CHAPTER TWELVE
Amelia
As one day bled into the next, Declan was never far from my thoughts. Although I was hired to work weekdays, I was asked to come in to help with a large party that had gotten unexpectedly bigger. We’d just finished the lunch rush and were about to start cleaning the kitchen ahead of the dinner service in a few hours. I was out back sitting on a crate watching the birds on the water, sucking in deep breaths of cleansing air. They’d only be around a few more days, at most, before heading south for the winter.
A week ago, I would have wanted to grow wings and follow them, to head back to the life I was forced to leave on the Gulf Coast. There, my former job would be waiting for me and the coldest it would get in the winter was a whopping forty degrees with an ocean breeze. In Mobile, Peter would get down on both knees and beg me to take him back. I smiled. I liked to believe that I’d never forgive the cheating bastard, but in my revenge fantasy, he always begged me to come back.
But now? I studied the birds and wondered what they would see while they were gone and whether they’d miss this place.
I was starting to think that I might miss this place if I migrated back South right now. Or West. Or anywhere.
The memory of last night’s dinner and walk with Declan caused another rush of desire to go through me, and I had to fan myself at the onslaught of hormones. Sure, we’d been all over each other on the ride back to my parents’ house, but we still hadn’t gone as far as I’d wanted. Sadly.
After Declan showed me his dream, the magnitude of it and the potential source of pride for the old neighborhood it promised, I’d been enraptured. By his dream. By the way his face lit up, and his voice grew excited as he described what he was building.
And he’d gotten me so wrapped up in the words, in his passion and excitement, that as soon as he’d stopped to take a breath, I’d laid a kiss like my life depended on it on him.
I laughed, thinking back at how he’d stopped short at first, making me think I’d gone too fast for him. But instead of rejecting me or making it awkward, he’d threaded his fingers through my hair, trapping my head just so, and kissed the breath out of me.
Sucking in a breath when my phone vibrated in my pocket, I grimaced when JJ’s picture popped up on the screen. I hadn’t seen or spoken to him since our blowup in the street last week.
“Hello?”
“Amelia, where are you?”
I stood the second I heard the fear in his voice. “I’m at work. What’s wrong?”
“Do you have Pop’s truck? He’s not leaving the house right now, is he?”
I frowned. “What do you mean—”
“Just answer the question,” he barked, his tone edgy with fear. “Amelia, please!”
The please got me. My brother never said please.
“No, Jay, he’s home with Mom watching college football, probably. That’s why I have the truck for the day.”
His sigh of relief crackled over the phone. “That’s good,” he said, his voice still strained. “Listen, I need you to come get me on the corner of Keller and Reed. I’ll be walking away from the Juncture jobsite. Look for me. Hurry, Amelia. I think someone is following me.”
“Jay, where’s your truck?” I listened, but he didn’t answer. When I looked at my screen, the line had been disconnected.
Shit.
My shift didn’t end for another half hour, but I spoke with the manager on duty, who said the crew was fine without me. Racing outside, I dialed the house phone as I started up the truck.
“Yeah?”
Good. It was Pop who answered.
“Hey, it’s me. Jay just called me with the strangest request. He said he thinks he’s being followed and to pick him up by the Juncture site. Was he supposed to be doing any work out there today?”
“What are you talking about?” Pop asked, clearly confused. “He’s being followed? Why would he be out there? There isn’t a job there for another couple weeks at least, assuming the permits go through. What’s going on, Amelia? Come home right now, and I’ll go get your brother.”
First, I wasn’t sure there was time for that. And second? No way in hell was my father jumping into any fray my stupid brother had caused.
As I tried to explain everything to him again, I crawled over the back of the driver’s seat and searched the floorboards for the old aluminum bat Pop had kept back there as long as I could remember. Sure enough, after moving a few papers around, I found it and placed it on the front seat.
I wasn’t much of an athlete these days, but I’d played enough softball in middle and high school that I was sure I still had a good swing on me if I needed it.
“Pop, there’s no time,” I said, knowing he was going to be furious with me. “I’m just going to park a few blocks away from where he told me and watch for him. I won’t get out of your truck, I promise.”
I hated to worry him, but I needed Pop to know where I was. That was the main reason I called him. Just in case something went wrong.
“Amelia. Renee. Byrne.” I winced, knowing that even though I was twenty-five years old, I was now in deep shit if I continued on. “You bring that truck to me right this instant.”
“I love you, Pop,” I blurted out. “I’ll be home with JJ in less than twenty minutes, I swear.”
Ooooh, he was going to be pissed. I knew it.
“Sorry,” I muttered to no one in particular as I threw the truck into reverse and headed JJ’s way, running all manner of stoplights and yield signs as I went. What should have taken me about twelve minutes took a little over five, and instead of going to the street corner he told me to, I passed it, going straight to the jobsite, searching for him as I went.
It was quiet. The whole street was quiet for a Saturday afternoon, so I turned around a few blocks away and pulled up alongside the street and parked. Tall chain-link fencing surrounded the empty square of undeveloped land, and except for a trailer that would serve as an office for the foreman, the place was little more than stacks of cinder blocks and rebar. Turning off the engine, I rolled the window down and listened for any signs of JJ anywhere.
Just when I was going to give up and pull ahead a few blocks to see if he’d walked away, I heard the sound of shouting. And a cry of pain… from a voice I recognized.
Before I could think, I went into full vigilante mode, jumping from my father’s truck with a too-big baseball bat and running headlong into a fight to save my grown-ass brother. My heart was in my throat, and I was out the door and running toward the trailer as fast as my stupid Dansko chef shoes could carry me.
The trailer was raised off the ground, and as I approached, I saw a single pair of legs on the opposite side. They were kicking at something on the ground. No, not something. Someone.
Even though I’d recklessly run into a fight I wasn’t even sure involved my brother yet, I knew I didn’t want to disappear behind a trailer. For one, it would block anyone who might be passing by and could possibly call the cops for us now that I’d, for two, made the wise decision to leave my phone on the passenger’s seat.
Shit.
I got a little closer and squinted to see the person on the ground, now covering their head with their arms and curling themselves into a ball, trying to protect themselves from the worst of the blows.
Sure enough, a kick landed square in the person’s back and their head shot up in pain, giving me a clear view of my brother’s bloodied face.
“Hey!” I screamed. Not my best opening, but I was scared shitless at this point. “I just called the cops. They’re on their way.”
Not wanting to show all my cards at once, I positioned the bat behind me and moved closer to the street than I had been. I had certainly gotten the man’s attention, and I sized him up as he came around the trailer, thinking I might be able to take him. Then two more came from behind a car.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
“Get the fuck out of here!” the older one yelled. He was a ruddy-faced older guy with curly gray hair and a pot belly. He wore jeans and a hoodie, along with steel-toed work boots that had seen better days. He was a laborer by the looks of it. The guy behind him, who hadn’t spoken yet, was a little younger. Maybe thirty? He was dressed a little nicer, but still wasn’t exactly wandering the streets of Boston beating up people’s brothers in an Italian suit. He wore track pants and a matching zip-up hooded sweatshirt. His shoes looked expensive enough, but they were dirty. He had his hands behind his back and looked amused, which scared me.
I glanced back over at my brother where I could see him under the trailer. He was on his knees at this point, and whoever the third man was, he was joining his buddies. For now, the attention was off JJ, and hopefully, he’d be able to get away and get to the truck.
I still hadn’t worked out all the details.
“You’re his sister, aren’t you?”
My eyes jumped to Track Suit and narrowed, giving me away instantly.
“Awww, cute, ain’t it, guys? Bastard needed his baby sister to come rescue him,” the older guy taunted. “Bet she fights better than him too.”
I bristled. “Takes a real man to jump him three-on-one, doesn’t it?”
I was mad as hell. Sure, I was scared, but seeing JJ’s face bloodied and battered had me in a misguided rage.
“What’d you say, sweetheart?” Track Suit advanced while his buddies laughed. “You got a smart mouth, don’t you? I got a couple things we could do with a smart mouth like yours.”
Oh, gross.
One thing I hated was clichés, and this guy was one of the worst of them. He was a thug with a little bit of money — most likely his daddy’s or some rich uncle. He’d most likely never left the neighborhood and had probably built up a decent reputation by jumping weaker men over the years. And women? They were objects for him and his buddies to remark on. To judge. To use.
Behind my back, I gripped my bat tighter, feeling like things were moving faster now. Faster than I’d meant them to. Hell, I was just trying to buy my brother a few seconds to run and here I was goading a tough guy into a pissing match.
“Got a couple ideas for what you can do with your mouth too, buddy,” I snarked back, my voice braver than I was feeling. At least I wasn’t a complete moron and kept my body shifting slowly back toward the road as I continued to talk shit.
“Yeah?” He laughed. His friends laughed with him and I no longer had eyes on JJ. Had he seriously left me?
“Yeah,” I said, my steps getting longer. “You swallow your own tongue for starters, might help with your ignorant accent.”
He really did have a terrible accent. It was a Boston dialect for sure, but I could tell he was making it worse — more pronounced, with a bit of gangster thrown in for good measure.
“Bitch, I’m gonna slap you so hard, you’re gonna have a handprint on your face for the next five fucking years.”
I snorted.
“Maybe,” I said. I was really close to the road now. I might not be able to get all the way around Pop’s truck and inside before they caught me, but I sure as hell might consider dashing out into the road to stop someone or at least cause a huge scene. My guess was that these guys didn’t like huge scenes. They usually involved the police. “Or maybe I’m gonna take a swing at you and knock some of the stupid out of your head. Do us both a favor.”
One the goons behind him snickered at my dig, and that was all it took to set Track Suit off.
“That’s it, you stupid bitch,” he spat, taking off into a run. “You’re fucking dead!”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He was much faster than he looked, and as my mind did the math, my gut already knew that I wouldn’t make it to the truck in time. It was time to fight.
Pretending to stumble, I waited for the man to get closer, and at the last possible split second, I readjusted my body position. Digging in my stance, I swung like my life depended on it.
Because it did.
The sound the metal bat made when it connected with the guy’s face made my stomach lurch, and I cringed. It was awful. Bones broke. Something liquid-sounding squirted.
And the guy dropped like a bag of cement.
Needing no more encouragement than maiming the man, I ran but didn’t hear one of his friends who’d run after me. Fingers snagged in my hair and yanked me back just as a giant paw sailed through the air and pummeled the right side of my face.
Bright white exploded behind my closed eyes as the hit ricocheted in my skull, and I screamed bloody murder while I still could. The third man, from what I could see in my scuffle to the ground with the older one, was trying to wake Track Suit. He also had a phone pressed to his ear, but I couldn’t hear what was being said.
In the next instant, the hand was out of my hair, and the weight was off my back as my attacker went airborne over my head. I scrambled back, grateful that JJ hadn’t abandoned me after all, but when I rolled over to get on my hands and knees, it wasn’t my brother in front of me. It was Declan, with a bloody fist and an expression that looked absolutely feral.
Behind him, I watched Brennan run into the worksite with four other men and spring into action. Declan didn’t let me watch what happened next as he scooped me up and held me to his chest, carrying me out of there.
I glanced over his shoulder and saw Brennan standing with his leg on the older guy Declan had apparently knocked out. Brennan was on his phone, too, while Track Suit and his friend were face down in the dirt, held there by Declan’s men.
“JJ’s around here somewhere,” I said, frantically trying to wiggle out of Declan’s arms. It didn’t work. He was made of steel. “He was getting beat up, and I distracted them.”
“He left you?” Declan’s voice was low and ominous, but he didn’t even hesitate. I wiggled again when he started walking away from where I parked.
“My dad’s truck.” I pointed behind us, but he didn’t break stride. “I drove it. I can’t leave it here.”
“Are the keys still inside it?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“I’ll have one of them drive it to your father’s place right now.” I sagged in relief. For all my big talk, I wasn’t in the mood to argue about being driven home.
“Wait,” I said, and he stopped. “I hit the guy in the tracksuit pretty hard with my dad’s metal bat. Can you make sure it isn’t left there for the cops to find? That’s the last thing he’ll need.”
Declan stopped and stared at me.
“You hit someone with a bat?” He was incredulous.
“In my defense, he was going to hit me first,” I said. “And they were beating up JJ.”
He just shook his head and continued to walk to a car parked a block away. It was a two-door sports car — sleek, black, and low to the ground. Declan set me on my feet and opened the door before helping me inside. Before getting into the driver’s side, he pulled out his phone and punched a number. I couldn’t make out the entire conversation but heard Byrne and truck and let out a breath when I heard the word bat in there too. He was taking care of it for me.
When he was finished, he jumped in beside me and started the car, which roared to life. Without another word, he tore away from the curb and sped through the streets, not stopping until he pulled into an underground parking garage a few miles later.