They Never Saw Her Coming - Jhea
Part Two: His Ghost Haunts Her
One month later
Where was the creepy ticking? Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock counting seconds and minutes, turning into hours. It would’ve been more fitting to hear time passing rather than watching it disappear on a digital display. Not even a satisfying click as sixty seconds welcomed a new minute. Instead, eight in the morning had drifted into quarter to four in the afternoon, twisting the sun from east to west. No grand entrance. No welcome bells. Time had simply and quietly metamorphosed while she sat with little interest in the world around her.
Not the ocean in the distance. A place she often visited when she needed a reset. Her bare toes gripping grains of sand, wind whistling through her loose hair. Not the sounds of seagulls barely heard over the noise of traffic and pedestrians trying to coexist.
Not today.
Not when hours had disappeared and she’d been awake, eyes staring but not seeing. Existing only to fight a losing battle in her own mind and heart.
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The high back chair creaked— her weight having long been accepted for a lengthy day of silence.
Silence and silence and more silence, all while the voices, eerily familiar, kept pressuring her to open the metaphorical junk drawer where she shoved unwanted things. Lately, she’d disastrously failed to bury her despair deep in the splintered wood.
You can do it, the voice taunted. Peek inside and remember what used to be.
What? she screamed back. What was the point when her dreams and memories were now covered in jagged scars… and the scent of his cologne.
She wanted, no needed, the damn drawer shredded, covered in cement, and blipped out of existence.
Pssst, Rhea, psst.
“No,” she whispered in a growl, “please, no.”
Remember the way his hair smelled that morning?
Her fingers instinctively flexed, desperately wanting one more chance to drag her nails through the nest of silky locks. It had finally grown past his shoulders, cascading like some damn product commercial. She really hated how easy it was for him. How smug he’d been, propped in the doorway most mornings, watching her struggle through her routine. How many times had she huffed in playful annoyance? Her dark strands blowing around, frizzing uncontrollably, all while he stood there, perfect hair, shiny and disgusting.
He was such an asshole, but he was hers.
Pssst.
“No.”
Rhea… Rhea… psst. Remember the way he looked at you before he left that day? How your heart reached for him, silently begging him to stay with you? That blasted blow dryer whirred in your ears and you knew… you knew, you knew, you knew.
Remember how you let him go?
“Stop,” Rhea hissed into the cold office. “Stop.”
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He hadn’t even cleared the bedroom before she shut the dryer off, quickly placing it on the counter before calling out for him to wait.
“Miss me already?” he grinned, turning to close the distance near the foot of their bed.
“Whatever, loser.” She couldn’t even roll her eyes since he was right. “You owe me at least one proper kiss.”
His eyebrows lifted slowly, a talent he had discovered when he was younger and defying his parents. Now, Rhea always smiled, a little upturn of her lips, whenever he did it to her. “Funny how I properly had you tangled in the sheets an hour ago.”
Rhea gripped the front of his shirt, bringing him to her. He had to bend to meet her eyes. “That’s not a proper kiss. Now do it before I knee you in the nuts.”
Unwilling to tempt her, he cupped her chin with enough strength to make her breath hitch, then kissed her once, hard.
“Again.”
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Open the drawer and remember.
She couldn’t do it.
She sought relief, and the silence was more comforting than the absence of her little ghost boy.
Every day, the weight was trying to push her into another meltdown, but Rhea had promised her family, her brother, that she was better. She had a purpose to focus on. However, she wasn’t expecting to wake up with shackles around her wrists and ankles, the scent of his cinnamon gum filling her senses. Instead of letting her grief hold her in place, she’d broken free… had commanded her legs to move, ordered her bare feet to carry her into the day.
One step and then two more until she was walking normally through her morning. She’d showered, styled her hair, gotten dressed. All of it with limbs moving with twenty-seven years of instinct and practice. She had tried scrambling eggs for protein, but she’d gagged so much the garbage disposal enjoyed them in her place.
Rhea gave herself credit for at least making an effort.
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Her office was a gutted one bedroom apartment. Rhea had spent from her personal savings on the restoration. The city permits had been a monster of a headache, but Rhea Ripley usually got what she wanted, and this time she had. The wall between the bedroom and living room had been hollowed into an arched divider, allowing her to see the entire room, minus the bathroom. Her desk had been set up in front of the bay window, while the bedroom was transformed into a seating area with the back wall mounted with a large screen. She rarely used the stove when the microwave worked perfectly for heating up quick lunches or late dinners. The refrigerator and pantry were fully stocked, as was the small closet she kept for emergency outfits.
Rhea’s space was slowly getting furnished with better lighting and homey knick-knacks and art prints. In fact, one piece of art was a direct reminder of her ghost boy… and half of the time she wanted to stand up and turn it around. Damian had told her to leave it alone, stop fussing over shit, so she did. No matter how much it hurt her.
Pain was still feeling something, and Rhea wanted pain more than the thought of erasing everything that made her think of him. Even if that damn print, basically a glorified poster of a classic Chevy lowrider, the San Diego skyline in the distance, was tacky as all hell, he’d loved it so much it got packed with him when he’d left for college, and then when they’d moved in together. Rhea couldn’t have it in her house, haunting her, so she’d moved it to her office… a place he never had and never would step foot in, hoping it wouldn’t hurt so horrifically.
It did, and she had to stop herself from turning the print over, choosing herself over him. It was Damian’s quiet grief working in his jaw whenever he looked at it, and, deep down, her own heart barely bandaged together but trying to heal, that kept her from being bloody selfish. Besides, her ghost boy didn’t deserve it. He deserved to be in her every breath, buried in the marrow in her bones.
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Outside of Rhea, only one person had the key to her office, and only four other people were allowed to be in there. Everyone else called her on her work phone, or radioed her from the line she’d personally given them access to.
Her office wasn’t a sanctuary. It was a place where she’d made the decision to end the modern day Roman Empire. Under his nose, scattered throughout his streets, she was lurking.
Brick by brick, Rhea had pulled together a ragtag group of losers, united in one singular objective, and along the way, they’d formed a family bond far stronger than the Bloodline.
That thought threatened to make her smile for the first time. Roman had no idea what she was capable of. Not yesterday. Especially not today, when she’d driven herself to work, sunglasses pulled over determined eyes, heart figuratively bleeding, leaving a trail for them to find her.
If Roman was ready, the chessboard had been set up.
Tomorrow, it would be check and mate.
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By the time she’d made it to the office, most of her bravado had leaked out of the cracked window. Her emotions ebbing and flowing more than the ocean’s waves. Her feet were still moving forward though.
Beneath her, laughter rang out over the hum of the espresso machine. She needed to have the plumbing looked at, and all of pipes replaced, since they were groaning like tired old men.
Rhea tilted her head in the chair, her finger accidentally bumping her laptop, waking up the screen. Across the room, one-by-one the city’s security cameras filled in the small boxes of the grid on the large screen.
Alert after alert. Ping, ping, ping. Normal sounds.
Now they landed like gunshots piercing her self-inflicted isolation. She flinched then arched her back to stretch her stiff muscles. Her tanned legs, exposed by her cutoff shorts, stuck uncomfortably together where she’d propped them on the desk.
“Shit,” she cursed with irritation. Her voice was scratchy from lack of use.
Next to her laptop, a half-drunk iced coffee sat abandoned, condensation dripping onto a cowprint coaster. Another reminder. Another sign she had tried.
Beep, beep, beep.
Rhea turned her gaze to the big screen on the opposite wall. Cameras one through six blinked, then blurred. Beep. Camera two popped up on the screen, zooming in on one of the Bloodline’s warehouses.
“What the…” she trailed off, sitting up a little straighter, her hand reaching for her glasses. She wasn’t operating the system like she usually did, having happily relinquished the task to someone more capable for the day.
The screen zoomed out, exposing the entire warehouse. Rhea didn’t see anything worth staring at, so she took her glasses off and began rubbing at her tired eyes.
“Knock, knock.”
Rhea groaned into her hands. “It’s open.” She cleared her throat when her voice croaked. Today wasn’t her day for dealing with business, but that damn warehouse was obviously raising alarms.
“Sorry to bother you boss, but you should see this.”
She watched as Becky Rollins stepped hesitantly into the office, her fiery hair pulled half up in an impressive knot, the rest cascading down in long waves. She smiled wide when she caught Rhea’s eyes, even though her body screamed she was nervous. Her headset was pushed around her neck, iPad clutched tightly in front of her.
“Please tell me it’s good news.”
Becky gave her head a slight jerk, her black leather combat boots squeaking on the darkwood floor. “Finn sent a ping from the south side, camera two.”
“He wasn’t given permission to be down there.” Rhea slipped her legs from the desk, stretching them in front of her. She thought about reaching for the cardigan she’d draped behind her chair, but changed her mind.
“We know, but he caught sight of the Brons and followed them to eighty-six and Dove.” Becky tapped on the tablet, bringing up a blurred image of Bron Breakker and Bronson Reed. They both had sunglasses and black zip-up windbreakers on, but there was no mistaking their identity.
“What the hell are they doing down there?”
“Exactly what Finn’s trying to figure out.”
“Damnit!” Rhea slapped her hand on the desk. “Why can’t those douchebags choose a bloody alliance?”
She was sick of their inability to align with a faction. Bron barely had four brain cells rolling around his bald dome, and Reed was a loyal dog following him around waiting for any opportunity to pounce.
There was absolutely no way they liked or respected Roman. Nope. They were too dumb to start their own business, so they leeched onto any group their Papa Heyman told them to. Rhea had watched them sniff around piles of shit for one too many days. Roman was the easiest way to make a quick transaction, but also the fastest way to get a bullet in the skull, or back, since the Tribal Chief didn’t give one bloody damn.
“Was he followed?”
Becky pressed her side into the front of the desk, her gaze still on the tablet. “He doesn’t believe so. It’s been pretty tame down there, other than the Brons making an appearance.”
Wanting the warmth, Rhea lifted her right hand above her head and yanked her cardigan into her lap. “Tell him to lay low and seek out the safe house. No personal cellphone use until tomorrow morning. And, send an alert to Hayes.” She put her glasses back on, the cardigan forgotten, too caught up in her sudden jolt of energy. “If he tries to get lippy, tell him I have his number and two favors.”
Impressed, Becky nodded and tapped out the message to one of their allies and spies. “Finn’s already gone dark, but I tracked him back toward camera one. He should be good for the night.”
“That warehouse hasn’t had a sniff since Christmas. I knew they’d circle back.”
“You think sending the Oompa Loompa’s means anything?”
Rhea mulled it over, the image of the Brons irritating her. She wanted to say no, that those guys would never be a threat, not to her or her family. However, her gut clenched, reminding her that Roman Reigns worked for himself, thought only of himself, and moved for his own personal gain. The Brons were a tool, collateral damage the T.C. would never break a sweat over.
“Yes.” Before Becky could protest, she waved her hand in front of her. “Not an immediate threat, no.”
Becky slid her index finger over the tablet, summoning camera two. Was it too quiet? “We thinking a shipment or a load relocation?"
“Shipment.” That particular building had been empty for several months. They never moved in a pattern.
Someone spearheading the Bloodline’s operations was tactically brilliant. Rhea had spent years memorizing dead end plays, hoping she’d solve the equation.
Nothing. Always outsmarted, just shy of getting the jump on them. If they didn’t work in a distinct manner, she had to think smarter… learn everything she could about them before stepping right into their path, and accidentally making herself and her family vulnerable to exposure and possible expulsion.
“Was that it?” Rhea asked when Becky only nodded in agreement, her demeanor rapidly changing, her fingers growing sickly pale looking around the tablet.
Becky shifted on her feet, her eyes meeting Rhea’s. “Look, boss…” She pushed the tablet into her chest, feeling a mixture of bravery and shits-in-her-pants. “We’ve all seen the calendar. The blokes ain’t got the balls to say anything, but I do.” Across from her, Rhea winced, her eyes misting over before she could hide it from her. “Are you okay?”
Rhea’s tongue poked the inside of her cheek, her throat filling with bile. She wasn’t expecting that question. News of Roman terrorizing the city? Yes.
Pssst.
All it would take was one simple turn of the key and the drawer would come flying open.
“I tried calling his parents,” she answered, voice thick. “That bloody green call button felt like a trap.”
“Twenty-seven?”
“Yeah.” Rhea blinked at her desk, more bile made its way into her esophagus. She swallowed it down, along with the key. “I’ve talked to them so many times, but I can’t get over myself enough to do it today.”
Becky turned her gaze to the window, quietly offering her friend a moment to pull herself together. She understood, she herself hated crying in front of anyone that wasn’t her husband. Rhea, on the other hand, was an anomaly. She spat at the thought of showing any vulnerability, and yet when she did, she owned it and carried it like a warrior.
“I can only imagine whatever you’re feeling is even worse for them.”
“I know.”
“It’s also alright if you need to push them away for a while.” Becky sat the tablet down on Rhea’s desk, daring to lean over and rub her hand over her boss’s. “For what it’s worth. You’re stronger than all of us combined, and that’s me admitting it.”
Rhea sniffled, a hint of a smile flashing across her lips. As much as she appreciated the compliment, it was hollow words passing through a gaping heart. She was too broken to absorb them.
“Want me to send them a message on your behalf?”
Rhea shook her head. “They’re good people. I won’t do that to them.” She flipped her hand over, squeezing once, allowing herself a second to be an open wound. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” Becky stayed still until Rhea bobbed her head, then pulled her hand away. “Was the coffee too experimental?"
“What?” Rhea asked, confused.
Becky pointed to the sad state of Rhea’s iced coffee, a knowing smirk twitching at her mouth.
“No… nothing’s tasted good today.” Sheepishly, she poked her pointer finger on the lid. “Don’t tell him.”
“He’ll understand.”
“Please.”
She waited until Rhea looked up at her, then winked.
Her husband wouldn’t be offended. Well, not too much once his ego calmed down, but it was better to let him believe Rhea had enjoyed the coffee. “So,” she said in an effort to change the subject again. “Are you still going through with tonight’s plan?”
Rhea’s gaze moved back to the coffee, her black and nude nails, then to her trusted assistant-slash-tech wizard. “Yes.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?”
“I need the distraction.” Leave it to Becky to pull off looking both begrudged and proud. “I’ll be fine. You know I wouldn’t go out there and jeopardize myself or everything we’ve been working toward.”
Becky huffed. “We trust you, and that’s why I’ve already told that wombat Waller to change out the plates and registration information.”
Rhea felt her lips lift. Not enough for Becky to clock, but it didn’t matter when some life was gently stirring in her again. “Have Theory bring ‘round that rust bucket Corolla, and have my Benz covered.”
“Done and done.” Becky laughed, one short burst. “I took great pleasure in telling him to stop taking selfies with it to use as his Tinder profile picture.”
“You’re shitting me?” Her mouth opened in disgust. Even more when Becky’s eyes widened in faux horror. “That arse is lucky he’s useful.” He was also lucky that Rhea was too busy to hack into the app and make him go on a blind date with her. He’d piss his pants, and still be responsible for buying her dinner. To-go.
On the desk, the tablet lit up, followed by three alert tones. Becky reached for it, her nerves spiking at the first message.
RHM spotted. Cam 5. 4:26. Alone. Not armed.
“What is it?” Rhea asked, holding her hand out for the device.
“Tonight’s plan.”
Rhea snatched the iPad, her hand shaky as she read the message, then clicked open the first JPEG file.
It wasn’t blurry like the earlier picture of the Brons.
No.
Bronzed skin and arms covered in tattoos were amazingly clear. Without thinking, she used her index and middle fingers to zoom in, carefully noting the fit of his gray shirt, similar to the one he was wearing before. A black beanie sat close to his head, pulled down slightly over his brows, the sides hid the tops of his ears, leaving his diamond stud earrings with an attached chain blindingly visible. Black jeans hung low on his waist, a matching black belt peeked out from the hem of his shirt.
She opened the second JPEG file, noting the same Escalade Naomi had been driving. Rhea zoomed in, tracing the shape of his legs, his feet snug in black and white Adidas sneakers. His face was shamefully blurred from the motion of him exiting the driver’s seat.
“He appear out of bloody nowhere?”
“Seems so.”
“He’s good. I’ll give him that.” Rhea pursed her lips in thought. Jey Uso didn’t outwardly shout DANGER, not like some of the men she’d faced over the years.
“He’s charming.”
“He’s personable."
“He’s smart.”
“He’s lethal when his family is the target.”
Rhea scanned the first file again. Whatever captured his attention had made the lines around his eyes crease in an endearing way. He didn’t look like a threat, and that’s why she’d been warned to never give him the opportunity to shoot her in the back.
“Have Priest drive by Julien and make sure it’s clear.”
Not for the first time, apprehension threatened to overstep Becky’s bounds as Rhea’s assistant. “Boss, are you sure about this?”
She always did her best to be the role model. Rhea was younger than most of her family, but she had risen as the decision maker. She was committed, now more than ever, to rip the Bloodline apart. “I want them to believe Julien is where I live.” She wanted them to follow her, stake her out, get excited to have a reason to breathe outside of Roman’s stranglehold.
And then she would strike.
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Jey paused outside of Appy Ar to drag in a breath. It was still too early for a large crowd, but Appy’s was always occupied. Anyone hanging out this far into the underbelly needed a drink— a friend— an escape.
Tilting his head back, he stared up at the evening sky.
Only a few streaks of light held on to the last seconds of daytime. It wasn’t often he got the chance to see the sunset. Tonight had made him yearn, deep in his chest, for the memory of Samoa’s sands and his mama’s insistence he eat his entire plate. Florida beaches could never replace the times his parents had shown him the island of his people, the ways of his culture.
His heart longed for it, and as the sun had scattered an array of pinks and oranges, he’d watched day transition into night from the Escalade, windows down, the sounds of his childhood whirring in his ears.
Now, storm clouds had begun to roll in, following him as a visual representation of his damn life. Dark and heavy, hovering ominously for their chance to bully everyone below. The late sun had burned through some of the humidity, but it still hung thick in the air.
Jey scrunched his nose as the pungent smell of rotting garbage stunk up the walkway. Someone down here forgot trash day wasn’t a suggestion. If he found out who it was— nah. He couldn’t strangle someone over trash that smelt like asscheeks and sour milk. Not when he was determined to find her. His mystery girl with the long legs and sultry voice.
She’d been tormenting his dreams.
He didn’t want to address why he’d been tweaking like some damn addict all afternoon. It for sure wasn’t about some goddess of a woman trying to insert herself in his life. For twenty-nine days, Jey hadn’t been able to shake the scent of wild gardenias mixed with nicotine and tobacco. Nor the way her mouth had looked smoking that cigarette.
Damn it all to hell and back to earth.
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Appy Ar welcomed him with the pulsing beats of “Chief Boot Knocka” by Sir Mix-a-Lot. Immediately, he felt at home in the congested environment.
The bar stools were occupied, some of the regulars had already settled in. Against the back walk, a few retired construction workers raised their glasses at him. None of them bothered by the thirty year-old wallpaper flaking on the ground by their feet.
He bopped his head in acknowledgment. If he wandered too close to their table he’d never leave. They talked too damn much about shit Jey wasn’t interested in. Plus, he didn’t think they’d be impressed hearing how his cousin had “made an example” out of him in front of his brothers last week.
The cool dude that danced on top of bars and bragged about his gym reps was actually a pussy, too settled in his life to leave it. Why would they care about him? He wasn’t worth investing a single penny in.
“What’s your poison?”
Jey grinned at the lone man behind the bar. “Whatever y’all got in a bottle.” Hell to the naw was he drinking anything on tap when he had to drive.
One of the last times he’d done that, he was seeing triple and Solo had to hoist his drunk ass over his shoulder. Matter of fact, his memories still had suspicious holes in it.
While he waited, he discreetly scanned the room, avoiding eye contact with the burly man with an impressive scowl on his face, a line of dirty shot glasses in front of him.
“What crawled up his ass?” Jey asked, not expecting anyone to answer.
“Got rejected by the chick playin’ darts.”
Jey raised his brows at Tony, the only bartender younger than him. He hated seeing a good dude have to bust his ass down here just to survive. “That’ll do it.”
“I think what did it was her handing him a five. A buck for every second he wasted her time.”
He whistled. “Damn. That’s tough”
Tony smiled in sympathy. “She’s a looker, man, if you wanna shoot your shot.”
Jey’s face flushed. “My bad luck breaking news down in this shithole?” He winced at Tony’s shrug. “For real? I told y’all not to listen to my brothers.”
“Uh huh.”
“Damn.” He shoved a twenty in the tip jar, then slid a hundred to Tony when he handed over his beer. “Your girl have the baby yet?”
Tony stared down at the folded bill in his hand. “Any day now.”
He took a long pull from the bottle before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Then save that for diapers or shit.”
“Thanks, man. I…”
“Jus’ do right by your family.” With that, Jey lifted the bottle in thanks and made his way to the old jukebox across the room. Above it a broken dartboard hung on the stained wall. Tiny dart holes punctured chipped paint like his childhood Lite-Brite.
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“You ever get that shot of whiskey, sweetheart?”
Rhea kept her eyes on the wall, the last of her darts gripped tightly in her fingers. “Took you long enough, sugar.”
Behind her, Jey raised the bottle to his lips for another sip, again wiping his mouth with his hand.
Damn she was pretty, even her backside— covered in loose jeans and a black and white flannel tied around her waist— looked good.
“Think I didn’t see you the second I walked in here?”
Her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips. “Like I said.” She glanced over her shoulder, standing tall when the full weight of his brown eyes hit her. “Took you long enough.”
Air rushed from his nose. Gotdamn. “Can’t a man get a beer first?”
“If that’s how he chooses to prioritize his evening.” Rhea turned back to the dartboard and flicked her wrist. “Shit,” she cursed under her breath when the dart stuck in the wall.
Jey chuckled, stepping right up to her. “Need some help, sweetheart?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“You look good.”
Rhea spun around. “What?”
He used his bottle to point at her. “You look real good, honey.”
Heat flared unexpectedly under her lace bra. “Did you doubt it, love?”
Jey was fast with the banter, and if Rhea stood any chance in hell, she would have to be faster. He’s charming. Be careful. She’d been warned numerous times by people who had firsthand experience with Roman’s RHM. Please, be careful.
Instead of answering, he openly checked her out, congratulating himself when her breath skipped.
She was wearing a thick strapped cropped black tank top that left her midriff exposed. Jey had to school his features when he noticed ink peeking out from where the flannel was knotted. His eyes paused over the hint of rounded cleavage adorned with the same necklaces as before. Her skin looked soft enough to touch.
Shit. Get a grip, man.
The only grip Jey wanted was to bury his nose in the place where her neck and shoulder met, feel his way up to her pierced ears, kiss along her sharp jaw… right to her plump mouth.
Rhea cleared her throat. “You ever seen a woman before?”
“Ha, ha.” Jey gulped down half of the bottle of beer. “Never seen a woman like you is all.”
She snorted, so unladylike, yet somehow fitting for the goddess standing in front of him. He smirked at her unimpressed scowl.
Yeah, princess, let me under your skin.
Even though she was wearing a black snapback pulled down low, her features were making the beer fizz in his gut. “You ever get that shot of whiskey?” Jey asked again, since she didn’t answer him the first time.
Rhea’s lips twitched at the corner. He was persistent. “Decided to wait for the right time.”
“Yea’?” Shrugging, he downed the rest of his beer and set in on the empty table behind him. Her blue eyes burned a trail up the side of his neck. Did she like what she saw? He wouldn’t blame her either way. “Ever play ‘round the clock?”
Her forehead pinched in confusion. “What’s that?”
Jey laughed. “I’ll take that as a no then.” Moving past her, he yanked the darts out of the board and wall, chuckling again at how awful her last shot had been. “Gotta hit every number in order. Start with one, then move around the board until you hit twenty.”
She stepped aside when he motioned for her to let him stand where she’d been. “I was just throwing darts hoping one would be a bullseye.”
“First mistake.” He shrugged, ignoring the heat radiating down his right arm. She was close, her presence threatening to consume him. “We each get three darts and three shots in a round.”
“Then what?”
Jey rolled his shoulders, shook his right arm out, and tossed his first dart at the target. “One.”
Rhea crossed her arms, her eyes squinting even though she had her contacts in. “Wow,” she said with zero inflection. “Don’t hurt those biceps of yours.”
He smiled, every damn tooth on display. “You thirsty for my arms, baby?”
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Against her will and better judgment, Rhea got into the game. Huffing in genuine irritation when he made it to fourteen before she had five.
She’d stomped her foot once, but he seemed to like that— and she was on the fence with how much to give him. This man had been looking at her funny, a toss between lusting and finding her “adorable” whenever she failed to earn a point.
Her Vans nearly made contact with the back of his knee when he’d called her that.
“Nineteen.” Jey pumped his fist, grinning as she fake congratulated him. “Not my fault you’re terrible at this.”
“Whatever, love.” Rhea was beyond pissed. Her back was damp with sweat from the crappy ventilation in the bar. She wanted a smoke and a reason to slap the smug look off of his problematic face.
“I offered to help ya.” He shrugged, before lining up his last shot. “Jus’ gotta keep your eye on the target, princess.” Jey pulled his wrist back and let the dart go.
Twenty.
She stomped her foot.
“I win.”
He bit down on his bottom lip, his eyes locked with hers. Who are you? He wanted to ask… but he didn’t want to hear lies. Not from someone so damn captivating.
Rhea looked away first, letting him have his small victory. She still had a dart in her hand, so she launched it, satisfied when it landed on the board.
Jey’s phone buzzed in his back pocket. Sighing, he quietly closed the gap between them. He hesitated just a half second before leaning into her side, his arm brushing hers. His mystery girl’s mouth opened wide enough to rattle out an expletive. He leaned in even more, his own mouth struggling to contain how close to the edge he was.
Who are you?
She stiffened, but didn’t pull away from him.
His phone buzzed again. Jey ignored it in order to ghost his nose over the back of her neck.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Seeing if you smell like I remember.”
Rhea turned abruptly, their chests practically touching with the motion. “And?”
He closed his eyes, savoring the sweet scent from his dreams. “Maybe you’ll see me around.”
“What?” she mouthed, her heart one-two punching as he backed away, a knowing smirk lighting up his face.
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Outside, the obnoxious stench of trash assaulted his nose, killing whatever buzz the beer had tried giving him. “Someone out here stank like booty cheeks and ball sweat,” Jey muttered, covering his face with his hands. “Take a damn shower and pull your damn cans out every damn Wednesday, dawgs.”
Down the street, headlights flashed one, four, then two times. Jimmy’s signal. He lifted his right hand up. “Uhh.” Damn it smelled funky. Jey almost felt bad his mystery girl was going to suffer the same misfortune.
Flashing lights. One, four, two.
Jimmy repeated the pattern until Jey reached the driver’s side door of their souped up Tahoe.
“What funny business was that, assholes?” He sneered at his idiot brothers. Jimmy had the nerve to shrug innocently. “Ya’ll can blind me all you damn want, but imma still knock your heads together and steal yo money."
Solo snickered from the passenger seat.
“Real funny.” Jey shoved his hand through the window, flipping his little brother off.
“Blink if you need help.”
Jey flicked Jimmy on the forehead. “I’m blinking ‘cause you jerks can’t take nothin’ serious.”
Jimmy lifted his gaze to the rearview mirror, sharing a look with Sami. “We’re being serious, man. You need to lighten up once in a while. ‘Sides…” He stretched his hand behind him for Sami’s phone. “We got what we needed.”
“You sure?” Jey peeked behind him, double-checking they had privacy. “Any damage done?”
“Nah.”
Sami gripped the backs of the front seats and pulled his torso between the brothers. “I did it, man. No prints. No one else in the area. Kept my hood up and head down.”
“Good.” Jey accepted the phone, thankful Jimmy already had the pictures pulled up. “What we kno’?”
“Car’s registered to a Rhea Ripley. Everything tracked, man. No record. Twenty-seven. She’s from Australia, but moved here when she was a teenager. Graduated from St. Joesph’s. Played soccer and volleyball in college. Average grades. Degree in Communication.”
Jey scrolled through the images, pausing at an older passport photo. Her hair was shorter, but there was no mistaking her blue eyes and cocky smirk. “What’s she doing in the States?”
“No clue.” Jimmy craned his neck to see which one had caught his twin’s attention. “Of course."
“What?”
“You gotta keep the drool to a minimum.”
Jey rolled his eyes. Later, he’d make sure to remind his big brother how many days his ass was parked on the couch. Sis had blown a fuse after pulling up and seeing Jim letting another woman touch him, without a fight.
Humming low to himself, he traced his thumb over the screen. His mystery girl had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen in person. No wonder… “Rhea, huh? She really is a damn goddess.”
Solo leaned over the center console, making sure to shoulder Sami playfully. “What you on ‘bout?”
“Rhea, the mother of the gods.” He let out an amused huff. It figured, out of the group, he’d have an immortal beauty land in his path.
“You pull that info from your ass?”
Sami dipped his head down, unable to stop his face from doing something that would piss Jey off.
“It’s called readin’ grown folk books.”
“Ooooh.” Jimmy looked around the car. “Can you believe this foo’? Thinks he’s betta than us ‘cause he sips coffee and reads for fun.”
“I like sipping coffee.” Sami admitted.
“And that’s why we’re your only friends.”
Sami slapped the back of Solo’s head, making Jey and Jimmy both crack identical grins.
Jey waited until they quieted down, then passed Sami’s phone back to him. “Send me everythin’ you got.” Tapping his hands on the car, he blew out a heavy breath. “Somethin’ fishy is goin’ on.”
“‘Fraid so.” Jimmy quietly agreed, extending his fist for Jey to bump. “Stay safe out there, little brother. I kno’ Julien isn’t the worst part of town, but play it as discreetly as possible.”
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Rhea pulled into the short driveway, her heart thumping against her ribs. She hadn’t been to this location in months, choosing to stay in the two-story house his parents had gifted them further in the suburbs. Her Julien home didn’t look like much on the outside. One story, two bedrooms, a tiny kitchen and a laughable backyard. It was hers, though, earned with her own money.
It kept her secrets safe, and now it would be her residence until she finished the job she’d started.
Killing the engine, she flipped the headlights off and stepped out of the creaky old car. “You did good, LuLu.” Manually locking the door, she pushed it closed and made her way up the walkway, the front porch light clicking on once it sensed her. She finger waved at the hidden camera, knowing Becky and Damian would both be checking to see she’d made it safely.
Once in the house, she kicked her shoes off, and looked around the familiar space.
Remember?
A photo of them was stuck to the fridge with a tacky California souvenir magnet. Senior Prom. His arms wrapped around her from behind.
She’d been so damn happy.
Sniffling as a wave of anguish hit her like a tsunami, she dug her pack of cigarettes and lighter out of her pocket. “You bastard,” she whispered. “You bloody bastard.”
Psst, Rhea, psst.
Car lights flashed in her living room window, alerting her someone had turned onto her street. Rhea knew it was Jey. She knew he’d take the bait. Wiping her nose with her fingers, she walked to the front window, tilting the blinds just enough to let the moonlight shine in.
Her legs protested sitting on the floor, her back against the wall. Working her thumb over the igniter, she lit a much needed cigarette, the first puff soothing some of the tears from her throat. She pulled in another lungful, letting it sit in her mouth before tilting her head up and releasing the smoke.
With her free hand, she untied the flannel from her waist. His. She’d stolen it years ago. Forgive me.
Their prom picture called to her, but she couldn’t remember that day. Not now. Instead, she unlocked her phone and went to the only saved voicemail she had left. Why didn’t she think to save them all?
His voice.
Her little ghost boy haunted her every hour.
“Mamacita, you’re torturing me here. Answer your damn phone. Can’t just show up to mis padres anniversary party dressed like that and then waltz out after dessert. Mami, answer the phone. I’m dying here. This is cruel. I’m trapped with my cousins, and my abuelito won’t stop pestering me about you. Damn, mami, I’d be jealous if I knew you didn’t go for fossils— Ouch. Shit, man, sorry! Geez, that old fart has a strong grip. Okay, fine. Be mean, you tease. Te amo.”
Rhea let out a loud sob, ashes flicking onto the floor. “Feliz cumpleaños mi amor.”
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Rain began to drizzle, softly hitting the windshield of the Escalade. Jey tugged on his Nike hoodie, then adjusted his seat back enough to comfortably stretch his legs. He was prepared to watch her house all night, only one question on his mind: Rhea Ripley, who are you?
🔗 Part One | Part Three (soon…)
Do you ever read fics and picture them as scenes in a movie? That’s what I do, and how I write. Everything is incredibly cinematic, including specific songs being used. THIS one was all I could listen to while the last part of the chapter unfolded ..𓂃 ִֶ𓏲ּ𝄢ִֶָ
