ENFORCER, page 10
“I was taught that I was born with original sin that I needed to repent for. Do you know Adam and Eve? The apple and the serpent?” I look down at him as he stares up at me. “I was never simply good enough just for being Diana. God, that feels so good to talk about, to say out loud. I’m surprised that I can talk to you about this, actually. I struggled to tell my therapist about this. When I’m with you, things just come out. And there’s no stopping me, I talk a mile a minute. Then I feel stupid at the end,” I say, slowing down, realizing that he hasn’t said much during my monologue. I run my fingers through my hair. “It feels good to be able to say things like this, to just be with someone and to know that they listen and care. Who knew that person would be you?” I frown, and he laughs.
“Well, I’m just as surprised as you are,” he replies with a grin. “But I’m glad you’re able to talk to me.”
“You’re a good listener. Probably comes from being the quiet type.”
“That’s true. I do have plenty of opportunities to practice those listening skills,” he winks.
“Maybe I should learn to listen better,” I laugh. “Maybe you could teach me.”
“Okay,” he chuckles. “First lesson, smile and nod, even if you have no idea what they’re talking about. That’s all you do.”
“What? That is not true,” I laugh.
“Maybe not. But it’s a start!”
“Listening skills 101,” I laugh, leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek. “I’m glad you do listen because talking about it is one of the hardest things in the world for me. I don’t have anyone to talk to other than my therapist.”
“Is she good?” he asks.
“Yeah, she’s incredible. I haven’t seen her the past couple of months, and I feel like I’ve made a lot of headway. Why do you ask?”
“Because I’ve been told that I should look into counseling...” he trails off.
“Really?” I wonder, gazing at him.
“Yes.”
“Do you think you would go if I gave you her name?”
“Maybe,” he shrugs, “I would feel fucking stupid. And it might damage my reputation.”
“No one would know,” I say quickly. “You can look like a badass on the outside while secretly working on your emotional and mental health. Nothing sexier than a bad boy who’s a good man.” I grin.
Chapter Thirteen
Jake
“Do you really think there’s nothing sexier than that?” I laugh down at her, enjoying this little conversation we’re having.
“I really do, and lots of women think it, too. It’s all over social media. Pinterest, Tik Tok, Tumblr, you name it…” she trails off.
“Can’t say that I spent much time on any of those.”
“I don’t either. Holly talks about them trying to get me to date like she wouldn’t be into the tough guy that you are,” she says, and I smile, shaking my head.
“Yes, well, it’s not completely an act.”
“Oh, I know it isn’t,” she says, running her hands up and down my sides. “It takes a strong man to carry an unconscious woman out of a burning building and bring her across state lines, go into hiding and then sleep with said woman! Even though logic told him to do otherwise.”
“Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” I laugh. “But you were very persuasive throughout it all.”
“Is that so?” she laughs.
“It is. Believe me, I don’t risk my neck for many people.”
“Oh, that’s sweet,” she says, rising up and kissing me on the lips softly.
“I don’t think anyone has ever called me ‘sweet’ before,” I say.
“You don’t show that side of you very often, do you?”
“I can’t,” I shrug, “that’s bad for business. People would start thinking that Noah Knights, right-hand man is a pussy… And that would cause all kinds of problems for everyone,” I explain resting my head on hers and inhaling the sweet scent of her hair.
“Did it take you long to build up this gruff exterior? This reputation?” she asks.
“Most of my life,” I smile. “It got easier, though. Once I hit puberty, I shot up like a beanpole. And then around the age of fifteen, I started filling out muscle-wise,” I say, lifting a long, hard arm riddled with tattoos and scars. “People pick on the skinny kid at first. But, the skinny kid gets bigger. And, well, the blows just don’t hit as hard anymore.” I flex my fingers, watching the way the tendons ripple across my forearm.
“Were you bullied a lot?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Why did they bully you?”
“Because of my family. Because I was different. So many reasons,” I whisper.
“What was wrong with your family?” she asks, kissing my neck softly and sending a little thrill down my spine.
“What wasn’t wrong with my family?” I murmur, closing my eyes and enjoying the soft flutter of her fingers along my throat.
“That’s not an answer, Jake,” she chides.
“Well, for starters, we were poor,” I reply, realizing I’m gonna have to talk about this.
“Go on.”
“We were poor. And my dad had a habit of running out on my mom when it was most convenient for him and least convenient for us.”
“In what way?” she asks.
“Financially,” I say, my jaw settling into a hard line. “Money would run out. Dad would go out and find something better to do than stay at home with his wife and kids.”
“That’s horrible,” she whispers.
“Yeah, well, sometimes life was better for it,” I murmur.
“And the rest of the time?” she asks.
“The rest of time, I wished he would come back and be everything a father is supposed to be.”
“Did he ever do that?” she asks. “Be everything he was supposed to be?”
“He tried once,” I sigh, staring up at the ceiling, feeling my throat tighten and my heart beat harder in my chest.
“What happened?” she asks.
“A fire,” I whisper.
She sits up, turning to face me and cradling my chin. “Tell me, Jake. I told you something that was difficult for me. Now I need you to trust me, too.”
“My dad had been gone for months. It was summer― hot and dry because, well, it’s Wyoming,” I say, inhaling deeply and pushing her head back down against my shoulder, unable to look at her. “Hot and dry, no rain. My dad came home in July, promising life was going to be better. He’d seen the light and he was ready to come home.”
“Okay?” she prompts slowly, watching me.
“Mom let him in like she always did. She made a nice dinner. And he took me out to the backyard to play ball…”
“And then what?”
“Then he started drinking like he always did. And when he drank he got angry. He’d professed to being sober before. Maybe he really was for a time. But I don’t think he was cut out for family life. I think we were too much for him. Once he got there and saw us in person and realized everything that was required of him as a father and as a husband…”
Saying nothing, she nods her head.
“Anyhow. Later that night, I went to bed, unable to listen anymore to his raving, talking about what a gem he was, and how much he did for our family, and how no one appreciated him. I fell asleep and later I woke up and there was smoke in my bedroom. And they were screaming, banging.”
“My God, Jake,” she whispers.
And I swallow hard. “They had a fight. My mom told him to get out, and he wouldn’t leave. I guess he knocked over a candle in his rage. The whole place went up.”
“Just like that?” she asks in surprise.
“My parents are kind of self-absorbed,” he says. “At least they were. They may not have even noticed that he knocked over the candle. Whatever the reason, they didn’t notice the house and everything in it going up in flames. My mother and father and older brother inside it.”
“Oh my God,” she gasps. “How did you get out?”
“Because I was a coward.”
“I don’t believe that,” she murmurs.
“It’s true. I was. I saw smoke and jumped out my window, ran to the front yard, and stood there as flames filled our one-story home. I can still hear my mother screaming,” I whisper. “I heard it the night that I was in your home. I can still see my father, his fist pounding against the window that was nailed shut by him to prevent us from sneaking out at night.”
“Jake,” she starts, “Think about it. Was there really anything you could do?”
“I don’t know,” he sighs. “I wouldn’t know because I didn’t go in there. I didn’t even try. I was too scared. And they died.”
“Jake,” she whispers. I look down at her and see tears streaming down her face. “How old were you?”
“I don’t know. I can’t quite remember honestly. Thirteen or fourteen?”
“You were just a kid,” she whispers.
“Just a kid, but the consequences of those actions have impacted me for the rest of my life. I can’t see a fire without thinking of them. I couldn’t just leave you there, as I had left them. Maybe I couldn’t save them. But I could save you.” I look up at the ceiling. “I don’t know that it makes up for anything. But it’s made some difference, hasn’t it?” I turn to face her. “What I’ve done for you has made a difference in your life?”
“Of course it has, Jake,” she says, leaning over and kissing me hard on the mouth. “If it weren’t for you, my only child would be an orphan. Her stepfather in prison. She would have no one healthy to turn to. No one would take her in.”
“Don’t you have other family?”
“Well sure, I have family. But we both know the trauma that family can cause. My parents have her now, but only because they know it’s temporary. They wouldn’t be able to handle getting her through the school year or off to college. I mean, look at what happened to me,” she says.
I nod my head in understanding.
“So what happened to you?” she asks. “After the fire.”
“Noah happened to me,” I chuckle, “Noah found me a place to stay, kept me in school. He gave me steady work,”
“I’m glad he could be there for you,” she says.
I’m impressed that she can say that without judgment. “I am, too,” I whisper. “Few people are as lucky as I have been in life. And I know that if I didn’t have Noah there, I would have ended up so much worse. God knows where I’d be. Tossed into the foster system. Some deadbeat... And while I’m saying this, I can appreciate the irony, knowing that I still became a criminal. But I’m not the everyday criminal. Yes, I have the reputation, but I don’t just beat-up people for kicks and giggles,” I say, and she snorts out laughter.
“Kicks and giggles! I can’t believe you just said that.”
“Well, you know what I mean,” I say. “I don’t just hurt people for the fun of it. I’ve never hurt a woman, never hurt a child. I have my own moral code of conduct. I’m a good person. And Noah is a good person. Just because we do things our own way, doesn’t mean we aren’t helpful or kind.”
“I know that,” she whispers.
“And I’m glad that you know that, too. You weren’t at all what I thought you would be.”
“No?” I ask, “And what did you think of me?”
“Well, after the wedding, I thought you were incredibly handsome and charming. Definitely scary. In a tall, Goliath-towering-over-you kind of way.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. But mostly I thought you were trying to decide whose pants you were going to get into― that pretty Latina’s, or if you were going to go after me.”
“What?” I pretend to be appalled. “Am I completely transparent?”
“Honestly?” she asks, and I stare over at her. “I don’t really know what to say because, on the one hand, I think it’s a perfectly natural urge to have. At the same time, it feels kind of appalling.”
“Maybe, but not quite as vulgar as you’re putting it,” I say, staring at the ceiling.
“Sorry, how would you put it?”
“I would put it as she was the girl I was with. She seems like the kind of person to cut loose, which is pretty much what you do at weddings,” I say, trying to keep it nonchalant.
“Yeah, so, and when you danced with me?”
“Well, we just danced. And if I made it seem like I wanted more…”
“What would you have done?” she asks.
“I can’t honestly say,” I murmur. “I don’t know how I would have responded. Maybe I’d have agreed to it.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah, I think I would have. Just because, well, look at you,” I say, gesturing to her.
“Ah. Are you saying you think I’m pretty?” she asks, and I have to roll my eyes.
“You’re more than pretty, Diana. You’re freaking gorgeous.”
“Are you always this sweet on the inside, Jake?” she asks, running her hand up and down my chest.
“Maybe. But don’t tell anyone.”
“Okay. We’ll keep it our little secret?” she asks.
“Yeah. I can’t have word getting out that I have a soft heart.”
“Oh, of course,” she says with a laugh. “God forbid someone sees you as, I don’t know, decent.”
“Now you’re getting the idea,” I chuckle.
“If I told anyone back home that you and I were together, I don’t think anyone would have believed me. They certainly wouldn’t have supported it. That would be a shock for everyone,” she laughs.
I feel my blood run cold. Tell everyone? I’m not the kind of guy who has relationships. I didn’t want to get this far with her just because I knew that she’d want one. I don’t know what I’m going to do now. “I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” I say, pressing my face against her hair. Utterly conflicted and rubbing my fingers up and down her arm, I listen as her breathing slowly changes and she falls asleep in my arms.
On the one hand, I do like her. I actually really care about her, but on the other hand, I don’t think I can make her happy. I certainly don’t deserve her. And then, how would we fit into each other’s worlds? Me, a high-ranking criminal. And her, the ex-wife of the mayor. I’m not the kind of guy that will spend my afternoons at the club playing golf any more than she is the kind of girl who will jump on the back of my Harley. Maybe that’s a wrong assumption to make, but I don’t know. I feel so mixed up inside. I just want to keep her safe; can’t I just focus on that right now?
Chapter Fourteen
Jake
I’m walking through the hotel parking lot when I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I don’t know how to say it, but something just doesn’t feel right today. Something else is going on, and I need to get a handle on it. All I know is we can’t stay here anymore. She’s still asleep upstairs in the hotel room while I’m down here, throwing the luggage back into the car.
My phone rings: “Hello,” I say, answering the burner phone that Noah gave me.
“Hey, I got some news for you.”
“What is it?” I ask.
“Bad news, I’m afraid. Remember me saying that I would keep an eye on things?”
“Of course,” I nod.
“Well, I think I might have been followed.”
“What?” I say, my voice and my body feeling weak.
“That’s a possibility, yeah. I think I was followed. Because I got back to the shop and one of my new hires wasn’t there. He was there when I left, but when I got back, well, he didn’t show up for a shift.”
“What if he’s just late, man? You know how it is. Young kids don’t feel the need to show up for work as often as everybody else does,” I say, walking back upstairs, walking back into the hotel lobby, and headed toward my room.
“I don’t know,” Noah sighs, trailing off. “I didn’t run through a background check on him this time. He just came into town saying he was looking for work a couple of weeks ago. Seemed like a nice enough kid. I didn’t bother checking any of his background information. All that really matters to me is that you know how to use a wrench, change a tire, yada, yada,” Noah says, and I stare at the ceiling. Noah doesn’t usually bother with background checks anyway, just because he assumes that everyone has a past.
“So, what you’re telling me is you think the new guy might be the one who’s after Dianna?” I asked.
“I don’t know. It’s a possibility, but it hasn’t sat right with me. I went by his apartment to see why he didn’t come into work, and when I got there, he was gone. So...” Noah trails off.
“Alright, well we’re moving out anyway. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Glad you feel it too,” Noah says. “I’m sorry if I put you guys at risk.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “You didn’t know any better.”
I hear it in the distance. A clatter and a muffled cry. No! “I gotta go,” I say, bolting down the hallway and shoving my hotel key into the door, irritated as the handle doesn’t immediately give way. “Diana!” I shout. “Diana! Are you in there? What’s going on?” I demand, forcing myself to slowly insert the hotel key, then pull it out quickly. Then, I yank the handle down and shove it open, and I see someone on top of her with his hands around her neck. I see the whites of her eyes as they roll back in her head. “No!” I shout, bolting forward as the man jumps back and races to the adjoining suite’s door.
For a moment I’m paralyzed; every fiber in my body is telling me that I should grab him, take him to the ground... make him pay. The other part of me knows that I have to be here with her.
“She needs an ambulance,” I say, talking down to the ground. I turn her face to me, so that way I can check her breathing; she’s breathing, but it’s shallow, and she’s unconscious. “Diana!” I yell, shaking her shoulders, feeling surprisingly unprepared for first aid. “Somebody, help us!” I shout, racing to the door and yanking it open, calling for anyone to come out and help us. I hear feet in the distance, and a woman in a janitor outfit kneels down beside us and begins to help.
