So we had to cut each other loose.
“I… I have…” I stammered, shook myself mentally and physically and got my shit together. “I’m not ready for that Ren.”
“Right,” he whispered, and didn’t hide his disappointment.
I closed my eyes tight and felt my throat constrict.
“Be safe,” he said quietly. “And be happy, baby.”
Oh God.
Shit.
Fuck!
“You too, Ren,” I forced out through my tight throat.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “Bye, Ally.”
“Bye, Ren.”
He disconnected.
I let my hand drop and stared at my steering wheel.
It took a while, a very long while, before I got myself together enough to turn the ignition and drive myself home.
That night and the nights after, I didn’t sleep in my bed. I slept on my couch.
And I did this because the sheets smelled of Ren and I didn’t have it in me to endure the memory of what we had.
But I also didn’t have it in me to strip them and wash him away.
Chapter Five
Backbone
Rock Chick Rewind
One week later …
I sat in my Mustang outside the Balducci brothers’ pool hall.
I had my gun in my purse.
As Darius promised, he’d taken me to Zip’s Gun Emporium. I’d picked out a little .22 I could fit in most of my bags and Darius arranged for Zip to open late so I could go to his range with no one around, thus no one to see me, and practice.
I also ran once a day (mostly, and I was right—I rocked running gear and those awesome headbands, though I was only beginning to rock running; that shit was not easy). I went to Zip’s one or two nights a week (depending on my shifts at Brother’s). And last week, to get my mind off Ren (though Darius didn’t know why I was fired up to go), Darius had taken me down to C. Springs to run the warehouse maze.
This was also not easy, and I knew this because I went through the drill six times and shot at least one innocent each time. I felt like a moron until Darius told me he’d taken that trip down to C. Springs three times before he ran the drill and passed.
We were going back next week, but not for me to go back to the warehouse. For me to run the defensive/evasive driving course before the weather turned iffy seeing as it was September (or, as it went in Denver, since the weather was always iffy, iffier).
But I was there, outside the Balducci’s pool hall, with my gun because last night, Ricky Balducci raped Sadie.
No, that wasn’t right. He’d beat the shit out of her and then he raped her.
And I’d been mean to her.
I didn’t know she was Hector’s. I thought they’d be sworn enemies seeing as Hector was the undercover DEA agent who brought down Sadie’s drug lord father (suffice to say, trouble—this time crazy, serious, heartbreaking trouble—had hit a Rock Chick).
I learned that morning she was not only his, but also that the reason I’d been mean to her—that she’d done something nasty to Daisy at a society party—did not happen.
Daisy was beside herself with fury and sadness. The first, because Marcus knew Sadie never talked trash about Daisy and he didn’t tell her, for reasons I got but were now very distressing. The second because Daisy had liked Sadie before she thought she talked trash about her. They were friends. Daisy cut her out and now her friend had gotten raped.
And I’d been a bitch. A bitch to a petite, scared woman who looked like a fairy princess and came to my brother yesterday to get his protection.
I’d been a bitch.
God.
I closed my eyes tight. My hand fisting, everything in me beating back the desire to grab my purse with my gun, waltz into that pool hall and pistol whip Ricky Balducci, an asshole who’d beat the shit out of a fairy princess and violated her, to within an inch of his life
I fought back that urge and when I opened my eyes, automatically, I scanned my mirrors.
That was when I saw the hips in suit trousers approaching my car.
My body stilled.
