ISABELLA
“WHERE ARE WE GOING, Mickey?”
He’s been twitchy ever since we got into the car after seeing Connie. The shower did nothing to calm him, and I started talking about random things to fill the silence of our motel room. Even when he laughed, the corners of his eyes creased with unease. Whenever I asked him what was wrong, he’d shut off or start pacing without saying a word.
Now we’re back in the car, and it’s hard to breathe with all the tension in the air. My question turns his silver eyes into steel, and he twists his white- knuckled grip on the steering wheel.
Something is wrong, and I’m trying hard not to let my insecurities get the better of me, but all I am thinking about is the worst. What if someone else
puts a gun to my head? The guy from before—Damien, Mickey called him
—doesn’t exactly look like a friendly, law-abiding citizen. My radar went off when I saw him, and my brain recognized him as a threat. I’m not stupid; I know he’s part of a gang.
Mickey gave me the backstory of their relationship and the CliffsNotes version of the jobs he’s done for Damien. Basically, he’s bad news whichever way I look at it.
Wherever Mickey is driving us has the hair at the back of my neck standing on end. I mean, we’re literally going somewhere so he can do a job, and none of the jobs he’s told me about seem like anything I want to be involved in.
Taking a deep breath, I place a delicate hand on his lap. “Mickey, where are we going?” He blinks a couple of times and drops his attention to my hand. “It’s not fair that I don’t know where we’re going.”
The tension in his muscles relaxes ever so slightly. He licks his bottom lip, then grits his teeth.
“We’re about to go somewhere dangerous. You are not to leave Damien’s side. Do you hear me? Not even if you need to go to the bathroom.”
“You’re leaving me with him?”
Molten silver eyes bore into mine as he squeezes my hand. “I’ll be right there, baby. I just won’t be able to look out for you as much as I need to. Nothing will happen, I promise.”
The lethal edge to his voice slices through me, and the lump in my throat doubles in size. I guess staying in the car isn’t an option. Staying at the motel wasn’t an option either, apparently, in case some guys manage to track us down. But I don’t know if this is much better.
I’m pretty sure anything would be safer than whatever we’re heading into.
I saw the stack of cash he pulled out of his pocket earlier today. There’s no number of commissions I could do that would make up that amount of money, so following Mickey into Hell is my financial contribution to our relationship.
“Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t look at anyone. If you see anything happen to me, don’t scream. I mean it, Bella, don’t you dare leave Damien’s side if I’m not there. Promise me.”
My breath catches. “What’s going to happen, Mickey?” “Promise me, Isabella.”
“I promise,” I whisper. “Why do we have to go?” “It’s the fastest way to make money.”
For some reason, his answer reminds me of the men from yesterday. “Do you owe someone money?”
He shakes his head. “The money is for us, baby.”
Part of me believes him. The other part reminds me of what a fool I was for believing everything he says.
Roman lived a double life I had no idea about. It explains why he was so unphased about all the deaths he’s caused and how lighting bodies on fire wasn’t a big deal to him. What else is he hiding from me?
I’ve seen the movies. Guys always have ladies crawling all over them, and the men in those movies never hesitated about finding a dark corner to have their way with them. Mickey might have said I was his first, but I don’t believe him. Not when he’s older than me, had this other life, and then went to prison, of all places. And especially not when he pounded into me the way he did.
He didn’t move like a virgin.
I mean, it’s not like I’d actually know, but I’m fairly certain no virgin could move like that, have magic fingers like he did, or last that long.
Either way, I don’t believe him.
He’s hidden so much from me. Now that I know his other side, all those missing nights make sense.
I should be angrier about it, not just upset, but the more I think about it, the more I realize he never really lied to me about it. He simply kept it a secret. Which might be better, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting any less.
My selfish side is glad he never told me what he was doing all those nights, because I wouldn’t have slept, too busy worrying myself sick about him. But the tired part of me is too exhausted to give a shit about anything that happened over three years ago. The broken part of my heart doesn’t seem to feel much anymore, so used to having shattered bits break more each day.
Mickey parallel parks on the street of an industrial area. There are a few cars around, but apart from it being ten o’clock at night, nothing is setting off my alarm bells. Or maybe my fight-or-flight senses are fried because sleeping inside a car is incredibly unpleasant, and I’m very much ready for bed.
Mickey kills the engine, then turns to cup my face. “Remember your promise, okay?”
All I can do is nod.
Don’t talk. Don’t look. Don’t scream. Stay by Damien, even though he looks like he could kill me with his bare hands. A man who looks like he carries a gun.
Click.
