Better When He's Bad
Page 3
“You promise?”
Did I promise? Did this kid think I looked like the kind of guy who kept promises? I shrugged.
“Sure, kid. I promise.”
“She’s on the second floor. Apartment twelve. The last guy that asked told me he would spot me a hundred. He lied.”
Jesus. Benny had bribed the kids to get her info as well. Out here it was every man for himself, and that bastard knew it. I sighed and fished out a hundred-dollar bill. I had a stash of cash left from before the bust that was going to have to last me until I figured out my next move, and handing any of it over to a punk kid didn’t thrill me. I passed it to the kid and turned to go across the street to the dingy apartment complex.
“Smoking is bad for you. Go buy some groceries, or some new shoes or something.”
“What about the ride?”
“We’ll see, kid. We’ll see.”
I jogged across the deserted street, and stepped over the sleeping bum on the front walk. I pulled open the rusty security door and took the stairs, which smelled like stale beer and something I didn’t want to think too much about, to the second story of the building. The hallway was empty, but I still pulled the hood of my sweatshirt up over my beanie and tried to make as little noise as possible. No one with any kind of common sense was going to open their door to someone who looked like me after the sun went down. Luckily I never met a closed door I couldn’t open, save for the one that kept me separate from my freedom for the last five years.
This apartment was crap, which meant the door was crap. I could have jimmied it open with a credit card, but it also gave under a little pressure from a well-placed shoulder and a hard shove. There was a loud pop and a soft creak but no one stuck their head out of their apartment to see what was going on. Most people who lived in places like this didn’t have anything worth stealing in the first place, and most single girls forced to live like this invested in better locks. I pushed the door open and went to slink inside in the darkness. I knew I was going to scare the shit out of the girl, but surprise was key, and nothing was going to stop me from finding Race.
I had awesome night vision. It came from running around after dark, living my life on the wrong side of the law, and keeping my ass safe in prison. I saw the heavy object flying toward my head before it had a chance to make contact. I heard a soft voice swear and heard a dull thud as whatever it was hit the ground. I dodged around a swinging fist and moved just a fraction fast enough to avoid the static charge of a Taser that was shoved toward my side. I swore, got a hand around a delicate wrist, and twisted the weapon away. I saw her open her mouth to scream and clamped a heavy hand over it. She fought me all the way as I hauled her farther into the apartment.
“You call the cops already?” She nodded vigorously in my hold, which told me she hadn’t. If she had, she would’ve been stalling, buying time for them to get there, because it took forever for the police to show up in the Point.
“I just want to know where Race is. I know you know.”
She went still and stopped clawing at the back of my hand with blunt fingernails. She really did have coppery-red hair, a whole lot of it that was all up in my face as she tried to tilt her head back to look at my face.
“I’m not with the guy in the suit. Race and I go way back. If he’s in trouble, I want to help him, okay?”
I waited for what felt like an hour until she gave a stiff nod.
“If I let you loose, are you going to make me regret it?” She vehemently shook her head in the negative and I felt her hands fall to her sides. She was kind of tall for a girl. When I set her away from me and she spun around to glare at me in the dark, I noticed she just had to tilt her chin a fraction to look me in the eye.
“I’m getting real sick and tired of people thinking they can just bust in here and demand answers from me. Next time, I’m shooting them.”
She was pale, her milky skin a bright shadow in the darkened room. Her hair was a mess of red and gold curls and she had freckles. She looked like a kid. No older than sixteen or seventeen. She also looked like she should be on a farm somewhere in the Midwest. All kinds of earnest wholesomeness poured off of her, and there was no way her baggy jeans and frumpy plaid shirt belonged on someone used to making and taking in this part of the city.
“Get a better lock.”
She glared at me and pushed a handful of that wild hair out of her face.
“Good locks cost money and I still don’t know anyone named Race. So you and your buddy in the suit can still go f**k yourselves.”
Mouthy and brave. That was a dangerous combo when faced with a man who had nothing to lose. I didn’t have time to play games with her, so I took a threatening step forward just as she whirled around to turn on the light. I blinked for a second and saw her mouth tighten as we saw each other clearly. Her gaze locked on my face, but not on the battered and bruised part . . . on the star tattooed next to my eye.
“Carmen called me the second you left the diner. You don’t think when a guy who looks like you comes around we don’t warn each other? Paulie and Marco took down your plate number, and if I don’t flick the lights in five minutes, the cops are getting called and you don’t want to know what’ll happen to your very pretty car.”
I blinked like an idiot. No one ever got the drop on me. Not ever, and this girl, who looked like she should be out on a farm, sure as hell shouldn’t have been able to be the first one to do it.
“Why am I here, then?”
The cops didn’t scare me. Wild kids around my baby did.
She crossed her arms over an entirely unimpressive chest and narrowed eyes that were a pretty, leafy green at me. I tilted my head to the side, because for some reason, I thought she looked vaguely familiar.
“What kind of trouble is Race in?”
“I thought you didn’t know anyone named Race?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “You have four minutes.”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out. I’ve been . . . indisposed up until about eight hours ago. I’m trying to put all the pieces together.”
She bit the corner of her lip and looked even younger. I didn’t know what this chick’s deal was, but I had a really, really hard time seeing her as one of Race’s pieces. He was all about long legs and big boobs with nothing between the ears. This one had the legs but she was obviously sharp, and her figure, from what I could see, was nothing to daydream about. She was too sweet-looking. Guys like Race didn’t do sweet, neither did guys like me, but that was because I never got the chance. Sweet ran the other way when it saw me coming.
“Can you help him?”
“I can try.”
She reached over and flicked the light, green eyes looking up at me.
“You’re Bax, right?”
I tried not to show any surprise at her question. I nodded stiffly. She bit her lip again and started to twirl a bright curl around one of her fingers.
“He told me if anything bad happened, if anyone came looking for him, to say we didn’t know each other. He scared me, but then the guy in the suit showed up with his thugs. I told Race and he freaked out. He told me to lay low, that he would take care of it. He told me if a guy came around, a guy with a tattoo of a star next to his eye, that I should trust him. He told me his name was Bax.”
That was all fine and dandy, but it didn’t help me figure out what kind of mess Race was in or who this chick was and the part she played in it.
“Who are you?”
“Dovie.”
I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest to mirror her pose.
“Who are you to Race?” If she told me she was my buddy’s old lady, I was seriously going to have to question what he had been doing while I was locked up.
She blinked at me and I could almost see the wheels turning in her head. She cocked her head to the side and furrowed eyebrows that were the color of rust.
“I’m his sister.”
I stared at her for a full minute before bursting into harsh laughter. It hurt my head, so I rubbed my tired eyes and shook my head at her.
“Lady, I don’t know who you are or what’s going on with Race, but I don’t have time for this. I just spent a nickel in the pen, I need to sleep, need to get laid, and need to figure out what kind of shit Race stirred up. If you don’t want to help me the easy way, fine. I can do the hard way.” I took a step toward her, but she held up her hands in front of her.
“No, I swear. Race is my older brother.”
I swore. “I’ve known Race since I was a kid. He is an only child, Copper-Top.”
She let out a shrill laugh and moved toward the kitchenette that was the size of a closet. She took something off the fridge and handed it to me. The picture was a few years old, but there was no mistaking Race’s elegant good looks or the way he was smiling at the camera with his arm around this strange girl.
“What rich, powerful man do you know that keeps it in his pants? I’m the Hartmans’ dirty little secret, only no one kept it very well and Race came looking for me about four years ago just after I turned sixteen. Different moms, different last names, same ass**le father. If you can help Race, I’ll tell you anything you want to know, and if you can’t, I’ll find him on my own. He’s the only family I have and I love him. He saved my life.”
I looked from the photo back to her face. Race was a handsome dude, refined and regal. This girl was basic and ordinary, aside from that hair and her smart mouth. Those green eyes stared at me unblinkingly, and I saw it. It was all in the evergreen gaze that was watching me like a hawk. Race and the copper-top had the exact same eyes.
“You aren’t going to do anything but fill me in. Race is family to me too, which means I’ll do whatever I can to pull his ass out of the fire.”
Hell, I had already done five years for the guy; going toe-to-toe with Novak would be a walk in the park.
CHAPTER 2
Dovie
I HAD BEEN AROUND long enough in the worst parts of town to know the difference between a bad boy and a boy who was just bad. Bad was stamped all across Shane Baxter and it had nothing to do with the star tattooed on his face or the ominous and deliberate way he moved, like a coiled snake ready to strike and eager to fill you with poison before you could blink. His dark eyes were flat, like his emotions had long ago been switched off and he had no interest in tapping back into them. I grew up poor. I grew up where sometimes it was a luxury to just be poor because that meant at least you had a little bit of money. So I had seen that look more than once, but I had never seen it worn in a face you just knew could destroy everything you loved and not even blink a ridiculously thick black eyelash. This was a young man who had seen more—lived more—in his short years than most people did in a lifetime. You survived in his world by being the best of the worst and there was no doubt in my mind that was exactly what Bax was.
Sure, Race had given reassurance after reassurance that Bax was a good guy. That once he was out, he would be able to help my brother fix the situation with Benny and Novak, that he was just a guy who had been handed a hard lot in life and did the best with what he had. But looking at him in my run-down apartment, I could see that Race was way wrong. My brother wasn’t familiar with desperation, with having to suffer without; he couldn’t see what I saw in the man before me, and that was the undisguised willingness to do whatever it took to survive. Five years in prison hadn’t beaten him down when he went in as a scared kid. It had made him stronger, made him a bigger threat, and if I wasn’t mistaken, probably a better criminal. I didn’t want him anywhere near me, but if he was my only option to help Race, I would do whatever it took, give him whatever he wanted. Race was that important to me.
Bax didn’t bother to ask if I cared if he smoked, just lit a cigarette and put it between his lips. The bottom of his mouth was puffy and cracked like he had smacked it on something. His dark eyes roved around my space and I felt like he was taking stock. I hated it. I lived on what I made, I supported myself by working my ass off, and I knew how to live and protect myself in the slums. I wouldn’t let him judge me and find me lacking. He was a convicted felon after all. I might not have had much, but everything I did have I came by honestly.
Did I promise? Did this kid think I looked like the kind of guy who kept promises? I shrugged.
“Sure, kid. I promise.”
“She’s on the second floor. Apartment twelve. The last guy that asked told me he would spot me a hundred. He lied.”
Jesus. Benny had bribed the kids to get her info as well. Out here it was every man for himself, and that bastard knew it. I sighed and fished out a hundred-dollar bill. I had a stash of cash left from before the bust that was going to have to last me until I figured out my next move, and handing any of it over to a punk kid didn’t thrill me. I passed it to the kid and turned to go across the street to the dingy apartment complex.
“Smoking is bad for you. Go buy some groceries, or some new shoes or something.”
“What about the ride?”
“We’ll see, kid. We’ll see.”
I jogged across the deserted street, and stepped over the sleeping bum on the front walk. I pulled open the rusty security door and took the stairs, which smelled like stale beer and something I didn’t want to think too much about, to the second story of the building. The hallway was empty, but I still pulled the hood of my sweatshirt up over my beanie and tried to make as little noise as possible. No one with any kind of common sense was going to open their door to someone who looked like me after the sun went down. Luckily I never met a closed door I couldn’t open, save for the one that kept me separate from my freedom for the last five years.
This apartment was crap, which meant the door was crap. I could have jimmied it open with a credit card, but it also gave under a little pressure from a well-placed shoulder and a hard shove. There was a loud pop and a soft creak but no one stuck their head out of their apartment to see what was going on. Most people who lived in places like this didn’t have anything worth stealing in the first place, and most single girls forced to live like this invested in better locks. I pushed the door open and went to slink inside in the darkness. I knew I was going to scare the shit out of the girl, but surprise was key, and nothing was going to stop me from finding Race.
I had awesome night vision. It came from running around after dark, living my life on the wrong side of the law, and keeping my ass safe in prison. I saw the heavy object flying toward my head before it had a chance to make contact. I heard a soft voice swear and heard a dull thud as whatever it was hit the ground. I dodged around a swinging fist and moved just a fraction fast enough to avoid the static charge of a Taser that was shoved toward my side. I swore, got a hand around a delicate wrist, and twisted the weapon away. I saw her open her mouth to scream and clamped a heavy hand over it. She fought me all the way as I hauled her farther into the apartment.
“You call the cops already?” She nodded vigorously in my hold, which told me she hadn’t. If she had, she would’ve been stalling, buying time for them to get there, because it took forever for the police to show up in the Point.
“I just want to know where Race is. I know you know.”
She went still and stopped clawing at the back of my hand with blunt fingernails. She really did have coppery-red hair, a whole lot of it that was all up in my face as she tried to tilt her head back to look at my face.
“I’m not with the guy in the suit. Race and I go way back. If he’s in trouble, I want to help him, okay?”
I waited for what felt like an hour until she gave a stiff nod.
“If I let you loose, are you going to make me regret it?” She vehemently shook her head in the negative and I felt her hands fall to her sides. She was kind of tall for a girl. When I set her away from me and she spun around to glare at me in the dark, I noticed she just had to tilt her chin a fraction to look me in the eye.
“I’m getting real sick and tired of people thinking they can just bust in here and demand answers from me. Next time, I’m shooting them.”
She was pale, her milky skin a bright shadow in the darkened room. Her hair was a mess of red and gold curls and she had freckles. She looked like a kid. No older than sixteen or seventeen. She also looked like she should be on a farm somewhere in the Midwest. All kinds of earnest wholesomeness poured off of her, and there was no way her baggy jeans and frumpy plaid shirt belonged on someone used to making and taking in this part of the city.
“Get a better lock.”
She glared at me and pushed a handful of that wild hair out of her face.
“Good locks cost money and I still don’t know anyone named Race. So you and your buddy in the suit can still go f**k yourselves.”
Mouthy and brave. That was a dangerous combo when faced with a man who had nothing to lose. I didn’t have time to play games with her, so I took a threatening step forward just as she whirled around to turn on the light. I blinked for a second and saw her mouth tighten as we saw each other clearly. Her gaze locked on my face, but not on the battered and bruised part . . . on the star tattooed next to my eye.
“Carmen called me the second you left the diner. You don’t think when a guy who looks like you comes around we don’t warn each other? Paulie and Marco took down your plate number, and if I don’t flick the lights in five minutes, the cops are getting called and you don’t want to know what’ll happen to your very pretty car.”
I blinked like an idiot. No one ever got the drop on me. Not ever, and this girl, who looked like she should be out on a farm, sure as hell shouldn’t have been able to be the first one to do it.
“Why am I here, then?”
The cops didn’t scare me. Wild kids around my baby did.
She crossed her arms over an entirely unimpressive chest and narrowed eyes that were a pretty, leafy green at me. I tilted my head to the side, because for some reason, I thought she looked vaguely familiar.
“What kind of trouble is Race in?”
“I thought you didn’t know anyone named Race?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “You have four minutes.”
“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out. I’ve been . . . indisposed up until about eight hours ago. I’m trying to put all the pieces together.”
She bit the corner of her lip and looked even younger. I didn’t know what this chick’s deal was, but I had a really, really hard time seeing her as one of Race’s pieces. He was all about long legs and big boobs with nothing between the ears. This one had the legs but she was obviously sharp, and her figure, from what I could see, was nothing to daydream about. She was too sweet-looking. Guys like Race didn’t do sweet, neither did guys like me, but that was because I never got the chance. Sweet ran the other way when it saw me coming.
“Can you help him?”
“I can try.”
She reached over and flicked the light, green eyes looking up at me.
“You’re Bax, right?”
I tried not to show any surprise at her question. I nodded stiffly. She bit her lip again and started to twirl a bright curl around one of her fingers.
“He told me if anything bad happened, if anyone came looking for him, to say we didn’t know each other. He scared me, but then the guy in the suit showed up with his thugs. I told Race and he freaked out. He told me to lay low, that he would take care of it. He told me if a guy came around, a guy with a tattoo of a star next to his eye, that I should trust him. He told me his name was Bax.”
That was all fine and dandy, but it didn’t help me figure out what kind of mess Race was in or who this chick was and the part she played in it.
“Who are you?”
“Dovie.”
I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest to mirror her pose.
“Who are you to Race?” If she told me she was my buddy’s old lady, I was seriously going to have to question what he had been doing while I was locked up.
She blinked at me and I could almost see the wheels turning in her head. She cocked her head to the side and furrowed eyebrows that were the color of rust.
“I’m his sister.”
I stared at her for a full minute before bursting into harsh laughter. It hurt my head, so I rubbed my tired eyes and shook my head at her.
“Lady, I don’t know who you are or what’s going on with Race, but I don’t have time for this. I just spent a nickel in the pen, I need to sleep, need to get laid, and need to figure out what kind of shit Race stirred up. If you don’t want to help me the easy way, fine. I can do the hard way.” I took a step toward her, but she held up her hands in front of her.
“No, I swear. Race is my older brother.”
I swore. “I’ve known Race since I was a kid. He is an only child, Copper-Top.”
She let out a shrill laugh and moved toward the kitchenette that was the size of a closet. She took something off the fridge and handed it to me. The picture was a few years old, but there was no mistaking Race’s elegant good looks or the way he was smiling at the camera with his arm around this strange girl.
“What rich, powerful man do you know that keeps it in his pants? I’m the Hartmans’ dirty little secret, only no one kept it very well and Race came looking for me about four years ago just after I turned sixteen. Different moms, different last names, same ass**le father. If you can help Race, I’ll tell you anything you want to know, and if you can’t, I’ll find him on my own. He’s the only family I have and I love him. He saved my life.”
I looked from the photo back to her face. Race was a handsome dude, refined and regal. This girl was basic and ordinary, aside from that hair and her smart mouth. Those green eyes stared at me unblinkingly, and I saw it. It was all in the evergreen gaze that was watching me like a hawk. Race and the copper-top had the exact same eyes.
“You aren’t going to do anything but fill me in. Race is family to me too, which means I’ll do whatever I can to pull his ass out of the fire.”
Hell, I had already done five years for the guy; going toe-to-toe with Novak would be a walk in the park.
CHAPTER 2
Dovie
I HAD BEEN AROUND long enough in the worst parts of town to know the difference between a bad boy and a boy who was just bad. Bad was stamped all across Shane Baxter and it had nothing to do with the star tattooed on his face or the ominous and deliberate way he moved, like a coiled snake ready to strike and eager to fill you with poison before you could blink. His dark eyes were flat, like his emotions had long ago been switched off and he had no interest in tapping back into them. I grew up poor. I grew up where sometimes it was a luxury to just be poor because that meant at least you had a little bit of money. So I had seen that look more than once, but I had never seen it worn in a face you just knew could destroy everything you loved and not even blink a ridiculously thick black eyelash. This was a young man who had seen more—lived more—in his short years than most people did in a lifetime. You survived in his world by being the best of the worst and there was no doubt in my mind that was exactly what Bax was.
Sure, Race had given reassurance after reassurance that Bax was a good guy. That once he was out, he would be able to help my brother fix the situation with Benny and Novak, that he was just a guy who had been handed a hard lot in life and did the best with what he had. But looking at him in my run-down apartment, I could see that Race was way wrong. My brother wasn’t familiar with desperation, with having to suffer without; he couldn’t see what I saw in the man before me, and that was the undisguised willingness to do whatever it took to survive. Five years in prison hadn’t beaten him down when he went in as a scared kid. It had made him stronger, made him a bigger threat, and if I wasn’t mistaken, probably a better criminal. I didn’t want him anywhere near me, but if he was my only option to help Race, I would do whatever it took, give him whatever he wanted. Race was that important to me.
Bax didn’t bother to ask if I cared if he smoked, just lit a cigarette and put it between his lips. The bottom of his mouth was puffy and cracked like he had smacked it on something. His dark eyes roved around my space and I felt like he was taking stock. I hated it. I lived on what I made, I supported myself by working my ass off, and I knew how to live and protect myself in the slums. I wouldn’t let him judge me and find me lacking. He was a convicted felon after all. I might not have had much, but everything I did have I came by honestly.
