- CHAPTER FOURTEEN -
SCOTCH
We hadn’t been driving for long before I broke the silence. “What did he say to you?”
I didn’t have to explain who he was. Costello’s eyes danced to me, then to the empty highway. I didn’t know where we were headed yet; I wondered if he did. “Darien is awake. He’s claiming you shot him, apparently.”
“But I didn’t. Fuck, why does no one believe me?”
“I do.” He faced me again, so serious that my blood raced for the finish line. Both of us felt the weight between us . . . the same energy that had gripped us with its passionate claws and made us kiss in front of everyone on the dance floor.
Whipping his eyes away, he said, “My father does, too.”
That tidbit had my head spinning. “What? Then why are we running?”
“Because it doesn’t matter who he believes.” His voice fell, heavier than his foot on the gas pedal as we sped around a curve. “Darien belongs to the Valentines. Have you heard of them?” I shook my head. “I’m only somewhat aware, too. They’re a powerful family up in Boston. Not as notorious as mine, but just as dangerous. Maybe more so.”
Taking full breaths became harder. “Oh. Oh shit.”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “Shit.”
“Then . . . if Darien says I shot him . . . and his family takes his word . . .” My voice was faint to me. Was I talking out loud still? “They’ll want revenge. They’ll—fuck, they’re going to kill me.” I stared at Costello. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. When I grabbed his shoulder and shook him, he still looked out his window. “Aren’t they? Costello! Aren’t they? Am I seriously going to die because of some egotistic asshole?”
“Scotch . . .”
Digging my nails into my scalp, I gave a manic laugh that was more of a bark. “This is too much. I can’t—I mean, I seriously cannot hide from people like this forever!” Nodding over and over, I said with certainty, “This is when the police become involved.”
“Scotch, no.”
“Yes! I’m safer at the police station even if it’s behind bars! They’ve got guns, guards, and the law on their side.”
“They won’t keep you safe!” he snarled, hunching over the steering wheel. There were thunderclouds in his eyes. When he looked at me, I shrank. “They can’t keep you safe.”
A long beat passed between us; I swallowed. “Why do you think that?”
“Because I know it.” The car slowed, the road turning a shade of purple as the sun began to rise. How many hours had passed between our sweet kiss and our panicked escape? “If you put your life in the hands of the cops, they’ll hand you over to the first person with enough cash in their pockets.”
“No,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “You’re wrong. There are bad cops, sure, but not all of them are like that.” I said it with such confidence that Costello eyeballed me with suspicion. Looking down at my lap, I asked the question that had been burning in me since the start. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because I promised—”
“No. Why did you even make the promise?”
I didn’t like this choking silence. I wished we were back at long looks and tantalizing chemistry. Sometimes Costello let me forget about who he was. I’d managed as much when he kissed me . . . and when we’d lain skin to skin. He pulled into a truck stop and parked the car as far away from the few vehicles as he could. The engine died; our silence became fuller at the edges. Flexing his hands, he let go of the wheel. I expected to see his fingerprints on the upholstery.
Leaning back in his seat, he watched the ceiling. “When I saw you begging for help, you reminded me of someone else. Someone I failed to protect a long time ago.” Rolling his head my way, he watched me with a gentleness in the depths of his eyes. “Turning you over to my father would be easier for me. You’re right. But since when is life about being easy?”
I knew this was special. In my gut I was sure he’d just revealed a secret part of his past. I wanted to treasure it like some rare vein of silver running through a rocky mountain, but all he’d done was burden me with a thousand more questions.
The air in the car was cooling, my words leaving a trail of white from my lips. “The person you failed to protect,” I said, “and your distrust of cops. They’re related, aren’t they?”
That familiar hardness returned to his tight mouth. “If I say yes, will you agree to not try and go to them?” Costello leaned closer, draping his arm over the back of my seat.
My tongue was heavy, but I made it move. “You’ll think of something else? A way to prove I didn’t hurt Darien and get his family off my back?”
Within that shrinking cave of a car, Costello became a colossus. Large hands contained my whole face, his hawkish nose pressing to mine. I wilted beneath him; it was easy because there was no room to move.
And it was easy because I wanted to.
“I keep telling you that everything will be okay. That I’ll keep you safe. My word is more solid than my soul, and that’s good, because my soul was shredded a long time ago.” The agony in his words was the only thing keeping me from kissing him. My eyes had gone dry from my not blinking. “Yes, I’ll think of something. I’ll lie cold in the ground before I let anyone hurt you, Scotch.”
His mouth changed shape—from a grimace to a gentle curve. He went to kiss me and I said, “Heather. My real name is Heather.” Heat crept up my neck. “Scotch is just what I picked when they asked me what I wanted to go by at the Dirty Dolls.”
He’d frozen, still holding me close, his thumbs resting on my cheekbones. Suddenly he shook with laughter. I felt the shudders through my skin. “So when I said to pick a fake name, you picked Heather—your genuine name.”
“I didn’t mean to trick you.”
“You didn’t fool me into believing Scotch was your real name, if that’s what you think. The Dirty Dolls is the kind of place that requires lies to keep its girls safe.”
That wasn’t wrong, but the pity in his soft voice made my hackles rise. “I’ve done that job for the past eight years. Try and be less obvious about how disgusting you think it is.” I struggled to pull away; his hold was as solid as a vise.
“I’d never think you were disgusting, Scotch—Heather—dammit, what should I call you?”
“It’s all the same to me,” I said. But I was curious what he’d pick.
“I knew you as Scotch. That’s how I’ll always think of you.”
My stomach shifted, as if I’d swallowed several goldfish and they were tickling inside me. “After so long, it’s how I think of myself, too. My mom would be heartbroken if she learned that.”
“Your mom,” he whispered, eyes narrowing. “Will the Valentines . . . will anyone be able to find her? Or anyone else in your family?”
“I doubt it. I never filled out any employment paperwork at the club.” The memory made me grin. “All they cared about was that I was eighteen. Which I wasn’t.”
“What?”
“Yeah, I was seventeen with a fake ID. They always paid me under the table in cash. There’s no trail anyone could follow.”
His eyebrows slid higher. “That’s a relief. If Darien can’t use your family against you, he’ll have no leverage. Neither will my father.”
It was a sobering reminder about how serious this all was. “And you? Does no one have anything they could use against you?”
Instead of speaking, he bent forward and closed his lips on mine. It was a sweet kiss—nothing like the one he’d smothered me with in the hotel room. The wild animal Costello had let loose in private was gone from here.
I gasped for air when he broke away. Together we breathed, chests rising and steam collecting on the windows. All from one kiss. It made me forget my question.
He pulled back, watching me. “Can I ask why you started working at the club?”
Blinking, I tried to regain my senses. “Oh, ah . . . well. My friend decided she wanted to audition. She’s kind of like that—gets an idea and has to do it. I went along just to keep an eye on her, cheer her on, that kind of thing.”
Remembering the busy Friday-night crowd screaming for Gina as she did her first—but not her last—twirl on the pole gave me a funny nostalgia. It wasn’t a bad memory. I’d been happy that she’d felt so glorified by the experience. “After she did it, she decided she wanted to keep doing it.” I dropped my tone, hugging myself. “I wasn’t going to let her work there without backup. I knew the types of people that club could draw.”
Costello’s face twisted up. “I swear I had no idea about Darien being so unhinged.”
“Relax. No one could have guessed.”
“You did.” He tilted his head. “From the beginning, you could tell he was dangerous. How?”
I waved a hand, trying to make light of his observation. “It was just how I felt. Nothing special about it.”
“Tell that to Gina. Your nothing special saved her life.”
“I just did what I had to,” I mumbled with a blush. “There’s right and there’s wrong, you know?”
He propped an elbow on the steering wheel. “Sometimes it’s not easy to tell them apart.”
His intensity woke me up, made me realize what we’d just discussed. “Wait,” I said, starting to tremble. “Gina! We grew up together, she knows who my family is. If they find her . . .”
“Call her,” he growled. “She has to hide. Did she use a stage name, too?”
“Sort of.” That calmed me a hair. Gina was short for Ginavene, and, like me, she’d never filled out any official paperwork.
I pulled out my phone in such a rush that my piercing came out of my jeans pocket with it. The hard jewel tumbled into my lap. Absently I snatched it up and shoved it deep in Costello’s jacket as I began to dial. I doubted she’d answer since it was barely sunrise. When her voice mail clicked on, I said, “Gina, it’s me. Listen, stuff has gotten worse. You need to hide. You could be in danger. Call me back right away.” Licking my lips nervously, I added, “I love you. Be safe.” I shut the phone and held it tight and hoped she’d get my message. I saw the battery in the upper corner had turned red; my phone was almost dead. It was a grim omen. “Whatever we do,” I said, “part of the plan is getting me a phone charger.”
His smile was a half moon. “Then you’ll let me handle this my way. No cops, yeah?”
Sinking into the leather, I gave the seat belt a squeeze. “No cops.” Thinking about his emotional speech made me shiver. Costello had been so raw and honest. He’d really die before he’d let anyone hurt me?
Costello turned the keys in the ignition with violent determination. “Do you think there are any breakfast places open right now?”
My mouth fell open. “You’re hungry?”
“I need to think. And I need some coffee to do that.” As we rolled forward, he looked over at me. “Thank you,” he said earnestly, “for telling me some of your past. I like getting to know who you are.”
“I like getting to know you, too,” I whispered. Though I smiled with all my teeth showing, deep down I fought back the massive tumbleweed of guilt that wanted to reveal itself.
Costello might know my past, but he had no idea who I really was.
And I could never tell him.