Riding Dirty (18 page)

“He won’t last long,” wheezed Joey. “Neither will you.”

Joey was slumped against the wall, lying bizarrely still, and as she studied him Rowan could see blood pumping from a wound on his thigh. It looked like a bullet had hit an artery. Blood spurted up in a rhythmic fountain, dark and thick.

“Looks like you should be more worried about number one,” said Rowan.

Her mind was brilliantly clear. There was little time for games. Any second now Joey’s hoods would rematerialize from wherever they had disappeared to, and if she didn’t act fast she would lose any chance of escape. Rowan paced swiftly over to Joey and without further ceremony brought the butt of her Beretta down on the back of his head with a crack, knocking him unconscious.

A small, hard voice in her mind told her she should just kill him now. That he’d never forget. Instead she ripped Joey’s shirt over his head, twisting it into a makeshift rope and tying the tightest tourniquet she could manage around his bleeding leg. When she was satisfied that Joey was both out of danger and unable to be dangerous for the time being, Rowan extracted her cell-phone from her back pocket and rapidly dialed. There was an immediate answer and she sighed in relief.

“Chitto! I need you. Come to Bronson’s locker to the right of the arena, and have the Bronco close by. We have a heavy load.”

Bronson’s eyes fluttered open, a small groan escaping his cracked lips. His mouth was so dry that forming a coherent sound actually hurt. Rowan saw him straining and rushed over to him, tenderly smoothing damp curly hair back from his forehead. Whatever suspicions she had when she saw him under Lola were forgotten, wiped out by an engulfing protective impulse.

“I’ll get you out of here alive,” Rowan whispered, her voice firm. “I promise.” Bronson was trying to say something and she leaned in closer. She couldn’t make sense of it. “Typo?”

“Type-O,” he repeated. “Lola…type-o blood. I know…long story, we dated. Universal donor. Your sister.”

Rowan’s brain was so preoccupied with escape and survival that it took her a second to catch up with Bronson’s train of thought. Bronson had seen Lola die and somehow leapt to thoughts of saving Lacy. Rowan sat up, her eyes stinging with confused tears. How could he possibly remember something like that at a moment like this, when his own life was dimming?

“Take her, get out of here.”

“I can’t,” said Rowan firmly. “Not without you.”

“Go,” he said. “They want me, not you.”

“But I want you more.” Rowan bent her head and kissed him, tears rolling down her nose and onto Bronson’s face. She could feel how faint his breath was, how lax the muscles. “Bronson, what did they do to you? How can I fix it?”

His hand fluttered, pointing. “Antidote.”

“Where?” Frantically, she crawled in the direction his hand pointed. Through the blood and tears, she saw a small bottle and snatched it, peering at the label. “Potassium? These are vitamins.”

“Antidote…” Bronson repeated.

No time to question it anymore. She brought the bottle back to Bronson’s side and heaved his head up, peering at the bottle. “How many?”

“Fuck, all.”

She shook out a small handful. “Let’s start with a couple.” Cupping her hand to his lips, she let the vitamin capsules fall back into his mouth. Bronson struggled to swallow, and Rowan bounced up again to find water. Nothing…nothing…There was a half-empty bottle of Gatorade on top of the row of lockers and she brought it back to Bronson’s lips gratefully.

The door banged open. Rowan’s Beretta was back in her hands and aimed in a flash, but she breathed a sigh of relief and tucked it away in her pocket. “Chitto! Help me lift him. We need to get him out of here.”

With a backward glance at the hall, Chitto bounded into the room. “Holy shit hoktuce.” His troubled eyes riveted on Lola’s still body. “Dead?”

Rowan stood, mentally calculating the best way to get everybody to the car. “She is, he’s not. We don’t have much time Chitto. Help me with Bronson.”

“Lola…” Bronson rasped. His dark, pragmatic gaze bore into Rowan and she felt chills ripple down her neck. “Lola too.”
Lola was dead because of her. Rowan had killed a woman. The truth and violence of it smacked Rowan like a cold wind, but this was no safe harbor to feel the storm of feelings that would certainly come. Precision and numbness washed through Rowan’s insides, cleansing her temporarily. She’d have to face this sometime, but not now.

“Alright.” Rowan sounded small. “Uh…how do we do this Chitto?”

Chitto’s training kicked in as soon as he understood the situation, the many fast moves and hurried rescues of his past coming back to him. The soldier in him was ready to command and solve. “Bronson, can you stand?” When he grunted assent, Chitto pulled Bronson’s arm over his shoulder and used his legs to propel them both upright. Leaning Bronson against the wall for support, Chitto locked straightforward eyes with Rowan. “Rowan, you will help Bronson walk out of here. I will carry the girl and help you two if I have to. The Bronco is not far and the Ruiners have taken over an exit we can use. Let’s go.”

Rowan nodded quickly and they set to work. Chitto slung Lola’s body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, offering his spare elbow to Bronson for added support. Bronson clutched the bottle of vitamins and shakily steadied himself between the wall and Chitto. Rowan tucked herself under Bronson’s other side, and like a parody of a children’s three-legged race they set off down the hallway.

Rowan could never remember a longer walk—not when she and Lacy had rambled through the Indian grass as children who wanted the day to last forever, not when she’d tried to run away from home and wound up lost in the wildlife reserve, not when she’d walked across Montgomery for her first job interview. The beige labyrinth seemed to contort and wind like a thing alive and malevolent, striving to confuse. Bronson’s weight exponentially increased with each step and Rowan seriously began to wonder if she had the strength to bring him out, after all. He didn’t feel or look any better yet. Rowan was sweating and out of breath by the time they found the double metal doors and pushed through, into the dusty night and dirty parking lot.

Axle and Rex stood on either side of the door, revolvers in hand, their faces masks of purpose. Not five paces away Rowan’s Bronco was purring, idling and ready. Seeing Lola’s body slung over Chitto, Axle punched the wall.

“Shit,” he cursed. “What a fucking mess.”

“Hurry!” said Chitto.

“Joey’s shot,” announced Rowan. “But he’ll live.”

Axle ran ahead of them and opened the back door. Chitto propped Bronson against the car frame and laid Lola carefully in the back. Rowan jumped in, rummaging through her messy backseat and unearthing a sheet and random bags to cover Lola. Rowan shook out the sheet and started to spread it, but when she pulled a corner of it toward Lola’s face, she paused.

This was not the neat, clean ending Rowan had hoped for. When she’d set out to find a liver for Lacy, she’d had never in her wildest nightmares imagined that she’d actually know the face that went along with it. Or that she’d be the killer who made the organ available.
A life for a life…for Lacy.
With a shudder, Rowan reached over and lightly drew Lola’s eyes closed.

Bronson groped his way around to the passenger side and half-fell, half-climbed in. Axle was behind him to tuck his legs neatly in place. He found the bottle of vitamins on the floor and frowned, placing them back in Bronson’s hands.

“You alright brother?”

Bronson tried to laugh through his exhaustion. “Well boss, I’m not dead yet. But we gotta get this bitch on ice.”

Axle took a step back from Bronson and slammed the passenger door shut, nodding to Rowan as she settled in the driver’s seat. He took in her bloodied appearance, the cuts on her head and arms and face, the wide determined eyes. The wizened, grim Ruiners president winked at her, his face ambiguous. Pulling a manila envelope out of his vest, Axle placed it next to the vitamin bottle in Bronson’s hand and gave the younger man’s arm a firm squeeze, bringing him eye to eye through the window.

“Yeah you are,” Axle rumbled. “You’re both dead. Now get your ass the hell out of here, and enjoy the fucking afterlife.”

Rowan didn’t need a second invitation. She turned the key in the ignition and burned the pavement, burned the bridge. If she never saw Las Vegas again, it would be too soon.

As the Bronco pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared into traffic, Axle turned to Rex and Chitto. He shook Chitto’s hand. “Friend of the club. Thank you. We won’t forget it or abuse it. Rex, you better take him home and leave me to do some damage control. No one says anything to Dolce. Nothing! We gotta get out of here, and I gotta think. Fuck.”

It was 1,821 miles to drive to Birmingham on the I-40 East. There, the University of Alabama Birmingham’s world famous liver transplant program awaited them with clean white coats and the scent of antiseptic. That gave them twenty-six hours of head start from the Auditores; twenty-six hours to get word to Lacy for her to prepare for the surgery; twenty-six hours to balance Bronson’s electrolytes and consume as many bananas as possible.

Twenty-six hours to figure out how to get Lola’s liver out of her body and into Lacy’s without getting arrested.

Everything was in chaos, but through the dirt and the darkness Rowan could just see the light breaking at the end of the tunnel, the light of a new life and hope fulfilled. She had lost and gained everything. She’d traded her innocence for her sister’s life, for her first love. Regret wasn’t an option.

Rowan reached across the console and took a hold of Bronson’s hand, kissing it, smiling into his weary eyes. He blinked at her, his expression full of trust, impressed to the limit by her strength under extreme duress. She’d saved him when he couldn’t save himself. He had twenty-six hours to think, dream, and heal.

Twenty-six hours until resurrection.

Warm white luminosity glowed and danced in a velvety blankness, suffusing a heavy curtain of consciousness with twinkling. The lights grew brighter, closer, gleaming like...lightning bugs? Christmas lights. Disco balls.

A high-toned ringing accompanied the gleaming as it swirled and zipped beyond the horizon, like the laughter of fairies or the ringing of bells. Suddenly amplified as if the distance had closed, the light was blinding. It burned. Eyelids fluttered in agitation and the light took on shapes, or rather, exposed them; the light was the backdrop for shadow-puppets and murmurs. Like a kaleidoscope the impressions shifted and clarified.

A window and white walls ricocheted the rich sunshine back in on itself and out again, casting shadows on the faces bent over the bed. A peaked hat looked like a Disney villain’s outline. Nothing was familiar yet except the light. Light so white had to be the light of morning, or the moon.

“Lacy?”

Brightness exhaled to a glow. The face bending over her was kind, tired, pink. Blue eyes. Yellow hair. Sister.

“Ro?”

Rowan looked to the nurse. The doughy woman smiled and raised Lacy’s bed a few degrees. “She’s stable¸” said the nurse with a tight, genuine smile. “You can call us if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Rowan breathed, watching the matronly woman as her footsteps clacked out of the room. She turned back to look at the small, drowsy form of her baby sister. Lacy looked so vulnerable in that hospital bed. It all gave Rowan the heebie-jeebies, the hospital room and humming equipment and odd patterned gown floating over her sister’s small body.

Rowan could see a change in Lacy’s skin color. Already the yellow was gone, a clean bloom in its place. Lacy’s crystalline eyes were heavy and drooping with fatigue, but the whites were clear. The puffiness had receded around Lacy’s throat and her stomach’s swelling was noticeably decreased. There was a thick padding of bandages around her middle protecting the cut that had helped deliver the precious new liver, but other than that the shape of Lacy’s body looked more normal than ever. The way it was supposed to be.

“Hey baby girl,” whispered Rowan. She leaned in and kissed the cool forehead. “You’ve got a new liver today. The operation was successful, Lace. You’re a new girl now and I am so happy you’re awake.”

“Mom and Dad?”

“Still at the hotel.”

“Good.”

“Ha, yes, screw ‘em.”

“Just like you promised,” Lacy breathed. It was as if a fresh breeze fluttered her eyelids closed, relief soaring in her heart. “Everything’s going to be ok now. Thank you Roro. I always knew you’d make it ok.”

Rowan broke down, shoulders shaking in silent sobs as the healing tears scalded her cheeks. Weight fell from her shoulders at Lacy’s simple words. This was what it had all been about, and it had all been worthwhile. Nothing had been wasted; Rowan’s own mistakes and blunders, the unexpected shifting of her life path, it had all served the greater purpose and accomplished the impossible. Rowan’s heart was bursting with a cocktail of feelings that would take a lifetime to identify, and all she needed to know in this moment was that her baby sister had pulled through the danger.

Rowan could face anything now. Almost. There was just one more thing, one more hurdle. What she was about to say would be very, very hard. She licked her lips and took a deep breath.

“Lacy, I’ll let you rest in a sec, but I need to tell you something first ok?”

“Who is he?” Lacy asked suddenly.

“What?”

Lacy cocked one eye open, grinning impishly. “That man in the window. Handsome, tattoos. Clearly unable to do without you for five minutes or however long you’ve been sitting in here.”

Prickling hairs on the back of his neck alerted Bronson that he was the object of female scrutiny. He turned to wave through the viewing window of the ICU, offering a crooked grin and exaggerated wink. He blew a kiss to Rowan, holding up a giant pink bear he must have purchased from the hotel gift shop and manipulating it’s fuzzy arms to blow a kiss at Lacy. Rowan shook her head and smacked her forehead as Lacy giggled. Goodness, she really couldn’t leave him alone for two minutes.

“He’s…”

“Your boyfriend?”

Rowan laughed, surprised to feel her cheeks redden. For God’s sake, here she was a hardened criminal with blood on her hands, and she was actually blushing when her kid sister teased her about a man. Yikes. Was she so easy to read? Or was this girl way more grown up than she gave her credit for?

“You’re too smart for your own good,” Rowan said. “I thought I was supposed to be the grown-up.”

“Are you going to introduce us before you leave?”

“Leave?”

Lacy smiled primly. “Look Roro, I know I don’t get out much. But it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that when your big sister tells you to check yourself in at UAB and then shows up overnight with a liver, she maybe didn’t buy it at the general store. You
have
to tell me about it, how you got it.”

“Maybe when you’re –”

“When I’m older. Fine.” Lacy sighed expressively. “He looks like he might have had something to do with it, your boyfriend. Right?”

Rowan’s bemused silence was all the answer Lacy needed.

“He totally looks like an outlaw,” she said, adolescent excitement bubbling in her voice. Her imagination could run wild with this storyline for months, keep her company back in the trailer park. “But in, like, a sexy rock-star Robin Hood way, if Robin Hood had a motorcycle and worked out all the time. He could be on True Blood. Did he kidnap you?” When she saw Rowan’s raised eyebrow, Lacy made herself calm. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

Flabbergasted by this outburst, Rowan decided there was no possible reaction but to laugh. She considered her sister with fresh eyes, realizing that the vulnerable child had morphed into a young woman of strong character and rich thought—not to mention a wicked sense of romance.

“I never thought I’d say anything like this,” Rowan chuckled, “But maybe you read too much, Lace.”

They laughed together, but then grew serious.

“I’m right though, aren’t I?”

Rowan took Lacy’s hand in hers, sniffling with emotion. Nothing was going to make this easier. As incredible as the journey had been that brought Lacy her liver, Rowan was still unable to completely unshackle herself from her own limitations. She knew that what happened in Vegas would not stay in Vegas. The last thing Rowan wanted to do was bring the consequences of her own actions down on Lacy’s innocent head. At least one of them had to have a real taste of freedom. The right thing to do was leave so that Lacy could stay safe. Rowan hesitated, tempted to tell Lacy more details, but decided against it.

“I am going to have to go soon.”

Lacy accepted the evasion, her eyes full of uncanny wisdom. “Just keep sending me postcards, ok? And maybe come rescue me as soon as you can.”

Rowan kissed Lacy’s precious fingers, giving her a squeeze. She could feel the warmth and circulation and offered a silent thanks to whatever power had given Lacy this second lease on life. She wished she could stay with her, raise her, give her everything she’d never had before.

She’d have to be content knowing that the little she had done for her sister would be the foundation of a better, healthier future. No matter how she rationalized, though, Rowan knew she was going to miss Lacy.
A lot
. But then, she had missed Lacy for a long, long time. It was just part of the deal when you loved someone.

Rowan smiled at the fresh face in the white sheets, bathed in white light, pure and full of promise. “I promise,” she whispered. “More postcards than you can handle.”

When Lacy drifted back to sleep, Rowan took her place at Bronson’s side outside the glass. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the fine lines and dried tears around her eyes. He was feeling a bit wonky himself, but after finishing a third of the bottle of potassium vitamins he had just about achieved a normal hung-over state. His tongue felt thick and his head hammered, but other than that, he felt almost alive.

Bronson knew he’d been next to no help on the harrowing drive east and the dark business that followed. Rowan had pushed through all night, never stopping for rest, helming the hard decisions that saved Lacy’s life. Impulsively, Bronson wrapped his arms around her and drew her back against his abdomen, curving around her protectively. He felt her shudder, and knew she was crying. He breathed in the scent of her hair, aware that they stood together at a threshold of change.

“What’s next for you?” He asked.

Rowan felt her stomach drop. She hadn’t really come up with anything concrete, and couldn’t bear the thought of parting ways just yet. There had been no way to really talk about it on the drive over with Bronson detoxing and sleeping. “I…I don’t know. I can’t exactly stay here, can I?”

Bronson took a deep breath, considering. “You could, but it’s probably the first place Joey will look.” Bronson kissed the back of her neck. “And he’ll definitely look. You were so fucking glorious, the way you put the smack down. I loved it. Listen…if you’re not really sure where to go, I could use a ride to Mexico.”

“Mexico?” Rowan turned, her brow furrowed. She took a step back, surveying Bronson warily. “You want me to drive you to Mexico?”

“No blondie.” Bronson recaptured her in his arms, pulling her close, eager to placate the jungle cat. “I want you to come
with
me to Mexico. To live with me.” He tapped his jean pocket. “I’ve got all the money from the last few cons, a sort of wedding present from Axle. You know, to start us out.”

“Excuse me, wedding?” Rowan balked, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows. “Mexico? This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

Momentarily taken aback by those sphinx eyes and that inscrutable dealer face, Bronson wondered if he’d said something wrong. He stared at his beautiful adversary, but saw no chinks in her armor. “Well yeah, I kinda figured I’d make an honest woman out of you. I heard you when you said you loved me the other day before all this shit went down Mandalay Bay—”

“That was during sex.” Rowan tried.

“What, so, you were just saying that? You don’t love me now? Is that it?”

“What...do you love me?”

Bronson was confused. Blame it on the poisoning. “So you’re just using me for sex now?”

Rowan steamed. Why was he so dense? “Clearly. Why should I marry you? Look at all the trouble you’ve gotten me into.”

“ME getting YOU into trouble?!”

They stared each other down, unaware that the pink teddy bear and the ICU nurses were watching them keenly, very invested in the outcome of the conversation.

“Fuck, Rowan, I’ve never been in more trouble in my life than since I decided to help you out. It was fucking insanity. Ever since that first night I saw you dealing, I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out why the hell I’d put my neck out for this scrawny, crazy greenhorn.”

“Hey!” Rowan stomped her foot. “I’m not scrawny.”

Bronson was all too aware. “It was a terrible investment with you, always, and there was never a good reason to do it. It wasn’t out of the kindness of my heart, I can promise you that!”

“Right,” Rowan muttered. “Because you haven’t got any.”

Bronson growled. “And it wasn’t just because I wanted in your pants, princess, although that worked actually. Just call me the sex genius.” He chuckled, drawing a smack across the face from Rowan. “Ow! Ok, hear me out. It wasn’t to make money either, because I probably wouldn’t have any at all right now if Axle hadn’t given me this.” He thumped the package in his pocket for emphasis.

“Congratulations,” whispered Rowan.

“You know what stupid fucking reason I finally came up with why I wanted to help you Rowan?” His face was so close she could feel his breath. “Why I didn’t just ditch you? What’s the best explanation I got?”

“I don’t know!”

“I just fucking love you. Ok? I don’t know why.” Bronson realized belatedly that it was the first time he’d said it, that his voice was overly loud and agitated. “You’re a mess, you’re confusing, you cry in front of me, you’re not a great shot, you use words I can’t spell, I never know what you’re thinking and you drive me insane but you’ve saved my life and I just want to be around you all the time. So will you just fucking run away with me to Mexico and fucking marry me or do I have to make you?”