Slow Burn Read online

  "You know about the serum, right?" he said. "Your dad said he explained it to you."

  "My dad?"

  "Yeah," said Muscles. "Maybe I should have led with that. I knew your dad. He sent me here to protect you."

  "Knew?" As in, past tense.

  Muscles' face fell. "Right. You don't know yet." He jammed his hands in his pockets. "They got him, doll. He's dead."

  I put fingers to my lips.

  "Look, we have to get out of here," he said. "The police are going to show up. Or worse. Operation Wraith will figure out they've got an agent down. Where's your car?"

  I shook my head. "I don't believe you."

  "Don't believe me about what? Don't believe he's dead? Don't believe I know him?"

  "Don't believe any of it." My voice cracked. I was going to start crying.

  He rubbed the top of his head. "Okay, okay. Uh, he told me to tell you something. It was, um..."

  I took a step back from Muscles and the bloody body. This wasn't happening to me. This couldn't be happening.

  "When you were five your dad got you a pony for your birthday, but you were afraid of it. And you wouldn't touch it until he showed you it was safe." Muscles spread his hands. "Would anyone else know that?"

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Fine, you talked to him."

  "Where's your car, doll?"

  I pointed. "Two blocks that way." My dad made me promise never to park my car in the bank parking lot. I'd seriously considered doing it today because I was so late. But now I was glad that I hadn't. I understood why he'd made that rule. If my car had been close, then the guy from Dewhurst-McFarland might have seen it. They'd have been able to use it to track me down.

  * * *

  "My name's Griffin Fawkes," said Muscles. He was behind the wheel of my car. I couldn't begin to even think about driving right now. He said it was better to take my car, because he was driving a stolen car, and it was best to ditch it. I was trapped inside a confined space with a car thief. "How do we get out of here? We get on I-68? East or West?"

  "I don't know," I said, buckling my seatbelt. I was feeling numb. I knew my dad had been in danger, but it had never seemed real before. It had all been away from me. There hadn't been guns and knives and dead men in suits. "Where are we going?"

  "Back to wherever your dad has you hidden," said Griffin.

  "Back there?" I said. "But don't they know where I am now?"

  "No," he said. "You called one of Frank's old phones. They tracked that call. I did too. I didn't know where you were. I only knew that Frank was gone. And he made it clear to me that if anything happened to him, he wanted me to keep an eye on you. But he never got around to telling me where you were. So, I tracked the phone. I assume Op Wraith did too. So, they only know you're somewhere near Cumberland. You should still be safe wherever he's got you settled."

  I had called one of the old numbers, hadn't I? So this was my fault? My head hurt. And he'd used the word 'wraith'? What was he talking about?

  "So," said Griffin. "Where to, doll?"

  "Thomas, West Virginia," I said. "We need to get on 220 South."

  "I saw signs for that on I-68," he said.

  "Well, you don't have to get on the interstate," I said. "You could..." I thought about how to explain it.

  "What?"

  I shook my head. "Never mind. Cumberland's confusing. Just get on the interstate."

  "Okay." He started the car. "You doing okay?"

  "No," I said. "Not really." I leaned my head against the window. "What's Op Wraith?"

  "You don't know about that? Really?"

  "Should I?"

  "Well, you know about the serum," he said. "Op Wraith is a group of assassins-for-hire. They all have the serum."

  "Oh," I said. "Actually, I did know about that. I just didn't know the name."

  "I used to be Op Wraith," said Griffin. "But I happened to be breaking out the same night your dad was stealing the serum. We helped each other out that night, and we've been helping each other since."

  "You were an assassin?" This was the guy that my dad sent to look out for me? I guessed he was scary enough. As long as he only messed with other people, not me.

  "Well, it's not like I enjoyed it or anything," he said. "That's why I'm not doing it anymore. But Op Wraith is after you, and I'm not going to let them hurt you."

  I chewed on my lip.

  "I'm here to keep you safe, doll."

  "My name isn't doll," I said. "It's Leigh."

  He glanced at me sidelong from the driver's seat. "Right."

  "Where are you from anyway? The Bronx?"

  "Jersey," he said. "Ocean City."

  He was like a thug or something. A thug. A tall, muscled, threatening, really attractive thug. "So, you're just going to come back to Thomas with me. And then what?"

  "And then I watch you," he said. "And if anyone tries to hurt you, I hurt them first."

  "Uh huh," I said. Watch me. What did that mean exactly? Would he be following me everywhere? "And where are you going to stay?"

  "I don't know, on your couch or something."

  "For how long?"

  "I don't know," he said. He was merging the car onto the interstate, but he glanced at me again anyway, and it nearly gave me a heart attack that he wasn't watching the road. "Look, I promised your dad. He helped me get out of Op Wraith. I owe him. He never shut up about you, you know."

  "Really?" I said. I wanted to believe that.

  "He always went on about how sweet you were."

  "Sweet?" That's funny. Maybe we never really had a chance to talk about my coke-fueled car accident, my dad and me. But nobody who knew me would describe me as sweet. Nobody.

  "Yeah," said Griffin. He made a face. "I guess I'm really freaking you out here, huh? A guy like me."

  He was, actually.

  "I'm not a bad guy, you know," he said. "Really, I'm not. And I meant it when I said I'd keep you safe. So, don't worry. Everything's going to be okay."

  "No," I said. "It's not. My dad is... gone."

  He was quiet.

  I'd lost my father, and I'd never had a chance to really know him. He hadn't known me. He'd spent most of my life avoiding me for one reason or another. And now, we'd never get that back. I'd never have a relationship with him.

  This time, when the tears threatened, I didn't squelch them. I let the sobs erupt out of me.

  Griffin reached over and awkwardly patted my shoulder.

  I pulled away.

  He put his hand back on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry, doll. I really am."

  * * *

  There was basically only one way I wanted to spend the evening after I found out that my father had been killed. It involved a bottle of marshmallow-flavored vodka and a shot glass. (I really liked flavored vodkas. They made getting plastered a lot more easy.)

  I didn't know what I was going to do with Griffin during that, but maybe he'd want shots of marshmallow-flavored vodka too. He couldn't crash on my couch forever, like he seemed to think he could. I was going to have to figure something else out.

  My apartment was a pretty tiny one bedroom in town. The kitchen and living room were one room, and neither of them was big. There wasn't a bathtub, only a standup shower. It was too small of a place for two people to live in. Way too small. He'd have to find his own place to live.

  But I could let him stay until we got it figured out. He had saved my life after all.

  I showed Griffin where to park, and he pulled my car into the gravel parking lot. Without waiting for him, I got out of the car and started up the steps to my apartment. The stairs were rickety wood things that clung to the siding and groaned when you walked on them. The railing was a little bit of a joke, because it had come apart from the steps in a few places. My apartment had its own outdoor entrance, though, so that was something.

  Griffin got out of the car. "Hold up."

  I stopped. "This is my place."

  "Yeah," he said, "but you s
hould let me go first just to make sure that it's safe in there."

  "I thought you said they didn't know where I was."

  "As far as I know, they don't," he said. "It's still better to be cautious." He jogged up the stairs ahead of me, pulling out one of the guns he'd taken from Suit. The stairs emitted a series of strained squeaks.

  I went after him more slowly.

  He tried the doorknob at the top of the stairs. He looked down at me. "The door's unlocked."

  "Yeah, because I left it that way." I caught up to him. Now we were both on the landing to the steps.

  "You don't lock your door." He gave me a look as if I'd just admitted to not washing my hands after I used the bathroom or something.

  "It's Thomas," I said. "There's never been a crime here like ever." I reached for the doorknob.

  He put out his arm to stop me. "No. You don't know who's in there. I'm going first."

  I rolled my eyes. "Look, you don't have to-"

  "Shh!" He flattened himself against the doorway, holding the gun up against his chest like he was in a 1980s action movie or something. He burst through the door and raised the gun in one fluid motion.

  There was a scream from inside.

  I hurried past Griffin.

  "There's someone in here, doll," said Griffin, gun trained on the guy on my couch.

  "That's Clint," I said. "Put the gun away."

  "You know him?" said Griffin.

  "Oh, God, Leigh, why is there a guy in your apartment pointing a gun at me?" said Clint.

  "You're scaring him," I told Griffin.

  Slowly, Griffin put the gun back at the small of his back. He eyed Clint warily. "How do you know Leigh?"

  "Are you a cop?" said Clint.

  "No," I said. "He's, um-"

  "Leigh's bodyguard," said Griffin. "Her father hired me."

  "Whoa," said Clint. "Your dad really is paranoid."

  "Listen, Clint, it's not a good time."

  He got up off the couch. "I was just here to get you back." He pulled a baggy of white powder out of his pocket. "I owe you."

  "What the hell is that?" said Griffin.

  "I thought you said he wasn't a cop," said Clint.

  I snatched the bag from him. "He's not." To Griffin. "It's drugs, mmmkay?"

  Griffin took the bag from me. He opened it, touched it with a finger and tasted it. "Cocaine?"

  I rolled my eyes.

  "I guess I should be happy it's only coke," he said.

  "Give it back," I said.

  "You do a lot of drugs?" he asked.

  "No," I said. I turned to Clint. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

  "No problem," he said. "I guess I was just thinking we'd do a line together before I left."

  I glared at him. Greedy son of a bitch. He wasn't here to give me back anything. He wanted to put half of what he owed me up his nose. I wasn't spotting him any coke, ever again. "It's not a great time."

  He looked at Griffin. "Yeah. Okay." He gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek. And then he left.

  After the door closed, I held out my hand to Griffin. "Give it back."

  "I don't think so."

  I put my hands on my hips. "What?"

  "Who was that guy? Your boyfriend?"

  "No," I said.

  "He kissed you."

  "Maybe we slept together once or twice. But there's nothing between us. We're friends."

  "You're drug buddies."

  "Give it back."

  He shook his head. "Coke makes you dumb. You think it makes you more alert, but actually it makes you too cocky too notice if anything's going wrong. And you blab stuff too. Someone like you really needs to keep her mouth shut. If the wrong people find out about you, you'll be in a lot of trouble."

  I winced, thinking about Rough Hands this morning. I'd told him all about my dad and the phone. I should have kept that to myself. "It doesn't hit me nearly as hard since I got the serum. I don't get nosebleeds anymore. And I don't even do it that often."

  He laughed. "Yeah, I've yet to hear of someone who got nosebleeds from snorting coke who wasn't doing it a lot."

  "Just give it back. This is none of your business."

  "Keeping you safe is my business," he said. He stalked over to the kitchen sink and began moving dirty dishes out onto the counter.

  "What are you doing?" I said.

  He dumped the bag into the now empty sink and turned the faucet on.

  "Have you lost your mind?" I screamed. I dove for the sink. Maybe I could save some of it.

  He caught me by the wrists and held me back. Jesus, he was strong.

  "Stop," he said. His voice was a quiet growl.

  "Fuck you," I said. "Who do you think you are?"

  He pushed me up against the refrigerator. He let go of my wrists, but his body blocked me from moving. He rested one hand against the fridge, bending down his face so that it was close to mine. "Your father didn't want anything to happen to you. He gave his life to keep you safe. He couldn't have known that you were throwing your life away on a really dangerous, stupid drug. A highly addictive piece of poison."

  "Shut up," I said.

  "He wouldn't have wanted that for you."

  "You don't know anything about it."

  "I know the way he talked about you. I know how his wallet was filled with pictures of you, from the time you were a baby, clear up to now. You should be glad he never saw you like this. It would have broken his heart."

  I put my hands on his chest and shoved as hard as I could.

  It didn't do anything. He was as solid as Suit had been earlier. But he did back up and let me move.

  I was crying again. "My father never gave two shits about me until I almost got myself killed in that car accident. Then, suddenly, he's risking his life to keep me alive. If he would have just noticed me before that, maybe I wouldn't have had to get so drastic."

  "Hey, I'm sorry," he was saying. "I guess I could have said that in a different way."

  I yanked open the freezer and took out the bottle of vodka. Screw the shot glass. I went to my bedroom and closed the door.

  Even the marshmallow flavor didn't seem to taste that good right now. I clutched the open bottle, leaned up against my bed, and cried.

  * * *

  He was knocking on the door.

  "Go away," I said. I wasn't sure how long I'd been in here, but it was dark outside, and it hadn't been when I closed the bedroom door. Probably a long time.

  "I'm sorry."

  I put the lid back on the vodka. I held up the bottle. After all that, I didn't think I'd really managed to drink that much of it anyway. I got to my feet and opened the bedroom door. "Sorry?"

  He was leaning against the wall opposite my bedroom door. He was good at leaning. He looked absolutely gorgeous. He was a jackass, but he was a pretty jackass. "It's been awhile since I spent much time with anyone who wasn't either trying to kill me or helping me stop the guys who were trying to kill me. I kind of forgot how to be polite."

  "You think?" I said.

  "Not that I'm saying it's okay for you to be doing coke," he said. "It's not. But I was out of line with what I did and what I said to you." He looked down at his hands.

  And I realized that he had blood on him. I grabbed his hands. "Is this from Suit?"

  "Who?"

  "The guy you killed earlier," I said. "I called him Suit in my head."

  "Oh." He pulled his hands back. "Yeah, I guess so."

  Now that I was closer, I could see that there was a fine bit of spatter on his arms and shirt. "You need to take a shower."

  "No, I'm fine."

  "Are you kidding? You saved that guy for me. I don't care how tough you are, having his blood on you can't feel good."

  He stared at the floor. "It never does."

  "So, you should take a shower," I said. "And I think I might even have a shirt big enough for you."

  "I've got clothes," he said. "I brought a pack. It's in the living room."


  "Okay, great."

  "I don't want to impose," he said. "It's obvious that you don't want me around. I can watch over you from outdoors. I can crash in the car or something."

  "Don't be silly," I said. "I'm being a brat. You saved my life. I'm grateful."

  He shrugged self-consciously. "Look, I hate Op Wraith. I'd probably have killed that guy anyway."

  "But you did it for me," I said. I looked into his gray eyes. "Thank you."

  He blushed.

  Seriously. Mr. Big, Bad Muscle guy blushed. I looked away, feeling my cheeks heat up too. Why were we both blushing? "The, um, bathroom's over there."

  He nodded. "Thanks."

  He closed himself in.

  And I realized he didn't have a towel. I went to my linen closet and got him one. I knocked on the door. "I've got a towel."

  He opened the door. He wasn't wearing a shirt anymore. I gazed at his bare chest, which was rippling and taut and tan and... whoa. He was too good looking. It was distracting. My gaze swept over his shoulders and followed down over his pecks and belly...

  He had a crudely drawn tattoo on his stomach. It was a circle with a cross in the middle of it.

  I gaped at it. "You're tattoo, um... what is it?"

  He snatched the towel from me, covering it.

  "Is that a prison tattoo?" I said.

  He closed the bathroom door in my face.

  * * *

  He took a quick shower, but I felt bad about it the whole time. Here he was, this guy who'd risked his life to save me, who didn't owe me anything but still wanted to keep me safe. And I was prying, making him feel uncomfortable.

  When he came out, he wandered into the living room without looking at me.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm not judging or anything . You just poured out my coke, so, obviously, I don't exactly live by the letter of the law. I figure that the only reason I've never been locked up is luck."

  He turned to me. "Really?"

  "Yeah."

  "That's open minded of you." He sat down on my couch. "But, you know, they don't usually lock people up for possession. Unless you're possessing a lot, and they can get intent to distribute."

  "Oh," I said.

  He sighed. "Sorry. You were trying to apologize, and I just stomped all over it, didn't I?"

  "You didn't."

  "I might have a little bit of a chip on my shoulder about the jail stuff." He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "I got locked up in an adult facility when I was sixteen years old, and those guys ate me alive. I had to survive. The tattoo was just part of it."

  "It's okay," I said. He had been in jail. "You don't have to explain."

  "No," he said. "I do. Because there's no other way you're going to trust me. You're going to be afraid of me. You'll think I'm a dangerous convict."