We stroll through the crowd, and I wonder what it would be like to be Evie. To have a decent home, great opportunities, yet still willingly choose to get sucked into the pit of numb.
“Can I ask you something?” I breach, when we reach that lonely place between leaving a crowd and halfway to where you’re heading.
“If it’s fucking crazy or makes no sense, then no.”
“You’re such a buzzkill.”
“Got a sane question or not?”
“What if I decline whatever it is that Ricky has to offer me?”
That causes Linus to stop so quickly that his upper body moves forward as his feet become lead. “Why would you do that?”
“Harvard wanted me today.”
His eyes laugh but not his mouth. “I’m sure Harvard wanted you. Lots of guys want you.”
I smirk, he raises his eyebrows, and I up the stakes by showing him the card. “We had interviews at school today. If I became a normal girl with normal extracurricular activities, I could possibly have a shot because he liked me. Liked. As in how I like bunnies and how you like raining on people’s parades or kicking puppies.”
Linus only reads the card, doesn’t touch it, and I find that interesting.
“You want to go to college?” Linus asks.
I shrug then nod.
“Tell Ricky. Chances are he’ll pay for it.”
“Is the five-hundred-word essay for the Gangster of the Year Scholarship due now or later? And do you think my topic of how to creatively dump a body during rush hour traffic will work or is he searching for something a little more mainstream like how to use technology to smuggle in heroin?”
Once again, no reaction. “Ricky likes smart.”
Bet he does. “That money doesn’t launder itself.”
“You said it.”
I pocket the card and a strange twinge of desperation rattles my bones. Last spring, when Isaiah was having problems with Eric, I told him that once he started down the path of illegal, there was no way out. Somehow, I had told Isaiah the truth, but lied to myself—thinking that if I stayed small-time, I’d be able to sneak out the back door.
A quick glance up at the stars and I don’t spot a thing. It’s a clear night, but we’re within the city so the stars’ light can’t compete. “What if at some point, I decide I don’t want to do this anymore?”
Linus studies me from head to toe. “You want out?”
Yes. “No.” Grams still needs me to work. “Curious is all.”
“You’re Mozart’s daughter...you’re one of our best sellers...”
It’s his pause that causes the trickle of dread.
“Unless there’s a damn good reason, Ricky isn’t going to let you go.”
I bite the inside of my mouth, just below my bottom lip and search for stabilization.
“That’s not a bad thing, Abby. It means you’re going to make a lot of money for the rest of your life.”
It means I’ll be a target for the rest of my life. It means becoming cold like Linus. It means loving nothing, knowing no one. It means one day I’ll have to sell things I don’t want to sell, do things I won’t want to do, become the unbecomable.
“If you’re scared about being shot again, don’t be. I’m moving up with you. I’ve always looked out for you, you know that, but it’s never been official. This time, it will be.”
“Never said I was scared and never said I needed a babysitter.”
“Won’t be like that. You’ll still have wide berth, but when stuff on the streets becomes unstable, it’s your side I’ll be next to.”
Which means my promotion is a promotion for Linus, as well. He’s a soldier in Ricky’s unseen wars and he’s moving up in the world.
Linus’s cell pings and as he checks the text the lights on Ricky’s SUV spring to life.
“You’re being rescheduled,” he says. “I’ll text you a new meet time tomorrow.”
My shoulder blades twitch like I’m being watched. “Are there problems?”
“Nothing that concerns you.” He gestures back to the party. “Go make Ricky some money. I’ll tell one of my guys to keep an eye on you.”
“I can handle myself.” I turn away from Linus and act like I’m heading back to the party. But really, I just want to avoid Ricky for as long as I can. This interruption was a gift, but regardless, this meeting with Ricky will happen and when it does, I will have passed the point of no return.
Logan
Isaiah’s in the driver’s seat of his Mustang. One hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gearshift. His finger on the steering wheel taps at a constant, persistent rhythm. It’s fast, a bit maddening, and it represents how I feel. Across the parking lot is Abby and she’s talking to Linus.
Never knew I could hate another human being as much as I do him.
“Did you know she’d be here?” I ask.
Isaiah subtly nods. “She’s always here on Friday and Saturday nights. It was her father’s routine and now it’s hers.”
“How far back do you two go?”
“Far.”
Every night since I left Abby alone in her bedroom, Isaiah and I have been out searching for her shooter. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we don’t. When we do, it’s the debate of what to do when we find the bastard—the pros and cons of heading to the police.
That’s my initial choice, but Isaiah’s hesitant and I understand why. Neither of us wants to see Abby caught up in legal issues and winding up in jail.
“If this is safe territory for Abby, then why are we here?” My eyes narrow in on Isaiah. “Unless you think he’s going to try to hurt her again.”
“Never know, but I thought we’d approach things different tonight. If Linus is claiming to be the one who saw the shooter, then maybe the shooter will be after him.”
I nod, following his train of thought. If we tail Linus and the shooter is following him, we’ll discover who we’ve been hunting for.
“Have you thought about my idea?” asks Isaiah.
An intervention. Isaiah thinks we need to tie Abby to a chair and have a full-blown intervention. “Won’t work unless we can find a way to solve her problems.”
Isaiah’s silent for a few beats. Abby walks away from Linus and the two of us grow restless as she disappears from view. It’s been tough, not talking to her since seeing her at the school, not checking in on her, not knowing if this time her job will catch up to her and I won’t see her again.
“She needs money,” Isaiah states as he tracks Linus walking toward an SUV.
“Yeah.” But Isaiah doesn’t know why and he’s guessing I do. “And she also won’t leave if she thinks any of us are in danger.”
“You, Logan. It’s you right now that’s driving her.”
The glare I send him is a silent “Screw you.” Silent because he’s right. Silent because the respect in his eyes while looking over at me tells me that he’ll always be grateful that I went after Abby.
“I don’t think I’m going to the farms down south.” The past four years, me, Ryan, Chris, and whatever other guys we can pull together go and bale hay on the farm Chris’s grandfather owns south of here and then extend our services to neighboring farms. This year, we convinced Isaiah, West, and Noah to come with us, but I can’t leave Louisville knowing Abby’s in danger.
“Can it be pushed off?”
“No. They’ve already cut the hay and it’s dried. We either go now or don’t go at all. You can still go. I’ll keep an eye on Abby.”
Isaiah shakes his head in disagreement. He’s starting out on his own and was looking forward to this week. He was hoping for the nice payday to give him a financial cushion, but he won’t leave Abby behind, either. Not without figuring out who her shooter is.
Isaiah’s eyes dart to his rearview mirror and in a split second his hand is on the gearshift and his foot on the clutch. Before I can ask what the hell is going on a huge son of a bitch, a mountain of a man, stands in front of Isaiah’s car, laying both of his hands on the hood. Don’t have to look back to know someone’s at the rear.
The Mustang’s engine growls, Isaiah shifts into First and as I prepare myself for Isaiah to play the ultimate game of chicken, a slam on my window. Isaiah smacks his hand against the steering wheel and curses.
Eric glares at me through the glass and says three words that cause my blood to grow cold. “I’ve got Abby.”
Abby
It’s only eleven and I’m calling it a night. My shoulder aches, I can’t prevent the stream of yawns that are leaving my mouth, and I’ve sold enough to be profitable.
I hop off my wall and start weaving through the crowd. The number eleven bus will be here soon and that will give me a straight shot home to Grams.
“Heading out?” Linus’s favorite sidekick, Tommy, slips next to me and I barely look at him out of the corner of my eye. I’m pissed because it’s obvious Linus handed him the end of the invisible leash that leads to my neck.
“Nope,” I lie for no reason other to be ornery. “I need to find a little girl’s room.”
He jacks his thumb over his shoulder. “A friend of mine lives in the apartments. You can use that.”
I pull out my phone and pretend that the last text message I received was important. It wasn’t. It was Houston texting me a picture of straws sticking out of his nose, but Tommy’s being friendly and he’s usually as cold as Linus. My instincts are flaring and I won’t ignore my best survival skills.
“I’m heading to the bar,” I finally say, and purposely squeeze between two people so that he’ll have a hard time catching up. “It’ll be a two-fer. Pee then make some sales.”
“I’ll come.”
“I’m good on my own.”
“Abby, I’m not honestly asking.”
My hackles rise. I step in front of him, point one finger, stick it into his stomach and push just enough that my long nail digs into his flesh. “Well, I’m honestly not accepting, so back off.”
Tommy jerks like I knifed him. “Linus doesn’t want you alone.”
“It’s not Linus’s call to make, it’s mine. I’m walking away, you aren’t following, and if you do I’ll make your life a living hell.”
“Talking big for a girl who was shot.”
I smile and it’s the one that scares even me. “And I got the bastard before he got me. Some guy with a gun couldn’t take on a seventeen-year-old girl with a knife. Now, that is pathetic so as I said, I’m good on my own.”
Something strange flashes over his face and that causes my head to cock to the side. I’m watching him. He’s watching me. My father’s voice rumbles in my head, Trust no one.
I have to fight to keep my eyes from trailing down to Tommy’s side. As we continue to stare each other down, I fight past the dull haze I had in the hospital and try to recall seeing Tommy there. Several of the other guys Linus considers worthy were there “keeping an eye on me,” but never Tommy.
“Linus is right,” he says. “You’re PTSDing.”
“Excuse me?”
“Before the alley, you never questioned one of us tagging along. Now you see everyone as the enemy.”
I’m paralyzed by his words, and for the first time I doubt my instincts—doubt myself. I turn and don’t say anything when he walks alongside me again. The world feels disjointed, almost like I’ve been struck.
“Were you really heading to the bar?” he asks.
“No.”
“Heading home then?”
“Yeah.” Lying seems useless, especially since my mind seems to be on a confused loop. My instincts are off—I’m off.
“I’ll give you a lift. Drop off at Hemlock and Orange, right?”
It’s over a mile from Grams’s and it’s still too close to her, but I have a route from there where I’d know if I was being followed. Linus has dropped me off there several times. So has Tommy. Never have they followed. The two of them have always given me my space. “Okay.”
When we reach the edge of the crowd, Tommy edges toward the apartments and I go along with him.
“Car’s parked over here,” he says as an explanation. “Why don’t you let anyone drive you home?”
“Because then you’d want me to ask you in and if I did that then you’d want cookies and if I give you cookies, then you’d want milk, and if I give you milk then you’d want sex.”
“Good point.”
I had been kidding, but then again Tommy is a male. My instincts are off. If my instincts are off how do I survive? “You doing okay? Linus said you took a hit.”
“I was down for a few days.” His lips stretch up, but that’s not a smile. “It’ll take a lot more to keep me out.”
I want to ask if being attacked in that alley jacked up his instincts, but I don’t. The fact he’s the one babysitting me is the answer.
“That alley was messed up, wasn’t it?” I say, testing him. Testing me.
“Went bloody quick.”
“Yes, it did.” We turn right, then left, and we’re thick in the maze of crumbling two-story low-income apartments. Our only light comes from the lone working exterior light by one tenant’s door. My forehead furrows. “How far away did you park?”
“We’ll cut through here and my car’s on the other side.”
That internal warning system—the one that’s kept me safe for so long—it’s screaming and I pause. My hand drops to my stomach in an attempt to halt the nausea churning inside. PTSD. My instincts are off...
Tommy glances around, but stares heavily over his shoulder, the way we were heading. “You okay?”
I breathe out slowly. No, not at all. “How’d you get hurt?”
His eyebrows crunch together. “What?”
“In the alley, how did you get hurt?”
Tommy’s a lefty and his eyes shift right. He’s about to lie.
“Guy surprised me from behind. It was a cheap shot.”
Shots aren’t cheap if they draw blood. He’s looking away, he rubs his nose and my mind almost hurts as I process why he’d be lying. “But how? I heard a lot of shots and I’m the only one who ended up in the hospital...”
A rustle of grass behind me, my hand goes for my knife. A form in all black, except for blond hair. It’s Eric and he’s walking toward us, hands in the air, that forever egotistical expression on his face.
“Wander across the wrong street, Eric?” I ask relaxing, yet still keeping my hand on the hilt of my blade. Doesn’t frighten me to see Eric. By himself he’s nothing more than an annoying fly. It’s the guys that surround him that are terrifying. “Or did you get lost because you explored further than your mommy allowed?”
Tommy pushes past me, shouldering me behind him, and reaches for his gun behind his back. Going caveman like most men do. “This ain’t your territory.”
“Thought the strip where you tried to take me out was neutral territory, but borders appear to be shifting and so do alliances.” He’s still walking toward us. Each step slow and methodical. “How are you, Abby?”
“What do you want?” Tommy has his gun in his hand now, but it’s still behind his back.
Eric stops, cocks his head and goose bumps form on my arms from the evil smile stretched across his face. Appears I’m not the only one the devil likes to dance with. “I want Abby.”
“Sorry, you aren’t my type.”
Eric’s eyebrows lift. “What type is that?”
I glance to my left, then right, the sensation of the walls closing in suffocating me. “I prefer the athletic type. Big, strong. The type that doe
s homework. Maybe doesn’t send people to put bullets in my body. Crazy shit like that.”
Eric nods at each of my descriptions. “You’re saying you’re picky.”
“High-maintenance—that’s me.”
“Come with me, Abby, and this will be easy.”
I glance behind me then, and three of Eric’s boys are coming up behind us. Damn. I whisper to Tommy, “We have trouble.”
My grip on my switchblade tightens as Tommy assesses how bad we’ve tumbled. His eyes flicker to my hand and I can almost hear his groan that I’m not packing like him.
“You’re going to have to run,” he mutters. “Go for the party and then stay down. The moment you open your mouth this place will be hotter than a war zone.”
Leaving Tommy behind feels wrong, but he’s right—our best chance at survival is only a short run away.
“I just want Abby,” Eric says. “Give her to me, and you can walk.”
“Seriously, Eric, I’m not your type.”
“You run, Abby,” Tommy whispers. “He’s here to finish what he started in the alley.”
Eric’s cold blue eyes meet mine. “Heard that. Where were you taking Abby, Tommy? Because your car is parked by the strip mall.”
Adrenaline mixed with anger courses through me and Tommy’s already explaining, “He’s talking shit. Messing with your mind. Rumors are everywhere on the street on how you’re mentally off your game. Eric’s using that to his advantage.”
“Remember the night the cops busted the street race?” Eric asks.
The entire world zones out, and for a brief few seconds, it’s only me and Eric. I protected him that night. Gave him a place to lie low until the cops were done running the streets. I did it because it was an opportunity to hold something over him. To be owed a favor from an enemy if something should ever explode within Ricky’s organization.
“Come with me now,” he says, never breaking eye contact.
Too many thoughts colliding at one time. No fucking way Eric’s here to save me...