* * *

Present:

Do you ever wish the ground would just swallow you up? Right now, that’s the prayer I keep repeating over and over as I burrow into Luka’s naked body. My mind keeps flashing through a list of people that could be pulling up behind us, and all of them are definitely worst case scenarios.

I expected Blue. I mean, we’re close to his farm. That would be embarrassing, but I can deal. It could be Gray and CC since they’re not too far from here, either. Worst case and a nightmare for me would definitely be my mother. I wouldn’t put it past Black to be the one who shows up, because somehow he always knows when to annoy me. Nothing could have prepared me, however, for what was about to happen.

“Motherfucker,” Luka growls above me, his chin at the top of my head. I try to pull away and look up at him, but he doesn’t let me.

“Luka?”

“Don’t move, Lo’. Stay right there, and don’t move a muscle,” he orders.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, which might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever asked. I mean I’m locked in the back of a police car with a pair of handcuffs on, and just to make it worse, I’m wearing nothing but a smile. What could possibly be wrong?

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Just open the door,” Luka growls, and I know he’s saying it loudly, but I can barely hear him over the pounding of my heart. Maybe in the back of my mind I thought his father could show up, but never in a million years did I really think it was him.

That voice, however, is unmistakable.

The door opens, and I tense up. Thankfully, Luka doesn’t move. If anything, his hold on me tightens, not allowing me to move either.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Shut up, Dad, and just hand me my shirt,” Luka growls. He reaches behind him and his dad must hand it to him. Color me surprised.

I feel Luka pull his shirt around my back. He holds it together and carefully backs out of the car. Luckily I am short where Luka is tall, so the shirt falls close to my knees. Still it’s entirely too short and revealing to be around Luka’s father.

“Well, I always knew she was a whore,” Mr. Parish sneers.

Luka spins around and nails him dead center of his nose with a fist. Mr. Parish instantly goes down, and blood streams from the punch.

“Stay right here, honey,” Luka tells me, turning away. He bends down to find his pants and quickly puts them on, buttoning them up and not worrying about his belt. He fishes through his pocket and finds the key to his handcuffs, undoing them.

“And she likes it kinky. Like mother, like daughter, I guess. I knew I should have given you a whirl.” Mr. Parish laughs cruelly.

“If you want to keep your fucking teeth in your head, you’ll shut the fuck up,” Luka yells. “I’m sorry, Lo’,” he whispers much softer to me.

I feel a little shell-shocked. I can’t lie. I don’t know what to say, and I figure anything I say will cause Luka’s dad to get uglier, so I just remain quiet.

For his part, Luka stands in front of me, his stance protective as he helps me with his shirt. I clumsily thread my hands through his sleeves, and only when Luka has it on me does he lean back enough to button it up. It’s tight right at the chest area. I’m not exactly small, and Luka obviously does not have the double Ds that I pack around. I would probably be blushing except I’m pretty sure the fact that Roger Parish is standing here has drained all the color from my face. I make myself look up into Luka’s eyes. I see the tension on his face and instantly want to brush it away, but I can’t.

“What? I’m just saying the truth,” Luka’s father insists. “I thought you were fucking smarter than to get hung up on easy pussy, son. You’ve always been a disappointment. Too much of your mother’s blood.”

It’s then that I realize Mr. Parish is drunk—and not just a little. He reeks of alcohol. Even from this distance, I can smell it on him.

“You fucking bastard,” Luka growls.

He turns on his father. I find myself holding on to him to keep him from hitting the man again, not because I care if Luka’s father gets the shit kicked out of him, but only because I know that even if Luka doesn’t respect his father anymore, this hurts him.

“I’m just saying the truth, son. You play with easy pussy; you don’t get tangled up in it. You don’t give up a career! You ruined both our lives. I would have won the congress seat easily if my son had been in the FBI. Christ, you just threw away your whole life for this—”

He doesn’t get the words out because Luka’s fist connects with his mouth. Then again, and again. It becomes kind of a blur, really. I reach down and fish my jeans out from the bottom of the pile on the ground, quickly getting into them. Only when I have them on and buttoned do I turn my attention back to Luka.

Luka’s stopped hitting his father, but from the look of the blood and the way Mr. Parish’s face is already swelling, he definitely got in quite a few punches.

“You don’t look at Petal. You don’t so much as say her name. If I had known this was the kind of filth you spewed at her, I would have cut you out of my life years ago. You’re dead to me,” Luka growls.

I just stand there looking at Mr. Parish, my heart beating erratically, and it’s not because of what Luka just said or did. It’s the look of hate in Mr. Parish’s eyes—hate that is all directed at me and promising retribution. I swallow as fear settles deep inside of me.

Luka takes my hand and helps me inside the passenger seat of his car. He has me buckled in and kisses my forehead, and I remain quiet. We’re pulling away and I’m looking at Luka’s dad in the rearview mirror, and I still say nothing. I’m not sure what there is to say.