WEST
West: You said we could message if we needed help, so I guess that’s what this is.
QweenPandora: Well, well, what a pleasant surprise. You’re right, I did offer, so what can I do for you?
I stare at my phone, eyeing the outside of Dusty’s diner down the street. I’ve been sitting in an adjacent parking lot for ten minutes now, contemplating my next move.
As soon as I got the call from Southside about Vin’s guy stopping in to threaten her, I hopped in the car and drove here. Only, she gave specific instructions for me not to show up, for obvious reasons.
But how the fuck can I stay away when I know she’s terrified right now? When I know she needs me? It doesn’t help that this is all my dickhead father’s doing.
I breathe deep and peer down at the message again, knowing it’s time to make a move.
West: I know this goes against who you are and what you do, but… I need you to hold any pics your followers might send of me and Blue, and any pics that giveaway my location. This might not make much sense, but can you do that?
I hit send and wait, thinking I’m probably making a mistake saying so much, but the response that comes in changes my mind about that.
QweenPandora: What makes you think I haven’t been doing that already?
After that question, my notifications sound off when image after image flood in—one of me sneaking into the locker room to see Southside, one of me driving Ricky’s car the night I visited, and even one of me sitting in this parking lot, looking like the stalker Southside’s accused me of being.
Clearly, Pandora’s been covering for us a couple weeks now without us having any clue.
QweenPandora: Not sure why you two are faking it, but I’m pretty sure it has something to do with our common enemy. So, I’ve been happy to play along, feed the people the drama they love, even though it’s been a complete lie 😉
I’m completely floored, at a loss for words, so I say the one thing I can think of. Something simple.
West: Thanks for this. Haven’t had many people in our corner lately.
QweenPandora: My pleasure. And if there’s anything else I can do, don’t be shy. The faster we rid ourselves of you-know-who, the better off we’ll all be. Which reminds me, I’ve become somewhat of a freelance photographer myself recently. Give me a few hours. I’ll send over a few pics that might be of interest to you.
West: Noted. I’ll be in touch.
With that, I park behind the tire shop where I’ve been camped out, then dart across traffic to Dusty’s, trusting that whatever incriminating evidence Pandora receives will never see the light of day.
Bursting through the door of the diner, I search from corner to corner until I spot Southside. She’s clearing a table near the back wall and I rush past the three patrons finishing their meals.
“West, what are you doing here? Someone will see you!” she tries to whisper.
Her eyes say something completely different than the words that just left her mouth. They say she’s glad I’m here regardless of what fucking rules we’re breaking right now.
She passes a quick look toward her uncle where he’s working the grill, then I have her attention again.
“What are you doing here?” she repeats, but I ignore her question to ask one of my own.
“Are you hurt?”
She breathes deep and answers with a sigh. “Just my wrist.”
That response has me taking her hand gently to get a better look. She’s bruised right where that motherfucker grabbed her. I’ve been looking for someone to take out all my pent-up rage on, and whoever this asshole is, he would’ve made a perfect candidate.
She eases her hand out of mine and I don’t miss the panicked look in her eyes. “West, you can’t be here. We can’t risk—”
“I took care of it.”
When I cut her off, she’s quiet, but still not convinced.
“Take a look at this.”
I pull my phone from my pocket, open the thread with Pandora, and hand it over. Southside scrolls and I don’t need to say a word because the proof speaks for itself. The images Pandora’s already received and withheld on our behalf mean she’s on our side.
“She knows,” Southside says under her breath, taking it all in just like I had a moment ago.
“And she’s protecting us,” I add with a nod. “She gave us an invitation to DM her, so I took her up on that and this is what she sent back.”
Southside’s speechless, but I’m aware of being on borrowed time. “Will your uncle let you take a break?”
She glances toward Dusty again and it isn’t surprising that he’s already watching us. Pretty sure my name is mud in this place, seeing as how the last impression I left on the guy was that I defiled his niece in a sex tape that has since gone viral. So, I can only imagine what he’s thinking right now.
“It’s slow. He won’t mind,” she answers.
We slip into a booth and it’s been weeks since we’ve been together in public. I reach for her hands across the table, and she meets my gaze.
“Are you okay?”
The question has her tearing up, on the verge of crying like she’d done when I first got her call little more than half an hour ago.
“I’ll live.”
That answer isn’t nearly good enough. Actually, it has me even more enraged than I already was. All because it serves as proof that Vin’s winning and we’re all miserable as hell because of it.
“We can’t keep doing this. I know we had a plan, but something has to give. If that asshole stopping in here tells us anything, it’s that nothing we do will ever be enough. Vin will trample anything—or anyone—standing between him and what he wants. We’re sitting ducks,” I point out. “He can do whatever the fuck he wants, and our best option so far has been to look like we’re marching to the beat of his damn drum. I’m fucking sick of it.”
She doesn’t speak, because she knows I’m right.
“I can’t just… not do anything,” I conclude. “We’re sitting around, waiting for a smoking gun we’re not even sure exists. Meanwhile, he’s tightening his plans, gaining power, gathering allies to vouch for his scheming ass, and soon there won’t be a damn thing we can do about it.”
When I finish speaking, I’m practically panting, thinking about how deep we’re in over our heads. Ricky made an offer weeks ago and it’s been going through my mind a lot lately. It’s made me wonder if the only way to save the lives of those around me is for Vin’s to end. He’s gone off the deep end and it feels like we’re fighting a losing battle. One that now calls for us to do something drastic.
“You’re leaving?” Southside asks, peering up when I stand.
“I’ve got something to take care of, but I’ll call when it’s done.”
Concern marks her expression. “West.”
I turn when my name’s called and she’s on her feet now, stepping closer. She takes my hand and my gaze shifts there as our fingers lace together.
“Promise me you’re not about to do anything dangerous.”
I’ve never lied to this girl. Not since she’s been mine. Not since I admitted to loving her. And as easy as it would be to tell her what she wants to hear right now, dishonesty doesn’t feel like an option.
She’s trembling when I kiss her forehead, letting my hand linger on her cheek. “I’ll call.”
With that, I leave and head back toward my car, but my phone’s already in hand. I’m dialing a number that’s been in my call log more than I ever imagined it would be. A few seconds later, Ricky answers and I know exactly why my first instinct was to call him in particular.
Because if there’s anyone who’s going to match my anger, be down to fuck Vin’s shit up as much as I am, it’s Ricky Ruiz.
“What’s up?”
“We’ve got a problem. It’s about Blue.”
“The pier. Fifteen minutes.”
