Fight(16)

Yet I still liked it. I still touched him.

“I would have ran,” I said. “Okay? If I was alone and I came in here and the place was trashed, I would have left. I would have grabbed my keys and took off.”

“Shit,” Tripp said.

He shook away from me and ran to the front door. A second later, he was gone. My fingertips were tingling, wishing they were still touching Tripp’s muscle.

I ran after him, outside and around the side of the converted garage.

He went right to my car and stopped.

“What is it?” I asked as I approached.

“Ten bucks you don’t lock your car.”

“I don’t have ten bucks,” I said. I grabbed for the door handle, knowing it wasn’t locked. What the hell did I care to lock the door? There was nothing in the car that was of value. The car itself was a piece of junk anyway.

Tripp grabbed my wrist and pulled me close to his body. “Don’t.”

“Why?”

“They trashed your place to get you into your car,” Tripp said. “Any idea why?”

I shook my head.

Tripp gritted his teeth. “Just stand back in case I get lit up. And if I do…” Tripp took out his cell and handed it to me. “Dial 1 and just say that I’m dead. I can’t promise anything good, but it might be better than that MC.”

“Tripp, what are you…”

He rushed around to the driver’s door. Slowly, he opened it, wincing. It was like he was waiting for the car to blow up or something.

Blow up.

The car’s going to blow up!

The car’s wired!

I gasped and stepped back.

Tripp was bold and brave, climbing across the front seat. Digging around, searching. He then popped the hood and moved out of the car. He went to the hood and opened it.

“Fuck!” he yelled.

I ran toward him. “Tripp. What is it?”

“I told you to stay away.”

“I don’t listen. Get used to it.”

“Look. Right here.” He pointed to a little box. “That right there. That’s wired up to your starter. You get in the car, turn the key, and…”

“Boom,” I whispered.

“Yeah, boom,” he said and laughed. “Christ, darling, doesn’t it scare you?”

“I’m numb to it all,” I said.

Tripp wiped a line of sweat from his forehead. He backed up and slowly shut the hood.

“What do we do?” I asked.

“I’ll make a call. I’ll get this diffused.”

“I thought you were a fighter,” I said. “How do you know about bombs and stuff?”

Tripp turned and touched my shoulder. “Darling, I didn’t survive this long just by fighting. Okay? I’ve seen things. I’ve done things. Just do yourself a favor and keep away. Arm’s length, okay? I’m sorry for whatever you’re going through. I’m sorry I pushed at your past. I don’t give a shit about it. Someone is out to kill you. My only job is to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

I was hurt.

Tripp was touching my shoulder while telling me to stay away. He was a freaking hypocrite with this.

I wiggled away and put my hands up. “Fair enough. It’s for the better I guess. Because as of right now, you kind of suck at protecting me.”

Tripp lunged at me. My response should have been to jump back and away from him, like I used to with Rocky. Rocky would sometimes catch me, sometimes miss me. With Tripp, I just stood there. He crashed into me and had his face inches from mine.

“Get in my f*cking car,” he said. “We’re out of here.”

“We’re out of here? What the hell does that mean?”

Tripp didn’t respond. He just started walking. He took me with him, turning me around, basically dragging me to his car. I didn’t fight him off though. It was almost comforting to know I wasn’t going back inside that house again.

Then again, where the hell was I going?





11.


(Tripp)



I had hideouts. We all had hideouts. It was just part of the life and the gig. This one wasn’t paid for out of my pocket, but by Aldo. He gave me a key to the apartment a long time ago, telling me that if shit ever got bad enough and I needed a night away, use it. To be honest, I figured there was no chance in hell the key would actually work. After all, it was a beachfront motel, not an apartment complex.

The damn key worked.

It slid right in and turned, the lock clicking open.

The room was cramped, but it smelled clean enough. There was only one bed, a nightstand on each side with a lamp on each nightstand. A dresser with a mirror, a small television on the corner of it. There was a closet, a bathroom, and one of the corners served as some kind of kitchenette. The best part was the small balcony that overlooked the ocean. The sight, the sound, that was my favorite thing in the world. It brought me a sense of freedom. A sense of hope.

None of that shit I could let Winter know about though.

I shut the door and locked it.

I had a bag of my clothes. Winter had a bag of her clothes.

We barely spoke a word on the ride over, and there probably wasn’t much of a purpose to talk right now either.

I pointed to the bed and said, “Get settled. I have to make a phone call.”