BAD WICKED TWISTED: A Briarcrest Academy Box Set (59 page)

I turned back to face him.

He smiled, the warmth of it giving me butterflies. Dammit. What was wrong with me? He was a deceitful ass, and yet I still wanted him.

“She sounds like a beautiful person,” he said softly. “You must love her very much.”

“Yes,” I said. “She devoted her life to me. I’d do anything for her.”

He ran his eyes over my features, as if memorizing them. “I want someone to talk about me the way you talk about Sarah.”

Oh
. My heart raced at his gentle words. I don’t know why.

And then he laughed, perhaps feeling self-conscious. He quirked an eyebrow at me. “Maybe all I need is some inspiration like that to get my mojo back. Maybe then I could improve my grades, be a better person.”

I shrugged.

“Now, if you volunteered yourself up, I might be inspired to try harder,” he murmured, his voice low and sexy.

I stiffened. “Seriously. Cut the smooth talk and listen to yourself. You and I are over. You screwed that up, not me, so don’t give me any of your bullshit lines about being your inspiration. And I’m getting whiplash from all your mood swings, so pick one and stick with it.”

He shook his head, grinning. “Damn, I love how you don’t take my shit.”

What? Why wasn’t he mad?

His hand brushed mine as he moved closer to me. “Forget the bullshit. The truth is you’re not like any girl I know. The way you talk about hope like it’s easy, like anyone can have it. I want that so fucking bad. Maybe that’s why you made me so crazy for you last year.” Slowly, as if he were unsure, he reached out and pushed a wisp of bangs from my eyes. Shocked by his words—and touch—I allowed it, forgetting what happened between us, forgetting everything in my head.

But then it came back. “You weren’t crazy for
me
. You wanted my body. That was it.”

Sadness flickered across his face. “I can’t deny I wanted you in my bed. Who wouldn’t? But, I’m not lying when I say you’re the best person I know.”

My teeth dug into my bottom lip, biting back the words I wanted to say to him. Because right at this moment, with his eyes lingering on my face, it almost felt as if we might—

He stepped in closer to me. His yellow gaze fixated on my mouth, and I stopped breathing. “Dovey, I—”

“Tea’s on, love birds,” Heather-Lynn shouted, making us both jump back. The moment or whatever ended. I was glad.
I was.

We came inside and made our way to the kitchen where older appliances and an antique table took up most of the space. Instead of looking at Cuba, I stared at the table, its aged scratches and nicks part of its charm Sarah liked to say. Made of hard cherry wood, her husband had built it for her. Today, it gleamed like she’d polished it recently. How is it possible to be completely normal, cook breakfast, and keep a clean house but within the space of a heartbeat, forget the word for
butter
?

“Where’s Sarah?” Cuba asked me as I poured his tea a bit later. I stared at him blankly until he finally blushed. “Sorry, I—I wanted to meet her.”

I blinked. Why would he want to meet Sarah?

And maybe because I was surprised, I told him. “She’s sleeping. She has Alzheimer’s, so sometimes her meds throw her days and nights off.” Completely true, although today was because of the sleeping pill.

“Oh. That must be hard for you,” he commented, gazing at me. “You never told me.”

“You didn’t stick around long enough,” I added quietly.

“Does Spider know?” he asked.

Weird question.

“Yes.” I’d told Spider pretty much right away. And even though we’d known about her diagnosis while I was seeing Cuba, I hadn’t confided in him.

After a while, Heather-Lynn cradled her tea and focused on Cuba. “Aren’t you rich? Bet you got more money than you know what to do with. Your daddy’s Archie Hudson, right? Owns a pro basketball team?”

What in the world?

My back went ramrod straight. “Stop right there, Heather-Lynn. I don’t know what you’re doing, but there’s no need to involve—”

“Part-owner,” he answered her. “Why?”

She shot me an apologetic glance but kept talking to Cuba. “Apparently, Sarah owes Alexander Barinsky twenty thousand dollars. Two of his men came by asking for her or Dovey. They turned over a trash can outside and then broke a lamp in the living room—”

“Stop,” I snapped at her, my teacup clattering against my saucer, dread creeping up on me again at hearing her recount the story.

Why would she tell
him?

“Who is this Barinsky guy?” Cuba asked her, ignoring me.

I groaned. I didn’t want him knowing the details about the shady place I came from, but at this point, I figured he already knew the worst part, that we owed money. I slumped back in my seat and let her tell him. It wasn’t like I could gag her.

She said, “He pretty much owns every strip joint, pawnshop, laundry mat, beauty shop this side of Dallas. He’s the Donald Trump of Ratcliffe. Or Tony Soprano. Whatever.”

“Loanshark?” he asked, his eyes widening.

“Definitely not a banker,” Heather-Lynn said. “But really he does it all: drugs, hookers, gambling. Whatever’s shady here, he’s at the center of it.”

Cuba’s face hardened. “That’s insane. Call the police, Dovey. Now.”

We stared at him blankly. Neither of us budged.

“Am I missing something?” He looked from me to Heather-Lynn.

“Uh, yeah. Snitches get stitches,” I said with a grimace.

His forehead creased. Yeah, he didn’t get Ratcliffe.

I tapped my fingers on the table. “He
owns
the police, Cuba. For every good cop out there, there’s another bad one in his pocket. If I call the police, they might take him in for questioning, but we have no proof, just our word against his. He won’t admit to what he is. Trust me; I’ve lived here long enough to know how things work. Either you pay up or you die.”

Heather-Lynn patted my hand. “It’s okay, Dovey. We’ll pay him back.”

With what?

Cuba’s jaw tightened. ‘Dovey, someone came into your home today,
threatening you
. If what you’re saying is true, then they’ll be back. Call the police or I will.”

Fear slammed into me at the thought of policemen showing up at our house, blue lights flashing. It would be a death sentence as soon as Barinsky found out.

I had to end this now. “
I
can handle this. And face it, you don’t know jack about my world. Anything you think you know about the mob, you saw at the movies. So stop interfering. You’ll only make things worse.” I took in a deep breath, needing space from him, from everything. “Excuse me, but I wanna check on Sarah. Thank you for the ride home.”

I gave him one last lingering look and left the kitchen, going straight to Sarah’s room.

“Regret is a bitter pill to swallow.”

–
Cuba

SHE LEFT THE kitchen upset with me, taking all my air with her.

I wanted to call her back and wipe that frantic look off her face. But, she didn’t want my advice or help. That much was obvious.

And what the fuck was she doing involved with gangsters?

“You like her? Maybe more?” Heather-Lynn asked, a knowing glint in her eye.

“Nobody comes down to Ratcliffe for fun,” I replied.

She quirked a brow and Ricky yipped at me, his little teeth gleaming. Yeah, even the dog knew I was no-good.

“Thank you for the tea.” I set my cup on the counter, my hand trembling like a feeble old man.

What was wrong with me?

But didn’t I know?
She
made me like this. Being near Dovey made me all kinds of off-kilter. It was nuts to even be near her, yet I’d given her a ride, talked about Cara, and had had a cup of tea in her house. All in the space of a day.

And back in the hallway, I’d wanted to kiss her.

I needed to get the fuck out of here and get myself back on track.

“Don’t be breaking her heart again,” she said tartly as if reading my mind.

I cringed.

“Mmm-hmm, I know who you are,” she said. “Hollywood.”

And that nickname haunted me. Because I wasn’t that person anymore. Deep down, I wasn’t the charming and carefree guy everyone thought. I was self-centered and—

“I have to see Dovey before I go,” I said suddenly, needing to talk to her.

“Down the hall on the left, hotrod,” she murmured, shooing me out the door.

I left the kitchen and stopped at an open door where a lamp was lit, spreading its glow on Dovey as she rested behind a sleeping older lady I assumed was Sarah.

I paused, taking in the scene, noticing how protective Dovey seemed as she cradled Sarah’s waist. I realized she’d been attending BA and doing ballet as usual even though her guardian was slowly dying.

My phone pinged and I pulled it out. It was a text from my dad, telling me he was staying in the city again tonight. No surprise there. His absence stung, and I rubbed my chest, wanting to erase the guilt that lay there
.

Perhaps hearing my phone, Dovey’s eyes opened, automatically finding mine through the open door. Sadness swept over me. For us, for what I’d done. And like a dark cloud, loneliness descended, making me ache, making me want to
go to her
.

She sent me a questioning look, as if sensing my distress. She smiled softly, and something in me cracked.

Thank God, she didn’t turn away—when I had rejected her.

I stood there, pumping myself up, wishing I had the nerve to go in and just—I don’t know—let her hold me like she was holding Sarah, just
something
. I wanted to lie down with her on that bed until our breaths were in sync; I wanted to hang on to her like I’d die without her; I wanted to touch every hair on her head and bury my nose in her scent. And it wasn’t a sexual thing. Not at all. Because she was so much more. She was someone who’d loved me at one point, and right now, I just needed some forgiveness for the things I’d done. My body shifted and
I wanted to go in
, but my fists clenched, and I backed away from the door and fell against the wall, away from her gaze.

She’d refused my apology. She hadn’t taken my jacket.

“Cuba,” she whispered from inside the room, and I straightened up, heart hammering. It didn’t take much to get me to moving when it came to her. Never had.

I walked in, getting my words together, picking at my track pants. There was so much between us, her problems, my problems, our past.

She eased out of the bed, checked to make sure Sarah was still asleep, and tucked the covers around her with light hands.

Then she came to me.

I swallowed, suddenly wanting—no needing—for her to see the real me. To know the truth. “I mentioned Cara earlier…” I drifted off. Afraid of what she’d think.

“Yeah. You wanna talk?”

I nodded and leaned against the bedroom wall, my body boneless. “My sister loved to ride horses and play soccer, a tomboy, I guess. One day—” my voice broke, but I coughed, yanking it back.

“My mom left her with me so she could go shopping. We played inside that day because of the rain. We watched a Disney movie, something about princesses or fairies. I—I got distracted by a phone call from one of my buddies. We started talking about sports and girls, and before I knew it, she’d slipped out the door. And then sh—she rode her bike out into the street. A truck ran her down and ended up wrapped around a tree. Cara…she died in my arms. The man driving passed away at the hospital from injuries. I wasn’t paying attention. I—I killed them
.
” My voice splintered, my entire body aching from remembering everything: the screech of tires I’d heard from the house, the thumping sounds of my feet as I ran down our long drive, the groans that came out of Cara, and then the terrifying screams that had erupted from me until I had nothing left.

And finally the sirens.

I beat my fist against the side of my head. Trying to knock it out, make it all go away.
God, please.

She pulled down my hand, her eyes bright. “Oh, Cuba, please don’t hurt yourself,” she said gently. “You were a kid.”

I shook my head. “I kept thinking she was okay because there wasn’t any blood, you know? Not a drop anywhere, but she was all broken on the inside.” I chewed the inside of my cheek to keep from yelling out. “People say everything happens for a reason. Do you think fate or God or whatever is out there, wanted my sister to die? Wanted it to be by my hands?”