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Everett chuckles. “Welcome to the club, bro.”
After I get off the phone with Everett, I call Storm to let him know I’m going to be late, and then I meet my buddy who owns a garage about Emerson’s car so he can take a look at it before we return it. I can’t let her drive the deathtrap around without someone checking if it’s actually roadworthy.
“The car’s a shitbox, but I need you to make it as safe as you can,” I tell Craig as I hand the keys over to him.
Craig looks at me, and then the car, and then back at me again. “There is nothing I can do to make that thing any less of a hunk of junk.” He gestures at the car that was once upon a time some shade of blue. Now it’s an off-gray color that reminds me of paper mâché.
“You’re the best mechanic in town. I’m sure there’s something you can do.”
He nods. “There is. It’s called wrecking it and buying a new one.”
I sigh, there’s no way on God’s green earth Emerson will let me buy her a new car. Not yet at least, and if I have as good a read on her as I think I do, probably not ever. She won’t have a say in the matter if it’s about her safety though. I don’t compromise on anything, but I am willing to make certain allowances for her, to make sure she doesn’t feel too trapped. However, her safety is not something I will ever risk, no matter how mad she gets, no matter how many scars her claws leave, it’s a non-negotiable and she will soon learn that.
“Level with me here, Chris. What needs to be done to this thing to make it roadworthy, and safe enough it’s not going to disintegrate mid drive?”
“You don’t have enough time for me to list all the shit that needs to be fixed on this thing. I’m telling you, Rayne, the only place this car should be going is to the junkyard.”
I scrub my hand down my face, feeling a headache coming on. Today has not gone how I expected. Every moment that followed leaving the youth center has been a headache in itself, and now it’s manifesting itself into the worst one I can remember having. “Okay, I’ll work on it. For now, can you just take it to the address I gave you and drop the keys off?”
“You’re the boss.” Chris shrugs and yanks open the driver’s side door.
Fuck me, I need to convince Emerson to let me buy her a new car. Also to let me pay off the debt and move her out of the hellhole that is her apartment. I have my work cut out for me and I’m reminded once again how much simpler my life was before a woman was involved.
The memory of Emerson’s lip trembling under my thumb, of the blush on her cheeks, and the way her body reacted to mine reminds me of just how worth it she’s going to be.
I have one more stop on my list before I can meet Storm, and this one is going to be the most fun I have all day. Hell, it might just make my week.
Half an hour later, I’m standing in front of an apartment door that is somehow worse than the one I left Emerson in. It isn’t that I look down on people who are less fortunate than I am, because that’s definitely not the case, it’s that the man that lives on the other side of this door is the lowest of the low.
I read Brad’s file before I headed up here, and every word I read made me angrier than the last. He did five years of hard time for beating his girlfriend within an inch of her life. The photos in the case file even turned my stomach, and I kill people for a living. Even if that wasn’t the case, he still put hands on my woman, and that makes him a big fucking problem in my book.
I pound on the door three times but don’t say anything as I reach behind my back to check the position of my gun in my waistband.
It’s a habit more than anything. You can’t afford to be caught off guard in my line of work.
The door swings open after a few seconds and the man I threw across the parking lot a few hours ago stands before me in nothing but his underwear. His eyes are glazed over and dilated as he looks me up and down. There’s no recognition in his gaze, which means Brad has no fucking idea who I am. Bruises cover his forearms, angry track marks mar the inside of his elbows.
The fact he was on hard drugs when he went to see Emerson only seems to make the red clouding my vision deepen. I’ve seen the dregs of society in my line of work, and there are two common things that put people in that category. Money and drugs.
“Who the fuck are you?”
I almost tell him I’m his worst fucking nightmare but decide against the overused cliché despite how true it is. “I’ve come to give you a warning.”
“I told the last of Russo’s men, I’m working on getting the money together.” Brad’s skin pales, well, as much as it can considering he already looks like a ghost.
I tuck that piece of information into the back of my mind. Brad owes Russo money, which is probably what he was hassling Emerson about.
“I don’t work for that idiot,” I spit. “No, what I’ll do to you will make anything that unimaginative fuck has threatened you with look like a fucking picnic.”
Any color left in his face is long gone as he looks over his shoulder for an escape route. They always do, because rats are always looking for the next hole they can crawl into.
It’s why my foot was in the way of the door almost the moment it swung open. Brad didn’t even notice me step forward as the door opened, and I can almost imagine the surprise in his features if he tries to slam the door closed. Idiots like Brad always try to make a run for it, and I’m always ready for the chase.
“What do you want?” he asks, his fingernails scratching roughly over the track marks. I don’t even want to hazard a guess at what shit he’s injected into his body, but I feel pretty confident it came from Russo.
The shit they deal has killed more junkies than I can count. They sell their shit cheap, which meant the ingredients aren’t exactly premium. Their drugs are likely primarily rat poison and bleach, neither of which should be injected into the human body.
I see the moment Brad decides he’s going to make a run for it. His fist tightens around the door, his eyes darting behind me, and then over his shoulder nervously. The door is barely moving when my hand darts out to stop it, a sick smirk tugging at my lips. “I hoped you’d do that.” I barge into the apartment, slamming the flimsy door behind me.
