Spitfire Suckerpunch (House of Pain Book 2) (41 page)

“He's in lockup. We're waiting for word from the prosecutor's office on what charges will be filed. If any.”

“If any?! He shot my father in the street and then left him to die.”

“He'll most likely be charged. But don't worry about that right now. Just know that we have your father's killer in custody and it was an isolated incident.”

“Isolated incident?” Shay asked, her brain feeling sluggish. It was hard to concentrate. Ramirez took one last puff of her cigarette then tossed the butt to the ground and stomped on it.

“Wrong place, wrong time.” Ramirez said. “Sergeant Grayson seemed to be concerned that if the killer was specifically targeting your father, they may have reason to try to harm you or your aunt Gina. But now we know that isn't the case,” Ramirez continued. “Maybe that's a small comfort, maybe it's not.” Shay nodded vaguely, sniffling. Suddenly, she felt the cold temperature creeping under her skin and into her bones. She shivered even as she realized that Ramirez's words were a comfort, small as it was. Her father's death was meaningless, but the killer was behind bars. She couldn't save her father, but at least he wasn't just another nameless murder victim on the streets of Harlem. And Tate had been worried about it. He'd inquired about his death, tried to help even. Even if he didn't like her father, he still was involved. Suddenly, that felt ridiculously important. She twirled the diamond ring on her finger as she let it sink in. “You want to come in for coffee?” Ramirez asked, breaking the silence.

“No offense, but I never want to go back in there,” Shay blurted out, then remembered she was supposed to be trying to be cooperative. “Unless you have more questions?” she added.

“No, I think that's all for now,” Ramirez said, her eyes softer than before. Then she turned and walked back toward the precinct. Shay pulled her hood up over her hair, trying to think what she was going to do next. “Hey,” Ramirez suddenly called out and Shay glanced up at her. “Do you think that your father would have walked by that car whether he needed the money or not? You said he was nosing around for cash, but still. Would he have just ignored it, pretended he didn't see it?” Shay stared at the detective for what seemed like a long while, even though she knew the answer to the question immediately.

“No,” she said finally. “A '64 Impala?” She clicked her tongue and shook her head, smiling slightly as she imagined her father's face as he spied that rare jewel of a car, parked on the street and calling out for him like heroin called out for a junkie. “He used to say that cars are like women. Some are just too beautiful to pass up. He wouldn't have been able to help himself.”

“Hmm,” Ramirez said, thoughtfully. Then she nodded, like she'd gotten all the information she needed. “I'll be in touch, okay?” she said, and then turned and jogged up the precinct steps and disappeared into the building. Shay threw her head back and stared up at the milky night sky. Not one star was visible.

“Dammit, daddy,” she murmured, to no one but herself. It was some kind of perverse poetry, she supposed. At times during her childhood, she'd wondered if the cars were the only things important to him. She'd wondered if money and the rush of the chase, the rush of the steal, were all that he lived for. Now, she finally had her answer. He'd needed money, sure, but Ramirez was right. The money didn't matter. In the end, it all came down to his biggest weakness. He'd given up she and her mother for it, and ultimately, he'd given up his life. She realized the tears were dry in her eyes. She didn't feel like crying anymore. She was angry, sure, and sad. But she wasn't going to cry. She was done crying. Nodding to herself, she headed toward the subway, feeling so tired. She just wanted to go home. But she had one last stop first.

Chapter Twenty-Four

T
ate pummeled the bag in front of him, putting all of his focus on the way his gloves whack against the cracked, stained leather. He didn't want to think about anything else. He didn't want to think about going home to an empty apartment. He didn't want to think about his baby crying all alone by herself over her dead father. He didn't want to think about a whole hell of a lot of things. So he kept punching until sweat was running in rivulets down his face and his T-shirt was soaked with it. He kept punching until his muscles cried out in protest and he felt like he was going to pass the fuck out.

“I think it's dead,” Austin said from behind him and it snapped him out of his attack on the bag. With a low growl, he forced himself to stop. The bag swung  back and forth limply until he caught it, steadying it against himself. His heart was pounding under his chest and his breath was coming hard and fast. “What did that bag ever do to you, huh?” Austin asked, an easy smile on his face but genuine concern behind his gaze. He held out a bottled water. Tate took it and pressed the cool plastic against his forehead. “Spot me,” Austin said, plopping down on a nearby weight bench.

Tate nodded, then opened the water and downed half of it in one gulp. He tossed the bottle on the ground as Austin laid back, angling himself under the bar. His mind wandered elsewhere as Austin did his reps. He didn't think about Shay – everytime his mind went there, he pushed himself back and away from the topic. Instead, he thought about one of the cases he currently was assigned. He ran through all the minute, mindless details. He already knew the case front and back, but he overviewed the facts anyway. Austin strained and grunted below him and Tate knew his reps were up. He helped guide the bar back into the hoists and the bench shook with the exertion.

“That sucked,” Austin said, sitting up and rolling his shoulders. “I need to stop slacking.” Tate didn't answer, just stared down at the dingy concrete floor. “Not all of us can be machines like you and Mikhail,” Austin said, his voice cautious. He wasn't blind; he knew Tate was dealing with something. But, being the good friend that he was, he also knew Tate didn't feel like fucking talking about it. Tate appreciated that about Austin—he never pushed too hard. The problem was, Tate did want to talk about it. He wanted to scream, actually. He wanted to scream to the heavens that he loved Shay Spears and he wanted to marry her and all that he wanted in life was to know if she loved him back. He wanted her to want him back. He wanted her to let him make her happy.

He wanted so many goddamn things.

He tightened his hands into fists, aching to hit something again. The tape around his knuckles cracked. His whole body hurt, but he didn't care. He wasn't exhausted yet. He wanted to be so exhausted that when he got home he would drop into bed and fall right into sleep. He didn't want to have to think about sleeping in an empty bed, that was for damn sure. Just as he was getting lost in all the thoughts he was trying to ignore,  Austin cleared his throat loudly. Tate glanced up, his concentration broken.

That's when he saw her.

She was standing just inside the doorway, her purse and a big tote bag tucked under her arm. Life seemed to move in slow motion as she turned her head toward him and their eyes locked. She looked tired, he noticed. Slightly worn out. Sad. But her eyes brightened when she saw him and it sparked a fire in his chest. Before he knew it, he was in front of her and she was throwing her arms around him and burrowing her face into his neck. He tightened his arms around her waist and lifted her up off of her feet. He was sweaty, but she didn't seem to care. He held his breath, too cautious to get too excited. But he couldn't help it.

She'd finally come for him.

“I texted and you didn't answer,” she said after what seemed like a long time, her voice muffled.

“My phone's in my locker,” he said, pressing his nose into her hair. She smelled so damn good, like cold winter air and raw vanilla.

“That's what I figured,” she sniffled, her face still buried in his chest. He didn't want to let her go, but he set her lightly back on the floor and she loosened her hold on him, her hands sliding down and resting on his chest. Her cheeks were wet and her eyeliner was smudged and he brought his hands up to her face. He gently wiped her tears away with his thumbs and she closed her eyes and leaned into him. “I'm so tired of crying,” she mumbled, her voice thick as honey.

“If you have to do it, do it,” he said, kissing her temple lightly. “I don't mind.”

“Everyone's probably looking at us,” she sniffled, her eyes still closed. He didn't give a shit who was looking as he cocked his head and kissing her cheek. She moaned lightly and finally opened her eyes. He felt like she was staring right into his fucking soul. He could see the sadness in her gaze, but there was more. He wanted to know everything she was thinking, but he didn't ask. After a second, she swallowed hard and took a deep breath.“They found the guy that... they found the guy. He's in jail,” she said, her voice stronger than before.

“What? How?” he furrowed his brow, shocked out of his silence.

“He caught Sam stealing his car, so he shot him,” she said matter-of-factly. “Then he took off and left my dad there, all alone. He let him bleed out on the street, like it was nothing.”

“Shit,” Tate hissed in disbelief.

“That's all it was,” she said. “A fight over a car. Nothing more, nothing less.” She shrugged lightly, like it wasn't all so painful but he could see the truth in her eyes. “So you don't have to worry about my safety any more.” She stared up at him, so many unsaid things behind her words. In the past, he wouldn't have understood what she was trying to say, but now he knew. He knew exactly what she wanted from him.

“When I got that call, telling me that Sam Spears had been shot, you know the first thing I thought?” he asked.

“Tate you don't have to—” she began but he didn't let her finish.

“I was worried out of my fucking mind that you'd been shot too, because of his bullshit. I thought that you were laying there next to him in the street, because you were too goddamn loyal to him,” he blurted out. “I hate him for what he did to you. Maybe it's not right to say that, but I don't care. It's true. For years, I felt like complete shit because of what happened to you. I never forgot. It never felt right, ever. And it was all because of him.” She stared up at him and for a second he thought she was going to cry again, but she didn't. She didn't look angry at his words either so he took that as a good sign, as good of one as he could hope for. He just had to get out his feelings about her father and then he would never talk about them again. He just wanted her to know. “He didn't deserve what happened. No one deserves that,” he continued. “And I'm glad they caught the guy who did it. Really fucking glad.” He clicked his tongue as the words continued to bubble up in him. “But I'm not going to stop worrying about you. Not ever. I want you to know that.” He tightened his arms around her, wanting to pull her close. Close as possible. “So now you know,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

“I think that's the most you've ever said to me at one time,” she replied. He ducked his head to hide his smile. He knew what she said was probably true. She twisted her fingers in the hem of his sweaty T-shirt but she didn't smile back. “I want you to come to the funeral,” she murmured. “Say that you'll come with me.”

“Yes,” he said automatically. There was nothing he'd rather do than be by her side. “I'll go with you.”

Finally, she smiled. It was a small smile, but it was good enough. 

“Now I want to know,” he said, running his thumb under her chin. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?” she asked, even though he knew she knew exactly what he was talking about.

“That you love me. I want to know,” he said, hearing the demanding tone in his voice. She heard it too and she gripped his shirt tighter. She would probably want to punish him for it later, he thought, his dick going hard at the thought. But for now, he wanted what he wanted and he didn't care if he was demanding. He wanted her to say it, goddammit.

“I love you,” she said, the words clear and sure. Then she kissed him, smashing her lips against his like she wanted to punish him right then and there. He groaned into her, wanting that just as much as she did. He didn't give a shit who was around. He circled his arms around her waist and lifted her off her feet, pulling her against him. She let her bags drop to the floor and threw her other arm around his neck, not fighting him in the least. It wasn't a frenzied kiss, no. It was a slow, deep kiss, a kiss that promised more to come. It was a kiss that he was going to remember until the day that he died. His girl loved him and if he had his way, he was going to spend the rest of his life making her happy. The rest of his life was starting with this kiss and he wasn't ever going to forget it.

“I want my keys back,” she said, when she pulled back to take a breath.

“Keys?” he asked, pretending like he didn't know what she was talking about. “You mean the keys you threw in my face?”

“Yeah. Those keys,” she said. He shook his head, not feeling like making it easy on her. She'd fucking killed him when she'd given the keys back, so he had no intentions of not making her work for it.

“Say please,” he said, knowing she was going to make him pay so much later. He couldn't fucking wait. She cocked an eyebrow, her eyes flashing and he knew he was in trouble. He couldn't stop himself from smiling at the thought. “Say it,” he demanded.

“Please,” she bit out, like it pained her to do so. He chuckled, untangling himself from her and then leaning forward to grab her bags off the floor.

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug as he side-stepped around her and headed toward the locker room.

“Maybe?!” she called after him. “Boy, you better give me those keys!” He glanced back at her, grinning from ear to ear like the cat that ate the canary.

“Come and get them,” he said, pushing open the locker room door. She narrowed her eyes at him and glanced around. Austin was doing his best to pretend he wasn't paying attention to what they were doing, bless him, but both Sids were staring at them from the ring unabashedly. Hector, Gennifer, and Mikhail were nowhere to be seen, but Erica and Tiny were watching them in the mirror at the free weights. Tate smiled harder because pretty soon everyone would know. He was in love and he didn't give a shit. She hesitated for a second but then followed him to the locker room door.

“I'm going to make you suffer for this,” she said with a smile as she pushed past him.

“I can't wait,” he said, letting the door swing closed behind them.