"Do you have any idea who they are?"
She shook her head slowly. "No. My father only has a few men he trusts around me, and I know it wasn't any of them. I'd have to hear the voice again to tell you who it was. I'm scared Kase. What if they go straight for him, now that I'm no longer there to use as a bargaining chip?"
"Forgive me if I'm not all that concerned about Calamity Gardel's safety," I sneered. "Given what happened last time, all I owe him is a bullet between the eyes."
Brooklyn cringes into the wall like I've just slapped her.
"Kase..."
I raise a hand, halting her mid-sentence. She falls silent immediately, as though I've taken her voice and strangled it between my fists. I don't understand where this woman has come from. I want my Brooklyn back, the one who would kick my ass for a statement like that. Instead she sits there on the bed, too petrified to even look at me.
"This is the same fucking conversation we had the day we broke things off, Brook. I can't live with your father in the world, you can't live without him. I didn't track down that son of a bitch and kill him foryoursake, not for his. I loved you so fucking much I actually let him go. But not this time. If someone wants to off him, good. I'm not going to stop them. You came to me for protection, and I'll protect you. But I'm not riding to that bastard's rescue. If that's what you want, you're shit out of luck."
This argument makes my chest ache. Because it's the exact same thing we argued about that last day. The day when I walked out of my father's wake, hand in hand with her hoping that I could pick up the jagged pieces of our relationship and try to make things whole again. But just like then, too much has happened. Too many years, too many things gone unsaid, too many wrongs not avenged. This whole fucking thing has always been a Shakespearean tragedy. I can't believe that we fooled ourselves for one instant that things could somehow work.
But I don't have the option of walking away from her this time. Not only because it would rip my heart right out of my chest, but because it's not who I am. I'm a Spade. I have a duty to protect her, no matter who she is to me, no matter what her father has done.
Brooklyn's eyes ice over at once, and her voice is glacial.
"I see. Glad to know where we stand then. I should just go."
If only I could let her. Instead I push off the chair and climb onto the bed, forcing her to scoot close to the wall in order to accomodate my bulky frame. She goes unwillingly, pressing her back against the wall in a taut, angry line. I'm so bone-tired that her anger barely penetrates. I haven't had a good night's sleep since she arrived. Even while she lay in a twilight between sleep and waking, I couldn't close my eyes for a fucking second, afraid she'd slip away and I'd find her cold and dead in my arms.
Now I let my arms wind around her and pull her into my chest. She may not want me as a protector, but she's damn well got me. I'm beyond useless to her if I don't get some sleep. But I'll offer her what protection I can give as I do it. Her muscles don't relax for several minutes and by the time she nuzzles into my shoulder, I'm already halfway to sleep.
* * *
"Kase Nicolás Cruz!"
My father's roar of fury threatens to rattle the window panes. I'm roused halfway from sleep, my arms still clutching Brooklyn to me. She's pressed in a long bare line against my side, and the softness of her thighs grind appealingly against my semi-arousal. I'm not even fully awake yet, and I already want her again. A fraction of my desire cools when I realize exactly what this means.
"Fuck," I mutter. "They followed us."
I crane my neck to look at her, and she's gone completely still, the flush of pleasure draining out of her face with every second that passes. I warned her it could be a possibility, but I don't think she took it seriously until now.
She pulls the covers up to shield herself, blinking wide doe-eyes at me.
"What do we do now?"
Honestly, I'm not sure. Can we make it to the back of the warehouse before my father forces his way in? He might already have Cruz stationed there to stop me. Beats the hell out me how they knew we were here. It isn’t as if it’s common fucking knowledge that Brooklyn and I are an item. I've trusted only one man with that knowledge, and I am going to tan Damian's hide for spilling it to my family.
I reach down and pluck the black skinny jeans she'd worn the night before off the dusty floor. We both wore in black in a vain attempt to appear non-descript when we left. I retrieve her shirt as well and toss both toward her.
"Get dressed," I say tersely. "We're going to check the back entrance. And if we have to, we make ourselves a way out."
We only have to reach my Eagle parked around the side of the building. As soon as we reach that, we can go anywhere. We can leave this shithole behind and never look back.
Brooklyn's confidence seems shaken, and she's gone milk white beneath her pale fall of hair. "Kase, what if they separate us?"
I seize her face between my palms, press my lips hard an eager against hers. She molds her body against mine in easy acquiescence, shuddering when I tug her closer. The friction between us threatens to combust into another passionate outburst, and I have to force myself away from her so I don't get caught with my pants down in a very literal sense.
"They won't. I'm not leaving you Brooklyn."
Where we'll go is anyone's guess, but so long as we're together, I'll be happy. There are a few youth hostels in Portland. The wad of thousands I've saved back should hold us until I turn eighteen or until we find someplace else to live. I check to make sure I've got the money and a 9mm that I stole from dad and then shrug into my jacket.
Brooklyn and I keep low, away from the windows so we'll be out of sight. If we're lucky, we'll be able to sneak off with no one the wiser. We both jump when the wide front door rattles, groaning at the assault of many hands on its surface. We're only a few feet away from the back door when the wood at the front of the warehouse splinters and buckles beneath the weight of the many blows rained upon it. Dust billows up as the door smacks the concrete. My father is an imposing figure, even amongst the crowd gathered at the door. Not the tallest in the MC, nor the beefiest, but still the most intimidating. His dark hair is cropped so close to his face that it looks like a dark smudge of color on his head. There's not even the hint of wave in it, like Cruz and I sport.
And speaking of that little shit, my brother steps up beside dad. We look so reminiscent of him that it's like having a shadow of his past self trailing behind him loyally wherever he goes. Cruz is happy enough standing in that shadow, trooping along dutifully in our father's footsteps. Good for him. If that's the life he wants, he can have it. I only want one thing, and it's the woman tucked beneath my arm.
