Taking Mine (22 page)

“Justin, you’re not coming.”

“Fine,” he says, entering his bedroom and tossing me back onto the bed. “But I’m going to come one way or another.”

“Oh. My. God. Who are you?”

He places an open-mouth kiss on my stomach. “You like it.”

And help me, because I do. The weariness he’s been carrying around with him the past couple of weeks has disappeared almost completely. The fun-loving person who stripped during lecture is back. The guy who played Family Feud with me between classes. The one who taught me to play pool and schooled me in bowling. I hadn’t realized he’d disappeared until now. Looking up at Justin, I notice his dark circles are almost nonexistent, and it's like I'm seeing him for the first time again. Except better. He’s still has a sense of brooding hanging over him, but right now, he seems happy.

THE YELLOW ENVELOPE
is packed to the brim in cash. Twenties are stacked in thousands by rubber bands. The weight of twenty-five grand is roughly two pounds, give or take a few ounces. I shake it around a little. “I feel like I’m missing something.”

Justin glances at me from the driver side of his Jeep. “I don’t think it’s sunk in yet. It’s a lot of cash.”

I place it against my window, using it as a pillow. “I’m not even sure what I’ll do with it.”

“I thought you were going to pay for school with it.”

“Duh, I just don’t know what to do with it in the meantime. Do I place it under my mattress? I don’t have a cookie jar big enough.”

“You could keep it at my place. Really, I’d feel more comfortable if you kept it at my place.”

I give Justin an accusing look. “Of course you’d want me to let you keep it.”

He laughs. “You know I wouldn’t touch it.”

“Do I? I heard you’ve robbed a gas station before.”

He gives me a look, brushing off my small dig. “I don’t like the idea of you harboring so much money in your house. What if someone breaks in?”

“No one knows I have twenty-five grand sitting under my bed.”

“Who hired you in the first place?”

“Why would the person who hired me take the money they paid me with? That makes no sense.”

“Jimmy obviously has someone who was working for him before. What happened to them, huh?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they quit.”

“And walk away from this type of easy money? No way.”

“Maybe they got caught.”

“People squeal when faced with prison and would sell their own mother’s soul to get a lighter sentence. There’s no doubt that Jimmy would do any and everything possible to make sure that wouldn’t happen.”

He’s got a point.

“Look, I’m not saying that anything is going to happen, but I’d feel better if you let me keep it.

I pick up his package of money, and with mine, I sandwich my head between them. “I can’t wrap my head around it.”

He laughs.

“Fine,” I relent. “Only because it’ll make you feel better.”

“And because you trust me.”

“And because I trust you,” I repeat.

He brings my hand to his lips. “Thank you.”

It’s weird, being so openly affectionate. It’s not something I’m used to. I’ve never really had a boyfriend, and it’s not like I had affectionate parents due to not having any at all. And my brother is my brother. Affectionate in the only way he knew how to be. By supplying for me. So the repeated feel of Justin’s lips, his touch, is different, and I have to stop myself from pulling away. I understand that this says something about my psyche. Like, some hypothetical therapist somewhere is making notes on a notepad.

“Are you going to tell Kip?” Justin asks.

“That there might have been someone working for Jimmy before?”

He nods.

“No. I don’t want to worry him. He stresses too much as it is.”

We come to a stop sign and Justin pulls me into a kiss, holding my face between his hands. “You have such a good heart.”

My heart skips. It’s tender in a way that I surprisingly need. To be told I’m good inside. That through it all, I’m an okay person. I give him a tight-lipped smile in return. It's scary that I suddenly feel lost. It's not normal that a compliment makes me doubt myself.

“You do.” Justin’s words pull me back to the feel of his hands on my cheeks and his breath on my lips. “You may not see it,” he says, touching the small space above my heart. “But I do.”

I’ve never ever questioned myself before, but confronted by the reality someone thinks highly of me, I'm very sure I'm not sure at all. I've never made excuses or blamed people who are better off. I've just been reacting to my environment. Right? But maybe I’ve been wrong. It’s the thought that I have never bothered to study myself in the first place, to look inside and figure out who I am.

Maybe I don't have a good heart.

TODAY IS ALMOST LIKE THE FIRST
day back from fantasy land. Other than going home to check in with Kip and picking up our packages from Taylor, we’ve spent every waking second of the weekend together. And when I say together, I mean
together
.

I spent the majority of class daydreaming, a permanent blush permeating my cheeks. I’d be more put out by it if I weren’t in a constant stage of bliss. It should scare me that he’s so good with my body, a woman’s body, but then again I could care less how he gained such skills as long as he continues to use them on me.

Justin beams when I meet him in the courtyard, and I’m positive my expression matches.

“I was thinking we could skip class today and go somewhere,” he says. “Got anything you need to stay for?”

“Where are we going?”

“The shipyard. I want to get a better look at the cars.”

“Isn’t that kind of risky? How are we going to get in without being noticed?”

“The entire place is crawling with people. No one is going to second-guess what we’re doing.”

“What about Jimmy? I’m sure he doesn’t want us snooping around.”

“Exactly.”

I understand Justin’s skepticism. Everything inside of me is saying something isn’t right about this entire deal, and for that exact reason, I don’t want to dig any deeper. If we dig and find something, then all the money could disappear right before my eyes. How long do I want to stay ignorant?

Apparently not long enough to leave Justin to do this alone.

The shipyard is teeming with people. Half the workers are wearing yellow hard hats. I’m not sure what determines who wears one or not, but it kind of makes me question my safety as large cranes pass containers high above our heads. Justin’s right when he said no one will give us a second glance as we beeline it to our destination.

Justin hands me a duffel bag filled with tools he thought we might need as he spins the combination into the lock. He pulls it and it doesn't give. He tries again only to get the same result.

“The combination isn’t working. This is a different lock. They changed it sometime since we left.”

He bends down to get a closer look at the lock and starts to slowly spin the dial, eyes closed as he concentrates. He spins it one way until he feels what he's searching for and then starts in the opposite direction. It takes a few fails before he gets it right and the lock pops open.

“Where did you learn to do that?” I ask, equally impressed and skeptical.

“My mom kept a lock on the medicine cabinet,” he says, pulling open the door. “Dad never showed a particular interest in pharmaceuticals, but she didn't want to risk it if he ran out of liquor before she got home.” He walks over to the Italia and reaches under the tire wheel. “They took the key.”

He pulls the duffel from my shoulder and digs through it. “I brought an air wedge, but I don't know if the alarm will sound...”

Just out of curiosity, I pull the door handle and it clicks open.

He raises an eyebrow. “Or that works, too.”

I slide in the passenger seat. “So, what are we looking for?” I routinely check under and behind the seats, coming up empty.

Justin kneels outside the door next to my feet and begins unscrewing the door panel starting with the lock mechanism. It pops off, and he slowly, carefully pulls back the plastic and leather panel. He squeezes his hand inside the metal interior of the door.

“I feel something, but I can’t reach it.”

He pulls his hand out and I reach mine in. “A bag? Feels like canvas or something.”

“Can you get it?”

I tug, and the pack falls farther into my hand. I wrap my fingers around it the best I can and yank. I get enough of the fabric pooled through the hole that I can see a zipper.

“It’s a gun.”

Justin looks up at me. “Can you get it?”

As carefully as I can, I pull the gun out of the bag. Cautiously, I open the chamber and check for ammo. I drop the clip and hand the gun to him.

It takes me a moment to realize he’s looking at me. The gun is stilled in his hands and he’s smirking. It’s like he finds me cute. “What?” I ask self-consciously.

He shakes his head, returning his attention to the gun. “Looks like it’s police issued. The serial number has been scratched off.”

The black metal catches the light as he turns it over. It’s the same type of gun that was used to kill my dad. The last thing he saw was the black barrel in the hands of someone who was supposed to protect him.

“Lilly.” My name reverberates inside my head. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I force a smile. “I just really hate guns.” I stick my hand back in the bag and feel another object. “I think there’s more. The bag takes up the entire door.”

“Can you get another one?” After a few minutes of maneuvering, I manage to free another gun exactly like the first. Justin repeats his examination of the gun and hands them both back to me. “Put these back. I’m going to see if I can find anything in the trunk.”

“What if the alarm is on?”

He reaches under the steering column. “I’m hoping that if I use the emergency lever it won’t sound.”

“Well, that sounds super smart. Let’s pull the alarm and just hope it doesn’t go off. Stolen guns aren’t stored inside of it or anything.”

Her ignores me but winces as he pulls.

Nothing happens. The sound of the trunk releases, and we let out a collective breath.

Justin walks around to the front of the car. “Holy fucking shit.” The words out of his mouth and the alarm behind them send ice through my veins.

Please don't be a body, please don't be a body
, I repeat as I look over the hood. Justin has both of his hands laced on top of his head, staring at whatever is in the cargo space. His eyes meet mine and I know whatever it is, it's bad.

It’s staggering. Plastic-wrapped blocks of cocaine are stacked in every inch of the space.

“They’re transporting cocaine,” he says.

“How can Taylor have let us do this?” I say, unbelieving.

“You think Taylor knew?”

Taylor’s insistence to take Jimmy’s offer, the repeated reference to the money, all the times he brushed off significant details.

“He had to,” I answer.

Justin inhales a large breath. “We’re middle men. Someone working with Jimmy drops a car somewhere and we transport it here. We’re not actually stealing anything.” He paces with his hands on his hips before stopping next to the Corvette.

“What do you think happened to whoever put that car here?”

He tugs on the door handle, but it’s locked. “I don’t know, but we should probably keep this between us.”

“No way. Dan and Ethan are making a run this weekend. I can’t not tell them.”

“And how do you think Taylor’s going to take that? Hm? I don’t think whoever he’s doing business with is going to suddenly take no for an answer.”

An ache forms between my brows, and I press the heels of my hands to my forehead to suppress the headache building. “I can’t let them go in blind. Dan’s got a family. I’m sure a judge would totally overlook arms and drug trafficking.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Justin places his hands on my shoulders to stop my panicking. “Breathe. Let’s get our stuff together before we jump the gun. Do you have any inclination if Kip knows?”

I scour my brain. The only thing that sends a red flag is his insistent need for me to carry a gun. “I’m not sure. He couldn’t. There’s not a chance in hell he’d let me be a part of this if he knew. Or anyone for that matter.”