Four Score

Four

I tell him everything that’s happened, from the moment Elliot stole me away from the hospital where Gypsy Brothers were converging to kill me, right up until the moment the bombs went off. I leave out the finer details about Dornan and Elliot, because I can’t bear to upset Jase any more than I already have. Besides, he knows. He’s seen. Willfully having a sexual relationship with Dornan was always going to be the death of any hope between Jase and me.

As I speak, my voice is steady. I don’t cry. I sum everything up very matter-of-factly, as if I’m speaking about somebody else entirely. A stranger.

That poor girl.

When I’m finished, I clear my throat and stand. “I need to call Elliot,” I say to him. “He’ll be going out of his mind with worry.”

Jase’s hand shoots out, surprising me as he clamps his fingers around my arm and drags me back down.

“No,” he says. “We’re not finished yet.”

I sit and stare at the floor. “We’ll never be finished,” I whisper. “Not until he’s dead.”

He scoots his chair closer, his hand clamping around the back of my neck as I watch him try to fight the dueling emotions of rage and affection written clearly over his face. At first the gesture seems almost violent, possessive, but his hand is warm and loose. I lean into his touch, a small reprieve against the fall breeze that chills me as it blows straight in from the ocean.

“You remember last time we were here? Six years ago?”

I nod, enjoying the feeling of his fingers as they rub up and down my neck. A flash of the past comes to me then—Jase and I sitting inside on the couch, holding sweat-slicked hands tightly together as my father and Jase’s surrogate stepmother laid out a plan of escape from the Gypsy Brothers and every awful thing they stood for.

“They didn’t get out,” Jase says solemnly. I let out a quick breath, almost like a sigh but with more force, more emotion.

“I know,” I reply, my eyes suddenly swimming again.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You probably hoped they got away the same way you did.”

I shrug. “I guess a little part of me always hoped. But I know inside. They didn’t make it.” That last sentence a whisper that I can’t even hear.

“Were you there when he died?” I ask.

Jase’s face fills with sorrow. He lets go of my neck and takes my hand, squeezing it.

“Yes.”

I swallow thickly, closing my eyes as relived horrors dance across my darkened eyelids.

“Did he suffer?”

Another squeeze. He pauses a fraction too long. “No.”

“You’re not a very good liar,” I say brokenly, opening my eyes to look at him.

He sags visibly in his chair, eyes to the floor, shoulders hunched.

“No,” he says sadly, “I’m not.”

Knocking. Distant and low at first, but quickly ratchets up, until it sounds like someone is pounding on the front door to Jase’s apartment.

Our eyes meet; Jase’s expression mirrors the panic I’m feeling in my chest.

“Did you tell anyone you were here?”

I shake my head, and then I remember the guy at the hospital. “Do you think someone saw you shoot Jimmy?”

Jase’s face blanches, before returning back to the cold, angry exterior I’m so used to. “I doubt it. I’m meant to be at the clubhouse, though, so there’s that.”

I bite my lip, looking toward the door as the knocking stops, just as suddenly as it began.

“Wait here,” Jase says, withdrawing a gun from his waistband and cocking it. I raise my eyebrows as if to say I’m not waiting here, but he waves a hand at me in frustration.

“I mean it!” he hisses. “If I need your help, I’ll ask for it.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, do you at least have a gun for me to protect myself?”

He glances at me, seemingly unsure. “How do I know you won’t shoot me?”

I almost fall off my chair. “It’s ME. If I wanted to shoot you, you’d be fucking dead right now.”

He sighs. “Yeah, good point. There’s a piece under the middle couch cushion. Get it and then stay out here, you hear?”

I almost say yes, Dad, but that’s kind of not cool given our current situation with me screwing his father and all. Instead, I just nod, following him into the house. He goes for the front door while I veer off into the living room, dropping to my knees in front of the couch. I grab the lip of the middle couch cushion, lifting it slightly as I stuff my other hand in. After a few sweeps, my fingers brush against something cold and metallic. I carefully feel for the grip and press my palm around it, careful it isn’t aimed my way. When I pull it out I see it’s a snub-nosed revolver, safety on. I unclick the safety mechanism and open the chamber, relieved to see each space stuffed full with shiny brass-colored bullets. With a flick of my wrist the chamber closes again, engaging against itself so that it’s literally ready to go whenever I pull the trigger.

Although, I hope it won’t come to that. Because if there are Gypsy Brothers at the front door who want us, six bullets aren’t going to get me very far.

I creep back to the balcony as instructed, keeping my ear out for Jase. It’s hard—my hearing is still terrible, with the ringing in my ears still shrill and constant. I half close the sliding door so that I’m alone on the balcony, with nothing but a gun in my hand and a table at my back. I glance uneasily at the balcony edge. It comes up to my navel, but I’m betting if someone shot me in the top half of my body, I’d be thrown straight off onto the asphalt below. It isn’t a settling thought. I opt to crouch.

I’m listening intently for anything coming from the front door … so intently, that I don’t realize someone is descending upon me, literally from above.

A guy dressed entirely in black and sporting a black ski mask over his face flashes before my eyes, landing next to me on the balcony. What the fuck? He goes for the gun in my hands and I panic, screaming as I take aim.

“Don’t shoot!” he hisses, a voice I’d know anywhere. I lower the gun as he peels the ski mask off, his hair wild and his eyes alight with excitement and worry.

“I almost fucking killed you!” I whisper-scream at Elliot, my arms flying as I scold him like a child. I look closer, seeing he’s attached to a thick black ski rope that’s dangling down from the apartment above.

“You abseiled in here?” I ask, impressed.

He unclips himself from the line and surges forward. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

I take a moment to think about that. “Who?” I ask dumbly. “Dornan?”

“Jase,” he hisses, looking toward the door. It’s partially obscured by the hallway, and I wonder if Jase can hear us right now.

“No,” I say emphatically, shaking my head. “He figured it out, El. He knows who I am.”

“You didn’t take him out,” Elliot says, glancing between the line of sight to the front door and me.

I shake my head. “I was never going to.”

He looks disgusted. “He’s going to be the death of you, you know that, right?”

I shrug. “He’s not like them, Elliot.” As I’m speaking, a thought suddenly occurs to me. “How’d you know I was here, anyway?”

He doesn’t answer, but there’s a telling look on his face. My stomach does a flip as a fresh suspicion wedges itself uncomfortably in my mind.

“That phone,” I whisper conspiratorially. “You’ve been tracking me?”

He doesn’t say anything, but his face belies the truth. He has. I don’t know if I feel angry or relieved.

Inside the apartment, there’s a flash of dark clothing, and the front door slams shut.

Elliot jumps into motion, replacing his mask and withdrawing a large pistol from his belt. He takes my elbow and pulls me along, opening the sliding door as quietly as possible. Like he’s trained for this his entire life, he enters the house without a sound, his boots soft on the tiled floor as he tucks me behind him with one arm, his own gun in front of him.

Jase must be in the living room, and I desperately hope that he isn’t with any Gypsy Brothers. Elliot is going to be hard enough to explain to Jase. The front door is closed, but around the corner I can see the living room window is wide open, sending the curtains billowing into the room like crazy, dancing ghosts.

And then, Jase is in front of us, his own gun outstretched. It’s probably a really stupid thing to do, but I act on impulse, jumping between the two of them as some sort of human shield or negotiator.

“Don’t shoot!” I scream at both of them, jumping in front of Elliot, who looks more like Batman right now.

Jase looks pissed. “Get out of the way, Julz,” he says through gritted teeth.

“He’s a friend,” I say desperately, glancing over my shoulder at Elliot. “Elliot, take your fucking mask off so he can see your face.”