Last Summer (18 page)

As if he can read my thoughts, Logan says,
“I’m going to call him. Big P. I’ll tell him to meet me tonight.”
He looks at me, then. “When we wake up together tomorrow morning,
it’ll be like we started a brand new life.”

I don’t have the heart to tell him we’ve
pretty much done that already. He changed everything when he
decided to stop using drugs and infuse integrity into his life once
again. He’s made up with his family for good, and he’ll be a role
model for Lucas.

“Okay,” I say, smiling.

Logan fishes an older-model cell phone out
of the dish by the front door. He waves it around. “My old cell
phone,” he says. “I’ve got Big P’s number stored in the
contacts.”

“Don’t forget to block your home phone
before you call.”

“Our number is private, because of my dad’s
line of work, and we’re unlisted in the white pages. Ah, here it
is.” He meanders back into the kitchen, picking up the corded phone
attached to the wall. As he dials the Big P’s number, I sense both
his nervousness and relief. Soon, all of this will be behind us.
“I’ve got your money,” he says, voice cracking. “Yeah, tonight . .
. I’ll meet you there.” And then he hangs up. “Well, that was easy.
Now for the hard part—meeting him face to face.”

I just want to kiss him and hug him and tell
him everything will work out, because I truly believe it will, but
my gut twitches when I think of Logan meeting Big P, alone, at
night. After what Big P did to Jake, and the incident at Bernie’s,
where Logan barely escaped, I won’t put it past him to have
something up his sleeve. Something disgustingly malicious.

Twenty minutes later, Phil and Marcie return
with the money—cash, of all things, which is exactly what Big P
wants. I highly doubt drug dealers take personal or cashier’s
checks.

“It’s all here,” says Phil, opening a
deposit bag full of one-hundred-dollar bills. My eyes bulge. I’ve
never seen so much money in my life! “Do you need me to come with
you?” Phil asks.

“No, I’ve got this, but thanks. I’m just
going to run Chloe home, and then I’ll meet up with them.”

Phil hands over the bag. He and Logan
briefly hug, and then Marcie plants a swift, motherly kiss on
Logan’s cheek.

“Be safe,” she says. “I don’t want to lose
you again.”

Her words cause a chill to ripple up my
spine.

Eighteen
•
Chloe

L
ogan and I pile
into his parents’ car. Before we get to the end of the street, I
say, “I’m not going home, you know. I’m not going to leave you to
this by yourself. What if they try something?”

He snorts. “No offense, baby, but how are
you going to stop them?” Turning his head toward me, he raises one
eyebrow.

I shake my head and pay attention to the
houses we pass. “I can’t, but I can try. Maybe they won’t pull
anything if a girl is around. Guys are like that sometimes.”

“Chloe,” he says, sighing, “these guys don’t
give a damn. They wouldn’t give a damn if their own mothers were
with them, I don’t think.”

Well,
that’s
reassuring. “I’m not
going home,” I reiterate. “I refuse to get out of this car.”

“So, you’re going to make this hard on me?
I’ll drag you out of here if I have to.”

I snap my head around. “No, you won’t.”

He chuckles. “You don’t think so, huh?”

“I know so. You wouldn’t harm me.”

A serious expression falls upon his face,
like a dark shadow. “No, I wouldn’t, and I don’t want them to harm
you, either.”

“Please, Logan? I won’t be a bother, but I
can have my phone ready, in case something happens. I’ll call
9-1-1, or your dad.”

“Fine,” he says nonchalantly.

“That’s it? No fight?”

“No fight, but that’s as long as you stay in
the car. Understand?”

I nod. “I understand.”

Logan veers the car in the opposite
direction of Sandy Shores. We follow the main road, pass through
neighborhoods, and end up on a different side of town—the rundown
side. Buildings are sealed like iron cages, cars are from a
separate decade, and nobody strolls along on the sidewalks. It
looks like the neighborhood doesn’t have the time or funding to
maintain the properties, and with all the tourists flocking to
Sandy Shores, they’re probably hard-pressed for the government to
provide spending money. I think every county in America has at
least one area like this. My theory? If the community pitched in
and worked together to clean up, this would be a cute town, with
tiny shops and restaurants.

Turning left at a light, Logan drives us
down a side street and over railroad tracks. “Should be up ahead,”
he says.

The sun sets on the horizon, and the street
lights have flickered to life, illuminating the dark road. We drive
underneath an overpass with very little traffic, and Logan parks
the car to the side, killing the headlights. Both of us get out for
a brief moment of fresh air, and I glance around, evaluating the
setting and whether or not anyone will hear our cries for help if
something goes wrong. Absolutely
nothing
surrounds us,
except shrubbery and trees. There’s no housing, no pedestrians,
nothing. We might as well be in the middle of a desert, with
vultures swarming us, eagerly waiting their turn to pluck the flesh
from our corpses.

“I don’t like this, Logan,” I say, crossing
my arms. A chill rides up my spine—the same feeling I got when
Logan’s mom said she didn’t want to lose her son again.
“Something’s not right about this. Something’s
off
.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “You’re over thinking
this. I’m pretty sure they won’t do anything now that I have their
money. It’s all about the money, baby.”

Even if that’s true, I don’t believe him.
These guys have waited too long to get their money.

“I just don’t like this,” I say again.

“You don’t have to do anything, except sit
in the car. I’ll hand them the package, and then we can leave.” He
kisses my hair and squeezes me against his chest. “How does that
sound?”

I take a deep breath and exhale. “Sounds
good.”

“It’s times like this when I want H,” Logan
says, so quietly my brain questions whether he really said it.

Never removing my eyes from his face, I
whisper, “You don’t mean that.”

He frowns. “But I do. When I’m stressed,
that’s when I miss it the most.”

Headlights beam around the corner, blinding
us. They quickly shut off, and the black SUV creeps to a halt
several yards away. Whoever is driving kills the engine. I hold my
breath as all four doors open.
There are four of them, not just
Big P.
Usually, Logan only talks about Big P, Ice, and B.
That’s it. Needless to say, they’ve added a fourth groupie, another
man.

The main guy, the man I’m sure is Big P,
flicks two fingers over his shoulder, signaling the others to
follow. “I’m surprised you contacted me, Logan, after what we did
to your friend. I’m also surprised you weren’t smart enough to meet
us in a more convenient location, somewhere that has witnesses.”
His lips pull back in a sneer, and his eyes burnish with
delight.

Logan says, “You knew I’d eventually pay you
back, but you also knew my situation. How could I have come up with
five thousand dollars when I was homeless?”

“Not my problem, kid. You knew what you were
getting yourself into when you bought the H from me, and you knew
you had to pay interest for every day you were late. That due date
came and went, so now you have to pay more.”

“More?” Logan looks like Big P just decked
him. “I don’t have more. I barely got this much.”

“Then we’ll take care of the problem,” Big P
says calmly. He snaps his fingers and one of his men stalks in my
direction. His biceps are the size of cantaloupes, and there’s
light perspiration sheen on his bald head. I race around the back
of the vehicle and take off running. I hate leaving Logan, but if
this means I can escape and get help, then I’ll gladly do it. I
just hope they don’t do some serious damage to him while I’m—

Oomph.
I plow into the ground,
knocking the air out of my lungs. I’m immediately flipped on my
back as the giant laughs maniacally.

“Don’t fucking touch her!” screams Logan.
Dazed, my head rotates from side to side. I glance over at Logan.
Big P’s other two men are restraining him, but Logan is still
fighting. “Chloe,
run
!” he yells as his eyes connect with
mine.

I want to, but I have this big guy lying on
top of me, forcing my hands up over my head and pinning them to the
ground.
Oh, no.
I begin to kick him off, but he sits on my
legs.

“I’m going to have fun with you,” he says,
grinning. “You’re a little spitfire.” Then, he leans forward so I
smell his acrid breath. I close my eyes and move my head away, but
he roughly grabs my chin and jerks it toward him. “And you know
what I like to do with fires? Put them out.” The last bit is
whispered, just for my ears.

I scream, but he hastily covers my open
mouth with his, shoving his tongue to the back of my throat. I bite
down.
Hard.
The second I taste his blood, I spit it out.

“Bitch!” he roars, freeing one of his hands
to slap me across the face. White flecks dance across my vision.
When my head rolls around, I search for Logan. He’s crumpled on his
knees, sobbing.

“That pretty boy of yours ain’t gonna do
shit,” says the monster looming above me.

Focus, Chloe. Focus on getting out of here
alive, to save yourself, and Logan.

The more I try to focus, the dreamier this
reality becomes. Again, I try to release my legs from this man’s
weight and kick him, but it doesn’t work. So I lay here, mentally
and physically preparing myself for the worse.

He rips my shirt down the front, buttons
popping off, and pushes the remnants off to my sides, practically
drooling when my bra is exposed. With one swift stroke, he tugs my
bra down, revealing my breasts. Licking his lips, he dips his head
and begins sucking. I cry out, kicking and flailing even more.

“STOOOP!” I shriek, but he bites down,
sending a surge of pain through my chest.

“That’s for biting my tongue, you fucking
bitch. Now, spread your legs for me. I want to make sure your pussy
is nice and wet before I ram my cock in you.”

My tears are blinding. I can’t think
straight. Somewhere in my mind, I know I should fight this, but my
body is giving up; I’m not strong enough to fight this man off.
“Stop! Please, stop!” I screech again.

He laughs as he unbuttons and unzips my
shorts. Grabbing hold at the waist, he yanks them down, along with
my underwear, far enough that he has a view of everything below my
waist. He jams two fingers inside me and wiggles them around. I
throw my head back, crying out. But he doesn’t stop. He takes my
protesting as confirmation to continue his sick game.

“So wet,
baby
,” he says excitedly. I
pinch my eyes shut and face away.

POP! POP!

Shots ring out in Logan’s direction. I
scream his name before I analyze the scene. From this point,
everything plays out in slow motion. Logan aims a gun at Big P,
whose hands are in mid-air as a sign of surrender. Big P’s other
two men, who were restraining Logan, are lying face down on the
pavement, blood pooling around their bodies.

“Don’t move,” Logan orders Big P. He marches
over to where I am, lifts his hand, and points the gun at the beefy
guy who just molested me. “She’s not your fucking baby,” he says,
and pulls the trigger. The sound is deafening, and blood sprays my
face and body as the man slumps over. I push him off of me as I
scurry a few feet away.

I’ve never seen Logan so, so . . .
lethal
. Pissed isn’t the correct term to describe him right
now. He’s enraged. Obviously willing to murder. And one look at me
lying half-naked on the ground, covered in blood, washes away all
emotion from his face. He lays the gun down and reaches out,
pulling me into his lap. I’ve never felt so elated in my life, just
to know I’m safe in his arms.

“Oh, baby. I’m so sorry,” he chokes out. We
both cry; for what we just went through, for how close we were to
losing each other, for the implications Logan may face once this is
all over. “I’m so sorry,” Logan repeats again and again. He kisses
my forehead, my cheeks, my nose, my chin, and, finally, my lips,
even though I’m covered in someone else’s blood. “If I could go
back and do this all over again, I would. I wouldn’t have brought
you with me. I just knew this was a bad idea. Can you forgive
me?”

“What’s there to forgive? It’s not your
fault,” I say, sniffling.

“Are you kidding? All of this is my fault. I
never should’ve picked up drugs in the first place.”

Clasping his face with my hands, I tell him,
“If you hadn’t picked up the habit, we wouldn’t be together. It’s
been an extreme ride, but I’ve loved every second I’ve spent with
you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

He wipes away the tears from my cheeks and
tenderly kisses me. Pulling back, he says, “C’mon. Let’s get out of
here. I need to tell my dad what happened.” He arranges my clothes
into a semblance of order, carefully zipping my shorts and tugging
the remaining portion of my shirt over my exposed breasts, which I
push back into my bra. “There,” he says. “Chloe . . .” He shakes
his head, and I know what he’s about to say. Another “sorry.”
Exactly what I don’t need. I don’t want to be reminded of that
man’s filthy hands on and inside me; I just want to be cleansed of
him and any reminder of his touch.

I press my index finger over Logan’s lips to
silence him. “No more, okay?”

Over Logan’s shoulder, I catch a flicker of
movement. Big P reaches toward his back and pulls out a metal
object glinting in the light of the street lamps. A gun.