Resisting Ruby Rose (The Ruby Rose Series) (2 page)

CHAPTER 2

I sank into the couch in the hospital waiting room, watching muted reruns of the explosion on the TV mounted on the wall. Some of the videos were from shaky cell phone footage, others from more steady weather cameras in the area. From either perspective, the violence of the attack was horrendous. Dozens injured. Three dead. The likely target, D.A. Jane Rose, in critical condition.

“I brought you some hot chocolate,” Liam said, “and a chocolate-chip muffin.”

I sat up. Looking at Liam Slater was like breathing in cool ocean air. Even though neither of us had slept much in the past twenty-four hours, he was still refreshingly beautiful. A constant bright spot in the wreckage of my life.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the Styrofoam cup and Styrofoam-looking muffin. “I’ll take chocolate in any form at the moment.”

Liam slumped down next to me and put his hand on my back. A pleasant warmth sizzled down the nape of my neck as he massaged his fingers along my spine.

I took a sip and gasped. “Snap, that’s hot!” I slurred with my tongue out. “You’d think a hospital would want to avoid burning people.”

“I’m so sorry.” Liam reached over to remove the cup carefully from my hand. He took the lid off and let it cool on the table in front of us. “Now let me have a look at that tongue. I’ve always wanted to play doctor with you. And I know a certain kind of therapy that might help with that.”

I couldn’t help but smile, and neither could Liam. As soon as a nurse walked by, though, we tucked our smiles away. After all, smiling was hardly appropriate at a time like this. My mom was in a coma with potentially irreversible head trauma.

“Sorry again,” Liam said. “Man, this sucks.”

“You don’t have to be sorry for anything,” I said, resting my head on his shoulder. “None of this is your fault. Martinez is the one to blame. Once again.”

Liam pulled away. “How can you be so sure?”

His question took me by surprise. “Who else would’ve done this? Who else would be so insane?”

“I don’t know, it just seems odd.” Liam got up and repositioned himself on the table so he could face me. “I’ve been thinkin
g . . .
I mean, the dude was always so meticulous. Setting everything up so that things could never be traced back to him. Planning for years, almost. So, yeah, blowing up a government building containing hundreds of innocent victims, only to fail at actually killing his target—that just doesn’t make sense to me.”

“What are you saying?” Through my fuzzy haze of panic, I hadn’t even considered an option other than Martinez. But Liam had always been good at seeing things I didn’t. “That my mom has
another
crazy person trying to kill her?”

He shook his head. “Not exactly. I don’t kno
w . . .
” Our favorite Taylor Swift love song muffled through the front pocket of his jeans, interrupting the serious moment. Liam hurriedly pulled his cell out to silence the ringtone and sighed. “I gotta answer this. It’s my mom.”

“Of course.” I nodded. He kissed me on the cheek, near enough to the corner of my mouth to make everything tingle.

As he walked away, I couldn’t help but admire his gait. The way he moved, the way he shook his hair out of habit, the way he glanced back at me with those baby blues that took my breath away every single tim
e . . .

I might not have much good left in my life. But at least I had him. Or at least I did for now. Sometimes I really doubted how much more of my drama he could take. We could hardly go out in public without our pictures being taken or our names ending up in the headlines.

“Mind if I sit here?” a voice asked out of nowhere.

I turned to find a guy about my age with dark hair, piercing dark eyes, and a dangerously attractive smile sitting next to me on the couch. I looked around, confused as to how I could have missed the dude entering the room.

“No, I guess not,” I said, taken aback by how close he chose to sit, how abrasively good-looking he was, and how intensely he was watching me.

“Are you sure? Because it sort of looks like you actually might mind quite a bit,” he said, his accent now obviously British. He flashed yet another dashing smile.

I shook my head, trying to shake off the feeling of a rising blush. “Of course not—it’s a hospital waiting room. It’s just that there ar
e . . .
” I paused to count. “
. . .
four other couches in this room.”

“Right, well, would you believe me if I said that this particular one appeared to be the most
comfortable
of the lot?”

“No, I don’t think I would believe you.” I straightened my back, as if being in his company required a more European posture. “They’re all hard as rocks, in my opinion.”

He raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Well, I guess you would know best, since you’ve been sitting here all day.”

My head snapped into a cocked position. I was suddenly suspicious of the sweet-talking boy wearing clothes far too tailored for his age. “How would you know what I’ve been doing with my day?”

He pursed his lips in a mischievous way, as if h
e’d
been caught, and pulled a silver flask from his coat pocket. “Because I’ve been here all day, too, of course.” He raised the flask to toast me and took a swig. Grinning, he put the vile-smelling liquid away.

I finally had the good sense to move to the far end of the couch. I didn’t see how he could be telling the truth. I would have spotted him before now. In this part of the hospital, the only people
I’d
seen all day were medical staff, police officers, and people from my mom’s office. It was a restricted area.

“Who are you?” I asked, point blank.

“Quinn Donovan the Third.” He nodded his head formally. “At your service.”

“No, not just your name,” I clarified. “What are you doing here? Are you visiting someone?”

“Why else would I be here? Of course I’m visiting someone.”

“Who?” I demanded, more forcefully than
I’d
planned.

“Well, aren’t you the saucy solicitor,” he said. “When I sat down next to you, I was hoping to get more acquainted with those lips, but I didn’t imagine it would be quite in this way.”

Ugh. Did this guy think this was some kind of a nightclub where cheesy pickup lines flowed like booze? My mom was just attacked, and I was not in the mood for this crap. “If you’ve been watching me like a creepster, you know that I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, yes, I’m afraid I’m all too aware of your relationship status, Ruby Rose.”

I stood, alarms going off in my head. “I can have a policeman here in two seconds,” I said. Was he working with Martinez? Was he dangerous?

“Darling, relax, I’m not here to scare you. I’m here to make a delivery.” He reached into a satchel on the floor and pulled out a manila envelope. “It’s from Skryker.” He held it out for me to take.

“Seriously, if you don’t tell me who you are, I’m leaving.” Or breaking his perfectly straight nose.

“I told you: my name is Quinn, and I am here to give you this.” He stood and took two steps closer with the envelope extended. Not cautious in the least—as if he either didn’t know what I might’ve been capable of doing to him, or knew perfectly well that I hadn’t been in tip-top shape since getting myself stabbed and was practically useless without a weapon. “I work for Skryker, and from what I hear, you might, too.”

My mouth dropped open; I was no longer able to play this quick-witted game. Skryker knew I wasn’t interested in his little proposition, so he sent the hottest boy he could find to sweet-talk me into it? On the day after my mom was almost killed? What a dick!

“Honestly,” Quinn said, “this is the first exciting thing he’s asked me to do in a long time. You are far sexier in real life than the tabloids give you credit for. Shoddy work, those paparazzi.” His eyes softened as he activated the full throttle of his charm.

Heat rose inside me—a mix of annoyance and embarrassment.

“Look, I understand perfectly how you feel right now,” he said, bending his knees and tilting his head to make it easier for our eyes to meet. “And I’m not just saying that. Your father has been killed. Your mother is fighting for her life. Your biological parents aren’t in the picture. If not for your boy toy, you’d be almost completely alone. All while the man who has taken everything from you continues to flaunt justice.” He took another step toward me and put the envelope very near my chest. “Let me help you get your justice.”

I could have tried to force him to respect my personal space. But there was something about this boy and the envelope he had in his hand that drew me in. I took a long, hard look at him from head to toe. When I reached the toe area, my interest was truly piqued. He wore straight-leg wool trousers with a pair of light-brown lace-up ankle boots. What kind of evil envoy would have such amazing footwear? The inside seam of the boot had exquisite stitching and an interior design that not many people in this world can appreciate, let alone afford.

I was about to take the envelope hovering very near my Cleave when I heard someone clear his throat behind me.

“Is everything OK?” Liam’s deep voice had an edge.

“Yeah, everything is fine.” I backed away from Quinn and his smolder. Why did I feel like
I’d
just been caught doing something wrong? “This is Quinn. He’
s . . .
”

“Just leaving, actually.” Quinn retrieved his satchel from the floor and placed the envelope on the couch. “I have a flight to catch.”

Avoiding the laser glare Liam was shooting at me, I watched Quinn make his way out of the room. When he was right near Liam, he stopped and turned, softened his eyes, and said, “I hope your mother recovers. And I hope to see you again soon.”

One thing was for sure: whether or not anything that came out of his mouth was true, seeing that boy ever again would mean trouble.

CHAPTER 3

Liam drove me “home”—to Dr. T’s condo—visibly on edge. He clenched the steering wheel, took turns too hard, and refused to make eye contact. I could always count on Liam to take out his emotions in a very physical way.

“I told you, he was just some guy that the other guy, Skryker, sent to talk to me.” I laid my hand on his forearm. “Why are you acting so crazy?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m the one who’s acting crazy.” He checked the rearview mirror, as if making sure no one was following us. No one other than one of Mathews’s men, that is. “Mathews told us to get home as fast as we could and stay there—until they know more about the bombing.”

“Right, and we always listen to what Mathews has to say.”

I removed my hand from his arm and turned away in exasperation. Were Liam and I having our first fight? The day after my mom was almost murdered in a very public and vicious way
and
the anniversary of my dad’s murder? Not exactly awesome timing.

I hugged my oversize Fendi bag to my chest, knowing the envelope Quinn gave me was still snug inside, unopened. After Quinn left, the doctors came in and told me that they would be administering a drug that would keep my mom in her coma for several days in order for the swelling in her brain to decrease. They said I was welcome to sit with her during official visiting hours, but that for the next few crucial days, it would be best if I allowed the nurses or my mom’s security team to call me with regular updates. They didn’t want me there. I got it—I was a security risk, causing too much commotion. As if I didn’t already have a complex about not being wanted.

The thought of her not pulling through made my heart plunge. What would I do without a mother? Despite the fact that we were barely on speaking terms, deep down
I’d
always assumed w
e’d
get over it one day. That she would be there for me when I got accepted to college or walked down the aisle. Now the chances of that happening had diminished considerably. I bit my bottom lip as I held back tears. Without her,
I’d
be almost completely alone, like that Quinn guy had so eloquently pointed out.

The car came to a stop outside Dr. T’s place. “I’m sorry, Ruby,” Liam said. “I didn’t mean to be a jerk. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess jealousy doesn’t look very good on me.” He leaned over to hold me. And I let him, falling apart in a way I hadn’t allowed myself to do since the explosion.

“I know I’ve been talking some major crap about my mom these last few months,” I said, sobbing into his shirt, “and I know you have a right to hate her for charging you with Martinez’s murder and keeping you in jail all that tim
e . . .
but she’s my mom, and I don’t want her to die.”

He hushed me and stroked my hair. “I don’t hate her, and she’s not going to die. It’s all going to be OK.”

His words were like raindrops falling on a tin roof—they didn’t sink in, they just slid off into puddles. As long as Martinez was out there blowing innocent people up, things would never be OK.

After sleeping for half a day, showering, and forcing down some un-hospital-like organic Dr. T food, I joined Liam on the roof veranda. He was sitting in one of the lounge chairs with his computer on his lap, talking on his cell phone.

“Dude, that would be amazing,” he said to whoever was on the other line. “Totally. Let me know.”

He hung up the phone and patted the space next to him. I took a small blanket off my shoulders and put it over my legs as I sat down.

“Feel better?” he asked.

“Sort of,” I responded, shrugging. “Who was on the phone? Your other girlfriend?” I teased, turning the tables of unfounded accusation.

He smiled, a deep dimple forming in his cheek. “It was Chase. He heard about what happened, and he’s really sorry. But the other reason he called is because he has a proposition.”

My heart skittered at the word
proposition
being used again. Twice in two days.

“What is it?”

“A road trip. Well, sort of. His rich uncle from Texas heard about the bombing and emailed to offer his huge cabin in Big Bear as a safe place to get away for a while. So he was wondering if you, Alana, and I want to go. Apparently he officially broke up with his girlfriend a few days ago—finally—and thought it would be cool if all four of us—”

“Liam,” I said, stunned. “My mom is in a coma. I can’t just go on vacation while she’s hanging on for dear life.”

“I know—that’s what I thought at first, too, but then he sent me the email with all the pictures of the place and stuff.” He turned the laptop so I could see the grandeur of the rustic mansion. He clicked through pictures of massive bedrooms, a private movie theater, an indoor pool and hot tub, a state-of-the-art gy
m . . .
and if all that weren’t enticing enough, the last image he clicked on was of an outdoor shooting range.

Liam knew exactly what he was doing. I put my head in my hands to gather strength against the attack on my weak spot. I hadn’t been able to train properly in months, and not just because of the still tender scar tissue in my side, but because guns and knives were a strict no-no according to the terms of my “arrangement” with the powers-that-be. Liam was well aware that
I’d
been going crazy without my usual outlets.

“I can’t leave her, Liam—” I started to say.

“Just hear me out. The doctors said they’re not going to let her wake up for at least several days, and that you don’t need to be there. Plus, I talked to Mathews, and even he said it’d be better if we could get you somewhere isolated and safe while they investigate. He’ll send a couple of men along with us to keep an eye out for any threats. So why not get away from everything for two days? We could be back by Friday.”

Holy onslaught of calculated convincing! But while Liam’s arguments were exceptionally persuasive and entirely logical, the idea still didn’t sit right with me. I couldn’t bear to think that my mom could take a turn for the worse while I wasn’t here. And I felt like I should be actively pursuing Martinez, not off on a getaway.

“But what if she needs me? What if she can sense that I’m not there?” I asked, knowing my mom never “needed” me. Or at least that’s how it had to come to feel.

“Ruby!” A shrill, high-pitched girl voice nearly shattered my eardrums. “Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygos
h . . .
” Alana had made her way to the top of the staircase.

“Yes, she knows,” Liam said, sounding slightly guilty.

“What?” I turned to him and bulged out my eyes. “You told her before you told me?”

“Not really. Chase did. He sent an email to both of us at the same time,” Liam explained under his breath so Alana wouldn’t hear.

“Before you go getting all excited on me, Alana,” I said, sitting forward, “this isn’t happening. I’m not about to go on a vacation while—”

“It’s not a vacation,” Liam interrupted. “It’s more like an opportunity to go somewhere safe with the people who love you most. We’ll sneak away so the paparazzi don’t know. We could be together while your mom heals. She’s going to be OK. You know that.”

I shook my head. “I
don’t
know that. The doctors can’t guarantee anything. You heard them say that.”

“I also heard them say that sh
e’d
survive. And you’ll be there when she wakes up, I promise. It’s only a few hours away. We could come back anytime we want, day or night. Something changes with your mom, and we’ll be here before you know it.” He took my hand in his.

“We’re your family, Rue.” Alana put her arm around my shoulders. “We want to take care of you.”

I stood to shake them both off me. “Let me just think about it, OK?”

After staring at the endless blue ocean and sky for too long, I went back downstairs and found Dr. T in her office.

“Hey,” I said, leaning on the doorframe in case she was busy and didn’t want me to come in.

“Hey back,” Dr. T said, her all-knowing eyes crinkling at the sight of me. “Come in. I haven’t seen you since early this morning.”

I trudged in and slumped into one of her oversize chairs. Pulling my knees to my chest, I closed my eyes to organize my thoughts.

“I need to talk to you, Dr. T,” I said, opening my eyes. Sh
e’d
rolled her chair close to mine—the position we used to sit in during the good ol’ days when she was my official therapist. “Like we used to. I mean, I know we talk all the time, but I know you’ve been avoiding any kind of ‘therapy session’ because of the whole roommate thing. But I’m all torn up inside, and I don’t know ho
w . . .
”

“Oh, Ruby,” Dr. T said, hanging her head. “I’m so sorry. These past months I’ve been walking the line between professional conduct and—” She paused. I knew what sh
e’d
been about to say before she stopped herself: “mother figure.” She would never take that away from my mom, and sh
e’d
be mortified to think she ever had.

“I know,” I said, “and I appreciate that, but I really need to talk to you. I feel like my whole life is a never-ending disaster, and there’s nothing I can do about it. There’s Martinez, who’s still out there, destroying everyone and everything. And my biological dad, who apparently wants nothing to do with me. My adoptive mother, who I don’t know anymore and might never know again. There’s Liam, who’s always there, even though I feel he should go live a fuller, better life without me. And Alana, who wants so desperately for everything to be OK that she’s pretty much in denial about everything. And you—”

“Who cares about you, Ruby,” she cut me off. “And that’s why you don’t have to worry about any of this right now.”

“You’ve taken me into your life, and all I bring you is pain and drama!”

“No, that’s not true,” Dr. T said, reaching out to hold my hand.

“It’s all true! I am the worst patient, daughter, friend, and girlfriend in the world. Instead of helping anyone, all I do is bring people down. And worst of all, I don’t know how to make it stop.” Suddenly, my mind took me back to the hospital waiting room and the words spoken by the dark stranger, Quinn:
Let me help you get justice.

I still hadn’t opened the envelope. After Liam dropped me off, I intentionally slung my purse into the corner of my bedroom, unable to deal with it. But now, thinking about how much I needed to
do
something to make things better, to make up for all the trouble
I’d
brought peopl
e . . .
well, maybe it was time to open it.

“I’m sorry, Dr. T,” I said abruptly. “I just remembered something I have to do.”

I ran up to my room and tore through my bag. My heart pounded as I imagined what kind of details this package could reveal.

I broke the seal and dumped the contents onto my bed. It was full of photos and papers, just like the first envelope Skryker gave me in that high-rise. And I quickly realized that while the previous envelope had intel on Commander Damon Silver, this one was on Detective James Martinez. Most of the photos were taken from a distance—surveillance photos. He wore a hat and sunglasses, but it was most definitely him.

One stapled group of papers showed cell phone data, highlighting certain numbers used on a frequent basis. Another paper had a list of explosive materials estimated to be in Martinez’s possession as of one week ago.

Other papers showed maps tracking where Martinez had been and potential routes for where he could be going. H
e’d
been here in Huntington Beach! There was a photo of a car outside the very building where Dr. T’s condo was. I couldn’t see the person inside the car well enough to be sure, but since Skryker included the photo in this package, I had to assume it was Martinez. Fear rippled through me. As long as I was around and Martinez was free, Dr. T would never be out of danger.

At the very bottom of the stack was a handwritten letter addressed to me and signed by Skryker. His penmanship was distractingly elegant.

Dear Ruby Rose,

As I mentioned yesterday, I do not require and will not accept a response from you at this time. I just thought you might like to know what your friend James Martinez has been up to lately. Should you ever wish to contact me, you may do so at the number below.

Please accept my sympathies regarding your mother.

Sincerely,

Skryker

Unbelievable. He knew exactly where my pressure point was: Martinez. Even if Liam wasn’t convinced Martinez was behind the bombing, I was. And despite the fact that I hadn’t quite let myself think this way, I
needed
to see Martinez pay for what h
e’d
done to my family.
I’d
done such a good job of resisting the all-consuming need for revenge. Between Dr. T’s healing words, Liam’s distracting touch, Mathews’s stern gaze, my mom’s debilitating cold shoulder, the paparazzi’s nearly constant attention, and the perpetual threat of prosecution,
I’d
all but let Martinez go.

But now the need for justice boiled up, surging through my body in a way I could no longer suppress. As I stared at a picture of Martinez ordering a drink at a bar, hatred clouded my vision and wrapped itself around my heart. If it weren’t for him, I would be at home with my mom and dad. Jack Rose would be alive, and Jane Rose would be safe. We might have been a family with flaws, but we were a family nonetheless. And now we were hardly anything. We were in ashes.