare midriff, the other is holding a cigarette. She shoots Pike an annoyed look, tapping her foot on the linoleum. “What?”

“The what is that I’d actually like you to work today. So, can the ‘tude, Trina. This is Lenny. Please take her to the back room and sort through her stuff with her. Make an itemized list of what it’s all worth and give a holding slip if you think we can help her get rid of it.”

Trina looks at me with no emotion in her face. “Follow me,” she says flatly.

“I thought you said you couldn’t help me?” I ask Pike, confused.

“I can’t, but Trina can. She’ll put your stuff on one of those vintage sites for high-end used goods. We don’t do it for everyone because we don’t make shit from it, but you look like you could use a win today.”

“Thank you.”

I follow Trina into the back room where she takes pictures of everything I have. She writes it all down on a pad that looks to be the same kind waitresses have at diners. She tears off the top and hands it to me. “I’ll call you at the number you provided when the items sell. Should only take a few weeks to a month for the entire lot.”

“A month?” I close my hand around the receipt, crumbling it as I dig my nails into my palms.

Trina yawns. “After the items sell, they have to be shipped to the websites warehouse for to be authenticated before shipping them to the buyers. Once the items are shipped they’ll send the money. As I said, I’ll call you when they’re sold.”

I open my mouth to argue, to say something that would turn that two weeks into two minutes, but I’ve already exhausted all of my other options, and I don’t want to sound ungrateful for the favor. “Thank you,” I finally manage to say.

“Whatevs.” Trina turns back to the computer where she clicks on a minimized screen and resumes the very explicit hardcore porn she was watching as if she were catching up on the home shopping network or an episode of Friends.

“Thanks again,” I call to Pike on the way out, but before I hit the door, I look down at my hand and stop. I turn back around and walk up to the counter. I pry the sapphire ring off my finger that Jared gave me for my birthday last year and hand it over to Pike. “What can you give me for this?”

Pike’s forehead wrinkles as he inspects the ring. He takes out a monocle looking thing and holds it over one eye, closing the other. He turns over the ring over to inspect it. “A sapphire this size?” He looks up at me. “Quite a lot,” he hands the ring back to me. “If it were real.”

My heart sinks.

“Sorry about that. He ain’t worth your time if he’s giving you a fake ring and passing it off as real. A real man gives a fake ring and tells his woman it’s fake and he would buy her better if he could and she loves him more for it. I have a feeling this man ain’t worth his weight in shit.

“I’m learning that. With each passing hour more and more.”

I nod my thanks to Pike once again and head out of the shop to my car.

Which isn’t where I left it.

I glance around the parking lot to where the group of bikers from the bar is staring at a large truck that’s turning from the parking lot onto the main road. The decal the back reads ROB THE REPO MAN.

It’s also got my car in tow.

HANSEN’S ISN’T LIKE any other bar I’ve ever been to before, but it’s a bar, and it’s got booze, and I no longer have wheels, so that’s where I’m headed.

The inside is small and crowded. It smells like sweat and pickles.

I spot the bar lined with bottles with varying shades of alcohol inside.

It’ll do just fine.

A woman in her mid-fifties wearing a tight hot pink tank top and a bright blue bow in her flame red hair approaches me from the other side of the bar. “I’m Becky, and I’m the owner here. I hate to say this, but I don’t think this place is for you, sweetheart.”

“Listen, I just want a drink, just like everyone else here,” I reply as politely as I can manage given my circumstances.

Becky isn’t convinced. “Pretty girl like you from the other side don’t need nothin’ this place can offer. Why don’t you get on out of here and get home to whoever is waiting for you, because I wasn’t lying when I said this place ain’t for you.”

There is no one waiting for me.

Growing frustrated, I raise my ass from the stool and lean over the bar. I look Becky dead in her blue eyeshadow. I feel my eyebrows furrow I’m glaring at her so hard. “Look, Becky, woman to woman? A week ago, my boyfriend left me without warning. I came home to find all of his shit was gone, and I haven’t heard from him since. I just got my car repoed about three-seconds ago in this very parking lot while inside the pawn shop next door trying to pawn everything I own that might still hold some value because I’m broke. Beyond broke. Like I’m not even going to be able to pay for the drink I’m arguing with you over even if you do serve me kind of broke. And do you want to know why I don’t have a penny to my name? Because that boyfriend I mentioned earlier? He didn’t just leave. He drained my bank account on the way out and left me with nothing but unpaid bills, questions, and a goddamned fake sapphire.” I take a deep breath. “So, belong here or not, if anyone in this bar deserves a fucking drink right now, can we at least agree that person is me?”

Becky pulls a glass from under the bar and turns it upright in front of me. “It’s on me. What ya having?”

“Vodka,” I reply, sitting back down on the torn barstool. “Ice please.”

“What do you want for a mixer?” she asks, dumping ice into the glass.

I sigh and rub my eyes. “Vodka.”

Becky chuckles and sets the glass in front of me. “One vodka-vodka coming right up.”

I drain it in three gulps. “Thank you,” I tell her, setting the glass back down onto the sticky bar.

She leans forward on her elbows. “Men are shit. Had that happen to me once, too. My fiancé left me, and I lost the house, my dog, and then the motherfucker went and married my sister.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you and that your fiancé couldn’t see what was right in front of him.” I sigh. “For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure I’m about to lose my house, too.”

Becky grabs the bottle again and refills my glass. “No, I mean I lost the house because he hitched my trailer to his fucking truck and dragged it right out of the goddamned trailer park.”

I can’t help but laugh, holding my mouth closed so I don’t lose any of the precious free booze inside.

“Did you ever find him again?”

She smiles. “Oh yeah, I found him alright. My cousin Irwin lives two towns over and when Joon came driving on through with my house on his hitch he told my cousin he’d rather see it burn to the ground then bring it back to me.”

“So, what did you do?” I ask, taking another swallow. Maybe, I can learn something from Becky’s story.

Becky smiles with a kind of wicked satisfaction I yearn to feel. “What do you think I did?” She leans over the bar once more. “I burned it to the ground.” She winks and pushes off the bar, heading to the far end to serve another customer.

I finish my second vodka-vodka and fish my phone out of my pocket to call Yuli for a ride, since I’m pretty sure sympathy and pity carries a two drink maximum. Only, I can’t get a signal.

I look around and spot a side door that’s been left propped open. Rather than face the hoard of leering bikers in the parking lot, I make my way through the crowd to the door. Once outside in the narrow alleyway between the pawn shop and the bar, I hold up my phone to the sky. Nada.

“Damn it!” I huff. Like this day could get any worse. I’m trapped in a fucking Tina Fey comedy where everything bad that could happen does. Only, my movie isn’t funny because it’s a tragedy.

“You need to make a call?” A voice asks. I turn around, and there are two huge men approaching. They don’t look like bikers. One of the men is bald, wearing a fitted black t-shirt over black dress pants and the other larger men is dressed in a blazer over khakis with slicked back black hair. “You can use my phone,” he says holding it out. “I’ve got signal.”

Feeling less than comfortable in the alley with two strangers who are smiling and snickering as if they’ve just told a joke I don’t get the punchline.

I hold up my hand and take a step back. “No, thanks. My friend is waiting for me inside.”

The larger man, Big Thug, I nickname him in my mind, approaches, blocking my way to the door. “Liar, we saw you come in alone. You ain’t got no friend in there.”

Little Thug grabs my arm. “You’re going to take a ride with us. Got someone who wants to…let’s just say talk to you.”

“No thanks. I’m good on magazine subscriptions, and whatever you’re selling I can’t buy because I’m broke. And I do have a friend in there. A very large friend with muscles and uh...tattoos, yeah, and anger issues. So, if you’ll excuse me.” I try to push between the men, but now they’ve each got a hold on one of my arms and they’re lifting me in the air, walking through the alley. “Let go of me!” I scream, but it’s not like anyone can hear me over the blaring music.

“Don’t’ think that your friend is going to hear you, sweetheart,” Little Thug says.

I spot a large, military green Hummer behind them in the alley and fear stabs me in the heart. I kick and I scream and I fight but I’m outweighed by over a hundred pounds on each side.

Big Thug laughs and opens the door to the Hummer.

All I can see is darkness. Darkness inside the vehicle. Darkness in my future. Darkness in death.

I spread my legs so one foot makes contact with each side of the door, resisting being pushed inside until I feel like my thighs about to give way and snap off my hips.

“We got a fighter,” Little Thug laughs. “So, who is this imaginary friend of yours anyway? You know, just so we can be on the lookout for tall, tattooed, angry, imaginary men.”

“It’s me,” a deep rough voice echoes through the alley.

Both men turn to face the newcomer who emerges from the shadows in all of his tattooed six plus feet of muscular man glory. Black and grey feather Tattoos that start beneath his tight white V-neck t-shirt extend from his short sleeves down the length of his strong biceps making it look as if he has wings. His jeans are slightly baggier than the trendy tight pants I see a lot of men wearing these days. He’s got a thin silver chain double looped around his neck and two more similar chains wrapped around each of his wrists. His bright white sneakers squeak on the damp pavement as he approaches. A vein ticks, making the ring through his right eyebrow jump.

Holy shit. I manifested a real live person.

“Oh yeah, and who the fuck are you?” Big Thug snaps.

“They call me Nine,” he answers. His nostrils flare, his dark eyes unblinking and hyper-focused on where the men are squeezing me on each bicep.

Big Thug shrugs. “Eh, never heard of you.”

Big Thug may have never heard his name before, but I have. My trembling intensifies with my fear, staring but not really seeing the apparition of a man standing before me. A man whose name I’ve heard whispered over crowded dinner tables a thousand times, but have never seen.

Even the most self-absorbed narcissist from the other side of the Causeway knows of King, Bear, and Preppy and the reputations that come with the names. It doesn’t matter who our government officials are. Those are the men who run this town and the people in it. Those three names instill both fear and respect from every walk of life in Logan’s Beach.

Nine is Preppy’s younger brother. Over the last few years, he’s become just as infamous for both his intelligence and unforgiving brutality.

I’ve heard of this brutality firsthand from Jared who told me that Nine shot three of his friends a few years back. Apparently, they were just sitting around a bonfire on the beach when Nine walked by and didn’t like the way the three were looking at him, so he pulled a gun and started firing.

“Put her the fuck down now,” Nine demands in a tone that sounds nothing less than a warning that ends with ‘or else’.

“You’ll have to take that up with our boss,” Big Thug says. “This little bird here is flying away with us.”

“I’d rather take it up with you.” Nine charges the men, giving my captors no choice but to release me to reach for their weapons and keep from being trampled. Nine pushes on my shoulder, sending me sailing to the ground where I land with a thunk on the dusty pavement and crawl towards the wall where I crouch down as low as I can as if I can somehow make myself invisible.

Nine tugs on the thin metal chain hanging from his neck, and it pulls apart in two sections, holding half in each hand like two shiny whips. He flicks his wrists and the chains slice into the skin on the men’s wrists holding their guns, forcing them to open their hands and drop their weapons.

Little Thug charges at Nine. Bending at the waist and baring his teeth, he growls and runs head first quickly on his way to barreling into Nine. But Nine steps to the side, cocks back his arm and connects his tattooed knuckles with Little Thug’s face, sending him flying backwards into the wall. Blood from his nose sprays like a fountain into the air.

Big Thug uses the moment when Nine’s back is turned to go after him. Nine turns back just in time, sending an elbow into Big Thug’s jaw with a sickening crack. He groans, toppling over like a tree onto the pavement.

Nine looks over to me. My pulse races as he takes long strides in my direction. I hold my breath as he gets closer and closer. He pushes a section of light brown hair from over his eye. In addition to his eyebrow ring he has another through one side of his thick bottom lip. His nose is slightly crooked, probably from previous fights because this obviously wasn’t his first.

My reasoning and ability to properly process thoughts is definitely flawed due to shock. It has to be. Otherwise, why in this moment of all moments, while I am still fearing for my life, would I also be admitting to myself or even noticing that Nine is by leaps and bounds the absolute most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

“What are those things?” I point to the chains around his neck that are now reattached and look like a simple necklace.

“They’re called Buddha beads, although mine have been altered to be smaller and…sharper.”

“Sharper…” I hear myself saying.

I mean to ask him why he’s here and why he just bothered to save me when he doesn’t even know me, but in my confusion, I hear myself ask instead, “Who— who are you?” Even though I already know the answer.

“They call me Nine,” he says, looking down at me with his own confusion marring his face. He frowns and runs a hand over his smooth chiseled jaw as if maybe I’m not the girl he thought he was saving, and his rescue is simply a case of mistaken identity.

He reaches down and lifts me to stand, but he doesn’t back away. With nowhere to go, my back is now pressed to the wall. He rakes me over, his gaze trailing from my eyes to my lips as if he’s searching for something.

I swallow hard. My voice shakes. “Why do they call you Nine? Like the number?”

His frown flattens to a straight line. He reaches out and twists a lock of my hair in his hands. “Nine, like the number, but that’s not the reason for the name. Guess again.” His sly grin is irritating yet beautiful which makes it all the more irritating. My pulse is still racing from my near kidnapping and didn’t think my heart could beat any faster but suddenly it’s at full gallop.

I’m confused and scared out of my mind and can’t remember what he just said.

“Guess the right answer, and I’ll step aside.”

I just want to be home wrapped in several layers of blankets for possibly days, maybe even the rest of my life. “Uh…like nine-millimeter? Are in a gang or something? You can be scared straight. I saw a documentary on it once.”

He cocks his head to the side and slowly a small grin spreads across his lips. He chuckles, low and deep. I feel it in my chest, specifically my nipples. He licks the silver ring through his lower lip. “Or something. Keep guessing.”

I look to the back wall of the alley to think. “Nine…as in your favorite number?”

“Close, but still no.”

“Nine, lives? Like a cat?”

He shakes his head.

“What else could it be?” I ask, a small notion creeps up in the back of my brain.

“You’ll get it. In three, two…” His voice trails off.

Without thinking, my eyes drop to his crotch.

“One.”

My cheeks burn. My skin suddenly feels too tight.

“I…I…” I’m tongue-tied. Words are something I’m never at a loss for, but this man has managed to steal them away without much effort at all.

Asshole. Talking is my main coping mechanism. If I don’t have words, I don’t have anything.

“It’s not exactly true though,” he says, leaning over me with his elbow on the wall right beside my very red cheeks. His nearness is like a morning fog, clouding my thoughts with his masculinity. It’s like a drug I’ve never tried but know I’d be addicted to after the very first high.

“Wait, it’s not true?” I ask, hating how breathless I sound.

He reaches out and tips my chin up. My lingering gaze is forced to leave his crotch, locking on his gleaming hazel eyes.

“No,” he leans in, his warm soft lips brushing over my jaw like a soft caress. I have to stop myself from leaning into him and rubbing my face against his touch like a cat begging to be pet.

He lowers his voice to a whisper.

“It’s bigger.”

I ignore the embarrassment creeping up my neck. “Why did you save me?” I ask, searching his dark hazel eyes for an answer that doesn’t come.

The alley door swings all the way open, and Becky appears, cigarette in hand. She surveys the scene and the two unconscious men and rolls her eyes. “I told you this wasn’t no place for you, darlin’.” She lights her cigarette.

Nine pushes off the wall and away from me. The heat from his body gone. The humid air feels a thousand degrees cooler between us.

I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “You were right, Becky. This place isn’t for me. I was just leaving.”

Without another word, I dart through the door and leave Becky and Nine behind in the alleyway. As I pass through the crowded and loud bar and run out the front door and sprint halfway down the street, I swear I can hear Nine’s frustrated growl trailing me the entire way.

CHAPTER NINE

NINE

I DIDN’T EXPECT Lenore Leary to be so…interesting.

There’s beauty in her sadness. Depth to her despair.

Something about it, something about her calls to me.

Protect her, a voice in my head says.

I laugh it off. That’s not going to happen.

After all, I’m the one she needs protecting from.

I watched her from the parking lot as she entered Pike’s Pawn and was taken aback. I expected her to be the trophy wife type since she was Jared’s girl, but I’d painted her as demonic in my mind, and she’s anything but grotesque or hellish.

A little thing, at least a foot shorter than myself. Long brown, wavy hair. Large wide-set eyes are a pale green-blue that reminds me of sea glass dressed in a pair of navy-blue rimmed glasses. Thick rosy lips. Long eyelashes that batted with fear and confusion.

Lenny isn’t in-your-face pretty, but there’s something there. Something natural. I almost brought attention to myself and laughed out loud as I watched her down vodka at the bar like it was water and she’d just crossed the fucking Sahara. She’s different.

Adorable, even.

Adorable? Get your shit together, Nine.

I shake my head to clear any thought away that doesn’t involve locating our money. I can’t afford distractions. Especially if the distraction at hand is my current target. I’ve got questions for her, and for her sake, Lenny Leary better have the right answers.

“How exactly do you know her?” Pike asks, as I come back in from the alley. “Because holy shit, she’s a fuckin’ smoke show.”

I’m still amped up from saving her ass from Ricco’s men and pissed that Becky prevented me from taking Lenny with me as I’d planned. I shoot Pike a death glare as if I wasn’t just thinking the very same thing. “She’s Jared Cox’s girl,” I grate. “Ex-girl.”

“That was her?” He notices the blood splatter on my white shirt. “What the fuck happened? I thought you were just following her to the bar so you could wait for the right time when she’d be alone to pounce.”

Pike’s choice of the word pounce is eerily accurate for what I wanted to do to Lenny when I saw her.

“I followed her right into the alley where Ricci’s men appeared and tried to haul her off. They’ve been taken care of. Tied up in their Hummer. I’ve got one of Bear’s guys driving them and their Hummer into the Everglades.”

“He going to take them out?” Pike asks.

“Does it matter?”

Pike twists his lips. “Nope. It really doesn’t. But what about the girl? Where is she now?

“No clue, but I’ll be finding out.”

I walk over to the back wall and pull down one of my guns that’s not for sale even though it may look like it is. I think of it as hiding in plain sight or a convenient storage solution.

“I guess your plan to sit back and let her lead you to the cash is on the shelf,” Pike laughs, lighting a joint. He passes it to me, and I take a deep hit.

I rub my temple with my wrist. “You’d guess right. There’s no way in hell I’m letting Ricci’s men get to her.” I tuck the gun in my waistband and head for the door.

“At least, not before I do.”

CHAPTER TEN

LENNY

THESE PAST SEVERAL DAYS, I’ve felt nothing but suffocated, although it’s a suffocation of my own doing. On the pretense of wanting to spend as much time with her as possible, I’ve spent the last week locked inside Yuli’s apartment, doing nothing but checking the help wanted ads and helping Yuli pack. And it’s true. I do want to spend as much time with her as possible before she leaves for Africa, but after what happened in the alley, I also just didn’t want to be alone.

Even though I’ve been physically suffocated, spending time with my best friend has been a breath of fresh air. She’s been my only real friend amongst a town of fake people since I was a kid. Right now, I’m smiling genuinely for the first time in over a week. Even though I’m hiding feelings of terror over almost being kidnapped in the alley of a biker bar, the smile itself is real. Instead, I’m choosing to watch the show Yuli is currently putting on by flirting with the barista at our favorite coffee house.

The best part about Yuli’s flirting is that it sounds a lot like yelling and harassing with a side of embarrassment, and not a damn thing like actual flirting.

I unscrew my flask and dump the entire contents into my coffee. Since I don’t have a car anymore, I can’t drive, and therefore, I no longer have a need to be sober.

Ever.

“Tell me, why is this cafe racist?” Yuli barks. “I mean, I expect shit like this from the chicken place down the street and the home store on the next block, but I don’t expect a side of racism with my latte from here.”

“Ummm…excuse me, ma’am?” The barista asks, nervously adjusting his dark green visor.

“You heard me,” Yuli raises her voice. “What does this cup say?” She points to the name the barista wrote on her cup and the flustered young man leans in, squinting to read it.

“Yo-yo-yo-landa.”

“Exactly. Yolanda. But you see, my name is spelled with a U and two A’s. This shit right here is racist as fuck. Not all Blaxicans spell our names the same. Tell me something.” She leans over the counter. “You a racist, Stephen?”

The barista looks terrified while I know Yuli is enjoying the torment as always. Her bright brown eyes are hyper-focused on her victim like a cheetah about to pounce. Her wild, chin-length, curly brown hair bounces with her movements as she gestures from the cup to the barista, pointing her accusing finger from one to the other.

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry. I just…I didn’t think. My aunt’s name is Yolanda, and that’s how she spells it.” The poor kid couldn’t be more than twenty years old. Cute, tall, and lanky. He’s practically shaking.

“Ma’am?” Yuli rolls her eyes. “Don’t get me started on ma’am.”

The barista’s face reddens, then pales as all the blood rushes from his face. I try not to laugh because that would be cruel, but it’s not the first time I’ve seen Yuli do this to someone, and I know it won’t be the last.

“Listen, white boy.” She points to his chest and leans her ample breasts over the counter. Stephen catches himself looking, then his eyes go wide and snap back to her face. “You’re cute as hell, so I’m gonna give you a pass on this one.” She raises her finger and wags it slowly. “But don’t let this shit happen again.”

“Yes, ma’am. I mean…Yulaanda with a U and two A’s.” The young man replies with a small smile. “And of course, your coffee is on the house.”

“Damn right, it is,” Yuli says. She picks up a sharpie from the pen cup by the register and plucks an empty cup from the stack next to it. She scribbles something on the cup and hands it to him. “That’s the correct way to spell my name. Just so you remember for next time.” Then, she winks. “And that…” she points to the cup and lowers her voice from accusing to downright seductive. “…is my correct phone number. Hit me up, and maybe, we can figure out all of the other ways I can make you tremble.”

She winks, then turns around, missing his shoulders falling and his deep exhale. She grins as she plops down across from me at the table by the window and lets out a deep sigh of satisfaction. She turns and stares at the barista who now has his back turned to us while working the espresso machine. He glimpses over his shoulder, and she smiles and gives him a flirty wave. His entire face reddens again as he returns the smile and goes back to serving the long line of impatient customers.

“Was that really necessary?” I ask her. “Your name is honestly spelled pretty funky. I don’t think he’s a racist.”

“Oh, I know that. My mama either had a sense of humor or was illiterate AF when she named me. Don’t know. Don’t care. Never met the woman.” She bites her bottom lip. “And do I think he hates black people? Nope, because when I get back in town in a year I am going to make that man fall in love with me. And to answer your question, was that little show of mine necessary?” She glances at his back once more and takes a sip of her free coffee. “Nope. But was it worth it to see that fine piece of freckled red-headed ass all hot and flustered?” She shutters and looks back at me with a wicked smirk. “Abso-fucking-lutley.”

I chuckle. “I’d hate to see you in an actual argument.” I take a sip of my vodka-coffee.

She shrugs. “It’s pretty much the same. Except, I don’t get all tingly after. I save most of my fighting for sex.”

Our eyes meet over the rim of our drinks, and I can’t help but laugh at my friend.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me tomorrow. It’s going to be boring around here without you,” I say.

“No doubt. But you’ll have the Stepfords.” I cringe. The Stepfords are the wives and girlfriends that run the social circles on this side of the causeway. Their leader? None other than Lori.

Yuli peers back over to the barista and meets his eye. She blows him a kiss. His face turns purple as he sheepishly grins then looks across the counter to the next customer in line. “I sure will miss this place. Maybe, I’ll come back here before I leave for the airport in the morning and suck him off behind the counter while he’s serving customers.”

“It’s so selfish of you to leave me.”

“Speaking of which, why didn’t you tell me about Jared?”

I shrug. I’m not surprised she found out without me telling her. This town is gossip central.

“Because you don’t need more things to worry about when you’re leaving, and I’ll be fine. He left me. Not a big deal.”

She doesn’t believe me. I know she doesn’t. “Jared was always a dickhead. I’m not surprised he got some sense in his head and left you to discover all the worthier men you could be allowing the pleasure of penetrating you. Any clue where he is?”

I shake my head. “Nope. No one else seems to know either.”

“You’re better off without him,” she says. “But tell me one little thing... what really happened to your car?”

“I told you. It broke down.” I take a big gulp of my drink, and I don’t know if my throat burns from the heat of the coffee or the copious amounts of vodka I poured in it. I change the subject. “And I’m not hanging out with the Stepfords,” I say, changing the subject. “I’ll have to make new friends.”

Lying to your best friend? You seem to be reaching a new low with every word that leaves your mouth.

Yuli smiles. “As long as these new friends treat you well and are easily disposable when I come back.”

“Deal,” I agree, and we clink our cups together.

“Besides, you’re not really supposed to like your friends anyway,” she retorts.

“That’s not true. I like you,” I argue.

She shrugs. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

Her face turns serious. She reaches across the table and sets her hand on mine. “I won’t be gone forever. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I know,” I say, trying not to cry for the thousandth time today. “I’ll be fine.”

“And one more thing, you never told me why I had to come pick you up on the other side of the Causeway last week. I know your car broke down, but why were you there in the first place?”

I take another sip to buy me time and come up with an answer.

You mean more lies.

“I was at a pawn shop, looking for my mother’s raven pendant. They had something similar on their online store, so I wanted to go in person and check it out. It wasn’t even close. Then, my car broke down, and I had it towed to the mechanic where it will probably be for the next thousand years. Thank god for Uber.”

Liar, you can’t afford Uber either. Your credit cards have all been shut off.

“You’ll find your necklace one day, and maybe, when you do, you’ll find him, too,” Yuli adds with a wink.

Yuli is the only person I ever told about that night. Even Jared never knew I survived a fall from the causeway or met someone that same night. Or that I’ve spent more time thinking about the boy from the bridge during my time with Jared than I did about him.

“Before I forget, can you check my mail for me while I’m gone?” Yuli asks.

“At your apartment?” Hope sparks within me at the idea that Yuli decided not to give up her lease after all. That way when I’m tossed out on my ass I’ll have a place to crash.

She waves her hand dismissively. “No, the movers came this morning and took everything to storage, including the bed in the guest bedroom so unfortunately, as much as I loved having you, I only have my mattress on the floor so camp Lenny-Yuli has officially come to an end. I rented a PO box for my mail.”

Damn. It was a longshot but still, damn.

Yuli tosses a small set of keys onto the table. She wags her eyebrows. “It’s box 6969.”

“Of course, it is.” I take the keys and shove them into my purse. “I’ll check it every week.”

“Are you sure that you’re going to be okay, Len?” Her eyes are filled with nothing but love and concern, making me uneasy about lying to the one person who has always been there for me since my parents died.

“It’s a breakup, not a breakdown. I’ll be fine. I swear it. I have a lead on a new job and another interview tomorrow,” I lie. “I’ll be great. I swear.”

She claps her hands together, rubbing her palms up and down. “What do you say we hit the town tonight? One last girls’ night for an entire year.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, and in the corner of my eye, I glimpse muscles and tattoos walking by the window. I turn my head, but there’s no-one there.

Great, now I’m seeing things.

“Len?” she asks. I snap my head back to hers. “Girls’ night?”

“Uh yeah, maybe?” Is the most solid answer I can come up with.

“I’ll take that as a yes!” she says triumphantly. “Oh, before I forget, I’ll give you the mailing address of the camp before I leave. Because if I’m able to accept mail there, I’m going to need you to send me care packages with things like shampoo, conditioner, lotion, magazines, weed...”

We both laugh. My smile hiding all my untold truths.

“Done,” I agree.

She points to me. “And the second I get back, you better believe that I’m coming straight over to you.”

“You better.” Although, I’m not sure where she’ll be coming to see me.

Do park benches have addresses?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LENNY

OF ALL OF the places there are to sit in this monstrous house, I find myself on the floor in the foyer with my back to the stairs. Spread out before me is every picture Jared and I have ever taken together, plus a few albums from my life prior to my parents’ deaths. I’m torturing myself. I know this, but I can’t stop either. Torture isn’t something you come back from. It’s meant to keep you suffering to the end, and apparently, that’s my plan for the evening. Eternal emotional suffering. At least, until the vodka knocks me out.

“Perversity is the human thirst for self-torture,” I mutter. The Edgar Allan Poe quote makes me think of my mother. I lift an old album and flip open the page to a picture of me and my mom and my dad during a trip to Disney World my freshman year of high school.

All three of us are sporting huge cheesy grins while at the camera. “Hi,” I say, tracing my fingers over my parents. I miss them, but I realize that I miss more than them. I look to the younger version of myself.

I miss me, too. The girl I used to be. The one who isn’t holding a half empty bottle of vodka while wondering if there’s enough spare change lying around this house to buy another when this one runs out.

My phone buzzes, and I glance over at the screen.

YULI: There’s a party tonight! Let’s go! Last night out!!!!!!

I sigh and look around the floor at the scattered pictures from my past and land on a picture of my parents holding up a set of keys, standing in front of the first house they ever sold. I know it’s Yuli’s last night, but I’m too busy wallowing in self-pity to party. I type out the text but before I hit send she sends me another one.

YULI: BTW you can’t say no. I leave tomorrow, and I need to get my drunk on with my favorite person. Oh yeah, if my amazing presence doesn’t motivate you, maybe, free booze will?

Shit. I can’t bail on her. I erase my earlier message and send a different one.

ME: Not in the mood to party, but I want to see you. Come over. Bring tacos.

I lift the almost empty bottle of vodka to my lips.

ME: And vodka.

The second I hit send, the house goes completely dark. I stand up from the floor and step over the sea of scrapbooks and photo albums to hit the light switch.

Nothing.

I pull the curtain aside and look out the window. There’s a Florida Power and Light truck in the driveway. I walk outside and approach the man in uniform, who is attaching something to my electric meter. It’s a lock. “What’s going on?” I ask.

He turns around, startled. He points his flashlight in my face and I hold my hands up to block the blinding light until he redirects it to the ground.

“Sorry, about that, ma’am, and I’m sorry about the late hour, but it’s the end of my shift, and I usually don’t do many disconnects out here on this side of the bridge, so I saved it for last. Don’t worry though. They’ll send me right back out when the bill gets paid.”

Shit!

The electric bills always went to Jared’s office, which is a moot point where they were mailed because it’s not like I could pay them if they came to me. “Wait, please. Can you just put it back on now, and I promise I’ll sort it out with your office first thing tomorrow?” I don’t exactly know how I plan on sorting it out, but at the very least, I can buy myself some more time and some more power I can’t afford.

He shuffles backward, packing up his tools. “Sorry ma’am. I can’t afford to lose my job in this economy. I have to follow the rules. Got a family to take care of. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding, you having this nice house and all, I’m sure you’ll get it sorted out quickly. In the meantime, why don’t you stay at one of the nice hotels nearby until we can get back out here.”

Wouldn’t that be nice. My credit cards were all company cards, and they’re maxed out.

As much as I wish this was a misunderstanding, it’s not. It’s the universe literally turning the lights out on my life.

I nod, and offer the man a small smile, finding myself unable to argue with someone who is just doing his job to support his family. “I understand. I’ll do that. Thank you.”

He hands me a piece of paper. “I was going to attach this to the door, but since you’re here.” I take it. “Have a good day, ma’am.”

He gets back in his truck and takes off down the road. I go back inside the house, but it’s too dark to read the paper. So, I step out onto the back lanai.

DISCONNECT NOTICE. 90 DAYS PAST DUE.

Ninety days! It goes on to say that the amount has to be paid in full, plus the reconnection fees in order to get the electric back on. The grand total is $3,876.24.

“Fuuuuucccckkkk!” I scream, crumpling the paper and throwing it into the dark pool. I don’t have that kind of money.

I don’t have any money.

I go back inside to find the hurricane kit, which hopefully contains a working flashlight or some electric candles. The only current light in the dark space comes courtesy of my phone currently vibrating across the hall table.

YULI: If that’s what you really want, then I’ll be there in twenty minutes. But are you sure about not going to the party? Nurse Yuli thinks a little fun is just the prescription you need right about now.

Fun. Ha! Fun seems like an impossible concept, but I also can’t let Yuli come here and see that the electricity has been shut off. I don’t need her worried about me before her trip. Or worse, not going at all. And I don’t want to sit in the dark by myself either.

ME: Come pick me up in twenty minutes.

Remembering the lights, I send one more.

ME: I’ll wait for you by the gate.

“I THOUGHT you said that we’re going to a party?” I ask as our Uber turns onto the main road.

“We are,” Yuli replies, but there’s something she’s not telling me. I know this because she keeps looking out the window to avoid making eye contact with me.

“Then, why are you dressed like that?” I point to her ripped jeans and the cropped short sleeved jean jacket she’s wearing over a low-cut white tank. She looks funky and casual while I look ready to attend The Logan’s Beach orchestra’s final performance of the season.

She turns her attention away from the window and smiles guiltily. “Because I never mentioned what kind of party we’re going to,” she sings wickedly.

I look out the window and notice we are on the causeway. “Yuli! Where exactly are you taking me?” I’ve had enough of that side for a while. Not that Yuli knows anything about that.

“A party, just like I told you.”

“And where exactly is this party?” I press.

“Oh, you know, just a hop, skip, and a jump over the causeway. Nothing to worry about, Lenny. It’s not like you’re not going to get initiated into a biker gang. Well, at least not on your first night, you gotta earn that honor,” she teases, nudging my shoulder.

I don’t laugh. Not because it isn’t funny—it is—but right now, I’m numb all over, including my funny bone.

“Len, it’s just a bonfire. We always used to talk about going to parties on the other side with real people who don’t want to talk about portfolios and numbers and decorating and blah blah blaaahhhh. I wanted us to do something different on my last night. I’ll be gone for a year, and I don’t want to spend my last few hours at one of those business mixers or one of Lori’s boring-ass dinner parties or at the dull as fuck martini bar. Shit, we party like we’re fifty, and we’re only in our mid-twenties. Let’s act like it for once. Let’s live a little.” She raises one eyebrow. “Unless, you think you’re too good for the folk on this side,” she teases.

I roll my eyes. “Of course, I don’t think that. You know me, but I’m not exactly dressed for a bonfire.” I wave my hands down my body to bring her attention to the fitted black sleeveless dress I’m wearing that barely grazes my mid-thigh. “And these aren’t exactly outdoor shoes.” I lift my foot to show her the heel on my nude four-inch pumps.

“You look fantastic. You always do.”

I put my foot down. “I look ridiculous.”

“You want me to ask our driver to turn around and take us back to your house so you can change? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

I manage to smile at my friend. She’s right. We’ve always talked about going to one of these parties, but Jared smashed the idea down the one time I’d brought it up saying how dangerous it would be. Man, he really was fucking boring. A realization hits me.

“Shit, Yuli, am I…boring?”

“Drunk and boring, but yeah, boring nonetheless.”

I gasp.

Yuli grabs my arm. “Don’t worry. It hasn’t spread yet; there’s still time for a cure…but only if you’re willing to walk on the wild side with me tonight.”

“Cure me, Yuli.”

“Yes! That’s my girl!” She hugs me, then looks up with her arms still around my shoulders. “Do you want to go change first? Personally, I’d go wearing what you have on because one thing that dress isn’t is boring.”

“You’re the nurse,” I say. “The dress it is.”

“You are going to have fun tonight Lenny,” she lowers her voice to evil-movie-villain level. “Even if I have to kill you.”

“I thought the expression was ‘even if it kills you?’”

“Not tonight it’s not.” She shrugs off her light jean jacket, “Here. This might make the look a little more casual.”

I take it and shrug it on.

“Perfection, my dahlin’,” Yuli purrs. She looks at me for a minute then scrunches her nose.

“What?” I ask. “Do I have something on my face?”

A wide grin takes up her entire face. “No, I just realized something. You’ve only ever dated Jared. So, you’ve never broken up with anyone before, which means you’ve never discovered the best part of a breakup.”

“And?” I ask, waving my hand for her to continue. “That is?”

The Uber turns onto a dirt road while Yuli starts dancing, grinding her hips to the music coming from somewhere beyond the trees. “The best part of a breakup, my dear Lenny, is finding someone new to fuck.”

The Uber driver stops in front of what looks like the woods. “We’re here,” he says. “Have a good night, ladies.”

“Here?” I ask, peering out the window at nothing. “Where is here?”

“Thank you!” Yuli shouts, hopping out of the car.

“Fuck, even my thoughts are boring,” I mutter to myself, climbing out of the car.

“What’s that, miss?” The driver calls out.

“I said have a good night, sir,” I reply before shutting the door.

I join Yuli who bounces on her sneakers with excitement while I navigate the soft earth in my ridiculous shoes and try not to fall.

“Through here.” Yuli heads to a break in the bushes, revealing a small pathway between. I’ve been all over Logan’s Beach while running Leary Real Estate, but very rarely on this side of the causeway. I don’t even think I’ve ever been on this road before.

“You sure about this?” I ask as we continue deeper into the wooded area.

Yuli gives me a you’re killing my vibe look.

I take a deep breath and fluff my hair. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Let’s do this.” I pull the strap out from inside of my purse and sling it over my shoulder.

The path leads us through some more trees into a large open field beside a farm of some sort with knee high green plants in dozens of neat rows.

Despite all my reservations, I find my heart thumping in my chest with excitement. Yuli is right. Doing something completely out of my element is exactly what I need tonight.

The open area beside the farm is filled with people. Overhead, white lights hang from wires zigzagging from large metal poles in the corner. A fire pit in the center rages with a fire at least ten feet tall. There are a ton of bikers, mostly members of The Lawless MC, but there are more than just bikers here. Some men don’t have cuts. Some don’t even have shirts. There are women everywhere, and couples all over, laughing or grinding on one another on top of the back deck, lawn chairs, the grass…every available surface space.

“How exactly did you know about this party?” I whisper to Yuli who looks like she just walked through the gates of heaven, staring out over the yard in complete awe and wonderment.

“I invited her,” a voice answers.

We both turn to find a woman in her mid to early twenties with long icy blonde hair and matching bright eyes smiling at us.

“Lenny, this is Ray,” Yuli says, making the introductions.

“It’s great to meet you,” I tell her. Needing to say something more to sound interesting, I add, “I used to be in real estate, and I never knew about this place.”

Fail.

“We like to keep things pretty private around here,” she says. “Welcome to Logan’s Beach’s first medical marijuana field. We are celebrating the first contract for Clearwater Cannabis.”

A business opening party? I’ve been to those before. This isn’t really so different if you don’t consider the location, bikers, half-naked women, and the marijuana field center piece.

Ray gives Yuli with a warm hug. “I’m so glad that you could make it. Come on, let’s get you two a drink.”

“How do you two know each other?” I ask as Ray leads the way over to a wooden deck area next to a small building I assume houses the field offices. Ray playfully shoves a biker who’s sitting on top of a big cooler. He stands and steps to the side.

Ray digs around in the ice and emerges with three beers, handing one to each of us.

“Yuli was the nurse in the ER the night my daughter, Nicole Grace, swallowed a refrigerator magnet,” Ray says, looking sad for a moment before glancing gratefully over at Yuli. “She saved her life.”

“Well, one thing is for sure. I’ll never look at Hello Kitty the same way ever again,” Yuli responds with a laugh.

“That’s right. It was a Hello Kitty…” Ray and Yuli continue their conversation as I turn and look around the yard. The music and people are infectious. If Jared knew I was here, he’d…it doesn’t matter. He chose to leave. Me. Us. This town. What he’d think or feel is irrelevant because the bastard isn’t here.

I notice a lot of men staring in my direction, and I can’t help but feel flattered, if not slightly to majorly uncomfortable. I turn back around to Yuli and Ray, and my heel gets caught in the grass. Thankfully, Yuli breaks my fall.

“What size shoe do you wear?” Ray asks, pointing at my feet.

“A seven. They fit just fine, but they aren’t exactly all-terrain.”

Ray chuckles. “On the other side of this building is an RV. I changed in there earlier, and I know I have a few pairs of flip flops stored inside. Check the blue tote bag in the cabinet under the stove. I’m sure you’ll find what you need in there. There’s no reason to be uncomfortable all night.”

“Oh my god, you’re like my shoe guardian angel,” I say. “Thank you!”

I raise my beer over my shoulder to salute her because I’m already halfway around the building to the RV. It’s one of those older, tour bus models. The kind that Beyoncé wouldn’t be caught dead in, but the perfect fit for say a recently reunited boy band’s grand tour of Northern Iowa.

I push through the crowd of people and enter the darkened RV that feels like another world compared to the party raging outside. It’s quiet in here. Too quiet. I hurry to find the better shoe options so I can get back outside to the blissful mind-numbing noise.

I can’t find the light switch, and only the dim light from the moon is shining through the small window. I kick off my shoes and hold them in one hand while I navigate through the small kitchen. I locate the stove and crouch down. I find the bag and unzip it. Sure enough, there are a few pairs of flip flops inside. I grab a pair of comfortable-looking black ones and shove my feet into them.

An eerie feeling like before hisses down my neck like dozens of tiny snakes sinking their needle-like fangs into my skin as they go.

That’s my cue to leave.

I turn and race back to the door, but I collide head-on with a massive wall of a road block. My hands shoot out to brace myself, and I immediately notice that the wall is warm. And hard. And muscular. And smells like cigarette smoke and light masculine cologne.

Probably, because it’s not a wall. It’s a him.

“Do you make stealing from people a habit?” a deep raspy voice filled with warning asks.

I raise my eyes, and dread pools in my stomach. Immediately, I recognize the owner of the hard, good-smelling wall-chest. The man from the alley.

Nine.

His eyes are dark and serious. Heated just like his skin…oh, shit. His skin. I can still feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt because I’m still touching him.

I take a step back, but he grabs my arms and holds me firmly in place.

“What are you doing here?” I ask breathlessly.

“What am I doing here? You’re on my side of the causeway. In my RV. The question is, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I suppose you’re going to be yet another person who tells me that I don’t belong here? Fine. Let me go, and I’ll leave.”

“You’ll leave when I say you can. Why are you in here?” He slowly moves forward until my back is flush with a wall of cabinets.

“Ray told me to come in here and borrow a pair of her shoes,” I grunt. “And, seeing as you don’t know me very well, I’ll just tell you now that I’m not a kid. I can make my own decisions, and I don’t have to answer your questions. Are we clear? I’m a grown woman. I got this.” I push on his chest, but he doesn’t move, and as much as I’m trying to get across my message to this guy, I can’t help my thighs from shaking with his proximity.

“Yes, you are,” he says, raking me over with his eyes. “But being in here still isn’t a good idea.”

“Who the hell are you to say that to me? I was invited, and last time I checked, you’re not my keeper. Thanks for saving me from Benny and the Jet in the alley, but I don’t owe you anything. I don’t even know you or anything about you except that your name is Nine, and that you took down those guys in the alley with your fancy necklace that I assume they don’t sell at Tiffany’s.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he asks, his hard stare shifts gears to slightly amused.

I swallow hard. “Yep. I have anxiety. The need to fill the silence with word vomit is one of the sexier side-effects. You don’t like it? I’ll be happy to be on my merry, babbling way.”

“Maybe, I do like it.”

We’re both quiet, save for the loud pounding of my heart beneath my ribs. “I should get back to my friend,” I say, but I don’t move.

“Lenny, you’re not going anywhere,” he growls. He leans in, and his lips brush over mine. My entire body comes alive like a street light buzzing to life.

“Lenny, there you are!” Yuli shouts opening the door to the RV with a loud bang. I jump away from Nine. “Get out here, and have a drink with me. What the hell is taking you so long?”

I’m leaving when a thought occurs to me, “Wait, how do you know my name?”

“Lenny!” Yuli calls again.

He stands there with words on the tip of his tongue, but I decide not to stick around and wait for whatever bullshit answer he’s probably trying to come up with, even though I know the result of not hearing what he might have to say has a high chance of haunting me for the rest of my life and cause me many agonizing nights of sleeplessness.

But then again, so did the ending of Game of Thrones.

Because, anxiety.

Besides, I already have enough material from the past week to keep me awake for ten lifetimes without lumping Nine’s non-answers onto the steaming pile of shit my life has become.

Yuli is barely keeping up with me as I’m practically running to the cooler, praying I’ll find a chilled bottle of vodka hidden beneath the ice and beer.

Go ahead, ignore me. See where that gets you.

I freeze.

The voice of my anxiety has always been a girl, but suddenly, it’s changed. It’s now a man’s voice.

And not just any man.

The voice belongs to Nine.

NINE

Like all humans, behind my rib cage is an organ that pumps blood to the rest of my body, otherwise known as my heart. I’ve never before paid it much attention.

Until now.

Until the light from the moon through the window exposed the pale smooth skin of her neck. Until I breathed in her smell of some girly scented soap. Suddenly, I am all too aware of my heartbeat. Because one second it speeds up, and the next, it feels like it stops all together. Through all this crazy pumping and sputtering the only place it seems to be sending any blood too is straight to my fucking cock.

I leave my RV and immediately spot Lenny. She’s several yards ahead of me, walking with her friend from the café back toward the bonfire. I follow but keep my distance.

The little jacket she’s wearing over her scrap of a dress doesn’t mask what it really is or what it does for her body. Low cut in the front, it shows off the swell of her high, rounded breasts generously portioned to her tiny frame. With every step she takes, the fabric of her figure-hugging black dress rides up little by little, along with my pulse. Any minute now, the generous, heart-shaped perfection of her ass is going to be on full display to any man who notices, which will be any man with a heartbeat and a cock.

She’s oblivious to the stares. To the fact that every man here is probably imagining the same thing I am. Bending her over the nearest anything and taking her rough and hard. That dress is downright dangerous. A distraction I don’t need. I’m supposed to be a danger to Lenny, not the other way around.

I’m beginning to regret my decision to lure Lenny here by asking Ray to invite Yuli, but I couldn’t resist using Ray’s connection to the nurse who helped her daughter to bring Lenny to me instead of me waiting outside an apartment complex she was obviously never coming out of.

I fucked up in the RV. I was supposed to go in behind her. Scare the truth out of her. But I hesitated when I saw her.

When I wanted her.

It won’t happen again. I’ll get her out of here as soon as I can take her without being noticed to somewhere much more private where I’ll get my answers.

One way or another.

Lenny is now bending over the cooler, searching for something in the ice. The bottom crease of her ass peeking out from her dress feeds the lust-filled looks from several men nearby.

Fuck.

Unnoticed is going to be damn near impossible.

CHAPTER TWELVE

LENNY

“VICTORY IS MINE!” I shout to myself. I found vodka because there is a God. I pour myself a generous amount of the liquid love into a red solo cup. I do a little victory dance and spin around almost colliding with Nine once again.

“Stalk much?” I ask with a hand on my hip.

“Lately or in general?” he smirks. His humor takes me by surprise, and I find that I don’t know how to respond to him when he’s not being the scary man lurking in the shadows or in alleyways.

“It doesn’t matter, either will keep me awake at night,” I admit.

He sucks in his bottom lip. “Why, are you planning on dreaming about me, Lenny?”

I stand on my tip toes and stare right into his beautiful arrogant eyes. “We all have nightmares, Nine.”

“Nine!” We both turn to see a man approaching. It’s Pike. The guy from the pawn shop. He greets Nine with a bro-hug and a back-slap, then turns to me. “Lenny, I’m surprised to see you here.”

Pike gives Nine one of those knowing side glances. “Trina says that your stuff’s going faster than we thought. I should have a dollar amount for you soon, but don’t expect much. A lot of the time, it’s only twenty percent of the value, less after fees.”

“Thank you,” I say. Hopefully, it will be enough to turn the electric back on while I search for a job, which gives me an idea. “Pike, if you’re ever hiring, can you keep me in mind? I’m looking for a job.”

“You want to work in a pawn shop?” Nine asks.

“I don’t want to work anywhere. Like most of the population, I want to sun my bare ass in Cabo, but those aren’t the cards I’ve been dealt, which leads us back to the current question at hand. Are you hiring? Because I used to work in real estate. I know the value of things.”

“Values of buildings and houses aren’t the same as the value of jewelry or instruments,” Pike points out, tipping up his beer.

I shrug. “You’re right. I know the real estate market is so different from the market for goods and valuables.” I point with my beer to a stilt house lit up between the trees across the field. “For example, I can tell you that house is an Old Florida style stilt home built in the 1940’s and is very rare, since the majority of homes left in this area, with that particular style are newer bungalows, whereas that one is three stories and would be considered an estate or governor-style home. It’s been renovated, and the interior has yet to be seen, but as long as it supports the feel of the original design, that’s what matters. The real money is in its location, off the beaten path but close to both sides of the causeway with water access through the bay on the other side. I’d estimate the value to be somewhere in the high six to low seven figures.”

Pike nods and scratches at his goatee. “Impressive, but like I said—”

I cut him off and continue, “Whereas the silver ring on your pinky finger is an antique. A Classon ring made by George Classon in the early nineteen hundreds for the members of the first official MC in South Florida, The Venom MC. There’s only twelve in existence, and the ones that have sold at auction no longer have the three-carat black diamond, whereas your ring is obviously still intact.”

Pike stares down at the ring and looks up at me with his jaw open as Nine watches on silently.

“Its value is somewhere between sixty-thousand to a hundred thousand dollars, depending if you find the right buyer, preferably a collector who knows that the only other original Classon rings in existence are heirlooms that have been passed down to the original members’ families and are rarely available for purchase.”

Pike looks up from his ring. “Okay, so what would you offer me if I were to bring this into the pawn shop?”

“If you’d want to pawn the ring, I’d lend around twenty-five percent of the lowest value, so fifteen thousand. If you wanted to sell it to the shop, I’d be willing to go up to fifty percent of the lowest value, so thirty-thousand, but since the market for the item is specific, I’d start the offer at twenty-thousand. On trade…” I tilt my head and think, tapping my finger against my chin. “I wouldn’t trade. Not without knowing the current values of what you have in the shop to offer.”

“Fuck me,” Pike says.

“Holy shit. How do you know all that?” Nine asks.

“There’s an advantage to growing up on the other side of the causeway. Rich people love their charity auctions, and they love talking about the value of all the stupid useless shit they buy even more. Conversation pieces are a must because a lot of them can’t come up with anything to talk about on their own.” I look to Pike. “Do you want me go into the difference between the values of classic pianos? Because there’s a big difference between a Steinway and a Fazioli when it comes to worth, depending, of course, on the year made, the condition, if it was used in concert or as part of—”

“Come in on Monday. We’ll talk,” Pike says.

I smile triumphantly. “Thank you. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Nine smiles at me, and it’s not condescending. He looks…almost…proud. Which is ridiculous. He can’t be proud of me. He doesn’t even know me.

I take a swig of my drink, partially to hide my smile, but it’s empty.

“I’ll go get us another round,” Nine says. He points to Pike who holds up his empty beer.

“Yeah, man. I’ll take another,” Pike says.

Nine walks off toward the keg next to the cooler, and every woman with a pulse watches him like a pack of turkey vultures waiting to pounce.

“How do you know, Nine?” I ask.

“Been friends our whole lives. Did a stint in a couple foster homes together. Another few in juvie.” He gives me a long, hard look. “And uh, how do you know him?”

“I don’t. He appeared literally out of nowhere, but looking at that—” I point to one woman (out of many) appraising him. “—makes me feel like I know his type.”

We both watch as, one by one, women approach him with their shoulders back and assets out.

“Oh, yeah?” Pike raises an eyebrow and shoots me a sideways smirk. “Shoot, then. What do you think Nine’s type is? I’m interested to hear your take.”

“Well, just look at him.” I point to where he’s pouring a dark-haired girl a beer from the keg. The girl leans over the keg without even trying to pretend she’s not interested, putting her ample cleavage on display. I snort.

“So, you’re saying his type is helpful?” Pike asks, not understanding what I’m getting at.

“I’m saying look at the way women are throwing themselves at him. He’s…okay he’s like ridiculously good looking. It’s a fact like science and the periodic tables and all that. Tall. Tattoos. Muscles. Lips…” I trail off, remembering how those very lips brushed on mine.

“You were saying,” Pike presses, looking amused as he talks into his empty cup.

“You know what I mean. He can have his pick of any willing girl here, and from the looks of it, that’s the majority of them. My guess is that he’s the type of guy that has a different girl in his bed every night. I’m not slut-shaming, just observing.” I raise my free hand in surrender.

“Listen, you seem cool, and you know the value of shit, but the way you’re looking at the value of people, this person in particular, is all wrong.”

“You’re saying he doesn’t take a different girl home every night?”

He looks over to Nine again. “I’m saying that the truth might surprise you.”

“And what exactly is the truth?”

“Go on, look for yourself. Really look. Not at the women gaping at him like they’re front row at a Magic Mike show. At him.”

I look back over, and this time I try to ignore the girls twirling their hair in their fingers and giggling. The one girl has turned into a crowd of three. I look past their sex-crazed eyes, and I do what Pike says. I look at Nine. Just Nine. And he’s talking to them but not blatantly flirting. There’s no touching even when a girl smashes her breasts together in what looks like an attempt to point out some sort of tattoo on her chest. In fact, he takes a step back and grabs her cup, filling it from the keg while glancing back at me over his shoulder. He glares at Pike, and they exchange some nonverbal message that makes Pike chuckle. Nine finishes filling the girl’s beer before making his way back to us, leaving several enthralled and highly disappointed women in his wake.

“What do you see now?” Pike asks, nudging my shoulder.

“You’re right. He was being…helpful. Kind. He wasn’t…” I trail off because I’m looking at him in a new light, as if really seeing him for the first time.

“Nine is a good man, by far the best man I know. I’d trust him with my life. I have trusted him with my life.”

I remember the bar. The fight. The alley. “Answer something for me, Pike. Does a good man beat the shit out of other men?”

Pike grins. “Fuck yeah, all the time. Especially when he’s got something worth fighting for.”

NINE

Pike and Lenny are laughing together when I get back with our drinks, and I want nothing more than to drag her away right this very second, but I have to be careful and wait this out even though everything in me is screaming to act and act now.

I’m so consumed by my thoughts that I almost miss the two men from Tico Ricci’s crew across the field. Different men from the alley, but all of Ricci’s men have the same look. They stand out among the partiers. First, there are no drinks in their hands. Second, while everyone else is either wearing shorts, barely anything, or leather cuts like the bikers, these guys are wearing tailored blazers over jeans, which they probably think is casual and makes them blend in, but it does anything but. If their slicked back hair wasn’t a neon sign saying they didn’t belong, then the stern looks on their faces amongst a sea of smiles sure as shit do.

Pike steps away from Lenny casually to stand beside me. He lifts his beer to his mouth. “Do you see ‘em, too?”

“Sure fuckin’ do.”

“This can’t be fucking good.”

“It’s not.” There’s only one reason Ricci’s crew is here tonight, and that reason has long brown hair and is wearing a skin-tight dress that hugs every single one of her sinful curves.

“What do you need me to do, man?” Pike asks, and I know what he’s thinking’ because it’s the same thing I’m thinking. There’s too many people here. I may not always do the right thing or give a shit if I what I am doing is in the vicinity of right, but collateral damage ain’t my gig.

“I’m gonna get Lenny the fuck outta here as fast and as unnoticeable as I can. I don’t need them shooting up an entire field full of innocent people.”

“Always concerned about others,” Pike says although I sense a shit-ton of sarcasm in his raspy voice.

I finish my beer and place my smoke inside, tossing it into the nearest trash can. “Maybe, I just don’t want any blood on my fucking plants,” I reply. “Do me a favor. Text Prep. Tell him I’ll be on the old road heading west and that I might need reinforcements. After we’re gone, try and distract them if you can. Give me some time.”

“I’m on it.” Pike has his phone to his ear and is walking away from the crowd to do what I asked because he’s a good fucking friend and that’s what good fucking friends do. After he hangs up, he heads to the other side of the field where the two men are searching the crowd and loudly announces, “Who’s ready for the wet t-shirt contest!”

The crowd gathers around him, creating a wall in front of the Ricci soldiers, blocking their view of this side of the field.

I approach Lenny whose brows are furrowed with frustration. Not at me. At her friend.

“But I don’t wanna go just yet,” Yuli whines to Lenny, obviously on the drunker side of tipsy.

“Okay, fine. Then, I’ll stay and wait for you,” Lenny agrees, but her eyes say she’s anything but happy about staying’. Which is good. Cause we’re not.

“Yay!” Yuli cheers, bouncing up and down on her knees.

I go over to Ray and whisper to her what’s going on. She answers only with a single nod, her smile never leaving her face. She’s a pro, and not to mention King’s wife, which makes her used to shit like this.

“Yuli!” Ray says, with exaggerated excitement. “Nine can drive Lenny home. He’s going that way anyway. And me and you gonna have some drinks! I have a babysitter, and this mama isn’t going home anytime soon!”

“Yuli, it’s okay. I’m going to stay,” Lenny says without looking at me.

“Lenny, don’t worry. Nine will be a perfect gentleman. I swear it.” Ray is a fucking expert at this shit and totally missed her calling at being a spy or some shit like that because she links arms with Yuli. “Don’t worry, Yuli, I’ll make sure the bikers don’t get too handsy with you,” she teases.

“Oh, hell no!” Yuli says, drawing out each letter of each word. “Don’t you dare keep those sexy bikers at arm’s length. Girl, I’ve been looking forward to handsy from those men my entire god damned young and beautiful life.” She raises her beer toward a group of bikers “Come to mama, my beautiful biker barbarians!” Yuli turns around and gives Lenny a quick tight hug. “You know I hate good-byes, but I promise I’ll text you from the plane tomorrow. I love you, my friend.”

She releases Lenny and follows Ray toward the bikers.

Lenny watches her friend leave, a sad look plays her eyes while she chews on her bottom lip.

I tug on her arm. “Let’s go,” I say, pulling her away from the crowd.

She stops and looks down to where I’m touching her and tugs her arm away. “You don’t have to drive me. I’ll just call an Uber.” She takes out her phone, but I rip it out of her hands.

“We don’t have time for this shit,” I growl.

“We don’t have time for what shit? If you think I’m going to—”

I push her into the shadows until her back is flush with the wall of my RV. I cover her mouth with my hand. Her eyes go wide with terror.

Lenny struggles to free herself, but I only hold tighter. Hopefully, anyone who spots us would think we’re just going at it.

“Stop and fucking listen before you get a shit-ton of my friends killed,” I grate out. I turn my head and spot to two soldiers searching the back of the crowd. “Look over my shoulder, but don’t be obvious. Do you see the two men who aren’t drinking and don’t look like they belong here? They’re at nine o’clock. Don’t answer. Just nod.”

After a second, she nods and swallows hard.

“They are soldiers of Tico Ricci. Do you know who that is?”

She nods again.

“Your ex fucked them over. They can’t find him, so now, they’re searching for you. And here’s the thing, if I don’t get you out of here right fucking now, they’ll take you somewhere where they’ll probably kill you regardless if you tell them what they want to hear or not. Or if they spot you and you try to run, they won’t hesitate to shoot through everyone standing between you and them. You don’t have options right now. You are coming with me so we can lead them away from all of these people. Do you understand?”

She nods once more. Her smooth lips rub over my palm, and the feeling makes me want to lean in and breathe in more of her sweet scent, but now is not the motherfucking time.

I release her and step back, tugging her toward my truck. I open the passenger door and lift her inside. Jogging around to the other side, I hop in and pull us onto the darkened dirt path between the trees.

“What do they want with Jared?” she asks as I turn onto the main, paved road. “I can’t reach him either! I can just tell them that.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but while your solution to try and reason with Ricci’s men is adorable, it’ll get you killed.” I blow out a sigh. “You really are from the other side of the causeway,” I mutter.

Might as well be another world.

Lenny shoots daggers at me with those big blue eyes of hers. She opens her mouth to reply but stops when the rearview mirror brightens, reflecting the headlights of the army-style Hummer tailing us. It’s speeding and catching up to us. Fast.

I slam on the gas and yank on the wheel, turning us onto an almost hidden path in the center of the neighboring cornfield the tractors use to tend the fields, but it’s not fast enough. Because as I complete the turn, we’re hit with what sounds like a swarm of angry metal bees.

In reality, it’s a spray of bullets.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

NINE

“TELL me what the fuck is going on!” Lenny screams as we tear down the road as fast as my truck will take us.

“Please,” she begs, lowering her voice to a whisper.

I make a sharp turn onto a dirt path that leads to a clearing in the middle of a circle of thick trees that block out any light. I throw the car in park when I’m sure that we’re covered and out of sight.

Lenny opens her mouth to speak again, but I press my fingers to her lips to silence her, waiting until I’m sure we’ve lost Ricci’s men before I remove them. “First, tell me what you know about Jared. About his business,” I demand.

Lenny fidgets, pulling on the hemline of her dress then balling her fists and releasing them over and over again. I notice the scars in the center of her palms. The movement must be a habit of hers.

“He owns an investment company that mostly deals in real estate development and foreign investors looking to grow their money in the states.” she replies, as if she’s heard him say those exact words a thousand times.

“That’s it?” I press.

Lenny throws her hands in the air, then drops them with a smack to her thighs where I notice her dress has risen up, exposing her black panties. “Yes, that’s it! You obviously know more than I do, so why don’t you tell me!”

I look away and get back to the subject at hand. “Jared was…is a fuckin’ weasel. He was running a Ponzi scheme. The Lawless MC and my brother, Preppy, along with King,” I look to her. “You’re from here, so I assume you know who they are?”

She nods.

“They had some excess cash that was already clean. It was my idea to invest and grow another line of legit income. I picked Jared to help us do that. At first, everything seemed good, but the statements we were getting weren’t real. The numbers on the return were way too high for the current state of the market. I checked the accounts, and I was right. The money was gone, and when I went to find Jared...”

I killed him.

“He was already gone,” she finishes.

Yeah, he’s gone alright.

“What about those guys at the party?” she asks. “What do they have to do with your friends’ money?”

“The reason why I invested with Jared in the first place is because he was already working with Tico Ricci, and I figured it was a safe bet because fucking over Tico means certain death, and not a painless one either. I assumed Jared knew how the game worked when getting into bed with people like us. He either knew or didn’t give a shit because not only did he fuck us over, but Ricci as well. He drained every fucking penny.”

She looks to her lap, and I can see her struggling with the information. “They can’t find Jared or the money, so now they’re looking for me.” Confusion lines her smooth forehead. “Why? It doesn’t make any sense. Why me?”

“They probably think you know where the money is or where Jared is.” I can’t bring myself to tell her that Jared is the one who pointed the finger at her. Knowing that he didn’t care if they killed her so he could save his own ass isn’t going to change anything besides make her hysterical, and that’s the last fucking thing I need right now.

“But, I wasn’t involved. I don’t know a damn thing. He was never even home. He went out of town all of the time. He stole from me, too. Left me with nothing.” She presses her head back into the headrest and closes her eyes. “I’m so stupid. How…why did I ever trust him? I should’ve known. Should’ve seen something to tell me he wasn’t who he led me to believe he was.” She lowers her voice and stares blankly out the windshield. “All those years…”

“Does it bother you that he was a liar and a thief?” I ask.

She thinks for a minute. “No, it bothers me that I never knew him at all. It bothers me that I’ve got mafia men after me because of him and…” She looks at me. “Shit.”

“What?” I ask, lighting a cigarette.

“I’m more stupid than I thought. Here I am wondering why a stranger would suddenly rescue me from dangerous men. Twice. Now, I know why you knew my name. You’re not trying to save me.” Her eyes go wide. “You just wanted to get to me first.”

She opens the door and leaps down, darting out into the woods.

I chuckle because Lenny is a lot of things. Quirky. Talkative. Naive. Sexy as fuck.

The one thing she’s not, is stupid.

LENNY

I don’t get far. My feet tangle in the underbrush, and I fall face first less than twenty feet from the truck.

He’s going to kill me. The man who saved my life twice is going to kill me.

In the face of death, I can’t help but feel embarrassed for trusting the wrong man once again.

I hear a chuckle and look up to see Nine standing over me with an amused look on his face. He crouches down over me. “You taking a break already?”

“Don’t! Please!” I beg as I try to disentangle my legs but only manage to make it worse. Thorns scratch my thighs and arms. My nails are caked in dirt as I try to crawl away, but I’m stuck.

Nine reaches down and pulls up the leg of his jeans. He removes a long, gleaming blade from the sheath tied around his ankle.

“No!” I scream and shut my eyes as his hand descends.

I wait for the pain, but it never comes.

I try to kick him off, but my foot only hits air.

Wait, my foot hits air. It’s free.

I open my eyes. Nine is standing with no knife in hand, his arms crossed over his wide chest, and an impatient look on his face.

“You done now?” he asks.

“That depends on what your plans are for my untimely demise.”

“If I was going to kill you, I would have done it long ago. Right now, I’m not going to do that unless you give me a reason.”

I meet his gaze and sit up. “Comforting,” I reply with the maximum amount of sarcasm I can put onto a single word.

“Come on,” he says lifting me off the ground and into his arms. He slings me over his shoulder. While upside down, I realize that one of Ray’s flip flops is gone.

“Shit, my shoe!” I cry.

“That shoe is now property of the mud. It’s a goner.” Nine opens the door and plops me into the seat.

“Yeah, I know the feeling.” I mutter.

Nine gets in and starts the truck.

“Why did you kiss me or sort of kiss me back in the RV? Was that just part of your plan?” I ask, without properly thinking it through first.

He backs the truck out from the clearing onto the road. I don’t think he’s going to answer me because several minutes pass and I forget to even ask where he’s taking me. He keeps his eyes focused on the road. His hands grip the wheel hard. He finally answers.

“Kissing you was the exact fuckin’ opposite of the plan. And that wasn’t a kiss. You won’t use the words ‘sort-of’ when I kiss you.”

When I kiss you. Not if.

“Cocky asshole.”

Headlights approach from behind. It’s the Hummer.

“It’s back!” I shout.

“Yeah, I fucking see ‘em,” Nine mutters. He turns into another field in an attempt to lose them. Tall corn stalks swipe over the truck like some sort of weird organic car wash. The sound almost the same as that of a heavy rain. Nine turns left and right then left again expertly like he knows his way around the field. We come out on another road. Nine turns so sharply that I think we might flip over. My guts are in my heart, and my back is plastered to the passenger seat. When we’ve straightened out, the Hummer appears from behind us once more.

The sound of metal colliding with metal makes my entire body jump as bullets bounce off the truck.

“Motherfuckers,” Nine spits. He reaches into his waistband and pulls out a gun.

“Drive!” Nine orders, without waiting for me to answer. He climbs out of the driver's window until all that remains of him inside are his long legs.

I have no choice but to lean over and grab the wheel, shifting my ass over to the part of the driver’s seat not taken up by the half of Nine’s body still in the car. I keep my head down as low as possible while Nine returns fire.

“Get back in here. You’re going to get shot!” I shout, pulling on his belt with one hand.

Nine ducks back in, and I think for a second that he’s listening to my warning, but when he reaches over me into the center console and grabs a black sleeve, exchanging it with the one already in his gun, I realize it’s only so he can reload.

The side view mirror shatters. My shoulders jump, and my heart stops for a few beats.

“Breathe, Lenny,” Nine orders. “Just keep driving, and breathe.” He climbs back out the window and fires off several more shots.

“Where am I supposed to be going?” I ask.

“Nowhere. Just drive. We’re waiting for reinforcements.”

“Reinforcements?” I ask. “Who?”

Nine continues to shoot round after round, sometimes ducking in to reload or to dodge a bullet. His arm is bleeding, and he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

Suddenly, he leaps across my lap into the passenger seat and yells, “Hold the fuck on!” He grabs the oh shit handle over his head just as the Hummer careens into the back of the truck, jolting us forward. My head hits the steering wheel, and my vision blurs. I don’t realize I’m pulling the wheel to the side until Nine reaches over and straightens us out before we dive headlong into a ditch. The thought sobers me, clearing my thoughts, but my head is pounding.

“You alright?” Nine shouts, looking frantic yet calm at the same time, and I realize he’s not upset for himself but for me.

I can only nod as I try to keep us on the road.

“Here they come!” Nine warns, and I brace myself for yet another impact when an older, black Cadillac spins out onto the road from within the tall grass of the neighboring cornfield, speeding in the opposite direction. It slams on the brakes and spins into a full turn until it’s beside the Hummer.

A bullet cracks the back windshield, and I duck, pressing the gas so hard I won’t be surprised if my foot breaks through the floorboard.

I look into my rearview and watch as a hand appears from the passenger side of the Cadillac…holding some sort of green fruit?

“What the fuck?” I mutter. “Who is that?” I ask.

Over the sound of bullets and speeding tires I hear someone laughing. No, they aren’t laughing. They’re…singing?

“That, would be our reinforcements.”

“Why are our reinforcements singing “Boom Boom Pow” by the Black Eyed Peas?” I shout.

“You’ll find out. Just whatever you do, don’t stop. No matter what.”

“Why the hell would I stop?” I ask, frantically, shouting, “We’re being chased! And what the fuck does no matter what mean?”

My answer comes in the form of the ground beneath us rumbling until it feels as if the earth opened up and is about to swallow us whole. I look in the rearview and spot yellow and red flames along with a plume of black where the Hummer had just been. The explosion is so forceful, the truck accelerates forward as if I stepped on the gas when my foot’s already to the floor. The back tires lift from the pavement, and my arms feel like they’re breaking as I try to hold the wheel straight. I’m sure we’re about to flip over when the tires settle back down, and I’m flooded with a surge of relief so strong I’m dizzy from it.

I look over at Nine, and he’s trying to tell me something, but I can’t hear him because of the ringing in my ears. I realize he’s mouthing the word stop.

It takes me a solid few seconds to process what he’s saying. When it sinks in, I do as instructed and slowly bring us to a stop on the side of the road.

Nine and I are both breathing heavily, trying to catch our breaths.

The first thing I hear after the high-pitched ringing in my ears begins to die down is laughter followed by a voice. “How did you like that apple, motherfuckers?”

“Is that our reinforcements?” I ask.

Nine nods, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath.

Our eyes lock. There’s something in the air between us. It’s charged. Electric. I can feel the heat of his body all the way across the cab. My lips tingle. My senses abandon me. I’m just about to open the door for some fresh air to regain my senses when Nine scrambles across the cab, lifts me from my seat, and places me on his lap. He pulls my head down and crushes his lips to mine, and it’s nothing like any kiss I’ve ever experienced before. I didn’t even know people kissed like this. Maybe, I’m dead, because the way his tongue licks across the seam of my lips feels like heaven, but the way my body reacts, nipples tightening, thighs rubbing on his, the need and pressure building as he passionately destroys what I thought kissing was supposed to be, feels more sinful than heavenly.

I might be in Hell, but I don’t even fucking care.

The feeling doesn’t last long. Nine’s lips leave mine, and I’m deposited back into the driver’s seat just as the door suddenly flies open. A man wearing a dress shirt with a set of matching suspenders and a bow tie appears.

“Howdy, kids. Did you enjoy the show? Anyone hurt? Dead? Dying? On fire? Headaches? Nausea? Unexplainable discharge? Rash that won’t go away? A sudden need to stop, drop, and motherfucking roll?” He runs a hand over his long hair, slicking it back and exposing the shorter hair beneath and tattoos inked into the sides of his scalp. “No? Just some post-adrenaline heavy petting? I get it. Been there. Done that. Bought the motherfucking t-shirt.”

“Took you long enough,” Nine groans.

I adjust my dress and smooth down my hair, still breathing heavily while Nine looks unaffected by what just took place.

“Why, you’re welcome for saving your life, brother. I’m happy to have been of service,” the man says, tipping an imaginary hat.

Nine chuckles, then hisses and grabs his arm. “Lenny, meet our reinforcements, otherwise known as my asshole brother,” he groans out.

Brother. It makes sense. I can see the similarities. They look to be about the same height, and they have almost the same hazel-colored eyes. The thing that’s the most strikingly similar between the two is their smiles. Both slightly crooked and like they’re hiding something wicked. Seeing Nine’s smile on another man is downright eerie.

“That’s me! Howdy, lady I don’t know who’s sitting in my brother’s car.” The man extends a heavily tattooed hand. “The name is Samuel Clearwater, but my friends call me Preppy…as well as everyone else.”

I skip the small talk when I notice that more and more blood is gushing from Nine’s arm. “Shit. You’re hit.”

Preppy leans into the car over me, pressing me into the seat with my nose in his shirt. He presses his finger into Nine’s arm who in return pushes Preppy off of him with his good arm.

“Fucker,” Nine swears.

Preppy smooths down his dress shirt with his hands and straightens his bow-tie. “That wasn’t very neighborly, brother.”

“We should get him to a hospital.”

“No,” Nine says.

“A hospital? For what?” Preppy asks, not looking nearly as concerned or panicked as I feel.

“For that!” I say, pointing to all the blood. “Because he was shot.”

“That?” He points at Nine’s wound. “My kid’s done worse when he fell roller skating. That’s just a fucking scratch. In my professional medical opinion, nothing some super glue, duct tape, and a Preppy super smoothie can’t cure.”

“You’re a doctor?” I ask, skeptically.

“No, but I play one on TV. BRB, kids!” Preppy runs back to his car and comes back seconds later with a huge Styrofoam cup.

“Shit, yeah, give me that.” Nine grabs the cup with his good hand. Holding it between his knees, he forgoes the straw, popping off the plastic lid. Raising it to his mouth, his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in quick succession as he swallows.

“What exactly is a Preppy super smoothie?” I ask. Whatever it is, it has to be good because Nine doesn’t even pause his swallowing to breathe until the cup is completely empty.

Preppy smiles proudly. It’s kind of like a regular smoothie, only better. Let’s see…” He ticks off ingredients on his fingers as he lists them off. “Locally sourced organic fruit and veggies You’ve got your blueberries, strawberries, bananas, spinach…oh, and of course, kale. You gotta have kale. It’s a superfood. Or so my wife tells me. Anywhoseit, that’s all blended together with a yogurt made from non-GMO grass-fed cows right here in Logan’s Beach. It’s so fresh it’s practically right from the teat.”

Nine wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Much better.”

“See?” Preppy says triumphantly. “Preppy’s super smoothie works yet again.”

Nine sits up, suddenly seeming more alert and in a lot less pain. However, he’s still bleeding. He rips his shirt at the bottom and starts to tie it around his wound, but he can’t do it with one hand. “Here, let me,” I say, taking the fabric and tightening it around his wound. “There. Hopefully, this will stop the bleeding for a while.”

When I look up, I realize how close my face is to Nine’s, and suddenly, I’m aware that my breasts are pressed to his side. He licks his lower lip while staring at mine. My entire body heats.

I’m reminded we’re not alone when Preppy continues talking from outside the car. “I think I forgot an ingredient…”

I crawl back over to the driver’s seat, but the lingering heat and the memory of his touch, the feel of him growing hard beneath me, lingers. I think it’s stayed with him too because his eyes rake over me slowly, from my neck to my breasts then back to my lips.

I shiver.

The cocky asshole smirks when he notices the hair on my arms standing on end.

Preppy finishes off whatever tiny amount of smoothie might be left in the cup with a loud slurp then presses his fingers together and closes his eyes, silently mouthing the ingredients yet again. Suddenly, his eyes spring open and he snaps his fingers, “Oh, yeah. I almost forgot!” He holds his thumb and index fingers an inch apart. “There also may or may not be a wee smidgeon of cocaine in it.” He leans into the car “Just kidding!” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “There’s a shit-ton of cocaine in it.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

LENNY

THE TENSION in the truck is thick and choking me. We narrowly escaped a high-speed car chase where we were being shot at.

And that kiss.

It was as explosive as the grenade.

I am way too sober for this.

“Tell me something. How does cocaine help your pain? Wouldn’t say…a painkiller be better?” I ask.

“Fuck that. Painkillers don’t actually kill pain. They make your mind slow. I don’t mess with that shit. Seen too many people lose everything because of it. Statistically speaking, it’s also the number one cause of death in the US in healthy men and women ages 18-50 and painkillers are highly addictive. You either quit or die; there’s no in between. Seen it happen. Ain’t going down that fucking route. That’s a slow boat to Hell I don’t wanna take.”

“So, you don’t think you’re going to Hell?” I ask.

“Nah, I’m going, I just think that there are better ways to get there.”

“You are annoyingly smart,” I tell him.

“You are annoyingly annoying,” he replies. “And I agree. I’m kind of a genius.”

“I said smart, not genius.”

“It was implied.”

“I don’t know what kind of genius does cocaine to rid pain,” I point out.

“Oh, with blow, you still feel the pain.” He smiles. “But you’re so on top of the world, you just don’t give a fuck.”

I laugh until I remember who isn’t on top of the world right now. The dead men in that Hummer. “Shit, what about the fiery wreckage we left on the road? Aren’t the cops going to be wondering who launched a grenade and blew up that Hummer?”

“It’s being taken care of as we speak,” Nine says, checking his phone, while driving with his knee.

“What do you mean it’s being taken care of?” I press.

“I mean that I have people who are taking care of it. The cops won’t be asking any questions.”

I reach over and help steer the wheel because my anxiety won’t let me NOT grab it.

He gives me a questioning glance, then rolls his eyes and takes the wheel again.

I let go. “Who are these people you keep speaking of? The ones taking care of things?”

“Just people who do that kind of thing.”

“You have people who take care of burnt bodies and the wreckage from explosions?” I twist my lips. “You do know that’s not normal, right?”

“Maybe not to you, but it is for me and most of the people I know. What is normal anyway?”

“Lately?” I rub my temples. “I have no clue.”

I spot a picture on Nine’s dash of three young smiling children. A boy and what appear to be twin girls.

“Who’re they?” I ask, curiously.

Nine smiles, and I hate that it makes my stomach flip. “If you’re thinking that I hang out with the wrong crowd, then you’re right. Because I’m always getting into some kind of trouble with those three.”

“Are those your kids?”

“No, my nephew and nieces. Bo, Miley and Taylor.”

I raise my eyebrows at the girls’ pop star names. “Miley and Taylor?”

He taps his thumbs on the steering wheel. “My brother has a thing for teen pop music, amongst other things.”

“Are you and your brother close?” I ask, feeling the urge to know more.

He cocks his head. “He just tossed a grenade at someone for me. What do you think?”

Our eyes lock, and the heat from earlier rises up between us. I look away, out the passenger window, only to notice that we’ve turned onto a very familiar road. My road.

“You’re taking me home?” I ask, sounding as surprised as I feel.

Nine doesn’t look at me when he answers. “No. We’re just making a stop, so you can get some of your shit. You’re coming with me until we can get this figured out. You’re not safe while Ricci’s men are still looking for you.”

“No, I’m not coming with you,” I say. “I’m staying here.”

He growls and his nostrils flare. “You say that like you have a choice. You don’t. There are people after you. Men who won’t be as nice as to stop at your house to get your shit before dragging you off.”

“So just the dragging off part then?” I yell.

We turn onto my driveway.

“Wait, how do you know where I live?” I ask.

Nine doesn’t answer because he’s laser focused on something out the windshield.

“Fuck,” he swears.

Fuck is right. There are three cop cars on my driveway with just as many uniformed officers standing around them chatting and drinking coffee. All of the furniture that was inside my house is now in a pile in the middle of the driveway.

I can see in his eyes that Nine’s considering turning around, but the cop in the center spots us approaching waves us over. It’s too late.

Nine gives me a warning look and throws the truck in park.

“Don’t say or do anything stupid,” he warns.

We get out and the officer who waved us over approaches. “What’s going on?” Nine asks.

The cop gives him a once-over followed by disapproving look that makes me want to slap the coffee from his hands.

Judgy asshole.

“Are you Miss Lenore Leary?” The officer asks me.

“I am.”

“Good. I’m here upon the request of The First Bank of Logan’s Beach to carry out the eviction. I ask that you remain as calm as possible and do what we ask, and we won’t have any problems here today. Is that understood?”

“Eviction?” Nine asks.

He hands me a bright red notice.

“Yes, ma’am. The eviction is the final part of the foreclosure proceedings. The bank formally took possession of the house this morning. Judge Ashbury signed off. You are to be forcefully removed from the property, and the contents of the home auctioned off to assist in paying down some of the debt.”

“I…I thought I had more time.” I can’t read the words on the notice. They’re blurry behind my glassy eyes. But I don’t need to read it to know that I’m totally and royally more fucked than I was before.

Nine takes it from my hands and reads it over.

“Sorry to hear that ma’am, but…” The deputy looks down to his notes. “The co-owner, a…Jared Cox, was served notice at his place of business at both ninety days and thirty days prior to today’s proceedings. I have his signatures here if you’d like to verify that he was aware that this process was going to be taking place and waved his right to a hearing to challenge the foreclosure.”

“Jared never told me. Why didn’t he…” I trail off because what’s the point in wondering why anymore? At this point, the fact that Jared didn’t tell me that he wasn’t paying the mortgage is a moot point. With all of the money he stole, he still needed to take every last thing from me without so much as a courtesy, “Hey, I’m not just leaving you, I’m also leaving you with this gigantic mess I made. Have a nice life.”

I’m so angry at Jared—and more than that, at myself—that I begin to laugh. It starts off low and quiet until I’m cackling into the sky like a crazed lunatic.

“You okay, miss?” The deputy asks. When I don’t answer, he turns to Nine. “She okay?”

“Sure, I’m fine! I’m just fucking great!” I look up at the sky and the approaching rain clouds. “Jared, you fucking coward! Wherever you are, I hope they deny you from the country club, and I hope your Wi-Fi is sketchy, at best!”

“That’s the best you got?” Nine asks, looking amused.

“Yeah, you could have done way better,” the officer agrees.

I roll my eyes at them.

“Can we go inside and get some of her personal items?” Nine asks. “Clothes and bathroom shit?” Nine places his big arm around my shoulder. I don’t think it’s for comfort but rather a reminder that I’m not going anywhere but with him.

“Personal items, yes. Furniture or fixtures, no. The movers are still finishing the downstairs. They haven’t made it to the second floor as of yet. You’ve got twenty minutes and not a second longer. The locksmith will be here soon change the locks. After that, you won’t be able to get back in.”

NINE

I try not to stare at the spot on the floor in the master bedroom where Jared collapsed after I killed him.

I help Lenny grab a backpack from the massive closet, and she shoves as much clothes inside as possible. She looks around, and her shoulders fall. She zips up the bag. “I guess that’s it,” she says.

I look around to her still very full closet. “You sure?” I ask. “Still a lot of shit in there.”

She nods. “It’s from another life.”

I grab her bag and sling it over my shoulder.

“You did good by not saying anything to the cops,” I tell her.

She rolls her eyes. “I wouldn’t even know what to tell them. That you’re taking me somewhere against my will but it’s not like I have anywhere to go so being kidnapped is my only option?”

“I’m keeping you safe,” I argue. “Ricci’s men ain’t gonna stop looking for you.”

“But why are you keeping me safe?” she asks. “I told you I don’t know anything about Jared’s stuff, and you can check my laptop and my records if you don’t believe me. I’m being evicted for Christ’s sake. Jared’s stolen every penny I have and split town. There’s no reason for you to want to keep me safe. You don’t even know me.”

“I know a lot more than you think.”

She storms out of the closet and is heading for the stairs when she spots a picture on her dresser. She picks it up and runs her fingertips over the smiling man and woman inside the frame. The woman looks like Lenny, just older.

“My parents,” she says, answering my unspoken question. “They died four years ago today.”

I stand behind her and look over her shoulder and realize there’s someone else in the picture too. A young woman with short, platinum blonde hair and bright blue eyes, standing right between them. I blink as if I’m seeing a ghost. “Who is that?” I ask, trying to hide the fact that I’m trembling as I wait for her answer because I know what it’s going to be and I’m surprised I didn’t see it before.

“It’s me, a long time ago. Before I started wearing glasses, and before I let my hair grow out and return to its natural color. I looked so different, didn’t I?”

My throat is dry. I turn around and tug on my hair. I need to sit down. I need to fucking breathe. I sit on the end of the mattress.

“What’s wrong?” Lenny asks, shoving the picture in her bag.

What’s wrong is that one picture just changed everything.

And the worst part is that I’m not sure if I should even tell her. Suddenly, I don’t know a goddamn thing when a second ago, I was so sure of everything. That’s why I feel so protective of her. That’s why I feel so drawn to her when I’ve only felt that way about one person before. I’m trying to sort through too many colliding thoughts when my hand connects with something hard under the comforter beside me. Lenny notices the lump in the bed and crosses the room.

I feel the shape over the blanket and instantly know what it is.

“What the hell is that?” Lenny asks, pulling down the corner of the comforter.

“Wait, Lenny, don’t,” I warn, but it’s too late. I leap from the bed and cover her mouth because she’s screaming.

I don’t blame her. If it was the first severed head I saw, I’d probably be screaming, too.

“Everything all right up there?” booms the deputy from down in the foyer.

“Everything’s fine. We’ll be down in a minute,” I shout back.

“How about the young lady?” he presses. I hear slow, tentative footsteps on the stairs.

I release her mouth slowly. I whisper in her ear, “Answer him so he doesn’t come up here,” I instruct. “Can you do that?” She nods against my hand, and I release her fully.

She takes a deep breath. “I’m fine. Sorry, about the scream. A spider crawled across my foot, and I flipped out.”

The officer chuckles, and thankfully, the sound of his retreating footsteps follows. “My wife does the same shit. She hates spiders,” he says. “Finish up. Make it quick.”

After the downstairs door shuts again, I race to the closet and grab the largest suitcase I can find. I haul it from the top of the closet and bring it over to the bed, setting it on the floor. I gather the head up with the comforter and sheets and shove all of it inside the bag. The mattress is stained with blood. “Do you know who this is?” I ask.

Lenny is shaking, staring unblinking at the head. She nods. Her lip trembles.

“Who?” I order as I zip up the suitcase.

“It’s…his name is Don Sheffield. We called him Sheff. He is…was Jared’s business partner.”

“You got any bleach?” I ask. She points down the hall. I race to the second-floor laundry room and search for the bleach. When I come back, Lenny is in the same position as before. I douse the bloodstain with as much bleach as it will soak up then flip the mattress. I grab fresh sheets from the linen closet and cover it back up. I toss the comforter back over the top and grab Lenny’s hand.

“Why was there a head in my bed?” She asks, her hand shaking in mine as I tug her down the stairs to the front door.

“It’s not just a head. It’s a fucking warning.”

Oddly enough, it’s not the head that’s got me so rattled.

It’s figuring out the reason I feel so protective of her. The reason why I want her in a way I’ve only wanted one other person in my entire life.

Lenny Leary isn’t just Lenny Leary.

She’s the girl from the bridge.

She’s Poe.

And she’s alive.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

LENNY

AGAIN, I am way too sober for this.

We haven’t said much since getting back in the car, but something’s shifted in Nine. I’m sure of it.

After a quick stop to toss the head into the swamp, suitcase and all, we’re back on the road.

Because that’s what normal is for Nine.

“This is like a regular Tuesday for you, isn’t it? Tossing heads to the gators. Grenades. Shoot-outs.”

Nine growls and stares out the windshield. “Yeah, everything is like a regular Tuesday, except for you.”

“I’m the irregular factor here? That’s a thought.” I feel crazed and heated and confused. I’m rocking in the passenger seat, staring out the window.

Cope, Lenny. Cope.

I press my nails into my palms, but it’s not enough. I can’t process everything that’s going on right now. In order to deal and not break down in hysterics, I’m filing SEVERED HEAD in the back of my brain under the category TO BE DEALT WITH AT A LATER TIME.

I take a few deep breaths, and the panic subsides enough for me to stop rocking. Filing complete.

We pass a rundown trailer park and then turn onto a road that looks like Main Street USA lined with renovated Old Florida style bungalows. Each of the small houses is lined with a white picket fence like something you’d see on a family-friendly sitcom from the fifties, but this is in color and real and I’m finding myself smiling at the young boy chasing a golden retriever in his yard. The elderly woman setting a pie on her porch to cool. The older couple sharing iced-tea in their rockers.

“I worked in real estate for years, and even I didn’t know places like this existed on this side,” I say. “It’s really beautiful.” Realizing how that came out, I cringe. “Sorry, I sound like a snob.”

Nine stares out at the road ahead. “No, you sound like someone who hasn’t spent a lot of time over here. Ignorance isn’t hatred. You can fix ignorance with information.”

“How about hatred?” I ask, “How do you fix that?”

“That’s easy.” Nine winks. “Hatred has to be beaten out.”

I look into his eyes. There isn’t a spec of hazel to be seen. His pupils are dilated to the size of golf balls. No doubt one of the effects of the smoothie that hasn’t yet worn off.

“Severed heads aside, what’s really bothering you right now?” he asks.

He doesn’t care. He just wants to know where the money is.

I shut out Anxiety and answer anyway. Maybe, to spite the bitch. “I just can’t…I feel like I have no idea what’s going on anymore. Like I’m not in control of anything.”

“I know the feeling.” Nine takes a deep breath of the hot summer air and releases it on a long exhale. “Isn’t it great?”

I repress the urge to stomp my foot like a child. “What’s great about it?”

“You’re living,” he says. I feel like there’s some hidden meaning behind his words, but I don’t speak verbal hieroglyphics.

“And by living, you mean being threatened with severed heads, almost dying in an explosion, and getting evicted from my house?”

He bites his lower lip, and suddenly, I wish it was my teeth sinking into his skin. “Sometimes, you gotta almost die to remember that you’re alive.”

“Now, that I know something about,” I mutter.

We get out of the truck at a small home where Preppy’s black Cadillac is parked. It’s one of those perfectly restored, older bungalows. The kind I always wanted, but Jared ignored when he bought the monstrosity of a house on the beach instead.

“We’ve got unfinished business, you and I,” Nine says, his expression unreadable.

I’m pondering his meaning when the ground beneath us rumbles. A roar in the distance grows louder and louder until a large black motorcycle stops in front of the house. A huge man in all black, wearing belts around his forearms, dismounts.

“Nine,” the man says in a deep voice I feel in my chest just as much as the vibration of his motorcycle.

“King,” Nine greets.

“We gotta talk, kid.” King juts his chin to the gate. “Out back.”

NINE

King rounds the house, heading for the backyard. I take Lenny by the hand and bring her inside where we’re greeted by my nephew, Bo.

“Uncle Kevin! I finally figured out what my biker name is going to be when I join Uncle Bear’s MC!” he exclaims proudly. For not being able to speak for years, Bo rarely stops talking these days. But every word he utters makes me smile.

“Oh yeah? What’s that, kid?”

Bo smiles brightly, exposing a missing front tooth. “Bo.”

I laugh. “It took you that long to want to go by your own name?”

“What? You don’t like it?” Bo frowns.

I ruffle his hair. “Kid, I fucking love it.”

“Do you like my outfit today?” he asks, stretching out the white t-shirt he’s wearing.

Every day, he dresses up like either Bear, Preppy or King. Today, he’s not wearing a leather cut and no shirt like Bear, he’s not wearing belts wrapped around his arms like King, and he’s not even wearing a bow-tie and suspenders like Preppy. Today, for the first time, he’s dressed in a white V-neck t-shirt with baggy jeans and white tennis shoes.

Like me.

“So, Uncle Kevin?” he asks, spinning around so I can take him in. I can’t stop smiling at the kid. “What do you think? Don’t I look just like you?”

“You, do. And you’ve even got my chain.” I point to the beads he’s wearing around his wrists and neck.

He shrugs. “The attention is in the details. These are just plastic though. I stole them from my sisters. I’ll get real ones one day.” He looks up at me like he’s waiting for my approval.

“You look just like him,” Lenny says from next to me.

“Hi, I’m Bo Clearwater,” my nephew says, offering Lenny his hand. “You’re super pretty, just like my mama.” Bo turns around as Dre, my sister-in-law, comes into the room. She’s wearing a black, fifties-inspired sundress. Her lips are her signature bright red, and her hair is pulled into a bun on the top of her head. “Mommy, Mommy! Uncle Nine likes it! He said I look just like him! Now, I just gotta get a big truck like him…” He races down the hall. “I’m gonna go on the computer and see how much they cost. I’ve got some money in my piggy bank…” his voice trails off.

“Looks like you’ve got an admirer in that one,” Lenny says.

“He sure does,” Dre says. “Hi, I’m Dre.”

“This is Lenny,” I introduce.

“The boys are outside, waiting for you,” Dre says. “Lenny, do you like cookies?” Dre opens the oven and pulls out a batch of her famous chocolate chips.

“Does anyone ever say no to that question?” Lenny asks.

Dre flashes a beaming smile. “Not as of yet.”

Lenny joins her at the counter. Dre shoots me a look that tells me she’ll keep an eye on her.

“I’ll be right back,” I say.

I head out to the backyard where not only is King waiting for me on the back porch, but Bear and Preppy as well.

“So, that’s Jared’s girl?” Bear asks, looking behind me through the sliding glass doors.

“No, it’s not his girl. Jared’s fucking dead,” I remind Bear. “You were there, remember?”

“Oh yeah, almost forgot about that one.” He flashes me a knowing smile.

I look inside at Lenny again. She’s sitting at the counter, talking to Preppy’s wife.

Preppy leans back on the siding and hooks his thumbs under his suspenders, stretching and releasing them several times before he speaks. “Sooo…I hate to be the bearer of interesting news, but you’re looking at her like you want to eat her. Stalk much?”

“No, I’m fucking not,” I snap defensively. Too defensively.

Preppy releases his suspenders and holds up his hands like he’s on the receiving end of a hold-up. “Whoa, whoa. Don’t go getting your panties in a twist, little brother. I didn’t say stalking was a bad thing. In fact, if you need some pointers, I’d be happy to enroll you in Preppy’s How To Stalk Like A Mofo 101.”

I can say the words over and over again. At this point, I’m not even sure I believe them. “I’ve been keeping an eye on her to get our cash back, but now that Ricci’s men are onto her, watching from a distance was no longer an option. I’m not stalking her. I’m working her.” I can say the words over and over again. At this point, I’m not even sure I believe them.

He raises his eyebrows, causing the scar on the left side of his face to appear more prominent. “Oh yeah, then what the fuck do you call that look you just gave her?” Preppy asks knowingly. I look to my shoes to avoid the shit-eating grin I know is on his smug face right now. “Or maybe, what I caught you two doing after the whole explosion episode? Because working her is exactly how I would describe it.”

I look to King and Bear. I’m my own man. I’m a leader, but being in the presence of the three men who run this town still has a way of making me feel like a kid again. A kid who has to prove himself at every turn.

I hate that feeling.

Preppy laughs. “I filled them both in on that juicy tidbit. You know me and gossip. It’s hard to keep that shit to myself.” He claps me on the back and plops next to me on the step. He wraps his arm around my shoulder in an affectionate, almost-strangle. “But just a tip from one stalker to another, jerking off outside of her bedroom window doesn’t make you a stalker, it makes you a peeping tom. Whole other ballgame and somewhat mildly to majorly frowned upon in the eyes of…well…” He cocks his head and looks to the sky before his eyes meet mine once more. “…everyone.”

I reach for a beer that King hands me when I’m reminded of the pain in my arm.

“You hurt?” King asks, never being much for words.

“Just a scratch,” I say. “Can’t stay long. Ricci’s men could be anywhere. Gotta get Lenny out of here. Don’t need to put the family in the crosshairs.”

“Yeah,” King says. “That’s a part of the reason we’re here.”

“Part?” I raise an eyebrow.

He leans his elbows onto his knees. “Yeah, part. I heard from one of Ricci’s men on the inside. It turns out that they’ve got proof that Lenny was in on Jared’s scheme. Her signature is on all of the transfer papers. They can’t find where the cash was transferred to, but they think she might know.”

Lenny signed off? She knew?

“That doesn’t make sense.” I tell them about the head of Jared’s business partner I found in her bed and about her eviction. “If she had a stockpile of money laying around somewhere, she wouldn’t have lost her business, her house, or her car. Jared wouldn’t have left her.”

“Or she could just be really good at making people believe she doesn’t have a stockpile of money somewhere before she thinks it’s safe enough for her to skip town. I mean, not to brag, but I’m pretty fucking good at it myself.” Preppy chimes in. “Seriously, I’ve got cash everywhere.”

Bear peels the label off his beer. “Or she was in on the scam, but Jared cut her out and left her high and dry before his plans to skip town were…interrupted.”

“What do you believe?” King asks. He lights a joint and hands it to me. I take it and inhale deeply. When I exhale, the pain isn’t as sharp as before. “It’s not like you know the girl.”

I sigh and scratch my head. “That’s the fucking thing.” I look up at the three of them. “I do know her.”

“Bullshit, you just know you want in her pants,” Bear scoffs. “Felt the same way with my woman.” His smile widens as he realizes what he’s just said.

“It’s more complicated than it looks,” I offer, with an exasperated sigh.

“Have you met me? I’m the Emperor of motherfucking complicated land,” my brother says. “So, spill.”

That is true. If Preppy didn’t already have a name complicated would be his first, middle and last.

“Lenny isn’t just Jared’s ex-girlfriend. She’s also someone else.” I don’t even know how to begin to explain about Lenny and the few moments I knew her that changed the rest of my life.

“She’s a man!” Preppy gasps. “That’s terrible. Unless you’re into that kind of thing, then good for fucking you, bro.” He gives me two thumbs up and the goofiest grin on the planet.

I slap his thumbs down. “No, motherfucker. She’s not a man. She’s the girl from the fucking bridge.” My voice is louder than I intended. I turn around to make sure no one was listening. Thankfully, Lenny and Dre are still talking.

“She’s…” Preppy says in disbelief, his jaw to the ground. “Oh, motherfucking holy shit of fucking fucks.”

“Brother, for the first time and probably the last time ever, I’m going to tell you this.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“So, wait…you and Jared’s girl?” Bear cocks his head and squints.

“She’s not Jared’s girl,” I correct again. I look over to my brother because he’s the only one besides Pike who knows about that night.

“Uh, how? Thought that girl from the bridge was dead?” Preppy asks, his jaw on the floor. “She fell from the Causeway for fuck’s sake!”

“I thought she was dead, but as you can see, she’s not because she’s inside your house talking to your wife.” I’m saying the words, but I still can’t believe my own words are actually true.

She’s here.

She’s alive.

I killed her boyfriend.

“Whoaaaaaaa,” Preppy says doing an explosion gesture with his hands on each side of his head. He quickly fills King and Bear in on the story as I chug my beer in an attempt to numb the pain in my arm that’s getting worse by the second.

“Well, this puts a bullet in our plans to torture the information out of her,” Bear says. “But, just like in the MC, if you lay claim to her, she’s under your protection and that means she’s under ours, too. That’s your call, but remember that you don’t get to change your mind once it’s done.”

King empties his beer and stands, tossing it into a metal trash can on the side of the deck. “Claiming her also means that if she turns out to be lying, we won’t touch her. It’ll be on you to make shit right if it turns out that she was the one responsible for fucking us over, and I don’t think I gotta explain to you what that means.”

I nod my understanding. It means if she needs to be taken out, I’m the one that has to do the taking out.

“So, what’ll it be, brother? She yours?” Bear asks, looking highly amused.

I look through the sliding glass doors and catch a glimpse of Lenny’s long brown hair as she crouches down, talking to my twin nieces. They giggle at whatever it is she’s saying. A feeling inside me more powerful than any drug I’ve ever sampled takes hold.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine to protect. Mine to…

I don’t even have to finish the thought. I have my answer.

“Yeah, she’s mine.”

King looks into the house, a grin spread across his face. “The question is, does she know that?”

Lenny picks up Miley and twirls her around.

“No,” I stand and toss my beer in the trash. “but she’s going to find out.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

LENNY

“FOR THE LOVE of all that is unholy, please tell me you have vodka in Breaking Bad two-point-o?” I point to Nine’s RV. It’s yellow on the outside, although I’m not sure if that was the original color or if it ended up that way over time. It’s around thirty feet long if I had to guess with brown and orange pin striping down the middle.

“I might have some stashed somewhere,” he replies, leading me to the door with my backpack in hand. “But I’m not sure how I feel about you calling my RV a meth lab.”

“Hence the two-point-o.” I explain. “Do you live here all the time or is this just where you take your victims? Like a dungeon on wheels. How modern and convenient.”

He rubs his temple with his free hand. “I used to live with Preppy and Dre and their son Bo, but it got a little crowded when the twins were born. Figured it was time to give them some space. Here I can keep an eye on the fields, especially at night when the local kids get the bright idea to jump the fence in search of free weed.”

The inside of the RV is different in the light of day. It’s older, with faux oak panels covering the walls and a thin dark carpet on the floor, but clean. Simple. Off white no-nonsense flat cabinets hang above an open galley style kitchen with a two-burner stove and half-sized black refrigerator. A two person eat-in counter with cracked linoleum counters separate the kitchen from the tiny living area. A forest green built-in sofa sits to one side, a smaller than is trendy flat screen sits on top of a pile of books on the opposite wall. No pictures. No visible personal items of any kind besides the books, but they could just be here to prop up the TV. A door separates the small living area from what I think is probably the bedroom. It can’t be more than two hundred square feet but it has everything a bachelor could need.

Nine ducks so he doesn’t hit his head on the low ceiling by the door.

Everything except maybe head space.

“Good, then point me in the direction of said vodka because I’m going to need a drink or twenty before we begin the torture and interrogation,” I announce.

Nine shuts the door behind me, and I jump at the sound of the lock clicking into place. Unsure of what to do with myself and unsure of where the vodka is, I press my nails into my palms until it stings.

Nine sets down my backpack on the counter. He’s a large man, but looks even more massive in this space. Like a giant crashing in a home belonging to elves.

He takes two strides, and he’s in the kitchen. He opens the cabinet above the refrigerator and takes out two paper cups and a full bottle of vodka. He pours one drink and sets it on the counter, pushing it toward me.

I bypass the cup and round the counter, plucking the bottle out of his hands. “Thanks,” I offer, I plop down on the stiff green sofa. I feel his eyes on me as I take several burning swallows. When I’m done, I don’t set the bottle down but rather I cradle it like a baby in my arms. “I’m ready,” I announce. “Commence with the torture.”

Nine drains his cup and sets it down on the counter, not even cracking a smile at my attempt to lighten the potentially murderous situation. He makes his way toward the couch, but remains standing, towering over me.

“Were you involved in Jared’s scheme to rip off the cartel, the MC, and my friends?”

“No,” I answer.

He looks to be thinking.

“Did you sign as a witness on any of the documentation forms for the transfers from our accounts to himself?”

“No! I’ve never signed anything with Jared. I have nothing to do with his company or whatever it is you think he stole. Why don’t you find him and ask him? I think that might be a better use of your time. I’m just saying.”

I take a big swig from Baby Vodka.

“Is this the part where you taze me or rip out one of my teeth?” I ask.

Nine’s serious façade breaks with the slightest upward turn of the corner of his mouth. “Not just yet.”

“Okay, saving the excitement for later. Delayed gratification.” I wink. “Got ya. Like your tactic. Draw out the torture. Make me mentally suffer before I physically suffer.” I take another swig from the bottle. “Okay, next.”

He frowns. “Do you know where Jared hid the money he stole or where it is now?”

I hold his gaze, unblinking. “Nope. But I was kind of wondering where the money is that he stole from me as well, or better yet, why he would steal my money when he’d already stolen all this cash from you guys. How much was it by the way?”

“Millions,” Nine offers.

I’m so surprised by the amount that I accidentally spit vodka all over Nine’s jeans. He doesn’t so much as flinch. He just stares at me, gauging my every reaction.

I bet he didn’t see that reaction coming.

“Shit, and here I was pissed about sixty-grand.” I say.

Nine’s only response is a hard stare.

I sigh. “Alright, is this when you get out the tools? Show me how sharp and pointy they are?”

He wrinkles his forehead. “No, I had something else in mind.” His eyes darken, and my stomach flutters. I don’t know if it’s fear or the vodka that makes my body suddenly feel too hot for my skin.

“And…what is that?” I ask.

Nine leans down, his lips are a breath away from mine.

I smell mint on his breath. I close my eyes, not sure what to expect, but it sure isn’t, “Food.”

“Food?” I open my eyes to find that he’s already across the room in the small kitchen. He opens the refrigerator and gets out lunch meats, breads, and paper plates.

“Food?” I repeat the question.

“Yes, food. I can hear your stomach growling from here.”

“Oh, that’s just my stomach processing the vodka,” I lie. “I can’t remember the last time I actually ate and I hadn’t even heard my stomach growing until he pointed it out and now it’s all I can hear.

I stand with my bottle and walk to the small counter. I take a seat at the bar and set the bottle down without releasing it.

Nine raises his eyebrows. “It’s yours. I’m not going to take it. You can let it go.”

Reluctantly, I let it go, and he pushes a large sandwich in front of me.

“Eat,” he orders.

My stomach growls again; my mouth waters at the sight.

Apparently, I’m not the only one who’s hungry. I’m not even halfway done with my sandwich when I look up and Nine’s already finished with his first and working on making a second.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve eaten with anyone,” I admit, chugging the glass of water he pushes to me followed by more vodka. “Well, maybe Yuli, but she’s on a plane to Africa by now.”

“You had a boyfriend. That you lived with. How is that possible?” Nine asks, taking another bite.

I think for a moment, squinting as if the reason why could only be seen through tiny slits in my eyes.

It can’t.

“I’m not sure. We had charity dinners and things like that, but nothing where it was just him and me. We both worked really late and never ate together and he left really early so no breakfast together either. There always had to be a reason for why we ate together, an event. It was never because we wanted to spend time together, probably because we didn’t.”

Nine scratches his jaw. “So, you’re telling me that you guys have never been out on a real date? Isn’t that what couples do? Dates and shit like that?”

“I wouldn’t know. It was my first and only relationship, but if you haven’t guessed it already by the word vomit and tendency to make jokes in the face of death, I’m an anxious person. Jared never knew how I’d react to certain things, and he never understood it. So maybe, he was just trying to avoid—”

“Having to deal with it?” he interrupts.

My shoulders fall as the realization sets in. Nine’s right. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“What a fucking shit,” he mutters, crumpling up his napkin.

“Understatement of the fucking year,” I mutter to Baby Vodka, my hand back around its neck.

We finish our food, and Nine goes to take a shower.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he warns, heading into the other room. “I’ve got cameras and alarms everywhere.”

I wipe the crumbs from the counter into my hand and shake them off in the trash. “Ha ha. Jokes on you, buddy, because it’s not like I have anywhere to go,” I say to myself.

A few moments later, Nine comes back from the other room. He’s wearing tight white tank top and grey sweatpants. His hair is wet and slicked back. There’s a large tattoo on his chest, but I can only see what looks like black feathers peeking out from his shirt, stretching to his shoulders and down his biceps. Wings that I can rule out as angel wings since they’re black and Nine is obviously no angel. His hazel eyes shine in the dim room. His large body takes up so much space in the room I can feel him next to me even though he’s not.

For the first time in hours, I’m at a complete loss for words.

I’ve never seen someone so effortlessly good-looking before. Jared was always pudgy around the middle and, even though he wouldn’t ever admit it, he used tinted face moisturizer, which is practically man-makeup.

Nine catches me staring, “Like what you see?”

I tear my eyes from him and look to my nails, trying my best not to sound affected. “You? No, you’re nothing special to look at. In fact, I think you could probably stand to bulk up. Switching up your fitness routine could work. You know, a change from torture and maiming to, perhaps, ax throwing or lumberjacking.”

He chuckles, and the sound washes over me as if he’s touched me with his words. “You’re cute when you ramble.”

“I am, actually. Thanks for noticing. ‘Bout time someone did.”

“Shower’s in there,” he jerks his chin to the room behind him.

I grab my backpack and Baby Vodka and squeeze past Nine’s body as I make my way through the door, assaulted with his smell and the heat of his nearness, as head to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I release a long held breath and lean onto the counter for support. I look up and wipe away the steam clouding the mirror at my weary reflection.

My makeup from the night before, or two nights before, or whenever it was that this entire shit show started, is smeared down my face. My hair is a nest of a nest. Worst of all, is that I’m too sober because if I were drunk, then I wouldn’t even realize how much of a hot mess is currently staring back at me.

The bathroom is rather large for an RV. Full-sized shower and sink.

I run the shower. The bathroom smells like his soap. Light and masculine.

Before I get in, I pluck my phone from my backpack to see if Yuli has texted me from the plane like she promised, but I have zero bars. I hit the speed dial with her number, and sure enough the message on the other end tells me that my service has been disconnected.

I toss it back in the bag with a frustrated growl and step into the shower.

I find a washcloth and locate the body wash on the ledge. I take my time, soaping up my body from head to toe and shampooing my hair. When I’m done, I grab my toiletries bag from inside my backpack and brush my teeth twice. I comb my hair and search the few items of clothing I’d shoved inside. I pull on a pair of navy blue lace panties and realize I didn’t bring any pajamas or really anything that could be considered pajamas at all. What I shoved in my bag in my delirious state is one crumpled business suit that I was going to have tailored because the seam in the back is ripped up the ass and a red pleather skirt I wore for Halloween one year when I dressed up as the devil.

Way to pack for the apocalypse of your life, Lenny.

I wrap a towel around myself and open the door into the bedroom, which is just big enough for the queen-sized bed and about a foot of walking space on each side. There are two drawers built in to the corner, and I’m lucky enough that the first one I open contains several clean white t-shirts. I pull one over my head, and it’s so big it hangs off my shoulders and almost reaches my knees. But it’s clothes, and it’s not ripped or red pleather.

So, there’s that.

I make my way out to where Nine is sitting on the small couch, trying to bandage his bleeding arm by himself.

“Need some help?” I ask.

Nine turns to look at me, and his eyes darken as he takes in what I’m wearing. Suddenly, I think he’s going to be pissed that I didn’t ask about wearing his shirt. “And I thought the fucking dress was bad,” he mutters.

“Sorry, about the shirt. I realize I didn’t pack any pajamas or…anything.”

He looks away and turns his attention back to bandaging his injury, but he’s having trouble tying it off since the injury is so high on his arm and on the very back.

“Here, I’ll do it,” I say. I sit on the couch facing him and take the first aid kit from his lap, setting it down on mine. He hands me the gauze, but I set it to the side. I open one of the alcohol packets and press the pad to his skin.

He flinches.

“Don’t be a baby,” I tell him, blowing on the dime-sized injury.

He’s staring at me. Unmoving. Unblinking.

“That’s not why I flinched,” he says as I finish wrapping his wound.

“Then, why?”

He’s still staring at me with that puzzled look on his face. I’m squirming inside my own skin, so I break the moment by standing and retrieving my bottle from the bathroom.

“Do you believe me?” I ask, with my back still turned. “That I didn’t have anything to do with Jared’s scam?”

“I want to believe you,” he answers.

“Why am I here?”

The frustration in his voice grows as does the volume of them. “Because it’s not safe. There are men looking for you, or don’t you remember?”

It’s an answer, but it’s not a good enough one. “Why do you care if they come for me? Why do you care if they take me? I don’t know where the money is. I can’t give it back to you. I can’t do anything but drink your vodka and squat in your RV until you throw me out for failure to pay rent or failure be sober or just for being a failure at life, so any sort of reason you could offer, any little tidbit of info as to why you’d want to surround yourself with this, please, by all means, do tell.”

He stands and takes a step toward me. “I don’t have to tell you shit except that you’re not leaving. Not yet. Not until I have this figured out. Until then, you can be as drunk as you want for as long as you want, but you’re going to be drunk here. Is that understood?”

“You don’t believe me, do you,” I say. I turn my back to Nine.

“I don’t know,” he answers, his voice is close, I spin around to find him standing so close it only takes one tug on my hip, and I’m pressed flat against him.

“I don’t fucking know what to believe,” he continues.

Suddenly, I’m furious, the anger simmering deep down and explodes into my words. “Well, that makes two of us. It might be the one thing we actually have in common. I’ve trusted the wrong people one too many times, and I’m not about to go down that road again and take you at your word and just hang around until you do decide to torture or kill me, and you know what? You shouldn’t trust me,” I push on his chest, but he catches my wrists, squeezing them tightly. “because you don’t fucking know me!”

I lean to the side and look past him to the door.

He tugs my body back, holding me tighter. “You’re not leaving,” he warns.

I push my chest into his, challenging him. “Oh yeah? Watch me!”

“I said you’re not fucking leaving.” Nine’s nostrils flare.

“You’re not just some puppet master who can pull my strings and get his way,” I yell, struggling harder, but he’s so damn big and strong, it’s infuriating!

He moves in closer, brushing his lips over the sensitive tip of my ear. A tingling sensation tickles its way down my spine and I curse my betraying body.

“Oh, little bird, you’ve got it all wrong.” He grabs my chin, forcing me to meet his dark hooded gaze. “I don’t want to pull your strings.” He looks so deep into my eyes that I’m sure he can see my spleen. I’m scared and uncomfortable. Two of my least favorite things to be. “I want to set you free.”

His lips cover mine and the tickling in my spine burns, turning into an all-out eruption of sensation and need.

He’s kissing me. I should be mad. And I am mad. I pull away, but his fingers tangle in my hair, holding my head in place while he ravages my mouth.

Suddenly, I’m in the air, in Nine’s arms. My legs instinctually wrap around his waist. His tongue seeks mine and when they touch, there’s no dancing or sweetness. It’s a war. A battle of mouths and lips and tongues. Clanking teeth and hissing sounds. It’s anarchy. Chaos. Desire burning like heated iron colliding with an unmistakable need for victory. As if whoever wins this kiss wins the argument and gets their way.

Win the kiss. Win my freedom.

You mean win the feeling of his body on top of yours. Win the feeling of his tongue stroking your—

I cut Anxiety off before she continues, because she’s no help to me here. If anything, she’s the reason I find myself writhing against him like a cat in heat.

Nine carries me into the bedroom, tossing me down onto the bed. He stands over me, breathing hard. I can see the outline of his huge erection under his sweats. My face flushes along with the rest of my body.

Of all the things I am imagining that might come next, none of it is close to what does happen, which is Nine, flicking off the light and uttering only a single word before leaving the room completely.

“Sleep.”

NINE

“I can sleep on the couch,” she calls back to me.

I shut my eyes tightly. “Just go to sleep.” Fuck my life. One more second with Lenny wrapped around me like that, and I was about to take her like an animal. Fucking her isn’t in the cards right now. She doesn’t know who I really am. I don’t know what she’s really guilty of. And the thought of taking her, of being assaulted by the past when I’m with…no, I can’t do it. Not now and not with her.

Although with this aching need and pain in my gut and in my cock, I might have to relieve myself soon with one of the girl’s that’s used to me freaking out afterwards and doesn’t give a shit as long as she gets paid.

“Can you…” Lenny trails off. I duck my head into the bedroom in time to see her roll onto her side, her back to me. “Never mind.”

“What?” I bark, frustrated in more ways than the raging hard-on beneath my sweats.

“Can you just lay in the bed with me for a while? Just until I fall asleep? I’m not a good sleeper, and I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Her question surprises me, considering she was preparing for torture not thirty minutes ago and a fight only a few seconds before.

Reluctantly, and knowing I won’t get any sleep at all with her right next to me, I get into bed and rest my hands behind my head.

How the fuck did I get here? Lenny’s right. What am I doing with her?

“Can you answer one teeny, weeny, tiny question and give me the truth?” she asks quietly. “Have you ever killed someone?”

I can’t be honest with her about so much right now, but this I can give her. I’ll show her who I really am and it’ll be much easier when it’s time to let her go.

If I let her go.

“Yes,” I answer to the ceiling.

“More than one person?” She rolls over to face me, her green-blue eyes searching mine, her lips parted awaiting my answer.

I give her a curt nod.

“Tell me about one,” she presses.

My head snaps in her direction. “That shit isn’t important. Plus, you’ve got anxiety, and the last thing I need right now is for you to fester on what I tell you and grow it in your head into something it’s not. Then, you really won’t be able to sleep.”

She thinks for a moment. “Actually, it will fester more if you don’t tell me. Because what will happen is that my imagination will get away from itself, and I’ll lay awake picturing you slaughtering entire villages of women and children like a Viking.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “That escalated quickly.”

She shrugs and rests her cheek on top of her hands. “Don’t blame me. Anxiety sets the rules. I’m just the messenger.”

The few inches of space between suddenly us feels like an ocean, and I want nothing more than to pull her against my chest.

“Fine,” I submit, but if she wants to hear the truth, that’s exactly what I’m going to give her. “He was someone who knew the consequences of playing this game, but he betrayed us anyway. I didn’t plan on killing him, but like a fucking idiot, he freaked out and pulled a gun. Shot a friend of mine twice. Luckily, he didn’t kill him, but then the guy turned his gun on me.”

“So, you killed him,” she finishes, her eyes never leaving mine.

I turn onto my side and without thinking I reach out and push a lock of hair from her eyes.

I pull back my hand and nod. “So, I killed him.”

She scrunches her nose. “No village of women and children then?”

I’ve never met anyone that thinks the way she does, and I can’t decide if it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever encountered or the devil himself testing me and the limits of my lust for her. “No. Never. Just a guy who played the game and lost.”

“That doesn’t seem so bad,” she says with a yawn. “Thank you for telling me a truth, even if it’s not the one I really wanted.”

I roll over to my back again, and stiffen when she scoots closer, curling up beside me as close as she can get without touching me. I blow out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, but the relief that usually accompanies such a sigh is nowhere to be found and instead the only thing I’m filled with is a lingering sense of dread.

“Get some sleep,” I whisper.

Lenny doesn’t answer.

I look down and find that her eyes are already shut. Her breathing is even. I run my fingers down her cheek. And again, without thinking, I lean over and kiss her forehead. “I guess you will be able to sleep after all,” I say in an almost inaudible whisper. “Even though I just told you how I killed your boyfriend.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

NINE

I’M AT A TRUCK STOP. The smell of gravy from the cafe twenty yards away taunts me as I sit inside the cab of a big rig about to do something I’ve never wanted to do less. However, my growling stomach and inconsistent thoughts remind me of why I’m here.

So, does the eager look from the burly man in the driver’s seat.

At first, I intended to rob him. Steal something of value or possibly even some cash, but it was a terrible plan. His wallet is on the dash over the steering wheel, within arm’s reach but too close to the man behind that wheel.

I make a new plan, probably equally as terrible, but it’s all I got.

Distraction.

I unbutton my pants and pull out my cock ignoring the masculine gasp from beside me and the sickening feeling in my empty gut.

“You’re huge, kid,” the man says. I can smell his rank breath across the truck cab.

This isn’t going to work unless I can actually distract him, so it has to, at least, seem real. I close my eyes and try to pretend he’s not watching me. I picture a beautiful supermodel from the swimsuit issue I used to hide under my bed at my last foster home. I’m able to get semi-hard and am about to open my eyes to see if my distraction is working when I feel the heat of his rank breath on my neck.

My eyes shoot open.

“Let me do it for you,” he says, licking his thin lips with his fat tongue. He goes to reach for my dick, but I pull away, slamming my back against the door.

“That wasn’t the deal. Twenty bucks was to watch. JUST to watch,” I remind him, covering my junk with my hand. It’s not like I haven’t done more in the past. I just want to get this the fuck over with and get some food and to get a hold of Pike.

“I tell you what. I’ll sweeten the deal. I’ll throw in an extra hundred if you let me do it,” he offers.

I’m about to say no when he reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a hundred-dollar bill, waving it in front of my face.

I snatch it from him, but he grabs it back, setting it on the dash.

“You’ll get it after,” he says.

I sit back down on the seat and try to pretend I’m somewhere else while my stomach turns at the feeling of his calloused rough hand grab the base of my shaft.

I go soft instantly.

“You ain’t getting paid unless you come,” he gruffs, angrily.

Fuck, I actually have to do this.

I close my eyes again and imagine the same supermodel, only now she’s holding a Brillow pad as she strokes me. It takes forever, but thankfully, I lose myself to my thoughts until I do, in fact, come in the most exhausting grotesque, bile-inducing orgasm of my life.

Before the sinking regret and shame can sink in, I lunge forward and snatch the bill from the dashboard. I yank up my pants as the trucker closes his eyes and licks his fingers clean.

That’s my shot. I don’t have time to vomit, so I swallow down the bile rising in my throat and snag his wallet from the dash. I wait in the shadows for him to pull out of the parking lot before I run at full-speed into the diner.

I’m too hungry to think about what I’ve just done. Or anything. I’ll think about it later, after my stomach is full.

I eat two of my three full-sized meals without even bothering to savor the taste. I pause before I begin my third and look around the diner. The rest stop is buzzing with people and not just truckers. A few of the small tables are overflowing with families. One family of five is wearing matching Disney World logo shirts in varying colors. They’re laughing and smiling while the mom and dad unfold a theme park map and happily point to the different attractions.

My stomach turns, and it’s not because of the meatloaf or the chicken fried steak I just inhaled. Another table nearby has an elderly couple. The man is sipping a cup of coffee while reading from an open newspaper on the table while his wife reads a romance novel. They aren’t speaking, but they’re holding hands across the table. Another couple is arguing while their baby cries until the wife covers her face with her hands. The husband gets out of his side of the booth and goes to her, removing her hands. Whatever he says to her makes her laugh, and they embrace before going back to their meals, staying on the same side of the booth while their baby finally stops screaming to suck on a bottle the man feeds it with his free hand.

Everyone has someone. Even the truckers who live a solitary life on the open road alone are gathered together at the counter chatting about gas prices and politics. I’m utterly alone. Always have been. And if I don’t find my brother, always will be.

I remove the picture from my pocket and unfold it. Samuel Clearwater. I say his name over and over in my head. Maybe, I didn’t miss out by never getting a chance to meet him. Maybe, he was a degenerate asshole just like my fucking mother. But I can’t help but to think What if? What if he wasn’t? What if he was amazing? What if he was funny and genuine, and…I stop. I can’t let myself think that. It makes it all so much worse. I fold the picture back up and shove it into my pocket.

He was probably an asshole.

But he did have a cool last name. At least, it was a fuck of a lot better than mine. Clearwater. My last name is Schmooter. More than likely given to me by our shared mother to honor whatever bastard she let come inside her. I make a decision. Asshole or not, I want to keep a piece of my brother with me, and the only thing I know about him is his name.

From this second on, I’m no longer Kevin Schmooter.

I’m Kevin Clearwater.

I hurry up and finish my third meal. Leaving a tip on the table, I grab my backpack and head over to the adjoining Quick Mart. I purchase a burner phone, and when I get out into the parking lot, I immediately dial Pike’s number, which is the only number I actually have memorized.

No answer.

Fuck.

Logan’s Beach is only ten miles away, and now, with a belly full of food, I’m sure I can manage the walk.

I only make it to the middle of the parking lot when I remember what I’d done to get that full stomach. The trucker. The…

All of the much-needed food in my gut comes back up again in a rush of regret, right there in the parking lot.

After I’m sure it’s passed, I wipe my mouth. Before I can even stand up straight, a thick pair of legs appear before me. I look up to find the trucker from earlier, glaring down at me. “I think you took something of mine.”

“I’ve got no clue what you’re talking about. We’re done here,” I say, stepping around him.

He grabs me by the arm just as another trucker, even bigger than him, comes out of the shadows and grabs my other arm. “This the kid?”

“Yeah, check his bag.”

He does and immediately finds the wallet.

Shit, mother fucking fuck. I should have tossed it in the diner, but decided to ponder my shitty life instead.

I tug at my arms, but it’s no use. These guys are massive. My backpack falls to the floor, and I hear my laptop break inside.

“Let me go, motherfuckers!” I spit, gnashing my teeth together, and I try and fail and again and again to fight them off. They smell of body odor and liquor. My stomach jumps again at the stench.

“What kind of fun would that be? Kid, we’re just gettin’ started,” the man I ripped off cackles as they tug me deep into the shadows of the parking lot.

I lose both of my sneakers trying to get a grip on the pavement. But it’s no use. They’re too big, and I’m too small and too weak. They shove me into the cab of the truck and gag me with a rag that smells like motor oil. I try to push away and lunge for the door, but I’m knocked on the side of my head by something hard.

As the world around me goes fuzzy, one thought comes to mind.

Not a single fucking person will care when I’m dead.

An image of a naked woman below me takes shape. She’s writhing and begging for my cock, but I’m struck with images of the past. Images from my subconscious that hits me just as I’m about to push inside of her. The touching. The pain. The helplessness I feel when I try to move away but can’t.

I roll off the woman, but I’m assaulted with more and more images until I’m pounding on my head and screaming at them to go away.

LENNY

I’m familiar with nightmares. In fact, I just woke up from one of my own. One where I was falling. Facing death while looking up at the boy and the future I was never going to have.

I quickly realize that it wasn’t my nightmare that woke me.

It’s Nine.

He’s covered in sweat and writhing around violently. I try to wake him, by shouting his name, but it’s no use. His eyes are pinched shut, his forehead lined with confusion. He’s shouting, “No! Go away! No! No more! Leave me alone! I’ll fucking kill you!”

I leap on top of him and shake him hard. When that doesn’t work, I try a less conventional tactic.

I slap him across the face.

Hard,

His eyes fly open and I’m flipped onto my back and pressed into the bed.

I gasp as his hands wrap around my throat and squeeze.

“It’s you,” he says, his eyes focusing on me. The tension leaves his hand on my throat, but the hand remains. “It’s really you.”

“It’s just me.”

Nine blinks rapidly like for a moment he might have thought I was someone else, but his weight remains on top of me.

I shiver. Not because I’m afraid, but because close to him like this is like standing close to an electric current. My entire body is humming with either anticipation or the fear of being electrocuted.

“Do you feel that?” I ask, breathlessly. “What is that?”

“I don’t know,” Nine says, splaying his fingers on my throat then moving down to my collar bone and shoulder. “Never felt it before.”

“Me either,” I admit.

“Not even with…?” he asks.

“Not even with him,” I admit. I’m hyper focus on his lips. Lips that I want on mine. On my body. Everywhere.

“Why were you with him? Of all people, why him?” he dips his fingertips inside the neckline of my t-shirt.

I’m almost giddy at the compliment in his question.

He means that Jared was such a shit that he can’t believe anyone would actually be with him, not that you’re so amazing you can have anyone you want so why did you pick Jared.

Ego much?

“I don’t know. It just happened.” I look away, rolling my head to the side. “My parents died, and he was there for me, and that was it. He was the only man I’ve ever been with. I didn’t love him, but I stayed because it was just easier to stay.” I’m embarrassed by my own admission. Hearing it out loud sounds ridiculous, even to me.

Apparently, it sounds ridiculous to Nine as well.

“You don’t know why you were with him, except that he was the first man to make you cum?” He’s not mocking me. He’s just asking a valid question while his hands explore pulling the large collar down in the front to trail his hand between my breasts while the other traces my outer thigh, leaving a heat trail on my skin everywhere he touches.

“I…” I stutter, not knowing how to correct him without saying the actual words, but finding it hard to come up with the right ones. “He never…”

“He never made you come?” he finishes for me.

I take a deep breath through my nose. “Never.”

Nine’s eyes widen. His lips part. He licks the silver lip ring hooped through his right side of his bottom lip. “So, no man has ever made you…”

I simply shake my head.

Nine sucks in a breath, his eyes gleam, darkening with each passing second. He smirks and my stomach flips. “Oh, little bird, this is going to be fun.”

“What is?” I ask, wondering if he’s decided to finally begin the torture.

And in a way, I’m right.

“This.” He presses his lips to mine again. They’re soft, yet the kiss is hard. Demanding. Seeking.

I pull back. My words come out breathless. “This is a dangerous game of cat and mouse we’re playing.”

A devilish smirk plays on his handsome face. I hold his jaw in my hands. “More like a game of cat and bird.”

My nipples graze his warm chest, hardening on contact. “And we all know how that turns out in the end,” I reply, lifting my hips to his. “The cat eats the bird.”

Nine groans, then lightly scrapes his nails over my bare arms before pressing them firmly into my skin. I gasp at the bite of pain. “That’s not what happens,” he says. “The pretty bird swoops down from nowhere and sinks her sharp talons into the cat, marking him for life.”

There’s no sarcasm in his voice. I don’t know how to begin to process what it is he’s trying to tell me, but I need to know what happens next in this twisted story. It takes all of my concentration to get out my next few words.

“And...and then what?”

Nine raises my arms and pins my wrists to the mattress. He grazes his teeth over the sensitive spot behind my ear. He lowers his voice to a deliciously deep rumble that has me vibrating with his every word. “And then he eats her.”

He releases my hands and tugs up the t-shirt. He tears my panties from my body and tosses them to the floor, placing both hands on my hips. I don’t know if he’s anchoring me to the bed or to him, but regardless of which, it’s him not wanting to let me go.

And for the first time, I don’t want to run.

He pushes his hair from his face and admires me from head to nipples, to stomach, to legs. He parts my thighs, pushing them wide at the knees until there’s no secrets left between us. I’m bared to him. All of me is his for the taking.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin, painting a hot trail with his tongue as he lowers himself down my body, across my upper thigh to the apex between my legs where his mouth lingers softly over the pulsing aching flesh.

He reaches up, and pinches my right nipple as he lowers his mouth and covers my clit with warmth, again lightly sucking, but this time right where I’m craving his touch. Immediately, the pressure and tension in my body makes me feel like a Stretch Armstrong, pulling me further and further apart, ready to snap back at any second. I feel my pussy tense and release, contract, gripping at nothing until his tongue fills the empty space inside of me, and I clamp down around him over and over again.

I arch up high above the bed and grip his hair between my hands. He pushes me back down, grabbing my thighs and throwing them over his shoulder. Holding me in place by my hips.

It’s a kind of torture, but the last kind I expected.

When I can’t take anymore, coming undone is nothing like I ever experienced. A man has never given me an orgasm before now, and I half expected it to be like a series of waves gently washing over me, causing my body to shudder in satisfactory bliss.

But that’s the shit in my mother’s old romance novels.

This is reality.

This is Nine, the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, with his tongue between my legs.

It’s so much better.

But this thing between us, connecting us, is far from a romance.

It's a crash.

A fucking freefall.

My throat burns along with the rest of my body as a scream tears from my throat, until I can no longer hear my own voice. The pressure builds and builds until I’m falling faster. Harder. My vision blurs. I can’t see anything, but I feel everything.

I hit the ground below, and I hit it hard.

So hard that my entire body breaks apart on impact. I writhe to both relish in and relieve myself from the intensity. The pressure.

The pain.

This is what death feels like.

No, this is what life feels like.

I press my thighs around his head as the force of the impact hits me. I thread my fingers in his hair, crying out his name. Moaning through the pleasure that continues and continues and doesn’t let up because Nine hasn’t let up. He continues licking and sucking until the last vibration of pleasure courses through me. I shudder as it leaves my body, my muscles go completely slack.

When I come to, my eyes flutter open to find myself eye to eye with Nine, who is staring down at me with wide-eyed wonderment. His hair is disheveled. His swollen lips parted. His chest heaving as he licks his lips and stares down between my spread thighs.

I’m incoherent as I babble, “I think I hit the ground. Hard.” I wiggle to check to see if my muscles are still working and sit up when I feel the sheets are completely soaked beneath me.

Nine chuckles. “No, you didn't hit the ground. You hit the water.”

My face flames. “I…” I trail off, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

“Don’t you dare fucking apologize for that.” Nine rasps, removing my hands from the damp sheet I am now using to cover my bare breasts. “I’ve never been so hard from making a girl come in my entire damn life, and I won’t have you ruin it by apologizing.”

I meet his heavily lidded gaze. He presses a soft kiss to my inner thighs before reaching up and pressing on my chest, pushing me back down to the mattress. He grips my thighs and tosses them back over his shoulders, so his head is between my legs once more.

“What are you doing?” I ask just as his lips graze my already too-sensitive sex, I buck my hips at the contact.

He licks between my folds and mutters. “I’m drinking you.” He closes his mouth over my clit and rolls his tongue and holy shit of all shits I decide that this is most definitely torture because I don’t know how much more I can take.

This time, I don’t give a shit about not having a parachute because I want to fall, and as fucked up as it is, I want him to be the one to catch me.

His tongue circles my clit over and over. Faster and faster, and I’m coming undone once again, screaming his name into the night.

This time it takes even longer for me to come back to reality, and when I do, I sit up and open my eyes only to look around and find that I’m completely alone.

The door slams.

Nine’s gone.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

NINE

WHEN TWO HURRICANES COLLIDE, either the weaker storm is absorbed by the stronger one or they fuse together to become a much stronger, super storm. Nobody knows which until it happens.

The way I see it, is that either way it’s still a fucking hurricane, and damage will still be done. Shit will still be torn apart.

People will probably die.

Which is why I couldn’t stay in that RV for one more second.

Lenny and I are both hurricanes, on a course for collision, and who the fuck knows what’s going to happen when or if the skies clear.

The more I look at her, the more I touch her, the more my fucked-up heart cracks. It took everything I have not fuck her into oblivion. She was right there. Ready. Willing. Wet.

Fucking perfect. Better than any dream I’ve ever had. Better than any porn I’ve ever watched. I thought I was broken before, but the more time I spend with Poe, the more I realize that I have no idea what broken is.

Because when all of this is over, I know without a doubt that one way or another, she’ll be the one who truly breaks me.

My skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, but deep inside, I’m chilled to the bone. My spine is a rod of ice.

I walk to the center of the field and look around. I spot my brother on the far side and head toward him.

Preppy inhales the air deeply, then proceeds to light a one-hitter shaped like a unicorn and inhales even deeper. He blows the smoke out through his nose and mouth then passes it to me.

“Seriously? This is your one-hitter?” I ask, turning over the white and pink sparkling unicorn in my hand. Its back is carved out and has a small metal bowl perfectly packed with Preppy’s best weed. Or OUR best weed, I should say.

“Are you being judgy, brother? ‘Cause if you don’t like that one, I’ve got one shaped like a pink elephant, an eggplant, or…” he rummages around in his pocket and pulls out what looks like a pack of gum. “Or this,” he says, pulling on the silver foil which turns out to be the bowl you pack the weed in.

“Dude, where did you get this?” I take it from his hands. “It’s genius.”

“I made it,” he says with a shrug.

“You can sell these, you know,” I say. “I can make it happen. Find a factory, distribution, and sell it on our website.”

He shrugs again. “If you want to, go ahead, but brother, it’s small change compared to what we are doing here,” he says, looking out lovingly over the field. It’s about halfway to harvest time, and we’ve got all of the medical dispensaries ready to take first delivery the second the first plants are ready. “You gotta look at the big picture.”

“I see it, Preppy. I do.”

“Good,” he says.

I go to hand him back his gum pack one-hitter, but he holds up his hand. “Keep it. Recreational still isn’t legal so I need you to be careful. Cops around here aren’t as bribable as they used to be, and I can’t afford to be springing another person from jail.”

“Another person?”

Preppy smiles. “My boy, Grim. Long story. Starts with a phone call saying he needs my help. Ends in a small explosion, a rescue, and scratching the fuck out of King’s truck.” He scratches his head. “Actually, that’s the whole story.”

On the other side of the field, a man walks through the clearing and waves to Preppy. He’s wearing an ill-fitting suit. As he approaches, he takes off his jacket and drapes it around his arm.

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“Someone who’s going to take Clearwater Cannabis to the top,” Preppy answers through his teeth so that our guest can’t read his lips.

“Mr. Clearwater, nice to see you again,” the red-faced man says, sounding out of breath. “I didn’t realize how far out this place was. I would have worn something different if I knew I had to track through half a mile of woods in 90 degree heat.”

Preppy shakes the man’s hand. “I didn’t think the locals would appreciate this being too close to town. Although the medical part might be legal and they might agree with it in theory, there is still too much of a stigma to risk a misguided group of conservatives gathering their pitchforks and storming the field, burning my crops to shit in the middle of the night.”

“Smart,” the man says.

“Would you care for a sample?” Preppy asks, nodding to the unicorn one-hitter still in my hand.

“I would. I would,” the man says eagerly.

I pass it to him, and he takes a long hit, keeping his eyes closed as he blows out the smoke. “It’s so smooth,” he says, finally opening his eyes.

“That’s only a small taste of what we have going on here at Clearwater Brothers’ Farm,” Preppy says proudly, slapping me on the back.

“Clearwater Brothers?” I ask Preppy frozen in shock. The money I invested with that shit Jared was supposed to make me enough in interest over the next couple of years to buy into the business. I don’t want shit given to me. I’ve always worked for what I have, and I’m not about to take shit just because we’re blood.

Preppy ignores me. “Governor Jenkins, have you met my brother, Nine?”

“No, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” he extends his hand, and I take it. “Great to meet you. Governor Joshua Jenkins at your service.”

“Governor?” I ask, watching as he takes another hit.

The governor smiles. “We will get recreational cannabis passed as soon as we can. Until then, if anyone asks, and according to my quack of a doctor who I pay a lot of money to give me the diagnosis of my choosing, I have glaucoma.”

“Glaucoma, it is,” I say with a smile. I decide that now is not the time to tell him that glaucoma is not on the list of diseases that medical marijuana is legally allowed to be prescribed to treat.

“You know, with all the shit you’ve been through, Preppy, you can get yourself a medical card and list post-traumatic stress disorder,” the governor says.

Preppy pulls out his wallet. “Nah,” he hands the governor the green card.

The governor laughs. “Crohn’s disease? You’d rather tell people you have a debilitating case of the shits than claim PTSD?”

Crohn's disease, also not on the list.

“PTSD means a lot of questions about what happened to me and why, and I don’t much care for those,” Preppy responds, taking the card back and shoving it back into his wallet. “Besides, I don’t need a shrink. I got Dre.”

“That wife of yours. She’s a good one,” the governor says. “I lost my first wife because I was a shit and forgot to actually court her. Date her. Take her places. Make her smile. Now, I look back and think about how simple it would’ve been just to be there for her. Show her that I understand. Find out what she needed most from me and just given it to her. Even if I knew it was still going to end, at least, I would be happy knowing I made a difference in her life and that the difference was for the good and not a shot of penicillin because hubby likes hookers.” He wags his finger at Preppy. “You gotta hang on to that one, by force if necessary.”

“That’s the plan, Gov,” Preppy agrees. “Sans penicillin, of course.”

The governor nods. “Of course.”

“When do you think you’ll be ready to harvest?” The governor asks, moving to stand between me and Preppy. The three of us gaze out over the vast field and years of backbreaking hard work.

Preppy looks to me to answer.

“In the next couple of months. We have processors coming in to get it all wrapped up and ready for distribution,” I say.

“Excellent. If this all works, you better start looking for land for more fields.” The governor shakes both of our hands. “Nice doing business with you boys. I’ll be in touch soon.”

Denny, the field manager, drives up in his golf cart. “Denny, would you mind giving the governor a ride to his car?” I ask.

“Sure thing, boss,” Denny says.

“Thank God. It’s hot as balls out today, fellas,” the governor says. He gets in Denny’s cart, and with a wave, they’re off to the other side of the field.

“I need to ask you something,” I say to Preppy, the governor’s words on my mind.

“No, I’m not going to tell you where I stash my good coke,” Preppy deadpans without looking up from the book he’s reading. “Besides, it’s under lock and key, so you won’t be able to get to it even if you know where it is. Good parenting and all that.”

“No, it’s something else.”

“I’m all ears and huge cock,” Preppy says with a wink, waving me onto continue.

“So, where would you take a girl around here?” I avert my eyes from Preppy.

Preppy shrugs and scratches his beard. “I’m glad you came to me with this. Let me think. I mean, male or female really has nothing to do with the location. It’s more like weight and height and how many parts we’re talking about. Disposal is an art form, but if the body fits in a boat, you can ride out to all sorts of places—”

“No, not to dump a body,” I interrupt. “That you’ve already taught me. I mean to take her out. You know, for fun.”

“Trick question, because wherever I go becomes fun.”

I roll my eyes. “Nevermind, I’ll go ask Dre.”

“No, wait! I’ve got you, brother. But, dude, you’ve lived here for years. You know what’s around here just as well as I do by now.”

“No, I know that the trailer with the meth-heads who don’t blow themselves up weekly is three banyan trees past the stop light on the left in the woods. I know which farm stand doesn’t buy their produce at the big box store before trying to sell it off as farm fresh. I know which liquor store doesn’t water down their booze—”

“Which one?” Preppy asks, perking up.

I grin. “None of them. They all do it. I was just seeing if you were paying attention.”

“Touché, my bro. Continue.”

“I know what strip clubs to find the bikers in. I know which roads to take to avoid the cops. The point is that all of the places I know aren’t places to take a girl. They aren’t date places.”

Preppy raises an eyebrow. “They aren’t? ‘Cause I’m not gonna lie. They all sound like a pretty fuckin’ good time.”

I harden my gaze.

“Okay. Okay. But you’re missing the big picture here. It’s not what bar has cleaner bathrooms or about taking her to a billion-course dinner. If we’re talking about Lenny here, then she had all that, and did it make her happy?”

I sigh and shake my head because happy is something that Lenny is not, and from the way she talks about her anxiety, it started way before Jared, uh, disappeared.

“Okay, so if you really want to impress this girl, don’t just take her somewhere you think she’ll like. SHARE something with her. Something that has to do with you. Something you dig.”

I’m waiting for the usual punchline, but it never comes. As his words sink in, an idea comes to mind. “Thanks, Prep.”

I turn around to leave. I’ve got one foot onto the path leading to my RV when Preppy calls out to me, “You know, if the date thingy doesn’t work out, text me her height and weight, and I’ll meet you at the boat!”

I turn around to flip him a middle finger. I expect him to be laughing, but his face his completely serious.

“Tell me something, brother. Are you all shook up over this girl because she’s the girl from the bridge? Or because she’s from the rich side of town? Or because Ricci’s men are after her? Or because you killed her boyfriend? Or because you want to hit it like—”

“Yes.”

“Eh, it could be worse.”

“It could be worse?” I throw my hands in the air. “How the fuck could it be any worse?”

Bo appears from within the office holding a large Ziploc bag with something white in it.

I point to the bag and try to get Preppy’s attention. “Uh, Preppy? Is that…”

Preppy spins around and snatches the bag from Bo’s hand. “Bo, where did you get this?”

“From the safe, behind your desk. Under the floorboards. I heard you talking to Uncle Nine about your good coke, so I broke into it and got it for you.” Bo smiles proudly.

Preppy crouches down so he’s eye to eye with his son. “What did I tell you about things like this?”

His little smile flattens. “No hard drugs until I’m old enough to make my own bad decisions. But I didn’t try it. It would stunt my growth. I was just trying to help, Daddy. I swear.”

Preppy stands. “Go inside, and wait for me. We’ve got to have a little talk.”

“Another one?” Bo whines.

“Yeah, buddy, another one.”

Bo goes inside the office, and Preppy blows out a long breath. He looks torn.

“You gonna be okay, Prep?” I ask.

He runs his hands through his hair. “Yeah, I am. I uhh…I’m just a little mixed up right now.”

I wait for him to elaborate.

“Like, on one hand, I’m pissed because my kid broke into my safe and brought me a bag of my good coke, but on the other hand…” His eyes gloss over, but he doesn’t look upset. He looks…proud? “He knows what good coke is.”

I leave Preppy to have a chat with his son and head back to the RV. I think about the list of reasons Preppy gave me as to why I’m so pissed off and annoyed at the situation with Lenny, and they don’t seem right. They don’t seem right because they aren’t right. I already know the real reason why I’m so bothered, but I can’t admit it yet, even to myself.

Because you can’t lose her again.

WHEN I STEP inside my RV, I find Lenny sitting on the kitchen counter still in my t-shirt with the bottle of vodka between her legs. I can see her navy-blue panties behind the clear glass and do my best to seem indifferent although my cock jumps at the sight, remembering how she tasted on my tongue, how she came undone screaming my name.

“I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity,” she says, softly, adding, “Edgar Allan Poe.” As if I don’t know where the quote came from. As if I haven’t read or reread everything the man ever wrote after the night on the bridge.

“So, what’s the plan, Stan?” she asks, her voice raspy and sad.

“Plan?”

“Yes. The plan. What are you waiting for? What am I waiting for?” She rests both hands on the neck of the bottle. “Are you waiting to find Jared or waiting to figure out if I’m a liar before you let me go? And if I am a liar, are you just going to off me and dump me in the swamp like the severed head?” She hiccups, and I notice a slight slur in her speech. “Or, are you just waiting for Ricci’s men to magically lose interest in me? Or are you planning on keeping me here forever and evers?” Hiccup. “I’m a bird in a cage. Again.” She takes another gulp of vodka and rests it on her thigh, leaning the neck of the bottle toward me as she talks. “I’ve been that bird before. Been there. Done that. And you know what? It was totally my fault. I trapped myself. Me, me, me, and only me. But, I can for sure tell you, I didn’t like it all that much.” She scrunches her nose. “Nope, didn’t like it at alls.”

I take the bottle from her and set it to the side. “No cages. I don’t know the long-term plan yet. I’m still trying to figure all this out.”

She picks the bottle right back up. “But you’re still looking for him, right? Because when you find him, I’ve got some things I need to get off my chest.”

“Yeah, I’m still looking.”

For the money, anyway.

“How, how are you looking?” she demands to know.

“I’ve been hacking into his work server. Bank records. Paper trails. Anything I can think of.” That part is true.

“Hacking? You good with computers or something? Because, and I’m only being honest here, I don’t really see you as the computer nerd type.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” I tell her.

“Ditto,” she says tipping the bottle to her mouth.

“I’m still trying to figure all this out, Lenny.”

“Is that why you left before? Because you are just trying to figure it all out?” Her eyes are glassy and rimmed in red.

“You can say that.” I push the hair from her eyes. She yanks away and I ball my fist before dropping it to my side.

“I just did say that,” she argues. Hiccup. “I just don’t like being left alls alone is all. At least, not without a goodbye. Jared lefted me. You lefted me.” Her unfocused eyes meet mine. “Bridge boy lefted me.”

My mouth goes dry. “Bridge boy?” I ask, making sure I heard her correctly.

Hiccup. “Yup, bridge boy lefted me.” She picks up the bottle once again and take a healthy swig. “Well, technically I left him. I slipped and went down, down, down. All my fault. Never even got his name. He probably thinks I’m dead. I should be dead. But nope.” She holds out her arms. “Surprise! Totally not a dead. Nope. Not dead at all. I crawled to the shore and barfed up half the bay and walked home barefoot. Watched them dragging the river from the other side, but they never found me.” She giggles then whispers, “Because I wasn’t in there.” She sighs. “Good times.” Her words are slurred, but it does nothing to dull their impact. “I thinks about hims every day. Bridge Boy. Where he is? What he’s doing? If he has a goldfish named Bam-Bam?” She giggle-snorts.

My heart lurches just as Lenny sways and starts to fall sideways off the counter. I catch both her and the vodka, setting them both upright. “I definitely don’t think he has a fish named Bam-Bam,” I say, lifting her into my arms. She’s so tiny and weighs practically nothing. I easily carry her to my bed and lay her down, covering her with the blanket.

Her eyes are closed, and I think she’s asleep, but after a few seconds she whispers. “Do you think bridge boy thinks of me?”

The second the question leaves her lips, she begins to lightly snore.

I tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Only every fucking day.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

LENNY

IT’S BEEN a few days since my drunken melt down and I’m still a bird in a cage, only my cage is a future meth lab that is Nine’s RV.

Nine and I have barely spoken. During the day he works in the office next to the field. I spend my time drinking while watching mindless TV or drinking while reading one of the books from the stack underneath the TV. Surprisingly, I found a collection of Edgar Allen Poe Poetry that I’ve read twice since I’ve been here, but hundreds of times before.

Some days, I switch it up and just drink.

At night I make a big show over sleeping on the couch by myself only to wake up in bed circled up next to Nine unsure of how exactly I got there. I’m alone. Well, I’m sort of alone. Either Pike or one of the Lawless MC brothers are standing guard outside the door at all times, taking turns bringing me food and thankfully, vodka.

I’ve just showered and wrapped myself in a towel. I’m searching my bag for a hair tie. I cheer when I find one at the bottom of my bag. The RV door opens and I jump up, wrapping the towel tighter around my naked body.

Pike’s head appears as he leans in through the open door. “Hey, pretty girl. Get ready. I’m going to take you to meet him in ten minutes.”

The door shuts before I can tell him that I don’t have any clothes to put on. I stomp my foot in frustration and spin around to face the kitchen.

I spot two pairs of stretchy athletic shorts and a couple of racer-back white tank tops that have somehow magically appeared on the counter while I was in the shower.

I get dressed quickly. The shorts are shorter than I like to wear, and if I bend over, I’m pretty sure my ass is going to hang out. The tank tops fits perfectly. Snug, but made of thick enough cotton that won’t tell the world that I’m not wearing a bra. It’s a nice change to put on real clothes instead of wearing only panties and one of Nine’s shirts.

Pike is waiting me for me outside in a black van.

I get in with Baby Vodka on my lap and fasten the seatbelt over the two of us. “So how about that job?” I ask Pike with a bright smile that says I know my question is ridiculous, but I’m going to ask it anyway.

He glances down at Baby Vodka and cocks his head, probably confused at to why I’m treating it like a small child. What he doesn’t know is that it’s all I have and I’m a grown woman and I’ll treat this bottle of vodka like a baby if I damn want to. Surprisingly, all he says is, “You do know that children shouldn’t ride on laps. Didn’t you learn anything from Britney?” He pulls out of the field.

I pet the bottle. “We don’t like to be separated.”

Pike leans over me with one hand on the wheel and searches through his glove compartment. He finds what he’s looking for and clicks it shut, handing me a black leather flask with silver initials on the front that read PLV. “Here, you can keep it.”

“Thanks,” I say, trying to keep a steady hand while pouring vodka from the bottle into the tiny hole in the flask while Pike drives.

Pike sighs. “I want you to know that giving you the job isn’t my call, but if it was, no lie? I’d hire you in a heartbeat. You’d be great at it. Better than Trina, but then again, anyone would be better than Trina.”

“Then why does she work there?” I ask, screwing the top on the flask.

“She’s my cousin. Parents died a while back and I didn’t want her to be in the system so when I got out I got her out gave her a place to stay and a job. She’s…a unique individual. Only seventeen even though she’s been through more shit than most people twice her age.”

I think about my call with Lori when I asked her for a temporary place to stay. I wish she’d been half as generous as Pike is being with his cousin.

We pull up to a three-story house on stilts hidden behind a wall of brush lining the street. We pass a large garage to the left and keep rolling on the shell driveway until we stop next to the open parking area on the bottom level of the house.

“He’s back there,” Pike says, pointing straight ahead. I spot Nine sitting on the seawall behind the house overlooking the bay.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say sarcastically.

I take my flask and hop from the van. I eye Baby Vodka on the floor and contemplate bringing it with me.

Pike chuckles. “It’ll be in the RV when you get back.”

I nod and head toward Nine.

“Whose house is this?” I ask.

He turns around and shoves his hands in his pockets. “King and Ray’s,” he says, looking up at the house and shielding his eyes from the sun.

I join him on the seawall and look out over the bay. It’s surrounded on all sides by mangroves. In the very center is a small overgrown island. The sun is setting. It’s eerily quiet. The only sound is the occasional burping frog or squawking bird. Unlike me, it’s so calm. Peaceful even.

“What exactly are we doing out here?” I ask Nine. “Won’t King and Ray mind that we’re trespassing on their property?”

“Trust me. King won’t mind. They aren’t home anyway.”

He glances at the flask in my hand. “Nice flask.”

“It’s Pikes. He gave it to me,” I tell him, tucking it into the elastic waistband of my shorts.

“Did he now…” His eyes linger on my exposed skin for a beat too long before he looks away. “What you said the other day, about Jared. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“What did I say exactly?” I ask raising my shoulders to my chin. “I remember hanging out with my friend Vodka, and she has a tendency to make things a wee bit fuzzy.”

Nine tilts his head to the side. The fading sun shining the day’s last light on his smooth, yet sharp jaw. “You were talking about how he left you alone. How you hated being left, and you were upset that he didn’t tell you that he was leaving.”

I remain silent. How he’s managed to come to know me so well confuses me but makes my heart swell. “I don’t care about Jared. I never did.”

“I didn’t say you did care. I said you were upset about being left alone, and it made me think that your buddy Vodka brought up some shit that you’re otherwise pushing down, but you should be able to feel however you need to feel to come out on the other side without visible scars. I don’t want the thought of Jared and what he did to stand between you and the rest of the fucking world.”

“He’s not between anything,” I insist. “The only things standing between me and the rest of the world is you. And not being able to leave the RV….” I think for a second. “Oh, and Ricci’s men.”

“Look, I read this book on anxiety,” he begins to say.

“When?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.

“Last night, when you were snoring away,” he smiles.

I roll my eyes. “I don’t snore.”

“Okay, we’ll call it an adorable purr, then. If it makes you feel better about it.”

I stick out my tongue like a child.

His voice depends. “Careful with that tongue, little bird, or I’ll put it to good use.”

My lips part at the suggestive nature of his words. I clear my throat and turn away from him to look back over the bay. “So, this book you read?” I press, pretending that his words didn’t just send shivers down my spine in the most delicious way.

“Basically, it said that when people pretend a problem or something from their pasts don’t exist, and they shove it down deep inside, it’s like packing ammo into a heated storage room. Eventually, it’s all going to explode. Trust me, I’ve been there, and now, I have nightmares because of it. With your anxiety, it might be worse for you. Maybe not now, but a week or a year down the line, and I don’t want you to have to go through that.”

My heart warms. He read a book on anxiety because of me. For me. My mom was the only one who ever attempted to understand me and the way I function because of anxiety. I’m...shocked. Confused. But also surprised, in a way that makes me eager to find out more about why exactly we are here right now.

“What do you recommend, Doctor Nine?” I purse my lips.

“I’ll show you. Hang on.” Nine jogs over to a plastic storage box nailed to the concrete seawall and opens it, retrieving a golf bag with a full set of golf clubs still inside.

“We’re golfing?” I ask, until I recognize the cheesy golf club cover things on the edge. Green with white pom-poms on top. “Wait, how do you have Jared’s golf clubs?”

“I broke back into the house to see if the movers left any of your clothes since you didn’t take much. They didn’t. But I stumbled upon these in the corner of the garage, and since all the pictures in his office are of him golfing I figured they were important to him, and therefore will work perfectly for our little exercise today.”

“Apparently they weren’t important enough to him to take with him,” I mutter bitterly. Too bitterly.

Nine gives me an I-told-you-so look. “Which brings me to today’s lesson, little bird.”

I wave my hands for him to continue.

“Closure,” Nine plucks a club from the bag. “You need closure.”

I cross my arms defensively over my chest. “I don’t need closure. I never even loved him. Am I pissed he left without warning and stole from me? Yes. Do I need closure on a relationship I never should have been in to begin with?” I shake my head. “Eh, not so much.”

He flips the club around in his hand and catches it with ease. “I never loved my mother, and she abandoned me at birth. I didn’t think I needed closure until the bitch died, and I got it by tossing her ashes into the Logan’s Beach Dump.”

“How did it feel?” I ask, curiously.

He grins and holds out the club for me to take. “Better than Preppy’s super smoothies.”

I’m still skeptical, and he sees it written all over my face.

“I need you to trust me on this one,” he presses, unfolding my arms and pushing the club into my hands.

I relent and close my fingers around it. “Okay, fine, but what exactly am I supposed to do with this?”

“You’re supposed to yell all of the things you would say to him if he was standing here right now and then toss his shit into the water.”

“Can’t we just go for ice cream?” I ask, sticking out my lower lip. Even thinking about dredging up the past makes me feel heavy and weighted to the ground.

“We can.” He points to the golf club in my hand. “After.”

I take a deep breath and face the water. “Jared, you were an asshole of epic proportions,” I say flatly, and drop the club into the water. I look to Nine. “We good?”

He hands me another club. “Not even close. Close your eyes. Remember how he made you feel.”

I take it from his hands and close my eyes. I remember a day, not so long ago, I was having a panic attack, and he looked at me wrapped up in blankets like I was an alien. “You never understood me,” I say, my tone a little louder. I toss the club underhand into the water. Nine’s right, it feels...better?

“Good,” he says, handing me another one. “Try again. Take a deep breath. Louder this time.”

“You called me crazy instead of trying to understand me.” I toss it into the water, further this time. Another club is already in my hands. “You made me trust you, then you took everything away from me.”

“Louder!” Another club magically appears.

My voice is so loud I can hear my own echo over the trees, yelling back at me. “You drove the stupidest fucking car that was ever made!” I’m throwing overhand now, launching the clubs like javelins into the water. One after the other. “I mean orange? Really!? That’s a fucking pumpkin, not a fucking car.”

“Good, louder!”

I take the club. “You didn’t listen when I said I didn’t want that stupid fucking house!” Toss.

“You never came to the cemetery on the anniversary of my parents’ deaths.” I’m launching them now, throwing with everything I have, ignoring the pain in my shoulder as I throw each one harder and harder.

“You told me you’d take care of me, but you never fucking meant it.” I send it sailing into the water. I’m hyper focused and surrounded by all of the feelings Anxiety has been filing away where Jared’s sudden departure is concerned.

“You never took the time to get to know me. I was a pet to you. Something you had to clean up after. Something you paraded around in public, then put in a cage at night. I’m no one’s fucking pet!” Launch.

“You never loved me, and I never loved you, but you never gave me a reason to love you!” Launch.

“You have a really tiny fucking penis!” Launch.

When no more clubs appear in my hand, a deep primal rage tears from my throat, releasing everything within. I don’t stop screaming until I feel the last of the resentment leave my body.

When I open my eyes Nine is standing in front of me, watching. Waiting. “How do you feel?”

“I feel…out of breath and relieved and like there’s this energy coursing through me, like I could run laps around the house or swim across this bay and back,” I say with a small laugh. “How did you know I needed that? How do you always seem to know what I need?”

He tips my chin up, rubbing his thumb over my jaw. “Because, I know firsthand that sometimes you gotta burn shit to the ground to appreciate the beauty in the ashes.”

He’s right, and I find myself caring about him even more for it.

I care about him?

Filing that tidbit under CAN’T DEAL and moving on.

I clear my throat. “Uh, ready for that ice cream?” I ask, trying to distract from the heaviness of the moment.

Nine’s gaze darkens. He sucks in his lip ring then releases it, his eyes on my lips. “Not yet, but I’m ready for you.”

He pulls me toward him, and my heart races as he lowers his head and his lips...buzz?

But it isn’t his lips buzzing, it’s his phone. He pulls it from his pocket and checks the screen.

“Shit, I almost forgot I got to be somewhere.” He grabs my hand and tugs me toward his truck which is parked behind the garage.

And just like that, the moment is broken.

“SO, you’re really going to trust me to be here all by myself?” I ask as we pull back up to the RV. We get out of the truck. “I mean, because that makes you a terrible kidnapper, just so you know. Did you skip that day of abduction school?”

Dre, Preppy’s wife, emerges from inside the RV and waves to us.

Nine chuckles and waves back.

I slap his hard bicep and point an accusing finger at the smug-looking bastard. “You got me a babysitter?”

He places his hand on the small of my back and I pretend it doesn’t send shivers to other jealous parts of my body that long to feel his touch again. He guides me toward the door. “No. Dre’s not your babysitter.” He points to where Pike is sitting on a lawn chair at the front of the RV with his legs crossed and resting on top of a red cooler. “He’s your babysitter.”

AS MUCH AS I didn’t like the idea of Nine arranging a playdate for me, Dre and I get along fantastically. Having only spoken to her for a few minutes when we met last time, distracted by her adorable children vying for her attention, we didn’t exactly have a chance to get to know each other at her house, but after talking with her today for only a few moments on our own, I feel like I know her enough to conclude that I like Dre. I like her very much.

Plus, we have a lot in common.

Dre works on renovating old houses, restoring them to their original condition before selling them for a hefty profit, which gives us a lot to talk about with my past in real estate. Not to mention that I’m in love with the whole red-lipped, fifties pin-up girl vibe she’s got going on that totally works for her. Dre might just be the coolest chick I’ve ever met besides Yuli, and since Yuli is a billion miles away, it feels really good to have a girl around to talk to again.

“I think I might have a girl crush on you,” I tell Dre.

She smiles brightly. “Ditto, Lenny. You’re a breath of fresh air, but honestly, even if you turned out to be a terrible human, I’m just happy that Preppy’s got the kids today and to be out of the house on my own for a few minutes.”

Speaking of out of the house…

“You don’t, by chance, know where Nine went running off to today?” I ask.

Dre is unloading a wardrobe full of clothes and spreading them out on the bed. Dresses. Tops. Jeans and an assortment of sandals and sneakers.

“I do know, but I think it’s better if he tells you,” she says. “Besides, it’s not my place to tell other people’s secrets. Lord knows I’ve had a ton of my own I wouldn’t be happy if people went blabbing them when I wasn’t ready to tell them myself, but I also don’t want to lie to you. Can you understand that?”

I nod. I can understand that and I appreciate her honestly and her reasons. “I just hate secrets. I don’t even know why he’s kidnapped me or why he cares that there are men after me. It doesn’t make any sense!”

Dre offers me a small smile and places her hands on my shoulders. “For the record, I’ve been kidnapped, and this—” She twirls her index finger around in the air at the walls of the RV. “—ain’t it.”

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” I offer, plopping down on the bed. “I didn’t know.”

She holds up her hand. “No need for apologies. I’ve been through much worse things than a kidnapping, and most of those things, I did to myself.”

When I scrunch up my nose in confusion, she clarifies, “I was a heroin addict.”

“Ah, got ya.” I take the most ladylike sip I can from my solo cup of vodka. I look into the cup. “Does this bother you?”

She laughs. “No. I drink on occasion. And I honestly don’t even crave drugs at all anymore. I think it was more situational than anything, but I don’t indulge in anything to extremes just to be safe.” She smiles. “Except, of course, for my insatiable husband.” She plucks a short-sleeved, off-the-shoulder top from the bed. “Here, I think this will work for you.”

My eyes go wide. “Wait, these clothes are for me? I thought you brought them over so I could help you pick an outfit for something.”

She looks over the clothes again. “Nope, Nine told me that you only brought a small backpack with you and there wasn’t much in it. He called and wanted me to help you get some clothes. So, here I am, the magical wardrobe fairy at your very service.”

I look over at all of the options. I want to be appreciative but I can’t get to that emotion because there’s a question blocking my way. “See, this is what I mean. WHY is he doing this?”

She raises her eyebrows and picks a short denim skirt from the bed. “Did you ever think that maybe he wants to protect you and do nice things for you because you’re you? Isn’t that enough of a reason?”

No, it’s not, but I wish it could be.

I glance into the small mirror on the wall beside the bed and catch a glimpse of my reflection. The bags under my eyes. My colorless cheeks. My tousled, long brown hair that I never liked, but Jared insisted would look more professional than my short platinum asymmetrical bob I was sporting when I met him. “No, that thought never occurred to me. But have you seen me lately?” I gnash my teeth and pull in my chin.

Dre laughs and stands behind me, talking to my reflection. “We can fix you up in no time. My Nan loved a good makeover, and lucky for you, she passed me that gene on in spades.” She walks over to the big suitcase she brought and pulls out several pairs of shoes, lining them up against the wall. She leans back, resting her chin on her hand as she looks them over.

I look to my reflection once more and an idea forms. I spin around. “Hey, Dre?”

She looks up from the shoes, “Hmmm?”

I pull the hair tie from my hair and let it fall around my shoulders. I tousle it with my fingers, shaking it loose. “How good are you with hair?”

CHAPTER TWENTY

NINE

PIKE TEXTS me that Dre wanted to take Lenny to one of the old homes she’s restoring to get her advice on the value.

I’m not happy they left, but at least, Pike is with them.

I’m drained after court today, but with no reason to head back to the RV just yet, I find myself at my brother’s house.

“I just need to give Tico proof that Lenny isn’t part of this,” I tell him.

“Okay, but what kind of proof? Her name is on all of the paperwork, right?”

I wrack my brain. “There’s got to be something.”

“Take a look at Jared’s computer again. Maybe, you missed something,” Preppy says, walking into the living room.

“Maybe,” I say, knowing that I didn’t. I’ve looked at the fucking thing ten times. There’s nothing pointing to the money and nothing exonerating Lenny. I can’t just sit around and wait for something to happen or not happen. I’m growing impatient with waiting. With not knowing.

“Can you believe that Canada’s Prime Minister is named Justin?” Preppy shouts from the living room.

“Why the sudden interest in Canadian politics, brother?” I respond, emerging from the kitchen with two beers. I hand one to Preppy.

“I’m trying to move some shit in from the good ‘ole north. Figured I should know a little about the fucker trying to put the smackdown on my delivery.”

“Although I’m pretty sure the Prime Minister himself isn’t trying to involve himself in your business personally, I’ll bite. What kind of shit are we talking ‘bout here?” I ask, leaning my elbows across the back of the couch. “First I’ve heard of it.”

Preppy’s smile widens. His voice turns soft. He’s downright awestruck as he speaks. “The finest, purest, grade A maple syrup ever made.”

“Syrup? You’re smuggling in syrup?” I’m not stunned. Preppy’s always up to weird shit. I mean, the man has a framed restraining order from Dr. Dre hanging above the dining room table for some reason no one has yet to explain to me.

“My Preppy-cakes deserve the very best, little bro.” He stands, jumps over the back of the couch and wraps an arm around my shoulders. He holds his hand up to the ceiling like it’s a canvas and he's about to paint me a magical picture. “This syrup isn’t just any syrup. It’s made by Mounties riding ginormous moose bareback in the deep woods of British Columbia. It’s very similar to how the good ‘ole American moon-shiners did things back in the day. And when I get it, I’m going to pour it all over Doc and—”

“Got it,” I cut him off, pushing his arm off of me and slapping at his hand before he can finish making whatever gesture I’m sure I don’t want to see.

Preppy shrugs and turns his attention back to the TV. “I mean really? Justin? What kind of name is Justin? Sounds like a tween actor.” He’s now holding a bowl of Cookie Crisp cereal under his chin, speaking between bites.

I glance up at the screen. Justin Trudeau is waving to a crowd from the back of a car in some parade. “Nah,” I say. “He looks more like a former boy-bander, you know, the one who dropped out of the group first, tried other things. A little real-estate, a little meth, a little house arrest. Eventually, he decides to clean up his act. After some extensive dental work, a shit-ton of Botox, and enough penicillin to cure a small plague, and BAM! He’s back, singing about sweaty, dirty love again while dancing like a cheerleader at a half-time show. Although, now he’s singing to a much older, much smaller crowd, of course. But there is still plenty of panty-throwing honeys to be had. He needs a little blue pill these days to get the job done, but he still manages to slay a fuck-lot of nostalgic choker-wearing bitches, their doc Martins all wrapped around his shoulders like it’s nineteen motherfuckin’ ninety-nine.”

I’m still thinking about other similarities to the Canadian Prime Minister and members of 90’s boy-bands, when I look up to Preppy, whose jaw is on the floor. Milk dribbles down the side of his chin. I think he’s going to say something about us being brothers and the way we both always manage to say the oddest of shit, but he doesn't. There’s a cry from the other room. Then another. He scrunches his nose.

“Wow, you’re a strange kid. You know that?” Preppy says, shaking his head. He gets up and heads down the hallway to tend to the twins.

“I’m a strange kid?” I shout after him.

I sigh, and my thoughts turn to what happened today with Lenny at the seawall. It felt like a breakthrough. And then I think about what almost happened until my phone alerted me with a reminder that I had to be in court.

Bo comes running into the house from the backyard and crashes into me. His watermelon of a head feels even bigger when it connects directly with my balls. “Bo, what’s up, buddy?” I grit out through the pain.

He looks up at me with his dark hair and pale face wearing the same bow-tie and suspenders set that Preppy has on. He smiles, and it’s downright Adams Family creepy. “I see dead people,” he whispers. For a kid that used to not talk he now makes a point of saying some very strange shit.

“You got to start going to sleep earlier and stop watching all those late-night movies you know you’re not supposed to be watching.”

Bo grabs my arm and drags me to the sliding glass doors. He points to the backyard. “No, seriously, though. There’s a body in the backyard. Look.”

I look out to see a mangled clump of naked man directly in the center of the yard.

“Holy shit. You’re right.” My mind is racing and in full alert mode.

“Told you,” Bo says, skipping off to the kitchen. “You want a cookie, Uncle Kevin?”

“Uh, not right now, but save one for me. And can you go ask your dad to come out here? Like, right the fuck now?”

“Sure thing,” he says around a mouthful of chocolate chip cookie as he strolls leisurely down the hall. “Dad, Uncle Kevin wants to talk to you about the dead guy in the back yard. Right the fuck now!”

I step out into the yard, swatting away the flies colliding into my face with each step. As I get closer I notice a large red tattoo on the dead man’s back. No, it’s not a tattoo. Paint, maybe? It’s not until I’m up close when I can make out that’s it’s a message written in blood.

It’s a number. And not just any number.

It’s the number nine.

And the body? It’s missing it’s fucking head.

Preppy joins me outside. “Any clue who the corpse is?” he asks, crouching down beside me.

“Yeah,” I say. “It’s Jared’s business partner, Sheff. The owner of the head left in Lenny’s bed.”

“Fuck me sideways,” Preppy whistles, but his words are all garbled. I look over, and he’s got a mouth full of cookies.

Bo steps out from beside him, his own mouth full of cookies. “Been dead about two days, by my guess,” he says, “The redness of the blood pooled under the skin of his chest means that he’s probably been kept face first somewhere before being moved here.”

“Makes sense,” I say considering we found his head not three days ago. “But how do you know that, kid? And why are you out here?”

Bo shrugs. “Doesn’t everyone know that? And I’m out here because you and Dad told me not to come, so naturally, I’m curious. Plus, I’m nine years old. Listening isn’t a strong point for kids of my age.”

Preppy ruffles Bo’s hair. “Go back inside, Bo. I’ve got to get rid of this situation before your sisters see it. Then, we can go to the skate park after your mom gets home.”

“I didn’t know you skate,” I say to Bo.

He wipes the crumbs from his hands on his pants. “I don’t. I just like to sit at the top of the ramp and watch people fall.” He skips back inside.

“Since the head was at Lenny’s and the body is here with Nine written on the back, I think it’s safe to say that he’s made the connection between the two of you and knows that you have her.” Preppy points out. “Am I right to assume that you’re not about to turn Lenny over for a little chat?”

“Not a chance fucking in hell, brother,” I grate.

“I figured, on the account of you being in love with her and all.”

“What?” I reply, standing up. “That doesn’t matter right now. Ricci’s people would torture her, and when she can’t tell them what they want to hear, they’ll kill her anyway. I’ve got to get a message to them. One that Tico Ricci will hopefully understand.”

“Understand? Tico? I hope that you’re right, but you better get that message out quick, brother,” Preppy holds his nose. “And this body. It stinks so bad it’s almost killing my appetite.” He shoves another cookie in his mouth while still holding his nose. “How you planning on explaining shit to him. Email? Stripper-gram? I’ve recently discovered that balloon bouquets are quite popular.”

“The only way I can get a message to him that he actually might listen to.” I crack my knuckles. “In person.”

BY THE TIME I pull up to the RV, I’ve sent a message to Tico by way of every encrypted email and phone number he’s ever been known to use requesting a face-to-face.

Now, I wait.

I shove my phone back in my pocket and step back inside my RV where I pause when I find a stranger standing in my kitchen with her back to me. Only, she’s not a stranger. She’s from the past. The same light white-blonde hair to her shoulders on one side and slightly shorter on the other. She’s wearing an off-the-shoulder, slouchy baby blue shirt over a short white denim skirt and plain white tennis shoes.

She looks exactly like she did the night I met her.

“Poe?” I ask, without thinking.

I think I’ve just fucked up royally, but she turns around and jumps at my presence, placing her hand over her heart. She pulls out the ear buds from her ears that are connected to my old MP3 player, peeking out from her pocket.

“You scared me,” she says, taking a deep breath.

Not nearly as much as you scare me.

“What do you think?” she asks, twirling around slowly with her arms open so I can get a look at her.

My throat is dry. My pulse is racing.

It’s hard to come up with the right words that can explain to her all the things I’m thinking and feeling about how she looks right now. Fuckable. Gorgeous. My living breathing wet dream.

MINE.

I clear my throat and decide that simple is best.

“I think it’s…you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

LENNY

WHEN NINE TELLS me that he’s taking me somewhere tonight, I can’t help but be excited, especially when he says that wherever we’re going is two towns over in Coral Pines where Ricci’s men wouldn’t be looking for me.

After I do some more primping and preening with the makeup that Dre left for me and step out of the RV. Nine is waiting for me at his truck, looking as handsome as ever in his standard, fitted white t-shirt and low-slung jeans. His hair is wet from his recent shower.

He glances up at me and freezes, his jaw open. He flicks his cigarette and comes to stand before me. “There you are,” he says, and I know he’s not talking about my physical presence. He’s taking in my new shorter platinum blonde hair and my off-the-shoulder shirt. I traded my glasses for a pair of contacts I luckily remembered to pack in my toiletries bag.

“You look fucking amazing,” he says, appreciation lacing his deep raspy voice.

“Yep, I’m here,” I reply, feeling suddenly nervous. I press my fingers into my palms but Nine surprises me when he takes my wrist and lifts my hand.

I try to pull my hand back, but he holds it firm, turning my palm up he looks over the crescent shaped scabs and scars. I wait for a question to come asking why I do this to myself or an admonishment of some sort, but what he does surprises me more than harsh words or judgements ever could. He presses a gentle kiss over the scabs then folds my fingers back in, releasing my hand.

I’m shaking now while Nine looks completely unaffected. He doesn’t say a word about what he just did or why.

“So, where exactly are we going?” I ask.

His lips turn up in a crooked grin. “Well, since the two of us have lived very adult lives before we ever had a chance to be kids…”

“Yeah?” I press.

He opens the passenger door of his truck and lifts me up inside. “What do you say we go be kids for a while?”

My heart leaps. Whatever the plan is the answer is yes.

“I say, lead the way.”

THE SECOND I set foot on the mushy grass parking lot, I breathe in the scent of fried foods and a sugary sweet scent, as if cotton candy was blowing around in the breeze like sugary dandelions.

Laughter and music floats through the air from within a vast, fenced-in area, which is covered with dozens of black tarps, presumably to prevent onlookers from taking a peek at what’s going on inside.

“A fair?” I ask, my palms sweaty with excitement. It’s been a while since I’ve been to a fair. Mindless fair games and dizzying rides are just the distraction I’ve been looking for that doesn’t come in a bottle.

Although, I did bring my flask, so there’s that.

“Sort of.” He flashes me a knowing grin and out pops that dimple on his chin.

Don’t lose your shit over a stupid fucking dimple. Sure, Nine can be nice, but he’s also dangerous and for all intense and purposes, your kidnapper.

I’m warring with my inner thoughts, so distracted that I don’t see the man beside the ticket booth until he jumps out from behind it, holding a bloody heart in his hands.

I scream and turn to run, only to collide with Nine’s hard chest. I begin to move away, to continue my escape when I feel him pull me back in, his torso shaking with laughter against my cheek. I crane my neck to see what’s so funny and ask why we aren’t running when Nine, looking highly amused, slowly pushes me off of him and turns me around to face my assailant.

Instantly, my face flushes with embarrassment. The man isn’t coming after me, he was never coming after me. He’s in costume and elaborate zombie makeup. The heart in his hands is only a prop. A good one, but still, just plastic and some sort of red liquid made to look like blood.

The man uses his hand not holding the prop to tip his tattered top hat in greeting. “Welcome, living ones. Do you two already have your tickets? If not, you can purchase wristbands from the zombie at the gate, otherwise known as my dear undead wife, Zelda,” he announces, then limps off to scare his next victims, a young couple who shrieks in terror before breaking out in uncontrollable laughter.

“Don’t worry. He’s not a real zombie,” Nine teases in a whisper.

I playfully smack his chest, but when I connect with his shirt, he grabs my hand and slowly lifts it to his lips. My breath catches in my throat. “You don’t have to worry about being bitten by zombies,” he says, grazing my knuckles with his teeth. “It’s me you should be afraid of.” He growls, then nips playfully at my hand, pretending to take a bite.

I both love and hate the way my body reacts to him, but kidnapper or not, I do like this playful side to Nine.

He lowers my hand, but doesn’t release it, instead linking his fingers with mine. He leads me through the gates after showing our tickets to the undead wife of the zombie who greeted us. He catches me staring at our linked hands. “For zombie protection, of course,” he assures me with a wink.

“What exactly is this sort-of fair?” I ask, using his earlier words.

It is a festival, that much I know. There’s rides and carnival games and booths with sugary treats and fried everything, but it’s not like any festival I’ve ever been to before, like the shrimp festival or the annual charity wine festival. For one thing, this place is packed with people, and none are wearing formal attire. In fact, most are dressed in tattered clothes like the greeter, and full faces of elaborate paint. Black circles around their eyes and mouths, splatters of red to make it look like their leaking blood. Some of the makeup is so elaborate and well done, it’s made to look as if they have gaping holes in the sides of their faces or heads. A tall, skinny man passes by and hisses, he’s shirtless, and his entire body is painted to make it look like his internal organs are hanging on the outside.

“Welcome to Zombie Fest!” Nine announces.

I raise my shoulders and let them fall again, relaxing for the first time in what seems like forever. The energy in the air hums all around me. “It’s…it’s fantastic.”

Nine tugs on my hand, leading me further inside the fairgrounds. “Come on. Unless you’re too scared.” He wags his eyebrows.

I straighten my shoulders and stick out my chest. “I’m not scared.”

Not of the zombies, anyway.

What scares me isn’t fake blood or gore or the hundreds of undead walking by. It’s the way Nine’s looking at me. The way his hand feels in mind. The way he’s smiling as he leads me around the fairgrounds and the way he laughs at what we discover in each booth. It’s how his eyes are filled with wonder and excitement. It’s a child-like enthusiasm that I’m both jealous of and at the same time makes me wonder other things about him. Like how it would feel to feel the full weight of him on top of me. Inside of me. Skin. Heat. Sweat. Lips… I shudder at the erotic thought.

Nine notices.

“Cold?” he asks.

It’s eighty degrees outside. I’m far from cold. In fact, my entire body is beading up in a sheen of sweat, but it has nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the man holding my hand.

“Still afraid?” he teases with a nudge. He pulls me deeper toward a booth with a bar and orders a couple of beers.

My whispered reply is lost amongst the music and the roar of the crowd.

“Terrified.”

I spot an ice cream stand right away, specializing in a cherry syrup topping that looks like blood.

Nine chuckles. “Do you want some of that, or are you just planning on eye fucking the ice cream stand?”

“Can we?” I ask, bouncing on the balls of my feet like a kid.

Nine takes my hand and walks me over to the ice cream stand. “What flavor do you want, Miss?” The zombie behind the counter asks. He’s got fake blood splattered on his apron and his paper hat.

“I’ll take vanilla,” I reply.

“You want the blood topping? It’s our specialty.”

My smile brightens. “Then, of course!”

The zombie grabs a red cone and swirls the ice cream on top from the machine. He squirts on the oozing red topping containing chunks of cherries and strawberries. Nine reaches over the tall booth and passes me the cone.

“You’re not going to have any?” I ask him as he pays.

His eyes are full of mischief. “They don’t have the flavor I want.”

I take a big bite from the top of the cone, and it tastes like heaven. I close my eyes and groan out loud as the flavors explode in my mouth. When I open them again, Nine’s staring at me like he’s suddenly hungry. “What flavor do you want that they don’t have? I’m pretty sure the menu lists every flavor known to man.” I take another bite and groan yet again.

Nine’s lips are suddenly at my ear. He whispers, “Lenny’s pussy. It’s my new favorite flavor. It’s a pity they don’t have it.”

I choke on the ice cream sliding down my throat. It’s the first time he’s mentioned what happened the other night. I was wondering if he forgot or if he just didn’t think much of it, considering his abrupt departure afterward.

Nine chuckles. “Come on, little bird. There’s more to this place than ice cream.”

But suddenly, I’m not interested in the ice cream or the festival because all I can think about is Nine’s face between my spread legs. How it felt. How much I want to feel it again.

I shudder as a delicious chill rakes over me, and he again takes my hand in his.

We spend hours at the fair. First, we gather around a makeshift stage to watch a zombie show where the zombies fight against the humans for world domination. Spoiler alert, the zombies win. We walk from booth to booth sampling treats, laughing at the costumes, and playing games.

After a while we find ourselves standing in front of a trio of wonky mirrors that distort your height and shape. I laugh as our heads are contorted into stretchy oblong shapes in one of them. “They’re all the same,” Nine says.

“No, they’re not,” I argue, taking a bite of my second ice cream of the night. This time chocolate with raspberry blood topping. “That one stretches your head, that one makes you look like a pencil, and this one makes everything short and wide.” I look up to him. “Do you need glasses? You can borrow mine but they’re back at the RV.”

Nine stands behind me and places his chin on my shoulder looking at our distorted reflection in the wonky mirrors. “I don’t need glasses. They’re the same because in every single one…you’re still you. Sexy as fuck, irreverent, quirky, you.”

My heart melts as the ice cream from my second cone of the day drips down my hand. I search around for a garbage can. Nine takes what’s left of my cone and walks it to a nearby booth to dispose of it. He comes back with a handful of napkins.

A group of teenage girls blatantly stare at him and giggle as he passes. “Here, let me,” he says, taking my wrist he lifts up my arm, and I think he’s going to wipe the melted ice cream from my hand when he brings it to his mouth and licks the drip from my thumb to my wrist. “Hmmmm…delicious.”

I want to say something. Anything. But I can’t because I’m pressing my knees together to keep from combusting right here and now. “Uh…thank you.”

“Anytime.” His words laced with wicked promise.

“Come on, I’ve got one more thing I want to show you.” Nine leads me to the back of the fairgrounds, past a running, screaming herd of mini-zombies that almost knock me over. Nine reaches out and grabs me before I faceplant, then pulls me close and wraps his arms around me to protect me from a second herd that screams by in a blur of blood and cotton candy.

His eyes search mine. He lifts my chin, and slowly he lowers his head. “Fuck, you make me…” He doesn’t finish because our lips brush together, but it only lasts for a fraction of a second because we’re yanked apart by a high-pitch voice that breaks through the moment like a familiar shrill battering ram.

“Lenny? Oh my god it is you, Lenny!” the voice exclaims.

Nine releases my chin, and we both turn to face Lori and her husband Penn. Lori is dressed like the typical Stepford wife she is in a fifties-style white sundress and matching flats. Her bleached blonde hair in an elaborate up-do highlighting her long neck and the double string of pearls around it.

Penn is wearing a yellow polo shirt complete with a pink sweater tied around his neck, long white cargo shorts, and brown leather boat shoes with anchors embedded on the tops. I cringe. Not just because it’s a terrible look for a man, one that ages him at least ten years, but it’s also how Jared dressed. It took me until this very moment to realize how nauseating I found the look.

“Lori, Penn, it’s nice to see you both again,” I lie through my teeth. Literally, my teeth gnash together, and I’m trying not to grind them out of my skull.

Their nanny, Ined, walks behind them quietly with their two clean and similarly-dressed, miserable-looking toddlers in tow in an expensive double stroller. The nanny walks several feet away and stops, probably having been instructed to neither be seen nor heard when Lori and Penn are talking to anyone who isn’t her or the children.

“Hello, Ined,” I call out, just to get a rise out of Lori.

Ined is about to smile, then reconsiders, dropping her eyes back to the children.

“Don’t bother the help, Lenny. Can’t you see? Ined is working.”

“Oh, how silly of me,” I say sarcastically with my hand to my chest. “Greeting the help? What was I thinking?”

Nine steps to the beverage stand beside us and orders two beers.

Lori’s smile is as fake as mine, and I don’t miss the elbow to the ribs she gives Penn who forces his own even faker smile. Only his isn’t as practiced as Lori’s, and the result is a look that tells me he might be about to pass gas.

He’s also staring at Nine like he recognizes him but I can’t for the life of me think of how the two would know each other.

“Lenny, it’s so good to see you,” Lori sings, giving me a fake air kiss on each side of my cheek. I don’t reciprocate and stand still until her little show is over.

She stands back and points to my backward ball cap and off the shoulder blouse. “That’s…a new look for you,” she says. Her attention turns to Nine who comes up beside me and hands me a beer. “And so is this.” She points to Nine with her skinny French manicured finger.

“He’s not a this,” I snap. “This, is Nine. Nine, this is Lori and Penn. I met Lori through Jared. Penn is his best friend.”

“Was,” Penn corrects. “I haven’t heard from Jared, and frankly, with all the chatter around town about the mess he’s made of everyone’s investment accounts, I don’t want to,” he says. “It reflects poorly on me that I was ever his friend to begin with, and I won’t have that man or anyone associated with him staining my family’s good name.”

“So, that’s the real reason you didn’t want me to stay with you,” I say, not able to hold back any longer. “Because you didn’t want people to talk about you? Because of your reputation?”

Nine remains silent, as if he’s standing guard between me and their ability to hurt me more than they already have.

Lori’s face twists in ‘holier than thou’ look, but I don’t miss the spark of lust in her eyes as she rakes Nine over while ignoring my accusation. Or, as I like to think of it, my reality check.

Penn clears his throat, forcing his wife to stop her ogling. He squints at Nine. “I know you from somewhere.”

Nine nods. “We met on a beach once. You were with a couple of friends.”

Pen’s eyes go wide and his mouth goes silent.

I hear Nine’s almost inaudible chuckle.

Lori turns her attention back to me. “Yes, about that. It wasn’t you. I told you as much. But, I am sorry I couldn’t put you up in the guest house. You know how remodeling goes.”

Sorry? She doesn’t sound sorry. In fact, the way she keeps looking over my shoulder tells me that she’s worried we’ll be spotted together.

“You were putting tile down in a small bathroom,” I point out. “Not tearing the house down and starting over. We were friends, and you left me hanging when I needed you most.”

Lori picks at pretend lint on the white collar of her floral sundress, like she’s growing bored of this conversation. “Yes, and you wouldn’t believe how hard it was to supervise that little project. Especially since my Italian isn’t what it used to be. I mean, when Penn and I were in Tuscany, I was practically fluent, but since…”

“Wait,” Nine interrupts. His grip on his beer tightens as he stares Lori down. It’s his turn to point at her. “Let’s cut the boring bullshit. You knew that your friend was being evicted from her home and didn’t have a dime to her name and you wouldn’t let her stay with you. Not even in your guest house, and you didn’t offer your assistance in any way when you know that Lenny would give you the shirt off her back if you needed it, if even if it was her only one.” He scoffs and takes a step forward and glares at her with all of the pain and anger she made me feel, like it was suddenly Nine who she’d rejected when he needed her most instead of me.

Lori’s smile falters. She grabs Penn by the arm as if to straighten the rod shoved up her asshole. “I mean, I would have, but like I was saying—”

“Let’s go, Lori,” Penn interrupts. “It’s obvious your friend has forgotten what being civilized means while she’s been slumming it on the other side of the causeway,” Penn says, pulling her away. “I told you we shouldn’t have come here. Let’s go.” Ined, who is still standing several feet away, looks downright mortified, not for them, but because of them. She pushes the stroller and heads to the parking lot as if sensing that something bad is going to go down.

Nine gnashes his teeth and takes another step forward. Penn flinches, and his fear brings me a wave of unexpected joy.

I grab Nine’s arm to prevent him from doing anything stupid. Cops are everywhere, and I don’t want this night to end with Nine in jail, especially not because of people who don’t matter. Not to me. Not anymore.

Nine growls at Penn and Lori like a caged animal ready to pounce. “You two are pieces of shit. Lenny is better off without you in her life.”

“And she’s better off somehow for having YOU be in her life?” Penn scoffs.

Nine juts out his chin. “No, but unlike you, I don’t pretend that I’m not good enough for her while you two lie to yourselves thinking that you’re somehow better than her. You’re not.” He shakes his head. “You think I’m garbage? Look in a fucking mirror.”

I’m…I don’t know what the fuck I am. He’s defending me and I’m elated but, it’s the other thing he said that gives me pause.

Nine doesn’t think he’s good enough for me? Has he thought about being good enough for me? About us? Is there an us?

“No wonder Jared left her,” Lori mutters, as they hurry away like mice afraid of the hungry cat.

Nine stiffens beside me once more, his jaw tightening. A vein pulses in his neck.

“No, please don’t,” I whisper to him, grabbing onto his clenched fist.

“Hey Penn, tell your friends from the beach that I said hi and that I hope to see them around again sometime,” he says. Penn’s face pales.

Nine’s posture doesn’t relax, but I’m not going to let him fight this battle for me.

I’m going to fight it on my own.

“Wait!” I call out catching up to Lori and Penn. Their nanny is now so far away she’s a blur in the distance.

Lori spins around on her heels and huffs. “It’s too late for an apology, Lenny. After what you said—"

“I don’t want to apologize,” I explain, “I want to give you something.”

“And what’s that?” she asks, looking down at her manicure as if I’m boring her.

“This,” I say, along with another non-verbal answer by way of my fist to her jaw.

Lori’s lip splits and blood drips onto the flowers of her white sun dress. Her eyes widen in shock.

I smile in triumph. “How’s that for uncivilized?” It feels so good, I might just do it again.

“You…bitch!” Lori shouts, holding her bloody lip. She looks around with a look of disgust on her too perfect face. Penn doesn’t come to her defense, if anything he’s moved even further away. “Penn is right. You do belong here, with these people. You were never one of us. Jared always said so.”

She turns on her heel as Penn leads her to the gate without another glance in our direction.

“Fucking cowards,” I mutter.

“How did that feel?” Nine asks, coming to stand behind me. He rests his arm protectively over my shoulder.

I laugh. “Magical.”

Nine looks over his shoulder. “Shit,” He tosses our beers to the ground and grabs my hand.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as he pulls me away toward the back of the fairground.

“That’s what’s wrong,” he says, pointing with his eyes.

I look over my shoulder to where the crowd is parting to make way for several uniformed men, pushing their way through the crowd while barking at people to stand aside. The light overhead catches the metal of their badges, sending rays of light bouncing off the crowd. Cops.

“Shit!” I repeat Nine’s swear.

He grabs my hand and pulls. “Come on!”

And together, we run.

WE EMERGE from the overgrowth of the preserve behind the fairgrounds onto a tiny secluded beach with a view of the entire Logan’s beach shoreline. Lights twinkle in the distance just as the stars do in the clear night sky overhead.

The energy in the air crackles all around us, pulling us together like wayward magnets destined to be one.

I don’t even have time to comment on the amazing view because Nine charges me, pushing his fingers through my hair and covering my mouth with his. Hungry lips. Seeking. Claiming. Eager. Desperate.

My hands wrap around his neck, and I pull him even closer, pressing my chest to his and groaning into his mouth, giving as much as I’m taking and more.

It isn’t just lips on lips. This isn’t even a kiss. This is ownership. Primal. Real.

Body. Heart. Soul.

He pulls back to lift my shirt over my head. I lift his, but I’m too short to lift his so I settle for pushing my hands under his shirt and feeling the warmth of the hard muscles beneath.

He pushes my hands away and lifts me up off the sand. He settles me down on top of my shirt. He pushes my skirt up to my waist and pushes my legs apart, positioning himself on his knees between them. He covers my body with his, only his jeans and my panties separating us.

His lips again find mine. We’re all need and desperation and tongue. Pleasure I never knew was possible sparks inside of me as he moves his mouth from my lips to my neck and then lower still, sucking and licking on my nipple until I’m writhing so hard I’m digging myself into the sand beneath me. I feel his hard length between us behind his jeans and when the outline of his erection grazes the thin scrap of lace between my legs I’m lost to the sensation that courses through my body.

Every inch of me wants to be touched and possessed by this man. The one who protects me when he doesn’t have a valid reason. The one who tries and makes an actual effort to understand me and my anxiety. The one who gave me closure when I had none. The one who thinks he’s not worthy of me when I realize now that it’s the furthest thing from the truth.

He is worthy, and if he doesn’t believe it, then I’ll just have to show him.

“I want you,” Nine groans. He snakes his hand between us and pushes up my skirt even higher so that my panties are exposed. He pulls the lace to one side. When his long, thick finger connects with my wet and sensitive flesh I moan, arching my back, needing more. His finger enters me and his lips find mine once more. He strokes me from the inside in rhythm with his tongue stroking mine. His cock hardens even more. “I’ve always wanted you.”

“So, take me.” I reach down and unhook his belt, then use my heels to push down his jeans. He pulls my panties down my thighs, and suddenly, it’s his heat against mine. He’s huge, even bigger than feeling him between our clothes suggested. I thought he was joking about the whole being bigger than nine inches thing but it turns out he was telling the truth all along. He rubs his thick shaft through my wetness and against my clit in slow torturous strokes. Teasing me, bringing me to the edge.

As amazing as it feels, I want more of him. All of him.

As if reading my mind, he asks. “What do you want, Len?”

I gasp at the intensity of the moment. At the pure panic and joy that hits me all at once. I swallow hard and wrap my arms around his neck, holding on for dear life. “I want you. I want everything.”

He growls and the sound sends another bolt of pleasure through me. He lines the head of his cock with my entrance and my insides pulse and grasp at nothing, eager for him to be inside of me.

Nine’s breathing heavily as if he’s trying to maintain some kind of control. He drops his forehead to mine. His voice is raspy and filled with lust and need that mirrors my own. “Is this what you want? You want all of me inside of you?”

“Yes!” The cry has barely left my lips when he surges forward, giving me everything I asked for and a whole lot. I’m stretched as far as I can possibly stretch without tearing in two. I close my eyes tightly as he pushes deeper and deeper until I’m sure I’m about to break. It hurts. Goddamn, it hurts.

“Relax, don’t tense up. Let me make you feel good.”

My forehead breaks out in sweat, but I refuse to say or do anything that would make him stop. I take a deep breath and try to relax and it works, some of the pressure eases.

“Fuck, you’re so damn tight,” he groans. “Spread your legs. Let me in.”

I do as he asks, spreading my legs as wide as they will go, relaxing my muscles, and giving him access to every part of me.

He pulls out, but not all the way, then thrusts forward again until he’s fully seated inside of me. I see stars as his shaft rubs up along every sensitive point within me I didn’t even know could be reached.

“Oh, fuck!” he swears. “Goddamn. I always imagined. I always knew…it’s even better.”

I suck in a deep breath as he fucks me. Harder. Faster. Every in and out has me moaning and craving more. So, he gives me more. His fingers dig into my hips. His lips crush mine. I dig in my heels and push him even deeper inside of me.

This is nothing like I’ve ever experienced before. I never felt more than a slight tingle of excitement with Jared. This, with Nine, is downright nuclear. And any second, we’re both going to fucking explode.

His forehead wrinkles like he’s in distress.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, as my vision goes white with the intensity of the pressure building inside of me.

“Nothing’s wrong. Everything is right. It’s just…you.” His gaze never leaves mine as he fucks me over and over again until I’m so far into oblivion so lost in my own pleasure and the feeling as my core pulses around his shaft that I don’t realize I’m even screaming his name until he comes with his own deep guttural moan, and I finally come down from wherever it is I’d gone.

When I open my eyes, Nine is still inside me and on top of me. He’s breathing hard. Our chests heaving together. He moves a strand of hair from my eyes like he’s seeing me again for the first time. As if he can’t believe I’m really there.

“I never thought it could be like that,” I say, trying to catch my breath.

Nine pulls out of me, and immediately, I feel a deep sense of loss.

“Neither did I,” he says.

I laugh and sit up, pulling down my skirt to cover myself. “I’m sure you’ve been with plenty of girls that have rocked your world.”

Nine tugs on his jeans then sits back down beside me.

He’s not laughing. “No. Just you.”

A thought occurs to me but it can’t be possible. “Wait, you weren’t a virgin, were you? That’s just not…”

He chuckles. “No, I’m not a virgin.” Nine cups my cheek in his big, rough palm. “But, whenever I was with anyone else there was always this thing nagging at the back of my mind. Sex always triggered a memory, a highlight from one of the many living nightmares that I’d rather die than remember if given a choice. Things from my past. Terrible things I did. Terrible things done to me.”

My heart lurches.

He cups my face in his big palm, and I lean into it. “Until you.”

“What’s so different about me?” I ask. “Why me?”

His lips brush mine. “That’s easy. You’re mine.”

I smile against his lips. “How very caveman of you.”

“No, I don’t mean it like you’re mine, and that’s all you can be. I mean that you and me fit together. We work together. Like a bone and socket. Like a heart and blood. You asked if I believed in fate once. I didn’t then.” He trails the pad of his thumb over my lips. “But, I do now.”

I don’t remember ever asking him if he believes in fate, but it’s possible, because vodka. But the power of his words sinks in slowly until I’m overflowing with unfamiliar emotions that I never expected to feel toward anyone, never mind a man like Nine.

A criminal.

A killer.

My inner voice chimes in, Yes, but he’s your killer.

“I just never thought…” I start. “I don’t know.”

“Tell me what you do know,” he presses. “Start there.”

I swallow hard. “I know that the world is quieter when you’re around. Like I can finally think without the voice of my anxiety chirping in my ear. I don’t feel crazy when I’m with you.” I cringe when I hear myself use my least favorite word.

Crazy.

“I hate that word,” Nine grates, echoing my thoughts. He pushes a lock of unruly hair from his eye and tucks it behind his ear. “Little bird, you’re not crazy just because you think you act crazy sometimes. You’re human, and because you’re human by definition, you’re so much deeper and more complicated than a single word.” He tilts my chin up, so my eyes meet his. His frown deepens. “Hear me when I say that you are more than one thing. A person can be both sensitive and heartless. Both selfish and selfless. Quiet and loud. Fearful and bold. Jealous and proud. A killer and a savior. Flawed, yet perfect. We can love and hate in equal measure. We can be crazy sometimes and sane in the next.”

I hold his gaze, unable to form a sentence. I’ve been waiting for someone to say that to me my entire life.

“Who the hell made you believe you can only be one thing? That you can check only one box?”

“I’m not sure,” I finally manage to choke out.

Nine’s eyes shift from determination to hardened rage. “You will tell me when you remember because whoever made you believe that you can only be one thing and that thing is crazy, deserves nothing less than to die a slow and excruciatingly painful death.” He trails his fingers down my neck, leaving a trail of heat in his wake. “Because you aren’t one thing. You can’t be, because you’re everything.”

His lips crush over mine, and my defenses break.

I’m so incredibly lost in the moment, in him.

Or maybe, I’ve finally been found.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

NINE

“SO, what it is you wanted to show me?” Lenny asks, “You said there was one more thing you wanted to show me tonight.” She’s looking up at me with a smile that could power any rocket. I instantly regret suggesting we get dressed.

“You’ll see. Any second now,” I tell her. “Come here. The view will be even better than from the festival.”

“The view of what?” she asks.

“You will see. Patience, little bird.”

I sit and pat the space on the sand beside me. She plops down next to me, and I pull my flask from my pocket, handing it to her. She takes a gulp and grimaces before handing it back to me.

We’re silent for a few moments. The only sound comes from the music and the occasional burst of loud laughter from the festival in the distance, the rustling of the breeze in the mangroves, and the quiet lapping of the small waves on the shore.

“Have you ever been surrounded by people, or in the middle of a crowd somewhere, and still feel completely and utterly alone?” she asks, staring off across the water at the lights from the festival. I don’t know if it’s a rhetorical question or if she’s asking the universe, but I answer anyway.

“Yeah, I have, actually.”

“You have?” She sounds surprised.

I laugh. “Only for I’d say…all of my childhood.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. No point on dwelling on the past. It’s not something that can be fixed. Besides, it brought me here. To my brother. My friends. You. I can’t say certain shit don’t make me angry when I think about it, but a life worth living doesn’t come without trials. It’s what makes us who we are.”

She presses into me and rests her head on my shoulder. “I like the way you see things. I wish I could look at the past and just let it go. Instead, I’m playing back every minute of the last few years, wishing I could go back and change just about everything,” she admits.

I feel a sudden pang of jealousy. “Why, do you want to go back and change things? So, Jared won’t leave?”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, god no! I wasn’t talking about him. If I had to change anything when it comes to him, it would be to avoid the night we met all together. That relationship was a disaster, but I was too inside my own head to see everything that was going on right in front of me. I think I was just so lonely that I was grasping at anyone and anything, and I just let things progress without thinking about how miserable I was.” Her eyes meet mine. “Never again, though. My eyes are wide open now.”

I don’t even realize I’ve been clenching my fists until my muscles relax and my palms sting with the pressure of my nails biting into my skin. “Then, what would you change?” I ask.

Her eyes gloss over. “My parents. I’d fix things so that they never got on that plane.”

Suddenly, I feel like a dick for being jealous about dead Jared when she was only thinking about her parents.

She continues, “So they wouldn’t die and leave me all alone. They were really great. They would have really liked you.”

“I doubt that,” I say.

She narrows her eyes at me. “My parents were really open minded, and they weren’t the kind of people who said that they just wanted their kid to be happy but didn’t really mean it. My parents meant it. They would’ve done anything for me or because of me. When they died, I was alone for the first time in my life. No other family and only one real friend who was off at nursing school at the time. Even when I was with Jared, I was still alone. I never let anyone in after they passed. Not Jared. Not Yuli. No one. It’s like I couldn’t replace them so why try.” Her eyes shift from her hands and lock onto mine. She sniffles and looks to the stars.

I see a flash in the distance. “Keep looking in that direction,” I tell her, pointing toward the horizon.

“I don’t see anything,” she says, looking at nothing but the vast open water.

“Any second now,” I say into her hair.

“What exactly am I looking for?” Her answer comes in the form of a bright blast of light on the horizon, rising quickly into the sky. “Wait, why is that star…is that the space shuttle launch?” Her eyes go wide with her excitement.

“It is.”

We watch it take off into the night. White clouds painting a trail behind the shuttle as it rises further and further into the sky before disappearing from sight.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. The text I read instantly shatters what little peace I feel.

PREPPY: Tico Ricci put a price on Lenny’s head. 200K alive.

Three bubbles appear as he types out the next text. The second I read it, I want to crush my phone in my hand.

PREPPY: 100K dead.

LENNY

Nine checks something on his phone, then angrily shoves it back into his pocket. The mood changes. His body stiffens.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, as he stands, his belt undone and his jeans open at the front. He walks toward the water, tugging on his hair and pacing from side to side.

“Nine, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

“I thought I could protect you.” He laughs as if the idea itself is ridiculous.

“You still never told me why you’re trying to protect me,” I say, trying to understand why now of all times he’s chosen to bring this up. “What’s changed just now? Why are you so upset?”

“Because I can’t lose you again!” he roars, turning his face up toward the night sky and holding his arms out with clenched fists as if cursing the stars.

I can’t lose you again! I repeat his words in my mind.

I stand to face him. “What do you mean by again?”

His back is to me. He’s looking out over the water. He speaks, but doesn’t answer my question. “There are men after you who won’t hesitate to hurt you. I can’t let that happen. I won’t.”

“But what did you mean when you said you can’t lose me again?” My heart is beating so erratically it’s sputtering out of control in my chest. My palms sweat. My throat is dry.

He stares out over the water silently with his back to me.

“Tell me! When did you lose me before?” I shout, standing directly behind him.

“Come on. I’ll show you.” He grabs my hand and we silently make our way back through the fairgrounds to his truck.

The ride is silent. Whatever we shared on the beach is still there, but instead of crackling heat, it’s a cloudy fog, lingering around us.

We’re crossing the causeway, and I’m just about to ask where the Hell he’s taking me when he parks the truck in the bike lane and gets out, leaving the engine running.

I follow him over to the railing. A sense of déjà vu washes over me brought on by the salty night air. The breeze at my neck. The memories of the last time I was here. I’m shaking by the time I approach him.

Nine begins to speak. “The second I saw you walk into Pike’s Pawn shop I felt…” He shakes his head and blows out a long breath. “No, I feel this overwhelming need to protect you. At first, I didn’t know why. I thought it might be because I’m insanely attracted to you. I wrote it off as lust, but deep down, I knew it was more. Even in the alley, I wanted to kiss you more than I’ve ever wanted anything before.” He slowly turns around to face me. His gaze hardens. He clenches his fists. “More than I wanted to kill those men for hurting you. I couldn’t save you that first night, but you saved me.”

“That night?” He’s offering no clarity, just more questions, just more confusion.

“That night I couldn’t save you was the night we met. The last time we were up here together.” His eyes seek mine. “Four years ago.”

Four years ago, I wasn’t with Nine. I was with…

It’s impossible. It can’t be.

I can hear the blood racing in my ears as the truth begins to unravel in my mind. “Why are we here right now?” I need to hear him say it. That I’m wrong. That he can’t possibly be who I think he is right now. “On this bridge? Standing in this very spot?” I’m yelling now. Frustrated. Confused. “Why, damnit!”

For a moment, I think he’s going to yell back, but his words are gentle. “Deep in the earth, my love is lying, and I must weep alone.”

“That’s…Edgar Allan Poe,” I whisper.

“The one and only. And now, I understand why you like to quote him so much. Because your name is Lenore, from his poem, The Raven.” His hazel eyes light up the night as they search my face, looking for something. Waiting for me to understand.

Suddenly, it’s not just Nine I see standing there. It’s the boy from the bridge. The one I’ve thought about every single day for four years, and he’s standing here right in front of me.

And I’m in love with him.

“It can’t be you.” But, I already know the truth.

He reaches for the bottom of his shirt and pulls it over his head.

“Why are you…” I stop and pause, not because of his chiseled abs or the v-muscles that travel down into his low jeans or even his expansive and muscular chest, but because I realize what he’s trying to show me. Proof. Proof in the form of a large, black bird tattoo inked across his chest that gleams with sweat under the bridge light above. The bird’s wings are spread, its feathers reaching all the way to the top of his shoulders. The rubies in its eyes made to look as if they’re sparkling. It’s not just a black bird. It’s a raven.

My raven.

“It’s the one from my mother’s pendant. The one I lost before I…” Suddenly, I can’t breathe. I start rambling. The truth is right in front of me, but I’m having a hard time grasping it because it keeps slipping through my fingers. “I mean, lots of people have bird tattoos.”

Nine reaches inside his pocket. “But do lots of people have bird tattoos that look exactly like this?” He holds out his hand, releasing the pendant while holding onto the chain.

The raven swings from side to side before my eyes like a hypnotist’s charm. It’s ruby red eyes glint as they reflect the light from the bridge overhead.

Nine grabs my wrist and turns it so that my palm is open and flat. He drops my necklace into my hand. I quickly close my fingers around it as if it’s going to fly off into the humid night air.

Nine’s voice is low and strained. “The cops told me there was no chance that you survived the fall. That no one ever had before. And now…and now you’re here. Right in front of me. I couldn’t believe it at first either, when I saw that picture of you and your parents at your house. I still can’t fucking believe it. All these years later.”

I’m at a loss for words. I have so many questions, but I don’t ask any of them. I don’t even have control of my own faculties because I can't stop myself from stepping forward and running my fingertips across the tattoo on his chest, as if I’m checking to make sure that what I’m seeing is real.

Nine lets out a low hiss at the contact. His chest muscles flex under my touch.

The tattoo is real, the pendant in my hand real, and so is the man whose skin it’s marked into. Real and…him. Nine is the teenage boy from the bridge, but he’s no longer a boy. He’s very much a grown man in every way.

I look up into his hazel eyes as if I’m seeing him for the very first time. My voice is an almost inaudible whisper. “It’s…it’s you.”

He closes his hand over mine, which is still on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart beneath my palm.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.

He smooths his thumb over my cheek and lips. “I couldn’t. If I told you the truth, that meant I’d have to admit it to myself, but I couldn’t keep away from you. I tried, but I just can’t. Just like I can’t stop touching you. Kissing you.” He brushes his lips over mine. “Loving you.”

I open my eyes, blinking away the tears. I’m so overwhelmed that I have no clue what to say. What comes out is a strangled laugh and a single word. “Hi.”

He holds my face now with both hands, searching my eyes. His grin widens. I realize I’m trembling, but it’s nothing compared to the earthquake-like impact of his next words.

“Hello, Poe.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

LENNY

I WANT to be mad that he’s kept this secret from me, and part of me is mad. But the other part of me is so happy to have found him again and so filled with desire and lust for him that the anger gets filed under my TO BE DEALT WITH LATER category, and I concentrate on the beautiful man standing naked behind me in the bedroom of the RV.

Nine pushes between my shoulder blades, and I fall forward onto the bed. He lifts my hips so that I’m on my knees. My back arched, with my ass in the air, my chest pressed into the mattress. I feel the weight of the bed dip as he climbs behind me, spreading my legs with his knee. “So, fucking beautiful,” he says, his voice raspy. He grabs a handful of my ass and roughly squeezes. I moan and arch my back more, needing to feel more of him. All of him. He chuckles, “Patience, little bird. I know what you need.”

He runs his rough palms up my back, climbing over me until his heated hard chest is flush against my back. His lips at my ear. “And I’m going to give it to you.”

His teeth nip my earlobe, and I gasp at the pleasure. One hand circles my neck, holding my throat, the other snakes underneath my belly, lower and lower until two fingers are stroking each side of my clit, teasing me.

He lowers his hips along with his impossibly large, throbbing cock. I see stars as his thick shaft contacts my swollen and ready folds. He glides himself through my wetness. Over and over again, he teases me until the pressure is so great I’m sure I’m going to break long before he’s ever inside of me.

The hand on my throat glides down to my breast. He palms the weight of it in his hand, and his breath on the back of my neck quickens. I arch again as he circles my sensitive nipple. I’m seeing stars behind my eyes, and I’m lost in a place where only pleasure and Nine exist, and I want to stay here forever.

His hips thrust harder, faster, his cock teasing my entrance. He pulls back, and the tip dips inside where I need him most. He’s stretching me open once again, but this time, it’s a delicious kind of stretching that I welcome and want more of.

“I’m going to make you come so fucking hard. I’m going to ruin you,” Nine says.

“Yes,” I moan, not caring if his words are a promise or a threat or both. My body relaxes, and it doesn’t matter if he’s going to ruin me. I just want him inside of me.

As if hearing my thoughts, his hips press forward, and his thick cock surges inside of me. “Spread your legs. More,” he commands roughly. He kisses and licks my neck and spreads his legs, pushing mine further apart. I spread for him as wide as I can and he pushes in deeper and deeper until he’s fully seated inside of me, and I can feel his hips against my ass. “Fuck, you feel incredible. Let me in.”

He can’t be talking about letting him into my body. He’s already in so deep I’m pulsing and contracting around his length, grabbing at him with body and soul.

He stills. “Let me in,” he repeats, a whisper in my ear.

I realize that he’s not asking to let him into my body.

He’s asking me to let him into my heart.

Tears sting the back of my eyes. I nod. “You’re in. You’re everywhere. I’m yours,” I moan.

He pulls out from me suddenly and flips me over, surging back in without hesitation. His lips claim mine as he thrusts hard and deep, holding onto the back of my neck, keeping our lips pressed together, connected.

The pleasure mounts with each pull and push. I raise my hips, needing more of him, and giving him all of me. My body. My heart. My soul.

He lifts me off the bed and sits me on top of him. He roughly grabs my hips and lifts me up and down his shaft, building a quick rhythm that has me grinding on him with each pull. His tongue sucks my nipple as his fingers dig into my hips.

The pressure is so great now I know I’m about to fall apart. “Come all over my cock, little bird. Let me feel you.”

With a few more hard thrusts, the pressure turns into an all-out explosion that starts with a tingling sensation that rises from my core to my nipples and the rest of my body. It feels as if I’m burning, like I’m on fire or I’ve been electrocuted, but suddenly, the feeling bursts apart into the most violent of pleasure I’ve ever experienced. I’m consumed by the feeling. Immersed in it.

Nine flips me onto my back again, and fucks me hard fast and forceful. His cock hardens and swells. “Fuck,” he swears on a final strangled groan, releasing his warmth inside of me. My own orgasm, having not yet faded, surges back to life with a new intensity that has me digging my heels into his ass, my nails into his back, and holding on.

For my life.

And for his.

Forevermore.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

NINE

AFTER LENNY FALLS ASLEEP, I don’t want to leave her, but I can’t get the text out of my mind, and I need to try to reach Tico again before it’s too late and someone decides to take him up on the bounty he’s placed on Lenny’s head. I pull on a pair of jeans and grab my phone, stepping outside the RV barefoot so I don’t wake Lenny.

I’m scrolling through my contacts, trying to figure out another way to get to Tico when a sudden burst of blinding pain shoots through my entire body and the world goes completely black.

MY HEAD IS FUCKING THROBBING. It’s still dark. There’s some sort of course bag over my head that’s about as soft as sandpaper. My hands are bound.

Where the fuck am I?

Suddenly, I’m blinded with light when the bag is ripped from my head, scratching my skin. I blink at my surroundings. It takes me a few seconds to be able to focus again, but when I’m able to make out my surroundings, I notice I’m in a massive space with tall, rounded metal ceilings and corrugated metal walls. It smells strongly of fuel.

There’s a large private jet to my left. White with no markings of any kind.

I’m in an airplane hangar.

In front of me, in a director’s style chair, sits Tico Ricci himself, complete with perfectly groomed white beard and matching hair combed to one side. He’s wearing a tailored grey three-piece suit with a baby blue tie. He crosses one shiny brown shoe over the opposite knee. The sleeve of his jacket shifts when he moves, exposing a large silver and diamond watch. Everything about him screams power and intimidation, but that shit won’t work on me.

Tico is staring down at me as if he’s waiting to speak. He motions for his goons to stand aside.

I rise off my knees, my hands still bound behind me.

“I’m sorry to have to bring you here like this,” Tico starts in his thick Brazilian accent. “But I am not fond of people knowing where I am. I received word you were looking for me, and now, here you are.”

“Ever heard of Uber?” I ask. “Would have made for a more pleasant trip. Well, unless you get the guy that wants to chat your ear off the entire time, and chatty, your men are not. Or maybe they were. Couldn’t tell you. I was unconscious.”

He smiles. “What can I do for you, Nine? What is so urgent that you saught me out for a private audience?”

“It’s about Jared Cox.”

His jaw stiffens. “What about that motherfucking cunt would you like to discuss?” he asks between his teeth. “Maybe, how many ways I’m going to make him suffer before he dies? Because that is the only thing I want to talk about when it comes to that thieving piece of shit.”

I shake my head. “Sounds swell, but no. It’s about his girlfriend. His ex-girlfriend, Lenore Leary.”

“Yes, I’m listening. Go on,” Tico replies, leaning forward in his chair.

“She didn’t have shit to do with Jared’s deals. She needs to be left alone,” I demand.

“I understand,” Tico says, taking a tumbler of whiskey handed to him by one of his men. “But there is still the matter of my men that you killed.”

I shrug. “It isn’t a matter. They were shooting at us. It’s part of the game we all play. You win some; you lose some. They lost.”

Tico jerks his chin to a man in the corner who comes over and cuts the ropes tying my wrists together.

I pull my smokes from my pocket and light one. “Thanks,” I say, sarcastically.

“You should have just let them take the girl, and they wouldn’t have lost,” Tico argues.

I inhale deeply and blow the smoke out through my nose. “I couldn’t do that. She’s an innocent and not a player of the game.”

Tico swirls the whiskey in his glass. “You got some sort of history with this girl?”

“I’ve got everything with this girl,” I answer, honestly.

“Tell me where Jared Cox is,” Tico demands. “And maybe, we can talk more about this girl of yours.”

I shrug and take another drag of my smoke. “He’s dead. I killed him. You’re not the only one he stole from, and when I went to ask him about the money he took shots and hit Bear. So, I took him down.”

Tico nods several times approvingly. “Good. That man was a fucking coward. Always has been. I’m disappointed about not getting to do it myself, but the fact that he’s dead still brings me great joy. It figures that he couldn’t take his punishment like a fucking man.” He sighs. “I’ll be honest with you, kid, because you’ve been honest with me. After Jared disappeared, we did look into the girl, naturally, which is why my men came after her. That’s when we found these.” He hands me a file. “Every page has two signatures. Jared Cox and a witness, Lenore Leary. This is why we initially thought she had some involvement, but we quickly learned that her signature was forged after comparing it to her real estate deals. We no longer have any interest in her. You need not worry about her safety. At least, where I’m concerned.”

Then who put the hit out on Lenny if it wasn’t Tico?

“So, you’re just going to drop the fact that you were ripped off for millions? I don’t know you personally, but I know your reputation, and I feel like you’re the kind of man who doesn’t wash his hands of a few million dollars easily.”

Tico chuckles. “You would be correct in that assumption. I’m not the kind of man who would let that slide. Ever, but you see, I’ve been paid back. All is well.”

“Wait, you’ve been paid back? By who?” I ask.

“I am not sure. All I know is that several days ago, I was transferred the money I am owed plus a decent amount of interest from an anonymous encrypted account. They signed the transfer with the name Lenore Leary. However, it came from one of the best encryptions my hackers have ever come across. So, you see, I’m not a stupid man. I do not believe that a person who would go to the trouble of making where the money came untraceable would also be stupid enough to sign off with a name. Looks like someone has it out for your girl.”

This isn’t making sense. Jared’s dead. He couldn’t have sent it. Then who? “Then, why did you put the severed head of Jared’s business partner Sheff in her bed and his body in my brother’s back yard?” I ask. “If you knew those documents were forged? Or better yet, why did you put a price on her head id you have no interest in her?”

He raises his eyebrows. “That sounds like an interesting story, but that is not my style. Severed heads.” He scoffs. “I am not a barbarian. Besides, Sheff is the one who discovered Jared’s wrongdoings in the first place. He works for me and is one of us, or was one of us. It is a tragic loss for our side, but at least, I now know why I haven’t been able to reach him. And it is true that I was looking for the girl, but as I said, that was the extent of it. There is no finesse in warning people with body parts unless it is showing them their own. I told you. We have no interest in the girl. She’s made no moves to tell us otherwise. I’ve put no price on her head.” He pauses. “However, I was told that a message was received by many about this price, but it was not from me. I am a businessman, not a classless thug. I take down those who cross me, not those who are obviously being framed so they can meet my unwarranted wrath. I am no monster, contrary to popular belief. I have daughters of my own, you know. Killing a woman unless you know without a doubt that she’s guilty of the crime, well, my friend, that is not something I am not capable of.”

“Then, who the fuck…” I trail off, wracking my brain.

“I don’t know who, but if you care about this girl, then it sounds like you are going to want to figure that out, and soon.” Tico stares down into his whiskey. “I lost my beloved Lidia because I realized far too late that she was in danger. Don’t make the same mistake. In the meantime, my people are working to figure out who is acting on my behalf without my permission, because that is a person who will most definitely be meeting my wrath.”

I nod my thanks and turn toward the large doors which are sliding open behind me when Tico calls out to me once more. “Word of advice, young friend? If you figure out who this imposter is, who has it out for your girl, before I do, make sure they are good and dead, yes? The voice of fear fades in the mind over time and whatever vendetta this person has against her will only rise again and shout over that fear until they’ve accomplished whatever it is they started.”

“Don’t worry,” I clench my fists and head to the door. “Dead won’t be a fucking problem.”

WHEN I GET HOME, Pike is waiting for me on the porch. “I got your text and drove straight here. Lenny’s fine. She’s inside sleeping, don’t think she ever knew you were gone. How did it go, man?”

“I’m alive, so that’s one good thing. The other good thing is that he says he’s not interested in Lenny, and he knows she ain’t got shit to do with Jared’s scheme, and she doesn’t have his money. The bad news is that someone left that severed head in her bed and the body in the yard, and he says it wasn’t him. Same goes for the price on her head.”

“Then, who the fuck was it?” Pike asks, scratching his head.

“I don’t fuckin’ know man. It can’t be a message just for me because the head was at Lenny’s. It’s got to be for the both of us.”

“I’ll do some digging. Ask around and see what I can find out,” Pike says.

“Thanks, man. I’ll hit the dark web and see what I can drum up. Tico said the account was encrypted. His men are sending me the info. They can’t crack it, but I’m going to give it a go.”

Pike lights a smoke and passes me one. I light it and take a deep drag, hoping the nicotine will clear my mind and point me in the direction of whoever might have it out for Lenny. She won’t be safe until I find that person and put them in the fucking ground.

Pike leans against the porch railing, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Does Tico, at least, know that Jared’s dead?”

I nod. “He does now. I also told him that I’m the one who killed him.”

Pike’s eyes fall on something over my shoulder. He freezes with his cigarette dangling from his lip.

A sense of awareness washes over me, and instantly, I feel the terror that comes along with it. I don’t have to look to know what, or who, is standing there.

“Nine?” a sleepy sounding feminine voice asks.

I turn around slowly, and my worst fear is confirmed.

Her mouth is open in shock. Her bottom lip quivers as a single tear rolls down her cheek.

Lenny.

LENNY STORMS INSIDE.

“I’ll tell you what I find out,” Pike says, but I’m only half listening because all that matters right now is Lenny and telling her the truth. Something I should have done a long time ago but was too chickenshit to do it.

I follow her into the house and find her standing there at the kitchen counter with her face as pale as if she’s seen a ghost. Her hands are shaking. She’s leaning on the counter for support.

“Shit,” I mutter.

“You…all this time. All this time you’ve been lying to me.” It’s not a question. It’s a realization. The pain in her voice digs into my ribs and causes me to cough.

“Only about that,” I say, needing her to know exactly what happened, needing to take that look of betrayal from her face.

I take a step forward, but she takes one back, holding out her open palm to stop me.

“I didn’t lie to you. I just didn’t tell you the whole truth,” I say, pleading with my eyes.

“That’s exactly what lies are!” she yells. “Unspoken truths.” She jabs my chest with her finger. “You…you killed Jared. He’s the one you were telling me about that night, but I was too stupid to listen and too blinded by this thing between us to understand. You fucking killed him!”

“Yes, but it’s not what you think. Hear me out!”

She shakes her head in disbelief. “All this time, I thought he left me, but he was dead. You let me believe that he left me and my anxiety was going crazy with all of the reasons why, but you killed him.”

You killed him. She’s said it three times already as if she’s drowning in the words.

“He was leaving you!” I yell. I’m trying to find the right words but spewing all the wrong ones.

“Tell me! I want to hear you say it. Tell me the truth! Don’t be a fucking coward. Not now.”

I hold her gaze. I feel her slipping through my fingers, pulling away from me with each tick of the clock. I’m furious when I scream. “I fucking killed him! Is that what you want to hear?”

She stares at me blankly, blinking back tears.

“And if given the chance, I’d do it again.”

She spins around and heads into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

I go to follow her in, but the door is locked. “Lenny, open the goddamn door. Let me explain. Please, Poe.”

At first, I hear shuffling around behind the door, but after a few seconds, it grows eerily quiet.

“Poe!” I shout, I take a step back and barrel into the door with my shoulder. It bursts off the hinges, but I’m too late. The room is empty. The window is open.

“Shit!” I roar, racing to the door. I hear the roar of an engine and race into the middle of the dirt path just in time to see the tail lights of my truck as it turns onto the main road.

“Fuckkkk!” I scream, tearing at my hair.

I can’t fucking breathe. I can’t move. I’m sure I’m not even alive right now, there’s no way I can be, because my heart stopped beating the second I saw her standing behind me. The way she looked at me, as if I were a stranger when she’s the only one who really knows me. It’s like shards of glass have ripped through my chest and is now tearing up my insides.

Love shrapnel.

Because, that’s what this is, I realize. What I thought I wasn’t capable of. What I was too stupid to recognize before.

Love.

What they say about it is true.

It fucking hurts.

Love is a two-sided sword that cuts at every turn. I know this because Poe’s edges are sharp, and my heart is sliced to fucking shreds.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

LENNY

I DRIVE to Dre’s because she’s the only other person I know in this town. Right now, I miss Yuli more than anyone in the world. She’d know how to comfort me, and it would probably be really funny and involve her threatening castration or some sort of genital mutilation because that’s Yuli, and that’s what she does.

When I get to Dre’s, Preppy and the kids aren’t there, but two other women are. Ray, King’s wife, and a dark-haired girl she introduces as Frankie, a friend and wife of one of the Lawless MC bikers they call Smoke.

The three of us are sitting around the small breakfast nook table. “So, you just ran out?” Ray asks, after I’m finished spilling my guts and filling them in on what happened. She refills my mojito from a pitcher in the center of the table.

I nod my thanks and take a big gulp. I’m upset, but I’m not incapacitated. I can still recognize a delicious drink when I taste one, and this one is damn near perfection. “Yeah, I ran. I mean, what would you do if the man you’re falling for admitted to killing your boyfriend and, worse, kept it a secret?”

“I dunno, depends,” Frankie says, leaning on her hand. “How cute was the boyfriend?”

Dre rolls her eyes while Frankie goes back to doing something on her laptop at the table.

I drop my head into my hands. “It’s not even just Nine or just Jared or what happened. It’s me, too. I’m so confused. I grew up in one world, and here I am, living this life like that one never existed. Am I the rich girl from the other side of the causeway who wears business suits and works eighty hours a week, or am I this other me who goes to zombie festivals and has sex on a beach and is constantly in some sort of danger?” I rub my face with my hands. “I keep asking myself. Who am I?”

Frankie looks up again, “Can we go back to the sex on the beach part?”

“You know, I wrestled with that very same question for a long time.” Ray offers, but not in a way that says she pities me, but in a way that says she understands.

“You did?” I’m surprised. Ray seems like she’s got it all together.

“In more ways than one. When I first came here, or wandered here, I was homeless, with no memory of who I was. This place was scary, and King was the scariest thing about it. When I regained my memory and found out that I came from a world a lot like yours—”

“Her dad was a fancy senator,” Frankie adds.

Ray continues, “I went back, but it wasn’t where I belonged anymore. It’s okay to change. To grow. That’s what people do. We understand what our men do, and we don’t try to change them. We love them for who they are, but we’re not just women, sitting around catering to our men. Frankie spends most of her time on the dark web, rescuing victims of sex trafficking. As you know already, Dre is a very successful renovator of old houses, and I am a mother and one of the best tattoo artists in this town.”

“The best,” Frankie adds.

“Don’t tell King that,” Ray laughs.

“But what did you do? How did you figure all these things out?” I ask eagerly, leaning forward and ready to hear the secret to life. “I just want to skip to that part.”

“It’s not that easy, but here, let’s try something.” Ray closes her eyes and lets her hands fall to her side. I do the same. “Now, relax your shoulders, and close your eyes.”

I raise an eyebrow in silent question.

She catches me. “Come on, I promise it’s not anything weird. Now, close your eyes.”

I do as she says. “Take a deep breath, and hold it. I’m going to give you one word, and I want to picture what that word means to you as you breathe out.”

I nod. “Okay.” I take a deep breath and hold it.

“Home,” Ray says. “I want you to picture home.”

I breathe out, and the image of home is as clear as the summer sky after a heavy rain. It’s not a place I picture. It’s a person.

“Now, what did you see?” Ray asks, softly.

When I open my eyes, a tear escapes and slides down my cheek. “Nine. Nine is home.”

Dre reaches out and squeezes my hand. “I think you have your answer.”

“I do, but that doesn’t change what he did or why,” I explain. “If anything, it only makes it worse. Because the rest of it…” I blink back more tears. “I don’t think I can go to that home, to him, now that I know what I know.” I sniffle. “Right now, I wish I didn’t know. Ignorance is, in fact, bliss.”

“Wait!” Frankie shouts suddenly, making me jump. “Did that fancy house of yours have surveillance?”

“Yes,” I answer, wiping a tear from my cheek. “Why?” I’m wondering what exactly she’s getting at. Ray and Dre appear to be wondering the same.

“Was it up and running the day Nine killed Jared?” Frankie asks, excitedly.

“It was running, but there was something wrong with it. I already tried to watch the video right after I came home to find Jared’s empty closet. I wanted to look for clues to where he might have gone or why he might have gone but the video was just static.”

Frankie claps her hands together like a kid who just blew out the candles on their birthday cake. “That means Nine scrubbed the video. Smart man and one of the best hackers I know, but it doesn’t mean the video is lost, just…moved.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

Ray pours me another mojito, and I combat my sobriety by chugging the entire thing while Frankie furiously types away on her laptop.

“Nothing is ever truly deleted or scrubbed,” she explains. “And since Nine and I do some hacking together, I have access to all his shit. Well, I know how to break into his shit, I should say. And since I know the way he works…ah, yep. Found it!” she cries out victoriously, fist bumping herself.

“Frankie, I don’t think this is a good idea. She probably doesn’t want to watch it,” Dre says. She looks to me with understanding written all over her face. “You don’t have to.”

Frankie’s already watching it, leaning in close to her computer screen with her earbuds tucked into each ear. Her eyes go wide. She lifts her head and flashes me a brilliant smile over the top of her screen. She pulls the earbuds out. “You don’t have to watch it, but trust me, you’re going to want to see this.”

“Let me see,” Ray says. Frankie hands her an earbud, and Ray watches as Frankie plays it again for her.

Ray looks to me. “Nine killed Jared, but he was right when he said that it isn’t what you think.”

“I want to see it,” I tell them. Steeling every last nerve I have.

“Are you sure?” Dre asks. But it doesn’t matter if I’m sure or not, I’ve already grabbed Frankie’s laptop. I spin it around toward me and pull out the chord for the earbuds so the sound plays through the speakers. I hit play.

What I watch isn’t the senseless killing of my ex-boyfriend. It’s Jared, packing to leave me, just as Nine had said, when Nine and Bear approach him.

I gasp, but not when Jared walks to the safe and pulls a gun. Not when he shoots Bear and not when Nine leaps to his own defense and takes down Jared. My gasp is at Jared’s words. “I didn’t do anything. It was my girlfriend. She organized the entire thing. It was her idea. Not mine!”

That motherfucker! “He was trying to save his own life with lies that he knew would end with me getting killed.” I cover my open mouth with my palm.

“Are you okay?” Frankie asks.

I don’t answer. I can’t.

“Lenny? You in there? How are you feeling?” Dre asks. “Because I’m not going to lie. You are really hard to read right now and kind of freaking me out.”

I shake my head slowly from side to side as it sinks in. I take a deep breath and smile. “I feel…relieved.”

“What do you want to do now?” Ray asks, pouring the last of the pitcher into my glass.

Tears prick my eyes. I know exactly what I want. Now more than ever.

“I want to go home.”

WHEN I GET BACK to the RV, Nine isn’t there, but Pike is. He’s sitting on the small step by the door next to a large garbage bag.

“You okay?” he asks. “Nine is going crazy, looking for you, you know.”

“I’ll be okay,” I admit, and I actually believe it for once. I will be okay. “What’s all this?” I point to the bag.

“It’s the stuff I couldn’t sell. I should have the cash for you by Tuesday after the website sends it. It’s more than I guessed it would be. I think you’ll be happy.”

I think I will be too.

“Thanks.” I take the bag from his hand and push the door open with my shoulder. “Hey, can you tell Nine that I’m here? I don’t have a phone.”

“Already on it,” Pike says, pulling out his phone. “I’ll wait here until he gets back.”

I go inside and shut the door. While I wait for Nine to get back, I look through the items that didn’t sell. A few of the smaller clutches, and a large tote bag that I realize isn’t mine at all, but Jared’s. It must have been in my closet by mistake. I open it up and there’s a crumpled plane ticket inside. It’s dated June 3rd, which was a week before I found his closet empty.

Jared Cox

RSW-LAS

Seat 3A

Las Vegas? I thought he was in New York that week?

I didn’t even know he had business in Vegas. I guess it doesn’t matter, there was a lot I didn’t know about Jared and about what he was up to. It’s not like I can ask him about it now. I toss the ticket to the side when a second ticket slides out from underneath. I reach over and pick it up, but it’s not the return ticket. It’s a companion ticket for 3B.

It’s the name that makes me feel like someone dropped an anvil on my fucking heart. I toss the ticket to the ground as if suddenly caught fire. “No….it…it can’t be,” I whisper to myself. I rock in place. I dig my nails into my palms, but the sting of the pain and the fresh blood rising to the surface does nothing to help me cope. “It just can’t.”

I hear the door open and assume it’s Pike coming inside. I’m prepared for his questions on why I’m shaking and rocking and making myself bleed but the questions never come.

“Oh, yes it can, and it is,” a familiar voice says.

A familiar voice that isn’t Pike.

My entire body tenses. I slowly look over my shoulder as I’m faced with my worst nightmare, a betrayal to end all betrayals.

I meet the eyes of the one person in this world I knew for a fact would never turn on me. Not for the first time in recent weeks, I’m finding out that I was wrong.

So very, very wrong.

I have so many questions, but I don’t have time to ask any of them because something hard connects with my head. Everything turns fuzzy as I slump over onto the thin carpet.

I don’t even care that I might be dying or already dead. Or that there’s blood dripping into my eyes that I can’t blink away because for some reason I’ve lost control of the ability to move my eyelids along with the rest of my limbs and functions.

No, death doesn’t matter, because all that matters is the answer to the one question I’m repeating over and over and over again in my head.

Why?

Of all the people in the world…why her?

Why Yuli?

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

NINE

I GET a text from Pike that Lenny is back at the RV. I speed back, ready to explain myself, but when I get there, all I find is Pike, crumbled up on the porch, bleeding from his gut.

“Pike, fuck!” I run to him and lift him into a sitting position. He groans. “Lenny, she’s in trouble. You’ve got to find her.”

“Who has her? Where did they go?”

“A girl. Hot, but mean as fuck, man. It’s…” his words fade as his eyes close and his head slumps to the side.

“Fuck!”

I check his pulse while I pull out my phone, and thank god he still has one. I call Preppy who picks up on the first ring. “Clearwater Morgue. You grill ‘em. We chill ‘em.”

“Brother. Pike’s down. Took a bullet to the gut. I need medical at my RV. Lenny’s gone, too, but I don’t know where.”

Pike groans and his eyes open. “I heard her say something about Fall. Like it’s going to be Fall again?” His face is growing paler and paler. “I mean it’s a good season if you live up north, but we live in Florida, ain’t got no kind of Fall here.” And just like that he’s out again.

Preppy chimes in on my phone. “I’ve got a team of Lawless nurses heading your way. The MC is less than a quarter mile away and they were already there doing a check up on the BBB’s. They’ll be there in a few seconds.”

A few seconds is right. A van pulls up, the tires spinning in the dirt. Three women in scrubs run out and head straight for Pike.

“Take care of him,” I order. “Please.”

“Hey pretty ladies, what up?” Pike says, perking up yet again, drunk on blood loss. They check his vitals and start moving him onto a gurney. “None of you are mean, right? ‘Cause I just ran into a really mean pretty lady, and look what she did to me. She staind-ed my shirt.”

“They’re here now,” I tell Preppy, heading for my truck.

“Any clue where Lenny could be?” he asks.

“No clue, Pike said something about Fall, but he’s out of his mind.” I start the engine and pause.

Fall.

It’s going to be Fall again.

Falling again.

“Scratch that, brother. I know exactly where she is.”

“You wanna share that info or you want me to guess where I’m meeting you?” Preppy says. I hear his car door slam and his engine start up.

I bang my fist on my steering wheel as the world around me slows to a stop.

“The top of the fucking causeway.”

Lenny

When I come to and open my eyes, I’m at a place I never expected to be again.

The top of the causeway, on the very same ledge I fell from years ago.

How the hell did I get here?

My brain is trying to come up with the answers, but it isn’t functioning properly. I decide to reboot and try again, but from the safety of the other side. I grab onto the wires and pull myself up to stand so I can climb back over the railing. I freeze when I hear the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking.

“There’s only one way you’re getting off this bridge, and it isn’t this one,” an evil version of a familiar voice says.

My memory comes back to me. The tote bag. The plane tickets. I slowly look up to face my best friend.

Yuli.

It starts to rain. Water drips into my eyes, mixing with the dried blood, and I’m practically blinded, but I can’t wipe it away, or I’ll lose my grip on the wires, which are becoming more slippery by the second.

“I thought you were in Africa,” I finally manage to say. Still holding onto the wires as carefully as I can, I slowly turn to face the woman I thought was my best friend.

Yuli is standing in the rain, wearing a black hoodie and matching pants, but it isn’t her clothes that I find the most surprising. It’s the gun in her hand aimed at my head.

She scoffs. “I was never leaving for Africa. I was leaving with Jared and our money.”

The admission of her betrayal slices so deep within me that I can feel every stab of the knife she’s shoving into my fucking heart. “So then, why come back? You and Jared get bored of each other already and decide to torture me instead?” Playing it off like I don’t know that Jared’s dead.

“You can cut the crap, Lenny. Jared is dead, so don’t play dumb and innocent with me!” she spits. Her right eyebrow ticks with rage. She smiles wickedly, and my stomach lurches.

I think I’m about to be sick.

“Why do you think I took you to that party?” she asks, like the answer is obvious when none of this makes any sense at all. “Because part of the money we stole came from the MC and from your buddy Nine and his crew. When Jared never showed at the plane, I knew he was dead. He wouldn’t just abandon me like he did you. I knew Nine would be at that party and that he’d been looking for you. Don’t you see, Len? I wasn’t trying to show you a good time on my last night, I was delivering you to him on a silver fucking platter!”

I shake my head in disbelief. “That’s why you forged my signature on those documents? To point the cartel and the MC in my direction instead of looking at you and Jared?”

She slaps her leg with her free hand. “Of course. You were the perfect scapegoat until you fell for Nine and he started doubting all of my hard work because of his feelings for you. Ricci didn’t fall for it either, so I had to send them back the money so they’d stop looking for who took it. Of course, I sent it to them courtesy of you, and they didn’t fall for that either. And now, here we are, and I’ve got to take care of shit myself like always.” Her twisted smile doesn’t fit on her face, at least not the face of the Yuli I know. This person is someone else entirely. Someone evil. Demented. “Now, you’re going to die. Just like Jared did.”

I need to stall, to buy myself some time, but for what, I’m not sure. No one knows I’m here. No one is coming to save me this time. Right now, words are my only weapon, the hard part and the thing I’ve never been good at, will be choosing them wisely.

“How long, Yuli? How long has this been going on? You and Jared?” The rain is beating down harder and harder. The wind is picking up. The oil from the wires is making it more and more difficult to hold on. My feet are sliding left and right. It’s a balancing act just to stay upright.

She sighs and smiles as if remembering better backstabbing times. “Before you and Jared ever met. We made big plans for our future. It took us years to put it together, and we had it all figured out. How and when we were going to take the money. The offshore encrypted account. A nice two-story bungalow on the water in Fiji. I mean, taking all of your shit from you was my idea. The house. The car. Actually, Jared didn’t even know about that part, but I planned on telling him once we were on the beach as a running away together present.” Her gaze hardens once again. “Now, that’s never going to happen, and it’s all your fault!”

My foot slips, and I’m barely able to correct myself. The wires slice into my palms. “Yuli, don’t do this. You’ll regret this for the rest of your life!” I yell.

She rolls her eyes. “You were going to do this once, Lenny, and now, you’re going to do it again. The beauty of it is that nobody is going to question your motives for killing yourself. Your parents are dead. Jared left you. You lost the house and everything you own. The water’s a lot shallower now, so there’s no chance of you surviving the second time around.”

Trying to reason with Yuli while she’s got that crazed look in her eyes is a lot like reasoning with a herd of startled circus elephants halfway through a stampede. I switch tactics. “Think about Jared, Yuli. He was going to leave with you because he wanted to be with you, but would he really want you to kill me?”

She waves the gun around in the air. “See? That’s exactly how I know that you never knew him at all. Jared never loved you. He wouldn’t care what happens to you. He was only with you for a piece of your parents’ real estate business.”

“That can’t be true. He didn’t own it. He never got a dime from it.”

“He was planning a hostile takeover long before you came into the picture, but after your parents died, you decided to play your hand at being Wonder Woman and decided to step in and attempt to run shit yourself. That’s when we decided on Plan B, otherwise known as his fake relationship with you. But you see, the market tanked, and the company became worthless. So, we came up with Plan C, to run off with boatloads of his investors’ money, rendering both you and your fake relationship useless.” She sighs. “It’s a shame though, that I killed your parents for nothing.”

“No!” I gasp and almost lose my footing once more.

My stomach doesn’t care that I’m holding on with everything I have and lurches violently. I vomit into the water below, holding on as highly as I can until my stomach is empty.

“Oh, yes,” she nods. Her eyes are wild. “Just a little snip of a wire here. A little snip of a wire there, and in less than an hour, their little flying lesson turned into a crash course straight into the Gulf of Mexico.”

My head is spinning. Yuli’s face is twirling around above me like an evil halo.

“You see, after I killed them, I thought your panic attack-riddled craziness would send you off the rails, making it easy for Jared to swoop in and take over the company. In fact, I was counting on it so we could shuttle you off to the looney bin or attend your funeral. Whichever. No preference. It’s too bad that fall from the bridge didn’t kill you the first time.” She cocks the gun. “Don’t worry. There’s virtually no chance of you surviving it again.”

I look down to the water below. I may not survive the fall the second time around, but the chances are better than a bullet to the head. Not by much. But better.

“You’re forgetting something,” I call to her over the sound of the rain clinking against the metal of the bridge. I meet her demonic eyes with my own determined and unwavering gaze.

Yuli impatiently taps her foot against the pavement. “Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

I smirk. “Between the two of us, I’m supposed to be the crazy one.”

I let go of the wires and lean back with my arms spread wide.

And then I’m falling.

Falling.

Falling.

NINE

I reach the top of the bridge two seconds too late. Just in time to watch Lenny fall from the top of the causeway for the second time in my life.

It’s one of my nightmares and the very last thing I ever wanted to see again. It’s why I didn’t want to get close to her. It’s why I couldn’t stand the thought of losing her.

And now, she’s gone.

My heart is shattering, and as I hear the small sound of the splash below, it cracks wide open. “Lenny!” I cry. “Poe!”

Yuli turns and spots me. She fires and misses. I keep walking toward her like my entire body is made out of anger-based Kevlar, but anger, unfortunately, doesn’t equal bullet proof. She fires again, and this time, she doesn’t miss. I take a bullet to the chest, somewhere in the vicinity of my raven tattoo. But my heart’s still beating, and I’m still breathing, and there’s no time to wallow in the pain I feel. Only the pain I want to inflict.

By the time I reach Yuli, I don’t know how many times I’ve been hit, but luckily for me, she’s out of bullets and shaking with newfound fear.

I sneer at her traitorous eyes. “What? You’re done being a badass killer just because you don’t have any more bullets?” When I look at her, I see nothing but blood and hatred.

Revenge.

She points to the water. “She…she jumped, there was nothing I could do,” she lies.

I slap the gun out of her shaky grip.

She tries again. “I swear, she wanted to die. I was trying to save her. I fired at you because I thought you were the bad guys. The ones who killed Jared.”

Oh, but I am.

If she wants to play this game, I’ll play, and I’ll win. I soften my tone. “I get it. You’re obviously distraught, Yuli. Let me take you to the truck. My brother will be here in a minute. He’ll take you to the hospital, so they can check you over while I go down and look for Lenny.”

Yuli looks reluctant, but she has no other choice than to trust that I’ve bought her lies, so she nods, buying mine. I place my arm under hers like I’m helping her to the truck. It’s slow, because she’s suddenly developed a limp. “Here, this will be quicker.” I pick her up…and walk toward the railing.

“Wait! What are you doing?” She cries, beating her fists against my chest. “I told you there was nothing I could do! I swear it! She was crazy! Everyone knew that!”

My blood turns to ice at hearing her call Lenny crazy. She wasn’t crazy. She was perfect, and she was mine, and this bitch just took everything that I’ve ever wanted away from me.

And she’s going to pay…with her life.

“We’ve met before, but allow me to introduce myself again,” I sneer. “I’m the bad guy who killed Jared.” Her eyes go even wider with fear. “But unlike you, whether I have bullets in my gun or not—” I toss her over the side and watch as she falls, failing her arms and legs down into the murky water. A high-pitched scream follows her body all the way down until there’s nothing but silence and the roar of my own blood pulsing through my veins. “I never stop being a killer.”

Preppy pulls up next to me, his brakes squealing against the wet pavement. “Get the fuck in.”

“Lenny’s…” I look over the bridge, unable to process the words or what just happened. Watching her fall for the second time is way worse than the first because now I know what it means to have her in my life. To love her.

Loved her.

“Fuuuuuuucck!” I scream over the water through the rain. I ball my fists and punch the railing. I don’t even feel the impact, but my fist is streaked with blood that gets washed away by the downpour as fast as it appears.

“Productive,” Preppy comments. “But let’s remember an important lesson, class. She survived the first time. I’m not good with math or shit, but I’m thinking the odds are forever in her favor, and if there’s even a chance...” He gives me a what are you waiting for look. “Get in the fucking car!”

I feel the hope rise within me from the very depths of despair. There’ll be no recovery unit. Not yet. This is still a rescue.

I jump into his car, and we speed down the causeway, fishtailing as Preppy turns toward the bank. He hits the brakes but the car is still rolling as I leap out without bothering to shut the door.

I scan the dark water and the shore for signs of Lenny. I spot a body, but it isn’t hers. The corpse belongs to Yuli. Floating on her back, her unfocused eyes lit by the full moon overhead. I fight the urge to pull her out just to throw her over again.

I slosh through knee deep water. Searching. Hoping.

“Nine, there!” Preppy shouts. “Look!”

I look over to where he’s pointing and spot Lenny’s mangled body floating face down several feet from the shore. The fast-moving current is taking her further and further away with each passing second. “Poe! No!” I shout, jumping over a row of sharp rocks. I splash through the murky water, and it seems like eons before I finally reach her. I’m waist-deep as I turn her over and put my forearms under her shoulders, dragging her out of the water and onto the muddy shore. “Lenny! Lenny!” I scream, slapping at her cheeks.

There’s no answer. No signs of life.

“Fuck!” I check her pulse, but I can’t feel anything. Even if it’s there, mine is pounding so hard I can’t feel anything else.

“Call a fucking ambulance!” I shout, but Preppy already has his phone to his ear, giving our location to the operator on the other end.

I place my hand behind her neck, tilting her chin up toward me. I open her mouth and press mine over hers, trying to force her to breathe, wishing I could breathe for her. After several attempts, nothing happens. I fold one hand over the other and use my wrists to pump on her chest. Her body jerks with my movement, giving me false hope with each pump that it’s her coming back to life and not me trying to beat the life back into her.

“Stayin’ alive. Stayin’ alive,” Preppy sings from behind me.

I glare at him while continuing to will her heart into submission.

“What?” he asks raising his arms in the air. He rolls his eyes. “Stayin’ Alive by the Bee-Gees. It’s the beat that you’re supposed to do CPR to. Believe it or not, I’m actually helping. I learned it from a ten-year-old on Youtube, and everyone knows the smartest creatures in the world are ten-year-old Youtubers. BTW, the ambulance is on the way.”

Preppy switches from singing to humming as I switch from pumping on her chest to breathing into her mouth again. After a few more tries, I check her pulse again, pressing two fingers against her neck, but I don’t feel anything but crippling loss.

I breathe into her mouth a few more times, then press my two fingers to her pulse once again. I count out loud, ready to resume CPR if I don’t feel anything by ten. “One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Come on Lenny. Six. Don’t die on me. Don’t you dare fucking die on me! Seven. Please, I fucking love you! Eight.”

“Nine,” the count continues on a strangled whisper, but it doesn’t come from me or Preppy.

Lenny’s eyes flutter open.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

NINE

“WHY AM I the one in this bed?” I ask, looking around the hospital room. “Poe,” I rasp as Lenny’s face comes into focus. She’s hovering over me, smiling with dried blood caked on the corner of her mouth.

“Maybe, I don’t know, because you were the one who was shot multiple times? Just a guess. Whereas I only took a small swan dive, swallowed some water, and broke my leg. Well, both my legs.” She points to the two casts that start at her toes and end all the way at the top of her thighs. They’re in a pointed position, resting on leg supports connected to her wheelchair. “Boys, such fucking pussies. Can’t take a couple of bullets and lose most of your blood without fainting all over the damn place,” she teases.

I laugh but stop abruptly when sharp pain stabs me in my chest. “Yeah, I’m a fuckin’ pussy. You got me.”

“Don’t move too much. One of the bullets went straight through but missed your heart by only centimeters,” Pike says. “It’s gonna hurt like a motherfucker. Trust me. I know.” He points to his arm, which is in a sling. He’s standing by the window, which is propped open with the help of a rolled-up magazine. He takes a drag on his cigarette and flicks it out before pulling the magazine and letting it fall closed. “I’ll give you two a minute alone,” he says, smacking me on the leg with the magazine on his way out the door. “And Lenny’s right. You’re kind of a fucking pussy.”

I raise my hand just enough to shoot him a middle finger.

He laughs and closes the door behind him.

“Lenny, I’m so sorry. I should have told you about Jared. I was so afraid of losing you, of hurting you more than you’ve already been hurt. It’s not an excuse, but it is my reason,” I say.

She places her hand on the side of my face. “I was waiting at the RV to tell you that it’s okay. That I’m okay. I trust that you did what you had to do. I hate that you kept it from me, but we’ve had a more than unique start to things, so I think a pass or two will be in order from time to time.” She smiles. “This being one of those times.”

“Fuck, Poe. I thought I lost you again when she pushed you…” I begin to say, “I saw it. I saw everything.” The terror I felt pierces through me at the memory, and I can’t bring myself to finish my sentence.

Lenny looks down to where her hand rests on mine. “She didn’t push me. I jumped. It was my only chance, and I took it.”

Despite the pain, I reach up to touch her face. “So fucking brave for someone who lives in a constant battle with fear. You’re incredible. You tempted fate twice. Do me a favor, and don’t fucking do it again.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “This coming from the guy who I’m told ran directly into the bullets being fired at him?”

“I was having a moment,” I mutter. “One where getting revenge on the bitch I thought killed you mattered more than surviving.”

“Don’t ever do that again,” she says, her eyes filling with tears.

I squeeze her hand. “Where you’re concerned, I can’t promise that. It’s not like I even decided to do it. It’s just what was happening.”

“Okay, well then, I can’t promise that I’ll never tempt fate again, but I will promise to never again jump from the causeway.” She places her hand over her heart. “Scout’s honor.”

“I’ll take that promise…for now.” I take her hand in mine.

“What do you mean for now?” Her brows furrow.

“There’s a lot more promises I want from you, that I want to make to you.” I try to sit up and fall back down when the pain rips through me like I’m being simultaneously electrocuted and cut through with a saw. “But they’ll have to wait until the second I can breathe without feeling like my ribs are being crushed.”

Poe pushes a button, and a nurse comes into the room and pushes a needle through my IV. The world turns fuzzy, but I don’t want to pass out just yet. I don’t want Lenny’s face to fade.

“I’m going to hold you to that.” She says. “You know, it wasn’t until I was dying and heard you counting when I finally realized the real reason you go by Nine.” She lazily rubs her thumb over the back of my hand.

“Oh yeah? Took you that long, did it?” I tease.

“I’m a slow learner.”

“No,” I argue. “You’re mine.”

She smiles. “I’m yours.”

“Also, if anyone asks about the name…” I start.

She winks. “I got you covered. Big cock.”

“Ugh, don’t say cock,” I groan.

“Why?” she asks, looking me over for more injuries.

“Because it’s hot as fuck, and blue balls is not a pain I want to add to the mix right now.”

“Hmmmm…if only you had something to take the pain away,” she sings. She reaches over to the small table next to the bed and grabs a large Styrofoam cup.

“Is that what I think it is?” I ask.

She nods and takes a sip before holding the straw for me to do the same. “Yep, Preppy was here and brought some of his super smoothies.”

I take a sip but almost choke from laughter. “You drank one of Preppy’s super smoothies in the hospital?”

Lenny leans in as far as she can from her chair and whispers, “Nope. I drank two.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

LENNY

FOUR MONTHS LATER…

NINE SEEMS OFF. Nervous. But then again, he’s at court. So, I imagine that whatever he’s doing here can’t be good.

After relentlessly questioning him about where he disappears to a few times a week and getting no definitive answer, I’ve decided to be a mature responsible woman about it...and follow him.

He’s not the only one who's nervous.

I stand in the corner of the large hallway tucked behind a large fake potted plant while Nine greets the officer standing guard outside large wooden double doors. After Nine enters, the guard begins to close the doors behind him.

I jog over and manage to squeeze through right before they close. I offer a small smile to the officer who, thankfully, doesn’t toss me out. I shuffle quietly into the last row and take a seat. No sooner does my butt hit the chair when the judge enters, and the dozen or so people in the courtroom stand, including myself.

“You may sit,” the judge says, taking his seat and glancing over the file in front of him. He’s a plump man with a shiny bald head and a short white beard. “This hearing is in regard to the well-being and guardianship of the minor child Huckleberry Leighton. Just so everyone knows, I like to keep my courtroom informal, but respectful. If anyone has an issue with that, you may see yourself out now.” He looks down to the file. “Who is standing in for Huckleberry Leighton, a minor, on behalf in my court, today?”

I’m shocked when Nine stands up and buttons his suit jacket. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in a suit and it’s so distracting I have to really concentrate to hear his words. “I am, your honor,” he announces.

The judge moves his glasses down on his nose and peers at Nine. “And you are?”

“Guardian for the court, Kevin Clearwater, Your Honor.”

I cover my mouth to hide my gasp. Nine is a guardian of the court? The very thing I told him I wanted to do with my life, but never did. My throat is dry. I’m trying to remain as calm as I can so I don’t draw attention to myself during the proceedings but what I really want to do is bounce out of my seat and tackle hug Nine in front of the entire courtroom.

The judge waves for Nine to step forward and approach the podium where a long skinny microphone is attached.

Nine does so smoothly and confidently, like he’s done it a million times before.

“Mr. Clearwater, have you had a chance to speak with Huckleberry Leighton before today’s proceedings?” The judge asks, looking down at his paperwork.

“I have, Your Honor. Many times.”

“And in your opinion, what is the best course of action for the child?”

“With no disrespect, Your Honor, my opinion isn’t why I’m here. I’m here to tell you what Huck wants and what his wishes are for his placement. Nothing more.”

The judge looks up at Nine again with surprise. A small smile tugs at his lips. “By all means, proceed Mr. Clearwater.”

“Huckleberry Leighton is a smart and bright eight-year-old who has been shifted around from foster home to foster home his entire life. He’s never had a mom and dad or a real family, and it’s what he wants more than anything in the entire world. He’s said as much every time I’ve met with him.”

“And how often has that been?” The judge asks, making notes.

“Twice a week, Your Honor. Every Monday and Thursday afternoon after his court-appointed visits with his biological mother.”

“And in your…excuse me, in Huck’s opinion, does he wish to be reunited with his biological mother?”

Nine looks to the scared, frail woman on the other side of the courtroom then back to the judge. “No, Your Honor. His wish is to have his mother relinquish parental rights so he can be adopted by a forever family.”

“Miss De La Vive has presented the court with all of the requirements to be granted custody of her child once again, Mr. Clearwater. Does Huckleberry know this?”

Nine nods. “He does, but he’s also been promised this every few months for his entire life. In addition, he was told by his mother on her infrequent visits that she was going to buy him a pony and take him to Disney World three times a year. The kid doesn’t want the promise of things that will never happen. He’s been there and done that. He wants a family. A reliable, stable family to love him as he deserves to be loved. The current foster family, the Andersons, have filed a petition for custody and adoption if circumstances and Your Honor will allow it.”

“I love my boy!” Huckleberry’s mom stands up and shouts with tears in her eyes. “I do. I love my boy.”

“Permission to speak to Miss De La Vive, Your Honor?” Nine asks.

The judge nods.

Nine looks to the woman with sympathy, but speaks to her plainly and without judgement. It’s an art form to hear him talk like this and I wonder how many hours of practice he’s had. “Ma’am, I mean no disrespect, but I spent my entire life in the system. I know what it’s like to wait for something that’s never coming. Tell me something. Do you have the finances to buy Huck a pony if he were to go home with you today? Can you take him to Disney World as you promised?”

Her shoulders fall. “No, I mean, not right now, but I will do those things when I can. Someday. I swear it. As soon as I get a job. As soon as I make enough money to move out of the shelter.”

Nine’s voice is calm and clear. “Huck doesn’t want any of that. Huck wants to be loved. He wants someone who will cut the crusts off his sandwiches. He wants a comfortable bed to sleep in at night and a mom who will sing him songs until he falls asleep and who will stay up with him when he has nightmares. If the Andersons don’t adopt him, he could be ripped from their care at any time and placed back in the system where most homes aren’t like theirs. He could be subjected to both sexual and physical abuse or worse. Trust me. I’ve lived that life, and I don’t want to see Huck go through it.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, ma’am. I wish I had a mother who loved me the way you obviously love your son, but I didn’t. I’m only here to tell you what Huck wants and to speak his wishes to the court.”

“I do love him,” she says again, wiping a tear from her cheek.

“I don’t doubt that ma’am, but love and the life he deserves are two different things.”

“Please have a seat, ma’am,” the judge orders.

She sits, visibly shaking. The judge turns his attention back to Nine. “Mr. Clearwater, before I make my decision, is there anything else you’d like to say on behalf of young Huckleberry?”

“It’s his wish to continue to see his mother. He would want her to be invited to all birthday parties, school events, and holidays. He doesn’t want to shut her out. He just wants stability.”

“Ma’am, how long have you been sober now?” the judge asks the mother.

“Three months, sir, but I had a setback last week. That’s why I didn’t show up for the last visit or the court date. I couldn’t let him see me like that.” She sniffles.

My heart breaks for her and for her son.

“Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, would you agree to allow Miss De La Vive these visitations that young Huckleberry has asked for if I award you guardianship?” the judge asks.

A well-dressed couple in the back of the room stands. “Of course, your honor. Anything he wants. We don’t want to separate a mother and child. We just want to give him a home and would welcome Miss De La Vive to be a part of his life if given the honor of being able to give him a forever home.”

Miss De La Vive looks over to the couple and mouths the words thank you to them. They both nod, and the judge orders them to, once again take a seat.

“In the best interest of the minor child, I’m going to award guardianship to Mr. and Mrs. Anderson with expectations of supervised visitation by the young Huckleberry’s biological mother. This court’s goal is not to tear families apart but to put them back together. However, Miss De La Vive, you haven’t been sober long enough, although both I and the court do appreciate your honesty about your struggles. We will reconvene in six months. We will reevaluate the child’s wishes at that time and Miss De La Vive’s progress. I can’t consider any arrangements for adoption in cases where parental rights have not been relinquished, and since we have a mother in this case who is clearly trying to better herself, we will have to wait and see where we stand in six months.”

The judge picks up the gavel and is about to slam it down when the mother stands again.

“Wait!” she says. She turns to Nine. “If I sign off on my rights, will you promise to make sure that he’s okay, even when I can’t?”

Nine nods. “Ma’am, I’m not going anywhere. I made him a promise. I’ll make sure he’s fine. I swear it.”

She clears her throat and looks to the judge. “I’ve been a lousy mother, and Mr. Clearwater is right. Love isn’t enough. Wanting to be a mother isn’t enough. I’d like to sign over my parental rights with the same provisions for visitation along with the addition of required drug tests for me. If I don’t pass even one test, Your Honor, I’d like the visitation to be removed permanently.”

“Ma’am?” the judge asks.

She looks to her hands, then back up to the judge. “I can’t do this to him no more. My boy don’t deserve it. I need to be sober, so I don’t disrupt his life, and if I can’t do that, then it’s better that I’m not in it.”

“Ma’am. I thank you for your honesty, and I will honor that request. I think you will find that being a mother means making the hardest decisions in the best interest of your child and this seems to be one of those hard decisions. If you and the Andersons will stay for a while, I’d like to talk to all of you together, privately in my chambers about how this is all going to work.” He looks to Nine. “Well, done, Mr. Clearwater. I hope to see you in my courtroom again soon. You’ve done a fine job for your young client today.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Nine replies.

I think he says something else, but I can’t hear it. I can’t even see him until he grabs my hand and leads me out of the courtroom because my eyes are filled with tears.

“I thought I saw you back here,” he says.

The second we are in the hallway I grab his face and press a hard kiss to his lips.

“What was that for?” he asks, wrapping his arms around me.

“That’s for what you just did for that boy in there. For those people. It’s got to be so hard, speaking on behalf of someone who can’t speak for himself. It’s…the bravest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

“I didn’t do it for them. I did it for you,” he says.

“You remembered what I told you that night.”

He nods. “I made a promise to myself that night that I would live for you when I thought you couldn’t.”

“I was alive, but I wasn’t even living for myself.” The tears sting my eyes. “And you were doing all of this.”

“Poe, I would fucking breathe for you if I could. You know that, don’t you?” he asks, seeking the answer in my eyes.

“I know that now,” I reply, sniffling back unshed tears.

We leave court hand in hand. On the way to the truck, we pass the post office, and suddenly, I remember something. I reach into my bag for the key that Yuli gave me for box 6969.

“What’s that?” Nine asks.

“It’s the key to the post office box Yuli wanted me to check for her mail. Knowing what I know now, is it even really a mailbox or a pipe bomb waiting to take me out?”

He takes the key from my hand. “There’s only one way to find out. Stay here.” He heads into the building.

After a few seconds, I grow impatient and am heading into the building when Nine emerges.

“Thought I told you to stay out here,” he says, raising an eyebrow at my hand still poised to push open the door.

“Right now, I’m still technically outside,” I say, but it comes out more as a question.

Nine shakes his head and puts an arm around my shoulder, guiding me to a nearby bench. “This is what was inside.” He hands me two envelopes.

The first envelope doesn’t have any postage stamps on it and is simply addressed to Lenny. I tear it open, and inside is a letter from the last person on Earth I ever expected to hear from again.

Jared.

LENNY,

By the time you read this, I’ll be gone, and you’ll be wondering what the fuck is going on. I can’t tell you all of the details about what I’ve done or why because it’s too dangerous for you to know, but I couldn’t leave without offering you at least a good-bye. I don’t want you to fester on the ‘what-ifs’ or ‘whys’ of my leaving. So hopefully, this letter will give you the closure you need to move on.

Since you have always been a fan of direct, straightforward communication, I’m not going to skip around the truths I can tell you, so I’ll start by saying that there’s someone else, and it’s been going on for a long time.

I never meant to hurt you, but you’re smart, Len. One of the smartest people I’ve ever met. You know as well as I do that we were never meant to be, and maybe, if I was less of a coward, I would have been able to end things with us a long time ago, but I honestly didn’t know how you’d handle things. You’d already lost so much in your life, so each time, I’d chicken out before the words I meant to say ever left my mouth.

The truth is that don’t know how to cope with your anxiety issues, but I also realize I never took the time to really understand them. I think that says a lot. You deserve happiness, Len, someone who really understands you, who can make you better, but I think we both know that person was never going to be me.

I know you have reserves in our joint account to last you through the year while you hunt for a job, but I’ve made sure that more money is going to be added to cover all of the bills and the mortgage for two years. Or, you can sell the house and use the profits to get your GED and go back to school or use them to pursue whatever dreams you might have for your life. I don’t even know what those dreams are, and I’m sorry I never bothered to ask.

I hope you find happiness, and I’m sorry. For taking the coward’s way out. For not being who you deserved. For all the wrong I’ve done.

-Jared

“IT WAS Yuli who drained my account and wanted me to suffer. She said as much,” I say to Nine, who reads the letter over my shoulder. “It wasn’t Jared.”

“So, when he said that his scheme was his girlfriend’s idea, he wasn’t even talking about you.”

“No, he was talking about Yuli.”

Nine folds up the letter, “I hate him a little less now, even though he’s still a fucking coward, but one who cared about you, in his own way. That is the one thing I can’t fault him for.”

I shrug. “I guess, but it doesn’t change anything. You and your friends and the MC are still out a couple of million dollars. You can’t invest in your brother’s company like you wanted.”

He doesn’t seem fazed by my mention of the money, but the truth is it keeps me up most nights. “But does it help? Does it give you some sort of closure?” he asks.

I think for a moment. “Yeah, it does. In a way, but I already had my closure, through golf club therapy.”

Nine smiles and presses a chaste kiss to my forehead. “Then, it’s all that matters.” He picks up the other envelope and tears it open. It’s some sort of official-looking notice from Mutual of America. His eyes go wide.

“What is it?” I ask, fearing what else could possibly go wrong.

He hands the document to me, and it doesn’t take me long to understand the reason behind Nine’s surprised reaction. It’s a life insurance policy Jared had taken out years ago on himself. It states something about his parents who had him declared missing and legally presumed dead and something else about the enclosed death certificate, but that’s not what’s shocking. The benefits, in the amount of three million dollars, are to be paid out at the time of his death to the beneficiary.

I gasp and cover my mouth when I get to the bottom of the page and read the name.

The beneficiary is me.

EPILOGUE

LENNY

ANOTHER MONTH LATER…

I USE Jared’s money to pay back Nine and his friends. At first, Nine refused, promising he’d find some way to pay them back himself, but I told him it was either that or I was tossing the bank check from the top of the causeway.

He gave in.

The remainder of the money was used to donate to a charity, supporting foster children and the volunteers like Nine who represent them in court. A few more training sessions and I will be a guardian of the court as well.

We’re standing in front of one of Dre’s most recent renovation projects. It’s a perfect little old Florida style bungalow with flower boxes and a white fence and I’m in awe of her work. It’s perfect in every way. No detail spared.

“It’s incredible,” I say. “But where’s Dre? Isn’t she meeting us here? I thought she wanted my opinion on the value?”

I turn around to face Nine who's holding up a key.

“No, she didn’t want to wait around and witness what I’m going to do to you inside.” His voice is dark and full of wicked promise.

I shiver under the blazing heat of the sun and his words. “I don’t think she wants us messing around in her house.”

He grins and pulls me to his chest. “It’s not her house. It’s ours.”

“How?”

“Easy. I invested in my brother’s company and had money left over, but I knew before Dre was even done with this place that I would buy it someday for you. So, I did.”

“I can’t believe it. I’m…” I press my hand to his smooth cheek. He leans in and kisses the scars on my palm. It’s him I’m looking at when I say, “I’m home.”

He guides me to the front door, and I open the door to paradise. A clean, contemporary take on a traditional home. Light grey wood floors. White shaker style cabinets, granite counters, and a large metal farm sink on the kitchen island with seating for four.

“Is this what you imagined would happen when you first started stalking me?” I ask Nine as he follows me from room to room while I explore. The master bathroom has a clawfoot tub and small white octagon tile on the floors and walls.

“Stalking is such a strong word. I prefer tracking with interest,” he says with a shrug.

“That's the very definition of stalking,” I argue, turning to him I cross my arms over my chest in challenge. “Try again.”

He raises on the balls of his feet then drops down again. The movement causes rogue strands of hair to fall over his eye. He shakes them away. “What phrase would you prefer?” He takes a step closer. His smile widens. “Pursuing with passion? Hunting with hope?” He reaches out, and I watch as he trails the pads of his index and middle finger up my bare arm.

A shiver erupts within my spine, shaking me to my very core. I fight the urge to close my eyes at the sensation.

His voice is deep yet amused. “Trailing with a trigger?”

“You're not making it any better,” I manage to say, after having to clear my throat to get the words out. My muddled thoughts still focused on the sensation of stroking fingers across my sensitive skin.

He glances down at the hairs on my arm, now standing on end. He raises a pierced brow. “Are you sure about that?”

I gulp. “Yes.”

I crane my neck to meet his eyes. Big mistake. It only heightens my awareness of him touching me. I bite down on the skin inside my cheek to keep from groaning out loud.

“Fine.” He leans in closer and moves his hand lower. Those same fingers are now trailing up my outer thigh. Another shiver courses through me, although this one isn’t in my spine. It’s more…centrally located.

“How about…” his lips are a breath away from mine. “…looking for your lips?”

I press my lips together and shake my head.

“No?” He chuckles, cupping my cheek as his other hand inches up my skirt, rendering me breathless.

His lips skirt over mine as he speaks. His smile is now gone. His words are dark. Serious. The sexiest sounds I’ve ever heard. I'm squirming in my own skin. “Aching to be inside you?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, which is good because I couldn't form one if I tried but also because he presses his lips to mine. Roughly. Passionately. Possessively. Crushing me both body and soul as he lifts me, pushing me against the wall.

The hand up my skirt tugs aside the lace of my panties. He reaches between us to his belt, freeing himself of his jeans.

He presses a long finger inside my wet heat and slowly strokes me, stroking the spot that has me blind with need, rubbing myself on him like an animal in heat, I’m already there, about to burst apart when he lifts me up, and enters me in one long hard thrust.

I raise my hips off the wall as he fucks me furiously. Each time, he brings me closer and closer to the brink until I’m so far gone that I’m only vaguely aware of Nine groaning my name through his own release, flooding me with his warmth. On my way back down from wherever it is that pure bliss has taken me, I hear him counting. “One. Two. Three. Four…”

And so on, until he gets to eight.

I open my eyes. He smiles and drops his forehead to mine, our rapid breaths mingling between us. His voice is a ragged whisper. “Nine.”

“You always stop at Nine,” I tease.

“And I always will,” he says, pressing his lips to mine once more.

“Me, too.” My life is now my own, but I only started living again because of him. I have begun, and I will end the same way our counting game always does.

With Nine.

BONUS EPILOGUE

NINE

KING’S TATTOO studio is connected to the garage across the driveway from the main house. King is a fucking artist. If you want a tattoo that looks like something the means something, he’s the man you see. His wife Ray was his apprentice for a few years until she became an artist in her own right.

But his studio isn’t just a for tattoos. It’s sacred. A place where King, Bear, and Preppy get together and lock the rest of the world out. When decisions need to be made, it happens behind those doors.

Which is exactly where they are right now.

I’ve been inside the studio a hundred times. Between King and Ray, they’re solely responsible for every inch of ink on my body, which means that over the past few years, I’ve spent a lot of time inside that studio.

But never after hours. Never when the three of them are behind that locked door.

Bear, King, and Preppy have been running Logan’s Beach for years. It’s their town. I respect the fuck out of that.

Out of them.

That’s why it doesn’t bother me that I’ve never been invited inside. It’s not my place. Sure, I’ve proven myself to them over the last couple of years, but there’s a difference between earning their respect and thinking I somehow deserve to be in that studio after hours.

Which is why I’m wondering why the fuck King asked me here.

I’m standing outside the closed studio door. It’s after midnight. Preppy’s classic Chevy and Bear’s shiny bike are parked out front. They’re all inside. I don’t bother knocking. They know I’m here. They’ll come for me when they’re ready.

“You in trouble?” Ray asks, with a knowing smirk. She comes down from the porch with their youngest daughter on her hip.

“Beats the hell out of me,” I answer, taking a drag from my smoke. “They called me about an hour ago. Told me to be here. So, I’m here.”

“Well, whatever it is, good luck in there,” she says. Before she goes back inside the house, she stops and turns around. Her face lined with worry. “I mean, it, Nine. Good luck. The guys can get really…intense in there.”

So much for calming my fuckin’ nerves.

She enters the house at the same time the studio door opens and Preppy appears in the doorway.

“Come on, kid,” he says in a voice that doesn’t sound like him. Nothing about him screams this is a casual meeting. His expression is flat. There’s no smile. No joking.

“Are you having a stroke or something,” I ask, stubbing out my smoke as I approach.

He blows out a breath. “Not yet, but the night is young.”

He steps aside, and I enter the studio. It’s completely dark, except for the bright green neon King’s Tattoo logo. It’s a skull wearing a crown and a bow tie. The crown for King, the skull representing Bear and the bikers, and the bow tie for my brother.

The door slams. I spin around to face Preppy, but he’s not there. “Sorry about this brother,” he says from behind me.

“What the fuck?”

There’s a bag placed over my head, and I’m shoved onto the leather couch. I’m reaching for the chains on my wrists when I realize that no one has attacked me or bound my hands. The light clicks on, and I can see figures through the bag. I reach up and slowly pull it from my head.

“Man, you didn’t even piss yourself!” Preppy whines, stomping his foot and snagging the sac from my lap. He folds it in his hands and places it back into a drawer as if it were a family heirloom.

“I told you not to fucking bag ‘em,” Bear growls. “We were in the apartment for two fucking seconds and come back to you lookin’ like you’re recruiting the newest member of your satanic fuckin’ cult,” Bear says, slapping Preppy in the chest. “We agreed no bags on the head.”

“Ouch, Care Bear. I don’t know what hurts worse. Your words, or the fact that you don’t think I’m going to use what you just said as innuendo against you. Bags on the head? Really? You can do better than that.”

Bear pulls over a chair and turns it around so it’s backwards. He straddles it and rolls his eyes. “Fuck me.”

“No thanks,” Preppy replies, laying down on the tattoo chair and crossing his arms over his chest. He looks at the ceiling. “I’ve got a wife for that.”

“Oh, trust me. I know,” Bear says. “Because I’ve fucked yo—”

“Are you really going there right now?” Preppy says, shooting up to a sitting position. “We agreed you would never go there.”

“And you agreed you wouldn’t bag your brother like a hostage in one of those cheesy action movies!”

King walks over to his tattoo chair and takes a seat. He rubs his face like he’s annoyed with the scene playing out in front of him, but in truth, I see the smile he’s trying to hide.

“Kids,” he muttered. “Can’t take ‘em anywhere.” He looks to me. “Not my kids. My kids are great.” He lights a joint and inhales. He jerks his chin over to Bear and Preppy, who are griping at each other like an old married couple, then runs his hands over his short hair. “It’s them two I gotta fuckin’ worry about.”

“Why, exactly, am I here?” I ask.

Preppy and Bear stop the bickering and look to me. A slow smile spreads across Preppy’s face.

Bear raises his eyebrows. “Because we’re having a goddamn meetin’ that’s why.” He says, like it should be obvious to me.

I lean forward and take the joint from King, taking a long drag and keeping it held in for as long as I can before exhaling because there’s no way I’m going to be able to get through the next few minutes without being high, especially if Preppy doesn’t get to the fuckin’ point.

I stand to pass the joint to Bear. “Okay, but like I asked before—” I sit back down. “Why am I here?”

King stands and moves to the wall where he removes one of Ray’s framed drawings, revealing a safe. He turns it left and right a few times before it pops open.

Preppy rubs his hands together eagerly.

Bear’s face is expressionless, except for a knowing glint in his eyes.

King retrieves something and shuts the safe. He sits back down and holds up a key, the end in the same symbol as the neon logo hanging above his head. He tosses the key to me and sits back. “What’s this for?” I inspect the key and quickly notice that although it’s the same logo as the sign, it’s also a little different.

This one has the number nine in the center of the bow tie.

I look up and meet three pairs of approving eyes.

“Those,” King says, “are the keys to the motherfuckin’ kingdom.”

“Welcome aboard, kid,” Bear chimes in.

“My baby boy. All fuckin’ grown up,” Preppy says in a high-pitched voice, fanning his fake tears.

King leans forward. His elbows on his knees. “That key unlocks this room, all three of our houses, the arsenal on the island, several safe houses, and a few stashes of shit here and there around town.”

“And for some reason, it also opens the vending machine at the bus stop,” Preppy says with a shrug. “Free Fritos for fucking dayyyysss.”

“You showed us that you’re willing to take a bullet for us. To die for us,” Bear says.

King finishes, “This is us showing you that we’re willing to do the same. We need some younger blood in Logan’s Beach. Someone willing to take charge when we can’t. Someone else to watch our backs. We all got our own shit going on, but this here in this room? This shit comes first.”

Bear nods in agreement. “I’ve got The Lawless, my MC, my brotherhood.” He looks around the room. “But these two are my actual brothers. And now, so are you.”

The key feels heavy with the trust it comes with. “I won’t let you down.”

Preppy pulls out a long sharp knife. There’s a glint in his eye as he holds it up in the air. “Now, it’s time for the blood oath.”

A few moments of silence pass before all three of them start laughing.

“I’m just kidding. The blood oath was a no-go the first time I brought it up.”

“Yet you kept fucking asking,” King says, slapping Preppy playfully on the back.

I’ve gone without having any sort of family in my life, and now, these men are taking me in as one of their own. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say.”

“You ain’t supposed to say anything,” Bear says. He stands and makes his way over to a cabinet, but it’s just a door front that opens to a mini fridge and liquor cabinet. He pulls out a bottle of whiskey. “You’re supposed to fucking drink.”

“Oh, I’ll get my shit,” Preppy takes off to the adjoining apartment and comes back with an armful of baggies, filled to the brim with all sorts of powders and pills. “Sorry, guys. This is all I could get on such short notice.”

King laughs as Preppy spreads his shit out on the coffee table.

“I thought this was a meeting?” I ask as Bear snorts a line off his wrist.

He looks up at me, wiping at his nose, and licks the rest of the blow from his skin. “What the fuck is it you think we do in meetings?”

Preppy passes me the bottle. He sits down on the floor in front of the leather couch and tugs on my leg until I do the same. Bear and King join us on the floor across the low table. “I’m proud of you, brother.”

Not wanting the surge of emotions I’m feeling to spill into my words, I take a deep pull from the bottle.

“Now, stop being a pussy, and shove some blow up your nose, brother. You ain’t gonna morph those two nostrils into one if you’re a pussy about it,” Preppy says, dumping out a huge bag of blow into a bowl.

“Nobody wants one nostril,” King tells Preppy.

“Yes, they do. Everyone knows that one nostril is halfway to unicorn.” He uses a small straw to snort a line and hands it to me, locking eyes with mine. “Be a unicorn.”

“What time did you start on the hard shit?” I ask Preppy.

He shrugs. “Eight.”

“No, you didn’t. We were here at eight,” Bear argues.

Preppy dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “Eight this morning.” He explains. “Dre and her Dad took the kids to New York for the weekend, and Daddy has an itch that needs scratchin’.”

Bear’s gaze drops to the bowl of blow. King’s follows.

“Does that bowl have…” King leans in and takes a closer look. “Mini Mouse on it?”

“It wasn’t my first choice,” Preppy replies with a one shouldered shrug. “Daisy Duck was in the dishwasher.”

I realize I’m still holding the key. I tuck it into my wallet for safekeeping.

“That thing comes with a lot of responsibility,” King says, his tone turning serious. “You ready for what comes with it?”

“I’ve never been readier.” It’s the truth. I came to Logan’s Beach to find my brother. I’ve found more than a brother. I found Lenny. My family. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for each and every one of them.

“You may have lost a lot of our money, but you’ve gained our respect,” Bear says. “Money can be made again. This shit here? Is fucking priceless.”

I frown. “Wait, Preppy didn’t give you…” I glance at Preppy who looks away whistling, finally our eyes meet.

“Oh, yeah,” Preppy snaps his fingers as if he’s just remembering. “I totally forgot to tell you guys. Nine paid us back, with interest.” He snorts a line, using a metal straw shaped like a tiny vacuum cleaner.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Bear warns, cracking his knuckles.

Preppy rolls his eyes. “Don’t be stupid, Bear. Wait until I’m not high anymore because honestly, if you kick my ass now, I’m not gonna feel a thing, and then, where would the pleasure be in that?”

Bear narrows his eyes at Preppy, then nods. “Good point.”

“A toast,” King announces, pouring whiskey into four solo cups. Passing one to each of us. We hold up our cups as I look around the table at each of my new brothers.

King’s eyes meet mine. His toast is a loud yell from the depths of his chest.

“To the Prince of Logan’s Beach!”

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PERVERSION

KING OF THE CAUSEWAY

A Preview

RAY

King steps out onto the porch dressed in his usual all black with a plain black baseball cap on his head. “Hey, Pup.” His voice is a deep bravado that tugs on every nerve ending in my body. I thought it would fade over time, but it hasn’t. Every day with him only amplifies my feelings.

Heart and body.

He sits on the step above me and looks out into the front yard where our kids are playing.

Nicole Grace is toddling around chasing her brother and sister. Sammy and Max are shooting each other with massive water guns, gifts from Bear. I’m rocking the newest addition to our family in her bouncy seat next to me as I take in the laughs and squeals of delight coming from my crazy brood.

“I’ve got to go meet with Nine. He’s got some shit that needs to be sorted out at Preppy’s house. You good here for a while?” King asks.

I nod. “You know, the kids are kind of pissed at us for getting married at the courthouse. They wanted to be there.”

King gently places his hand on my throat. A possessive hold that I’ve come to love. “Couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Me either,” I admit.

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to my lips.

“Ewwwwwww!” Sammy cries.

We break apart and look to Sammy, who is pointing at us, wrinkling his little nose. “That’s gross.”

King laughs. “Mind your business, boy. You won’t always think it’s gross.”

Sammy shakes his head. “No way. It’s gross, and I’m not changing my mind.”

Max pops out from behind the thick trunk of the oak tree in the center of the yard and squirts Sammy from behind. He lets out a shriek of surprise then takes off after her.

“Maybe they need to see us get married,” King laments.

My head snaps to him. “What?”

He watches the kids for a moment longer before turning to look at me. “I want them to see that what’s between for what it is. Something good. Something strong.” He stands and grabs my hand, pulling me up with him. His hand goes back to my throat. “Go pick out a white dress, Pup. ‘Cause you and I are having a wedding.” He kisses me slowly, but it’s not tender, it’s a slow possession of my mouth and body. He pulls away. “Now that you’re mine in every way, I think that’s something worth celebrating. Don’t you?”

All I can do is nod because just like every time he kisses me, he’s stolen my breath away.

“See you in a bit,” he chuckles. “Don’t let them kill each other. At least not until I get back.” He kisses our little one then heads down the porch steps and runs up behind Sammy, holding him up into the air so that Max can get a good shot at him. He puts down Sammy, and the kids take off running yet again.

King places a kiss on top of Nicole Grace’s head then walks over to his bike. Each stride he takes makes my breath quicken. He straddles the big black bike and the engine roars to life. He flips his baseball cap around then takes off down the driveway.

I’m left gaping at him like a school kid with a crush because damn that man is still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

I pick up the baby and hold her on one hip. I go down into the yard and scoop up Nicole Grace, setting her on my other hip. I yell to the other two kids that I’m going to put the younger ones down for a nap.

When I emerge from the house a few moments later, Max and Sammy are sitting in the grass, watching ladybugs crawl over dandelions.

A car pulls up on the driveway that I don’t recognize. My shoulders stiffen.

“Sammy, Max! Get inside, now!” I order.

Sammy and Max do exactly as I ask. Standing up and running past me into the house because they know my serious voice. They also know that mama doesn’t play around when there’s even a small possibility of a threat, especially when it comes to my kids.

They slam the screen door. I watch as a woman steps out from the shiny black BMW. She’s beautiful and blonde. Thin with not a hair out of place. She’s tall wearing trendy large sunglasses and sky-high heels not meant for a gravel driveway, but somehow she tackles the walk with ease.

“Is King around?” she asks, with a sweet southern drawl that makes my arm hairs stand on end.

“Around here we introduce ourselves before we ask questions,” I tell her, crossing my arms over my chest.

She doesn’t answer. Because she’s distracted by something. She takes off her glasses and stares up into the front window where Max and Sammy are peering out over the top of the couch.

No, she’s not looking at both kids. She’s staring at Max.

Dread pools in my stomach.

“As a matter of fact, there is something you can help me with,” she says. “I’m Tricia. I’m Max’s—”

“No, you’re fucking not,” I finish for her.

She looks to me with determined brown eyes. “Oh, but I am.”

“Why are you here?” I ask, clenching my fists at my sides. I thought this bitch was dead.

She touches the tip of her sunglasses to the corner of her mouth. “Why, I’m here to see Max, my baby girl.”

Inside I’m shaking with rage. Outside I stay cool and calm as I make my way slowly to bottom step. I’m eye to eye with the bitch when I say, “Over YOUR dead body.”

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Newsletter

ALSO BY T.M. FRAZIER

THE PERVERSION TRILOGY

PERVERSION (Book 1)

POSSESSION (Book 2)

PERMISSION (Book 3)

THE OUTSKIRTS DUET

THE OUTSKIRTS (Book 1)

THE OUTLIERS (Book 2)

THE KING SERIES

LISTED IN RECOMMENDED READING ORDER

Jake & Abby’s Story (Standalone)

The Dark Light of Day (Prequel)

King & Doe’s Story (Duet)

KING (Book 1)

TYRANT (Book 2)

Bear & Thia’s Story (Duet)

LAWLESS (Book 3)

SOULLESS (Book 4)

Rage & Nolan’s Story (Standalone)

ALL THE RAGE (Spinoff)

Preppy & Dre’s Story (Triplet)

PREPPY PART ONE (Book 5)

PREPPY PART TWO (Book 6)

PREPPY PART THREE (Book 7)

Smoke & Frankie’s Story (Standalone)

UP IN SMOKE (Spinoff)

Nine & Lenny’s Story

NINE, THE TALE OF KEVIN CLEARWATER

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

T.M. Frazier

T.M. Frazier never imagined that a single person would ever read a word she wrote when she published her first book. Now, she’s a USA Today bestselling author. Her books have been translated into numerous languages and published all around the world.

T.M. enjoys writing what she calls ‘wrong side of the tracks’ romance with sexy, morally corrupt anti-heroes and ballsy heroines.

Her books have been described as raw, dark and gritty. Basically, what that means, is while some authors are great at describing a flower as it blooms, T.M. is better at describing it in the final stages of decay.

She loves meeting her readers, but if you see her at an event please don’t pinch her because she's not ready to wake up from this amazing dream.

For more information please visit her website www.tmfrazierbooks.com

Join her Facebook Group, Frazierland!

Table of Contents

A Note from the author

Opening Quote

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue

Bonus Epilogue

King of The Causeway

ALSO BY T.M. FRAZIER

ABOUT THE AUTHOR