FIVE
Dallas’ home is unusually normal for a man like him. I shut the passenger door of his car and hesitate in the driveway, wondering if he wants me to follow or stay with the vehicle since Terry still resides in the trunk.
Totally not looking forward to that job.
“Come,” he beckons, waving an arm in my general direction as he heads for the garage. “I need you to carry a couple of things.”
I stay back as he pulls the door open, taking the opportunity to look over the actual house once more. It’s simple, a cream color with pale green trim on the windows. There are fucking flowers in the window boxes for crying out loud. I’d expect to see the American flag flying from the porch, a weathered rocking chair or two, but I get the feeling that would be a step too far. No point drawing attention by being too cliché.
“Here.” I snap my attention back to Dallas to find him holding a duffle bag out to me. He glances over at the house also as I take it from his hand. “We can go in later, once we’ve got your problem sorted out. She might be ready for us then.”
She? Who does he live with?
“What’s in this?” I ask as the contents of the bag rattle with the movement.
“Cleaning kit.” He jerks his head toward the car as he retrieves what appears to be a plastic storage box. “Need to get the smell out before it’s baked through the upholstery.”
“He can’t be that bad already, can he?” There have only been about twelve hours since he went in.
“More than likely he’s evacuated his bowels post-mortem,” Dallas says robotically as he checks out the inside of the box. He smirks at the horror I no doubt show on my face. “No, April. I wasn’t talking about the smell you were thinking of.”
Oh, God. My gut churns at the thought of what’ll greet us when he finally pops the trunk. Why the fuck did I think I’d be able to bullshit my way through this? Why the hell did I think this would be easier than making it on my own?
There was a 7/11 a couple of miles back. I could make a run for it, try to dig out the track skills I had in high school …
“Problem?” Suspicion resides in the lines beside Dallas’ eyes.
“Not at all.” Liar, liar, pants on fire.
“Good.” He shoves the box at me and then grabs a jerry can from beside the garage door. “Put those things in the back seat.”
I do as I’m told, nerves frayed as I do my best to inconspicuously check out the neighborhood while I stash the bag and box in the car. No kind old men stand in their yard watching us, no friendly cop driving by. There isn’t even a kid with a ball. The street is just … quiet. Too quiet for suburbia.
“You two want some breakfast before you head off?” a woman’s voice hollers from the direction of the house.
I slowly back out of the car and stand to find Dallas frozen beside me, his face hard as stone as he watches my reaction carefully.
“Hungry?” he asks with a slight twitch in one eye.
Is this a test? Is he daring me to say yes, when I should say no? My stomach answers the question before I have a chance to decide.
Dallas lifts one eyebrow, his gaze dropping to my mid-section. “Yeah,” he yells back. “Breakfast would be great.”
I shift my gaze over his shoulder and feel every pint of blood in my system drain to my toes. The woman is a fucking fox. Tall, dark and glossy hair, impeccable makeup (at least from this distance), and one banging body wrapped in a crop top and yoga pants.
She has to be his girlfriend, surely. Only pretty people like these two date. Which means … fuck … I just had sex with her boyfriend. Maybe going inside isn’t such a great idea after all?
She waves from the porch, a huge smile on her face. I lift a weak hand in return, marveling at how many life or death situations I’ve managed to get myself into over the space of a weekend. The fox spins on her heel—hair flowing behind her like some goddamn shampoo commercial—and disappears back inside the house.
“Are you sure you want to introduce us?” I hiss at Dallas as he leads the way to the front porch.
“Not really, but it saves the need to do it later.”
Shit—I’m going to die. If his woman is any part as crazy as he is, she’ll likely shoot me on sight the minute she realizes where he was and what he was doing last night. Rage simmers under my skin, tangling with the burn of fear. How dare he put me in this situation? How dare he make me the other woman?
Fuck this.
Dallas hesitates with a hand on the screen door as I come to a grinding halt at the foot of the steps. “April? What are you thinking?” he asks with narrowed eyes.
“I’m thinking that a life alone might be less stressful than what you’re pulling me into.” My voice shakes as I fail to regulate my anger. “I get it,” I scoff. “You’re an asshole. But fuck me, Dallas. Your girlfriend?” I jab a hand toward the house, disgust curling my top lip.
His eyes go wide, and damn it all if he doesn’t bring out that boyish smile again. “My girlfriend?”
“It’s low.” I back up a step, justifying to myself that even if I end up in prison for Terry’s death, I’ll be fed.
“Come here.” He holds out a hand, all trace of humor gone from his steely eyes. “Now.”
“No.”
“The farther you get, the more I’ll hurt you.”
“Not if you don’t catch me.” Live or die—I have the power to choose, not the men in my life.
I turn on my heel and push off, leaping the low garden bed beside the driveway as Dallas’ boots thunder down the wooden steps behind me. If the damn nausea in my gut would subside I might be able to breathe a little clearer, yet I can’t, and it’s that damn constriction on my chest that means I lose.
Again.
Always.
I barely make it to the sidewalk before he wraps me in a fucking bear hug, picking me up off the ground with a loud laugh as though the two of us were simply playing. I press down on his forearms with my hands, yet the struggle is futile; this man’s arms are like fucking steel ropes around my middle.
His lips brush my ear, a delicate gesture so far removed from the words that pass by the soft flesh. “Do that again, and I’ll break both your ankles so that you’ve got at least six weeks to learn how to do as you’re fucking told.”
And I let this guy fuck me in my shower. Some woman I am.
It’s that very realization that finally saps the fight from my body. I don’t deserve my freedom. I don’t deserve to be the hero when I so willingly place myself in harm’s way. My mother was right: I deserve every ill-begotten thing that happens to me because I’m too stupid to know better.
“If I put you down, will you behave?” Dallas asks as we reach the steps.
I nod—far too disgusted with myself to be able to form words. Having breakfast now seems such a farce; I have no appetite left. Nothing. Not when the black claws of self-pity have sunken in. It’s a strange feeling, having finally given up on yourself: hollow, yet painful all at the same time. I guess this is what resolve truly feels like—the knowledge that you don’t have it in you to change your life, as much as you try to believe you do.
“Inside, April.” His palm smacks my ass with a sharp sting. “Go give thanks to my sister for making us breakfast.”