Page 7 of Pocketful of Shame

My jaw ticked as I took a sharp left, finally recognizing my surroundings. "Listen, asshole, I don't need a therapy session. I need a way to get Romi out of there and fast."

"You're still burning, yet still willing to go to war for the person who sparked the match," he mused. "Very admirable. That's hardcore dedication right there – or blind devotion. Hell, maybe it's love." He shrugged. "I'm unfamiliar with the inner workings of the human heart, but being in love seems kinda dangerous, if you ask me. Especially if it rouses idiotic urges of tomfoolery such as –"

"Pres," I snarled. "Focus on Romi. I want her out of there."

"Right." Shaking his head, he tipped the remaining M&Ms into his mouth before checking his watch. "Look, pal, these things take time. It's not as simple as walking into a locked tight psychiatric facility and asking for our friend back."

"They have her strapped to a goddamn bed," I bit out, furious. "Like an animal. She's not dangerous, Pres. She's a terrified teenage girl and they're treating her like a second-class citizen."

"On her father's orders," he reminded me.

"Fuck her father," I snarled. "Fuck Cal Dillon. No-good piece of shit."

"Yes, I agree. Fuck him and the horse he rode in on, but this – " He waved a hand around aimlessly, "Romi being in there? It's a sensitive process, Sketch." He sighed wearily. "You need to exercise some patience. I can get her out, but we need to be smart about it."

"I'msorry, but my patience checked out a long time ago. Andyouweren't the one looking through that window," I practically roared, outraged. "While you were playing inspector fucking gadget and flirting with the nurses, I was watched that bitch stick Romi with a damn needle.Again. While I stood back and did nothing.Again!"

"Oh,I'm sorry, Popeye the fucking sailor man, what would you suggest we do? Barge in and steal Olive Oil away from the medical professionals, bash them over the head with a six-pack of spinach, incite a manhunt that, more likely than not, results in your arrest, and then spend one to five years in the state penitentiary?"

"Yes," I huffed. "That's exactly what I suggest we do." I frowned. "Minus the jailtime."

"Now you're just being ridiculous." He blew out a frustrated breath. "Look, I have the codes for the building, I have the rotation schedules. I have the swipe card. The props. It all took time – persuasion,patience, and yes, a little charming of the ladies–but it's a done deal. We've got this, Sketch. We're all set."

"We need to get her out of there, Pres," I said, unable to mask the pain in my voice when I pulled into the parking lot of the rundown motel. "Ineed to get her out of there."

"And we will." Placing a hand on my shoulder, he gave me a reassuring squeeze. "Tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yeah, we'll only have the night staff to deal with," he explained. "Sleep-deprived medial staff, outnumbered and stretched to the pin of their collar? It's perfect, Sketch. I have everything we need. I'll get us in there, man. I promise."

I considered it for a moment before nodding. "Tell me the plan."

Chapter Three

Romi

"Chris? Is that you?" I demanded when my phone finally began to ring over an hour and a half later. One hour, he'd promised. Sixty minutes. I was supposed to call Presley, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t just leave. Not when I had no idea what was happening. "Chris?" Plugging one ear with my finger, I hurried out of the restaurant with my cell pressed to the other. "Chris, can you hear me?"

A pained, gurgling noise filled the line, causing my blood to run cold.

"Oh my god," I strangled out as a sob escaped me. "Did they hurt you?" Reaching into my coat pocket, I retrieved the set of car keys he'd left behind. "I'm coming to get you, okay? Just tell me where you are."

"Ro –" His words broke off, replaced with a fit of coughing. "No, don’t come find me. Just…run."

"Run where?" I demanded, frantic now. "Where are you?" Tears stung my eyes and I broke into a run, shoving my way past a loved-up couple on the otherwise empty street. "What's happening here, Chris? I'm scared, okay? I need to find you."

"You gotta…run," he spluttered. "Get out of Pocketful, Ro…take Sketch and go..."

"Chris, I'm not in Pocketful," I cried, barreling down the sidewalk in the direction of a little back street. Ten streets, ten turn offs, I repeated in my head. I remembered it was a twenty-minute walk from the restaurant to his Rover because we'd had a huge fight about it. I thought he was being ridiculous parking so far away when I had four-inch heels on. Rounding the corner, I hurried down the pitch-dark side-street, feeling my body spike with adrenalin. "I’m in the city, remember?" Moving on instinct, I veered left down another desolate alleyway and then another one, desperately trying to remember where we had parked. "It's our anniversary. We were having dinner and you just –"

"Protect him, Romi," Chris choked out, clearly struggling to breathe. "Promise me that you'll keep my brother safe."

"Safe from what? What are you talking about!" I cried out hoarsely. "Stop it, Chris. I don’t like this. You're scaring me, okay? It's not funny!"

"Save yourself and my brother," came his ragged response. "Promise me…you'll protect him from the truth, Romi."

"Truth?" I shook my head, feeling tears burning my cheeks. "What truth, Chris?" Sniffling, I hurried on, feet pounding against the sidewalk. "I think I'm lost, Chris." A sob escaped me. "Please just tell me where you are!"

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