Blind Love (Sulfur Heights Series) (14 page)

I pull in
to the driveway, refusing to leave my rental parked in the street, and take up Drake’s old parking place. If I need to move it so others can park there, I will. Or if I need to return it, fine by me. I wouldn’t mind getting chauffeured around while I’m here. The last place I’m going to leave it is in the street, waiting for some punks to trash it, though. My poor Mini Cooper. I really miss that car, but my mother has replaced it with a Lexus. She says I need to drive a car that’s more grown up. Whatever that means.

Jeremy is waiting by his car when I exit mine. He’s on the phone
with a look of concentration all over his face. It’s a pretty typical Jeremy Evans face. The only time I’ve seen a carefree and happy Jeremy is when I came to decorate Mia’s nursery. I hope I can see more of it while I’m here.

After hauling all
of my bags into the house and hanging clothes, I get in the car and ride with Jeremy down to
The Slab
. Nothing has changed since the last time I was here, but I inwardly chuckle to myself. I was terrified to walk into the bar when I first came here. It looks so rough and scary on the outside, but Presley was right when she said that I would just have to get used to it. On the drive over here, I happened to noticed everything looks less shocking. For this time of year, junkies and drug deals were everywhere, however now I didn’t see any of that. Perhaps, I’m just used to it, but I don’t think I am. Where I’m from I don’t see any of that on a regular basis.

The ride is quiet and when we pull up to park I don’t recognize where he’s taken me. The only bar I’ve ever been too is
The Slab,
though this one looks just as uninviting from the outside. The brick building is rundown; neon beer signs hang in the one front window and the bottom half of the door is covered with plywood instead of glass.

As
Jeremy opens my door and ushers me into the bar, I inwardly cringe. Smoke is everywhere, making the air smell like ash and the noise is very loud and overpowering.

When we make our way to the back, Jake is prowling the pool table
, focused and determined to make his shot. I don’t want to disturb him, so I slink back against the wall and watch the master at work. Even when he’s in an intoxicated state of mind, Jake can steady himself enough to make each and every shot he takes.

There are a few large guys standing around
, studying him, as he moves and determines what the best shot will be. I can tell some of them don’t look very easy. Unbeknownst to Jake, I’ve been practicing in our recreation room at home. Once a year, my dad will invite his colleagues over to our house for a male bonding night. They will smoke cigars and drink top shelf liquor while shooting pool or throwing darts. Mostly the room is unused, so at night when I’m bored and home alone I will sneak into the room and shoot.

I hear Jake tap the side pocket, calling his shot then
, with a snap, the eight ball falls in. Game over. Jake’s drunken persona reappears as he collects his money, gloats and moves toward the bar. He still hasn’t noticed me and I take the opportunity to really watch him.

The crowd divides when he inches his way up to the ba
r, almost like they’re intimidated by him. Then the women, shameless and slutty, will stare at Jake, almost begging him with their bodies to be the next chosen one. He never says a word, either; he only downs his shot of whiskey and stalks his female prey with his eyes. No conversation is started, yet he can leave them yearning the moment he shows his trademark smirk. I’m held captive by the way he commands a room. He never asks for the attention, he only seeks it when it suits him.

Jake turns from the bar and a full smile stretches across his face. H
e notices me flush with the wall, and when our eyes connect, the butterflies begin to swarm. He does something to me. Something foreign I don’t recognize as I’m being sucked into his eyes.

His walk is graceful, that of a warrior
. Watching the swagger in his hips makes my insides burn, my breath escape and my knees weaken. What is going on with me?

I clear my throat and try to find my voice when he approaches. “Hey
, cupcake. It’s about time you got here.” Jake picks me up in a big bear hug, pulling my feet several inches off the ground.

“Hey
, Jakey, how’ve ya been?”

“
Jakey? Really? You know I hate that.” He sets me down on my feet and tries to give me a scolding look. It proves unsuccessful, which isn’t surprising when you’re as intoxicated as he is. I feel drunk just talking to him. The smell of whiskey is everywhere.

“Right back at
ya, friend.” I tap him on the nose and pull the chair from the table.

Jeremy walks over to us with
another shot of whiskey for Jake and the typical, old fashion cherry coke for me. The three of us sit around the table, talking like we haven’t seen each other in ages. Although I’ve seen them a few weeks ago when Presley had Mia, I didn’t get the opportunity to really visit with them, and even in Jake’s drunken state, he is quite conversational.

Jeremy and Jake are in a deep
discussion about racing when I see a pool table open up. I excuse myself from the table, ready to take my new skills out for a spin. I pull fifty dollars from my pocket and walk to the overconfident gentleman hustling for cash. Let’s see if Jake’s self-proclaimed mad skills have rubbed off on me.

“Fifty bucks on my
win,” I say, holding the cash in front of the guy. I can’t believe the confidence I have right now. I would have never done this in my pre-Jake life, but here I am, gambling on my virgin skills at the pool table.

The man is short and stocky, definitely has a muscular build in his small frame, and his sm
ile is cocky. “What’s your game, dollface?”

“Eight ball,” I answer
with self-assurance in my voice, yet with butterflies in my stomach. I can’t believe I’m doing this. What the heck?

“Eight ball, huh? Fifty bucks isn’t worth my time when there’s real cash to make.” His breath reeks of beer when he leans in closer to talk to me.
He has a large scar above his eye, and when he smiles, his front tooth is cracked and jagged.

I reach my hand inside my pocket and pull out the rest of my money. Counting it in front of him, I lay three hundred dollars on the felt and
state, “How about that, big guy? Will you play me for three hundred?” What I’m getting into, I don’t know. I’m a hustling amateur, a complete newbie to the game, however I’m talking like a cocky jerk. Holy cow, I’m acting like Jake.

“Al
l right, darling, if you want to get your ass handed to ya, at least it’s a fine ass.” My competitor looks me up and down then focuses several moments on my breasts. Gross.

“It’s Delilah
,” I shout over the music. “Not doll face or darling. Delilah.”

“I’m Gunner and it will be a pleasure to kick your fine ass, Delilah.” I shrug off his comment and focus on the game.

I turn and select a pool stick from the holder. The tip is dry and I grab the blue cube, chalking up the end. Jake’s eyes connect with mine, but he says nothing. I don’t want him coming over and ruining my game. I need to focus and concentrate. If he’s around, it’ll only distract me.

The balls are racked up and the wooden triangle is removed when
Gunner mocks, “Ladies first.”

I nod my head and walk to the opposite end of the table. The white cue ball is placed exactly where I want i
t when I draw my arm back and snap the ball with the stick. Balls scatter everywhere and I sink two solids into the pocket.

Shot after shot, my competitor
and I take our turns knocking the balls off the table. At first, Gunner is cocky and gloating, claiming I have beginner’s luck. By the end of the game, he starts to take me seriously because I only have the eight ball left whereas he has three stripes left on the table.

Jake
manages to make his way over to the table and sits in the corner, scrutinizing my game. He never says a word. Just as he is when he plays his game, though, the deep look of concentration is all over his face.

I walk to the pocket
opposite of where I’m standing and tap my stick. “Corner pocket.” I walk back around, fold myself over the table, carefully line up my shot, draw back my arm and crack. The ball plummets hard into the pocket and I’m three hundred dollars richer. I let out a girly squeal and see Jake coming toward me.

“Yeah!
That was some kick ass table action, D,” Jake shouts then picks me up in a congratulatory hug. “It was fucking awesome!”

I hug him back and reach out to grab the cash from the table when my contender slaps his hand over mine
, refusing to let me grab the cash. The sting of his contact reddens my skin.

“You know him?”
Gunner asks, nodding his head toward Jake.

Pulling my hand away from his
, I snap back, “Yes, but tell me why that’s any of your business?”

Jake immediate switches
into protection mode, pulling me behind his body. I look around for Jeremy, but he’s gone. Where in the Sam-hell is he? This guy isn’t as tall as Jake, but his muscles are huge. He’s built like a wrestler, and I’m guessing he knows how to fight, considering the scars on his face.

“Give her the money, Gunner.”

Gunner looks at Jake with murder in his eyes and I’m suddenly fearing for Jake’s life. This guy is going to kill him. “Is this the game you’re playing now, Evans? Sending your whores in to do the dirty work?” Gunner steps closer to Jake, making very little room between them. I know what’s coming next; Jake is going to punch him in the face and probably end up in the hospital. “All these other bastards are afraid of you Evans boys, but I’m not. I’ll take you any day of the week.”

There’s the challenge. This is going to be bad.
As I grab a hold of Jake’s arm, his skin is slick with sweat and his biceps are stone. “Come on, Jake. This was my idea; let’s just go. He’s not worth it. I don’t care about the money. Let’s just leave, okay?”

We stand there another agonizing minute while Jake contemplates what he’s about to do. It’s
a hard enough task when Jake’s sober to get him to realize what he’s about to do, but when he’s drunk, it’s a whole other beast to battle.

My words are not getting through to him
, so I move to his side and put my hand inside his then squeeze. He looks down at our joined hands and back to my eyes. I nod to the front door and Jake reluctantly starts to move away from Gunner.

I don’t let go of his hand. I hold it tight while I grab my stuff off the table and we walk toward the door. W
hen we finally make it out of the entrance, stepping on the street, the air is warm, but still sends a chill down my spine when I hear Gunner’s big mouth.

He’s s
tanding on the sidewalk with three other guys. Panic grows and the tears begin to cake my eyes. Oh, my God. This is really bad. What the hell did I do? Jake turns around and faces all four men. Jeremy is still gone. I scramble to get my phone out of my pocket when Jakes goes charging toward Gunner and his cronies.

What do I do?

I watch as Gunner puts Jake in a hold, pinning his arms behind his back while the other men take turns punching his flesh.

I run over to them
, not sure what I’m doing when I scream, “STOP!” Then put myself between Jake and the three huge guys. “Please stop! Jake didn’t know I could play pool like that. This was not his idea; it was mine.” The three men look at me, giving me a devilish smile, and soon I’m being snatched up in one of their arms.

“He’s not getting anything he doesn’t deserve. He’s been robbing us clean for years
, doll face. Believe me, this is long overdue,” Gunner says while readjusting Jake’s arms behind his back.

Jake leans forward, spitting blood out of his mouth then replies, “Now
, don’t give me all the credit, Gunner. It takes a certain level of stupidity to get hustled by the same person for all those years in a row.”

Sweet baby Jesus, Jake’s a dead man.

Jake

Gunner’s got my arms pinned behind my back, causing my shoulders to ache with pain. The blood running from my mouth tastes like shit and all the blows to the gut are making me want to puke. Then, one of Gunner’s brothers grabs Delilah. Her eyes are scared and looking to me to help her.

A
ll the pain in my body evaporates as the adrenaline escalates. Stupid move, asshole. I say something smart to get Gunner’s attention back on me, and just as he repositions his grip again, I strike.

Ramming my head back, I clock Gunner in the nose
, busting it immediately. He lets go of his grip, holding his nose, and I swing my fist into the side of his face. Delilah screams as she is tossed to the ground and Gunner’s three brothers begin to charge. I quickly move into defense, ducking punches and returning them in full force.

Every single time I get into a fight
, I think of my brother Reggie. He’s spent hours when we were younger working with us, training us to fight, and he’s always said that if we are getting in the hustling game, then we better be damn good at protecting ourselves. Reggie is an expert fighter; he only went pro for a short while, but he left his mark when he was there. We are all pretty badass fighters; however Reggie is a god when he’s challenged.