Chasing Allie (Breaking Away Series #2) (2 page)

Chase’s eyes meet mine.
It’s okay
, I mouth.

I’ll be back
, he mouths back.

I know he will. I smile.

By the time the three bikes rumble off onto the main road I’m in bed, head throbbing, two pills in my stomach and a giant, swollen heart filled with so much love for Chase Halloway.

If only I’d known in that moment that love can’t conquer all.

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

Jeff insists I go in to the bar early. I slept for twelve hours straight last night. A dreamless sleep. My face looks horrible and I even scraped off some of my hair itself over my ear when I fell.

I really do look like a zombie from a movie or something.

Jeff drove me in. He’s not letting me out of his sight for a while, he says, which is stupid. I am eighteen years old. What I do with my own time is my business.

While he’s on an errand to talk to an ice distributor in town I check my stash. I forgot to put seventeen more dollars in there the other day, and as I pop open the tampon machine something doesn’t seem right. A sick ball of doom starts to tingle in my belly, cold and fearful. 

It’s empty.

The tampon machine is empty.

My money is
gone
.

I had $371 in there. All my money. Months and months of careful savings to get to Los Angeles and start living my dreams.

I’m in shock. I shake the machine—empty. I open the door completely and check every corner with my hand—empty. I check three, four, five, ten times, as if by magic my money will reappear. 

Empty.

I slump against the tiled wall of the bathroom and slide down to the ground, staring at the vacant machine with disbelief. My hair snags on a piece of cracked tile. It snaps off, leaving a pile of black strands midway down the wall. It’s like the building wants a piece of me. An ominous sign. 

I’m never leaving, am I?

There’s nowhere else the money could be. It’s not like this place goes through so many tampons that anyone needed to change the stock.

Someone figured out my stash and took it.

I stumble into the hallway and make my way to the main bar. My legs feel like rubber bands.

Gone
. All my money is just gone.

At that moment, the front door opens. It’s Jeff, walking in past the bar and into the hallway. Boots sound different on the open bar’s wood floor versus the tiled back of the building.

I stand, rage filling me, and march down the hallway from the opposite end. He’s in the office before I can confront him, and he closes the door.

Then locks it.

Jeff never locks the office door unless he’s counting money.

Where did he just go?

I knock. Then, before he can answer, I pound. Hard. All my fear, all my good little girl behaviors, all my anxieties about angering him drain out of me until I’m empty. 

Just like the tampon machine.

“What the fuck?” Jeff shouts.

“Get out here,” I shout back. “NOW!” 

I never yell at him.
Never
. But I don’t care now.

I’m all done with caring.

“You stole my money,” I say as he opens the door. My hands grip the threshold. I’m blocking him with my body. 

His eyes light up. “Oh, yeah? So I was right. That was yours.”

“Of course it was mine, you asshole!” He flinches at the nasty name. I’ve never said anything so bad to him in my entire life. “It was in my music box. The one Mom gave me. Give it back.”

“What were you planning to do with the money, little girl?”

“Get the fuck out of here, that’s what,” I say, holding back the desire to spit in his face. My vision starts to change, the sheer fury in me pumping every emotion to the surface of my skin, my hands, my eyeballs. 

“With three hundred and seventy-one dollars?” He hoots like an owl, the sound making my blood pump harder. “You have a real naive idea about how the big, bad world works out there. I bet you think you can go to Los Angeles and be with your sister,” he taunts, walking out to the open bar, acting like I’m barely there.

Oh, I’m here all right.

“It’s my money. I worked for it. I slaved away in here and you didn’t pay me and it’s mine!” I scream, following him. I hate feeling like I’m a little girl, chasing him for attention. This time, though, the attention I want is very, very different. 

This time, he answers to
me
.

He turns around and looks at me. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You on your period? You don’t scream at me like that. Not ever.”

The door opens just as Jeff comes so close to me, his hand reaching for my shoulder. Or maybe my neck. 

It’s Chase.

And he’s holding a shotgun.

Pointed right at Jeff’s head.

Whatever I was about to scream back at Jeff dies in my throat. All I can say is, “Chase?”

I can’t believe my eyes. Is that really Chase across the bar? Jeff is staring at him like he wants to kill him. And he does. My heart slams against the bones of my ribs like it’s trying to break through. Maybe I should let it. Then it wouldn’t hurt so much.

The tension between Chase and Jeff just might break me. I could give in to it. Not because I care about Jeff, but because all I want to do right now is throw myself into Chase’s arms.

But Chase’s arms are kind of full right now. He’s holding a cocked shotgun. And it’s pointed at Jeff’s face, right between the eyes. A strange cheer rises inside me. It doesn’t have a name. If it did, it would be named hope. Right now,
hope
is the only good thing that’s about to come out of the brewing fight between the man who I think is my future and the man who holds me back.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, boy?” Jeff’s words ring out across the empty bar. The stale scent of old cigarettes blends with the anger in the air. It all makes my stomach hurt. Chase ignores me, though. Why is he pretending I’m not here? 

He sees me. I know he does. I am the reason why he is here and everything in me burns for him.

“I’m here to set free what you’ve been keeping prisoner for far too long, old man,” Chase answers my stepdad. A shiver runs through me. I’ve never seen him like this and it makes me wonder what else I don’t know about him.

“Prisoner? Who the fuck do you think I’ve been keeping prisoner?” Both sets of eyes turn and look at me. I am the prisoner. Jeff knows damn well that I’m who Chase has come for.

“Me.” My word brings out like a thunder clap. It echoes against walls I’ve washed, floors I’ve mopped, bars I wiped a thousand times. It bounces off all the memories I have of my mother. It roams through the air to stop just short of Jeff’s face. 

Like a shotgun.

Jeff just barks out a disgusted laugh.

“I know what you plan to do with her,” Chase says in a tone that makes my spine go cold. 

“
Do
with me?” I ask, confused. I look at Jeff. He reddens. What are they talking about? 

“You don’t know shit,” he says to Chase, casting a nervous glance at me. “Now get out of here before I call the cops. Bet that gun ain’t registered and you don’t have a license to fire, either.”

“Try me, old man. Call the cops. I got a lot I can tell them about you.” Chase is looking at Jeff with the cold gleam of murder in his eye. I can tell he can taste it. Now I understand the phrase “out for blood.”

I can see it in Chase’s face.

“What do you want?” Jeff asks. “Money? Booze?”

“Her.”

“Nope. Can’t have her.” Jeff shakes his head slowly, as if that solidifies it. 

“
Her
is standing right here, you two!
Her
has a name!” I yell out. I’m getting angry with both of them now, talking about me like I’m a prize you win and fight over. Like I’m a bone two dogs are playing tug of war with. 

“He’s planning to sell you off, Allie,” Chase says slowly. His words are measured and he’s speaking carefully. His eye is fixed on Jeff, finger on the trigger, though. He’s not losing focus. There’s a tone of sadness in his words, like he doesn’t want to say them.  

“
Sell
me? What do you mean, Chase? There’s no such thing.” I stare at him, completely dumbfounded. When I frown, my scabbed-over road rash hurts. I brush my hair behind my ear and a piece catches in the scab. I wince. “You can’t
sell
a person.” 

Jeff chuckles. “Told you. The boy is nuts.” But his eyes are wary. Shifty. Cunning. He’s afraid. 

Afraid of...me?

More like afraid of the truth. Of being caught. Of being exposed. All my skin goes numb at the thought that Jeff’s hiding something and Chase knows what it is.

“Allie, move away from him.” Chase’s words make it clear I need to obey. I do, moving out of Jeff’s grabbing range.  

“Chase, this is really weird. I don’t understand,” I plead, trying to figure out what’s going on.

Chase just stares at Jeff. “Let’s just say I learned through the grapevine why Wakefield here has been so protective of you. Two years ago he got himself into a big mess. A deadly mess.”

My heart goes cold. Two years ago? That’s when Mom died.

“And he made a deal,” Chase continues. He says the word “deal” like it’s distasteful. 

“Shut up, boy. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jeff says. He’s standing next to the bar and I see his hand slowly move toward his hip. What’s he reaching for?

Are my boyfriend and my stepfather seriously facing off over me, with guns involved? What is Chase babbling about—me, being
sold
?

“That’s why he was so worried about your virginity, Allie. You need to be pure. He’s trading you for six figures of debt he owes a Mexican drug lord.” Chase’s voice is filled with anger and resentment, seething with righteous indignation.

“WHAT?” I scream, looking at Jeff.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

He ignores me.

I’m really tired of men who
ignore
me.

“The drug lord’s known for it. Buys girls and sells them into sex slavery. Makes even more brokering them,” Chase explains in a calm, deadly voice. “But first, he...takes a turn, if you know what I mean.” 

A turn?
My stomach twists at the implications of what he’s saying.

“You been reading too many mysteries, Chase,” Jeff says. “That sounds like a great plot for a movie. Why dontcha move to L.A. with Allie and start writing movies? You’d be good at it,” he hoots. “The two of you can ride out there on a unicorn and eat air. Live on the beach and sing Kumbay-fucking-ya all night.” He snorts like we’re the stupidest creatures he’s ever seen. 

“Not a movie. Not a lie. Allie,” Chase pleads, “I swear to God I’m telling the truth. You have to come with me. Wakefield here is more dangerous than you’ve ever imagined.”

Of course I’ll go with him, but first...first I need to figure out if this is all true. Have I really been living with a father figure who has been spending the last two years getting me ready to sell my virginity to a drug lord? 

“Jeff?” I ask, looking at him. “Were you really planning to sell me? Is that why you never pay me for working here, why I can barely ever use the car, why you stole my money I saved up to leave?”

Chase makes a sound of disgust. “Jesus. You asshole.”

Jeff acts like Chase isn’t really there. A man has to be pretty dead inside if can ignore a double-barrel shotgun pointed at his face.

I see his hand reaching for something under the bar. 

I charge him.

Chase runs toward us just as I shove Jeff as hard as I can. He hits the counter and his elbow catches a tray of glasses, dry and sitting there, ready to be racked. The tray slides off the bar and bounces, glasses pinging one by one and cracking, splintering.

Jeff falls on top of them.

The shattered pieces of glass cut into him, and I wonder if he’s going to bleed all over the floor. I can’t bear to watch him, and find myself screaming. My screams drown out the world. Suddenly, the room is filled with chaos. Jeff stands and tries to run to the back of the bar. He’s leaving a trail of blood smears as he limps down the hall. 

Chase runs after him with the shotgun. I just stand at the bar and scream. I’m not just screaming because I slammed into Jeff, or screaming because of the blood. 

I have two years of screaming pent up inside, and I think it’s time it all came out.

There doesn’t seem to be any way for me to be safe. I can’t help Chase right now. He’s the one with the gun. But Jeff has a gun too, in the back room. If he gets to it, everything I know could change in an instant.

“Get your fucking hands up in the air,” Chase yells at Jeff. I stop screaming. Slowly, I see Jeff coming down the hall, Chase’s shotgun pointed within inches of the back of his head. Jeff’s eyes are dead.

And they’re looking right at me.

“Get over by the front door, Allie,” Chase orders. I do exactly what he says. I have no idea where this is going to go. My throat is raw from screaming and my head is pounding from too much information, too much shock, too much fear. A sudden image of an older man pinning me down and raping me hits me, hard, like a rock pitched at my face. Right between the eyes. 

That time in the shack with Chase was so tender. So exciting. And it was my choice to be naked. My choice to give so many firsts to Chase. My choice to be sensual and loving.

Mine.

My self to give.

Jeff wanted to
sell
that? 

“Allie, you get back here right now,” Jeff snarls at me. I am ready to snarl back. I am ready to do way worse. 

“Why, man? So you can sell her off?” Chase bellows. He looks at me with an angry, pleading look in his eyes. “You believe me don’t you, Allie?” Chase asks. “Frenchie wouldn’t lie to me about something like this. He was actually, well,
excited
about it.” Chase makes a grossed-out face.

“Your biker gang buddies are the ones who treat women like pieces of ass,” Jeff says. He finally looks at me. “See what I mean, Allie? This guy doesn’t love you. Is that what he’s telling you?” Jeff rolls his eyes. “This is so cliché. Jesus fucking Christ.”