Robin in the Hood (Robbin' Hearts Series Book 1) (21 page)

I glanced around at the gaudy, striped tent we were in with sawdust on the ground and the stale smell of popcorn everywhere. In the center of the arena was my dad in a colorful clown costume juggling burning torches as though he’d never been paralyzed. He stopped all of a sudden and slipped one down his throat. When he pulled it out again, he looked at me and smiled.

“Easy as one of Lorraine’s pies,” he declared in perfect English.

Dooley laughed, riding past him on top of a baby elephant, looking as happy as could be.

“Where’s Creek?” I cried out, totally confused.

“Well, now there’s somethin’ we gotta talk about, sweetheart,” Granny said, waiting for the Wheel of Fortune to stop spinning. She tipped her black top hat to me. “He’s gonna need some of my very best herbs to heal, that’s fer sure. But it’s mighty hard to git a move on while I’m still asleep, if you catch my drift. So in the meantime, honey, yer gonna have to look after yer Pa.”

At that moment, I saw my dad fumble and drop one of his burning torches. The dry sawdust immediately caught on fire. Before I knew it, flames were racing to engulf the arena.

“Daddy!” I cried, watching as Dooley scampered out of the tent on his baby elephant to safety. But I couldn’t see my dad any longer in the flames and smoke.

I rushed into the gray, billowing clouds to try and find him.

“Rubina—”

“Rubina!” I heard a voice call.

From inside the smoke, I saw a figure emerge wearing a dark lace shroud. Her beautiful face was as pale as a ghost, and when her eyes met mine, I was mesmerized.

“It’s not his time to go,” she whispered, before the flames engulfed her, too.

And I screamed.

“It’s okay now—it’s okay,” I heard Creek’s voice soothe me, stroking my forehead.

But when I opened my eyes, I could taste blood upon my lips.

I screamed again.

What kind of nightmare was this, where were we?

I sat up and looked around, bewildered.

Everything seemed pitch black.

Yet as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could tell Creek was behind the wheel of a truck, driving with no headlights again. I was beside him on a couch seat, and my thoughts raced in total panic.

“What happened to you?” I cried, just now noticing in the moonlight that he appeared to have blood all over his shoulder and arm. “Oh my God, we’ve got to get you to a hospital!”

I saw Creek smirk a little, keeping his eyes on the dark road ahead of us.

“And give away our location after the first successful robbery of Cincinnati Federal in fifty years?”

He pointed a thoroughly bloody arm at the truck floor.

There, on the mats, were two swollen bags.

I couldn’t believe it. We actually made it out of there?

“But Creek, how did you—”

“Shhh, take it easy. You got a concussion,” he replied, completely focused on navigating the backwoods gravel lane.

God, this guy is as tough as nails! I thought, my mind spinning. He doesn’t even seem to notice that he’s a bloody wreck.

I saw the moonlight cast a brighter glow on the road as we left a wooded area, and Creek glanced over at me.

“It’s better than it looks, Robin. A nine millimeter doesn’t hurt so bad, about like a baseball bat. Nothing like the pistol whipping I gave that security guard.”

I immediately sucked air.

Creek just sighed.

“I could’ve shot him back,” he said somewhat impatiently. “I was trying to protect you.”

That’s right, I realized—I had to have passed out by then. And Creek must’ve somehow jumped the guy and gotten his weapon to fend him off. Then he had to carry me, with the weight of our two money bags and a bullet or two in his arm, to safety. But where on earth did he get this truck?

“H-How did it all happen?” I stuttered, more than a little afraid of his answer. This was a side of Creek that scared the holy shit out of me—the very darkest side that was as mean and deadly as sin when he needed to be.

Creek swerved the truck onto an uneven dirt lane that rimmed the edge of a field.

“When the security guy got me with that second bullet, I stumbled and fell against you to the pavement.”

He shook his head.

“What a fuck up—I don’t even know why I did that. It was only my arm.”

Holy Mother of God. Creek spoke about it as casually as if he’d been at basketball practice or something. But then, a part of me realized this was hardly Creek’s first altercation.

“The guy came running up and I dove for him, knocking the pistol out of his hand pretty quick. He whined like you wouldn’t believe when I held it to his head. So I told him to give me his truck keys and walk straight back into that bank. Then lock the door and never say a word about seeing you or me or anything. Or I’d show up at his shithole apartment at 247 Sycamore Street on the other side of the river. When he least suspects it, of course.”

Creek nodded, still studying the road ahead.

“Let’s just say I make it my business to know all about these guys before a hit. And believe me, that man didn’t walk back to the bank; he ran for it like his life depended on it. Because it did.”

My heart was racing out of control. I wanted to cover my ears—and a really big part of me wanted to cry, too. What the hell had we done? Who had we become?

I never wanted my mother so badly in my whole life, wherever she was.

And that really nasty nightmare I had just before I woke up didn’t help matters much. Somehow, I felt like everything I’d ever understood about myself had gone up in flames.

Creek steered the truck from the dirt road into a forest, slowly traveling through the pitch black darkness like he knew exactly where he going. I could hardly see a thing now, but he appeared unconcerned as he wove between the trees. Then he gently stepped on the brake and eased the truck to a stop somewhere deep within the woods.

It was the kind of place you leave a dead body to rot and not be found for decades.

Or where criminals like us stash a getaway vehicle.

“Robin,” he raised his bloody hand to my cheek, but it only made me flinch, “with those two bags, we’re set. We don’t have to do this anymore—we’ve got two hundred grand. But we do have to lay low for a very long time. And that means no sudden moves, just live in the tree stands each night until this all blows over. And of course, get rid of this truck tomorrow.”

“But we’re felons now, huh?” I said, feeling the moisture slide down my neck. Dammit—I knew I was crying. It was all so overwhelming.

Creek nodded.

He was quiet for longer than I thought I could bear.

And I hated myself for sounding weak when I said this, but I couldn’t’ stop. I was never going to be as tough as Creek was no matter how hard I tried.

“Is the security guy gonna be all right?” I burst.

Quietly, Creek leaned forward and kissed my forehead, then wrapped his arms around me and held me tight, rocking me a little. I hadn’t known till that very moment that I was shaking all over.

“He’ll be okay, Robin,” Creek sighed. “He wasn’t really supposed to shoot at two unarmed people, you know. But I do feel for him—he’s gonna have to steal himself a different truck now.”

All at once, I burst out laughing.

I know it sounds crazy, and I was probably hysterical at this point, but all I could do was shake my head and let the laughter spill from deep in my belly.

“Are you serious?” I said, gasping for air. “The guard drove a stolen truck? What kind of bank—”

“Hires a guy like that for security?” Creek shook his head, laughing now, too. “Only one that’s gotten way too cocky and casual for its own good.”

He loosened his arms from around me and brushed the tears from my cheeks. I wondered if he’d smeared blood on them.

“But we aren’t gonna make those kinds of mistakes. So I have to fence this truck tomorrow. And Robin,” Creek said, his voice sounding grave now, “we’ll never breathe a word about tonight to anyone. Do you hear me? We just keep paying Brandi’s medical bills on time from anonymous envelopes.”

I nodded, feeling a queasiness rise in my stomach. This was a whole different ball of wax than keeping mum about CeeCee Stone’s drug exploits at Pinnacle. I suddenly felt as if Granny’s words had come true—that my soul
w
a
s
marked now. I had huge secrets to keep, and in one long violent night, my entire life had changed.

Creek grabbed the money bags from the floor and opened his door to step out.

“We have to hoof it from here,” he said. “We can’t leave a stolen truck too close to where we sleep.”

I took a deep breath and followed suit, stepping out of the truck and walking up to Creek to take one of the bags from his grip. After all, I committed this crime too, so I should carry my fair share. But I was grateful when Creek grasped my hand to lead me through the dark woods.

And all the while, I couldn’t help thinking that we ought to be happy. Our money problems were solved. Except that near as I could tell, Creek still had a couple of bullets in his arm and shoulder, which he’d probably end up taking out himself with a knife and some alcohol. And now, we were both permanent outcasts.

What was my sixteenth year going to look like? As a fugitive . . .

Had my dad done things like this all along too, even before he’d met Alessia? Did it run in my blood?

As I carefully stepped along the uneven forest path, I resolved to ask him.

Because Creek had told me my dad could speak just fine, when he really wanted to.

But before I could plan out some of my questions, I spotted a hazy glow in the distance.

Which was kind of strange, since the Colonel didn’t usually leave the Turtle Shores light on at this hour.

Creek stopped in his tracks.

“Robin,” he said abruptly. “Do you smell that?”

“What?”

I took a big whiff.

Smoke. It smelled a lot like the bonfire we’d had, but somehow less woody. More like burning grass and something weird, like maybe gasoline.

And then I heard explosions—

Shocked, we watched as giant fireballs climbed high into the night sky. Their sound was deafening.

Creek yanked against my hand.

“We gotta run!” he cried, pulling me in a mad sprint towards the inferno up ahead. “Turtle Shores is on fire! Oh God, when Bob strikes, he really fuckin’ plays for keeps—”

When we reached Turtle Shores, we couldn’t see anything in the massive amount of smoke. Explosions were bursting everywhere, as if all of the TNT Twins’ stashes were firing off at once. I screamed—all I could think of was my dad and Dooley and Brandi. Everyone had probably been sleeping when the compound was set on fire! Creek grabbed my money bag from my arms and threw both our bags to safety in an old barrel just beyond the entrance, then pointed at a scraggly tree.

“The bell!” he shouted. “Ring the bell!”

Thank God for adrenaline. Because I was able to gather my wits and do as Creek asked, dashing to the tree and spying a rope. I yanked and yanked on it, praying that everyone would wake up in their trailers and get down to the bunkers. Surely the sound of the explosions would tip them off? Oh God, but what if my dad couldn’t get up?

I ran straight into the thickest smoke.

“Robin!” I heard Creek shout after me, but I didn’t care what master plan he might have up his sleeve for rescue this time. This is my
d
a
d
.
And no matter what he’d done with his life, I wasn’t about to wait and let him burn alive.

Twenty strides forward through the center of smoke, then thirty two more directly to the right—

This was how I’d learned to navigate the TNT Twins’ holes in the meadow on the way to my dad’s trailer. Would Granny or the Colonel be there, too, since they’d agreed to watch out for him? Could I manage to get them all down to the bunker if they were injured?

I didn’t know these answers. All I knew was that I was going to do my damndest to try.

I kept dodging the flames that licked at my feet and coughing incessantly at smoke, holding my elbow over my mouth to try and deflect it. Three more strides to the right, I thought, and I should run smack into—ouch!

Holy shit! I’d made it, and I immediately sank to the dirt, my head ringing. I banged against the metal of my dad’s trailer and ran my hand along the side to try and find the door. My eyes burned like hell, and I was coughing uncontrollably now.

“Daddy!” I cried. “Hold on, I’m coming!”

There it was—I could feel the metal handle to the trailer. I flipped it open and scrambled inside.

Only to see more smoke, everywhere.

He must’ve left his windows open—

“DADDY!” I yelled.

But I heard . . . nothing.

There was no silence more sickening to me on the planet in that moment.

“Daddy, where are you?” I begged, beginning to feel woozy from the smoke in my lungs, my eyes stinging like crazy. Nevertheless, I leaped forward to where the couch must be, patting it with my hands to try and feel for my dad. I reached up to the bunk rail but only discovered a pillow and blankets, so I sank down to the floor.