Sneak Attack Read online

Tired didn’t begin to cover it. I slumped into a kitchen chair while my mother went to get dressed. A moment later, she returned in her trim pants and silky blouse. Not a single strand of hair was out of place.

  “Trayherne,” she said softly, passing her hand over my head.

  I don’t know what made me do it, but I turned and buried my face in her stomach like I once had when I was a little boy. So many years ago, but with one whiff of her powder and lavender fragrance, I was thrust back into the past.

  Unlike Mia, I still had a living mother. And by God, I didn’t want to lose her. I wouldn’t ever stop fighting to keep her safe.

  “Stay here with us,” I whispered, not thinking of the implications. This wasn’t even my place. I had no right to be extending invitations. But it didn’t feel like I was being kind to a guest. This was my mother, the only one I’d ever have. I’d figure out the rest later.

  She stroked my hair, subtly but definitively moving back. That inch between us felt like six miles. “Your father just lost control.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. I’d heard that song and dance so much I could sing the chorus without accompaniment. “Yeah, how many times is that now?”

  She eased back another inch. Soon, her hand would fall away from my hair. “You don’t understand what goes on in a marriage.”

  “I guess not.” I curled my fist into the back of her blouse. Some stupid part of me refused to let go. No matter how often I told myself I was turning my back, I never really did.

  “Don’t judge your father. He’s under so much pressure. A man like him, with so many responsibilities… Of course he’ll lose his grip on his temper now and then.” Without looking up, I could tell she was fumbling for her pearls. Always clutching them like a life preserver in turbulent waters that would never, ever calm as long as she stayed in them. “I pushed him too far. It’s my—”

  “Don’t,” I grated, scraping the chair back. “Don’t ever say those words in my presence.” I stumbled to my feet, nearly blind with the rage and helplessness choking me. I lived with a version of it every day because of Mia, and having this one layered on top of the newer agony only made both sting more. “Someone I love is always wondering if only she’d made a different move, if things could be different. But she fought her way free. She bled.” I grabbed my mother’s shoulders and shook her, only realizing what I’d done when the blue eyes so like my own went wide and horrified.

  My chest locked. My mouth went dry. I stared at her as if she were a stranger.

  As if I was.

  Finger by finger, I released the pressure on her upper arms. I hadn’t checked my strength, and I knew how easily I could bruise fragile flesh. I’d taken pride in it once. I’d gotten paid to make other people bleed.

  I hurt Mia day after day. It was okay, because she wanted it. Because she said I could.

  I wasn’t the same kind of sadistic bastard as my father, using my brute strength to harm those with less.

  Don’t agree with me? I’ll force you. I’ll make you.

  I wasn’t. I wasn’t.

  “Tray,” my mother breathed, coming toward me as I backed up. The hand she extended looked like the bony arm of a skeleton, shriveled fingers trying to haul me back from the brink.

  Too late.

  A trapdoor slammed shut in my mind, walling off my thoughts. I wasn’t my father. I wasn’t Darren. I didn’t force women to do what I wanted, whether they acquiesced or not.

  I would never allow myself to hurt those I loved. I’d walk away first.

  Eyes blind, I fumbled my way out of the kitchen, out of the living room, tripping over my feet like a newborn colt who hadn’t grown into his legs yet. My keys were in my hand, grabbed from the table where I tossed them by habit.

  My car.

  I’d get in my car, and just go. I didn’t know where yet. It didn’t matter. Anywhere was better than here, staring at that flash of terror on my mother’s face while she wondered if she’d given birth to a carbon copy of my father.

  One who’d been trained to kill.

  7

  Mia

  My shift was halfway over when my cell vibrated in my back pocket. Normally I left it in my purse in the back room, but the situation with Tray and his mother had put me on edge. I hated not being with him when he was dealing with something so difficult, even if I wasn’t exactly sure how difficult it was. I didn’t know how deep and far it ran.

  Had he been dealing with this since childhood? Since a few years ago? Maybe it didn’t matter that I didn’t have all the particulars. What I did know was that I was supposed to be in his corner.

  To be one hundred percent honest, no, I didn’t relish being part of any confrontations with his parents. They didn’t like me much under the best of circumstances. But it was my job. Even with all the basic relationship lessons I’d missed, I’d figured out that much. I’d given up the freedom to split when I’d told him I would be around for the long haul.

  The sensation of my skin itching on the inside would go away if I just ignored it long enough.

  Looks like all the therapy is working. Now you know exactly how fucked up you are, even if you can’t fix it.

  Nope. I wasn’t going there. I wasn’t going to let something he’d said in the heat of the moment distract me from what was important. Tray had been by my side, and I would be by his, whether or not he wanted me there.

  I finished pouring beer from the tap and slung it in the general direction of the patron who had ordered it before heading into the nearest corner to take my call. Hoping to see Tray’s name on the readout, I frowned when I saw it was my sister. “Car?” I said, pressing a finger to my other ear to block out the bar noises. “What’s up?”

  “You need to come home.”

  Dread curdled in my belly like spoiled milk and foamed out of my mouth on a tide of words I couldn’t hold back. “What? Why? What happened? What did you do?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Carly snapped. “Way to go to accuse your sister. Your sister who is trying to help you.”

  How was I supposed to deal with all this emotional crap at one time? I was saving up my nice purple jelly beans to dispense to Tray. All that was left for Car were the bitchy orange ones. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m working, and—”

  “Tray’s gone.”

  My eyes narrowed until the corkboard on the wall covered with flyers and notices of local events whittled away to three words that seemed to pulse in time with my now throbbing head.

  Live nude girls.

  Better than dead nude girls, I supposed.

  “Gone where?” I heard myself ask from a distance, while some remote part of my brain mulled over the concept of live nude girls vs. dead ones.

  “How am I supposed to know? He slammed out of here after getting into it with his mother. He took his car keys. When I chased after him, he shook me off. He wouldn’t speak to me, Ame.”

  Ame. Like a boomerang, I snapped back into my life. That blast from the past always served as a damn quick snap to the skin, better than any rubber band. Hell, it was a damn two-by-four between the eyes.

  Not everyone had more than one first name. Their given name, and the one they’d taken to try to become someone else.

  “Did you see where he went?” I asked, juggling my cell between my ear and my shoulder as I flipped up the pass-through and walked behind the bar. Constance snarled something about “leisurely breaks” but I ignored her as I headed into the back to retrieve my stuff. I’d suspected I would need to leave quickly, so I’d stashed my stuff on the nearest shelf. Not like I owned much worth stealing anyway. I didn’t have Tray’s leather bomber jacket with me this time of year. It was chillier than normal for September, but not anywhere close to leather jacket chilly.

  Though I would’ve appreciated all that warmth right now. Maybe then I wouldn’t be a deep breath away from a full-body shaking fit.

  “No, I didn’t. He just took off. I waited a couple of hours to see if he’d show up again, but
he hasn’t.” She swallowed audibly. “He never leaves without telling us where he’s going or when he’ll be back.”

  That small note of fear reverberated in the pit of my stomach. Carly had grown attached to Tray since we’d been together, and hearing the thread of worry in her voice drove that point home. She’d lost both parents too young, three years younger than I had, and our Aunt Patty hadn’t been a stellar replacement. Tray’s presence in her life probably provided a stabilizing influence.

  And he’d just pounded that stabilization to shreds, even if he hadn’t meant to.

  “I’ll find him,” I said, making my voice stronger than it had any right to be considering my knees were wobbling.

  “How? You have no idea where he went. His mom’s worried too.”

  Oh Lord. Did that mean she was still at my apartment? Not that I should be upset about that fact. Good relationship Mia would be happy for the opportunity to grow closer to the woman who studied my scuffed sneakers as if she expected a cockroach to crawl out of the hole near the toe.

  Good relationship Mia could go fuck herself until further notice, because I couldn’t textbook this. I had to go with my gut.

  God help Tray and me both.

  “Is she still there?” I asked, tugging off my apron and tossing it in my backpack to join Tray’s.

  Carly sighed. “No, she didn’t want to dance anymore after Tray left.”

  If my thoughts had popped into a bubble at that moment, they would’ve consisted solely of a question mark. Then I decided I didn’t want to know. I’d worry about translating Carly-speak after I made sure my boyfriend was okay. How I was going to do that, I wasn’t exactly sure when I didn’t know where he was.

  “She went back to her house?” I asked, biting my lip.

  That bruise on Mrs. Knox’s cheek was hard to forget. I’d had enough to know which ones reflected power behind the punch.

  She hadn’t been given a love tap. That had been a short-armed blow to the temple.

  “I don’t know. I guess. Ame, you didn’t fight with Tray again, did you? He isn’t splitting on us, is he?”

  On us. Not me. Because Tray had become part of Carly’s family, whether or not she’d realized it before this moment. Or whether I had. As usual I’d been focused on myself.

  Shocker.

  “He’s not going anywhere,” I said soothingly, not adding the rest of what was in my head. Namely that I’d track his ass down and drag him back one way or another. I had not gone through all this effort to be faux normal to lose the main reason I’d tried.

  For him. For us.

  That us had kept me breathing when it hurt too much to exist. I’d been waiting for him even before I knew he was alive. If I had to share my air with him until he got his own wind back, then I would.

  I’d be for him what he’d been for me. Somehow.

  “Okay,” Carly said. “Kizzy and I will be around if you need us to help look or whatever.”

  I pulled my backpack over my shoulder and slapped my hand around Carmine’s desk, searching for a pen to write him a note. I was clocking out an hour early. Boo hoo. If I didn’t like eating, I wouldn’t bother taking the time to write him a note at all. But deep down there was apparently a semi-conscientious employee under my façade of don’t-give-a-shit.

  “Kizzy’s there?” I asked.

  “Yeah. She’s hanging out.”

  I could only imagine what that entailed. A quick mental scan of the contents of the liquor cabinet Tray had unwisely brought with him from his old apartment meant I’d probably be in for a long night of holding Carly’s hair back as she puked out her liver.

  I’d worry about that later, after I located my missing boyfriend.

  After scrawling out a quick, apologetic note to Carmine, I capped his pen and tossed it back on the desk. “Okay. I’ll be in touch. Thanks for the heads up.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Car.”

  She didn’t speak, just breathed lightly into the phone.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I murmured. “He’s not dumping us.”

  A moment went by, then she laughed breezily. “Of course he’s not. If you guys want to bang when you get back, use the shower. I’m nabbing the bed for once.” She hung up.

  I shook my head. If I gave my sister an inch, she lapped me and left me in the fetal position on the side of the track.

  I tossed a quick explanation to a still grumbling Constance on my way out of the bar. She and Bert, the other bartender on duty tonight, had their hands full with the raucous, post-Yankees-win celebratory crowd. I would’ve felt a little guilty if I wasn’t already angsting over how to find Tray.

  “At least take out the garbage on your way out,” Constance whined. “It’s starting to smell.”

  A sigh gusted out of me as I set my stuff down. That wasn’t such a huge sacrifice to make. At least I didn’t wig out about trash like most of the other chicks. I even cleaned the occasional bathroom without complaint. It wasn’t like I cared about my manicure.

  “Thank you.”

  Ignoring Constance, I gathered the bag from behind the bar and headed into the back to gather two more. I wrinkled my nose. She wasn’t lying. They were rank. And it was supposed to warm up tomorrow, so that meant the alley would reek to high heaven.

  Gritting my teeth, I muscled my way out the back door and tried not to breathe in through my nose. I’d just dumped the bags in the dumpster and dusted off my hands when harsh laughter cut through the artificial stillness of the alley.

  “This is rich. Slumming it?”

  Hair prickled on the back of my neck. My spine locked as I shifted toward the raspy, smoker’s voice. Someone stood in the space between the bar and the building next door, blocking the exit to the street. They must be assuming I intended to make a break for it.

  Like hell. If someone had brought a fight to my doorstep, they’d get one.

  Eagerly.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, careful to keep my voice neutral. Behind my back, I cracked my knuckles.

  I hoped I’d get a chance to do some damage. All I needed was an outlet. If they gave me a legit one, they’d be doing me a favor.

  “Help me?” She laughed. “Right.” The woman shifted, giving me a glimpse of her face, hidden by a gray hoodie. I didn’t recognize her nose and mouth, but that wasn’t saying much since the lighting in the alley was shit. She wore shorts and sneakers and appeared to be around average height and weight.

  In other words, I could take her without breaking a nail. Dammit.

  “I asked you once if I could help you.” I made a show of returning to the door and reaching for the handle. Sure, it was just a show, but at least I pretended well. “If you’re beyond it, I’m going inside.”

  See, that was me being nice. Giving a warning. I wasn’t the nasty, rage-filled bitch some on the circuit had thought. I could even be solicitous before I broke someone’s nose if they laughed at me. One. More. Time.

  Just once more.

  “Not so tough now, are you?”

  I spun back in time to see a flash of light hair as the woman sprinted out of the alley.

  She questioned my toughness then ran away. Okay then.

  I considered chasing after her, then decided I didn’t have time for enjoyable pursuits. As much I would love—capital L—having a reason to use some babe’s soft and rounded parts for a punching bag, I had more important tasks to take care of. I had to find Tray.

  Sighing, I yanked open the door and went back inside the bar. Maturity sure tasted bitter without a violence chaser.

  Once I’d grabbed my backpack and emerged on the street, I pulled out my phone and called Tray. It was serious if I wasn’t texting. I preferred typing over talking any day of the week.

  The call went straight to voicemail. In spite of expecting it, I was disappointed. I’d just given up kicking a deserving female’s ass for him. He could at least answer his damn phone.

  Selfish Sally, that was m
e. Always.

  “It’s me. I heard you took off. Carly’s all worried, and I know you don’t want her to be. I’m not saying you can’t go off and do your manly chilling thing on your own, but people love you and we’re concerned. Call me, okay? I got out of work early and I’m looking for you. I…” I swallowed. “I don’t want to go home without you, all right? There, I said it.”

  I hung up before I could sound any more stupid and girly. God, I didn’t want to go to my apartment without Tray. That was the level I’d descended to.

  It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t been virtually certain that wherever he was, he was hurting. I could tolerate anything but that.

  Shifting my backpack higher on my shoulder, I started to walk down the block. People swarmed the street as always, spilling out of the bars and other establishments, whizzing by on skateboards, smoking cigarettes as they yelled come-ons to girls who giggled and tossed their hair. I gripped my bag tighter and realized I couldn’t even drum up my usual disgust for the flirtation game. Too much of me was tied up with Tray for me to even pay attention to what was happening in more than a peripheral way.

  Where would he have gone? School, maybe. Hadn’t he had a test tonight? I didn’t remember. Bad girlfriend. The Cage? Nah, not if he really didn’t want to be found. Possibly Slater’s, especially now that his temporary live-in, not-really-a-girlfriend had moved in with Slater’s brother, Liam.

  Somehow it wasn’t as awkward as it sounded.

  Maybe he’d gone out driving. He liked to head out to Long Island sometimes, just to get out of the city. He’d grown up there, but he rarely drove near his parents’ house. Close, but not too close. I seriously doubted he’d go near there tonight, unless he’d decided to confront the situation head-on.

  What the full scope of the situation was, I needed to find out.

  I skirted the return trip of the skateboarder, ducking into the doorway of the corner bodega to avoid being mowed down. A blonde girl in the store made me snap back to the scene in the alley. I’d written it off as typical drunk nonsense, but what if wasn’t? What if my caller had gotten bold?