Light of Day (12 page)

The stall door opened, and there she was. She had pulled her mask up, revealing her face.

Bree.

I knew her immediately, despite the dark smoky eyes, glittery fake eyelashes, bright red lips, pink cheeks. Her green eyes flickered when she saw me. She quickly pulled down the mask and went over to the sink.

I came up next to her. “Bree, it's me. I'm here to help.”

For several seconds, she didn't respond. I wondered if I should repeat what I'd said. Then she turned around, pulling back the mask. “Don't. Don't get involved in this, Gabby.”

“I can help you get away from him.”

She turned on the taps and scrubbed her hands. “I didn't ask for your help.”

“Listen to me, Bree. There are two guys waiting for us in the hallway. They'll get us out through the back door. Then we'll go somewhere safe where we can talk.”

“There's nothing to talk about. I'm fine. I don't need to be rescued.”

When I didn't budge, her head snapped around. “You have no idea how dangerous this is.”

“Please. Just come with me, and we'll talk. Then, if you want to go back to him—”

She pressed on the hand dryer, drowning me out. She rubbed her hands together, waiting for me to go away.

But I wasn't going anywhere.

When she finally turned around again, I reached for her hand. She yanked it back. “Don't!”

“Sorry.”

The intensity in her eyes frightened me. “You'd better run while you can, Gabby. In a few seconds he'll come in here looking for me. I'd hate to see you get hurt.” She took a step closer to me. “It would be a mistake to tell anyone you saw me. A big mistake.”

She pushed past me and walked out. I was tempted to go after her, but I knew better. So I waited a few seconds to give her space, then left the bathroom. Manny and X were standing in the dark, narrow corridor, their eyes questioning. I shook my head.

“What happened in there?” X asked.

“I'm not sure. She said she didn't want my help. Said it was too dangerous.”

Something inside me cracked, and I put my hands over my face, sobbing. X's arms encircled me. I'd been so close, so close! And I couldn't convince her to come with me.

After a few moments, I lifted my head. “We should call the police. Tell them where—” I broke off.

In the corner of my vision, I saw two guys coming toward us. One black, one white, both over three hundred pounds. I knew right away that they were Milo's goons. And they didn't look happy.

“The fuck were you doing talking to one of Milo's girls?” the white guy demanded, looming over us. He had the long greasy hair of a pro wrestler.

“They're off-limits,” the black guy said, crossing massive arms over his chest.

X gave a shrug. “What girl are you talking about?” As he spoke, he moved between me and the goons. His hand dug into my hip, nudging me out of the way. I noticed the red Exit sign down the hall.

“You mean the redheaded chick?” Manny said, playing dumb. “Sorry, bros, she ain't my style. Not a big fan of bone racks, you know what I'm saying?”

X turned to me, eyes intent.
“Go.”

But there wasn't time. At that moment, Milo's goons rushed us. The white guy slammed his full body weight into us, shoving X and me to the ground. Then there was another
impact, and I heard X grunt in pain. Oh my God. Had he been stabbed?

But I must've been wrong about that, because X swiftly rolled off me and jumped to his feet. X slammed a fist into the goon's belly, winding him, then he rushed him like a tidal wave, battering his face, chest, and smashing a side kick into his knee, making him scream in agony.

I scrambled to my feet, flattening myself against the brick wall. Manny's body was at my feet, and I heard him groaning as the black guy kicked him. I thought about jumping on the back of Manny's attacker, but I knew it wouldn't do any good.

“Go!” X shouted to me again, then he took a punch in the jaw. But I couldn't go; I was blocked by the fighting.

Manny managed to crawl toward the guys' bathroom and grab a beer bottle off the floor. He smashed it against the brick wall, then leaped to his feet and slashed at the massive guy, narrowly missing him. They circled each other in the cramped space. Manny went on the attack, slashing once, twice, until he'd ripped the jagged bottle down the goon's bare arm. He howled in pain, blood pouring from the gash.

Four bouncers rushed into the corridor to break up the fight. The diversion was just what X and Manny needed to disentangle themselves, and the three of us slipped out the back exit.

We ran down the block to X's car. He tossed me the keys. “Could you drive?”

“Sure.” I didn't question it. He must be hurt, exhausted. I climbed into the driver's seat, while X took shotgun and Manny got into the back. I drove off quickly.

X said over his shoulder, “You okay back there, Manny?”

“I'm fine. Those fucking motherfucks!”

X looked at me. “You okay?”

I nodded. “You?”

“I'm all right.” His jaw was clenched. “I'm losing a bit of blood, though, so we should probably stop in at the hospital. There's one a couple miles up.”

“What?”
My eyes widened in alarm. He was taking slow, ragged breaths.

Oh my God. My instinct had been right—he
had
been stabbed when Milo's guys had first attacked us. And yet he'd gotten up and fought like a fiend afterward.

A wave of hysteria threatened, but I forced myself to stay calm. I had to get him to the hospital as quickly as possible. X sat there quietly, pressing a bunched-up hoodie against his side.

I was worried he'd pass out, go into shock. But he stayed conscious the whole way to the hospital. I stopped the car in front of the automatic doors, and Manny helped him inside, shouting, “We got a stab wound here!
Andale
, people!”

Two nurses came up on either side of X, leading him through another set of automatic doors. Manny went in with him, but came out seconds later.

“They won't let me stay to hold his hand, not even when I said I was his brother from another mother. We have to wait out here.”

We found chairs in the crowded waiting room, full of miserable-looking people and coughing kids. I'd always hated hospitals. Whatever problem you came in with, you were likely to leave with something worse. But right now, all I could think about was X.

“How bad do you think it is?” I asked Manny, who was texting someone.

“No idea. If it were bad, X wouldn't let on. Now, if I'd been stabbed, I'd be howling like a bitch.”

“You're not comforting me.”

“Don't worry, they're taking care of him. X won't let a couple of bloated bullies bring him down, trust me.”

I looked him over. He was a patchwork of blood and bruises. “You should get checked out too.”

“Why bother? There's nothing they can do for broken ribs. It's happened to me before. But I'll go clean myself up. Back in a minute.”

He got up and went over to the bathroom. I stared down at my shaking hands.

You have no idea how dangerous this is
, Bree had said.

She was right.

Minutes turned into an hour, and there was no update on X.

A dangerous-looking guy entered through the sliding doors of the ER. I stiffened in my seat. He had a scar snaking down his left cheek—a face you wouldn't mess with. His eyes scanned the waiting room, coming to rest on Manny and me.

I shook Manny awake.

“Huh?” Manny looked up. “Don't worry, he's one of us. I texted him.” He knocked fists with the guy. “Matador.”

“How's X?”

“Nobody's saying nothing.”

“I fucking told him the girl was a lost cause,” Matador said between gritted teeth. “Milo's girls worship him.”

Tears flooded my eyes. Is that what the Destinos thought—that Bree was a lost cause? That she worshipped Milo? No way. She must be terrified of him. That had to be the reason she had warned me to stay away.

“Easy, Mat,” Manny said, putting a protective arm around me. “This is her friend here.”

“So?” Matador looked down at me with a shrug. “I'm gonna see what's happening.” He approached the desk and started talking to a nurse. Although she shook her head, saying she had no information, he didn't budge. His plan was to stand in that exact spot until she had an update.

It worked. Eventually she was uncomfortable enough to leave her post, go through a set of automatic doors, then come back with news.

Matador returned to us. “Superficial stab wound. Stitches, no surgery. They're sending him home soon.”

I could finally breathe. Superficial was good.

Within minutes, X appeared, his left hand cradling his side. “Nothing serious. They'll send me the bill.”

Matador offered to take his arm, but X waved him away. “I'm fine. Jacked up on pain meds. You should get back to what you were doing.”

“Who's gonna drive?” Matador asked.

“I will,” I said.

Manny turned to the scarred Destino. “Drop me off?”

“Sure.”

As I drove X's car back to his place, I was so relieved, I could cry.

X moved slowly up the stairs to his apartment, but refused to let me help him. The first thing he did was take off his blood-stained shirt. His torso was gorgeous, ripped, and I had to make an effort not to stare. There was a gauze bandage on his left side, covering the stitches.

I noticed that X had several old scars—a long red scar running down his collarbone, a faded pink one circling the width of his left shoulder. He'd been stabbed, slashed before.
Maybe it was part of the deal when you were a Destino. Or maybe he'd gotten them during his messed-up childhood. The thought made my heart hurt for him.

I grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge, and handed him one.

“Thanks,” he said, settling on the couch. “I'll call you a cab.” He looked at his phone. “It's two a.m. Did you get in touch with your parents?”

Incredible that after all we'd been through tonight, he was concerned about me getting in trouble. “They think I'm sleeping over at a friend's. If I go home now, I'll have a lot of explaining to do.”

“Sure. Bedroom's yours.”

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. After several seconds, I realized he had fallen asleep.

I went down the hall and grabbed a couple of blankets from the closet. Back in the living room, I dimmed the lights and draped a blanket over him. He caught my wrist and his eyes opened. “You're a sweetheart.”

It's because I love you.
I would never say it out loud, of course. But even if I did, he was probably too drugged up to remember it tomorrow. I sat down beside him. “I'm sorry you got hurt. It's my fault. I'm the one who wanted us to find Bree.” I was trying to hold back tears, but doing a terrible job of it.

“Shhh, don't cry. It's not your fault. Come here.”

He guided my face to his and kissed me. Maybe he meant to soothe me, to comfort me. But the slow kiss was agony, and soon spiraled out of control. He threaded a hand through my hair and pulled me closer, pressing me against his wounded side. He groaned but didn't stop kissing me.

I curled up against him, hearing the unsteadiness of his breath as he deepened the kiss.

“God, Gabby. You don't know what you do to me.”

“I'm probably . . . hurting you.”

“I'm feeling pretty high right now.”

Of course he was high. That's what this kiss was about. And yet I couldn't stop. It seemed to go on and on, and I was completely lost.

At some point I finally mustered up the strength to pull back. His eyes were half closed, his breathing erratic. “Gabby . . .”

“You need to rest.”

“I can't with you so close. You feel too good.” He gathered me against him, my heat next to his heat. Eventually, I could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, and knew that he was asleep again.

I had no intention of moving out of his arms. This was probably the last time I'd be so close to him, and I would savor every minute of it. I laid my head against his chest, lulled by the beat of his heart.

I WOKE UP TO FEEL
X sliding away from me. Light flooded through the thin living room curtains. I didn't know what time it was, but I guessed late morning.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.”

I rubbed my eyes. X was standing, shirtless, his jeans falling dangerously low over his butt. Desire curled in my belly. What a sight to wake up to.

“You want coffee?” he asked.

“Sure.” My eyes followed him around the kitchen as he made the coffee. He was moving slowly but pretty well for someone who'd been stabbed the night before.

I went to the bathroom to freshen up, then returned to find X sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee. He'd poured me a cup.

“Sorry, I was out of milk. I'm always out of milk. I should keep the powdered stuff on hand. Anyway, I've got sugar if you want.”

“It's fine. It's good.”

“What's so funny?”

“This feels weird. Normal. I don't know.”

“Yeah.”

We drank in silence for a while. There was something intimate about having spent the night on the couch together. I wanted to hang on to that closeness for as long as I could. And then there was that incredible kiss. A kiss he'd probably been too drugged up to remember.

But I would remember.

Unfortunately, last night's other events came rushing back at me. How Bree had rejected my help. Milo's goons' attack. I wasn't ready to process any of it yet.

“You tried,” X said, guessing at my thoughts. “Gave it your best shot.”

“It wasn't enough. She was too afraid to come with me.”

“Was she?”

I frowned. “Of course she was. She seemed really agitated. Told me I was in danger just talking to her.”

X's blue eyes lasered into me. “She told Milo we were there, Gabby. That's why his guys came after us. She could've given us time to get away, but she didn't.”

I swallowed that information. Of course, it made sense. Milo's goons had appeared within seconds of Bree going back to the table. Still. “She must've been too afraid to keep it from him. If Milo found out that we were trying to get her to come with us, he could've taken it out on her.”

X's grip tightened around his coffee cup. “We don't know if that's why she did it.”

I remembered what Matador had said about Milo's girls worshipping him. “I guess she could be under his spell. She said she didn't need to be rescued. And she definitely seemed . . . different. Not herself.”

“Exactly.”

I narrowed my eyes. What was he getting at? “At least she knows there's help out there. She can let that sink in. Next time I see her, she might be ready to break away.”

X held my gaze. “There isn't going to be a next time. You have to let this go, Gabby.”

My mouth dropped open. I didn't want to believe what he was saying. “You're giving up on her?”

“My guys are still going after Milo. We're gonna do everything we can to bust up his operation. But I want you to let go of this fantasy that Bree wants to get away from him.”

“Fantasy? You think she's happy with what's happened to her?”

“Look. We don't know how Bree got herself into this situation, but—”

“Got
herself
? Manny said that pimps are masters of manipulation. I thought we agreed she was the victim here.”

“Maybe she's a victim. Maybe not. She ratted us out last night.” I could feel the anger rising in his voice, like water starting to simmer. “That's all we know for sure. If one of his guys had been carrying a gun, we could all be dead right now. Pimps will do anything to hang on to their property. Murder's nothing for them. Do you understand that?”

If he'd wanted to shake me up, he'd succeeded.

“You saw Bree's Instagram page, Gabby. Chances are she's head over heels for Milo. It could take months or even years for her to see him for the scumbag he really is. That's when she'll be ready to get out.”

My stomach sank. “So you're going to let Milo use her, then spit her out.”

“I don't know when you appointed yourself her savior, but it's got to stop. Some girls are desperate to get out of the sex trade. Some girls would do anything for someone to reach out and help them. Those are the girls the Destinos need to focus on.”

My mind was in overdrive. Give up on Bree? Focus on other girls? I couldn't accept that. “If she were
your
friend, you wouldn't give up on her.”

His lips tightened, and I knew I'd hit a nerve. “I'd do anything for my friends. Including you. That's why I'm telling you to back off.”

“I'm a little sick of you telling me what to do,” I snapped.

“And I'm sick of you thinking you know what the hell you're talking about. I'm not gonna jeopardize my guys for you.” X wrenched out of his chair and kicked it aside.

I froze, startled by his anger.

“I spotted Bree out on the street last week, Gabby. You wanna hear what she was doing?” He leaned in closer. “She was trying to recruit a sixteen-year-old runaway. She told her to come hang at her boyfriend's place. Luckily the kid was smart enough to say no, or else I would've had to step in.”

“The Bree I know would never . . .” My voice broke. No matter how much I wanted to believe in Bree, I couldn't find an explanation for that. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“A lot of girls recruit for their pimps. It means they're totally under their control. But when I saw her last night, I thought it was still worth a shot. I figured that if you spoke to her, you might be able to convince her to go with you. You can be persuasive when you want to be.” His hands balled into fists. “It was a bad call. I put you at risk. I should've known better.”

He wasn't just angry at me, I realized. He was angry at himself.

I got up and took his hand. Whether he knew it or not, we were both upset, and we should be dealing with it together. But he slipped his hand out of my grip, turning away from me.

“Go home, Gabby. Your people are probably missing you by now.”

My people. There it was again. I guess he wasn't one of them.

So I did. I left.

I took a bus back to the car only to find it was gone.

Shit.

In my hurry to get to Bree, I'd parked in front of a fire hydrant. And with the drama that had ensued, I'd forgotten all about it.

How was I going to explain this to my parents?

I got on another bus toward home, gazing out the dirt-streaked window. I was exhausted. Arguing with X this morning had zapped whatever energy I had left.

He thought I was stupid to hold out hope for Bree. And maybe he was right. But I hadn't been ready to hear it. Hadn't been ready to agree to give up the hope that we could bring her home.

Tears came to my eyes. I dabbed them away with a ratty tissue from my pocket. All I wanted was to crawl into bed and sleep the day away.

I realized I should apologize to my friends for running out on them last night. So I turned on my phone, which I'd put off when X had fallen asleep.

There were twenty messages waiting for me, mainly from my mom.

Holy shit.

I held my breath and listened to the first one. It had come at 8:09 this morning, about four hours ago. “Gabby, what's going on? We got a call saying our car's been impounded. Call me right away.”

Ten minutes later. “Gabby, where the hell are you? Your friend Adriana says you never slept there last night.”

And later. “Gabby, call me right away or we're calling the police!”

I closed my eyes. As if today could get any worse.

The next stop was mine. I called my mom as I walked up the street toward my house. She answered immediately. “Gabby?”

“Sorry for the confusion, Mom. I met up with a friend and—”

“Gabby, thank God!” Mom cried. “Where are you?”

“Down the block. I'm sorry to scare you. I had my phone off.”

I had to yank my ear away from the phone as Mom shouted, “It's Gabby! She's okay!”

I could see them on the front lawn. Mom, Dad, and Sarita. And someone else, a female police officer. The squad car sat in the driveway.

Uh-oh. Mom hadn't been kidding when she'd threatened to call the police. They must've been worried sick. If only I hadn't parked illegally, they'd still think I was at Adriana's. But I'd been in such a rush, I hadn't had any choice.

I jogged the last couple of houses, and got caught in their hugs. It struck me that I couldn't remember the last time my parents had hugged me. The thought choked me up.

The cop turned to me. “So you're all right then, miss?”

I nodded. “It was just a misunderstanding.”

“Where were you?” Mom demanded, her eyes red from crying. “Why would you do this?”

“I'm so sorry, Mom. I met up with a friend after ZombieMall and decided to crash at their place. I know I'd planned to spend the night at Adriana's. I should've told you about the change of plan.”

Whatever relief my family was feeling turned to anger.

“You can't imagine how worried we were!” Mom shouted. For once, she seemed to have no concept of the fact that we were on the front lawn, and neighbors were watching. “Your friends had no idea where you went last night! Where did you go?”

“I told you, I was with a friend.”

“What friend?” Mom challenged me. “The
undercover cop
?”

I turned to Sarita, who didn't look a bit apologetic. “Of course I had to tell them, Gabby. Nobody knew where you were.”

This was so much more than I could handle right now. “He's not an undercover cop. I thought he was . . . I mean, he never actually said he was. I just sort of assumed it.” I was rambling, and they were staring at me like I was high.

“We were going out of our minds, Gabby,” Dad said quietly. “How could you pull a stunt like this, especially with what happened to Bree?”

“Bree. Yeah. About that.” I took a deep breath. This was it—a perfect opportunity to say what I knew. Now that I'd confirmed with my own eyes that she was alive, it was time to talk, especially since the Destinos had taken themselves off the case. “I saw her last night at the Phoenix.”

The cop, who'd been checking her phone, lifted her head. “You saw Brianna O'Connor? That's a very serious statement you're making.”

“It's true. I spoke to her.”

Dad paled. “Gabriella, if you think inventing some story about seeing Bree is going to deflect the conversation from your behavior, you're wrong.”

“I'm not lying.” I turned to the cop. “You can interview the staff at the Phoenix if you want. I tried to convince Bree to
leave the club with me, and the guy she was with . . . he sicced his goons on us. There was a big fight.”

“Who's the guy she was with?” the cop asked. “Do you know his name?”

“His name is Milo.” I paused, bracing for their reaction. “He's a pimp.”

I didn't stop to wonder if I was doing the right thing by telling the cops. I went with my gut, and my gut said
talk
.

The bright side was, instead of getting lectured by my parents at home, I got a field trip to the police station. They put me and Mom in a cold, bare interview room and left us there. After we'd waited for an hour, I got the hint that the cops weren't in a rush to hear what I had to say.

“You don't have to stay,” I said to my mom. “I can call you to pick me up later.”

“I'm not going anywhere. I want to hear everything.”

“Fine. Up to you. Got any food?”

She dug into her large black purse, which must weigh twenty pounds. You could fit an entire bowling ball in there. There had to be something edible. She came up with a granola bar. I inhaled it.

Just as I was sweeping the crumbs off the table, a detective with a dated mustache and an iPad tucked under his arm came in. I assumed he was a detective—he didn't bother to
introduce himself. And he wasn't wearing a uniform, just a rumpled shirt, cheesy tie, and cords.

The detective opened the iPad, then asked my name, my mother's name, my date of birth, my address, and my social security number. I might as well be at the DMV for all the paperwork he was doing. Then, finally, he asked for my statement about Bree, typing certain things into the iPad.

His half-closed eyes told me one thing: he considered this interview a waste of time. He might as well have called the file:
Troubled teen tells a tale to avoid the wrath of her parents
.

Screw that. When he'd finished asking questions and got up to leave, I said, “You don't believe me, do you?”

He turned around, like I'd startled him awake.

Mom put a hand on my arm. “
Gabby
.”

“Sorry, Mom, but I want to be taken seriously.” I stood up, because I didn't like the feeling of him looking down on me. “I know you've probably had a bunch of people calling in bullshit tips. But I promise you, Bree
was
at the Phoenix last night. Why don't you call the club owner to confirm that the fight happened? Maybe they even have security cameras outside that spotted her.”

The detective's eyes narrowed, but I had a feeling I'd gotten through. He walked out. To my surprise, Mom patted my arm as if to say,
good job
. It was a relief that she believed me. She might have had doubts about some of my choices, but she
knew I wouldn't make up a lie and take it this far. I wished I'd never complained to X about my parents. When it counted, they backed me up.

Fifteen minutes later, the detective returned. “Sergeant Monchetta will see you in her office.”

Sergeant?
I really must've gotten through. Mom and I looked at each other, and we followed him down a maze of cubicles.

The sergeant was fiftyish with short, ink-black hair and plenty of makeup. Diplomas and medals were displayed behind her. The far wall had a huge map of Miami, color-coded by neighborhood.