You're to Blame(24)
Ari and I lock stares. With a grin, I land one last devastating blow, and the guy’s body goes limp. My message is sent.
I stand over my unconscious opponent, raising my hands high in victory. What I did does not make me proud. Causing someone pain doesn’t give me any sense of satisfaction, but I will never apologize for keeping those around me safe.
Ari steps over the body and whispers, “You earned your cut. For this win, I’ll leave Jacob’s girl alone.” Fuck! His grin widens at my obvious shock. “What, that’s why you’re here, right?”
And here I thought I had a one up on Ari, and once again, I’m proven the fool. The mother fucker knew why I was here before I pulled in the damn parking lot.
The red I saw earlier doesn’t compare to what I feel now.
“Hate for the little princess to find out who she’s really been sleeping next to, huh?” His laugh is like fingernails on a chalkboard, grating on my eardrums. “And by the way, what kind of man puts his life on the line for some other bloke’s girl?” He clicks his tongue several times. “It seems to me someone has a thing for his friend’s girl.”
My heart thuds in my chest. If I don’t ignore his jibes, things will only get worse.
“Are we done here?” I challenge, my eyes never dropping from his. The confidence is fake, but if I allow him to see the truth, he’ll use it against me.
“For now.” Ari chuckles, vindication at the end of his tongue. “And for the record, I understand your fascination. Charlotte Novak is everything a man could ever want. Too bad your boy didn’t think so.”
Charlotte’s name rumbles from his mouth, and my blood pumps faster and faster until my veins bulge with anger. Ari doesn’t do anything without a certain intention. and tonight, his is heard loud and clear.
Ari’s won, and he knows it.
I rush to the exit, not stopping to acknowledge the crowd’s congratulations. Randy follows me to the truck. Dried blood smears my skin, and there’s an urgency to run my hands under cool water to erase the evidence. I pull a rag from the glove compartment and swipe my knuckles.
“Fighting didn’t fix anything, did it?” Randy whispers my exact concerns.
“He knew why we were there, and I don’t have a fucking clue what that means. He said he’ll leave her be, but it’s Ari, for fuck’s sake. He’s a psychopath.” I throw the rag into the bed of the truck.
Randy nods. He’d typically give some words of wisdom; yet, during the drive back to my apartment, he’s silent. Neither of us knows what to say. I fought to appease Ari, but now, I’m more under his thumb than ever.
I unlock my apartment door and toss my keys onto the counter.
Lydia leaps to her feet, checking me over for wounds. Her palms graze over my shoulders and down onto my ribs. They stall on my hands. “Just this?” She runs her thumbs over my knuckles, shuffling us to the sink. With a wet paper towel, she cleans the blood from my skin. “Did we at least get what we need?” She tosses the rag on the kitchen counter.
My heart swells the way she refers to it as an us issue. I’m not alone, and right now, it’s a good feeling.
“Hardly.” I fall back onto the couch. My eyes shut, and my head rests on the cushion. The trip had been a waste. “I’d hoped to get something to hang over Ari’s head, but everyone was quiet.”
“Well, not everyone,” Randy chimes in for the first time since we walked out of the warehouse.
Lydia and I swivel in our seats to face him.
“What do you mean?” I question. Randy walked around the entire warehouse, but he never said anything while we were there. What’s he talking about?
“Do you know something?” Lydia steps towards him, eyebrows raised, ready to pull the information from his throat if he doesn’t spill it soon.
His eyes lock on Lydia and then shift to me. Worry and frustration burn into his expression. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but shit’s a whole lot more complicated than you think. His anger isn’t over the money Jacob owes him.”
Chapter Seven
Charlotte
“Do you have “My Heart Must Go On” by Celine Deon?” I ask the DJ.
He gives me a flippant glance before searching through the book.
This is our second Karaoke Thursday at Murphy’s. Although I told Derks I wouldn’t sing until Duke does, I broke down and belted my heart out last week. Being stressed while listening to complete strangers make fools of themselves is impossible. The hospital, school, and work fade away.
“Why don’t you go for something a little less somber, huh? How about that?” Rachel pulls the binder in front of her and flips through a few pages. “We’ll do this one.” Her smile pleases the DJ and he hands her the microphones.
Hands on my back push me onto the makeshift stage.
“Which one did you choose?” Rachel’s already in character, and I eye the crowd. A flock of butterflies take flight in my stomach.
“Oh, you’ll see.” Rachel’s eyebrows wiggle. “Now take your mic and prepare to dazzle.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” I shift to Rachel. “This is your choice?” The familiar retro keyboard tune plays through the speakers. “Fine.” I jerk the mic from her hand and stand at the front of the stage.