Rastor (Lawton Rastor Book 2) (13 page)

It was just over ten years ago. I'd been sixteen-years-old and facing an attempted murder charge. And for what? Dishing out a justified ass-beating to some middle-aged perv who thought it would be fun to fuck my little sister.

If Bishop hadn't shown up looking for me when he did, where would I be right now? I glanced around, taking in the mostly abandoned neighborhood. I wouldn’t be here, that's for sure. If I were lucky, I'd be in prison. If I were unlucky, I'd be dead.

As far as the attempted murder charge, the councilman
did
have a point. I
had
been trying to kill him. But I'd been stupid. If I'd been smarter, I'd have caught him in some dark alley instead of knocking on his front door and beating his ass while the next-door neighbors watched.

Chloe was still waiting for my answer. Why did the councilman change his mind? Why had he settled for sending me to juvie instead fuck-me-in-the-ass prison?

"With that," I said, "I had a little help."

"From who?"

"Bishop." At the time, he'd been almost a stranger, a brother I didn't even know I had – until that one day he showed up at my front door and told me we had the same dad. I'd been out on bail, but headed for some serious hard-time.

Chloe said, "But he couldn't have been much older than you."

"He wasn't. But he was old enough."

"What'd you guys do?" she asked.

"That, I can't tell you."

I wanted to tell her. And I wanted to keep it to myself. It was ugly,
too
ugly for a girl like Chloe, who'd grown up in a different world.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because, it wouldn't be right."

I thought of what we'd done. It had been Bishop's idea, and it had worked just like he said it would.

All we needed was video equipment, a baby-faced hooker willing to play along, and the guts to blackmail the guy afterward – not for money, but for a reduction in the charges and for a promise to stick with women his own age.

I turned to Chloe and added, "My secrets are one thing. But his?" I shook my head. "They're not mine to be giving out. Even to you."

"I can respect that," she said, looking like she meant it. "So tell me in general terms. What happened with the case?"

"Plea bargain. I spent a couple years in juvie, got out when I turned eighteen. And you pretty much know the rest."

Chloe gave me a dubious smile. "I seriously doubt that."

She was right. A couple years later, I was out of juvie and starting to make a name for myself on the underground fighting circuit. That's when the guy made his move, telling me wanted the footage back.

The first time, he'd asked nicely. And then, he'd asked not-so-nicely, delivering his message through some rough friends of the paid variety.

But I didn't back down, and neither did Bishop. Looking to send a message of our own, we uploaded that X-rated footage to his work computer, thinking we'd put a good scare into him, remind him of what he could lose if he didn't lay off.

But he didn't lay off. Instead, what did he do? He'd put a hit out on me.

Dumb-ass.

It was one of the last things the guy did. So now, I didn't need the footage. And neither did he, because dead guys couldn’t exactly bother under-age girls now, could they?

With an effort, I shoved away those memories and turned to Chloe. "Wanna know something funny?" I said.

"What?"

I glanced around. The street and houses were deadly quiet. A crumpled fast-food bag rolled like a tumbleweed along the pitted pavement. Other than that, I saw no movement. But that didn't mean no one was around.

The neighborhood was like that. You just never knew.

I heard myself say, "Juvie was a cakewalk compared to this."

"But why didn't you guys move?" Chloe asked.

"Because Grandma had a bad hip and a pension that barely paid for groceries. And besides, where would she go?"

Chloe's gaze drifted to my old house. "Anywhere but here."

I gave a bitter laugh. "Easy for you to say. When I was born, Grandma owned that house outright. But when I got in trouble, she mortgaged everything to pay for my legal team, sorry as they were."

"But what about a public defender?" Chloe asked.

"That's what I told her. But Grandma wouldn't hear of it. She said I deserved better."

"She was right," Chloe said.

Was she? Maybe. Maybe not. But it was nice that Chloe thought so. It was a good sign, right?

"By the time it was done," I continued, "she owed more than the house was worth."

"Oh wow," Chloe breathed. "That's awful."

"And what's worse," I said, "it wasn't all to the bank."

"Who else did she owe?"

Someone you didn't mess with. That's who. "This local guy," I said, "specialized in high-risk loans."

"You mean a loan shark?"

"More or less," I said. "Though he didn't like to be called that. Don't ask me how I know."

Chloe was looking at the house again. "So who owns the house now?"

"The bank, probably. When Grandma died, she still owed a lot of money."

"To the loan shark?"

"No. Him, I paid off."

"How'd you do that?"

"One day, he saw me mixing it up with a couple of guys in the neighborhood. Said he liked what he saw, offered me the chance to work off some of the loan."

"By fighting?" Chloe asked.

From the corner of my eye, I spotted movement up ahead. Casually, I turned forward or a better look. A few blocks up the street, some guy – a lean scruffy man with big, bushy hair – was weaving his way toward us.

As I watched, he stumbled from one side of the street to the other, heading toward a beat-up Chevy that was parked half on the street, half on the sidewalk. The guy stopped and peered into the Chevy's rear window, leaning his forehead against the glass. 

He was still looking when I recalled Chloe's question. Had I worked off the loan by fighting?

With my gaze still on the stranger, I nodded. "It was the one thing I was actually good at. And for whatever reason, people liked to watch."

Chloe voice, warmer now, drifted over to me. "I can see why."

The warmth in her voice – warmth I hadn't heard in a while now – made me want to smile. Slowly, I turned to look at her. "Yeah?"

Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were bright. She was looking at me the way she used to, before everything had gone to hell.

"Yeah." Chloe said in a voice that was almost breathless. "Totally."

Her lips were parted, and she gave me that look – the one that made my pulse jump and my jeans grow tight. I wanted to kiss her. The way it looked, she wouldn't say no.

I shoved that thought aside. I wouldn't be kissing her, not here, as much as I wanted to – and not because of the guy heading toward us.

Him, I could keep an eye out for, and handle him just fine if it came to that. But who else was watching? I didn't know, and that was a problem.

It was time to get on with the story.

"So anyway," I continued, "one fight led to another. Every time, the money got a little better. And then there was that fight video that made the rounds." I shook my head. "I still don't know that got out. The organizers weren't too happy about that."

"Because the fights were illegal?" she asked.

"That and taxes."

"Taxes?"

"Yeah. They didn't like to pay them."

"Oh." In the passenger's seat, Chloe gave a little jump as she spotted the guy weaving his way toward us. He stopped to peer in the window of a Buick – some rusty brown thing with a cracked front windshield.

"You know him?" Chloe asked.

I shook my head. "Not from before. And not from now either. I
never
come back here."

"So why today?" she said. "And why with me?"

"Because there's something I need to say." I turned sideways in the car to face her. "It's about what happened. What I did to you."

Her gaze was locked on mine. "What about it?"

I looked down and shook my head. "It wasn't right. I'm not stupid. I know that. Shit, I knew it at the time. And why I couldn’t stop myself–" I looked up again, meeting Chloe's gaze head-on. "I am so fucking ashamed of myself, I can't even tell you."

Her breathing grew shallow, but she didn't move. Was that a good sign? Or bad?

I reached for her hand. "You're my dream girl, Chloe. You've got to believe that." I thought of all those years without her, even before I knew her name. "I wished for you, and here you are, everything I ever imagined. Yeah, I won't lie. I've been with a lot of girls. But there's been nobody like you."

The way it looked, she wanted to believe it. "Really?" she said.

I nodded, never breaking eye contact. "I mean it. I love you. I should've told you sooner. And I should've done a better job of showing it. But if you just give me one more chance, I swear to you, you won't regret it."

Her breath caught, and her eyes warmed. The way it looked, I definitely had her attention.

I went on. "I want to tell you something else. And I'm dead serious. The things I've told you today, I've never told anyone."

Her eyes filled with tears. "Ever?"

Slowly, I reached for her hand. It felt small and warm, and I fought the urge to pull her closer. "Ever," I said. "So when I thought you were just playing me, pretending to be something you weren't, well, I guess I went a little nuts. But I swear to God, it will never, ever happen again."

At this, she squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment. But she still wasn't pulling away. I held my breath and watched her in the quiet car.

When she opened her eyes, I saw something new, a look of resolve that caught me off guard. "You need to know something too," she said. "That house in your neighborhood? It's not mine. I'm just staying there, that's all." She looked down. "I don't really belong there."

She was wrong. She
did
belong there, because she belonged with me. The other stuff – it didn't matter, as long as we were together.

"Baby," I said. "I know it's not your house, remember?"

She gave a hesitant nod.

I squeezed her hand. "And you wanna know where you belong?"

"Where?" she asked.

"With me."

At this she smiled, a real smile, and that's when I knew. She'd be mine again before the night was over.

First things first. I needed to get us the hell out of here, so we could talk in peace – where I could keep both eyes on her, not on whoever might be watching.

"Now c'mon," I said. "No more serious talk. Whatever's going on, we'll work it out, alright?"

She nodded.

I leaned closer. "First, I just have a question."

"What?"

"Do you love me?"

Her voice was only a whisper, but somehow, the single word seemed to fill the entire car. "Yes."

I leaned a fraction closer. "Say it."

Her eyes met mine, and she finally said the words I was dying to hear. "I love you."

Over the last couple of days, the weight of everything – my epic screw-up, the stuff with Brittney, the thought of never holding Chloe again – all of it had been weighing on me, maybe even more than I knew. Because suddenly, all that weight was gone, and I felt like I was floating on air.

I grinned over at her. "Baby, I love you too. More than life itself. I mean it."

And then, I couldn’t stop myself. I kissed her, long and hard, keeping my eyes open, and my senses on high alert. When she gave a breathless moan, it was half heaven, half hell, because this wasn't the place to be losing control.

I forced myself to pull away and take a good look around. "We'd better go," I said.

"What's wrong?" Chloe asked.

"Nothing yet. But it'll be dark soon." I settled back into my seat and turned the key in the ignition. "And trust me, the farther away we get, the better."

As we pulled away from the curb, Chloe asked, "So, this car? Is it really bullet-proof?"

"Pretty much."

"But why?"

I dodged the question. "Why not? Haven't you ever wanted a bullet-proof car?"

"No." She laughed. "Not particularly."

"Eh, you're not a guy. Besides, I'm glad I have it." I glanced over at Chloe. "Otherwise, I'd have never brought you down here."

"Yeah?"

I nodded. "I might take a lot of chances in life, but with your safety? No way I'm risking that. Not ever."

She was smiling again. Her tone was teasing when she said, "You couldn't have bullet-proofed one of your nicer cars?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Let's say we drove the Lexus. We'd be taken for an easy mark." I shrugged. "Or a drug dealer. But in this thing, we're practically invisible." I glanced around. "It's perfect for stuff like this."

"Stuff like what?" she said.

"Seeing things without being seen, watching without being watched. A car like this in Rochester Hills, yeah, it sticks out like a sore thumb. But a place like this, it's just part of the landscape."

"But why the bullet-proofing?" Chloe took another look around. "It's practically a ghost town."

I turned to give her a serious look. "Just because you don't see people, it doesn't mean no one's around. Besides, I use it for a few other things."

"Like what?" she asked.

I grinned over at her. "It's a secret."

She gave a small shake of her head. "What?"

I laughed. "No more serious talk. Remember? You hungry?"

She nodded, and I turned left at the next corner, wanting to leave all the ugliness behind. It was funny in a way. Some might say that I'd ditched the ugliness years ago, when the money started rolling in.

But some things, you never left behind. Even when you moved away, parts of it stuck with you. And sometimes, they dirtied the new things, the pretty things, the things you wanted to protect from all that.

I gave Chloe a sideways glance. During the past couple of days, she'd seen the worst of what a guy like me had to offer.

From now on, it was my job to show her the best. I glanced at my watch, wishing we had more time. I recalled my original promise. No matter what, I wouldn't make her late for work.

But damn it, I really wanted to.