“What did he say,” Jamie leans against the wall. I’ve never had the strength to rehash the entire story to Jamie, but my friend Googled Milo. Thousands of articles have slammed Detective Milo Benincassa and the Los Angeles Police Department. “Reese, what did he say?” Jamie’s head tilts slightly.
“Nothing,” My eyes rim with tears, shoulder’s hunched.
“Oh no, Reese’s Pieces.” His shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath.
“Evan hung up. Evan hung up.”
Jamie pauses, taps his foot and then shrugs, “So he could’ve been driving through a tunnel.”
“In Los Angeles?”
“Could’ve been cell phone service,” he mumbles another theory. Then Jaime looks me in the eye, satisfied with his statement and elaborates, “That’s exactly what it was, I’m sure. Hanging up is a bitch move. I refuse to believe Evan would even be so cruel. So, his cell phone reception dropped. Look, no boys allowed tonight, okay, Reese? We’ll call him when we wake up, and if Evan is acting brand- new—not to say he was— I’ll beat his ass for you.”
“Yeah,” I barely get the word out.
Jamie steps out of the room. I’m free to call, beg, and plead with Evan to still want me. But I’m too chickenshit to try and dial Evan back to confirm he had a weak signal. Before tears can stream down my face, I take a deep breath and submerge into the warm water. The bubbles tickle and soothe my soul. As I lie beneath the surface, I force myself not to cry even though I’m enveloped in liquid.
THUMP
The sound of a gun going off makes me jump into a seated position. There's water in my ears. I rub the wetness from my face as what sounds like a very bad scuffle comes from the living room.
“Jamie, turn it down!” I glance at the clock. Dang, I’ve been lying beneath the surface with only my nose barley above for almost thirty minutes. This used to be a seldom pastime of mine when dad and mom argued. They’d cuss to high heaven, and then they’d make up just as passionately. The water helped cut out the shouting and the moaning. It beat putting a pillow over my head, and getting too hot or having a hard time breathing.
As I start to sit up, I add, “And wait for me, I want to see Tom too!”
I wash off the remnants of sugar and arise from the water which is now lukewarm. Upon turning off the jets, the fighting isn't as loud as before. Geesh, he had to have had the television up to the max.
I step into my bedroom, thick towel around me. Another crash makes my shoulders jump.
“Damn you, Jamie! Don’t masturbate to Tom Hardy on my couch again! That's why you don't have a date on a Friday night.” Yeah, this quip can turn around and bite me in the ass, seeing as we're rolling Dutch tonight. But my friend doesn't respond. I slap lotion on my body, trying not to caress too much as I lather, since my mind is muddled with thoughts of Evan.
My face is stuck in a perpetual frown. I’d glanced at my phone after getting out of the tub. He still hadn’t called back. As I zip up the front of my action-figure pajama pants, I tell myself this is a girls’ night in. Me and Jamie. No men allowed. Just a veggie and fruit tray! I’ll deal with Evan tomorrow.
Before stepping out of the bedroom, I snatch up my phone.
“Jamie, so help me God, I’m going to call him!” I start out of the bedroom. “That asshole said he loves me, repeatedly! Just the mention of my father’s name will not make him run...”
I stop ranting. I stop stalking into the living room as I stand at the tip of the short hallway. The cell phone slides from my fingertips, and lands soundlessly on the plush carpet. There's broken glass all over the kitchen floor to the left of me. Before my eyes, Jamie is turning from a rich shade of brown to a dull shade of gray. There’s a Jackal emblem on the back of the vest of the man who’s choking Jamie out against my coffee table that is also broken. My best friend is powerlessly lying on fragments of shattered glass.
There are more motorcycle guys in the room. And the one whose dark eyes I once pegged as sexy and devilish locks onto my gaze. He's the biggest, buffest one.
“Hello, Reese. Looking adorable, doll. Adorable enough to eat.” Riker licks his lips.
Bile torpedoes up from the pit of my stomach and burns along my esophagus. A quick gulp forces it back down.
“Don’t you worry that pretty lil’ head of yours, Reese. Little do you know, that a few minutes ago, you just saved your life.” He points toward my cell phone. “I'm gonna need you to pick up that there phone and dial our mutual friend.”
“Friend? I… saved my life…” I barely breathe the words. Then I suppose my father’s genetic makeup rears itself and kicks me in the ass. Or something like that, because I can't fathom how I am pummeling the guy choking out one of my best friends.
“Stop it!” I scream.
My fists move rapidly against his back, his neck. When my knuckles connect with the back of his skull, I inwardly wince.
Riker is up in a second, his bicep grips around my waist and he pulls me away. I lash out, nails biting into his arms. And I end up kicking one of his goons in the nuts.
The guy, with ‘Cash’ as his nameplate on his vest keels over. “You stupid cunt, I oughta...”
“Alright, alright. Breath. It's all good,” Riker orders. “Like I said, we have a mutual friend; I wouldn't dare lay a hand on Evan’s old lady, so you're safe.”
My chest
