Page 25 of Dirty (Chicago Underground 5)
“You’re bluffing.”
“What was her name? Ah, that’s right. Daisy. Very pretty, like the flower.” Todd lifted one bare tattooed shoulder. “I may have fucked her.”
A shudder ran through Luke’s body, visible to anyone at the table. But even if they hadn’t seen it, they could feel it. His rage rolled off him in almost-palpable waves. I had felt his intensity before, his lust, but never this. Never unadulterated hatred, and sure as hell never a love so strong as to generate such a thing. How he must have loved her. How he loved her still. But he wouldn’t do it, would he? He wouldn’t give me to them, even if it meant finding his long-lost love.
His voice was hoarse. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
Todd considered that, looking off to the right. Everything, from the stillness of his hands to the steady, unflared slope of his nostrils, indicated he was remembering something, not making it up.
The din of the club seemed to quiet, as if someone had turned the volume down. I heard my blood pumping in my ears, fast against the backdrop of Luke’s harsh breathing. I realized that his rigid discipline hadn’t been him all along but a container for years upon years of unfulfilled fury. Through force of will, he had carefully tunneled his energy into the places he could effect change. His almost inhuman efforts to help me and the other girls were merely steam from the release valve. All the while pressure had built, waiting for someone to set it free.
“She was a natural blonde,” Todd finally said. Then he glanced at me. “Not as hot as this one, though.”
It happened so quickly. Luke pushed me out of the booth and lunged across the table. Half of the people spilled out from the seats while the others stared, slack-jawed. That was when I knew we weren’t getting out of this alive. This was an insult of the highest order to the woman who meant the most to him. Luke couldn’t find her, but he wouldn’t let her go unavenged.
He had his hands around Todd’s neck, while the larger man grappled futilely, unable to shake him. He landed blows on Luke’s side, on his head, but nothing would shake him. Would Luke kill in his rage? I saw no other way out. Unless Todd killed him first. I fumbled for my gun before remembering I had given it to Luke for safekeeping. Where had he put it? He had reached back and tucked it behind him.
I yelled out a warning, but it was lost to the melee, evaporated like sound underwater. Helpless, I watched in horror as Todd’s wild blows found the gun, as he whipped it out and pointed it at Luke’s cheek. The two men froze, one on top of the other, panting. Slowly, Luke levered himself up and stepped back. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had been half expecting him to continue fighting, blind to his rage. At least he had this much self-preservation. Though it was unclear whether it would be enough, whether we would get out of this after all, considering the look of vengeance on Todd’s face.
He let out a stream of incoherent curses, promising all manner of retribution upon Luke, his mother, any pets he might or might not have. But when Todd turned to me and our eyes met, I knew exactly how he meant to exact revenge.
Still holding the gun, he spread his arms wide. “I know what will make me feel better after this. We’ll have a party. And your girl will be our main attraction.”
“Try it,” Luke snarled. “And count how many breaths you have left.”
Despite his clear disadvantage, his words seemed to give Todd pause and me too. There was something unbreakable about him then, as if a bullet couldn’t stop him. It was only his will, his decision to stand there instead of beating Todd to a bloody pulp, that kept him safe. Todd seemed to think this over while wiping a dribbling line of blood from his brow. He looked around, as if aware that everyone in the room was watching us—far too many witnesses to keep quiet, far too much bother to rape and murder us for what amounted to a barroom brawl.
“Get your bitch and get out,” he said. “I never want to see you back here.”
I seemed to have been rooted to the spot, but Luke grabbed my arm and pulled me from the club. Cold night air slashed at my sweated skin and seeped into my bones. The streetlamps blurred before my eyes, as if I watched them through a car window on the freeway instead of stumbling down the street away from the club. My limbs felt like lead. I remembered this feeling from once before. My brain was filled with white dewy mist. Ah, shock. That was it. Knowing its name didn’t lift the fog.
If anything, I sank deeper. Nothing could touch me here. No one could.
Chapter Twelve
At least Luke seemed to have all his faculties, buckling me into the car. His hands were smooth as they tucked my hair behind my ear. He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Close your eyes. We’ll be home soon.”
Only when I felt the car move did I realize I had followed his instructions. I kept them closed, luxuriating in the cottony comfort. We were safe; that much I knew. And really, wasn’t that all I’d ever wanted for us? Safe and together.
Whether minutes or hours passed, I didn’t know, but I felt the car slow to a halt. I opened my eyes, and first things I saw were trees. I squinted. Where were we, a park? Luke circled the car and let me out. Then I saw the cottage. In the twilight, dark crisscross beams could be seen shadow-framing the cottage, and a dark leafy carpet blanketed the side. I hadn’t been sure what he’d meant by home, but it sure as hell wasn’t this. “What is this place?”
“A safe house.”
I grew alarmed. “The CPD?”
“No,” he said shortly. “It’s mine.”
“She’s mine,” he had said to Todd. All part of the game that had almost blown up in our faces.
It was too dark to see inside properly, even with the small table-side lamp Luke switched on. I registered vague, ranch-style furniture crowding the small living space. It all looked very ordinary, as if a sleepy-headed child might wander out for a glass of water. But maybe that was what made it a safe house. Not just its location as a hideout, but its ability to bring ease to the people who stayed here.
Luke prepared a cup of tea for me and coffee for himself. I warmed my hands on the bowled mug and took a sip.
At length, I asked the question that had sat on the tip of my tongue all this time. “Do you regret it?”
He leaned back in the wood-and-wicker armchair he’d chosen and closed his eyes. A lock of golden-brown hair fell across his forehead, softening the hard, chiseled lines of his face.
“I should. I can’t. He deserved every fucking bruise.”
