Page 46 of Beautiful Rush
I staredat my bedroom ceiling, the small black rock clenched in my fist. The edgesduginto the palm of my hand, piercing the flesh, a reminder of what had happened tonight. Icheckedthe time on my phone. Two fifty-five a.m. Three minutes since I’d last checked.I knewDeaconwasn’t coming over tonight,but part of me still held out hope that he would.
When I finally fell into a fitful sleep, I dreamt that Sasha was being eaten by crocodiles. My father was smiling.
15
Deacon
“Hi honey, I’m home,” I said as Max ambled into the kitchen in boxers and a bleach-stained blue T-shirt he’d probably had since high school. He yawned loudly, trying to make a point. Subtlety wasn’t his strong suit.
“I can see that,” he said dryly.
I poured myself another cup of coffee and leaned against the kitchen counter to drink it. My tenth of the day? At this point, who was counting?
“You mind telling me what you’re doing here at seven in the morning on my fucking day off?”
It was now seven fifteen, but I didn’t point that out. Nor did I point out that this was my apartment. It was the first time I’d been back to my loft in Sunset Park since December. In the meantime, Max was living here until my assignment was over, paying my utilities and saving up to buy his own place.
“They’re giving you days off now? What is this madness?”
He poured himself a cup of coffee and took a seat at the butcher block island. He yawned. Again. “I just came off a fourteen-hour shift.”
“Damn. I left my violin in the car or I would have played for your pity party.”
He snorted. “Saw you skulking around Williamsburg. Nice Escalade. NYPD footing the bill?”
“It’s coming out of your Christmas bonus.”
Max laughed at my joke and eyed me over the rim of his mug as he drank his coffee. “You look like shit.”
That’s what happens when you get into a street fight, hide out from the cops, then track down a fucking meth-head with a gambling addiction. Eddie, the stupid piece of shit, was the one who had tipped me off about last night’s race. To say my night had been a shit show was an understatement. Before I’d tracked down Keira, I did a job for Dmitri and had a run-in with Sergei.
“How’d you get so tight with my cousin?”
“Must be my charm and winning personality.”
“Yeah? What’d you do? Let him fuck you up the ass?” He laughed like an idiot. Then he drew his gun and released the safety. “You think you can cut me out of my share, you got another thing coming. Watch your back.”
“Put the gun away. You might shoot yourself in the foot.”
He shot a hole in the wall behind me, crazy fucker. Guys like him were dangerous. He reeked of desperation and was petty enough to pull a stupid stunt without fully considering the consequences of his actions. “Won’t be my foot with a bullet in it.”
“You might wanna think long and hard before you threaten me.”
“Fuck. You.” He tucked his gun in his waistband and strode away.
So much for my diplomatic skills. I was walking a tightrope between being a good guy and a bad guy and Sergei was clearly not Team Kosta. What a fucking clusterfuck.
“You’re not looking too pretty yourself,” I pointed out as Max scrubbed a hand over his bedhead.
“You almost done?”
The precinct knew I’d gone UC, but not even Max knew what my assignment was. I set my mug on the counter and ran my hands through my hair. I needed a shower and sleep.
“Almost there. You know the drill. Just trying to get enough so the charges stick.”
Which meant hours and hours of surveillance and checking wiretaps. Did I have time to track down my girlfriend who was hell-bent on street racing to chase away her demons? Hell no. Had I done the right thing last night? Same answer.
Keira.Why do you test me? Last night I’d been so angry with her I could barely trust myself to speak to her. More than that, I’d been angry with myself. I should have had those races shut down after the first time I saw her. And I should have done the right thing last night. I should have called the cops immediately. Let them deal with Eddie and those other two douchebags. Instead, I’d put Keira in a vulnerable position.
