Convict: A Bad Boy Romance (16 page)

I
just stare at Stone
, my mouth open.

I don’t fucking believe it
, I think.

His beautiful green eyes are staring at me, pleading. I think he’s holding his breath.

He fucking thinks I’m going to believe that
.
He thinks I’m stupid. He really thinks that.

“Get out of my house,” I say.

“Luna—”

“I am dead the fuck serious,” I say, my voice nearly a whisper. “I’m done. I don’t know what your deal is, but I’m not going to stand here and let you yank me around like I’m some sort of idiot.”

“I swear to God—”

I hold up one hand.

“First you kiss me and walk away. Fine, maybe you’re playing hard to get, maybe you were trying to get me to follow you back to the bar where another girl was waiting so we could have a threesome. I don’t know. Then your prints show up on spray paint cans, and the story about throwing them is dumb, but not unbelievable. It checks out, but you act squirrely as
fuck
at the police station.”

I swallow hard, so furious I’m about to cry.

“Then you
vandalize your own home
, thinking that I won’t figure it out, I guess, and somehow get me to have sex with you, only to have a
prison tattoo
. And now you want me to believe that you’re disease-free and also in witness protection?”

“It’s true,” Stone says.

“I wasn’t born yesterday!” I shout. “If you were in WitSec you couldn’t tell me you were in WitSec!”

“I’m not
supposed
to tell you,” he says, his eyes flashing. “But I’m fucking tired of lying to you, Luna. I’m tired of knowing that you’re suspicious of everything I do and I’m tired of knowing that it’s for a damned good reason.”

“No,” I say.

I put my hands over my face, digging the heels of my palms into my eye sockets.

“No. It’s over. I don’t know how many times you think you can get me to believe you but that was the last one. Get out, Stone.”

There’s a hard lump in my throat, and I’m trying to breathe normally around it, even though I can tell I’m seriously about to lose my shit.

I feel like an idiot, a moron, like I’m the dumbest, most gullible person who’s ever walked this planet.

He steps closer.

“Luna, I swear on — I don’t know, on anything — that I’m not lying to you,” he says, his voice low and serious.

“Out,” I whisper.

“
Please
.”

“Get out before I arrest you for trespassing,” I say, finally uncovering my eyes. They’re blurry, filled with angry tears, and I really don’t want him to see me cry but I don’t have any choice.

Stone inhales, like he’s about to say something, and I clench my jaw.

“I swear to God,” I growl.

He straightens, and something changes in his face, going hard and brittle. Stone looks at me for another moment, his eyes suddenly flat and icy.

Then he turns and walks out. He doesn’t say another word, and I follow him, locking my front door as soon as he’s gone.

I hear a car start, and I curl into a kneeling position on my couch, yanking one of the cushions off and holding it to my face.

Then I scream.

* * *

T
hat night
I go see a movie with some friends, and afterward, we get drinks. I almost tell them my whole dramatic story. But at the last second, I don’t. It’s
way
too embarrassing: first I slept with someone who was pretty clearly crazy, and
then
he turned out to be some kind of lying sociopath who’s probably done hard time?

I don’t need to narrate another installment of
Luna has unbelievably bad judgement where men are concerned for the one thousandth time.

Someday it’ll be funny. Maybe in a year. Right now, I just feel like I should have known better, so I drink beers and listen to my friends complain about boyfriends and bosses. When I chime in, I chime in about Chad and the tampons he loves to leave on my desk because he’s a child.

They’re appropriately dismissive.

The next morning, I wake up way too early, just before five. I try to get some work done, but my brain feels like it’s filled with electrified cotton balls, stuffed and squishy and frantic, so I go for a long hike alone. I text Skye, Raine, and Cedar with the trailhead and route I’m taking, then set off.

For almost three hours, there’s near-total silence. I see two other people on the trail, and we say some polite hellos, but mostly it’s peaceful and quiet and perfect, exactly what I wanted.

Around nine-thirty I get to the midpoint of the hike, a cluster of huge boulders right below the peak. Even though it’s not the literal high point, it’s the spot with the good views, since the peak itself is wooded. I sit down and pull out a few of my mom’s homemade granola bars, drink some water, and look out at the vista.

This
is why I love where I live. From here I can see the vast Pacific Ocean, shining in the sun. I can see the waves breaking against the rocky coastline, as far north and south as I can see. The seaside buildings of Tortuga, Emerald Bay, and San Rafael; the houses shining on hillsides; the green and gold foothills.

Other places are pretty, but this one is
mine
. Even if some guy ruins my day, there’s a lot more to my life.

I sit there for a long time. I let my mind go blank and just watch birds wheeling overhead, feeling peaceful. It’s pretty easy to clear your mind when the school you went to had you meditate for twenty minutes every morning.

Finally, I put my water bottle and half a granola bar into my backpack. As I do, my phone buzzes, and I hesitate.

You’re having such a nice time
, I think.
Don’t ruin it, you can’t even do anything right now
.

It buzzes again. This must be the only place with service.

What if it’s work? Or an emergency? You should at least know.

I pull my phone out and look at it. The entire screen is filled with texts, voicemails, and phone calls from the same number. He’s not saved in my phone yet, but it’s Stone.

Just stop
, I think.
All I want is for you to stop
.

It buzzes again, and I look back at the view.

He’s just going to yank you around more
.
You know better, Rivers
.

It stops buzzing. Then buzzes again. And again.

Fine.

I take a deep breath, hit the green button, and answer my phone.

“You need to stop contacting me,” I say, very calmly.

There’s a brief pause on the other end.

“Luna?” Stone asks.

“Yes,” I say.

I watch birds. I look at the ocean. I maintain my perfect zen calm.

“I know you’re angry,” he says carefully.

I am as peaceful as the wind in the leaves
.

“But I can prove to you I’m not lying,” he goes on.

I roll my eyes, then bite my lip to keep myself from saying something angry and mean.

I am as serene as the rain falling on grass.

“I swear, Luna,” he says. “Will you meet me at the pier in Emerald Bay at one?”

“I’m on top of a mountain,” I say.

“Two?”

I take a deep breath.

Why didn’t you just say no?

“I swear, after this, I’ll never contact you again if you don’t want me to,” he says. “But I had to try, Luna. I fucking had to try.”

There’s a note in his voice I don’t quite recognize. A hint of desperation. Stone is almost
pleading
with me to come see him, just this one last time.

You’re an idiot, Rivers
, I think.

“I’ll see,” I say, and hang up.

The hike down is faster, but considerably less peaceful.

* * *

I
go
. I drive the twenty minutes to Emerald Bay feeling like a dumb, stupid, gullible idiot for going, but I go.

The truth is, the hike cleared my head. Logically, I’m pretty sure there’s no way he’s telling the truth now, just piling increasingly unbelievable lies on top of each other. That’s what pathological liars
do.

But I
want
it to be the truth, because despite every rational brain cell I’ve got telling me I shouldn’t, I kind of like him. He’s charming as hell. He’s funny, he’s interesting, and he knows how to do useful things besides roll a joint.

More than that, he’s
trying
. Men don’t go out of their way to woo me, ever. I’m just not the kind of girl who inspires that, but Stone vandalized his own garage. He showed up at my house with STD test printouts.

Also, he provided me with the two greatest orgasms of my life to date, so there’s that. It’s not exactly the stuff great romances are written about, but it’s sweet and sexy in its own way.

I park a few blocks from the pier and leave the windows cracked, since it’s a hot day. The beach is pretty full with people, nearly everyone dressed for summer in sandals and swimsuits, brightly colored t-shirts, hats and sunglasses.

That makes it easy to pick out the one guy wearing jeans, a black t-shirt, and motorcycle boots. Stone sees me coming from far away and just watches me as I approach, his hands casually in his pockets.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.

I have no idea what to say.
I think I’m dumb for coming but here I am? I want you to not be lying to me, but think you probably are?

“Sure,” I say, jamming my own hands into the pockets of my shorts.

We’re standing on the boardwalk, and we’ve got a good view of the pier from here. It’s not much, just a row of wooden planks extending over the ocean. Stone looks over his shoulder and nods at it.

“Do you see that guy wearing khaki shorts with a polo shirt tucked in?” he asks. “The guy who looks like he’s
trying
to look casual?”

I lean to one side and search the pier behind Stone, and sure enough, there the guy is. I nod.

“That’s Tony, my federal marshal,” he says. “And I’m about to really piss him off.”

Then Stone hesitates, tapping the wooden railing of the boardwalk with one finger, looking at me.

“I’m sorry for putting you through this,” he says quietly. “You have every right to be pissed.”

Before I can move, he leans forward, kisses me on top of my head, then walks away quickly.

My heart skips a beat, and I wish it hadn’t. I lean my arms against the boardwalk railing and pretend to watch kids build a sand castle down below, but I watch Stone from the corner of my eye. He goes up to the man he said was Tony.

Please be telling the truth this time
, I think, hoping so hard I can almost feel it in my bones.

Stone says something to Tony. They talk. Tony starts pacing back and forth in a tight little line. Then he’s yelling at Stone, jabbing one finger into the air.

Please, please, please
.

“
Y
ou are
in
direct disobedience
of your agreement with the federal marshals’ agency,” Tony says, pointing his finger in the air and jabbing it toward my chest. “You signed an oath, Stone. You swore on the Bible, and even if that means nothing to you, I thought that maybe the thousands of hours of manpower involved in getting your ass safe out here might mean something.”

Tony’s face is bright red and veins are popping out of his forehead, but he’s managing to keep his voice low, even though he’s furious.

“We can’t protect you now. You voluntarily tell someone, we don’t extract you. I don’t work with people who can’t follow instructions, who think they know better than me. I thought you were better than this, Stone. I thought you
cared
.”

“She’s a police officer,” I say.

“I don’t care if she’s the goddamn President of the goddamn United States!” Tony hisses. “What part of
reveal your identity to no one
was unclear?”

“I can’t live like that!” I say, also keeping my voice low. “It’s not the public, Tony, it’s not my boss or my neighbors or the whole town. It’s one person. Don’t people get married in witness protection? Don’t people date?”

Tony glares at me. I’m an inch or two taller than he is, and he doesn’t intimidate me, but I feel strangely like I’ve let him down. Like I’ve
disappointed
him.

“The rules are different for spouses, yes,” he says, his voice still clipped and angry. “Did I miss something? Have you popped the question? You put a ring on it already?”

“No, of course not,” I say. “But she’s a detective, Tony. She knew I was lying about being in juvie. I can’t lie to her any more.”

“What you’re saying,” he says, slowly, “is that you are casually dating someone who you have informed of your true status, and you want me to corroborate your story knowing full well that it’s likely someday you will terminate this relationship and she may no longer feel beholden to keep your secret?”

I swallow, because of
course
it sounds bad when you put it that way.

“I just want to not lie to one person,” I say quietly. “She’s a cop. She knows how serious this is.”

Tony crosses his arms, glare fully in place. He doesn’t say anything, but at least he’s stopped yelling, so I wave at Luna, still standing on the boardwalk. She looks at me, and I gesture her over.

“You know that legally speaking, I’m oath-bound not to reveal your involvement in the program unless ordered to do so by a court of law?” Tony asks curtly. “And you also know that I take oaths seriously?”

Luna walks up next to us and looks from me to Tony and back.

“Tony, this is Luna,” I say.

They shake hands and exchange awkward pleasantries. Luna looks back at me, eyebrows raised.

“He’s the federal marshal in charge of keeping me in line,” I say to Luna.

Tony’s jaw clenches, and Luna looks at him.

“Is that true?” she asks.

“I have no knowledge of this man’s activities,” Tony says.

Luna narrows her eyes.

“Are you a federal marshal?” she asks.

Tony looks from Luna to me and back.

“Yes,” he says.

“Would you mind if I looked at your ID?” she asks, reaching into her back pocket and bringing out her own.

They exchange credentials, both examining the other’s for a long time before finally looking satisfied.

“You can’t say anything about his activities,” Luna says slowly. “Are you permitted to speak to his character?”

“Within reason,” Tony says.

Luna gives me a long look, and I hold my breath. There’s a tiny bloom of hope in my chest that maybe, just maybe, she believes me.

“Is he a liar?” she asks.

“When circumstances necessitate that he lie,” Tony says.

“Is he lying about this?”

Tony shakes his head. “Can’t speak to that,” he says.

“Is he a sociopath?”

“No.”

“Is this all an elaborate long con constructed for reasons that are still unclear to me?”

Tony almost smiles.

“I don’t believe so, Detective,” he says.

“How long have you known him?”

“Can’t say.”

“Where was he before he lived in Tortuga?”

“Can’t say.”

Luna chews on the inside of her lip and thinks. She glances at me, then back at Tony.

“Why are you still here, letting me ask you questions?”

Tony looks at me, his arms folded over his broad chest. I might be imagining it, but his face softens just a little.

“Because I work with a lot of people who prove unable to resist the temptations of their past,” Tony says. “And although Stone might be a
goddamn idiot,
” — he glares at me quickly— “He’s made a genuine effort, which is more than I can say about most of my charges.”

I blink in surprise. Holy shit, I think Tony kind of
likes
me.

“What haven’t I asked that I should have asked?” Luna says.

“You could ask whether I think you should believe him,” Tony says.

Luna swallows.

“Should I?” she says.

“I would,” Tony says.

Then he turns to me and claps me on the shoulder hard.

“Good to see you again,” he says, shaking my hand, then turning to Luna. “And nice to meet you, Detective.”

“You too,” Luna echoes.

Then Tony walks down the pier, toward the boardwalk. People are still drifting by in clumps and groups, but no one’s paying us any attention.

Luna and I look at each other for a long moment, and I’m
nervous
. I’m as nervous as I’ve ever been, more nervous than I was when I jacked an Aston Martin. More nervous than when I wore a wire into a supermax prison.

“Well?” I ask softly.

She takes a deep breath.

“Just start talking,” she says.

* * *

W
e walk
off the pier and into town. I don’t know where to start, so I just start at the beginning: the mother who was nineteen when I was born, the father whose last name she never even knew. My grandmother who basically raised me until she died when I was ten, who I loved even though she administered the corporal punishment.

“Is she the one who taught you manners with a wooden spoon?” Luna asks softly.

We’re sitting on a bench, under a shady tree, looking out at the ocean.

“Yeah, that was her,” I say, and Luna just nods.

I tell her about my grandmother dying of lung cancer from forty years of chain smoking. After that, my mom took me back. Or, she tried, but she usually couldn’t battle her demons for long enough to make me breakfast. I learned to do a lot for myself.

“That’s how I learned to break into cars,” I say.

“Making breakfast?”

I can’t help but smile. It’s funny in a fucked up way.

“My mom was usually drunk, so she locked her keys in the car a lot,” I say. “And she’d always call Randy, our neighbor at the trailer park, to come break into her car for her. Finally, he just taught me.”

“And you put it to good use,” Luna says dryly.

“Yup,” I say.

I was the kid from hell. I came home with black eyes from fighting once a week. I skipped school more than I went, and when I did go, I spent most of my time in the principal’s office. I smoked in the bathroom. I failed the seventh grade twice. I lied and mouthed off constantly.

And I stole cars. At that age, it was just joyriding. I usually even put the cars back, though they usually had dings and scrapes in the sides. But the thing is, when the cars are shitty enough, no one notices that.

I dropped out of school at sixteen, though I’d barely been for years before that. I started stealing better cars, and I finally met a fence in Atlanta who’d take the stolen cars. My mom kept drinking. I mostly crashed on friends’ couches.

We made up a name for ourselves, our band of degenerate thieves and hoodlums: the Sons of Dixie. God, we thought we were hot shit.

“How many girls did you get pregnant?” she asks.

“You ready to be surprised?” I ask.

She raises her eyebrows.

“Zero,” I say.

“You can’t tell me you took the necessary precautions when you were a teenager,” she says. “You said yourself you weren’t good with consequences.”

“I had that one spelled out for me pretty good,” I say, slowly. “I didn’t give a shit about fights or stealing things or making adults’ lives miserable, but even then, I knew no kid deserved the life I’d gotten stuck with. Besides, a couple of my buddies knocked up their girlfriends, so I had a front row seat to how much that sucked.”

Luna’s quiet, her big eyes just watching me.

“I pulled out religiously, at least,” I say.

“I guess protection was too much to ask,” she says dryly. “If you’re from a trailer park in north Georgia, how come you don’t have an accent?”

“I wouldn’t be very good at witness protection if I had my real accent,” I say.

“Okay, okay,” she says, almost laughing. “Then you went to juvie?”

“I never went to juvie,” I say. “Then, I joined the Syndicate.”