Objective (Bloodlines #2)(34)

“Ezra’s a...I help him move guns. The money is good, and our risk is pretty small since we just pick them up and drop them where we’re told.” He finished and squeezed my hands tighter. My mind whirled.

“A gunrunner?” I squeaked. “Like on ‘Sons of Anarchy?’” His face morphed into disbelief at my response and he chuckled.

“Kinda? But a little more shady than they make it look.” I blew out a deep breath and let the idea of my boyfriend being a gunrunner roll through my brain. “Is this what you want to do, Cane?” I asked finally.

“No. You know that. But you’re the only one who knows that,” he returned pointedly.

“How do we get you out then?” I asked hesitantly.

“It won't be overnight, baby girl, if I’m going to get out alive. I need a damned good exit strategy, but if it makes you happy I’ll tell Ez that I need a good cover because of you, and cut back on my involvement. Maybe I’ll even take a class or two to make it look good,” he finished thoughtfully.

“Sounds like a good start,” I said, crawling back into his lap and resting my head on his chest. “I love you, Cane. You’re not like them and I don’t want you to be.” He kissed the crown of my head before grabbing the clicker and changing the station to ESPN. “I’ll replace your shirt, Magnolia,” he whispered into my ear.

“I don’t want a new shirt. I just want you. Promise me you’ll get out,” I whispered back. His arms squeezed around me tightly and he sighed. “Okay. For you, okay. I’ll figure it out.”



I wake with a jolt, the memory of him coursing through me. But I don’t cry anymore. I let the feeling, the memory of him, come. I use it now. I aim the pain at the one responsible for it. I use it to drive and guide me. All I am now is a remainder piece, a left over bit that you carry over into the next column, or more accurately, the next life. I close my eyes and inhale deeply before pushing out of bed. I need a release. I need a night out or something. I check the monitors as I lazily lounge in my bed and see that nothing’s amiss in the vicinity of my trailer. I close my eyes and reach for the pistol under the opposite pillow. Sliding it out I hold it, letting the weight of it settle in my palm. I grip it tightly and turn it over, staring at it. It will come to this one day. I will have this gun in my hand and pull the trigger. I carry the burden alone. I’ve been carrying it for so long that I don't see myself anymore. I only see the end move. I suck in a deep breath before tossing the gun on the bed beside me. Peeling back the covers, I get up and head to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

Swinging the door open, I notice an envelope drift to the ground at the bottom of the steps. Panic sweeps through me instantly. I set my coffee on the edge of the bottom step and squat to pick up the envelope. No name, just blank. I sweep my gaze over the areas nearest to me before planting my rear on the bottom step next to the coffee mug. I lift the unsealed flap on the envelope and peer in. A gift certificate? I pull it out and read the small sticky note attached to it.



Maybe a good massage will help you get over your fear of contact. – Bentley



I groan and look at the certificate. An hour-long massage, courtesy of Bentley. The man just doesn’t quit. I haven’t indulged in any spa-type treatment in well over a year. To be honest the thought behind it is touching and I do miss having a good pamper day, but I’m not sure I can tolerate someone’s hands on me. I finish my coffee, pondering whether or not I can use the gift.

After a long hot shower and a call to Aster to check in on how her first post-college job is going, and getting my ear chewed out about still not seeing her, I head out at three o’clock for my shift at work. As I slide the key into the lock while juggling my purse I notice another sticky note. What now? I pick it off the windshield and read.



Your appt. is at noon tomorrow BTW.



Well isn't he clever. I yank the key from the door and toss my purse and the note inside before sliding into the driver’s seat. Honestly, it’s as if he knows my next move before I even decide what it is. I pull out my personal phone and shoot him a quick text thanking him for the kind gift and that maybe I’ll go tomorrow. Almost instantly he responds saying No woman turns down a massage - is that your secret? I snort, and toss my phone into my bag without replying. What a shithead. I’m not sure how I allowed him into my life, but he’s weaseled his way in and quite frankly I’m tired of fighting him.

The music blares a steady, fast beat. The bass thumps in the floorboards of Mack’s. I shimmy and slide between clusters of people with my tray high in the air. My three-inch heels are already rubbing my feet the wrong way but such is life. Tips are good tonight. Brock and I hang on our breaks together and make fun of patrons. He’s cheery tonight and I think it has something to do with a new girl he wants to date. I’ve seen her a few times meandering around the gym. She’s fit and pretty in an athletic way and she’s always staring at Brock.



“I dunno…” he crows.

“For crying out loud, just ask, the worst that happens is she says no!” I counter.

“Yeah, but no ego is better than a bruised ego,” he rumbles. I look up to his face and watch his eyes crinkle at the edges as I start to laugh at him.

“As if, Brock! Since when do YOU have no ego?” I snort, still laughing.