Bad Boy’s Bridesmaid(106)

A family. She promised me a baby. I wasn’t ready to let that dream die yet. Not when I knew it’s what she wanted too.

“You know I never had anyone I could trust,” I said. “No one I could rely on. No one who loved me more than whatever junk they injected in their veins.”

Josie’s voice softened. “I know.”

“I want a family. That…closeness. I’d be a good father and husband, Sweets. We could do it, you and me.”

“I know.”

Someone knocked on the door. I checked the time. Half the town went to bed an hour ago, and the rest waited for the local news to kick off before calling it quits. No one should have been looking for me.

No one who wanted a quiet visit, at least.

And now Josie decided to talk.

“You have no idea how much I loved that plan. I still do.” Her breathy whisper ached in my heart and twisted my jeans. “A family with you would be…you know I’ve never been happier than when I’m with you.”

Goddamn it. These were the types of confessions best served in person, without clothes, beneath the covers. The phone wasn’t good enough.

The knocking was as annoying as it was unwelcomed. I grabbed the baseball bat I stashed near the door. I tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder.

“I know the town doesn’t understand. I mean, I don’t understand it most of the time. But when I’m with you…it just feels…but that’s why we have to be so careful. We can’t pretend there’s no problems, and if we have a baby…”

The asshole pounded the door hard enough to break inside. Like he tried to escape whatever demon chased him from the devil and into my rented hell. I tensed.

Opened the door.

“There’s things happening beyond our control. We can’t risk—”

The woman waiting in the hall had a black eye, a torn book bag, and a habit that trembled her hand. She batted the dishwater blonde hair from her face and shrugged her shoulders.

She smiled like she cared. She didn’t have the right.

“Hey, little brother.” Chelsea gnawed on her lip. “Can I come in?”

I nearly dropped the phone.

“I guess…if you wanted to come and talk…maybe tomorrow evening, after I work? We could get something to eat—”

I swore. “Sweets, I’ll call you back.”

“But—”

I hung up on her and prepared for the next battle.

Chelsea didn’t wait for me to invite her inside. Hell, she never knocked on the door when we lived at home. I didn’t have a real room, just a blanket in the laundry-room after Dad sold the dryer for a pocket of drugs. The least she could have done was rap on the wall back then, get an ounce of human courtesy in her.

Wasn’t her game. I didn’t know what was up, but I could guess.

She was in trouble.

“You look good.” Chelsea forced a smile. It was more than I could say for her. The bruises were both self-inflicted from needles and the press of a man’s thumb too hard into her pressure points. “You’re out of jail.”

“Did you know I was in jail?”

“I heard.”

“From who?”

Chelsea hesitated before answering, and that meant I knew exactly who ran their mouth.

“John told me,” she said.

Ironic name for the man who had pimped her two years ago. I thought I freed her from that prick. Now he was back, messing with her head? Fucking perfect.

“I figured he’d leave you alone.” I snorted. “Guess he didn’t wait too long to come after you.”

Chelsea blew past me, dropping her bag on the floor. Half of her shit spilled out, and she didn’t hide the drugs stashed in her hair supplies and wallet. I shook my head, but she pouted in the chair, like she could act insulted when I saw through the bullshit.

“For your information, John cares about me,” she said.

“Like hell. Were you this stupid before the drugs?”

“I came here to talk to you. Are you gonna listen to me or not?”

“You gonna remember any of it in the morning?”

Chelsea’s voice rose. Zero to hysterical in half a second, as usual. “You’re nothing but an asshole, Maddox. I need help, and you want to make me feel bad.”

Name of the game in our family. “You need help?”

“I just…I need a little money.”

Of course she did. “Here’s the crazy thing about jail, Chels. It doesn’t give you many opportunities to get rich. At least, not the shit I was willing to do.”

“You don’t understand. It’s important.”

“Important like, you’re going to rehab? Or important like, to prevent you from getting twitchy?”

If Chelsea were halfway sober, she’d be even more insulted. Instead she swore at me, our family tradition.

“John wants to leave his family.”

I laughed. “Ain’t no way.”

“It’s true. He loves me.”

“He loves keeping you on the side. You’re cheap. You’re easy. And he can whore you out if he needs a favor from someone.”

“That’s not true.”

“Come on.” I couldn’t look at her. “Is he still giving you that same line? You two are swinging? He likes to see with other guys? Don’t buy his shit, you’ll go broke.”

“You don’t want me to be happy.”

Chelsea was five years older than me, but she acted like she was still thirteen. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what John found attractive in her. Still, she was family. Whatever that meant to her.

“One of us should be happy,” I said. “Why do you need money?”

“Well…If John leaves his family, the divorce will be messy. He’ll owe his wife alimony, and he’s got those two little boys. It’ll be expensive.”

“He’s pulling a big enough salary from the town. Should be easy for him, especially with the pension when he retires.”

Chelsea shrugged. “The thing is, she’s gonna get the house. And the car. He needs money. And I offered to help…”

That son of a bitch. “He wants you to whore again?”

“No! He just said he has some friends who would be very respectful, and they wanted to try some things their wives wouldn’t allow—”

“Jesus, Chelsea! He’s your pimp! He’s not worried about his house, and he’s not leaving his goddamned wife. He wants to wear your ass out before you overdose, probably on the shit drugs he’s giving you.”

“You’re not listening!”

“Neither are you! He’s the chief of the fucking police force. You really think Chief John Craig, devoted husband and father of two, is going to jeopardize his job and his life for a whore he picked up from the wrong side of the tracks?”

“You don’t know him like I do.”

“Yeah, I do. He’s hiding behind the badge, but he belongs in the street with the gang I left. He put enough of us away that he learned all the tricks. Now he’s pulling them on you.”

“Do you know who you sound like?” Chelsea paced the room. “You sound like everyone in this town who said you weren’t good enough for Josie Davis.”

I wasn’t. But unlike Chelsea, I was improving myself. Shedding my past and trying to be the man Josie deserved, not the delinquent trash everyone thought we were.

“I don’t have any money,” I said.

Chelsea got nervous. She didn’t look at me, and she covered the bruise on her cheek. “John knows you’re in town. He mentioned you. A couple times. He said you and him used to have an…agreement? He told me to talk to you and see if you couldn’t renegotiate.”

“And if I don’t?”

“He said you’d remember what happened the last time you couldn’t pay. That you wouldn’t want it to happen again.”

God damn it. That bastard was fucking evil, and there wasn’t a goddamned thing I could do to protect Chelsea or Josie from his cruelty.

He wanted to blackmail me again? It wouldn’t work. The kind of money the chief demanded came from jobs. Important ones. Jobs I didn’t like to do, especially since the only man who could pay them ended up owning my ass for as long as he wanted.

At least it had once given Chelsea freedom from Chief Craig…until the money dried up. Until I tried to make a difference. Until I tried to save her.

A year ago, I told Chief John Craig to fuck off and leave my sister alone.

Three days later, Josie’s store burned to the ground.

For the past year, I was convinced the chief framed me for arson…but then Josie showed me the plans and drawings Nolan Rhys ordered for Sweet Nibbles. Both men had reason to hurt me.

I thought rotting in jail while imagining my revenge was torment. I was wrong. The real torture was now, the tightness eating away at my chest.

Nolan or the chief. Which one was the arsonist?

Or was someone in the town still playing with the matches in their pocket?

“Andrew?” Chelsea frowned. “Are you okay?”

No.

I wasn’t.

I pointed to the room. “This is paid through the night. Stay here. If you need it for another day, tell the clerk to reserve it again.”

“Wait…” She followed me as I shouldered my leather jacket. I handed her the room key and a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet. “Where are you going?”