Текст книги "Reckless"
Автор книги: Devon Hartford
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Reckless
The Story of Samantha Smith 2
by
Devon Hartford
“Storytelling is wakeful dreaming.
Writing is the harnessing of our dreams with words.”
—Devon Hartford
DEDICATION
To every person who reached out to me online to say hello and to encourage me to keep doing what I was doing. You know who you are, and I want to sincerely thank you, AGAIN! :-D
Without your support, I might never have finished this book on time.
Now it’s yours to enjoy!
Prologue
CHRISTOS
THREE MONTHS EARLIER…
I couldn’t bear to look at Samantha. Naked heartbreak strained her face.
Because of me.
At the end of my first day back at SDU, two cops stuffed me in the back of a police cruiser right in front of her. I felt like a complete douche nugget. You can romanticize it all you want, but getting arrested fucking sucks. Who wants to go to jail, really? I’d been locked up enough times to know.
Samantha tried to catch my attention as the cruiser drove me away, but I avoided her eyes.
I felt bad, but I was too embarrassed to look at her, no matter how many points I’d scored by cleaning up the coffee cesspool in her car before the cops showed up. I grinned to myself. That shit had been rank, but enduring the smell was a small price to pay for more time with Samantha.
The cop car pulled onto the freeway, taking the Five south toward downtown. Traffic was heavy. I’d have plenty of time to mull things over.
I wasn’t sure who was pressing charges against me, but my bet was that fat red-faced fuck who’d been harassing Samantha on the way to campus in the a.m. He tries to jump me, and I’m the one hauled downtown?
Fuck that shit.
I exhaled heavily and pushed away my irritation.
For a guy my size, the back of a squad car was cramped quarters. I wanted to slouch down and get comfortable on the bench seat, but with the cuffs on, it wasn’t doable. Instead, I leaned my shoulder against the door and rested my head against the glass.
Watching the familiar landmarks sail past should’ve been comforting. The mural with the waves and surfers on the storage building in Pacific Beach was pretty nice. But my favorite was always the huge mural of humpback whales on the side of the Chevrolet dealership. Those painted whales swam in a vast emerald ocean, elegant symbols of graceful mobility and independence.
Sadly, the artsy roadside surroundings, the blue skies overhead, and the Pacific Ocean a hop-skip to my right were now an infinite distance from my grasp. They taunted me with promises of fleeting freedom, a stark contrast to my current situation.
Screw it. I wasn’t letting the cage of this squad car trap my spirit. My mind was free to roam and seek safe harbor.
A smile crept across my face as I pictured Samantha in my mind’s eye. Not the downer moment when she’d panicked at the sight of the cops cuffing me, but all the magic moments before that, since this morning.
Like when I’d bumped into her coming out of the Student Center bookstore and she laughed when I told her my name was Adonis. I think that made her the first chick who’d ever openly mocked my middle name. Most girls melted when I said it, like I was some kind of celebrity movie star. Sure, I’d gotten giggles galore and countless stripper laughs from all kinds of bar babes in the past, but not Samantha’s sour-faced disdain. I kind of liked it. She was all spark and no bullshit.
It helped she was epic hot. Too bad she couldn’t see it for herself. But it was clear as day to me. Underneath her self-doubt, she was super-nova, incendiary hot. My lips curled in my trademarked cocky smirk. I could handle it. I liked fire.
Getting burned let you know you were alive.
The funny thing about Samantha was that, even though she was a total hottie, she was a complete spaz. Her firestorm emotions constantly tore up her good looks, turning her face purse-dog ugly half the time. Like when fatty had tried to climb into her VW on the way to campus, the look on her face had been the visual equivalent of nails grinding across a chalkboard. Totally heinous. But it was only temporary.
I dug the honest flow of Samantha’s emotions. It was way better than the contrived gamesmanship of Tiffany and her loony sorority friends with their Halloween-mask sincerity.
Samantha’s naked honesty and tumultuous emotions made me want to protect her that much more. She was some kind of rare and unique truth.
When she was calm, she was undeniably the most beautiful woman on the planet. I don’t say that shit lightly. I’ve been with more than enough hotties to know.
But with Samantha, it went far beyond her looks.
I’d totally flipped for her the moment I’d laid eyes on her. Even with her funky dress and that coffee smell and her jangling nerves, something about Samantha shone right into me like a beacon. Call it her spirit, her essence, I don’t fucking know. But sure as shit, I’d never felt anything like it coming off of any other chicks I’d ever met.
Samantha was in a class of her own.
She had a calming effect on me, like everything in the world had fallen into place at last, and the human race could kick back and sip Mai Tais into eternity. This was a unique experience for me. Ever since my mom had left my dad, my life had been a scattered vortex of recklessness. Peace and calmness were strangers to me. Daily disaster and emotional chaos were my resting state.
There was one memory of perfect calmness that I cherished, and I turned to it whenever my head was spinning out of control. It reminded me of the calmness my life could have, if only I could figure out how to hold onto it for longer than a minute or two at a time.
It’d happened two or three years ago, on a surfing trip down in Baja with Jake and some of our buddies.
We’d camped overnight on the beach, and I’d hit the waves first thing in the morning, before everyone else was awake. They were sleeping off the cases of Coronas everyone had pounded the night before. For whatever reason, I’d gone easy on the brews and was ready for an early start.
After I’d paddled out for the seventh time, I’d been sitting on my board in meditative silence, alone, lolling on a glassy ocean, waiting between sets, feet dangling in the tropical water while a perfect sunrise soaked the horizon. The entire world had felt like everything was as it should be, the way nature intended. For the first time since my mom had left my dad, I’d felt perfect, total calmness. For a fleeting moment.
Then it was gone.
Samantha had brought that peaceful feeling back ten times over. I’d felt it continuously since meeting her, and it spiked whenever I was in her presence. Too bad the cops trashed my vibe the second they took me away. Fucking five-oh. I shook my head.
Samantha…
I needed more of her. I was hooked. I mean, junkie hooked. She gave me something I couldn’t give myself, no matter how hard I’d tried.
Samantha…
Bouncing around inside the rolling jail with the two cops sitting in front of me suddenly yanked me painfully out of my private reverie.
Bars, handcuffs, no escape.
I struggled to keep my feelings for Samantha protected from my grim predicament. I didn’t want my current situation tarnishing my memories of her in any way. After taking a deep, calming breath, I dove back into comforting reminiscence.
I recalled Samantha’s surprise when we’d first locked eyes in Life Drawing class. Watching her struggle not to stare at my package while she’d been drawing me naked was probably the comedy highlight of my year. She’d been ready to boil over with embarrassment.
Despite her nearly perpetual awkwardness, I totally dug her, no matter how off-kilter her mood.
Stalking her at the Eleanor M. Westbrook art museum was probably the calmest I’d seen her. The deserted museum was a quiet and relaxing cocoon, making it easy to let your guard down. I’m sure Samantha was so busy marveling at the paintings, her worries had fallen away. I knew the experience well. I felt it every time I went to a great art museum myself, and slid into the colors and shapes of the paintings, escaping my own inner turmoil for brief moments.
While Samantha had stood mesmerized in front of my grandfather’s painting, Shrouded Paradise, I witnessed her truest beauty come out of hiding for the first time, like some timid field mouse sniffing the air for danger. That crazy beauty was such a fragile, fleeting thing, like a snowflake or a perfect sunset. You could only appreciate it if you stopped yourself and really took it in before it was gone, maybe forever.
I wanted desperately to protect Samantha from whatever haunted her because I knew her insecurity ran deep, just like mine. The only difference between me and her was that I hid it, and she didn’t.
I couldn’t decide if she was the bravest person I’d ever met, or the craziest.
It didn’t matter.
I wanted to wash away her tears and fears so that the amazing young woman I sensed beneath her teenaged anxiety could finally emerge.
I already knew beyond all doubt that I would do anything to help Samantha find her way in life.
The fact I was parked in the back of a squad car because of her, ten hours after we’d met, was living proof.
I sighed heavily again, my heart accelerating while my chest tightened around it. Man, I knew Samantha was going to be trouble for me. Maybe even more trouble than where I was heading in this black-and-white. I grinned to myself. The good news was, this shit was temporary.
I looked forward to finding out how much trouble Samantha could be the second I got out of whatever steaming mess I’d tripped into with the cops.
Because whatever was brewing between me and Samantha felt permanent.
Eternal.
Chapter 1
SAMANTHA
PRESENT DAY
I still couldn’t get over how hot Christos was. His tattooed arms flexed hypnotically and his body gyrated only inches from mine.
“Oh, it’s so wet,” Christos said.
“Can you get it in all the way?” I asked nervously.
“It’s so tight. I don’t know if it’ll fit.”
“Push it in all the way. Go deep.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve waited long enough. Just do it.”
“Okay, but I’ll go slow, just in case.” He eased it in. All the way.
“Oooh, yeah,” I purred, “I think that’s going to do it. Just like that. Smooth and easy.” I totally needed this. I’d been waiting for what seemed like my entire life.
“You like it when I do this, don’t you?” he smirked.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I grinned back.
“I don’t know, I thought maybe you were afraid it would ruin things. You want me to go faster?”
“Yes. Do it, Christos. I trust you. As fast as you can.”
His entire body flexed in a choreographed symphony of poetic movement. “Like this?”
“Oh yes, Christos. Just like that. Harder.”
Things were so wet down there, it made a sucking sound as it went in and out, in and out.
“Here it comes!” he grunted. “It’s gonna pop!”
“Faster! Harder! Keep it in deep or it’ll gush everywhere!”
“Now!”
“Yes, that’s it! Flush it!”
I pressed the lever while Christos gave the rubber plunger a final thrust into the toilet bowl. The water swirled and gurgled. “We did it!” I squealed.
He high-fived me as my toilet bowl finally drained.
“What’ve you been throwing in that thing?” he asked skeptically. “Paper towels? It’s not a garbage disposal.”
“I don’t know, regular stuff?”
“Regular stuff doesn’t clog the pipes.”
I wiped sweat from my brow. This conversation was making me feel guilty of some sort of heinous pooping problem. I needed to steer the heat onto a likely target. “Maybe my neighbor’s pet elephant has been sneaking into my bathroom in the middle of the night and is clogging up my pipes with its elephant dumps?”
“I’ll totally buy that if you can convince me how the elephant gets past your bedroom door without you noticing.”
“It tiptoes?”
Christos lifted a doubtful eyebrow.
“Elephants are very light on their feet. It probably wears ballet slippers, which are perfect for sneaking around.”
Christos’ eyebrow ratcheted up another notch.
“Have you ever worn ballet slippers?” I demanded. “They’re ninja stealthy.”
Christos’ other eyebrow joined its twin.
“I swear! It wasn’t me! It flushed fine before I went to D.C.!”
Christos smiled broadly, finally letting me off the hook.
“Jerk!” I tiptoed and kissed him on the cheek. “Anyway, thank you for helping.”
“My pleasure.” Wrapping an arm around my shoulder, he kissed me affectionately on the cheek. “While I’m at it, do you have any toilet bowl cleaner?”
“What for?” I asked.
“May as well give the bowl a quick once-over while I’m already in here.”
I grabbed a bottle of toilet bowl cleaner from under the sink. He squirted a blue ring under the rim and went to work.
“Christos, why is it I get all turned on when I see you scrubbing things?”
“All women have an elbow-grease fetish.” He cocked his head and flashed his now-legendary dimpled grin. “It’s a proven fact.” Christos put the bowl brush away and washed his hands. After toweling them dry, he leaned toward me, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Now that I’ve got you all worked up…” he said suggestively.
“Christos,” I rolled my eyes demurely, “Romeo and Kamiko are going to be here any minute. We don’t have time to fool around. I still haven’t picked out an outfit.” Earlier, Christos had told me he had a surprise New Year’s Eve destination in store for all of us. I couldn’t wait to find out what it was.
“You’ll be gorgeous no matter what you wear,” he said, suddenly dipping me like a ballroom dancer.
“Oh!” I gasped.
He grinned.
I gazed into his liquid blue eyes. They bathed me in the light of his love.
He leaned toward me, licking his lips. “Agápi mou,” he murmured.
Phew! His fluid Greek accent melted me every time. My mouth parted as our lips met like lost lovers. We hadn’t kissed in, oh, I don’t know, about thirty minutes. My soul was parched and needed another drink from his sensual fountain. Christos poured himself into our kiss, his tongue caressing the sensitive spot under my upper lip before sliding across my teeth, then deeper into my mouth. My head started to spin.
I didn’t realize my bathroom could be this sexy. The next thing I knew, Christos had pulled me back to standing from our ballroom dip. His palms slid down my back and cupped my ass, huge hands squeezing hypnotically. Jolts of pleasure fingered up into my pelvis. Oh god. How did this man do this to me? I hooked my leg around the back of his, pulling him into me.
“Mmmm,” he moaned. “Aggressive. I don’t remember this behavior. Do I know you?”
I dropped my leg. “Stop, Christos,” I giggled.
“No, don’t stop. I like it when you do that.”
“You do?” Feeling shy, I studied the barbed tattoo that wired around one of his forearms, tracing it lightly with my fingernail.
“Yeah. It’s okay to be confident. I don’t mind one bit.” He grinned and slid a thumb across my cheek lovingly. “Let go, agápi mou. You’re safe with me.”
I gazed up into his eyes.
“Let your hands roam freely, Samantha. Explore my body with your fingertips. Your touch is electric, and powers my heart.”
I grimaced, but laughed and bonked my forehead against his chest. “I’m not San Diego Gas & Electric, Christos.”
“You sure?” he smiled confidently. “You totally light up my life, Samantha.”
“Oh, that’s terrible,” I giggled, swatting his rock-hard shoulder.
“And you love it.” He flipped on his thousand-watt dimpled grin.
He was right. I did love it. And I loved him. I lowered my lashes, suddenly shy again. I snuggled my cheek into the black long-sleeve V-neck sweater covering his muscular chest. He was so completely manly, every woman’s fantasy, and he had given himself to me. I’d won the biggest lottery on the planet and had my dream-man all to myself. What more could a girl want?
I inhaled his fresh-washed scent. I could never tell if he wore some sort of exotic cologne, or if that was his natural smell. If it wasn’t cologne, somebody needed to bottle it. They’d make millions. “I love you, Christos,” I whispered, hugging him.
He caressed my neck with one hand while hugging me into his warm embrace with the other. “I love you too, Samantha.”
SAMANTHA
Christos and I hadn’t had any sort of intense sexual activity since before winter break.
Sure, I’d thought about sneaking into the guest bedroom while he’d slept at my parents’ house on a nightly basis. But somehow, the idea of rattling the walls with my wails of ecstasy while Mom and Dad were one room away had spoiled my mood.
Imagine that.
Shudder.
Since arriving in San Diego yesterday, we’d had plenty of first– and second-base hits in the bedroom, but no home runs. I was still somewhat off my game, no pun intended, after dealing with the whole Taylor Lamberth scenario back in D.C. Going to her lawyer and giving my deposition wasn’t exactly sexy or arousing, but it was the right thing to do. Christos totally understood. He always did.
Besides, merely being in D.C. had brought my old demons creeping back.
Bitch. Slut. Whore…
Fortunately, with the loving presence of Christos in my life, my old emotional wounds had started to heal over. I imagined in time, the scars would fade permanently, but it would take more than a few weeks.
Emo. Goth. Witch. Sorceress. Suicide Watch…
I couldn’t wait to get rid of those demons.
Now, wrapped protectively in his arms after conquering my toilet monster, I felt completely at peace. I was totally in love with him. There was no doubt about it. I had been crazy to think Christos was anything like Damian.
So, why did my love for Christos worry me so much?
The only answer that came to mind was that I risked losing him. I supposed that was the price we all paid for love, tolerating the terrible possibility that it could be torn from us in the blink of an eye.
I couldn’t decide what would be worse: never having had Christos in my life at all, or losing him after what we’d been through together. The sudden sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach was evidence that losing him would be far, far worse. I was instantly nauseous, despite Christos’ protective embrace. He couldn’t protect me from unexpected things that happened to him.
I tried to ignore the pressing conviction that I might lose Christos forever. Ugh. I didn’t want to think about it. I took a deep, cleansing breath, intending to sweep away my mental gremlins.
“Is something bothering you, agápi mou?” Christos asked, concern in his voice.
I didn’t want to ruin our mood. It was New Year’s Eve, and Christos had some awesome surprise awaiting me. “Oh,” I said dismissively, “it’s nothing.” I smiled up at him. “I’m fine, as long as I have you.”
He gazed down at me. The look of love I saw shining in his eyes was overwhelming.
CHRISTOS
THREE MONTHS EARLIER…
Afternoon traffic was so bad, it was taking forever to get to the jailhouse downtown.
The cops in the front seat chatted away in low voices, their conversation blending with the squawking Motorola two-way radio bolted to the dash.
Their irritating camaraderie slowly prodded away my good mood. The rugged steel cage between me and them made it seem like I was on the wrong side of a horror movie screen. Officers Happy and Go Lucky got to laugh it up and have a good time while I was tortured by circumstance. Not that I was mad at them. I didn’t know them from nobody.
I tried to focus on thoughts of Samantha again, but the dude cop was so fucking grating, he shredded my happy place with his verbal meat grinder. He smiled constantly, but it was that snarl-smile you see on psychos. I felt bad for his partner sitting next to him, for his wife, his kids, his friends, his unborn grandchildren; whoever the fuck had to put up with him.
I sighed heavily again.
“You gonna catch the Chargers’ game at the Q on Monday?” the female cop asked Snarl-Smile. Her hand rested casually on the steering wheel, like she was driving to the beach on a Sunday. Too bad we weren’t.
“Bet your ass,” Snarl-Smile replied enthusiastically through his mustache. “I’ve had season tix for five years. Haven’t missed a game. The Chargers are going to slaughter the Texans. I’ve got extra seats, if you want to come out.”
“You bleed blue and gold, Ruiz,” the female cop chuckled.
“Bleed, nothin’. I’ve got lightning bolts shooting through my veins. I’m like the God of Thunder and shit.”
They went on like this for some time, with Ruiz growing increasingly louder as he extolled the winning season the Chargers had waiting for them this year. Listening to his voice was like working in a hammer factory or sitting in the middle of a hand-grenade fight. His cackle-laugh went hyena when he recounted the final moments of the Raiders’ game at the end of last year’s season.
I pictured myself bending the bars between me and him like I was the Incredible Fucking Hulk. I’d choke him out until his eyes popped clear of his skull. Based on his partner’s forced smile, I think she might have thanked me. How did she put up with this guy day-to-day? Maybe earplugs were standard issue for duty officers with assbag partners.
The squad car exited onto the gridded downtown streets and we pulled into the garage at the San Diego Central Jail. Same as I remembered. It looked like a fancy office building on the outside. You might easily mistake it for a place where people in suits and slacks made money hand over fist. That was a lie. On the inside, from what I remembered, it was getting old. Too dark, too dreary, too dirty. I guess that was fitting. The peeling paint and cement decor went with the broken-down people inside.
When Ruiz opened my door, I gave him a friendly nod and a flat smirk, letting him know I wasn’t going to hassle him. He wasn’t worth the trouble. We both knew he held the leash. I stood up to my full height.
“You’re a big one, aren’t you,” Ruiz jabbed.
Okay, he was one of those alpha-dick hotheads. No reason to rile him up. I kept quiet. The female officer came around the car. “You gonna be able to handle him, Ruiz?” she cackled.
Ruiz scoffed. “Don’t start punkin’ me, Fowler. Sissy boy like this? I’ll keep him in line.”
This guy Ruiz was shorter than me, maybe six foot, but he had a small man’s complex all the same. Around me, anyway. They usually did. I arched a brow at Ruiz’s comment, but dropped it before he could see my casual contempt and pounce on it. Guys like him were always looking for an excuse.
“If he gets uppity, I’ll whip out some lightning bolts on his ass.” Ruiz gave me the mad-dog crazy eyes, toying with me.
“You mean you’ll pull your taser?” Fowler prodded, questioning Ruiz’s manhood.
“Hell no! I don’t need it. I can spit lightning, girl.” He grabbed the handcuff chain behind my back and gave it a good yank for effect. “You ain’t gonna make me stun you, are you, son?”
I ignored Ruiz and looked at Fowler. She was kind of cute, with her hair bunned up tight. Had that sexy cop thing going. She had penciled-on eyebrows and wore makeup. A woman who cared about her looks. Her uniform looked tailored to fit her flowing curves and her chest pushed out her kevlar vest substantially. I gave her a mischievous smirk, flashing some dimple. I was all about the more honey approach. If I sweetened up Fowler, maybe she’d run defense between me and Hothead. I could tell Ruiz always brought shit to the party, just so he could swarm all over it.
“Leave him alone, Ruiz,” Fowler laughed, flashing me a smile, which I reciprocated.
It worked every time.
They led me up to the bulletproof doors and we were buzzed in. The relative quiet outside was shattered by howling, screaming humanity inside. A huge fat guy with no shirt and no shoes flailed on the painted cement floor. Probably tripping on meth. Four officers dog-piled him, broiling with professionally restrained rage. Eventually, they cuffed him and zip-tied his ankles, trussing him up. They picked up the perp and carried him through a steel door.
“We gonna have to do you like that, junior?” Ruiz asked me.
“Not me, sir.” I smiled at Fowler when I said it. She liked it. Her duty face went soft, like a teenybopper on a dream date with her favorite heartthrob. I took a moment to silently thank both my parents for good genes.
Ruiz caught my exchange with Fowler. “I hope not, son.” He may not have been able to articulate what had just happened, but he sensed it, like a starving wolf. He probably had a secret thing for Fowler. I’m sure most of the squad did, by the looks of her.
Fowler placed her hand gently on my right triceps. Her touch was nearly a caress. “I don’t think you have to worry about this one,” she said warmly, beaming up at me.
I smiled back. Jedi mind tricks were the most effective form of combat, I’d learned. You can’t make my looks go away with threatening insults or manhandling. Ruiz was out of this game, benched on a technical foul.
Fowler’s eyes searched mine eagerly. I milked it.
Ruiz scowled while he scrutinized the two of us. Jaw muscles fluttering angrily, he finally cracked. With a grunt, he spun on his heel and stormed up to the desk sergeant, defeated.
I felt bad for Fowler. I’d probably never see her again and she’d be stuck with Ruiz for a partner for who knew how long.
Sometime later, I was led into a white-box interrogation room by two detectives. A round black table with a phone on top sat between us. They’d been drilling me with questions for hours.
I hadn’t said shit.
One detective, who had identified himself as Kurt Hewitt, wore a white, too-tight button down shirt. The collar dug into his soft neck and flesh spilled over the sides. He looked ready to pop. He glared at me, “The victim has positively IDed you from the mug book, Christos,” he said firmly. “We have witnesses putting you at the scene on the Pacific Coast Highway this morning. We know it was you who beat the guy up then fled.”
Beat? I’d hit the guy once. In self defense. I’d even asked him if he needed an ambulance.
“Quit stalling and give us something we can work with,” Hewitt finished, “so we can help you help yourself.”
That was a riot. He wasn’t here to pamper my ass, and we both knew it. All he wanted was for me to slip up and spill some incriminating information, that was it.
“Tell us what happened, in your own words,” the other detective, named Andy Vaughn, said calmly, “and maybe we’ll let you go home tonight.”
I knew that was bullshit.
Vaughn pushed a yellow legal pad and a ball point across the table. He smiled at me like we were best friends.
I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms across my chest. “I need to talk to my lawyer.”
Hewitt exchanged a look with Vaughn. Vaughn nodded at him.
“Fine,” Hewitt sneered and stood up, jamming his hands in his front pockets. “Call him.”
Vaughn slid the phone across the table and handed me the receiver.
I dialed my lawyer’s number from memory. I’d used it enough times to know it by heart. He picked up after three rings. “Merriweather.”
“Hey, Russell. It’s Christos.” I’d known Russell since I was sixteen, from the first of many times he’d saved my ass.
“Christos! Sonuvabitch,” Russell said cheerily, “whatchoo doing calling me up this late? Better be good news.”
I chuckled. “No doubt.” Silence lingered.
Vaughn stood up, seemingly to give me some space. Both he and Hewitt remained in the room, leaning against the walls, watching me like hawks, waiting for me to incriminate myself so they could get their talons in me after the call.
“You’re in the can again, aren’t you?” Russell asked matter-of-factly.
“Yup.”
I heard a long sigh on the other end of the phone. “Christos Mother-fucking Manos, when you going to learn to behave like an adult?”
“I’m working on it.”
“I oughta whup your ass, son. What is it this time? You roll your Camaro street racing? Wheelies on Garnet to impress the ladies?”
“The charges are assault. And battery. Felony battery.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
“Son, you lucky you locked up, otherwise I’d get in my car and drive down there and break your face myself. When you gonna learn?”
“Like I said, I’m working on it.” Russell hadn’t had to save my ass in two years. I thought I was doing pretty good.
“You want me to call your grandfather?”
“Don’t tell him. He’ll be less worried that I don’t come home than if he finds out I’m locked up.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’ll wait until I’m out on bail or ROR, and tell him face to face.”
“I’m not a magician, Christos. You may be stuck in there until trial, depending on the evidence, and your record.”
“No way. It’s total bullshit.”
“You’re a cocky bitch, aren’t you? Shit, maybe I’ll tell the judge myself to leave you in, knock some sense in that thick head of yours,” Russell said pointedly. His voice softened. “You sure you don’t want me to call Spiridon?”
“No, thanks. He’ll sleep better tonight not knowing. If I’m not out in the morning, you can call him then.”
“Want me to call your father?”
I felt a sharp stab in my gut when Russell mentioned my dad. “He doesn’t need to know. He’s got enough problems of his own.”
“Fine. You need me there tonight?”
“No. I can handle it.”
“Remember, Christos. Don’t say a word. Not to the detectives, not to the inmates. Nobody. You hear me?”
“Got it.”
“I’ll call the court house first thing tomorrow and find out when I need to roll on down and pull your ass out the pokey. For the time being, keep your butt tight, and don’t be nobody’s bitch,” he chuckled.
I knew he wasn’t worried about me. Not my immediate safety, anyway. Maybe about my misguided youth and not-so-bright future.
“And no fighting.” His words went from warmth to clipped business instantly. “I don’t need you stacking more charges on top of the ones you already got. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. I’ll see you tomorrow. And don’t say shit about shit to anybody.”
“Got it,” I nodded to the empty air. I placed the receiver softly in the cradle of the phone.
I smiled sarcastically at the detectives and held my wrists out to them, ready to be cuffed. “Shall we?”
“Book him,” Hewitt snarled, and stormed out of the room.
In all the times in the past I’d sat in a room just like this one (shit, I was pretty sure I’d been in this room at least once), about to be locked up, I’d never felt like I really gave a shit. Whether I was behind bars or free, I was always incarcerated inside my own prison of pain. So it didn’t matter if I was walking the streets or stuck inside a concrete cell.
