Jailbait (15 page)

For now, all we have is tonight.
 

*

“You did the right thing,” Savannah says, looking at her reflection in a full-length mirror. Two weeks have passed since I asked Grayson to leave me alone indefinitely. He didn’t argue, didn’t beg me to change my mind. He just nodded and left without a word.
 

But I’ll never forget the look of complete and utter hurt in his eyes.
 

It crippled me with guilt. On top of everything else, I couldn’t handle it. I shut down emotionally, sleeping all day and lying awake in agony at night. My heart lies in scattered pieces around my feet and there is no one left to help me put it back together.
 

Just me.
 

“I guess,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself. The air conditioning is on full blast in the store. Maybe? I’ve been perpetually cold since my father died, as if my grief is manifesting physically and I can’t shake it.
 

“Really Pepper,” she continues, and turns around. “The last time you fell in love with Grayson, it destroyed you. And I told you, I got a bad feeling around him. Like he was hiding something. This way you can move forward.”
 

“Yeah.” Just agree. It’s easier than justifying my feelings.
 

Savannah smiles and holds up a dress. “Come try this on.”
 

My head bobs up and down, and my feet move on their own accord. I do what I’m supposed to, and right now my best friend is taking me shopping for office-appropriate clothes to wear when I go in and do whatever the hell I’m supposed to do at my fath—
my
—business. I’m meeting with my uncle tomorrow and spending some time at the main building downtown. After days of staying in bed all day and night, becoming Business-Pepper again is both daunting and welcoming.
 

“That looks great,” Savannah tells me when I emerge from the dressing room. My response is a nod, causing Savannah’s full lips to pull down in a frown. “You know what? I’m taking you out tonight. It’ll do you some good to rejoin the land of the living. Oh fuck, sorry, Pepper. That was a horrible phrase to use.”
 

I smile for the first time in days. “It’s okay. I know what you mean. And I don’t know…I’m tired.”
 

She raises an eyebrow. “All you’ve done is sleep. I know this is hard, Pep. I know you miss your father. But we both know he would be yelling at you right now for not getting your ass out there. Just the two of us. Just dinner. Then we can go back to my place and eat our weight ice cream while watching our favorite childhood movies.”
 

My smile broadens. “That sounds nice. Thanks for being my friend. You know I love you, right?”
 

Savannah puts her arm around me. “Love you too, Pepper. Now come on, try on a few more things, then we’ll go back to my place and get ready for tonight.”
 

I force a smile. “Sounds good.”
 

*
 

“I’m glad you came out,” Savannah tells me as we stand to leave the restaurant.

“I’m glad I did too.”
 

“I knew you’d be happy once you came out.” She playfully elbows me. “You need to do this. Don’t feel guilty about living.”
 

My head moves up and down, understanding completely what she means. I went through it when my mom died. The first time I laughed after her death, I cried and cried, feeling like a terrible daughter. My father was there to comfort me then, reminding me that my mother loved me and wanted nothing more than for me to be happy.
 

“Want to get drinks?” Savannah asks. “Not here.” She waves her hand at the bar. “Unless you want Daddy Warbucks over there to buy you a mint julep, then pop a Viagra when he thinks you’re not looking.”
 

“Sounds tempting. He’d probably be pretty easy to satisfy.”
 

Savannah wrinkles her nose. “All I can think is old man balls. Lots of loose skin. Coarse, gray hair. And probably a wrinkly dick. Even when it’s hard it wobbles, like partially a partially cooked noodle.”
 

We both laugh, walking to the doors. “Speaking from experience, right?”
 

“Hey. Victor was fit for his age.”
 

We emerge into the night, stepping in flow with the busy New York foot traffic. Savannah’s phone is already in her hand, and, in just a minute, she’ll know the ten hottest spots to go for drinks right now. Listed in order of popularity, of course.
 

“Oh!” Savannah exclaims as we make our way down the street. “Remember my friends Frankie and Jeremy?”
 

“Yeah. Didn’t they break up?”
 

“At least once. But they’re back together, just got a house, and are having a party. We should go! It’ll be nice to get away from all this for a while. And if it’s too much for you, we’ll leave. Promise.”
 

“Okay. I’ll go. Just for a bit.”
 

Savannah squeals and starts feverishly texting her friends. Savannah never grew out of the partying phase from college. Once in a great while I go out with her and have fun, but drinking until I’m close to puking never appealed to me then. It definitely doesn’t now.

We get in the car, which takes us away from the Upper East Side and into The Bronx, which is unfamiliar to me. We’re dropped off two blocks from where we need to go because of construction. Savannah links her arm through mine, chattering away about how Kristoff has heard buzz that he’s up for an award for his latest movie.
 

Behind us, a motorcycle comes to life, engine roaring. My heart skips a beat and I whirl around before I even think about it. The man on the bike eyes me, and there’s something familiar about the symbol on this leather jacket. I can only see part of it, half of a skull and some sort of weapon underneath. A scythe maybe?
 

I’ve seen it before, I know it. I turn around, closing my eyes in a long blink. It’s making me uneasy even though I can’t place it. The guy rides past, revving the engine and catcalling as he passes us.
 

“Thinking of
him
, are we?” Savannah asks.
 

“What?” I sputter.
 

“You know who I’m talking about. Don’t make me say his name.”
 

“He’s not Voldemort; you can say Grayson,” I quip. “And maybe. Okay yes. Motorcycles remind me of him. And now I’m wondering what he’s doing, and if he’s okay, or sad, or lonely.”
 

Savannah comes to a sudden halt, turning to face me, and I have to fight the urge to grab her and keep walking. I don’t like being out on this street. My heart speeds up and I look over her shoulder and see the taillights of the motorcycle. He’s driving slowly. Really slow, like he’s waiting for us.
 

“Pepper, I say this with love, so don’t hate me. But it’s not your fucking job to make sure Grayson is okay. He’s a big boy and can handle himself. You need to worry about yourself right now, and get
you
back to being okay.”
 

“You’re right,” I say with a sigh. “Let’s start by getting to this party.” I take a step forward, dragging Savannah with. “Are we close?”
 

She looks down her phone and points across the street. “Yeah. It’s right there.” I quicken my pace, bringing Savannah along with me. The motorcycle turns around, engine echoing off the tall brick buildings on either side of us. Fear rushes through me and I dart across the street, and narrowly miss getting hit by a taxi.
 

“What the hell, Pepper?” Savannah calls from the other side of the street. She looks both ways, then crosses.
 

“Sorry,” I say and close my eyes, trying to calm myself down. The motorcycle flies by and I tense. “I’m just a little jumpy.”
 

“Yeah, I can see that. Why—oh fuck, right. I totally forgot with everything else going on. I’d be jumpy too. Hell, I’d never want to leave my house if I got mugged.” She puts her arm around me and guides me to her friend’s house. “Want me to call for security?”
 

“No, that’s okay.” I want to call Grayson. Fuck.
Deep breath.
“I’m good. Let’s go in.”
 

*

Frankie and Jeremy are hipster as fuck, and I love it. Frankie—or Fran, as he likes to be called now—is as hilarious as he is sensitive and has me relaxed…or maybe it’s just the cheap house wine served in random glass jars. By the time I get to my third glass—I mean jar—it’s tasting pretty good.
 

I’m sitting on the couch, listening to a girl in a plaid shirt talk about how corrupt the country is when I hear it again. Red wine sloshes down my hand as I stiffen, turning so fast I almost give myself whiplash.
 

Motorcycles
.

I get a flash of that skull emblem and it suddenly comes back to me: the guys that attacked me. They were on motorcycles, wearing leather vests with that reaper symbol. Oh god. My chest tightens as they drive by, engines revving. It’s intentional. They know I’m in here and they’re coming for me.
 

“Whoa! Are you all right?” the girl, whose name escapes me, asks. I blink and turn back.

“Yes. I’m fine. Just, uh, startled.”
 

Jeremy shakes his head. “They weren’t here when we toured this place. It’s seriously so annoying. They ride up and down the street all the damn time like that.”
 

I’m still smiling and nodding, not letting anyone know what’s going on inside my brain. The men who attacked me were arrested, and both had prior records. There’s no way they’d be out on the streets already. And the chances of seeing the same two people…hah. I’m overreacting. I wouldn’t see them. New York is too big. It just wouldn’t happen.
 

Needing a distraction, I pull my phone from my purse with the intention of mindlessly scrolling through Instagram. I have an alert from the alarm system company from twenty-six minutes ago. The alarm in the stable was tripped, and then disabled with the correct passcode eighty seconds later.
 

It’s not uncommon for the stable alarm to go off. Several times a year an animal, either one of mine or a wild one trying to get in, sets it off. If anything serious happened, I’d get a call from both the alarm company and my own security team.
 

I bring the jar of wine to my lips and take a big drink.
The motorcycles and the alarm going off are not related…. The motorcycles and the alarm going off are not related…

I put my head in my hands and take a deep breath.
Calm the fuck down, Pepper.
I stand, looking around the small house for a quiet place to go so I can call the head of security and find out what happened. I settle for the bathroom, which is in serious need of a cleaning.
 

I talk to Rafael, who has been with us for ten years. He says someone tried to open the main door into the horse barn, and took off once the alarm sounded. I have no reason not to trust him, but my father’s words ring in the back of my mind. Someone I trust might try to hurt me.
 

But who?

And how the hell would Grayson be able to stop them? I wish so much that my father was still alive. I want to hear his voice, to have a rare moment where we get to sit and talk about nothing, to have him reassure me. And I need answers.
 

Why didn’t he tell me Grayson’s father died? Why keep us apart then but bring us together now? He trusted Grayson…but should I?
 

Chapter Twelve

Grayson
 

Of all the times I’ve fucked up in life, nothing seems to compare to this very moment. Which is funny considering I’ve spent several years behind bars. I drum my fingers on the kitchen table, mind racing. I’ve never given much thought about the future because I never thought I’d have one worth thinking about. I’ve lived life on a day-to-day basis for years, and it did all right by me.
 

Then I kissed Pepper. And she kissed me back. It was like my eyes suddenly opened and I was able to see the light all around us. She instantly filled me with that annoying optimism again, putting ideas in my head. Ideas that shouldn’t be there.
 

Because I’m a criminal.
 

Pepper doesn’t belong with someone like me. But fuck, I want her and I’ve always had a hard time drawing the line between what I want and what I need. Though now it’s all what she needs.
 

And it isn’t me.
 

I get up and pace around the house. The sun is setting, and I’ve already gone to the gym, washed my bike and the BMW, and kept an eye on Pepper. She went shopping with her friend, and then back to her penthouse in the city.
 

I grab my laptop and a notebook, and then sit back at the table, staring at the notes I started last week. Scribbles of Pepper’s connections, friends, staff, and now employees, stare up at me. I Google the names I have, adding more notes. No one has a criminal record. No one gives me a fucking clue to why Alcott held reserves on their intentions with his daughter.
 

I type my name in the search bar, hit enter, then close the tab before any results come up. I don’t want to see the news articles. I don’t want to read about the false charges. Or the real ones. I don’t want to see my mug shot. And I don’t want to think about the debt I owed, the debt that still seems fucking impossible to have paid off.
 

What I owed was set with a dollar amount, but I know I was expected to pay with more than currency. But I’m out, dammit. They have the money back that my father stole. I’m across the country, as far from them as I can get—legally that is. Alcott paid off a New York probation officer to not only accept my transfer request, but to turn a blind eye at pretty much everything. I have no check-ins, no meetings, no phone calls. I don’t know the details of it all, and I don’t want to. The less I know the better when it comes to this shit.