“Nice ride.” His eyebrows raise, impressed. I know he can’t figure me out, and that’s perfectly all right.
I’m suddenly nervous, feeling like this is a date or something, unsure how the night will end.
“So,” he starts. “I’ll see you around.”
“Sounds good.” I tell him, knowing I can’t give in to a kiss with him out here, in public.
“Hey, what’s that,” he asks, reaching to the windshield wiper where an envelope is tucked safely under it.
“No idea.” I take it from him. My name is on the front: Josephine O’Malley.
“O’Malley?” he asks, as if trying to remember something.
I don’t answer; I just tear open the seal.
Inside is a single photograph.
My stomach drops. My heart falls.
I let out a gasp, and the photograph falls from my trembling fingers.
“What is it?” McQueen picks it up from the sidewalk. “Holy shit, who took this?” He looks around the empty street, the dark night.
“I don’t know.” My eyes fill with tears born from terror.
The photograph is of me this afternoon.
Naked.
In the locker room.
On top of McQueen.
Chapter Eight
McQUEEN
The picture captures JoJo and me in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination. What the actual fuck?
I look at JoJo. Her whole body is trembling. This girl is terrified, and all I want to do is wrap her in my arms and keep her safe.
I don’t know what’s fucking happening to me, but it’s like some caveman instincts are kicking in. I gotta protect my woman.
I swallow the thoughts. My woman? What the hell? Somewhere between taking this girl’s virginity and a late night hook-up, I’m completely captivated.
She is something to value, to treasure, something I’d be a fool to let fall through my fingers.
“Who would do this?” I ask, pulling her close to my chest. As I do, I look down the street. I wanna find this fucker and make him pay.
She pulls away, looking furtively around the dark streets. “No, McQueen, we can’t be together. They could be here—anywhere. Watching us.”
“Who could be here? Who’s they?”
She squeezes her eyes shut, as if she can’t bear to face the facts. Someone is blackmailing her, or threatening her—doing some seriously fucked-up shit to her.
“You have to tell me,” I say again. My face fills the photograph as much as her naked ass does, as much as her creamy skin, her bright red hair. The photo shows her riding me in the locker room, and you can’t see her face … but shit, mine is pretty damn easy to ID.
“I’m sorry, McQueen. I just—I can’t talk about it here. I don’t even want to be out here. It feels dangerous.”
“I’m not letting you go anywhere alone.”
Her eyes are full of tears. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“Can you go home? Do you feel safe there?”
She wipes the tears away, speaks so quietly I almost miss her words. “I’m scared that my dad might have been sent the same picture. If he was, he’ll kill me. I need to know who took this … or who they work for.”
I scan this girl’s face, trying to understand what mess she’s wrapped up in, what mess her family is wrapped up in. Earlier, I got the feeling there was some sketchy stuff in her home.
Shit, she’s a grown-ass woman, and yet she can’t live on her own. She’s gotta do what her daddy says, can’t tell them about her plans for fighting. But this—the complete terror in her face—is something else.
“Come to my place tonight. I’ll make sure you’re safe,” I tell her.
She hesitates. “I don’t know. Your face is in that photo, too … neither of us are safe.”
“Seriously?” I take a hard look at her, knowing there’s a hell of a lot she isn’t telling me, but not really caring about my own safety. Right now I’m just concerned about hers. “You’re coming with me, JoJo.”
Her shoulders drop slightly, and it’s as if hearing my unwavering words fortifies her. It should. I can fucking keep this girl safe for one goddamned night.
She bites her lip, eyeing her Mercedes. “I can’t leave my car here.”
“That’s okay. I’ll drive it to my place, park it in the garage. I can come tomorrow and get my own wheels.”
She nods, looking back down at the photo. She’s a smart girl, and her current inability to make a decision tells me she’s completely overwhelmed.
I can help make this easier.
“Hey, Jo,” I say softly. “Let’s get you in the car, okay?” I open the passenger door and help her inside. Taking the keys from her shaking hand, I get in the other side. Turning on the car, I take her hand in mine, squeeze it tightly. “It’s going to be okay.”
“You don’t know my family.” She looks straight ahead, out the window, numb. Not at all like the fierce fighter in the ring this morning.
Right now she looks beat up, with a bruised heart, a battered mind. Putting the car in drive, I’m determined to find out why.
JoJo
I didn’t notice that he started driving, let alone that he pulled up to a house. All I remember is seeing the photo, freaking out, and then him telling me he was going to take care of me.
I blink, hearing McQueen’s voice tell me we’re here, at his place.
I pull my gym bag out of the car with me. Stepping into the cool air of the garage, I quickly see McQueen’s place is a lot different than the mansion I live in.
“Wait here,” he tells me. “I’m gonna check the house first.”
I wait a few minutes, and when he returns, giving me the all-clear, I follow him inside.
Walking into the house, I step over a pile of tennis shoes in the doorway, and McQueen slips his off into the heap. I keep mine on, suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable in a way I wasn’t out on the street.
My chest tightens; fear lodges in my throat.
“What if someone is following us right now? On their way here?” I ask, pulling myself closer to him.
“It’s okay. Let me make a call.” He pulls out his phone and slides away the lock screen. He walks into a kitchen and flicks on a light.
“Who are you calling?” My eyes adjust to the lighting. McQueen’s place is unremarkable. It looks as generic as a model home. I don’t know why I’m noticing the details, except that maybe it’s easier to focus on McQueen’s suburban house than the reality of my life.
A leather couch sits in the great room, flanked by end tables holding lamps. Everything look like it could have been purchased at Costco. There are two stools at the granite bar in the open kitchen, but there’s no dining room table, nothing hanging on the walls. Nothing making this place his.
“I’m calling the fucking cops.”
“No,” I say, lunging for the phone.” My family may be crazy in a lot of ways, but I would never give the police a lead on them. “Are you nuts? You can’t call the cops.”
“Why the hell not? Someone is fucking with us, and we need to know who, and why.” He holds back his phone, studying me. “Unless you know something about all this. JoJo, you can talk to me.”
“No, I can’t. Trust me McQueen, it’s complicated.” I exhale sharply, knowing that coming here was a bad idea. “But you cannot involve the cops. That’s like, Rule 101 when it comes to the O’Malleys.”
I should have called my brothers before coming to this house. Peter, Paul, and John need to know about whatever danger I’m in. They have more force—and can offer me more safety—than any cop. My brothers may think I’m a stupid woman, but they’ll take my virginity less personally than my father will.
Except maybe not. They threatened to knock out the one guy I ever brought home. If they get wind of what McQueen and I did this afternoon, they might castrate him.
Or worse.
I swallow, shaking my head at my own ideas. I can’t call my brothers. I’d be leaking my own story. Best case scenario, the photographer was some creeper at the gym who got off by freaking us out.
Worst case, it has something to do with my father, with my impending marriage to Grotto…. I don’t know. Someone wants me to look bad, wants to freak me out.
And I don’t know which it is. But if I start explaining things to McQueen, he’ll know too much. And that will put him in a zone that looks nothing like a no-strings-attached scenario. If I tell McQueen, suddenly he’ll be caught up in my life in a way that will hurt him.
In a way that will possibly destroy him.
I can’t make my complicated family his responsibility.
“I really think I should go.” I take my keys from where he dropped them on the counter. “Look, I appreciate you bringing me here, but I don’t think it will help anything.”
“No way. JoJo, listen, if you won’t let me call the cops, then let me at least get a security team here. Ace and Landon both have crews they use. I’ll get people here to watch the place, for the night at least. It’s after midnight, and nothing is going to be solved tonight. Besides, you’re still shaking. You can’t drive anywhere.”
I look at the clock on the microwave. He’s right, it’s late. Late enough that someone will notice I’m past my curfew.