Rebelonging (Unbelonging, Book 2) (6 page)

I gave him a smirk. "So they got off light,
huh? Well, what about
you
?"

"What about me?"

"You got off lightest of all, didn't you?
Look." I pointed directly at his chest. "
You're
fine. Not a
scratch on you, is there?" I turned toward his car and pointed
again. "And look. Your car's fine too." I turned to face him.
"Seriously, what has any of this cost you?"

"Chloe." His voice was very quiet. "It's cost
me everything."

"Yeah." I rolled my eyes. "Right."

"Everything that matters."

"You know what?" I said. "That's real easy
for you to say." My voice rose. "Me? I'm an inch away from losing
my job. Those guys, they got their car trashed. But you? This has
cost you nothing." I took a step closer. "Nothing!"

With an anguished expression, he reached out
for me. I slapped his arms aside. "So who's gonna kick
your
ass? Who's gonna get
you
fired? Who's gonna trash
your
car?"

"You want someone to kick my ass?" He threw
up his hands. "Go ahead. I'd welcome it."

"Sure you would."

"Think I'm lying? You think I don't know that
I deserve it?"

"Yeah? Well, words are cheap." I turned to
go.

"Wait," he said.

I stopped. "For what?"

"Proof."

As I watched, he strode toward the back of
his car. He popped the trunk and rummaged inside. A moment later,
he slammed it with a thud.

He emerged with an old-fashioned tire iron.
He held it out in his open palms. "Here," he said.

I glanced down. "What would I want with
that?"

"Take it." His eyes met mine. "And hit
me."

"Oh shut up," I said. "I don't want to hit
you."

"Alright," he said. "Get someone else. Have
them do it."

Not too long ago, I'd fantasized about such a
thing. And here it was, the chance to make it a reality. This was
just my luck. A fantasy comes true, and it's not even a good
one.

I shook my head. I should've fantasized about
winning the lottery.

He glanced toward the restaurant. "Go ahead,
find someone. I'll wait."

"Oh c'mon, you can't be serious."

"Why not?" His voice was raw. "I deserve it.
Just like you said."

"You are seriously messed up. You know that,
right?"

"Hell yes, I know it! You think I'm liking
myself right now? You think I don't
know
that I deserve an
ass-beating? You think I don't
wish
it was me 'suffering,',
as you say?"

From the look on his face, he was suffering
plenty. Fearless, that's what he was. But looking at him now, he
looked almost terrified, like the ship was sinking, and the last
lifeboat was filling up fast. I wanted to rescue him. And I wanted
to throw him overboard.

Damn it, Chloe. Just stop.
I wrapped
my arms tight around my body, both for warmth and to keep myself
from melting into him. Or slapping him silly. Or both.

There was a word for how he made me feel.

Psychotic.

Just like him.

"Alright, here's the deal," I said. "You –" I
lifted a hand to point at his chest "– need to stay the hell away
from me. Stay away from where I work. Stay away from where I'm
living. And stay away from anywhere else you think I might be."

"Chloe–"

"You already said that."

"Please." His voice was ragged, and he moved
toward me, slowly, like he knew he shouldn't but couldn't seem to
make himself stop.

I raised my voice. "I mean it."

He stopped, his expression anguished, but his
body rigid. The muscles in his forearms were coiled masses of
restrained force matched only by the look of absolute control that
slowly settled over his face.

"Chloe, please. Hit me. Yell at me. Do
something." His voice choked. "Anything but this."

My heart twisted at the sight of him. But I
couldn't afford to let him know that. Not after what he'd done. And
I couldn't afford to encourage him either. This had to be over,
once and for all.

"You heard me," I said, turning to go.

"Chloe." It was an odd, strangled sound.
"Wait. Please."

Slowly, I turned back to face him. "For
what?"

"I know what you're thinking," he said.

I crossed my arms. "I seriously doubt
that."

"I can see it all over your face. You're
thinking talk is cheap."

"So?"

"So you don't want someone to beat my ass? I
get that. But you want me to pay, am I right?"

I shrugged.

"Believe me, Chloe. I
want
to
pay."

Oh God, he wasn't going to offer me money,
was he? Lord knows I could use it. But the whole idea made me just
a little bit sick.

I recalled him peeling off those hundreds for
Brittney. It had happened that first time I'd been inside his
house. Officially, the money was payment for a destroyed purse.
Unofficially, it felt like something a whole lot different. I'd
seen the look in his eye when she'd taken the cash.

It wasn't so much a judgment as a dismissal,
like she'd lived down to his expectations, and he didn't give a
crap one way or another.

But my integrity, it wasn't for sale. "I
don't want your money," I said.

"I know."

"You don't know anything," I said.

"I know you want something else."

"Oh yeah?" I said. "What's that?"

"This." He shifted his grip on the tire iron.
He took one long stride toward his car. Before I could digest what
was happening, he bashed it against the windshield, leaving a
cracked, spider-web pattern on the formerly smooth glass.

"What the hell are you doing?" I yelled.

As an answer, he raised the iron again and
smashed it against the side view mirror. Another hard blow, and the
mirror hit the pavement, breaking on impact.

I dove toward him and grabbed his elbow.
"Don't!"

Slowly, he turned to face me. "Why?"

"Because it's stupid!" I was shaking as I
looked at the destruction. Oh my God. His car. His beautiful car. I
didn't know how much it was worth, money-wise, but I knew exactly
what it meant to him personally.

"Isn't this the kind of justice you wanted?"
he said. "My car trashed? That's what you said, wasn't it?"

"No!" I gripped his elbow tighter. "This
isn't what I wanted."

"Well, I do." Gently, he removed my hand from
his elbow. "Because, Chloe, let me tell you something. Compared to
you, this car means nothing to me."

He strode to the passenger's side. He raised
the iron again. "Compared to you, it means
less
than
nothing."

I watched helplessly, frozen by disbelief, as
he bashed off the other mirror, and then destroyed both headlights,
leaving scattered bits of glass on the dark pavement.

"Stop it!" I yelled.

He gave a sad shake of his head and raised
the iron high above his head. He slammed it down on the hood,
leaving an ugly dent in the beautiful finish. He raised the iron
and struck again. And again. Soon, the hood was mangled almost
beyond recognition.

I was having a hard time catching my breath.
He loved that car. He'd spent countless hours restoring it with his
own hands. Now he was destroying it right before my eyes.

I couldn't act. I couldn't think. I staggered
backward and hit something unexpected.

And then, I heard that dreaded voice.
"Sweeeeet."

I whirled around, and there he was. Shaggy.
With that damn cell phone.

Shaggy was holding the phone out in front of
him, directly toward Lawton and his mangled car.

I glared at him. "What the hell are you doing
here?"

"Taking video," Shaggy said. "What else?"

Helplessly, I looked toward Lawton. He stood
near the passenger's side door, watching us with a blank
expression. The iron dangled loosely in his right hand. And then,
it clattered to the pavement. An instant later, he was at my
side.

"You." He glared at Shaggy. "Get away from
her. Now."

With a shrug, Shaggy took a couple steps away
from me. He turned back toward the mangled car. "Oh man," he said.
"That is so messed up." He held out his cell phone. "Total viral."
He stepped closer, zooming in on the hood.

"Stop that!" I said.

He shook his head. "No way."

I gave Lawton a pleading look. "Are you just
gonna stand there and let him take video of – " I waved my hands on
a useless gesture "—this?"

Shaggy chuckled. "It's called freedom of the
press, baby." He turned to call over his shoulder. "Am I right, or
what?"

"Got that right," said a distant, unfamiliar
voice.

Wildly, I glanced around and came to a
horrible realization. Shaggy wasn't the only one invading our
privacy. Around us, maybe a dozen people stood clustered within
spitting distance.

I saw wide eyes, eager expressions, and more
than a couple of cell phones, held out camera-style, just like
Shaggy's.

"Oh my God," I groaned. I leaned my head down
and covered my face with both hands. "This isn't happening."

I felt a hand on my elbow. "Chloe," Lawton
said. "You okay?"

I heard myself laugh. A foreign sound with
jagged edges, like it came from someone else. I heard it grow
louder, drowning out everything – the murmur of voices, Shaggy's
stupid commentary, and the beating of my own heart.

Too soon, laughter turned to sobs, quieter
than the laugher, but infinitely more unsettling. Lawton's arms
closed around me. He gathered me to his chest, shielding me from
everything – the crowd, the sight of his car, and Shaggy with his
stupid phone.

"God, this is all my fault," he murmured into
my hair. "I'm so, so sorry. Baby, c'mon, don't cry."

Suddenly, his body tensed. When he spoke, his
voice was hard, with an undertone of menace so sharp that I fought
the urge to step away.

"You take one more shot of her," he said,
"and you're gonna be out more than just another phone."

Another
phone?

Oh God, was
Lawton
the psycho who
smashed Shaggy's last one? He
had
to be. Shit. How well did
I know this guy, anyway?

I couldn't think. I couldn't breathe. This
was a living nightmare. Except I couldn’t wake up.

Lawton's arms tightened. He shifted his
position as if hiding me from someone's view. "Get the fuck away
from her!" he yelled.

And then I heard a new voice, ferocious and
female.

"Chester!" she yelled. "You son of a
bitch!"

Startled, I pulled my head away from Lawton
and looked toward the sound of the voice. And there she was, the
petite red-head. She stood on the opposite side of Lawton's car,
near the passenger's side door.

Her face was flushed, and her hair was wild.
She was glaring at Shaggy. "I knew it!" she yelled.

I glanced toward Shaggy. His eyes were huge,
and his mouth was half open. He glanced frantically around as if
seeking the fastest avenue of escape.

"You bolt now," the redhead warned, "and
you're walking home." Her voice rose. "And when you get there,
guess what? You're gonna find the locks changed, because I've just
about had it with this crap!"

Shaggy offered up a shaky smile. "Heeeey Jen.
So what are you doing out here?"

"Me?" she shrieked. "What am
I
doing
out here? You're kidding, right?"

"Yeah. I mean no," he stammered. "I thought
you were gonna wait for me."

She glared across the car at him. "You mean
in the fucking restaurant? Where do you think I've been the last
hour?"

"An hour?" Shaggy glanced toward the
restaurant. "Oh c'mon, it hasn't been that long."

She reached into her big red purse and pulled
out a foil-wrapped container. "Still want that romantic
dinner?"

Shaggy took a step backward. "No, I'm good,
but uh, thanks."

Jen laughed. "Oh, you haven't been good for a
long time. And you wanna know why? Because of you and your stupid
Web site!"

She dug through the foil container. "You know
how many times you've left me sitting alone while you chased some
stupid story?" Her hand emerged from the container with – was that
a shrimp?

Shaggy took another step backward.

"And you know how many places?" She raised
her arm. A jumbo shrimp went flying toward Shaggy's head.

He ducked to the side. "Aw c'mon Jen! Not
again!"

She reached into the container again. "At my
sister's wedding!" She hurled another shrimp. This one hit Shaggy's
chest and bounced onto the pavement.

From about a car-length away, something
flashed. A camera? Shaggy's head whipped toward the flash. "Hey!"
he yelled. "No pictures! C'mon, dude!"

"At my class reunion!" Jen yelled. "At my
uncle's funeral!" She reached into the shrimp container and pulled
out a whole fistful. She flung the whole mess in Shaggy's
direction. It scattered across the pavement near his feet.

She stalked around Lawton's car. Her fists
were clenched as she headed straight for Shaggy. He looked wildly
around, like escape still might be possible. But in the end,
whether frozen by terror or her threat of changing the locks, he
held his ground.

Before I could blink, she was on him. She
ripped the phone from his hand and hurled it to the pavement. It
crashed down, shattering into broken bits.

Shaggy looked down, his eyes half-crazed. "My
phone!"

Jen gave a bark of laughter. "Your phone?
Your
phone?"

"Hey, you gave it to me," he said.

"No. I let you use it," she said, "It's
my
phone! And what did you promise?"

"Uh—"

"You promised to leave it home tonight. But
did
you?" She turned toward the crowd. "Did he?"

Around us, gawkers nervously shook their
heads. Someone near the back was still taking pictures,
illuminating the area with random flashes that made the whole
sordid scene that much more unsettling.