Not Looking for Love: Episode 6 (A New Adult Contemporary Romance Novel) (4 page)

"We're more than friends though. We're brothers," he hisses and just the sound of his voice fills me with rock hard dread.

"Whatever," I manage. I'll be there. I have to play nice now. Else he'll never retract his threat. Just to mess with me. I should probably stop asking him to. But I can't. It's too important.

After he hangs up, I just sit on the floor, staring at the wall. Because he might not take it back, might actually end up hurting Gail again. And I don't know if I can stop it. Maybe I should warn her.
 

My finger's hovering over her name on the screen of the phone, but I don't dial it. Can't. I have to try and fix this before I admit failure. Admit that there might actually not be a future for Gail and me ever. Not in this lifetime. I've said it often enough in the past six months, thought it too, but never like this, never with such a lack of hope.

The next morning, I arrive to the ward almost half an hour early. Not because I planned it, but because I drove way too fast, almost got into two accidents. I couldn't slow down. Besides, I should really get some practice in. But Andrew's car is way too clunky, even if the acceleration is awesome. Gail's car though, that one's just perfect. I stifle the thought the moment it emerges, but it’s still too late to prevent the sharp pain erupting in my chest right after it.
 

I concentrate on the rough bricks of the wall enclosing the psych ward until all I see are the pores, the uneven surface, and the dirty white lines holding it all together.

"You been waiting long?" Mike asks, and I jerk up, turn to him so sharply my neck cramps.

"Not really," I lie. I feel like I've been standing here for a decade.

He's wearing the same oversized jeans and sweatshirt he did when I first visited him here, and his leather jacket looks all wrong with the outfit. Not that he didn't always look stupid in that thing.
Who does he think he is? Fucking Scarface?
 

There's a glint in his dark eyes though, and it looks a lot like twisted happiness.

He slides his hand over the passenger door then opens it. "Andrew's car? I thought you didn't want to be seen dead in this thing."

"No, that was you," I say and open the driver's door, climb in, watch him do the same, don't start the engine.

"We need to talk," I say.
 

"We need to get the fuck away from this place," he counters interrupting the rest of the sentence I had practiced.

"Look, I get it. You want to get back at me for screwing up the business," I continue like he didn't interrupt. "But you have to leave Gail out of it. She has nothing to do with it."

"Oh, I have to, do I?" Mike asks, fastening his seat belt. "Seems to me she had a lot to do with you leaving me and going to Alaska."

"I didn't fucking want to go back to prison!" I yell. "I told you we were taking too many risks."

Leaving him?
He really is sick in the head.

"Nothing was gonna happen to you, Scott," he says. "Stop dramatizing."

"Right. One bad move and I'd be right back in prison. For ten years or more," I spit out. But we're getting off the subject. "Just take back all that shit you said about hurting Gail. I'll do whatever you want me to."

He chuckles and my stomach clenches, acid rising in my throat.
 

"You want her to be safe, then you'll do exactly as I tell you," he says. "Right now, you don't get to see her. Maybe if you're good, I'll change my mind."

He's smiling, but his black eyes are so cold, so dead, I might actually still be staring at that wall. He is serious. He was serious the night he made the threat. I can't believe this is actually happening. It's like I'm stuck here with some nightmare version of Mike, and I can't wake up.

"Now, take me to my place. I need to change."

I start the engine, clamping my mouth shut. If I say anything right now, I'll make it worse. If I don't start driving I might actually strangle him.

"And then, in a few days, once I burn these institution clothes, I'll introduce you to my new friends," he says, turning on the radio. "They've been dying to finally meet you."

I pull onto the expressway too fast, totally cutting off a silver station wagon. The concrete divider is right there too. I could just end this right now, and then Gail would be safe. But I don't. Instead I pull into the middle lane and slow down, because I can't let go of her yet.

Mike hasn't called me all week, so when he finally does on Friday morning, the hope dying actually hurts like someone stabbed me. I can't believe I was beginning to think he wouldn't, that he'd just slip away and let me get on with my life. I can't believe I've been stupid enough to hope for that.
 

I almost called Gail last night. I've lost count of how many times I've opened the apartment door thinking some faint creak was her coming to me like she did so many times. But it was never her, and I felt even more of an idiot for hoping. Because, fuck, she thinks I cheated on her, and I left her without saying anything much. So why would she come here? She's not that needy anymore. And I shouldn't hope so hard for her to be. She deserves to feel better.

The phone's still ringing in my hand. I answer just as Mike hangs up. Maybe I should just let him call back. But it's a fleeting thought. I shouldn't antagonize him.
 

I call back and he answers immediately, an edge in his voice. "I'm picking you up in an hour. Meet me downstairs."

"Picking me up for what?" I ask. A part of my deranged mind hopes it’s for a nice lunch date where we will work everything out, and I could then go see Gail tonight.

"It's time you went back to work," he says and hangs up before I can ask anything more.

Back to work? I'd literally give both my legs if I never had to steal another car. Besides, I'm such a liability now, with my record, all the shit that happened with Gail, my DNA and fingerprints in the database. Who the fuck would even want me working for them? Unless this is all still Mike trying to get me sent back to prison.
 

I can't breathe in the apartment, so I go down to the street, pace up and down waiting for him. It's supposed to be spring, but it's colder than it was in January. After awhile I even stop fighting the daydream that I'm really waiting for Gail, that everything is as it was. That we'd worked everything out.

Mike pulls up right on time, his black car shining like he just drove it out of some showroom.
 

I slide in and his wide, pearly white smile almost makes me retch. What I really want to do is punch him. So I make long work of fastening the seatbelt, because I just might act on it this time.

"I don't want to go back to work, you realize that?" I ask, turning down the radio. The noise was like a thousand blades scraping the inside of my skull.
 

"Why not, Scott?" he says, speeding away. "You were so good at it."

It's true. I was very good at stealing cars. Even took pride in it for awhile. But…"I want to be good at something else now."

I want to be good at loving Gail and starting a normal life so we can be together. Even in my head, it's starting to sound like wishful thinking. But maybe I haven’t fucked it all up beyond repair yet.
 

Mike breaks hard, pulls into a bus stop so fast that one of the people waiting there leaps back.

"Right now, you're gonna do what I tell you to do," he hisses, no smile anywhere on his face now. "It was hard enough for me to convince them to take you back after that shit you pulled running away. You nearly cost me years of work with that one. Fucking years."

He's breathing heavily, and I have no idea what he's talking about. "What do they know about me leaving? Why should they care?"

"Who do you think you've been working for since you got out of prison? Me?" he asks, spittle hitting my face. I wipe it away, bile rising in my throat. His eyes are bulging, red veins standing out clear against the whites.

"Yeah, I thought I was working for you," I mutter. "Why didn't you tell me? Who do you work for anyway?"

"You'll find out soon enough," he says, and slips the car into gear, drives off. "And you should know you were never in any danger of going back to prison like you kept accusing me of trying to cause."

"Is that right? Could've fooled me," I say, staring straight ahead, because the urge to punch him is overwhelming again. Then maybe he'd lose control of the car and that huge rig he’s overtaking would run straight into us. End this shit once and for all.

"And you were never in any danger in prison either," he spits out. "I took care of all that for you too. And how do you repay me? By running away with some nerdy chick. She's not even that hot."

Gail is that hot and more. And I can't punch him right now because then I might never get to touch her again. Never kiss her, hold her, come inside her. Just the thought is making me hard.

"OK, if I continue working for these people, and be really good at it, can I go back to seeing Gail?" I ask, knowing I'm leaving myself wide open here for Mike to torment me with this, but I'm hoping he can hear the sarcasm. This whole situation is so ridiculous. But I have to make sure Gail is safe.
 

Mike chuckles, and I don't think I've ever hated him this much. "We'll see, Scott. It all depends on your behavior from now on. Kind of like it did in prison."

"How do you mean I was never in any danger there?" I ask.
 

"Remember Boris?"

I nod. Boris was my cellmate after my first one got stabbed over a juice box at lunch. He was a grumpy, surly guy, but he could tell all sorts of interesting stories. Old legends from Serbia, the country he was originally from.

"As long as he was there, no harm would have come to you," Mike assures me.

"And you fixed that for me?" I ask. Mike must really be crazier than I ever imagined. He’s having illusions of grandeur now. I read about those. I wonder if we're even going to meet real people right now. Or just some empty room filled with his imaginary friends.

"Yes," Mike says. "It took some convincing, but Vlado finally agreed. So you should be thanking me for not getting raped in the showers. You couldn't have stopped it on your own."

He smacks my arm, probably indicating my muscles.
 

"You're talking about rape like it's a funny thing," I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest. I'll never use that word lightly again. Not after what I've seen. And now my guilt over what I did to Gail on the second night she came to me is mixing with everything else. I manage to chase those memories away, because I'm sharing the car with a psycho right now, and getting raped might actually be the more welcome option, if I had to choose.

He laughs and pulls off the expressway in the industrial zone. We're driving along a straight narrow road now, flanked on both sides by low rectangular buildings, interspersed with fields of brown grass, a leafless tree here and there.

He gets off the main road, pulls into one of the larger complexes.
Lazarus Logistics
is written in cracking, broken letters across the entrance. A large guard with a pockmarked face opens the ramp, waves us through.

"We're here," Mike says lightly as he parks in front of a large, dark weather-beaten warehouse. "Speak only when spoken to for now." He grabs my arm as I move to get out of the car. "And, Scott, watch what you say very carefully."

I know what he's asking, that I need to curb my sarcasm, but I can't make any promises right now. This looks like exactly the type of place I never wanted to be in again. It's straight from some action movie scene, and these types of visits don't usually end well.

A guy about my age holds open the doors for us. He eyes me up and down as we approach, but his face is so blank I have no idea what he's thinking. The edge of a tattoo is peeking out over the collar of his jacket. I never trust anyone who tattoos their necks. It means they don't have much left to lose. Although I could be wrong. Everyone seems to have at least two tattoos these days.

Some of the exhilaration I felt when Derek first let me start stealing cars for him returns as we enter the warehouse. I fight it though. It was dumb then, and I sure as fuck don't want to do it anymore.