“Yeah, I know him.” I smile, feeling all devious inside. Time to bring home the bacon, baby. This is Colin’s ticket out of the garage and my little chance at a wisp of revenge for the kidnapping. “He’s ex special-ops. Big time assassin.” I nod several times, my serious eyebrows going strong.
“Whaaaat?” The pirate patch guy hunkers down and whispers. “Are you serious? Oh my god, that is so sexy.” He looks at his friend and then over their combined shoulders to Colin and his group of admirers. “Look at him. The minute I laid eyes on him, I knew he was dangerous.”
“You mean eye,” says the second guy, sounding bored. “The minute you laid an eye on him, not eyes.”
One-eye slaps his friend. “Don’t be cruel. I have a disability.”
“You poked yourself in the eye with an eyelash curler. I’d hardly call that a disability.” He looks away and mumbles, “Although I might not argue about the disabled part…”
The pirate leans in towards me. “Has he killed a lot of people?”
“Just a couple of somali pirates, a dictator, and a few serial killers. He got out of the service and pulled a Dexter. It’s the painting that finally got him away from all that violence. Now he volunteers at the local no-kill shelter.” I don’t know where any of this is coming from, but I’m not fighting it. Here, in this gallery, I am in a dream world where anything goes. Anything at all. I am unstoppable.
I leave the pirate and his friend to contemplate that bit of awesome and move on to the next few paintings. Two girls are looking at one and smiling. They’re checking Colin out over their shoulders too as they sip champagne.
“Too much,” says one, as I walk up.
“I know,” I agree, giving them a knowing look. “I can’t believe he was in the Olympics too. I mean, so much talent in so many areas.”
“The Olympics? Really?” asks one. “What was his event?”
I freeze, my brain scrambling to pick a sport. “Water polo.”
They frown at me. “Water polo? Is that even an Olympic sport?”
“Of course it is. Don’t be silly.” I go for the big distractor. “And you should see him in that bathing suit.” I wave my hand under my face. “Seriously. I mean, get out the fan, ladies, know what I mean?”
They both look over at him, no doubt imagining him in a Speedo, and then we’re all fanning ourselves.
“You are so lucky,” one of them says to me.
“Who, me? Nah, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s totally free and available.” I gesture in his direction. “Tortured artist. Have at him.”
Oh, revenge has never tasted so sweet. Twenty minutes later when Teagan walks into the gallery with Rebel in tow, I have almost completed my mission. The group standing around Colin could almost be termed a mob at this point.
“What in the holy hell on wheels …?” Teagan is looking around the room, her face a mask of confusion.
Rebel is staring at the wall and then his brother, his face going red.
I walk over quickly to douse the flames. “Before you freak out on him and whatever, I just want you to know that he’s very sensitive about his art and I’m pretty sure this is the first time he’s let anyone in the public see it, so you should be aware of that.” I look at Rebel, giving him my serious eyebrow look. “I mean it. Do not make a scene in here.”
Teagan gives me a funny look.
“What?”
“Well … that might be unavoidable,” she says.
Rebel’s jaw twitches.
“Why?” I look from one to the other. They both look guilty.
“What did you do?” I ask, my voice wary.
Teagan looks towards the door.
My heart stops beating for a few seconds and then rushes to catch up. “Please tell me you didn’t say anything to Mick.”
“He might have followed us,” Teagan says, her head pulling into her shoulders like a damn turtle chicken.
I smack her on the arm. “I told you not to say anything to him!”
The door flies open and Mick is there in the entrance. He’s ready for a fight and everyone in the room can see it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MICK WALKS IN, HIS EASY glide unmistakable for the warning it carries. He’s on a mission. He looks right at me and freezes for a few seconds, his jaw muscle twitching and his expression going cold. It makes me want to disappear. Where is Jersey’s damn magic cape or spell or whatever it is that makes him invisible when I need it, anyway?
“Is he here?” Mick asks, talking to the Rebel, his eyes scanning the space for his brother.
“Yeah. Just relax.” Rebel shifts Teagan gently over to his left, freeing up the other side of his body where Mick is standing.
Teagan puts her hand on Rebel’s arm. “You’re not going to fight in here, are you?”
He shakes his head.
I can see why Teagan is so gah-gah over him. He really does look like her long-time crush, Dolph Lundgren, and he’s totally taken control of the situation without even doing anything yet.
“Colin!” Mick yells out into the room, making me immediately question my assessment of who’s actually calling the shots in his family unit. Usually Rebel is the one at the head of the clan, and I’ve never heard Mick sound so commanding. If this weren’t such a terrible situation, it would probably turn me on. Okay, so even though it is a dire situation, it’s turning me on, but I’m going to try and ignore that part of my personality.
Everyone stops talking and turns to face us.
Aaaaaaand my bedazzled denim shorts suddenly feel a lot less sexy than they did thirty minutes ago.
The crowd in the corner of the room parts and Colin steps out from the middle of it. “Mick.” He nods and says nothing else. His gaze takes in Rebel and the rest of us. He looks casually tough, ready for a throw-down of epic proportions and not one bit scared of or worried about it. It’s funny how a bunch of turtle-necked art patrons had him quaking in his boots, but now a fight with Mick is like nothing to him. He’s just going to throw some fists around and destroy some stuff. Same shit, different day. No big.
I hate that I made that call to Teagan. Bad things are going to happen now and it’s all my fault. I should have waited. It’s like I somehow betrayed Colin, even though he’s the kidnapper. How he’s able to make me feel that way without a single word, I’ll probably never know. Something about these guys at Rebel Wheels … they have superpowers where women are concerned. Damn them and their stupid beautiful faces.
Barbara comes from the group and stands at Colin’s elbow. “Is there something wrong, darling?” She looks up at Colin and then over at Mick and Rebel. I’m pretty sure there’s a sparkle in her eye. The woman is demented. She should be worried about her gallery being turned into a wrestling arena but instead I think she’s seeing this as part of the night’s entertainment.
Looking around the room, I’m pretty sure the rest of the guests are feeling the same way. For a moment, I wonder if maybe we should let them duke it out. His paintings will probably be worth more … the ones that survive, anyway.
Mick moves across the floor and our little group moves right along with him. He stops in front of his older brother. “You kidnapped my date. What the hell is wrong with you, man?”
“She came willingly.”
Mick looks at me. “Is that true?”
I gape at Colin before gathering my thoughts enough to answer. “No, that’s not true. Not exactly…” My face turns red when I realize that I could have left at any point. And yet, here I am.
“How not exactly?” Mick asks.
He sounds so cold, it makes my lady parts shrivel up. Holy raisin hoo-hoo. Ouch. My gaze shifts from Mick to Colin and then Rebel. The entire place is so quiet, I can hear the pirate whispering to his partner in a high-pitch voice across the room; he’s obviously very excited about this little family squabble.
I don’t know what to say. I can tell Mick I was kidnapped and start a fist-fight. I can say I wasn’t, lie and break his hea
rt. My brain tries to function with the opposing forces pulling it apart and the only thing that will come out is animal noises. “Errrrmm … duuhhh … seeeee … gaahhh …”
“That’s what I thought,” says Mick, one second before he takes a lightning fast swing at Colin and lands a punch on his jaw.
Mass pandemonium breaks out as Rebel jumps in the middle of them and tries to stop the fists from flying.
Teagan and I are yelping like little laps dogs as we skitter out of the way. I end up standing in front of the nearby painting with my arms and legs open wide, flapping them around and doing a damn fine imitation of a demented hooker doing an upright snow-angel as I try to protect the painting from damage.
Teagan looks like she’s about to help me until the painting with her face on it catches her eye. She wanders off in a daze towards it and leaves me there to keep the artwork nearby from being destroyed.
Rebel is as silent when he fights as when he is doing anything else. A few grunts come out as Colin punches him in the gut, attempting to hit Mick but missing.
Mick gets two more right hooks off on Colin’s face, opening up his lip and making his nose bleed before Rebel’s in the way again. It’s like Mick is possessed, the way he keeps going at his brother. If it weren’t so sickening it would be impressive. Talk about determined. I thought I held the corner on that one, but no. I was wrong. Again.
Is there a Yorkie in here somewhere or did I just bark again? Apparently, my contribution to the mess is to keep yelping. The rest of the gallery patrons might as well bust out some popcorn the way they’re staring and pointing. Anytime one of the fighters gets too close to someone in black they add some squealing to the mix. It’s not until Colin finally stops holding back and hauls off and hits Mick in the gut that the fighting finally stops.
Rebel grabs his gasping youngest brother by his t-shirt and drags him outside. Mick stumbles the entire way and goes down on his knees just beyond the door.
Barbara glides over to hand Colin a towel she snagged from one of the champagne-bearing waiters. He snatches it away from her as she tries to help him and turns his back on her.
The ruder he is, the more she seems to like it. The smile on her face is nearly blinding. I’m pretty sure there are dollar signs in her eyes.
Gazing around at the crowd and seeing them still watching the performance, I’d say she has every right to be feeling the glow of cold hard cash. These people are actually excited about buying art from a criminal. I feel like I’m in a movie or living in another dimension. Nothing makes sense. What am I even doing in an art gallery, anyway? That right there is pretty messed up in and of itself.
Teagan runs over and grabs me by the arm, snapping me out of my fog. “Come on,” she says, almost growling.
“But … but …” I look over at Colin, hating that he’s being left behind by everyone he cares about.
He catches my worried expression and waves me away as he wipes his face off, turning his attention back to his adoring fans. I feel terrible that his entire family is outside and he’s left in here with all these weirdos dressed for a funeral. It’s not fair. He just wanted someone to listen to him, to pay attention to something that means something to him. Why does that have to be so difficult and painful?
The circle of people who’d been talking to him before Rebel and Mick arrived closes in around him and I can’t even see him anymore.
I let Teagan jerk me out of my melancholy moment and follow her out to the parking lot. I feel like I’m walking into a courtroom, about to face judgment as I approach the red mustang with Rebel and Mick standing next to it. Mick is still partially bent over, holding his hand lightly over his abdomen. I don’t know why I feel guilty about his pain, but I do.
My allegiance is torn in half. Do I stand up for the guy who had to struggle to find the strength to show anyone his paintings, who also has the balls to fight off his family and be left alone? Or do I condemn him as the man who kidnapped me without regard for his brother’s feelings? And how did I end up in the middle of all this shit, anyway? All I wanted to do was have one night of drunken debauchery. Life is so unfair.
I walk up and stand in front of Rebel and Mick. They both look at me and my heart sinks into my shoes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“TELL US WHAT HAPPENED,” REBEL says. His face holds no expression; I cannot tell if he’s for me or against me, so I assume the worst. It makes it hard for me to speak.
I swallow with effort and finally begin the story after a couple false starts. “I was waiting for Mick to come get me, and then Colin showed up. He said he was there for Mick because Mick was going to be late.”
Mick hisses out an angry breath, addressing his brother. “I fucking told you.” He shifts his attention to me. “Why’d you get in the car with him? You know he’s full of shit.”
My back goes up in defense. “No, I don’t know that, actually.”
I look at Teagan for support, but all she’s doing is seeing how close she can get her damn eyebrows to her hairline.
“Don’t look at me,” she says.
Disgusted with her playing the pansy, I glare at Mick. “Colin has never been anything but a gentleman with me.”
“Except for the fact that gentlemen don’t kidnap people,” interjects Teagan.
“Oh, so now you’re joining the party,” I say, throwing my arms up.
She backs up so I can’t slap her like I want to. “I’m just calling it like it is. Don’t get mad at me.”
I sigh loudly. “Fine. Kidnapping isn’t cool. But I don’t see it as a kidnapping.”
“Typical,” says Mick, obviously disgusted.
“No. Huh-uh,” I say, holding out a finger. “Do not go there.”
“Go where? You’ve fallen for his bullshit just like every other chick before you.” He rubs his stomach first and then his chest, wincing.
I look at my best friend, battling for control over my emotions. “Tea, you need to hold me back before I hurt a person.”
“That person?” she asks, pointing to Mick.
“Yes! That person!” I turn back to him. “Why is it so hard for anyone to understand that I do not like Colin that way? Yes, I like him as a friend, okay? He’s is a nice person … at least he is to me. And he’s incredibly talented, and I’m not afraid to say it or compliment him on it. But … does that mean I want to run around naked and do the junk-a-dunk with him? No, it doesn’t.”
I’m fuming. My hands are on my hips and it’s possible some spittle came flying out of my mouth to land on the car’s windshield with that last sentence. I ignore Teagan’s giggling off to my right.
“Let’s take a walk,” Rebel says, holding out his hand for his girlfriend.
“Yeah, let’s do that,” she says, taking his hand and leaving me with Mick.
I can hear her snorting with laughter as she walks down the sidewalk. Traitors. I feel abandoned, but I don’t blame them for taking off. This is just a mess. An embarrassing mess.
I watch their backs like I’m really interested in their departure because I’m afraid to face the guy I kind of screwed over tonight. I feel terrible about everything. It’s all my fault. I’m a sucker for a closed-off guy with a nice ass. Colin played me like a frigging violin. How pitiful is that?
“Why’d you get in his car?” Mick asks in a much more controlled voice. It’s no longer accusing. Now it just sounds sad, and that’s what gets me to turn around and finally face him.
“I believed him when he said he was doing it for you. I know I shouldn’t have, but I did. I’m just … stupid, I guess.”
“You know we don’t get along.”
“Actually, I know you guys act like dicks to each other, but I have no idea why or to what extent this … problem between you goes.” I throw up my arms again, but with a lot less force. “How was I supposed to know he was being ridiculous? I don’t know you guys that well. Now I do. Now I wouldn’t get in his car a second time.” My arms sag at my sides. “But
I guess it’s too late for that, huh?” I’m on pins and needles as I wait for his answer.
This thing, whatever it is between us, never had a chance. We’re a non-starter. Fate keeps getting in the way of anything happening. I should probably quit trying or caring, but looking at him makes that impossible. He is so damn attractive with his messed up hair and bad-boy, usually joking attitude. I seriously think we could have so much fun together if fate would just let us give it a try.
As I stand there admiring everything from his shoes to his eyebrows, his face gradually turns a funky color and his expression of sadness turns to one of confusion.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as he starts to sag to the side a little.
“Uhhhh, fuck,” he gasps out, his hand sliding down the car before catching on the handle.
I leap over and grab him to keep him from falling down to the curb. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I yell in his face. I didn’t mean to, it just comes out in my panic. His eyes are only half open and now his skin is downright gray.
“I think I got fucked up inside,” he whispers. “Take me to the hospital. It hurts bad.”
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” I whisper as I try to prop him up. He’s frigging heavy. Jamming my shoulder under his falling armpit, I keep him from going to the ground. “Move … a little … over … to the … right …” I grunt out, getting him past the door enough to open it. Using a backhand maneuver on the handle, I get it open and then push him inside. He drops onto the seat and screams in pain.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” I scoop his legs up and get them in, trying to ignore the rest of his complaints so I can get this done. “Where are the keys?” I ask in a panic once I have him fully inside the car. I’m sweating everywhere, and for the first time in my life, I do not care that my hair is frizzing to the moon.
“In my pocket,” he says. His voice is way too weak.
“Get them out!” I yell. I can’t seem to keep myself from screaming right in his face.